#no luck with the other two though...it is what it is :(

[thewritingrowlet]

The Heart-lifter, ft. Red Velvet Seulgi

tags: blowjob, anal teasing, first time anal

length: 10k

author's note: This fic was built on an idea sent by an anon, and this is a good opportunity to say that even though you can send ideas (complete with a plot or not), I decide whether I'll write it, and if I do end up writing it, I get to decide the way the plot progresses. I hope that won't discourage people from submitting their ideas.

-

Seulgi lowers the bill of her cap as she eyes this convenience store for the perfect opportunity for a quick in-and-out snatch.

“Fuck, am I really doing this?” Different versions of this question have been running amuck in her head, and for a good reason, too: Seulgi used to be standing on stage with bright lights shining on her, but ever since her agency folded, she was forced to do things that she normally wouldn’t (i.e. stealing) just so that she can get her hands on most-needed daily essentials.

Seulgi’s heart races: what if she gets caught? What if the police get involved? What if— “Ah, fuck it, I don’t have any other options.” Her good conscience tries so hard to convince her that there are other options, but no matter how much it’s trying to make Seulgi stop, she simply won’t, and as she’s approaching the shop, she puts on a mask and zips up her jacket to conceal herself better.

Once she’s in, she takes a few laps around the shop and takes mental notes of where the desired items are: soju is in the glass fridge at the back, pads and soaps are on the shelves in a nearby aisle, and finally, makeup are on the shelves across in the same aisle. “Do I want snacks as well?” Seulgi tries to estimate the size of the items she wants since they will all need to fit around her body, inside the jacket that’s not too big to begin with. “Maybe I can fit a pack of Oreo or two,” she thinks.

She stands in front of the big fridge, and the way the glass door is showing her reflection makes her question herself once more. Seulgi’s eyes wander off her target and shift towards her feet. “Fuck, mama would be so sad if she knew about this.”

“Excuse me, miss,” a voice snaps her out of her trance, “I want to grab something, so can you please move a little?” Her first instinct is to say sorry and step back, but she manages to stop herself from speaking just in time. There’s a possibility that this woman might recognize her based on hearing her voice, so she simply nods and moves away from the fridge.

Seulgi takes a momentary shelter in an aisle that’s full of instant noodles. Her eyes happen to land on a pack of instant carbonara ramen that she loves. “I used to be able to afford boxes of this thing at once,” she thinks as she holds one in the air. She hears the fridge’s door closing and guesses that the woman is done grabbing whatever. “Alright, let’s not second-guess this.”

With renewed certainty, she makes her way back to the fridge and, without thinking twice, snatches a bottle of soju. After hiding it inside her jacket, she proceeds to go to another aisle to get some sanitary products. Seulgi has half a dozen items hidden underneath her jacket now, and as tempting as it is to get more stuff, she doesn’t want to risk it even further. “That’s it for now.” Seulgi fast-walks towards the exit, and as luck would have it, a bunch of other people are also about to exit, so if the alarms were to trip, no one would be able to point at her directly.

True enough, the shop’s alarms start blaring as soon as she walks out of the door, but she stays calm so that people won’t be too suspicious. Seulgi immediately makes a left turn into an alley, and that is when she starts running, hugging herself tightly as she does to prevent the stolen items from falling out. “C’mon, Kang Seulgi; you can make it home safely.”

-

“Thank you so much, miss,” you say as you take a cup of hot chocolate and a triangle kimbap from the server. “Of course, sir—come back again soon!” With a smile, you step away from the register and make your way towards the exit.

You take a sip from the paper cup, and your body immediately feels the warmth from the hot chocolate that serves as a salvation on this cold night. “Oh my God, that’s so good.” You set your hot chocolate on the hood of your car so that you can shift your attention to this warm triangle on your other hand.

“Alright, let’s see if their spicy tuna is actually spicy,” you say to yourself as you free the kimbap of its packaging. The taste of the first bite makes you let out a sigh of satisfaction; not only is the tuna filling properly spicy, but it’s also very flavorful. “I’m about to fucking bust from this,” you think.

You pull out your phone and take a picture of the café’s exterior— “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You turn around to see who just hit you. “Are you okay, miss?” You can’t see her face, but she gives you some rapid nods. You’re a little surprised when you see some soaps falling out of her jacket. “Let me grab that for you, miss.”

You bend down and pick up the soaps, but her hands are too busy hugging herself when you’re trying to hand them back. “C-can you put them in my front pockets, please?” You finally hear the woman’s voice. “Sure.” You lift the tabs that are covering her pockets and fill each pocket with a bar of soap.

“Here—" You hear a short static from your earpiece, thus interrupting your speech. “Unit 318, 10-40. 10-20, 102 South Boulevard. 10-21, complainant reports of a theft from the shop they’re working at. 10-12, await further information.” You keep your eyes on the woman as you wait for the rest of the call. “10-35, suspect is a female, wearing a brown jacket and a cap of similar color.”

The call finishes right as the woman begins walking away from you, but you manage to halt her by gripping her shoulder. “Not so fast, miss—wait a moment, please?” You lift the left side of your coat to talk into the radio hidden underneath it. “This is unit 318—10-4, will respond directly to South Boulevard.”

You pull her closer towards your car, and that is when you see that she’s shaking. “Are you cold, miss?” She simply shakes her head to your question, still not making eye contact with you. You’re quite confident that the call was about this woman who’s standing right in front of you, but obviously you can’t just arrest people based on gut feelings alone, so, “Miss, I have some questions for you, so please get in the car.”

With little resistance, the woman enters your car from the back door that you’re opening for her and takes a seat in the back of your police car. Once she’s seated comfortably, you sit on the driver’s seat and lock the doors. “Miss,” your voice is stern as intended, “will you please tell me your business, or do I need to take you back to the station first?” “D-do I not have t-the right to remain silent?” You nod as you turn on your siren. “Well, the station it is.”

You haven’t driven too far from the spot of arrest when the woman cracks. “O-officer,” she calls to you, “I-I give up—look, I-I’ll confess.” You make a quick stop on the side of the road. “Yes?” From the rear-view mirror, you see that the woman lets go of her jacket, and you see the pile of items hidden underneath it.

“I-I took some stuff from a convenience store.” You try to stay focused despite her curves that have been exposed to your eyes. “Those are daily necessities, aren’t they, miss?” She nods. “I-I don’t have money, sir, s-so I took them.” “You’re aware that it’s a crime, aren’t you?” She nods again. “P-please, officer, I-I need these things.” You sigh as you think about—wait, what is there to think about? It’s obvious that she has committed a crime. “Look, let’s get to the station first—we can talk more there.” “No, no, no—officer, please!”

You’re surprised to see that the woman has taken off her cap and mask. “Huh, I’ve seen you somewhere,” you mindlessly comment, “wait, you’re Kang Seulgi—you’re a celebrity, aren’t you?” The woman promptly breaks eye contact. “I-I was, officer; m-my agency went bankrupt.” “So, you had to shoplift to get stuff?” She nods. “I-I’m sorry, I-I should’ve known better.” You palm your forehead, oddly stressed about the fact that a celebrity (formerly, as she claims) has committed theft for such simple items.

“Can you keep a secret, Miss Kang, because I’m about to put my career on the line for you.” You’re a little startled when you feel her wrapping her arms around you from the back seat. “Of course I can, officer; I swear on everything that I’ll keep this between you and me.” You chuckle, and it might have come across as suspicious. “You don’t even know what I’m about to do, do you?” ��W-well, that’s true,” she takes a moment to think, “y-you’re not going to rape me, are you, officer?” You’ve never heard something that absurd in your life before, especially in your career in the police force. “No, I’m not—are you out of your mind?”

You turn your head to the side so that you can see her in your peripheral vision. “We’re going to go back to the store and return those items,” you start, “after that, we’re going to go to another store, and I’ll buy you whatever you need.” Seulgi wraps her arms more tightly around you. “Yes, officer—thank you so much!”

You start driving again when Seulgi lets go of the hug. “I’m so fucking cooked,” you think, “can’t believe I’d see a celebrity shoplift.” “Officer,” you hear her say, “c-can I ask what your name is?” You nod. “Kang Hyunwoo, Criminal Investigation,” you briefly introduce yourself, “my family knows me better as Aiden, though; I’m of foreign descent, you see.” “We have the same last name?” You nod again. “That’s how it’s intended for us.”

-

Before long, you arrive at the store Seulgi stole from. “Wait here, okay?” You don’t wait for an answer and hop out of the car with the stolen goods in your hands. “Excuse me, excuse me,” you say as you make your way towards the front of the line. “Hello, my name is Kang Hyunwoo from the Metropolitan Police,” you introduce yourself to the staff, “I’m not too familiar with your system, but I’m here to return the stolen items.” The staff thanks you for your help and tries giving you a shopping voucher, but you politely decline. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” you say.

 You quickly return to your car, and you’re glad to see that Seulgi didn’t drive away with your government-issued car. “You know, officer,” she says, “it was bold of you to leave a criminal alone in a running car—I could’ve driven away.” You chuckle. “I trust you more than I’d like to admit, Seulgi-yah.”

It is when you get in your seat that you realize that you might have been too friendly with her. “Anyway,” you clear your throat, “we still have some business at the station.” Seulgi’s face turns sour. “I-I thought you were going to buy me some stuff?” “Sorry, but that was a bait.” Seulgi gulps to swallow the anxiety that’s stuck in her throat. “C-can you just not let me go?” You shake your head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Daddy, please.”

You immediately turn your head towards her. “What did you just say?” “Please don’t turn me in, daddy,” she puts quite the emphasis on the name, thus making your jaw drop. “What the fuck are you talking about—why are you calling me that?” Seulgi takes off her jacket, thus exposing the tight-fit top that she’s wearing and showing you her perfect curves. “Give me a chance to change your mind, daddy—it’ll be worth your time, I swear.” “You’re not giving up your body to escape the law, are you?” Seulgi leans closer towards you, giving you a peek into her cleavage. “No, daddy; I’m giving up my body for you.”

“Goodness me,” you think. You’re oddly and seriously debating whether you’d turn a blind eye to crime in favor of sleeping with the criminal who happens to be a celebrity. “You’re dangerous, Miss Kang.” Seulgi shakes her head in protest. “Stop talking so formally, daddy; I’m yours for tonight, y’know.” You’re so unfocused that you press the ignition button again and shut off the running car. “Heh, I can tell when a guy is sold on an idea.” With red cheeks, you turn on the car again and immediately start driving. “We’re going to my place, baby.” “Oh, that’s exactly what I want, daddy—you’re going to take me to your place and fuck me until the sun rises again.”

-

“Wear your cap and jacket again, Seulgi-yah,” you’ve dropped the formality with her, “wouldn’t want to be seen running around with a cop, would you?” Seulgi looks at you blankly, making you confused. “Yes?” She shakes her head. “Nothing.” She puts on her identity concealment instruments as you’ve requested and follows you towards your apartment.

Seulgi quickly lets out a wow as she enters your apartment. “What a nice apartment.” You chuckle. “I’m sure a celebrity like you lives in a better place than this.” “I used to—not anymore, though,” she corrects you. “Fallen from grace, huh?” You say it with your back turned around, so you miss the way Seulgi’s face turns sour when she hears your words, only catching it when you look at her again.

You move to stand in front of her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” Seulgi shows you a pretty smile. “It’s okay; I got what you meant.” She tries to hug you but gets confused when she doesn’t feel the shape of your body, thus tapping your body to figure out what’s wrong. “There’s some equipment underneath my jacket, baby,” you let the name slip out. Seulgi chuckles. “Yeah, should’ve thought about that first.”

You step away from her so that you can take off your jacket, and when it’s off, Seulgi can see your handgun and a pair of handcuffs that you keep on each side of the shoulder holster. “Ah, so those were in the way,” she says, and you simply nod is response. “Let me sort this out first, and then I’ll come back to you, okay?”

You unload your firearm and put it in the safe along with the magazine after making sure there is no bullet in the chamber. After that, you hang your jacket and holster on the wall hooks behind the bedroom door.

“Alright, so, what now?” You invite Seulgi to sit on the sofa. “You’re here right now because you want to escape the law, and to do that, you want to offer your body to me,” you don’t bother sugarcoating your words. “You don’t have to be so crass, though,” she says in a sad tone. You slowly reach for her knee, placing your hand on it. “I’m sorry; I’ve never been good with words.”

Your heart jumps a little when Seulgi places her hand on yours. “I wish we could talk—y’know, about ourselves.” “I mean, we can,” you say, “I’m off-duty right now, so at the moment, this is your safe space, and you’re safe with me.” She lets out a chuckle. “Didn’t you try to arrest me just minutes ago?” You also let out a chuckle. “Well, that was Officer Kang Hyunwoo from the Metropolitan Police—at this moment, I’m just 32-year-old Kang Hyunwoo.” “Oh, you’re 32? My group’s leader is 33,” she says. You laugh. “I know—I mean, your group was famous.”

Joyfulness disappears from Seulgi’s face, and in turn, it disappears from yours as well. “Unnie would be so disappointed if she heard about this.”  “I wish you hadn’t tried all that, and I’m not saying this as a law enforcer.” “What was I supposed to do, though? Should have I just asked someone to buy stuff for me?” “Honestly, I would’ve bought those things for you.”

Your heartrate jumps again when Seulgi puts her head on your shoulder. “Will you date me?” Her question doesn’t help you calm down. “S-sorry?” “I promise I’ll be a good girl for you, oppa,” she pulls out a new endearment for you. You fight the hesitation in your head and wrap an arm around her shoulder. “I have no question that you’re a good girl, but don’t you think you deserve someone better?" “Are you not a good person, oppa?” “I think I’m alright—I’m not perfect, you know.” “We can’t chase perfection in this world, oppa, especially when it comes to falling in love.”

It doesn’t take too much to make up your mind. “So, girlfriend, hey?” Seulgi grins. “I mean, I could be yours if you’d let your guard down and let me enter your heart.” You take a few deep breaths as you get ready to say this sentence that your brain has come up with, and with every second passing, you can feel conviction filling your head rather rapidly.

“I love you.”

You’ve never been so nervous to say such a short sentence before.

“Say it again?”

“I love you, baby—I love you with all my heart.”

Seulgi lifts her head off your shoulder and looks at you in the eyes. “I love you too, oppa, and thank you for the sweet words.”

You hesitantly reach for her chin, hoping that she’ll let you kiss her. “I know what you want, oppa.” She slaps your hand away and comes in quickly for a kiss, and right now, all you can think about is how soft her lips are.

Seulgi finds your hand without looking and guides it towards her tits. “Touch me here,” she softly whispers, and you’re eager to do just that. The cream top she’s wearing is so soft to the touch, and combine that with her perfect-sized tits, it feels like you’re dreaming—never in your life have you ever thought about being able to do this with someone like her.

Having had enough of your lips, Seulgi breaks the tangle. “Oppa,” she calls to you, “promise me this isn’t a one-night thing.” You shake your head, but gesture alone isn’t enough for Seulgi as she demands a verbal answer. “No, baby, it’s not a one-night stand; I want to be with you until you’re sick of me.” She laughs. “I won’t get sick of you ever, oppa, so we’ll stay together forever.” You peck her on the lips. “I like the sound of that, baby.”

Seulgi moves to sit on your lap; her crotch is grinding right against yours but blocked by the pants that each of you are wearing. “You know,” she says, “you’re so fucking hot—so fucking manly.” You laugh internally, because what does she mean you’re “manly.” “You’re so fucking hot too, baby.” “Yeah, oppa?” You’re getting hard as Seulgi grinds her crotch against yours. “Shit, haven’t you looked at yourself in the mirror?” She smirks, satisfied with your answer. “I wonder how you’ll react when I’m naked, oppa.” “Then let’s find out, baby,” you whisper right into her ear.

As horny as you are, you don’t forget to ask for consent if you can take her to the bedroom, and only after she says yes that you lift her by her thighs and make your way there. “Do you sleep with girls often, oppa?” You shake your head. “I haven’t gotten in a relationship in years, actually.” “You must have a huge load for me, huh?” “You know it, baby.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed with Seulgi on your lap. “Hey, baby,” your tone is relaxed and soft, “look, before we start—” She interrupts you by placing a finger you’re your lips. “I consent, I want to be with you, and I love you.” You chuckle. “Well, that will do the trick.”

Seulgi lets her jacket fall onto the floor, and only now that you can see her curves properly. “My fucking God,” you exclaim, “fuck, I wish I had the words for this.” “I’m not even naked yet.” “Yeah, well, what are you waiting for?” She slaps your chest lightly. “I’m waiting for you to shut up.”

Your jaw drops when Seulgi takes off her top; her tummy looks so firm, her tits that are covered in black tight bra look so soft and full, and her neck looks like the perfect spot for hickeys. “God damn,” you wipe the drool off your lips, “aren’t you God’s most perfect creation.” She slaps you in the chest again. “Normally, I wouldn’t tolerate someone talking about me like that, but you’re my exception tonight.” Your eyes that have been roaming wildly all over her body shift to meet hers. “Just tonight? I thought we wanted to keep seeing each other?” “Well, actually,” she puts up a finger, “whether we can see each other again will depend on your, erm, performance.”

You have Seulgi sit on the bed so that you can undress. “My performance, huh?” You can see a mix of excitement and nervousness in her face. “I’ll show you.” You quickly get rid of your clothes, thus allowing Seulgi to have a look at the excellent physique you’ve maintained for God-knows-how-long. “Goodness me,” she bites her bottom lip sexily, “so that’s what you’ve been hiding from me.”

Seulgi stands closely in front of you and places her hands on your shoulders. “May I?” You express your consent with a nod, and that is when she begins running her hands all over your torso. “Do these girls know that you’re this sexy, because they’re missing out big time.” You chuckle. “I’m the sole reason that I’m not in a relationship—those women out there have nothing to do with it.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

Seulgi’s eyes land on your cock. “Oh, speaking of big,” she reaches for the half-erect, half-limp shaft that’s dangling between your legs. “Say, how many girls have you torn in half with this, oppa, hm?” You laugh as your ego inflates. “You’d be the second.” It’s Seulgi’s turn to laugh. “You’re underestimating me if you think that I won’t be able to take you.”

Your heart beats faster when Seulgi kneels in front of you while her hands are still wrapped around your cock. “Oh, this will be a tight fit,” she comments. Before taking you in her mouth, she stretches her mouth first, making these funny expressions as she does. She catches you grinning and hits you on the thigh. “Don’t.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I know that face—that’s the I-can’t-wait-to-fuck-this-girl face.” You shrug. “I mean, can you blame me?”

Seulgi doesn’t answer your question with words and instead parts her mouth to let your cock in, and the first contact makes your knees weak. “Oh, God, baby,” you’re running out of breath already. You gasp sharply when more of your shaft enters her mouth, and it’s getting really difficult to stay upright. You feel her soft hands on your thighs as she fights her gag reflex to get as much of your length in her mouth as she can.

The gurgling sound that enters your ears when Seulgi removes you from her mouth is nasty but arousing. “D-did you like that, daddy?” You nod feebly. “You want to fuck my face, or no?” You take a few deep breaths to collect yourself. “No, baby; I don’t want to do it rough on our first date.” Seulgi shows you this gorgeous combination of lip and eye smile that you’re seeing for the first time tonight. “That’s sweet of you.”

You pull her onto her feet and invite her to lie in bed with you. “Can I ask how many guys have been rough with you?” “One,” she says. “I hope it wasn’t on your first date.” She smiles a little. “It was, but not on the first round.” You stay silent as your eyes are locked with hers. “What’s wrong, oppa?” The smile on your face is a gentle one. “I just can’t see myself going hard on you, baby; I feel like you deserve soft sex all the time.”

Seulgi rubs your face gently. “That’s sweet, but you have nothing to worry about; I can take whatever you send my way.” “Vanilla is what I’m sending your way tonight, baby.” Seulgi chuckles, and the way it hits your face makes you shiver. “You’re going to make me cry if you keep talking like that.” You place a hand on her cheek and rub it with your thumb. “I swear on everything I have, baby, that you’ll be crying for all the right reasons with me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, my love.”

With a warm heart, you pull her into a kiss, and you wholeheartedly hope that Seulgi can feel the tender love you have for her.

“Take me, love; make me yours,” she whispers softly. You roll over so that you’re on top of her. “Your pants are in the way,” you crack a little joke, and you’re successful in making her laugh. “Do something about it, please—pretty please?” “Oh, you’re pretty, alright.”

You move backwards a bit until her crotch is right in front of your face. “May I?” “Yes, you may.” You unlatch the metal button of her pants and undo the zipper. You then continue to drag her pants down her legs until they’re properly off. Seulgi also cooperates by taking off her panties—that has a wet spot in the center—herself.

You give her pussy a little peck (thus earning a cute little moan) before returning to your previous position on top of her. “Show me how much you love me.” You peck her on the lips once. “Gladly, baby.”

With your cock in one hand, you guide yourself to enter her warm pussy, and Seulgi immediately lets out a long moan because of the first contact. “You make me feel like this is my first time, oppa.” “With me, this is your first time, and I’ll be your last because you’re not leaving me ever.” “Are you that sure about us?” “Yes, baby, so God help me.”

You see that Seulgi’s dams are threatening to burst, so before it does, you distract her by pushing your cock deep into her. “I’ll be the best girlfriend for you, oppa—no one else deserves me like you do.” You silence her with a soft shush. “Let’s focus on us right now, baby.”

Seulgi holds you tightly, locking you in place close to her but still gives you enough space to keep moving your hips. She wants to express how safe and loved she feels in your arms, but her lips are busy moaning. “I know you can’t hear me, but I love you,�� her heart says. “I know you can’t hear me, but I want to be with you for a long, long time.” A particularly deep thrust disrupts her train of thoughts, making her hide her face in the crook of your neck. “I love you, Kang Hyunwoo—I love you so much.”

At one point in her life, Seulgi heard that the heart controls the mind, and the mind controls the body. Right now, all her heart wants is to show you just how much she appreciates you—how much she appreciates this new relationship that she’s building with you. Without too much convincing, her mind agrees with the idea and, in turn, signals to her body that she’s highly enjoying this hot sensuality you’re offering her.

“L-love,” she calls to you, “I-I won’t last long.” “That’s fine, baby.” Your deep voice in which your reply is said sends goosebumps all over her body. “I don’t want you to last too long anyway,” she hears you say. “Y-you don’t?” Seulgi feels a sudden peck on her lips. “You finishing early would mean that you could feel my love, and that’s what I’m aiming for right now.”

Seulgi’s moans become more frequent as she inches closer to the checkered line. “Love me, oppa—love me, love me,” she chants into your ears. She gets ecstatic when the pace of your thrusts grows faster. “Yes, just like that, oppa.”

“Can you feel that?”

"Damn right I can.”

“Then give it to me, oppa; I deserve it.”

“Oh, yes, you do.”

Seulgi is the first one to crack, announcing her orgasm with a scream from the top of her lungs. “Oh, what an amazing girl,” you praise her while petting her head gently. “You’re such an amazing girl, aren’t you, baby?” She keeps squirming around in your arms as she rides the high of orgasm, moaning freely as she does.

You keep whispering sweet words as you wait for her to calm down, and finally, after what felt like forever, she’s now able to speak coherently again. “I-I love you,” she’s out of breath now, “I-I want no one else but you.” You spray kisses all over her sweaty face. “I love you more, baby.” Seulgi giggles a little. “Y-you’ll give me your load if you really love me.” “One second, baby; let’s calm down first.”

Soon, Seulgi signals that she’s ready to help you get to the finish line and asks that you resume your thrusts. “Don’t forget to cum inside, love.” Initially, you hesitate, but she repeats the line, and it’s clear that you have no other option. “As you wish, baby.”

Apparently, you were only a few pumps away from orgasm, thus busting deep into her after a handful of them. “Oh, fuck, that’s so warm.” You hit her cheek very, very gently. “No profanity during vanilla, please.” “S-sorry, b-but you’re so warm in me, love.” You kiss her fleetingly. “That’s just how much I love you.”

-

“The court hereby orders the defendant to pay 200.000 in fine and do 10 hours of community service.” The judge slams her hammer on the round pad repeatedly, thus officially passing the sentence for Seulgi’s crime that thankfully has been deemed as minor after considering the severity of it and her previously clean record. “The officer may escort the defendant out of the courtroom.”

You make your way towards your girlfriend as she stands up and place a hand on her cuffs. “Time to go, miss,” you whisper. Seulgi simply nods and starts walking to wherever you’re taking her.

You see that there’s an empty room on the first floor of the courthouse, so you open the door and enter with Seulgi. You take your hat off and put it on the table while she takes a seat on one of the available chairs. “Love, I can’t pay that,” you can already hear the anxiety and fear in her voice, “shit, had I had money, I wouldn’t have stolen.”

There’s no CCTV in this room, but there are see-through glass panes on the wall to your right, so you can’t touch her no matter how much you want to.

“I have money, baby.” You’re sure that Seulgi understands what you’re talking about.

“B-but I can’t do that.”

“You either take my money or go to jail for failing to pay—the choice is yours.”

It doesn’t take long for Seulgi to make up her mind.

“Erm, I-I’ll take your money; I don’t think I have other options.”

Now that the two of you have come to an agreement, you ask Seulgi to stand up again so that you can take her to the bank to pay her fine. You maintain character from the moment you exit the little meeting room until you’re hidden in the privacy of the police Sonata you’re assigned to.

“So, here’s the game plan, baby,” you start, “I will give you this card, and you’ll withdraw 200.000 and use it to pay the fine.” You don’t see her reaching out a hand, and that is when you remember that her hands are still cuffed behind her back. “Oh, I forgot about that—I’ll let you go when we get to the bank, okay?” Seulgi laughs. “I was starting to think that you had a bondage kink.” You look away to hide your smirk. “Maybe we’ll find out soon.”

-

After a short drive, you arrive at the bank with Seulgi.

You look at her through the rear-view mirror; with her wrists restrained behind her back, you have unrestricted view of her plump tits that you love so much. “I know you’re looking at my tits, you pervert,” she calls you out and sticks out her tongue in playful mockery. “You know I can’t keep my hands off the cookie jar.”

You get out of the car and open Seulgi’s door—wait, why does she look weak?

“You alright?”

She shakes her head, and you can’t help but scratch your head in confusion.

“I need some vitamin D, and I’m not talking about the substance.”

“Then let’s go in there, pay this God damn fine, and go home, hm?”

“I can’t,” she shifts a little to show you her bound wrists, “daddy is tying me down.”

You pinch her on the thigh.

“Let’s not play around too much right now, Miss Kang.”

After freeing Seulgi from the cuffs, you hand her your card and head inside, and you almost forgot that you can’t be seen holding hands with her while you're in uniform.

“Good afternoon,” Seulgi greets the staff member, “my name is Kang Seulgi, and I’m here to pay a fine.” The staff asks Seulgi about some things to confirm her identity and the sum that needs to be paid, and after everything is verified, Seulgi hands your card to the staff so that the payment can be processed. After a brief moment, “The payment has been verified, and this is your receipt.” From where you’re standing, you notice the way Seulgi’s body relaxes as she takes the receipt and card from the staff. “Thank you.”

Seulgi sighs deeply in relief and offers her wrists to be cuffed again, but at this point, it’s no longer necessary—in fact, it hasn’t been necessary since you left the courthouse, but she doesn’t know that. “You’re free to go, Miss Kang,” you say, back in character. “Oh, really? Is that it?” You nod. “Aside from the community service, you are now a free woman.”

Seulgi asks you to follow her outside, and it appears that she wants to get back in the car for some privacy.

“Love,” she calls to you from the back seat, “thank you for everything, seriously.” You smile gently. “Of course, baby; now promise me that you won’t steal again, okay? Come to me whenever you need anything, and I mean anything.”

Your heart is promptly filled with warmth when she hugs you from behind. “Never thought I’d date a cop, but here I am.” You chuckle. “I bet you thought that you’d end up with some rich guy.” “No,” she denies, “those guys are fake; they probably just want my money or my body.” “I mean, you do have a body that guys would kill just to have a chance to lay with you.” “Yeah, well, they’re not getting me ever—I’m yours now, remember?”

-

Usually, you have nothing to be excited about or look forward to when you get home after a shift, but now that you have Seulgi living with you full time, you’re always excited to go home, and it is no different today.

The way your heart is beating with excitement has your finger trembling as you enter the passcode to your apartment, and when you open the door, you’re instantly met with your girlfriend who has the beautiful grin and eye smile that you adore so much.

“Welcome home, love!” Seulgi greets you with open arms, and you waste little time to fill the space between them. “How was your day?” You let out a deep sigh to show how tired you are. “It was pretty exhausting, actually; I had to train shooting and worked out after that.” Seulgi turns her head to the side and gestures at the kitchen. “I may have some food for you.”

Seulgi drags you towards the dining table, thus showing you the table that has two bowls of tteokbokki on it. Based on how it’s presented, you estimate that she must’ve cooked this herself. “Oh my, thanks a lot, baby.” She gets on her tippy toes to peck you on the forehead. “Thank you for coming home—your timing was perfect, by the way.” “I’ve heard that before in my life.”

Seulgi pulls back a chair for you to sit on. “Let’s eat quickly, love, and then we’ll talk.” Your heart rate spikes for a moment. “Am I in trouble?” She shrugs. “I don’t know—are you?” “I don’t think so, but maybe I’ve missed something.”

You stare blankly at the bowl in front of you as you try to figure out if you’ve done anything wrong. Currently, there are two things in your head that might be the reason why she’s unhappy: you forgot to buy some eggs and instant noodles that she had asked for yesterday, and on the following morning, you rejected her offer to do a quick one.

Seulgi saves you from drowning in your own thoughts by placing her hands on yours. “Hey, now,” her voice is so soft, “I was just playing, love; you’re not actually in trouble. “I’ll buy you those eggs after this,” you blurt, and the suddenness of it makes your girlfriend burst out laughing. “Oh, don’t worry about them.”

She picks up a piece of tteokbokki with her chopsticks and invites you to do the same, so you do just that. There’s a bit of unease in the back of your mind that leads you to scratching your nape. “Thank you,” are the first words that leave your lips, and those are enough to make Seulgi smile. “You’re welcome, love,” she replies.

Like a cat, you shake your head rather violently to get rid of unnecessary thoughts in your head, and with renewed focus, you’re ready to take a bite of tteokbokki that you already know will blow your socks off. “Oh, I really like this, baby; this is really good,” you praise the fruit of her work. Seulgi blushes a little. “You always say that to everything I cook for you.” “You know how easy it is to please me—give me anything edible and I’ll say it’s good.” “But not eggplant.” “Anything but eggplant, yes.”

-

Seulgi says she wants to get a shower before going to bed, so after washing dishes with you, she makes her way towards the bathroom. “Join me,” she says as she jogs towards her destination. “Gladly.” You take the chance to undress yourself and put your equipment away while she’s off doing her business in the bathroom.

The door to the bathroom isn’t shut all the way, so you simply push it open, and that is when you see Seulgi standing under the shower, water flowing freely on her curves from top to bottom. After stopping the flow of water, she makes a “come here” gesture at you, and you waste little time to get close to her. “My, aren’t you God’s most perfect creation,” she recites your words from the first meeting. “Is it safe to say that we’re going to completely spend our batteries tonight and wake up late tomorrow?” Seulgi laughs. “You rejected me yesterday, didn’t you, love?” You answer in the form of a nod. “So, this is your chance to make things right with me, and you may start now.”

You take a few steps forward, thus making Seulgi step backwards until she’s pressed against the wall. “Vanilla, baby?” “No, daddy.” The name makes it obvious what she wants from you. “Safe word?” “Teddy.” You reject her choice because it sounds too similar to the kinky name. “Cookie, then.”

After agreeing on the choice of safe word, you quickly lean in for a kiss to kick things off, and as usual, Seulgi places her hands on your shoulders. “Tell me, daddy—what’s in that head of yours?” It’s a habit between the two of you to share each other’s plans before the actual sex to make sure you and her are on the same page. “Tell me your ideas first, baby.” Seulgi puts a finger on her chin. “Hmm, let’s see,” you can see the gears in her head spinning, “what about locking my wrists together, daddy?” You’re immediately sold on the idea. “Let’s do it, then.”

Seulgi gets down on her knees. “First, feed me your cock, daddy.” You hold your cock in one hand. “Choo-choo, the meat train is coming through.” Seulgi, who initially had her mouth open to take your cock, bursts out laughing. “Meat train? Really?” You pout a little. “Just play along, please.” “You’re so funny sometimes, daddy.”

“Only some—oh, God, fuck.”

You let out a profanity when Seulgi suddenly puts your cock in her mouth. “Oh, God, that never gets old.” You try your hardest to breathe at a normal pace as she begins moving her head along your length, and this is where you start regretting your decision to reject her offer to have sex yesterday. “Are you trying to make me pay for saying no, baby?” You grit your teeth in pain when she bites your cock slightly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You notice that she’s starting to pick up the pace, so you put a hand on the back of her head to prevent her from hitting the wall. “Relax, baby; you’re going to make me bust if you don’t slow down.” She doesn’t listen to you and keeps the fast pace—at least that’s the case until the tip of your cock hits an odd spot in her throat, thus making her gag. As soon as you pull out of her mouth, Seulgi begins coughing violently. “You’re okay, baby,” you say repeatedly while petting her head softly.

“100 days together and I still can’t take you deep,” she says, seemingly disappointed in herself. “That’s okay; I’m not mad or anything like that,” you assure her, but it appears that she doesn’t want to hear it. “That doesn’t mean that I get to slack off,” she argues. You deny her attempt at taking you in her mouth for the second time by gripping her hair. “No, no, no, let’s have a timeout first.”

You leave Seulgi seated on the bathroom floor to get a towel to dry her body with. “You want to move, don’t you, daddy?” You nod. “You’re my girlfriend, so let me treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” Seulgi rarely blushes, but this is one of those times where she feels like she can’t help it. “Am I lucky to have you, daddy, or are you lucky to have me?” The question sounds like a test, but you still answer properly from the bottom of your heart. “From my perspective, it’s me that’s so lucky to have you. If you think that you’re lucky to have me, then that’s a huge honor for me.”

You sit in the center of the bed with Seulgi still in your arms and are ready to have sex, but it changes when she begins tearing up. “Are you okay, baby?” She fans her face with her hands to get herself together. “Oh, don’t worry; these are tears of joy.” You’re glad that your nails aren’t long because you’re now able to wipe her tears without worrying about scratching her. “I promised you that you’ll be crying for the right reasons, didn’t I, baby?”

“I-I don’t know if I can continue, daddy—I’m sorry,” she’s still unable to stop crying. You chuckle. “Tell me how I’m supposed to be rough with a softie like you, baby, hm?” “Well, y-you’re supposed to be mean and dominant.” “I can’t be mean to you, can I, my love?” The way you say the last two words must’ve triggered something in her heart, because her cries grow louder than before. “Oh, I’m so sorry—look, I’ll get you some ice cream, okay?”

You rush to the kitchen quickly to get a cup of strawberry ice cream for her, and when you return to the bedroom, Seulgi is curled up in the middle of the bed. “Seulgi-yah, my love,” you tap her thigh to get her attention, “do you want some?” “Y-yes.” Once she’s seated, you move to sit behind her and have her lean against your body. “Look at this, baby,” you open the lid for her, “it looks so tasty, don’t you think?” “A-and soft like me,” she adds.

You take a spoonful of ice cream and guide it to her waiting mouth, repeating it a few more times until Seulgi says stop. “You know,” she says, “I remember overhearing a guy talk about how he fantasized about fucking me hard like a cheap slut.” Your brain starts getting filled with anger, because what the fuck kind of fantasy is that. “Really?” She nods. “H-he said he’d tie me down and fuck my ass.” “I don’t mean to prod too much, but have you taken a penis in your ass?” Seulgi shakes her head. “I’m naughty but not that naughty.”

You feed her another spoonful of ice cream as you think about her words. “Can I ask who this guy was and how you overheard him?” “H-he was, erm, a fellow trainee, a-and I happened to be walking past a room he was in when he said it out loud.” You’re very baffled; if he was a fellow trainee, that means that he was around Seulgi’s age, and for someone that young to have that sort of fantasy sounds nasty. “He didn’t debut, did he, because there are many male celebrities from your old label.” Seulgi shakes her head again. “He didn’t make the final debut lineup.” Hearing her answer makes you let out the biggest sigh of relief in your recent memory.

You have a few sentences in your head that you hope will convince Seulgi that you’re not that type of person, but after the first sentence leaves your lips, she won’t let you continue. “I can tell from day one what type of person you are behind your façade.” You scratch your head in confusion. “Am I that easy to read?” She chuckles. “I’ll say that your book was a bit open.”

The ice cream has run out, but thankfully, Seulgi is no longer crying. You put the small wooden spoon in the empty cup and put them on the bedside table. “I hope I helped you feel better,” you say. “I mean, I wasn’t sad necessarily, but you did help a lot.” She moves to sit on your lap after freeing herself from your arms.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Seulgi grins, satisfied with your quick answer. “Are you down to make some promises?” “Let’s do it.”

Seulgi asks you to go first, so you say the first thing that comes up in your head. “Promise me that you won’t leave me when you’ve got back on your feet.” “Excuse me?” You sigh deeply. “You met me when you were in a rough spot, and I sincerely hope that you won’t leave me when… you know, you’re in a better situation—maybe when you get a job or something like that.” She holds your face with her soft hands. “No, I will never do you like that—I’m here right now because of you, love.” “So, you promise?” She nods rapidly to show seriousness, and seeing it warms your heart. “Thank you, baby.”

Seulgi looks away momentarily. “I had something in my head, but you threw me off.” You stay silent to see if she manages to find something for you. “Okay, how about this,” she says, “promise me that you’ll propose to me and make me yours.” Your eyebrows rise involuntarily. “Propose to you? Are you that sure—” “Yes,” she interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. “You’re law enforcement, so what better way is there for us other than to formalize our relationship in the eyes of the law?” The phrasing makes you want to laugh, but your brain manages to stifle you from actually laughing, citing inappropriate timing. With that, your response is, “We’ll work on it, love.”

Seulgi quickly shifts to get on her knees in front of you. “Fuck everyone else; I’m the only one for you, and you’re the only one for me.” You rub her cheek gently. “What are you talking about, love?” Instead of answering your question, she repeats her line. “Love, seriously, what are you talking about?” “My ex,” her answer is a short one. “Why are you thinking about him?” She looks at you dead in the eyes, and you swear there is smoke coming out of her ears. “I’m not—if anything, I wish I could erase him from my memory.”

You don’t know how to react to that aside from saying that he’s completely irrelevant in your and Seulgi’s lives. “Please don’t bring him up again,” you say sternly. “Yes, daddy.”  She must be in the same head space as before when the two of you were in the bathroom. “Oh, you’re saying it again, huh?” She palms your limp cock. “You distracted me with that ice cream, but now I’m ready.” You run a thumb on her cheek. “You were literally in tears and said you couldn’t continue—how could I have ignored that?” “Yeah, well, that’s now in the past,” she deflects, “let’s focus on the here and now, daddy.”

Seulgi crawls backwards until your cock is right in front of her eyes. “Oh, you’re so hard already.” “How can I not when my beautiful wife is naked in front of me like this?” She grins. “I’m your wife?” “Yes, you are—also, it’s not like there’s anyone else in this room, is it?” “There’s no one else in this room aside from the two of us, and there’s no one else in my life aside from you, daddy.”

Without breaking eye contact, Seulgi eases your cock into her mouth, wasting little time to start things off. She then grabs your hand and places it on the back of her head. “Ah, of course, how could I forget?” You start petting her head gently. “You like this, don’t you, baby?”

You make sure the praises keep flowing out of your lips without obstruction as your soon-to-be wife moves her head back and forth along your shaft. “God, you’re amazing at this, baby.” Enticed by your words and the pets on the back of her head, Seulgi picks up the pace, thus filling the bedroom with slurps and other sounds that escape her mouth that only add to your arousal. “I’m starting to think that you like my dick more than that ice cream,” you quip.

Before long, Seulgi removes you from her mouth to come up for air. “You know, I’m curious what it’d be like if I could take your whole dick in my mouth.” You take a rough measurement of your cock with your palm and estimate how far your cock would go. “The tip would be in your throat, baby.” She licks her lips, curious about how that would feel like. “Can I try?” You shake your head. “I don’t want to suffocate you with my penis,” you reason.

You invite Seulgi to sit on your lap after closing your thighs, but instead of simply straddling them like you hoped, she puts your cock in her pussy first before actually sitting on your lap, thus forcing the two of you to moan in reflex. “You like that, daddy?” “How can I not when you’re this tight?” Seulgi rewards your good answer with a fleeting kiss. “At what age do you think we’ll stop having sex, daddy?” You shrug. “I don’t know—60, maybe?” “I doubt it; with your physique, you’d be able to fuck me until we’re 80.”

You want to say something else, but your train of thoughts got derailed when Seulgi starts moving her hips. “I-I’ll stay tight for you, daddy, even if we have a lot of children.” “I don’t doubt it,” you’re getting breathy.

Without command, Seulgi picks up the pace to the maximum that she can do, her sexy moans flying out her lips without rest. It is when you take her tits in your hands that her moans get louder. “S-suck them, p-please.” You do as she asks and put one breast in your mouth while stimulating the other with your hand. “Yes, like that, daddy—suck my tits like our future children would.”

It's not fair for you to only stimulate one breast, so you let go of the first one to make room for the other. You keep sucking until you notice that Seulgi slows down. In retaliation, you lightly bite and pinch her nipples. “Oh, God, don’t do that,” she jolts, “l-look, I-I’ll start again.”

Seulgi eventually pushes you away from her plump breasts and falls backwards onto the bed. “I-I’m tired—y-you’ll need to fuck me this time,” she says between heavy pants. You don’t bother waiting for her to calm down, opting to start again right away to ensure maximum stimulation.

Initially, you’re holding Seulgi by her legs as you’re thrusting into her, but as time goes on, you’re starting to fold her legs over her body. “Fuck me, daddy—fuck me nice and fast,” she eggs you on. You fasten your grip on her ankles as you prepare to give her your absolute everything, and not too long after you’ve started, Seulgi is reduced to moans and screams as her eyes are rolling backwards.

All you can think about right now is how wet and tight— “D-daddy,” she snaps you out of your horny trance, “I, I—c-cum, daddy.” You quickly pull out of her pussy and aggressively rub her clit, thus making her scream. “D-daddy,” her orgasm is getting so close, “I-I’m—your fingers, daddy, fuck!” “Cum, baby; cum for daddy,” you urge her.

With an ear-piercing scream, Seulgi explodes, soaking the bed with her juice. Once she’s done squirting, you drag her around and position her until her legs are dangling off the edge of the bed. “You want to be tied?” Seulgi nods slightly. “Then tied you will be.” You grab a pair of handcuffs from your equipment holster and lock her wrists together with them. “Are you ready to go again, though?” She nods again. “Fuck me, papi.” Hearing the new name makes you chuckle. “One day, we’ll sit down and talk about our kinks, okay?”

Seulgi moans when your shaft enters her again and screams when your palm lands on her butt. “You’re fucking naughty, aren’t you?” “Y-yes, officer.” You spank her once more. “That’s inspector to you, Miss Kang—or papi, like you said yourself.”

You fix your hands on her waist as you fuck her tirelessly from behind, her butt cheeks bouncing around as your hips crash into them. You notice that her small, puckered ring keeps peaking at you every now and then, and an idea enters your mind: what if you put a finger in there?

You coat your thumb with spit to prepare it for a brave adventure to a brand-new world that is her asshole. Seulgi jolts when she feels your thumb in the entrance of her forbidden hole. “D-daddy, gently, please,” she begs, but instead of getting an assurance that you’ll indeed be gentle, she gets a spank on the butt instead. “You’re mine, slut.” You feel a tinge of guilt for calling her with such a pejorative name, but you’re half certain that she’ll understand considering the current situation.

Seulgi grits her teeth as her asshole stretches to accommodate your thumb. “How are we feeling?” “G-good—oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” She begins squirming around when she feels your thumb moving in and out of her asshole. You don’t give her a chance to breathe as you opt to start fucking her again with your thumb still stuck in her ass.

Amidst her endless moans, a thought enters Seulgi’s mind: should she let you fuck her ass?

“Maybe I should.”

“Fuck, it’ll hurt so bad, though.”

“So what? He’ll be the first and last.”

“But he’ll stretch me like crazy.”

“Let him claim you.”

Her conversation with herself ends when she feels that your thumb is no longer lodged in her ass. She gathers her strength to turn her head towards you to look at you. “D-daddy,” her voice is barely heard.

“Yes, baby?” You couldn’t hear what she just said, so you lean forwards and ask her to say it again. “F-fuck my ass, daddy.”

Your eyes widen in shock; did she just ask to be fucked in the ass?

“You’re a virgin there, though, no?” Your answer is some feeble nods. “I-I couldn’t bleed for you, s-so claim my ass a-and make me yours.”

You pull out of her pussy so that you can address this further. “Baby, you know I have no problem with not being your first.” “J-just do it, daddy—l-let me show you exactly h-how much I love you.” “Are you sure?” “Y-yes,” she answers briefly. You ask once more and get the same answer, so you know that her mind is made up. “Safe word?” “C-cookie,” it appears that she hasn’t forgotten it. “Alright, let’s do it, then.”

It is when you’re back in your previous position that you realize you need something to make it hurt less for Seulgi. An idea pops in your head: “Her pussy will be able to coat me,” you think. You plunge into her pussy again and pump a few times until your cock is shiny because of her juice. For extra measure, you also coat your cock with a lot of spit.

“I’m ready, baby—are you?” She nods. “Claim me,” she repeats. “Stop saying it like that,” you protest. “J-just give it to me, please.”

Seulgi gasps when the tip of your cock touches her puckered ring. “Gently, love—I’m begging you,” she begs, changing the callout name for good measure. She inhales sharply when the tip of your cock stretches her virgin ass. “Please be gentle,” her voice starts to crack, and it’s understandable, too; this is her first time after all.

You push forwards into her pussy every odd second to not hurt her even more. Seulgi turns her head towards you, thus showing you the pooling tears in her eyes. “P-please tell me I’m doing well,” she says. “You are, baby; you’re doing so well right now,” you assure her, your hips still. It hurts your heart seeing your beloved woman be in tears like that, but it was her idea to give her ass to you, her beloved man, with whom she wants to have a life with.

“Love, take me.”

 Using her urge as fuel, you begin moving your hips back and forth, thus properly and officially taking her anal virginity.

“Does it hurt so bad still?” “Y-yes, b-but it’s fine—t-this is what I want,” Seulgi deflects. You take a few deep breaths to focus your mind on the task. “Alright, I’ll try moving now, okay?”

You maintain this relaxed pace as Seulgi’s muscles adapt to your intrusion, and slowly but surely, moans begin streaming out of her lips. “That’s better, love.” You place your hands on her butt cheeks to caress them. “You’re incredibly tight, baby.” “T-that’s—AH!” A particular thrust makes Seulgi scream. “T-that’s your proof that I-I’m a virgin there.” “I never asked for proof, but thank you, my love.”

Your orgasm approaches at an alarming rate with every thrust of your hips. On one hand, you’re happy, because it means that Seulgi won’t have to suffer for too long. On the other, you’re worried that she’ll be disappointed by your performance tonight. There is one way to make sure, and that is to simply ask. “Love, can I cum?” She nods. “S-sooner than later, please, daddy.” “Brace yourself, baby—feel free to tap out, though.”

After delivering a warning, you pick up the speed, fucking her ass fast like it was her pussy, and Seulgi immediately sinks her face into the bed to muffle her voice. You instinctively spank her, thus forcing another scream from her, but regret it right away. “Fuck, sorry, baby; force of habit,” you say, apologetic.

You can feel the way your cock is throbbing in her ass—orgasm must be very close. “Baby, I’m—” “Do it, daddy—f-fill my ass.” “Alright, okay.”

You leave the entirety of your cock lodged in her ass as you blow semen deep into it, thus officially marking the end of this painful first-time. After you’re done filling her, you retreat out of her ass, and after blinking a few times, her asshole properly closes, locking your cum inside.

You grab the cuffs’ key so that you can unlock them, and after she’s free, you flip Seulgi onto her back and pull her into an embrace. “It hurt, didn’t it, love?” “Y-yes, but I’m yours now.” You put on a gentle smile for her. “Thank you so much, love—I love you.”

-

You’re back in bed after a long shower with Seulgi, and what’s left for you to do is to take care of her, which consists of several non-skippable steps.

First, you hold her tightly.

Second, you say, “Love, thank you so much, seriously,” to express gratitude and appreciation.

Third, you come in for a kiss—one that is passionate to support your words.

“Don’t leave me now, love.” “How can I leave you when I’m so in love with you?” Seulgi lets out a tiny chuckle. “Are you in love with me or my body?” The question offends you a touch. “Surely you don’t think that low of me.”

Seulgi shuffles around rather wildly. “Are you okay?” She huffs in frustration. “You’re not close enough.” You laugh. “Our skin is literally touching, baby.” “No, not enough.”

Seulgi mounts your lap and puts your semi-hard cock in her pussy. “Oh, there we go.” You tease her by thrusting upwards but earn a slap on the chest in response. “Don’t—I’m already so sore.” “Are we sleeping like this, then?” She nods against your cheek. “If you wake up first tomorrow, feel free to fuck me and cum inside.”

You chuckle. “That’d be a crazy way to start the day.”

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 3 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 4.0k (i know)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), much cussing, some adult themes (again, no smut y'all), bkg and reader go through one stage of grief: bargaining, the plot thickens!

a/n. wrote all this in one day—i couldn't put the doc down until i finished it. this chapter is jam-packed and has lots going on, but we're only at the beginning. i hope you have as much fun reading it as i did writing it!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

“…Though I trust you’ll understand if we set some—” he pauses, and you’re 99% sure it’s for dramatic effect, “—precautionary measures in place?”

“Waddya have in mind?” asks Bakugou, his rough tone laced with unmistakable skepticism.

“Well, for starters…”

Their leader glances back at the bionic woman. “Sayaka, are they ready?”

Sayaka nods. “Ready for installation, Masaki-san.”

You scramble to take a mental note of their names—as well as try to ignore the fact that the robotic girl sounds like a robot, too—as you watch Masaki gesture to the escort from earlier who’s standing at the sides and in the shadows.

He emerges into the dim lights with a wide stride, but to your surprise, another leg steps forward right beside him. Your eyes trail up until they land on the other person, widening in confusion because they look just like a carbon copy of the intimidating escort—tall, ginger head, pale skin—only it’s a girl.

There’s no mistaking it.

They’re twins.

Twin bodyguards. In a quirk supremacist group.

You fight the urge to let out a dry laugh.

But apparently, neither of the two finds the situation funny, because they’re nothing but serious as they approach Masaki and bow politely, before heading to Sayaka and taking what looks like tiny…metal pieces?

You don’t get the opportunity to wonder about what those were, though, because, in the blink of an eye, the twins are already stalking straight toward you and Bakugou, glaring daggers.

“Those are bugs,” Masaki explains just as the twins arrive right in front of you, with the guy from earlier towering over Bakugou and the female staring you down a few inches away from your face, decidedly a little too close for comfort. You barely manage to stop yourself from gulping and looking away.

“They’ll be tracking your speech and movements 24/7. And don’t worry, they’re waterproof.”

You sense Bakugou’s about to spit some smart-ass comment, judging by the way he puffs up like he tends to do when he’s about to drop a curse-riddled quip, but he doesn’t get the chance to deliver the blow because the twins are on you in an instant.

You accidentally let out a yelp as the woman grabs the hem of your tank top so roughly you think it’s gonna tear, before she stuffs her right hand up. Mortified, you struggle against her hold, but her left has a death grip on you.

“Relax,” she seethes, obviously very much already done with you. “I’m just installing it.”

At her words, you manually will yourself to calm down, and it quickly dawns on you that she’s not touching you violently or inappropriately. You tamp down a shiver as her cold fingers come into contact with the center of your chest, right at the dip of your bra and between your breasts, feeling the surface before sticking something that you promptly identify as the tracker.

And as she retracts her hand and steps away from you, right at the same time as her twin like they’re wired for synchrony, you reflect on how it’s so light that you barely feel an added weight to your body. It’s circular, too, and you debate for a second whether or not to peer down at your chest to see what it really looks like, before ultimately deciding against it.

You can do that later, in the privacy of the (hopefully not downstairs) bathroom.

If such a concept even exists.

“Thanks, you two,” comes Masaki’s gentle voice, before shifting to regard you and Bakugou. “You can get to know your designated guards later on, but for now, let’s continue.”

As if on cue, the twins take a further step back before eventually returning to their dark corner.

“What we just affixed on your chests are special devices, again, designed to monitor any sound you make as well as your specific locations. They’re not your ordinarily engineered trackers—they’re Sayaka’s thanks to her quirk—which also allows her to directly receive the feedback and project it for others to see and hear.”

Ah.

You don’t know how that works exactly, but you bet the expensive ass perfume that you got for your birthday last year—the very one you wear for special occasions like now—that it’s got something to do with her robotic parts.

“Does everyone in your group get one, too?” questions Bakugou, who’s now looking a bit miffed. You’re sure he didn’t enjoy getting felt up by a stranger who he just called someone’s little lackey.

“Only the new members,” Sayaka answers succinctly, her voice sounding like it’s filtered with autotune.

But especially you two, you finish for her in your head. And really, you can’t blame them. Taking in a pro-hero, let alone Japan’s #2, is a huge gamble, and Bakugou quite literally can make or break their whole plan to attack. This level of precaution is not at all uncalled for. You’d even go so far as to say it’s not enough.

Bakugou must be thinking the same thing, too, because he doesn’t offer a follow-up question.

Masaki takes your silence as a sign for him to go on.

“Of course, that’s only the first layer of protection.”

Shit.

You hope you didn’t just think that into existence.

The plain-looking leader puts on that prudent smile of his, before turning to look at the old man. “Kouki-san here has a very handy quirk. Teleportation,” he glances at Bakugou, “A sought-after power in the hero world, isn’t it?”

Bakugou shrugs, although you’re guessing the answer is yes and that he’s just too stubborn to admit it.

Figures.

“Well, he’s gone and mastered his quirk, and has since been indispensable to our organization. Essentially—” Masaki huffs, like he’s preparing for the bomb he’s about to drop, “—the very moment you even hint at betraying us, we’re gone,” he snaps his fingers, “Just like that. And you won’t be able to trace us.”

“Really?” drawls Bakugou. “You’ll abandon this cushy, not at all seedy ass headquarters of yours?”

“This is only one of many, Dynamight,” Masaki responds, seemingly unbothered by Bakugou’s taunt. “And this is actually not our headquarters.”

He picks up his glass of alcohol and lightly twirls it around in his hand. “I also trust that you’re aware of what a distinguished group such as ours entails? Naturally, we need to have somewhere safe where we can conduct all our activities under the radar.”

“As you can imagine, it’s not just us five. We have many, many members who share the same principles, and this club can’t possibly be large enough to host all of us.”

“Where are you going with this?” Bakugou demands.

“What I’m saying is that we have a separate place as our headquarters, a place much bigger than this. And—” he cocks his head toward Kouki, “—we get there via teleportation.”

“Obviously,” sneers Bakugou, “Otherwise that’d be a huge waste of the old man’s quirk, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s only one of the reasons. You see, it’s also so that you won’t know where it is located,” Masaki pauses once again, which you decide in a split second is warranted because of what he’s going to say next.

“And for that to work, we’re also going to have to lock you inside.”

Your breath hitches. Bakugou bristles.

“The fu—”

“We’re going to have to make you stay with us—” the plain-looking man interjects with a slightly louder voice, “—at least until the day of the attack, as we cannot risk you two being seen constantly going in and out of this club every night.”

You’re about to contribute to the conversation for the very first time but Bakugou beats you to it. “Fucking stay in? Isn’t that gonna cause even more suspicion?”

“It wouldn’t if you both come up with a good excuse to disappear,” Kouki retorts with a smidge of attitude. He eyes Bakugou with a raised brow, “Wouldn’t now be a great time to have a top-secret ‘mission’ overseas? And I’m sure your friend here can whip something up.”

You brush off the annoyance that shoots through you at the dismissive mention. Instead, you finally bring yourself to speak up. “I thought you just said we’ll be stuffed in a secret hideout?”

“Ah,” Masaki sounds out, “You are, but this is our gateway, so to speak. You go here to get teleported to the headquarters, and from there, get teleported back here to return to the outside world. We won’t hesitate to teleport away from both places the second we have to, but that doesn’t mean our HQ is easily disposable to us, hence all these measures.”

“All this to say,” he furthers, his timid tone juxtaposing the threatening words you’re sure he’s about to utter, “You two better think twice about betraying us.”

There it is.

He smiles again. “Do either of you have any questions?”

Beside you, Bakugou mutters to himself for a second, before clearing his throat. “You’re yapping on and on about what you’ll do if we betray you and shit. Ain’t that such a warm welcome for your new members?”

—A rhetorical question, because he doesn’t let anyone get a word in. Instead, he presses on.

“But what if we don’t? What’s in it for us?”

“You get to live out your ideals, boy,” comes the old geezer’s snappy reply.

Bakugou snorts, and you’re sure it’s not because he found the guy hilarious.

“That’s a shitty deal on our end, don’t ya think so?” the pro-hero shifts his weight on his other foot. “How ‘bout this, you guarantee protection for my…friend here, and we’re even.”

You hold your breath.

Looking past the way he just so awkwardly referred to you as his friend, that segue just now wasn’t exactly the smoothest.

Still, you have no choice but to roll with it. So, with much conviction, you morph your face into that of shyness—one that you hope is charming enough to win their graces.

“Just her?” asks Masaki, placid as ever.

“I can get by,” comes Bakugou’s confident response.

Once again ignoring the mildly degrading remark, you ready yourself to use your quirk. You closely examine the leader’s features as they transform into an expression of contemplation, even as he turns to the other two and engages them in quiet conversation.

You and Bakugou stand there for a few moments, waiting, before Masaki finally turns again.

And all that preparing to utilize your quirk goes out of the dilapidated windows once you catch a glimpse of his face.

“I guess that’s settled, then.”

Called it.

Masaki then raises an eyebrow at the two of you. “Any more concerns?” he smiles to himself, “Heartwarming requests?”

Neither of you says anything.

“None?” he asks again, before patting his thighs in a gesture of finality. “Well, then, I believe it’s time for you to see your new home! Kouki-san?”

At the mention, the old man slowly gets up from where he made himself very comfortable on the couch, and walks leisurely towards you, planting himself in front of and between you and Bakugou.

“Hang tight,” Kouki smirks, reaching out for both of your hands, and you’re just about registering how eerily cool his are when the ground that was perfectly carpeted and steady just a second ago suddenly collapses from beneath you.

A violent wave of nausea instantly hits you as the room completely vanishes before you, replaced by pitch-black darkness in a second. You scramble for purchase—tightening your grip on the person responsible for whatever the fuck this is—as the noise instantaneously gets sucked in a vacuum, leaving you in full silence. Your legs are jelly as you stumble on your feet, and you’re convinced you’re going to fall to your death down to the abyss below you when—just as fast as the lounge disappeared—a warmly lit hallway materializes in front of you.

But it’s too late, you’re already out of balance and lurching forward—inch by excruciating inch—right until you feel a hand grab your forearm and you’re unceremoniously yanked back into an upright position.

You whip to look at Bakugou as you wobble on your feet, and he’s staring at you with such alarm that makes you feel so…vulnerable. He retracts his left hand a beat later when you eventually steady yourself, his serious and unrelenting gaze fixated on you before shifting to study the place you just got teleported to.

You follow suit, eyeing the hallway as you place the hand Kouki was holding into your pocket to warm it up.

Similar to the club and the room you were just in, the area is barely illuminated, but it’s bright enough for you to make out the dark wooden doors that line both sides. You’re right in the middle of the hallway, and at one of the ends you think are staircases leading both to a lower and an upper level, while at the other end is another door.

If these lead to what you think they lead…

Then, damn.

They weren’t kidding about lodging.

From the corner of your eye, you see the old man look at you and follow your line of vision, shifting to study the aforementioned door at the end of this hallway.

“That’s your room,” he offers curtly, like this job of chaperoning you to your place of residence for who knows how many days is beneath him.

Room, you parrot in your head.

Room singular.

“Well?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his impatience when neither you nor Bakugou makes a move. “Aren’t you going to check it out?”

You hesitate, glancing at Bakugou to find him frowning at Kouki, before turning to look at you.

“We don’t have all day, you two,” Kouki adds on with a sigh at the same time you raise your eyebrows ever so minutely at the pro-hero, as if asking for confirmation. “Go on, I’ll wait here.”

It only takes a small nod from Bakugou to pull you out of the paralysis, and the minute that he does, you’re already moving to the spot beside him, matching his pace as you trudge towards the door.

As inconspicuously as you can, you check the corners of the room along the wall facing you for cameras, only to find none.

And so you do it.

With your backs turned against the Teleportation master, you finally let your emotions show on your face.

You also chance a peek at Bakugou, only to find him already eyeing you with the very same expression you’re sure is written all over your features.

The one that says you’re fucked.

You don’t get to dwell or comment on the shared sentiment, though, mainly because they’ll hear every word you say, but also because you arrive in front of the door. Bakugou looks at the knob and then at you warily, and you can only nod in encouragement.

That seems to be enough of a push for him, because he reaches for and turns the handle, pushing past the entryway so you can walk in from behind him.

Now, the first thing that registers after you startle at the door closing is the fact that the room is small. Tiny, even. There’s another door at the back, which you think leads to the comfort room.

But that’s pretty much it.

That, and there’s only one bed.

To your credit, though, you’re able to refrain from gasping in horror at the sight of it, which you can chalk up to the next thing that you see—a couch.

It doesn’t seem like it’s foldable or can be converted into a larger bunk, but it’ll have to do. It’s brown and hopefully real leather this time, and is crammed right next to the bed. You remind yourself that they were only expecting Bakugou, and so you can’t really complain and that you’ll have to make do with sleeping on the couch for the next n days.

Aside from all those, though, the room is relatively bare.

Well, apart from the cameras with the blinking red light at the upper, four corners of it.

But you don’t get to wordlessly warn him about it, let alone come to terms with the fact that they’re deadass going to be watching your every single move, because something seizes your wrist, spinning you around, leaving you face to face with Bakugou.

You’re too preoccupied with the sudden motion and the fact that you’re just a breadth’s width away from each other to notice the darkened look in his eyes.

Which, in hindsight, you should’ve noticed.

If you wanted any chance at bracing yourself for what he’s going to do next.

“Wha—”

You yelp—cutting yourself off—when Bakugou, the Bakugou Katsuki—Japan’s #2 Pro-hero, Vogue Japan’s Hottest Bachelor of the Year, and the dickhead who used to be your biggest, fattest crush—grabs at your neck and smashes his lips against yours.

You involuntarily jerk away from him, but his free hand shoots up to roughly clutch your hip just as his grip on your neck tightens, pinning you in place and right against him.

And you don’t know how the fuck it happens, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t know at this point, and frankly, you don’t want to know, because coupled with his scalding hold on your body, it causes you to do the unthinkable.

You moan.

And again, you don’t even get the opportunity to feel the utter humiliation, because just as quickly as he pounced on you, Bakugou pulls away, but not before scowling at the cameras as if he just noticed them—which you doubt—then taking your hand, dragging you out of the door and into the hallway.

The old man glances at you. “Are you don—”

“Take us the fuck back now,” Bakugou spits as he pulls you right beside him.

At that, Kouki’s eyebrows furrow. “You ought to know better than to speak to an elderly like that.”

But the man who just fucking kissed you apparently can’t give a single flying fuck, because he retorts without missing a beat. “Take us back now.”

That must’ve been the final straw, because Kouki’s face finally morphs into the scowl that you think he’s been trying to suppress this entire time, but to your surprise, he moves closer to the two of you and once again, reaches for your hands.

You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but what you do know is that Bakugou’s onto something here, because he wouldn’t have pulled that stunt just now without any reason, which means the last thing you should do is resist.

And so you take Kouki’s hand, just as Bakugou snags the other, and when you do, the floor gives out from underneath you.

You’re still overcome with a sense of dizziness as your surroundings shift and the noise dissipates around you, but as you find the lounge slowly appearing before your eyes, you find that it’s not as bad the second time.

Bakugou’s still holding your hand when you arrive at the second floor of the club, right back where you stood from a while ago.

Sayaka is the first one to notice you, most likely thanks to her quirk and the goddamn device stuck to your chest, but it’s Masaki who speaks up when he catches wind of your arrival.

He puts down the deck of cards you think he’s just been shuffling before shifting to look at you. “Back so soon?”

Kouki turns around to face him, “Bakugou demanded to—”

“Why the fuck are there cameras in our room?”

Offended, the old man whips around again to glower at Bakugou, seemingly ready to unleash the sermon of the century. “Young man—”

“Turn them the fuck off,” the pro-hero interjects, “And the mics, too.”

Bakugou hesitates, as if unsure of how to properly say the next few words. He glances at you, expression inexplicable, before turning back to face them. “…At least at night.”

Silence.

“Oooh, I see where this is going,” comes Masaki’s reaction a moment later, a knowing smile creeping on his face. You feel yourself flame. “You weren’t being clear with us earlier, Bakugou. You didn’t say you brought your girlfriend.”

“Didn’t think it was necessary to point out,” comes Bakugou’s terse reply.

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter either way. The surveillance is for our safety, which comes above everything else, even the privacy of our esteemed members.”

“You promised you’d protect her at all costs,” Bakugou counters. “Protecting her modesty from the perverts you call your surveillance people is part of that.”

Now, you’re not a hundred percent certain, but you’re pretty sure he just shot the cyborg a look at the latter half of the sentence, which you think would’ve been a noble gesture—if it weren’t for the fact that it’s not just her, judging by the sheer number of cameras in this room alone.

Your attention drifts back to Masaki, however, when he heaves a sigh, leaning against the couch with a tired expression on his face. “Tell me, then, Dynamight. How do you propose we make sure you don’t brew something behind our backs off surveillance?”

“I can turn off the bugs,” Sayaka pipes up before Bakugou can answer, her mechanical voice drifting across the room. “They emit a blue light at their circumference that shuts down when I turn the device off.”

“As for the cameras…” she drones on, “The blinking red light should be gone when they’re offline.”

“That shit won’t do,” Bakugou declares decisively, not even letting the suggestion simmer. “There’s no knowing for sure that they’re actually off and aren’t just hacked to seem like they are.”

“The cameras should also face down. And—” he huffs, “—We get to remove the tracker.”

A chorus of protests erupts from the group—particularly from Sayaka and Kouki—but even the twins who are still stationed at the sides. Masaki, in contrast, only sits in silence as he studies the pro-hero, but there’s no missing the uneasiness decorating his features.

“It’s only at night,” Bakugou reasons, voice now a bit louder to be heard amidst the sea of complaints. “You can set up guards around the perimeters of our room. We’ll surrender them at the door before entering, and we can’t go out beyond the doorway until they’re attached again.”

And when no one says anything, Bakugou pushes. “How does that sound?”

You chance a glance at Masaki, who does not seem to be getting anywhere near convinced.

Bakugou must be noticing it, too, because he squeezes your hand so imperceptibly that you almost miss it.

But you don’t, and quite honestly, you could have and be okay with having done so, because you were on it, anyway.

You quickly scan the room.

One, two, three, four, five.

Five.

You can do five.

And so with the most innocent tone you can muster, you speak up.

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

All five whip to look at you, and the second that they do, you pull—swiftly and in succession—eyes jumping from Sayaka to Kouki to Masaki to the male twin and then to the girl.

Your gaze darts back to the leader right after to make sure you got him, but his remarkably serene countenance is enough to tell you that you’ve successfully done it.

You did it.

You just won Bakugou and you the window of time to discuss the mission in the privacy of your own room.

And Bakugou must be seeing the palpable shift in their demeanors because he squeezes your hand once more, only this time you think it’s in gratitude.

You feel a surge of pride swell in your chest.

Let the games begin.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day

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[kastighur]

← back. ᝰ.ᐟ don’t hate me.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 homicipher. mr. scarletella. fluff. angst if you squint. gn! reader // wc : 957

you were sent to another world by the man with the umbrella, coated in red with a glow that followed him around everywhere. mr. scarletella was the name you had given him.

his delusions lead him to believe that you were giving him gifts, though you were only trying to dispose of bodies in an abandoned building. well, who could blame the man ? if someone was delivering the equivalent of a packed lunch everyday, you’d surely assume that they’d have some motivation.

“ you teach name ? “

mr. scarletella asked, leaning down all the way to meet your eye. the umbrella tilted which shielded you from the non-existent rain, casting that eerie red glow surrounding you both.

clutching your bloodied crowbar in hand, you stood your ground with an unwavering glare but there was no use in hitting him drawing from prior experiences.

“ dislike communicate ? “

he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. his wide eyes never leaving yours. he wondered why you kept silent, he had seen you around others like mr. crawling, you were much more relaxed. even laughed and spoke with the other entity.

what else could..- oh !

an idea popped in his mind.

mr. scarletella reached his hand out, his cold palm plopping itself on your head, up down up down. he had seen this action being exchanged between mr. crawling and you.

“ pet, pet. “

however, you immediately lifted your crowbar, swinging it at him with full force, just to watch as his body glitched out once again. the man now stood at his full height just a step or two in front of you, the hand on your head now by his side.

mr. scarletella seethed with rage, he didn’t take rejection well, but he would never hurt you and instead disappeared.

that was a few days ago, mr. scarletella continued to stalk you from afar as usual though he stopped using the telephone to call, halting his usual random appearances.

mr. scarletella roamed the halls in one of the rare moments which wasn’t spent stalking. unbeknownst to you, he was upset. he didn’t know he was hurting from rejection, he just knew that this painful feeling burning in his chest was foreign and unpleasant. it felt worse knowing the reason behind it stemmed from the human that he was so drawn towards.

he stumbled aimlessly into the room with bits of concrete on the ground caused from earthquakes which moved rooms around. he scanned the ruins, spotting things that were thrown from the world of humans. magazines, dirty shoes, broken cellphones... etc.

the only thing that wasn’t broken or covered in dust was something in a clear ziplock bag, mr. scarletella reached down to pick it up. it looked like a white paper bird..? an origami bird. white reminded him of you.

“ pretty doll... me give pretty human. “

he mumbled, ripping apart the ziplock bag and gently placing the delicate craft on his palm. it was fragile, swaying left and right as he walked, but it was something he needed to protect for you. he had never been so gentle with something before, even slowing his steps just to keep it from toppling, too afraid to touch it in case he ripped it.

luck was on his side, he found you alone without your crawling companion, being separated from him after one of your adventures.

mr. scarletella smiled but he hesitated to show himself to you. this was new. he doubted himself. the aching feeling in his heart returned when he remembered his previous interaction with you. would you reject him again…? did you really dislike him that much..?

“ human. “

he called out, softly. his voice trailing off to a whisper at the end.

he watched you whip around, the same glare in your eyes. though you noticed he was slightly different. his head was tilted down, he wasn’t standing straight, his shoulders were slightly hunched in an attempt to make himself look smaller in front of you.

slowly, he held his arm out, the white origami bird was directly in front of your face.

“ me find, me bring doll you. doll pretty, human pretty. “

they probably didn’t have a word for origami or paper or birds in their language, doll was probably the closest thing to that.

his smile returned when you cautiously reached out to take the gift, watching as you inspected it. the corners of his lips widening when your eyes softened, the tension surrounding you both slowly dissipating but still lingered.

“ you like ? “

your head snapped up towards him.

“ …like, thank you. “

mr. scarletella leaned down, lining his eyes up with yours. his hand reached out once again, hovering just above your hair.

before he could touch you, you stepped aside. clutching the crowbar in your other hand, which he noticed and acknowledged as a warning.

“ can pet ? “

mr. scarletella asked.

you hesitated, well… he did go out of his way to get you this origami bird. plus, as much as you hated to admit it, you did think about him during that period where he left you alone albeit in a negative way.

“ pet one. “

his palm came into contact with your hair, up and down, lingering there for a second before pulling away.

a noise came from the corner of hallway, making you whip around, just to see mr. crawling pop out. he rushed over, blabbering on how worried he was and asking if you were hurt.

you turned around but mr. scarletella was gone.

“ doll pretty ! “

mr. crawling pointed out, looking at the white origami bird on your palm.

“ where find ? “

“…someone give me. “

mr. scarletella watched from afar, smiling to himself, he made a mental note to give you more gifts in the future.

> maybe he’s slightly ooc.

© @kastighur

[whoreforsexymen]

Strong Drinks & Broken Links 🍺⛓️‍💥 CH. 1

Gray Hair & The Absence of Care

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Pronouns: GN!Reader (for now— please see this post for details)

Rating: SFW, except for strong language and consumption of alcohol (drink responsibly, people). Reader is old enough to drink, despite what Vander thinks.

Word count: 4.7k (the rest are going to be far longer, so be prepared)

Tags: Slowburn, Reader is implied to be 21+ years old, Age Gap, Heavy Use Of Language/Alcohol, Reader might be a little too angsty (I’m sorry), Tense Situations, Vander being the caring mentor type he is but in a poorly thought out way.

Notes: I don't think I've ever posted a fic on this account. So, welcome to my only outlet for the brain rotting obsession I have for this man. ALSO I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT SEASON 2, OR I'LL FIGHT YOU.

((If any of you want to be added to a tag list for this fic, please lmk!! Ask box is also open for requests/suggestions/comments 🤍 feedback is always appreciated 🤍🤍))

It had been a terrible night so far.

Not only had you been shortchanged more than two-thirds of the agreed-upon pay for a job you’d completed—but that paltry sum had quickly slipped from your grasp entirely, taken by a gang of thugs.

You had to give the undercity credit—it had an uncanny ability to remain a perpetual cesspool. You’d managed to take down two of the muggers, but the third—the one who’d made off with your coin—had slipped away while you were dealing with the others. Just your luck. The payout had been pathetic to begin with, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. It looked like you’d be scraping the dregs of the city to find enough for your next meal, yet again. 

That is, unless you decide to drink your dinner. As well as your sorrows, in the process. The idea struck you as you neared the central bar of the undercity, still sulking as you were making your way back to the shack you called home. The Last Drop. A name that said it all. If there was any place where the undercitizens of Zaun gathered, it was here. No doubt the owner had to be the wealthiest man in the area, though that wasn’t exactly saying much in a place like this. 

You made your decision. A warm meal might be out of reach, but liquor could suffice—if you drank heavily enough, that is. Or at the very least, it might dull the sting of the night’s failures. 

The bar was an eyesore, a hulking building among the rundown structures of The Lanes. A garish neon sign blinked above the entrance, buzzing like an angry fly, casting sickly light on the grime-streaked pavement. Inside, the din of loud music and the clatter of drunken chatter spilled into the street. It was a haven for folks with any background, no matter if they sought business or pleasure within its walls. 

You pushed through the door, noting how no one even bothered to glance your way. That was how you liked it—under the radar, always out of sight, always out of the mind of untrustworthy beings. 

Then again, you didn’t trust anyone anyway.

You duck and weave through the crowd of rowdy patrons, eyes scanning the bar for a table or booth at which you could hunker down and nurse your drink in peace. Your frown deepens beneath the hood of your jacket when you come up empty-handed. Typical. No matter, though. You’d have to order at the bar anyway, regardless of where you sat.

It’s when your eyes settle in the direction of the bar that luck seems to briefly shine upon you—there’s an empty stool. Without hesitation, you make a beeline for it, not wanting some drunken fool to snag it before you could. You practically dive-bomb onto the seat, landing with a small grunt, air knocked from your lungs. After the night you’ve had, this stool feels like an oasis, despite the new absence of oxygen beneath your chest. You settle into it like it’s the only thing left in the world, clutching the seat as if someone might try to commandeer it if you let your guard down low enough.  

The realization dawns on you that, in order to get a drink, you’d have to interact with the bartender. You hold that fact in high regard with contempt. 

Chit-chat? Not tonight– or truthfully any night. You’ve never been crazy about casual conversation. The events of the evening have only soured your mood further, and the last thing you need is some eager bartender trying to make nice. Normally, you’d avoid sitting at the bar for that reason alone, yet here you are.

Thankfully, the bartender pays you no mind, his attention fully set on the patron he’s currently tending to. That is, until said patron leaves and the barman finally turns to you, his new source of focus. 

The sheer momentum with which you rolled your eyes almost knocked you out of your seat. 

“Welcome to The Last Drop. What’ll it be?” His voice is deep, and heavy, garnering a thick accent that clung to every word. 

He’s an older man, though exactly how old is hard for you to pin down. His hair’s gray, his eyes tired, the lines of age having etched themselves into his face long ago. However, there’s something youthful about him—something that makes it hard to tell whether he’s an old-looking thirty or a young-ish fifty. Frankly, you don’t care enough to continue your mental evaluation of him. Age shouldn’t matter when it comes to bartenders. They either know how to pour a decent drink, or they don’t.

You don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Something strong.” You mutter, your voice mostly flat, but with a hint of irritation that danced along the edge.

The bartender scratches at his graying beard, his gaze thoughtful as he considers your request. You grit your teeth, hoping he won’t try to scam you by giving you something weak and overpriced, just to line his pockets with your hard-earned coin. You’d seen it happen to others, and you’d be a damned fool if you let it happen to you. 

The bartender studies your face, or at least what he can see of it beneath your hood, before his gaze shifts to the shelves beneath the counter. After a moment of deliberation, he selects a bottle with thoughtful ease, pulling the cork out with his teeth. With his free hand, he grabs a tin cup and pours in a copious amount, sliding it toward you with a swift flick of his wrist. You’d almost call it a generous decision on his part, considering the fact that you hadn’t even paid your dues first. His choice to serve you first goes a long way in easing your suspicion, at least for the moment.

You dig into your pocket, retrieving the few gold coins you’d managed to hold onto when dealing with the aforementioned thugs. They weren’t enough for one measly meal, but they were enough for a drink or two– or three, but who’s going to keep track? Certainly anyone but you. You’d only stop once your pitiful wealth ran out. Without a second thought, you toss them onto the bar top, making it unspokenly clear to the bartender that you were hoping for much more than just this one drink. You grab the cup, lifting it to your lips and downing the lot of it in one quick, greedy gulp. The warmth spreads through you almost immediately, and it feels like a small victory over the obnoxious turn your night has taken.

The bartender watches this with a faint chuckle before you slam the empty cup back down onto the counter. He takes it without a word, refills the tiny tin chalice, and begins passing it back. Without missing a beat, you grab the cup from him, draining the contents in a second gulp before he even has time to set the bottle back down. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” he remarks casually, his voice low and steady as he finally reunites the bottom of the bottle with the countertop. 

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” you mutter, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The words come out flat, though there’s a weight to them. It’s more than just a refusal to talk—it’s a refusal to let anyone look too closely. You avoid eye contact like the plague. Eyes, after all, are the windows to the soul. And letting someone peer through them is a risky gamble you’ve never been apt to take.

You were clearly beyond uninterested in the beginnings of this conversation. The lack of willingness to be friendly reigning clear as you shove the tin cup towards him yet again. He grabs the empty cup and refills it once more—your third drink in under five minutes. He seems reluctant to hand it back. He maintains a grip on it as he eyes you again, this time much more thoughtful.

“Care to chat about it? Might be healthier than drownin’ yourself at the bottom of a bottle,” he offers plainly.

You give him a sidelong glance, not even trying to mask the edge in your voice. 

“Doesn’t sound like a good business strategy, encouraging your paying customers to cut back.” You fire back quickly, the sharpness of your words outpacing even your annoyance at the unwanted conversation.

The bartender chuckles again, a spark of amusement flickering in his tired eyes. There’s a glimmer of understanding in his smile—maybe he’s seen more than a few like you in this dive. Or maybe, he knows in the same fashion as you, that sometimes it’s more palatable to fill the silence with alcohol than with words.

“Fair point, but I’d prefer to keep my patrons alive. Helps me sleep at night, y’know?” The bartender shoots back, his eyes fixed on you, all too curious about what’s hidden beneath your hood. The conversation quickly turns uncomfortable, a painful reminder of why you’ve never liked bartenders—they always talk too much and ask too many personal questions. As far as you’re concerned, they should stick to the charade for the sake of their regulars, and leave all unsuspecting customers alone. 

The momentum of yet another roll of your eyes causes your head to bob ever so slightly— your hood creeping back towards the line of your hair. The new, incredibly subtle, view of your face made the barman clench the cup in his hands with rigor. 

His eyes narrow slightly, the amusement fading from his voice. 

“Where’re your parents, kid?” He asks, his voice low and in demand of an answer. 

The question hits you like a slap, and for a brief second, you find yourself caught off guard. You’re not someone who’s usually thrown by imbecilic remarks from the residents of The Lanes, but this one? It’s different. Not just the audacity of asking such a personal question, but the clear assumption of your age being made so boldly. 

Your head snaps up, and before you can stop yourself, you push your hood back, breaking your own rule about eye contact. Why? Who knows. Today has already gone off the rails, and you’re too far gone to care. The liquor’s sudden grip on your senses began to cloud your judgment, and honestly, it was far from shocking. To be fair, you had asked for something strong… Not to mention having no substantial food in your belly to dilute the potency you sought after. All in all, there was no ignoring how the liquor was starting to pummel you like a brick to the face would. 

You meet his gaze, eyes scanning his face for any sign of what he’s gunning after by asking such a question. But there’s nothing obvious behind those gloomy eyes of his. No clear motive. You can’t tell if he’s purposefully trying to get under your skin or if he’s just another fool with a quick tongue. 

“Rotting in their graves,” you mutter, voice sharp and, in addition, spiteful. 

“Which I’m sure you’ve got one foot in, yourself, Gramps.” You make a mockery of the decades that are clearly stacked against you, hoping to push him back into his corner.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he practically snorts, running a hand over his silvery beard as he crosses his arms; resting them across his stomach with the casual authority of someone who’s seen it all. He’s not rattled by your quips—no, not in the slightest. 

“How old are you, kid?” His voice is flat now, a hint of something more serious creeping in, though you can’t figure out why. You’re even more unsure now about his intentions. Constantly expecting the worst from people was your lot in life. 

“Too young for you.” You snap back, pushing forward with your usual sharpness, trying to regain some control over this ridiculous conversation. You reach for the cup he had refilled for you, but before you can even graze it, he snatches it away, clicking his tongue like a disappointed parent.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tuts at you, as if you’ve done something wrong.

“I asked how old you were.” he repeats, his voice now devoid of any amusement. 

He watches you carefully, his gaze inspecting your face as if he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know were there.

You roll your eyes, irritation growing, and narrow them at him, unwilling to back down. You can’t tell if he’s probing for something deeper, or if he’s just getting off on making you uncomfortable. Either way, you’re done playing his game.

“Why are you so curious, huh?” you scoff, leaning in and making a bold decision to double down on your irritation. “I’m just another patron here to drown in my sorrows and drink them away. Not to mention, I’m paying for the privilege.” Your words are bold, and with that same boldness, you reach across the bar and rip the cup from his grasp.

You try to bring the drink to your lips, intent on finishing it off. But just as the cup nears your mouth, the bartender’s large, rough hand slips over the opening of the cup like a solar eclipse. 

He glares down at you, his eyes narrowing as he sizes you up with a look that could strip paint. In that moment, something clicks in his mind. The defiance in your voice, the way you’re carrying yourself—it all reinforces his suspicion. You’re not old enough to be here. When you walked in, your hood had obscured most of your face. But now that it’s gone, he can see it clearly: you’re just a kid, trying to score some alcohol. The only thing that kept him from throwing you out on your ass, was your cadence. You looked young, and spoke carelessly, but you sounded grown. If you were in fact grown, he’d ease up. 

However, with the way you look—bloodied and bruised, no less—he’s convinced you’re in some kind of trouble. The kind of trouble he doesn’t want being drug through his bar. He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve pissed off, or what kind of people you run with. But this? This is his bar, and he’s fought too hard to maintain the fragile peace that reigns here. He won’t let you ruin that for him and his loyal patrons by dragging your poor choices in with you. 

“Seems I’ve struck a nerve,” he says, his voice no longer playful but flat and serious. “Either tell me your age, or you’re cut off.”

The room seems to hush around you. The muffled chatter of patrons behind you fades as the bartender’s tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. It’s a quiet threat now, the kind that lets you know exactly how much leverage you have—and how little he’s willing to tolerate.

“You didn’t strike shit,” You hiss. “and I don’t need to answer to shit.” You add. 

The bartender bends over the counter, his face inches from yours. The bitter scent of smoke hangs thick on his breath, hot and rancid, and it presses against your skin like a physical weight. The damp air in the bar swirls around you, brushing your cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth that feels suffocating, as if the room itself is closing in.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll have no problem lettin’ my loyal patrons cut your tongue out for us to hang above the bar.” He says fiercely. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching the eyes of the dozens of patrons who have fallen silent, their conversations and business abruptly halted. It’s clear—they’re waiting for a signal, ready to back up their beloved bartender if things escalate.

“You can call off the cavalry, Gramps. I was just leaving,” you retorted, swiping one of your coins from the counter, as if to refund yourself for the drink you’ve yet to have. You release your grip on the cup, almost slingshotting it backwards from the sheer force you two had each been bestowing upon it. 

“Sit down.” the bartender commands, his voice low and final, as you attempt to abscond. 

You don’t reply, instead moving to shoulder through the row of patrons who are standing like silent sentinels, waiting for the slightest nod from their bar’s gatekeeper. It’s not like you expected them to part, but the way not a single person dares budge makes your blood boil. The crowd might as well be a wall of stone. 

“Sit. Down.” the bartender demands again, his tone sharper this time, a razor edge cutting through the haze of the bar.

You grind your teeth, your patience wearing thin.

“I’ll take my patronage elsewhere—”

You don’t even finish your sentence before a hand, seemingly out of nowhere, pushes you roughly back. You stumble, barely managing to stop yourself from falling flat on your ass. The sudden movement sends a rush of heat to your head, the anger spiking through your veins like fire.

You seethed at the touch, the anger burning hot in your chest, every muscle in your body coiled with frustration. But you knew better than to keep pushing your luck. Not today. Not in a situation like this, with dozens of hungry eyes watching, their hands twitching near their weapons of choice, waiting for the slightest excuse to make a move.

Biting back a torrent of curses, you forced yourself to swallow your pride, choosing to stay quiet—at least for now. It wasn’t worth the fight. You could practically feel the heat of their glares digging into your back as you turned on your heel, eyes locking once more with the bartender’s. You reclaimed your seat at the bar with deliberate flair, each movement oozing a sense of defiance and attitude. It was a performance, one you were used to. To you, it felt like you were playing the part of someone tough. But you knew, deep down, that to anyone else—especially the bartender—you probably looked like nothing more than a naive, immature idiot who didn’t know when to shut up. It wasn’t a great look, but at least it kept people from getting too close.

“I’m sat,” you muttered, voice brimming with the remnants of your irritation.

The bartender shook his head slightly, a hint of amusement creeping back into his expression. You could feel the tension in the room dissipate, the energy shifting as the crowd behind you resumed their rowdy conversations. The noise began to swell again, and for a moment, it almost felt like the bar was returning to some semblance of normalcy.

He grabbed a dirty glass from the counter, handling it with practiced ease, and pulled a rag from beneath the bar. As he began polishing the glass, he didn’t so much as glance your way. His focus was on the glass, and for a few moments, it felt like you were nothing more than a background detail to him. You could feel your impatience growing with each passing second. If he had something to say, you wished he’d just say it already. At least that way, you could get out of here—and maybe keep some of your pride intact.

The bartender continued his slow, methodical motions, running the rag around the rim of the glass with an almost exaggerated calmness. He didn’t bother to look up, yet you could feel the weight of his gaze on you through the silence.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he said, his tone neutral, almost too much. “How old are you?”

You weighed your options. If you didn’t answer, you had no idea what would happen next. If you did answer, you still had no clue. It was a gamble either way.

“(Insert age here),” you muttered, the words slipping out begrudgingly, each one like a weight lifting off your chest.

The bartender scoffed lightly, a soft laugh escaping him that made your skin crawl. Your fingers began tapping impatiently on the bar’s edge, the rhythm a soft counterpoint to the growing tension between you.

“____ years old and still so naive… You really are just a kid, eh?” His words hung in the air, his eyes still locked on the glass in front of him, but you could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“There are worse things I could be,” you shot back, your voice laced with a mix of defensiveness and defiance.

“S’pose that’s true,” he replied, finishing up his polishing with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. He set the glass down next to the others—clean, polished, and waiting to be used. With a fluid motion, he slung the rag over his shoulder, then placed one hand on his hip and the other on the edge of the counter. He shifted his weight, leaning just slightly into the bar, his posture relaxed yet somehow still imposing.

“But on the other hand,” he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “what you already are ain’t too good either.”

It wasn’t a threat—more of an observation, one that hung heavily in the air, like the smoke in the room. You felt the weight of it, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was a warning or just another way to mess with you. Either way, you could tell this conversation wasn’t over.

You could feel the first few bubbles of anger rising in your chest, the heat creeping up your neck as your blood threatened to boil. You’d always been quick to anger—an unfortunate side effect of your temper and stubborn streak. They were the crosses you’d carried for as long as you could remember.

You scoffed again, the sound sharp and biting, as if it were the only defense you had left. You had already rolled your eyes a dozen times tonight, but it felt like you were on the verge of an explosion.

“What’s your goal here, Gramps?” you spat, your voice dripping with sass, every word a little jab. You didn’t care to hide your bitterness. You liked to fight with words just as much as you did with your fists, and the bartender was starting to see that loud and clear.

“You got the answer you were looking for. Whether you believe me or not, you’ve already served me twice. If my age was such a concern to you, you would’ve kicked me out long before I even sat down.” Your words hung in the air once more, and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

He just let out a quiet laugh, as if your logic amused him. And he didn’t bother to answer, not even in the slightest.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, and it was clear he wasn’t going to explain himself. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of an explanation. He simply leaned back, eyes flicking over to the rowdy crowd behind you.

It was infuriating.

You stayed silent for a beat, but only because you knew you’d have more to say. And damn right, you did.

“Do you do this with every new customer?” You snapped, your voice rising now, the frustration boiling over. “’Cause if you ask me, I’m not sure how this shithole’s still in business. You discourage your customers from drinking, even though this is a fucking bar, and that’s all people come here to do. You make it impossible to drink peacefully, just like you make it impossible to drink at all!”

The words spilled out like fire, each one more forceful than the last. Your temper was no longer something you were trying to hold back—it was running rampant, and it felt good to let it out, even if it was in the form of a scream. You weren’t about to let this bartender—this stubborn old man—have the upper hand. Not when it felt like he was deliberately pushing your buttons.

“So if it’s alright with you, Gramps, you got your answer, and I don’t owe you shit. I’m leaving.” You actually raise your voice purposefully this time, slamming your hands down onto the counter as you push yourself off of the stool once more. 

The bartender wasn’t fazed by your outburst. In fact, he’d dealt with feistier, louder, and much more difficult people than you—people who could out-shout you or out-punch you if they had to. He wasn’t bothered by your temper. He had raised four kids on his own, after all. He’d learned a thing or two about handling stubborn personalities, whether they were kids or grown adults who carried themselves like children. And you, in his eyes, were just another brat testing his patience.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was steady, calm, and authoritative, with an edge of finality that cut through the noise of the bar.

Before you could react, his hand shot out faster than you expected, grabbing your shoulder with an unexpected gentleness. He tugged you back into the seat with a kind of effortless force that made your breath catch in your throat.

You shot up from the bar stool in a flash, but his hold was stronger than you anticipated.

Instinct kicked in, and your own hand shot out like a snake, grabbing his wrist with a quick, almost violent motion. You shoved it off your shoulder, irritation flaring up like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, your chest heaving as you glared up at him, the heat of the moment burning in your eyes.

You huffed, your fists clenching at your sides, teeth grinding. The room seemed to close in around you, but you weren’t backing down—not now, not after all of this. The tension between you and the bartender was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You could feel the weight of the crowd’s silent attention being drawn to you once more as they waited for your next move, but you weren’t afraid. You didn’t have time to be.

The man let out a heavy sigh, the sound thick with disappointment. 

“Look, kid—”

“By the fucking god’s, I’m not a kid!” you snapped, your eyes flashing a level of ferocity that sliced straight through him.

He pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, his gaze cemented on you still as he took a long, steadying breath. Patience was his virtue, and he was willing to endure this sparring match for as long as it took. 

“It’s clear you’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Maybe, just maybe, instead of lashing out, you could let someone help—”

You cut him off mid-sentence, your words an unpleasant interruption.

“Help? You want to help? Surely that’s the wrong word. Surely, I heard you wrong, cause, from the way I see it, you’ve done nothing except cage me in here, threaten me, and withhold what I paid for. So if it’s with any consolation, take your ‘help’ and fuck off.” 

Enough was enough. Without another word, you climbed atop the stool, bracing yourself for what came next. You steadied your balance, then launched yourself toward the crowd with calculated precision. The dismount was quick—intentional, forceful. You tucked your legs in, soaring over their heads in a perfect flip, and extended them just before hitting the ground behind them. Without pausing, you bolted for the door, heart pounding in your chest.

To your surprise, you made it—flying through the door and slamming it shut behind you with a satisfying crash. Finally, you were free, never to be seen within a hundred yards of this bar ever again. 

The patrons had made a half-hearted attempt to grab at you as you rushed past, but a sharp, deafening whistle from the bartender stopped them in their strides. He shook his head softly, a silent message that it wasn’t worth the chase. That it was better to let you go. If you were in trouble, it would catch up with you soon enough.

Deep down, the bartender hated seeing someone so young seal their own fate in such a way. But, in the end, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t save them all—no matter how badly he wished he could.

He couldn’t help but wonder— if maybe, just maybe, he’d been a little too assertive, or downright impetuous with you after all.

But it didn’t matter now. You were gone. All he could do was hope you’d survive out on those streets. 

taglist: @blogforhoes @committingcrimes-2047 @dirtandcrime @eternalgoddessofart

[urdreamydoodles]

Bat-Villains x Reader

You're the new hot and smart underling

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

The Joker

- From the moment you joined the Joker’s ranks, his interest was piqued. Your sharp mind and striking presence stood out amongst the usual riff-raff. “A diamond in the rough!” he declared with a manic grin. Though he initially treated you like any other henchperson, his curious glances and the way he leaned in during conversations hinted at deeper intrigue.

- The Joker quickly made it a point to test your intellect. He threw out riddles mid-conversation, asked for your input on his chaotic plans, and watched with delight as you matched his wit. When you pointed out a flaw in one of his schemes—something no one else dared to do—he clapped his hands and cackled. “I like you,” he said, the words dangerously lighthearted.

- He couldn’t resist pulling you into the spotlight, often assigning you the most high-profile tasks. “Let’s see what you’re really made of!” he’d say with a grin that sent chills down your spine. Success was met with a rare approval, while failure earned a manic lecture or a laugh that felt more threatening than amused.

- Over time, his obsession with you became clear. He’d show up unannounced while you worked, circling you like a predator and commenting on how “refreshingly unpredictable” you were. His attention was both a blessing and a curse, offering protection but also putting you in constant danger of his volatile whims.

- The other henchpeople noticed the Joker’s fixation on you, leading to whispers and jealousy. Some even tried to undermine you, but the Joker put an immediate stop to it. “Nobody touches my little genius,” he’d hiss, his voice icy before switching back to his signature grin.

- Despite his madness, there were moments where his attention bordered on genuine. He’d hand you a gift—a macabre joke of a trinket—and watch your reaction with keen interest. Yet, his affection always felt like a game, a dangerous dance where losing meant the stakes could turn deadly.

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Harley was instantly drawn to you when you joined the gang. “Ooh, fresh meat!” she teased, her Brooklyn accent thick with mischief. It didn’t take long for her to notice your sharp mind and how you carried yourself with confidence. “Smart and hot? You’re a triple threat, sugar!” she exclaimed, clearly intrigued.

- Harley loved testing your limits, throwing you into chaotic situations to see how you handled them. Whether it was a high-speed getaway or negotiating with rival criminals, she’d watch you with sparkling eyes, clapping her hands in glee when you exceeded expectations.

- Her flirtation was constant and shameless. She’d saunter up to you during planning sessions, twirling a strand of her blonde-and-pink hair. “Y’know, if I wasn’t with Mistah J, I’d have to snatch you up,” she’d say with a wink, though you couldn’t always tell how serious she was.

- As your competence became undeniable, Harley began to rely on you more and more. She’d drag you into her schemes, insisting, “You’re my good luck charm!” She’d giggle when things went awry but always trusted you to pull them back together.

- Harley wasn’t above showing off for you, either. During fights or heists, she’d go out of her way to make dramatic, acrobatic moves, casting a playful glance your way afterward. “Betcha didn’t know I could do that, huh?” she’d say, grinning ear to ear.

- Beneath her bubbly exterior, Harley grew genuinely attached to you. She’d seek you out during quiet moments, talking about everything from the stars to her favorite cartoons. “You’re somethin’ special, y’know?” she’d say softly, her tone unusually serious before covering it with a laugh.

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Ivy noticed you the moment you walked in. She had an uncanny way of sensing power, and there was something about your intelligence and charisma that intrigued her. “You’re not like the rest of them,” she said with a sly smile, her green eyes piercing.

- She tested you in subtle ways, asking for your opinion on her environmental crusades or challenging you with complex tasks. When you provided thoughtful, insightful answers, she found herself impressed. “Hmm, perhaps you’re worth keeping around,” she mused, though the glimmer of approval in her gaze said more.

- Ivy quickly took you under her wing, ensuring you worked closely with her. She’d often call you to her greenhouse, watching as you moved carefully among her plants. “You have respect for life,” she’d note, almost to herself. Her approval felt rare and precious, like sunlight through the trees.

- Her fondness for you grew in small but significant ways. She’d casually offer you gifts—rare flowers or herbs—claiming they were “just leftovers.” When you thanked her, she’d wave it off, but the faint smile on her lips betrayed her pleasure.

- Ivy’s protective instincts soon kicked in. If anyone in the organization dared to disrespect you, they’d find themselves tangled in vines before they could blink. “No one touches what’s mine,” she’d declare, her voice cold and commanding, though she never elaborated on the claim.

- Despite her aloof demeanor, Ivy valued your presence deeply. In quiet moments, she’d open up about her dreams of a better world, her voice soft and wistful. “You understand,” she’d say, almost vulnerable. “You see the beauty in the chaos, just like me.”

Bane

- Bane was initially skeptical of you. Beauty and intelligence were rare qualities among his recruits, and he wondered if you were too good to be true. “Prove your worth,” he demanded, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. His voice was calm but carried the weight of a challenge.

- You quickly earned his respect through your sharp strategies and unflinching determination. Bane valued strength, both physical and mental, and your ability to stay calm under pressure impressed him. “You are more capable than most,” he admitted, a rare compliment from the man who broke the Bat.

- Bane began involving you in higher-level plans, seeking your input and trusting your judgment. “You think like a tactician,” he observed, his dark eyes studying you intently. His approval felt earned, a testament to your hard work and resilience.

- Despite his stoic demeanor, Bane showed his care in subtle ways. He ensured you were well-protected during missions, assigning his most loyal soldiers to watch your back. “Your mind is a valuable asset,” he’d say, though his actions hinted at something more personal.

- Over time, Bane’s respect for you deepened into admiration. He found himself drawn to your unwavering determination and the way you carried yourself with quiet confidence. “You remind me of someone who fights for what they believe in,” he said once, his tone almost reverent.

- Bane’s connection to you became undeniable when he began sharing fragments of his past. “Strength is forged in pain,” he told you one night, his voice low and reflective. “You understand that. It’s why you belong here—with me.” His words carried a rare vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the mask.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- Jonathan’s first impression of you was clinical curiosity. Among the sea of his mindless minions, your sharp intelligence and composed demeanor were a breath of fresh air. He observed you silently for days, cataloging your behavior like a subject in his experiments. “Fascinating,” he murmured to himself when you solved a problem no one else could.

- He wasted no time putting your mind to the test, assigning you tasks meant to break weaker recruits. When you succeeded with ease, he became both intrigued and slightly unnerved. “You’re more resilient than I expected,” he remarked, his tone bordering on admiration, though his calculating eyes betrayed his constant evaluation.

- As you gained his respect, Jonathan began sharing his philosophical musings with you. “Fear,” he’d say, leaning closer, “is the only true motivator.” He watched your reactions intently, searching for a flicker of agreement or defiance. Your willingness to engage in these debates only solidified his growing fascination with you.

- Over time, he involved you in his experiments, valuing your input on the effects of his fear toxin. He’d watch you work with a rare, quiet intensity, occasionally breaking the silence to ask your opinion. “Tell me,” he said once, “what do you fear most?” The question lingered in the air, more personal than professional.

- Jonathan’s protectiveness over you grew subtly. If anyone questioned your methods or competence, he’d silence them with a single glare. “This one,” he’d say, his voice cold, “is not to be underestimated.” His approval came sparingly, but when given, it felt like a hard-earned triumph.

- Despite his detached nature, Jonathan found himself drawn to your presence in a way that surprised even him. During his quieter moments, he’d share fragments of his past, his voice tinged with bitterness and vulnerability. “Perhaps,” he said one night, almost to himself, “fear isn’t the only thing that defines us.”

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- Harvey noticed you the moment you joined his organization. Half of him admired your intelligence and poise, while the other half—gruffer, more distrusting—demanded you prove your loyalty. “Let’s see how you handle yourself,” he said, flipping his coin. Heads, you were given a chance; tails, you were thrown into the fire.

- Your quick thinking and unshakable composure soon won over both sides of Harvey. He appreciated your ability to adapt to his volatile moods, navigating his dual nature with surprising ease. “You’re good,” he admitted one day, his scarred side smirking while the unscarred side gave a small nod of approval.

- Harvey began relying on you for more than just grunt work, bringing you into his inner circle. He’d consult you during planning sessions, flipping his coin before agreeing with your suggestions. “You’re smart,” he said, his voice laced with reluctant admiration. “Almost too smart for your own good.”

- Despite his hardened exterior, Harvey showed glimpses of softness around you. On rare occasions, he’d let his guard down, speaking about the struggles of balancing his two selves. “You think it’s easy?” he asked one night, his voice raw. “Living with two voices in your head?” He didn’t expect an answer but seemed comforted by your understanding.

- His dual nature extended to how he treated you. On good days, he’d praise your work and share a drink with you, his charm shining through. On bad days, he’d lash out, only to apologize later. “You shouldn’t stick around someone like me,” he muttered once, his good side conflicted while his bad side growled, “But you will.”

- Over time, Harvey’s admiration for you turned into something deeper. He became fiercely protective, warning anyone who dared to question your loyalty or competence. “This one’s mine,” he’d say, the flip of his coin deciding whether the threat ended there—or escalated further.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- Edward immediately gravitated toward you when you joined his crew. Your intelligence was obvious, and he couldn’t resist testing it. “Riddle me this,” he said with a smirk, throwing out puzzles and watching with delight as you solved them with ease. “Finally,” he exclaimed, “someone worthy of my brilliance!”

- He quickly made you his personal protégé, dragging you into his elaborate schemes and assigning you tasks that required both wit and precision. “Don’t disappoint me,” he warned, though the gleam in his eye suggested he didn’t expect you to. Your successes only fueled his ego, making him more confident in his choice.

- Edward loved showing off around you, often monologuing about his genius or presenting you with his latest riddles. He craved your approval, though he’d never admit it outright. “You see it, don’t you?” he’d ask, leaning closer. “How much smarter I am than everyone else?”

- As your bond grew, Edward became more possessive of your time and attention. He’d grow irritable if you worked with anyone else, muttering about how “inferior minds” didn’t deserve your talents. “You’re wasted on them,” he’d say, his tone dripping with disdain.

- Despite his arrogance, Edward valued your opinions deeply. He’d often ask for your input during planning sessions, genuinely considering your ideas. When you outsmarted him in a rare moment, he was equal parts annoyed and impressed. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he grumbled, though his smile betrayed his pride in you.

- Beneath his bravado, Edward harbored a genuine fondness for you. In quieter moments, he’d confide in you about his insecurities, his voice softer and more vulnerable than you’d ever heard. “Do you think they’ll ever truly understand me?” he asked once, his question laced with an uncharacteristic hint of doubt.

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- Oswald was skeptical when you first joined his ranks. He’d seen plenty of attractive recruits come and go, and he assumed you’d be no different. But when you demonstrated your sharp mind and ability to navigate his world, he quickly took notice. “Hmm,” he muttered, adjusting his monocle. “You might be more useful than you look.”

- He began assigning you more important tasks, watching closely to see how you handled yourself. When you not only met but exceeded his expectations, he couldn’t help but be impressed. “Well, well,” he said with a smirk. “It seems I’ve underestimated you.”

- Oswald had a flair for theatrics, and he loved dragging you into his schemes. He’d show off his wealth and power, often treating you to luxurious dinners or gifting you extravagant trinkets. “Consider it an investment,” he’d say, though his smug grin suggested otherwise.

- Over time, Oswald’s respect for you grew into admiration. He appreciated your loyalty and competence, valuing you as more than just another underling. “You’ve got potential,” he told you one night, his tone unusually sincere. “Stick with me, and you’ll go far.”

- Despite his ruthless nature, Oswald showed surprising protectiveness over you. If anyone dared to disrespect or threaten you, they’d find themselves at the mercy of his sharp-tipped umbrella. “No one crosses the Penguin,” he growled, his eyes cold. “Especially not someone under my wing.”

- Oswald’s attachment to you became evident in his quieter moments. He’d share stories of his past, his voice tinged with bitterness and longing. “The world never gave me a chance,” he said once, his gaze distant. “But you—you’re different. You’ve got what it takes to survive.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

family day ask, if that's alright! could i request an interaction with rook and eric venue, vil's father? the way i think of it, this can go either really funnily or oddly. or both.

Consider this a prequel interaction to this one; I doubt that Mr. Venue can get past the Pomefiore gates on his own, so let's assume he meets a certain huntsman that helps him out 🎵

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

From his vantage spot amid the tree leaves, Rook could see all. He was like a hawk, able to glean the animals weaving through the foods, the rooftops, the students and their families coming to and fro. This view, he adored.

But equally as stunning as these sights were the pockets of darkness in them. They made his blood soar, singing, all the same. Carcesses returning life to the soil, damage from the natural elements, quarrels…

The sketchy man lurking at the shining gates to Pomefiore.

“Oh la la, what have we here?”

Curiosity piqued, Rook focused his gaze on the man. He was dressed in a full tracksuit, a mask concealing the shape of his mouth—though with a neat beard on his chin, judging by the slight protrustion—and a large pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. Given the lenses and the natural lighting, Rook would venture his iris color was a deep violet. A baseball cap hid most of his hair—though tufts of gold stuck out—and shadowed his face. It was an older man, Rook could tell, from the glimpses of skin he could catch, creasing and folding in a predictable manner.

The man glanced around, checking for onlookers (Rook chuckled to himself, knowing that he had no clue the huntsman was watching), then made his move. Reaching out with gloved hands, he tested the iron bars keeping him from entering the utopia of beauty protected by them. Of course, the gates held together, tight as coupled ravens.

Before the man could attempt to fiddle with the lock, he jolted at the sound of two approaching Pomefiore students. (Rook heard them clearly; they were talking about a recent Magic History exam and how their parents were currently speaking with Trein.) He hurriedly dove into a nearby hedge. The duo came up to the gate, which magically swung open for them.

“Excuse me, gentlemen!”

The mob students startled at the masked man popping out from a bush. “What the…?!”

“May I join you?” he asked (as if it was the most normal thing in the entire world for a masked man to appear from the greenery to solicit high school students). “My son is a student in your dorm, you see—but I haven’t been having any luck getting in. I’ve been trying for some time now, but the gates always shut again when I try to rush inside.”

“Erm… Are you acquainted with this scruffy guy?” one mob asked the other.

“Not at all, but anyone with sense would know that he’s entirely suspicious,” the other replied. “What say you and I cast him out?”

“Yes, let’s do that. We wouldn’t want riffraff tainting the Beautiful Queen’s domain!”

“Wh-What?!” The man automatically thrusted both arms up. “Hold on a second!!!”

Rook grinned like a cat that had gotten his fill of cream. Ohohoh, it looks as though the situation is quickly heating up. It’s about time for me to throw my hat into the fray.

He descended without a sound, the leaves barely shaking. Rook landed softly on his feet and crept toward the front gates, where ugly shouts rose.

“Bonjour!” he called, strutting up to his students. Feigning ignorance. “What seems to be the issue here?”

“Hunt-senpai!” A mob thrust an accusatory finger at the stranger. “This strange individual is trying to storm Pomefiore!”

“We were just about to apprehend him, Rook-sama.”

“Wait, I can explain!!” The man protested. His every word trembled, overflowing with sincerity. “My son…! My son is in there, and I need to see him!”

Ah, I see. This man’s secret identity is…

The huntsman’s eyes shone with clear understanding.

“My dear students, you needn’t worry—please, leave him to me,” Rook insisted, shooing them away with his hands.

“If Hunt-senpai says so…” The mob students exchanged a look before scurrying inside. The gates slammed shut after them.

“Oh no, not again!!” the man groaned. “My luck’s been rotten this whole day…”

Rook laughed, sweeping off his hat and dipping into a bow before the stranger. “As it so happens, monsieur, I am Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader. I would be more than happy to grant you an audience with our queen… Mr. Eric Venue, correct?”

The man stiffened for but a split second. He easily recovered, sprinkling controlled panic into his voice. “Eric Venue? The famous movie star? I’m flattered, but I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Am I? I would never mistake the desperate cries of a loving father. Those looks, that voice, a disguise for this busy occasion, a father’s passion… They tell a story all of their own.” There was a pause. “Ah, but I’m afraid you won’t get very far by making efforts to conceal yourself. I understand why—a celebrity cannot call too much attention to oneself—but it can be difficult to persuade, even with your charisma, when so much of the face is hidden. Humans have a natural instinct to distrust that which they cannot see.”

“That’s…”

Rook leaned in, his lips parting to form a whisper. “Ne vous inquiétez pas. I assure you, your secret is safe with me and that the journey will be quick and discreet. I know of a secret passageway to Vil’s chambers. About this time of day… yes, I believe he would be easy to reach.”

Eric’s brows shot up, genuine surprise registering on his face. “… Haha, you have an eye for detail, young man.”

“Fufufu, so I am told.” Rook extended a hand to him. “How about it? Will you accept my offer?”

“Well…” Eric lowered his sunglasses a smidge, flashing a glimpse of his deep-set amethyst eyes. “You’re an odd fellow, but I can tell you mean no harm and speak earnestly. And you’re my Vil’s vice dorm leader, his trusted confidant. I was worried that my presence might stir up a crowd, but I think it’s safe to put my faith in you.”

Rook dropped to a kneel, a loyal knight before a king. When he rose again, he lifted both arms and bent in deference.

“Suivez-moi.”

[citricacidprince]

I don't know if anyone already asked this question, but I need to get it out of my brain.

What do you imagine a meeting between the Stan twins from your version of Relativity Falls and the original Stan twins would be like? (before or after the Weirdmageddon, although I'm more curious about the after lol)

Oooough the idea of the Relativity Baby Stans meeting the OG Old Men Stans makes me wanna combussssst!!!

The possibilities!!! 💥💥💥

(I’ll be using full names for the OG twins (Stanley & Stanford) and nicknames for the Relativity twins (Lee & Ford) for the sake of consistency lmao)

If it’s pre-Weirdmageddon for both the OG show and Relatively falls I can imagine the Stan’s are having a great time while the Ford’s are also having a kinda fun time but it’s a little…

You see, if you thought Stanford was projecting with Dipper when he was trying to get him to stay in Gravity Falls, you can only IMAGINE how bad it’s gonna get when he meets Ford. Stanford would unintentionally make the Relativity twin’s bond even more strained because he would confirm everything Ford has been told by his teachers and his father, that he needs to be his own person and Lee is holding him back. On the cuter side I like to think Stanley would give Lee a sweet pep talk about not letting anyone push him around or let him feel belittled, then he’d teach Lee how to throw a mean left hook! Who says you can’t be your own father figure, hmm?

If it’s post-Weirdmageddon for the OG show but not Relativity Falls, the Stan boys, again, are having a great time, even more-so now that Stanley has this cool Sailor aesthetic going on for him! This time Stanford would very gently tell Ford that he shouldn’t listen to what anyone else says, especially their father. They don’t have anything to prove to anyone. And I think Ford would actually listen if it was Stanford telling him this. After all, who knows you better than yourself?

If it’s post-Weirdmageddon for Relativity Falls and not the OG show, good fucking luck separating the Relativity twins! They are attached at the hip and if Stanford ever tried to gently ease them apart Ford just might bite his arm! The entire thing is an extremely sore subject and even though Lee and Stanley are used to mean spirited jabs and back handed compliments, if Stanford even as so grumbles something slightly mean about Stanley or Lee under his breath Ford will not hesitate to explode on him. Lee always has to tell Ford that it’s alright while Stanley can’t help but find their attachment to each other sweet and nostalgic, something he really misses. Stanford can’t understand why Ford seems to be so protective over Lee, 10 times more than he was as a child, and the two refuse to talk about it. (Don’t worry Stanford, you’ll find out soon enough :] )

If it’s post-Weirdmageddon for both the OG show and Relativity Falls, then oooooh boy I wanna combust on the spot!!!!

I can so vividly see the older men lighting up at the younger versions of them, nostalgia and ‘Oh man were we really that small?’ running through both their minds as they happily chat with the cute little goobers. Then I can see the horror on Stanley and Stanford’s faces when they realize these two kids had to go through the same twin swap and subsequent mind wipe they had to go through. They’re just little kids, just a little older than Mabel and Dipper, they didn’t deserve that.

When Ford’s hands shake and he can’t stop tears from falling down his round cheeks when he gets flashes to himself holding the memory gun to his brother’s head, Stanley’s the one to gently cover the kid’s polydactyl hands with his own and grumble soft comforting words until the kid is about to fall asleep from how hard he was crying.

When Lee has a huge lapse in memory and takes a while to remember once again, Stanford holds Lee close to his chest and isn’t able to stop silent tears from falling down his face. The silent tears only get worse when Lee, despite not even able to remember who Stanford is at the moment, tries to comfort and wipe away the older man’s tears.

These boys make me soooo ill I wanna combust :]

[rotshi]

sonadow brainrot yappings

Sonadow Twitter/Tiktok Takover:

I asked some questions to test my luck but ah well. at least i dont have to look both ways ten times the next time i cross the street. BUT oml what the hell was their problem? The amount of times my jaw dropped ??? Like Ayooo? "Go off king"???? Are you his queen???? "run laps around you"??? You keep it 'clean cut' to woo him????? "shopping partner"?????? You mean a fucking date???? Drawing each other unprompted????? Are you fucking kidding me?????? What the hell am i listening to? These fuckers got me exhausted. Like I woke up, listened to just 3 answers and was ready for a nap. Coffee flavored Ice cream MY HEARTTT!!!!!! (i wonder if i can get some coffee ice cream too) Sonic being like 'of course' when there's a mention of Shadow's caffeine addiction like he doesnt have a chilidog problem. They really are perfect for each other. Im surprised Shadow didn't say anything about it. Nah they did all this fruity shit on their OWN ACCORD! THEY DID IT THEMSELVES they did it themselves they did it themselves. Them influencing each other to the point where their opinions change on a FUCKING DIME: sonic: I dont have an opinion on orbot shadow: he sucks sonic: he sucks shadow: hes the best sonic: hes the best They really are so obsessed with each other it's concerning. If it were up to them they would spend their whole lives 'competing'. And these 'Competitions' 'Races' or whatever feel a lot like excuses to just be around each other. Oooooooooh their endless excuses. what is sonic's problem too? shadow opens up a smidge and the little blue bitch giggles. but i understand things had to be kept light for what theyre doing... i dont think sonic means to be... a little blue bitch. If they were alone i'd like to think sonic would be much more understanding and hear him out. But with possible kiddos listening in they couldn't get too deep into things. If it wasn't a 'Q&A Twitter/Tiktok' thing, and it was just them, I feel like they would talk all day and night. But they were getting to know each other and ahhh if was amazing. Hearing Shadow talk about himself and Sonic wanting to get to know him is the best and sweetest thing and all I was REALLY hoping for. Them just actually just sitting down and talking.

Deep thoughts:

Though I have been wondering what Shadow's beef with Sonic really boils down to. I highly doubt it but maybe Sonic reminds him more of Maria than he even wants to believe? Maybe at times he even sounds like her? Idk ??? How carefree and enthusiastic she was, helping shadow come out of his shell. IDK im a sonic noob !! He probably feels like this about a lot of people!

I can understand that there's more parallels with Maria and Amy than with Sonic and Amy. Putting myself in Shadow's shoes; I have a sister, I love like Shadow loves Maria. We are the best fucking friends. I can talk to her about ANYTHING. We're a team. But when it comes to finding a romantic partner, I dont want to look at my partner and just think of my sister lmao. But I would like a similar feeling. Comfortable, understanding, to have that team work, and able to talk about anything to them. And I think Sonic and Shadow have that if things were different I guess. Although Sonic doesn't always talk Shadow down from a decision, it does seem like they both can come to an agreement. "Two sides of the same coin". Like yeah, Sonic might've not been able to change Shadow's mind on going back to the Ark BUT I feel like Sonic probably wouldn't even try. I feel like he would probably even offer to join him for back up. IDK IDK IDK !!!! IM NEW TO SONIC STILL and all i've really seen of the two is some Game clips, some IDW stuff, and of course Sonic X and Sonic Prime. And some of the things my sister has told me. I got most of my IDW knowledge from her and pintrest ghhghg LiSTEN LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN I know sonadow will never be canon, I KNOW !!!! i accept that. Sonamy runs this bitch and Im not even mad and I dont even care. honest to god i do not care. I just like Sonadow and will die on this stupid hill SO HAPPILY. But also it would be so funny if they were to be canon one day. I would lose my fucking mind and throw up. so for my own sanity and health, im glad that theyre never gonna be a thing. im sorry, but im already half way to calling my doctor. i dont think i can handle an official kiss. It's just pure brainrot thinking about how their complicated relationship would work. Love isn't just as simple as 1+1 , this shit has the whole alphabet and the whole fuckin pi in there and it could all add up to 0. I'm solving a math problem for fun BECAUSE IM STUPID AND LIKE TO SUFFER ‼‼‼‼‼‼ But they said the same thing about Bubbline and Korra/Asami and look how that turned out. It would be funny but at the same time reality would probably shatter and sonadow would have to save it again- like my profile says, Im gay and like gay things. let me perish.

I'm honestly the biggest yapper. I go quiet, think about shit, and open up like a shaken up soda can.

TLDR; sonadow takeover made me explode

[the-himawari]

A3! Magazine Interview Translation - B’s-LOG March 2024 [Cover Boys Interview]

The true faces of today’s flourishing young actors

This month’s cover features Hyodo Kumon & Izumida Azami. Azami didn’t have any particular school he wanted to go to. So when Kumon invited over him to Tsukushi High School, the two became senior and junior. The two of them show close they are by walking to and from school and eating lunch on the rooftop together.

We bring you a newly written interview that provides a closer glimpse of their true faces.

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Q: Do you have anything that’s been important to you since childhood?

Kumon: Since childhood, huh~? Ah! I thought of something!

Azami: What is it?

Kumon: A home run ball from my favourite baseball player! One day when I was little, I was watching a game at the stadium. While I was cheering as hard as I could, it flew right by me and I caught it.

Azami: Oh, that’s pretty amazin’. That’s not something you can get no matter how many times you go.

Kumon: Exactly! Do you have anything like that, Azami?

Azami: I’ve… always had a cheek brush with me. It’s kinda like my good luck charm.

Kumon: Ooh, right. I know which one you’re talking about!

Azami: Yeah, I’ve used it on you before.

Q: Would you rather be called “cool” or “cute”?

Kumon: I’d definitely be happier being called cool! You’re the same right, Azami!?

Azami: If it’s between those two choices, then I guess it doesn’t really matter what you call me. But I don’t like it when people call me cute to tease me. I hope they'll quit doing that.

Kumon: Now that you mention it, Azuma-san calls you cute every now and then, right? Like it’s so cute and innocent how you immediately get embarrassed whenever you talk about love.

Azami: That’s why I keep tellin’ him to quit it.

Kumon: That doesn’t make you happy?

Azami: Azuma-san is totally just makin’ fun of me.

Kumon: Eh~? I don’t think he’s teasing you though. I think he genuinely means it.

Q: Tell us the truth. Are you actually a scaredy-cat?

Azami: Nah, not really.

Kumon: Me neither! Actually, Azami and I went to a haunted house together the other day!

Azami: Right, Kumon said he wanted to go to one outta nowhere.

Kumon: I thought it’d be interesting so I invited Azami and we went right away. That haunted house was loads of fun!

Azami: Well. I guess I’m glad I went since I could use their makeup as reference.

Kumon: Maybe I’ll go with Summer troupe next time!? Ah, I wonder if they’d come though…

Azami: It wouldn’t hurt to try invitin’ them. …I can’t say for sure that all the members would go though.

Q: How would you confess? In-person, by phone, or by LIME?

Azami: H-HUH!? Who the hell would answer that!!

Kumon: It’s fine, it’s fiiine! By the way, I’d do it face-to-face for sure! I’d like to see their face as I tell them and make sure I'm getting my feelings across properly.

Azami: …I see.

Kumon: C’mon, Azami. How about you?

Azami: I’m not gonna say. Lay off me! Get to the next question already!

Kumon: I sure wonder when we’re gonna get to hear Azami talk about this stuff~.

Q: When you’re on a date… would you hold hands, link arms, or do something else?

Azami: Another question like this? You gotta be kidding me!

Kumon: Now, now. Chill out, Azami! Considering the distance with my girlfriend… I guess I’d like to hold hands. But I bet both are out for Azami! So for him, it’d be “something else”?

Azami: Hey, why’re you answering for me without askin’?

Kumon: I knew you wouldn’t answer so I figured I’d say something for you!

Azami: This isn’t somethin’ you talk about with other people!

Kumon: You weren’t saying anything though. You gotta give an answer here! For the Azami in my mind, I don't think he’d be interested in doing PDA outside—or rather, I don’t think he’d be able to do it in the first place… Ah, you see, Azami’s a serious guy! But I’m sure there’s someone out there who’ll say they like that about you!

Azami: Uh, why am I being encouraged right now…?

Kumon:: Anywho, what do you really think? Did my answer hit it out of the park?

Azami: Urk, don’t fricken ask me! No comment!

---

[hogwartsstudentconfidential]

Dear Students,

Miss me? It's been awhile hasn't it. I've been building up the gossip as well as the announcements, thanks to all of the messages I've received from you all. Suck it Quibbler, bet nobody dms you.

Anywho let's get into our announcements for the week as well as congratulate Gryffindor on their win in quidditch this past weekend, as well as a big good luck to Ravenclaw when they go against Slytherin next week.

Of course in good Hogwarts fashion, Gryffindor will be hosting a celebratory party in the common room this weekend, all are invited so make sure to dress up and let the drama unfold ;).

On another note I have been alerted about a surprise exam professor Sprout is planning on assigning her students so make sure to study, but only after the party of course.

As everyone knows winter season is approaching quickly which means Madame Pomfrey will be packed with sick students. The woman is already stressed enough with you reckless gits so please wash your hands and cover your mouths this year.

Now onto everybody's favorite part of this newspaper, the gossip:

Onto relationships, Congratulations to Pandora Rosier and Lucius Malfoy on their new relationship, the two are very cute together. However, has anyone else noticed the amount of flirting Lucius Malfoy does with other girls? If I were Pandora I’d keep an eye on my man.

Now the amount of messages I've received about Emmeline and Mary being, and I quite “SO gay for each other” is honestly insane. I mean, it's so obvious to everyone but them they're in love. Did you see the way they were whispering and giggling to each other at the firework show? Mary couldn't keep her eyes off the girl.

Now onto James Potter. The star quidditch player and prankster is well known around Hogwarts of course as well as his beautiful girlfriend Hestia. However a little Birdy has told me the loving boyfriend might not be so loyal. A lot of people have been suspecting the boy is in love with another. He disappeared the night of the fireworks to go get “snacks” by himself, refusing company and the only other person missing besides himself was none other than Regulus Black.

I have even received an interesting direct message for Mr Potter I will send out after this of course.

I've also been alerted of a possible tension growing between Marlene and Hestia, my supplier lacked on what type of tension so you take your pick. Do you think it's romantic or are the two girls about to give Hogwarts the best fight of the century? Let me know what you think.

Now back to Pandora, it seems as though she's made an enemy? The girl was recently questioned about a kiss between her and Xenophilus Lovegood. The girl immediately denied the rumor, her own boyfriend standing up for her, but he wasn't the only one. Xenophilus Lovegood also stood up for the girl, I suppose he is her friend but could there be something more? Lucius himself has even spoken of concern for where the girl's heart lies. Could a love triangle be brewing?

Onto some more exciting news, James Potter is handing out invitations for his mother's Christmas ball. This wonderful event is sure to be nothing but magical so if you receive an invite consider yourself lucky.

Oh and Remus Lupin's middle name is John.

Now before I sign out I’d like to say a little something. The Quibbler may be fun for little facts about creatures but it's hardly anything if the spelling is incorrect. Xenophilus Lovegood, it's best if you check your spelling and check it twice.

Thank you for reading this week's copy of Hogwarts Confidential and I will see you all next time. 💋

@emmelineandhervans @wormy-loves-ch33se @james-the-amazing-potter @marls-mckinn0n @andromedashoax @little-king-official @severusprince-snape @the-queen-bellatrix @thehotteststarr @lifeofthe-barty @mary-mcdeal @looneymoonyy @lilyevansoffical @xeno-graphical @pandoras-nox @oxxen--free @cas-not-the-band @flowers-of-narcissus @alicethekindone @malfoy-lu @mystical-magical-me @hjonesworld

[honourablejester]

I am having a severe flavour problem with the new 5.5e warlocks. And I kinda saw it coming, but I also thought that maybe they’d do something about it before we got here. But, well. Apparently not.

My problem is this: taking up the warlock subclass at level 3 instead of level 1 has turned all warlocks, flavour-wise, into absolute idiots.

“Through occult ceremony, you have formed a pact with a mysterious entity to gain magical powers. The entity is a voice in the shadows—its identity unclear—but its boon to you is concrete: the ability to cast spells.” (PHB 2024)

You have explicitly and purposefully made a deal with something you don’t know the identity of.

Now. You could always play the warlock as having done that, if you wanted to play someone a bit reckless. But. It was an option, not baked into the class. You could also have met your patron any number of ways and decided how to deal with it, going into the pact knowingly and with foreknowledge of the potential consequences. Because you choose your subclass at level 1, your patron and your relationship with them was essentially your first decision as a warlock. So if you were in a pact with a devil, you had the chance to be knowingly in a pact with a devil. It was a choice you might have knowingly made.  

Here, though, your warlock put a phone call out into the void and won’t know for two more levels what exactly picked up on the other side. Which bakes a considerable amount of recklessness and frankly outright stupidity into the class concept.

Weirdly, both sorcerers and even clerics come out of this shift better, of the classes that used to get their subclasses at level 1. Sorcerer, it kind of makes sense, when the magic is in your blood regardless, that it just might take a while for the nature of the magic to become fully apparent. Sorcerers, by the nature of their lore, never had a choice what magic they possessed. It was always luck of the draw and the potential idiocy of their ancestors. And clerics, their subclass is a choice of domain, not patron, so they can still be devoted to their particular god from level 1, and just choose which aspect of them to exemplify at level 3. So clerics, even with the shift of timing, are still making more or less the same choices. Their god is still a conscious choice from the start.

But warlocks are now explicitly stated to be gambling on the nature of their patron for power.

Of course, you can just ignore that. You can say that your warlock fully knows what patron they’ve made a bargain with from the beginning, and it’s only at level 3 that the patron considers them valuable enough to start giving them identifiable, tailored abilities, or some similar justification. Before that, it’s something like a trial period, where they decide if you’re worth keeping on and having abilities that could link back to them. Ignoring the text and telling your own story is still (and always) an option.

I’m just faintly annoyed that they built the idiocy into the text. That the new Pact Magic feature outright states that you were dumb enough to make deals with mysterious voices from the beyond without the first clue who that voice might be.

I mean, warlocks are rather implied to be not the most sensible people from a standing start. But I'd like to have the option of my dumbass having made calculated risks, instead of just gambling blind, you know?

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

You've always been my favorite

Yandere!Jonathan Levy x f!reader

Cw/triggers: Stalking, possessive behavior, darkfic, Jonathan masturbates to porn, twisted thoughts, some dub-con/non-con thoughts on Jonathan's side, yandere themes.

A/n: I'm sorry for potentially traumatizing you.

Summary: Jonathan is your new professor. But he had his eyes on you for a long time.

After your professor has quit, a new one, Jonathan Levy was quick in replacement.

You knew Jonathan Levy. He was the one jumping in if some of your other professors were sick. Though you didn't think much of him, he on the other hand quickly began to like you a little too much, even for his own good. He became a bit attached to you to say the least.

Jonathan was the professor teaching most things, so he was the one you did see mostly during class.

"I hope you all are prepared for out big exam coming up in one hour." Jonathan said shortly after entering the room, not bothering to look if anyone is missing, placing his bag down beside his desk.

After he sat comfortable in his seat, adjusting his glasses, Jonathan looked around the class.

Two people were missing, but one of them called in sick, the other one still missing were you.

Just as Jonathan thought about the possibilities of what could be, the door opened and you stumbled in with a thermos in hand.

"You're late..." he said with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Sorry," you replied bluntly, "I've overslept a bit."

After you were back in your seat, Jonathan cleared his throat and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.

"Alright everybody, get comfy, get your books out if you haven't already and get prepared. I'll give you one hour."

Jonathan watched the class, his eyes however were fixed on you as he nonchalantly opened his book then started reading himself.

Throughout the hour, Jonathan threw occasional glances towards you, he liked seeing you concentrate, but even more when you pay attention to him.

When the time finally came to hand out his exams, he made sure you were the last one to receive it only so he could say good luck while being close to you without making himself look suspicious, especially not towards you.

Jonathan wondered how you were doing but had no doubt in your knowledge. He knew you could do well, and if not, he was there to help you.

After the exam was done and everyone handed them back to Jonathan, he overheard you and a friend talking about staying late for study in the library after class, his ears perked up and he had to stop himself from smiling.

When the class ended, Jonathan packed his things. He knew the library would ultimately close in 3 hours, and you would likely stay until the end. So he made his way into his office, open his laptop and just browse around. He even stalked your social media accounts.

Jonathan took his time to start correcting some of the exams, until he finally got everything together to make a leave but not before passing the library just as you and that one friend walked out.

Lucky for him, you two parted ways. Jonathan usually isn't one for stalking, but you were an exception for him. Though he already had an excuse made up in his mind if you did actually catch him.

While you walked, you were completely oblivious on Jonathan walking behind you at a good distance. He kept his head low and his hands in his pockets. Sure he knew where you lived but he wanted to make sure you'd arrive there safely. It would be a shame if something would happen to you.

By the time you arrived home, Jonathan thought about how he could rig your exam, just so he could see you more whether it would be some actual private tutoring or maybe after class, preferably alone. Oh how he would love that.

But he was a fair man, and wouldn't normally want to... abuse his job for... personal needs. But Jonathan was ready for a few exceptions.

Jonathan was ready to leave and call it a day, but not before looking back at your house, examining it from afar.

He didn't know much about break ins, but he could watch some tutorials online on how to do it professional. With a quick go to the darknet, he would surely find something...

As Jonathan arrived back home, he decided to correct those exams first so the boring part would be out of the way. He wasn't tired, if anything, he felt kind of energized.

Jonathan reviewed your exam at last, only so he could write down where you need most help and where you'd be okay. After the correcting was done, Jonathan went to his computer, firstly visiting his go-to porn site after a long and mostly boring day. But you weren't part of the boring part, you were always the highlight.

After browsing though cheap scripted and bad acting ones, he finally found a good looking one for a quick stress relief.

Unzipping his pants, he pulled his semi-hard cock out, working himself up with slow strokes while watching the video.

As the pleasure built up, he couldn't help but let his mind wander off to you, how you're always pay attention to him, not questioning his authority as your professor while also being his good student.

He stroked faster, spreading the leaking precum around the tip and shaft while tightening his fist. Jonathan knew he could just easily bend you over his desk and have his way with you however he pleased.

His thoughts even went as far as bending you over his knees and spanking you then fucking you stupid on his desk as punishment.

Regardless of what his mind came up with, it always ended up fucking you. Imagining things such as having you suck him off while he's in the middle of class, or eating you out while you're reading a goddamn book.

Closing his eyes and leaning back, listening to the moans of that girl in the video, imagining how this would be you moaning when he's having you. And he will have you one day.

As badly as Jonathan wanted to hold his impending orgasm back, thinking about all the nasty things he wanted to do to you he couldn't resist chasing his peak.

"Fuck, how good it would feel to have you wrapped around me," he squeezed his cock again "whether you like it or not."

Jonathan's breathing hitched before becoming heavier.

"Mmm, but I'm certain you would love getting fucked by me, even if you wouldn't admit it, baby."

With one last stroke he came hard, spilling his cum on the ground. He threw his head back against the chair, his cock softening in the grip of his fist.

After he was done, he shut down his computer, grabbed a wet rag and cleaned his cum off the ground before he went to bed.

The next day, his day passed quickly, mainly because most of his attention was drawn to you. You looked so happy with the results of your exam. You deserved it, being the good student that you are and the cherry on top, even unknown to you, being his favorite.

Jonathan had approached you, asking if you could stay for a couple minutes after class for a quick discussion about the results of your recent exam.

After everyone was out of the room, Jonathan leaned against the desk and crossed his arms while you were still sitting at your place.

"So," he started, uncrossing his arms to walk over to you, leaning down with his hands on the edges of your desk. "You did good mostly. But in order to pass this good, you have to be good in any of these, not just one. They all count."

You nodded. "I understand."

"And I'm not doing this to torture you, I hope you know that. I just want what's best for you." Jonathan said in a lower and slightly huskier tone, looking into your eyes with a serious expression.

He pushed himself off of your table, moving back to lean against his with his arms crossed again. "What I'm trying to say here is that I'm willing to help you."

"I know. But I hate asking people to throw their time away because of me. I will study more from now on, I promise." you replied.

Jonathan smiled. "That's good to hear." he knew you would try giving your best, but what kind of professor would he be if he wouldn't offer his help to his student?

"Well, you can go now, I'd hate to take your precious freetime away."

You gave a gentle smile, grabbing your bag and stood up. "Thanks Mr. Levy, have a good day." you said before making your leave.

After you've left, Jonathan let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

Back at his home, Jonathan had atleast half his mind being busy on you. He couldn't help it, why was he even acting like that? He didn't know either, but does he want to stop? Absolutely not.

Jonathan was even at the point where he didn't care about good senses anymore, that's how far he'd go for you.

What he did next was wait for nighttime to come, then he went out going to your house. Breaking into your home was relatively easy, but he still hoped you would be in deep slumber already.

It didn't take him long to find your bedroom, he sneaked into your room like a cat, already loving how he could just sneak in without you noticing anything.

He had to stop himself from wanting to search through some of your belongings, feeling way more bold now that he was in your house.

Of course his eyes were trained on you, he didn't want you to wake up and alert the whole neighborhood with your screaming.

Jonathan crouched down at your bedside, simply admiring your peaceful, unaware and beautiful sleeping face.

He reached out, pulling your covers off just a tiny bit, revealing more of you. Leaning in, he closed his eyes, enjoying the smell of everything you had on you. His fingertips glid carefully along the curve of your neck.

Jonathan felt so at peace with finally being so close to you, albeit if you're sleeping.

"It won't take long until you're mine, sweetheart."

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

Tags:

@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@krakenkitty @mooksmouse @klillaah @faretheeoscar @alexxavicry

Wanna get tagged?

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi Nalyra, how are you? I hope you’re having a great day.

I only joined the iwtv fandom after s2 aired and I’m so happy I found it. I am however very confused by the level of Lestat hate though. I understand that 1x05 was a big deal for the fandom. What I don’t understand is how they’re still holding onto that but can ignore everything Armand stands for and has done. The Lestat hate also spills over into downplaying Sam’s performance which is maddening. I should’ve know, I’ve been on this hell site for way too long. The obsession with Armand in this fandom is just so huge (He killed Claudia, brainwashed and emotionally manipulated Louis for 80 years, no?) I don’t mean that I want everyone to hate Armand. I just feel like I missed something joining the fandom so late. (I’m strictly talking show here)

I thought I’d ask your insight cause I love reading your answers and take on things.

Hey nonny,

so... the way I see it, the very long hiatus between s1 and s2 made parts of the fandom believe that Lestat is the "big bad abuser white demon™"... because 1x05 and the "we had to kill Lestat" is what stuck in people's brains, and was left to fester for almost two years. People who doubted the tale were accused of being racists and abuse apologists, people who pointed out that Loumand might not be the big true romance the same.

The official podcast host called Armand "so much more healthy" for Louis, and some people took that for the truth, and not for the opinion of someone (who had also obviously not read the books). They literally ignore what Armand did for decades, choosing to go on and on about the big bad abuser, and "patriarchal domination", as they have been fed by the tale, never ever taking the step back to look at the tale, and that we know that it has been tinkered with, as Assad called it.

Hating Lestat was seen as the morally correct response, and certain people reflected that belief unto other fans, accusing them of what they faulted the fictional characters for.

This need to morally justify liking or watching is relatively recent in fandom and it is extremely futile for the VC and therefore IWTV.

They‘re all terrible and monsters by our standards.

Giving a more nuanced portrait of Lestat as built on the books brought me a lot of hate and accusations on my fics.

Certain parts of the fandom have also convinced themselves that the show is not at all based on the books, despite the show returning to all emotional main points, and the writers and creators posting their tagged books for all to see.

They have convinced themselves that Lestat, the main character of the VC, will not be that, but will be the abuser throughout, portrayed to be the antagonist.

To be honest, I wish them good luck.

You... are coming in to a more complete picture, and S3 will then add more to it still.

And I'm glad for it!

I am glad that the fans coming in after s2 might be more... chill about some things, because some things have already been clarified.

I hope they are.

I‘m glad you enjoy it here 🥰

I would advise to block freely, and to ... keep the long hiatus in mind, and where this came from, maybe. It might be easier to understand.

As it is, and going by the s3 trailer, and what the writers posted, and what has been stated already.... well, they are keeping quite close to the books.

And with that the very thing Rolin Jones has already stated will happen - namely Lestat taking (quote!) “the show hostage“ - and (quote!!) “setting the story straight“.

Sam and Jacob are co-leads after all, the show built on Loustat.

Some people seem to love to forget that.

[alexanderwales]

Save the Cat is a snappy read, and only 8 chapters, so I'm just doing a liveblog of them unless I get bored or distracted.

Chapter one is about the pitch, the logline, the title, what you put on a poster and how you sell it. It doesn't necessarily come first, but I get the sense that for Snyder this would be his preferred way of doing it. (A logline is just the one-sentence "what is it about" that you use to sell people on the idea.)

Snyder says that writing loglines is awful, soul-crushing work, and I agree there. I'm awful at it. But Snyder also says that if you don't have a good logline, maybe there's something wrong with your movie, and that I don't agree with.

I think there's a fairly wide set of stories that have good, snappy, easy loglines, and are also good stories. But I think there are other stories that are good stories and don't have a great way to pitch them. The lack of a good pitch can exist for a lot of reasons, and sometimes it's just that it's more complex than can be summed up in a single sentence, or even a handful of sentences. I think in practice writers will often dumb down the story for the logline, lying about what's contained within, just to make sure that it will sell, that people will want to know what's inside.

One of the other main points of the chapter is that a good logline has irony to it, a twist inherent in the title, some kind of thematic tension, and I disagree with that too, maybe not from the standpoint of selling a script, but from the standpoint of storytelling.

Why does everything have to have an irony to it? Why does everything have to have a twist? Why can't we have stories that are just well-told explorations of conflict and character? It's like at some point people decided that they only wanted Distinct Pieces of Media, so if you wanted to tell a story that's been told before, something with its own unique texture, you're just shit out of luck.

I find this all the more irritating because often the twist/irony/idea/pitch is good, and then the execution is shit, and then people don't want that idea again. It's not like you can say "like that thing that flopped, but good".

Blake Snyder is trying to tell good stories, but he's also trying to sell stories, and this is a good thing for authors to know how to do. I accept this. I just don't like it.

So as a writing exercise, here are some loglines for things I've written, without the amount of care and polish and revision that a good logline needs:

Worth the Candle - A teenaged dungeonmaster gets thrust into the worlds he's created, where his recently deceased friend is a historical figure. (This is bad, not short and snappy enough.)

This Used to be About Dungeons - Five young adults team up to delve dungeons and bake pies. (I don't know man, I said I was bad at this.)

Thresholder - A man travels through portals to different worlds and genres, gathering powers and skills as he fights other people just like him.

Shadows of the Limelight - In a world where fame gives you power, a fanboy saves the life of the world's greatest hero in full view of the public.

The Dark Wizard of Donkerk - An orphan raised by two dark wizards adventures north with a wayward princess.

Millennial Scarlet - A gig-economy demon hunter grapples with the death of his mother and the plans she set up before she passed.

Alright, I found that less soul-sucking than usual, but I don't think that these are the oiled, muscular, perfectly toned and smiling loglines that are necessary to sell, just to be clear. The marketing unit of written fiction is not really the logline, though that helps, it's the blurb, and I am equally awful at writing those. I just don't agree with Blake Snyder that a blurb or logline coming poorly is a sign that you don't know the story.

[nightlyrequiem]

How would Valeria deal with a significant other who is a pop star? How would the two navigate a relationship like that considering that one of them is in the spotlight?

Oh there is lots of potential for angst here.... but I have to reel myself back and keep things happy.

What an interesting dynamic too. In the real world, I feel like Popstar!Reader would be in hot water for dating such an awful person.

Valeria x Popstar!Reader

I don't see Valeria as the type to listen to pop. A few songs here and there but I think she prefers 90s rap or even dramatic classical music. She had heard some of your songs playing on the radio and liked them enough to give your name a little search. She found you pretty. You had a few scandals, as comes with the job. The music industry is cruel after all.

Maybe it was drug related, relationship drama, you being 'rude' to paparazzi even though you were only standing up for yourself. Her interest in you starts off as not much. She likes some of your music and thinks you're pretty but then she slowly starts lurking about on your socials. She doesn't follow you but she regularly checks to see if you've made a new post or a new story. Then she starts saving pictures of you. Any kind that catches her eye but a lot of them are you in more revealing outfits.

She feels frustration and jealousy whenever she sees you with friends. You posted one story where you were side hugging some guy and she was in a foul mood all day. She firmly believes that if you and her had met that she'd have a chance with you.

And meet you she did! Maybe you live in Mexico or maybe you're on tout there. Either way, by some stroke of luck you wind up in Las Almas. You were at a club, and Valeria was also at the club. The rest is history.

Valeria did in fact have a chance. Surprising to no one really. She is one fine specimen. After a few drinks you two ended up in bed together. it turned from a one night stand into something more.

It wasn't like she thought though. You're famous. You preform. You're a goddamn popstar. Which means you're on social media a lot. Which means you receive a lot of attention. You have a lot of people in your DMs. Not that you really see or answer them. There's just too many for you to do that. But Valeria sees them. You had also posted a story of the two of you cuddled up on the couch. Now everyone wants to know who she is. What she does, and she doesn't like that so much. It's not good for her line of work after all.

It's also a bit of issue for you. Cancel culture isn't real and I stand by that, but some people are unnaturally obsessive and critical of everything a celebrity (Specifically women) does. See Chappel Roan. You feel nervous that someone will somehow figure out what Valeria does for a living.

There's also the matter of you leaving constantly. Going off on trips and tours. It puts a bit of strain on the relationship. Valeria is irrationally worried that you're cheating on her. You've come to an agreement though. Every night, after every show you either call her or send her a text. Just to make sure you two are communicating. Sometimes the time zones are too different and one of you is asleep by the time the other responds but it works. You also send her videos. Of the crowds or of you in your hotel room. Sometimes though, she��ll join you. Not on stage of course but she’ll put on a hat and attend a concert or two to support you. Amazed at how monolithic you seem.

You two also decided that you won't post Valeria at all. and when you talk about her you have to be as vague as possible. For the safety of both of you.

In short, it’s kind of difficult for you two. There’s a lot of issues that need to be resolved but Valeria likes you enough to actually fix them with you.

[alex-thegiraffeboyy]

Chapter 6: Serendipidy

Bewitched Masterlist

Summary: They meet after 7 years. But they swear that everything is Serendipidy

Words: 2.1k

Warning: Constantly changes of POV's

N/A: I'm trying to find ways to get through the end of Arcane. Expect continuous updates.💕

Serendipidy: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.

Since Violet left Stillwater there has been a strange feeling in her chest. A feeling she can't put a name to.

She walks beside the enforcer, Caitlyn, for a while before she starts running and jumping across the rooftops of the place where she grew up. It's at that moment that she feels that tug in her chest again, and that's when it hits her. She's excited, but at the same time she feels terribly desolate and anxious. She feels sad and melancholy.

She passes by streets she used to frequent and realizes how much things have changed. Stalls that used to be there in her childhood are now closed or new stores take their place. She feels like she doesn't recognize anything even though she knows where she is.

She feels like a stranger in her own home.

🦋

The day Vi returned to the Lanes you can sense that something is going on. But you don't know what.

It's like a tingling in the back of your neck, a dull sound throbbing in your ears. But you don't think much of it, you have better things to worry about than this.

So you keep busy, as usual. You stop by the kitchen as you do every morning to help make breakfast for everyone, you stand there for a while and chat with people as they arrive, and when you see Ekko arrive with Scar you join them to sit down for breakfast at one of the tables while they coordinate for the day's activities.

"I'm going to make rounds today to oversee how everything is going after the raid on the ship last week" Ekko commented as he ate, looking at the two of you one at a time. He paused for a moment at you, noticing that you seemed distracted, you hadn't touched your food much, that tingle still nagging at the back of your neck, making your stomach churn "You come with me?"

You shake your head sideways, not turning to look at him, you didn't dare "Nope, I have things to check and reorganize in the warehouse. My next monitoring season out of the tree is coming up, so I have to know how much I have to earn and bring when I get back" you decide to take a bite of your food after a moment, you're not very hungry, but you won't waste that food "Besides, I promised Elma I'd help her with the new portraits on the mural".

After a while the three of you say goodbye and part ways, each going to their respective places.

But as you make your way to the mural you realize something. You almost didn't see it, almost stepped on it, in fact. But that tingle made you look at just the right moment. A four-leaf clover.

You stared at it for a few seconds, remembering when you used to look for them with Powder, a healthy competition between sisters. You almost always found them, but you always gave them to Powder "So Mylo can't tell you that you're unlucky" you used to tell her. That's why Vi sometimes teased you by call you that you were her good luck charm. But you didn't get too carried away with that memory, so you shook your head and kept walking.

🦋

After a few laps around undercity and stopping to eat and get information at Jericho's she headed with the grumpy enforcer to the brothel. There Babette filled her in on the current situation on the Lanes and offered her information on where she could find Sevika.

Vi thanked and hesitated for a moment, wrung her hands against each other nervously. She didn't need to ask, Babette was going to tell her anyway.

"She's fine," Babette tells her in a soft tone, fearing that if she spoke too loudly it might make Vi snap.

"What?" Babette responded with your name softly, watching as the girl in front of her took a shaky breath before daring to ask more. "Do you know anything about her, do you know where I can find her?" The woman could only shake her head.

"She stops here from time to time to drop off some things for me to defend the girls and the business. She told me she's coming next week. I don't know where she lives, but I know you're not going to find her on the streets of Zaun" And though Babette was tempted to tell her that there were a few years you worked for her, she knew that was not for her to tell her. That was your decision.

Violet, now more hopeful than before, thanks Babette and gets up from the couch to walk to the person who will lead her to the person who should provide her with the information she needs.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees some lucky dimes. And only then she decide to believe that it will bring her luck. Because remember that for you this kind of thing has always been important.

Maybe it will help her get to you.

🦋

That tingling keeps going throughout the morning and early afternoon. You scratch a couple of times and start to think you might get sick.

You hope you're wrong.

Although you have to admit that painting helps. It makes your head go quiet for a while. It also helps with that incessant tingling and anxious feeling.

Ekko stops by to say goodbye before leaving the lair. You wish him luck and give him a hug, and before he can take two steps towards the exit you stop him, remembering the clover you saw that morning. You run over to the spot and grab it from the floor before returning to your brother, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

"I know you don't need it, but it never hurts" Ekko shakes his head, a smile on his lips as he says goodbye to you again, this time for real.

Something tells you it's going to be an interesting afternoon.

🦋

At that moment, as she bleeds out, Violet sees you again in her hallucinations. She sees you playing with her sister and wandering around what was once her home.

She still remembers the time she brought you here. She remembers telling you about what her life was like then as she held your hand tightly, keeping from crying and how you held her and hugged her when she eventually broke down. She remembers your warmth and the gentleness and softness with which you held her.

God, she wishes you were there to hold her hand at that moment. She misses you so much

🦋

Ekko expected almost anything after spending 7 years on this.

Nothing could have prepared him for meeting a friend he thought was dead. The same one who found herself with an executioner and Jinx.

Nothing good could be happening, but he decided to give her a chance. He owed it to her and to himself.

But most of all to his sister.

So he puts bags over Vi and the enforcer's heads and leads them to the firelights' lair. He is grateful that you are not in sight, imagine you're still checking things out in the hold.

His companions take them to a secluded room while he takes a moment to breathe. He wants to tell you so badly... But he doesn't want to get your hopes up if Vi has decided on a different side. So he keeps silent. Soon one of his companions lets him know that they've both woken up, so he gives the go-ahead. He takes a big breath of air and lets it out slowly, just as you have taught him since he was a child. He puts his mask back on as he hears footsteps approaching.

On your side things weren't much better. Since a few minutes ago that tingling had become more intense, it had been there for so long that it was almost starting to overstimulate you.

You tried to breathe as you normally did, but nothing seemed to want to calm that sensation. Something was happening, or so your body wanted you to believe. You hate anxiety with all your heart.

So you resort to what has served you best all these years. Busyness. You go through and count supply by supply, item by item and put them on lists. You give instructions and ask question after question. You rearrange and rearrange, you do everything you can so that eventually your anxiety will subside and leave you alone. But your frustration only gets bigger and bigger when you realize it's still there, haunting you.

Meanwhile Ekko was talking to Vi, who after having ironed out the kinks and doled out some affection had worked up enough courage to ask about you.

"I knew you'd ask that" he replies looking at her with a smirk. So he opens the door and waits for her to adjust to the light. He tells her a bit about how you both found this place. Though of course he leaves out a few things (only because he knows it's up to you whether you want her to know or not). He shows her a few things as they walk, keeping up a light conversation as they go along.

And Violet can't pretend she's not anxious. Her hands clasp against each other every so often. Her smile trembles a little and her eyes move to everything and nothing. A warm feeling stirring in her chest.

And the butterflies. The ones she thought were already dead because they hadn't fluttered for so long, start fluttering all over her system, making her feel like she's 15 again. Reminding her of all the times she went looking for you at Benzo's to confess how she's loved you from the start, only to take a step back. Every time.

But not this time.

Finally Ekko stops in front of a thick metal door. He lets out a sigh before looking at it. "It may be a bit difficult. I ask you to be patient."

Vi nods slowly, feeling even more nervous. Ekko reaches into his pocket and pulls out the clover you gave him that morning, handing it to Vi. "A little luck never hurts, don't you think?"

Vi doesn't need to ask. She knows you found it, you've always had a knack for that. Then, slowly but surely, Ekko opens the metal door, lets the girl in, then goes in himself and closes it.

He greets a couple of people and gestures for them to come out. Violet's eyes move from side to side, looking for you.

You, on the other hand, don't hear the door open, too busy organizing. You move from side to side, unable to stand still. What you do feel is that the tingling suddenly runs through your whole body before it stops. You crouch for a moment between the boxes, feeling relief for the first time that day.

Ekko pulls out a last couple of people while Vi stands paralyzed, only one person is left at the end of the room, among some boxes and stacked objects. She almost doesn't notice you there, crouching down, massaging your neck. She only catches a glimpse of your hair, as messy as she remembers it. But maybe a little longer.

"Everything okay over there Sunny?" Vi can feel the air attacking in her throat as she hears the sound of your tired laughter.

"Kinda tired, but I'm better" you reply in a tired voice as you stand up and stretch your body. Vi can feel her heart racing as her eyes begin to sting.

A sob threatens to come from her throat, but Violet forces herself to keep her mouth shut. Her hands clench into fists as she watches you turn toward them.

"Remember that discomfort I told you I had in the morning? A while ago it stopped and-" you quickly shut your mouth when you see a pink-haired girl crying in front of you. Your heart races as you see the strong resemblance, but you don't allow yourself to hope. "Ekko... What's-?"

Vi makes a crooked smile "Hey Sunshine" she manages to whisper with a broken voice.

Your eyes start to sting. No one here calls you like that. Everyone knows you by your first name or as Sunny (this last one is only with Ekko and some friends). You never let anyone else call you Sunshine. You couldn't stand it. So when you heard it...

"Violet?"

Your suspicions come true.

Vi lets out a small laugh combined with a sob, nodding as she walks towards you.

You bring your hands to your mouth as a loud sob escapes your lips, shaking your head. "No... You're not... You can't..."

Vi quickly finishes reaching up to you and holds you against her. A firm but delicate grip. You too wrap your arms around her clinging to her jacket. The crying from both of you getting louder.

"I missed you so much" Vi manages to utter between sobs. You, on the other hand, feel unable to speak, so you just nod into the hollow of her neck.

Time seems to stand still when you both finally hold each other in your arms.

Four-leaf clovers, lucky dimes and cosmic coincidences.

But they swear it's a coincidence.

The best coincidence of their lives. Finding each other again.