#sad city rat

[eggwishing]

dave but mlp

[cuntrytaylor]

well. my roommate of 5 years is moving out!

[rainbowgod666]

Back here in italy mickey canonically works for the police and

[ERROR: ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOR "BRUTO GAMBADILEGNO" NOT FOUND]

Is basically a constant criminal but eh. A few times he was interrogated and the INSTANT he gets to see the evidence hes like "HEY WAIT A MOMENT. Thats not me! I was (at home/doing a different crime altoghether/still behind bars) that night!" and when that happens the rat goes "oh fUCK this is gonna take an extra 30 pages or something" and uuuuuuuhm yeah

[arolesbianism]

Having random card au thoughts again, which is bad cause it's just reminding me how hard it's gonna be to put mygo in there unless they get useful cards rly fast </3 besties I love you but I can already smell the boring ah cards coming

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 8 - Jason Fucking Todd

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Well, look on the bright side of things. You’re not crying right now. That’s nice. You’re not an intern anymore. That’s nice. You struggle to think of anything else. Oh yeah, you’re rich! That’s also nice. You’re not dead. Nice.

This is kind of pathetic. You just feel bummed after having to break up with George a second time. And getting smacked right in the face by him. Which you know, anybody would be, you think. You don’t think a single soul has ever known the George Lancaster Break-Up Special more than once. And you didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to fall for that asshole more than once.

You couldn’t fake a brave face anymore, you just didn’t have the energy for it.

…And let’s not forget almost dying via Joker goon. Not even the man himself, just a random lackey. You think of how he literally disappeared in front of your eyes, and decide you are going to stop thinking. It’s doing you no good anyway.

Instead, you just start walking. Letting your feet and your intimate knowledge of Gotham’s streets, even in this area you don’t often frequent, guide you. You find yourself at the train station. With little consideration, you buy a ticket to the southern part of the city. The bad side of town, the docks, where your apartment used to be.

You feel like a little rat scurrying back into the sewers as you hop on the subway, tucking yourself in between people who don’t recognise you, probably because of your general dishevelment.

Shoulders knocking against strangers, you feel the most at home since this whole disaster started. You stare across the train car, watching a baby babble to its mother. It catches your eye, gives you a big toothless smile, and some snot dribbles into it’s mouth. The mother notices and cleans the baby up with a tissue. When she catches you staring, you give a very awkward but friendly smile, and she smiles back.

A tiny weight lifts off your shoulders. Surrounded by the chaos of Gotham, as the subway exits the tunnels and heads up onto the sky rails, you find yourself warm by the rays of sun through the clouds. The view is beautiful, as it always is. Usually, you’d be looking at your phone, too busy to enjoy the sights. But it really is beautiful.

It’s only when you hear the announcer calling out that you realise you did this for a reason, and dart out of your seat and through the narrowly closing doors. The metal closes behind you with a small hiss. The Docks station, for most people, would be one of the better Gotham train stations. Newly built, and with all the tourist money it was clean. Well, clean as it could get. You’d read some article about the bacteria the rats were carrying being not found anywhere else on earth, and you’d decided to stop reading articles.

Anyway, for you, even the shining marble of the station was a sad sight. Because you only ever came here on your very worst days.

This seemed like one of them.

The familiar streets flit past you, barely something you’re even cognisant of. This part of the city was mostly new, the concrete fresh under your feet instead of littered with potholes. Still, it wasn’t at the centre of the blast radius, so it hadn’t been totally demolished.

No, that was just up ahead. And like everything else in this weird new world, you immediately noticed something different. Where your family had died was… still there, for some reason.

With confusion, exhaustion, and no small bit of despair, you stop in the middle of the pathway outside the remnants of what used to be an old diner and was now just a pile of rocks. Some very charred rocks. Looking at the wreckage, you raise your brows. Its crumbling form is still under construction after all these years. The yellow caution tape is only a deterrence to you because you don’t want to end up on the gossip reels for a second time today. Looking around, you find yourself further confused. Lots of other parts of the pier had been redeveloped, but this piece of the puzzle still lay bare.

It didn’t, in your home, your world. It had been replaced with high-rise apartments, and since they were so close to the water, so pretty and new, you had no hope of affording them. It probably wouldn’t be very good for your mental health even if you could. Still, you’d taken many walks past the street. Enjoyed the little bit of dirty white concrete that had survived. You and your siblings had signed your names into it, and you’d stroked the sidewalk like the weirdo you were many times.

Like you did today. And today, for some reason, the rest of it was here. Untouched. A remnant of the disaster. As you run your thumb along the sharp edge of Julie’s J, you find yourself once again lost in your memories. They were like honey traps to you these days.

The mum-and-pops diner had been run by your uncle. It’d been in the family for three generations, and he was incorrigibly proud of it. You’d all had your birthday parties there, because it was free and you were poor. It wasn’t like your uncle would let you pay for the food anyway, it was just one of the few times Mum could stand the generosity. She didn’t like it when you had disappointing birthdays, and no matter how much you tried to fake your happiness, she could always see to your core. Eventually, you and your siblings all gave up on trying.

You were late. You were often late, but this time it was… it was the difference between life and death. If you’d been a few blocks further, a little bit earlier, you’d probably be dead too. Or at least have some serious hearing loss instead of just suffering mild tinnitus.

You had felt more than seen the destruction. The earth had rumbled, and a deafening roar had swept through the streets. You remember falling to your knees, the worry about being late morphing to worry for your best clothes to a true terror when you realised where the blast had come from.

When you realised your family was in the epicentre.

You sometimes wish you were on time that day. That you’d gotten to see them all, even if you went with them. It didn’t sound so bad, really. At least you wouldn’t be alone. Hmm, you should probably stop thinking like that. Or maybe go to a therapist about it.

Not that you could afford it. Oh, right. Rich now. That was really taking some getting used to.

You wonder if people who won the lottery felt the same way. Probably not, because the rest of the world reflected the changes the person felt. They’d have to go pick up the check, go to the bank, and if they let their family and friends know, deal with the consequences of that.

You’d just woken up rich. No time to adjust, your new life was here and it was demanding your attention very loudly. And soup-ly, unfortunately. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the rubble, you look towards your left, where you know the Memorial awaits you. It’s in the centre of the new shopping district, built on top of the bombed parts of Gotham. It sits right next to the water, the cold breeze a comfort that you’d turned to on more than one occasion.

You’d feel bad if you didn’t change your clothes. You told Grayson you would, and you already felt bad enough about... everything to do with him. You suppose he was your brother. Your ex-brother. Ex-step-brother. The ex-step-brother of a woman who you weren’t.

Really, he was just a stranger. It seemed he didn’t feel that way, though.

You start the walk towards the shopping district, and into the first clothes store you see. The prices on the tags would usually make you flinch, but well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing seems to matter. Your survival is now guaranteed, might as well wear some clothes that feel nice on your skin.

You walk out of that store looking like you just robbed it. Even the clerk had given you a weird look but accepted the black card tucked in your phone without much complaint. It’s an improvement if a small one.

Once you’re done, like a moth to a flame, you drift towards the Memorial centre. You’re following all the steps you used to in the past, but somehow, it all feels a bit alien. The world looks a little different, a little uncomfortable. Your shoes are worn in, and yet they still feel too tight.

Uncanny valley. You feel unwelcomed here, unwanted. Like the very earth can tell that there’s something wrong in this scene, some intruder. You ignore the feeling as best you can.

The Memorial is just as unfamiliar as the diner was, maybe even more. You know that your mother was a Wayne before she died. You know that. But still seeing your family’s framed photos, right alongside Jason's is so shocking you nearly jump. It takes a moment of wide-eyed staring before you can manage to get past that. When you do, for some reason you still go back to your old habits. You walk by them, the bouquets and to where their names used to be in thin letters.

You count with your fingers, finding the fifty-second line.

A man’s name replaces the spot where your mother’s is. The little grooves the oil in your fingers had left behind were gone, and instead was sharp stone like when the monument was first erected. It cuts at your fingers. It no longer welcomes your touch.

James Whitaker. That’s the name of the man who took their spot.

You can already feel a rising obsession with the random dead man. If you were going to psycho-analyse yourself, you’d recognise that you didn’t feel that the images of the Waynes you’d created were no longer real, no longer safe to your escapist mindset. You’d realise, that this was all pretty unhealthy, and you really, really needed therapy.

Instead, you give the guy your condolences and start reading the other plinths. They seem largely the same. It’s not like you hadn’t read all of these towers of stone at one point or another, your eyes glazing over the many, many names. So much devastation, all in one moment.

And still, this was not even a tenth of all the lives the Joker had taken. You kinda wanna go take a kick at one of the Bat signals littered around the city. Maybe that’d make you less… broiling with incompetent rage.

Again, maybe you should just go to therapy. You should call Jeanine about that or something.

Eventually, you circle back to your family and Jason’s shrines. You know, back then you’d been jealous that Jason Todd had been so well mourned. You’d wished your family had gotten the same treatment.

Now, you… felt jealous again. Possessive, over their memory, their image. You didn’t really like that random strangers that never knew them… knew them. That Sam always got As in English and Art class but would sometimes skip math and would hide in the bathrooms to do so. That Chasey had struggled with going to school because of her anxiety but kept going because she had a friend going through the exact same thing. That Julie was the ace of her school’s soccer team, and that she’d almost gotten them to nationals even in the presence of all the super-rich schools in Gotham. That your Mum was a great cook but genuinely hated doing it, but for some reason, baking was her favourite thing even as she had never made a proper macaron.

They didn’t know them. They knew their faces and a facsimile of them, but they didn’t know them. It reminded you of the people at the orphanage. Nice, but not kind. They’d had their own lives, they didn’t want some bratty, demented teenager who was going down and planning on taking everyone with her.

You really couldn’t be happy, could you? Maybe you didn’t know what you wanted. What you want now. What you’d wanted for a while, actually.

Ugh. You close your eyes and let out a deep, soul-shaking sigh. It takes a moment for you to shore up the willpower to open them again. Come on, flower shop, finish your weird little ritual then you can go home and hide for the next millenia.

The walk there is the same as always, if a little more morose. It’s in a good spot, near the church just a block away and the memorial on its other side, as well as less sombre atmospheres down near the pier. Well, as little sombre as Gotham can manage.

You feel like you blink and you’re there. Too quickly, you find a rainbow of blooms in front of you, the scent of the blossoms washing over you. When you walk into the flower shop, the bell at the door rings the same as it always does. On autopilot, you walk over to the small, cheaper buds. Your hand clenches around the crinkly wrapping paper, a bundle of posies in your hand. You go to the counter with your prize in hand.

Larissa, the counter worker, smiles at you. Your breath hitches. It’s a working smile, not one of the real, toothy ones she used to give you.

“Oh wow, I thought all the posies had sold out. Lucky you!”

You think of something to say, but the moment passes and you don’t. She rings you up, tells you the price, and when you pay, asks sweetly if you want a receipt.

She doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t acknowledge how you come here every week and buy this same handful of flowers. She doesn’t ask about your job or the weather. She doesn’t cheerfully tell you about how her apprenticeship is going, or about the next sweet thing her partner has done. No, she just stares at you, growing more uncomfortable the longer it takes for you to answer.

She doesn’t even seem to recognise this other version of you. It feels like another string that tied you down to the earth has been snipped. You have an image in your head of a child losing a balloon, desperately grasping at the air. You’re going to float up into the atmosphere, and then you’re going to pop.

You can see the foil glinting in the sun’s light, so, so clearly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Yes, a receipt, please.”

Taking it blindly, you barely flutter your eyes open as you walk out of the shop. She didn’t know you, didn’t remember you. That doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. You hadn’t really known her. It doesn’t matter. There’s no real difference, it doesn’t matter.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it never really mattered. You keep telling yourself this as you walk back over to the memorial. As you lay your flowers down with the others, the little posies are dwarfed by the other donations. It didn’t matter. You didn’t know her. None of this matters. Their flowers don’t matter.

You don’t matter. You hit that errant thought with a mental fly swatter.

Exhausted, you sit down next to the monument. You used to be able to lay your head on the stone, able to feel your family in the warmth it had absorbed in the sun. Now you just sort of, awkwardly reached out to the small bit of uncovered plinth at the side. You have to stick your hand through a wreath to do so.

It’s not warm. You wonder if your family are sad. And then you wonder if you’re an idiot for attributing feelings to a literal rock.

After a while, you get up. Cross your arms. You stare at your family's portraits, eyes moving over their smiles. One by one. You recognise some of the photographs, those are your favourites. A smile cracks across your face when you see the picture of when Chasey lost her two front teeth. She still grins cheekily at the camera, uncaring for any changes to her appearance, as all kids shouldn’t.

Your shoulders fall just the slightest bit when you see the picture of Jason Todd. It’s one of his older pictures. Probably seventeen or something. He’d always been a lovely boy when he was younger. And he still was up till he died but you’d always thought you’d seen something start to change in him. That sparkle of innocence, dulled, just the slightest.

And then he’d died. And you’d wondered if maybe he’d felt it was coming.

You certainly hadn’t. It had been like a hurricane tearing through your life. You’d ended up on the other side completely abandoned, the only friend who’d bothered to keep seeing you being one who’d learnt to dodge train ticket costs like a damn ninja. And you’d had to decide whether you could keep doing this, whether you even wanted to.

You were an obsessive creature by nurture. It had been all you could do to hang onto the Waynes, pretend they would love and care for you even if they’d have never even noticed you in real life. You weren’t sure that was strength or simple human survival. Dying was scary. Of course, you were scared of dying.

Your whole family had died. So, you told yourself, that Jason Fucking Todd would be sad if you killed yourself, and somehow, you had made it all these years.

And now here you were, and the Waynes did notice you in real life. You were important to them. You didn’t want to be, but you were. And again, you have to ask yourself, what would Jason Todd ask of you? What would he want you to do now, in this impossible situation you’ve found yourself in?

You stare at the picture. Stare at the way the sun hits his dark hair and blue eyes. Stare very, very hard. Like he might crawl out and give you a detailed list of what to do. You’d really like a detailed list. Or any guidance at all. Maybe you could go hit up a seance or something.

Your head falls forward into your sun-warmed palms. This is so stupid. No answers are going to fall from the sky, you need to find them yourself. And you’re not going to find them here.

Someone walks up beside you to the old memorial, and you quickly tuck yourself back into an acceptable image. Fold in all the rough edges you can. A tall and well-built man, with a face mask, sunglasses and a trucker hat, he looks like he could be a celebrity or something. Someone important, much more than you.

And you weren’t, not technically, at least. The universe had done the equivalent of a shelving error, and now here you goddamn were.

He does an odd pose next to you, something military-esque, where he clasps his hands together and bows his head. With a quick flick of your eyes you confirm, yes, his feet are equal with his shoulders. It’s obvious that he’s paying his respects so you do your best not to judge him too hard.

And then he speaks to you.

“I’m sorry.”

You look up, startled and confused.

“For your loss,” the deep voice finishes, jerking his head toward the pictures in front of the two of you.

“Wha- oh uh, um,” you blink and then realise that this person has recognised you, which would make sense since you are literally in one of the photos in front of you, and manage to pull your fading conscious mind back together for a moment more.

“Thank you, uh-” you stare at him a moment longer, “You too?”

Almost worse than that time you told the barista who gave you your coffee you hoped she enjoyed hers too, but not quite. Well, you know, he’d probably lost someone here too. You don’t know why he’d be here otherwise unless he wanted an autograph or something. The thought almost makes you laugh.

He snorts at your words. You don’t know what to make of that.

He looks back down at the pictures and flowers. You think he does, at least, from the slight shifting of his head. He’s kind of mysterious. Pair that with the deep voice, the muscular and tall physique, and you’re an odd mix of attracted and socially anxious. Not that you’re not always socially anxious, but this guy feels… strong. Dumb again, you can see his biceps from here but…

You just can’t quite shake it off. Strong. Strong.

“They didn’t deserve it, none of them did,” he speaks again, and you wonder what the fuck he’s going on about at all.

You admit, you sound a little bitter when you mutter, “Well, that’s obvious.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, and you see his eyes flash to you from under his sunglasses. A shade of blue. There’s another odd pause, and then he turns to you. You don’t know why he’s looking at you. He crosses his arms, and seems to size you up.

“What are you doing here?” he asks you like he knows you.

Your brow furrows. Okay, kind of losing any hotness points here. Bothering someone who was grieving could’ve been seen as rude from the very start, but you’d just thought he was weird. Now, you thought he was weird and rude.

“…Paying my respects. Obviously,” you gesture downwards, “My mother, my siblings, and…”

Well, how would you describe the relationship between you and Jason Todd now? He was still just a stranger to you and-

“With who, that guy?”

Now, it isn’t often that you’re stunned into silence, but at the moment you can’t find it in you to do anything but stare and gape. Frankly, you’re astonished! You’ve never met anyone who spoke so rudely of the dead, and well, he couldn’t have picked a worse person to do it in front of.

“Excuse me?” your voice can’t seem to convey even half of your offence, even as you sound like you’re about ready to bite a second person for today. The man pauses like you’ve surprised him, which- what the fuck is going on? Why do you feel like an alien crash-landed on Earth these days?

“No, I just meant-” he huffs, shakes his head, and continues, his voice now offended too, “What the fuck am I saying? Yes, I did mean that. That little twerp was a naive idiot who was manipulated by the people he believed in most.”

You stare, absolutely speechless, as the stranger goes on a damn-fucking-near crazed rant about one of the people most important to you. Never met? Sure. Dead as hell? Absolutely. But still, he was one of your lifelines. Your candlelight in the dark, guiding your way even when you felt completely lost. And now he’s calling him a naive idiot? You can practically feel the steam coming out of your ears.

“He changed nothing, made no difference in the end-”

“Nothing?!” you practically shriek, finally able to find your voice just to use it to shout, “He changed… so much! He donated millions of dollars, did heaps of charity work, was practically a treasure to our city… He made multiple homeless shelters, an orphanage, helped rehabilitate criminals and countless other things.”

Your fists are clenched tight enough that they shake. You hide them behind your back, but you still feel like he can probably see them. Your emotions are simmering too close to the surface, bubbling over and onto the floor. About to burn his sneakers to ash.

“You seem like you care a lot,” he says, sounding reserved.

“Of course, I care.”

“…It’s just, you didn’t seem the type, on the TV,” he keeps talking, poking at you for some god-awful reason, and you bark out a harsh laugh.

“Maybe people need to stop making so many fucking assumptions, then? It certainly hasn’t gotten you anywhere,” you throw your hands up, damn sick of all the constant fucking surveillance you’re under. You can see why this version of you lost her mind. You’re near about to as well.

He stares at you for a moment longer, and you start feeling too uncomfortable. It’s a stupid and useless protectiveness that has you staying. Like he’ll somehow try and harm the shrine to your people. It’s happened before, Joker fanboys defacing it and such. This guy could be one of those bastards.

And yet… somehow you feel…

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he finally says.

“Good, you do that.”

“But in the end, nothing’s really changed. Joker’s still out and about, as you well know.”

You physically flinch like you’ve been slapped. For a good minute there, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You raise one shaking fist, and lift one trembling finger, pointing. The man looks in the direction you’ve pointed, and when he doesn’t see anything, turns back to you. His sunglasses reflect the grey afternoon sun.

“Go,” you order, voice shaking just like the rest of you.

He just keeps staring at you. You wish he’d take off those dumb fucking glasses, so you could see this asshole’s face. Etch it into your mind. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t take any action. He simply waits for you to… Well, you don’t know what you’ll do. You haven’t known what you’d do since you left Dick behind two hours ago.

“You need to go,” you say again, and again, he doesn’t fucking move, “You… there’s… you have no right.”

You can hear the buzz of the city around you, the wind rushing by. His clothes rustle in the wind. Your voice sounds too loud in your ears, but he won’t just… he won’t leave. You don’t want this stranger here, watching you. Judging you. It’s all…

“Jason didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, and you think to yourself, desperately, ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

There’s a slight shift in the stranger’s posture. His shoulders tensed.

You think you’ve offended him.

“The Joker… That’s nobody's fault but the government for not just sucking it up and giving him the death penalty, or Batman’s for not doing it himself a long time ago. They’re all fucking useless, but they’re the ones who are supposed to be dealing with this!” you continue, your words growing more heated. It’s only the already looming threat of an assault case that keeps you from shoving the guy. Not like you’d be able to move him an inch, of course, he was huge.

You’re sure it would feel good, though.

“It was never some random teenager's responsibility, and it wasn't mine either,” you say, but find yourself pausing for a moment when you hear the end of your sentence. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious anyway.

You’d tied yourself and Jason up together in your head. To you, you were both two sides of the same coin. One foot in the grave. You’ve got one foot in the grave…

“Jason Todd was a good person, and he made the world a better place.”

You look down at the portrait of the boy, his toothy smile twisting at your heart. None of this was fair. None of this had ever been fair. Why was this guy acting like anybody here had ever been able to do anything about it? Like Jason should’ve been smarter, and avoided a fucking bomb blast?

It was stupid. This was stupid, and you were over it. You were tired.

“And I miss him.”

It’s quiet after you say that.

“I don’t know how you can think it’s fair to act like his death was pointless when… of course it was, all of this was pointless,” you say, throwing your hands wide and gesturing to the entire memorial. “This was a tragedy, but Jason was a victim. And I’m sick of people like you who think they can decide whether someone else’s life was lived right. It’s not your damn right.”

“Now… fuck off!” you announce, and to your shock, he does. He fucks right off. The man gives you one last lingering look, and then turns and leaves without another word. Not like you needed them.

You huff out a shocked breath, and then turn back to the memorial.

The framed faces of your loved ones stare back at you, and for all you know it’s stupid, you can’t help but feel embarrassed for the display. You know your mother would’ve scolded you for your language, at least.

“Sorry,” you say, and you’re unfortunately reminded of that irritating man again. Likely that won’t be the first time he pops up again in your head. He seemed well, insane. Which wasn’t that odd in Gotham but… god, you just couldn’t seem to let it go.

It pissed you off to high heaven. His rudeness was something you’d usually be able to shrug off, especially from some random stranger, but, but, but-! Argh, damn it all. And it wasn’t like that was the first time you had had that sort of conversation, but it was certainly the first time someone had been so bold as to bring it up in front of your dead mother’s smiling face.

Earlier today had snuffed out the fire in you, but that encounter had been the spark to reignite it. More than that, actually. It had made you so damn pissed, made your blood boil in a way you just couldn’t ignore, to the point that you wanted to prove him wrong.

Jason Todd had mattered and had made a difference and change in Gotham. He had made a change in you. You put your hands on your hips, stare down at the flowers, and make a decision.

You’re going to fix your goddamn life. For Jason Fucking Todd.

Your body feels like shit, your brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, and yet this is the greatest opportunity you’ve ever been given. You have a chance to save yourself, and save your friends, and fix all the tiny little problems in Gotham that you’ve suffered through since childhood. Surely just throwing enough money at all your problems would fix some of them.

You were rich. If you couldn’t fix your life with millions of dollars available, then you had no chance.

And yeah, you don’t know what you’re doing. You know you can’t really change what happened. Back then or even just a few days ago. But you hate that. You hate it so much. You hate how weak you are in the face of loss. How both then and now, there’s nothing you can really do. And maybe if just out of spite, towards that asshat, Batman, Joker and everyone else, you want to make a change.

You want to be able to do something about it. You want it, so fucking bad.

First order of business?

…You want more flowers.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[daycourtofficial]

A Bite Sized Romance

Summary: you offer to make dinner for Azriel, but he gives you half-assed reasons as to why he can’t make it.

Author’s note: I love love love this idea it’s been floating around my head for a LONG time 💕

“Have you ever had ratatouille?” You ask Azriel, taking a bite of the dish in front of you.

Every Thursday, you and the shadowsinger go out to a different restaurant, usually in Velaris, occasionally in other courts. Seeing the shadowsinger could be difficult during the week, especially with your busy schedule, so you two set aside Thursday nights to eating dinner together.

Your brain had a hard time understanding that these were not necessarily dates, even though that is exactly what Cassian, Mor, the whole IC, and even Azriel and yourself call them.

“No, what’s rat patootie?” He says, taking a bite of his pasta.

“Ratatouille,” you correct, sighing wistfully, “it’s a traditional dish my mom used to make when I was a kid. I don’t think annyone in Velaris makes it. This dish kind of reminds me of it, but it’s not the same.”

You sit up, a smile stretching across your face. “Maybe next Thursday I’ll cook it for us. It’s so much better homemade - what do you say?”

He stills at your words, almost choking on his food. Through coughs he tells you, “surely there’s somewhere we can go for it, I wouldn’t want to trouble you with cooking.”

“But I like cooking,” you object. “And despite the copious amounts of meals we’ve shared together, I don’t think I’ve ever cooked for you.”

He doesn’t want to budge, so you pull out the big guns.

You pout your lip, making your eyes look as sad and endearing as possible, “please, Az? It reminds me of being a kid again. And I’d love to share that with you.”

Mother forsake him, he couldn’t say no to your sad, puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbles, sure he’ll figure a way out of it before Thursday comes. Perhaps he could find a way to get impaled.

You squeal, “oooh you’re going to love it!”

-

Thursday was fast approaching, and Azriel was trying to use every excuse in the book to keep this dinner from happening. He told you Rhys had to send him on a mission that night, which you immediately turned around and went to Rhys’s office and asked him to send someone else.

Rhys, having no idea what you were talking about, sees Azriel in the doorway who tells him mind to mind, “come on, say you have to send me.”

Rhys sends the equivalent of a smirk to Azriel mentally and tells you, “my mistake, I didn’t realize what day I was telling him to leave.”

Azriel stood in the doorway and gave his brother the finger from behind you.

Azriel made excuses, all ranging from Cassian needing help with training, Feyre needing an escort to the Hewn City, even to Mor needing help with the upkeep of the horses in the guard. Every excuse was denied by his so-called family, not allowing him to use them as scapegoats. It was starting to make you suspicious.

Thursday morning after Azriel’s last ditch attempt to get out of the dinner, involving some excuse about Eris needing rescuing, you sigh, exasperated.

“Okay Az, it was just an idea. Clearly you don’t want to do it, so just.. don’t bother, okay? Go save Eris from whatever it is that’s attacking him.”

You turn, wanting to leave the kitchen before Azriel sees how much this actually upsets you. “That’s not-“ he starts, trying to grab you as you pass him, but you wriggle from his grasp, disappearing into the hallway up to your bedroom.

Az was sitting on the kitchen counter, wallowing in self-pity over how poorly he handled that situation, when Cassian walked in.

“And what do you have to be so upset about, pretty boy?”

Azriel lifts his head, looking at Cassian eating a stupid banana. Gods, he wanted to throttle him. “Oh no, I’m Azriel and a beautiful woman wants to cook me dinner, even though I eat dinner with her most nights and have weekly dates with her even though I deny anyth-“

Cassian stops, taking a bite of his banana. He looks up, and realization dawns on him.

“Oh my gods,” he says, his mouth full of banana. Azriel decides to play the denial game, because surely Cassian did not figure out the secret he’s kept guarded for several months while eating a fucking banana.

Cassian looked at him, turning to look up the stairs where you had left just a few moments ago, “you two?”

Azriel rolls his eyes, “we’re friends, yes.”

Cassian rolls his eyes even harder. “I’m not an idiot. You follow her around like a pitiful puppy,” he says, coming closer to his brother, “you two eat just about every meal together, but the one day she offers to cook for you suddenly you can’t find time for her?”

Cassian narrows his eyes at Azriel, “you ashamed of her or something?”

Azriel’s eyes widen, not only at Cassian’s question that he could ever be ashamed of you, but also at Cassian’s change in demeanor.

Cassian slips into the protective big brother role when it comes to you quite easily, Azriel thinks as Cassian puffs out his chest while he strides over to stand next to Azriel.

“Now why on earth would I be ashamed of her?”

Cassian inspects Azriel for a second before asking, “then why haven’t you told her?”

He pauses, then asks, “how long have you known?”

Azriel huffs, “known what?”

“That she’s your mate.”

Azriel stills at Cassian’s words. They liked to poke fun of Cass, calling him a dumb brute, but Cassian was no fool. If any member of his family were to discover his secret, it would be Cassian.

Azriel looks at him, “a few months. I’ve been… waiting.” He sighs, “I keep wanting to tell her and then I psyche myself out. Once I tell her, things will be… different.”

Azriel hates how quiet his voice becomes as he says, “what if she is ashamed of who the mother picked for her?”

Cassian’s chest deflates, all sense of protectiveness over you gone and replaced with protectiveness over his brother.

“Then she’d be a fool.”

Looking down, Azriel watches as Cassian’s foot gently nudges his own, a silent request from Cassian for him to look up.

“There is no way she would ever be ashamed of you or be upset that you’re her mate.”

The way Cassian is looking at Azriel makes him want to shy away, but Cassian keeps his gaze steady, almost locking Azriel’s eyes into place.

“I’d be willing to bet she has journals full of doodles where she draws little hearts with your names in it, and she also writes “Mrs. Shadowsinger”

The rise in octave in his brother’s voice causes a laugh to burst out of him, but Cassian continues.

“I once tried to sit next to you for a meal and I’ve never seen anyone move as quickly as she did to claim her seat. Honestly, this will come as a shock to no one.”

Azriel looked back up at his brother to find him already looking at him, a soft gaze grazing his face.

“We’re happy for you two.”

Azriel scoffs, “I take that to mean you’ve already told Rhysand?”

Cassian starts walking away, going to pick up the remainder of his banana. “Oh yeah, we’ve had a bet for about a year now. Rhys thought the bond had snapped for her, but I knew it would be you. You’ve made me a much richer man, Az.”

Cassian bows in thanks, ducking out the door as Azriel throws a different banana towards the space he was occupying.

-

You had been sulking in your room for what felt like hours after Azriel’s latest rejection. You spent the whole time flipping between thinking about all the little moments that had you swearing there was something happening between you two, and each and every excuse he had made to get out of this dinner.

Was your cooking that bad? Was he tired of you taking up every one of his Thursday nights?

The two of you spent an absurd amount of time together - you ate most meals together at the house, you saw each other multiple times every day. Were you wrong?

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts, but before you can respond, the door is opening and Cassian pokes his head in. He has a hand covering his eyes, but he’s made a slit between his middle and ring fingers, allowing him to still see.

“Are you decent?” He asks, looking around the room.

He sighs at seeing you dressed on your bed, pulling his hand away from his face as he walks in, closing the door behind him.

You giggled, “Cass the whole point is to not see someone naked.”

He rolled his eyes as he plopped down next to you on your bed, “you don’t even want to give me a peak? I’ve had such a hard day, a little skin would make me feel better.”

You laugh, picking up a pillow and hitting him with it. He lets you hit him, pretending to fall dramatically onto his back.

“Tell Rhys I loved him,” he sighs dramatically, pretending to die.

You laugh at his foolish antics, but Cassian continues to pretend he’s dead. You lean into him, about to poke his face, when he grabs your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder.

“Now come on, I’ve got shopping to do and I need your help.”

-

After Cassian had left, Azriel spent some time trying to decide how he could make this up to you. He didn’t want to force you into accepting a bond that you didn’t know about by presenting him with food.

He paced his room, his long legs gliding across the wooden floors making no noise. His shadows were combing through the house, trying to find out where you had gone after your earlier spat.

Azriel replaced with pacing with purposeful steps as he headed towards his bedroom door, the perfect solution coming to him.

-

“Thank you Cassian,” you say, squeezing his arm your hand was tucked into.

“For what? My incredibly charming presence?” He smirks down at you.

You scoff, “I felt awful earlier but you pulled me out of my spiraling, thanks.” You say, nudging him a bit.

Cassian had gotten you out of your room and the two of you walked around Velaris, mostly people watching and talking.

He hums, “well, both of my brothers are idiots,” he says, getting a laugh out of you. “They take turns on who holds the idiot stick. Today it’s Azriel.”

“Do you ever hold the idiot stick?”

“Occasionally, very rarely, I will pass it between the two of them, so I only have it for a moment or two.”

You snort, looking down at your feet. If Cassian thought Azriel was being stupid, does he see what you see?

You start to ask him, to prod him for more answers about Azriel, when he pats your hand, turning your attention to where the two of you had ended up on this walk.

The townhouse.

Your brows crease in confusion as Cassian removes your hand from his elbow, pats your shoulder, and tells you to have a good night.

You start to sputter, wanting to know why you’re here. He shrugs, “I don’t question my orders.” He gives you a two finger salute before turning around and walking away.

You turn back around, looking at the entrance to the townhouse, afraid of what you’ll find on the other side of the door, but going up and knocking anyway.

The door opens, but no one is there. A small shadow swirls around you, moving up from your feet to your face, caressing your cheek before zipping off to the kitchen.

You step through the threshold and a new shadow comes and shuts the door, another two come and help you take your coat off and hang it up for you.

You walk towards the kitchen, where you can hear the clattering of plates and some delicious aromas filling the whole house. Inside the kitchen you find Azriel, with a frilly apron tied around his waist, putting the finishing touches on two plates at the table.

“What’s all this?” You ask him, doubt creeping in that this isn’t meant for you.

“Sit, sit,” he beckons, pulling out a chair for you. You look around the room, covered in flickering candlelight and flowers. He must have been working on this for hours.

You look down at your plate, the bright colors of ratatouille catching your eye. You gasp, wanting to know how much effort he went to find a recipe for it.

He takes off the apron, sitting across from you.

“I… made an ass of myself, and I’d like to apologize first and foremost for that.” You open your mouth to interrupt him, but he holds up a hand. “Let me finish, I have.. a lot to tell you.”

He takes a deep breath, stilling his nerves. You look so pretty in the glow of the candles, and the slight concern you’ll hate him is enough to distract him, but he has to tell you this.

“There’s a reason I didn’t want you to cook for me. A few months ago we were in the library, reading, and I looked up and I watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, laughing at something in your book and I.. felt it.”

You’re in a trance, listening to him speak.

“I felt like I was dying and coming back to life, like your hand was wrapped around my heart, squeezing in time, keeping it beating. I made up some half-assed excuse to leave, because I needed to talk to Rhys.”

You looked at him, hoping your gaze would encourage him to continue.

“Rhys confirmed what I thought it was - the bond snapping. And I was terrified.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I was terrified if I told you, you’d deny the bond, you’d break my heart. So I… put off telling you. I couldn’t.”

He looks down at his lap, fidgeting his fingers.

“I kept trying to tell you, then I’d chicken out. Then when you offered to cook for me, I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t let you accidentally accept the bond, accept me without knowing about it.”

He sighs, “I felt awful when I realized you thought I was rejecting you. Far from it. So I’ve uh.. made you dinner.”

You finally speak, “you made me dinner.”

“I made you dinner. And dessert, actually.”

Leave it to Azriel to outdo himself by finding the time to make dessert.

You weren’t letting a single emotion show on your face, and it made a shiver run up Azriel’s spine.

After what could have been hours, you slowly smiled, looking at him, “what kind of dessert did you make?”

He pauses, “I uh made you- us, uh chocolate mousse. I made two, but I thought we could share one.”

He looks at you, still not giving anything away, “if you want to, of course.”

He shifts, your silence making him uneasy.

“If you don’t want to accept it, I understand. I kept it from you, and I’m me, loving me would be rotten work- what are you doing?”

In the middle of his rambling, you picked up your fork, getting a nice helping of food on your fork, bringing it up to your mouth.

“Well, my mate made me dinner, and it looks incredible. Why would I not want to take a bite?”

He looks at you, a rush of emotions flooding him. Surprise, confusion, elation.

“But, but I can promise you to love me, to be my mate, it’s rotten work.”

You smile, “not to me it’s not.”

You pause, “not if it’s you,” and take a bite.

His chest sings, feeling warmth radiating throughout him. Feeling love radiate through him, and he realizes that’s you.

You keep eating the food, that hum getting louder and more vibrant, until you’ve cleared your plate, and stride over to him.

You grab his face in your hands, tilting his head so he’ll look into your eyes. “If you think I am not aware of who you are, what you do, your darkest parts, you are mistaken. And if you think I will shy away from those things, you are a fool.”

He hadn’t realized he was crying until you swiped your thumb across his cheek, swiping it away.

You smile down at him, and he has never felt so loved, so whole as he does in this moment. His mate, the one person the cauldron deemed would understand him, just chose him.

He feels like that little boy, looked in the dungeon, daydreaming about being saved by an angel. And he has.

He stands up, cupping your face in his hands, “I was in love with you before the bond snapped for me. I’m not here just because the cauldron told me to be, let me assure you that.”

You smile, a heat creeping up your cheeks. “I’m only here for the chocolate mousse.”

He laughs, a genuine, roaring laugh.

You pull his face in close to yours, gazing into his eyes. “And I have been in love with you since the day after I met you.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “the day after?”

You smile, “well I thought I was in love with you that first day, but then on that second day I heard you speak, and I knew no one would ever compare.”

You feel his happiness in your chest, as if his heart is also in your ribcage, yours and his intertwined, dancing through your chest together.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his mouth so close to your own your breaths are intermingling.

You smile at his thoughtfulness, his hesitation.

“Only if you promise to never stop.”

[yolli-es]

Please, I'm really sorry

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, sadness, rude treatment, mentions of death

I doubt this is in character, so treat it as a silly sketch. Writing text is harder than headcanons..

MY ENGLISH IS BAD AND THERE MAY BE MEANING ERRORS

You adore Jinx; you love and tolerate her. Your acquaintance was unexpected, and your subsequent friendship was spontaneous. You were choking with tears after losing your mother when she found you. This girl saved you so easily, as if it were so easy. Jinx never told you about the past, but when the voices in her head became too loud, you didn't need an explanation. You saw how bad she becomes and what consequences it can bring. Afterwards, you promise yourself to always be there so that you can prevent the irreparable. This was not always successful.

After Silco died, things got really bad. Jinx tried to continue his work, to be strong and collected. But this is Jinx. Your Jinx. And she never was and never will be like this. Maybe that's why she's been so rude to you, taking it out on you because she's under so much stress. Sooner or later it will all end, and she will be able to look at you again without irritation.

You forgive Jinx for everything: the harsh words, the insults, the hits. Because she always apologizes after. And you don't care that it's not sincere at all. You love her; she is the only thing you have.

The day started out quite normally. You and Jinx were sitting in Silko's office, which is still called that way to this day, on the initiative of Jinx herself. It was all quite nice: she decided to share with you many thoughts about the future, which happened quite rarely. But then Sevika came in. And with her came terrible news. Shimmer production had been disrupted again. The enforcers blew up the plant, dealing with the guards there without any particular problems. And she just walked out after saying that. Just one look from Jinx made it clear how bad she was feeling right now,

"It's not your fault, and..." — you're interrupted by a rude "shut up." Jinx, who had been sitting on the table quite relaxed, now clutched her head, her eyes closed, and her breathing quickened. Just a few moments ago she was vulnerable, and now she's rude to you again. "You don't understand me at all," Jinx said in a breaking voice, hiding her face in her knees. It was painful to hear. We have been through a lot together. But she's worse off, and you step over yourself again: "I love you, Jinx. What do you want me to do?". You tell her this so often, so sincerely and naively. Her reaction to your words is always different; you can never guess, and now she again hits you: "I want you to stop being so useless and just help me." Jinx whispered, still struggling with her emotions. She hadn't let herself get angry, panicked, or sad that easily since Silco died. No tears. She kept herself under control. And is that what she thought all along? It's your fault; you're just doing a shitty job. Obviously, sitting here with her is not what she wanted. It looks so painful for you. The girl you love is suffering so much; why don't you just make it easier? That day you stayed, having endured many insults and a couple of blows.

Usually you stayed by Jinx's side, always supporting her and helping her with many tasks. For example, maintaining her authority in the city, keeping an eye out for possible rats nearby, and always saving your love from nervous breakdowns. But now you're by Sevika's side, at a shimmer production plant. You didn't tell Jinx anything; you didn't even think she would ask and worry. You need to act more decisively, as she wanted it. The task was simple: wait until the enforcers come here and destroy them. You were never a good fighter, just a decent shot. Your skills were enough to protect yourself on the streets of Zaun, but they were nothing against well-trained law enforcement officers. That's why you stayed on the sidelines, watching from above and covering Sevika.

You realized how much you screwed up with this shit when you found yourself in the middle of a shootout. Things didn't go according to plan when Sevika was shot, and now you had to save her. Letting the woman lean on you, you ran upstairs. The sounds of gunshots, explosions, and screams confirmed your fears: this plant is finished. Neither the shimmer nor the people were saved. Adrenaline was pumping through you, and you didn't notice anything except the cherished goal.

You reached a safe place and fell. The rest was like a dream. Sevika sat next to you, trying to close the open wound. She tied it with a rag, shouting something about the presence of shimmer nearby. The wound seems to be on your legs, chest, and head. It was painful and cold. Severe weakness. How the hell did enforcers get you? You couldn't think, let alone remember. This woman was shaking you, trying to make you think, but you had already given up. You had lost, and you had screwed up so badly, Jinx would never forgive you. Sevika shouted something, and you didn't really listen; you just couldn't. And then your gaze focused on a blue spot... Jinx? You wanted to look at her one last time. She may be disappointed in you, angry, or simply empty towards you, but all this will not matter as long as she is here. Your eyes closed for just a moment.

" ...orr..."—You can't see, only distantly hear. Such a nice sound; you've heard it before. The noise makes you open your eyes again. A flash of light disorientated you. Straining your eyes, you managed to make out a silhouette in front of you. It was Jinx, and... she was crying. She was in complete disarray, desperately holding your face. She bit her lips every time she wanted to swallow the lump in her throat and continue talking. She was talking to you. What was she saying? Your damn body is so weak. "Hold on, just breathe. Please, I'm really sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you...",-She repeated it over and over while you felt the shimmer being injected into your body. You wanted to calm her down, to say "I love you" back. And all you did was watch silently. Your eyelids were so heavy, and your body suddenly seemed too weightless. You were being yelled at, shaken, and pricked with a shimmer stabbed over and over. And you were too weak to respond to it, closing your eyes one last time.

Jinx sincerely apologizes this time. It's a pity that your mind was too weak to realize this.

it was short, unclear and stupid 🥴 Wrote this in a hurry while I'm taking a break from studying and writing other things.

[brucewaynehater101]

It would be sad if Tim was a dove

his parents show off him and his likenesss to angels at galas before leaving him alone again

After a long night of fighting in the city smog and grime goes to vacation at his wings look similar to Jason’s pigeon wings and the way Bruce looks at him? That hurts

if they have traits of their birds welp mourning doves mate for life and will just like slowly sink into depression without their love, and everyone Tim has ever loved dies constantly so that’s neat

during the tt attack Jason goes at them bc “doves are just better pigeons” and Jason is grumpy

people seem to forget that doves are used at weddings and funerals, they are a blessing and an apology

dick hates Tim’s wings at first bc divks moms wings were like a Eurasian collared doves wings (dick inherited his dads wings) so every time he sees them he is reminded of her

Damian probably see them as another part of his perfect brother, can do nothing wrong so everyone hates me compared to him lenses that Damian wears bc a bird with undying loyalty and easy to train?

Steph probably preened with Tim as like bonding, instead of just cleaning, and Tim probably was just so happy

The shot in the back ruined one of Babs wings as well and so she probably has Tim fly around and grab the things she needs up high and he listens like a good little brother

Tim approaches Duke when he is all moved in and offers to help him preen (dukes parents always did it with him) and this helps duke feel included

It would be fun if one day Tim gets really hurts and his feathers are tinted red when they find him

Oh, fuck. I love pigeons. Sorry. I got distracted... but the symbolism with Jason being a pigeon???

Fuck.

Right. Quick history with pigeons: They were originally domesticated animals and the oldest documented domesticated bird. Their wild lifespan is 2-5 years. If they are domesticated, it's 15 up to 30 years.

They are loving, intelligent animals. They are some of the few birds to:

Have a form of milk

Mate for life

Equal child-rearing between sexes

Recognize themselves in mirrors

Humans threw away pigeons after using them for message carrying, bombs, and spying.

The wealthy used to breed pigeons to have appealing features (which can be used as Jason's initial misconceptions about why Bruce Wayne is adopting him in this AU).

They are widely considered to be pests, vermin, or "rats with wings."

Some more symbolism with Jason, pigeons have a "GPS" and can find home from an unfamiliar place up to 620 miles away. Maybe something something Jason wandering closer to Wayne Manor before the LoA captured. Something about the Pits fucking with his homing abilities.

Anyways. I got distracted.

Tim as a dove... Let's go!

Pigeon and dove, according to online research, are used interchangeably. Some languages translate them the same (symbolism with Tim and Jason???)

Saw a joke about doves being pigeons with good PR

Doves are typically smaller than pigeons but have a longer tail

Doves are symbols of peace, though they have been used in war like pigeons

Mourning doves make flimsy, fast nests and are not picky about location (something something Tim with the Waynes??)

Mourning doves are some of the most adaptable species in North America, they are skitish, and they are chill

Apparently, wedding doves are typically just pigeons???? If they aren't pigeons, then they don't have the homing properties and are endangered by the sudden release into the wild

Anyways, totally fucking with this idea ^^

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Kalim, Vil: Pyrite, Prince, and Pauper

Wah 😭 I really love the initial art!! The water shimmering and making a rainbow… ✨ (Not used to seeing Kalim without his headscarf though, feels weird to see him bare!)

A Tale as Old as Time.

If Kalim had to pick one word to describe what he was looking at, it would be celebration.

It was both humble and extravagant at once—the city streets, the venue, livened up with flags, confetti, and fanfare. A large elephant fitted with a vest and hat towered over the gathered townsfolk. Seated upon him was a young man in a turban and glaringly white robes, an arm extended to the sky.

A grand party for the public, and all were invited. Children and adults, animals and humans, nobles and street rats.

Kalim broke out into a wide smile. “Wow, it looks like everyone’s having so much fun!”

“You never seem to tire from the idea,” Vil commented dryly.

The supermodel patiently tapped a manicured nail against his arm. “I suppose a host showing his best face to the public is far from undesirable. I’ve certainly been to my fair share of events where the host was less than that.”

“Gahahah! You’re famous, so it makes sense you’d be in high demand at parties. Jamil told me about that red carpet you walked a little while ago. I managed to catch some of it on TV!”

Kalim’s garnet eyes glinted with excitement.

“You were all sparkly and the crowd was so happy to see you! You’re like the prince in this painting, hyping everyone up.”

“My, thank you for your support.” Vil’s lip curled. “I’m sure you’re in high demand as well… albeit for different reasons than I. Many would love to have the attention of the Asim heir on them.”

The third year chuckled, a hand tucked under his chin. “It’s only natural for people to be attracted to that which shines.”

“Shines, huh…”

Kalim folded his arms, inclining his head to one side. His mouth pinched slightly, disrupting the arc of his smile.

“… Hey, Vil. Can I ask you something?”

“You need not request for my permission.” Vil waved a hand. “Continue.”

“Do you really think I shine? Like, on stage.” A pause, then he quickly added, “And you can be honest with me. Please… be honest with me.”

“What’s this now?” Vil planted his hands on his hips. “Certainly, you’re not ordinary by any means, but I’d hesitate to call you a refined gem. A one month boot camp isn’t enough to polish your singing and dancing skills to that of a pro—but you’re not talking about VDC, are you?”

“Ahahah… Looks like you caught me.” Kalim let his arms fall to his sides.

“You can’t fool this actor’s eyes,” Vil said simply. “So? What is it that you’re actually after? It’s not like you to talk in circles.”

“It’s nothing. I… A lot’s been on my mind since winter break. Too many things. When I think about it for too long, I start to wonder if I’m really what people say I am.”

You’re so talented, Kalim-sama.

So handsome.

So smart.

So kind.

The very best.

“Sometimes...” He tugged at his collar, watching how it sparkled and shifted as he maneuvered the fabric. “it feels like I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Or like my clothes don’t fit me right.”

The golden boy, the prince to make way for, the sun all looked to. They were the roles he wore, but suddenly they felt hollow.

Lies set adrift on an errant wind.

Dust of pyrite, fool’s gold.

Am I pretending to be something I’m not?

“… I’m not making a lot of sense, am I?” Kalim laughed softly, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have made today feel sad.”

“On the contrary,” Vil tutted, “I understand all too well. All the makeup in the world, the nicest clothes, and the most skilled stylists cannot make a pauper become a prince. A pauper is a pauper, no matter how they present.

“However… a perfect little prince is not all that has value. I’ve played enough parts and been in enough productions to know. There are swash-buckling pirates, daring space heroes, dastardly villains, and, yes, even clever, honest street rats who find themselves in the public eye. Perhaps they did not start off as diamonds, but in the end they proved themselves to be diamonds in the rough.”

Vil lifted his chin—indignant.

“Regardless of how others perceive you or what ensemble you wear, you remain yourself. So long as you hold true to your own moral compass and principles, you shall always be someone who shi… Ough!!”

He could scarcely finish his sentence before he was tackled. Kalim was embracing him tightly, only pulling back when Vil muttered that he was creasing both of their suits.

“Thanks, Vil!! Talking with you made me feel so much better! You’re really not as bad as they say you are.”

Vil frowned. “I’m aware that I have my detractors, but you must learn to be more tactful with your choice of words.”

“Tactful, right! Got it! I can do that.”

Kalim released him and spun around, splaying his arms out. He pretended to present the painting with a flourish, looking back at Vil.

“Someday, maybe I’ll be as sparkly as he is here!”

So I can meet everyone’s expectations. Talented, handsome, smart, kind, better.

But no matter how I might change, I’m still me.

Still Kalim Al-Asim.

And that was something worth celebrating.

[silkmoon777]

Do I Make you Nervous? | Simon "Ghost" Riley

little re-upload from my AO3 :)

Synopsis: When Task Force 141 is betrayed by Philip Graves, they're forced to separate. Y\N fights her way through the foreign Las Almas with a broken radio and no sense of direction. Yet, somehow, she finds herself in the same church her lieutenant, Simon "Ghost" Riley, seeks sanctuary in. As they attempt to brave the storm sweeping through the streets, the infamously unreadable Ghost challenges their professional relationship.

Pairing: Ghost x F!141reader

Contains: fluff, kissing, use of Y/N, hint of angst but resolved in the end, vague mentions of blood/wounds

Word count: 5,874

• • • • •

It was all a set-up. A lie.

Disappointment and anger triumphs any sadness over Grave's betrayal. At first, he came across as over-confident in that stereotypical male way. Over time I had warmed up to him. But Shepherd? The man who has given me the most freedom I’ve had in a long time? I admit that my use as a weapon to him has put a strain on our companionship, but to station me with my own cousin only to lash out unprovoked? He’s crossed a line that he can never come back from. The small liking I had for the man vanished as soon as shit hit the fan. Everything seems to replay in my mind. Alejandro insulted and detained, Johnny shot at, Ghost cornered...

There were too many of them to fight off. I couldn't trust myself to hold my own with my mind worrying over Johnny, Alejandro and Ghost while also plotting Shepherd's death. So, though it pained me, I ran. Ghost and Johnny did the same. 

My radio was damaged in the incident. A stray bullet flew my way, and with a stroke of luck, grazed the radio instead of my ribs. The close call was enough warning to run, which is what I do now. The lack of communication only worsens the worry.

Shadows crawl in the streets of Las Almas like rats in a sewer. From door to door they go, yelling at innocent civilians in the late hours of dusk. From the conversations I've heard, they're looking for two foreign men and their female friend. They don't quite explain why we're being hunted, but the truth wouldn't change much. Every so often, a shot fires, echoing through the streets like a warning bell. A call of sorrow and fear.

With the Shadows forcing their way into civilian homes and raising their weapons against anyone who could harbour us, houses and shops aren't safe. The towering cathedral spires peeking above tin roofs and stacked houses catch my attention instead. Nobody would be inside at this time of night. For now, it's the best I can do. Also to my luck, the church isn't too far away. I take my time and keep to the shadows on my way. With a quick survey of my surroundings, I know I've bet the Shadows to this part of the city. That won't last long. The revelation has me jumping the gate within seconds of making it.

Inside the church is pitch black. Towering windows that tell biblical tales line the walls, casting light in intervals across the empty foyer. Rows of seats begin to emerge as my eyes adjust. Further back is an intricate, circular skylight tens of feet above the marble floor. Illuminating the altar below is a waterfall of silvery light. The giant cross, gold statues, and wooden altar glow like I'm looking through a blurred lens. The view is both eerie and magical...and not meant to be marvelled at in a time like this. My focus should be maintaining high ground. I begin to turn in search of a staircase when something shifts in the darkness.

A figure materialises, tall and built; easily a male physically capable of snapping my neck. My next best option is the gun strapped to my hip to parry the one in his hand. I go to reach for mine—

“Y/N?”

I freeze in surprise, but my mind eases slightly.

“Lieutenant? How—”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re here now.” He looks down at me with searching eyes. “You in one piece?”

“Yes. You—?” At that moment, my own eyes skim his body, only to halt at a worrying sight. On the left side of his waist, just above the waistband of his pants, is a blooming, dark red stain on his shirt. He’s been shot. “Jesus, Ghost. How bad is it?”

“I’ve had worse—”

He stops himself at the distant shouting. The surrounding streets haven’t been quiet since I’ve been in the church, but this time it grows closer. Angrier. Ghost doesn’t waste time ushering me along in search of a stairwell. The one we find leads to the second floor, then a third. Eventually, we discover the central bell tower. The room is dank and cold and decently big. Suspended in the middle is a gigantic bell. Even in the dark, I can see how weathered the metal is. The worn wooden floors creak as we cross it. On each wall are arched openings that allow entry to the cold night air and terrified screams. A small cluster of discarded furniture draped in white sheets huddles in a corner. From here, we have a perfect view of the sprawling city and winding streets. To those down there, we’re invisible.

Simon leans back against a wall and grunts, his hands brushing over the bullet wound. He pulls back his hands to inspect the fresh blood. However bad it is, it’s still bleeding.

“Show me,” I say. My voice comes out more demanding than I intend.

He gives me a brief exasperated look but doesn’t push back.

Ghost sits against the wall with his shoulders slumped just enough to reach my level. His jacket is unzipped, his black shirt rolled up halfway. Those tired, piercing eyes and muscular arms are the most I've ever seen of him. It feels like a reward when the weather is unforgiving enough to chase away his usual long-sleeve or jacket. His arms are tanned and muscled, with a tattoo sleeve working from the wrist of his left arm up to his elbow. I’ve begun to accept that it’s the closest I’m ever going to get to seeing him. But now I stare down at his bare abdomen.

The waistband of his black cargo pants sits low on his hips, offering a distracting view of a pronounced V-line and abs. In the moonlight, I can make out the reminders of war that mark his skin; a few silvery scars, some clean-cut, some gnarled and twisted; an old bullet wound healed closer to his ribs. The fresh one with the most of my attention is buried in a more acceptable spot. It nestles into the far right side of his waist, thankfully nowhere near any vital organs. However, it’s still a bullet wound and it still bleeds. That’s enough to worry me.

“Do you reckon it’s bad?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say I’m dying.”

“But we aren’t in the position to get proper help. Maybe sit down for a bit.” Surprisingly, he does so without question. I get to my feet, draw a small knife from my thigh holster, and rip a strip of fabric from the white sheets. When I drop back down beside him, I take a deep breath. “Here"

He takes it with a mumbled thank you and wraps the fabric around his waist.

“You heard from John?” I ask.

Simon winces as he adjusts the torn sheet. “I radioed him multiple times. Never got an answer.”

“Are you surprised by all this?”

Simon leans back against the wall. “I tend to be less surprised by betrayal. But I had some respect for Shepherd.”

I sigh, shuffling around him so that I can do the same. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Survive,” he says. “Shepherd wants you alive. Graves will see to that. He can’t kill Alejandro, either. But Johnny and I…” He shakes his head. “Graves won’t sleep until there’s a bullet in our heads and Shepherd won’t care enough to stop it.”

There’s a moment of silence as I fold my arms and look away thoughtfully. How are we supposed to do this? The blanket of night and the ensuing storm may offer some cover, but getting out of the city will be a mission. I can’t bring myself to leave without John, either. My heart hurts when I think about him. He could be anywhere, alone and outnumbered while I sit uselessly in a bell tower.

“What do we do about Johnny?” My voice is quiet. Fearful. “My radio was damaged so I couldn’t reach out to him. Maybe his is the same. But not knowing… He’s the only family I have left. My only real friend.”

“Don’t worry about Johnny. He’s one of the most resourceful and strong-willed Sergeants I’ve dealt with in a while. Have faith in him.” He looks at me then, tilting his head to the side. “I wouldn’t say he’s your only friend.”

“I do quite like his girlfriend…” I murmur.

“And Alejandro? Ronaldo?”

I purse my lips as his question draws thought. I’ve been considering Alejandro and Ronaldo as allies. Companions. But I’ve grown quite fond of them. Considering them as friends would set me up for heartache if anything were to happen. So I haven’t… At least openly. Despite my attempts to create some distance in our relationships, my subconscious has decided for me. Those two are my friends. It explains the immense distress I’m battling over Alejandro’s capture.

“I guess so.”

“Me?”

Silence ensues from both of us.

His question stuns me; I was prepared for him to stop at Alejandro and Ronaldo. There’s nobody else in Las Almas or back at home that I pay attention to. Besides Ghost, at least. I could answer him in a second. I almost do.

Ghost is infamous for his detachment. He’s quiet, short-tempered, dangerous and mysterious. I’ve heard the comments that he suits his code name. Spiritual beings do not communicate through speech but through action. Ghost is the physical embodiment of the epiphany. Anybody able to coax a few sentences from him outside missions is admirable. Outside of that, his physical emotions require deep analysis and theory to understand. The mask only makes things more difficult. I’ve never seen him show palpable kindness through his aura or words to anyone, never heard him allow the use of his name, never heard him offer others insight into the raging whirlwind of his mind.

And yet he lets those things slide around me.

He lets me speak his name when no one is listening. He offers me comfort when I need it most — if not through limited words, through soft gazes and a hand on my shoulder. I’m usually able to get him talking. Sometimes I receive short answers, sometimes I receive enough to help me understand more of that whirlwind mind. He even occasionally shows pieces of himself that take away from the guessing game I usually play.

I shut people out because the last people I let in betrayed me.

I never consider answering personal questions, but you tend to have a lot of them. And every time you ask…I almost answer

I guess you and I are more alike than I thought.

All of it has me wanting more. More of his mind, his words, the soft gazes I’ve noticed are reserved for me. What I already have is nothing compared to every naked truth he could be telling me. However, what I’ve managed to coax from him seems to be more than he’s told anyone in a long time. At first, I marked it down as me being the only female on the team or Ghost considered me fragile. But I've proved myself, and nothing about being a 'fragile female' (which I very well am not) does not automatically give me all these passes. I now realise it is much more than that.

Never once has he called me his friend. I already have. Now it’s his turn.

“I don’t mind you, Simon, but friendship can’t be one-sided,” I say. While it’s a simple statement, a silent question hides between each word. Are you my friend?

“If it was as one-sided as you think, you wouldn’t be calling me Simon.”

My heart skips a beat. There. It’s an answer to my unspoken words, but it’s not plain as day. As usual, Simon tells me something that is anything but straightforward. There’s room for interpretation in his answer—something that is beginning to tire me. It’s almost as if the honest answer is criminal and he’s trying to cover up his tracks. Almost as if not speaking that honest answer can allow him to deny it.

I don't bother concealing my annoyance. “That’s not what I want to hear and you know it.”

“Fuck sakes, Y\N, I said it,” he says. His voice comes out both argumentative and exasperated.

“No, you didn't. All I ever get out of you is stuff that works around the truth. Stuff I have to think about to understand.” I'm crossing a line, I know. I just can't help it. “What’s so hard about admitting it?”

“Don’t.”

His tone is final. I don’t care.

“Does the truth scare you?”

His eyes squint, becoming barely visible against the black paint, the mask, and the low light. I can clearly picture a scowl jumping across the many faces I’ve imagined. While I want to flinch away, I don’t. Not for a second do my eyes lower, and not for a second do I grow offensive. I remain calm and collected, which I think annoys him more.

“You want the truth?” he growls. The accent of Manchester seems to thicken. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t want to admit I think of you as a friend ‘cause I bloody well want to ignore it. For years, it’s only been me and I planned it to be for the rest of my life. Then all of a sudden you and your annoying cousin appear and jeopardise everything. The only person with an inkling of anything was Shepherd and I was fine with that. But now you’re catching up to him. You’ve so effortlessly undone everything I’ve worked hard to maintain.” The growl in his voice dies down the longer he speaks. In the last sentence, his voice is quiet, defeated, but a little begrudging. “And I knowingly let you.”

“If it was bothering you that much, you should have told me,” I say with a voice equally as quiet. “If I knew you didn’t want me to know so badly, I would have respected that.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I think about telling you everything. I may get pissy at you over your questions, but…” A sigh. The truth is shameful to him. “I look forward to them.”

“If it makes you feel any better…” I laugh a little. “It’s really annoying how intriguing you are. Not just your past and your face… When I’m not trying to guess what you look like, I’m refraining from asking you stupid questions. Shit like if you’re a cat or dog person.”

“Dog person,” he replies. Any hint of anger or annoyance has disappeared. “Cats have too much attitude.”

I squint. “You just don’t appreciate them.”

“You strike me as a cat person.” He pauses in thought. “You just remind me of a cat, really.”

I raise my brows, giving him an exasperated look. “Are you going to tell me I have an attitude?”

“Maybe. But there’s more to it.”

I cock my head in question.

“Cats are friendly. Independent.” His eyes shift and I wonder if there's a smirk beneath the mask. “Curious.”

“Was that another dig at my questions?”

“Yes. Now shut up and listen.”

Before he continues, I find myself turning my body so I can fully look at him, my shoulder against the concrete walls and my legs folded beneath me.

“There’s that look in their eyes that they know your worst thoughts. Your secrets. They’re also graceful. Got that high-class elegance about them. But they can be unpredictable, striking out when you least expect. Once they sink their claws into you…” His eyes search my face. “You can’t get rid of them.”

I look up at him in wonder, my mouth slightly agape as I try to find a suitable response. Nothing I could say would express the way his words sink in. I’ve always coined Simon to be the observant type, keeping to himself and remaining silent. But I never expected him to relay his finds. His usual short, sharp answers contrast the compliment greatly.

“I think…” A small smile curves my lips upwards. “…That was the most meaningful compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never. Now I have a question.”

“The floor is yours.”

“Do you have, like, Queen Elizabeth tattooed on your face? The British flag?” I grin. “Something mask-worthy, you know?”

“Why does it have to be something British?”

“Because there’s no way you’re the only Brit I know that isn’t somewhat stereotypical.”

Simon huffs a laugh. “No stereotypical tattoos. Sorry to disappoint.”

“A big scar, then?”

He tilts his head. “No scars that make me want to wear it.”

I raise my brows. “So you do have a scar?”

“Only one big one.”

“Good to know.” I nod my head with thoughtful eyes. “I’ll add that to a mental note.”

His eyes widen a fraction. The skull sown to his balaclava only offers the view of his painted eyes and nothing. Not even his eyebrows. I guess he’s raising them in question.

“How often do you think about this?”

I let out a long breath. “You have no idea. I change what I think you look like every day.”

“What do you think I look like.”

I go quiet in thought for a moment. As I said, the image changes… Only more frequently than I want to admit. Sometimes the change is small. Sometimes the change is big. I know I’m not the only one stumped by this, either. John and I joked over it once. He said things eluding to him being unattractive. A crooked nose, a huge scar, broken teeth. Every time he made a guess I would laugh, but never did the ideas seep into my mind. Nothing in an unattractive sense, anyway. Despite the possibility, I can never picture him as ugly.

“It varies, but…” I take one last second to collect my thoughts. “Without that skull piece, you have dark eyebrows. I imagine your hair is brown. And you’re eyes…it’s hard to tell with the paint, but they’re more deep-set and heavy-lidded. The balaclava is tight enough to make me think you have a straight nose, high cheekbones, strong jaw…” I shake my head. “Beyond that, I’m stumped.”

I can tell he thinks deeply about each characteristic. I sit patiently and almost wait for confirmation, but I know better than that. If he’s not going to show his face, he’s not going to—

“My hair is brown.”

I’m about to backtrack on my previous thought when he reaches towards the space between my neck and shoulder. In the frenzy that has been the last hour, my hair has come undone. The braid was unsavable, making me pull out the band and attempt a ponytail…only for it to snap in two. My hair now falls in dishevelled waves. A small part of my hair falls over my shoulder. Simon gingerly reaches for it, curling it between his finger and examining it in the low light. …Can he hear how fast my heart is beating?

“Not like yours. A few shades lighter, maybe. And that scar…”

Even more gingerly, Simon pulls one of my hands from its folded position, and I pray my expression doesn’t betray me. Rough, calloused hands press against the back of mine. The size difference is almost comical. He guides it to his masked face, working his fingers working around mine to spread them out. He drags my hand over his right cheekbone, across the hollow of his cheek, and towards his jaw. My mind is hyper-fixated on the shape of his face.

“Right along there.”

His eyes continue to search my face. There’s nothing but curiosity in the blue-grey of his irises. Curious at what, I can’t tell. Everything about this has my mind raging. The way he looks at me, the way he holds my hand against the black balaclava, the way he towers over me even when sitting down... The thoughts that surface are shameful. He’s your lieutenant, for Christ’s sake. Have some respect. The remembrance of his position has little help.

If anything, it strengthens the fantasies.

His hold shifts on top of my hand, the pad of his thumb swiping across my skin to stop on the inner side of my wrist and press down. He may not have been able to hear my heartbeat…but now he can feel it at the worst possible moment.

“You’re heart is beating fast.” He inclines his head. “Do I make you nervous, Y\N?”

God, is my breathing even? I can’t tell.

“You just caught me off guard, is all.”

Simon hums thoughtfully as his hand breaks away from mine and reaches forward. His fingers connect with my collarbone before finding my neck, exploring upwards in search of a pulse point. A shiver of excitement and nervousness runs beneath my skin like a ripple. His other hand slides over my knee and up my thigh. If my heart was racing before, this is a life-or-death sprint.

Slow are his movements. Calculated. He knows exactly where my heartbeat reverberates in my neck. Instead, he drags the moment out, coaxing out his desired reaction. But there’s something else in the slowness: a window for me to flinch away and draw the physical line neither of us has ever drawn. We’ve brushed shoulders and hands. We’ve sat with our bodies aligned in cramped cars. He’s held my hair back in a bathroom as I threw up after a panicked episode (something I would like to forget if he wasn't so surprisingly understanding). He's placed a hand on my shoulder for many different reasons. All are excusable moments. The ones that surpass professional boundaries can be marked as friendly. However, the intimacy of this moment is new. Scary. Exciting.

“Did you know your bottom lip twitches before you lie?” Simon asks. I find myself at eye level with him. When did he get so close? “I don’t like lies. Try again.”

“Sometimes…” I breathe.

“Sometimes, what?”

Bastard. “Sometimes you make me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I frown. “I don’t know.”

He’s definitely leaning closer now. Not just with his head, but with his whole upper body. Out of the nerves Simon is so adamant on understanding, I retreat, only making it a few inches before my back hits the other wall. Simon half hovers over me, the hand that was on my thigh now bracing himself on the floor. There are only a few inches between our chests. Even less between our faces. Not once does he lose his connection with my pulse.

“Another lie.”

“I don’t know how to word it. That's not a lie.”

Simon drops his head so that his covered mouth hovers beside my ear.

“Good girl.”

Never has praise sounded so seductive. It takes every inch of concentration to reign in my self-control. I might have ripped off his mask then and there…

Only, I think he’s beating me to it.

From where his head hovers, I can’t see his masked face. The wide, strong shape of his shoulder obscures most of my vision. He retracts his hand from my neck to reach somewhere I can’t see. The sound of moving cloth widens my eyes and upsets the rhythm of my breathing, the uneven rise and fall of my chest barely brushing his.

Maybe he’s adjusting it, I convince myself. He has only ever offered you little pieces at a time. What he’s offering me now is more than he ever has at once. While my body screams for more, my mind knows I can’t expect too much from him. Whatever he’s doing now is more than enough.

“You’re breathing funny.”

The feeling of breath skims the shell of my ear and down my neck like a warm, ghostly waterfall. It takes me a second to notice a difference in his voice. It’s low, it’s rough, it’s teasing. All are easily noticeable and nothing new. What is new is the enhanced clarity. An added sharpness lingers in his accented words. The slight muffle is nowhere to be found.

I was wrong. He’s lifted his mask.

“Because you’re taking off your mask." My answer comes out in a weak whisper.

He doesn’t speak about the mask, instead repositioning his hand to my neck to find my pulse.

“If you can’t tell me,” he murmurs, returning to the previous topic, “your heartbeat can.”

A warm feeling presses into my neck. A gasp slips past my lips as my heartbeat continues to quicken and stumble beneath his thumb. Against my skin…I think Simon is smiling.

Nothing about this seems real. Simon plants slow kisses on my neck with his bare lips. They’re a little rough, yet soothing. Whether they’re full or thin, I can’t tell, but the lack of obvious signs paints an image of something in between. His nose brushes the base of my jaw. Just above the pointed tip is where the balaclava begins. I can feel the hard edges of the sewn-on skull pressing into my left temple. Light stubble covers his jaw.

As his mouth works slowly against my neck, my jaw, and my collarbone, my hand slides up and over his chest. I slowly feel his bare neck. Beneath my fingers, his Adam's apple bobs. Further I explore, feeling the planes of his skin. The stubble scratches against my curious hand. Raised skin runs in a line over the right side of his face; the scar. It’s thin and generally clean-cut. He pulls back slightly as I feel his face. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest as my thumb traces over his lips. I was right, they are something between full and thin. His lower lip feels slightly fuller with a deep hollow beneath that curves into his chin.

When I find it in me to speak, my voice is breathy.

“Kiss me.” He seems to still at that. When his reply isn’t instant, I continue. “You don’t have to… But I won’t look. I swear it.”

Silently, he reaches for my hand. He holds his over mine for a moment as he did with the mask moments earlier. Then he gently pries it away. Cloth shifts in my air as he fixes the mask and pulls back. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I respect the decision. Simon looks down at me with lust-blown pupils. Mine must be the same.

He takes a second to examine me. My heavy-lidded eyes, my slightly parted lips, the way I slump beneath him, the glistening wet spots left on my neck. He whips it away before he speaks.

“Can I trust you?”

We both know the answer to that, so instead of saying the obvious, I one-up him.

“Do you want to trust me?”

Silence passes for a heartbeat.

“Of course I do,” he says softly. “I want to trust you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. …Undress you. I’ve wanted to for so long.”

Then he moves.

My thoughts go quiet as Simon’s hands reach upward. When his fingers brush the base of his mask, I reach out and still his hands. The action takes both of us by surprise. For months I’ve been thinking about this moment. Just now I’ve admitted how much what he looks like takes up my mind. Now I find myself stopping him, but not because I’ve changed my mind. I worry that this will be something he’ll regret.

“Simon,” I say. “You don’t owe it to me to show your face.”

“But I do.” He inclines his head. “Now keep your pretty eyes up.”

My breath catches in my throat as he pulls it off in one swift motion. I take in everything I’m seeing in amazement, wonder, and bewilderment.

He’s handsome. He’s really handsome.

The ruggedness and confidence he carries seem to be etched into the planes of his face. A light stubble shadows his angular, defined jaw. Just as I had imagined, the bridge of his nose is straight and strong. His high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and smudged black paint create deep shadows. His mouth is wide. The shape of them is a physical manifestation of what I had imagined. With an average fullness, his upper lip is slightly smaller with a soft cupid’s bow. Tracing the angles of his right cheekbone is that straight, silver scar. His hair isn’t as short as most other military men’s. It’s a little messy from the mask and, true to his words, a few shades lighter than mine. I can tell that, the longer it gets, the more it curls.

I stay silent as I take him in, eyes wide. Somehow I find the courage to slowly reach out. His blue-grey eyes dart to my hesitant fingers. When he doesn’t deny me, I close the space, this time feeling him without needing to imagine his image. I apply a little pressure as I brush his skin, feeling the warmth of his cheeks, the scar tissue on his cheekbone, and the stubble on his jaw. His eyes train on me. This is one of the few times I cannot understand what I see in them.

Whatever he’s thinking, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I stare back at Simon. Not Ghost, Simon.

“I was starting to think you weren’t real,” I say jokingly.

He laughs softly. One side of his mouth quirks up into a skewed smirk. My heart flutters at the sight of it. When he speaks, it’s with that teasing tone that always had me imagining a smirk. Matching his expressions to his tones is a strange thing to see, but I love it.

“Is this real enough for you?” he asks.

I hum in agreement. “You’re a lot better looking than I imagined.”

He raises a brow in mock offence. “Do I radiate unattractiveness? I’m offended.”

“I never said I imagined you ugly.”

I draw my hands back, taking another good look at him. My amazed smile remains. So does the awe in my eyes. Now that I know how good-looking he is, it’s going to be hard to get him out of my head. At least I can’t scold myself over falling for a faceless man anymore.

“I guess if I die tonight… I can go a little happier.”

The way he tilts his head and looks up through lowered brows sends my mind into a frenzy. I’m used to the action with his mask on, usually with the sewn-on skull. Now, with every part of his face laid bare for me, the feeling it stirs comes tenfold. He gives me a fake accusing look. Beneath the teasing air he gives off, that desire remains.

“A little?” he murmurs. His face grows closer, giving me a better view of the hollows and curves and marks of war.

“A little not enough?”

His eyes dip to my lips. “Not by a longshot.”

Then Simon kisses me.

Eyes fluttering closed, I sink into the feeling of his lips against mine. Gently. Hesitantly. Does he expect me to pull away? How could he think such a thing when I almost seemed desperate when I asked him? My hands slide over his chest, slowly linking behind his neck as the kiss deepens.

For a moment, everything fades away. The gunfire, the screams, the impending death we may face any moment... All of it reduces to a meaningless blur. Suddenly all that exists is me, Simon, and the secret embrace we share. In our kiss is a million unspoken words; a tidal wave of passion laced with a bittersweet sadness. The talk of ‘dying happy’ is no exaggeration. We very well may die, and seeing his face and feeling his touch eases the painful thought. Maybe this way I can find him in the afterlife - seek out his mysterious eyes and lopsided smirk and spend an eternity together. Or perhaps there is no afterlife, and this is my last stroke of luck.

Satisfied with the knowledge of what he does to me, Simon lowers his hand from my neck. The pressure reapplies near my belt. His fingers timidly skim the bottom of my tanktop, pulling the tucked part from my waistband. My own fingers weave through his brown hair as his hand slides further beneath. My kiss falters when he finds one of my breasts. His hand comfortably rests over it, his palm slowly kneading at the flesh. A low groan builds at the back of my throat.

After a moment, we pull away, chests rising and falling as we take deep breaths. His forehead rests against mine and suddenly I'm wishing we could do this over again. Except I picture less sadness to tinge every word and action. I picture the safety of home, the warmth of a bed, a carefree air that allows us to just enjoy the other's company. Reality comes back in a painful rush.

“I don’t want to die,” I whisper.

His hand retreats from my breast at my words. Instead, he takes a hold of my waist, giving me a comforting squeeze.

“You are not going to die. Not today. Not when there’s so much more I want from you.” He adds the last part with a teasing, suggestive smirk.

He looks down at my lips again—

“Ghost, how do you copy?”

We both freeze at the sound of a voice, so caught up in the moment that the radio is forgotten. Both the unspeakable things and sorrowful thoughts flooding my mind suddenly vanish at the sound of a familiar voice. There’s an equally received look on Simon’s face as he reaches for the small radio.

“I read you loud and clear, Sergeant,” he says. “What’s your location?”

“I…don’t know,” John replies solemnly. “Streets are crawling with Shadows. Where are you?”

“You see church spires above the houses?”

There’s a second of silence. Then…

“I see them.”

“Good. Head straight there and come inside. No Shadows here yet. They’ll be busy going door to door.”

“Affirmative. I��m on my way. Have you got any word from Y/N?”

Simon looks at me, silently giving me the floor to speak. “I’m right here, Johnny.”

There’s a sigh of relief on the other end. “Oh, thank fuck. You in one piece?”

“I’m all here. You?”

“Got a shot to the shoulder. Nothing I can’t handle.”

For the next while, Simon and I sit huddled side by side, guiding Johnny through the radio. I generally leave the talking to Simon. Listening to him speak and sinking into his warmth is good enough. Every so often, he'll say something that takes me by surprise. Sometimes it's a dad joke, either really good or incredibly bad. Sometimes it's something that alludes to Simon not minding Johnny. He never outright admits it, but saying 'I like you alive' to Johnny's 'so you do like me' speaks for itself. I smile at that. I have sunk my claws into him, and he's not going to be able to get rid of me till the day I die.

[essentiallyleaf]

day 12. praise kink. with. choerry.

944 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x female reader, praise kink, pet names, public masturbation, oral sex, squirting, welcome to fluff central.

notes.

just trying something out. a permanent state of being at this point. exploratively, leaf.

It was the first time she tried ice skating, that day. A regular Saturday morning at the mall, wearing layers upon layers just to end up feeling way too hot. As regular as any day spent with Yerim can be. Her favorite part was when she was holding onto the barrier for dear life, but you managed to push her off of it a handful of times. Anytime you did, you helped her precarious balance by guiding her with your hands in hers, or on her waist. That was your favorite part.

“So, how was it? Did you like it?”

“I fell fourteen times, dude! I managed to fall as I was reaching for the cup of coffee you were giving me, and I was standing still! What do you think?” She said while laughing enthusiastically.

She didn’t like it at all, and she had the time of her life.

“I think you did great”

-

“How about you take me on a real date?”

“A what?”

“You know what they say about Paris…”

“That for each person there’s two rats?”

“That it’s the city of- wait, WHAT?”

She dragged you to a terrace bar in Montmartre, the sun was just setting, blues and oranges meeting on the roofs from the Sacré-Cœur down to the Louvre, giving the city a slightly wistful aura (it was hella expensive, but what isn’t, there? Plus, you’re okay splurging, if it’s for Yerim). It wasn’t sad, it was just cool, and dreamy. It was romantic. A postcard-worthy place to share your first kiss. It wasn’t for your first, but for your fourth that she asked a local to take a picture of it. It felt very awkward, both of you were laughing the whole time.

“Sorry if I taste like alcohol”

She usually doesn’t drink, so she felt really self-conscious about it. You found that endearing. The flavor had a deep cerise, leaning purple tint and resembled some kind of fruit, you couldn’t really pinpoint which.

“You taste like heaven”

-

You went to the lake together for a weekend trip in April. You convinced her to go on a hike on the first day (“You said there wouldn’t be any scary cliffs!” “Come on, it’s barely even a drop, you can do it! Just take my hand!” “You ugly liar!” “I am only one of those two, and you know which”; she always falls for stupid flirty lines like that), she was so tired at the end of it, so she decided that both of you would spend the next day relaxing. Relaxing ended up meaning hiding behind a large tree near the hotel and raising her cute white long flowery dress to her waist for you to finger her while your tongues met.

“You can stay silent while we do this, right?”

“Uhm…”

“Want a hand?”

“Yes, please…”

You put your other hand on her mouth and started sucking down her clavicle to her cleavage as you picked up the pace. She kept whimpering the whole time and even let a high pitched scream into your palm as she came. In the (very real) event that someone heard her, at least they had the decency to not show that.

“You did amazing, baby”

She really didn’t. Old couples kept looking sideways at the two of you for the rest of the day, and you had the feeling it wasn’t just because you were a lesbian couple in the conservative countryside. But you know she needed to hear that.

-

She likes putting make-up on even when she’s staying home; she says she finds it fun, at some point both of you silently acknowledged that she also just wants to look good for you. And God, does she look beautiful with that exaggerated orange-pink blush on her cheeks. Or, actually, maybe it was just the wine that gave her face that amazing glow. You couldn’t really tell, you also had your fair share of glasses. You also don’t remember much of what happened before that sexy blush-tinted face found itself between your legs and was hit by a couple of little squirts as Yerim brought you to orgasm only using her tongue. What you do remember, is that all you wanted after that was to reciprocate the favor.

“Thank you, thank you so much, baby,” you panted out. “So good for me, that was so good”

“Hehe~”

The time of her life. This time though, with that slutty make-up, girl cum dripping from her features, it looked lewd.

“Now just lay back on the couch and stay still, honey, you don’t have to do anything else, okay?”

“Okayy~”

“Nice and cozy, just be my good girl and relax, yeah?”

She could only moan back as soon as you started eating her out. You couldn’t just give up on talking altogether though, so you compensated for the lack of oral stimulation with your fingers anytime you detached your lips from her core.

“Are you close, sunshine?”

Her adorable little whiny noises answered for her.

“Then I need you to do one thing for me, hm? Just one thing. I need you to let it go and cum for me, don’t restrain, sweetie”

When she cums, it’s a hurricane. Of spasms, screams, and sprays of transparent liquid coming your way.

“Yes, baby, so good. Let it all out, my baby cherry.” That’s what she tasted like. “My perfect baby cherry. Come here”

You surrounded her in a warm embrace and covered the two of you with her oversized zip-up hoodie. As you kissed her blushed cheek, Yerim looked like she was already asleep.

“You did awesome, cherry girl. You are so perfect”

-

footnotes.

sorry for bad dialogue. cheesily, leaf.

[cowgirl-interrupted]

Another house md episode!

12 year old: idk guys, my mom says I shouldn't go to the rat fights anymore..

His 14 year old brother: what are you? A wuss?

12 year old: :( come on, stop!

Rat: *bites him*

14 year old: you're gonna get rabies and die!!

-at hospital-

House: *in clinic duty, meeting boy* mommy not give you enough attention?

Boy: my perants are getting divorced :(

House: *sees strange brown splotch* hmm, I'm taking you now.

-later in proper hospital-

Chase: y'know, I was sick when I was a kid once

Boy: bleh 😵

Mother: what's happening?!

Foreman: he's going into hypervibrosis!

*we get close up of them putting a tube down his throat*

-meanwhile in Wilson's office-

Wilson: so you chose him because his perants are getting divorced?

House: no, it's because he's interesting.

-in main office-

Cameron: he's twitching

House: maybe it's rabies, that or he's pregnant, take your pick

Chase: he's not rabid, he's just got a bruise and is sad because of his perants divorce.

Foreman: how would you know? Did your perants ever divorce?

Chase: I wish :(

House: do a lumbar puncture

Cameron: but if he twitches his back he'll touch a nerve or something

House: honk shoo honk shoo

Cuddy: house! Can I talk to you 🥺❓

House: uh oh, WOMAN alert!

-in Cuddy's office-

Cuddy: someone is suing you for one million dollars

House: guess my severe gambling addiction will have to wait until I've sorted this out.

-in hospital room-

Older brother: I'm sorry I made you go to the rat fights, here, I brought you something *pulls out dead rat*

Sick brother: :) *goes into stroke*

Chase: stand back!

-in main office-

Foreman: it must be crazy mouse disease!

Chase: no way, that's only in Rat City

Foreman: you got any better ideas

House: either way, kid's losing his eyeballs, might as well just run the test

Older brother: wait!! It's me! I've been giving him rats!

Cameron: you were taking him to rat fights, that's why he was bit by a rat!

Older brother: it's our perants divorce, I was too hard on him 😞💔

House: thanks for owning up to it, now we can pin the hospital bill on you!

Older brother: WHAT

-cut to them giving the kid some pills and him laughing and smiling with his dead rat, Paramore starts playing as the camera pans over everyone looking at a picture of a rat and their perants in their selective offices-

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Ichiyo Higuchi (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Ichiyo Higuchi x GN! Reader

Warning: OOC. Yandere. English is my second language. Some slight spoilers. Higuchi feel conflicted about herself.

Becoming self-aware

🔫 Grief, sadness, anger... That emotions became quite familiar for Higuchi, after she became self-aware. But, a mix of two emotions were dominant. Anger and envy.

🔫 Higuchi was envious of boss, of Akutagawa-senpai, of Gin, of Chuuya-san... Because, they have past. Even Q and Kajii can remember something from their past. Higuchi didn't have anything. Not a past. Not a reason for joining Port Mafia. Nothing.

🔫 Don't get her wrong, she was loyal to Port Mafia. She wanted to be in Port Mafia. But Higuchi wanted to know WHY she wanted to be in Port Mafia. WHY she wanted to be loyal to Port Mafia?

🔫 Was she just a joke for Readers? Was she just a tool for an author for a comedy means? A crazy fan of Akutagawa-senpai?

🔫 She didn't have answers. Higuchi continue to follow Mori's orders, patrolling the city with Akutagawa. But her mind was far from focusing on patrol.

🔫 Should she leave? Go to ADA, to The Guild, Government, Rats, Hunting Dogs? Should she start hugging everyone, or paint Port Mafia building with pink paint? She wanted to do anything, she decided to do by herself! Something, that was unexpected from her! Something, that not dictated by an author. Higuchi just wanted to be sure. Be sure, that she also can have a free will. Despite not having a past. Despite not having a reason. To knew her reasons.

🔫And then, one day, she felt an entity's gaze on her.

_________

One can quickly add two and two together. That otherworldly thing in the air was one of the "Readers

Between patrols, Higuchi wondered why Reader were reading about their lives.

Out of boredom? For their amusement?

Who they were for the Reader? Who Higuchi was for Reader?

A joke... Or they see something in her? Or, they hated her?

Higuchi didn't know.

And she was afraid of knowing.

Higuchi shared her fears with Gin. Gin... spoke in riddles, and, tried to reassure her about Reader. Gin said, that "Higuchi, you might like the truth."

Higuchi still feel scared.

But one day, time reset.

And Higuchi was sitting in the Armed Detective Agency again.

________

When they start feeling your presence

🔫 Meeting with ADA felt strange... Most of the Detectives looked strangely calm and happy. Especially Former Executive. Higuchi didn't meet him after they realized the truth, and before time reset, but she heard, how. Chuuya-san, Hirotsu-san and Akutagawa-sempai discussed him. His hate towards the Reader. So why...

Dazai grabbed Higuchi's hand, flirting with her.

And Higuchi heard the voice.

"She [||||||||||||] beautiful"

Suddenly, Dazai squeezed her hands.

"You have heard them, right? Precious Guiding Light?"

Higuchi didn't knew, what to say. She was extremely grateful, when Kunikida drag Dazai away.

🔫 Detective followed her. They knew, what is going to happen. But they followed after her. And Higuchi knew, that she herself can't change the outcome.

🔫Next few days were even crazier. Her fellow Mafioso were happy. They start to like Reader. Even Akutagawa-senpai stopped cursing Reader.

🔫And then, ADA and Port Mafia joined forces. To get to the real world. To a person, they called Guiding Light.

🔫 Their current world also changed. Force, that made them repeat their actions, despite knowing, at what it will lead.

🔫 Akutagawa-senpai wasn't injured during the fight with Kyouka and Weretiger.

🔫 Yet, Higuchi, after few "days" passed, went to the warehouse, where kidnappers were keeping him in a “previous” timeline.

_____________

"I cannot do anything. But I can't just stand by and do nothing!"

In previous timeline, Higuchi said that words in a different place. Right now, she supposed to be on Port Mafia base, saying that words. She choosed to go to the warehouse and said that words. Decided by her own free will.

And then she heard a voice again. This time, it was clear.

Something warm and nice hugged her. Higuchi felt, like she just had the best rest in her entire life.

"brave" "strong" "loyal"

"Higuchi, I admire you. Your loyalty, your strength. It's okay to be hesitant. It makes you human. All humans are afraid of something. But, only brave ones will do, what is right."

Something soft pet Higuchi's cheeks.

[In reality, you pet manga panel with Higuchi.]

All her fear and insecurity disappeared.

Real person called her a human.

They think, she can be called human.

For that, Higuchi will always be grateful.

________

🔫 Higuchi might not be as skilled as Akutagawa, or as strong as Atsushi, but she is capable.

🔫 She will become your assistant. Your guardian. Your protector.

🔫 She will show the world, how capable of a mafioso she can be.

And then, one day, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

__________

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

🔫 Higuchi was glad, that you liked her cards.

"Higuchi's hat is so cute!"

"I love this card skill! And Higuchi's animation looks cool."

"Higuchi, let's clean this stage!"

🔫 Higuchi was so happy. When you said, that you enjoyed using her and Akutagawa's double card, Akutagawa-sempai himself offered her to create some more double cards.

🔫 Higuchi liked, that because of her cards, she now has many new outfits. It means, that to make things even, you two must have a shopping trip, to get you new outfits.

🔫 When BSD Cast get access to your phone, Higuchi will help you with sorting out your files. She will be careful, not to raise a suspicion.

🔫 She will search for information about your city. She wants to know as much as she can, so she can protect you.

🔫 She is waiting for the day she can see you in a flesh.

_______________

You collected your rewards, when you got a note in your inbox.

This one was from Higuchi. She gave you dome scene cards.

"[Y/N], I want to invite you to go for a walk! When I came to your city, I want to visit every interesting place you knew about. Together, we will have a great time. We can invite Yosano, if you want. Thank you in advance. Ichiyo Higuchi."

You smiled and opened "Port Mafia Building" menu. You pet Higuchi's chibi in the Armory.

"It's a deal, Higuchi. I would like to show you around my city. We will have so much fun!"

You didn't notice, how chibi Higuchi blushed, looking directly at you.

[1800naveen]

Once in a while, I'll see people say "Rhysand did everything for his court" or "Rhysand sacrificed for the night court" Something like that. That shit is all wrong.

First of all, he did for Velaris and only Velaris. It's said that he put a shield around Velaris so it could be protected. There was nothing for Illyria and Hewn City and you know why? Because he doesn't give a rat's ass about them.

Second of all, a bunch of Illyrians and HC citizens were killed by Amarantha. Like half of Hewn City was killed ON THE SPOT. And Rhysand didn't do anything about it, he didn't avenge them. UTM takes its design from Hewn City and somehow when Rhysand and Feyre go down there to torment the people with their existence, they don't get a trigger of it. Feyre doesn't like the color red and hates UTM but she can be around Mor who is always in red and go to Hewn City??

If the Illyrians died, Rhysand would only be sad because he lost a military force. If the fae of Hewn City died, he would be sad because he lost another military force as well.

They are weapons in the eyes of Rhys and his inner circle. To them, they have no dreams but only nightmares that deserve to stay in the darkness. Because of that, they turn into nightmares and the monsters that you would think of when a nightmare is brought up.

Azriel talking shit about the Illyrians because they got upset over the fact they lost their family members due to war (they have every right to be upset, makes no sense why he's mad about that) but he goes to talk bad about his OWN people. You're nothing but a bastard who is only good for war and torturing people, stay silent.

Cassian saying that Illyria could be something better and yet, he doesn't do anything to help them. Be so serious. There are little boys that get their bones broken in the war camps.

And the Illyrian women taking up training and fighting. I bet there were fans that went "Such a good man Rhysand is!" Just because the women know how to fight won't protect them from the wing clipping and the abusive men around them. Are the Illyrians groomed into thinking that they can only be warriors? Do they know they can be anything they wish to be if they put their mind into it? If they did, I doubt Rhysand would let them.

What a waste of army dreamers.

What a waste of Illyrian dreamers.

[disarm-you]

Can I Show You How Sorry I Am?

Pairing: Frank Castle x F! Bartender reader

Summary: You and Frank had been hooking up for several months and then he dropped off the face of the earth. Six months later, he walks back into your bar and has some explaining to do.

Word Count: 3,520

a/n: This is smut heavy but nothing crazy. It was intended to be a smutty porn with plot one shot but I really enjoyed writing this. In fact, I have some loose ideas on making this into a series. Diving into reader’s background and exploring what a relationship with The Punisher would look like. How a serious relationship for Frank would play out. If you’re interested in more, please let me know!

I’m going on vacation in a few weeks and then I will be cutting down my hours at work. I expect to get more stories out starting this summer! As always, a friendly reminder that reblogs are the best way to support writers on here. XOXO

Looking up from the bar, you see the door swing open just as your coworker yells out last call. Curiosity sparked- today had been abnormally easy. Or maybe it was a good day made better under the lense of a full night’s sleep. The weather had been beautiful all afternoon-clear skies, light wind and full sun. You were able to relax outside and soak up a few rays of sun before work, letting its heat warm up your tired bones.

Work was comfortably steady and a few regulars left you a larger than usual tip today. Life recently threw you a major curveball but you were set on enjoying the sunshine while it’s here, because the moon will always come around again. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the shock of seeing Frank step into the room. It had been, what, over six months since you last saw him? Your eyes were staring at him but you couldn’t seem to focus on one spot. They moved from his deep eyes, down to his black hoodie and the combat boots you loved. You noted that he looked a bit thinner than the last time you saw him and he had one hell of a black eye and split lip. Your back stiffened as you tried to process all your emotions. You were pleased to know he was alive but anger and sadness panged across your chest as you thought about the past year. 

You two had never made it official but you had been sleeping together frequently enough that his sharp absence from your life hurt. You and Frank met in the same bar that you were currently in. You were new to the city and Frank was a welcome respite from the coldness New York could offer. He would show up several times a week, somehow always on nights you worked. He would walk you home and you two would enjoy a night cap or three with the evening ending in him making you see God. All of the pleasure and none of the drama. But as time and nature would have it, you managed to catch feelings. You tried to keep them buried, telling yourself he didn’t feel the same. You were too afraid of scaring him off, so you never verbalized your feelings. 

However, he skipped a Monday night, which was unusual for him. Concern creeped in when he didn’t visit you three shifts in a row. And then weeks passed and you were consumed with worry about his safety and eventually you began to fear the absolute worst. 

Inhaling deeply, you manage to look up as Frank approaches you. “Hey Sweetheart” he says softly, while making eye contact with you. 

A flaming arrow shot a deadly blow to your heart as soon as you met his puppy dog eyes. The smell of his cologne hit your nostrils and lit a fire low in your belly. Rat fucking bastard.

Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes but you weren’t certain if they were from sadness, rage, or pent up sexual frustration with this big, dumb, beautiful man standing in front of you. 

Your coworker walked by, noticing the change in your body language. “Is everything ok over here?” He asks, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah, it is. Um, actually, would it be ok if I took off a bit early tonight? I need to deal with something.” 

“Of course, but you owe me one! Text me if you need anything.” Winking at you before he walked back to his station. 

“Hey Frank. It’s nice to see you.” Deciding to err on the side of kindness. After all, he did show back up to see you.  You might as well hear him out, even if you did give him your customer service tone. 

“I know it’s been a while and that’s my fault. Can we go back to my place and talk?”

My place. The words echoed in your head. Previously, the two of you only ever hooked up at your apartment and even then he rarely bothered to stay the night. 

“Yeah, actually that would be nice. Let me go get my things and I will meet you outside.”

____________

“So, this is your place, eh?” You ask, trying to keep your tone light as you surveyed the area. Noting the bare walls, sparse furniture and dumbbells stuffed in the corner, it was obvious a single man lived here. However, what you couldn’t tell is if this is a new place or if he dropped you for a different fling and was hiding out this past half year. 

“Yeah, it is. Want something to drink?”

”Mmmhmm, beer’s good if you got it.” 

You two sat on his futon, taking the first sip, 

“Why haven’t I seen your place before you?” You ask, nerves building up in your chest as you put off the real questions you wanted to ask him. 

Sighing deeply, Frank glances away until finally making eye contact.“When we first met, I knew I wasn’t going to be in town for much longer. I didn’t think that I would be back once I left.” 

Frank then sat down his beer, picking up your free hand and cradling it with his. “But I really enjoyed our nights together.  And I kept coming around your bar, while I put off the work I needed to do.”

Inhaling sharply you say, ”Listen, I understand that we never had the relationship ‘talk’ but Frank, we were fucking pretty regularly and then you just disappeared. Poof, gone in the blink of an eye. I feel like you at least owed me a see ya later before running off.” You say, taking a large swig of your beer, trying to calm the nerves that swirled in your chest. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your hand is shaking as you sit it back down. Or the tears welling in your eyes again. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear your heart thumping as you anxiously waited for him to respond. 

“You’re right Darlin’ and I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you.” He swallowed thickly and you could catch the slightest gruff in his voice. “I thought it would be less painful if I just disappeared. But when I was gone, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I missed your smile and your laugh. I missed the way your hand feels in mine. I missed… the feelings you brought up in me. When the job was over I decided to make my home here, maybe even with you.” 

Sighing roughly, you move to sit back, trying to process everything that’s happening. Frank adjusts so you can lean into his torso.You close your eyes and he moves his arm around your shoulder, which softened a bit of the emotions flooding you. 

“You know I waited around for weeks, hoping you would show up. And when you never did, I thought you had died. The worst part is that I didn’t have anyone to ask. You always come in alone and I didn’t even know your last name so I kept checking local obituaries-”

Frank noticed the panic in your voice and brought his free hand under your chin, tilting your face up and forcing you into eye contact. 

“Castle”

”…What?” You ask while your brain is trying to catch up. 

“My last name is Castle.” He whispers, bringing his thumb up to trace your lower lip. He pauses, looking at you questioningly. 

You had so many questions running through your mind but being back in his arms reminded you of all the nights you spent wrapped up in your bed. The smell of him being so close to you was intoxicating. Before you knew it the rush of hormones hit your brain as you involuntarily move your face towards him, locking lips ever so sweetly. 

Despite their injury, his lips are somehow softer than you remember and your heart rate picks up as he moves his hands up to cup your face. Frank is taking his time with you tonight, enjoying the brushing of your lips together as if it was the first time he’s kissed you. The moment is tender and softer than your previous encounters. 

All too quickly though he pulls away. Your breath hitches and you involuntarily grab at his sweater, trying to tug him close again. 

“Can I show you how sorry I am?” Frank pleaded as his lips hovered over yours. 

“Please.” You replied shakily as you clamber into Frank's lap, reveling in the groan it exudes from Frank. 

You shiver as he runs his warm hands up your sides and along your back. You kiss him deeply, one hand splayed across his chest while the other gripped his hair tightly, hoping that it was enough to keep him here in front of you. 

You slowly grind into his lap as you part your lips against Frank’s. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth while shoving your hips together. 

“Do you see what you fucking do to me?” He growled as he thrusted his hips up into yours, grinding his growing bulge against you. 

You whined in response as you pulled your shirt over your head. Without hesitating, Frank reached up and deftly unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side and gently cupped your beasts with both of his hands. 

Your head dizzying with want, you lean forward to kiss Frank, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth as his large hands fondled your breasts. 

Breaking away, he kisses down your neck until he reaches your chest. Moving his head to the side, he slips a nipple into his mouth teasing you until you issued your fist moan of the evening. 

Chuckling, Frank moves his focus to your other breast and you loudly moan as you feel the buzzing want for him run up and down your body. You so deeply missed the way you just melt into his touch. It had been a lonely six months since Frank’s disappearance, not for lack of desire though. 

You were often hit on by men at your job but most of them were a huge turnoff. Drunk and aggressively flirting with you until you declined their offer and getting angry when you wouldn’t give them your number. But you stayed at this job since the extra cash on hand greatly supplemented your primary job. 

You did briefly consider yourself spending the night with a gorgeous blonde woman who came into the bar. She had the most beautiful blue eyes that you could get lost in. Except you couldn’t tell if she was flirting with you or if she was just incredibly nice. You were too hesitant to make the first move. That didn’t stop you from thinking about her as you touched yourself that night. But that was last month and you haven’t seen her come back in. 

And right now all you were focusing on was Frank and how you don’t think you’ve fully relaxed since he left. You are unabashedly grinding in his lap, arching your back into his kisses as his hands worshiped your body. 

“Frank, please…” you rasped as he popped his mouth off your nipple and brought you in closer to him. 

“Please, what darlin.” He whispered as he pressed your foreheads together. 

“I just need you to touch me so badly.” You softly whimpered as you pulled at the collar of his shirt. 

“I got you girl.” 

You squeal with glee as he wraps his arms tightly around you and stands up. You revel in the safety of his arms, feeling his huge biceps press you up against his firm chest. His strength was one of your favorite physical qualities in Frank. You felt so secure tangled up in him. But despite his strength, he was gentle with his touches to you. He was far kinder to you then a few men in your past. In fact, Frank never used force on you, unless of course you asked him to.

Your mind briefly wandered back to an intense night where you were pinned to the bed with his leather belt in your mouth, hand pulling your hair taughtly, thrusting into you unforgivably….

Frank placing you down on the bed brought you back to reality. Shamelessly watching him as he took off his shirt. The clinking of his belt reminded you of its taste in your mouth and you hurriedly removed the rest of your clothes. 

You attempt to slide to the top of the bed but Frank grabs your legs. 

“Oh no.” He clicks his tongue while dragging you down to the edge of the bed. “Just where do you think you’re going Ma’am? I owe you an apology.” He cooed, while kneeling on the floor, kissing your inner knee up to your inner thighs 

Your skin prickles and your breath hitches as Frank sucked some of the tender skin on your inner thigh into his mouth. Enjoying the reaction from you, he takes his free hand and traces a finger up the seam of your pussy. 

You gasp sharply. “Frank, please.” You desperately begged. “You’re being so mean to me.” 

Everything about you was driving Frank wild. Your scent was lingering in his nose, leaving him heady with want, how tense the muscles in your thighs are while you were so willingly spread out for him and finally the desire in your eyes is what drove him to splay you open with his index and middle fingers before he starting flicking your clit with his tongue. 

Your moans had him groaning as he continued lapping you up. He moved the fingers that were spreading you open lower, teasing your entrance. He briefly enjoyed your gasps of pleasure before slipping two fingers into your wetness, which caused you to inhale sharply as you clenched around him. 

Frank slightly leans back and looks up at you. “Yeah, you like that?” He curls his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside you. “Be good and take it.” He husked before sucking on the inside of your thigh. 

His words sparked an anger in you- how dare this man come back and then act like this but oh my god did he know how to work you up. And that spark was like gasoline on a fire and you were already so close to coming. 

Frank could tell by how tightly you were gripping his fingers. Pulling off your thigh with a wet pop, he brings his mouth back to your clit and it was over. Trails of fire ran up and down your body before dissolving into pleasure. 

Frank slowed down to draw out your orgasm as much as he could, waiting until you were whimpering with overstimulation before gently removing his fingers from you. 

Still breathing deeply, you open your eyes to find Frank looking at you, while sucking your juices off his fingers. His eyes were a blaze with desire for you, which made your heart start pounding again. 

“Frank, I want you.” 

He barely heard you over the blood buzzing in his ears. Frank stood up and got on to the bed, encouraging you to move back further. He placed the sole pillow on his bed under your head, making sure you were comfortable before kissing you hard. 

You instinctively moved down to help remove his boxers. Once freed, you savored the weight of him in your hand. He was deliciously thick and you can’t help but to start firmly rubbing him. You bring a thumb to the head of his cock rubbing the pre cum down his shaft. Now it was your turn to relish in the noises he was making 

Frank was so sensitive that just a small amount of touching had him gently thrusting in your hand, lowly grunting with your firm touch. His enthusiasm reminded you how empty you were. You wordlessly guide him to you, teasing his head up and down your sopping folds until pausing at your entrance. He replaced your hand with his and you moved your hips to slot his. 

The pressure of him against your entrance was leaving you lightheaded. The gasps you were making had Frank teeming with desire but he was determined to take his time. Pressing ever so gently he pushed just the head of him inside you as he began to lean down towards you. You tried to buck your hips up into him but he stopped you. 

Fully leaning over you, he placed one of his forearms to your side, hooking it around the crown of your head. His other hand held your jaw firmly in place. Staring deeply into your eyes he says, “I’m so fucking sorry I left. I won’t leave you again unless you tell me to.” He pleaded as he buried himself in you. 

“Oh fuck yes’ Frank.” You cried out as he pressed your foreheads together. 

“I fucking missed you, sweetheart.” He roughly whispered. 

“I missed you too.” You choked out, trying to hold back the tears in your eyes. Frank lowered the hand that was on your chin to the other side of your head as he started rocking into you, setting a pleasurable pace for the both of you. He slowly moves his hips until your breath hitches. That’s when he knows he’s got the right angle. You cry out as he rocks into a little harder, causing you to grab on to his shoulders. 

Sweat was beginning to leave a light sheen on the both of you as more heat began to generate from where you two were connected. Frank was applying soft kisses on your neck and the little huffs he was breathing near your ear made you clench around him tighter. 

You noticed his chest flushing and you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Franks brings one hand down, and slips it between the two of you and circled your clit, while kissing you deeply. The pleasure of being surrounded by Frank- his weight on top of you, cock filling you, his scent surrounding you, his tongue flicking into your mouth- was overwhelming after all this time. 

You pull away, wanting to save the moment in fear of him slipping away from you again. 

“You’re really going to stay this time?” You quietly stuttered in between his thrusts. 

“Yes darlin. I’m always going to be here.” He grunted. He could feel you getting tighter again and your whines were music to his ears as he kept his current rhythm. Your fingers tighten against his shoulder, leaving little half moons in it’s wake and your back involuntarily arches as you splinter once more from reality. 

Your pussy is squeezing Frank so hard that he can’t hold himself back any longer. His body stiffens and he groans out as he fills you with his cum.

You can’t stop the tears from spilling out and streaming down the side of your face during your come down. All of the fear, anger and worry that had been pent up all came rushing out and it was simply too much. He didn’t try to silence you or make you stop. Frank simply held you and wiped away your tears. 

“I’m sorry I’m crying so much.” You sniffled, trying to slow yourself down. 

“It’s ok Angel, are you alright?” 

You nodded your head yes as Frank carefully removed himself from you. You winced from the loss of contact but he softly pulled you into him as he laid down onto his side. 

Your crying had slowed down and the weight of reality was setting back in. Your mind started racing with questions. Did he really mean what he said? What does this mean for the two of you? Were you ready for a commitment like this? So many thoughts racing in your head and you settle on one. 

“Frank?” You quietly ask, face still buried in his chest while his hands were rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Earlier you said that you were putting off a job. What did you have to go do?” 

Swallowing thickly, Frank closed his eyes. He knew that coming back meant coming clean and you might not be interested when you find out who he really is. And maybe that conversation should have come first but old habits have a way of dying hard. 

“I will answer all of your questions in the morning. Would you like to stay tonight?” 

“Can we take a shower?” You ask as you nod your head in agreement, attempting to ignore a new ball of anxiety beginning to form. What could this man be hiding from you? “Or do you only have one towel as well? You teasingly ask, partly as a way to distract you from your own mind. 

“You’re in luck because I have two and they are both clean. I’ll go start the water. Come and join me when you’re ready” Frank kisses the top of your head before getting out of bed and padding to the bathroom. 

[izzabela]

In the Mafia's Eyes - Lin Kuei Siblings x GN!reader

in which the deadliest mafia group's leader and two brothers have you in their sight

a/n: i was scrolling through and i laid my eyes on the most beautiful fanart EVER, so i asked permission to use it (as you can see, i got permission) BIG UPS TO @moonbay1cn for letting me use their art (i cropped it to fit my blog formats, if you don't mind)

ships: tomas, bi han, kuai liang x GN!reader

warning[s]: mentions of blood, suggested violence, suggestive, you're delusional

p.s. mafia au! the Lin Kuei are based in the U.S. instead of Arctika/China

You should have realized who the men you served were. Every single clue and hint was there, pointing you in the right direction, yet you ignored the obvious flags that waved in your brain.

New York City is insidious: places to be, things to do, dreams to achieve. There's a reason why it's called "the city that doesn't sleep." People are up at all hours of the day and night to do things, and the night was a tad more active than the day. For you, however, the days seemed to blur together. Working at a 24/7 shop isn't rare. What made it rare was that it was a 24/7 tea house/café/eatery.

In the middle of Manhattan.

Upper east side, Manhattan.

In a rundown building that was browner than poop stains and long-deceased rat corpses.

That should have been your first hint.

The building was old, needing constant repairs here and there, yet it was untouched by the most powerful real estate agents, landlords, and other money-grubbing losers that would love to tear the building down to replace it with a painfully sleek and sterile one.

You were grateful for Madame Bo's persistence against this modern era of sad, beige modernness, but were also confused. How did she make so much money to keep them away? And if she had such money, why wouldn't she do the renovations herself? She could easily update the internals and externals of the building if she wanted to.

"Oh dear," she had said, "The charm is in the age of the building."

The second clue to the enigma of the tea house café were the customers.

When you were first hired by Madame Bo, you didn't really notice the patterns of people coming in and out, nor the lackeys that would round the block. Despite how old this building was, it was a popular stop for both the middle class and the privileged snobs residing in the upper east side. Over time, you knew who were regulars and who weren't.

When you worked the day shifts, you made note of four men who would be walking outside the building. On other shifts, they switched it up on you and they were paired with women, posing as couples. However, you knew better than that. Sure, to the untrained eye they would have just been randoms working out, but your gut told you otherwise. They were tall, slightly beefed with muscle, and walked faster than a normal New Yorker- yeah, definitely not normal.

What also peeved you out was the fact you always felt... something on you. You couldn't figure out if it was safety or protection, but what you definitely felt were eyes on you.

It didn't stop there, though.

On the very rare, and desperate, occasions you had a night shift, you kept a mental tab that two people would enter the empty eatery. They would sit on opposite sides of the room, laptops open and untouched. While you didn't judge the work ethics of others, you certainly judged people who had questionable habits of work. Even so, Madame Bo made drinks for them- free of charge!

"My dear," she said to you one fateful night shift, "They do a lot more for us than we know."

The last hint was as obvious as a clown in disguise. Scratch that, it's not even a hint anymore- it's a big red "x marks the spot" on a treasure map. And the "treasure" came in a pack of three hot guys.

Every month since you began working with Madame Bo, three men in luxurious suits and tuxes came to visit the shabby tea house. One of them with gray-colored hair, while the other two matched in black colored hair. You also noted their style of face covering, two of them opting for a face mask while the other remained bare-faced.

Every month without fail, these three men came to visit and sit down for some tea. There were times where they just sat in comfortable silence together, other times they were discussing the mundane in their lives. Most of the time, though, they simply sat together and spoke with Madame Bo, laughing and engaging in hearty conversation.

Every time they spoke with her, you couldn't help but stare at them. Madame Bo and the three mystery men were more different than the poles in a magnetic field, yet they spoke to her with such respect and joy. You thought it was just a rare case of rich people being kind. During a day shift when they visited, you asked Madame Bo for the origins of the three men.

"Oh them? I used to watch them when they were little," she explained to you, Raiden, and Kung Lao, "All three of them are brothers, with Tomas being adopted."

You remembered that you zoned out during the explanation of her ties with them, the only thing you got were their names: Tomas for the ash colored hair, Bi Han to the navy suit, and Kuai Liang in his amber-rust colored suit. As you zoned out, your eyes wandered over to the three.

They were engaged in their own conversation, chuckling quietly as they spoke about their business. While the air within them was pleasant, you felt a bit of fear and excitement. Something about them made you want to straighten up, look presentable, and be on your best behavior. You wanted to give them the best customer service in their lives- actually, maybe more than just "service".

You remembered catching the eyes of Kuai Liang, who briefly looked away from his siblings to catch you staring at them. His gold-black mask covered the bottom half of his face, but the way his eyes wrinkled a bit signaled some sort of smile that lied underneath.

You blushed and turned away, trying to zone back into the conversation with Madame Bo and the other boys you worked with.

"Woah! So like, are they super rich, Madame Bo?" Kung Lao asked innocently.

Madame Bo nodded, stating something about how they own a couple of stores in the upper east side thanks to a family business. You, however, still did not get the memo about who they were until later that day.

This was the answer to your dilemma on who these ferocious and fine men were.

After a night with some of your close friends, you were walking home alone following a sketchy back-path. It was supposed to be a shortcut, provided by the maps app on your phone. However, it died after you forgot to charge it, leaving you wandering the unruly city during its worst. As you walked, you fell into trouble with some sleazy idiots.

You remembered how close they were to you, their alcohol-stained breath and sleazy style of walk. The way they slithered over your shoulder to try and get you to come home with them. Not only were you sober, but willing to fight. You had punched one of them in the nuts to escape, but the grasp of one of the disgusting men was too strong for you.

You remembered four of them surrounding you, and you really thought you'd meet your end in the alley that night. You closed your eyes, but heard gun shots and the sounds of bodies hitting the damp concrete. What once was creepy and dangerous men surrounding you, you found them lying in their own blood, clean shots through the head.

You fell to your knees, threatening to cry, but you saw a familiar color on a suit. Okay, a few familiar colors: gray, navy, and rusty amber. You saw a gloved hand reach out to yours, leading to Bi Han's broad figure. You took it, and he effortlessly brought you to your feet. You noticed his other gloved hand was getting replaced, Kuai Liang replacing the soiled mitten.

Tomas snuck behind you (you didn't even feel him get there) to offer his coat. He gently placed it on your shoulders, his eyes peeking down at your round, doe, startled ones. Despite what happened in front of you, and despite you finally learning who they really were, you weren't afraid.

Each man held something in their eyes that promised you safety, security, and protection. Like a guardian angel, these men made a promise with their eyes to you. A promise saying that no matter where you are, what you're doing, that you'd always be safe.

As the saying goes, "It's in the eyes, chico," and boy they aren't wrong.

=================

It's been a couple of months since that incident, and the games you've played with them and your mind have been infectious. The brother's visits to the café have begun to happen more frequently, they even visit you alone sometimes, which didn't help your brain's delusions.

Every time one of them came to the cafè, you were afraid they would see right through you and into your horny thoughts. Whenever they visited and watched you work, you felt their eyes not leaving you once. It got so bad that you would bring Raiden or Kung Lao to distract you while doing stuff, or simply have Madame Bo make them leave.

Even so, it didn't stop your mind at all.

On the day's Kuai Liang came to the café, his gaze on you was steady and still, like a constant fire during a winter storm. The way he looked at you was full of wanting, desire, and desperation- like he needed you more than oxygen. Your brain imagined that his body was warmer than most, and that he would keep you in a dizzying trance.

Your mind played scenarios in which Kuai Liang would explore every part of you, with no intent of letting you go either. His hands leaving hand-shaped slap marks and bruises, marking every part of you to let the world know that you were his alone to worship. His loyalty to you and your body would leave you overwhelmed, melting under his constant affection and love.

Your mind concluded he'd be a gentleman and a rough lover, and you had to shake the thoughts out before he knew.

When Bi Han came to visit, you didn't have to know it was him at all. While Kuai Liang's presence was warm and welcoming, Bi Han's aura was chill to the bone. Whenever you were working, Bi Han's eyes never left your body. You figured his stares felt more...cold: persistent, chilly, and never-ending. Like a blizzard in the cold tundra of the arctic.

With Bi Han, your mind played vignettes of how he'd take you to bed. He would be rough, not like Kuai Liang. He'd pull your hair, smack your perky behind, and tell you how much of a degenerate you really were- all for him of course. He'd leave hickeys everywhere on your body, a mosaic of pink, purple and red on you to remind you who belonged to who.

Your mind also thinks he'd be great with aftercare. All that rough-housing and such, you needed to calm down and collect yourself. Your brain fills your mind with him putting you in a bath, rubbing your back, shampooing your hair too. He'd whisper "I love you's" in your delusions, peppering each hickey with kisses.

For him, your mind finalized he'd be the roughest of the three, while also caring for your wellbeing post-sex.

Your brain was working in serious overdrive.

Finally, when Tomas came to visit, you always felt sweet with him around. Not only would he stare at you with such love in his eyes, but he'd engage with others around him.

Like a butterfly, he'd go around and spread joy; however, he loved floating around you the most. You found that talking to him was easier than talking to his brothers, so you talked to him about the basics of who you were. When you tried to bring up that night, he told you that it would stay between you four- a private business transaction.

He'd also ask why you spoke to him more, and not his brothers. He assured you that they wouldn't bite, but you simply said it was out of respect.

And to keep your thoughts at bay.

Despite all of this, you weren't fooled by him at all. The way he looked at you, when people weren't present, was filled with a primal hunger, a desire to have you. He was the predator, and you knew damn well that you were his prey- not able to get away from his trapping gaze. His stares were sharp and clear, like a hunter ready for the kill.

And by the elder gods your mind was ready to be hunted.

You imagined his grip on you being tight, like you'd disappear and he'd never find you again. He would be intentional with tour body, exploring every part of you in more depth and detail than his brothers. His touch would make you feel sensitive, flinching at how feathery and flighty his fingers were as he took every part of you for himself.

He'd kiss you like he'd leave forever- full of longing, desperation, and wanting. Your brain thinks he'd need you more than oxygen, that he would love nothing more than to breath your natural scent in like the necessary element.

If Kuai Liang made you dizzy with heat, and Bi Han made you shiver with his chill, then Tomas would have you writhing under him like a poor animal in heat.

You prayed to the elder gods silently, hoping the men wouldn't see your perverse thoughts as they came by the shop.

Unfortunately, your pleas were ignored.

During their monthly visitation, you saw to the brothers yourself and sat them down, took their order, and made their drinks. Tomas took an Earl Gray with a pastry, Kuai Liang with some matcha, and Bi Han with Oolong tea.

You quickly gave their drinks to them, paired with an even quicker "thanks for waiting" and retreated behind the counter.

You watched them only for a bit, your brain playing new scenarios, but you distracted yourself with chores. Deep into them, you didn't even feel them leave until Raiden and Kung Lao tapped your shoulder, money in the latter's and a note in the former's.

"Looks like our prettiest barista got some tip money," Kung Lao teased, "A crisp twenty dolla bill too!"

You gasped, but who could have gifted you with such a generous tip? Raiden hands you a slip of paper, which answers your question and fills your head with more of them.

"Uhh..." he fidgeted nervously, "I am not sure what this means, but it definitely makes me wonder..." he handed the note to you and you flush the deepest shade of red ever.

It's in the eyes, little barista

=====================

once again, big ups to @moonbay1cn for letting me use their beautiful piece of media for this post!

see yall in the next fic ;)