#replying from my phone is hell

[queer-omens-in-the-archives]

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[siobhanromee]

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[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[fingertipsmp3]

Just sitting here eating breadsticks in the calm before the storm tbh

[mommynott]

Thin Ice

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Your friends drag you to a hockey game, but halfway through you lock eyes with Theo. You can’t help but feel a strong pull toward him. Deciding to shoot your shot with the player.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, Chars 18+, Hockey AU, flirting, tons of tension, explicit language, hockey!theo, dom!theo

A/N: Starting this series for my babe @amiableness I hope you enjoy it because this is just the start! Also BIG shoutout to my girl @westcanaan82 for the hockey!theo render. Definitely go Check out her page because she makes me DROOOOL

The arena was packed, and the noise was overwhelming as you sat in your seat, begrudgingly dragged there by your friends. You were scrolling through your phone, totally uninterested in the game unfolding before you.

But then… it seemed out of nowhere. A tall and muscular figure on the ice caught your attention. Fuck he’s hot. It was player number 13, Theo, whose piercing eyes were fixed on you through his helmet.

You felt a smirk growing on your lips before he nodded his head up at you and skated along the ice. Shuffling a puck with his hockey stick with ease. The game going on. Fuck maybe this game isn’t too boring. You held your phone in your hand but your gaze settled on him on the ice. Suddenly gaining an interest in this sport.

After he shot a puck into the goal he pumped his fist in the air but you swore he looked over at you. Throwing you a flirty wink. And trust me, he fucking did. At this point, Theodore was trying to show off for you. Hoping he would get your attention. Craving your attention.

The game ended, and his team had won the match. But after all the eyefucking you two did you wanted to stay back in hopes to see that same player. “I’ll catch up with you guys later!” Your friends gave you a knowing look while they walked out. You slowly moved around the now quiet arena.

A few minutes later, you started to feel defeated, thinking he must’ve left but that’s when you heard a low and deep Italian accent. “I noticed you in the crowd…Seemed to be pretty glued to that phone of yours.”

Bright cherry red painted across your cheeks as you turned around. Quickly tucking your phone away in your purse, you gave the hockey player a small sheepish smile. “Uh…Yeah, sorry…It’s just not really my thing I guess.”

But when your gaze settled upon the player, he wasn’t in the same gear from on the ice. Oh no. he was now in a tight under-armor top, showing off his muscular and toned torso along with a pair of black sweatpants. Freshly out of the shower, his brown locks clung to his forehead. The smell of his body wash was rich and intoxicating as it wafted all around you. Fuck me.

“Not your thing, huh? What is your thing then?”

Theo asked, his taunting tone hinting with flirtatiousness. Feeling the way your heart skipped from his words. His deep voice. Fucking hell. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers anxiously playing with the rings you wore. “I don’t know…Reading…Movies.”

Replying to the Italian, he ran a hand through his wavy hair, slicking it back and giving you a charming smile. “A reader. Interesting….” Theodore said in the same teasing tone before sticking out his hand and you matched him, giving your own and shaking it. The second your hands met, a spark pulsated through your body.

“Nott. Theodore Nott. But you can call me Theo, Cara.”

The charming accent rolled off his tongue smoothly as you both exchanged names. You crossed your arms over your chest, shifting your weight to one leg. Bringing your confidence out. Something you always had. “Anyways…What’s interesting about me reading?” You asked, giving him a bratty little grin.

Theo cocked an eyebrow, scoffing under his breath as he took a step before you. Eyeing you up and down fully. “Ah, I’m not sure. Just interesting…What do you like to read?” He questioned as he casually leaned closer toward you.

You tried to focus but his voice, his words were so smooth it sent little shivers down your spine. "Umm… mostly romance— Stuff like that." You mentally chastised yourself for sounding so fucking cliche. He seemed very interested in you…Maybe even so much so that you could get some hockey player action.

Theo gave you a lazy smile and your heart fluttered, feeling the tension building between you both. "Romance, huh? That’s fitting." You raised an eyebrow, confused. What the fuck was he on about? “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, leaning even closer towards you. “You look like the romantic type….Soft…sweet— Y’know?.” Your cheeks burned again. Was he flirting with you? This couldn’t possibly be real. This was something out of the novels you’d read.

“Oh— Thanks I guess?” A sea of giggles freed from your lush lips. The same ones Theo’s eyes were burning into now. He stalked toward you as you walked back until you were pinned against the white brick wall of the ice rink.

He carefully took a strand of your hair, wrapping it around his pointer finger while his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “Can I get the pretty girl's number, hm?” He asked, remaining not only charming but… cocky. Drawing you to him even more.

It seemed that your confidence exuded his own to creep out. But fuck did you like it. A confident man like this? Damn. “Huh…I’m not sure. Can you?” Teasing him right back you subtly bit your lower lip to fight back the giggles that wanted to escape from within.

“Fuckin’ tease. Isn’t that right?”

Theodore now pinned both of his hands above your head, practically towering over your tiny frame. “Perhaps just a little bit…” Breathing out your words, your gaze danced along with his ocean eyes. Feeling your heart thump hard against your chest.

“I like a tease…A challenge…” His tone now held something of mischief, giving him a different vibe. And fuck, your whole body was fucking feeling it. “Yeah?” You asked, bringing out more of your sultry tone, keeping your lips slightly parted as you glanced down to his own.

That was it. Theo was going to come in hot. Make his move. Smash his lips to yours. But just as he was millimeters away from ravishing you a loud shout was heard. “—Nott! Back in the locker room!” His fucking coach. What a cock block. Theo rolled his eyes and cursed in Italian under his breath.

“We aren’t finished here…” He replied to you lowly, throwing up his pointer finger to his coach. He reached into his pocket. Pulling out a pen and taking your arm. Feeling the tickle of his scribbling, He wrote something on it as you sat there dumbfounded.

Once he was done, you scanned over your forearm. In sloppy handwriting was written his number followed by “Text me, Tesoro ;)” giggling at his little winky face as you nodded your head.

With that, he walked off with his coach to the locker room. That night you got home thinking of everything and anything that could have happened if his damn trainer didn’t interrupt you two. That’s when you decided to send him a flirty yet risky text…

Ahhhh the start of hockey!theo 🏒🥅⛸️

Really hope y’all enjoyed im too excited to continue on with this au! ATP I have so many and STILL have some In the back of my mind help lol

As always asks and requests are open my sweet peas 💋

Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I don’t know if I’m terminally online (I haven’t gotten out much all winter tbh) or if I just get stressed about online “debates”, but whoever said that “phones never appear in our dreams” is wrong. I woke up twice thinking someone replied to a comment I made yesterday with something weird, only to realize that I had not actually grabbed my phone off my nightstand, checked it, and then fallen asleep again

[femonologue]

Many years ago, I was wandering around downtown Ottawa with my best friend. We ran into a friend of his who offered us some hash (it sucked), then said there was a really good house party nearby if we wanted to go. We were like, yeah, sure. So that's how we ended up at some completely fucking random person's house.

I look around to ask if my friend knows anyone here and he's simply gone, as is his friend. And this isn't some red solo cup hangout; this is a party. There's people counting out pills on the kitchen counter. I am clearly neither as cool nor as drug-savvy as the kitchen people, so I back away and instead wander aimlessly into the living room, which seems to give off more of a chill vibe.

A bunch of people are seated in a circle on the floor. One of them is fiddling with a big wad of newspaper or something. A really cute grunge girl with piercings and tattoos scoots aside to make room for me, so I sit down.

"What's that," I ask her, gesturing at the newspaper wad.

She gets a really big smile on her face. You know the smile. It's the I'm About To Watch This Innocent Soul Get High As Fuck smile. "You've never smoked a tulip?"

"What's a tulip?" I ask.

"It's like if a joint was also a bong," she replies. "You gotta try it."

"Alright," I reply, a little uncertainly. This will not be my first encounter with weed. I am more comfortable with the janky newspaper bong than I am with whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. Besides, this girl is really cute and I would like to have a friend here now that my existing friend has turned into vapor or been transported to the Upside-Down or whatever the hell happened to him.

I watch as one person holds the newspaper joint-bong upright and holds a lighter over the top while another gets beneath it, tilting their head back to take a puff. Apparently smoking this Cheech & Chong monstrosity is a two-person job.

"Oh," I say, looking at the fist-sized knob at the top of the wonky newspaper joint. "Yeah, it does kinda look like a tulip." Grunge girl smiles at me.

I watch as the tulip is passed around the circle, along with the lighter, and hits are cooperatively taken. It reaches grunge girl, who takes a huge puff and holds it for an extended moment before exhaling an impressive blast of smoke. She smiles expectantly and holds the tulip up for me, preparing to spark the gigantic meteor of dank that makes up its tip. By this point I have completely forgotten about my missing friend. I only care about making a good impression on grunge girl. I tilt my head back and hit the tulip like a smokestack.

It is the following morning. I am sleeping between a couch and a wall. I'm not positive that this is the same house I was just in. My memories are gone. Someone is yelling at me: "dude! Dude! Wake up, dude!"

I sit up. My mouth tastes like cigarettes. I do not smoke cigarettes. "Wha," I ask the yelling man, who I am quite confident I have never met before in my life.

"We're going on a quest," he tells me, gravely. "You have to come with us."

I look around. Neither my friend nor his friend are anywhere in sight. I also do not see grunge girl anywhere. I shrug helplessly. "Okay."

We embark from this house. I learn that the destination of this quest is Tim Horton's. This is a relief to me, as coffee and a donut sounds really fucking good right now. Somehow, the route to Tim Horton's takes us past the Governor-General's residence, which everyone else in the group loudly heckles on the way past. I do not know what the Governor-General has done to raise their ire, nor do I particularly care. I trudge along with my hands in my pockets, pleased to note that I still have my wallet, phone, and keys. I fervently wish that I could remember anything about last night. Maybe I talked to grunge girl. Maybe she's why my mouth tastes like cigarettes. The tulip tasted nothing like cigarettes.

I am asked about my politics. I voice my frustrations with corporate corruption, the pay-to-win electoral system, the lack of transparency and accountability. This is met with great approval. The guy who was yelling at me claps me on the back. I get the impression that we became friends last night. I don't recognize his face. I do not know his name and he definitely does not know mine. I behave as though we're friends anyway. We are comrades on a quest.

By the time we make it to Tim Hortons, the gaggle of stoners I'm walking with have all run out of energy and/or attention span. People order snacks and break away in pairs or solo, to call for rides or plan the day's events or just vegetate and wait for the drugs to leave their systems. I look around and find that my nameless friend has also gone to the Upside-Down. As I wash the cigarette taste out of my mouth with coffee, I unsuccessfully try to remember whether I saw grunge girl smoking tobacco at any point. I remember nothing. That tulip was so fucking powerful that it instantly sent me a whole day forward in time.

Alone in the city, I try to call my best friend and get no answer. I walk to the nearest bus stop, catch a bus most of the way home, and call up my parents to ask for a ride back. They ask where my friend is. I tell them that I have no idea; we went to a house party and I don't remember anything else.

When they pick me up from the bus station, they ask me some very safe, nonspecific questions, and seem to relax when I describe what little I can remember. It isn't until years later that I realize they were probably terrified I'd gotten rufied or something, and were so relieved to learn otherwise that they didn't even bother chiding me for smoking myself unconscious in an effort to impress a strange woman. In any case, they were probably happy to find out that I did, in fact, like girls; I suspect they had been privately wondering whether I was gay.

After getting home, I finally manage to get my best friend to answer his phone. I discover that he tried the kitchen pills, spent most of the night crossing the entire city on foot, and crashed at his cousin's house. He sounds like shit. I tell him that he should have tried the tulip, instead. He fervently agrees with me.

I never see grunge girl again.

That's okay, though. She got to see a clueless stranger get fucked the entire way up on some ungodly strain of giga-weed, and I got smiled at by a cute girl, and then I got to go on a quest. Wherever grunge girl is, I hope she's happy. I hope she's smoking the fattest fucking blunt and smiling as some kid passes out behind a couch.

[parkersbliss]

you lock the 141 outside your house (I know my rights tiktok)

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x american!female reader 

synopsis: you lock them out of your (their?) house, claiming you "know your rights." based on a tiktok trend with soldiers.

warnings: none just fluff and humor :)))

a/n: I wrote this in like an hour and I think it's the funniest thing EVER thanks

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Ghost: 

You watch as your boyfriend gets out of his truck in the driveway. He grabs his bag from the passenger seat and makes his way to the front door, a smile twitching under his mask at the sight of you waiting for him. 

Just as he steps to the porch, you close the door and lock it. “I know my third amendment rights!”

Ghost stops at the door, dropping his bag. Rights? What were you talking about? “Your what?” 

“No Soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner,” You reply, reading off your phone. 

Ghost sighs. Third amendment? Of course, the one American he dates is the one that has them all memorized. You could probably recite them in your sleep. Patriotism, or whatever. Which makes zero sense. You were living with him in Manchester. If all went well and you got married, he was making sure he changed your status to British. 

“You fucking Americans.” He grabs the key from his bag, going to unlock the door only to find you locking it. “Are you serious?”

You show your phone at him through the glass, the third amendment displayed on a Google search. He stares back at you from his mask, unamused. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters. 

You giggle from behind the door and give him a few more minutes before going to unlock it. You knew Simon’s limits. You only needed a few seconds of fun anyway, but by the time you unlock it, he’s gone. 

“Simon?” You call out, poking your head out the door and checking around the house. His truck was still there, so he didn’t turn back around. You don’t see any movements or even hear anything. Was he picked up by aliens? 

A thud sounds from behind you, and you yelp, shutting the door and turning around. 

Simon stands in front of you, arms crossed and his duffel bag on the floor.

“What the hell?” You said, looking him up and down. 

“I should be asking you that,” He retorts. “You should really lock your windows, love.” 

“Are you… did you climb through one?” 

“You locked me out.” 

“I went to unlock it!” 

“Third amendment rights, my arse.” He grabs your waist, pulling you towards him. “We’re in England.” 

You shrug, tracing up his arm. “Thought it was funny.” 

Simon just sighs. “Americans.” 

Gaz: 

“Oh, hell no!” You exclaim as Gaz approaches the door. “I know my third amendment rights.” The lock clicks. 

“No fucking way,” Gaz said, strolling up to the glass storm door. 

“No soldiers in this home.” 

He stares at you, his hands on his hips and that signature scowl on his face. There was no way he was coming home to this bullshit right now. “Open the door.” 

“No quartering soldiers without my permission,” You replied. 

Gaz rolls his eyes. Your home? He was pretty sure his name was on the mortgage, even if you were living in it 90% of the time. “I own the fucking property! I live here. You’re the guest.” 

You shrug, grinning. “Not anymore.” 

He runs a hand down his face. Sometimes just sometimes he regrets finding your stubbornness so damn attractive.  “I’m going to crash out, actually.” 

“Crash outside? Yeah.”

“Let me in!” He shouts, grabbing the door handle and jiggling it. 

“No!” You shout back, holding onto it and preventing him from entering without your permission. 

Gaz leans against the glass. “Remind me why I chose to date an American?” 

You smile at him. “Because we’re funny, and we have better Chinese food.” 

He glares at you, trying to unlock the door again. He groans when there’s no avail. “Babe!” 

You say nothing, finding his annoyance quite amusing and a change of pace for once. 

And then he actually crashes out, grabbing the handle and pulling, twisting, pounding at it. He yells a string of curse words and then starts banging on the doorframe. He gives up, frowning, and leans his forehead on the glass. “Please?” 

You unlock it. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He storms inside, throwing you over his shoulder. “You are so in for it.” 

“I like where this is going,” You giggle as he throws you on the couch. 

He raises a brow, hands coming to your waist. “Yeah?” He starts tickling you. You yelp, laughing under him and trying to push away. 

Gaz doesn’t relent and continues tickling you even after you’ve pleaded with him to stop. “You lock me out of my fucking claim it’s your right,” He mutters. “Consider this my very reasonable punishment.” 

Soap: 

“I know my rights!” You shout, watching Soap approach the door. 

He stops in his tracks, tilting his head. He had no idea what you said. The poor guy could barely hear from all the bombs going on around him, and you shout through a door? Good plan.  “What are you on about?” He asked. 

“There will be no soldiers in my home!” You close the glass door and lock it. 

He approaches the front door, staring at you through the glass. His expression is clueless, brows furrowed. “You mean our home?” He knocks on the glass. “Can I come in?” 

“Nope!” 

He frowns. “Why?” 

“Third amendment.” 

“Amendment?” He scoffs. What the hell are you talking about? Is this what he gets for dating an American? You start proclaiming your rights? What’s next, the pledge of allegiance? “Are you taking the piss? Does this look like the land of the free?” 

You giggle at him, his accent thickening with his frustration. “I’m still an American!” 

“Trust me, I know! Can I please come inside?” 

“No soldiers allowed.” You tape up a piece of paper displaying those words. 

Soap continues frowning at you and realizes he isn’t going to be let in anytime soon. It’s a good thing he knew how to easily change that. Americans and their rights. More like Americans and their feelings. He sits down on the porch steps, facing away from you, rests his chin in his hand, and sighs loudly. 

You don’t budge. 

He sighs again, kicking his boots on the porch, turning back at you with sad eyes. Still nothing. He concludes there was one last option to get you to let him in. He grabs his phone, and you watch with furrowed brows as he types something in. Suddenly, music is blasting from his phone as he looks at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. Not just any music, but the sad hamster violin music. 

“Oh my god.” You unlock the door, opening it up to him. “You’re such a baby.” 

He practically skips inside, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Your baby.”

Price: 

Your husband stands on the porch, rolling his eyes at you.

“I know my rights!” You shout at him through the window. 

“Do you, now?” He asked, playing along with your prank or whatever this was. If it brought you this much amusement to lock him out, he might as well indulge in it. That was the kind of man he was. Until he started freezing of course, then he would demand you let him in. 

You nod your head. “As an American, amendment 3 of the Bill of Rights says that I don’t have to house you if I don’t want to.” 

Price hums. At least they taught you something in American schools. “Does that extend when you’re in another country?” 

“It does to me.” 

He huffs, grabbing something from his pocket and displaying it to you. “You know I have a house key, yes?”

“I’ll just lock it again.” 

He tilts his head at you. You were really trying to sell whatever rights you thought you had. “Really?” 

“I’m taking this very seriously.” 

Price strokes his beard. “I can see that.” An idea pops into his head, and he steps away from the glass and in front of the door. You didn’t want to let him in? That’s fine. You wanted to lock the door? No problem. He’s got methods of entering from being in the military, after all. “Guess I’ll just have to kick down the door.” He raises his foot, fully intent on doing it. You were going to repaint the door anyway, might as well get a new one. 

You swing open the door. “Are you crazy?” 

He strolls past you. “Did I lock you outside our home? Besides, crazy would’ve been bombing the house.” 

Your lips parted, unsure if he was joking. You assume he is, but his expression says otherwise. “Are you being serious?” 

He laughs at your face, grabbing your hand. “Only if you start proclaiming your rights again.”

You put your hands up. “What rights? Suddenly, I’m feeling like this soldier can stay as long as he likes.” 

Price presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thought so.” 

[tsaiko]

Okay. So I get on the subway right, and sit in an open seat. Across the aisle and one seat down is a man and a woman, mid to late twenties. They are having furious whispered conversation with each other. Like you can tell they are trying to be quiet but emotions are high. it's tense. Which I don't notice at first but quickly pick up on.

After being a nosy shit while pretending to play on my phone, I figure out what is going on. These two are talking about the future of their relationship. I mean, odd place to have that discussion on a subway during rush hour, but whatever. It's drama that doesn't involve me. He wants to move forward with their relationship, possible move or move into together, and she wants to slow down.

Suddenly, he breaks in with a story about how his mom hates the city but she moved to New York to stay with his dad and has lived there for twenty years now. Because relationships are about sacrifices. At which point girlfriend is like "Okay, what have you sacrificed for our relationship?"

And boyfriend's example involved the time he missed doing something - I couldn't hear what - with his friends to go with her to her sister's wedding. She was 100% not impressed with his answer and it showed on her face.

They go back to their whisper argument and I can't pick up what they are saying to each other. Then suddenly, clear as day, girlfriend asked him "Name one thing I am interested in."

Homeboy just froze. He had no answer. The lights were on and no one was home. You could hear the dial-tone noise coming from his brain. He couldn't name one single thing his girlfriend was interested in. Hell, he looked like he was totally confused as to why she was even asking him the question.

He tried to talk to her a few times after that, but she was just silent. And I mean angry silent. Train pulls up to the station and she gets up. "Babe, this isn't our stop." Her reply? "It's my stop now." Doors open and she just fucking walks off and leaves him on the train.

He stares at her for a few seconds and then scrambles off after her.

My dude, I don't think you are recovering from that.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 5:48

Bakugou’s in his third year of high school when he finally invites you over to his house. The reason? To finish a calculus project.

You’d think that after surviving through the hardships of being a hero-in-training together for three years, saving each other’s lives (more often you were the one being saved than doing the saving, really), and whatnot, he would’ve invited you sooner to his home (one could dream).

But this was Bakugou, after all.

And he knew that something was off the moment he left you to share a conversation with his mom while he went to get his books from his room—the greatest mistake he could have ever done because by the time he’s making his way back, Bakugou could hear you snickering to yourself.

Not a good sign.

“I’m not going to lie; you looked hideous when you were a baby,” you say, reading through Bakugou’s baby album.

Bakugou froze. He had absolutely no idea why his mother would cave in and give you the godforsaken album from when he was young, but of course she would’ve agreed with your request to see it if you did so much as mention it.

He dropped the books he’d grabbed from on top of his desk on top of the living room table before whipping his attention towards you, an indignant scoff escaping through his nose before he took a few slow, but heavy stomps over to you—practically snatching the album from your grasp when he’s within reach.

“Stop looking through those stupid pictures.”

“Hey! I wasn’t finished,” you reply with a frown. “You’re lucky my phone’s battery just died, or else I would’ve taken a billion photos.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched slightly as he grumbled curses under his breath, trying to flip through the album in his hands to make sure you hadn’t managed to sneak a photo out—a small sigh of relief rolling off of his tongue to find that, luckily, it was still how his parents had done it.

He shot a glare over towards you, stuffing the album back into its original spot on one of the bookshelves, his nose crinkling as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t care; tell anyone what you saw, and you’ll drop dead,” he tells you.

“Oh, but how could I not? That photo album’s like hitting the jackpot—so many super ultra rare photocards of you,” you gushed, blatantly disregarding his usual threat. “Come on, I wanna see the rest!”

“Absolutely not.” 

Bakugou knew the damn photos were in the back of the album. There were probably a handful of the ones where he was in the bathtub, butt-naked—a common photo in most photo albums he’s seen, at least. Other photos include when he was three years old and wore an All Might onesie for his birthday, pictures of him during his school recital where he was the prince, him with a bald haircut, and so much more blackmail material. 

It was humiliating, for goodness sake! And he knew you’d just tease him mercilessly if you saw it.

You’ll never let him live it down, so it’s best to deprive you of it.

“Don’t come at me for saying this, but I was the cutest baby in our village back then,” you told him proudly. “Had the roundest cheeks and brightest smile, trust.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, a huff of air forcing itself past his lips. That was one thing about you that he couldn’t stand; you were so full of yourself most of the time—you’d always been like that, and he absolutely loathed it. It could be that it reminds him of himself, so the competitive meter on his head just flares whenever he’s around you.

“I doubt you were even 1% of how adorable I was as a baby.”

“Have you seen me?” you gestured to your face with your hands to emphasize your facial features. 

“I’m still as cute even now. And no offense, Bakugou,” you giggled, “you looked like a wrinkly raisin on your first few days on this Earth.”

Bakugou’s smirk dropped. He’d almost forgotten that you had seen the stupid pictures already.

“Shut the hell up. It wasn’t that bad.” He muttered quietly, his hands balling into frustrated fists. His parents always assured him that he was a cute kid when he was small—but to hear that YOU of all people, are in disagreement with that is just aggravating.

“Fine, fine. Quits it is,” you hum. “Let’s do that calculus project so I can get home before sunset.”

Bakugou grumbled something inaudible under his breath, reluctantly nodding his head in agreement. There was no point in arguing about something so idiotic—after all, both of you were there to get a project done, not to sit around and bicker about his past.

He took a few steps over to the living room table before plopping down on the polished floor ungracefully, yanking out his notes before he gestured his hand over towards the free space next to him.

“Sit down. Let’s just get this thing done and over with already.”

Bakugou had already started working silently by the time you sat down; his hand was writing almost furiously as he copied equations onto his paper. He kept his attention focused on his notes, trying to stay quiet as he focused completely on completing the project.

He eventually stopped writing for a moment, turning his gaze over to glance at what you were doing before clicking his tongue at the sight. Bakugou could already see a few mistakes you’d made with your work.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he says.

“Wait, I’ve barely turned on the calculator, jeez.” You shook your head, solving the equation through your calculator.

“And that’s how I know you’re doing it wrong.” Bakugou huffed, shaking his own head in disappointment. 

“Formula first before adding 1.3.”

He pulled out a pen and began scribbling down on his own paper, glancing at yours every once in a while to compare the work. He knew from his experience that you were decent at math (he’d rather die than tell you that), but this was just pitiful even by your standards.

“Have you been dozing off during Ectoplasm’s class?”

“Ouch. Do you have a personal grudge against keeping the not-so-nice stuff from leaving your mouth?” you sigh. “You’re hurting my feelings— I’m devastated.”

He had a feeling you’d say something like that, and he was prepared to ignore your attempts at gaining sympathy from him.

“Unfortunately, you’ll fucking live,” Bakugou says, scribbling down the last of his work before turning it towards you. “And learn how to solve equations too, while you’re at it.”

“I know how to do it; calm down.” You huff, rewriting your solutions.

Bakugou raised a skeptical eyebrow, his head tilting with a hint of disbelief. Even if he knew you were capable of doing math, you had a bad habit of missing even the smallest details, like the operation to be used in your work, leading to the wrong answers.

His eyes scanned over the work you’d written on your paper before letting out a small huff. “Looks right. Are you done with your half?”

“Yep, yep. Are you going to write it down on our answer sheet, or should I do it?” you offered.

Bakugou glanced down at the answer sheet set to the side before picking it up and nodding. He was already holding a pen while you were still using a pencil, so it would make more sense for him to be the one to write it all down.

He began copying down the answers slowly and carefully, each number being written out with ease as his eyes flicked back and forth from the worksheet to the sheet of answers.

With him busy jotting down the answers, you occupied yourself with taking in the interior of his living room. It was beautiful, neat, and just screamed rich—not really what you expected (you really didn’t know what to expect, honestly). “Y’know,” you mention, glancing around. “You have a nice house.”

Bakugou hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes remaining focused on his task. It kind of took him by surprise to hear you say something out of the blue—about his house, no less. He’d fully expected you to talk about something else, like school or that new show you’ve been begging him to watch.

It went against what Bakugou had originally thought, which led him to look over at you from the corner of his eye, silently raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a nice house,” he said casually, his pen continuing to move over the paper. His penmanship was neat, and Bakugou hears you in awe. 

Bakugou continued to finish writing down the last of the answers, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed you looking around his house. It was obvious what was happening, but he decided to ignore it in favor of just getting the godforsaken project done.

He finished soon enough, his pen rolling back with a click before he leaned back a little and let out a small huff. “We’re done. Finally.”

“Nice, nice.” Glancing at your watch, you concluded, “I should get home.”

Bakugou was silent, rolling his shoulders and neck before glancing out of the nearby window. The sun had already begun to set over the sky, the day quickly slipping away into the night.

“Yeah, whatever. You need me to walk you home or something?” He asks gruffly.

“Nah, I’m good. I need to say goodbye to your parents, too.”

Bakugou watched as you packed up all of your belongings, a scoff rolling off of his tongue. It felt almost weird to be civil with each other, neither of you having taken jabs or making snarky remarks to taunt one another. 

“Alright, fine,” he finally said, standing up from his seat and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go find my parents then.”

He led you down the hall and into the kitchen area, his ears vaguely picking up the sounds of his mother and father talking amongst themselves about… something. He couldn’t tell what exactly, and frankly, he barely even cared.

“Mom, Dad.” He spoke up, capturing the attention of his parents. 

Mitsuki looked over at him, a smile spreading across her face. Masaru looked in the same direction, a warm smile forming on his face as well.

“Thank you for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Bakugou,” you said in gratitude. “I’ll be going home now before it gets too late.”

His parents shared a hum in acknowledgment, with his mother being the one to speak up first. She had a knowing grin on her face as she clasped her hands together, her eyes flickering over to her son.

“You’re welcome. You should come over more often,” Mitsuki said enthusiastically, her voice taking on a slightly smug tone.

Masaru laughed as he nodded in agreement. He gave a knowing look to his wife before he looked back over at you. “You should join us for dinner; we already made enough for you to join us.”

“I’d love to, sir, but my folks are waiting for me at home,” you answered sheepishly.

Bakugou noticed the glance his parents exchanged and immediately knew what they were thinking. He almost grumbled in frustration, already knowing that they’d ask him about you later after you left.

His mother spoke up once again, her smug grin growing wider. “You’re always welcome here,” she repeated, her eyes flickering over to her son as her voice came out teasing. “After all, Katsuki’s always in a ‘better’ mood when you’re around.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, ma'am. I’m a joy to be around, after all,” you lightly joked, though you still maintained a respectful tone.

His parents were easier to get along with than you thought.

Bakugou’s eye twitched in annoyance at your words, almost making him want to quip back at your cocky behavior. However, it was the sound of his mother’s sudden laughter that stopped him from doing so.

Mitsuki mother put her hand up to her mouth briefly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she continued to chuckle. The expression on her face was elated, and it was pissing him off even more, knowing what’s to come. 

“I like this one,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

Masaru added, “And clearly, so does Ka—“

“All right! They need to get going to catch the shitty train.”

By the time Bakugou accompanied you to the door, he had this obvious scowl on his face. “You’re never comin’ back here again, dipshit.”

“Wha— no fair! Why am I getting banned from the Bakugou residence when this is my first time here?” you replied.

“Shut up,” he grunts. “I could do whatever the hell I want because it’s my house, too.”

“Too bad I have your Mom’s number—“

“Delete that.”

“Hey— wai— no way!”

It was not the last time you were ever invited to the Bakugou residence.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[angelicsoka]

THE HAT RULE, t. owens

word count | 1.7k words

pairings | tyler owens x meteorologist!fem!reader

summary | where tyler owens decides to show the reader what the hat rule is. 

warnings | MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY!! HEAVY smut! reader doesn’t know the hat rule. not proofread. lowercase intended. 

a/n | first of all, sorry for disappearing, i've had NO motivation to write on here, but i saw twisters yesterday and seeing glen powell in a cowboy hat changed me as a person, and also gave me motivation to write. i’ve never written a full smut so i apologize if this sucks, i've stepped out of my comfort zone for this one.

the first time you had ever encountered a tornado was a memory you were sure to never forget. growing up in new york meant rain and snow but no tornadoes. so when traveling to nebraska on a field trip in high school, you were unprepared when the sirens sounded, sending everyone into a frenzy. you had watched as the rain pelted from the sky, a funnel forming up above. you were mesmerized as your teacher pulled you to safety, a sort of thrill tearing through  your body. from that moment on, you knew what you wanted to do. you went to college for meteorology, graduating near top of your class before going onto to work at a local news station. but it never quite settled the feeling that something was missing, until you stumbled across tyler owens’ youtube channel. 

tyler owens had become a sensation, a daredevil who did more than just chase the storms, he rode into them. and that seemed to heighten that need of a thrill. so, you hit him up and to your surprise, he replied. and what had started out as a week off of work to storm chase with the daredevil, turned to going part time at your job and joining him on the road.

that was a season ago, and now you were sat at a dingy bar, sipping a beer with tyler and the team. the man himself was sat on the stool next to you, nursing his own beer and listening to lily speak. you ignored the slight butterflies that entered your stomach as he laughed. you had learned to never mix work and love, but something about tyler had you questioning that lesson. he looked mighty fine in his blue jeans and button up, supporting a cowboy’s hat on his head. you noticed your beer was gone, standing up you turned to your crew.

“i'm gonna get another beer, can i get anyone anything?” no’s were murmured around the group except for one.

“i could use another, how ‘bout i come with ya?” you shrugged, tyler getting up to walk with you. lily let out a low whistle, stopping at your glare. 

“be my guest.” you two walked over to the bar top, signaling the busy bartender. “can we get two more, when you get a sec?” the bartender nodded, going to make a few drinks before he could grab their bottles. 

“so, miss city girl, how you likin’ riding with us? ready to go back to the big apple yet?” tyler questioned, turning to look down at you slightly. damn the height difference.

“don’t think you’re getting rid of me that quick, i have a lot more storm chasing left in me, cowboy.” you winked, tyler laughing. you debated for just a moment before reaching up and taking the cowboy hat from his head.

“the hell you think you’re doing?” tyler questioned as you placed the hat on your own head, admiring your reflection on your phone.

“you wear this hat all the damn time, i just wanted to see if there was something special about it? maybe it has some magical powers or something.” the bartender came back around, beer bottles in hand. you thanked him, handing him some cash before turning back to tyler, who had an odd look in his eye. you quickly took off the hat, worried you had pissed him. you went to hand it back to him, when tyler shook his head:

“keep it on, it suits you.” tyler picked up his beer, beginning back to the table. the comment caused a light blush to dust your cheeks. shaking your head, you hoped it didn't show too much as you followed him back. you sat in your seat, confused by the odd looks you received from the crew. nobody said anything about the hat as the night went on, but that didn’t stop the odd looks.

by last call, it was you and tyler left of the crew. thankfully the bar was across the street from the motel, tyler paying the tab much to your protest, before setting off back to the motel. you had forgotten you still wore tyler’s hat upon your head, only remembering when you went to brush your hair from your eyes, your hand bumping the rim. “hey, do you know why everyone kept giving me weird looks after i put your hat on? and why boone and dani wouldn’t stop snickering?” tyler looked over to you as you climbed the stairs of the motel.

“you don't know?” you shook your head in response, tyler holding a bewildered look. “you don't know the hat rule?”

“there’s a hat rule?” tyler stopped at his door, which neighbors your’s and lily’s. “what?”

“you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” he deadpanned, your eyes widening and a heavy blush coating your cheeks. 

“oh my god! i promise i wasn’t trying to imply that or anything. not there’s anything wrong with you, because you’re– well you’re you, and–”  you fumbled over your words, stopping mid sentence when tyler laughed.

“hey, it's fine. if you weren’t trying to insinuate that, that’s fine. but if you were, well, now's your chance. and i’d be more than happy to show you how that rule works.” tyler walked closer, a minimal amount of space between you, just enough to allow you to choose whether you close that gap or leave. 

you stood there for a moment, stunned at his offer. and without much thought, you closed the gap, hands going to grip his face and pull him closer to you. his hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts. the kiss was feverish, all unspoken feelings surfacing. tyler began to pull away much to your dismay, one hand leaving your hip to fish out his keys from his pocket as he moved his other arm to hold your waist. he unlocked the door with ease, pulling you inside and shutting the door before pushing you up against it, the hat falling as he did so. he went to town on your neck, enticing soft moans and whimpers from your lips. the way he sucked at your neck and how he had previously handled you had conjured up a pool of wetness in your panties. 

your arm wrapped around his neck, holding him to your throat, as your fingers tugged at his hair. he groaned against your skin, biting down ever so softly when you tugged on his hair. he gripped at your leg, pulling it up to give him better access to your cunt. he rubbed his clothed cock along you covered cunt, pleased with the moans that escaped your mouth.

“god, keep moaning like that and i might have to take you right here.” you blushed once more, pulling tyler to meet your lips once more. you pushed off the door, lips still connected to tyler’s as you blindly pushed him back to the bed. his legs hit the edge of the bed, tyler breaking the kiss as he pulled off your shirt, both of you kicking off your shoes and socks before lips were reattached once more. 

you pulled back, tyler unbutton his shirt as you began to work on his belt buckle. “woah, easy, pretty girl. you’ll get a taste, don’t worry. the night’s still young. but for now, i gotta show ya what happens when ya wear the hat.” tyler pulled off his shirt, walking to pick up the forgotten hat, placing it on your head. “this stays on.” you nodded, eyes hooded as tyler pulled your shorts and panties down. “you’re even more perfect than i had imagined.” before you could question him, tyler pulled his jeans off, his boxers next as his cock sprung up. tossing them to the side tyler pulled you onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, “you sure ‘bout this? i don’t have any condoms.” tyler asked, different from how he just was. you nodded, kissing him softly.

“i’m on the pill, and i trust you.” tyler nodded, holding over his cock as he slowly guided it along your pussy. you held yourself up as tyler’s thumb rubbing your clit, enjoying your whimpers. “please, tyler.” you begged, tyler aligning his cock with your entrance before guiding you down. you hand went your hat as your head rested on tyler’s shoulder, almost pornographic moans escaping from your lips. “oh my god.” he slowly eased himself into you, whispering praises as he did so.

“god, feels like you were made for me.” your cunt hugged his cock beautifully. when his cock was fully in, he allowed you to get used to the stretch, “tell me when you're ready.” you stilled for a moment, adjusting to his size. you kissed and sucked on his neck, slowly beginning to rock your hips. “fuck, let’s get this off of ya.” tyler’s hands skillfully unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, fingers ghosting over your perky nipples. you pulled off his shoulder, giving him better access to your tits. “you’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.” tyler attached his mouth to one of your nipples, enticing a soft moan. you continued to ride him, hips moving faster as you chased your incoming orgasm. your left hand gripped tyler’s shoulder, fingernails digging into his bare skin as your right hand held onto the hat that adorned your head. 

as your orgasm inched closer and closer, your movements became more erratic, chasing your high. tyler moaned, whispering praises as your walls clenched around his cock. he knew you were close, mouth moving to your pulse point as he pounded into you, taking over. tyler clapped a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit, muffling your screams so you didn't wake up your neighbors. his movements however did not slow as he worked you through your orgasm, chasing his own high. your legs trembled as he continued to pound into you, your second orgasm of the night approaching quickly. “fuck! fuck, ty-” you cut yourself off, body shaking as you hit your climax once more. tyler began to huff and moan, pulling you impossibly closer as he reached his own high. you blubbered, unable to form actual words as tyler’s hands roamed your body. you pulled back, kissing him roughly.

“goddamn,” he helped you off his cock, helping guide you onto the bed, “think you’ll be able to handle a round two?”

“don’t go thinking you can get rid of me that easily.” 

[s0dium]

I fucking hate him

A/n: One of the dialogues is lightly taken from "God of Ruin" by Rina Kentaken (plz check it out) Enjoy!!

Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: You detest Yuji's uncle, Sukuna. His demeanor is rude and abrasive, and he is undoubtedly a sadist. You don't even try to hide your disdain, but the more you try to distance yourself from him, the stronger his opposition grows. Each attempt to push him away only seems to draw him in closer, closer, ever so close.

"You're fucking insufferable," you spat, your eyes narrowing with hatred. "You're pretentious," Sukuna shot back, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth." No, you're a narcissist," you hiss" Yeah, but I turn you on," he purrs

Warning: Hate sex, rough sex, biting, fingering, edging, cowgirl, size kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight voyeurism, breeding

You remember the day you met Sukuna for the first time like it was yesterday.

It was during the somber occasion of Wasuke Itadori's funeral—Yuji's beloved grandfather. The day was draped in a heavy sorrow; after the ceremony and the lowering of the casket, you followed the Itadori family back to their home. Being practically family yourself, and living just next door, it felt natural to join them and if not grieve, support the grieving family alongside them. While everyone gathered in the garden, sharing hushed memories and quiet support, you slipped inside the house to charge your phone.

As you stepped into the room, the air felt suddenly charged, like the prelude to a storm. There in the living room, was a man, a large man, lounging on one of the sofas dressed in a black suit and tie. The first thing you notice is his striking pink hair contrasting sharply with the dark, intricate tattoos that crawl up his neck and frame his face. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fix on you the moment you enter, and his smirk is like a crack in a mask of indifference.

"You must be the famous dear friend of the family, Y/n right?" he drawls, his voice as smooth as silk and just as dangerous. "Heard a lot about you. All good things, I promise." His voice drips with sarcasm making you thickly gulp.

You hesitate by the doorway, your initial smile freezing on your lips. This was the Sukuna Ryomen? The man you'd heard only in hushed conversations between Jin and Choso, the man Yuji calls his uncle? You try to muster your composure, crossing the room to stand at a respectable distance.

"I wish I could say the same," you reply, aiming for polite but firm. Your voice wavers just slightly.

Sukuna chuckles, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. "Oh, come now. No need for such defenses. I'm not the monster they painted in their tales. Or perhaps I am, and that's what intrigues you? What do you think so far" he bends forward. "Am I intriguing?"

You bristle at his words, the arrogance dripping from each syllable like poison. "I-I dont know about that." You curse yourself at the way your voice comes out as a stutter. "I'm here out of respect for your family."

"Respect," he repeats, tasting the word as if it's something exotic. "Funny, I never put much stock in that. The old man sure tried to teach me, shame he is gone. But perhaps you'll teach me its value?"

What the hell does he mean by that?

He stands suddenly, closing the distance between you with a few measured steps. You can’t help but step back, your back hitting the wall. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating.

"Why so tense?" Sukuna teases, leaning close, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "I'm just trying to get to know you better. After all, anyone who loves my family must have some redeeming qualities, hidden though they may be. Although," he tilts his head, as if analyzing you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they just kept you around cause you're a pretty thing to look at."

You feel a flush of anger and embarrassment heating your cheeks. "I think you've gotten to know enough for one day," you snap, ducking under his arm and striding toward the door. His laughter follows you, low and mocking.

"Oh, don't be like that!" he calls out. "We're just getting started!"

It only took a minute. One minute for you to decide that you hated Sukuna with a fucking passion.

Unfortunately, the fact that Sukuna had just gotten out of jail, did nothing to hamper your hatred. It seemed like ever since he got out, he was not only determined to stick to the family, but to you, like glue.

The Friday night dinners with the Itadori family, once cherished and loved, had practically turned into a battleground. What used to be a warm gathering was now filled with endless teasing and arrogant attempts at flirting. You were even hesitant to stay over now, as you were never to sure when you’d turn a corner and there Sukuna would be with some sleazy remark about your pajamas.

You tried talking to the Itadori family about it, tried complaining to Jin and raise your concerns. And as receptive and understanding as they were, you knew that for them, blood was thicker than anything, and in some part, you knew that applied to you too.

Still, you persisted, even now as you sat at another Friday dinner you were determined to just enjoy yourself with the family you loved so much.

Key word, tried.

"Well, Jin, I must say, this food is... quaint.” He says through a chuckle and you have to bite the inside of your cheek from throwing a fork at him right there and then. “Did you burn it on purpose, or was that just a happy accident?"

"Dude," You breathe a sigh of relief when Choso speaks up, his voice calm but firm. "Can you go one day without being a jerk?" His eyes are fixed on Sukuna, echoing the frustration you both share about his behavior. This solidarity is one of the reasons why you feel closest to Choso in the family. His understanding and shared grievances with the insufferable man were one of the reasons why you two were best friends.

"Please, I bet this food beats anything you had in prison." You whisper under your breath, but audibly enough that others catch it when you hear Choso breathe through his nose in a laugh-like snort.

Sukuna sets down his silverware and leans forward with a grin, his eyebrows raised in amusement as he gazes across the table at you. "Oh, someone's got a sharp tongue," he remarks. "Careful, angel, you might cut yourself."

You roll your eyes and sharply cross your arms. "Funny, coming from someone who probably had to beg for scraps behind bars. Do you even know what real food tastes like?"

You don’t miss the way Yuji chokes on his pasta, stifling back laughter making you smile.

Sukuna's lips curve into a sly smirk as he locks eyes with you. "Oh trust me, I've tasted a lot of things. But I guess you wouldn't understand, being so... sheltered."

Unfazed, you shoot back with a dismissive wave of your hand, "Sheltered? Please. At least I don’t need to rely on prison slop to remind me of home."

This time, Sukuna's response is a silent, piercing stare that makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Even though you were wearing a sweater and shorts, his gaze made you feel like you were naked.

From the corner, Jin clears his throat, chuckling nervously. "Um, maybe we should all just calm down a bit—"

You cut him off, your voice firm as you defend the meal laid out before you. “No way, not when he disrespects your food, which is great, may I add.”

"Oh, I love it when you get all fired up." Sukuna's eyes glint with mischief as he watches your rising frustration. "It's adorable."

Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you stand up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a scrape. "Excuse me, I think I'm full," you declare crisply, gathering your dishes with a clatter and storming off to the kitchen to dump them in the sink. Without a backward glance, you stride toward the living room, your footsteps echoing your irritation.

"Come on, why do you always gotta be such an ass, Uncle?" Yuji mumbles, shooting a glare at Sukuna who only responds with a shrug.

As you sank into the couch cushions, you let out a deep sigh of relief, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of your favorite spot. You turned on the TV, dazedly watching whatever was on, trying to distract yourself from the day's tensions. Of course, thoughts of Sukuna kept creeping into your mind. What was his problem with you? Did the man get dropped on the head as a baby? How and the hell were he and Jin brothers?? Surely he was the result of some fucked up science experiment.

Engulfed in your thoughts, the passage of time slipped unnoticed until a shift in the couch's cushion snapped you back to reality. You turned, and -

Oh what the fuck.

Sukuna settled next to you, leaning on the armrest of the other side of the couch, a tattooed hand settled on his thigh, He had changed into a white tank top and sweatpants, and you feel your heart jump when your eyes unconsciously travel to between his leg where a slight budge pressed against the fabric. Shit. The tips of your ears turned red and you bit the inside of your cheek. That's another thing you loathed about Sukuna; how the scent of his old spice shampoo made you dizzy, how the way he towered over you made your breathing stop, how despite how fucking insufferable he was, he was so so so attractive.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you choked out, your tone edged with disbelief and irritation.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "What does it look like? Watching TV," he replied coolly, his eyes briefly scanning the screen before settling back on you. "Everyone's gone to sleep, you know."

"No, what are you doing sitting next to me?" you hissed, the proximity suddenly feeling far too close despite the physical distance. Your eyes narrowed, locking onto his vermillion eyes.

"Why you afraid I'll bite?" He says, gnashing his teeth together in a teasing display before moving closer to you. "Don't worry, I only bite when I'm asked."

"S-stop talking to me like that," you say, trying to shuffle back, but find yourself already trapped against the armrest.

"Like what?" Sukuna's voice is teasing, almost playful.

"Like I'm your toy."

He tilts his head slightly and leans forward, a smirk playing at his lips. "More like my doll."

"More like your grim reaper. I'll slice your throat if you touch me," you retort sharply, the tension between you crackling. You watch the way his eyes rake over you like a porn magazine, making you cross your arms as if to shield yourself.

He laughs, a sound rich with amusement. "You're such a menace. I want to gobble you up."

As he inches closer, the scent of his shampoo fills the air—a fragrance so intoxicating you want to bury your nose in it, yet you resist. "I'll give you indigestion, asshole," you snap, trying to maintain your composure.

"Worth it, muse," he counters smoothly, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Sure you're going to be thinking about that when I punch you in the face?"

"Oh, and make me bleed? Blood?" He licks his lips. "Yum." He feigns shock, leaning even closer. "You just keep ticking all my boxes today. Did you do your research on me?"

"Not even if you were the last man alive," you choke out, his proximity overwhelming, his face just inches from yours now. A slight move, and your noses would brush against each other.

"Last man to everyone else? No. To you? Highly likely." His whisper is a taunt, his breath a warm tease against your skin.

That's it.

As you attempt to rise from the couch, Sukuna's large hand swiftly lands on your thigh, pressing just firmly enough to guide you back down onto the cushion. You react instinctively, trying to swat his hand away, but he's quicker; he catches both of your wrists in his grasp, holding them gently yet with an unyielding firmness.

"What the hell are you doing?" you demand, your voice sharp with alarm and a flare of anger, your eyes locked intensely on his, searching for an explanation in his steady gaze.

"Jesus christ Y/n" Sukuna groans, rolling his eyes, "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” He chuckles.

Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, and get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so.

“I-fuck you” The words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and stern. You stay silent as you watch him examine your face. He leans in, close enough to kiss you, raises his right hand and runs his finger tips down your face.

"Will you bite my tongue if I kiss you?"

"Maybe"

Sukuna's mouth crashes onto yours, hard, angry, and demanding. He doesn't even give you a chance to resist, not even a breath. His lips are fierce against yours, stealing every breath you try to take. Your hands instinctively move to push him away, but instead, you find yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.

You meet his aggression with equal force, your lips moving furiously against his. His hands cup your face roughly, holding you in place as his tongue demands entry. You respond with a whine, opening up to him, your tongues tangling in a heated dance.

Every kiss is a challenge, every touch a dare. You bite his lower lip, drawing a groan from him that vibrates through you. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The intensity of the moment leaves you breathless, hot, and angry.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply as if to remind him you won't be dominated easily. He retaliates by pressing you harder against the cushions, so you have no choice but to melt into him.

In one swift motion, Sukuna pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing muscles lined with black tattoos beneath. Before you can even take a breath, he’s back, his mouth claiming yours with renewed fervor. His hands move to your shirt, fingers pulling at the fabric of your sweater. You break the kiss for a mere second as he tugs your shirt off, then he dives back in, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that makes your head spin.

His hands roam over your newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breath hitches as his fingers find the waistband of your pants. He undoes them with a practiced ease, pushing them down and leaving you in just underwear and bra, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"W-what do you think you're doing?" you stutter, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he replies, his voice low and filled with a wicked amusement.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I'm gonna fuck you." His hands slide over your hips, pulling your pants down completely, and you shiver at the sensation of his touch.

You whine when he places his knee between your legs which pushes against your clothed crotch. You involuntarily buck up your hips to try and gain more friction, making Sukuna chuckle; his shit eating grin widening.

“Needy, arent you?”

Your instinct is to tell him to fuck off, but he is already hooking a finger under your pastel pink panties; pulling the material down to reveal your cunt. You mentally curse yourself at the fact that you're already wet, a fact that will sure to swell Sukuna's ego.

Your hands fly down to hide yourself but he swats them away, giving you a glare before sliding a finger up and down your wet slit; collecting the juices before pushing a digit into your tight hole.

"S-shit." your groan, and the moment you clench around him, a sickening grin spreads across his tattooed face.

"Always knew you where gonna feel great around me."

The first curl of his fingers knocks the wind out of you, as it hits the sweet spot inside of you that you could only dream to reach on your own.

“Hah~ I cant-” You whimper, stomach clenching and legs trembling from the pleasure. You want to say you hate this, tell him to get off of you but you can't, you can't even think straight. You even push your hips out, angling them so his digits reach deeper into that sweet spot that sends tendrils of electricity through your body. But before you can fully bask in the pleasure, before you can taste your orgasm on your tongue, he pulls his fingers out.

"You think I'm gonna let you cum so early? After all the shit you have pulled?" His hand flies to your throat wrapping around it with a force that belies the strength behind it. Your breath hitches, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through your veins. His touch is firm, and commanding, but there’s an undeniable pleasure in the way his fingers tighten slightly, reminding you of the power he holds.

"Nah no way." Sukuna chuckles "Your just gonna have to suck it up."

You try to speak, but his grip tightens just enough to cut off your words, leaving you gasping. The pressure on your throat is intoxicating, a strange pleasure mingling with the discomfort. You can feel your pulse throbbing under his hand. You are so dazed that you don’t even notice he has pulled out his dick until you feel something big pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something, what, you do not know, but all of a sudden Sukuna pushes his dick into you until his hips are flushed against yours. It feels like you're being split in two, and the way his tip smushes against your cervix makes you unable to find your breath. The unfamiliar feeling has you squirming and clenching around his cock; body desperately trying to push out the foreign intrusion.  

“Shit you gotta loosen up doll, cant fuck you like this.” There were veins popping on his temple as he started to rub tight circles on your clit. Bolts of pleasure shoot up your body, and you desperately try to relax your body.

“Atta girl” He coos, withdrawing his hips before slamming into your.

The first thrust completely knocks the wind out of you. The collision with your gspot has you arching your back of the couch; eyes screwed shut and letting out a loud moan. He's girth spread you so well, so much, and the friction was so delicious, tears blotted your eyesight. Your skin is buzzing, and your entire lower half is shaking from the pleasure. Sukuna's pace is brutal, unforgiving, and he has to grab the arm rest above you with one arm to help his brutal and unforgiving pace into you.

Your mind grows hazy, lost in the sensation of how good he was fucking you, but then, without explanation, a spark of defiance ignites within you. Suddenly, you find the strength to flip him over, his dick not leaving the warmth of your cunt once and so you were effectively laying on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. With your chest flushed against his, and your ass perked up in the air, you begin to fuck yourself on his dick, raising your hips up and down his length as if he was a dildo.

"Oh thats it." Sukuna is not a whining man but here he is, his voice cracking from the feeling and sight of you riding him. "Fuck yourself on me shit shit shit."

You are practically drooling on his chest, your eyes rolling back from how good he felt against your G spot.

You let a whine when you feel yourself start to get tired so Sukuna grabs your hips and starts fucking you on his length.

Fap.Fap.Fap

"Gonna cum in you baby ok?" He murmurs into your ear and you dazedly nod.

Suddenly you feel your stomach dip and your mind go blank. Your mind feels as though it’s been dipped in pure euphoria, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, replaced by an overwhelming wave of bliss that drowns out everything else. Your body responds in kind, muscles tensing and releasing in perfect harmony with the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if every cell is vibrating with delight, your skin tingling with a heightened sensitivity that makes even the slightest touch feel like a divine caress. The heat of the sensation is intoxicating, making your limbs feel weightless as if you’re floating on a cloud of pure, unadulterated joy.

Sukuna is quick to follow, shooting ropes of thick cum that glide down his shaft onto his balls.

"See? We are practically made for each other."

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[zhelin-thames]

A Ghostly Text Mishap

Danny flopped onto his bed, phone in hand, glaring at the screen. Another long day of dealing with Vlad's manipulative nonsense had left him frustrated beyond belief. He opened his messages, found the contact labeled Trucker, and began furiously typing.

Danny: You will NOT believe what Plasmius did this time. The absolute NERVE of this guy. You’d think being half-dead would make someone LESS petty, but nooo, this man’s ego is bigger than the Ghost Zone.

Danny: He tried to "buy" my parents' company AGAIN. He offered to “help” with ghost containment tech but really just wants to snoop around for weaknesses in the portal.

Danny: AND he had the audacity to call me “Little Badger” like it’s a term of endearment. I swear, if I hear that ONE MORE TIME, I might go full ghost and dropkick him into the Fenton Thermos.

Satisfied with his venting, Danny tossed his phone onto the bed and buried his face in his pillow. Unbeknownst to him, he had made one critical mistake.

Jason Todd, aka Red Hood, was sitting in his safe house, polishing his guns when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number: You will NOT believe what Plasmius did this time…

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is this?” he muttered, scrolling through the tirade. By the time he got to “Little Badger”, he was smirking.

He typed back:

Jason: Kid, I think you’ve got the wrong number. Unless this “Plasmius” guy is a Gotham villain I’ve somehow missed.

Danny’s phone buzzed, and he rolled over to check it. His heart dropped when he saw the reply.

Danny: Oh no. This isn’t Trucker, is it?

Jason: Nope. But you’ve got my attention. Who’s Plasmius, and why does he sound like the type of guy I’d shoot on principle?

Danny hesitated, then decided to just roll with it.

Danny: Short version: he’s a half-ghost fruitloop billionaire who’s obsessed with ruining my life, becoming my creepy stepdad, and taking over the world. Think Lex Luthor but undead and ickier.

Jason burst out laughing, earning a curious glance from Roy Harper, who had just walked in.

“Who’s got you laughing like that?” Roy asked, setting down a bag of takeout.

“Some kid who texted me by mistake,” Jason replied, showing him the messages.

Roy skimmed them and snickered. “Plasmius? Sounds like a knockoff vampire villain.”

Jason’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

Jason: Okay, kid, you’ve officially got my interest. I don’t know who you are, but if this Plasmius guy’s half as bad as you say, I’ve got some creative ways to deal with him. You in Gotham?

Danny stared at the message, blinking. Who even was this guy? But... he did sound like he knew how to handle problems.

Danny: Uh, no. I’m from Amity Park. It’s kind of a supernatural hotspot, so I’ve got it covered. But thanks for the offer, I guess?

Jason smirked.

Jason: Supernatural hotspot? Kid, you’re talking to someone who’s been resurrected. Ghosts don’t scare me.

Danny froze. Resurrected? Oh no. This guy might actually know about the supernatural.

Danny: ...Wait, who ARE you?

Jason: Name’s Jason. Most people call me Red Hood. Ever heard of me?

Danny blinked, then groaned. “Of course. I text a vigilante. Just my luck.”

Danny: ...Yeah, I’ve heard of you. So, uh, thanks for not tracking this number and showing up at my house or something.

Jason: Yet.

Danny felt a shiver run down his spine.

Danny: That’s not funny, dude.

Jason: Relax, Little Badger. Your secret’s safe with me. For now. But hey, if you ever need help dealing with your undead billionaire problem, hit me up.

Danny sighed, shaking his head.

Danny: Sure. Thanks, I guess?

Jason leaned back, grinning as he saved the number under Ghost Kid.

“Roy, I think I just found the weirdest contact in my phone.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Roy replied, tossing Jason a burger.

“Not bad. Just… different.” Jason chuckled. “Plasmius, huh? Sounds like fun.”

[greenglowinspooks]

To be honest. DCxDP where the reason Danny meets the bats is Ace the Bat-hound

Like, just think about it for a second. Danny is in Gotham for college, or maybe he just moved out to find a city where having mad scientist parents isn’t actually that unusual.

He can see ghosts.

The ghosts know this.

Now he’s getting harassed left and right by spirits trying to get closure. Fine, whatever, most of them are a one-and-done type deal, and the amount of ghosts trying to get his help steadily decreases.

Except for this one very stubborn dog.

It just keeps showing up and leading him to crime scenes! He doesn’t know how many “anonymous tips” he can call in to the cops before they trace his phone! And this dog, this incredibly good boy, will not stop trying to help the city. He’s never met anyone with such a strong sense of justice, let alone a dog. Can dogs even have a moral compass?

And so Danny just accepts the fact that Ace isn’t going anywhere and becomes his reluctant sidekick/dedicated medium. He leans into the whole thing, dressing up in a mix of traditional magic-user attire and accessories that pay homage to the ghost dog.

He becomes somewhat well known. The psychopomp detective following around the shadowy figure of a German Shepard? That’s unusual! That’s weird! I mean, it’s not the weirdest thing in Gotham, sure, but he’s a new vigilante and he’s got a ghost dog that people can only see when it’s around him. Someone’s gonna notice.

Damian, as Robin, is the first to reach out to him.

Ace doesn’t know Damian but he does know a Robin, and while this isn’t his Robin, he’s still friendlier than usual. Danny’s panicking because oh god the bats are here and also is this kid gonna steal my ghost dog, Damian is absolutely delighted by Ace, and Ace is just happy to see a Robin again.

Damian decides that the psychopomp isn’t a danger to anyone, and there’s no reason to put this encounter into his reports, really, and perhaps Danny can help with some of his cases in the future.

Danny is sweating bullets because Damian basically tells him that he’ll keep him secret as long as he gets to play with Ace. Ace is happy that he’s finally getting some bat affiliated crime-fighting assistance.

And so, Danny is now both Ace AND Damian’s reluctant assistant. At least whenever he’s in trouble, he can always call a middle schooler to help him.

(Is Robin even in school? He’s out patrolling damn near every night, and he stays out late as hell. Does he have a bedtime? He should.)

Eventually it gets to the point where Damian is going over to Danny’s house. When he first sees it, he has a damn bitch you live like this moment, to which Danny responds that not everyone has the money to afford a nice place. Damian counters that he could at least take the time to clean up, and Danny replies that he’s working, going to school, and being a vigilante assistant to a ghost dog, something’s got to give.

Danny nearly has a heart attack when he checks his bank account the next day and sees that someone transferred him 10,000 dollars.

And so they get into a routine. Danny and Damian fight crime with Ace at night, and occasionally Damian stops by during the day to play with Ace and have Danny help with his homework.

(Damian is smart enough to do it on his own, but some of the instructions are written incredibly confusingly, and he would never admit to needing help to his family. Danny is just glad that the kid is in school and cares about his education, blissfully unaware that he’s basically emotionally adopted him.)

Damian is used to being in Danny’s company.

Eventually, when going over a case with the family, Damian absentmindedly remarks that he’ll have to ask Danny about some of the clues that they might be missing. Nightwing asks who he means and Damian makes a face like he just swallowed a lemon.

Cue shitstorm.

Who is “Danny?” Why is Damian willing to ask for help from anyone, much less someone outside of the family? Does he know who Damian is? Has Damian been compromised? What the hell is going on?

Damian now has to explain that Danny is the psychopomp with the ghost dog who he might have met hunted down while on patrol and conveniently not mentioned, but he’s not a bad person, really, and he lets him play with Ace, and he’s been quite helpful on certain cases due to his ability to talk to ghosts.

Bruce insists that the family meet Danny. Damian, hoping that he won’t just skip town the second he hears the news, relents.

Danny is surprisingly eager to meet the bats, considering his earlier fears.

Damian, blissfully unaware of what’s coming, sets a time and place to meet.

Once everyone is there, he gives Bruce the earful of a lifetime.

Robin is in middle school! Danny knows that there’s no way to stop the boy from going on patrol, but you could at least shift his schedule so he gets enough sleep on school nights! Does the Bat even know where he is half the time?! (No) And why isn’t he comfortable asking his family for help with both cases and homework? Did they ever even notice how much time he was spending at Danny’s house? If Danny was a bad person, he could have seriously hurt the poor boy! Shame on you!

Nightwing is mortified that Damian didn’t trust him enough to tell him about any of this. Red Hood is laughing his ass off, because yeah Danny is making good points but he’s also chewing out the literal Batman. Tim is recording the whole thing. Steph is delighted by the absolute gall of this Danger Twink™️, and already planning to add him to several groupchats. Damian is more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his entire life.

You, he points to Nightwing, did your academic life feel supported when you were a Robin? Nightwing is too stunned to speak. Red Hood, eternal shit-stirrer, says that oh, we all prioritized patrol over our education, that’s just how it is. Red Robin actually dropped out of high school to avoid distractions, did you know that?

Danny honest-to-god shrieks at this.

He finishes his angry rant and leaves, everyone too stunned to stop him.

And as it turns out, Tim wasn’t the only person recording the whole thing.

The entire internet is blowing up with Psychopomp The Danger Twink™️’s rant. People are taking sides. Things are getting messy. Red Hood literally admitting on-camera to previously being a Robin is somehow not the main focus here.

Eventually someone connects some dots from the video, as well as stories circling the internet about the psychopomp. A ghost dog named Ace, who is the literal only reason that the psychopomp is fighting crime at all, which seems incredibly fond of Nightwing and Robin.

A crime-fighting dog who wants constant attention from both the current and original Robin.

Oh my god, Ace the Bat-hound died and became a crime-fighting ghost.

And, somehow, that’s still not the strangest thing going on in Gotham.

[faylvrs]

holding you , holding me ✿ bllk men

﹒postscript : when they realise they’re in love, with you. ɞ‎ feat. nagi, reo, rin, karasu, shidou, sae, kaiser ɞ‎ cw fem reader in a few, banter, suggestive

nagi realises he’s in love with you when the late night calls start getting more frequent. he had started craving your presence more and more. hell, he felt lovesick.

“what a hassle..” nagi’s head flops against the bed sheets, his gaze constantly shifting to his phone to see if you’ve replied to his text yet.

the nagi waiting for your texts? not to mention texting first, call a man whipped!

”i only take a few second’s to reply..” nagi picks up his phone again, grumbling when his notifications are empty. if he replies as soon as you do, why do you have to spend the next 3 decades replying back?

nagi’s usually the one who replies and then logs on minecraft for hours. him replying in mere seconds at your texts—you’re definitely special. very special in his eyes, oh. there’s something else that caught his eyes.

nagi’s phone lit up with a notification, from you.

sure! it’s a date then :))

cool, :x. 7PM?

reo realies he’s in love with you when his pockets really start to hurt.

i mean really. he’s been spoiling you relentlessly for the past few weeks. even if you insist you don’t need a new shirt, by tomorrow your closet is filled with them.

you just can’t seem to escape his mind. whenever he walks by the street and spots a store, his first thought goes to you, that maybe you’d like this. that maybe he should buy it for you—of course he will.

“you know.” reo smiles at you as you try on the new necklace he bought for you. “i booked a dinner for us, just us.”

“oh?” you hum, still struggling with the hook. “can you help me?”

“sure.” he’s more than happy to help you hook your necklace—a chance to put his hands on you? he’ll take it gladly.

“so about that dinner..” his hands swiftly clasp your necklace around your neck. “are you coming or what?”

“i don’t know… the mikage reo taking me out?” you grin up at him. “im a little shy.”

you and reo laugh soundly, well, looks like you’ve got a date tonight.

rin couldn’t believe it.

he’s in love with you, playback—he’s in love.

it started off with smaller details, like how he would leave his soccer practice or gym earlier than usual to see you. and also how his messages app slowly started to become his most used app.

soccer wasn’t everything anymore, he had you too now.

“don’t make me waste money on this lukewarm shit ever again.” rin gruffed as he watched you sip the drink he had bought you from the convenience store earlier.

normally, he’d never waste his money on some useless milkshake from the store, that’s not even good for your body. but seeing you contentedly gulp at the fresh taste of your drink, he can’t seem to hold himself back.

“give me some.”

the words slip out of his tongue before he can control them.

“you wanna try?” well he’s definitely colored you surprised now. “come here then, rinnie.”

rin could feel his face slightly heat up at the nickname. he scoots closer to you, snatching the drink from your hand with no warning.

“hey!” you glare at him as he drinks the entire thing in one gulp, definitely not what you anticipated. “that was mine, you were supposed to take a sip.” you huff at him.

rin only rolls his eyes. “i paid for it. ill buy you a new one later.” your eyes sparkle at his words.

“fine, you win.” you smile. “im going to get going before you become grumpy and tell me to shoo.” you give him a teasing wink, about to get up from his couch when suddenly he grabs your arm.

“wait.” he grits his teeth, biting back words. “don’t go.”

“rin?”

“just, don’t.”

“you missed me, huh?” karasu smirks. he had his hair down, for once not put up with an insane amount of gel—karasu in all his glory.

“i didn’t.” you huff at him. “you look even uglier with your hair down.”

“yer’ comparing my beauty to your birds nest?” karasu crosses his arms, leaning against the door.

“oh, we can see them split ends girl.” you roll your eyes.

karasu has always loved bantering with you, but nowadays, it seems as if his heart has been telling him thats not the only reason his heartbeat speeds up whenever he’s around you.

he loves bantering with you, he loves you.

there’s a prolonged silence, karasu’s anticipating if he should say what he’s about to say. he usually isn’t this nervous—you’re the exception to that.

“you think you wanna go out sometime, yeah?” it’s the way his sharp eyes soften that makes your heart start doing flips.

“yeah, i do.”

there’s a moment of comfortable silence, your brain ingraving the memory in the back of your head. which of course, quickly gets ruined by his cocky smirk. he wasn’t the best at dealing with these moments

“even y’can’t resist my charm.” karasu sticks his tongue out at you. “ill pick you up at 9.”

“you… get back here!”

shidou could feel a wide grin on his face as he read your message—“sure, i’d love to go sky diving with you!”

anybody would of said that is a crazy idea for a first date, but you? you can say you definitely match his freak.

his heart explodes into a burst of enthusiasm whenever you’re around him. he can feel a rush of serotonin whenever you accidentally brush your hands against his.

oh he was so in love. he is definitely wifing you up when you deploy the parachute- how could he not when he feels like he’s going to explode with all these bottled up feelings.

he in fact had a very disappointed pout on his face when you said it was far too soon for marriage, so what if you’re not dating yet? you can start now!

your betrayal will not be forgotten. but hey, he can try again next year.

sae realised he’s in love with you when you started becoming an avid figure in his daily routine.

it was like muscle memory for him to wake up and check for your good morning text, never failing to emit an amused scoff from his lips.

of course, he acknowledged the fact that he was in love with you. but would he dare entertain the thought and risk the beloved friendship you already have? never.

“nobody’s looking.”

this was dangerous. he has you trapped against the wall in the locker room, his lips tantalisingly close to yours. he wasn’t suppose to be doing this—but how could he resist when you came to see him at practice?

“sae…we can’t here.” you try to be rational, but your breathing is just as heavy as his.

“just shut-“

footsteps. someone was coming. sae pushes you away behind a locker so nobody see’s you, leaning against the wall nonchalantly.

maybe next time he’ll get you.

kaiser took some time to notice his feelings, but even he started getting self conscious of all the excuses he started making to touch you, and the flirting was starting to cross a few boundaries as well.

maybe he’s just lust-driven, that’s all he thought for a while. he chose to distance himself, and you didn’t miss the change in his behaviour.

he thought distancing himself would help ease his feelings.. not make them worse.

he can feel his heart throbbing, mind full with only thoughts of you—is it love or is it lust?

he doesn’t know, he’s never felt like this before. what even is love? thats stupid.

“hey.” he smirks, grasping your hand, a habit of his by now. “what are you up to, schatz?” the light-hearted pet name rolls off his tongue smoothly.

“michael.” you look at him, eyes widening a little. “i haven’t seen you in forever.” his expression slightly wavers at that.

“oh i’ve been.. busy.” he lies, smiling. the truth is, he hasn’t been busy at all. he’s been avoiding you, you and your precious smile.

“its okay.” you pat his shoulder. “i just missed you.”

“i missed you too.” he blurts out unknowingly, slightly flinching at what he said. “i’ve been avoiding you.” he confesses.

your eyebrow’s slightly raise at that. “…why?”

“because.. i don’t know.”

your hands hesitantly reach out. you knew how he was about physical touch, but maybe just this once he needs it.

he bents down a little, his face hitting your shoulder as he reciprocated your hug.

“Ich liebe dich.”

apologies, some parts aren’t as long as the others. i got lazy ( and have favorites… ✌️) only 7 chrc bc i had no ideas for isagi