#let me clarify she was genuinely curious and interested in it

[rottenfyre]

I got so into your batfam stories, I’ve actually gotten into reading the comics to better understand the universe! Honestly never thought I’d touch superhero stuff, but your writing is just so darn good I had to go learn more about these characters! Also I know you’ve got several series planned, but I was curious about that Dick x joker’s assistant one. Could you indulge us with a few of your ideas for that one? (If it’s not spoiling anything!) the concept is just so good

Awwww, thank you! 🥰 First of all, I’m so happy you’re enjoying the stories enough to dive into the comics! It really means the world to me that my writing has sparked that interest. As for the Dick x Joker’s assistant story, let me clarify because I actually have two different series involving Joker's sidekicks—one with Dick and the other with Jason. Since you’re asking about the Dick one, let me spill a little about Jester.

So, Jester is… complicated. She was this lonely kid growing up, the kind who was always a little “off,” and Joker saw that in her. He took her in, not because she was as crazy as he was (she’s not), but because she had this strange detachment from reality that he found fascinating. She’s unhinged in her own way, though—she doesn’t really understand the concept of good or bad. To her, the world is like one big storybook where rules don’t apply, and everyone’s just playing their part. That’s why Joker adores her; she operates in her own little bubble of logic, completely removed from societal norms.

She’s untainted by traditional human logic and morality. To her, Joker is just a misunderstood "mad king," and she’s his pretty princess.

She met Dick for the first time when she was about 10. At that point, she wasn’t Jester yet, just this weird little kid who accidentally crossed paths with him while he was fighting crime. Dick saved her during the chaos, and for her, it was like a fairytale moment. Here’s this ridiculously pretty boy with an even prettier voice, swooping in like a literal prince, and she’s immediately smitten. Even though it’s just a brief moment, and in her eyes, he becomes this impossibly beautiful and noble "prince."

Fast-forward to later that same year—she’s now Jester, Joker’s official sidekick, and runs into Robin again. It’s chaos everywhere—Joker and Batman are tearing each other apart in their usual deadly dance, but then you’ve got Robin and Jester off to the side, having this completely bizarre and awkward “high school girl confessing to her crush” scene. She’s carefree, bubbly, and genuinely just wants to be friends with him. Meanwhile, Dick’s all serious and professional, probably trying to figure out if she’s an actual threat or just delusional. (Spoiler: It’s both.)

Her obsession with Dick escalates quickly—because in her mind, this is how love stories work. She doesn’t just want to be his friend; she wants him to be hers forever. So naturally, her solution is to kidnap him and make him her “pretty bird.” She genuinely believes this is romantic. Like, why wouldn’t he love her back? Isn’t this how princesses and princes end up together? She dreams about marrying him, having kids, and living out their happily ever after.

The thing about Jester is that she doesn’t see herself as evil. She doesn’t even really understand what “evil” is. To her, everything she does—whether it’s breaking the law, hurting people, or abducting her “true love”—is just part of the story she’s living in. She doesn’t see it as wrong because she’s so disconnected from reality. She’s living in this fairytale bubble where everything she does makes perfect sense to her, no matter how horrifying it might actually be.

That’s what makes her so fascinating and, honestly, terrifying. She’s not malicious or cruel; she’s just completely untethered from reality. In her mind, she’s the heroine of this grand love story, and Dick is the prince who doesn’t realize he’s supposed to love her yet. It’s twisted and unhinged, but in her own warped way, it’s sincere.

Jester’s relationship with Joker is as twisted as you’d expect, but not in the way people might think. Joker didn’t raise her to be cruel or hateful—he didn’t even need to. She already had this skewed view of the world when he found her, and he simply encouraged it. To him, she was this bizarre, broken little doll who saw life through a kaleidoscope of whimsy and delusion. He adored how unpredictable she was, how she could smile sweetly at someone while holding a knife to their throat, not out of malice, but because she thought it was “funny.”

But Joker wasn’t a father figure to her. He was more like a mentor or a ringmaster in her eyes. She looked up to him, sure, but in the way a kid might look up to a magician who promises to show them how to make the impossible happen. He gave her attention and fed into her fantasies, but he didn’t care about her in a meaningful way. To Joker, she was just another toy—a fascinating one, but still a toy. And in her naivety, she didn’t see that. She thought their bond was special. That they were alike.

In reality, Joker kept her around because her complete detachment from reality amused him. She didn’t understand pain, fear, or consequence, and that made her a perfect wildcard. But when she started fixating on Robin, Joker didn’t stop her—he thought it was hilarious. He egged her on, treating her obsession with Dick like a soap opera to entertain himself. He probably even encouraged her fairytale delusions, mocking her behind her back but also supplying her with whatever she needed to chase her “happily ever after.”

And then there’s Dick. He was everything Joker wasn’t—kind, warm, heroic. The first time he saved her, she wasn’t just drawn to his looks or his bravery; she was drawn to the way he saw her. He didn’t look at her like she was a freak or a broken doll. He saw a scared kid and treated her like she was worth saving. For someone as lonely as Jester, that moment stuck with her. In her mind, it was love at first sight. He became her Prince Charming, her one bright light in an otherwise chaotic existence.

But Dick didn’t even remember her. To him, saving her was just another day as Robin. He had no idea he’d planted the seed of obsession in her mind. And when they crossed paths again, with her now as Jester, he didn’t recognize her at first. She was this eccentric, giggling enigma who acted like they were old friends—or more than friends. She flirted, teased, and acted as though they were already destined for each other. It confused him, but he also saw glimpses of that scared kid underneath the makeup and manic laughter.

What makes it heartbreaking is that Jester doesn’t understand the depth of her own loneliness. She doesn’t know how to express love in a healthy way, and she’s never had anyone teach her. Her fixation on Dick is less about him as a person and more about what he represents: stability, warmth, someone who sees her. She clings to her fantasies of marrying him, of building a life together, because it’s the only way she knows how to cope with the emptiness inside her. She doesn’t even realize how much she’s hurting him or herself in the process.

It’s both funny and kind of tragic because, deep down, she’s just a lonely kid who never learned how the real world works. Dick, being the compassionate guy he is, probably picks up on that, which only makes things more complicated. Her obsession is unrelenting, and she truly believes she’s the princess who will win her prince in the end, no matter what stands in her way.

Dick would probably feel pity for her. He’d try to reason with her, to help her see the world for what it is. But the more he tries to help, the more she doubles down on her delusions, convinced that he’s just playing hard to get or that the world is keeping them apart. It’s a tragic cycle: her chasing a love that’s not real, and Dick trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

[stevefightmerogerss]

when a coworker asks if you read captain america fanfiction because they noticed the seventy years of sleep quote in the background on the zoom call

[onlyforyoukook]

Weirdo in a sexy body || JJH

paring: jaehyun x f!reader

synopsis: y/n met jaehyun at a pub, she didn’t expect to fall for him so quickly — because of his lame jokes.

genre: one shot! smut!

WARNINGS: MDNI🔞 — smut, oral (f receiving).

The pub smelled like spilled beer and heartbreak, the kind of place where lost souls gathered to drown their sorrows in liquor and dim lighting. You’d been sitting at the bar for an hour, your drink untouched despite the storm raging in your chest. The weight of betrayal clung to you, heavy and bitter, as Taylor’s name echoed in your mind. Your best friend. The one who’d promised to help you figure out who your father had been sneaking around with. Turns out, it had been her all along.

The realization had shattered something inside you, leaving jagged pieces that no amount of whiskey seemed to smooth over. You’d come here for answers, for solace, for something. Anything to make the ache stop. Instead, you found yourself staring, watching him. Jaehyun.

You’d seen him before, his deep voice carrying through the room on mic nights, telling jokes that always managed to bring a smile to your face—even on your worst days. Tonight, he wasn’t on stage, but his presence still radiated warmth. He was sitting at a table, nursing a drink and laughing with a group of friends. He didn’t notice you at first, but you noticed him. You always had.

It wasn’t until you waved the bartender over for another drink that Jaehyun’s eyes met yours. His gaze lingered, soft and curious, before he offered a small smile. You didn’t return it. Not because you weren’t tempted, but because you were too consumed by the mess Taylor had left behind to entertain the idea of smiling back.

Yet, somehow, Jaehyun didn’t let you wallow in your misery for long. A few minutes later, he was standing beside you, his presence both comforting and unnerving.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, as though he didn’t need to shout over the noise around you.

You glanced at him, unwilling to pour your heart out to a stranger, no matter how good-looking he was. “You could say that.”

Jaehyun leaned against the bar, studying you like you were the most interesting person in the room. “Let me guess. Ex problems? Job stress? Or are you just here for the atmosphere?”

You scoffed, surprised by how easily he’d managed to get a reaction out of you. “None of the above. More like betrayal by the last person I thought would hurt me.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, you forgot about Taylor, your father, and the ache in your chest. “Sounds like you need something stronger than that,” he said, nodding at your drink.

Before you could respond, he ordered two shots of tequila, sliding one toward you with a wink. “On me. It might not fix anything, but it’ll make you feel better. Temporarily, at least.”

You hesitated, but something about the way he looked at you made it impossible to say no. The tequila burned on the way down, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it felt oddly freeing, like you were finally letting go of the weight you’d been carrying.

One drink turned into two, then three. Before you knew it, you were laughing at his jokes, the kind that made your sides hurt and your cheeks ache. He had a way of making you forget everything else, his energy infectious and his smile disarming.

“You’re not like the others,” you blurted out at one point, your words slurred from alcohol but genuine.

Jaehyun tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours. “The others?”

“The guys I’ve met here,” you clarified, your voice quieter now. “They’re all the same. But you… you’re different.”

Something flickered in his expression, a mix of curiosity and something deeper. He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe you just needed someone to see you tonight.”

The air between you shifted, heavy with something neither of you could name. His hand brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent shivers down your spine.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

“Where?” you asked, your heart racing for reasons you didn’t understand.

He didn’t answer, just took your hand and led you through the crowd, past tables and curious glances, until you reached the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, it was just the two of you.

Your back pressed against the wall, and before you could think, his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. It was messy and desperate, the kind of kiss that left no room for hesitation. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands gripped your waist.

“Are you sure?” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm on your skin.

You didn’t answer with words, just pulled him closer, your actions speaking louder than anything you could say. You both sat there messily kissing. That was until he pulled back.

“Hey you sure you’re up for this?” Jaehyun spoke.

“Yes I am, I really am. Please just…” You quietly mumbled

“Please what?” he spoke.

“Just please fuck me, im tired of waiting.”

He quickly got on his knees, and rolled down your underwear. As he was doing so he ran his fingers across your slit.

“Wow so wet for me, and I didn’t even start yet.” he spoke huskily.

He easily slid his to fingers inside of you, while he was licking your clit, fucking his fingers in and out of you, making you see the clouds above. you’re know moaning so loud, you wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the pub could hear you.

“J-jae w-wait im going to c-cum.” you moaned out

“C’mon, cum for me baby.” he start to slow down his pace, quickly picking it up once more.

“Ughhhhh Fuckkk” you moaned out as you came all around his fingers.

He quickly got up from his knees licking your cum from his fingers. You notice his boner.

“Jae what about… that?” you point to his pants.

He looked down rubbing the back of his neck “Oh this.. I’ll deal with it later. though here’s my number, give me a call anytime, i’ll be waiting.”

“Okay.. I’ll see you tomorrow, no?”

“yes.”

MASTERLIST

[cerberusmahou]

We get just as much from Katara’s POV about Aang than we also do with her about Jet, if not more. In both ATLA and NATLA, Jet straight up manipulates Katara, and in NATLA it’s worse because he tells her that she only has the power that she does because of him. Whereas in ATLA and NATLA Aang is Katara’s number one supporter when it comes to almost everything (Kiawentiio herself said that he played a huge part in her bending growth and that they are both physically and spiritually bonded). So I’m confused as to why you think Jetara gives Katara agency, but Kataang doesn’t.

Let me start by clarifying that english isn't my language and I'm aware I can come out as aggressive. I apologize beforehand if my reply reads that way. However, I prefer being clear and assertive over being too polite and confusing.

I don't want to be part of ship wars either, so I won't reply to other questions like this if asked again, but I think it may be worth explaining once to avoid future confusion.

With this said, let me reply to your question.

I have never stated anything like that, so don't put words in my mouth I never said.

I am a Kataang. They're one of my favourite ATLA ships. If they weren't I wouldn't have drawn them because I value my time.

What I said is that while I love them I also wish the writers put more emphasis in Katara's perspective precisely because they're the canon choice. You can love something and, at the same time, be critical of it. I'm also critical of Jet's writing.

I don't think Jet gives Katara more agency than Aang does and I don't think Jetara is a healthier ship than Kataang either. You don't know why I like them. Ask me if you're curious, but stop assuming.

Aang is one of my favourite characters. He is kind, sweet, empathetic, funny and loves Katara genuinely. He is an incredibly good friend to Katara and one of the people who supports her goals and dreams the most. He wants good things for her and that's why I think they're cute together and good for each other.

However, as romance, their canon writing is objectively flawed. Both in the series and the comics, as their romance is writen from Aang's perspective. Katara is Aang's dream girl and the series frames her love as a reward. In fact, all the guys get a girl as a reward for their actions.

That's not a problem in fanfiction or idealized romance books, I enjoy that as well, but I have my beef with this happening in a series for children. Especially one where there is so much emphasis on growth and morals. It sets unrealistic and harmful expectations for all genders.

So, yes, I wish we had more scenes of Katara talking about her problems to him, I wish Katara had more agency with Aang, and I wish there were more scenes like the Fire Nation dance where you can see her crush develop - because we get all of this from Aang's side, but not so much from Katara's. That's not criticism against Aang, and that's not hating on Kataang, it's criticism against the author's writing choice. My complaints are level-entry feminism and I think we, as Kataang fans, should acknowledge its flaws along its strenghts.

That said, I also think ATLA is a product of its time. And one that aged very well. Back then, that's how most couples were written, as a male dream. This is a flaw, but a strength is that Katara's writing was more than revolutionary, especially considering she's the love interest.

All these facts can coexist and be true.

I get your frustration because I love Aang as well and I know about the anti-Kataang thing, but I'm afraid you're aiming at the wrong target.

I like Jet as a character and I like Jetara for other reasons, I don't ship them because i think he's a better suitor for Katara. I don't ship with that mindset. I have said this before, but I tend to focus on drawing what I can't find and wish to see - and there is a lot of Kataang for me to enjoy passively.

Aang, Katara, and Jet are fictional characters. Anyone can write them with anyone and enjoy exploring different scenarios.

Hope I explained myself properly. If you have any other questions I'll be happy to have a friendly chat.

[lorei-writes]

I got curious about your OCS and hope so much not to bother 🙏 but please tell me more how Esther and Chev will end up together ? Cause they will, right ? Like I ship them so much and I absolutely love them as couple I wish you a nice day 🤗

Julie! Thanks for dropping by! You've made my day ;-; <3

They do end up together! I've made a little timeline for how their relationship progresses (link), but it's not complete yet.

Now, to your question. I think it has been partially answered in the last reblog in this conversation with @olivermorningstar (link). I'd like to elaborate a bit more on what was already said there >:)

To recap elements that factor into how Esther and Chevalier's talk goes:

Esther is convinced she would not be a beneficial partner from the political point of view (factually correct), and that therefore the relationship would be impossible.

Esther assumes that political gain is the primary criteria Chevalier would take into account.

Chevalier does not know whether the sentiment he holds for her could be called love, however, he is aware of the fact that he has a soft(er?) spot for her. At the same time, he knows what are the realities of the court life. If he truly cares for her, he under no circumstances can be with her, for her own well-being.

Chevalier assumes that finding a partner outside of royalty / nobility would be in Esther's best interest.

Additionally:

Esther dreads the reality in which Chevalier keeps on considering himself to be unlovable.

Esther hates seeing nobles only ever approaching Chevalier with fear.

Esther genuinely cares about him.

Esther defines her own well-being in relation to that of her loved ones. She cannot be happy when the people she deeply cares for suffer or are mistreated -- even if changing said state may make her less comfortable.

With all that in mind, let's skip ahead to the moment when they actually have to talk.

I do not have the exact dialogue written out (yet). As such, it is hard for me to predict which exact points I'll manage to hit... But, I think that the following are likely to occur, in whichever form:

Esther clarifies why she put that confession-not-confession story. She wasn't hoping for them to be together. She knows it is impossible given all her flaws. However, even if it hurt her, she did want to be the counterexample to his logic.

Now, Chevalier expects that she will go on to work in the court, and that one day she will become a minister. At the same time, he knows that the line of thinking she has just presented is going to cause harm to her in the long run. He knows other parties may hold her illness, heritage and upbringing against her, and he knows that if she allows them to, they will use those to run her into the ground.

But he's grown to genuinely care about her. It's not just a thought. It's a feeling. Compelled by it:

Chevalier states that she has misunderstood his meaning.

He elaborates by saying that it would be of more benefit to her not to get romantically involved with the royalty.

At this point, Esther realises what was his reasoning. She'd claim it is not up to others to decide what risks she takes, and that she is well aware of them.

And here my predictions stop. I'd have to write the entire thing down to know exactly what happens here :')

[a-lil-strawberry]

Trying not to read too much into the fact that a co-worker who has been trying to talk daredevil tattoo boy into breaking up with his girlfriend asked me in front of him if I was single (casually). Then when I said I was, daredevil tattoo boy said "good" someone else said "what??" And tattoo boy clarified by saying something along the lines of "it's hard". Then a couple minutes later we made eye contact and he sighed. Then I tried making conversation with him and he seemed a bit standoffish.

So these are my assumptions I'm trying not to put weight into; the girl knows I like him. She asked if I was single in front of him for his benefit. His quick "good" was a Freudian slip which he quickly tried to cover up. The sigh was due to the fact that he's maybe interested in me but doesn't wanna let go of his girlfriend despite being unhappy with her, and or because he is maybe interested in me but thinks I think he's too old (he has made a couple self deprecating comments about his age in our conversations), or thinks I'm just not interested. His standoffishness is due to his conflicting feelings.

Or she was just curious about my relationship status, he genuinely just thinks I'm better off not dealing with the complications of a relationship, the eye contact with the sigh was a coincidence and the sigh just meant he was tired of being at work, and I don't know him that well and he's not being standoffish, I just don't know how to read him.

[aileenmurphy]

Her heartbeat slowed down as she realised he didn't seem at all bothered by her rambling. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it, his apparent genuine interest. It wasn't as if she never had talks where people new how to hold a basic conversation, and her friends were great listeners, but she was truly talking about nothing exciting. Family stuff, mundane, really. And yet this virtual stranger was regarding her with curious eyes, and asking more, as if her sisters were truly the most engaging topic of conversation. She's fairly certain it should have felt a lot more weird, but in some way, it felt nice, being listened to even if it didn't truly matter.

"I am, yes." she smiled, looking down at her feet timidly. "Not by a lot, though, I'm only five years older than Amara - she's the youngest." she clarified, reminding herself he didn't necessarily know these things. Encouraged by his laughter, she added. "I liked it, I think? I mean, I obviously love it, but I don't remember a time in my life without younger sisters, so I've never known anything else. " she stumbled over her words a bit, unused to just talking about herself, but she tried to stop the embarrassment this time. Lincoln had asked, when he could have dropped the conversation, she reminded herself. It was okay. The blush came back full force, however, when he mentioned her sisters admiring her. "Oh, um, well." she laughed nervously. "I guess I tried to help them as much as I can when we were kids, but they're pretty cool women. They never needed any guidance, I'm sure." she was so proud of all of them. She always would take care of them, but never because they'd needed it. She just had to mother them a bit, as any big sister does.

She let out an amused huff at the lack of gossip in LA, about to add a remark about the genuine gossip they would have there, but his next words cut her short, a heavy weight landing on her chest. She couldn't begin to imagine what that decision must have cost him, on top of the pain and endless worry his father's illness must bring him. "Oh my god Lincoln, I'm so sorry." she again felt bad over rubbing her 'perfect big family' word vomit when his situation was so delicate. She raised a hand almost instinctively towards his arm as if to offer comfort, but quickly dropped it, realising how awkward it would have been. "How's he doing? And your mum as well? I can't even imagine what this must have been for you both."

As he motioned for her to walk Aileen did it mindlessly, not even registering she'd started in the first place. "I'm a kindergarten teacher, actually. At the primary school. My sisters did also make me realise I was always good with kids, so, it felt like a no brainer." she explained watching the gentle purples colour the horizon, chasing away the pinks that reflected by the river. "It also gives me time to take evening walks here, so that is definitely a bonus." she raised up a hand, pointing towards their scenery. As he mentioned the salmon she raised her eyebrows, intrigued. "You mean get as in... fish for them?" she was slightly confused, considering they were heading in the opposite direction from town, and the farmer's market for that matter. She immediately realised the stupidity of her comment, however, given no salmon were going to be found in the river Illinois of all places. Jeez Aileen.

@themissing-linc

Linc smiled, nodding encouragingly as Aileen talked about her family. She seemed to come alive talking about them-- and he could imagine why. Three people who knew her to her core-- three anchors giving her a place in the world. "It's nice that they're all so close by," he said. "You're the oldest, right?" he clarified, tilting his head inquisitively. "What was that like for you?" Lincoln laughed, genuine, at her story. He did love his peace and quiet, and couldn't imagine having to steal alone time-- that was going in the con column, for sure. "Well, it sounds like they all admire you a lot," Linc surmised, remembering all the random people he'd pick out at school and attempt to emulate in his style. He was sure if he'd had an older sibling, they would've been his target more than once.

Shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, Lincoln laughed at her summary of Blue Harbor. She certainly wasn't wrong, what with all of the looks he'd gotten this week alone from people who'd assumed they'd never see him again. "What can I say, nobody wanted to gossip in LA," he joked, glancing out at the water before looking back at Aileen with a kind smile. "I'm only joking. My dad got sick about a year ago," he shrugged, toeing at the concrete for something to do. "Since it's just me and Mom, I figured I'd better come back and help out." He shrugged again, feeling like he'd significantly deflated the mood, even if she'd asked-- she had no idea what she was walking into.

"What do you do nowadays? For work?" Linc asked, motioning for her to walk with him. "I'm out to get some fish for Salmon Sunday," he explained with a chuckle. "My mom's trademark... Do you walk out here often?"

[spectral-musette]

A short fic for the Obi-Wan and Satine ship week prompt "Outsider Point of View", featuring Quinlan Vos

(Set sometime after the Mandalore arc in season 2, ~1200 words)

. . . . .

"I'm just saying," Quinlan said, spreading his hands defensively, "I don't think she could possibly be as gorgeous as what I've seen in your memories. That's just not natural."

"So, I'm deluding myself?" Obi-Wan asked, bristling.

"You're taking this the wrong way," Quinlan countered.

"Then wouldn't it stand to reason that I'd be disappointed every time I saw her? I assure you that I am not."

"Look, I'm just saying..."

"Ten credits says you're wrong," Obi-Wan said flatly.

"I don't think a holo would-"

"I have a better idea."

. . . . .

Satine couldn’t help feeling rather put out that the representative of the Jedi Order at the meeting of the Council of Neutral Systems was not Obi-Wan. There was the obvious reason for this (ancestors forgive, she ached for him, still pining like a lovesick girl after all these years), but it was also a matter of having to get accustomed to a different mediation style. It was customary for the Council to share a meal before beginning any serious negotiations. In stark contrast to Obi-Wan, this new Jedi mediator, Quinlan Vos, had declined making any formal remarks before the meal and engaged in little conversation during it, merely partaking heartily and observing with his keen, dark-eyed gaze.

Now, with desert served and delegates straying from the table, that gaze was turned on her. It was not a leer, though there was a certain admiration amid the frank curiousity. She returned it with a quizzical look, and he merely smiled, unchagrined at having been caught staring.

He stood, picking up his glass and moving a few seats to take the vacated place beside her.

“Duchess Satine.”

“Have we met?” she asked. It was no surprise that he should know who she was, not in this setting, but something about his demeanor suggested some greater familiarity.

“Not exactly. That is, you haven’t met me, anyway.” He swirled his drink idly.

“You’ll have to explain. You’re … friends with Obi-Wan?” she prompted.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Like Anakin,” she suggested, trying to understand the almost-familial bonds of the Jedi Order.

“No,” Vos denied, making a comically indignant face at the suggestion. “Obi-Wan and I were kids together,” he clarified.

“I see. And he’s… spoken of me?” She wasn’t sure how to feel about this prospect. On one hand, flattered and a little giddy at the idea of him confiding his feelings to an old friend. On the other, desperately curious about what had been said.

“Yes.” Vos swirled his drink again. “But that isn’t really…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I … see people’s memories, especially strong memories, when I touch objects that they’ve touched,” he explained, in a quick, practiced tone.

“I didn’t know Jedi could do that.” She furrowed her brow at him.

“It’s an unusual gift,” he confirmed. “Only a handful of us in the Order now have it.”

“That must be… terribly overwhelming.” She said, trying to imagine navigating life in a galaxy littered with other people’s memories.

“It can be,” he confirmed. “Especially when you’re young. You do get used to it, somewhat. It can create a certain … compulsory emotional intimacy with people. But you still get to choose who you actually like. And Obi-Wan is a good one,” he said with a grin.

“He is very dear,” she agreed, smiling back.

“So yes,” he said, “I’ve met you through his eyes. A few times over the years, really. There were some uh… vivid memories, strong emotions associated with them. It’s interesting to finally see the genuine article in person.”

“Interesting? I’m not sure how to take that,” she said, letting out a short laugh and trying not to blush at the notion of which vivid memories Quinlan Vos might’ve glimpsed.

“No offense,” he said, shrugging slightly. “You’re a damn fine-looking woman. But I’m not desperately in love with you, so that does color the experience.”

“I see,” was the best she could manage, stifling a laugh.

“He adores you,” he said, smiling a little. “It’s cute.”

“You don’t… disapprove?” she asked delicately.

His brow furrowed with another comical look of incredulity. “He really didn’t tell you anything about me, did he?”

“Just that you’re an old friend who gets him into scrapes.”

“Oh, like he doesn’t attract his share of trouble. No, I don’t really do disapproval. And if I did, I wouldn’t be likely to spend it on something that makes my friend happy.”

“I hope I do.”

“Rest assured,” he told her, smirking slightly, and then standing to drain his glass. He stretched, lean muscles standing out on his bare arms. “Anyway, I better be going, or I’ll miss my rendezvous with the 212th.”

“Going? I thought…”

“Oh, you thought I was going to mediate your meeting?” He exhaled sharply through pursed lips. “That would be a bad idea. Not exactly my comfort zone. No, I’m taking the 212th to the front. I was just filling in for Obi-Wan until he could get here. He promised me a good meal and a look at his lady out of the deal. How could I refuse that?”

“We’ll have to trade stories another time, then,” Satine said, her delight at hearing that she’d see her beloved soon mixed in with a little regret at not spending a little more time getting to know his old friend.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he promised, grinning.

. . . . .

“Worth your while, was it?” Obi-Wan asked, stepping aside on the ramp of the shuttle to let Quinlan pass into the cockpit.

Quin rested a hand on his stomach. “I haven’t eaten that well since that mission on Kashyyyk. You remember that feast?”

“Barely. I couldn’t hold my liquor yet at the time.”

“Yeah,” Quinlan recalled, chuckling.

“And you met Satine?”

“I did,” he confirmed with a nod.

“And…?”

“I like her,” he said warmly.

“Wonderful. And…?” he prompted, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, the bet.”

“Yes, the bet. She couldn’t possibly be as lovely as I think she is…” Obi-Wan repeated Quinlan’s earlier claim, rolling his eyes.

“I honestly don’t know,” Quin said, folding his arms, thoughtfully, “who wins the bet. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” Obi-Wan coaxed.

“I met Satine Kryze and saw a beautiful woman. In your memory, it’s not that her beauty is exaggerated, exactly, it’s just that your emotions about her make her not just a woman, but the woman. Your love takes a woman and makes a goddess. If that makes any sense.”

“Quinlan,” Obi-Wan said, reaching into his belt pouch to pull out a credit chip, “you’re a poet now?”

“What do you mean? I always have been.” He accepted the chip, twirling it between his fingers. “Though, she might be hot enough that you still win…”

“It was worth ten credits to hear what you just said. Don’t spend it all on one drink.”

“In the Rim? This’ll probably buy a round for the whole bar.”

“If they take it.”

“Good point. You better pay me in aurodium instead.”

Obi-Wan snorted out a short laugh. “I’ll have to owe you, then.” His expression turned serious. “Take care of yourself,” he said earnestly. “And take care of my men,” he added, with mock severity.

“And you take care of your Duchess,” Quinlan retorted with a smirk.

“Quin,” Obi-Wan scolded, his cheeks flushing.

“What? That was tasteful. I could’ve said...”

“Quinlan.”

“And let her take care of you,” he added, sincere this time.

“May the Force be with you,” Obi-Wan said, continuing down the ramp and ending the conversation.

Quinlan considered letting him have the last word, but thought better of it just as the ramp began to close behind him.

“Have some nice sex!” he called, waving cheerfully and just catching sight of Obi-Wan crossing his arms and covering his face with one hand.

[mc-lukanette]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

—————

Luka took a breath as he hit the last emotion-filled note on his guitar. His body vibrated just as his strings did, though he realized soon enough that there weren't enough high notes to lift him from feeling so low.

Marinette was Ladybug. He was still absorbing it, even though a part of him insisted that it should've been obvious; not just because there could only be one girl in Paris who was so brave, kindhearted, and suited for the job, but... well—

There was also only one girl in Paris who could be so unlucky. Luka was upset - angry, really - at all the things he couldn't have known that just proved to put more pressure on her. People idolized and adored Ladybug, but he never once thought that he wanted to be her. She didn't get anything from being a superhero outside of wasted time and the guilt of having to lie to everyone. He'd felt bad enough keeping Viperion a secret from his family, and he was only a temporary hero.

He sighed, setting his guitar down and raking his fingers through his hair. Marinette being Ladybug would've been enough of a shock on its own, but Adrien being Chat Noir made everything both worse and more complicated. In the midst of all the realizations he'd been having at the time, he felt lucky that he was able to get Ladybug - Marinette - to believe that his mind had just drifted for a moment. She'd still looked worried, but there was nothing he could've told her at the time, his mind too scrambled to be certain what the right steps were.

He'd always imagined that past snakes had learned of other's identities before as well, and thus had wondered before what he'd do if such a thing ever happened. Chat wasn't the one "in charge," so Luka wasn't worried about him (at least not in terms of talking about identities), but Ladybug was a different story.

Previously, he would've said that he'd tell her without hesitation, but the problem was that she was Marinette and the way he found out made things messy. If he told her that he knew, she'd blame herself and demand to know what happened for him to know so she could try to "fix" it, except there was nothing to fix and a conversation about his abilities would inevitably lead to talking about Adrien being Chat Noir.

In essence, he was at a roadblock. There was probably no "right" solution either, as he figured Sass might tell him; that even seemed to be the message Sass wordlessly sent him as Ladybug took his miraculous back. He’d probably known, and maybe had intentionally given him the power to see red strings on heroes in the first place. He didn’t know for sure because he couldn’t ask, aware that it would make Ladybug even more suspicious after he’d already tried to assure her.

What he did know was that Chat was something else to think about now. Chat was tied to her, and he knew - everyone knew, really - that there was drama going on in their relationship. He'd done only a little digging and Face to Face was all the evidence he'd needed, as if seeing the two interact in person wasn't already enough.

There was a pressure there, for Ladybug and Chat Noir to be a couple. Chat Noir was a habitual flirt, and most people ate up any drama or “juicy details” about their relationship. Everyone went wild for the hand kisses that Chat gave Ladybug, whether or not she pulled away from it. Add on the red string of fate, and it just made everything worse, making him wonder what the ties meant; did Adrien's string being tied around his ring mean that he became the cat through fate, specifically so—

It made Luka feel gross just thinking about it, and knowing what he knew made it even worse; people were shipping his friend with someone she wasn't interested in, even if it was "one side" specifically that she wasn't interested in.

He shook his head, feeling vaguely possessive. It wasn't about Marinette being his friend; it was about her deserving better than something deciding her fate for her.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a familiar jingle, pulling out his phone to see a message from Marinette.

Are we still on for tonight?

FOR THE FIRE I MEAN.

I just don't want you to get in trouble! You're sure???

He chuckled, his shoulders easing at Marinette's usual enthusiasm. It was adorable that she was worried about him and not what they were planning to do.

He typed back immediately, I'm sure, Marinette. Don't worry.

He glanced at the drawer under his bed, where all the Adrien pictures were. He imagined Adrien's face plastered all over Paris, flashing back and forth between Adrien himself and Chat Noir.

He felt like he shouldn’t be shocked by the revelation, though he wouldn't be able to quite explain why.

—————

Luka looked over his work once more, checking to make sure the fire would start properly. It'd been a while, but he at least hadn't gotten rusty and even got a congratulatory pat on the back from his mother when she'd seen him carrying the supplies. Had she known that it was Marinette's decision to do this, she would've married them on the spot herself.

As he eyed the box of Adrien pictures set out, he had to bury another slew of thoughts. He knew it was right to try and get rid of Marinette's string, but and he felt guilty knowing that he’d be satisfied at seeing the pictures burn for reasons outside of Marinette.

Speaking of whom, he looked up as he heard a familiar set of footsteps to see Marinette herself heading towards the Liberty, having just made her way down the stairs. She was dressed fairly lightly for nighttime, but wore a fluffy pink shawl around her shoulders to make up for it. Considering what they were doing, it made sense that she wasn't concerned about the cold.

The gangplank had already been put up for her, so she walked across with a smile that warmed him more than the eventual fire would. "Hey."

He smiled back, plopping down comfortably on the seat behind him. "Hey."

She gripped her shawl closer to herself as she glanced at the setup for the fire, the moonlight briefly shining off of her earrings. Luka attempted to avert his gaze from them, but only ended up staring at the red string around her neck. He gave up looking at her entirely at that point, checking the setup again as if it was extremely important to do so.

"You can sit anywhere," he offered, gesturing vaguely to all of the mismatched seats he'd placed around the future fire. He'd wanted to make sure she'd have options, though he hoped the designer side of her didn't mind the chaos of it all. He'd just grabbed whatever spare seating they'd had.

Marinette's eyes scanned over the various choices. Giggling, she replied, "Thank you."

He nodded in acknowledgment. He wasn't in any hurry to get the pictures burned, even if burning them was their goal that day. He'd intentionally had her go slowly so as to test the red string as little as possible, and he planned on doing the same here.

"I brought one for you too," she suddenly said off to his side.

He looked over in curiosity and noticed her open purse, a large piece of blue fabric nearly bursting out of it. It took a bit of effort from her - he imagined that she'd wanted it to be a surprise - but she managed to pull it out, presenting him with a shawl that matched hers exactly outside of its color. He smiled in appreciation of her thoughtfulness, then reached for it before realizing with a start, "Wait. Marinette, did you make these?"

Before she could answer, he took the shawl in his hands, turning it every possible way. Without a doubt, it was her handiwork, and along the back was where the design broke with a Marinette.

"Yeah," she confirmed, and he could practically hear her shy blush. "It's just—you're doing this for me, but even if you weren't, I don't want you to get cold, so..."

"It's great," he cut in firmly, leaving no room for doubt on her end. "Soft. Comfortable. I wish I was better with fashion to say more."

"No, you said more than enough," she assured, taking a seat next to him. That fact looked both silly and intimate given the multiple other seats she could've chosen instead, but he tried not to think about it.

Instead, he gave a curious glance at her pink shawl, silently comparing it to the one she'd given him. "...You didn't have to make it blue," he commented, and clarified before she could think anything bad, "I would've happily worn your colors."

She gave him a look, though didn't seem weirded out by the idea. "But... it's pink."

"What's wrong with pink?" he asked, genuinely confused. "It's your color."

She blushed, her shoulders hunching forward shyly. He didn't even bother taking back what he said, because he meant it; he might've favored blue when he picked out an outfit, but pink made him think of her.

It was much better than red at the very least.

Marinette pursed her lips in response, idly tugging at her shawl and seeming to be in an internal debate with herself. Apparently making a decision, she closed her eyes and breathed up, letting out a soft, "Okay."

He blinked and gave a tilt of his head to show his confusion. "Okay?"

She turned to him, resolutely pulling the fabric off of her shoulders. "T-then you can wear mine?"

He couldn't get another word out, too distracted by Marinette leaning towards him and carefully settling the shawl around his shoulders. Despite the bold move, she couldn't keep eye contact with him, awkwardly hanging onto the front of the shawl as she stared at his lap. She wasn't exactly warm or exuded any particular body heat - in fact, he was sure that her hands would be cold if he held them - but there was a comfort there that couldn't be matched by anyone else.

It took him a moment to make a move, at which point he remembered the fabric underneath his fingers. In a motion equally as careful as hers, he raised the blue shawl and settled it around her shoulders. She finally met his gaze, surprised, but smiled gratefully and released her grip on the pink shawl.

"You can keep it," she said quietly, with less shyness than before.

"Really?" he asked, placing a hand on the fabric to make sure it was what she meant.

She nodded, gripping her own as she replied, "A-as long as I can keep this one in exchange?"

He snorted, even covering his mouth to stifle a chuckle. "You made them, Marinette. Of course you can." He gave an obvious glance at the shawl to admire it. "I'd be happy to match with you."

She beamed at him. "Me too."

That topic officially concluded, his mind went blank for anything more and both of their gazes drifted to the unlit fire. He didn't have to look to know that she was shifting in anxiety in her seat, either wanting to back out or just get it over with.

"Are you ready?" he asked experimentally.

"Yes," she responded, perhaps a little stiffly but the resolve was there. She wanted this.

Luka stood briefly, and within the next few moments, the fire had been lit. The flames started out faint at first, then grew until it was something respectable, easily illuminating the small area around them. The slight chill from the wind dissipated as the fire warmed their skin, Luka hearing Marinette sigh in content harmony with him.

Neither of them took their shawls off despite the increased warmth.

The additional light from the fire made the box of pictures more obvious, with it sitting on a table not too far away. Luka took a step towards it, but Marinette was faster, grabbing up the box and turning to him with a determined expression.

"I have to do it," she insisted.

He didn't exactly disagree - this wasn't his battle - but it didn't stop him from looking nervously at the red string, the dangling part of it laying across her hand and dipping itself in the box, taunting him.

"How many do you want to do at a time?" He was careful in his wording, not wanting his tone to imply anything.

She furrowed her brows, staring down at the box in deep thought. Her fingers flexed against the cardboard, a small gust of wind blowing by and causing the fire behind her to whip around in protest.

"...All of them," she muttered, then met his gaze cautiously. "Will that be okay?"

Luka glanced at the fire, but it wasn't that he was worried about. The string would try to fight her, he was sure of it, and the only thing he wasn't sure of was if it would be better or not to let her go with her wishes. He half expected the string to physically drag her off the Liberty, and the mere thought caused his neck to sting.

But, he also believed in her. She was fighting fate herself without having used the snake even once, and he wasn't going to deny her if she thought this was best.

"Yeah," he assured. "Just don't get too close. I don't want you to get hurt."

She nodded, obviously not catching onto what he really meant.

Luka sat down on his chair, toying with the rips in his pants to keep his hands occupied as he watched her. Her posture was straight and confident as she faced the flames, despite the shake in her hands, and he was sure the fire in her eyes wasn't just a reflection.

He didn't see Ladybug in her place. There was only Marinette and everything that he already knew about her. Knowing what he did now wasn't surprising, but heartbreaking, and he couldn't be prouder of her for doing what she was trying to do.

To go against what everyone - even fate itself - expected of her. He couldn't relate on her level, but looking as he did and having the mother he did, he understood.

Finally, Marinette stepped forward, and the string was already tightening around her neck. She froze, shutting her eyes and clutching the box tighter as she mentally fought the sensation.

He barely managed to keep himself still.

She swallowed, taking another step and managing to open her eyes again. She squinted at the fire, either from the light or from her own resolve.

Then, all at once, she thrust the box forward, the pictures flying out and mingling with the flames. The fire flared up in response, practically roaring, and the string tightened further in protest. Marinette even let out a cry as she tossed the box aside.

Luka barely had time to react when she suddenly rushed towards him. He outstretched his arms and she filled up his lap, her heart seeking him out as she clutched his jacket. He wrapped his arms around her, hoping his comfort came through without words.

Her breathing was ragged, and he couldn't tell whether it was from the string or her emotions running high. He brought one of his hands higher up on her back, knowing that he could do nothing more for her but wishing he could.

He took solace in the fact that the worst of it was over.

Staring over her head, he watched as the pictures burned, blond turning black as the flames singed the pictures and reduced them to ashes. Marinette, meanwhile, remained against him, desperately clutching his fabric for wordless support. He honestly would've been okay being the only spectator to what she'd done, but she then shifted in his lap to glance behind her.

They watched the sight together, the fire whipping about with the wind like it was making sure the job was done as they'd wanted. In no time at all, there was no evidence of the pictures left outside of what was allowing the fire to burn brighter.

Marinette let out sigh of relief, collapsing against him again and nuzzling his chest. "What's wrong with me...?"

"Nothing," he replied, clutching her tighter. "You were amazing."

She looked up at him, possibly searching his expression to ensure he meant it, then offered a tired smile. She shifted again, but this time without any urgency or need. Luka sucked in a breath as she nestled her head against his shoulder, making herself comfortable on his lap while still being in a position where they could watch the fire together. Slowly, he relaxed, and they ended up not needing those other chairs after all, neither moving from their comfortable positions.

And, maybe it was just him, but the string seemed looser around her neck than it ever had before.

[seijorhi]

No Strings Attached

A commission for the lovely @hearteyes-candyskies, hope you like it bby! 💕

Bokuto Koutarou x female reader

TW Age gap, power imbalance, manipulation, toxic behaviour, nsfw(ish)

Three months ago, you would have laughed at the very idea of having a sugar daddy. 

Then again, three months ago you were still living with your boyfriend and had a steady paycheck coming in every week. You can blame losing the latter on bad luck and an asshole boss, but the former-

You knew your relationship with your ex was far from perfect, but coming home from losing said job to find him buried balls deep in your next door neighbour was a bit of a slap in the face. 

Needless to say, in the space of a few days you were out a job, a boyfriend and an apartment. Which, somewhat inevitably, led to you being six wines deep, slumped over your best friend’s bed, sobbing over the wreckage of the life you’d built, suddenly ripped out from beneath you.

You can’t really remember whose idea it was, only giggling drunkenly between yourselves as Misuzu set up your ‘sugar baby’ profile. “Shh, no this is gonna be great,” she’d said, hitting at the hands that tried to grab back your phone. “Meet some hot rich old dude, ride a little dick, let him shower you in cash; all your problems? Poof, sorted!”

And even with the heady, rose tinted haze of your wine fuelled inebriation, you knew that it was just a joke, a bit of stupid fun born more out of an attempt to cheer you up than a viable plan to get the tattered remains of your life back on track. Calling some old creepy dude ‘daddy’ and pretending to love him (not to mention the whole letting him fuck you thing) just for a little money wasn’t exactly your idea of a good time.

Plus, you were fairly sure that you weren’t what most people had in mind when they thought ‘sugar baby’. It wasn’t ever meant to be anything serious, just dumb, drunken fun with your friend.

So when you woke the next day a little after mid morning with a head full of regrets and a pounding headache, the last thing you expected was to find a message from BigDaddyKou82 waiting for you, better sense told you to ignore it.

Honestly, you didn’t really want a sugar daddy, your love life was enough of a mess without throwing in a power imbalance like that.

You should have ignored the message, deleted it or shot him a quick reply politely explaining that you weren’t interested so you could put it out of your mind, and you would have-

If Misuzu hadn’t caught sight of the message first, snatching the phone out of your hand with a gleeful shriek. 

—

If you’ve learned anything in these past months, it’s that Bokuto Koutarou doesn’t do anything by half measures. So when he tells you he’s booked dinner for the two of you at an upscale restaurant in the city, you should have expected the package that’s hand delivered right to the door of your shitty little apartment. The dress is beautiful, expensive - though you could tell that just from the elegant matte black box wrapped in golden ribbon it arrives in. It’s exactly his style; short, revealing and just dancing along the edge of impropriety, not that that’ll bother him in the slightest. 

But it is gorgeous, and loathe as you are to admit it, it flatters you well.

It’s not the first time that he’s bought you clothes, your tiny closet’s almost overflowing with pieces he’s gifted you. He likes seeing you in the things he’s bought, sometimes a little too much, you think. But you’ve learned it’s better just to go along with it - he gets this wide eyed, beaming grin whenever he sees you dressed in the pretty things he’s bought you, and the sight of it never fails to make your cheeks heat, warmth curling in your stomach. 

The dress was not unexpected. The soft, lacy lingerie that comes in the accompanying box, on the other hand - that was new.

And of course, you barely have time to unwrap your gift when your phone flashes to life, an incoming call from the man himself.

“D’ya like it?”

The giddy excitement in his voice is unmistakable, and if you close your eyes you can picture the look on his face - golden eyes all hooded and hungry, that glittering, eager grin he wears when the two of you are out in public but his mind’s occupied with all the filthy, wonderful things he wants to do to you the moment you’re alone. 

Not that he’s ever that patient. 

“Um, it’s…” Fingers tentatively reach into the tissue paper, pulling the sheer, lacy bra out, warmth blossoming in your cheeks. The matching panties - a tiny scrap of lace held together with bows and thin black straps - really aren’t much better. Like the dress, the lingerie is clearly well made, probably cost more than your weekly rent, and the delicate set is arguably gorgeous (you can’t even argue his taste), but–

“You’re gonna wear it for me tonight, right, baby?” 

It’s not really a question; of course you will, because you always do. You would have thought by now that you’d be used to the gifts he showers you in. 

“Yeah, but Kou, you really didn’t have to spend all this money on me. Dinner’s enough,” you tell him, setting the lingerie back down. 

Dinner, and everything else for that matter. 

A chuckle echoes down the line. “But I like spoiling my girl. Like buying you pretty things,” his voice dips, “like tearing ‘em off you afterwards, too.” 

And despite all the apprehension curled up inside of you, a shiver of excitement runs down your spine. 

—

“So…” Misuzu pushes, leaning across the countertop with her chin resting on her palm and looking entirely too pleased at your discomfort.

“He… asked me to meet him.”

Her eyes widen, sparkling in delight as she gasps, “For dinner?”

“For a drink - one drink,” you clarify. You elect not to tell her that he’d initially tried to sway you into dinner, and it was you who’d talked him down to a drink. Truthfully, you’d probably feel more comfortable getting coffee, but meeting at a bar was fine.

One drink, and if things got awkward or he turned out to be a creep you’d be out of there in a heartbeat. 

“Oh my god!! My baby Y/N, all grown up and manipulating old, lonely men for money. I’m so proud,” she wipes a fake tear from her eye and bursts into a fit of giggles.

A crinkle appears between your brow as you frown at her, “He’s not even that old,” you grumble, “and it’s not like that. You know it’s not.”

“No?” she asks, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “You know, for somebody who was so against me messaging your soon to be sugar daddy, you sure move quickly.”

She laughs at the glare you shoot her way. “You were the one who started this.”

“Mhm, and you were the one who didn’t stop it. Funny that, don’t you think?”

She looks like the cat that ate the canary; smug, glittering amusement written all across her face. And you hate, more than anything, that she’s right.

Because you’d meant to put a stop to it the moment you managed to wrestle your phone back from her. Afterwards, you’d blame the lingering hurt of having your heart broken, the insecurities and bitter humiliation that plagued you, the feeling that you weren’t good enough to stop your boyfriend from straying for making you so pathetically vulnerable and desperate for approval - but when you opened the chat instead of the sleazy come on’s you expected, his first message makes something inside of you flutter, warm and pleasant.

Holy crap, you’re beautiful.

Not exactly a sonnet from Shakespeare, but you can’t remember the last time any guy, much less your ex, called you beautiful. 

It didn’t exactly hurt that instead of the aging, creepy looking letch you were half expecting, the profile picture showed a rather fit, attractive man in a crisp, black suit with silvery grey streaked hair and an easy grin. Of course, it was a fifty-fifty chance that the pic wasn’t even him, or if it was then it was outdated or heavily edited, but it was enough to make you pause.

Enough to make you… curious, if nothing else.

But ridiculously attractive or not, you weren’t going to lead him on. If he wanted some pretty, simpering thing to fuck and throw money at, to call him daddy and be his sweet, obedient little girl - that wasn’t you. You’d explained that you weren’t really sure if this was your thing, that you probably weren’t what he had in mind, but surprisingly he hadn’t been put off by that.

Well what’s the harm in finding out for yourself? Maybe you’ll like it more than you think ;)

—

There were rules, when you started - lines you both agreed wouldn’t be crossed.

First and foremost, while it wasn’t exactly a conventional relationship - at least, not the kind you were used to - it was still a relationship of sorts, and there was an expectation of honesty in lieu of absolute exclusivity. You’d tell him if you were seeing anybody else, and Bokuto would tell you the same. Considering sex was on the table, it made sense.

You swore right from the beginning that you wouldn’t allow yourself to become financially dependent on him - you knew all too well that relationships were fickle things to begin with. That kind of dependency was half the reason you were in this position in the first place, and you wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that happen again. That didn’t mean that the arrangement wasn’t transactional. After a few initial meetings that went better than you expected, the two of you came to an agreement; a nice little sum of money he’d deposit weekly in your account in exchange for you being there when he wanted you. Dinner dates, skype calls when he’s travelling, spur of the moment weekends away in expensive hotels - whatever he wanted... within reason.

The thing is, despite his flaws - the little funks he gets into, his immaturity despite the age gap between you, the way he clings to you, mopes if you don’t pay him the attention he wants - you genuinely like Bo, he’s oddly endearing. Loveable, even. He reminds you a little of a puppy; eager for affection, bright and boisterous with boundless energy (and enviable stamina). He’s sweet and adoring and funny and he has this uncanny ability to make everything else fade away when you’re with him, to make you feel like you’re the only woman in the room, beautiful and perfect and entirely his-

But that didn’t make him your boyfriend. 

You weren’t lovers, and whether it was in two weeks or two years, you both knew this arrangement had an expiration date. And because of that, there were no strings attached. At any point, either one of you could end it without an explanation - no questions asked, no feelings hurt. 

—

Truthfully, you don’t know an awful lot about Bokuto’s line of work, only that his position within the company is senior enough that he can move around his schedule pretty much as he wants, leaving him free to see you whenever he likes. 

Which wasn’t a problem when that was once or twice a week. 

“Sorry, Koutarou, you know I can’t. Maybe tomorrow?”

The petulant whine that echoes down the phone fills you with an odd sort of  guilt. “Why not? You said no on Friday, too,” he pouts. “I miss you, baby. Wanna see you again.”

You shove down the faint, flickering unease that nudges at your gut. You’re not his girlfriend, and you find yourself wondering whether or not he sometimes deliberately lets himself forget that.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you frown, “I told you I have work today. It’s too late for me to try and find someone to cover my shift, and if I call in again-”

You can kiss your job goodbye. You’re already on thin ice with your boss, and it’s not like new waitresses are hard to find these days. 

“Well… what time do you finish?” he asks, his voice thick with dejection, as if he already knows what your answer’s going to be.

You bite back a sigh, “Late. I’m on close again.”

The short silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. “… I’ll come pick you up afterwards.”

This time you can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes, “Kou, I’m gonna be exhausted, I won’t be any fun to be around.”

“Still wanna see you. You’re always working,” he grumbles. “Feels like you don’t have time for me anymore, baby.”

Slowly your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. It always comes back to this. “I need this job, baby. We’ve talked about this… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I have the whole day off, I’m entirely yours.”

“All mine, hm?”

You smile, “All yours, promise.”

He hums in acknowledgement, not entirely happy, but temporarily placated. “Fiiiine. But I’m holding you to it.”

As if you expected any less. “I have to go get ready for work. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I’ll see you later,” he promises, and you hang up a moment later. 

When he said that, you assumed that both of you were on the same page as to what ‘later’ meant.

Three hours into your shift, you hadn’t expected to return from the kitchen to find a grinning Bokuto lounging in one of your booths.

“He asked for you specifically when he came in,” one of your coworkers tells you, shooting you a playful wink. “Didn’t know you were into silver foxes, Y/N. But I can’t say I blame you, he’s hot!”

“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter distractedly, glancing over your shoulder to check your manager wasn’t watching before making your way over.

The smile on your face is tight as golden eyes flicker towards you. “Bokuto,” you begin quietly, “what- what are you doing here?”

An odd look passes across his face at the use of his family name, but the smug grin remains. “You said you had to work tonight,” he says with a cavalier shrug, as if that explained everything. 

“Yes, because I’m working! Kou, I need this job, I can’t-” you break off with a huff, darting another glance over your shoulder. Thankfully, your manager’s busy berating your co-worker for a screwed up order and hasn’t noticed your absence yet.  

Taking advantage of your distracted state, Bokuto reaches across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb stroking back and forth along the back of your palm. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here to work, I get it, baby. I’m just here for some food, cross my heart,” he swears, drawing an imaginary X over his chest with his finger.

Gently tugging your hand back, you ignore the hurt little pout he gives you. “So you decided to drive twenty minutes across town just to eat here?” you ask, trying to keep the exasperation from colouring your tone. 

He shifts a little in his seat, cheeks flushing a dusty pink under your narrowed stare. “… Well, maybe I wanted to see my pretty girl, too,” he admits, “But I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour!”

Somehow, his words don’t fill you with confidence, but what are you supposed to do? Kick him out? Snap at him for coming despite the fact you told him not to? Taking a deep, steadying breath through your nose, you force yourself to relax. Bokuto’s not hurting anybody by being there, and so long as he keeps his hands to himself, so long as he behaves, it won’t be an issue.

He’s a paying customer, and you’ll treat him just like you would anyone else who walked through the restaurant’s doors.

Yet despite trying to reassure yourself of that, you can’t escape the niggling sense of unease sitting in the pit of your stomach. Even if he’s the perfect gentleman tonight, the perfect stranger, you’ve worked hard to keep your boring day to day life and the one you’ve created with him in nice, neat, separate boxes. Bokuto hasn’t met your friends or your family and outside of Misuzu they don’t have a clue about your arrangement with your attractive if somewhat clingy benefactor.

You don’t want them to know.

Him being here threatens that - it makes you nervous.

But you’ve been with Bokuto long enough to know that you can’t tell him that without hurting his feelings, and you definitely don’t have the energy to deal with that tonight. It’s a conversation for another day.

Instead, you allow a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips, “You know the food’s pretty average here, you might be disappointed.”

Bokuto grins again, mischief sparkling in those golden eyes, and your traitorous heart skips a beat. “Yeah, don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he leans in closer, “I’m far more interested in what’s for dessert.”

Warmth floods your cheeks as he snickers. 

—

For the most part he keeps his hands to himself, but you can’t quite bring yourself to relax when you can feel those golden, hungry eyes burning a hole into your back as you move around the restaurant serving other customers.

You pretend you don’t see the scowling glower he sends to the harmless office-worker who spends a good forty five minutes flirting with you every time you go over to check on his table.

Bokuto orders enough food to feed a small army and stays until close, leaving a more than generous tip on his way out. 

It goes without saying that he waits for you to finish up. The moment you slip out the door, calling out one last goodnight to your coworker, he’s on you, pushing you up against the brick alleyway wall, hiking your legs up over his hips as his mouth attacks yours, greedy and eager, swallowing up any and all protests you might’ve had.

He doesn’t take you home like you ask, but back to his penthouse suite, and neither of you get much sleep that night.

—

You’re halfway through washing your hair a few days later when your shower head splutters once… twice… and stops completely. 

A blockage in the plumbing, your landlord informs you rather apathetically. It’s affecting the whole floor and it’ll take at least a day or two to get somebody out to fix it properly, leaving you without running water for the entirety of that time.

In hindsight, there were at least three other people you could have (and probably should have) called first, but he’s already answering the phone before the thought even occurs to you. 

And then it’s too late to backpedal. You find yourself grateful that he can’t physically see the way you flush and fidget, pacing around your living room as you awkwardly try to explain the reason you’re calling at ten in the morning. 

“Would, I mean, i-is it okay if I come over to use your shower? Just for this one time, mine kind of got interrupted this morning.” 

God, from the way you stutter, stumbling over your own tongue, you’d think you were asking him to marry you. You’ve spent the night at his countless times before, but asking for a favour, even a small one like this - maybe you’re toeing an unwritten line in the sand? Bokuto isn’t with you because he loves you, he’s with you because it’s mutually beneficial for both of you, because of an agreement. 

He wants fun, easy, not you saddling him with minor inconveniences. Calling to ask him to come save you, albeit from something as mundane as a lack of access to a functioning shower, feels like something you’d ask your boyfriend to do. 

Not your sugar daddy.

But just as you’re about to backtrack and apologise for interrupting his morning, he speaks. “What d’you mean? Just come stay with me till it’s fixed.”

He says it with such certainty, as if it’s the most obvious solution and for a moment you’re stunned into silence. “A-are you sure? I don’t want-'' Don't want what? To be an inconvenience? A problem? “I don’t want to be in the way,” you finish lamely.

Bokuto just laughs, “Don’t be stupid, baby, of course you won’t be in the way. Just swing by the office and I can give you the keys. Or I can just get you another set made? I don’t know, we can figure it out later. I’ll see you soon, ‘kay?” 

And you have to admit, as apprehensive as you were stepping into his penthouse alone for the first time, showering in Bokuto’s fancy ensuite bathroom (which you’re fairly sure is bigger than your actual bedroom) is a hell of a lot nicer than doing it at home. The lotions he has are all expensive brands with french names you’ve never even heard of before, but they smell amazing and they leave your skin feeling all soft and silky. Even the shampoo he’s bought for you to use is far nicer than the one you have at home, though you’re secretly pleased that its scent’s similar - your favourite, actually. 

Did he buy them knowing that or was it just a coincidence, you wonder. You never thought to ask. 

Without work, or Bo for that matter, to occupy your time, you decide to take advantage of his gigantic TV, opening up Netflix and settling into his ridiculously comfortable couch… 

… And wake, a few hours later to the feeling of fingers carding through your hair and a pair of lips pressing against your cheek. 

Bokuto’s home, you realise with a start, and there’s drool on your chin. Face burning with embarrassment, you hastily wipe it away with the back of your palm and try to sit up, only for Bokuto’s hand to wrap around your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“No, don’t get up, baby,” he says, easing down onto the couch beside you and shifting your head onto his lap so he can continue threading his fingers through your hair. “I like coming home to this.”

Still half asleep, curling up and nuzzling further into those warm, thick thighs of his, you miss the intensity of the adoration burning in golden depths as he coaxes you back to sleep.

—

The two of you are in bed, your cheek resting on his chest, his arm slung over your waist and knuckles brushing idly along your side, when Bokuto breaks the comfortable silence. 

“Move in with me.”

You tense in his arms, heart skipping a beat. For a split second, you’re almost positive that you misheard him. “I-I’m sorry?” You push yourself up onto your elbow, turning your head so that you can look at him properly.

But Bokuto doesn’t miss a beat. “Move in with me,” he repeats, golden eyes bearing down on you.

The expression on your face is frozen halfway between disbelief and hysteria, and you’re staring at him, waiting for that stupid grin to break across his face, for him to laugh and tell you how ridiculous you look, because of course he’s joking.

He’s joking, right?

“Koutarou,” you begin slowly, “Wha- I don’t… Why would you want me to move in with you? We barely- I mean, we’re not…” 

He shrugs his shoulders, “Why wouldn’t I? It makes sense. My place is bigger and nicer, and I like having you here with me. Feels right.”

It feels right??

“I-I can’t just move out of my apartment, Kou.”

His eyebrows knit together, and he huffs, “Why not? It’s a shitty apartment.”

“That’s not the point!” Knocking away the hand that reaches for you, you push yourself all the way up until you’re sitting properly. “I don’t want to move.” 

Owlish eyes narrow, a flash of irritation sparking. “Why not? It makes perfect sense for you to move in here with me. You wouldn’t have to work at that stupid job anymore for one,” he huffs. 

“Bokuto, I’m not going to quit my job,” you mutter. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Why, though?!” he explodes. “You don’t need the money, I’ve told you I can take care of you, whatever you want, baby, name it and it’s fucking yours. You don’t need to work and you don’t need that shitty little apartment!”

Like a crystal glass slipping from numb fingers, the fantasy you’ve convinced yourself you’ve been living shatters into a thousand jagged shards in the space of a single breath.

Oh, how naive you’ve been. How fucking stupid.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you inhale deeply, “Kou, that’s not-”

Strong fingers grip your jaw, and your eyes shoot open as he tugs your face back towards him. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown out, but it’s the intensity in his gaze as he stares at you, the blank expression-

“I love you.”

—

39 missed calls. 72 unread messages. 

Flowers, bouquets of roses, peonies and chrysanthemums piled up by your door between boxes of chocolates and other gifts you won’t bring yourself to open. 

Wide eyed, Misuzu gingerly steps over them, holding two steaming mugs in hand. “Holy fuck,” she murmurs, and for the first time since this stupid, awful mistake began, there’s not a trace of mirth to be found. “Y/N, I…”

But she doesn’t have the words, and you can’t blame her. 

“He told me he loves me,” you sigh. “He asked me to move in with him and told me he loved me, and I grabbed my clothes and all but ran.” You still can’t get the image of Bokuto’s face out of your head, the raw, aching hurt swimming in his eyes as you all but stumbled over excuses in your haste to get out of there. But he didn’t lift a finger to stop you, didn’t say another word.

He just watched numbly, hunched over against the headboard as you fled.

There’s a short beat of silence between the two of you as she sets down the drinks and collapses into the chair beside you. “And… do you love him back?” 

Exhaling loudly, you drop your face into your palms. “I-”

You like how he makes you feel beautiful, the filthy, wonderful praise he lavishes you in when the two of you sleep together, the way he touches you, fingers and mouth so eager to please as his cock fills you, inch by delicious inch.

You like being adored, treasured, and you liked Bo, but… you don’t love him.

That was never on the cards, that wasn’t what your relationship was.

Every line he ever crossed, every boundary he toed, you keep replaying them again and again over and over in your head like a never ending loop. You hadn’t even wanted this whole stupid sugar baby relationship to begin with, and every step of the way he was the one to coax you forward.

And you let him, swallowing down your doubts and your insecurities each and every time. You let him think that this was something else entirely… 

How had you not seen this coming?

“No,” you admit.

The hand that takes yours is soft, and when you glance over with eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears, Misuzu squeezes it gently. “Then end it. Walk away.”

And with your head on her shoulder, her arms wrapped loosely around you, you type out a short message to Bokuto. No strings attached and no questions asked, you’d promised each other that much when you’d started this mess. You wonder if it still holds true. 

I’m sorry. Clearly we were on different pages and want different things. I didn’t mean to lead you on or for things to go as far as they did, but I can’t do this with you anymore. 

You send it and block his contact, and when the tears come and painful sobs rip their way free, Misuzu holds you tight and murmurs soft reassurances. It’ll pass, all breakups hurt.

—

A week after your ‘breakup’ you get a notification on your phone that money’s been transferred into your bank account. 

For a moment, you think that maybe it’s an accident, a recurring transaction he’d simply forgotten to cancel (you doubt he’d even notice) until you click into the transaction itself.

It isn’t the sum itself that startles you - twice the usual amount - but the short note attached in the description.

I need to see you. Please.

You transfer the money right back into his account.

—

Without your weekly supplement from Bo, it doesn’t take long for you to come to the realisation that your current salary just barely covers rent and your bills, and if you want to eat anything other than two minute noodles in the foreseeable future, you’re going to need either more hours, or a second job. 

Thankfully, the timing works out well. When you go to your boss with your most winning smile to try and convince her of your plight, she simply shrugs and agrees, having had to let one of the junior staff go only a few days before. The one catch being that instead of working a mix of morning and afternoon shifts with the occasional closing thrown in, you’re now exclusively on close, five nights a week, Tuesday through Saturday.

Mostly, it doesn’t bother you. The shifts are long and you always leave feeling aching, drained and barely human, but usually it’s quiet enough, and so long as you can get the last few lingering customers out early enough, the actual close runs pretty smoothly between you and the other staff. 

It’s not what you really want to be doing, but you’ve learned to make the best of it. This is adult life, and for the first time since high school, you’re supporting yourself entirely. It might not be the greatest job in the world, and there are absolutely days when you just want to throw in the towel completely, but there is a slight pride to that fact. You don’t need anybody in your life to coddle or support you, you’re figuring this shit out as you go along.

You just wish, sometimes, that you could do that without having to work until the early hours of the morning.

On paper, the kitchen closes at midnight and the last customers are supposed to be out within half an hour of that. Then, between yourself and another server, you can usually get the restaurant tidied up and closed a little after one. 

You knew right from the moment you clocked on that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. The girl who’s supposed to be on close with you called in sick and your boss hasn’t bothered to replace her.

It’s not the first time you’ve had to close by yourself, but it’s still a pain, especially when the last few customers take forever to finish up and leave. 

One of the kitchen staff offers to stay back, his bag slung over his shoulder, hand already on the door handle but you just shake your head with a tired smile. 

“Nah, I can handle it. Thanks, though,”

To his credit, he doesn’t immediately take the offered out. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

Without any help, it takes almost twice as long for you to finish up, and it’s a little after two when you finally flick off the lights and lock the doors.

Your feet are killing you, and all you can think about is sinking into your bed at home, burrowing into your blankets and sleeping for a week straight-

“Hey, baby.” 

Leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded across his broad chest and eyeing you with an unreadable expression, is Bokuto. 

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

There's nothing inherently threatening about him being here, but it’s the middle of the night, you haven’t seen him in almost two weeks and you don’t need to glance around to know that the car park’s empty. There’s nobody in sight.

Just you and him, and the few feet of distance separating you. 

“K-kou, what are you… what are you doing here?” 

He smiles at that, the way his name slips from your lips, but only for a fleeting second. It fades, and a cold, uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“I missed you, y’know?” He pushes off the hood and takes a step towards you, “You didn’t call me.”

He’s always been bigger than you, towering over you looking like some Adonis with those rippling, powerful muscles of his. You used to like that strength, squealing in wicked delight when he’d hoist you up with a grin, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing your ass, your back shoved up against the wall so he could drive his cock deeper into ‘his pretty fuckin’ pussy’. 

But that was then. 

You’ve never been scared of his strength. Even that morning in the apartment, he didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or yell, he just… shut down. He wouldn’t hurt you, you know that.

That doesn’t stop you from skittering backwards like a frightened little bunny, your back hitting the wall.

The very moment you do, you watch as his eyes widen in surprise, hurt flashing for a split second-

-before they darken, his face twisting into a scowl, and you can’t escape the feeling you’ve made an awful mistake. 

Dread creeps its way up your spine, tightening like a vice around your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your brain is screaming at you to run, adrenaline surging through your veins, but even as your heart races and your breathing spikes, you can’t seem to move your legs.

It wouldn’t make a difference even if you could - with your back up against the literal wall, Bokuto and his car blocking your only escape route, you’re trapped; a fact that hasn’t escaped either of you.

Paralysed in fear, you can’t so much as twitch as he takes another slow, calculated step forward.

Desperately, you open your mouth - to try and placate him? To apologise? Scream for help? - but all that escapes is his name in a choked, breathless whisper. 

“Bokuto…”

As he stares at you, he almost looks regretful.

Almost, if not for the grim determination resolving like steel in those golden eyes of his. “I love you, and I know you love me, too,” he says, closing the gap between you. “I’m doing this for us, baby.”

[ladyintree]

tai’s face scrunches up in disgust,   because she clearly doesn’t want to see those    (   doesn’t mikayla remember her own reaction to seeing taissa and her wife’s photos plastered all over the city?    )     still,   she allows herself to look now,   her expression full of annoyance when her eyes finally lock on one,   when she’s forced to actually see what her wife looks like.   her jaw clenches,  refusing to let her face react much,   before she looks back to mikayla.    there’s pictures of me and my wife all over my house, too,   she wants to say,   but she can’t imagine whatever mikayla’s going through is even remotely the same.   

tai frowns,  jumping to the worst conclusions,   wondering if calypso knows about anything from the last week.   the blackmail,  the body,   the almost .  .  .   whatever it was that taissa and mikayla did.   ❝  fighting?  ❞    she repeats,  clearly having no interest in dropping it.  she just poured her own heart out to mikayla,   exposed herself for all of her crimes,   her insecurities,   her deepest fears—    why doesn't taissa deserve the same?    ❝  not about—-   she doesn’t know what we did,   right?   with the others?  ❞     she clarifies,   lacking the sympathy she should probably have in the moment:    how she should feel sorry that things aren’t working for her,   yet she’s too far beyond that at this point,   and she has been since mikayla almost kissed her a few nights ago.    now that she’s already found comfort in her arms again,   it’s hard to think rationally,   to separate herself from mikayla in a way that is necessary,  given their circumstances—-   instead,   she’s too quick to assume that it’s for the best that she and her wife aren’t together,   but maybe that’s more about justifying her own crashing marriage than anything.  

❝  oh—  it’s me,  ❞   she argues with a scoff,    like that’s supposed to mean something anymore.   ❝  something happened.   just talk to me,  ❞    she insists,   in part just selfishly curious,   but another part genuinely wanting to give mikayla the chance to talk,   the same way she did for her,   even if it’s not necessarily coming off that way.    her eyes close,  features softening as she shakes her head.     ❝  i didn’t think you lied.   ❞    at least,   not really,   but part of her was suspicious,  at least.     ❝  i’m just trying to understand what the fuck is going on.    you’re fighting,   or you’re over?   because you just told me i could stay—-    is that because she’s gone?   your fucking wedding ring’s off.   that’s more than just fighting.   ❞     

she's greedy for the information now,   but she finally catches herself,    her jaw clenching as she tries to collect herself.    her fingers close around the ring in her hand,   and she takes a deep breath before speaking much softer.     ❝  i know i barged in here asking for your help,   but—-   that doesn’t mean i don’t care about you,  too,   ❞     she reminds.    she shrugs,   her hand falling against her side.    ❝   after what i told you about my wife—-  ❞     she starts,   letting out a soft scoff.    ❝  —  it can’t be worse than that,   right?   ❞   

she does care,   she does want mikayla to be happy,   and if it’s with calypso,  she can find it in her heart to support her,   but something’s off.   she still feels that electricity between them that she felt nights ago,   and she tries not to go there —-  that mikayla kicked her wife out because she wasn’t her —   but she can’t help it.   she just doesn’t know if she can ask for that confirmation directly,   either.   but everything she’s done today is impulsive,   and it’s eating away at her,   so she doesn’t stop herself from going on.    ❝  does this have something to do with me?   us?  ❞     she shouldn’t push it;   mikayla still has the ability to kick her out,     but she’s pleading with her now,   in part to distract herself from her own fears that led her here,   and in part because maybe,   if she has some kind of clarity with mikayla,    that will help her. 

while tai is in the shower, mikayla has time to reflect on exactly what the fuck she's doing here. for years, she'd told herself she was over taissa, that she didn't care about her, and yet here she is, ready to drop everything to help her, the way mikayla wanted her to do so many years ago. does that make her pathetic? or does it just make her, finally, a semi-decent person, knowing that turning taissa away would only be petty, some kind of punishment for what she did to mikayla when they were younger. maybe it's somewhere in between. whatever it is, mikayla doesn't really care, because all that she's sure of is the fact that tai needs help, and she's not strong enough to turn her away.

she forgets about the ring she'd left in the medicine cabinet, both because she doesn't care enough to consider her wife in the moment and because she doesn't assume tai would go through her things, that she would be that nosy. maybe that was her first mistake, because she doesn't know taissa anymore. she doesn't know what kind of person she is, if she's the type to snoop through someone's house— because mikayla never really knew her in a normal situation, keeping her distance when they were in high school.

so when tai comes back out with that ring in her hand, mikayla's caught off guard. her immediate impulse is to lie, tell her that she was just cleaning before this, so she'd taken it off. but that's not believable, considering she didn't even remove the ring when they were cleaning up blood, so why would she remove it to just clean her house? mikayla's not sure why taissa even has that look on her face, because, really, her marriage is none of her business. it's failing because of mikayla's feelings for her, but that doesn't mean she has the right to know about it at all.

any urge to lie goes out the window when tai basically accuses her of faking her marriage, mikayla immediately scoffing, “ why the fuck would i— there's pictures of us everywhere, tai. ” she gestures toward the nearest one, hoping that tai doesn't look too closely at it, because if she did, it might be obvious that the happiness mikayla tries to force around calypso is fake, that the way she looks at her wife doesn't even begin to compare to the way she looks at taissa. she knows she has to give her some of the truth, though she refuses to tell her all of it, because it's fucking embarrassing, admitting that her wife of seven years left her because she's still in love with the woman who abandoned her when she needed her most.

“ we're... fighting, ” she explains, looking away. fighting doesn't feel like enough to explain what's really going on, because this is nothing like the fights she'd had with calypso in the past. a part of mikayla is beginning to understand that it's final, that she's not going to forgive her this time, because this is worse than mikayla just being selfless, thoughtless— calypso's never going to forgive her for being in love with somebody else, so of course she's never going to come back. “ she left me a few days ago. i didn't— want to talk about it. ” she still doesn't, because while mikayla's given tai some of the truth, she can't give her all of it, can't let her know why calypso left her. and she doesn't need to, because tai hasn't earned any of that. “ and i'm definitely not talking about it with you, of all people, so that's as much as you're getting. but i didn't fucking lie. ”

[pink-bird-30]

Titans 4x04

SPOILERS AHEAD

READ AT OWN RISK!!!!

Let's dive in, shall we?

-I can't tell if Dick is in complete denial or he genuinely is scared of everything going on since he's completely out of his element. He's always used to being the guy who can fight villains with his fists, but now he's facing a situation where he can't do that. Hell, even Connor is struggling against this new foe.

-Dick's attitude towards Kori worries me; the vision and the music from the jukebox...These are obvious signs of Kori's destiny and Dick is adamant that they should graze over it, and that it's nothing to worry about. But man, I am WORRIED.

-I just love how the Titans just pick up strays along the way. Sebastian being their newest edition, beside Jinx, but I'm really invested in his story. His interaction with Rachel was interesting. You can see there is a connection there already, even before we discover he is her "brother".

-I'm unsure how I feel about Connor and Jinx, I'm gonna let that one ride out on its own.

-Tim being the ultimate fanboy will always be my favorite thing about him. If I were in his position, I would probably be spitting random facts all the time about heroes too.

-Not us going back to the asylum?! Kori ad Dick are responsible for members of the Organization escaping, especially Mother Mayhem?!?! There are points in this series where I just don't understand how it all makes sense, but this fucking moment threw me to the floor. Are you kidding me? We just connected back to season 1!!!!

-Sebastian's backstory is honestly heartbreaking. There was so much to unpack there that I don't think I really can break it all down, so bare with me. From my understanding, Trigon's heir/child that would fulfill the prophecy was to be a daughter. But then Mother Mayhem had Sebastian, which made him not be the prophetic child Trigon spoke of. So she was no longer relevant to him and eventually found Rachel's mother. But what confuses me is: Did mother Mayhem do something to make Sebastian the chosen one? Did her influence create him to fit into Trigon's prophecy? If someone wants to clarify this for me, that would be great. Or I could just go back and watch the episode again.

-"Super Super Mart" is this the DC version of "Spirit Halloween"? Old buildings turning into Super Super Marts lol.

-Zombies...I didn't think I would be writing this sentence in regards to Titans, but I guess I am. Kori's powers malfunctioning in that moment is very interesting. They were the only thing that worked against Mother Mayhem's powers two episodes ago, but against the zombies, they hardly flinched. What does this mean? Do this have to do with the book and the red moon?

-Oh, oh the fucking children's book. First off, the illustrations were great. Second, the meaning behind the illustrations is worrisome for sure. Kori will die, Sebastian is the chosen one, and the Titans will fall. And this is to happen 8 hours from now. 8 fucking hours!?!?

-Also, again. Titans has some weird obsession with not having accurate ages for these characters. You're gonna tell me Sebastian is 25 years old?!?!?! I'm literally a 26 year old and when the screen said 1997 I had to do a double take to understand another weird age has now entered the chat. No one, and I mean NO ONE, on this planet can convince me that Joseph Morgan can pass for a 25 year old man. There is no way.

-It was great to see Deathstroke again, I hope this isn't that last of him. Even thought he's a zombie I still have a soft spot for that unhinged maniac.

-I'm really curious to see what will happened to Connor. I think he vomited up that serpent because of Slade stabbing him with that dagger. But it makes me question: does Mother Mayhem now have some sort of connection to Connor? or is it simply him being a Super and their weakness to magic?

-The last scene at S.T.A.R. labs really brought it home for me that we are in a The End era. There is no ways around it. It was a 100% a rewrite of Teen Titans and the scene where Robin takes Raven to the special containment are for her 16th birthday. But in this case, Benard leading Rachel and Sebastian into hiding to ride out the red moon. It's all coming together and I'm ready for next week!

[recklessmark]

PLEASE PLEASE WRITE A CHEATING ANGST WHERE MARK IS BEING SUCH A JERK ABT IT EVEN THO Y/N CATCHES HIM CHEATING ON HER AND ALSO MAKE THE PERSON MARK IS CHEATING WITH MEAN TOO, those stories are really the best kind of angst - anon ❤️

words count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, cheating

a/n: i have no mood for angst now i’m so sorry. this is not very miserable at all since i refused to let y/n cry pathetically in front of douchebag mark 😡 but hopefully you’ll like it.

you take a sip of your chardonnay, the other hand is still busy scrolling on your phone. your face puts on the best do-not-talk-to-me look while your fingers typing on the screen with a fast speed.

y/n: where are yo-

no, you delete the sentence.

y/n: can you pick me up after work?

delivered.

your fingers idly tap on the bar counter, flashing the bartender an encouraging smile as if you’re not currently having murder on your mind. after about less than 5 minutes, your phone buzzes on the marble surface and you take it in your hands again.

mark: i’m having meeting, i’ll probably stay over at my office either.

your lips curl into a crooked smile. executioner style.

y/n: you better sleep with one eye open tonight.

y/n:

you bite your bottom lip, trying to keep your composure and delete the yet-to-be-sent message. all you’re seeing is red now. mark lee, your lovely boyfriend has the audacity to tell you he’s having a meeting. a two people meeting, one man one woman, in a hotel. little does the two-timing, cheap-lying wannabe know that you’re sitting at the bar of the hotel he takes his side chick in. and you have to clarify that either you and your friends have caught him hang out with other women multiple times but you, a faithful girlfriend, brainlessly believe in him and maybe he will change. the only thing has changed ever since is his loyalty to you, wondrously decreases.

you leave a tip under your glass and jump of the stool. you turn at the corner, walking inside the hotel building. unfortunate for mark is that you have some work here, otherwise you couldn’t catch the sight he wrapped his arm around a girl and walked into the hotel. but work can be done later.

“good evening, how can i help you?” the receptionist greets you politely and you give her a smile. “y/f/n y/l/n, i have a business meeting with mr grey.”

the woman nods and types something on the laptop while you rake your eyes around the building. “floor 8, room 805, ms y/l/n.”

you smile in acknowledgment and turn around to walk away. “oh,” you put on a fake gape and glare back and the receptionist, “may i ask where’s mr lee’s room, i have to take something from him. mark lee please.”

she looks confused but obliges your command anyway. “floor 8, room 802.” you give her a “thank you” and stroll toward the elevator. god must be unpleasant with mark so that his room is on the same floor with yours. you take your phone out and decide to reply the previous message of him.

y/n: i have a meeting at imperial building either, we can go home together.

delivered.

adrenaline and rage rushing inside your veins as the monitor screen displays the red number 8. you take your steps slowly, the sound of your heels clicking against the floor reverberates around the empty floor.

801-805

seeing the gold banner on the wall, you turn at the corner. your head dizzy as you think about what’s happening inside the 802 room. standing in front of the wide wooden door, you decisively press your finger on the doorbell. just once and patiently wait for someone to open the door. although every room is soundproof but you can hear a small voice from the inside after about two minutes, you’re not complaining though, you have big heart for patience.

a ‘genuine’ smile plasters on your face as the door flings opened, revealing a woman- your coworker surprisingly and she only has a towel wrapped around her body. “hi,” you say and walk inside before she could process anything that’s going on. “where’s mark? mark lee.” you ask and opposite of your nonchalance, she makes a quite smart decision to throw a tantrum.

“what the hell y/n?! if you know he doesn’t even like you anymore why are you here? he will never go home so don’t cry and beg for it!”

“where’s ma-“ you calmly repeat yourself and suddenly you see your boyfriend gets out of the bathroom, with a towel wrapped around his hips either. his toned chest and abs look nice but they’ll be better if there’s some bullets shot through. “oh mister executioner, i was wondering where you are.”

mark gapes as he sees you, apparently hasn’t read your new message. he heard haven - his side chick was yelling and he was curious what she’s so frantic about. and now he understands.

you sit down at the cafe table and cross your legs. “you may speak now.” you flash him a reluctant smile.

“speak what? he has nothing to explain-“

“look,” mark cuts haven off and starts his meaningless explanation, “i don’t love you anymore, you’re always busy and your spare time is for work either!”

“my spare time is for work?!” you exclaim, “you are the one who fucking cancel all our dates and hangs out with your side chicks! you think i’m stupid that i’m totally clueless about what you do behind my back?” your voice is shaky yet you try to keep it as steady as possible. you’re not going to cry in front of him and his bitch.

“you call who’s a side chick?” haven yells, pointing her finger at you and you dart your eyes at her, “i’m not talking to you, don’t let me lose the tiny respect i’m still having for you. we’re both women and we work together, i don’t want to be rude.”

“you’re fucking fake as hell-“

“shut up,” mark shouts, making the woman shut her mouth and then turns back to you. “don’t act like you’re not flirting with other men at work, you’re a whore!” he says loudly and you’re practically speechless.

mark calls you a whore.

“since when i flirt with men?” you ask in a calm, quiet tone. you have completely no idea what he’s talking about because you’re certain that you only keep a professional and friendly relationship with any man you know except of mark.

“haven sent me a lot of photos of you and other guys,” he remarks and now you understand, your eyes give your shameless coworker a death stare as she’s avoiding your gaze. “who has the interest in this affair first?”

“me,” mark responds. now he knows how to he honest. “i like her first.”

you let out a chuckle unexpectedly, “so you like hannah, sophia, iris and my best friend as well?” it’s unbelievable that you still have faith in this man even though he hit on your best friend once and she’s already warned you about it.

as mark can’t say anything to defend himself, you stand up, “i’ll pack up your things and send it to your address. don’t ever walk into my place again.” you give him the last peck on his thin lips and walk away but not before giving your coworker a reminder.

“you’ve heard what i said, i hope you’re not the one who chooses to be stupid now.”

slamming the door close, you let out a heavy breath, feeling you’re about to stumble on your weak knees. you love mark so much that it blinds you, no matter how many times you saw him with other women, you still pretended to be clueless. you keep him beside you since you think that he will change but it’s just your one-way deduction which unfortunately could not be true. you hold back the tears in your watering eyes, you will cry when you’re home, not before you get your work done.

[waka-chan-out]

“You Asked For It.”

post-timeskip, obviously.

word count: 3.6k

content warning: PEGGING, established relationship, established safeword (not used), orgasm denial, hand job, fingering (m. receiving), light teasing because it’s tsukishima, tsukki calls you ma’am twice, lots of swearing

also featuring: hinata, kageyama, bokuto, akaashi, kuroo, and kenma

“Hey, Tsukki dude, it’s your turn!” Bokuto said, knees happily bouncing against the carpeted floor. Tsukki rolled his eyes and shot you a glance. You smiled, looking back at him over the girl that sat between you. Though neither of you were party people, you knew he’d have been upset if he missed this. The old volleyball club boys only got together every so often, so you had to drag him out of the apartment whenever it happened. Even though he was back to being his normal, slightly grump self, you could tell he was happy. Living with him for the past six months had made it much easier to read him, even when he seemed like he had an expression spectrum that spanned from a smirk to a frown.

“Alright,” he said, holding up his six remaining fingers. “Never have I ever hooked up with someone on one of the old volleyball teams.”

“Oo, that’s a good one,” Hinata said, glancing around eagerly at everyone’s hands. You put down a finger. Easy, obvious answer. There was hesitation in the rest of the group.

“What qualifies as hooking up?” Kageyama asked.

“Why do you need to know, Tobio? Got something to confess?” Kuroo teased. Kageyama’s eyebrow’s furrowed.

“I’m not asking for myself. I just think it’s important to clarify.”

“Whatever you say.” Kuroo chuckled, leaning back on his hands. He sat between two girls that you didn’t know. Apparently, Bokuto had arranged the gathering and didn’t exactly narrow down the guest list to old volleyball players, so though a lot of the old team members were there, some random people had attended and things got out of hand fairly quickly.

“Let’s say making out and beyond just to sate my own curiosity.” Tsukki continued. “You don’t have to specify if you don’t want to.” There was a cough from across the circle and Bokuto shifted awkwardly.

“How many fingers do you have, Bo?” you asked. He holds up four.

“How many did you have?” Akaashi asked, leaning forward from where he sat next to him, legs crossed carefully.

“It’s not my fault you guys weren’t paying attention,” Bokuto said, sticking his nose in the air.

“I think he had five,” Hinata said.

Kageyama laughed loudly. “I’m pretty sure Akaashi put a finger down too.”

“Akaashiiiiiii!” Bokuto said, leaning over onto his setter.

“Get off of me, Bokuto-san.”

“They’re being crazy. Tell them, Akaashi.”

“Tsukishima said we didn’t have to specify.”

Tsukki and Kuroo were doubled over in fits of laughter, clearly unsure what to make of what was going on.

“Someone else needs to hurry up and take their turn before Bokuto-san cries.”

“Akaashiiiiii!”

“Okay, okay,” the girl next to you said. “Never have I ever participated in…” she trailed off and looked embarrassed.

“Just say it,” Kuroo said, still laughing a bit.

“Anal,” she mumbled, immediately covering her mouth with her hands. Several laughs broke out across the group as a handful of fingers went down amongst the boys. You hesitated, winced, and put your finger down, hoping no one would notice. Tsukki looked at you, surprised. The girl that had asked the question grabbed your wrist.

“Oh my god, you’re the only girl that said yes! Was it awful? Did it hurt? Was it good? I don’t trust their answers.” You look at Tsukki with wide eyes, then back to her.

“Uhm, I don’t know if I can really answer those.”

“Oh come on,” Kuroo said. “It’s all for fun. Nothing leaves the circle. I think we’re all curious.”

“No, I’m not embarrassed,” you said, laughing. “I just genuinely can’t answer those questions. I wasn’t the one receiving.” The girl squeaked and Kuroo’s mouth fell wide open.

“Tsukki, did--”

“Nope,” he responded forcefully. Bokuto let out a guffaw and held out his hand for a high five. You gave him a gentle one, laughing with the group but cringing a bit when you looked back at Tsukki. He didn’t look upset, just dumbstruck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So . . . that was interesting,” you said as you laid down on your bed, trying to get in the first word.

“What was?” Tsukishima asked, nonchalantly taking off his jacket. You laughed.

“You know exactly what.”

He scoffed. “I thought it was obvious that Bokuto-san and Akaashi were hooking up, but I guess everyone was pretty surprised.”

“God, Kei, I’m talking about the anal question.”

“Of course you are.”

“Obviously.”

“I mean, good for you I guess. I didn’t know you had that dominant side in you.” He removed his shirt and walked into the bathroom. You called in after him.

“What does that mean? Of course I have that side.” You heard him scoff. “Don’t fucking laugh at me, Kei, you know it’s true.”

“Sure it is, love.”

“Yes, it absolutely is. I just didn’t want to embarrass you.”

He peeked around the corner, brows furrowed. “How would you embarrass me?”

“Please, Kei. We both know you’re secretly submissive. If I went full dom you’d never want to go back.” His eyes widened.

“You think I’m submissive? What gave you that impression?” Poor thing. He looked genuinely baffled.

“You just have that vibe, babe. You’re a brat.”

“You’re the brat here.”

“I am, but you’d be much more fun to tame.”

He huffed and leaned against the doorframe.

“You know what?” he asked. “Fucking try me.”

“Are you serious?” you said. Your eyebrows raised and a smile crept onto your lips.

“Don’t look so excited. I won’t give you an easy time about it.”

“But you’ll let me?”

“We have a safeword for a reason.”

“Okay, Kei. You asked for it.”

“No, I didn’t. You did. Now let me take my shower, dumbass. Kuroo was clinging to me all night and I feel disgusting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bathroom door opened and Kei reentered the room, his hair curly and sticking up in the front, a towel wrapped around his waist. His whole body looked pink and damp where it had recovered from the water but not the heat. Your eyes followed him as he walked to his closet, head not lifting from the wall where he had left you. He began to open the closet door but noticed you studying him in the mirror.

“What?” he spat. You smirked.

“You’re pretty,” you said. He furrowed his brows and stared at you, trying to make sense of your words.

“You’re a dumbass.”

“You don’t know how to take a compliment.” He scoffed. You laughed, lifting yourself off the wall and moving on all fours towards him. You hung your legs hanging over the side of the mattress, hips about even with his with the height of the bed.

“I set stuff up for you,” you teased. He looked wildly around the room, eyes settling on the bottle of lube on your bedside table. He gestured to it.

“Is that all?” he asked. You smiled.

“Of course not, but I think it’s more fun if you don’t get intimidated by . . . you know.”

He flushed. “I wouldn’t be intimidated. I’m doing this for you.”

“Kei. Baby. No, you aren’t.”

“I could pull out the word right now.”

“But you won’t, will you?” You reached out and grabbed him by the towel, right where it was tucked in to stay in place. You pulled him to you, placing him right between your legs. He raised an eyebrow. Your hips lined up perfectly but he still towered over you. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands fell to your waist. He leaned in for a kiss but you pulled back. He rolled his eyes. “Are you really going to try making this a whole thing?”

You smiled and combed your hands through his messy, damp hair.

“I do think you’re pretty, Kei,” you mumbled.

“Will you shut up about that?” he said through a breathy laugh. Your grip on his hair tightened and you pulled his head back. He grunted in surprise.

“Don’t try to act so tough, Kei. I know you want this.”

“You have no idea what I want.”

“I think I do.” You reached down and palmed him through his towel. He hissed and stared at you, eyes wide. “I think you’ve wanted this for so long you can’t stand it, but you’re too stubborn to ask for it.” He opened his mouth to reply, but just as soon closed it and squeezed his eyes shut. You laughed and released your hold on him. He inhaled deeply and stared down at you, a distant look in his eye. “Why don’t you come up here with me?” you asked. He shook his head but climbed up onto the bed anyway. You immediately swung a leg over him and looped your arms around his neck.

“We’re playing that game, are we?” he said.

“Honey, you haven’t seen half my game.” The defiance he tried to plaster on his face faltered as you rocked your hips against his. “You know--” you said, continuing the motion. “You said I don’t know what you want, but it keeps getting easier to tell.”

“I--fuck. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, leaning in so you could whisper in his ear. “Because I can feel how much you want me right between my legs.” You planted a gentle kiss on the shell of his ear and pushed his chest back so he was lying against the bed, moving your hips harder against him. He bit back a sound and closed his eyes, fingers pressing into your sides. You pulled his glasses off of his face and leaned over to the side table, exchanging them for the small bottle of lube. His eyes opened when he heard the familiar snap of the lid.

“What--” he started.

“Shh, baby. We’re gonna have fun.” You squeezed some out into your hand and untucked his towel, grabbing his cock. He let out a sharp breath. You leaned down and kissed him deeply, grabbing one of his hands with your own and pinning it gently next to his head as you started to move your other hand. His free hand found its way into your hair and tugged a bit. It was cute how he tried to act like he was still in control.

“You’re--hah-- you’re really going for it, aren’t you babe?” he said, pulling back from your lips. You responded by moving your hand faster. His head twitched forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His heavy breathing turned into a laugh. “God, if you wanted me so bad you just had to say please.”

You smiled, staring down at his furrowed eyebrows. Something about having him in this position made you want to tear him in half, leaving him a begging mess that wouldn’t recover for weeks.

“Why don’t you tell me when you’re about to come, huh?” You focused your efforts on the head of his cock and he let out a whine, immediately clapping a hand over his mouth.

“No no, baby, I want to hear you.” You planted a kiss on his hand and he moved it to the side. “Good. Good boy.”

“Fuck. I’m close.” His eyes were squeezed shut, hips twitching slightly as he approached his release.

“Yeah? You wanna finish?” He didn’t respond. “Kei.” Still didn’t respond. You pulled your hand away immediately, sitting up and staring down at him as his face screwed up and he ducked his head forward.

“You bitch,” he groaned. You smiled and ran your hands down his chest as he caught his breath.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you said, fake pouting.

“Are you serious? What the fuck is your game today?”

You grinned. “You know exactly what my game is, babe, you just aren’t playing nice.”

“What did you expect?”

“Oh, I expected you to act just like this.” You wrapped your hand around him again and his eyes rolled. “I’m just gonna knock it out of you.” He didn’t have a comeback to that one. You moved your hand faster, staying in a seated position so you could watch him react.

“You like this, don’t you? You’re always such a brat but you just need someone to put you in your place.”

“Slow down, babe. Fuck.” He covered his face with his hands as his hips involuntarily twitched.

“If you want me to slow down, you know the word you have to say.”

His eyes flew open and he glared up at you.

“You gonna say it?” You concentrated on the head again and his eyes fluttered.

“No. Fuck. Shut up.”

You smiled and continued the motion. You could see his muscles tensing and relaxing, mouth never quite closing around a silent moan. “Are you going to tell me when you’re close, Kei?” He didn’t respond again. “Tsukishima. I swear to god you won’t finish a single time tonight if you don’t fucking answer me.”

“I--fuck.”

Not a response. You pulled your hand away.

His hips rolled up and his head pressed back into the pillow. He let out a string of expletives and his voice shook a bit as he spoke. His breathing was heavy and he put his hands over his face again. You watched with a small smile, running a finger lightly up his length just to watch him squirm.

“Are you--fuck--fucking serious?” he gasped.

“I’m sorry, did you want to finish?” You feigned confusion.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You aren’t asking nicely, Tsukki,” you teased, using the name his friends called him.

“What the hell do you want me to say? I’m not begging you for anything.”

“Your choice.” You dragged your hand back up and he gasped, head leaning back. You left your hand there, lightly teasing the head of his dick with your thumb.

“Can I finish?” You smiled patiently and shook your head. “Can I finish, please?”

“Closer. You forgot something, though, babe. I always call you sir. What should you call me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“How about ma’am?”

“No.”

“Your choice,” you said with a shrug, starting to move your hand on his cock again. He breathed heavily, climbing quickly after being denied twice already. His moans caught in his throat, sounding desperate but restrained.

“Fuck, babe,” he mumbled. “Fuck.” You could feel him twitch slightly in your hand as his lips fell open in a silent moan.

“All you have to do is ask nicely,” you sang, slipping your other hand down and gently rubbing at his entrance. His entire body twitched and he groaned loudly. “There it is. I knew you’d enjoy this. Why don’t you just ask nicely and we can have some fun?”

He mumbled something that you couldn’t understand.

“You’re going to have to speak up, Kei.” He moaned as you slowed down your hand on his cock, letting him focus on both sensations at once.

“Fuuuck.” The word came out of him in a long groan.

“You want my fingers inside of you, don’t you? Don’t deny it, babe. I see your face.” He inhaled sharply as you circled his entrance again.

“Yes.”

You moved your hand off of his cock and spanked his thigh lightly, a small punishment for not addressing you properly. He twitched and made a low noise at the loss.

“I’ll let that one slide. Just relax,” you hummed, grabbing the lube and seating yourself between his legs. You warmed it up on your fingers and pressed against his entrance, bending his legs a little at the knee to make it easier for both of you.

“You alright, love?” you asked. He nodded quickly and you pushed one finger inside. You went slow, letting him adjust to the new sensation, but the long groan he let out when you were fully inside him was worth the wait.

“There you go. Feels good, doesn’t it? You want me to move?” He nodded again, mouth hanging open. “Okay, love, stay relaxed.” You slowly started moving your finger until he felt comfortable around you. Once you could see his shoulders start to relax, you curled your finger slightly. His hips jumped and he swore loudly.

“Good boy. Taking it so well.”

His breathing picked up as you continued moving.

“I’m gonna add another one. Is that alright, Kei? You want more?” He sighed heavily and surprised you when he opened his mouth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” You smiled. “So eager.” You gently pressed another finger into him. His eyes shut tightly at the sensation and he moaned quietly. You continued the motion, curling and scissoring your fingers until he felt ready. He was melting at your touch, still trying to maintain some composure but mostly allowing you to take control. You couldn’t wait for him to unravel.

“I think you’re ready, love. You doing okay?” He nodded, covering his face with his forearm as you climbed off the bed, reaching into your closet to retrieve your strapon.

It was thin, a decent length, and bright pink. It was a gag gift from a friend, but little did they know you were genuinely into that. You secured it and returned to your boyfriend, who stared at it nervously.

“Still alright, Kei?” you asked. He nodded. “What position do you want to be in?” His eyes widened.

“This, I guess?” He patted the bed from where he was laying.

“Perfect. I want to be able to see you.” His face went bright red. You climbed up between his legs, wetting the strap with lube and leaning down to kiss him. You were gentle, letting him push against your lips and wrap his arms around you. You lined up with his entrance and hesitated as he hissed.

“You’re okay, love,” you said, pressing a kiss on his nose. “I’ve got you. I’ll go slow.” He nodded slightly and closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the pillow. He looked so pretty like this. You were going to have to top him more often. “Just relax . . .”

You began pushing forward, gently and slowly. He was prepared well so there wasn’t much resistance. You kissed his exposed neck, whispering quiet encouragements in his ear.

“You’re doing so well, Kei. Such a good boy for me. You’re alright?” He nodded, letting out a small moan. “Almost there, love. You want all of me? Huh?” He tipped his head back up, pulling your face to his and laying a surprisingly harsh kiss on you.

“Please.” It was so quiet you could barely make it out, but he knew you heard him, face flushed. You bottomed out in him, chasing a deep groan out of his lips.

“Good boy. You want me to move? Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. Every time he said it chills shot down your spine. “Please.” You smiled and pressed your lips against his, bracing your hands on either side of him as you drew your hips back and pushed back into him.

The sound he made was shocking, high pitched and lewd and not at all like himself.

“Shit. Keep making that noise and I’m never going to stop, Kei.” His face was permanently blushed but you see his eyebrows furrow in embarrassment.

You continued moving your hips, keeping a slow but steady pace as he pressed his forehead against yours and continued swearing. It was delicious. He occasionally let out a small whine when you hit deeper inside of him. He grabbed your hips suddenly and pulled you farther against him.

“Please,” he said, surprising you.

“What do you want, baby?” you breathed.

“A little--fuck--a little harder.” Holy shit. You happily obliged, driving your hips harder into him. He let out a long groan that ended in a whine, breathing picking up and head tipping back into the pillow. You had a feeling he could come from just this, but just to be nice. . .

“Fuck!” He cried out as you wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking it to the same rhythm as you continued moving your hips into him. You concentrated your efforts around the head so your arm didn’t get tired, not wanting to let up on him until he was a shaking mess. He alternated between groans, whines, and swearing, so loud in your ear that you were sure the people in the next apartment over could hear him. It was shocking how quickly Kei threw away his pride when you really tempted him, and you hated that you didn’t try this sooner.

“Please, can I finish?” he said, planting a sloppy kiss on your face. “Please.” His voice sounded so desperate and you hadn’t even told him he needed permission this time. You were going to let him come either way but, fuck, he sounded so pretty asking.

“Fuck, good boy. Go ahead and come,” you said, and his grip on you tightened into fists as his moans began to sputter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated as you kept moving into him. You felt him finishing on your hand, but you couldn’t help yourself. His head tipped up into your chest and he continued swearing. You took away your hand but kept moving your hips even though he was most certainly done.

“Oh god stop,” he begged, head buried against you. “Stop, please stop, stop.” His body twitched violently. He hadn’t said the word, so you knew he was alright. “Fuck! Stop.” You laughed and kissed his forehead, slowing your movements so you were just barely rocking your hips. His head finally tipped back and his body slacked, panting heavily.

“Holy shit, Kei.” You leaned down and peppered his sweaty face with kisses, laughing gently.

“That was . . .” He couldn’t even finish the thought, running his hands through his hair and laughing with you.

“We’re going to have to do that more often.” You pressed a short kiss on his lips and he opened his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare tell anyone about this.”

“No promises,” you giggled. His brows furrowed, back to being his normal self again.

“Absolutely fucking not. Don’t even joke about that. I won’t let you do it again.”

You grinned and kissed his nose. “Yes, you will.”

[missskzbiased]

Betting Big

Summary: As the one and only Seo Changbin, you would never think that you would be willing to pay for someone to go out with you. At least not until you met her. To be honest, not even after you met her but here you were now… Agreeing with splitting the money from a bet that you never made… And all this for what? Just to get a chance to make her fall for you

WC: 1,5 K

Genre: Romance, Fluff

AUs: High School, Fake Bet

Pairing: Seo Changbin X Fem! Reader X ???

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   // Tag List

Warnings: none

Notes: This is in “Changbin’s POV” although written as Self-insert

This is going to be a miniseries, I guess. I’m not sure how many chapters I want to make. I’d like if you guys could vote on this:

Minho as BFF to lovers for the Triangle

Han as Friends to lovers for the Triangle

No Love Triangle at all

                                                        ///

     Everyone but you wanted to be the popular guy.

     Not because you were above things like wanting to fit on the wild battlefield that high school was or because you didn’t need people’s approval to feel like a whole person, and even less because you hated being under everyone’s eyes… No. You were petty enough to admit that you loved the attention. The reason why you weren’t like everybody else was that you were the popular guy that everyone wanted to be. That’s right… You were what every single one of those kids wanted to become and you didn’t need to do anything to have your way.

     At least, that was what you believed exactly thirty seconds ago.

     The silent pause following your invitation wasn’t expected, and neither was the way her judgmental eyes scanned you from head to toes. There was this foreign feeling of being embarrassed, and that sudden urge to shrink and hide from the crowd that you didn’t allow to show on the surface. You were too cool for this. So you settled for clearing your throat, leaning on her table in what you hoped to be a flirty way, and glanced at your friends’ table in search of some sort of silent moral support that you were so in need of right now.

     You could say that you weren’t the most subtle human being in the world or else her eyes wouldn’t have snapped right to where you were looking at. As the bunch of overly stealthy people that you definitely were used to be with popularity clogging your better judgment, the four of your friends stared right into her eyes; the expression of a deer caught in headlights plastered over their face. If you had any hopes of not humiliating yourself to that strange girl in the corner ─ who you happened to have a big, fat crush on for at least one year now ─, they were immediately crushed by your own best friends.

     Very well.

     At least, it couldn’t get any worse than this, right?

     Then you learned the valuable lesson of not speaking too soon.

     “You want to go out with me?” That wasn’t the kind of incredulous tone that was meant to hide one’s excitement… It was more like that bewildered contempt that one cannot hide at all.

    She couldn’t even process the fact that you were bold enough to believe that the mere thought of dating you could ever have crossed her mind… And once more, the humiliation hit you like cold water coming directly from an angry, merciless waterfall. Was that how normal people felt in their daily lives? Jeez… It was so much better to be popular! How do those kids even handle that? Definitely not the life for you.  

     Your internal rambling had you missing the slow shift on her expression; rejection dissolving to give way to some kind of resigned interest: “How much?” She spoke up in curious confidence, and you must have been too lost on your thoughts because you had no idea of what she was talking about.

     “Excuse me?” You blurted out ever so eloquently.

     “How much is into this bet?” She asked as if it was the most reasonable thing in this world, and the lack of response had her scoffing, to further prove your point, “Really? You expect me to believe that the most popular guy in school would come all the way to my table, conveniently under his friends’ eyes, just to ask me out on a date with no second intention?” She raised her brows amusedly, chuckling at what seemed to be the best joke she had ever told anyone “Right” She huffed, crossing her arms and tilting her head to take a better look at you.

     That was the moment of the truth.

      You could either tell her that she misunderstood everything and explain how much you really liked her ─ which would put everything at risk because she clearly didn’t believe you could like someone like her ─ or you could play along with it and score a chance to win her heart on a date.

     The answer seemed to be pretty obvious to you.

     “Yeah, right” You laughed dismissively, pulling out the chair so you could sit down beside her. There was no sign of resistance in her face; moreover, there was a shimmering curiosity dancing in her expectant eyes, “You totally caught me…” You admitted grudgingly, shrugging to show her how much you didn’t care about it. Fun Fact: You actually did! And you would very much appreciate her to know that… Damn it! What the hell were you getting yourself into?! “So… Should we split it?” You suggested nonchalantly ─ just like the smooth son of a bitch you were.

     “What about fifty-fifty?” She proposed shamelessly; face twisting in a funny expression that tried to say that she didn’t care about it either but giving it away that she did, “How much is in for me? Like… A hundred bucks or something?” She leaned back on her chair before shrugging, not willing to admit that she was interested in this.

     “You’re good” You chuckled while nodding in agreement; mimicking her as you leaned back on your chair, “Sounds great, right? Getting a hundred bucks to date this hot stuff here?” You grinned as you gestured at yourself, getting nothing but an unimpressed look from her.

     “Look, Changbin…” She began hesitantly “If we’re going to make this work, it might be better for you to let me do the talking, okay?” She smiled sarcastically, looking at you with a mix of… You weren’t even sure what. Was constipation considered a feeling? If so, she looked constipated by your existence, “I’m not gonna lie… I want the money, and as long as we don’t have to do anything stupid like kissing or having sex, I think I’m in” She simply agreed while looking into your eyes.

      She had such pretty eyes… The most beautiful eyes you have ever seen… The type of eyes to hold so many emotions that you couldn’t help but wonder if those would ever be directed at you. Right now, you could see they were. However, the usually captivating trait wasn’t that heartwarming now… Not when there was nothing but pained resignation in them… Not when they made so damn obvious that she didn’t like you back… Not when they shift to sheer excitement to the sound of someone else’s voice.

     “Hey” Was the single word that brought her to such a state of happiness; eyes twinkling and a genuine smile cracking on her face as she looked to the guy talking to her “What’s this?” He asked while gesturing to the both of you before squinting his eyes in suspicion “This table has always been our, shortie, fuck off” He scoffed; sitting down as if it didn’t even cross his mind that you could stand up against him.

     “Short—?!”

     “Shut up, Minho” She rolled her eyes, even though you could see the amusement in them, “He’s here to ask me out on a date” She clarified nonchalantly; eyes attentive to his reaction.

     “Of course he is” He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief while poking his food.

     “I am” You stated seriously while boldly offering him The Look, “Is that a problem?” You arched your brow in a silent challenge.

     “I don’t know…” He dropped his fork; eyes connecting to yours with such a murderer intention that for a second you considered just playing it off as a joke “Is that a problem?” He asked back, studying your face.

     Thank Lord you were a proud Leo or else the “No, Sir” on the tip of your tongue would have slipped just like that from your mouth. Instead, you just returned his glare, choosing to be silent so you would not show him how much he scared the shit out of you. The silent battle was promptly cut off by the damsel in distress herself, a not-so-subtle kick under the table that had Minho wincing on his seat.

     “No, that’s not a problem” She stated firmly enough to end the discussion “I’m going out with him” Even though you were aware of that, it still made your stomach flutter.

     “Okay” He said bitterly; lips twitching slightly “So that’s not a problem” He forced a smile, picking his fork and scrambling his food mindlessly.

     “Great!” You offered her a bright smile, too excited to hide your true feelings.

     “Great” She stated monotonously “So… See you later?” She arched her brows as if to say that it was time for you to walk away.

      “Of course” You agreed promptly “I can walk you home later… So… We can arrange the details” You suggested hopefully, and she seemed to embrace the idea.

      “Sounds like a date” She smiled.

     “Yeah” You chuckled; rubbing your arm before waving at her and heading to your friends’ table.

     Well… Getting a date: Checked.

     Having your feelings reciprocicated: Hm… On progress?

     First confession meeting any of your expectations: Hell no...

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Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   // Tag List

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[boredandelusive]

15.

♞

The morning after, Spencer had to get to work. Seeing as he knew to bring a spare change of clothes, he got dressed before leaving for work. His mind still racked everything last night. Even if he doesn't remember it well, he admitted his feelings to her, and she said she loved him, too.

As he walked into the building and scanned his ID, he noticed some of the others sitting at their desks. However, the smile plastered on his face caught almost everyone's attention. "Uh oh, the pretty boy's got a smile on his face," Derek teased, which Reid dryly laughed at his comment.

"Come on, Spencer, did something interesting happen last night?" Luke asked, which he pretended to think about his answer.

"I don't know, I mean, I told Kiara I love her, and she said it back," he was happy, genuinely happy, and that was the first time JJ's seen him like that in a while.

"Congrats!" They cheered, which caught Hotch and Rossi's attention.

"What's goin' on out here?" Rossi asked for both men.

"Spencer confessed his feelings to Kiara, and apparently the feeling's mutual," Alex clarified, which the unit chief cracked a smile.

"Congratulations, Spencer. Does that mean you two are dating, now?" Hotch asked next, which the others shifted their glance to him.

"I think it does. I'll have to ask her later, but for now, it's safe to say me and her are dating."

♞

"And you're hacking into her security system, why?" The woman asked as she looked between the Angel and her computer.

"I just need a month's worth of footage, maybe? Something to scare the doctor into thinking I've watched her for months. Then, once I send him that same video, and with the note I have telling him to keep away, he won't have a choice but to do it." Angel answered as she moved to grab a note from her backpack.

"Did you manage to get the FBI off your tail, at least?" The woman questioned, which Angel nodded with a sucker in her mouth.

Moving it to her cheeks, she answered, "I had to stop killing, unfortunately. It gives them no new leads, which means I can work without having to be on the run all the time." Seeing as the woman nodded, she thought for a moment. "Name?"

"What?" The woman didn't expect that sort of question, and she needed more clarification.

"What's your name? I mean, all pretty faces have one, and I'm curious about you," the Angel answered, which the woman thought for a moment. "I heard the brunette call you G, but there has to be something else there more than a letter, right?"

"For now, you can just call me G," she didn't want to reveal anything about herself to the murderer. "Have you tapped in yet?"

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna record thee footage until she gets home. What are her hours? I'm assuming you know her so well," hoping to get more on Kiara, she needed to build enough of a video feed to spook the FBI.

"9 to 5 on the weekdays, 12 to 6 on Saturdays, nothing on Sundays. The Lotus Bloom has hours like any other job, and the profit is good." G responded, which the Angel nodded before pulling up the video feed from inside Kiara's house. "Is this it?"

"Yeah, for now. When her alarm goes off that she's inside the house, start recording. It's not the only one that day, so I'll leave this to you and give you the charger with it, too." She admitted with confidence.

"Thanks, Angel," she muttered as she took the laptop off the car's hood.

"You can just call me Eva," she greeted with a hand extended. Seeing as the blonde took the hand, they shook before letting go. "You have soft hands," she complimented.

"Don't make it weird. I'll tell the other woman about this, then I think she can continue with her plan," she admitted with ease, which made Eva look at G with confusion.

"Has she told you her plan yet? Her actual plan, and not some watered-down version of the plan?" The woman clarified, which G shook her head.

"Do you know something I don't?"

"No, I just wanted to know if she has something planned with Kiara. After all, one can't get revenge from far away," riddles, G never loved hearing them.

"Don't worry, she has something planned, and it's gonna exact revenge against Kiara for how she hurt her. That's all I can say, though. What's with the mask in the passenger seat, by the way?" G could tell Eva had something planned, but what it was? That was the mystery.

"You have to think of it like dominoes, G. The Lord has shown me how to get what I need, and it'll be done later today. Besides, I'm sure it will help with the friendship between you and Kiara."

♞

"So Eva Sinclair hasn't done anything recently? Why would she stop killing people so soon?" Emily pondered out loud, which made them think about their answer. "That woman couldn't go through a change of heart if she tried."

"Do you think she would be the type to work with someone? Unless Eva upped and left, there wouldn't be a reason for her to stop killing." There had to be something here, some sort of ulterior motive. If not, and Eva changed, she would still need to be brought in for questioning.

"I doubt it. If she worked with someone, that would mean there's another killer somewhere, and if that were the case, don't you think they would've made themselves known by now?" As profilers, it was their job to find out everything about the unsub, and in doing so, let them study the behavior as if they were the unsub themselves.

"Well, in the past, Eva took a kill order from someone back in 2010, but we couldn't find any evidence of there being a wired transfer," Tara spoke up, which the others thought for a moment.

"Maybe Eva was manipulated into doing it? After all, with the right words, religion is easy to use against someone." Derek remembered some of the past cases, and how the killings were to "prove themselves to God." Either way, this entire thing was concerning, and seeing as she went on a murdering spree before, there was something behind this.

"Which would mean there's someone else to look out for," Alex added, which meant there were more people who possibly shared the same goal.

"Well,  until we can find out more, the safest thing to do is go home and relax. For now, we're working off of stubs," Hotch announced, which everyone got up from the conference room and separated.

"Hey, Spence, wait up," JJ called as she rushed toward him. Hearing her voice behind her, he turned around to see what was going on. "Try to have some fun tonight, alright? Take Kiara out, take some time off work."

"I will, don't worry," he started, but she knew he probably wouldn't live by that rule for long.

"I'm being serious. I know you tend to plunge yourself so far into cases you don't sleep. Don't do that tonight, at least." She clarified, which Spencer thought about it before nodding.

"I won't, promise," he assured before going to leave the building.

♞

The first place he went was home, and not at Kiara's, but home. Walking up the stairs, he looked around to see one of his neighbors walking inside their apartment. "Hey, Reid," they greeted simply.

"Hey, Harris," he greeted back before moving into his space. Looking around to make sure nothing changed, he set his bag down and walked toward his bed. For now, as JJ said, he needed to relax. Knowing Kiara didn't get off work for another hour, he had nothing to do for the time being.

Seeing as he bought a mirror recently, Spencer moved to the bathroom and took off his shirt. Looking at his chest, he could see some of the newer marks from Kiara on his chest. She was always so rough with him, and some masochistic part of him loved it.

Most of the red marks faded to scratches, and because most of the bruises were gone, he didn't like how quickly they healed. He wanted them to last forever, but he couldn't focus on that for now. Hearing a knock at the door, he put his shirt on and walked toward it before looking at the peephole.

Opening the door, he saw Genevieve, which caught his attention. She was supposed to be at work, but if she wasn't, then something was wrong. "Genevieve? How did you get here?" He asked in confusion.

"Kiara sprained her ankle, and neither of our phones is working. She kept telling me not to get you, but I insisted." It sounded believable, and her body language told the same story. So why couldn't he believe her?

"Alright, just give me a second to get my phone, then I'll go with you." Something felt off, and he just couldn't tell what it was yet. Either way, he went along with it, and in doing so, walked out the door with her leading.

"I know you're better at the medical thing than she is, and she wouldn't shut up about not wanting to go to the hospital." Genevieve continued walking until they got downstairs, which she opened the door for him to follow her. As both got into the car, she got into the driver's seat and Spencer in the passenger's seat.

"How come she couldn't call me, again?" He asked as a test, which Gen looked at him through the rearview mirror.

"Because her phone doesn't work, and neither does mine. She was attacked earlier, some mugger tried taking her things, and when she fought back, they sprained her ankle. When I tried intervening, they shot my phone out of my hand." She said with annoyance as she held up her phone. Seeing as a large chunk of the top of her phone was missing, there was a bit more belief in it.

"Did you leave Kiara there, or did you take her home?" Though it was a stupid question, Spencer had to ask to see what type of friend Genevieve really was.

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't take her home? I helped her into the bath with Epsom Salt. It may not do much, but that's why I came to get you." As they pulled up to her house, she walked inside and let Spencer move to his girlfriend.

Seeing her in the bathtub, he rushed over to the side. "Gen told me what happened, are you alright?" His concern was easily noticed, and as such, she lifted her hand and placed it on his shoulder.

"I'm okay, it hurts a bit, but I'm alright. I should go to the hospital, probably, but that costs money, and the bills aren't something I want to deal with right now." She admitted truthfully before moving up to get out of the tub. "Can you help me to my bed?"

"Of course," he answered as he slung her arm over his shoulder. Instead of going to the bed, however, they went to her chair and helped her sit down. Watching as he examined her ankle, he could tell it was fairly fresh, and as such, knew his examinations wouldn't be enough.

"You need to go to a doctor, I can't tell how bad it is. I mean, it feels like it's swollen, tender, and there's a chance it hurts when I touch it."

"That's because it does, I have bandage tape in the bathroom, and I have some old crutches in my closet. I'll be fine," she assured before walking toward the bathroom and grabbing the bandage wrap. Coming back to her, he wrapped her leg before moving to grab the crutches.

As he handed them to her, she stood up and leaned on them. "See? Makeshift help with a doctor," she said with ease as she watched him stand up straight.

"I'm not a medical doctor."

"You're a doctor enough, right? You have the Ph.D. in your name, and you've done a lot of studying for nursing, right?" Kiara wouldn't argue about this with him, as he still helped her with her injuries. "Hey, Gen, if you're still here?" She called out as she watched the blonde walk down the hallway to her room.

"I was just about to head out, but what is it?" She asked calmly.

"Could you take over some of my shifts until I get better? It might sound selfish, but-," Kiara started, but Gen waved her hand to stop the thought.

"It's alright, I'll take over your shifts."

"Thank you."