#he also doesn’t run as often. he does still hiss at us on occasion but I personally try

[veganhamsalad]

This is our cat butters. He caught me taking this photo and is giving me the side eye

And our jirty he’s so baby

[plush-rabbit]

LOV Kinks

A/N: Hope you enjoy them!! Also a few mention AFAB but it’s mostly kept gender neutral (some of them im not so keen on but i think it fits more into their character except for like 1 but that’s like a whole ‘nother thing)

Bubaigawara Jin:

Brat Play- Jin is a gentleman with you, but he likes the sense of control that sex gives him. He likes teasing you, towering over you with his large stature. He’ll kiss your lips, order you to get on your knees and when he’s met with a cheeky response and a killer smile, he’ll ask once more. Deny him and  he’s bending you over his lap, bum exposed and smacked until you start to sniffle. He wants to see you cry a bit, to look up at him from your position and act cheeky. 

Katoptronophilia- Sex in front of the mirror is a everything to him. He has you bent over, arms stretched behind your back and he holds your wrists with a single hand. He looks in front of the mirror and admires what he sees. Whether it’s your chest that moves widely or your cock that bobs and drips with arousal, he’s cupping his hands to your chest and twisting at your nipples, bringing you close to his chest and talking absolute filth to you. If you compliment Jin during this time, there’s a high chance he’ll pound into you harder, bite at your shoulder all while you tell him beautiful things about himself. 

Sensory Deprivation- No matter who it is that is being tired, gagged, blind folded- Jin is having the time of his life. If it’s you, he loves to see you nervous. The way your muscles tense when he walks by, how you can tell he’s already so near when his knee makes the bed dip. It’s a feral type of arousal that he gets from it, salivating at the thought of you being terrified, comes about your body and whispers close to your ear about how he’s going to wreck you. If he’s deprived, he’s excited. Sculpted muscles line his body, tense and perfect, you’re able to see every curve and dent and he’s gasping when you touch him. He wants to be drained by the time you’re done with him.

Dabi:

Corruption- Play the dotting role of the lover- cook for him and take care of him, wash his hair and kiss his scars. He falls deeper for you. A sinking pit that wants to drag you down and bury himself inside of you until you’re molded to his shape, ruined for anyone else. Dabi wants to see you cry and think about all the perverted things you do. He stuffs you with his cock and shoves his fingers into your mouth until you’re gagging and crying. He wants to take you and fuck you on a dirty mattress, ruin the sweet mental image of who you are. 

Humiliation- Dabi loves to see you hide yourself behind your palms. He wants to see you whine and deny the filthy words that leave his mouth. He thinks it’s the cutest thing when you start to hiccup and whine about how you aren’t a slut. It’s all in good fun and he knows your tears better than anyone so when you do start to actually cry, he’s apologizing but he’s jerking in the shower about that cute, scrunched up face you made. But, turn the tables on him and he’s creaming. Every single word that cuts at him is soothed over as you call him yours. 

Marking- He doesn’t want to hurt you. At least more than necessary. He likes branding you. It’s usually nothing more than a slight burn that will sting for a bit, your skin flushed and hot. He’ll press himself close to you, kiss at your neck and open his mouth. He lives for leaving you marked- bruises that won’t fade until weeks later, bites that sting and a grip too tight that breaks skin. A soft press of his hand against your hip that leaves you hissing is something that he takes pride in. If you want to mark Dabi as well, he’s eager to let you. The sharp, hesitant bite of your teeth, the way you lap it over with the flat of your tongue is so cute, he’s thrusting deeper into you.

Iguchi Shuichi:

Body Worship- Shuichi has a bit of self-esteem issues given the way he grew up and the organizations that are highly against his type of quirks. Run your hands through his hair, kiss his hands and comment how nice his hands are and tell him how pretty his scales are he’s melting. If he’s being praised- told how gorgeous he is, complimented on his scales during sex, and he’s nothing but putty, slow, sensual sex where he keeps himself close to you, nails scratching down your skin and threatening to rip the soft skin. His compliments towards you are the standard type- being told how pretty you are, how you’re perfect- but as it continues, he starts highly praising you, listing everything that he loves about you while kissing and nipping his ways toward your sex.

Breeding- Due to his quirk, there’s a bit of an animalistic side to him. He’s always close to you during sex, bodies pressed and meshed, legs intertwined and arms wrapped tightly around you but it hardly ever steps into the breeding category unless you mention it to him. There are times where Shuichi can’t help himself, pumping himself into you, head buried into your neck and a hand will curve over your stomach. It’s during this when he’s absolutely filthy- talking about how you’re going to be full of children- eggs that will fill your belly- slimy and completely aroused when he knows that he can smell your ovulation. Perhaps it isn’t the thought of raising children that makes him excited- though he can’t deny that he hasn’t thought about having children with you- but rather the entire aspect of breeding. To see a swollen belly, full breasts, your leaking cunt, the way that he gets to be the only one to have his seed so deep within it and see the dazed look on your face after he orgasms. 

Odaxelagnia- While your teeth might not be strong enough to pierce his skin, he can’t deny the pleasure from it. He can feel the pressure, the way your spit pools onto him in heavy strands that trail down his body. He enjoys it very much. While Shuichi may not be the tamest nor the wildest, he can appreciate a good mark. He was given sharp teeth for a reason. He’ll bite around your body- thighs, stomach, shoulders, and anywhere else he happens to be- and admire the welts that form. During his breeding episodes is when he’s most likely to bite, tearing up and shaking, a faint copper taste in his mouth and then he feels you yank on his hair. It’s a sharp pain and he remains latched onto you, soothing away the pain with his tongue. He loves to see you marked, covering his bite where he can see and a few times where others can see.

Sako Atsuhiro:

Helplessness- Atsuhiro is a gentleman- a bit of a flirt, but a gentleman nonetheless. He’ll always help you, take amazing care of you and give you whatever you need without a second thought. However, during sex he is a different person. He feeds a bit off of your helplessness. He wants to watch you struggle- whether it's roleplay or bondage- he wants to see you twist and turn, bite your lips and be flushed in your face. He thrives on seeing you squirm, the way your legs tense when he runs a gloves hand over you or even the way that you act naïve, begging him for help with doe-eyes. It fuels a bit of his need to be there for you, to give and fulfill your wants while also making sure he is pleased as well.

Impact Play- The marks he leaves never linger for long. He prefers to spank at your bum, to let his hand arch over the fat, let his fingers dance above your sex and see the way that you grip onto the sheets or pillows in fear. He prefers his hand but he isn’t above using a belt or a flogger if you seem up for it. He loves the dark print that it leaves, the way you whine out the numbers that you can barely keep a track of. Atsuhiro would never hurt you, but there’s something about seeing you at his complete mercy, the way that you’ll cry and beg to be good, how you’re sniffling and slowly turning on your back, so careful to not rest against your sore bottom. He likes seeing his print on you, the way you cry and whine, how you’ll bend your legs and hold the back of your knees as he rocks into you. 

Risk- Atsuhiro is a showman. He likes to be the center of attention, to garner everyone’s attention and it shows. His personality is loud, the way he never reveals his face and keeps it behind a mask, and how he prefers letting people know what he’s done rather than keeping to the shadows. And that’s why voyeurism does it for him. He wants the risk of being caught, to have people see your naked body, sex played with his hands so expertly that it should be a crime. He so often wants to see you come undone, to run the risk of having people known what he’s doing to you- late trains are a special occasion when going out with him- sitting on his lap and letting the rumble of the train vibrate and move your body against him. A metal hand reaching to pull at your teats and a soothing voice in your ear to tell you to be quiet, as you struggle not to make a sound behind a closed mouth. There’s a part of him that wants to get caught, to see people’s reaction, to give a performance and show them how good you can look.

Shigaraki Tomura:

Internal Cumshots- Being inside of you bare is already so risky. He’s deep within you, huffing and panting, mindless fucking where your bodies stick together because of sweat. You feel so good- warm and soft, the lewd shucking noises enhanced without the feel of latex. But the real prize comes when he releases inside of you. He knows the risk, but seeing you full with his semen- thick, slow drops oozing out of your abused hole can get him going for another round. He can almost imagine your belly swelling with his seed. The titillating look on your face as he enters you once again is enough to make him ejaculate once more.

Mommy- He has mommy issues. It doesn’t matter whether Tomura is on top or on beneath you, he’s still a submissive when it comes to you. He’s whimpering, begging for you to touch him, all while he paws at your chest, lips kissing feverishly at every inch of your skin until he latches on a breast, the teat in his mouth and he’s humping you like a dog. You could be cuddling, threading your fingers through his hair and calling him a good boy and he’s already erect, fucking you between your thighs and begging for you to touch him. 

Somnophilia- Tomura enjoys coming into your room, watching as you sleep, climbing above you and slowly fondling you until you start to whimper and pant in your sleep.  He watches with wide eyes, pupils dilated, his skin hot and flushed and when he enters you, you’re already stretched. He loves the bit where you start to wake up, eyes blinking away sleep but slowly returning to your slumber. On the same note, he loves waking up to you already touching him, his cock around your hand as you jerk him off, your lips against his unmoving ones, trailing down to kiss at his chest.

[hermannsthumb]

you should totally do something with ksci janitor’s vamp newt it’s so just so good

i sure will! in a vampire mood this weekend. @k-sci-janitor's vampire newt found here. warnings for quick mention of drinking, allusions to sexy stuff, and also the different kind of drinking you'd expect from a vampire fic (tho on the vague side)

-------------------

The circumstances that led Newt down the unwitting path of immortality and general un-dead-ness are, in hindsight, honestly kind of embarrassing. It'd be one thing if he could say it happened in the pursuit of, like, knowledge, like the fierce jellyfish sting scar on his wrist leftover from a research expedition when he was twenty-two or the equally fierce one on his knee received in response to his question (at the age of five) of what would happen if I jumped out of this very tall tree?, or even something unrelated to his extensive biology career, something impressive, y'know, Van Helsing style, something like tracking down some vampire king and barely escaping with his life (un-life?)—not what really happened, which was little more than a bad date. And not even the worst date that Newt's been on, if you can believe it.

Newt was young and stupid then. He still is young and stupid, technically, though the former by appearance only. (Eternally pushing thirty. If he could've picked, he would've done twenty-eight, just before his handful of grey hairs started cropping up. Newt's had almost forty-five years of staring in the mirror at those four fucking grey hairs. He gave up dyeing them around the nineties. Not worth it. Still annoying.) He liked to do what young and stupid people did, like get stupid tattoos, and have a stupid haircut, and get drunk at stupid punk shows and not stumble home until he'd had at least one regrettable hook-up with a stranger and maybe lost his wallet. (The two were often related.) That particular thing was what did him in that night. It was a different time back then, man—if a dude showed even the slightest inkling that he ran in Newt's sort of circle, if you caught his drift, Newt fucking jumped at the chance.

(The band was on their second set of the evening and Newt had already screamed himself hoarse with singing along. He'd ducked outside in a back alleyway for only a second to get some fresh air, the club suddenly too hot and smokey for him to handle, and was just about to go back inside and close out his tab for the night when he realized he wasn't alone. There was someone—he was sure—lurking in the shadows a few feet away. He could hear breathing. He could see—eyes, maybe, in the dim neon light of the bar sign overhead. "Hello?" he'd called.

"Have a light?" the person called back.

They emerged from the shadows, and Newt felt himself relax at once. It was some spooky-looking guy he remembered seeing in the club, leather jacket, boots heavier than Newt's, dark hair and eyeliner. Tall. Newt remembered him, firstly, because he thought he was hot, and secondly, because he swore he caught the guy staring at him at least three times, and to Newt, that was as good as any pick-up line. He was wagging an unlit cigarette at Newt now. He was taller than Newt thought he was back in the bar—much taller, at least a full head on Newt. His eyes were a golden-brown, almost yellow, like a cat's, and Newt found himself unable to tear his own away from them. "L—light?" Newt echoed.

The guy stuck the cigarette in his mouth and arched a perfect eyebrow. Newt didn't smoke, but he did keep a lighter on him for occasions like this. He fumbled through his pockets for it while the guy stepped closer. "I was watching you," he told Newt, while Newt raised the lighter to the cigarette, "in there."

The flame danced and glinted against his eyes. Newt swallowed. "Uh-huh?" he said.

He flicked the lighter shut, leaving them both bathed in nothing but pink neon. A hand slid up against the wall next to Newt's right shoulder. Another plucked at the left lapel of his jacket. Newt was still staring at those eyes. "What's your name?" the guy said, in a puff of cigarette smoke.

"Um." Newt's leather jacket was being pushed off his shoulders. He felt his long hair being tucked to the side of his neck. All at once something seemed in snap in Newt—some reminder of where he was, and what he came here hoping for in the first place. Some hot dude was eyeing Newt up all night long, and now he was actually coming onto Newt, and Newt was about to get laid. He grinned. "Newt," he said. "Just call me that. You were watching me, huh?"

"All night," the guy said.

Newt's jacket hit the ground with a soft thump. A knee was being pushed between his. Newt felt his cheeks heat up a little—he wasn't used to people being this forward with him, and especially not in a semi-public place like this. Usually they at least made a show of offering up their apartment first. "What, um, what for?" he said.

They were kissing. Newt was clinging to the back of his jacket. And then he was kissing Newt's neck, and then he was—

"That kinda hurts," Newt mumbled. "Um, dude, I think your—your fuckin', tongue piercing cut me, or something. It's—"

It was hard to keep his eyes open. His neck felt weird. The guy was into biting, apparently, biting really hard, and yikes, that was going to leave a super embarrassing hickey that Newt would have to explain to his students somehow on Monday, but it also felt really good, like, Newt was maybe getting off kinda good, and Newt thought, dizzily, that he should at least return the favor before he finished up and collapsed in a happy heap on the ground. So he did.

The guy pulled back with a hiss. "Ow. What—?"

Newt tasted something coppery in his mouth, and he panicked and swallowed on instinct. "Oh, shit, dude, I'm sorry," he slurred. His voice sounded like it was a million miles away. "I was trying to be—sexy. Um." There was blood on the guy's chin. He was staring at Newt in something akin to horror. Dark circles were spotting Newt's vision. "I think you cut your lip," he said, and then he passed out.

Newt was alone when he woke up. It was still dark, too. He walked the two miles home, collapsing in bed, fully-clothed, just before dawn, and he didn't wake up again until sunset. He forgot his jacket, but at least he remembered his wallet this time.)

So, anyway, Newt thinks he can be forgiven if he...embellishes stuff a little when, for the first time in his whole long life, he finally spills the details to someone. Also, no way is he admitting the truth to Hermann of all people.

"There were a bunch of murders in the area at the time," he says, while Hermann, angled on his side next to him in bed, watches him raptly. It's kind of weird pillow talk, but their pillow talk rarely isn't weird. Usually Hermann will launch into a critique of Newt's latest pet theory before Newt's even caught his breath. At least he very courteously waited for Newt get a glass of water from the bathroom first this time. "Really brutal ones. Like, throats torn out, blood drained. Really nasty shit. Everyone was saying they were some kinda bizarre wolf pack attacks, but I knew better."

"Of course you did," Hermann says, running his hand down Newt's chest, and Newt can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. (He has a feeling he is.)

"You bet," Newt says. "It took me months of, um, super hard research. Finally I hunted him down to this—" Newt debates the coolest lair possible of a vampire, and then remembers Lost Boys, which, even though he resents it slightly for totally stealing the vampire vibes he was going for, is still a kick-ass movie. "—this weird cave, where he lived. The king of the vampires. I won, obviously, but he fought back, and he managed to infect me just before I hammered the, um, the wooden stake into his heart."

"So courageous," Hermann says. He reaches up and tucks a piece of Newt's long hair back. Hermann being totally cool with the whole vampire thing, and maybe even possibly into the whole vampire thing, is probably the last thing in the world Newt expected from him. They're no strangers to hooking up during long late nights of science, but Newt swears it's gotten more frequent. "You must've been terrified."

"Nah," Newt says, though he remembers the glint of the flame off those yellow eyes, and he shivers. Hermann notices; his eyes, not yellow, but a warm shade of brown that makes Newt feel like he's being wrapped in a blanket, soften. If Newt could still blush, he would. "I'm—um—I'm pretty brave."

Newt hadn't exactly been planning on telling Hermann about the whole thing, but (last week) he had the very unfortunate timing of beginning a late-night dinner just as an oblivious Hermann strolled back into the lab to pick up his forgotten pair of glasses. To his credit, he only freaked out a little when he saw Newt draining a blood bag like a fucking Capri-Sun, and even then (after what felt like ten years of horrible, horrible silence) all he said was "You're the one who's been stealing those from medical?"

Look. Newt hasn't drank from a human being the entirety of his un-life, and he doesn't plan on it any time soon. He's...a vegetarian. Effectively. It's sort of the reason he picked up a medical degree along the way once he got tired of breaking into blood banks. Even if it's still a little ethically dubious to steal blood like that, at least he's not swooping around on unsuspecting people like that—goth asshole who swooped in on him did. (Newt's never managed to find out who he was—he suspects he was some sort of vampire drifter in town that night just to find a victim. And Newt just had to think with his dick at the worst possible time.)

Hermann tucks another strand of Newt's hair back. Newt also did not expect how fast Hermann became cool with the whole thing, but on the other hand, giant aliens are clawing their way out of the ocean on a bi-monthly basis these days. It's hard to be skeptical about most things. ("Well, it does make logical sense," Hermann had said with an eyeroll. "When you consider some of your rather more bizarre quirks, I mean. I ought to have guessed it ages ago. I suppose that's why you have that awful haircut," and that stung, because yeah, Newt hasn't felt like changing it up since the seventies, and why should he, it kinda rules? but he just laughed it off and said, "You're one to fucking talk, dude!") "Newton," Hermann says now, gently, "what actually happened?"

Newt sighs. Hermann always knows when he's lying about shit. "I was making out with a vampire in an alleyway and then he bit me. And—um—I kinda didn't notice at first, 'cause it felt... good."

"Mm," Hermann says. The corner of his mouth twitches up. "That's more along the lines of what I expected. That, or you were hounding him for details like a proper biologist and he got tired of answering your inane questions."

"Very funny," Newt says. "Ha."

Hermann rolls away from him and stretches his arms above his head. Newt watches his throat work as he yawns, swallowing down a sudden lump in his own, and he feels a surge of something hot and—alien—in the pit of his stomach. "Over forty years," Hermann says. He picks up Newt's discarded sweatshirt from the floor and tugs it down over his head. "You must get terrifically lonely."

Newt half-shrugs. "I guess. I'm kinda used to it by now." His dad (who never brought up how Newt's aging seemed to be at a standstill when they saw each other, not once) is long-gone. Newt's tried dating, but no one's ever seemed to be into it as much as he is—and besides, it's not like he could ever do the actual til death do us part thing unless he went against every ethical bone in his body and made someone like him. When the internet became a thing, he considered making a forum or something to find more of his kind, but the thought everyone just being like the guy who accidentally turned him in the first place terrified him and he killed the page before it even left infancy. So, without any better ideas, Newt forged some paperwork and leaned pretty hard into the world of academia to fill up his sad little hole of a heart, resigned himself to casual flings with anyone who seemed interested, and it mostly worked. Mostly. And then the kaiju came along, and then so did... "You make it a little bit better," he confesses.

Hermann lays back down next to him. "I do?" he says.

Newt thinks he sees something like that hot, hungry feeling he felt in his stomach flash behind Hermann's eyes. He nods.

Hermann suddenly kisses Newt, pulling him down on top of him, and then tugs the collar of Newt's stolen sweatshirt down below his collarbone. He drags Newt's hand up to press against his throat. Newt feels the erratic beat of Hermann's pulse beneath his fingertips, his heart pounding against his ribcage (pressed up against Newt's silent one), and he almost moans. "Have you ever...?" Hermann murmurs, gazing up at Newt through his dark eyelashes.

"N—never," Newt stammers. "I told you."

"Do you want to?" Hermann says. Newt tries not to gape. "Just a bit at a time, whenever you need. You wouldn't have to steal those silly blood bags anymore. And—" He hesitates. "I admit I am curious. About the sensation."

"Um," Newt says. "I—"

He feels something sharp poking his lower lip. Fangs. His fangs. Oh, shit, he's never had that happen before. He forces himself off of Hermann before he does something stupid.

"Maybe, um, maybe later?" he squeaks, while Hermann just smiles at him.

[professional-benaddict]

Prince!Peter x Mafia!Tony - oneshot ll

original moodboard & oneshot written by @snowstark

Prince Peter, Mafia boss Tony, forbidden relationships, mentioned gun violence, injury and recovery, whump, Stephen being the good doctor, Peter feeling lonely and misunderstood

Peter had screwed up perfectly. There is no way he could have screwed up more than he did. That is the thing with rock bottom. It can only go upwards from there.

When Peter closes his eyes, he can hear the frantic clicking of the paparazzi’s cameras. Their invasive assumptions and prying questions make his throat close up in panicked embarrassment.

It was not like that. It was not like that at all.

Peter had for a long time despised his royal title and the privileges and burdens it entailed. If you asked him, there were hardly any privileges at all. Only burdens and troubles. Due to his dislike of his role, he had used every opportunity he got to make as much trouble as possible. As a child, he would often sneak into the kitchens and dining rooms to switch the sugars with salt, and vice versa. For a while he also cut many of the strings holding back the heavy curtains in front of the grande windows in the palace. They would then randomly come undone, and one time the undone curtain even made a diplomat’s mother fall over while she was gazing out the window.

Those small catastrophes added up, and rumours started circulating of ghosts haunting the palace. But, most of the staff and the royal family members knew that there was a certain young prince at fault for the seemingly haunting incidents. Now that Peter is older, his tricks have become more psychological and manipulative in nature. Some would call him cunning, others plain stupid, because his tricks involved putting himself in real danger.

At the adventurous and rebellious age of 19, Peter went to a BDSM club for the first time. He had manipulated the new substituting bodyguards to take him there without telling his family. To Peter’s knowledge, no one besides those two guards know of the visit to the BDSM club. That first visit was life changing to Peter, and ever since that day, he hungered for more.

Peter’s full time bodyguards, Steve and Bucky, are not as easy to fool as the substitutes. So, instead of fooling them, Peter gives them full disclosure, letting them know just who he is going to see and where. Naturally, the two men were not pleased, so Peter brought the big guns.

He knew it was a nasty trick, but it was years ago that he decides to ditch playing nice. Just like the rest of his royal family, he is only looking out for himself and he is not afraid to harm others to advance his own interests. And going out to this club to meet a certain someone is his sacred priority now, and Peter went as far as openly threatening to reveal Steve and Bucky’s forbidden romantic relationship to protect his own blossoming relationship at the club.

Perhaps a certain someone’s bad habits and ways of acting is rubbing off on him, Peter thinks. This is quite the step up from sabotaging meals and curtains as a child. However, his threats had earned him a useful deal.

Steve and Bucky will take Peter to the BDSM clubs without saying a word to the other staff nor the family, nor will they speak to anyone who Peter is meeting at the club. To put it mildly, the royal family and the public would be quite horrified to learn that the prince is seeing the most famous mafia boss at a BDSM club.

And so they were. They were horrified to learn that, but Peter is choosing to focus on the comfort of the morphine in his veins rather than all the gossip going on outside the four walls of his room. Steve and Bucky are sometimes on watch duty outside his door, and Peter can practically feel their guilt radiate through the wall. His family have been to see him, of course, but only briefly. Peter pretends to be asleep whenever they come. He can only imagine what they are going to say to him. Or perhaps they will never speak to him. Perhaps that would not be so bad.

Being outside the palace gates is dangerous enough, but being in the same room as a mafia boss only increases that danger. And Peter had sat on Tony’s lap when a rival boss’ minions had shown up with violent intentions. The prince had been hurt in the crossfire, and the incident made it impossible to hide the fact that Peter was in a BDSM club with a mafia boss. Even if he wore a mask to hide his identity, it had to be ripped away when Peter’s life was at risk. Cat’s out of the bag, and there is no forcing it back in.

Peter must have lost consciousness at some point, because suddenly he woke up at the palace and was met with the slightly disappointed but relieved face of Stephen Strange. The surgeon is the chief physician at the palace, and Peter has always seen him as an ally in the prison he calls his palace home. The doctor says it like it is, and the prince wishes he had more people like that around him.

“You scared the shit out of all of us, Your Highness.” Strange had said. Peter quickly lost consciousness after that.

Strange told Peter he had been shot in the abdomen, but luckily the shooter had missed any vital organs and large blood vessels. It still hurt like hell, but that did not stop Peter from trying to get up.

“Your Highness, I really cannot believe you sometimes.”

Both the pain shooting up from his wound and the voice from the doorway make Peter stop in his tracks. He did not get far, just a bit higher up on his bed in fact, but Strange still looks displeased.

“Shud’- shut up.” Peter spits back, hissing in pain as he tries to sit up further.

“Come on, I’ll help you lay down again.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’ll get you more morphine.”

A few minutes later Peter is a bit higher than he was before. A quiet gasp escapes Peter’s open lips, and for a few short seconds the few colours in the bland medical room blend together. The doctor hums approvingly and goes to dispose of the syringe he used to inject the pain medication into Peter’s IV. Then, he returns to his patient’s bedside, watching him carefully. The boy blinks multiple times, and then nods at the doctor that he is ready to lay back down and get comfortable.

“So, who is this guy you met at the BDSM club?”

Peter’s eyes go comically wide at the question. The intrusive question is sobering and Peter fixes his eyes on the doctor.

“You know? How do you know?” Peter asks dumbly.

“Everyone knows now, You Highness. Can you lift your head up a bit for me?”

Peter does as he is told, and thanks the doctor mentally for placing the pillow so perfectly under his head. The prince sinks a bit into the mattress. However, he cannot relax fully. He can feel Strange’s eyes on him, expecting an answer.

“Fuck. Fine, I met Tony.”

“And who’s Tony?”

“Doesn’t everyone know that as well?”

“Well, not what he is to you.”

“And that’s what you’re asking?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Peter’s gaze is still sceptical as he eyes the doctor. Strange has been at the palace even before Peter was born into the buzzing world and his cruel role. Luckily, Peter has not seen Strange frequently. Sometimes he would do Peter’s annual check up, sometimes another palace doctor would do it. On even rarer occasions, Strange or one of his employees would show up at Peter’s room, having heard rumours about the prince coughing or complaining about stomach pains. One time, Strange ordered Peter to stay home from a planned trip abroad due to a strep infection. He had been quite furious with the doctor for that, only to learn that he loved staying home while his family was away. The palace had never been so peaceful. It gave him another glimpse of what life could be like for him.

“... And you’ll just go running to tell everyone else then? Fill in the gaps for them? Hell no.” Peter snaps.

“I won’t tell. I’m just curious.”

“Why? This doesn’t have to do with your work. You just patch me up, is all.”

“No, I’d say it is part of my responsibility.”

“How?”

“He might break your heart. And I don’t want that to happen to you, Your Highness.” Strange says, his voice gentle and caring. The genuineness in his tone catches Peter off guard and makes him realise just how hungry he is for that sort of interest. “So, what’s Tony to you?”

Peter’s eyes burn with tears at all the emotions that the question triggers in him.

“I-I think… I think I’d give up my title.” Peter says quietly. He has to swallow the lump in his throat before continuing. “For him. To be with him.”

[wrestling0neshots]

I Believe You. - Kane

You've known for two weeks about the planned attack on Kane.. the only problem is that you've felt too bad about him not believing your feelings to tell him. Will you be able to save him in time? Or will it be too late?

Requested by the_unkn0wn_writer Originally posted on Archive Of Our Own --------------------------- Guilt. That's what you feel. You should have told him. He deserved to know.

Unfortunately contact with him is limited, you were nervous, too afraid of your own feelings to tell him. And now he's on his was to the ring, unaware of the plans of his enemies. It wasn't often you overheard people's plans, often actively avoiding eavesdropping. In this case you had done it on purpose.

"When you get back I want a full on attack on Kane. He needs to be dealt with for giving you a concussion." You had been shocked hearing it, it was such a rash thing to do over something so small.

In this business a concussion wasn't out of the ordinary, it only took a slight mis-positioning or wrong angle to cause a hit to the head. So to go after someone for just that was frankly rude.

Out of fear you hadn't said anything to them, not when it happened, not last week, and not this week. This had been your last chance to stop them.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, angry with yourself for not having the courage to tell Kane. But how could you? You had been outside his locker room on multiple occasions, ready to knock on the door and notify him of the danger. Yet every time your hand stopped just short of the door, before you could knock.

You know your reasons, being as drawn to someone as you are to Kane really gets the heart beating and sends the nerves through the roof. Well, it doesn't help that last time you spoke to him he denied your feelings. Certainly doesn't make for a good situation.

And so every single time you had stopped. Walked away. Felt worse and worse about it every time.

Now you're here, listening to his theme song. Knowing his demise is coming. Knowing he is going to be attacked. You could have stopped it, you could have done something. You still can.

With a sudden burst of courage you leave the bathroom, breaking into a jog. You're determined to make it in time. You can almost hear a clock ticking in your head, reminding you of every second that passes by. Kane's theme has stopped, an eerie silence having fallen.

It's clear that whomever Kane was supposed to face tonight will not be going to the ring. You hope you're not too late to stop what is about to happen.

Sure enough the second theme starts up. You knew they would be going down next. You're almost there, almost at the gorilla. You can do it, you can still stop them.

You pause as you round the room that sends you to the stage, filled with nerves. Not just nerves for Kane but nerves because you really didn't think out your plan.

The array of steel chairs set neatly to the side is enough of a plan for you. You pick up the closest one and fold it, not waiting another second to run out onto the stage.

The music is still loud, your eyes lock onto your targets. They're still on their way to the ring, slowly stalking toward Kane if they have all the time in the world.

Luckily they're also unaware of your presence. Something you keep up by using the sound of the crowd to your advantage, but also ensuring you're quiet on your feet. As they reach the bottom of the ramp they stop, allowing you to properly catch up. "This is it Kane, this is our revenge for what you did."

Without hesitation you swing the chair, hitting the speaker in the back of the head. A blow that sends him to the ground.

Unfortunately now his two teammates know you're here. They know you're a threat. There's one to your left and one to your right. Perhaps hitting the guy in the center first wasn't the best idea.

You don't have time to think, simply swinging again and hoping for the best. Your second swing hits, although it's not as successful as the first, only causing the second guy to stumble back.

You turn to hit the third with the chair but he's already thought ahead, snatching the steel object from your hand. You duck as he swings the chair at you, spinning while you're low and sweeping his legs from under him.

It's an effective move, although as you stand straight again you realise than both of his friends are ready for you. You're overwhelmed quickly, trying your best to fight them off. Unfortunately it doesn't last long, having your arms quickly locked in place

The guy in front of you grins, helping his other friend off of the ground while you struggle in the hold. "A valiant effort I must say, it's a shame you waste it on Kane and he's not even come to help you."

"Shut your mouth." You spit, receiving a slap to the face in return. He chuckles, gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him again. "Since you care so much you can watch us do what we came down here to do, beat the shit out of Kane. If you keep quiet we'll maybe let you off lightly after, got it?" He moves your head up and down for you, his grin filling you with an anger you never thought possible. And you're unable to do anything about it.

He lets go, turning around and walking right into Kane's fist. The guy with the chair swings, smacking Kane's arm. Kane moves to attack him now, snatching the chair and smacking him in the head with it, hard. Hard enough it causes the guy holding you to flinch.

You see blood slowly begin to pour from a newly opened wound on the man's head, although you don't have time to process it, the other one on the ground at your feet after being chokeslammed.

Kane now turns his attention in your direction, or rather behind you. The man holding you doesn't loosen up his grip, clearly intending on using you as a meat shield for as long as he can.

With Kane staring daggers at him you seize the opportunity to help yourself, stomping hard on his foot. He lets out a quiet yelp, letting go of your wrists and freeing you. You turn to deal with him further but he's already at the top of the ramp, showing no signs of stopping.

Kane's hand on your arm fills you with nerves once again. He spins you slowly to face him. You don't avoid his eyes, no point in showing your nerves now. He shows no emotion, simply staring down at you.

Seconds pass with nothing, so you look down. His lack of any communication makes you feel awful. You wish he would do something, say something. Anything.

You hiss as he gently lifts your head to look up at him again, his hand on your still sore cheek. He goes to recoil but you put your hand on his, keeping it there.

It stings, but his touch makes up for it. His thumb moves slowly across what you can only imagine is a sore looking patch of skin. You don't pull away. You don't want this moment to end.

When it does you sigh softly, accepting that that is probably all you will get from Kane. He denied your confession before, you're sure he's doing the same now.

You step away, ready to leave. You can't handle the disappointment.. not in front of all these people.

There was a small part of you that hoped that if he saw what you were willing to do for him he would see things for how they are, he would see your feelings as true.. Maybe that's not possible.

You don't look back, you don't want to. Your heart feels heavy. You tried.

"Y/n" you don't stop. You can't stop. Whatever it is you don't want it.

"Y/n." He calls again, nearer this time. "Y/n!" "What, Kane?" You turn to him at last, seeing the mix of emotions swimming in his mismatched eyes.

"I believe you."

[tf2-hellhole]

How about some Among Us hcs? Like if the mercs see their S/O playing the game and want to give it a try? If you could do how the mercs would react to being the crewmate and their reaction to being the imposter, that would make my year. Thank yooouuuu!

Scout:

Scout loves all sorts of games, so he’s so excited to try a new one with his S/O.

He actually prefers being a crewmate, because he enjoys all of the little tasks.

He’s following his S/O around like half the time as he’s learning the mechanics, no matter if he’s playing crewmate or imposter, which gets him kicked early on several occasions.

It’s really easy to tell if he’s the imposter, because he’s really, really quiet during the discussions. 

He’s really bad at first and gets caught several times the first few games where he’s the impostor, but he catches on after a while and gets pretty good.

Soldier:

He insists on being the color red every single time.

As a crewmate, he’s excellent at tasks but horrible at discussions. He calls like half the team sus and then is the first person kicked because he’s acting like a really defensive imposter.

Will target anyone who susses his S/O.

He always laughs at the animations he sees when he gets killed.

He’s also a horrible imposter. The first time he was the imposter, he actually excitedly announced it to the server. He was obviously ejected quickly.

He tries to get super strategic as an imposter, though he fails miserably.

Pyro:

Pyro loves the hats and pets in the game.

As a crewmate, Pyro typically sticks with their S/O, despite the fact that they could be the imposter

Lowkey gets salty if their S/O kills them; they betrayed Pyro’s trust.

Pyro is a terrifyingly excellent and calculated imposter. They very believably imitate a crewmate and are not against sacrificing the other imposter if there is one for their own survival.

Despite this, Pyro will never ever kill their S/O, even if they have the perfect chance to. Pyro will also defend them every discussion.

Demo:

Demo fumbles with the game a lot the first few times and has a little trouble picking up the mechanics and controls but he gets it eventually.

When he’s a crewmate, he will intentionally try to creep out his S/O and the other players by following them around. This usually gets him ejected early on in the game.

Gets a little pouty when he gets killed but he gets over it quickly.

He’s not a very good imposter. He’s decent at getting good kills but he always forgets to vent when he’s killed someone in a secluded area.

He always hisses a “Yes!” under his breath after a kill

Heavy:

He’s very confused by the tech. He’s like an old person being given an iPhone

As a crewmate, he’s actually very good at finding out the imposter, mostly due to the fact that he’s very suspicious of everyone, even his S/O. He’s good at being able to tell who’s an imposter through actions/ verbal diction and stuff like that.

He’s not very good at tasks, but he won’t leave a task until he finishes it.

The first time he gets imposter, he turns to his S/O and says, “(Y/N), why are (other teammate) and I’s names red?” because he still doesn’t really understand what’s going on.

But other than that, he’s a pretty good imposter. He figures out the strats pretty quickly.

Engie:

Engie is able to pick up the game controls and mechanics pretty easily, but he still struggles the first few games.

He thinks the little characters are very cute.

He’s a very strategic crewmate; He always plans a path to get his tasks done as quickly as possible. He still ends up taking a long time the first few games because he’s trying to figure out the controls.

He gets ejected early because he wasn’t paying attention to the location names and didn’t know any, so when he got asked where he was during a discussion he didn’t have an answer.

He’s a pretty decent imposter once he gets to play it a few times; he gets good at defending himself in discussions so he’s very good at convincing the crewmates someone else is the imposter.

Medic:

It takes a lot of convincing to pull him away from work long enough to play a few games; But luckily he really enjoys the game and wants to play more in the future.

He’s generally a very good crewmate, but he has a tendency to get distracted from his tasks.

He’s always very suspicious of everyone, even his S/O. Because of this, he refuses to be alone in a room with anyone, even if it’s been basically confirmed that the other person isn’t an imposter.

He’s a pretty good imposter. He’s very good at picking the right time to kill someone and getting away or pretending to find the body, but he’s decently good at defending himself in a discussion

He thinks the killing is the most fun part, but he does enjoy the manipulation during discussions.

Sniper:

Sniper takes a little while to catch on to all of the mechanics of the tasks, but other than that he catches on quickly.

As a crewmate, he’s kind of a lone wolf. He’s never around other players, and will leave if they enter the same room as him. This usually makes everyone very suspicious of him.

He’s very calm during discussions, so it’s sometimes really hard to tell if he’s lying or not.

As an imposter, he always goes for his S/O first, just to annoy them. He always laughs when he sees them frown at him as the death animation plays.

He’s excellent at killing the other players, but he’s horrible at defending himself in discussions. It becomes easy to tell when he’s the imposter: if he’s calm, he’s a crewmate, and if he’s really quiet or takes a while to respond, he’s an imposter.

Spy:

He’s very confident during the first match and starts trash-talking the other players, except for his S/O of course.

As a crewmate, he’s often by his S/O’s side to make sure they don’t get killed, though he also likes to run off and disappears for like a whole minute

He’s a very sore loser when he’s killed and will talk shit about the imposter to the other dead crewmates.

Unsurprisingly, he’s an excellent imposter. He’s very good at getting away from bodies without anyone seeing, and is even better at defending himself in a discussion.

He’s absolutely not against throwing the other imposter or his S/O under the bus for his own gain.

[regrettablewritings]

DJ X READER HEADCANON you pick 😉😉

I blink at the request that stares back at me from my inbox, brow furrowing with every flutter of my lashes. "Sis . . ." I murmur, "you good?" As though my ass had not also been search for content relating to this forgotten POS just the other day. But if you insist . . .

4. What they do on date night:

To be brutally honest, DJ will look you dead in the eye and tell you that going for a night out on the town pick-pocketing is a date. Or, at least, he will try to. It's surprisingly hard to maintain eye contact with someone whose glare could probably cut beskar.

In his defense (if he even deserves any), DJ does try to make it a little more fun than he already finds it -- granted, it's done in a very DJ way. You get your little evening promenade through the streets, he tricks you to a quick bite to eat, you hold hands and run through the lantern-speckled streets before turning down a narrow alleyway that's just perfect for sharing an intense liplock . . .

Of course, this all translates into your evening together including: Walking through a marketplace, your asshole boyfriend slipping peoples' credits out of their pockets and purses under the guise of bumping into them; him using those sticky fingers of his to nick some street food off of a cart before its proprietor called the authorities on his theft; said sticky fingers lacing with yours as he guides you down the crowded streets (grinning like the little shit he was for enjoying the chase); all before making a sudden jerk down an alleyway.

You're breathless, irritated, and . . . maybe -- only just maybe -- a little excited by the thrill of it all. But you can't let him know that, otherwise, he'd never let you live it down and he'd be the cock of the goddamn walk for who knows how long. Worse: He'd consider this a win for his insistence that this sort of thing counted as a date! And there was no way in hell you were about to let that happen!

You only got as far as opening your mouth to hiss own some choice words at him when you instead got cut off by your thieving significant other pressing you against the grubby alley wall. Even if you hadn't been distracted by the action to remember to cuss him out, the words were instantly killed. They were inhaled by his own lips, his kiss encompassing your words, your thoughts, your . . . everything. They were speared by his tongue, as though it were his weapon against the beast that brewed within you.

And they were quelled by the feel of his callused fingers brushing against your cheeks before moving onward to the beck of your head, pressing you only further into his hold. DJ's fingers were deft, but that didn't necessarily mean that their carefulness was always directed at you. It's . . . something to savor . . .

Of course, it was meant to fool the chumps following the both of you but you don't mind. Not in that moment anyway. When you get back to wherever you're staying for the night, it's another story, but one DJ is more than happy to bring to a happy ending.

It's a bit nicer when he gets his hands one someone's credits, though: It means he can take you out to an actual establishment. However, be warned: It's only a bit nicer because you also need to be on the lookout for the authorities (or the poor bastard you stole from), or be prepared to make a run for it.

11. What their first impression was of each other:

Dirty. Old. Bastard. A dirty old bastard. And to your credit, you weren't wrong, but of course, the first impression is always the shallowest. And considering the shithead had just tried to put the moves on you when you were already having a rough day . . . Yeah, he honestly deserved presumptions with the depth of one's own navel -- an outie, preferably.

He stood out against the Canto Bight elite with his grubbiness, looking like a leathery garbage pouch at best and like a guy who'd try to sell you a faulty droid at moderate. A dirty, bastardly part of you couldn't help but muse that perhaps the worst he could do was be a nasty lay -- and not nasty in the way one might want, either.

Granted, it wasn't hard to imagine that: The fact he was hitting on you while you were trying your best to just survive your shift at the casino that evening did little to convince you he was any good.

And as for DJ, it was a one-two-punch type of introduction. Literally: First he eyed you, then he got a little too suggestive, and then you punched him. What a sleazeball, right? It was his own damn fault for assuming the least of you, though. You were cute like all the other servers, no doubt, with that shy smile of yours that made it abundantly clear to him that this sort of place wasn't your scene if you didn't have to work there. Unlike the other servers, however, he was feeling pretty brazen about you.

DJ has no interest in the concept of “fate” or “destined meetings”, but even months out from that point he wouldn’t be able to place precisely what compelled him to break his usual protocol of being discreet. Nor why he was so insistent. All he knows was that he called you over to him and, rather than requesting a drink, he “chatted you up”. And might’ve suggested that you two blow off this place and maybe “blow off somewhere else”.

He also knows that the moment you struck his cheek, cheeks burning and eyes widened with the realization of what you’d done, he was wrong and right about you.

You were frankly lucky he turned out to be a blight on the Canto Bight scene, otherwise your boss would’ve fired you the moment he had learned of what you had done. What you were unlucky for, however, was that from then on, the thief started showing up more often. Not enough to get caught (at least, not for long), but enough for him to determine that maybe the both of you really should blow this joint -- in the nonsexual way.

And in the end, you became unlucky once more: For someone so grubby and bastardly, he was also quite the charmer. Y’know, once you’ve smacked him around a bit.

14. What nicknames they call each other:

You honestly struggle to nickname DJ, predominately because, well, DJ is already a nickname. You think. After all, you sincerely doubt anyone would actually name their kid Don’t Join even as a political statement. Really, the fact you don’t know his actual name sort of calls for consideration of how healthy your obviously unhealthy relationship is. But any pleas to learn this asshole’s real name just winds up being like having a namana cream pie shoved in your face, because DJ just turns it all into a joke.

There have been many occasions where DJ would tell you different names he would swear were his own -- often times in the same week! Other times, his claim would be that he’s told you it while you were asleep, or that he once told you but you got conked on the head and forgot it.

Interestingly enough, it’s through these juvenile exploits that he’s earned a bit of a nickname from you: “Bastard”. Just rolls off the tongue, don’t it? To be fair, though, you’re with him for a reason: Even if he may not seem like it, he does have a soft sport for you. Even if it comes out about as smoothly as his features.

In a way, he reminds you of a mutt. A stray mutt. Especially when he shoves his head into your lap after a long day of fucking about and being a menace to whatever society you two decided to hop a ship to.

“You’re like a puppy sometimes, you know that?” you murmur. You scritch into his mess of hair, earning a low growl of contentment from your datemate. He never had to admit it out loud, but your touch clearly did wonders to him. This was evidence by how his already large body began to further sprawl along the couch the ship he’d stolen came with. Yup; just like a puppy. A big, raggedy puppy. Who needs a trip to the refresher as soon as this scritching session was over.

For DJ, on the other hand, nicknames come easily. Honestly, it’s mainly due to how he barely takes anyone or anything seriously: When you don’t concern yourself with all the muddled nonsense of society or wide circles of people, it becomes a whole lot easier to see everyone’s buttons. And considering he was a master slicer, button-pressing was definitely his thing.

Despite the fact that you were a one-in-a-million instance of being someone whom the thief actually trusted and treated with even a modicum of respect, even you weren’t immune to his acts of mockery.

“Mornin’, P-p-pipsqueak,” he’d smirk over a cup of caff, knowing damn well that his advantage of height bothered you sometimes.

“Ea-asy there, k-kitten,” he’d purr whenever your frustration would come boiling to the brim. Things like that.

“Lookie here, dollface,” when he wants to butter you up without losing his stance.

But that doesn’t mean he’s unable to be more affectionate. It’s in there, it’s just . . . in there. The best examples, however, tend to be when the both of you are having downtime and are actually safe somewhere. Or whatever safe could mean when you’re with DJ.

Generally, a jail cell wouldn’t be considered safe. Maybe not unsafe if the only occupants were your boyfriend of ill repute and yourself, but it certainly wasn’t enjoyable. And yet, the way DJ just seemed to laze about in them made you feel unnaturally calm. Well, calmer. It would’ve been nicer if your more-than-capable boyfriend would put those slicing skills of his to use and just busted the both of you out of there, but to DJ, a night in the clink meant at least a few hours of shut eye on a bed.

“B-bes-s-sides: We can alw-w-ways just grab on-e of those f-f-f-floating citadels they g-g-g-got docked out there,” he would reason, making himself comfy on the thin mattress. He had a point, you supposed. And it wasn’t as though you hadn’t been expecting this as a part of your life once you got together with him. Still, you weren’t entirely comfortable joining him on said mattress . . . Maker knows when it had last been washed!

You would be far from the first to consider DJ to be the most observant person, dating or not, but your concern must’ve been rich enough for him to practically sense it: Without hesitating, he sat up just enough to offer you his hand.

“C-come on,” he said. “I need to c-c-c-catch some shut e-e-eye, and it ain’t hap-p-p-penin’ if you’re standing d-d-down there the entire t-time.”

A feeling of mild dread seeped into you, followed by a wet blanket of acceptance. You were going to just spend an hour in the refresher of whatever ship you swept off with. Sighing, you accepted the hand, only for the hold to pull you up not onto the mattress, but directly on top of him!

There was plenty to react to -- the sudden movement, the feeling of being on top of DJ -- but the man himself didn’t seem at all fazed. Instead, he focused primarily on tucking in whatever lagging limbs you had and making sure he was cozy enough to continue serving as your mattress for however many hours he needed to recuperate. Which he apparently was: Not once did he protest to your weight pressing down on him, nor did he grunt with displeasure whenever you turned the direction of your head against his chest.

At the most, he only ever offered your back a brief circle of rubbing with his free hand, the other serving as his pillow, before uttering a drowsy, “You good there, kid?”

And, to your surprise . . . yeah. In spite of everything, yeah, you were pretty good . . .

And yet, interestingly enough, no matter what he calls you, none of that ever measures up to when he calls you by your name. Not pipsqueak, not kitten, not dollface or kid or whatever, but your actual name. Because DJ hardly ever refers to anyone by their actual title, let alone cares to remember it. By not only remembering it, but applying it, it shows you that he does care. It’s deep down -- like, real in there -- but it’s there. And you’re the only non-slicing being in the entire galaxy to have ever cracked that sort of safe.

Wear that badge with pride, Hotshot.

Thanks for your patience on this one! Clearly I had a lot of fun writing it! 💖 💖 . . . May gotta actually start writing for DJ. Maybe.

[cockasinthebird]

About a month ago, it was a certain someone’s birthday, and it took me that long to write this, BUT I would like to use the two weeks of being flagged as a perfectly valid excuse for no writing at all, thank you very much yes 😌

So, to dearest @jimhhawkins, You’ve already read some of this, but here’s all of it! The ending is not what I had in mind originally, but I am not in full control of where it goes; I simply follow the flow of the story and so... well, enjoy 💝

-

“Sometimes I just want to fucking punch you.”

“Then go ahead, pretty boy; hit me, if you dare.”

It’s been a few months since their “official meeting” at Tina’s party, and it is ardently clear to any one person that spends even a minute in the same room as these two, that what’s happening between them burns hotter than the sun, a blistering heat that can’t be extinguished, yet whether it’s hatred or passion is up for discussion.

Steve’s fist curls tighter. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Whatever is going on between them, both in public and in private, is painful - broken hearts and broken noses, things that they both crave for viciously, and when being friends is too dangerous, too close, a useless rivalry suddenly doesn’t sound that bad. At least it still brings them together.

Like now. The snow lies heavy on the grass surrounding the Harrington mansion, the dark woods shielding them from the rest of the world as they stand frozen here together, within reach, the tips of boots just touching.

Yes being friends would make everything too hard to conceal, the truth behind their anger would be too obvious then. So Steve dares.

And Billy laughs, bent slightly forward as red spatters across the white snow, like rose petals scattered to set the mood, and Billy is fucking laughing, maniacal and wild, as he whips up again to let the stream from his nose run uninterrupted down his lips, drip from his chin onto Steve’s winter boots.

“Better?” he grins.

The ache in Steve’s fist spreads till his hand feels restless, the urges of his heart upon seeing Billy bleed rushes down quick.

“Not yet,” his response a lurid groan of wanting, and with a hand strong at Billy’s neck, pulls him in to taste the coppery hatred, the sickly need.

Billy doesn’t punch back, doesn’t have a witty remark, doesn’t call Steve disgusting names for any of this. No, he lets his so-called rival do whatever the fuck he pleases; pulling their bodies flush, lapping up the blood, biting and pulling at his lips, grinding their growing lust together.

“God- shit, I wanna fuck you so bad,” Billy growls out with exposed canines, hungry, craving, as he grabs Steve by the jacket, pinning him against the BMW, grinding harder till denim starts to hurt.

It takes a few brutish thrusts together with Steve whining at the friction before he finds his voice again; “Get inside then.”

-

This isn’t the first time Billy’s been inside the Harrington’s home, and it definitely won’t be the last, but just like on any previous occasion, he doesn’t get to look around - no tour of the dozens of rooms, no offers of beer or food, no chance to stare at family photos that might or might not hang on the walls, all he knows of is the carpeted stairs going up, and the horrible plaid walls of Steve’s bedroom.

It’s neat and tidy as always, doesn’t really look lived in at all, more like a showroom of a model home than a teenage boy’s bedroom. At least the sheets are green now rather than blue, so that’s something.

Steve looks better in green anyways, Billy notes, as his pale, naked body lands on top of the covers, dark hair spread out on a pillow beneath, the moonlight caressing his dotted skin, perfectly highlighting the day old bruises that’s been bitten, kissed, punched, sucked across every inch of available flesh, leading in a clear and practiced pattern down to where he’s needy for attention the most.

As if they don’t have all the time in the world for this, Billy tears away his own clothes and nearly throws himself at Steve again, settling in firm between spread thighs. He kisses along the collarbone, tastes his prey’s heartbeat as he licks down his chest, nipping at oversensitive buds that haven’t had time to heal proper since last, and he can’t help but grin at the pained hiss that’s followed by a roll of hips - the leaky head of Steve’s full dick rubbing against Billy’s stomach.

“Fuck, Billy,” Steve moans with a fist in golden curls, pulling him down, demanding that he go further, oh so impatient to have those lips do what they do best.

And Billy doesn’t resist that, for as much as he loves teasing Steve till he’s on the verge of tears and begging, his own steely cock has been pulsating to the beat of his heart since Steve suckerpunched him outside.

He presses his nose deep into the wiry hair that leads from the navel to Steve’s long erection, inhaling his sweaty scent, musky and strong with just a hint of soap from the morning, to which it all escapes Billy again in a stuttering breath. 

In this moment, nothing else in the world exists but the smell of Steve, the taste of Steve, the sound of Steve, as Billy lets out his tongue, wet and flat, to run up the length of his throbbing dick, base to tip, and the moans that echoes out as Billy closes his lips around the head to suck it clean of pre is like an angel’s choir to him, heavenly and desirous.

Legs tremble closed around his head, over his shoulders as he slowly sinks down, swallowing every single inch he can, gag reflex shot to hell by now from frequent use. He’d never dare admit this to anyone, especially Steve, but every day Billy thinks about choking to near death on Harrington’s cock, eager to feel it in his throat, hit against the back and leave him breathless and hoarse with a dull pain for hours to come. The weight, the taste, the touch. It might be the one thing that brings him the most shame in his life, but also the most joy.

By now he can go till his nose is buried in dark pubes, and stays there to revel in the constrictive feel of Steve’s head blocking out most air, pushing hard back against those hips that buck up, the hand in his crown keeping him down as Steve twitches in his mouth, and Billy can’t help but hum at that, enticing and deep.

“Mmh, fuck, Billy, you feel so good,” Steve moans out low, pulling at those golden curls to lift Billy up, just to push him down again.

Blue eyes vanish behind lids as they flutter closed. Billy relaxes, melts into the sheets, focuses on how the tip of Steve’s cock runs along his palate, past his uvula and into his throat where he swallows around the hard flesh.

Steve’s fingers slip loose, falling to choke the sheets beneath them, allowing Billy freedom to go faster, setting a sloppy pace, loud and obscene, spit running down his chin, his throat, a scene straight from top shelf porn if Billy were to brag about it, and the other guy can only concur - gasping out, calling Billy’s name over and over, mixed with curses of fuck and shit, occasionally praises of that feels amazing and a dozen yes’.

“I-I’m close, ah-” he moans out and lifts off of the bed, seeking more to bring him to bliss, making Billy gag at the movement - a sound that brings another deep groan out from above.

At that, Billy makes a sound that would have been of euphoria if it wasn’t muffled by a mouthful of cock, his own steely prick leaking where it’s caught between his stomach and the bed, each abusive little thrust into his mouth makes his body kick against the soft and expensive fabric.

He stills all movement as Steve bucks his hips again, fucking into Billy’s wet heat, whose eyes roll back, toes curling in a struggle to restrain himself from cumming all too soon, oh how easy he is under King Steve’s command.

And from many times before, he recognises the urgent breathing and rising volume of Steve’s elated cursing that comes with him emptying out into Billy’s throat, so deep in that not a single drop can be spilled, to which Billy gladly swallows everything that Steve offers him.

He hollows his cheeks as he moves off, gasping for air and he lets Steve’s flaccid cock slap wetly onto his stomach, who’s fighting for air all the same with an arm thrown over his face.

“We’re not done yet, princess,” Billy growls, kisses his way up abs, through the patch of chest hair, moving till his own lonesome dick rubs along Steve’s, making the brunette hiss and grab on to Billy’s shoulder, digging in fingers.

Steve bites into his lower lip, staring down at Billy as he keeps grinding them together, the soreness of being so oversensitive overshadowed by how lustful he remains.

“Y-You know where the- ah- the lube is,” he says with a wavering voice.

Billy doesn’t even have to look when he reaches for the drawer in the bedside table, proving just how often he’s done this- how often they have done this. His thumb runs along the lid of the tube, ready to flick it open any coming second, but he’s thriving - throbbing from the way Steve’s whining about the roll of his hips, how it’s just not enough, not what he brought him here for in the first place.

Then there’s a fist in his mullet, yanking him away from where he’s been sucking and biting on Steve’s neck, angling him up till their eyes meet.

“Are you gonna fuck me, or should I call somebody else?” he threatens with a frown, brows drawn together all serious.

But Billy is always up to challenge that.

“Oh yeah?” There’s no grin, no smile, just his tongue licking across his lips. “And who else would fuck you so readily?”

“I know Charles in algebra is willing to do my homework if he also gets to do me. Joe in Spanish is so eager to teach me all the right words, and he knows how to use his tongue. Or maybe Tommy Hagan, hmmm,” Steve hums in contemplation at that name, smiling because he knows what the thought of him and Tommy together does to Billy and his intense jealousy of Steve’s first guy. “It’s been a while since I let him fuck me good from behind.”

“I fucking hate you, Harrington,” Billy huffs out harsh with teeth bared, ready to bite and tear, convincing enough in his tone, but the way a jealous rage pulsates through him begs to differ.

“And what are you gonna do about that?” Steve tilts his head back, exposing his neck, daring Billy to do what he so clearly craves.

Then he’s gone, crawled away, and before Steve can even question it, he’s flipped onto his stomach, legs pushed apart by Billy’s own, now a fist in his dark hair where he’s pulled back with an all too loud moan.

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like I do,” Billy snarls directly into his ear.

He angles himself proper till his steely cock slick with pre-cum lands in the crevice of Steve’s cheeks. There he rocks his hips, all the way till his balls slap against Steve’s ass, then back till the tip tickles and teases to go between.

Steve breathes with elation, keening, both hands choking the life out of a pillow.

“If I ever find out you went back and fucked Hagan, I’ll beat the living crap out of him, got it?”

An ever so deeply satisfied moan and an obedient nod is all Steve can manage to respond with.

“Good. You’re mine now, and I don’t do well sharing my toys.”

The cap pops open, and Billy releases his hold on Steve to instead lube up his digits, guides the hand between them and down to mercilessly push the middle finger all the way in, making Steve’s back arch beautifully.

“F-fuck, Billy!” he calls out as his head lands heavy on the pillow, Billy’s thick finger driving in and out with fervor.

A devil’s worth of a grin cracks across Billy’s face as he listens to Steve’s moans. The lube gets tossed aside, the hand instead going down to wrap around Steve’s filling cock, making the oversensitive brunette practically cry out at the touch.

“Mmmm look at you,” he rumbles deep like a bassline, “I’ve barely even managed to swallow all of your cum and you’re hard again already.”

That one digit pushes in deep, curls at all the right spots, as is evident by the loud and abrupt, “A-ah! Shit, yes! There- God-” feeding into Billy’s self-confidence that already rests high above any other person’s ideal.

“Yeah, you like what I do to you?” He thrusts in a second finger, Steve fighting back his every sound, yet Billy feels his lust in the way he clenches and trembles around the two thick digits pumping in and out. “Mmmh, fuck you’re so tight - always such a good little hole for my big cock.”

Steve moans heavy into the pillow, trying not to sound as pliant and easy as he is in the hands of Billy - trying to keep some semblance of self-respect perhaps, keep up that wall that still separates them. But giving in with no inhibitions is so much easier.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” Billy breathes ragged and wanton as he adds a third finger, adoring the way Steve curses all muffled. “Fuck you into the mattress so hard you won’t be able to sit right for a week.”

At that promise, Billy feels pre leak onto his fingers, slicking up the motion he consistently strokes along Steve’s long erection.

And he chuckles like thunder behind immaculate pecs. “So wet for me, princess. You’re such an eager little whore.”

“I swear to God, Billy, if you’re not gonna fuck me instead of just talking about it, I’ll hit you again,” Steve speaks as he raises up on elbows, glancing behind to watch Billy’s self-satisfied grin falter, a storm brewing in his eyes, clouding the blue skies there.

Then the hand around his throbbing dick is gone, grabbing a fistful of hair instead and shoving his face back into the pillow. Billy pulls out his fingers again, smearing the excess lube all over his own veiny cock, palming at the head as he stares at Steve’s impatient ass clenching at nothing, waiting and waiting and waiting.

“Just when I start to tolerate you, you go being such a dipshit, Harrington.”

Billy strokes himself for longer than necessary, moaning with just a slight bit of exaggeration, egging Steve on, and if his frustrated sounds are anything to go off of, it’s working.

“You only barely make up for it by being such an easy lay.”

He brings the blunt head of his shaft to the hole he’s hungering for, running it up and down the puffy ring, listening to Steve whine for it.

“I just have to look at you and you’re hard.”

Pushes in, just the tip of it, just enough to have Steve let out a long sound of annoyance, a pleading little moan as he leans back, chasing the euphoric stretching of his body, but a firm hand on his ass keeps him at bay, as Billy pulls away just a bit, before dipping in again, like he’s testing the waters, grinning at the reaction he’s getting.

And Steve knows what he has to do for it, hates it, a clear blush spreading across his pale shoulders, washing down his back.

“Billy, Billy please,” he mewls, trying to struggle against the warm palm squeezing a cheek; not in an attempt to wrestle free, but to give Billy what he’s asking for, without so many words. “Please just fuck me, I-I need your cock so bad, so so bad, Billy.”

Billy could absolutely cum from just this - hearing Steve beg like a common whore, stroking his pained erection and giving nothing more than the tip to that willing hole. All he needs is to know he’s needed like this, and he’s finished, but the pleasure of unravelling King Steve this way…

With one brutish thrust, Billy sinks into Steve with such fervor that his knees slip on the bed, spreading him further till he lies flat on top of the covers, breathlessly stuttering out pleasure of being trapped beneath Billy’s forceful weight. Every little sound Steve makes is undeniably euphoric, and Billy stills all movement to enjoy how Steve’s body takes a chokehold on his fat cock, sucking him in like he’s been missed and waited for for years.

“That what you wanted?” Billy drawls out and leans down to bite at the shell of Steve’s ear, his dick twitching and pulsating deep inside, moving his hips to draw tight circles, making the other gasp and moan mindlessly.

Steve eventually manages a hopeless, “Y-yeah,” lying limp and filled and satisfied, when Billy angles his head; turning him enough to share a kiss, to pry lips apart with his tongue, to swallow the little whines that spills as he starts a shallow and agonizingly slow pace. 

“Billy, ahh…” Steve whispers, tries to catch on to the rhythm, grinding himself against the covers; lube dripping from his hole mixes with his pre cum, wetting the fabric till it’s slippery and nice against his aching dick.

Then Billy raises off of him - keeps him caught against the mattress, a warm and heavy hand on his back like an anchor, fingers spread out between shoulder blades, the other reaching up to tangle fingers in dark, soft hair, pulling there just enough for Steve’s mouth to be forced open, enabling every lewd little noise escape, moaning and keening, begging.

He pulls all the way back till the head is barely inside still, revelling in the way every muscle clings to him with desperation, watches in the darkness how pale hands strangle a pillow, feels his body tense with irritation beneath his palm. The shift of it all is immediate when Billy pushes back in- shoves his steely cock to the base and out again, loving the perfected melody of skin slapping and Steve crying out loud with the pleasure that Billy gives him, pounds him, fucks him like he’d die if he didn’t.

“Fuck, Billy,” a pathetic, needy, elated whine.

When Billy’s hand lets go of dark locks, Steve’s head lands on the pillow, his body limp and unmoving as Billy uses him like he truly is no more than an expensive toy - a favorite toy. His toy.

“Shit that’s good, arrh-” Billy rasps out.

He rakes one hand down Steve’s skin, across the dimples at the small of his back, down till he grabs a soft cheek with a firm hand, squeezing and pulling it aside to grant him a perfect view of where he fervently thrusts into Steve’s hungering body.

“Come on, get up on your knees, Harrington,” he demands with a voice deep and thrilling, as he pulls out and inches away a bit to make room for how frantically Steve shuffles to get up on his knees, ass in the air, back arched, head turned to gaze back at Billy.

Who licks his lips before biting down as he dives back in with no warning, earning him a lascivious, shocked moan. He grabs on to Steve’s hips as he fucks him with a rapid pace, digging in his fingers till it should hurt, but anyone having the pleasure of listening to Steve like this knows he’s brimming with heat. The curses, the moans, the groans, the pleas - Billy whips his head back to lose himself in it all, an endless symphony of eroticism and animalistic urges and unadulterated wanting.

“B-Billy- Billy, I’m close, ahh-” Steve can barely manage coherent speech, “Please, touch me- fuck, Billy, please!”

Fuck if hearing Steve’s mindless begging doesn’t push at Billy’s insides, waves of lust running hot like lava on the edge of spilling out, but Billy grins all wicked and chuckles hoarsely.

“Nah pretty boy, you wanna cum again, you’re gonna cum untouched,��� he growls and slams in harder to emphasise his unfair statement.

Steve dares to defy, bringing his own hand down, but seconds before he’d have been able to jerk himself to completion, Billy takes a punishing grip around his wrist.

“What did I just fucking say?” there’s barely even a hint of jesting to Billy’s tone at that. “Give me your other hand.”

With no hesitation, Steve does as demanded - angles his other arm behind to where Billy wraps his strong fingers around both wrists before pressing them against his back, Billy’s whole body weight on top of it, rendering Steve completely helpless.

Helpless, powerless, completely at Billy’s mercy, skin burning where he strangles his wrists, fingers digging into his hip, a perfectly orchestrated plight that ignites fireworks; a colorful barrage with tensing muscles and a wild cry as Steve cums, feet lifting off of the mattress with the curl of his toes, the release of it all ruining his sheets.

“Holy shit- fuck- Stevie-” Billy barks out rough as he pounds vigorously till his thighs and hips stings, Steve’s body like a vicegrip around his steely cock, burning hot, slick and velvety.

It takes no more than a few brutish thrusts for him to come undone, filling up Steve’s hungering hole with all that he is; an electric charge detonating in his gut that bends him over, sweaty locks falling around his stilled face like a curtain, his entire body pulsating and throbbing as he grinds his last bit of energy against Steve’s flushed ass.

As the world returns with the cooling of his body, all to be heard is both their labored breathing, ragged gasps and wet swallowing.

Billy kisses every mole across Steve’s upper back, shoulder to shoulder, grip softening around Steve’s wrists, but neither of them pulls away. His other hand rubs soothingly at where he’s been viciously holding on for dear life.

He doesn’t want to pull out, move away, end this. This… warm feeling, limp dick buried in Steve, something else buried in Billy’s soul, his mind knows what it is yet still fumbles to unlock it. With help, perhaps, it would see the light of day sooner, but that would require for him to find the courage to reach out.

And Billy always finds himself a coward in the wake of his heart.

With a sigh that hopefully sounds more tired and satisfied than dejected and hopeless, he lifts off of where he’s been resting his forehead between Steve’s shoulder blades-

When the soft and pale body beneath him twists around, Steve reaching out to cautiously grap Billy by the arm, a softness in his eyes where they meet through the darkness, and with flushed cheeks and battered breath, the request comes gingerly,

“Wait, don’t… don’t pull out yet.”

Perhaps even Billy’s heart stops with the rest of him.

“Can we… lie for a bit?”

Well that’s… something new, and the shock of it shows in the wrinkles of Billy’s brow. But when Steve gives his bicep a beckoning squeeze, gaze unwavering, Billy’s more afraid of saying no than yes.

[buckyodinson]

A Clan of Three (Mandalorian x fem!Reader)

This is dedicated to @tlittlet​ (hope you don’t mind me tagging you in this) - I saw your post saying:

‘I wish I could read a mando x reader where the reader is all shy but passionate and mando craving for touch. But like, I know I can write it but I don’t want to write it, I want to read it, do you know what I mean? 😫’ and I kinda ran away with it? 

A/N: This is the first thing I’ve written in about a year and a half so it may be a little rusty, and it’s based vaguely on the post mentioned above. I just love Mando a lot right now, and this is the first time in a long time I’ve actually felt compelled to write something, so I hope some people out there can enjoy this, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Feedback is appreciated!!

Word count: 2.6k

There was a lot left unspoken on the Razor Crest as of late. You’d been travelling with Din and the Child for just over a year now, and barriers had slowly broken down in that time. A lot had been shared between the two of you, but a lot had been kept under wraps on both sides, through fear of rejection. You loved both Din and the Child with every fibre of your being, and it tore you apart trying not to just lay all your cards on the table, but you were terrified the gamble was too risky.

You would often be left on the Crest while Din fetched his latest bounty, staying to watch over the Child and keep him out of harms way. You felt a true maternal instinct, and while watching over the Child while he slept or played with whatever he could get his hands on in the cockpit, your thoughts would drift to the signet on Din’s pauldron - a clan of two - and how desperately you wished to be a clan of three. 

You loved Din. You knew as much. You knew from very early on, after a few weeks of settling into life with the pair of them on the Crest, you knew this was a life you could get used to. And you thanked the Maker that you could spend at least part of your life travelling the galaxy with two who you truly and genuinely loved. You wanted to let him know how you felt, but you knew The Way. And you knew you couldn’t put Din in a situation like that - partly because you didn’t want to disrespect the life he swore to uphold when he swore The Creed, and partly because you were terrified he didn’t feel the same, and he’d drop you off at the next system to avoid the awkwardness that would likely ensue.

So you kept quiet. You would often lie awake at night, thinking of endless scenarios of what life would be like if he knew. If he felt the same. If he took his helmet off, abandoning his bounty hunting life to settle down on a planet somewhere in the outer rim, just the three of you. A clan of three. There goes that thought again, and just as quickly as it enters your mind, it’s snatched away when you scold yourself for getting carried away. You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak, and you know it, but you’re too far gone to care.

Unbeknownst to you, Din would also often lie awake in the safe confines of his quarters, with his helmet removed, wondering how the soft touch of your hands would feel on his face. How your lips would fit against his. How perfect your body would slot into his as you laid together, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. These ephemeral thoughts calmed him after a long day, but they also brought pangs of sadness, knowing that they were only his imagination. She’d never feel the same. After all, how could she? All she’s ever known is the cold, unforgiving glare of Beskar. She’s never seen the longing on his face when she’s idly hanging up a small decoration she bought at a market, his mind racing at the thought of a domestic life with her. Nor had she seen the soft smile he can’t seem to shake when he catches her playing or chatting away with the Child.

He craved her touch. He’s only felt it in fleeting moments. Usually when one of them is badly injured after a particularly nasty run-in with a bounty. On many occasions, he’s been badly hit with a blaster in places he can’t patch up himself, and she silently reaches for the med-kit and beckons for him to sit with her. She removes his Beskar so softly, as if it isn’t one of the toughest materials around, and it makes his heart ache. She works mostly in silence, other than to ask him if it’s okay to lift his undershirt. She always asks. She doesn’t have to, and she knows, he’s told her so many times. But still she does. And that longing creeps into his entire body every time, knowing she truly respects his way of life.

When she works, her delicate hands clean the injury with feather-light touches, using a bacta spray to help with further healing, before applying a bandage. Even these light touches cause shivers to run up Din’s spine, and he knows it’s a ridiculous reaction to have, given the circumstances, but nobody has ever been so gentle with him. Nobody has ever taken the time to make sure he is okay. Once, he was so exhausted from a fight with a bounty that ended badly, that after he’d taken all his armour off, dropped it to the floor, and let you tend to his wounds, he’d fallen asleep where he’d been sat, in the hull of the ship. When he woke, he found a blanket draped over him, and all his armour was neatly arranged on the nearby shelves, seemingly having been polished. He was speechless. It was such a sweet gesture on your behalf, he didn’t know how to react. He wished he knew how to thank you for all you did for him. But he just didn’t know how.

When you helped with his injuries, you never failed to notice the almost imperceptible hitches in his breath, and small sighs he let out as you worked. You never questioned them, but they made you wonder when the last time he was ever touched by another person. If he had been touched by another person since he swore the Creed, and vowed to live his life shielded from the world.

The day came when things left unspoken finally bubbled to the surface. Din had been out looking for a bounty, and had been gone for several days. You grew worried very quickly, as even the toughest of jobs brought him back to the Crest within a day or two. But it was four days since you’d last seen or heard from him. The Child was beginning to grow restless, being cooped up in the ship. You spent most of your time pacing the cockpit, trying to contact him, to no avail. You knew it was dangerous to leave the ship, and leave the Child unattended, so you had to settle for staying in the Crest and praying to the Maker that you’d see him emerge from the tree-line any minute.

You slept very lightly while Din was away, any and every noise rousing you, hoping it was the ramp lowering, and Din coming back. After five days of nothing, you finally heard that familiar hiss of the ramp to the Crest opening, and you all but sprinted from your cot to the ramp. You were ecstatic that he had returned, but also terrified at what state he may be in. You were right to feel this way, because once the ramp lowered and you caught a glimpse at him, you knew he was in trouble. He was leaning heavily on his left leg, and you ran down the ramp before he all but collapsed into your arms. You made quick work of dragging him into the ship and closing the ramp door.

You set him on the floor and made quick work of removing his armour, disregarding your usual tentative movements. The more armour you removed, the more blood and grime you noticed on his underclothes, and the sight made you gasp.

You spoke softly but with a sense of urgency, “Din… I’m going to take your underclothes off. Is that okay?”

You received no reply.

“Din? Can you hear me?” You tried again, but to no avail. You reached one hand under his neck to support it while you reached your other under his jaw, and could still feel a strong pulse, which calmed your nerves ever so slightly. But upon pulling your hand other hand back to rest his head on the ground, you noticed your hand was covered in blood. You began to really panic now, not knowing how to proceed with the situation. He needed serious medical attention, but you didn’t want to overstep the clear boundaries he lived by.

You knew his safety came first, but you also didn’t want to jeopardise his religion and risk him never being able to put the helmet back on again. So you removed his underclothes and got to work on all the injuries on his body first. His chest rising and falling as you worked comforted you by a fraction, but the lack of sighs and grunts made you acutely aware that his head injury needed treating soon.

You quickly disappeared to your room and ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of your blanket before coming back and dropping onto your knees by Din’s side yet again. You gathered all the materials you needed before securing the fabric around your eyes and tying it in the back of your head. You took a deep breath before reaching for Din’s helmet. You pressed a switch, and heard the hiss as you slowly lifted it from his head and placed it softly on the ground next to you.

You lifted him slightly and stuck a leg out underneath his shoulders, so you could feel the back of his head and assess the injury. You located to wound fairly easily, and while it wasn’t large, it was bleeding a lot, so you applied a bacta spray to it after wiping his hair first. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you ran your hands through his hair. You slowly felt his face using the hand not covered in blood, checking for any smaller injuries that may be there. You found nothing, and rested your hand on his cheek while you sighed, hoping you’d done enough for the meantime. You were shocked when you felt Din’s hand cover yours, and you immediately went to pull your hand away but his grip tightened.

He cleared his throat and croaked out a small “Thank you”. You smiled at his unfiltered voice, the first time you’d ever heard it. And while it was barely there, and scratchy, after all he’d been through, it was still him, and you couldn’t help but feel lucky to have heard it in all it’s beauty.

“It’s okay… I could probably do a better job of it, but with the blindfold, there’s only so much I can-“

“Take it off..” he whispered, and you flinched back in shock, not knowing if you heard him correctly.

After a beat of silence, his hand came up to rest on your cheek, mirroring your actions, and he slowly lifted the material covering your eyes. He chuckled and coughed a little when he noticed your eyes screwed shut. He came to rest his hand on your cheek again, the unfamiliar feel of his skin warm against yours, as his thumb moved slowly across your cheekbone. “You can open your eyes, cyar’ika… it’s okay.”

You slowly obliged, and you were completely taken aback by his features. His soft brown eyes looked up at you, and despite the pain that must be coursing through his body, he was smiling at you. You took notice of his curly brown locks, some of which were stuck to his forehead. You brushed them away, before running your fingers down his hooked nose, to rest on his lips, where he lightly kissed your fingertips. Before you knew it, tears were falling from your eyes, and his face contorted into one of concern.

“I’m sorry, Din.” You breathed out as he swiped his thumb under your eye.

“What do you have to be sorry for, mesh’la?” He spoke, his voice a little stronger now.

“The Creed. I’ve seen your face. You can’t go back now. I’m so sorry.” You hung your head, and felt him slowly manoeuvre himself to sit up in front of you.

“What if I don’t want to go back?” He all but whispered, lifting your chin.

You met his gaze again and was frozen in place as he lent towards you and slowly brought your lips to his. You barely had time to react before he pulled away, your lips almost chasing his as he smiled against you.

“I’ve been thinking for a long while now, about you… about us. I get this unfamiliar feeling deep inside me when I think of you. When I see you with the Child. At first I dismissed it, thinking that was just how it felt to finally have a real friend. But then I would get worried sick when I was out looking for bounties... worried about you. Worried that something would happen to you here in the Crest and I’d be none the wiser. Then I realised. It was love.” He fell into silence, and you both sat there for what felt like an eternity, comfortable to just be there with each other, no more words needing to be exchanged.

He finally spoke up again, “I never acted on it, always telling myself ‘This is the way’. Telling myself this is the life I was born to live, it’s not fair to drag you into it. I never thought, for a second, that you could feel the same. But seeing you now, scared that I might be dying, but still blindfolding yourself to respect the Creed… that was all the confirmation I needed. Tell me I’m right?” He pulled away slightly to look in your eyes, and you saw tears brimming in his.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, before leaning in to kiss him back. Your lips touched, and in this kiss, you felt everything that had gone unspoken this past year. You broke apart and whispered against his lips, “I’ve always loved you Din.”

He whispered something back in Mando’a, and while you didn’t understand it, you’re sure you knew what he meant. You leaned back to look at him once more, and as you brushed his hair from his face, he winced slightly. His injuries dawned on you again, and you slowly rose, helping him to his cot. You fetched him a glass of water, something to dull the pain, and something to eat, and out of habit, started to leave, when he grabbed your wrist and silently pleaded with you to stay. He moved to lay on his side and you joined him in his cot, resting your back against his chest. He closed his eyes, and couldn’t quite believe you were here in his cot, laying pressed against him, like he dreamed of not long ago. He remembers a time when he would chastise himself for thinking you would ever feel this way, and yet here you were.

The door to his quarters opened with a hiss and the Child moved slowly over to the bed, looking at the pair of you with his wide eyes. You leaned down to pick him up and place him against your chest, where he promptly fell asleep. Din wrapped his arm around both you and the Child and held you both securely as he drifted off. You stayed awake a little while longer, just laying there smiling to yourself. As sleep finally consumed you, only one thought danced in your mind, you were finally a clan of three.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH13

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: Flangst

WC: 2888

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

They arrive at a restaurant where Dean often frequents for business dinners. Y/N has pulled out her nicest dress for the occasion. She realizes that she definitely needs to do some serious shopping if she wants to help Dean keep up the facade.

Dean takes her hand in his as they make their way from the car to the front of the restaurant. When they step in, the maître d’ comes surging forward, having recognized Dean.

The tall brunette woman is Lisa, and Y/N knows her too, since her reservation for Dean always goes through Lisa. She realizes, though, that Lisa’s also the woman Amara was talking about who Dean took to an event right before her and Dean’s supposedly wedding day.

“Hey Dean,” Lisa’s smile grows wider, it’s bright, she shows off her perfect teeth.

“Lisa,” Dean greets her with a courtesy nod.

“Oh, hey, Y/N,” It’s only now that Lisa notices her. 

Y/N nods, “Hey, Lisa,”

“How are you doing, Dean? Haven’t seen you for two weeks. I already missed you!” Lisa turns her attention completely to Dean and ignores Y/N’s existence.

Dean lets go of Y/N’s hand and she thinks that he’s abandoning her. But then she feels his arm around her back, his hand around her waist as he pulls her closer to him, “Yeah, been busy, wedding and all,” He places a kiss on Y/N’s temple.

Lisa’s eyes widen and she looks at Y/N, her gaze resting on Y/N fingers with the diamond ring and wedding band.

“Oh,” Lisa breathes out and Y/N can see that the woman lost her balance for a second. She’s quick to compose herself, though.

“We’re meeting Mr. Shurley,” Dean says and Lisa types something in on her computer. 

She’s quick to look up again, “Your party’s already here, follow me, please.” There’s a smile on Lisa’s face but it isn’t for Y/N’s eyes to see. She notices it nonetheless.

If Dean notices Lisa’s hostility against her, he doesn't let on, carrying an easy conversation while they are walking to the back of the restaurant. 

When they arrive, Chuck smiles at them and greets them. There’s a blonde woman with Chuck who he introduces as his wife, Naomi. 

Dean pulls out a chair for her before he sits down himself. Lisa brings out the menu and hands it to them, before she leans down and whispers something into Dean’s ear. Dean’s laughing at Lisa’s remark.

Y/N pretends not to notice. She also thinks that it shouldn’t bother her— but it does. 

Chuck and Naomi are quick to strike up a conversation with Dean. Apparently Naomi is the CIO of Chuck’s company so the three of them have plenty to talk about. She feels a little left out, so she pretends to look at the menu, but her appetite is gone. 

Lisa appears with the wine Chuck ordered before, and she lingers a little longer around Dean. There’s some weird feelings in Y/N’s stomach and really, all she wants to do is to just stand up and leave. She doesn’t know why she needs to be here in the first place. They’re leaving for Jamaica tomorrow and she should be packing. Or... go drinking. Or… the fuck does she know!

All she knows is that Lisa usually works the front of the restaurant, but she must have switched with another waitress because that woman is swarming about their table. When they all clink their glasses, Y/N’s quick to empty hers in one go. She doesn’t really care about etiquette anymore.

Chuck and Naomi are talking and Dean sends Y/N a side eye when she signals for Lisa to refill her glass. He clears his throat but tries to follow what Chuck says. She likes Chuck. Because Chuck carries on as if nothing’s happening. As if she’s not having a silent meltdown right in front of Chuck’s fucking eyes.

Y/N empties her glass again, winks for Lisa to refill it a third time. If Lisa thinks it’s weird that Y/N’s already on her third glass while the others have barely taken a sip, she doesn’t say anything. Why should she. She’s here to work — and flirt with her fake husband. It might come in handy for Lisa if Y/N’s drunk. 

Oh my god, she’s jealous. She’s jealous when she shouldn’t fucking be.

“Baby, don’t you think you should maybe eat something first?” Dean says, his voice rolls smoothly above the chatter around them.

Baby.

Ugh.

How dare he use it now.

Don’t you think that it’s none of your fucking business? Is what she thinks, but doesn’t say.

Instead, she stands up, and sends a smile towards Chuck and Naomi, “Please excuse me,” She sends them a courtesy nod, for good measure, and walks out to find the bathroom. 

It’s a big restaurant, alright, the bathroom is in the basement and she needs to take the stairs. She clutches to the railings, and descends slowly, doesn’t want to miss a step that would most probably send her tumbling down.

“Y/N!” 

Oh, no.

Dean.

He’s quick by her side and weaves his arms around her to walk back up the stairs with her again. Damn his fucking long legs. 

“What are you doing?” She hisses in a low voice, and adds, “I need to pee!” 

“No, you don’t,” Dean whispers while he grins and nods at a couple in passing who he probably knows. 

“How do you know?”

“You just went before we left,” 

Ugh. She hates that he knew about her plan to stay in the bathroom long enough to look at some cute pet videos on youtube. She needs a distraction so badly.

Dean guides her to the front and out of the restaurant but that’s apparently not enough because he walks her around the corner into an alley too. She’s so close to punching him in the crotch and running away, that’s how upset she really is. But what upsets her more is that she doesn’t exactly know what upsets her and that is really upsetting. 

No, that’s not true, either. She knows why she’s upset. 

All her life, people made her feel like second best. It has always been like that. And her last relationship wasn’t any better. It wasn’t something impressive, since it was only a two months thing but she wonders if Dean knows about it. Wonders, if he knows about how Kevin cheated on her after only the first month and made her out to be the problem. Made her out to be the reason why he cheated and told her that’s her own fucking fault that he did. Made her out to not be worth Kevin's time or effort. It was too long ago, but she still remembers it as if it was yesterday. She remembers Kevin asking her to be his wife after only two weeks, and she foolishly said yes because she was naïve and way too young. Too young to know better, but now she does, and she has sworn to herself to not let anyone treat her like second best anymore, and also not to fall in love so fast, for that matter. Yet, here she is, fake married to a rich dude who probably won’t see her worth either. What’s the phrase? Fool me twice, shame on me? Yeah, it is all probably on her.

When they are out of sight and earshot, Dean lets go of her and paces around. He’s clearly distressed.

Good. Welcome to her fucking world.

He stops his pacing to thread a hand through his hair, “Can you tell me what that was all about? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” She says. It came out more calmly than she thought it would. Feels a little proud of herself.

Dean snorts, “Oh, don’t give me that, alright? When women say nothing it means that everything’s wrong!”

Oh, look. He learned something through the years.

She crosses her arms over her chest, “Go in, Dean, find an excuse for me. I want to go home,” 

There’s no answer, just a glare, so she goes on, “Oh, and while you’re at it, maybe Lisa can take my place? I’m sure she’d be happy to.”

There’s a laugh that rumbles out of Dean’s mouth. It comes from deep in his chest, and she stares at him, waits until the moment is over. He walks closer to stand just right in front of her, “Is that what it’s all about? You’re upset about Lisa?

You mean, if I’m upset that Lisa makes her think that she was there first? Yeah. You bet’cha. You mean, if I’m upset that I’m falling for you? Hell yes!

She bites her lips before she speaks, “No,” Her gaze is trained downwards.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that? Always have been.” Dean stares at her. She can’t really see it but she can fucking feel it. His gazes are always so intense. And how dare he think that she’s a terrible liar? Which is sadly true, but still...

“What does it matter?” She sighs, and really, she doesn’t even know why she’s still here.

“Your wellbeing matters, alright? To know that you’re okay, it matters to me. So, what the fuck is wrong?” He isn’t necessarily loud, just really stating his point.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, “I don’t get it, Dean. I just don’t get why I have to be here. I don’t understand why you wanted me in the first place,” 

Dean’s hand reaches out, fingers skimming over her cheek, “You’re my wife,”

“That’s the thing? Why me, Dean? Wouldn’t someone else be the better choice? Maybe Lisa, because she’s the one you took out a couple of days before we were supposedly married? She would have been the better cover for you.”

“You’re jealous,” There’s a smirk on his face. How dare he smirk now.

“‘M not,”

“Sure,” 

“Amara was right,” She whispers, still not looking at him, “I look like an idiot because you dated before we married. What girlfriend would let her boyfriend go out to an event with someone else? It makes me look fucking stupid!”

“What do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that I’m sorry I took a waitress out on a date when we weren’t even a thing?”

Well, they are still not a fucking thing now, are they? Of course she has no place to be upset. She fucking knows that! They weren’t anything but boss and employee.

“I don’t know! I just—” She lets out a frustrating sound that comes out of the depths of her throat. 

Dean chuckles.

It makes her madder.

He comes closer, places a hand on the back of her neck and draws her closer, “I picked you, alright? And I told you already how happy I am that it’s you. I took Lisa out to a freaking award show, yeah. But that’s in the past. I don’t think she was by my side after we’ve taken the pictures at all. She went off to meet celebrities.”

“Did you fuck her?”

Why is she asking questions when she really doesn’t want to know the answer?

Dean frowns but it’s a playful frown, a smirk hiding at the corner of his lips, “Does that matter?”

“It doesn’t,” She sighs, because it really doesn’t, but still, “It’s just— She’s looking at me with eyes that says that she had you first and shows no respect whatsoever towards your wife.” She pouts.

“You’re cute,” Dean chuckles, “Look at me,” She reluctantly lifts her face and he smiles at her before he kisses her swiftly. He parts after, leaving his forehead on hers, “I didn’t fuck her, if you really want to know. And about that other thing, let’s go in and show her what she’s missing out on, huh?”

She doesn’t answer him, still debates with herself if she should go back in at all, because they’ve been out here for too long already and the others will look at her strangely.

“Please?” Dean says, tilts her chin up with his hand and kisses her again. 

Damn him. He knows that it's hard for her to resist his kisses.

“What did you tell Chuck where I went?”

Dean takes her question as a cue that it’s okay for him to walk her back, his hand is firm around her waist, “Told them you were stressed,”

“Why?”

“Because we have a pregnancy scare and we don’t want kids. Told them that you’re anxiously waiting on your period to arrive.”

“Oh, no,”

“Hey, just play along,” Dean shrugs and pulls her close to place a kiss on her temple before they walk into the restaurant again.

Dean’s true to his words, he constantly kisses her, nuzzles his nose against her cheek, touches her thighs, her hands, leans in to whisper into her ear. He showers her with affection, especially when Lisa is close to their table. And apparently it works because by the time their main course arrives, Lisa went back to the front of the restaurant.

“So Y/N, have you met my sister today?” Chuck asks and Naomi visibly rolls her eyes. Apparently, nobody likes Amara.

Her cheeks start to burn up. How can she tell that she hasn’t met Amara because she sucked Dean’s dick under his desk?

“She hasn’t,” Dean answers for her, and she’s thankful for that, “She was in a meeting.”

“Good for you,” Chuck smiles, “She can be a real bitch,”

Hah. She has to bite back a snort because that’s clearly an understatement.

“I think we’ve established that,” Dean says.

“My team is looking into leads that could help your annulment case,” Chuck smiles, “Which in turn would help my case,”

“Thanks, man,” Dean says and leans back, his arm goes behind her chair, fingertips stroking at her back, “I don’t fucking remember a thing,”

It’s the first time she hears about what happened. She didn’t dare ask before because it didn’t seem relevant to her.

Chuck chuckles lightly, “It is weird, you’re right. We had two tumblers of whiskey, nothing more. I remember saying goodbye to you and you walked to the other side of the hotel because our rooms were in different wings.”

“I don’t remember anything after that,” Dean rubs at his scruff with his free hand, “She must have put something in my drink.”

“We’re looking into it. Our company doesn’t condone it and she would drop out immediately.” Chuck says, his voice is reassuring and calm. 

Dean nods and bites on his bottom lip, “Yeah, I hope you’re able to find something,”

“Let us talk about something that will lift up our spirit, why don’t we?” Chuck grins, and looks over to Naomi who agrees with him. He turns back to them, “You’re going on honeymoon is that right?”

Dean’s face lights up and she tries to match his grin.

“Yeah,” He says, his hands play with her hair on her back, “We’re off to Jamaica tomorrow,”

“Who’s going to Jamaica?”

A shrill voice pierces the room. It makes all the hair on her back stand up.

“Oh, no!” Chuck rolls his eyes visibly and Naomi bites on her lips.

Amara struts over, dressed to the nines. It makes Y/N look like a bag of trash next to her.

“Yeah, we’re off,” Dean stands up, and holds out his hand for Y/N to take, “Chuck,” Dean nods, “Naomi,” another nod, “It’s late and we should get going. We still have to pack.”

Chuck nods back, understanding perfectly why they need to leave right now.

“See you,” Chuck says, and adds, “And I’ll get back to you on that... thing.”

“Would love to hear from you, man,” Dean says, and then he pulls her with him ignoring Amara who’s standing there like she’s the only thing that matters when all they did was to ignore her.

*

Back at Dean’s place, she walks straight to her room with Dean on her heels. 

When she opens the door, Dean holds her back by her hand, “Hey,”

She stops to turn around. 

He steps closer, his fingers slip underneath her chin to tilt her face up, “What can I do to get you into my bed tonight, huh?”

Y/N doesn’t answer straight away so he leans in, kisses her, soft and tender, his tongue brushing teasingly over her lips. When he breaks it off, she has to smile, “Well, that was pretty convincing, but no,”

Dean raises his eyebrows, “No?”

“Yeah, it’s just— so many things happened today and I have to process that,” She says, and adds, “Alone,”

“Okay, that’s fair,”

“And I’m still upset with you,”

“You are?” Dean frowns.

“Yeah,” She says but grins because Dean’s frowning some more, creases etched deep into his forehead, “I just need some alone time to gather my thoughts and I have to pack,” She honestly doesn’t know why she has to give him an explanation. It’s not like she owes him one. 

“Okay,” Dean says, he places a kiss on her forehead, leaves his lips there, “Be ready at 5am, alright?”

“Ugh, of course you’d take an early flight.” 

He has to chuckle at that.

CH14

[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 13 - Alone Again

Word Count: 15,835

TW:  mentions of child r*pe, mentions of p*dophilia, mentions of self-harm, mentions of trauma, unconsensual biting, unprotected sex, mentions of mental breakdown.

A/N: Hey guys! I felt very bad for updating so slowly, so here it is early! Happy Valentine’s! Special thanks to those who has sent me fanart and kofis!! I appreciate them all, honestly, it’s really amazing. 

Masterlist

Kofi

The ding of his phone woke Jason up from sleep. Even during the grogginess of slowly regaining consciousness, Jason knew who it was.

He blinked his eyes a few times to get used to waking up, and cleared his dry throat. He laid there in bed for a few moments, staring at the tin roof of the safe house he was so proud of. He wondered whether the text would be business or pleasure.

He liked it when you were there with him at night.

But you were too fucking stubborn, and was still hesitating to continue seeing him. It had been a month since the first time you joined him, and since then you went out with him a couple more times, only to investigate the elite pedophile ring that plagued Jason’s mind ever since he found out that it existed, and that Bruce had kept it from him.

Your dilemma meant that you weren’t with him all the time and got upset every time he killed someone.

Jason wasn’t a patient person, but the two of you still texted and called. Discussions, or banter. It was as if you were his friend.

As if everything wasn’t as fucked up as it was.

And however hard he tried to separate his feelings from his goals, to keep you at a distance, to wall himself off, he had obviously failed.

Because now he was smiling to himself at the thought of waking up to your texts.

He had freaked out at first, confused as to why he had started to hate you less and less over time, but now he realised that it didn’t matter how he felt anymore.

As long as he could snatch you away from Bruce.

The fact that you made him feel like he wasn’t alone anymore was only a bonus.

***

To say that it was troublesome to have Dick around would be an understatement.

He had originally mentioned that he was only going to stay for a week, but one week became two, and a month later, he. Was. Still. Fucking. Here.

The fact that you were living under the same roof as Batman meant that you were almost constantly on your feet, but now Nightwing was added to the equation, it felt suffocating.

At least Bruce didn’t like to poke into your personal life as much. Dick Grayson on the other hand, loved to play the doting older brother. You weren’t fooled, though. You knew he was still suspicious of you, and was using his caring nature to his advantage, touching the line between concern and straight up paranoia.

You sighed out loud.

Michelle Myers turned her head to glare at you. You stuck up your middle finger to her, earning an audible gasp.

Shit, you hadn’t meant to do that. You forgot where you were for a second.

School was one of the ways to escape the prying and ever analytical eyes of your older brother, and a way to run from the feelings of growing distance you felt between you and your family.

It was all Jason’s fault.

You had let him get into your head ever since he told you that Bruce had kept a disgustingly huge and important piece of information regarding Gotham’s elite society- the society that you were a part of.

You felt as though there was an invisible line that separated you and Bruce now.

It wasn’t a nice feeling.

“What the hell was that?” Michelle came up to your desk as you were packing to leave.

“I’m sorry?” you feigned innocence.

“You bitch!” she hissed, “You know what you did!”

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Rob interjected.

“I have no idea?” you lied.

“Michelle?” Rob turned to her.

“She- she- she showed me the middle finger!” Michelle fumed.

“What?” Robert asked, “No way. That’s not something she would do. Would you?”

He turned to you.

You wondered if his parents were part of this human trafficking ring. You wondered if Michelle’s parents were.

“Of course not!” you defended yourself, “That would be unbecoming of me!”

“Michelle, it’s not nice to make up stories,” Rob rolled his eyes.

Rob’s father was the CEO of Gotham’s number one cybersecurity company, his mother inherited generations worth of wealth. Her lineage meant that she had an iron grip on Gotham and was often Bruce’s rival when it came to influence. If she were a man and didn’t take her husband’s surname, Bruce would probably have lost to her on countless occasions. The possibility of one or both of them secretly running an organized crime was high.

“I’m not!” Michelle snapped, “I’m telling the truth.”

Michelle’s mother was Gotham’s famous socialite in the 80s, her father a nobleman from England. Both very rich, but Mrs. Myers was new rich, and Mr. Myers wasn’t born and raised in Gotham. The chances were there, but probably not as high.

“Even if you were, and she did show you the middle finger, what’s the big deal? Stop being so uptight, Michelle,” Rob scolded her.

Michelle looked like she was about to pop a vein in her temple.

“Thanks Rob,” you said, “But really, it’s okay. I think Michelle might have made an honest mistake, that’s all. I’m sorry too, Michelle. Maybe I was brushing my hair aside and might have accidentally made a vulgar gesture.”

“There,” Rob smiled warmly at you, “Just a mistake. You going back now?”

“Yes, I think Alfred should be here already,” you nodded, “I’ll see you guys next week?”

“Good luck studying!” Rob wished you, “Though mocks would probably be a breeze for you.”

“I doubt it, but thank you Rob,” you made your way to leave. You turned your head to Michelle and gave her a knowing wink you knew would make her lose her mind, and walked away.

“Dick?” you called out to your older brother, who was attracting a lot of attention on the sidewalk. He had parallel parked his car on the side, and was leaning against it with his sunglasses on. He waved at you once he saw you approach him.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Picking you up,” he shrugged.

“Where’s Alfred?”

“Home,” he simply said.

“And why did you come to pick me up?”

“Because why not?” he grinned, opening the passenger door for you to enter.

You narrowed your eyes at him and entered the car.

Dick had always made you feel comfortable, and you naturally felt at ease when you were with him, but lately, it was different.

You felt stiff, alert, and on guard when Dick was around because it felt like he was just waiting silently for you to fuck up, to let something slip. You hated it.

You hated how your family felt so far away from you because you had betrayed them.

“Hey, Dick?” you asked after five minutes of unusual silence.

“What’s up?”

“What does Bruce do when he’s on patrol alone?” you brought up.

Did Dick know about this elite pedophile ring? Was Dick keeping secrets from you as well?

“He patrols, I guess?” Dick answered.

“No, I meant during the nights when he tells me that he doesn’t need me around,” you explained, “What does he do then?”

You saw Dick frown.

“I don’t know,” he stated.

“Did he ever do that to you? Tell you he doesn’t need you and go off alone?” you probed.

“All the time,” he sighed.

“And you never found out what he was doing?”

“I- well- look, what’s this about?” Dick turned the question back at you, “Did something happen? Did you find something?”

“What am I supposed to find?” you interrogated.

“I don’t know!” he answered exasperatedly, “Sure, I wondered a lot back then, but that’s- that’s just how he is! He keeps secrets and leaves us out of a lot of things. Like Jason being alive for fuck’s sake. If he can keep something like that a secret for so long, God knows what he’s up to when he’s alone.”

“Didn’t you ever stop to question it?” you argued.

“Didn’t you?” Dick retaliated, “All these years as Robin, why are you only bringing this up now?”

You fell silent.

“Did something happen?” he repeated again.

“Nothing happened,” you insisted, looking at the cars zooming by outside the passenger window.

Silence again. And then-

“Jason used to question it all the time,” Dick sighed, calming down. “Even followed Bruce out. That was hilarious. Imaging trying to tail Batman.”

“He asked the right questions, then,” you grumbled.

“He did,” Dick admitted, “Didn’t get him anywhere, though.”

“Except six feet under,” you muttered bitterly.

Dick never replied to that.

***

“We still don’t know her identity, she pops in and out seemingly randomly, has mediocre tech, mediocre skills… I don’t know, Bruce. What kind of purpose does Jason have for her?” Dick stated.

You tried not to clench your jaw upon hearing that.

The three of you were in the Cave, discussing your next step for tracking Red Hood down. Bruce had suggested going after V instead and hoped that she would lead you to him. You were treading dangerous waters, and remained silent most of the time.

“The fact that she has still remained elusive shows some form of skill,” Bruce argued.

It was hard not to defend your alter-alter-ego. But, you were relieved. You had tried your best to ensure they wouldn’t suspect you, even changing your fighting style to something you weren’t too familiar with.

“Still doesn’t explain why she’s with him,” Dick shrugged, “Nothing on the traffic cams?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You had also made sure to avoid all cameras, even parking and changing blocks away before meeting with Jason. Jason, on the other hand, drove the same fucking car, or the same fucking bike, though he frequently changed plate numbers.

Still, this was Batman and Nightwing you were talking about.

“Only one thing,” Batman replied, before pulling up a security camera footage.

Fuck.

“This was taken along Jackson Avenue in Old Gotham,” Bruce continued and played the footage.

It showed a very low quality pixelated video of you wearing a black hoodie and a black cap covering your head. You had a surgical mask on to blend in better with the crowd instead of a black mask that would automatically made you suspicious. Your face was unidentifiable.

You walked into an alleyway and never came back out.

“How are you sure this is her?” Dick asked, “She wasn’t seen in Old Gotham.”

“Height and body type are a match,” Bruce justified, “That backpack could be carrying her weapons and clothes.”

You hid that backpack in an unused dumbwaiter of a guestroom all the way on the other wing of the manor that Alfred did not bother to dust.

“Or it could be carrying textbooks,” Dick scoffed.

“There is also this-”

Bruce pulled up another traffic footage. It was of you in the same clothes, with Jason next to you on a nearly empty sidewalk with shops already closed. Jason was also wearing a hoodie that covered his head, and the camera was far away. The two of you were walking away from the camera.

“This was three hours later on Schnappe Avenue, three blocks away from Caprice, where they were last seen together a week ago.”

You had followed Jason to Caprice, a bar that hosted many criminals, and was owned by the Italian mob. Red Who was simply there to take his profits and ask a few questions regarding their connections to certain politicians in Gotham.

Rendezvous with Jason was complicated, as you both had to protect your identities. You would leave the manor two hours early, park somewhere very far away, then walk or take a taxi to a location maybe 3 kilometres away from where you would meet Jason, duck into a dark alley to change into your gear, and then grappled to where Jason parked. From there, the two of you would grapple to your location. Once you were done, you would go to his car where you stashed your bag. You would then reverse your steps and go home.

That night however, Jason, the fucking dickhead, got hungry and insisted that you followed him to a diner, which was why the both of you were in casual clothes walking together in the streets. Good thing that by fucking sheer luck, no security cameras picked you up at the restaurant.

“There were no cameras to follow them after that,” Bruce grit, “They must have strategically chosen the route.”

No, Jason was just hungry.

Dick remained silent, so you turned to look at him. You frowned at his expression. Dick’s eyes were glassy and soft.

“Is- is that really him?” he whispered.

“High possibility. It’s too coincidental to dismiss.”

“Wow,” Dick breathed, “He looks- he looks different.”

Ah, it was Dick’s first time seeing new Jason without his helmet on.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded stiffly.

“How different?” you spoke up for the first time.

You were curious.

“Well, he’s much bigger,” Dick chuckled, “And taller. Good for him. He always complained about his height. Used to bet with me that he’d grow taller. Can’t see his face, though. He used to whine about how I was stealing all the girls too. Pretty sure he had a crush on Barbara.”

Dick gave a sad smile, and you saw Bruce had turned to face away.

“Anyway,” Dick cleared his throat, “How do you suggest we go about this V girl?”

“Uh,” you started, “Why not interrogate the guy they were meeting?”

Fat chance Elio Bianchi would spill anything with what Red Hood threatened him with.

“Already did last week,” Bruce answered.

You didn’t patrol last week. Bruce suddenly extended your “grounding”, but you suspected that he wanted to keep you away from Jason.

“And?”

“Refuses to speak. Red Hood must have something on him.”

Yes, the age, location, and photos of all three of his daughters.

“So what next?” you wondered.

“We wait for his next move,” Bruce sighed, “He doesn’t seem to be doing anything too rash lately since making Elena Ciobanu shoot Victor Ibenescu. He is waiting for something.”

“Or maybe he’s finally got control?” you suggested, “Over everyone? I mean- the reason why he did all those violent things were all gang-related, wasn’t it? Maybe now he’s made his point, so everyone is following his rules?”

“Maybe,” Bruce hummed, “But this wasn’t about taking control. Now we know who he is and what his motives are.”

“He did kidnap you,” Dick added, “It’s more likely that he’s planning to do something like that again.”

“Which is why,” Bruce continued, “I don’t think you should be out with us for now.”

“Oh, come on, Bruce,” you complained, “You already grounded me for an extra week!”

“It’s not about punishment. It’s about keeping you safe.”

“I wasn’t even in uniform the last time he kidnapped me!” you debated, “I’m the safest with you.”

“In the event that we do find him, I would need to talk to him,” Bruce insisted, “Having you there might trigger something in him. It’s best if you stayed away.”

“Dick!” you turned to your older brother for help.

“Sorry kid, but I’m with him on this one,” he gave you an apologetic look.

“He could kidnap me in the middle of the day!” you ranted, “He could blow up the school, the train, hell, even the library again!”

Both Dick and Bruce frowned.

“Again?” Dick repeated.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Yeah, I already lost one library, he could very well just find out where I am and blow it up or something,” you covered.

Bruce remained silent, just looking at you with intensity. You tried your absolute best not to recoil, not to give away that your heart was beating so violently against your chest that you could hear it in your ears.

“How important is your exam?” Bruce spoke.

“It’s my mocks, Bruce,” you grumbled, “Scholarships are waiting for mocks results. I’m not letting a delusional psycho with daddy issues get in the way of my future, no matter who he is.”

You intentionally aimed those words at the both of them. Jason was Bruce’s son, and Dick’s brother, and you wanted them to feel it.

“Then you’re only to go to and from school,” Bruce directed, “No staying back, either, and Alfred will wait outside the whole time.”

“Seriously?” you pinched the bridge of your nose, “Fine! Fine. I just- I just wanted to test myself. Whatever.”

“Test yourself?” Dick asked.

You looked at Dick straight in the eye and said, “I wanted to see if I could face him after he kidnapped and sexually assaulted me.”

With that, you stormed off after manipulating the people closest to you to make sure you throw them off of any suspicions of you.

You locked yourself in your room and collapsed on the bed with a frustrated huff. You took out your phone to send Jason a text.

You: What are you doing tonight?

Five minutes later, your phone dinged.

Sexy Hunk From Library: Usual. You coming? You: You have any leads? Sexy Hunk From Library: Possibly.

You stared at your phone, assessing the risks if you were to go out with him that night. Then, your phone dinged again.

Sexy Hunk From Library: Kill time with me?

The corners of your lips twitched upwards.

You: Miss me that much?

You saw that he was typing, then stopped, then typed again. Until finally-

Sexy Hunk From Library: Are you coming or not?

It was funny how you could still chuckle to yourself despite how fucked you were. You were fucked because you betrayed your family, you were fucked because your family was suspicious of you, and you were fucked because for the past couple weeks of occasionally seeing and texting him, you realised that you had begun to like him more and more.

The dangerous and violent parts of him still made you wary, but despite all that, you couldn’t help but want to be by his side. It confused the hell out of you, because sometimes he didn’t act like how you would expect him to act at all.

Sometimes he was actually nice.

For instance, he had treated you to that burger when he insisted that you went with him to the diner.

Or the time when he argued with you over pineapple on pizza, as if you were friends who didn’t hate each other.

And even when you almost got punched in the face by a massive brute who had been dealing to kids. The punch never landed because Red Hood stopped him, beat him half to death, and then shot him in the kneecaps, before turning to you and asking if you were okay.

You thought that was sort of nice of him.

Fuck, you wanted to see him.

You texted him back.

You: Time and location?

***

Jason waited impatiently for you to arrive.

He was tapping his fingers rapidly against the steering wheel. Somehow he felt like he was going to be sick.

Despite the gentle drizzle that fell against the glass windows and the cold wind blowing outside, Jason felt hot and stuffy.

He looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror, coming into contact with his tired, sunken, blue eyes. He tried to fix his hair, combing it to the side with his fingers then groaning before ruffling it up again.

Fuck, what was he doing?

He spent the next minute trying and failing to fix his hair, that he didn’t notice you approached the vehicle until your rapped your knuckles against the window. He jumped at the sudden sound, earning a raised eyebrow from you. He unlocked the door and you climbed inside.

“You’re late,” he grumbled, aware of his hoarse voice. It was the first time he had spoken to anyone in two days.

“Only by five minutes,” you pouted.

“Late is late,” he snapped.

“You’re okay with killing people, but will bitch if I’m slightly late?” you scoffed.

“Just be on time next time,” he grit.

“Fine, I’m sorry I’m late,” you rolled your eyes. “Now can we get to it?”

Jason gave you a glare, his jaw clenching in frustration. He took a few moments to calm down.

“You know Maria and Joseph Powers?”

“Of the Powers Group?” you frowned, “Powers Hotel? Sure, I know them.”

“I have reason to believe that they’re one of the people involved in this child trafficking business,” Jason revealed.

“W-what?” you gasped, “Do you have evidence?”

“Some,” Jason replied, “They’ve been investigated before. I guess Batman played a part in that, but everything seems to have been dropped. Document trails, eye witness statements, physical evidence- all disappeared.”

He saw that you were struggling to keep up, mouth gaping and eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” he frowned, “Get a hold of yourself.”

“Bruce knew?” you whispered.

“What doesn’t he know?” Jason scoffed.

“I sat on the same fucking table as them last Christmas ball,” you growled, “I went to their kid’s fifth birthday party. Bruce shook hands and smiled at them and then invited them over for drinks.”

Jason resisted a smirk. He finally got you to understand. Your arms were crossed, and your face in a scowl, obviously pissed.

Bruce probably did all of that to keep them close so he could keep an eye on them, maybe even find some more details. But Jason wasn’t going to tell you that.

You still had a lot to learn, but Jason was willing to be the one to teach you.

“Where will he be tonight?” he asked.

“I… I’m not too sure,” you said quietly.

Jason raised an eyebrow at you.

“What’s this? He didn’t tell his beloved Robin his plans? Again?”

You remained silent, looking straight ahead.

“I was wondering about that,” he continued, “Friday night and you’re here with me instead. Something happened?”

This time, Jason waited patiently for you to respond, enjoying the way you were obviously uncomfortable with his interrogation.

“He…” you started slowly, “He won’t let me out with him.”

“You got into trouble again?” he smirked.

“No, it’s because of you,” you shot him a sharp glare.

If only looks could kill.

“He knows you have it out for me, so for my safety,” you spat, “He won’t let me out.”

Jason blinked at you once, twice, then let out a booming laugh.

“Oh, man. Oh, sweetheart,” he pretended to wipe away tears, “Look at you, all angry at me.”

He reached across towards you and booped you on the nose. You swatted his hand away violently.

Jason loved teasing you. It made his heart all warm.

You were looking away again, and had the mask covering half your face, but even in the dark alley, he could make out your long lashes, clumped together because of the rain, and the way your shiny hair framed your face, also damp.

Your smell was intoxicating, filling his car with a pleasant scent of vanilla and strawberries. The longer Jason spent time with you, the more he felt himself getting pulled deeper and deeper in-

“He’s investigating me,” you interrupted his trance. “Well, not me specifically, but V. He’s got footage of us walking to that stupid diner-”

You paused to shoot daggers at him.

“-good thing I kept the hoodie and mask on, and thank the fucking stars that there were no cameras after that leading to to the diner. We can’t be reckless like that again, Jason.”

Jason rolled his eyes at your lecture

“So now what? You gonna kill the Powers’? How did you find out about them anyway?” you asked.

“Through the Ibenescu problem,” he explained, “Whenever they trafficked girls, I’ve always found a few kids. Always not more than ten at a time. Didn’t add up. All this while I’ve made sure there were no kids involved, be it local or foreign. And after going to each and every single fucking brothel and threatening every single pimp in Gotham-”

Jaon let out a tired sigh at the memory of going all over Gotham to turn over every rock, paying and threatening people for information. He allowed sex work as long as they kept to his standards, and as long as they weren’t trafficked. He made sure all the girls were well taken care of, and he made it very clear as to what would happen to the pimps if they weren’t.

The girls all loved him.

“- no sign of kids. Which meant that Gotham was being used as a proxy and they were being transported outside of Gotham, or there were other powers at play. So I dug in deeper. Hacked into GCPD records, looked at the political scandals and allegations that got dropped and was never brought to court. The Powers and some others came up a few times, but not too heavy. Tax evasion and stuff like that. Until I hacked into the FBI.”

“The FBI?” you gasped.

He smirked to himself. You were paying careful attention. It made him feel like he was some sort of mentor.

“It’s really not that difficult when you know people,” he scoffed, “Anyway, the Powers’ were originally under investigation for money laundering because the Powers’ Group Executive Accountant, who mysteriously died of a suicide, reported large sums of money that didn’t belong there. Then they got an external auditor, who is also deceased, reported inconsistencies with signatures and accounts.”

Jason reached to the back seats of his car and passed you a thick file that contained the FBI investigation.

“After that, they checked emails. Nothing. Then they wiretapped them, and recorded conversations regarding child sex trafficking from all over the world, for other politicians and rich pigs in this goddamned country- whose names are redacted in the files. However, they didn’t keep the audio evidence. Everything’s been terminated.”

“Wait, this can’t be right,” you frowned, flipping through the pages. “This case is almost twenty years old and… dropped? In 2012!”

“Exactly,” Jason grit.

“How long have you been investigating this?”

“Over the last two months.”

“So you already knew the Powers’ were involved,” you looked at him in suspicion, “Why haven’t you killed them yet?”

Ah, you caught on quick. Not bad.

“Because of tonight, sweetheart,” he answered, “I wiretapped them myself. There’s a shipment tonight, and one of the Powers’ need to confirm it half an hour before docking, or else they won’t dock, and it’ll be a bitch to track down again.”

“Then this is great,” your eyes widen, “We catch them red handed at the docks, take photos, spread them online, make it go viral. They won’t be able to cover it up when there’s a public outcry.”

Jason started chuckling.

“What?” you demanded.

“Look through the files. Do you see any pictures? Videos?”

You frowned.

“Do you really think they would be stupid enough to physically be there, where the authorities can, and I quote, catch them red handed?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Even if they were there, pictures can be easily faked these days. Hell, even videos. Audios, easiest of the two. They would just claim that someone was slandering them, then move on. If the feds don’t want to charge them, do you really think the cops could? And what happens if they were brought to court anyway? They can easily pay off judges and jurors.”

Jason liked this. Educating you.

Just face it, baby girl,” he added, “The system is fucked. Batman’s been trying for over a decade, and the Powers’ are still having Christmas balls.”

You let out a sad sigh.

“Let’s just get to the docks, then.”

Jason put on his mask and helmet, and drove away.

***

You were sick and tired of Dixon Docks, but criminals just couldn’t stop choosing that location for smuggling. There was also Port Adams, but the port was located near Blackgate Isle, so the marine security was tighter.

Any normal city, a place like Dixon Docks would have much tighter security after countless cases of illegal smuggling, but this was Gotham.

The security that GCPD put out on patrol with what little resources they could spare were easily bribed. The dock security company themselves were probably owned and bought over by a crime lord, not unlike the one beside you right now.

“They’re here,” Jason pointed out. The both of you were on the rooftop of a warehouse on the docks.

You squinted in the distance and saw a ship coming nearer. You missed Batman’s tech whenever you went out with Jason. Your lack of state of the art domino mask made it harder to see faraway objects and in the dark.

The docks were quiet, except for the sound of the water currents and sea breeze, and the twenty or so hired guns grumbling about the weather. You theorized that this operation was usually similar in the past, where it went smoothly without much obstacles, judging from the lack of hired security. Jason also mentioned that the kids were usually brought in along with older trafficked victims from other operations to help cover up, but since his harsh crackdown on human trafficking, they were forced to operate alone.

You waited until the industrial ship dock amongst the other unoccupied ships, and then heard some voices yelling in the distance. From the ship came out 4 girls and 3 boys in tattered clothes, malnourished and with frightful eyes. Their ages ranged from about 12-15 years old.

Accompanying them were three armed men, shoving the children to walk faster. Your blood started boiling at the sight.

“This should be easy,”Jason stretched, getting ready to make a move.

“We shouldn’t underestimate them,” you advised, “We should think of a strategy to-”

Jason leapt from the age of the rooftop without warning.

“Wait! Red Hood! Fuck!” you whispered angrily, and followed suit.

Red Hood ran ahead of you with inhuman speed towards the children, guns out and firing at the men.

You heard the children scream, the men shouting, and more guns firing.

It all happened so fast, that by the time you reached there, Red Hood was standing tall and proud over more than a dozen dead bodies.

“What the fuck?!” you shoved Red Hood as hard as you could. He didn’t budge. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“What?”

“You opened fire when there are children right in the middle of everything!” you yelled.

“I’ve got an excellent aim and I caught them off guard,” he defended, “They couldn’t even respond on time.”

“The kids could have caught a stray bullet, you fucking dickhead!” you shoved him again.

This time, he growled at you and gripped your wrists tight, pulling you harshly to him.

“If you do that again, I’ll make sure you regret it,” he threatened you with a low voice that sounded even more hostile through the voice scrambler.

You wanted to say more, but then you heard a cry from one of the children. You wrenched your hand away from his grip and walked towards them.

They were kneeling on the ground, gripping each other tight by the clothes and arms. They were Asian. You guessed maybe South or South East.

“Hey,” you gently called out, slowly kneeling to their level. They recoiled at your approach.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” you said, putting your arms up in surrender to convince them. “See? No guns.”

Their expressions didn’t change. You were just another threat to them.

“Don’t any of you speak English?” Red Hood grunted.

You glared at him.

“What? It’d help,” he shrugged.

“Even if they did, do you really think they’d speak to you?” you snapped.

You turned to them again, and despite the risk, pulled down your mask and hoped that there weren’t any cameras nearby.

“Hey, we’re here to help okay?” you maintained a slow, low voice.

Two girls then looked at each other, and one of them spoke up.

“I- I can speak English,” she said in a shaky voice.

“That’s great,” you smiled sweetly, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Magdeline,” she whispered.

“Nice to meet you, Magdeline. I’m V,” you pointed at Jason, “And that grumpy tomato head there is Red Hood.”

You saw Magdeline and two others share a smile. They must have understood you.

“We’re not going to hurt you, okay? We just want to help.”

“Are you going to take us home?” another girl squeaked.

“No,” you winced, “But, we’re going to take you to the police, and they will help, okay?”

They nodded, wiping tears from their eyes.

“So what we’re going to do is that we’re going to call-”

You stopped mid sentence.

Suddenly, you felt a chill down your spine, as if someone dropped an ice cube down your shirt. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and you hurriedly put on your mask again.

“What’s wrong?” Red Hood sensed. You stood up straight, your heart beating fast.

“We need to go,” you told him, hearing the blood rush to your ears, your eyes darting quick to every shadow, to detect any movements from the darkness.

“What?”

“He’s here,” you whispered.

Red Hood looked at you for a moment, and then-

“Fuck. Come on.”

“Please don’t leave us,” Magdeline fisted your clothes, “Please.”

She looked like she was going to cry again.

“It’s okay,” you told her, “Someone’s here to help you.”

“No! Please! I want you!” she wailed.

“Shh,” you tried to calm her down.

“V, we don’t have time,” Red Hood growled.

“He’s a hero,” you ignored him, “He may look big and scary at first, but he’s a hero, okay? I promise.”

She continued to wail. You forced her off you and stepped back.

At the corner of your eye, you saw a shadow in the sky, and felt your heart drop to your stomach.

So this is what it felt like to be hunted by Batman.

“Come on,” you told Red Hood, and the two of you ran in the direction of Jason’s car, swerving between shipment containers for more cover.

Then, in the distance, you heard a loud familiar boom.

“JASON!”

The man in question who was running ahead of you started chuckling, then raided two middle fingers up in the air.

You looked behind you, but Batman was nowhere to be seen. Not in the sky, not on the roofs, not on the shipment containers, not even in the shadows.

Perhaps he saw the children and stopped-

You ran into Red Hood’s hard back. He had come to a sudden stop.

Fuck.

You peeked from behind him, and was relieved when you only saw Nightwing standing about ten feet away from you.

“Jason,” he called out, “Hey, buddy.”

“Quit your Golden Boy act, Grayson,” Red Hood snarled, “You’re almost as guilty as he is.”

He took out a handgun and aimed it at Nightwing.

“Come on, Jay,” Nightwing tried, “You’re not gonna shoot me.”

“You wanna bet?” he growled and cocked it.

You remained behind Jason for cover in fear of being recognized. Half your face was covered and you were wearing contact lenses that hid your true eye color, but you couldn’t be too careful.

“Who’s your friend, Jason?” you felt Dick’s eyes on you, “We can helo her too.”

Jason responded with a dark chuckle.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s your name?” Nightwing stepped closer in your direction.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Jason fumed.

Dick stopped in his tracks and raised his arms back up in surrender.

“Okay,” he nodded slowly, “It’s fine. Let’s just talk.”

***

Jason felt a punch in his gut when he saw his older brother appear in front of him.

Grayson had aged slightly, his hair longer, face more defined. It was guilt that Jason was feeling. Grayson had always been there for him. Training him, teaching him, giving him advise on girls and on being a teen.

Yet, even at that time, he had felt immense anger towards him, jealous that he was constantly in Grayson’s shadow no matter how hard he tried to be his own man.

And now? Grayson didn’t do jackshit to Joker either, the person who took the life of his supposed younger brother whom he said he always loved and cared for. No, Grayson was the same as everyone else.

Once Jason was out of the picture, they all gladly moved on and replaced him with you.

So fuck talking.

“No,” Jason tried as hard as he could to not let the tightness he felt in his chest affect him. “Move. I won’t repeat it again.”

“We miss you, Jason,” Dick pleaded, “You have no idea how happy I was when I found out you were alive.”

His throat was constricting, his breath shallow. No, Grayson was lying.

“Alfred spent the whole night crying,” Dick chuckled.

Stop it. Don’t talk about Alfred.

He felt his eyes stinging with tears.

“He was saying that he couldn’t wait to make your favourite-”

BANG!

“Fuck!” Dick screamed out in pain, collapsing to his knees and clutching his left thigh.

Jason heard you gasp behind him, and he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you to run with him to his car.

“You shot him,” you quietly whispered.

Jason was speeding away, the docks long behind him.

“He’s had a lot worse,” he grunted at you.

“You didn’t have to shoot him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he snapped, “Would you rather he caught the both of us? Unveil your identity? Show him how you were with me all along?”

“We could have taken him down together,” you muttered.

Jason let out a bark of laughter.

“You’re fucking stupid if you think the both of us can take down Grayson with just hand-to-hand,” he sneered, “Even if we could, let’s waste time and wait for Batman to catch up, right? Was that what you wanted?”

You remained silent.

“Didn’t think so.”

Jason gripped the steering wheel tight while he drove to the rendezvous point, selected carefully based on the absence of cameras in the area.

“I need to get back quick before they do,” you spoke up, “With Dick injured, they’re probably rushing back as well.”

“How do you plan on sneaking back in?” Jason asked out of curiosity.

“I deactivated the motion sensors.”

Jason frowned. Interesting.

“And I rented a motorbike a while back specifically for this. I park it outside the gate, hide it in some bushes so I don’t need to make noise opening and closing the gates every time I go in or out,” you explained, “I either play music in my room or play recorded noises of me doing things.”

“You’ve truly mastered the art of sneaking out now,” Jason teased, a small hint of pride swelling in his chest.

He made a turn into the same alleyway as before and switched off his engine.

“I need to go,” you moved to leave.

Without thinking, as if on reflex, Jason reached out and grabbed you by the wrists. You looked at him in question, an eyebrow raised, waiting for him to say something.

Jason looked back at you, the nauseous feeling returning again.

“Nothing,” he let go of you, “Sorry.”

You hesitated, as if you wanted to say something. In the end you nodded stiffly and left.

Jason took off his helmet and let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He leaned forward to rest his forehead on the steering wheel, coming to terms with the realisation that the nausea he felt was actually butterflies.

***

You tripped over your chair as you were climbing into your room from the window, causing some things on your desk to fall to the floor with a loud thud.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself.

You hurriedly took off your shoes and changed into your pyjamas, kicking the backpack full of your gear under your bed to be hidden in your secret place later. You ruffled your hair and then looked into your mirror, realising that you hadn’t taken off your contact lenses yet.

You heard footsteps approaching.

“Fuck, fuck, ow!” you accidentally poked yourself in the eye.

The moment you put in the last contact lens in its case, you heard a knock on your door.

“It’s me.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself down, then went to open the door.

“Yeah?”

Bruce looked at you with serious, tired eyes, still in his Batsuit sans the cowl.

“Dick got shot,” he stated.

“W-what?” you widened your eyes in shock, just as practiced. “Is he okay?”

You rushed out the room and hurried to the Manor’s infirmary where all of you went if there was a serious accident besides scrapes and cuts. Rushing out in panic would cover any body language that could reveal anything.

“He’s fine,” Bruce followed you from behind, “Lost a bit of blood, that’s all.”

You opened the doors to the infirmary to see Dick in a t-shirt and boxers on a bed, hooked to an IV bag. His left thigh was already bandaged. Alfred was adjusting the flow of the IV.

“Dick!” you rushed to his side, “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he rolled his eyes, “I’ve had worse.”

“What happened?” you repeated, sitting on the side of the bed.

Dick exchanged a look with Bruce.

“We were patrolling near the docks, then we heard gunshots,” Dick explained, “Turns out it was… Red Hood.”

“He… shot you?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he groaned, “I really didn’t think he would.”

“You have to stop thinking that this is the Jason you used to know,” you scolded, and then turned to Bruce with angry eyes, “Both of you. Don’t you think your judgement’s been clouded? That’s why it’s better if I’m with you. I never knew him, I’d be more objective and-”

“No,” Bruce said sternly, “End of discussion.”

You scowled. “What was he doing there anyway?”

Dick glanced at Bruce again.

“Weapons exchange,” Bruce answered, “He was hijacking a weapons exchange.”

If you weren’t there, you would have believed Bruce without a doubt. You clenched your jaw, making sure you don’t reveal anything.

“Why did he shoot at you?” you turned to Dick.

“He was probably being protective,” he said.

“Protective?”

“Yeah, the girl was there,” Dick recounted, “You should have seen him with her. It was like he was protecting her from me. His body language, stance and everything made it seem like she was precious cargo.”

You frowned.

“If I had to guess, she’s probably someone he cares about,” Dick smiled softly. “I’m sort of happy, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s… going through a lot,” Dick went on, “I’m glad there’s someone with him.”

Your mouth was dry. You turned and saw that Bruce was long gone.

“You don’t think she’s his prisoner or something?” you tried, “Maybe she’s being blackmailed or forced into staying with him.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head, “She looked like she was depending on him to protect her.”

Your left eye twitched in annoyance.

“Really,” you grit.

“Yeah, I mean,” Dick elaborated, “She looked scared. I guess I can’t blame her. It’s Batman.”

You remained silent to recollect your thoughts. Then-

“What are you going to do once you catch him?” you pursed your lips.

“Help him,” Dick replied like it was the most obvious thing.

“What if he doesn’t want help?” you pressed on, “Are you going to lock him away?”

“Only as a last resort,” Dick said, “But maybe being with family will make him see sense. Hopefully.”

“I guess you and Batman defy your own system too, huh?” you scoffed, standing up.

“What do you mean?”

“If Red Hood wasn’t Jason,” you argued, “If he was just some random guy who wanted to take matters in his own hands using violence and murder, you and Bruce would just lock him up either in Arkham or Blackgate depending on whether or not he pleads insanity. But because you know Jason personally…”

“You’re saying we should just lock him up instead of helping?” Dick asked perplexed.

“No, I’m just saying it’s kind of hypocritical that just because you know him, you’re giving him an out that you wouldn’t give anyone else,” you shrugged.

“We don’t just know him, he’s family,” Dick reminded you, “We don’t abandon family.”

You remained silent.

“Look,” Dick sighed and looked at you sympathetically, “I know what he did to you was wrong, and trust me, Bruce will make sure he atones for that. I’m not suggesting that he automatically come back and live here, especially because, well, you won’t be okay with it. Which is fine. You don’t have to put up with him. And we’re not making up excuses for him either. Like I said, Bruce was… very upset when he found out what happened to you. And that’s putting it lightly.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. You really didn’t care much about all of that. You had since then voluntarily asked him to do more to you than just suck hickies on your neck.

“But, this isn’t Jason,” Dick went on, “I mean, yes it is, but, he’s not rational. He’s angry and lashing out, and needs help. I’m not siding with him for what he did to you and we’re not dismissing it. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled, “Get some rest. Text me if you need anything.”

At least Jason’s sense of righteousness was simple and straightforward. You harmed innocents? You get his gun. There weren’t loopholes and justifications and complicated principles.

Plain and simple eye for an eye.

You turned to leave, unsatisfied with the lies and hypocrisy.

*** From the first crack of lightning you saw in the dark sky, you should have used it as a warning to stay home that Saturday night. But somehow you couldn’t help but go out to see Jason, knowing what he was planning to do.

You could have been in your bed, studying for your mocks with a mug of warm green tea in your hands and a plate of cookies on your desk, but instead, you were clutching the leather of Red Hood’s jacket, slippery and glistening from the downpour as he zoomed on his motorbike, you seated behind him.

Unlike the Robin uniform, though it wasn’t waterproof, the clothing you wore on nights with Jason was not state of the art. At least your Robin uniform didn’t get heavy when wet, and at least it wasn’t as absorbent. The rain made the zylon even heavier, making it difficult for you to move around.

The sound of rain pounding hard on your helmet was almost as loud as the wind. Jason didn’t care that the ground was slippery, he was still going recklessly as fast as he usually would.

He made a sharp turn into a lonely, dark road, with nothing but trees surrounding it. The road was going uphill, away from the city centre. You were approaching a mansion- modern style with glass walls.

Right before the trees cleared up, Red Hood swerved the bike into the bushes without warning, and then stopped once the both of you were deep enough within the cover of the trees. He cut off the engine, and you hurriedly climbed off.

Red Hood followed suit then, and you tried your best to not let your eyes linger on the way the water trickled down his chest, past the the red bat symbol, and down again, dipping into his-

“Fucking Gotham,” he grunted, voice crackling through the scrambler.

“At least you have a jacket,” you grit, teeth clenched as to not let them clatter.

He turned to look at you for a moment, and then started removing his leather jacket.

“N-no, it’s fine,” you refused, “It’s too big and it’ll be hard for me to move in. It’ll just be a hazard.”

Inside, your heart fluttered at the rare display of kindness.

“Whatever,” he shrugged it back on. “You remember the plan?”

“Plan?” you scoffed, “You mean sneak in, look for the master bedroom, then kill the Powers’?“

“You’re not going to stop me, are you?” he came closer to you, “If you’re going to mess it up, I’d rather tie you to the tree.”

“My, Red Hood,” you smirked, knowing that he couldn’t see it underneath your mask, “I didn’t know you were so kinky.”

“I’m serious,” he growled, “If you try to stop me, I will make you pay for it.”

“Whatever, let’s just get inside,” you turned away, “I’m fucking freezing.”

It would have been tough for anyone to sneak past all the security, cameras, bypassing alarm systems and into the mansion. But you and Red Hood weren’t just anyone. Both being trained by Batman, plus whatever it was that Jason gained over the years he wasn’t with Batman, it was only trickier than average.

Once you were in, you had to admit that you always thought the Powers’ had good taste. The interior was minimalistic, with furniture that were all neutral tones that went with the glass walls and with marble tops of exquisite design placement. You glanced at the exit to the backyard, which was a glass sliding door that spanned all the way from the ceiling to the floor.

It had only been one year since you were last there for their daughter’s birthday, ignorant of what was going on.

What the hell were you doing there?

“Split up,” Red Hood whispered from behind you, “Look for the master bedroom. Let me know when you find it.”

He gripped your hand and forced an earpiece in it.

Both you and Jason went up the marble staircase and stopped at the top. The hallway stretched from one end to the other, nothing in the way but a few potted plants.

He went right, and you took it as an instruction to go left.

Fuck, what were you doing? Were you going to stop him?

But the Powers’ deserved it. There was no other way, or else Bruce would have done something already.

Still, were you just going to stand by and watch while he murdered people?

You peeked into the first room, and saw that the bed with pink sheets was occupied by a small figure, wrapped in the covers like a cute little burrito.

Carrie Powers. Sleeping soundly while her parents were about to be killed.

Oh, God.

But how could they do this? Traffick other children when they had one of their own?

“Down the hall, first door on the left,” Jason’s hushed voice appeared in your ear.

Fuck, you had to stop him.

You closed the door quietly, and went to the room Jason had mentioned. It was opened by a crack, and you pushed it softly.

The view you saw made your heart skip a beat.

Red Hood had taken off his jacket and dumped it on the white setee in the middle of the very large master bedroom. He was standing by the super king sized bed, pointing an oddly shaped dagger at Maria Powers, who was fast asleep.

The power he so obviously exerted as he was standing over her, muscles taut with anticipation, contemplating which angle was best to slit her throat- it made your breath hitch.

“What do you think, V?” he said out loud, “How should I do it?”

His voice stirred the Powers awake, but before they could react, he grabbed Maria by the neck and lifted her so she sat upright, immediately pressing the knife against her cheek.

“Any of you scream, I’ll carve a smile into her face,” Red Hood threatened.

Joseph Powers, who finally snapped out of his groggy state, scrambled to his feet.

“W-what? Who are you?” he panicked, “What do you want?”

“No sudden movements,” Red Hood ordered, “I’m thinking whether or not I should make this quick and easy, or have some fun first.”

“We have money,” Joseph started, “Please. We’ll give you anything. Just don’t hurt us.”

“Oh, it’s not money I want,” Red Hood said cooly, “No. I want names.”

“What? What names?” Joseph asked, perplexed.

“Names of every politician, judge, CEO, or beat cop who is in on this little operation of yours.”

“I- I don’t understand,” the man stammered, “I think you’ve got it all wrong. We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” Jason played along, “Maybe I’ll give you a little reminder.”

Red Hood snapped his head towards you, his red helmet glowing ominously in the dark.

“Bring the girl.” Despite being soaking wet in a weather that would usually make your bones clatter, hearing Red Hood say those words in a calm voice made a chill run down your spine for the first time that night

“No,” Maria whimpered, but silenced herself when her captor tightened his grip.

“What?” you gasped.

“The kid,” he growled, “Bring her here.”

“We’re not involving the kid,” you stood your ground.

“V,” he warned, “Don’t make me repeat myself. You better-”

“Mommy?” you heard a small squeak at the door and turned to see little Carrie, with her big chocolate eyes wearing her purple butterfly print pyjamas.

“Carrie, go back to your room,” Joseph ordered, “Please. She’s innocent.”

“And the kids you have kidnapped, shipped, and raped aren’t?” Red Hood fumed.

You saw the microsecond momentary realisation in both the Powers’ eyes, before they tried to cover it up again.

“Daddy? Mommy?” Carrie called in a shaky voice, “What’s going on?”

“Go back to your room, Carrie!”

“Carrie, do you want to help mommy?” Red Hood drawled.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Come closer, Carrie,” Red Hood persuaded.

“Red Hood,” you protested.

“If you’re not going to help, then shut the fuck up,” he snarled.

Carrie entered the room but stood quietly behind you.

Her father looked at you with desperation in his eyes, “Please help us.”

“You’re filth to me,” you snapped at him, enjoying the way he cringed.

Joseph was usually a proud man, handsome for his age, with a fit body and perfect salt and pepper hair. The man you saw then was pathetic. DIsgusting,

Filth.

“But I won’t hurt your kid,” you added.

You expected to see relief printed on his face, and clenched your jaw when you didn’t.

“I can’t promise he wouldn’t, though,” you nodded at Red Hood, feeling like shit for using his daughter as leverage, “So you’d better give us names.”

Joseph looked like his brain was about to explode, his eyes quickly darting back and forth from his wife, to his kid, to you. He was running his hands through his hair in obvious distress.

“You don’t understand,” he admitted, “If we give you names, we’re as good as dead.”

“Joseph!” Maria yelled.

She was furious at him- and you thought at first it would be because he wouldn’t compromise to save her. After observing the way he took a small step back and the way she was holding him by the eyes, you realised that she was warning him not to confess.

She was obviously the one calling the shots.

“If you don’t give us names, you’re good as dead,” Red Hood told him, “Or would you rather me convince you in other ways?”

He nodded at Carrie. You felt a little protective of her, standing up straighter to defend her from Red Hood.

Joseph and Maria ignored the threat and was looking at each other intensely, trying their best to communicate without words.

Then, Joseph calmed down. He straightened up into the proud man you always saw him to be, a smirk playing on his arrogant features.

“I’m sorry, but this is business,” he sneered, “And we swore our clients’ secrecy.”

Red Hood paused.

Then-

“We’ll see about that.”

He grabbed a fistful of Maria’s cropped blond hair and pulled her to the dressing table. You heard that Carrie had started to sob behind you.

“Put your right hand flat on the table,” he demanded.

“Red Hood-” you tried.

“Now!” he barked.

She raised her shaking hand and rested it on the table hesitantly.

The first thing you heard was Maria’s cry- muffled by Red Hood’s large gloved hand- before you registered what had happened.

In an instant, Red Hood had cut off her pinky finger, and then raised the dagger, which you now saw had a blade that was wavy from the bottom to the tip, glistening a sticky, sickly dark red.

“Mommy!” Carrie screamed.

With all the commotion, you wondered why the security still hadn’t heard you yet. Then you realised that the glass walls were probably shatter and bullet proof, making it thick enough to be almost sound proof.

That shook Joseph slightly, his smirk had been wiped off clean and his forehead had beads of sweat.

“I can do this another nine times,” Red Hood snarled.

You had to stop this before it went too far. Slowly, you approached him.

“Red Hood,” you cautioned, “Let’s continue this another time, when the kid isn’t around.”

“Stay out of my way,” he turned to you.

“Let’s think rationally here,” you went closer, trying to speak over Maria’s wails, “There’s no way we have the time to torture for information when there’s a dozen armed men outside who might notice that something is off.”

“That’s why you’re here,” he scoffed, “So you can deal with them.”

“Do you really want to deal with them in front of the girl?” you tried again, “She’s five. She shouldn’t have to go through this.”

“They were going to wait a few years before selling her off anyway,” he seethed, “I’m doing her a favor.”

“No!” Joseph denied, “Not her. Never her.”

“How sweet.” Red Hood hissed sarcastically.

“Red Hood, come on,” you persuaded, “We can pick this up again another time.”

“And what?” he yelled, “Wait for them to run to the other side of the world? Where I have to hunt them down all over again? I do not have the time or the patience to- what the fuck did you just do?!”

Red Hood shouted at Joseph, who had moved quickly to the bedside table. His eyes widened in panic, and so did yours when you saw he had pressed a button on the underside of the table.

“Fuck!” Red Hood swore, “This is your fucking fault!”

He brandished the blade at you. “Fine,” he pulled Maria up again, “Looks like playtime’s over.”

Without warning, you saw him raise the dagger to Maria’s neck, and as if in slow motion, you just looked on by as he carved a big red smile across her throat.

The next thing you felt was a gush of warmth spray all over your face and torso. The blood that had gushed out of Maria was like a pulsating fountain of red.

“Maria!” Joseph screamed, “You fucking bastard!”

Red Hood leapt across the bed and pushed the man violently against the glass wall.

“Names!” he growled, taking Joseph’s head and thrusting it against the glass, leaving a smear of dark red.

Yet you were there, just frozen and blinking on the spot as you stared at Maria’s lifeless body on the grey carpeted floor, blood still splashing from her throat in the rhythm of her slowly dying heart.

Everything was red, and smelled like metal, and tasted like metal. Ew, did some get in your mouth? But you were wearing a mask. Why was there so much of it?

Did humans have this much blood in them? It seemed endless. Are we all just bags of blood in the end?

Carrie’s wails snapped you back to reality.

You rushed to her and kneeled down.

“Hey sweetheart, listen to me,” you tried to get through to her, “You have to go hide in that closet over there, okay?”

You picked her up. She was light, her body fragile and weak, and you opened the closet to reveal a walk-in.

You set her down on the floor and tried to comfort her again, “I want you to close your eyes, and close your ears, and then sing a song, okay? Don’t stop singing until the police comes. Can you do that?”

All she did was cry.

Fuck, she wasn’t going to listen to you.

So you just closed the closet door.

Red Hood was still smashing Joseph’s head against the wall. You noticed that he was now missing an ear.

Then you heard footsteps approaching you fast. Lots of them.

You took out your escrima sticks and got ready to fight a dozen armed men while Red Hood tortured Joseph Powers for information.

***

“Did you even get any names?” you monotoned.

The both of you were at the rendezvous, with Red Hood leaning against his beautiful black superbike and you standing awkwardly, holding your arms.

The smell and sight and taste of blood still consumed you. You hoped that the rain would have washed it away, but against all your luck, the moment you escaped the mansion, the rain had stopped.

Red Hood and you left behind a crying kid in the closet, a woman with a slashed throat in a pool of her own blood, a man beaten to death so bloody that he didn’t have any recognizable human features left, five unconscious and seventeen dead men in that house.

Red Hood simply looked away from you and took off his helmet and mask. He looked clean, because even in the midst of everything, he had managed to take his jacket from the settee.

“No?” you smirked, “So all of that for nothing?”

He gave you a glare, cold blue eyes piercing yours.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” you sighed, taking off your mask as well. It was soaked in blood.

“What?”

“Were you really going to hurt the kid?”

You saw his jaw clench.

“I don’t hurt innocents,” he looked away from you again.

You felt a wave of relief alongside your nausea, but however relieved you were, it still didn’t get the image of him slitting a woman’s throat out of your head.

If the circumstances were different, maybe you would have been turned on by that, as fucked up as it was. By the power he exhibited, the precision, the danger - you knew that you had a thing for that.

But he killed her in front of her own daughter, who shouldn’t have had to see that. Hell, who shouldn’t have had to be there in the first place.

It made you question him even more than before.

“Nope, you just traumatize them for the rest of their life,” you scoffed.

In a flash, his hands were around your throat.

“Don’t fucking talk to me that way,” he growled, “I haven’t forgotten how you fucked things up for me.”

“Fucked things up for you?” you repeated.

“You distracted me,” he told you, “And that prick went and sounded the alarm.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for trying to convince you not to murder a mother in front of her daughter!”

“Sweetheart,” he said in a low voice, “You’re playing with fire.”

Jason’s pupils had started to dilate, as if it was a black hole that was eating away at the blue. Your eyes fluttered towards his lips, which were slightly parted.

And then he smirked.

“I guess I have to punish you for disobeying me,” he drawled.

You gulped loudly, trying hard to not let the warmth in your stomach spark for the man in front of you.

“You know,” he whispered, his other hand snaking around your waist and pulling you flushed against his chest, “I’ve always imagined what you would look like covered in blood.”

Oh, fuck.

So did you. You had imagined what he looked like when he was beating a person half to death, how the muscles in his back would ripple with every blow.

You were so fucked up.

“And what do you think?” you bit your lip, squeezing your thighs together.

You were just upset at him a moment ago, and now you were turned on? You pieced together that you had a dangerous coping mechanism.

The fingers that were around your throat were caressing your cheek now, his thumb brushing against your lips.

“Better than I imagined,” he grinned, dipping down to kiss you.

He pushed his wet tongue into your mouth without hesitation, fucking it while he grabbed your ass and squeezed hard, almost painfully. He would bite and nip at your lips before licking them.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, “You taste like blood.”

You felt him grind on you, though you knew the hardness was from the protective cup he was wearing. You still couldn’t feel much either, due to the soaked body armor.

“Bend over the bike,” he commanded.

“Wait, what?” you gasped.

“You heard me.”

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks as you slowly approached the vehicle. When you were at its side, you glanced behind you. Jason had the most arrogant smirk ever while his arms were crossed.

After taking a deep breath, you tiptoed and winced in embarrassment when you positioned yourself bent over the seat, your ass jutting out.

Warm hands started rubbing your waist, going down to your ass and thighs.

“How do I take this off,” you heard him complain.

Your bottom was only latex tights.

When Jason finally figured it out, he pulled down hard, exposing your ass to the cool air.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his hand roaming to massage it.

“Jason, we’re in public,” you reminded him.

“So?” he responded, “It’s 2am, and it’s Gotham, baby. Public indecency is the least of everyone’s worries.”

You felt him shift behind you, and gasped when you felt a long, wet strip from your clitoris to your hole.

“Taste so good,” he groaned.

His tongue felt good.

He continued to tease you by licking your wet opening but never dipping inside, just making you wet with your own juices and his saliva. But suddenly you felt a sharp, piercing pain on your pussy flesh.

“Fuck!” you screamed and turned to look back at him grinning at you, “Did you just fucking bite me?”

“What did you think I was going to do when I said you needed punishment?”

“I don’t know, spank me or some shit?” you breathed, “Not fucking bite me!”

“Oh, but you would like to be spanked,” he told you, “And that wouldn’t be much of a punishment would it?”

He bit you again, but this time soothed the pain by licking you after.

Still, it didn’t stop the jolts of electricity that stung you every time he did.

“Fuck!” you gasped again, “Stop it- oh, fuck.”

He had slid a finger inside you- you noticed it was ungloved.

And then he started a barrage of confusing sensations, biting and nipping at your pussy to cause you pain, and then licking it away while pumping his finger inside of you to spark pleasure.

It didn’t take you long until you were moaning and panting and fucking sweating in the post-rain weather.

The warmth was building and building as he kept licking and biting and finger fucking you, twisting inside of you and touching your most pleasurable spots. You felt yourself start to tighten around his finger as the now familiar sensation of approaching orgasm started.

And then it was all gone.

Jason removed his finger and stopped licking. You turned around furiously to see him smirking at you with dark hooded eyes.

Oh, now you understood. The punishment wasn’t the biting at all.

He wouldn’t let you come.

You spent the next minute glaring angrily at him, refusing to say a word while he just stared back with intense eyes, breathing almost as heavily as you were.

And then he dove back in.

“Fucking hell,” you moaned as the pleasure built and built and built again.

And then stopped.

You wanted to fucking yell at him, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

He continued again, this time even harder with the licks and bites, harder with the way he fucked your cunt, even inserting a second finger that drew the most vulgar sound from your lips. You felt yourself building again, but when you expected him to stop, he didn’t.

This time, he kept you going higher and higher, your knees growing weaker, until you reached and were just dangling on the edge of-

And it was all gone.

“Jason!” you yelled, “Come the fuck on!”

You heard him chuckle behind you. And then you felt him grind against your ass, rough and heavy and desperate.

Probably because he was still wearing a protective cup, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to feel much. You wanted him to take his cock out already, so he could start fucking you senseless as you were bent over his bike.

But then, he stopped. And he pulled up your pants to cover you up, even giving you a small smack on the butt.

“What?” you straightened and turned around.

“What?” he pretended to be clueless, even though you saw the obvious lust that was etched on his handsome yet tired face.

“You- I- why don’t- fuck!” you stuttered, squeezing your thighs together. You were so wet that you felt yourself soaking through the tights despite it already being wet from the earlier rain.

“Oh, did you want to come?” he asked innocently, “Sorry, but girls who disobey my orders don’t get what they want.”

“You’re torturing yourself as well,” you grit, and to prove a point grabbed his crotch, earning yourself a hiss from him.

He grabbed your wrists to pull you closer, “We’re in public. Remember?”

Then he took a step back and gave you a shit eating grin.

“Whatever,” you sighed frustratedly, “I’m fucking covered in blood anyway. Fuck, I need to get PEP tomorrow. You should, too.”

“What?” he frowned.

“Post-exposure prophylaxis,” you explained, “We’re covered in blood, Jason, ever heard of HIV?”

He blinked once at you, and then broke into a fit of laughter.

“It’s not funny!” you defended, “It’s just for a just in case!”

“I’m pretty sure Maria fucking Powers does not have HIV,” he teased.

The mention of Maria brought the image to your mind again. The Jason in front of you had a twinkle in his eye, his expression soft after laughing at your logic. It was hard to imagine that under an hour ago, he had slit a woman’s throat.

In front of her own daughter.

Jason must have noticed your expression change, because he became serious again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, concern in his eyes as he held you by the waist.

Was he actually concerned? Or was he still playing mind games with you?

Why would anyone want a dirty whore like you?

And, there it was. Mother was back again.

“Nothing,” you looked away. “I just need to get all this blood off me.”

“We’re done here,” Jason informed you, “You can go back any time.”

“Well,” you started hesitantly, “I don’t think I can go back like this. All this blood- it’s too hard to cover up. My clothes, my shoes, everything is just covered in blood. Why is there so much fucking blood-”

“Hey, hey,” he stopped you, “Calm down. It’s fine. You can come back with me.”

“W-what?” you looked up at him. He seemed so genuine. Was it a trap?

He must have noticed as well, because his face immediately turned into a scowl, “I trust that you won’t tell Batman. After tonight, you’d be fucked along with me if it ever got to him. Take it or leave it, I’m not offering again.”

He let go of you and climbed on his bike, turning on the engine.

He looked back at you, who was still stunned on the spot.

“You coming or what?”

Oh, you were so fucked.

***

Your jaw dropped when you saw the interior of his safe house.

From the outside, it looked just like an abandoned shipment container amongst many other abandoned shipment containers in an abandoned shipping dock. You had expected it to be just a mattress, some pillows, with his weapons dumped messily on the floor.

No, his safe house looked like an actual safe house.

His bed was an actual Queen sized bed with matching bed sheets and pillowcases. His weapons were arranged in a glass cabinet display neatly against the freshly painted cream colored walls- the walls weren’t even the tin walls of the shipment container. He must have added another layer of plywood, with some sort of insulator in between which kept the room warm.

You noticed a beautiful katana resting on its stand. He had a wooden dining table with a fucking oriental tea set on it.

“The shower’s through there,” he pointed at the far corner of the room, which was separated by a wall. “Take off your clothes and just dump it in front of the washing machine.”

A fucking washing machine.

You nodded silently and followed his directions, turning into the corner. His bathroom was simple, yet still elegantly placed with tile flooring.

He had the time to put fucking tiles in his fucking toilet.

The white porcelain of his toilet and sink shined brightly in the warm lights of the bathroom. Next to the toilet was the shower, the segment separated by a curtain. The only thing that was out of placed in his entire makeshift home was the mirror over the sink.

It was cracked. You only saw glimpses of yourself in the pieces that were big enough to catch your reflection- a pair of tired eyes and skin that was covered in dried blood that had long ago oxidized and turned dark brown.

You stripped off your clothes, struggling to peel them off your skin, and then dumped them on the floor in front of the washing machine and stepped into the shower.

You turned it on.

The bastard even had hot running water.

You moaned at the relief and looked down on the floor, watching as the water turned brown, washing away the blood and sweat and filth on your skin. You reached for his shampoo and couldn’t help but giggle at his choice.

It was pomegranate scented with red packaging and labelled Long Term Relationship.

Well, it smelled divine. He had great taste in scents.

Look at you. So desperate to smell like him. Pathetic.

“Him and hundreds of other women, probably,” you muttered.

Once you were done, you stepped on the floor mat and saw a neatly folded towel and clothes on top of the toilet seat. You dried yourself off and put on his t-shirt.

It was too big on you, the sleeves went down to your elbows and the hem went down to your mid-thighs. You saw that he also set aside a pair of shorts, but there was no way you were going to be able to wear that without them sliding down.

You breathed in.

The combination of the shampoo, and the smell of his t-shirt made you smile. It was familiar, but you never really noticed it besides the fabric softener.

Yet, it was unmistakably him. Now all you needed to do was rub gun-powder all over yourself and voila.

You stepped outside to see he had shrugged off his jacket, and was sitting at the dining table, wiping his helmet down with hand sanitizer.

“Shower’s free,” you approached him, passing him your wet towel and his shorts, “Thanks for the shirt, but the shorts are too big.”

His jaw clenched when he looked up at you. You saw the way his eyes darted from your own and down to your body.

He snatched the items from your hand and got up. “Don’t touch anything.”

You heard the shower turn on.

And then you were alone, standing awkwardly in the middle of his safe house.

Everything seemed so normal.

There weren’t many personal things lying around aside from clothes and a few books that he had arranged on a bookshelf, but it didn’t scream ‘Go away’ or ‘Psychopath’. It was simple, homey, warm.

Until you noticed a pinboard that hung in front of his bed.

The nearer you got, you saw familiar faces. Mainly yours.

A blurred photo of you as Robin with Batman. A few articles regarding Batman handing Joker over to the authorities, a couple about Bruce Wayne adopting you following your parents’ deaths, and photocopied police statements about the investigation of your parents.

You frowned.

You knew he had done extensive research on you, you knew that he had shimmied his way into your life and manipulated you for his gain, you knew all that. But seeing everything out in the open made your heart ache.

A whole portion of the board had many of your pictures on it, as well. Stalker photos, as you liked to call it. Zoomed in from far away, candid shots of you in your uniform, swimming, smiling and waving at your classmates, walking in the mall, studying in the library.

“Like my photography skills?”

You jumped at his voice. He was so silent whenever he approached you. You should have noticed that much earlier on.

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” you shook your head, still looking at the photos, “But I have to say, I didn’t know I looked this good in my uniform.”

“Oh, baby girl, if only you knew,” he chuckled.

“Please, I-”

You finally turned and choked on whatever words you were going to say.

Jason was standing at the foot of his bed behind you with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet and dripping droplets of water down onto his bare chest, his arms crossed and accentuating even more the size of his biceps. He looked so clean.

So normal.

Well, his hotness was hardly normal, but he didn’t seem like some trigger happy crime lord.

He raised a knowing eyebrow at your expression. You didn’t realise your mouth was open.

“I should burn this fucking place down for what you did to my library,” you shot at him.

“It’s been months, get over it,” he rolled his eyes, and sat on the bed, back resting against propped pillows.

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”

“Why would I? I’m in my own bed.”

You gulped.

“Bruce- Dick- Everyone-” you stammered, “They’ve probably figured out that I’m not in my room. It’s three thirty in the morning and the music is still playing loudly in my room, I mean, someone has probably knocked and didn’t get an answer so-”

“Your clothes will only be ready in two hours,” Jason interrupted you, “Or would you rather go back home in just my shirt with no bra and panties?”

“I can actually think of an excuse if I did,” you chuckled nervously, “Dick thinks I’ve been sleeping with a guy named Carter.”

“Who’s Carter?” Jason demanded, his expression changing into one that was furious.

“No one,” you quickly explained, “He saw your stupid texts, so I told him your name was Carter and that we were going out.”

He relaxed at your explanation.

Wait a minute.

Was he jealous?

You smiled to yourself, entertaining the possibility.

“And I do actually have a change of clothes in my backpack,” you said, “Which is in your bike.”

“You’re not leaving me with the laundry, princess,” he scoffed, “Stay. Once your clothes are done I’ll even fold them for you.”

“How hospitable,” you snickered.

You stood there awkwardly again, not knowing where you’d be welcomed.

“The bed won’t slit your throat, you know,” he teased, “You can lie down and sleep until you need to go.”

You pursed your lips and played with the edges of the shirt. You knew what was going to happen in that bed.

You went to the opposite side of bed and sat down nervously. You put your feet up and stretched it, just like Jason’s .

The bed was comfy, the pillows fluffy and warm. You could finally feel yourself relaxing into it-

Jason grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him, your back flushed against his front. And finally, finally you could feel the hardness of his cock pressed against your ass.

“I’ve been hard ever since you came out of the shower,” he breathed into your ear, grinding against you.

You wanted to moan at the feeling of his heavy length on you, you wanted to grind back onto him and turn him on even more, but mother started screaming.

ARE YOU A LADY OR A WHORE?

“Shut up,” you muttered.

“What?” Jason asked.

“Nothing,” you turned to him. “Kiss me.”

He granted your request and gave you a searing kiss.

Rolling in bed with a dirty criminal.

“Shut up!” you screamed.

“What the fuck?” Jason yelled, “I didn’t say anything!” “No,” you shook your head, “Sorry. Not you. I wasn’t talking to you.”

He looked at you suspiciously.

“I- I hear my mother sometimes,” you admitted.

You waited for him to call you crazy, but he never did. Instead, he looked at you seriously.

“Tell me more.”

“Not physically,” you started, “But I imagine what she would have said to me if she were watching me- which is why I never kissed a boy before this. Or masturbated. She stops me from doing anything filthy.”

“Filthy?”

“By her standards,” you elaborated, “Filthy or vulgar or inappropriate, she controls my actions.”

“How long,” he asked.

“Ever since they died,” you sighed.

“But you were fine all those other times,” he inquired, “Why now?”

“It gradually became less and less frequent,” you explained, “Like, when we did those things through video call, I felt comfortable and it just- it felt right. And it stopped completely during my first time with you.”

“So you saying it doesn’t feel right, right now?” he clenched his jaw.

“It’s not you!” you added quickly, “It’s me. No matter how much I want to, I just can’t help it. She’s there.”

“Look, I get it,” he sighed, leaning onto the propped pillows, “Fuck, I get it.”

“You do?” you looked at him with hopeful eyes.

“What? You think getting beaten to a pulp with a crowbar, getting exploded, and having to crawl out of your own grave wouldn’t fuck you up?” he growled, “You’re not special. Get over it.”

Even though he said it in a way that was harsh and definitely not conventional, he basically told you what you needed to hear- that you weren’t the only one that was fucked up, and if there was any comfort at all, it’d be the fact that you were fucked up together.

You smiled when you saw him, his arms crossed, eyebrows stitched together in a frown, his lower lip jutting out in a pout.

“Well, I really wanted to,” you paused, “You know.” Jason looked over to you then. “You said she screams in your ear, right?”

“Yeah?”

He smirked, then came closer to you again, caressing your cheek and tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear, where he leaned in to whisper.

“Then that just means we need to be louder.”

He gripped your thigh and forced your legs open, cupping your sex with his hands.

He’s defiling you.

“I hated you,” he slipped a finger between your folds and gently ran it up and down, gathering your slick, “But now I just can’t seem to keep on hating you anymore.”

Your heart fluttered at his confession.

He teased your clit, giving only light brushes on it, barely even touching you.

But everyone else will hate you.

“Talk to me, baby,” he instructed, “Tell me you don’t hate me anymore.”

“I-” you panted, “I don’t hate you anymore.”

A filthy man for a filthy girl.

“Mmm, good girl,” he purred, now adding pressure to your clit, making you squirm.

The praise did wonders to you. You felt your cheeks heating up, your heartbeat going faster and faster.

I raised you to act like a lady, not like a bitch in heat.

His other hand slipped underneath the shirt, trailing up from your waist to cup your breast and gave it a squeeze.

You moaned out loud when he started pinching them.

Vulgar sounds will only get you dirty men.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that,” he rasped against your skin, hot breath sending goosebumps all over. “I want you to moan for me, beg for me, scream for me.”

“Jason,” you sighed.

He started properly rubbing on your clit now, sending tingles right to your toes. “Fuck, baby. You’re so wet. It makes your pussy look so fucking pretty,” he praised.

At least prostitutes get money when they sleep with other men, and you’re doing this for free.

It was so confusing. On one hand, you had your mother’s voice ringing in your head. On the other, Jason’s dirty, sexy mouth made you think you could actually die from sheer horniness.

He finally slipped a finger inside of you, eliciting a long moan.

You’re going to be loose before you hit-

“Mmm, you like that, baby?” he husked, “You always like it when I put my finger in, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

No one will want you after-

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded.

Ruined goods-

“Please,” you whined as you spread your legs further apart.

YOU BELONG IN THE-

“Please what, sweetheart?” he teased.

You could only mewl.

LISTEN HERE-

“Please stop?” he added a second finger, and started pumping in and out excruciatingly slow.

STOP IT-

“Please make me come?” he increased his pace.

HORRIBLE-

“Or just… please? .”

He suddenly switched into a brutally fast pace, causing you to scream.

“Jason! Fuck, Jason please just put your cock inside of me and make me come, fuck!” you begged.

He stopped finger fucking you and chuckled out loud. He was hovering over you, his towel long gone, aligning the tip of his dick at the entrance of your cunt.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, and then pushed inside in a swift motion.

“Fuck!” you cried.

“So fucking wet for me,” he panted, pounding into you. “So tight.”

“Jason,” you could only say.

He dipped down to push his tongue into your mouth, fucking your mouth the same rhythm he was fucking your pussy. You were in a state of desperation and euphoria, hazy to reality.

The only thing you were hearing at that moment was the wet sound of flesh on flesh and Jason’s loud grunts into your mouth.

The combination of his cock repeatedly pressing onto the spot within you and his tongue in your mouth made your pussy tighten in no time, closer and closer to orgasm.

“You wanna come, baby girl?” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded hysterically.

“Come for me then, come all over my cock,” he commanded, fucking you faster.

The tight coil in your core exploded, and you felt yourself pulsating all over his length which was still moving.

Jason didn’t give you time to rest.

“Get up on your knees and face the wall,” he growled.

You immediately obeyed, afraid that he would start biting you again if you didn’t. Jason pushed aside his pillows and you placed your hands on the headboard.

He took off the oversized shirt and his hands started roaming your body from behind, squeezing your breasts, running them up and down your thighs, all the while he was kissing your back.

He pushed his cock inside you again without warning, and in the post-orgasm sensitivity, you accidentally gave out and collapsed backwards against him.

“Woah there, baby,” he laughed, gripping you tightly by the waist to stabilize you. “I want to make you come again.”

“Please,” you rasped.

“Yeah?” he started moving slowly behind you, “You want to come again, baby?”

You nodded weakly.

“Tell me, baby girl,” he nipped your earlobe, “Tell me.”

“I want you to make me come again.”

“What a fucking good girl,” he licked your ear.

You could only whimper in response.

He hammered his hips into you hard and fast, all the while gripping your tits with one hand and your waist with other, fucking himself up into you.

And because you were so sensitive from the first orgasm, the fact that he was fucking you again soon after meant that you were already fast approaching your second one.

“Hold out for me just a bit more, sweetheart,” he breathed in your neck, “Please?”

That ‘please’ sort of made your heart melt.

“Anything, Jason,” you replied, trying your best to maintain a level head while he fucked you.

“Ah. fuck, baby,” he stuttered, his hips stuttered, his pace stuttered. “Okay, come with me. Come with me, fuck, fuck.”

The heat you felt before started spreading again, and this time you allowed it and let go. You reached behind you to hold Jason’s head, running your hands in his hair and gripped on it tightly for leverage as you came loud and long.

He withdrew from you so fast that it almost hurt, but then you felt warm splashes on your lower back, dripping down to the globes of your ass and to your thighs.

Your whole body gave out, and you fell down on your front, crashing into the soft bed.

You heard Jason chuckle, and then felt him get up. He returned with his towel and wiped your back, and then joined you on the bed next to you.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Better than okay,” you smiled.

“Mother quiet?” he frowned.

“Surprisingly so,” you yawned.

“Good,” he nodded.

The two of you just stared at each other, and soon enough you got lost in his face. His tired eyes, his crooked nose, his scarred skin. He gave you an odd expression. It wasn’t anger, or hate- hell he was hardly frowning.

He just looked… content.

You guess killing someone would take the energy out of you.

***

When Jason stirred awake, the first thing he felt was the warm body next to him.

For the first time in his entire life, he didn’t wake up alone.

He blinked his eyes open, and nearly laughed out loud when he saw your face next to him. You weren’t a graceful sleeper. Your hair was messy, your mouth hanging open with a little drool on dribbling at the corner.

Yet, he couldn’t help thinking about how absolutely gorgeous you looked.

He felt his chest tighten.

He shifted to the side to look at the clock on his bedside table. It was already 6am. Your clothes were long dry already in the dryer.

“Mmm,” he heard your voice, probably waking up because of his movements.

He turned back to you and saw that you were indeed already awake, facing tummy down with his blanket covering you up to your waist so he had a view of your beautiful, smooth back.

“What time is it,” you asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Six,” he answered, “Your clothes are probably dry.”

“Fuck,” you swore. He loved it when you swore. “I’m going to get into so much trouble.”

“You’re a teenager with a so-called boyfriend,” he snorted, “Make something up.”

“That’s the plan,” you grinned.

You pulled the covers up to your chest and laid on your back.

“I should go,” you sighed sadly, and then sat up.

“Wait,” he grabbed your arm.

Fuck, what was he doing?

“Don’t go,” he whispered, “Stay.”

“I guess I’m already fucked anyways, right?” you smirked.

“No, I meant-” Jason paused, his words catching in his throat. “Stay with me forever. Leave them.”

He saw the many phases of your thoughts written clearly on your face. You blinked with realisation, stopped yourself from smiling, but finally settled with a deep troubled frown.

Fuck.

“I can’t,” you croaked, “I’m sorry, Jason. I can’t do that.”

He felt like taking the keris and ripping out his heart.

“Fine,” he clipped, “Whatever. You want me to send you back, or what?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll find my way back,” you got up and walked to the dryer to change into your gear. Jason reached for the shorts that you didn’t wear.

He walked you to the door silently, awkwardly. He had given you your backpack from the compartment in his motorbike.

“Jason,” you suddenly turned to him, the frown still evidently clear, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” he grit, his heart dropping to his stomach.

“This thing with you,” you explained, “I can’t see you again. The next time I see you, I’ll be on Batman’s side.”

He felt like someone was throttling him, squeezing every ounce of sanity he had left out. He felt his nails digging into his palms, fists closed, still refraining from doing something he knew he would regret.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” you said, “I won’t tell them about you. If they find you, it will be completely because of them, not me. Okay?”

He didn’t want to look at you. He didn’t want you to see through him.

“Just go,” he managed to choke.

You pursed your lips and then nodded, turning away from him.

He slammed the door shut, and then rushed to his room.

“FUCK!” he roared, grabbing the bed and flipping it over.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!”

He went to the dining table and swiped the tea set off, hearing it crash into tiny pieces on his floor before proceeding to flip over the table as well.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” he cried, aware that his cheeks were wet with his tears.

He couldn’t breathe.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He crumpled to the floor and picked up a broken piece of china, closing his fists around it and feeling the stinging pain as it cut into his flesh.

He was losing his mind.

He didn’t know what was up, or down, or what was real or wasn’t.

He wanted it to be all just a long, shitty fucking dream.

He wanted to just wake up back in his room in the Manor, fifteen years old, with the sound of Alfred knocking on his door, asking if he was alright.

It was a different kind of pain that he felt as compared to the one Joker had inflicted on him. It was the same hurt, the same stabbing feeling in his chest when he found out that Bruce had replaced him with you.

The same feeling when he found his mother on the floor with foam in her mouth.

In the midst of pulling his hair, and contemplating on whether he should really use the keris to carve his heart out or slit his own throat, he eventually calmed down after an hour of broken sobs and choking on air.

He sat there on his floor, the blood on his hands now sticky and brown, listening to the deafening silence of his room.

He was alone again.

[atinybitofau]

W O O Y O U N G ➪ childhood friends au

THE ONE WHERE HE PUTS YOU ON A STUPID LIST.

a/n: kinda halfassed not gonna lie guys I’m so sorry. but regardless I still wanted to put something out for ya’ll so I hope you like it.

• “Y/n stop your whining. Now get ready because we’re going to be late.”

• “But mother, must you always meddle in my love life?! And Wooyoung no less. That man is out to get me!”

• your mother thinks your pleas are half hearted.

• bull hearted at most.

• thinking Jung Wooyoung was the nicest thing on the planet.

• that you deserve him.

• but not only do you not deserve him,

• he’s had it in for you since grade school.

• making sure you made close to zero friends.

• every girl you’ve hung out with,

• dated him at least once.

• and you can’t stand Wooyoung.

• he’s been a pain in your ass since you two were in diapers.

• and now your buddy-buddy mothers are trying to get you two together before you hit 21.

• “I’m not going.”

• she scoffs. “Yes you are. And unless you want your privelages taken away from going to Jongho’s party next week, then you have no choice.”

• “You can’t tell me that! I’m 20 years old!”

• “And still living in my house.”

• you two normally buttheads, you and your mom.

• funny on occasion.

• but this was far from that right now.

• “Remind me never to eat dinner with you again.” you grumble at your mother who also happened to be joining you tonight. “And to never eat your croissants in the middle of the day. Either the thought of seeing Wooyoung is going to make me hurl or your cooking really does suck.”

• your mom laughs at that despite your seriousness. “Honey, I don’t know how you two managed to hate each other all these years but this’ll be good for you. Regardless if you two end up with each other or not, you might actually make amends tonight. And as parents, that is our real goal.”

• you can’t blame them.

• the relationship between you and Wooyoung was bad.

• from ruining important business conferences,

• family dinners,

• each other’s lives—

• it got so bad that other people started to suffer from it.

• so you decided to live it out just for one night.

• “Look, we both don’t like this.” Wooyoung sighs noticing your temper as soon as you two are face to face in front of the flashing lights of the venue. “But for the sake of our parents, let’s act civil for once.”

• you think he’s sometimes the nicest guy.

• but you hated that he was the nicest guy to people that weren’t you.

• he thinks your amazing.

• but hated that other people thought that too.

• your disagreements revolved around the things you envied from one another.

• probably why you hate him and why he hates you.

• “Oh my god, wouldn’t they make the cutest pair?”

• “Their kids would be beautiful.”

• “Those two were made for each other.”

• people would murmur.

• our hands interlocked.

• no feelings involved. (so you think)

• while you two walked around and greeted potential business partners.

• and no. you two weren’t arranged to marry.

• but it sure felt like you both were.

• “Y/n, hey!”

• the one time you managed to slip away from Wooyoung, another willing handsome man saw his chance.

• you smiled back. “Oh hey Jongho. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

• “Well when I heard you would, I wanted to stop by.” he hands you a drink weary about the people around. “I don’t get to see you often you know.. with Wooyoung always around. And since he’ll be at my party next week, I might not even get the chance to talk to you.”

• your eyebrows furrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

• he chuckles at you, lips curling. “You didn’t know?”

• “Didn’t know what?”

• “You’re on the OFF LIMITS list. Wooyoung signed you there.”

• oh god.

• that horrid list the boys of South Korea’s pride made years ago.

• “I’m sorry.” you chuckle nervously, eyes already burning in their sockets. “I think you’re kidding.”

• “You’ve been on there since high school. You never wondered why you couldn’t land a date?”

• you were gonna kill him.

• without knowing his intentions, you were so gonna kill him.

• and he was about to kill the man stepping over his boundaries.

• fists clenched as he approached the both of you.

• “Oh hey Wooyoung. I was just talking to—“

• “And now you’re not. Get lost.”

• you hiss pushing him away. “Would you fuck off? Ugh you’re such an asshole I hate you!”

• he’s taken aback.

• at how fast it happened—

• when you run away.

• not used to you sounding more distraught than annoyed.

• so he follows you.

• worried..

• worried that he might’ve went too far this time.

• usually stays behind the border.

• but he thinks he might’ve crossed it.

• now he’s gotta commit.

• “Y/n! Wait!”

• you look for a nearby place to hide but of course,

• though he’s got short legs.

• walks like an oompa lumpa.

• he’s always been faster than you.

• “What?”

• your glare pierces him and he’s tumbling.

• “What did I do?”

• you scoff in disbelief. “What did you do? Are you seriously asking me that after years of doing absolutely everything you shouldn’t have done?”

• shit.

• he’s thinking,

• you found out.

• about his feelings.

• “Y/n, I—“

• “I can’t believe you Wooyoung. I’ve been dateless my entire life because of a stupid list you kept me on. Because you just love to watch me suffer, single and a complete loser. How much you hate me, I still can’t comprehend.”

• now he’s thinking.

• wow you’re a goddamn idiot.

• eyes glaring back, he hisses. “That’s why you’re angry? Seriously?”

• “Yeah seriously! Why else would I be angry at you? Have anything else you’re hiding behind my back? Another list of sorts. Like the most unappealing females on the planet? List of undesirables? People who wouldn’t stand a chance with any—“

• you gasp when he slides his arms around your waist,

• tilting you like a teapot.

• lips on the spout.

• that spout being your own.

• and you can’t seem to understand.

• why this action would mean he hates you...

• cause well doesn’t he?

• he pulls away breathlessly staring from your unmoving lips back to your just as frozen eyes.

• “None. I have you on none of those lists. Those shouldn’t ever exist. However yes. Yes I did sign that stupid list years ago with your name in permenant ink but it wasn’t because I hated you. Far from that.”

• you don’t understand at all.

• how someone you hated,

• who you thought hated you,

• was suddenly confessing his love for you.

• “Everything you did had everybody in love. You think I’d be an exception? God, I hated that you’d want to share your everything with others. I had to force you to stop. Had to keep you from appealing to my competition cause god knows I already had less than a 10% chance with you.”

• you try to read him.

• his eyes and how he’s never looked at you like that before.

• being single your entire life, you’ve never seen it on someone before.

• is it bad that maybe...

• you only know what that look means because you’ve already given it to him?

• “They could do things that I couldn’t do. Things that you’d fall in love with. And that every time I did what I was capable of, you never even turned your head for me. I envied you and I envied them.”

• Wooyoung was hysterical.

• sounding untouched with his emotions.

• love lust and simple minded.

• confused and hurt.

• but relieved to finally let out his troubles.

• “Why the fuck would you envy them, Wooyoung?”

• cause you’ve always envied him.

• the things he were good at.

• when he was nicer than you.

• hotter than you, fitter than you.

• lord forbid smarter than you (all but right now),

• that everyone wanted him.

• you had no space in his life and felt no need to exert too much effort to make some.

• “I loved everything about you. From head to toe.” he mumbles not realizing he still had you in a princess hold.

• you two confessing in front of a water fountain under the stars like a freaking movie.

• “You let them. You never let me.”

• “You idiot.” you shook your head at him. “Wooyoung, you’re a damn fool, you know that?”

• he feels the way your fingers graze against his neck.

• lost in the feeling and in your eyes,

• then he speaks again.

• “I took things too far this time. And the only way I see this working out for the both of us is if I told you the truth so.. there it is.”

• you raise an eyebrow fighting a smile. “The truth.. That you love me?”

• “For someone who claims they’ve had no experience in love, you sound pretty good at this.”

• you’re never gonna get tired of teasing Wooyoung.

• he makes it too easy.

• you start to think maybe you made it too easy for him to.

• “Probably because I’ve had the experience for a long time. Just didn’t know it.”

• “What?”

• “You know, I was thinking about telling you to take me off that list. Cause you had no right to have put me there in the first place. But now I’m kind of thinking you shouldn’t take my name off.

• “H-huh?”

• “If you still don’t want another man to touch me, Jung Wooyoung, then I suggest you keep me there. Especially since I’ll be your girlfriend starting from today.”

• he’s taken aback at first.

• at how fast it happened—

• now he’s smiling like the fool he is.

• and you don’t see him smile enough, you think.

• and that maybe you’re gonna have to make a list of your own.

• a list of men you’ll never fall in love with.

• he’s gonna be the only man alive to not be on it.

• “A-are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

• you curl your face into his,

• loving the feeling of making him all flustered like this.

• it might be because you’ve gotten so used to teasing the guy.

• or that you might just have fallen in love with it instead.

• “I’m telling you I’m gonna be your girlfriend, Woo. There’s a difference.”

@atinybitofau

[pagesoftaph]

Zhong Chenle- I hear you

 ❝  |   hufflepuff!chenle x slytherin!femreader

➷ |   setting: reader has extremely low voice. Talks about anxiety and dealing                          with it.

✎ |   words: 2.4k

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

“-quick, the next class is transfiguration, can't be late for the life of me, or McGonagall will have my head.”

Passing conversations flows past her ears, as y/n bends down to pick up her fallen books. She, by nature, was a very clumsy person. Cheerful, willfully absent-minded, prone to bumping herself against the weirdest things. She has barely managed to hold herself upright when the staircase she was on decided to change, and she would have fallen if it not had been for the quick reflexes of her longtime friend, fellow sixth year Zhong Chenle.

“Y/n, if I wasn't here you would have fallen down,” Chenle glances down the endless pit of staircases below, ”tumbled below the changing stairs.” Chenle says as he squats to quickly help her up. “Like, for sure.”

y/n grins up at him cheekily, "Yes but I got you, so I'm okay as of now!”

“You won’t be if you don't hurry up. That new herbology professor will have you ass if you're late again.” Chenle presses on, grabbing her forearm and quickly running to the greenhouses down the staircase, past the talking and moving paintings, past the grand foyer with its magnificent statues, the house point pillars, the grand gates of the castle and out in the sunny field.

“Damn, is it a good day today, huh?” Chenle beams. ”Let's get down to the lake after classes, we really could use a change of scenery for the evenings.” A dazzling smile adores his face as his eyes glisten under the bright sky. Y/n laughs, running ahead and playfully looking back at her friend. “Fine, but only after we're done with half of our homework. We'll spend most of the weekend out, promise!”

Chenle stops at greenhouse no 4.

“Okay, now you go on in, you're not late thankfully and I'll meet you in the library after class then, yeah?” Chenle says as y/n joins the rest of the class outside the greenhouse, waiting for the professor to open the door. “Okay, see you in 2 hours, Le.”

Chenle nods, giving y/n one last smile before he turns around and heads down towards his Care for Magical Creatures class.

He can’t wait for the day to end, it i a beautiful day to spend outside.

  ──── ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ────

“-it is interesting how often humans rely on nature, only to pay the generosity back with greed and systematic destructive consumption.”

Y/n listens attentively, the words and perspectives and the never ending food for thought, the pondering conversations her professors incited within her to be mesmerizing. It isn't even that she was inclined to follow in their footsteps, but it is something about how people who have the knowledge and the ability to successfully pass it to others who were not at the necessary level to understand it without appearing condescending that greatly appeals to her. She can listen to such people talk for hours, and if her interest stayed, even participate, and that is why she doesn't realize when the class ends. The two hours seems to have breezed by.

She thinks about the class as she wals back up to the castle, down the dungeons to the dormitory.

“basilisk.”

Y/n says he password as she reaches the door and the intricately sculpted snakes hiss back, and the doors of the Slytherin house dormitory swing open.

The dorm room is alive with activity, with the week's classes ending and a perfectly sunny day just waiting to be enjoyed, the students are filled with pent up frustrations of the week to let go of and have the time to relax. But just a little more time, and then y/n will be outside too. She changes her clothes, packs up the things she’d require for the study session with Chenle and heads to the library.

Sure enough, there sits her Hufflepuff friend, at their usual table at the back, already at work with his homework.

“Hi, Lele,” Y/n greets as she slides in a chair opposite to him, pulling out her books and parchment. Chenle looks up, his hand still writing away. “Hi, princess. How was herbology?”

Y/n fills Chenle in about her interesting class and Chenle fills her in with his. Chenle loved animals, he knew he wanted to work for magical creatures ever since he touched his first hippogriff by chance on a day at his father’s work at the Ministry of Magic.

“-and then the baby unicorn just walked up to me and laid her head on my lap! Literally they don't trust men, at all. Even professor Hitch was shocked, but the unicorns loved me. I'm just really happy, like really happy.” Chenle shares gleefully.

“That is so cool, Chenle! But also so huge, a baby unicorn on top of it?” y/n replies as they begin packing up things after almost two hours of work, very productive two hours per say. Chenle swings his arm around y/n's shoulders.

“Be jealous. But no, come on, if we can I'll go take you to meet them.”

Y/n's eyes widen. It is tempting, meeting a unicorn was certainly something she wants to do. And she knows Chenle will never risk something that will be harmful to any animal. She nods, “okay, but in the morning, right now let's just go see what the giant squid is up to.”

──── ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ────

“I wanna spread out and float in the cool waters too.” Chenle muses, glancing sideways as the giant squid lazily floats about, students laughing in the distance.

“Me too, I wanna fly up in the sky between the clouds and float above the waters aimlessly, and maybe even go up the mountains at the horizon. Just enjoy the cool breeze.” Y/n mumbles back as she strokes Chenle's hair, his head on her lap.

They are under the shade of a tree, the sun about to set in a while. It is still bright, its reflection casting iridescent glows in the lake. They have been out for a while, having walked around the lake, playing with some sixth years a game of dodgeball before retiring to watch the sunset due in a while.

Talking about their week, catching up on things and just passing time.

“Lele?” Y/n asks, the hesitancy in her voice evident. Like she has thoughts holding her back against whatever she was about to say. Chenle hums back and when he feels y/n's hand pause in his hair with no reply, he peeks one eye open. She isn’t looking at him, but a patch of grass beside his face. She looks unsure, eyes hesitant, her bottom lip between her teeth. Chenle subconsciously reaches out to his hand to free it. “What is it, y/n?”

Y/n closes her eyes. “Can you hear me?” Chenle furrows his eyes in confusion. “Um, yeah? Of course I can hear you. What do you mean?”

Y/n’s fingers begin to fumble in his hair just like her tongue fumble with words. “No, I mean, yeah, but volume per say, can you hear my voice?” Chenle immediately sits up across from her, assessing her face. Y/n feels her face become hot, unable to look at a single place. Embarrassment is quickly catching up to her. Maybe I shouldn't have asked that, she thinks, eyes shut tight into crescent moons.

Chenle sighs, pulling up his knees to his chest and resting his hands on them. “I can hear you perfectly well. And clear. Who said what to you?” His gaze was piercing. Y/n feels even more nervous now, she can never bring herself to look into his eyes during moments like this. Lele just looks at her so deeply she swears he can see her hyperventilating in her own mind.

“Um, just some people. Um, some juniors.”

“What did they say?”

Y/n looks up, into his eyes. For some reason, her head just went up. “That in our relationship, how you must be doing all the talking.” She speaks in a single breathe. The words are tumbling out. “Since I don't have a voice, an audible voice at least. They asked if you can even hear me. Or, how does our relationship work-um, just yeah things like this.”

Embarrassed. That's all y/n can feel. Hot burning embarrassment. There isn't a single day she doesn't think about her voice being the way it is. Because that's all people who hear her for the first time ask, or at least, their eyes seem to ask, “Why is your voice like this?”

Every once in a while she thinks of her throat being cut open on the table, a man in blue and a mask with his knives and scissors working away, gifting her with a brand new voice. Loud, clear, pleasant voice. Audible voice. 

“Because you are so lively, so loud, so full of life, you are,” Y/n’s eyes flicker around, her hands flying about as she grasps at words. “a little sun- you know? How could you be with someone like me? Who you can't even hear unless you're an arm's distant away at maximum, who can't shout, can't be heard across the door or class or yard or dorm or- just, like, doesn't even have a voice. Like, is just like a broken record or stereo or just weird, bad, just faint noise on your ears- and,” y/n looks away. “Just, weird you know?”

Chenle keeps looking at y/n, how her eyes flickers, how she can't look into his eyes, how her mouth moves, so many words spilling out suddenly, her hands moving fast, making gestures. The habit of hand gestures, Chenle realizes in that moment, is defensive. It is like a crutch to her voice, to visually imply what she was trying to say if people don't hear her. Chenle reachs out and holds her hands together, essentially stopping the flurry of movement y/n doesn't even know or realize she is making.

 “I hear you. Y/n, your voice is a part of you, you can't change it. I can hear you perfectly well, yes sometimes I have to pay more attention or stand closer or lean down in certain occasions but that's okay, that's not a big deal. Tell them yeah Chenle is more than enough for the two of us, even though your voice is unique and so endearing to me. You don't have to listen to them.”

Y/n smiles. It’s so, so easy to say that when you have a perfectly fine voice. It wasn’t even about her quality of voice to y/n, what mattered to her the most was the loudness. At first, it didn’t seem like a big deal at all. People were, most of the time, dismissive of her take on her voice and how it affected, and continues to affect her. They waved it off, saying it’s nothing, all in her mind. Nothing too different, just a bit low than others. But that’s not what her experiences said.

Reading aloud in class was always an anxiety inducing affair for her. 

‘I can’t hear you’

‘Y/n,’ the professor tusked. ‘be louder.’

‘Child, be loud.’

‘Can you hear her?’

‘No.’

‘But you’re sitting right beside her..’

Her voice affects every single aspect of her life. The cold, green envy y/n feels for anyone with a beautiful, boisterous, loud voice knows no bound. They don’t even realize, she thinks to herself all the time, how helpful their voice is. How much it helps them through out their daily life.

People constantly ask her why she’s quiet. It’s because at a point her voice refused to come out. It just wouldn’t. Her friends had to lean in, put their ear right beside her mouth and still they’d barely be able to hear her. After numerous tries when they failed to get what she said, they’d make a guess at it might be and nod, pretend to agree, as if they understood her and go back to the loud conversation happening around them.

But y/n’s smile would drop. Their guess wasn’t even close to what she had said, no, was attempting to say. Even with their ear right fucking by her mouth, they couldn’t hear her. It broke y/n. To have a voice that refused to come out, that went back on her 99% of the time. To not be able to confidently read aloud, to not be able to even just call across the classroom, shout or singly loudly or cheer aloud when her House won a Quidditch match. 

‘Y/n, even if you don’t open your mouth there would be no effect on the cheer.’

It’s funny to y/n how she’s jealous of her peers to be able to holler, whoop, cheer for something they like. Unless your voice is below the normal loudness, it’s easy to not even notice how much your voice helps you.

Shouting when you’re frustrated. Hollering across the yard to call out to a friend. Being audible in a club with music blasting or in a crowd or room with chatter and bustle. To have your voice carry out across the room with no problem. To be able to scream in alarm, indignation, fear when the situation calls.

This is all something y/n can’t do even though she has a voice.  She wonders what she’d do if she needs help, ever since her mother one day asked her if she can scream.

It sucks.

But she can’t change it, or do anything about it. 

Let people say what they want to. Their voices are perfectly fine and will remain so. It’s only y/n herself who has to deal with it and work on or around it. That is a choice that she does have.  

Chenle has a stable, hauntingly beautiful voice. When he sings, y/n feels calm, mesmerized. His voice is angelic, clear, loud but also soft. Just like water. Strong enough to cut mountains, but also gentle enough to caress y/n’s heart at her weakest with its softness.

Your voice alone drives me to tears, she recalls a poetry she read in her fourth year as Chenle speaks.

“Chenle, can you sing for me? I’d like to hear you right now.” Y/n requests and who is Chenle to be able to resist her when she looks at him like those big eyes, the insecurities and doubts at edge, but still visible in them. Chenle pulls her down, resting her head on his lap. Y/n closes her eyes, her hand going down to hold Chenle’s and guide it onto her hair as he begins to sing.

naui cheonsa, Y/n smiles. naui sesang.

          ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

[emotionaldepravity]

Since you love Starscream so much, why don't you answer some fluff alphabet prompts? Namely F, R, U and W. I'll leave the continuity up to you

OwO okay so technically these requests are closed, but its Starscream so I’m going to make an exception. I think we are going with Armada, Prime, and Cyberverse for this one. I just hdjsdhf love him! ❤❤❤❤❤

Armada

F-Feelings

-He felt nothing but shame the moment he saw you after he betrayed the Autobots. It didn’t matter what the Autobots themselves thought or even the children, but the hurt expression on your face threatened to break his spark into a million pieces. He wanted to run and pretend that he hadn’t seen you, but when you called out to him, he paused. He let you tell him that you didn’t hate him and that you never would. You only wished that you could have had more time with him, and that if he felt the same, you’d be happy to leave everything behind just to be with him. He knew then that he really did love you, and it scared him.

R-Remember

- You were curious about how it felt to ride in an air plane since you had never been in one before, and Starscream was happy to oblige. He had seen the Autobots unfazed by the children riding along with them, and he had often wondered what it would feel like. The moment you entered his cockpit he could feel your warmth. The heat you radiated surprised him, but it wasn’t unwelcome. The way you patiently waited for him to get adjusted to the idea of flying like this made him quite happy. The smile you had on your face as you peered through his windows to see the bright blue sky and fluffy white clouds as they surrounded the two of you was a treasure that he’d always take with him. 

U-Universe

- A bright shooting star you get a glimpse of just as it falls and fades into the blackness of the night

W-Why

- He loves you because you treat him as an equal being that matters. You love him so openly, knowing that there is nothing to gain from doing so. Despite knowing he has little to offer but his own affection, you still love him. He has never had anyone care for him the way you do before, and he truly is thankful for you. When you smile at him, his whole world seems brighter, and he finally has something worth fighting for. He’d do anything to keep you safe and to give you a world where this war was over. 

Prime

F-Feelings

- You were supposed to be just another worthless human that he could use as leverage against the Autobots. You were supposed to be afraid when he showed up to your house to steal you away. You were supposed to hate him for being an evil Decepticon. Yet you willingly came with him, eyes filled with nothing but pity. You had seen on more than one occasion what failure meant for Starscream, and if nothing else he always seemed to keep you safe from the other Decepticons until Optimus and the rest of Team Prime came to save you. He always kept you locked in his quarters rather than a cell which offered you some comfort as well as protection. As he stole you away, you could feel his entire frame trembling. You had pet his dash not knowing what had made him so on edge, but it wasn’t too hard make a guess. This wasn’t exactly the first time he had come to you in this state. However, you were a bit surprised when he took you not to the Nemesis, but to the wreckage of the Harbinger, a place he had taken you only when he first discovered its ruins.

 He had felt so alone staying in the damaged ship, and now, at least with you here, things didn’t seem as bad as they have been. He wasted no time letting you out and mass displacing to hold you close to his chassis. You could hear him lightly sobbing into your hair. Expecting you to want to pull away, he loosened his grip on you. However, you didn’t let him go, and instead you continued to embrace him and lightly stroke the base of his wings to comfort him. Barely above a whisper, you told him you loved him. His spark felt so full that he felt compelled to kiss you which he did. He had known for a long time that he loved you, but only now could he admit it to himself. 

R-Remember

- During one of his several information exchanges with the Autobots, he asked to see you. He was exhausted and lonely, more so than he had been in a while, and he thought if he could at least see you he’d feel a bit better just in case Ratchet refused to patch him up. Luckily, Ratchet and Bulkhead, despite their better judgement, did bring you along. The shame Starscream might have felt for you seeing him in such a sorry state vanished when you ran over to him with genuine worry painting your face. It took more willpower than he could ever admit to keep the coolant from running down his face. Perhaps it was improper for a Decepticon like him to be so close to a human, but at a moment like this, he could hardly care.

U-Universe

- Sitting absolutely alone at a party you willingly came to knowing and fearing that you’d be watching as everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves 

W-Why

- He knows better than anyone that he isn’t perfect, he is berated for it almost on a daily basis, but with you, he knows that he doesn’t have to be. He is his own worst enemy, and he knows it. However, you still don’t turn your back on him even when he feels like he doesn’t deserve your kindness or time. You aren’t some perfect saint either; your flaws keep him grounded, reminded that neither of you are perfect and that’s okay. He loves you because no matter how miserable things are you don’t turn your back on him. You are willing to tell him the hard truths and expect better of him. While the thought of expectations mortifies him, you only ask him to try. And with you supporting him, he feels like it is safe to try.

Cyberverse 

F-Feelings

- Useless, trash, weak, stupid, Megatron was quick to attribute all these words to him and more no matter how untrue Starscream believed them to be. Everyone failed their missions sometimes, but only Starscream was shamed so publicly for his mistakes or at least, that’s how it seemed to him. It was after being reminded of how much the leader of the Decpticons hated him, that he found himself pinging you for a moment of reprieve. Typically, he would hide in his habsuite and let the frustration in his spark pass, but as he had gotten to know you, he felt comfortable enough to vent to you and trust that you’d be understanding. Your voice hit him like a fresh cube of energon after a long battle. Being so supportive of him, you boosted his mood and refreshed his mind. You talked with him for hours, but it was only that you noticed how late it was getting that you told him you needed to go to bed soon. As he was about to end the communication, he just naturally told you that he loved you like it was just the typical way he would sign off. He was about to apologize when you returned the sentiment. He couldn’t wait to have another moment of freedom to hear you say it again. If he was really lucky, maybe he’d also get to hear you say it in person. 

R-Remember

- With there being a lull in the orders to attack the Autobots, Starscream had been able to spend a lot more time with you. You were slowly introducing him to Earth media, and that just so happened to include some romance movies which he seemed oddly fond of. He often asked questions about the movies, and so when he finally asked about kissing you were quite prepared to explain it. Under the guise of needing to tell him in secret, you convinced him to pick you up and when he got close enough you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He was surprised but was quick to give you one in return

U-Universe

- The hiss of a shaken up bottle of soda in a previously silent room that grows louder the longer you leave it alone

W-Why

- Before he would have said he loved you because you listen to him when he needs an ear/ audial receptor. You laugh so genuinely at his jokes and smile at him like he is the center of your world. He likes to be praised, and though he does ask, you manage to surprise him with how sincere your admiration for him is. When he had a brush with death, he thought it was destiny itself to love you and for you to love him. Nothing felt right without you. As he hung between life and death he thought realized something, that if you died and weren’t in the AllSpark with him, he would never know true peace. In the delusion that he had dreamed up, he truly believed that he came back online to make sure he can find a way for you to be with him forever. Until he can figured out how, he would just have to settle for setting all of the sparks of his fellow Cybertronians free. Of course, he now knows that he was just a mech, left for dead, praying to see you one last time. The only thing that has never changed is how much he cares about you. You really are the only things that keeps him grounded. Despite all that has happened to him, he waits for a day that he can see you again.

[thekitchensnk]

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 22)

Rating: T Warnings: Violence - sadism, murder Pairing: Gin/Ran Part 1: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12 Part 2: Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21 Part 3: Chapter 22

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

What kind of beast are you, Ichimaru Gin?

What are you becoming?

--

--

--

(What could drive a man to kill a god?)

--

It is a cloudy night. There is not a star to be seen as he sits, his sword flat on his lap, and waits. The air is calm, the night is still, the sky is gray, and he waits and he waits and he waits whilst the moon ripens behind the clouds. The student barracks are empty. Everyone has long since made the journey home since graduation, to warm and joyous families keen to celebrate their success and the prospect of their glowing futures. The halls are silent.

(He had also made the long journey home the day before, out into the dark woods of the far flung districts of Rukongai. Such a journey - a journey which would take an ordinary person weeks of foot-travel - had taken him mere hours. But there had been no warm and loving family to return to, no celebration of his success. The house had been empty but for a letter written long ago on a torn piece of sack cloth.)

Empty.

This is good. There will be no witnesses - no one to see him leave. No one to see him return.

It would not do to be seen coming back from the site of a murder.

A lurid, jittery excitement coils up in him - the sort of excited anticipation a child feels on the day of their birthday. He tries to quell it, but he can’t. The occasion warrants more caution than this, more ritual sanctity. Everything rests on the outcome of tonight. If it were to go wrong… It is no excuse to play, to indulge himself in a little petty cruelty. He has to be quick; he has to be sharp. This murder is not for him- it is for her, and so he should treat it with the seriousness it deserves.

Everything he has done has been for her.

But, he cannot help but think, squirming with the excitement of it all, it will be fun to see how it goes.

He is a prodigy, a genius, a wonder child - no one has ever graduated the academy as quickly as him, not in a thousand years. His opponent (victim) is a seated officer, and not just that, but a third seat, third only in power to the Captain and Vice-Captain.

This might end up bein’ more difficult than I gave credit for, he muses. But he can do it. He knows he can.

After all, he has to.

He cannot dampen the small thrills running through him, the urge to whistle, the brightness shining in him. It is beyond him to feel any kind of remorse for the pain he is about to inflict. He will enjoy it too much, and for once, his cause is righteous.

Tonight he should be calm. Tonight he should be still. If tonight goes to plan, there will be only one man standing in between him and the satisfaction of his vengeance and his labours will almost be at an end.

The thought makes him giddy with a twinned delight - one part ecstasy in the anticipation of bloodlust, the other part a tenderness so soft it hurts.

He turns his attention to his sword in a bid to distract himself. It is a short blade, a blade perfectly sized for a child-murderer’s hands, and his face shines in the reflection in its blade.

Shinso. Shinso, he sings to his sword happily, keen to share his excitement with someone.

But if Shinso has something to say now, it is keeping it to itself. Gin waits a moment for a response, and then aims a mental kick at his sword.

It says nothing, and he frowns in annoyance.

The night before he had walked into the darkness in his mind, slipping down, down, down into the empty hole where his sword’s spirit dwells within him. The labyrinthine dark is as familiar to him now as the sight of his own hands. He had spent long sleepless nights at the academy learning its winding passages, its eerie, quiet dead ends, its blind and looping paths.

There are times still that he cannot help but feel like he has been swallowed whole, that he is wandering in the coiling, twisting insides of a snake.

There had been a figure in the darkness, the night before. It had sat there, its legs dangling impossibly into the thick darkness. They had kicked very slightly and childishly in the nothingness.

As he had walked closer, he had seen that its hair was amber-bronze, its skin sun-kissed and freckled, the light down of the hair on its arms golden.

He had held his breath for a moment, and then exhaled, a white grin fixed on his face. And then he had walked up to it.

It had turned, the thing wearing Rangiku’s face, and it had copied his bright smile. So often, it has her dimples. So often, it wears her beauty mark. (When he sits across from it, there are only black holes where there should be eyes.)

“Are we ready then?” Shinso had asked in Rangiku’s girlish voice, a voice like sunshine, its head tilting like hers had.

Gin wonders what it says about him that Shinso does this. Shinso does this, he thinks, to unsettle him- to hurt him- to get a response, maybe. Maybe because Shinso thinks it funny.

Maybe because Shinso is everything that he is, monstrous cruelty included.

Gin had given it a cursory glance, trying not to dwell on that eyeless face. He had squinted into the darkness resolutely. “Reckon so,” he had said to it.

“Do you know how we’re going to do it?” Rangiku’s voice had echoed cheerfully.

Rangiku would never sound so cheerful to be preparing for murder.

He had known. He had known the plan down to the smallest turn. He is not so confident in his ability to defeat a third seat that he hasn’t dwelt obsessively on the details, hasn’t spent sleepless nights dwelling darkly on how it might be done. In the end, he has decided to play it safe, play it conservative. This murder is not for him and so it needs to be done carefully. It needs to be done right.

“Same plan as last time.”

Shinso’s stolen face had fallen, and its stolen lips, pink and perfect, had stretched into a look of alien disgust. Rangiku’s mouth cannot twist like that. Her teeth are not that sharp. “That’s boring,” Rangiku’s voice had announced, and it had echoed as if coming from a mile away. “Boring.”

It was boring, but Gin had shrugged. “Everythin’ hinges on how tonight goes. Can’t fuck it up.”

The bottomless pits of Shinso’s empty eyes had snapped to him, snake-like. They bore into him, those empty sockets. Every time he looks at them, the memory of eyes soft and blue as forget-me-nots stirs in his soul, and the memory disquiets him. But Gin always stares back, undaunted.

“You’re going to fuck it up if you do it that way. He’s going to want a show.” Shinso had told him. It had seemed to find the thought suddenly funny. “He’s going to want to see a show, the sicko. Give him a show. Excite him. Let him see us, see us how we really are. Let him get a peek. That’ll grab him.”

The irony of calling anyone else a sicko had seemed lost on Shinso, but it was right, Gin had realised later. If he is to pull this off, he’s going to have to perform, he’s going to have to draw him in.

Seduce him, even.

“Think ya’ might be right on this one,” he had admitted reluctantly, and he frowns now, in the present, mulling it over. Let him see us, see us how we really are.

It is a troubling thought.

No signs of softness, no signs of weakness; never let them know where your heart lies. He had heard those words, in a different place, in a different life.

Shinso had padded towards him through the darkness until there had been scarcely any space between them. Its footsteps do not echo. The blackness it wraps itself in is gentle as velvet. It had pressed its (Rangiku’s Rangiku’s Rangiku’s) head against his own tenderly, and Gin had frozen. It has Rangiku’s hair, it has Rangiku’s face, but its skin is always so cold.

“Have you thought about my questions?” It had uttered with a smile. It had whispered in his ear, but there is no warm puff of air when Shinso speaks, no sound of breathing, just the sound of dust, a hiss. “Do you know what we are yet? It is a choice, Gin. Commit; and do not turn back. Everything that happens now happens because you made it that way.”

It is a choice, Gin. Commit; and do not turn back.

When he had looked into those black hollows, he had known what it was he had to do. He had known what he had to be.

He thinks he has begun to understand what he has to give up.

(But he hasn’t. Not really. Not yet.)

“I know.”

He had swallowed. There had been nothing more he could have said.

In the present, the excitement bubbling away in his chest finally dies down. He sighs and runs a hand through his fine-stranded hair, knowing Shinso to be right.

It had all started to become so complicated, somewhere along the line. When he had seen him, the man, Aizen, in the forest for the first time, it had been so simple.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him for what he has done. Kill him for even daring to touch her, his heart had screamed bestially.

Time had passed and he had tracked them all down, one by one, each of the animals that had laid their hands on her. But still Aizen lives, still Aizen thrives, and his heart rages now with impatience to see his vengeance wrought.

Aizen -

And one more.

But not for much longer.

It had taken so long already. Who knew what could have become of her in a year?

Unbidden, his mind drifts back to the letter she had left for him, dried mud and ash on a grey-brown sack, in a wooden hut and a shitty town, so, so far away.

Suddenly, it is too much effort to stay upright, and so he carelessly pushes Shinso from his lap and lets himself fall back against the tatami mat.

He had known that she would be devastated when he left her.

He’d left anyway.

It had been more important to him, at the time, to leave.

(That maybe, just maybe - he hadn’t cared enough to stay.)

The thought is small and ashamed.

He’d thought about her often when he’d been at the academy, on cold starless nights in shared dormitories where her hair did not tickle his nose and he didn’t have to manoeuvre around her clumsy, kicking legs in the night; where he had not woken in the night to screams that he alone had been able to soothe.

When his mind had turned to her - as had been inevitable because the thought of her had been as inescapable as gravity - guilt and remorse had twisted up inside him like a snake wrapping itself around his insides. It had been a novel feeling, guilt. He had not liked it then, and he doesn’t like it now.

It had always been a cruel thing, the sight of her crestfallen face as he left her, the way she would look dully at her hands and the way that the light would drop out of her. Something about it stung at him, and so he had tried bitterly to avoid thinking too long on how she was coping, what she doing, how she was faring.

It had been difficult, but having taught himself to steel himself against it, he finds it is the uncertainty now, the fact that he does not even know what she is doing, that she could be with anyone, which makes his heart do strange things.

His smile is strained.

I don’t even know where ya’ are anymore, he thinks distantly to himself. Did ya’ even exist? Or did I dream ya’ up to keep me company? Where are ya’ now, Rangiku?

“I’m not angry that you left,” she had written for him. “Not all of the time, anyway. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I hate you. But most of the time I’m just sorry that you felt like you had to leave. I just wish I knew why.”

“Thank you”.

“You’ll always be my friend.”

My friend, he thinks fervently. My only friend.

He sighs.

The letter had just been further proof of what he’d always known: that when all was accounted for, when all was tallied up in the book of their lives, she was a better person than he was, and always would be. She had that elusive ability to care for others, and the even more elusive quality to forgive.

It wasn’t that she didn’t get angry.

(He shakes his head ruefully at the thought. He had suffered too many punches to the arm to think anything otherwise).

It was just that her anger had always been quick and passionate - fierce, but quick to burn itself out, gone almost as soon as it had arrived. She could be shouting and throwing things at him one minute, but she’d be joking with him the next, all wrongs forgiven as if he’d never done anything wrong in the first place.

Would it be naïve to hope that he could be forgiven this time?

He has rarely felt remorse for anything in his life. Remorse means caring that you have wronged another person. Remorse means having the ability to know, know in your heart, that there is such a thing wrong in the first place.

But Ichimaru Gin does not care. He lacks that compass inside of him, that invisible magnetism, which seemed to guide everyone else towards the good. He has heard talk of evil, but it had always seemed to him a label which people gave to the things they disliked, to the things that caused them disgust or pain.

It is still an alien sensation to him, this prickling, this strange curling and twisting inside of him, the feeling of guilt. If he’s honest, he’s still not even sure he knows what guilt is, but it hurts him to have hurt her and he figures that must lie close to the essence of it.

Rangiku was considerate of other people, he thinks stubbornly. Though she had hidden it well, she’d had a melancholy streak in her that ran a mile wide and as deep as the blue sea. It was born of abandonment, he muses, of fear that she would be left alone again. She was always considerate of other people. Too considerate, he thinks to himself. When something went wrong, she always sought to smooth over the edges, to please people. As far as he was concerned, they could die in a ditch.

She’d have done anything to avoid being abandoned.

He’d done it to her anyway.

(Simply, shamefully – it had been more important to him to leave than it had been for him to stay. There was nothing more to it than that.)

Had she managed to convince herself that he’d left because of something she’d done?

The thought twists at his insides. It troubles him.

It has been a year since he had left. He had eschewed all academy holidays in order to concentrate on his goal, had endured the braying of the idiot sons of Seireitei noble families, had shut himself in libraries night after night, had sweated and bloodied himself and ran himself hoarse on the training field, all to graduate as quickly as possible. All to murder Aizen Sosuke in cold blood for all that he had done to her.

Does she still have nightmares? Has she learnt to fight ‘em off without me?

Does she still-

He cannot bring himself to complete the thought.

(-need me?)

But him?

He has grown strong without her.

He will be graduating as a seated officer. He is a legend, a prodigy, the first person to graduate from the academy in a year.

Tonight - tonight he will carry out his plan. He is a boy, a child. No one will suspect him. No one will know. Everything will go as he wants it to.

It is an easy thing to convince himself that it will be easy. Aizen will never see his true nature, or at least, he amends to himself, not enough of it to know what he intends. The man’s blood will dye Shinso scarlet soon enough, even if not tonight, and Gin will laugh and laugh and laugh to see it gush out of the man and to see his corpse crumpled on the ground, like trash.

The excitement is back, the lurid satisfaction, and he lets it bubble away merrily inside of him.

He has found his smile again, and it is like a sickle.

He hums to himself in pleasure, and rocks forward to a sitting position. He grabs Shinso from off the floor, and he jumps to his feet jauntily.

So what if it has taken longer than he had planned?

Nothin’ worth doin’ was ever done easily, he thinks to himself and he tries not to think of the heartbreak on her face as he left.

It is not as complicated as he had made it out to be. It is simple. He will steal back what was taken, and he will return it to her, and then he will return himself to her, and it will be over.

Over.

And then-

Unbidden, the words of what feels like a life time ago rise up in him. His pale fingertips ghost over his lips for a second.

She had rushed the words out, trying to explain herself to him.

"I could never hate you completely, not really. Not if you tickled me for hours, not if you made me dig up the garden and dangled every worm in my face, not if you made fun of every other person on earth-" her breath had hitched, and he had watched her, dumbfounded "-not even if you left me, not even then. You gave me this birthday, and for as long as I live, I'll wake up today and think of you because you saved me and you gave me a home."

He remembers every word. It has been over a year, and yet he remembers it as if she’d said it yesterday, this morning, an hour ago.

How could he not? She had-

(-kissed him. It had carved away at his insides like a disease, rent apart his chest, ripped him to pieces. The memory sat in the hole it had hollowed out, flush in the space between his heart and his soul, reigning like a king over his body.)

He will never again be rid of it.

It had been like a promise; it had been like a vow.

Nothing more had ever been said about it.

What did it mean? What did it mean? What did she meant by it?

But still that memory warms him. He can feel the lingering traces of the dizzying delight he had felt in that moment each time he closes his eyes and remembers it. His lips quirk upwards.

An eerie, tuneless whistle emerges from his mouth. He cannot help himself, not when the world is so alight with possibilities.

He has murder in his heart, a sword in his hand, a whistle in his mouth, and the ghost of her kiss on his lips.

He smiles.

Time to go.

--

It is a masterpiece of theatre.

He coaxes the man into the woods with a few wide-eyed, warbling words of praise, some pathetic, snivelling dross, all dewy-eyed innocence. The man doesn’t question it for a second.

When they are safely hidden by the canopy, safely ensconced in the darkness, he strikes. The air heaves and writhes with his killing intent, and the third seat crumples beneath the pressure like he is made of paper. A paper man. Goin’ ta’ fold him up and put him in my pocket, Gin hums to himself. He smiles brightly.

Nah, goin’ ta’ rip him up.

He is on his hands and knees in discomfort, retching into the soil, thick, suffocating saliva forced from his mouth. The sweat trickles from his brow, leaving a sheen; the hair on the back of his neck stands on end, mimicking the response of all prey since time immemorial. The man is frightened. It is written all over his face.

He should be. He’s going to die.

The third seat tries to rise, but he can’t.

“Come on!” Gin cheers him on. “Ya’ the third seat, so act like it. Come on up and get me, Mr Third Seat! You can do it!”

The man grits his teeth and lets out an inhuman roar of effort, pushing with all his might to try to get to his feet.

“So close now!”

The man has made it off his hands. Gin makes an appreciative noise and claps his hands at him, delighted. He has only the most rudimentary knowledge of that thing called empathy, but if he were hard pressed to guess, he would say right now that the man must be feeling something akin to hope.

The third seat stumbles low to the ground, and Gin cheers for him.

And then, his expression never shifting for a moment, white grin still stretched across his face, he aims a vicious kick straight to his head. The man’s nose bursts across his face.

He collapses to the ground again, making a low, heaving noise. Gin wonders vaguely whether he’s crying.

“Oh no!” Gin sings at him. “Whoopsadaisy! Ya’ve fallen over, Mr Third Seat! How clumsy of ya’!” He shakes his head at him theatrically. “How clumsy! Fallen over ya’ own feet!”

The man seems to have given up on trying to stand with Gin’s spiritual pressure beating down at him again and again like a hammer against an anvil, and so he begins to crawl, hands and knees, across the forest floor, blood gushing from the splatter that had been his nose.

“Oh no, no, no,” Gin says to him, grin wide. “Let me help you up! Mighty third seats shouldn’t go crawlin’ through the forest on their hands and knees. That’s for bugs.” Something burns in his eyes for a second, but it is gone the minute it appears. “Or vermin.”

The third seat looks back with fear-filled eyes. He inhales and exhales rapidly, in the broken breathing of the terrified. His hands are scratched from where broken branches have torn at them.

“So stubborn!” Gin bends over, wiping his hands on his black shihakusho, and drags the man to his feet by the collar. “Up we get! Was that so difficult, askin’ for a bit of help?”

The third seat is not stupid enough to fail to see where this is going. His face twists into an animal snarl. He has realised what should have been obvious since the beginning: that he will be permitted to leave with Gin’s permission, or not at all. His stupid, ugly curtains of hair fall into his face as he grabs for his sword. His beady little eyes have blown wide with hatred.

Just try. Just ya’ try.

He tries.

His zanpakuto comes free from its sheath, and he swings it brutishly, clumsily, at Gin’s side. Shinso is in his hand in a second, and he knocks the third seat’s blow aside with an almost clumsy laziness.

“’S not very nice to take your anger out on other people like that, Mr Third Seat,” he says reproachfully. “’S not my fault you can’t get up.” There’s something hysterically funny about that. His grin widens.

The third seat swings again, and again, and again, until he is trembling and sobbing with exertion.

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothes. “Shhh. It’s nothin’ to cry over! ‘S just a fall. ‘S just a fall. We all fall down sometimes. Gotta tell ya’ self it doesn’t hurt.”

He pauses dramatically, looking behind him to the thinning tree line. Aaah, he thinks coldly and he turns back to the man. Good timin’.

“This though,” he says, turning Shinso over in one hand casually, “this is goin’ ta’ hurt like hell’.”

He pushes the blade through the man’s stomach, slowly, slowly.

Shinso is sharp, but the organs of a grown man are thick and spongey, filled with gristle and muscle and gore and blood. It explodes outwards in a thick stream, making his hands and his chest slick, and as he slices upwards, it spurts in a hot, unexpected shower across his face, the wetness. He can hear the dull slap of the man’s guts as they slide out and hit the ground, the shocked intake of the man’s last breaths.

There is no performance now.

He lifts the man by his collar, still lodged on his blade, and looks at him, watching his eyes cloud over.

It is a strange thing, a heady thing, to watch. A person is never more themselves than in extremis, never more honest in their desires, in their choices. Those categories called good and evil- how easily they seem to be forgotten in the overwhelming impetus to survive. How much more, he thinks, people seem to resemble himself in their final moments. How clear it seems then, that there is no good, no evil- only people. Beautiful, ugly, strange people.

The man’s eyes were brown. In death, they are black.

It is done.

He shuts his eyes for a moment and raises his head towards the sky.

Behind his eyes, he sees her as he had first seen her, collapsed on the ground, the man's hand buried to the elbow in her chest, taking something vital and shining from her. Rangiku's yukata had been bunched up around her thighs, and her face had been wan and marred with bruises like storm clouds. As the man rose, he had cupped her face almost tenderly, caressing her cheek. And then he had slapped her, and the sound had rung out through the deserted road. There had been dirt in her golden hair.

The nightmares she had suffered, how she had struggled to walk for days after, the blood on her face and her fat, split lip-

The man had turned to his companions afterwards, and he had laughed.

He had laughed.

There is fury boiling in him. He has forgotten the performance.

Gin only regrets that he cannot kill the man twice, regrets that he had not thought to inflict more pain while he still had the chance. Overcome by rage, he sends another kick crashing into the man’s face, and then another, breath hissing through his teeth.

Overhead, a gap forms in the clouds. The moon emerges; it is eerily bright. He readies another furious blow.

“Ah…”

And then he stills, exhaling a shaky breath through his nose.

The voice, rich and lazy and loathsome, issues from behind him. He had wanted an audience, and now he has one. He had almost forgotten in all the excitement.

“They weren’t exaggerating then. I’d heard, but I had not given much credence to such inflated rumours. A mistake, obviously. What’s your name?”

Gin turns, and as he does so, the moonlight falls on him like a spotlight. The blood, which had seemed black in the shadows, has painted half his face red, like a mask. His fine hair is soaked with it, and it has separated into damp strands. He looks at the man’s face.

Aizen’s eyes are warm, and honey brown, and so gentle.

Except they aren’t.

Gin has known enough monsters to recognise a face put on for polite society when he sees one. He has seen this man obliterate people, seen them blur into thin air, like tea in hot water. He doesn’t dare buy for a second the look he sees on this man’s face.

He looks closer.

Cruelty. Amusement. Intrigue. Hunger.

(The eye of a fellow connoisseur; the eye of a fellow artist.)

(The thought sickens him.)

He steels himself for what he’s about to do. His heart fights against his ribs to burst out of his chest. He has never done anything so terrifying.

(He thinks of her.)

Perform. Perform, he thinks desperately. Keep his attention while you have it. And he lets his most blood-chilling smile stretch across his face, a bright rictus grin.

“Good evenin’, Vice-Captain Aizen!” he calls out sweetly, the third seat’s guts at his feet. He can feel the blood starting to soak through into his tabi. “Lovely moon we’ve got out tonight.”

Nothing like surprise crosses Aizen’s face. If anything, he looks rapt- darkly pleased by Gin’s response.

“Good,” he murmurs softly, before smiling. “You’re even better than I’d heard. I’ll ask you again. What is your name?”

It is a choice, Gin. Commit; and do not turn back, Shinso had told him. Everything that happens now happens because you made it that way.

“For as long as I live, I'll wake up today and think of you because you saved me and you gave me a home.”

Gin takes a deep breath, and hopes that Aizen will blame it on the exertion of murder.

“Gin. Ichimaru Gin.”

There can be no turning back.

[inrainprose]

15. Suigetsu

First – Prev – Next  – Masterpost

Karin and Sasuke follow the young kawauso down the riverbank. Buildings and people get scarce until it’s only barks and a few old men chatting and playing go next to their fishing lines. A little further away and they are alone, the river to their right and the forest climbing up the mountain to their left. Sasuke’s mind settles down, overcome by the peaceful atmosphere. Though the city is not far, he feels better than he has all week.

The otter – it is weird indeed to call him Inari – stops them just before the line of trees between the path and the river breaks into a wide open space where the path spills into a small, rocky beach. There, sitting in the water propped against a big, polished stone, is a young kappa.

Few yokai have the ability to shapeshift and take human form. But almost all of them learned, over the years, to at least appear human in their eyes. It didn’t use to be a problem, back when people just accepted the existence of spirits among them. But they don’t anymore, and so yokai hide in plain sight, because most of them still want to do what they’re best at – either help humans, prank them, or eat them, though this last one has become increasingly difficult without arousing suspicion.

Humans do kill yokai, on occasions.

So it’s a kappa, with its green, scaly skin and beaked face. But it’s also a teenager with withe hair that conceals the dip filled with water at the top of his head. He’s eating raw fish, face and hands splattered with blood. Karin sends the little kawauso away before turning to Sasuke. “Alright, tengu. Your time to shine.”

She has the gale to look puzzled at his dumbstruck expression. “What? Why did you think I brought you along for?”

It’s best if he doesn’t answer that question, as “to torture me” was his leading theory up until a few seconds ago. He takes a deep breath, tries to reign in his frustration – she is trying to reel him up in some way, and he is supposed to help out.

“What do you want me to do?”

She only taps the top of her head as an answer.

“He knows me too well to fall for it, so I’ll leave it to you.”

Sasuke sighs, but indeed they have never met before – the kappa won’t be on his guard.

Sasuke takes off his shoes and floats down to the river, trying to look casual. The kappa hisses when he spots him, until he recognizes he is no threat.

“Oh, karasu tengu! What brings you out there?”

The kappa must not see Sasuke’s kind often. He stands up, gets closer. Sasuke waits until he’s out of the water to bow in greeting.

Unsuspecting, the kappa does the same.

The water on his head trickles down his face and he staggers a little, grinning at his own silliness since he really ought to know better by now. His teeth are long and even sharper than the kawauso, stained with blood. Sasuke feels a little guilty at tricking the yokai this way, but he supposes Karin just wants to talk to him.

A belief slightly trampled when the girl jumps out of the bushes and tackles the kappa to the ground before he can go back into the water to fill his head again. He shrieks, trying to wriggle out of her grip, but she must be used to this, and she expertly avoids his teeth and claws. Kappa are clumsy on land, even more so when their head is empty, and he soon stops fighting when she sits on his back and refuses to budge.

“What have I done this time?” the kappa whines, plaintive, making weak attempts at moving, to no avail.

“You have the nerves to ask? That guy is gonna be at the hospital for a while, and he’ll always walk funny from now on.”

She swats his head when her words make him grin.

“It’s not funny, idiot!”

“He had it coming! He’s always drinking around here, throwing his trash into the river, puking everywhere. I didn’t even lure him in. He fell into the water like a dumbass.”

“And so you decided to bite his ass? You’re lucky he didn’t bleed to death!” “What do I care for this bastard dying?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, but her voice is softer when she answers, almost worried.

“Do you want to have the onmyoji on your case, Suigetsu?”

That shuts the kappa up. Karin shuffles to the side so that he can sit up. He straightens his clothes with a grumble, but he doesn’t try to make a run for it.

“They sent you?”

“Shut up. I’m sending myself, since you can’t be trusted to use some common sense. You know we gotta be careful, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The kappa living deep enough into the mountains can still afford to eat a human or two, from time to time, but here in the city, it brings too much attention.

Though eating the man would have brought less attention than leaving it injured, Sasuke thinks. He doubts the comment will be well-received though, so he keeps it to himself.

Notes under the cut.

Kappa are one of the most famous yokai, and there are different versions of them. We won’t dwell on it too much here, but all those yokai care little about humans and have no qualm eating some if the occasion arises lol. It’s just ill-advised ‘cause they tend to look for the missing ones... Times hard for human-flesh-eating spirits haha.

As for onmyoji, we’ll talk about them next time!