#my responsibility to argue with you. Figure it out.

[rowdyluv]

Talk to Me - jh86

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: jack is stressing over how y/n is bottling something up that happened at the event they attended together. but he just wants her to open up to him like she always has

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: mild language, angst, fake dating, anxious themes, oblivious characters,

© property of rowdyluv ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

"Quinn, man, she's just not herself," Jack said, his forehead creased with worry as he talked to his brother’s face through the phone. The bright screen cast a bluish glow on his face, making the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. “Well. She’s herself by being closed off and not telling people what’s wrong. But.”

“But…. she’s not telling you what’s wrong and that isn’t like her.” Quinn cut his younger, middle brother off.

Jack hummed in response. Relieved that Quinn at least understood that part of the situation. Quinn has known her just as long as him, so he figured calling big brother was an appropriate option for some advice.

Quinn's voice grew softer. "Jack, have you ever thought that maybe Y/n's still dealing with what went down at the charity gala? You know she isn’t actually superwoman contrary to your all’s longest running matching halloween costumes.”

Jack was quiet for a moment. Contemplating how to answer his brother’s absurd question. “Of course I have, Q. That is all I have thought about for four days now.” Jack drug one of his hands down his face and groaned in frustration. “Since when do her and I not talk to each other?”

Quinn sighs heavily on the other side of the screen, his voice thick with annoyance towards his brother’s oblivion. "Jack, you know, you can be pretty clueless sometimes.”

“What the fuck Quinn? How did this suddenly become the time to insult me?”

Quinn rolled his eyes and propped his phone up on his coffee table. He sat up, placing his elbows on his knees, looking right at Jack through the phone’s camera. "Jack, she is your best friend. You claim to know everything about her. Or that you know her best. If that is true, we wouldn’t be on the phone arguing about why she’s avoiding what happened."

Jack frowned and whispered, feeling attacked. "I do know her best.”

“And I know you both pretty damn well.” Quinn laughed. “So. I'm going to bet that she isn't avoiding the topic of the WAGs.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say this month.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say or not, dumbass?”

Jack didn't respond to him, hoping he would take the silence as an invitation.

“Alright then. If what you told me about the ‘special moment’ you two shared is true. She could be avoiding you because of that. Think about that one.

Jack’s eyes snapped to the phone, his heart racing. He felt like the air was being sucked out of the room. “What do you mean? We have shared many hugs before. Many close moments. So what I felt like I was in heaven at that moment? She didn’t but I had it for a minute. She doesn’t care?.”

“Would you listen to yourself? Many close moments, many hugs, felt like you were in heaven? What about her? What did she feel? Had you discussed being that open about your arrangement in public yet? Or did you blindside her to have your fill?”

“Quinn.. I—. I have to go. Thank you, I love you.”

“Love you too, Jacky. Good luck.”

‘Rowdy dude. I believe you fucked up.’

————————

Jack stared at the phone screen for a moment longer before hanging up. He had been pacing the length of his bedroom, his thoughts a tumultuous mess. Quinn’s words echoed in his mind, making him feel like he had missed something crucial. He took a deep breath and headed to the couch where Y/n was curled up, fast asleep. Her chest gently rose and fell with each breath, and the soft light from the nearby lamp danced across her features. Jack was not going to wake her to let her know he was running out. He grabbed a pen and paper to leave her a note.

He scribbled down a quick message, feeling his stomach knot at the thought of her finding it. "Gone to grab a few things. Be back soon. Love ya, J." He placed the note on the coffee table and grabbed his keys. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the apartment eerily quiet.

Jack drove to the local floral shop, his mind racing with thoughts of what to say to her. The cool evening air brushed against his skin as he exited the car and walked through the quiet streets. The bell on the door jingled merrily as he stepped into the warm, fragrant oasis of color. The woman behind the counter looked up from her book, a gentle smile spreading across her face. "Can I help you find something?"

"I'm looking for some flowers," he began, his voice a bit shakier than he'd like. "I need lilies, daffodils, and some cosmos."

The woman nodded understandingly, her eyes twinkling. "Ah, sounds like you're trying to brighten someone's day," she said knowingly. "Lilies for purity, daffodils for new beginnings, and cosmos for a bit of whimsy. A lovely combination."

Jack couldn't help but chuckle nervously. "I hope so. They're for my best friend, Y/n. She's had a tough week."

The woman's smile grew as she began to gather the flowers. "Best friends are the best kind of people to have. Tell her they're for making bad days a bit brighter."

Jack nodded, his mind racing. "Could you make them into a bouquet, please?"

"Of course, dear," the woman replied warmly. "Let me wrap these up for you. They're going to make a beautiful bouquet."

Jack felt a twinge of hope as he watched her arrange the flowers. He knew that Y/n would appreciate the gesture, its who she is, and maybe, it would be the catalyst for the conversation they needed to have. He paid for the bouquet and stepped back out into the evening light, ready to get dinner and head back home.

The pizza place was a short drive away, a place they've been going to each week since she movec. It had the perfect blend of cheese and sauce that made their taste buds dance. As he walked in, the familiar smell of fresh dough and baked bread greeted him. The bell jingled over the door and the cashier looked up, recognizing him immediately. "Jack! The usual?" she asked with a knowing smile.

"Yes, please," he replied. She wasn’t necessarily picky with her food, but when it came to this pizza, she was a creature of habit. Pepperoni, ONLY just how she liked it. He watched as the pizzamaker expertly tossed the dough and spread the sauce, feeling a sense of comfort in the familiar routine.

As the pizza baked, Jack couldn’t help but recall the way Y/n's eyes lit up when she took that first bite, how she'd always save a piece for him to share. It was these little moments that made their friendship so special.

‘Friendship?’ His inner thoughts screamed and echoed and ping-ponged around his skull so loudly Jack didnt notice the cashier was trying to get attention to pay.

Jack nodded absentmindedly, pulling out his wallet. "Oh, right." He mumbling his apology and handed over the money. "Keep the change," he said, a little too eagerly, and practically bolted out the door.

The ride home was a blur. He barely noticed the scenery passing by, his thoughts consumed by Quinn's words and the weight of his own feelings. When he pulled up to the apartment complex, his heart felt heavier than the bouquet of flowers in his hand. The elevator ride to their floor was painfully slow, each ding of the passing floors a seeming to get louder and louder.

Jack's palms were slick with nerves as he unlocked the door and stepped into their shared space. The TV was playing softly in the background and the couch was now abandoned. He sat the pizza box on the coffee table.

He called out her name tentatively. The silence that followed was deafening.

With no response he peaked around the corner and down the hallway. There was a bit of light spilling out from under the crack of the door. He took a deep breath and went to knock gently, the bouquet in one hand, his heart in the other.

"Y/n? Can I come in?"

The door to her bedroom cracked open slightly, and a confused gaze met his from the other side. She had been crying again, Jack could see the redness around her eyes and the way her cheeks were still wet with tears.

His heart feels like it just had a skate ran over it.

Jack held out the bouquet, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum. "I brought these for you," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "To make the bad days seem a bit brighter."

Y/n stared at the flowers, her eyes widening with surprise. She had never seen him so nervous before, not even when he was about to go on the ice for a big game. She took the bouquet from his hand, her fingers brushing against his in a way that sent a jolt through both their systems. The sweet scent of the lilies filled the space between them, mingling with the faint scent of her perfume. "Jack, they're beautiful," she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears.

“I have something else, c’mon.”

Jack's voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions crashing through his mind. He stepped aside, allowing Y/n to enter the hallway to head towards the living room where the pizza waited. She followed him with a tentative step, the bouquet clutched to her chest like a lifeline.

When they reached the couch, Jack turned to face her, his eyes searching hers for any hint of what she might be feeling. "Look, Y/n, I know something's been bothering you, but I don’t want to push. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. But I want you to know that I'm here for you." He took a deep breath and held out his hand to her. "Will you come with me?"

“Our pizza and my favorite flowers? Did you cause a scandal in this fake relationship.” She feigned faked shock, knowing well he didnt. At least she hoped that he hadn’t.

Jack couldn't help but smile at her attempt to lighten the mood, but he knew this was another attempt to deflect attention. He nodded his head no "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Y/n's eyes searched his, looking for a deeper meaning behind the flowers and pizza. She sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "Jack, I know you're worried, but I just don't know if I can talk about it yet."

Jack dropped his head. “I truly wanted to do something nice. But i will admit i had a few motives.”

“I’m afraid that telling you will change things for worse.

Jack looked at her, his eyes filled with concern. "Y/n, I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me anything."

Y/n looked down at the bouquet in her hands, the petals brushing against her skin as if whispering secrets she was too afraid to speak aloud. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Jack, I know you're trying to help, but it's just..." She paused, her voice cracking slightly.

Jack stepped closer, his hand reaching out to comfort her. "It's okay, Y/n. Take your time."

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She took a deep breath and spoke in a hushed tone. "I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't. Have you ever wanted something so terribly bad, but you’re no good for it/them. Or do they see you differently?"

Jack's heart clenched at the pain in her voice. He went to grab her hand and she pulled away. His heart plummeted “Y/n.”

“Jack. Let me say it this way. Have you ever wanted someone so badly it physically hurt?” Y/n held Jack’s gaze silently pleading he did understand.

Jack cleared his throat before he tried to speak again. “And if I said yes, would you even believe in me?”

[scary-grace]

This art did something bad to me, so instead of editing Opposites Attract like I was supposed to, I wrote a follow-up to hands-off, hands-on. Canon-esque, Shigaraki x reader, belligerent sexual tension, blowjobs. Pretty obviously rated E.

hands-free

As soon as the closet door shuts, Shigaraki’s pinned back against it. He tries to keep a decent poker face, but it’s not easy when you’re glaring at him like that. “What is your problem?”

“I’m not the one with a problem,” you snap. “You don’t get to be a dick to me just because you popped a boner at the wrong moment.”

“I – didn’t,” Shigaraki snaps in response, willing his face not to turn red. “If I did, how would you even know? Is it that hard to keep your mind off my cock?”

“To be honest, Shigaraki? I only think about it when it’s ruining my day,” you say. Shigaraki scoffs, tries to step away from the door, only for you to close the space between the two of you and push him back against it. “Like when you’re so pissed about being horny that you try to cut me down to size in front of everyone.”

Shigaraki would argue that on principle, if there was a principle, but you’ve got him figured out on this one, and you haven’t even used your quirk on him. If you’d used your quirk on him, you’d have figured out that it’s about you, because of you. As it is, you just think he’s an asshole, and he’s better off that way. If you knew the truth, there’s no way you’d have dragged him in here. And definitely no way you’d have locked the door.

“We’ve been over this,” you say. “I thought we had a deal.”

You did. It was a pretty good deal for Shigaraki – he got a handjob, and you got off his shitlist. And stayed off it, because in spite of the fact that Shigaraki’s annoyed with you no matter what you’re doing, you’re pretty good at playing your part within the League. With that in mind, Shigaraki didn’t have any business going off on you at the strategy meeting today. Except that he had a dream about you last night, and he was still thinking about it this morning, and he got so annoyed with his inability to stop thinking about it that he blew up at you before you could even open your mouth.

You’re still glaring, waiting for a response. “Yeah. We have a deal,” Shigaraki says. “What did you want me to do? Tell you to meet me in my room in front of everybody so you could get me off?”

“You could have told me before the meeting,” you point out. “So now I’m meeting you here.”

Your hands settle on Shigaraki’s waist, your palms warm through the thin fabric. Shigaraki’s mind skids to a halt as you drag your fingers along the waistband of his pants, hooking one finger beneath it before letting it fall back. “You can’t do that in here,” he says. When did his mouth get so dry? “Are you crazy?”

“Apparently I am, for sticking around to be your favorite punching bag.” You edge the waistband of his pants ever so slightly down, exposing the crests of his hips. Shigaraki clenches his jaw as a shiver travels through them. “Maybe if I do a better job this time, you’ll come to me first instead of picking on me in front of everyone and expecting me to figure it out.”

You’re going to touch him. Shigaraki can barely stand to remember what happened before on a normal day, but right now, when you’re practically pinning him to the door? He forgot that the process of you helping him get off involves making the whole problem worse. He can feel your breath against his neck as you lean in close. “Keep your hands to yourself this time,” you say. “I don’t want to have to steal another one of your hoodies.”

You stole one from him last time, after he ruined your shirt. Shigaraki realizes with some degree of horror that you’re wearing it right now. You pull his pants down roughly, freeing his cock, and he bites back a groan. He doesn’t have to look down to know that he’s painfully hard, and if he wasn’t leaking precum before, he’s doing it now, because he’s thinking about you jerking him off while wearing his clothes. He should have pulled you aside this morning. Should have dragged you back to his room. Shigaraki’s hips twitch, seeking friction, and you step back.

He hates the way you’re looking him up and down, and you’re not doing anything. “Don’t just stare. Touch me.”

“I am touching you.” Your hands are still grasping his hips, thumbs running over his hipbones until he squirms. “Like this?”

One hand dips between his legs, loosely cradling his balls. Why does everything feel so much better when you’re doing it? Shigaraki mumbles a curse, shifting impatiently as he waits for your other hand to leave his hips and curl around his cock. The hand on his hip stays where it is as you sink to your knees in front of him.

You’re – what? Shigaraki’s jaw slackens at the thought, let alone the sight of you down there, tilting your head to consider his cock. The pressure of your hand on his hip increases as you lean forward and drag your tongue across his tip, and Shigaraki’s focus narrows down to your hands and your mouth and nothing else.

He leans back against the wall, trying to stay balanced, but it’s hard to do when you’re making his back arch like this. You’re barely doing anything beyond playing with his tip, drawing him partway into your mouth so your tongue can caress the underside of his cock. Shigaraki’s hips jerk forward, seeking more, and your other hand rises to pin him in place. What is Shigaraki supposed to do now? Just sit back and take it? That’s what he did in the dream that fucked him over today – sat back on his bed with his hands tied over his head, while you sucked mark after mark into his torso and his hips and his thighs. You never touched his cock, and Shigaraki was still desperate when he woke up. Desperate enough to hump pillows. Not desperate enough to go to you.

He should have. He would have, if he’d known you’d do something like this. Shigaraki’s legs are starting to shake, and worse, he’s clawing at his neck again, trying to ground himself in the face of what you’re doing to him. It’s not possible. You told him to keep his hands to himself, but there’s nothing for Shigaraki to touch. Not you. Definitely not you. Shigaraki makes the mistake of glancing down again. You’re sucking on the tip of his cock, your eyes fluttering shut, and you’re wearing his clothes. Shigaraki lets his head fall back against the door and moans.

He’s never felt like this before, not even when you were touching him last time. Something about you pinning him. Something about the fact that you dragged him in here yourself. Shigaraki’s back arches again, stays frozen there, while his hands tangle up in his own hair and his jaw aches with the effort of holding back the sounds he wants to make. When you pull away, he actually whines in protest. “Don’t stop –”

“Are you sure you like this?” you ask. “You’re so quiet compared to last time.”

Shigaraki’s face flushes. “What do you think?” he spits, as you nudge his shaking legs further apart. “Do you need me to say it?”

“It might be nice,” you say, like last time. Your lips brush against Shigaraki’s stomach as you lean forward again, and you keep kissing him. Another whine forces its way through Shigaraki’s clenched teeth as your teeth scrape over his hip. “Yes or no is fine.”

“Yes,” Shigaraki says, hating how ragged his voice is becoming. Hates how his body spasms as your lips move along the crease between his leg and hip. “Yes. I like it when you – ah, fuck – fuck –”

Swearing isn’t as pathetic as moaning, but Shigaraki’s moaning, too. He’s too loud. The entire city can probably hear him. You let go of his hips, but only for a second – long enough for you to change your grip, to pull him forward against your mouth, close enough to press your nose into his hair. Shigaraki could thrust, but there’s no point. He’s all the way as close as he can get, and you wanted him there. You’re the one holding him in place as your throat convulses around the head of his cock. You’re the one who won’t let him go.

You aren’t letting go, but he begs you anyway – not to stop, to make him come. Your fingernails dig into his hips as you swallow hard, and Shigaraki comes in a shaking, whimpering, pathetic rush. Your throat convulses again, and again, your grip on his hips so tight that he’ll have scratch marks or bruises by the end of the day. Shigaraki can’t think about that, any more than he can think about the fact that you’re swallowing. All he can do is shudder in your grip, keeping his hands to himself, until you finally draw back and let him go.

Shigaraki falls back against the door with a thud. You sit back and clear your throat, then swallow a few more times, grimacing. No points for guessing why. Shigaraki untangles his hands from his hair and pulls up his pants, trying to string a sentence together. “You didn’t have to swallow.”

“No?” You cough again. “I thought guys liked that kind of thing.”

It’s hot to know that you’re willing to. Really hot. Shigaraki’s pretty sure this will be featuring in every single horny daydream for the rest of his life. Still – “I wouldn’t want to eat it, either.”

“Good to know.” You get to your feet, wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, then try to nudge past Shigaraki to the door. “Move.”

“Hey.” Shigaraki leans back against the door, then throws out his arm to block your way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day in here.” You try to get past Shigaraki again, and he refuses to move. “What?”

“You know,” Shigaraki says. There’s something you did last time that you forgot this time. You’re looking at him blankly, without a hint of recognition, and Shigaraki loses patience – with himself this time, which is new. “Fuck it. Don’t move.”

“Hands to yourself,” you warn, but Shigaraki doesn’t need both hands – or any hands – for this. He leans in, and you don’t move in time, and in spite of knowing exactly where your mouth has been, it’s still a pretty good kiss.

tag list: @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @xeveryxstarfallx @lvtuss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @evilcookie5 @lacrimae-lotos @warxhammer @agente707 @shikiblessed @atspiss @baking-ghoul @boogiemansbitch @cheeseonatower @koohiii @stardustdreamersisi @issaortiz @dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @handumb @aslutforfictionalmen

[cobaltperun]

Love Song Requiem - No Roads Left

Mabel x Female Reader

Story summary: Damn near everything in your life was purely business. So was this. Just go in, get the job done with the girl that's been building a reputation of her own, and that was supposed to be the end of it. And it was the end of something, you just didn't think it would be the end of a whole damn drug empire!

Chapter summary: "If I could do this all over again, I'd still make the same decisions," because they led you to her. You never truly believed in love, or that it could change you, but it did, she did. Lives neither of you chose connected, and the chain of events that would follow could not be stopped.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k

-When did I lose my sense of purpose? Can I regain what's lost inside?-

You sat at the table, looking at the landline phone in front of you. Seriously? What was this? Last century. You sighed, figuring you should have gotten used to it by now as you dialed a familiar number. Every week, at the same time, the same number, the only number you still had the right to call and expect a friendly voice on the other side of the line.

Mabel picked up immediately, just like she always did these past eight weeks. “Y/N!” she exclaimed your name, and it almost hurt to hear. It sounded so much different than it did a few months ago, the excitement and flirty tone were replaced by longing and relief, but it was worth it.

It had to be worth it.

"Hey,” you smiled, forcing the negative thoughts out of your mind for a moment, hoping that Mabel would take this all a bit easier if you didn’t show how this was affecting you. “Is everything okay there?" you hoped you'd be able to notice if she was hiding anything from you.

And Mabel was doing the same thing, focusing on the positives. "Mhm," there it was, that casual got-everything-under-control response that made you relax. "Me and Charlie are just fine. He's a bit cautious and jumpy, but he'll get used to the new apartment," an unreasonable rage filled you.

"Charlie? Mabel, you know I love you, but quit trying to rename Charcoal," you whisper-shouted at her, ignoring the warning looks people around you gave you. It was worth it, especially since Mabel laughed, actually it was more of a semi-evil cackle.

"By the time you come back he'll only respond to Charlie!" she promised.

And despite the awful future she promised, you still smiled, wishing that future would come soon. At least your cat, Charcoal, would be happy with Mabel and not left to fend for himself. That cat wouldn’t last a day on the streets.

“It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” Mabel suddenly asked, the light-hearted tone was gone, and though you could hear Charcoal hopping onto the table and purring as Mabel pet him it did little to ease your pain.

“Yeah, it all ends tomorrow,” your smile was just sad as you sank back into the chair as much as the phone cable allowed. You couldn’t even have that without tugging at the technology from a past era.

Mabel paused, but you knew what she would say before she even began speaking. “I should come,” she kept insisting, even if you argued against it.

“It’s not safe. Besides, you know what I want you to do,” you reminded her of the promise she vowed to break, even if you made her say the words. In her own words it wouldn’t be the first lie she had to utter.

“And you know I won’t do it,” she reminded you, but then she sighed and you could hear her burying her face in her hands, and you could picture her sitting at her new table, in a new, still unfamiliar apartment, away from everything happening here, her hair tied and messy, and her lower lip trembling slightly due to the emotions she tried to bottle up. “Did this have to happen?” she asked, and even though it was a rhetorical question you still answered.

“If I could do this all over again, I'd still make the same decisions,” those decisions led you to Mabel, led you to turning your life around, and to her finally finding a way out of the life she had before. You’d pay the price for her second chance, and maybe eventually you’d get your own second chance as well.

~X~ Eight months ago ~X~

Whoever decided that morning was the right time to start a day needs to be held responsible. And whoever decided that your cat needs to be fed at six in the morning also needs to be held responsible. “Come on Charcoal, I fed you last night, let me sleep a little longer,” you pleaded, seriously considering just never getting up again. An ashtray hitting the floor made you groan, which only prompted the black menace that snuck into your life to knock something else off the table. Judging by the heavy thud it was probably your notebook. “I’ll buy a table with raised edges, just to spite you,” you muttered under your breath and sat up like you were pulling the weight of the whole continent up with you.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to wake up as your body ached. Charcoal jumped from the table onto your lap and sat there, just looking at you with his sharp, alert eyes. “You’re too awake buddy,” you scratched his head with a tired smile, once again promising you would never sleep on the couch again. You were just too tired to reach your bedroom last night.

Stupid deals.

Stupid crimes you couldn’t pull out of anymore.

Charcoal purred and you figured, what the hell, he was comfortable on your lap, so surely, he wasn’t that hungry. You fell back on the couch and closed your eyes, hoping to go back to sleep, only for the damn black cat to hop from your lap onto your chest and tap you right on the chin.

You opened your eyes and looked at the ceiling. “Fuck,” you accepted your fate, picking the cat up and dragging yourself off the couch so you could go and feed the ungrateful, impatient, adorable, lovely cat that happened to be the boss of your life. “I’ll sue you, you know. Don’t know which court can find you guilty when you’re that cute, but I’ll find one,” you leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched as your one-year-old cat devoured his food.

Little glutton.

“Get up or go to sleep?” you wondered, glancing at the drawer where you kept your laptop, safely tucked away from your cat, because nothing in your apartment was safe from Charcoal unless it was under lock and key. Glasses? Plates? Anything breakable? Locked! Decorations? Almost nonexistent, aside from plastic ones that either didn’t break easily, or were easily replaceable. Other decorations? They were proven to be unable to resist Charcoal’s need to push them off whatever they were placed on, thus they had no place in your home. The number of TVs you had to either fix or replace because he’d scratched the screen was so high you no longer had the will to count.

You may be rich, but new TVs were not something you wanted to keep spending money on.

The thought of all those TVs drained you of what little energy you had this early in the morning and you headed toward your bedroom, with Charcoal, now fed, running after you. Work could wait, you needed sleep, and as you slipped under the covers with your cat choosing to spread on the bottom of the bed you figured that was the smartest decision you made in a while.

The heavy feeling that always came with big jobs made it difficult to sleep well, but Charcoal near you helped with that.

You still felt like you were missing something.

~X~

Around noon you walked into a almost empty bar near the edge of the city. Away from prying eyes, with just enough privacy to be acceptable for your job, but casual enough to pass it off as regular meeting between two law-abiding citizens. You came in early, about fifteen minutes before the scheduled meeting time. It was a habit you picked up along the way, wanting to be more careful of your surrounding and notice any potential problems before they could even happen.

Yet twenty-five minutes later you were annoyed and getting impatient. The woman you were supposed to meet with was nowhere to be found, hell, the only person that was on their own was a beautiful girl sitting in the corner. Despite her beauty you dismissed the girl, not really willing to get involved with anyone right now. Your life was a bit too messy for your liking, too tangled up in all the crime going on in the city to risk pulling an innocent woman into all of this. You noticed her right away, she couldn’t blend in even if she tried, she just stood out too much, drawing attention with her beauty and demeanor.

You glanced toward the girl again, noticing she was annoyed, frustrated even. As if she was waiting for someone.

‘No fucking way,’ you thought, nearly spilling your drink when the thought that she could be the person you were supposed to meet crossed your mind. She was too young! Well, that was rich coming from you, but your circumstances were different!

You approached her, a bit too hastily to your liking and she looked at you, cautious right from the start. And your heart sank, that cautiousness probably meant you were right. This was Mabel. But her eyes, there was just something in her eyes, serious, intense, dark eyes drawing you in, threatening to drown you in a sea of black. “Mabel?” you asked and those dark eyes widened slightly before she regained her composure.

“Y/N?” she was just as surprised as you were, definitely not expecting this. The two of you, close to same age, maybe even the same age. In this situation.

You nodded and then tilted your head toward the chair across from her. “May I?”

Mabel raised an eyebrow, as if she didn’t expect the question. She probably didn’t. She was here to meet with you, it was business; asking if you may sit was actually quite stupid, it was a given that you may sit, that this meeting would happen. Yet you asked, maybe out of some obligation, maybe subconsciously giving her a way out. “Not a question I expected from the daughter of one of the bosses,” she pointed out and you shrugged, silently waiting for her to allow you to sit down.

When she remained silent you smirked slightly. “I’m a vampire, you need to tell me I can sit before I can do it,” you joked and she snorted at that.

“Not how it works,” but she waved dismissively at the chair. “But sure, go ahead,” you couldn’t tell if she was amused or not, but you sat down.

“I come from a long line of vampires, I make my own rules,” you joked, making her roll her eyes.

“You come from a long line of criminals,” she huffed, suspicious, not trusting you one bit, which was fair, if you were being honest. You heard of a new girl, efficient, quick, bringing in money, even if she was still a small-time drug dealer mostly working with Weeks. You also heard she was dragged into this either by or because of her family, which would explain her disdain toward you. Born into privilege, choosing to continue the family tradition because it brought you money. You couldn’t blame her for thinking that.

“We suck people dry. Whether it’s blood or money we’re sucking hardly matters,” yet you kept joking. Though people do tend to believe there’s some truth in each joke.

Mabel raised her glass of wine, probably cheap, considering where the two of you were. “To vampires then,” you accepted, raising your own glass, filled with the first non-alcoholic drink you saw on the menu, happened to be some juice that you were yet to try.

“To vampires,” you agreed, not knowing this meeting would change the course of your life. You took a sip of the juice and immediately winced at how sweet it was. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to approach you,” you ignored the sweetness and regret over not getting literally anything else. “I didn’t think you were, well, you,” you admitted. “How old are you again?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

She gave you a flat look, as if she was already tired of your bullshit. “Twenty-two,” she still answered, so she was the same age as you. “I didn’t figure out I was supposed to meet with you either, you look like you went for a run, not to talk about deals,” she pointed out, even if she herself was dressed rather casually.

You grinned a bit as you looked down at your choice of clothing, you really did look like you went for a run and stopped by to grab a drink on your way back home. “Better to look like I’m going for a run, than to catch someone’s attention and be on a run instead,” you pointed out, finally making Mabel crack a tiny smile.

“True,” she agreed, her smile spreading even as she tried to suppress it. Guarded and not willing to show even a hint of weakness or vulnerability in any way. Your parents would be proud if you had this kind of composure instead of making everything a joke. Well, jokes had their own advantages. Most of the time you seemed like you were so in control you could afford to mess around.

Yet her smile made your heart beat faster and you realized just how dangerous she could be if you didn’t play this right. “So, is everything going according to plan?” you asked, getting serious mostly out of some barely developed sense of self-preservation. Mabel nodded, confident, sure of herself, and you could physically feel the power balance shifting as she gained control.

She drank wine with smooth elegance, practiced ease, and with the glass still covering her lips she made her offer, all the while looking right into your eyes. “I can get it to you a week in advance if you pay extra.”

“I can pay you double if you deliver it tonight,” you countered, matching her gaze.

Mabel whistled. “Deal,” she agreed.

“Liar,” but you weren’t that naïve, or green, you’ve been dragged to these meeting for years before your parents made them your problem to deal with.

Mabel leaned back a bit, shrugging. “Worth a shot,” she figured and yeah, you supposed it was.

“Was it really? Staining our relationship with a lie right from the start is a bold move, Mabel,” yet she didn’t flinch.

“Expecting honor among thieves, Y/N?” she challenged you, not backing down for a single moment, and damn did you like that.

“I’m no ordinary thief,” you leaned forward. “I’m the thief in charge, and I don’t like being lied to,” her confidence wavered for a split second, before it returned with a smirk as she leaned in, almost too close, so close you could feel her breath tickling your skin and she stood up to close the distance further, putting her lips right next to your ear.

“True. You’re not in charge of me, though,” she whispered, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, but then she pulled away, taking a few steps away from the table. “We’ll fulfill our end of the deal, make sure you and your thieves pay on time.”

You heard her, but what really caught your attention was your drink that was now in her hand as she drank it, winked at you and left you with her wine and the bill.

“The fuck just happened,” you blinked a few times and then noticed the bill. “How the fuck do these guys have this wine?!” you exclaimed and could hear Mabel cackling in your head. How did you even figure she would cackle? Not that it mattered, what was this overpriced bullshit?! Did she order the most expensive wine the place had? “Damn, she’s good,” you leaned back against the chair, chuckling slightly to yourself, she got you good.

~X~

You entered your apartment, feeling tricked but somehow satisfied. Mabel’s actions were stuck in your head like an annoying song you couldn’t get rid of no matter how much you tried. “She really got me good,” you muttered to yourself as Charcoal hopped into your arms. “Hey there buddy! Did you make a mess while I was gone?” you asked, scratching the cat’s chin as he meowed and purred in your arms, and sure enough, there was quite a number of things knocked over. Pretty much anything that wasn’t locked up was on the floor. It wasn’t that many things, you learnt your lesson a long time ago, but it was still annoyingly endearing to see.

Some small plastic figures, a couple of notebooks, university guide you picked up a few years back, before your life’s path was decided for you. How did Charcoal even get it? Why wasn’t it stuck in the back of some drawer, never to be seen again until you had to clean it? Maybe Mark left it in your line of sight when he conducted a search of your apartment the last time? That was probably it.

Good old Mark, always trying to get you to turn your life around. “A life worth living,” he would often tell you while he and his partner questioned you at the station, trying to get you to crack under the pressure and the good cop bad cop dynamic because they had nothing definitive to prove your involvement.

“You’re awful, you know that?” you scolded the unbothered cat and figured you could clean the mess up tomorrow morning, after good night’s sleep. Perhaps morning would make your thoughts more coherent.

A/N: And here's a story I meant to write like a year ago. Taglist? Anyone?

[shrinkthisviolet]

no literally like I do think she gravitates toward and responds better to female leadership (even though she told mohan she could take constructive criticism and immediately started arguing scvbnbcvnmgfchjjf) but it drives me crazy when people are like "oh she's just a MAN-HATER 😈 but it's okay because she was abused 😇 but she was suspicious of langdon because he's a MAN in power" as a way to gloss over the fact that his behavior was objectively inappropriate and she was doing the smart and responsible thing by paying attention to drug inconsistencies

(post + my tags for context)

YESSS exactly! There is definitely truth to the fact that she has an issue with male authority figures, but that has more to do with “well she and her best friend were assaulted by a trusted male adult and then her best friend killed herself, so yeah, obviously she’ll be wary of men in positions of power.” It’s not based on her visibly responding poorly to male leadership, but rather an understandable trauma response. And like...it doesn’t cause her to distrust any of the men on the show.

Because what we see is that she responds well to those who mentor her, regardless of what gender the mentor in question is. Mohan is blunt...after asking Trinity if it’s okay. Collins is firm but not unkind. So is Ellis. Abbott scolds her for doing the procedure by herself (and reminder to those who need it, she did try to find an attending first), but also praises her for good work done (this combo helps foster trust). Robby is crashing out with the David stuff on top of everything else, but he still takes the time to tell Santos she did the right thing. Garcia is the first person to be encouraging and treat her as an important asset to the team (she and Santos fight later, but Santos still trusts her because Garcia encouraged her first). Santos responds positively to all of these...because she is not being scolded (a little, yes, but not just that). She is being mentored, she is being guided.

The only person she really has an issue with is Langdon. And...this needs some nuance. It’s not because he’s a male authority figure per se. It’s because he’s a male authority figure who seems to have it out for her and is not shy about showing it. He yells at her, puts her down when she tries to bring up concerns, pulls rank frequently, etc. He thus comes across to her as that kind of male authority figure: the kind she needs to be wary of, careful around, because who knows what he’s capable of.

(Ofc on Langdon’s end, he clearly sees so much of himself in her (which is especially clear when he complains about her to Robby to discredit her) that it’s causing him to be harsher on her than the others, which just reinforces Santos’s perceptions of him...and so the vicious cycle continues).

Look at how quickly she takes the blame for Mohan, knowing how pissed Langdon is and wanting to protect her. Look at how instinctual that is. Santos has done this before, with someone she loves (maybe her best friend at some point, maybe her siblings if the show does indeed let her have younger siblings) in the face of a powerful adult who wants to hurt them. Take the pain, be the shield, do not let the person behind you be hurt. Emotionally (which is the case here), physically, it doesn't matter—the pain is hers to bear (especially after she failed to protect her best friend from it. Hey, for all we know, maybe her best friend was this for her too).

And YESSS she didn’t report Langdon because he was a man with power over her. She reported him because there were multiple drug discrepancies that he brushed off, and she found it suspicious and investigated and reported it. Which, as Robby said, is what you’re supposed to do! See Something, Say Something is a very common refrain in hospitals. Especially when Langdon was not only stealing drugs, but also diluting certain medications and not telling anyone, putting patients in serious danger!

(Given that the drugs he was taking were benzos, he likely wasn’t high on-shift (benzos are depressants), but...the theft and dilution are pretty bad in and of themselves)

The takeaway is clear: Santos is likely wary of men in power initially, but she doesn’t necessarily have a problem with them unless they reinforce her fears of possible harm. Langdon does. Robby and Abbott do not.

[lambilegs]

jealous lee who is still just as shy and awkward as she is in the movie, who translates her jealousy into suspicion/paranoia regarding the other person so she has an excuse to draw you away from them

gf!lee getting jealous ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

contains: sfw, idk lee being pretty possessive?, not proofread note to anon: this was SO cute bless your heart

"I just don't have a good feeling about her," lee mutters, rolling her pen between her fingers.

you heave an exasperated sigh, shooting her a pointed look. "just because carter claims you're psychic, doesn't mean you actually have a foolproof ability to prematurely judge people. you know that, right?"

she looks away from you with her mouth pinched into a tight, dissatisfied line. "I'm aware of that, nor am I claiming this has anything to do with being psychic. she just seems off."

you drop your pen, closing the journal you had been writing in. so much for doing couple prompts together. "and why exactly is that? what has she done that gives off a suspicious vibe?"

"it's not just about... vibes," she says through her teeth, like the word tastes funky in her mouth. "there are reasons, this isn't just about feelings."

"the reasons being?"

she pauses for a few moments, staring hard at the wooden plane of the table. your mouth nearly cracks into a grin. you can hear the gears turning even from across her.

finally, she licks her lips and says, "she insisted on seeing your bedroom when you brought her over."

you scoff, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. "she wanted to see the poster we got at that market!"

(and all of the pictures pasted on your wall of you and your oh-so-beautiful, doe-eyed, and incredibly paranoid girlfriend -- not that you need to reveal that to lee.)

her left eye twitches at your response. "she, well -- she keeps asking you to go out. a lot."

"and?" you drawl, jutting a finger at yourself. "are you forgetting who she's asking out?"

she sends you a flat expression, eyes unblinking.

"what?" you laugh, shrugging your shoulders with a feigned air of innocence. "I'm great."

"I know you are," she says in a low tone, the surety and firmness of her voice making your stomach flip in adoration. "but, I don't know. I didn't ask you out this much when we first met."

"that's because when we met, you required a minimum of three days to even figure out how to ask a person out," you shoot back, raising a knowing eyebrow at her.

"funny. still, it's weird."

"why, lee?" you press, your voice beginning to take on the whiny edge of frustration. "why is it so weird? we're just friends, and we-- oh, my god, are you jealous?"

she blinks as though surprised, her brown eyes bulging out. but, after a lingering pause, the air thick with the question, her jaw clenches.

immediately, you smile victoriously in response. bingo. god, no fucking wonder. sure, lee is protective to a fault -- after all, it's only natural with her line of work. and as much as she doesn't admit it aloud, she is enamoured with you. but, still, there's usually a line to who she's skeptical about. it's usually backed by hard facts you can't really argue against. but, this? this just seems like your girlfriend is grasping at straws -- out of character for the genius she is.

"baby," you coo, reaching across the table for her hand, which she immediately lets you turn so her palm is up, open and warm for your wandering fingers. you rub your thumb on the calluses bred by her hard work, strong and unrelenting, just like her. "there's nothing to worry about."

"I--" her words break into a deep breath, one that she sucks sharply. "I never said that I was worried."

you interlace your fingers together, smile widening. "then, why all the paranoia?"

"that-- I was concerned."

"no, no, no, I think you were jealous." you tug the last word out, singing it sweetly like an overjoyed canary. which, in all honesty, one might call you considering lee doesn't usually outright admit her jealousy. and even if she's feeling it, she's pretty damn good at concealing it -- you can only spot the telltale signs at this point because you've practically memorized the workings of her body language.

"I just had valid concerns," she mumbles, her eyes honed in on a spot on the table, long, graceful fingers fidgeting with yours.

chest warmed and heart softened by affection, you slide out of your seat, swaying your hips as you move towards your incredibly stiff girlfriend.

plopping onto her lap and pressing into her rigid body, you squeeze her shoulders, grinning like a dope. "you know, you're so cute. were you just trying to convince me out of spending so much time with her?"

she leans further away from you and into the chair, which creaks under her movements. "I wouldn't do something like that--"

"you can just admit it, baby, there's no shame. you just want me all to yourself," you giggle, running your fingers through her silky, chestnut strands.

"I don't--"

"you don't?" you whisper in a conspiring tone, your eyebrows arching up comically.

she huffs out an exasperated breath. "I do. you know that." after a pause, she glances away. "maybe I was a bit too fast in my judgement."

"just a tad," you snicker.

"sorry," she says quietly, the hand on the table wandering to your back, thumb rubbing at the strip of skin circling around the waistband of your sweats.

you lean in, pressing a peck to her nose, the taste of her sweat salty on your tongue. "it's okay, it was kind of cute."

she rolls her eyes. "I'm glad you enjoyed."

"well, it's not everyday I get to see the lee harker so frazzled and jealous."

through her long lashes, she rests her tender, focused gaze upon you. your stomach tightens from the sight of it. being under her gaze like this makes you feel stripped bare, basking under the heat of the sun, which sizzles right through your skin.

"you'd be surprised how much it happens," she whispers before drawing you in for a kiss.

[evilkitten3]

at some point the autistic community is going to have to come to terms with the fact that, if you know you're bad with tone and sarcasm, it's still on you if you automatically jump to the worst interpretation you can imagine of what someone's saying. sometimes you actually are just being an asshole

Still can't get over the fact that Toby Fox dreamed up a game ending, but he decided he wanted to make something a little less ambitious first, so instead he made the most influential indie game of all time

[aerialmirrorss]

𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞 by sza 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! a kickback on the beach involving both kooks and pogues turns ugly after rafe sees jj maybank talking sweetly in your ear..

paring: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: friends? with benefits , angst , mentions of underage drinking , violence (fist fighting) , toxic!rafe , sexual content + rough unprotected car sex! , choking , fingering , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 6.7k

notes: thinking about making this into a series but it just depends on how we all like it so lmk!

chapter two: 𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

“you’re a fucking idiot,” kie says through a burst of laughter, watching jj attempt to shotgun two beers at once. instead of drinking, most of the beer spills straight onto the sand, leaving him grinning like it was all part of the plan.

a soft giggle slips past your lips as jj smashes the crushed cans together dramatically, then thumps his chest like he just pulled off something incredible—even though he couldn’t have failed more miserably.

you shake your head, pointing at the two crushed cans lying in the sand. “don’t give him any more if he’s gonna pull shit like that!” you say, half-serious, half-amused.

jj’s grin fades into a mock frown, his brows furrowing as he throws his hands up dramatically. “what? i was just getting started!” he protests, though the beer-soaked sand beneath him says otherwise.

you roll your eyes, ready to fire back at jj, when the vibration of your phone in your hand distracts you. the name on the screen makes your stomach flip, and you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting to keep a smile from slipping out where your friends could see.

kook devil: wya?

you: beach kickback on the cut

kook devil: omw

this time, the smile wins. you glance down at the screen, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite yourself. it wasn’t the first time rafe cameron had texted you late at night, asking where you were. but no one else knew that. and you weren’t about to admit it to anyone—especially not to your friends.

friends who hated kooks with a passion. and everything, and everyone, that came with them.

“what are you smiling at?” sarah asks, her voice light but laced with curiosity, as she and john b stroll over, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. her amused grin only makes you more nervous.

you lock your phone instantly, still smiling but scrambling for an excuse. “my package just got delivered,” you say quickly, trying to sound nonchalant.

sarah hums in response, the suspicion in her tone subtle but enough to make your stomach tighten. you don’t notice, too busy avoiding eye contact and silently thanking the chaos that erupts when jj and pope start arguing about something ridiculous, as usual.

you knew what you were doing was wrong. so wrong, especially to sarah. if she ever found out you and rafe were hooking up behind everyone’s backs, she’d lose it. they all would. and not just because he’s a kook.

it’s because he’s rafe fucking cameron.

it was kind of a blur how it all started with rafe. you remember being at a party—not sure if it was here on the beach or in figure 8—but of course, he was there, lingering in the crowd. all night, his eyes kept finding yours, holding your gaze just a little too long.

a couple of tequila shots later, you found yourself in his truck, attempting to ride him as he fucked you senseless, leaving you a trembling mess of moans and breathless curses.

ever since that night, you’d fallen into a rhythm—friends with benefits, if you could even call it that. except you weren’t friends. not even close.

you and rafe both knew the deal—just sex, no strings attached. it was made clear the second time you hooked up. after somehow getting your number, rafe texted you at 1 a.m. asking to meet. if it had been anyone else, you would’ve said no without a second thought. but rafe cameron always gets what he wants.

afterward, it was rafe who spelled it out: just sex, nothing more. and you agreed, even though the words stung more than you cared to admit. you told yourself you were fine with it, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if you played along long enough, he’d change his mind.

except he hasn’t.

and what really reeled you in was just the other day, you spotted him on the golf course with stacy thornton, topper’s cousin of all people. and of course he knew you’d see him—you work the country club as a bev girl. how could you not?

still, you swallowed the lump in your throat, pretending not to care even as your chest tightened. you quietly asked a coworker to handle his table, murmuring something about being swamped, and then buried yourself in busywork to avoid the sting of watching him laugh with her.

since that day, he hasn’t called or texted. not a word. until tonight.

because surely, stacy was busy.

“yo, y/n! come shotgun a beer with us!” kie and sarah call out, snapping you out of your thoughts. you force a small smile, pushing everything about rafe to the back of your mind as you stand up from the driftwood branch you’d been perched on. joining your girls, you grab a beer and do your best to play along.

as the night rolls on, the beach fills up with more people—kooks, pogues, and everyone in between. the music gets louder, and the air becomes a chaotic mix of laughter, shouting, and waves crashing in the background. drunk teenagers stagger through the sand, passing bottles and shots around, but so far, there haven’t been any issues. yet.

but you know how these nights go. when kooks and pogues show up to the same party, trouble is inevitable. it’s only a matter of time before someone says or does something to spark it. like clockwork.

bright headlights pierce through the darkness, momentarily blinding you as a familiar truck pulls onto the beach. your stomach tightens at the sight, but you force yourself to stay calm, laughing along with your friends as if you hadn’t noticed. even as the kooks around you start murmuring and shouting, announcing rafe’s arrival, you keep your eyes anywhere but on him.

your gaze flicks to sarah, catching the way her jaw tightens when she sees her older brother greeting her old friends with effortless charm. the tension is palpable. it’s no secret that sarah and rafe are far from good terms, and the thought of what she’d do if she ever found out about you and him is enough to make your chest ache. she’d hate you—no question about it.

and you didn’t want that. not now, not ever. so tonight, with enough liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’d finally do it. you’d end whatever this thing was with rafe. it was time. it had to be.

“hey, sweetheart,” jj slurs, suddenly draping an arm over your shoulders, his familiar, lopsided grin plastered across his face. the smell of alcohol lingers on his breath, and you can’t help but laugh. drunk jj was always clingy and affectionate, a far cry from his usual chaotic self.

“how are you? you good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, his blue eyes lazily scanning your face for any hint of something wrong.

you nod, patting his knee where it rests against yours. “i’m fine, jay. what about you? having fun?”

he grins wider, squeezing your shoulder as if to reassure you. “always. especially now that you’re here.” his words are lighthearted, but his presence, warm and grounding, makes the knot in your stomach ease just a little.

“don’t start something you can’t finish, maybank,” you tease, your tone playful, something that’s always been a part of your dynamic with jj. it was harmless, never anything more than friendly banter. jj was like a brother to you, and you both knew it.

his smirk widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “oh, i always finish what i start,” he shoots back, his voice dripping with mock confidence. the comment makes heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself, and you nudge his side with a laugh.

“relax, jj,” you say, still grinning, but he just laughs along with you, clearly enjoying your reaction.

then his tone drops, more conspiratorial now, as he leans in closer. “can i tell you a secret?” he slurs, his voice low and exaggeratedly serious.

you play along, tilting your head toward him as he cups a hand over his mouth like he’s sharing classified information. “i’m so drunk right now,” he whispers dramatically.

a laugh bursts out of you, louder than you intended, as you push him off of you. “no shit, jay,” you say through your giggles, watching him sway slightly before laughing along with you. moments like these made everything feel lighter, even with the weight of everything else hanging in the air.

suddenly, the laughter dies in your throat as a familiar voice cuts through the noise, instantly tightening the tension in your shoulders. “i wanna laugh too,” rafe drawls, his tone sharp and laced with something dangerous.

your head snaps up, and sure enough, there he is, standing a few feet away with his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. but his stare is locked on you, unwavering, intense. your stomach churns as you quickly look away, pretending not to notice.

“what are you doing here, rafe?” sarah asks, her voice cold as ice, glaring at her brother like she wanted him gone before he could stir up trouble.

he shrugs nonchalantly, though the slight clench in his jaw betrays his calm demeanor. “well, last time i checked, you don’t own the beach, sarah,” he retorts, his tone sharp enough to cut. the sunset casts a fiery glow on his face, highlighting the tension in his features. he’s angry—at what, you don’t know, but it’s obvious.

sarah opens her mouth to snap back, but before she can, jj suddenly stands to his feet, his drunken bravado kicking in full force. “what’s your problem, man?” he slurs, his voice rising as he steps forward, shoulders squared like he’s ready to fight.

your heart pounds in your chest as the energy shifts sharply, the tension coiling tighter with every second. it’s like the whole beach can feel it, the calm before the inevitable storm. you glance around nervously, noticing the kooks starting to make their way over, drawn by the brewing conflict like moths to a flame.

what had been your comfortable little corner with your friends now feels suffocating as more and more people gather, the divide between kooks and pogues growing thicker with every step they take. rafe doesn’t move, his stance unbothered but his eyes flickering with something unreadable as they dart between jj and you.

you can hear your friends muttering behind you, tension spreading like wildfire. this wasn’t going to end well—you could feel it in your bones.

john b, ever the peacekeeper, steps in with a steady hand on jj’s shoulder, giving it a calming squeeze. “hey, bro, take a walk,” he says softly, his tone measured, trying to de-escalate before things spiral further.

but jj shakes his head, his expression twisting with frustration. “nah, nah, nah,” he says, shrugging john b’s hand off. his voice is louder now, sharp and angry, fueled by alcohol and pent-up resentment. “i’m so tired of these fuck-ass kooks ruining our fun. everything was fine before they got here.”

he turns to rafe, his eyes blazing with defiance. “so answer the damn question, rafe. what the fuck is your problem?”

the words hang in the air, cutting through the murmur of onlookers as more kooks and pogues close in around you, their postures rigid and ready for whatever’s about to unfold. the tension is suffocating, thick enough to choke on. your stomach twists as you glance between jj, who’s practically vibrating with anger, and rafe, whose jaw is locked, his eyes dark and unreadable.

rafe suddenly lets out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he swipes a finger under his nose, his signature tell that trouble is coming. before anyone can react, he steps forward and throws a punch, his fist connecting squarely with jj’s jaw.

the sound of the hit echoes over the beach, silencing the chatter and gasps from the growing crowd. jj stumbles back, catching himself before falling, his hand flying up to his face as he spits blood into the sand.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” john b mutters, stepping between them instinctively, trying to keep jj from lunging forward. but jj’s already shaking with rage, shoving john b aside as the crowd erupts around you.

the once calm beach party turns chaotic, the tension finally snapping into chaos, and you’re frozen in the middle of it all, unsure of what to do as your heart pounds in your chest.

mayhem erupts around you as everyone starts shouting, the noise almost deafening. jj and rafe are swinging at each other, fists flying with raw anger. john b and topper try to break it up, but their own simmering tensions (sarah cameron) boil over, and soon enough, they’re throwing punches at each other too.

“alright! alright!” you, sarah, and kie yell, your voices cutting through the chaos as you rush in, desperately trying to pull the four boys apart. it’s a mess of flailing arms, insults, and drunken fury, but with the help of the other pogues and even a few kooks who seem equally tired of the drama, you finally manage to separate them.

jj stands a few feet away now, chest heaving as he wipes blood from his lip, glaring daggers at rafe. rafe, meanwhile, is being restrained by two kooks, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on jj like he’s ready to go again at any second. john b and topper aren’t much better, breathing heavily and throwing venomous insults back and forth as they’re held apart.

you step back, your heart still racing as the crowd buzzes with murmurs and tension, the air thick and electric. this was far from over, and you could feel it.

“yeah, stay the fuck off our side of the island!” jj yells, his voice sharp and unwavering as the kooks start retreating. rafe lingers, of course, making direct eye contact with you. his gaze burns, but you glare right back, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. whatever you needed to say to him was definitely happening tonight after the shit he just pulled.

“take jj to the chateau. i think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” john b instructs kie and pope, his tone calm but firm. they nod, each grabbing one of jj’s arms to help guide him away. jj, still riled up, mutters under his breath about how much of a pussy rafe is, his words slurring slightly from the drinks and adrenaline.

sarah walks over to you, concern etched across her face. “hey, you okay?” she asks gently. her voice is soft, but the sincerity in her eyes almost undoes you. you nod quickly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over.

“yeah, i’m fine. just anxious,” you respond, your voice steady enough to sound convincing. it’s not entirely a lie, but it’s far from the whole truth. sarah offers you a small, understanding smile, her hand rubbing your arm soothingly.

“coming?” she asks, gesturing toward john b, who’s waiting for her a few feet away.

“i think i’m just gonna head home,” you say, your voice a little rushed. “my mom texted—she got off work early, so…” you let the excuse hang in the air, hoping it’s enough.

sarah nods slowly, her eyes flickering with a mix of understanding and suspicion. “john b and i can walk you,” she offers.

“no, it’s okay. i kinda need a moment,” you reply quickly, your voice firmer this time. you hold your breath as her gaze lingers on you, studying you for a beat too long. but thankfully, she doesn’t press it.

“okay, babe,” she says finally, her concern softening into a warm smile. “let me know when you get home, yeah?”

you nod, watching as she walks back toward john b, the two of them eventually disappearing into the growing shadows. only when they’re far enough away do you exhale, the weight of the night pressing heavy on your chest.

with one last glance at the party starting to settle back down, you turn and walk in the opposite direction, knowing exactly where you’re going—and who you’re going to face.

you make your way over to the truck, its headlights dim now but still parked exactly where he left it. crossing your arms over your chest, you lean against the back door of the truck, waiting. it’s quiet here, tucked away from the rest of the beach where no one can see you.

the sound of approaching footsteps pulls your attention, and there he is. rafe cameron, calm and collected as ever, despite the chaos he caused. he’s holding a red solo cup against his cheekbone, the faintest shadow of a bruise forming. but even so, you have to admit—he doesn’t look nearly as bad as jj does. of course he doesn’t.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. the tension between you is thicker than ever, the air heavy with unspoken words. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you came here to do.

“i can’t see you anymore, rafe,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice is firm, but you can feel the ache behind the words, threatening to betray you.

rafe doesn’t move. instead, a small, almost smug smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “get in the truck,” he says, his tone low and even, like it’s not up for debate.

your brows knit together, your frustration bubbling up. did he not hear you? or worse, did he just not care? “no, rafe,” you snap, shaking your head. “what you did today—” you pause, letting out a sharp sigh as the memories replay in your mind. your gaze shifts over his shoulder to the road, watching cars pass by, their headlights a welcome distraction. “you hurt my friends,” you continue, your voice quieter now but still steady. “i care a lot about my friends. and that shit you pulled back there?” you point toward the spot on the beach where the chaos unfolded, the tension still lingering in the air. “wasn’t cool.”

rafe follows your gesture with a glance, his expression unreadable. but when his eyes flick back to you, there’s something in them—something dangerous, something unshaken. he doesn’t respond, just waits, like he knows you’re not finished yet.

“why would you do that?” your voice cracks despite your best effort to keep it steady. the words hang heavy in the air, and you curse softly under your breath, furious with yourself for letting your emotions bubble over. you promised you wouldn’t let him see you like this—wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. but now, the tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill.

rafe’s face doesn’t change, his jaw tight but his expression otherwise calm, almost detached. it’s like he’s weighing his words, deciding what to say—or if he’ll even bother answering at all. the silence feels suffocating, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on your chest.

“are you fucking him?” rafe finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but the accusation behind the words hits you like a slap. you stare at him, wide-eyed, like he’s just grown three heads.

a laugh of disbelief escapes you as you shake your head, running a hand through your hair to keep yourself from losing it. “are you serious right now?” you ask, your voice teetering between anger and shock.

“are you?” he presses, his tone sharper this time, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting.

“oh my god,” you mutter, another laugh bubbling out, this one laced with frustration. “is that why you did that? you think i’ve been fucking one of my best friends? are you shitting me, rafe?” you shake your head again, the absurdity of the accusation almost too much to handle.

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, his gaze still burning into yours like he’s waiting for you to crack. but you don’t—at least, not yet.

“well, since we’re just accusing each other of shit now,” you say, your voice sharp as a knife, “how’s stacy doing?” your eyes flicker between his, and just like you predicted, his confidence falters. there’s a moment—a flicker—where his gaze drops, and you pounce. “i assume she was busy tonight, right? that why you texted me?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” rafe snaps, his chest rising and falling heavily as he steps closer, his frustration spilling over.

“oh, don’t give me that shit, rafe,” you fire back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. your eyes dart away from his, landing anywhere but on him. “i saw you at the country club,” you continue, your voice cold, the memory still fresh.

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, and the silence only fuels your anger. “and even then,” you add, spinning back to face him, your words cutting like glass, “what if i am fucking jj? what is it to you? you’re the one who said no strings attached, right?”

you see the way his nostrils flare, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might snap. his eyes darken, and you know exactly what he’s thinking—the thought of jj seeing you the way rafe has, touching you, hearing the sounds you make. it’s killing him. but he won’t say it. not out loud.

“you’re mad, rafe,” you say, your voice quieter now but still firm. “but you don’t get to be. not after the rules you set.”

you push past him, deciding you were done—done with the accusations, the games, all of it. but, of course, you don’t get far. rafe’s hand closes firmly around your wrist, yanking you back toward him with enough force that you stumble. before you can steady yourself, you collide with his chest, the hard press of muscle against you taking your breath away.

his lips crash against yours without warning, rough and demanding, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips. the intensity of it sends a jolt through you, but it’s not enough to freeze you in place. your fists fly up, pushing hard against his chest, trying to shove him off.

“rafe,” you manage, your voice muffled against his lips, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. instead, your resistance only seems to fuel him, his free hand sliding up to wrap around your neck, not too tight, but firm enough to hold you there.

his lips move hungrily against yours, his breath hot, his grip unwavering. you can feel the frustration, the anger, and something else tangled in the way he kisses you—something you can’t name, something overwhelming. your heart races, torn between wanting to fight and the way your body reacts instinctively to his touch.

you hated it. hated how easily your body betrayed you, handing itself over to him without a second thought. and the worst part? rafe knew it too. he always did.

he used it to his advantage every time, just like now. the second your resistance began to falter, the tension in your fists loosening as your body instinctively softened against his, that familiar smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips. he could feel it—the way your resolve was slipping, the way the pull between you was overtaking every logical thought in your mind.

the familiarity of him started to seep through, clouding the anger that had burned so brightly just moments ago. rafe’s grip on your neck relaxed slightly, his fingers brushing your skin like he had all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t the reason you’d wanted to end this in the first place.

and god, you hated him for it. but you hated yourself even more. no matter how much you told yourself to walk away, to end it, your body always seemed to betray you the moment his hands were on you.

before you even realized what was happening, you were in the back seat of rafe’s truck, straddling his lap. his hands gripped your hips with bruising force, guiding your movements as you instinctively rolled against him. the friction of his hardened, clothed cock pressing against you sent shivers up your spine, a traitorous whimper slipping past your lips.

his breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he let out a low groan of satisfaction. you hated how easily he got to you, how the anger you felt just moments ago melted into something entirely different. but no matter how much you wanted to stop, your body moved on its own, craving the familiarity of him, the intensity only he could give you.

his hands move from gripping your hips to trailing up your back, his fingers deftly finding the string of your bikini top. with a quick tug, the knot unravels, and the fabric falls between you, exposing your chest to the cool night air. the intimate sound of your breathing mixes with the muffled noise of the distant beach party, but all you can focus on is him.

rafe wastes no time, leaning in to pepper kisses across your chest. each press of his lips ignites a trail of goosebumps on your skin, the sensation making you arch closer to him. his mouth finds one of your hardened nipples, pulling it into his mouth as his hand cups the other, his fingers teasing and rolling with practiced precision.

a moan slips from your lips, filling the still air around you. rafe hums in satisfaction, his hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. his grip on you tightens as he continues, clearly intent on drawing every reaction out of you that he can.

“fuck, i missed you,” he breathes, his voice low and ragged as he pulls back just enough to let the words slip past his lips. before you can even process them, his mouth is back on you, his lips and tongue working their way across your skin, pulling a broken whimper from your throat.

you shake your head weakly, your fingers gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself. “no, you didn’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the words more of a desperate plea than an accusation.

rafe pauses, his lips hovering over your collarbone. his hands tighten their hold on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he meets your gaze, his blue eyes blown out. “yes, i did,” he mutters, his tone firm, almost defensive, before dipping his head back down to kiss you again, as if he could erase the doubt you so clearly feel.

with one hand, he makes quick work of the button on your shorts, pulling them down just enough to give himself better access. his hand slips past the waistband of your bikini bottoms, his fingers brushing against your heated skin. the low groan that escapes his lips when he feels how soaked you are sends a jolt of heat straight through you.

“not surprising,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with smug satisfaction.

you gasp, your head falling back slightly as his fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before starting slow, deliberate circles against your clit. the sensation sparks through you, making your hips instinctively rock against his hand, chasing the friction.

rafe’s smirk deepens as he watches you, his free hand gripping your waist tighter to keep you steady. “that’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with control. “just like that.”

a moan escapes your lips when his fingers pick up their pace, his breathing becoming heavier against your neck. “think that pogue could get you to cum like i can, huh?” he taunts, his words cutting through the haze of pleasure. before you can respond, his fingers dip into your entrance, filling you to where you feel the cold metal ring wrapped around his finger, while his thumb presses firmly against your clit. the double stimulation sends a shockwave through you, your hands fisting his shirt as you struggle to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

you bite down hard on your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction he craves, but it’s so hard—he knows your body too well.

“i know he can,” you finally manage to retort, your voice breathless but defiant. the second the words leave your mouth, you see it—the flicker of rage that darkens his eyes. his movements grow rougher, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to make you eat your words.

you sob out a moan, your body trembling as his pace remains relentless, refusing to give you even a second to catch your breath. “the fuck he can,” he growls, his voice low and feral, watching with a smug satisfaction as you struggle to keep yourself upright. his smirk deepens as he leans in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation, swallowing your broken cries.

your hands cling to his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash through you, your body arching into his touch. his fingers work you expertly, his movements precise and unyielding as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and dripping with desperation. “let me hear you.” his words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel yourself teetering on the brink, unable to hold back any longer.

you feel yourself start to convulse around his fingers, your body trembling as a broken cry tears from your lips. the waves of your orgasm crash over you, leaving you breathless and weak. rafe keeps going, his fingers guiding you through every pulse of pleasure, not stopping until your body begins to twitch with hints of overstimulation. but there’s no tenderness in it—not that you deserved any, not after what you said.

your earlier comment still burned in his mind, fueling a fire in his chest, the thought of you with jj maybank making him see red. it wasn’t about trust—it was about possession, and rafe couldn’t stand the idea of someone else touching what he considered his.

without warning, he grabs your waist and flips you around, pressing your head against the leather seat, your ass in the air. your shorts and bikini bottoms are gone in one swift motion, leaving you completely exposed. you barely have time to react before you hear the sound of his zipper, his own clothes hitting the floor of the truck in a mess.

“you wanna talk about jj?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with frustration as he positions himself at your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you. “let’s see if you’re still thinking about him when I’m done with you.”

before you can process his words, he thrusts into you without warning, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, punishing motion. the stretch is overwhelming, a cry slipping from your lips, quickly muffled as you press your face into the seat.

rafe doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, setting a relentless, eye-rolling pace that has your body jolting with every thrust. his hands grip your waist tightly, pulling you back to meet each snap of his hips, his frustration evident in the way he moves.

“you feel that?” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he leans over you, his chest grazing your back. “that’s all me. no one else, you hear me?” his words mix with the sound of skin against skin, every syllable driving him deeper, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

you nod dumbly, unable to form words as your body reacts to his every movement. a gasp tears from your lips when his arm snakes around your neck, pulling you upright slightly and holding you firmly in place. the pressure makes your head spin, amplifying every sensation coursing through your body.

the truck fills with the obscene sounds of wet slaps and desperate moans, each one louder than the last. your cries mix with rafe’s rough groans, the intensity between you reaching a fever pitch. you briefly thank your lucky stars that his truck has fully blacked-out windows, shielding this mess of tangled limbs and raw need from prying eyes.

rafe moans in your ear, his voice thick with possession, his breath hot against your skin. “all mine. no one else gets to have you like this.” his pace never falters, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge again, leaving you gasping and trembling under his control.

just when you think the pleasure is close to consuming you whole, rafe’s fingers snake down between your thighs, finding your clit with infuriating precision. he rubs quick, tight circles, the added sensation pulling a choked cry from your lips as your body jerks in response.

your arm flings back instinctively, your hand finding the back of his neck, clutching onto him desperately as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. his breath is hot against your ear, ragged and uneven, matching the force of his thrusts.

“fuck, baby,” he groans softly, his voice laced with satisfaction as he feels you trembling against him. “you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

“rafe—“ you moan, your grip on his neck tightening as the overwhelming mix of sensations sends you spiraling, your body teetering on the brink. every snap of his hips, every movement of his fingers, pushes you closer, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you fight to keep from collapsing back into the seat.

your body trembles uncontrollably as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip. rafe grunts, his breath ragged and uneven as he feels you squeezing him, the sensation tipping him over the edge.

“shit,” he moans, his voice low and strained, giving one last stuttered thrust before he stills, his release spilling into you. the warmth of him floods your core, the weight of his body pressing against yours as he rides out his high, panting heavily into the crook of your neck.

the air in the truck is thick, the only sounds now the mingling of your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the world outside—so distant it feels like it doesn’t even exist. rafe’s hand loosens its hold on your hip along with the arm around your neck, his thumb lazily brushing your skin as he finally starts to come down.

rafe’s forehead, damp with sweat, rests against your shoulder for a moment as he catches his breath. Slowly, he pulls out of you, leaving you trembling and weak-kneed. Sensing it, he carefully guides you to sit on the seat, his touch surprisingly gentle now, as if trying not to shatter the fragile silence between you.

but it doesn’t last long. the haze starts to lift, post-sex clarity hitting you like a wave. your heart pounds—not from pleasure anymore, but from the weight of everything that just happened. you don’t look at him, don’t say a word. instead, you scramble off the seat, your eyes scanning the floor of the truck as you rush to gather your clothes. the humid air clings to your skin, suffocating you, making it feel like the walls of the truck are closing in.

“y/n,” rafe starts, his voice softer now, but you don’t respond, just shake your head. You tug your shorts on with shaky hands, your bikini top still tangled in your grasp as you turn your back to him, your only thought being how fast you can get out of this damn truck.

as soon as you adjust your bikini top, you’re scrambling for the door handle, slipping out of the truck as quickly as you can. the door slams shut behind you with a loud thud, cutting off the heavy silence inside. rafe’s voice calls after you, his tone somewhere between frustration and confusion, but you don’t look back. you don’t even slow down.

his words echo faintly in the humid night air as you trudge across the sand, but you block them out, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

you hated yourself in this moment—really hated yourself. how could you be so weak? jj was probably back at the chateau right now, an ice pack pressed to his bruised face, joking it off like he always did. meanwhile, you were here, tangled up with the very person responsible for putting him there.

it made your stomach twist. you felt pathetic.

the guilt gnawed at you, making every step away from that truck feel heavier, like you were sinking further into something you didn’t know how to escape. you wrap your arms around yourself, the night air cold against your skin, and silently vow—never again.

as you step into your home, the soft glow of the television catches your eye. your mom is asleep on the couch, the faint sound of some late-night show playing in the background. you pause, the sight of her peaceful face tugging at something inside you. quietly, you grab the nearest blanket and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her frame before turning off the TV.

you make your way to your room, your body heavy with exhaustion. pulling out your phone, the screen lights up with countless missed calls and texts—all from him. rafe’s name stares back at you, the words call me back and where did you go? flashing among the messages. with a sigh, you open the contact and quickly silence his notifications. blocking him would feel too final, too harsh, and you know it wouldn’t stop him anyway. rafe knew where to find you—where you lived, where you spent your time, even your favorite food spot. blocking him would only provoke him further.

you drop your phone on the bed and head straight for the bathroom, turning the shower dial as cold as it would go. the icy water hits your skin like needles, but you welcome it, hoping it’ll wash away everything—his touch, his words, the feeling of his hands on your body.

but no matter how long you stand there, no matter how hard you scrub, the memories resurface, unrelenting. the way he looked at you. the sound of his voice. the pull he always had on you. you press your forehead against the cool tile, biting back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

how did it get this far?

the muffled vibration of your phone stirs you from sleep, the name sarah 🐚 lighting up the screen. groaning, you fumble for the phone and press it to your ear, voice still thick with sleep. “hell—”

“is it true?” sarah’s voice crackles through the static, sharp and tense, jolting you fully awake. your eyes shoot open, the confusion and dread hitting you all at once.

“sarah, what—” you begin, but she doesn’t let you finish.

“got it,” she says curtly, and before you can protest, the line goes dead.

you pull the phone away from your ear, staring at the dark screen as if it could offer you answers. confusion twists in your chest, but then you see it—a new message notification from her.

your hands tremble slightly as you unlock your phone and click the message. the screen shifts to a video file, sent from an anonymous number. you hesitate, the dread creeping up your spine like ice, but you press play.

the blood drains from your face as the video begins. it’s you—you and rafe. the footage is grainy, but it’s unmistakable. you see yourself pressed against the back door of his truck, his hands gripping you as you melt into the heated kiss. the angle shifts slightly, shaky and invasive, capturing the moment he pushes you inside the truck. and then—cut.

the video ends abruptly, leaving you staring at the black screen, your heart racing so hard you can feel it in your throat. you drop the phone onto your bed, your blood running cold as the weight of it crashes over you.

someone had seen. someone knew. and now sarah did too.

© aerialmirrorss

[svbhuman]

idk man. i should be humble and whatnot but i have to defend myself

[penny-anna]

if voyager was like 25% racier they could have had a plot where someone stumbles on a buried holodeck program about having sex with Tom Paris and now everyone is trying to figure out who wants to fuck Tom so badly they made a whole holodeck program about it.

no-one wants to bring it up with Tom himself for obvious reasons. naturally all eyes turn to B'Elanna but she strenuously denies it. initially no-one believes her but on investigation they break the encryption and discover that it looks like Harry made the program.

Harry gets very flustered and insists that someone must have fraudulently used his credentials to make the program. but if that's the case then it was either one of the ship's other senior officers (bcos they're the only people who'd be able to fake Harry's credentials) or someone with very advanced holodeck skills

Seven is briefly considered (she has the technical skills) but is fully exonerated when they realise the program predates her time on the crew.

Seven points out that it could have been the Doctor who also has the relevant skills but the Doctor argues that he wouldn't bcos he has better taste and also if he wanted to make a secret holodeck program he'd cover his tracks better and he's right on all counts. Neelix protests his innocence and everyone's like yeah honestly we never thought it was you Neelix.

the Doctor suggests that maybe they should let the matter rest on the grounds that masturbation is perfectly natural and healthy and whoever's responsible it's their own private business but B'Elanna and Harry are like nooo this is a threat to the harmony of the crew we have to know. also we're nosy. don't you want to help us on this. and the Doctor's like yeah. alright.

B'Elanna and Harry and the Doctor can't find any evidence of fakery which makes it more and more likely that it was a senior officer. they're all eying Janeway and Chakotay and Tuvok trying to guess which one of them secretly wants to fuck Tom Paris.

Janeway seems the most likely prospect as she has technically fucked him before when they were salamanders and also like as far as anyone knows she's been functionally celibate since they got stranded so she's gotta be pretty pent up by now.

but then Tom and Chakotay have some history from their time in the Maquis so there could be something going on there??

Tuvok is the least likely by a mile bcos like he's Tuvok but then it's always the people you least suspect isn't it and last time they found a weird holodeck program it turned out to be Tuvok's so maybe?? maybe??

obviously they aren't about to bring this up with Janeway & co so they're just sitting in command meetings with their 3 most plausible suspects and Tom himself. collectively fucking sweating. unable to concentrate.

after several repetitions of this Janeway's like OK something's distracting you all. fess up so we sort out whatever it is and move on with business. and after a lot of squirming one of them breaks.

& then Tom is like ohh yeah that's my program. and they're like. say what?? and he's like that's my holodeck program I made it. for personal use.

so B'Elanna is like 'why would you make a holosex program about yourself' and he's like because I wanted to know what it was like to fuck me?? is that so wrong. get off my case.

[helaintoloki]

Hey there! I’ve got a little request for you.

What about a fic where the reader has to go back in time to the 40s (perhaps for an infinity stone? Work it however you want). It’s supposed to be a quick mission. Until they run into a young Bucky.

a/n: hi anon! i hope you don’t mind but i made some tweaks to the request to fit the story i came up with. however, the original idea of reader going to the 40s is still there!

warnings/notes: angst, fluff, sort of an enemies to lovers piece

summary: after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

“You’re such a jerk!”

“Oh, so saving your ass makes me a jerk now?” Bucky retorts in annoyed disbelief at your insult. The two of you haven’t exactly been getting along as of late, so it wasn’t a surprise to either of you that your first assignment together was proving to be disastrous.

“Saving me?” You repeat incredulously, halting in your steps to whirl around and angrily point a finger against his chest. The firmness of his muscles has you faltering for a split second, but you’re adamant not to let your stupid little school girl crush on the man stop you from tearing into him.

Sometimes you’re not even sure why you have feelings for someone who constantly pushes your buttons and tests your patience, but it’s hard not to fall for his good looks and charm, especially during the rare moments of pleasantness you experience when he’s not getting on your nerves. You and Bucky rarely see eye-to-eye, and though for the most part you can tolerate each other, your camaraderie doesn’t last long.

“Shoving me out of the way when I had a clear shot isn’t saving me! I had it covered before you decided to play hero and treat me like some damsel in distress!”

“You had a clear shot and so did the sniper sitting on that rooftop,” Bucky points out with an irritated tick of his jaw. “You couldn’t have gotten the hit with a bullet hole in your head.”

You falter momentarily at being presented with your error, face beginning to heat with embarrassment at being in the wrong. However, your stubborn nature takes over and causes you to double down on your anger instead of admitting fault.

“I don’t need your help. In fact, because of your little stunt my inhibitor is broken,” you state indignantly while lifting your wrist to show the damaged metal band, “so now I have no way to safely get us home.”

Bucky blanches at the realization, and now it’s his turn to feel hot with embarrassment and guilt for his mistake. You’re one of the enhanced members on the team, an Avenger with the power to teleport not only from place to place but also through time, but your ability isn’t always the most reliable. It can be unstable when used too often or without proper concentration, which is why Tony had crafted your inhibitor bracelet to ensure you didn’t accidentally teleport yourself or your teammates to the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust yourself to make the jump back to the compound without it, and now the two of you were stranded.

He curses under his breath and runs an anxious hand through his hair before saying, “We’ll have to call for someone to come get us.”

“No shit,” you retort only to earn an eye roll from him in response. “But that’s going to take hours, and if we stay here we’re dead.”

“Look,” Bucky sighs depreciatively, “we need to figure this out together, so I’d appreciate a little less sarcasm and a little more-“

The sound of gunfire interrupts Bucky’s rant and sends you both ducking for cover. Your arguing had allowed enough time for the enemy to counterattack with an ambush, and now you were cornered with nowhere to go. You find yourself pressed against a metal crate, making yourself as small as possible while trying to form some sort of an exit plan. Your attackers were closing in, and you felt the anxiety beginning to rise in your chest at the fact that you had nowhere left to run.

Bucky calls your name frantically, breaking you out of your panicked daze quickly enough for you to register the woman approaching you with her gun raised. Your eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights, and when she pulls the trigger you feel your powers activate on instinct as you’re teleported out of the line of fire.

You land on the ground with a groan.

Tingles run down your body from the use of your powers, and it takes you a moment to adjust to the new surroundings you find yourself in. The packing warehouse you’d been dodging gunfire fire in is long gone, and instead you find yourself in an alleyway nestled between two apartment buildings. Your mind is frantic as you try to scramble back up onto your feet only to crumple down in pain from your fall. You think you’ve twisted your ankle, and you don’t know where you are or how to get back home.

You attempt to use your powers to jump back to the warehouse to help Bucky, but without the inhibitor bracelet your teleportation has become shoddy. You let your head fall back with a frustrated groan at being completely helpless and try to clear your mind to figure out your next move.

“Excuse me,” an oddly familiar voice calls from the other end of the alleyway, “are you alright, miss?”

You lift your head at the sound of approaching footsteps and are met with a set of kind blue eyes that have your breath catching in your throat. His face is so much younger and full of life, not yet tainted by the trauma he’d endured after the events of the war. He’s beautiful, and you find your heart nearly leaping out of your chest when he makes his way towards you. He reaches out to you with his left hand, and you stare down with uncertainty at the warm flesh that replaces metal.

You’d accidentally sent yourself back in time, and now you found yourself face to face with a Bucky who had yet to become the Winter Soldier.

“I… I’m fine,” you finally manage to get out after willing away your initial shock. You hesitantly accept his hand and are unnerved by the unusual warmth his palm emits against your own. He helps you back onto your feet only for you to stumble as a result of your bad ankle. His strong arms catch you in an instant, holding you upright while you brace yourself against his firm chest.

“Looks like you had quite the fall,” Bucky says with a lighthearted smile while meeting your gaze. You see something shift in his features when he looks into your eyes, an awestruck sense of admiration washing over him as he takes in your disheveled appearance. You begin to fear that he has you figured out, that somehow he knows who you are and that you don’t belong, but instead he merely wipes away a smudge of dirt from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re a knockout,” he compliments before letting out a sheepish laugh at his own boldness. Your stomach flips at his confession, and you have to stop and remind yourself that this is a completely different Bucky from the one you know. The Bucky you have back at home would sooner call you a pain in his ass than ever call you beautiful.

“Thank you,” you breathe out nervously, flashing him a meek smile while subtly trying to free yourself from his hold. You have no idea what repercussions will come from you interacting with him, and you still need to figure out a way to get back to your own time now that it’s been made clear you sent yourself to the past. You attempt to walk only to wince again at the ache in your leg, something Bucky notices immediately.

“You’re hurt. Let me take you home with me, my Ma can fix you right up and get you something to eat,” he offers only for you to quickly shake your head.

“I couldn’t impose. I’ll be fine, really,” you try to assure him, but your obvious discomfort isn’t very convincing.

“Nonsense. What kind of a man would I be if I left you here in this dingy alleyway to fend for yourself? My mother raised me better than that.”

You can’t help the soft smile that forms on your lips at his kindness. Steve had often mentioned how charming Bucky was in his younger days, how he had swept countless girls off their feet with his chivalrous nature and good looks. Bucky would always grumble about his friend’s need to exaggerate on the details of the past, but you were now seeing firsthand the truth to the Captain’s stories.

You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t stop yourself from finally relenting to Bucky’s request. How can you deny him when he flashes you such an endearing grin and looks upon you with eyes full of tenderness? You expect him to take your hand or give you his arm to steady yourself for the walk home, but he instead surprises you by literally sweeping you off of your feet and carrying you in his arms. You gasp, fingers anxiously clutching at the fabric of his dress shirt while you look to him with wide eyes; his strength is unwavering, and his lips sport a proud grin as he whisks you away to his apartment.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you.”

Your inner turmoil is almost unbearable as you struggle to comprehend the sweetness of this Bucky in comparison to the brooding nature of your own Bucky. You’re not used to such acts of chivalry or flirtatious remarks, and it certainly doesn’t help alleviate the crush you harbor on your teammate. If anything, you’re even more confused now than you’ve ever been when it comes to your feelings for the Winter Soldier. You’re adamant about not falling into the fantasy, about staying focused on the task at hand, but it’s hard to do so when Bucky is so obviously sweet on you.

“I’ve just realized I don’t know your name,” he notes thoughtfully. “Most guys usually know the name of the girl they plan to bring home to their mother.”

“Y/n,” you reply gently despite the heat that spreads across your face at his jest, not even sure if giving your real name is the right move.

“Y/n,” he repeats sweetly, devoid of the usual tone of annoyance or irritation you’re used to. “I think that suits a pretty girl like you. My name is James, but most people just call me Bucky.”

“I like James,” you admit truthfully while avoiding his burning gaze. “I think it suits a gentleman like you.”

“A gentleman, huh? Mom will proud to hear that.”

You find yourself subtly sneaking a glance at his face while he speaks, unable to resist drinking in the details of a younger, innocent Bucky who has yet to endure the horrors his future has in store for him. He exuded confidence and light, and you could see why girls would throw themselves at his feet just to see his smile. This Bucky was full of hope, and your chest ached at having to keep what you knew about him hidden. You couldn’t risk stirring up trouble in the past by telling him what would take place after being shipped off to England and meddling with a future that had already been set in stone, and you knew he might not even believe you anyway. You had no choice but to keep your mouth shut and maintain your composure until you managed to get back to the present.

You eventually make it to his apartment and find your stomach twisting with nerves as Bucky carefully sets you down so he can unlock the door. You’re not sure how you’re going to handle meeting his mother or setting foot into his childhood home, and the entire situation feels much too intimate for you to bear. You’re an intruder in his life, the one he kept close to his chest away from everyone but Steve, and you wonder how much he’ll hate you for this when you finally get back.

“Let’s get you inside,” James urges, gently guiding you through the doorway while being mindful of your bad leg. He lets you hold onto his arm while escorting you towards the couch. The living room is quaintly decorated with photos and antique furniture, and the floral patterned wallpaper reminds you of the one your grandmother had kept in her home. The smell of a freshly cooked meal wafts through the apartment, and from the distance you can hear the quiet crackle of the kitchen radio playing a tune.

“Wait right here,” he says with a wink before disappearing down the hallway and leaving you to your own devices. You debate making your escape while he’s gone in order to avoid delving deeper into Bucky’s past life, but you know you won’t get far with a twisted ankle. Instead, you choose to quickly comb your fingers through your hair and dust yourself off to make yourself somewhat presentable in the presence of his mother.

“I’m telling you, Ma,” Bucky’s voice echoes through the hallway as he makes his return to the living room, “she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat at his flattery and try to appear as inconspicuous as possible despite your nerves. You can’t help but wonder how you’re supposed to go back to normal after all of this is over, and a part of you is starting to dread returning home.

Bucky walks into the room with an older woman on his arm. She has beautifully curled hair that’s been pinned back neatly to frame her weathered face. Despite the wrinkles under her eyes, they are bright with joy when she gazes upon her son, and her ruby red smile flashes pearly whites your way when she finally rests her attention on your awkward form.

“Mom, this is y/n,” Bucky introduces proudly, “I promised her you could fix her right up.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” his mother croons as she seats herself beside you. “James told me all about your nasty fall, but I don’t want you to worry. You’re in good hands here with me.”

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Miss,” you express earnestly as you look into her striking blue eyes she shares with her son. “I promise I won’t be in your way long.”

“Nonsense,” she dismisses you with a wave of her hand. “Any friend of my James is welcome in this home. And please, call me Winnifred.”

“Thank you, Winnifred,” you repeat with a grateful smile, the woman’s kindness having alleviated some of your stress. You watch as she begins to scan over your features for any other possible injuries while taking in your disheveled form; her brows furrow slightly when she takes note of your attire.

“What peculiar clothing,” she murmurs while running her fingers along the rip in your tactical suit. You blanch slightly at the realization that you aren’t exactly dressed for the time period you’re in and scramble to come up with a lie.

“It’s my factory uniform,” you quickly fib, grateful for the fact you’d paid attention in your high school history class. “I make munitions for our boys overseas.”

“I love a woman in uniform,” Bucky notes with an innocent smile despite the flirtatious tone of his words.

“How admirable of you! But surely it must not be very comfortable. Why don’t you get cleaned up and changed out of that uniform before I wrap your ankle? I’ll find you something else to wear.”

“I’ll show you to the bathroom,” Bucky offers before assisting you back onto your feet. You wrap an arm around his midsection to keep yourself propped upright while lamely limping down the hallway with his help. “Mom really seemed to like you, not that I’m surprised.”

“I can see where you get your charm,” you tease gently, almost melting at the boyish grin that forms on his lips in response. Would it be wrong of you to wish you could have such an easy rapport with your own Bucky as you do with this one?

You make it to bathroom where James shows you how to work the shower before giving you your privacy. The water pressure isn’t as strong as what you’re used to back at the compound, but it does the job. You’re grateful to finally scrub off the grime and dried blood that had accumulated from the mission, and you feel like you’re in a much clearer headspace now to start planning your next move.

A simple dress is laid out on the dresser for you when you finish your shower, and once you’re decent Winnifred sits you down and wraps your ankle. She insists you keep off your foot and rest for the remainder of the evening in her daughter’s bed seeing as she’s off at a sleepover. You know better than to object to the woman’s demands, and so you find yourself seated on the cushiony mattress with a dinner tray on your lap. You’re absolutely starving, and you’re grateful to finally have the chance to eat considering you need your strength in order to attempt teleporting without the help of your inhibitor.

A gentle knock on the doorway interrupts your ruminative dinner, and you watch curiously as Bucky slowly peeks his head into the door.

“Mind if I keep you company?”

“Of course not,” you hum gently, heart thrumming in your chest when he seats himself on the edge of the bed beside you. The scent of his cologne mixed with his natural musk drowns your senses, causing a longing ache to settle in the pit of your stomach as you’re reminded of the fact that you must leave him behind when this is all over.

“How’s the ankle?”

“Your mom says the swelling should go down in a day or two as long as I keep off of it.”

“Does that mean you’ll be sticking around here a bit longer?” Bucky asks with a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. You smile faintly, but it isn’t very convincing.

“I can’t,” you relent gently, guilt consuming your entire being at the way his features falter in result. “I have to get back home.”

“You have someone waiting for you?” He prompts softly, absently fidgeting with a loose thread from the comforter.

“I do,” you confess quietly. You watch his gaze drop down to hide his disappointment, head shaking slightly as he lets out a soft chuckle.

��I should have known a girl like you would already be spoken for. Is he handsome?”

“Very,” you nod sheepishly, your face growing hot at having to confess such thoughts to the younger version of the man you picture in your head. “His eyes are blue like yours, but his hair’s a bit longer. He doesn’t smile much, but when he does it lights up an entire room.”

“Does he treat you the way you deserve?”

“He can be cold and closed off at times, but I know deep down he cares. He just isn’t very good at showing it, and I certainly don’t make it easy for him. I can be a handful, and we fight a lot, but I think I love him anyway.”

Sighing, Bucky runs his fingers through his perfectly combed hair before meeting your gaze. You watch as he reaches out to gently take hold of your hand in his left one. You can’t remove your eyes from the flesh no matter how hard you try, and you don’t think you’ll ever get over the feeling of being able to touch the arm that has yet to be tainted by Hydra’s touch. You almost want to tell him, but you’re able to bite your tongue.

“There isn’t anything I can do to change your mind?” He asks while giving your hand a gentle squeeze. His eyes are full of hope and admiration for the woman that had spontaneously fallen into his life, and though he’d only known you for a short period of time he knew that something about you was special. You were unlike any woman he’d ever met, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life getting to know you.

“I don’t think so, James,” you comfort softly. You feel so bold as to rest a hand gently upon his cheek, and you’re rewarded by the feeling of him leaning into your touch as he melts into your palm. “You’re a wonderful man, and I have a feeling this won’t be the last time our paths cross.”

Smiling faintly, Bucky cheekily turns his head to press a chaste kiss to your palm. Your breath catches in your throat at the act while your stomach flutters with nervous butterflies, but you don’t make a move to pull your hand away.

“I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart. I’d be a fool to let a girl like you out of my life,” he says with a wink before reluctantly beginning to pull away from you. Before you can stop yourself or think it through, you frantically shoot your hand out to keep him in place.

“Wait!” You exclaim desperately, catching both Bucky and yourself off guard. You know better than to bring the future to the past, and you know in the end that altering the course of his life won’t change the events of your present time, but you owe it to the man who had shown you such kindness to warn him about his fate.

“What is it, y/n?”

“I…,” you begin to say, faltering as you struggle to get the words out. He looks to you patiently for you to finish your sentence, and despite the guilt that consumes you for changing your mind, you continue, “I want you to promise me you’ll be careful in the future. I couldn’t stand anything happening to you, and I just want you to be safe.”

“Oh,” Bucky breathes as if he hadn’t been expecting such a serious profession. After processing your words, the man simply gives you an affirming nod and replies, “of course I will, doll. Anything you ask.”

The turmoil within you at keeping the truth to yourself persists, but you’re unable to say nothing more as Bucky rises from his seat on the bed and takes your empty tray from your lap. “I’ll get this out of your way.”

He leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead before excusing himself from the room, shutting the door behind him to give you your privacy. You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and blink back the tears that threaten to spill. You cherish the time you’ve spent with him here in his own time, but you also miss the Bucky you have back at home. You’ve never hated him, you just never understood him or the walls he insisted putting between you, but you can see now just how much Hydra had taken from him. He hadn’t always been the grumpy soldier you knew him as, and your stubborn nature certainly didn’t help him come out of his shell.

You needed to make things right, not only with the Bucky from your timeline but also with the one who had just spent his entire day looking after a complete stranger.

Despite the painful throbbing of your ankle, you will yourself out of bed and desperately rush towards the door. You know that exposing his true fate will not alter the course of your timeline, but perhaps there’s a possibility it can give him the chance to create a new timeline where he never gets the chance to become the Winter Soldier.

“Bucky!” You call out in hopes he’ll come rushing back down the hall. You’re so desperate to reach him that you don’t notice the soft glow of your inhibitor bracelet, and your frantic state of mind creates a lack of control over your teleportation ability.

You reach the doorknob just as your powers activate, and when you step through the doorway you are no longer in the apartment of James Barnes but instead in your own bedroom back at the compound.

You stagger forward in a daze, mind reeling from the use of your powers as you struggle to adjust to your new surroundings. Your heart drops to your chest when you finally come to the realization that you’re back where you belong, and you slowly sink down to your knees in tears over the fact that you’d been too late. Bucky would return to an empty bedroom, and he would go on to live the life that fate had chosen for him.

You couldn’t protect him- you’d failed.

You begin to sob as the amalgamation of emotions from your experience overtakes you, and you’re so consumed in your grief that you fail to hear the sound of your door sliding open behind you.

“Y/n? It’s been three days, where the hell have you been?” A startled voice sounds, causing you to jump in surprise. You turn to find Bucky standing in your doorway, his irritated features morphing into confusion at the sight of your distraught state. Tears steadily stream down your cheeks in time with the trembling of your shoulders, and he slowly makes his approach towards your figure on the floor. “Y/n?”

Bucky cautiously sinks to his knees beside you and places a careful hand on your back. The coolness of his metal arm has you shivering, a stark contract to the warmth you’d felt when he’d held your hand in his Brooklyn apartment. “Are you alright? What happened?”

You don’t think before throwing yourself into his arms and holding tightly onto his frame. Bucky nearly topples over from the impact but is quick to regain his balance so he can hold you both upright. Initially he isn’t sure how to react considering this is the first time you’ve ever willingly gotten this close to him let alone hugged him, but he’s eventually able to reciprocate the act by wrapping his arms around your trembling figure and holding you close to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, fingers tightly clutching at the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself. “I’m sorry for always giving you such a hard time, for being so stubborn. You don’t deserve that, and I should have tried to be a better teammate.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky shushes gently, his tone unusually gentle as he carefully pulls away to look you in the face. “I know I’m not exactly the most pleasant person to be around sometimes, and I haven’t always been the nicest to you either. I’m sorry for that.”

“You mean you’re not going to yell at me for disappearing on you? You don’t hate me?” You snivel, prompting his lips to quirk up into a rare smile.

“I’m not going to yell at you for something you can’t control. And I never hated you. I just… never really knew how to be around you. Steve always speaks so highly of you, you’re everyone’s favorite, and I never felt like I had the right to know you so intimately the way they do. I figured keeping my distance would be easier, and I thought you preferred it that way considering our track record.”

“I don’t want you to keep your distance anymore,” you plead softly. “I want to be around you, I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“That can be arranged,” Bucky notes with a faint smile while carefully brushing away the last of your tears, “but can I ask you what brought this on?”

“It’s a long story,” you admit while guiltily avoiding eye contact with the man. You’re not sure if you should tell him the truth about your venture just yet, but you don’t have it in you to lie to him. You know you’ll have to tell him one day, but for now it can wait. “Being gone these past few days just gave me time to get a new perspective on things.”

“Well, whatever happened, I’m glad it did,” he says truthfully. “Now let’s get you cleaned up so you can let the rest of the team know you made it back safe.”

You allow him to help you up off the ground just as he had in that alleyway, and when he looks down at you with his soft blue eyes you’re able to see his younger self once more. The charming, chivalrous James Barnes who had taken such good care of you still existed within Bucky, it would just take time for him to come out of his shell and open himself up to you the way his past self had done so.

And you would wait all the time in the world for him.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Glass Coffin

Weirder shit has happened in DC universe, but hear me out, Young Justice finds a glass coffin with Danny sleeping inside it. Maybe it's in some ancient tomb and hidden away for centuries, maybe it's in some villain's private collection of artifacts, maybe it's in some museum in plain sight.

And then Kon hears a heartbeat from it.

(I'm going with the version of YJ that is Kon, Tim, Cassie, and Bart here, fyi)

Assuming they didn't come to wherever they found the coffin just for the sake of it, they, as the responsible teenagers they are, finish their business first and take it to Mount Justice later to figure out what the fuck. Meanwhile, Danny is sleeping peacefully like a princess, all up in his King garb, with the Crown of stars, cape of night sky, and whatever else pretty stuff you want him to have. Point is, he looks majestic.

Tim looks up the records for the coffin. The files say it's hundreds of years old, and no one has been able to open it yet. The boy inside is stated to be either a statue or some kind of really well-preserved corpse - no amount of scanning registered any signs of life, so it was treated like a piece of art for the most part.

Yet, Con is absolutely positive he heard a heartbeat inside. What's more, he can still hear it now. It's impossibly slow but still recognizable.

Cassie finds a whole lot of legends about it, most of them speaking of 'only those from the other side can open the casket', and there are no clarifications to what kind of other side they are all talking about.

Of course, they all try. Because this is some kind of Snow White or Sleeping Beauty shit, and besides, none of them even think they would be able to open it anyway. And, sure, as soon as they are done having fun with it, they will report to the JL about their finding. Maybe the magic users will know something about the weird Sleeping Prince. They even go as far as to reason with the casket, loudly proclaiming where they are from, because they all come from very different 'sides'.

Bart goes first, explaining how he is from the future. The casket doesn't budge. Cassie goes next, stating herself as Themyskirian, but to no avail. Kon is next, with his half-Kryptonian heritage, but the glass coffin doesn't accept him as worthy either.

And then it's Tim's turn. And somehow, he flips the glass lid open with no effort at all.

A moment of silence follows, all the YJ members frozen in place, waiting for anything to happen, but the boy inside keeps just laying there, unmoving and with his eyes closed. Then Cassie makes a joke about kissing the princess to wake her up, and all of them start arguing on ethics and stuff because why is Robin the one that has to do the kissing, do you have any idea where that boy has been? Fuck off, you kiss him if you want it, and also, do you really want him to wake up, what if he is some kind of villain or an evil spirit, or-

"Which one of you assholes is dead enough to wake me up from my nap?"

And that's as far as I got with this idea. Maybe Danny was put into some magic sleep, maybe it was Clockwork's time shenanigans, maybe someone locked him inside and he decided to sleep it off, maybe he is there on his own volition, taking a vacation from Kingly duties.

I'm just having this vision of eternally beautiful Danny in a glass (oh, maybe it's not glass, maybe it's ice) coffin, and the YJ arguing over it. There's also Dead Tired potential here, because I love them, yes.

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired College AU

AKA "Danny Fenton and Tim Drake go to college at Gotham-U together" headcanon!!

Maybe Danny moved to Gotham to avoid his parents finding out about Phantom and Tim is a part-time college student trying to get his business degree so people stop accusing Bruce Wayne of nepotism after Tim inherited WE. (It absolutely still is, but at least this way Tim is at least somewhat more qualified on paper.)

Anyways, they both took Anthropology as their humanities/pre-requisite elective and they're discussing death rituals, afterlife, etc. Now imagine Danny, officially Half-Dead, and Tim, who's brothers (Jason and Damian) literally died, getting into a heated discussion about spirits.

I also find the idea of them arguing via fucking Canvas (or whatever discussion forum/platform Gotham-U uses) so, so funny.

Imagine it's like 3am;

Danny, insomniac, been awake for 42 hours and popping melatonin gummies like gummy bears, furiously typing: i'm literally THE KING of infinite realms?? i know what i'm talking about, i fucking died

Tim, also been awake for 42 hours, chugging an energy drink, sending a response in 0.2 seconds: Half of Gotham has died at some point. You're not special, dumbass.

Give me "group of scientists losing their minds and climbing over the table to assault one another during scientific conference" vibes!!

And then they get paired up to do a group presentation (and Brad, who they ignore because they're both Experts, so this poor frat dude just slowly sinks into his chair between two sleep-deprived maniacs screaming at each other in the library). But Tim notices something weird about Danny, aside from his insane views on afterlife. Danny... glows? And sometimes doesn't really touch the floor when he walks. They're going to get coffee (so they can keep arguing debating, obviously, not because they enjoy each other's company or anything), and Tim watches as Danny just kind of... floats. Like, he's still walking but he's not really touching the ground.

Danny's hands are also super cold. Tim knows this because he grabbed Danny's hands once or twice (or more) to do... something, idk. But since his hands were so cold, Tim figured he should probably keep holding them; y'know, to warm them up.

And when Tim leans in to ask a question or insult him, Danny's breath comes out almost like a mist. Visibly white, like exhaling a hot breath in winter. Which... what. Holy shit, is his presentation partner actually sort of dead??

Danny, on the other hand, has no idea that Tim doesn't know. He literally said he died? And Tim took it so well, snarked back that he's not special - it was so nice to just feel normal. So he lets his guard down a bit. Maybe isn't as tangible, maybe is a bit more floaty, lets his body temperature drop enough to be comfortable. Doesn't put a whole lot of effort into making himself look so alive (because it's really tiring to pretend to be something you're not) when it's just him and Tim because Tim already knows, right?

They could be friends or they could be more! Whatever floats your boat.

But I could totally see Danny squinting at Tim holding his hand, remembering how Tim bought his favorite coffee, saved him a spot a the library, constantly texted him (because, c'mon, Tim is a bit obsessive and you don't think he'd be texting his new "friend ;)" every minute he has the chance?), and always leaned in super close to "ask a question"...and be like, are we flirting?? Oh, Hells, am I into him??

For plot reasons, Danny could be like, "I can't tell Tim I like him! What if I ruin our friendship? It'll be my secret."

And then, one day, Tim is like, "Hey, I know you're keeping something from me. I think I know what it is." And Danny's like ohshitohfuck. This cumulates into them saying, at the same time, I know you're a ghost and I have a crush on you.

Tim and Danny: *shocked Pikachu face*

Then, Danny's like, "I can't believe I have a crush on a fucking idiot."

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Hello! I would like to make a request about Dae-Ho, a character I love. I would like the story to show how Dae-Ho and the reader develop a special connection during the games, despite being on opposite sides. She is part of Thanos' team, but they still interact frequently. On one of those nights, they kiss and promise to get to know each other better once it's all over. However, that promise is not fulfilled because she dies in the carousel game.

I hope this story fits the bill. Happy holidays! <3

Anything Is Possible?

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- You are number 230's, rapper Choi Su-bong, sister. Just because you are on 'Thanos Team', does that mean you can Dae-Ho cant get together? Will you survive long enough?

Warnings- Squid Games, Angst, mentions of blood, murder, and death

A/N- I combined this ask with another anon request, "badass reader and daeho! maybe she is related to 100 and that's why the romance is kind of forbidden but she doesn't agree with his actions and thinks daeho is very cute. I would love a first kiss between the two, which she initiated and he was all embarrassed but really excited" I hope y'all don't mind, they were very similar!

Word Count- 4,605

"What is your problem!" You found yourself yelling at your brother. While this was not uncommon, the situation surely was. Thanos the rapper, or just known as Choi Su-bong to you, had pushed several people down on purpose. This killed them in the Red light, Green light game.

"You killed them!" You continued, though he did not seem to care.

"Look, as far as 'The Thanos' is concerned, each body means more cash for MOI!" He spoke, uncaring.

"Oh, and if it was me, would you let me get shot!" You crossed your arms, eyeing him up and down.

He looked around, checking for any guards. He then slipped out his cross form under his shirt. You knew he had some kind of drug in there.

"Look, if it will shut you up, you can have one. But keep your mouth closed!" He ushered his cross in your direction. You rolled your eyes.

"I'd like to at least be aware of my surrounding in a death defying game!" "Shhh, Shhhh!" His face scrunched up as he looked at you, offended. He thought someone might have been drawn to your choice words.

You scoffed and walked off, sitting on the edge of a bed to catch a train of thought.

With a puff, you pressed your head into your hands. Could you really go on like this? Risking your life? Then it hit you, your life was over either way. Loan sharks were bound to kill you the second you left... Might as well go out with a bang?

The gruesome thought lingered until you felt the bed sink next to you.

"Thanos, I don't want to-" You looked up to not see your brother. Instead a man with a '388' on his jacket.

"Well I'm not sure who 'Thanos' is, but are you doing okay?" He looked genuinely concerned.

You started at him for a second, "Like fifty people just died..."

He faltered, "W-well yeah... Obviously you aren't okay... I just, I saw you arguing with that guy... The one with purple hair." You sigh again at his response. Well, this might be the last conversation you ever have. Why not be an open book!

"That's my brother. He thinks since he got one hit song, he can boss anyone around." You again rolled your eyes at the thought of him.

"Oh... I see. I-I have three older sisters, I know how it can get." He said, trying to offer you some sort of condolence.

You gave a side smile at him, appreciative of his efforts. "Thanks... What got you into these games?" You figured there's no reason for 'proper exchanges.' What was the point anymore?

He seemed ashamed at the question. "Sorry, if it makes you feel any better- I'm about 30 million won in debt. Some online crypto coin my brother swindled me into. Lost big time." You explained.

He shook his head, "No, no, its fine. See, I was a marine. Couldn't find a job after I got out. Guess I just got carried away with the wrong people... Got into some bad loans."

You gave a sympathetic face. "That sucks..." He just nodded sheepishly.

A silence fell between you two, but it wasn't awkward or annoying. It just...was.

"Well, uh, which are you going to vote?" He asked like it had been on the tip of his tongue all day.

As the Guards had told us earlier, we would get a chance to vote before the next game. Stay or Go.

"My brother seems pretty adamant on staying... And I honestly don't think it would be smart to piss him off anymore. He's got me in his little clique already." You didn't really know which one you would have chosen if the vote was anonymous.

He nodded in understanding. "I mean, I don't have a groupie or anything. But, you could stick with me if you wanted."

Your heart fluttered. Looking up at him, you seemed to just notice how handsome he was... Then reality hit.

"I deeply appreciate that... But I think you might have better odds without me. Choi- uh Thanos, would probably do something to you... I don't really want to risk it, I'm sorry." You knew that you really did want to be on his team, but you also knew how your brother was.

He had a slight look of defeat on his face, "I get it. I feel confident about the next game. I mean, if they're all children games, how hard can it be? I'll vote the same as you."

You agreed, "Then, maybe I can talk to Thanos? See if he wants another member?" You smiled at him.

He opened his mouth to speak, happily, but the two of you were interrupted when the pink guards came back in. Letting everyone know it was time to vote.

"See ya on the other side." You said, standing up to rejoin Thanos. Plus his newly acquired group of 3.

"Yes ma'am!" He responded, giving a small salute. You just laughed as you glanced at him a last time.

------------------------------------------

"Are you crazy!" Thanos whisper-yelled at you, turning the two of you away from the group. "Are you tryna embarrass me in front of my boys!" He scolded you like a child. His arms and shoulders going up.

"It's not that big of a deal, he was a marine, he could be good for us." Thanos just "tsked' in response.

"No. We are already perfecto. No more room." He said as-a-matter-of-fact. His arms making an 'X.'

You turned and looked at the two men staring at you. "Thanos, there are four of us in total. What if the next game is five players!"

"Huh, and what if its four! Then I'd be pushing YOU out, Cause of ya mouth." He made faces at you, then laughed loudly. "I'm just joking sistah! I'd only do that if you really pissed me off.... We are sticking to four." His expression turned serious.

"Fine."

At a mere coincidence, you turned around and saw '388' staring at you. You mouthed a 'sorry' and shook your head. Signalling Thanos said 'no.'

He nodded, then smiled at you anyways. At that, you watched him walk over and sit with a group of 'X's.

------------------------------------------

The lights soon went out. You laid back in your bed, trying to get some kind of sleep. It was useless, especially when you heard a 'psst' right next to you.

You turned your head, playing cool, even though it did startle you a bit. "Shh, It's just me." The voice rang familiar, and when you squinted your eyes in the dark your made out number 388's face. He was on his knees, crouched down next to your bed.

"What are you doing!" You whispered at him, sitting up quickly. Thanos and his two members were just a bed away.

"Shhhh, I have something to tell you." He said, his hands were waving slightly, a nervous tick.

You eyed him, moving closer. "What?"

"One of the guys has played these before. He said he won the games...That he knows which one is next."

Your hands rise to rub sleep from your eyes, "Really? You think he's telling the truth?"

With a frantic nod he continues, "It was the guy who knew about the Red light, Green light. Number 456."

You looked down, "Why are you telling me this..." You questioned, unaware of any kind of unconditional kindness.

"I want you to survive, why else?" You locked eyes with him. They were honest and pure.

"Well, what's the next game?" You didn't know how to respond to such generosity. For all he knew you would stab him in the back. Not that you could bring yourself to, not after he snuck over to tell you.

"He said its Dalgona. Ya know, the game where you scratch out the candy shape?" You knew the game, having played it in your youth.

"Make sure you pick the Triangle. It's the easiest one." You nodded.

At that, a shuffle made both of you turn your head. Thanos moved in his sleep, rolling over. His eyes were closed, but he was now facing you.

"You better go, in case he wakes up." You warned, not wanting any drama.

His head shook in agreeance, he raised to walk off.

"Wait!" You whispered, he looked back. "What's your name?"

"Dae-Ho. Dae-ho Kang."

"Thank you, Dae-ho..." The corners of your face rose, almost grinning at yourself saying his name.

He gave a small wave of his hand, another salute. You suppressed a giggle, and laid back down. Sleep came easier this time...

------------------------------------------

"Welcome to your second game, this game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes."

You looked around, Dalgona was not a team game. Had Dae-Ho lied to you? No, why else would he sneak over in the middle of the night. It didn't make sense. Maybe 456 was lying?

"Should have listened to me, now we have to find another person." You remarked to your brother, smugly.

"Trust trust, my skeptic sister. Thanos has got this under control!" He spoke about himself, immediately levitating to the closest attractive women. You, once again, found yourself rolling your eyes.

"Señorita, excuse me?" You wanted to physically face palm at his attempt at a pickup line.

------------------------------------------

Quickly enough, time selection was up. Everyone was orderly sat in their groups. Conveniently, Dae-Ho and his group sat behind you.

"Dae-Ho." You called, moving to be in his range of sight.

"Ahh, hey!" He said, excitedly. His demeanor changing from skittish when he saw you.

"So, what happened to Dalgona?" You asked, not blaming him- just curious.

He gave an unsure face, equally as confused. "He said the games must not be the same. I'm sorry."

"What for?" You beamed, knowing it was not his fault.

He laughed, "I guess I don't know.."

You just shook your head humorously. "Which game are you going to do?"

"Uhmm, Gong-Gi... My sister's played it a lot, so I'm used to it."

"They've got me doing spinning top. I was never any good at Gong-Gi." You made a glance to Thanos, he was high out of his mind. You caught him slipping Nam-Gyu a pill. He didn't notice you talking to Dae-Ho.

"I wish you the best of luck!" He gave a quick bow of the head.

------------------------------------------

The game went smoothly enough. Though, it took much longer than Red light, Green light. Watching all of the teams go one at a time was excruciating.

A handful of words exchanged with Dae-Ho while waiting was calming, it grounded you. He had nothing to gain by helping you, he simply did. It was flattering.

You and Dae-Ho had figured out that his team was going last. It was nerve-wracking to think about him not making it. No one had ever effected you like this before...

Eventually your team went, suffering frequent verbal degration from Thanos and Nam-Gyu. Thankfully your team made it with 8 seconds to spare. Too close for your comfort.

The worst part came when you had to wait. You felt like you could hear a large clock ticking right by your ear.

Would Dae-Ho's team make it? You didn't doubt his Gong-Gi skills, but he was dependent on the skills of his team mates as well. It was terrifying to think they were shot with not enough time to complete the games.

You couldn't bare Thanos bantering, he complained about every survivor. It just made you more paranoid about Dae-Ho's possible death.

Trying to settle your mind, you stepped away from your group, preferring to sit by yourself on the edge on the steps. You picked at your nails, praying he would make it.

Minutes and minutes went by. No one had come out in a while. Was the game finished? Did they die?

Just as you were about to return to your brother hopeless, one last group appeared.

A gasp left you as you watched Dae-Ho's team emerge. You stood up, cheering with a handful of other players. Your hands were clasped gleefully In front of you.

Dae-Ho's gaze was fixed on you, he chuckled. His first raised in victory.

You gave him a salute back.

------------------------------------------

You managed to slip away from Thanos. He was too busy hitting on Se-Mi. You were grateful for her, it took some of the pressure and attention off of you. You had to remember to thank her later.

"Dae-Ho!" You called out, he turned around and stepped away from his group.

"You were amazing! You went 'Wooshhh' and got the top first try!" He was practically bouncing on his heels. He mimicked the process of spinning a top with his hands and body.

"Thank you, Thank you." You pretended like you were bowing to an applauding audience.

"How did Gong-Gi go?" You asked, antsy. He rubbed the back on his neck.

He grinned deep, "Would you believe me if I said I got it first try too?"

Your face lit up, "Really!"

"I swear it!" He placed a hand across his chest.

You gave a quick clap to him, "I knew you could do it!"

You felt like a schoolgirl again. Talking to Dae-Ho made you feel like a blushing bride. He was such a ray of light and hope for you.

"What do you think the next game is?" He questioned, taking a seat on a step by the large doors.

You thought for a second, "I don't know, Maybe some kind of mind game. Since the last two have been really physical."

He nodded, "Yeah, maybe, maybe. Thats smart thinking."

You joined him on the step facing him. While you were about to change the conversation, you overheard a few people talk about what they were voting next. It reminded you of the real life-or-death situation you were in.

"So, d'ya think you're going to change your vote?" You became more solemn.

"...Yeah, I just... The others have convinced me. I mean, truly, I shouldn't have voted 'stay' in the first place..." He looked down, almost as if he had disappointed you.

"Honestly, Dae-Ho... I want to leave too... But, but, what if I press 'leave', and we still have to continue the games. Then Thanos would be pissed, and deep down I need him. He's still my brother." You hated the fact, but you were scared of what Thanos would do.

Dae-Ho thought for a moment. He mumbled something you didn't quite catch. "What?" He stood up.

"I can protect you. Honest. With my life." Your breath hitched, you stood up as well.

You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. "Oh Dae-Ho... That's just the thing. I can't have you risking your life. Not for me."

He gently lifted your hands into his. "You are worth risking my life for."

"Dae-Ho, you don't even know my name." Your voice quivered.

He nodded quick, "Then lets change that. What's your name." You bit your bottom lip before telling him.

"Now, I can defend you from Thanos. He won't do anything to do." He ended with your name, it sounded angelic coming from his mouth.

"I'm sorry... I just... can't." You let go of his hands, fully set on walking away. But, he stopped you. He grasped your shoulder.

"Please don't go. I'll stop talking about it, I swear." He pleaded. He truly just wanted to be with you, he was content with you.

And you were with him.

You closed your eyes, shook your head. You fought off any kind of objection. "Okay."

The two of you talked and talked, time ran past. You no longer seemed to worry about the games, just that you knew you wanted to stay with Dae-Ho.

Until, the large doors opened and the pink guards once again announced a vote.

You said a quick 'goodbye' to Dae-ho, hoping the games wouldn't continue. Even if you never saw him again, at least he would be alive.

------------------------------------------

Much to your dismay, the games would continue another round. The vote wasn't even close this time. It was almost relieving, knowing that your vote was not the determining factor.

Once again, the lights went out to signify the night. You noticed teams were huddling together for protection, taking shifts and keeping watch. It was getting more serious as each hour went by. You could not find rest, feeling extremely uneasy.

While you tried to find some sort of reassurance in Thanos, he was fast asleep. You decided to take your chance and go see Dae-Ho. Just as he had done for you.

You knew the general area where his group was, but couldn't make out specific people in the dark. Not from your distance.

You racked up the nerve to quietly shuffle over. Your socks helping to muffle any noise.

"Shh, someone is coming." You heard a man whisper, it was 456. You could see the large numbers next to the 'O' on his jacket.

"I-is Dae-Ho with you..." You ask, shakily.

"And what do you want with him?" A man next to 456 spoke, defensively.

"I- Hes my friend, I need to talk to him." You tried, fiddling with your fingers.

"Yeah, Sure he is. You're probably trying to get in and take one of us out, huh!" The man 390 rose, acting like he was ready to fight.

You stepped back, "No, really, I swear I'm not!"

You heard your name, a confused Dae-Ho crawled out from under a bed. "Dae-Ho, please tell them in not trying to kill any of you."

"What?" He was still weary from sleep, rubbing his eyes. Once he saw the position you and 390 were in, He quickly stepped between the two of you.

"No, No, she wouldn't do that. Really, whatever shes saying she's telling the truth." Dae-Ho came to your rescue.

"Can we talk Dae-Ho?" You stepped closer to him, both of your hands gently resting on his arm. He nodded rapidly, stepping away from his group.

The two of you found a cluster of abandoned beds, and sat on the floor between them

"Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?" He looked you over for any visible infliction's.

"No, no I'm fine..." You pulled your knees to your chest. "I just wanted to see you." You felt silly once it left your lips.

His face flushed beet red, you could even tell in the dark. His hair falling in his face made you reach a hand out and brush it back. "O-oh"

"You never told me what you think the next game is, Dae-Ho." You needed a distraction.

He shook his head, like he was getting some thoughts out. "I have no idea... I just hope its an easy one. Gi-Hun, uh 456, said that they've already played Tug-of-war, Marbles, and some kind of glass stepping game. So, uh, I would assume none of those would repeat."

"I'm glad I missed Tug-of-war... That would mean the number of survivors would be half..." You thought.

He changed the subject, beginning with your name. "What's wrong? I know you said you wanted to see me, but, I guess I don't understand why."

"Dae-Ho, I don't really know why either. I just, wanted to be with you. I feel safe with you. I feel like I'm alone anytime you walk away..." You blinked away a stray tear.

Dae-Ho was lost in thought, he had thought his feelings weren't reciprocated. Maybe they were after all?

He didn't have time to speak, because you have lounged yourself forward in a burst of confidence. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and pushed him to the floor. He was laid on his back with you on top of him, as you pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

His eyes widened, his body went rigid. When you pulled away to look at him, he stammered. "I-I, Uhm."

At his reaction you pulled away quickly, "I'm so sorry, I thought-"

"Can you please do that again." He was now giddy, a fat smile on his face. Excitement radiated out of him. "A-are you sure.. You seemed so..."

"No, no, you just caught me off guard, please, please kiss me again." He scrambled to a sit, hoping you would come closer again.

With a refound joy, you moved closer. This time you went slow, making sure to bask in the moment. You once again wrapped your arms around Dea-Ho's neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

"You're perfect.." He mumbled against your lips. Though, he felt something wet on his face. He pulled away, his eyes soft, "Whats wrong?"

You sniffled, "Promise me. Promise me, that after everything is over, that we will find each other." You asked, pressing your cheek against his.

"I swear it, I swear we will meet after the games." He leaned in for another kiss.

------------------------------------------

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Okay, this one seemed safe. You had a large group, this can work. You tried to be positive, you had someone to look forward to after the game.

"Heyyy, we'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?" Thanos went on, trying to hype everyone up. The only one who was just as high as him was Nam-Gyu. It worried you that he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings, but at least he wasn't on your tail about everything.

"Please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

You nodded, understanding the rules. Everyone gathered to the platform. You noticed groups staying together, huddling close.

While following Thanos, you passed Dae-Ho's group, you caught his eye and gave him a small salute. It seemed the two of you now had an inside joke.

"Let the game, begin."

At the jump and pull of the platform, you almost lost your balance. You reached a hand out and held onto your brother. He looked over at you, for a split second he actually seemed like your brother. He was there for you.

That's until a muffled snort came from Nam-Gyu. Thanos pushed your hand off, laughing at you.

You sighed and thought of a smart remark, but the platform stopped spinning and a 'Ten' rang out.

Thanos laughed loudly, "We needa four!!" He screamed, shaking his face all about.

"Were four!" A man yelled back, and Thanos took off running. Your eyes widened and you ran after him. "Run, Hurry!" You yelled at Se-Mi, who had stopped to grab Min-Su.

Luckily everyone had made it to the room, just as the door shut the timer went off. The door locked shut. You peaked out of the doors small slit. You didn't see Dae-Ho. A good sign.

Multiple gunshots rang out, each making your body jolt.

"Ha Ha! My family! We did it!" Thanos bantered, clapping some of the men on their backs.

When the doors finally opened again, you looked around. You looked and looked for Dae-Ho. Finally sighing in relief when you saw him. He ran over to you.

"You're okay, thank God!" He hugged you, you held him tight.

You swallowed hard, "It's not over yet. I'll find you after the next round!" You said, quickly finding Thanos again.

"Yeahhhh! Easyyy!" Him and Nam-Gyu joked back and forth. They started dancing to the music as the platform started rotating again.

'Four'

Thanos stopped and looked at his group for a minute. "Gyeong-su, you're with me!" He grabbed his hand, pulling him.

"Damn!" Nam-Gyu said, gripping your arm and pulling you. While you were happy to be chosen, you were worried for Min-su and Se-Mi.

"Lets goooo!" Thanos yelled once we were all in the room.

"Thanos what was that! Gyeong-su over me!" You pointed your finger at him.

"I swear I thought I was pulling you! Besides, you gotta stop running your mouth. You made it, you're fine!"

You couldn't believe what he was saying. Sure, he talked a lot about leaving you. But it was always just talk? Right?

The door opened once again, you were thankful to be away from Thanos. Your new objective was to find Dae-Ho now.

This time, the second you saw him- you ran to him. You no longer cared about what Thanos thought, nor what he'd do.

"I'm so happy to see you." Dae-Ho mumbled into your hair, which his face had been shoved into right after you ran into his arms.

"I have to stay with you, Thanos tried to leave me. I can't make it with him." Dae-Ho didn't hesitate, and pulled you over to his group.

Though, Thanos didn't like that. "Yo, brotha. What're you doing with my sister!" He tried to shove Dae-Ho, but he was bigger and stronger.

The platform started to spin.

"Leave her alone, you obviously cant take care of your sister." He ushered you behind him.

"I don't know what you're talking about bro! I save her, shes only alive because of me and Nam-Gyu!" He argued, leaving out the crucial part of information where he wasn't the one who grabbed you.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I will keep her safe now, you can mind your own business and get along with Nam-Gyu."

They continued to yell and argue over the carousel's music, it was difficult to hear them. Until,

'Three'

Thanos gripped one of your arms, Dae-Ho held another.

"Thanos, let go!" You yelled, trying to pull from his grasp.

It was chaotic, screaming was heard around you. "Dae-Ho, this way!" Two men yelled out, Dae-Ho twisted his head but didn't move.

Your stomach dropped. You couldn't be the reason Dae-Ho would die. You were all running out of time.

"Dae-Ho, go. Please! I'll go with Thanos and Nam-Gyu!"

"I'm not leaving you!" He was adamant about protecting you. Damned everyone else.

"If you don't go, we will all die. Time is running out!" Dae-Ho battled internally, you let go of his hand.

"Go! It's okay, I'll see you in a minute!"

He didn't want to leave, he couldn't. But you made him. When he slowly walked backwards, you let out a relived sigh. You then turned to run with Thanos. Nam-Gyu was already in a room, his yelling ushering you two forward.

It was going to be okay, The three of you in a room. Everything was fine. There was time.

Until, Nam-Gyu moved out of the way... Gyeong-su was behind him... There was already two in the room. Thanos ran in, not thinking twice.

Your running came to a stop right outside of the door. Where Thanos himself had closed it on you.

A "NO!" Was heard from across the room. It was Dae-Ho. He tried to come to you, but he was too far.

Player 456 and player 001 were pulling him into a room. Forcing the door shut. You could see Dae-Ho looking out of the door slit, his hands peaking out as well.

You didn't turn to see what Thanos might have been doing. You didn't care. Not anymore.

You just wanted your last moment to be looking at the most handsome man you'd ever met. His soft eyes were filled with tears as he watched you.

You weren't upset, not scared, not nervous. Not anymore.

It would all be over soon.

You gave him one last salute before a loud bang rang out.

A/N- Not going to lie ya'll, I ate that up. But I still love hearing y'all's constructive criticism! Please LMK if you want to be added to my tag list, TYSM for reading!

Dae-Ho Taglist- @fuzzyscissorsmakerpie-blog @thethreeeyed-raven

[starkwlkr]

she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and can’t talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 4

Unemployment was not on your bucket list.

The rest of your shift dragged on, each minute weighed down by the persistent presence of Dick, Cass, and Damian. They loitered, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. It was unnerving, knowing they were there—observing, calculating. You tried your best to ignore them, focusing on the customers and getting through the shift, but their eyes on you were impossible to shake.

Eventually, you glance at the clock. Your shift is finally coming to an end. A wave of relief washes over you. Soon, you’ll be out of here. You’ve been expecting a call from Alfred any minute now, either letting you know he’s “on the way” or already outside waiting for you. You clutch onto that thought, hoping for a quick getaway.

But that’s when you feel it, a firm hand on your shoulder. You flinch, startled, and whirl around to find Cassandra standing right behind you, her eyes sharp and her smile almost unsettling in its warmth.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her tone gentle but somehow–wrong.

“Can I–um–help you?” you ask, your voice betraying your unease. Cass is just as overtly intimidating as the others, if not more so. You know who trained her, you know what she's done, what she's capable of.

“We’ll take you home,” she says simply, the statement hanging in the air like an unbreakable decree.

You blink, not sure if you’ve heard her right. “What? I—Alfred’s picking me up,” you stammer, trying to figure out why the hell they’d want to take you home instead.

Cass’s smile doesn’t falter. “Change of plans.”

You glance past her toward the table where Dick and Damian are waiting. They’re already standing, Dick’s usual smirk plastered on his face, while Damian looks like he’s already irritated by the mere suggestion of you being in the same car as him.

“Uh..” You contemplate walking home, imagining the quiet and cool Gotham air being far more appealing than sharing a car with these three. Maybe it’s not that far to walk? Maybe you’ll survive the trip on foot? But you know better than to argue with them—not when Dick is involved.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Okay,  I guess. I still need to get my bike though.”

Cassandra hums in approval.

The walk to the car was stifling. Dick led the way, his usual playful grin in place, but there was an intensity behind it that made your skin crawl. Damian followed closely, his silence more oppressive than any words he could’ve said. When you reached the sleek black car, one of Bruce’s more extravagant vehicles, your hesitation grew, but there was no turning back now.

As you slip into the backseat, you find yourself next to Damian, who's already glaring out the window like you’re the most offensive thing in the car, and the leather seat that smells faintly of expensive cologne. Cass takes the passenger seat, her calm demeanor oddly comforting despite the situation, while Dick slides into the driver’s seat.

The car hums to life, and soon enough, you’re speeding through the streets of Gotham. The tension inside the vehicle is thick, almost unbearable. You stare out your window, watching the city blur by, trying your best to disappear into the seat.

“Y/N,” Dick’s voice broke the silence, far too casual for the tension in the car. “You didn’t tell us you were working at that cafe.”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to say much. “Didn't think I needed to? Why does it matter?”

Dick’s eyes flicked to you in the mirror, a glint of something dark behind his seemingly easy going demeanor. “It seems as though there's a lot of things you haven't told us (Y/n), hmm?”

He just completely ignored your question, and like an idiot, you dignify his question with your own response.

“I don't know why you in particular care, considering you haven't bothered to in the past four years.” You remark, crossing your arms. 

Dicks smile only widened as he cooed at your response. “Oh I don't care (Y/n), but you can't just do whatever you want, right? Your last name’s still Wayne last time I checked, do you know what that means?”

His eyes flicker to you, staring at you through the rear view mirror. You just shrug nervously, you had no idea where he was going with this.

“It means you’re not allowed to just fuck off and do whatever you want. What happens when you’re working and a rouge or random criminal recognizes you? It’ll be our job to drag you back.” He says smiling all the while. Dick doesn't really curse, not like this anyways, and it's starting to scare you. 

There was something sinister beneath his seemingly friendly demeanor. The way he was talking about you, it made you feel more like a possession than a person. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, eyes flicking to Damian and Cassandra. None of them seemed to be fazed by Dick's words. It was like they all understood something you didn't.

"Look," you muttered, "I just needed the job, okay? I didn’t think it was a big deal."

He just nods, “Which is why you'll be putting in your two week’s notice.”

Hold the phone.

“I'm sorry what?”

“I'm sure I spoke clearly, didn't i?”

“I'm–I'm not quitting my job.”

“Yes you are. In fact, you're going to call your boss and let them know right now.”

“You’re fucking crazy if you thin–”

“I'm not asking (Y/n).” He says, a certain edge to his voice. “Call your boss.”

You’re scared. You don't know why he’s doing this. Shaking, you pull out your phone, staring at the screen as if it could somehow save you from this situation. You know they won’t let you get out of this. Not with the way Dick’s smile is hovering on the edge of something dangerous, not with Damian’s silent approval and Cassandra’s eerie calm. The power dynamic is suffocating—this isn’t a request; it’s an order.

“Call,” Dick says again, his voice now a warning.

You swallow hard, your fingers trembling as you scroll to your boss’s number. You want to refuse, you want to stand your ground, but the fear of what would happen if you did keeps your rebellion at bay. You press the call button, and the phone rings in your ear.

“Hello?” your boss answers, their voice friendly and unsuspecting.

“Hey Daniel, it’s Y/N,” you say, your voice shaking. “I—I’m sorry, but I have to put in my two weeks’ notice. I—uh, I can’t work here anymore.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “What? Y/N, is everything okay?”

No. “Yeah, it’s fine,” you lie. “I just… something came up, and I can’t keep the job.”

Your boss hesitates, clearly concerned. “Are you sure? If this is about needing time off, we can work something out—”

“No, I’m sure,” you cut them off, glancing at the rearview mirror, where Dick’s eyes are still watching you with that unsettling intensity. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

You hang up before they can ask more questions. There’s a sick feeling in your stomach, like you’ve just lost something.

Dick hums in approval. “Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You don’t respond. You’re too numb, too angry to even find the words to fight back. The rest of the car ride is silent. When you finally arrive back at the manor, you slip out of the car without a word, making a beeline for your room. You can hear them behind you, talking quietly amongst themselves, but you don’t care. You just need to be alone.

The worst part was, you didn't even get to go back for your bike. Gotham wasn't exactly known for its secure parking spaces, especially for a bike left unattended for hours. By now, it was probably stolen or stripped for parts. Another loss to add to the growing list.

You collapsed onto your bed after a long, hot shower, letting the steam wash away the dried coffee and lingering bitterness of the day. The frustration and humiliation clung to you, but you tried to push it all aside as you buried yourself in mundane distractions. Homework? Done, though half-heartedly. Your phone? A welcome relief, a way to escape the reality of what your life had become.

The phone call with your friends was a lifeline. You started by relaying the bizarre events of your day—Dick showing up at your workplace, forcing you to quit, the awful encounter with the Karen who’d thrown coffee in your face. Arya and Ethan were outraged on your behalf, their voices rising with indignation as they expressed disbelief at how ridiculous your life had become.

“What is wrong with him?” Arya had exclaimed after you explained how Dick had basically forced you to quit. “It’s like he gets off on controlling you.”

Ethan chimed in, his voice laced with sarcasm. “It’s the Wayne family, what do you expect? They think the world revolves around them.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics eventually, giving you a break from the heavy reality of your situation. Arya’s excitement over the girl she liked responding to her Instagram story was a welcome distraction. She went on a rant about how this girl was clearly the one, and you and Ethan couldn’t help but exchange amused glances over the phone. Arya’s giddiness was infectious, and soon the three of you were laughing—deep, real laughter that made you momentarily forget about everything.

But, as with all good things, the fun came to an end with a knock at your door. You sighed heavily, already knowing what was coming.

"Master (Y/n), it’s time for dinner."

The familiar voice of Alfred carried through the door, his polite yet firm tone unmistakable. You groaned, dragging yourself off the bed with all the enthusiasm of someone heading toward their own execution. Dinner meant facing Dick, and after the day you'd had, that was the last thing you wanted to deal with.

You swung open the door, forcing a smile for Alfred, though you knew he could see right through it. "Hey Alfie, how was today?"

Alfred smiled, ever the picture of calm. "All good in a day's work, Master (Y/n). Might I inquire how work today was?"

You couldn’t help but grimace at the mention of work. "It... it was alright," you said, though the weight of your words made it clear that was a lie. Alfred’s raised brow told you he wasn’t fooled.

"Well," you sighed, the reality sinking in further as you spoke, "it doesn’t matter anymore anyways. I quit today."

Alfred’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "But my dear, I thought you adored working there? Whatever did happen?"

You couldn’t hold back the bitterness in your voice as you answered, "Dick."

Alfred’s eyes softened with understanding, and the sympathy in his gaze was almost too much to bear. "Ah, I see. I’m sorry you’ve had to do so," he said, and you could tell he genuinely meant it.

"It’s not your fault, Alfie," you replied, feeling a pang of guilt for dragging him into your mess. "Which is why I wanted to ask if I could have dinner in my room today? I don’t think I’ll be able to stay civil with Dick sitting there."

Alfred gave you a sad smile, one that only deepened the dread in your chest. "Usually, it would be more than allowed," he began, his voice gentle, "however, today your father has requested that you attend dinner no matter what."

Your heart sank. "What?"

"Yes," Alfred said with a hint of regret in his voice. "Unfortunately, you don’t have much of a choice today, my dear."

You stared at Alfred, dumbstruck. Since when did Bruce care whether or not you were at dinner? He barely acknowledged your presence most of the time, and now suddenly it was a demand?

Alfred gave you one last apologetic look before he turned to leave, his footsteps fading down the hall. You stood frozen in place, disbelief washing over you.

What the actual fuck is happening?

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[hoonieyun]

words that leave wounds .‸.

an argument leads to an exchange of words that leave wounds heeseung 𐐪♡𐑂 jongseong 𐐪♡𐑂 jaeyun 𐐪♡𐑂 sunghoon genre: angst, heat of the moment, drama, established relationship warnings: profanity, arguing, miscommunication?, 18+

hoonieyun notes: i have just been in such an angsty mood... im sorry- but there will be a part two hehe im also trying to get some ideas flowing for my angst series coming for febuary lol

part two taglist closed! read part two here

more under the cut .. !

heeseung ⋆˚ʚɞ

“can you stop? you’re being so annoying right now.” after those words left heeseung’s mouth, the silence that filled the room became suffocating. all you could hear was your heart beating and it felt like it was going to explode out of your chest. heeseung knew what he said was rude but his pride prevented him from apologizing in that moment, choosing to stand behind what he said even if he felt bad for saying it.  “annoying? i’m trying to ask you to clean up after yourself because you made our room a mess… and i’m being annoying? do you think i want to come home to such a messy bedroom and have to clean up after my grown ass boyfriend who clearly doesn’t give a fuck?” you had tried to remain calm and believe that heeseung didn’t mean it but in the time of silence and his apology being absent within that time, you decided that you’d let him know how you felt if that was what he was doing too.  heeseung sighs at your words and tries to hide his eyes rolling as he wipes his face with his hand but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you, causing you to roll your own eyes as you watch him, waiting for a response.  he stands up from his desk, pausing his game and tearing his headphones off, “no one asked you to clean up after me” heeseung says, slightly throwing his hands in the air.  you scoff at his reaction, “alright, then you can deal with this mess because i certainly won’t.” and with that you grabbed your phone and purse, making your way to your front door to slip on your shoes and leave.  “where are you going??” heeseung says, running after you as he watches you put your shoes on. “why do you care? it’s not like you’d listen to me anways.” you say, bitterness in your tone and before heeseung could even respond, you’re slipping through the front door and his voice gets caught in his throat as the door slamming echoes throughout your shared apartment.  you had waited outside the front door for a few minutes, waiting to see if heeseung would follow you and when he doesn’t, you wipe away the single tear falling from your eye as you make your way to your car, unsure of where to go.

jongseong ⋆˚ʚɞ

“when did you get so overbearing?” jay sighs, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed as he stares at your standing figure in front of him. the two of you had been arguing about his whereabouts ever since he started going out late and drinking with his friends. this wasn’t a new behavior of his but lately, it’s been happening every day opposed to just the weekends.  you weren’t sure what was happening with him but his words were now becoming pointed as the argument goes on.  “overbearing?” you ask and in jay’s current drunken state, he rolls his eyes; already knowing that this argument was just going in circles.  “sorry that i care and worry about you? is it so hard to send me a text every now and then to say where you are or when you’re coming home?  you’ve been out drinking every fucking night and i have to sit here worried about where the fuck you are until i receive a text from one of your friends that you’re too fucking drunk to drive home or when you stumble into the apartment at 3 in the morning drunk off your ass!” you had been holding this in for a while now, your emotions eating at you as you bottle it up because you didn’t think it was fair to dump your emotions on your boyfriend but clearly he didn’t have that same consideration for you.  you took care of jay whenever he came home drunk, aiding him in his drunken state and the next day when he’d wake up hungover and each time there was no consideration for you and how you’d feel having to spend hours at night worrying about him and then having to take care of him as if he wasn’t a grown adult.  “i don’t need you to do all of that! if worrying about me so much is causing you stress then stop? i don’t need you to worry about me, i don’t need you!” jay says, voice now way above a whisper and you could tell he was genuinely upset because his eyes would shut as he said those hurtful words and the veins in his neck would become prominent.  “you don’t need me?” you ask and although it comes out as a question, you weren’t looking for an answer.  his words hurt but those set of words wounded you. like each word was a stab into your heart.  you don’t let jay respond and when he does try to, everything comes out as a stutter.  everything happens so fast and before jay could fully process what he had even said, you were already leaving your shared apartment and driving away.  jay tries to call you several times and each time it goes to voicemail, choosing to leave you multiple texts.  from: jay <3 where are you going?? its late come back and lets talk this out stop being dramatic, just come back yn?? where are you? baby come on…

jaeyun ⋆˚ʚɞ

“chill the fuck out okay? fuck, get off my back!” jake says with a huff and although the two of you rarely got into arguments, this was the worst one. you had spent all day running errands, groceries, laundry, dishes, picking up and dropping layla off at the groomers, and all the while you were on your period and weren’t feeling the best.  all you asked of jake was to transfer the laundry into the drier but to make sure to take out the knit blanket so it could be air dried instead. the blanket was made by your grandmother before she passed and you cherished that blanket dearly and putting it into the dryer would cause the crochet to come undone and potentially get ruined. although jake did transfer the clothes into the dryer, he forgot to take out the blanket and when you had gotten home, the blanket was mishapen and distorted. a gasp rips through the air and you stomp over to jake who was lounging on the couch in the living room, the argument erupting because he just seemed to not care that it was a big deal to you even if it wasn’t to him.  “don’t talk to me like that, jake.. i don’t care if you’re upset or feel a certain way but don’t you ever speak to me that way.” setting boundaries was a big thing for you in every relationship you’ve been in and with jake it seemed like your boundaries were never overstepped as he was very mindful of you– but right now it seems like he doesn’t necessarily care.  the fight escalated very quickly and as you and jake argue back and forth and round and round, it wasn’t going anywhere as you continued to voice your frustrations while jake just seemed to deflect and act like they weren’t a big deal.  “i wouldn’t yell at you if you didn’t rile me up! it’s just a blanket, you can get another one.” jake retorts and you sigh because clearly he hadn’t been listening to anything you’ve said in the last 20 minutes.  you had explained multiple times that it wasn’t just a blanket and that it meant a lot to you and you simply couldn’t just get another one because it was crocheted by your grandmother who is no longer with you.  “you know what, i’m not dealing with this.” you say while grabbing your phone off the counter alongside your car keys. you bundle up the blanket in your arms and when jake notices that you’re about to leave, he gently grabs your wrist to stop you. “where are you going? we’re not done talking..” he says, voice now gentle.  “jake, please let me go. i need some space to clear my head.” you explain, not even bothering to look at him as his grasp loosens.  “tell me where you’re going at least, so i know you’re safe…” jake says, guilt clear in his voice.  “i don’t know where i’m going but i’ll text you later.” you explain and with that you’re walking through the front door, leaving jake to his own thoughts and reflect on the image of you walking away from him that would replay constantly in his mind for the rest of the day.

sunghoon ⋆˚ʚɞ

“stop being so sensitive!”  your sensitivity was always something you struggled with… and sunghoon knew that. the two of you had been arguing all night because of something one of his coworkers said about you during a work dinner and because sunghoon was afraid that if he defended you it would result in him not getting the promotion, he chose to stay silent.  your mood instantly changed at the dinner and you became more quiet and closed off than you would originally be around new people. sunghoon had invited you to this work dinner because all of the execs at his job would be bringing their wives so he thought it would be a good idea to bring his lovely girlfriend but it resulted in the men sharing laughs at your expense.  even the wives of some of the men would send glares at them for the off hand comments about you being so shy and timid and if you had known you would be the talk of the dinner, you wouldn’t have shown up, but you did… because you wanted to support your boyfriend; something he clearly didn’t care to do.  “i’m not being sensitive, they were making comments about me throughout the whole dinner and you didn’t defend me once!  you laughed with them like i was just some joke… even the wives were uncomfortable and were looking at me so pitiful.” you said, voice trembling as you changed out of your clothes from the dinner.  “it was just a joke, lighten up. you know that these guys are higher ups and i needed to make a good impression on them so i can get the promotion.  do you not want me to get promoted?” and there it was. sunghoon’s specialty; switching the blame onto you and making it seem like your sensitivity was the root of all of the problems.  “of course i want you to get promoted, i’ve supported you every step of the way since you got hired at this company but how is it supposed to make me feel when these strangers are making fun of me?  is it worth it to make a good impression on them at the expense of my well-being? you know what– don’t even answer that because i know you wouldn’t understand.” you say, choosing to slip into a hoodie and head back to the front door.  “where are you going?” sunghoon says, clearly annoyed with you even if you hadn’t done anything wrong.  “you know– maybe if you stopped thinking i was too senstive and started to realize that maybe you were being insensitive, you’d understand how i’m feeling.” you say as you open the front door and close it behind you, not allowing sunghoon to get another word in.  you’re starting up the car and backing out of your driveway when you see sunghoon running out, waving his hands in the air to get your attention. you don’t bother rolling down the windows to hear him out because he hadn’t given you that grace. fighting the urge to let the tears fall and cloud your vision as you drive to god knows where.  sunghoon lets his head fall back in frustration as he watches the car drive away. you two weren’t unfamiliar to arguments but you had never walked away… and this time you did. 

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