#he's never going to forgive himself for this

[dakusan]

K e e p y o u r e y e o n t h e b a l l — n o , n o t m e .

Kim Seungmin x Reader | summer tension, casual bullying, accidental kiss, no one talks about it

⚾Synopsis: You’ve been best friends with Kim Seungmin long enough to survive his dry sarcasm, brutal honesty, and aggressively passionate love for the Giants. But when a summer afternoon spirals into an impromptu baseball lesson, things start to feel... different. You can’t swing to save your life. He can’t seem to stop smiling at you. Between missed pitches, bad jokes, and one very accidental kiss, something shifts. Neither of you says anything about it. But maybe it’s time to stop pretending you’re just playing around.

💌a/n: THIS WAS REQUESTED BY 🐈 ANON. i really hope you like itttttt !!!!! 😭😭 this was supposed to be light fluff and then it became “he catches you mid-fall and almost confesses with his eyes” and honestly?? worth it. summer baseball bestie chaos supremacy. thank you for reading ily <3 p.s. reblogs feed my delulu and your support keeps this bat-swinging loser going p.p.s. if you want a part 2 where someone finally cracks and kisses for real, you know what to do 👀

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎧 » Love me or Leave Me — DAY6 « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:43 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

You and Seungmin have been best friends since the first year of university—bonded over a shared love of sarcastic comebacks, matching dark academia pens, and the mutual hatred of your professor's existence.

Somewhere between project deadlines and late-night ramen runs, the friendship just... stuck. He became the person who knew your order before you said it, who memorized your fake laugh vs your real one. You became the person who knew when he needed space and when he needed someone to sit in that space, quietly, next to him.

And yes, you’ve had fights. He still won’t forgive you for liking the wrong baseball team.

“Wrong” being... anyone but the Giants.

You wore a cap from their rival team once to school—on purpose—and he refused to look at you the entire day. Wouldn’t even speak to you in third period.

Now, it’s summer. Classes and exams are over. You’re sprawled across the sunlit steps of a neighbourhood café, sipping iced coffee when you say it.

“Okay, don’t laugh, but... I’ve never actually played baseball.”

You meant it casually. Offhand. But his head turns so fast you wonder if he gave himself whiplash.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Not even in PE? Not even wiffle ball?”

“Not even tee-ball,” you say, grinning. “Are you judging me right now?”

“Absolutely.”

A pause. Then, almost too quickly to seem normal, he says, “Wanna learn?”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

He shrugs. “I’ve got a glove and a bat at home. The field’s, like, two blocks from here. Unless you’re scared.”

“Oh, please. I’m gonna smoke you.”

That gets a scoff. “You don’t even know how to hold a bat.”

“Teach me, then, Coach Kim.”

His mouth quirks. You pretend not to see the way he fights a smile. You always pretend.

Twenty minutes later, the sun’s hanging just low enough to stretch gold across the field. The grass is uneven in places, broken up by dirt patches and lazy summer bugs. A warm breeze skims your skin.

Seungmin stands by the first base line, glove slung over one shoulder, bat in the other. He’s in a sleeveless tee, hair swept up by the wind, and when you walk up wearing his least favourite team’s logo across your chest, he stops mid-step.

“You did not.”

You grin. “What? I figured I’d dress for war.”

“That’s not war,” he mutters. “That’s betrayal.”

“Bold of you to assume I was ever on your side.”

“Oh, you’ll be begging to switch sides once you see how bad you are.”

He tosses you the glove. You catch it with a bit too much flair, which only makes his eyes narrow. “Don’t embarrass me out here, rookie.”

“Who said I’m here for you, Giants boy?”

He rolls his eyes, spins the bat once in his palm, and says it without thinking: “You’re lucky I like you.”

You freeze. He does, too. But then he’s already walking away, toward the pitcher’s mound, calling over his shoulder: “Let’s go, traitor.”

“You really weren’t kidding,” Seungmin says, watching you hold the bat like it personally offended you.

You blink at him. “I am holding it right.”

“No, you’re holding it like it’s a lightsaber.”

“Oh come on, like you wouldn’t join the rebellion.”

He groans. “Okay. That’s it. Give me your hands.”

You expect him to just point. Maybe mimic the movement. What you don’t expect is for him to step in behind you, one arm reaching around your waist, the other curling gently over your hand on the bat.

He’s right there. Not just close—there. You can feel the heat of his chest at your back, the steady rhythm of his breath brushing your temple. One of his hands lightly adjusts your fingers, the other—hesitating for just a second—guides your shoulder into place.

“This is… okay,” he mutters, voice lower now. “Hands stacked. Elbows up. And, um, feet—hold on—”

He shifts one of your feet with his, nudging the side of your sneaker. Your brain has officially stopped functioning. So has his. Because the second he realizes how small your hand is in his, how soft your skin is, how your hair smells like you, he’s absolutely panicking. On the inside. Outside, he’s keeping it together with a perfectly blank expression, but inside?

💥🔥🚨 INTERNAL MELTDOWN 🚨🔥💥

“Okay…” he murmurs, swallowing. “Now just… swing smooth. Like—wait, I’ll show you.”

He moves with you, hips ghosting behind yours, arms guiding your follow-through. His breath stutters just slightly when your back presses against his chest.

You say nothing, just glance over your shoulder—right into his face.

He’s already looking at you. Eyes soft. A little wide.

You’re both suddenly, violently aware of how close your mouths are. You shift a little. So does he.

“Seungmin,” you whisper.

He blinks, like snapping out of a spell. Steps back so fast he nearly stumbles. “You’ve—uh. Got the form now. You’re good.” He clears his throat. “Like. Fine. Whatever.”

You lower the bat, heart thudding. “Did I pass basic training?”

He won’t look at you. “Barely.”

But you catch the flush on his ears and narrow your eyes watching him as you twirl the bat lazily in your hands, pretending not to feel the way your pulse is still echoing in your throat.

Seungmin, meanwhile, looks like he’s trying to reformat his brain in real-time. His voice is flat when he says, “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You square up again, wiggling your fingers dramatically. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

He snorts. “You look like you’re about to summon a Pokémon.”

“Don’t mock me, Coach Kim.”

“Then stop acting like I dragged you here against your will. You volunteered for this.”

“I volunteered to learn,” you shoot back. “Not to be emotionally violated in the form of public athletic humiliation.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Big words for someone who’s about to miss five pitches in a row.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

He jogs to the mound and lines up. You catch him biting the inside of his cheek as he stares you down like he’s trying really hard not to smile. Or combust.

He throws an underhand toss. You swing.

Miss.

“Okay, that one was a practice round—”

“Sure it was.”

“Again!”

Second toss. Swing.

Air.

He blinks. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever seen hold a bat.”

“Say that again and I’ll throw it at you.”

“You’d miss.”

You glare. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The words fly out before you can stop them. His entire face glitches. “Sorry—what?” he calls, hand cupped to his ear, pure evil in his grin. “Didn’t hear that.”

“I said you’re rude!”

“Not what it sounded like—”

“Just pitch, Giants boy!!”

He throws another. You hit the ball this time, barely. It rolls weakly toward the pitcher’s mound. Seungmin watches it. Then looks back at you, utterly unimpressed. “That was so sad I think the bat cried.”

“Shut up—”

You charge him. You don’t mean to. But the embarrassment burns so bad, you sprint forward to hit him with the glove—just once—just enough to wipe the smug look off his stupid beautiful face.

He dodges. Barely. Grabs your wrist before you can swing again. And you both freeze. Your chest heaves. His fingers are around your wrist light but firm. You’re closer than you thought you’d get.

Again.

“You’re kind of a menace,” he murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow. “You like it.”

He doesn’t let go. “Maybe I do.”

And suddenly it’s not a joke anymore. It’s that moment again. Too close. Too quiet. Too something. But this time, you’re the one who pulls back first. “Still hate the Giants,” you say, tossing your glove up and catching it again, acting cool. “And your pitch sucks.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Oh, I already do.”

“Alright, traitor. Bat up. Let’s go again.”

You plant your feet. Raise the bat. Narrow your eyes like you’re staring down a final boss.

Seungmin is unimpressed. “You look like a gremlin trying to lift Thor’s hammer.”

You flip him off with one hand. “Shut it.”

“Not even in the ballpark of intimidating.”

“That’s funny, coming from someone who looks like he skipped leg day for the past four years.”

“Excuse me?” he gasps, hand to chest like you mortally wounded him. “You take that back.”

“Make me.”

He blinks. Then smirks. “Okay.”

He pitches. You swing. You spin in a full 360 and almost fall over.

“OH MY GOD,” Seungmin shouts from the mound, cackling. “YOU SPUN LIKE A BEYBLADE—”

“I slipped!!”

“You whiffed the air like it owed you money!!”

You glare at him as you steady yourself. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Correction: I’m the only reason you haven’t knocked yourself unconscious with that bat.”

“I could knock you unconscious.”

He shrugs. “Try it. I’ll add it to your record of great achievements in failure.”

You make a face. “Wow. You really flirt like this, huh?”

That shuts him up. Only for a second.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpans, walking toward you with a smirk he absolutely did not earn. “This is how I treat all my hopeless causes.”

“Excuse me!?”

“I mean—at this point, we’re not even training. We’re surviving.”

You toss the bat at him. He catches it one-handed, casually. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’ve got the coordination of a baby deer.”

“Do not bring Bambi into this.”

He points the bat at you. “Bambi could out-swing you.”

“Seungmin.”

“I’m just saying—”

You run at him. He yelps, full squeaky scream, and takes off around the bases. You chase him halfway to third before giving up, winded, doubled over from laughing too hard.

He walks back, smug and victorious. “That’s the most cardio you’ve done all year.”

“Shut up, I’m gonna puke.”

“Should I write that on your jersey?”

You flip him off again. He just grins. And—god help you—so do you. But then, even as you are panting, you reach over and snatch the bat out of his hands, staring him down. “I wanna try again.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Even after what just happened?”

You glare. “That doesn’t count.”

He walks a slow circle around you, chin in hand like a judgmental game show host. “Mm. I don’t know. Pretty sure we all witnessed it.”

You point the bat at him. “Seungmin.”

He smirks. “Fine. Try again. For the fans.”

You scowl. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he sings.

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t launch into orbit. He lobs the ball underhand. You swing. Miss. Again.

You turn to him slowly. “Okay. That was—warm up.”

He looks absolutely pained. “I thought you had your warm up.”

You stomp your foot. “Let me go again!!”

Another toss. Another miss.

“You’re… honestly…” he squints, lips twitching, “...kind of iconic for how bad this is.”

You drop the bat to your side, shoulders slumping. “I swear I’m trying,” you say dramatically, pouting. “This is humiliating. I feel like a clown.”

“You’re not a clown,” he says gently.

You blink.

“You’re the whole circus.”

“SEUNGMIN!”

He laughs, hands on his knees, nearly doubled over. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry—I just—your face!!”

You try to tackle him again but your limbs are too weak from giggling, and he easily sidesteps you.

“You’re evil,” you mutter.

“I’m honest.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m your best friend.”

And that, somehow, is the worst part. Because it’s true. Because he is. And you’re still standing there, clutching the bat like it might protect you from how warm he makes you feel.

He steps closer.

You raise your chin. “Fine. One more try. And if I miss again, I’m going home.”

He squints. “Swear?”

You nod solemnly. “Swear.”

He holds out a pinky. You stare. “Dead serious,” he says. “Baseball oath.”

You roll your eyes but loop your pinky around his anyway. “Baseball oath.”

He lets go of your pinky slowly, like it’s something delicate before speaking again. “Alright,” Seungmin says, backing up to the mound. “One more.”

You take a breath. Square your shoulders. Raise the bat.

He watches you with this half-soft, half-smug look on his face—like he’s proud and exasperated at the same time. “Don’t close your eyes this time,” he calls.

“I didn’t—”

“You did, like, two swings ago. Fully flinched like I threw a grenade.”

You grip the bat tighter. “Swear to god, if I hit this, I’m aiming for your face.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried.”

He throws the ball. You swing.

CRACK.

The ball flies. Not far, not pretty—but far enough to count.

You gasp. “OH MY GOD—”

Your body spins with the motion—off-balance, dizzy with adrenaline—and suddenly your foot catches on the dirt. You're stumbling. Tilting sideways. Falling. But Seungmin’s already running. He catches you around the waist just before you hit the ground, arms wrapped tight, pulling you up into him with a soft thud.

Chest to chest. Breathless. Too close.

You blink up at him. He’s already looking at you. His hands still on your waist. Yours braced against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering.

“I—” you start, but the words get tangled in the heat between you.

His gaze drops to your lips. Yours do the same. And without thinking—without meaning to—you lean in. Just a little. Just enough. And so does he. Your lips brush. Barely. A whisper of a kiss. A blink, a breath—then gone.

You both freeze. Wide-eyed. Neither of you moves. The sun dips a little lower. The air goes still.

You open your mouth. He lets go like he’s been burned. “Uh—y-you… you hit the ball,” he says, stumbling a step back. His voice cracks. “That was—good. I mean—you almost died, but still.”

Your cheeks burn. “Thanks, I think?”

He’s staring anywhere but at you. The bleachers, the sky, the base behind you.

You rub the back of your neck, trying not to combust. “So. Um. Did that count as first base, or—?”

Seungmin chokes on nothing. “WHAT—”

You burst into laughter, face hot, adrenaline still buzzing.

He glares. “You’re so annoying.”

“Let’s—uh,” Seungmin suddenly says, way too quickly, clearing his throat like he’s resetting his entire internal system. “One more round. For the road.”

You blink. “Training’s not over?”

“Oh, it should be,” he mutters, turning toward the mound again. “But you’ve still got the hand-eye coordination of a brick.”

“Excuse me—”

He doesn’t respond. Just throws you the ball. You catch it with a little too much force. “You better run,” you warn, winding up.

“I dare you.”

You throw it high and off-center—he still catches it, of course, just to rub it in.

You play for a few more minutes, not really focused on skill anymore. Just tossing the ball, swinging half-heartedly, talking smack. But every time your hands brush as he passes the bat back to you… you both feel it.

The static. The shift.

At one point, you lean forward to scoop a ball from the grass, and when you stand up, he’s right behind you. Not close-close, but… enough. You glance at him. He looks at you.

And nothing happens. And everything does.

Eventually, he claps his hands. “Alright. That’s enough public humiliation for you.”

You sigh dramatically. “Thank god. My dignity was hanging by a thread.”

He hums. “You had dignity?”

You throw the glove at him. He catches it one-handed again like he’s showing off on purpose. You both walk over to the bleachers. The air is cooler now, the sky smeared in amber and pink. You sit a step above him, knees drawn up, chin resting on them.

He tosses you a water bottle without looking.

You catch it. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence.

Then he says, voice low, “You hit the ball. That counts as a win.”

You glance at him. He’s not facing you, just staring out at the field, tapping his knuckles lightly on the step between his knees.

You smile. “Even if I almost ate dirt?”

He huffs. “Especially then.”

Another beat.

You sip your water. He rakes a hand through his hair. The silence is comfortable, almost. Almost. Your leg bumps against his lightly. He doesn’t move.

“I still hate the Giants,” you murmur.

“Good,” he says, glancing sideways at you. “I need something to insult you for.”

You smirk. “Oh, just say you love me and go.”

He looks at you for real this time. And for a second, just a second it almost sounds like he will. But instead he says, “Nah. I’m keeping it in my back pocket for when you strike out in front of actual people.”

You shove his shoulder. He shoves back.

A breeze drifts by, lifting the edge of your shirt sleeve, brushing your forearms. The kind of breeze that says summer’s not over yet, but something else might be starting.

You lean back on your hands, stretch your legs out. “So what now?” you ask, half-lazy, half-curious.

Seungmin shrugs. “Dinner?”

“Are you buying?”

He scoffs. “You’re the one who demanded private lessons and then delivered the most tragic baseball performance in recorded history.”

You shoot him a look. “I hit the ball.”

“Barely. I’m not even sure it moved.”

You kick his shoe lightly. He kicks back, just enough to make you wobble a little on the bench. You nudge his knee with yours again—this time slower, intentional. It lingers. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he glances at you sideways. His tone is easy, almost amused when he says, “If we do dinner, you’re not wearing that cursed team shirt.”

You grin. “Make me.”

A small silence before Seungmin blinks once, then tilts his head. “Alright.”

And finally, he stands. Just like that. Casual. Unbothered. You stay seated, watching him dust dirt from his palms.

“You coming, rookie?” he calls over his shoulder. He’s already walking, the sun catching the edge of his hair, painting him in amber. “Or do I have to carry you?”

You roll your eyes, gather your things, and jog to catch up. You don’t bring it up—the near-kiss, the way he caught you, the way his fingers stayed a little too long. He doesn’t either. But when you fall into step beside him and your hands brush again and he doesn't pull away?

You know. He knows.

It’s not nothing anymore. It just isn’t everything yet. Not yet. But maybe soon.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy , @rainyjeno , @fawnoverdawn , @pixie-felix , @anniestay , @notmeneo , @lovslixx , @themoonlightfae , @heartwithoutaname , @yourghostneighbor , @princesskrystix , @drilles , @y2kur0mi , @mochi-space , @ivaviavi , @phelans-thoughts , @the-anon-reader , @beans4beans56 , @joyfulchaoslover , @channieismylove , @cherryoatchai , @unimportantweirdo , @seagulljk , @freckles-and-rage , @lonelydarknessblog , @girlsymptoms , @bookswillfindyouaway , @jasperlvskz , @geekymommakerry , @dazzlingjade , @alisonyus , @pluto-rose , @crazy4books1 , @b3autyist3rror

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

This Hog

Prompt #13 - 8 Seconds | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Premature Ejaculation | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Eddie Talks a Big Game, Steve is Endeared, Virgin Eddie, First Time, Friends to Lovers

Eddie circles, and Steve turns his head to follow. It's dizzying, but Steve's used to it by now. The constant yapping. Nattering on about fucking girls, guys, anything that moves. 

"I just gotta get outta this town first. Nobody here wants to fuck me now."

Steve laughs. "Don't laugh! It's mighty depressing. My dick might fall off from disuse, Harrington. People are missing out, which means I'm missing out. An accused satanic murderer can only tug on it himself so many times."

Steve bends over, laughing his ass off. Waving his hand to try to get Eddie to stop.

"Like, who doesn't want this hog?" Eddie doubles down, cupping his crotch.

Steve can't breathe. He can't.

"Maybe I need one of these legendary rides," Steve banters, catching his breath, wiping at his eyes. He can't remember the last time he laughed so hard he cried.

"I'd rock your world, Harrington," Eddie declares, cocky swagger that Steve finds awfully endearing. 

"I'm sure you would, buddy," Steve answers, acting like he's not thinking about it.

He's definitely thinking about it.

It sounds like a dare, and Steve played organized sports. He's done all manner of dumb things just to win bragging rights.

Fucking Eddie? He's definitely curious. He's never been with a man before, but he's fingered himself open a lot, and knows how fucking good that can be. Eddie's dick? That's gotta be better.

"If you think you're man enough, big boy," Eddie crows, and Steve reaches for his belt, enjoying how Eddie's eyes go wide as he stills for the first time all day.

"Really?" Eddie squeaks, and Steve just shrugs. "You're serious?" Eddie probes, pulling his hair over his mouth, like he's suddenly gotten shy.

Why the hell not? Either he'll get fucked, or he'll call Eddie's bluff, winning. He's competitive. Sue him.

Eddie's shirt hits him square in the chest, and Steve grins.

Hell yeah, okay.

He spoke too soon. Legs are suddenly tangled in jeans, as Eddie trips and bounces face-first into Steve's bed. Steve giggles, rolling him onto his back like a high-centered turtle. He'll help. Might be safer that way, and he tugs off both of Eddie's shoes, then his jeans. The right order.

Eddie's laying there in his plaid boxers, and his chest is blotchy and red as his blush creeps up his neck, and Steve thinks someone's gonna get their world rocked, he's just not convinced it's him. 

"Rings!" Steve hollers, as a knuckle with a scorpion head or walrus tusk, or whatever the fuck it is, tries to breach him.

"Sorry!" Eddie says, voice going high and nervous, as he tries to remove the offending item. It should slide right off, he's lubed up enough. But he's struggling. Just like he has been since the moment his pants came off, bravado gone.

Steve can't wait for Eddie's trainwreck to find the rails again, and grabs Eddie's wrist, sliding the first two rings off with a firm twisting motion. Three and four slip off easier. He drops them to the carpet and Eddie squawks like a disgruntled bird.

"Do you want to check on your rings or fuck me?" Steve asks, a little bitchy. If Steve were Robin, Eddie'd be racking up tallies in the you suck column. Steve's more forgiving.

"The last one," Eddie says.

"That's what I thought."

Eddie's hands are slightly shaking as he lines up, and Steve tries to relax enough for both of them. He thinks if Eddie meets any resistance he'll melt into a puddle.

He nudges at Steve's loosened hole, and Steve rubs his thigh, "That's really good."

Eddie nods, and manages to pop the head of his cock past that ring of muscle, then slides all the way in. A little fast, but it feels so goddamn good. Steve's full, and he can't wait to be taken apart like this. He's never been on this side, but he's always been curious.

He watches as Eddie trembles, just a little as he pulls back, thrusts once, twice, then tenses, coming.

Steve tries to school his face, but goddamn, was that it?

Eight seconds. 

He lasted approximately eight seconds.

Steve is irreparably endeared when Eddie laughs, "Oversold that, huh?"

Just a little.

Steve leans up, pushing his hands into Eddie's hair, "You'll get better next time. You'll last ten, maybe fifteen seconds. Easy."

Eddie laughs, and he's fucking gorgeous for a gremlin. 

"Kiss me while we wait," Steve says, and Eddie leans down and only clacks their teeth together once.

His cock slips out, but he replaces it with his fingers. Pushing into Steve's wet hole, and maybe Eddie's stamina needs some work, but everybody starts there. Mindy McMillian probably thought the same thing about him when he lost his virginity. 

And Eddie's fingers? They're good, too. Steve tilts his hips, and Eddie brushes against his prostate and Steve lets out a pleased huff.

"That's it, right there."

And Eddie keeps fingering him until Steve comes between them, definitely having no fucking complaints.

They're lounging in the rumpled sheets, when Eddie turns to look at him.

"Wanna know a secret?" Eddie asks, cigarette hanging from his lip, like every cliché Steve's ever seen. 

Endearing.

Steve nods.

"I was a virgin," Eddie says, and Steve grins.

"You don't say," Steve answers, and rolls into Eddie as Eddie hits his shoulder, laughing. 

"You weren't supposed to know that! You should be shocked!" Eddie says, swinging a leg over Steve's stomach, tilting his head back as he puffs on the cigarette he definitely shouldn't be smoking in the house, but Steve doesn't give a fuck. His mom would have to be home to smell it, and fat fucking chance of that.

He reaches up and snags the cigarette from him, taking a long drag himself. What Robin doesn't know won't hurt her.

He hands it back, "Couldn't even tell."

"You're a fucking liar," Eddie says, and Steve grins, cupping Eddie's ass.

He'll get better. Steve will make sure of it.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[nightingale-prompts]

I don't know why people think Danny would disagree with Batman on the no killing rule or why he'd be aligned with Jason on anything. Danny doesn't even believe in killing people who deserve it and even if he did he's a 14 year old boy. He believes in petty revenge of course but that's hardly the same as cutting people's heads off.

I feel like this fandom is more interested in voicing their own personal grievances with Bruce (though many of them don't read the comics) then writing Danny as the character he is. I'm not saying that I don't do that as well.

I just feel like sometimes people are writing Dan and not Danny. Danny at the end of the say is a average teenage boy. He's selfish sometimes but at the end of the day he's a good kid. He's not going to go on a murderous rampage on the Joker even preemptively especially if he has never met the guy before. (You guys know the fics im talking about. It's so common for Danny to see Danny met the Joker and immediately kill him just to gain Jason's attention or something) Danny hates clowns, I get it. But if seeing a clown is enough to make him lose touch with reality that's an awful portrayal of the character.

I don't think it's that big a deal at the end of the day to write fics like that. The problem is when fans start to think that's the default or that it's in Danny's character. At the end of the day I'd never write Danny killing someone. Not even the Joker because that's not his place. It's not his story. I'd never robe that from Jason or Bruce or anyone who has deep connections to that clown. Danny had his enemies and I'd be pissed to high hell if my worst enemy was killed by some guy I had never met. That would the most anticlimactic ending with no real resolution. No facing my demons up close or moral questioning. Boring. That worst part for me. It's boring. I've seen it a thousand times and it still just as boring as the first. It's not cleaver or insitful.

I miss when we talked about the layers of Danny. Now it's either "Danny is just a little gremlin who wants to make trouble." or "Danny is full of trauma and misery and he doesn't trust anybody." Its never "Danny is a complex character who isn't perfect and he can be a petty little shit sometimes. He loves his family and friends and is willing to extend the olive branch to those he sees as needing help even if they have hurt him."

The show was all about Danny growing into his hero role and helping others. He isn't a calluse vengeful monster. He can forgive. He can control himself. He is just a kid! He isn't VLAD! He isn't DAN!

[deerspherestudios]

Asking about Mycheal’s sense of morality and thoughts on kindness sort of got me thinking - what are his thoughts on justice?

Some examples on what I mean (that you do not have to specifically address!): If someone has harmed someone else, does he think that justifies hurting them back in any sense? And if someone in power continually abuses that power, does that justify hurting or killing them to prevent more harm in his opinion? Does it depend on the degree? Where does he draw the line? Or is it completely unacceptable - does he think we should always try to use mercy to solve conflicts? What about in situations where mercy can’t be used? And how does what he’d say verbally on the matter differ from how he’d actually act in a satiation where justice might be needed (eg. he says that he would never hurt anyone in any situation, but in reality there might be situations where he’d bring harm - or he says that he would hurt someone to prevent more damage but couldn’t bring himself to in reality). I’d be interested how his isolated upbringing impacted his thoughts on right and wrong as well - I’d imagine he prioritizes interpersonal relationships over the good of the whole (of any group he’s been rejected by especially), but, if so, by how much?

Again, these are just examples of generally what I’m going for by asking for his take on justice, please don’t feel pressured to answer any of the questions in that wall of a paragraph specifically! I’d love to hear your thoughts on his opinions in the area of morality in general - whatever comes to mind, even if it doesn’t relate to any of my example questions or the points I brought up. Thank you so much for your time and the love you pour into your work, and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Oo now this is a doozy of a question, from an anon no less :-0! I actually love these kinds of questions, but save them in my draft for months until I'm up to answering since I wanna do my best for them haha. Now's the time for this question to shine!

Long!!!!!! (possibly mad?? character opinions about justice and morality???) ramble below:

Regarding justice, I find myself struggling to answer to be honest! While I, the creator, have my own views on it, I'm not sure how someone like Mychael would feel about the concept of justice. This kind of thing warrants a society, of which he is isolated from. You don't really bother to be justified if something you did was wrong unless it's in the eyes of someone else, if that makes sense? Otherwise you'd end up arguing with yourself. And when stuck between committing a crime to survive or moral righteousness, it's obvious which one he would go for.

From your example, he's not really the type to believe in "an eye for an eye" as he's a pretty forgiving person. But of course, an extreme situation would change his mind like any of us!!

Now morality is a pretty nuanced topic, but after digesting the question a bit and gathering my thoughts, for the sake of conversation, I think his sense of morality can be simplified into a few traits:

First, he tries to be kind in all situations.

In the past, he's seen cruelty and kindness, how humans are capable of both, and the effects of those actions. Whether it's towards himself or others, he obviously prefers the latter treatment over the former. No matter what, he'll try to do the good thing (or at least, what he perceives to be the good thing) in most situations. He's aware it's naive to think so, but when you claw for something to live for, he insists "kindness above everything" is the best he could hold on to without losing himself.

Second, at times, he will be self-serving.

Just because he tries to be kind, doesn't mean there aren't moments where he'll be selfish. While his self interest isn't his top priority, in the rare instance he wants or needs something for himself, he'll likely skew odds in his favor. This is kinda clear from the game itself with how he treats MC when they start pulling away from him (another example is how he got his chickens and it's implied he does shoplift groceries/supplies no matter what he wants you to think.)

And finally, mercy is a tricky thing.

Let's say we equate mercy to forgiveness or compassion. Already in the game we see Mychael being callous towards the injured rabbit but also refuses to kill Rosie even though she doesn't really serve a purpose anymore other than being an attachment for him. With that said, you are definitely correct in saying "he prioritizes interpersonal relationships over the good of the whole" since with his background, interpersonal relationships are few and far in between. He might forgive a lover of his for murdering someone in front of his face, but wouldn't do the same for a stranger. He doesn't have the same sense of a judicial system like us humans, so with the above traits combined, he'd brush off the frankly heinous crime easier than most.

I hope that answers the question? Re-reading my answer a bunch I'm not even sure if I gave the points you're asking for but mmMM I spent spoons on this so have it like so 🫴❤️❤️❤️!!

[gatsby-20]

I Know I Was Wrong

You're convinced that you need to let him go. He's convinced that he's never leaving you. Only one of you is right, and maybe that's not a bad thing.

Part 3: I Don't Know What I Heard, Or What It Takes To Forgive

(a/n: This chapter is a big fav of mine. I love a good monologue, what can I say? I’m hoping you guys love it as well! I’m thinking of writing an epilogue or little blurbs past the last part of this, like maybe taking requests that people would have? I’d love to know if that was something you guys would be interested in! I could also consider writing something completely new, is anyone has any requests or ideas 👀 Chapter title is from Older by Searows. Spotify playlist can be found here.)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Series Masterlist

You wished, more than anything, that you could say that you woke up peacefully. 

But that didn’t seem to be in the cards for you today. You felt it immediately when you woke up, and you had barely had time to open your eyes before you were shoving away from Lando, reaching for the black bag you kept beside you at all times. 

You could hear Lando make a groggy noise of protest as you gagged, upheaving what little food you’d managed to eat this afternoon into the plastic bag. 

Lando had been asleep just mere seconds ago but he was fully awake now, placing a gentle hand at your back before he began to gather your hair into his hands. Kayla had been the one to tell him that you had been lucky, that for whatever reason your hair hadn’t fallen out with the rounds of chemo that you had already done. 

You shoved weakly at Lando, trying to get him to leave you be. You were sweating, hunched over and panting into the bag as you tried to figure out if you were going to throw up again. 

This had to be disgusting for him, because you were disgusted with yourself. 

But he refused to move, solid and steady beside you as he held your hair. You could feel the way he gently braided it as you finally swallowed thickly, your eyes falling shut with the clear tenderness and care that he was providing. 

Don’t get used to it, you begged yourself. You wouldn’t allow yourself to rely on him. It wasn’t fair to him for you to dump this all on him. He was better off without you. 

When you finally sat back, it was right into his chest. You fought the urge to curl into him, but he simply wrapped an arm around your middle comfortingly as he pressed a kiss to your sweating temple. 

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, gathering the courage to sit up and away from him. You held the bag in your hand, hitting the nurse call button behind you with a practiced ease. 

Lando took the hint, easing himself out of the bed before he reached for the bag you were holding. You simply held it away from him, refusing to meet his gaze as your nurse Holly walked in, a knowing look on her face. 

“You made it longer than you did last time,” she suggested with a positive tone, and you could only offer a wry smile in response. 

“Maybe next time it won’t even happen,” you purported mockingly, seeing out of the corner of your eye as Lando watched the exchange with a careful gaze. Holly took the bag for you, disposing of it before checking your IV. 

“Looks like you’re all done, let me just flush out your port and you’ll be good to go,” the nurse relayed as she began to prepare what was needed to get you out of here. 

Lando took the opportunity to step out of the room, his fingers flying as he sent text messages off to his family, the Mclaren staff, and Max Fewtrell. He’d barely sent as much as saying hey to his best friend before he had an incoming call from the man himself. 

“Hello,” Lando pressed the phone to his ear, hardly getting a word in before Max was speaking. 

“How is she doing?” He asked insistently, and Lando could hear the panic laced in his voice. He was reminded that as much as he and you had a history, you had known Max for nearly as long. 

When Lando became friends with Max, so did you. The two of you had come as a set, really, but in turn your friendship with Max had blossomed of its own accord. Max never allowed you to get in your head too much. He could be idiotic at times (you often referred to him and Lando as dumb and dumber), but at his core he always cared deeply about you. 

He had felt your loss almost as acutely as Lando had, and his replies to Lando’s initial messages had been nothing short of petrified on your behalf. 

Lando didn’t even need to ask before Max was cancelling the holiday plans they had for the summer break. He’d told Lando just to get to you, and let him deal with everything else. That was just the way Max operated - he knew what was important. He knew how to make himself useful. 

“Shes…” he trailed off, trying to find the words to explain it to Max. “She looks so small in the hospital bed,” he finally whispered, his voice nearly cracking over the words despite the gravity with which he held them. 

“She just looks like she’s exhausted and sick. It’s just…she’s not well. Plain as day, she’s not well,” was all he could manage to offer weakly, and it didn’t exactly do much to quell Max’s concern. Lando’s voice was flat, monotone in a way that it always was when he was trying to keep all the emotions at bay. 

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Max replied simply, and Lando scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling a flush of relief wash over him even if Max couldn’t see him.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, hanging up the phone once Max made him promise to keep him updated. 

For a moment, he just stood out there in the hallway. This wing of the hospital was quiet, and distantly he could hear the steady beeping of monitors. But he just stood there, taking in the sharp scent of disinfectant and the despair that seemed to rise in him whenever he got a moment alone. 

Every moment alone was another moment for him to remember how viscerally terrified he was for you. 

The only thing that interrupted his thoughts was as your nurse, the woman who had helped him earlier, came out of the room. 

“She’s just getting changed now, then she’ll be ready to go home,” she said, more matter of fact than kind, but polite all the same. 

“Thank you,” Lando expressed, broken from his thoughts by the gratitude he felt for this woman who clearly cared for you. “Not just for that…but for everything,” he said after a beat. 

“Your welcome,” a small, sad smile danced across her lips, and she looked back at your room before facing Lando once more. “She puts on a strong act, but she’s been through the wringer. It’s nice to see someone here to support her. Just…she might try to push you away, but she needs it more than you think,” Holly explained softly, and he wasn’t shocked by her words. 

“She’s always done that, always one to put up a tough front. But I’ve got her, I can promise you that ma’am,” he replied, serious in every sense of the word. She relaxed at that, nodding her head a few times as she began to understand how earnest he was. 

“She knows what to do per instructions after you get her home. If there is any excessive vomiting or fever feel free to bring her back in. Other than that just keep her hydrated, rest, and try to get some food in her when you can. Her nausea is usually pretty bad, so whatever food you can get in her is a win,” she instructed while Lando listened attentively. He nodded in response as she went through the list of things, thanking her once more before he went back to your room. 

When he stepped in the door, you were just slipping your shoes on. He moved toward you as you stood, hurrying slightly when he saw you wobble ever so slightly. 

“Easy there Daisy,” he chuckled, but there was little humor in your expression as you took the arm he offered for support. It didn’t seem particularly willing, almost begrudging if he had to put a word to it, but he chose not to focus on that. 

You reached for your bag behind you, saying nothing but a small thanks when Lando scooped it up and looped it over his shoulder. He made sure to get another bag just in case your nausea got the better of you, and your heart constricted at the mere action. The pair of you made it out to the car park wordlessly, Lando so intent on getting you there safely he hardly noticed your increasing apprehension. 

“Here we go,” he said as he pulled the door open for you, helping you gently into the passenger seat of the Audi. You didn’t even make a joke about the fact that he wasn’t driving one of his ridiculously low, fancy cars. The driver tried to put it down to the fact that you were tired and maybe a bit nauseous over the alternative. 

He placed your bag in the back seat after handing you the plastic bag, something you took willingly. He practically jogged over to the driver’s side, slipping into the seat quickly and reaching for the seat belt. 

“You can just leave me off at Isla’s house,” you blurted out, staring straight ahead without so much as looking over at him. 

Lando froze, his seat belt half pulled on. It would have been a comical sight if it weren’t for the austere expression on his face as he turned toward you. You swallowed nervously, refusing to meet his gaze as you stared straight ahead through the car windshield. 

“What?” His voice was low and disbelieving. 

“I said you can just leave me at Isla’s house. She should be home in a few hours and I’ll be fine until then. That way you can get back to whatever you need to be doing,” you finished, finally sparing a glance at Lando as you looked to your right. 

He was looking at you as though you’d grown a second head. He shook his head for a second as though he was dazed, his eyebrows creasing in confusion. 

You felt the sudden urge to reach out and smooth it with the pad of your thumb. Instead, you shifted so that you were sitting on your hands. 

“You think…you think I’m leaving?” He asked, incredulous. 

You shrugged your shoulders, releasing your hands so you could throw them in the air. 

“I don’t know, Lan. I’m sure you have better things to be doing than babysitting your sick ex-girlfriend after she practically threw up on you,” you shot back as you gripped your knees tightly. He flinched when you used the word ex-girlfriend, and you pretended not to notice. 

You pretended to ignore the hope that fluttered violently in your chest at the action. 

Lando stared at you like you’d just spoken to him in Greek. He shook his head, dumbfounded by your words. 

“If you think I’m leaving right now, then you’ve lost your mind. I’m not just dropping you off at a friends and going about my life. Pick between your apartment or my place, those are the only two options. And both of them involve me being there with you,” his words were somehow both forceful and gentle, like he was trying to hold himself back from breaking right then and there. You finally turned fully to look at him when he finished speaking. 

The arguments that were lined up in your mind died before they could make it into your mouth. Because his expression wasn’t one of anger. 

It was one of complete and utter heartbreak. 

As though you had just dove into his chest and ripped his heart out. Like he couldn’t even fathom leaving you. He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, and it flattened every feeble ounce of reasoning in your mind for why this was a bad idea. 

You shrunk back into your seat, somehow feeling like you’d failed him again as you murmured that you wanted to go back to his flat. 

He was silent as he started the car, as he put in the directions, as he drove home going 5 kilometres under the speed limit as though he didn’t normally drive like a menace. 

You noticed. You noticed how tight his jaw was, how he gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were turning white. 

But still, you weren’t sure it even mattered. 

You refused to get comfortable again. 

It didn’t matter what he said in the hospital, when he was drunk on worry and not thinking straight. 

His life moved at 300 kilometres per hour, and yours had ground completely to a halt. 

Why would he want to stay for that? 

You let out a soft sigh as your shoulders caved in slightly at the thought, turning your body closer to the car window. The London suburbs whipped past you, droves of people simply going about their day. 

You silently longed for a time when everything between you and Lando was normal. When you loved him and he loved you, and it was as uncomplicated as that. 

Everything now felt heavier, and it was all your fault. 

Lando was deathly quiet as he helped you out of the car and into his flat. It wasn’t the massive marvel you’d expect from someone with his kind of money, but he’d always loved it. Three bedrooms, a spacious and open kitchen with a little breakfast nook. 

It was his flat, sure, but he’d taken one look at your delight when you looked at the kitchen and was putting an offer in to buy. He hadn’t been back here since March, but a cleaning service came every other week to make sure that too much dust hadn’t settled. 

You had no clue it had been so long since he had last been here, but it was too clean for it to be lived in by Lando. 

You toed off your shoes before you walked into the kitchen. You could hear him trailing after you, but you didn’t turn. Took down a glass, then a second. Filled them both with water before you placed one away from yourself on the counter and then hugged the other one to your chest as you sat down heavily. 

“Lando…this isn’t going to work,” you started, finally focusing over on the driver. He was watching you silently, intently. 

There were a million things he could say, a hundred different protests that popped into his mind instantly. But he didn’t go there, because he knew it wouldn’t matter. 

He didn’t understand the root of this, and he wasn’t interested in arguing about the blooms of this argument when he didn’t know what had caused it. 

“Why not?” 

That took you by surprise, he could tell. You expected him to be abrasive, to argue with you. Not for him to be curious. You spluttered for a second before you finally sighed. 

“Because you’ve got your career to think about! Because you’re running around constantly, and you don’t need a sick girlfriend to look after. Because there are a million other women who could make your life easier instead of harder. Because I…I don’t fit anymore,” you admitted quietly. 

There it was. 

You didn’t fit into his life anymore. 

“I mean, let's be honest with ourselves. I barely fit even before all of this…mess started. I didn’t come from the right lifestyle, I don’t live in Monaco, I have the fashion sense of a grandmother. I don’t understand the intricacies of racing despite trying to focus on it for a decade.” 

“All of those women, all of the WAGs, they make the lives of their partners easier. They add something to their life, they make them better. All I would be doing is detracting. Taking your energy away from racing, forcing you to lose your focus. You’ve worked too hard and for too long to give it all up just because I have a fucked up leg.” 

“I mean - the proof is there, is it not? You’ve already succeeded more this season than you ever did when I was around you. I know what that means, I can read between the lines.” 

“It doesn’t mean I have to be gone from your life like I was before. We can still be friends. I’ll just be…a little on the sidelines so that way you can focus on what is important,” you decided, as though you had all the say in this. 

Lando shut his eyes for a second, pressing his elbows into the counter as his head fell to his hands for just a moment. 

When he spoke from that very spot, his voice was barely audible. 

“I thought I knew what it was like to lose someone,” he began, and he couldn't even look at you. 

“And then you were gone, and it felt like half of my soul had been ripped away. Every breath I took felt like I wasn’t able to fully finish. Every moment I spent waiting for you to come back, waiting for this nightmare to be over.” 

“I looked for you in every single thing I did. It felt like I was holding my breath, like every single beat of my heart ached for you and you alone. Watching you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through in my entire life. More than all the racing failures. More than the crashes. More than my mistakes.”

“It all felt so empty without you there. Like everything I did, the joy had been sucked right out of all of it. I won my first fucking race and it didn’t even feel like anything because you were gone. I can’t look at a daisy without getting choked up. The paddock feels like walking through a ghost town without you there.”

“So please, do not sit there and say that it was better for me that you were gone. I’d give it all up in an instant if I knew that I got you back because I had it all when you were gone and it meant nothing.” 

“If it were me, would you have left me?” He asked suddenly, staring at you with a heaving chest. 

“No, I wouldn’t have, but it’s different!” You burst out, practically snarling. 

“No it's not!” He yelled back at you. You scoffed, throwing your hands up incredulously.

“You’re important Lando, you’ve got a legacy to protect and a dream to chase!”

“And you’re important to me!” He shot back, his voice cracking over the last word. You let out a heavy sigh, your frustration building. 

“I brought this on us Lando, and I have to be the one to get us out of it before you realize that this is bad for you. You’re bigger than this, your life is bigger than just me. Your career, your goals, those are a part of who you are. I can’t ask you to put everything on hold because I don’t feel well!” You replied, your voice caught somewhere between frustration and grief. 

“You’re not asking!” Lando insisted, letting out a heavy sigh as he finally calmed down slightly. When he looked at you, his expression was so damn earnest you felt the urge to look away. Anything to escape the candor you found staring back at you.

“You don’t get to choose when people care about you. I know it might be hard for you to believe right now, but I love you just as much as you love me. I know what it feels like to exist without you around, and I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“You didn’t choose this. It isn’t your fault. You didn’t bring this upon us, or however you want to paint it. You’re going through something, and I want to be there for you,” he continued, holding such intense eye contact that you were forced to look away.  

“I don’t care if it’s hard, or complicated. I don’t care if it detracts from my performance. I’m your partner for fucks sake, and I refuse to let you do this by yourself. I love you too much to sit here and watch you die and just accept that. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and let you convince yourself that you’re background noise and not my entire world. I don’t care if I have to force you to let me in, I’m ready to fight for it. I’m here to fight for you, for us,” he insisted, and you looked down at your hands that sat in your lap. Tears crested in your eyes, though you fought to keep them at bay. Every single word he spoke felt like another crack in your armor, and you were left scrambling to pick up the pieces.

“How can you love me when I left you? When I look as exhausted and sick as this? When I can’t even…I can’t even provide you with anything in return?” Your voice cracked over your words, as though you truly believed them. It broke his heart into what felt like a million pieces. 

“Because I never loved you for any of those things. I love seeing you smile and getting to lay in bed next to you. I loved getting to share the same space as you. Getting to laugh with you over a dumb story about work, or you teasing me when I do something ridiculous. I love grocery shopping with you. I love the look on your face when I bring flowers home that you didn’t expect. The excitement you exude just because someone else had a victory. You’re the first person I look for when something good happens, and the quickest to be there with me when something goes wrong. Because you keep me afloat in a world where I feel like every single day I might lose myself. I never needed you to prove your love to me in order for me to love you back. I love you without any strings attached. I always have,” he finished, his chest heaving with the weight of it. 

He meant every single word that he said. 

When you finally dared to look up, your lips quivered and your eyes were heavy with unshed tears. 

“Daisy,” he begged softly, and finally you stood, stepping forward and collapsing into his arms. 

He just held you, and for the first time since the breakup, you let him. 

No strings attached. No ulterior motive. 

Just pure acceptance. 

Everything in you screamed that you were making a mistake, but then his arms tightened around you and somehow everything made a little more sense than it did just twelve hours ago. 

Maybe you could allow yourself this. 

Maybe you deserved the softness you craved so desperately. 

Maybe you could allow yourself to be loved as deeply as you loved. 

You press into him more firmly, allowing yourself to sob without restraint. 

You were exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. You sagged into Lando, finally allowing yourself to succumb to it all. To the one thing you’ve wanted, craved, dreamed about. 

“I’m so tired,” you whimpered, and Lando just held you tighter. He released you slightly from the death grip he had on you, and while you rushed to cling to him he simply swept you off of your feet and into his arms. 

You slumped your head against his shoulder, giving in to the feeling. Normally you were ultra independent. You held your ground, refused to give in, took absolutely no bullshit. You wouldn’t have tolerated Lando treating you this way on the average day. 

But it wasn’t the average day, and this version of you was so different from the previous one. 

In some ways, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. 

The you of before was so sure that she needed to prove her independence. That it was her job to showcase to everyone how strong of a woman she is. But in the process, you fought against the feeling that you were allowed to relax, to accept love without having to earn it. 

This version of you is beginning to accept that you’re allowed to accept the love you’ve deserved all along. That independence doesn’t have to mean fighting every single battle alone. 

You could fight them alone, but you don’t have to. 

And that’s a big difference. 

After all, joy shared is doubled, and sadness shared is halved. For once, you allow the weight of everything to shift from its place solely on your shoulders. 

All because your silly, stupid, wonderful, idiotic boyfriend came back into your life with that goddamn earnest expression and all of the seriousness in the world when he told you that he would share the burden with you. 

Your chest stuttered as you tried to breathe in deeply. Lando shushed you gently, his voice like a balm to the ache in your heart. He used his back to push the bedroom door open before he made his way over to the bed. 

You lock up when he tries to place you down on the duvet, your grip tightening on him like iron. You’ve relented fully, and the look you give him is filled with nothing but vulnerability. You didn’t want him to leave. He couldn’t leave you, not after he cracked your heart open and let all of the messy feelings out. 

You couldn’t do it alone, not anymore.  

“I’m just going to get us a few things, okay? I will come back, I promise,” he vowed, and you relented just slightly, loosening your grip to allow him respite. 

You watched wordlessly as he moved around the house diligently, gathering blankets, water, crackers, medication, pyjamas for you to change into, everything you could possibly need. 

The care with which he helped you change made you want to weep. He tugged lightly on your sleeves, slipping your shirt over your head and keeping you steady when you stood to pull off the joggers you had on. 

He slipped an oversized shirt onto you and helped you into a pair of sleep shorts he kept for you in his closet. Neither of you commented on why he still had them, all these months later. 

He laid you back into bed before he went to quickly shower. You laid in his bed, surrounded by his scent and moulded to a mattress that you once practically called your own. 

You still had a key for the flat sitting on your keychain. 

When Lando was gone often for races, sometimes you would come over here just to sleep. It made you feel closer to him, even when he was thousands of kilometres away. 

You felt yourself drifting, warm and sleepy and comfortable in a way you hadn’t felt for months. Lando came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of sweats that sat low on his hips, and he climbed into the bed beside you in one swift motion. 

He reached for you as though it was the easiest, most familiar thing in the world. It was simply muscle memory for him, and yet the feeling of curling around your body hit him like a train to the chest. 

All these mornings of waking up without you, with the crushing realisation that you weren’t there. And now here he laid, going to sleep with you snuggled into him like you’d never left. 

It was healing, a comfort he no longer took for granted. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks and into your hair as you snuggled into him, your head tucked in the space of his neck as he wrapped his arms around you. His entire body wound around yours, pulling you into him until there wasn’t an inch of skin unclaimed. You could hear his heartbeat in your ear, feel the slight lift and stutter of his chest that came with a quiet cry. 

“Please let me stay,” he begged weakly, his voice rasping into the darkness of the bedroom. “I understand why you did it and I’m not mad but I…I don’t think I can take that again. The not being with you.” 

It was a heavy admission. Guilt tugged at you fiercely, and instead of running from the feeling you welcomed it with open arms. 

After all, what was this guilt if not proof that you still had something to be fighting for? If Lando could forgive you so easily, could give you another chance so quickly, maybe it meant that you deserved to do the same for yourself. 

Instead of beating yourself down for your choices, you let yourself choose to accept his love and move forward with it. 

“Okay,” you reassured after several moments had passed, your words quiet but secure in tone. 

It was admission, it was acceptance, it was an understanding that the two of you could, and would move past this. 

No more running. No more blind assumptions that he needed to be pushed away. It was time that both of you were adults, and you accepted the fact that you needed to be honest with one another about what you needed. Whether that be space, time, or each other, it didn’t matter. 

Communication was the only thing that could save this, and if you could give Lando anything, it was that. 

For the first time in nearly half a year, Lando Norris fell asleep wrapped around you. Exactly where he wanted to be. Exactly where he needed to be.

(Taglist: @leclercdream @henna006 @nickie-amore @hescrush @frankiejo04 @azuramicah @koalalafications )

[arthurmorganrp]

"A sauna? I've heard of it before, but I've never been to one." It seemed interesting. Different. He had his hopes. Arthur had some more of the tea, making a funny eww face as he sipped it. "Mnnghhrrghhfhhklllckk....gooooodddaaaaaamm....why medicinal things have to be so gross...? I bet horse piss ain't so bad." He complained as he drank all of the tea Cass had prepared. "Mnm. Thank you. For...looking after me." He said honestly, trying to keep all the shyness away.

"Sure, add some seasoning, I need to get the taste of his tea off my tongue." They cooked the breakfast together and enjoyed it. "Like my old friend Hosea used to say...fresh food prepared by a fire out in the open...there ain't much like it. It's...really good." He seemed happy to be eating with Cass, he was grateful for that moment. He ate all of it, licked his lips, drank a lot of water and already looked better than when he had woken up.

From time to time, he'd glance at Cassidy, give him a shy smile- slowly, he was starting to overcome that blunt shyness, eyes soft appreciating Cole, craving for those sunny smiles and his silly jokes.

"Thanks..." He muttered. And this time, he meant the company, the embraces and not judging him. "And thanks for helping save that girl. It meant...a lot to me." Wanting or not, it was a way for the criminal to help himself to forgive......himself. He had failed to save his family, and he hated himself for it- being able to do something good, it pushed Arthur a little more into liking himself, into knowing his life wasn't just a sequence of unfortunate events.

"I'm gonna...cure this damn illness..and we gonna cross all this land together, wiping off all these son of bitches, so these people can live in peace." He nodded to himself and Cole, taking a deep breath, the wheezing was very soft, almost inaudible, and his lips weren't as inflammed anymore.

"Alright boy, I'm ready to go."

As Cole read the map and walked around the camp, Arthur took his lasso and throwing knives. "I'll hunt something fresh for us, I'll be right back." He walked to the riverbead, a small vein of the river that was, so shallow for some meters there were many fish wandering, nibbling on bugs that had fallen into the water during the night. Throwing the knives, he caught a few, four in total- it would be more than enough for them, and it took less time he thought it would. On the way back, he spotted a nest, climbed the tree and reached the eggs, jumped down to the floor. Even if he felt better, his body wasn't as it used to be weeks ago. He had lost weight and had to put more effort to climb. But still, he was okay. He also had washed his face, his mouth, fixed his hair and collected some water.

He walked back to their camp, it didn't take long, sitting by Cass' side, quickly cleaning the fish and setting them by the fire using sticks. Then he used a small metal plate to break the eggs, threw some salt and let it all cook. "We had to stop, Cass." Arthur said, his voice low, serious and compassionate. "We had to help them and get rid of those Lemoyne." He said as he turned the fish. "We'll get to the tribe in time. I have already been way closer to death...I don't think I'll die in the next few days if I can keep resting and taking the proper medication. So...don't worry too much. Let's do our best and that's it. Don't....don't think too much, alright?" He gave Cole a soft smile, his eyes grateful.

"Here, have some fish and eggs. It will keep us well fed until nighttime."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Safe With Me 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: the Cap makes you his special mission.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

In a blood curdling contrast to his earlier callousness, the Captain stares at you with concern. The lines of his face have rearranged into a perfect mask of compassion. He's convincing, terrifyingly so.

"Tried not to move her too much," he tells the paramedics as they roll the gurney into the ambulance. The jolt makes your groan. "Looked like a back injury."

"Possibly. We'll know back at the site." The man in a dark blue uniform replies. He's not dressed in the bright orange of the other paramedics you've seen and the ambulance isn't painted the same blinding white and red.

"I'll ride with you," The Captain invites himself. No one in this world would say not to him.

"There's room," the man says as he climbs up and locks the gurney in place.

The Captain nods as he cradles his cowl under his arm. His blue eyes drip with worry. He steps up, his weight shifting the boxy vehicle and he angles around to keep his shield from hitting the wall or equipment.

"Miss," the paramedics bends over you. "We're going to do some tests."

You groan and try to nod. The brace around your neck keeps you stiff. You wince.

"Alright," he touches your palm, "can you grip my finger?"

You curl your fingers around his. He wiggles until you release him.

"Good. Lift your hand." You can do that. "Bend your arm." That take more effort. "And how about the whole arm? Can you raise it? Just a little?"

You try. The cuff in your shoulder sears and you squeal as you can only twitch. It hurts.

He hums. "Relax." He taps your hand gently. "Torn ligaments, maybe. Or dislocated."

"But she moved her hand," the Captain argues.

"It's a good sign. Likely no paralysis. But..." The man pauses and looks over his shoulder. "Forgive me asking, do you know this woman?"

The Captain slumps down and puts his hand to his forehead. He could work a film set with that performance. He nods, lip quivering.

"I... It's a secret. To protect her. Or try to," he bends forward and holds his head. "I think... I think it's my fault."

"Captain, you can't do everything. And in this city, it's just as likely a random act of violence," the man affirms.

The Captain gulps and nods. He sniffs and sits up. His eyes are glossy as he looks at you. "I just want her to be okay."

"She will. You know we do good work, Cap. Not like the city."

"Yeah, I know," he utters glumly. "Please, call me Steve." He toys with his cowl. "Just a damn suit."

"We'll take care of her," the paramedics hunches awkwardly, "here, get closer. She needs you."

The Captain moves around the other man in the cramped space, swaying with the motion of the tires. He grabs onto the rail of the gurney. He looks down at you. His jaw ticks.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I promised..." His voice cracks even as his eyes blaze down on you. "You know, I'll always take care of you. I'll always be around."

To the other man, it must sound sweet, romantic even, but he can't see The Captain's face. It's a threat. A warning. Just like what happened in the alley.

Next time, you'll be worse off, so don't make a next time.

"We're going to be together and we're going to be okay," he gently reaches to pet your cheek.

You close your eyes, holding back your horror as he strokes you gently. As startling as this man, this hero turned villain, is all the unknown. Still that question you asked as you writhed on the ground. Why you? Before that night, you only ever saw The Captain on the news.

[scxrletivy]

Like in the 40s

Description: you and Bucky are good friends; he has told you a lot about his life in the 40s, but you're curious about what dating was like back then. So you go on a date, which has an unexpected ending. Or: two idiots in love who only need a little push.

The story is set after Civil War; the Avengers are all a big family and there's no Thanos (sue me, I needed to comfort myself).

Author's note: sooo... this is my first attempt at writing here. I've always loved writing but in the last years I stopped because I felt like I had completely lost my inspiration. Then I saw Thunderbolts, fell in love again with Bucky and here I am! Just so you know, English is not my first language, so forgive me for possible mistakes.

Word count: 2.7k.

This story is my original work and I do not give permission for anyone to copy, share or repost it anywhere without my explicit consent.

“So, how was dating in the 40s?”

You were lounging on the couch in Bucky’s room, reading a book. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon at the Tower. You and Bucky hadn’t been called up with the team for a recon mission in Eastern Europe; the last job you had been assigned had been difficult, so Tony had decided that it was better to let you stay put. Normally you would’ve complained, but you had seen how shaken Bucky was after the last mission and you were more than happy to stay and keep him company.

You had felt an inexplicable bond with him ever since you had seen him for the first time in Bucharest all those years ago; it had been a long and bumpy road: you had been through some truly hard times, but it had all led you there.

It was clear Bucky liked your company as well; it had been difficult for him to become part of the group: he felt like he did not deserve to get a second chance, he always felt like he needed to make amends. Even after Tony had officially forgiven him for what had happened, repeating at least a thousand times that he was not responsible for his parents’ death, you knew Bucky still felt like he did not belong. You had talked about it with Steve oftentimes; you two were the closest with Bucky and did everything in you power to help him feel as at ease as possible. It was clear that Bucky was comfortable with you; you could spend hours together, strolling around the city, watching movies, simply being silent.

Or reading, like that day. You were laying on his couch, while he was sitting on the floor with his head on the cushion. For the longest time you had tried to convince him to stop sitting on the floor; then, you had realised that it was something he needed sometimes. You had even tried to sit beside him, but he categorically refused to let you lay on the floor.

That afternoon, you had been reading for a few hours. But you were starting to feel bored. So, you had closed the book and put it down on your stomach. Then you had asked Bucky the question.

He was confused for a moment.

“What?”

“How was dating in the 40s?” you repeated, turning on your side. “I’m curious, you know… you’ve told me so much about your life back then, but that’s a topic we’ve never talked about and, to be honest, I’m really curious.”

Bucky put down the book and turned around as well, to look you in the eyes. He chuckled.

“I mean, it’s not like I’ve been on a thousand dates, you know…” for a moment he seemed to lose himself in the memories. “I went on a few dates, but then I was shipped off to war and… you know the rest…”

You put a comforting hand on his shoulder. You felt bad all of a sudden, the last thing you wanted was to bring him back to darker times. He had opened up with you about many of the awful things he had lived through and you had spent many nights holding him while he told you about what he remembered from the 70 years of torture, fighting back tears but feeling something break inside at the thought of him going through all that. Still, you were aware of the fact that there were things he had not shared – and probably never would – and never pushed him to talk or asked him directly. You were more than happy to listen if he needed to talk. You were about to open your mouth to tell him you didn’t mean to upset him, but he preceded you.

He got up and gently moved you to sit on the couch; then he let you get comfortable near him.

“I remember this one girl I went on a few dates with, Dolores. I saved all the money I had to take her out and blew three bucks just to try to win her a stuffed bear. When I got home I didn’t have the guts to tell my parents I had spent all the money I had,” he let out a soft laugh. “I can tell you it was quite different compared to today. I don’t have much experience about how things are nowadays, if I’m being honest, but I’ve heard things here and there and let me assure you, things have really changed. Now everyone is more relaxed, back then even holding hands was a big deal. I almost got in trouble more times than I can count.”

He was fully laughing by that point.

“Oh, I can imagine you. James Buchanan Barnes, you big flirt!”

“Don’t make fun of me, doll, I had moves”

“Oh, I believe you”

You were silent for a second, then you took the courage to ask a question that had been nagging you for quite a while.

“Do you ever think about trying dating again?”

He sighed and began tracing circles on your shoulder.

“Sometimes I think about it, but I mean… you know how it is with our lives, we’re not really normal people with ordinary lives. Plus, all my baggage. It’s not like I can begin a date by saying ‘Hi, I’m Bucky, I’m a 106-year-old ex-assassin, do you like pizza?’… Besides, I don’t know if I’d be good at all the modern stuff. Peter told me about something called situationships and I’ll tell you, doll, my heart almost fell out of my chest”

You laughed. You could perfectly imagine the shocked expression on Bucky’s face. You could not begin to imagine how disorienting and confusing it could be for him to discover all the new aspects of modern life and you deeply admired how much Bucky pushed himself and put himself out there to try new things; it was hard for him, but he was brave.

The words got out of your mouth before you knew it.

“We could go on a date. We could do everything like back then, like you used to do in the 40s”, you straightened to look him in the eyes.

He was silent for a moment, and you felt suddenly nervous, realising what you had just proposed to him.

“I mean, we don’t have to… it’s just, I want to do something nice for you, to make you feel good. I know you miss the old times and it might be cute, like time-travel”, you said shyly.

Bucky delicately took your hand.

“I think that’s a great idea, sweetheart. Tomorrow night, 6 p.m. sharp. I’ll take care of everything.”

You checked the time on your phone for the umpteenth time. 5.56 p.m.

Bucky told you he was going to pick you up at you room’s door, like a gentleman; you had spent the last two hours deciding what to wear, how to do your make up, how to fix your hair… you kept repeating to yourself that it didn’t matter, it wasn’t an official date, it was only a ‘fake’ date with your best friend Buck. But your heart was hammering in your chest. Because – if you were truly being honest with yourself – then no, it was not only a fake date with a friend. Bucky wasn’t just a friend. You had realised the depth of your feelings for him when you had been fighting Thanos, in Wakanda; Bucky had been hit and you swore you felt your heart stop for a second. It was a sudden realisation: you loved him, he had slowly but steadily become a fundamental part of you and you couldn’t lose him. In the aftermath of the fight, you had considered telling him; but you knew you were an important person for him – an important friend – and you had decided to suppress your feelings. Bucky needed your support as a friend. Two years had passed and you were still harbouring an unrequited crush for the Brooklyn boy.

In that moment, you deeply regretted suggesting the date. Who in their right mind would suggest a romantic date with the guy they loved, who didn’t love them back. It was assured heartbreak: you were going to experience how it would’ve felt to be Bucky’s girlfriend, only to go back to being his friend afterwards. You’d probably be devastated; you’d go back to her room, watch a romcom and cry yourself to sleep.

You were brought back to reality by three knocks on her door; you took a deep breath and opened it, to reveal an image that almost knocked the wind out of you. Bucky was standing in front of you, wearing a deep blue Henley and jeans that fit him snugly. And, in his hands, he was carrying a bouquet of light-pink peonies. Your favourite flowers. He had remembered.

He was the first to talk.

“Hi doll, you look beautiful”

“Thanks Buck, you look really handsome too,” you answered, blushing.

He looked at her straight in the eyes and smiled. Then he handed her the bouquet.

“These are for you, sweetheart”

You took them and delicately inhaled the perfume.

“Thank you Bucky, you didn’t need to”

“Nonsense, doll. You wanted the full 40s experience… well, there you have it”

You shook your head, suppressing a smile. “Let me find a vase and then we can go”, you said.

The restaurant Bucky had chosen was not too distant from the Tower, so you decided to walk and enjoy the late spring breeze. The sun was setting, casting beautiful shades of orange, yellow and red.

The conversation was flowing, as it always did between you two: talking with Bucky was easy, as easy as breathing. You were having a heated discussion about the last movie you had watched together when, all of a sudden, Bucky took your hand in his. You were startled: sure, you guys were close, but you knew that physical affection was still a sensitive topic for him. You were willing to take every little piece of himself he gave you, but you were never going to force him to do anything, so each little gesture meant the world to you. You turned your head to look at him, wondering if he was feeling as panicky as you, but he was completely calm; he gave you a little smile and kept talking.

After a few minutes of walking and talking, you reached the restaurant; it was a cosy place, with little candle-lit rooms and a nice atmosphere. Bucky was the perfect gentleman, opening the door for you, then helping you with the chair and asking your opinion regarding the foods on the menu so you could share.

“The pasta seems good, but I also kinda want to try the risotto” you commented, biting your lip.

“You’ll get the pasta and I’ll get the risotto, and then we can share” replied Bucky with a stunning smile.

You smiled. It was shaping up to be a great night.

By the time the first dishes arrived, you had already drunk a glass of wine and it had definitely helped ease the nerves you were feeling before. You felt stupid for having been worried: at the end of the day, you were spending time with your best friend; you were willing to accept to be Bucky’s friend and nothing more if it meant having him in your life.

“Mmmh, it’s incredible”, you uttered when you tried the pasta. You closed your eyes for a second to savour the feeling and when you opened them again, Bucky was looking at you with a strange look in his eyes.

“The risotto is just as good. Here, try it” he said, scooping up some of the pasta with the fork and offering to him.

However, instead of taking the utensil from you, he took the bite of food directly from the fork. You flushed a deep red.

“I thought it was supposed to be a date like one in the 40s”, you said with a teasing smile, “but I’m pretty sure this is way too forward”

“Like you said, doll, I was a charmer. It was the 40s, but I still knew how to properly seduce a dame” he chuckled.

He was looking at you like he wanted to eat you up; you felt naked under his eyes and even hopeful, for a second, that maybe you were not imagining things, that maybe you weren’t the only one who wanted something more out of your relationship. You shook the thought as soon as it came. You couldn’t dare to hope. The heartbreak would be too devastating.

“Oh, I’m sure you were a Casanova… we’ve all heard Steve’s stories about the ladies falling at your feet” you deflected.

“You know, Steve exaggerates sometimes… I wasn’t that big of a flirt, all things considered”

“Sargeant Barnes, lying is bad, you know?”

“Are you by any chance suggesting that I’m a liar? You wound me, doll. You know I’m a man of honour”

He took your hand and began rubbing circles on your wrist. You felt electric, like a current was flowing through your veins lighting up all of your nerves.

Yeah, he was trying to kill you.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur, between bites of shared food and flirty comments from Bucky. Instead of ordering dessert, he suggested to take a walk and get ice cream; he was the perfect gentleman, helping you with the chair, paying for dinner and immediately taking your hand once you got out of the restaurant. He let you try his ice cream and offered you his jacket when you began shivering in the cool air of the night.

When you arrived in front of the Tower, you felt a deep sense of panic set in your bones; the entire elevator ride, you couldn’t help but playing with your hands anxiously. You had had a great time with Bucky and you couldn’t help but imagining how it would’ve felt to be his girlfriend and be able to go on dates with him all the time; you knew you shouldn’t have thought about your friend in such a way, but it was impossible for you to stop wondering how it would’ve felt to kiss him, feel his lips on yours and cuddle up against him.

You were shaken from your thoughts when the elevator chimed; you had reached you floor.

Bucky let you get out first; ever the perfect gentleman, he led you to your room. When you reached your door, you slowly opened it and turned to look at him. He was so handsome, with his hair slicked back and the playful gleam in his eyes.

You were ready to thank him for the perfect night, close the door, change into a comfortable pajama and wallow in self-pity, when Bucky took your hand and spoke.

“Doll…” he looked at you straight in the eyes. His gaze held an intensity you had rarely witnessed and you felt your stomach do a flip.

“I really hope I’m not reading this whole situation wrong because I would hate to lose you. But I can’t be silent anymore,” he took your other hand as well and brought it to his chest “you are the best part of my day. Sharing coffee with you, reading together, doing nothing… every single moment together feels like a gift from life, a privilege I never thought I deserved anymore. You make me feel like I can finally stop fighting and running from myself, my past and my demons.”

He got closer and you felt your heart skip a beat.

“I think you feel the same and I’m quite sure I’m not mistaken. So, doll, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to kiss you… and maybe take you out on another date.”

You were completely stunned; you felt you had lost the ability to speak and you didn’t even trust yourself to be able to form a coherent thought. So, you did the only reasonable thing. You stood on your tiptoes and kissed him. He was shook at first, clearly not expecting you to take the lead, but he immediately returned the kiss.

It wasn’t fireworks and bombs going off. It was a calm, quiet feeling of peace.

When you broke the kiss, Bucky put his forehead on yours and closed his eyes. You finally spoke.

“I know I asked for a date like in the forties, but you know… I wouldn’t be opposed to you coming into my room and kissing me some more…”

He let out a soft laugh. Maybe things had change a little bit compared to the Forties but hell, he definitely wasn't complaining.

[conellu]

Can I have dae-ho and Nam-gyu dating headcanons(separately) please 🙏🏻🙏🏻 season 3 makes me miss them 💔🫩

Dating Kang Dae-ho (post game) and Nam-gyu (pre-,in, and post-game)

Writing blog @conelluwrites Reader is not the same through out (Pre-game is different than the reader for in-game and post-game! Reader for in-game and post-game are the same.) Reader is referred to as "you" throughout so everyone can enjoy these Check out my pre-game and in game Dae-ho hcs here Warnings for Dae-ho: abusive father (implied), PTSD, mild alcoholism, slight smut (one hc) Warnings for Nam-gyu: CANON Nam-gyu (drug use, generally being an asshole), some smut (vague dick description, dom/sub/top/bottom type, and a couple other hcs)

Post Game When you both get dropped off at the same location, he’s an absolute mess.  He can barely even register the feel of the ground beneath him, much less the way you try to help him.  You need to talk soothingly to him, don’t try moving too fast, and definitely don’t get upset when he squirms away from you at first.

He visits you and insists that you don’t need to visit him.  He doesn’t elaborate, he feels embarrassed to admit he still doesn’t want to go to his house- not a home, just a house.  He doesn’t want to see his father’s disappointed look, doesn’t want to have to explain to his mother where he’s been, and doesn’t want his sister to fuss over him.  He’s just bouncing from place to place, including your place. 

He does enjoy being held tightly, like you’re working to break him in half thats the level of tightness he wants.  But he also loves to hold you, your back against his chest and your bodies touching wherever possible.  Skin-to-skin is preferred by far, he doesn’t want to make situations sexual but he does shyly bring up how nice it would feel to have your skin against his.  You guys start slow with the idea, sleeping with a shirt and underwear on, then moving to sleeping with just underwear, then fully naked.  It doesn’t necessarily turn either of you on and just makes you both feel safe and sound.

Nightmares are a common occurrence for him, be it from his time in the games or before.  He cries in his sleep and sometimes wakes up screaming in a panic attack.  He apologizes profusely afterwards, begging for you to forgive him, that he’s sorry, that it won’t happen again.   Even with your reassurance that it’s okay, that you understand, he doesn’t believe it.

He doesn’t like to talk about his pre-game life, especially not at the beginning.  Sure he’ll talk to you about his sisters and his mom, but he always leaves out his father or laughs awkwardly while saying ‘well, you know how fathers are…’  As you two get closer, he begins to open up more and more but you’ll never get the full, entire truth in one go.  He doesn’t want you to see him as a coward or broken.

He was a slight alcoholic before the games, and he turned to old habits afterwards.  He doesn’t want to make you more worried than you already seem, doesn’t want to see those pretty eyes of yours look at him like that.  He doesn’t drink 24/7, but he does require a drink before bed or else he can’t handle himself.  This habit does slowly die off with your help.

You’re not sure when he fully moved in, but you’re not complaining.

Sex doesn’t happen immediately after the games, it takes a few weeks for him to be in the mood.  Please be patient with him.  Masturbation in the same room and mutual masturbation does happen before sex though.

He likes to see you wear his clothing or accessories, even if it’s just something as simple as his hair tie around your wrist.  He likes to buy matching clothing, either those typical couples shirts or just the same design on a shirt.  This also stretches to similar socks, he likes to feel close to you even if you’re not around so he’ll wear a pair of black socks and ask for you to wear a same color pair.

Pre-Game He is NOT the relationship type.  Oh my god, he avoids that shit like a goddamn plague.  That’s not to say that you don’t make his cold heart pump harder and his palms sweat when you give him that soft look, it’s more to say that he doesn’t feel as if he deserves something as pure as love.  No amount of patience or resilience will solve this, it’s something that he has to work on.

You’re lucky to get a huff and grunt out of him when it comes to asking what you two are when he takes you on a date.  It’s not a common occurrence, he’s more likely to come by your place or invite you over to his after he’s done working at the club.  He’s not the loving, sweet type. Dates are little more than a means to an end, that end being you on his dick in some way or another.  If you aggravate him too much he’ll just snap and say you’re nothing to him, even if it’s not the truth- even if you’re the most important person to him (you are.)

His cock is slightly less than average in length, but he makes up for what he feels he lacks in girth.  He’s uncut.  He doesn’t clean shave but he doesn’t go full natural.  He can and will bury your nose in his pubic hair when you give him head.

Dom leaning switch with a preference for being on the bottom.  He’s not a gentle dom, he’s not opposed to putting (and keeping) you in your place.  He’s also not opposed to being put in his place, but he has to be in a very specific mood.  It’s hard to spot when you first start getting into less than vanilla sex and ideas, but it becomes more and more obvious when his asshole behavior turns into more brat behavior.  He loves it when you ride him, loves digging his fingers into your hips until red marks appear.

Speaking of marks, he definitely leaves hickeys.  He likes to show off that you’re his in the most basic (albeit immature) way.

He’s an asshole most of the time, even when he’s soft he’s prone to being rude.  It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy the moment, he’s just not a softie.  Don’t take it to heart, don’t leave him, just stick around and you’ll eventually see him get nicer and nicer- though he’s never going to be the kind of boyfriend you can exactly brag about.

He alternates between being jealous and possessive and not feeling any type of way about you being around others.  He will flat out call you a whore though if he spots you getting “too close” (the definition changes depending on his mood, the drugs in his system, etc.)

He wants you to become an addict too.  If you’re not already on something, he’ll get you on something.  Absolutely loves seeing you change into his addict partn- friend.  He wouldn’t say he has a kink for this, but he does get some sexual satisfaction from the fantasy.

All in all, pre-game Nam-gyu isn’t a very good “boyfriend”.  He doesn’t claim to be though and he’s never hid anything from you.  He’s the type where you get what you see, nothing more and nothing less.

In Game Nam-gyu begrudgingly ‘allows’ you to join Team Thanos- he doesn’t hate the idea of a cute thing like you being around all the time, but he hates the idea of weakness.  And goddamn do you make him feel weak.

Jealous, jealous man.  He hates how Thanos seems to make you swoon and open up more than he’s able to.  He hates how you talk to Min-su, that pussy boy getting your attention.  Hates how you and Se-mi get along, dumb bitch needs to learn you’re his goddammit.  Fuck, even the way you’ll listen to Gyeong-su imitate Thanos’s raps…  This is mostly all in his head though.  His own insecurities highlight every interaction you have with others.  It’s not even like you ignore him!  You laugh at his jokes, lean against him when you sit side by side, and talk one-on-one with him.

He’s a bit off putting, to be honest.  Especially when it comes to lights out.  You can feel him staring at you.  He doesn’t do it on purpose, he just wants to make sure you’re okay. 

He won’t tell you he loves you before games, he’s not into that pussy shit, but he will squeeze your hand and rest his forehead on yours before shoving you away.  He’s more apt to call you his partner in the games than he would be outside the games.

Penetrative sex doesn’t happen in the games, but he does fuck your face in the bathroom when he can.  He would love to cover your face in his cum, but there’s no soap in the bathrooms and you outright refuse to go around smelling like that shit.

When Thanos dies, he relies on you more than anything else (except for maybe the pills, but you’re a close second!)  He will not let you out of his line of sight, he will want to touch you in some way non-sexually.  You’re either going to help him find Se-mi and Min-su or sit your pretty lil ass down and wait for him to return.

He’s damn proud of himself when he does find you again though.  He will say every explicit detail of Se-mi’s death, he does offhandedly mention the others he killed but he wants you to praise him or something over Se-mi. He protects you during hide and seek if you’re on the blue team, more or less forcing you to follow close behind him and Myung-gi.  He helps secure your kill if you’re on the red team, either going in half for the kill or cornering a blue vest and encouraging you to go for it already.

Post-Game Post-game Nam-gyu is infinitely more likely to claim you as his partner.  Not just as a sexual partner, but as a romantic one as well!  Being through the games, especially with you specifically, makes him realize he needs to take things- people- that are important to him more seriously.

Now don’t get the wrong idea, it’s not an immediate change by any means, but he does make an actual effort.  Granted, that’s not saying much given how he treated people important to him before the games.

He’s more likely to want some sort of sexual release after the games, he needs to be inside of you ASAP.  Needs to show you in his own way how special you are to him while also relieving the high stress he feels.  He doesn’t try to butter you up with sweet words, he makes it clear what he’s getting at- a way to ‘claim’ you and release himself.  He doesn't ask you to ride him, it’s one of the few times he’s content with just missionary.  He’d never admit it, but it’s because he wants to establish more of a connection with you.

He moves you into his place, even if it’s shitty and you both have to work together to clean it up to be inhabitable for two people.  It takes some time, but it’s well worth it when you guys are able to lounge on the couch together or lay around in bed together.

He’s more upfront with his emotions, even if he feels like some pussy for it.  Is he always honest?  Of course not, he’s still Nam-gyu, but he’s more likely to tell you what makes him uncomfortable if you interact with another guy instead of just calling you a loose slut or instigating an argument.  

He does still argue though, he does still allow himself to fall into old habits like screaming or throwing and breaking things.  He’ll clean up his own mess though and try to make it up to you without it being a  manipulation tactic to get you to stick around.  He actually uses his big boy words and apologizes.

He doesn’t like matching clothes, the idea makes his skin crawl, but he’s not opposed to matching in other ways.  Drinking the same drink is his favorite thing to do, it’s subtle but makes him feel powerful haha

He still does drugs, this is Nam-gyu.  He’s not gonna force or manipulate you into trying anything if you’re not comfortable with it, but he’ll definitely praise you for giving it go (and maybe even eat you out, something he doesn’t do often.)

He prefers to sleep with your head on his chest, an arm over him, and your feet rubbing gently at his ankle.  He’ll kiss your head and mutter out a tired ‘night’.  When he’s super tired, he might even confess his feelings.  Don’t try to get him to admit to it in the morning, he’s not ready to face that reality yet. All in all, he’s a lot softer- even if for Nam-gyu almost anything would be considered softer.  You can actually brag about him!  Are the brags extravagant?  Not at all, but he’s yours and you’re his, you love each other.

[jeanscowgirl]

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

MDNI!!!

Smut ahead

Warnings: church mentions, mean Simon, smut, smut, and more smut, bratty reader tehe, read at own discretion

Idk how good this actually is, I had an idea and ran with it, I also am not religious nor do I have much experience in that field so please give me grace…

I hope you enjoy though :)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚

After his time in the military, Simon Riley decided it was time to turn over a new leaf…

He became a priest.

And now, five years later, a good five years being celibate and having plenty of self control, he saw you.

The first time he saw you was at a coffee shop in the small(ish) town where he resided. He had never seen you before, but once he had, he didn’t want to look away.

He was mesmerized by your beauty but continued on with his day because…he couldn’t have you.

╰┈➤

A week later, he saw you again, at the same coffee shop as before…

Was he purposely stopping there in hopes to see you? Of course not that would be silly…

He didn’t talk to you though, no point in that. He couldn’t give you his number, couldn’t ask you on a date, so he just watched you subtly from a distance.

╰┈➤

Simon used his Wednesdays to hold confessional hours, he sat in that booth all day, waiting for people to come reveal their sins to him. He’d never judge, he’d just listen and assign a penance.

Few people visited, but he enjoyed it, listening to others sins, and ignoring everything he’d done while in the military. While nothing matched his sins, he felt lighter after every Wednesday.

But not this Wednesday…

He was sitting in the booth, waiting for someone to occupy the one next to him.

And you did.

“Uhm, hello?” You said, never having done this before.

“Good afternoon, when was your last confession?” Simon replied, not before slightly reacting to your voice. No, he had never heard it and he didn’t know it belonged to you, but he still reacted all the same.

“Uh? Never?” Your voice shook when you spoke, Simon noticed.

“Ah, I see” he situated himself in the booth next to yours, “Would you feel comfortable talking face to face? That is an option, and helpful for first timers like yourself,”

Was he telling the truth? Or did he just want to put a face to the voice?

You hesitated, not sure if you were even ready to do this in the first place, “I- uh, sure,”

“Alright then,” he said politely, getting up and exiting the booth.

You did the same.

And then he saw you.

His eyes widened, you didn’t notice, you were too shy to look into said eyes.

“Follow me,” no that wasn’t right…you could’ve easily stepped into the very close, obvious space meant for face to face confessions.

He took you to his office, you didn’t question though, what did you know? You had never done this before.

He was going off script now, completely abandoning the typical confession process, “So what do you need to confess,” he sounded like he wanted to get this over with as QUICKLY as possible. Not able to be in your presence for much longer.

You took notice to the tone in his voice, confused as he just brought you to his office, “Is this a bad time? I can come back at a different time,”

He realized his mistake, “No, apologies, I have time, this is a good time,”

You looked at your hands in your lap, nervous, “I obviously have never done this, uh, I guess I don’t really have anything to confess, I just needed someone to talk to. And I don’t know, someone told me that here was a good place to go if I needed to vent. But if that’s not what this is for, I totally understand and-“

“No.” He cut you off.

“No?”

“While typically this isn’t really a venting session, I can listen if you need to get something off your chest,” A small smile appearing on his lips.

And so you vented.

You vented almost every Wednesday for a good month, each time learning more and more about Simon.

Yes, each time you would go to his office.

Yes, each time he’d break the rules a litttleeee bit

Yes, each time lasted longer than the one before

Yes, each time you’d spend HOURS talking to him

Yes, each time he was not supposed to be doing what he was doing.

He was growing to like you, more than just as a member of the congregation…

And you were starting to like him too, he could tell.

At each meeting when he put his hand over yours, to comfort you—the way a priest is supposed to of course—how you got goosebumps.

When he rubbed his thumb on your hand—in a priest way of course—and sent shivers through your body.

The way he looked you up and down, the way you noticed him doing so and would rub your thighs together, hungry for what COULD be.

He noticed.

He noticed all of it.

Many cold showers, long nights, and bitter drinks later, he couldn’t shake the thought of you.

He tried, he really really did.

After all, he could lose his job, his church, his everything.

But did he stop? Nope.

And there you were, sitting in his office the next Wednesday after your 4th visit.

It was barely even venting to him at this point. You would catch up about life, like you were old friends. Or more…

While you were talking about work, he put his hand over yours, something he had done the past 4 times.

You stopped talking though.

“Father Riley?” You asked quietly

“Hm?” He replied still holding your hand in his.

“I think I would…I think I would like to go on a date with you,” You smiled slightly at him, joy and hope in your eyes.

He dropped your hand.

Your smile faded.

“No. That’s not what this is. That cannot happen, I’m sorry if you misinterpreted that during our meetings,”

You in fact had not misinterpreted that. He felt it, he knew you felt it. Simon had been dumb to not think this would happen in the first place.

Without a word, you got up, and left his office.

And you also didn’t show up the next week.

Or even at the Sunday Mass you had began to attend. (Just to see Father Riley)

But you were gone.

You were gone just as fast as you appeared.

╰┈➤

Two weeks had passed, and Simon Riley had sulked all he could, still never shaking the thought of you.

But there you were again, in the same coffee shop he had first seen you at.

And before he could stop himself, he walked up to you and tapped your shoulder, “Y/n?”

You whipped around, “Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to check in, I haven’t seen you at Mass” he stated, never showing too much emotion.

“I’ve been busy,” you answered short.

“Ah I see, well, we’d love to see you this Sunday,” translation, HE’D love to see you Sunday.

“Hm, maybe.” And you began to walk away before Simon grabbed your wrist.

“Wait.” He commanded, not pleaded, your wrist still in his hand.

“This is highly inappropriate Father.” The words falling out of your mouth bitterly.

He dropped your wrist, “Apologies, please consider coming. And please consider meeting me in my office next Wednesday as well,”

And then he walked away, leaving you utterly confused with his possibly meaning.

╰┈➤

You didn’t attend Sunday’s Mass, you thought about it but the heavy weight of Wednesday lied in your mind.

But, it was Wednesday and here you were. Standing at the bottom of the steps, leading into the church. You COULD turn back now but you diddd make it all this way…

And into the church you went, heading straight for Father Riley’s office.

His door was open and he was sitting behind his desk. You knocked, getting his attention.

“Come in, close the door.”

You listened.

“Take a seat,”

You listened again, unsure of why he wanted you here.

You said nothing.

“I’d like to apologize,” he started, “for the way I reacted to your question a few weeks ago,”

You nodded, not saying anything.

“I cannot engage in anything of that nature, I’m sure you understand,”

You just nodded your head again.

Silence filled the room as neither of you spoke.

Feeling as the conversation was over, you scooted your chair back and began to stand.

Simon shot up and grabbed your wrist from across his desk, stopping you before you could walk away.

You looked at him, confusion in your eyes.

He dropped your wrist, muttering a quick “fuck”

And you turned to walk away again.

Not even making it to two steps away from the desk, Simon stepped in front of you, grabbed the back of your head, and kissed you.

You kissed back, grabbing at his shoulders, his hair, his neck, wanting more.

He pulled away for a second, bracing his hands on your shoulders. He stared at you, taking in your looks. Cursing himself for not being able to resist this temptation.

You stared back, “what are we doing?”

Not waiting for an answer, you walked out of his office.

You went straight home, immediately researching how confessions REALLY worked, suspicious that maybe Simon wasn’t so truthful.

You were frustrated, angry, and so many other emotions.

But most of all, you were confused. Confused why he’d make such an effort to do things “differently” if he didn’t think of you as someone special.

Little did you know…

You consumed his mind. He thought of you all the fucking time.

But you wouldn’t know. You couldn’t know.

It was all wrong. This was his livelihood.

╰┈➤

You stared up at the church the next Wednesday from the bottom of the steps.

Your legs moved before your mind could, and that’s how you slipped into the confessional booth, the one right beside Father Riley, only a screen in between you.

You cleared your throat, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,”

He didn’t say a word. He knew it was you. He was frozen.

You proceeded with your “confession” not wanting or needing a response.

“I met this man, recently, within the last month actually,” jealousy stirred in Simon’s stomach but he let you continue, “he’s very handsome but recently, I can’t get him off my mind,” of course, you meant Simon himself but he didn’t know that, “I think about very dirty things when I think about him,” the innocence in your voice was falling, Simon recognized, “I think about the ways he can touch me, the ways he can make me come,” you’d hoped you could push Simon’s limit…and boy had you.

Simon, inches from you in the other booth began to palm his erection through his jeans.

“I have given him multiple opportunities, but it seems he isn’t man enough to get the job done,” You sighed, laughing a little at your finished “confession”.

But to Simon that wasn’t funny, not one bit.

“Is that all?” Simon finally spoke.

“Yes, I suppose that’s all,” you tell him, standing up to leave.

But your booths door swings open before you get the chance to open it yourself.

Simon standing in the doorway, staring at you like you’re his prey.

“Sit.”

You do.

He steps into the small booth and shuts the door behind him. His crotch level with your face.

He lifts your chin with his fingers, making sure you look him in the eyes, “Not man enough huh?” He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips pucker up before removing his hand.

“Suck me off.”

You sit for a moment, unsure of how to react.

His hand moves to the back of your head, grips your hair and forces you to look at him again, “I said suck.”

His hands still in your hair, you move to undo his belt and slacks. You pull them down, his dick springing out.

He was big. Thick.

You shuddered, unsure of your capabilities.

You took him in your mouth anyways, sucking him, getting him as far down into your throat as you could.

His hand gripped your hair tighter, letting out soft groans as you took his cock.

You licked from base to tip, eyes looking up into his as you took him down your throat again.

“Fuck” he spit out, slowly fucking your face, “this man enough for you?”

You hummed, mouth still full of cock, tears falling down your face.

He pulled out of your mouth, “use your fucking words.”

“Y-yes Father,” you sobbed.

“That’s what I thought. Now up”

You stood up, Simon immediately moving you, switching your places.

Now he sat, dick fully on display, hands behind his head, almost resting.

“Clothes off” you stood there for a moment “now.”

You shimmied out of your clothes with the small space you had, kicking them behind you.

He stared at you, admiring you. He knew you were gorgeous, he knew you deserved to be treated like a princess, but not after you disrespected him…no no no

He glanced down at his erection, “sit”

You moved to straddle him, hovering over his thick cock, scared to sit.

You looked down, pre cum leaking from the tip, you tried to line yourself up.

But, Simon was tired of waiting and he slammed you down onto him earning a sharp cry.

He placed his hands back behind his head, “move”

“Father I- I don’t know,”

“You don’t know what? You don’t know how you’re sitting on your Priests cock? You don’t know how to ride said cock? You don’t know how you ended up here after insulting me?”

You stared at him, no words, you had nothing to say.

“You disrespected me in front of God Y/n, you deserve to be punished, don’t you agree?”

You shook your head yes

“I need words doll”

“Y-yes Father Riley,”

“See, you CAN be a good girl, now ride my cock like I told you to,”

You nodded, grinding down, making yourself feel good without his help.

You tried to touch him but he wouldn’t let you, insisting you didn’t deserve it.

You kept trying, causing him to hold your wrists to your stomach, still riding him.

He just watched with an occasional “fuck” or “keep riding” or “you’re so dirty, so sinful”

You however, were sobbing, getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Simon I’m close,” you choked out.

He grabbed your face with one hand, “Say my name correctly and maybe I’ll let you cum,”

“F-Father Riley, Im close,” you sobbed.

“That’s better, cum for me, you’ve been decent enough,” he released your hands and let you wrap your arms around his neck as you rode out your orgasm.

Though he didn’t stop, he kept going until he was done.

You were a mess, tears streaking your face, broken sobs and moans falling from your lips, all while he kept moving your hips until he reached his own orgasm.

And once he did, he lifted you off his cock and set you on his thigh.

He wiped the tears from your face, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he mumbled into your hair.

Simon Riley had made a huge mess, one he didn’t know how to fix. But all was well, in this moment, holding you in his arms.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

Fucked it up !

Yet another fic hehe:3 doing anything but posting part 4 of Moth Drawn To Flame...Forgive me y'all! I'm having writer's block, so I don't like anything I'm writing rn. I don't like this either but, oh well...I still wanna keep updating. Anyway, dividers by @cafekitsune tagging: @shintaru @ravenwritten @bfwooin @sylith @wthphe1n @zyart-jpg @bunnygirlgonewild @kuchisabishiiiii @i-nssomniia @mscatheart @erisawrites

Wooin has always been the type to catch up on trends, know what's trending rn and what's not. To be entirely honest, he's the one that introduced you to many trends in the first place, which later you got obsessed with. And truthfully? He didn't mind. Those stupid pranks you pulled? Entertaining, at least for him—even though you'd get frustrated for almost never being able to prank him. But whenever you succeed, you'd always celebrate it and gosh, that cute little celebration? He found it so adorable that he couldn't even get mad at you.

He was almost always informed on what was going on social media and never has he made a mistake during pranks or even during your stupid lil questions that girlfriends often asked their boyfriends.

But everything can happen at least once, huh?

You were spread out on the bed, watching Wooin play one of his online game that you already forgot the name of—but he surely loved it. However, your mind was drifting to another places, specifically to the memory of something you came across on tiktok and for whatever reason, curiosity ate you up whole, wanting to know how Wooin would react.

So, with a playful smirk, you leaned over his shoulder and rested your chin on him, mumbling excitedly. "Damnn, my current boyfriend is very good at playing games."

His fingers paused, his head tilting a little to get a look at your expression. He wasn't offended, no. He was trying to figure you out. What intentions did you have now, huh? Make him jealous? How cute. Shouldn't you know better?

You spoke up again. "I want to play it with you, current boyfriend."

He almost snickered. "Current?"

You hummed, nodding your head. "Yup, current."

Oh. He gets it. That's what you want, huh. Well, two can play at that game.

"Aww, really.." He turned to his screen once again, continuing his game. "I'm your current boyfriend?"

"Yup!" You answered without hesitation.

"Then you're my current girlfriend. Still thinking if I should keep you or upgrade to someone who can cook."

He said it.

Gosh, he really said it.

With no hesitation.

Your smile faltered before completely disappearing, your eyebrows knitted together as you frowned upon him. "What..?"

He turned to look at you, completely unfazed by what he just said. "What?"

"Why would you say that?" You tried to laugh but your voice almost cracked.

He sighed like this was giving him headache, turning his phone off. "Because you started it?"

"I called you my current boyfriend because I want you to be my husband one day..." You explained, your voice trailing quieter, watching the way his mouth parted open in surprise. "But..You think I'm repleacable instead?"

His phone almost dropped from his hands, his expression more than just surprised, but also capturing the moment of realization on him. He could swear to god, he started cursing himself in his head.

"No. No, I don't—fuck, baby, I was joking." He gets up from the floor, sitting on the bed beside you, his fingers immediately linking with you.

You fought the urge to swat his hand away, but you didn't. In the end, you knew he just misunderstood what you were trying to say but, damn, that hurt so bad. And that familiar yet very unpleasant feeling of your heart feeling heavy, eyes burning from unshed tears, settled in your chest. "You...You said it like it could happen, you know."

"I'm sorry.." He groaned, laying you back down on your back, his head resting on your chest while his arms wrapped themselves around your waist. "I thought you were pranking me and I thought I'd match your energy, but I misunderstood what you truly meant. And you know how I am—Joking about shits I shouldn't."

You sighed to yourself, your gaze glued to ceiling. "You're stupid."

He clossed his eyes in acceptance. "Yeah, yeah, I'm stupid." Though, there was no seriousness in his voice while saying that.

"And idiotic if you thought I'd ever joke about replacing you." You huffed, shifting beneath him to have space for yourself but he has glued himself on you like a parasite, unwilling to let you go, like his life depended on you.

"I'm sorry, I fucked it up." He muttered, cursing under his breath. How could he not understand your intentions in the first place? You were like an open book, easy to read, easy to understand. But only because he thought he could get stupid for a second— gosh, the more he thinks about it, the more he hates himself for it. "It was just a dumb joke. I didn't mean it."

You didn't answer. Instead, you were much more interested in the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with him. He groaned again—not in annoyance, no—but because he felt so stupid in moments like this, awkward and stupid. "You're not gonna be replaced, you know that, right?"

You finally looked at him, your lips curled in disdain and unamusement. "I better not. Or I'll cut your balls off."

"See?" He smirked, lifting his head from your chest. "Who needs forgiveness when I can have my beautiful girlfriend threatening me with Castration?"

Your lips twitched in smile slightly and he didn't miss that moment. His heart calmed down now that he successfully made you smile, even if slight.

"But seriously..." He rubbed his neck, glancing down at you. "Let me make it up to you, yeah?"

"And how?" You raised your eyebrow at him.

"I'll buy us matching rings from Chrome Hearts, deal? The ones you've been eyeing for." He noticed. He always noticed how much you loved Chrome Hearts rings. So, for a while, he's been planning to make them customize for you and perfect moment for that finally came.

His attentiveness made you forget about what you were upset about in the first place. You sit up on the bed, still not done with him. "And ice cream."

"And ice cream, of course."

You bit your lip. Gosh, he was so annoying sometimes but great heavens, you were so lucky to have him.

"And kisses." He added, his smirk stretching wider.

"What—Oh—" You were caught off guard by him suddenly pressing his lips to yours in a firm kiss, as if he was pouring all his apologies and promises in it.

And maybe he was. Hence, he kissed you breathless, cupping your cheek in his hand, slowly cradling you as if you were most delicate thing he has ever touched.

When you finally pulled away to catch your breath—cheeks flushed, he asked. "Am I forgiven?"

You nodded your head, still distracted by the kiss and closeness of his presence. "Mhm. But don't joke like that again."

"I won't." He left peck on your lips. "Never again."

[farenmaddox]

my next Destiel hot take be upon ye

I often see the following idea presented, with only slight changes to wording: "Dean wants Cas to choose to stay (choose Dean) vs. Cas just wants to be asked to stay (to be chosen by Dean), but neither of them can say that and therefore it is the inherent tragedy of their love."

I could be wrong, but I think a lot of this interpretation stems from this part of the script in 15x09, "The Trap."

DEAN: I know you're sorry, Cas. About Bel, about Mom. CAS: I was talking about Jack. I already apologized to you. You just refused to hear it. DEAN: Sorry I brought it up. Maybe if you didn't just up and leave us. CAS: You didn't give me a choice. You couldn't forgive me. And you couldn't move on. You were too angry. I left, but you didn't stop me.

I think this actually speaks to the fact that Dean usually does try to stop Cas from leaving, and that he didn't is what was different this time. Because Dean always seeks a way to forgive Cas, even if it means compromising his own worldview ("Dude, if anybody else – I mean anybody – pulled that kind of crap, I would stab them in their neck on principle.") Dean does, regularly and repeatedly, try to bring Cas in from the cold. He does, regularly and repeatedly, tell Cas what he means to him.

I need you, I'm glad you're here, I'd rather have you, check your messages, I'm not leaving without you, why didn't you wait for me, you've got one job to do and that's to heal, you're the best friend we've ever had, never do that again, let's go home. Etc.

Cas is not waiting to be asked to stay; HE HAS BEEN ASKED. It's in this specific and particular instance that Dean doesn't ask. And that's the problem. It implies that Dean has finally had enough of the way Cas doesn't treat Dean as a partner the way that Dean treats Cas as one. Cas has regularly shown a tendency to go away and try to take care of their big problems alone, without communicating, and come back with proof that he's more than the mistakes he's made-- not for Dean, but for himself. Dean's aware that Cas has this issue! He acknowledges it especially in s12 - "And he's so desperate for a win right now, he can't even see straight." Dean is usually very sympathetic to it even though it drives him absolutely crazy.

Mary's death is not at all Cas's fault, of course. But the fact that Cas ditched them and went to seek help from God and the angels again when he didn't know what to do about Jack -- instead of talking to Dean about it -- is the part that I think pushed Dean over the edge. The fixed point in their relationship - that Dean will always forgive Cas when he runs off to try to save the day - turns out to not be as fixed as either of them thought it was. And to really twist the knife, Dean questions whether his feelings for Cas are even real. I don't think Dean actually believes Chuck has forced him to have feelings for Cas (familial or otherwise), but it reminds me of the way Dean says Jack isn't family in "Unity" - he doesn't truly believe that, but he has to find a way to emotionally justify making an impossible choice between which members of his family he loves more. Cutting out Cas, cutting out Jack, because he is actually literally at his mental and emotional breaking point and there has to be a justification to get Dean through it.

I think the inherent tragedy is a lot more in the fact that Dean wants Cas to stay and Cas just can't do that. You can't remove the noble knight from his natural habitat of questing; he'll waste away. They have incompatible self-esteem issues. Dean needs to feel more important than the mission in order to believe he's loved, and Cas needs to complete missions to prove himself worthy of love. They're fucking idiots, your honor.

[alethialia]

wip last lines

I'm generally very bad at doing stuff I'm tagged in, but I do appreciate it! Tagged by the lovely @alasse9 this go 'round, here are the last lines I've written on my two long WIPs that will never be finished, omg. I got a little enthusiastic, so going behind a cut:

The Pitt, Robby/Abbot, MSF fic where Robby met Abbot while working for MSF in Iraq:

Robby felt himself bristle. “What, you think I can apply a tourniquet, but can’t check basic vitals?” “Trust, but verify, Dr. Robby,” he said, his name sounding silky in Abbot’s mouth. “Which I just did, so turns out, you’re not totally useless.” Robby wanted to bristle again, but Abbot was turning to the soldier on the ground. “Got good news and bad news for you, Corporal. The bad news is that your life was saved by a civilian. Oh, the shame.” The soldier choked out a laugh. “I think I can live with it, sir.” “Well, you’ll have to. The good news is that you’re gonna have the kind of gnarly scar that chicks dig. If you have any game whatsoever, you should be able to swing this into blowjobs.” Robby just stared at Abbot as a laugh raced through the soldiers around them. The soldier on the ground stilled. “…wait, really?” he asked, sounding awfully hopeful. Abbot patted the guy’s chest. “Yeah, think about that for a while.” To the others he called, “Let’s get a rig in here. Someone get on the hook and tell FST they got incoming.” “Roger that,” floated up from somewhere as two guys carrying a stretcher hustled in to whisk their injured soldier away. Abbot stood to get out of the way, then offered Robby a hand. Robby took it, startled the strength of that grip before he was yanked to standing, all Abbot’s focus on him again. “Dr. Jack Abbot,” he said, finally introducing himself. Robby almost responded with his own name – thankfully realizing he’d already done that – and fumbled his way to, “Pleasure, Dr. Abbot.” Abbot smiled like he clocked Robby’s awkwardness and found it endearing. “Call me Jack,” he said, easy. “I bet I’ll be seeing you around.”

The Pitt, Ellis/Garcia/Santos/it's complicated, Night Shift fic:

Under Ellis’ measuring gaze, Trinity felt herself fidget. “I can’t get kicked out of the residency program.” Understanding flicked over her expression. “Abbot wouldn’t let that happen.” “You don’t know. Dr. Robby already exiled me to nights.” “I do know,” Ellis insisted. “Better than you, intern.” Trinity shook her head. “Yeah, well, forgive me for being careful.” Ellis softened, hugging the tablet to her, leaning against the counter. “You don’t trust us,” she finally said, like a realization. “Why should I?” Trinity shot back, lifting her chin. A smile ghosted over Ellis’ face, distracting Trinity for a second – how did she just look like this – but then Ellis nodded once. “We’ll work on it.” And then she was moving on, so like Abbot when she did that. “Now come on. It’s after midnight, so we should start getting the sex injuries soon.” With that, she walked off. Trinity stared after her. “Wait, really?”

Not specifically tagging anyone, but everyone should play! <3

[unfortunate-songbird]

*on the verge of madness*

it’s always “I don’t forgive you” and ‘Tim died hating Jon’ and ‘their relationship was completely ruined’ and never “I don’t forgive you, but thank you for this” I don’t think Tim could’ve forgiven Jon if he wanted to at that point I think he was too lost in bitterness and resigned apathy to try to reach out to or forgive anyone even (perhaps especially) himself but I think that was the closest thing to it Tim had left. he went into the unknowing with the goal of avenging his brother and Sasha and it’s heavily implied if not outright said that he didn’t plan to live after that he had nothing else left nowhere else to go having lost everything that mattered to him “Thank you for this” for the chance to avenge Danny- the reason he upended his entire life to join the archives in the first place, for the promise of release to die and die knowing he took the circus down with him to be free of the pain and grief and anger once and for all Tim didn’t (couldn’t) forgive Jon but he didn’t say ‘I don’t forgive you and I hate you’ he said “I don’t forgive you but thank you” they make me insane I’m actively chewing on the walls as we speak

[catchingfallingstars]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS | GETO SUGURU X READER & SASHISU X READER ♥︎

♡ CHAPTER ONE: i always want you when I'm finally fine

♡ SYNOPSIS: It's been a decade or so since you've last seen Suguru, when out of the blue, and when your other partners are away, he decides to visit you.

♡ WORD COUNT: 6K

♡ WARNINGS: 18+, polyamory, alcohol/drug abuse, suicidal thoughts/suicide attempts/passive suicidal ideation, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms and relationships, (f!receiving) oral sex, unprotected sex.

♡ A.N: This is, indeed, a repost so if it looks familiar, that's why! I decided I'd rather have a xreader-focused sideblog <3

AO3 ♡ M.LIST/TAGLIST ♡ NEXT

“I’m home,” you announce to an empty apartment as you slip off your boots and put on your slippers.

You flick the lights on, highlighting white walls and sparse furniture, and make your way towards the kitchen, to where your bar cart is. It is the only fully furnished thing you own, diligent to keep everything you could possibly want or need in stock. You don’t smoke anymore, not since the pact you swore with Shoko four years ago, but you’ve simply replaced one vice for another. At least you don’t pop pills or do lines anymore. Your suppliers went their different ways, one going rogue and murdering an entire village of non-sorcerers and the other throwing himself in missions and avoiding you like the plague after a bout of shared teenage angst that only two lovesick fools could share.

Quitting cold turkey had been an interesting experience, but Shoko had been there for you. She had seen you at your worst and had nursed you back to health a few times after some extremely idiotic decisions. She hadn’t judged you, even though you wished she had. She was so gentle with you in the aftermath of each attempt, forgiving you every time, and you hadn’t deserved it, so you swore to yourself that you’d stop being so foolish and had sworn to her that you’d do your best to take as long as you possibly could before joining the endless parade of corpses that eventually ended up in her morgue.

“Idiot,” Shoko had said, unbearably fond, before she whispered a quiet thank you into the crown of your head and laid a kiss there. You would break her heart one day, you’re sure of it. However, it’d only be because of a curse or curse-user and not by your own hand.

The next week after that, Satoru had slid up right next to you, wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and complained about his latest mission like nothing had changed since your school days and not like he hadn’t ignored you for an entire year.

To say that it had been a disastrous confrontation would be an understatement; an entire section of the mountains that hid the school had been blown to pieces, decimated by your bottled-up emotions and Satoru’s deflection. It took another year before the two of you could stand to be near each other and civil, and then one more until your friendship had repaired to a status similar enough to the one you both shared during your school years. It was different, of course, because there was a missing piece in your dynamic, a black hole that could never be filled, but that was fine.

You’re used to it now, a whole ten years after the fact.

How pathetic.

Going through your inventory, you deliberate on your choice for the night. A quiet night in dictates a few glasses of wine, but you’re feeling nostalgic tonight. You don’t go for something achingly sweet like something Satoru drank in his youth, or a whiskey cocktail like Shoko has stayed true to since her teen years, but rather you choose warmed kimoto sake. An interesting choice considering the warmth you’ve had to deal with during this month.

As you begin to heat it up, you think about your friends.

Shoko and Satoru are off in Kyoto for the Goodwill Event, and while you were invited to join them, it didn't feel right. You weren’t a part of the faculty and though you helped some of Satoru’s students a few times, it wasn’t enough to warrant a reason to come. Still, you would have liked to see the four of them in action, specifically Yuuta-kun. Kento hadn’t gone either, but then, he wouldn’t, seeing as he preferred to keep his personal and professional life as separate as possible. He’s stubborn, but you admire that about him. You’ll never admit it, but he is more brave than you’ll ever be, leaving so easily, even if he had returned in the end.

Sometimes, you wish you had turned your back on this society too. Only, you would have stayed gone.

Taking a sip from your now perfectly heated sake, you close your eyes and think of better times. Before you know it, the bottle is finished, and you decide it may be best to shower before forgetting to and getting into bed dirty. It was an entirely too humid day, and you’re still slick with sweat. You turn the lights and burner off. An alarm rings, but you swipe it away. Thirty minutes later, you’re slightly buzzed but clean, dressed in only an oversized band-tee that you’re certain you stole from one of your friends and a pair of panties. It’s a nice feeling, and you’ve had so few of those as of late since the approach of a certain ten year anniversary.

Maybe you should watch one of Tsumiki’s favorite dramas that you used to always indulge her in. No one else would catch her up on them, and it’s been a while since you visited her anyway. Now, you would have something to share with her that wasn’t anything curse related. If you were her, you’d hate hearing only of tragedy and misery. Surely, the main couple finally got their act together and became official.

Some more sake sounds like a better idea though. However, as you move further into your apartment, you realize there is a second presence with you, no longer hidden. You flick the lights on, and there on your couch is a splash of color in your otherwise dreary residence.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Suguru is just about the same as he was all those years ago. Only now, he’s grown into his looks. He’s no longer so awkward in his body, apparent in the way he sprawls so confidently in his monk attire as he stares up at you with that familiar fox-like smile. His hair is so much longer now, free from the bun he used to prefer. His gauges have grown in size. He’s wearing Satoru’s house slippers. It’s odd to reconcile the image you have of him in your mind with the man he now is. Your only thought as you take in all of him is that he’s grown up without you and has become a stranger when once he used to be your everything.

You blink, unable or perhaps unwilling to believe what you’re seeing, yet the vision of the man in front of you doesn’t change. It seems unlikely that after all this time, he would choose to visit you like this, so maybe this is just another dream. It’s been a while since the last one. Walking past him to light the burner once more, you wonder if you’ve had too much to drink even as you pour for a second cup.

As you make your way back to your living room, he’s still there, looking at you with that stupid smile still plastered on his face. You place your cup down first before handing him his own, his hands easily enveloping your own as you do.

He feels warm.

Real.

Oh.

Suguru is really here.

“Of course, I’m here. Did you believe otherwise?”

Ah, you spoke aloud. You may be more than slightly buzzed if you’re this bad already. You sit beside him, your thigh touching his own, and look him straight in the eye as you say, “I never know what to believe when it comes to you.”

His expression falters, and for a moment, he’s the boy you loved, before it’s paved over by that false congeniality you hate. He would have made it big as an actor if he hadn’t gone down the path of murderous cult leader, or maybe a politician. Those are certainly more likely to betray you than an actor would. Then again, that profession isn’t too far from a cult leader in all actuality.

He takes a sip from his cup, surprise and delight flitting over his features the moment it reaches his tongue. It feels good to break his facade because he’s already breaking all the walls you’ve built around your heart by simply being beside you like this; some reciprocity would be nice. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s had this particular drink and brand. It was his favorite once upon time, and you figured that if he threw just about everything else out from his previous life, he must have done the same to this too. It’s nice to know you still know the core of him even if you don’t know the exact happenings of his life.

“How have you been? You and Satoru have made up now, yes?”

Of course, he would bring that up. It doesn’t surprise you that he does, though. For a while, your fight with Satoru had been all anyone could talk about. A destructive fight between the last two loyal Special Grades shortly after the third went rogue? It was a scandal that didn’t abate until you and Satoru finally made up, until you’d shown up with him draped all over you, looking very obviously freshly-fucked, at a council meeting.

However, Suguru very well knows that you and Satoru had long made up. You may be foolish but you’re not an idiot. Not anymore. It’s not hard to determine where your not-quite boyfriend goes once a month like clockwork and why he comes back to you tasting of smoke and misery. Once, very early on, he had asked if you wanted to join him, and you had simply given him a scathing look before leaving his apartment to go to Shoko’s. He never asked again, but you knew that the offer was always open.

Confronting you like this, in your apartment and with no one near, Suguru leaves you no choice but to face him. Maybe he got tired of waiting for you to come to him. For once, you're not the desperate one. It’s a nice change of pace. Yet, there's always the possibility that he’s here to kill you.

If you’re going to die like this, so be it, but you’d like another drink before you go. A civil conversation would be nice too. You find that you’ve missed him dearly, ready to fall back into old habits with an old friend. Shoko will be disappointed in you for not putting up a fight, but if you hadn’t had the strength to do it while you helped him with the twins, you definitely couldn’t do it now. Satoru will understand though. You only hope he’s kind; you’ve had enough of his cruelty.

“Yes. We’re doing well now. As for myself, I’m the same as always. I don’t get up to much these days.” You pause to take a sip to wet your dry mouth. “Oh, I’m almost done with my teaching certificate, but don’t tell Satoru. He’ll be a nuisance if he finds out through you. I plan on joining him at Jujutsu Tech next year.”

Satoru hadn’t been wrong when he said you’d enjoy it. It’s fulfilling in a way that exorcising curses isn’t, and though you’ve always supported him in his endeavor to allow the children of your society to hold onto their youth for as long as possible, it’s different when you’re the one cultivating said youth.

“Oho, is that so? I’m happy for you,” Suguru says, and the thing is, he really does sound genuine. “Of the two of you, I always thought you’d be the one to teach there. You were always so diligent with our kouhai, Haibara-kun specifically.”

Hearing him speak so blatantly about Yuu-kun sends a stab straight through your heart. He had been a good boy, an average sorcerer at the time, but there had been potential for him to grow into a First Grade had he lived. You remember sitting beside his corpse, debating whether you should kill the window who miscalculated the curse’s grade and the elder who let it accumulate power for years before it became a so-called problem and reported it.

It had been Suguru who had convinced you otherwise. Hypocritical of him, considering he went on a murder spree not too long after for the sake of two little girls and his own twisted philosophy.

You had changed after that, even more after the short time you helped Suguru settle with Nanako-chan and Mimiko-chan before essentially being turned away from his new home and the bender you and Satoru went on. After that, you fell into a depressive episode so severe that it almost killed you. Only Shoko knows the extent of how close you were to giving up completely, and it will stay like that. During that time, Satoru had stayed far away from you, Suguru had been busy with handling his newly seized cult and raising the twins, Kento had pulled away from everyone, and Yuu-kun was dead.

You had lost your spark, unwilling to become attached to anyone else who could break your heart so thoroughly. Teaching, which had always been your secret passion, had lost all its luster after everything that took place during that nebulous time period, but children have a way of sneaking into your heart, regardless of any desire to avoid them. It had been Megumi first, the little boy who shadowed Satoru during a few of his easier missions, and later, Tsumiki, his non-sorcerer step-sister who admired your grace and poise when dealing with someone as troublesome as Satoru. Then, it had been sweet Yuuta-kun, who you had personally vouched for after Satoru brought you to meet him for the first time. Now, it was the rest of his classmates who have managed to worm their way right alongside the others.

You can’t say you’re fully healed from the heartache of your teenage years, yet you’d like to believe you can move past it enough to live the way you want and have been too cowardly to allow.

“It simply wasn’t in my cards, not until recently. It’s been nice to help the first years with Satoru, and I want a more active role in their education. Enough about me, though. How have you and the girls been?”

He’s been watching you with rapt eyes, and you wonder what it is he sees, what you’re giving away to him. He was always the best at reading you, but now that particular gift belongs to Shoko, who knows every dirty little secret that your lovers don’t… lover and ex-lover.

“The girls still ask about you, their beloved onee-sama, but they’re well without you. Speaking of which, I never managed to break them from the habit of calling me Getou-sama. They’re stubborn like that, but I like that shared facet of their personalities. Just the other day, they convinced me to abandon a meeting to go to the opening of a highly anticipated bakery. Perhaps I’ve spoiled them too much,” Suguru muses, taking a sip, and you, unconsciously, mirror the movement. He looks back up into your eyes, tilting his head as he asks, “As for myself, do you really want to know?”

Do you really want to know?

Do you really wish to hear of the people he slaughtered to further his inane goal? To hear about his new family, the cult he’s grown for himself? To hear just how far his insanity has spread?

Not particularly.

You shake your head, and instead, you ask, “Is this how it goes with Satoru each time he goes to you? Talking about nothing but the children before falling into each other?”

Suguru barks a laugh, like you’ve told a particularly funny joke, and you jolt at the sound of it. He sounds the same, and it’s breaking your heart. He sets his cup on the table, his hand warm on your cheek as he cradles your face tenderly. If you close your eyes, you can almost pretend you’re two teens falling in love for the first time. Your eyes stay open, mapping the constellation of dying stars found in his own.

“Always straight to the point with you, huh? I always liked that about you, you know?”

You nod. He had told you as such one time, and you remember everything from back then in startling crystal clear vision. His other hand takes your cup and places it beside his own. It’s a couple’s set, once belonging to your parents. No one else has used it alongside you because your friends would never drink sake if given the choice, none but Suguru.

“And you’ve always danced around it. Why are you here, Suguru?”

He closes his eyes then, perhaps relishing the sound of his name falling from your lips. Your voice almost broke when saying it, unused to saying it when once it was all that could escape you.

“I’ve missed you. Isn’t that enough of a reason?” He leans his forehead against your own, his breath intermingling with your own. Every one of your senses are filled with him. It’s a heady combination, the proximity, the intimacy, the familiar musk of decay with an added hint of incense, and it makes you dizzy with desire.

“You’ve had all this time to visit me. Why now?” You couldn’t sound more pathetic if you tried, but Suguru was the one to break ten years of contact. Surely, that must make him worse than you.

You know where this is heading, and it’s a bad idea, but you’ll just blame it all on Suguru. He’s the one who came to you, not the other way around. It’d be rude to turn him away, although you’d be well within your right to do so after what he did last time, but you can’t. He is your biggest weak spot, besides Shoko, and everyone knows it, Suguru most of all.

As if knowing he was losing you, he smiles at you, eyes open, with all of his teeth showing. It’s a distracting sight.

He finally answers, “I was feeling nostalgic.” He must deem that enough of an answer because he breaches the small gap between you and kisses you. You melt into him, allowing him to push you down on the couch as his thighs box you in beneath him. The secondhand taste of him you get from Satoru doesn’t compare to the real thing, and neither do your dreams or memories.

“You must be too, if you’re wearing this old thing,” he says as he takes your shirt off—and oh, it’s one that used to belong to him. He had left everything behind when he defected, and during your worst nights, you wanted something of his, so you snuck into his old dorm room and stole a few items of his clothing. His scent hadn’t lingered for long, but you kept everything you stole anyway.

Pushing past the twinge of pain those times illicit, you begin to undress him too. It’s not enough to simply be this close to him. You need to be skin to skin, mouth to mouth, body to body, until you’re both so tangled up in one another that you become one.

Sometime during stripping him to his underwear and kissing him senseless, he had picked you up because the next thing you know, he’s thrown you on your bed. You imbibed too much, but by now, you’re certain he isn’t going to kill you tonight. 

Not much, you think deliriously when Suguru pulls your panties down, his nose digging into your clit as he licks a stripe up your folds, but he’ll give me plenty of little deaths. Satoru would have liked that joke since he’s the one who told you about that term originally, too bad he’s not here to appreciate it. You’ll just have to save it for later.

You don’t attempt to keep quiet, couldn’t even if you tried, because you know Suguru likes his partners noisy and filthy. He’s as talented with his tongue as he was when you last saw him, more even, and you don’t want to think about why that is. Like this, you can stay in your favorite fantasy, where he stayed yours and Satoru’s and Shoko’s.

Pleasure swells in your belly, slick pooling between your thighs and right into Suguru’s eager mouth. He’s only playing with you, staying away from your clit as he laps up your arousal. Teases you until you’re molten beneath him. His tongue slides inside of you, and your back arches into his mouth.

“You taste the way I remember,” he remarks, his breath tickling your clit. You thread your fingers into his hair, forcing him to look into your eyes. His face shines with your slick in the low light, and his eyes are dark as he stares back at you, the black of his pupils eclipsing his pretty irises.

“Suguru, please. I need more.” A moan slips from you unbidden when he slips two thick fingers inside of your aching hole. He curls them upwards, massaging that soft spot that makes the coil in your belly snap and makes you tremble as your orgasm crashes over you. You’re not there yet, but you will be soon with the way Suguru decides to stop toying with you.

His tongue swirls around your clit before he takes it into his mouth and sucks.

Suguru’s already prepared for the way your hips buck. His grip is bruising as he forces your thrashing body further down onto your bedding, He hasn’t let up with his fingers, and he seems content to keep your clit warm and wet in his mouth.

It’s too much at once, especially since it’s Suguru bringing you to the edge like this. He’s nothing like your other lovers, and you’ve missed this. You’ve missed him. He adds a third finger, and the stretch stings pleasantly. He continues his assault on your clit, alternating between sucking it and using his tongue to play with it.

Tears prick your eyes, and you fist his hair tightly in your palms, pushing his face deeper into your cunt. You’re so close, yet you want him to stop because working you from the inside and out is enough to cause your mind to want to stop working.

“Suguru, Suguru, Suguru,” you whine, a litany solely for him on your tongue. He hums happily against you, and it’s enough to cause your body to still for a moment. “Suguru, I’m gonna—gonna cum,” you begin to warn him before you shudder all over, thighs trembling, vision narrowing, and cunt spasming around Suguru’s fingers.

He continues to fuck you with his fingers, but his mouth finally leaves your poor, abused clit as he maneuvers himself between your thighs and move your legs to wrap around his midsection. Only now are you aware of the raging hard-on he’s sporting. He leans down to kiss your lips, sharing the taste of your slick with you and breathing your name and sweet nothings into your skin once he’s had his fill of your needy kisses and left enough marks that there won't be a mistake of just exactly who left them there.

Reclining back up, he looks down at your debauched body. His mouth quirks up into a mean grin that makes your cunt flutter around his fingers. “There’s nothing but thoughts of me in that silly little brain of yours, hm?”

“Uh huh. Just Suguru.” He’s the only thing that matters, all you’ve longed for since he kicked you to the curb. It’s actually pathetic how much he still affects you, how much you continue to let him affect you like this. You’ll get over him one day, but one day isn’t tonight. You aren’t like Satoru, willing to debase yourself on a monthly basis. There’s only so much self-harm you can engage in before spiraling nowadays.

If you’re being honest, it’d probably kill you to leave Suguru or be left behind by him so often. Satoru is regarded as the Strongest for a reason while you, decidedly, aren’t.

“So good. That’s how it should always be,” he croons, and you can’t help but preen at the compliment. You deserve a reward for being so good. You tell Suguru as such and he laughs, agreeing, and asks what it is you want.

“Inside,” you answer immediately. “I want you inside me.” You feel like that statement is missing something, so you tack on a please at the end of the sentence.

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, like a liar. You let him get away with it, just like you do with everything else.

He strokes himself a few times, smearing your slick along his length, and slaps the tip of it against your sensitive clit before lazily rutting against your folds. He’s thicker than you remember, thicker than Satoru and most of Shoko’s slim fingers combined. You will strain to take him in, but what’s pleasure without a little pain.

When he finally enters you, your name falls from his lips weakly, mirroring the way you gasp his own as the head of his cock slips in. Your entire body goes taut at the intrusion, your nails digging into the hard planes of his back as he sinks deeper inside you, inch by inch. This time, you don’t stop the tears from falling from your eyes, your whining and his ragged breaths filling the room.

“You’re taking me so well,” Suguru sighs when he's halfway inside of you. “But it hurts, doesn’t it?” You nod weepily. “It’s a good thing I know you can take it.”

Without warning, he shoves the rest in with a single thrust. It burns; you’re stuffed to the brim with him, spine stiff with unexpected pain as your cunt pulses around him. Your chest heaves with each irregular inhale you take. He’s kind enough to give you a few moments to collect yourself before he begins to rock into you.

Somehow, he doesn’t sound winded, even as his thrusts become deeper and harder and your walls cling tighter around him, as he says, “It takes me back seeing you like this. Do you remember how we used to be? Before you got your act together with Shoko and I got mine with Satoru? We used to fuck, just like this, but you tried to keep quiet while I encouraged you to be loud so they could hear.”

Of course, you remember. It’s all you ever do. “You used to—fuck me in Satoru’s room and leave—behind the evidence or—or shamelessly finger me during our study sessions with— with Sho—ko.”

The headboard bangs against the wall rhythmically in time with the way Suguru slams his way inside you with each thrust of his hips, the bed creaking on beat.

“It was good while it lasted. Wasn’t it?” His voice breaks.

You unclench your eyes to look up at him with cloudy eyes. His own have the slightest sheen to them, so you cradle the back of his neck, fingers finding purchase in the long silky strands you used to braid every night as you bring his face near yours.

Bodies connected, breathing the same air, sharing the same space, reminiscing the same memories, this is as close as you’re ever going to get with him. It’s not enough. He’s going to leave again, and it’ll kill you.

All these little deaths you bring me, you wish to say, and still, I crave you. An addict through and through.

Instead, you tell him through tears, “It was the best.”

And it was—but you need to stop living in the past.

He makes it impossible to do that, though, and really, you’d have it no other way. You’re unsure what you’d do if he became a definitive thing to move past, rather than just pretending to. Death comes for everyone, but you hope it comes for you before it does for Suguru. Same for Satoru and Shoko.

In an ideal world, the four of you would live until you were all grey and wrinkly, but it’s not. You all will never again see eye to eye and live happily together, even the thing you have going on with Satoru and Shoko is shaky. Everything fell apart when Suguru fell apart, but the cracks in the relationship had started forming during the direct aftermath of the Star Plasma Vessel mission.

You kiss him before you say something stupid, something you’ll regret, something he’ll hold over you like he did the last time you saw him. It starts gentle, but he deepens it, threatening to swallow you whole like you’re just another curse for him to consume. To be with him forever sounds nice; you hope he curses you, so you’re with him always.

He lifts your legs to his shoulders, bending you in half, and his strokes lessen but are no less bruising. He reaches deeper inside you in this position, making a home for himself. If you can’t live within him, he can live within you, at least for this short amount of time.

Warmth curls in your belly when he starts kissing, sucking, and biting his way down your jaw to your neck to your decolletage to your chest, proof that he was really here. It’s not enough. You want something more permanent.

When your body goes taut again, Suguru coos mockingly, “There we go. You’re almost there. Come for me, You can do that for me, can’t you, sweetheart?”

It's the endearment that does you in, completely throwing you back to another time.

Your vision goes spotty, clenching around him tighter than before and whimpering SuguruSuguruSuguru as he fills your every sense. You continue to clamp down on him even as his pace falters and he cries your name in your ear.

Body going slack, your legs fall back to wrap weakly around his waist as he slides home one last time before he cums inside you. It’s warm and wet, filling your insides up. He slumps against you, resting his head on your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

When he pulls out, a gush of cum and slick oozes out of you and onto your sheets. You’ll clean it in the morning. He pulls you into his arms, laying you on his chest; your heartbeats are one.

After a beat of silence, you tell him, “I—I missed you too. So much, Suguru.”

He presses his lips against your temple as he hums “I know.”

Your eyelids grow heavy as sleep threatens to consume you, but you keep them open, gazing up at the man you still love despite everything he’s done. He looks so handsome like this, in your bed and staring at you with adoration in his eyes. The only thing that could make this better is if Satoru were here. You would have joined them in their trysts if you knew it would have given you soft moments like this.

Softly, hesitantly, you make a single request. “Please stay,”

“Of course,” Suguru agrees.

You rest your head on his chest, fingers trailing over his x-marked scar. They’re so faint now, but you remember a time when they were fresh and gushing red with blood. His heart beats steadily in tune with yours, a familiar melody to lull you to sleep.

You’d like one untainted memory of him, but there’s something you’ve been thinking about since the moment you saw him. It’s been bothering you this whole time, and you need to know. You recognize the look of someone who knew death was in their future. Except, he seemed to accept that potential outcome wholeheartedly while you had only begrudgingly accepted it. This is where you differ. He’s willing to die to achieve his goals, but you wish to live to see yours though.

“You’re planning something stupid, aren’t you?”

He chuckles. “You know me so well.”

It may as well be a confession. You don’t want to say goodbye to him. Not ever, but you don’t ever get what you want.

Everything becomes hazy.

“Don’t cry. Everything will work out one way or another,” Suguru consoles you, and since he’s found his way home inside your ribcage, the knife slips easily into your heart. He kisses your lips softly, swallowing your quiet cries until they’ve all run out.

“S—Suguru,” you whisper, your voice suddenly failing you as it breaks on the name you’ve avoided saying for years. You clear your throat, making another request. “Kill me if you must, but leave those two out of it. Especially Shoko. She’s innocent.”

He looks so sad once you’ve said your peace. It’d be nice if you could read minds. Maybe if you could, you would have noticed he was lying about the deteriorating state of his mind in your third year. Maybe if you cracked his skull open and placed his brain beneath a microscope, all his secrets and thoughts would spill out. It’s a silly thought. You’re not a scientist or doctor like Shoko, after all.

“Why would I kill you? Or Shoko for that matter.” You notice how he deliberately leaves out Satoru. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m doing this for you, all of you. You deserve to live in a curse-free world where you don’t need to be strong. Wouldn’t it be nice to settle down without the fear that settles in your gut every time you think about starting a family?”

So cruel to mention your best kept secret, a future you will never have—can never allow yourself to have. So gentle it makes you want to curl up and die. Maybe you could take him with you, stop him before he attempts to pull off whatever plan he has brewing. Satoru always says that sorcerers die alone in the end, but you wouldn’t be alone. Not when Suguru is right here, and all you’d have to do is drain him dry of his cursed energy and then life vitality. You would be kind, like how you hoped he would be in return. It would be romantic, in a way, to die side by side, arm in arm, body to body, together forever.

“It would,” you admit, “but it’s impossible, and you know it.”

He merely hums in response.

A stalemate, but he doesn’t leave you.

You’ll take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Even if it’s heartbreak.

Sleep takes you in its cold embrace after a few minutes of silence, but before it does, you swear you hear Suguru say, “I was foolish to turn you away, but it was for the best. You’d have died a slow death with me.”

Not like it would have made a difference, you’ve been dying a slow death since the moment Yaga-sensei scouted you.

Such is the life of a sorcerer.

-

He’s gone by morning; you’d almost believe it was a dream.

There'd be no trace that he was even with you if it weren’t for the marks he left behind and the mess he made between your thighs.

You’re undoubtedly a fool for how easily you let him back in, but Suguru has always had a particular knack for making you pliant to his every whim. He managed to knock down every wall you’ve built up in the past decade in a single encounter.

Shoko is going to be so disappointed.

You wonder if Satoru feels this used after their hookups. You hope he’s always the one to leave first, so he doesn’t ever feel like this. It’s a terrible feeling that you wouldn’t wish on anybody, especially not on Satoru. He deserves good things even if he chases after what many consider to be the most twisted man in recent jujutsu history.

Entering your living room, you find one of the sake cups shattered on the ground. Another broken thing he’s left in his wake.

Suguru really is the worst.

[eveningcherryblossoms]

Okay so theres going to be gaps in logic since its from a dream, but it went something like ->

Duke (Omega): is the only one who can see through your disguises and sees you about but thinks you're just really into cosplay or don't want to get recognized, so he doesn't say anything before and after he joins the pack. He thinks reader is an Omega like him because of the way you move and control (avoid) social interactions. Believes pack should move together when you're out in public. At first you think you just need to up your disguises but after the 5th "Hi, yn!" In your disguises you know he's more dangerous than he let's on. Inadvertently makes you better at hiding/blending in inside thick crowds.

Barbara (Alpha): Hasn't seen you in YEARS because of her work as Oracle. When you meet completely by accident (you go into library for some reason, don't remember why) is the only one who has a sneaking suspicion that reader is a beta. But, because of experience with her father being a beta himself, is the only one who acts normal as to try to coax you to her side. On the inside though she's already planning on putting 5 different trackers on you if she's right. Dangerous because unlike Tim she doesn't harbor guilt to cloud her mind, knows how betas act, and has eyes all over the city. But her time as Oracle holds her back from really investigated you.

Cassandra (Alpha): When she gets adopted into the family she at first follows Batman's lead and pretends you don't exist. But become drawn to you more and more over time, finding comfort in your presence. She doesn't know why she becomes slowly obsessed with being near you. Her lack of pack experience leads her to believe you're an Alpha ('why else would she be drawn?'). She's like a shadow, you often feel you're almost never alone in the manor. Scarce until she isn't, and wants you to see her or when she's stressed. First to notice you're planning to leave because of your body language.

Stephanie (Omega): Dismisses you until Tim and Cass start getting more obsessed. Which lead her to wonder what's so great about this OBVIOUS Omega. Thinks you're just avoiding her (you are) because of how she first treated you. (Dream me didnt specify how she treated you just that you were ignored). Kicked herself over this but believes she can make it up to you by showing you the ropes of being an Omega. Gets jealous because everyone else gets to spend their time with you (they don't but dream made her the delusional kind). Starts off cold but becomes worse than Dick with giving you scented clothes. In her mind you just need to forgive her and then you'll be pack besties.

Omg how did you manage to dream my hc for the girls and Duke's secondary genders?? 😱 That was perfectly accurate to what I imagine!!

As to their behavior... I'm kinda sad Duke poses such a danger to reader, I've been liking their bond in my story 🥲 I can imagine reader being super anxious around Duke until they become too drained lol

Barbara is too dangerous 😭 Can reader bomb the clock tower or at least barricade it, prevent her from doing anything?? Oh wait not in the clock tower unless reader gets all the electronics out first... Also, Commissioner Gordon is a beta in your dream? Is he still the commissioner there 😮 Man I'm more curious about him than Barbara (sorry, women 🙏) and his dynamics with the Batfam especially Bruce 👀

Cass is the sort of danger that's more risky than anything else huh 🫠 Like if not for her inexperience she could've known everything already and it's game over for reader... Btw I once read a DCxDP prompt with Cass having her scent gland removed by David Cain to make her more ~efficient~ so tbh before I decided against adding her to the story I contemplated making her another beta.

And whoa, Steph, I never thought she would act delusional but somehow it fits?? I think she'll try to forcibly insert her way into reader's comfort zone and wave it off as just two omegas being omegas 🫠 (no hate for the canon Steph ofc 🙏)

Anyway these are so interesting!! I'll be happy to read a fully written story of them. May I use your ideas here for my side stories in the future? 🙏 Thank you so much for sharing this dream with me, I love it 💕