#he would not have a billboard!! but he’d fuck one up

[whaliiwatching]

one in a million admirers…

based on ofc this prompt

[dollyichi]

YOUR BIGGEST FAN!

pro-hero katsuki bakugou x actress f ! reader ᯓ★ he finds out who the main admin is of his biggest fan page. 1.4k words. fluff / established relationship / not proofread / little smau at the end

spin-off from ‘a little mystery never hurt anybody’ [m—dni]

katsuki never cared about his image at all. nor did he care about what people post about him online. aside from his own beliefs, he only cares about what you think, and if you think he’s ‘fucking cool’ then he’s fucking cool.

he only ever checks social media and posts something that you’re a part of. if he had the chance to have all his platforms with a picture of you both or even just you, he’d do it—but you would scold him and tell him that he should just have a photo of himself. which you had to do instead since he’s stubborn and wouldn’t know what photo would look the best.

well fortunately for you, who has an album of pictures of him whether you took it yourself to gate-keep, from his fan sites, or his modeling / commercial projects just picked one portrait that would match his overall style. not too much, not too zoomed out, but still would exude that cool side that you loved so much.

and the moment you changed his profile you’re already switching to your verified fan account to notify your followers of his new profile photo. multiple notifications spawn at your lockscreen, the tweet already blew up too.

your co-admins don’t even know that it was the ‘dazzling actress y/n’ running the account in the first place, and it was for the better. you always had this account the moment katsuki was in his third year in UA. usually posting threads about how amazing of a hero he is, or his rankings in the recent fan polls such as ‘hottest hero’ or ‘most powerful rookie hero quirks!’ and your favorite, ‘heroes i wanna get in bed with.’ just from that, anyone other than you knowing your identity would be real bad.

pro-hero dynamight always had a loyal fanbase anyway. and you were always the first account they’d come to for any news on him.

when you started dating you had to ask for some help which is why you had some of your followers (who have been supporting your blog for so long too!) to assist you when you couldn’t post as frequently as you used to. it was easy to juggle the fan account while you were starting as an actress, but when you started dating katsuki, manning the page is a big challenge. he’ll definitely find out in no time since personal space was thrown out the window when you became his.

you wanted to keep it a secret since you were still such a big fan and it felt like a waste deleting the account since you worked so hard on it—pouring so much passion on it despite being with the main source. there were even times when you begged your staff to get him to sign your merch, which you happily post on the fan page too, wearing thick gloves because you figured katsuki would recognize you immediately.

sometimes you would slip and mess up. your co-admin posting about katsuki taking a photo of your new digital billboard by the station. and you accidentally quoted the tweet on your fan page that reads ‘he really likes me~’ and you immediately take it down before the viewer count goes up.

it was a very close call, and when someone did ask you about it since some of them had notifications on for your account you just made up an excuse like ‘i mean y/n! sorry it was a typo.’

sometimes you’d get katsuki to look at the fan page when you both have free time. and he only ever likes the tweets when it involved you. like when you’re both spotted on a date, or a quote from an interview of him promoting your own projects.

you begged him to follow and he didn’t really think that much of it. shrugging and pressing the button and going back to indulging himself beside you.

you never really post any updates on the pro-hero that’s related to you though. and when you do find out about it, you had your co-admins to thank. especially for that one video clip of him struggling to take a picture of another billboard you had in the middle of the city.

until one day, the two of you were apart for a bit. he was out on a mission, and it’s sad that he couldn’t spend the first few days of your break with you.

nonetheless, you are currently working with his fan sites near the area for some updates on him at the time. you end up missing him too much when they send you the photos in your direct messages. though, “he looks really good,” you think to yourself. up in the air with that pretty grin of his whenever he wins.

on your fan page you always have that certain ‘watermark’ when you make a post. ending the tweet with ‘admin ⭐️💥’ to indicate that it was you posting.

quickly, you make a new post about his new feat, scheduling to have it posted on the next day.

you didn’t think much of it, just happy that your boyfriend was safe and he could come home earlier to you.

when you wake up, katsuki’s already back home seated on his side of the bed. but what was unusual was for him to be on his phone this early. concerned, you reach out to him, hoping there wasn’t an emergency or anything bad that happened.

then he starts laughing that goofy laugh of his that you love. which gets you to giggle yourself, “what’s so funny?” you give him a kiss on his cheek as a morning greeting. it’s nice waking up to him so happy, until you feel your own face drop in horror on the screen.

it was your tweet, with that exact format that you always used—not on your fan page, but at your own main account with already thousands of engagement. you feel yourself sink in your spot on the bed.

you did it now, you knew you shouldn’t be posting when you’re sleepy. now you fucked up, big time. you don’t even want to know the replies on that post, and you couldn’t even face your boyfriend who’s already crying from laughing so hard.

“you’re such a dumbass no wonder you kept pestering me about this fan account.”

you groan, hiding yourself under the covers. you couldn’t even imagine what’s going to become of you and how your manager’s going to react. it’s not like you could just abandon your following either! “it’s different as a fan!”

you take your phone from the bedside table and delete the tweet immediately. it’s been 30 minutes after you scheduled it, but there’s nothing you could even do to remedy the mistake. not when thousands have already seen your tweet. you don’t even know how to tell your co-admins who probably found out your real identity.

“just kill me!” you say, wrapping the comforter around you which leaves nothing for him anymore. he puts his phone down and wraps an arm on you. “don’t be so fuckin’ embarrassed babe. if it helps i’m your number one fan too.”

you won’t budge, staying still in your self made blanket burrito with a pout. facing away from him and with a huff. you were so embarrassed that your whole body freezes, and your mind goes blank. “hey come on, i’m happy about it!” you hear him say.

you could already feel the scoldings of your manager, you just hope this is mainly good publicity if it resurfaces—because you’re damn sure a lot of your shared fans are going to spread it all over the net.

“don’t fuckin’ ignore me babe! i’m really damn flattered here!” and he’s laughing again. he really couldn’t take it seriously, and you really wish this was just a really bad dream. it’s not like you wanted to keep it a secret forever! but you didn’t think he’d find out this way, bummer.

he pulls you on top of him, kissing all over your pouting face that’s sticking out from the thick comforter. “ah fuck this is so good! i bet when we get married you’re just on your phone posting live updates or some shit.”

you’re never going to hear the end of this. especially not when he digged a little deeper and found your ‘thirst’ postings from years ago. oh well, at least he knows you’ve always loved him. it was honestly such an ego boost learning his girlfriend just ‘as obsessed’ as he is towards you. besides, his page was almost a fan page of you in itself. whatever, you’re gonna laugh it off next week anyway.

at least you’ve given him another new thing that has him head over heels for you again.

bonus!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : aaaaa this was so funny to me idk T^T it’s really stupid

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT2 | FC43

part one

an: not even gonna leave an an, i always had a part two lol

wc: 5.2k

Franco found out she was dating Angelo via an Instagram story. A fucking Instagram story.

But that was almost three years ago now, and Franco tried to let it go, god did he try. He was getting married now, after all. He had to forget about what could have been.

The engagement ring on his finger felt heavier than it should. Not because he hadn’t once thought it was right—he had. Or maybe he just convinced himself it was right. They’d been together for four years, maybe more, he stopped counting. She was beautiful, poised, easy to love, easy to fit into his world. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway.

But now, standing in the grand suite of the London hotel they’d rented for the weekend, Franco stared out the window at the city below, watching the lights flicker in the distance. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was missing. Not that he had any right to be questioning it. After all, he was about to get married, wasn’t he?

The last three years had been a blur of wins, podiums, and post-race parties. Formula 1 had been a dream realised, his face plastered across billboards in every country, every magazine with his name next to the headlines. He’d travelled the world, earned millions, lived a life many envied. But somewhere along the way, his heart had wandered.

And the truth was, despite the glamour, despite the fame, the money, he couldn’t shake the thought of her. The way she’d looked when she told him she loved him first. The way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears that night in Monza—before she left for good. The way she’d walked away, no longer the girl he took for granted. It was like he could still see her disappearing down the hallway of the hotel, leaving him behind, a shadow in her past.

What if I had chosen her?

He thought about that too often. But it was too late. She was gone. She’d moved on with Angelo, the guy who was everything Franco wasn’t—steady, grounded, someone who could give her a love that wasn’t tied to racing, fame, or endless, mind-numbing travel. And that fucking Instagram story—her laughing, the two of them in a café in Buenos Aires, arms around each other, looking so effortlessly happy—had been the final blow.

That was the last straw.

And now, three years later, here he was—about to get married, with the wrong person. He should have been thrilled, but something about it gnawed at him, like he was suffocating in a life that wasn’t his own. She was everything he thought he wanted. She’d followed him to every race, always the perfect girlfriend, the perfect partner. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he loved her anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever had.

She had been the easy option. She fit into the world he’d built for himself—the shiny, public life, the world of sponsorships and media appearances. She had the right background, the right education, the right looks. She was what was expected of him. What people saw when they looked at a successful F1 driver: the perfect match, the ideal woman.

But the reality was that whenever he closed his eyes, he saw someone else. He saw her. The girl from that small village in Argentina, the one who’d loved him first and probably would, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he hadn’t been able to see it for what it was.

He hadn’t thought about her for a while—not in the sense that would make him ache, not the way he used to. He’d buried that pain under the chaos of the last few years. But it was like a low hum in the back of his mind. Every time he saw Angelo’s name pop up, or when he’d hear a new story about her from people back home, he couldn’t help but wonder how her life had turned out. Was she happy? Was she still with Angelo? Was she finally over him?

He could only imagine the life she’d built without him—the kind of life she deserved.

But now, standing on the edge of a new chapter of his life, Franco wondered if he’d ever be able to move on. Because, no matter how many laps he raced, no matter how many trophies he collected, it always came back to her. And now, with his wedding on the horizon, he couldn’t help but ask himself: What the hell had he been doing this whole time?

His phone buzzed on the table, snapping him back to the moment. His fiancée. A text: “Hey, I made reservations for dinner tonight!”

He sighed and stared at the screen of his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

He knew he shouldn’t, it was ridiculous. It was stupid. He had no right to send her an invitation, not after everything. He hadn’t heard from her in so long, hadn’t even thought about reaching out beyond those painful Instagram stories and the passing updates from mutual friends.

But, for some reason, there he was—typing out an invitation to his wedding.

It’s the right thing to do, he told himself. She was a part of his past. She had been the first person to love him unconditionally. They’d spent too many years growing up together not to extend an olive branch. Besides, she had a life now, a life without him. Maybe it was selfish to think she would even want to come, but maybe, just maybe, she deserved to know. She deserved to hear it from him, the way things had turned out.

He hit “send” before he could overthink it any more. The words felt hollow as they left his phone, but there was no going back now.

It was a quiet afternoon in Buenos Aires. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light through the windows of their apartment. She and Angelo had just finished dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta and wine—and now she was curled up on the couch with a book in her lap, one of the many cosy rituals they had settled into over the past couple of years.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced at it, seeing a notification from her email app. The subject line made her pause.

Wedding Invitation: Franco Colapinto.

She blinked, feeling her chest tighten before she even opened it. It had been so long since she’d thought about him—since Monza, really. It was a chapter of her life that had closed the moment she walked away. But the sight of his name brought it all rushing back. The summers spent racing bikes down dirt roads, his smile so effortless, so wide. The way he’d looked at her before everything changed.

Slowly, she opened the email, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and disbelief.

I hope this message finds you well. It’s been a while since we last spoke, but I wanted to reach out and invite you to something important. I’m getting married in three months' time, and I wanted to personally invite you to be a part of the day. It wouldn’t feel right without including you.

I understand if you’re unable to come, but I thought it was important to extend the invitation.

I hope everything is going well in your life.

All the best,

Fran

She stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, the words swimming in her mind. There were so many things she could have said, but the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of her heart, beating a little faster than it should. A soft ache settled in her chest.

Three years had passed. She had moved on, found a life she was proud of—one that was stable and calm, filled with love from Angelo, whose steady hand had never wavered, who had been everything Franco couldn’t be. She had built a future, and it was more than she had ever expected for herself.

And yet, the invitation sat there, a reminder of what had been. Of the boy she had loved, the boy who had never truly seen her. Of the boy who she had walked away from.

She set the phone down for a moment, leaning back against the couch. Angelo’s gentle snoring filled the living room from the slightly ajar door, a quiet reminder of the life they had made together—together, with no ghosts of the past lingering between them. But even as she sat there, she could feel the sting of Franco’s message, the painful reminder of how much had been left unsaid.

She thought about the wedding. How strange it felt to be invited to something so intimate, something so final. It was a life she would never be a part of. A life that wasn’t hers to claim, never was. But part of her, deep down, still wondered what had happened. Was he happy? Was this really the life he wanted? Or was this just another easy option for him? Another decision made out of convenience?

Why am I even asking myself this?

She shook her head, her lips curling into a rueful smile. She knew she didn’t want to go. There was no reason to go back to that part of her life, not now. Not when everything she had built with Angelo was exactly where it needed to be.

The following morning, the soft clink of Angelo’s keys echoed through their small kitchen as he got his things ready for work. He was already dressed in his crisp suit, his tie neatly adjusted, preparing for another day at the law firm. She, on the other hand, was in her scrubs, packing her bag for her shift at the hospital.

She was tying her trainers when she saw him glance at her, his eyes focused on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity. “You seem a little quiet this morning.”

She shrugged, setting her bag down on the counter. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

It was only a half-lie. She had hardly slept last night after receiving Franco’s invitation. The words had stuck with her, gnawing at her thoughts, replaying in her mind like a loop she couldn’t escape.

“What’s up?” Angelo asked, watching her intently, his brow furrowing slightly.

She hesitated, then sighed and reached for her phone, pulling up the email Franco had sent her. She handed it to him without a word.

Angelo read it in silence, his eyes scanning the screen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but somehow, she already knew that he would have an opinion on it.

Finally, he set the phone down and looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “He’s getting married, huh? I didn;’t believe it when I saw it on the news.” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly, as if the words themselves felt like an admission. “I guess he thought I should know.”

“You’re not planning on going, are you?” Angelo asked, his voice laced with concern.

She shook her head, biting her lip. “He’s my past now. It doesn’t matter. It’s… it’s not something I need to revisit.”

Angelo nodded, his eyes softening as he stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He knew how much Franco had meant to her—how he had once been the centre of her world. But that was years ago. And he had never once doubted that she was now his world.

“I haven’t seen Franco since we were sixteen,” Angelo said, his tone thoughtful. “I know things between you and him ended... well, the way they did. But maybe it might be good to go. For closure. For you, if nothing else.”

She met his eyes, her gaze wavering. “Closure?” she repeated, almost incredulously. “I don’t need closure, Angelo. I moved on a long time ago.”

“I know,” Angelo said, his voice gentle but firm. “But I think sometimes it’s easy to say we’ve moved on, that we’re over things. But there are pieces of our past that stick with us, no matter how much time passes. Maybe seeing him—seeing that life—will help you put the final chapter behind you. Don’t you think?”

She was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in her head. It made sense, in a way. The past had never quite been put to rest, even if she had buried it deep. Maybe it wasn’t about Franco anymore. Maybe it was about facing what had happened, about finding peace with it, once and for all.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I don’t want it to mess with what we have, Angelo. I don’t want to go and be reminded of something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Angelo smiled softly, taking her hand in his. “It won’t. I promise. You’re the one I want, mi amor You’re the one who matters. Whatever happened back then, whatever Franco was, that’s not us. It’s not our life. But if this is something you think you need to do, then I’ll be there with you. I want you to have the closure you need.”

She felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. Angelo had always been like that—steady, understanding, and so patient with her. He never pushed her to forget, but he also didn’t hold her to the past. He was the one who made her feel safe, who built her the life she was proud of, and the thought of him beside her through whatever this was made her feel like she could take on anything.

With a slow, hesitant breath, she met his eyes. “You’re right. Maybe it would be good to go. I don’t know what I’ll feel when I see him, but I think... I think I can handle it now.”

Angelo smiled, squeezing her hand. “Then we’ll go. Together.”

She nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. The decision was made, and it was time to let go of the last remnants of the past. Franco and his life—whatever that was now—could stay in the past, but she wouldn’t be running from it anymore.

“Thanks,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “For always being here.”

“Always,” Angelo replied, his voice warm. “Now go. You don’t want to be late for your shift.”

She smiled at him one last time before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. The wedding was still months away, but somehow, her world felt just a little bit more at peace now.

Three months later

The morning of the wedding, the soft rays of the sun filtered through the curtains of their hotel suite, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as Angelo adjusted his cufflinks in the reflection behind her. The air was filled with a quiet sense of anticipation. It had been a few months since she agreed to come to the wedding, and now, standing in this luxurious hotel in the heart of the Mediterranean, she could feel the surrealness of it all.

She was here. With him. With Angelo.

He caught her gaze in the mirror, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice tender.

She smiled back, her heart swelling with a quiet joy. Angelo was always so calm, so steady, and he knew exactly how to make her feel loved without needing to say much. The simple moments like this were the ones that made her certain that their life together, their future, was the right one.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. He was perfect in every way. “You look handsome, as usual,” she added with a smile.

He chuckled softly. “I try,” he teased, adjusting the hem of his suit jacket before stepping forward to take her hand. “Are you ready for this? I know it’s been a long time coming.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m ready. It’s just… it’s strange. You know? We’re not the same people we were three years ago. And I feel like I’m finally letting go of that past. I just need to do it, for me. And for us.”

“Whatever you need, you have it,” Angelo said, his voice unwavering, filled with a quiet strength.

She smiled at him, grateful for his support. They had come so far, and no matter what happened today, she knew she was in the right place.

“I’m going to step outside for a second,” she said, pulling away from him gently. “I’m going to grab a photo of the schedule. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Angelo replied, watching her with those warm, reassuring eyes.

She stepped into the corridor of the hotel, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She pulled out her phone, navigating to the event details to snap a photo of the ceremony’s schedule. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant chatter of guests below and the hum of preparations for the wedding in the distance. The excitement was palpable in the air, but in this moment, everything felt calm.

That was until she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

She turned around, feeling her heart give a small, unexpected jolt when she saw him.

Franco.

He was standing there, half-dressed in a black tuxedo with his shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, his tie still loose around his neck. He looked just like he did three years ago—handsome, dishevelled in the way that made him seem effortlessly charming.

Her stomach tightened.

“You came,” he said, his voice soft with surprise. 

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before forcing a calm smile. “I said I would,” she replied evenly. Her heart beat just a little faster, but she kept her expression neutral.

He looked at her, his gaze a little more intense than she remembered, and she couldn’t quite place the mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. There was something unspoken there, something she hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” he added, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

She didn’t know what to make of that. She shrugged. “I thought I’d at least be polite.”

A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and thick with everything that had been left unsaid over the years. Franco’s gaze drifted toward the floor for a moment before he looked back up at her, his jaw tense, and his voice was almost pleading when he spoke.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his words hesitant.

She hesitated, feeling her pulse quicken. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to go back to the past—didn’t want to open that door again.

“I’d rather not,” she said, her tone firm, though her heart was beating harder than she cared to admit.

Franco’s expression softened. “It’s been three years. Three years overdue, don’t you think?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, the weight of everything hanging between them. She didn’t owe him anything, and yet, a part of her—perhaps the part that had loved him—knew there was still something lingering. Something that she hadn’t been able to shake off.

She finally gave a soft sigh, one that carried all the weariness of the years that had passed. “Fine,” she said quietly, her shoulders sagging slightly in resignation. “But just for a minute. I don’t have time to rehash everything.”

“Thank you,” Franco murmured, stepping forward as he gestured down the hallway. “My room’s just down here. I won’t keep you long.”

They walked down the corridor in silence, the weight of the moment sinking in. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this conversation, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Not for either of them. When they reached his room, Franco opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

It was a modest suite, far removed from the lavish ceremony unfolding just downstairs. The quiet of the room seemed to accentuate the tension between them. He closed the door behind them, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his voice distant as he turned to face her. “Water? A drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

There was a long pause. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly nervous. For the first time in a long while, he seemed uncertain.

“So…” Franco began, taking a breath, “I guess this is awkward, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice steady, but her insides were churning. “A little.”

Before she even had a chance to settle with what she was doing, he shot her straight to the heart with the words that came out of his mouth.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know I did, but that wasn’t ever my intention. You were always there for me, and I should’ve done better. I should’ve realised…”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that was all too familiar. He seemed to be gathering the courage to say something, but when he spoke, his words were not what she expected.

“I should’ve told you,” he started, voice low, almost regretful. “I should have told you that I loved you.”

She blinked, her chest tightening as she took in the weight of his words. “Don’t,” she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, a defence mechanism against the rawness he was trying to expose. “You can’t do that. You can’t come here and say things like that after all this time. It’s... it’s mean.”

Franco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I should’ve told you,” he repeated, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place—guilt, perhaps? Regret?

She shook her head, unable to stop herself from responding. “Why are you still with her, then?” Her voice trembled slightly, the question feeling more like a challenge than a simple inquiry. She thought of how excited she must be right now getting ready, while he was confessing his love to his childhood best friend. She wondered whether she knew.

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his eyes flickered away, as though he was ashamed of the truth he was about to speak. “It’s easier to pretend to love her,” he admitted, his voice flat. “It’s easier than facing the truth.”

“Than what?” she asked, her words cutting through the air, her eyes locking onto his. “Than admitting you love me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Franco’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, a hesitation lingering between them. He opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he exhaled deeply, as if trying to gather the strength to continue.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. I still don’t.”

She looked at him, biting her lip, trying to keep herself from breaking. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice cracking with frustration. “You don’t get to walk back into my life now and make me feel like I was some... some second choice. You don’t get to say things that undo everything we went through.”

Franco’s gaze darkened, but his next words were even more dangerous. “Say it, and I’ll leave her,” he said, his voice low and intense, as if he were testing her. “Say you want me the same way you wanted me three summers ago, and I’ll do it. I’ll walk away from her. I’ll choose you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttering in her chest. The temptation was there—familiar, painful, and so very dangerous. She could feel that old longing tug at her, the part of her that had loved him so fiercely, so deeply. But this wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t the girl who would wait around for him to realise what he’d lost.

“I can’t,” she whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t do that anymore. I’m happy now. I’m happy with Angelo.”

The words felt heavy on her tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she had to convince herself of them. But as she looked into Franco’s eyes—still searching, still wanting—she realised that she meant it. She really did.

Franco’s face fell, his expression a mixture of frustration and defeat. “You don’t understand,” he said again, the words sounding more like a plea. “I never stopped loving you.”

She took a step back, shaking her head, trying to clear the emotions that were spiralling inside of her. “No,” she said firmly, her voice resolute. “You don’t get to say that, Franco. Not now. Not when I’ve spent three years getting over all of this. You don’t get to come here and break my heart all over again.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the space between them filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. But it was over. It had to be.

“I can’t undo what happened,” she added softly, her gaze not leaving his. “But I’m not that girl anymore. And I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. The weight of everything they’d been through hung heavy between them, and it was clear now that nothing could fix it. Not words. Not promises.

She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob, but before she could step out of the room, she paused, glancing over her shoulder one last time.

“I’m happy now, Fran,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite everything. “And you need to figure out what makes you happy too. But I can’t be part of that anymore.”

She opened the door and stepped out, not looking back, not giving him the chance to say anything more.

The wedding was beautiful.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the guests who had gathered for the wedding. The ceremony was set to take place on the terrace of the luxurious hotel overlooking the sea, the soft sound of waves lapping against the rocks below barely audible amidst the murmur of excited chatter.

She sat there, a few rows back from the front, Angelo by her side. The venue was beautiful—everything that was supposed to be perfect for a wedding. The guests were in their best attire, the flowers were arranged in pristine perfection, and the atmosphere felt like a dream. But something was off. A low hum of anxiety had been building ever since the music started, and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Franco was supposed to be standing at the altar now. But he wasn’t.

She stole a glance at Angelo, who was sitting quietly beside her, a reassuring hand on her knee. He could sense her unease.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice almost drowned out by the gentle clinking of glasses and conversations around them.

She nodded, but her eyes drifted nervously toward the aisle. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Something feels wrong.”

The minutes dragged on. The officiant glanced at his watch, confusion spreading across his face as he leaned over to whisper something to the bridesmaids. There was no sign of Franco, and the guests were beginning to exchange worried glances. The tension in the air became palpable, the excitement of the ceremony suddenly replaced by a growing sense of discomfort.

After a few more minutes, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She turned to Angelo, her voice barely above a whisper, but her anxiety was thick in her words. “Do you think he’s going to come?”

Angelo squeezed her hand gently, his gaze soft and understanding. “I don’t know, cariño. Maybe something’s happened. He’s probably just... running late.”

But as they exchanged those quiet words, it became clear that it wasn’t just a delay. The guests were shifting in their seats, some starting to murmur under their breath, the ceremony now holding a sense of surreal anticipation.

And then, just as the whispers reached a crescendo, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind. Everyone turned, their heads swivelling as they saw him—Franco. He was walking down the aisle, his face pale, his expression one of guilt and uncertainty. He wasn’t in a rush, though. It was as if he was taking his time, as though he had already made a decision.

The room fell silent as Franco reached the front. He looked out at the gathering of faces—his family, his friends, all of them waiting for the moment when he would say "I do." But he didn’t speak immediately.

He was struggling with the words, and she could feel the weight of the tension from across the room. Her heart raced, confusion and disbelief washing over her as she watched him take a deep breath, his eyes scanning the crowd before finally locking on the bride’s family sitting in the front row.

“Excuse me,” Franco’s voice broke through the silence, shaky but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry for the disruption,” he continued, his eyes darting nervously between the bride and the guests. “I... I can’t do this. I can’t marry her.”

The air seemed to stop in that moment. His words hung like an echo, the shock rippling through the crowd. She couldn’t look away, her heart pounding in her chest as Freddie stood there, his face flushed with embarrassment, his hands trembling at his sides.

“I’m sorry, I thought I could,” he went on, his voice quiet but steady, “but I can’t marry her when I love someone else.” His gaze shifted to her, and for a split second, their eyes met. The pain, the regret, the history of everything they had been—it was all there in that single glance. But she didn’t feel anything but exhaustion. It was like watching someone else’s dream unravel.

The guests were murmuring, unsure of how to respond. His bride, stood by the doors he’d just walked in from, ready to walk down the aisle frozen and unmoving. Shelooked like she was about to collapse, her face pale as she took in the words that no one had expected.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Franco continued, his voice breaking, “I can’t do it. I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry. I—I just can’t.”

Without another word, he turned and began to walk away, stepping down from the altar, leaving the bride standing alone, abandoned in front of everyone.

The room was filled with stunned silence.

Angelo reached for her hand, squeezing it gently as the reality of what had just unfolded sank in. She didn’t know how to feel—didn’t know what to think. Her chest ached with a strange mixture of relief and guilt, but most of all, there was a numbness that began to set in.

And then, just as quickly as Franco had walked away, he was gone, disappearing behind the closed doors of the venue, leaving a trail of shock in his wake. The ceremony was over before it had even begun.

She couldn’t help herself.

The guilt she felt in her stomach was strong.

It was her fault.

the end.

an: actual an, im sorry guys! i was feeling sad so i wrote this muahhah

tags: @obxstiles @charlosvibesonly @zestytimbit @taygrls

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 8: Sex Toys

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Sex Toys (✨)

Summary: Matt wants to use one of your sex toys on you for the first time, but things don't quite go as planned.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), use of a vibrator, use of "good girl", slight degradation, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, breeding kink

Word Count: 2k

A/n: Jesus, this was supposed to be a Drabble. Matt took over toward the end though and added another thousand words, so now you get to have this filthy little (big) piece.

Read Me On AO3!

He’s towering over you. The billboard's lights paint a blue and purple mosaic on his bare skin. His eyes are closed as he listens to your every breath, and every beating of your heart. But there’s something else in the air tonight.

The steady buzzing of your vibrator glides up, up, up your thigh. You can’t remember when you’ve last been this on edge, this close to falling off the carousel without ever being pushed. 

Matt is calm—too calm. He’s taking his time pressing the current into your skin, soaking your little impatient noises up like a sponge. You’re so wet already, naked and spread out for him as his cock rests achingly hard against his stomach, but he’s nowhere near done with you. And he won’t let you touch him. You’ve tried; you’ve tried to reach out for him, but he slapped your hand away. 

“Not yet,” he’d said to you. “I want to try something first.”

When he pulled out the box with all your toys that you keep around for when you feel needy and alone without him, you knew that his hands wouldn’t be the only thing touching you tonight. It’s exciting, to try things you have never tried before. At first, you were scared to tell him about your occasional habit of pleasuring yourself when time won’t allow him to do it, but he was never opposed to it. Not that he has any right to be, anyway. 

You never expected this to happen though. 

You never expected Matt to pull out your bright pink vibrator and tell you how badly he wants to fuck you with it until you can’t help but scream his name.

Your skin tingles at the low temperature of the toy. You would ask him to warm it up for you, but you doubt you could get a word out even if you tried. You’re hot to your very core, but with the vibrator gradually sliding up to travel the valley between your breasts, you find yourself suddenly freezing. 

Matt must be able to tell. Goosebumps erupt on your skin everywhere he touches you without touching you. He reaches out to brush the tip of his calloused thumb over it, collecting the sweat that has started to pour from your pores and rubbing it in. You’re not cold, the action is supposed to say. And he’s right, you’re not cold, it just feels like you are. Every nerve in your body is on fire. It almost hurts how badly you want him to do something, anything. You need to come. You need to feel the vibrator against your cunt, or your clit, or perhaps both. You want him to kiss you and hold you as he thrusts the stupid toy into you, always angled toward that spot. Higher and higher and higher until finally, you come. 

Matt presses the tip against your nipple, and you cry out. You couldn’t focus, so he made you focus. White hot pleasure courses through your veins, infecting you like some kind of disease, but you wouldn’t mind if it killed you. So many different temperatures, so many different sensations. Now you know what it must feel like for him, at least a little bit. It’s so incredibly intense you forget how to breathe.

“Look at me,” he says.

Somehow, he always knows when you don’t. 

You open your eyes, your vision blurry as you take on the vision that is him. You could cry just from how beautiful he is.

“Good girl.” He draws a circle around your nipple then. “Just feel.”

You try to shut your legs for some kind of friction, but he pushes them apart again. Matt clicks his tongue. “I take it back.” Gently, he smacks the vibrator against your breast, but it’s enough to make you jolt. “Bad girl,” he says. 

Asshole.

“Language.”

Did you say that out loud? Fuck.

“Please,” you beg. “I’m sorry, Matty. Please, just…”

“What?” He circles the other breast, turning the toy up a notch. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Touch me,” your voice is barely above a pathetic whisper.

He shakes his head. “You can do better than that.”

You abandon the thought of cursing him out again. You want to be his good girl, you do. 

“Touch me,” you repeat. 

His hand comes to rest on your stomach, just below your heart. “Like this?”

You suck in a sharp breath. 

“Or like this?” He leans forward, pressing his lips against your skin, featherlight. You barely feel it. 

A whine slips past your lips. 

Matt slides the vibrator back down your body. You don’t notice; you’re too focused on the way his lips are moving along your sensitive abdomen, getting bolder with each inch he covers. His hand traces every crevice and every scar he can find. He knows you inside and out, yet he touches you as though it is the very first time. The very first night you got together. Like he can’t believe you’re his, and he needs to take his time worshiping—no, memorizing you. In case you slip through his fingers after this, and all he will have left is your memory.

You would never do that to him, but you know just how scared he gets. He needs to do this. He needs to feel you. And you are more than willing to give your body, mind, and soul to him. If you could, you would serve it on a silver platter, for you know that you are safest with him.

He hums at the hitch of your breath, the slight uptick in your heartbeat. His fingers splay over the left side of your chest. You’re alive. Your heart is beating for him, and that’s all that matters. 

“Or maybe like this?” he says, and the moan you let out borders on a scream when he pushes the vibrator directly against your pussy. 

The wave building within you is already tall enough to level a small town. 

Matt glides the tip over your swollen clit. “You’re so wet. Fuck. I barely touched you.”

You are grasping at the sheets, at the pillows, but the silk slips through your fingers. “Matt,” you choke out. 

“I know.” He presses a kiss to your sternum. “I know, baby. It’s okay.”

The wave threatens to crash into you. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet, it is. He’s made it possible. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging at the strands as he pushes the vibrator against your entrance. At the setting it is now, you can feel the electricity in your every bone. He pushes it in until you’re full of the silicone.

You’re moaning, thrashing, and clawing at him for something to hold onto. You are so close—so, so close. You don’t understand what’s happening to you.

His hand comes to cup your breast again. “Look at you,” he murmurs, raspy against your skin. His kisses have no aim, simply caressing your skin as he would worship at the shrine of the ever-loving Catholic God he believes in. Right now though, you are his God, and he would lay his life down for you. He would sacrifice his life just to listen to you fall apart, just to make sure you’re okay and he has done everything to give you what you need.

Because neither heaven nor hell would mean anything without you.

Your hips buck into the vibrations, into his touch, and you can feel your control fading. The wave is close enough for you to touch. Every crevice in your body wants to burst, every muscle straining to hold on, to hold you on the edge just a little longer, but it’s hard—so hard. 

Matt grunts, teeth digging into your flesh. His cock jumps at the sounds you’re making, the way you’re clenching around the toy and your scent so fucking thick in the air he will probably smell you for weeks to come. Pre-cum has long started leaking from his tip.

He thought this was a good idea, getting to explore you in an entirely new way, but Good Lord, he can’t stand the thought of a toy giving you this much pleasure when he is right there to fill you to the brim. 

He stops below your ear, only to whisper, “Safe word?”

Your eyes roll back into your head. “R-red,” you stammer. 

“Good girl. Remember that.”

But why ask?

Your question answers itself when he suddenly pulls the vibrator out of you, leaving you painfully empty and wet. You cry out again, though this time out of pure disdain. You were so close.

He ruined it.

He fucking ruined it. 

“No,” you whine. “Please…”

He shushes you with his lips, and then his cock thrusts into you. You don’t have time to process before he bottoms out. The stretch is familiar yet new, reigniting the fires he blew out mere seconds ago. He’s thick, bigger than average, and he fills you up so good. Your lips part, but nothing wants to come out. You can’t moan. You can’t scream. He’s inside of you, and all you can think is, ‘Fucking finally!’ 

Matt slides his tongue into your mouth to silence himself. You’re warm and tight, and if he weren’t so determined to make you come all over his cock before he gets to see the pearly gates, he would have already burst. 

Though neither of you is going to last very long.

Your legs wrap around his waist. That’s why he asked. He holds onto your thigh as you cling to him, nails running down his back until he’s red all over until he’s marked by you. 

Once he’s got his bearings, he’s not holding back. The pace he sets is brutal. He thrusts into you with abandon, angling your leg to get as deep as he possibly can, and he fucks you into the mattress like a man starved. It’s that way, too, that he kisses you.

The bed creaks with every snap of his hips against yours. You swear you can feel him in your stomach, the way he’s taking you apart with only his cock. You’re falling with nowhere to land, but he’s falling with you. Hard, and fast.

Matt bites your lip, tugging it back before crashing his mouth into yours again. You’re sure one of you must be bleeding. 

“I need you to come,” he pants, teeth dragging along your jaw. “Need you to…” He grunts.

The orgasm continues to build as the wave gains momentum.

“Come for me.” 

You cry out his name when you do, the wave crashing in and drowning you all at once. Your heart beats out of your chest and into his. One more thrust. Two. Even a third one, and then, he spills into you. 

For a short while, the world stops turning. You’re floating in a void detached from space and time. All that fills the room now is the sound of your labored breathing.

Minutes pass by. The lights of the Billboard continue to flicker, throwing a blanket of color over you. 

Matt is the first to break the silence. “Was that…” he trails off.

Your chest rumbles with a soft chuckle, holding his fragile body a little tighter to yours. “Oh yeah,” you say. “It was.”

He nuzzles his nose further into your chest. “Good. That’s… good.”

What he doesn’t tell you, at least not yet: there are a lot more toys in that little box of yours that he is eager to try out, and he will make sure to come inside you with every last one of them. To fill you up. To breed you so he can taste himself inside your pussy when he eats you out at the end of this—as he always does. 

He’s going to make you come so many times, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. You won’t even be able to remember your own damn name. Only his. And it will only be his cock that will make you do so. As fun as toys are, there are some things he would rather do himself when he can. 

You don’t quite know it yet, but tonight is going to be a very long night for you. 

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[deckedcards]

. . . OH BABY, JUST LEAVE THE SCENT OF YOUR COLOGNE

⌗ PAIRING: ryōhei arisu x male! reader

⌗ SUMMARY: arisu wasn’t the biggest fan of committing to relationships. whenever he wanted a good fuck, he’d just pick up the nearest pretty girl and then ghost her once he got what he wanted. this gave him an unlikable reputation at his college, along with the popularity of his pretentious family. he’d never thought this would be something he’d ever wanna change about himself, until one night he was forced to go to a college event where he saw the prettiest “girl” he’s ever seen. but what will this change for him once he finds out the supposed girl of his dreams isn’t what she makes herself out to be?

⌗ THIS WORK INCLUDES . . . lowercase intended, third person pov, no borderlands au, college au, fluff, slight crack, slightly long fic, feminine reader, cross dressing reader, arisu mistakes reader for a girl, she/her and he/him pronouns used for reader, mentions of playboy arisu or is it fuckboy idk, rich kid arisu, bisexual arisu, musician! reader, readers in a band, found family, love at first sight trope, mentions of suggestive content, cursing, smoking, reader is mentioned to have long hair (no worries it’s a wig), strangers to lovers trope, arisu having a tiny ego, nobodies the biggest fan of arisu or his family, lonely arisu, mentions of arisu’s daddy issues, talks of abuse, slight mentions of groping (NOT by arisu), i don’t know anything about college so i apologize if anything i wrote is inaccurate, fixed grammar and wording mistakes ❨ edited ❩

⌗ EXTRA NOTES: *throws this at your face and sprints off*

⸺ ARISU SQUINTED HIS EYES at the giant billboard sign that was plastered in front of the buildings center. “borderlands” was shining brightly in the cascade of the dark, multiple college students were lined up outside, eager to get in. they were at a goddamn concert venue, “why are we even here?” arisu mumbled focusing his attention to his friends that were beside him, karube and chōta sent glares at his question.

“ ‘because you need more social interaction?” karube said raising one of his eyebrows, “y’know we can’t be the only people you talk to right?” arisu scoffed lowering his head into his hands as he pouted, “you sound like my dad.” he grumbled, unbuckling his seatbeat as he stepped out of the limo. attention was turned to him, his side-parted slicked back hair and cheetah print coat that covered his entirely black outfit made him stick out like a sore thumb.

everyone was dressed in casual and comfortable clothing while he was dressed like he was going to a club or something. chatter started to rumble as karube and chōta stepped out alongside him, girls whispering to each other as they thirsted over arisu, guys attempting to prevent their girlfriends from looking at him slightly jealous at his appearance. “do you always have to be so extra?” chōta asked as he lead the two inside, waving to anyone that he recognized.

“i’m not being extra,” arisu said as he itched his nose, ignoring all the death stares people were sending his way, “i’m just letting my presence be known,” he stuck his hands into his pockets as he examined everyone in the hallways, noticing familiar faces he wouldn’t have expected to see at this kinda place.

shuntarō chishiya and hikari kuina, the two friends that were always attached to each other. one of them was a quiet but cunning inventor always keeping his head stuck in his hoodie as his hands were hidden away in his pockets never once seeing the light of day while the other was a strong martial artist that constantly gossiped about others to the man with dyed hair, she was also an ex-smoker. this being known as a fake cigar would always be seen hanging from her mouth.

rizuna ann and kōdai tatta. ann was a smart but reclusive woman, always standing in random places as her sunglasses were glued to her face. whether it be inside or outside, she never took them off for anything, her arms were always crossed to her chest with a stoic face. constantly walking around in monochrome clothing, the only color was on her lips, the red lipstick she always wore shined brightly. tatta was a part time mechanic, always getting giddy whenever he saw a car he liked, confident in telling people about his interests even when he always got hated on by the people he worked with. rumor has it he injured one of his coworkers all because he zoned out at the wrong time.

hell, even suguru niragi was here. the campus’ self centered asshole, he made arisu seem like an angel compared to him (if you ignore how big his body count was and all the blocked contacts that were on his phone). constantly harassing the people around him as he stuck his pierced tongue out to mock them. he always hung around a weird bald man with blue tattoos that covered his body from head to toe, literally. he didn’t know the guys name, he didn’t even know if the guy did have a name. always staring off into space as he ruined his posture by tilting over all the time, what a weirdo.

he cringed as his eyes met up with some of his past flings. quickly covering his side profile with his hands as he rushed by multiple women, they noticed him, obviously. it was hard not to when he was the son of a famous businessman that ruined peoples lives all over tokyo at every hour. “we told you to stop doing your little ‘hobby,’ “ karube said pushing arisu’s shoulder, “you’re making people hate you even more than they already should.”

karube was right, but he didn’t wanna acknowledge it. arisu was constantly fucking woman left and right not letting anyone’s bodies go untouched by him (with consent of course, he knows when to back off when he should). but it wasn’t his fault, really, it wasn’t. he didn’t like spending nights alone, he was a grown man for fucks sake, he shouldn’t be afraid of not having someone share the bed with him. he grew out of that the moment he hit middle school, or… so he tells himself. his father groomed him and his brother into being the perfect men, the perfect sons. his sons who will one day take over his money hungry company.

ever since the death of his mother, his father treated him and his brother less and less like people and more like video game characters. molding their appearances into how he wanted them to look, shaping their personalities into being just like him. telling the two to find a good wife so he’ll have grandchildren that will run his office once they retired. this lead him to being afraid of committing to someone, actually falling in love with someone. this was the only thing in his life he could control even if it wasn’t the healthiest method of being freed from his fathers grip,

‘such, bullshit’ arisu thought as he got reminded of this, combing his fingers through his hair. the three stepped into an auditorium, the entire place was filled with people and noise. not a single conversation could be held with how loud it was, it was already starting to annoy arisu and his ears. the trio were seated in the front row, arisu in the middle while karube and chōta sat by his sides, he sighed to himself, ‘this was going to be a long night, wasn’t it?’

———

arisu shifted in his seat, two hours have gone by and the place was just now letting the opening band up. the stage was decorated with different instruments, a drumset sat in the center back, two guitars and a bass were to the right sitting next to eachother, and lastly there stood the microphone that was infront.

the crowd started to cheer as the band members came out. a girl came out first, waving to everyone as she shined a bright smile. she had brown hair and blonde hair streaks, she was dressed in a boring outfit. a brown jacket placed over a green shirt with light blue jeans and brown and white shoes, very… earthy? next came out a guy with black hair that was styled into a wolfcut, he was dressed in a white tank top and black pants as a chain hung from his belt loop. he had cloth wrapped around his wrists, a pierced lip along with a pierced eyebrow, and sunglasses that shaded his eyes as he walked towards the drums, his body language was very loose and unbothered.

then came another girl, she was just like the guy with carefree body language and sunglasses as she twirled her dark hair that was styled into low pigtails. a beanie covered the top of her head, she wore a long sleeved dark blue shirt that had a black star patched into the middle, her baggy sweatpants were very loose as the ends covered her shoes, one wrong move and she could trip all over herself. finally the last member came out, the lead singer of the group.

arisu sat up as he saw “her.” she was dressed in a black halter-neck shirt with gray jeans that slightly flared at her ankles and black shoes. what caught his eye was her hair, the blonde shoulder length that framed her face and bangs that covered her eyebrows (it was obviously a wig when looked more up close but arisu didn’t need to know that.) his eyes glimmered as he stared at her, breath catching itself in his throat as she welcomed the audience, her voice was calming, he felt himself get addicted to how she pronounced words. “she” was beautiful, he wanted this woman in his life, he needed this woman in his life. this woman was his soulmate, he could feel it.

(name) walked up to his pink and black guitar guiding the strap over his head and onto his shoulder. he sent smiles and nods to the rest of his band members, asuka, aiko and haru. (name) had met the three during his late teenage years, moving out from his moms apartment to live on his own and follow his own path in life.

asuka was the first one he met, a girl that was only a few years older than him that used to work at a dying pub. one night she stepped out for a smoke break, her hair tied into a messy ponytail with heavy eyebags, she looked like a zombie from afar. (name) was walking down the sidewalk from where her job was located, at first he walked right past her not giving her a glance before stepping back and turning his body to her, a smile on his face.

“you look like someone who knows how to play guitar.” (name) grinned, if he widened his mouth a little more he would be practically showing her all of his teeth. asuka looked him up and down puffing out a bit smoke that was left in her mouth, he was dressed very femininely in an all black outfit. a short thigh length skirt with a belt wrapped to his pelvis, a scarf engulfed his neck along with a zipped up leather jacket and the blonde wig that stuck itself onto his head, his face was caked up in aesthetically pleasing makeup.

she eyed the giant guitar case that looked like a shadow behind him, “and if i do?” she questioned dropping her cigar and stomping on it, preparing herself to go back inside, “i want you to join my band.” she blinked, “…huh?”

“i want you to join my band,” (name) repeated himself the smile on his face not wiping away, ‘he was really serious about this?’ asuka thought to herself as she crossed her arms and sighed getting ready to turn his offer down,,

“i don’t think my job will allow me too—“

“then quit.”

she blinked again, a laugh left her lips. “quit?” she mocked, “look—kid, whatever dream you have going on that you want me to join, isn’t gonna work, okay?” asuka explained motioning her hands around his figure, he continued to stare at her with that giant smile of his, “someone of us have rent that we need to pay so… just get going back to your mom’s house, alright?” she pushed the front of the door open as a slight jingle filled the place, letting workers know of a customer that entered. (name) eyed her tilting his head as he opened his mouth,,

“who says i don’t have money?”

then followed the twins, they were younger than (name) and asuka, both being highschool dropouts and refusing to stay inside. always hanging around under highways or in tunnels, no one batted an eye at them since they were teenagers, no one cared and they didn’t mind that, they had no future so what were they supposed to do? their parents weren’t in their lives anymore, all they had was each other and their company.

haru was sat crouched down onto the floor sticking different amounts of candy into his mouth as the sound of wrappers opening filled his ears. aiko had her back against the wall, music playing in her headphones as she bobbed her head up and down to what was playing. it’s been a few weeks since they ran away from home, they weren’t sure what to do now, all they had planned out was grabbing their belongings and sprinting out the door the minute their parents had left them alone.

the twins never had good parental figures in their lives, they spent their whole childhoods filled with arguments, beatings, and neglect. bruises covered half of their bodies, scars that never faded away stuck to them like glue, they never felt what love was from an adult. but that was all in the past now, it didn’t matter to them anymore. as long as they stuck together then everything would be fine between them, they’ve done it before, they will do it again.

“you’re gonna ruin your teeth if you keep doing that.”

haru stuck his head up at the voice, he stopped chewing as he took in the figure next to him. “mind your own business, uh…” haru trailed off, the person infront of him was dressed in a tight velvet tanktop that cinched at the waist and rode up at the end, their baggy jeans were a light blue and hid their dark grey shoes. what really got him confused was the black tailbone length hair that covered their slightly broad shoulders, “…lady?”

(name) let out a giggle at this moving a piece of his wig hair behind his ear, “i get that a lot,” he said crossing his arms as he directed his attention to aiko, she was staring at him intently. her posture was slightly anxious as she tore one part of her headphones away from her ear. “where are your parents?”

aiko hesitated to respond, who was this guy? “gone.” she replied, (name) looked at the two with remorse moving one of his hands to cover his heart as he frowned. “so what are you doing here, you guys don’t have any family members that wanna take care of the two of you?” (name) asked watching as the two gulped, ducking their heads as they looked away from him.

“why does it matter to you?” haru asked standing up from where he was squatting, he slightly towered over (name), his head standing closely to the young boys collarbone area.

“ ‘cause i know how you feel.”

(name) flickered his eyes between the two, a sad expression marking itself onto his lips as he pressed onto his heel, walking away from them with his hands rested in his pockets. haru and aiko watched as he stepped away from them, aiko suddenly felt her body be comforted by his words, her eyes stuck on him before quickly grabbing her things as she ran after the man. haru widened his eyes at her sudden actions, “aiko, where are you going?!” he yelled after her as his chest started to beat heavily, “i don’t know!”

(name) waved his hand towards the people behind the curtain, signaling them to start the backtrack. music started to play as he strummed his guitar, the lyrics of one of the bands songs dripped out of his mouth like a waterfall. arisu tuned this out, staring intently at the supposed “girl” on stage. he was getting drunk off of her movements, the way she strummed her fingers on the strings of the guitar made him imagine how rough they would be when he held her hand, how her plump round lips pressed against the microphone slightly made him want to kiss them badly, feel their soft texture against his, heart beating quickly as he examined all the movements she made.

arisu blinked once and suddenly the whole show was already over. he saw the actual band that was performing tonight bowing their heads as they did their encore, everyone clapped their hands and cheered at them. ‘what time was it?’ arisu thought gathering himself together, karube and chōta grabbed him by the arms with smiles on their talking about how good the performance was. he only nodded at them, still thinking about the girl prior. he was desperate in wanting to find her, straining his neck up looking from the crowd of people as if he’d find a performer in a lobby and not backstage.

his eyes blurred by blonde hair, cranking his neck behind him. it was her. oh, would you look at that, he did find “her”. arisu removed his arms from his friends grips, ignoring their worried yelling and apologizing as he pushed past different people. (name) was unbothered, walking through empty hallways not paying attention to the man that was seemingly following him. he pushed past a door that said ‘employees only,’ the cold air nipped at his exposed skin as he shivered grabbing his biceps and rubbing them to create friction.

“i told you to bring a sweater tonight,” asuka spat at him as he walked towards her direction. the rest of his bandmates were loading their equipment into their van, haru and aiko were snipping at each other for who knows what, just regular sibling banter. “it was ruining my outfit..” (name) mumbled wiping off some mucus that slightly dripped down his nose, “oh yeah? well you’re also ruining your immune system by exposing yourself like that, you know if you get sick then we’re gonna have to push back upcoming performances.”

(name) snorted at her bending over as he clutched his stomach, “sorry—sorry, it’s just, you sound like a school teacher right now,” he said through laughs waving his hand at her as he imitated a teacher that would force a girl to cover her shoulders. asuka rolled her eyes at him, she was always protective of him. she was protective of all of the members actually, they were her family and she was the mother of the group. always worrying about their health, waking them up early on concert days, forcing them to go to sleep early and making sure they always get sufficient sleep. keeping (name) from straining his voice, preventing aiko from breaking the skin of her fingertips since she refused to use a guitar pick sometimes, always wasting her money on haru whenever he broke his drumsticks.

she swore she found gray hairs sometimes hidden in her hair, she wasn’t even that old yet she didn’t need all to have all of this stress be put on her. but then again, she was happy with her life, this was definitely better than sitting in a dry end job where she only got paid a few bucks an hour. at least she had fun exploring differnt areas of japan she’d never been through before. asuka flicked her fingers against (name)’s forehead. he cringed back as he soothed the area she touched with his palm.

“ow! what was that for?” (name) yelped narrowing his eyes at her, asuka only shrugged as she prevented a laugh from exiting her at the reaction he gave. arisu rounded the corner of the venue, he had to go back to the front of the building since he was stopped by a staff member the moment he had gotten to the employee’s only door (name) had gone through. his desperate breaths caused fog to come out of his mouth as his eyes landed on the woman he was searching for. she stood there with her back turned towards him, she was speaking to someone, the bassist of her group. a van was parked next to her as she held keys in her hands, they were about to leave but arisu wasn’t gonna let that happen until he finally spoke to her.

“excuse me!”

(name) whipped his head around, watching as a nicely dressed man ran towards his direction, (name) recognized him as one of the men that sat in the front row, “uh, sorry! no autographs tonight! we’re very busy at the moment,” (name) told him as arisu finally stood infront of him, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. arisu panted shaking his head as he swallowed down his dry mouth, “no, no, thats—thats not what i’m here for..”

asuka raised her eyebrow at this, aiko and haru nudged their heads through her arm that was set on the edge of the vans door. (name) peeked his interest as the man stated this, “look, i know this is out of the blue and you probably get tons of guys asking you this but—“ arisu started, grabbing a rose from the inside of his coat, where the hell did he get that from? “i think you’re very beautiful, i wanna have the honor of maybe courting you?” he cringed as he said this, he sucked at being a romantic.

(name)’s lips were agape, the rest of his members stared at arisu as they took in his confession. “i—uh..” (name) stammered planting his eyes at the rose in arisu’s hands, hesitating to take it, “i’m sorry, but… you know i’m a guy right?” arisu’s eye enlarged themselves as he soaked in the mans words, he did not.

despite this, arisu still felt his heart quicken even more. eye’s brightening as the words left his mouth before he could even think, “i don’t care.” now it was (name)’s turn to widen his eyes, “y-you don’t?” (name) stammered feeling his lip corners turning upwards as he finally took the flower from arisu’s hand, twiddling the leaves between his fingers,

“my father he’s uh, holding an event tomorrow night,” arisu said with a smile watching as (name) stared at him with heart-shaped flecks in his eyes, “i was hoping that maybe you could accompany me?“

the man infront of him frowned at the end of the sentence, dropping his gaze back to the flower in his hand, “if i go… then i’ll have to bring my band members with me, where i go they go. i won’t allow for us to be separated.” arisu looked back at the van, asuka, aiko and haru were sending glares his way the same way overprotective siblings would do whenever they’re family members were getting asked out, “i can arrange for that to happen.”

the remaining three perked up at this, the twins gaining a smile on their lips as (name) looked back at them reciprocating said smile, “alright then.” he replied as heat rose to his cheeks, his teeth shining in the streets lights. the two chatted for a little bit, exchanging numbers in the process before asuka had to interrupt them, reminding (name) about the strict schedule they had to complete tonight. the duo bid goodbyes before (name) remembered they never told each other what they were called.

“oh, i’m (name) by the way! i don’t think i told you that until now.” he giggled waving his hand back, “arisu.” (name)’s body stiffened smile slightly faltering but not enough until arisu finally left the area, aiko stared at him with furrowed brows and big eyes, the other two perked up as they watched arisu walk away. “..arisu.” (name) repeated as his jaw locked in place, looks like they finally found their guy.

“quit struggling so much!”

haru was whisper yelling as him and aiko dragged a man’s tied up body through a white corridor, arisu’s father. (name) and asuka ran up ahead, making sure the coast was clear before helping the twins. you see, maybe the band wasn’t just performing at venues and small clubs. (name) knew what he was doing by dressing up as a woman, he knew how seductive and attractive he was, the amount of desperate people that would flock to him by being a crossdressing man. and… what was he doing, exactly? it was obvious.

seducing the heirs of rich businessmen and woman, sometimes taking an extra cautious step by romancing said men and woman. the band wasn’t rich by any means, yes they were popular but not popular enough to make good money. his members did what they could to help themselves, getting jobs and staying a few extra hours to get enough pay, robbing unsuspecting people, sometimes even going an extra mile and stealing from wishing fountains if they were desperate enough.

but that was getting tiring, they all knew this wasn’t going to be enough to support them, so… they did what they needed to do. steal from rich people and kill them once they were done with the job all with the help of (name)’s appearance. as he batted his eyelashes and pouted his lips, telling them how he never went anywhere without his band members, if he left them then he’d never know what to do with himself.

asuka opened the door that lead outside with her back, it was pitch black out, the only light that was on was the one from their van that was being driven by one of her old colleagues. “jeez, for such an old guy you really know how to move your body,” aiko teased him suggestively as they planted the man against dryed up leaves that covered the floor.

(name) pushed the lit up cigarette against his painted lips as he looked at the man bounded by black ropes. for such an ugly guy, he sure did make a good-looking son, arisu must’ve gotten his beauty from his mother instead. to be honest, (name) felt a little bad for tricking arisu. he seemed sweet and caring, far nicer than some of the rich kids he seduced that constantly groped him and called him slightly degrading things because of the way he dressed up. maybe have an actual date with him if they were in a different circumstance.

arisu was nothing but sweet to him and his friends as they got here. introducing him to his best friends karube and chōta, offering to grab drinks for all of them not noticing the way aiko examined the ballroom they were placed in, counting all the bodyguards and security cameras that were high on the walls, the way haru would spit his wine out into a trash can, how (name) took notes of all the people that went in and out of the place, and asuka’s body language that made her look like she was on high alert once she came back from her “bathroom break.”

arisu only focused on how gorgeous (name) looked tonight. the black dress that he wore that was cut asymmetrically at the ends enhacing his body and curves. the only thing covering his mind was the dream about the day he would propose to this man once they’re relationship developed more and the wedding dress he’d wear once he walked down the aisle. he was obsessed with him, arisu never thought he’d be attracted to a guy before, only ever going after woman, remember, he’s a fuckboy or was a fuckboy. but now, he can’t imagine making love to someone that wasn’t (name).

the four had left a few minutes early, telling him how they needed to get something “important” done tonight. arisu of course walked them out, even when they persisted that he didn’t need to, but allowing him anyways as they saw how lovey-dovey he looked when (name) sent his eyes towards his direction. he let out a content sigh as (name) planted a kiss on the mole that was painted onto his cheekbone, waving a goodbye as their van drove out of his dad’s driveway.

haru walked over to (name), handing him a pistol as he gave him a cheeky smile, the piercing on his lip glittering as he walked away to let him deal with his designated part of the plan. (name) cocked the gun in his hand, throwing away the cigar as he saw arisu’s father stare at him in fear, twitching his body in an attempt to run away from him. “settle down, why don’t you. you’re making this more harder for me than it should be,” he said with anger, his body was tired and he was desperately wishing to go home to take a nap. he aimed his hands towards him, eyes darkening as his pointer finger hovered over the trigger.

two bangs echoed into the air. (name) sighed as he looked at the corpse of the guy that they had been chasing for about awhile now. arisu’s father was rich, very rich. he was practically the number one guy at the top of their drawn out hit list, he didn’t expect that getting to him would be this fast, this easy. he turned away from the body, walking towards their vehicle before noticing that his friends eyes were wide, wide enough that they would fall out of their sockets. (name) stopped in his tracks furrowing his brows, they had never once been shocked about him killing someone before. aiko pointed her finger at something behind him, she looked like her breath was stuck in her throat. turning his head into the direction they were looking at, the color drained from his face as he saw what had shocked them so much. shit.

“arisu..”

© @deckedcards 2025 ☆ please do not repost, translate or copy my work on other platforms without my permission, thank you.

[r0ttenhearts]

wasted on you |||

idol scaramouche x reader

part Ii

“ohmygosh, have you heard 4nemo’s new single?

“it’s sooo good (y/n!) you have to listen to it.”

“who’s your favorite one? mine would have to be scaramouche.”

your smile would always falter at the mention of his name. not like your friends ever knew you were acquaintanced with the idol group. “i don’t really like idol stuff, it’s not my thing.” you would always brush them off, refusing to take one of their earbuds to listen to the songs they wanted to show you.

hearing scaramouche’s voice again wouldn’t help you, not when you’ve gotten this far. not when you’ve moved on from him.

with college exams over and the end of your final year coming to a close you found yourself with nothing but time. with time came too many thoughts that would tumble around in your mind. too many what if’s and what could have been’s had plagued your mind since leaving scaramouche there backstage.

leaving him was so difficult, but being without him felt harder. you couldn’t help but sigh, now sitting alone in your room as the memories came back to you.

memories of splitting popsicles with him, after rehearsal drinks with his friends, smoking in a field together one of the rare times he was free from his filled schedule.

sometimes you couldn’t help but miss it. but then came the.. not so pleasant memories. the tears, the sore throat after screaming at each other, the way he’d always leave after an argument.

“please, scara! i just want you here with me. just this once. it’s been three years. give me this at least, please. i haven’t seen you in so long.”

remembering your own pleads to him never failed to make your heart ache. it still felt as if there was something unresolved, even after giving him his engagement ring back.

“i don’t wanna fucking see you (y/n)! id rather spend time with my friends doing something i enjoy than wasting my time with you.”

here comes the waterworks. tears would prick in the corners of your eyes when you remembered his tone that day. that angry look on his face.. he never looked so bothered before. it scared you so much that you still remembered it now, two years later.

it was strange seeing him on billboards and ads all across town and even on your own phone. in contrast to the angry glare he held for you, but an indifferent look to the public. would he still look at you that way? or would he look at you the same way he would everyone else?

curiosity got the best of you as you tapped on your phone, looking up his profile on instagram. there he was, looking the same as ever. maybe a little thinner but he still looked as beautiful as the day you left him.

a small smile graced your lips for a moment before it fell, seeing how much fun he had been having with his friends. you still kept in contact with kazuha, but never bothered to ask about him. you both knew it wouldn’t be good for you, so it was an unspoken rule.

“at least he’s doing well..” you mumbled to yourself before shutting off your phone. groaning internally, you knew this was a problem you had to deal with. this constant turmoil inside your head.

you decided you’d put an end to this. once and for all. you thought up a plan before texting kazuha, telling him what you wanted to resolve. despite his gentle warnings you wouldn’t listen. you just had to get through to him! make him understand your reasoning.

eventually kazuha gave in, and now you were standing in the pit to one of their concerts. it made you feel queasy remembering the last time you attended one. with your head hung low you waited for the group to start, they were opening for another up and coming idol group. it almost made you smile seeing scaramouche walk on stage with that glittery white outfit. the same glare on his features as before. he didn’t change, did he?

that sentiment making anxiety well up inside of you. you didn’t know how he would take it. seeing you again after so long. but you didn’t want him to know you were there to begin with, so you hid away from view, angled at a way that you could still watch them perform.

watching them now reminded you of one of the first concerts you ever went to of theirs, thanks to scaramouche getting tickets for you. that feeling of bubbling excitement and anxiousness when they were still so early in their career. you used to genuinely hope that they would make it, and they did!

his singing was stronger than it used to be, voice full of emotions as his eyes were fixated on the mic. a part of you missed this. coming to his shows, watching him give his all to the crowd of people that came just to see him and his friends.

as the group left the stage you sent a text to kazuha, walking away from the crowd and to the meeting spot he had told you about. it wasn’t like you didn’t already know where they were going, they always went to the same bar after every performance.

pushing open the grimy doors to the bar, you could see his back as you walked in. scaramouche was sitting at a table with his friends, drink in hand already as you walked up to them. you pulled out a seat next to scaramouche, crossing your arms over your chest as the guys looked at you excitedly, scaramouche not sharing the same sentiment.

“hey guys, long time no see.” heizou laughed loudly, patting scaramouche on his shoulder as they left the table. now it was just you and scaramouche.

he held this look of shock on his face, like he’d seen a ghost. his mouth slightly opening and closing, almost like a fish.

“hey.” you said softly, putting your hand on his arm. “are you real?” he asked you, now looking directly at you rather than trying not to meeting your gaze.

“of course i am, what do you mean by that? have you been dreaming about me too?” you ask, half joking but half serious as he had been plaguing your dreams for the past few months.

“don’t say things like that (y/n)..” he spoke quietly, taking a sip of his beer. you nod silently, watching him take a sip of his drink.

“i know, this is kind of weird. especially since i’m the one that left you but, it’s been haunting me. and i just want to talk.” you admit to him, looking down at your hands. suddenly your nails seemed much more interesting than to look at him.

“yeah, i think we’re due for that.” he said before sliding his drink over, taking your hands in his without warning. “look, (y/n). i know that back then i wasn’t great to you, far from it actually. i’ve thought about what you said to me that night ever since. i’m not asking for your forgiveness, nor am i asking you to get back together with me. but i just want you to know that i’m sorry. i regret wasting us, wasting what we had. i do love being an idol, but it doesn’t give me the same satisfaction as i got when i was with you.”

you nodded silently at his words, looping your arms around his neck as you hugged him. the words you had longed to hear were now finally being said. “that’s all i wanted.” you spoke quietly in his ear, your voice cracking with tears. “i just wanted that from you scara.”

you wiped your tears away as you pulled back, taking one of his hands in both of yours. “i want to be in your life again, not as lovers, not yet. but as friends. i’ve missed you all this time.” scaramouche nodded, taking his free hand and placing it on top of yours. “i can work with that.”

what you both didn’t see were the rest of the boys from 4nemo watching the scene unfold from the bar window. heizou’s loud cheering being shushed by xiao as both of your heads whipped to the window, red covering your faces in embarrassment.

taglist: @lemons4u @foxkunwoof @s-h-i-r-o-8-1 @felixilations @kaxukaxu @angelofdarkness2 @trxshhsstufftatsumimiko @ycugtf @nervouseaglelover @whorerificstuff @samarill

[godhandler]

tired manager!Nanami x kpop idol!reader

He’s sick, absolutely sick of you. In all his underpaid overworked years as an idol manager, he’s never seen one as impossible as you. 

You’re the centre, lead singer, and the most popular member of your girl group ‘R0ck-Chic’. The princess of K-Pop. Ranked Top10 on Billboard and Melon, brand ambassador for Chanel. Photocards for $1500 retail. Face straight out of a manhwa, bubblegum-sweetheart personality, born a musical genius too!

But that’s just on camera.  

“Prissy bitch.”

Nanami keeps his thoughts to himself. He’s doubling as a bodyguard-cum-manager for your M-Net Music Show, watching you yell at your hairstylist backstage. She accidentally burned a piece of your hair extensions off, but hey, it was a fucking accident! The poor lady is nearly in tears at your cruel words. No one really likes working with you, not your staff, not the other members of your group, because underneath the Estée Lauder Double Wear foundation is a secret none of your massive fanbase knows: You’re a cunt. 

“Nanami-san!” At least you’re still calling him with honorifics, even though he’s cringing thinking about what harsh command your majesty shall bark at him. “God, Nanami-san, where the fuck are you? When’s our show going to begin? Can’t get on stage in time, can’t get my makeup done on time-” You cast an evil look at the makeup-artist, who promptly bursts into tears too. “- I’m surrounded by useless trashcans!”

Miwa, the leader of R0ck-Chic, hesitantly tries to calm you down. “Ah, yn, it’s ok, they’re setting up the stage right now so–”

“– I believe it’s prudent to look at the other groups’ rehearsals and analyse the competition, miss.” Nanami steps in. He really hates his job, having to babysit the most spoilt celeb on the planet. When he speaks, he means it to everyone around you. “Let’s all use this time to the fullest, yes?” 

(Later on he’d go and apologise to the people you brought to tears. Not that he’s under any obligation to do so, he’s simply a gentleman like that. And maybe he cares about your reputation.)

You grumble, taking the ice-chips that Nanami offers you. It’s hard to be angry with diet-abiding ice-chips in your mouth. “Don’t need to ‘analyse’ any stupid competition. R0ck-Chic has me, and I’m the best.” 

The fucking audacity, Nanami cringes. And she’s not even wrong. That’s the worst part. 

You kill it on stage that night. Broadcasted live, the TV ratings spike immediately when you come on screen, bootleg solo fancams flooding Twitter and your ending fairy goes viral. The photocard prices jump up to $2000. 

There’ll be stalkers tonight following the car. I’ll have to drive through the offside path. Nanami took all the security measures that any manager worth their salt would.

Only he didn’t account for how crazy your stalkers would get tonight in particular. Even the offside has large unmarked SUVs, waiting to trail your car to a standstill. Sasaengs.

You’re in your sweatpants, performance makeup off, texting away inside the car that Nanami is driving right now, clearly no idea of how much danger you’re in. A fan would simply take your autograph and leave happily. Sasaengs, especially ones of this calibre, would stab you. At least she’s not screaming. Yet. 

He’s very correct. Because the moment that he tells you that you’ll have to stay in the dance studio tonight (can’t risk leaking the group dorm location to the stalkers), screaming is exactly what you do. 

“You promised I’d go home!” You stamp your feet on the ground, chuck your phone at him, throwing a proper fit. “I’m sick of you stupid fuckers ruining everything! Everyone is dogshit here!” The regular migraine that comes after dinner-time drives nails into Nanani’s temple. “Nanami-san, you dumb fucking gasbag! I’m tired! I-WANT-TO-GO-HOME!”

“SO-DO-I!”

Both you and Nanami are shocked silent. No one has ever talked back to you since you became famous, and you became famous at the age of 5. It’s weird. It’s interesting. 

Poor Nanami-san now has to deal with all the drama you cause as well as this new problem: you might be growing a teeny weeny crush on him.  

Bonus: you have to buy a new phone. stop throwing phones. 

masterlist

a/n: I have insomnia and a bad cold. no one has suffered like me.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Wrapped up in you

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 3

Prompt: Jacket

Rated: T

Tags: Omegaverse; Omega!Eddie; Alpha!Steve; Alpha!Jason; Jason Carver being an asshole; Courting; Clothes swapping; Protective Steve; Possessive Steve

Notes: Set in the same universe as Whatever you want it to be, pretty soon after the original story (before they learn of Eddie’s pregnancy)

Eddie isn't sure what drove him. He never thought he’d be one of those omegas who wear their alpha’s clothes in public. 

What normal, self-respecting person would strut around in shirts and sweaters twice their size or, even worse, those sweaty varsity jackets with some random alpha’s name on them? Like a green-and-gold billboard sign announcing to everyone that you had been claimed like a piece of property. It was fucking ridiculous. 

That was before, of course. Before Steve Harrington came along - he of the bright, boyish smiles and the lame, dorky jokes and addictive summer forest scent - and casually flipped Eddie’s world upside down. 

So what if he wears Steve’s jacket to school? Nobody knows they're courting. Hell, nobody even knows Eddie's an omega, apart from the teachers and, lately, some nosy basketball players who'll keep their fucking mouths shut if they know what's good for them. People will probably think he's making a fashion statement, especially with the fuckton of pins and patches and chains he's added to the jacket. (Just because he wants to drown himself in its scent doesn't make the thing any less hideous, okay?)  

It goes well for the majority of the day. People gawk in the hallways, a chorus of confused murmurs follows him, and Mike Wheeler stares so hard he doesn't look where he's going and almost walks into a locker. Eddie’s having a great time. 

Until he's walking back to his van after classes. The sour smell of angry alpha hits him before he even hears footsteps, which is probably why he manages to evade the hand grabbing for his elbow. 

“Carver,” he bellows, baring his teeth into something that is more snarl than smile, even as every instinct screams to cower, run away, roll over and beg for mercy. “Fancy-” 

“Cut it, Munson,” Carver's voice vibrates with a barely concealed growl. “What do you think you're doing?” 

His two pet goons, trailing behind him as usual, grunt their agreement. 

Eddie smiles, wondering if he should make a dash for it. His van is only a few yards away, and he's fast, but is he fast enough to outrun three of them? It's not an experiment he's eager to try, seeing how their last run-in ended with him bound, gagged and drugged on the floor of the locker room. 

“Well,” he says, because for as long as he's talking, he can keep them distracted. “What I'm trying to do is get to my car and enjoy my well-deserved free time in the comfort of my home. What I'm doing, unfortunately, is talk to you. Which, I'm sure, neither of us is particularly enjoying, so why don't we-” 

Carver has him by the lapels before Eddie realizes he's moved. Okay, so much for running, then. 

“Listen,” he snarls. His breath is hot and moist on Eddie’s face, lips peeled back to reveal his canines. His scent spikes, cloying and thick like rusty metal. Eddie’s stomach twists. “I don't know what's going on with you and Harrington, but he isn't here right now, and if you think you can-” 

The Beemer comes out of nowhere. One second, the parking lot is empty - the next, tires screech and brakes crunch, and Carver’s friends jump out of the way with panicked shouts. Eddie’s surprised at the lack of flaming tire trails, to be honest.

“Oh, there he is,” he cheers as the driver door flies open and another body shoves itself in front of him, forcing Carver to release his hold. “Steve, we were just talking about you.” 

“What do you want, Harrington?” Carver asks, but there's an uneasy quiver in his voice. Eddie supposes his scent will have shifted accordingly, but he can't be sure. All of his senses have honed in on Steve. 

Steve, who's positioned himself before him like a human shield. Whose scent is so overwhelmingly furious he's surprised Carver doesn't cave before him. Which, paradoxically, is just about the sexiest thing Eddie has smelled in his life. Earthy and intense and warm. Protective. 

“I could ask you the same thing, Carver,” Steve rumbles, and Eddie bites his own lip to keep in the embarrassing noise that threatens to bubble out. “Shouldn't you be at training? Or are you still taking it slow? That bruise looks nasty.” 

Carver flinches, hand touching the fading bruise on his nose. The bruise Steve put there. 

“Would be a shame,” Steve says. “If you got injured again before it's even healed.” 

Carver growls, body curling as if to lunge - and then he steps back. 

“C'mon,” he tells his goons, measuring both Eddie and Steve with a disgusted look. “I don't have time for this.” 

Steve watches them disappear behind the buildings at the edge of the parking lot. 

“Okayyy,” Eddie says when the silence drags on. “Not to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here? Don't you- whoa, big boy!” 

Steve has just whirled and pulled him flush against himself, chin slotting into the crook of Eddie’s neck and shoulder. 

“Why are you wearing this?” he asks, fingers sliding under the jacket. “You need to be less obvious if you want to keep this secret.” 

Eddie cackles. “Says the one who's rubbing himself all over me? Talk about double standards.”

“Let me,” Steve growls, sealing his lips over the gland on Eddie’s neck, and the laugh turns into a weak moan. “Need to get that asshole's scent off you.” 

“Jesus, Harrington,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and tilting his head for better access. “Tear off my clothes and establish dominance like some sort of caveman, why don't you?” 

Steve's head snaps up. His irises are thin rings of gold, almost swallowed by his pupils. 

They share a look. 

“Van?” Eddie breathes. 

Steve grins. 

“Yup,” he agrees, grabbing Eddie by the hand to drag him along. “The jacket stays on, though.” 

Ugly as the thing is, Eddie thinks he'll need to wear it more often. 

More holiday drabbles

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Shovel Love (Roy)

Roy Harper met the love of his life long past the time he had given up hope for himself. Back when he was only the things he had survived. 

Former sidekick, former addict, former father. 

He might have been past caring, but that didn’t mean he had the right to stop fighting. To stop trying to make a difference. So what if he took some reckless missions? So what if he worked alone, away from everyone else? (They didn’t want him around anyway.)

It had caught up to him in the end. 

He had been betrayed at the height of victory. When he thought maybe, he had done a bit more good in the world and helped an oppressed people topple the regime that crushed them. The revolution had triumphed. And yet, they turned on him all the same.

Roy really should have seen it coming, and some parts of him might have had. Some parts of him might not have minded, not truly. 

(He hadn’t hoped that anyone would show up to save him from his screw-ups. He had learned that lesson a while ago. But he was a fool for love, and maybe… )

Yet before the firing squad was assembled, someone broke him out. 

Why was Roy Harper spared the sweet release of death that day?

Because Starfire and a former Robin heard about the execution and swooped in to save the day. 

Not the former Robin he would have thought though.

(Dick… fuck, Roy and Dick had been matchsticks and gunpowder for a long time now. He wasn’t sure how to just be friends with his best friend anymore. He had not expected Dick of all people, and he had not shown up.)

Admittedly, Roy had had very few thoughts about Jason Todd before the man drove him away from a military base surrounded by tanks and explosions. 

“The only reason I’m here is ‘cause if anything happens to you, that would make me the worst former sidekick ever.”

Bit of an off putting second first impression, right?

And yet… 

And yet. 

Roy had never had someone choose to meet him at the bottom of the barrel. Everyone always expected him to climb out first. 

(He stayed. Of course he stayed. Where would Roy even go from there? No one wanted him. He could deal with a little sarcasm.)

It took a long time for Roy to realize… 

Black sheep to black sheep, did it really matter if one’s wool was darker than the other’s? 

***

Everyone left him. Sooner or later, everyone left Roy Harper. That was the way of the world. 

Dad. Brave Bow. Ollie. The Titans. Lian, oh God, Lian. 

He knew it was his fault. Always his fault, but he just wished someone would stay. 

Even Kori had to leave. For a time. For her people. How could Roy not understand? He did. Of course he did. Gave her his blessings, for all she didn’t need them. But that never made it hurt any less. 

Jason… 

Roy was waiting for Jason to leave too. To get tired of him. 

He’d never been a clinger. He knew. Fuck, he used to know better than to do that. People never wanted all he needed to give and receive. Roy was always too much. Not enough. He had learned a long time ago to be very careful about how much he needed people. 

But this time, just this time, Roy couldn’t help himself. 

(He’d given up hope before. Someone had met him at the bottom, and he hadn’t told him off for not being able to climb out immediately. Maybe that was why.)

He knew he was screwed when random clients started thinking of Arsenal and Red Hood as a matched pair. In for a penny… 

In for a bank account emptying advertising campaign. 

Jason’s unimpressed glare at the Red Arse billboard made Roy grin with all his teeth. Jason had theatrics in his soul, a flair for the dramatic, a passion for the loud and the explosive. He was not fooling Roy with that. He was thinking it was funny. And, judging by the slight blush as he repeated their duo’s name, he was also having other thoughts. 

However, with the ads, other heroes started reaching out to him. 

The first time, Roy might have had an honest to God heart attack. 

He hadn’t even been sure people remembered his phone number at this point. It had been so long since anyone had reached out without heroics attached. 

‘Are you doing alright, Roy?’ Victor. 

‘You breaking into merc work with ads?’ Wally. 

‘Red Arse?’ Dick (Dick! The busiest motherfucker this side of the ocean!) had texted. ‘And you make fun of my jokes?’

Roy hadn’t known what the catch could be. Besides the obvious of it being only a temporary thing that would leave him gutted later. He had answered every text, because he could not afford not to talk to the few people that bothered to think of it. He’d given all of his old friends their check-in, and debated with Dick about who’s humor was the best (Roy). It felt a bit like the old days, the Titans days, before it all went to Hell. 

“Eyes on the prize, Arse,” Jaybird would snark, pulling Roy away from his coms before another one of their missions. 

For a bit, that seemed to be the cycle. Roy would have to be blind not to notice how the messages always seemed to chime in after Red Arse had made a splash in some news. It could only pick up after some dumbasses tried to livestream Arsenal’s death poll. 

Roy stared a bit at the smoking corpses on the ground. He was not particularly shocked, maybe displeased that it had been his own invention that had done such a haunting job, but… 

Whoever hears the bleating of the black sheep but others of his kind? 

“Over three hundred thousand people you don’t know from Adam voted to kill you,” replied the angry ram. “For fun. Because they could.” 

Three hundred thousand… Eh. The people that cared about whether Roy lived or died always seemed smaller than what Roy believed. Story of his life.

“You think I give half a damn about what those people think of us? Of me? Show’s over!”

Two quick bangs of gunshots. Shattered glass and sparking ruins of electronics. 

The two of them left alone, Roy, beaten, extended no mercy but the anger of a former Robin. 

“Jaybird… ”

Jason froze. His whole body stuck in place for a split second, an eternity for a bat, and he muttered something his hood distorted past understanding. Whatever he had been thinking of had slipped out of his mind. 

He crossed the distance between them, and leaned in to whisper: 

“You got that stupid ass nickname stuck in my head, Harper.”

Roy could not be anything but smug (shaking with disbelief, awed, hopeful).

“I knew you’d come to love it.”

Rough hands helped him away from the restraints. Lifted him up to his feet. “Not what I said.”

“It’s okay,” Roy whispered, softer, his arm wrapped around Jason’s shoulders. “You don’t need to admit it. I already know.”

“... You deserve to hear it anyway. You’re too good a person not to be told.”

***

It started with the Titans. 

They always were the one that knew him the best. For all that Jason liked to stay strictly professional in the mask, Roy liked a little spice in their missions. Someway, somehow, it got out. It could have been as simple as the way he looked at his boyfriend obliterating some underworld big shot, or as invasive as a full profile that showed their shared bank account and lease. 

A few weeks into honeymoon bliss, Jason and Roy returned from a mission to find Donna, Garth and Wally waiting for them in their living room. 

Naively, Roy pulled them all into a group hug. “Guys! What are you doing here?”

“We came to see the neighborhood, obviously,” Wally drawled, but his eyes were laughing too. “So boogie!”

“And only fifty percent of your living space is occupied by knicknacks too,” Garth added. 

“Jaybird’s influence,” Roy replied easily. 

“Regardless,” Donna said, “it’s been too long, Roy. We’re glad to see you again.”

“It’s good to be so popular. What have you all been up to?”

From there, it devolved into Titans stories, if under a different name. They’d grown up, and the characters had grown up too, but there was a panache that was too typical of their old days to be called anything else. Roy was all too happy to contribute his own, even if he did not receive help when accused of lying. 

Jason hovered around the edges of the room, setting things up and putting away Roy’s stuff. He expertly slid away from Roy’s attempts to introduce him, with an infuriating amount of bat-like sixth sense. He knew exactly what he was doing too, the ass, winking everytime Roy failed to get his hands on him. 

He played the host instead, supplying snacks that Roy was not even aware had been in their apartment. Damn, now he had even more questions. 

Eventually though… Donna caught his attention and asked: “Roy, could we talk? In private?”

Jason chose to ignore the obvious tension with deliberate obnoxiousness. Clapping both Garth and Wally hard, he pulled them out of the living room. “I’ll go make tea. Those two can keep me company or whatever.”     

Wally rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Roy frowned. That… hadn’t sounded quite right. But okay, Jason was a big boy, he could deal if Wally was being pissy or something. They were all heroes here. 

Donna cleared her throat, sitting down and inviting Roy to do the same with a nod. 

“So, we came because we heard about-”

Jason popped his head back around the corner, and grinned when Donna repressed a jolt of surprise. “Lemon, no sugar, right?”

“...Yes,” she replied.

Carefully.

Roy’s eyebrows ticked at that. 

Donna Troy had rarely needed to be careful around Roy. 

“You heard about… what?” he prompted. 

“I don’t want to say this is my place, but we were something once… and I thought I should tell you something.”

Roy raised an eyebrow and leaned back into his couch. “Okay?”

“It’s the story of the time I teamed up with Kyle Rayner and Jason Todd, to find Ray Palmer and ostensibly save Reality.”

Every instinct cultivated by his heroic career rang the alarm bells, but he owed it to Donna to listen to what she had to say. 

So he listened. 

And his heart sank. His fingers grew cold as he heard what she said, what she explained in as many pretty, diplomatic words, and skipped over the part that seemed most important to him. 

“I…” Donna finished, still so poised. “I understand this is not a pleasant end to the story. And perhaps things are different now, but I would have been remiss to keep quiet. I do understand the desire to give him a chance. I thought the same too back then. But in the end… ”

“That’s the reason you dropped Jason? Because he shot you in a bid to convince an enemy he had switched sides to try to save Reality?”

Donna’s expression was so sympathetic Roy could have screamed. 

He nearly did. Instead, it came out as an incredulous, snide thing. “Because he did exactly what Nightwing would have done in his place?”

Donna’s mouth clamped shut. The realization, obvious on her face, through her widening eyes and her sharp intake of breath. Not that she misspoke or read things wrong. That she lost Roy entirely. 

And it hit him, it hit him all ot once, and Roy found his head falling into his hands. A crackling of despair spreading throughout his chest, a cold sort of disbelief. Why? Why was it always the hurt ones that were afforded so little grace? 

He looked up, through his fingers, through his sorrow, and he forced himself to look straight at Donna and her own shock. 

“He… He always speaks so fondly of you. He’s never had anything bad to say about you. I thought… I really thought, maybe, you were worth his admiration.”

She seemed stricken. Paler. Her hands, neatly folded in her laps, reached forward. 

“Roy, I-”

The hurt in his chest bloomed into anger. “Donna, I think you should leave.”

She rose from her seat, a real panic settling in. 

He didn’t her speak again. She had said enough. “I don’t want you in our apartment anymore. Right now, I don’t want to look at you. You wanted to talk, so we did. It told me all I needed to know. I’ll thank you to never drop by again uninvited.”

Her expression crumpled. For a second, it even looked like she would muster some kind of apology, but her resolve returned, her eyes steel again, and she offered Roy a quick nod before walking out. 

His chest hurt. What… what had that all been about? Donna… Roy had no idea why that had been her line in the sand. She’d dealt with worse. She’d dealt with more annoying. Yet, it had not only been enough to give up on Jason, but to tell Roy to do it as well? 

He… 

Fuck, Garth and Wally.

Roy hadn’t expected to be able to interrupt whatever would be said. Both Garth and Wally were experienced heroes in their own rights, and the kitchen in their apartment was nowhere near isolated enough to muffle the sounds of the other rooms. All three men stood at reasonable distances from one another, dotted around the kitchen, Garth at the far end seat, Wally by the fridge (obviously) and Jason at the counter, with the kettle whistling steam behind him. 

It was a pretty small thing, all things considered. Jason blinked for a second, looked a little confused or maybe off beat. But Jason was a bat. 

And Wally was a goddamned speedster. 

“Wallace Rudolph West,” Roy hissed, the full force of his fury bearing down on his friend.

Wally obviously winced, eyes darting around to Garth. Who looked uncomfortable, if not guilty. 

That was another thing, he realized. Neither of them seemed guilty to be caught or of what they had been doing. Maybe, just maybe, he could have found this whole song and dance embarrassing and a little touching. If he didn’t know that they meant it. 

Whatever fucking threats they had made, they were sincere. 

They had had the audacity to show up to Roy’s home to try and scare off his partner. 

They might not have appeared guilty, but when they saw the look on Roy’s face when he started marching into the kitchen, they did start to back away. 

“Roy, don’t get mad on my behalf,” Jason said, lifting the tray with the tea cups and walking past the two shame-faced Titans.

“Why not? Nobody else is clamoring for that role.”

“With good reason,” Wally muttered, because sometimes his mouth really did outspeak his brain. 

Roy whirled on him, scowl morphing into an outright snarl. “Fuck off! Both of you!”

Wally jumped a good two feet in the air. But, damningly, stayed rooted inside Roy’s kitchen. 

“Are you deaf?! Wallace. Fucking. West. GET THE FUCK OUT, ASSHOLE!”

Garth put up his hands, offering a gentle smile. “Roy, how about we-?”

“OUT!” he shouted as he grabbed hold of the salt shaker and flung it exactly where Wally’s nose had been a fraction of a second ago. 

Colors blurred around him, a split second, the afterimage still burned in his eyes. And then they were gone, and the door to his apartment slammed shut. 

Roy marched right up to it and loudly turned on the locks. 

He waited, listened to the shuffling of feet, to the faint whispering, and finally footsteps fading. Only when he was certain they were gone did he let himself fully digest what had happened. 

Damnit. 

“What did they say?” he said, talking to the door, to the fucking plank of wood that was now separating him from people he used to love so much. 

He couldn’t bring himself to turn, to see anything like fear or doubt or annoyance on his Jaybird’s face. He couldn’t bring himself to face the reality yet, that people he would have eagerly welcomed into their home might just break his newest one. 

“Nothing much,” Jason’s voice tickled the back of his neck, 

He groaned, trying to push down the guilt and fear. “Jaybird…”

There was a brief silence. 

“Wally promised to freeze me in the speedforce for eternity and Garth said something about drowning me. Bit harder to hear him while Wally was demonstrating his ability to make good on that threat.”

I will shoot their kneecaps with bomb arrows. 

“I’m sorry. They should not have said that.”

Jason shrugged, his voice even, unaffected. “Eh, I’m used to it.”

Roy finally turned around, and dared look at his boyfriend’s face. Jason was… well, the same was ever. He had that slanted half-smile tugging at his lips, that hollow swagger. This hadn’t changed anything for him. Roy could cry in relief. It hadn’t changed anything. 

“They… Jaybird, I did not want them to do that.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the side, to the slant of his lopsided smirk. “Yeah? I know that, Roytoy. I don’t blame you or whatever. If anything, it’s almost sweet. It’s good to know that people do care about your heart. It’s too good to be disregarded so easily.”

Roy gently pressed a hand against Jason’s chest. “What about your heart? Doesn’t it matter?”

“I’ve always been an exception.”

Roy narrowed his eyes, but Jason did not relent. Did not falter. He had always been an exception. And Roy knew enough of his boyfriend’s history to know how that was the worst part of it all. 

“Hey, who knows?” he injected some false cheer in his voice. “Maybe in a bit, I’ll be the one hiding from some bats?”

Jason immediately chuckled. 

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, and smart, and loyal, and so fucking talented, and-”

Roy snorted. “Oh my, all those things?”

“And more. So much more,” Jason replied with a smirk, before dipping Roy over to land a sinful kiss on him.

***

Roy was indeed lucky to be all those things Jason had listed, because no one, be they civilians, heroes or villains, came out and threatened Roy to treat Jason right. 

The Red Hood hadn’t made a lot of friends amongst those. And so few that knew Jason Todd was alive cared about that fact. 

Whilst more of Roy’s family and friends came, they all seemed to close around Roy protectively. They might have heard what he had told the original Titans, because they always seemed to find Jason when he was alone, where Roy couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t react. 

It drove him nuts!

He could even tell when someone had given Jason the shovel drivel, because he always seemed a little more bemused than not those days. 

(One day, Roy feared, he would come back to an empty apartment, and congratulations from the rest of the hero community that he’d finally escaped the Red Hood’s evil claws.)

The closest might have been Rose, but her primary goal had still been to check on Roy himself.

To talk a bit. About Lian.

She hadn’t expected to get attached, when she’d taken the babysitting job. A silly notion. No one could ever resist his Pumpkin’s charm. 

(she was perfect she was gone oh god she was gone)

It was almost nice. 

“If you do break up with the hunk, send him my way,” Rose had told Roy, winking and laughing at her own not-quite-a-joke.

She had not offered any comment for the opposite scenario, and from her, that said it all. There wouldn’t be a hunk to rebound with if Roy was the one broken up with. Ravager had all the tools needed to make it happen. 

“In your fucking dreams, Rose!” Jason had laughed, tossing the TV remote at her head. 

(She refused to apologize or pay them back for slicing it in pieces. Self-defense, she claimed.)

(Jason reluctantly let Roy tinker something up, and their seven-in-one remote with control over radio signals across half the city was a thing of beauty. Of beauty!)

Still no bats leaving him boobytrapped mail or leaving him with overview pictures of himself at some random store. 

(Until Dick-)

***

Roy showed up alone for Christmas dinner. He was the last to arrive. 

The cold seeped through his coat as he hesitated before ringing the doorbell. He could go back. He had time to rush back home and put on his costume and dismantle the ring with the Red Hood. His family would understand. The hero life sometimes called at inconvenient times. 

Except… 

He thought back to the arrow Jason had slapped down on their kitchen counter once, and the encounter that had ended with Ollie and Roy screaming, and the one time Dinah had laid a hand on Jason’s wrist to speak to him softly, dangerously. 

Roy knocked and waited for the door to open. 

His latest set of adoptive parents greeted him with warm smiles and hugs. Inviting him inside. Asking about the journey. Roy had missed the feeling of his family embracing him. 

Soon though, Ollie’s eyes narrowed, obviously darting around for a sign of Jason. They darkened even further once he realized Jason was nowhere in sight. 

“No sign of the Hood, huh? Did he finally stop playing his game or is he just scared to show his face tonight?”

He should leave. This was exactly why Jason had ‘found’ a lead on a massive case just in time to miss the family function. He should explain. 

Roy stayed rooted on the spot. Silent. 

Dinah slapped Oliver’s shoulder and shot him a look. 

“Oliver, can it.”

“What? You also-”

The second hit, more forceful, managed to shut Ollie up. A miracle.

The good feelings of their earlier greetings felt like a distant memory. Why? Goddamnit, why were they all like this now? Nobody seemed to be talking to him about this. Shouldn’t his opinion be the most important part to them? 

Not the first black-haired assassin you’ve dated, Harper, a sardonic voice that sounded like Jason drawled from the corners of his mind. 

“Come in, Roy,” Dinah said, helping him with his coat. “Please. Everyone was waiting for you.”

***

(They put a plate for Lian. Dinah said a speech. Roy cried in his brother’s and sister’s arms the entire time.) 

(He didn’t think he’d ever run out of tears for his little girl.)

***

The evening was already ending when Roy’s dream of a pleasant time with his family crashed. 

The wine had started to flow. A couple of cups here and there. One for each of Roy’s siblings that were still underage. None for himself. 

A few for Ollie. 

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” he drawled, sitting on the couch, glaring at the Christmas movie playing on the big screen. 

“About what movie to watch?” Roy replied, bemused, gesturing at the TV. “Sorry, but I say Connor picked a good one.”

“About your mob boss boyfriend.”

It was as if all heat had been sucked out of the room. The lights burned, the scented candles wafted their cinnamon scent, the big wool blanket over his shoulder was only stone. His siblings on either side of him, walls. 

“He didn’t show up. Why? Scared of meeting the family? Too big of a commitment?”

“Ollie,” Dinah hissed. 

Roy blinked. “You are not doing this to me right now.”

“Damnit, Roy! How many people have to tell you the Red Hood is bad news? He’s on multiple ‘most wanted’ list! Have you even read the files the Bat wrote on him?”

“Yes! And unlike most of you, I actually know Jason!”

Emiko rolled her eyes. “It’s Jade all over again.” 

Roy glared at her, stung. 

“He hired goons to kidnap your sister! He dueled her with a blade.”

“Hey!” Mia protested. “Don’t make it sound like it was some traumatizing experience. I fought that jerk just fine. But it was a dick move to blow up my school.”

“He saved my life multiple times. I’d have died a dog’s death if not for him. Does that not matter either?”

A stunned silence cut right through the brewing arguments.

“Roy,” Connor said softly, “of course we care about that.”

“I don’t know. Sounds like Ollie would have preferred I stayed away from Jason. And dead.”

Ollie went pale. “N- no, Roy, son, never. I - I just. We keep hearing-”

Dinah let out a resounding sigh and took pity on him. Well, on Ollie, not on Roy. Because she turned to him and with her best ‘therapist voice’ said: “Your friends said you stopped talking to them.”

His grip tightened over his blanket. “Did they mention ‘why’?” 

Again. Another series of exchanged looks charged with meaning. 

They had. Of course they had. His friends did not think they had done anything wrong. They were simply looking out for Roy, who was overreacting.

“Ha!” Roy scoffed, rising to his feet and shrugging off the hands that attempted to pull him back. “Yeah, I’m not talking about that tonight. No fucking way.” 

“Why is he not here then?” Ollie called back after him. “Why won’t he come with you?”

Roy almost punched right through the hallway’s walls. 

“Why do you think?” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Why would anyone want to spend time around you?!”

Roy’s words seemed to have actually hit, as Ollie staggered backward. His eyes went wide, more alert, less clouded by the few glasses of wine he had had. He cringed, alternating glances between Roy, Emiko, Mia and Connor. They shifted awkwardly, trying to find proper words for this.

Whatever. Roy was not staying to listen. Jason had had the right of it. He should not have come.

“Wait.”

Dinah caught his hand. He freed himself, but slowed down around the corner of the living room. The closet with his coat was tantalizing close.

Dinah glanced at it, then took a deep breath. 

“We’re worried that you’re isolating yourself from your support system, Roy. That’s not healthy behavior in a new relationship. Please, don’t blame Oliver for being worried. He… he is well aware that he screwed up with you before. Can we please talk about it?”

Anger was gripping at his throat. Choking him. This boiling flame was spilling from his chest into his limbs. He didn’t want to talk about it again. He didn’t want to have to keep defending his choice in partner with more heroes. He wanted to lean against his Jaybird on the family couch and hold hands under the blankets and laugh at something his siblings had said. He wanted to be trusted and loved and cared for. 

He wanted to leave. 

But leaving would just make them more determined to get involved, wouldn’t it? Was there anything Roy could say or do to make people stop judging his lover?

“Cutting off toxic, two-faced people who have failed to be there for me for years certainly is healthy,” Roy said, acidic. “I’d have thought you would agree.”

Dinah grimaced, avoiding his harsh glare. “Yes, if you really think that’s what they are, then you are right. But-”

“But what? Jason’s not making me do anything. Hell, half the time, he keeps telling me not to get mad when people threaten to gut him. Do you think it feels good to hear that, Dinah? Do you? Somehow, you have all gotten into your heads that I appreciate this behavior. I don’t. They know it. And if they’re not going to apologize, I don’t see why I should let them back in my life. Not that it would make a difference, when people only show up when they think I’m falling off again.”

“Roy, we all care about you.”

“Maybe you do,” Roy conceded. She had been one of the few still there to help him back then. He had not forgotten that. She was half the reason he had given Ollie a chance too. “But this is not how you show it. This is not what I need.”

Dinah held out a hand, almost reaching for Roy, but thinking better at the last second. 

He would have shrugged it off. He would have burned from any attempt to comfort him now.

Roy gestured vaguely to the living room where Ollie’s voice could still be heard. “This? This is hurting me. You are all trying to break one of the few good things I have left. I can’t deal with that. And if it comes true because of you-”

Roy clamped his mouth shut. He pulled back. Stepped back. 

“Roy… ”

“I need fresh air. I… I have to go, Dinah. Thank you for the meal. Give everyone my best wishes.”

***

Snow blanketed the cemetery with a pure, untouched coat of glimmering white. The sounds of the city felt far away, dampened by the winter. They were alone, this early on such a cold day. Just Roy and his Jaybird, walking up the little hill in silence, a bouquet between them. 

Lian would have been rolling down that hill with gleeful shrieks. 

Every day, he saw the world how she would have seen it, and it stabbed him every damn time. It had been years now, and Roy had long since learned that nothing would ever patch up the giant gaping hole in his heart. Nothing would ever truly let Roy heal from losing the light of his life. 

He was a fool, blindly reaching out in darkness. 

He didn’t have a full heart to give anymore. Most of it was in the ground with his little girl. Who would accept such ragged, hollowed feelings? Who’d still think he was worthy of loving with so little to offer in return?

Who, but a man scorned by everyone that should have loved him? 

People that should be on their knees thanking the heavens for a son returned to them. People that, in truth, cursed whatever forces had brought Jason Todd back from the dead. 

Roy felt like scum, like he was taking advantage of the horrors inflicted on his partner, like he used him because no one else would have someone as broken as Roy fucking Harper. 

He felt like scum, because even then, he was too selfish not to cling to the one man that still thought he deserved to be loved. 

Jason helped him kneel down by the tombstone and placed the flowers down. 

Roy traced the name half hidden by the snow. 

“What is it like?” he heard himself ask, a soft lament in the wind. “Being dead?”

The strong body that was pressed against his side tensed. 

Roy’s stomach twisted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. That was cruel.”

A gloved hand closed over his, warm, strong. The slight squeeze pulled him back into his body, away from the clouds of grief that hung overhead. He raised his head, and was met with a saddened smile. Jason’s eyes were a glazed mirror, a pool of a love so tender it struck Roy straight at the heart. 

“It is peace.”

Roy felt the remnants of his ragged heart splinter further. Oh Jason. 

“Eternal peace.” He held Roy’s hands between them, at chest level, at heart level. “Death was a kindness to me, Roy. There was no fear, no pain. No time at all to miss anyone, true bliss.”

He watched their breaths mingle, the wisps of white that tangled and dissipated. He watched, with a longing, with a homesickness. 

“Death is something that was denied to me. It is Life I was cursed with, Roy. And no matter how often I glimpse the other side, the world refuses to let me go back.”

Even if the world changed its mind, Arsenal would have something to say about that. 

“Jaybird, promise me.” Roy retrieved his hands and pushed them against Jason’s chest, trying to make him feel the strength of that wonderful heartbeat. Cupped his chin, like he was holding the world. “Promise me you will live. Promise me you can find value even in something as worthless as my love.”

Their foreheads met, Jason’s eyes still so bright. “I wouldn’t hurt you like that Roy. Heroes have never managed to understand me. They don’t scare me. Death doesn’t scare me. Nor does pain. I won’t leave you for anything. Because… your love isn’t worthless, Roy. Your love is everything.”

It was so little, in the face of that violence. Roy couldn’t be worth the wrath of every paragon of heroics on this side of the ocean. He knew he had never been before. 

Despite all this, he still leaned forward, still caught his Jaybird’s lips. He kissed him with the hope that there was a way out of the barrel, that maybe, two sets of hands would be enough to climb, and if not, to stay warm while winter passed. 

Roy kissed his Jaybird with the promise to love him as no one else dared. 

“You deserve everything. I’m sorry I’m the only one willing to give it to you.”

Jason’s eyes were shining, his lips wobbling and his face a splotchy red. But his voice was steady, as commanding and strong as the Red Hood on the battlefield. 

“She is at peace, I promise you.”

Roy’s breath hitched. Please, he thought, please be true. 

A thumb gently wiped a tear he hadn’t felt fall. “And you will see her again. Give or take a couple decades, I hope.”

Roy leaned in, and kissed his man again. He let himself get lost in the tenderness of that touch, of their embrace. Let this warmth try to compensate for the ever cold in his chest. At times, it almost seemed like it would. At times, he wished that it would. 

Roy was lucky he was handsome and smart and loyal and so fucking talented, because it had landed him this wonderful partner. This man who offered him the sweetest horror, the scariest reassurance, without ever losing that awed look in his eyes, and that softness in those blood-soaked hands. It was blunt. It was harsh.

And by all that was good, it was real. 

You will see her again. She is at peace. 

A sense of content settled over him, and he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed. Couldn’t fight this one moment of joy. Even if he didn’t deserve it, he let himself feel it. 

“And when that time comes,” Roy whispered against his Jaybird’s lips, “I’ll introduce you.”

“That sounds nice.”

Roy did not comment how ‘nice’ sounded like an impossibility in Jason’s voice. He squeezed his boyfriend’s hand, and smiled at the tombstone. Let’s get a headstart.

“Sorry, Pumpkin. I bet you thought it was gross that Daddy was kissing someone, didn’t you? It’s okay now, Daddy got it out of his system. No more kisses, only stories. And he has lots of stories to tell you.”

“Funny stories,” Jason added with a daredevil smirk.

“Hilarious stories,” Roy nodded. “Daddy even got to fight an army of mimes! You were right, Pumpkin, the white make-up did hide their nefariousness!”

“They’re too clown-adjacent to be anything else,” Jason snarked. 

“But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s get back to the start. Our romantic getaway to Paris!”

And Roy let the words flow out of him. Description of the city came to him with a poetry he never had, cut by as many intermissions to reply to the thoughts he knew his smart little girl would have had. Brave tales of the valiant Arsenal and his grumpy, snarky partner Red Hood spun around a web of hushed, excited words around a quiet snow-covered landscape. And Roy kept on speaking, kept catching up Lian on the life Roy was forced to have without her until he could join her. And Roy spoke, until morning passed and the sun reached its apex. And still he had more to say. More to explain. More to say (I love you, Pumpkin. I love you more than the world.).

His favorite parts though might be the moments when Jason took hold of the story, when he snapped a quip that derailed Roy’s embellishments and pushed the story back to Earth. When he stepped up and started recounting the mission gone sideways in much more cynical terms, yet with twice the enthusiasm. 

Roy could almost see his little girl instead of that tombstone. He could see her sitting top of it, bundled up with six layers because Roy got sick easily as a kid and she was like him. He could almost see how she would kick her legs and lose a boot in the snow and then refuse to let Roy help her put it back on. 

Jason would deadpanned something then : “Yeah, Roy, don’t interfere. She’s got it.”

Something like that. Because he’d side with her. Of course he’d side with her. 

If only you two had the chance to meet. 

It was a pretty dream. Roy could picture it without trouble. Roy would be sitting on their couch, Lian on his knees with one of her books, and Jason, coming from the kitchen with some hot chocolates and a quip. It would be perfect, the three of them. 

But they were only two. 

What a pair they make. A father who lost his child and himself, an undead son who came back unloved. 

“I love you, Lian. We’ll come by again soon.”

“Can’t wait to meet you, kiddo,” Jason quipped, and who could tell if he was serious? 

Roy elbowed him anyway. Jason huffed a laugh, slipping an arm around Roy’s waist. Then, he froze, looking ahead. 

His family. All of them carrying their own bouquets. They were a collection of Lian’s favourites, looking like they’d been personally arranged by Dinah this morning. 

Roy felt a rush of affection for them. 

Then, he saw the way eyes darted toward Jason. 

No.

Roy could not do this. He could not do this here, in front of his daughter’s grave. 

“Ollie, if you dare say even one wrong word right now, it will be the last you ever speak to me.”

“Son, I-”

He noticed Roy’s glare. 

Ollie’s mouth clicked shut. His expression shifted as if he was trying to figure out how to phrase his thoughts. But he did not speak. He deflated suddenly, shooting Roy an apologetic look. 

The Arrows moved off the path. 

Jason actually seemed impressed. He would be. How often did people hold their tongues around him? 

“Let’s go home, Jaybird.”

[honeycrispappletree]

ivy // hajime iwaizumi ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

masterlist

part 5: ivy

by: frank ocean

Yn quietly listened to the city talk as she exhaled her worries through smoke. Her fire escape slightly creaked everytime she took a drag. Playing with the cigeratte in her fingers, she closed her eyes and tried to escape her own head. She should be happy, she’s getting everything she’s ever wanted. She’s excited, truly, but she can’t fully let herself feel good. She can’t shake the off feeling inside of her, that there’s something wrong.

Her eyes snap open to the screaming of metal clashing. She turns her head to Iwaizumi, climbing out of the window of the apartment onto the fire escape next to her.

‘Hey’ he starts, sitting down and leaning against the building wall.

She greets him back, and it’s silent for a few moments. One thing that yn loves about being with Iwaizumi is that they can sit in the quiet and it won’t get uncomfortable. Sometimes they don’t need to say a single thing to eachother, they can just breathe.

It’s different this time. The silence is heavy. In a normal situation, Iwaizumi would have brought up yn smoking immediately. He doesn’t though, and it doesn’t go unnoticed to her. She wishes he’d take it away from her, cup her face gently and tell her to stop. Look into her eyes like he loves her. But they continue to sit without a word. There’s something unspoken between them that’s making every moment of quiet more unbearable. Iwaizumi breaks it first.

‘There’s something I want to talk to you about,’ Iwaizumi reveals. He keeps his attention on his sneakers.

‘What?’ She responds gently, keeping her attention on her cigeratte.

‘There’s just something i’ve been thinking about for awhile, and I don’t know how to say it. I just…’ He sighs as he struggles to find the words.

‘You don’t have to dance around it, Haji.’

He whips his head to look at her. He’s met with her side profile, exhaling smoke through her pursed lips. He furrows his brows in confusion, did she know what he was gonna say? Like she could sense his uncertainty, she put out her cigeratte and turned to face him.

‘We both like eachother.’

I thought that I was dreamin’ , when you said you loved me

Iwaizumi’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t really believe she just said that.

‘Yn-‘ is all he’s able to get out,

‘Don’t deny it. Please don’t deny it.’ she pleads, searching his eyes for any sort of reaction.

‘I’m not denying it’ He whispers, like everything might shatter if he says it any louder.

the start of nothing, I had no chance to prepare I couldn’t see you coming

She speaks in a lower tone now, ‘Friends don’t act the way we do’.

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. He mentally yells at himself. He never knows what to fucking say. It’s like he’s drowning in his own head.

it started from nothing ooh, I could hate you now

‘Everything’s changing. I’m starting to get serious about life.’ Her eyes continue to search his, but it feels like there’s nothing behind them. ‘I don’t want to regret anything. I want you to be apart of it.’

‘I am apart of it’ he affirms softly.

‘Not like this’

He returns his gaze to his sneakers. This is everything he’s ever wanted. To be with her. For her to feel the same way. This might be the best moment of his life. He could almost smile.

‘I can’t’

The fire escape screams.

it’s quite alright to hate me now

‘What?’ She doesn’t understand.

when we both know that deep down

He shakes his head and repeats himself, ‘I can’t.’

Her eyes narrow and her tone makes a 180, ‘What the fuck do you mean?’

‘I can’t be on a billboard. I can’t be in articles. I can’t do everything that you‘ve been dreaming about your whole life.’ He pushes himself up and paces to the other end of the fire escape.

the feeling still deep down, it’s good

‘You’re not making any sense’ she says as she follows pursuit, pushing herself to stand up. He turns around to face her. The lights of the city illuminate behind him.

If I could see through walls I could see you faking

‘You have a destination. You’re going somewhere. You have someone to be’, he explains, ‘I don’t have anyone to be. I’ll hold you back. You can’t be who you want to be if i’m around.’

If you could see my thoughts you would see our faces

‘And you get to decide that for me?’

‘You’ll see it down the road, or you can see it now’

Safe in my rental like an armored truck back then, we didn’t give a fuck back then

He feels like he can’t breathe. Her face of pure confusion has turned into a face of pure hatred. She’s never looked at him that way before.

‘So it’s you or being famous?’ She scoffs at the ultimatum.

‘That’s not what i’m saying-‘

‘That’s EXACTLY what you’re saying, Iwaizumi’ She sneers.

His face flickers with hurt at the change of name. He closes his eyes as he tries to find the words,

‘I want you to be happy, yn’. He looks at her with his whole heart.

I ain’t a kid no more

Her face returns to a blank slate, like she doesn’t feel anything at all. She won’t let him see her cry.

‘I will be’ she says softly, like it was a challenge.

we’ll never be those kids again

Before he can say anything else, she climbs back into the apartment. He slides his forehead into the palms of his hands. The front door slams.

we’d drive to syds we had X6 back then, back then no matter what I did my waves wouldn’t dip back then

Iwaizumi stays entirely still for a few moments. He fixes his expression to nothing before slowly making his way back inside. He breathes in and out deeply as he goes to the kitchen to brew himself a pot of coffee. He listens to the rigid spinning of the ceiling fan as he watches the coffee drip. He pours himself a cup. Wrapping his hands around the mug, he flinches at the temperature. He stares into his own distorted reflection in the liquid. He gently takes a sip, breathing in and out deeply once more.

everything sucked back then

And in the flash of a moment, his hand is burned, ceramic shards scatter the kitchen floor, and there's a mug shaped hole in the cabinet door behind him.

we were friends

more!

iwaizumi hates having his photo taken

HE THOUGHTTT IT WAS GONNA BE NICHE HE GOT STRESSED OUTTTTTT

kuroo knows if yn and Iwa got together it would ruin the band so hes against it

he was right

iwaizumi WAS gonna tell yn he was probably quitting the band but she thought he was confessing

embarrassing

kageyama heard EVERYTHING

taglist: @eggyrocks @v1oletfury @stagemanagerchronicles @iluvmang @nitasplace @wave2mia @jadeoru @walllflowerrrsss @tespho @piapiaweee3 @illuzminate @kr1nqu @itsdragonius

edit: half the tags didn’t work the first time idk why sorry!! i think it’s good now

a/n: fuck grammar dont talk to me I KNOWW ITS SOOO BADD everytime i read it i find a mistake i just give up. listen to ivy by frank ocean while u read it will make the vision. guys this took me so long for what. theyre so tragic. also when he throws the mug like hes facing one side of the kitchen and he turns and throws it into the cabinet that WAS behind him idk if that made sense

[itsallmouthwashing]

Band AU bullet points / slight timeline of events

This IS an AU, and they’re MY barbies I can make them kiss when I WANT /silly

Here are general bullet points for the Band AU with a slight timeline of events. Reblogs are so appreciated :)

If I write out a scene that's here I'll link the post and reblog this post as a sort of master list? Maybe? I'll figure it out. Also here's the playlist for the AU :)

Cw: mentions of parent death, implied neglect, drug abuse, assault, ooc characters

A little context---

Band Name: Tulpar

Record Label: Pony Express Records

Genre: Rock and Metal 

Canon divergence note: Anya does get assaulted, but by her boyfriend instead of Jimmy. I don’t really have a character set up for the boyfriend yet, but I wanted to keep that as an element of her story 

Curly on guitar and vocals, Jimmy on guitar and scream vocals, Anya on bass and fills for drums, Daisuke on drums and synth/keyboard, fills for bass sometimes when he’s feeling confident and Anya wants to switch it up

Swansea is their manager right before they go pro and remains their manager when they sign with P.E Records! He is the one the band has to impress with their new songs. If he doesn’t like it, it doesn't get used 

Curly and Jimmy formed Tulpar in their junior year of high school. Originally it was going to remain the two of them(Curly was learning drums), but the two clicked with Anya and Daisuke almost immediately during senior year (they were both transfer students). 

It for sure took convincing for Jimmy to let them join the band. He made them ‘prove’ they were ‘worthy of finding a place in their art’

They totally fucking blew him away (Curly was a little smug about it after Jimmy conceded.)

Jimmy does bond with Dai and Anya over the years

Dai is the one to propose they go pro. His parents have lots of connections in Hollywood and production, so it’d be easy to find someone willing to listen to them and give them a chance on the billboards

Jimmy gets a little pissy about this (he’s huge into actually working for things in life and hates the idea of using connections to get his success) and storms off without saying anything (normally he’d be dragged out of the room screaming. He’s been working on his temper since senior year. Curly literally slapped it into him that the world isn't highschool and he needs to change the way he acts around people if he wants to retain friendships)

But Jimmy’s mom dies. His dad can't take the grief and follows her into the afterlife. Jimmy breaks down and he’s lashing out at every turn

The rest of the crew take it for months and months, with Curly explaining that Jimmy's really going through a lot and should be patient. He would talk to him later if he hasn't calmed down in a few days

But it just gets worse over the days 

Jimmy is constantly putting down the rest of his bandmates but mostly targets Anya as she is the most insecure of the group and finds it easier to spit poison at

One day she visits Curly to discuss this (Salt and Mouthwash scene here)

Jimmy ends up apologizing but it takes time for things to return to normal for all of them

Dai brings in Swansea, a music critic for them to workshop songs with

He goes full manager mode, disapproving of songs the crew thought for sure he’d love and approving ones they were really on the fence about

Insert training montage here

Swansea eventually brings them in front of P.E Records execs

After a brutal five week waiting period, Tulpar officially signs with Pony Express records

To celebrate, the crew goes out clubbing. Anya hooks up with a girl for the first time. Lesbain shenanigans ensue in the bathroom. Jimmy and Curly get a little too drunk. Daisuke pukes outside of the car (and tries really hard to not puke inside the car. He fails.) 

Sleepover at Curly’s house (they all forgot they had exams in the morning and Curly’s house is right next to the campus.) Jimmy gets flirty and lonely when he’s drunk and through the heightened emotional states of it all, he goes in for a kiss

Daisuke stumbles into Curly’s room thinking it’s the bathroom. Almost pukes on the carpet like an ill cat. 

They startle apart and when Curly comes back from leading Dai to the bathroom Jimmy is already asleep (he’s a little faker- he’s just embarrassed)

Exams go like shit the next morning and everyone is too stressed to go back out and get their cars so it’s a week-long study session at Curly’s while everyone crams

Song writing breaks that become too frequent. Swansea suddenly appears to oversee the studying (Dai’s parents sent him over to check on him, but he finds a reason to stay and supervise. Writing breaks become nonexistent) and he actually helps everyone with studying. He’s the one to propose flash cards and Anya hs to scream into a pillow because why didn't she think of that sooner? Then again when she realizes She did, but her flashcards were in her car. Which was at the bar. Which was an hour away because they’re all idiots. 

Swansea and Curly get her car for her and convince her to take a break from her own material while they’re out (Dai just asks her to help him with studying.)

Jimmy like a fucking DOG keeps himself from begging to go with them, but Swansea says “I’ve known how to drive longer than your daddy’s been shooting into socks. Anya’s car will be safe with me, kiddo,” and pushes Curly out the door lmao

On the way, Swans and Curly have a little heart-to-heart and Swans reveals he’s been family friends with Dai’s parents for years and they’re actually large shareholders of the record company. 

Curly doesn't care, not really, but he feels his stomach drop and his heart drown in fire. Jimmy could never find out about this. He can hardly keep the radio on during his solo drive back

When they arrive back at Curly’s, Dai and Anya are passed out on the couch while Jimmy sits wide awake at the dining-room table. Swansea sees no reason to stick around (“I went to the club for the first time in twenty years, Grant. I need to get home and sleep it off.”) and dips. 

Exams go a little better, but on the last day Anya gets pulled over on her shame-stop to Burger King. She has a panic attack during the stop and it gives her the idea to write HAMMS IN A GLASS. She’s caught humming it and tapping on the coffee table one day while Swansea is over discussing logistics or whatever with Curly. He full stops their conversation, tells Anya to polish it and have it to him by the end of the week (“Motherfucker I might not have a degree if I think about anything other than my tests and where the fucking rotator cuffs are, PLEASE”), and then LEAVES (“Guess I’ll find what our budget will be after you’re finished…”)

She tries to workshop it with Dai between classes (he’s in an engineering course, but their buildings are pretty close together)(Ive only taken online college classes please) but Dai is becoming increasingly unavailable. She turns to her boyfriend. The night they work on it, he gives her a drink to help her relax from all the stress she’s been under

But he takes advantage of her that night. When she realizes what he’s done she flees to Curly’s house. Her boyfriend follows her, accusing her of cheating when she gets to the door and Curly is there to catch her. 

Curly tries hard to deescalate the situation, but when Jimmy catches wind of what’s happening at the door he makes his appearance (anya had no idea why he was there (gay reasons) but grateful for the surprise help). Jimmy punches his FUCKING lights out (“I didnt do it for you, Anya. That guy was pissing me off. So I took care of it… Now he won’t mess with either of us, alright?”). Everyone thinks it’s a little hot, even the guy getting punched (hey, everyones having a gay awakening this evening, huh?)

Anya stays the night, thwarting Jimmy’s plans to dick Curly down sexual style at last. 

[lets-play-our-game]

Old Spidey, New City

I just came to my senses

Peter looked around groggily, taking in his surroundings. He was laying supine on a flat rooftop, several other building towering over him, the sight of huge digital billboards flashing brightly, incomprehensively, around him..

He had hit the ground, - Roof? - hard, and while the city around him was blindingly bright, he was sure it had been daylight he had seen before passing out. Either way, it was a dark sky that shone above him now, with just as many stars as he was use to (which was close to none on a good night)

In fact, he wasn’t even sure the spell had worked, it still looked like his city, but Strange wouldn’t have left him unconscious on a rooftop. They were both assholes, but not that kind. Not “cast a spell but fuck off before the other person realised it didn’t work” kind of asshole. Peter certainly wouldn’t have hurt him if it hadn’t, Strange had been upfront about the chances.

Must have worked then.

I live in another dimension

Fuck! It worked.

At least, the jump did. Time and research would show if this was the right universe. Had to make sure there wasn’t already a Peter Parker in this one, that mutants existed and he wouldn’t be dissected the first chance the government got, that superhero was still a job he could avoid signing up for..

Regardless, he was out of the old one, and his family would be safe.

Just, without him.

Peter stood and released a deep breath.

Fear is nonexistent

There was nothing he could do now, just hope the doctor could carry out the rest of the plan. He’d done his part.

Peter pulled his mask down over his face, whatever emotions he was showing gone from view, grabbed his small pack from where it had landed, and stepped to the edge of the roof.

*thwip*

Suit up and swing through the city

He swung high, avoiding lit windows and people out of their balconies. He was tired. So, bone dead tired and a fight was the last thing he was itching for. He knew a few good spots to crash in his old city, but who knew if they existed here.

As spiderman swung, he slowly became aware of the differences between the two cities. The ads were different for one, and what few brands recognised seemed to have picked different colours. Coke-a-cola had radioactive-orange packaging. He was not looking forward to a neon christmas, if that was a thing here.

Police lights were still red and blue, but the siren was different. That was hardly a surprise.

The biggest difference, and he almost fell out of the sky when he finally noticed it, was all the cars drove on the wrong side of the road.

“What the fuck..” He perched on the side of a building and watched the traffic, letting his camo take hold and blending in with the concrete he gripped to.

He shook himself free after a few minutes and swung on.

He was so fucking tired.

Annihilate, I’m wide awake Be very afraid

He found a rooftop that even in this universe didn’t have stairwell access, internal or external, which was perfect. He threw down his small bag, which contained little more than a change of civilian clothes, a few snack bars and a one or two mementos, onto the dirty concrete.

I’m in my own world give me space

Exhausted, he lay down, the bag as a make-shift pillow, and stared up at the sky, letting the noises of his new city, his new life, surround him.

Tomorrow, he might go looking for a better bed, food, a job maybe, hopefully a shower

Tonight - he just needed to get some fucking sleep.

I’m in my own universe give me space..

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads ( Homelander x OC )

chapter one: first impressions

chapter directory

summary: holding the heart of a self-proclaimed god is hard work, but someone's gotta do it. who'd have ever thought it would be some nobody, a simple street level hero-branded-vigilante, who would ascend to one of the seven coveted thrones and do just that?

tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

It’s a night like any other in the concrete jungle of New York City.  A streak of red swings through the streets by lines of webbing, eyes peeled for anyone disrupting the peace in his friendly neighborhood.  Well, not his neighborhood exactly.  He was just a vigilante after all.  There’s plenty of fun to pick from, but only one instance could be so special to the city’s one and only Spider-Man– to Benjamin.

It’s not the quippy banter with the thugs breaking into the back of a bodega, nor is it the amusement he gets from webbing each of the fools in one big pile on the ground that makes this night memorable.  It’s the interruption, the anomaly that appears all too silently from the sky.

“And just what do we have here, hm?” 

The bug turns in surprise, steeling himself against the rush of anxiety that shoots through his veins.  This is no ordinary supe here to gripe about him stealing their thunder.  This is a man– a god, perhaps– in a whole ‘nother league. 

Ben would recognize him by voice alone because it was impossible not to hear it at least once a day.  Hell, hide the costume and he’d probably still recognize that face– because it’s everywhere. Billboards, magazines, fucking cereal boxes– you name it, he’s probably there.

Before him stands The Homelander, captain of The Seven, pretty much the face of Vought International.  World’s most powerful supe.

“Oh, y’know.”  He gestures.  “Riffraff doing what they do, and me doing what I do.”

“Nicely done,” Homelander says, professional smile etched into his face like he’d rehearsed this.  “You know, good work like this is why we’ve been nipping at your heels, kiddo.  Really wish you’d stop making us chase you around.”

And there it is.  This was no chance meeting– as if one of the big boys from The Seven would ever be caught dead in an alley in Harlem of all places.  Spidey cocks a brow behind his mask.  Vought must be desperate.

See, he’s been particularly unlucky lately.  

Even before he donned the mantle of Spider-Man, it was never about being in the big leagues.  Benjamin mused upon the idea of it, but he could never find himself truly taken with the idea of selling himself as a hero.  Not only was the mere idea of commercializing his ability to do a unique good revolting, it would strip away one of the only true freedoms he has.  Of course, Vought knew nothing of his reasons– not that they’d care either way– and were ardently pursuing him to fill the now vacant seat formerly belonging to Translucent.

And now, as his luck would have it, they’ve sent their biggest dog to fetch their desired toy.

Benjamin’s sixth sense tells him nothing in the moment.  No hidden danger, no tickling of warnings to bolt.  A goose chase spanning two months finally coming to a titanic head as The fucking Homelander himself holds him not-quite-hostage in an alleyway. 

“You’re still their top pick, you know,” Homelander says, nodding over to the webbed pile of crooks.  “You play by their rules without even being on the team.  A little… sloppy, but effective.  Tell me, how is it you’re going to turn down a spot in the biggest of the big leagues, hm?  You’ve pretty much skipped the line.”  Homelander scuffs the sole of his boot against the ground, kicking a pebble to the side as he meanders closer.  “What, is vigilantism more fun?  You like having all those warrants?  Vought could clear ‘em up.  Get you set straight in the eyes of the law, make you official.  Pay you for your late night troubles…”

Ben bristles as he comes closer.  It’s not the proximity necessarily, it’s… 

It’s like he’s looking straight through the mask.  

Benjamin releases a tight breath.  “My answer isn’t changing.” He says firmly, despite the anxiety cooking in his chest.  He is not a confident man by any stretch.  The most bravado he’ll ever know in his life comes from being Spidey.  Nobody can see him– nobody knows who he is when he’s got the mask on. He can be whoever he wants.  But right now he feels see through.  

Pick your words carefully,  he thinks to himself.

“I’m not a show pony for Vought to extort.”

Don’t cave– do not give him that satisfaction.  It’s what he wants.

He wouldn’t work for Vought.  He’s chosen years of barely scraping by rather than taking a tech job with them as a regular person, why the fuck would he do it as a supe?  What, he’s just supposed to ignore the endless skeletons in their closet?  The pain and suffering, all the people he’s seen online talking about how Vought threw money at them to not sue after some accident or another only to up and disappear?  

Ben idolized heroes for so long.  His powers didn’t manifest until his late teens and he grew up wanting to be just like the superheroes that made the world a better place– until he realized that those types were so few and far between that they might as well not even exist.  All of his childhood heroes were NDAs and settlements, pain and suffering, all covered with media stunts and weak, lazy apologies.  Posters were torn down, action figures tossed in the trash– he moved on and eventually became the hero he wished his idols would've been.

“Show pony? Pfffft,” Homelander laughs, blowing a raspberry.  “Please.  Look at yourself.  Skin tight red and blue suit, leaving messes of webs everywhere you go.  Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but you’re already there.”

“They parade you guys around like trophies,” Ben counters, trying to keep the edge off his tone.  “I’m not in this to make money for some rich-fuck shareholders, y’know.”

“And?  See, you told every single agent before me that you were in ‘this’ to make a difference.”

Fuck.

“You know how much fucking range you’d have in The Seven?”  Homelander splays his arms wide as if to show the scale of the world.  Agitation is starting to write itself on his face, leaking free in the twitches of his eye and those rapid blinks.  He clearly didn’t expect to have to work for this.  “You could help anyone anywhere, all you have to do is say yes.”

The worst part?  That’s not technically a lie.  And it’s not not tempting. 

“I’m sure you’ll see reason,”  Homelander smirks, sauntering just the slightest bit closer.  “Benjamin.”

The bug’s heart drops to his gut, eyes going wide and glancing in the direction of the pile of webbed crooks in the hopes they neither heard nor will a last name be following. 

Fuck, fuck– 

They have his name. 

“Don’t–”

“Don’t what?”  Homelander asks innocently, lips curling even sharper.  “You really thought we wouldn’t know who you are?  Pff– hah!  Please.”

Closer and closer, every step feeling like a lifetime.

“I can see through that mask, you know.  Can see how scared you are.” Homelander tuts as he comes within arms reach.  “I can hear the pitter patter of your little heart…”

Ben gulps, breaths coming heavy.

“And…”  Homelander leans forward, voice a whisper. “I’m sure you understand, Mister Colyer, that I could kill you right now…”  A hand falls to rest on Ben’s shoulder, gripping tight.  “I really don’t like being told no.”

Ben’s voice shakes and his knees quake, totally ready to dart as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

“I'm… not– I'm not doing it.”

His sixth sense doesn’t stir.

Homelander’s bluffing.  But, really… So is he.

It’s like the world froze.  Time stands still as they stare at one another.  Benjamin can see the anger dancing in Homelander’s eyes, but nothing comes of it.

Not even when the bug backs away and that leather clad hands falls free from his shoulder.

“Look, uh… this was nice, y’know?”

Smooth, Ben.  Smooth.

“But uh, just call me Randy Jackson, because it’s uhm... it's gonna be a no from me, dawg.”  Terrible time for humor, but something had to break the tension.  “Goodbye, Homelander.” 

And with that, Ben bolts, vaulting up and off the side of a building to propel himself into the night.  

Homelander remains in the alley, still stunned, a piercing ring deafening the world around him.  He lingers, thoughts racing.

Turned down by the bug, huh champ?

Of course, of fucking course there would be some commentary.

“Hey big guy, you gonna let us go?”  

And of course there’s some filth bold enough to interrupt him.

Homelander turns, eye twitching as he scans the pile of mud practically cocooned in webbing.  They expect him to release them.  After all, Spider-Man is a vigilante.  None of his catches are technically official, though there’s usually enough evidence for that fact to be ignored.

“C’mon, you know we ain’t done no harm!  Me and the boys were just walkin’ by is all.”  

The man in question chuckles nervously at him.

Homelander saunters closer, hands behind his back.  He stands over the man, inspecting every little detail.  The growing fear in his eyes, the way he sweats.

Putrid. Echoes the voice in his mind.  Remind them of who they’re talking to. Of the god they disrespect.

He lifts his foot, placing it dead center on the man’s chest.

“No– please, I didn’t–”

He presses down slowly, grin etching onto his face as pleas turn to tight gasps.  The others in the webbing try to scramble, but they can’t escape.

They’re at his mercy.  As they should be.

A crunching sound precedes his favorite part.  Ribs and muscle give way and a loud squelch graces his ears and the ringing– oh the ringing stops. It's serene, knowing what power he holds.  What iron fist he truly has wrapped around the neck of this world.

Attaboy.

To think they’d think him so low as to aid them.  To think they’d get to live after seeing him rejected so brazenly.

Now for the rest.

As he takes care of the others, he wonders just how persuasive he'll need to be with the little spider.  What threads must he pull to get his way?

[megamindsecretlair]

A Taste of the Divine - Chapter 1

Masterlist Chapter 2

Pairing: Yakuza!True Form!Sukuna x Black!Fem!reader/plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. slow burn. Monster fuckers unite. Dark elements. Kidnapped reader. Cursing, graphic depictions of violence, implied violence against women but not shown, mentions of blood and gore, Sukuna is aroused by violence. Sorry if I missed others.

Summary: Sukuna is the feared leader of the Itadori clan. There are rumors that he uses a pet beast to get rid of his enemies. Nothing but rooms and locations full of blood and body parts. He happens about a group of men who dared to cross his territory without permission. When Sukuna runs across you, he suddenly finds himself unable to kill you. Not until he figures out who you are and why you were so important as to get kidnapped. He takes over being your captor, whisking you away to his property, where he proceeds to play with his food.

AO3 Link

Word count: 5,763k

A/N: Could not get this idea out of my head to save my life. I hope you enjoy. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Taglist: @westside-rot @00aijia00 @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @twocentuar @umber-cinders @chaos-4baby @soft-persephone

Rain beat against the windows in a steady stream. Cold, neon lights shone in a haze just beyond, painting the sides of the building sunset purple and cerulean. Ads played lazily on the billboards, reminding people that even while sleeping, it was never too late to buy.

Rival clan Kamo had members holed up in a shithole penthouse apartment, awaiting the signal for when they could move. They spent the first few days playing cards and board games. They were strictly forbidden from turning on their phones. From going outside. From doing anything fucking fun. 

Yet, after a few days when they were tired of talking to each other, it was only a matter of time before someone broke the rules. There were only four of them. Each low tier members of the Kamo clan, some not even worthy of the association. 

They were a low-key crew, handling situations that required stealth and finesse. Like babysitting a sweet little morsel tied up in the bathroom. They were instructed not to talk to you, touch you, or breathe in your direction.

Days passed and the men’s eyes lingered a beat too long, licking their lips as their thoughts ran away on their face, or rubbing their hands together as if they could imagine what your skin would feel like. 

While on mission, they used no names. So instead, they numbered themselves. One, the leader, was bald with a stern frown permanently etched onto his face. He currently held the biggest pot of money on his side of the table, flipping through cards with masterful precision. 

Three was to his right, a man with long hair that reached well past his shoulders. It was swept back into a half ponytail, the rest running down his back like a black river. Two was next, a shifty and nervous sort of man who couldn’t sit still longer than a minute. Eyes were always on a swivel around the room, looking for potential threats.

Though if Four had anything to say about it, he’d say that Two was snorting the White Dragon and they were left to suffer through it. Four held the worst hand with his cards, but he kept his face neutral. He could bluff with the likes of Three, but One might see through him. 

A thump on the roof made them all look up. All except for One who continued to stare at his cards. Two sat up in his seat, moaning and chewing on his nails. He shook his head back and forth, getting more agitated by the minute.

“I told you we should have checked. This doesn’t feel right,” Two said.

Three sighed and rolled his eyes. “You say that about every drop of water that hits the roof.” 

Two shook his head once more. “That wasn’t a raindrop,” he said and pointed to the ceiling. Four looked at him, annoyed. This mission was freaky enough without the ghost stories. He took a swig of his whiskey, following the burn down his chest since it was the first interesting thing tonight. 

He stood up, getting ready for Two’s freakout to overtake the night. First it was the bird that flew into the window. Then it was the nail he found under his mattress. He went on rants about ill omens and angering the elder gods. 

“Then what was it, genius?” Three sighed, tossing down his cards because he also knew that Two was just getting started. A crackle from the lit fireplace drew Four’s attention. He stared at it and briefly wondered if dying by fire was worth the pain.

“We’re too close to his border. How sure are you that this is on our side?” Two asked. 

One leaned back from the table, tossing down his cards and rolling his neck. “I know how to do my job,” One said. He folded his arms and stared straight ahead. If Four wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure that Four was a hidden synth. Nothing but clockwork and oil pumping through his system. 

The first thing Four was going to do when the mission was over, was take his payment and go find a warm pair of legs to sleep between. Maybe this was burnout. Maybe he needed to check out that app his sister sent to him about that crap. She always thought his stress was too high. Always going on about going on walks or getting a pet or doing anything else that didn’t involve being a gangster.

Heh. He owed his baby sister a call soon. Their last conversation ended too quickly when she started talking about an asshole teacher and how Four offered to kill him. Or at least persuade him to watch his fucking mouth.

“How do you not know who Sukuna is? He’s the leader of the Itadori clan,” Two said.

Three laughed obnoxiously and clapped his hands. “Since when do you believe in fairytales? No one’s seen or heard of that made up bullshit. You really think that he has so much curse energy, that he’s lived this long? That he has a secret army of beasts who rip his enemies to shreds?” Three continued laughing, his chair creaking from Three settling into it. 

Two cracked a smile and Four poured himself another drink. The first two clearly weren’t doing the job. Four moved back to the table, bored out of his skull. In fact, he should probably check on you. He wouldn’t get paid if you went on and died on him.

Instead of sitting, Four changed directions and went towards the bathroom. The penthouse was decorated in slate gray and mustard. There were expensive paintings on the paneled walls, ceramic statues of bodies twisting, imported plants from all over the world every few feet. It was a pompous, underhanded way to show that the rich could buy anything, even nature.

Four moved down the wide hallway, big enough to park a sedan in and still have room on both sides. He knocked on the door once and your answering gasp was enough confirmation that he needed. Still..,

He opened the door, turned on the light, and looked down at you. You were on your side, curled up on the plush bathroom rug like a pathetic pet. Your sweater was stained and dirty, your light colored jeans worse for wear. The tennis shoes used to be a light color, but were now so dirty that it was hard to tell. The blindfold was still secure on your face.

“You dead yet?” Four asked.

“Untie me and find out, bitch,” you spat at him.

He laughed, tempted to kick you in your fat ass stomach for that. But he doubted you’d feel it. “I’d watch that mouth of yours,” he said.

“Or else you’ll try to stick your shrimp dick in my mouth? Might take me a few tries but I’ll bite clean off if you do,” you growled. 

Four laughed again and shook his head. “Never fails to make me laugh, bitch,” he said. He turned off the light and slammed the door. His anger at last getting the best of him. Stupid bitch. He had half a mind to break that reckless streak of yours. To fill your mouth so you couldn’t talk back for once.

You’d been nothing but a pain in his ass since they kidnapped you. You fought like a hellcat, scratching and biting. They had to punch you in the face a few times to knock you out and then drag your fat ass to the van. When you came to in the bathroom, you gave everyone a mouthful. And had been an annoying asshole the last few days.

Four rubbed his shoulders and walked away. He needed the money more than he needed to teach you your place. As Four walked down the hallway, he heard a series of thumps that made him falter in his steps. He looked between each of the closed doors, sealed up like a damn museum in this place.

He walked closer to one door, where he thought the thumps were coming from. He strained his hearing, awareness searching for anything out of the norm. Two and Three were still arguing in the living room but Four was too far away to hear what stage they were in. If Two was standing on the table and arguing his point or covering his ears and screaming loud over the other person.

Four opened the door he was in front of, arms up, prepared for anything to pop out. The room was dark but the window was open, letting watery moonlight shine across the carpeted floor. Looked to be some kind of guest room, all done up in cobalt blue. Four did a cursory sweep, just in case.

He turned around to the shadowy figure before him and jumped, screaming out before realizing that he faced a mirror. His heart skipped a beat as it caught up to the realization that he wasn’t in danger. He stalked closer to the mirror, chuckling as he confirmed with his eyes that he got scared by his own reflection. The other men couldn’t know this. They’d see him as weak and he couldn’t have that. 

He tapped the mirror once, for extra confirmation. Two’s conspiracy theory rants were starting to get to him. Next thing he knew, there’ll be Sukuna’s pet beast right behind him. He chuckled at his own thoughts and looked at his reflection. It became darker so he leaned in, opening his mouth to look at his teeth.

The darkness kept going, almost otherworldly so, and Four felt a menacing, thick presence at his back. The aura was indescribably heavy, bowing him at the shoulders. Going lower still. He had just enough energy to turn his head and stare into a pair – no two pairs – oh god – there’s too many red eyes staring at him.

He opened his mouth to let out a scream but a slice to the neck cut it off. His hands flew to his neck, warm spray of blood soaking his fingers. There was nothing to compare to the horror of feeling the heat from your own blood outside of your body. Hands stained red and sticky. Four stared into those red eyes and his last thought was of how Two was actually fucking right this time.

One opened his eyes with a silent gasp. “We are not alone,” he said. He hopped from his seat, flying to the edge of the living room where they had abandoned the majority of their weaponry. They each held their guns at the base of their spines, tucked into their pants. But the bigger weapons lay across the table, thrown haphazardly. They had gotten too comfortable.

The menacing aura was enough to choke him but he kept his mind on the mission. This had turned from a simple kidnapping to a game of survival. No amount of money was worth this, losing his life to the boogeyman. His people had forgotten the old world. Forgotten that the myths were merely legends once upon a time. 

The lights shut off as his hands closed around his semi-automatic. Two and Three finally stopped their incessant fighting and grabbed their guns. Gone was the twitching, sketchy conspiracy nut and in its place was a ruthless killer. A ruthless kobun for the Kamo clan. 

Three took measured, slow steps around the room. The rain seemed to increase in intensity. But that was only because it was quiet now. The water slapped against the windows. Purple and blue neon light shone in from the windows giving them just enough light to see each other. Or see anything that may have entered the penthouse.

If they somehow found a way to survive the night, they’d have no answers on how the beast got in. How the beast found them. Or how Sukuna even knew that they were on the this side of the boundary. 

One hadn’t lied. He was very good at his job. This building was right on the cusp of Sukuna’s territory but it was decidedly in Kamo’s territory. If this was Sukuna’s infamous beastie, then Sukuna was in the wrong this time. Honorless scum. 

One swept through the living room, keeping his semi-automatic up and at the ready. He communicated silently with the other two. Where the hell was Four? If he was back there missing with you at a time like this, he’d kill Four himself. 

He took off in your direction, intending to check and make sure that you hadn’t escaped. Reaching the door, he opened it and heard you gasp. “What’s going on?” You asked.

“Shut up,” he hissed. If you were too fucking stupid to understand what was going on, then the least you could do was shut that fucking mouth up for once. He closed the door and continued checking rooms, wondering if Four went out onto the terrace for a smoke break. 

He made his way forward, the crack of a door catching his eye. He used his gun to nudge the door open, the room too dark to see much of anything. Still, something was off about this room. Some lingering aura that beckoned him even as his brain was screaming for him to turn around and run and never look back. 

His boot squelched on the carpet and he looked down. His mind couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. His mind said he was looking at a mangled hand but his eyes only saw blood. Red. 

There were pieces everywhere. Half a foot. An elbow. One stepped backwards. The evil aura in this room was astounding. The rumors were true. They were actually true. Sukuna did have a beast in his employ and it was here to eat them all. 

He turned and ran to the door only to be blocked by a massive arm across the doorway. The massive tree trunk sized arm split in two. Oh god. There were four arms. Red eyes crept open slowly and a wide grin split open in the middle of the beasts’ belly. The monster stood on two legs, at least seven foot tall, and it chuckled. It laughed.

“You’re far from home,” the beast said.

“You’re in Kamo’s territory. When Kamo hears about this…” 

The beast chuckled and the deep rumbling laugh was like the crack of lightning outside the windows. “Who’s gonna tell him?” The beast asked.

One was no stranger to fear and he would not pretend as if he were not capable of it. But even as he trembled and gulped around the painful lump in his throat, he stared at the many-eyed beast and lifted his chin. 

“Your lord has no honor,” One said. Sweat gathered at his brow, tickling his forehead and he fought the urge to wipe it away. To move. 

The beast laughed again. And laughed still as he picked One up as if he weighed no more than a feather. It laughed and laughed as it took big chunks out of One, chewing on him like a snack. Blood sprayed One’s face, hot and sticky and stinging his eyes. His screams were no match to the sound of that maniacal laughter.

You 

The second scream had to be the worst one. Maybe because it was coupled by the sound of bone-chilling laughter. Something cold and cruel. Your arm was killing you from laying on your side but you were finding it difficult to roll over in this bathroom. 

The nauseating perfume clung to your nostrils and made it hard to breathe around its cloying scent. Why couldn’t these idiots kill you and call it a day? You hated being at their mercy. Hated the way they casually joked about slitting your throat or teaching you how to respect your betters. 

Assholes. You’d be a liar if you weren’t enjoying the sounds of their screams. But at the same time, you didn’t want to meet whatever the hell that thing was. You prayed that you’d remain invisible, small, insignificant. Not worth whatever that thing’s gaze was. Surely it was some sort of vengeful god. Malevolent beast come to feast on the world. 

You couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Couldn’t make a sound. In case the beast was capable of turning the knob, opposable thumbs letting you know that the beast was far scarier than previously believed, you wanted to remain on the floor. Better yet, you needed to get somewhere you could hide. 

Your options were limited. There were no other sounds outside your door. You knew that you were in the bathroom so you rubbed against the floor until you could heave yourself into a sitting position. You were out of breath, but you had to keep going. Had to get into the tub.

Hell, what was worse? The silence or the screams? 

You got to your feet and steadied yourself. You were woozy. It’d been too long since your last meal. Your fault. You couldn’t take your death lying down. You fought and cursed and insulted their dick sizes until you were blue in the face. They retaliated by withholding food. 

You’d take that over the way they knocked you out. Hitting you like a grown man. Your jaw still stung from it. Your skin would surely be darker with a bruise the size of a fist. The way their hands wandered while they checked you for weapons, tied your hands behind your back, and shoved you into a musty van. How they laughed over your figure as they pretended to struggle with tossing you into the bathroom. 

You didn’t know when they put the blindfold on but had to be when you were out cold. There was no telling what they could do while you were sleep so you learned to sleep lighter, waking up at any little sound. So far they weren’t hurting you. You couldn’t imagine why. However, you’d have to stop provoking the last guy that came in here. He was perilously close to breaking and you didn’t want to be around for it. 

You felt behind you for the edge of the tub. Rich people’s apartments like these usually had a tub on one side and a shower on the other. As if it was some subconscious misogyny bullshit about women taking baths and men taking showers. 

You scooted further down, tennis shoes scraping against the tile as you tried to figure out how you were going to get into the tub safely and quietly. You weren’t even sure that you’d be hidden from the door. But you had to do something. Had to try at least.

You lifted one leg and got into the tub as another blood curdling scream split the air. You were shaking with fear while at the same time feeling vindicated. Fuck those bastards. If you’d survive, you’d never take your life for granted again.

The sound of wet splatter hit the walls and you wondered briefly if a window opened somewhere. If there wasn’t rain pouring all over fancy furniture. You got your other foot into the tub and then sank to your knees, getting down into the wide tub and turned on your side. 

It wasn’t perfect. And you didn’t want to think about what kind of germs you were kneeling in. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

You waited. You jumped at every sound. Every scrape. Every knock of wood. There was a final scream as the last of your captors went silent. His screams still echoed in your ears. 

Your heartbeat thumped steadily, shifting your awareness inward. You ached all over. Your shoulder was killing you. Your stomach pains twisting your insides. You had a faint ache in your foot and you weren’t sure if you sprang it during your last escape attempt. 

How the hell did you end up here? 

It was the question that rang through your mind every so often when you weren’t thinking about escape. How did you end up kidnapped, taken, and held against your will like this? 

And the sick part? No one would know. You had a job where you set your own hours, the perfect introverted job. You didn’t have to talk to others when you didn’t want to. Didn’t have to set alarms for when you went to sleep or stayed up. You followed your body’s natural rhythm and was damn happy with your solitary life. You had friends, but they knew about your need to disappear sometimes. Go radio silent while you work on your special projects. Or pigged out in front of the TV. 

So here you were, stuck between how you were going to escape or how you ended up in this position. You lived a normal life. You didn’t go out of your way to hurt others. You gave money to the homeless and smiled at the janitorial staff. You weren’t perfect, but fuck. You didn’t deserve this shit.

Thumping steps traveled down the hall and you clasped your lips shut, throat shaking with your need to cry. You needed to alert someone, anyone, to come and help you. Or at least untie you so you could have a fighting chance. How pathetic it was to die on your back, tied up, and at the beasts’ mercy. 

The steps got closer. That aura. It was so intimidating. Sweat gathered on your brow, fear like icy spikes in your stomach. There was no way that you were getting out of this alive. With an aura like that, the beast could likely smell the fear on you. Lead it straight to you as if you had rang the dinner bell. 

You were so stupid. You should have used your remaining time to find a way to cut through the zip ties behind your back. Found a pair of scissors or clippers. Anything to get your hands free. Ah well. Didn’t matter this time. Because whatever it was that was outside of your door, you had no way of defeating such a creature.

Sukuna

You smelled delicious. After dispensing with the four-man crew that dared cross into his territory earlier in the week while traveling to this dump, Sukuna licked blood from his lips as he shrunk down from his true form. 

He hadn’t intended on striking against the Kamo clan for at least another two weeks. He’d been in the middle of his usual reconnaissance, following the habits of his enemies before pinpointing when to strike. 

These four were barely worth the effort. A small time, petty offense. But the rules were the rules and he had to enforce them. He grinned, picking meat from his teeth as he thought how these idiots still haven’t figured out that there is no Sukuna’s beast. He was the beast.

He had no qualms about eating his enemies into submission. Fighting for every strip of land, every pulse of illegal activity in the country, every dollar to join his coffers. And he’d be damned if even one cockroach stepped an antenna out of line. 

What he did not expect was the tasty scent of fear wafting from the bathroom. A stowaway. The imbeciles had hidden you somehow. Oh, that delicious scent. He followed it, already growing hungrier by the second. 

His black suit was pasted to him, slick with the blood of the four insignificant humans. Let their people find them like this. Ripped apart, Let the rumors grow. The beast. The beast. 

He approached the door and he sensed that you sensed him. Your body was shaking, teeth clacking. He could hear you through the door. He was getting harder by the minute just thinking about it. He pictured where he’d start first. If he’d bite your neck. Or somewhere he could still make you scream. He wondered what you’d sound like.

He pushed on the door and it gave way under his hand. He left a bloody handprint on the door as he swept into the dark room. His eyes adjusted to the dark, detail starting to fill in as his eyes relaxed. 

There you were. Sukuna chuckled evilly as he approached. You were too damn good. Each second brought a fresh wave of fear skittering down your spine. He inhaled deeply, mouth salivating with the thought of ripping you to pieces. 

You were cowed in the bathtub. Sukuna grinned wider before he really took you in. Your hands were bound behind your back. You also had a blindfold on. Your clothes were dirty and stained, a strange odor emanating from you. Your shoes looked like you’d been marched around in mud for the past few days. Your hair was wild and unkempt, riotous thick hair escaping your plaits. 

His smile disappeared. You had already been kidnapped. You weren’t part of their crew. You were a victim. Sukuna’s curiosity peaked. It wasn’t every day that he ran into this situation. He was no hero. Whether lord or pauper, a tasty meal was a tasty meal. But the urge to eat you was growing fainter the longer he took in every detail he could about you.

What did you do in order to get kidnapped by these thugs? What was so special about you? You’d clearly been here a few days and you were still alive, untouched. You were important to them for a reason. 

“Well?” You asked.

Sukuna was taken aback by the sound of your voice. He could smell your fear and yet…you dared to talk to him? 

“Quit playing around and kill me, I don’t have all day. Or night. Whenever it is,” you huffed.

Shocked, Sukuna laughed. Hell, he hadn’t been this surprised in a millenia. “Who are you?” He asked.

“I’m a nobody. Are you going to kill me or not?” You asked. 

Sukuna chuckled again, sucking blood from his finger. “Pretty eager to die,” he commented. 

“Not very eager to wonder when it’s coming. The wait is the worst part,” you said.

There was a hitch in your voice. As if you were no stranger to waiting or being disappointed. Sukuna tilted his head. This was bizarre. It’d been a long time since he felt like this, interested in something other than eating at the moment. You couldn’t see him. You were right to be afraid but still had the audacity to talk to him like that.

He had half a mind to break your spine here and now. Rip your head from your shoulders. Suck the life from your heart. His fingers twitched with the insatiable need to shred. Throat burned with a hunger that never truly faded. 

He stepped closer to you, stared down at your pathetic form on your side in this tub. It’d be so easy to lift his boot and crush your skull. So easy to snuff the spark of life that kept you animated. 

But he found himself hesitating. Withdrawing his presence. You gasped audibly, catching your breath. It was a wonder you held out as long as you did. He’d seen people have entire heart attacks after enduring his aura for too long. But not you.

“Who are you and why did those men hold you captive?” Sukuna asked. 

“I don’t know. I told you, I’m a nobody. Just an insignificant bug,” you said.

A burning in Sukuna’s chest made him want to correct you. To ensure that you’d never talk like this about yourself where he could fucking hear. He grimaced and scowled. What the hell kind of thoughts was he having? 

He lifted his hand, reaching out over your form. He’d just snatch you up like he did the others. You were their victim and it wasn’t terribly your fault for crossing boundary lines with them, but well. He couldn’t let you go.

What if you talked? What if your harmless story caught on the news like wildfire, spreading, until the legend of Sukuna’s pet beast was no longer feared. The real gangsters knew. No one fucked with him or his clan and lived to tell the tale. 

He had to end you right here and now. Go on and do it. Be done with it. Separate your head from your body. Again, he was unable to harm you. There were too many questions in his head. He was having fun not being the smartest person in the room at the moment. 

He growled and grabbed the front of your sweater. You yelled out, kicking your legs as Sukuna lifted you higher, more at eye level with himself. You scrambled, kicking and kicking. 

“Put me down!” You screamed.

Sukuna laughed. “Aren’t you scared?” He asked.

“I’m terrified!” You yelled. 

“Then how do you bark orders with the same mouth that should be begging for mercy?” He asked.

“What mercy? Go on and kill me and be done with this bullshit,” you said. You were still flailing but no longer screaming in fear. 

You were fun! He scanned your body, looking for some source of trickery. Some hidden agenda. He stretched his awareness searching for a hint of your aura to reveal something that explained you. Some part of your genetic makeup, some part of your clothing or jewelry able to repel creatures like him.

Nothing. You wore nothing, you had nothing, you were nothing. And he still had questions. He wanted to know more. His thirst for knowledge was almost as large as his thirst for blood. He should want yours. But even yours smelled insignificant. 

“Who are you?” He asked once more, voice soft as he regarded you. You didn’t make sense and it was driving him nuts. Driving him to the point of not wanting to solve you at all. He’d rather toss you into the nearest fire and call it a job well done. 

Tonight, at least, his curiosity got the best of him. He’d figure out who you were and what you were keeping from him. Then he’d get rid of you. 

“I’m nothing, a nobody,” you responded. Your lips parted and he felt a strange tug in his chest. Another weird sensation he hadn’t experienced in hundreds, if not thousands of years. 

“You’re coming with me,” he growled. He half dragged, half carried you out of the room. You didn’t fight him or scream. You didn’t try to tug yourself free. You kept up as much as you were able as Sukuna left the penthouse suite of the Kamo clan. He didn’t have to worry about security cameras as he turned off power to the whole block.

Rain pelted the both of you, soaking his shirt. Rivulets of red dripped from him and disappeared into the nearest drain. He ran towards his car at the end of the block, shaking you in his haste to get to his car. His hair plastered to his face and he growled. He didn’t have enough hands to move his hair from his face.

It may be the dead of night, but that meant little to a world still guided by its misconceptions and folktales. They told themselves stories about being safe because the government told them that they were. Nevermind the fact that the pent up anxiety they pushed down, the suppressed emotions, created a legion of curses to haunt the natural world for years and years to come yet. 

He couldn’t shift into his true form over hair in his eyes. Too many cameras. Too many onlookers. He pushed you into his car and you finally yelped as your shoulder hit the side of the seat. 

He quickly crossed in front of the car and got in, starting it, and tearing off down the street in a whirl of tires and smoke. The sound of the windshield wipers were the only source of sound. 

Sukuna kept glancing at you. At the way the streetlights and ads shone periodically across your face. It was maddening to see. And yet all you did was pant for breath. Your lips were parted again. Were you doing it on purpose? What the hell was wrong with you?

He could tell that you were still scared. Still nervous to be around him. But there was a soft acceptance in the way you didn’t mouth off or ask a million annoying questions. You were an unassuming presence beside him and it was a feeling he wasn’t used to. Couldn’t name. 

It didn’t take long for Sukuna to arrive at one of his many penthouses. This one was in the dead center of the city. If his enemies got through his defenses and reached the middle of the city, well then, they deserved to take their shot at him. 

He pulled into the private garage, turning off the engine and looked over at you. You licked your lips and he followed the movement, the glide of your tongue darting out from your mouth. Sukuna tore his eyes away with a scowl.

He got out of the car a little too roughly. Yanked open the passenger side door a little too harshly. Grabbing you out of the seat with too much force. He slammed you against the car as he closed his door. Then, he dragged you towards the private elevator.

No cameras. Exactly what he needed. He rode the elevator straight to his penthouse. It opened out into a spacious foyer decorated in black. He dragged you inside, growing impatient with your human body unable to keep up with his stalking gait. 

He knew the perfect room to throw you in too. Sometimes Sukuna liked to play with his food. 

He pushed you into the small room that had a million cameras set up inside. The room was decorated in an off white subway tile scheme. There was a bunk bed held up by chains drilled into the wall. There was a private bathroom. He found that allowing that little bit of decency made humans think he was merciful. It made betraying them that much more delicious. 

You fell to the floor on top of your bad shoulder and cried out. Sukuna laughed at your pain and shut the door. 

“Why won’t you kill me?!” You yelled, loud enough to be heard through the thick, reinforced door. No small feat. 

Sukuna turned and looked at you through the checkered plexiglass window. He smiled, grin spreading across his face and likely making him look feral. 

“The fun’s just getting started, princess,” he said. His haunting laugh echoed throughout his apartment as he left you alone for the night. Tomorrow, he’d make sure that you knew whose control you were under.

Masterlist | Chapter 2

[sparklingcid3r]

@redfielddoesthings this one’s for u babygorl bc i’ve had a dallypop roadtrip fic on my mind and i can’t write it yet bc finals are actually beating my ass atm so i’m putting my ideas in here until i can buckle down and finesse the writer’s block

- they’re headed to the bronx, where dally grew up. it’s approx 20 hours by car, so they drive to indianapolis first, break for the night, then drive 11 hours to the bronx w a bunch of pit stops in between

- first pit stop is at a gas station where soda takes the lead while dally tries to hide the fact that he’s never pumped gas before in his life

- he grew up in nyc that boy hasn’t even SEEN a real gas station until tulsa

- they get stuck in standstill traffic at some point so they get out and start praying to deities they don’t even believe in to get it moving again. they’re losing their minds. dally’s banging his head against the horn while soda’s going up to ppl’s windows and chatting with them. dally wants a gun

- they get back in the car and are hanging out, until soda notices something laying on the woods’ edge. since they aren’t going anywhere and the car is in the right lane, he gets out and runs over to it

- unfortunately traffic has started moving the second he’s out and dally has to scramble over to the driver side to start moving. in the side mirror dally sees soda sprinting along the shoulder holding a filthy stuffed bear that makes idle appearances for the rest of the fic. soda reaches the car before dally can hit 20 mph and he practically has to dive into the backseat

- soda vs the mississippi river

- once they reach indianapolis dally’s like “so we can either check into a motel or get fucking litttt”

- immediate cut to soda putting music on a jukebox and dally ordering them drinks

- dally gets plastered and insists on laying down in the truck bed on the drive to the motel. soda hits a speed bump as hard as he can and dally nearly gets launched out the back

- they’re on the road again but the poor truck’s been through it and it starts making some funky sounds until soda decides to pull over because he doesn’t like that noise. he’s no steve randle but he finds out they need to go to a repair shop and get a new part because the one they got now is literally gonna fall off

- so they’re stranded on the side of the highway

- soda decides to climb up on top of the truck because the weather’s real nice up there, and dally follows. he tries putting his thumb out but soda stops him, says he wants to sit and watch for a while. it’s pretty trippy, being so close to cars going 70 down the freeway. when a semi approaches, soda makes a right angle with his arm and pretends to pull a horn until the semi honks at them.

- that’s where a more heartfelt, raw conversation would happen amid the humor

- eventually they get their truck to a repair shop and get a new part! but not before they have like four hours to kill doing literally nothing but like mocking small children and playing i spy

- while they’re at it they also decide to call the house to check in on darry and pony and whoever else happens to be at the curtis residence at the moment

- and they’re back on the road!

- not thirty minutes later they hit a bird and have to pull over again because soda’s crying so hard he can’t drive

- they were playing music on the radio when that happened. the radio is off when dally pulls back onto the highway

- “it had a family.” “yeah, well.” “it had a name.” “alr i promise you it did not.”

- i haven’t thought about it yet but they pass at least one billboard that convinces them to stop and take a look at like the worlds largest rubber band ball or smth dumb like that

- dally hits a jersey slide so they don’t miss their exit and nearly kills a family of four in the process

- getting to see the new york skyline for the first time as they cross the bridge and it would be one of those emotional moments for dally who never thought he’d willingly go back. something about making new memories in the place where bad ones happened to take back your right to love that place again

- at the end soda surprises him with tickets to a yankee game

a lot of this works in my head because i’m imagining it like a sitcom lmfao who knows if i can translate it onto the page without rage quitting

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

As Long As No One Knows, Then Nobody Can Care

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

2.6k words

Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, kissing, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, fluff & flirting

You floated up to your bedroom late that night. And the next morning when you came down for breakfast. And while you walked next to your dad through the parking lot.

It had been a perfect evening. After a bit of making out with Roy, he wrapped his arm around you and let you lean on his shoulder for the rest of the movie, unabashedly glancing at you during all the romantic moments that were nothing compared to the look in his eye. After the movie, he walked you to your car, kissing you against the car door and promising to see you at training the next day.

And see you he did. When you followed your dad into the coaches’ office, Roy caught your eye from the changing room, where he stood holding his kit. He offered you that fucking smirk, raising a cool eyebrow at you before slipping his shirt on.

Fuck, he was going to be the death of you.

You spent the morning organizing some paperwork for your dad while the men were on the pitch, pretending that you weren’t thinking about Roy Kent and the way he’d kissed you. Once you finished, you joined your dad on the sidelines, wondering it was obvious that you were struggling more than usual to keep your eyes off of Roy. You smiled as you watched him run up and down the pitch, feeling your heart skip a beat every time you heard his booming voice.

“You alright?” Your dad’s voice interrupted your drooling. “You’ve been actin’ all dreamy all day.”

“Yeah,” you stammered out, quickly averting your eyes to literally any other player on the pitch. “Just fine, Dad.”

That seemed enough for him. For now, at least.

Once training ended for the day, you made your way to the boot room with a question from your dad for the kitman. Finding no kitman and only shoes, you took a moment to lean against a cool wall and close your eyes, trying not to dwell too hard on the image you’d just gotten of Roy wrapped in a towel after a shower. It was always a sight that left you flustered, but now that you knew what kissing the man felt like, the scene was something close to torture.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

Roy’s voice had your eyes snapping open. “Nothing,” you lied, both relieved and disappointed to see him fully dressed now. “Heading home, then?”

He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was nearby. “Got that Nike thing,” he reminded you. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, clearly thinking, before opening his mouth again. “Don’t suppose you’d want to come.”

That Nike thing. His Nike photoshoot, for advertisements that would probably follow you all over on billboards and in magazines. But yeah, sure, “that Nike thing”.

“Really?” You couldn’t hide the surprise in your suddenly squeaky voice. You’d hoped Roy would ask you out again, you were desperate for this to be more than just one perfect makeout session during a Nora Ephron movie, but this wasn’t what you expected.

His face was clearly amused as he nodded. “Sure,” he said softly. “Need someone there who’ll tell me if I look fucking stupid. What d’you say?”

What you wanted to say was that he’d never look stupid. What you wanted to say was that you’d go anywhere, do anything, as long as he was there too. But thankfully, you had some semblance of self-control that allowed you to answer, “Sounds fun, Kent.”

It was arranged in quick whispers. You’d meet Roy at his flat, and he’d drive you both to the studio. Afterwards he’d treat you to dinner as a thank you for joining him. Both of you were fighting smiles by the time you’d finished making your plans for the strangest second date you’d ever heard of.

“Don’t feel like you have to dress up for these fashion people,” Roy added before he turned to leave. “Wear what you like.”

A part of you initially thought this was his roundabout way of instructing you to dress up, to not embarrass him in front of the chic photographers and stylists that would no doubt be there. But when you saw the gentleness in his eyes, you realized it was something different. He wanted to make sure you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or out of place in his world; he wanted you to feel like you belonged there. And damn, if you didn’t want to belong in his world.

After the two of you said goodbye with the tiniest kiss in the world, Roy slipped out of the boot room, taking your gaze with him. A Nike photoshoot with Roy Kent. You were going to a fucking Nike photoshoot with Roy fucking Kent. The thought had you wanting to spin in circles and squeal like a child. Instead, you simply met your dad at the car and half-listened to his chattering all the way home.

Once you were in the privacy of your room, you scoured your closet for the right outfit. You settled on a short, simple dress, one that you usually saved for nights out with friends or dates. After a touch of makeup, you listened carefully at your door for your parents. While jeans could slip by them easily, something like this was a bit more conspicuous.

“You’re all dressed up. Special plans?”

Oh, hell. Why couldn’t your dad catch you last night, when you were in jeans? Why did he have to catch you tonight, with your tiny dress and your hair all done?

“Just going out with the girls,” you lied, lied, lied. “Grab some dinner, maybe hit a club.” You nodded, trying to act nonchalant, like you weren’t sneaking out to see one of his players.

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second. “Alright, love.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, careful not to muss your hair. “Have fun. Make good choices.”

The words your dad had sent you off with since you were a teenager rambled in your head as you drove to Roy’s. He would not like this choice. Lying to your parents, seeing Roy Kent outside of football, letting him kiss you and, if he wanted to, even more than that.

But when Roy greeted you with an impressed “Fuuuuuuuck” and a dizzying kiss, you found that you really liked this choice. A hell of a lot.

Over the years, you’d been to tons of team picture days. You’d seen your dad take photos with fans. You had waved at photographers on game days. You weren’t new to the fame that came with professional football, not by a longshot.

But you’d never dated a professional athlete and gone to a photoshoot with him.

Roy sat still in the makeup chair, eyes on your reflection in the mirror as the makeup artist worked on his already perfect face. You relished the way his gaze roamed your figure, the way he was clearly trying not to smile and make the makeup artist’s job harder. When she pulled out the mascara, Roy narrowed his eyes.

“Do I want to wear fucking mascara?” he called to you playfully.

“You do,” you teased with a wink. “Very hot.”

Roy nodded to the makeup artist. “You heard the woman. Mascara time.”

Watching Roy do his photoshoot was nothing short of entertaining. Lights flashed blindingly as Roy took different poses, looking gorgeous as ever in black Nike trackpants. A young woman kept scurrying up to you, asking if you needed coffee or anything, nodding curtly every time you assured her you were fine. The scene in front of you was enough of a treat. The photographer tried to get the midfielder to smile over and over again, but all Roy would give was a scowl; luckily, Roy Kent looked damn good with a scowl on his face.

“Come on, Roy,” the photographer urged as Roy held a football between his hands and quirked an eyebrow. “One smile.” He glanced over his shoulder at you, perched politely in a chair some assistant had brought you. “For your girl,” he tried.

The corner of Roy’s mouth tugged upward for a fraction of a second before he narrowed his eyes playfully at you. “Do you want to see me fucking smile?” he teased.

Pretending that your face wasn’t on fire at being called Roy’s girl, you shrugged. “Dunno, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile. Might be ugly as hell.”

When Roy threw his head back in a surprised laugh, the chuckling photographer started clicking away, capturing the rarest sight of all: Roy Kent’s real smile. Fuck, some part of you hoped they’d use one of those pictures for the ad campaign. But a selfish part of you wished they wouldn’t, so that you could keep his smile all for yourself, locked up in your heart and memories, away from any and all prying eyes.

It was late by the time the photographer shook Roy’s hand and wished you both a good night. Roy took your hand in his with ease, as though he did all the time, and led you out of the studio and back to his car. He paused, hand hovering over your door’s handle, before glancing at you.

“D’you still want to grab some dinner?”

His voice was sharp and gruff, almost as if he was expecting a no, but his eyes were asking you to say yes. It was a pattern you were already beginning to recognize: when he wanted something, when he hoped for something, Roy hardened himself, anticipating rejection and disappointment, the two things you didn’t think you’d ever be able to give him.

“Of course,” you assured him with a small smile. “I really worked up an appetite, sitting there and watching you pose.”

He chuckled and let his shoulders loosen a bit. “Right. Better feed you before you have your dad make me run laps all fucking day.” He took your hand in his. “C’mon.”

With the late hour, the streets weren’t too full, and with Roy keeping his head dipped, no one noticed the Chelsea superstar wandering down the road holding the hand of his manager’s daughter. Still, your heart was pounding. All it would take was one person to recognize either one of you, to snap a photo of Roy and his mystery woman, and all hell would break loose. But feeling Roy squeeze your hand as you turned a corner made you feel like it might be worth it. He might be worth it.

“Anything sound good?” he asked, nodding towards the rows of pubs and restaurants.

Your eyes flickered from spot to spot, wondering how full these places were and how easily Roy would be recognized. Finally, your eyes landed on an unassuming little hot dog cart across the street. Its dull neon sign and tired-looking vendor looked like the perfect opportunity to avoid unwanted attention. With a squeeze to Roy’s hand, you nodded towards it.

He raised his eyebrows at you. “A fucking hot dog?” His mouth widened into a smile. “You’ve spent too much time eating stadium food, you know that?”

“I’d like to not walk into a crowded restaurant with Chelsea’s superstar,” you mumbled as Roy guided you across the street.

“Good point,” he chuckled. He gave a quick nod to the cart vendor. “Whatever she gets, just make it two.”

You quickly gave your order, never letting go of Roy’s hand as he stuffed a few bills into the man’s hand, mumbling something about keeping the change. Hot dogs in your free hands, the two of you wandered down the road a bit until you came across a park. Roy nodded to a nearby bench, secluded and tucked into a dark corner. A tree offered ample covering, letting in only twinkles of starlight and a couple of rays of moonlight. The two of you sat, close enough that your thighs were touching, and began munching on your simple dinner.

“How’s your hot dog?” Roy asked, his mouth half full of food.

Some part of you liked how comfortable he seemed next to you; you wondered if he was like this with all his dates. You sure as hell hoped not. “Good,” you answered after swallowing a particularly large bite. “Although, I’ve gotta say, this might be the weirdest second date I’ve ever been on, Kent.”

He quirked a thick eyebrow at you. “Date? Who said anything about a date?”

The teasing glint in his eye saved you from any sense of humiliation. “Oh, fuck me,” you laughed, throwing your head back.

Roy’s smirk grew as he shouldered you playfully. “Oi, not on the second date, princess.”

“Prick,” you mumbled, leaning close and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Eat your fucking hot dog, Kent.”

For once, Roy did as he was told, although his cocky grin remained. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he opened his mouth again. “How’s school?”

“It’s school,” you answered simply. “I go to classes, I see my friends, I do my writing. Boring and normal. Not exactly exciting stuff to someone who plays in the Premier League.”

He shook his head. “When your whole life is this one fucking thing,” he explained slowly, “then normal is pretty fucking interesting.” His soft eyes found yours. “Especially when it’s your normal.”

“My normal is reading fucking books and professors telling me why my writing sucks and having debates with twenty-year-olds who turn their noses up at my opinions in class, only to approach me at a pub that weekend,” you scoffed. “Your normal is playing football in front of sold-out crowds and dating models and doing Nike photoshoots.” You nudged his foot with yours. “You looked good, by the way,” you added. “In your photoshoot.”

Roy took your empty hot dog wrapper and balled it up along with his own. “It’s kind of weird, doing that shit,” he admitted. “But at least the photographer was pretty cool.” He studied your face carefully. “Sorry if he made you uncomfortable,” he added, his voice quickening. “With that whole ‘your girl’ thing.” He cleared his throat.

“It’s fine,” you assured him, your cheeks suddenly hot. “Just the risk I take hanging out with you, I guess.” Another kick to his foot, to assure him that the atmosphere between you was still light and playful.

When you looked at him, his face was hard, but not cold. Thoughtful was perhaps the best way to describe it. “It is a risk,” he said slowly. “Us seeing each other.” As he spoke, he reached out and took your hand, intertwining your fingers together. “But if I’m being fucking honest, it’s a risk I’m glad to be taking with you.”

Oh, hell. Your mouth went completely dry as Roy’s words hit your ears and your heart. In the time you’d known him at the club- and now in private- you never thought of Roy Kent as the romantic type. He had dates, not girlfriends, and when he did have girlfriends, the stunning women tended not to stick around for very long. And while he wasn’t vulgar in the changing room, he wasn’t a prude either. He’d roll his eyes and mumble something about his latest fling and joke about how whoever was questioning him would kill to be in Roy’s place. And you’d sit in the office wishing you could be in some model’s place with Roy. Roy Kent was a player, and it didn’t seem like he wanted the game to end anytime soon.

Yet there he was, his words soft and gentle, his wide eyes asking if you were okay with what he just said. Something that implied that this was a little more than a few stolen kisses and a pair of hot dogs in the park.

“Worth the risk,” you murmured quietly, so quiet he almost didn’t hear you.

But he did hear you. And your words had a small smile appearing on that beautiful face. A smile so perfect you couldn’t resist leaning forward and kissing it.

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