#at what point do I just admit these are my cats?

[okasuka]

Damian wayne x Y/N

Title: Unspoken Admiration

It was just another mundane day at Gotham Academy. The bell had rung, signaling the start of literature class, and you were busy explaining something to Damian Wayne, your seat partner and—to your constant amusement—the most enigmatic boy in school. You had been going on about the assignment for a good two minutes before realizing something was…off.

“Damian,” you said, pausing to glance over at him. “Are you even listening to me?”

He blinked, startled, as if he hadn’t even realized you were talking. His usual sharp green eyes softened for a split second before reverting to his signature stoic expression. “Of course, I am. Continue.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh really? Then what did I just say?”

He opened his mouth but faltered. The truth was, he hadn’t caught a single word. His gaze had been fixed on the way the light from the classroom window caught the strands of your hair, the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke passionately about even the most boring topics, and the way your lips curved when you tried to make a point.

“Something about…books?” he ventured, trying to sound nonchalant.

You sighed and shook your head, unable to hide a small smile. “Wrong. I was explaining our part of the group project, which you’re clearly not paying attention to.”

“I am paying attention,” Damian countered, crossing his arms.

“No, you’re not. You’ve been staring into space since class started,” you teased, narrowing your eyes. “Or were you too busy admiring the view outside?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his composure faltering. “The view was…adequate.”

You leaned in closer, smirking. “Adequate? Now I know you weren’t listening. What’s up with you today, Wayne? You’re usually the first one to call me out for zoning out.”

“I do no such thing,” Damian replied, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.

You noticed, of course, and couldn’t resist pressing further. “Oh, you totally do. What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

Damian looked away, his jaw tightening. “Perhaps if you focused less on my supposed shortcomings and more on the task at hand, we might make progress.”

“Deflecting now, huh?” you said, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Fine. But if we fail this project because you decided to stare into space—or at whatever it is you were so distracted by—don’t blame me.”

Damian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I assure you, we won’t fail. I’ll ensure our success.”

“How noble of you,” you replied with a grin. “Now, can we finally get back to—”

The loud screech of a chair interrupted you as Damian suddenly stood.

“Wayne? What are you—”

“Meet me after class,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“Because I owe you an explanation,” he said, voice softer this time.

Before you could reply, the teacher cleared their throat at the front of the room. “Mr. Wayne, sit down. Now.”

Damian hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, sitting back down beside you. The rest of the class dragged on in awkward silence, but you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. His usually cool and composed demeanor seemed…off.

As soon as the bell rang, Damian was out of his seat, motioning for you to follow him.

“Alright, Wayne,” you said, catching up to him in the empty hallway. “What’s going on? Why were you acting so weird back there?”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face you. His intense green eyes locked onto yours, making your breath hitch.

“I wasn’t staring into space,” he said, his voice low but steady.

“Then what were you—”

“I was staring at you,” he admitted, cutting you off.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Damian said, his tone softening. “You were…talking about the project, and I couldn’t focus because…I find you distracting.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise. “Distracting?”

“Yes. It’s irritating, really,” he muttered, his cheeks flushed again.

“Irritating,” you echoed, a small laugh escaping you. “Well, that’s flattering.”

“I’m being serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m not used to this—this distraction. You make it hard to focus, and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

You stared at him, your heart racing. “Damian Wayne, are you…trying to tell me you like me?”

He hesitated for only a moment before nodding, his confidence returning. “Yes. I like you. Is that so surprising?”

You blinked, trying to process his sudden confession. “A little, yeah. You don’t exactly wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “But for you, I might make an exception.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Well, I guess I can forgive you for zoning out…this time.”

He smirked. “Good. Because I have no intention of failing that project—or letting you down.”

“Then let’s start by focusing on it together,” you teased.

“Agreed,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “But perhaps we could…discuss this further over dinner sometime?”

Your smile widened. “Is that your way of asking me out, Wayne?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Then my answer is yes,” you replied, feeling a rush of excitement.

For once, Damian didn’t have a comeback. He just smiled—a rare, genuine smile that made your heart flutter.

And for the rest of the day, he didn’t zone out once. Well, almost.

After school, you waited by the front gates as Damian emerged, his blazer neatly buttoned as always, his usual cool composure firmly in place. You noticed, though, the faint smile tugging at his lips as he approached you.

“So, where exactly are we going?” you asked, falling into step beside him.

Damian adjusted his bag on his shoulder and glanced at you briefly. “You’ll see.”

“Cryptic as ever, Wayne,” you teased.

“It’s not cryptic,” he countered, his lips twitching slightly. “It’s a surprise.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Damian Wayne and surprises didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand.

Fifteen minutes later, you stood in front of a small, cozy-looking comic book shop tucked away in a quiet corner of the city.

Your jaw dropped. “Wait—this is where you brought me?”

“Yes,” Damian replied simply, pushing the door open and holding it for you.

You stepped inside, your heart skipping with excitement. The smell of old comics, fresh ink, and slightly dusty shelves filled the air, and you immediately spotted rows of your favorite series.

“How did you even know I love this place?” you asked, glancing back at him.

Damian shrugged, his tone casual but his expression softer than usual. “You mentioned it once. Something about finding rare issues of Kick-Ass and Invincible here.”

“You remembered that?” you asked, surprised.

“Of course,” he said matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Within moments, you were lost in the aisles, pulling out various issues and geeking out about your favorite characters.

“Oh my gosh, Damian, look!” you said, holding up a pristine copy of Kick-Ass #1. “This is the original issue! I’ve been looking for this forever!”

Damian watched you with a small, amused smile as you practically hugged the comic.

“And Invincible!” you continued, grabbing another issue. “This is one of the best series ever written. I mean, the depth of Mark’s character arc? Chef’s kiss.”

He chuckled, leaning against a nearby shelf. “You’re very passionate about this.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you said, mock-pouting.

“Not at all,” he replied, his voice unusually soft. “It’s…refreshing.”

You paused, your cheeks warming as you caught the way he was looking at you—like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.

“You’re not bad at this, you know,” you said, trying to ease the sudden fluttering in your chest.

“Bad at what?”

“At making a girl feel special,” you admitted, glancing down at the comics in your hands.

He smirked, crossing his arms. “I wasn’t aware I needed practice.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, Mr. Perfect, what about you? What’s your favorite comic?”

“The Demon’s Head Chronicles,” he said without hesitation.

“Wait, that’s not a real series,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“No, it’s not,” he admitted, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But it’s an excellent name, don’t you think?”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, you got me there. But seriously, you need to read Invincible. I swear, you’ll love it.”

“Perhaps I’ll give it a chance,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “If only to understand your endless enthusiasm.”

“Endless, huh?” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “That’s a bold statement for someone who just spent an entire literature class zoning out.”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Perhaps I was too distracted by something far more captivating.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t help smiling. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile.

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon browsing the shop, laughing and debating the merits of different series. By the time you left, your hands were full of comics, and your heart was fuller than it had been in a long time.

As you walked side by side under the fading sunlight, you glanced up at Damian. “Thanks for today. This was…perfect.”

He looked down at you, his gaze warm. “You’re welcome. But the day’s not over yet.”

“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s next, Wayne?”

He smirked. “You’ll see.”

And with that, you knew this was just the beginning of something extraordinary.

The sun dipped lower in the sky as Damian led you down a quiet street. The cool evening air brushed against your cheeks, and despite the weight of the comics in your arms, you couldn’t help but feel light.

“So, you’re just going to keep being all mysterious, huh?” you teased, glancing over at him.

He smirked. “Would you prefer I spoil the surprise?���

“Maybe,” you said playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “I like knowing what I’m walking into.”

“That ruins the fun,” he replied. “Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Fine, Wayne. Lead the way.”

A few minutes later, you arrived at a quaint little park tucked away from the bustle of the city. It was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of birds and the rustling of leaves. Damian gestured toward a bench under a large oak tree.

“Here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sit,” he instructed, his tone firm but not unkind.

You obeyed, setting your bag of comics beside you. Damian sat down next to you, pulling something out of his backpack—a small, neatly wrapped package.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing it curiously.

“Open it,” he said, his lips curving into the faintest smile.

You carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a hardcover comic book. Your eyes widened as you read the title: Kick-Ass Deluxe Edition.

“Damian…” you breathed, running your fingers over the pristine cover. “This is—how did you even—?”

“I noticed your copy was missing a few pages,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with satisfaction. “I thought you’d appreciate a complete version.”

You stared at him, speechless. It wasn’t just that he’d remembered such a small detail—it was the effort he’d gone through to replace it.

“Damian,” you said again, softer this time. “This is…incredible. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his gaze steady. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Nothing?” you said, laughing lightly. “Do you even realize how much this means to me?”

“I think I have an idea,” he said, his expression softening.

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the park filling the air. You flipped through the pages of the comic, marveling at its pristine condition.

“This is officially the best day ever,” you said, leaning back against the bench.

“Glad I could contribute to that,” Damian said, his tone light but sincere.

You glanced over at him, your heart swelling. “You know, for someone who pretends to be all broody and unapproachable, you’re actually pretty thoughtful.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t let that get around. I have a reputation to maintain.”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, you realized something: Damian Wayne wasn’t just a classmate or a seat partner. He was someone who paid attention, someone who cared in his own unique way.

And as you sat together, laughing and sharing stories about your favorite comics, you couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something truly special.

The walk back to your house was filled with light conversation and teasing remarks, the evening settling into a cool, comfortable quiet. As you approached your front door, you glanced at Damian, who was carrying your bag of comics without complaint.

“Okay, so,” you started, unlocking the door, “since you officially made my day awesome, I think it’s only fair I return the favor.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And how do you plan to do that?”

You stepped inside, holding the door open for him. “By letting you experience the ultimate tradition: a scary movie marathon.”

“A marathon?” he repeated, stepping into the cozy warmth of your living room. “Sounds…excessive.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, tossing your bag onto the couch. “It’s fun! Plus, I have snacks. And you can’t say no to snacks.”

He smirked. “I suppose I can tolerate a few hours of mediocre horror for the sake of snacks.”

“Rude,” you said, playfully narrowing your eyes. “But I’ll allow it. Make yourself at home. I’ll grab the popcorn.”

Not long after, the two of you were settled on the couch, a giant bowl of popcorn between you and your TV queued up with one of your favorite horror movies. The lights were dimmed, the atmosphere just right for a night of frights.

“I should warn you,” you said, popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth. “This movie has some intense jump scares.”

Damian arched a brow. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” you replied, smirking.

About halfway through the movie, the suspense was at its peak. You could feel your heart racing as the music built up, the tension in the scene unbearable. And then—BAM! A sudden jump scare exploded on the screen.

You screamed, instinctively grabbing onto Damian’s arm and burying your face against his shoulder.

Damian stiffened immediately, his whole body going rigid as his cheeks turned an uncharacteristic shade of pink. “T-Tt. It’s just a movie,” he said, his voice unsteady.

“Sorry!” you said quickly, pulling back, your face burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he said, a little too quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You bit your lip, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. He was flustered, no doubt about it, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“Okay, tough guy,” you teased, trying to ease the awkwardness. “Let’s see if you’re still this calm during the next scare.”

He smirked, though the faint blush lingered on his cheeks. “I told you—I don’t scare easily.”

The hours ticked by as you made your way through movie after movie. Despite his earlier claims, Damian visibly tensed at a few of the jump scares, though he tried to play it off. You didn’t call him out on it, but you couldn’t hide your amused smile.

Eventually, the popcorn bowl was empty, and the two of you were starting to succumb to exhaustion. You leaned back against the couch, stifling a yawn as the credits rolled on the final movie.

“Alright,” you said sleepily, glancing over at Damian. “That’s it for tonight. You’re free to—”

You stopped mid-sentence, your eyes widening. Damian had fallen asleep, his head tilted slightly forward. Slowly, he shifted in his sleep, leaning against you until his head rested on your lap.

Your breath hitched as you stared down at him, his usually stoic face relaxed in peaceful slumber.

“Of course you’d fall asleep here,” you muttered softly, though you couldn’t help smiling. Carefully, you adjusted yourself so you wouldn’t disturb him, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face.

The warmth of his presence and the quiet of the room made it hard to stay awake. Despite your best efforts, your eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough, you drifted off, a small, contented smile on your face.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows, and the sound of birds chirping gently stirred you awake. You blinked groggily, realizing that Damian was still asleep on your lap, his breathing slow and steady.

You smiled to yourself, resisting the urge to laugh at how uncharacteristically vulnerable he looked. As if sensing your gaze, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times before looking up at you.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you said, your voice still soft with sleep.

His cheeks turned pink as he realized his position, and he quickly sat up, clearing his throat. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you teased, stretching. “You make a pretty good pillow, though.”

He glanced at you, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “You didn’t have to stay like that.”

“Didn’t mind,” you said with a shrug. “It was kind of…nice.”

For once, Damian didn’t have a clever comeback. He just looked at you, a warmth in his eyes that made your heart flutter.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“For this,” he said, gesturing around the room. “For…everything.”

You smiled, your chest swelling with warmth. “Anytime, Wayne.”

And as the two of you shared a quiet moment in the early morning light, you knew that this was the beginning of something even better than your favorite comics—a story of your own.

After a quick breakfast and a lot of playful banter, you and Damian decided to take a walk to stretch your legs and enjoy the crisp morning air. The streets were quieter than usual, with only a few people milling about.

“Did you sleep well on my couch?” you teased as the two of you strolled side by side.

Damian smirked, tucking his hands into his pockets. “It wasn’t the couch that helped. It was the company.”

Your cheeks warmed at the comment, but you managed to laugh it off. “You’re lucky you’re charming, Wayne. Most people don’t get away with falling asleep during movie night.”

“I don’t fall asleep often,” he replied, glancing at you with a softer expression. “But I suppose I felt…comfortable.”

You looked at him, your heart skipping at his honesty. Before you could respond, the sound of clicking cameras and excited chatter drew your attention.

“Is that Damian Wayne?”

A group of people approached, phones out, cameras flashing as they recognized him. The sudden shift in the atmosphere was jarring, the peaceful quiet replaced by the hum of voices and the chaos of attention.

“Damian, over here!”

“Mr. Wayne, can we get a statement?”

“What’s your connection to Bruce Wayne Enterprises?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, his usual calm composure faltering as the crowd swarmed closer.

You, caught off guard, felt yourself being pushed back as more paparazzi closed in. “Hey! Can you—”

“Y/N!” Damian’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. His eyes darted toward you, panic flickering in them as he realized you were being separated from him.

Before you could call out to him, Damian’s hand shot forward, grabbing your wrist. With surprising force and precision, he pulled you against him, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist.

“Move,” he growled, his voice low and threatening as he navigated the crowd.

Despite his clear frustration, the paparazzi only pressed closer, their cameras clicking wildly. “Damian, who’s the girl? Is she your girlfriend?”

“Is this your secret relationship?”

Damian’s grip on your waist tightened as he pushed through the throng. Finally, he spotted an opening and quickly guided you into a nearby alley. The two of you ducked into the shadows, away from prying eyes and cameras.

Panting, you leaned against the brick wall, trying to catch your breath. “What…what was that?”

Damian stood in front of you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself. His hands were still on your waist, his touch firm but not uncomfortable.

“Idiots,” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. “They have no respect for boundaries.”

You glanced up at him, your pulse still racing—not just from the adrenaline, but from the proximity. “Damian…you okay?”

He looked down at you, his green eyes softening as he realized how close the two of you were. His hands lingered on your waist, and for once, he didn’t pull away.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost tender.

You nodded, your breath hitching as his gaze locked onto yours. The intensity in his eyes made it impossible to look away, and the world around you seemed to fade.

“Damian…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative, almost uncertain kiss. The moment was electric, the chaos of the world outside forgotten as his warmth enveloped you.

You responded instinctively, your hands reaching up to rest on his shoulders as the kiss deepened. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you closer as if afraid to let go.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Wow,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Apologies,” Damian murmured, though his tone didn’t sound regretful.

“For what?” you asked, your smile widening.

“For not doing that sooner,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly.

You laughed lightly, your heart swelling at his rare vulnerability. “I think I can forgive you.”

A faint smirk crossed his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Good. Because I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

And with that, the two of you walked out of the alley, hand in hand, ready to face whatever came next—together.

Hand in hand, you and Damian walked out of the alley, the bustle of the city feeling like a distant hum compared to the energy between the two of you. His grip on your hand was firm but not possessive, grounding you after the chaos of the paparazzi.

“Do they always act like that?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“They’re vultures,” Damian said bluntly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It comes with the name. Unfortunately, it’s not something I can avoid.”

You squeezed his hand gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “Well, at least you handled it like a pro. Minus the whole dragging-me-into-an-alley thing.”

He glanced at you, his mouth twitching into a rare smirk. “Would you have preferred I left you behind?”

“Not a chance,” you said with a laugh. “But seriously, Damian, you didn’t have to get so…protective.”

“Yes, I did,” he replied, his voice soft but firm. “They wouldn’t have stopped. And I—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you being overwhelmed because of me.”

Your heart softened at his honesty, and you tugged on his hand to make him stop. He turned to face you, his green eyes filled with a rare vulnerability.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said gently. “I’m glad you were there. And…well, I didn’t mind the whole knight-in-shining-armor act.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think I was doing?”

“Maybe,” you teased, grinning. “Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Too late.”

The two of you continued your walk, eventually finding a quieter part of the city where the streets were lined with small cafes and quaint shops. Damian, ever perceptive, noticed the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease.

“I think I owe you something,” he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

You looked at him, confused. “Owe me? For what?”

“For letting that mess ruin our morning,” he replied. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Damian, you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he interrupted, a glint of determination in his eyes. “Pick a place. Anywhere you want.”

You considered for a moment before your eyes landed on a small, cozy-looking coffee shop with outdoor seating. “How about there?”

He followed your gaze and nodded. “Done.”

The two of you sat at a corner table outside, sipping on warm drinks and sharing a plate of pastries. The atmosphere was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Do you kiss all your friends in dark alleys, or am I just special?”

Damian nearly choked on his coffee, glaring at you as he set the cup down. “Tt. You’re insufferable.”

“Come on,” you teased, laughing at his reaction. “Admit it—you’re kind of a romantic.”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” he said, though his cheeks betrayed him with a faint blush.

“You literally saved me from a mob and then kissed me,” you pointed out, smirking. “That’s peak romantic hero behavior.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said, leaning back in your chair.

Despite his exasperation, Damian’s lips curved into a small smile. “Fine. But don’t expect me to play the role of ‘romantic hero’ often.”

“No promises,” you replied, grinning.

As the morning stretched into early afternoon, the two of you lingered at the cafe, talking and laughing like there was no one else in the world. For the first time in a long while, Damian seemed completely at ease, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to something softer, more genuine.

And as you sat there, watching him tease and smirk and—yes—blush, you couldn’t help but think that this moment, with Damian Wayne by your side, was your favorite chapter yet.

Title: Unspoken Admiration (Part 6)*

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the streets as you and Damian left the cafe, still caught in the comfortable rhythm of conversation. The buzz of the city seemed distant, as if the world had quieted down just for the two of you.

“Alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly. “What’s next on your agenda, Mr. Wayne? Saving the city? Brooding dramatically on rooftops?”

Damian smirked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Neither, actually. I thought I might escort you home. Unless, of course, you have other plans.”

You gave him a mock-serious look. “Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking of diving into those new comics you helped me pick out. Care to join?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re inviting me to read comics with you?”

“Obviously,” you said with a grin. “You’re the one who got me that amazing Kick-Ass edition, remember? Seems only fair that we geek out over it together.”

Damian shook his head, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Lead the way, then.”

Back at your house, the two of you settled into the living room, surrounded by a small mountain of comics. You handed Damian a copy of Invincible while you flipped through the Kick-Ass deluxe edition he’d gifted you.

“So,” you began, glancing at him. “Do you actually read comics, or was that just a lucky guess with the gift?”

“I’ve read a few,” Damian admitted, leaning back against the couch. “But I prefer action that’s more…real.”

You smirked. “Says the guy who grew up with Batman.”

He gave you a pointed look. “It’s not the same.”

“Sure, sure,” you teased. “But if you’re not a fan, I guess I’ll just have to explain everything to you.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Y/N,” he replied smoothly, flipping open the comic. “I’m a quick learner.”

Hours passed as the two of you read, swapping favorite panels and debating over the characters’ decisions. Damian surprised you with his insights, his attention to detail bringing a new perspective to stories you thought you knew inside and out.

“You know,” you said, resting your chin in your hand, “for someone who doesn’t read comics, you’re suspiciously good at analyzing them.”

“I excel at everything I do,” he replied matter-of-factly, though the glint in his eyes told you he was enjoying your reaction.

“You’re impossible,” you said, laughing.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, his voice softer now, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

As the evening wore on, you realized how late it had gotten. The warmth of the house, combined with the weight of the day, was starting to lull you into a comfortable haze. Damian, too, seemed more relaxed than you’d ever seen him.

“Alright,” you said, stifling a yawn. “I think that’s enough comics for one day.”

“Agreed,” Damian said, setting his book aside. “You’re starting to fall asleep on me.”

“Not true,” you argued, though your drooping eyelids betrayed you.

“Come on,” he said, standing and holding out a hand. “I’ll make sure you get to bed.”

You took his hand, letting him help you up. The warmth of his touch sent a small thrill through you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks, Damian,” you said as the two of you made your way to your room.

He nodded, his usual confidence tempered with a quiet sincerity. “Anytime.”

Later, as you lay in bed, the events of the day played over in your mind. The chaos of the paparazzi, the alleyway kiss, the quiet moments spent reading together—it all felt surreal, like something out of one of your comics.

You glanced toward your window, where the moonlight cast soft shadows across the room. Somewhere out there, Damian was probably making his way home, his thoughts as guarded as ever.

But tonight, you’d seen a different side of him—a side that made your heart ache in the best possible way.

With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes, already looking forward to whatever story the two of you would write next.

Title: Unspoken Admiration (Part 7)*

You sat cross-legged on your bed, staring at Damian as he leaned against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed in that classic stoic-but-somehow-effortlessly-cool pose he seemed to have mastered. He had stayed longer than you thought he would, and though he didn’t say it outright, it was clear he didn’t want to leave just yet.

Maybe it was the warmth of the moment or the lingering rush of adrenaline from the chaotic day, but you found yourself blurting out something you’d never planned to admit.

“I never thought I’d be hanging out with you outside of fighting crime or doing assignments,” you said, your voice tinged with nervous laughter. “I’ve crushed on you wayyy before you ever looked in my direction. I mean…I’m kind of glad Batsy found out my identity.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly, the rare slip in his composure making you immediately regret being so candid.

“Uh…” You rubbed the back of your neck, looking down at your hands. “Forget I said that. Totally not important.”

“Y/N,” Damian said, his tone firm but not unkind.

You winced, daring to glance up at him. He was watching you with an unreadable expression, his green eyes searching yours for something you weren’t sure you could give.

“You…like me?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if testing the waters.

You huffed out a laugh, feeling your cheeks burn. “Yeah, genius. Kind of obvious now, huh? But, like I said, not important. You can pretend I didn’t say anything—”

“It’s important to me,” he interrupted, his words quiet but filled with conviction.

That made you pause. “Wait…what?”

Damian pushed off the doorframe, walking toward you with a steady, deliberate stride. When he stopped in front of you, his hands found his pockets, a rare sign of nervousness.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before returning to yours. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, trying to play it off, “you’re kind of oblivious for someone who’s supposed to be, you know, a detective.”

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Tt. I’ll admit my focus has been elsewhere.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “Okay, Mr. Brooding Hero, point made. Can we move on now before this gets more embarrassing?”

“No,” he said simply, and your breath caught.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper.

“I mean,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, “I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen. Not when you’ve just admitted something I’ve been too much of a coward to say myself.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait…what?”

“I’ve admired you for a long time, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “Not just because of your skills in the field, but because of who you are. Your courage, your kindness…your ability to make me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of.”

You stared at him, your heart in your throat. “Damian…”

“I thought I could keep my feelings hidden,” he continued, his gaze locking onto yours. “But hearing you say that…there’s no point in pretending anymore.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to speak. Then, without thinking, you reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together.

“You could’ve just told me, you know,” you said, a small smile breaking through your shock. “Would’ve saved us both a lot of trouble.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Perhaps. But I suppose it worked out in the end.”

“Yeah,” you said, your smile widening. “I guess it did.”

And as the two of you sat there, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, you couldn’t help but feel like this was the beginning of a new chapter—one you couldn’t wait to write together.

Damian’s phone buzzed just as you were settling into the quiet comfort of the evening. He frowned as he pulled it out of his pocket, his usual sharp focus returning as he read the message.

“What is it?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Father,” Damian replied, his lips thinning. “He’s calling me back to the Batcave. Says it’s urgent.”

You frowned slightly. “Well, I guess that’s the end of the night, huh?”

Damian hesitated, his brows furrowing. “He also said…” He glanced at you, looking almost unsure for a moment. “…that you should come along.”

Your eyes widened. “Me? He wants me in the Batcave?”

He gave a curt nod. “Apparently, he deems you…worthy of the invitation.” His lips quirked into a small smirk. “Or he just wants to make sure I’m not distracted while I train.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “Well, I’ll take what I can get. Lead the way, Wayne.”

The trip to Wayne Manor was quick, though you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves as Damian guided you through the winding halls and down to the hidden entrance of the Batcave.

When the elevator doors slid open, the massive, sprawling cavern came into view. The iconic Batcomputer glowed in the distance, surrounded by a dizzying array of gadgets, vehicles, and training equipment.

“Wow,” you breathed, your eyes wide as you took it all in.

Damian watched you with a faint smile, his arms crossed. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

“‘Impressive’ doesn’t even cover it,” you replied, turning to face him. “You really live like this?”

He shrugged, as if the grandeur of the Batcave was no big deal. “It’s home.”

Before you could respond, Bruce’s voice echoed from the far side of the cave.

“Damian. Y/N.”

You turned to see the man himself standing near the training area, his imposing presence impossible to ignore. Dressed in his full Batman gear, he looked every bit the legend you’d always heard about.

“Father,” Damian greeted, his tone formal as he approached.

Bruce nodded, his gaze flickering to you briefly. “Y/N. I thought it might be beneficial for you to train with Damian tonight.”

You blinked in surprise. “Uh, sure. I mean—yeah. Sounds good.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Is this another test?”

Bruce’s expression remained unreadable. “Consider it preparation. You two are partners in the field, after all. You should be able to work together seamlessly.”

Damian’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. “Very well.”

The training started off straightforward enough. You and Damian sparred in one of the padded areas, working through a series of drills Bruce had assigned.

“You’re leaving your right side open,” Damian noted as he dodged one of your punches.

“Thanks for the tip, Mr. Perfect,” you shot back, smirking.

“Focus,” he replied, his tone sharp but not unkind.

Despite his critiques, you found yourself enjoying the session. Damian was a natural teacher, his instructions precise but not condescending. You could see why Bruce relied on him so heavily in the field.

“You’re improving,” Damian admitted after a particularly close exchange.

“Is that a compliment?” you teased, grinning as you caught your breath.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he replied, though the faint smile on his face betrayed him.

Just as you were starting to feel like you’d found your rhythm, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cave.

“Hey, is the Batcave hosting open training now?”

You turned to see Dick Grayson strolling in, his usual charm radiating off him like sunlight. Dressed in his Nightwing gear, he looked every bit the playful counterbalance to Bruce’s stoicism.

“Grayson,” Damian said, his voice laced with irritation.

“Relax, little D,” Dick said with a grin, sauntering over. “I’m just here to check out the action.” His gaze flicked to you, and he gave you a friendly wink. “Good to see you, Y/N.”

“Uh, hey, Dick,” you replied, smiling awkwardly.

As you turned back to Damian, Dick moved closer, leaning in to whisper something to his younger brother.

“Having fun with your crush?”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly, and before he could respond, Dick nudged him lightly—just enough to throw off his balance as you lunged toward him in the next drill.

“Damian, watch—!”

The next thing you knew, Damian tripped, and the two of you collided in a tangle of limbs, landing on the mat with a loud thud.

Unfortunately, the position you ended up in couldn’t have been worse. You were sprawled on top of him, your face inches from his, your hands braced awkwardly against his chest.

“Uh…” you stammered, your cheeks blazing. “Damian, I—”

“Grayson,” Damian growled, his face an uncharacteristic shade of red.

“Whoops,” Dick said, clearly holding back laughter. “My bad.”

Before you could scramble to your feet, another voice cut through the cave like a knife.

“What is going on here?”

You froze, looking up to see Bruce standing nearby, his expression as stoic as ever but with a definite edge of disapproval.

Damian immediately pushed you off and stood, his usual composure returning in an instant. “It was an accident, Father.”

Bruce’s gaze shifted between the two of you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I see.”

You got to your feet, brushing yourself off as you tried to will your blush away. “Sorry, Mr. Wayne. We were just…uh, sparring.”

“Clearly,” Bruce said, his tone dry.

Dick, meanwhile, was leaning against a nearby pillar, barely containing his laughter. “Man, this is priceless. You two should’ve seen your faces.”

Damian shot him a withering glare. “Leave. Now.”

“Alright, alright,” Dick said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll go. But seriously, you’re welcome for the assist.”

As Dick disappeared into the shadows, Bruce gave a slight shake of his head. “Focus on your training. Both of you.”

“Yes, Father,” Damian said, his tone clipped.

You nodded quickly. “Of course.”

As you and Damian resumed your drills, the tension in the air was palpable. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you, his expression unreadable.

When the session finally ended, Bruce dismissed you with a nod. “Good work tonight. Y/N, you’re making progress.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling a small swell of pride.

As you headed toward the elevator with Damian, the silence between you grew heavier. Finally, as the doors closed, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay, that was mortifying,” you said, breaking the silence.

Damian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Grayson is insufferable.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, but admit it—it was kind of funny.”

He shot you a look, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “It was not.”

“Sure, sure,” you said, smirking. “But hey, at least we survived Bruce’s death glare.”

“Barely,” Damian muttered, though his tone was lighter now.

As the elevator doors opened and the cool night air greeted you, you glanced at him, your earlier embarrassment fading.

“Thanks for letting me tag along tonight,” you said. “Even if it ended in disaster.”

He looked at you, his expression softening. “It wasn’t a disaster. And…I didn’t mind having you there.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you smiled. “Well, in that case, maybe we should make it a regular thing.”

He smirked, the usual confidence returning to his gaze. “We’ll see.”

And as the two of you stepped into the night, you couldn’t help but feel that, awkward moments and all, you were exactly where you were meant to be—with Damian Wayne by your side.

The ride back to your place was quieter than you expected, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Damian seemed to be lost in thought, his gaze fixed out the window as the city lights streaked past. You wanted to ask him what was on his mind but decided to give him space.

When the car pulled up in front of your house, Damian stepped out and opened the door for you—a small gesture that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said as you stepped out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Damian nodded, his usual stoic demeanor intact. But as you turned to unlock the door, his voice stopped you.

“Y/N.”

You glanced back at him, surprised by the hesitance in his tone. “Yeah?”

He shifted slightly, his hands tucked into his pockets. “About what happened earlier…with Grayson.”

You felt a blush creeping up your neck. “Oh, uh…we don’t have to talk about that. Seriously, it was no big deal—”

“It was a big deal,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not harsh. “To me, at least.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Damian, I—”

He took a step closer, his green eyes locking onto yours. “I didn’t mean for you to get caught in that kind of situation, especially not in front of my father. But…” He paused, his gaze softening. “I also didn’t mind being close to you.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as his words sank in. “Oh.”

“Grayson’s interference aside,” Damian continued, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “I’d like to think that moment was…not entirely unpleasant.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your nervousness melting away. “Not entirely unpleasant, huh? That’s probably the closest thing to a compliment I’m getting from you, isn’t it?”

He smirked, his confidence returning. “Don’t get used to it.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the tension from earlier replaced by a quiet warmth. Finally, you broke the silence.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked, your voice softer now. “I mean, we could hang out for a bit. If you’re not in a hurry to get home.”

Damian considered this for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

Inside, the atmosphere was much lighter. You led Damian to the living room, where the two of you collapsed onto the couch.

“Okay,” you said, grabbing the remote. “After all that training, I think we’ve earned a break. Movie night?”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “As long as it’s not another horror film.”

You smirked. “Still scared of jump scares, huh?”

“Tt. I’m not scared,” he retorted, crossing his arms.

“Sure you’re not,” you teased, scrolling through the options. “Alright, how about something classic? Action, adventure, maybe a little comedy?”

“That’s acceptable,” he said, settling into the couch.

As the movie started, you couldn’t help but glance at Damian out of the corner of your eye. He looked more relaxed than usual, the weight of the Wayne legacy temporarily lifted from his shoulders.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him gently. “Thanks for tonight. For, you know, letting me be part of your world.”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “You’ve always been part of my world, Y/N. I just hadn’t realized how important you are to it until now.”

Your breath caught at his words, and for a moment, you forgot about the movie entirely.

“Damian…”

Before you could say anything else, he reached out, taking your hand in his. The gesture was simple, but it spoke volumes.

“Let’s just enjoy this,” he said quietly, his gaze steady.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “Okay.”

And as the two of you sat there, the glow of the screen washing over you, you couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something extraordinary—something worth fighting for, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡tasty confessions 🥮

you've ordered: a vanilla gingerbread tart! enjoy!

"this is falling, falling in love"

leona kingscholar x reader | word count: 1,418 words

summary: holiday confession gone wrong...and right? 🥮

warnings: none!

note: i don't celebrate christmas, so in the fic, i didn't specify the holiday (used "holiday season" instead)

"trey, a little help here?" you yelled, attempting to carry two trays of tart shells out of the oven.

"ah, coming! you've gotta be careful, y/n." the green haired boy reminded you, rushing over and taking one of the trays.

the cozy holiday season had settled upon night raven college rather nicely. decorations were put up and plans for celebration were in full swing. and you intended to make this one extra special.

you'd decided to bake tarts for your friends in the various dorms and even a few for the night raven staff. as you filled the shells with various creams and custards, trey helped you out, offering up his baking expertise when you were caught in the weeds about how to do this.

as you now cut up various fruits and other sweets for decoration, the door to the kitchen opened and in walked cater, holding grim in his arms.

"i couldn't get him to stop. he somehow smelled your tarts from down the hall." cater said, seeming like he'd put in a lot of effort in trying to stop the cat-like creature.

"hey, you better save some for me, henchman!" grim exclaimed, hopping out of cater's arms and onto the counter.

"don't worry grim. after i'm done, i'll make you all the tuna tarts you want." you smiled, scratching under his chin.

"hey y/n, why are these tarts different than all the others?" cater questioned, pointing to a small batch of tarts that were obviously different from the others.

your cheeks colored a bit upon being questioned, your hand almost dropping the spoon you held.

"those are...for leona." you admitted, cater letting out an excited "ooh!"

it was no secret that you had a crush on leona. the lion beastman had caught your attention the first day you'd arrived. you used to think he was lazy and rude, but after being around him for a while, your outlook changed. and so did your feelings.

"i plan on writing a note to him in which i confess my feelings and...putting in in his tart bag..." you murmured, your cheeks warming up in embarrassment.

"confessing to him with tarts? how cute." trey quipped, placing a tray of finished tarts into the fridge to chill.

"yeah, i just hope it goes well..."

"oh trust me, i'm sure he likes you too. leona isn't keen on putting up with people just like that." cater said, swiping a bit of cream onto his finger and tasting it.

"cater!" you scolded, rushing to grab grim before he dunked his whole head in the bowl.

"alright, alright! enough fun. i've gotta get back to baking." you playfully grumbled, shooing them out.

a day had passed since you cooked up your delicious sweet treats. each person had 5 tarts, all in a clear bag with a colored ribbon on top. you went around to each dorm handing out the tasty tarts and to your surprise, everyone loved them!

you finally stopped in front of your final destination: the savanaclaw dorms. you clutched the basket in your hands, glancing down at it to do one last check. one for ruggie, one for jack, and obviously one for....?! you then realized you were short one bag...and it was the most important bag of all. just where was leona's bag??

in haste, you quickly scrambled back over to heartslabyul, ignoring a nagging riddle as you barged into the kitchen. you looked everywhere, every nook and cranny. absolutely nothing.

you grabbed your phone, calling trey.

"hey trey. have you seen the tarts i made for...you know who?" you asked, praying that he knew something.

"no, sorry y/n. the last i saw of them was when i left last night, and they were still in your basket. did something happen?" he asked, seeming concerned.

"uh, you know what? don't worry about it. thanks trey." you said before hanging up.

it wasn't like the tarts had grown legs and ran away! you didn't have time for this. and you definitely didn't have the time to make new tarts. you asked across the dorms (except savanaclaw) if they'd seen the tarts, to which everyone responded no. what were you going to do?

as you paced around the hallway, someone called out your name. turning, you were met by ruggie, a member of savanaclaw. upon seeing your panic, ruggie made his way over to you, tail flicking.

"y/n, what's wrong? you look more stressed than leona when he can't get his favorite sandwich." he asked.

you let out a sigh of defeat, leaning against the wall. "i made tarts for everyone to celebrate the holidays. i also made...special tarts for leona. i was going to tell him how i feel today, but...i can't find his damn tarts!" you groaned.

"well, what did they look like?" ruggie asked.

"they were in a clear bag like everyone else's. but his had a yellow and black ribbon on it, whereas the ones for you and jack were just yellow." you could already see the guilt on ruggie's face.

"spit it out."

"i may or may not have found said package of tarts...and given them to leona-" ruggie mumbled, visibly sweat-dropping.

your mouth fell open in horror as you realized the situation you were in. leona...had already gotten your tarts!

"ruggie, where is leona right now?" you asked urgently, shoving the basket into his arms.

"oof! uhhh...i think he's in the botanical garden. that's where i gave it to him."

you made a mad dash down the hall, bursting into the garden. your eyes frantically looked around, spotting a tail in the corner of your eye.

when you got closer, your stomach dropped as you saw leona, already breaking into the sweet treats.

"need something, herbivore?" the beastman asked, his tail flicking.

you swallowed, taking a breath before walking over and snatching up the note.

"you didn't read this, right?" you asked, leona smirking as he licked cream off of the corner of his lips.

"and what if i did?" he challenged, your heart dropping.

"h-how much did you-?" "all of it."

the note fell from your hands, your heart aching as you looked leona in the eyes. damn...this was embarrassing.

as you tried to keep yourself from panicking, you stepped closer to him, kneeling down to his level. "so...how do you feel about what you read?"

leona let out a soft "hm", as if he were thinking of the perfect response. "come a little closer." he said.

you shuffled a bit closer to him, mumbling a soft "yeah?" as you did. the lion man just smirked, beckoning you closer.

"come on herbivore, get closer. just a little. and close your eyes."

you moved closer till you were practically touching noses with leona, your eyes fluttering shut. you felt like your heart would leap out of your chest at any given moment.

thwack! you pulled back, your eyes opening in surprise. leona had just flicked you in the forehead!

"what the hell, leona?" you exclaimed, your hand flying up to caress the spot he'd flicked.

"you really are dense." "what-"

leona leaned in a bit closer this time, his breath tickling your cheek. "you think i ate your tarts out of pity? if i didn't want 'em, i could've easily given 'em away. seems i've taken...a liking to you, herbivore."

you froze right there, on the spot. you couldn't believe what you were hearing. THE leona kingscholar just confessed to YOU. you didn't have time to think before leona captured your chin between his thumb and index finger, his emerald green eyes locking with yours.

"hm, you still don't seem very convinced." before you could even think...leona's lips were on yours.

the kiss was soft and warm and made you feel all fuzzy inside. you slowly eased into it, your hands coming up to cup his face as a warmth flowed through your body.

when it was over, you nodded your head, a slight flush on your cheeks. "yeah...i get it now..."

leona let out an amused chuckle, pulling you down to lay with him, a soft yelp leaving you.

"don't you usually sleep alone?" you mumbled, your face warming up.

"you owe me. all your tarts made me sleepy. your punishment is to lay with me and not move a muscle."

you laughed a little, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind his ear. "should be easy enough."

and just like that, your holiday was one to remember.🥮

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[notbojack]

Random hcs with the Lin kuei bros bc why not (gifs not from me)

Bi han

*giggling*

Anyway

His side eyes are absolutely criminal btw

When he's in a situation where he can't express his frustration, you can be sure he will send them a side eye

Yk cats when they clearly are judging you? Yeah that's him

Speaking of animals, I think if anyone retrieved some animal to the Lin kuei (cat, dog etc) he'd clearly express his disapproval bc it's a distraction or some shit

Yet he ends up being the one to take care of them (like dads with the pet they didn't want LOL that's him)

Bi han reminds me of a freaking cat so I decided he was one

A very grouchy cat that has ice daggers instead of claws-

I think he reminds me of this animal bc they can be very rude and insolent even to the people they love (saw it on tiktok srry I had to)

He was raised like that, to be tough. And though that succeeded, it still left a mark

He never really asks for help for anything even when he needs it bc he's too ashamed to admit he does need help sometimes

Kuai liang

Sigh

*tweak*

He was very obviously a daddy's boy btw just saying. It's already evident enough in the interactions so that is out of the way

But I think he really had a lot of admiration for bi han when they were kids

I saw somewhere that little siblings see their big siblings as like their second parent. I think that def happened with them

Notice how I said he HAD admiration

I think they grew apart slowly with time but it might be also bc of their mom's death that possibly made bi han even colder

He's rather similar to bi han

Haven't anyone noticed how he looks at others?? Like bro is really eyeing them down like losers lol

I think that's just how the Lin kuei raise people at this point

NOBODY is letting him cook after that one time he tried and burned down the entire kitchen

His brothers are always there to remind him randomly

"Hey can you pass me the pepper" "no I don't want you to burn down the kitchen again"

Actual interaction with his brothers btw

Still he's quite literally a heater so if you're cold yk what to do

He hates winter AND summer. He's a subtle hater of these two season (he's not)

Tomas vrbada

Oil up 😘

I'm playing (I'm not) 🤭

I think he's a humble man BUT he's a little shit

He will probably tease before fighting btw

He's mischievous as fuck. I think it's coming from being a hunter or something cuz they play with their preys or whatever

He was def playing cheeky pranks as a kid

It's why he learned his smoke abilities. He had to run FAST to not get caught after a prank (he runs really fast now bc of that) so it was easier to just disappear

That and bc bro was on the trenches in the household

I can see the Lin kuei bros "play fighting" with each other

What a gentle word to say it was a literal mortal kombat (srry I had to-)

I think he too kinda struggles to ask for help, though not as much as his brothers

He's more open minded than his brothers so I can see him acc going to see the mortal kombat movie Johnny produced

I think he's pretty interested in earthrealmers customs. He barely saw any cuz he was with the Lin kuei practically all his life so he wonders how it's like sometimes

Anyway end of my yap session. I got inspired from some mk posts. Mk fans WHERE TF ARE YOU

[sambartika]

UNLIKELY FASCINATION

PART III: "Forever and Ever"

It was Sunday—the laziest day of the week. Waking up at 9, I strolled past my front balcony, heading straight to the kitchen for breakfast. Then, I opened my computer to work on my project.

The clock struck twelve. As I prepared for a bath, I felt something queer. Did I forget to do something? I wondered while opening the door to the balcony.

"Oops! How could I forget this?" I mumbled.

I placed the bananas on the cupboard behind which the civet stayed.

Yes, it has been quite a few years. It grew older, and I grew up.

I really grew up. Actually, that’s misleading. Nothing much changed about me—I just became mature enough to realize what reality is. I grew from a child eager to make friends, to a teenager traumatized by friendship, to a mature person afraid to make friends.

Have any of you ever experienced living in an environment, studying in a school with your agemates, and realizing that no one—absolutely no one—thinks like you? No one understands your sense of "friendship." No one understands your definition of "loyalty." No one understands your idea of "happiness." At that point, you may feel you are innocent. And yes, I admit I was innocent, and I want to remain unchanged for my entire life.

Sometimes you will be framed. And then you may call yourself a fool, but you are not. You are just not experienced enough to understand who deserves your friendship. Friendship requires trust. Trust demands loyalty, and—

LOYALTY is an EXPENSIVE thing that you cannot expect from CHEAP people.

Hence, now I’m afraid—maybe I won’t be able to distinguish the rich from the cheap. It requires skill to distinguish a diamond from moissanite. It requires even more skill to identify a rich heart from rich apparel.

Hence, now, I am truly petrified—of friendship... with narcissists.

But don’t think I’m devoid of friendship. I do have friends, and I’m genuinely happy with them.

I’m proud to say that I’m an animal lover. I love all animals. To me, they are my best friends. Whenever I see them, I feel an eternal, inseparable bond existing between us—something rare, beyond profit, beyond ulterior motives, beyond any conditions—so natural, so resolute.

As I was placing the civet’s food, it came out, only to stare at me for a few obsessed moments. Earlier, it was introverted—it restrained itself from appearing in front of me, yet secretly watched me. That’s hypocrisy, though. But I loved how it changed. Seeing its change, I asked:

"It has been so many years, and still you haven’t answered me."

It looked at me cluelessly.

"What? Did you ever answer me whether you want to be my friend or not?"

It picked up its food and took a bite.

I smirked and walked away.

At this point, both of us knew the answer to the question. I reminisced about our sweet memories—the time when our eyes first met, that dining table incident which still gives me goosebumps, and how I developed an unlikely fascination for a civet cat, a wild, supposedly nasty species, even though I hated cats.

Oh, there’s something I must tell you all. Civet cats are not cats. Yes, the scientific name of the house cat is Felis catus. Thus, all cats are generally part of the Felis genus, although their species may differ, like Felis chaus (Jungle cat) or Felis bieti (Chinese Mountain cat). But civets are not one of them. Civets belong to the family Viverridae, and they don’t form a monophyletic group.

In West Bengal, we generally find Paradoxurus hermaphroditus (Common Palm Civet) or Viverricula indica (Small Indian Civet). And believe me, I found this out on the last day of my Class 10 board exams—coincidentally, the day I studied biology for the final time for exam—since I pursued Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics, and Computer Science as my main subjects in Class 11.

So my fascination wasn’t that unlikely, as it’s really not a cat. I know it may sound melodramatic and cheesy; it may even resemble a mistaken identity plot. It might seem like an attempt to romanticize the idea—love is all perfect and ideal—even though the shape of Earth isn’t—but for God’s sake, believe me, I didn’t make it up for the story. It’s damn true.

Anyway, aren’t you eager to know the answer to the question from earlier? Well, it was—

“Forever and Ever.”

[l3irdl3rain]

Ambushed by the creature who lives behind the door!!!!

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

this is a tiny pet peeve but i think its kinda odd that people seem to like. forget, or maybe just neglect to take into account, that yellow, for whatever reason (whether he's an alt universe john or a fresh piece of this universe's KIY that kayne went and ripped off) has ALSO been trapped in the dark world prior to being with arthur and has exactly as many Feelings about it. this is a very load bearing character trait imo

[uncanny-tranny]

One thing I find weird about visibly transitioning is realizing that while you as a human haven't changed in regards to personality or what have you, people's perception of you has, and sometimes that means you'll be treated differently.

I've noticed that as I become more "visibly" male to people, they are much more willing to say that I am "aggressive". Oftentimes, I'm not even doing anything out of the ordinary, I'm acting like I always have, and to be honest, people don't say how I'm being aggressive. It's really jarring because I haven't changed - my personality is the same. But I think what has changed is the fact that I am read as male doing the things I always have, so I'm treated with that lack of nuance.

I bring this up because it's an aspect of transition that can be very difficult, and even dangerous. I wonder, if I'm being seen this way, how are other trans people being seen? These things are important to consider because it can compromise our safety

[ode2rin]

new boyfriend rin would never ever, under any circumstance, admit that he likes the pet names you call him. well… unless you would stop doing it. (also me pushing the bffs to lovers pipeline)

You must be upset with him, Rin is convinced so. It’s the only logical and sensible explanation behind this unusual behavior. 

And he's going mad about it. Itoshi Rin is going mad any second now if he can't get to the bottom of this, he’s certainly convinced.

Every instinct screamed that your recent behavior was a reaction to something he'd done, but what? Was it the late replies to your text messages? No, you knew he was at practice and you told him you didn’t mind. Was it about the souvenir he brought back home to you from Paris? Sure, you teased him about its impracticality, but nothing that warranted this icy distance.

Or maybe it was something he said now? It must be, right? Everything boils down to his reckless poor choice of words, he supposes.

Slowly, Rin approached you by the couch you’re seated in. With your attention preoccupied by the selection of shows you’re browsing, you settled on looking at him briefly through your peripheral vision. Amused by how he’s slightly tiptoeing around, you let out a half-suppressed laugh to yourself. 

He looks like a cat sometimes, you thought from the sight. And acts like one too. Like a big black cat who would hiss at you if you looked at him funny, or one that would bite your hand if you stopped petting him to sleep. Funny how Rin could be like that too.

The moment Rin settles into the plush comfort of the couch, he gazes at you through lowered lashes, trying to read the play of emotions on your face, if there’s any. 

There’s nothing worth noting, and he doesn’t know if that should assure or bother him.

“Are we… alright?” he drawled.

What the fuck. He did not just sound like that. 

He did not just ask that and sounded like an anxious pathetic wet cat who just had a new home waiting for its owner’s permission over anything (highly specific because he’s a bit dramatic). Just what kind of loser have you reduced him into, really.

Oblivious of the internal turmoil in Rin’s mind, you turn to him, “Hmm? Yeah? Why’d you ask?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. It’s enough that he already humiliated himself for the way he asked if the two of you were cool— doing it again by exposing himself that he thinks you’re mad plainly because he hadn’t heard you call him a pet name (like you always do) would be mortification in its final form.

“Okay, Rin.”

That’s it. This needs to end. Forget humiliation. He would rather choose to feel pathetic over any day than continue with this charade.

“Are you mad at me?” 

“Why would you think that?” you asked back instantly, shocked and extremely confused because of your boyfriend’s question. You’re literally just looking for a movie the two of you can watch— how is that any indication of being mad at him?

“Just answer the question,” he fumed, impatience settling on the furrow of his brows.

You said in the beginning of your relationship that you didn’t appreciate the silent treatment and guessing games, so don’t you think it’s hypocritical of you to do the same to him? (You’re not, but he just doesn’t know that.)

“I’m not mad at you, Rin.”

“You so are!” 

“I am not! But you, yelling and instigating it are making me right now!” you countered, voice hinted with irritation, “What is your problem, Rin?”

There it is again. Rin rose from the couch to face your sitting form, as if standing would better prove his point. “See? You’re calling me Rin!” he blurted.

“Well, maybe because it’s your name?!”

“Not to you, it’s not!”

A beat of surprised silence. Until your lips grew to such a wide smile that made Rin physically feel his heart melting. 

Yet, in Rin’s true fashion, he’ll never let you know how much air you knock out of him because of your beaming smile. Instead, he’ll say something along the snarky lines of, “Stop smiling like that.”

“Did my big bad grumpy Rinnie here thought we’re on a fight because I hadn’t call him baby?” you ask, purposely stressing out the words to disarm him more.

With a feigned exasperation, he comments, “I forgot how annoying you are.” 

“And I forgot how childish you can get sometimes,” you countered.

“I’m not childish.”

“You don’t mind me calling you Rin then?”

Rin rolled his eyes at you, but you know better than to put meaning to it. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you. With a swift tug, Rin pulled you closer, closing the distance between you effortlessly. His arm found its way around your waist, drawing you snugly against his chest.

“But I don’t see why you need to…” Maybe he could be a bit childish.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” you shyly muttered, drawing shapes in his arm. “The pet names, I mean,” you clarified, sensing the confused look he’s probably giving you behind.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He is baby. He is Rinnie. Fucking hell, that’s so loser of him to even voice it out in his own mind. 

“What? You call me by my name!” you defensively pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like your nicknames of me,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.

The pet names— they were more than what they served. It was important to him more than what he would admit. 

They were a secret language, a way you marked him as yours. A reminder that he wasn't just Rin anymore— just your friend.

He was now something more, something special.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Besides… I love your name,” he whispered, his voice velvet against your hair.

It’s tender— no, it makes him tender. Saying your name has been the softest, kindest, and most tender way he’s used his words for. 

Maybe it’s a little pathetic, feeling this undone by a name. But then it’s you. 

It was your name— a name he could whisper with adoration, a name that belonged only to him to claim. 

You melt to his words, leaning deeper into his chest. A contented sigh escaped your lips, the sound swallowed by the warmth of his embrace.

Looking up at him, your eyes held a softness he often found himself getting lost in, “I love your name too, but I also like calling you pet names. Is it okay?”

“Whatever you decide.” He’s yours, either way.

note. this is basically rin being "my nameeee is whatever you decideeeee and i'm just gonna call you mineeee i'm insane but i'm your baby!!!!" yeah that song basically.

[cordidy]

Just needed to get this out of my head after Sylus's Myth so i hope you like it :)

TW : drunk MC, fluff, it's sad I guess ? No proof read cause i'm a savage, english is not my mother tongue

“......tail ?” 

“What did you just say kitten ?” Sylus asked, gently patting the back on your thigh while steadying you on his shoulder as you exited the elevator together, .

At first he had been quite surprised to receive your call.

Even more so when you bluntly asked him if he would be ok playing bodyguard and keep an eye on you while you indulged in a night of carefree debauchery at the club but hey, who was he to judge ? 

Besides, if you felt safe enough to be in such a vulnerable state around him, going as far as trusting him with your safety and your apartment key to make sure you would make it back safe and sound, he was not going to complain.

“I….I said…ooooh that spins…do…do you ever miss your tail ?” you repeated, your voice tired and slurred, words barely comprehensive despite your best effort.

Sylus couldn’t help the chuckle that came as you poked his lower back through his jacket.

You really were wasted…

But you had a good reason !

Your week has been shitty as hell.

Your nights were even worse lately, barely getting a couple hours of sleep only to wake up either with a sore throat, screaming or crying at something you could not recall.

And, on top of that, you were off duty as Zayne decided you needed a break and refused to sign your abilitation.

“Come on Zayne, look, I’m fiiiiiiiiine” you tried to convince him with a huge smile and so much concealer on your face you could open your own makeup shop.

“As your physician I cannot let you go on field with such results” he retorted not even looking away from your chart “You should be dead with such a high blood pressure”

“I’m a tough cookie !”

“And you’re going to have to stay in the jar until these get better. You’re not only a danger for yourself right now but also for your partner”

That was a low blow but he had a point.

Clearly, you needed a break, something to unplug your brain, something fun, a good night out to leave all your problems behind and get shitfaced to oblivion. What you did not need though was the unwanted attention a young woman alone at the club would probably get and, while you were very capable of handling those kinds of situations, you did not really want to have to be on the lookout constantly or end up in a cell for assault.

You tried Tara, back to her family for the Holidays.

Simone ? Night shift.

Xavier….doing God knew what God knew where….

So, with a heavy heart you picked up your phone and called your secret weapon…

“Not necessary,” Sylus finally answered in a calm, composed voice, as he opened your apartment door, being extra careful as to not bump you in the doorframe. Based on the current humming coming from you right now and your kicking feet, your head was already going to kill you tomorrow.

Better not add “commotion” to the list of your impending issues.

“To be honest, being half human half cat was quite annoying” he admitted, walking you toward your bedroom to tuck you into bed. “I don’t like not being in control of myself and beside, it was bad for business to be away from the N109 zone for so long...although…I kind of enjoyed having to hide here and spend time with you…” he added with his signature smirk, poking your side before tossing you onto the bed, making you giggle like an idiot as you plopped on your back. It was the first time you allowed him into your room and, although he did plan on being a gentleman despite what you could think of him when sober, he couldn’t help the loving smile on his face as he watched you mumble something about a potato bag while fighting with your plushies for room.

“I miss you tail” you retorted in your drunk voice, closing your eyes in hopes it would help with the dizziness while Sylus started to remove your shoes and socks.

“I quite remember you telling me how insufferable it was” the man said in a collected tone while making his way to the kitchen once he was done. 

“Yeah but it was sooooo pretty…I miss how you used it to grab me with it and…and toss me around ! That was funny !” you laughed, mimicking being tossed around like a ragdoll in the middle of your plushies as Sylus was coming back in your room, a glass of water in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks, a puzzled look on his face.

“I never use my cat tail to...toss you around” he corrected. His Evol, yeah, on a daily basis at some point actually, just to annoy you and enjoy those little lovely sounds coming from your mouth, threats mostly.

He had not been able to use it at all during the time those damn kittens from Hell had turned him into one of them though.

Your foggy brain did not hear him though and just kept mumbling in your drunken state, propping yourself on your elbows, trying to focus your gaze on him.

“You would think scales are cold and harsh…” you started, raising a finger to look all serious before falling back onto your pillow, not registering the look of surprise on his usually steady face.

“Kitten wh…” his voice was faltering as he looked at you getting all comfy like you had not just shaken his world upside down with your words.

“...but it was sooooo soft and sooooo warm…” you continued, grabbing your pillow to hold on tight as if you were looking for said warmth. 

Your voice was starting to fade as sleep was settling in.

“...felt safe when you wrapped it around me…I kept holding mine to sleep after…but…”

The glass in his hand fell to the ground, shattering as he froze in place, eyes wide open in shock. 

“…it was not…not the same…” you mumbled before losing consciousness, your body going limp against your pillow, before starting to snore.

______________________________________________________________ Pssssst, you liked it ? P2 is already up here :) https://www.tumblr.com/cordidy/770227784125677568/a-few-days-ago-i-wrote-this?source=share

[werecreature-addicted]

thank you for blessing us with that post with the deer hybrid that gets claimed by the mountain lion. it is truly rotting my brain and i love it. this big mountain lion fussing and worrying about them yet clueless to the fact they’re apprehensive of the one that whisked them away is just *chefs kiss* 😭😭😭

"Are you hurt?" he asks, his slitted eyes focused on you intensely.

"No, I-"

"you're trembling, why are you trembling?" he insists. you bite your lower lip. he's so close and so... intimidating. it's hard not to be a little nervous around your would-be mate, but you're scared to admit that, what if he took it the wrong way and attacked you.

"I'm a little nervous around predators," you admit finally. He nuzzles closer to you in a way that is supposed to be relaxing but only makes you freeze. he's rubbing his head against your neck and collarbone, right against your throat- if he wanted to he could sink those sharp teeth into your skin and crumple you in a second.

"They won't get to you, not while I'm here," he assures.

"you're a predator too," you point out, making him stop. he pulls back and considers it momentarily as if realizing for the first time that he is a mountain lion, a beast that eats little deer like you for breakfast.

"but... I'm not scary am I?" he asks. You don't say anything to that. and he crumples a little, before kneeling at your side nuzzling your hand, and purring loudly.

"wh- what are you doing?" you ask as he nuzzles at your hand like a house cat

"making myself less scary, until you get used to me."

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal

Sleep like the Dead (Inherited): Nothing wakes you anymore. Leona is as "selfish" as they come, and has no regard for your schedule. He doesn't feel remorse for soaking up your time in the slightest. Why should he? Other people do it for 90% of the day. Take a load off, the bags under your eyes are unsightly. If he doesn't want to wake up in the morning? You ain't either. It's a done deal. If the building isn't up in flames then don't bother asking. Evidently, prolonged and frequent daytime siestas take their toll on your circadian rhythm. You now need just as - if not more - sleep than Leona. Napping out in public and at the rowdy Savanaclaw Dorm bestowed upon you a disturbance immunity. Ramshackle could be in the middle of a raid and you wouldn't move. Not unless something singed your skin or really did some damage. It's become an actual problem. Crewel is considering a sleep study.

"Oi, herbivore...stop squirming so much. You almost crushed my tail. Hah? Class? You don't need it. Just borrow notes from one of those little friends or make the cat go....fine. Gimmie your homework later. I can teach you a thing or two. That is, if you can handle it." <- Grim can't be trusted on his own? Not Leona's problem. You're half of a student. Half. Not full. Half. There's your loophole now go back to sleep. Yap any more and he'll roll on top of you. Good luck talking with a mouth full of hair.

Perfume (Developed): This comes about in an awkward manner. Beastmen have keen smell. It's a given. Bada bing, bada boom, Leona knows your scent. He could point out the Ramshackle Prefect from a half-mile radius. Now he's never said your scent is unpleasant. Quite the contrary, although the lion would never admit it. The issue here is that your scent acts as a calling card, and Leona is clingy. So you ask Vil for the most popular perfume, potion, cologne - whatever - and start wearing it to mask your scent. At least enough so Leona's de-buffed to a one-fourth mile radius. It doesn't work entirely. No perfume is that strong. It's also an active assault on Leona's nose...but it had to be done. Side note - this was his plan all along. He isn't keen on non-human folk sniffing you out easily. Beastmen, most Mermen, and even select Fae have keen noses. Not that his own scent isn't a deterrent, but some masking perfume is worth the occasional nose-shank if it keeps snickering busybodies off your tail when he isn't around.

"Here. Take this and throw out whatever crap it is you've got on. You want me to say it flat? You reek." <- Take the scent masking balm he's giving and don't shop retail ever again. His nose hairs are literally burning off. The balm costs more than your entire dorm to make, but Leona won't ever admit it. You have an ultimatum. It's either this, or wearing one of his old vests around Savanaclaw. Now unless you want to be twinning with him and Ruggie, do the man a favor and comply.

Hair Ties (Developed): Bless his genetics for that wonderful, silky mane - but he needs to tame it. With how smothering Leona can be, you end up with a mouthful of hair at least twice a day. Man is tall, and he loves using his prefect as a leaning post. Which is cute but he sheds. So your arm is perpetually wrapped with hair-ties 24/7 like a cased sausage, because every time you give him one it disappears. It's on purpose, of course. He also snaps them whenever you aren't paying attention. Spiteful bas-

Biting (Inherited): Biting is a common display of affection in beastfolk culture. Not that Leona ever bothered to tell you this. His little nips (in no small amount) were usually passed off as punishments for being annoying. A lie, naturally. One could say it’s the human equivalent of cute aggression? Yet it has more meaning since it’s reserved for close connections such as family and lover. Although drawing blood or leaving a mark behind is reserved for the latter. You had to learn all this from a textbook, of course. No one in Savanaclaw was going to butt into Leona’s affairs, and Ruggie found your ignorance a funny game to taunt his Housewarden with. You were on your own, on a quest to save your skin. Literally.

Regardless, it’s Leona’s way of affection. Bonus points since he can do it without you knowing why. It’s only natural that you return the favor, playing along whenever he has to hold composure. Acting as if you don’t know and relishing in his micro- reactions. It’s only a matter of time before he figures you out, but it’s so nice to have the upper hand for once.

"That's for showin' up late. Don't like it? Not my problem...yawn if is' so bad, just take my bandanna...Why do you care if it's got Savana colors? Ya spend enough time 'round here, no one's gonna say anything." <- If it really bothered you, he'd stop. King of consent and of reading body language. Otherwise it's a go-go. Also if someone did have a problem with you sporting Savanaclaw colors? He doesn't need to kick their ass. Beastfolk got better hearing than most, and if one of his overhears you getting shit for wearing their dorm's colors then the classic night raven pride will pop out.

Habits He Steals:

Vegetables (Inherited): Leona sticks to meat, cheese, bread, and more meat. Bring on the steak. Bring on the beef. Bring on the deluxe cutlet sandwiches. Savanaclaw's kitchen is the most costly of all the dorms purely for how much Beastmen eat. If Ruggie can guzzle down seven plates in a sitting yet still look like a stick? Imagine a Lion's appetite. No one knows how you managed to get this guy to eat a salad like a true herbivore, but it's a cold day in the Savanaclaw dormitory when Leona's facing down a spinach side-salad on top of his lunch. Meanwhile you're happily munching away at the table, picking random veggies off your own plate to put on his. Each instance accompanied by an agitated twitch of his tale, but the lion's eerily silent. Dire Crowley is right. The Ramshackle Prefect is a Beast Tamer indeed...

"Now I know you didn't just pick at my plate, herbivore. Your luck's running thin...Oi. That's enough. I'll sooner eat one of your limbs than another turnip" <- he, in fact, did eat the turnip. The threat scared his underclassmen so much, that seeing you come around still in one piece the next day earned you a warrior's respect.

Correspondence (Developed): Leona's used to getting a sea of letters from ministers, attendants, and a particular little menace back at the palace. Unless it was an urgent message - he'd let the letters go unchecked after skimming them. Replying always took too much effort, and he'd rather not encourage unexpected visits like during the annual Magiift tournament. That is until you start receiving them as well. Nowhere near the amount Leona deals with - but he'd rather die than have his family telling you things without the ability to intercept. Falena blackmails him into responding to Cheka's letters, or else the little furball is going to use you as a penpal for writing practice. Side Note 2.0 - regardless of Leona's 'cooperative' ways, you still write to the mini lion in 'secret'. He knows but gave up caring.

"Another one? Just toss the damn thing. No - hmph. Give me that. I'll respond, just don't start up the lecture." <- You always manage to find the letters Cheka sends over before Leona can get to them. It clicks that you're a middle-man once they start showing up at Ramshackle instead of his dorm. Leona can't wait too long to respond, otherwise you'll start harping him over how cute the kid's handwriting is or whatever picture he drew. He lets you keep them. Cheka's got his own exhibit on the Ramshackle fridge.

Accommodating (Developed): Leona’s not necessarily a ‘verbal’ communicator, despite his smart mouth that always manages to get the last word. He will not openly lend his aid without a bit of pressing before hand - his pride would never allow it. Take the three days you and Grim stayed in his dorm as an example. Inevitably you earned the right to crash in his room, but there was a roundabout to get there. Mainly for show, since in Savanaclaw things are earned not given. You also weren’t close back then. He wouldn’t go easy on anyone, even if they’re from a different dorm or stranded homeless by some octopunks.

The tides change for you, and only for you. His morals are held high, and his ability to treat a partner well is no exception. There is no glory in being above your supposed equal. Everything is shared. This means Leona’s room is now your room, just as Ramshackle is now partly his. He’s clearing some of his closet out, filling it with your stuff, and doing the same back at your place. Doesn’t even ask and doesn’t give a damn that there are dozens of open rooms. It’s the principle. Sharing a space is letting someone see your most vulnerable being. Not that he’d think you could ever do any significant damage (lies) - but considering he doesn’t want anyone within a five foot radius during his leisure time, Leona giving you open access speaks volumes.

"Hah? So what? It's not like I'm forcin' them into it. Got a problem with how I act? Enlighten me." == Talk about nonchalont. Leona is well aware of the imprint he's left on you. He sees it in the way you talk. The way you think. Not just in the chess matches he makes you sit through over and over. Round after round until you can put him into check. You're confident. You're demanding. You're ripe potential that he got to first before anyone else. You chose him, and no amount of backtalk on your end outshines that you like him enough to mimic his ways. The Ramshackle Prefect’s presence isn't something people can overlook anymore, and Leona is damn proud that he's left a mark.

Habits You Steal:

Extreme Couponing/Haggling (Inherited): If you do not think Ruggie spends his Sunday mornings going through sales ads? You are sorely mistaken. This man is an absolute menace when it comes to hitting the market and squeezing a shop-keep for everything they are worth. Sam fears no creature in all of Twisted Wonderland aside from this particular hyena. Screw fighting blot - grab some popcorn and kick back to observe the game of verbal chess those two engage in every week. It's more entertaining than any battle or show. You will become Ruggie's apprentice. Ain't no partner of his going through life without the ability to haggle. Sam stands no chance.

“Ya get this week’s ad? Good. C’mon over and we’ll get the clippings going. I think I saw somethin’ about a buy-one get-two on those candies ya like. Maybe if your nice enough, I’ll shmooze Sam for a bonus!” <- Ruggie honestly enjoys having a coupon buddy. He makes a show about how you take too long, and that if you don’t wake up early then he won’t stick around! Can’t miss the sale, so he isn’t lying there. Except he does grab what you need on the off chance you do miss the meetup. Side note - he doesn’t just take an apprentice without ulterior motives. This is all in preparation for you to handle the slum markets. If you can’t fight off a few broke students, then you won’t last a day back home.

"Shishishishi" (Inherited): There is no escaping it. For the countless times you've poked fun at his little wheezy laugh - imagine the utter mortification when it came not from him! No no. From you. It's unconscious and in the moment you don't recognize anything wrong. You were only laughing over a won victory against Sam. That new lamp you wanted for your work-desk finally within reach, and 70% off no less! Said conman looks at you with eyes blown wide, because great seven there are two of them now. It takes a moment for self-awareness to hit, but you're too late. Two fuzzy-satellites atop a mop of shaggy blonde curls perk up, and your laugh from before echoes from the original culprit's mouth.

“I heard that! You’re doin’ it wrong. Gotta put more air, Shishishi~” <- Ruggie’s a taunting little turd on a good day. Be prepared. You won’t be living this down. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it? Next thing is to train ya in the art of sticky fingers - no? Ugh. Fine. Ya Goodie-Goodie.

Hands Up! (Inherited): Ruggie has a very unique way of standing. Hands behind his head, laced together to support his neck. One hip normally supports most of his weight, and he's always in a deep-slouch. Bro doesn’t need to cast ‘Laugh With Me’ for his movements to be mirrored, because you’re already following along without realizing. Leona finds the mimicry unsettling. Take that freaky shit out of his line of sight.

Habits He Steals:

Sharing Food (Developed): This is the inner hyena coming out. Just like in the slums, it's demanded to share amongst your own. He might be a sleaze to other people, but not to you. This also backfires into Ruggie thinking that what's yours is his as well - but that's not the point. He'll plop down next to you at dinner and wordlessly offer up half of his meal. You need more meat on those bones, he'll say if protested. In turn he'll then take half of your dessert. It's a sign of trust, instinctively believing that whatever's on your plate is safe to eat. Yet also shows that he's taken you as one of his - and that's a privilege no one at NRC has. No strings attached because everything you both have is shared. On a side note, you'll never be-rid of Ruggie once this comes to pass.

Shared Wardrobe (Developed): Again with the collective treasure hoard, but with a twist. Ruggie can essentially squeeze into most clothing or modify them to his needs. If it works, then it works. So he'll happily offer up any modified dregs he has for your usage, and in turn he will claim whatever clothes you aren't overly attached to. There is also the matter of scent, of course. Ruggie is the type of person to cut up one of your old pajama shirts and fashion arm-bands, making sure to have one knotted around his bicep at all times. You in turn are welcome to swipe his bandanna at your leisure in place of that tacky uniform tie.

“Hey…you seen my blaz - hah? Uh, nevermind. I’ll go grab somethin’ else. Where’d ya leave the heavier coat Gran sent over. Forget it, I’ll just go check myself” <- The first time you snag one of his oversized blazers or hoodies gets him. It gets him bad. Sharing with Leona was one thing but, c'mon. Warn a guy would ya? You're so lucky he's an opportunist on quick feet, so of course he’ll take the chance to steal something you wear often. Ruggie’s great at brushing off any taunts or quips. Being Leona’s right hand gets him stable back at Savanclaw, but that doesn’t take away years of being the underdog. Whether the other beastfolk stare at him openly brandishing your clothes means little, if anything, he enjoys it. Cause once again the underdog’s got a top prize.

Caffeine Addiction (Inherited): Ruggie spends more time and effort running around than most. His *hobby* is doing part-time work. Those overpriced sugar-loaded drinks never appealed to him because why waste money when powering through is just as effective? Or chugging some ice water? Yet you seemingly always have some sort of caffeine to make it through the hell NRC dishes out, and Ruggie being a mooch is always there to steal at least 1/3 of it. Now he’s trained and gets extremely sluggish around mid-day without a dose. It’s your fault if he falls off his broom during spelldrive practice.

"Wha'cha trying to say with that tone, huh? Think I'm not good enough? 's that it? There're way worse chumps to take after. Way I see it? They're learnin' how to make it in this world, sha ha ah! So thanks!...eh, why're you still here? Shoo already." == Considering rumors never have anything good to say about Ruggie's attitude, he's not dumb enough to take the little 'compliment' as genuine. More like as a backhanded sight towards your relationship. Rugs could care less about what those nobodies have to say. Not like they've got anything he's after, just some busybodies that scurry off with their tail between their legs when things get rough. Even if you catch word of it, Ruggie ain't going to get pissy because they're right. Everything they're saying is right, he is rubbing off on you. He is actively trying to. Life isn't a peach and it's not like he's strong enough to protect you from the hardships. It'll be a big laugh if you pull that righteous crap and try to defend his honor, though. Someone better get it on camera.

Habits You Steal:

Paternal Disappointment (Inherited): There was a time, a simpler time, a Jack-less time...when you were a fool. No. You are one to this day, but it is better tamed under Jack's strict aura of perpetual disappointment. Once on the side of being scolded with Ace and Deuce, you are now the one doing the scolding. You are not fun anymore. There is a stick shoved so far up your ass, and it's now part of your internal organ system. Ace dubs you a traitor, as does Grim. You've gone to the dark side in exchange for the morally sound wolfboy to offer cuddles and the occasional snack. I'm sorry to tell you this dear prefect but you've become....*gasp* the (mom/dad) friend.

“Boring? Who said you were boring?…don’t listen to those jerks. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. They’re just upset that they can’t get away with murder anymore - Uh, not t-that I was jealous or anything! Don't get the wrong idea! . Hmph.” <- Jack doesn’t take offense when others call him names, but he doesn’t like when you’re brought into it. At all. Especially because he used to be jealous how you, Ace, Grim and Deuce were more tight-knit than with any of the other first years. Like a pack. That behavior is childish, and Jack hates that he used to think that way. As if your attention was something he had to fight over. It's not like he wanted the same bond you shared with those three either, that's friendship and he wanted more. By being with you, Jack knew that it was going to put him on a different tier than the others. That's just what happens. Part of him feels guilty that you might be losing face because of him. His reputation isn’t bad, but he does have a resting angry face. Reassure him in turn and Jack will be over the moon. Any happier and his wagging tail can become a makeshift duster for the dorm (Were he on earth, he’d definitely get the nickname ‘tails’. After the sonic character, just to clarify)

Meal Prep (Inherited): This is actually an amazing influence and is wonderful for someone on a tight-schedule. You're not going to be eating high-protein meals every night, neither wasting away in an attempt to chug down pre-workout shakes. That's on Jack and Jack alone. Helping him prep meals is a nice touch and a pleasant evening spent together once a week. You don't become strict with it, but Jack does convince you to at least prepare some of your favorite dishes as snacks/emergency meals. He also constantly shoves energy water and vitamins in your bag. No more cup-noodle or scrap sandwiches on those nights you don't reach the mess hall on time. Now you have balanced meals, and get to flaunt matching containers with your boyfriend. Very cute. Everyone hates both of you.

"Uh...are all those stickers really necessary? I know we agreed on matching boxes but this is a bit...No! I'm not embarrassed! Gah, just keep it to a minimum. Nothing that falls off or sparkles." <- He is flustered beyond compare after every track meet. At first he barely bat an eye, thinking nothing of the orange bento box with chibi-cactus stickers and his name written in bold bubble lettering on top. You decorated it just for him, and if it meant you would carry around a spare meal then that's even more incentive. Yet the smell of fresh food attracts jocks after a meet like nothing else, and the teasing was relentless. It isn't enough to stop him from enjoying his meal, though.

Lint Roller (Developed): Leona sheds, but Jack? He is like owning six full-grown huskies. He apologizes profusely for the shedding, especially since the NRC uniforms are black. You run through lint rollers like Deuce runs through eggs. It isn't Jack's fault, but man. Ramshackle collects both dust and fur bunnies these days.

Habits He Steals:

Piggy-Back(Developed):Jack carries you everywhere. He's normally very patient but when there's a place to be? Well, he wants to get there on time. Jack has a strict bedtime at 10:00pm sharp and so his free hours are scarce. Do you want enough time to enjoy the lakeside as planned? If so, hop on his back so no time is wasted. Jack also pressures you to join him for morning and evening jogs. He refuses to give up his diligence, but also is acutely aware that there is little spare time he can afford you during the week. Either you have to keep up with him, or you're getting used as a makeshift weight and being hauled across campus. Relationships need quality time to grow and this is the perfect excuse to hog your attention for two hours every day. Not that he'd admit it, but the swish of his tail while you chat is enough to tell Jack's enjoying his runs much more than before.

"Are you comfortable? Just let me know if I'm going too quick. I'll try not to jostle you around too much...if you're tired then take a nap. I'll wake you when we're back home." <- He'd prefer if you didn't sleep. It messes with your circadian rhythm, but the whole point of this is to help you relax. Just knowing you're with him is enough to make Jack happy. Rain or shine, no excuses. If it's cold he'll let you use his hair to block out the chill, although he'd never let you out in anything less than the proper gear. Even if he joins Deuce or Vil on occasion - you're his favorite running partner.

Safety (Developed): Jack asks you to text him twice a day. Once in-between class, even though you’ll be spending lunch together, and once before bed at 9:30pm. The morning isn’t needed since he’s your alarm clock. He understands that as a prefect, you don’t have a curfew like the majority of students. Yet he is communicative with concerns about you being outside of Ramshackle late after dark. Even when you were just friends, hearing the story of when A-Deuce hauled you to that abandoned mine in the middle of the night? The blot monster and how close it came to you guys not making it? Magic or not, that would worry anyone with common sense. It doesn’t help that Ramshackle has no security beyond its resident ghosts.

"- and you just went with them? Because the headmaster told you to? Are you insane!?...No. You're right. What's done is done. Just...call me if something like that ever happens again." <- Thank the seven Jack's hair is already white.

Jack never thought he’d care this much about anyone. When your partner is a walking heart-attack, in the best way possible mind you, one just wants some piece of mind.

Covering Ears (Inherited): It's a natural response to cover your ears when frightened. Like when watching a scary movie and you don't want to hear what comes next. Jack covers his ears because they're sensitive, and loud noises can cause a migraine quicker than anything else. Especially when they're sudden. His hearing is more sensitive than most, being a wolf beastman. It's almost on par with Leona's. Yet his first instinct when there is a loud noise is to cover your ears instead of his. Even though you're human, the instinct to protect them takes over. It's also his way of being within arm's reach in case of a threat. You must be scared being in a new place. Jack will never let himself forget that. Nor how brave you are for continuing on regardless.

"What a relief...huh? Nah, I didn't say anything. Isn't there a test coming up in Alchemy next week? Want to hit the books together?" == The type to divert the topic as quick as possible, on the chance that he lets too much slip. Needless to say that Jack is relieved to hear that you're mimicking him on an unconscious level. It means that you trust him. That you respect him and see him as an equal. It's the biggest compliment Jack can ever ask for. If people are automatically associating you together, then it means he's done his job. You're part of his pack - and outsiders can recognize it at first glance. He'll do a good job at hiding how happy it made him, but expect that tail to wag at torpedo speed the next time he sees you.

[pathologicalreid]

caretaker | s.r.

in which you take care of your fiercely independent boyfriend after he gets shot in the knee

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: canon compliant injury, gun violence, alludes to spencer's past addiction, alternative pain relief, spencer's anthrax poisoning word count: 1.03k a/n: oh spencer reid who at certain points had to raise himself and never learned to let himself be cared for. i love you. this was a request <3. i hope you enjoy

A crash very rudely wakes you up, sharing the same level of poise as a cartoon cat while your heart very nearly bursts out of your chest, you jolt up from the cushions. Trying to catch your breath, you scramble on the couch and peer over the back of it, looking to the ground to find your boyfriend with a desolate look on his face, “What are you doing?”

Your eyes wander to his knee, secured with a complicated black brace, which he was supposed to be staying off of for the next week so that it could properly heal. “Lying on the floor,” he answers, staring blankly at the ceiling as he does.

Raising your eyebrows, you start to untangle yourself from the crocheted blanket you fell asleep with, “Why?”

Spencer sighs from his spot on the floor, “Felt like it,” he mumbles, bringing his arms up to cover his face.

“Did you fall?” You ask, getting off of the couch and crouching down next to him, noticing the way one of his crutches was twisted in the tassels of your area rug. Quietly, you pick both of his crutches off of the floor, resting them against the arm of the couch before reaching out and gently shaking his shoulder. “Do you wanna get up?”

All you receive in response is a groan, so you sit fully on the floor, maneuvering your hand around his arms so that you can smooth his hair back. “I want to walk,” Spencer complains, putting his arms down to his sides.

You frown at him, your ministrations on his head faltering, “Well, I can help you walk back to bed.” He insisted he was fine when you left him to go lay down on the couch, but obviously he had decided he needed something else.

“I want to walk alone,” he corrects himself, finally glancing over at you.

The tears in his eyes are enough to break through your cheery demeanor, “Oh, Spence.” You pout at him sympathetically, reaching out your arms to help pull him to a sitting position. “I’m sorry, baby,” you whisper, cupping his cheek in your hand.

He simply held no familiarity with being taken care of. Spencer was an independent being first. Once a caretaker, always a caretaker, but now, the roles were reversed, he simply couldn’t get around without your help. “I just wanted to do something on my own,” he admits mournfully, “I can’t even get a book without…” his voice trails off, “Did I wake you up?”

You shake your head quickly, “No.” The lie easily slides off of your tongue, saving him from the guilt of waking you up. Honestly, it was time for you to make your way to bed anyway. “Ready?” You ask him, eyeing him cautiously as he leans to the side in order to put all of his weight on his good leg.

Taking both of his hands in yours, you pull him gently to a standing position, helping him hobble over to the couch so he can lean on the back of it for support. “Thank you,” he mumbles bashfully, ducking his head so that his hair covers his face.

“Do you want some tea before bed?” You ask, skimming your palm up and down his upper arm. You had scoped out a tea that was used in herbal medicine, ordering a bunch of it off of a sketchy website to help Spencer try and manage his pain.

He foregoes a response, shaking his head, “I can make it.”

You smile softly at him, “I’ll make it, Spence. I know you don’t like it, but I really need you to rest.” You squeeze his upper arm comfortingly, “You got shot a week ago, please let me take care of you.”

He looks up at you, “I don’t want you to have to take care of me.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce, “but you owe me.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows in confusion, “I owe you? What do I owe you for?”

Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you tilt your head back slightly, “Letting me take care of you is the ‘My co-worker had to call my girlfriend on a seemingly random Tuesday afternoon to tell me I had been shot in the line of duty’ tax,” you inform him dutifully.

“Okay, yes, Garcia could have worded that phone call better,” he cedes, flicking some of his hair over his shoulder.

Looking at him in disbelief, you cock an eyebrow at him, “Yeah, it’s right on up there with the anthrax poisoning phone call. You’re already on thin ice with me,” you warn him, mostly meaning it in jest.

Each of these phone calls had sent you into such a tailspin that the BAU had to send someone to get you, and they weren’t experiences you were likely to forget. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, studying your expression with sad brown eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” you instruct him, “Just let me take care of you! You take care of me all the time—it’s only fair.”

He chuckles lightly at your comment on fairness, the sound enough to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter, “Okay,” he says, “Okay.”

Ducking your head and having him loop his arm around your neck, you beam up at him, “See how much easier things are when you agree with me?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, using you and the wall as support as the two of you make your way back to the bedroom, getting him down on the mattress with practiced dexterity. “I’m certainly seeing the benefits,” he says, smiling up at you as you sweep his hair behind his ears.

Leaning down, you press a tender kiss on his forehead before stepping away, “I’ll go turn on the kettle. What book were you trying to get? I can grab it and maybe you can read me to sleep tonight.”

“You want me to read you to sleep in Russian?” He asks after rattling off the title to you, a smile on his face even though you can’t see it.

You laugh from your spot in the kitchen, “God, yes. I can’t think of anything better.”

[checkeredflagggs]

Three Hearts Left

Pairing: max verstappen x fem!gamer!reader

summary: fans (and friends) are shocked when they find max is married and to who

a/n: I’m only a casual gamer so take it with a grain of salt

a/n 2: sorry it’s a really late - the weather hates me personally (it is actually September and doesn’t need to be 85* 😡) and it drained my creativity also I got hella sick so 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n 3: I know I use the name Twitter when talking about that site. I’ll stop deadnaming it when musk rat does too

a/n 4: still not feeling 100% but I wanted to get this out for max’s bday!!

catpawsgaming

Welcome to the CatTree with the paw prints 🐾 ! I’m just a cat 🐈 mom Lady™ who loves the gaming but not the camera 📷. I’ve been playing games all my life and have been streaming for 3 years — as a hobby, not a full time job. I love my 2 cats, my handsome man, and you 🫵 all my lovely fans. You most definitely make all this worthwhile so mwah mwah 💋💋 (video)

catpawsgaming

liked by user, user, user, and 6,583,455 others

catpawsgaming: here we go! Baldur’s Gate 3 has been highly highly requested — so I bought it! …yesterday and forgot about it cause curse of capitalism I still have my day job 😭 but away we go!

As always, if you didn’t manage to catch my livestream it’ll be on my page and I’ll be uploading it to my YouTube channel tomorrow! My YouTube will have the 3 usual versions (one unedited with my reactions, one with just the game play, and one with no sound at all but with closed captions)

Next stream date and game tbh announced but will probably be this Sunday with Animal Crossing (fingers crossed 🤞🤞 I finally get a good turnip price 😭😭 Daisy Mae hasn’t been kind to me lately…)

view all comments

user1: guuuurrrrrrrllll it’s about time you got bg3! We been waiting

↳ catpawsgaming: definitely worth the wait though! I had so much fun and it was so hard to stop for the night

↳ user2: for sure it was 🤣 your reactions to shadowheart and astarion were hilarious

↳ catpawsgaming: they clocked my type on point

user3: glad we convinced you to become a bard! You’ll rock it 💙

↳ catpawsgaming: ok but this the closest you will get me to actually performing so enjoy it while it lasts

↳ user3: not gonna sing along?

↳ catpawsgaming: 🤣🤣🤣 🫵 🤡

↳ catpawsgaming: absolutely not.

↳ catpawsgaming: also handsome just bust out laughing at the thought of me singing so…🙄🙄🙄 he’s lucky I love him

↳ handsome: I am very lucky liefje

↳ user3: ahhhh we were so close to her singing but also awwww cause handsome is here!!

handsome: liefje this was amazing

↳ catpawsgaming: thank you 🥰🥰

↳ catpawsgaming: but also you were laughing at me the entire night so…

↳ catpawsgaming: not sure how much I believe you

↳ handsome: well I didn’t say it was good…

↳ catpawsgaming: 🤨😒😔😢

↳ handsome: 🥰🥰🥰

user4: oh to have a man that will spend hours with you doing separate hobbies together…

↳ catpawsgaming: gotta admit it’s the dream

↳ handsome: you’re the dream liefje

↳ user4: ok there handsome, no need to get sappy here on MY comment thread

Private Messages

mv1updates

liked by user, user, user, and 2,833,736 others

mv1updates: Max was streaming today! Just a short one but highly entertaining. Jimmy (or Sassy? I’m honestly baffled and for the life of me can’t tell them apart 😢) caused a small disturbance in the middle of his stream then slept the rest away in Max’s lap 😍

view all comments

user5: that was sooooo adorable!! Love seeing more cat dad Max

↳ user6: same! And don’t feel bad admin - I can’t tell them apart either

user7: to be Jimmy…🥵

↳ user8: right? What I wouldn’t give to be sleeping away in his lap…

↳ user9: blessed be. His damn thighs man 😳

user10: ok but am I the only one that heard a female voice in the background?

↳ user11: I THOUGHT I WAS GOING INSANE?? Like there was definitely someone there

↳ user12: wait when?

↳ user10: when max turned the camera to show jimmy on top

Private Messages

catpawsgaming

liked by user, user, user, and 5,822,944 others

catpawsgaming: and Daisy Mae delivered this week! Sunday I got a price of 90 and today!! Selling price of turnips is 658 this evening!! Woohoo!

I've got my usual set up going to allow visitors to sell and I’ll be playing for about 4 or 5 hours so let’s make some cash today! I just ask you be respectful of my island.

As always, if you didn’t manage to catch my livestream it’ll be on my page and I’ll be uploading it to my YouTube channel tomorrow! My YouTube will have the 3 usual versions (one unedited with my reactions, one with just the game play, and one with no sound at all but with closed captions)

My week is looking pretty busy (a lot of traveling happening) so my next stream will probably be sometime next week and I’ll be playing Horizon: Zero Dawn! Its sequel will be coming out soon and I want to replay the first to refamiliarize myself with the game!

view all comments

user13: yeessssss! I’ve been holding out that someone would have some fantastic selling prices this week! New house upgrade here I come!

↳ user14: oh don’t I know it! It’s been a downward slump all week for me — the high was 105 😭😭

↳ user13: ouch 🤕

user15: did anyone else hear the cat meowing in the background!

↳ user16: yes! Catpaws has got a couple of cats — they’re almost never on stream (they don’t like staying in one place for long) but catpaws got them right before they started streaming!

↳ catpawsgaming: 2 of them! They’re my babies! 🐈🐈

↳ user15: awwwww 😍😍

user17: can I say something? Is this a safe place?

↳ user18: it is not but say it anyway

↳ user17: it totally looks like she’s got a wedding ring on in the beginning of this stream

↳ user18: nurse! She’s out again

↳ user19: no no no let her cook. I totally thought the same. It was literally just a glimpse but I swear that she had a ring on

↳ user17: thank you! I knew I wasn’t crazy

↳ user19: but! That does mean our catpaws is married!!!!!

↳ user17: 😱

↳ user18: 😱

↳ user19: 😱

↳ catpawsgaming: 😉

↳ handsome: 💙

↳ user17: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?

catpawsupdates

liked by user, user, user, and 3,126,918 others

catpawsupdates: we’ve had a couple of requests lately asking about catpawsgaming and her cats! These are the first and last photo we’ve gotten — she’s incredibly secretive about them so we don’t know if this is the same cat in both photos or if she has 2 bengals (peep also handsome in the first photo. Catpaws was laughing when she posted that photo cause she’s usually the passenger princess)

view all comments

user20: I LOVE THEM

↳ user21: same! Insert that meme. “I’ve only had them for a day but if anything happened to them I kill everyone else then myself”

↳ user22: extreme but agreeable.

user23: that’s sassy - I’d bet money on it

↳ user24: sassy? What? Who?

↳ user23: sassy verstappen! F1 world champion max verstappen’s cat

↳ user24: ummm? This is a page for a small time gamer catpawsgaming

↳ user23: listen. Torture couldn’t get me to admit how long I’ve spent staring at pictures and videos of jimmy and sassy. But that is absolutely sassy!

↳ user17: I’m connecting the dots as I type

↳ user18: you’re not connecting shit

↳ user17: CONNECTING THE DOTS AS I TYPE

Private Messages

Twitter

Private Messages

catpawsgaming

liked by user, user, user, and 3,712,222 others

catpawsgaming: tonight’s stream is gonna be a little late — I’m currently being held hostage by the cutest kidnapper ever

view all comments

user24: awwww

user25: your right. You simply can’t move!

↳ catpawsgaming: completely pinned down!

↳ user25: I don’t think anyone is gonna have a problem with your steam being late tonight

↳ user26: I’ve spoken to the council and we don’t! In fact we all vote for a stream of literally just the cat

↳ catpawsgaming:…you know that is an idea

↳ user26: omg. OMG. OH MY GOD!!

user23: THATS JIMMY!! I SWEAR ON MY LIFE

↳ user27: ok grandma. Let’s get you back to bed

handsome: so that’s where the little troublemaker is

↳ user28: omg hi handsome! Where’ve you been?

↳ catpawsgaming: ok I love all my fans but plz stop flirting with my man

↳ user28: can I flirt with you instead?

↳ catpawsgaming: 😳

↳ handsome: no

Private Messages

Twitter

user29: ITS MAX VERSTAPPEN AND CATPAWSGAMING!!!! I TOLD YOU ALL

↳ user30: ok but are we really gonna take a gossip page as the truth?

user31: OH MY GOD THAT CRAZY FAN WAS RIGHT?!?

↳ catpawsgamingfan: I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOOOOUUUUU

view all comments

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 8,345,765 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: liefje I know this is not how we wanted to share our love with the world but a light in the darkness is now I get to talk about how much I love you and how you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. These past 5 years have been a dream come true — and it’s been a dream I never knew I had. Seeing you that first time, you took my breath away. Forget the trophies and the victories, the world championships and titles I’ve won — becoming your husband has topped every single one of them. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore and I wouldn’t ever want to

comments have been restricted on this post

yourusername: oh my handsome man…you are the light of my life, the moon in my night, the stars in the sky, the best husband ever and the most loving cat dad I could have ever wanted to spend my life with. Thank you thank you thank you for picking me and staying with me and fighting for me and with me 💋💋

[onlyhyunjin]

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒!

(♡) - my personal favorites (🔞) - CONTAINS NSFW CONTENT

NEW BEGINNINGS - @ikeuverse (flirting with your brother's brother-in-law wasn't in your plans after returning from studying abroad. it wasn't something you were going to stop either since heeseung was the epitome of beauty. but when there's another woman's name in the story. what happens? you don't want to be caught between a betrayal… or so you thought.) (♡)

MARRY ME - @ikeuverse (ever since you met lee heeseung, he told you that the two of you were going to get married. all the time, at every opportunity, he reinforced it until one day, drunk, you accepted. was he dreaming or did it really happen? it wouldn't be so bad to fall for his jokes for once.)

TIDES OF REGRET - @pprodsuga (in the year since heeseung first rejected your love confession, you've tried everything to get over him. a trip to europe makes you realize you miss your former best friend more than anything, and it makes heeseung realize he's got it all wrong.) (♡)(🔞)

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER - @i2sunric (your daughter asks heeseung to tell the greatest love story of all and he takes the chance to narrate how he met you, the love of his life.) (♡)

JUNE BLOSSOMS - @soobnny (synopsis. as the month of may ends, you wonder what june holds for you and heeseung (especially with no more need to fake date.)

LATE SUMMER LOVIN' - @4am-enha (you desperately want to spend your last summer here in town with your friends, only to find out almost all of them are away on vacation. that is, all of them but heeseung. the one friend you’d never really been that close with.)

BITE ME - @drunkhazed (“I’m kind of confused still.” You admit, anxiously shuffling to sit without making eye-contact. Heeseung chuckles plopping down by your side, arm slinging back over your shoulder to keep you pressed against him.)(🔞)

COFFEE & CREAM - @ham-st4r (one chilly night after a long work shift, you’re unfortunately forced to walk home. Cause you left your bag at work, half way through your journey you stumble across a homeless man who you naturally offer money to, and he though he refuses. You give it to him anyway, and down the road, you’ll find that those two dollars changed not only his life but yours as well.) (🔞)

IT'S CUPID, STUPID - @mygnolia (To hell with Lee Heeseung, you couldn't find someone you hated more than the boy who's by your side no matter what. You figured that maybe the summer before university would be the best way to finally let go of him, and to leave the hate you have in your childhood- but no. What do you mean you have to spend ALL summer with him?)

FUCK BUDDIES - @dimepdf (y/n and heeseung and fwb after heeseung win in his football match y/n gives him the best reward)

TEETH - @gyuuberryy (you were not thrilled about the move in of your new neighbour. mostly because he was so strange and seemed to be hiding something dark. and partly because you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him because of your unwanted attraction. you were determined to expose his dark secret and get rid of him once and for all. but, it was proving to be a difficult task because he was just so irresistible..and needy.)

PLAYER RANK: PLATINUM - @simpjaes (You’re not sure what’s worse, your sister’s boyfriend or your sister’s boyfriend’s friends. What you thought would be a great deal in living with her throughout college turns into a major game of cat and mouse, where you’re unsure if your moral compass is pointing in the right direction solely because you suspect someone is wearing a giant sex magnet to throw it off.) (🔞)

RUDE - @4wkjun (heeseung has never loved anyone as much as he loves y/n. y/n’s father has never hated someone as much as he hates heeseung. but it doesn’t matter, heeseung’s gonna marry y/n anyway.)

I OFFER YOU MY EVERYTHING - @heegyukeluv (You never cared about sex, until you did. You grew too afraid of it, scared of disappointing the other person or showing your inexperience. But then you met Heeseung, the hot basketball captain that stole your heart and became your biggest fantasy. ) (🔞)

VERBOTEN - @heesbaby (a bad stroke of luck saw lee heeseung, your dads coworker, moving into your small apartment until he found his feet again. emotionally unavailable and a workaholic, you were going to try your absolute hardest to make him loosen up. even if it meant breaking a few of the house rules he'd set out.) (🔞) (♡)

10 DAYS TO FALL IN LOVE - @luvyeni (you and heeseung used to be bestfriends as children — he even told you he'd marry you one day. but then you went to highschool and things changed , he dyed his hair and started hanging out with a new group group of friends. through all that his love never changed for you — has yours changed for him?)

RENT A BOYFRIEND - @jayujus (in which jeon y/n is desperate to find a boyfriend ASAP because she needs a date for her family's mixer. her best friend, ningning, introduces her to a website perfect for this situation!)

CHERRY CHAPSTICK - @angelwonie (ever since you met lee heeseung, he told you that the two of you were going to get married. all the time, at every opportunity, he reinforced it until one day, drunk, you accepted. was he dreaming or did it really happen? it wouldn't be so bad to fall for his jokes for once.)

[yandere--stuck]

NEED to know your thoughts on a yandere bill cipher

⚠️ Listen, pal, I KNOW why you're reading this. You've got a crush on YOURS TRULY! That's right, buddy, the cat's outta the bag! Well, not like the cat was ever really in the bag to begin with. What? Didn't think my all-seeing eye would spy you making goo-goo eyes at artistic depictions of me? AHAHA, aw, hey! Nothing to be embarrassed about. It's not like I can blame you, I mean, have you met me? A winning personality, great sense of humor, beautiful singing voice - I'm a total catch! And between you and me, you have better taste than the rest of your species’ population.

👁 There are probably numerous reason why you like stuff like this: The obsession, the possessive behavior, the VIOLENCE. Sure sounds like romance to ME! But as for you… Is it the abandonment issues? Lack of validation in your life? Feeling misunderstood and ostracized by the world? Loneliness? A desire for an escape into a fictional world? Or are you like me? Is romance just no good without the true passion of twisted devotion and obsession? There's no need to LIE! We're kindred spirits, you and I.

⚠️ I know just how you feel. You've been kicked down, laughed at, and made to feel small. You've gone unappreciated by blind MORONS who wouldn't know greatness if it melted their eyeballs out their ears. Because you are MEANT for greatness. You are meant for something more, and I bet it burns you to know that. That you're better than all of them. That they're nothing without you, and they DESERVE nothing. They deserve to BE nothing. I know just how you feel because I was in your place. Surrounded by flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams. HA, and I sure showed them. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, HUH? ME!!!!!!

👁 The point is, I know you. I've had my eye on you for quite a while, kid. Q U I T E A W H I L E. And might I say, out of all the flesh bags that have clogged my vision over the centuries, YOU'RE clearly the best looking outta all of ‘em, hot stuff. But looks aren't everything, of course! You've got a personality to match. Gotta admit, it's cute how you get so invested in your interests, the little hobbies you pick up, just watching you go about your day is like the universe’s greatest reality TV show starring my favorite person in the multiverse! OH, I could just decaptiate you and nuzzle your fleshy little head in an approximation of a kiss right now!!!

⚠️ So, c'mon, just let me in. Shake my hand! Let's make a deal. No matter how big or small! And it’s not just for the purpose of liberating your dimension, no. I want to really get under your skin. To feel what it's like to be in the body of my favorite person. As close as two beings can get, closer than you can get with unworthy specimens of your own kind, more intimate than any experience in the world. I want to be that close to you. Because you're mine. You're MY HUMAN and NOTHING WILL CHANGE THAT. Y'HEAR ME?

👁 So, you might as well accept that you and me are destined, kid. The signs are all there. So, if I were you (and I could be, if you'd just let me), I'd do this the easy way. Because right now, there's two ways this can go down. The easy way: You summon me, and we make a deal. Anything your precious human heart desires - and more! You'll be my precious human pet, my puppet, my toy. Mine to own and have rule beside me! You'll prove everyone who put you down wrong! Anything you want - love, money, fame, worship, vengeance - it'll all be yours, and I'll give it to you. Because I want you to be happy. Because I want what's best for you. Because I’M the only one who actually cares about you. Everything you wanted will be yours. And there'll be an eternal party to celebrate our eternal love… Or, you could do this the hard way. Cause I'm gettin’ outta here one way or another. And when I do, well… I don't think you'd like being locked up in The Love Cage to be TORTURED until you reciprocate my feelings and see the light. I'd say I wouldn't want to, but that'd be lying. So, it's probably not a good idea to give me more of a reason to. So, whaddaya say? You know you deserve the best. Shake my hand and join the winning team. Either way, you're mine.

[osamucide]

BITCHBOY ⊹

ALL I WANT IN THIS WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS TO BE YOUR BITCHBOY . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~6.8k

cw: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. icky pervy stoner roommate!Dazai <333 also pathetic wet cat mess of a man Dazai, afab+gn!reader, established roommate relationship, no established romantic relationship, implied bi!Dazai if you squint, referenced whore!Dazai, weed smoking+intox/noncon (reader says "stop" once and he does not stop), dubcon (becomes 'consenual' but Dazai's coercive+they're high), noncon elements can be interpreted (esp at the end) to be roleplay with prior consent! dirty talk, shotgunning, fingering, squirting, kissing, penetration, creampie, insulting nicknames (Dazai receiving), biting, this is depraved and I will answer for it on judgement day

reid: he’s all i think about.

tags: @kalsplace

You’re grumbling under your breath when you’re about to cross the threshold to your apartment because, as if the rest of your day hadn’t been annoying enough, your stupid key decides to give you extra trouble—as of late, it’s not working unless you jam it in the lock at a very specific angle and jiggle violently until just before you’re sure the knob will fall off, all whilst cursing your landlord’s neglect of the crummy old building like some enchantment or spell that ties the whole rage-inducing, access-granting ritual together.

Couldn’t your good-for-nothing roommate hear you struggling with it?

“Hey, sorry,” he chirps too brightly for the evening hour, floating out of his room as you shut the door behind you with a sigh—ever the mind reader. You forego your eye-roll this time; you’re convinced that one of these days they’ll get stuck in your skull what with how much you do it. You hear Dazai sauntering toward you as you’re shrugging your jacket off, hanging it up, tossing your bag on the table. “Was busy.”

You’re ready to turn and scowl at him, but when you face him, he’s waggling the little pipe in your face—the green one with blue flecks in the glass, undoubtedly what he was busy with while you broke into your own home—and you won’t admit that you already feel your irritation start to melt away when it slides from his fingertips to yours. You clutch it, latch onto the mouthpiece, and watch as the brunette flicks the flame out and lights you up.

You exhale gratefully, take one more pull, and hand the glowing bowl back for him to catch the remainder of before he lights it again. “Thank you," you croak before short cough leaves you. “Was real close to bitching you out for not leaving the door unlocked.”

Dazai blows his smoke directly back in your face with a small grin. “Redeemed by my weed once again.”

You chuckle and wave it away, making a point of sliding by him and toward your room to change. You need to unwind a second before dealing with him for the rest of the night. “‘S’all that ever redeems you. Crack a window, will ya?”

It’s really not a bad arrangement to have a live-in pot dealer—that’s basically what Dazai is and has been as long as you’ve roomed with him. Sure, he's also a pain in your ass; the man can hardly cook, you had to show him how to use the washing machine in the common area when you first moved in, and only a bit ago, after almost half a year of sharing a living space, have you convinced him to keep his mess of discarded socks and food packaging contained within his bedroom. It took a lot of harsh reprimanding about how you're not his parent and he's not your teenage son for you to realize it'd be a little of his own medicine to get him to start taking you seriously. Leaving your empty takeout box on the coffee table right where he liked to eat his, tossing your sweatshirt over his spot on the couch and refusing to move it for days—he took the message, albeit smugly, after that, and hasn't given you trouble since.

Even despite being a pain in the ass, though, especially now that he at least cleans up after himself, you have to admit you don't hate his presence in your home and in your life. You chalk it up to how infuriatingly charming he can be—you know he's a detective, and he's certainly got talents for sniffing out your emotions, solving your day-to-day problems, and smooth-talking, but all of that falls under being nosy and weird when he tries to guilt you into praising him for it. If he was any less annoying, you'd maybe even admit to yourself that he's kind of attractive; only physically, of course, which you've known since the day you met him, but any other way he might be—retaining a heavy air of mystery in spite of how bubbly he is, occasionally inviting you out drinking (mostly so you can drag him home once he overdoes it), smoking you up without asking for money—is just so overshadowed by what a fucking weirdo he is. You can’t separate it.

He certainly keeps you on your toes.

That’s really the worst thing about him. You know you’ll exit your room to grab your leftovers from the fridge and he’ll be pestering you to watch some movie with him—probably one of his cringy rom-coms (the fact that he watches and unironically enjoys them serving only marginally to make him a little more of an interesting character) during which he'll sling his feet across your lap or curl up into you so he can pinch your side once or twice just for your reaction, leaving you red in the face and mildly irritated while he giggles condescendingly at you. But as you always do, you think as you sigh and lift the hem of your sweater to curl it over and off, you’ll concede.

Your head’s caught in your sleep shirt when you hear your door creak open.

“Um, privacy?” you half-yelp—something you’re still figuring your way around with him. You jump out of line of the door as you poke your head through the neckline to shoot him that glare you saved from moments earlier.

Dazai just snickers, eyes wide and innocent. You're naked from the waist down. “Could’ve locked it.”

“As if that would stop you,” you snap back, stretching the hem over your thighs and ass as you skitter awkwardly back over to the edge of your bed where a pair of comfy shorts lay. “Get out!”

“Will you hurry up and put your pants on? I got My Big Fat Greek Wedding locked and loaded.”

“Yes, yes, just get out.”

He’s still snickering when he disappears behind the door. He doesn’t shut it all the way, and you mutter freak beneath your breath, secretly hoping he hears you.

You tug your shorts on and meander back out as the intro rolls, set on your leftover homemade tonkatsu; as you settle cross-legged with your plate on the couch, Dazai reaches over and plucks a piece of cabbage off it.

You side eye him as you chew. He’s already occupying himself with packing another bowl—he must've finished the first one himself. You'd half-expect him to reach for one of the prerolls he keeps in the coffee table drawer so as not to have to go to the trouble again, but he does.

“You eat yet?” you ask carefully.

He shakes his head as he uses the butt of the lighter to press it down. Of course not. Even weed doesn’t make him eat. You’ve expressed concern over his eating habits before, but he always dismisses you with a hum and that smug smile.

You make a point of tearing the remainder of your cutlet in half with your utensils. When he reaches out to pass you the pipe, you reach back, chopsticks pinching a hefty piece of pork.

Dazai raises his eyebrows at you.

You raise yours in reply, as if to say, take it, or I’m not smoking anymore with you.

So he does, reluctance veiled thinly by amusement. You know him well enough by now; or, you think you do, at least. As he chews, he balances the chopsticks back on your plate and turns to you with the lighter, curling his own legs beneath himself.

Only satisfied when he swallows, you set your plate aside, face him, and press the pipe to your lips again, looking to him. To his pretty brown eyes that search you owlishly, that you swear sparkle with a little more vigor after even the smallest bit of sustenance enters his system. Maybe you should just leave him to starve, but then where would you get your weed? You’re an idiot, you’d say if you weren’t waiting on his flame.

But before he can light it for you, he pulls the lighter away, and you chase it with a soft hey—he’s grinning at you again, like a devil, like always.

“You always do that, you know?” he asks.

“Do what?” you mumble impatiently against the piece.

He gives in and dips the flame down into the bowl; you inhale deep, flower crackling softly as you do, and he only answers when the smoke’s halfway down your throat.

“Look up at me all cute like that every time I light it for you.” Those brown eyes bore into yours and you become aware all too quick of the fact that you do—you do indeed peer up at him through your lashes; your eyes water as smoke burns your throat and you blink away, trying not to cough out your hit at how he’s gazing at you, but he doesn’t stop there.

He would never stop there.

“Makes me think bad things.”

So you cough out your hit anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, choked, face red from more than just the sting of the weed. You busy yourself with pulling another hit while it’s still lit.

“Mhm,” he agrees. “Lots of ‘em.”

Your head swims now—you’ve built up a decent tolerance from living with him, but forgetting to breathe at his words and zeroing the huge puff you take next surely doesn’t help. You cough again, and nothing leaves your lungs this time as you debate whether to take his challenge.

Another thing you’ve learned about Dazai—he loves to fluster people. If living with him wasn't enough proof, you’ve seen him do it millions of times to pretty bartenders, or on the off-chance his partner from work joins you drinking; off-chance, truly, because Kunikida already has to put up with Dazai all day at the office, and anything more than what’s required of him might be better off called torture rather than fun. And beyond loving it, Dazai demonstrates it like a long-honed skill—the exploitation of people’s humiliation, the monopolization on people’s most sensitive spots. He had previous work in it, he’s said, but you can’t imagine what job could possibly entail all that. You think he just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth—no, he’s smart enough to know when to; he just doesn’t like to. He’s what most people would refer to as an asshole.

And yet, you find yourself torn between feeling disgusted and entertained by him all the same. Although you often find yourself the victim of his little mind games, you’re not above jabbing back at him. What does that make you, you wonder? The question briefly crosses your mind, but you shake it off as, in your buzz, you swat away the bait; decidedly, you’d rather watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding in peace, finish your tonkatsu, and then go to bed tonight.

“You’re gross.” The scoff you let out sounds more like a chuckle.

Dazai tilts his head, flicking the lighter for you again; he sparks the bowl as he watches you, as if in exceptional contemplation, and you make a point not to do it again—you inhale and gaze straight down at the flame.

“You don’t wanna hear what it makes me think about?” he asks cutely, unwilling to let you get away just yet.

You ignore the slight flush undoubtedly on your own face as you slip the bowl back to him; doubly so, you try not to watch the way his lips wrap around the mouthpiece.

But right now, you can’t seem to help that your bleary-eyed attention is on him. Just as he exhales, you remember you haven’t replied.

You’re not quick enough. He doesn’t take your silence as an invitation; it’s an opportunity. You see it in his smirk, just a second too late.

“Makes me think about how pretty you’d be looking up at me like that from your knees.”

He’s good at his games—he invents them, after all. But you’d be damned if he thought you wouldn’t shut him down when you weren’t in the mood.

“Yeah, no, don’t particularly wanna hear about it, thanks.”

This might be a new low, even for him, you think. Who the fuck just says shit like that?

When you think about it a second longer, though, he really hasn’t brought anyone home to fuck obnoxiously (a boundary you were quick to set with him) in at least a couple weeks, so maybe he’s just pent up. Either way, his comment makes you wrinkle your nose, furrow your brow—hopefully negating the pink inevitably tinting your cheeks. Fucking weirdo.

“N’ now you’re blushing all cute, too,” he observes; you scoff again, more pointedly this time. “Thinkin’ about it?”

As if, you want to say, but the words get stuck against the roof of your dry mouth, so you conjure up some of your spit, swallow it down, and hope he doesn’t notice—but it’s Dazai; he will—that your high's settling onto your shoulders swiftly. He’s pointing the bowl back at you, and as you grab it robotically, you’re still trying to speak—a sure sign you should both shut up and keep your places on opposite ends of the couch and watch the movie and finish the tonkatsu, but instead you just balk. No matter what you do, you play right into his hands—that’s how it happens all too often, and you certainly won’t learn now or anytime when his weed’s coursing up to your brain and back down to your thumping heart. Dazai lights your next hit for you, laughing like it’s all some big joke, and maybe it is—maybe you’ll blow your smoke in his face this time and pick up your tonkatsu and shut up and just watch the damn movie.

As if you’d ever be so lucky with his antics.

You’re shaking your head in near-awe when you pass it back to him once more.

“I mean, we basically kiss through this thing all the time,” he says like it’s relevant, waving the pipe about. “I don’t think it’d be so weird if we fucked. Or if you sucked me off, at least.”

“It—it would totally be weird, Osamu,” and when you speak his name so lightly, blinking at trying to muster up your own laughter as a defense mechanism, his sight flickers up to yours. “That doesn’t even—I’m not sucking your dick.”

“Shame,” he purrs. “‘Cause I know how pretty you’d look. Your lips all wet and pouted against my t—”

“Oh, my god, shut up.” Now you laugh, out of pure disbelief at how far he’s taking it. He pokes at the tail end of what’s left in the bowl and chuckles, too, seemingly ready to let it go now that he has you laughing. "You're horrible."

The more you let him talk about it, the more you entertain him, maybe you can let it peter out.

“What about me? Do I look pretty when I do it?” he asks, batting his lashes as he pulls another hit off the pipe.

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” you let your laughter idle as he doesn't tear his gaze away from you. He looks pretty. Whatever. You cross your arms as you feel the familiar tingle of your high behind your eyes.

“Would I look pretty on my knees?” he prods.

You could slap him—if nothing else, just to make his face burn half as much as you know yours is. When he sets the bowl and lighter aside and goes back to observing you, eyes low-lidded and red, chin rested on his hands, propped up by his elbows on his crossed legs, you have half a mind to shrink away from him—but you keep cool, even if the way you're at eye level with his searing stare feels a little too intimate.

You mirror his position. “Hmm, I don't know.” You steal his thoughtful tilt, too, and tack on, “Maybe if you were begging like a little bitch.”

You're prepared for him to laugh tauntingly again and then let this die where it stands because he got a reaction out of you, right? That’s always what he’s looking for, so it’s about time he goes back to his corner of the couch where you'll bully him into a few more bites of tonkatsu.

But he stays locked onto you, quietly.

And then he's shifting forward off the couch and down to the ground.

“Osamu—”

“Uh-uh,” he chides you softly, crawling to situate himself directly in front of your figure. Looking up at you all cute. “I’m gonna be the one begging, remember?”

Your disbelief swirls with refusal as he paws at the hem of your shorts as if to say, turn, please, and fuck—what can you do other than turn red as a rose as he grabs your ankles, unfurls your legs, and props his chin on the cushion between your thighs? You feel alarmingly higher, blearier when his fingers creep up beneath the fabric, slowly, looking at you as if for reassurance.

“We're not—you can quit fooling around, seriously.” You want to laugh again but it comes out deadpan, strict; you feel heavier with each landing of his fingertips against your skin, and he just keeps looking up at you. Cute. Pretty. Taking it too far.

“I want to,” he mumbles, retracting his hands only for them to find your hips, your waistband. “Come on. ‘Wanted you so bad for so long. I know you want me, too,” he speaks your name slyly, quietly, and it prompts your breath to quicken a little; he traces circles into your hipbones with his thumbs, toys with the elastic at your waist, snapping it softly, and you squirm. “Please?”

For so long? you think. How long?

“I—I'm not high enough for this, Osamu,” you try to joke, but he just twists around to the coffee table drawer for one of those prerolls and his lighter.

“I can get you higher,” he offers—tone still much too innocent, motives still haphazardly veiled by what a big jokester he is, and he sticks the joint between his lips and lights it.

Before you can coherently protest, he rises, supporting himself on your thigh with one hand and removing the joint from his mouth full of smoke; when he leans into you, you catch his wrist to keep him from ashing on the back of the couch, grab his face in a half-attempt to stop him in his tracks—but ultimately, when his mouth meets yours, you open for him.

The plume of smoke he shotguns into your mouth is thick; you breathe it in. His palm like a brand against your thigh.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Osamu,” you whine against his lips, still mushing his face away and hating how your dry throat roughens your voice. He just kisses you, kisses you, and your fingers find the pulse point in his wrist—he’s a decent kisser, you think, at the very least. You have half a mind to let your fingers slide to the mess of brown hair beyond the apples of his sharp cheekbones, and—

You backtrack in your mind. You’re actually probably too high for this.

You have to detest the way it feels so heavenly when he squeezes the fat of your thigh, dodges your lips, and works steadily in a line from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, all tongue and teeth in his pursuit. You have to detest it. Fucking weirdo, you repeat in your mind. The joint burns between his fingers. You snatch it from his grasp and pull your head back, raising your feet to kick him weakly in the abdomen, and he relents—your toes feel asleep when they hit the carpet again, and you hoard the joint between your fuzzy fingers when he reaches for it back.

“Osamu,” you say again, stern, eyes wide. The weed. You're high. You're both high, and this is weird. He’s just your weirdo roommate and you got home wanting to end your stressful day without complicating anything else in your life today.

So why, when he looks at you like you’re a caged animal that’s just as afraid of him and he is of you and works the joint from your fingers to take another drag, do you let him cup your face and exhale more smoke down your throat?

Why do you chase his lips when he blissfully, needily, sinks to his knees once again and starts to traverse beneath your shorts?

With the right focus of mind, like staring at your hand when you’re spinning and convincing yourself that the world around you is actually moving and you’re staying still, you can almost pretend he’s a stranger—some sexy, enchanting stranger that you met on the train home after your shit day, meant to relate to you with docile nods and hums as you air your grievances about work or school or whatever, meant to kiss it off you like it’s just a little bit of dirt.

Getting out of your shorts is like getting out of second skin. You're taking another hit, unwise or not, because it's back in your hand and you don't know what else to do; you watch him in your haze with a mix of anticipation and distrust, but right now, anticipation is winning by a small margin. You’re high, you tell yourself—twitching already, in that way that has nothing to do with desire but rather just means you've smoked a little too much too quickly, and the idea that Dazai might still fake you out and send you to bed feeling half-hot and bothered, half-violated, with no pants on and a near-empty stomach bobs around in your inhibited brain—again, you expect him to laugh, say you’re fried, clap you on the shoulder and tell you it's a joke but he doesn’t, he cranes for a hit from the joint and you hold it to his lips shakily and he touches you on the exhale, the pads of two of his fingers nestling carefully between your folds over your underwear and when he brushes your clit it’s—

Fuck, it’s electric.

“Osamu, stop,” you say, hoarse and abrupt, grabbing his wrist. "I'm—"

“What?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone. Beneath your hand his thumb comes up to replace his fingers, to loop circles around you, and you're shuddering, back bowing, and he's grinning at you wickedly.

“I—I'm high,” you admit, voice feeling thick, soupy as it leaves your throat.

“So? Me too.” He blinks at you, slow like a cat, in a way that you're pretty sure he's still mocking the way you apparently always flutter your gaze at him when he lights you up. “‘S the best way to do it.”

“Yeah, but—”

He doesn't interrupt you with but what?

And yet, you still don't finish your sentence.

You glance down to where he’s rubbing you gently, where you hold him at bay—where you could yank his arm and twist it uncomfortably if you really did want him to stop but the longer he circles over the fabric that’s growing increasingly, alarmingly wetter, the more you melt away from yourself and you think, fuck, he really is gorgeous as he’s resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

“Scoot forward f’me, please?” he almost whines; his voice changes, stricter when he says, “And stop letting that burn. Smoke it.”

And you comply, shuffling your hips forward and placing the filter between your teeth.

Dazai looks up at you. All cute. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. Hungry.

And you look back, apprehension sparking but then fading with each drove of smoke you inhale. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. All cute.

“Let me taste you, please,” he almost whispers. You almost find yourself a little endeared by his pointed pleases.

“This is fucking absurd,” you croak, but your resolve is leaving you. He’s a little blurry. “You’re such a sicko.”

His smile widens against the word. Sicko. Almost like he’s pleased to hear it leave your mouth. “Surprised it took you this long to figure out, baby.”

His touch is impatient and restless and crawling as your underwear goes, too—and you don’t appreciate how good it felt when his thumb was on your clit until it’s back again and you’re slipping the joint out of your mouth to let you jaw fall slack; you tangle a hand up in that messy hair that is much softer than you could’ve imagined and all but yank him back toward your cunt.

“Please,” you echo him, finally. “It felt so good—do it again.”

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you in your whimpering, fingers prodding at your hole and tongue landing a feather-light lick to your wetness. “I know you want it.”

The sounds are lewd. Disgusting, really—fitting for how he’s acting. Dazai swirls his tongue in circles around your clit as he works his middle and ring fingers into you; cracked gasps leave you at the intrusion, and you can’t keep your eyes open when he curls them upward ever so slightly as he makes out with your clit. If you were sober you’d, of course, be embarrassed at how you’re already gushing for him, but all your mushy brain can think about right now is the sparks bolting to your otherwise-numb fingers and toes with each suction of his pretty pink lips against you—isn’t this wrong? Shouldn’t you feel weird? Yeah, probably—but you’re forgetting why, and you’re forgetting to care.

He hums against you and it sends a shockwave throughout your already-vibrating body; the moan you release into the air is like song, even to yourself. Is he really good at this, you wonder, or is it the weed?

Oh right, the weed. The weed, the weed, the weed.

You pull his mouth off you, almost dropping the joint that’s not much of a joint anymore—only the filter remains.

“I don’t think this is—”

Fuck, you keep going back and forth. You keep breaching the surface just for him to tug you beneath the water again and convince you the drowning feels nice. And it does, for a few seconds—until it starts burning your lungs to a crisp again, at which point you tear away from him kick up, and in the moments you spend sucking in air you don’t get how he stays beneath for so long, like it’s nothing, how he doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop, his fingers still curling inside of you, and you’re going under again to the sound of his voice.

You feel suffocated. More delirious by the second. It’s nice.

“You already told me it feels good,” he mumbles against you, lapping at you, and you’re letting up on his hair, letting him become a weight again where you should float.

And the lack of oxygen must be getting to your brain because, even though you still don’t think you want to drown, you cease your kicking. For the last time.

“Osamu,” you cry. It sounds like a moan. It might be.

“I know, I’m such a sicko.” There’s no remorse in his words; there can’t be, not when he’s still curling up into your g-spot in just the way that makes you croon his name again—undoubtedly a moan this time—but when he comes into focus again, he looks so apologetic. “You can say it again, baby. It’s okay.”

“S—sicko,” you mutter disapprovingly, but rolling your hips all the same.

He smiles. Soft, kind, apologetic.

You’re scared to move. You know if you do, you’ll both be able to see the wet stain collecting beneath you on the cushion. You feel it.

So you barrage him with more.

“You—you’re a fucking pervert. You’re disgusting.” You feel wetness on your face, too. You deduce that it’s from how perfect his fingers feel inside you, goading that warm slick out of you and into his palm, onto the couch; regardless, you don't stop berating him, your tone harshly contrasting your wriggling hips. “You disgust me.”

“I think you like it.” He presses up, hard, and you gush, gasping. A short, clear spurt narrowly misses his face; he leans back down to lick it off, off the cushion, off your thighs, off your crying cunt. “I think you like how nasty I am.”

“Disgusting,” you whisper. “Disgusting. You're disgusting.” It’s a little chant you hold onto as he rises again to kiss you, messily—a means to replace his lips with his wet fingers, shoving them past your lips and against your tongue where you lap at them instinctually, like you’ve been waiting for it. It’s so wrong to be tasting yourself on his fingers, but your eyes roll back anyway, just to lurch forward as his hand retracts and you find him grinning once more as he slips his sweatpants and boxers down in one swipe. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dazai mocks, giggling. “You just tasted how fucking wet you are.”

“Osamu,” you whine as he kicks his garments aside; you begin to draw your feet up, your knees to your chin, but his hands, stronger than you anticipate, pry you open and flip you to your back and he grins, biting into his bottom lip all the while. Why, you wonder, when the dim living room light glints off his teeth as he situates himself between your legs and leans down to cage you in between his arms, do your hips hitch toward his? Why are you so adamant to deny him?

“You gonna say it again? C’mon, I love hearing my name,” he breathes, ducking down to lick across your jawline. “But I love when you call me those words. Say it again. Tell me how nasty I am.”

“You’re the worst,” you groan, but it sounds comical, even to your own ears, because you’re scratching at his shoulders in a way that draws him closer to you rather than further away.

“More, baby,” Dazai hums into your neck, reaching down to swirl his tip against your wetness. When you feel him, you jump.

It feels good. It feels even better than his thumb and you don’t know if you’re still on your way up but you feel higher and higher by the second and the instinct to push him off is slipping further beyond your grasp. When he pulls back to watch your mouth fall open as he rubs himself into you, you almost let the word pretty slip past your lips—he looks so pretty, tongue flicking, eyes dark, and you catch yourself with your lower lip between your teeth, reflecting the desperation he conceals in everything but his words.

Pretty isn’t what he wants right now, though—and suddenly you feel compelled to give him what he wants, if only it means he’ll keep touching you like this.

“S’fucking nasty—degenerate fucking freak—” you eek out; you don’t know much longer you can tiptoe the line between repulsion and sheer need, but you’re tilting further and further with each circle of his dick and you can tell he’s getting off on the way you’re lurching into him now, running toward his touch instead of away from it.

You think you need him to fuck you, now, or you’ll cry.

“Osamu, please,” you continue, sounding on the verge of tears now—where you should’ve been before, when you genuinely wanted him off you, yes. You wanted him off of you before. Didn’t you? There was a time, a mere few minutes ago, when his fingers in your skin and his animalistic gaze were revolting. Right?

“What’re you beggin’ me for?” Dazai asks like he doesn’t know. He knows. He knows what you don’t want to admit to yourself and he’s going to dangle it over your head, he’s going to rub it in your face, he’s going to make you answer through your hazy high that he never should’ve come onto you through to begin with, and you’re going to give him what he wants—you always give him what he wants, even if you don’t mean to, even if you don’t want to, but now you think you want to. You want to, because it feels so good, and he’s slowing down, he’s stopping and when he takes his hand away to swipe his thumb across your chin, pull your lip from between your teeth and work your mouth open with his fingers again, the loss almost hurts. You want it. You want to.

It’s going to hurt even more to say it, but you want it. And before you can even get it out, before the words even hit what little air is between your lips and his, Dazai looks thrilled at what you say next.

“Please, fuck me,” you whisper.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely—” He reaches back down, but the smugness doesn’t waver; his tip catches on your entrance—emitting a lewd squelch that should make you cringe but instead prompts your lip to fly between your teeth again—and you hook your tingling feet behind his back, legs astride his waist as you're pushing his bangs from his face all in one motion. “I guess I’ll fuck you, pretty baby.”

"Yes," the dreaded word falls from your lips when he finally works his way into you, past that tight ring of muscle, to nestle snugly inside you until the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

The noise you draw from him—something between a sigh and a moan—is heavenly. His nose nuzzles the trail he licked across your jaw before and you find your hands linked behind his neck, urging him down, onto you, into you—and when he recoils his hips to thrust back in again, quick and short, you keen against him, pathetically, in a way your past self—the one from four or five touches ago—would hate you for.

You should hate how gross this is. How gross he is for this.

But you don't, and you're not going to torture yourself with asking why anymore.

The friction inside you doesn't feel comparable to anything; for the first time in a second, you feel grateful for the weed pulsing through you. You let your eyes roll back and flutter shut without consequence.

Dazai moves against you like water. Water you're content to drown in this time; his touch doesn't crawl anymore as much as it seems to soothe and as he picks up his pace, brings a hand to your cheek to wake you back up, pull you back above the surface.

"You sound s'fuckin cute," he sighs; those eyes, predatory before, are now just brown and melty, honey-colored backgrounded with red fog, not so searching as much as they seem attentive, not making you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable as they do softly seen. He thinks you sound cute. You giggle through the unrivaled pleasure, giggling through your own moans which hit your ears and do sound cute—sound especially cute woven through his.

"Y'sound... so," you start, "so fucking—unh, Osamu, don't stop!"

He chuckles now, low and breathy, and you push his hair back from his face again; his eyes roll back when you do it, and you just do it over, over, over, drawing clipped groans out of him, stealing the words from his throat as he steals yours and you tug, you tug on his hair and the moan he lets out, broken between thrusts, is so raw and laced with need that you moan in reply, clenching around him because, fuck, he sounds so cute, too. "Wanted this for so long, baby. Pussy feels s—so much fuckin' better than I could've imagined."

"How long?" you finally poke back—you want to know. You want to know how long he's been holed up in the mess of his room, jerking off to the thought of his cute little roommate finally falling between his fingers—you want to know how bad he's wanted this, and if getting you high out of your mind just to get it was worth it. You focus your voice to ask him. "How long you wanted this, 'Samu?"

"So long—since—" he gasps, fucking into you harder, faster, deeper; you tug his hair again, exposing his neck, and yank him down to sink your teeth into his neck. You need the reprieve as he starts hammering against the deepest parts of you, eliciting wet smack! after smack! from between your writhing bodies. You jostle beneath him as he finds his breath; "Since I fuckin' met you. Always wanted you."

"Yeah?" You mean it to be a teasing little rhetorical question but it comes out more like encouragement amidst the bliss radiating from your cunt throughout your whole body, but you find it in you to continue— "You been—you been thinkin' of me under you like this? Like the sicko you are?"

Unbelievably faster and harder. You choke on a scream; Dazai's grunting above you, and it hits you that those names really do spur him on. You're far from offending him—you're bringing him closer and closer to filling you up with each and every insult and jab you throw his way and if you were any less cockdrunk you'd be hurling even more barbs at him about how that makes him so much worse, so much more gross but it just spurs you on, too, right now—and you realize, when he looks at you with those fucking eyes again how bad you want him, how bad you've wanted him, too, for so long; you couldn't—wouldn't admit it because he's just your weirdo roommate but really, maybe that's what you love about him. You certainly love the way he makes your toes curl when he reaches down to play with your clit again. You cry out against him.

"Osamu, fuck!"

"Say it again," he begs you, pretty brown eyes glassy as they fall shut, as the tip of his nose touches yours. "Say it again, please, baby."

You know what he wants.

"F—fucking pervert," you huff, doing everything you can to hold onto the rope that's uncoiling rapidly inside you, coming further and further undone with each slam of his hips into your ass. "Ah—you're disgusting. Disgusting."

You fall back on your mantra and it has his thumb moving faster, harder, just like his thrusts, just like his voice, even if it sounds unconvincing through the shockwaves of pleasure; you feel it, the unraveling, it's washing up on you so quickly, so much quicker than it should be at the hands of your weirdo roommate.

"Don't stop," he pleads like he's not the one fucking you to orgasm; you see white, you feel as light as air—god, has cumming always felt like this? Shouldn't you hate it? Shouldn't you hate that it might never feel like this again?

You do, you do—you hate weed and you hate sex and you hate your weirdo roommate Osamu Dazai for coaxing the most mind-blowing climax you've ever felt out of you, but you don't hate any of those things, not really; you hate that it's never felt like this before, and that it can again if only you can push your pride down for a few more moments and call him a—

"Freak—gonna—gonna cum in me?" you goad, breathless, lucky for speech as he fucks you through the otherworldly high, as you clamp down on him and screw your eyes shut until you can keep going. "Gonna fill me up like the nasty motherfucker you are?"

"Ngh—yeah, yeah, yeah...!"

Dazai, in all his depraved beauty, fucks his fat load into you mercilessly; you twitch, shake beneath him, driving strained sobs from his chest and talking him through with soft yeahs, want y'r cum, filthy fucking sicko freak, you disgust me. He loves it. He falls apart, and you tug on his hair once more as he slows, as he spills out of you, as he looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

"You—" Dazai's breathless, heaving. "You're amazing."

You giggle again, wiggling a bit and trapping him further close to you, fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. Soft. You don't feel any less high; just blissed out. "You're cute."

"Knew you thought so," he sighs, lopsided smile coming back; you don't know where in the pleasure he'd lost it, but its return has you tilting your chin up to kiss him once more. Soft. Gentle, sweet, no tongue; not gross, not hungry, just sweet. Satisfied.

"But you're still weird," you tease against his lips. Sly.

When Dazai pulls back, the hunger in those eyes sparks again.

"Want me to show you how weird I can get?" he threatens.

"I dare you," you taunt back.

And he grins, fully and wickedly, once more; you can count on it. He'll show you, alright.