#because there was more than just the one that would have been necessary to plan him coming over with the weed??

[thy-lovelylionheart]

Mike is the party’s problem creator, and that is why he is so vital to the party's success.

Let me explain.

I’m not talking about him creating real problems. I’m talking about D&D.

Mike is the dungeon-master. He creates plot. He creates opponents. He creates problems and snares and tricks for the other players to face. We even see in one of the tie-in comics that he plotted out a campaign specifically with the intention to give Will the chance to feel like a hero instead of a victim (the Thessalhydra campaign) after his trauma in the UD, which mean he had to consider skills, inventories, weaponry, opponent strengths and weaknesses, and more, all to funnel toward a scene where Will gets to kill the Thessalhydra without making it obvious and patronizing.

So when it comes to making plans regarding the UD, Mike is brilliant and he is necessary. He’s the one who figures out El is taking about an alternate dimension because he thinks outside the box and isn’t hindered by conventional logic. He considers all sides. He’s the only one to view Will’s True Sight as a power that allows him to become a superspy—a change in perspective that helps Will save Hopper and in turn saves Hop, Joyce, Mike, and Owens at the lab. Only Mike knew Will was a spy and needed to be sedated, and if he hadn’t been there, Spy!Will would have known where they were at all times and the demodogs would have killed them all. Not only that, but he came up with the shed plan and was the first time bring up that closing the gate would kill Will.

Dustin is the one who proposes they distract the demodogs for El and Hop, but here’s the problem. His plan to lure Dart to the junkyard and Steve’s input on this plan—inspired by what he’d seen Nancy and Jonathan do in s1 with the gasoline trail—took forever. It was a smart plan, but it left them incredibly vulnerable and trapped in a small space, and in the end required Steve to go out into the open. It didn’t account for the possibility that there might be more demodogs, and it left part of the bus (the top hatch) exposed. It also doesn't account for an escape plan.

It’s very similar to what they do in s4 with Eddie’s trailer in the UD: fortify, lure, hide. Except they forgot to account for the vents (like the top hatch) and in the end, Eddie ran out into the open and was overwhelmed by the sheer number of the demobats. The main difference is that they did have an escape route (the trailergate) except they don't have the ability to close the trailergate, so they're still vulnerable.

So while we don’t know what Dustin’s plan would have been to distract the demodogs if Mike hadn’t been there, we still know that they needed Mike’s knowledge of the hive mind and the tunnels and the weakness to fire (beyond just a general “oh fire is a good weapon” knowledge like Nancy and Jonathan stumbled into in s1 and that Steve tried to replicate in s2, but a for-sure “fire is its weakness” knowledge that Mike gains at the lab) in order to pull off this plan successfully. Dustin’s idea to distract and his emotional connection to Dart in particular protects them, but Mike’s knowledge and outside-the-box thinking is vital. It’s likely that he’s even the one to make them all wear goggles and bandanas because he probably saw Hopper coughing and wheezing after prolonged exposure to the toxic air and knew that he’d needed to be hosed down at the lab. His plan is also a get-in-get-out plan, meaning he intended for them to get in, wreak havoc, and then immediately get tf out safely. Mike plans for after the attack as well.

In s3, Mike knows they need to act as fast as possible in regards to Billy because he has experience with a Flayed individual—the only one out of the kids’ party other than Will who actually experienced Will being Flayed. All the other kids only showed after he’d already been sedated, and only Mike was in the shed with Hop and the Byers once he woke up (and then and to be sedated again). Everyone else doubts, everyone else hesitates, but Mike and Will know they need to act now—they can’t sit and wait for information, they need to create a scenario to give them information. So Mike creates one: The Sauna Plan.

This isn't to say that Dustin isn't smart! He's incredibly intelligent! But Dustin is more science-minded and doesn't think outside of the box as naturally as Mike does. And this is why they're most successful when they work together.

Dustin has a ton of D&D knowledge, but he doesn’t really apply it until prompted. I can think of at least 2 instances where Mike describes a supernatural occurrence in detail and then Dustin names it with a D&D reference. Mike explains what he thinks El means by flipping the board over and he suggests/describes an alternate dimension, and then Dustin says, “like the Vale of Shadows.” In s2, Mike describes in detail the hive mind and how it works, and then Dustin says, “like the Mind Flayer.” Dustin is able to label but he doesn’t understand before being able to label it like Mike does. In fact, Dustin doesn't question why Vecna is creating the gates until Erica prompts it – if Mike had been there, this question would've undoubtedly been prompted much sooner because Mike asks a billion questions all the time (for example, "Why would he give me a pen that doesn't work?")

Dustin and Nancy actually approach problems in a very similar way. When Nancy encountered the Demogorgon in the UD, she started looking through a science book to rationalize it in terms she understood. Dustin did the exact same thing when he found Dart – he went to the library and did research on amphibians and pollywogs. Both times, they found valuable information! Nancy was able to figure out that the Demogorgon was attracted to blood and Dustin figured out that Dart would continue to molt and is heat-sensitive. But in s2, Mike is the one who took Will's knowledge and experience seriously and accepts right away that Dart is from the UD, and treats Dart as a serious potential danger even before they know he's a demodog.

Nancy is also incredibly intelligent, and she's a fighter through-and-through. I adore her! But here's the thing about Nancy: she hates feeling powerless. She hates being emotionally vulnerable in a way that makes her look weak. She can be emotionally vulnerable in an affectionate way and be okay with that! But she hates being vulnerable in a way where she feels hurt and scared and grieving, and when she feels this way, she feels the intense need to Immediately act and stomp out what’s making her feel that way. We see it in s1 where after she learns about Barb’s death, she wants to immediately go back and kill the Demogorgon.

Nancy prefers the direct approach, even when that's not the best choice. Her choosing the direct approach against Vecna required a lot of time they didn't have trekking across the UD, and it didn't account for what would happen if they got snagged in the vines. In fact, her approach is very similar to Hopper's in s2 when he goes to the tunnels for the first time! He chooses to be direct and it nearly kills him because he didn't plan for backup and can't free himself from the vines without external aid.

And the more I think about it, the more I suspect that Vecna gave Nancy the vision of his plan and her family dying specifically to make her emotionally vulnerable and therefore impulsive and brash and direct.

And in s4, we see what happens when Mike isn’t there to challenge Dustin's logical, science-based thinking and Nancy's direct, brash attack style – when Mike isn't there to present outside-the-box thinking and see the problem from all angles:

The demobats get into the "fortified" trailer, Eddie goes out into the open and dies, Nancy & Co. get immobilized by vines, they only prepared one music source for Max and so when her Walkman is destroyed, she's wholly and utterly vulnerable, and if it weren't for El piggybacking from the other side of the country, she would've died permanently.

The one time Mike isn't in Hawkins, they fail.

Mike, the dungeon-master, is a problem creator, so he is vital to the party's ability to solve problems.

[wholahoop]

The year ahead

The lovely @tackytigerfic tagged me with the questions what are you proud of going into 2025, and what are your plans for the year ahead.

2024 was a funny year for me! I've been on the fringes of fandom for a few years now, mostly lurking rather than actively taking part, so I haven't created much for a while.

A good chunk of the year was taken up with some (long awaited, and positive for the future!) surgery, and recovering from that. Boring but necessary! But I found myself pining for writing, so when I felt up to it I decided to focus on finishing up some of my WIPs. So I only have one fic for a round-up.

Best Nightmare Come True: 170k, E, SK8 the Infinity / Matchablossom.

This is a truly self-indulgent omegaverse fic that's full of the tropes I love - boys being stupid, epic miscommunication and inability to say the hard stuff out loud, OTT pining, and I really leaned into the romance and the feels. I kind of wrote it for myself in the end, and that was a really nice experience, as I could really let myself go and just wallow in the emotions. It might have been better shorter - but I didn't want to make it shorter :D

I'm not sure about my aims for 2025! I want to write more fanfic, for sure, and be more present in fandom - I'd like to make more friends <3. I'd like to read more fic and look at more pretty art too!

In terms of my own writing, I have another SK8 fic I want to finish up. I feel nostalgic about H/D yes I know we all call it drarry these days and I do have a smutty WIP from a thousand years ago that I might finish up. Maybe I will do Erised again for old times' sake when the time comes.

I also would like to write some original fiction this year too! My problem has always been indecision - too many ideas, so I dither between what to write and end up writing nothing.

I'd also love to learn to write short, and have my outlines be realistic to the word count I'm aiming for, but I think that might require literal magic to achieve!

Not tagging anyone because I suspect everyone's done their end of year posts already, haha, but if you haven't and you're reading this, do it and tag me in!

[ideasnstuff]

solitude

chuuya angst on its finest

Enjoy!

Nakahara Chuuya had just returned from an overseas mission. For three and long months.

Although it hadn’t been an exactly problematic mission, it certainly had been a tedious one.

Chuuya was rarely sent abroad by the boss, but he was not someone to question.

Usually, he never had the inclination to question or contest his Boss' orders. After all, he was only meant—only expected—to follow them, without saying anything.

Besides, it was not that bad. Chuuya knew that Mori had the organization's best interests at heart.

When the man brought the subject to light, he simply nodded and bowed. The next day, he left Yokohama.

And at first, it had been a completely new setup.

There, Chuuya was not meant to kill, punch, or fight against anyone.

No.

His only tool was words, and the battlefield was a tedious conference room.

It was beyond boring, but he knew it was necessary.

Eventually, he learned.

He learned to be a diplomat and represent the Port Mafia.

Back then, before he left, his partner had told him that much.

He had also mocked Chuuya because he was sure he was unable to do anything but “bark” and “punch.”

Well, Chuuya proudly proved Dazai wrong.

There, a diplomat was born—a former fighter, now representing the Port Mafia.

And all of this had happened between alcohol, a few laughs, and insults.

Although Dazai's opinion on that had been clear, "Ugh, who am I going to annoy if Chuuya is not here?!"

It may have been his way of saying that he would miss Chuuya, but it's not that Chuuya noticed it—he was way too drunk by that time.

So, he simply grumbled, "Go bother someone else then."

"Buahhh, that's so rude!" Dazai whined with his annoying high-pitched voice. He almost pouted like a child. "Then I hope Chuuya’ll die there, so I will never have to see his face!"

And Chuuya was probably too drunk to answer anything back.

After this exchange, everything was a blur. He didn't remember anything about that night.

And this scene filled his thoughts when he returned to the Mafia building, with the intent to report his mission.

As he walked down the hall toward the boss' office, he wondered about what Mori's reaction would be like.

Chuuya was aware he had learned quite a lot during those months, especially when the country he had been in was France.

He had a whole meticulously planned and written report. Perhaps his good mood was related to it.

He was more than certain he'd be promoted to executive after this.

And the best part?

He'd finally read the documents about his past.

Lost in thoughts that he almost instantaneously had dismissed, he stopped in front of the door that gave access to Mori's office.

Then, two confident knocks were heard.

A melody reverberated after a brief and lingering silence.

"You may enter," the soft but cold voice like ice said.

He carefully opened the door and stepped in, bowing respectfully as he usually did.

In his hand lay the documents.

"Welcome back, Chuuya-kun." Mori talked with his elbows pressed against the table and his fingers intertwined, displaying a sluggish and uncharacteristic smile on his lips. "I hope you have good news for me."

Chuuya raised his head as his expression went rigid and serious.

After some time, he nodded. "Boss," he bowed once again, but this time it was just a slight one. "I have the report here," he lifted the papers slightly.

Mori didn't react as his eyes sharply hovered over his subordinate.

He didn't say anything for a while, and Chuuya didn’t move either.

"Oh well! You may leave them here," he nodded towards the desk. As Chuuya walked firmly toward it, putting the reports there in a gentle move, Mori watched it with a thoughtful expression. "I think you know what comes after, don't you, Chuuya-kun?"

Chuuya looked at Mori with an emotionless expression.

Mori continued, taking his subordinate’s silence as a consent to speak, “As the leader of this organization, I am forced to admit that you've become an extremely important asset to the Mafia.” his tone sounded exactly like a lullaby— but if one would ever fall asleep, one might, would never wake up. Mori smiled a little more openly and genuinely. “But before anything, I need to discuss it with the other executives, as you may have calculated,” he gestured into the air—slow and fluid movements.

Chuuya's expression didn't change—he said nothing for a moment. "I understand, Boss."

Mori smiled. "I am certain everyone will agree with it, but... ahhh, you know how the bureaucracy around here is, right?"

The answer was silent, but it was there—written all over Chuuya's stormy and lively eyes.

The man gazed at the other for a while, seeming to irradiate with expectations that he wanted to see if they were true.

Yet, that didn't make Chuuya very nervous.He was more than used to Mori’s mechanisms, after all. After a while, straightening his posture, Mori gestured toward the door with his typical neutral expression.

"If there isn't anything you think I should be aware of, you are dismissed."

A bow and Chuuya left—unaware of Mori's slow and mysterious smile that appeared as soon as he had turned his heels to leave.

And an agreement between the executives was, in fact, quickly obtained.

Everyone knew that Chuuya had been essential to the Mafia—he and Dazai Osamu, but that was another story.

Normally, a promotion was just a piece of paper, but for some reason, Mori decided to give Chuuya something else.

Well, actually no. It had been two... no, three things.

Two of them were surprisingly pleasant, and Chuuya benefited from one of them.

The third one was given to him, in the worst time possible.

It had happened just after Chuuya had accessed the documents about his past. Those pages were possibly the worst thing Chuuya had ever laid his eyes on.

But although extremely perturbing, it hadn't been surprising—Dazai once had told him about it, as an act of forgiveness for some stupid and precipitated action he once had made.

Speaking about Dazai... Where was he?

As he was thinking about it, Kouyou entered the room, bringing in the mafia elegance and a certain pleasant smell—her perfume. Light steps echoed around him as the woman rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.

"Congratulations, lad," she greeted, her voice calm and elegant like a violin solo. Then she quickly—but elegantly—retracted her hand from her pupil's shoulder as she walked towards an empty seat at the table.

Chuuya looked up at her with a respectful nod.

"Ane-san…" he smiled a little, "Thank you," he nodded.

Kouyou smiled back and then sighed.

"Mm. I heard the boss has been thinking about giving you something... special..."

Chuuya's heart was still heavy, and his mind was spinning from reading such cruel reports.

"Is that so..." he said with no enthusiasm; he paused and then looked at her. "Was everyone in agreement with my promotion?"

Kouyou lifted a hand to her pink mouth, seemingly thoughtful.

"If I remember correctly... yes... everyone was in agreement with your promotion," she smiled—almost a fraternal, proud smile. "I expected no less of you, lad."

Chuuya reciprocated the smile, but then he stopped.

Something was not making sense here.

Because he remembered what Dazai had told him when he became an executive.

"Well, being an executive has its perks, you know? I can always vote against Chuuya's promotion!"

Although it had been a joke, Chuuya—more than anyone—knew how far Dazai would go just to annoy him. He was certain that Dazai would vote against his promotion, just to annoy him, and not because he was against it.

After all, he had been the one giving him clues about those awful documents. He made Chuuya’s pain a little more… bearable, and that was something that Chuuya was thankful for—not that he would ever say it to Dazai.

So, there was no way that Dazai had voted for his promotion.

But just to clarify his doubt, he asked Kouyou for information.

"What about Dazai?" he asked, and Kouyou narrowed her eyes. "Did that bastard vote for my promotion?"

"Dazai-kun?" she asked, then paused, pressing her lips together. "Oh, Dazai-kun was not there to vote, so don't worry," Kouyou smiled.

That caught Chuuya off guard. He wasn’t in the mafia? How was that even possible?

Dazai didn’t make overseas missions as he was the Boss’ right hand. 

So why was he not in the meeting?

"Did that bastard skip the meeting?" Chuuya found himself wondering out loud.

Kouyou looked at him for a while, with a cautious expression.

Then she sighed. "In a way... yes," she said quietly; Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

"What?" he let out an incredulous laugh. "Did that bastard skip his obligations, again?" he half-smiled a bit, amused—as his partner, he was more than used to Dazai's irresponsible and indifferent behavior.

But still, Chuuya couldn’t believe the guy’s attitude—the disrespect. Plus, he lost a perfect chance to ruin Chuuya’s life, which was a bit unusual.

Kouyou stared at him with a doubtful expression—she was looking at him as if Chuuya was having a strange behavior. Inclusively, she even frowned with questions behind her eyes. 

But then her face became increasingly more understanding and almost... apprehensive. 

That was what surprised Chuuya—he waited a bit anxiously for her answer.

Then, it arrived.

"Chuuya, lad..." she sighed softly, closing her eyes with almost a sad expression. "Dazai-kun..." she paused. "Is not in the mafia... anymore."

And each word, each interval between them, felt like a slap.

Leave it to Kouyou to make everything emotional with her incredibly silk voice.

Time stopped, and so did Chuuya’s mind.

He wasn't able to answer it.

So, Kouyou, looking at him, sighed and explained.

"Yesterday he was declared a traitor," she informed, then paused to give Chuuya some time to process the information; she added, "He is not in the mafia anymore. That’s why he was not part of this meeting." her voice was gentle, like a silent apology.

And Chuuya… Chuuya… he couldn’t quite explain what he was feeling at that moment.

If someone would ever ask him what he was thinking, he'd… be silent.

Because… he didn’t know.

All he felt was something similar to emptiness.

Similar to the collapse of the wall that was being built.

Something similar to… pain.

Pain... he hadn’t felt that in a long time. But it was an old friend to him, a familiar sensation. He could recognize the sword that crossed his own heart anytime.

Kouyou didn’t speak anymore—probably in respect—and she gave Chuuya the intention of wanting to leave.

But before she had the chance to do it, he spoke for the first time.

Straight as a narrow.

"Oh. Is that so?" his voice was not trembling or anything, but his heart was emptier than he had remembered. "I wonder why I was not informed of."

Kouyou sighed in concordance. Slowly.

"The Boss thought it would be something that would trouble your performance, so he didn’t tell you," she said.

The next words were not thought nor planned.

They just flew out of his lips, like it had been a shot.

"Then, the Boss was wrong," he said firmly, making Kouyou widen her eyes. He looked directly at Kouyou. "The fact that Dazai is not here anymore doesn’t make things any different," he said, not leaving her gaze. "I’ll be the same as I always had been," Chuuya declared, and Kouyou looked surprised for a while. Then she glared at him, trying to find—perhaps—a lie or an act—but there were none.

Therefore, Kouyou, visibly relieved, raised her eyebrows.

"I see... I am glad you are not letting your emotions take control of your obligations," and she was being genuine.

Once more, Chuuya didn’t think before speaking.

"Why would I even care about Dazai leaving? He is nothing to me. He was my partner, but from the moment he betrayed this organization," he tried to control his anger, "he has lost that privilege, and he is no longer part of my life."

Despite his notable emotional control, Kouyou noticed how he stood up and pushed the chair—noisily.

She smiled neutrally, understanding the situation—but she didn’t say anything about it.

Chuuya, however, continued. "I have better things to do than to worry about traitors," he said, and bowed his head. "If you excuse me, Ane-san, I have something to do."

Kouyou smiled. At that point, she didn’t know who Chuuya was trying to fool—her or himself.

She cleared her throat, hiding a smile behind her sleeve.

"Of course, lad," she said. Nevertheless, "I look forward to working with you as an executive, Chuuya," she said softly.

And he just offered a plain smile, but grateful anyway.

"I feel the same, Ane-san."

After those words, he left and didn’t look back.

His mind was empty, and he didn’t think about Dazai or the fact that he had left the mafia during the whole course.

Chuuya was pretty sure he was not thinking about what he was doing, just walking without a destination.

Perhaps it had been his inner voice telling him to meet his past.

And for once, he followed it.

His heart was beating quickly with some anxiety as he walked down the stairs.

He felt like he was seeing his past before his eyes.

Memories that were lost for years were coming back.

The Port Mafia basement.

He was in front of it.

He was feeling nothing and thinking about nothing.

Dazai had left; he was a traitor.

Okay, that was fine for Chuuya.

He had always known Dazai's poor loyalty to the Mafia.

That was totally fine with him, so... so why was he there?

If it had meant nothing, why was Chuuya looking for someone to talk with... if... if his departure meant nothing?

He shook his head, dismissing his thoughts, and he pushed the door that gave access to the basement.

The sound of blades clashing echoed, and a voice he hadn’t listened to in a while—but never forgotten—filled his ears and went straight to his empty heart.

Suddenly, the blades stopped, and he heard a muttering before the same voice said, "Chuuya, little brother... what a... pleasant surprise..." his voice was melodious as always, and for once, it felt like a blessing to Chuuya's emptiness.

He, indeed, had not felt like that in a while.

He walked towards the man he called his brother, then he looked at him, eye to eye.

"Paul Verlaine."

The man he had once wished to kill.

The murderer of his friends.

But also his savior.

The gradually visible light showed his brother's majestic features and his elegance.

Paul Verlaine had a beautiful and calm smile on his lips. It almost made Chuuya's heart break in pieces, seeing the warmth and adoration written in those eyes.

He felt incredibly weak.

Those cold and sharp eyes—the eyes of an assassin, who killed with no hesitation and whose hands were filled with blood.

But to Chuuya, the gesture felt immensely warm—a warmth that came from the man who had murdered his friends with brutality.

Perhaps it had been due to his current situation, but... Paul Verlaine's smile felt like a blessing.

Maybe, for once, Chuuya could see him as a proper brother.

He felt like a child who wanted to run toward his brother's arms and cry until the night came.

However, Chuuya didn’t cry.

He wouldn’t... cry.

Instead, he closed his eyes as he sighed.

And Verlaine immediately noticed something else behind his beloved brother's heart.

He looked like a child—small and fragile—who was struggling to admit that they had been responsible for breaking their mother's vase.

Struggling to ask for help, for a hand.

It reminded him of the day he saved Chuuya from that researcher.

He looked so vulnerable... he almost looked like a stray dog...

His face, polished like marble, was beautiful as always, lit by the illumination. But his eyes were like two polished jewels that didn’t shine with life.

Stagnant, yet beautiful.

Inside, Verlaine could see something that he knew no human could: solitude.

He sighed, closing his eyes.

"I have a table where we can talk," his voice was soothing, and it felt better than any caressing. "Walk with me."

And like a lost sheep, Chuuya followed Verlaine to the table.

As they sat down, he noticed the teapot and several cups, with the respective dish under each one.

Verlaine's artificial heart squeezed as he carefully looked at Chuuya, who seemed unsure of even perhaps his own existence.

However, Chuuya didn’t seem dead. If anything, it felt like... he had just seen someone dying.

And oh, he remembered the anger his brother's eyes irradiated... but now? He was more like a kicked puppy.

He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want revenge.

Chuuya lost someone, that was certain.

But lost someone to what... lost someone to who?

These were Verlaine's thoughts as he glanced at Chuuya.

"Tea?"

Chuuya nodded as he watched the man pouring the liquid into the cup; he did the same for his cup and then looked at him gently.

"So... what brought you here, little brother?" he paused as he noticed the lack of reaction from Chuuya. "Don’t get me wrong, it’s always a delight to see you, Chuuya, but... you must have something in mind right now... don’t you?" he said, as he mixed the sugar with the tea with a spoon.

Chuuya didn’t react. He really felt like a robot.

Empty and dead. Behind his eyes, there was nothing but empty and plain loneliness.

Finally, he looked down as he sighed.

"I came to you... because you are the only one who can help me," he said.

Verlaine’s eyes lit up and stopped mixing the sugar with the spoon.

All those years he had wanted to hear those words. Strangely, it felt wrong, seeing his brother’s face. But...

"No one will ever be able to understand me." his eyes were like sharp knives. As an assassin, Verlaine had seen less brutal looks. Then, Chuuya’s tone briefly palled. "No one... no one but you... brother."

He diverted his attention to the cup as he used his spoon to mix nothing in particular.

Verlaine did the same, and a smile appeared on his lips.

It was a sad, kind smile. The type of kindness Verlaine had reserved for his two favorite people.

His brother and the only human he was never able to hate.

No matter how much he tried.

The metallic sound filled the air, giving it a certain melancholy. A sad scenario that would fill Verlaine’s artificial heart for a long time.

"Well, then." he said as he lifted his gaze toward his brother. Then he opened another smile. "How can I help you, dear brother?"

It felt surreal how two people, such as them, doomed to the endless darkness and solitude, could be able to have such a moment.

Two brothers speaking.

And there was something incredibly poignant about two doomed souls—brothers not by blood, but by circumstances—speaking.

Something tragically beautiful.

Slowly, Chuuya raised his head and looked inside Verlaine’s eyes—deeply and dripping with feelings.

They were not empty anymore.

The jewels shone. They were shining as a storm, as lightning would severely punish the stormy sky.

It was a painful beauty.

There were no tears, no sounds, just an upcoming storm like his little brother was.

Verlaine loved him more than anything.

He had learned to love the stormy sky more than the rain... Rimbaud... he hated cold weather...

Verlaine never really minded a little storm.

Especially when the storm was about his little brother.

Named Nakahara Chuuya, cursed by birth, tortured by life.

Unwanted by death.

If he was human, which Verlaine knew he wasn't, Chuuya had stopped feeling like that a long time ago.

He was... no longer human...

And there was something beautiful about that.

"You said people often lie to deceive and to foul other people, right?" Verlaine nodded slowly. Because he had never been one to lie.

At least not to the person in front of him.

"I did. Humans are not trustworthy creatures." Then he added with a sigh after a pause full of past. Full of his past. "Every human but Arthur." Every word carried a lingering strain. "He was... an incredible human being." His smile illustrated the intensive and burning adoration Verlaine felt for his deceased ex-partner.

His dear, dear friend.

His inspiration during days of solitude.

It had been so meaningful that Chuuya had to swallow. He didn't think about the fact he had just lost his partner.

Dead? Alive?

Chuuya didn’t know.

Chuuya didn’t care.

Yet, he felt a staining pain on his chest.

Even so, he proceeded, like he always did.

"You can't trust no one but your allies." he said, slowly, almost as if diligently tasting his words. "Your partner included, right?" his voice was now a bit higher, but still not too high. Still controlled.

To anyone, it’d probably have been nothing, but to Verlaine, it was the confirmation he needed.

He stopped drinking his tea, with a cautious expression.

He was not looking at Chuuya.

There was no need for that.

Verlaine stayed quiet for a while, but then he took a sip of it and lowered his hand with the cup. He pressed his lips together, pondering.

Finally, he said as he gently placed the cup on the little dish, "I see..." The sound reverberated in the air. "...So this is about that guy..." he sighed. "What was even his name?" He pretended to think, not giving Chuuya any chance to answer. "Ah, I remember... Dazai-kun... wasn't it?"

Chuuya saw how Verlaine's tone changed.

Then, silence filled the air.

He didn’t confirm nor deny it. He dodged the conversation he started like an agile warrior would dodge the blade of death.

Instead, he took a silent sip of his tea. The hot liquid slipped down his dry throat and lightly burned his lips.

Then he placed it on the small dish with a tired sound, with a sigh.

"You were right," he said. But Verlaine didn’t react as he blankly stared at his brother. Chuuya noticed it and he didn’t care. "You were right about thinking of the future and not the present." he ended up admitting as Verlaine watched him attentively.

It was not possible to see what the man was thinking. "What I have today might not exist tomorrow or... it... it might turn out to be a complete lie." He paused, and his tone was painfully silent and low.

He sighed tiredly, full of regret.

"I was a fool to think that something could last forever."

He looked down at his tea in the cup.

His faint reflection was shown.

He tried to see more there, a light, a smile, his friends, life... but there was nothing.

No hope on the tea.

No hope for a quiet and normal life.

His life was like that hot tea—burning and ephemeral.

It would eventually end.

And it was often so sour.

Sometimes, not even the sugar could help.

Chuuya wanted little biscuits with the tea.

That way it'd be more bearable.

"People come and go," after his meditation, Chuuya spoke. He paused a bit. "They do whatever they want, and they don’t give a fuck about the other’s feelings."

Verlaine looked at him with an apprehensive expression. His previous blank face melted.

"Humans... humans are, indeed, treacherous creatures," he said like it was obvious with his soft tone. His eyes were like the sea—blue and deep. "They can’t be trusted." he smiled and looked at Chuuya, placing his empty cup aside. "But I suppose this is nothing new... I told you this before, didn’t I?"

Hesitantly, Chuuya nodded. It was such a small reaction.

One could have easily missed it.

He looked like the child Verlaine met.

"You did." Solemnly, he agreed. "But I was too much of a fool... to hear it." Regret filled his words. "You were right."

Verlaine smiled a little with his eyes.

"I should not give in to my emotions, nor should I think about the people who don’t... give a damn about me and... my feelings... my emotions." And the tone was significantly sadder.

No, it was not exactly sadness, it almost looked... disappointed.

"I shouldn’t have given in."

He should have not.

Because now, it was too late to tell past Chuuya that.

Now, he would just have to live with it.

Verlaine stared at Chuuya silently for a while and then opened his mouth, placing his forearms on the table.

"You... you don’t seem very surprised," he commented. "Deep down, you knew one day... this... would happen, right?" He paused and then added softly, "You just didn’t want to think about that possibility, right?"

Oh.

Chuuya... Chuuya did know that.

Chuuya knew how far Dazai’s loyalty to the organization could go: it was not much.

But... that wouldn’t change what he was feeling.

And so, he looked away, away from his brother’s somehow curious gaze, a bit uncomfortable.

"I am... I am not surprised," he admitted painfully, and paused. "I have always known that bastard's loyalty was almost nonexistent and that... he was a selfish asshole." He paused after those words.

Because calling Dazai, his partner, that felt very real.

For the first time, he meant it.

Dazai was incredibly selfish and a disloyal person.

Those words didn’t feel like a source of anger or irritation like they usually did.

Now they just... hurt like freshly opened wounds.

His partner was a selfish asshole.

He was surprised how calmly he had said that. He was not even angry. It was almost... strange.

But then... Chuuya looked at Verlaine, who looked at him with slight curiosity and a cautious expression.

"But I trusted him."

And he did.

He trusted Dazai with his life.

Contrarily to the mafia’s popular belief, Chuuya knew Dazai would never, ever disappoint him.

After Verlaine and the fateful Dragon Head Conflict, Chuuya could have said that there was no one he'd trust more than Dazai.

Because... that’s what it meant to be a partner, right?

More than... a close person, Dazai was his partner.

They might never have had... something as pure and precious as a friendship... never have had a peaceful relationship... but...

Chuuya wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Now that Dazai was gone, Chuuya noticed that.

And so, he continued. 

"Dazai... I trusted my life to him and he... he was my partner. He was always someone that I knew I could rely on, no matter what." He paused as his eyes spoke what his mouth didn't. "And... I thought this meant something to him... at least... like it meant to me."

That was like a slap. It felt like one.

Verlaine stayed silent. His eyes were filled with memories from a distant past,

A past that Verlaine had not been aware of, and he could only dream how Arthur had felt when he betrayed him.

If it had been like Chuuya was... then... he didn't want to think about it.

So he stayed quiet. He had no word in the matter.

And Chuuya continued.

"But this was my fault," he said sternly "I didn’t think about the future and the possibility of someone... someone as dishonest as Dazai could leave the organization." He paused, merely to take a quiet sip of his tea. Then he said,"Without saying anything."

Verlaine simply looked at him.

That was all he did.

All he could do.

His brother was speaking, and he listened.

"And... and he probably even made fun of me." He laughed dryly, more dry than the Sahara Desert. "...leaving something behind to annoy me." He sighed, changing his tone, and it was the closest he could come to a cry. He proceeded like the warrior he was, with a decided tone. "So... after what happened... I decided to think further," he declared.

A pause.

"Because... I don’t want to think about what I’m doing at the moment. I don’t want people like... Dazai... to order me around like a sheepdog." His voice was intense and almost emotional.

Then he added quietly,"I want to be responsible for my own actions and thoughts."

After a while, looking at his barely emptied tea, Chuuya looked at his brother.

Verlaine saw a sixteen-year-old Chuuya there.

Aware of his demise.

Dazai Osamu was a human, and humans love excessively.

He wouldn't be the exception.

He knew too well that look when he glanced at Chuuya.

So, there was no way that he didn't care about him.

Still, he wouldn't say that to Chuuya, who seemed sure Dazai didn't "give a fuck" about him.

So, instead, he said,

"But you are right that you shouldn't expect anything from people," he said. "Chuuya... people will try to benefit from your weaknesses and use your feelings, that's... that's how humans are. I know it." He smiled bitterly. Rimbaud was not like that. And something told him Dazai was not like that... too. He continued calmly. "But sometimes... something, we should give the benefit of the doubt to people's actions..." Dazai-kun certainly had a choice to leave," he added.

Chuuya looked at Verlaine.

It was not a sharp look, but it was not kind either.

"Yes," he said, "And I certainly have the right to clean him from my life."

It was the answer. Verlaine only nodded. Because he had that right.

"You do," he agreed. "And you would probably be correct, because that guy doesn't seem like someone you can trust." That was a fact. "But..." he sighed, "You shouldn't expect anything good from people. You saw what your sheep friends did, right?"

Chuuya stiffened, not expecting that. Verlaine continued, "You saw how the Mafia has been treating you... manipulating you... didn't you?" Chuuya downed his glance. Verlaine smiled. "I have told you before, but... this world doesn't deserve you, little brother." He paused. "You shouldn't give your all and your life to them: you have no guarantee that they will do the same for you."

There was no answer.

Because they both knew the outcome.

"About thinking further..." he sighed. "Well... you can't escape your fate and your existence, Chuuya." He leaned back a bit. "When you were sixteen... I gave you a way out, remember?"

Chuuya didn't answer.

"-and you refused it," he smiled, closing his eyes. "And I understand why, but now you have to accept the cruel consequences and the wickedness of this world." His voice was, for the first time, firm and authoritarian; then he softened it and his eyes too. "I am here for you, whenever you need."

With this, Chuuya was silent.

He didn't have any answer.

Even if he wanted to deny it... it was all true...

He remembered Verlaine's words like they were yesterday's, including the speech about destiny and his fate.

And none of them were pleasant nor tranquil.

He ignored it for years, but now... it seemed to be the time to face reality.

And so Verlaine spoke. "The first step in life is to accept your fate," he explained quietly; he sighed. "Chuuya... there... there is no happy ending for people like us." His voice had that lingering poetic tone, like a ballad. Ballad of death. "Our existence was meant to bring chaos and destruction. When it comes to anything else, we are unqualified for it," he said with an apprehensive tone. "Why do you think you are unable to keep a stable relationship?"

Silence.

"Because you are not suitable for that. Sure, you can temporarily enjoy that feeling, but deep down... you know... you know it won't last..." He shifted his glance. "Am I not right?" he asked rhetorically. "You knew it would happen with Dazai as well. Like you told me: you ignored the future." His tone was like a solo of a sad violin.

It went straight to his heart.

Chuuya simply pressed his lips together, seeming to restrain his crying or something else.

"Chuuya... little brother... you know... you know I am right, correct?" He smiled. "You are in the mafia, but for what? What are you doing here? Why... why did you stay? You might have a lot of reasons, but... what makes you stay here? What is it?"

"It's not like I have much of a choice," he said. "It's a place to stay, a place to live."

Verlaine was silent. Chuuya sighed, shifting in his seat.

"Besides, what can I do if I leave the Mafia? Nothing. No choice. I have no choice here, Verlaine." A cold tone. "I never had."

And it was true. But that didn't make it any less painful.

His brother smiled.

"It's too late, isn't it?" he said. "You now understand why I said you should never have been born, don't you?" Chuuya raised his head, and his eyes were slightly reflecting.

Verlaine sighed.

"Unfortunately, this was the life people... they gave us," he said, almost wistfully. "Ah, them... We can't defeat nor fight it."

Silence filled the air.

"Like a storm," almost like a poem, Verlaine said. "Fate... the end is like a storm." He smiled, almost kindly. "We don't know when it will happen, but we do know for a fact that it will happen."

Chuuya looked at him. "You remember the storm, don't you? You can't fight it." Then he added, "You can't win it."

Chuuya, who had been silent, finally spoke.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?! To kill myself like that bastard wants to?" He paused a bit. "To lock myself away from everything and everyone like you do? To be a cold murderer like half of the Mafia is? Tell me, Verlaine, what should I do?"

He was not screaming; he was not angry. Verlaine was not his target. It wouldn't be fair shouting at him. So he sighed.

"I don't know what to do. I know what the future awaits me, but... I don't know what I should do at the moment," he calmly placed a hand on the table. "I asked you because..." He sighed. "Because I thought you would understand me."

But all Verlaine could offer was a smile. Useless as it was.

"I do, Chuuya, I really do."

"But you can't do anything to help me," he said as a fact.

He knew that.

They both knew.

"That's right. I can't do anything," Verlaine calmly agreed with a nod.

"Should I just... give in and..." he realized he had stood up with the storm of emotions, despite his voice being calm, and sat down with a sigh. "...be what people expect me to be? The executive the mafia wants?"

It took a while until Verlaine's answer.

"It's your choice, little brother. All I can say is that everything you have today is temporary." A kind smile. "The storm is certain, but you don't know when it will happen. So you won't be able to pack your life before it breaks in. It will just..." He stopped.

Although it had not been clear, Chuuya had understood it. The storm... was a storm. There was nothing else left to do.

He pressed his lips together and then sighed. A bitter smile appeared.

"Bah, I should have known you would only make things worse," he said a bit disappointed.

"Nonsense." Verlaine shook his head. "I am not the one making everything worse. Reality is... Life is... It's not something I can control." He looked at him very seriously. "Only you can. If you want to end your journey, do it. But if you want to live in this illusion, temporary and dishonest as it is... you are welcome to do it as well."

Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

"I am not locked up here like you are, Verlaine." He paused. "You keep speaking as if I had any choice here." He paused again. "Which I don't." He sighed. "Between seeing my friends dying and seeing myself under the mafia's claws, I prefer a hundred times the latter," he said.

Verlaine looked at him.

"You did choose your cage, dear brother."

"I did," he said, because... he did. "I did for the sheep and... now I have a job to accomplish and expectations to reach..."

His brother cautiously watched him.

"Even back then, it's never my choice."

That's why he should have never been born. It was his punishment for his existence. Verlaine was certain Chuuya knew that, but refused to accept it.

"I see..." he said. "Someone showed you... must have delivered you the sweet illusion of free will..."

Been there once and it's not pretty, he thought. Arthur's words. He wondered if Dazai had been that person for Chuuya.

But his brother looked utterly decisive.

"Whatever you are thinking—don't," he said sharply. Then his tone changed. "I am staying here because I have no choice and... and... and it's not so bad." Finally, he stood up, his face devoid of emotions. "I'll just have to clean that bastard from my mind and memories. And everything will be fine." He smiled once again, without emotions.

Ah, so it was like this... Chuuya... lost his last... and only hope...

Oh, Verlaine... he was quite acquainted with that.

And because of it, he smiled understandingly.

Chuuya was still looking at him, probably expecting something from his older brother. Smiling, finally Verlaine said, "Is that so?" He paused, opening his smile further. "Then... I wish you the best, little brother," he said, with genuine honesty. "You know I am always here to talk."

Chuuya, already on his feet, looked at him almost with an ironic expression. His brother's dramatic words had always made him unironically annoyed.

"Sure," he said. "I am certain, you won't go anywhere." He turned on his heels and sighed. "Because it's so hard to find someone down here, right?" He laughed a bit and started to walk away.

However, one last piece of advice was left.

"Chuuya."

The new executive stopped walking uneasily. Then Verlaine said, "Don't trust people, nor expect something from them." He paused. "If you expect the worst from people, whatever they do will never disappoint you."

Silence filled the air, and Chuuya's breath was audible. His expectations were low enough, at least he thought that, but... apparently, he still expected a hint of empathy and understanding from his partner—no, ex-partner.

Ah... Verlaine... Pau Verlaine...

How his brother was right...

But despite that, Chuuya still laughed a little. It was almost as artificial as Verlaine's soul.

"Well, at least a good piece of advice from my older brother!" He waved a hand in disdain. "I’m not expecting anyone to carry me home or something, so don’t worry." Then he stopped talking, stopped walking. The sound of his shoe hitting the ground reverberated.

Verlaine waited for his brother's last words.

"Don’t worry," Chuuya said. After some time, he looked over his shoulder. "How can I expect something I don’t know what it is?" He paused, smiling bitterly. "You and I, more than anyone, know what—how this is, right?" His eyes were dark.

People say the eyes are the reflection of the soul.

"It has always been like this," Chuuya added, before looking ahead and walking toward the stairs to leave. Due to this, he was not able to hear Verlaine’s equally bitter laugh.

On that very same day, Chuuya thought through Verlaine’s words and radical advice. They hit his head like hammers. But it didn’t hurt. Not anymore. It just... left him... strangely... aware of himself.

That night, he sat down at the wooden table in his house with a wine bottle in front of him. It was a Petrus 89. It had been a present from a client, and Chuuya had saved it for an eventual celebration.

Usually, he never drank alone. He was always accompanied by people, with nights filled with laughs, smiles, and jokes...

Chuuya never drank alone, but... seeing how late it was... no one would likely have wanted to drink with him, and... he didn’t really want to see anyone.

Not that day.

He found himself lost in his brother’s words about Dazai, about his life... And it was all so true and genuine that it made him sick.

He just wanted to forget everything he had been told. Too much, too much, too much for him—too much, way too much. Truth or a lie, it had stung his chest.

And perhaps as his only choice and without any hesitation, he grabbed the bottle in front of him. He opened it and pressed his lips against the bottleneck. It felt more like a medication.

Alcohol cured pain, right?

Just for a second, he thought about... stopping it.

But he didn’t... pull back, tilting the bottle to make gravity run the wine straight to his throat.

It was not meant to taste the wine—which was a shame, really, considering its quality—but to drink. He drank just for the sake of drinking. For the first time.

And... he was aware of it... or... half of the bottle. After that, Chuuya was not responsible for what happened. Nor aware of what he had felt.

He did remember that the wine’s taste was bitter, as it was accompanied by such acid thoughts. Verlaine’s words... his past... his future... his present... Dazai’s departure...

His heart was pounding heavily in his chest. And then, he blacked out.

The night was over for Chuuya.

But in the morning, when he woke up, he had his head on the table and a terrible headache. As he lifted his torso, his eyes noticed small spots that were drawn on the table’s towel.

Chuuya assumed those were wine drops. (and not regretful tears)

And so, from that day on, Nakahara Chuuya and everyone forgot about Dazai Osamu and his betrayal.

Just like Chuuya had told Verlaine, he'd surround himself with work, guaranteeing that his life would gain some value.

And, in fact, it did.

The compliments, the fame, and even the jealousy gave some color to his life... but only for a while.

It had been something, although it was meant to not last forever.

In the end, Chuuya would find himself alone, at a desk, his schedule filled with meetings, his boss frequently relying on him, papers, pencils, people...

And in the beginning, it felt right, until... he felt that inevitable and pungent loneliness.

He'd remind himself countless times of his brother's words:

"Nothing lasts forever, and everything is temporary. Don't get too close to people, you will never know when they will stab you from the back."

...

Silently, he wondered if this was how Dazai felt before leaving... more like a weapon, a mafia asset than a human being.

No longer human.

Ah, even away, Dazai occupied his thoughts.

It was almost... it almost made Chuuya miss him... to miss him more... miss him more than the hatred he felt for him.

"You are a kid too,"

Fifteen-year-old Dazai had said, eyes more dead than a fish's. Chuuya could remember it.

"I am not just any child,"

Back then, Chuuya had said.

But back then, fifteen-year-old Chuuya took pride in what he did. He would kill a bunch of people as long as he'd use his fists—his feet.

Now?

Now Chuuya didn't take any pride... not when the person he wished to defeat was no longer there.

Now that Dazai had left the organization, he had no need for that.

Now it was just... boring. It was almost as when he was the sheep leader, but back then... back then Chuuya hadn't met Dazai.

Now, he knew Dazai... now that he finally got his former partner, he could say he didn't want to see him ever again.

Chuuya knew it wouldn't be a peaceful reunion... if possible, he'd like to avoid that.

...

Maybe Verlaine was right.

Maybe Dazai had been responsible for delivering the illusion of having a choice...

Because now, Chuuya noticed how different his life was... without him...

He didn't think often about Dazai. He had not lied when he said he was dead to him, but... sometimes... when he looked at Dazai's former apprentice...

He'd find himself lost in memories.

And once he found it, he never wanted to let go.

He once wondered if this was how Rimbaud had felt when he found Chuuya.

If his words had been to Verlaine and not to Chuuya.

Because... Chuuya felt similarly. Once, he told Akutagawa something he'd liked to tell Dazai:

"If you can't find something worth living for... find a reason worth dying for."

The boy's eyes had shown a hint of surprise.

Chuuya wondered if Akutagawa knew to what person those words had been tailored for.

After all, fifteen-year-old Chuuya did know ... but he didn't care.

He hadn't care if Rimbaud's words had been for Verlaine and not for Chuuya.

It hit him all the same.

And he remembered Arthur Rimbaud's words like it had been yesterday's.

"Chuuya-kun, can I ask you a favor? Live. There is no longer… any way of knowing… who you are or where you came from... But even if… you are but a pattern… etched on the surface of raw power… you are you. Nothing changes that… because all people, all humanity… their brains and flesh… are nothing more than patterns—beautiful patterns… upon the material world..."

Rimbaud died in peace with his friend.

Chuuya really wished he could mourn Dazai like Rimbaud did to Verlaine...

But... how could he possibly mourn something that never ended?

He could mourn the beginning, the day he met Dazai, the moment he trusted him but...

Chuuya had always done what he wished and... he didn't regret meeting... Dazai... or trusting him...

When his car was burned, turned into flames in front of his eyes... it didn't feel like the end.

He didn't feel angry or irritated... well, sort of a bit annoyed, but...

What predominated was... something close to disappointment because... their relationship had never died.

It had been buried alive, without even ending.

And because of it... it hurt when he first heard from Kouyou.

So...

"The only way to stop the suffering is to never be born."

Perhaps... then... he should grieve the day he met Dazai.

Maybe that's what he'd mourn about.

Yes, he'd bury the past, live the present, and think about the future.

And so, Nakahara Chuuya lied to Verlaine when he said he had always done what he wanted, no regrets.

He even lied to himself.

Because, there was one thing he regretted in his life.

And he knew it.

Chuuya was not sorry for the poor end of their relationship, no.

He didn't regret trusting Dazai, either.

He didn't regret being his partner.

He didn't regret their hangouts.

He didn't regret any of those.

No.

However, one thing he felt terribly sorry for.

The day he met Dazai.

It had been his biggest and only regret.

Nakahara Chuuya had always done what he wanted, he never had regrets.

Yet, he regretted the day he looked at Dazai.

And that, he felt sorry about.

Terribly so.

[ectonurites]

SUPER DARK TIMES (2017) DIR. KEVIN PHILLIPS ↳ JOSH TEMPLETON, ZACH TAYLOR, & ALLISON BANNISTER

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao

I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?

Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.

I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x

a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.

“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”

You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”

Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Oh. My. God!

You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him. 

Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”

He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned. 

Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out. 

But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much.  “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”

You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling. 

The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing. 

The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much. 

None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted. 

You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be. 

You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!

Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover. 

The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”

It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark. 

You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack. 

Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.” 

“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you. 

Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified. 

“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do. 

There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”

You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up. 

Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you. 

But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”

“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her. 

She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”

She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both. 

You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it. 

“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through. 

You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground. 

Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat. 

You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest. 

You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand. 

You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look. 

You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast. 

But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings. 

It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped. 

Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott. 

He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at. 

Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black. 

When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you. 

You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple. 

The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage. 

Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged. 

She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?” 

She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”

The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you. 

You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”

Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”

You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation. 

“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant. 

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”

“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time. 

Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice. 

“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”

“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott. 

Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most. 

So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand. 

“What’re you doing?”

You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens. 

He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior. 

“I think that’d be best.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated. 

You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him. 

What the fuck?

It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him. 

He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you. 

Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire. 

And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams. 

He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead. 

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you. 

He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess. 

Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off. 

Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense. 

Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal. 

You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag. 

But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you. 

You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip. 

You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you. 

You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known. 

“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”

It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?

Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions. 

“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him. 

“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad. 

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”

If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.

“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue. 

He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room. 

“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off. 

The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”

He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”

You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby. 

Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”

“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another. 

Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up. 

“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought. 

It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”

“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all. 

The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest. 

You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to. 

You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her. 

You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him. 

You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you. 

You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him. 

Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him. 

It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long. 

It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again. 

“Has he made much progress yet?”

Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire. 

His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated. 

That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes. 

He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye. 

You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”

You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”

“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you. 

There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow. 

You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”

Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position. 

“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt. 

He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared. 

He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at. 

Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”

Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”

She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever. 

You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor. 

You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain. 

You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere. 

You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”

Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”

You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”

He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”

His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had. 

“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”

You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”

“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea. 

“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said. 

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love. 

You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him. 

“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up. 

“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order. 

You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. 

That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants. 

You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him. 

Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips. 

You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”

You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”

He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”

You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you. 

He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass. 

a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl ♡ 

[golden-redhead]

I think there's a lot of signs pointing to Jayce actually doing the right thing ...or at least the right thing based on the information available to him at the time.

We can't know for a fact just how much Viktor was changed and what his healing was doing to the people who came to him in the long run, but considering all the hints dropped by the writers, the situation is much less clear than we think. Obviously, everyone's first instinct is to condemn Jayce and his actions, especially because Viktor is one of fan favourites, but looking at the teaser for the next Act and what little we know about what happened to Jayce, I think it might have been necessary evil.

I think this scene of Viktor temporarily 'possessing' Salo in order to talk with Jayce points to just how fucked this little community that Viktor created actually is. There's a reason why everyone's getting those 'it's a freaking cult' vibes.

This scene made me more uncomfortable than anything else this season and I think it's clear that it was meant to make feel that way. There's something so uncanny about Viktor's voice coming out of Salo's mouth, especially paired with that look on his face and how Viktor seems to be able to see and experience things through him in this moment.

And then there's also the issue of all these people dying a horrible drawn-out death as soon as Viktor himself 'dies'. Yes, they came to him on their own, they asked to be healed, but did they really know what they are getting into? Did they know this is what might happen?

Some of them were already dying, true, but Viktor healed all kinds of people, some of whom most likely had their whole lives ahead of them. He, knowingly or not, inevitably sped up this process. Not all of them were consummed by Shimmer-addiction or permanently disabled like Salo.

And then there's also the fact of all of them basically abandoning their previous lives to serve Viktor and his community. Which, okay, makes sense, there's certainly a parallel with the community that Ekko created for Zaunites to keep them safe from Piltover and Silco's plans. They made an informed choice, though, and I don't think the same can be said about Viktor's cult-like commute.

They seem peaceful, yes, but also devoid of personality and entirely dedicated to Viktor and his cause. Of course, it can be explained by gratitude towards him and desire to be kept safe in a calm and peaceful environment, but it's taken to such an extreme point that it definitely crosses the line into uncanny territory in my eyes. Their hivemind behaviour is very unsettling and even though Viktor seems to frame his recent actions as some kind of greater good, I don't think it's necessarily true.

We have yet to find out what Jayce saw and who's in the right and who's in the wrong. Either way, as usual when it comes to Arcane, it seems to me that more than ever, everyone's a victim of the circumstances and tragedy spares no one.

Considering that Viktor is set up to be 'reborn', I can't help but wonder what it means for his community and if they will also be brought to life by whatever connection they have with him. It would be a fascinating choice given how Viktor's arc has always been about autonomy and making your own choices.

Arcane, it's been a pleasure having my heart torn out of my chest by you. Can't wait for the last Act.

[acid-ixx]

before the bell rings (a loving family, an unpalatable desire spin-off)

ft. romatic yandere bruce wayne x gn reader x platonic yandere batfam.

tw: slight nsfw. bruce watches and kisses you while you sleep. in no way, shape or form do i condone this behavior irl.

ihave a raging headache but i don't care because i love making spin-offs of my original series'. and now i've been thinking of something related to a loving family, an unpalatable desire where just like again &. again being the opposite of like him, in this current universe i'm writing about;

you're much too loved by your husband, bruce wayne.

there are eyes everywhere when you two have been into the first stages of your marriage. he may have proposed to you for the sake and promises of protection both your families agreed upon from when martha and thomas and alive— your relationship must've been purely transactional during your childhood; but in the process of knowing you better during the planning for your wedding, in the process of grief and accepting his parents' deaths, a broken childhood and cold glances—

bruce came to love the comfort and warmth you offered him.

the entire time he was convinced that your marriage will be all but a distant relationship all throughout planning for possible venues, cake designs, guests and attires; a task he chose to uphold for the sake of your preference of a picture perfect wedding and his reputation to keep in public.

it was all that, mere promises to maintain cordiality.

there would be no affectionate touches, or the need for intimacy during both your honeymoon stages. he respects your boundaries, and you do with his privacy. after the entire wedding, everything will return to normal; with the added fact that you'd simply be living in his mansion with no qualms to bother him whatsoever.

those were unsaid agreements that you yourself knew to abide by. you were never close with the man you'd be married with during childhood, after all. for him, you must've been a checklist for him to fulfill his parents' will; there was no love before or after his grief, not even when you'd attend the funeral and expressed your apologies for the loss— his eyebrows furrowing at your shorter form, but never quite looking at you.

younger you knew it was the protection that will be granted, and never the love you wanted, but you still held on to that flicker of hope that somehow, someday you'll eventually form an amicable bond with your soon-to-be husband.

yet to you, he was the only ticket way out of your abusive home life, one filled with not only coldness, but sharp glares from a mother who never wanted you and painful beatings from a father who criticizes his own child's every mistake, each hit more painful than the last.

as much as you desire something more homely from your soon to be husband, you've long since accepted that your life will never be filled with visceral love that eats you up, love whose hands tangle upon your hair not out of sheer hatred but desire, love whose strong arms raise you up in the air rather than raises itself up to hit you.

and as you both prepare for your wedding, an air of awkwardness and discomfort was expected. backs turned, never facing each other, your eyes never quite looking at his, and unwanted brushes of each other's bodies bumping into each other translates itself to tension and mere desire to get over the plans just as quickly.

bruce tells himself, it will all be over soon. this is necessary to keep up facades and earn more connections. he hasn't been as close with childhood friends after his parents' death, hence why he was too ruffled to properly communicate with his partner after years of isolation from peers. he knows you know to understand that fact.

you tell yourself that as much as your heart aches at the impending doom that you wouldn't be able to spend time with your husband as much after the entire fiasco of dealing with wedding arrangements, with wayne enterprises and hundreds of other duties to fulfill— you've nothing to do but embrace that mere fact.

so it was all that.

bruce will never love you as much as you force yourself to love each and every flawed part of him. the first steps of planning your marriage already reflected what would soon be the damning years of a loveless courtship.

love is painful, loving bruce will be painful. your heart will never flutter at the meaningless bouquet of flowers he'd gift you, or jewelry that was never your preference, all because you both knew it was a necessary farce to make things prettier on the outside. bruce can never learn to love again after the heartbreak of losing two of his loved ones.

all that.

yet the longer you two spend time in the same room in stuffy outfit fittings and bakeries whose warmth both your loves you thought would never quite reach— the more bruce notices the slight quirk of your lips every time he guessed your favorite color or design, the gleam in your eyes glowing brighter at him choosing what he thought would be the perfect confectionaries for reception, and the tiny claps and soft tugs at the cuffs of his sleeve the more he chooses to accommodate each and every preference of yours.

he starts to fall, not out of hindsight. he was never an obvious man, no.

but he fell in love, either way.

with your habits, the way your hands gesture your excitement, and the shy grin you show his way whenever he pursues physical affection to you in both private and public; with you melting into his once stiff chest and ridged shoulders, hands wrapped around your waist, head slowly nuzzling into the crown of your hair. sometimes he'd be brave enough to caress your hips and run his fingers through the flesh between your neck and shoulders.

every damn time he takes a newer risk, every time, you'd be left shocked, yet never pushing away at his ministration.

a surprise that rewires your perception of him in your mind— not less pleasant nonetheless.

he falls in love whenever his heart beats faster— a feeling he thought he'd never come across after years of hardened training— at the way you buzz every time he proposes you two go out on dates, at your unheard gasps whenever he actually gives you bouquets of your favorite flowers as gifts, at your incoherent mumbles as you two walk through the farmer's market with his body shielding you from stalking paparazzi's and countless of admires; your mouth forming words, brows furrowed, oblivious at bruce's unwavering gaze and arms ready to rest upon your shoulders as if he never once hesitated to touch you.

and he soon realizes that he begins to yearn sleeping in the same room as you. you still stay at your home at the time being, only to be housed at his right after your marriage— but bruce loses sleep all the same. at thoughts of what you would feel like all pressed up against him, the warmth that emanates off your body every time your arms would explore his chest, and how he'd wake up to your wide, intoxicating smile, calling him, bruce wayne, your husband as you caress him and tell him breakfast is ready.

he could picture you sitting beside him, your arms unknowingly on his thighs because you crave physical affection, your attention on both your children, chattering with them as if you were always their parent. he sees you scolding damian for sneaking food under the table for his, telling jason and tim off for arguing yet again, whilst dick laughs at his brother's clumsy way of eating with barbara rebuking his statements. you'll always be the first person cass would talk to about her ballet recitals, the one duke chides for advice about which club to choose, and steph's first choice every time she stumbles upon drama.

the entire atmosphere would be spontaneous. there could be small fights, little debates and sometimes even tension, yet they listen to you nevertheless. at your pretty voice giving them an earful altogether whilst bruce would worship you with his hungry eyes, forgetting the breakfast on his plate just to hold himself back from the urge to pepper kisses on you in front of the family.

the perfect dream, like a gomez to his morticia who admires every side of them. their beauty, their sadness, anger and flaws. you complete him, he only realizes at such a late time.

just as quick as he imagines those fantasies, bruce would find himself stalking through the confines of your family home as batman; confirming to himself your breathing patterns, the flutter of your eyes, soft mumbles, and your tight hold on one of your pillows, wishing it was him instead. there, he takes in the state of your room: the decor, your wallpapers, each and every trinkets and hobbies you've collected all over the years; and most importantly, just how small and confined your room is, yet cozy at the same time.

the manor would be your castle soon enough, and he promises that it would feel as homely as your previous room. he promises that you wouldn't be sleeping alone eventually. you'll be so loved... so cared for. he'll learn to properly love you, how to touch you in all the ways he could imagine, to kiss parts left neglected, to satiate the hunger watching you every damn time.

every night, he gains newer information about you as you sleep oblivious to the presence looming above you. every night, he notes the texture of your bedsheet, the blankets that hug at your body tightly, the pillows you drool on and the softness of your mattress.

he'd ruffle your hair, and begin to trudge closer and closer to you, to the point his confidence would be at an all time high and he'd be breathing the same pattern as you, body nearly pressed atop yours as his hands tangle itself upon your messy hair. bruce watches your skin bathe in the moonlight's glow, he admires the slow rise and fall of your chest and the delicious peaks of skin from the fabric that threatens to fall.

his desire only grows stronger, his willpower grows weaker all the same.

and at a time of momentary weakness, at the passion that drips off his body merely watching you, at the unsated hunger and moments of restricting himself from touching you too much during your times together— he kisses you while still sleeping, deeply and unregretful at his choice. devouring your lips, wishing he could instead feel his tongue pressing against yours, and licking at the drool that escapes from his relentless kisses. his hands would be on either side of your head, but his thighs pin your waist, heavy and unrelenting on moving from its position.

when he lets go, he laps at his lips for any remaining taste of you, hardwiring the memory into the deepest, most sinful parts of his brain, and admires your beauty from up close. bruce watches just how angelic you look sprawled atop a bed that soon would be big enough to fit two, he sees the smile slowly forming on your face, and the giggles that erupt all while you still remain asleep.

you must've been dreaming something pleasant. he hopes that it is him, he hopes that it would be him lavishing you in his love.

and he'll be coming back home right after pecking your lips and cheeks one last time, before leaving your room, to sleep in his bed all alone after a night of a passionate endeavor. he'll be dreaming of a night with you, every night with you in fact. of your pleasured closed-eyed smile in bed and arms that reach to wrap around his body like you do your pillows. he'll cover you like a blanket with his warmth, too.

and you'll always be in his mind, even as he wakes up every morning after another day of sleepless patrol, without you by his side, without your body pressed tightly against his, without the feeling of your plush skin on his scarred one, or the melody of your snores and flutter of your eyes at the light that hits it; bruce would never be satisfied.

in fact, he begins to crave for more as he touches his lips, remembers how easily pinned you are, how fitting your body is wrapped around his. he realizes that mere fantasies would only serve as distractions, he realizes that he needs the real thing.

soon, he'll invite you to the manor, all in his own accord, without hesitation or implications that it was all for mere planning.

there you would be, shy and modestly greeting his children. bruce notices the way your finger shivers, and the barely concealed smile that makes it way to your face when you finally meet your soon-to-be family, your soon-to-be children.

unaware, oblivious to the night he took your first-kiss. he knows it is your first kiss, you've written it in a journal of yours that you're saving it for whoever is your future husband— it's only right that he prides himself in the fact that he is your fiance.

he notices how well you fit in the manor, how you're such a perfect match to the neverending energy of adrenaline to fight and to patrol, acting as a mediator, a peacemaker to the hustle and bustle of spontaneous fights and arguments that alfred used to deal with alone. and his children—?

god, his children love you.

after first impressions, after you spend time coddling beside your fiance, talking to each and every one of them with a fond smile; acting as if they're all already your children without any second thoughts, never forcing yourself into their lives or invading private topics or inside jokes like the other suitors interested in bruce who visited; after you leave the manor despite their insistence that you stay—

all of them took it in their hands to help you both prepare for the wedding arrangements; damian made a comment to push for the wedding date to be way earlier. dick says he'd be in charge of the music, steph butts in saying she knows how to play the piano, cass opens up about performing a ballet piece during the wedding, duke suggests alfred should be handling the food, barbara says she has connections with entertainment factions, tim states matterof fact that he will be organizing the entire schedule, even jason insists on attending, just simply disguised amongst the background.

it would've been a marriage where it's only your side of the family who attend, an agreement you both settled for in the earlier stages of planning, but...

if the family loves you so much at just a first impression then...

bruce wayne loves his spouse even more.

and you, being the hopeless romantic you ever are, craving intimacy at such a young age from the lack of it, took the bait and fell into his controlling hold when you've still had the chance to back out.

after all, what is love without sacrifices?

soon enough, what once were lingering, unsure touches would be bruce holding you tightly against his chest like you two were puzzle pieces fit perfectly together. he was never the type to compliment through words, but every time you wear your favorite shade or those that matches his suit colors every time you both go out for outings, his bright blue, yet dull eyes would glimmer in the sunlight, taking in your entire form. he'll kiss you for what feels longer than half a minute, and sometimes even pin you down against the mahogany door of the office if it meant he was that pleased.

you love the attention, you bask at just how easy it is to love his children. even if their personalities contrast, even through the fights they sometimes have in front of you; none ever lash out at you for breaking it up, even the youngest, damian, who would always be the most violent amongst the siblings.

hell, he'd always be the most possessive, the most demanding of your attention for whenever you stray too close to his other siblings. always glaring, always picking up fights and insulting everyone, but never directing anything at you, even threatening to bite those who dare touch any gifts you give him.

yet you love them, either way, and you've come to love bruce, too. at the most unexpected of times, even. you love it when his touches linger a bit longer, you buzz with joy every time he'd hide your face from paparazzi and hold you tighter, never once letting a hand stray far away from your body, always having you in his arms just like how your perfect fantasies would always play in your head.

and even if you're still unaware of bruce's identity of being batman, the same hero you used to fear, you still insist on kissing bruce's scars that he always comes home with every night after patrol. you let yourself become a treasure he worships, you allow him to kiss you, defile you, and never once let you out alone anymore— your occasional manor visits before your marriage turned into countless of nights spent under a roof with people you thought you'd never be... that closely intimate with.

it is only before the wedding bell rings that bruce falls in love with you, and it would soon be after that you realize just how trapped you truly are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: after this, i will return to hibernation. and if anybody asks, yes, superman wanting to smash you in this au is still canon. and yes, he will find a way to persuade you in smashing him.

taglist: @donnaaurelia, @prince-nikko, @neerathebrightstar (i hope u like this :))), @mr-celestial-writings, @glasscurrents, @sh4rk-k1d, @vellichor-and-hiraeth, @sammytheotakunerd.

[thewitchblue]

Bruce isn't actually a playboy to the dismay of others. His wife is a shapeshifter and simply changes skins to keep up the reputation. Whenever someone comes to the door or she goes to a gala to support Bruce, she changes into a new person, unable to keep her hands off him as he gives whoever he's speaking to a smirk.

He wanted to flaunt her around, but he needed to keep Batman as far away from Bruce Wayne as he possibly could. This was the only way they could kill the rumours before they began. Nobody would suspect a playboy to be a fighter period, let alone be Batman.

It was actually her idea to use the playboy act to keep Batman's identity away from Bruce Wayne. They would never suspect Bruce Wayne. The closest the public has gotten to solve the masked vigilante was saying they are friends because of how linked Bruce is to the police. Even then, the rumour was killed quickly.

That didn't make keeping her a family secret easy, however. The boys nearly told the public multiple times because of how excited they were to have a mom like Batmom. If Bruce didn't intervene, Batmom would have been exposed, and it would have been all over the news. They are keeping her secret until they absolutely have to reveal her.

That all changed when the Justice League arrived at Wayne Manor after the heroes found out about his contingency plans. It was a trust exercise. One Bruce wasn't happy about, but he considered it necessary.

Nobody knew about her or her shapeshifting (which was the coolest thing ever to the kids) except their family. Batmom was kept a guarded secret and loved deeply by both of the kids she helped adopt so far.

The boys quickly learned to keep her a secret after a couple of close calls in interviews. Not even their friends knew of her. She always wore a different skin when they were around and acted all embarrassed about being caught as another fling.

Batmom waved to them as Bruce was giving them a tour. She was relaxing in the kitchen with Alfred. They were having a pleasant conversation that Batmom considered more engaging than the heroes. She assumed they would simply look the other way and dismiss her as another woman Bruce Wayne managed to reel in. After all, this is her regular skin. A skin she rarely wore outside the Manor.

"Woah, who is this?"

Barry asked Bruce with a flirtatious smile. Bruce glared at the speedster as he made his way to his wife's side.

"My wife."

He replied with a voice that promised violence if the heroes attempted to flirt with her. He pulled out a necklace that held his wedding ring on it and held her hand. She was his, as much as he was hers, and he'll be dammed if someone stole the best thing to ever happen to his family.

"You have a wife?!"

Oliver questioned loudly. Bruce quirked a confused eyebrow at Oliver. His friend seemed stunned. The playboy Bruce Wayne has a wife, and nobody knows about her?

"I see you with a new woman constantly. When did...this happen?"

With a timid smile, his wife waved her hand while shape-shifting into an entirely different woman. She changed her entire appearance. Hair, clothes, eyes, even her face and body type were different.

"This happened ten years ago, Oliver."

The heroes had never been more surprised. The cold, bad Bat had such deep love for his family that he couldn't even keep the adoration off his face when he looked at her.

Just as they began to digest the fact Batman is married, an excited seven-year old child came sliding in with an older kid grinning behind him. They seemed to be in a game of tag before the older one launched the younger into Batmom's arms with a massive grin on his face.

The woman giggled as she caught him, twirling in a circle while tossing him in the air until he, too, fell into a fit of giggles. She held him like Simba from the Lion King for a moment to show him off before holding him normally. She peppered kisses all over his face with a smile until he began squirming in her arms.

She grinned at her boys. They were her everything. She adopted them quickly after she married Bruce. The boys were excited to have a full family, so they agreed immediately to the adoption. They were her boys from day one.

She decided to show little Jason mercy, apparently as she stopped her affection attack. However, she kept him in her arms, not wanting to let him go just yet. She turned back to the heroes in normal clothes with a beautiful smile.

"Oh, baby birds, say hello to Bruce's colleagues."

Suddenly, both young boys were attempting to hide with shy smiles. Even the extroverted Dick was timid at first. Neither of them were used to the type of attention they got whenever they went out with Bruce. Not even Dick, who was a performer.

The elder of the two wrapped his little arms around her waist, which caused her to ruffle his hair affectionately. Suddenly, the heroes all understood why Bruce fell hopelessly in love with the mother in front of them.

"Wait, wait, wait, you kept a shapeshifter from us?!"

Barry asked. His brain seemed to finally compute the facts in front of him. He blinked rapidly at the happy family. Never in a million years would he ever think the Batman could be a family man with a wife and children. Batmom casually said,

"I'm afraid that's my own decision, Barry. We all agreed it would be for the best that I was a secret. We tried to keep the boys a secret, too, but they both seemed to have... other plans." She, quite honestly, never even considered fighting. Sure, she could, but her life was with her boys and Bruce.

A playful smirk played on her lips as she looked at her children as they sheepishly smiled back.

Jason squirmed in his mother's arms and hid his face in her shoulder. He was still getting used to the unconditional love everyone in the family gave him.

With a gentle kiss on the top of Jason's head, she finally sets him down only for Bruce to pick him up again and place him on his shoulders. Tiny Jason squawked in protest. Dick snickered at his mother's side, still partially hiding behind her.

She smirked and playfully bumped him with her hip. Her family is her life, and she plans to keep them as close to her as possible. The League watched Batman and their Batmom play together with grins. They loved Batmom already.

[fxllfaiiry]

─ you're the sunflower ੈ✩‧₊˚

✶ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

✶ synopsis: everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.

✶ warnings: angst!! major angst. sunshine!reader x grumpy!miguel. reader is nicknamed sunflower, mentions of death.

✶ notes: there's one spanish sentence in this, I'm not good with spanish so if I've made a mistake please tell me so i can fix it! part two is already up!!!

Everyone on the team loved you from the moment you joined, everyone, except Miguel. 

You knew Miguel was cold towards everyone, but he was extra cold with you. Maybe it was because of how different your personalities were. 

You were the embodiment of sunshine, always positive in any situation, putting others before yourself. Hence why everyone calls you sunflower, it fits perfectly, Miles was proud of coming up with it. 

Miguel on the other hand was cold and distant but that didn't stop you from trying to get him to open up. You'd try to have simple conversations with him but nothing, all you would receive in reply was an eye roll or a slight grunt, but you wouldn't give up that easily. 

Like today, you got him some coffee. 

"Morning, boss. Got you some coffee." You said in your usual cheerful tone. 

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you suspiciously. That's the most he's said to you all week. 

"Because I wanted to." You shrugged, placing it down on his desk. 

He steped down walking towards his desk, you couldn't help but stare at him, unfortunately for you, everything about him was so attractive, it's such a shame he hated you. 

"This isn't how I like my coffee." 

"Huh?" You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of his voice. 

"The coffee, it tastes terrible. Get it from another place next time." 

"Well, actually I made it-" But he had already walked away from you not listening to a word you said. "Alright, never mind, I'll just go back to work." You mumbled hurt by his words. 

"Wait, hold on." You looked up, thinking, maybe he'll say something nice after all. 

"Yeah?" 

"Take the coffee with you, I won't be drinking it." 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Girl, why do you look so sad? Did Miguel do something again?" Jess asked with a frown, she did not like seeing you sad. 

"No."

"Sunflower…"

"Okay, yes." Miguel being cold towards you was normal, he never spoke to you unless necessary. Out of everyone here, he probably hated you the most, even more than Miles.  

"Sunflower, I've told you to stop trying." Jess sighed. 

"I know, I know… why does he hate me so much, Jess?" 

"That's just the way he is, don't overthink it. It's his loss, baby." She replied, gently patting your shoulder. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Today was going to be a good day, you were so sure of it. 

But, of course, you were wrong. 

Everything was going great up until a few hours ago. 

Miguel had assigned you on a mission to catch an anomaly, alongside a few other spider-people. His instructions were clear, stick to the plan and catch the anomaly. It was supposed to be simple. 

If only you didn't disobey him. You screwed up badly, and because of that, you could have been killed. 

"Why don't you ever listen?" Miguel shouted. No one had ever seen him this angry. 

"I was just tryin-" 

"¡Ay, por el amor de Dios!" Being yelled at by your boss in front of your coworkers was humiliating, everyone was looking at you with pity. 

"I'm sick of this, why can’t you follow simple instructions? Is it that hard to understand?" He barked, towering over you. 

"It's not a big deal." You tried to keep your composure, you didn't want to humiliate yourself further by bursting into tears. 

"Not a big deal? You could've died! A simple mistake would have ruined the whole mission." 

Don't cry. Don't cry. 

"But we're all fine, aren't we?" You weakly chuckled. That was the wrong thing to say because it only made him angrier. 

"Oh? If that's the attitude you have then you shouldn't even be on the team." Ouch. 

"Miguel, I think that's enough-" Hobie said, quickly jumping in. 

"Not now, Hobie." He growled. 

Never once did you think that you'd be in a situation like this. 

"If you put more focus on trying to be good at your job, rather than impressing me, we wouldn't even be here!" Oh, so he did notice that. 

At this point, tears were streaming freely down your face and you made no attempt to stop them. 

"Yep, you got it, boss." You smiled up at him through your tears. It was pathetic, but you did not care, you just wanted to leave and never come back. 

"Next time make sure this doesn't happen." 

"It won't happen next time." That's because there won't be a next time.

[writingouthere]

bestfriendsbrother!Sukuna x pregnant!reader one-shot

summary: you're excited to finally share with all your friends that your pregnant when the party is interrupted by your best friend's older brother, who you didn't invite, but who you did have unprotected sex with less than two months ago.

cw: reader is pregnant, Sukuna is a bad dude, possessive behavior, minor smut, still as usual nicer than it sounds because I can't help it.

**************

"I'm pregnant!"

Your news is met with a period of silence before your friends look at each other, uncertain as to how to react.

Nobara finally breaks the silence, an eyebrow raised. "And we feel...."

"We're happy about it," you say and your friends are then quick to congratulate you. You hear some sort of scuffling happening behind you and you turn around to see Yuuji unfolding a "We're having a Baby!" banner which makes Megumi nearly jump out of his chair.

"Holy shit, did you two-"

"No!"

"Ew, no!"

Yuuji frowns at you. "The 'ew' wasn't necessary."

You and Nobara scoff. "It was," you tell him. "And I say that with all my love."

"Okay, so if this idiot didn't knock you up-"

"Hey!"

"-then who did?"

You'd been expecting the question and had prepared for it. "It was just a one night stand, he's not really father material." Everyone looks like they want to ask more questions so you smile at them, genuinely happy they all look ready to commit a crime for you. "It's okay, I have a good job and this is something I've wanted for a long time. This baby will be really loved because it will have me and, I hope, all of you."

Your friends are quick to agree and there's some lighter questions about potential names, nurseries and Nobara and Todo are looking at her phone debating baby onesies, when the door to you and Yuuji's apartment opens and someone you had definitely not invited comes in.

"Sukuna! You're late, you missed the big news," Yuuji calls out as he walks over and claps his brother on the back. A few people call out greetings as Yuuji's older brother looks around the apartment. His eyes linger on you for a second, a smirk tugging up on his lip before he notices the sign hanging crooked over the kitchen doorway and he laughs without an ounce of humor.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me, you knocked someone up? You irresponsible piece of shit-"

"It's not his and don't kill him, you asshole," Megumi says from where he has now joined the onesies discussion and points over at you. "It's the other person who lives here."

Sukuna pauses from where he was about to murder his brother, to look back over at you. You wonder if his brain is doing the same cursed math that you had done when you were hyperventilating, holding a stick covered in your own pee, but before he could ask anything, Maki ended the silent stand off.

"And we're happy about it, so get happy you piece of shit."

With that, the party continues on, people breaking off until little groups and snacks being placed strategically throughout the apartment.

You're feeling thirsty, and a little exhausted from the burning stare that's been directed at you for the past hour when you excuse yourself from where Miwa and Mechamaru had been talking about their own future plans for children, who you're sure would be socially inept but gorgeous enough to make up for it, and made your way to the kitchen.

You were pulling out some water, no alcohol for you even though you really needed it, when you felt someone's presence behind you.

"So when were you going to tell me we were having a baby?"

"Never, because it's not yours," you answered firmly, slamming the door to the fridge for good measure. Sukuna leaned against the cabinet next to you but you'd known him long enough to see the pose for what it was. A ruse, a performance of casualness. The fingers on his hand tapped against his arm like he was playing the piano, one of the few tics he had that showed when he was feeling, well just feeling anything in general.

"Oh please, you're not fucking anyone else."

"You don't know that and we're not fucking, we fucked once. Singular, past tense."

He laughed and looked down at you, the same predatory look he'd had the night he'd helped you make this child.

"And once was all it took huh? Fucked you so good, you're going to have my baby," he says, voice mocking and he stands up to his full height which puts him over you. He takes the glass of water you're really regretting now, and places it on the counter opposite the two of you.

"It-it's not your baby," but you don't sound sure and he knows it and he presses up against you until your back is to the counter. Nowhere for you to run.

"It's mine, just like you're mine. I don't know who you think you're kidding with this denial of me but it's done now, sweetheart."

You go to answer him and Sukuna covers your mouth with his hand like the rude fuck he is and then leans down, his mouth next to your ear. You look around, worried someone might see you but the gap between the fridge and the counter conceals you both and the room next to you keeps getting louder and louder. The sun had set and there were maybe some lamps in the living room, but here in the kitchen it was dark.

"I let you have your space and your time, two months of it actually. I let you have your little moral crisis about fucking a criminal and it being the best dick you've ever had wah wah, but I was impatient before I knew you were having my baby, and now," he leans back so his eyes, and they're on fire his eyes, are level with yours. "I'm done waiting."

You tug on Sukuna's hand and he rolls his eyes before removing it from your mouth and places it on your hip which doesn't seem like a good trade-off but at least you can speak again.

"What does that even mean?" You ask him, your voice showing the incredulity you're feeling but if Sukuna had anything, it was audacity.

"I mean I'll give you a week to tell your friends you're having our baby and that we're getting married." He says it so seriously that you can't help but laugh which seems to be the wrong response when his other hand moves to your hip as well and squeezes, tight.

"We are not getting married, are you out of your mind?"

"Why not, we're already having a baby, are you going to deny me the ability to live with my own child."

"Still not your kid, and we can't get married Sukuna. We never even dated! We fucked one time, that doesn't mean we should just be together forever."

"We fucked for one night, it was more than one time-"

"Not the argument you think it is," you interrupt him but you still let him pick you up and place you on the counter. You sit there while he runs his hands up and down your thighs, the sounds of the party washing over the two of you as you stay in your little bubble.

"We'd be good together," he finally says. "Not just because I knocked you up on the first try." You hit him but he just smirks and moves his hands more purposefully on your legs. You let him pull them apart and step between them even though warning bells are going off in your head, telling you these are moves you'd seen before and they had led to you being in the predicament the two of you were debating in the first place.

"It's inevitable, the two of us. You can say you hate me, or that I'm not a good man, and that's true. But there's a reason why you've never stayed with any of those nice boys," he says and his hands slips up the skirt you're wearing to get at your bare thighs underneath. "Because you don't want a nice guy, you don't want a good man, you want me and I'm too selfish to let you keep torturing both of us by doing this pretending shit."

The fingers on his right hand press against your cunt through your panties while his other hand squeezes your thigh and he moans sinfully into the quiet air.

"God, I knew I didn't make up this warm, wet cunt. Been fucking my fist until I chafed the past two months just thinking about it."

You whimper as he moves your underwear aside and slips one finger up and down your slit, not touching your clit or going where you want him, but doing enough that you move against his hand.

"This does not mean that we should get married," you protest and he teases a finger against your opening, pulling it back when your hips tilt up in an attempt to get him where you want.

"Why not? I heard pregnant women get super horny, what are you going to do without me around to make sure this filthy pussy gets stuffed just the way she needs." He finally slips one finger in, his thumb moving to tease against your clit, just the way you like it and your head smacks back against the cabinet. He moves the hand that had been on your thigh up so he can cradle your head.

"I'm sure I could find someone willing to help me out," you say scoffing and his hand freezes which makes you whine a little and try to get him to move again but his legs limit your range of motion.

"You ever try to fuck someone else ever again and the coroner is going to have to get dental records to figure out who the dumb fuck with no fingers, no eyes and no cock is, you got it?"

He's not joking, you know he's not joking but it doesn't stop you from leaning forward until you finally get your lips on his. He hums into your kiss, cupping your cheek in his free hand while the other one goes back to opening you up. You're so wet that the kitchen fills with the sounds of his him finger fucking your cunt but you can't even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. He's not wrong that pregnancy has made you more sensitive, or maybe it's just you not having gotten laid since the two of you had slept together.

He's got three fingers in you when you come and he swallows your moans greedily with mouth while his fingers slow inside of you, curving just right to make you think you could probably come again soon, oversensitive or not.

Before you can test that out, he pulls away from you. He licks the fingers he pulled out of you clean and you you're reminded of how the last time he'd made you come twice just with his mouth.

"Where are you going?" you ask him, a little more breathless than you like.

"We are going home," he tells you, grabbing your hands and helping you down off the counter. Giving you a kiss on your forehead that you would tease him for if you were anyone else.

"Home?" you ask, confused because you are currently standing in your apartment unless his orgasms suddenly give one the power to teleport.

"Yeah, our home, not the shitty apartment you share with my brother. I mean we'll have to get somewhere bigger soon, for our baby."

For the first time since you found out you were pregnant, someone who was not you laid out their palm on your still just the same stomach. There was no change from how it always looked but Sukuna looked smug just the same and you felt like you were still missing a few things.

"What-"

"I mean I can fuck you here, I just thought your sensibilities and the fact your friends were all out there would make you uncomfortable."

Your post orgasm flush finally leaves you and you look up at him in panic. "Oh my god, do you think someone saw-"

"It's okay, Fushiguro kept them out I'm sure."

You don't want to know but ask anyway. "Why?"

"Because he walked in earlier and looked like he'd seen a ghost. Tell me, is the kid still a virgin? He's pretty but I can't imagine he has a lot of good options in your crowd."

When you leave to go to Sukuna's, the only people who don't look confused(or horrified in Yuuji's case) at your departure are Maki and Megumi.

If the confusion hadn't been cleared up by the time the baby came, the pink hair probably answered any follow up questions.

dealing with some writer's block and had this idea. didn't feel like writing a whole smut scene, my b but saving that energy for the next(?) neighborsukuna x singlemom one.

side note: Megumi is scarred for life, for sure. Yuuji gets over his horror once he's an uncle.

[gyuuberryy]

trapped

READ THE FULL FIC HERE

pairing: hotel owner!heeseung x reader

genre: reincarnation au, supernatural themes, horror

synopsis: a road trip with your parents gone wrong lands you at a mysterious mansion in the middle of nowhere. after it turns out to be a hotel, your parents decide to stop over. everything about this place screams deja vu to you which is strange because you've never even heard about it. the hotel was not the only weird thing though, its handsome yet mysterious owner who looked like he stepped out of the 1920s is way too enthusiastic about your stay. every encounter with him leaves you feeling weirded out yet enamoured. but he is not who you think he seems to be. he will be the one to decide the duration of your stay here and it looks like it will not be ending anytime soon.

warnings: horror themes, suggestive content, slight yandere themes, manipulation, possessive!hee, more to be added!

note: let's ignore the fact that i have so many reports and essays to write for school rn !!!! because i HAD to release smth for halloween. this should be out by next weekkk

word count: 24.2k

comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist

ᨓ READ THE TEASER BELOW

heeseung’s words seemed to echo in the cavernous dining hall, each syllable hanging in the air like a weight pressing down on your chest.

you shifted in your seat, suddenly aware of how isolated you were from everyone else. your parents were somewhere outside, wandering the sprawling gardens with sunoo, oblivious to the tension brewing in this room. and you were here—alone with heeseung, who was studying you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

he leaned back in his chair, a slow, deliberate movement, his eyes never leaving yours. “this mansion has a long history,” he began, his voice low and smooth, like velvet. “it’s been standing for centuries, long before this area became what it is now.”

you swallowed, trying to keep your unease from showing. “centuries? that’s… impressive.”

heeseung nodded, his fingers tracing the edge of his plate in a casual, almost absent-minded way. “impressive, yes. but also… haunted by its past.” his eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t quite place. “you see, many who come here find themselves drawn in by the allure of the unknown. they come seeking something different, something unique. and often, they find more than they bargained for.”

you felt a chill run down your spine. the way he spoke—so calm, so composed—made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. it was as if he was telling you a story he had told many times before, one with a punchline you wouldn’t like.

“what do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice quiet but firm. you didn’t want to seem rattled, even though you were starting to feel like the walls were closing in around you.

heeseung’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “let’s just say this mansion has a way of revealing things… about the people who stay here. things they may not even realize about themselves.”

your pulse quickened. “that sounds a little ominous.”

heeseung chuckled, the sound soft and unsettling. “it’s not meant to be. it’s just… the nature of this place. it has a way of bringing the truth to the surface. you’ll see, in time.”

you didn’t like the way he said that, as if you were going to be here long enough for the mansion to work its mysterious magic on you. you were only supposed to stay until the car was fixed, and then you and your family would be gone. the thought of staying here any longer than necessary made your stomach churn.

“i don’t think we’ll be here long enough for that,” you said, forcing a small smile.

heeseung’s eyes flashed with something—disappointment? amusement? it was hard to tell. “you never know,” he said quietly, his gaze intense. “sometimes, plans change.”

you glanced away, focusing on your barely touched plate. the food that had once looked so appealing now seemed like a burden, something you had no appetite for. you just wanted this conversation to end, to find your parents and get out of this place as soon as possible.

as if sensing your discomfort, heeseung leaned back again, his demeanor shifting ever so slightly. “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, though there was a glint in his eyes that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. “it’s just that… guests here tend to stay longer than they anticipate. this place has a way of… captivating people.”

the word captivating sounded too much like trapping for your liking.

before you could respond, the door to the dining hall creaked open, and you breathed a silent sigh of relief as your parents entered, laughing and chatting with sunoo, who was still wearing his unsettlingly bright smile. their carefree demeanor was such a stark contrast to the tension you’d been feeling that it almost made you dizzy.

“sweetie, you should see the gardens!” your mom exclaimed as she approached the table, oblivious to the undercurrent of unease between you and heeseung. “they’re absolutely gorgeous. i’ve never seen anything like it.”

your dad nodded in agreement, beaming. “it’s like something out of a storybook.”

you forced a smile, trying to match their enthusiasm. “that’s great. i’m glad you had fun.”

sunoo’s eyes flicked to heeseung for a brief moment, something unspoken passing between them, and then he turned his bright gaze back to your family. “i’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to explore the rest of the estate before you leave.”

you stiffened at his words, catching the subtle implication. you weren’t leaving any time soon.

heeseung stood then, smoothing down the front of his suit, his gaze lingering on you for just a beat too long before he addressed your parents. “i’ve arranged for the mechanic to give me an update on the car shortly. in the meantime, please, make yourselves comfortable. feel free to explore the mansion further if you’d like.”

your parents seemed delighted by the prospect, but you felt a knot of anxiety tighten in your chest. you couldn’t shake the feeling that this place was trying to keep you here, that every step you took deeper into the mansion only tangled you further in its web.

heeseung’s gaze slid back to you, his smile as charming and unsettling as ever. “i’ll make sure everything is taken care of. don’t worry.”

but worry was all you could feel as your family began to follow sunoo out of the dining hall, leaving you to trail behind, your thoughts spinning. as you exited the room, you couldn’t help but glance back at heeseung, who stood by the door, watching you with that same piercing gaze.

there was something about the way he looked at you—something that made you feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

and you weren't sure if you could escape.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[anantaru]

what about friends w benefits w aventurine but he's actually in love or something idkk im just love with ur writing♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡

・✶ ｡ synopsis — aventurine and you have sworn that your special relationship would never cross the most important line <3

warnings — fwb, spooning position, big dick aventurine is in love, fem! reader <3

aventurine lays behind you as his nose silently forges a road up your neck and behind your ear for his lips to swiftly follow— for once, he controls himself and leisurely drapes one arm around your waist, pressing your back against his cold chest.

you cannot see it, yet his eyes glint with that familiar mix of curiosity and, well, something else— something deeper that he never voiced nor actually planned to voice at all.

since your arrangement had been clear from the start;

friends with benefits, point blank, in fact, it helped the both of you let go of much needed steam every now and then— it's perfect, truly, if feelings aren't involved that is.

yet here it began, because every time you were together there was an unspoken tension on his part, a feeling he couldn't quite place.

he strokes over your waist now, his touch lingering way longer than necessary as he slowly lined himself up with your heat, "you feel a little tense," he whispers, voice soft, heart beating.

as he inserts his tip, his fingers trail down your bare back, sending a multitude of shivers across your skin as you immediately lean back into his touch, craving the comfort and the thrill— the somewhat exciting thought of being intimate with a man like aventurine himself yet keeping it hidden from outsiders, even from your own emotions.

as his hands roamed over your body, exploring familiar territory, you felt the practiced ease of your routine and just how well he knew you by now— not only that, but your body.

ugh, when he preaches his cock through you for the very first time this time you moan out instantly, it makes him groan too, you know, even louder when you gets breathless from the pressure building in your stomach.

far away from your sight, there was always an underlying tenderness in his actions, a carefulness that contradicted the casual nature of your relationship, "e-enjoying yourself?" he drawls, his voice low.

if he could only tell you just how beautiful you are without making it sound weird.

you grind back as he squeezed your ass, hard, against his palm— that's more like it, that's how you like it and how your special friendship should be like, aventurine knows, he needs to know.

you grind against his pelvis, circling your hips, fucking back into him without pattern and turning into an embarrassing mess of moans and whimpers.

you whine, trying to escape the hot curl and fluttering in your chest, "always with you, you know t-that."

and yeah, that's something he loves to hear— next to pressing and thrusting into your cunt until he feels your slick slither down his shaft and oh? having his fingers on your clit too? making you feel so good.

aventurine cannot stop himself anymore, with hunger he rolls and rubs his fingers harder against your clit, faster, ignoring the twinge in his wrist as you began to mercilessly shake against his chest, circling your hips and squeezing him with your hole.

it's so filthy, having his spit coat and mark you up while his thick cock snapped you open in each and every thrust of his— and you always knew it'll hurt a little whenever he twitches within your walls, he must hurt with a size like that, in fact, just looking at him and you'd immediately know he's packed down there.

in spite of fact something behind your sight happens— because you see, his gaze softens for a moment, and there it was, a flicker of something he always tries to hide— a deep, unspoken affection that fuck, damn it, he was in love, aventurine fucking loved you.

he began to kiss your neck more furiously, kiss, suck and bite it— then go slower again, messily lap and add enough saliva on your skin so it'd glow even through the shadowed bedroom as to savor this very moment.

sheer unawareness covers the deepest truths— while love, lust and passion, all formed to dust in order to keep your friendship going for as long as he was able to would not resort in any problems.

no trouble, correct? if only you knew how it has been killing him inside.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: the audit

"What time is your bedtime?" Uncle demands just as Damian is about to go to Batcave to suit up. For a moment, he fights the urge to proclaim he doesn't have a bedtime because he is not a child. Then he remembers that Uncle had been the one to install the anti-child soldier rule in the League of Assassins.

He allowed them to be trained to defend themselves and the organization but not to be sent on missions or be trained to the point he claimed as "abusive." Uncle believed that the young of Infinity Island should be treated like children and that doing so was not a means of offense.

Instead, Uncle thought providing a peaceful and gentle childhood was a gift. Mother claimed it created weaklings, which is why Damian had pushed himself to this point of skill, but even she had known that her brother's wrath would fall upon her if her more intense training techniques were introduced to him too early.

Damian would like to believe he was one of the best in the League of Assassins, but he knew he wasn't. Uncle Daniel's rule made it hard for him to advance against larger opponents.

He could best everyone in his age group in controlled duels and sparring, and he stood a great chance against the idiots in Gotham streets, but only because none of them had any official training.

In the beginning of his life in Gotham, Damian consistently lingers in the background in battles against enemies such as Bane, Killer Croc, or Scarecrow. He was skilled enough to know he would be a liability if he attempted to take a point, but Father had quickly adjusted his training, and Damian was slowly but surely advancing in his skill set.

Mother would be pleased to learn he was better than the assassin's two age groups above him and that his pain tolerance hide rose. Uncle Daniel had likely noticed as well.

He knew it was due to all those hours out in the field of Gotham's darkest streets.

It had been one of the first things he had been displeased with Father over, and if he wanted his plan to work, he needed to make the sacrifice.

"Nine o'clock," he grumbles, crossing his arms. "Nine thirty if it's not a school day."

Uncle Daniel smiles proudly, leaning back into the doorframe of Father's office. The rest of Father's brood stands around looking confused as Uncle shoots Father a smug look, only to frown at Father's glee. Even someone as great as his uncle had thought Father wanted them on the field.

Not that they had all forced his hand. Damian should show him all the security his father had installed to keep him in the manor and the surveillance hours during which he broke through said security to fight crime.

In fact, Damian should asked Drake if he still had the video where Father had shouted at the top of his lungs, "For the last time, just STAY HOME and let me handle the EXTREMELY dangerous hostage situation, kids!"

Only to slap a hand over his face when Brown had taunted him through the coms. "You can't tell us what to do!"

"Yeah, B, you must learn to control your children." Todd's mockery was nearly drowned out by the sound of gunfire. "We're out of control."

"Damian can not stay home alone," Father says, snapping him from his thoughts. He's glancing at the other idiots in the room, who are all making faces, but this is just the opportunity Damian has been waiting for.

He's not about to let them ruin it with their stupid demand to join Father in the field.

He raises his chin, blurting out his demand. "If we all stay behind, Uncle Daniel shall go with you, Father. To keep you safe."

Both men look butler disgusted, which is what prompts Drake to speak up. "You know Bruce? I actually feel a little under the weather today. Maybe I can stay with Damian, and Mr. Fetnon can go for me."

"That won't be necessary when Steph-"

"Oh shoot B! I have this really big essay due tomorrow, and I was going to stay on coms tonight while I worked on it. I can't go with you. Sorry"

Father appears desperate when he flings his eyes to Richard, who only shrugs. "Sorry, Cass and I are going undercover tonight at the new club. I can't watch your back while trying to get party college kids to tell me where the new drugs are."

"Jason-"

"No."

"I guess I have no choice." Uncle Daniel sighed as if this was all a big chore that Damian had thrown at him. "I'll make sure your incompetence doesn't get you killed. Let's go."

Father's teeth are gritting, but when the visitor steps closer to whisper in his ear, all the protest drains from his body, and he, too, sighs wearily. Damian wished he knew what was said between them, but his uncle had covered his mouth, so he could not lip read.

"Fine. But no killing." Father bites, and Uncle scowls

"I don't kill. I know how precious any life can be." He seers, getting into Father's face. He stabs his pointer finger in the middle of Bruce's chest, pressing down roughly on every syllable.

Damian is about to step in, recognizing the rising anger in his mother's brother, only to watch, in real-time, as Father seems surprised by the comment. Much to his hopeful glee a slight blush rises on the man's cheekbones, even as he turns around to moved the clock.

Uncle rolls his eyes before sinking into the ground as Father vanishes from sight. The office has a long silence before Brown breaks it with a nasty snort.

Utterly mannerless, that one.

"Oh, the sexual tension! They will definitely be fuc-" She cackles, only to pause when her eyes land on Damian as if she had forgotten he was there. Brown reached up to pet down her hair, clearing her throat. "They seem like good friends."

"What? I don't believe you understand. Father and Uncle can barely stand each other."

Drake snickers. "Barely stand"

"Enough," Richard speaks up, popping open the top two buttons on his shirt. It's part of his disguise to look as alluring as possible, though Damian doubts someone would give an idiot who can't correctly dress himself the time of day. "Let's leave Bruce and our house guest alone. We all have jobs, so Steph, get on coms, Tim, get some chicken soap, and Damian, get to bed."

"Wait, I'm not actually sick-" Drake protests, but Richard walks right through his protest. He pushes the idiot out of the office and marches him down the hall toward the kitchen.

Damian watches them go before glancing over his shoulder to where Brown vanishes from sight down the pole to the Batcave in a flash of yellow hair. He nearly joins her, but Uncle would have his head when- and it would be when, not if- he found out he wasn't sleeping.

He still has a year to get them together. He must make sacrifices that wound his pride, such as these. Damian pouts to his room but changes into his sleepwear and brushes his teeth anyway.

His bedtime is only ten minutes away.

[sky-is-the-limit]

P: Neighbour!Gaz x F!Reader

CW: SFW/NSFW, Mirror sex

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would first meet you when you’re stuck on the pavement, surrounded by heavy boxes after the moving truck leaves. You hadn’t thought to call friends or family for help, stupid idea but when you see the most strikingly handsome man jogging back towards the building, all sweaty and built like he was carved from stone, you think about asking him.

Before you can even open your mouth, he’s already offering, his voice smooth and his smile so genuine you can’t help but say yes. He lifts the boxes like they’re nothing, muscles flexing under the sweat and you catch the scent of his cologne, wondering how a man drenched in sweat can still smell so good. When he hears "Flat 3B" he tries to play it cool, but his eyes give it away anyway, especially when he unlocks the door right next to yours.

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would find every excuse to drop by your flat, borrowing sugar or asking if you’ve seen his non-existent cat named Catniss. Every time he knocks, it’s perfectly timed to catch him shirtless after a workout, his body gleaming and muscles tense.

He’d lean against the doorframe, a teasing smirk on his lips as he watches you try not to stare, clearly flustered. You try to keep your cool, but he’s already thinking of all the ways he’d have you in front of a mirror so he can break you down into a shameless mess.

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would take note of your subtle hints, like when your eyes linger a little too long on his lips or when you try to hide that shy smile whenever he’s around. It’s enough to get him thinking of ways to get closer to you, like inviting you over to watch a new film that just came out or needing help with an online order.

He’d sit closer than necessary on the couch, stealing glances at you instead of watching the screen, his attention entirely on the way your body shifts, the way you breathe when you’re near him.

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would not-so-casually invite you over for dinner, using some of his best recipes just to see that smile of yours brighten his entire kitchen. He’d tease you with smart remarks and cheeky compliments, watching how you respond with every word, every laugh.

And when you’d bake him something as a thank you, he’d devour every bite, even if it broke his strict diet because seeing you pleased and knowing he’d done something right was worth every single calorie.

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would get lost in his thoughts sometimes, especially when you’re standing there, asking if he needed anything. All he’d be thinking about is you bent over his counter or laid out on his bed, hands pinned above your head. You’d have to ask again to snap him out of it and he’d clear his throat, quickly making up an excuse for knocking on your door at 10 p.m. Nasty habit.

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would finally take the chance one late evening, showing up at your door with that signature sly smile. "Could use some company.." he'd say and you'd end up once again in his living room, sitting close in front of the TV. Nothing out of the ordinary except his arm that would stretch along the back, fingers casually brushing your shoulder, lingering just a bit too long to be innocent.

Slowly, his hand would drift lower, fingertips grazing your arm before settling on your knee, his thumb tracing lazy circles and when you don’t pull away, his hand would slide up to your thigh, squeezing gently.

The tension would build with every touch and when you finally look at him and say, ''Are you gonna kiss me or what?'' his pupils would widen, that grin no longer on his lips. He’d lean in, breath warm against your skin and whisper, ''You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.''

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would put two mirrors in his bedroom, one facing the foot of his bed and another across from the dresser. He’d say that he has them there for 'practicality' but the moment he realized how perfectly they captured every angle of you, he couldn't help but plan for more. He’d be grinning like he won the lottery when he saw how you blushed upon noticing the placements, realizing exactly what he intended to do with them.

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would slide his hands up from your hips, gripping you tightly as he presses his naked chest against your bare back and carefully slide inside you, feeling every inch of his cock as it enters your tight, dripping cunt. "Look at us.." he'd whisper against your ear, low and commanding.

As he thrusts deeper, you’d experience the thick, hard length of him filling you inch by inch, stretching you to accommodate his size. Every centimeter would press against your sensitive walls, the slight resistance melting away as he sinks in and his hand would snake around to massage your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

He'd laugh as your mascara runs and your lips part in a messy gasp, saliva dripping down your chin. "Don’t look away." He’d order, his free hand trailing up your throat, keeping you and your gaze in place.

With every thrust, he’d grip you tighter, hips slamming into the soft, sensitive flesh of your ass with a rhythmic force that makes you whimper, your body trembling as he drives you closer and closer to climax. "Look at what you do to me.. What I'm doing to you."

➳Neighbour!Gaz who would then turn you around and hoist you up onto the dresser, his hands strong beneath your thighs, spreading you open as he wraps them around his waist.

He’d watch your expression in the two reflections facing each other before his lips meet yours in a hungry, messy kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip, pulling it back until you're gasping for air. ''I’ve never seen anyone look so perfect, so fucked out-'' He’d pant, voice breaking with the effort of keeping control. ''Fuck- baby, you’re taking me so well-''

He’d thrust deep and hard, each powerful drive of his hips making your tits bounce with every movement, back muscles flexing with every push inside you. His teeth would scrape your neck, marking up the skin as he moves faster, persistent in his pace, savoring every moan and cry. When you’re both breathless and spent, he'd murmur with a gentle smile, "Think we might need one on the ceiling next, love."

[cheer-nympho]

The older kids all have wills.

Nancy, Robin, Steve and Jonathan, ages 18 to 21, all have wills tucked away in various boxes under beds and behind wardrobes.

Their similarities only extending to the fear felt when writing them, mixed with resigned acceptance. A common feeling of “Man, it sure is sad that my late teenage years are spent contemplating the very real possibility of gruesome early death, I should be at the club.”

But in every other aspect they are completely different.

Nancy’s was written on a cream notepad with dainty flowers surrounding the border. Written from a view of logic and forward planning, a need to protect her family. All of the demands straight to the point, no nonsense.

Warped only by the small tear stains across the bottom.

Robin’s was clearly written in a panic, barely legible handwriting on a ripped off lined sheet.

Written after she read an article about a man whose boyfriend was refused access to him after his death because there was no will.

She refused to leave anyone in the dark like that.

Jonathan’s was the most emotional, surprisingly. But most of that emotion was palpable anger, the word “nothing” pressed so hard into the yellow paper next to Lonnies name it had almost ripped the page.

Even if it was the last thing he did, Jon would keep Lonnie away from them.

Steves was written begrudgingly, more out of a need to prevent his parents from tossing it all. They weren’t around to know about Robin or the kids, wouldn’t know he’d promised Lucas the car or Max his records.

They weren’t evil people, they just didn’t know. This way they would.

They hadn’t spoken about it in advance, hadn’t co-ordinated it or hidden them together like a morbid friendship pact. They had all just at some point come to the realisation that, given their current lives, it may one day be necessary.

Eddie had not had that thought.

Eddie Munson had many thoughts.

He had thoughts on the disease of pop music sweeping the last worthwhile radio station, he had thoughts on the price increases in his favourite gaming store in Indy, he had thoughts on selling enough stock to buy a new trailer gas canister.

What he very rarely had thoughts on was death.

It took a lot for him to say that these days, considering where he’d been not too many years ago. But these days the only thoughts on death he had were more abstract and fleeting, nothing more than the average schmuck.

And even if the thought would have crossed his mind, he would have shrugged it off with a ‘Wayne knows what to do.’

He had no other family and, as far as Eddie was concerned, nothing particularly valuable to single out to anyone. He may need one of the guys to burn the shoebox hidden under his bed, but that could be a more verbal agreement between bros.

So Eddie didn’t have a will.

Didn’t have a plan, didn’t have the worry.

And it’s not until he’s lying on his back, being cradled by a child that frankly should not have to see the insides of Eddies stomach, that he remembers that.

It rushes to him in a panic, the thoughts feeling slow and syrupy but in reality only taking a split second.

He needed to write a will.

He needed Wayne to know that Eddie /wanted/ him to have everything, not just given it by family rights.

He needed to write Dustin in, and Corroded Coffin, maybe even some random shit for all the other nerds.

A donation to Hawkins Church to really confuse them, not that Eddie would be leaving any money behind. Maybe they could have his guitar.

When he got back he would write it up on the finest non-scrunched up paper he could find.

When he got back he would take care of it all.

But that was a job for later Eddie, right now he really needed to sleep.

He could see Dustin crying above him but that was okay, he’d take care of it when he woke up.

When he wakes up he’ll take care of it all.

When he wakes up he’ll write his will.

When he wakes up.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I saw your post and honestly this is my first time making a request. How about arcane characters with a cat like reader? Idk it's just a thought that came (sorry if that's a bit weird)

Dunno whether this answers your request like you imagined. Also probs shit fire time writing for some of these characters.

Viktor found your cat like personality quite interesting and humorous if he wasn’t within the lab, working with things that normally didn’t capture your interest, unless they glowed of course.

Other than that it felt as though you were intentionally acting up in his lab for a reaction, like a cat would gauge the reactions of their owners before pushing a glass off the table. That’s how Viktor often felt with you

Then he has to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t touch anything dangerous because you were captivated by its light.

‘No, it’s dangerous and could hurt you my dear.’ He so often warms you as he guides your hand away when he felt it was dangerously close to what he was working with. Your mind didn’t head his warning, only the fact that there was a shinny object in the laboratory and it was the only thing you could focus on.

‘If so dangerous, why is it shining as though it wants me to touch it then?’ You responded, daring to touch the object once more and Viktor swore you either knew what you were doing and playing him for a fool, or you had no self preservation skills within your entire body to fight back against your urge to touch a dangerous foreign object.

It’s literally a stand still between the two of you and one that happens far too often that Viktor knows that this was all part of your plan, and unfortunately for him he falls for it almost always. He watches you while you watch him before doing something rash, making think you’ve actually touched the dangerous object, only to look at you unamused when you smiled at him mischievously as you wiggled your unharmed fingers at him.

This often leads you to being banned from the lab for pulling a stunt like that, however this was more for your safety and for him to calm his racing heart. You’ll kill this poor man with your antics but he wouldn’t want you any other way, especially when you cuddled up to him for warmth and sleep there.

It soothes him just as much as it soothes you.

Ekko found himself often wondering where it was you went sometimes.

He sees you in once place and then you disappear the next, returning to base only when you felt it necessary of you to do so, illusive and vague of where you’ve been it was often a bit frustrating. You could’ve been in serious danger for all he was aware and when he confronts you about this behaviour of yours, you’d only shrug and say:

‘Where it is a go on my own time isn’t something you should waste time worrying over.’ Before leaving to go elsewhere within the base and lounge against one of the trees thick and sturdy branches, eyes closed in content as you softly drift off into a light nap.

How the fuck you got up there, he’ll never know other than the fact that you managed to get up there in the first place with effortless ease.

Ekko’s nickname for you was either kitty or something along the lines of a cat based pun. You hated all of them equally but Ekko only feels more vindicated when you only proven his perception of you right whenever you displayed a trait that was common amongst cats. Whether that’d be silently judging everyone from your perch way up high, or lounging in his bed, more specifically where he had laid moments prior, feeding off of the warmth that lingered there or otherwise Ekko would find humour in you cat like traits because they were the things he loved the most.

(In a timeline where they actually have phones I can imagine him sending you cat memes and saying ‘this you?’ Or ‘I found your relative’ he thinks he’s funny, and he is but you won’t admit it out of petty pride)

However the one thing that you could always hold over Ekko’s head was the fact that you could silently manoeuvre your way into a room without him knowing and managing to catch him off guard. Ekko didn’t find it particularly funny but he lets up eventually and admits that it was kinda funny that you managed to take him by surprise. This was why you were more suited to missions heavily requiring a person with an abundance of stealth and agility.

‘Always landing on your feet aren’t you?’ He’d tease but you would let it slid as you shrugged your shoulders and reply. ‘What can I say? It kinda comes with the territory don’t you think?’

‘You sure you weren’t a cat in your past life or something?’ She would ask as she raised a brow at you as you cuddled into her side, much like a cat would when in they wanted to leech off is the warmth of a human.

‘No, why you ask?’ You say as you began to close your eyes, her warmth blanketing you almost immediately, and becoming increasingly sleepy.

‘You act like one for starters with how lazy you are.’ She pointed out and you’d only scoff at her, resting your head on her shoulder, having become too comfortable with your current position to even be bothered to move.

‘I’m not lazy, I’m merely taking advantage of the beauty that is power naps.’ You defend yourself and it was Sevika’s turn to scoff, having heard this excuse countless times before, and it never stopped her from continuing to compare your personality to that of a common house cat.

She disliked it at first, finding it weird and annoying at the fact that you didn’t seem all that bothered with the ongoings of Zaun, instead favouring to rest in high places that provided warmth or close to it and watching everyone with clear judgement within your eyes. However that judgment did end up saving her from time to time, not that she’d ever admit to this, as she was confident in her own abilities to smell a bitch from a mile away.

Though the more as time passed she grew to find it somewhat easier to deal with, though you cuddling up to her for warmth did put her off now and then, affection wasn’t commonplace in Zaun; so forgive her for not exactly taking to it immediately. Though each time you did cuddle into her side, her urge to create distance between you dwindled, from Perivale shoving you away from her, to slowly accepting that this was her life now.

‘Sure, that’s a hell of a way to avoid saying that you’re lazy.’ Sevika smirks when you glared at her, clearly insulted by this, before moving off of her to go rest elsewhere on the bed you shared and making sure your back was towards her in an effort to show your disagreement with her statement. ‘Not. Lazy. I just like napping.’ You retorted.

‘Yeah, sure keep telling yourself that, I’m sure it’ll be true one day.’ Sevika jokes and your shoulders only deflate more, knowing you’ll never win this war with Sevika when her mind is made up. She’s always in the right in most cases.

Mel is all too familiar with your cat like traits that nothing you do is out of the ordinary to her.

She finds humour and amusement in you participating in things commonly associated with felines. A human cat is what you were in her eyes as you slept the easiest you’ve ever slept when besides her, her presence was calming and was more then enough to have you reduced to a relaxed state before succumbing to sleep.

She just had that effect on you and you loved it as much as she does as she got to run her hand down your back.

‘You’re practically purring.’ She teases.

‘It’s not my fault you know exactly what makes me melt.’ You replied as you smiled up at her, never having gotten use to having this absolute goddess of a woman bless you with her smile, her heart, her everything.

Mel smiles softly. ‘You don’t exactly made it much of a challenge.’ She says as she watched the way you practically leaned in towards her touch, eyes closed in content with a smile spread across your face that she swore your nonexistent tail would be swishing from side to side. She has been in this position countless times before and yet it never gets old with how content she felt when moments like these between you and her freely exist within her mind.

You don’t exactly make it hard for her not to love you like she did, it came to you as easy a breathing as that’s how quick you were to fall for her, almost as if it was as though you were breathing; Easy, effortlessly and natural.

‘How can I when you read me so effortlessly and without fail?’ You replied back in almost a purr, a mischievous smile spread wide across your lips, ‘I shouldn’t need to hide myself from my lovers eyes, for she knows me all too well.’ You add. Another thing Mel adored was your cunning but cautious mind and the way you seemed oddly too relaxed for some, watching those very same individuals like they were merely mouses that squeaked about their freedom; like you were being amused by rather was being said in meetings as though you knew something they didn’t.

You were like the Cheshire Cat, often times speaking in riddles that only she herself understands.

Mel kisses the tip of your nose. ‘You smile like the cat that caught the canary,’ she says as she pulls away. ‘Learning more about you is more interesting and intriguing than the last.’

‘Then I hope I stay that way for a long while.’ You said, smirking when you felt her kiss your lips.