#either way i think it didn't turn out too bad!

[alchemistc]

Buck's halfway through his third cup of startlingly bad coffee when Josh pushes the door to the breakroom open, looking mildly concerned in the half second before someone else looms over his shoulder.

He's too numb to do much more than take another sip of coffee as he watches Josh usher Tommy in.

The door clicks shut behind him. Buck wonders for a moment if Tommy's ever actually been to the new dispatch headquarters before. If he ever went to the old one, charming grin on his face while he waited for Abby to finish up so he could take her out, drive her home while her car was in the shop - but no, Tommy would have worked on it himself, maybe.

Had Josh recognized him, that first time, with half of his soot on Buck's face, and just never said anything?

The silence is tense. They're in a fishbowl, no room to lash out even if either of them wanted to because more than half the people working in this place can see them if they just tip their head to the side.

"How can I help?"

It's - his voice is strained, scared, worried. Buck doesn't have a single guess as to how he knows. Maybe Bobby. It's the only person he can think of who would have -.

Buck snorts. "I rebounded with a serial killer who just kidnapped my sister and my baby niece or nephew. I don't - I'm not sure what you want."

He glances up just in time to see the end of Tommy's grimace. Good. He's not sure how much more disastrous of a choice he could have made to try to get Tommy out of his system, but at least it hurts him to know. At least...

"Do you want me to go?"

Buck can't remember anyone asking, before. Usually they just... leave. Get up, walk out, disappear. Tommy bubbled Buck five times in three months. Buck went through seven bags of flour before he drove Eddie to the airport.

His voice shakes on his "No," and Tommy is there, all of the sudden, his hand hovering just over Buck's shoulder, like he realized halfway there it might not be welcome. "Do you still think I need to keep looking for someone better than you?"

It'd been seeing Tommy out with a guy that'd prompted him to stop fucking baking and make an effort to just...get over it But with Eddie away, and the rest of the 118 so wrapped up in their lives, there weren't a whole lot of outlets for that. And it's been easy to willfully misinterpret Tommy's breakup speech. Or - interpret it in the most hurtful way possible.

"Is this what you want to do right now?" Tommy asks, even and measured. "Will this help?"

"I want my sister back!"

Tommy takes a step back. His hands shift to his pockets, and Buck just wants -

"Why are you here?"

He tips his head up. Holds Tommy's gaze. Tommy flounders in a way Buck's never seen before.

He looks - tired. Good. White Henley under a flannel Buck had always told him brought out his eyes. The jeans Buck had stolen once or twice because they made his ass look good. His hair's grown in at the sides, and the sprinkling of greys are more obvious than the last time he'd seen it this length.

"I just... didn't want you to be alone."

Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. He wants to laugh, but he's terrified if he starts he won't be able to hold in the fear. "When did that change?"

Tommy gnaws on his cheek. "You have so many people, Buck. You have -."

"I don't want emotional repression Tommy here, so if you're just here to keep me distracted until someone else can be here you should just... go."

Something flashes in his gaze. Anger, maybe. Terror.

"Please let me stay."

It hurts, to hear it. It hurts to hear the trepidation in his voice as he says it. Buck just wants to pull him in, tuck his face into the curve of his neck, soak in the warmth of his arms.

Buck spends too long staring at his knees. Long enough for Tommy to shift, to sigh, to nod his head decisively out of the corner of Buck's eye.

The word is stuck in his throat. Has been for months, since Tommy looked at him with teary eyes and walked away.

"I won't be able to let you go again."

He's already half turned away. Buck can only see half his expression as his eyes dip closed. He swallows. Nods, again.

Buck can't watch him push back through that door, so he stares at the toes of his boots until his vision starts to blur.

A second pair of toes swim into his eyeline. A hand shifts through his curls, snagging on knots, digging towards his scalp, and he can't quite bite back the sob. The arms that reach for him are warm, big and familiar, and Buck gives himself over to the panic and the fear that have been clawing at his chest for hours now. Tommy says something - whispers it into the air above Buck's head over and over, but Buck can't - he just -

He presses his face into Tommy's stomach, digs his fingers into the back of his shirt, sucks in horrible, gasping breaths. It's not enough. Nothing will be until he's got Maddie in his arms.

But it's more than he had an hour ago.

"Stay," he manages, and Tommy's fingers curl around Buck's neck and hold.

[thethingsnerd]

This one. I like this one. Fic under the cut

“Your input is not necessary.”

It’s not the first time Bruce had said that to Dick tonight. It would be less frustrating if B was making better calls- he’s not really listening to anyone else tonight, not just Dick, and his decision making is suffering for it.

Everyone's tempers are suffering for it, too.

It starts with Oracle, who hates when Batman falls back into bad habits like this as much as Dick does, and has twice as less patience for it. She's curtly professional from the word "go" and when Dick offers to bring her a pint of cherry garcia later, Barbara tells him to shove it up his ass instead. Dick doesn't take it personally.

Next is Cass, who's always extra stressed when Barbara's upset. Even so, it blindsides Dick. They'd ended up at the same shootout, they'd efficiently gotten the surrounding civilians to safety, they'd worked together beautifully. They de-escalate the gun fight next, and Dick knocks a gun out of a gangster's hand before he can shoot Blackbat in the back. He doesn't think twice about it until Cass starts castigating him on the roof.

"I didn't need help."

"He was behind you. That's the whole point of a patrol partner, Blackbat, so someone can cover your six."

"No."

"No?"

"You were out of rhythm."

"I was not-"

"You're throwing me off."

She's running before Dick can say anything else. He could catch up with her, if he really tried, but he's still not sure what that was about. Maybe Dick is as out-of-sync as Cass insisted, or maybe Cass is feeling off-kilter herself. Either way, he doesn't go after her.

The rest of the night shift is uneventful, aside from the snipe over comms. Back at the Cave is a different story. Steph and Tim are arguing when Dick rolls in, and Dick gets all of three steps toward the computer before they round on him instead.

"Dick! Tell Tim that-"

"No, Dick, inform Stephanie-"

"Oooh full name, I'm so chastened, Timothy-"

"You should be embarrassed-"

"Okay!" Dick interjects. "What is the problem?"

Steph glances between Dick and Tim, glances at her feet, then sighs aggressively. "Nothing," she grits out. "Absolutely nothing, so for once in your life leave it alone, you busybody."

Dick watches as she stomps away. Just a bad night, he has to remind himself that it's just a bad night. Tim shakes his head when Dick glances at him, so Dick heads straight to the showers.

Clean, warm, and dressed down in comfy sweats, Dick feels much better than has all day. He'd passed Damian on the stairs, but something was clearly eating at the kid- he'd taken one look at Dick and turned sharply in the other direction. Hiding. Dick's been there, and valiantly tries not to take it personally.

He decides to make himself some chamomile (he'll never take sleeping pills again after don't think about it) and takes a moment to check in with himself. His therapist would be proud. Alfred would be proud of how nicely his chamomile turns out; Dick almost always understeeps herbal tea but tonight he's gotten it just right.

Dick sips his tea. He takes inventory of his injuries; minimal bruising, achy lower back, tender left wrist. Pretty good. Then takes stock of the rest of him; tired but not yet sleepy, agitated but not too badly. All in all, considering all the tension, tonight definitely could have been worse.

Famous last words.

Tim walks into the kitchen just as Dick gets to the dregs of his chamomile. Dick nods at him in greeting, and Tim does not take it well.

"Oh, now you acknowledge me?"

Dick does not sigh. He doesn't but it is such a near thing. "Did I not acknowledge you some other time tonight?"

"I asked you to back me up downstairs and you totally ignored me!"

"I did no such thing. You were in the middle of an argument I didn't catch the start of, so I asked what the problem was. How is that ignoring you?"

"I asked you for backup and you didn't come through," Tim hisses.

"Backup in the field and backup in a lovers' quarrel are not the same-"

"It wasn't a- a lovers' quarrel, asshat!"

"Well, how am I supposed to know when you don't say what's really going on?"

"You shouldn't need to know! I asked for backup-the only thing you're good for is backup and you couldn't even do that right!"

......yeah, alright, there's no getting around it. Dick is going to have to take that personally.

Dick deliberately turns away from Tim. He rinses out his teacup so the porcelain won't stain. Then, he takes a long, centering breath, and decides to do something he hasn't done in a long time.

"That how you really feel, Tim?" One more out.

"Yes."

Dick decides to cut his losses.

"Okay then."

"Okay?" Tim asks. Clearly still angry but now confused as well. It's a bad look for him. "This is not an 'okay' kind of situation."

"Not from your angle," Dick says. It's the only reply Tim gets before Dick makes his way upstairs.

Last time he left Gotham at dawn, Dick had nothing but a backpack and stolen emergency cash. This time, Dick is a grown man and a lot less desperate, not to mention a lot less injured, so he digs out his civilian suitcase and actually plans out what he wants to take.

He packs jackets, pajamas, shaving razors, plenty of socks- the kinds of things that are only expensive when purchased by the Wayne Estate, and that he won't buy for himself. All shoes go in a beach bag he has stashed in his closet, except for his loafers which go in the bottom of the dress bag with his most tolerable black tie suit. That had annoyed him last time, he remembers- Alfred had always been so militantly insistent on perfect tailoring that the baggy fit of Dick's off-the-rack replacement had been an unbearable insult to injury.

Other personal affects get tucked in the suitcase with care, bits and bobs, odds and ends, and he zips up everything just as the clock hits 4:00. Even the most workaholic bats should be in bed by now, or at least upstairs, so he should be good for a pop down.

Dick has a Nightwing stash on the edge of the city, and he'll get most of his kit from there, but his costume and his current favorite pair of escrima sticks are going with him now, neatly folded into a briefcase. Dick also nabs a keyring on his way out of Bruce's office.

The car keys used to stay in the garage with their respective vehicles, but one too many joyrides had prompted Bruce to hoard all the keys in a desk drawer instead. The first time Dick had seen them under the monogrammed stationary Bruce never uses, he'd laughed out loud.

It pains Dick to leave his bike behind, but even though Dick doesn't have a lot of luggage, it's still too much for a motorcycle. He'd considered which car to take carefully; no flashy sports car, obviously, but also not one that Bruce is particularly fond of. He needs a car for practical reasons, not spite, so Dick settles on the least ostentatious Audi and tries to think of anything else he might want in the next five-to-ten years.

Dick takes the box of chamomile tea bags.

__________

Donna opens her apartment door on the fourth knock. The look on her face is superficially friendly that Dick's proud of her- of course, she smiles for real when she registers just who it is at her door. Dick finds himself smiling back before he decides to.

"Hey, Donna. Mind if I crash here for a minute?"

Donna raises a curious eyebrow, and Dick bites his lips to keep from grinning. Donna ushers him inside without a word, locks her door, and all but pushes Dick into a bar stool. Donna sits herself up on her counter in front of him and demands eye contact.

"When you say a minute, do you mean a New York minute?"

Dick slides his eyes away and toward her couch. "I mean a lot of minutes. I'm cutting Gotham off."

"AAAA!" Donna picks him up and spins him in the air for several more turns than he thinks this really warrants. Then Donna sets them on the floor just to twirl Dick around even more, and he giggles. Part amusement, mostly relief; Donna wouldn't be so excited if he'd come at a bad time.

"Was the scream of delight necessary?" He asks, still laughing.

"Entirely," she says, mock serious. "This is a delightful day."

Donna sobers a bit at her own words. She eyes him more thoroughly, "It is a delightful day, yes?"

He knows that Donna knows he wouldn't decide to cut contact for no reason, that's not the real question. The answer to her question, which is 'are you reeling from what it was', is thankfully 'no'. Not today.

"Yeah," Dick says honestly. "Peachy, even."

Donna smiles at him.

She deposits him back at her kitchen counter, declares she's going to make real breakfast- apparently she's been breaking her fast with fruit jerky all week- and starts grilling Dick the same time she starts frying up sfakianopita.

"So which straw broke the camel's back?"

"My brother implied I'm mildly useless and I took offense."

"Only 'mildly' useless convinced you to get out of hell? I'm not complaining, but that doesn't sound like you."

Dick bites down the instinctive urge to deflect, to push her away. Donna wouldn't care even if Tim insulting him had been his only grievance. Donna is happy to have him here.

"Nah, it was more of a... death of a thousand cuts kind of thing. Yesterday was a bad night, and I thought about it some- which, you know how that usually goes- I thought about it, and I'm tired of not taking any of it personally. Even if they don't mean it, I don't want to put up with it. Then Tim comes in with an unmistakably personal attack and...."

"And you made the best decision."

Dick's mouth twitches up. "They wouldn't call it that."

"They have terrible decision making skills."

Donna starts stacking the sfakianopita on two plates.

"That's not true, they just don't always pay attention."

"Who does these days?" Donna gripes.

"You," Dick says.

Donna turns toward him, one hand on her hip, one hand pointing her spatula at Dick's face. "You don't make it easy, Dick."

Dick shrugs emphatically. "What can I say? I was born difficult."

"Not difficult," Donna shakes her head. "Just challenging."

"And you like a challenge?" Dick grins.

Donna bops him on the shoulder with the spatula. "Get it right, Dick. I love a challenge."

Well, doesn't that make Dick feel warm and cozy? Donna smirks at him like she's won something (she has and they both know it) and turns to root through her fridge for cheese. Dick gets out of his seat to find the honey while she does.

__________

Dick crashes on Donna's couch for exactly nine days before she tells him they're getting a new place together. Dick tells Donna that he always intended on getting his own space- a misstep, since Donna argues that's exactly why they should get a new apartment. A two bedroom, where Dick can have more privacy.

"I don't want to impose, Donna."

"Have you ever considered what I want?"

Dick sighs. "What do you want, Don?"

"I want company. It's been a lonely year, D. I enjoy when my friends impose."

There's not much he can say to argue that. Isolating himself never leads Dick anywhere good, anyway.

Between apartment hunting and catching up, Donna and Dick fight supervillains. New York City never lacks for things to do- smugglers to send packing, wannabe world conqueror to thwart, assholes to kick in the face. Dick had honestly forgotten how fun it is to patrol during the day.

He adds some some gold back into his costume. Dick's surprised by how much he likes it- it was his idea, yet when he catches glimpses of blue and gold and black all blurring together in high rise windows, beside Donna's sea of stars, Dick feels more like himself than he has in long, long time.

He starts picking up a lot of dropped habits. He makes dinner; real dinner, like Madam Vasilyev used to make on the train's little stove, and like he would sometimes make for the Titans for family team dinners. It's so much easier to make things when it isn't for him alone. Donna is happy to let him, having no great love of cooking herself, and always supportive of non-cape hobbies.

She's full of surprises, though. Dick had tried to teach all of his friends at least one or two meals they could make from scratch themselves, just in case. He hadn't thought about whether any of it had been retained, though, not now, so many years removed. Not until Donna one day bestows upon him a pot of chicken paprikash and he almost cries.

It's delicious. Just like his parents used to make, whenever they could find a grocer who sold paprika. Just like he taught Donna to make it in the Tower an entire lifetime ago.

"Did I get it right?"

"Did you make it with love?"

"Of course."

"Then you got it perfectly right."

Other than dinner, he starts gardening. Nothing serious, but the new apartment has a couple of windows, so Dick plants a window box full of herbs.

He plants cilantro first. The seeds were on sale at the hardware store, so the whole box was just cilantro, for a while. Donna buys live basil from a grocer she likes, so one of the cilantros gets pawned off to a neighbor, and their pasta sauces taste awesome.

It's not the most exciting hobby, but it gets him out of bed on Bad Days.

Those days, it's hard to do anything at all. It hits him, when the clouds are just the wrong color, that he and Bruce are on the outs again. He hates being on the outs with Bruce, hates that it means another bond between them has snapped. Makes him catastrophize about whether or not this is finally the fence that can't be mended.

At least it's not nearly as bad as it was Before. Dick hadn't understood, back then, what Bruce's problem was. Now that he's older he knows Bruce had never had to let someone walk away before- even with Talia, B had been the one to walk away first- and took Dick's bid for independence badly as a result.

He'd swung by Gotham exactly once for Jason, and stole the kid away to Tower at every opportunity. He'd made sure Jase was present in Dick's space the way Dick was no longer welcome in Bruce's.

He'd gone back to Gotham exactly one other time, after Bruce held Jason's funeral without so much a ping on Dick's pager. All that accomplished was losing Dick his house key. Until Tim barged in.

Donna and Dick were winding down for the night, enjoying a nice bottle of wine and a shared bowl of plantain chips, when Dick makes another decision.

"Donna."

"Dick." She tosses a chip in the air so she can catch it in her mouth.

"I've had an epiphany." He swirls the wine in his glass playfully. Donna leans forward in her chair.

"Do tell."

"Every time I don't want to talk to Bruce, he finds a new stray child to bring home. And I always go, because what I am supposed to do? Not keep an eye on them? But Bruce has a billion orphans-"

Donna snorts. "A billion?"

"Okay, fine, half a dozen orphan children roosting in his house full of ghosts, and it's probably inevitable that there will be another and you know what, sister?" He drains the rest of his wine glass while she stares at him.

Donna seems to consider him, or maybe she zones out, but after a moment she similarly liberates her glass of its wine.

"Lay it on me, Robin."

"I'm not going back this time. Not until someone actually apologizes, not if there's a new bat, not if there's another secret baby, not for any of that bullshit. Tim's as old as I was when Tim first came around, so he can deal with it. Or Cass. Or Babs. Or Bruce can keep his act together for longer than two weeks at a time I don't care. I won't be lured back for family drama. Not this time."

Dick stops to breathe. A mistake, really, as it's the perfect opportunity for stinging anxiety to start buzzing under every inch of his skin. He's an idiot. What a stupid thing to say, what a stupid idea to even have-

Donna is in front of Dick. When did she get out of her chair?

"Richard John Grayson."

"Donna Hinckley Stacy Troy."

I've come to a decision, too. Tell me if it's a good one."

Then she pulls him into a hug. Dick swallows heavily and lets himself be held, for a while.

"Good decision?" Donna asks.

"I think so," he says. He wraps his arms around Donna, reciprocating- God, how long has it been since he's had a reciprocal relationship? Donna squeezes and he throws the thought out of his mind. The awful pull against his insides has subsided, so now he's just warm and loose.

"Donna, do you like my decision?"

"I really really do."

__________

When they were still in Donna's old apartment, various Gothamites tried to contact him. A lot of voicemails are angry and accusing. He listens to them once just in case and deletes them right after. He gets texts from Tim that he knows are meant as olive branches, but they're all offers of joint patrols, or going over case files together, or similar Mission oriented activities.

It's hard to turn him down, especially since he knows Tim won't understand. It's easier to ignore Bruce's messages, sparse as they are, demanding explanations.

Cass had broken into Donna's apartment. Donna had been out with a friend she met in her photography club, doing yoga maybe? Dick had been making egg fried rice for lunch when a wild Bat appeared.

Dick had smiled politely, which seemed to confuse her. Dick had offered to share his lunch, which seemed to make her feel better.

They’d eaten in silence for a while, Cass occasionally staring hard at him while Dick waited for her to make the first move; exactly how Dick would treat a hungry kid he didn’t know. You never know what will spook a stranger, after all.

Bowls empty, Dick had gone to pick hers up to wash when she caught his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to wash up after our lunch.”

Cass squints at him, exaggerating her expression to make sure he gets her memo.

“You know what I mean. Don’t pretend.”

“I’m not pretending to do the dishes,” he answers calmly, blandly.

“Stop pretending you don’t know me!”

“What would you prefer I do?”

“Go home.”

“No.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she’d expected him to say. She’d expected pushback, for certain, but flat refusal, nothing else? An unwelcome miscalculation.

“Why not?”

“At the moment, I won’t feel at home in Gotham. As far as I’m concerned I’m at home right now.”

“Liar,” she’d hissed. Dick was watching, tho, and saw the confusion in her stance. Her eyes told her he wasn’t lying at all. Deliberately on Dick’s part, not entirely truthful, yet not entirely manufactured- the apartment may not be special to him, but Donna always will be.

“I have no reason to go to Gotham right now.”

“Your team is there.”

“I’m not on Team Bat at the moment.”

“You can’t quit-“

“Cassandra. My roommate will be home soon. I suggest you leave now, if you have nothing to say on your own behalf.”

It’s a low blow to call her a messenger, to write her off as nothing but a mouthpiece for Bruce or Tim or maybe even Damian. Dick wouldn’t feel bad about it if they weren’t close, so he won’t feel bad about it now; she’s the one who didn’t want partner, Dick’s just respecting her wishes.

Cass stares and keeps staring so long he’s worried she’ll refuse to leave, but then they both heard footsteps in the hall, and by the time Dick turns back toward her she’d already gone.

The next morning, Dick had a new message from Bruce. It was an email, that time, instead of a text, which more than anything actually written lets Dick know Bruce has caught on to what’s happened. What is still happening. The email begins ‘Mr. Grayson-Wayne’ and Dick doesn’t read a single word further.

__________

Wally visits the new apartment shortly after they move in. Apparently, Nightwing being in town again has caught the interest of an opinion columnist or two, and Wally had wanted to see him with his own eyes.

“You’re hanging out with people again!”

“I never stopped,” Dick protests. “We see each other once a month, Wally.”

“Scheduled visits- ugh, it’s like you were in prison, and I only got to see you during your time in the yard.” All of this is dramatically declared as Wally flops on their couch, taking up space and definitely bothering the neighbors.

It should annoy Dick. It should at least hurt his ego. Instead, it makes him bloom into a smile, and throw himself onto the couch next to his friend.

“Donna and I have been having a great time without you,” he teases. “We could have an even better time with you, if you’re up for it.”

“Dickie, I thought you’d never ask.”

The Flash joins Dick and Donna for a fight every now and then, patrolling as often as work and Central City will allow. It’s good- it’s really, really good.

“Why did we disband?”

“Because we grew up?”

“Terrible decision.”

“Adulthood is overrated.”

“I don’t know, I certainly wouldn’t want to be a teenager again, would you?”

“Nah.” “NO!”

Wally looks away from the conversation he started, and his eyes find the window box. “Hey Ds, is that a garden?”

“It’s mine,” Dick says. “Right now it’s just cilantro and basil. I’m open to suggestions.”

Wally gives him a once over, looks again at the plants, then changes the subject. The next time Wally comes over he’s holding a pot of chives.

A couple of months later, there’s a siren hiding out in the Harbor. It kicks Dick’s ass and Donna almost drowns. It occurs to them that they are idiots, and that they should’ve called Garth. Garth, thankfully, both answers his communicator and has time for them, so they get to watch Tempest absolutely destroy the siren.

Afterward, they go for pizza. They ask Garth if he would want to come around more often maybe, just because?

Garth smiles brighter than the moon.

The first time they stop a supervillain downtown together, it’s all the papers will talk about the next day. Someone got an excellent picture of all four of them in action. Flash is about to pounce, so he’s still enough to see. He’s tagged in with Donna, distracting the giant rat monster from the air so Flash can trip it into the river. On the bank, left of center in the photo, Tempest and Nightwing and are on standby. Garth will drench the awful thing, all fifteen stories of it, once it’s close enough to the water, and Nightwing will fry the thing with all the electricity his sticks have got.

They work together smoothly, and they cheer when they win, and the papers all ask, ‘Titans Back Together?’

After a while of mulling it over, they unanimously decide to answer ‘yes’.

Listen I love the ‘dicks being ostracized from his family and self destructs’ trope in fics however

I would like an inverse just once (I could write it but I want this fic to be good so I can enjoy it and I am not the greatest writer) where everyone blows up at him and flat out lays into him and he just goes… okay… if that’s how you feel?

Takes himself off of the patrol routes and rosters. He’s off the emergency calls and his ‘call for city wide emergency’ has been down graded to ‘call for world wide emergency’ he’s no longer on comms with oracle

He stops offering assistance to the other kids teams, doesn’t send info for investigation and doesn’t go within 100feet of Gotham.

Takes himself off the den-mother, baby sitter, trainer for all the younger teams lost that involve any and all bats

In the beginning he vacates his apartment and temporarily moves in with Donna in New York and things are good because of course they are. They’re Dick and Donna a world doesn’t exist where they aren’t okay.

And then his presence in New York leads to a lot of the og core five titans interacting and they realize that they miss each other like hell and start to work together more and more. Until news sites are like ‘teen titans grown up??’ ‘Original titans spotted doing hurricane aid in Florida!’

Because Dick loves his family but he knows when to bow out. And he chose the family he made in the new teen titans.

And then one day one of the bats track him down in nyc and breaks into what is now Dick and Donna’s apartment and are ready to argue that they need him back and need him there for a huge Gotham wide event.

And Dick says ‘sure okay let me get my stuff and we leave in half and hour’ as soon as the first sentence is out

No convincing or begging or asking for money (cough Jason cough)

Dick is patched into their comms and he’s working efficiently except he’s not… acting like himself.

He’s collaborating with whoever they tell him too, no problem, he’s discussing ideal plans and co-ops and teams and how to best get it under control.

But he’s talking to them the way he talks when he’s offering aid to teams he’s not a part of.

Like the hero version of an acquaintance and no one can call him out on it because he’s doing good work. Work that’s on par with his work before this whole fiasco. He explicitly isn’t letting their personal issues affect his work.

He’s speaking but not talking

And Bruce remembers this… he’s probably the only one who does because last time he was the only one included. The last time Dick acted like this is when he first visited Jason and him after he had been fired.

Whenever Bruce was in the room and Dick was forced to speak with him, the conversation never strayed past business casual especially around Jason.

Batman and Nightwing got into screaming matches

Bruce and Dick were strangers

And now they’re back to this, 7 kids later, a million ends of the world stopped, they’ve bled together, cried together and clung to each other in pure relief after they managed to clutch victory.

And Nightwing was treating Batman Inc like a new team stepping onto the scene.

Once they’ve secured everything and managed to keep Bruce from self destructing and making it worse. Dick just leaves and tells oracle that he’ll send over his debrief in 3-5 business days and it was nice working with them.

And then he’s gone

No cave, no manor, no Alfred, no med-bay because Dick doesn’t stay places he’s not welcome.

And after they all talk about that and how weird it was and Bruce reveals Dick did this before when he was Nightwing after Bruce fired, where Dick Grayson didn’t know Bruce Wayne.

And one of the kids asks when he broke and stopped the act and Bruce just says ‘the day he found out Jason died’

And the Batkids kinda freak bc what do you mean?? What is he only going to come back when someone dies? Thats not? There has to be another way?? And Bruce is like yeah no idea sorry (bc he’s helpful like that)

So then Steph the next day resolves to go visit him, Tim isn’t the only professional stalker. And she finds Dick and Donna’s apartment and well it’s daylight and she’s in civvies she’s if she climbs in through the window she might get reported to the NYPD and she doesn’t wanna get arrested or shot to door it is!

And so she goes and knocks and Dick opens the door and just lights up

Something something this is such a nice surprise something something it’s so good to see you.

Dick had taught Donna how to make some of his mother recipes when they were kids. So now whenever they’re together for a long time they cook together.

So Dick who is usually living in a cluttered apartment with no clean dishes and an exclusively grab and go food is now trying to force feed her some of his cooking.

Because he picked up the habit again since he’s the better cook between him and Donna.

And it’s delicious and he wants to catch up and hear everything that’s going on in her life, is she working with new people, dating anyone? How is her relationship with her mother etc etc.

It’s a nice day and she stays late and never confronts him on anything until she sees how long ago the sun set and she needs to get moving.

He hands her paper with his number and makes her promise not to give it to the others or she will lose access to it, he offers to help her on a conditional basis as nightwing but only her, she can call him about the rest if it’s an end of the world or they’re near death and need immediate aid.

And that’s like the fic because the key to winning nightwings assistance is like breathing (optional) but if you’re Dicks family you have to care or else. He’ll love you and help you, when you need it but he won’t tie his life up with yours, he’ll spend his time with people who value his opinion and the person behind the mask.

Anyway cue all the Batkids trying to do what Steph did and fail because they’re neurotic shits who think bonding involves doing casework together or a steak out.

(The next person to crack it is Damian, completely unintentionally he has a fight with Bruce and can’t ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to solve this equation in the new stupid way they’re teaching him no he can’t use the old method they’re supposed to show their work so he pulls up to Dick and Donna’s in a ratty ass hoodie like plz wtf do you mean you work top down explain Grayson- and dicks like awww no problem kid)

[nkyslover]

` ` RED LIGHTS AND STOP SIGNS!

somehow, gojo satoru seems to not see the lights turn red, and crashes his car into yours. how blind can somebody be!? the car was right from the showroom too, maybe he'll be willing to pay compensation? wait, wait! don't get your hopes up! he'll probably flirt his way out of it...

content warnings! — slight nsfw suggestions, satoru being clumsy and a complete flirt, reader has a temper, sarcastic satoru, lowkey an enemies to lovers! this is filled with fluff btw, idk this is triggering plz lmk if it is guys!!

mara's notes! — guys first fic, sorry if its a little short☹️☹️, thank u to mark pookie @wizzarabl with helping with finding prompts and inspo!! GO CHECK HIM OUT GUYS!! hope u alllllll enjoy this! requests are open <3.

skrrrrrt!

your eyes widen, and your flung a little forward in your seat as a loud gasp escapes your glossy pink lips. your frozen as your car stops its shaking.

did somebody just hit my car!?

your hand flies to the seat belt, opening it as you rush to open the car door and step out of the now damaged car. "are you kidding me..." you manage to mutter as your heels click on the rough pebble of the road, you manoeuvre sound the car.

a gasp louder than the first fills the air as you eye the damaged contents.

okay, it wasn't that bad, but it wasn't even okay either!

maybe you were a tad bit dramatic.

you hear the sound of another car door opening, shoes hitting the rough ground of the road. your head whips to the side, and your eyes flicker to a person stumbling over, barely standing upright.

the white haired man stands, his height very intimidating considering the fact that he stood atleast more than 6 inches higher from you.

the most infuriating thing was how insanely pretty he was.

he hit your car!? are you sure it was him?

he looked... not upset. totally like he didn't just smash your car that you were driving back from the showroom.

"are you blind!?" you exclaim. ouch, maybe that was a little too loud. "it was a red light, and you were going at 40!"

he blinks, before he cocks his head to the side, failing to keep a grin off his face.

"sorry sweetheart, couldn't see." obviously he couldn't see, who wears sunglasses in winter!? "your joking.. i just bought this car!" you complain, a frown painting your lips. "literally." you mumble, shoulders slumping as you eye the damage made.

his sharp gaze flickers to the car, and he cocks an eyebrow. "oops." he speaks, voice smooth as he moves forward to stand beside you. "well, i'm sure a little work would patch this baby back up."

"its a car, not a toy."

"no shit." a scoff leaves your mouth at his bluntness. "i want compensation for this." you speak up, you felt like you were gonna explode.

he blinks, head turning to look down at you, a smile forming on his face. "compensation?" the air suddenly felt hotter, uh oh.

your head shoots to the side, gaze locking with his. "huh— yeah, compensation. its either compensation or i swear to god, i will report you, and get your licence taken off you—" that's if he has one...

"calm down, princess. i dunno, what type of compensation ya' wanting?"

it clicked. the gears in your head turned, he meant something else. or he thought what you said had a whole different meaning.

"excuse me?" your jaw drops. "cash, cash would be preferable." you cut him off before he can speak, quickly suggesting (or rather telling, or maybe demanding—) what you actually meant.

"cash?"

"cash."

"can i get your number first?" your brows furrow. "my number?" "it's for the compensation." he smiles, but anyone would know he's up to no good. your quiet, as if thinking about it.

before you know it, he's saved you down in his contacts.

"oh, by the way... is there a way i can pay the compensation without the cash? y'know, a date would be preferable."

[unknownmoonchild]

You know, I was thinking about how we joke around that if Ekko hadn't scammed Jayce then nothing bad wouldn't have happened and such but if you really think about it, Silco was coming for Vander either way, he was already working on Shimmer before the kids were even in Piltover. The only thing that would change was that Sevika and Co. probably wouldn't have turned against Vander because there were no Enforcers harassing people thus no reason to think Vander was weak.

That means the kidnapping, wouldn't have happened outside Benzo's, most likely it would've happened at the Last Drop which means everyone there would've been likely to get kill, included Sevika.

Vander gets kidnapped and the kids go bust them out, then it does look like they have the opportunity to escape (right before Powder exploded everyone) but there's no guarantee they would have gone too far with Deckard on the chase, this is the first time they come face to face with Shimmer.

Meaning Vander probably would've sacrificed himself to save the kids.

They are alive and together and Powder keeps being Powder, but Vander still dies and Silco still spreads shimmer everywhere.

And then there's the other side of the coin, Hextech. The explosion creates Hextech, if Jayce hadn't been judged for the explosion, Viktor wouldn't have heard about Jayce's research (because it looks like Jayce had no intention to share), so then he wouldn't have help him figure the things out. Who knows if Jayce alone could've eventually come to the same solution.

Granted, Hextech advanced more quickly than the Shimmer did, but for a period of time Silco would actually have something to threaten Piltover with even if Jayce figured it out on his own.

And then you have more obvious things like Grayson wouldn't have die or Caitlyn and Vi wouldn't have met at least the way they did.

And that brings me to another point, if Grayson doesn't die, then Silco doesn't have the sheriff on his pocket, that means he didn't have the way to supply the Shimmer (or whatever it was they were doing when the firelights attacked the ship) to whoever he did, so maybe he would've have been caught sooner or maybe not.

Don't mind me I'm just rambling lmao can it be Saturday already?

[gingacat]

ok so.... i made a completely new character that is twisted from Glut the Shark

name: Iara Ketos

birthday: July 17 (Cancer)

age: 18

height: 195 cm

homeland: Coral Sea

grade: Junior

class: E

club: Soccer club

best subject: Flight

hobbies: Handicraft

pet peeves: People running from her

favorite food: Her mom's food

least favorite food: None

talent: Unintentionally slandering people

nicknames: Mademoiselle Requin (Rook) maybe I'll think of a better nickname later

Personality

Iara loves making new friends, she's sociable and friendly, and always gets excited to meet new people or talk to them, but tries her best to do so in a chill way.

As a kid, she used to be very hyper and extreme about everything, so when she tried to approach people, they always felt overwhelmed by all of her energy and avoided or ran from her. Not only they felt overwhelmed, but she's always been a person who's easy to misunderstand. If she's really happy, she talks very fast with a lot of energy and might seem like she's angry or aggressive.

This made Iara very self-conscious, so she's been trying to learn how to control herself and not be so hyper about everything, toning all of her energy down. She's been trying really hard to be chill, and it's kind of working, but she's not happy with that, after all, she's not been true to herself.

Iara doesn't measure her kindness, but she's also a people pleaser and the kind of person that goes with the flow. She tends to be very considerate of other people's feelings, which means that even if she disagrees with something, she might agree just because it'll make them happy.

This leads to funny situations because, while she always tries to be nice, there are sometimes when she either says something worded in a very bad way that ends up sounding like an insult, or her inner thoughts escape out loud and she proceeds to accidentally slander people when just one second ago she was praising them.

Despite that, Iara wants to love people and to be loved back, not in a romantic way, she just wants genuine, real friends, people she can count on, and who can count on her too.

Sadly enough, not only because of her appearance (she's hella tall, so people are intimidated) but also because she's toning down her personality so much, she still hasn't had much success in making friends. Also, NRC might not be the best place for that...

Background

Iara had a happy childhood inside of her home. Her family was composed of her mother, father, three younger siblings and two older siblings.

Iara was the middle child, which means that she could get jealous of not only her older siblings, but also the younger ones too. Still, it was fun growing up with them, everyone would sometimes fight, but would also take care of each other.

Of course Iara would expect everyone from outside of her home to be as nice as her siblings, but she quickly realized that she was wrong. In fact, people were scared of her. When she first went to school, not only the other children were scared of her, but the teachers were too.

She's a shark-mer after all. No matter how sweet sharks can be, their reputation of being murderous and aggressive monsters will always speak louder.

Still, she tried to make friends. The moment she opened her mouth to smile to another kid, the kid started to cry. (lmao poor Iara) Iara immediately closed her mouth, confused but also sad.

Still, Iara didn't give up. But if it wasn't her smile that would turn people off, it was her crazy amount of energy. She had so much energy that she couldn't stay still, so her behavior always annoyed all of her teachers. If she wasn't annoying them, she was annoying the other kids, because she was simply overwhelming to them and no one could keep up with her. If she talked, she would talk too much and just not stop, for example.

Her strength was also a bother to people. She was a walking disaster who would accidentally break everything she touched, simply because she didn't know how to control her strength. When she tried to play with other kids, she would always accidentally hurt them — and this was the last thing she ever wanted, but she did it so many times that everyone assumed she was doing it on purpose.

Over time, Iara grew up to be fond of handicraft. She just likes making handmade things, it's something that helps to pass the time and helps her improve her management of strength. She feels very proud of the little trinkets she makes.

In order to find inspiration to make new handmade things, Iara would always wander around the Sea to see if she could find the things that would fall from the mainland above. She is a curious person and always loved discovering new things.

One day, she found Prince Rielle, who was also looking for trinkets that are dropped from above. Of course Iara knew who he was, but still didn't care about his status and wanted to befriend him. After all, he looked really nice and they both seemed to share the same interest.

But she ended up getting too excited and Rielle just got scared of her and ran away. Iara didn't even think anything about it, she was like "well he's a Prince, of course he doesn't want to mix with people from lower classes". But then she got sad lmao.

Still, Iara never gave up on trying to improve herself and stay positive, working hard on her flaws to be someone better.

Unique Magic

Pierce your Heart

Iara, with much ease, can break anything, literally anything, being it hard like metal or soft like a marshmallow, even diamonds, with her teeth, and without hurting herself. If she bites a person while casting this spell, well it won't be pretty...

Some other info

Iara loves soccer. The moment she got legs and feet she was like "I CAN KICK STUFF????" and got super excited. SHE LOVES RUNNING AND LOVES KICKING STUFF!!!

She quickly became very good at soccer and, surprisingly enough, a lot of people joined the club after they saw how great she was, because she inspired them (and also incited everyone's competitive spirit).

Are these people her friends? No, they just want to compete against her. But she appreciates their presence.

Flight classes are also something that she loves. She finds it so dope to like... fly??? On a broom, but still fly. And she probably loves doing crazy tricks with the broom while flying (she probably fell in front of everyone a shitton of times, but she doesn't care).

While she definitely doesn't have the best scores out of all students from Octavinelle, Iara is carrying them when the subject is P.E.

The only thing she's scared of at school is receiving a ball on her face, since her nose is pretty sensitive.

Iara has a heightened sensitivity to smells, and sometimes some thoughts can escape out loud and she ends up saying things like "yeah, but you should brush your teeth ASAP" or "i can tell what you had for lunch, it doesn't smell pleasant" or even "your perfume is cheap" without even realizing. She feels so horrible after this, though.

People get really mad at her insults, but they don't really do anything about it because 1 - they're scared of her, and 2 - she's huge and could win from them in a fight.

Also, Iara can get mad and very angry, but she represses all of her anger, since she's aware she's scary enough for being a shark-mer, so she doesn't want to act aggressive. She often cries in her room when she feels emotionally overwhelmed, because she just... can't express her anger or any negative feelings/thoughts.

She's just a huge girl who's trying her best to not cause harm to anyone.

Iara LOVES her siblings and parents, and loves meeting them, since with her family she can always be herself. She can be aggressive, because they are aggressive too and don't mind it. She can be angry, sad, energetic, playful, shout however she wants and show all of her sides and she'll be loved by them — they are the same as her, after all.

Iara's voice claim: Wakana Shiki from Love Live (though Iara's voice sounds a lot more energetic when she is with her family).

Iara is bigender and doesn't mind being referred to as a guy or when others use he/him to refer to her. Most characters use male pronouns to refer to Iara (including the Octatrio, they refer to her as a "that guy") and some don't even know that she's biologically a girl. When she speaks tho, people get really confused because of her voice.

[blackwomeninstarwars]

#i am still in awe of the fact that leslye headland pulled out every incorrect equation time and time again yet still ended up w/#an incredibly compelling and interesting and exciting (for me at least) end result despite having all these fucked up insights along the wa#she gave us force ivf lesbians and the chosen one but as twins and sadder and then she said 'actually no they're not gay sorry'#MA'AM YOU ARE A LESBIAN#she gave us a father figure who loved his daughter so much. who was so selfish w/ that love that he destroyed her with it#she gave us a man who wished he was the hero while also knowing he's the villain. ARGUABLY ONE OF THE MOST INTRIGUING IDEAS EVER#and then she turned around and said 'yeah so sol is actually sexist against osha and steals her agency by letting her kill him'#WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT#IN WHAT WORLD. IS SOL A SEXIST.#she gave us a really interesting take on the 'jedi turned sith' character. goofy conniving hot sad down bad etc etc.#i think qimir is a multifaceted and excellent villain and i want more of him because of his complexity#and then she turned his LITERAL MASSACRE OF INNOCENT JEDI + OSHA MURDERING IN COLD BLOOD into a moment of triumph???#I THOUGHT THE POINT OF THE FINALE WAS THAT. IT'S SAD THAT OSHA FELL SO FAR. BC EVERYTHING HAS PUSHED HER OVER THE EDGE#I THOUGHT THE POINT WAS THAT SHE DESERVED JUSTICE BUT NO ONE GAVE IT TO HER SO SHE TOOK IT IN THE WORST WAY POSSIBLE#LIKE. IT'S A TRAGEDY BC SHE LOST HERSELF ALONG THE WAY. BC OF SOL. BC OF QIMIR. BC OF MAE EVEN. (?)#IT'S NOT A TRAGEDY BC HER REYLO MOMENT DOESN'T LAST. LESYLE HEADLAND WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU#watching the finale for me didn't feel like a moment of triumph it felt like osha had been manipulated into it & was accepting her fate#bc every time qimir has reached out for her w/ tenderness affection etc she's either neutral to it or ignores it. like....#idk i've read the entire season as her being totally uninterested but qimir being way too interested.#the fact that they filmed a series finale kiss absolutely blows my mind bc. in what world. is osha letting him kiss her.#i'm sorry i just don't see it. i see it from qimir's perspective/ his own desires but i don't see osha wanting that#she just lost her sister + killed her dad and now she's going off to smooch???? whack (@slutcoded-mandogirl)

Osha joining the Dark Side was a triumphant moment.

The writer of the Acylote said that is how we're supposed to feel:

"You want to feel Osha’s triumph. You want to feel her joining forces with The Stranger...Even though they are standing there, looking out at the sunset, ready to conquer the world, the tragedy is we know they don’t."

Note: the tragedy is NOT that a lot of people died, but that the two can't be together (because of Plagueis). (interview here)

Now, if that doesnt absolve villains of their bullshit, I dont know what does.

Let me try inserting some other fictional baddies.

"You want to feel Walter White's triumph. You want to feel him joining forces with the Nazis......Even though they are standing there, looking out at the desert, ready to conquer the world, the tragedy is we know they don’t."

"You want to feel the Frey's triumph. You want to feel them joining forces with the Boltons. ...Even though they are standing there, looking out over the Red Wedding, ready to conquer the world, the tragedy is we know they don’t."

"You want to feel Anakin's triumph. You want to feel him joining forces with Palpatine. ...Even though they are standing there, looking out at the burning Jedi temple, ready to conquer the world, the tragedy is we know they don’t."

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym AU Wip (Part 20)

After they went through the whole aquarium twice, Zoro’s stomach started to grumble. Sanji looked at him almost angry.

“Why didn't you say that you’re hungry?”

“I’m not that hungry, Curly.”

“I can hear that!”

Sanji took his hand and dragged him behind toward the restaurant at the top of the aquarium.

“Seriously, I’m not that hungry. We can go another round if you want.”

“No! Your stomach grumbled, so you are hungry and I won't let anyone I know and care about walk around like that!”

Zoro shut his mouth and stared at the back of Sanji’s head. He knew that reaction and he instantly felt bad for him.

“Sorry…”

“What?” Sanji turned slightly but didn't stop walking.

“I said sorry. Next time, I’ll tell you. I didn't want to make you mad or something.”

Sanji looked at him as if he had seen a ghost. Then his gaze softened and he shook his head.

“I’m not mad…I…just don't like it when someone is starving, that’s all.”

Zoro nodded, brushing his thumb over Sanji’s hand. He wanted to ask, wanted to know why Sanji was reacting like that. Part of him already knew…or at least had an idea why. Starving…actually starving was horrible. He went a few days without food when he was a kid and it was the worst! But this was neither the time nor the place to ask such a question and so he dropped it - or rather put it in the box with the other questions he wanted to ask but didn't dare yet.

Shortly after this little conversation, they reached the lift but it was out of order. Sanji cursed and kicked against the wall.

“You good?” Zoro asked, watching him.

“Yeah…I just hoped we could take the lift and don’t have to walk up the stairs. The elevator is made of glass and you can see some of the aquariums through it and on the other side you can watch the city. It’s really cool…”

Zoro smiled at him because Sanji almost looked like a pouting kid.

“Maybe next time?” He asked and watched Sanji’s face light up.

“Next time? So…you want to go on a date again?”

Zoro chuckled, brushing a hand through Sanji’s hair as he walked over to the stairs.

“Wasn’t that obvious?”

“N…not for me.”

„You think I would still be here if I didn’t like our date so far?“

Sanji scratched the back of his neck.

„Guess not…“

Zoro opened the door to the stairs.

„Let‘s get some food, Cook.“

It took them the better half of twenty minutes to walk all the way up to the restaurant. Sanji picked a seat at a table in front of the big window wall. A waitress came over immediately and handed them menus. The woman was clearly drawn toward Zoro, smiling and trying to flirt with him. Sanji raised an eyebrow - either Zoro was that oblivious or he simply ignored her advances. It was quite funny so see. Sanji had to hold back his own flirting with the woman - he was on a date with a handsome man, he couldn't flirt even if he really, really wanted to!

“She’s nice,” Zoro said when the waitress finally walked away to give them time to look at the menu.

Sanji snorted and shook his head.

“So you are that oblivious.”

“Huh?”

Zoro looked a bit puzzled.

“She was full on flirting with you, mossbrain.”

“She wasn't…”

“Yes! She was! Oh my god, you really didn't notice?”

Zoro made a noise that could have meant anything and raised his shoulders. He glanced at the menu and then at Sanji, before placing it down.

“Do you already know what you want?” Sanji asked surprised.

“No.”

Confused, Sanji raised an eyebrow again.

“So…what? You're not eating? Did this make you uncomfortable? Should we got somewhere different?”

“Calm down, Curly. I just want to see what you eat and if I would like that, too. I’m not good at picking food in places I wasn't before.”

“Why didn't you say something? We could have gone somewhere you know!”

Sanji wanted to punch himself and Zoro at that moment. Why didn't he say something? And why didn't he think about that? Zoro mentioned something like this a while ago, so he should have remembered.

“I can see the panic filling your head. It’s fine.”

“I mean…I could order for you, if you want. I know your preferences and taste...We talked a lot about it at the gym.”

Zoro looked a bit surprised, but then smiled wide and nodded. Sanji sent him a quick smile as well and looked over the menu. He knew how much Zoro could eat, so he chose more than one meal - sort of a three-course meal.

They started with fish soup with a wide variety of fish in it, followed by fried rice with pork, eggs, vegetables, and a salad. Sanji also ordered a variety of Sushi, because he knew Zoro loved it but didn't eat it often (he had told him once at the gym) and topped it off with a big fruity ice cream for Sanji and a piece of delicious coffee cake for Zoro. Sanji also ordered wine to go with the food. Zoro hesitated for a moment, but then drank one glass to make Sanji smile. One was okay; he could handle more without feeling the need to drown himself in liquor again.

The meal was great, they chatted for what felt like hours. Sanji had a great time and so did Zoro. When it was time for the check, Zoro tried to insist that he would pay. But Sanji was having none of it!

“The hell I let you pay, Mossbrain! Firstly we agreed that I pay for the foot. Secondly I would have chosen different meals if you would pay.”

“Why” Zoro raised an eyebrow.

“Because those where expensive and I don't want you to pay so much money because I chose the meal.”

“If it's that expensive, then let's split the bill at least.”

Sanji shook his head and got his wallet out. He wouldn't allow Zoro to spend his hard-earned money on food he didn't even choose himself. Sanji had wanted to be a bit fancy and to spoil Zoro for the great day, so he didn't hold back. It didn't even hurt his bank account to spend this much money, it wasn't his own in the beginning.

He waved Zoro off as he tried to give him money while he paid their food and gave the lovely waitress a generous tip. A winning smile on his face when Zoro carved in and put the money away.

“You know I come to think you let me win the argument earlier to pay for the tickets, because you knew the food would be expensive,” Zoro muttered when the stepped out of the aquarium.

“I wouldn't do that, Mosshead. You won the argument fair and square.”

Sanji grinned at him, his hands innocently crossed behind his back. Zoro scoffed with an eye roll.

“Yeah, you would never do that.”

They both laughed. Encouraged by their laughter and the feeling of being save and accepted, Sanji hugged Zoro.

“Thank you,” he mumbled against his ear.

Zoro didn't move at first, and Sanji thought it was too much. Maybe he didn't want to be hugged? Maybe he didn't want to be seen like this in public? But as Sanji loosened his hug to step away, Zoro’s arms came up to hold him tight.

“You don't have to thank me for today, Curly.”

“Yes, I have! It was such a wonderful day. I haven't had that much fun in a very long time.”

Zoro felt his heart clench from Sanji’s words. They were just at the aquarium! Yes, it was great and they had fun - it was a perfect and lovely first date - but what was Sanji doing all this time if this made him say such things?

“Then we should do this more often.” Zoro pushed him away a bit, to look him in the eyes with a smile.

“You would listen to me talk about the same fish, spilling the same facts about them again?” Sanji grinned, but his eyes were full of disbelief.

“All the time.”

And now Zoro acted simply because he got encouraged by the moment. He grabbed Sanji’s face carefully, feeling him stiffen a bit. A smile played on his lips as he pressed them against Sanji’s forehead for a second. He hadn't forgotten his words, that he wasn't ready to kiss him. But he felt the need to show Sanji how much he liked him and forehead kisses were always nice, right? At least he hoped so…

“Was that okay? I’m sorry if not…I got a little overwhelmed…” Zoro asked when Sanji didn't say something - his guts seemed to form a knot because he feared he’d fucked up.

Finally Sanji smiled up at him and his guts unwind with relief.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Great actually. I like forehead kisses.”

Zoro smiled back while they slowly let go of each other.

“Now I have to find my bike again,” he said, scratching his head.

“I totally forgot about that! You can't drive!” Sanji said loudly, grabbing his shoulder.

A bit confused, Zoro looked over to him.

“Why not?”

“Because,” and now he practically shoved a scolding finger against Zoro’s cheek. “You had three glasses of wine. I’m not letting you drive around on a bike with that much alcohol in your system. It’s dangerous enough to drive a bike completely sober.”

Zoro laughed while mentally counting the glasses. Yeah, three were right. That was fine. Five or six, and he would rip his own ass off. But three?

“My alcohol tolerance is a lot higher than that, believe me.”

And those words seemed to flip a switch inside Sanji’s head. He clasped a hand over his mouth while looking like he’d seen a ghost.

“Oh fuck,” came the muffled curse.

“What?”

“I forgot! Fuck…I’m so sorry! I completely forgot you don't drink! Why didn't you say something? You should have…”

“It’s fine.” Zoro dismissed his words with a wave of his hand.

“It’s not! You need to tell me when I forget about things like this! Do you need something? Like…I don't know…like…”

Zoro could see the panic flooding Sanji’s brain in that moment.

“Curls…”

Zoro grabbed Sanji’s shoulders to force him to snap out of his rant and look at him.

“It’s fine. I can handle that much, okay? I would have told you if I wasn't one hundred percent sure I could handle it. It’s not your responsibility to watch out for what I drink. I need to stop myself if I’m feeling like it gets too much.”

Sanji shook his head slightly and Zoro braced himself for an argument, but all he did was grab his hands and look him in the eye.

“I still need you to tell me when I forget about things like this. I don't want to push your limits or for you to push them just to ease my mind, okay? Can we agree on that?”

“Sure. But then I need something from you, too.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

“Another hug,” Zoro grinned.

Sanji rolled his eyes and hugged him tight. After some time, Zoro felt him poking his side and squirmed a bit - he was ticklish there.

“I hope you realize I won’t let you drive either way.”

Prev/next

First part

[flonbowe]

OK SO AS IT TURNS OUT THERE MAY BE A BIT MORE TO SAY, SO UHHH HERES THINGS I MAY HAVE MISSED AND OR I JUST WANNA COVER MORE

AS ALWAYS, MAJOR BROTHERSHIP SPOILERS, ESPECIALLY RELATED TO ZOKKET

You have been warned

SO NUMBER 1: The Glohm Rays

Im just actually slow on this one my bad In the scene I got those Reclusa screenshots explaining who he is and stuff, it literally says he feeds off of negative energy. The Glohm Rays make people feel negative so Reclusa can feed. Zokket didn't just make the rays just because he's a hater, there was a reason for that too. That being said, how do we make up this void of evidence now? By showing off what I think is the ONLY time Zokket looks happy. This screenshot right here.

Zokket, doesn't smile so the fact that his eyes here are curved in such a way, while he talks about getting more Glohm to "Spur on the revival", while his plans are working out Me personally I think works just as well to show his sadism. (Btw this was from one of the expiring side quests, the one with Connie and Arc trying to get Chilliam's father to go to the wedding) NUMBER 2: Cozette and Reclusa I FEEL LIKE I'VE DOWNPLAYED COZETTE'S ROLE IN ALL OF THIS FAR TOO MUCH Like yes, Zokket and Reclusa are cool, but yknow who's body Zokket is piloting around? Who had to be manipulated and weakened by Reclusa into being a puppet body for Zokket? Who has to live with the knowledge of committing atrocities because she was taken advantage of? Cozette, Cozette, Cozette. Through out most flashbacks involving Connie and Cozette, there seems to be a very interesting consistency. half of the time, she's standing alone, and the other half of the time she's just following Connie around.

Her whole job as a Wattanist is to take care of the Unitree, a monolith to the bonds of Concordia. Its the most important job in all of Concordia, it keeps the world together, there is a lot of pressure on the shoulders of a Wattanist, pressure we see Connie feel through out the whole game, and how she keeps thinking of her mentor, Cozette. Her wonderful, capable mentor, Cozette. That however, doesn't mean Cozette didn't feel those feelings either. In fact, aside from Connie and the Bros once she's freed from Zokket, we don't see her interact with anyone else. This, alongside Cozette standing alone, and all that pressure, creates a very sad reality: Cozette feels alone. The pressure of her job, with everyone looking up to her, its a lonely feeling. She's the one who keeps the world together in a sense, and that pressure clearly gets to her, as seen by this line from her side quest.

This feeling, this despair, is something she doesn't want anyone else to feel or shoulder, especially Connie. She in the flashbacks makes sure Connie knows the importance of bonds, not just since she too will be a Wattanist, but because she loves her, and wants to make sure she feels loved, that she doesn't end up feeling like herself; Alone And that's exactly what Reclusa preyed upon. That's the weakness that let his powers corrupt her, Loneliness is what she feels, Loneliness is what she knows, and bonds haven't done anything for her, so Loneliness is Sublime. Reclusa is a monster, yes, but especially to Cozette. Reclusa took her weakness, and forced it to his benefit. Reclusa transformed Colette's despair and weaponized it by having Zokket control her, by buttering her up for his favorite play thing to take her body, her mind, the sacred knowledge of the Lighthouses, the Unitree, Concordia as a whole, and use that knowledge to try and destroy it all. This also creates an interesting dynamic with Zokket and Cozette, both are incredibly lonely, and potentially jealous of bonds, but Cozette has one thing Zokket doesn't: Someone to care for. Cozette, has Connie. Cozette is lonely, but not enough to harm others. Its a cycle of abuse. Reclusa takes his fury out on Zokket, Zokket takes his fury out on Cozette and the rest of Concordia, but Cozette, despite all of it, still chooses to love Concordia and Connie. Cozette and Zokket both looked into the abyss, but when it looked back. Zokket blinked. NUMBER 3: Ten SPEAKING OF THIS CYCLE OF ABUSE, THE EXTENSION CORPS! MORE SPECIFICALLY, TEN Becuase this twink has such an interesting hidden detail that really changed how I looked at his arc specifically, and his relationship with Zokket. In the Extension Corps's home base on Slippenglide, you can find logs from Ten, and they paint a very interesting picture of him.

Ten already mentions wanting to be in charge when we corner him, but this here expands on that. It shows a disparity between Ten and he rest of the Corps, with him not being as close as you would initially think. He's more selfish here, wanting to be the center, the focus of attention (he has a poster literally hung up of himself) He's the only corps member with a Solo boss fight He's the only corps member who actively Glohms people himself, almost Glohming Bowser if Zokket didn't stop him to go even further. He gets fussy when Ecks messes up his name, but Ecks doesn't when Ten does it back during the Sharpcask encounter. And with the comment about getting a war chest to fund his takeover, its implied he might have wanted to take over from Zokket, or just be in charge before Zokket came along. Its unclear when these logs were written HOWEVER It's not that simple either. The Corps (as shown earlier), still refer to Zokket as Master even when he’s long gone and assumed to be a fake person. The Corps get sad when Zokket misnames them, because they care for him. Not just as their boss, but out of some sort of genuine care for him. The Corps want him to remember them, they want to do good serving him, they want his validation, his praise. They work for him not because they agree with his end goal (no one but Shun even knew what that was either), but because they like the guy! It’s also for a more selfish reason, yes, they do just want his praise for them, but still, this is a core part of them that even gets filled by the time they realize they have bonds.

Especially for Ten

Ten's ambition, his need to be the big boss and be strong, seems to be out of a need to be seen, to be known, to not feel like nothing. This nothing gets filled once he realizes just how important Ecks and Shun are to him, becoming a pride for the Extension Corps, instead of just himself. It also results in their redemption But to think, if he didn't get this realization. If he had stuck more on his War Chest idea, if he had betrayed Zokket, he would of ironically become more like him than he realized. Throwing away his need for bonds and connections, and becoming all the crueler because of it. This again also furthers that cycle of abuse theme, Zokket abusing the Corps and Cozette specifically, with Ten being this close to perpetuating that cycle. (Its also kinda a unique spin on Fawful's arc, what if becoming the big boss wasn't what he wanted at all, but was a cover up for something deeper, but that's besides the point) ANYWAYS YEAH THATS ALL FOR NOW. Im not gonna say I have nothing more to say, there's prolly some other details im not aware of that make even more interesting revelations, but for now that's all I can think of. I LOVE THE EXTENSION CORPS, I LOVE ZOKKET, I LOVE COZETTE, I LOVE RECLUSA, I LOVE THIS GAME

MAJOR BROTHERSHIP SPOILERS, ESPECIALLY RELATED TO ZOKKET!

You have been warned

So they’re like, a toxic relationship right?/hj

OK JOKING ASIDE These two are very interesting to me, and since we've known about Zokket longer, I'll be talking about him first in this thread of reblogs and posts

Zokket

So to get the elephant out of the room, I earnestly don’t believe he is just Cozette brainwashed

Like Aside from small details like the body shape being larger than she is, Zokket's voice sounding very much so different in not just the voice bleps, but in his actual grunts and noises (Especially so before his boss fight), there's things like Zokket's personality, behavior, hell he's even flat out referred to as a separate person a couple times.

Cozette after being freed only ever mentions being under Reclusa's control, and putting on a mask to become Zokket. A mask that breaks once Zokket is beaten.

The way Zokket is defeated, the way the Glohn energy flees off of Cozette's body, coupled with the fact it was specifically a mask Cozette said she donned to become Zokket, tells me outright that Zokket isn't exactly brainwashing, but instead a type of spirit or possession used to carry out Recluse's will. Now All this to say Zokket is his own person, and a very interesting person. Unlike most other Mario characters, he's a very flat character. Intentionally so don't get me wrong, that's the point. He's focused more on numbers than people. He doesn't "misremember" names, he actively doesn't care. His first proper scene is him misnaming the Extension Corps multiple times, with him getting more aggravated the more they try to correct him. He visits Shipshape a couple times through out the game, and most of those visits usually end with him mocking the idea of having connections and overall being very bitter. He's a cold cold man, and even during his boss fight he revels in making the bros hurt each other. There's also some interesting extra details via hidden logs from Cozette while being possessed, and Zokket writing his plans through her body. Quoting from those logs "The egg says its name is Reclusa. Yes, it told me its name, and that makes sense. The egg speaks directly to my brain. The egg has also shared this important truth. Loneliness is sublime . The egg only SEEMS not to move. But it definitely speaks in my brain. I now know my only calling: the resurrection of Reclusa. Loneliness is sublime . All connections will be severed. Reclusa will rule a new era of isolation. Once I have completed my task, I, too, will know the bliss of isolation. Loneliness is sublime . Approximately 284 hours, 56 minutes, and 29 seconds until the resurrection. "Beyond the Glohmatic Ray" "I have distilled the isolate energy from Spite Bulbs. That will be the source for Glohm. I can then focus and amplify it through the Great Lighthouses..." "The So-Called Extension Corps." " I met these buffoons on Slippenglide Island and employed them as generals over my army. They are intensely incompetent but loyal. Do they seek glory, or are simply afraid? They will be superfluous after the rebirth. I will need some means to dispose of them" "Building an Army" "My soldiers, my hands in the wide world, are simply junk repurposed and rebuilt. I gave them language so they might cooperate., but it is absurd to see these junk piles speak. I cannot imagine a place for them in the new world after he is reborn. They will suffer. They may rebel and become ungovernable. No matter--they are ephemeral things." after Recluse was revived, Zokket intended to torture the Zok Troops, his minions, of which HE created. Zokket doesn't just hate bonds, but seems to actively wants to break them. He strayed from his goal of reviving Reclusa by using some of the Glohm to make handheld rays to make people miserable and hate each other, instead of just using the Lighthouses for Reclusa. He threatens the Corps when the revival is almost complete, which would have come to fruition anyway had they succeeded. Zokket seems to fully understand bonds, and despises them. He's not apathetic, he's actively resentful... Except For Reclusa Excluding voice clips, the only time he laughs, is here.

His only use of positive language, and its when he's dying, where he should be at his lowest. Instead, he gets excited, happy, happy to see his Great Inspiration finally return to this world. For a man who hates bonds, he seems to have a great deal of care for his master. A master he was willing to die for, who he was destroyed for. Not even Connie, who he can't forget because of Cozette's lingering consciousness, all Zokket can muster for her is remembering her name, unlike Reclusa. So Who is Zokket? Zokket is a very cruel, bitter person. He's distant and calculating, planning and very exact, very precise ways to revive his master. But he's also sadistic, planning misery for anyone and everyone involved in his plans, for the goal of isolating the world for his master, Reclusa. a master, who he has a deep level of fondness for, the only person he actively shows happiness towards, a person who he spends his alone time with, his purpose, his great inspiration. That's Zokket (At least, my thoughts as to who Zokket is)

[meandmypagancrew]

In My Gif Era - Journey to Fearless

↪ Teardrops On My Guitar

she'd better hold him tight, give him all her love

look in those beautiful eyes and know she's lucky 'cause

he's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar

the only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star

he's the song in the car i keep singing, don't know why i do

[burningcomputerpersona]

ahhhhhhhh guess who made the mistake of getting a haircut

[ot3]

Out of curiosity, it okay to ask what you thought of Good Omens season 1 or do I need to come back with a warrant?

Honestly my thoughts on good omens season one are incredibly uncomplicated. I watched it when it first came out and remember almost nothing about it. It was fine inoffensive television that did not do anything to either compel me or bother me enough to take up permanent residence in my brain. I have no critiques for it but I have no praises either.

[simptasia]

mum and i were almost not able to buy our house because a real estate lawyer heard us casually say i'm autistic and alarm bells went off in her head, because she believed that meant i wasn't mentally capable of understanding what i was signing up for

[the-golden-ghost]

I started 2023 thinking it was going to be My Year and then it utterly sucked ass for the entire thing and I got nothing accomplished that I wanted to.

In spite of that I still feel kind of hopeful for 2024?

[beeseverywhen]

I mean like. Not to bring the mood down but... you guys know that's because American media is everywhere right? Like the world is unable to avoid some version of American accent on a regular basis. Of course ppl find it easy to mimic. This is absolutely not restricted to ppl in the UK, its really common for ppl who learn English as a foreign language to have perfect 'American actor' accents (cause the reason everyone's so good at the American accent that's expected of them as actors is cause at large there's little distinction between regions in the 'Hollywood accent' that ends up on TV and films and stuff. You guys have massive regional differences in pronounceation, but what makes it on to TV (in 9/10 cases) is a very standardised version of American English.)

But yeah. It's not just actors lol. Most British ppl can speak in a passable american accent, as can loads and loads of people worldwide. I'm not saying this to be like 'you should feel guilty! 😡' but it does always stun me when Americans are unaware of the impact their country has worldwide on all versions of English (and even on use of native languages. Many countries are using English more and more over their native languages and dialects , and yeah, historical colonialism has had an impact there.)

But in the last few decades things have progressed way way faster and that, is thanks to the impact of anglo/american/ect lead capitalism. I'm in no way dismissing the impact the UK has on this, but in recent years, its the US that is largely pushing that train .While the UK and several English speaking commonwealth countries are very involved in this kind of capitalist imperialism, there's a reason that more and more people are speaking American English. Not one of the many UK dialects, not Australian English, or NZ English. Across the world more and more people are increasingly speaking in the same standardised american dialect that's in so much of the media you export. Hollywood based media, with that standardised accent/ dialect and the standardised 'normal american life', has a stranglehold on the world and I just find it crazy that a lot of you guys don't even know.

It's stupid stuff like. So many countries are importing american cars and are widening their roads/ changing town planning to account for it (this is less of a thing in the UK but I see it more and more when I travel). Its the food becoming avaliable everywhere. Its the influence that for profit healthcare has even on countries with socialised health systems. Its houses being built to account for American style appliances. Fashion trends. Worldwide, everything is slowly evolving to be closer and closer to this 'American standard' which honestly? I really don't think actually represents the lives of real American people either. You've been turned in to products, the system has taken an unrealistic snapshot of 'American life' and it's being sold to you all day in day out, but it's also being sold to the rest of us. It's being pushed on us all.

Kids in the UK go through phases of talking only in American accents. Anyone born later than the 90s is carrying round 2 sets of spelling and vocab, cause we're all so used to the American way, that you barely know which one you're using half of the time. In the UK we have always had really strong regional accents yeah, and dialects differ between areas that seem tiny to you guys, I know. But like. Those dialects are being lost cause all UK accents are evolving to become closer to this standardised american and yeah not great, but at least we share a language! US American society is largely rooted in the same foundations as UK society, largely we have the same flaws! But oh my god. What about the rest of the world.

It's global. This impact continues to be seen, steamrollering ahead, in places that had completely different starting points. UK culture isn't that dissimilar to that of the US, so we aren't losing nearly as much as cultures that had something completely different. So much is being lost.

Languages and dialects and everything else is just being wallpapered over so we all meet the same ideal of the 'American life' and it's not even real! It's just a product based on how ppl were actually living in the US, manipulated until it's the most marketable mould. You guys are victims of it as well but like. It's based on your culture so you don't lose as much if you conform to it. Just like how in the UK, if we conform, we lose more than US, but nowhere near as much as countries that had languages, dialects and cultures that were so so different to UK/US culture. The less like the US, your starting point, the more there is to lose.

And look. I said it to start with. I'm not having a go. That's not what this is. But you guys really need to be aware, you need to make an effort to understand the impact that this plastic Hollywood american culture is having on the rest of the world. You need to actively look for it, and make an effort to not pay in to it. Because when Americans see other cultures represented in media and say its not relatable, when you guys go on holiday and make no effort to learn local customs, and try and pay in dollars and spend your time abroad like you're still in America, when you see cultural differences and immediately argue that the American way is better and of course everyone should have giant cars and never dry laundry outdoors and live in American style homes, without any kind of critical thought. Just 'this is how we do it so why wouldn't everyone else do it this way. This is the only way. The American way is obviously best.' When you guys do that you are individually feeding in to this absolute bulldozing of cultures (including American ones!) to allow for better marketability.

It isn't any one individual American citizens fault that things are the way they are, and you guys are victims of the same system, but you need to have some self awareness when it comes to the fact that as individuals you are unknowingly, helping driving this forwards and as individuals, there are things you can do to limit your personal impact (and no arguing that you have no culture is not it!!! Being all self deprecating doesn't do shit. Take some responsibility and accept that individual Americans didn't create this system, but currently, individual Americans really are doing their bit to keep promoting it, to keep pushing it on the rest of the world.

And I've already rambled for an age so I'll stop here but I just want to make clear as an ending note here, that this really isn't about piling on Americans and being all 'boo it's all America's fault. They should apologise. Their culture isn't worth anything.' Not at all this is the opposite of that. The fact that millions of Americans have been convinced you have no culture, all while a mimicry of American culture is plastered on to the rest of the world, and while you as individuals are encouraged to help that happen, often without even realising what you're doing; is a crime. You've been wronged, as have we all.

And America is not the problem. The problem is imperialism and it didn't start with you guys. It started in Europe, and Europeans, particularly British ppl, have a responsibility to push back and be self aware, take some fucking responsibility and not inadvertently keep feeding in to that system, just as you guys do. The US didn't start the fire, imperialist capitalism is a fire that started burning long before the United States was even considered, but its on all of us, to do what we can to not feed that fire. And right now? You guys are the face of it.

This idea of what America is, is the face of imperialistic capitalism, and that means that even if you don't mean to, you guys are feeding that fire more so than the rest of us. You're responsible for spreading it, more so than the rest of us. And if you don't step up and take responsibility, accept that you're gonna get it wrong sometimes and you need to try to do better; if we don't all do that. There will be nothing left. They'll paper over it all, the lives of real Americans just as much as those in Scotland and India and the Netherlands, and 100 other cultures, that are at risk, thanks to this fire, that's currently, largely coming from America.

So yeah. It's absolutely not just on you guys and ppl who act like there's no racism or wealth divide in Europe or anywhere else for that matter are complete idiots, however, this Americanisation of the world (and I hesitate to call it that. Because its not a representation of real American lives. Its simply wearing an American face.) Its real. It's happening.

And we don't tell you about it to make you feel guilty (those of us who aren't dicks at least) ,we are telling you. We are kicking up a fuss. Because it isn't fair. It's not right and while individual Americans ignore that and refuse to take responsibility where they can (small apples. We aren't asking for you to call a violent revolution in our names. Just take some time to learn about the rest of the world. Stop assuming America is always right and examine your biases. When you find them. Stop personally pushing them.) , while that is happening, as individuals, you are contributing to this. It's not even altruism. This system is hurting Americans too. It's hurting us all. All we ask is that you do what you can to not personally contribute, and keep an open mind, be aware. That's all any of us can do.

when a british actor does an american accent everyone’s like “i didn’t even know they were british until they were on colbert.” but when americans do a british accent everyone’s like “they’re supposed to be from east cocksford but their glottal e’s are north dicksford. shameful.”

[dekuneho]

reason ☆ ( thirdyear!katsuki x reader ) suggestive — your boyfriend breaks up with you, and katsuki doesn’t waste opportunities

The first fact Class 1-A learns about you is that you have a boyfriend.

Well — had. And now you’re third years, and it’s safe to say that you should’ve broken up long ago.

You had him since middle school, but they never met him. Your dynamic shifted from the perfect picture of high school sweethearts to something more toxic since you got into UA — 1-A, no less. Yuusei didn’t pass the UA exams and called you insensitive for asking him to come meet your ‘fancy hero friends’ while he was from some low-profile school, and back when you had sympathy for him, it was difficult to be peeved at his blatant jealousy. He had a compelling, teary face.

“That’s called manipulative,” Sero says.

“He was really insecure,” you confess. Not that it makes it any better. He was manipulative because he was insecure — but that wasn’t all. He’d been that way long ago. There was a different turning point.

Kirishima gives a gentle, understanding pat on the back. “We were busy enough as it is. But now we’re about to graduate; of course you started thinking more about your future.”

“And you got the perfect ending — a future without him!” Ashido cheers to that. You take a long, long, victorious sip.

Right. After your breakup, you phoned Ashido about it, unaware that she was out with the rest of your friends, but it wasn’t like you were on speaker. Ashido gasped and shrieked, and the rest continued in her apartment, bottles of fancy wine that probably came from Bakugou lined up on the table.

Bakugou had been silent the entire time, sitting on the far edge of the couch across yours. You didn’t even think he’d come along. He’d always been coldly indifferent when it came to anything related to Yuusei. He doesn’t offer a single word; you expected him to call you stupid for dragging it this long when you entered the room. He just stared, ruby tracing your every step.

“So? What made you snap?” Kaminari asks, nestling into the cushion beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulder. You feel like a prey as Bakugou’s gaze holds on Kaminari’s arm for a moment too long. “What shit did he pull this time?”

Bakugou had been the reason for your breakup, and it almost feels like he knows exactly that.

Yuusei despised him. Bakugou is the physical embodiment of everything Yuusei failed to be, and you were friends with him. It really didn’t help that Bakugou has an ego and can back it up; Yuusei didn't have either.

Yuusei was in a heated argument with a classmate, and you got irritated by his voice drowning out even your music at the loudest volume. So you got up, buried your feet in your outside shoes, and glanced back.

“Hey, I’m going out.”

Yuusei was already having an awful day, and came the bottled-up aggression that made him spit in seething venom: “What, don’t tell me you’re going out to fuck Bakugou behind my back again?”

You paused from where you had been tugging your jacket sleeves up your arms. And then, unadulterated fury. The rest is history.

But that’s embarrassing to admit to your friends. They’d ask why Yuusei would even bring Bakugou up — why he is even a recurring argument in your relationship. It wasn’t just Yuusei that was the problem. Somewhere buried deep that Yuusei could feel was your shame, the one that knew Yuusei wasn’t just threatened by Bakugou because of one thing.

“He was having a bad day,” you say instead, and the mendacious excuse slips so easily. Back then, you thought it was because you needed to defend Yuusei; now, it was because you feared them also knowing the truth. “And I realized I just couldn’t — uh, anymore.”

“Yeah,” Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Ashido agree together.

Bakugou finally shifts from where he’d been unmoving, ducking down to fill his glass. “‘least you learned your fucking lesson.” His gaze flicks up; the intensity makes you feel so shameful. It coils in your gut. “Forget the losers who can’t handle themselves. Go for the best.”

Coming from him. Is he flirting? This has to be flirting, right? Every word he says feels so charged, blatant with intent.

“Whoa, fresh on the market and you’re already saying that? Give it a few months, at least,” Kaminari laughs, followed by some, but you and Bakugou aren’t laughing. You’re stuck in this weird staring competition — looking away feels like admitting defeat. Feels like you’d straight up confess that yes, it’s you! You’re the fucking reason why!

“Yeah,” you mutter, though you’re not sure if it’s in response to Kaminari or Bakugou’s. You drag on another sip but feel as sober as a judge. You feel like you’d need ten more before you could even deal with whatever shit Bakugou is pulling.

“Cheer up, baby,” Mina coos. “You know you’re a catch. Yuusei will know exactly what he lost.”

“I don’t care about him anymore,” you say, which is the complete truth. “I’m getting shitfaced because I feel like I’m about to make a very bad decision.”

“Um?” Kirishima voices worriedly. “Do we need to take you somewhere?”

Bakugou stands abruptly, jingling his car keys in between his fingers. “Come on.”

“Are you drunk?” he asks before you can even pretend to open your front door.

“I only smell like it, but I really am too clear-headed for this,” you swear.

The moment he pins you to the wall and buries his mouth into yours, you know you are gone. This is what Yuusei had been fearing, what you’d been hiding — and fuck, it feels so good. He kisses like he’s starving like he’s been holding back for as long as you are. The shame comes spilling out soon after.

“I just got broken up with,” you say in a futile attempt to ease your guilt. “Hey — Katsuki, do you even—”

“I know what I’m doin’,” he says, mouthing over where your jaw and neck meet. "I know you want me."

“God, this is so fucked up,” you say, trailing off in a whine that really says a lot about you. “I’m an asshole. You’re really good at kissing — Katsuki—”

“Try three years of patience and tell me again what’s more fucked up,” Katsuki rasps, breath searing a mark on your skin, inciting a shudder that came down from your toes to your dizzy head.

“You were waiting for Yuusei and me to break up?”

“I get what I want.” Katsuki pauses, his eyes flicking up, arresting yours for a breath. “And he was a dick. Was bettin’ since year one.”

You curl a strand of his untamed hair, unwittingly charmed. “Sorry for making you wait.”

He responds by capturing your lips in a kiss, prying your mouth open with his, licking in, biting, pulling, grinding, and —

Katsuki softens his hold on your hips, pushing off. “Hey.”

You pant. Wow, you think, lightheaded, you don’t think you’d ever been kissed that well. “Hey,” you exhale over his mouth.

Katsuki bears his forehead heavily down on yours. “This isn’t some one-night stand rebound bullshit, you hear me? I didn’t wait three years just to get my dick wet — we’re doin’ this shit, got that?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “You’re the best of all of them, right?”

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

_

edit: the full fic xx