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

[whaliiwatching]

one in a million admirers…

based on ofc this prompt

[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

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter eight:

➴ warnings: none!!

➴ word count: 3.6k

➴ author’s note: don’t you guys love when people kiss and make up?

sophiamontenegro

liked by taylorzakharperez, zendaya, billboard and 2,692,102 others.

sophiamontenegro thanks for having me, new york 🎅🏻

View all 20,672 comments

mtv JAW IS ON THE FLOOR

trevorzegras you should’ve come to anaheim

sophiamontenegro @.trevorzegras and u should fuck off

ilovhockey77 @sophiamontenegro @.trevorzegras I wanna know the beef between them so bad someone put me in soph’s close friends list

saraunyn @ilovhockey77 im pretty sure its just Trevor who doesn’t know how to take a hint…

arianagrande i love you

morgan.grace you’re so fucking hot Sophia the hell

lovssoph PROUD TO SAY THAT I WAS IN THAT CROWD

— ♡

DECEMBER always brought more work than you’d like to have but for the first time since you started working as a singer, you were grateful for it.

You had so many appearances, so many fans to see, so many concerts to do. You were grateful singing was your favorite thing to do because time passed and you didn’t even notice it.

But, now some of the fuss calmed down and you were able to spend time doing things that weren’t related to your career, like;

“Sophia, come on, you’re gonna be late!” Grace shouted from the living room and you laughed, pouring the butter flavored popcorn into a bowl. “Sophia!”

“Jesus, Grace, calm down,” you shouted back, looking for napkins. “It’s not like we have to be there or whatever.”

Today the Devils were playing against the Blackhawks and Grace asked you if you both could watch it at your house.

“We don’t have to if you think it will make you sad, but i really wanted to watch Nico tonight.” Grace smiled, not even trying to hide how she was head over heels for him.

“It’s okay, Grace, I swear. I want to see Nico too,” you smiled, trying to hide the fact that you’d secretly been watching all of their games, desperate to catch a glimpse of Jack’s blue eyes. “We can do a girls night.”

“But you’re losing all the good shit,” she whined. “The Blackhawks players are fine, too. That Bedard kid is a cute, little honeybun.”

You chuckled, walking away from the kitchen and sitting on the couch beside her, putting the bowl on the table.

“He has a girlfriend, y’know. He dates his teammate’s sister, Ellie I think.”

“Oh, I think I saw a picture of them together at a party last month,” she tapped her chin with her index finger. “They do look cute together.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, watching as the commentator introduced the players. “Who do you think is going to win?”

“Girl, I don’t like to tell anyone my predictions because what if I jinx it?” She stared at you, like you were crazy just for asking.

You rolled your eyes. “Ever since you and Nico started fucking you became awfully surpersticious.”

“Sophia Montenegro!” She raised her arms, kicking you with her feet. “You can’t talk to me like that! I’m your sister.”

“Which gives me permission to say that you and Nico are fucking. Who cares?” You kicked her back, starting a kicking fight.

You both just stopped when you were both out of breath and the game was starting. The first period was going surprisingly smooth for the Blackhawks, which made you— secretly— worry.

Jack has probably seen better days. You would always say that he’s the number one player in the team because for you he absolutely is, but even someone who didn’t know anything about Hockey could tell that he was lacking.

You bit your lips and squeezed your thighs because, even after everything, Jack looked so fucking good. Especially with the black Devils uniform. He looked handsome and you knew that he was all of that, and he’d always be.

Sometimes you’d think about how good the sex between the two of you was, and you’d wonder if you’d find anything like that ever again.

At the end of the first period, the scoreboard read 2-1, the Blackhawks winning. You and Grace were in the middle of a discussion about how her ex looked like Shaggy from Scooby Doo when the commentator started showing the celebrities who showed up to the game.

“Who even cares about the celebrities who showed up?” You threw popcorn at the screen. “Or even better, since when do they show celebrities? Aren’t they supposed to be interviewing the players or whatever?”

“You know a lot for someone who doesn’t watch the games,” Grace teased you, and you just pushed a handful of popcorn inside your mouth. “And sorry to say this, sweetie, but if people didn’t care about celebrities, you and I wouldn’t have a job.”

You rolled your eyes, paying attention to the TV again.

“So, tell me, Nat, I’ve heard that we have some pretty famous people here today.” The announcer talked to the reporter who was standing in some kind of expensive room Sophia didn’t know the name of.

The black woman just smiled, nodding her head and bringing the microphone closer to her face.

“That’s right, Shaan. Some well known people blessed us with their presence here today…”

“I hope it's Ariana Grande or some shit like that.” Grace muttered beside you.

“Oh remind me to call her later, I need to visit her next time I’m in LA,” you replied mindlessly, still watching the sports channel.

“…And among all of these people, we have the one and only, Harris Dickinson and his girlfriend, Chloe McGill!”

“What?!” You heard Grace yelling beside you, which confirmed that what you were seeing wasn’t just your head trying to play games with you.

There he stood, in all his glory, with the cocky smirk that once gave you butterflies and was now making you sick, with his arm wrapped around a girl’s waist.

“Am I tripping or that girl looks awfully like you?”

You looked at the scene in front of you, where the reporter was now interviewing Harris with an enthusiastic smile. The girl beside him, Chloe you think, indeed looked a lot like you.

“She… she looks just like how I did when I started dating him,” you concluded, feeling sick all over again. “Even the fucking bangs, Grace.”

She put her hand on your left arm, caressing you. “I’m so sorry, bubba. Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No, ‘course not,” you reassured her, trying to smile. “I’m fine, I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Grace whispered. “Okay.”

“…I’m just happy to be here, y’know?” Harris stated, still showing his pearly white teeth. “I’m a huge Devils fan, just like my girl here.”

“That’s the biggest lie he’s ever said,” you laughed, feeling sorry for how pathetic he is. “He deadass couldn’t even stand the thought of Hockey, or any sport for that matter. What the hell is he even saying?”

“Well, apparently that little girlfriend of his, is the daughter of one of the Devils’ coaches,” Grace promptly replied, and you looked at her, ready to ask how the hell she knew that, but seeing the phone in her hand. “They’re like, rich as fuck.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Harris’ type to me.” You mumbled, praying that the second period would come faster.

And maybe God did hear your prayers because not even five minutes later, the Devils and the Blackhawks were back on the ice. The game was nerve wracking, your nails and eardrums long gone from how much you’d bitten them and how loud Grace screamed during the game.

Jack was smooth on ice, the best you’ve seen him playing all season, even before you and him fought. It was satisfying to watch him doing what he loved and you were happy that he was finally getting back on track.

Two hours later, the game ended; the Devils won. Grace cheered and jumped around while you laughed at her, happy to see her happy. Even if you didn’t understand much of hockey and even if you didn’t care about it, you were also thrilled, because you knew Jack would be happy.

You kinda hated your mind for always thinking about him but you couldn’t help it. Not when you saw how handsome he looked and not when you still loved him. A lot.

The same reporter from before, Nat, continued to talk, interviewing some of the players from the team. Grace whined about being hungry and you rolled your eyes, getting up to cook for her.

“What do you want?” You asked, opening your cabinets. “I can make pasta for us.”

“Ugh, yes, please,” she fake-moaned and you laughed. “If I’m going to fuck Nico tonight, Imma need all the carbs in the world,”

“You’re disgusting. I hope you know that,” you answered back, putting the water to boil.

“For Nico Hischier? Hell yes I am!”

You cut the onions and garlic, before putting olive oil on a separate pan and adding them. Grace continued to yap about the game, pointing out all the best players and who she liked best, while you just nodded and cooked.

“Ooh, they’re having a fancy celebrating party tonight!” She yelled from the living room, even if you could still see her and the TV because you had an open kitchen, grabbing your attention. “Is it a gala? I hope it is, Hockey players look so fucking good in suits.”

“And they say I’m the horny one…” you mumbled, putting the tomato sauce inside the pan.

“Can this woman give us some information we actually want to hear? I don’t care if they have points or not, I just want to see them in suits!”

“She’s just doing her job, Grace, stop being a whore.”

Moving around the kitchen, you finished Grace’s dinner, and grabbed a plate for her, not after filling up a glass of cold water and grating some cheese.

You went back to the living room, placing everything in front of her, while she hugged you from behind, giving you neck kisses.

“I am going to wife you up, baby!”

You giggled. “Shut up and eat, weirdo,”

She just let you go and sat on the floor, swallowing the pasta like it was her last meal.

You both watched as they showed the party, all of the players there, people laughing and smiling for pictures. Jack wasn’t interacting with the reporters, and you thought it was weird, even if you knew he low-key hated them.

“…so, yeah, I’m definitely happy we won tonight but we still have to work hard—” Mercer suddenly stopped himself mid-sentence, leaving the woman— Nat— beside him confused. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed. “Is that Jack fighting someone? That’s sick! Film that, baldy!” He asked the cameraman.

You and Grace stopped talking and stared at each other. The camera suddenly changed angles and showed a body you knew way too well on top of another body you, unfortunately, also knew well.

“Jesus, Jack is punching Harris in the face!” Grace announced, like you weren’t watching it yourself.

The angles weren’t good because you’d bet money the cameraman wasn’t expecting to record a fight tonight, but it was still pretty damn clear that Jack was punching Harris’ face repeatedly, while his girlfriend screamed and cried and the other players tried to get him off Harris’ face.

Harris fought back, but even though he tried, he wasn’t used to fighting. Unlike Jack, who threw every punch with force and precision.

“It seems like our number eighty-six, Jack Hughes, is having a fist fight with the actor Harris Dickinson!”

“Stop trying to state the obvious, bitch, film the fucking fight!” Grace yelled.

“Grace, calm down.” you whispered, watching as the camera focused on Jack again, this time him being dragged by Nico and Nathan while he shouted at them to let him go.

This was bad. Like, bad, truly bad. They focused on Harris’ face for just a second, and it was enough— his face was all bloody and he was probably going to have a black eye for a week, with how swollen his eye was. Jack had most likely broken his nose and shit wasn’t looking good.

“Oh my God, why did he do this!” You got up from the couch, pacing around the room. “Fuck, does he know what this is going to do to him? Harris is dating the Coach’s daughter, what the hell!”

Grace was also too stunned to speak, something that did not happen often. You could tell she was just as distressed as you.

“Harris Dickinson is going to the hospital with his girlfriend Chloe and his father-in-law, Coach Ryan McGill.”

“What the fuck, this is bad,” you put your hands on your head, trying to figure out what to do. “I need to do something.”

Grace sighed, loudly. “I should be the brain in our friendship but… yeah. I mean, I know you guys are out of contact right now but this… he definitely did this for you…”

“Yeah, Grace, make me feel worse, go ahead.” You hissed.

“I’m not trying to make you feel worse, baby, you know why he did that!” She raised her arms. “You should talk to him. This obviously isn’t working for any of you.”

“Grace—”

“No, you will hear me now!” She talked on top of you, also getting up. “I’ve watched you put on a fake smile and pretend you’re fine and I didn’t say anything because I knew you had to figure it out yourself, but I can’t do this anymore. You’re drowning yourself in work, you spend half of your time at your studio and the other half at John’s studio. You don’t go out, you don’t live.”

“Grace.” You tried again.

“And usually I’d say something like: ‘get over that fucking asshole’ or ‘he isn’t worth it’!” She walked back and forth. “But the worst part is that Nico told me Jack is just like you!”

That made you stop. “What?”

“He’s not at parties, he’s not hanging out with the team, he’s not goofing around. All he does is sleep, eat and go to practice. And, fuck, Nico doesn’t know what to do because Jack never acted like this before.”

“Grace, what…” you breathed, almost yanking your hoodie with how much force you were holding it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s so fucking obvious you both love each other yet you won’t do anything!” She lamented, staring at your eyes. “I can’t watch you fall apart like this. You have to tell him that you want to be with him.”

“Grace, I can’t— I can’t do that.” You stuttered, trying your hardest not to cry.

“Sophia,” she whispered, grabbing your hands. “That man loves you. He just punched your ex-boyfriend on national television, with everyone watching. I stand with what I said back at that dreadful Halloween party, I’ve seen how he looks at you. And he loves you. Jack Hughes loves you, Sophia.”

You let her words sink in, nodding once. Grace was bossy, delusional and a bit insane too but she was right. You needed to do something.

“Okay,” you agreed, holding her against your body. “What do I do?”

“Shit, I didn’t think you’d agree with what I was saying… I don’t know?”

“You’re such a dumbass sometimes,” you laughed and she pinched your butt. “I think… I think I’m going to his house.”

“That’s a bald ass move and so right. Want me to go with you?”

“No, I’m good. I don’t even know if he’ll hear me out but I’ll try?” You stepped back, grabbing your car keys and purse.

“Call me if anything goes wrong,” she blinked, going back to the couch. “If you don’t, I’ll call you and risk interrupting your fuck.”

“Like I’d ever pick up,” you joked, leaving the house.

Jack lived thirty minutes away from you, and alongside with that, it was a Friday night in Newark— of course the streets were filled with cars. It took you an hour to get there but even so, Jack’s car wasn’t parked in front of his garage like it used to.

You turned your car off, and waited. You could wait outside but with how cold it was, it was safer for you to wait inside. You couldn’t risk getting sick.

Seconds turned into minutes and when the one hour mark came, you sighed.

“Maybe he isn’t coming home tonight,” you said to no one, tired of waiting. You knew you could call him, but you weren't entirely sure he’d pick up. “Maybe it’s just traffic.”

You decided to wait a little bit more, half an hour. If Jack wasn’t there by the end of it, you’d just come back tomorrow. Fortunately, shortly after that, Jack’s car was parked outside of his house.

You watched as he got out of it, opened the back door and grabbed his duffel bag. Taking a deep breath, you left your car and closed the door silently.

Walking to his porch with fast steps, you called him. “Jack!”

He stopped immediately, turning around to face you. He had a bandage on his eyebrow and one on his cheek. Your heart tugged on your chest.

“Soph?” He asked, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him.

You stepped closer, smiling awkwardly.

“Hi,” you said, softly, putting your hands inside your pockets. “Can we… hum… talk?”

He stared at you for a second, before nodding and turning around again, opening his door and letting you inside the house first. You thanked him and stepped inside, taking in the sight you missed so much, his home.

You both stayed quiet for a while; he put his things away and you stood there, weirdly. You didn’t know how to start the conversation, so you just stared at him. He looked tired, dark circles adorning his face, hair messy and face a bit swollen. Even if he looked hurt, he looked ten thousand times better than Harris, who was probably in the emergency room at the local hospital.

“Jack,” you started, noticing how his body went stiff and he stopped moving. “Why did you do it?”

You didn’t give him a chance to reply, stepping closer and putting your hand on his face, feeling the hotness of it, and realizing you missed him more than you knew.

“Jesus, Jack, do you even realize what you did?” You whispered, moving your thumb up and down. “He’s dating your coach’s daughter. He’s a powerful man, baby.” The pet name slipped out of your tongue, but you didn’t want to take it back.

“Fuck,” he breathed, grabbing your wrist and kissing it. “Say it again, Soph.”

Maybe someone else would need him to clarify it better, explain further. But not you. Not when the love you felt for him ran deep inside your soul.

“Baby,” you whispered again, watching as he closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Sophia, fuck, what did you do to me?” His voice sounded so tender, you could feel your body wanting nothing more than to melt inside his arms. “I can’t— Fuck.”

“Jack, you need to understand that what you did, baby, it could cost you a lot—”

“I know. Soph, I know that. And I still would break his asshole’s nose again and again.”

“Why did you do it?”

He stepped away, and you immediately wanted him to come back. “Why did I do it? Isn’t it obvious?” He laughed, humorlessly. “Sophia, I am in love with you. I love you.”

You felt your cheeks getting wet, and only then did you realize you were crying.

“I didn’t understand it sooner because, hell, I have never loved a woman before that wasn’t my mom, and even then, it’s not even close to what I feel towards you,” he ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t think being in a relationship was for me, I didn’t even want it. But now I look at you and—” he looked at you, blue eyes brighter than you’d ever seen. “I look at you and I realize you’re all I want.”

You were fully crying now, the tears running down your face like models on a runway. Your hands were shaking, and you wanted to scream at him.

“You’re it for me, baby,” he stepped closer, gently putting his hands on your waist, letting you rest your head on his chest. “I know that you’re upset, and I know this isn’t easy for you. We all got bags full of shit that we don’t want, but I will unpack them for you, baby. Just… just let me.”

“Jack,” you sniffled, trying to stop crying. “I need you to know that I love you, too. But,” you pressed your lips together, organising your thoughts. “You need to know that sometimes it’s going to be hard for me. I don’t trust so easily anymore and I’m sorry for it but that’s just who I am.”

You could swear you could feel his smile, while he held you tighter. “It’s okay, Soph. When I tell you that I want you, I don’t mean only the good parts. I want you whole. I want the bad, the good and the in-between,”

“What if,” you hold him impossibly closer. “I don’t want you to get tired of me.”

“Tired of you?” He chuckled. “I want to marry you.”

You stepped away from his like he was on fire. Frowning, you raised your finger.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Hughes. Besides that, you’re literally twenty-two.”

“I don’t mind you being my old sugar mommy,” he shrugged, smiling.

“Call me old again, Jack Hughes, and I promise you will never hear from me again.” You smiled too, and for the first time in probably two months, it felt real.

“Yes, ma’am,” he stopped smiling, stepping closer to you again. Holding your wrists to his mouth, he kissed the right first before moving onto the next. After he was done, he placed them on his neck, grabbing your waist.

You stood on your toes, trying to stay face to face with him.

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

You smiled. “I guess you can.”

“You guess?” He bickered back, plastering his white teeth for you. “Can I kiss you, baby?” He whispered, kissing your cheeks. Then your nose, then your forehead. Always gentle and steady. “Soph, sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, you just glued your lips together, moaning because you had missed this so much. His lips felt like the sweetest thing in the world and when he touched your tongue with his, you were sure you had turned into butter and was now melting.

Maybe your forever wasn’t so distant at all.

[augustinewrites]

in the years bakugou katsuki’s friends have known him, they have learned that despite his loud and brash personality, he was a notoriously private person. he seldom posted on social media, rarely did interviews or showed up on talk shows. the media still ate him up, his evasiveness about his life outside of hero work only leaving people wondering just what he was hiding.

“are you sure this is the place, denks?”

he kept his private life hidden so well under wraps that he didn’t even tell his bestest friends in the whole wide world that he’d moved apartments. they’d found out by accident.

kaminari checks his phone again. “yeah! this place is on shinsou’s patrol route. i don’t think bakugou knows, but shin and i have seen him walk in here three times this week!”

simply entering a building on its own wouldn’t be enough to rouse suspicion. the first time, shinsou had reported that he’d seen bakugou wearing his uniform trailing behind a woman in a suit - someone from legal or pr, he assumed - and kaminari had thought it was for a witness interview and brushed it off.

the second time had been a little more unusual. it’d been bakugou on his own, dressed casually with his cap tipped low and his backpack slung over his shoulder. kaminari hadn’t had much time to think about that one because he’d been helping an old lady cross the street, so he’d just assumed he was visiting a friend or something.

the third time had been downright suspicious, because he’d seen bakugou dressed casually and carrying two bags of groceries in his arms. this occurrence had been downright suspicious, and had prompted kaminari to make a groupchat to share his findings.

kirishima glances around the busy street, humming. though it’s one of the wealthier districts in musutafu, the street is quiet, sleepy, dotted with small shops and street vendors. the closest agency is three blocks away, and it isn’t even bakugou’s. “it’s kinda far from our agency, don’t you think? it’s way off our patrol area, and his job is basically his life. why would he live here?”

“that’s what we’re here to find out,” kaminari shrugs, pocketing his phone. there’s a doorman stationed outside the building, sending the pair a polite grin as he holds the door open. “swanky place though, don’t you think? maybe i should get myself a nike deal too! then i can finally get out of shin’s place.”

___

katsuki’s just gotten out of the shower, stirring idly at the pot on the stove when he hears a knock at his front door. he flicks the heat down a notch before heading for the door to peek through the peephole.

that’s when pro-hero dynamight, number two on the hero billboards, and a role model for children everywhere, leans back and mutters, “fuck.”

another knock, a little more insistent this time. “hey, bakugou? you home? denks, if this isn’t his place this is gonna be real awkward.”

“fuck. fuck,” he glances over his shoulder at the bedroom, then back at the door. this wasn’t how everyone was supposed to find out. especially not ei and denki of all people, whose mouths were bigger than their combined iq.

he lets the analytic hero side of his brain assesses the situation first. the obvious answer is that he could just…not open the door. it’s a good, quick solution in the short term, but will still come back to bite him in the ass later. when it comes to his personal life, no wall (or door, in this case) could withstand the nosiness of his friends.

his other option was to, well, open the door. just a crack, of course. feeding the vultures a half-truth would placate them for the time being, so he could retreat and come back with a better plan.

“hey! bakugou!” kaminari cheers when he begrudgingly opens the door. “so you do live here!”

“last time i checked, yeah,” he huffs, staying planted firmly in the doorway. he treats this like he would any interview, shutting down any unwanted questions with blunt, half-answers. it’s usually enough to deter most reporters, but his friends have learned to shrug off his hostility simply because they lack any self-preservation skills.

“can we come in?” kirishima asks hopefully. “we wanna see your new place!”

“no.”

he rolls his eyes at their identical pouts. “why not?”

“because i can’t trust you both near things that can stain.” he gestures to the hall. “now can you please get out of here so i don’t burn dinner?”

“ugh, fine,” kaminari relents with a louder than necessary groan, which katsuki immediately finds suspicious, especially when the blond places a hand on his shoulder. “i gotta admit, this is a nice place, man, you did good. i’m proud of you.”

katsuki feels it a second too late– the light tingling that often precedes–

he curses through clenched teeth as kaminari shocks him with a voltage just shy of a taser, body folding as it fights the current. his so-called friends take the opportunity to push past him and into his living room.

“awe, look!” that electric dipshit coos, picking up a picture frame. “It’s a picture of all of us at graduation!”

“and look at this one! this one is of him and–” kirishima’s expression shifts into genuine surprise. “this is the head of our legal department…and you’re kissing her! on the mouth!”

of course it’s then that the bedroom door opens, three heads turning to see you walking out, toweling off your wet hair. “katsuki?”

the pro, still crumpled in the doorway, looks away as his friends do a double take, then fix him with wide eyed stares.

“katsuki!” you gasp, rushing to his side. “oh my god, are you okay?”

“‘m fine,” he coughs, letting you help him to his feet. “aside from the two ass clowns in our living room.”

“hey!”

“oh, ignore him,” you simper, pressing yourself into his side. “he loves you guys, but right now…i think he’d prefer to love you from afar. at least until our housewarming party!”

“housewarming party?!”

[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

[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

[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?

[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.

Taglist:@gee72sstuff@book-of-roses@kissykissymouth@emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92@dearvoidgoodnight@misshall14@issieruby@royal-sunflower@kissmekent@veryprairieberry @itswhateveripromise @slaymybreathaway @darkmagazineblaze @larascorneroftheworld @infinetlyforgotten @caught-the-feels @rae4725 @sisinever @cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782

[cvpitvno]

Fwb!Vernon seeing you kiss another guy in kisscam and railing you in public washroom?

It's just so fun to see him getting riled up, even if it's a rare thing. He's always so sweet and doesn't get mad at all unless you really reach the limits.

Vernon manhandling you 😩👌🏻

I mean, look at his fancams dude he's so intimidating in them🥴

i’ll do you one better… fwb!hockeyplayer!vernon

during the tv timeout when his team is gathered ok the bench, he himself a sweaty and panting mess worked up from the physicality and trash talk from the team.

when the kiss cam is announced, he focuses on the board, desperate to calm down from rising anger in his chest.

but when you, the person he turns to after every bad game to duck his frustrations out… the person he can’t help but text om roadies both in a sexual and non sexual way… seated next to a guy and being promoted to kiss?

man, to say vernon is angry is an understatement.

you’re his just as much as he’s yours, minus the whole formality of labels and everything. vernon is the only one allowed to kiss you, to touch you, to fuck you.

yet despite his knowledge of this, he still watches with a baited breath to see if you’d go against him like that.

his eyes watch as your own widen, head shaking and mouthing ‘not together, i’m taken,’ he can’t help but feel pride in his chest - anger king forgotten and now replaced with content.

sure, after the game he’d shoot you a text similar to the ones he sent all those times before :

vern <3 : hey, come down to the locker room. security will let you past.

booty call (lover) : omw

he was gonna pamper you in every sense of the word and worship you the way only couples would, but he’d still fuck you till your legs are shaking, breathing is somewhere beyond laboured, and so hard that your eyes rolled back into your head.

he loved you, and he liked to show it, but it would take him a bit to work up the courage to say it - someday you would be able to say you were taken without the lie.

someday the kisscam people wouldn’t dare put the partner or their hometowns star player up on the billboard with a good for nothing man next to them.

someday he would be yours just as much as you were his.

but today… today vernon was gonna fuck you till you were screaming loud enough for the opposing team to hear. he was gonna have to pressed against the shower wall, pressed chest first, and have his way with you.

someday was saved for love, but today was saved for fucking you the way you deserved to be fucked.

[chlerc]

position rose ; charles leclerc

— summary; in which Charles shows up to his apartment with a bouquet of flowers in hand for you, and he realise that it is not just some sort of benign gesture. Will he finally see that it should have been you all along?

pairing — charles leclerc x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 2301.

content — friends to lovers, f. reader is a football player wow! Mason Mount cameo because I’m a loyal Chelsea fan and he did show up at Monaco Grand Prix 2022, praying he’s there this year. P.s she loves slapping his ass, what would Charles do with the bouquet of roses for you? Celebrate a pole position together.

NAVIGATION + author’s note: in honour of Charles home race weekend nearing its date and Barça champions of Laliga title! also does anyone know how to indent paragraphs

IF CHARLES HAD KNOWN better, the last thing he’d do was to invite her to the Formula 1 Grand Prix De Monaco 2023. Not when she’s right there sitting on his bed, in her jersey with his name and number printed to the back of her football club; it was the custom shirt she had gotten him when she first signed with the club. The athletic shorts clinging onto her thighs didn’t aid him either.

“You’re actually insane if you think I’m gonna let you wear that to any of my races this week. Shit, blue isn’t even our colour, Tesorino.” He complains, mumbling the last sentence out as if he was totally against the idea of her in those tight shorts. “You literally just flew me in from my hotel in Madrid after a match, didn’t say shit about bringing me here to watch the race, Charles. I thought I would have stayed at home to watch because of our schedule clash.”

He kept silent and winced on his part, she wasn’t completely off about that and the fact that he didn’t inform her of it. To be fair, she had known that he had a race this weekend and he would have definitely flown her in. Charles made it a promise to be at every match of hers, if he could and this was one of the matches he couldn’t attend. Not seeing her would kill him either way, it’s a win-win situation.

“Eh but you did win though, a goal and two assists. I’m doing you a favour by letting you recharge by watching me!” He threw her a Ferrari team shirt and black shorts her way as much as he loved seeing her in her own colours, this certainly wasn’t a time for it. “Anyways, why do you have another printed replica of the jersey you got me? Scared you’ll miss me that much huh?”

Rolling her eyes at him as she walked past him, his shirt and shorts in a hand, the other slapping him on his ass. “You need to stop doing that whenever you walk past me! What if they got it on camera? The next thing you’d see is FC Barcelona Femeni Player, Y/n caught slapping Formula One Driver, Charles Leclerc on the ass.” He eyed her as she made her way towards the bathroom.

Shit, he loves her curves of softness. With the muscle of a footballer and those damn thighs, she was the most astonishing girl he had ever met. She had safe eyes, perhaps that's the best way to say it. She had a beauty that made those billboard-princesses look as paper thin as they are, she was something robust and real. That was his girl, it was her before she was his and it was her all of her days.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking of his best-friend in that light, but growing up with her and watching her mature into what she is today didn’t help. “You’d love that though wouldn’t you? On the front cover newspaper in the sports section and top hashtag on twitter’s trending, that’d certainly boost your Spotify stats and Instagram followers!” She calls from the bathroom, and he pictures her sly smirk on her face.

Yeah fuck, if he wouldn’t love being seen with her although their friendship was already widely known. A shriek escapes her when she runs out of the bathroom, phone in her hand and looking all star struck. “No one told me he would be here!” She shoves her phone up in his face, the Instagram story of Mason Mount by the McLaren garage.

“Mi Tesoro, you literally played against Chelsea’s Women's team in the Champions League recently. Why are you acting all fangirl over him? You didn’t even seem excited to see me by my garage, in my race suit if I must add.” His jaw twitches, watching her bounce around him. “It’s different, I see you almost everyday but I only see him on the pitch when he plays.” Charles hums in response, if that’s what keeps her going then he’s not going to stop it.

“He’s stopping by the Ferrari garage later, I invited him over just because I’m a Chelsea fan too, don’t think I’m doing this just for you.” He watches her jaw drop open and curve up, looking at him as if he hung the stars up for her. But fuck he barely even supported Chelsea, he had never watched a premier league match live even when he was in Silverstone for the race. Well, if that’s what it takes for her to look at him, he wouldn’t mind inviting any Footballers she loves to any other race.

Charles is starting to question if everything he does was for the sake of her smile. The type of smile that reaches his bones, the type of smile that extends to her eyes as the sides crinkles and her dimples on display. “Quit looking at me like that, we have to go if you wanna see your favourite boy on the track and I have a qualifying session to get to.”

“No, you’re my favourite boy for doing this for me.” And there’s a slap to his ass before he knew it, a strangled groan evades his lips as he slips on the Ray-Ban shades. “Will not be doing this for you anymore if you keep slapping my ass, that habit needs to go.” Charles watches as she runs past him, loving the way she donned his team shirt and pants so perfectly that it made him feel something, just a little.

There’s a bounce in her steps when she walks out of the lobby of his apartment, the sun set in the sky as fresh colours brushed upon an artist’s canvas, as if those rays were destined to create a great work of art. The rays dawned upon her, her tan skin illuminated in the hues and Charles watched as she turned around with his cap covering her face from the sunlight.

There was a softness to her appearance, a kind of warmth married to a shyness. “You seem awfully excited about the qualifying session and I wonder why.” He flicks his cap, sauntering past her as they enter the garage, where her eyes had already landed on the English footballer for Chelsea. “You have fun with him, I need to get ready.” Charles bends to leave a peck on her cheek, something he had always done before qualifying or the featured race, he thinks she’s good luck for him.

His fingers hesitated on clicking the Whatsapp icon on his phone and to open the chat with his younger brother. Once in a lifetime thing, it’s now or never and he fears he might never have the balls to do this again.

charles: get me a bouquet of roses on the way here would you?

arthur: lol for y/n? finally getting some pussy aren’t you? 😁

charles: shut up mate, just get them :)

arthur: 👍 but if you fuck it up with her, you’ll lose me as well.

arthur: dude i don’t even know how you got a barça player as your best-friend. 

charles: wtf picking my best-friend over your own brother?

charles: she was my best-friend before she became a barça player…

arthur: our best-friend and good luck for quali.

charles: yeah thanks, will do my best.

He shuts his phone off, walking out of his room in his race suit, the custom helmet for his home race in his hand. Greeted by the sight of his best-friend ogling at the footballer beside her with her headset on as he made a beeline towards her. “Hey, nice to finally meet you. Big fan, hoping the team does better next season though.” He pulls Mason in for a hug, a pat on the back before pulling away. “You head back to our home right after qualifying okay? I have a debrief and stuff, it's gonna take a long while.”

“Mhm yeah sure, good luck. Cheering for you always.” She mumbles into the crook of his neck, ruffling his hair before pushing him towards his car. He staggered from the impact of the push and threw a glare her way but never could he get angry at her. Not now or ever.

Sitting in the cockpit with his foot on the throttle, pushing flat out on the last straight before crossing the line with his last attempt of Q3, only two things on his mind. Pole position and roses. Fuck he didn’t even know what he was thinking with the roses. And before he knew it, the static noise from the radio broke his train of thoughts. “And P1, good job Charles.”

His heart was at ease clinching the pole position for his home race, hoping it’d go as smoothly as the featured race tomorrow. One thing off his mind now, the other thing weighed slightly heavier on his shoulders. He’s turning 26 this year, surely asking a girl out would be no challenge for him.

Charles pranced his way towards Max and Carlos, it was a Ferrari front row lockout for the weekend’s qualifying session. Sure he’d love to stick around and celebrate with the team, but not when his prize was right at home waiting for him. “Great work today Carlos, hopefully it goes as well tomorrow.” He clasps the Spaniard by the hand, pulling him for a hug as they make their way towards the Ferrari garage.

“Your flowers, remember don’t fuck it up.” Arthur shoves the bouquet of roses into the right hand of Charles, his left holding on the Pirelli Pole Position tyre. “Charles, I see you finally making a move on the Barça player eh? Good luck mate.” He’s taking the chance to tease Charles, but whatever it takes for Y/n. “Thanks, you’re a Real Madrid fan though, Carlos. Not sure if luck is needed from a Madrid fan…”

He’s in his room, swiftly changing out of his race suit into the team’s attire and attending the quick debrief with the team before leaving the garage. The strides he takes are huge, the roses in his clammy hands, the rapid beating of his heart blaring at his ears. Hell he wasn’t even this nervous during races or qualifying sessions.

Charles is met with the button of the elevator up to his apartment where his best-friend would be sitting on the couch, awaiting him to have dinner together. The elevator was a plain silver box with plain silver buttons and plain silver doors, something he took every day yet it has never felt as confined and as cramped as it was now. Not when his anxiety was eating him alive, everything he had waited for was right in front of him when the elevator doors opened.

The door unlocks with a simple reading of his fingerprint and he sees his favourite girl jumping off the couch and running towards him. Her eyes glued onto the bouquet of roses in his hands, her eyebrows cocking up at the sight. “Which fangirl got this for you?” She nudged him by the elbow, taking a seat on the couch like she was earlier. “Eh, it’s for you.” He hands her the bouquet, craning his neck away from her gaze. “For me? What’s the occasion, or is this some roses your fan girl got you and you give it to me as a donation.”

“No I got it for you, technically I asked Arthur to get it for me so I could give it to you. Anyways, I wouldn’t give you what my fans gave me, are you crazy?” He’s rambling and it’s so absolutely adorable, it’s the fact that he doesn’t know he’s only rambling when he’s nervous but she picked up on his mannerism anyways. “Mhm, thanks Charles. Congrats on the pole today, you were flying out there.”

She rises to her feet, leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek, her arms wrapped around his waist. His heart beating so rapidly and loudly, he’s afraid she might be able to hear it with her head resting against his chest in their stance. This wasn’t just a benign gesture like he thought it’d be, it’s literally a whole love confession.

“I don’t know how to put this but I think I’m in love with you. Okay, maybe not I think but more like I’ve been in love with you for a while now. I don’t think you ever realised how I’ve never been in a relationship, like hell I could have gotten anyone I wanted but it was you I was waiting for, for a long time now if you don’t see it. If you’re willing to give me a chance, I would love to make you the happiest girl alive. So, what do you say? Can I please be your boyfriend, mi tesoro?”

His fingers running through her caramel strands, calms him down a little at her stillness and quietness. “Say something baby, please don’t keep me in suspense.” He’s pleading, and never has he pleaded for anything or anyone. “I don’t know what took you so long to realise the same thing, Charles.”

“Took me Mason Mount and seeing you in my team’s shirt over and over again to realise that.” There’s a huge grin on his face, the deep happiness in the well of his dimples, those dimples that showed her the way home.

“I’d like to thank my brother for the so-so motivational ted talk of choosing you over me if I messed this confession up. I love you, you’re the best-friend I could ever ask for and I promise to be the best boyfriend ever.”

[dilly-oh]

Crush

“Kakashi, for fuck’s sake, it’s your turn,” Asuma growled around his cigarette, holding out the report as they stood in the hallway outside the mission office. “It was your turn the last ten turns. You ain’t squirrelin’ outta this shit again.”

“I need to go water my plants,” Kakashi said, slithering away from the others as he tried to make a quick getaway. Genma stepped to the side, blocking his path.

“Come on, man. That cute Chunin with the ponytail is at the desk. You know, the one you have a crush on?”

Kakashi froze in the act of levering the nearby window open, snapping around to give Genma a look of pure outrage.

“Excuse me?”

“You. Chunin. Crush,” Genma repeated slowly.

“What am I, fucking five?” Kakashi narrowed his visible eye. “I’m a grown-ass man who kills people for a living. I’m feared throughout all the nations as Sharingan Kakashi. I’m a fucking legend. I don’t get crushes.” He paused. “And even if I did have one on him, how would you even know?” Genma shrugged.

“Cuz you’re always walking into walls and shit whenever you’re near him.”

“I do NOT-” Kakashi began, then promptly kicked over the wastebin next to the door, scattering trash all over the floor. Literally everyone in the mission room snapped around and stared at him accusingly.

Even the Chunin. Who was, admittedly, very cute.

“You’d better clean that up,” he said, his tone that of a disapproving teacher about to mete out punishment to an unruly student.

Okay he wasn’t that cute.

…Godammit yes he was.

Kakashi hurriedly shoved all the trash back into the bin, slapped Asuma in the face with the report, and bolted out the window.

---

It kept happening.

Kakashi was just minding his own business, buying groceries at the local market (because even trained killers needed to eat) when he saw the Chunin fondling some melons, and suddenly the pyramid of eggplants he’d been perusing had collapsed, a wave of them tumbling down and rolling all over the floor in a vegetable tsunami. The store manager started shouting and Kakashi decided he’d just order takeout as he slipped out the back exit.

At the laundromat, he caught sight of the Chunin folding his tighty-whiteys and somehow mismeasured the appropriate amount of laundry soap, resulting in the washing machine foaming itself to death like a rabid dog. Kakashi had to put it down with a Chidori and then escape through a window amidst the ensuing chaos.

He knocked down an entire shelf at the library when he saw the other man bending over to reach a low book. He quickly teleported out of there before the man could turn around and see him standing ankle-deep in porn.

Late one night, he was leaping along the rooftops and spotted the Chunin at an outdoor restaurant, seated at a table with friends, head thrown back in raucous laughter. Kakashi sailed through the air, eyes glued to the sight, so he didn’t see the billboard until it was too late.

It couldn’t go on like this.

---

“Okay you might have a point,” Kakashi said. Genma gave a snort.

“Of course I do.”

“I don’t even know his name-”

“Iruka.”

“Iruka? Oh GOD, even his name is fucking adorable.” Kakashi covered his face with his hands and took a deep, calming breath. “…Who else knows?”

“Everyone, Kakashi,” Genma said flatly. “Everyone knows. Even the Hokage knows.”

“Alright then.” Kakashi straightened with a determined air. “It seems pretty obvious what I need to do.” Genma stared at him for a long moment, chewing on his senbon.

“…Actually talk to the man and have a heartful confession about your true feelings?”

“Fuck no. Avoid him for the rest of my life.”

“Oh thank God I thought you were gonna say ‘kill him’.”

“Maybe I should start avoiding you, too.” Kakashi narrowed his eyes. “My plan will work, just you wait. I’m not called a genius for nothing.”

---

“Kakashi, meet your new mission partner,” the Sandaime said, standing in the doorway of his office and patting Iruka proudly on the shoulder.

Kakashi nearly spit out his tea. Through his mask.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he choked out. This mission debriefing had gone to shit, and he’d been sitting there all of five seconds. The Sandaime frowned at him, wrinkles deepening with displeasure.

“I will not have you looking down on young Iruka here simply because he’s a Chunin,” he said firmly, taking a seat at his desk. “What he lacks in experience he more than makes up with sheer determination. He will be a great asset for this two-man mission and I hand-picked him for exactly that reason.”

“Understood,” Kakashi said, switching to mission mode in the vain attempt it would help distract from the overwhelming presence of the other man. It didn’t. Iruka took a seat right next to him, their thighs so close Kakashi could almost feel his body heat. He pushed his chair away a few inches for some breathing room and knocked over a potted plant.

“You two will be travelling deep into the Forest of Death,” the Hokage explained. Kakashi hid a wince. The Forest of Death has worsened over the years, rotting from the inside like a fruit gone bad. It had devolved into a festering jungle filled with mutated beasts that would messily devour their bodies and environmental hazards that would devour their chakra. But as long as they were careful-

Iruka crossed his legs and Kakashi bumped a pile of papers off the Hokage’s desk.

Yeah, they were in trouble.

“Your mission consists of two parts,” the Hokage went on. “The first is to reach these coordinates.” He handed the pair a scrap of paper with a set of numbers scribbled on it. “The second part is in this.” He held out a small, innocuous scroll. “It contains special instructions, only to be read once you’ve reached the site. Not before. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Kakashi said with grim resignation as he accepted the scroll and tucked it safely away. He just needed to get through this mission as fast as humanly possible, then he could go back to smothering his emotions under a metaphorical pillow. It would just be a few hours. He could DO this.

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” Iruka said, giving him a dazzling smile.

Kakashi spilled his cup of tea all over his lap.

…It was going to be a long mission.

---

The trek through the Forest of Death lived up to its name. It was a long, arduous journey through the dark, twisted woods, fraught with danger at every turn. Kakashi was on edge, painfully aware that, with one misstep, nearly everything in the jungle, plant and animal included, was capable of killing him at a moment’s notice.

That is, if Iruka didn’t kill him first.

Kakashi fell on an anthill and suffered a dozen venomous stings when the man decided to adjust his ponytail.

He walked into a tree and was nearly strangled by sentient vines when Iruka wiped his mouth after taking a drink from his canteen.

Kakashi tripped onto a patch of brambles which started actively draining his blood when Iruka raised an arm to wipe his brow and his shirt rode up.

And that was only in the first hour.

Iruka himself was an ideal companion. He followed Kakashi’s lead without question, trusting his judgement and experience with nothing but polite obedience, even attempting to start up a conversation once or twice. After Kakashi bit his tongue trying to reply, he took to ignoring the other man, who quickly caught on and fell into a sullen silence.

I can’t take much more of this, Kakashi thought to himself darkly as he slogged through the mud hours later. Every inch of his body ached, multiple wounds stinging and burning. Or maybe that was just the leeches. Konoha’s about to have a Missing-Nin if we don’t get there soon-

“I think…I think we’ve arrived,” Iruka cut in, checking his compass and studying his map. “Yes, these should be the correct coordinates. We’re here.”

Thank fuck. The nightmare was nearly over. Kakashi slipped the scroll out of his pocket and unrolled it. The orders contained within were rather short and simple. A single sentence. Four words, actually.

Ask him out already.

Kakashi stared at the message for a full ten seconds, then promptly set it alight with a Katon.

"What the fuck!” Iruka cried.

“Meant for my eyes only.” Kakashi stamped on the ashes, grinding them into the dirt. “I was to burn it after reading to leave no evidence.”

“Oh, well, I guess that means it’s my turn to read this one,” Iruka said, pulling out a second scroll from his pack. Kakashi hurriedly snatched it away and ripped it open, scanning the contents.

Pussy.

Kakashi burned that one, too.

“Seriously, what the fuck!” Iruka cried louder.

“Mission’s done, we’re heading home,” Kakashi stated, then turned and took a step.

And promptly sank up to his thigh in the suddenly soupy ground.

…Oh fuck.

“Don’t move!” Iruka shouted in warning. “It’s quicksand.”

“No shit,” Kakashi snapped out, then quickly shut up as he sank to his waist. He went perfectly still, arms out to keep himself afloat in case he sank further. “Calm down, I’m fine.” He closed his eyes, concentrating as he released a flare of chakra to push him free of the mire. The quicksand quickly gobbled up. “…Okay, maybe panic a little, I’m not fine.” The quicksand seemed to have developed a taste, and was now steadily devouring his chakra with a voracious appetite. “Okay, panic a lot. It’s draining my chakra.”

“Damn, hold on.” Iruka started rifling through his pack and pulled out a coil of rope. “Here, we’ll use this to get you out- actually wait, I think you’re close enough for me to reach out and grab you. Quick, give me your hand-”

Iruka stuck out his hand. Kakashi’s stomach did a little flip.

“Fuck no, I’m not touching you. Throw the rope.”

“What is your problem with me?” Iruka demanded. “I hardly know you and you already hate me.”

“I do not hate you,” Kakashi ground out through gritted teeth. “Throw the damn rope.”

“Not until you tell me what your deal is.”

“There is no deal.”

“Bullshit! You’ve been cold and distant this entire time. You’ve barely spoken a single word to me in hours. The fuck did I DO?”

“Nothing. Throw. The ROPE.”

“Tell me why you’re being such an asshole to me!”

“Because I fucking LIKE you, okay?!” Kakashi finally exploded. The background noise of the forest fell silent at the sudden outburst. Iruka just stared at him.

“…What?”

Kakashi tried to stem the flow of words, but they all came spewing out in a rush like verbal diarrhea.

“I keep walking into walls and knocking over shit and it’s all because of YOU and your dumb FACE and perky ponytail and that fucking dorky way you tuck in your pants-”

“What’s wrong with the way I tuck in my pants-”

“-because I have a stupid fucking CRUSH on you!!”

“God, what are you, five?!” Iruka shouted back. “Why can’t you just say you wanna fuck me like an adult?”

Kakashi gaped at him, flabbergasted.

“ExCUSE me?”

“Admit it. You want me.” Iruka crossed his arms, looking him up and down. “I don’t really get why, though. I’m always yelling at you in the mission room. You got some sort of humiliation kink?”

“Okay, you know what, you can just leave me here-”

“Don’t act like you’re not a pervert,” Iruka snorted. “I’ve seen the kind of shit you read.”

“That’s not the same!! It’s a book, not real life!” Kakashi argued. “Just because I read it doesn’t mean- I would never- look, my dad taught me to be a gentleman, alright?!”

Iruka studied him for a long moment, then tossed him the rope. Kakashi sighed in relief and grabbed it.

“…So we’re not gonna screw after I pull you out?” Iruka asked teasingly. “Not even get a bit handsy? Make out a little?”

“Of course not!” Kakashi squeaked out. “What kind of guy do you think I am?!”

Iruka broke into a huge grin.

“Oh my God, you’re adorable.”

Kakashi let go of the rope.

“Hey!” Iruka hurriedly reeled in the rope, then tossed it out again. It slapped Kakashi square between the eyes, but he didn’t even flinch. “Kakashi. Please take the rope. I don’t wanna have to file the paperwork. There’s, like, ten different forms.” He still didn’t move. “Please.” He just glared. “…Take the rope or I start taking my clothes off.”

Kakashi seized the rope in a death grip and didn’t let go until he was back on solid ground, chakra-depleted but alive. His legs were a bit shaky as he stood, and he was covered in thick, viscous mud from feet to armpits, not to mention the squelching noises every time he took a step.

“Okay, honestly, I’m a little insulted you grabbed on so fast,” Iruka said. “Are you sure you have a crush on me?”

“Will you stop talking about-” Kakashi went to pick up his canteen and accidently punted it into the quicksand. “MotherFUCK-”

“Yeah, okay, I see it now.”

“Look,” Kakashi said wearily, almost dragging a hand down his face before remembering it was coated in mud, “I just want to forget this whole mission ever happened, alright?” Iruka gave him a mischievous smirk.

“You sure you don’t wanna just bone?”

“Bone? BONNNNE?!” Kakashi repeated incredulously. “In a monster-infested jungle?”

“But I brought protection,” Iruka said, then held up a kunai. Kakashi refused to laugh, even though it was funny.

“Forget it,” he snapped. “A mosquito will probably fly up my dick and make it rot off.”

“Don’t worry, I’d suck it out.”

“Okay we are LEAVING-”

“Wanna hold hands while we walk?”

“Correction, I am LEAVING-”

"I’m serious, actually,” Iruka said, holding out his hand invitingly. Kakashi froze, staring at the proffered appendage like it was a bear-trap ready to spring. His stomach did another flip. “Come on, please? I don’t bite.”

Kakashi knew Iruka was just teasing, poking at the embarrassed Jounin with a stick to get a laugh.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

He reached out and took Iruka’s hand, their fingers twining together like old friends.

“…Unless you ask me nicely.”

Kakashi tried to yank his hand away but Iruka refused to let go, so he just reeled him in like a prize catch. Their chests bumped together, and he caught a whiff of the other man, a deep, woodsy scent that sent a shiver down his spine. He froze again as Iruka looked up at him, studying him with those big brown eyes that were not nearly as innocent as they looked.

“You know,” Iruka purred, leaning in even closer, “if you asked me right now…I might say yes.”

Kakashi gulped, throat suddenly dry. He wavered for a moment, uncertainty twisting his guts, then gathered his courage and barged forward.

“Umino Iruka,” he said tremulously, “would…you like…to go out with me sometime?”

Iruka gave him a blank stare.

“…Yeah that’s totally what I meant.”

“Oh my GOD-” Kakshi started to walk away.

“I’m kidding.” Iruka pulled him back, laughing. “Honestly, I’ve had worse first dates.” He looked at Kakashi and cocked his head appraisingly, a gentle smile chasing away the devilish one. “You’re very sweet. It’s refreshing, really. I’m so used to dudes just jumping straight to sex. It’s nice to meet a guy who actually wants to get to know me.”

Kakashi’s cheeks burned beneath his mask. Because it was true. He did want to get to know Iruka, and now he had the prime opportunity. Everything had already been laid bare, all the embarrassing bits hung out to dry. It’s not like it could get any worse.

“Now, let’s get you outta those muddy clothes.”

On second thought, maybe it could.

-End-

Written for @kakairu-rocks KakaIru Valentine's Week 2024, Day 3 Prompts: Crushes and Idiots in Love.

[eris-snow]

𝐀 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐏𝐚𝐲

Tags: shoto x gn!reader, angst

Having your memories given up was his choice. But just because he chose this path doesn’t mean that it was the path he wanted

Every time Shoto see you, it’s like he’s falling off the deep end again. Watching you from afar is always the most painful thing. Watching you forget everything he was and everything you had with him was worse than any wound on the battlefield.

And Shoto had fought many battles.

It would be fascinating, feeling this deep, sick ache fester if it didn’t hurt this fucking much.

He still watches you, even if you don’t know it.

He watches how your smile forms on your face, how your features lift as you laugh and how you look so much lighter than when you knew him.

Did he really pull you down that much? Will there come again when you face someone with that very same smile you tailored especially for him?

He doesn’t like thinking about those questions. It makes him spiral. He doesn’t like spiralling.

He’s sits on the same roof, admiring you from the same balcony window he used to come visit you through, with a trail of blood leaking from open wounds. He can’t remember ever using the front door once.

Sometimes, he’s almost come close to reintroducing himself to you again. He wants to. He really wants to. You were the first person he’s ever loved, and Shoto’s certain that you’d be the last.

After all, how do you love after killing it with your own bare hands?

Having your memories given up was his choice. It was to keep you safe after a particularly close shave with a villain. Your heart had stopped beating at one point, and you had taken a considerable blow to the head.

When you woke up, all your memories about him were erased.

It was for the best, he remembered thinking because as much as he loved you, as much as it hurt, it hurt even more knowing that you flatlined because of him.

That’s why when there was when the opportunity presented itself, Shoto flew out of your life the second you said “Who are you?”

Call him weak, call him a coward, but he’d rather you safe than you dead because of his greed.

But he can’t find a way to pull away completely from you. He’s tried overworking himself, consuming himself in his hero work, only to be reminded that his break spot is a billboard facing your school.

He’s tried dating others, but it’s never the same.

He wants to be a hero. He wanted it so much, and he’s finally got it when he hit the Top 3 in the Hero charts that year.

But there’s always a price to pay for what you want the most, because as he stares out at the people he’s sworn to protect some selfish part of him still wishes that you would remember just what you really meant to him, even after all this while.

[cbrownjc]

You know, I’m one of those people who’ve read the books. And I honestly wasn’t disturbed by EP5 in the least. 

Well, okay. I am iffy about the Claudia assault situation. I don’t think it was gratuitous (mostly because they didn’t show it), and it does set up a few things: The Fang Gang, who show up in Queen of the Damned. As well as the general idea that other vampires are “not so nice” and that Louis and Claudia have been living in a bubble of protection with Lestat. (Which their eventual journey to Europe will fully show.) But I think there could have been a way to get that point across to Claudia (or at least why she decided to head home to get Louis) without that specific thing happening to her. 

As to the Louis and Lestat fight, no, it didn’t happen in the book. But, I’m sorry, am I supposed to think Lestat wouldn’t be capable of it, if pushed in this way? We are talking about the same Lestat who raped a female waitress in Tale of the Body Thief, right? The Lestat who, in that same book, forcibly turned David Talbot into a vampire against his will in a parallel to that rape of the waitress? “Oh, but he didn’t mean to rape that waitress and felt sorry about it and even tried to help her later!” Yeah, whatever. He still raped her. “Oh, but David forgave Lestat and even admitted that he really wanted the Dark Gift anyway!” Yeah, whatever, he still assaulted David, with David fighting back and saying “no” almost the whole time.

Now yes, in The Vampire Lestat, Lestat says he never showed Louis or Claudia the true extent of his powers. (And he didn’t have the cloud gift in particular at that time anyway). So that whenever he and Louis did fight in any way in Interview with Lestat, we retroactively know Lestat was holding back. But any fights they got into never reached the extent they do in the tv show because Lestat never once was really confronted with the idea that Louis and Claudia were seriously going to leave him. Not like this. 

By the time that was clear, he’d already been dumped in a swamp. 

“But he would never hurt or lay a finger on Louis in that way!” So the gaslighting and emotional abuse/manipulation he did do to Louis during that time was better? Really? Both are still abuse. Hell, Daniel flat-out called it abuse back in EP3.  

Lestat is a fucked up brat prince bastard. Always has been. And in the show, he is basically a walking billboard for Generational Trauma at this point. 

Louis, for his own reasons/issues we’ve yet to learn, has never once said he loved Lestat back, either before or after the turning. And was going to leave Lestat to go with Claudia overseas to find other vampires who he will be vulnerable to and at the mercy of. (Because yes, Lestat is right to try and scare them away from going there to find other vampires for those out there who haven’t read the books. The real issue is he should have just been open and honest about why Europe is dangerous.) Lestat’s fears of abandonment compounded with all of that? Yeah, I get why he snapped.

But out of character to do it? Nope. Not under this circumstance. 

Also, people should remember we are not dealing with young, impetuous Lestat here, as he was in the first book. This time, he lived over 150 years before ever coming to America to live. Which is why he even has powers like the cloud gift in the first place, I’d wager. (My working theory is that he spent most of those years with Marius, but I digress.) He wouldn’t be the exact same as book-Lestat at this point in time just by the very nature of having lived over 150 years doing who-knows-what beforehand. 

I’m not sitting here trying to excuse Lestat’s actions btw. Just analyzing his character and where his POV is on all of this (and if it contradicts the books, which I don’t feel it does). And I suspect we will start to get his POV on all of this by the season's end.  

So yeah. Louis and Lestat aren’t healthy at this point in time. They never were in any iteration of this story. That fight didn’t change my POV on what could happen with them in the future, however. Just that they have a lot more to deal with, and that Lestat has way more issues in this version to work through.     

[calicomarie11]

Eddie breathes out as he takes in the sunset over LA. The view from the roof of the firehouse is spectacular tonight, the smog taking on a golden hew as the sun’s last rays hit it. Christopher had actually picked up when he called, and even though the conversation was stilted and awkward it was progress.

He’s hopeful that Chris will be ready to come home soon, if only to be able to go back to school with his friends and get out from under his grandparents’ thumbs. This has been the hardest summer of his life, and it’s thanks to Buck and Tommy that he is surviving it.

Speaking of, Eddie hears the bang of the door as it slams open fast enough to hit the wall and rebound. A few seconds later he looks over to see Buck standing beside him, his face thunderous. It’s an odd feeling, to be happy when his best friend is so obviously upset.

Eddie lets him stew, sure that Buck will speak when he’s ready. His friend is not known for keeping his thoughts to himself. He hopes he doesn’t take too long, he wants to share that Chris actually talked to him this time.

Buck lets out a heavy sigh and Eddie perks up, ready to be supportive. “Something on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer right away and Eddie starts to worry that this is something serious, life changing. He really hopes it’s not about Tommy. He’s never seen his friend so happy in a relationship before and Tommy is a lot easier to get along with then any of Buck’s exes.

Buck turns to him, his face severe. “Have you been watching Hotshots?”

Eddie frowns, confused by the question. “No, of course not. We made a pact.”

Buck lets out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank fuck. Apparently we’re the only people who kept to the pact.”

He’s still confused about what a TV show has to do with Buck’s bad mood. He had thought about watching the show, if only to be prepared to support Buck if Taylor the show screwed him over, but Buck has been so adamant about ignoring the show’s existence that he’d decided against it. His only knowledge of the show comes from the billboards and bus stop ads of beautiful people in heroic poses that are ubiquitous around the city.

“I thought we were ignoring the existence of that show. What’s brought this on?” Eddie asks.

“Traitors,” Buck grizzles. “Apparently everyone has been watching the show. Tommy, Lucy, the rest of the Harbor crew. And Hen, Chim, and Ravi all admitted to it and implicated Karen and Maddie too. I can’t get upset about Harbor, they didn’t know, but I can’t believe my family would betray me like that.”

Eddie’s a bit surprised himself. Buck had been very forceful about ignoring first the book and then the show. He’d only had the one breakdown, that Eddie is aware of, about how stupid he felt when Taylor turned their relationship into a media empire. At the time he had barely restrained himself from saying I told you so. He had never trusted her, but Buck was hurting and it wasn’t his place to make him feel worse. He’s glad Buck’s taste in men is better than his taste in women.

Back to now, “I’ve never watched it, I swear. What brought this on?”

Buck sighs, his hand drifting towards his forehead to rub at his temple. “Tommy didn’t know about the history I have with the show and I was telling him about Bobby’s new job and he got really excited and told me about everyone watching it. Then I had to tell him about Taylor and he told me about Randy.”

“Randy?” Eddie says, the confusion apparent in his voice.

Buck turns to Eddie, his face too conflicted for Eddie to accurately parse the emotions there. “Do you really want to know?”

And Eddie has to stop and think about it. Because, of course he wants to know what is bothering Buck, but at the same time, he’s dealing with so much emotional fallout from his actions in the spring that he’s not sure what impact one more bombshell might have. Will this be the thing that sends him teetering over the edge? But surely Buck would keep it locked down if he really thought this would send him into a spiral.

“Let it rip,” Eddie says, trying to sound confident.

Buck looks at him curiously, not entirely sure about that response. “Apparently, a large portion of the fanbase for Hotshots think that Sandy and Ricky should be together.”

“And Sandy and Ricky are…” Eddie trails off in confusion.

“You and me,” Buck says, his voice flat.

Eddie stares at Buck, his head tilted as he processes. “But I’m straight. How would that even work?”

“I know,” Buck almost shouts to the skyline.

“I mean, I’m really straight. I’ve thought about it and everything,” Eddie says.

“What?” Buck’s nose crinkles as he turns to look at Eddie. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I was telling Frank about you liking guys now,” Eddie starts before Buck interrupts him.

“You talk about me in therapy?”

“I talk about my life and relationships with other people in therapy and you are probably my most stable relationship ever,” Eddie says.

Buck’s face breaks out in a wide grin and he bumps his shoulder into Eddie’s. “Aww Buddy, I love you too.”

Eddie shoves him a bit, his face flushed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyways, Frank thought it was interesting that my best friend turns out to be…bi? Queer? Have you settled on a label?”

“Oh, bi, definitely. I thought about pan, but I like the bi flag better,” Buck says with a shrug.

“Right, bi, and he asked if I’d ever considered you as more than a best friend. And I told him no, because I hadn’t. But it stuck with me, so I did think about it because we do work so well together and Chris loves you and it would make things so much easier.”

Eddie focuses on Buck, who is shifting nervously next to him. “But, I’m sorry man, I’m just not into dudes. Like at all.”

Buck lets out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank fuck,” he laughs. “I was afraid for a second there I was going to have to let you down easy.”

Eddie glares at him, not appreciating how relieved Buck looks. “Hey, you could do worse.” Like Taylor fucking Kelly he thinks.

“Eddie, I love you like a brother, but you are one of the most emotionally constipated people I have ever met and I’m a needy motherfucker. It would never work. You’d shut down, I’d get insecure and start pestering you which would make you shut down farther and we’d both end up punching holes in the wall.”

“It sounds like you’ve thought about this,” Eddie says slowly.

“Yeah, Tommy asked me a similar question after he figured out the Randy thing. And my gut reaction was hysterical laughter. But I thought about it later and it was still a hell no. Sorry man.”

Eddie tries to glare at Buck, but the twitching at the corner of his mouth ruins the effect. “Well, I don’t want to date you either.”

Buck nudges him again. “I know dude. Don’t worry, a few more years of therapy and you’ll be as emotionally healthy as me and then we’ll find you your own Tommy. For now, you can be the token straight guy.”

“Token straight guy? What about Chim and Bobby?” Eddie says, confused.

Buck just grins and jogs back to the stairs. Eddie follows him. “What about Chim and Bobby, Buck?”

Read on AO3

[jawritter]

Something About Fate

Chapter 5

Summary:  Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Change, even good change, can be scary, and even a little hard…

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

Main Masterlist                  Series Masterlist

Y/N looked out of the window of the expensive looking Van that had picked Jensen and herself up from the airport as soon as they landed in LA with somewhat of a shocked awe at all the sights that slowly passed her by in the crawling, busy streets. 

Sure, Dallas had some pretty impressive buildings, but the people here were just—different. For one, there were so many of them. Which might be attributed to the fact that it was a great deal warmer here than it had been in Dallas, but Y/N doubted that. It was still very early in the day, and they were out in droves. She doubted that as the day drew on, or when night started to fall, things would get any quieter. 

Everything was so much brighter here too. Even the signs and the billboards that flashed on the side of buildings were brighter. It made the little big town of Dallas she’d come from seem so cold and outdated. 

Then it hit her. This was Jensen’s life and had been since he was a young boy. It was sooo different than the one she’d led, even if she hadn’t ended up living on the streets. Which made her wonder even more why the hell the man was doing what he was doing? Why he cared about just another blurry face on the street in the middle of what these people would probably consider nowhere and pulled her out of the life she was in with the intent to sit her back on her feet. It just made sense. 

“The place we’re staying at isn’t in town,” Jensen voiced suddenly from beside her. “And I will have a rental car waiting for us so that we can get around when and where we need to without too much assistance. I prefer the seclusion and privacy over all this noise. It won't take us long to get there after we get out of all this traffic.” 

She nodded as her eyes drifted back to the window just in time for Y/N to turn to face the window once again and see Jensen’s face just outside of her car window, plastered alongside his castmates for the series he’d recently done, The Boys.

That’s when it really, really struck her, the gravity of the difference in worlds the pair of them were from, and it set heavily, like a rock in the center of her gut. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing as she stared dumbly at his face on the billboard. 

There was a flood of emotions that settled over her like a wet blanket, fear being the primary one. In fact, when someone was to really think about it, there was a lot to fear here. Sure, they’d spent a few days in Dallas together, and sure, Jensen had promised her a lot in the time they’d spent together, and he’d already made good on a lot of those promises. He even gave her a key to his fucking car and his house! 

But his life was a very public one. He’d once been married, he’d had a family, he’d had a life she’d never even begin to understand. He had a thousand girls throwing themselves at him online constantly, and the selection of that pool had to be better than anything that he saw in her. There was the fear that he’d come to that conclusion and kick her out, just as fast as this had started, it had the potential to end. 

Then there was the fear of screwing up. There were a lot of eyes watching her now, because she was working for him. Surely the public would notice her eventually, and when they did, they were going to rip her apart about everything she did, right or wrong. That was utterly terrifying to even think about. 

“Hey,” Jensen said, grabbing her hand in his own, and pulling her attention back towards him. She was so lost in her worry, she’d barely realized that they’d made it out of the city, and there was a blur of greenery flying by their window. “You haven’t said a word since we left the airport. Are you feeling, okay?”

“I’m okay,” she assured him, she could see it on his face, he was worrying over her again, and that wasn’t the first time she’d noticed him doing it either. It made her feel horrible every time she saw him doing it, guilty for making him worry about her, when honestly, she should be on cloud nine right now! She was living every girl’s dream! “A little tired I guess I didn’t really sleep a whole lot on the flight here.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I booked us so early. Next flight we take will not be before the asscrack of dawn I promise,” he said, but didn’t let go of her hand as his pale green orbs searched her face, trying to read her. He did that a lot too.

“I’ll get used to it,” she attempted to downplay things a little to settle his nerves. “I’ve never really traveled anywhere myself outside of Dallas, I used to book things for other people, but never did it myself. There’s a big difference between booking a trip and actually traveling, I guess.”

“I moved here when I was just a teenager, literally right after high school, so I get it. Everything looks so out there and feels foreign, but after a few years of coming back and forth from different towns to different towns, it’s not as jarring anymore. This summer we’re gonna be spending some time in Vancouver. Honestly, out of all the places I’ve been, that one feels most like home to me. I spent a long time there.”

“I don’t have a passport,” she reminded him, but he just shrugged it off. 

“That’s fixable, as soon as we get back to Austin, I’ll make sure all of that’s taken care of. I'm more concerned about the fact that I’ve thrown a lot of life changes your way in a short amount of time and I want to make sure you’re okay with it.”

Y/N sighed a little in spite of herself. It was a lot. It was fast. Still, what was the alternative? Freezing to death on a sidewalk in Dallas? Nope, this was better, even if she did have whiplash and a lot of shit at stake. 

“It’s a lot”, she admitted, “I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t, but I’ll rebound, I promise—”

“Hey,” Jensen said, squeezing her hand and halting her to keep her from talking so fast that she was about to hyperventilate, which made her face burn hot with embarrassment. “It’s okay to be a little turned around and freaked out. I kinda ripped you away from everything you’ve ever known in less than 72 hours. Anyone would be a little off kilter after that for a while. I’m not mad about it, nor am I gonna be, but if you need to take five, or if it gets too much, you have to be honest with me… okay? I can’t don’t know how you’re feeling unless you tell me.”

Y/N swallowed the hug knot she had in her throat and nodded, just in time for the car to come to a stop in front of a private little house, far enough outside of town to be unbothered by prying eyes, but close enough to get a Door Dash delivery and an Uber if you need it.

Robotically, eyes still glued to the pristine white exterior with dark green shutters and a cute little front porch with a slightly weather porch swing and rose bushes lining the stone trail that led to the tiny red front door that created a very inviting, homie vibe, Y/N realized something. It had been three years since she’d stepped foot inside of a house, much less stayed in one. 

Pressure immediately started to build behind her eyes, and a hundred-pound weight set itself on her chest as her eyes shifted over every little perfect imperfection of the little cottage. This was heavy. She thought she’d never see something like this again, only in her dreams. 

Maybe it was a good thing that Jensen was taking her here first, because she was sure his home was massive in comparison to this one, and if this one was hitting her in the feels like this… she could only imagine what it was going to be like when she pulled up to her new ‘home’. 

“You coming, sweetheart?” Jensen questioned, his voice jarring her, and causing her to look in his direction. He was standing in the middle of the little path that led to the house, bags in his hands, her little bag of belongings on his shoulder, and a deeply concerned look on his face. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Y/N attempted to shake it off. But she could tell for all of her bravo acting, Jensen wasn’t convinced. Guess you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. That’s what actors did right? Bullshit you into believing they’re feeling what they’re feeling while they were in front of a camera to make it real? Right?

She knew she had some deep seeded trust issues, but apparently, she had more than she thought she had, ‘cause now she was wondering as she forced her feet to move, and began to follow him up the little trail of stone to the porch, whether she’d ever really be able to trust anyone again after all she’d been through, especially someone as good at acting as this man obviously was...

Forever:

@bubsonnobx​​​​

@britnwinchester​​​​​​​​​​​

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat​​​​​​​​​​

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996​​​​​​​​​​​  

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe​​​​​​​​​​​

@jensenslady79​​​​​​​​​​​

@spnwoman​​​​​​​​​​​

@stoneyggirl2​​​​​​​​​​​

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men​​​​​​​​​​​

@stixnstripesworld​​​​​​​​​​​

@fullwattpadmusictree​​​​​​​​​​​

@nancymcl​​​​​​​​​​​

@christycreature​​​​​​​​​​​

@whiskey-infused-dreams​​​​​​​​​​​

@supernatural79impala​​​​​​​​​​​

@deandreamernp​​​​​​​​​​​

@forgetthisbull​​​​​​​​​​​

@miraclesoflove​​​​​​​​​​​

@slamminmine​​​​​​​​​​​

@deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​​

@rvgrsbrns​​​​​​​​​​​

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@i-love-superhero-movies​​​​​​​​​​​

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@lemondropirwin​​​​​​​​​​​

@squirrelnotsam​​​​​​​​​​​

@hobby27​​​​​​​​​​​

@spnbaby-67​​​​​​​​​​​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​​​​​​​​​​​

@defenderrosetyler​​​​​​​​​​​

@thecreatiivecorner​​​​​​​​​​​  

@vicmc624​​​​​​​​​​​

@busy-bee-angel-misska​​​​​​​​​​​

@justanotherwinchester​​​​​​​​​​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​​​​​​​​​​

@idksupernatural​​​​​​​​​​​

@lyarr24​​​​​​​​​​​

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@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​​​​​​​​​​​

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@itmejado

@thoughts-and-funnies​​​​​​​​​​​

@teresa-67​​​​​​​​​​​

@hearteyes-j2​​​​​​​​​​​

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

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SAF tag list

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[fryingpan1234567]

Batboys ships feat. the morning after New Years (happy 2023 everyone!!)

~ ”Ughhh…” Dick Grayson took half the covers with him when he fell out of the bed, sore and completely hungover.

Because of this, Wally was forced to actually move and look over the edge at him.

“What the shit was that for?” he grumped. His condition wasn’t much better. He yanked the covers back, but Dick didn’t move.

He groaned. “M’ skull has a heartbeat…” he mumbled into the carpet.

Wally huffed in solidarity. “That speedster alcohol works. Remind me to thank and then punch Cisco later.”

“What, you’re leaving the house today?” Dick joked, finally managing to crawl back up into bed. Thankfully, the windows were closed, and they could probably go back to sleep. He faceplanted into Wally’s chest. “Shtay.”

“Yeah, yeah.” There was a serene pause. Not even the dog was up. “If you puke on me, I’m breaking up with you.”

“I would nev- maybe we should go to the bathroom.”

“GET OFF!”

~ Lian knew her dads were going to be hungover the morning after. She did not count on taking care of and reverse-parenting the shit out of them, though. It was sort of validating.

“Li, I’m buying you the fucking Wonka factory after this,” Roy groaned, half hanging out of the bed.

“You’re my favorite child,” Jason agreed, (barely) catching the water bottle she tossed him.

Lian grinned, leaning against the bed. “Don’t repay me in chocolate, repay me in solo patrol time!”

“Don’t push your luck,” Roy grumbled, taking the bottle Jay passed over.

“I’ll make you Nutella sandwiches for lunch.”

“I hate that you know my weakness.”

~

When Tim woke up, the house was quiet.

Normally he’s not the first one up anyways. The Manor always had the sound of training, yelling, busy hallways. Unless it was early enough, anyways.

Kon’s arm was draped over his chest, and he was still snoring peacefully.

“Kon,” Tim whispered, poking at his bicep. “Conner, we’re up first.”

Conner mumbled something like, “You’re up first. I’m asleep.”

Tim sighed, tracing patterns on his boyfriend’s arm. More sleep didn’t sound too bad, although late nights weren’t an excuse. Late nights were every night.

Still. It was New Years last night. He figured no one would be up until at least nine, which was the latest anyone usually slept in the Manor.

“Turn your brain off,” Kon hummed. “I can feel you thinking. It’s distracting.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Tim teased, lolling his head over to check the actual time.

Oh. Oh, no.

Tim sat bolt upright in bed, startling Kon off of him.

“What-?” he started to say in a panic, but Tim cut him off.

“FUCK,” he yelped. “It’s one in the afternoon!”

~

Despite Drake’s shouting, Damian had managed to sleep in- and that never happened.

He lay staring at the door, a blush spreading across his face as memories from the night before replayed.

“Dami!” Admittedly, the Kryptonian had only found him because he’d paused to watch the countdown in Gotham’s city square. He couldn’t say he was mad, although he was maybe a bit ashamed someone had caught him lacking.

“Kent,” Damian greeted. He hated the butterflies that swarmed his stomach. He hoped it didn’t show in his voice.

“Can I sit?” Jon said obliviously. Damian gestured to the ledge beside him, where they could see the big billboard. Thirty seconds.

Dami glanced at him after a few moments of silence. “Why are you in Gotham?”

Jon shrugged. “Conner’s here. And maybe I wanted to see you.”

Twenty seconds. “Me?”

“Yeah… unless- if you don’t-“

“Jon.” Damian was startled into using his first name. He hesitantly laid a gloved hand on Jon’s. “I like to see you too, if it comforts you.”

Jon smiled. “Well, then- the countdown’s starting!”

10.

9.

8.

Jon hopped up to his feet, pulling Dami with him by the hand. When they were standing, he didn’t let go.

7.

6.

Damian tried to ignore the short distance between them. He could feel the heat radiating from him.

5.

4.

When Jon leaned in, he may or may not have given Dami a heart attack.

3.

2.

1.

He kissed him, right as the first fireworks went off and the crowd screamed.

Movement in the bed next to him scared him so bad he fell out of it.

There was a knife in Damian’s hand before he recognized the person there.

Jon was looking at him, pretty eyes half-lidded, with a sleepy smile. Dami tried not to melt.

“Tryna kill me already, Sunshine?” he mumbled, still buried in the covers. “After one date, too. Am I that bad at kissing?”

“I-“ Dami dropped the knife, mostly in shock. “No. No, of course not. To both questions.”

Jon hummed. “Well maybe you should stop trying to stab me and do it again.”

He did. For a long time. Father didn’t need to know why he never left his room that day.

~ can you tell who my favorite is lol