#i’m still the same person i was on my eighteenth birthday

[notiddygothgf]

2/2

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: Yuuji Itadori truly was the best friend a girl like you could ask for, but he wasn't the only reason you came to visit. (His older brother, the devilishly handsome Choso Kamo, had always been the apple of your eye).

★ c.w.: slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual smut, childhood sweethearts, kinda, mutual pining, choso with a tongue piercing, rough sex, cunnilingus, backshots, unprotected sex, regular people au, two year age gap, PWP.

★ a/n: part two! its all smut lol. anyway, like I said, this one shot is finished (just split btw two chaps bc theres 11k words). but if u comment and persuade me who knows! I can always do another. im a whore for ur validation.

★ w.c.; 5k

best friend's brother ; chapter index

YUUJI COOCHIE <3

|  come over tn?

|  i got smth i wanna run by u first

YOU

|  omw.

You stood on Itadori’s porch, finger poised over the doorbell a month after your eighteenth birthday. You had been anticipating to see your best friend, Itadori. But as the door swings open, what you don’t expect is to come face to face with Itadori’s older brother.

Your heart drops, and your breath catches in your throat as you take in his appearance. It felt for a moment as if time had stood still since you last saw him. He had only grown more handsome during your time apart. His dark hair was done back into two messy buns, deep bags residing beneath his deep eyes. 

Choso looked absolutely breathtaking . His fitted black tee clung to his chest and arms, showing off his toned physique, while the baggy black sweats he was sporting gave him an effortlessly cool appearance.

His presence exudes a magnetic charm that takes you back to when you were 17. His half smirk sends a wonton shiver down your spine.

“Hey there,” He says, deep, rich voice sending ripples of familiarity throughout your body.

When his lips pull away from his teeth, forming syllables and words, you couldn’t help but notice a small glint of metal near the tip of his tongue. You realized immediately what had seemed so different about him, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“You pierced your tongue?” You blurt out, unable to hide your shock.

Choso nearly snorts, though his eyes never leave yours. “You’re not surprised to see me?” He teases.

“I am,” You retort quickly, trying to regain your composure. “You’re home for the holidays?”

He nods, gaze still fixed on your red face. “Just came home last night.”

That would explain why I didn’t see you, you thought.

“I’m glad you came, though, I’ve been holding onto your birthday gift for a while now,” He sighed, stepping aside to let you into the house but keeping his arm braced on the doorframe. 

You slide under his muscular arm, doing your best to ignore the way your body bristled with electricity when you brushed up against him.

You set your bag on the ground near the door, kicking off your shoes and neatly pushing them aside while Choso locked the door behind you. 

“It’s in my room,” he said, passing you.

You followed him nervously up the stairs into his bedroom, heart pounding a little louder with every step. This would be the first time you would find yourself alone in Choso’s room, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander.

As you enter his bedroom, you drank in your surroundings – a rare sight. The room was a reflection of Choso’s personality; band tees all over the walls, sheets laid flat and clean, laundry sitting in a basket in a neat, folded pile – a subtle hint of organized chaos.

It felt both familiar and new at the same time. The air was thick with anticipation, and memories of your whirlwind summer fling with Choso came flooding back.

You brace your hands on the door. “Is Itadori home?” You ask him, hands tracing the doorframe while Choso rummaged through his drawer. You sat on his bed.

“Nah,” he replied casually.

Furrowing your brows, you tried to make sense of the situation. But told me to come over…

“Is he coming?” You tried again, voice tinged with uncertainty.

Choso rose up from the bedside drawer, extending a small box towards you with a slight grin. “Nope,” he said.

The realization hit you like a freight train. This was a fucking setup, and Itadori was the mastermind behind it all.

He wanted you alone with his brother. He knew about your fling with him. 

He didn’t notice when the two of you had disappeared to the pantry for ten minutes. 

Though the moment you returned to see him glancing at you with a curious brow raised, you knew he had finally caught on. Even if he didn’t say anything about it.

He knew.

He had set you up.

Your face was on fire. Still, you took the small box from Choso, an awkward smile on your face, and carefully undid the little bow. As you opened it, you revealed its contents – a tee shirt with Choso’s University crest on it, a glace pendant on a fabric necklace, and a box set of your favorite film saga.

Choso had never given you a gift for your birthday before, at least not anything beyond a card. Briefly, you wondered if it was his way of making up for your 18th birthday party, the one he had missed.

“Choso…” You began, a humorous grin on your lips. “Merch?”

He shrugged playfully, his gaze locked onto yours. “In case you miss me,” he replied, tone teasing yet sincere.

With a genuine smile, you leaned over and hugged him. “I love it,” you had told him.

Choso reached into the box for the necklace, gesturing for you to come closer. You leaned in, allowing him to loop the fabric over your head. His fingers brushed against your skin, your neck as he adjusted it.

He froze. You froze.

For a while, the room was quiet. There was an intense stare-off between you two. Choso cleared his throat, seemingly about to break the moment, but you had other plans. Gently, you gripped his chin between your index finger and your thumb, turning his head back to you. 

Gently, you tugged his lower lip down. He stuck his tongue out to wet the corner of his lips in return.

Your breath hitched as your gazes locked, and the air in the room shifted. Choso’s dark eyes shifted beneath your gaze, and you found yourself drawn closer to him.

You swallowed. “How bad did it hurt?” You asked, eyes fixed on the sliver of metal you had caught a glimpse of inside of his mouth.

Choso raised a finger towards his mouth, bringing your attention back to his tongue. “This?” He asked. “Hurt like a bitch, not gonna lie, but it healed up real nice.”

Wordlessly, he stuck his tongue out so you could see it up close. You examined it carefully – it really had healed up rather nicely. There was a small, silver ball wedged into the pink muscle. You wondered how it would feel on your lips, your neck, your body .

Choso closed his mouth. “I got it the first weekend after move-in day,” He explained.

“Why?” You inquired, curiosity finally getting the better of you.

He shrugged with a smirk, “Thought it would look hot. What do you think?”

“I think it looks like a pain in the ass,” You retorted. “Don’t any of the girls you kiss complain about that thing?”

“Quite the contrary,” he remarked, licking his lips. “Why’d you ask?”

You tried to ignore the jealousy that bubbled up inside of you, deep inside of you at the thought of him kissing other girls. You had to remind yourself who you were talking to here. You would have been naive to expect loyalty from a college freshman.

“Looks cold,” you commented instead. “I don’t imagine that would feel very good.”

And his eyes, those dark, beautiful cesspools of emotion, dropped down to your lips, lingering for a moment too long before returning to meet your gaze. “You wanna find out?” He asked.

“Piss off,” You scoffed, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. But the blush on your cheeks betrayed the effect his words had on you. “Fuckin’ tease.”

He didn’t move back. No, instead, he leaned in a little closer. “You sure?” He whispered, warm breath grazing the shell of your ear. “I can show you how good it feels, if you want.”

And that’s how you wound up here, with his face buried between your legs. He kissed his way up and down the skin of your thighs. You made quick work of his twin buns, tugging the ties out of his hair.

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. He lifted one of your legs onto his broad shoulder, running his tongue along the length of your inner thigh, pressing a kiss right where your ass met your legs. The metal ball on his tongue felt odd against your skin, but not necessarily unpleasurable.

You had never gone this far with him before. You were turned on beyond comprehension, hungry eyes drinking in the rosey hue that dusted his pale complexion while he sucked on your skin – hard enough for it to hurt, hard enough to leave a mark. 

Tenderly, Choso reached for your panties. He appeared to be on the precipice of a decision. 

“Can I…” He panted, trailing his thumb over the thin piece of fabric that separated the two of you. “Can I take these off?”

You nodded quickly, lifting your hips up for him while he guided the panties off of your legs. 

He licked his lips and parted your legs a second time, fully exposing you to his ravenous gaze. 

“You look like heaven,” He breathed out, voice trembling. He took a moment to admire you, smiling at the way you tried to hide your face. “Wanna taste…”

You had never done this before. The one man you had ever dared to hook up with hadn’t bothered. So you swallowed the lump in your throat, watching him get down on all fours and dip his head down between your legs like a man with his head bowed in worship. 

Though you were far from holy, in that moment, you felt like you were God.

His tongue was hot and wet against your skin, licking a stripe from bottom to top. The metal ball of his tongue piercing caught on your puffy clit, eliciting a quiet gasp. 

“Feel good, baby?” He teased, relishing in the way your thighs tensed around his head. His eyes flitted between you and your pussy – spread open for him like a buffet – pupils blown wide with desire. His pink lips parted around his tongue a second time, and this time you watched him.

Watched him press the metal ball against your clit, rolling over it in slow, steady circles.

You felt like you could die here. 

He adjusted his grip on your hips, pulling you down on the bed until you felt his nose pressing in between your folds. He kissed your heat, moaning into you.  Then, without so much as a warning, he began to eat you out like a starved man.

“Fuck, Cho–” You cried out for him, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his inky black tresses. You had never felt so good in your life, like he had been waiting for this as long as you had. You were sensitive, far too sensitive to comprehend the way your body felt, the way his tongue piercing felt as it glided over your hot flesh.

He didn’t slow down. He licked, slurped, and kissed your swollen clit, keeping that unforgiving pace up until your hips began to jump against his tongue.

“Shit,” You hissed,

He moaned into you in response, meeting your gaze with an intense fire burning behind his eyes. His tongue massaged you up to what you know would be the hardest orgasm of your life – that damn piece of metal made for one hell of a stimulant. It felt like it was pressing right up into your pressure points, deeper than his tongue was able to reach.

You felt yourself come apart at the seams, reduced to a moaning mess in a matter of minutes, riding his tongue like your life depended on it. He stopped moving for a moment, letting you grip him by the hair and ride his face. 

You couldn’t look away.

He looked amazing, fire burning behind his eyes, fingertips biting into the skin of your thighs, brows furrowed with concentration. His eyes never left yours, not even once.

You dropped your head onto the pillow, sitting back and allowing him to resume what he had been doing earlier – that thing with his tongue. 

And resume it he did, assuming a more demanding pace this time. It almost made you want to cry – the pace, the ball on his tongue – it was almost too much to bear. It felt so good.

You felt that familiar coil in your abdomen, almost like you were about to cum, then in a moment’s width he had pulled away. 

You struggled to regain your surroundings, vision cloudy and hazy with pleasure. You could hear your rampant heartbeat racing in your own ears. 

Choso leaned back with a stretch, cracking his neck and licking his lips. The entirebottom half of his face was drenched, dripping with an obscene mixture of your slick and his spit. 

He looked gorgeous, even when his face was tinted red. 

“Choso…” You breathed, letting a breathless chuckle slip between your parted lips.

He grinned back at you. “Any complaints?”

You didn’t glorify him with a response, gripping him by the fabric of his shirt and tugging him up and over you. You searched for his lips, locking them between yours in a messy, heated kiss. The taste of you lingered on his tongue, tangy and a little sweet.

“Shut up and fuck me, Kamo,” You panted with a grin of your own.

That was all he needed to push you onto your back, diving back in to ravage your lips again. It was all a rushed, passionate haze – he tugged your tee shirt over your head, you shoved your skirt down to your ankles and kicked it off the side of the bed. He leaned back with a stretch to reach for the back of his shirt, tugging it over his head and flinging it to the side. 

Your mouth nearly watered for him. He was everything you had dreamed of and so much more. Well defined arms, pecs, abs – a few tattoos littered the broad expanse of his chest. His torso tapered down into a thin, slutty waist. You let your hand slide down his abdomen, eliciting a quiet groan from him as your painted fingernails caught on his toned abs, ghosted over the large tent in his sweats that left nothing to the imagination. 

He was big. Bigger than you had anticipated. The last man you were with was about 3 inches (which was probably for the better, because it had been your first time). He felt about three times as big as that. Maybe more.

It didn’t take long for him to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your ass flush against his navel. He reached for a handful of your hair, jerking your head to the side, then uttered against your ear, “G’nna fuck that attitude right out’ta you.”

He left you for a moment while he undid the strings of his sweatpants. You couldn’t watch. You knew if you saw it, you would have doubts. 

But you found yourself looking back anyway, right as he had told you. “Wanna reach into that drawer and grab me a condom?”

“Are you um…” You swallowed. “You don’t have any diseases, do you?”

You knew you were clean because you were so disgusted by the man you had hooked up with before Choso that you’d taken yourself to the planned parenthood in town the day after to be tested. Even if you had used a condom.

Choso’s brow quirked up at that. “No, I don’t have any STDs. I get tested twice a year.”

Oh. Okay.

Again, you didn’t want to think about how many women had taken his dick before you. 

“Never gone raw before, though,” He mused quietly, hand rubbing mindless circles over the skin of your ass. 

“Really?” You asked.

“Is that a surprise?” He retorted, though he didn’t seem very hurt by your comment. “Can’t babytrap me.”

You thought about definitely didn’t think about Choso being a father. 

“Is there any way for you to, like…” You hummed, trailing off. Your inexperience had never been more disgustingly apparent. “Pull out?”

“You’re talking like this is your first time,” he laughed breathily.

You paused. His eyes widened.

“Is… this your first time?” He asked again.

“I had sex with this one guy from my class a while ago,” You said after an awkward silence. “He was small and, like, really bad at it.”

Choso seemed humored by your honest admission, though it came at the expense of your own embarrassment. “Why’d you go through with it, then?”

“I only did it to get back at you,” You turned your head back to the pillowcase below you. With a pout, you admitted, “Thought for some reason that by me having sex, I was proving something. I was younger and stupider, okay?”

“So… you’ve only had sex once?” He asked. You didn’t realize this was an interrogation. 

You nodded embarrasedly. Somehow this was more humiliating than being spread open for him like you were right now.

“You sure you want this?” He hummed, roaching forward to tuck your hair behind your ear. It was strangely intimate. When you nodded, he sighed. “We’ll go slow, then. I don’t wanna hurt you–”

“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,” You cut him off, finally turning back to look at him. “I can take it, okay? Just answer the damn question.”

Choso leaned down over you, pinning you into the bed, kissing down your spine. “We can… do backshots,” he murmured against your skin. “Want that?”

“Mhm,” You sighed, easing into his touch.

You had waited far too long for this for something like a condom to get in between the two of you. You wanted to feel him. All of him. 

Choso rolled back, slipping his tip between your fold and swiping it through your slick. You watched him, watched the way he bit his lip at the sensation, eyes glued onto the place where you met him . 

He pursed his lips, letting spit fall from his lips. You watched it dribble down, landing right onto your twitching hole. 

That was so fucking hot .

Then, without a word of warning, he pushed the tip in. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, feeling the burn, the stretch of his girth inside of you. He paused for a moment when the tip was the only thing inside of you, brows drawn together, breaths shallow.

It took everything you had not to cry out in pain. You had been waiting your whole life for this.

But, shit, it hurt. He was big. You felt your body struggle to accommodate him.

Maybe some prep should have been in order…

Oh well, gotta see it through.

As if sensing your internal dilemma, Choso reached down, intertwining his fingers with yours. He placed a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

“You okay?” He asked you.

No . Yes.

“Yeah,” You bit out. “Just… I ‘jus need a minute.”

“Just tell me when,” he pressed another kiss to your hot skin. “You’re doing so good.”

It took you a few more minutes to adjust to him. Every minute, he would slip in a little further, just enough to make your skin hot and flushed. You could feel him throbbing inside of you, throbbing against your spongy walls.

Eventually, you gave him the green light. And, fuck, it was like something inside of him had snapped. He slid the rest of the way in until his hips were flush with your ass. He drew out, slowly, then thrust back in again.

It felt like he was pulling you apart over and over again, snapping his hips against yours in a progressively harder fashion. 

Choso whimpered quitedly, pausing his harsh movements to change pace. You clenched around him in response, something that made him double over. “Ah, fuck,” He gasped. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

He drew back, thrusting into you once more. You felt your whole body jolt forward with a loud moan of your own.

With wild, passionate eyes, Choso pulled out again, leaving just enough room for the tip. Then, he slammed back into you. Again, again, again – he was relishing in the way you cried into the pillow.

“Fuck, fuck,” You chanted, like some sort of sinful prayer. “ Fuck me, Cho– ”

“Might not last long if you keep callin’ my name like that,” He gasped, tangling a large hand into your messy tresses and gripping it tightly. 

You drew your brows together, allowing yourself to be lost in the pleasure, the attention he was giving you. What would Itadori think, you wondered, if he walked in on you like this – face down ass up in his big brother’s bed?

“Choso ,” You groaned into the pillow. It felt like he was scratching an itch deep inside of you – not your coochie, but your soul. It felt like you were made for this. “ Choso, Fuck. ”

Itadori slipped into his house with a quiet sigh. He kicked his shoes off, set his bag down on the floor, and then reached for his scarf. It had been one long, hellish day. He felt bad making you wait for him, but he didn’t doubt that you would have made yourself right at home in his bedroom by now. You were probably sprawled out over his bed, passed out or playing with his PS5.

He froze when he heard something come from upstairs. It sounded like furniture being moved around, or something like that. There were voices, too.

With knitted brows, he walked hesitantly towards the stairs. Was it coming from up there?

“Fuck, Choso,” He heard a vaguely familiar – albeit very muffled voice – moan. 

It was you. You and another muffled voice.

“Choso, Choso!” 

“Right there?”

“Fuck– yes! Don’t stop!”

He quirked a brow. Then, with a sigh and a dejected shake of his head, he hid away in the kitchen.

“Please!” You gasped, you fumbled around behind you in search of his hand. He grabbed it, pinning your arm behind your back and thrusting into your sore pussy from a new angle – one that made you feel dizzy. You didn’t know how long the two of you had been going at it. All you knew was that you never wanted it to end, that your mind was a blissful haze.

Your body slid up against the bedsheets – up and down, up and down, clenched fingers leaving wrinkles in their wake. 

“Fuck me harder,” You pled.

And fuck you harder he sure did. His chest rolled against your backside, pinning you into the mattress and holding you right where he wanted you. Then he fucked you a little harder.

You were all but screaming his name at that point. “Choso–” 

The head of his cock was bullying into you, beating against that spot deep within you that made your feet fly up, rubbing the back of his thighs as if to tell him ‘ keep going’.You gripped the sheets with unwarranted strength, feeling yourself drip and clench around him – hearing the obscene squelch you made when the two of you met in the middle. 

“ Fu-u-uck ,” You cried, voice high and weak.

“Quit suckin’ me in like that,” He chuckled, though it was cut short by a deep, guttural groan as you did it again. “ Shit , you want kids or somethin’?”

There was a knot in your stomach. A vaguely familiar warmth that seemed to only grow hotter by the second.

“ So perfect, so wet ,” Choso commended you, licking the shell of your ear, peppering butterfly kisses to the back of your neck. Your name fell out of his pretty lips between a cacophony of sinful noises.

You felt yourself get lost in him, craning your head around to take another look at him. His angelic face, scrunched up with pleasure, mouth hanging open just slightly, pale face dusted with pink. Inky black hair plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat. The muscles in his chest and torso rippled.

“I’ve wanted you…” You gasped, trying your best to articulate despite the stimulation he was giving you – it was almost too much. “Since I was young – fuck .”

His hips stuttered. He pulled your hair away from your neck, kissing the junction where your jaw met your neck. 

He gripped your hair to crane your head back, slowing his thrusts to long, deep strokes that had you trembling. 

“The feeling was mutual,” Choso grunted, trying to keep himself together.

You felt your eyes roll almost all the way back into your fucking head, mouth hanging open, drooling shamelessly on his pillow, his sheets.

You were close. So close.

Those deep, lust-filled eyes of him weren’t doing anything to slow the train that was coming. Each thrust, each slide of his cockhead against your g-spot brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“You feel even better than I imagined,” He growled, and you nearly came right then and there. 

He moved his hands so that your hips were up in the air for him, bringing his other arm around your neck to pin you there. When he picked up pace this time, you felt yourself drip – like, actually drip – all over him.

I wanna have his kids .

Your moans and pleas matched the pace of his sloppy thrusts. He was getting close, too. You could hear it. No, seriously, noises like that should have been criminal.

The feeling of being filled by him was driving you up the wall – almost as hard as he was currently driving you into the mattress. You never wanted it to end. 

But, shit, it was about to.

“Choso,” You whimpered. He didn’t slow down. “Think ‘m g’nna cum.”

“Yeah?” he gritted out, breath fanning over your neck and your cheek. He reached a hand down, releasing your neck to rub slow circles on your puffy clit – a speed that felt foreign compared to the harsh strokes he was giving you, but not entirely unwelcome.

That was all it took to have you hurling towards the edge, ass jumping up and down to meet his thrust in the middle, to take as much of him in as you possibly could.

“Yeah, shit,” He gasped. He was trying to hold on for you, but you were making it realhard. “G’nna cum for me, baby? Lemme fuckin’ hear it.”

You were all but throwing it back on him, mindlessly chasing your release like a bitch in heat. The moment you got the green light, your orgasm snapped. You cried out his name one final time, arching your back all the way into the sheets, spasming wildly around him. The shock tore through you in waves.

Your hips jolted with hypersensitivity while he fucked you through it.

Choso’s hips stuttered. He twitched, like he couldn’t take another minute of this, then he remarked, “That was so fuckin’ hot, holy shit – fuck, wait–”

He slid out of you rapidly, leaving you to gasp at the sudden loss of him. The next thing you know, he was stroking himself to completion. He came with a broken whimper of your name, spurting ropes of warm cum all over your back.

You took a moment to catch your breath. He did the same. A few moments, actually.

The silence that followed was deafening. He groaned, running a shaky hand through his hair. You collapsed into the bed.

He had left the bedside at one point, though only for a moment before he returned with a warm wash rag. He cleaned his love paint off of your spine.

Then, tossing the rag into his hamper, he collapsed next to you.

You chuckled breathlessly, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him with all of the strength you had left in you (not much). “Shit…” 

“Shit,” he agreed, licking his lips. “You were great.”

“You were better,” You said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk home tonight, though.”

Choso shrugged. He reached down, pulling the covers over the two of you. “Sleep here, then.”

Sleep here.

You recalled many nights of him walking girls to the door. Choso never let girls stay the night.

He wants me to spend the night with hiim.

You laughed, reveling in the irony of it all. Years and years of pining led you here, to this. “What would Itadori think?”

Choso threw an arm over your waist, pulling you closer to his side. “Fuck what Itadori thinks.”

Your world went black a moment later.

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in the aftermath of a steamy evening with the man of your dreams. Choso, your best friend’s brother. The one you had fucked.

His lips were pressed into the slightest pout. You watched him snore, taking note of how peaceful he looked while he slept, taking note of the way his tousled black hair fell into his pretty face.

With a contented sigh, you reached for a shirt that lay nearby – his shirt. The one he had taken off yesterday. You slipped out from beneath the covers, padding quietly out of Choso’s bedroom. Your feet were quiet against the wooden steps.

As you entered the living room space, you contemplated sneaking into the kitchen in search of some much-needed sustenance. It had to have been later in the afternoon at that point – you assumed that you and Choso had been sleeping for a few hours, at least. Your stomach grumbled in agreement.

Just as you were about to step into the familiar kitchen, however, you froze. There, sitting at the table, munching on a Kit Kat bar like it was no one’s business, was her best friend. 

Itadori.

“Hey…” You said rather awkwardly, heart racing. “You’re… you’re home.”

Itadori quirked a brow, looking you up and down curiously. His eyes noticeably lingered on your neck, right were you had a sneaking suspicion Choso had marked you with his lips and teeth. 

“Hey,” He finally said. “You two finally done up there?”

“You heard that. Of course you did,” You sighed, dropping your stiff arms and plopping into the stool next to him at the kitchen island. You faceplanted into the cold surface, groaning, “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know my brother’s good in bed,” Itadori took another bite. He placed a heart over his chest, feigning an exaggerated cry of, “ Choso– oh, Choso, don’t stop, I’m cu–”

“He told me you weren’t coming home,” You groaned, even louder this time. You were glad that Itadori couldn’t see the nasty shade of red that had painted your features.

“He lied,” Your best friend chuckled, crumpling the wrapper of his Kit Kat bar and tossing it in the trash bin. He stood off, dusting his hands on his pants, reaching for his phone. Then, like nothing had happened, he said,  “I’m ordering Chinese. You want?”

You raised your head at that, taking a slow glance at the room around the two of you. “I could go for some beef and broccoli…”

You loved the bond you had with Yuuji. Unbreakable, truly. Sometimes a little toocomfortable. This was, undoubtedly, one of those times.

Itadori dialed a few numbers into his phone. He paused, raising his brow again, “I think you’ve had enough meat tonight, don’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You sighed, though you laughed a bit at his joke. 

Images of Choso flashed through your mind. The image of him spitting on the tip before slipping it in. The image of him tangling a fist in your hair, craning your head back to look at him while he pounded you into the mattress.

With a faint smirk of your own, you remarked. “You’re probably right. I should save room for all of the meat I’m gonna be eatin’ tonight after you go to bed.”

“Please shut up,” Itadori sighed, running the palms of his hands over his exasperated face. With a shake of his head, he held the phone up to his ear. “I really don’t want to think about my brother putting his dick in you. Not while dinner is also in the question.”

You shrugged. Your phone buzzed. Turning it over, you read the new message you had received.

CHOSO    just now

Whered u go beautiful

Your phone chimed a second time.

CHOSO    just now

Steamed dumplings n fried rice plz

You turned the screen over with a grin, telling Itadori. “Your brother wants steamed dumplings and fried rice.”

“I’d say fuck my brother, but tonight’s game night and I don’t want you taking that literally,” Itadori sighed. Still, he unmuted himself, telling the woman on the other side of the phone, “Another order of fried rice and dumplings, too, please.”

Yuuji Itadori really was the best friend a girl like you could ask for.

a/n: hi there my little steamed dumplins <33 lmk what u thought!!! I love reading ur comments and dms. again, this is a one shot, but I would totally drop another part if yall would like -- gotta show papa choso some love. comment and lmk what u think pookiesss

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 ,

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[hysteria-things]

can you do a nate fluff w/ some smut where it's him and the triplets little sister and theyre dating and he keeps wanting to be close to her in but they're in a video so he has to wait and the fans notice when the video comes out? this wasn't specific at all so sorry 😭

SNEAK AWAY (part one)

read part two here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!nate x sls!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: six of you are on a trip in hawaii! the only downside is that your triplet brothers don’t know you’re dating their best friend.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, FLUFF, swearing, praising

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,208

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i need this man (biblically)

ALSO i have not forgotten about promise it’ll be continued i just want to get through some of my inbox first!

hawaii is a beautiful place. you truly never want to leave.

this trip is for madi’s eighteenth birthday, and you were practically begged to come. not only you, but nate came along, too.

the thing about nate is that you’re in love with him. literally.

you guys have been dating for roughly seven months, and nobody knows about it. it’s only a thing between you and him.

it genuinely feels nice for it to be you and his thing, but it does get annoying because you have to sneak around.

personally, you wouldn’t mind if your brothers never found out. they can’t kill you, but they will hawk nate and kill him.

glancing around the store, you fidget with the straps of your tank top. “nate, come on.”

he glances at you and then back at the condom boxes. the triplets are vlogging the trip thus far, and you guys walked away to come over to this section.

“nathan.”

he sighs, grabbing a box. “you worry about them too much, baby. we’re fine.”

“they can turn down one of these aisles any second and we’ll be busted.” you whisper-yell, pointing around the store.

he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “they’re loud. i’m sure we’ll hear them coming before something bad happens.”

he continues to look at you and smiles.

you cross your arms, bumping a hip out. “what?”

“you’re cute when you’re mad.” he takes his finger and flicks it under your chin before the two of you walk over to the counter and place the condoms on it. you’re still looking around, but there are no same-faced people in sight.

the woman working eyes the both of you, a subtle smirk on her face before scanning the box and putting it in a bag.

he pays for it, and just as you guys turn around you hear voices. “hey guys.” nick greets, looking down at the bag. “what’d you get?”

“some deodorant. i forgot mine at home.” nate answers, nudging your arm softly.

the man-children are recording themselves playing with a ball in an open grass area by the hotel, you and madi watching them from afar. you sigh annoyingly, looking down at your watch.

“i’m going to go up to the room,” you yell, cupping your hands around your mouth so they can hear. they stop playing, focusing now on you. “need to go to the bathroom.”

they give you the okay, and before you know it you’re walking into the hotel suite.

you scroll on your phone, a few minutes passing by before the door opens. you grin widely, nate shutting the door behind him.

he comes over to you and snakes his arms around your waist to pull you close. “i missed you.”

you giggle. “you just saw me.”

sighing, he pulls you into a kiss. the way your mouths move in sync has you craving more. this is the first time you guys are alone, let alone a kiss that’s not a millisecond long.

he pulls away and lifts you, your legs dangling on his sides so he can take you to the bed he’s sharing with chris.

sorry in advance, chris.

he lays you down, kissing your jaw before taking off your shorts. “how much time do you think we have?” you ask.

he shrugs. “like i said before, they’re loud. we’ll hear them coming.”

you blush at his boston accent, one much stronger than yours and your brother’s. even though you’ve heard him talk a hundred times, it’ll always make your heart flutter.

he leaves wet kisses up your chest and neck while he pulls down his bottoms. his kisses finalize on your lips. “i love you a lot.”

you bite your lip, smiling. “i love you too.”

he reaches into the plastic bag he put on the nightstand and grabs the condom box. he rips off one of them and opens it, putting it on when he throws the wrapper somewhere on the ground.

your hands run along his back as he starts to thrust into you, low moans leaving your body.

nate’s thrusts are soft and slow, but it feels more intimate and comforting. you hate the phrase ‘making love’, but it seems like you’re doing just that.

he leans down to kiss you passionately again, his hands flat next to your head. he pulls away, his nose rubbing against yours.

breathing heavily, he moves his hips at a medium pace, going deeper inside of you and just about hitting your g-spot.

your sounds are more high-pitched now, with some profanities flowing through the air as well.

“na—” you begin but get cut off by a gasp once that spot is hit. you throw your head back and arch, balling your hands up to fists. “oh my god.”

“wait just a second, okay?” he rasps out, followed by a groan of his own. “you’re so fucking pretty.”

he hits inside you harder since he’s close to his orgasm and you whimper at how good it feels.

“i’m cumming, baby,” he says before jutting his hips one last time and releasing into the condom.

one last moan and you’re spilling around him. he pulls out, laying on top of your chest as you guys breathe in sync. “imagine they walk in right now?” he jokes.

you slap him on the chest. “better knock on wood, nathan, or we’re going to have some serious issues.”

madi’s birthday rolls around the next day, and it’s the late morning as you guys sit on the couch. your legs are crisscrossed as madi is on her knees.

the four boys are doing some activities outside before all of you go out later for birthday dinner, but you girls want to stay inside in the cool air.

face masks are on your faces, still dressed in pajamas as you guys also paint your nails. “i’m so happy to have another girl around. growing up with four older brothers was not easy.”

she looks up from her painting and gives you a toothy smile before she clears her throat. “can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

“are you sleeping with nate?”

you pause mid-stroke, now looking at the girl across from you.

you chuckle nervously, putting the brush back into the polish. “why do you ask?”

“by the way he ran after you yesterday when you were going back to the room, i knew something was up.”

you hesitate, but you have to tell at least one person. madi you can trust with anything. “not… entirely.”

“what?” her eyes bulge out of her sockets, not expecting you to admit it. “are you like in love with him or something?”

you try to hide your smile, but your face turning beat red gives you away.

her mouth hangs open. “no. way.”

“we’re dating.” you start. “we have been for about seven months. we started talking on my birthday last year, and it escalated from there.”

“omg!” she squeals. “this is the best birthday gift i’ve ever received and it doesn’t even involve me.”

you laugh. “please don’t tell my brothers. they’ll have a heart attack if they find out.”

she zips her lips and throws the key. “my lips are sealed, unlike your le—”

“quit it.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @saturncanyon

[wearebarca]

3. Captured // Alexia Putellas x Original character pt. 3

Part 1 part 2 part 3

synopsis: Rosalie has never stayed too long at the same place. When the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself critical moment in her life, the photographer decides to once again leave behind what she knows and joins the staff of Europe's best football team.

word count: 4,3K

18 + (eventually)

A/N: Hello, notify me if you'd like a little album of the pictures Rosalie takes. Spanish is from google translate so please be nice. French is my first language so all should be good on that part. Enjoy.

The question took the brunette by surprise. She could see that the footballer was getting more comfortable around her but she did not think that the woman would ask such a personal question. The subject had always been quite sensitive for the Canadian but, for unknown reasons she felt that, here, in this empty facility, with the catalonian trusting her with this whole process, she felt like she could share this bit of her story.

“ My uncle was a wedding photographer. When I was younger, he used to bring me with him to some weddings and have me play his little assistant. He would give me one of those single use cameras and tell me to capture what I found beautiful.” The memory put a nostalgic smile to the woman’s face. To this day, she still incredibly misses her uncle and wishes that he could see her today. 

“My parents were busy people, so my uncle took me under his wing. He taught me everything he knew and encouraged me to pursue this passion and helped me make a career out of it.” She raised her camera and snapped a shot of the blond who was listening with a small smile on her face.  “ Can you angle yourself towards the left please?” 

The blond moved to the side and for the first time tonight, really took the time to look at the brunette. Her hair was in a messy bun with a few strands escaping and framing her face. Her high waisted jean shorts showed off her long legs. She had on an oversized gray grandad cardigan on top of her black t–shirt. The sleeves of her sweater were slightly too long and went over her hands. The brunette looked comfortable and at ease, she was relaxed and completely in her element. She looked nothing like the photographer’s Alexia had worked with in the past. She was used to flamboyant people who yelled orders at their models or were constantly harassing her with their camera, not this slightly awkward, caring, beautiful woman who was willingly sharing her story with the footballer.

“ He must be an incredible photographer.”

“ He was yes,” The brunette’s expression dimed at that, Alexia suddenly felt bad for bringing the subject but the smaller woman motionned to her that everything was ok and continued. “  Eleven years ago he was diagnosed with bone cancer. He died a year later, not long after my eighteenth birthday.”  

“ I am sorry,”

“ Don’t be, I’m happy to talk about him,” She said smiling, “ What about you? Why football?”

“ My dad, he loved football. He was always very supportive and proud. He got sick.” The blond said, looking down, not wanting the photographer to see her be vulnerable. Rosalie felt the shift in the atmosphere and put down her camera. “ He said that he would not die before seeing his daughter play for Barcelona’s first team, but he went two months before I reached our goal.” 

The brunette wanted to hug the girl standing in front of her but could not decide if she would be comfortable enough to do so. “ I am sure he is extremely proud of what you have accomplished, La reina”, the name earned the smaller woman an eye roll from the footballer who shifted in a different position for the photographer. 

“ Ok, let’s get this shoot over with, I think we both deserve to go home and finally relax.” They finished up quickly and Rosalie was quite happy with the pictures that came out. While she uploaded the pictures to her computer, the blond helped picking up the equipment. Grateful for her help, the brunette promised the captain that she would bring her coffee next week as a thank you.

They walked out of the empty training center as the sun was starting to set. When the brunette reached her small car, she turned around to see the taller woman standing awkwardly behind her. 

“ I just wanted to thank you for making this shooting so casual and easy.”

“ Of course, anything to make you comfortable, Alexia.” She grabbed the blond’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. “ Have a good weekend Capitana,” 

“Thank you,” The blond started to walk towards her own car but turned back around after a few steps. 

“ Bonne nuit Rosalià.”

The morning air was crisp against her sweat coated skin and the breeze coming from the sea kept the brunette cool even after running for an hour. It was still incredibly early in the morning and the only sounds that could be heard were the odd car passing and the sound of her feet hitting the pavement. Early morning was her favorite time to go run. It allowed her to be completely submerce by the calmness of the still sleeping city. Rosalie didn’t often run with music, preferring to listen to the sounds of her own steps, which acted as some sort of metronome for the torrent of thoughts running in her head lately. 

It had been four days since her shooting with the captain and still, the whole ordeal seemed to be the subject her brain would drift back to whenever the French-Canadian would let her mind run free. The fact that the blond seemed to make tremendous effort to stay as far as she could from the photographer had not helped the questions that were quickly multiplying in her head. 

Rosalie somehow thought that after that night, Alexia would be more approachable and less standoffish. But clearly the woman was not as comfortable as she thought with how vulnerable they had gotten and now she was probably regretting telling the brunette so much. Or maybe she thought that Rosalie went too far by sharing her story with the footballer. Whatever the reason was, the results were still the same. 

Later today, the team will be taking off towards Sevilla for a two day trip. They would all meet at the training center and take the team bus towards the airport. Flying had always been a tricky thing for Rosalie. When she was a teenager she had been on a plane with extremely violent turbulence that had scared the girl and ever since, flying had been one of the woman’s biggest fears. Her friends had always found the thing ironic, since the brunette's job required Rosalie to fly frequently and said that she should’ve gotten used to it by now. But nonetheless, every time the photographer simply thought about flying, she would get restless and anxiety would start creating a pit in her stomach. 

This was the reason why she was currently out at such an ungodly hour, trying to literally run away from her anxious thoughts. Around her she could see that the small coffee shops that were lined on the streets were starting to set up their front patios in order to open and the smell of freshly baked pastries was floating in the morning air. A quick look at her watch told her that she still had a good three hours before Lucy and Keira would arrive at her apartment to pick her up, meaning that she still had time to hit  the half marathon mark before heading back.

She wasn’t used to running this long on morning runs, but she had gone over her training program with Sara, one of the coaches and switched up her training to make it more challenging. So far her breathing was good and she could feel the slight burn of her legs but overall, her pace was good and she was more than satisfied with her time. 

Sara had been a true angel this past week. She had helped the runner organize a new training plan that was focused more on endurance rather than speed. Rosalis had always struggled with long distances which was why marathons were her least favourite type of races. She was extremely hard headed though so she was still focused on mastering this type of event. 

She even went as far as going running with the Canadian during the weekend. She was quite impressed by the level of fitness the brunette was displaying and found that she very much appreciated the company of the French-Canadian. After their run they had stopped at a local café and had agreed to room together during the upcoming trip. 

When Rosalie arrived at her apartment complex, she noticed the couple’s car parked by the door. She checked her watch to see that she technically still had at least an hour and a half before they were supposed to be here. She opened her door to come face to face with a sleeping form on her couch and Lucy running around in her kitchen.the smell of crêpe was wafting in the space.

“ Took you long enough,” The older woman whispered, handing Rosalie a fresh cup of coffee.

“How did you even get in here?”

“ You’re the one who left her door unlocked Rosie, which is not very safe darling you should be more careful.” 

The blob of  blankets on the couch stirred enough to reveal disheveled blond reddish hair. “ Lucy, please shut your mouth. I'm trying to sleep here.”

Rosalie made her  way to the living room and jumped on the woman who screamed at the Canadian to get off.

“ Frenchy you smell like ass go shower, Mama Bronze isn’t done with food anyway.” 

After her shower the brunette put on some comfortable clothes consisting of the staff’s tracksuit pants, a white t-shirt with the Barcelona logo and the Nike club vest that had quickly become one of her favorite articles of clothing. When she came back in the kitchen, everything had been picked up and the kitchen island was dressed up with the food. Lucy and keira were already sitting down and shoveling down food.

“ Mais quel bande d’animal, sincèrement? Vous ne pouviez pas attendre que j’aille fini?”

“ Tais toi femme et viens manger.” Lucy replied with her mouth full.

“ I regret teaching you French, I hope you know that.” She sat down and sipped on her coffee. She wasn’t hungry due to the knot that kept her stomach in check. Knowing that the younger woman would most likely not be able to eat due to her nervousness, Lucy got up and pulled out from the fridge a protein smoothie she had made at home before coming over. 

“Here, at least drink this, you just came back from what I assume was a big run. You gotta put something in you.”

Once breakfast was over, Rosalie finished packing up her camera bag while the girls were loading her bags in the car. The drive to the training center was quiet. Keira was still half asleep and Rosalie was simply too stressed to engage in conversation. Lucy didn’t mind the silence, she was relaxing and enjoying the time spent with two of the most important people in her life. 

The bus ride with the team was more or less the same, with everyone in  pretty much the same state as Keira. As they got closer to the airport, Rosalie’s nerves became worse. Her knee was bouncing up and down and the woman kept zoning out, unable to keep listening to Martina who was going on about a rumor about some people working in management. Thanks to Marcello’s participation in the conversation, Rosalie’s state remained relatively unknown. Or so she thought. 

A few seats behind her, Ingrid, Alexia, Mapi, Keira and Lucy were all sitting together. Knowing that the younger girl was quite fragile at the moment, Lucy had kept a close eye on her. 

“ Hermana, you keep watching Rosie, is everything good?” Mapi wondered, stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of the photographer. 

“She hates flying, it affects her a lot. I just don’t want her to get too bad, you know » Alexia had also noticed the change in the brunette. The normally bubbly woman looked pale and uncharacteristically quiet. 

« Can we do something to help? » Ingrid asked.

« Not really, nothing really distracts her in this situation. We just have to let her process this and stay close, just in case. » Keira replied. They were used to flying with the brunette and had tried everything to help her calm down but nothing really did the trick. She usually would put her headphones in and grip the seat as  hard as she could until they would land. 

Lucy got up and excused herself. Alexia watched her make her way to the front of the bus where the coaches, therapist and the rest of the staff were. “What is she doing?”

“ I think she’s trying to figure out who’s sitting with Frenchy on the plane.” Keira answered, turning towards her girlfriend.

“ They are close, Si?” Alexia’s curiosity had gotten the best of her. She wasn’t jealous, she could see that Lucy and Keira cared a lot about the green-eyed woman and she did not understand why, but she wanted to know as much as she could about her. 

“ Yeah, Like sisters they are. Lucy’s very protective of her, she does have much family. We’re hers now, you know.” Keira smiled as she watched Lucy walk back to her seat, but not without stopping to drop a granola bar on The Canadian’s lap and threatening her to eat it before they boarded. 

“ So who’s with her?” 

“ Apparently she’s the only staff member who didn’t get a ticket in the same area, probably because they booked it after everyone else. She’s gonna sit with the team, but we don’t know our seats yet so..” She said as she sat back down.

“ It’s ok, I can ask whoever is with her to swap with me, I’ll sit with her.” Ingrid said smiling. 

“ Thank you Ingrid,” Lucy said, visibly more relaxed knowing that the brunette would be with someone she seemed to trust.

At the airport, security went smoothly and the team collected their boarding passes only to be called moments later to the gate. The speed at which everything was going was a godsend for Rosalie who was too focused on making sure she had all her documents all the while taking pictures of the team, to have time to think about the moment the wheel of the plane would leave the ground. 

As she walked in the tunnel leading to the aircraft, Rosalie could feel her heart hammering in her chest and her palms getting increasingly sweaty. Lucy’s grounding presence helped the brunette a little but her fear was fighting hard to gain control. The photographer checked her boarding pass for the first time since receiving it to check what seat she had been assigned. 

“ where are you sitting?” The question came from Ingrid who was walking in front of them. 

“ I have B47,” her answer came put a lot more calm than the woman felt as she scanned the seats to find her own. 

“ That's good, Mapi and I are right in front of you,” As she was answering, the Norwegian stopped and picked up her bag to place it in the overhead bin, which told Rosalie that they had reached their seats. She walked the few steps that separated her from her seat, only to come face to face with the woman that had been occupying her mind for the last few days. 

Suddenly, Rosalie’s anxiety found a new target to spiral about. A hand on her shoulder pulled the photographer out of her thoughts. 

“Are you ok? We can sit together if you want? I have a few movies downloaded on my tablet. Mapi can sit with Alexia.” Ingrid asked, smiling softly at the brunette. Rosalie appreciated the dark haired girl but there's one thing that woman hated more than flying, and it was  pity. She knew that they only wanted to help her but she couldn’t help but feel like they were pitying her and she didn't want to appear weak in front of her new team, which is why she politely declined, thanking the couple and placing her belongings in the bin on top of her seat. 

The comotion caught the attention of the blond captain who had not seen who was prepared to sit next to her. She was more than surprised to see the photographer standing in the alley with a nervous small playing on her lips. 

“ Hey,”

“Hola,” Alexia said smiling, picking up her bag from the seat next to her. She sat down next to the blond and closed her eyes to try to calm herself before take off. 

Looking at the brunette, Alexia felt a strange sense of protectiveness wash over her. She wanted to make the brunette feel better, make that smile that takes her breath away appear on the photographer’s soft features. A few seats away, she could see Lucy watch them with a worried expression which Alexia answered with a reassuring smile. She would not let the brunette spiral. 

Surprisingly, Alexia was not the first one to speak. “ I am sorry if I overstepped during the shooting. I didn’t want to male you feel uncomfortable.” She said, eyes still closed and head thrown back. If she was to sit with the blond for this trip, might as well try to make it a little less awkward. 

“ What do you mean?”

“ I don’t know, I just  don’t want you to think that I’m probing your personal life.”

“ No, no I did not think that, do not worry,” the footballer took a second to think about what she was going to say next. She was aware of her own behaviour towards the photographer. The woman made her nervous and she felt like with the brunette, she did not need to put on a controlled facade like with the rest of the media team, and that scared the Ballon d’Or winner. Alexia hated feeling like she wasn’t in complete control of herself, so the easiest solution in her mind was simply to keep her distances. But staying away from the brunette did not appease her curiosity. “ I am very sorry if I made you feel this way. I appreciate your presence Rosalia.” 

The blond’s small confession made Rosalie slightly relax, enough for a small smile to escape her lips. She turned her head towards Alexia, who felt a warm feeling take place at the sight. “ I appreciate your presence as well.” 

The plane jolted, signaling the brunette, who had momentarily forgotten where she was, that they would be taking off very soon. She quickly grabbed the arm rest and panic flooded brain. Alexia, who had seen the brunette deteriorate, did the first thing that came to her mind. She grabbed the hand that was gripping the arm rest and held it with her own. She reached with her other hand and gently turned the photographer’s face towards her. Green met Hazel and the brunette was instantly captured by the depth of the footballer’s gaze. 

“You’re ok, hey look at me, breathe with me ok?” The blond took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her lips. The brunette followed the footballer’s lead, her eyes never straying from Alexia’s. “ bien, lo estás haciendo muy bien”

Alexia’s words ignited a small flame at the pit of the photographer’s stomach which successfully calmed some of the anxiety, but replaced it with an odd feeling that the French-Canadian was simply not ready to face yet. 

“ Here take this, it'll help with the pressure,” the captain pulled out a pack of gum and popped two pieces in Rosalie’s hand. The first bite surprised the photographer who made a face that pulled a chuckle from the footballer. 

“ What kind of psycho chews cinnamon gum?”

“Hey it’s good don’t be mean,” the woman answered with a hurt expression. She could see that Rosalie had calmed down quite a bit, but the deadly grip she still had on the blond’s hand showed her just how sacred the photographer was. Suddenly, they could feel the plane gain some speed and the wheel lifting off the ground. The brunette’s gaze shifted quickly towards the small window as panic clouded her eyes.

“ no, no sigue mirándome” With her hand still on Rosalie’s face, she drew the brunette closer still. Only a few inches separating the two. Rosalie could smell Alexia’s perfume, something sweet, like strawberries. She smelled like summer, it was intoxicating. She didn’t understand what the blond had said but it did not matter, since as soon as her gaze met hers, the blond smiled sweetly and Rosalie forgot once again where she was. 

“ Tell me one of your happiest memories,” The French-Canadian was surprised by the blond’s question. She had gone from ignoring the photographer to taking care of her during takeoff. She knew that Alexia was simply trying to distract her, but the curiosity she could see shining through her eyes made the brunette realize that maybe, the football player didn’t hate her after all. 

“ My first triathlon, it would have to be one of the most meaningful things in my life.” She answered.

“ Tell me about it, si?” 

“ It was a few years ago, my uncle loved triathlons. He used to do one every summer. He also volunteered as a photographer for the races. When I got older I would volunteer with him and he used to say that I would be a great triathlete if I wanted.” She said, smiling at the memory. 

“ He knew that my football days were over since I had gotten injured and needed surgery on my ankle. He said that once I’d be on my feet again I should give it a try. But I used to think that I would hate running, it was the part I hated the most during training.” Rosalie’s expression darkened. 

“When he died, I thought that it would be a good way to honour him in a way, the training was so hard. I had never swum before and my cardio wasn’t great coming back from injury.” She took a deep breath and her gaze left Alexia’s to shift to their intertwined fingers. 

“ But the rush of crossing the finish line was electric. It felt like I made him proud.” She looked back up only to see the captain's face lighting up along with hers. 

A few seats in front of the two, Lucy was witnessing the whole thing along with Keira. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing. In the time they had known her they had never seen her be so relaxed on a plane, nor being so physically close with someone she had just met. She had always been a bit weird about physical touch, it had taken a while before she started to relax whenever the English women hugged her. But at this moment, hand in hand and only a few inches separating their faces, the photographer looked comfortable, happy almost. 

The sound indicating that you could take the seat belts off pulled the two women out of their little bubble. Realizing that she was still gripping the footballer’s hand, Rosalie slowly untangled her fingers from Alexia’s and slightly pulled away from her. 

“Thank you for distracting me,” 

“My pleasure, I am always happy to know more about you Rosalia” The footballer turned around and pulled out her headphones from her case. Rosalie, still surprised by the blond’s statement, put one headphone back in her ear, letting the other one dangle in on her chest and closed her eyes, listening to the calming sound of her music, all the while keeping an ear out in case anything happened. 

A few minutes passed, not much could be heard around. Everyone was either on their phones or had put a movie on their screen. Rosalie could see from the space between seats that Mapi and Ingrid were snuggled up and watching The Lion King on their tablet. An intense shuffling sound pulled her attention away from their screen to see Alexia intensely searching for something in her bag.

“ Ah mierda , where are they?” She sounded frustrated enough for the brunette to lean in to see.

“ Are you ok?”

“ Si, I think I did not bring my headphone charger and they just died,” The blond said frustrated. 

“ Here,” The brunette took her headphone that was resting on her chest and offered it to the footballer. “ we can share if you’d like, I’m not using them both.” She said smiling. 

“ You don’t mind?” 

“Of course not, it’s the least I can do after you helped me like that.” She said, getting closer so the wire wouldn’t pull her other headphone out. “ What do you usually listen to?” 

“ You can leave on what you were listening to, I just don’t like working without music.” The blond said, pulling out her laptop. Rosalie pressed play again and the soft piano song started again in her ear. After a moment, the blond stopped typing and spoke again. 

“ This is nice, very calm, what is it called?” 

“ This is Interlude by this group called London Grammar. The singer’s voice is so powerful, it’s one of my favourite groups.” she said, happy to share her music with the blond.

“ Good, I will look them up then.” The blond went back to her work, softly humming to the music in her ear. Meanwhile, Rosalie was starting to feel like her lack of sleep and intense morning run were slowly taking a toll on her body. Alexia’s calm and grounding presence, along with her perfume that flooded her senses every time she took a breath allowed the photographer to relax enough for her eyelids to become heavy. Slowly her whole body became heavy and her head lolled to the side, resting gently on Alexia’s shoulder. 

At the contact, the footballer went rigid, but relaxed as soon as she realized that the photographer had finally succumbed to sleep, after being on edge all morning.  Knowing she could not work without disturbing the brunette, Alexia closed her laptop and relaxed in her seat, letting the soft music guide her towards sleep as well.

A/N: feedback is appreciated

[karinasbaby]

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 — FORESHADOW (teaser)

"we can still meet, we will connect no matter what"

PAIRING. soulmate!jake x fem!reader

WARNINGS.(will contain) some supernatural stuff, my second miserable attempt at angst & fluff, suggestive content, mentions of family problems/trauma, drinking, fights, cursing, and a lot of one-night stands (for now),

WORD COUNT. 585 (looks away)

in a world where every person is born with numbers of a birthdate engraved in the back of their necks, where every person dreams of their future memories with their other half that the universe had created for them, where on every person's eighteenth birthday they get certain and special initials marked somewhere on their body— all belonging to their soulmate.

sim jaeyun was lost in a daydream,

reminiscing his previous night's memories, heat flooding back to his face as he remembered every second of his dream, he had finally seen his soulmate again,

heart drumming once he recalled how smooth his soulmate's locks felt beneath his fingertips when he carefully raked them through her hair, how soft his soulmate's voice sounded when she called so sweetly for him, just how much her presence affected him even when he never got the chance to see her face properly,

to say that jaeyun was "excited" would be an absolute understatement, the boy was over the moon any and every time he thought about his soulmate, his eyes twinkled whenever the topic of 'soulmates' was brought up around him, loving and longing gaze following every couple he spotted outside, his heart thundering in his chest every night before he went to sleep, will he see his soulmate again tonight?

truth was, jaeyun yearned and craved for a love as pure and tender as his parents' soulmate bond, growing up in a house bursting with affection and joy along with his parents' overflowing love for each other that only seemed to be getting stronger and increasing with each passing decade, only made jaeyun look forward to his own soulmate and how his life would be with her,

how he was so prepared to give all the love in his body to her, spending each and every passing second with his soulmate was something he daydreamed about often, he was so ready to devote himself entirely, body, mind and soul for his soulmate, question was when will he finally meet her?

growing up and hearing myths that got passed around for centuries, the most prevalent one stating that "every person's birth country has a high chance of seventy-five percent of being the same birth country as their soulmate", which resulted in jaeyun refusing to budge away from his birth country, only travelling with his parents for short vacations before he begs them to buy earlier tickets so he can go back,

jaeyun woke up everyday with the phrase "this might be the day that i meet her." ringing in his head continuously till night, finding a different kind of energy that motivates him throughout his day at the mere possibility of his soulmate passing by him any second,

whenever thoughts of his soulmate occupied him completely, with wonder about her whereabouts, what she could possibly be doing at the moment, led jaeyun to turn towards a piece of paper and a pen to empty his system of all of his thoughts and overflowing emotions,

which resulted in this routine becoming some sort of coping mechanism for him when he felt like he was being drowned by his overthinking of his soulmate avoiding him, not wanting to meet him, or worse deciding to end their connection,

and this led to jaeyun having two boxes filled with his 'love letters' stuffed away at the corner of his room, thinking that maybe in the future his soulmate will read them and find his words and worry somewhat amusing,

but what if his soulmate truly didn't want to meet him?

A, NOTE. if this isn't out till the end of november like the 20-25 then i wish we would all collectively forget about it <3

(feb 2024 update): i’m still working on it !!

[unicornpopcorn14]

13 for the ship prompt! :D

Ship Prompts 13- Write about your ship celebrating one of the members birthdays. Ship chosen: Queerplatonic Skk I got carried away with this (3.5k words aaaaa) 😭😭 Hope you enjoy it, Darcy!! :D

Saccharine

“You’re aware what day of the year it is, right?”

Dazai’s eyes widen, fork still in his mouth as the chatter of the restaurant fades in his ears. It’s been four– almost five years, surely Chuuya isn’t alluding to that. The moment he meets the other’s peeved face, however, his mouth gapes, with the fork still inside it, and whispers in horror,

“Don’t-”

Chuuya cuts him off with an exasperated sigh, “I enjoyed those 51 days of me being a year older, but alas. The time has come for me-”

“Do not-”

“-to be nice to you for the whole day…”

“NOOOOO!!!” He grabs his hair as he lurches back, other customers turning to their table, “Chuuya, if you’re a sadist, I’d much rather find out in better ways!” He bangs on the table with flat hands, to which Chuuya’s veins bulge at, “Would you quit with that awful annual torture-?!”

“Come on, you do this every goddamn year!” Chuuya bickers back, “Indulge a little in what I put myself through for your ungrateful ass.”

“You do it because I don’t like it!”

“Well, true.” Chuuya shrugs, leaning back with folded arms, “But don’t you get at least a little tired from doing this shit constantly? I’d say this is a much needed change of pace-”

“First of all, how dare you suggest that this ‘shit’ is but a front. Maybe you can’t help but pretend to hate me– and I get it, after all, who could resist my charm? But I truly hate you-!”

“Uh huh.”

“-Second of all, I’d rather stay alive than ever go through that quote-un-quote: ‘needed change of pace’ for the third time in my miserable life!”

“That so?” The smirk that Chuuya wears sends Dazai’s long-have-been-numb nerves prickling in foreign agitation that he hasn’t felt in a long time-

“Oh my.” Chuuya’s tone and eyes instantly soften, and Dazai recoils back before he can help it, “Miserable life, Osamu? I’m so sorry to hear that. We can talk about it, you know-”

Dazai clasps his ears shut, “Shut uuuup!!!”

“As you wish,” Dazai grimaces even further because Chuuya just listened to him, “but do know I am always here to talk, yeah?” Chuuya unsheathes one of his gloves to take Dazai’s hand into his own, expression so uncanny as he genuinely smiles at Dazai. The brunette feels sick-

“I’ll avoid you for the whole day if you keep this up!” He threatens crackly, can’t bring himself to take his hand away, “The Agency is definitely pummeling without me helping with the paperwork.”

Chuuya normally would tell him that he slacks on the job anyway, but now he just simply closes his eyes, that same damn smile on his face, “Just say the word, and I’ll give you all the space you need. Never doubt that, mackerel.”

The pet name doesn’t grant him the normalcy he’s desperate for when Chuuya says it in that tone of voice, “No- You’re not supposed to-!” Dazai can sense that his lack of acutely predicting Chuuya’s responses might drive him crazy very soon, so he attempts to try to calm himself, “Aren’t there mafia business for you to attend, Mr. Executive? Does Mori even know you’re here?”

“Don’t worry, Osamu, I freed the whole day just for you.”

“Stop calling me that-”

“Anything you want-”

“Raaaaaghhh!!!” Now he takes his hand back, clutching it on his chest as if he’s been burned, “You’ll crack. You’ll definitely crack. There is no chance you’re keeping this up forever. Your tiny brain won’t handle it!”

But he knows that isn’t the case, because Chuuya’s tiny brain had handled it for the whole day during his seventeenth and eighteenth birthday, and now at 23, his tolerance to Dazai’s insults have significantly heightened, to the brunette’s sheer disdain.

Chuuya tilts his head a little, hair swaying, completing his sickeningly sweet demeanor, “I’d do anything for the most precious person in the world.”

“Eugh- I think I threw up in my mouth a little.” He gags with a fist on his mouth, voice groggy-

The waiter comes up to them, telling them that the other customers have complained about Dazai’s occasional shrieks. Chuuya, still so freaking sweetly, informs her that they were leaving already, pays the restaurant without complaining once about Dazai never pulling his own weight, and they take off.

“This is a nightmare.” Dazai says after a long moment of silence between them, something that never happens, “My feisty dog is suddenly nice, he’s definitely transpiring something wicked against me!”

Chuuya- Chuuya laughs, “You know you’re ridiculous with that…” He doesn’t say it meanly, wiping a tear, which Dazai’s brain haywires at-

“Really, now? Laughing at calling you my dog?” The smallest of frowns dares crease his forehead, “This is too much, even for you.”

“What? You’re funny.” Dazai’s face pales- greens even, “So, where do you want to go, birthday boy?”

Dazai bristles at the nickname, then inhales to calm himself, an idea springing up, “Fine. You asked for it, Slug!” He knows just the perfect way to break him, “We’re going to the arcade.”

He sees the flash in Chuuya’s eyes, and deems himself victorious. Chuuya would never maintain this bullshit at the arcade given his ridiculously competitive nature. He’ll definitely scream at Dazai once or twice out of habit more than anything-

Nothing.

Clearly Chuuya’s willpower has also improved through the years, because there isn’t a single aggressive shout, there isn’t any accusations of Dazai tampering with the machines (he had), and though Chuuya laughs and enjoys the rounds, what he utters after his loss is the straw that breaks the camel’s back,

“Aw shucks. Good match, that was fun.”

Dazai leaps from his seat and turns around the machines to reach the redhead, grabbing his cheeks with panicked eyes, “Chuuya, Chuuya are you in there?! I think you’ve been possessed!” He speaks to the eyes, sensing their amused confusion, “Do something to tell me you’re in there! Any sign!”

Chuuya smiles.

“Ahh!” Dazai lets him go instantly, “Begone, demon!!”

“Come on, now.” The not-Chuuya says fondly- eughhh, “Up for another round?”

“No!” This didn’t work. Dazai needs to think of other ways, make up a plan. Operation: exorcising this cloying demon out of his partner begins in-

“How about we go to my apartment? I have a surprise for you.”

Dazai’s eyes dart as his mind runs in terrifying speeds, addressing the other without looking, “I don’t trust you with surprises right now. You may be small, but you’re no less terrifying.”

Chuuya chuckles, “You’ll love it, trust me-”

Dazai gets into a fighting stance, gasping, “Do not speak of trust with that tone of voice, not-Chuuya!”

Chuuya chuckles again, and his silky tone coaxes him to follow him to his apartment, nevertheless. Dazai can’t believe he’ll have to endure seven more hours of this, planning to break a thing or two of Chuuya’s belongings out of spite if nothing else.

“Don’t think your façade is fooling me, I can see right through you!” He announces impatiently from the couch, leg bouncing up and down as Chuuya pours drinks from the kitchen, “You gagged at least twice through this, didn’t you? Admit it.”

Chuuya laughs again, a record in Dazai’s book. This is so ridiculous. “Stop cracking me up, I can’t pour the drinks.”

Dazai sulks, sinking into the couch, “Shut up…” But it’s weak, replaced by flusterment he can’t ebb down. He feels suddenly helpless with the lack of the reactions, and wonders if he’s losing his touch. The antique vase looks like it wants to crash into the floor in full speed so much right now.

“You’re a little red.” Not-Chuuya is suddenly in front of him, sitting down as he gapes up at him in amusement, “Cute.” He attempts to give Daza his drink.

Dazai, with crossed arms, huffs and turns away, “I’m not talking to you.”

“Why? Did I do anything wrong?” Chuuya asks gently with a smile, placing the glass on the table. Dazai turns even further in order to hide the other from his peripheral.

No, you didn’t. And that’s the problem.

“Your hair looks soft. Fluffy.” Dazai suddenly feels fingers running through the back of his head. His noddle whips so fast his neck feels like it cracked,

“Ew, ew! Don’t touch me, cheap-Chibi-replica!!” He doesn’t exactly flinch away, fuming, “The real Chuuya calls my hair a dirty mop all the time! Do better!”

Not-Chuuya brushes his bangs this time, fixated on them as he speaks, “Maybe he never told you those things because…” He pauses, eyes down-casting a little. Dazai begged him to say ‘you’re a pain in the ass’. It’s what he expects, it’s what makes perfect sense, it’s what aligns with the Chuuya he knows like the back of his hand, pleasepleaseplease-

“…he never really thought he deserved you enough to do so.”

Dazai rigids, “WHAT?!”

“He’s afraid of things he’ll lose.” Chuuya, to Dazai’s absolute disdain, explains, “So he tries his best to push everyone away. Everyone he’s sure will be too precious to him, everyone he’ll latch onto just a little too much, he tries his best to maintain his distance from th-”

“Chuuya, I have never been more serious with you in my life: Please stop.” Dazai numbly says, suddenly so, so exhausted.

The redhead’s mouth clasps, as per request, but he clarifies that it still isn’t over, “Only six more hours and I will.”

“Why?” Dazai stresses, uncomfortable, “You can end it here. Nothing obligates you to-”

“You never asked for your surprise.” Chuuya cuts him off.

Dazai blinks, turning to him, “If I see it, will you stop?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Of course I will.” Dazai rolls his eyes, “Now, on with it. If it gets the real Chuuya out, then the sooner the better.”

Chuuya smiles, but there is something solemn regarding it. He gets up, with Dazai observing his every move, and scurries through a drawer big and wide enough to accommodate stacks of files and documents. Dazai’s eyes narrow, never taking interest to rummage through this particular drawer for how boring its contents appear to be, but now his interest in piqued, as Chuuya finds what he’s looking for with a small: “Aha.”

Dazai thinks he sees an envelope in Chuuya’s hand as he ambles closer, but that can’t be right-

“Here.”

“Your surprise is a letter?” Dazai truly hasn’t been more confused in his life. He hates that he can’t see where this is going, inspecting the brown envelope as he speaks, “Chuuya, I don’t think there is anything you can’t verbally say to me now, do you? This is usele-”

His eyes widen, breath catching in his throat as he reads the name embedded on the paper.

From: Odasaku

Time seems to stop while Dazai reads the nickname once, twice. It’s in English cursive that can never be Chuuya’s handwriting, and his hands tremble ever so slightly the moment he registers the credibility of what he’s holding. This is real.

“You- wh-” He looks back and forth between the envelope and Chuuya’s gentle eyes, gaze never seeming to want to leave either.

Chuuya sits on the couch, voice subdued, “Your Executive desk was cleared by me after your defection, as per my own request. I was admittedly selfish– looking for anything you might have left for me before you left. Something to explain, anything-”

“Chuuya-”

“Hey, let me finish, will you?” Chuuya sends him a soft smile in reassurance, “I found this instead, read the first two paragraphs before I closed it again. It explained everything I needed to know, Dazai.” He leans back, drinking out of the wine glass, “You can read it privately if you want.”

But Dazai doesn’t get up, scrambling to take the paper out with shaky fingers. His heart wildly throbs once a long wall of text meets his widened eyes,

This is but my latest prose as a person worthy of being a writer, a person who is not tainted with blood. Dazai, if I die before seeing you one last time, I do not wish to end things between us on such terms. There is a lot I wish to tell you before I leave…

Dazai reads every word, eyes welling against his will, making the letters blur and scramble as one. Oda speaks of their time together, his fondest memories, his ideals- tells him he would’ve left a letter for Ango hadn’t it been for the circumstances. Tells him the name of his adopted children, the characteristics each of them had.

I, truly, have considered you one of them.

Oda informs him of how much he resembled a burnt black cat the first time they met, how he doesn’t seem as burnt now. Dazai chuckles wetly as Odasaku says that he’s happy he’d known him, even for a short while, even in their circumstances.

Whatever path you’ll choose after what occurs, please remember this:

The brunette suddenly hiccups, an ugly sound seldom forced out of him. He covers his mouth, finds his lips too shaky to form words, heart feeling more than all it had felt in almost half a decade-

“He said he’s proud of me, even before knowing I’d defect.” He isn’t sure why he’s whispering this to his partner, “He-” His cheeks feel wetter than before, to which he looks at his hand. Droplets of salt continue to fall on them so assertively, he thinks they might cause them to bleed,

“What is this- what have you done to me…?” Dazai knows he’s crying, he just doesn’t know why he can’t will himself to feel numb again. Everything is hazy and sloppy and wet, and he keeps the precious paper away, afraid it will get caught up in that uncontrollable mess…

“Do you hate it?” Chuuya asks faintly, with some regret in it. Dazai shakes his head, leaving the letter on the table-

“No, I don’t but- these monstrous things won’t stop.” He croaks as he wipes with both hands on his face, and to his horror the tears double, the sobs get even more violent, “I think I’ve been possessed, too…”

“Hey, come here…” Chuuya guides him through his fit, which Dazai blindly follows, till he finds himself with a weight on his laps and both arms and legs embracing him. Dazai latches back so tightly, trembling as he puts all of his force into the fists that both hit Chuuya lightly and grab the back of his shirt with. He doesn’t have to wipe the tears when Chuuya’s garment acts as a napkin, soaking every single thing he wishes to hide.

“He said he’s proud…” Dazai repeats, squeaks, burying his nose into the warmth of his partner.

“That he did.” Chuuya’s ungloved fingers caress his hair, and don’t stop until the persistent tears finally stop flowing. Dazai stays huddled in the warmth for more seconds despite himself, selfishly wishing to steal it all, before shifting to indicate his desire to draw away, and Chuuya instantly gets off of him.

He can’t bring himself to look at the azure pupils no matter how hard he tries, eyes shifting away to the table and the carpet and the hands on his lap.

It has been long since he’s felt this bare, much less over a gift. He had received many birthday presents in the last two years especially: Ranpo would give him all the sweets he could offer, Kenji crops from his field, Kyouka pretty daggers, Atsushi hugs and flowers, the Tanizaki siblings a cake of their making, Yosano fancy wine bottles, Kunikida would treat him to a meal, and Fukuzawa would orchestrate the whole party…

While it would all be appreciated, he never really felt any joy over being one year older. Most times he regrets ever living this long, so he doesn’t regard the gifts or parties done in his honor with as much gratefulness as he feels he’s supposed to.

But this? This one letter lying opened on the table?

It might be the best birthday gift he’d… ever received.

And he wants to let Chuuya know that.

“Uh.” What was he supposed to say again? What did normal people say in situations like this? Thank you? Sorry? “You’re… appreciable, slug.”

That was neither- what the fuck, brain??

Chuuya would have pointed his terrible attempt at being grateful out at any other day, but now he simply smiles relievedly,

“I’m glad you like it.”

This version of his partner is starting to prove that he isn’t so bad, after all.

Dazai frowns, still avoiding eye-contact, “No, um, what I mean is… mmmm….” He sinks so far in the couch, till only his head is reclining by the back of the seat. He crosses his arms and averts his face, physically forcing himself to say it, “tnks…” he whispers.

“Hm?”

It’s a beat, then Dazai roughly flops his head on Chuuya’s lap, because he can’t articulate his appreciation with words, and thus wants to show it by doing something Chuuya likes, which is having to look down to see Dazai instead of the other way around. He feels the other tense for a second before his hand reluctantly cups his brown hair in question.

“Thanks.” Dazai grits into Chuuya’s pants, then rolls on his back, finally meeting the amused blues, “Don’t get the wrong idea, demon, you won’t catch me saying this to the real Chuuya at all. But you get a pass. Only this once.”

“Might as well feel honored, huh?” Chuuya chuckles, and it’s truly genuine.

A small smile cracks Dazai’s face for a mere second. Wannabe-Chuuya is really more acquainted to handle these moments than regular Chuuya. It’s definitely why he waited for Dazai’s birthday to hand the letter to him– an excuse to show his raw and real care that Dazai undeservedly bathes himself in.

“So, do you want him back, now?”

Dazai doesn’t, but can't ever shed light on contradicting himself, so he dramatically says instead, “I’ll think about it.”

The redhead’s brow ridges, though not with his typical ‘I’m done with your bullshit’ frown. It’s with a smile.

He wonders when Chuuya ever learned to be this good of an actor.

Dazai feigns a long sigh, “Fine, you can stay a little longer…” then pauses, blinking upwards, “Wait- am I betraying real-Chuuya that way?”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mind.” Chuuya says as he strokes Dazai’s unkempt bangs away from his face.

Dazai’s mouth curls in displeasure because he likes it, “I hate you.”

“He hates you too, buddy.” It’s better to hear it in third person, like this part of Chuuya forever believes he is worth not being hated, “Wanna spend the rest of the day here or go somewhere else?”

“Energy’s gone, not-my-Chibi.” He twirls the long end of the fiery hair in a finger, “Outdoor activities will be a chore…”

Chuuya shakes his head and rolls his eyes in fondness, “This might be the lamest birthday setting ever.”

“That’s exactly right.” Dazai sneers, “But when were we ever conventional with the way we do things?”

“Touche. At least I got a cake and a candle.”

“Ugh, no. You know I hate formalities.”

They carry it out anyway, with Dazai ruining Chuuya’s attempts to sing properly, and Chuuya being patient through and through.  

His partner must have expected Dazai to want to stay home after receiving his gift, because they spend the next six hours doing everything Dazai likes– They play videogames, they cook and Dazai makes the kitchen an unsalvageable mess, they wildly dance together and stumble on their feet, they watch murder mysteries and brain rotting soap operas in a pillow fort, they play with cards and Chuuya loses every single time.

It's until there is fifteen minutes left till midnight, with Dazai getting his hair braided, that he finds himself glancing back with a devious idea in mind. Testing Chuuya’s willpower one last time wouldn’t hurt, would it…?

“Ah, so. I hate to admit it– who am I kidding, no I don't,” He gives an exaggerated winces as he glances back, “but I maybe, sorta bleached all your coats while you were in the restroom when I was mad at you.”

Chuuya pauses his braiding, staring at Dazai for a long while… then all of the veins on his body pop-

He gets yanked backwards by the hair, “Ow, OW!” Dazai laughs because finally, “My, Chuuya, you’re back sooner than expected!”

Chuuya grabs him in a chokehold, which Dazai tries to escape from, “I can’t fucking take it anymore,” He growls, and Dazai laughs even harder, “My coats? MY COATS, DAZAI?!”

“It’s tie-dye season! Never heard of tie-dye season?!” Dazai slips downwards, successfully scrambling away as Chuuya attempts to grab him but he isn’t fast enough-

“GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!!”

Dazai's half-done braids bounce as he sprints, “Bring nice-Chuuya back first!!”

“SAY GOODBYE TO HIM FOREVER, BASTARD!”

“What?! Noooo, call me Osamu one last time!”

“IN YOUR WILDEST FUCKING DREAMS!!”

They pause the chase when Dazai’s behind the kitchen counter and Chuuya’s outside, if only to catch their breaths, “You know, if it weren’t for the fact that me being nice isn’t as effective on you, I’d have made it a staple on your birthday as well!”

Dazai grins evilly, as Chuuya pales.

“How would that go, again?” Dazai taps his chin, “Oh, Nakahara-Sama, You’re so smart and cool.” Chuuya’s face turns green, the piled urge to vomit since he’d started his act finally getting to him, “You are definitely not a dog and you’re actually the perfect height, goes nicely with your figure and strong build-“

“No, fuck! Euuugh!!!” Chuuya actively empties his stomach in a conveniently placed bucket, Dazai claps in victory,

“Aha! Maximum damage!!!” He points at him, “What comes around goes around, Slug!!”

“You’ll fucking pay for that!”

Chuuya breaks the door of the kitchen down, adding to the unhopeful mess Dazai’d made. Their wild goose chase keeps going till three in the morning.

And Dazai? Keeps laughing till all his heart’s content…

[hh0320]

໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco. 

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on. 

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you. 

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle. 

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you. 

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone. 

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world. 

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

[hannahssimblr]

I shoulder through the front doors into the fresh spring air, still a little breathless with adrenaline, to where Michelle is waiting for me. She looks unhappy. 

“How did it go?” I say. 

“Oh, awful, they were like robots, so intimidating. I didn’t know what they thought of my work, you know? I really thought I’d start crying at one point.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and that woman was so cold. She was pulling all of these faces at my self portraits and saying they were naive.”

“Oh, God,” In an attempt at reassurance I start rubbing her arm, “I’m sure they liked plenty things about your work.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I sensed they hated all of it.”

“They couldn’t have, it’s probably just your perception, they… I bet they’re harsh to everyone, you know? They probably don’t want to get anyone's hopes up with there being limited places and all…”

She looks at me, “Was yours bad too?”

“Awful,” I say without missing a beat, “Same as you, they gave me nothing. It was hard to tell what they really thought of my work, but they didn’t seem overjoyed by any of it to be honest.”

“Oh,” her shoulders relax, “well if they were like that with you then they must be just playing hard ball.”

“I think so.”

“What if we don’t get in?”

“Well fuck ‘em,” I grin, “We don’t need them. NCAD? Who cares, right? It’s not exactly at the top of our list.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Something else will work out, right?”

“Of course it will! C’mon, let’s just grab a coffee and chill out,” I drape my arm over her shoulder and walk her around the corner to where I parked the car. 

The car, the brand new, shiny, blue Volkswagen Polo that my parents got me for my eighteenth birthday, is gleaming under the afternoon sun, one tyre wedged awkwardly against the kerb because I haven’t yet mastered the art of parallel parking when there are two other impatient drivers beeping their horns at me and gesticulating wildly out their windows. 

“He just got his fucking licence, you spas!” Michelle screamed at them from the passenger window as I manoeuvred myself into a gap big enough to house an articulated truck but somehow felt the width of a water closet as soon as I tried to fit my 1.0 litre hatchback into it. I could have told her that firing middle fingers at other drivers left and right wasn’t really doing much to diffuse the situation, but it seemed she was reaching some sort of catharsis from it. She likes that. Screaming, I mean.

This car has been a point of contention, not because I can’t park it well, but because it was an extravagance I neither needed nor desired. “We live in the city,” I protested when my parents handed me the keys, “I can just take the bus.” But they had this idea that I might like to drive it into school and be the envy of all the other students, poverty stricken losers without parents who can buy them vehicles worth half the average national salary. I told them I can just walk like always, and they didn’t like that. 

“This is a good present,” said my dad, as though insisting could make it so, “You can drive all over, you won’t have to rely on public transport any more.”

“Did I say I didn’t like public transport?”

“Well, you could get mugged on the bus, someone could pull out a knife and take your phone and all of your money! That kind of thing is happening all over the city lately.”

I showed him my Nokia from 2004 and asked him what kind of person might like to risk prison for it, but he didn’t appreciate that, and it just escalated the argument further. 

“I’m not going to even live in Ireland in a year, not if I can help it!” I cried with exasperation, after a further ten minutes of his dramatics, “What’s the point?”

“Sell it then!” he bellowed back, “I don’t care what you do! It’s yours!”

“I just don’t need it! It’s too much. You can use that money for something better.”

“Money? Money is not an issue.”

“Well that car will be wasted just sitting in the driveway.”

“You’ll figure out what to use it for.”

And I did. I still walk to school, I still take the bus into town most days (when I’m not hauling two A1 portfolio cases along with me), but sometimes, late at night Michelle and I drive up and down the coast. We get ice cream at the drive through, we talk, but mostly I park it in the darkest corner of some car park, sea facing for maximum romance, and we fuck in the passenger seat. Not that I’ve kept track of it by any means, but I’m almost certain I have spent more time having sex in my shiny, blue, Volkswagen Polo than actually driving it. I’m sure it wasn’t Christopher’s intention for it, and it might affect the resale value, but the car has become a haven of sorts, a place where we can go to be alone, at a safe distance from my nosy sister, from Michelle’s anxious father, and perhaps most vitally, from Jen, who has never quite stopped being weirded out by our relationship, even with nine full months to get used to it.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[minimoxha]

Tangled

Summary: After his wife and daughter died he thought he lost everything. However, you for some reason, you’d didn’t disappear. So, Miguel locked you up. He had to find some way to protect you so you couldn’t be taken from him like Gabriella. What better way to do that then keep you in his dimension where he could get to you in case of anything.

Warnings: Low key bad parenting, Mother knows best lyrics, Cussing if you squint. Maybe bad Spanish, things I grew up listening to.

W/C:

A/n This might be bad, it’s been a long time since i’ve written fanfic so bare with me! If you want a part two or three because i’ll prolly make a part too just let me know. And please give me some good Miguel and hobie fanfics down below!

Part two to this is posted: here

series masterlist is here

Even without a spider sense, Miguel could tell that something was up. The way she kept looking at him as she ate her breakfast, the way she kept shifting in her seat on the bar of their house that was really more of a castle that he forced her in years ago; and the way she was scarfing down her food so fast that it didn't even look like she had swallowed. Miguel liked to think that he knew his daughter pretty well, when her sister and mother died he became the only person she spoke to on a daily basis. However, who she spoke to wasn’t by choice. No, it was by force.

It was because her dad had locked her up in their house in order to ‘protect’ her from the dangers that could possibly be outside. Maybe an anomaly or some silly boy wanting to give you more but heartbreak. Miguel was all about protecting his one and only. You weren't bored in the house until now, your 18th birthday had finally been the day that cleaning, art, knitting, sewing and any of the other hobbies your dad had brought home for you to try became too tiring for your newly adult brain. You wanted to see the fireworks that unknowingly to you, Miguel set off every year in celebration for you. You wanted to meet actual people instead of being cooped up in the same boring house (Even if it was Huge!) every single day. It never actually rang to Miguel that one day, protecting you meant letting you out of his grasp at least once. Which is also why this time; he couldn't pinpoint what exactly was wrong with his daughter this time around.

“Que paso?” Miguel asked, food still in his mouth and turning to his daughter who had the same look on her face.

“It’s my birthday dad” His daughter, Y/n answered. She still had the smile on her face, when has Miguel ever said no to his daughter? Every single day she’d ask “when can I go out?” He’d always tell her someday and her eighteenth birthday had to be the day, Right? “I want to see the fireworks as my birthday present.”

Miguel’s eyes looked at her empty, as if there were no thoughts whatsoever behind his eyes. Except, all he could think about was holding Gabriella and you in his arms when she completely glitched and disappeared. The world risks something that would take his baby, his daughter, the thing that he fights for every single time he defeats an anomaly.

“You can see them from the window, you see them every year mami. Why is it so special this year?” (I see a lot of people using mami sexually but my dad and aunts called me and my sister mami as a nickname so that's what it’ll be!)

“I want to see them up close, outside dad. I’m tired of staying here all day every day. I need sun” She spoke, making Mig’s fist clench harder and harder on his fork, it was just about breaking now, minutes from that if he kept it up. “Please dad, I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’m eighteen! I can’t stay here forever with you. I want to go and have a life, meet people, make memo-”

“You speak as if you know so much about making a life. Mija, you know how dangerous it is out there. You are too naive, gullible, and ditzy to think that you will be safe with people waiting to mug you the moment you step foot from this house. I’m saying this because I love you. The final answer is no.” Miguel growled before finally snapping his fork in half and letting a sigh out. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair before taking the two clean bowls to the kitchen leaving his daughter to sit– dreams broken and in silence. Did he really completely turn her down? Suddenly, the girl felt her face heat up and her eyes develop that certain wetness that always came around on her birthday, never this early though. What coule she do now? What would happen now? Would she be stuck here forever without any way to get outside?

The familiar voice of her father woke her out of her thoughts. He came over, Putting an arm around his daughter as she leaned into his touch, sniffling. “Don’t cry, Mija. This is for the best so nothing will happen to you.” She nodded into his arms, not convinced. Miguel sighed and grabbed her head with his hand, turning the girl to face him. He could see the sadness that lied on his daughters face. However, he’d rather hurt her feelings then have her be hurt by anyone else. Why would she want to go out there when he could give her anything she ever wanted, easily. “Mija, I’m saying this because I love you. I want to protect you, tú entiendes.” The girl nodded and her dad kissed her forehead before leaving the house without even so much as a bye to his daughter. .

She didn’t understand. Why was it that every teen that she saw on the tv and her computer were able to go live outside their houses and have fun. Make memories like parties and Malls and games? Why was the world so dangerous for her but not for everyone else? The girl got up and walked to the kitchen where Miguel left his and her dirty dishes in the sink. She had to clean again, even on a day as special as her birthday. It was almost like, he didn’t even care. The girl turned on music, a group called Exon, the group was home to her dimension and happened to be dropping by for a concert in Nueva York. She was contemplating asking to go but Miguels answer would probably be the same as always. A no. Y/n felt those familiar tears well up in her eye before the sound of her window opening sprung her away from the music. Whoever was trying to break in, was really loud with it. Quickly, she grabbed whatever was closest to her- A frying pan and continued to the Dining room hesitantly.

Millions of thoughts were racing through the girls head. Who was breaking in? How did they get past the security system even she couldn’t break? Was what miguel said true? Were people really waiting on you in order to kill or rob you? Her thoughts disappeared when she stood in the entryway , seeing nothing but an empty dining room. She stood hands on her hips, questioning if maybe what she heard was apart of the song and the alarm system blaring was just an accident.

“‘Ello love, Have you seen this big man wearing a red and black spandex suit? He looks like a clown almost.” With a gasp, The girl turned to face another spider-man, just like your father. But this one was different, he was wearing clothes along with the suit. The suit even had cool little spikes on his head. She couldn’t stop herself from staring at him in awe, her eyes only widened when the man took his mask off. He was brown skin with Wiks Littering his head. She could tell that he grew his hair out for a while to achieve as much hair he had. Piercings littered his face, adding to the rocker touch that the man already gave. She dropped the pan to the floor and scrambles to get her thoughts together. So he was another spider-man, looking for her father. A cute spider-man at that.

Of course, she knew about Hq and the whole dimension things but usually people contacted him through his watch and not his phone. So how was he here and not through the hologram? It’d been ages since she’s seen another person other than her dad, it almost didn’t feel real or right to be here, looking at someone. “My names Y/n. My dad- My dad’s not here right now actually he just left.” She said, looking everywhere but in the eyes of the spiky spider-man. “What’s your name? You’re a spider-man just like him?”

The man gave a nod before walking through the house and taking a closer look. The girl followed right behind him watching him with wide eyes as he checked out the house. The two ended up right in the kitchen. “I’m sorry- who are you? Why are you roming my house like you know it?” She Was now defensive, arms crossed and shifted on one leg. If men had anything it was the audacity to roam her house without an intoxication at least.

“Right. Names Hobbie Brown.”

Thanks for reading! I hope y’all enjoyed that, it’s been a long time since i’ve written so i’ll try to produce better things next time! Until then,

[teaberrii]

Chapter Seventeen: The Love in Our Lives

Alhaitham has the looks and the smarts. He will also be the stand-in CEO for his grandfather's company for a year.

But, he's been mysteriously cursed to turn into a cat every night since his eighteenth birthday… until he meets you, an employee at his grandfather's company, who rescues him as a cat and changes him back with one kiss.

Alhaitham/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on AO3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

When Alhaitham steps into the local police station that day, he gets many stares. Perhaps it's because he looks out of place in an environment where uniformed men and women are walking about. Or maybe it's because they are dreading the possibility of having to do work.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!” Alhaitham turns and sees Dehya with two other men who look like they’ve just been through hellish training. “Whaddya need, Alhaitham?”

“I’m here to see a tabloid reporter. He recently posted some photos onto a forum.”

“Ah, I know exactly who you’re talking about." Dehya gestures for him to follow her. "You aren’t the only one who came to see him.”

There’s someone else?

As Alhaitham follows Dehya down an empty hallway, she says, “A guy named Thoma also came to see him. Not sure if he’s getting anything out of him, though.” Dehya sighs. “Maybe you can knock some sense into that reporter. He doesn’t regret anything he’s done.” She frowns. “Candace and I heard from Y/N this morning. She seemed fine, but I’m still so tempted to give him a good beating if I’m being honest.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Dehya opens the door to a man slouching in a chair. The reporter looks thin, almost too thin. He's staring at Thoma with a hollow look. Thoma is out of his seat; his hands are on the table, and he's leaning toward him. Whatever it is, Alhaitham suspects that Thoma isn't getting whatever answers he wants.

“Is everything okay in here, Thoma?” Dehya asks.

“Yeah…” Thoma awkwardly sits down and looks at Alhaitham. “What are you doing here?”

“Probably the same reason as you.”

Dehya looks from Thoma to Alhaitham. “Well, give me a holler if y'all need anything.”

Just as the door closes, Alhaitham looks at the reporter, who finally looks at him.

“...Who are you?” he asks. There’s a lazy drawl to his voice. “Are you here to ask me about her, too?”

Alhaitham looks at Thoma, who sighs. “...This man is an old classmate.”

The reporter smiles. “Never would’ve guessed from my alias, huh? I bet Ayato’s still in the dark.”

Thoma glares at him. “Why did you do this?”

“You, out of all people, should know, Thoma. I hate him. Why else?”

“...So, you want to drag him down as he’s getting popular.”

The reporter smiles at Alhaitham. “Glad someone's using their head.”

Alhaitham puts a wide cream-coloured envelope on the table. “Your name is Gaston. You used to be a reporter for The Steambird until you got fired for poor performance.”

Gaston looks from the envelope to Alhaitham and narrows his eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”

Alhaitham nods toward the envelope, and Gaston reluctantly opens it. His eyes widen when he finds the photos he took, the ones of mostly women. It's clear they've been taken without their permission. Then, he finds a list of people. The further down he looks, it's documentation of their experiences receiving a gift with a hidden camera attached.

Alhaitham takes out his phone and plays a message.

“It was a reporter. He approached me during a press conference, and after talking with him, he said he was personally a fan and gave me a little keychain.” The woman on the tape sighs. “...It took me a while to find out that there was a small camera in one of the materials.”

"...You gave this keychain to one of the attendees at the Awards Night afterparty," Alhaitham says, slipping his phone back into his chest pocket. "That person unknowingly gave you what you were looking for." Alhaitham's little smile only makes Gaston more nervous. "I hope you know that filming and taking photos without people's consent is a serious crime. I wonder how long you'll be in for."

Frustrated and angry, Gaston tears the photos into pieces. Thoma looks at him as if he’s turned into an animal. Alhaitham, on the other hand, still looks at him calmly.

“I was wondering why you only posted the photo of Ayato onto the forum,” Alhaitham says. “But it seems like I got my answer.”

“Yeah. That’s right. Ayato… that fucking scumbag," Gaston spat. "If it weren’t for him, she would still be alive.”

“What are you saying?” Thoma demands angrily.

Gaston glares at Thoma. “Ayato couldn’t save her. He couldn’t do enough for her. That’s why she died.”

“You’re wrong!”

“...She shouldn’t have died. If anything, Ayato was the one who—”

“Shut up!” Thoma grabs Gaston’s shirt collar. “Do you know how much both of them were suffering?”

“I was her friend," Gaston says. "Of course, I knew!"

"No. No, you fucking don't."

Suddenly, the door opens, and Dehya quickly walks inside upon seeing the confrontation. "Hey, hey, what's going on here?"

"She took her own life," Gaston says. Thoma's hands are shaking as he stares angrily at Gaston, who smiles scornfully. "You think no one knows? I know, Thoma. I am a journalist, after all." Gaston grabs Thoma's hands and rudely pushes them off. "Do you know why I kept it a secret? Because I knew that was what she would've wanted."

“If you really were her friend, you wouldn’t have done this," Thoma says. "Do you know what people are saying about her online?”

“Her? Or Ayato?”

Alhaitham's patience is wearing thin. "Regardless of your motives, what you've done caused you great harm." Gaston slowly turns to him. "You'll hardly find another job." Alhaitham walks in front of him as Gaston clenches his fists. "I hope this was worth ruining your life for."

As Alhaitham walks away, he gives Thoma a look, and he follows after him. Dehya looks at the pathetic man in the room again and closes the door.

In a secluded area of the police station, Thoma sits on a bench, calming himself down until Alhaitham hands him a drink. Thoma takes it, and Alhaitham sits next to him.

"...How did you get all of that info?" Thoma asks quietly.

"I pulled a few strings," Alhaitham says. "...He messed with the wrong person."

"You came all this way just to tell him he's going to get locked away?" Thoma smiles slightly. "Ah… You went this far because she was involved, right?"

Alhaitham returns Thoma’s smile with one of his own.

Then, Thoma sighs. “Still, I can’t believe it was him. He was never this bad in school.”

“...People change. For better or for worse.”

After a small silence, Thoma looks at Alhaitham. “What happened today… could you not share the details with Ayato? I know it’s a ridiculous request to ask, but”—Thoma looks down—“the truth is that Ayato doesn’t know what really happened to her.”

“...Are you saying he doesn’t know she…”

Thoma shakes his head. “...No. He believes she died naturally.” He sighs. “I know it’s wrong to keep it from him, but… I promised her.”

"...This is just a theory, but what if that can break his curse?" Alhaitham crosses one leg over the other. "We still don't know a lot about it. But, in Ayato's case, she was the one who gave it to him. So logically… it should break if she's no longer here."

“That's a good point," Thoma says quietly. "In addition to that, I also have a tiny theory. But, it might sound ridiculous.”

“This curse is already ridiculous in itself. I wouldn’t be surprised if the key to breaking it is just as strange.”

“...When Ayato first told me about the curse, it was when he finally gave up everything.”

“Gave up everything?”

Thoma nods. "His studies… freedom… all of his time was spent making money toward helping her cover medical costs as her parents were already struggling financially."

“To put it another way, he was living for someone else.”

"Yes. Even now… he still isn't. Ayaka's medical procedure also cost him a pretty penny. Sometimes, he still questions whether he wants to continue acting."

This is only Alhaitham's speculation, but is Ayato afraid to try something else for fear of starting all over again?

"So I just think that maybe… what if self-love is the key to breaking Ayato's curse?"

“That’s a very interesting theory,” Alhaitham says. “We already have strong evidence that the curse is different for everyone. If we go with that idea… perhaps the key to breaking the curse is finding the types of love we lack in our lives.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually running with my theory,” Thoma says with a small smile. “But, let’s say it’s true… what would be yours?”

Alhaitham already knows you're his temporary miracle cure, which means you obviously play a significant role in his life. His curse has also been changing because of you. If you aren't together, Alhaitham would think the key is to become your boyfriend. But that's already accomplished. So… does that mean…

"Hey." Thoma and Alhaitham turn to Dehya. "Sorry to keep you guys waiting. The guy is asking for a lawyer, but we've heard it all before. So anyway, he won't be causing anyone harm anymore."

“I apologize for causing a ruckus,” Thoma says.

Dehya waves a hand dismissively. "Anyway, leave the rest to us. We'll make sure this guy pays for what he's done."

So, with that, Thoma and Alhaitham leave the police station.

◆◆◆

“...Unstable? Is it because it just started?”

You and Childe are having lunch together later that day. Alhaitham had given you a brief update on what happened at the police station, including the speculation from Thoma about the curse. You haven't brought it up to Childe just yet, as he's questioning why his transformation isn't as stable as Alhaitham and Ayato's.

“Well… it’s after he met me that his curse started changing,” you say.

“I’d think that’s progress. But what the heck is mine supposed to mean?”

That’s when you mention Thoma’s speculation.

“...Self-love?” Childe asks. “As strange as it sounds, it does oddly make sense.”

"...Then, I would think yours is pretty self-explanatory."

Childe looks you in the eyes. “What are you saying?”

“Your family, Childe.”

He leans back and crosses his arms. "...I've always had problems with them. So why would it start now?"

“Maybe it had something to do with your talk with them that night. Your mother kept calling you, didn’t she?”

Childe goes quiet, and you finish the rest of your food when you hear Tighnari.

“You look kinda glum, Childe,” Tighnari says, joining you and Childe at the table. “Everything okay?”

“Who, me? I guess I’ve been a little stressed.”

“Oh, with what?”

Childe glances at you. "I had to make some very peculiar changes to my lifestyle recently. Kinda having trouble adapting. But that's not what's important." Childe leans slightly forward. "I heard you got a date to Zhongli's wedding."

“Ah… yeah, I did.”

“Why are you keeping us in the dark?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Don’t tell me it’s some supermodel,” Childe says.

Tighnari chuckles. “In my eyes, he is.”

“Ooh, so romantic. So, has he”—Childe looks at you, and you look back—"He?”

You quickly look to Tighnari. “Nari, are you…”

Tighnari clears his throat. “Yes, my friends. I am bi.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Childe says with wide eyes. “I honestly never would’ve guessed. But damn. Now I’m super curious about the guy.”

“I bet he’s just as charming as Nari,” you say.

“Oh, no… I think he’s better, actually.”

You smile widely as Childe pretends to gag. “Cute, Nari,” he says, “but stop making it difficult for us single people.”

“Now, I'm looking forward to Zhongli's wedding even more," you say. "Can't wait to meet him!”

"Well, if he ain't treating you right, call us, and we'll knock some sense into him."

Tighnari chuckles. “What about you two? Are you still going together?”

Childe looks at you. “I’m going with Lumine.”

“As long as you two are on the same page,” you say. “...Are you going to Kaeya’s party with her then?”

“Kaeya?” Tighnari asks. “Are you talking about Kaeya Alberich?”

“Do you know him?” Childe asks.

“He’s one of the designers doing the marketing material for Sumeru Geographic. Blue hair? Tan? Tall guy?”

“I’ve never seen him.”

“That sounds about right,” you say. 

“So, um, what’s he like?” Childe asks.

“He’s a cool guy,” Tighnari says. “If I’m being honest, he’s quite charming.”

“Charming?”

You and Tighnari look at Childe. “You make it sound like that’s a crime,” you say.

“A lot of the girls are fond of him,” Tighnari continues. “But he’s also cool with the guys.”

Childe frowns. “This isn’t high school.”

Tighnari laughs. “In a nutshell, he seems like an upstanding guy.”

“...You still thinking about going to that party?” you ask Childe.

Childe looks back. “What do you think?”

“Well, I hope you have a plan, Mr. Cat.”

“Mr. Cat?”

Childe looks at Tighnari. “Don’t worry about it.”

◆◆◆

Ayato enters a room and sees a company executive sitting at the table. He's reading what Ayato assumes are documents. The man smiles at Ayato and gestures for him to sit. As Ayato does, he sees a cream-coloured envelope.

“You wanted to see me?” Ayato asks.

"I have good or bad news, depending on how you look at it."

The man gestures to the envelope, and Ayato opens it up. As soon as he pulls out the papers inside and reads the title, he knows it’s a drama offer.

“The director personally reached out,” the man continues. “They want you to star as the male lead for this show.”

While Ayato may not know the director personally, he’s familiar with his work. Perhaps you will also put in a good word for him as he is the director of Love in the Spotlight. Ayato doesn’t need to be told that this is a great opportunity. But… he still needs to ask.

“Will there be a kiss scene?”

“There is a romance subplot.” When Ayato stays quiet, the man continues, “I know you’re opposed to doing kiss scenes. But the director is adamant on having it.”

A detective romance. An interesting story if Ayato does say so himself.

“I… I’ll think about it,” Ayato finally says. “Please give me some time.”

“Oh? You used to discard offers like these in a blink of an eye. Does this mean you’re really interested in this one?”

Rather than being interested, Ayato thinks that this is a step up. He will make more money. But, instead, he says, "It’s different than what I’ve taken on. It would be a fun challenge.”

The man smiles. “Yes. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He stands. “But take some time to think about it.”

As Ayato watches the man leave, he sighs and puts the papers back inside the envelope. Ayato says he will think about it, but… he's lying to himself. Maybe he can try convincing the director or—

“Ayato.” Thoma walks inside the room.

“Oh, Thoma.” Ayato looks at his watch. “Is something wrong? I don’t have anything scheduled for another few hours or so.”

“I heard that you got an offer,” Thoma says, sitting across from him.

Ayato looks at the envelope. “...Yes.”

“...Are you upset?”

Ayato slides Thoma into the envelope. "The story is interesting. I think it would do well regardless of who's cast."

“Then, why the long face?”

Ayato looks up and sees Thoma staring at him. “...I think you know why I can’t take it.”

Thoma leans back. “Alhaitham came to the police station today.”

“Police station?” Ayato frowns. “Wait… what were you doing at the police station?”

“I went to see the lowlife who posted those ridiculous photos on the forum.”

“...So, that’s where you disappeared to."

“Anyway, Alhaitham and I were talking… and there’s a theory that we think could be the cause of the curse.”

“...Which is?”

Thoma takes a small breath. “Love.”

Ayato raises a brow. “Love? How does that have to do with the curse?”

"Do you remember the day you told me you turned? You said it was the day you visited her at the hospital. The day you told her… you're giving up your studies."

Ayato looks away. “...Don’t tell me you’re saying that she’s the one who’ll break my curse? That’s ridiculous, Thoma—”

"No." Ayato looks back. "Your curse started because you gave up everything for her. Even now, you're in this industry because of Ayaka. You're constantly doing things for other people."

“...Are you saying…”

Thoma sighs. “If you ask me… the answer to breaking your curse has been you all along. You just never realized.”

“Then, what are you expecting me to do?” The cold tone is one that Thoma has never heard before. “Should I leave the industry?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying.”

In truth, Thoma isn't sure what to say. Perhaps it's not fair that he dumped all of this onto Ayato. But, on the other hand, what is he supposed to tell him? To love himself? That's awkward.

“I… I just think you should start making decisions for yourself,” Thoma finally says. “Do you really want to continue acting?”

“...Then, let me give you an answer. I do. It’s the only thing I can do. It’s the only thing I have. What am I supposed to do if I’m not acting? Commercials aren't enough."

“You’re thinking of it as a lifeline. You don’t want to do this because you want to. You do it because you have no choice.”

Ayato frowns. "...Because without it, I will lose everything, Thoma. It's easy for someone to tell you to do whatever you want because they don't have to face the consequences. But, if I did just that a long time ago, Ayaka wouldn't have had the money for her surgery." He stands. "Now that her bills are finally paid off, I need to think about making a living for myself. Like I said, acting is all I have."

Then, without another word, Ayato walks out of the room.

◆◆◆

That evening, you manage to get in touch with Kaeya, but it's to tell him that you won't be able to make it to his party as it clashes with the reunion with Collei. And, well, you agreed to hers first.

"Oh, no problem," Kaeya says. "Lumine mentioned that you might have something else going on."

“You saw her today?”

"I was seeing a few friends, and we bumped into each other. There… was another guy that was with her, though."

Is he talking about Childe?

“Well, anyway, congratulations on your win the other night. Diluc and I loved the show. You deserved it.”

You smile. “Thanks, Kaeya. Let’s go out to eat sometime with Lumine and Diluc.”

“For sure.”

After ending the call, you hear Kaveh’s voice from Alhaitham’s kitchen. You put your phone on the table and see Alhaitham looking disapprovingly at his ex-roommate.

“...It’s a wonder how you managed to survive this long on your own, Kaveh.”

“That’s why there’s something called takeout.”

"...Where you have no idea what goes into your food," Alhaitham deadpans.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Kaveh turns around upon seeing Alhaitham look past him. "Oh, Sis! Sorry, were we too loud?"

You walk up to them and look at the burnt… thing in the pan. “It, uh, it’s definitely nothing like I’ve ever seen before.”

Kaveh puts a hand on his hip. “It has its own charm, right?”

Alhaitham sighs. “...If that’s what you want to call it.”

Eventually, the three of you are sitting at the dinner table, talking about the curse until Alhaitham tells Kaveh about Thoma’s speculation.

"Self-love, huh?" Kaveh says, putting his fork down. "That's not something that can be achieved so easily." He looks from Alhaitham to you. "...But enough about Ayato, what about you two?" You and Alhaitham look at each other, and Kaveh smiles. "Could yours be… romantic love?"

“We’re already in a relationship,” you say.

“You have to think bigger, Sis. Marriage? A… baby, perhaps?”

Of course, that has crossed your mind. But you're definitely not ready for either of those. You don't even want a child. But… does Alhaitham feel the same? You've never talked about marriage or starting a family with him, as that conversation seems way too fast. Besides, even if you do any of those things now, it won't feel genuine. Won't that mean you're just helping him get rid of his curse? It doesn't sound like a decision made out of love or respect.

“Rushing either of those things will not help in the long run,” Alhaitham says.

Kaveh looks at you. "Just curious, Sis… do you want to get married and have a kid? I know some people who don't want either anymore. Times are changing." Before you can reply, Kaveh chuckles. "If you don't want kids, cats are a pretty good alternative. Don't you think?"

Alhaitham gives Kaveh a deadpan look, to which Kaveh returns with a smile.

Later that night, you fell asleep on Alhaitham's bed after watching a movie. Alhaitham—in his cat form—walks into his room and sees you on the bed. He hops onto the bed and uses his kitty strength to drag a blanket over you.

Then, after he turns off the TV with his paw, he goes underneath the blanket and snuggles himself next to you. Is it true that the key to breaking his curse is… romantic love? Does this mean you’re really his soulmate? But this raises another question. Why did his curse start at eighteen? Was there something special that happened during that time?

Alhaitham can only remember that it was the time when his parents dropped the news that they were going abroad… again right before his high school graduation. Alhaitham knew how busy they were with work, so he didn't question it. It wasn't like they kept him out of the loop. They kept in touch frequently, but nothing beats seeing and spending time with people in-person. Still, he remembers feeling extremely empty, so he went to a bar with Kaveh for a drink.

Then, Alhaitham remembers what his grandfather told him: Is it wrong of me to want a grandbaby? Does this mean he'll oppose his relationship with you if he knows you don't want kids? Alhaitham has never seriously thought about whether he will want kids or not. But, just like you, he's content with what he has in life. A happy relationship with the person he loves. He'd always thought that maybe going with the flow was best. Well, it looks like he'll have to have an opinion eventually.

You stir in your sleep, and your hand finds his tummy. Alhaitham nuzzles his head against your cheek. Your eyes slowly open, and you smile when you see Alhaitham snuggled up next to you.

“Should I turn you back now?”

You're expecting a response. A meow. Or any kind of indication that he wants to. But instead, he puts his head on your arm and slowly closes his eyes. Looks like he wants to stay in cat form tonight. And who are you to complain?

Chapter Eighteen

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel @sakiimeo @ash-in-lavender @ceylestia @forsh4dow @deathkat657 @kalpie @elernity @sentieence @chichibleeps @sunsethw4 @hjjks @tanspostsblog @nqctre @just-simping-over-genshin @uchihaeirin @vynbin @ayanokomu @dksfl920 @alatus1808 @itztaki @thetwinkims @imkaaayy @angeilix @starlighttotheleft @letthewindlead @thelonelyarchon @certaindreampost @winterpein

[xohyeona]

LET THERE BE LIGHT : pt ii

SUMMARY. ❛❛ i've nothin' left to lose. dear god in the sky, hear my cry, would you hear my cry? when it's too dark to see, let there be light, let there be light, let there be light! ❜❜ ─ raye, genesis

EST. 2022

WARNINGS/NOTES. mentions of suicide, signs of depression. i wanted this to be longer but writers block goes crazy 😔 anyways, here’s part 2, go read part 1 if you haven’t 🫶

hyeona never thought she’d reach twenty, honestly.

when she was fourteen, she decided she wanted to kill herself the day she turned eighteen. that changed three months before her eighteenth birthday when she found her mother hung by the neck with a chanel belt.

it pisses her off more than anything, but not for the reason everyone thinks. she doesn’t cry. she doesn’t mourn the lost of her mother who she’s only know for about three years. instead she panics, not knowing what to do with herself because now, she can’t die the way she wanted. that’s what gets her. she throws a soap dispenser at her bathroom mirror in a fit of rage and watches the shards fall all over the counter and her floor.

i’m not her, she thinks. i can’t be like her.

she’s not depressed. she won’t tell you that. sure, she always has a look of disinterest on her face, she doesn’t make a point to maintain her friendships, people just naturally stick to her, and she doesn’t have much concern for her own wellbeing, but she’s not depressed.

she feels like she’s drowning.

everyday she feels this weight dragging her down to the bottom. at first, she thought it was her father who seems to constantly hover over her like a bear. maybe it was the feeling of having a mother who never wanted her, never cared for her? but no.

it was her. she was the weight.

she doesn’t want to live, but she isn’t itching to die either.

how do you deal with that?

she read something a few years ago that said, “time heals all wounds.” if that were true, then how come she still feels the same at twenty years old? it’s a little easier to deal with, and hide, but it never fades. she’s two months away from her debut and she’s sitting in her living room, downing three bottles of peach soju.

she doesn’t really like alcohol but the peach flavor outweighs the alcoholic taste.

her friends invited her out to celebrate the news but she declined. she wanted to go, but she couldn’t bring herself to. not when the one person she wishes she could celebrate with left without a word. it’s been two years since then, but she still hates him for it. she wonders if she’ll always hate him for it.

she wonders if people will like her. right now, she’s nobody─ well, she’s jason park’s daughter to those who find him important. but to the public, she’s nobody. but in two months, she’ll be somebody. she’ll be known.

hyeona never expected to be in the idol industry. she doesn’t even think she fits the “idol persona,” not like that matters to her.

she doesn’t dread it. it excites her more than anything. maybe this new career path will give her something to look forward to. something to really live for. she needs that. she wants that.

it’s coming.

[tiniedemon]

GLORY & GORE . . . chapter three

in which y/n reminisces

“your main goal in these games is making allies,” spoke liane, a serious look on her face as she nursed her second glass of whiskey. the moment she’d sat down, she’d poured herself a hefty glass. the three other male victors had already dissolved into a drunken stupor, draped over various pieces of furniture. kelly, ever the avid supporter of her tributes, had taken her leave to her personal sleeping quarters by the time night had fallen. the capitol was still several hours away, nearly two days travel, leaving more than enough time for strategizing. liane, as she’d done with your games, made quick work of delving into the logistics.

“how will we form alliances? i’m not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work,” kyle spoke, his fiery eyebrows furrowed over green eyes. you nodded, heavily in agreement, though you couldn’t help but feel as though you were a bit of a phony. after all, with how you’d won your games… no, you couldn’t dwell on that. you were different then. you wouldn’t sacrifice your district mate. not this time.

“i made a few alliances in my games, but i never honored them. i’m not confident i can truly honor an alliance in this go-around either,” you uttered, eyes downcast and frown present on your lips. you weren’t sure if you could work alongside an ally, that much was true. these games were different, though. you were hellbent on protecting kyle, even if it meant double crossing and slaughtering every person in that arena, including yourself. there’s nothing you wouldn’t do, you decided, to save his life.

“the other tributes are going to be just as wary of you as you are of them, so that’s something to keep in mind. there isn’t a single person who won’t be hesitant to accept you in that arena. if they aren’t, they’re either incredibly stupid or they have ulterior motives.”

you leaned your head back, closed your eyes, inhaled deeply. you felt the implications of liane’s words, her piercing stare seemingly unfolding the inner workings of your mind. you hadn’t planned on being truthful with any of your allies, the same as in your own games. you were the complete opposite of an honest person, in every way possible. you knew you’d be more than willing to kill in the grand scheme of things, regardless of who it was, for the sake of the life you were desperate to save.

“what’s to stop me from, say, murdering everyone i come across? are allies really all that important?” you quizzed, tapping your fingertips against the smooth surface of the mahogany dining table. liane’s eyebrows shot up, her frown turning to a grimace against her shadowed face.

“is that even a question, y/n?” kyle inquired in a soft tone. you could see the pain reflected in his bloodshot eyes, his lips pulled down at the corners. his hand lay flat against your skin, just above the bone of your knee. you sighed and leaned forward, sliding kyle’s whiskey glass from in front of him, downing the rest in a handful of gulps.

“i’m done with this conversation. let’s revisit it once we know how useless the other tributes are,” you grumbled, standing abruptly and padding away to your personal quarters.

the doors slid closed behind you, shielding you from the outside world. you felt as though you could finally breathe housed in your own private bubble. the shaky breaths came and went, the shaking in your muscles finally free to roam. it was setting in again. you were going back into that arena, the same place you’d lost your childhood, the same place you’d spent your eighteenth birthday. you’d likely be spending your twentieth there as well, a grave fact you didn’t wish to accept.

you curled on the floor before your bed, tearing the blankets from the surface and surrounding yourself in them. you refused to indulge in the capitol’s false security, refused to become one of them. the floor would be fine for a two day train ride. as uncomfortable as it was, it was nothing compared to the act of becoming a capitol mutt, brainwashed to please the president. you wouldn’t be one of them. you refused.

when you awoke, you were blanketed in grass. you recognized this place — the smell, the feeling, the sight. trees towered over your body, flowers surrounded every inch of your visage. three bodies lay scattered in the darkened clearing, slumbering peacefully. you weren’t in control, this much you realized as your body rose of its own accord, and your hand tightened over your weapon.

you stood over the first tribute, turned your machete in your hands. moonlight shone over her sleeping face, illuminating her brown hair and shadowing her sunken cheeks. you readied yourself, and struck. red stained the grass below your feet, coated your hands.

you seemed to gain control over the control panel within your mind, your weapon dropping to the ground. it landed with a dull thump, your shaking hands rising into your view. they were dripping, coated in a thick layer of crimson. screaming echoed in the forest, your name called in a broken voice. tortured screams, and… kyle’s? was that kyle? he shouldn’t be here.

your legs took you three large bounds in the direction of his voice. it switched, sounding from the other direction. you fell, the grass colliding with your back, kyle’s voice circling you, overlaying the bloodied screams of a broken woman.

upon your eyelids shooting open, you discovered the origin of your fright. your throat was raw, blistered by the agonized cries of a trauma-stricken woman. you felt kyle’s hands, ever so strong and calloused, bruisingly tight against your upper arms. he held you tight, your body fighting back of its own accord, fists swinging and clawing at his skin.

“y/n, please, i’m here,” he hushed, pulling you tighter to him. it took a few moments to gather your bearings, to register that kyle was the opposite of an enemy. kyle was your reason for breathing, your reason for existing. if it weren’t for kyle, you were positive you’d have plans of ending yourself in the arena, if not before. you let yourself relax, bowing into his body, collapsing into a fit of sobs.

“i’m so sorry,” you gasped, stroking your fingers over every scratch you could see. your body rocked within kyle’s grasp, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his voice humming a serene lullaby. you took a shuttering breath, fingers clutching his shirt and trousers for dear life. you turned in his grasp, buried your face in the crook of his neck, and breathed him in.

every ounce of you craved every bit of him, craved the scent of his skin and the warmth of his core. this could be the final moment, the final second of peace before the shoe dropped. your heart broke at the mere fragment of the thought, shattered in your chest, your fragile mind falling apart at the seams.

“i can’t lose you out there,” you whimpered. “i can’t lose you, kyle. promise me you won’t die on me.”

“i can’t make that promise, and you know it,” he whispered, his voice cracking and hands shaking. “it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“make it anyways. promise me you’ll live,” you breathed. your head rose from the safe haven of his clavicle, your eyes meeting his and your hand creeping to cradle his cheek. his lip was trembling, head shaking, tears forming in his eyes. “promise me, kyle. you have to live, even if i don’t.”

“i don’t want to,” he choked out, flattening his hand on your back. you shook your head vigorously, your fingers curling against the spiraling hair growing from the base of his skull. “i don’t want to live without you, y/n. i can’t. i love you.”

you startled, eyes widening and palms freezing against him. he loved you? you sniffled back your tears, shifted closer, touching your chest to his. you could feel his breath against your face, puffing rapidly into your cheekbones. his eyes, a sea of mossy green, sparkled with unshed tears.

“you don’t mean that.” he nodded his head wildly, his large palm sliding over the side of your face. you wanted to believe him, but you couldn’t. he’d watched your games. he knew what you were capable of. he knew who you were, in the barest sense. he couldn’t love you, the barbaric mastermind you were.

“i do, in every way possible. i’ve loved you for as long as my memory has lasted. i’ve never had the nerve to tell you, but i’m telling you now. i know it’s not the best timing, but-“ your finger touched his lips, a hint of a smile forming on your reddened face. you mulled over your thoughts for a moment, mustering the best wording you could.

“kyle, this is the optimal timing. we could die in that arena, and we’d have died never knowing if the one person we lived for lived for someone else. i am in love with you, and i always have been.” kyle stared, mouth gaping, palm trembling against your face. you leaned forward, face growing closer to his, moving at a snail’s pace. he made no move to deny you, his nose brushing yours in your close proximity.

the first kiss was always described to resemble fireworks, like explosions at the first touch of lips. for you, it was nothing like that. it resembled lava, a slow molten feeling creeping over you, heated and passionate. you could taste the salt of his tears and feel the desperate longing of his heart.

if this was the final moment, you were desperate to make the most of it. you were desperate to hold him and to love him while you still could. kyle was your everything, and you’d lay down your life to ensure your universe continued to grow without you.

masterlist

[samgirl98]

Fenton Assassin

Next

Well, here it is, guys; the Jazz becomes an assassin fic, I promised. The prompt did call out for Talia not to be comfortable with Jason's and Jazz's relationship, but I couldn't write it that way. Hopefully, OP will forgive me for that. It will not have many chapters, but the chapters will be longish.

This first chapter will focus on Red Hood: Lost Days, so if you've read that comic, you'll recognize a lot. Talia doesn't sleep with Jason here, and she's more like a mother to him, which I'm sure many of you will be glad about.

Anyway, I hope you like!

“Look for the Shadows and the Bat’s greatest regret,” Clockwork told her before cutting off all communication with the Infinite Realms.

She was alone.

Jazz followed the rumors to Nanda Parbat.

She still didn’t know the bat’s greatest regret or who or what the bat even was, but she had found out about the League of Assassins. She had found the shadows, and she refused to leave.

She needed to get stronger, much stronger, if she wanted to stop the Fentons and destroy the GIW. The rumored shadows were the only ones who could help her do that.

A white and green thermos was clipped to her hip—her most precious treasure.

It didn’t take long for the shadows to find her. She was encroaching on their territory, after all. They all attacked. Jazz took out her staff and started fighting them off until they overwhelmed her.

She lost. It didn’t mean she didn’t take as many as she could with them, though, to be fair, it wasn’t many. In the end, Jazz was brought to her knees.

Suddenly, a beautiful woman with green eyes materialized from the shadows. Behind her was a teenage boy around her age with the same green eyes.

They reminded her of the Infinite Realms.

“Why are you here, little one? You are not one of our assassins; although you fight well, you are still lacking.”

Jazz struggled until she was let go and bowed. She wasn’t above begging to complete her goals.

“I’ve come here to ask for help from the Demon’s Head and his League. I wish to get stronger, strong enough to destroy those who have harmed the person I hold dearest to my heart.”

The woman raised an immaculate brow. The boy behind her said nothing.

“Now, how did a civilian learn about the Demon’s Head?”

“There are clues to find him if one wants to get stronger. I’m such a person.”

The woman attacked Jazz, who barely had time to raise her staff to defend herself. The woman quickly launched another attack, and Jazz was on the defensive, trying to find a way to turn it into an offensive one. She would never win if she didn’t attack the woman.

That chance never came.

The woman swept her legs from under her, and Jazz fell on her ass hard.

“You have potential,” the woman said, “But you lack a killing drive. If you lack that, you’ll never survive here.”

“Then teach me,” Jazz demanded. She didn’t come this far to be told no. She would do whatever she had to.

“To train with the League of Assassins, you must be ruthless. You have to have convection and not hesitate to draw blood.”

“I have no problem with killing,” Jazz said. The dead agent she had killed in Ohio came to mind. The agent’s blood had colored her suit red. It might have been her only kill, for now, but Jazz wasn’t incapable of not doing so. After all, her path to revenge would leave behind a sea of red.

“Tell me your name, little one.”

“Jazz.”

“Your real name,” the woman demanded.

“Jasmine. Just Jasmine. I gave up my last name a long time ago.”

“Well, just Jasmine. My name is Talia Al Ghul, daughter of the Demon’s Head. I like your attitude. You’ll train with the League as you wish. Whether you come out alive is up to you.”

Talia melted into the shadows again, leaving Jazz behind with the assassins and the teenage boy. The teenager looked at her blankly, nodded, and disappeared.

____

The days blended until they became weeks, then months.

The days were filled with blood, sweat, tears, and bruises.

Jazz’s eighteenth birthday came and went with purple coloring on her body and her hands washed in red. She had spent the night with the thermos in her hand and wet cheeks.

Talia had been right. The League of Assassins was a place of ruthlessness and conviction. More still, it was a place full of brutality and cruelty. Jazz learned those two lessons quickly. It was either that or die.

She couldn’t die just yet, though.

Jazz didn't see Talia again during the months she had been with the League, nor did she ever meet the Demon head, but she occasionally saw the teenage boy sneaking around. She still hadn’t learned his name, and Jazz wasn’t interested in doing so. She wasn’t on a name basis with anyone in the League. She doubted anyone except Talia knew.

Every day, she woke up when the stars were still out and shining, got ready, made sure the thermos stayed hidden in her room, and then went to the mess hall to eat.

Afterward, she would run drills with the rest of the shadows. After the drills, she fought. The fights were in groups or one by one, but Jazz always gave it her all. She was doing this for Danny, after all. She was doing this for revenge.

One day, after a particularly brutal day, Talia entered her room with the boy.

“Tell me, Jasmine Fenton, how is the League treating you?”

Jazz stopped icing her bruised eye as her blood ran cold. She felt her breath hitch in her throat. How had Talia found out about Jazz’s name? She had been careful to keep her past and her name secret. Vlad had made sure to erase all mentions of Jasmine and Daniel Fenton outside Amity Park. Jazz didn’t talk to anyone to make sure she didn’t give anything away by accident. Ancients, dammit!

“Don’t be surprised. You intrigued me since the moment you got here. I didn’t have much time to look into you, but it wasn’t hard to find out about Jasmine Fenton once I did. The only daughter of the Drs. Jack and Madeline Fenton with a younger brother. A Straight A student on her way to an Ivy League with plans to study psychology and neuroscience. Both parents are the leading ectobiologists and geniuses regarding the afterlife and ectoentities.”

“Both Fenton children have mysteriously disappeared,” Jazz pointedly didn’t look where she had hidden the thermos, “but somehow, the daughter had shown up to Nanda Parbat, asking to become stronger.”

How was Jazz going to escape? She couldn’t leave behind the thermos; she wouldn’t be able to make it far in the League’s base. Everyone else was way more skilled than her.

Talia sat on the only chair in the room. The teenage boy stood guard at the door.

“So, tell me, little one, why are you truly here?”

____

His name was Egon.

He was German, liked Ska music, drank a disgustingly sweet cherry-flavored energy drink all day, and murdered people for a living.

He was teaching Jason and Jazz how to kill.

She didn’t flinch at the sound of flesh hitting flesh. She had long since gotten used to it.

“That is enough,” Egon said in English with a thick German accent. The man Jason had been fighting was out cold on the floor. “How would you finish him?” he asked Jason.

“Foot to the neck,” Jason answered with no hesitation. That seemed like a gamble to her; there were easier ways.

Jazz stayed quiet.  

“Neck is thick. Might not give,” Egon said.

“It would be my full weight behind it,” Jason argued, “But he’s out, so I could always do the bridge of his nose into his brainpan.”

Egon turned to Jazz.

“How about you, schönes Mädchen?” Egon had gotten into the habit of calling Jazz a pretty girl,“How would you finish him off?”

“I would go for the eyes,” she said without a second thought.

Egon turned back to Jason, “You stupidly still feel the need to go for the head and not the eyes. You are damaging your knuckles and wasting time. You get angry too easily. Then you become an idiot.”

“Duly noted,” Jason said.

Jazz followed the two behind, not even sparing the fallen man a second glance.

Outside, armed men were guarding and walking around the facility. She also ignored them. A part of her wondered when she had gotten used to men with guns being around her. Then again, the Fentons had never been shy about using and pointing weapons at their children.

Jazz touched the thermos; it was still okay.

After Talia and Jason had ambushed her in her room, she kept it with her always. Jazz would have to become strong enough to protect it and the important treasure it held.

“You may have broken your ribs,” Egon said to Jason. “Derek will escort you into the city for an x-ray. A vet takes care of some of our patch work.”

“Thanks, but I think I just bruised a couple.”

Jazz was about to intervene when Egon continued.

“I’m not being motherly, you imbecile. You two pay me weekly. If you fight with broken ribs, you puncture any number of organs, then you die, and I lose the fee. Go to town.”

Derek opened the door for Jason and then for Jazz, winking at her as he closed it.

How had she ended up here?

Oh, right, because Talia wanted Jazz to keep an eye out on Jason and help calm down his murderous rage toward his father.

After Jazz had told Talia everything she was willing to share, mainly about the Fentons and their work and the GIW, she came to her a few hours later, telling Jazz she would accompany Jason to train with a sniper. Talia had assigned Jazz the duty to ‘stall Jason while he trained and to use her psychology knowledge to help him.’

Jazz had no idea what Talia wanted her to do.

She wasn’t a trained psychologist (she never would be.), Jazz was damaged herself, and Jason ignored her.

Jason had only spoken to her twice while they had spent a month with the sniper. If anything, he spoke to Egon more than he did to Jazz. And she was his companion.

She didn’t even know how to bring up Jason's rage toward his father without cluing Jason in that Talia sent her to keep an eye out for him.

“Figure it out,” Talia had said when Jazz had mentioned it, “You’re a smart girl. Do this, and I will give you the necessary resources to enact your revenge.”

Jazz stared at the passing scenery of snow and forests as Derek drove them to the vet.

Jazz didn’t need much teaching when it came to the sniper. One of the benefits of having the Fentons as her parents (the word left a sour taste in her mouth) was that they had taught both her and Danny how to use guns, rifles, and, for better or worse, heavy artillery.

Jazz would spend the morning practicing her shots, then the rest of the day practicing her katas and reading books on strategy or psychology. She spent her time practicing her Arabic while studying Russian. She missed being in Nanda Parbat and its extensive library.

Jason, though, Jason had spent the whole month practicing his shooting. Jazz got the impression that he was competing with her and trying to get as good or even better than Jazz. That had worked out for Jazz. She was glad she could stall him for as long as she did. Talia had even complimented her. Jazz doubted she was a woman who gave them out often.

Derek had spent the time flirting with Jazz while Jason got looked over. After ignoring him for a while, he turned to chatting with Jason, who seemed more than happy to talk with the scumbag while still ignoring Jazz.

They returned to the facility through an entrance Jazz had never seen before. There were two orange medium trailer trucks. Jazz barely paused when she heard whimpering coming from within. She knew it wasn’t dogs.

“But tell me, what is your story, Americans? How does a kid and a young girl,” he smiled at Jazz, “have enough money to buy time with Egon? You rich man’s children? Or you have, what’s the word, sponsor?”

“Well, Derek, I can’t speak for Jazz, but I’ve always invested wisely.”

Derek turned to Jazz. She still gave him nothing.

“Ja, you both have your secrets. Okay. But listen, you both have skills. You’re good. We’ve been talking.”

Jazz paid more attention. Something was about to happen.

“We?” Jason asked.

“Me and the others,” Derek continued, “We who work for Egon. You both should think about taking some work. We have jobs where we could use you. Money is good. Even for you.”

Jazz tried not to snarl.

Jazz could hear him coming from the left; she was sure Jason could, too, but she knew Egon wasn’t coming for her or Jason. Well, it’s better to watch and keep her mouth shut.

Egon kicked Derek in the back of the head. Both Jazz and Jason said nothing and watched. Egon beat the shit out of Derek, drawing blood. It seemed Egon didn’t want his secrets to come out by accident, which made him look suspicious.

Egon turned to them.

“You will have to forgive me. Some of my men will forget on occasion to refrain from discussions. Jan will take you back to your room.”

Egon told Jan something in German angrily. Jazz’s grasp of German wasn’t good enough to understand what Egon was saying, but she knew he was pissed at Derek.

They don’t have free rein of the facility.

Egon had tried to spin it as a scheduled military-style discipline; Jazz didn’t buy it, and she doubted Jason did either.

Jazz said nothing as Jason stared out the window. He didn’t give her an inkling of what he was thinking.

She could guess.

Jason wasn’t stupid. His anger sometimes got in the way, but he was calculating and was good at putting puzzle pieces together. Besides, although her super hearing picked up on the whimpering loud and clear, she knew Jason had heard and suspected something.

She got her confirmation when he climbed out the window at two A.M. Both of them knew Leon was watching them, but he tended to walk off to meet Sofie, a hooker Jazz had the pleasure of meeting before, at two in the morning.

Jason didn’t tell Jazz anything when she followed him out the window, but he did scowl at her. She jutted her chin out stubbornly. No way in the Infinite Realms was she going to do nothing while people, possibly children, were in trouble.

Jason’s eyes told her everything she needed to know.

You’d better not fuck this up, they said.

I won’t, hers answered back.

They had two hours before Leon came back, and their absence was noted. They followed a road back from the west. The same road they had come through earlier. They snuck through even though there were no surveillance cameras. Were they doing it to minimize evidence, or was it because they were arrogant?

Jazz wanted to gag from the smell. They were burning leaves to cover it up, but even without her super senses, it didn’t mask the odor.

Jazz and Jason saw one guard asleep with a gun on the passenger side.

Well, there went a point for arrogance. They had had it too easy for far too long and had yet to learn what trouble they would encounter. They obviously weren’t afraid of whoever they had would be able to escape. After all, the window was a cheap, single pane. A shoe could break it. She and Jason looked through the window.

Jazz’s breath got caught in her throat.

Children! All were under the age of ten, not malnourished but in white rags and handcuffed. Jazz could smell the drugs emitting from their bodies. All of them were Asian. Jazz counted forty-two of them.

Beside her, Jason was trembling with barely contained anger. She knew she was in the same boat. How dare they? How dare they hurt children? Egon made enough money killing and training people like he was training them. How greedy can one person be? Why would he have to traffic people, let alone children?

 Jazz followed Jason to Egon’s office. Egon was too confident; there were no alarms.

She kept watch without being told while Jason read Egon’s logs. They were all handwritten. Easy to dispose of.

Jazz let Jason read the logs, but then she saw them.

“They’re on the move.”

Jason put down the logs.

“They’re selling children. I can’t get the exact details because it’s in a code only he would understand.”

“So what should we do?”

Jason’s smile was feral. He turned toward the bottles of energy drinks.

“We have about forty-five minutes for them to load all the kids.”

Jason took out the energy drink box and syringe. Where had he gotten that? He ejected a little bit into one of the bottles before taking out another one and doing the same. Jazz started helping him by handing him bottles and putting them back into the box.  

“We’re ten minutes from here to their makeshift motor pool. It’s all low-tech with no alarms. That’s plenty of time.”

Jazz was sure her smile was as feral as Jason’s as he explained his plan.

It was simple: Jason would drive the empty truck, set it on fire in the middle of the road, and force them to stop. Jazz would hide in the trees and shoot the passenger while Jason threatened the driver with a gun to drive them toward the British Embassy.

Jan bled out, and the driver got a bullet to his head while they silently crept through the night back to Egon.

Jazz didn’t understand what the man was yelling into the phone when they returned, but she stood back while Jason told him something in German and shot at Egon. The older man predictably dodged the shots and then tackled Jason out of the door.

Jazz watched as the man punched Jason. Still, she didn’t move a muscle. Jazz knew Jason wouldn’t appreciate it.

Egon pushed Jason toward a tree and pinned him there. He completely ignored Jazz, which was fine with her.

“Tell me what you’ve done!” Egon yelled, his accent thicker than usual. “Where are they?! Where?”

“Y’know…your accent gets thicker when you’re pissed. It’s…cute,” Jason sassed at the man. Jazz couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She was realizing that Jason tended to fall on dramatics. She’d have to analyze that later.

Jazz flinched when Jason headbutted Egon. Egon then got Jason by the neck and threw him to the ground. Should she intervene? No, if she moved, Egon might go after her, and she wasn’t as skilled as Jason in hand-to-hand combat. Better to let this play out. She could always help later.

“You think you are clever?! You think this is some game? Rich American punks! Now the tail wags the dog? The student unseats the master?! I teach you how to throw punches—and now you think you can actually strike at me? Do you?!”

“No,” Jason said, “That’s why I poisoned your energy drink.”

Jazz had no idea how Jason had timed it, but as soon as the last word came out, Egon fell to his knees, and foam came out of his mouth. Huh, he had drama down to an art.

The cold air warmed around them as they watched everything burn to the ground around them.

____

Jazz had no idea what Jason told Talia, but she saw Talia give a pleased smile.

____

After the first time with Egon, a sort of pattern rose. Talia found them a teacher; half the time, that teacher ended up dead.

It wasn’t like they killed indiscriminately, though.

After all, that surveillance expert was a pedophile. The small arms man ran a drug ring that had more than half his supplies cut with poison, and the close combat master had been planning on killing her daughters and husband for some fucked up reason.

At the moment, both Jazz and Jason were escaping the scene of their latest kill. A rival chief had hired a group of mercenaries to pit two tribes against each other. It would’ve caused the death of child soldiers.

Jazz and Jason had turned the tables on them and gotten the child soldiers to kill the mercenaries. Usually, the odds of children getting the jump on a group of professionals were low, but Jazz and Jason had facilitated the children’s chances.

Neither Jazz nor Jason were worried about being hit with bullets while on the bike. The children had terrible aim, and they had a good teacher. His name was Rip, and he was an expert on all things wheels.

Jazz let Jason do all the talking; he was a better liar. Rip was a dirtbag but he got to live. He was just the driver. He even gave Jason one last lesson and let him drive the plane.

____

Their next teacher was Shurik Ivanko; he made bombs.

Jazz took these lessons with enthusiasm. So did Jason. After all, bombs would be the best way to destroy GIW facilities in the future. She watched as the explosion ripped through the barn and car. She pretended not to notice Jason’s slight flinch as the bomb went off.

Jazz declined the offer to go drinking. Jason did not.

She tried to ignore the feelings of worry. After all, Jason and her were rarely apart these days. They traveled together, trained together, and killed together.

“Have fun, boys,” she said as she exited the car in front of the run-down motel they were staying.

____

They met Talia at a sleazy dive in London.

Talia gave Jazz a packet. She took it and went to the far corner of the dive bar to read over the reports.

The GIW and Fentons had made a new weapon that went after anyone with even an inkling of ectoplasm. This included people who were resuscitated after drowning or a heart attack. Jazz’s mouth went into a thin line.

She had to get stronger still so she could stop them.

She would have to save money to get help. Maybe she could bribe Vlad again into depositing her money for mercenaries. It’s not like she didn’t know how to contact them now. Talia had told her she would help with resources, but Jazz didn’t want to count on her only. After all, that help was conditional on how much she could stall Jason from who knows what.

Jazz tapped her fingers on the old table as she thought of plans. Yes, Vlad used to love Maddie, but that love fizzled out after what she did to Danny. Now, all Vlad cared about was keeping his secret as a halfa secret, staying alive, and finding ways to destroy the GIW without getting his hands dirty.

That had probably been the only reason he had sponsored Jazz. She had pitched her plans for revenge and had helped her by opening an account so she could travel to follow Clockwork’s clues. After all, she had no trouble doing what Vlad was unwilling to do.

Jazz frowned. She found the shadows but still had no idea what the ‘bat’s greatest regret was.’ She knew that Clockwork gave her that clue to ensure success, so she would have to find that before launching her attack.

Jazz looked up toward Talia and Jason and noticed Jason’s tensed muscles as he looked at something.

Jason was tense the whole ride back to the motel. He didn’t talk to Jazz and booked a different motel room when they returned. He had a yellow envelope he was crushing with his fists. That night, while she kept watch in front of Jason’s door, she could hear quiet sobbing.

Jazz didn’t sleep that night.

____

To say Jazz was pissed would be an understatement.

She was livid.

Jason had left her behind while he went to do the Ancients knew what. Now, if he wanted to do something himself to cool down after his rough night, Jazz wouldn’t have minded. Sometimes, she went out without telling Jason when she felt some sort of way. But as she turned on the news to find out that there had been an explosion by the Westminster bridge, well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out Jason had gone on another mission.

Jazz paced the length of the motel room as she waited to hear back from Jason. It wasn’t until she heard cursing that she knew Jason was back.

Jazz opened the door in time to see Jason entering his room and packing his bag while cursing loudly.

“Where are we going,” she asked instead of demanding why he had left her behind.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going to kill a clown.”

Jazz frowned and looked around the room, looking for some clues.

She noticed five pictures hanging on the wall and walked up to them. Jason tensed and stopped packing.

In them was a boy with a bo staff. He was wearing a green, red, and yellow costume. In one of the pictures, a bat-like figure flew behind the boy.  

Jazz’s breath hitched.

“The Bat’s greatest regret,” she whispered. Now she knew what Clockwork had meant. She was supposed to find Jason. He would help her get revenge. Somehow, Jason was Batman’s greatest regret.

Jason turned around, his green eyes glowing like they did when he felt strong emotions.

It hadn’t taken Jazz a long time to figure out that Jason had been touched by death. He wasn’t a halfa, and she wished she could ask Clockwork or some other ghost what Jason was. However, she ignored any ghosts she saw for their safety and her own.

Looking at the photos and knowing Jason had died, well, it didn’t take much for her to put the clues together. Batman regretted Jason’s death, maybe because Jason had died as Robin or doing hero work.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Jazz didn’t know how to explain.

“What did you just say?!”

Jason got Jazz by the shoulders and shook her.

“Jason, wait!”

“Why did you say that?”

Jazz freed herself from Jason’s hold and punched him in the face. He staggered back, breathing hard. Jason snarled hard and got up. She took out her bo staff to protect herself in case Jason decided to attack. The bo staff made Jason’s scowl deepen. Right, the boy in the photo was also using one.

“My younger brother, Danny, he had also been touched by death,” Jazz started.

Jason flinched and drew back.

“You know about my parents, you remember, right? You heard me talk about them with Talia all those months ago.” It had almost been a year since that time. “Danny had died and came back. His death changed him and made him special. My parents found out and hurt my baby brother.”

Jazz took the thermos and showed it to Jason.

“This is all that’s left of my brother.”

Jason drew back in confusion.

“You keep your brother’s ashes in a thermos?” He asked, incredulous.

Jazz shook her head.

“No, remember when I said my brother’s death changed him? It gave him powers and turned him into something more than human. He’s a halfa: half a ghost, half a human. As long as his core is intact, he can come back. However, there is very little ectoplasm out of Amity Park, so it will take him a while to heal himself.”

“Nice story. What does that have to do with ‘the Bat’s greatest regret?’”

“Look for the Shadows and the Bat’s greatest regret.’  That had been the only clue the Ghost of Time had given me before he cut off all my communication between the World of the Living and the World of the Dead.”

“Even if I want to believe you, which I don’t, I know that Talia sent you with me to spy and stall me. Even if I wanted to, you expect me to believe you had communication with the dead and talked with the ‘Ghost of Time?’ and he sent you to find me?”

“I want revenge, so do you. We’ve been helping each other all this time. Why not continue?”

Jason scowled, “How do I know you’re telling the truth and not trying to stall me like you have been?”

“Do you think I wouldn’t have devised a more plausible story? I’m telling you the truth. I need your help to get my revenge. I’ll help you get yours in return. A quid pro quo, if you will.”

“Have you been ‘touched by death?’”

Jazz cocked her head to the side, “Why do you ask?”

“You’re stronger than average, you have better senses than most, and your eyes glow sometimes like…”

“Like yours,” she finished the sentence.

“Like mine,” he repeated.

“I lived on top of a portal to the afterlife. Of course, I’ve been touched by death.”

Jason sat on the bed.

“Quid pro quo. You tell me everything, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Jazz took a deep breath.

“It all started with the Fentons building a portal to the Infinite Realms.”

____

Jason gave Jazz the earphones. He was having hearing problems, and it wasn’t just from the four gunshots about ten seconds ago.

“Here, maybe you’ll be able to hear.”

Jason still couldn’t believe he was putting his full faith in Jazz. Yeah, they had worked together the past year getting rid of scumbags, but this was different. This was personal. It should’ve stayed between him, Bruce, and Joker.

After she told him everything, though, he couldn’t help but agree to help her if she helped him. Maybe it was the fact that both of them had parents that didn’t do shit for them, or maybe it was the tears that fell from her face as she told him about her brother. Whatever the case, for better or worse, here they were, finding Joker so Jason could get his revenge.

Joker had just killed two of his own men. The armed traffickers Joker was trying to make a deal with were squirrely. Joker had said before he would only bring four men with him and had brought six. To placate the traffickers, he had killed two of his men, leaving four.

Jason felt anxious, not knowing what the Joker was planning while Jazz listened. But he knew she would tell him everything.

He stared out the window of the decrypt building they had stationed themselves in. Was this it? Was Jason going to get his revenge?

“It’s a chemical agent.”

Jason turned around. Jazz put down the headphones and looked at Jason.

“It gets poured into water, and bam, when it touches air, it ignites into flames. He plans to pour it in the Gotham reservoir, so when people turn on their faucets instead of water, it’s fire.”

“Where and when,” he asked. That was more important.

“Port of Los Angeles. Foreign trade zone, site seven in four hours.”

“Not a lot of time,” Jason said. Then he sneered, “But enough time to kill the Joker.”

____

Jazz hit the gas even harder as gunshots hit the car. Jason was in the trunk.

The plan was simple: go in with the car, hit as many people as possible, let go of smoke gas so the arms dealers couldn’t see shit, and Jason would go after Joker. He had full confidence that Jazz wouldn’t leave anyone alive.

Now Jason had to do his job.

He jumped out of the trunk and went after Joker, who had run as soon as shit had hit the fan.

Jason gave chase.

Jason shot Joker in the leg as soon as he saw him, making the clown go down.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah,” Joker was panting in pain. Good.

“Yeah, that’s gotta hurt, but hang in there, okay, freakshow…? Because we’re just getting started.”

Suddenly, a shot hit Jason in the back. Ow, fuck!

Thankfully, the armor held on, but he couldn’t stay here while Jazz eliminated the arms dealers. Besides, Jason wanted to go slow. He wanted to make it hurt like Joker had made him hurt.

“They got gas masks, too! Oh my, my, my—can’t underestimate the preparedness of arms dealers! Like Boy Scouts with ammo!”

Jason picked up Joker and took him to an abandoned warehouse just a little farther from where the deal was going.

The irony of it being a warehouse wasn’t lost; it pleased Jason.

Jason smiled behind his gas mask. He knew he would have time to enact his revenge. Jazz would deal with the arms dealers, giving him time.

He took out the crowbar he had hidden on his back. He struck the crowbar lightly on his hand.

“Now, then, pumpkin, I’m going to ask you a question, and you will tell me which hurts more, forehand or backhand.”

“Ha, ha, ha!”

Jason hit the clown with the crowbar.

“Wow, that looked like it really hurt.”

He hit Joker again and again. The sound of crunching bones and flesh being hit brought back his memories, but Jason continued.

“No, that looked like it hurt even more. So let’s try to clear this up, pumpkin. What hurts more, A or B? Forehand or backhand?” With every other word, Jason hit Joker with the crowbar.

The clown wouldn’t stop laughing. Was he even listening to Jason’s questions?

After a particularly hard hit, Joker spat blood and smiled at Jason, “Boy Wonder. Look at you all grown up! Didn’t I kill you? Ha, ha, ha, ha.”

“I got better.”

Jason got Joker’s head and smashed it against the floor.

“And I came back just to teach you a lesson.”

Jason kept beating Joker with the crowbar. Joker laughed throughout the whole time, but Jason continued.

He didn’t stop until the Joker’s laughs had turned into wheezing.

“Well, I suppose you’ve learned your lesson,” Jason said. He got the gas and threw it on top of the Joker.

“It’s time for me to leave, though. Don’t worry; I won’t leave you shivering in the cold. When you meet him, tell the big guy I say ‘hello.’”

Jason turned on a lighter and threw it on top of the clown. Jason had fucked up the Joker so much he couldn’t even laugh in the end.

After he put out the smoldering corpse, Jason left it there. He had to help Jazz with the arms dealers’ bodies.

____

“Are you still planning on killing the Batman,” Talia asked.

Jason had given Talia the details of Joker’s death.

Jason stared at his reflection in the mirror; Talia was behind him.

“I know you don’t want me to. I know you’ve been stalling me. It took a while for me to figure it out. You sent Jazz to stall me as long as she could, but… I get it. You love him.” Jason turned to look at Talia, “But… I’m not sure murdering him is part of the plan anymore. I want to help Jazz the way she helped me, then. Then I don’t know.”

“Then punish him,” Talia said. “Take what is the most important. Take Gotham from him. Bee the man he can never be. Be the Batman that Gotham needs. No boundaries or self-important moral codes. Cross the line.”

Jason looked at the woman who had become a mother to him.

“Cross the line.”

Jason said nothing.

“He’s gone. Ra’s Al Ghul is no more. He did it. The Batman brought about his death. Punish him, for both of us.”

The words were still echoing in his head when Jazz entered the room.

“How do you feel,” Jazz asked.

“Free. But not done.”

He looked at Jazz, “After all, Bruce still deserves punishment, and you deserve your revenge.”

Jazz smiled softly.

“Thank you,” Jason nodded.

They looked at each other; suddenly, a spark flew between them. Jason didn’t know what possessed him, but he kissed Jazz. They somehow fell into bed together and got to know each other even better than they ever thought they would.

____

Jason woke up to a buzz. The bed was empty.

“Jazz,” he asked. The buzzing continued. On the table, a computer was buzzing.

There was a text from Talia on the computer.

            J-

WayneTech purchases succeeding.

Found original coffin maker—agreed to contract. Trail ends with him.

And more funds in an account. Enjoy.

-T

PS- New business. He is calling himself HUSH. You should meet.

Jazz entered the room wearing Jason’s shirt.

“What’s this,” she asked.

Jason smiled. Just T giving me some clues.

“Hmm,” she said, humming as she read the text. “What now?”

“Now, we get your revenge.”

Jazz’s smile was feral.

“I can’t wait,” she said before pecking him on the lips. “I can’t wait.”

Nother dp x dc prompt for yall:

Jazz tracks down the League of Assassins to get as much training from them as she can to take out the GIW and her parents. While there she meets Jason post his Lazarus Pit dip.

They get along a little too well for Talia's (and her plans for Jason's) comfort.

[opalharshe]

Novel 2 Excerpt (beginning)

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a king. He had five healthy sons and a wife he adored. The kingdom was prosperous and the people lived in harmony. His eldest son was well suited to take the throne after him – intelligent, respected, and hardworking.

However, this is not a story about this fortunate king. It is not a story about the beloved queen, nor is it about the diligent eldest son. This is a story about the kingdom’s most cherished treasure, the court singer, Lai.

People from all over the kingdom flocked toward the castle every time Lai performed. His voice was so beautiful and his singing so melodious, it was said to be the gateway to the gods themselves. His brilliant golden curls were said to be brighter than the sun and his blue eyes more dazzling than the clearest of summer skies. His beautiful deep brown skin was said to be blessed by the heavens.

Today was a special day in the kingdom – it was the eighteenth birthday of the second prince, Siga. Lai had just finished his performance. Preparations for the royal banquet were being laid out.

Upon the throne sat the prince himself. Surrounded by lavish décor, fancy floral arrangements, and tokens of appreciation from the public, Siga looked less like a young man being celebrated and more like an unruly child told repeatedly to sit still. He swung his legs and tapped his fingers on the large ornate arms of his seat.

Sitting down on the soft carpet on his elevated platform, Lai watched the proceedings quietly. The crown prince Ceren stood near Siga, his wife next to him. Leaning over, he smiled as they conversed casually.

“How nice,” murmured Lai. “They look like they’re enjoying themselves.”

“Whoops!” With a particularly careless swing, Siga sent his slipper flying. “I’M SORRY! I DIDN’T MEAN THAT!”

The king let out a low groan from near Lai’s performance corner, attempting to keep composure. “So difficult to believe that is my son.”

Lai stifled a giggle as Siga sheepishly accepted his slipper back from a servant after Ceren prevented him from scrambling off to retrieve it himself. “I’m sure he’ll improve as he matures.”

“If you believe so, Your Divinity,” sighed the monarch. “At the same age, Ceren was far better behaved. Even Steorra is more disciplined, despite being three years younger.”

Steorra, the fourth prince, was indeed quiet as the princes were led to the royal banquet table one by one. However, Lai had seen him slip a book under his princely robes to read while he ate, which the king would definitely disapprove of. Watching the young princes’ various personalities break the mold of strict royal life was a secret pleasure of Lai’s. Truly it must be fun to be among them.

“Ha!” Siga declared as soon as he clashed utensils with the third prince, Morgen, mere moments after the two of them had sat down.

“Rargh!” yelled Morgen.

“Shh, both of you,” Ceren hushed them.

“There they go again…” muttered the king.

This time, Lai couldn’t suppress a little giggle. His eyes darted toward the king nervously.

Luckily, he was too distracted by his sons’ antics.

“Your Divinity.”

Lai blinked at the guards waiting to escort him out of the palace. “Oh,” deflating a little, he stood up. He was never allowed to join such feasts, since his diet was strictly monitored by the priests.

The guards led him past the royals’ table. Lai watched them longingly. His eyes lingered on Siga. “How can you be so joyful all the time?” he murmured. Though he had never spoken to Siga before, he felt content watching him from afar, and looked forward to the next time he could be around him.

“Lai,” a whisper interrupted his thoughts. Ceren slipped a paper into his hand and quickly turned back to the table.

“Ceren…” Lai hid the paper in his hands and followed the guards out.

Lai lived in a cottage behind the church on the castle’s grounds. It was considered part of the holy grounds, and thus protected by the church’s guards and fences. He had a lovely personal garden behind it, where he frequently practiced singing. The cottage itself was a cozy little room with a soft bed and a small closet. In one corner, there was a tea set and a variety of loose-leaf teas sitting along a shelf, next to a small table, single chair, and a small sink. On one side, a door led to a small bathroom, with a dirty old rug sitting in front of it.

After the guards left, Lai opened the note in his hands.

Hi, I hope you’re doing okay. Sorry it took me so long to reply to you. I’ve been quite busy after marriage, but I miss the times we spent together before. If I can, perhaps we can have tea together next week sometime.

A short and succinct note, that Lai placed carefully in an ornate wooden box under his bed. This was not the first time Ceren had suggested making plans, but they had never gone any further than that. It had been at least three years since they had last met, and he’d given up hope that it would ever happen again.

 Laying across his bed, Lai sighed wistfully. It was so much easier to lose a friend than make one.

“Hoof!” Lai pulled himself up, letting out an exclamation in his native accent. “Maybe this is for the best. Oh dear, I did it again.” Ever since he’d been brought there at to the castle at the age of six, he’d practiced proper speech. By now, it came quite naturally to him, except when he slipped up every once in a while.

“Your Divinity,” a knock interrupted him. “Dinner.”

A maid began to set up his dinner on a tray at a table in the tea corner.

“Could you please set it outside?” Lai picked at knots in his curls. “Thank you, Alberta.”

Alberta laid his dinner out in dainty little portions on a table in his personal garden, leaving the back door open. “Would you like me to set a pot of tea for you?”

“I can do it myself,” Lai answered mechanically, as he did every time Alberta posed this question.

With nothing more to ask, she bowed slightly and left him to himself. Lai put a pot on, carefully choosing a relaxing combination of teas. Often, he felt this was the only thing he could do other than sing.

Once he was ready with his tea to sit down to dinner, he took out a piece of paper and a pencil to attempt to write a reply.

Dear Ceren

Was that too formal? He scratched that –

Dear old friend

 Lai scrawled a short note in response, wishing him the best and hoping they could meet.

I miss you.

With a sigh, he scratched that line off, folding the note. How needy of him to say such a thing to the crown prince. Though they were once friends, it would be best not to forget his place.

As the sun set, the crisp breeze dried the wetness in his eyes before it could leak out.

[doriantomybasil]

i am trying to stay positive about getting older, about my friends not saying happy birthday to me, about not getting what i told my mother a thousand times i wanted (and needed) and about still being alone and not having had an actual relationship at nineteen and not being loved back and always being sad and never being invited to things and my so-called best friends not caring about me and my so-called best friend not texting me back for weeks on end and strangers wishing me happy birthday before my best friend does but it’s kinda hard

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince (3)

Characters: Sky x male reader, Brandon x male reader, Riven x male reader, mentioning Jordans (OC) x male reader

Universe: Winx Club/Winx Saga

Warnings: None

t was late afternoon, when the three guys, you share a room with, came back to it. Utterly exhausted and humiliated. They could not even look into your eyes, after everything. 

Brandon the guy who most likely has only a head to look pretty, what he absolutely masters, began to strip, without saying so much of a word. It was rather ominous for you. Questioning yourself, why he was doing this, right in front of you. Not even realizing the bet you guys had made beforehand.

„What are you doing?“, you asked shrieking, as he was almost completely naked in front of you, his broad muscular shoulders, an upper body, chiseled to perfection, even with an eight pack and legs, like tree trunks. His big fingers were already in his underwear, to get them down any second.

Still, even when this was wrong, you could not stop yourself from looking. How could you? He was art in its best form. „The bet, you won,“ he reminded you confused.

As you realized what he had said, a bet red blush spread across your face. „No, no, no,“ you panicked. „Sorry for the confusion, but I’m already engaged! It was just to get all of you in the mood for the bet!“

All three guys looked shocked at you at the same time. „Who are you engaged with?“ Sky was so confused and even a bit angry, after this revelation. He was sure, to get it with you, which he wanted to do after you made him hot for you. To now know that you already promised to another person, ruined his entire mood.

„Jordans of Territola, one of the younger princes of Territola, my planet's closest ally. We are at war for about thirty years now, against the Krigskun alliance, and their leader the witch Makalu. Without a marriage alliance, they are no longer willing to help us out. And I am not strong enough yet to change the tides.“

„I met him once, he is a nice dude,“ Sky tried to offer some encouragement, for your political marriage. But you could only smile.

Sitting down on your bed, the other guys did something similar, feeling that you hadn’t finished talking, they all sat on Sky’s bed, which was the nearest to yours, and looked at you, waiting. „I actually met him once too. But not at a formal event, he almost knocked me over with his hoverboard, as I walked through Retalia, their capital city. Nobody knows who he is, because he is so far away from being king someday, that he just decided to live a normal life.“

Now it was time for Sky, to change his tune. After hearing what he wanted, he became confused about why you would marry him. Especially, when you already know that he wants a normal life. You could see all these questions on his face, but it was even easier, to just use his thoughts for it.

„I know this look, Sky. Neither of us has a real chance. If I don’t marry into this family, my planet will be conquered. He is the only one, even remotely interested in other men and my little sister is eight years old. She can’t be engaged to someone until she is fourteen and not married until she is eighteen. And this family does not have anyone younger than Jordans, our marriage would be celebrated next year, one month after his own eighteenth birthday.“

Even though you already sounded attracted to the man, especially Sky, hates the idea of political marriages. But he also can see your predicament. His grandparents had a similar fate, with the war almost taking over his home planet and they were happy.

But something told him, you wouldn’t be. And for some reason, it bugged him to no end. Still, he just wanted to drop the entire thing, feeling something he shouldn’t. Especially for someone who has already been promised to another person.

Riven for the first time spoke up after your explanation. „So why did you do the bet in the first place?“

 Another blush broke out on your cheeks, as you tried to tell him the truth without looking like an idiot. But in the end realized that there was no way, that they won’t think that you are an idiot. So with a heavy sigh, you finally told them, „I hate doing homework and carrying all my things.“

Then and there it down on them. You wanted to have servants! It took a moment for all three, so it could sink in, but as it did, Sky and Riven began to laugh… hard. Only Brandon sat beside them, absolutely confused, which only let your thought, that nothing was in his head, grow exponentially.

„Okay, because we lost, we will do it,“ Sky concluded for all three of them. Neither seemed to have anything negative to say about it, so you thought, that you would be off the hook. But not as much as you thought you would be.

Sky grabbed you unceremoniously at your arm, pulling you with him. „What are you doing?“, you asked him panicking. But he just smiled devilishly at you.

He walked you both to a teacher, asking him if you could go to the school, for a while, he needed to show you something. The teacher agreed, mostly because of your show of strength and your obvious disregard for the two headmasters.

Riven and Brandon followed you shortly behind, as all of you sat in a hovercraft, another young guy, Timmy already sat in it, asking Sky what he and the rest were doing there. But still was happy to see them. He showed the guy with the glasses, the command to fly them to the school grounds and Timmy did without any further questions.

Nothing dawned on you. Why you were back at the school and standing right in front of a dorm room, nothing could’ve protected you from the person on the other side.

After Sky knocked, it took a moment, before someone opened the door. A guy, almost identical to Jordans, only a couple of years older. „Yes?“, the man asked, almost as confused as you were.

„Hey, I’m Sky from Euraklion and this is my friend, (Y/N), from Ulnika, the crown prince, to be exact.“ The gears in the handsome stranger's head moved and moved, until one point. His confused expression broke out into one full of happiness. 

„My little brother's fiancé! I remember now. Father told me all about it. We all feared he would marry some artist or shit like this, instead of following family tradition!“

„What family tradition?“, you asked him directly after he said it.

„In every generation, the last born is always brought up to be married off and is always in love with his own gender. My aunt, Princess Delia, is married to Princess Tessa of Gulta, as an example. While most of the rest can marry however they want. I am engaged to a beautiful woman, outside of the royal system, but insanely rich.“

„Isn’t that a bit unfair?“ Your question did not surprise the guy in front of you. Apparently already know how the rest of the universe sees the tradition.

He just shrugged his shoulders. „Maybe, but as long as the tradition does not break, we do not change it. And as far as I know, my little brother is infuriated with you. Almost obsessed. `The great grey serpent´, he told me about your first meeting. He actually did not run into you by accident.“

This new piece of information made you feel too many emotions, to really put them into words. Obsession? Do you really want to be someone's obsession? As you heard this could get majorly wrong.

„Don’t worry, he is a softy. You are incited to his eighteenth birthday, right?“ As you nodded, his grin became wider. „He does not know about it. So you will be able to see his genuine reaction to you. Maybe then you will understand, why I used such harsh words.“

His brother seemed nice, only his thoughts are a complete mess. A lot of dark things in them, his smile was fake, not because he did not like you, but because of his thoughts. Before you left, you pulled him down, hugging him, „If you ever need someone to talk about these gruesome things inside your head, that even make you smile in despair, I’m here and I will never tell a soul about it, okay?“

As you let go of him, he was shocked and disgusted with himself and his obvious problems surfaced immediately after. You gave him a lingering look, just to make sure there would not happen anything, you could’ve prevented. But his head became clearer, not better but clearer. Maybe he could form some decent thoughts for once.

„We see us around!“, you called out to him, as you began to walk away.

„We sure will… We sure will!“, he promised you. Which made your heart lighter, knowing that he will have you to talk to. And him promising that he will, when he is ready to do so, with the last thought you could hear before he closed his door.

[Masterlist]

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#283

“Hey, c’mon in. I asked you to come by my place because I’ve been noticing you around town. You seem to stare a lot. It’s ok if you do. You can’t be this large and not notice it. But your attention is different. Are you gay?...

“I’ve seen that lust in your eyes in a handful of individuals, all of them gay men. In the minute we’ve been talking, your eyes have glanced at my crotch twice. Now a third time. Look at it all you want. I like that your attention is drawn there. If you aren’t gay, you are curious. Are you queer? A yes or no answer….

“Great! We got that piece of awkwardness out of the way. Let’s go into my living room. I don’t feel like I can relax in the garage…. Right here in front of the couch is fine.

“That hunger in your eyes is so fucking obvious. You have my permission to touch my body anywhere you want, pecs, biceps,… hell even my dick. Wherever…. Don’t fucking hesitate. …Aw hell, give me your hand. Here, this is my chest. Massive hunh? You can come closer.

“Let me see your chest…. I said ‘Let me see your chest.’ Boy, this modesty shit stops now! When I give you a fucking order, you do it. How much do you weigh?... One fifteen? Shit boy! I’m three times your size. Of course I expect to see a scrawny fag boy. In fact, that’s what I want to see. I like scrawny somewhat girly fag boys, and you are definitely that.

“Go ahead run your hands anywhere you want to. This is what a real man feels like.

“I hear that you just graduated high school, and that your dad wants you to join the Army. Is that right?... Have you signed any of the papers?... Good. You are not the military type. Yeah, I know all this shit about you. I have been watching you for some time now. You go out of your way to hide your glances in town, but it’s so fucking obvious. The thing is I like faggy boys like you.

“Why don’t you move to my back and feel how massive it is? Don’t take your hands off me. They feel good.

“So you had your eighteenth birthday last weekend hunh? Now you are legal. I don’t need to worry about getting in trouble again. You know, when I approached you this morning and said I might have a job for you, I wasn’t lying. I am looking for a personal assistant. I need someone who will care for my day-to-day needs. That would include appointments, meal prep, errand running…

“Bring your hands around to my front…. I also require personal attention. Massages twice a day. …You like what you see. I can tell. On your knees…. Atta boy you are listening.

“You are at the right height for taking care of my cock. Let me get out of these shorts. My dick requires frequent attention. Go on. Touch it. You are going to need both hands. It’s big hunh? That’s a real man cock. Run your hands over it. See how the foreskin rolls over my cock head? One of the first rules of taking care of my cock is to make sure I am clean at all times. Go ahead and lick it. It may be a little bit rank from my workout this morning, but you’ll get used to it. Use your tongue on my piss slit.

“Oh boy, you know what you are doing. This isn’t the first time you sucked dick?... Who have you sucked before?.... In the park bathroom? You whore. So you know what’s expected of you. I do expect a blowjob or more several times a day. I’m always horny. You will never say no. Never.

“Take off the rest of your clothes. Nice hard on. I want you to jerk off to me whenever you like. I want you thinking of my cock, my body, my ass. If you are alone, sniff my dirty clothes, especially my underwear. Every piece of your sexual thoughts will be focused on me.

“One thing though, if you cum while servicing me, I still expect 100% enthusiasm from you. If you are in the middle of blowing me, you continue with the same level of attention.

“Get your mouth back on my cock. We ae going to have to work on your deep throat technique. With as big as my cock is and as small as your mouth is, you will definitely need some practice to take me to my root. Keep jerking yourself.

“Yeah, you will make me a good fag boy. I will be taking you to the gym and introduce you to my buds as my fag boy. I won’t hide what you are and what you do. They’ll have no problem. I do travel the country for events. They know I love my fag boys. I don’t give a shit what other people think, neither will you. Hell, I travel the world. I want you right there with me as my possession. From the moment you wake me up with a blowjob or a rimjob to the moment we fall asleep with you in my arms and my cock up your cunt, you will be mine.

“Oh man if your cunt is as good as your mouth, it won’t take me long.

“Have you had a cock in your cunt before? No? What about at the glory hole in the park? No man fuck you before?... Well looks like I have a virgin cunt to deflower. What about eating ass?... Aww too bad. I would have like to have pop that cherry too. Eating my beefy ass another requirement. Your tongue will be buried in my shithole two or three times a day. I love relaxing sitting on my fag boy’s face.

“You are really going to town on your dick. When you nut, collect it in your other hand. The idea of sticking your tongue in my shitter has gotten you going. Well damn. Why wait?

“There’s that look of hunger. Well here you go. Start licking. No, go right for my hole. Like that. Fuck boy. You really are a pig. You are my pig now. There’s no doubt in my mind that I own you. And you know this is how its going to be.

“Looks like you are going to shoot. Catch it all. Every drop. Keep up that tongue action in my shitter. That’s it boy, you know it. No slowing down just cause you came.

“Pull back. Now let’s get my dick taken care of. Take your load and slather it on my head. Every drop. That feels good.

“Yeah, in a bit we’ll go to your place and pick up your shit. You are moving in tonight. You are now mine. No need to ask you if you want to be my fag boy, but I’ve made the decision for you. I can see it in your eyes that you want this, that you want me controlling you, every aspect of you. You had no direction before, I’ll be directing you as I see fit.

“Get up and bend over the arm of the couch. I’m ready to claim my cunt. We’ll get you set up in your own room. You won’t be returning home again. I don’t give a shit what your dad thinks or says.

“Now take a deep breath, cause I’m going to be mounting you and it’s going to hurt. And it needs to hurt. You want to push out like you are taking a shit.

“I am here to protect you. I’m not going to let anyone on this planet hurt you. No, that right belongs only to me. And you will be suffering for me. I’m going right to the root. Now scream for me.”