#just to have him mean next to nothing in the grand scheme of things

[jewishbarbies]

Wyll’s romance IS boring but it has nothing to do with his skin color. Larian dropped the fucking ball with his character at all possible angles. he could’ve easily been an instant favorite without having to guilt people into liking him because they apparently could only add (1) black character, but they chose not to give him the same well rounded arc and romance as some of the other characters, and that’s infinitely more racist than just finding his romance storyline boring. don’t blame players for Larian’s fuck up.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch 26]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.6k

ao3 link

Depression is a funny little emotion.

It starts as a seed planted in your stomach by some inconsequential action that slowly grows throughout the day until it is strangling you. Tendrils sprout and creep up your sternum, creeping through your airway and constricting your lungs, making it just a little harder to breathe. Your chest feels tight and no amount of closing your eyes and counting slowly will make the feeling go away. The vines go for your heart next - weaving between the arteries and veins and squeezing until you are hyper aware of every beat it makes. 

You know you cannot let anyone know what germinates inside of you, so for hours and hours and hours do you pretend you can function properly. You ignore how heavy your heart feels or how much your throat stings. You turn off the urge to cry and scream and beg because you know there is no point to it. There is no relief. No amount of comfort will free you from the jungle forming inside of you. All you can do is wait.

Wait until you are finally alone, and the growth is finally allowed to bloom in your brain. Thorns pierce you, pumping their poison into your thoughts. Sap leaks from your eyes as stems force their way up your throat until leaves sprout from your mouth. You are consumed from the inside out until you are a hollow husk of a person.

And who would want to be around that?

Who would want you?

No one is the answer.

 It has always been no one. 

Your parents were the first to show you the truth. There was no care or comfort in your childhood - you were set aside and ignored.

You’ve never blamed them for this. As much as it hurt and as much as it messed with your self-worth, you’ve always understood they were not meant to be parents. You are sure they loved you in their own way, but the lack of affection left your soul to wilt.

College was no better. You made a few friends but quickly learned the meaning of superficial. They did not have time for your awkwardness and personal issues - this was their time to grow and blossom. So, you buried yourself in your studies and were always grateful when they were kind enough to invite you somewhere. 

When you started having romantic relationships they warped your mind even more. A few sweet words would lure you in, then you would become a caretaker and a warm body. Their needs were always top priority and yours were never to be acknowledged. You were strung along to a breaking point or told you were no longer needed, even when you were still heart eyed over them.

A few rounds of this showed you your niche in the world. 

You’re a background character. A friend of a friend’s girlfriend. A one-night stand. Minnie’s mom. 

You don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. You are meant to assist others - meant to raise your daughter to her full potential. 

You’ve long accepted this, which makes it all that much harder when Matt smiles at you like he does. 

You believe he cares for you - he is full of love - but you know there isn’t anything deeper in it. 

You are the mother of his child, a child he is head over heels for - it is natural for him to grow affectionate towards you. He finds you physically and sexually attractive and you yearn for that.

But you know you are nothing but a placeholder.

You have his attention now and you want to bask in it, but next week, next year, or maybe in two years, that attention will move onto someone who deserves it. Someone who is exciting as he is - someone who is smart and passionate. Someone who understands his life and what being Daredevil entails. Someone who cares about the injustices on the streets and does something about it.

Someone who isn’t broken. 

Someone who isn’t a shell going through the motions. 

Someone who isn’t you.

You want to cover your ears and pretend you don’t know the truth. You want to bury yourself in the three little words you thought you heard, but you know you can’t. 

You can’t do that to yourself again. You can’t handle another heartbreak. Another disappointment.

Another reminder you are Nothing. 

You can allow yourself to enjoy your time - enjoy the touches and kisses and moans - but your heart must remain locked away. 

Matt can have all of you but that. If you allow yourself to have hope it will hurt all the more when you have to let him go. 

And you’ll let him go easily when that time comes. You’ll step aside without a fight because his relationship with Minnie is more important than you will ever be, and you are not going to be the reason for a rift between them. You are not going to deny Matt time with his daughter because his destiny is with someone else. 

It will hurt, but it has never mattered if you hurt.

You just want them to be happy.

----

The progress bar on your screen is finally full and you now have the option to select ‘continue with install’. You click on the button, then warily eye your laptop as new windows pop up with technical information you do not care about. 

Work is pushing a bunch of new updates through their system, and because you are remote, you have to play IT to get your machine up to spec. They sent you an email with everything you need to do, which is to sit back and click a few prompts, but they failed to mention the process would take hours and that your laptop would be useless during that time. 

It is nearing two in the morning, and you are starting to run out of steam and patience. 

Between installs and reboots, you have cleaned pretty much everything in your apartment that you could without risking waking Minnie up. You did dishes and dusted. You cleaned out the pantry and washed the windows. You even swept the carpet to get out any lingering dog hair.

You’ve tried to sit and watch something, but it left you fidgety and you couldn’t pay attention to what was being said and you had no chance in hell of following a plot. You attempted to play around on your phone, but you became angry at yourself for not having the funds to buy things that were advertised to you. After Minnie’s birthday and your hospital bill, your bank account was getting dangerously low.

You want to turn off your brain and do your job. You don’t have to Think when combing through orders and producing invoices. 

You don’t want to Think anymore. You are so tired of Thinking. 

You slump into your chair and bury your face into your hands. You’ve got no way to calculate how much longer all this technical setup is going to take or how much longer you are going to have to stay up. The only relief you have is knowing you are being paid for this time, since the email specifically told you to be on the clock while running everything. 

You debate going over to the couch and trying to nap. You could set an alarm so you can periodically check on your computer, but you might disturb your sleeping toddler. The alert could be set to vibrate only, but would that wake you up if you really fell asleep?

Your only solution is to stay awake and try to find something to do to distract yourself. 

As you start to consider deep cleaning the linen closet, your phone lights up with a call from an unsaved number. It takes but a moment for you to recognize the sequence and your heart leaps into your throat as you answer.

“Hello?”

“You’re up late,” Matt teases as a greeting, his voice a few octaves lower than normal and sending a delightful sort of chill up your spine. “Working hard?”

“Hardly working,” you groan in response, but the mere fact he is calling has your lips turning up into a small smile. “My computer is doing updates and I’m waiting for it to finish. It’s been going for hours.”

Matt hums in sympathy and you wonder if he is just getting home. The fact he is a superhero is still very hard for your mind to wrap around. Sweet Matt, who lets his daughter put star stickers all over his face, is the same man who so routinely breaks people’s arms that local ER staff have a monthly betting pool about it - a little fact you learned from Karen. The man in videos dangling someone off a high rise or a bridge is the same man who becomes a clingy octopus when asleep. 

You understand his need to protect the city and you admire it, but fear and uncertainty gather in your belly when you think about Matt out on the rooftops. You are terrified of him getting hurt, despite the fact you trust him and his abilities. You know there is always a bigger threat out there as well as the possibility of an accident. Matt may be amazing, but he can’t fight a random act of God.

Three light knocks from behind you rip your thoughts and you turn in your chair to see Daredevil, in all his red suit glory, standing on your fire escape. He cheekily waves at you as he snaps his flip phone shut and stores it in a hidden pocket. You scramble up and over to the window, yanking it open. He waits patiently, though a bit smugly by the smirk on his lips, as you figure out how to remove the screen. He climbs through with ease and once he is inside, he starts removing his gloves and helmet.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you close the window again. You aren’t opposed to him coming by, but this is the first time he’s done so, and you aren’t exactly sure of the protocol. Is it a social visit? Does he have some Daredevil news to share with you?

Before he replies, he shakes his head much like a wet dog would. His hair is damp with sweat and the skin that was previously covered is glistening. There is a slight tint of red to his usual paleness and you wonder if he is hot to the touch as well. You try not to squirm at the thought.

“I always check on you before ending patrol,” he finally says, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. He sets his helmet, gloves, and batons on the window-blocking table, then steps to you, reaching up to cup your cheeks when close enough. “I need to make sure my girls are okay.” 

The words come out of him so easily and you want to melt into them like you do with his touch, but your mind is quick to remind you that you’ve given him reason to have to check up on you. This isn’t him being sweet - it is him making sure you haven’t somehow managed to kill yourself. 

Before you can mentally chastise yourself and pull away, Matt is closing the distance. He brings you into a sweet and slow kiss and for a few wonderful moments, your mind goes quiet. His lips are so soft against yours and you can just barely taste the salt from the sweat that has dripped down his face. It ends far too soon, and you try to tell yourself you are not disappointed.

Your thoughts kick back into hyper drive, and as you notice how damp Matt’s hair really is you imagine he would appreciate some cold water. You gently pull away from him, turning as you do to head towards the kitchen. 

“Did anything interesting happen tonight?”

“Nothing out of the usual,” he answers as he moves to follow you. “There was a kid breaking into cars that stuck out, though. He should probably be on his school’s track team if he isn’t already - he made me work to be able to catch him. It was actually a little impressive.”

That would explain the sweat then. It is already warm out and racing through the streets in leather sounds exhausting. It makes you want to shower just hearing about it.

You find Matt’s designated cup and fill it using the pitcher in the fridge. As you pass it over to him, you question, “what did you do once you caught him?”

He doesn’t answer, instead taking the water and downing it all in just a few gulps. Since it is clear he is in need of it, you quickly refill the glass.

“I gave him a warning and let him go,” Matt says after taking another sip, “He seemed like a good kid just getting into the wrong things. I think being chased by the Devil will scare him off crime, at least for a while.”

That warms your heart a little - you like Matt’s sense of justice and how he does not have a hard stance on what is black and white. He truly wants to help the community and not rule it. 

You have to turn away as he drinks his second glass of water. You want those brief moments of mental silence back and watching his throat work only makes you want to kiss him again. You think he wouldn’t mind it if you threw yourself at him, but it isn’t the time or place, and honestly you are a bit scared of the idea that has that kind of effect on you. 

It is something to crave and ask for and get addicted to. If he can turn off your brain so easily, all you will want to do is touch him.

Ever on high alert, you see Matt roll his neck and shoulders as he goes to put his glass into the sink. The movements look a little stiff and anxiety takes hold as you hyper analyze every movement he makes, “Are you alright?”

He pauses at the question, clearly confused by it. He tilts his head back and forth in minute ways like he does when he’s searching for something before answering you. 

“Why do you ask?”

You feel yourself start to flush at the counter, feeling a little silly. If there was anything actually wrong with him, he has a competent nurse on call, but you can’t stop your worry. It courses through you like your blood and you know it will fester and nag if you have any doubt. But you are still hesitant as you vaguely motion to your own neck, “I don’t know, you were out all night. I just…I want to make sure you’re, okay?”

You know that Matt is analyzing you, listening for something you’ll never hear. His lips dip into a frown for a microsecond before lifting up into that soft, beautiful smile you are becoming so fond of. “I’m fine, darling. Just a little stiff is all. It’s hard to have good posture when crouching on a rooftop.”

You take in the words, and you can easily picture Matt on the edge of a building, sitting like a gargoyle. It does ease your own tension that he isn’t injured, but your head just keeps spinning. 

Matt came all the way into Chelsea to check on you, the least you could do is make it worth his while. Offering yourself up for sex doesn’t feel appropriate at the moment, but you have more up your sleeve than just that.

The words tumble out of you before the idea is fully formed, “Do you want a massage?”

The shock on Matt’s face is nearly priceless. His brows shoot up his forehead and his mouth parts just slightly and a small voice in the back of your head wonders if anyone has ever offered him one before. You know his upbringing was as barren as yours, but given he is a fighter, you would have guessed someone would have given him one. 

Finally, he nods, his smile starting to come back, “That sounds amazing. If it’s okay with you - I know it’s getting late.”

“I’ll be up anyways,” you tell him quickly, not wanting him to think it is any inconvenience to you. “And it sounds more enjoyable than more cleaning.”

“Okay.” His boyish grin gets even bigger, and your stomach does a funny twist. “Where do you want me?”

You direct him to sit in front of the couch, on the ground, and as he removes the top half of his armor, you go to fetch wet wipes and lotion. You do not want to be rubbing Matt’s sweat all over his back - you are going to be trying to help him relax and that is a little bit disgusting. 

As you come back to the living room, you have to remind yourself you aren’t supposed to throw yourself at him. It is not fair how good he looks shirtless - he’s well defined and muscular, but not so overly buff it is gross. It’s clear his muscles are for athletics and not to show off how cool he is. His scars only emphasize that. You have no idea how he got them all, but you very much want to lay him down and run your tongue over each and every one. 

Your view changes as Matt plops himself down in front of the couch, seemingly unaware of your various mental crises. You tell yourself to Behave before your feet start moving again. When you get to the couch, you maneuver yourself to be behind Matt and have to bat away all your thoughts again at the sight of his shoulders.  

You force yourself to focus on the task in front of you. As you grab the wet wipe to start cleaning off Matt’s back, you advise him, “Let me know if I go too hard or if anything starts to hurt, okay?”

Beneath your hands, he huffs, “Darling, I don’t think you’ll be able to hurt me. If anything, the harder, the better.”

Your face heats up a little at his words. You remember he said something similar when over you on the couch just a few nights ago. He likes things a little rough. 

Once his shoulders are mostly sweat free, you get to work. 

You start with smoothing your hands down his neck, then fanning out to the edge of his shoulders and back. You aren’t exactly an expert at this, but long ago in college, one ex liked to play video games while you rubbed his shoulders and you had done your fair share of research to make sure you were doing it right. You still remember most of the tips. 

You add some of Minnie’s scent free baby lotion to your hands, then dig your thumbs into Matt’s neck. The muscles are tight and as you begin to push and pull at them, a deep, pleased groan comes from the man under you.

“Mmm, that feels so good.”

You can’t help but smile at the praise and it only encourages you to make sure the entire experience is enjoyable. 

It is surprisingly easy for you to get completely lost in the massage. You focus in on one area and mentally picture different little arrows telling you to rub up this way or swirl your thumbs in a certain motion. Matt’s shoulders quickly become a grid for you to complete and not a laborious task of trying to bond. 

Under your unskilled fingers, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen melts. Whenever you find a knot - and there are many - he grunts and sighs and you can tell he is starting to relax. The tension in his shoulders fade and you actually get to see the moment his jaw unclenches. He opens his mouth and scrunches his nose, making the apples of his cheeks plump up. You peek at the television to catch his reflection and your heart warms at the pleased look on his face.

You wonder if it would be possible to get him to fall asleep like this and decide that is a challenge for another day. Right now, you want to pamper him. 

You slowly work your fingers back up towards his neck, then decide to take a chance based on what you know he likes. 

As you reach his hairline, you tilt your fingers forward so your nails are against his skin, then begin to slowly scritch at his scalp like he’s an overgrown cat. 

The results are instantaneous. Matt pushes his head into the touch, a low guttural moan coming up from his throat. 

It is Filthy. It goes right to your core, making you clench around nothing, and you can’t stop yourself from asking in a soft, teasing voice, “Feel good?”

He hums in an affirmative, tilting his head back far enough that he needs to lean against the couch for support. You keep your fingers where they are, as it's clear he is trying to direct you to where it feels the best - the top of his head. You scritch there, smiling as you fluff up his hair even more. 

Matt looks absolutely blissed out - his eyes are closed, his lips are parted, and you are pretty sure if you keep at this, he might just turn into Jello. 

Which is exactly what you want. 

He works so hard for everyone, running himself into the ground to bring justice to Hell’s Kitchen, and you think he needs some time to just relax. 

So, you begin to plan.

As you gently drag your nails through Matt’s hair, you let your mind begin to think up ideas for a nice family spa day while your laptop and dark thoughts sit on the dining room table, forgotten about.

---

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[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things : chapter one

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. no porn in the first two chapters, sorry gang :)

masterlist | next chapter

Prome Medical Devices hired you as a personal assistant to the CEO, Toshinori Yagi, shortly after he was diagnosed with his second bout of prostate cancer and shortly before they learned it had metastasized to bone. It was a tragic, yet expected turn of events.The man had been sick most of his life, they told you, he's probably slept in hospital beds more times than he's slept in his own. It was, like most things, inevitable.

Over the following weeks, through chemo and taps and rotating hospital doors, he began working from home and handling only the absolute basics, and your silly assistant job evolved into more. You had only planned to stay for a couple months, but then another horrible thing happened.

You became Somehow Important. 

Days went from scrolling on Twitter between writing notes to juggling everything that no one else could handle. Sitting in for meetings, handling calls, scheduling reviews and system checks, running to the pharmacy midday: there's nothing you haven't done. It’s a lot, but in the grand scheme of it all, it's nothing-- especially compared to the things that everyone else gets done here. 

8:35am. The security man gives you a nod without checking for your badge. Engineers skitter around the office like cockroaches. It's always a good sign when no one immediately comes to find you; that means your boss is still alive and doing about the same as he was yesterday. No updates, you’ve found, are good. No one bothers to tell you when good things happen: you’re the fixer, the emergency contact. When you’re being informed of anything, it’s because someone else wants you to clean up the mess.

(The only exception is from the man himself. Toshinori sends you the best kind of updates; mundane things from his life that he needs to share, like pictures of his duck pond or his review of the new coffee shop in town. It’s enough to keep you going, even when the day absolutely blows. You only had a few months working directly with the man, but he was fond of you-- and everyone was fond of him.)

Outdated filaments thrum down the halls. Your heels click against the tile with every step, a slow march to another day of monotony, a kind of dread that not even your phone can distract you from. Because your position is rather undefined for the corporate world, your desk is in an awkward spot, sandwiched in the hall, equidistant from the engineering department, the CEO's office, and the coffee machine. In terms of convenience, it's lovely, but it also means you have nowhere to hide.

Before you can even make it to your desk, a young man pops into the way and heads straight for you, a bit too quickly to be passed off as casual. Your heart sinks, then you realize it's just one of the interns: a college kid who's clearly had too many energy drinks already.

“Hey,” Denki smiles with too much gum, so wide his cheeks almost swallow up his eyes. He’s a scruffy, dirty blonde, a patchy black streak on one side of his head. His button down is obviously unironed, so crumpled it almost looks like a pattern, matching perfectly with his untied tie. It’s a good thing that he’s cute; you doubt he’d have gotten this far in life if he wasn’t. 

“Good morning, how are you? Have a good night? You look so pretty this morning. MILF town over here.” he says, twiddling the toe of his shoe into the carpet. “I made the pot of coffee for you,so you don’t have to worry about that-”

You cut him off. “What did you do?” 

The interns don’t report to you. If anything, they run parallel to you. If there’s anyone they should be ass kissing, it should be the department head, not some personal assistant, but the group considers you an ally. Maybe even a friend.

“I wouldn’t say that it’s something that I did,” the boy explains. He sucks air in through his teeth. “It’s more like what I didn’t do.”

“Denki.”

“It’s just the reports! I have to submit them end of day and it’s just not--” He juts out his bottom lip. “Can you proof my work? Please? The Eraser’s going to have my head if I make another mistake.”

The lead engineer is infamous for deleting whole chunks of code that the interns have made and ruining months of their work. Last month it was Ochako's work, who then spent the rest of the day at your desk, sniffling. The four others  were equally terrified of the man, constantly fretting and bitching about the ‘cruel working conditions.’ If Prome wasn't so prestigious (and internships weren't necessary for graduating) there’d be no interns left. You’re sure Eraser would prefer it that way.

“Please?” Denki clutches his hands together in prayer. “Please, please, please?”

 You don't even pretend to hem and haw.

“Email it over before lunch.” you say and he lights up. 

“Aw, you’re the best!” He turns away and practically skips down the hall. “I’m gonna drop off Izuku’s stuff too, okay?”

There’s no chance to say no before Denki’s gone. You flop into your chair and kick off your heels, trying to convince yourself that you don’t already regret saying yes. You catch your own appearance in the black screen of your computer. Makeup doesn’t do much to cover up the fact you’ve been crying. You can see it in your eyes, in the creases of your skin that you wish weren't there.  Even as the screen lights up, you can still catch your own face, starting back with that sad, sad expression. 

It's been mostly sleepless nights since Touya left, but you push through and ignore whatever you can. You miss your travel mug, the one that matched the coaster on your desk. You miss your forks, the ones that weren’t the awful ones from the thrift store down the road, bought solely out of panic when you returned to an empty apartment.  Most of all, you miss him, how the apartment felt warmer with two bodies instead of one, and how secure you felt with someone who loves you.

Your screen loads and a big, red 24 flashes in the corner-- fuck, the works already piling up. You try to squish any thought of Touya’s disappearing act into the back of your head. Like a dog, Touya always comes back home to you. He just needs to be wild for a bit, play off leash, and then he’ll crawl back like always. 

You check your phone. He’s still saved under “AVOID AT ALL COSTS” and the last five texts you sent are all unread. Your thumb hovers over the delete button for a moment; it’d be easier to cut him off and end this cycle. You can stop pushing the boulder up the hill,  just for it to tumble back down again. You could pursue someone else, maybe someone nice or smart or at least not rude-

 Focus. Compliance is raising concerns about the new platform and manufacturing has CC'ed you into an issue about screw heads, two things that you know nothing about. You flip your phone over and push through. What’s the difference between a hex and a truss and why should you care?

..

11:59. You’re none the wiser about either topic, but the dust seems to be settling and everyone seems to be happy enough. Denki’s reports are an absolute mess, bad to the point you start to wonder if he even tried. The pages aren't even formatted correctly, so it’s going to take most of your lunch to iron out the wrinkles. Luckily, Izuku is a bit more competent and his tasks look great, so-

“Oh, baby girl!”

You stop typing and sit straight up to peer over your computer screen, hiding the remnants of your microwaved lunch. With arms raised high and dressed in his finest ironed button down, Yamada Hizashi enters. Tall, blonde, thin, and leggy: Hizashi would have been a Victoria’s Secret model if he wasn’t a man. His long hair is tied back into a messy bun, a couple of loose tendrils floating  around his face in an effortlessly, annoyingly charming way as he marshes straight for you. 

“Let me see ‘em!” he demands loudly, a smile on his face and his hands on his hips. “Come on, baby. You know what I want.”

If it was anyone else, you’d think the man was a creep, but Hizashi is just so earnest about the way he lights up a room. With a belabored sigh and a grin, you roll your chair back a bit and stick your leg to the side to reveal your pink, fluffy slippers. The man claps his hands together and laughs a deep, hearty chuckle, genuinely bemused. 

The bunny slippers had started as a secret. The original dress code had required women to wear heels to work, which was fine, until the back of your feet became nothing but blisters. To give yourself some respite during the day, you had hidden a pair of slippers under your desk, just a little treat to make it through the day. It seemed like a genius idea-

Until the day the fire alarm went off. In the surprise, you had forgotten to change your shoes back, and proceeded to spend the next half an hour outside with the entire company in your violently pink shoes.

Luckily, everyone thought it was pretty funny.

Especially Hizashi.

“Seeing my work wife is the best part of the week.”

You throw a hand over your heart and gasp, trying to hold back your smile. “Only your work wife?”

“Oh, babygirl, I’d marry you in an instant.” He leans over your desk with another sigh, this one heavier. “I’d make you the trophy wife you were born to be.”

“Cool it, Mic.” Your heart sinks a bit at the voice.  “HR is going to have your head if you aren’t careful.”

Aizawa “The Eraser” Shouta makes his third appearance at the coffee machine this morning. He’s an average sized man, if not slightly short, with dark hair and the beginnings of a salt and pepper beard. The muscles in his jaw flex whenever he looks your way, almost as if he’s chewing away his annoyance. The most notable thing about him is a scar on his high cheek bone, long healed and silver in the light. He sits his coffee cup - a beat to shit Stanley thermos from long before they were cool- under the tap and lets the java pour, that sour expression never leaving his face.

Aizawa has worked here since the beginning. As one of the founding members of Prome and a lead engineer, he’s had his hands in absolutely every machine the company has produced, and yet he carries himself with none of the pomp and circumstance he deserves. Instead of abiding by the strict dress code, he wears a bright yellow sweatshirt that has an obvious coffee stain on the pocket.  It’d be charming if he wasn’t an infamous dick. The two of you rarely interact, despite the fact he visits the coffee station next to your desk multiple times a day, offering you no more than a nod most days. The interns are terrified of him-- and rightly so. You’re also scared of him. You’ve never met anyone else as tightly wound or as obsessed with work as him; there’s a rumor that he even sleeps here some days.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hizashi says. “He’s just jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, I’m protecting the company from potential litigation when bunny slippers over here-” he juts a chin your way- “ decides your flirting isn’t fun anymore.” 

You knew he wasn’t jealous. It’s an open secret that Aizawa doesn’t like you very much. Unlike any other of the department heads, he never allocates you work or stops by to chat. There was even a rumor that he wanted to eliminate your position last year; you wouldn’t care so much if he didn’t have the power and sway to make that happen. 

Hizashi pops a hip to the side. He isn’t afraid of anyone it seems; he even claims to be the man’s friend after hours.“Would you rather me go back to flirting with you?”

Aizawa stares back, only the trickle of coffee echoing in the hall. Finally, when it almost reaches the top, he shuts it off and glares. “You’re not even supposed to be in office today, Mic.” 

Hizashi had always been the most notable salesman in the company, but once the CEO’s health went downhill, he had taken over a lot of the speaking roles as well. Interviews, speeches, and the like: Toshinori Yagi had dubbed him Mr. Microphone and the name had just stuck. From what you can tell, he’s actually pretty close with Aizawa and the other founding members outside of work as well.

“I have a quick meeting with the marketing gals in a couple minutes,” Hizashi explains. He brings his attention back to you, brows waggling. Fuck- you know what he’s about to say.

 “And I wanted to wish my wife an early happy birthday.”

Oh, god. Your face flushes with heat-- you had hoped he had forgotten that. You glance over to Aizawa, who seems more interested than usual.

“It's tomorrow,” you explain. He nods curtly.

“Our office darling is going to be thirty, flirty and feeling fine!” Mic explains further. Ugh. You wish he didn't sound so happy about it. When you think about it for too long, turning thirty feels like the end of the world, an evil you just can't avoid. It's better than the alternative, you guess. 

“Are you and the boyfriend planning on a romantic night?”

A second gut punch of a statement.

“Oh, no, I’m just-- he--” You almost get emotional for a moment. Thirty years old and single: it feels like the end of the world for some reason. Everyone else is getting married or having kids or living some dream life. Fuck-- even two of the goddammit interns are engaged and they're practically babies! At this point, you might as well give up and die alone; no one else is ever going to want you, are they? 

 The glimpse of Aizawa in the corner, watching you with those judgemental eyes, sobers you up quickly. 

“We broke up, so I’m just staying in.”

The two snap their heads towards each other. Mic waggles his eyebrows, not so subtly gesturing to a non receptive Aizawa. You know that look, the excitement and relief. It’s not a secret that no one really liked Touya-- people have been openly voicing their contempt for years. He wasn’t a bad guy, except for the times he was, but people only ever remembered the bad things. 

“Oh, is it…?” Mic bites back his words, debating how harsh he should be.  “Is it for real this time?”

Touya always comes back. Everyone knows the routine by now. 

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m done with him.”

“Good.” Aizawa says. You grimace at that; even he knows? You didn’t know he paid attention to anything outside of work, let alone your shitty interpersonal drama.

“More than good. Amazing! Spectacular! I’m so, so, so proud of you!” Mic adds on and you pretend it doesn’t bother you. It’s strange; the more others despise him, the more your heart aches. Touya needs you and you need him; who else will have him?

Who else will have you?

“That means we can go out for drinks to celebrate!”

“Oh, it’s okay, you don’t have to do that.”

“Too late, nope. We’re having a two-for-one birthday single bash tomorrow.” He’s on his phone, typing wildly. “I hope you have something pretty to wear because I’m going to show you how you deserve to be treated.”

Fuck. You’d rather be alone, sniveling and waiting for Touya’s return in your apartment, but Hizashi is smiling. His intentions are good; it’d be cruel to deny him. 

“Nemuri knows some awesome spots-” The man is a whirl, typing and talking and walking. “You better get excited, baby girl.”

“Oh, yay,” you offer weakly. Hizashi isn’t listening anymore; he’s caught up in his own plans, briskly walking down the hall. A breath you didn’t know you were holding sneaks out and you slump back down to your seat.

“You really don’t have to let him walk all over you like that,” Aizawa says. He swirls his cup slowly, watching the rim.  

You try to offer the man a smile, but you can tell it looks forced. Sure, Hizashi can be a lot, but he just wants to help, as misguided as that urge is. 

“It’s okay.” When he doesn’t look convinced, you add. “Really.” ��

“Are you sure?”  he presses, voice tight. 

“Mhm.” You return to your keyboard and start typing, hoping that he understands the social cue. “Thanks though.”

Thankfully, he lets it go. Turning down the hall, he starts to sip his coffee, but then freezes mid stride.

“You make this?”

“No.”  

“I can tell,” Aizawa says, examining his cup. “It’s fucking dog water.”

That comment is so off kilter that you can’t help but snort. Aizawa watches you for a beat more, maybe bemused, maybe not, then nods. With that, he leaves, an empty coffee pot in his wake.  Another item to add on your growing list. 

-

The rest of the day goes by quicker than you need it to. Denki leaves a little bit after lunch for a doctor’s appointment and the rest of the workforce trickles out after. The head of development, Nezu, has you run through potential presentations before you follow up on compliance’s worries again. The coffee pot was refilled four more times, all by you, and your messages to Touya still sit delivered and unread. Two hours after the work day was supposed to end, you slip your heels back on. Denki’s files are pretty much unrecognizable now, but that’s a good thing.  All of the college students are intelligent and more accomplished than you’ll ever be, but you’re not sure why they can’t figure out basic busy work. There’s nothing hard about it, other than focusing.

With a final press of a key, your personal printer hums to life. A staple and a paperclip and you’re done: now it’s just a quick trip to engineering and you can finally go home. Your work isn't physical, but God, hunching at a desk all day takes a toll on your body. A flare of something eats at your lower back as you stroll the empty building and try to rub the grit from your eyes. You think there’s a frozen pizza at home or maybe some pasta-- though, you can’t remember if that was from this monday or last monday. Maybe it’d be safer to just throw it away.

The department itself  is a long row of cubicles, with miscellaneous machines and computers littering the other side of the room. You recognize old prototypes and parts of Prome's most famous product: a hospital bed. 

Before you had set foot in this building, you never thought a bed could count as a medical device -- or as something highly complicated and thoroughly engineered -- but this bed is different. It’s comfortable, lightweight, and durable, all while able to track a patient’s movement and comfort. It even records a patient's glucose, body temperature, SPO2, and many other medical things that go over your head. When used correctly, bedsores rates have been reduced to nearly zero and hospital related illnesses are caught significantly earlier.

In about three months, the newest model will be released, complete with full integration into electronic record systems. If everything goes according to plan, it’ll be revolutionary. Working here is a headache, but you do take pride that it's a company that does good. 

“Do you need something?” 

You jump at the sound of the voice, flipping around to search the room. Tucked at the end of it all is an open office door. Inside, Aizawa is perched at his desk, head in one hand, reading glasses in the other.  He’s illuminated only by the computer screen, his deep, dark eyes bouncing side to side as he carefully reads.

 Aizawa always looks tired, but now so especially; his heavy lidded eyes are drooped with fatigue and his skin is pallor, black stubble dusting his unshaved cheeks. There’s no bite or annoyance to his voice-- maybe even a little levity. For once, you don’t want to scurry away from him like a mouse, hiding in the shadows and corners to avoid his claws.  You still approach cautiously, heels sharp against the tile. The silence in between each hit makes your skin prick with an unknown nausea. 

“I thought everyone went home.” You say. 

“Everyone did. Just me-- and you, apparently.” He taps out a word or two. His office is devoid of personal items, desk covered in nothing but stacks of papers and illegible post notes, nothing to hint to his personal life. It’s been three years, yet you have no idea what his personal life is like-- if he even has one, that is.

“No slippers tonight?”

That was either a dig or a joke. You aren’t sure either way, but the way your shoes sound when you walk even closer feels like its own answer. When you reach the corner of his desk, he finally looks your way. It hits you that you've never actually been this close to him before. It's always been passes in the hall and distant conversations. His skin is smoother than you'd thought it'd be, with creases between his brow that fill themselves when he-

“Do you… need something?”

“Oh, uh-- Denki left these at my desk by accident,” you lie, sliding the file on to the corner of his desk. “I think they’re for you.”

He regards you again, more thoroughly this time. With a tilt of his head, he inspects your face, eyes flickering between your two. In the dim, they’re nothing but black dots, an inkinesss that you could fall into if you were any closer. 

He’s pretty.  And that’s an unsettling thought. You’ve never allowed yourself to consider that before. Immediately, you walk the thought back. No. Nobody with his personality is attractive-- hands down. Touya is the only dick you need in your life. 

“You should go home. It's late.” he says before turning back to his work. He types a couple things, then hits the backspace and deletes it all again. “Go home.”

Adjusting the bag on your shoulder, you sigh, the workday catching up to you. “You should too.” 

“Hm,” he grunts. He takes a long sip from his thermos, tipping it back to suck the dregs. You’d never noticed the sticker of the bottom before- a faded and torn image of an orange cat.  “Maybe.”

That’s a no. You don’t push the issue. You start towards the door, then pause. 

“Do… do you want me to make another pot of coffee before I go?” You’re not sure why you offer. Everything’s been put away and cleaned for tomorrow. It’d take at least 15 minutes to set up again. 

Aizawa slides his glasses back on, adjusting them by the bridge, only for them to slip right back down the flat bridge of his nose.

“You don't have to do that.” 

With that you leave, no proper goodnight dismissing you. The tap of your heels and the clack of his keyboard mix into some sort of soft, unbalanced rhythm. Despite yourself, you think of Touya, of where he is and where he isn’t. Is it also quiet there? Has he thought of someone else in the same way you just did?

When the doors of the building close and the security guard nods your way, the sound of percolation echoes behind you, the final drops falling into a freshly brewed pot.

[what-even-is-thiss]

I’ve been on one date in my entire life and we got coffee and walked around the neighborhood just talking about our lives. We were both transmasc, both asexual, looking to get started in life. I texted him merry Christmas on Christmas eve and he said “You too, man.” and I never got another reply again.

What a strange thing. A strange moment. To find someone whose world aligns with yours so cleanly to have such a nice evening and then they just never call you again. It would probably mean less if I’ve had a hundred dates in my life but I’ve just had the one. So it’s the only one that there is to haunt me.

That was two years ago. I wonder how he’s doing now. If that thing with his job worked out. I wonder who he wonders about. I wonder if I would’ve liked him still if we’d had a second date. If we would’ve kissed or hugged, because we didn’t get to it on the first one. I’ll never know. I shouldn’t wonder, but he’s the only one I have to wonder about because his eyes were brown right next to my blue ones. Same height as me. Binder poking out from under his shirt. Vaping cotton candy out into the wind. I’m sure it meant almost nothing in the grand scheme of things but again, I’ve got limited things to dwell on.

[filipinoizukuu]

fun fact about togame, his voice actor also voices a jojo character named "Weather Report" (you see where i'm going with this?)

i want to believe that the one singular contact number in sakura's phone is not in fact his piss poor attempt to use a phone, but rather a well-kept secret point of contact between him and one certain togame jo. after the showdown with shishitoren and the rooftop celebration, togame and sakura remain... curious about each other. it starts off surface-level enough. togame wants to find a way to repay his debts somehow -- keep an avenue available to someday prove to sakura that he isn't so lame anymore.

he's eternally thankful to sakura for snapping him out of whatever fugue state choji's mistakes put him in and wants to actually befriend sakura because of it. make sure he hasnt changed and all. meanwhile sakura contemplates it, because umemiya WAS right in the grand scheme of things and he did somehow "communicate" with togame in their fight. he wants to keep talking to togame, sort of. learn all the things he couldn't gather with his jabs and kicks. so they both find themselves at the tunnel a few days after the fight as complete coincidence.

its complete fate they ran into each other without meaning to, but togame wastes no time in warmly greeting sakura and chatting him up. night begins to creep up and at that point sakura knows they've gotta start getting home if they both don't wanna start shit sitting out at night on territory boundaries while wearing their respective recognizable uniforms. he's hesitant to pull away from the conversation though and togame seizes the opportunity to ask for sakura's (barely used) phone and write himself into sakura's contacts. (he doesn't even have a password btw)

"Wow~ Not a single person on here, Othello-kun."

"Hah? What th' hell would I even need it for? If I need something, I can just go ask in person. None of that slow, boring texting crap."

"You really live life too fast, haha. What if it's too small for the effort? Or you can't come find me in time? Shishitoren territory is quite far from Furin's campus, after all."

"What would I even need'ta ask you that isn't urgent enough to come here, scraggly?"

Togame simply laughs under his breath. "Anything you can think of." he hands the phone back to Sakura, screen lit up with a single new contact under the name 'Weather.'

That's stupid.

The older boy continues to tease Sakura. "Call me to ask about the weather, if you really can't come up with anything at all. I promise I'd pick up; it's the least I can do for you after everything."

They part ways, and even if neither of them mention it -- Sakura keeps this encounter close to his chest. Thinks about it when his classmates make fun of him for it the very next day, even as he says nothing and lets them tease him. With 5 new names in his list of contacts, he remembers to go home and scroll to 'W' and asks about the weather tomorrow. Asks a whole lot of other things too. All until he falls asleep.

(He never changes Togame's contact name after that. Not even months later, stranded on a bridge and staring down an army of enemies and another black-haired tall douchebag to humble. What will the weather be like tomorrow? Clear motherfuckin' skies, baby.)

[skyahri]

Remember Part Two |SatoSugu X Reader| HC

Part One - Part Three Masterlist Ko-fi

Summary: It's hard bouncing back twelve years.

Warnings: none? Pretty fluffy.

- - - - -

You pat around the bed, but can't seem to find what you're looking for. You awkwardly push yourself up onto your hands, your waist awkwardly trapped in Satoru's tight hold.

You look around, still weary about, well, everything that's gone on. The jet lag-like dysphoria combined with the surrealism of the situation is muddling your mind.

You're still in Geto's room, that much is obvious based on his dark sheets and clean desk, but there's no Geto.

"Suguru?"

You can't feel his residuals anywhere. You try to settle your worries by reminding yourself that he often suppressed his cursed energy, that the ball hadn't started rolling yet, but the pit in your stomach was persistent.

Before you can panic any more, he's sliding his door open and closed behind him. You let out a breath and forced your way out of Satoru's grip. You hear him whine, but don't pay much mind to him.

You sit on the edge of the bed and rub your hand over your face. It's easier to calm down now than it was last night, the initial shock having worn off and the lack of exhaustion make things much easier to process.

"You can't just leave, Suguru."

"I was just," he paused, "Nevermind. I'm sorry."

He takes a seat next to you and you rest your head on his shoulder.

It's silent, but not uncomfortable. You can feel him trying to pick you apart with his eyes, wanting information but not wanting to ask. You chose to let him wonder and just basque in his presence. It's warm, almost like a hug.

You eventually convince yourself to get up from his bed and start your day. Gojo complains, something about you getting up means he has to as well. You can no longer be used as an excuse to lounge around all day.

It's difficult to get back into the groove of your old life. You're quickly realizing how much a person can change when given enough time.

Your hair is longer than you'd recently kept it and your ears hadn't been pierced yet. Seeing a face you didn't recognize as your own in the mirror was a trip in and of itself. Second puberty is a very real thing, the lack of adult maturity in your features being proof of it.

You haven't used a single product in your bathroom in over a decade. Satoru had long replaced your cheap body care products with an expensive perfume and matching lotions. There was no trinket dish holding your prized jewelry, solely because you just hadn't been gifted any of it yet. Your closet was severely dated, only containing uniforms and outfits you had outgrown years ago.

None of this stuff mattered in the grand scheme of things. Everything would eventually fall into place, and you'd have all of these things back, but that didn't stop it from hurting. They're just objects, but most of them held much more significant meaning. Milestones, holidays, memories with people you care for. It's sad not to have the visual reminder.

You make your way through the halls of Jujutsu High, acknowledging the faces of all your old classmates. Once you get past the eerie presence of a select few you haven't seen since their untimely deaths, it's refreshing. As of right now, there's no war or depression. Nothing stopping you from actively enjoying the present time with your friends.

That is, except for the expiration date practically stamped on their foreheads.

You head through a myriad of hallways and tunnels that eventually lead to an elevator. You know you shouldn't be down here, Yaga would surely have your head, but you don't really see any other options.

You're surprised when you easily pass through the barrier. He was most likely expecting your company. Word travels fast, especially when it involves everyone assuming their battle position at three in the morning.

His base is creepy, to say the least. The vibe is ominous, almost like you're entering certain death. You're certain that this is a stupid idea, but your feet keep moving nonetheless, and soon your eye to eye with the one person who can protect the future.

"Tengen."

"Oh? I hope this doesn't have anything to do with my upcoming assimilation, does it?"

"You don't even know the half of it."

- - - - -

After your impromptu meeting with Tengen, you decided not to bother with the rest of your classes. Instead, you made a trip off campus for some essentials.

The errand is short, just a stop at the nearest bookstore for some new journals and the convenience store for a more... indulgent treat. It isn't long before you're back in the confines of your bedroom.

There's writing supplies strewn across your desk, your feet awkwardly forced onto the narrow cushion of your seat as you uncomfortably hunched over. The ashtray to your left is packed full of butts, the pack halfway gone as you've chain smoked through the whole ordeal.

You always hated the task of actually writing out the events of your dreams. It's tedious and requires an ungodly amount of focus to remember every detail. It's been damn near four hours, and you're only three years into the endeavor. Granted, all of the more relevant things happen in that time, making it drag out a bit more in word form, but that's besides the point.

You're so entranced in the activity, you don't even notice Geto slide open your door. He walks up behind you, resting both hands on your shoulders and startling you out of your daze. You swiftly close the notebook and relax into his touch, reveling in the way he digs his thumbs into your sore shoulders.

"Never thought I'd catch you smoking after all the grief you give us."

"I needed to unwind," you pause, glancing at the half empty pack, "I suppose I did get a bit carried away, though."

It's quiet while he continues his ministrations. You take one last drag of your cigarette before snuffing it out in the tray. You relax, allowing your body to melt into a less chaotic position in your chair.

You're having a hard time recalling the specific relationship dynamics you once held with the people around you in high school.

As time went on, you found comfort in Gojo's advances. He was a rock in an otherwise changing environment, even after Geto's defection. He had left a hole in everyone's hearts, and no matter how much you tried to move past it, there was always that lingering darkness. Having Satoru and not Suguru was like having the moon and not the sun, and it stunted both of you for years to come.

Your future relationships and mature understandings of life were blurring your memories of the current ones. Had you and Gojo romanticized the past version of Geto? Was the way you're feeling right now just a symptom of that? Or was there always something there?

"What are you thinking about?"

You shrug. You don't really feel like lying right now, so it's better to just not say anything.

"I came in here to ask if you'd like to go to Splendid Sushi with us? Satoru's treat of course."

You tilt your head back to peer up at him. You touch his hand and strain your arm so you can drag your fingers up his arm, finally finding a place to rest on his bicep.

He looks new. There are no bags under his eyes and he still has that sparkle of hope. It finally sinks in that this is your Suguru. The guy who argues about morals with Satoru and dreams about protecting the weak. It's a warm feeling, one that gives you the strength to venture forward.

"I have to keep working, Sugu. You guys go on without me."

"How about you come with us, and I'll keep you company afterwards."

You hum, feigning contemplation for a moment before dramatically sighing and agreeing to his proposal.

You forgot how good it felt to be worry free. To sit in a restaurant with your three favorite people, talking about nonsense and just enjoying the night. Eating a sickening amount of sushi and being loud enough to bother other patrons.

But your thoughts started to drift to the one thing you'd been trying to avoid; your kids.

When Megumi and Tsumiki were younger, family dinners weren't an issue. You could easily wrangle everyone in and play peacekeeper long enough to have a nice meal. But kids eventually become teens and things became a little harder to manage with the newfound angst. Then Tsumiki got sick and it felt wrong to enjoy the weekly gatherings altogether.

In all honesty, neither had ever really needed you, but you'd like to think they enjoyed having you and Satoru as some kind of pseudo-parents. Megumi has always been independent and Tsumiki has always been a fighter, but they're little right now, about three and four years old, probably fending for themselves while Toji and his girlfriend are off doing God knows what.

You've completely tuned out the others' conversation about, what even was it? Animals they could take in a fight? They're talking amongst themselves while you begin to worry about their place in your future.

Would Satoru still seek them out? With Geto around, will he feel the need to raise two kids? And what about the two girls Geto saves from that village? Should you intervene in the town beforehand, or set things up so he still takes them? Is there even a way to do so without igniting that anti-monkey flame?

You rub your hand down your face as the onset of headache approaches. Only a half-hour into dinner and you've already managed to ruin it for yourself.

You quietly excuse yourself from the table and exit the building. You hear them whisper amongst themselves before Shoko jogs to catch up with you outside. She leans against the side wall with you, surprised when you hand her one of two lit cigarettes between your lips.

"You good?"

You don't answer at first. What are you supposed to tell her? That you miss the teenagers you raised after having a hand in killing their dad?

"Just stressed."

"Feel like sharing?"

"Wish I could. You have no idea."

Shoko has always been your favorite confidant. She's well-rounded and more predictable than Gojo, even now. You sigh, tilting your head back and forth in thought with a groan.

"I'm having trouble adjusting."

"Don't you always?"

"Not like this. I've never seen so far forward before. I feel like I'm in a haze."

"It'll fade. It always does, just gotta give it time, y'know?"

You jab the filter against the bricks and toss it in the trash, Shoko following suit. Despite it being a very dry conversation, you do feel a bit better. Maybe just forcing yourself into a more familiar place within the group was helping.

You make your way back to the table, sitting beside Satoru this time and allowing him to pull you into his side with an arm around your shoulder. He leans his head down so he can whisper in your ear.

"You're too pretty to be worrying so much. Try and relax, alright?"

The next second he's laughing, joking with Suguru about how easy it is to piss off Nanami and arguing with Shoko about who gets to open the prize capsule.

You smile, thankful for the wonderful distraction that is your friends. You pull the bit out of Shoko's hand and call dibs. They pout, but don't fight you. You pop it open and pull out a Badtz-Maru keychain. You can't help but be reminded of Megumi, its black spikey top and sour expression are damn near uncanny.

Satoru uses the arm around your shoulder to pluck the prize out of your hand.

"Awe, I was hoping for Hello Kitty."

You take it back and shove it in your pocket.

"Good thing it's not yours then, huh?"

[dykedvonte]

Curly had two days to act and Swansea had two months.

I think it’s just interesting that every defense of Swansea not immediately acting are the same ones that are argued against for Curly. “He didn’t want to alert Daisuke or makes things worse for Anya either Jimmy!” I mean people also assume that about Curly and the crew. “He has to think about his plan of action and a right moment!” Again so did Curly, power and authority aside, he still would have to think of what he had to do. “He makes sure he doesn’t have to be around Jimmy!” So did Curly and they only do this to an extent, both give Jimmy more than a few opening to keep harassing Anya.

This isn’t defense of Curly nor a damnation of Swansea. Their actions are very parallel to each others in tragic and sour ways when it comes to how they approached helping Anya. In the grand scheme of it all they both did the same thing: Nothing. No action either took stopped the inevitable outcome of her death nor Jimmy’s continued damage to themself.

The only real difference is Swansea didn’t like Jimmy which is pretty substantial, but also just as damning as Curly knowing how bad Jimmy could get to an extent. He had even less of a reason to wait, even more of a reason to act seeing as he was now worried for Anya AND Daisuke. He is not bound by the possible procedure as Captain and actively does not care about what happens next. So what does it matter if he acted in the moment? Why did he wait? I think he’s just as morally complex and grey as Curly and we hold him on a pedestal that still perpetuates things in rape culture the game critiques.

It’s not just enough to dislike and be abrasive to predators/abusers like Jimmy. It’s not enough to just put yourself between them and the other person. It’s not enough to hold tensions when you know someone is vulnerable. He and Curly do the exact same things but on different sides of the coin. I ask how is it better to not turn a blind eye but still not really do anything about what you are seeing? Not until it affects you atleast…

The game makes a big point to not put men doing the bare minimum or who wait to do more on pedestals and I’m actually surprised so many are missing that point.

[tmntxthings]

Had a dream where I got to meet the 2012 TMNT and Raph just gave me a big ol hug and wouldn’t let go.

Gave me the idea, what if reader went on a trip for a week or so and as soon as they get back, Raph is all cuddly with them and won’t let go. He’s making sure they aren’t leaving for a while. He’s getting teased for sure, and he’ll try to deny that he missed them that much, but he won’t leave them alone, sooo.

一∑ Proximity ・゜・。

author’s note: i thought this was cute, so yes, here we go c: also what a nice dream!

warnings: fluff, short

—————————————————————————

It was good to be home! Sure traveling was fun and you’d definitely be traveling again. Just not anytime soon. You had definitely gotten a case of homesickness. It was especially tough to be away from your friends. Though thankfully they had kept you company through texts.

You had been surprised at how much Raph had texted you though! In person he wasn’t as talkative with you around, so to have those deeper convos gave you a bit of insight to the turtle in red unlike before! In fact you felt closer to him, and you hoped it could pass over to in-person as well!

Now you hadn’t been gone too long. This wasn’t the longest trip you’ve ever been on by no means! In the past when you were little you had went on road-trips that lasted well over two weeks. So just a week at the beach was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Yet as you texted the turtles that you were back and heading their way, you were met with a plethora of ‘ Hoorays/ Can’t wait to see ya/ & Hurry over’s. ’ It was heartwarming! So you had a pep in your step down the New York City’s sidewalks. Down the manhole cover you went and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness your footing finally found the sewer floor.

Immediately strong arms wrapped around you. It was a shock no doubt and you couldn’t stop the sudden gasp from leaving you as you practically jumped out of your skin! But you saw green arms and tilting your head everywhich way behind your back to see a flash of red clued you in on who it was.

“Raph! You gave me a flippin’ heart attack!!”

His reply was to only squeeze tighter, and silence enveloped the two of you for a beat.

“I missed you too,” You said softly a smile on your lips. His reply was mumbled into your hair, so low you couldn’t decipher it but you had an inkling.

After a moment or two more his arms relaxed and you slipped out of his grip and started regaling your adventures from the trip! He led the way back to the lair, giving responses when you paused but letting you talk overall.

And then you were met with three more hugs! “Was wondering where you ran off to Raph!!” Mikey drawled with a smug look. To which earned him Raph’s patented glare, a heated look that warned Mikey he was treading on thin ice.

You restarted your tale of adventures, all five of you sitting comfortably around the tv in the living room. Mikey was asking a bunch of question while Leo and Donnie listened politely. Raph sat right next to you, arms going over the back of the couch.

It had been about an hour when your phone started to ring. Your mom needed a grocery run and was asking for your help! With that you relayed the message to the turtles and said you would stop by again soon! “We’ll be here!” Leo smiled. “Do you need help with the groceries?” Donnie asked, to which you thanked him kindly but said you could manage. “Leaving already?!!” Mikey whined giving you a puppy dog stare before crushing you in a hug. “Betcha Raph’s gonna walk you to the manhole!” Mikey said in a sing-song tone. Teasing his red brother once again.

“And if I am??” Raph asked defensively. “Just admit it bro! You missed Y/n sooooooo much. Never left your phone alone, always texting during patr—“ Things started to fly at Mikey’s head before he could finish his sentence. As Raph ground out that he needed to mind his own business or just shut up in general.

It took you calling out a goodbye for Raph to finally let Mikey out of a headlock as he raced towards your side. But not without giving Mikey one last warning to be prepared for when he got back.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed Raph! You know I missed you guys too!!” You tried to say.

But you were met with denials! “Mikey doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I was playing this new game..”

“Ohh..”

“What game?” You questioned. And not to see if he was lying just because you were honestly curious. He sputtered about it being some dumb fighting game and that ended that conversation. The walk was quiet but you were used to it. Raph kept close to you the entire way to the manhole, sometimes his hand would even brush yours as his arms swung slightly as he walked. Surely that had just been a coincidence!

“Well, this is me!” You joked, head nodding up at the manhole above you. “You sure you don’t need help with the errands?” Raph offered. Your heart warmed again, but you shook your head. “I’ve got it! But I promise to be back soon, maybe even later today?”

Raph seemed to like that idea. “Alright, well text me and keep me updated..” he put his hands on his hips as he started rocking slowly back on his heels. “Will do!” And with that you turned your back to him and went to climb to ladder rungs.

Before you could take too many steps away though, it was like déjà vu. Raph’s arms went around your middle. Hugging you for the second time today. This was one quick, almost as if he hadn’t exactly expected himself to move into action. He cleared his throat and called out a goodbye as he left. At the top of the climb you looked out to see he was already out of sight! You still called out for the whole sewer to hear,

“Missed you too Raph!”

Even though he wouldn’t say it. At least not clearly. You would say it just so he knew that for certain.

[athforskz]

Locked In - Yang Jeongin

Masterlist

Pairing: Jeongin x reader (afab)

Non-idol au

wc: ~7.7k

semi-proofread

Warnings: fluff, angst, pet names (babe/baby, princess), smut, jealousy, alcohol/drinking, dub-con if you squint, dry humping, fingering, oral (m- receiving), stealthing, unprotected piv, Yandere!Jeongin, breeding, baby trapping, dacryphilia, choking, spit, anal thumbing.

I think that’s it, let me know if I missed any!

Read responsibly. You are responsible for the content you consume.

Enjoy lovelies!

It was already Friday again. Meaning yet another week in your not so exciting life had flown by. You had no plans for the weekend and no friends that were free to spend it with. You, in fact, were the last of your friends that was still single. Everyone else had either married off or were currently in a serious relationship. You couldn’t help but feel the existential dread that encompassed your mind.

What if I’m alone forever?

Yeah, sure you’re still young in the grand scheme of things, but you couldn’t shake the doubt that maybe something was wrong. Wrong with you. Your body shook at the thought.

Deciding to do push the mess of thoughts to the back of your mind, you fished around for your phone in the nest of blankets you had curled yourself in on your bed. Your fingers quickly tap through your home screen until finding the app you were looking for. Tinder.

“Am I really doing this…?” You muttered to yourself. Contemplating once again about your life decisions. All you wanted was someone to call your own. A person to spend quality time with. Possibly settle down and start a life filled with contentment and love. Was that too much to ask?

Against your better judgement you opened the app and set up your profile. You chose the best pictures of yourself to display. Also making sure to write in your bio what you were seeking in a partner, that you were serious about your expectations. You may have been desperate but not desperate enough to lower the bar. At least not yet.

Within a few hours of swiping mindlessly, you got a couple dozen matches. Most of them are not what you’re looking for. But there was one that stood out. His name was Jeongin. He could hold a conversation, even making you laugh a few times. Before you knew it hours had passed of you both talking back and forth on the dating app. He ended up asking for your number claiming he doesn’t get on Tinder much anymore but wanted to keep the conversation going with you. Things were going so well that you thought nothing of it and immediately sent him your contact information. A couple minutes later your phone dinged with a message notification that you could safely assume was your new interest.

Unknown: Hey, y/n! It’s Jeongin :)

You: Do I know you?

You teased him as you saved his contact to your phone.

Jeongin: I’m so sorry! Wrong number!

You: Just kidding lol it’s me, y/n!

Jeongin: You almost sent me into a panic you little minx

The little pet name had you turned onto your front with your legs propped up behind you and kicking freely. You two texted for a little while longer before calling it a night.

Little did you know, Jeongin stayed up half the night doing research on you. Digging up whatever he could find about your past and your present. He had never known someone so beautiful, so perfect. So you. He couldn’t help the burning obsession he was growing towards you. It was like a thirst that could not be quenched. He needed you. All of you. Jeongin had never felt this way about anybody before and he wasn’t about to let it go. Was this what euphoria felt like?

The next morning you had awoken to a bird pecking at your window. The tap-tap-tap sounds reverberate throughout your room. You got up from your bed stretching with a yawn before opening your curtains to find the little tweeting perpetrator. It flew off quickly upon it being caught, leaving you to stare at the newly arisen sun. Just then, your phone vibrated on the nightstand. Hm, 7:03am the clock read. You swiftly unlocked your phone and unplugged it from the charger to read the new message from Jeongin.

Jeongin: Good morning! Hope you slept well

You: Morning, Jeongin! I did actually. Did you get some good rest too?

Jeongin: You could say that. Hey, I uh.. I wanted to ask you something.

You: What’s up?

Jeongin: Do you want to go get coffee together? Like today? I know it’s short notice so if you can’t that’s totally fine!

You: I’d love to go with you :)

Jeongin’s heart flipped in his chest with a widening smile across his face. He can’t believe you agreed to go with him. Now was his time to shine! He had to look his best for you which would be easier said than done because he in fact did not get any sleep. How could he when all that was on his mind was you?

The both of you agreed to meet at a local cafe called LaVazza in an hour. At first, you weren’t expecting to be doing anything with your Saturday besides maybe catching up on some research for your job. However, that could wait until later. You had a date with a cute guy after all.

Wait… a date? Can I even call it that? Is that what this is?

Numerous thoughts began to fill your head as you got ready. Should you dress up or look casual? Go all out with your makeup? Should you put your hair up or leave it down? A cold splash of water would help you think more clearly. Finally, you decided on an off the shoulder cashmere sweater, leggings, and black booties with light makeup to complete the look. You brushed your hair choosing to leave it down since your shoulders were exposed. You did one last mirror check before grabbing the essentials and making your way out of the apartment.

The cafe wasn’t too far from your place so walking was your choice of transportation. Nothing like a brisk walk on a cool Saturday morning to calm your nerves.

Upon reaching LaVazza, the fresh smell of coffee hit your nose. You breathed in deeply while looking around for Jeongin. No sign of him yet. You had gotten there a few minutes early after all. Surely he’d be here in a bit. You walked over to a booth seated in the corner next to the window while you waited; checking your phone every so often to see if you had gotten any messages. Nothing.

At some point you had zoned out while looking over the menu to decide what to order. You snapped back to reality once you felt a presence looming next to you.

“This seat taken?” A warm voice asked.

You looked up to meet none other than Jeongin’s gaze. Your mouth slightly agape as you took in the sight of him. Of course you had seen his photos on tinder yesterday but he was down right handsome in the flesh. He took his seat in the booth directly across from you, folding his hands neatly in front of him on the table. He cleared his throat which brought you out of a daze. “I-I’m sorry. Um hi! It’s nice to finally meet you.” You blinked and extended your hand across the table while mentally scolding yourself for staring so shamelessly. He chuckled while taking your hand and bringing it up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Your face flushed in a deep blush. You had been going for a simple handshake but you weren’t going to complain about his greeting. Not when his lips felt so soft on your skin and his voice was like velvet. “Nice to meet you too,” he finally replied.

It seemed like Jeongin was playing it cool, but on the inside he was on fire. He felt his world stop when he first laid eyes on you sitting in the booth. He can’t believe just how gorgeous you are up close. Once you caught sight of him he saw your reaction, making a mental note of it for later.

“Did you order anything yet?” He asked you with a rise at the end of his voice. You shook your head in response looking down at the menu on the table. “I’m stuck between a lavender chai or the classic espresso. Maybe a chocolate croissant too. What are you getting?” You quipped. He pretended to think for a minute. “I always get the americano. It’s my go to.” Jeongin smiled at you. His smile was so bright, so cute, so entrancing. You couldn’t help but smile back, he was infectious.

After finalizing your decision on the lavender chai, you and Jeongin made your way over to the counter to order. You began reaching into your purse to pull out your card before Jeongin playfully scoffed. “Hey, I got it. Put that away.” You were confused at first, “I can at least pay for my own. You don’t have t-“ he interrupted. “Nuh uh, don’t worry about it. Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll bring our order over once it’s ready.” He said calmly before handing the barista his card. “But I insist!” You blurted out. He raised an eyebrow at you in amusement. Before you could embarrass yourself any further you walked back over to the corner booth, waiting patiently for Jeongin to return.

During your wait, you came to the final realization that yes, this was definitely a date.

Once the order arrived you two had begun opening up to each other. Telling each other about yourselves. Your upbringing, your jobs, friends, hobbies. Pretty much anything. The conversation was flowing nicely. Little did you know Jeongin had already known so much about you. He knew exactly what to say to keep you interested in him. To keep you engaged to him and only him.

Before either of you realized, two hours had passed by. The both of you reluctantly opted to call it a day. You had research to catch up on and Jeongin had errands to run.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said while holding the cafe door open for you.

“Oh, no need. I actually walked here. My place isn’t too far.”

“What? No way, I walked too! I can walk you home at least.” He offered. Jeongin lied. His car was parked around the corner but he would rather walk with you to spend more time with you. You hesitated for a bit, mulling it over. You just met this man today. Even though you both talked for hours he was still a stranger to you. Should you really let him know where you live? In conclusion, you did it anyway.

“Sure, why not?” You shrugged then proceeded to lead the way. He followed slightly behind you, acting as if he didn’t already know where you lived.

About halfway through the walk, Jeongin felt bold enough to touch your hand, wrapping his pinky finger around yours. You didn’t mind it, you thought it was sweet as he smiled down at you, listening to you speak about some story that happened at a recent friend’s get-together.

Another few minutes went by and y’all had reached the front door to your apartment. You turned on your heels to face Jeongin.

“Thank you for this morning. I had a lot of fun, Jeongin,” you admitted.

“I did too. Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” he replied. His eyes fluttered looking at your features, from your lips to your eyes.

Suddenly you felt warm, a blush creeping up from your neck to your cheeks. Was he going to-?

“Howdy, neighbor!” Your next door neighbor beamed happily as they slammed their door shut and locked it. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding as you turned to wave at your neighbor. Jeongin cursed under his breath, becoming irrationally angry at your neighbor for the split second you weren’t paying attention to him. In the blink of an eye he was back to his calm and cheery self once you turned back to him.

“Let me know when you get home okay?” You requested of him before leaning up on your tippy toes and landing a peck on his cheek. All he could do was nod, his skin igniting at the touch of your lips. You unlocked your door bidding him a final goodbye as he walked off. He still felt the lingering connection of your lips on his cheek. Now he was locked in for sure. And unknowingly, that meant you were locked in too.

A few more weeks passed and the bond between Jeongin and you became stronger. He had invited you out on several more dates during that time. Some of them being more casual and others being romantic. You honestly couldn’t be happier. Nothing between you two was made mutually exclusive yet (or so you thought), but it was certainly heading that way.

Currently, you were on a FaceTime call with Jeongin while you were doing chores around your apartment. You had your phone propped up on the coffee table, facing away from it as you fluffed the pillows on the couch during your rambling about what happened at work the other day. Jeongin was barely listening. All he could focus on was the way your Nike pro shorts hugged the fat of your thighs along with the swell of your ass cheeks peeking through perfectly. Any time you’d bend over he’d take a screenshot without you ever noticing.

Thank goodness you could only see his face because he currently had his hand in his sweats to lazily palm his twitching cock. Every now and then he would let out a heavy sigh, but you chalked it up to him just being tired. “Innie, I can let you off if you want to go to sleep. I have to start getting ready anyway,” you had recently took to calling him by the nickname. Just then, his head shot up from the relaxed position it was in, hand retracing from his pants. “Get ready? Ready for what?” He completely ignored your comment about his tiredness. Jeongin was more concerned about your future whereabouts. He had become very good at keeping tabs on you whether you knew about it or not. But this time he had no indication that you planned on going somewhere. Somewhere without him.

“My friend invited me to a party tonight!” Party? You don’t party. Jeongin knows you don’t.

“I normally don’t like going to such things, but I haven’t hung out with my friends in a while, so why not, ya know?” You continued. His face dropped.

Why does she feel the need to go somewhere without me? He thought to himself.

His next words threw you for a loop, “Can I come?”

You were taken aback, “But you don’t know anyone that’ll be there.”

“I know you...” He raised an eyebrow waiting for your response. You seemed to be lost in thought. Is this a good idea, introducing him to your friends so soon? And without an official label no less.

“I don’t know, Innie. My friends will get the wrong idea about us and I don’t-“

“Wrong idea?” He interrupted.

“Like they’ll think we’re together.” You announced. You swear you saw his eye twitch.

“But we are together. At least I thought we were,” he retorted.

Now it was your turn to raise a brow. “We are? Since when?”

“Since we started going on a bunch of dates and hanging out. Not to mention all of the kissing. C’mon sweetheart, did you really think I was just playing around with you?”

He was right, you two had been spending a lot of time together. You’d see him at least every other day and talk to him on the phone on the days that you weren’t with him. Things had become a lot more serious between the both of you including the ever fervent makeout sessions. Neither of you had gone farther than kissing and lingering touches with each other, but the thought of going to the next level with Jeongin made your eyes glaze over. “Well..?” He chuckled waiting for your answer. You shook your head letting out a light laugh in the process as a blush covered your cheeks. “Okay, fine you can come with me since apparently you’re my boyfriend now.”

Boyfriend

Boyfriend

Boyfriend.

The word leaving from your mouth to label him as such a thing sounded so sweet. But he wanted to be more to you. For you. He wanted to be all you ever needed. Wanted you to rely on him for absolutely everything. You didn’t need anyone else. All he wanted you to need was him.

A sly smile played on his lips as he at least took this as a good start. Perfect.

Well into the night you found yourself enthralled with the party, having a good time with everyone. You were glad to have agreed to come out and bring Jeongin with you. Your friends however, were not thrilled with your new boyfriend. You had introduced them to him earlier in the night but your friends could tell that something was off with him. You didn’t notice their uneasiness towards Jeongin at first, as you were busy throwing back shots and dancing. Normally, you didn’t drink but when you were out you drank heavily. A social drinker at its finest. Jeongin made sure to keep a close eye on you which wasn’t hard because when you weren’t drinking you were dancing with him. Grinding your ass into his pelvis as he kept a hand on your hips encouraging your movements. To you, it looked like he was enjoying himself. Nursing a red solo cup in his free hand with God knows what kind of alcohol in it. However, Jeongin was sure not to get too drunk so he could keep others away from you. He wanted all of your attention focused solely on him so your eyes wouldn’t wander. If he caught another guy looking at you he’d be sure to press a hot, lingering kiss to your neck as if to claim you for all to see. Right when you began leaning back into Jeongin’s chest one of your friends approached you.

“Y/n, can we talk for a sec?” She asked with a lilt to her voice. You gave her a silent nod before she started to pull you away from him by your wrist. Jeongin started to follow you to which your friend spoke up, “it’s girl talk only, you wouldn’t understand.” She gave him a sheepish smile then proceeded to lead you away, leaving him on the dance floor sipping his drink.

He didn’t like this. Not one bit. He doesn’t want anyone, not even your closest friends, taking you away from him. But, nonetheless, he allowed your friend to speak with you in private so he didn’t cause a scene. His eyes narrowed as he watched your form through the crowd of people making a mental note of where you were going just in case he needed to come get you.

Your friend pushed past a throng of people before slipping into a quiet room with you in tow. She closed the door prior to speaking.

“What are you doing?” She asked, turning slowly to meet your eyes.

“Um, having fun? Duh!” You couldn’t take her question seriously as you giggled.

“No, no not that! I mean like what are you doing with him?”

“You mean, Innie? I thought it’d be alright if he came with me. Was there like a super limited guest list I wasn’t informed about?” Your eyes widened at the realization.

Your friend rolled her eyes at you, “God, you really are drunk. There was not a guest list. I just want to know what in the hell you see in that man?”

“What are you talking about? Jeongin makes me happy and I-“

“He’s weird! I mean have you not seen the way he’s hoarding you to himself and giving death glares at anybody that even looks your direction?! That’s straight up toxic behavior!” She cut you off as her voice raised an octave. She wasn’t yelling but you still didn’t appreciate her tone.

“So everyone else gets to be happy with someone, but as soon as I get a boyfriend there’s a fucking problem? And you’re calling him toxic just because he’s a little protective? Do you even hear yourself right now?!” The alcohol was rushing in your veins making you a little bit more bold.

“Hey, you know that’s not what I meant. Just-“

“Save it!” It was your turn to interrupt her. You put your hand up in front of your face before shoulder checking her on the way out of the room.

You looked among the crowd to find Jeongin had moved to the back wall. You made your way over to him and he looked surprised, probably not expecting you to be back so soon.

“We should leave.” You said dryly while looking down at the floor, your arms crossed over your chest. Jeongin simply nodded and with that you both made your way out of the party.

Once in the car you sighed, the alcohol still buzzing through your body.

“You okay, baby? What happened in there?” He asked clearly concerned. He knew he shouldn’t have let you go off alone with her.

“Don’t worry about it, I.N. I’d rather not talk about it right now.” You trailed off while staring out the window. As much as he wanted to press you for answers, he didn’t pry any farther. He let you have your space for the time being. Jeongin only had one drink so he was fine to drive.

The way back was mostly silent besides the low hum of the radio in the background. Jeongin would occasionally rub or squeeze your thigh for reassurance which you appreciated. You just simply couldn’t get over the argument you had with your friend.

Is she crazy? Jealous?

There’s no way she could be. She was your best friend who got everything she wanted and she never had acted this way before.

But what about Jeongin made her so uneasy? What couldn’t you see?

You looked over at the man in the driver's seat, admiring his profile and the way he drove one-handed. He felt you staring at him so he turned his head to meet your gaze. He flashed a toothy smile which made you smile in return.

Soon he parked out front of your apartment, getting out of the car to come over to open your door for you. You gave him a small thanks before walking to your front door, him tailing behind you.

Once inside you kicked off your heels, sighing at the relief of your feet being flat on the floor. Jeongin closed and locked the door behind himself the proceeded to shuck off his jacket and step out of his shoes. He had been inside your apartment a handful of times now and became accustomed to it. Everything from the decorations to the furniture to the smell was so you. It was like being in heaven for him. He lifted his head to a familiar cork sound popping open followed by the clinking of glasses. You were in the kitchen, pouring wine for the both of you.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” He leaned over the island watching you pour.

“Just because we left the party doesn’t mean I want to lose my buzz.”

“I think you’re more than buzzed, babe.” He laughed as you waved him off. You handed him his glass then walked over to the living room, plopping down on the couch, Jeongin joining you. You kicked your legs over onto his lap as your dress rode up your thighs. He tucked your legs tightly into him as he drew random shapes with his fingertips just above your knees. You turned on your TV and flicked through various channels before finally settling on a random rom-com movie. Both of you offering commentary or laughing when appropriate.

You hadn’t noticed how much the wine had affected you until a rather spicy scene played during the movie. Getting an idea, you set the empty glass on the table before maneuvering to straddle Jeongin’s lap. You giggled while leaning in and trailing kisses down his sharp jawline.

“What are you planning, Princess?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Shhh just relax,” you encouraged. With that he leaned his head back on the couch allowing you more access to his neck and jaw.

Jeongin absolutely loved the attention you gave him. Basking in it like his own reward for finding you.

You started to suck on the skin between his neck and shoulder, hoping to leave a mark. His hands wandered to your waist bringing you impossibly closer in his embrace. Jeongin groaned when you licked up from his throat to his lips and captured them in a kiss.

The kissing started off slow, innocent even before turning into a full on session of tongues and teeth. You bit his bottom lip gently pulling it to further tease him. His hands moved from their previous place on your waist down to the back of your thighs where the hem of your dress was caught. He pulled the dress further up until it was just under your abdomen leaving your black lace panties exposed. Jeongin then gripped your ass firmly, squeezing the flesh tightly in his hands. You disconnected from your heated makeout to let out a moan and grind your hips down on his growing bulge.

Jeongin hissed at the movement, but welcomed it nonetheless before catching your lips again and droving his tongue straight into your mouth to lick and suck at your own. Breathy moans continuously escaped your throat as you kept riding Jeongin over his pants. Your slick pooling through your panties and making a wet spot over the crotch of his jeans.

This was all so surreal. This was the first time either of you have taken it this far and it was definitely a welcome change to the typical makeout sessions you both shared. It made you want more of him. All of him.

Suddenly, you pulled away from the kiss and stopped your grinding to get off his lap. Jeongin looked breathless, dazed in the heat of the moment. His lips were swollen from all the kissing. You backed away making a ‘come here’ motion with your finger before turning and heading to your room. He grinned like the Cheshire cat and jumped up from the couch to follow you.

Even though, Jeongin had come over plenty of times by now this was his first time actually stepping foot into your room. Normally he’d look around to take in the sight of everything, but that was the last thing on his mind. There he saw you sitting on the edge of your bed with your legs crossed and that dreamy look in your eyes.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous..” he said barely above a whisper as he made his way over to you. He wasted no time in locking your lips again while pushing you to lay back on the bed. He pulled your left thigh to spread your legs and make room for himself to lay between them. Jeongin rolled his hips to press his clothed cock over your aching center, swallowing the moan you let out in the process. He didn’t want to get too carried away, but God did he want you. All of you.

Against his better judgment he let his body lead. Jeongin’s hands trailing up your sides and over your chest to palm your breasts over your dress. You arched your back slightly loving the feeling. He could feel your nipples harden through the fabric due to the absence of a bra. You secretly thanked the heavens that you didn’t need to wear one with this particular dress.

Not being able to take it anymore, Jeongin ripped the dress off of your form and threw it somewhere in the room to be forgotten. He immediately latched his mouth onto your left nipple while rolling and pinching the right between his fingers before switching sides.

“M-more, Innie, please.” You squeaked through your euphoric haze.

“Hm? Is my baby turning insatiable for me?” Jeongin teased while looking up at you. All you could do was whine and nod your head. You were desperate to feel his touch everywhere.

He leaned up again, getting close to your face as you felt one of his hands slither its way into your panties.

“Are you gonna be good for me, hm?” He asked then pressed an open mouth kiss to your lips.

“Uh huh, promise to be good.”

With your confirmation he spread your wet folds with his ring and pointer fingers while using his middle finger to glide from your clit down to your entrance. Jeongin just barely pushed into your pussy up to his first knuckle before pulling out again. Leaving you to clench around nothing. A pathetic whimper from you gracing his ears. He hushed you with another kiss before rubbing your clit in different ways, trying to find what you liked the most. You can’t lie, all of it felt good, but once he started circling your nub you let out a higher pitched moan than the rest.

“Oh yeah, like that? That’s a good girl letting me know just how to please you.” He cooed, continuing his circling movements on your clit for a bit longer then switched from his middle finger to his thumb so he could freely plunge two fingers inside of you. He pumped them slowly at first letting you get used to his slender digits before becoming a little rougher. Your body reacted to every little move he was doing to you, sending you into overdrive. It just felt so good to have him please you like his life depended on it. You could cum just from this, but he wasn’t done yet. Far from it. He pushed a third finger into you, pressing each one deeper than before and curving them upwards to reach that spongey spot within your core. The rings at the base of two of his fingers adding to the pleasure. The room was filled with the most disgustingly wet shlucking sounds from your pussy and your greedy moans. Your walls began to flutter around his fingers and a band felt like it was going to snap in your abdomen signaling that you were close.

“F-fuck, gonna cum…!” You squealed while your back arched higher off the bed. Jeongin placed his had that was still kneading your breast onto your neck and squeezed on either side.

“C’mon gimme that orgasm, baby,” The delicious pressure of him choking you sent you over the edge. Your eyes rolled back into your head as your body writhed from the force of your first release of the night.

“Mm so pretty when you cum for me,”he praised. You panted heavily, while Jeongin pulled his fingers from you and watched as your juices dripped from his digits down to his wrist. He brought his fingers to his mouth sucking them clean, moaning at the sweet taste of you. Now that he’s had a taste of you there was no going back.

After a few moments you had gotten your breathing mostly under control. Jeongin was still busy licking your cum from his fingers before you had roughly pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him once again.

“Wanna make you feel good too, Innie.” You whispered trailing kisses down his neck to his collarbone. His breathing hitched in his throat when you bit down on the flesh there. He looked down at you as you raised his shirt over his head. You admired his body while running a hand over his abs. He was so toned, you had no idea. You continued kissing down his chest and abs while your hands worked at undoing his jeans. You dipped your tongue into his belly button which sent a chill down his spine. Once, you finally got the zipper down you tugged off his pants and boxers in one go. His hard cock springing free and slapping against his stomach.

It looked heavy. Innie was well above average with equal parts length and girth. It even had a slight curve to the left. The tip of his cock was the same color as his lips and profusely leaking pre-cum. His dick was slightly darker than his skin tone around the base. Even his pubic hair was trimmed showing off his pretty smooth balls. You couldn’t help but marvel at the site of all of him exposed in front you.

“Like what you see?” He smirked with his hands behind his head. He knew damn well that he was good looking. This man was the definition of perfection.

“I more than like what I see,” you winked at him. His cock twitched at the thought of what that might mean.

You took Jeongin’s hard dick into your hand, swiping your thumb over his slit to collect the precum that beaded there. He sucked in a harsh breath at your movements watching you with eyes blown wide. You proceeded to spit on the tip letting it drip down the sides while stroking his shaft to make his cock slick. Brushing your hair out of your face, you leaned down pressing kisses all along the sides of it then licked from base to tip, following the vein on the underside of his dick. He reached a hand down to thread through your hair gently while you slowly took him into your mouth. You focused on licking and sucking the tip first, your tongue swirling around it as you hollowed your cheeks. You began bobbing your head back and forth making the grip he had in your hair tighten slightly. He was letting out deep groans that spurred you on, his symphony of noises being your encouragement. Soon, you added your hand back onto his shaft pumping whatever part of his dick you couldn’t fit in your mouth yet.

“Oh s-shit that feels good, princess.” He stammered. You looked up at him through your eyelashes to see his eyes squeezed shut, adam’s apple bobbing as he breathed heavily. You took that as an opportunity to push his cock deeper into your mouth, pushing him down your throat as you gagged helplessly around him. Tears welling up at your lash line as you closed your eyes for a second to focus on breathing through your nose before opening them again. Jeongin propped himself up on his elbow to watch you take him all the way in your mouth as his jaw went slack.

“Are you crying, baby? Fuck that’s so hot, crying while you’re choking on my cock like that.” He bit his bottom lip. You swear you could feel his cock twitch in your throat once he saw tears cascading down your cheeks.

He gathered your hair in a makeshift ponytail to keep you still before he started thrusting, face-fucking you. He thought the noises of you gagging and choking were so pretty, it only egged him on. You kept eye contact with him as he ravaged your throat mercilessly. Feeling drool dribbling from the corners of your mouth. More tears rolled down from your eyes. You moaned around his cock and the vibrations from that were all he needed to bust. He threw his head back with a long moan leaving his lips. Copious amounts of cum sliding easily down your throat. You swallowed all of it, not wanting to waste a single drop. You pulled your mouth off of his cock with an audible pop. Strings of saliva still connecting your mouth to his tip. He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip collecting some of the drool before bringing it up to his own mouth licking it off.

You don’t know why, but you blushed at the gesture. Of all the things you’ve done so far, this is when you decide to get shy?

Before you could get too lost in thought, Jeongin stood up from the bed and gently pushed up down on it. You landed with a slight bounce watching as the man approached you, still hard dick in hand.

“Turn over baby, I want that ass up for me.” He stated with a demanding tone in his voice. His eyes were dark with nothing but lust. You scrambled to fully kick off your soaked panties before switching to your front and propping yourself up on all fours. The bed dipped behind you as he kneeled into position. Your brain might have been buzzing from the heat of the moment and the alcohol from earlier but you still remembered to be safe.

“Umm, Innie. Can you put on a condom please?” You breathed out shyly.

“I don’t have one sweetheart… I’m sorry. I promise I’m clean.” He wouldn’t wear one anyway. Not with you, not when you were going to be his for the rest of your lives anyway.

“I’m clean too, but I’m not on birth control.”

Perfect. He thought to himself. Easier to trap you.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll pull out.” He lied, no he wouldn’t.

“Wait, I think I have one.” You leaned down over the side of your bed and pulled out a box that was tucked away. You opened the box and pulled out a condom, handing it back to your boyfriend. He took it from you with a tight-lipped smile. Jeongin waited for you to turn back around before pretending to open the condom. You got back into position and swayed your ass in front of him. God, you were going to be the death of him. After fumbling with the wrapper a couple more times to make it believable, he tossed the unused condom back behind your desk in the corner of your room. He made a mental note to go over to properly dispose of it later.

Jeongin grabbed his cock swiping the tip through your dripping wet slit a few times, teasing it at your entrance. He tapped his heavy cock over your pussy before lining up.

“You ready, Princess?” He asked, grabbing your hip with his free hand.

“Yes, Innie, please fuck me” You whined desperately.

Jeongin pressed his cock into your aching cunt only going in about halfway before stopping to let you adjust. He hissed through his teeth as your walls were clenching impossibly tight around him. You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan at the delicious stretch of his cock.

“Ah-hah, fuck baby you gotta relax a little bit, I don’t want to hurt you.” The hand that was on his cock reached in front of you to rub your clit in those slow circles he knew you liked.

“Nnng- so big…” you panted. He wasn’t even bottomed out in you yet and he could already tell your mind had gone euphoric.

After a couple more circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves your cunt relaxed a bit allowing him to move again. He slammed the rest of the way into your core figuring you had enough time to adjust. Your body jolted forward at the sudden intrusion, a scream threatening to rip from your throat. Jeongin granted you a few moments before he rolled his hips against your ass making his thick cock grind deeply into your warm pussy. You let out a string of angelic moans as he picked up the pace full on pumping his cock into you at this point. Your ass jiggled every time your bodies fully connected. The raunchy sounds of pure sex resounding off your walls.

“You like taking this cock don’t you, y/n?” He leaned down so he was whispering in your ear.

“Yes, fuck yes, love taking your cock!” You squeaked out as he landed a harsh smack on your ass. Jeongin pushed your front down to be flush with the pillows as he forcefully took both of your arms to pin your wrists behind your back making your arch deepen. The new position allowing him to fuck into your deeper, his cock repeatedly kissing your cervix. You bit down onto one of the pillows to try and somewhat quiet your moans so you wouldn’t get a noise complaint from your neighbors the next morning.

However, Jeongin had other ideas. He looked down to see where you two were connected. A creamy ring forming around the base of his cock from your cunt. His gaze then shifted to your other hole, it just begging for attention too. He gathered saliva in his mouth before spitting right on your puckered hole. This caused you to squeal in response. He let one of his hands go from your wrists as the other kept them in place on your lower back. His thumb rubbing in the makeshift lube before inserting it into your asshole. Jeongin felt your walls flutter around his cock as he pumped his thumb slowly.

“I know you like that, baby. Your body tells me. Fuck, such a dirty girl,” he sped up his thrusts to your pussy while hooking his thumb in place in your ass. You couldn’t deny it, you reveled in the feeling of Jeongin using both of your holes.

You let out a throaty moan as you felt that familiar feeling in your tummy building rapidly.

“J-Jeongin- cumming cumming!!” You screamed. One particularly harsh thrust had your legs shaking underneath you and your pussy clenching around his cock again.

“Mmf fuck yessss, cum for me,” the tightness enveloping his dick made his rhythm stutter spilling his hot seed deep into you.

If you hadn’t been so utterly fucked out you would have felt that his cum was filling you up.

Jeongin let go of your wrists completely and removed his thumb from your ass. Your legs finally giving out from under you making your body fall flat on the bed. Jeongin collapsed on top of you. Both of you trying hard to catch your breath. He moved before you did, removing his now softening cock from within you. His gaze stayed on your core for a bit to make sure you weren’t leaking any of his cum.

Hopefully this will take and she’ll get pregnant. He pondered.

After Jeongin was sure none was going to slip out he rubbed your back and shoulders.

“You did so well for me, y/n. Do you need anything, some water maybe?” He asked you in a warm voice. All you could do was nod.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He kissed your shoulder before getting off the bed and looking for his black boxers to put back on then walked out to the kitchen. You made your way to curl up under your blankets as your body cooled down. The exhaustion of everything finally hitting you. Jeongin returned with a glass full of water encouraging you to drink the whole thing. When you finished he crawled into bed behind you and pulled you close. Your body fitting perfectly in his hold. Before you knew it you had fallen asleep.

“You’re going to be mine forever. I’ll make sure of it.” He whispered, careful not to wake you.

A few weeks later you were late. At first you didn’t worry about it thinking your cycle was only changing like it did every once in a while. But being more than 10 days late was abnormal for you.

There’s no way I’m pregnant.

You panicked immediately going to a pharmacy and buying a pregnancy test. Once you returned home you took it, anxiously waiting for the results. Five minutes had passed and you looked at the test. It was a strong positive. The test dropped from your hands and at your feet on the floor. But how? You and Jeongin have always been diligent about using protection (or so you thought). You had even been in the process of getting a prescription for birth control.

How am I going to tell Innie? What will he think?

You still felt too young to have kids. Maybe you would eventually, but definitely not now. You simply weren’t ready. Jeongin was going to come over later after he got off work, you’d tell him then.

About six hours later there was a knock at your door. You already knew it was your boyfriend, he always knocked a certain way. You opened the door to reveal the bright smile he wore. He held up a bag of food signaling he brought dinner. Jeongin gave you a chaste kiss then made his way inside setting the food on the table.

“Umm, Innie. I have something to tell you.” Your nerves were starting to get the better of you. What if he thought you had cheated on him?

“What’s up baby? You okay?” He caught on to your avoidance to look him in the eye causing his brows to furrow. You made your way into the bathroom where you kept the pregnancy test on the counter. You walked back out simply handing him the test without another word. Jeongin took the stick from your hand with a confused look on his face. He didn’t know what the hell he was looking at.

“It’s a pregnancy test…” you whispered. He looked at you in shock before looking back down at the test figuring out that it was positive.

“My baby is having my baby?!” He sounded.. happy?

“You aren’t mad?” Now it was your turn to be confused. Jeongin picked you up in a hug and spun you around then set you back down.

“No, of course not. I’m ecstatic!” He exclaimed.

There were so many questions you still had but for now you decided to enjoy the moment with Jeongin. If he was this excited about it then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few months ago you were in a funk about not having someone special in your life, but now you couldn’t ask for anyone better to spend it with.

Jeongin had the most devilish smile on his face.

His plan worked perfectly. Now you’d really be his forever.

Do y'all think Innie would keep his socks on while fucking? It makes me laugh just thinking about it haha

Likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Taglist: @doitforbangchan

[ryuseiired]

"wait, why does jackalope say mikoto is at the top of murders?"

I've seen a lot of people confused about this so I thought I'd make a post on why I personally think this comment makes sense and isn't, like I've seen a few people get worried about, implying anything new or even especially large about his murder count.

My take, heavily influenced by this post, is that Mikoto has killed three people. The post referenced points out that MeMe shows three murder scenes with discrepancies– using the images they do as reference we can see two clear and notable differences in location, and one scene where the outfit has changed and lacks the hoodie.

(As a side note, if we take that post's proposal as to who committed which murders– one by Mikoto and two afterwards by John– I wonder if this shot from Double with two mannequins next to him implies John's actual kill count? Not particularly relevant to the overall point but I thought it was interesting.)

So... three total murders would technically mean the Kayano system meets the criteria of "three or more" murders to be a serial killer. But I don't actually think it's as bad as a lot of people assumed from Jackalope's words. He's not a super prolific serial killer or anything, only just barely meeting the criteria. Three isn't that big a number in the grand scheme of things, it's just that it's large enough to put him at the top of MILGRAM.

Most other prisoners only have one victim. Haruka, excluding what's implied regarding animal death, appears to only have one human victim, that being the little girl who appears in his MVs. Meanwhile Fuuta, Muu, Mahiru, Kazui, and Amane all have made it pretty clear at this point that they have singular victims– Killcheroy, Rei, Mahiru's boyfriend, Hinako, and Amane's mother, respectively.

This leaves only a few others with unclear victim counts.

Yuno isn't clear on how many abortions she's had, only states that it's her crime and that it was the result of "lots of sugar-daddying". Whether or not she actually got pregnant and had an abortion more than once over the course of the compensated dating is left uncertain. She could be among the prisoners with one murder, or could have multiple.

Kotoko could either have one kill or two kills depending on what you believe about Deep Cover. If I remember right the guy she beats up in the alleyway during Harrow doesn't die, we only see a news article saying he's been hospitalized? I can't find the source on where I saw this though so take it with a grain of salt. The fact she did kill the guy in the hoodie, Kaneshiro, is indisputable.

The question becomes, if she was tried and found innocent for it already before being put in Milgram, was that really all she's in for? Most of Deep Cover takes place afterwards. Either believing the theory that she indirectly or accidentally got Lucky killed, or simply using the circumstantial evidence that it seemed like she was going to hunt down someone else towards the end of the MV and the prisoner card doesn't look like the warehouse she killed Kaneshiro in, I personally believe Kotoko has two victims.

Nobody seems to really know how many people Shidou killed, but it's also pretty heavily suggested that it's a lot, judging by how many people and/or organ donor cards we see in Throw Down and Triage. He is usually assumed to have the most murders out of anyone in Milgram, which I personally agree with.

This leaves us with a kill count ranking that looks something like:

Shidou (many, many victims)

Mikoto (three victims)

Kotoko/Yuno? (one or two victims?)

Everyone Else (one victim)

This puts Mikoto, assumedly with three kills, at the second-highest kill count in Milgram, but Jackalope isn't implying an unreasonably high number by pointing out how far up he is. Nothing more than what was already shown to us in MeMe, anyway.

And while I can't speak on this. the exact wording Jackalope uses in Japanese may not imply he has the most or is at the top anyway, just near it. Which would be consistent with him having second most!

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

IX. I'm the well they're gonna drag you down.

parts: previously / next plot: and they were rooommates. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, mentions of blood and stitches and drugs and alcohol, this chapter is fluffier because reader deserves a break, reader and bruce discussing their one-night stands, bruce thinks he's funny but he just can't hide how much he likes you okay, jealousy thy name is "disturbed". words: 6.9k. a/n: shoutout to allnurses.com contributing to at least 8 hours of research on how medications are stored in hospitals for one scene. any nurses in chat please do not stone me, I took creative liberties. also, in case there is any confusion, this chapter and the vignette take place all in (mostly) the same day.

The car gets about halfway down the street before Bruce observes out loud, "Something's bothering you."

You're clean and changed, but your hands are shoved between your thighs as you try to control their shake. Knowing what you know now, you have no reason to keep this from him. He is, by all means, the one person you should tell.

But you struggle to work up the courage without a mask looking back at you. The character of Batman you'd created in your head clashes violently with the character of Bruce. You'd written your own Jekyll and Hyde and tripped yourself up in the final act when it turned out they were one and the same, "You have a lot on your plate right now."

"So do you."

You resist the urge to grit your teeth, "It's about Judith."

Bruce thinks for a moment, "The old lady who doesn't like me."

"The very same. I... wasn't there for her last night, when I should have been. She was mugged on her way home."

Bruce doesn't make a big show of a reaction, though you notice he sits straighter, taking a break from gazing out of the window to glance at you every once in a while, "Is she badly hurt?"

"It could've been worse but... she's more shaken up than she wants me to believe."

"And her family?"

"Murdered." Bruce's car rolls by a street corner where a young mother wrangles her child back from the crosswalk, "I tried to convince her to have one of the deacons from church ride home with her from now on but she wouldn't listen. She doesn't want to be babied." Her stubbornness isn't at all unfamiliar.

"Did she see who did it?"

"She said some guys at the liquor store down the way. They hang out there every night," your eyes trail from the window down to the floor before finding Bruce's face. His profile is sharp and clean, the dark neck of his sweater stops just before the hair at his nape begins to cluster. Your eyes follow the bridge of his nose and it mirrors Batman's profile, a mix of pointed and blunt edges, "There's a... an heirloom in her purse. A lighter. She keeps it with her all the time. Her husband had it on him when he... well, he had an awful habit. She'd really like it back."

Bruce turns his head to you and you steel yourself. In the bright early morning, he is annoyingly resplendent. In the unfair way that all pretty people tended to be. It feels wrong to be asking him this. This is a stranger. You're begging for help from a stranger. You force down the sickness rising in your belly, "Please, will you-"

"I'll take care of it." He answers and it is final. He seemed to have made up his mind before you'd even asked.

The resolve in him is enough to slow your shake to nothing. There's a part of you that still doesn't quite believe what you'd seen last night, and so the certainty of Judith's well-being does not deluge you. It trickles down, dripping over your eyelashes, sprinkling off your fingertips.

You let yourself get caught up in his eyes the way you used to. You let the familiarity of them ground you and, though not with a sweeping acceptance, sigh in relief.

It's a small win in the grand scheme of steaming hot bullshit going on in your life.

You’ve taken things from General for Bruce’s sake before. Bandages and needles and disinfectants. This, however… this was a schedule II drug that could land you in prison if you got caught with it. And you were going to walk out of here with it like you were none the wiser.

A hand on your elbow forces you to slow down, drawing you back to your companion’s side. You don’t need to hear it so he doesn’t say it, but you’re embarrassed anyway. How Bruce maintains himself is enviable. “You’re a good actor.” Bruce peeks at you as you guide him through the first floor, “The thing with Gordon. You took it on the chin like a champ. You turned into a whole new person.”

“I avoid implicating myself when I can.”

“The party too. You diffused the tension, like, perfectly.”

Bruce hovers beside you as you call the elevator, a few patients and nurses lingering further behind. You can feel him probing your words for your natural line of thinking, “Couldn’t pull one over on you, though.”

No, you think, you just creeped me out while every bat-shaped clue flew right under my nose.

The elevator door slides open and the two of you squeeze into the back as the rest file in. You find yourself in a corner, braced against Bruce’s side as his hand reaches around your back to hold the railing. One of the nurses catches sight of him and swoons, the other trying (and failing) to look uninterested.

“Coming to see the new wing?” The swooning nurse asks, turning around to grin at Bruce. “Sounds like it’s coming along great. They make lots of helpful noise all day long.”

Bruce laughs good-naturedly, “Hopefully it’ll make up for all the trouble once it’s finished.”

The “uninterested” nurse nods, eyes frantically flashing from Bruce’s eyes to the floor and back over and over, “For sure! It’s really great you give back to General like this. Your dad would be proud.”

His face has no distinct reaction to it, nothing immediately telling that that comment hit too close to home. He smiles as he always does and thanks them as he always should do, and as they get off on the second floor, it’s just you two and an old man waiting for the next stop.

Bruce, to you, had long lived in his father’s shadow. The great Thomas Wayne who, despite his briefly smeared reputation, had been the face of the Wayne family for you. Even the some-twenty years after his passing had yet to shake that image from your brain.

It was his father’s legacy he was tending to here. All of the good and ugly that came with it. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d heard his father would be proud. Did it comfort him? Frustrate him? Did he do this to make his father proud, or because it was expected of him?

Before the flood, you’d heard gossip about Wayne Enterprises going under, the reclusive in the tower giving no sign if he was alive or dead. Knowing what you know now, you wonder how much he truly wants to be a Wayne… with all the baggage that comes with it.

He’s wound tight. You can feel him against you.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you find his hand on the railing beside you and cover It with your own. He’s shocked, judging by the way he jolts under your touch for a second. You think you’ve overstepped but when you go to apologize, he is already staring wide-eyed at you. Like when you’d caught him on the stairs.

The tension is still there, and his face has fallen in its warmth and friendliness. His hand had only partially slipped out from underneath yours, but as the seconds pass you feel it rest once more, not bothering to shake you away any further.

You both force yourselves to stare ahead until the elevator dings to let you out, but through the reflection on the door, Bruce is still looking at you.

You break first, distracting you both this time as you walk out, “You kept hitting me with your knee.”

Bruce, in a daze, asks, “What?”

“At the party. While me and Roberts were arguing, you’d nudge me with your knee like it was an accident.”

Bruce seems to remember who he is and where you are, because he quickly gets back to himself, “Guess I’m not that good of an actor.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I knew where the conversation was going. I could feel you thinking.”

You remembered holding your breath as the mayor prepared herself for confrontation back then, “And the second time?”

“I was trying not to laugh.”

You flush. You’d been so impassioned that night, defending your hero who, unbeknownst to you at the time, was hiding a snicker behind his glass. You feared you’d be remembering a lot of moments like that over the next few days.

As soon as you both get into your office, you shut the door behind you, “I need you to wait here for me.” Bruce’s face tightens, “Don’t… argue. They keep extra vials of the antivenom down in the ER. I can grab one from the med room, but I can’t have you following me down there. It’s off limits for anyone without ID, let alone a patient and a donor.”

Bruce doesn’t look comfortable. Since last night, you hadn’t been anywhere Bruce or your police detail couldn’t follow. You hadn’t even been allowed to enter your apartment until the latter had deemed the place safe. A med room not much bigger than your office—locked behind an ID scanner—posed less of a threat than your two-bedroom ten minutes away.

But it was two stories down, and anything could happen in the time you were away from Bruce.

You can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think up some plan that allowed him to remain by your side. You have to restrain yourself from feeling… flattered.

Flattery turns to bewilderment as Bruce reaches into his pocket and drops something into your hand. It’s a gadget the size of an AirPods case, shining in the light of the fluorescents. It looked perfectly unassuming and hid—lightweight as it was—a marvel of expensive technology. You could tell just by looking at it. “The hell is this?”

“It’s an EMP generator. Put it in your pocket and I can disable any communications within your vicinity, including cameras.”

“Okay, no. This is a hospital, and I’d be going into the ER with this thing. That’s too dangerous.”

Bruce looks offended. You can practically hear him say “You don’t think I’ve thought of that?” with his eyes. He silently holds his phone up to your face and you shouldn’t be as shocked as you are that it’s got live camera feed of the entire hospital. “I can control the radius. You said you trust me. So trust me.”

You swallow back your retort. You did say you were going to trust him on this. Whether or not it would be your doom had yet to be seen. You nod once, dropping the device in your pocket. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”

Bruce’s lips purse together. He still doesn’t look settled with letting you go alone, but he has very little room to argue, “Ten minutes.”

You don’t waste time. You skip the elevator for the emergency stairwell, taking two steps at a time until you’re back on the first floor and walking to the ER. The med room at the very end of the hall would—if you were lucky—be as empty as the waiting room. All you needed to do was get in, grab what you needed and very quickly get the hell out of there. Without raising suspicion. You can feel the phantom pull of Bruce’s hand on your arm, begging you to slow down before you draw unwanted attention.

You round the corner to the med room, scan your ID, and head in.

The two nurses waiting inside greet you, analyzing you curiously, “Hey doc, need something?”

Words rattle in your brain like a d20 on a deception roll. You pray for something good, “I just wanted to grab some meds for my patient.”

One nurse sits at a computer, head titled in confusion, “Did you put in a prescription? You could’ve sent a nurse to grab it for you.”

Your eye catches the camera on the ceiling, its dark glass glinting at you, mocking you. A scrying glass recording your every move. And Bruce on the other side of it, hopefully buying you an alibi. “It’s a… special case. My patient needs it soon, so I thought I’d speed up the process and grab it myself.” You force a lightness into your tone, trying your best to appear apologetic and not at all suspicious.

The nurse hums. Then, she jabs the pen she’d holding over her shoulder, “Cart’s over there. Help yourself.”

You maneuver through the shelves separating either half of the room, keeping your head straight and eyes from wandering.

Your biggest hurdle was at the back of the room.

It’s a clunky cabinet on wheels with a monitor on top and an ID scanner on the side. In one of its many drawers, your golden ticket awaited, but these things kept logs of who checked out what, and if someone were to go through them later and find out you’d stolen a highly addictive drug without prescription…

You swallow. The generator in your pocket suddenly hangs heavy against your thigh. You glance at your phone for the time and note that four minutes have passed. You need to move quickly.

You approach the cart, fingers twitching at your sides, and right as you step up to the monitor, it flickers and goes dark. You give the power button a push for good measure but nothing happens.

Well, not nothing. You hear the cart drawers all click at once, like they’d unlocked by themselves. Tentatively, you try the top drawer and it slides out without issue. Glancing behind you, you check to make sure no nurses have wandered over, but you are the only one on this side of the room.

Your fingers drift down to the right drawer next and that one slips open too—by the grace of some god—and there you see it. It has an alien glow to it, a more subdued blue to its adversary’s green. The top of the tray holding the vials pops open with just as much ease as the drawer, allowing you to sneak one into your pocket. You shut the drawers, slowly backing away from the cart, but the monitor does not turn back on.

“What? This thing too?” You’re startled when the nurse from before suddenly jogs up from behind you, grumbling under her breath as she smacks the monitor.

You rush to cover, “It just went kaput on me.”

“Yeah, so did mine.” She maneuvers around the shelves and back to her desk where you see the other nurse at the desk scratching his head. Their monitor is glitching, having some gory digital stroke, “Here. You can sign out what you take for now and I’ll bother IT about this.”

You write down “Ibuprofen” and your name next to it, “Never seen that happen before.”

“Yeah. Thing froze up on me a minute ago. Guessing around the same time this thing died on you.”

Your stomach is still nervously fluttering, but you do feel a little smug. “Weird.” You hand her back the clipboard and go to grab a bottle out of a different drawer. “Good luck.”

You try not to sprint past the nurses as they fuss with the computer. You’re out and back upstairs before your ten minutes are up.

Bruce is sat leisurely on your couch, no doubt watching you scurry into the office on his phone. He looks from the pill bottle in your hand and back to you.

You toss the bottle into his lap, plopping down on the couch beside him. He frowns at the label. “For you,” you poke his injured leg and his eyes follow your every movement, “you’re favoring the other leg today.”

He can’t bring himself to deny that, even if the look he gives you from beneath his eyelashes says otherwise. You flash the antivenom at him as a peace offering. “How’d I look?”

His gaze flutters slowly from the vial to you before he shows you his phone. The screen is a recording of the medication room. It shows you greeting the nurses, walking up to the med cart, and then… nothing. Black screen for forty-five seconds. When it flickers back on, you're signing the clipboard and walking away. Your body sags into the couch with relief.

“You did good.” Bruce praises you.

“I thought I was going to go into cardiac arrest.”

“There are worse places to do it.” You look at him and he’s smiling just a little. You’re aware, though, that he’s aware of the toll this has taken on you. He takes the vial out of your hands and puts it in his own pocket, holding his hand out to you. “We should get going.”

Bruce follows dutifully behind you as you lead him back down to the first floor. You feel much better than when you'd arrived, but your heart stutters each time a security guard passes you by. Years ago, stealing and getting away with it was second nature to you. You were also arrogant back then, uncaring of what happened to you. How quickly the tides had changed.

You feel Bruce nudge you with his arm. He isn't looking at you, but you know what he's trying to tell you: you've got a few more hallways to turn down before the exit. You just have to-

Someone calls your name.

You spin around, nerves electrified, only to find Em running to catch up with you, "What are you doing back at work already? Is your arm okay?"

The adrenaline rush had done wonders for your pain tolerance. You didn't even think about it until she brought it up, "I'm fine, it's fine. It's-" You go to rush out some sort of explanation but at that moment, Bruce turns around.

You can see the moment of impact across Em's face as soon as she realizes who you're with, her back straightening and hand pressing down flyaways. In an instant, she has forgotten all about you. For better or for worse. She rubs her palm on her leg before holding it out to shake his hand, "Mr. Wayne! Hi! I'm surprised to see you here." Her eyes are twinkling, "Everything alright?"

"Just some leg pain, nothing painkiller can't fix." He flashes the pill bottle for good measure. You're honestly impressed he admitted to being in pain at all, "It's good to see you again, Dr. Madison."

Em's face droops into a frown, "Well, you look fantastic, but you've got a mirror," she pats your arm, "and I'm sure you're being well taken care of."

"Only by the best."

You smile (borderline pleadingly), preparing to dismiss yourselves while you still have your wits about you, but then Em asks Bruce a question and, to your surprise, Bruce is happy to entertain her.

It strikes you that you had landed in your situation with no prior interest in who Bruce was, and it shows in how you barely keep up with the topic of conversation.

It's like watching a tennis match between the two. The topic in Em's court, then Bruce's, then Em's, back and forth without issue. No awkward pauses or uncomfortable looks. She recalls details about him out of thin air, your knowledge in comparison merely fringes of what Em knew.

The longer it goes on, the more it weighs on you that aside from the strange man who'd circled around you like a frightened kitten, you really didn't know anything about Bruce.

You knew Batman. You felt you knew him. Even when his identity was still a secret, you had felt comfortable with him. Vulnerable, even. He'd let you touch him in your home, fixing him up and helping you with this mess and... outside of that, what did you really know?

You feel an odd twist in your chest.

Em's voice floats back in, disrupting your retrospection, "I've always wanted to go to Italy. You must get so sick of these places after having been so many times."

"They still have their magic," Bruce grins, "but I don't like being far from home."

"Really? You could go anywhere in the world and you'd still miss Gotham?" Em's tone is teasing, but curious. Something flickers in her eyes as if she'd just remembered something.

Bruce takes in the hallway, chest swelling with pride, "Lots of things to miss about it."

"Name one."

Bruce's eyes cut to the side as he thinks, "The noise."

"You can get noise anywhere. LA, Chicago-"

"It's special here."

"No, try again."

His smile turns sheepish, "The rain."

"Now you're lying. Come on, pretty boy. I know you've got something. Penthouse, nightlife- heck, I'd even understand the freaks and clowns giving everyone PTSD."

Bruce exhales, purses his lips. His eyes flit around the white walls, "Okay. I'd miss you."

What the hell?

You straighten up. The absurdity (blatant sweet-talk) of the line shouldn't work—seriously, it wouldn't work on you—but Em goes pink in the cheeks. A strand of dark hair falls from her bun and frames her smile just so, "Well," she snorts, "aren't you just a flirt?"

To your utter dismay, they are both eating this up. "You light up the room, Dr. Madison. Your patients are very lucky."

"My patients are usually seven and way more interested in the candy I bring them."

"Candy?" Bruce finally looks at you, all humor and charm, "I never get candy. I just get yelled at."

Something in you is disturbed when Em grabs onto Bruce's arm, hanging off him as she pouts at you, "Oh! You're heartless!"

"Very much so." Bruce is somber.

"I don't-" Your voice comes out strained, a little too defensive right off the bat, "I don't yell." But you'd gotten close, and you got closer everyday, "But if I did, you'd deserve it."

Bruce is amused. You watch as he pretends to cower into Em, even as he dwarfs her in size. They start joking back and forth, more teases at your expense, and you notice that the persona he puts on around others is practically nonexistent here. You'd watched it dissolve within minutes. It's refreshing, you realize, that he seems to really be enjoying himself right now.

You catch Bruce insisting that he ought to get going, sharing pleasantries and desires to visit once more. Em looks genuinely saddened to let him go. The second Bruce's back turns, Em reaches out and squeezes your hand, whispering, "Please tell me he's single."

You fluster. You imagine yourself in the car ride back to the tower asking Bruce what he thinks about Em, offering to exchange numbers between them, and you're disturbed again.

Twenty-four hours ago, you would've been warning her to run for the hills. Twenty-four hours ago, he was only Bruce Wayne. Now he was Batman and all that came with it and, well... once upon a time, you would've wanted nothing more than for Bruce Wayne to sweep Em off her feet. Batman had always been more your style.

Then, you realize, you don't actually know the answer to her question.

Em looks expectant. You shrug. She exaggerates her disappointment but releases you all the same, "Keep me posted."

"I'm comparing the samples from the crime scene to the antivenom. I should have something in a few hours." Bruce taps the antivenom vial, watching the remaining blue liquid slosh against the glass, before handing it off to Alfred.

You're mesmerized by this backyard (or, more aptly put, garage) chemistry lab. Beakers and flasks spread out on the long table as you watch from a stool a few feet away, "How'd you get so good at this?"

"College," after a few seconds of silence from you, he adds on begrudgingly, "I started messing around with stuff down here when I was 13."

"You had all this when you were 13?"

"Some of it, whatever I could get my hands on. I liked to see how things worked."

You have a unique opportunity to learn about Bruce here, so you take it with both hands, "You majored in chem, then."

"And biology, and physics."

Your eyes blow wide. "You had three majors?"

"I bounced from one to another, sometimes double majored if I liked the professors. I followed my interests and they took me everywhere," Bruce picks up the venom test tube, little drops of green pooling at the bottom of the glass, "I've enrolled in more universities than I have degrees."

Your eye twitches, just a little annoyed, "Must've been nice going wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted."

Bruce senses your tone of voice. He peers at you from the side, elbows resting on the table, "I spent a lot of time away from home. It must've been enough because I don't miss it."

"You said the same thing to Em earlier." You recall.

"I didn't think about it as much while I was gone, but when I came home for good... I just couldn't imagine myself leaving like that again."

"He barely liked boarding school," Alfred chimes in from the other side of the room, lazily reading a book at Bruce's desk. Boarding school was posh. You imagined little Bruce in a school uniform like the British boys in movies, "I should bring out the scrapbooks once we have a moment."

Bruce sets the test tube back on its rack with a bit of aggression, "Thank you, Alfred. You can go now."

Alfred chortles. He skims one more page of his book and then shoves it under his arm on the way back up. The elevator clinks and rattles up the tower until it stops some sixty stories up.

It's quiet now. You sort of appreciate the silence- the relative silence. There is the steady drip, drip, drip coming from here and there in the cave. The whirring of the machines, the humming of the lights, the very faint sound of a news anchor forecasting snowy skies this weekend. Bruce's breathing.

It's harder to hear unless you focus on it. His mountainous build hunched over the table—staring into the venom as it stares back—rises and falls in slow rhythm. You watch him being and it captivates you. For the umpteenth time since last night, you are struck with the reminder that this was Batman. In all his broody glory, an arm's length away from you, about a hundred feet under the city.

It's funny; you paid so little attention to the man before, and now you wanted to take him apart and examine his terrible insides. You have accidentally become obsessed with the man.

"I want to take you to Blackgate."

"Sorry?"

"Lucien is there," the name makes your blood run cold, "he was with the Vipers the longest. He could answer a few things for us."

You do your best not to immediately say no. Not because you think he'll force you, but because you know—somehow—that he won't, "What about Detective Gordon? Shouldn't that be his job?"

"I think he'll talk to you." Bruce turns slowly until his back is pressed against the desk, arms crossed over his chest and pulling his shirt completely taut. "He knows you."

You hadn't seen Lucien since the night Alex died. For once, you're kind of grateful Bruce can read you. He turns fully toward you, "I can go alone."

"You just said you think he'll talk to me."

"I can make him talk." His head droops a little to meet your eyes, expression impossibly understanding. You have no doubt he can. Your throat feels like it's on the verge of closing up. Somehow, sending Bruce alone to handle him felt worse.

"But you think I can..." You have to pause to force in a breath, feeling yourself go lightheaded, "You think I can get more out of him." Bruce doesn't respond to that. He's still watching you like you might start stress-sobbing. "Okay."

"You sure?"

"Mm."

Bruce calls your name. You'd been tracing the lines of his arms with your eyes to distract yourself, not processing how much closer he'd gotten until you feel his breath against your eyelashes.

His arms are uncrossed now, one hand pressing into the table beside you, the other hovering by his hip. His fingers twitch. Does he want to touch you? You were about to go three for three with the crying in his arms thing.

You force yourself off the stool and the speed at which you stand gives Bruce very little time to react. Your chest bumps against him, but you're already slipping behind him, "Lemme see your stitches," you rasp, hand ghosting over his shoulder, "need to... redress them, probably."

Bruce tries looking over his shoulder at you but you hide behind him and after a moment, he relents. His shoulders drop in defeat. You watch him drag your stool into the light and sit.

The dismal mood did you a favor. He looked like he'd be submissive today.

You're halfway through clearing away his dried blood when you ask, "Are you single?"

Bruce's shoulder jolts just the tiniest bit, almost driving your finger into the stitch. "What?"

"Em asked," you quickly explain, "and I realized I didn't know."

You don't know exactly what he's thinking, but his answer is as straightforward as you could hope for, "Yes."

"Oh."

"You sound surprised."

"I mean... I sort of assumed..." What did you assume, exactly? You couldn't see him with a long term partner, definitely not like this, but the idea that there wasn't anybody didn't sit right with you, "no flings? Situationships, even?"

"Why? Is Dr. Madison interested?"

Your jaw clenches. You force the muscles in your face to relax, "I just don't want any secret lovers of yours adding me to their shitlist if I go through with your plan. I can't stress how little I want to fake-fight over you right now."

Bruce huffs. You finish cleaning around his wound when he pipes up again, "I had something... someone. It didn't last."

"Oh. Are you... tender about it?"

"Not anymore. I don't have time for that kind of thing anyway."

He says it like it doesn't bother him, but in the way someone might brush off a scrape on the knee or a paper cut. Like it stung, but you had to be a big boy about it. The pain would go away eventually.

You press new gauze over the stitches, taping it down as gently as you could, "I assumed someone like you would have a whole lot of someones, a revolving door even," your eyes flit over his other bruises and healed cuts, "I never made time for relationships either. I was kind of just going through the motions."

"No one interested you?" Bruce rolls his shoulders once you peel away from him. He doesn't look at you when he asks that.

"Just... childish crushes here and there. Sometimes I'd let someone take me home..." Your voice catches in your throat for a moment. You recall a stamped down memory, one of you standing blindfolded in your apartment imagining the Batman with his mouth on your throat. That wasn't very long ago. Your breath shudders as you fit Bruce into the memory instead. You don't... know how to feel about it.

"Never back to yours? And here I thought Judith was just hard on me." You belatedly register Bruce standing, rolling his shirt up his arms before pulling the neck over his hair. His question hangs lightheartedly.

Your shoulders sag, "You're not gonna believe me if I tell you I was paranoid about letting one-night stands into my home."

"Why? 'Cause you let me in?"

The back of your neck grows hot. "What about you? You ever bring yours back to the cave?"

After he's done tucking his shirt into his pants, Bruce shakes his head at you, "No. Just you."

That was the second time he'd said that to you. You were starting to feel special.

You step out of the shower and you think, almost as soon as your foot touches heated floors, that you really despise Bruce Wayne.

The towels are warm too, waiting for you as you preen yourself in the mirror, a clean you staring back. You kept your toiletries bag on the bathroom counter, afraid to unpack anything as you rustled around for deodorant. It was massive and quiet. The water pressure alone had you swearing at the marble lining of the shower.

Bruce eventually lured you downstairs with the promise of making dinner. Alfred was skeptical, but had backed off and allowed Bruce full range of the kitchen, still possessed by his book next to the fire.

He'd asked you what you had the stomach for. Eventually he was copying something out of a celebrity recipe book with you beside him.

You argued that he hadn't really made you dinner given that you had helped him do half of everything, but it was his ingredients and it was his kitchen and the food tasted good so you didn't argue long.

After Alfred offered his stamp of approval, he'd retired for the night and left you and Bruce in the kitchen to clean up. Bruce had left the pots and pans to you when you proved too nervous to handle the porcelain, "Alfred won't kill you if it breaks."

"Alfred would kill me for less, I think."

Bruce gives a short laugh, drying off the last pot. He's pouring you a glass of the wine you'd opened last night when you slide his little gadget across the counter, "I forgot to give that back to you." You swirl your glass, admiring the color as Bruce packs away the leftovers. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself with Em earlier."

"I was. Your friend is funny."

"I... also noticed something you said. When she asked you what you would miss about Gotham, you mentioned the noise and the rain. Would you really miss all that?"

Bruce glances at you, popping a top onto a glass bowl, "Of course. It's part of what makes the city."

Your eyes narrow, searching for the lie, but there isn't one. He's being sincere. "Is that why you became Batman? Because you love this city that much?"

You can feel the mood getting doused with ice water. It forces you upright in your chair, makes your hand clench around the stem of your glass. Anyone with eyes could tell you'd just touched a nerve.

But he answers you, intense as it comes out, "I hated it." The loathing is a mere shell of what it used to be, you can tell, "I hated what it took from me." His eyes cast down to the countertop. "At first, I was aimless. Everyone was worried about the future of the company but Alfred and I were just trying to make it through the day. Over the years, I boiled up with this... restlessness. I still didn’t know where I was going but I was full of something for once. I studied, I traveled, I learned from all manner of teacher. And when I came home, I was... determined."

His words sit heavily on you. You can see flecks of that restlessness in his eyes, the slight tremble of his hands as he rests them against the countertop. "Why a bat?" You whisper.

"They're what I feared the most."

Past tense. "Feared?"

"I got over it. I won't let them close enough to bite, but..." The humor in his voice breaks the intensity of his expression.

You mull that over, "You became what you feared to strike fear."

"Not anymore," his head shakes, "fear is a tool, but... there's enough fear in this city. I wasn't making a change, I was making it worse."

You remembered the first time you'd ever heard of the Batman. Back then, he was just "Vengeance". In the grand scheme of fucked up things this city had to offer, someone running around dressed as a bat didn't register as abnormal. Another Tuesday, maybe. You awaited what they'd say about his crimes: a mugger beaten and strung up on the street, a gang felled and dropped at the GCPD's door. You remembered something stirring in you when he put away the Joker.

"I remember when you became a hero. Like really, to everyone. When you took shape… they were flying in people. I was rushing in patients while you stood on top of the Garden and pulled people out of the flood. I hadn’t felt hope like that since… yeah."

Your admission moves something in Bruce. His eyes find yours, "I was just doing what you'd been doing for years."

"But I never left that hospital. You transcend boroughs, the gangs, everything. I used to think you couldn’t possibly be one guy. I still can’t believe it. How are you not dead on your feet by now?" Bruce smiles knowingly at you and you feel yourself flush, "Besides that. You’ve been doing this for longer than I've been around to patch you up."

"That would be Alfred."

"You should tell him, you know. That you appreciate him. I think he'd like to hear how much he means to you more often." Bruce's eyes soften. He doesn't debate you. "Anyway. How's that sedative going?"

"I'll take another look before I leave tonight."

Oh, yeah. This guy is Batman.

You don't know when next you'll get this chance, "Can I ask a favor? Can I... watch you put it on?" Bruce wobbles to the side, genuinely confused. "The suit?"

He examines you, mouth almost curling up into a shocked smile. He hadn't expected you to ask that, that's for sure. "All of it?"

You grip your glass so hard you think it might shatter, "No." And then, when he has the audacity to snicker, "Asshole."

He stays true to your request.

You watch with your back pressed up against the wall. His under suit hangs undone at his hips while he leans over his desk, digging his fingers into a can of black paint. He uses the reflection of his computer screen to smear it over his eyelids and under his eyelashes until the white skin beneath disappears.

Next is zipping up the under suit. You barely resist rushing over to hold his bandage steady as the suit catches on it, but he manages to get it up and over without pulling it off. Then come the plates of armor. Each piece clips into place, clinging to his waist and chest and arms. You've seen it up close enough times to know the quality of it, a wonder how he'd gotten his hands on that kind of stuff until now.

You don't ask him to, but when it's time to put his cowl on, he turns sideways so you can see.

His gloved hand combs through his hair, pushing back the longer strands so he could fit the cowl over it.

It's kind of embarrassing how it takes your breath away. Bruce had quite literally transformed before your eyes, and now there was no denying it.

Bruce stands still as your eyes bore into him.

After a few seconds of admiring every piece of the suit, your eyes flit up to his face. He's not looking at you, almost shy. Apart from Alfred and, perhaps, his someone, Bruce has probably never put on the suit in front of anyone else. Is it weird you missed seeing him shy? "It fits perfectly." Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Of course it does. You know it's dumb to say. Bruce doesn't say that, though.

He waits a beat before turning away from you, his cape sending a breeze of cool air up against your legs. His car awaits on the train tracks, headlights beaming into the near endless darkness as he approaches and you follow.

The car thrums eagerly with life at the push of a button, sending vibrations through the ground, all the way up to the ceiling where you hear a sudden flurry of wings and chirping. Bowing your head close to Bruce, you watch about a hundred bats scurry about above you, disturbed by the sudden rumble of the engine. Bruce holds his cape over your shoulder, though none of the bats fly low enough to concern him. "They don't freak you out a little bit?"

"They haven't bothered me."

"Well, when you dress like them I guess they get confused."

"I'll be back before sunrise," Bruce promises, "and I'll look into Judith for you. Maybe you should... call first."

You're tickled by the discomfort he's so desperately trying to hide, "Scared of a little old lady?"

He pointedly ignores you. You step back as he throws open the door and settles into his car, but before he can pull off into the darkness, you shout his name to get his attention over the roaring engine, "Hey! Be safe."

Bruce looks at you and... you don't know what he's thinking, only that the muscles in his jaw relax a bit. Was he used to that? Did Alfred often stand on the cold, empty train tracks before every patrol and wish him luck on another night of beating criminals to a pulp? Was he used to the worrying? Annoyed by it, even?

He doesn't say anything. The car leaves in a spray of dust and you hide your face in your shirt to shield yourself from it. By the time the dust settles, you can only see two red lights blurring into the distance.

[aurae-rori]

AVENTURINE TRAILER ANALYSIS - THE GOLDEN TOUCH

SPOILERS FOR 2.1 CONTENT & AVENTURINE’S TRAILER! 

TW FOR VERY VAGUE SUICIDE MENTIONS. 

Hey girlies, hold still. On another note, hello again! I will be going through visual analysis, symbolism, and talking about how this trailer ties multiple aspects of Aventurine’s character together. Some of the things covered here I will be covering in my full analysis of Aventurine himself, so feel free to give that a shot. 

My disclaimer! Although I have been researching psychology personally for about six years, I am NOT a professional. (Yet. When I do, Tumblr Will Know.) Any conclusions I come to are because of my own deductions, personal interpretations, analysis, and logic. You are free to disagree with what I say! 

I also do NOT know card numbers and symbols – what they mean and symbolize and all that jazz. Sorry guys. :( 

Now, let’s get into it. 

First of all, let’s fucking go, let this man ENJOY himself (well. A little. This trailer is not as happy silly as it seems, just like the character himself.) He gets to have a silly boogie woogie! Look at you go!! (He is not boogie woogie-ing.)

Second of all, time for game theories.  

The first scene is really pretty. It’s a coin falling down, toppling against a few stray objects before we flash to the next panel, the ground, as it rolls to the feet of a young boy. Gently, he reaches down, before picking it up, and then, in true Aventurine fashion, proceeds to flip the coin in his hand. However, this gesture actually holds more meaning than I originally thought it did. The coin that Aventurine has seems to transcend his definition of ‘time’ – his inherent ‘value’, or his ‘roots’, never changing. It also shows his connection to his younger self – how he’s still holding onto that child, still connecting to that child, and showing that this child is still a part of him, even if it’s only his past self. 

I believe that the coin that he always has flipping around actually represents Aventurine himself – it represents his ‘value’ as a gambling chip. In Aventurine’s eyes, interpersonal relationships are just like that – they are gambles, where people take advantage of one another and backstab each other. However, it also represents how little he seems to care for his own life – he tosses the coin around, does tricks with it, and is overly flamboyant – just like how he presents himself to the outside world. This single gambling chip is actually the presentation of how Aventurine sees himself and presents himself to everyone else, as well as encompasses his worldview – bet himself, going ‘all in’ with his own worth, or doing nothing. That worth has been with him his entire life – the worth of being a child blessed by a God from his home, being blessed with good fortune. 

Also, sick ass transition. Love that shit. 

Pay attention to the next scene – there’s a brief moment where it shows him walking through a hallway… through the lens of a camera. This could definitely be alluding to the idea of always being watched – I mean, he’s the last of his own race, of course there’s going to be eyes on him. People are going to be asking questions - how is he still alive? Why is he with the IPC? Can he be trusted, considering his race was known for scheming and plotting? 

And then, he tosses open the door in a grand display – a grand display of his fake persona. He opens the room to a whole bunch of robots, who are all gambling, and they stare at him in surprise. That’s Aventurine – flamboyant, showy, confident. He holds a captive audience and all of the others move to the side as he strides towards the slots machine – and as predicted, due to his good luck, he gets three in a row. However, what I think is important to note is that he slides his coin into the machine – and remember what I said about the coin representing his worth? This is what I mean by he bets himself. He is just another gambling chip that he will use to achieve victory no matter what. He is another pawn on the table who has made his way this far, and it’s all or nothing – his whole worth, or not worth the gamble at all. 

Also, at 0:42, we see a briefcase open up to reveal a gem – definitely a callback to the 2.1 trailblaze quest with his moment with Ratio. Damn, gay people. 

Then, after that, he slides many chips towards the table – and interestingly enough, they’re all copies of his one singular chip. This, your honour, is what we call a ‘bluff’. Pretending to be more than you are in order to appear more confident so that your enemies will fear you. Pretty good strategy, honestly. 

Also, cool editing with the machines falling into the Void of Cards. Maybe symbolism for how people fall into his persona easily and fall for his schemes? 

Epic ahh pose, 0:54. Love that for you, my silly homosexual lad. 

Also, him in the elevator going to the top at around 1:02? That means more than you think it does. Probably most likely a representation of how he had to crawl his way from the bottom to the top, and yet, now, it’s showing that he is at the top now. He takes an elevator instead of having to climb – he’s gotten higher, he’s gotten more status. His ‘all or nothing’ mentality pays off. 

And then, he’s set into an arena. Representation of life, honestly. His whole life is a stage, a play, something to be watched. He’s here to put on a good show. He’s being watched, which is a callback to my note about the camera at the start. 

Then, the horrors are set loose. He does his gambling stuff with the cup in his hand while he dodges the monsters. That’s him, alright – taking gambles in dangerous situations, relying on his luck, smiling through what should be terrifying. 

“The wager will be life and death,” but oh, that’s your usual wager, Aventurine. We all know how you have self-destructive tendencies. 

1:42. Hand behind his back. Oh lord, we all died. We all know what the hand behind his back means. We all know how much emotional damage that caused. 

1:46. The dice cracks. Just like his cornerstone, eh? Just like his façade, right…? :) 

And then, everything is drowned in gold coins. Yay! 

And then, he’s standing on a ledge. Possibly a callback to how he said that he had “tested death” in the dreamscape. What better way to test it than jumping? 

And then his enemies are drowning in coins. Probably a metaphor for his win against them. 

And then, here is where things get interesting at the two minute mark. He tosses his coin down, again, like at the beginning of the trailer. Kakvasha flipped the coin up, trying to get higher, and then, Aventurine tosses the coin down, keeping his connection with his younger self. It falls down to the ground, and Kakavasha picks it up with awe in his eyes. He’s still keeping in mind his younger self, still keeping him with him, even to this day. Holding onto his past like a lifeline. 

Aventurine’s trailer… while it does seem on the surface that you’re having fun, you’re really not, when everything is a show and a gamble, right? 

Alright, thanks for reading, everyone! :) 

[lovemyromance]

Do ... do people not understand that the "classic" SJM love interest switch up is already happening... ?

Anti-Elriels love to make the argument that SJM never has a FMC end up with her first love interest (false: see Nesta & Cassian, see Bryce & Hunt) and therefore Elriel is not endgame.

Except. Y'all are failing to realize that Elain's "First Love Interest" isn't Azriel.

Some people would say it was Greyson. She loved that man. Enough to still hold out hope that he might want her even after she became fae. She wore his ring even after she was Made, and she wanted nothing to do with her mate because she wanted her human fiancée.

Now personally, I liken Elain's love for Greyson to be the same type of off-page relationship/love that Bryce had for Connor (rip). Like yes it's there, it was valid, but in the grand scheme of things, it's not really a focus moving forward.

Elain's actual "first love interest" is Lucien. And I know you might be scoffing - "But all you do is post about how Elucien isn't in love!" - correct. They are not in love. I don't believe they will ever fall in love. But I still believe Lucien is her "first love interest" because in the context of this argument specifically, "first love interests" are used as a bait and switch. They are one, among several options available to the FMC as she goes on her journey.

Elain may not love Lucien, but his mating bond with her is essentially the thing that creates drama-tension-intrigue. It becomes a "Will they or won't they" situation with the mating bond in play, and regardless of their current feelings for each other, it automatically makes Lucien a love interest for Elain. By that - I really just mean he is an option. Whether she likes it or not - he has a tie to her that she will have to either accept or reject.

And since Lucien declared "You're my mate" the moment Elain got chucked out of the Cauldron - he became a love interest in her story. The first (real option, since Greyson took himself out the competition of vying for her hand).

Elriel only became a real ship in ACCOWAR. Yes they have some subtle moments in ACOMAF that were cute (see: Azriel Allen Poe), but the first real time I thought they could be a thing was in ACOWAR. After Elain was declared to already have a mate.

You know what that creates? Say it with me now- Drama. Tension. Intrigue.

Elain is already technically tied to Lucien, regardless of whether either one of them wants that. But she still starts to develop feels for Azriel. She buys Azriel gifts for Solstice. She gives him permission to kiss her.

The switch is already happening people. The idea of a rejected mating bond is so original and contrarian and so new, it is exactly what SJM needs. And she knows that - because she's out here writing about how the mating bond can be rejected as early as ACOWAR. She's out here having multiple characters question the cauldron, essentially questioning fate. She's out here on the Today show talking about rejected mates.

Literally, verbatim saying "What if the forces put you with the wrong person?"

The "wrong person" here isn't Azriel. Elriel is not just an obstacle on the path to Elucien. It's the other way around, babes. If Elriel was simply just an obstacle, then Lucien would have received a POV, he would've been way more involved as the future MMC. But who is SJM choosing to spotlight? Azriel. He got the BC, he got the feature in CC3. And if you think this is SJM "just planning ahead" LOL. She's not planning ahead and building hype for the MMC two books in advance when she hasn't even tackled the next book yet.

However you look at it, the fates put Elain with Lucien, but she does not want him. Her defying fate to be with Azriel is the most badass thing anyone could do. But I'd expect nothing less from Elain 'Kingslayer' Archeron 💅🏽💅🏽

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Separation Part 2

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~3.8k

Summary: Picks up where the first part left off.

A/N: I was going to post something fluffy, but then I re-read the first part and decided I was a little mean with the cliffhanger. So here you go. Enjoy 😉

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, stalking, and divorce.

On your third morning staying with Nat and Yelena, you find yourself sitting alone at the coffee table staring off into space. You’ve been doing this a lot lately. No matter where you were, you were usually lost in thought about the events of the past week. You went to work yesterday because it was Friday and you had to, but today you plan to figure out your next move.

You probably should have considered this sooner, but you’d been distracted. Being with your friends was something that you hadn’t realized you’d missed as much as you did until you were here. They still worked during the day, but at night when they came home, you’d usually share a meal and maybe a movie while catching up on your days.

They both made sure to leave Wanda out of anything they talked about which you weren’t sure you were grateful for anymore. You had been wrestling with your guilt and hurt, but you were afraid that your guilt was winning out. You hated to think that Wanda was as miserable as you were right now, despite the fact that she made you feel horrible. You wanted to be angry with her, at least a part of you did, but the majority of you felt guilty for dragging out this miserable time in limbo for both of you. 

You sigh as you look to your bare hand with a frown. You haven’t worn your rings for the past few day. You had hoped that it would make you feel better, maybe less married, but it only made you feel worse. You had foolishly believed that taking them off would help distract you from your relationship. Instead, you just thought of the drawer that you’ve hidden them in every time you’ve looked at your hand.

You take a sip of the lukewarm coffee with a grimace before turning your attention to your dog. Boone’s adjusted so well to having his life turned upside down. You feel bad for taking him from his home with no explanation, or no plan in mind. You don’t think he minds too much because he can be with you most of the day, but you can’t help but think that he must be confused. 

He must miss Wanda. 

You know that you do. 

You briefly wonder what Wanda has been up to for the past few days, but you quickly shake your head in defeat. Thinking about her right now won’t help you make a decision that’s best for you. No matter how selfish it feels, you need to think about yourself for once. You can’t be influenced by Wanda right now. 

Wanda Maximoff had only been married for less than a year. She realizes that it isn’t that much time in the grand scheme of things, but this reassurance does nothing to keep her from feeling heartbroken about your absence. She’s decided to assume the worst at this point because she couldn’t convince herself that you would come back to her. The idea of you leaving her for good has left her feeling lost. She’s listless and only doing any work that’s put directly in front of her. Even then, she hands it to her brother to look over because she can’t trust her judgment right now. 

She had never expected anything like this to happen. After you’d gotten married, she hadn’t given much thought to you leaving her. You were both so happy, if a little stressed at times about her job, but you never fought like this. You had never left her for even a night, so your absence now, no matter how short, felt significant.

She realizes that she’s been shortsighted, and all of her anxieties about you leaving her had transferred from you walking out on her, to you being taken from her. That made her more vigilant and paranoid, if that’s even possible, and it’s certainly put a strain on you both. 

Wanda hadn’t imagined how she’d react to you walking out on her. She hadn’t imagined that she’d say something cruel to you and send you packing. Although she wasn’t handling it well at all, she was almost surprised that she’d only had a single drink with her brother that first night. Since then she hadn’t thought about drinking herself into a stupor despite how appealing the idea of numbing herself seemed.

She just wanted you to come back. 

Wanda lowers her head to the desk in front of her and buries her face in her arms with a sigh. She closes her eyes and tries to will away her stress headache. She had tried to convince herself that you’re gone for good because that’s what she feels like she deserves, but it’s not working. She can still feel herself holding out hope to hear from you again even though she knows that it may not be anytime soon. She certainly can’t expect any favors from you. 

She sits up slowly, as if rising from a deep sleep before she glances at her left hand. She can feel herself tearing up as she remembers the morning you gave her the ring on her finger. She’d been shocked but deeply touched by the thought you put into your proposal. She’d realized a long time ago that she loved you, but in that moment when you looked at her with so much adoration and hope, she’d realized that you really were it for her.

She wipes the tears from her ears just as she hears a knock followed by her brother’s voice. She resists the urge to curse before she tries to appear like she’s more put together than she truly is. Or at least not close to falling apart.

Yelena holds back a sigh as she unlocks her apartment later that night. You’d been staying with them for 3 days, and despite how much she likes having you around, this isn’t what she expected. She hates to see you so lost and uncertain, but she doesn’t know how to help you. She wishes she’d given Wanda a piece of her mind when she’d seen her yesterday, but she’d chosen to ignore her instead. She figured chewing out your wife wasn’t going to make anything about this easier. 

As she opens the door and is immediately greeted by two dogs, she forces a smile as she scratches them both. She’s not sure how you’re dealing with everything that’s happened to you. Although she’s sure you’re mostly focused on your marriage, it can’t be easy knowing that someone had tried to kill you because they blamed you for a family member’s death. No matter how far in the past it was, she’s sure you’re recalling every interaction you ever had with him. Yelena worried that you were carrying too much guilt, but when she’d tried to talk to you about it, you’d basically brushed her off. 

She figures that if she’s going to help you get through this, she needs to focus on what your next steps are. As much as she wouldn’t mind you moving in with her, she doesn’t want you to be miserable. 

She finds you napping on the couch and she figures you’d passed out there after making dinner. She still feels the heat of the oven as she walks back to the kitchen to fix you both a plate. She can’t be sure since she hasn’t been home most of the day, but she wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t eating much. This was never a good sign. She wishes Natasha wasn’t busy tonight. She was always better when it came to having serious conversations. 

As Yelena walks around the dogs who are waiting patiently for their own dinner, she reminds herself that she’s at least grateful to have food as a buffer. 

You wake up to the smell of something that makes your stomach rumble irritably. You hadn’t eaten lunch and other than your cup of coffee and toast, you don’t think you’ve eaten today. You quickly try to push down your nausea as you sit up and look around for the source of the food. You don’t remember cooking, but then you see Yelena sitting at the table across the room with two plates and a questioning look. 

“Hungry?” 

You stand up and make your way over to the table, stopping to pet your dog before dropping into your chair. You nod and offer a small smile before glancing at the clock. It’s nearly 7 so you figure it’s just you and Yelena tonight. 

“How was work?”

Yelena considers her answer for a beat longer than normal before she shrugs and decides to be honest. She hadn’t had too much to do today, but she sensed that you needed time alone, so she hung out with Kate for most of the afternoon. 

“It wasn’t too busy. There’s not much going on at the moment.” 

You try to read between the lines, but you’re too hungry for that level of critical thinking. You take a couple of bites before you consider what you want to ask next. You feel pressured to give everyone an answer about what you’re going to do. You feel that they deserve a decision since they’re either waiting around for you to tell them if you’re divorcing them, or they’re letting you stay with them indefinitely. You feel yourself sweat merely at the thought of having to make such an important decision, but you can’t help it. 

You’ve taken three days to think about what Wanda said to you. You thought about how shitty it made you feel and how you questioned if she even loved you. Now, over 72 hours later, you think you finally have an answer to at least one question. 

“Did you…did you see Wanda at all?” 

Yelena’s surprised that you asked this, but she doesn’t have to think about her answer very long. She hasn’t seen Wanda around in the past few days. Honestly no one but Pietro had dared to seek her out. Yelena figures she’s locked herself away for the unforeseeable future. She never realized how similar you two were until these past few days. 

“No. I think Pietro’s the only one who’s seen her.” 

This makes your chest tighten with guilt and you have to stop yourself from considering what this could mean. Is Wanda working herself to death? Or is she not working at all? It’s hard to know, and you won’t find out unless you ask. That said, you’re not sure you want to know the answer. 

Yelena watches as you sigh heavily and drop your fork with a frown. She tries to predict what you’re going to say next, but you’re uncharacteristically hard to read as you stare blankly at the candle in the middle of the table.

“I don’t know what to do, Yelena. No matter how I look at it, I just—I can’t figure it out.” 

Yelena decides to abandon her plan to discuss this over dinner, and she pushes her chair back so she can stand. She moves to the chair beside you so you don’t feel like you’re being interrogated as she tries to get more information. She’s pretty sure you’re talking about Wanda, but she doesn’t want to put her foot in her mouth until she’s sure. 

“Look at what, Y/n?” 

You don’t respond immediately as you think about your wife’s cruel words in contrast to her actions of the past few years. You know that Wanda’s anxiety can get the best of her, and sometimes your attempts to help aren’t well received. That said, you’ve always believed that even during an argument, you’d never say something you didn’t mean. At least on some level. Either Wanda had been trying to hurt you, or she’d been voicing her insecurities about how your slightly different relationship has put you at higher risk. It didn’t really matter honestly because the end result was the same. 

Wanda had made you feel unwanted, unloved, and foolish. You had never imagined that Wanda would change her mind about being married to you. You thought that she understood the risks long before she walked down the aisle, but maybe you were wrong. You remember telling Wanda once, after a close call one night, that you’d be willing to learn how to fire a gun. You’d been willing to do whatever Wanda wanted you to in order for her to feel more confident in your ability to protect yourself. She just wanted you to be safe, and you realized now that doing just the bare minimum may not be enough. 

Then again, if you knew your wife which you liked to think you did, at least until this happened, you aren’t sure that anything you do will ever be enough. Her job put her at risk of being targeted daily, and anyone who associated with her was also at risk. Regardless of this making sense, you’d found it hard to reconcile the fact that people truly cared about you enough to come after you. Even though it had happened a few times, it was only recently that you’d realized it wasn’t about you. It was about Wanda, and until she wasn’t at the center of her criminal empire, you both would be at risk. 

You shake your head before you can contemplate the myriad of ways you could be targeted. You lean against your friend who immediately puts an arm around you. 

“If I stay with Wanda, as long as she’s working, something like this could happen again. We could end up in the exact same place, if not worse. No matter what I do, I can’t offset the risks associated with her job.” 

Yelena doesn’t want to tell you that you’re absolutely right, but luckily, she doesn’t have to. You’re too smart for your own good sometimes. 

You sigh in frustration at yourself and your damn stubborn wife before you say what you’d decided only really a few hours after crashing at your friends’ place. 

“So now I Just have to decide if I risk a shitshow like this again, or if dare ask Wanda to give up her job.” 

You frown at the mere thought because although you’re not saying it, both you and Yelena understand. 

You’re going to stay married and face the highs and lows associated with that, or you’re going to break up because you already know that Wanda won’t just quit. 

Now all that’s left is for you to make a decision. 

It takes two days for Wanda to go home. She’d been camping out in her old rooms at the compound because she couldn’t face going home to an empty house. It wasn’t until Monday evening that her brother practically kicked her out and told her to take tomorrow off. She hated the idea of just sitting around and thinking, but she’d been too tired to argue. She still wasn’t sure if she was going to do as he asked when she arrived home, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

Wanda arrives to a dark house and she almost turns around until she realizes how long of a drive she’d be in for. Instead she pulls into the garage and trudges reluctantly into the house. It’s as quiet as she thought it would be, and she simply stands with her back against the door for a few minutes as she takes in the silence. She hates herself for causing this. For speaking to you the way she did, and for being the reason you were targeted in the first place.

Eventually she walks over to the kitchen and turns on the light. She loses track of time as she stands against the counter trying to figure out what to do next. She’s not hungry, but she knows she’ll regret going to bed without eating. She can’t force herself to think about food; however, so she just stands in the kitchen until the urge to do something strikes. 

This doesn’t come until nearly 20 minutes later when she’s surprised by the sound of the doorbell. It takes her a few seconds to process the sound and then she’s reaching for her phone to see if anyone’s mentioned coming over. She frowns when the most recent message is from her brother nearly 30 minutes ago. 

Someone’s going to come visit you soon.

Wanda frowns at the cryptic message, but given that this person is not likely to try and rob her she heads for the front door with a sigh. She wonders what Steve or Bucky might want, but she doesn’t get very far. She’s too tired to think and she just switches on the outside lights before opening the door.

Wanda notices Boone first because it’s hard not to when he’s sitting with his nose mere inches from the door. His furry face appears through the threshold almost before the door’s completely opened and Wanda jumps in surprise. He leans further inside and rubs his head on her leg with a loud whine. Wanda’s too shocked to pet him, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he runs past her into the house. 

It’s not until he’s left that Wanda realizes that you’re standing much farther back at the top of the stairs with an unreadable expression. She feels equal parts dread and excitement at seeing you, and she has to stop herself from asking a dozen questions. 

“Hi Wands.” 

You had second guessed your decision to come home like this several times before you and Boone left, and then a few times on the way here. You should have waited until tomorrow, but Pietro had told you that he had ordered Wanda to go home, and you figured this was your best shot of talking with her. You made sure that Pietro told her to expect you so she wasn’t surprised, but looking at her now, you wonder if he bothered. 

You offer a small smile and that seems to kick Wanda’s brain back into gear and she’s dropping her hand from the door and moving aside with a dazed look. 

“Y/n. Hi. Come in. Come in.” 

You mutter a thanks under your breath, despite how strange it feels to be invited into your own house. You shove your hands into your pockets as you take a few steps inside before turning back to Wanda after she’s shut the door. You don’t really want to do this here, but you’re afraid that if you go in any further, you might not leave. 

“Can we talk?” 

The words send a shiver up Wanda’s spine, but she doesn’t hesitate to nod. She’s only wanted you to talk to her for close to a week. 

You were going to just have this uncomfortable conversation in the middle of the foyer, but then you look at Wanda again and frown. You probably should have called ahead because she looks exhausted and you aren’t sure you’ll have her full attention unless you let her sit down. You nod toward the living room and lead the way with a sigh. 

“Let’s sit. I’m sure you’ve had a long day.” 

You wait until she’s sitting on the couch across from you before you try to figure out what to say first. You allow yourself the short distraction of petting Boone when he comes up to you, but you know that you’ve dragged this out long enough. Too long honestly. 

“I think we’re both exhausted, so I’ll make this quick, okay?” 

Wanda doesn’t like the sound of this at all, so she says nothing, but you take her silence as acceptance. She feels her stress start to climb with each word you say, but she waits patiently for you finish. 

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I know that you love me. I’d like to think that you wouldn’t have married me otherwise, but that doesn’t mean we both don’t have our doubts. Maybe not about being married specifically, but assuming the risk associated with it. Risk that granted, you understand a lot more than I do.”

Wanda tries not to look like she’s in anguish as you stop to figure out how to be as honest as possible, but not as cruel as you’d like to be. 

“I realize that fear is likely the reason why you said what you did, but even so it made me realize that we’re not on the same page.” 

You try to get a read on Wanda, but even as tired as she is, she hides her thoughts well. You figure it’s for the best because you didn’t want her to sway your decision. You take a deep breath before you stand up and move to sit beside Wanda. There are at least a few feet between you, but you felt the need to be closer for what you say next. 

“I need you to know that I will do everything I can to be with you for as long as possible. I know we can’t eliminate every risk, but if the alternative is not getting to be with you at all, I’ll deal. We both will.” 

Wanda’s too nervous to breathe or even move as she waits for you to continue. She’s afraid that any wrong move and she’ll realize that she’s hallucinated all of this and that she’s still in her house alone. She doesn’t realize that her fears are simply getting the best of her again until you move a little closer and reach out for her hand. 

“In return, I need you to do something for me. I need you to have faith, to trust that everything will work out. And if you can’t please talk to me about it. We can’t keep fighting about this Wanda.”

Wanda’s crying at this point, but she doesn’t even bother to wipe her tears away as she watches you dig into your pocket and take out your rings. She’s still wearing hers, and she can’t pretend that the absence of yours doesn’t make her feel disconsolate. 

You place them in her palm with a sigh and close her fingers around them with a small smile. 

“I want you to hold onto these for me. After only a few days of pretending to not be married to you, I already want to put them back on, but I need to wait until I no longer have doubts about what you said.”

Wanda feels her tears start to fall faster as the familiar feeling of shame washes over her at the reminder of what she said to you. You don’t look mad though and that’s the only thing that keeps her from stuttering out a rambling apology. You seem hopeful and your smile is enough for her to feel the same way. You will both come back from this. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Wands, but can you do that for me?” 

Despite knowing that she’d agree to nearly anything that you asked of her right now, she hesitates for a moment as she squeezes the rings in her palm. She takes a deep breath before nodding in agreement. When she watches your smile widen, she feels hope bloom in her chest.

“Yes. I-I can do that.” 

Masterlist

[stayandot8]

Defrost

Genre: angsty mess

Relationship type: idol!chan x reader

Important Contents: Thank you Jellybean. I hope this lives up to it. It's short but...eh...

WC: 1.5k

Part Two l masterlist

This apartment had dropped ten degrees since he left. No matter how much I turned up the thermostat, it was always freezing. The winter months had been the hardest, when no amount of layers would help. Bundled in several coats all day long and curling up on my couch with a hot mug was starting to become a habit, the norm. The frost of the previous night was slowly but surely starting to melt from the early spring sun.

Christmas time had been the worst. My family asked every question that was certain to rip my heart out all over again. A slew of ‘where’s Chris?’ or ‘when is Chan getting here? I’m excited to meet him’ everywhere I turned, impossible to escape. My mother had to intervene, the angel that she was. I couldn’t bring myself to answer their attacks, knowing no answer would suffice. I didn’t even have one myself, not really.

That night was a bur. All I could remember was my emotions taking control of my brain and my mouth. A flash of you’re home late again and I didn’t realize I had to answer to you and words coming out faster than either of us could think first about the repercussions, all things neither of us meant. Bitter tones, angry words, and a slammed door later, I told him I needed space. I didn’t mean months, but months I was given all the same. And then, he stopped completely. That was when I missed him the most. But by the time his calls and texts had faded, I was too late. 

So now I was alone. Alone to face every holiday family gathering, every unbearable question, alone to fix this vice grip on everything good. Nothing helped. Not the condolence texts from his friends that had become like family while I was so far from mine. Eventually they stopped too, to be ignored at the bottom of my contact list. Sometimes I thought I missed them more than I missed him, but then I would find something of his left over in my pantry or bathroom and that thought would disappear faster than it came. 

Today was no different than the past several months. Mug in hand and staring at the several books on my coffee table that I had started and left unfinished while trying to sleep. I couldn’t bring myself to pick one up, my favorite glaring at me from the center of it all. The comfort of the familiar pages was doing nothing for me. Nothing that used to bring me comfort from that time in my life, the need to find other things just another pressing matter to go to the top of the list.

Another thing to add, another day to get through, another passing hour to fill with menial tasks that mean nothing in the grand scheme of the pit that had become my life. Each day was the same, any day I wasn’t working was just looking forward to the next time I went in for something to fill my mind with. I believed the thoughts of him would die down eventually after all this time but they only dulled in how vivid they came back. Now they were just getting blurrier and fuzzier, details not coming in their entirety until I slept and my subconscious snuck them into my dreams. Then they came back in full force. 

What I wasn’t expecting was a text from Hyunjin with a video attached. 

Hyunjin: This is how it’s been. Please come home. We miss you.

The video was from a lower vantage point, clearly taken without the subject’s knowledge. The subject being my ex boyfriend, sitting at his desk at their studio and seemingly looking at the screen but not moving. His back was to the video so his face was hidden underneath the shadow of his hood pulled up. 

“Chan-hyung?” A voice called from behind the camera. The hooded boy didn’t move, still staring at the screen. “Channie-hyung?” A few seconds passed, the image still the same, then the video ended and the picture of my ex was still on my palm-sized screen. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It was the first time I’d seen him since he left. It was like I was still there, in his presence. I was sure if I just reached out, I could touch his shoulder and he would smile at me, like nothing had happened. Everything would be fine.

I couldn’t bring myself to click out of the video, so I just continued to stare until the screen became a blur and my cheeks were wet. I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, but as with everything lately, I was wrong. I hugged my phone to my chest and curled up against my couch pillow until I drifted off, chased by dreams of when my life was simpler, everything felt right, and I was in love.

*

My love was waiting for me, standing with his hands in his pockets, swaying to some song playing in his head and watching the people go by. His denim outfit was unusual but a welcome change to his wardrobe. The boardwalk was loud tonight, a carnival happening around me as I walked to him. The lights are bright and chatter even louder. Children walking around with cotton candy and all kinds of fried foods. I would have to convince him to try one with me, which wouldn’t take much. He always listened to me when it counted. 

He was looking around expectantly. He had his closed-lipped smile on and his eyes were shining, from the reflection of the lights or something else that made my feet so light I was surprised I was still walking on the old wood. He was waiting for me, I just knew it. He was right there in front of me. If I could just get to him…

But the closer I got, the more he stayed at the same distance. Still waiting, still eager. I was walking, I knew it, but my feet weren’t moving. I looked down to see my feet now having some sort of gravitational pull of their own. I was lifting with all of my might, baffled by how this force had suddenly come to be, but it was no use. I glanced up to find him to call his name, somehow get his attention. But he was no longer leaning against the railing where I had spotted him. No, I thought. Not again. 

I open my mouth to call his name but no sound comes out. My throat is empty of words, empty of air. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

My voice is lost. I am helpless. He is gone.

*

When my eyes finally cracked open, the tears I had cried in my subconscious broke the barrier into the real world. The trail of dried tears now made wet again. It was one thing to cry in my dreams, or nightmares, but for them to cross over and be made real…

I sat up, the moonlight now peering through my blinds. My empty cup sat on the table, as lonely as I felt. I was tired. I was so, so tired. Tired of being alone, tired of running from something I wanted. I wanted him back. I needed him. I couldn’t deny it anymore. 

But it had been so long. Would he want to talk to me after all this time? Would he even have my number still? Was he trying to move one, but was unsuccessful?

Like me?

I moved my feet in the ground, finding a solid footing and relieved to feel no extra pull on them . It had been such a vivid dream, the beginning looking so familiar. One of our better days, that carnival was so fun. We both had eaten so much funnel cake that we got sick when we got home. Whether it was that or the four rides we went on after that, I didn’t know, but it was the first time I had the opportunity to take care of him for once. He didn’t let me very often, but seeing him lying on the bathroom tile awakened something in me that I couldn’t ignore. After that, I took any chance I could to do for him what he did for everyone else. 

I missed that. 

There wasn’t much else to do now. I could either stay in this place of severe depth, or do the one thing I knew would fix it. One of two things would happen: he would answer or he wouldn’t. I would have my answer either way.

I felt that familiar pull of gravity. Not on my feet but on my arms. And in the other direction. Before I could think too much, they were bringing the phone to my ear. It rang and rang and rang, going to voicemail eventually. I waited until the beep and said the only thing that came to mind. 

“I miss you.”

And that was it. I hung up and left my phone on the table, going to my room where I could pretend I didn’t just do what I did. I ended up leaving it there all night long, trying to ignore it and drowning out my thoughts with mindless television and movies of peoples’ lives that felt much less complicated than mine. 

*

Chan: I miss you too. 

[givemea-dam-break]

Hey!! I saw you opened up requests for Lockwood&Co and I was wondering if you could writte some Anthony Lockwood x reader, maybe with the prompt 8 from the fluff prompt list, thankss

a/n: yes of course! i tried just about a million different courses of action for this, simply because i didn't want it to be too similar to other amazing fics out there, so i hope you enjoy!

prompt: "if you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to have to kiss you." warnings: mild language, teenage awkwardness lol gn reader

As an agent, it's not very often you get the chance to relax. Most of your time is spent fighting ghosts or researching the next case, or even simply just sleeping, so you never really get time for much else, but today is different, and you couldn't be more relieved.

The most recent case Lockwood and Co have been hired for is a simpler one, one that Lucy and George opted to go on by themselves. Nothing more than a Type One, so it meant Lockwood - the face of the business - could get some actual owner work done.

Currently, he's sitting below in the basement, filling out the last few cases into the casebook, while you clean the house.

It's something you've been meaning to do for a little while now but never had the opportunity to get around to doing because of all of the cases going on. And, though most of the time cleaning was the last thing you wanted to do, there's solitude in washing the dishes and ironing the clothes. Maybe it's the fact that your friends will come home to a clean house with fresh clothes to change into after their second night working in a row. Maybe it's the way it occupies your mind, pushing all other thoughts to the side.

You've been thinking a little too much lately, mostly about things that shouldn't have been a problem or don't really matter in the grand scheme of things, but, no matter what you do, one thought always remains: Anthony Lockwood.

After working at Lockwood and Co for about a year now, it's safe to say that you've grown close to each of the members. George, you bond with over a love of knowledge, an itch to know more about things that have been pawned over since before you were even born. Lucy, well, the two of you share a room, so it would be awkward not to be close. You've found yourself lying awake together countless nights, discussing the past and your interests and everything under the sun.

But Lockwood...

He was the one to show you around London just after being hired and confused as to the layout of the city you had only just moved to. He was who you felt safest with on cases, who you fell back on when things were going wrong. Some part of you feels connected to him in a way you weren't with Lucy and George, like a little part of your soul has become bound to his and won't be separated.

There's no way of knowing if he feels the same or if he looks at you the way you look at him, and it's easier to believe that he doesn't. For your own sanity, it's much simpler to bury the feelings that plague you whenever you look at him, or when his fingers brush yours ever so slightly when you hand him a cup of tea in the morning.

Because, why would he feel the same?

You're not inherently special, not in the way that Lucy is by being able to communicate with ghosts, nor do you have the incredible research skills of George. Your talent for Touch is your only redeeming factor, but even that is nothing much beyond holding an object and watching your surroundings fade away into scenes of the past. Much good it does you when a ghost creeps up on you.

"Tea?"

You shriek, jumping and almost dropping the iron on your foot in the process. Turning, you come face to face with Lockwood, who stands in the living room doorway, holding two mugs of steaming hot tea.

"Lockwood!" you say. "Don't do that! I almost had a heart attack."

"Apologies," he says, but he doesn't seem awfully apologetic. "Anyways, do you want some tea? I did make two mugs, and you know how pissy George gets if we waste teabags -"

"Of course I'll have tea," you grumble, placing the iron down and folding the shirt laid across the ironing board. You become acutely aware of whose exactly it is. "Uh, just put it on the table, for now, please. I'll be done in a minute."

Lockwood smiles that dazzling smile of his, and your knees feel a little weak, but you force the feeling down.

It takes only a few minutes to finish up with the ironing, and you move to flatten the board to stash away, but a calloused hand closes over yours, and a tall figure towers beside you. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you dread to know how red you've become.

"Let me," Lockwood says. "Drink your tea before it goes cold."

You want to argue, but there's a glint in his eye and you know you'll never win, so you relent. With a grin of triumph, Lockwood's hand slips from yours and he nudges you over to the sofa. You sink onto the seat with a sigh, unaware until now of how much your back has been aching.

Upon sipping your tea, you pause.

"Is it alright?" Lockwood asks, sitting on the armchair just off to the side. "You've got a really particular way of making your tea -"

"It's perfect," you say, smiling. "I thought we'd run out of chamomile tea bags, though. George forgot to buy some on his last trip to Arif's."

Lockwood sips his tea, but there's something a little strange about his posture. "Yeah, we did run out. I nipped out earlier and got some."

You frown. "You didn't just go out to get me these tea bags, did you?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, smiling. "You've been stressed lately, and I know it helps calm your nerves a little, so it was no big deal."

Something in your chest gives a little flutter at that. Not only does he know your habits in trying to relax, but he also went out with the sole purpose of achieving that. You hold the mug close to your chest, looking away from Lockwood to hide the heat that's risen to your cheeks.

His presence alone is soothing, comforting in the sense that you know you're safe whenever he's around. It's cheesy, and you feel stupid for even thinking like that, but you know it to be true. There's no one else you'd rather have sitting with you.

"You get the casebook done, then?" you ask, keeping your eyes focused on the window ahead, the light from ghost lamps outside peeking in through the gaps in the curtains.

"Just about. Figured you'd need a brew and some company, though. Plenty of time to get it finished, still."

Your lips twitch into another smile. "Lockwood the sap. Never would've thought."

He shrugs. "What can I say? I like to make sure my employees are kept happy, and I've been told I make perfect tea."

"Well, thank you. I'll be sure to do the chores more often if it means I get more of this tea. No offence to her, but Lucy's tea isn't nearly as nice as this."

You look up, and he's already looking at you, dark eyes unintelligible. Within their darkness, a little reflection of light shimmers, and it's hard to look away. It's like his gaze has locked yours in place and frozen you so that you can't move, but it's a feeling you don't mind. You could look at him for days - at the way his hair falls across his brow messily, no doubt from running his hand through it while filling in the casebook, or the way his fingers tap against his mug quietly. The little details, like how his tie has been loosened slightly, or his socks are a similar lavender colour as the jumper you wear - completely a coincidence - are what entrance you most.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to have to kiss you."

Your heart stops, and you can only blink in response.

Lockwood's face goes bright red. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Mm-hm," you squeak. "Um, I, uh - yes."

"Right." He places his mug down, blinking hard and looking away. "Uh, okay. That's not - I didn't -"

"Of course!" you say. "No, obviously, you didn't -"

"I didn't?"

"You - um..."

Like Lockwood, you place your mug down, but your hands shake a little. Maybe you didn't hear him right. Maybe you're dreaming. You must be dreaming, right?

Before you can think about it too much, you pinch the skin of your arm hard, hissing at the sharp pain.

Lockwood jumps. "Why did you do that?"

"Not dreaming," you groan. "Definitely not dreaming. Why would you let me do that?"

"I didn't! How was I meant to know -?"

"I don't know!" You keep your gaze firmly fixed on the coffee table, face as hot as the fire burning over at the other side of the room. "But, uh..."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

An awkward silence hangs in the air, so thick you could cut through it with your rapier.

Did he mean what he had said, or was it just a spur of the moment? Surely that's it. There was no way it was genuine... But the way he flushed has butterflies swarming in your stomach, and you feel a little giddy. If he means it, that means - god, what does that mean?

"Sorry," Lockwood says. He still won't look at you. "I don't know why I said that."

"Did you mean it?"

Lockwood looks a little taken aback, his eyes slowly dragging from the worn arm of his chair up to you. "I mean... Yes."

A little smile plays on your lips. "Cool."

"Cool? What exactly do you mean by cool?"

"Cool as in I've gotten the great Anthony Lockwood flustered," you say, tearing your gaze from the table. "And because I wouldn't necessarily be opposed to that idea."

Usually so composed, so calm and collected, it's quite funny to see him nervous. Gone is that signature smirk of his, replaced by a slack-jawed expression of surprise.

"You wouldn't - um...?"

You shrug nonchalantly, but your heart is pounding. "I suppose not, as long as it means more tea for me."

The joke seems to shake him out of his stupor because, soon, he's standing with that shit-eating grin of confidence on his face. He reaches out a hand, and you take it, relishing in the warmth of it as he pulls you from your seat. He's standing close, closer than usual, and your heart is performing somersaults in your chest.

His hand is still closed around yours but, ever so slowly, it trails over the skin of your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and finds its way to the back of your neck. His touch is gentle, cautious, and though that arrogant gleam is back in his eyes, you know that if you told him to stop he would.

Can he feel your pulse? The way he's made your heart turn into an Olympic runner? Can he hear your shaky breaths, or see your trembling knees?

You can feel his breath as he draws nearer, his face so, so close to yours now. Your eyes meet and, for a moment, the world washes away. No longer are you standing in the living room, surrounded by decor from other countries or freshly folded and ironed clothes, but in a world of your own. Time melts away under your fingers, leaving only his chest beneath your palms.

He's breathing a little heavier now, and a smile, softer than before, plays on his lips. "Can I -?"

Words failing you, you nod.

And it's the best decision you've ever made.

His lips are soft if a little chapped, but it's as if they were made for yours. Fireworks explode in your head, and those butterflies swarming have multiplied tenfold. Slowly, one of his hands comes to your waist, gripping your jumper and the skin beneath, and the hand on the back of your neck travels down your back.

Part of you still believes that it's all a dream. There's no way you could really be standing in the living room, kissing your friend who is also your boss - which, surely breaks some sort of code of conduct - but he feels real, his hammering heartbeat feels real.

The kiss gently breaks off, but your faces remain so close that it could begin again with the slightest move. Your eyes flutter open, finding his dark gaze fixed on your face.

Fighting back a smile, you dramatically deepen your voice. "If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to have to kiss you."

Lockwood rolls his eyes, laughing in a way that has your knees buckling. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but the front door suddenly opens, followed by the sound of Lucy's and George's voices. Quickly, you both shuffle apart, red-faced and breathing heavily.

"Oh, I was expecting you guys to be working in the basement," George said from the living room doorway. "Clean house... I expect that was (name)'s doing?"

"Mm-hm," you say, nodding. "Clothes are done, too." You point over to the separated piles of folded clothes.

Lucy catches your gaze, flicking her eyes to Lockwood and then back to you. She raises an eyebrow, and your absence of a reply seems to be enough of an answer.

Upstairs, she mouths, holding back a grin. Now.

"I - uh, I've got some cleaning to finish up on in the attic," you say, glancing back at Lockwood.

He's smiling as he usually does, but something in it as he looks at you becomes more intimate, more private, and you can feel your cheeks growing hotter.

"Tea's still warm in the kitchen," he says to George and Lucy, but you can still feel his gaze on you as you turn. "Plus some doughnuts in the cupboard."

You nod, maybe a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah! Um, well, if you guys need me, you know where to find me."

His gaze follows you out the door, and you can still feel his lips on yours as you hurry up the stairs.

It wasn't a dream, you tell yourself giddily. It was real.