#do you think he couldn’t convince himself it was ever really over after Curse of Darkness

[tacobacoyeet]

not the time | a.d., p.z.

a/n: few things to say. first of all, i got way too into writing this and i don't know if i like it or not yet, but we'll see. secondly, i gave up after i was done and decided not to proofread. oops! if you're like me and you like to listen to music while you read, i suggest loyalty by kendrick lamar ft. rihanna. yes, i'm linking it. finally, not related, but please send me requests or asks or whatever! just fill my inbox with literally anything!

warnings: SMUT 18+, cheating, cursing, everyone is messy, i'm still not entirely sure if this fully makes sense, not proofread!

It was just the four of you. You, Art, Patrick, and Tashi.

Not in some perfect, effortless way. Just the four of you… together. Training, sharing meals in the Stanford Athletics Dining Hall, fucking around, orbiting around each other in ways that weren’t always easy to define.

You were with Art, Tashi was with Patrick. That was just the way it was. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated.

Patrick had always been technically better than Art. He had the trophies to prove it: from the little stuff back at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy to the Junior US Open win. He had the natural talent, the aggression, the game that always just looked effortless. But Art? Art was the workhorse. He stayed longer on the courts, pushed himself harder, chased an invisible finish line, constantly. That’s why he, unlike Patrick, had chosen to play college tennis before going pro. He was convinced he needed to be better, not that he was too good to have his name attached to a university.

Tashi? She was the untouchable one. The best of all of you, of everyone, really. She was destined for something bigger, something far beyond your little group and Stanford and all of the stupid, tangled emotions that none of you had the words for yet.

And then there was you. Stuck somewhere in the middle of it all.

You and Art had just happened. No grand declarations, no dramatic tension. You were together because it just made sense. You understood each other. The way you both trained like you had something to prove. The way you both felt like you had to fight for space in a world that didn’t quite want to give it to you.

Patrick and Tashi were different. They were volatile, all sharp edges and unspoken resentments. Their constant, tiny arguments were what made them who they were—small, stupid things that started over footwork critiques and ended with Patrick trying to sigh, suck it up, and apologize while Tashi kicked him out of her dorm. But they understood each other in a way that made sense, too. She was the only one who truly made him feel challenged. He was the only one who ever gave her the chance to get angry.

It should have been simple.

But sometimes, Art looked at Tashi in a way that made your chest tighten. Sometimes, when he spoke to her, his voice softened in a way it didn’t with you. And Patrick… he never said anything, but you could always feel the way he looked at you, like he was trying to burn you into his memory just so he could pretend he had you. 

You ignored it. Until you couldn’t, anymore.

---

“And now… your 2002, 2005, and 2006 NCAA Women’s Tennis Champions. Give it up for STANDFORD TENNIS!”

You and the rest of the team step onto the court, several of you waving to the crowd, smiling. Tashi doesn’t. It wasn’t abnormal for her to do that, but what was a little off was the way her eyes scanned the crowd for Patrick, gaze steely as she noticed the empty seat next to Art. Your boyfriend, Art, who was too busy frowning at his phone to look down and blow a kiss at you like he normally did at your matches. That’s when the feeling of impending doom started to fester in your gut. But you ignored it. Like you always did.

Not much later, you’re watching from the bench as Tashi absolutely demolishes Sally What’s-Her-Face from Pepperdine. She’s making it look easy, like she’s barely even thinking about it. But you know her better than that. She’s not thinking about it at all.

You can almost sense it before it happens—the way she doesn’t catch the barest hint of spin on the other girl’s ball until the last second, the way she tries to overcorrect mid-swing, the sickening snap that seems to echo around the court as she falls to the ground, clutching her knee and crying in a way that is entirely foreign for someone as stone-cold as Tashi Duncan.

You can feel the bile rising in your throat, the nausea in your stomach again. But before you can rush to confront your friend, your boyfriend is on the court, resting her head in his lap. You would’ve laughed at how stupid he looked hurdling over the net if your head wasn’t spinning so much. Where the hell is Patrick? You clench your fists, forcing yourself to breathe. 

Now is not the time.

---

Later that night, you’re standing in the corner of the sports therapy room. You may as well have not been, though. Tashi had Art. He sat by her side like an obedient little chihuahua, convinced he was being a guard dog when he really just looked fucking desperate. But you didn’t say anything. You just watched him. The way his jaw was clenched, his eyes trained on the ground like he had a million things to say to her but no clue how to say them.

After a while, Patrick appears in the doorway. You watch Tashi’s face harden as she sees him open his mouth to speak. 

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Out. Out. O—”

“Tashi, Tashi listen! Please! ”

“OUT!” You would’ve been taken aback by the anger in her voice if Art didn’t open his mouth next.

“Patrick, get the fuck out!”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment as you look at Art, in disbelief that he was even capable of portraying anger to that level. It wasn’t just anger—it was something else. Something cold and dangerous in Art’s voice that you had never heard before. Patrick looks around the room, eyes wide. And then he swallows, jaw tight, before he turns and walks away.

You, ever the pacifist, always the one to smooth things over, couldn’t stop yourself from following him. Patrick might have been a lot of things— arrogant, reckless, a complete pain in the ass— but you had never seen him like that before. So… defeated.

He was already halfway down the hall when you caught up.

"Patrick."

He didn’t stop.

"Patrick, slow down—"

"Don’t." His voice was low, rough.

You reach for his arm. He jerks away.

"I don’t need the fucking pity, okay?" He turned to you then, eyes flashing. "I already got my ass handed to me in there, I don’t need you coming out here to make me feel worse."

"I’m not trying to make you feel worse," you said softly.

"Then what the fuck do you want?"

"I just—" You hesitate. You didn’t even know what you wanted. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Patrick let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Yeah? That’s fucking rich, coming from you."

Your stomach twisted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Patrick exhaled harshly, dragging a hand through his hair. Then, after a long, charged pause—

"Forget it."

But you didn’t want to forget it.

"No. Say it."

Patrick’s jaw clenches. He takes a step closer, the air between you charged, suffocating.

“You never even noticed, did you?” he hisses.

You inhaled sharply, throat tight. Of course you fucking noticed.

"Patrick—"

"No, fuck it." He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "I’m supposed to be with Tashi, you’re supposed to be with Art, but it was never really like that, was it?"

The words settled between you, heavy and true.

Because you had felt it. That unspoken pull, the lingering stares, the what-ifs that neither of you had ever dared to touch. But now was not the time.

“Patrick, you can’t just—”

“No.”

And then suddenly, you weren’t thinking at all. It was instinct, impulse, desperation. One second, you were standing there, breath shallow, and the next—

You were kissing him.

Or maybe he was kissing you.

You didn’t know who moved first. All you knew was the way his hands grabbed at you, like he was starving, like he had been waiting for this for a lifetime. The way his lips crushed against yours, deep and desperate, stealing every thought from your mind and every breath from your lungs. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful. He wasn’t careful. And after that? The idea of going back was nothing but a childish fantasy.

---

12 years later, that moment is what’s replaying in your mind as you stare out the window, watching the clouds unleash a torrential downpour that might be the only natural phenomenon that could replicate the turmoil in your brain. The rain slams against the hotel window, drowning out the distant hum of the city. The room is too small, too dimly lit, but you don’t mind. You’ve stayed in worse.

Patrick is sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, elbows on his knees. His hair is damp from the shower, his skin still flushed from running drills to prepare for the first round of the challenger. He hasn’t looked at you since he walked in.

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. You’re so fucking tired.

"Are you just gonna sit there all night?" you ask, trying to keep your voice even.

Nothing.

You swallow hard. Try again.

"Patrick."

"What?" His voice is clipped, irritated.

"Talk to me."

"About what?" He finally lifts his head, his eyes shadowed. "About how you’re the only reason we can afford this fucking room?"

The words cut, sharp and deliberate.

You stare at him, the exhaustion settling into your bones.

"I have never—"

"You don’t have to say it," he mutters, shaking his head. "I see it every time you sign another contract. Every time you win a match. Every time you pay for something I should be paying for."

Your stomach tightens. His failures are eating him alive, and instead of facing them, he’s turned them into a weapon—aimed at you.

"I have never once thrown that in your face," you say, voice trembling.

"Yeah?" Patrick’s laugh is hollow. "Then why do I feel like you’re the only reason I have a roof over my head?"

You freeze. The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. It’s not like this is the first argument. It may as well have been the thousandth. It starts with something small. It always does. A forgotten errand, a passive-aggressive comment, a new pack of cigarettes. Suddenly, you feel exhausted. Sick of sitting down, apologizing, letting it happen.

"Maybe because you won’t let me be anything but the enemy," you whisper.

Patrick blinks, caught off guard, but you don’t wait for his response.

You turn sharply, grab your jacket, and storm toward the door.

"Where the hell are you going?" he calls after you.

You don’t answer. You just go.

---

The rain is relentless, soaking you through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you can’t be there anymore. The lighted sign of the Best Western you had bought a room in flickers behind you as you walk further away. You’re not sure how long you’re walking, but soon enough, there are more cars, more buildings, more streetlights. After a while, the metallic gold of the Ritz-Carlton sign catches your eye, the white light from behind the glass doors illuminating a figure standing beneath the awning. 

You can’t help but groan internally at your luck as your eyes lock with those unmistakable, piercing baby blues. Art fucking Donaldson. He’s leaning against a pillar, cigarette between his fingers, the ember burning bright in the pitch-black night. It’s a habit that Tashi always used to chastise Patrick for. You can’t help but wonder when Art picked it up. If that’s the only thing he’s been doing behind Tashi’s back. 

You stop in your tracks, your chest rising and falling far too fast. He exhales, smoke clouding his face for a moment as he watches you. And then—

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your stomach twists. You weren’t expecting to see him at a shitty little challenger like this one. He was supposed to be a big star. A ‘Game Changer’. He was supposed to be way past playing matches like this one, New Rochelle in the middle of Dumbfuck, Nowhere. Phil’s Tire-Town, or something. It’s not like Patrick was good enough for anything better, but Art sure as hell was. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

“Where’s Tashi?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

Art closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling as he rubs a hand over his jaw. “Not here.”

That’s all he says. But it’s enough. 

Your heart is beating far faster than it should be. Your hands are shaking. You’re not sure if it’s from the cold, the walk, or him.

“I hate you,” you hiss. But he sees through you instantly. 

“Then tell me you don’t still think about me.”

You can’t. He knows you can’t. His eyes bore into you. Normally, you’d shrink under his gaze. He’s seeing far deeper into you than you want him to. But maybe the flare in confidence from your argument with Patrick is what’s supporting you. Maybe it’s the ringing in your ears, the pain behind Art’s eyes, or the burning of your skin despite the fierce cold. You’re not sure. But it doesn’t matter. 

There’s a beat.

And then suddenly, you’re on him.

Or maybe he’s on you. You don’t know who moves first, only that one second you’re standing there, fists clenched, and the next you’re colliding—his hands in your hair, yours fisting his hoodie, mouths crashing together like neither of you can breathe without this.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s twelve fucking years of resentment and longing and need colliding all at once.

Art groans against your mouth, pressing you back against the cool brick of the pillar, hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to prove something. You arch into him, gasping when his lips move to your jaw, then your throat, teeth scraping against your pulse.

"You gonna regret this in the morning?" he mutters, voice rough.

"Shut up," you breathe, dragging him back up to your lips.

He doesn’t argue.

His hands are everywhere—palming your hips, sliding under your soaked shirt, fingers tracing the dip of your spine. Yours slip under his hoodie, pushing it up, needing to feel him, needing to remind yourself that this is real.

You don’t stop.

Not when you sneak your way up to his hotel room, avoiding the other patrons. Not when you're in the elevator and he's sucking hickeys into your neck that you'll have to hide from Patrick. Not when he lifts you, dropping you onto the mattress, not when he crawls over you, pressing you into the sheets, not when his hands slide between your thighs, gripping, teasing, pulling a whimper from your throat.

Not even when he pauses, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard like he’s trying to convince himself this is a mistake.

"Tell me to stop," he rasps.

You don’t.

You won’t.

Instead, you drag him down, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, whispering his name like a prayer. It takes barely a moment for both of you to bare yourselves to each other, clothes tossed around the room without a second thought. Art doesn't waste time. He wasted the last 12 years. He wasn't going to waste another minute.

Nothing about this is gentle. He’s biting his way across your collarbone, up the column of your throat, behind your ear. Your fingers are tangled in his silky, golden locks, tugging at them in tandem with the rhythm of the soft gasps and moans he’s drawing from you. His hair is short, now. For a split second, you mourn the messy mop of curls that graced his head 12 years ago, but your thoughts are quickly drawn away when he’s grabbing your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact with him. 

“Last chance,” he pants. “Tell me to stop now, and we leave like this never happened.”

You glare at him, gripping his hair a little tighter. “Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your life trying to forget about me? About Patrick? Trying to forget how you decided the puppy crush you had on Tashi was more important than your best fucking friend?” 

His face hardens at your whispered remarks, each word pushing the knife deeper into his chest. But he wasn’t that stupid. Not anymore. “No,” he frowns. “Fuck, no. I’m never letting you go again.”

You don’t believe him, but you nod anyway. “Okay, then.” 

You aren’t sure what you were expecting him to feel like after 12 years. He used to be soft, always drawing a line before he ever got too rough with you. But being a lapdog for this long had resulted in far too many pent-up emotions, and you were on the receiving end of them. 

It almost gave you whiplash, the contrast of his actions. He fucked into you with an animalistic pace, hand squeezing your throat just enough, but his lips were by your ear, face nestled against your neck as he whispered praises and sweet nothings in your ear. 

“You’re perfect. You always were. Should’ve been mine.”

It’s hard for you to focus on his words because you’re too focused on how his free hand has made its way down to your core, the pads of his middle and ring finger rubbing your clit with so much speed that you’re convinced he’s on drugs. Maybe he was hiding that from Tashi too.

You’re so lost in the sensations that you almost miss it. Almost. You wish you had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

It makes your eyes fly open. The last thing you wanted to feel right now was guilt, and you knew that if he was feeling it, then it was only a matter of time before he projected enough for it to infect you too.

“Absolutely not,” you growl. “Shut your stupid mouth and keep fucking me.”

He listens. He thrusts his hips harder, faster, breathy moans of your name falling off of his lips with the ragged beauty of a waterfall. He moves his hand off your throat and into your hair, tugging with enough force to rip a cry from you. You’re so close, way faster than you wanted to be. But he won’t have it.

“Art,” you whimper. “Art, please, I’m so close, I—”

“No, baby, hold on. Just a little longer, please. You deserve it.”

He wanted to prolong your pleasure, give you the well-built orgasm you deserved. It was the least he could do, after all. If you wouldn’t let him apologize with his words, then he would make it apparent with his actions. Besides, he wasn’t sure if this would be the last time he’d ever have you beneath him. He had to make it count. And he did.

Soon enough, he’s fucking you through your orgasm, a hand covering your mouth to muffle your cries. God, he’d do anything to hear those noises every night, in his own bed at home, loud enough to make you go hoarse. But that would have to wait. For tonight, he’d take you just as you are. The fact that you were there, that you were really there was more than enough for him. He’d worry about the bits and pieces of it all at another time.

A few hours later, you sneak back into your hotel room. Patrick is dead asleep, his snores filling the small room. You don’t bother to cover Art’s hickeys. Patrick could use the reminder that you could do better. If he wanted to assume everything you did for him was from a place of pity and arrogance, then so be it. There was no reason for you to put effort into trying to pacify him anymore.

---

A couple of days later, the sun shines brightly down on the court of the Phil’s Tire Town Challenger. You make your way into the stands, heading for your usual front and center seat—and that’s when you see her. Honestly, you should’ve expected it. Tashi was Art’s coach, after all. Of course she’d sit in the spot with the best vantage point of the action.

She turns her head, her chocolate eyes locking with yours. That’s when you catch a glimpse of the small reddish-purple splotches just peeking out from the pristine white collar of her button-down dress. You can’t help the way the corners of your mouth curve up into the barest hint of a smirk. She glances down for a split second, clearly noticing the not-yet-faded mark that lingers on your collarbone, not entirely hidden by your clothes. Her eyes shoot back up to yours, a matching expression of mutual agreement on her features as you take the seat next to her.

Neither of you say anything. For now, both of you return your eyes to the court as Art and Patrick get announced, walking onto the court. They both look up at the stands. Patrick’s the first to acknowledge you and Tashi sitting next to each other. A Cheshire cat grin crawls its way onto his face, and he turns his head back to look at Art, who meets his gaze with a simple upward twitch of his lips.

Tashi’s fingers brush your hand as she grips the armrest. Your eyes meet again, both of your gazes charged with a little bit of electricity and a whole lot of sex. There’s a statement hanging in the air between you: ‘Yeah, I fucked your husband.’ There’s nothing particularly malicious about it— far from it, honestly. It’s more like an opening to a contract. A trade agreement. But, you’ll hash out the details later. 

Now was not the time.

[chibishortdeath]

Ya know, Castlevania tackled the concept that life after defeating Dracula could be difficult for a Belmont with Richter feeling like he’d lost all purpose and reason to go on living if not for saving others and fighting against something—

But, do you think any of them before him felt that way too?

I mean it sounds kind of miserable, being raised your whole life to be solely relied on for one moment… and then what? How do you handle the sudden shift to ‘not being needed anymore’? Evidently, most of them didn’t have very much happen to them after the events of their games since we don’t get to know—

But, do you think any of them ever got better? Do you think anyone before Richter ever learned how to live for themselves? Did Richter?

Anyway it’s 8 PM and I’m sitting around wondering if any of the Belmonts were still happy after their happy endings (debatable if certain ones got happy endings tbh but anyway), Konami can u check on them, I’m worried—

[amiaclone]

You asked I’ll write! Gender neutral reader if you don’t mind

Tw: cursing I guess? Squid game in general should be considered a trigger over all the murdering lmaoo

*In ho sighed for the what? Fifteenth time? He’s been counting it’s what he’s trying to focus on the other thing is well……*

*When he decided to participate in these games again it was to prove Gi hun a point and mess with him a bit so he joined his “team” which well….. they happened to be in*

You were apart of it a strong person filled with determination in debt to a lot of money…..honestly in ho was shocked with how much debt you were in I mean you seemed like someone who’d make it far in live would rule against the poor like he used to be…

But you weren’t you were *trash*

You were lower lower class you were nothing…..

Yet why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

He had a wife who he fell out of love with before he even met you…..swore he’d never fall in love again after distancing himself with his family and starting the games…..

But you just had to be lucky star didn’t you?

You were “kind” and not in a pushover kind of way just….kind like kind that would not take shit from people but would help others in need….and didn’t hide your opinions from others that deserved it….

It was disgusting but…..In a good way? He wanted you not in a possessive way but in a way type of wanting to care for you and you care for him-

*He shook those thoughts off ugh. Why now? He’s usually so calm and collected…..at first he wouldn’t lie he was hoping you’d die in one of the earlier games but now….he isn’t so sure. Gi hun already has plans to take the guns and fight back he had a plan problem was…..you were apart of the main plan

He probably had to kill you it’s probably a good thing but…now he isn’t so sure he’s gotten along with you great and he has a tiny bit of hope that you even like him back so for you to find out he runs these games….he can’t risk it

You’ll find out anyway but he doesn’t wanna face you to your face he atleast wants to hide behind a mask atleast imagining what you’d say…..

Currently he’s trying to convince himself that these feelings aren’t real……maybe it’s just attraction? Of course you’re really good looking maybe it’s that!

“Uh In ho?”

*He turns around that voice dreaded him more then anything the voice he was ready to hear-*

“Are you okay In ho?”

It was Gi hun

*He unfortunately realised that after breaking out of his rare trance he blinked for a few seconds then nodded*

“What is it?”

*Gi hun shrugged* “Nothing you seemed out of it….” *In ho stared at the ground trying to seem calm but spoke in a bitter tone* “I’m fine…” *He let his eyes wander to you who was talking to he thinks Junhee the pregnant lady? Gi hun noticed and raised an eyebrow* “Maybe Y/n will cheer you up…..Hey y/n!”

*You raised an eyebrow nodding at Junhee before walking away up to the two men.*

“You guys need something?” *In ho sighed he’s been trying to avoid hearing your voice….and you in general.* “In ho seems nervous I thought you’d be better at calming him down…*

*As Gi hun left you leaned your back on the bars of the bed he was sitting on….he couldn’t even look at you.*

“So. What is it?” *You asked he didn’t look at you but he could tell you seemed concerned*

“……” “In ho?” “…….If somebody did something almost unforgivable in any way…..what would you do?” “……What?” *You were confused rightfully you knew he was like this but for the way he got was so….* “Just answer the question…..please.” “Well if we were close I’d….wanna know why. Depending on what they did it’s…..hard to say hey are you saying this cause you’re worried or something i understand i am too but…..don’t focus on the negative so much you know?” *As usual kind…..how could such a good human like you be in these games yet he knew…..He is the front man after all he decided to atleast “ask you” and bond maybe a bit before he has to let you go….*

“Yeah you’re right as logical as ever so why are……you in debt if you don’t mind answering?”

*He felt you rise up you stared squinting your eyes then smiling* “Damn didn’t expect anyone to ask me that….don’t think it’s important.”

*Oh he knows what it is why wouldn’t he a petty part of him felt betrayed some what you weren’t gonna tell him after how close you’ve gotten but he decided to keep his cool.*

“You don’t have to tell you i just asked since we might be leaving this place or if neither of us..make it.” *You groaned* “The pessimism again In ho? Jeez you could…..I’ll tell you though cause you do have a point.”

“Well i used to be pretty rich and well-“ *As you went into your story he already knew it but continued to listen you were rich worked in a high payed business workplace but like most work places favouritism is common. Which unfortunately lead to your downfall.* “Anyways one day I found out i was being underpayed a lot of money so I complained this and that and i got a warning complained again then got fired…..It was hard to find a job i didn’t pay the bills for a lot of things debt grew bigger and bigger then a man asked me to play a game one day and well…..here i am.” *Ah yes In ho nodded at your story he knew it all he was the person who called for you to be in the game….you were a wonderful person honestly what was he thinking you were too good for a game like this is something he of all people would never think he would say.* “Im sorry you don’t deserve to be here after all it’s not your fault you’re in debt…” *You shook your head* “Eh I didn’t have a good of a college degree anyway maybe if I studied more in college I wouldn’t be here but eh atleast i got to meet you?” *In ho sighed and he didn’t want to or realise it but he couldn’t help but let a small smile rise genuinely.* “I suppose it’s…..mutual.”

*You sighed smiling* “I can’t wait for tomorrow we’ll finally *maybe* get out of here right?” *He felt his heart stop for a second oh yeah…..that*

*He awkwardly cleared his throat* “Oh yeah I suppose this game will….end and we’ll probably never see each other again” *You snorted* “We can still talk, we can meet up together and talk and stuff it’s not like we need to forget each other…”

*”That’s right” In ho thought he needed to forget you maybe these feelings would go away….but the the thoughts came he didn’t want to but…..”I killed my brother damn it! I can do this I’ve talked to them for only a few days this is…”*

“In ho??” *He stared up at you instinctively like an animal almost he stopped himself and regained his composure.* “Jeez you seem tense maybe get some rest…” “No im…..just thinking….about all the bad decisions…..humans can make.” *You hmmd* “I suppose so humans can be evil if given the chance with such power.” *In ho nodded* “Have you ever thought of doing something regrettable?” *In ho wasn’t sure why he was asking these…..questions but maybe it was to see the inhuman side of them to make him disgusted in you? Maybe that’ll work.* “Well I’ll admit yeah…..I got bullied and when I found out there father had cancer i wanted to well bring it up tear them down….i think i was about 14.” *You didn’t seem shameful you seemed to regret it but not shamed it only made In ho admire you more as he hated it.* “So why didn’t you do anything?” *You laughed a bit* “I would of if it wasn’t for me asking my mom and telling her like i was about to do the best thing she got mad scolded me and told me a different way a better way to handle bullying……and I’ve used that advice since.”

*He quirked an eyebrow what would it be that he hasn’t heard ignore them stand up for yourself be the the bigger person?*

“Be better than them…..because bullies are the weakest of the weakest in society strategy they don’t want you knowing is you finding out you’re better then them.” *He knows that advice he’s never thought much of it but hearing it from you automatically makes him wanna know more…* “Well then your mom raised such a lovely person….you should be proud.” *You scoffed laughing a bit* “I made a lot of mistakes that i can’t even say thought of some weird stuff im glad i didn’t say or do anyways……yeah. We’re human everyone has made one bad mistake you’ll dwell on for the rest of your life my advice is well…..did you regret it?”

*In ho sighed smiling* “Thanks for the advice I’ll rest for a bit” *You got up smiling and leaving that’s it.* “Y/n you’ll always be in my memory….” *In ho didn’t know what to do with them maybe ask them to join him? No! That would be so idiotic they’d never agree….try to make them understand? Maybe let them go? Why doesn’t he want that…..he then smiled.* “I can’t wait for tomorrow y/n you’re so unpredictable maybe you could stay with me…..”

Anddddd a cliffhanger sorry if this is ooc i was halfasleep writing this 😭

[osamucide]

BITCHBOY ⊹

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

wc: ~6.8k

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

reid: he’s all i think about.

tags: @kalsplace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He certainly keeps you on your toes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, yes, just get out.”

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

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

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

“You eat yet?” you ask carefully.

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

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

Dazai raises his eyebrows at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would never stop there.

“Makes me think bad things.”

So you cough out your hit anyway.

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

“Mhm,” he agrees. “Lots of ‘em.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he stays locked onto you, quietly.

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

“Osamu—”

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

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

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

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

For so long? you think. How long?

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

“I can get you higher,” he offers—tone still much too innocent, motives still haphazardly veiled by what a big jokester he is, and he sticks the joint between his lips and lights it.

Before you can coherently protest, he rises, supporting himself on your thigh with one hand and removing the joint from his mouth full of smoke; when he leans into you, you catch his wrist to keep him from ashing on the back of the couch, grab his face in a half-attempt to stop him in his tracks—but ultimately, when his mouth meets yours, you open for him.

The plume of smoke he shotguns into your mouth is thick; you breathe it in. His palm like a brand against your thigh.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Osamu,” you whine against his lips, still mushing his face away and hating how your dry throat roughens your voice. He just kisses you, kisses you, and your fingers find the pulse point in his wrist—he’s a decent kisser, you think, at the very least. You have half a mind to let your fingers slide to the mess of brown hair beyond the apples of his sharp cheekbones, and—

You backtrack in your mind. You’re actually probably too high for this.

You have to detest the way it feels so heavenly when he squeezes the fat of your thigh, dodges your lips, and works steadily in a line from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, all tongue and teeth in his pursuit. You have to detest it. Fucking weirdo, you repeat in your mind. The joint burns between his fingers. You snatch it from his grasp and pull your head back, raising your feet to kick him weakly in the abdomen, and he relents—your toes feel asleep when they hit the carpet again, and you hoard the joint between your fuzzy fingers when he reaches for it back.

“Osamu,” you say again, stern, eyes wide. The weed. You're high. You're both high, and this is weird. He’s just your weirdo roommate and you got home wanting to end your stressful day without complicating anything else in your life today.

So why, when he looks at you like you’re a caged animal that’s just as afraid of him and he is of you and works the joint from your fingers to take another drag, do you let him cup your face and exhale more smoke down your throat?

Why do you chase his lips when he blissfully, needily, sinks to his knees once again and starts to traverse beneath your shorts?

With the right focus of mind, like staring at your hand when you’re spinning and convincing yourself that the world around you is actually moving and you’re staying still, you can almost pretend he’s a stranger—some sexy, enchanting stranger that you met on the train home after your shit day, meant to relate to you with docile nods and hums as you air your grievances about work or school or whatever, meant to kiss it off you like it’s just a little bit of dirt.

Getting out of your shorts is like getting out of second skin. You're taking another hit, unwise or not, because it's back in your hand and you don't know what else to do; you watch him in your haze with a mix of anticipation and distrust, but right now, anticipation is winning by a small margin. You’re high, you tell yourself—twitching already, in that way that has nothing to do with desire but rather just means you've smoked a little too much too quickly, and the idea that Dazai might still fake you out and send you to bed feeling half-hot and bothered, half-violated, with no pants on and a near-empty stomach bobs around in your inhibited brain—again, you expect him to laugh, say you’re fried, clap you on the shoulder and tell you it's a joke but he doesn’t, he cranes for a hit from the joint and you hold it to his lips shakily and he touches you on the exhale, the pads of two of his fingers nestling carefully between your folds over your underwear and when he brushes your clit it’s—

Fuck, it’s electric.

“Osamu, stop,” you say, hoarse and abrupt, grabbing his wrist. "I'm—"

“What?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone. Beneath your hand his thumb comes up to replace his fingers, to loop circles around you, and you're shuddering, back bowing, and he's grinning at you wickedly.

“I—I'm high,” you admit, voice feeling thick, soupy as it leaves your throat.

“So? Me too.” He blinks at you, slow like a cat, in a way that you're pretty sure he's still mocking the way you apparently always flutter your gaze at him when he lights you up. “‘S the best way to do it.”

“Yeah, but—”

He doesn't interrupt you with but what?

And yet, you still don't finish your sentence.

You glance down to where he’s rubbing you gently, where you hold him at bay—where you could yank his arm and twist it uncomfortably if you really did want him to stop but the longer he circles over the fabric that’s growing increasingly, alarmingly wetter, the more you melt away from yourself and you think, fuck, he really is gorgeous as he’s resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

“Scoot forward f’me, please?” he almost whines; his voice changes, stricter when he says, “And stop letting that burn. Smoke it.”

And you comply, shuffling your hips forward and placing the filter between your teeth.

Dazai looks up at you. All cute. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. Hungry.

And you look back, apprehension sparking but then fading with each drove of smoke you inhale. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. All cute.

“Let me taste you, please,” he almost whispers. You almost find yourself a little endeared by his pointed pleases.

“This is fucking absurd,” you croak, but your resolve is leaving you. He’s a little blurry. “You’re such a sicko.”

His smile widens against the word. Sicko. Almost like he’s pleased to hear it leave your mouth. “Surprised it took you this long to figure out, baby.”

His touch is impatient and restless and crawling as your underwear goes, too—and you don’t appreciate how good it felt when his thumb was on your clit until it’s back again and you’re slipping the joint out of your mouth to let you jaw fall slack; you tangle a hand up in that messy hair that is much softer than you could’ve imagined and all but yank him back toward your cunt.

“Please,” you echo him, finally. “It felt so good—do it again.”

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you in your whimpering, fingers prodding at your hole and tongue landing a feather-light lick to your wetness. “I know you want it.”

The sounds are lewd. Disgusting, really—fitting for how he’s acting. Dazai swirls his tongue in circles around your clit as he works his middle and ring fingers into you; cracked gasps leave you at the intrusion, and you can’t keep your eyes open when he curls them upward ever so slightly as he makes out with your clit. If you were sober you’d, of course, be embarrassed at how you’re already gushing for him, but all your mushy brain can think about right now is the sparks bolting to your otherwise-numb fingers and toes with each suction of his pretty pink lips against you—isn’t this wrong? Shouldn’t you feel weird? Yeah, probably—but you’re forgetting why, and you’re forgetting to care.

He hums against you and it sends a shockwave throughout your already-vibrating body; the moan you release into the air is like song, even to yourself. Is he really good at this, you wonder, or is it the weed?

Oh right, the weed. The weed, the weed, the weed.

You pull his mouth off you, almost dropping the joint that’s not much of a joint anymore—only the filter remains.

“I don’t think this is—”

Fuck, you keep going back and forth. You keep breaching the surface just for him to tug you beneath the water again and convince you the drowning feels nice. And it does, for a few seconds—until it starts burning your lungs to a crisp again, at which point you tear away from him kick up, and in the moments you spend sucking in air you don’t get how he stays beneath for so long, like it’s nothing, how he doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop, his fingers still curling inside of you, and you’re going under again to the sound of his voice.

You feel suffocated. More delirious by the second. It’s nice.

“You already told me it feels good,” he mumbles against you, lapping at you, and you’re letting up on his hair, letting him become a weight again where you should float.

And the lack of oxygen must be getting to your brain because, even though you still don’t think you want to drown, you cease your kicking. For the last time.

“Osamu,” you cry. It sounds like a moan. It might be.

“I know, I’m such a sicko.” There’s no remorse in his words; there can’t be, not when he’s still curling up into your g-spot in just the way that makes you croon his name again—undoubtedly a moan this time—but when he comes into focus again, he looks so apologetic. “You can say it again, baby. It’s okay.”

“S—sicko,” you mutter disapprovingly, but rolling your hips all the same.

He smiles. Soft, kind, apologetic.

You’re scared to move. You know if you do, you’ll both be able to see the wet stain collecting beneath you on the cushion. You feel it.

So you barrage him with more.

“You—you’re a fucking pervert. You’re disgusting.” You feel wetness on your face, too. You deduce that it’s from how perfect his fingers feel inside you, goading that warm slick out of you and into his palm, onto the couch; regardless, you don't stop berating him, your tone harshly contrasting your wriggling hips. “You disgust me.”

“I think you like it.” He presses up, hard, and you gush, gasping. A short, clear spurt narrowly misses his face; he leans back down to lick it off, off the cushion, off your thighs, off your crying cunt. “I think you like how nasty I am.”

“Disgusting,” you whisper. “Disgusting. You're disgusting.” It’s a little chant you hold onto as he rises again to kiss you, messily—a means to replace his lips with his wet fingers, shoving them past your lips and against your tongue where you lap at them instinctually, like you’ve been waiting for it. It’s so wrong to be tasting yourself on his fingers, but your eyes roll back anyway, just to lurch forward as his hand retracts and you find him grinning once more as he slips his sweatpants and boxers down in one swipe. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dazai mocks, giggling. “You just tasted how fucking wet you are.”

“Osamu,” you whine as he kicks his garments aside; you begin to draw your feet up, your knees to your chin, but his hands, stronger than you anticipate, pry you open and flip you to your back and he grins, biting into his bottom lip all the while. Why, you wonder, when the dim living room light glints off his teeth as he situates himself between your legs and leans down to cage you in between his arms, do your hips hitch toward his? Why are you so adamant to deny him?

“You gonna say it again? C’mon, I love hearing my name,” he breathes, ducking down to lick across your jawline. “But I love when you call me those words. Say it again. Tell me how nasty I am.”

“You’re the worst,” you groan, but it sounds comical, even to your own ears, because you’re scratching at his shoulders in a way that draws him closer to you rather than further away.

“More, baby,” Dazai hums into your neck, reaching down to swirl his tip against your wetness. When you feel him, you jump.

It feels good. It feels even better than his thumb and you don’t know if you’re still on your way up but you feel higher and higher by the second and the instinct to push him off is slipping further beyond your grasp. When he pulls back to watch your mouth fall open as he rubs himself into you, you almost let the word pretty slip past your lips—he looks so pretty, tongue flicking, eyes dark, and you catch yourself with your lower lip between your teeth, reflecting the desperation he conceals in everything but his words.

Pretty isn’t what he wants right now, though—and suddenly you feel compelled to give him what he wants, if only it means he’ll keep touching you like this.

“S’fucking nasty—degenerate fucking freak—” you eek out; you don’t know much longer you can tiptoe the line between repulsion and sheer need, but you’re tilting further and further with each circle of his dick and you can tell he’s getting off on the way you’re lurching into him now, running toward his touch instead of away from it.

You think you need him to fuck you, now, or you’ll cry.

“Osamu, please,” you continue, sounding on the verge of tears now—where you should’ve been before, when you genuinely wanted him off you, yes. You wanted him off of you before. Didn’t you? There was a time, a mere few minutes ago, when his fingers in your skin and his animalistic gaze were revolting. Right?

“What’re you beggin’ me for?” Dazai asks like he doesn’t know. He knows. He knows what you don’t want to admit to yourself and he’s going to dangle it over your head, he’s going to rub it in your face, he’s going to make you answer through your hazy high that he never should’ve come onto you through to begin with, and you’re going to give him what he wants—you always give him what he wants, even if you don’t mean to, even if you don’t want to, but now you think you want to. You want to, because it feels so good, and he’s slowing down, he’s stopping and when he takes his hand away to swipe his thumb across your chin, pull your lip from between your teeth and work your mouth open with his fingers again, the loss almost hurts. You want it. You want to.

It’s going to hurt even more to say it, but you want it. And before you can even get it out, before the words even hit what little air is between your lips and his, Dazai looks thrilled at what you say next.

“Please, fuck me,” you whisper.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely—” He reaches back down, but the smugness doesn’t waver; his tip catches on your entrance—emitting a lewd squelch that should make you cringe but instead prompts your lip to fly between your teeth again—and you hook your tingling feet behind his back, legs astride his waist as you're pushing his bangs from his face all in one motion. “I guess I’ll fuck you, pretty baby.”

"Yes," the dreaded word falls from your lips when he finally works his way into you, past that tight ring of muscle, to nestle snugly inside you until the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

The noise you draw from him—something between a sigh and a moan—is heavenly. His nose nuzzles the trail he licked across your jaw before and you find your hands linked behind his neck, urging him down, onto you, into you—and when he recoils his hips to thrust back in again, quick and short, you keen against him, pathetically, in a way your past self—the one from four or five touches ago—would hate you for.

You should hate how gross this is. How gross he is for this.

But you don't, and you're not going to torture yourself with asking why anymore.

The friction inside you doesn't feel comparable to anything; for the first time in a second, you feel grateful for the weed pulsing through you. You let your eyes roll back and flutter shut without consequence.

Dazai moves against you like water. Water you're content to drown in this time; his touch doesn't crawl anymore as much as it seems to soothe and as he picks up his pace, brings a hand to your cheek to wake you back up, pull you back above the surface.

"You sound s'fuckin cute," he sighs; those eyes, predatory before, are now just brown and melty, honey-colored backgrounded with red fog, not so searching as much as they seem attentive, not making you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable as they do softly seen. He thinks you sound cute. You giggle through the unrivaled pleasure, giggling through your own moans which hit your ears and do sound cute—sound especially cute woven through his.

"Y'sound... so," you start, "so fucking—unh, Osamu, don't stop!"

He chuckles now, low and breathy, and you push his hair back from his face again; his eyes roll back when you do it, and you just do it over, over, over, drawing clipped groans out of him, stealing the words from his throat as he steals yours and you tug, you tug on his hair and the moan he lets out, broken between thrusts, is so raw and laced with need that you moan in reply, clenching around him because, fuck, he sounds so cute, too. "Wanted this for so long, baby. Pussy feels s—so much fuckin' better than I could've imagined."

"How long?" you finally poke back—you want to know. You want to know how long he's been holed up in the mess of his room, jerking off to the thought of his cute little roommate finally falling between his fingers—you want to know how bad he's wanted this, and if getting you high out of your mind just to get it was worth it. You focus your voice to ask him. "How long you wanted this, 'Samu?"

"So long—since—" he gasps, fucking into you harder, faster, deeper; you tug his hair again, exposing his neck, and yank him down to sink your teeth into his neck. You need the reprieve as he starts hammering against the deepest parts of you, eliciting wet smack! after smack! from between your writhing bodies. You jostle beneath him as he finds his breath; "Since I fuckin' met you. Always wanted you."

"Yeah?" You mean it to be a teasing little rhetorical question but it comes out more like encouragement amidst the bliss radiating from your cunt throughout your whole body, but you find it in you to continue— "You been—you been thinkin' of me under you like this? Like the sicko you are?"

Unbelievably faster and harder. You choke on a scream; Dazai's grunting above you, and it hits you that those names really do spur him on. You're far from offending him—you're bringing him closer and closer to filling you up with each and every insult and jab you throw his way and if you were any less cockdrunk you'd be hurling even more barbs at him about how that makes him so much worse, so much more gross but it just spurs you on, too, right now—and you realize, when he looks at you with those fucking eyes again how bad you want him, how bad you've wanted him, too, for so long; you couldn't—wouldn't admit it because he's just your weirdo roommate but really, maybe that's what you love about him. You certainly love the way he makes your toes curl when he reaches down to play with your clit again. You cry out against him.

"Osamu, fuck!"

"Say it again," he begs you, pretty brown eyes glassy as they fall shut, as the tip of his nose touches yours. "Say it again, please, baby."

You know what he wants.

"F—fucking pervert," you huff, doing everything you can to hold onto the rope that's uncoiling rapidly inside you, coming further and further undone with each slam of his hips into your ass. "Ah—you're disgusting. Disgusting."

You fall back on your mantra and it has his thumb moving faster, harder, just like his thrusts, just like his voice, even if it sounds unconvincing through the shockwaves of pleasure; you feel it, the unraveling, it's washing up on you so quickly, so much quicker than it should be at the hands of your weirdo roommate.

"Don't stop," he pleads like he's not the one fucking you to orgasm; you see white, you feel as light as air—god, has cumming always felt like this? Shouldn't you hate it? Shouldn't you hate that it might never feel like this again?

You do, you do—you hate weed and you hate sex and you hate your weirdo roommate Osamu Dazai for coaxing the most mind-blowing climax you've ever felt out of you, but you don't hate any of those things, not really; you hate that it's never felt like this before, and that it can again if only you can push your pride down for a few more moments and call him a—

"Freak—gonna—gonna cum in me?" you goad, breathless, lucky for speech as he fucks you through the otherworldly high, as you clamp down on him and screw your eyes shut until you can keep going. "Gonna fill me up like the nasty motherfucker you are?"

"Ngh—yeah, yeah, yeah...!"

Dazai, in all his depraved beauty, fucks his fat load into you mercilessly; you twitch, shake beneath him, driving strained sobs from his chest and talking him through with soft yeahs, want y'r cum, filthy fucking sicko freak, you disgust me. He loves it. He falls apart, and you tug on his hair once more as he slows, as he spills out of you, as he looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

"You—" Dazai's breathless, heaving. "You're amazing."

You giggle again, wiggling a bit and trapping him further close to you, fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. Soft. You don't feel any less high; just blissed out. "You're cute."

"Knew you thought so," he sighs, lopsided smile coming back; you don't know where in the pleasure he'd lost it, but its return has you tilting your chin up to kiss him once more. Soft. Gentle, sweet, no tongue; not gross, not hungry, just sweet. Satisfied.

"But you're still weird," you tease against his lips. Sly.

When Dazai pulls back, the hunger in those eyes sparks again.

"Want me to show you how weird I can get?" he threatens.

"I dare you," you taunt back.

And he grins, fully and wickedly, once more; you can count on it. He'll show you, alright.

[infevious]

I NEED a part 2 of that Latino kinich pls pls make it fluffy 😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

APOLOGIES

a/n: pt 2 of this !! probs ooc 😓 im also surprise surprise high as balls again so im probably thinking im writing shit shakespeare himself couldn’t but it’s actually ass. i also have a test tomorrow and need to sleep early today so pls dont hate me for not writing an actual ending i’ll finish tomorrow maybe 😭😭😭

…………………………………………….

The final straw for the hunter was when he saw you and Yaotyl playing around, he hated how the man was touching you, he had tried convincing himself he wasn’t jealous but he knew he was lying to himself. His saurian companion only added salt to the wound.

“Would you look at that! She’s enjoying her time with someone else while you’re over here looking like a kicked puppy- you ever seen her smile that big? Maybe you should just jump off the nearest cliff to end this horrible feeling!”

.

.

.

.

You were walking home after a long day of commissions, the sun was setting and all you wanted to do was rot in bed the rest of the evening. You heard some footsteps behind you but thought nothing of it, multiple people use this path it’s nothing, you kept walking until you felt someone grab your hand and turn you towards them.

It was Kinich. He let go of your hand and gripped your arm, pulling you close to his chest, a little too close, and you could tell he was annoyed.

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

You blinked. Didn’t he tell you you were being annoying? You blinked again.

“I’m not ignoring you..”

“Bullshit” His grip on your arm tightened. “You haven’t talked to me in weeks.”

“I’ve just been..busy..?”

Wow. Best liar in all of Teyvat he’s surly going to be convinced.

“Uh huh? Busy with what? Busy with everyone in Natlan that you can’t even spare me a glance?”

“Why do you care? I thought you said I was annoying?”

He bit his lip and looked down for a moment before looking back at you.

“I did…but you’re my f-” He sighed, mentally cursing at himself for caring so much. He didn’t really mind you ignoring him for the first couple of days, but when he saw you were with another man he realized how bad he regretted it, he realized his feelings for you.

“You’re my friend. I just needed some time alone.”

You felt your throat start to burn a bit. Friend. You should have known, you never had a chance with him. You swallowed the feeling back and looked down.

“Okay”

Okay? That’s it? You’ve ignored him for almost a month and the only thing you can say is okay?

He gripped your arm tighter and pulled you closer.

“Is that all you’re going to say? Okay?”

“Well what do you want me to say!?”

That came out a little louder than expected but whatever..all you wanted right now was to rush home and lock yourself in your room.

“Anything other than okay!”

“I’m sorry for listening to you and giving you the space you wanted!”

He scoffed and let you go, crossing his arms and looking away. He knew he should just apologize to you so you two could go back to before and get past this.

“..I’m sorry”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t really expect that.

“What?”

“I said i’m sorry alright?”

.

.

.

.

After a while, it was actually a day and a half, you two were finally back to normal, you just tried to tone it down a bit. He noticed that, but he also noticed how your hand stopped brushing against his when you would walk together, how you seemed slightly less cheery when talking to him, how you stopped looking at him with a small little smile when he would talk.

He was walking back to a customer after finishing a commission when he heard your voice.

“-I don’t know how long I can take it anymore..! I can’t get rid of my stupid feelings! How do I make them go away!?”

He saw you shake Mualani as you looked like you were about to burst out into tears. Feelings? What feelings? Who were you talking about? His eyebrows furrowed as he continued to listen to what you were talking about.

“Uh- how are you sure he doesn’t like you back?”

“He was annoyed at me for spending time with him! He called me a friend..!”

Wait. Was it him you were talking about? He almost started praying to the archons then and there that it was him, he was ready to pay what ever price if you could return his feelings. He was snapped back into his thoughts as he heard Mualani confirm.

“Kinich is a weird guy, who knows?”

“Lani don’t get my hopes up..”

She gave you a small smile and then noticed Kinich standing a few feet behind you. She saw how his cheeks were slightly blushed and raised her eyebrow. He realized that she saw him and quickly left to find the customer.

Interesting.

…………………………………………….

[verstappenf1lecccc]

hiya could you write something with Charles x reader where they get into a fight and he then gives her the silent treatment for a few days she tried to talk to him but he blanks her, she eventually cracks a few days later cause she thinks he doesn’t love her anymore and gets really upset infronto of him. But they do make up in the end make it angsty but with lots of fluff and makeup..

Invisible

thank you for this ask!! I love for angst hope you like this first part!!

3,797 Characters 693 Words 🎀

"Prick," the word flew so fast out of your mouth, it almost made you take a double take. You've never been one for profanities; your mother once heard a loud "fuck" come out of your lips and had soaped the hell out of your mouth. So when you did curse, Charles knew it was serious. It had been a week after Charles had revealed that he had decided to renew his contract with the Scuderia, safe to say, you were disappointed.

You've spent the entire winter break trying to convince Charles to move to Red Bull; this didn’t come out of thin air, it came out of Horner offering Charles a seat for the next season, to which Charles had hurriedly said, "I’ll think about it." As his wife, you really were concerned for his well-being and career. The Scuderia was not where it should be or where it was with the likes of Kimi or Michael. You just wanted Charles to have the opportunity to display his true talent. Especially after hearing Fred calling him a "washed-out nepo baby," your blood was boiling since you've heard that. Being with Charles was something you'd never thought you'd be capable of, but with years of convincing and efforts made by him, you couldn’t hold back and fell deeply and madly in love with him.

This was what ignited the first major fight in your relationship. A simple comment that you had made had pissed Charles off; he couldn’t understand why his wife, of all people did not get why he wanted to stay with Ferrari. It was more than a job for him; it was his whole existence.

He wanted to win a championship with Ferrari for Herve and for Jules more than anything. Your comment on how you thought his goal was unachievable with the team made him wonder if you doubted his moves and, most importantly, doubted him. Charles was never a yeller; he was always silent whenever you both had disagreements, always making sure you got your point across before he started. He was never a bad communicator, always making sure he didn’t make you feel less than or below him. But the Charles in this argument was not like the perfect husband he prides himself in being. This Charles was a proper prick, probably the worst he’s ever been.  You knew you had done something to upset him; you could tell from how fast he drove the car, how white his knuckles were, how he didn’t even spare you a glance as you got in the car, how he didn’t remind you to wear your seatbelt, and most importantly, how sharply his jaw was clenching.  You knew you were in for a huge fight; you were just wondering what you had said or done to make him this pissed.  The car rolled to a halt; Charles had just uttered his first words of the night, "go up", no mon angel, no love at the end of his sentence, just blunt words filled with bitter emotion.  You hurried up the stairs, almost tripping over your dress, the dress you wore for him.  When Charles finally entered the bedroom, he failed to notice your slightly shaking figure or your red eyes; all he saw when he saw you was failure.  He’d walked right past you, almost as if you were a wall; he knew what he was doing, he knew that you hated arguments but hated the silent treatment even more, it reminded you of your childhood and of never knowing what you were doing wrong to upset your mother.  That night the bed felt cold, even though you both were sleeping in it, the bed lacked the cuddles and warmth that emitted from the kisses you both often shared. It felt wrong; you tried to move towards your husband but you felt him move away, that was all it took for you to softly cry into your pillow.  You felt like your whole marriage was crumbling right before your eyes and you could do nothing to fix it. All because your husband had decided that you were invisible.

[moodriingz]

Into Your Room | L. Hughes

Summary | Luke breaks up with the reader and they're both miserable

Pairing | Luke Hughes x reader, Jack Hughes x platonic! reader, Ethan Edwards x platonic! reader

Warning | Breakups ? and maybe three curse words ? that's about it!

Author's Note | This is my first post! I'm so excited because I love this song and all I could think about for a couple of days was this scenario. Please send requests and what you think!

Masterlist

You and Luke started dating while he was at the University of Michigan. Sure, you knew when He went to play for the Devils long-distance would be difficult because of your classes and his practices and games but you wanted to try. So it came as a shock when Luke broke up with you halfway through the summer after his NHL Debut.

“Y/N I really think we need to take a breather,” said Luke while you were both watching the sunset on the beach of the lake house. 

“What?” You asked. It felt like your world came crashing down out of nowhere. You guys had barely been together a year. But you were inseparable at school and during the summers. 

“Yeah, I just need to focus on hockey right now and you have your classes. I just don’t think it’s going to work out,” Luke rambled.

“But I want to make it work. I told you that before you left for New Jersey,” 

“I don’t want to be held back because of some relationship,” Luke said and you stayed quiet. Your heart was shattering and he was stomping all over it.

“Ok, I’ll get all of my stuff and go back home. No point in wasting any time I guess,” You said with blurry eyes.

You packed up your bag and got ready to go. You saw Jack on the way out and gave him a hug goodbye.

“I don’t know what He’s thinking. I’m sure He’ll come around. It'll all work out,” Jack said into your hair even though it felt like he was trying to convince himself instead of you.

“It’s fine Jack, just take care of him for me,” you said and left the house and got in your car without looking back at one of your favorite places in the world. 

I will run after your moving car

And I will follow you

You're my northern star

Luke was miserable for the rest of the summer. He didn’t want to admit it but he was lost without you. He wished he stopped your car as you left. He regretted everything he said. He was just scared you would find someone better than him at school now that he wasn't there.

Luke told himself that once the season started he wouldn’t have time to think about how much he missed you. Boy was he wrong.

He stalked your Instagram in his free time. He was sure he was almost always the first viewer of any story you posted and had to force himself to ignore your profile picture anytime it came up when he opened the app.

You looked like you hadn’t missed a beat once you got back to school. Always posting when you’d go out with friends or when you’d study at your favorite coffee shop.

You both had so many great memories there anytime you’d post your coffee order he could basically hear the espresso machines and the smell of coffee. He'd remember your laughter from when he had gotten foam on his top lip. Or the time you were so nervous for finals and wouldn’t look up from your computer until he got you a refill of your coffee. Your smile was so bright from such a small gesture he knew he had to do anything he could to see it.

Except he did the opposite. His last memory of you was full of tears as he watched your car pull away. He didn’t know what to do. Luke was a mess while you seemed fine. How could he ever convince you to take him back?

You don't know how much I need you

Yeah, I feel the weight

It's crushing me

You were a mess coming back to school. You missed Luke more than you thought you would. The two of you spent so much time together and when you couldn’t be with each other you would text every chance you’d get.

You missed his goofy smile and curly hair. Luke Hughes was everywhere. The memory of him was in the Library where you would have study dates, He was in your favorite bar where he couldn’t take his eyes off of you all night, He was in your classes where you would sit together and whisper random things back and forth. He was everywhere except where you needed him to be. With you.

Your friends always dragged you out even when all you wanted to do was stay in and watch your favorite TV show and wallow. They always made sure to take good photos so you could post “to make Luke know what he’s missing” they’d always say. 

They basically had a schedule set of when to study with you or get coffee. You didn’t mean to make them watch over you as much as you did, but you couldn’t help how much you needed Luke. 

Finally one night You convinced them that you were too busy with homework to hang out when really you were going to watch the New Jersey Devils season opener. Ethan Edwards saw right through your lies about studying because he knew you liked to finish most of your work at the beginning of the week.

He insisted on watching the game with you and you let him because he was the only one who remotely knew what you were feeling. You both watched pregame, and when the commentators showed Luke all you could notice were his eyebags and how tired he looked. Your heart shattered all over again.

You watched him get his first assist of the season and your heart clenched. If you were still together he would’ve called you after the game and told you all about it. Now you just felt like a spectator while he was all you could think about. Ethan turned to you and noticed how upset you were with tears threatening to spill over. He was tired of seeing his friends destroy themselves.

So, maybe, take me into your room

Without you, my soul is eternally doomed

You're the center of this universe

My sorry ass revolves around you

No, I can't do without you

Jack couldn’t take Luke’s self-pity anymore. All he would do was look at his phone and play hockey. Jack could tell it was affecting Luke more than he was letting on. His eyes were almost always bloodshot and he looked like he was moving through the motions at practice. 

Luke was a shell of his former self and Jack knew he had to do something. He texted Ethan because he knew that besides Luke that’s who you would talk to the most. They both started plotting to get you back together. The Devils had a game against the Red Wings right before Thanksgiving and knew there had to be some way to get you there.

Ethan practically begged on his knees for you to come to the game. He told you he was gifted the tickets and would feel horrible to not go. Everyone else had already left for Thanksgiving, leaving you as his only option.

You weren’t stupid. You knew the game was against the Devils. You had the date marked in your planner as when you would have seen Luke if you were still together. You both looked forward to the game because it was the first time you would’ve seen him play in the NHL and then you would've gone to his parent’s lake house for Thanksgiving the next day. At least that's what was supposed to happen. 

You only agreed to Ethan because you felt bad no one else could go. Ethan promised no funny business, and you could leave the game the second the final buzzer went off. It felt safe and you could see Jack. You missed Luke, but you were also close with Jack. It was something Luke loved about you, how great you got along with his brothers. 

Luke had no idea about the plan Jack and Ethan were brewing. He was especially miserable because he knew if he didn’t mess up the best thing in his life several months ago, you would be at the game cheering him on. He was in hell beating himself over it. All he wanted was to see you in the Jersey he gave you right before his NHL debut. 

Ethan came and picked you up all giddy when he noticed you were wearing a Hughes 43 jersey.

“What? It’s the only Devils gear I have, and I’m sure as hell not going to cheer for them in a Red Wings jersey,” You said without taking a breath.

“I wasn’t even going to say anything.”

You two find your seats and you realize how close to the ice it is. You’re on the Devils side facing the bench a couple rows up from the ice. Luke is definitely going to see you because of your proximity.

“If you had told me how close we were going to be I definitely would’ve worn-” You said before getting cut off.

“Don’t even finish that sentence we’re rooting for my team tonight,” Ethan said talking over the music.

The Devils start coming out for warm up and it doesn’t take Luke more than two seconds to see you. You both lock eyes and don’t look away. He notices you’re in the jersey he gave you, and his heart flutters with hope. He just stands there looking at you until Nico pushes him to tell him has to get ready for the game. You, however, look like a deer in headlights and your heart stops. You hadn’t seen Luke since the summer. Tears start to gather in your eyes and you know you have to leave.

“Ethan I can’t do this. I can’t be here,” You say with tears starting to fall.

“Please you promised me plus he can’t even do anything he’s on the ice,” Ethan says trying to convince you knowing it won’t work.

You start to gather your things when Luke notices. He rushes across the ice and knocks on the glass to get your attention. You instantly regret looking his way, but his eyes look desperate and excited your heart flutters the tiniest bit. 

You read his mouth as he begs you to stay. You just look at him and Ethan debating what to do. You decide to stay and see what happens. Ethan's right he can’t do anything while he’s on the ice, right?

I'm throwing stones at your window

To get you to notice me

Don't make me stand outside, in the pouring rain

With a freshly ripped human heart from my rib cage

And a boom-box

How pathetic, babe

It was a hard loss for the Devils, but the end of the game meant you could finally leave. Ethan was right, Luke didn’t bother you for the rest of the game besides constantly looking at you when he wasn’t on the ice or there was a faceoff right in front of your seats.

As you and Ethan are getting ready to leave you get a text.

From moosey

please don’t leave

i really want to talk

You showed Ethan and he looked at you bewildered.

“You never changed his name?”

“I never had the heart,” You say looking back down at the texts. The three bubbles show up and disappear over and over again.

“I think you should go. What's the worst that could happen, right?” Ethan asks. 

“I don’t know he can rip my heart out all over again and tell me off for coming to his game,” You say, swaying on your toes to your heels.

“He won’t do that trust me,” You don’t even have the energy to ask Ethan as your anxiousness bubbles up to your throat.

To moosey

where can we meet?

From moosey

come down to the locker room i can tell security you and ethan are coming

To moosey

ok 

Luke has to stop himself from running to you when you get to the locker room. He wants to pick you up and spin you around like he used to do after his Michigan games. Instead, he walks up to you and says a simple hi.

“What did you want to talk about?” You whisper nervous about what he has to say.

“Us.” Your breath stops ready for him to tell you off for coming.

“I fucked up ending our relationship,” He says with his eyes turning red.

“Luke, why now? I was ready to fight for us but you dismissed me like I was nothing to you.” 

“Because I was scared,” He admits. “I was scared you’d find someone who’d be able to give you more attention than I could. And that’s what you deserve, but God I can’t be without you. You’re the opposite of nothing, you’re my everything and I’m so lost without you. The last couple of months have been absolute hell.”

“You should’ve talked to me. I would’ve told you there’s no one better for me than you. The last couple of months have wrecked me.” You tell him.

So, don't turn away

You must know how much I need you, need you

Yeah, I can feel your pain

I hate to think how bad I treated you

But I know a place

Where the darkness can't reach us

“Please forgive me. Please can we just forget this all happened?” Luke begs you.

You just nod and launch yourself into his arms for a kiss. He deepens it by holding you in by your hair. Your heart flutters and you never want this moment to end.

“Would it be too much to ask you to spend Thanksgiving with us? I just don’t want to spend any more time away from you. But I get it-,” Luke asks nervously before you cut him off.

“No I’d love to come, I miss everybody.”

“Did I miss it? Did our plan work?” Jack comes into the hallway shouting excitedly.

“What plan?” Luke asks Ethan and Jack.

“You didn’t,” You say.

“Oh but we did, who do you think gave me the tickets?” said Ethan mischievously.

“Well I guess your plan did work, good job boys,” you say with a blush on your cheeks.

Luke kisses your cheek and tells Jack you are spending Thanksgiving with the family and you won't be going anywhere anytime soon. You finally feel like you’re back where you belong. While Luke feels the relief of finally having his world back. 

No, I can't do without you, baby

Maybe, take me into your room

Without you, my soul is eternally doomed

You're the center of this universe

My sorry ass revolves around you

You— And again

[riddled-with-fear]

Matter Of Time

Well, here it is. My first fic. Or really, my first drabble. Originally I had planned for a SFW fic but well, one thing led to another and lo and behold. Another smutty Eddie fic to add to Tumblr.

Pairing: Dano!Riddler x Fem!reader

Summary: Edward watches reader from the shadows of a roof top, convincing himself what he's doing is protecting you.

Word count: 1,238

CW: semi-public male masturbation, themes of stalking, voyeurism, self-loathing, Edward being a fucking creepy weirdo, and dubious consent.

This has been uploaded to my AO3 as well!

Edward had been patiently waiting for you to come home. 

Unbeknownst to you, of course.

He had overheard you at KTMJ revealing to another mutual coworker that you had errands to run after work. Not that he was eavesdropping of course! But that meant you weren’t getting home until later and not your usual time of six-thirty.

Edward usually spent whatever free time he had during and after work focusing on his true work as Gotham’s Savior. As the Riddler. But now, it consisted of observing you from the shadows. Making notes about you. Memorizing every detail he could about you. Even going so far as to fantasize about you. He didn’t quite understand his infatuation with you. Perhaps it was because you were a new face in Gotham. Someone that has yet to be tainted and corrupted by this cursed city.  Or perhaps it was because for the first time in his entire miserable fucking life that someone had shown him basic human kindness. Not out of pity, but with seemingly genuine intentions. 

Every morning at KTMJ you would smile at him. Every morning you made it a point to greet him. And with that sweet, soft, and pure voice you would talk to him throughout your shared work day;

“Good morning Edward!” 

“How are you today, Edward?”

“Hey Edward, I’m getting coffee, can I get you anything?”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to try this diner close by, you should come with me!”

“Hey Edward, mind looking over these accounts with me? These numbers don’t add up. You’re really smart, maybe you can find my mistakes?”

Oh how easy it was for him to become enamored with you. Obsessed with you. Of course, Edward tried many times to forget you. To not allow himself to be distracted by you or by the desire you stirred up within him. He needed all of his focus on cleansing Gotham of corruption. Maybe when he was done he could cleanse you too. But yet, here he was, watching you through your window from the roof of the building opposite of yours like some… stalker.

He shook the word from his mind. It made him sick. It made him seem depraved.

No. Not stalker. He was better than that. Your protector. That’s what he was. He was simply protecting you. After all, was he not Gotham’s protector? Why couldn’t he be yours too? And what better way to protect you than by watching over you?

But no matter how he phrased it, or how hard he tried to convince himself what he was doing wasn’t wrong there would always be that little tiny voice in the back of his mind reminding him that it was wrong. That he would never be worthy or ever be enough to deserve any sort of semblance of human connection and that’s why he had to resort to doing… Well... whatever this was.

A light illuminated through your window, pulling Edward from his thoughts. He quickly fumbled in his bag for his binoculars. 

With your apartment being on the fifth floor, you didn’t think to close your blinds or draw your curtains. After all, you probably thought no one would be able to see you. That you were safe from any prying, perverse eyes.

Oh, my foolish girl. Edward thought.

He watched through his binoculars as you looked through your drawers pulling out a pair of gray shorts and a ratty old tee shirt. You tossed the articles of clothing onto your bed and as if you somehow knew Edward could see, began to slowly take off your top. 

Edward took in a deep breath, licking his lips. He watched intently as you pulled the blouse over your head, revealing your midriff and your simple black bra you wore. You moved onto your skirt, slowly unzipping it and shimmied it down your hips where it fell to the floor gathering at your feet. He noticed you wore a matching black thong. 

You stepped out of your skirt, bending over to remove your socks, giving Edward a clear view of your ass. He gripped his binoculars tightly, his breathing became heavier under his mask. He felt his cock stiffen in his pants. You had to have known what you were doing, right?

He didn't linger too much on the thought. You had unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the growing pile of clothes. You turned around, your breasts now exposed to him. Edward decided he could no longer hold back.

"Fuck it."

Quickly unzipping his pants, he took his erect cock in his gloved hand and gave it a few unceremonious strokes. He hissed through his teeth at the rough and cold leather around his shaft.

He continued watching you, noticing that you weren't in a rush to cover yourself. He watched the way your tits bounced with each step you took, causing his cock to weep. He took his gloved fingers and spread his pre-cum along his length.

You sat on your bed, and still made no move to dress yourself. Edward began to think you were putting on a show just for him. As if you somehow knew he would be on this rooftop, watching you, no, admiring you, from afar. Always from a distance. Never destined to be up close.

He gave himself a few languid strokes, watching as you leaned over to your nightstand and pulled out a vibrator.

Edward’s breathing hitched. His hand stopped for a brief moment.

you're welcome here Edward, remember? She even told you. he reminded himself. she extends invites to her place all the time.

Like a fool, I decline every time. No, I'm not welcome here. As if I'm welcomed anywhere. I am meant to be alone. I'm meant to be unnoticed. Unwanted.

He shut his eyes, squeezing back tears. When he opened them again, he saw you laying back on your bed, your eyes closed, your face twisting in pleasure. The vibrator between your legs. Oh what he would give to be the source of that pleasure for you.

He resumed his strokes, picking up the pace. Faster and harder he rutted into his own hand, imagining what it'd be like thrusting inside of you instead.

He watched as your breathing picked up, your own movements getting faster, an indicator you were close to your release.

He squeezed his cock harder and stroked faster.

You came with a shudder, and set your vibrator aside, breathing heavy as you slowly recovered from your orgasm.

Edward came soon after with a guttural groan, spilling his spend onto the concrete roof top. 

For the first time in a long time, Edward felt... odd. It was akin to the same feeling he got when he hid under his covers as a child in the orphanage with a makeshift flashlight and the few books he had. He was expecting to be caught at any moment. To be scolded. To be shamed. He realized what he felt was... guilt.

But for what? What did he possibly have to be guilty of?

You know exactly what. There was the little voice again. 

Edward sighed and stuffed his softening cock back into his pants, and quickly left.

You didn’t know it yet, but his heart was already yours. You unknowingly had him wrapped around your pretty little finger. And soon enough, you'd be his, too. It was just a matter of time. 

[maskedcrawford]

Heartbreaker

Choi Seunghyun x F! Reader

Warnings: Just a few curse words. Angst, but it ends happy.

A/N: I really hope you enjoy this, bc it was a blast to write. Please leave a like or a comment if you want to see more! If you enjoy please consider buying me a coffee

Request are currently: OPEN

You stared into his dark, solemn eyes. The time had finally come where the two of you were at a place of no return. This was the end, he was walking on you, on your relationship and your future together.

“Please,” you whisper as he cups your face.

“Don’t- don’t do this,” you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes.”

“It’s for the best,” he croaks with a low voice, “It’s for your best interest,”

“No, Seung, it’s not,” you shout defiantly.

“You don’t get to decide that!” your tears are now spilling onto your cheeks and you don’t dare wipe them away. He kisses your forehead for the last time.

“Baby I know you don’t see it now,”

“You’re damn right I don’t,” you grab on to his wrist as if holding it will anchor him to you. You feel a literal ache in your chest. He crashes his lips to yours, the kiss slow and deep, like he’s savoring the way you taste. You feel something wet on your face and realize he’s now the one crying.

The two of you hadn’t been unhappy, actually it was quite the opposite. You thought things were going great, even swore tonight would be the night he proposed to you, but instead he chose to break your heart. For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why he was doing this. Why he was throwing your relationship away.

He pulls away from you and you grab on to his collar as he rests his forehead against yours.

“I have to go,” he whispers after a minute. All you can do is sigh.

“You won’t even tell me why,” your voice cracks but you don’t care. It’s not a question, more like a statement. Does he think so little of you?

“I need you to trust me,” he says as he slowly tears himself away from you. You can’t help but scoff as you look at him like a stranger.

“Don’t give me that look,” he mutters as he glances at the floor.

“Why shouldn’t I? This isn’t you, or at least, not the you that I know. This isn’t the man I fell in love with. He wouldn’t leave knowing how bad this hurts me,” you break down again clutching your own body for comfort as you drop your head. You hear footsteps and think he’s going to hold you, but instead he stops right beside you.

“I love you, y/n, but this is what’s best,” he says solemnly. You don’t look at him, rather you keep your eyes shut and hold onto yourself. You hear the door shut behind him and you let out a gut-wrenching scream as you fall to the floor.

Right outside the door he hears it. He wants nothing more than to rush in and pick you up and tell you he’s sorry. He wants to love you the way he knows you need it, the way he knows he can, but he’s convinced himself he isn’t enough for you anymore. He’s convinced himself that, wrapped up in scandal, you’d be better off without him.

Afterall two idols being together in this business is tricky enough. The tabloids and some crazy fans. You being an international popstar dating a Korean idol, only added more fuel to the flame. While most of the media was happy for you, obviously some fans on both sides weren’t. Most would say he was bad for you, because of the things he’d done in his past. Redemption obviously not being an option for him in their eyes. They didn’t seem to think he could change.

He peeled himself away from the door and left you there, getting into his car his own emotions finally taking over. He cried, screamed, and his heart ached much like yours did. For a brief moment he considered that something that felt so wrong couldn’t be right, but others had an unbiased view, right? They could see thing he couldn’t, right?

For the next few days, you stayed home, barely leaving the bedroom you would often share with him. While you hadn’t officially moved in together, but there were very few nights you ever spent alone. Sleeping was one of the hardest parts, you had gotten so used to him being there, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours, feeling his sweet gentle kisses to wake you up in the morning. Now it was gone, cold, and unfamiliar. The room wasn’t as bright as it used it.

Your friends called, texted, even tried coming over, but nothing worked. After about a week your manger finally told you that if you didn’t get your butt in the studio your career would suffer that, “You shouldn’t let some boy tank your career.” She wasn’t very understanding to say the least.

You trudged up to the studio in Seoul, sighing as you stepped into the booth.

“Hand in hand we go

Loving life, seeing the view of the golden streets,” you tried to sing the lyrics as best you could but it ultimately made you sick.

“I can’t do this,” you say before taking off the headphones. If you were going to record, it had to be something heart wrenching. You had to vent your feelings. You grab a pen and paper once you come out and sit down on the couch. Your best friend comes up beside you.

“What’s going on, doll face?” she was always cheeky with her little nicknames.

“I gotta write something else, I can’t do that” you say motioning to the table with the recording equipment, “today.” She gives you an understanding look.

“Let’s write a breakup song, then.” She gives you a supportive smile. After a couple hours of writing, erasing and rewriting lyrics, you finally had a rough draft of the song.

“You say it’s best if you leave

But here I am with my heart on my sleeve

Beggin you not go

Say you’ll stay

Even if it’s just until I’m asleep.” You see a grin from your best friend, who’s producing the song, and she shoots you a thumbs up.

“Y/n, it’ll be a hit!” she beams and you give her a sad smile. She puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Honey, I know it’s hard. I’m so sorry.” She gives you a quick hug before you tell her goodbye. Leaving the studio you barely look up and see the members of Big Bang walking in the door. Ji-yong, Taeyang, Daesung, and they each look at you with sad eyes before you see him walk in. Your breath hitches in your throat and you both make eye contact. You don’t smile, neither does he. You stand there frozen for a minute. From a distance his eyes look a red and puffy, and you know yours do too. After a moment of no one moving you get the courage up to walk past them and past him as if he was anyone else.

Seunghyun moves his hand out to grasp your arm, wanting to explain it all to you, to tell you how bad he misses you, to wrap you in his long arms and hold you so close you’d both be in trouble of suffocating, but he keeps his hands at his sides and lets you walk out the door.

The boys walk into the studio and begin working on their song. They were also releasing a breakup song. He wrote it about the two of you and basically told the guys if they couldn’t do the song, he wouldn’t perform anymore. The guys had seen the last week without you, barely eating or moving. Motivating him to get into the studio today was the hardest thing they’d ever done.

“Hyung,” Ji-yong said.

“Hmm,” Seung hummed as he sat down beside his best friend.

“Just call her, tell her what’s going on with you.”

“She doesn’t need that,” boy was he wrong. That’s all you needed. Was to hear his voice, hear how bad he missed you, hear how the world didn’t turn quite right without you in his life.

“Seunghyun,” Taeyang gently puts his hand on his buddy’s shoulder as he sits on the opposite side of the couch.

“She didn’t look good,” he says gently. He won’t look at either of them.

“I’m doing this for her,” he snaps with anger.

“I’m no good for her or her career,” his voice is thick with venom, not at you or his friends, but at himself.

“You really think those people are right? Man, people have known for the last 9 months that you’ve been together, and you’d really been together almost 2 years. Nothing happened.” Daesung tries to reason with the oldest of the group. But Seunghyun won’t hear it.

“She got more hate, and less ratings and it took a toll on her, I could see it. She lost out on deals with brands and even performances for shows.” He rubs his hands over his face.

“I watched it all, trying to convince myself it didn’t matter, trying to convince myself she needed me and that I wasn’t hindering her. But I just couldn’t do it anymore.” The guys look between themselves without saying a word, but they all knew, this was bad.

A few months pass by and you slowly fall into a routine without him. It still hurts, and anytime you see him on tv or on social media you feel that sting in your chest. But you couldn’t bring yourself to unfollow him on anything. You still loved him and wanted to support him, even though it broke your heart at the same time. He never unfollowed you, instead he was actually quite active. He would like your posts, comment even. But you noticed when he did, people weren’t so nice.

You noticed more of the hateful comments once you had gone public with your relationship, but it never bothered you. Did you loose out on some stuff? Sure, but that was because you chose to, not because of him. There were multiple brands who wanted you to be a spokesman but you didn’t support what they stood for or genuinely didn’t care for the product, so you rejected them. You chose not to do certain award shows or talk shows because you wanted to prioritize rest this year, you’d been going nonstop the past 3 and it was time to slow down some. After all you had enough of a career that taking a step back wouldn’t affect you too much. You still got offers and calls about multiple media performances and deals, you just simply chose not to.

After a while seeing the unpleasant comments to your now ex you decided to turn the comments off on social media. You couldn’t stand to see them be so mean to him. He didn’t do anything wrong and the best way you thought you could defend him was to stop letting him or anyone else comment.

Seunghyun took that as you didn’t want to hear from him. He seen your latest post talking about the outfits you were considering for the Circle Chart Music Awards. He smiled as he seen you look so beautiful in your sparkly outfits. He went to comment but realized they had been turned off. He frowned to himself and decided he needed to call the guys. They each came over and brought food, after all the boy’s still healing and food always helps.

“Ok, just because the comments are off doesn’t mean it bothered her you were commenting.” Daesung spoke up.

“Yeah, I mean, did she like your comments or say anything?” Ji-yong asks.

“Well, I, uh, yeah. She liked them.” He takes a swig of his wine and shows his friends his phone.

“Then I don’t think it was about you,” Taeyang offers before taking a bite of his sushi. Seunghyun sighs and he takes another bite.

“I still miss her,” he murmurs.

“Wait, you said she’s going to the Circle Chart Awards?” Jiyong’s voice is thick with a “I have a plan and you may not like it,” kind of tone.

“Yeah,”

“Ok, we’re,” he gestures to the 4 of them with his hand going int a circle, “going to the Circle Chart Music Awards.” He looks at Seunghyun with a “do you get what I’m saying,” look. Seunghyun just looks at him as if he’s lost his mind.

“This would be your chance, hyung.” Taeyang explains.

“Exactly!” Ji-yong states matter of factly. Seunghyun’s face looks unsure.

“I don’t know,” he looks at his plate and pushes his food around.

“Look the song will be released and we’ll perform it.” Daesung said. Seunghyun sighs with defeat.

The day of the CCMA’s is finally here. It also happens to mark the one-year anniversary of your breakup with Seunghyun. The place is buzzing with activity as you can’t help but wish he was there with you celebrating the moment. You were up for best new song this year. You had signed with a Korean label the year before and chose to stick with it and now you’re nominated for best new song! Ironically, for the breakup song you released a few months back called “Home”.

As you rush around back stage you accidentally bump into someone.

“Oh, my goodness I’m sorry,” you freeze. It’s Ji-yong. He smiles wide at you and instantly wraps his arms around your frame.

“How are you, yeodongsaeng?” he questions cheerfully. You give him a smile.

“Fine, Oppa how are you?” you giggle genuinely at the sweet name you hadn’t heard in a while.

“Excited, nervous but excited. I can’t wait to see you perform. I know Seunghyun can’t wait either,” he wiggles his brows and you purse your lips.

“Thank you, that’s, uh, very kind of you.” You pause for a moment before speaking again, “I uh, I should go. But good luck with your performance!” You turn to leave but he grabs your arm gently.

“He really isn’t doing well,” Ji-yong confesses quietly.

“He’s a wreck, honestly,” he rubs the back of his neck. He was told not to tell you anything if he did run into you, but Ji-yong was only trying to help. Your heart hurt for him, despite how much he broke it.

“Ji, he left me.” You say barely above a whisper.

“I know, but I just thought you should know,” he gives you a sad smile and begins to walk off. For a brief moment your feet try to drag you to follow in his direction, but before you can move your manager drags you the opposite way.

“The show is starting, get to your seat,” You sigh as you let her pull you away. The show goes wonderfully, multiple awards are given out, many performances are being done by countless stars and idols. Then the time comes.

“Please Welcome to the stage, Y/N!” You take a deep breath as the lights go down low and the music starts. The emotions well up in your chest and you force yourself to use them. You’re determined to make this performance one of the best. You walk down the steps gingerly with your dancers behind you, moving to the music like you had for the millionth time. You get to the edge of the stage and then it happens. You see him standing there, nodding along, a smile on his face like he’s the proudest he’s ever been of you. Seunghyun notices you’ve made eye contact and gives you an awkward shy smile. You continue through the song and dance ending with the line,

“Oh, baby, won’t you come to me.” As you stare directly at him in your final pose. His eyes grow wide just for a moment before returning to his proud demeanor. He shouts for you, he’s still your biggest fan. You exit the stage, gasping for air as the anxiety from the moment catches up with you. There’s a brief pause in the show, probably for a commercial break.

“That was the best one yet!” Your manager said ignoring the obvious signs of anxiety. You clutch your chest heaving as you take a sip of water.

“You seen him, didn’t you?” your best friend asks. All you can do is nod. Out of the corner of your eye you see him again, walking with his bandmates. He notices you and, even though he still needs to get ready he breaks away from the stylists and his band members and rushes over to you. He bends down right in front of where you’re sitting on the floor. You can’t do anything but stare at him. He doesn’t say a word, even after all this time he really doesn’t need to. You knew exactly what he was doing.

You took in his image, the neatly fixed hair, tanned looking skin, big dark eyes that you’d loved to get lost in. The concern in them and on his face. He genuinely was worried about you. Once you regained you composure he stood up and hesitantly walked away.

“Are you kidding me?” you shout at him, a sudden rage filling your bones. He stops dead in his tracks as everyone around you puts their eyes on you, you couldn’t care less though. He doesn’t turn to face you, if he did, he didn’t know what he’d do. Wrap you in arms so tight he’d never let you go, kiss you like no one was watching, hold you and walk out of the whole show like you were the only thing in this world that mattered. So he kept his back to you.

“You won’t even say anything,” your voice is weak and it cracks that he won’t face you, face the heartache. He walks back to where he was when he first saw you without a second glance. You bring your bottom lip in between your teeth as you choke back tears.

You dash off to your dressing room, not caring who saw you at this point. You broke down into a pool of tears as the door slammed behind you. It’s been a year, why did this still hurt so much?

Back in the Big Bang dressing room the guys were getting ready to perform. It was silent, no one really sure how to continue a conversation after the display that just occurred.

“You have to make sure she hears the song,” Ji-yong says to your best friend. She knew better than to try and console you right now. You were overwhelmed and having anyone else there would make it worse, so she did the only think she could think of, go to the guys.

“I’ll do my best but she’s really really upset,” Seunghyun stole a glance her way.

“You should try to talk to her,” she offered. Seunghyun was deep in thought.

“After the song,” was all he could manage to say. Your friend ran her hand through her hair out of stress as she sighed.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s goin to happen,” she started as she walked over to your ex’s chair.

“But just know you fucking broke her heart and it’s real shitty of you to sit here and not even speak to her but act like you care,” she was trying to be nice but her tone betrayed her. She didn’t want to hurt him or make him more hesitant to talk to you, but she was sick of you being upset and feeling like you’d gotten over him only to realize you hadn’t.

“If you want to be with her, be with her, screw what anyone else has to say. But if you’re goin to let them,” she puts up air quotes nodding to the fans and media, “decide what’s best for you two, just stay away from her. Let her heal, let her be. Because she can’t keep doing this.” Her tone was harsh but her eyes pleading. Pleading for him to make up his mind, one way or the other. She walks out to try and convince you to come out. Seunghyun decides he knows what he wants, and he's done letting others dictate his actions.

You gently open the door, make up smeared and eyes red.

“You wanna come out now? Maybe go see if you win the award?” You sigh and shrug your shoulders. You fix your makeup and walk back out to your seat.

The announcer comes back out to the stage with the mic to her lips, “Please welcome, Big Bang,” she shouts and the crowd erupts! You take a deep breath as you clap for them.

“This is a newer song called, Flower Road,” your breath catches in your chest. You heard the song when it was released. It was definitely a banger, sad, but still a banger. Throughout the whole performance T.O.P. couldn’t take his eyes off you. During his verse he walks down the steps of the stage and stands in front of you. The spotlight hitting both of you as he raps. He takes your hand in his and holds it like he’s afraid to let you go. Once he finishes the spotlight moves else-where, but he stays put for a moment, studying you. Your hand is limp in his as you can’t believe he was that bold, but at the same time, you could. He wasn’t always vulnerable in front a lot of people, but when he was it meant something.

After the performance the guys run off stage and your category is next.

“And the winner for best new song is,” the drum roll is in effect and hold your breath.

“Home by Y/N,” your name echos through the arena as you freeze.

“GO!” your friend shouts at you and you make you way up to the stage.

“Oh, wow I um, wow.” You giggle into the mic after bowing and receiving the award.

“I um, I want to thank my label for believing in this song, I wanna think my friends who have supported me, and,” you pause as you glance at the award.

“I’d like to thank the man that inspired it. Because now I have one of these,” you giggle. You catch his eye again in the crowd with a sad but also proud smile.

“Thank you so much to the fans for listening and sticking by me. This year has been, insane. But your support has meant the world to me. I love you all, thank you!” With that you walk off the stage and go back to the dressing room. Your staff try to enter with you but you tell them you need a minute. You stare in the mirror at your self and you take a moment to process the events of the night. In the silence of the moment you hear a knock.

“Guys just, give me a minute,” you call out to them.

“I don’t need long,” you hear that familiar deep smooth as butter voice. The one that you used to melt for. The one you still melt for. You glance at him from the mirror as he peaks inside. You draw your bottom lip in between your teeth again.

“I don’t have a lot of time, there’s an after party,” you say trying to dismiss him but he walks in anyway.

“I’ll talk while you change then,”

“Seung,” you try to stop him.

“God, I’ve missed the way you say my name,” he groans. You’re slightly taken aback by his words.

“You stand in the middle of the room as he walks up to you, the close proximity making your heart beat quicker and quicker.

“What do you want?” you can’t bring your self to look at him, rather you look to the side of him.

“Another chance,” he whispers as he takes your chin in between his index finger and thumb.

“I-I,” is all you can say.

“I know its asking a lot,” he admits.

“I really thought I was doing the right thing, baby, I-I thought you were better off without me. Like I was dragging you down, causing your career to fail. You were doing less and less after we went public and I felt like it was all my fault. I thought I did the best I could for you in the long term, but I have to be honest, this has been hell,” a few tears fall from his eyes as he explains himself.

“You fucking broke me,” your voice is weak. You didn’t want to admit it but it was hard.

“Agi,” his voice comes out as a whisper again as he takes in the look on your face. A look of defeat, anger, hurt, desperation.

“I’m so sorry,”

“You know you weren’t the reason I was doing less, right?” You place a hand on his cheek as you search his eyes, they just look defeated.

“I was slowing down, Oppa, it wasn’t because of you, I was telling people no for the first time in my career and it was invigorating, liberating even.” His flash with a kind of relief like he’d been holding a deep dark secret.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I honestly didn’t know it affected you.” You stand there, the silence in the room thick. You glance as his lips and before you can process what’s happening, they come into contact yours, slow and deep, nothing about the kiss is rushed and you can’t help but let yourself melt into his touch. His arms snake around your waist as yours instinctively go around his neck. You hear him groan into the kiss as you start playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. The way the two of you fit together against one another is perfect. Nothing is out of place and nothing is out of sync.

“I’m sorry,” he says against your lips, but you don’t let him break away.

“I know,” you mumble as you try to pull him impossibly closer. The only reason you part is because you need air. You rest your foreheads together both of you chests heaving.

“God I miss you,” he whispers as he pulls you into him and rests hid head on top of yours.

“I’ve missed you too,” you say as you shut your eyes clinging to him. You could stay like that forever. And if the world would allow, you would, but as fate would have it, the door busts open the two of you look at it without separating.

“WE WON ALBUM OF THE YEAR!” Ji-yong shouts. You laugh at his excitement. The guys take in your embrace and smiles and then start shouting for another reason.

“Finally!” Taeyang says as he comes over to the both of you.

“It’s about time you love birds got back together!” You can’t help but let out another giggle as look up at the man you love.

“Congratulations, guys! You really earned it.” They each return a thank you and you look up at your boyfriend again.

“Congratulations, Oppa,” you stand on your tip toes to give him a sweet kiss.

“Thank you, but I won the minute I got you back,” he smiles and returns your kiss passionately.

[sevryn]

⸻ USED TO HAVE A SWEET TOOTH, BUT YOU ROTTED ME

- Endo Yamato x Fem!Reader • Word Count: 1.1k -

Content warnings: vouyerism, mutual masturbation, teeny tiny bit of degradation, reader is kinda pervy, roommate au, porn w/o plot, italics is flashbacks

Kinktober Day 22: Endo Yamato + Masturbation in collaboration with @ficsforgaza | Full masterlist with other creators works here -> xxx

It’s wrong, the ritual you’d assumed ever since rooming with Endo. When he’d first offered up his spare room, it’d been you who was nervous of the prospect. The idea of a man like Endo having access to personal belongings made your stomach twist. But, after much convincing (and lack of other options), you’d moved in within a week.

—

“Come on,” your friend says, “living with him couldn’t be that bad. Plus he’s easy on the eyes, and you know he’s loyal. You won’t have to pull his weight.”

You groan, letting your head fall to the table with a thump, “I hate when you’re right.”

“Look,” she sighs, taking a sip of her coffee, “just give it a week or two. If you’re really that miserable then you can crash on my couch until you find a better place, okay?”

You huff at her words, curse her and her logical thinking. You allow yourself to sulk a few minutes longer before you finally concede.

“Fine,” you say with a roll of your eyes, “i hate you.”

She laughs out loud, flicking your forehead lightly, “I love you too. Now stop being such a pussy and call him.”

—

You’d expected him to creep on you, him to steal dirty laundry and bring girls home every other night. You’re not sure when it started, your infatuation with him— with his routine.

—

Loud moans echo through the thin walls between your rooms, cries of your roommates name falling freely from the lips of his latest conquest. That had been when it started, your yearning.

“Come on,” he groans, “touch yourself for me.”

Your eyes had widened at his words, breath stuttering as he continues to spit lewd words at the girl.

“Rub your clit, baby,” he snarls, “cum on my cock.”

It’s embarrassing really, how wet you find yourself. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been laid in a while, maybe you’re ovulating, maybe you’re done denying just how much you’re attracted to the man who lives with you.

—

The front door slams shut, interrupting your thoughts. Muttered curses can be heard through thin walls, and your thighs clench in anticipation of what comes next. You can hear him shuffle around his room, angrily tossing things around before he settles on his bed. You do the same, the thin wall being the only thing that separates your backs from being pressed together.

There’s a jingling of his belt, and you nearly whimper in anticipation for what comes next.

You can hear everything this way, pressed against the wall. The lewd sound of him spitting on his cock, the low moan he lets out when he strokes his over himself.

You do your best to muffle your own noise, a shirt you’d stolen from him stuffed into your mouth to hide your own sounds.

“Fuck,” he groans, the schlick schlick shclick sound of him stroking his cock growing faster.

You quickly push past the hem of your shorts, fingers moving to fuck yourself in time with him.

“Sweet thing,” he groans.

You pause, heart hammering rapidly in your chest at the familiar pet name.

“C’mon sweet thing,” he moans, “won’t you let me hear you too?”

You pull your hand rapidly from your shorts, crawling back from where you’d previously been pressed against the wall. Surely he wasn’t talking to you, you’d been so careful, so quiet.

“Such a little freak,” you hear him laugh, “you like listening to me get off? You’re not as quiet as you think, you know?”

Your stomach turns and you clench your fists, anxiety clawing up your chest.

“It’s okay,” he moans, “touch yourself for me. Need to hear how worked up you are for me.”

You stay still, fear still settled deep in your belly as you ponder your next move.

“Touch yourself or I’ll come to your room and make you.”

You whimper at his words, the imagery of him stalking to your room and watching you touch yourself has heat simmering deep.

“There you are,” he says with a laugh, “c’mon sweetheart. Make yourself cum for me.”

You find yourself pressed back against the wall, hands making quick work of your pants before you relieve yourself of the building pressure.

“Fuck,” he groans, “can hear how wet you are. Is it all for me?”

You moan out loud, fingers stuffing themselves inside of you as deep as you can.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you whine, free hand moving to grasp at your chest, “it’s all for you.”

Endo groans, head thumping against the wall as he strokes himself faster. You match your fingers with his strokes, clawing around the bed desperately before you find his shirt and press it against your face. His lingering scent has your eyes rolling back, your moans freely falling from your lips as your high approaches.

“Cum for me,” he gasps, “cum for me and I’ll come fuck you like you need.”

You picture the way he throws his head back, the furrow in his brow as his high approaches. His name falls from your lips again, and again, and again, your own high close to washing over you.

“Please,” you whine, “make me cum.”

Endo groans loudly, hips frantically bucking to meet his strokes.

“Yeah?” he goads, “Want me to come over there and stuff that pretty pussy full? Think you’ll be able to take it?”

“Yes,” you whine.

“Don’t stop,” he growls, voice growing quieter, “don’t fucking stop.”

The sound of his door opening is muffled by your whines, and you nearly screech when your own goes flowing open.

Endo marches over to your bed, pulling you to the end of it as he stands over you.

“I said don’t stop,” he says, hand holding you spread open for him. His own hand pulls his boxers down, stroking his cock as he looks down at you.

“Need to see you when you cum for me.”

Your hand swiftly returns to your clit, fingers circling before you press your fingers into yourself. Endo moans at the sight, weeping cock twitching at the sound of your pussy.

“God you’re so fucking wet,” he moans, “you usually get like this? Or is it all for me, sweet thing.”

“You! Just for you,” you cry, your high quickly returning at the sight of him, “gonna cum. Please.”

Endo’s eyes roll back, hand squeezing tightly at the head of his cock, “Cum for me.”

You callout his name as you cum, hips bucking up as your high washes over you. You whimper as you watch him fall apart with you, the heat of his cum landing on your stomach aiding you through the after shocks.

It’s quiet besides the sound of both of your heavy breathing, the both of you easing down from your high.

A kiss is pressed to your thigh, and you attempt to snap your legs closed at the feeling.

“W-what… what are you doing?”

Endo smirks up at you, his tongue lapping at his own release, “Cleaning my mess of course.”

[sequinsmile-x]

Retreat

“He has Tommy,” she says, swallowing thickly, her throat stuffed full of everything she couldn’t and wouldn’t say, “He’s not alone.” 

-x-

Hi besties <3

This is for the lovely @dontemilyyyyme, who inspired this fic with her love of the episode Haunted and that Hotchniss scene we all know and love.

It's been a hot minute since I did an episode fic, and this was fun to write.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: None. Might make your heart hurt.

Words: 3.4k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

The drive back to his apartment is silent. 

Emily had spent weeks driving him around. At first, it had been for follow-up appointments with his doctor and his physical therapist. She’d sit in the waiting room, a case file open in her lap that she was barely able to pay attention to, wishing more than anything that she could sit by his side, that she had the right to be there with him. The first time she drove him anywhere was when she picked him up from the hospital, her smile kind and her chest aching as he finally gave up on insisting he didn’t need a wheelchair to make it to the car. Emily could still remember the look on his face, something she knew was shame painted across his features as a nurse pushed him towards where she was parked by the front entrance, a bag of his things that she’d brought in for him slung over her shoulder. They hadn’t really spoken about it, and he hadn’t fought her help since his initial attempt to insist he could get home from the hospital by himself, so when it came to him coming back to work it seemed like the natural next step that she’d drive him there too. 

Even during that first journey, they’d spoken. Conversations that got easier over time, everything that was unsaid and hanging in the air around them lighter each time he got in her car, their ability to ignore all the almosts and maybes improving each time. 

This was different. 

She was angry at him for putting himself in danger in a way she wasn’t sure she had a right to be, her hands tight on the steering wheel, her knuckles paperwhite as skin stretched over bone, whilst she desperately tried not to yell at him. All the feelings she’d had for weeks threatening to break free from where she’d buried them. Emotions she refused to name simmering beneath her skin again just like they had when she realised he was missing and found his blood on his living room floor - a vivid bloom she could still see whenever she closed her eyes. 

They’d been dancing on the edge of something more than friends for a while now. They took it in turns leading, pulling the other along until they almost made it to the climax of the dance they’d fallen into, cursed to stop just before by circumstance and interruptions each time. 

It started when he found her after the case with Matthew. She’d been wandering the streets, coldness seeping into her bones, when she heard Aaron’s voice. She was half convinced she was imagining him at first, sure she was in the first stages of hypothermia and her brain was playing tricks on her, and then he was next to her. His hand on her arm, the warmth of his touch through her coat almost as burning as the concern in his eyes. He’d shrugged his coat off, ignoring her instance that he was fine, his kindness falling over her like the snow around them landed on his shoulders. He’d taken her home, put the heater in his car on max, and kept his silence. He’d followed her into her apartment and made her a cup of hot chocolate and something to eat whilst she changed. 

When he tried to leave, his smile kind and as soft as she’d ever seen it, she found herself stopping him before she could think about it, not sure why she wanted him to stay but entirely sure she didn’t want to be alone. She hadn’t told him everything that night, but she’d told him that Matthew had helped her when no one else had, and that she wished she’d been able to do the same for him. He told her that she had helped him, that she’d got him the justice he deserved, and when she looked up from the soup he’d warmed up for her, soup she wasn’t even aware she had in her fridge, the way he was smiling at her made her stomach flip. 

It didn’t take long for her to return the favour. Foyet had appeared in their lives when she was still recovering from Matthew’s loss, and she’d been able to focus on Aaron instead. She watched as he struggled with how everything with Foyet happened, and when she showed up at his door, takeout and alcohol in hand, he told her about the deal he refused to take. How he immediately worried he’d made the wrong decision. She told him in no uncertain terms that he’d made the right call, that he wouldn’t be him if he had taken the deal, and she knew it had comforted him. 

They’d become each other’s confidants. A friendship that was quickly turning into more, a mutual attraction right there between them - a third partner in their friendship that was getting harder to ignore. 

After the case with the anthrax, she kissed him. Her blood still thrumming with all the what could have beens and a recognition that it could have all been over before she even knew what it was like to kiss him. The moment her lips touched his she worried she’d misread everything, his stillness against her heavy and heart shattering. It took him a second to react, the longest second of her life, and then he wrapped his arm around her waist, his other hand on her cheek as he held her in place. 

If it was up to her, she would have pushed him back onto her couch there and then. Let herself get lost in him and let him do the same with her. But he’d stopped her, his hands on her shoulders, his touch gentle but reverent, as he said he wanted to take her on a date first. To talk about where they stood, to know that they were both on the same page. Despite herself, despite the desire for him making her practically vibrate, she’d agreed. Kissed him again, softer this time, as she grumbled he’d better not make her wait too long. 

They’d had to rearrange their date twice. He’d smiled apologetically the second time, his eyes gentle as he pulled her aside, his hand tight around hers as he promised they’d go for dinner when they got back from Canada, a soft kiss pressed against the corner of her mouth, the taste of the promise he’d had to break through no fault of his own still lingering on her lips. 

They hadn’t spoken about it since. Whatever they were about to be, whatever she worried they no longer could be, wasn’t important anymore. Not when he’d been so viciously attacked in his own home. Not when he’d been separated from his son. 

She was grateful that he let her drive him to work and to his appointments. That he let her look after him in the only way she could, her palms always itching to reach out for him, to kiss him in a way she’d only been able to do a handful of times. 

She didn’t want to call it love, even though that’s what she was sure it was, because it felt too soon. Too much.

It felt like it might be the very reason she’d end up with a broken heart. 

When she turns off the engine of her car and opens her door, he tries to argue that she doesn’t have to walk him up, something she shuts down with nothing but a look and a raised eyebrow. She follows him into his apartment and closes the door behind them as he unsets the alarm she’d helped him replace. She presses her lips together when he switches the light on, her attention immediately drawn to the piles of boxes full of what she knows are Foyet’s case files. Everything she can’t feel for him, everything she wants to say but won’t, pools inside her hollow chest, the weight of it almost pulling her under until she hears him speak. 

“You didn’t have to walk me up here you know.” 

She looks over at him and sighs, “I know,” she says, her smile sad and fleeting as their eyes meet. She doesn’t want to leave. Doesn’t want to be alone or for him to be either, so she thinks of something else to say, something that was safe and that wouldn’t bring up everything they’d silently agreed not to talk about. “So do you think Cal’s going to be okay?” 

Aaron sighs and clenches his jaw, his hands in fists at his side to stop himself from reaching out for her at her obvious attempt to keep a conversation going. He wanted her so much, wanted to bask in her comfort, that it felt selfish. Everything had changed when Foyet attacked him except how he felt about her, but he couldn’t drag her into this. Couldn’t pull her into the mess that his life had become and put her in danger. 

He’d never forgive himself if she got hurt because of him. Her blood something he would never be able to wash from his hands. 

“I don’t know,” he says simply, not sure what else he can say, his gaze drifting to the floor between them. 

“He got his answers. Killed the man who haunted him.”

His head snaps up as he looks at her, any pretence that they were talking about anything other than him, than about the two of them, gone as quickly as she’d started it. “Then what else is there?” 

She knows he sees through her, he was one of the few who could, but she doesn’t care. This is the closest they’d come to talking about any of it since he’d been hurt, and she couldn’t bring herself to stop, “The years of torture.” 

The look in her eyes makes him ache, and he turns around for a moment, looks around the apartment he doesn’t feel safe in but feels like he can’t leave, and looks back at her when he gathers himself. “Do you think he’ll get over that?” 

“How could he?” She shrugs, her hands clasped in front of her so she doesn’t reach out for him,    “But at least he doesn’t have to feel like he’s alone anymore.”

“He doesn’t have anyone.” 

Not for the first time, she finds herself considering getting in touch with Clyde. Thinks about breaking years of silence and a promise she’d made herself to put it all behind her in the vague hope that her old boss and friend would be able to help. That his contacts would be able to do more than the FBI could. More than once in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, the other side of her bed achingly empty even though Aaron had never slept there, she’d almost called Clyde. Her thumb lingering over the call button, her focus flicking between the number she didn’t have saved in her phone but knew by heart and her torn-up cuticles. 

“He has Tommy,” she says, swallowing thickly, her throat stuffed full of everything she couldn’t and wouldn’t say, “He’s not alone.” 

They fall into silence, the double meaning of everything they’d said so thick in the air around them his nod is barely discernible. As if he didn’t have the strength to push through it all to simply lift his head. She waits for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. She nods and turns to the door, ready to leave, and then he speaks, stopping her in place. 

“Get some sleep.” 

“You too,” she says, reaching for the door, but she stops herself. Unable to carry on. Everything that had been convincing her to give him space ever since he’d been in the hospital no longer making any sense to her. The weight of everything that had and that hadn’t happened between them heavy on her chest as she turns back to look at him, her hand still wrapped around the handle on his front door, “I’ll stay. If you ask me to.” 

The silence that follows her offer is somehow heavier than the last, but she wouldn’t want to take it back even if she could. It’s the most honest she thinks she’s been in a long time, the desire to be near him, even if it wasn’t in the way she wanted to be, stronger than anything else. 

He sucks in a breath and it catches on his ribs, sticks to still fresh scar tissue that would ache if he moved in just the wrong way. He couldn’t deny he wanted her to stay, and he was sure she could read that in his expression, but he couldn’t want it. He’d already lost Jack to his decision, his safety more important than his own desire to have his son near, and he wouldn’t lose her to it too, “Em-”

“I know things have changed, but the way I feel about you hasn’t,” she cuts him off, not sure she wants to hear all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea, not from him. She steps forward, tucking her car keys into her pocket and stops just short of touching him, “And I don’t think the way you feel about me has either.” 

He chokes on a laugh, the thought of how he felt about her changing negatively, as if his feelings could do anything other than grow, almost ridiculous,” “Of course it hasn’t. You’re…of course it hasn’t,” he sobers, his shoulders slumping slightly as he steps towards her, the space between them now non-existent. His hand twitches as his side, and it takes everything in his power to not tuck her hair behind her ear, “I can’t put you in danger.” 

Their embargo on not touching each other comes to a quiet end as she reaches out for him and links their fingers together, her palm pressed against his, his skin just as warm as she remembered. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself,” she tilts her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as her eyes meet his. “I want to be here for you. I want you.” 

“I want you too.”

His admission escapes before he means it to, something he can’t hold back anymore. Weeks of having her within arms length, her not subtle but gentle care a comforting blanket he wasn’t sure he could have lived without. She smiles at him and leans in, stamping her lips against his cheek, his breath caught between them as she pulls back, her smile soft with a teasing edge to it. 

“You have to ask me,” she says softly, needing to hear from him that he wanted her to stay, not sure she could cope if she felt like she’d inserted herself into his life when he didn’t want her there. 

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers, taking a moment to breathe her in, “Will you stay?” 

She considers joking. Considers flashing a wry smile as she pretends she can’t, but she knows now isn’t the time. That he needs sincerity and all the care he’ll allow her to give him, “Of course I can,” she kisses his cheek again, “I’ll get my bag from my car.” 

“I’ll come with you.”

She smiles as she pulls back and she nods. She doesn’t tell him that she can do it herself, because she knows this is more about him than her. His silent uncertainty about being alone after a case that had hit a little too close to home. They walk out to her car hand in hand to get her bag, and when they walk back over the threshold of his apartment it feels like everything and nothing has changed since they did the very same thing just a few minutes ago. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks, hesitant to let go of her hand as he locks the door behind them, the first step towards something new between them finalised when the lock clicks into place. 

She shakes her head, “I’m not. I think I just need to sleep.” 

“Me too,” he says, squeezing her hand, “You can get changed in the bathroom.” 

Emily nods and steps towards the bathroom, smiling when he doesn’t let go of her hand, and she closes the gap between them again. She kisses him properly this time, her lips briefly pressed against his before she pulls back. 

“You can let go of my hand,” she cups his cheek with her spare hand, “I’m not going to change my mind.” The look in his eyes, a kind of vulnerability she’d only seen once before when he first woke up in the hospital, hollows out her chest. It makes words she knows it would too soon for in normal circumstances try and climb up her throat. She swallows them down and strokes his jaw, “I’ll be here for you as long as you need me to be.” 

He nods and squeezes her hand before he lets go, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” 

She makes quick work of getting changed into her pjyamas - an old Yale t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants - and she takes her make-up off, only thinking about the fact this would be the first time he saw her without it once the deed was done. She seeks him out the moment she steps out of the bathroom, finds him in his bedroom dressed in an old Harvard t-shirt and grey sweatpants that make her cheeks feel warm. 

She’d always found him attractive, even when she didn’t like him all that much. Before they started the slow walk to whatever this was, she always wondered if they’d eventually sleep together. She pictured it differently. She thought they’d yell at each other over something and fuck on his desk or in a hotel room somewhere. She never pictured this. The two of them standing a few feet apart in his bedroom, dressed in almost matching pjyamas, ready to sleep next to each other in the literal sense, another small step towards what she thinks might be their forever. 

“You can sleep in Jack’s room if you like,” he offers, his hands stuffed into his pockets, “If you don’t mind Captain America sheets.” 

She shakes her head and steps towards him, linking their fingers together again as she smiles softly, “As much as I’m sure his bed is comfortable,” she says, a smile flickering across her face, “I’m sure yours is comfier.” 

It makes him smile despite everything. The gap in his heart his son had left behind. The worry he had that he’d never get him back. The feeling he couldn’t shift that he was putting Emily in a situation he shouldn’t be. He finds himself wishing he’d let her talk him into going further than just kissing that first night, that he had given himself the chance to know her, to let her know him, before his body was changed beyond his own recognition. 

At least he’d have known then what it was like to love her like he did without the guilt that forever chased it now.

“Left or right?” He asks, and she smiles, her hand squeezing his. 

“Right.” 

They climb into bed, each laying on their respective sides before he makes the first move this time, shifting towards her until their sides touch. She shifts onto her side and moves towards him, his arm hooking around her as she rests her head on his shoulder. There was so much both of them wanted to say and so much that they couldn’t. So they lay there, slowly but surely tangling themselves around each other like vines. Wordlessly wrapping themselves together, a kind of connection rooted in their understanding of each other and what they both wanted next.  

“God, you’re like a furnace,” she says eventually, smiling when he chuckles, the vibration of it passing from his chest to hers as he pulls the covers over them both, “I could get used to this.”  

He kisses the top of her head, and hopes that she understands everything he presses into it. That she feels the love he cannot put into words yet passing from his skin into hers. 

“I could get used to it too.” 

[psychovigilantewrites]

Sunshine's Shadow

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader, Dick Grayson/Reader Genre: Slow burn smut? Porn with plot? Like eventually??? Word Count: 7,600 Read on Ao3 Part 1 of 2. Summary: You had powers of darkness that made you feel unwanted your whole life. Jason Todd was the first person to convince you that your darkness was sunshine. After his death, you went to Dick for comfort and started a relationship with him. And then, Jason came back. A/N:

I'm practicing writing again to prepare myself for the last chapter of Red Who? I'm not too happy with how I wrote this, but I'm hoping to start improving again along the way as I write and learn all over again. Also, I am not familiar with Titans! I know Jason never really joined? I just winged it I'm so sorry. I also aged up Jason's death here. I think the timeline is a bit messy pls forgive me.

Jason knocked on your door.

“Come in,” he heard your soft, muffled voice.

You were sitting on your bed, scrolling through your phone. You had soft instrumental music playing in your room. The table lamp was switched on on your bedside table, but the room was still dark.

“We’re getting ready for a spooky movie tonight,” Jason said, closing the door behind him and approaching you. “Care to join us this time?”

Your eyes darted from your phone to his, and you pursed your lips in hesitation.

“No thank you, I’m fine here,” you said and brought your attention back to your phone.

Jason sighed loudly and sat on the edge of your bed.

“Why don’t you ever join us?” he asked, “We’re the Teen Titans. We’re a team. You should join us for more team stuff besides official missions.”

You simply stared at Jason. He sensed that you had more to say but was hesitating opening up. So he got up and sat next to you. “You can tell me.”

“The room is dark, isn’t it?” you asked.

The question surprised Jason. “I mean, I guess? So what?”

“That’s me, Jason. You know how my powers work. This- this curse. The shadow I emit makes everything dark and gloomy, even if it’s a sunny day outside. And no one likes someone who brings darkness in a room,” you avoided his eyes and started picking at a hangnail on your finger.

“That’s why you won’t hang out with us?” he couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought you hated us or something.”

“What?” you looked at him incredulously, “How could I? I was afraid that you all hate me for being so depressing.”

“Has anyone told you that before?” Jason asked. He didn’t know much about where you came from, but he knew that you went to a lot of different schools and orphanages. An outsider, not unlike himself.

“The kids were always scared of me,” you confessed quietly, “They refused to play with me. That was fine, but then soon after they would bully me. Make fun of me, push me down, kick me. Reminded me again and again that I was a freak.”

For some reason, Jason always had the urge to protect you, even though you were slightly older than he was. Now that urge was stronger and he wanted to hurt anyone who hurt you, to shield you from all that negativity.

“Well,” he began, “I don’t know about those assholes, but whenever I see you, I never saw darkness.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Really!” he insisted, “I see a girl who likes to read, and who likes music. I see you smile whenever Roy and Jackson bicker. And when Wally does that thing where he starts vibrating when he eats? And on the field? The way you protect everyone, the way we can all trust that you have our backs.”

Jason held your eyes. “I don’t see any darkness. In fact, I see sunshine! Because whenever you’re around, it makes us all feel warm and safe.”

He saw the way you were trying hard to not let the tears brimming your eyes fall. “You’re not lying.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“Of course I’m not,” he confirmed. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“I guess not,” you sniffled, “I can tell when people lie. And you have never lied to me.”

“What do you mean you can tell when people lie?”

“I don’t know. It’s sort of always been a thing I could do,” you shrugged, “I don’t join in conversations, so I just observe people, and I can sort of tell what they’re thinking or when they’re lying.”

“Ah, I think I know a thing or two about that,” Jason smiled fondly.

“Thank you, Jason,” you expressed.

“No problem, Sunny,” he grinned, “I’ll call you that from now on. To remind you.”

Jason thought that he saw you blush in the dim light. “So what do you think? Wanna join us for spooky night? I mean, your shadow would even be helpful. It’ll create the spooky ambience we’re all looking for.”

“Is there popcorn?” you grinned.

***

You dumbass, you thought.

The rain had you soaked and shivering.

Jason Todd, you absolute asshole.

The smell of wet dirt was overpowering. Your team stood with you despite your shadow engulfing them in darkness. Roy had his hand on your shoulder.

The white petals stuck to the polished wooden casket as it was lowered into the ground. Your heart had already broke, and you had gone through the stages of breaking down, sobbing uncontrollably, not being able to sleep for a week after they told you the news. Right now, you felt nothing but emptiness.

The casket hit the ground with a dull thud, and you heard the wet footsteps of others leaving the grave. You looked up at the crowd. Dressed in black, you saw some familiar faces. Clark Kent and Diana Prince were with Bruce Wayne, standing in solidarity. A fiery red color caught your eyes, and you saw whom you knew as Starfire. Tall, confident, and radiating with a soft warm glow- everything that you wished you were. She was next to Dick Grayson, and your eyes made contact with blue ones, ones that reminded you of Jason.

Dick gave you a sad smile.

“I heard you’re not going to continue with the Titans anymore,” Dick broke the silence. The rain was still pouring, pounding on the glass window of the car. “Where do I drop you off?”

“East End, along Murphy Avenue,” you replied. You watched two droplets on the window fall down, racing against each other. “I have some boxes left in the Tower, but I don’t feel like seeing them today.”

“Are you going to be okay on your own? You’re not even 18 yet.”

“I’m turning 18 in three months,” you rolled your eyes. “And I already got a job.”

“Oh? That was quick. What job?”

“Private investigator,” you responded, “Lot’s of scandals in Gotham. It’s quite easy to get a job if you’re half decent.”

“Pay well?”

“Well enough.”

Silence again. Dick made a turn.

No word was said until he stopped in front of the apartment complex. Unknown to you, Dick made a mental note to check the apartment out.

“Thanks, Dick.” Something stopped you from leaving the car. Something warm. Ah, it was Dick’s hand on yours.

You looked over and stared into his bright blue eyes. “I’m here for you. Anytime of the day or night. Text me, call me, whatever. You’re not alone.”

It was his expression. The pain and grief and sincerity in his eyes. A hint of desperation, even. By now, your talent for reading people had developed, and you could tell more than just basic emotions. Dick didn’t want you to leave him alone.

Your pulse quickened.

“Would you… Like to come in?” you asked.

Dick was surprised. His eyes darted downwards in a look of… guilt? And then- “No, it’s alright. You said you wanted some alone time. Go settle down first, then maybe you can give me a house tour sometime.”

Then he gave you the grin. Dick Grayson’s charming, heart-stopping grin.

You left the car.

THREE MONTHS AFTER THE DEATH OF JASON TODD

You spent your birthday alone, ignoring the invitations from your ex team members. They all wished you happy birthday, and sent you voice notes of them singing. They said they wished you were there with them, and that they hoped you were well. You replied with a simple thank you.

The apartment you made yours was bare. The walls had no art, and the TV was unplugged. What was the point? Your darkness would have made the art on the walls difficult to see and it was not like you were planning to invite anyone over.

A couple of case files sat neatly on the dining room table, where you did your work. Your name had spread by word of mouth after your first client three months ago, and now you occasionally received texts from unknown numbers, asking for discretion and offering a few hundred dollars a day for a week of work.

Your phone buzzed. It wasn’t an unknown number this time.

Dick had sent you a text. Happy Birthday! Still waiting for that house tour.

You sent a quick thank you and ignored the rest of the message.

SIX MONTHS after the death of Jason Todd

You arrived late on purpose. “Sorry I’m late.”

You sat down in the booth seat opposite Dick and saw the way his eyes lit up when you announced your arrival.

“No worries,” he brushed it off. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah,” you grabbed the dirty menu from the table. Anything to fill up the awkwardness you were expecting. “What do you usually have here?”

“Waffles with ice cream.”

“For dinner?”

“Why not?”

Dick Grayson gave you his Dick Grayson Grin.

You told the aging waitress your order- “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“So how have you been doing? You seem quite busy now, since this dinner was postponed to two months later,” he teased.

“My work isn’t exactly nine to five, five days a week,” you replied curtly. You had avoided this dinner on purpose.

“No, no, I get it. Mine is the same,” he said. “It’s good that you have been getting lots of clients lately. You seem to be high in demand now.”

“Yeah, I am, actually,” you smiled softly to yourself, “I didn’t expect for business to move this fast. I’m mostly investigating cheating spouses and party daughters now, though. Hoping to move on to the more serious stuff.”

“Careful,” Dick warned you, frowning slightly, “Try not to get involved with the politics here. It’s messy, and dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself, Dick,” you assured him.

He paused. “Yeah, I noticed,” his expression quickly changed, “You’ve been controlling your shadow.”

Indeed, you have been working on pulling in your shadow while you were out in public, making it seem as normal as possible so you don’t engulf rooms with darkness, especially with your current state of mind.

Soon after Jason died, you found out that your shadow had grown larger and larger, directly linked to your moods. Then you noticed that it shrank when you were concentrating on your cases, leaving the room bright. So you meditated and practiced, day and night, to keep your shadow and your emotions in check. However, it was tiring to constantly shrink it for long periods of time.

“Practice makes perfect,” you replied bitterly.

“Jason used to talk about you all the time, you know?” he suddenly brought up.

This came as a surprise for you.

“Really?” you cocked your head to the side, “What about?”

“Lots of stuff,” Dick elaborated, “But mainly about how to make you feel more welcomed. How to get you to open up. What stuff to talk to you about. He considered you his best-friend.”

You had considered Jason the same. He was the first person you had truly bonded with, but you never knew that Jason had communicated with Dick about you. True enough, he always tried his best to make sure you never felt left out. You felt your throat tightened and gulped.

Your waffles arrived, and Dick immediately dug in.

“He said that he called you something,” he continued in between bites, “Sunny, right? Said it was short for Sunshine.”

You hadn’t heard that in six months.

Dick looked up at you and panic took over his face. “Shit- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your eyes this time. You quickly wiped them away and stabbed the waffle with your fork.

“No- no, it’s fine,” you insisted, “I just hadn’t heard that name in a while. And I didn’t know he talked to you about me.”

Dick looked at you with concern. “Pretty sure he had a crush on you, with the way he was always talking about you.”

You were pretty sure, too. You could read people well after all.

“What made you choose this diner?” you asked, changing the subject. “We used to come here all the time.”

“Yeah, I haven’t stepped in here since that day,” he avoided saying Jason’s name now.

For the first time since you sat down, you actually studied him, beyond the basic emotions that you instinctively saw in everyone. The slight frown, the dark circles under his eyes, the short chewed up nails, the five o’ clock shadow that was rare for Dick Grayson.

He was grieving alone.

“Whenever Jason faced a problem when he was with us, out in the field, or anything, he would always ask himself- ‘What would Dick Grayson do?’” you told him.

His eyes softened, and you could see tears start to well up too.

“He really looked up to you,” you went on, wanting to give Dick the same comfort he gave you. “His older brother. Though, he kept it quiet. He didn’t want people to notice how much he cared. You know, the whole tough guy act.”

Dick chuckled at that. “But you noticed, of course.”

“Of course,” you smiled fondly at the memory. When asked if his injuries hurt, Jason would always reply with Only when I laugh.

But he accepted the cold compresses and paracetamol you gave him.

12 MONTHS AFTER THE DEATH OF JASON TODD

The camera shutter clicked. You checked the quality of the photo on your digital SLR. Even from across the street and in the darkness of the night, your camera caught the couple entering the motel, hand-in-hand, perfectly. This would be sufficient evidence for your client. The classic case of Cheating Spouse was going to earn you a couple thousand dollars. Frankly, you had considered rejecting the case. You only went for high-profile scandals now. But the client was desperate, and offered a large sum of money for something so easy and simple. It was difficult to refuse.

You contemplated on whether you should go the extra mile to catch them in the act. Or maybe you should just stake out in your car and catch them coming out of the motel. You took pride in how detailed your reports always were, and that was how you managed to build your clientele.

You took a sip of the bad, black coffee, already gone cold.

Peering through the zoom lens, you angled the camera up to the rooms facing the street. The movement you caught, however, was not the lights of a room switching on. Instead, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shadow hanging about the fire-escape in the narrow alley next to the building. You zoomed in more, and saw a familiar blue and black spandex, white eyes, and a familiar grin.

“Fuck,” you swore to yourself. Of all the places to bump into him.

You had gotten close to him since that dinner. The both of you had been texting regularly, getting to know each other and sharing stories about Jason. It helped you with your grief, and you knew it helped him too. You found out that Dick Grayson was voluntarily very expressive with his emotions, unlike his late younger brother who always needed an extra nudge.

Despite all that, you had been trying your best to avoid Dick for the past few weeks and had been giving him the excuse that you were busy. The truth was, you were scared. You knew how close you were getting to him, and right now you were lonely. So lonely that you were afraid of doing something you would both regret.

Knock, knock, knock. The glass rapped three times.

You looked over at the passenger side and saw that grin. Sighing, you unlocked the door.

“What a nice surprise,” Dick greeted you as he shut the door. “Didn’t think I would see a beautiful lady when I left home tonight.”

You rolled your eyes at his usual flirting. “I’m on a job, Dick.”

“I can see that,” he shamelessly went through your case file that was sitting on the passenger seat before he entered. “I thought you don’t take these cases anymore?”

“The poor guy was desperate, and he offered a lot of money for a simple, menial task,” you explained. “I don’t get why he doesn’t ask someone cheaper. Literally anyone could do this.”

“But they can’t do it as well as you do,” Dick booped your nose with his gloved finger.

“What about you? What brings you to this side of town?”

“Tim needed help with some training. And patrol brings me everywhere, sweetheart,” he smirked.

You noticed that your body had subconsciously turned towards him. His eyes were not visible then, covered by the whites of his mask. He was slightly damp due to the drizzle outside.

You cleared your throat. “I’m going to stake out here until they come out. Note how long they were together.”

“That could be until the sun rises.”

“Yep.”

“Need company?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I thought you needed to patrol, and help Tim.”

“Ah, you’re right,” he sighed dramatically, “I’d much rather be in this steamy car with you, though.”

“Go and help your Robin, Dick,” you chuckled, unable to resist him. “Your mentee needs his mentor, Gotham needs its hero and you’re here cozying up with a PI.”

“How irresponsible of me,” he muttered. You hadn’t realized that both of you had moved closer.

You risked a quick glance to his slightly parted lips before tearing your eyes away. He was right, it had suddenly got steamy in the car.

“Text me when you’re back? It’s dangerous to be alone at this hour,” he said before stepping out and flying off in the most flamboyant, Dick Grayson way.

I can take care of myself.

You took deep breaths to calm down and slow your heartbeat.

Maybe you were scared that you were so lonely. But a part of you knew that starting something with Dick wouldn’t be too bad.

You were just scared of being judged by Dick’s dead, younger brother.

The next weekend, you found yourself on your balcony. It was 3 AM, and you were slightly tipsy from the cocktail you made yourself. You closed your eyes and listened to the sound of the wind, the cars, the occasional police siren. You made your decision.

Need you. you texted Dick, knowing he was out on patrol.

15 minutes. he replied.

Jason was dead. There was no one else who understood and accepted you almost as well as Dick did.

You waited out there in the cold for his arrival. When he did land straight on your balcony, his hair was a mess and he was panting slightly. You grabbed his face and kissed him roughly.

It didn’t matter anymore because Jason was dead.

SIX MONTHS AFTER THE ARRIVAL OF RED HOOD.

It was more difficult to control your shadow, but you tried your best. Moving in with Dick helped a bit more as compared to when you were alone, but you were constantly on edge.

He was alive, and what would he think of this? You and Dick? Would he see it as a betrayal?

Dick was having sleepless nights and was gone most of the time to help Bruce with Jason’s tantrum. Six months since Jason had appeared alive, and God knows how long before he crawled out of his grave, but he had not contacted you even once.

And you knew, you knew he was angry at you. That this whole villain arc had at least something to do with you. Even though it didn’t make sense, that you were never together, that you were nothing more than just best friends.

Somehow you felt that the rage and destruction was directed towards you.

For as long as you got together with Dick two years ago, and a whole year of playing cat and mouse with him ever since that kiss, you never had radio silence from him for this long. Two or three days was the maximum, and he would reassure you that everything was fine while you continued on with your PI business. A week long was unheard of.

Then, your phone buzzed.

I’m fine. He’s fine. Everyone’s fine.

You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Is he back? you asked.

He’s gonna take some time off. Need to go. See you soon.

And so you didn’t sleep until Dick came back home the next morning.

“He’s so… broken,” Dick whispered above your head as he hugged you tightly.

You frowned. You didn’t like that word used to describe Jason. A person couldn’t be broken. People weren’t objects. You knew what Dick meant, that Jason was traumatized- but it didn’t mean that he was broken. Broken meant that you needed to be fixed before someone accepted you, that you needed to be functional or useful.

Broken meant that there was a state where people were whole, and you knew too well that there’s no such thing as a whole person. People just existed in different states, and each state was just as important as the other.

Jason told you all of that when you opened up to him about your past. One day many years ago, you fucked up during a mission. Your shadow had hurt someone a little too badly.

“I don’t even know how it works, Jay,” you had cried, “Sometimes it has a mind of its own and it just reacts outside of my control.”

“You saved me in the end,” Jason tried comforting you, putting his arm around your shoulder as you sat on the carpet of the empty living room.

“But I could have hurt you too,” you argued, “It could have attacked your shadow and killed you, the same way I killed my parents.”

You hadn’t told anyone about that. Only the Justice League knew.

“It was an accident,” Jason insisted.

“I’m just a broken person,” you choked. “No one should be near me.”

That was when he took his arm away and held your shoulders in both his hands, forcing you to face him, to stare into his piercing, fierce gaze.

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that about yourself ever again, got it?” he scolded you, “You are not broken. You’re like- like water. Or air. You exist in different states of matter, and each state you’re in is no less broken than the rest. You’re not broken, okay? You’re Sunny, you’re sunshine. You’re just sunshine…”

NINE MONTHS AFTER THE ARRIVAL OF RED HOOD

“Cheating spouse, undercover at Harvard, cheating spouse again…” you muttered to yourself as you browsed your cases in the living room, illuminated by a single warm light above your head. Dick would complain about the mess in the morning when he eats his cereal.

If he even comes back by tomorrow. you finished your own thought.

The blackmail material requests sounded interesting, but you always hesitated to accept the morally gray ones. You usually would go for missing or runaway children, the evidence of corruption, and the occasional journalist request for an inside scoop.

In fact, your eyes caught one such request. An anonymous journalist from the Gotham Gazelle. You received a text from a disposable two days ago, detailing a locker combination and an address. The contents of the locker were documents within a crisp and new light brown folder- a typical case file, along with a thousand dollars in cash and a promise of another two thousand after completion.

Journalists were not usually this cautious, but if they were investigating someone high profile, it was better to remain anonymous. Especially in Gotham.

You took a sip of your dark roast Arabica coffee, engrossed by what your anonymous client wanted you to get. It was already 11 PM.

Then, you heard the bell ring.

You frowned. Dick wouldn’t ring the bell to his own apartment.

Concentrating on pulling your shadow back, you walked barefoot to the door and looked through the peephole.

Your heartbeat quickened at who you saw standing on the other side of the door.

Calm down, calm down, calm down. Deep breaths.

The door clicked when you unlocked it, and creaked when you pulled it open.

You couldn’t remember when you had stopped counting the amount of days since you saw those piercing blue eyes that were so similar, yet so different from Dicks’. Now they were even more different from what you remembered. They were like battleworn armor standing in an enclosed case.

“There’s my sunshine,” Jason smiled weakly at you.

There was no chance of stopping your tears from falling down your face, so you didn’t even try. You let them flow freely as you speechlessly embraced him and felt his warm arms snake around you. The warmth of an embrace you thought you were never going to feel ever again.

He grew much taller than you. He was 16 when he died, and you were just turning 18. You had stopped growing a year or two before that, but boys kept on growing, didn’t they? He was the same height as you were the last time you saw him, but now he was at least a couple of feet taller. Did that mean he was back long before he started going as Red Hood? What did he do for two and a half years? Who-

“Don’t mean to be rude, but can I come in? I’m freezing my tits off out here,” he said. Even his voice was much, much deeper.

You chuckled and nodded, taking a step away to let him in.

You closed the door behind Jason and watched as he walked in slowly, looking around at Dick’s apartment. You noticed he paused at the dining table where you were working, and then strided to the sofa in the living room before taking a seat. You followed suit and sat next to him, not yet trusting your voice to make a sound.

“So,” he began, “You and Grayson, huh?”

Looking so intently, taking him all in, you almost missed the question.

“You’re bigger than him,” you blurted, before widening your eyes in horror at what you were implying.

Jason raised a scarred eyebrow.

“I mean- you- your build,” you quickly explained, “Your frame. Shoulders. Length. Big.”

“Length?” he smirked.

“Height!” you almost yelled.

Jason leaned closer to you and frowned. “Am I making you nervous?”

You couldn’t bear his piercing eyes, so you looked down at your hands.

“I thought maybe you never wanted to see me again,” you confessed, “I thought maybe you were angry at me, and hated me.”

“I was,” he simply stated.

You looked at him in question.

“Angry at you. For a bit,” he sighed and leaned back against the couch, “But I was angry at everyone. You were no exception. I was just mad everyone had forgotten me. Especially those I cared about.”

“I never forgot you, Jason,” you vowed, “How could I ever?”

“Then why did you-” he cut himself off, “Nevermind. I just wanted to say that I’m not mad anymore. I get it. I was dead, and everyone moved on.”

He crossed his arms and again, you noticed how large his arms were. His face was more mature, jawline more defined and square, eyes now more deep set with extra dark circles underneath them. As if your body had a mind of its own, you reached out to his face and caressed the scar across his cheek.

Jason jumped slightly in surprise at the sudden contact, but then closed his eyes and leaned into your touch.

“You have more scars now,” you pointed out, “What happened?”

You felt his breath down your wrist.

“Another story for another day,” he smiled and opened his eyes. You took your hand away, blushing at how intimate that must have seemed to an onlooker. “Where’s Boy Wonder?”

“No idea,” you shrugged. “You want something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Aw, come on, Sunny!” he got up and walked to the kitchen, “It’s a Welcome Back, Jason party. Where are the fun drinks?”

He started opening your cabinets.

“Wow, make yourself at home, why don’t you?” you shook your head and went to join him.

“Mi casa es su casa,” he sang, “At least, that’s what Grayson told me when he gave me the address. Aha!”

He found the cabinet of liquors. “Wow, I’m quite impressed by his collection.”

“That’s my collection,” you corrected him, “Dick couldn’t tell the difference between tequila and rum even if his life depended on it. I have a variety. What do you feel like?”

“You’re the bartender,” he teased, “Surprise me.”

You nodded and proceeded to make him a drink. Jason sat down at the dining table and nosily looked through your files. That was one thing he and Dick had in common, at least.

You set down a whisky sour for him and yourself before clearing your paperwork to the side, giving him the side eye as you snatched a folder from his hands.

Taking a seat across from him, the both of you dinked glasses together and took a sip.

“Strong,” he commented, “That’s good.”

You accepted the compliment silently.

“So, you don’t know where Grayson’s at?” he inquired.

“Nope,” you replied, “I know he has missions sometimes. Helps out here and there. He’s gone for two or three days before he comes back home with a new bruise or cut. I don’t ask for details unless he starts to tell me about it.”

Your chest made an involuntary squeeze that you tried to hide. There were times when you had asked Dick, and he lied to you. You had arguments over where he was, and who he was with before.

Jason studied your poker face intently, and for a second, you felt as though he was interrogating you.

He took another sip.

“How’s business going?” he changed the subject, “I heard you never went back to the team.”

“I couldn’t,” you answered simply.

“Why not?”

“Everything reminded me of you. It hurt too much.”

A deafening silence. A look of guilt. A looming darkness that grew.

“Business is great, actually,” you went on. “And I enjoy the slower-paced nature of the work.”

“Ugh, even stake outs?” he made a face, not commenting on how your shadow became slightly bigger.

“Stake outs can be nice sometimes,” you argued, “Crank down the window, put the radio on, snack on some fries. Sometimes I read, as well. I’m used to spending long hours by myself.”

“Sounds like you haven’t changed much,” he smiled endearingly at you.

“Not even physically?” you pouted, “I’ve been going to the gym.”

He laughed at that. “Yes, I’ve noticed. You look much more… Mature?”

“Are you saying I look old, Todd?” you huffed.

“So fucking old. A hag.”

You stuck out your tongue at him and laughed together, as if nothing ever changed. As if he never died, as if you never grieved for him and longed for him.

“I’m kidding,” he conceded, “You look good. Really good. Dick’s a lucky guy.”

You frowned at the last comment. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? Me and Dick?”

Another pause. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Jason knew you well, so he knew how to answer you. His statement wasn’t a lie.

You heard the jingle of keys in the distance.

“Speak of the fucking devil,” Jason whispered into his drink before taking a big gulp.

“Honey, I’m ho- oh. Jason, I didn’t expect to find you here,” Dick stood in the doorway, stunned.

“Welcome back, babe,” you walked over and greeted your boyfriend with a kiss. For the first time, Dick looked slightly uncomfortable with your display of affection.

“You guys have been hanging out without me!” Dick whined, his child-like persona immediately taking over.

That was how Dick was. You noticed it after a few times with him, how he would mask his emotions or awkwardness with his happy, warm personality. He was a people person, charming his way anywhere and everywhere regardless of any situation.

Yet, you could see through it all. The grief, the aching fatigue, and the countless battle scars.

“Was just leaving,” Jason announced curtly.

“Ngaw, don’t be like that,” Dick tried to persuade him, “Stay a little while. We can catch up.”

“There’s nothing to catch up on,” Jason insisted, “Bye.”

He glanced once at you, and then left without saying a word.

There was a stark difference between the way he was with you and the way he was with Dick. In the short future, you would come to realize that it wasn’t that he was different with everyone else. Jason treated everyone else with the cold, rough demeanor you witnessed- but never you. You were the only one who knew him as though that Jason never died.

You saw Dick’s shoulders slump in disappointment. “How long was he here for?”

“About an hour?” you answered nonchalantly, going back to your case files.

“He has never spoken to me for more than 15 minutes,” Dick informed you, “Even then he would give non-committal answers.”

“Really?” you asked, frowning to yourself. It took just a little while for the both of you to go back to how things used to be. “Maybe he’s more upset at you since you’re his brother.”

“Nah, don’t think that’s it,” Dick came up behind you and nuzzled his face in your neck. “You smell good. Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you hummed, “How was… Your mission?”

“Tiring,” he complained, “You choose a case already?”

“Maybe,” you replied, “Who was there?”

You heard Dick gulp. “Donna. Kon. Wally.”

“And?”

“Kori.”

You felt your chest tighten again. “Okay. I’m tired too. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“You just drank coffee,” he pointed out, “You’re going to sleep now?”

“Or just lie in bed,” you responded, “Seeing Jason was… emotional.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair.

“You coming?”

“I have to patrol,” he looked at you guiltily.

“But you just got back,” you argued.

“They can cover more ground when I’m around,” he explained. “Sorry. I’ll spend time with you tomorrow, okay?”

You smiled at him and reached a hand to press on his chest. He was so committed, and that’s what you loved about him. He really, truly cared.

“Just stay safe,” you gave him a deep kiss, tasting the cola chapstick he stole from you months ago.

“I’ll see you in the morning, darling,” he breathed.

That night you lay awake in bed, staring at darkness. You let your shadow go at night, allowing it to take over the room. A buzz came from your phone all of a sudden. Another unknown number.

You tapped it open.

This is my number if you need me. J.

It had been a while since you smiled whenever you lay alone, unable to sleep.

And how did you get mine?

You didn’t actually care. You were just so happy to be texting your best friend again.

I’m just a genius, Sunny. You staying up late to work?

You contemplated your answer.

No. Just couldn’t sleep. What do you do now, anyway? Do you patrol with the rest?

Sometimes. I mostly do my own thing now.

What thing?

Another story for another time, sunshine.

I’m glad you’re back, Jay. Thank you for seeing me today. Can we hang out soon?

We can hang out whenever you want.

You were typing a reply, but was interrupted by another message from him.

I missed you lots.

I missed you too, Jason. We have to get caught up with all the slumber parties we missed.

Don’t think Grayson would be too happy with that though.

My best friend is back from the dead. He can suck it up.

I’ll see you soon then?

You contemplated again.

What are you doing tomorrow? I got an interesting case. Wanna tag along?

***

Jason’s heart broke when he found out that you were with Dick. It was a large reason why he was so angry, and why he became so destructive. But he tried to stay angry at you, tried to hate you, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. The years without you were lonely, and he tried to fill up the emptiness with rage.

It took him so long after Bruce brought him back to his senses to finally see you because he was practicing. He knew he couldn’t bear to look at you and Dick while you were together, so he practiced controlling his emotions so he wouldn’t snap and scare you away.

But when you opened the door and he saw your face for the first time in years, everything dissipated. He didn’t need to control any anger because all he felt was longing. It didn’t matter if you were in love with Dick, all that mattered was that you were there next to him.

“Okay, so,” you began as you pulled the car to a stop in a street at Diamond District. “Rupert Thorne.”

“The guy who is running for mayor?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, browsing through the documents, “He allegedly backed Hill in the previous elections, but now he is running against Hill. My client wants me to find evidence of corruption and find out who his sponsors are.”

Jason saw the way your brows stitched together as you read through the file.

It was difficult to be in the same car as you. Even though he was in the passenger seat, he felt like it was a small closet, being suffocated by your demanding presence.

“Why doesn’t he sponsor himself? Isn’t he some sort of closeted crime lord too?” Jason asked.

“I guess that’s the mystery,” you hummed, “He must have been promised something, or he must have promised something- if he wins.”

You smelled like warm cinnamon and vanilla. All Jason wanted to do was to bury his face in your neck and breathe you in. The pull he felt towards you was almost physical. He needed to stop himself from touching you, from claiming you.

“So what’s the first step?” he tried to focus on the case.

“He works in that building there,” you looked outside across the street to the tall mirrored tower. “COO of Trident Shipping Company. He’s doing quite well in popularity lately… Articles say he is modest and humble, charming, thoughtful, charitable… The list goes on. Must have a great PR team.”

Jason smiled to himself. You were starting to think out loud, a habit of yours he noticed one night during a strategy meeting with the team. So many years ago.

“Anyway, we want to see where he goes, who he meets, what he does-”

“Oh no,” Jason groaned, “You scammed me into a stakeout!”

He really didn’t mind if it meant spending long hours with you in your cozy car.

“It’ll be fun!” you tried to convince him, “We can catch up in the meantime! Plus, I do also need to bug his phone. Might need your help with that. I also have some metka, so maybe we can pollinate some lead suspects once we narrow them down and-”

“Woah, woah, woah, hold up,” Jason started chuckling in disbelief, “First of all- one step at a time, please. Let’s make a structured flowchart first before you start rambling off fifty-seven steps ahead. Second of all- metka, are you fucking with me right now? How did you get your hands on Soviet Cold War tech?”

Metka or spy dust- chemically known as nitrophenyl pentadienal or NPPD- was an old and outdated, yet still effective, Russian method of marking or tagging suspected CIA agents during the Cold War by the KGB. It was a discreet powder that stuck to everything. They would tag the agents at the airport, and then anything the agent touched would have traces of the dust. Including Russian assets- spies or informants working for the CIA. They would be able to identify the traitors.

“I’m a PI,” you said smugly, “I’m resourceful.”

Yes, you were. Jason beamed proudly at you. But he said, “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, how about the bug?”

“I have this-” you rummaged through your messenger bag and took out a small silver card the size of a hotel matchbox. It had the Bat sigil.

“So I assume you have Batman’s NFC card because you’re resourceful?” Jason teased. He knew the gadget well. The near field communication device allowed hijacking into another electronic device with NFC just by near contact. It could allow for cloning the device, or installing spyware.

You stuck your tongue at him childishly.

“I wonder what Batman would think of you stealing his gadgets for personal use,” Jason jested.

“Okay, I borrowed it from DIck, and it’s not like I’m using it for personal reasons. This is a highly professional operation,” you huffed, “Anyway, if you could let me finish telling you my plan. It says that Thorne is into French girls and he usually comes out for a smoke break around this time.”

“And?”

“I will be bumping into him. The NFC needs about 30 seconds of contact. I’ll slip the card in the pocket where he keeps his phone. But in case I can’t stick around to take it out, you will have to come walking behind me to pickpocket it from him.”

“Sounds good. What if he’s using his phone?”

“I’ll bump it out of his hand and apologize profusely,” you grinned. “Okay I need to get ready.”

You unbuttoned your weathered leather jacket to reveal a white top with a low neckline, giving Jason a good view of your cleavage.

“Uhhh,” he started awkwardly.

You ignored him and looked in the mirror, smearing lipstick on your lips and smacking them. Then, you ruffled your hair to give it more volume before turning to face him with a “How do I look?”

The red you chose for your lipstick matched your skin tone perfectly. And he never noticed you had a tiny cute mole on the top of your left breast. The way your hair was effortlessly messy made Jason imagine that was how you would look like in the mornings, or when he takes a handful of it while kissing you rough-

“G-great,” he complimented weakly.

If he hadn’t already died, then you were going to be the death of him.

“Oh shit, there he is,” you opened the car. “Quick, hang around a few feet behind me.”

Jason saw you strut as you approached Thorne. He was tall and handsome, and looked good for a man his age. Jason could tell that his suit was expensive. His coat was probably cashmere. He could see why Thorne was so popular. He definitely looked the part. He was talking on his phone, and he was now curious as to what you had in mind.

From down the block and in the crowd, Jason saw you pretend to talk on your phone in perfect French, rushing somewhere unknown. He didn’t notice the cup you were carrying before.

“Ah, putain! I am zo zorr’y, Monsieur!” you bumped hard into Thorne, spilling liquid all over his coat and yourself.

Thorne looked surprised, and then pocketed his phone in his coat. “It’s quite alright.”

“No, no, pleez. Let me ‘elp you,” you made a fuss. You took out a handkerchief from your bag and simultaneously shrugged off your jacket. Jason smirked to himself. No hot-blooded male would be able to resist the sight of you in a wet white low neckline t-shirt.

“Let me pay for your dry cleaning,” you worried, “Oh, putain it speeled down here too.”

You got on your knees and started dabbing the hem of his coat.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Thorne smiled and held your shoulder in a gesture to help you up.

“I am really zo zorr’y,” you looked up at him.

A flash of lust sparked Thornes’ eyes, and Jason knew you were batting your eyelashes at him from that angle. It made him want to punch Thorne square in the jaw.

“It’s really alright, madam,” he insisted, “It was my fault for standing in the middle of a busy pedestrian walkway.”

“I should ‘ave watched where I was walking,” you bit your lip and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well, let’s just both move on from this. Please don’t worry, I can get my assistants to get me another coat,” he rested his hand on your lower back as he walked you towards the street. “Here is my business card. Feel free to contact me if you need any help navigating the city. I would love to show you all the fine restaurants in Gotham.”

“Monsieur, you are too kind,” you pouted.

“I should thank you for bumping into me,” he winked, “It’s not everyday I get to see a beautiful lady.”

You pretended to blush.

“I have to go now,” he announced, “Please give me a call.”

And with that, he entered the building.

You walked towards Jason with the look of a kid who scored his first goal.

But then, facing him now, Jason swore under his breath. No wonder you managed to bewitch Thorne so easily.

Your shirt was practically see through, and everyone was turning their heads at you. He could see your black lacy bra, and how your tits bounced as you jogged towards him.

“Hells to the yes!” you celebrated, “That was more than thirty seconds. I got the card back and- what are you doing?”

Jason had grabbed your jacket and forcefully put it over your shoulders. “Let’s hurry back to the car.”

Yeah, you were going to be the death of him.

[m4y4wasnthere]

sodapop dating hcs ✮

warnings:

a/n: i forgot to write suggestives for this one but if its wanted I can write a separate hc list for it 🤍

id like to think you guys were friends before he dropped out in highschool and you stumbled upon him at the DX after not seeing him in awhile

reunion was definitely more romantic than platonic, but the only ones who didnt see that were you two

you met him while he was with Sandy, you guys were okay friends, she was a nice girl

you developed a crush on him over time but always pushed it away and helped his relationship

he came to you trying not to cry (he failed) when they officially broke up and how she wasnt ever coming back

you held him in your arms whenever he needed it

it hurt knowing how much he was hurting, it also hurt to know you were there and he wasnt noticing you. but regardless you pushed everything aside for him to be happy

a few months after, he was back to semi-normal

he didnt flirt with girls as often, he was hesitant with interactions but never with you

the gang always saw your obvious crush on him and tried to have push you to talk to him for awhile

they tried convincing you that Soda felt the same but you always doubted it, saying it was just him being friendly

until one day dally was non stop flirting with you and soda couldn’t take it anymore

“C’mon doll, give me a chance.. I won’t do anything you don’t already know me for” Dallas had his arm on the doorway while looking down talking to you.

You were blushing, not because its Dallas, just because of how embarrassing the situation was.

“Dal, you know I don’t see you like that.” You crossed your arms. Dallas places his hand on your hip and tries to bring you closer.

“Let me change your mind baby, I’m sure you’ll like it.” You were about to tell him off before Sodapop pushed Dallas away from you.

“Leave her alone Dal. She doesn’t want your attention.” He stepped infront of you, protecting you from him.

“C’mon man, I was just trying to have some fun.” Dallas murmured curses after he lit a cigarette and walked out the house. “She doesnt need your kind of attention anyways Dal.”

He turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry y/n, I don’t know why I didn’t stop him sooner, I should’ve done something”

“Soda its alright, Its Dallas anyways.” You shyly smiled up at him.

“No you dont get it, I-“ He kept stumbling over his words before he pulled you to an embrace. “I hate seeing guys all over you like that. You don’t deserve that.”

“Sodapop.. I’m okay I swear. There’s not a lot to do-“ Before you could finish he interrupted you.

“I like you Y/n. I hate seeing Dallas all over you because I like you.”

you guys are so gushy with eachother, its disgusting (in a good way)

Darry really likes how kind you are, you always offer to help him make dinner, soda likes sitting at the dining table or just hanging out on a wall in the kitchen and talk to you guys while you cook. (He would burn the house down.)

He loves rambling to you about cars, he knows that you have no clue in what hes talking about but he just likes the fact you actually listen to him

Loves to show off his muscles when he gets to work on a car at the DX while you’re there, purposely does all the work himself instead of him and Steve doing it together

He lets girls gawk over him, but he always talks about you so it gets a bit awkward for them..

“Soda you know you’re really hot right? “Oh Soda look at my new nails!!” “Soda do you think I could get your number?”

“Have guys met my girlfriend Y/n? Shes so pretty… She might as well be a goddess, I love her so much. We had a date the other day and …”

The girls: 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

Hes protective over you, but not in the same posessive type of way Dallas is

He knows you love him and trust you, so he won’t do anything unless the other person is SUPPERR into you/gets aggressive

Usually hes nice about it, says stuff like “Hey thats my girl man, can you chill out?” “Shes taken by me man -insert goofy smile-“

[mqverick]

diet mountain dew || ꕤ

“Baby, stoppin' at 7-Eleven

There in his white Pontiac heaven.”

───────── ˚｡⋆ ( ၴႅၴ ⟡ ─────────

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Daniel was looking at you with the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen on a man’s face before. His eyes were burning into yours, glistening under the light as he stared at you, his mouth slightly agape. You tried not to gulp as the question echoed in your ears, face hot and flustered.

You never thought you’d find yourself outside of Daniel Kaffee’s door, contemplating whether to knock on his door or not. You’d always had the first word with him, ever since the moment he burst in your office with that stupid apple of his.

He’s looked like an idiot then and he looked like an idiot now, all proud of himself, looking at you — forcing you to use the actual words you’d been practicing and itching to say to him for God knows how long. It was deeply humiliating.

“No,” you simply and coldly replied, but your voice weakened by the end of the two-lettered word.

“It sounded like you were asking me out on a date,” he argued, crossing his arms as he took a few steps closer to you, ignoring the baseball game on the television that played uninterrupted in the background. He slyly raised his eyebrows as if he was questioning your previous ‘no’.

You stood there robotically, fumbling with the end of your thin jacket as you avoided eye contact with Daniel, knowing very well that your knees would buckle under just one look from him.

“I wasn’t,” you continued firmly.

“Mm,” Daniel hummed, his face so close to yours that you swore he was asking to get roughly hit in the balls. You were a woman with dignity and respect, though, you had to be stronger than that. God, you were aware of the fact that he had one of the most self-absorbed, cocky personalities, but when had he gotten like that? “I’ve been asked out on dates before, and that’s what it sounded like.”

Regretting your life’s choices should’ve been a paid occupation for you at that point. You wondered what came over you, thought hard about the nerve in your burnt brain that screamed and cried for you to get up from the bed, have a good day and then ruin it all by finally gathering the courage to go alone to Daniel’s place and talk to him about something that wasn’t related to the case. Ask him out on a fucking date like the desperate, little, touch starved loser you were.

Men had been going after you, begging for a chance since forever… yet, there was Daniel.

Daniel Kaffee, who had graduated from law school a year ago, had gotten in the Navy freshly — around nine months ago — who was so admirably impressive and intelligent and a whole person of his own. Daniel, who couldn’t come to a realisation without his thinking bat.

How had you fallen so hard in love with him?

“Do you like seafood? I know a good seafood place,” you blurted out, mentally kicking and cursing yourself for how stupid you’d sounded.

“I’ll tell you if you admit you’re asking me out.”

You weren’t going to, not even if he held a gun to your forehead and threatened your life. He did not need that kind of boost for his ego, nor did you care for getting embarrassingly paralysed in front of him after the smile he’d give you in case you actually did convince yourself to admit that this was your horrible aspect of asking him on a date.

“N-Not a date,” you stuttered, hating yourself.

“The sweat forming on your forehead says otherwise.” He snickered when you hurriedly snatched your hand from your jean’s pocket to wipe the non existent sweat off your face. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. You know, I really wouldn’t say no to going out with you.”

“Well, you’re not. I just want to grab some dinner with my colleague is all. Will you come or should I get going? It’s late, they’ll close soon.”

You eventually gathered the courage to breathe, backing away from him as you headed towards the door, placing your hand on the handle. Daniel snatched you back by the arm, catching you off guard as you silently cried, mind short-circuiting after noticing how much closer he’d pulled you to him. His grip was strong on your elbow, fingers tightly pressing into your warm, reddening skin.

“Are you dismissing me?”

You cocked your head to the side.

“What?”

“I want to go on a date with you. Do you want to go on a date with me?” Fuck, he was killing you. You were an exceptional lawyer, distinguished, had even won service medals. And all of that just vanished, the words dying in your throat, just because Kaffee was holding you so painfully close to him that part of your mind subconsciously dared you to move your head just an inch further into him, invade completely his personal space.

“I…” you began, but trailed off, seeing as you were truly incapable of understanding what was going through your blinded head in that moment. Had his eyes always been so dazzlingly green and big? Had Daniel always looked so unbelievably pretty?

“I didn’t even know you liked me. I mean, if you like me. I won’t make you say it — I just want to know if you’re asking me out on a date. Which is sort of like asking you if you like me, so that automatically cancels out what I just said.”

Daniel was getting nervous as well. Both of you were so utterly fucked with each other, but none ever spoke about it out loud without jokingly throwing flirtatious innuendos. He was done with just guessing how you felt about him, though, decided to take the matter into his own hands if you didn’t have the guts to make a move first.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost you to another man just because his stupidity was too much of an obstacle to overcome. Died in silence every time he had to say goodbye or goodnight to you wherever you had to leave his apartment after judging that you’d all conversated enough about the case. Daniel knew that you had to be feeling something for him — even if that was a tiny spark.

All the secret glances, the way you commanded and spoke to him, the contained smiles; they had to mean something right? But why weren’t you trying anything with him? He thought he made it pretty obvious that he felt the same way about you, had been feeling like that for a long time.

He knew you knew.

“Danny, can you let — fuck, I can’t breathe when you hold me so close to you,” you accidentally confessed, eyes bulging the moment your words played loudly rent free in your brain right after they so easily and boldly left out of your mouth.

“You can’t?” he repeated softly, in awe as he tried to comprehend what you’d just said. “You can’t — you can’t say stuff like that to me and then tell me that you don’t want to ask me on a date. You can’t do that — you can’t fuck like that with my mind.”

You jerked away from him, brows furrowing.

“Me? I can’t say stuff like that to you? You’d known me only 12 hours when you told me you were sexually aroused. You’ve been looking at me as if I’m some sort of grand lawyer, like I amaze you or something — you know how hard it is for me to keep a fucking professional stance around you?” you were shouting for no reason now, practically admitting your feelings for him due to the anger that had fogged your brain.

Daniel closed his eyes in wonder, then looked at you dumbfounded. “What?” Fuck. “What did you just say?” he repeated hesitantly.

“Nothing.”

“No, don’t give me that bullshit. I thought you hated me. I always try so hard to impress you and I’m so afraid that I’ll do something wrong or offend you in some way I won’t even realize and you… You feel the same way about me?”

The question fell off his lips like he was terrified of the answer you’d give him. And it was true; he was, beat himself up for how little confidence he had around you even though his actions showed the opposite. He’d been melting for you.

Was captivated by your determination, the way you could make him feel so worthless just by giving him a weird look. Scary?

To Daniel, you were divine.

“I—I don’t feel a certain way about you, Danny.”

“You kill me,” he rushed to comment, cutting you off the second his nickname was mentioned. “Every single time you call me that, a small part of me dies. That sounds horrible, I didn’t mean it that way. You know how it feels to walk in a courtroom for the first time?”

You nodded with a slight chuckle. “Yeah, I do. I could never forget. Do you?”

“Because of you, I do. If you weren’t so damn stubborn and annoying, I couldn’t even dream of it. When I walked inside, my legs were trembling. It was a confusing, but beautiful feeling.”

Your knees were bucking — what was he doing?

“Fuck you, Kaffee,” you muttered under your breath, running a hand through your hair.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. Fuck me. Fuck me, Commander, I’m already yours. I have been ever since you listed my entire life in front of my very own eyes, then proceeded to threaten my position in the case. How can you not know that? How can you act so surprised when the only reason why I keep calling both you and Sam at my place repeatedly every day is because I believe that there couldn’t possibly be any way I’d ever see you in my little, humble apartment under any other circumstances? Don’t you think we could’ve perfectly arranged another meeting spot?”

You’d lost touch with the environment. Daniel’s eyes looked as though he was about to burst into tears; all glassy and red, holding back a million words and emotions that he’d so successfully held back for such a long time, that they almost didn’t even feel real. He had to be kidding you.

“Is it too late to ask you on a date, then?”

Daniel let out a sigh of relief, a gorgeous smile cracking on his lips as he finally shut the game on the television off, moving dangerously toward you. He cupped his hands over your cheeks and pulled you tightly into him, capturing your lips with his own after what felt like ages. His eyes were forcefully closed, afraid of opening them and waking up to what could be just another dream. But no, this was reality, he decided after he discreetly opened them just an inch to make sure that the person he was smushing was real.

You weren’t kissing him back, though, and it made him pull away, feeling like a complete fool. Had he misread anything again, had he done something wrong? Had his hurried intrusive thought to kiss you been too much?

“I’m really sorry, I—”

Embarrassment welled up inside of him as he stared down at your feet, his mind still unable to process the taste of your lips as it barely even functioned for any other reason; talking like a normal person, for example. Harvard lawyer, they said. Lawyer his ass. What kind of lawyer was ever known to get so tongue tied in a situation?

“Your lack of response to my question makes me believe that you haven’t truly been asked out on any dates before,” you eventually spoke, opting to break the silence with sarcasm, just like it had always been between the two of you.

You pressed your mouth against his this time, smirking nobly as you heard him take a sharp inhale. You walked backwards, forcing him to do the same, then pushed him against the outside arm of his pathetic couch, causing him to fall.

You wasted no time with getting on top of him, straddling his lap firmly as your back arched on top of him, making the kiss get profoundly deeper and wetter as tongues got involved. You’d never been French-kissed like that (or in general, ) — your head felt like it would explode.

Daniel wasn’t skilled just as a lawyer. He was awfully good at kissing, sending you over the edge just by adding a little extra saliva in the kiss and letting his hands roam freely in your back, pulling you closer and closer to his scorching body. His soft brunet hair softly brushed against your forehead as he titled his head for a better angle and you could almost feel yourself die.

He winced when his bat dug into his back and the miserable sound he made caused you to moan.

“Are — Are you going to ask me out?”

You ignored him, grasping on his shoulders as you accidentally ground against his crotch, losing your mind and grip over yourself when you felt his semi-erection rub just the right away over your jeans and panties, your wet core clenching around absolutely nothing disappointedly.

“Let’s go to the seafood place, yeah?” you exclaimed against his mouth.

“As a date?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

You untangled yourself from him, still neatly seated on his legs as if you couldn’t feel him flush and hard, aching to be freed from his trousers.

“You know I’m very intimidated by you, right?”

Daniel gave you a peck on the before getting up to sit normally on the couch. “I do not, Ma’am.”

“Shut up.”

“Pretty impressive, huh?” he mocked, just like he’d said to you the first time you met. God, you really, deeply hated his self-absorbed guts. But you loved him. Loved him like crazy.

“I changed my mind.”

“About what?”

“I don’t want to go out to eat.”

Daniel’s face dropped when you got up from the couch and began putting your jacket back on. He’d messed up, he’d messed up, he’d messed up… Fuck him and how he never thought before doing. You were going to leave him, of course you were. You were scared of how fast he’d moved.

Except you really weren’t, you just really found joy into toying with his lowered remaining patience.

“What?” he asked, nearly like a whisper.

“I’ll see you at court tomorrow at 10. Don’t be fucking late, Lieutenant, or I’ll just might have to cancel the dinner reservations I’m planning. Up until then, you’ll do well with your very manly and grown up Yoo-Hoos,” you walked up to his door, feeling your heart beat rapidly in your chest as the corner of your eye caught him almost stumbling into the coffee table in his hurry to get to you.

“Is it going to be a—”

“And before you ask, yes, it’s a date.”

FIN.

@honeymvnt 𝜗𝜚

[moobloom-mention]

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far, Does It?

Summary: Pigsy never thought that taking care of a six-year-old MK would be so challenging. The kid throws tantrums over everything, putting up a fight that could bring demon kings to their knees.

At least he has Tang to step in whenever Pigsy needs a break, even if said help leads into some surprisingly wholesome mischief.

Content Warning(s): Cursing

Word Count: 1715

This might get a Part 2 with an older MK

----------

For the sun having only just begun to peak over the tall skyscrapers of Megapolis, Pigsy would be lying if he said today hadn’t gone the smoothest way it could’ve. He would’ve already claimed himself to be the luckiest pig alive just because he’d been given a day off from dealing with the most stressful part of his morning. 

Getting MK awake by 6 and dressed by 7. 

He’d never known how much a six-year-old could struggle and fight against being clothed for the day until the first time he tried it. It’d taken thirty minutes just to fit a shirt over the kid’s head, and thirty more minutes- after a brief call –for Tang to convince MK to keep it on. 

And don’t get him started on the whole “brushing your teeth is important” ordeal. 

The sheer amount of kicking and screaming that a kid’s toothbrush has introduced into his life should be studied by scientists in an attempt to understand humanity’s aversion to children. Pigsy originally hadn’t fought too hard on ensuring MK had brushed his teeth solely in the hopes it’d appease the kid, his small semblance of peace broken the moment Tang accompanied them to MK’s first dental appointment. 

Apparently, the amount of cavities MK had collected was “unbelievable” and “definitely a questionable parental choice”. 

Before he could blink, Tang was suddenly appearing at the restaurant’s front doors hours before its opening claiming he’d have to watch MK’s morning routine to make sure it’s “done right”. And by “done right”, of course Tang meant being an extra pair of hands and voice to soothe MK’s guaranteed tantrums. Or even on occasion sending Pigsy down to the restaurant’s kitchen to handle MK’s routine himself. 

Like today, Tang having been a little too happy to babysit MK whilst Pigsy ran to the market to collect a few totes of estranged vegetables. 

“Are ya’ sure you’ll be fine? The kid’s a little...” Pigsy had only needed to throw a glance toward the commotion and muffled yells going on within MK’s room. For some reason the kid just hadn’t taken too well to waking up this morning. 

Still ever the life-saver, Tang had only snorted. “We’ll be fine, Pigsy. Besides, the last place you want to lose MK in is in a market. Just be back by 8 and we’ll call it even.” 

Pigsy quickly glances to his watch as he parks the tuk-tuk and reaches for the restaurant’s keys. It’s just barely turned 8:06 but he’s certain Tang won’t mind the small hang-up. All he’d need to do is throw in another Monkey King story for the kid and he’d be spared from further wrath for another 15 minutes. 

With a click the backdoor to the kitchen unlocks, Pigsy huffing as he places one of the vegetable boxes from the car into the kitchen. He supposes he can’t really complain about the methods of Tang’s attempts to entertain MK. As long it keeps the kid happy Pigsy couldn’t care less if it’s some fairy tale. 

“Mr. Tang!” MK’s already squealing from the restaurant’s dining room. “Did it work? Did it work?” 

...or trying to teach him some form of magic, apparently. Whatever lesson going on definitely doesn’t have to do with decorating a bowl of noodles- otherwise Tang would’ve quit pestering him about free noodles and would’ve already turned to MK for it. 

He’ll have to teach MK how to say “no” to Tang before he lets the kid even think of going anywhere near a stove or a recipe book. 

Pigsy snorts at the thought as he heads back out to fetch yet another box of vegetables from the tuk-tuk. MK won’t even be able to reach the stove for at least another five or so years, not if Tang’s parenting books said anything about it. 

Though the book had also said it entirely depended on genetics. Something that both Tang and Pigsy had just about no knowledge of except for the fact that the kid had to have gotten his brown eyes and hair from one of his unknown parents. 

Pigsy just hopes that they were at least taller than the average human. It’d save him the trouble of making an “I lost the bet” bowl of noodles. 

Ya’ better grow up to be taller than Tang, he thinks just as MK’s excited voice rings from the dining room once again. It’s more muffled and indecipherable than before, the kitchen’s inner door now shut as if to give the current inhabitants of the restaurant further privacy. 

He can’t help but roll his eyes. Tang should know damn well that Pigsy would take any opportunity for an extra thirty minutes of free childcare. As much as he may sneak fond glances at MK when the kid does something impressive, it’s still a lot of work. 

A lot of work that Pigsy hadn’t meant to sign himself up for in the first place. 

There’s a slightly concerning thud from the dining room before MK’s muffled yet newly stoic voice booms behind the door. 

“...drivin’ me...ya’ freeloader...!” 

Pigsy freezes at an instant, the box of leeks rattling as it falls from his hands onto the floor. He doesn’t care for the handful of vegetables that topple out- not when dread sinks its claws into his stomach and rakes. 

There’s only one person who MK has ever heard the word “freeloader” from, and only one person Pigsy has ever guided the nickname towards. 

“MK!” he barks from the kitchen. Much to his annoyance, he’s unable to locate a wooden spoon on his walk toward the door- a detail he tries not to let distract him from his original goal of scolding MK. 

The kitchen door bursts open with a huff of air from his snout. “Just what the hell do ya’ think you’re doing calling Tang-” 

For the second time in the span of a minute, Pigsy finds himself frozen and tongue-tied in his own goddamn restaurant. He can’t even muster up what was once a stern tone, his throat tightening with emotion as he finishes the sentence lamely. “...that?” 

But what is he meant to do when he comes face-to-face with MK and Tang in the scene that they’re in? When Tang is simply sitting at a table littered with pink crayons and assorted supplies for paper crafts, looking amused at MK and whole-heartedly endeared for being called a freeloader by a loud six-year-old? 

What’s the protocol for when MK stands proud atop said table adorning a headband with familiar pink, pig-shaped ears sprouting from its base and a round, paper snout taped to his nose? When in his raised hand is a familiar wooden spoon- the very one Pigsy often waves at MK and Tang when he’s being serious? 

Much to Pigsy’s own relief, the world doesn’t actually come to a stop as he’d convinced himself it had. In fact, despite having definitely heard the beginning of Pigsy’s scolding, MK leaps from the tabletop and throws himself directly into Pigsy’s chest. 

He’s barely given a second to breathe from the scare of MK jumping off of a table before the kid wraps his arms as much as he can around the short-tempered pig’s chest. 

“Pigsy!” 

Still not quite certain how to...unpack this, Pigsy gives MK a quick pat on his back. It’s all the affection the kid allows before MK rips himself away and takes a few steps backwards. 

“Look, look!” he demands. Again, he lifts the wooden spoon into the air and in the loudest Boston accent bellows- “Get outta here ya’ freeloader! MK, get down from that table, ya’ hear me!” 

“I think that’s your best impression yet,” Tang pipes up from his chair. MK only beams at such praise, his shouts continuing as he begins to parade through the restaurant barking what Pigsy quickly recognizes are his own common scoldings. 

Gods, is he really that loud when he yells? 

Distantly Pigsy notices Tang’s sly attempts to scoot his chair over, trying not to unintentionally pull MK away from the kid’s ability to entertain himself. He’s unsurprisingly successful, and Pigsy almost calls out to MK anyway. Anything to avoid Tang’s smug expression. 

Much to his dismay, Tang beats him to the punch. “So...?” 

Pigsy blinks, throat still tight with something he can’t quite name. “He’s...” 

A dark eyebrow lifts, seemingly amused by the other’s loss of words. “What, the spitting image of you?” 

“Uh- not exactly.” 

Pigsy can’t say he’s ever woken up in the morning just to put on a pair of paper ears scribbled in pink crayon, but this whole thing is...surprising. And as much as he hates to admit it, a pretty endearing game of “dress-up” for the kid. 

“Does the kid know he’s not...?” 

A pig? A demon? The actual son of a short-tempered restaurant owner? 

Tang offers a shrug. “Probably not, but I don’t see why that should matter.” 

“And you didn’t put him up to this?” 

He glances away just to time to avoid Tang’s reprimanding glare. 

“Pigsy, the kid adores you. You’re a part of his family, whether you planned to be or not.” 

Then, with a gentle smile. “And maybe I told him that I’d already chosen to dress up as Monkey King.” 

Now that earns a good-natured chuckle from Pigsy. “Good to know I’m only a step below his idol.” 

“He’ll grow out of it,” Tang says. 

“Uh huh. Just like you did?” 

“That’s unimportant,” the human interjects, looking quite offended by the statement. “It’s not my fault there’s such an extensive history on the Monkey King. It’s a historian’s job to learn and analyze all of them.” 

“And I bet MK will be singin’ the same tune when he’s older,” Pigsy agrees with a roll of his eyes. 

He supposes there really is no guessing how MK will turn out when he gets older. He could grow his own interest in taking over the restaurant, or take off at the ripe age of eighteen to explore the world. 

…either way, Pigsy could see himself getting used to this “Pigsy” side of MK. Even if it is only a small ingredient of the recipe that is “MK”. 

“Soooo... does this get me a free bowl of noodles?” 

“Don’t ruin the moment, ya’ freeloader.”

[flashyfics]

Summary: Law awaits his first meeting with Luffy, and it goes differently than he expected. Hi, please read me.

I have never read One Piece, and I think I've watched like maybe(?) 10 episodes.

This is a poorly written birthday gift <3

Happy Birthday to my very best friend @chenziee After years of discussing Lawlu with you, here is a fic that is out of character and very inaccurate! (and yes I'm posting it here now to embarrass you even further.)

Read on AO3 above or click keep reading below.

This was it, the meeting of a lifetime. 

And Law Trafalgar didn’t know what to do with himself. 

He laid there, facing the peaceful blue sky with his hands tucked comfortably behind his head. The montsuki he wore was too tight across his chest, falling open instead and revealing the ink that decorated his light skin. He cursed himself for letting the Polar Bear (?????) take his measurements. The fabric, a deep onyx that was thin and breathable, was loose around the hips even with his belt; the damn thing was trying to fall off of him. Polar Bear convinced him to get an obnoxiously bright orange belt for it, insisting that it would pair nicely with the white trim. 

It did not. 

If anything, the belt screamed ‘look at my junk as it blows in the wind!’ 

With his left knee standing, he could feel a refreshing breeze as it made its way under his montsuki, cooling his hot skin as he let the sun shine down on him. 

Nothing made him feel more at peace than the fresh sea air. He sighed and took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs and his eyes closing. The morning sun was kind to him, only greeting him with a touch of warmth before another wave of salty air took over. 

Surely, he had time to rest before meeting this other crew. 

“Uh, Law?” 

His eyes flashed open, the sun setting in the distance, the sky which was a calming blue now stared down at him with deep purples and pinks as the stars made their appearance. 

Law sat up quickly, gritting his teeth as he prepared to chew out the Polar Bear for letting him sleep the entire day away–

But beside the bear, stood the man of his dreams. 

Monkey D. Luffy, the captain of the.. Uh Sunny Crew? Wait no, Straw Hat??

The captain's grin was almost contagious, his arms sticking out on either side of him as he announced his presence. 

“I’m Luffy!” the captain declared loudly and oddly out of character. “This Polar Bear was kind enough to lead me to you, it’s great to meet you!” 

Law couldn’t believe it. When he heard the stories of Monkey D. Luffy, Law imagined a man 240cm tall, built like an ox, and with a frown that would be contagious; not a damn smile.

A smile so charming he wanted to claim it for himself. 

Law stared up at him, his tongue tied and his emotions battling inside, uncertainty filling his mind as he considered the words to say. 

Their temporary alliance was a necessity. Law knew he couldn’t stand against his uncle, Flamingo(?) on his own. Try as he might, even he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the man and strangle him with his own boa without an entire army defending him. Or was it marines? Uh.

Luffy titled his head at him, like an adorable little sea pup that doesn’t know what way was up. “Does he not talk?” Luffy asked with a sideways glance to the bear. 

“No, he does, he just uh..” The Polar Bear trailed off, wearing his own ridiculous orange suit which Law now realizes it matches the belt. 

Luffy crouched down, putting his hands on his knees and getting face to face with Law. He could feel his cheeks heat up and hoped that it wasn’t too noticeable. “Oh wow, you’re really handsome!” 

And the blush grew deeper.

How he wished he could run his hands through his soft dark hair, to rest his hands on either side of this man’s face and kiss him with all of the adoration he could muster. To trace his hands over the scar that crossed over his chest, like his own little treasure map that led straight to Luffy’s heart. A treasure that he wanted now more than anything. 

If anyone could hear his inner thoughts, they would think he lost his damn mind. 

“I like your robe, but it looks like it could slip off with a hard breeze!” He smiled again, making Law’s heart beat rapidly, his pulse practically vibrating within him. “It’s nice to meet you," he said again, inching closer.  

And it was nice to meet him too. Which was all Law had to say. Literally anything would be good to say.

He sat there, simply blinking with no reply, he finally said the first thing that he could manage. 

“I will worship you like a god.”  

“Huh?” 

Ah fuck. 

“Law- Trafalgar D. Water Law, that’s my name.” Smooth. 

Luffy sprang up, grabbing Law’s hands and pulling him up with him. “Like Trifle?! I love Trifles!” 

Law nodded, “Exactly, Trafalgar, like a Trifle.” 

“But, Law, that’s not even remotely close–” Polar Bear began, but clamped his mouth shut when Law shot him a deadly glare. 

Luffy took Law’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together as they walked together and back to where their boats were docked. 

For the first time, in a long time, Law smiled and let himself indulge in everything that was Luffy. 

But no sex because they’re both Ace. 

The end.