#the scream he lets out in the last gif is so good

[kaisentine]

꒰ა ⠀ ⸺ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲!

⌗ ⸺ there’s no price for a gift if you’re getting it for someone you love—he really fucking loves you. ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, oliver aiku general cw. supa dupa short, there are separate cws for each guy, not proofread . . . gn!reader ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ ) sticky note. IM SCREAMING SAIKI SANTAAA . . . guys my deadline of march 14 is not looking too great . . . not proofread this is part of my event check it out!

𝒾 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒾 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 ♡

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 mentally beats himself up while trying to decide what to get you—the next best person to beat up over gift ideas? alexis ness.

“uhm, what about clothes . . ?” ness hesitates after being rejected for the umpteenth time while trying to give kaiser ideas. “that’s so lame, don’t you have any better ideas?” kaiser replies, pitching his nose-bridge in annoyance and stress.

“a ring?” “i’m not proposing!” “a dog!” “you’re a dog—no thanks.” “shopping trip?” “that’s half-assed.” “a letter?” “i’m not good with those.” “chocolate?” “what kind of a person do you think i am?!” “. . . roses.” “that’s too basic.”

in the end, kaiser does get you roses. “why do you look like you’re on the verge on tears?” he looks down at you while you’re hunched down over the bouquet of royal blue roses. you shake your head as if your lips aren’t quivering and as if your eyes aren’t glossy.

“they’re really pretty, thank you.” you say, bringing the collar of your shirt up to your eyes to soak up the salty water build-up. kaiser feels incredibly awkward in this situation, he swears you’re gonna make him develop a stutter one of these days. “yeah? well you . . . you should be!” he huffs triumphantly after crossing his arms.

he’ll never tell you that ness gave him the idea of getting you flowers.

cw. unintentional freak

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄 is actually so bad at this, it’s diabolical but he tries his best.

“oooh! who took this photo? it’s super cute . . !” you smile while holding the polaroid sae gave you of him being effortlessly pretty��unprompted—on a random afternoon, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have a nagging question on your mind—why? “why’d you give me this though?” oh. guess you didn’t think before you spoke, now he has a question to answer!

lucky for you, he’s an honest guy and gives you the answer straight-up. “you said you miss me when i go away for games,” shrugs, bending over next to you to view the picture as well. “heard pictures lasted longer.” he whispers in your ear.

you pull your head away while facing him in surprise—fucking bastard.

he turns his own to face you. “dunno though. thought i’d try it out anyway.” he says as he straightens his back and walks off to wherever, leaving you with your thoughts and this stupid polaroid he gave you.

cw. i could say this is pure crack goodnight

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐈 . . . well—let’s just say “hyperpigmentation”!

“. . .is that me?” you ask after sneaking up behind shidou while he was busy doing something—busy meaning drawing you.

sounds romantic, right? not when it comes down to him because you could barely tell the drawing was of you. your lips draw a thin line in an attempt not to laugh but also as an attempt not try cry. “you can tell?” he grins, lifting his pen off of the very amazing sketch.

oh ok—so it is you. “yes . . ?” you’re practically on the verge of tears while answering him. “aw, that sucks. was gonna give ‘ts to you as a gift.” he sighs really loudly. as a gift? what the fuck is wrong with shidou ryusei.

“well, i’m done anyway so i can give it to you.” his smile returns as he pulls the paper hard enough to be teared apart from the little circle things ( sorry i legit dk wtf those are called ) and slaps you with it, the smell of fresh paper and ink filling your nose.

“ryu,” you call, mortified. “yeah?”

“is that hyperpigmentation?”

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎 unlike kaiser, he genuinely crashes out while trying to think of a gift idea! something big? he knows he’ll never hear the end of it from you. something small? guilt will eat him alive.

reo is screaming so loud into his pillow, nagi is scared that he will break his vocal cords. “why are you stressing over a gift?” the white haired asks but doesn’t look up from his nintendo. “it’s not just a gift!” “. . . then what is it?”

“it’s a declaration of my love!” he finally peels his face off of the silk pillow case and brings his hands to his eyes to cover his vision. “that’s really cringe.” nagi says. “you find everything cringe.”

so what does he do? he gets you both matching bracelets from a luxury brand but has it custom made so you don’t know.

“reo, these are so pretty!” you’re fawning over the gold bracelet he put in your hand after he told you to close your eyes. “i’m glad.” he smiles at your admiration for simple piece of jewelry—thinking to himself that he could’ve done better, but he digresses. “too pretty . . . where’d you get them?” you ask, lifting your head up to make eye contact.

you don’t fail to see the way his eyes just barely falter to meet yours. “uh . . . went online shopping with nagi.”

that didn’t answer your question but, alright! when you hug him, he feels like he just got away with a crime but there’s a gut-feeling that you know.

cw. reader indirectly accuses him of cheating but he didn’t, promise! he calls reader “doll” uh!

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔 break-up text despite the fact he isn’t fond of chocolates, he likes to keep his gifts meaningful but classy—yet he fails miserably.

“you said you didn’t like chocolate . . .” you deadpan at the heart-shaped chocolate box splayed out on the table. aiku is sitting on the couch when he turn his head to look at you—you don’t miss the way his face almost pales under the soft flashing glow of the television.

there’s an obscene amount of scenarios that fill up your head as to why he looks like he has seen a ghost. were these not for him? who were they for then? you puff out your cheeks as you also feel faint. “. . . i don’t.” he responds.

“so then, who are they for?” you ask, picking the box up and dangling it up in the air with one hand. it’s his turn to deadpan—while yes, he totally forgot to hide them from you, do you not realize that they’re for you?

“those chocolates are for you, doll . . .”

“oh—ohhhh,”

tags :) : @kenyuukissme @levihanmyotp @realmyth @vellichorira @pinkicyheart ( comment to be added! )

[waynes-multiverse]

So happy to dive back into some 40s romance! 💕 Why is it that that damn period was so romantic? Were guys trying to woo a woman more back then? Is that it? Feels like it is 😂

Anywho, intense swooning below 😍👇

First of all, you know damn well by now that whole snooping in the beginning made me damn nervous. I could care less if that dick gets offended, but man, was I scared of what he’d do to her if he caught her!

“It was nice of your brother to walk me home last night…what is he up to today then?”

“Ah, well, he’s out to lunch with a young lady he met last night,” Sam replied, with a somewhat wry, but still amused tone to his voice. You frowned.

“Last night? Does your brother meet a lot of women after 9:00 p.m.?” 

Sam chuckled. “He’s not usually wanting for company.”

Ouch. Such a painful conversation. I was screaming at Sam throughout to shut his damn mouth 😂

Also, Dean… The same evening he picks up a woman?!?! Unbelievable!

And I know full well neither brother is really to blame, considering they don’t think of her as anything but an unhappily married woman and certainly not - looking for another man so quickly. But oh well…

The word “scoundrel” got me good too, btw 😆

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

Uh-huh. Don’t worry, Dean. You’ll get her all to yourself soon enough 😝

And God, every sentence that mentions Michael and his douchbaggery triples my amount of hatred for him.

I’d like to see you out of it, he thought, even though he immediately stamped it down. You weren’t exactly available, no matter how delectable you were.

Oh, no, I’d argue that girl is fully fair game here. Her asshole husband is not respecting or treating her right. All bets are off 😏❤️‍🔥

He just didn’t think he cared all that much about the consequences.

What consequences? “Accidents” happen and solve all problems

His head began to bow towards yours, just when the song slowed to a stop. Almost without realizing it, he pressed his hand a little more insistently on the small of your back. You found yourself accepting that guiding pressure. Half-lidded eyes and heavy, mingled breaths in between…

Ugh, so close 😩 Not me advocating for them to fully make out while her shitty husband is there and none the wiser

Of course the dick has a floozy 😒 Can’t believe he stepped out on her a month into their marriage, too. What a goddamn loser…

Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.”

Swoon 😍😍😍 That man is such a charmer with words. Definitely a professional flirt lol

Love the idea of them going on a nightly bus ride through the city together. Oh, how romantic! Again, fully swooning here 🥰🩵

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Before we tune back into some 1940s drama, I just wanted to thank you all so much for your wonderful responses on Part 1 of this series. 🥹 It’s my first time doing a story like this, so I’m very happy you liked the jumpstart here. 💖💖

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra

Word Count: 3.7K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hints of PTSD, flirting, dancing…

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Part 2: Devil May Care

After you got home from work the very next day, your apartment was entirely empty.

Predictable. Michael was still out.

This time, you counted it as a blessing. You rifled through every corner, cabinet, pocket, and drawer in search of evidence—anything you could use to prove, without even one shade of a doubt, that your husband was the unfaithful scoundrel you knew him to be. You knew it, deep in your gut. In your very soul.

You even rifled through Michael’s desk in his office, through every single folder, drawer, and booklet. You’d never done such a thing before because he was a particular man about his things, and you respected his privacy. 

That was done now. In your search, you found a useless ball of rubber bands and old coupons. You took his father’s old collection of fountain pens, which you knew Michael was precious about, and threw them haphazardly onto the desk to make room for your seeking hands through the rest of the drawers.

You even came across a small, crumpled photograph from your wedding day. This one made you pause.

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

You sighed and let the picture fall from between your fingertips. It swayed onto the desk’s mahogany wood surface, and rested there. You shook your head and returned your attention to your task at hand, holding your hands to your hips.

The problem was, you didn’t see anything incriminating here…until an idea finally occurred to you. You went into Michael’s closet. You sorted through the suit jackets he still needed to get drycleaned and pressed again.

In one of the pockets, you found a receipt. 

You brought it to Sam Winchester’s office the following morning before work, along with some documents of your household expenses. Like you did the afternoon before, he identified the receipt as one for the Cotton Club, a nightclub in the Upper East Side. You had never been there in your life, but you heard it was one of the new go-to spots in town. It was the kind of place you used to wish Michael would take you to, once in a while.

“It could be a lead or it could be nothing, but I’ll check it out, along with these,” Sam said. He gathered the financial documents you gave him as well. 

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Winchester,” you nodded.

“You can call me Sam if you like,” he said, kind, but still professional. You smiled. Unbidden, it reminded you of his brother.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

Biting the inside of your lip, you gave into the urge to ask the question.

“It was nice of your brother to walk me home last night…what is he up to today then?”

“Ah, well, he’s out to lunch with a young lady he met last night,” Sam replied, with a somewhat wry, but still amused tone to his voice. You frowned.

“Last night? Does your brother meet a lot of women after 9:00 p.m.?” 

Sam chuckled. “He’s not usually wanting for company.”

“I see,” you said flatly. You should have known. The devil-may-care grin on that man was too charming to be anything less than the mark of a shameless flirt. Maybe even a scoundrel. Lord knew you couldn’t take any chances either way.

Dean returned from his day out with Vanessa. She was a nice enough girl, a knockout blonde too. She was smart, studying to be a schoolteacher. But she also tended to twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn’t really remember much of what she said. She did look good doing it though. Not to mention, she let him feel her up while they kissed in one of the alleys, between the ice cream parlor and a drycleaners.

He predictably found his brother whittling away life in his office. Dean dropped his coat and hat on the hanger with a flourish. Sam raised his head from his work with an amused smile.

“Had a good day, did you?” he remarked.

“I can’t complain,” Dean agreed. “Especially when a beautiful woman’s involved.”

Sam shook his head. Before September, he hadn’t seen Dean in three years. Yet some things just didn’t change.

“You gonna see her again?” Sam asked.

Dean made a noncommittal sound. “We’ll see. The day is young, brother.”

Sam raised a finger. “Speaking of which. Mrs. Milligan came by this morning. I’ve been looking through her husband’s finances.”

“Oh really?” Dean sobered as he approached his brother’s desk. “What’d you find?”

“Overall, things seemed to be in order, until I noticed something strange,” Sam said. Dean lowered into the chairs opposite his brother at his desk, and they went over it all together. Sam appreciated another set of eyes on this, with the understanding that Dean would keep the information to himself. 

Starting roughly eleven months ago, there was a check signed to a Mr. Johnson for a moderate sum. Three weeks later, another check, this time a bit larger. For the past few months, Michael Milligan had been making these payments at least once a month, sometimes as much as three, albeit in different amounts.

“He might just have a gambling problem,” Sam said. He rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Or it could be what she’s worried about,” Dean pointed out. “The name could be an alias. Maybe Mike’s paying for someone’s services…or paying her bills, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He checked the dates on the documents again and shook his head. “Mrs. Milligan told me they got married about a year ago, here in the city. It would mean this guy started stepping out on her a month after the wedding.” 

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

A wall of sound. That was the Cotton Club—the band on stage playing jazz tunes, loudly, if skillfully; the clanking of glasses as drinks rolled past; the clamor of heels and leather shoes as couples swung on the dance floor; and the added layer of people raising their voices to compensate. The room was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, fighting against perfume and cologne and musk and sweat.

It was a bit overwhelming for Dean at first. He tried to ease himself into the scene with Sam at his side, even if he did jolt at the cork of a champagne bottle popping open. Sam noticed, but he mercifully didn’t say anything. He thumped a hand on Dean’s back to steady him under the pretense of a brotherly pat, adding a smile for good measure.

Sam was there to keep a lookout for Michael Milligan. Dean would help, but it wasn’t like he was being paid for it. He was largely aiming to have some fun while his brother was all serious, focused on the work. Dean was here for the community nightlife. 

The beautiful, beautiful community. As a matter of fact, there were lovely ladies everywhere. One sultry blonde was singing an upbeat, jazzy tune at the mic. Dolores Daye, said the banner above the stage.

Dean’s attention shifted from the stage to the scattered round tables outside the dance floor, as well as the chair lined up at the bar. His gaze caught on someone familiar—on you, sat at a table by yourself. His eyes widened. He slowed to a stop while Sam went on ahead.

You were stunning, almost unrecognizable in a shimmering black dress that hugged every lush part of your figure, with sleeves that draped off your shoulders. His eyes drew down your crossed legs, the sheer pantyhose, leading to a pair of tall, shining black heels.   

You wore a hat and partial veil that covered half your face, but he knew it was you. Those lips of yours were familiar on sight. Now they were painted red, dark and luscious.

“Dean?” Sam questioned him. He’d turned back when he realized his brother wasn’t keeping up with him. Dean subtly pointed you out. Sam raised his brows, but then he noticed what you were doing. You had a glass of wine in hand, and you seemed to be watching someone.

Every now and then your gaze would travel across the room, where your husband Michael was sat at a table filled with other men and women. They were laughing, drinking, playing cards. 

Sam and Dean shared a conspiring look, one that said they had the same thought. They went over to you. 

Sensing you were being approached, you looked over and found the pair of tall, familiar men with a widening of your eyes. That pretty mouth of yours fell open in surprise. 

“What’re you doing here?” you whisper-hissed. You beckoned them to sit down so they weren’t standing out so much while talking to you. Both Winchester men were broad-shouldered and tall as oaks.

“The same thing you’re doing, apparently,” Sam said, once he and Dean were sitting across from you at the table. He showed you the camera he had hidden in his coat pocket. “I’m going to see if I can get a read on what your husband’s up to, maybe collect some evidence.”

You let out a rush of breath. “Good, thank you.”

“Until then, maybe you’d be more comfortable at home,” he suggested.

Dean knew what his brother was getting at. This wasn’t the kind of place for a woman to be hanging around…unaccompanied. Not a respectable one like you, who clearly wasn’t used to being in a roaring nightclub. Plus, if Michael did slip up here, it wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant for you.

You still shook your head stubbornly. “No. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Sam almost sighed, but Dean shot him a nod. Right then, they had an understanding. Dean would stay and look out for you while Sam tried to get closer to Michael. Sam left you and Dean together at the table thereafter, and Dean ordered a drink for himself. You sipped at your wine.

Dean glanced at you in appreciation. You really were beautiful…and not just tonight. Though he had to smile at your “disguise.”

“You think that getup is gonna fool your husband?” he remarked, gesturing at your form.

Your lips pursed, but you kept your head angled towards him, so that your hat and veil continued to hide your face from Michael’s direction.

“It has so far,” you retorted. “And this isn’t a getup.”

You smoothed slightly self-conscious hands down the skirt of your dress. Dean smiled. 

“All right, I’m sorry. Poor choice of words,” he said. He dropped his chin and raised his brows, earning your gaze under the hat. “It’s quite a dress, sweetheart.”

I’d like to see you out of it, he thought, even though he immediately stamped it down. You weren’t exactly available, no matter how delectable you were. The interesting part was, you didn’t seem to realize it as you fidgeted in your seat, a little self-consciously.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you snipped.

His lips tugged at a smirk. He tilted your hat up a little so he could see more of your frowning face. 

“Want me to do better?” he teased. 

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him.

It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

“How about this,” Dean said. He finished off his whiskey and held out a hand to you. “Dance with me. You’ll have a better vantage point to spy on Mike over there.”

“Keep your voice down,” you shushed, glancing around.

Dean just smirked. He beckoned you again with a raise of his brows.

You hesitated, but you still eventually dropped your hand into his. He stood before you so he could help you to your feet. You allowed him to escort you over to the dance floor, and all the while you fought off your nerves. You were only doing this because he had a good idea; this would help you keep an eye on Michael without looking so out of place, a woman drinking alone at the table.

The band was playing a moderately paced song, which was good. You weren’t in this to be swept into the air.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, once he had you in his arms. His hands were respectably placed on your waist and in your hand. You knew you did have to relax though. Already you were too stiff while tentatively holding his hand, your other resting on his shoulder.

“I haven’t danced in—in a while,” you admitted. You were a little nervous as you began swaying with Dean, letting him lead you. He turned you about with ease, even twirling you under his hand.

“See? There’s nothing to it,” he said, welcoming you back into his arms. “When’s the last time you had some fun?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it. You and Dean shuffled about the dance floor in more complicated steps as the song increased in tempo. You were breathless in a good way. In a way that you couldn’t even remember needing to breathe as the golden lights sparkled in the corners of your eyes.

“He took me to a club like this once, about…I’d say month or so after we got married last year,” you admitted between spins. You had to hold a hand to your head to keep your hat on.

You were distracted enough by it all��the spinning, the laughter and tinkling glasses, the flashes of spotlight in between sultry dim shades, the heady smell of this man’s cologne, and his every touch, however brief on your body, but just as confident and measured. You actually told him the truth.

“I’ve been dying to get out more ever since, but…” you trailed as he spun you again, then winded you back into the growing familiarity of his arms.

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine.

“Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

You lowered your eyes, but not very far. They landed on his plush lips in contemplation. When your eyes met his again, Dean had a conundrum. He just didn’t think he cared all that much about the consequences.

His head began to bow towards yours, just when the song slowed to a stop. Almost without realizing it, he pressed his hand a little more insistently on the small of your back. You found yourself accepting that guiding pressure. Half-lidded eyes and heavy, mingled breaths in between…

“Let’s hear it again for Dolores Daye, everybody!” the host called out.

You snapped to attention and glanced over Dean’s shoulder at the singer. She waved goodbye to the crowd with a sensuous smile on her ruby red lips. Then she walked off stage in her glittering golden dress, and she grabbed hold of a man’s tie. That man was your husband.

Michael wore a wide smile on his face as she led him to his feet by his tie. He stood, his form looming over her, though she didn’t seem to mind—especially when his arm wrapped too familiarly around her waist.

It wasn’t the kind of embrace you would see between strangers, even for the sake of a good show for the crowd. Their faces became impossibly close, but it was just shy of a kiss as she laughed, a sound like fine crystal bells.

Dean noticed why you froze. He turned to look over his shoulder and his expression faded, becoming grim. He led you off the stage, and while keeping a discreet eye on the scene, he lingered at the bar in the center of the room. His arm stayed around your waist. He could tell himself it was to stay in character, but really, he just wanted to keep you grounded…that right now, you weren’t alone.  

Here by the bar, it was far enough that Michael likely wouldn’t notice you, but close enough that you both could hear what was happening.

The host stepped down from the stage and joined Dolores and Michael, laying a heavy hand on your husband’s shoulder. Yet another clue that Michael showed his face here all too frequently. The host waved over his entire table of friends, Sam included. He’d managed to get himself invited to sit with them.

“Come on. Join us out back,” said the host, gesturing behind the curtain.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“For a card game or two, a little smoke, a nice little drink,” Michael said, grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “You in?”

Sam nodded. He glanced over and found Dean across the room with his eyes. They shared a brief, but telling look, after which Sam followed Michael and Dolores past the curtain discreetly. Meanwhile, you were already pulling away from Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” you murmured.

You went back to the table to collect your purse. You left the rest of your wine there with a few bills on the table to cover it, and you were off, walking brusquely to the front doors. Dean followed suit, laying some money down for his own drink before he followed after you. The clerk at the front brought you your coat after you handed over your ticket, and Dean did the same.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home,” he said, having to raise his voice even here over the noise.

“No, thank you,” you said thickly.

After you had your coat on, you hastened to the closest bus stop outside the club. It was late, it was dark, and it was cold. You saw your fragile breath on the air as you stood there in your tall heels, and you held yourself for more than one reason as you fought off bitter tears.

You bit your lip and blinked against the burn, but you still had to swipe a few droplets quickly from your cheeks. You tried to even out your shallow breaths. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and started squeezing whatever they found. Whatever was left.

Dean sidled up to you with his hands in his pockets. You heaved a sharp sigh, recognizing him just by his shadow casting beside yours under the streetlamp. You kept your face away from him as you wiped at your tears.

“Why do you insist on watching me be miserable?” you asked. 

“Aw, come on, sweetheart.” He shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you get home safe, that’s all. …You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.” 

You slowly shot him a glance, but you didn’t budge. Your frown deepened along with your furrowed brows.  

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said.

It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression.

Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

His words touched you, more deeply than he probably realized. Part of you still wanted to give a sharp retort, that you didn’t need a chaperone. You didn’t need him to swoop in and collect you like broken glass…but a larger part of you craved the company. You didn’t want to be alone.

Soon enough, the next bus pulled up at the curb in front of you. The doors opened. 

Dean gestured with a sweeping hand towards the bus’s steps. 

Ladies first.

With another small sigh, you climbed up without a word. You even accepted his helping hand as you did so. Dean stepped up after you, and the doors closed behind you both.

AN: Welp, Happy Valentine's Day! 😅💜 Quite literally an angsty ride here, but what should happen on this bus going nowhere...

Next Time:

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable, like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile slid into a smirk. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

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[luvfae]

hiiii im in love with your blog i read everything u write >.< idk if ur taking reqs but i was wondering if you could write an x reader where her and thanos are basically mirrored. they’re known in their circles as “that couple” not saying the it couple because although theyre fine shyts theyre the type to break up bimonthly and have the highest of highs but the lowest of lows. sooo sooo toxic but they always find their ways back to each other 🫶🏽

BACK TO YOU

parings: thanos/choi su bong x f!reader

warnings: barely any smut, but it’s still there. fingering, swearing, toxic relationship.

“Get the fuck out, Thanos.”

Your voice was raw, venom dripping from every syllable as you stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the edge like you needed it to stay upright.

Thanos stood in the center of your apartment, chest heaving, fists clenched. His face was flushed, a mixture of anger and whatever cheap liquor he’d drowned himself in before stumbling over here to start this fight.

“You don’t mean that,” he bit out, jaw so tight you swore you heard his teeth grind.

“Oh, I fucking do.” Your laughter was sharp, bitter, like glass in his ears. “Every single time, Thanos. Every fucking time. We do this, we scream at each other, I throw you out, you come crawling back, and guess what? I’m tired.”

His nostrils flared. “Don’t act like this is one-sided. You like this shit just as much as I do.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Yeah? And what’s that say about you?”

For a second, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. His dark eyes dragged over you, as if committing this moment to memory. The way you stood, all fire and fury, pretending you weren’t one shove away from letting him back in.

Then he shook his head. “You always do this,” he muttered. “Act like you’re done, like you actually want me gone, but you’ll be back. You always come back.”

“Not this time.”

His lips curled. “Yeah? We’ll see, baby.”

And then he was gone.

The door slammed shut, rattling the walls.

You slid down to the floor, exhaling so sharply it felt like the breath had been knocked out of you.

Fucking bastard.

You hated how much you loved him.

It started two years ago.

A toxic, chaotic, beautiful fucking mess.

You were the queen of the nightlife, a club promoter who never had to wait in lines, never had to buy her own drinks, never had to lift a finger because the whole city knew your name. You ran the scene—decided which parties were hot, which DJs were worth booking, which clubs were worth stepping foot in.

Thanos was the king of the underground. A different kind of king, one who moved through the city’s underbelly like it was built for him. He was the guy people went to when they needed something that couldn’t be bought in stores. Drugs, money laundering, security—if it was illegal, Thanos had his hands in it.

You should’ve never crossed paths.

But you did.

And it was fucking electric.

The first time you met, it was a collision—both of you too headstrong, too cocky, too sure of yourselves to let the other have the upper hand.

The first time you fucked, it was the same thing. A battle, a war, neither of you willing to let the other walk away without losing something.

And when you fell for each other, you fell hard.

You were that couple. The ones people whispered about. The ones who burned too bright, too hot, always seconds away from imploding. You fought in public, you fucked in bathrooms, you broke up at least once a month and got back together just as fast.

And now?

Now you were supposed to be done.

Except you weren’t.

Because the next night, you walked into the club you were promoting, and there he was.

Thanos.

Sitting in a VIP booth like he fucking owned the place.

Your stomach twisted.

He looked good. Too good. Loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up, gold chains glinting under the dim lights, rings flashing as he lifted a drink to his lips.

And he was staring at you.

You knew you should turn around. Walk the other way. Pretend like last night had actually meant something, like this time you’d meant it when you said you were done.

But you didn’t.

You walked straight to him.

He smirked, setting his drink down. “Knew you’d come over.”

You rolled your eyes, stopping at the edge of the table. “What are you doing here, Thanos?”

“Waiting for you.” He leaned back, arms draping over the booth. “Miss me already?”

Your nails dug into your palm. “No.”

“Liar.”

You let out a sharp breath. “You should go.”

He tilted his head, watching you. “Nah, baby. I think you should come here.”

You scoffed, but your body betrayed you, moving before you could stop it.

Thanos’ hands were on you the second you were close enough. Big, warm, familiar. He pulled you between his legs, looking up at you with those dark fucking eyes, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Say you don’t want me,” he murmured, so quiet only you could hear.

You clenched your jaw. “I don’t want you.”

His grip tightened.

“Liar,” he whispered.

And then he was kissing you.

And you let him.

Because you were weak. Because you were addicted. Because he tasted like danger and home all at once.

His hands slid under your dress, fingertips skimming up your thighs, teasing, possessive.

“Thanos,” you warned, but it came out breathless, shaky.

“You miss me?” he murmured against your lips, fingers slipping higher.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No.”

But your body told a different story, pressing into him, heat pooling in your stomach.

Thanos chuckled, dark and low, and then—

His fingers slipped under your panties.

Your breath hitched, hands clutching his shoulders as he dragged them over your clit, lazy and slow.

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Apology accepted?” he teased, voice thick with amusement.

You whimpered.

His other hand slid up your back, pulling you closer, mouth brushing your ear. “You’re mine, baby,” he murmured, sliding a finger inside you. “You always have been.”

Your head dropped against his shoulder, body trembling.

And the worst part?

You knew he was right.

[bitchinbarzal]

Revolving Door | M Barzal

inspired by revolving door by tate mcrae

summary: every time you go, he pulls you back. just like a revolving door.

-

The first time you left, it was supposed to be forever.

Mat had broken your heart one too many times, his words never quite matching his actions, his promises falling apart the second he stepped out the door. He loved you in a way that was consuming but never consistent, the kind of love that felt like a hurricane — devastating and beautiful, but never something you could build a life within.

And yet, like clockwork, you found yourself right back in his arms.

It started the way it always did — an impulsive text, a late-night call. This time, it was him who reached out first, the weight of regret in his voice as he asked how you’d been, like he hadn’t been the one to leave you crying in the doorway of your shared apartment three months ago.

“I miss you” he admitted, his voice thick with something that almost sounded like sincerity.

You should’ve ignored him.

Instead, you found yourself tangled in his sheets again, his hands tracing over your skin like a map he knew by heart. And for a little while, it felt like maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t get restless and pull away. Maybe this time, he’d finally love you the way you deserved.

But you knew better.

Mat Barzal was a revolving door. No matter how many times he left, he always found a way back in.

And you always let him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you. He did, in his own way. But loving you had never been the problem — it was the keeping you part that he couldn’t quite figure out.

So you waited for the inevitable. And sure enough, it came in the form of an unanswered text, a night spent alone when he swore he’d be home, an ache in your chest that never quite went away.

The cycle started again.

You told yourself this was the last time. That when you walked away, you’d really mean it. That next time he called, you wouldn’t pick up.

But when his name lit up your phone, your fingers hovered over the screen, your heart betraying the logic screaming at you to let him go.

You sighed, already knowing how this story would end.

With you, standing in the doorway, letting Mat walk right back in.

There were good moments too, and maybe that’s what kept you holding on longer than you should have. The quiet mornings when he pulled you closer instead of slipping away, the way he whispered your name like a promise, the nights when he stayed home and let you believe, just for a little while, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

But those moments were fleeting, shadows that disappeared with the morning light. And deep down, you always knew they weren’t enough to keep you from breaking again.

Your friends had stopped giving you advice. They’d given up, just like you should have. Every time they said “You deserve better” you’d nod and agree, but it never changed anything. Because it wasn’t about deserving better — it was about wanting him, even when you knew he was no good for you.

He knew it too.

“I don’t know why I do this” he admitted once, his voice barely above a whisper as you lay in bed, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your skin.

You had swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a small smile “Because you can”

His eyes flickered with something; shame, maybe, but he didn’t argue.

And that was the worst part.

You were both stuck in this endless cycle, trapped in a love that neither of you could quit. A love that hurt more than it healed. A love that felt like a revolving door you were too afraid to step away from for good.

But one day, you would.

One day, you’d close the door and never let him back in.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

Pairing: rockstar!jisung x rock journalist!afab!reader, secret lovers, nonidol!au

Synopsis: he was the best and worst part of your job. Because it's always hard to interview your boyfriend and be cool about it.

Warnings: fluff, teeny crack??, reader is good at keeping secrets and jisung is cocky??

A/n: I don't know what I did. Period. Take it or leave it. If there are errors I'm sorry. I'm just a girl. Please note that this is set in the 90's...that type of rock era

The lights are harsh, the camera guy counts down and you slip into your professional persona. You took deep breaths. Your pre- interview routine was in rotation. Brushing through your notes, testing the mic, maintaining eye- contact with your guest. Jisung. Jisung, the lead singer of the band, Dead Rebels sits across from you, sprawled lazily in his chair with that signature cocky smirk. The man you’ve always wanted to meet. The number one man on your bucket-list of interviews. Your celebrity crush. His jeans, leather jacket, and messy curls screamed rockstar chaos. The director gives you a go ahead and you immediately got into character.

“Jisung,” you start, keeping your voice steady. Shoving away any signs of unease.

Pfft. As if you weren’t just tangled up with him in his dressing room an hour ago. Smooth.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had you here, back home, right? Welcome back.” He leans into the mic smiling heavily like he’s been drugged with dopamine. “Why did you guys miss me?” he asked looking directly at you. “The answer to those type of questions is always confidential, c’mon now.” You tried to play along, without your cheeks heating up. Fail. Jisung chuckled, his cheeks puffing up with his smile.

“Alright then. Let’s get into it. What’s the first question, sweetheart.” The crew chuckles at his natural charm, but your eyes subtly widened at the pet name slipping out on air. He’s pushing it. Clearing your throat, you keep it professional. “You are indeed an attraction to many personalities. Your Riot Nights, which was a sensational world tour has just concluded, congratulations on that, and it’s been a massive success. Fans are calling it you’re most electrifying yet. What’s been the most memorable moment for you so far?” Jisung tilts his head, genuinely thinking, then he smiles. “On our last night, the crowd’s energy was insane. The screaming- I swear I could fell the crowd’s adrenaline. It was so addictive. I didn’t even want to leave.” He pauses, then his eyes find yours. 

“The faces were pretty unforgettable too. Some old, some new.” You grip on the mic tightens. You knew he was talking about the fans. You tried so hard to believe that was true, but you know the real him- the one who sneaks into your hotel room after shows, the one who whispers that you’re his against your lips when no one’s watching.  And honestly, it was never meant to end up like this. 

Y/N didn’t start with a microphone in hand and camera’s rolling. Her journey into the chaotic world of rock journalism began with ink- stained fingers, late- night deadlines, a disastrous love life and a relentless passion for music. Fresh out of college with a degree she had landed her first gig in a small but scrappy rock magazine- Sound Riot. With three-star reviews, it was the place where cigarette smoke filles the office, coffee ran through pipes like water and her editors through whiskey while debating the best guitar solo of all time. Of course, she didn’t get to get to the top in an instant, you started at the bottom. Transcribing interviews, fact- checking articles, coffee runs for her selfish co-workers. But she was determined. What she tried to pitch was often rejected but never discouraged. Then, the big break came.

A last-minute cancellation left no one to cover an up-and coming band’s gig at a dive bar. The editor in charge tossed her a notepad and said, 

“You wanna write? Prove it.”

That night, Y/N wrote an article so raw, so full of grit and passion, that it got published- without edits. From then on, she became the magazine’s go to for live concert reviews, artist profiles, and eventually, exclusive interviews. And although she was on print, television came knocking on her door when her natural presence caught the attention of a producer at Pulse TV. She was hesitant at first, but the thought of being able to go face to face with the biggest rockstars of the decade? Impossible to resist. Sure, her first few takes weren’t perfect. But she soon found her rhythm fast, witty and completely unafraid to challenge even the most arrogant frontmen. 

You quickly became a favorite, not only among the company but fans too. For asking real questions instead of the industry fed fluff. For making your guests feel comfortable and at ease with you on tv. For not being afraid to push. Artists respected you for not being a sellout, for knowing true music. By the time she started interviewing the Dead Rebels and Jisung, she had a reputation. The one who asked hard- hitting questions but also made them laugh. The one artists truly wanted to talk to. 

And with Jisung, it was different from the beginning. He played along with your humor, challenged you right back, and somehow just somehow, between interviews, late- night calls, and stolen moments at afterparties, things got personal. What started as a strictly professional relationship blurred into something neither of you could ignore. The industry loved your chemistry on camera- his effortless charm and clumsiness and your sharp wit made every meeting electric. Fans obsessed over your banter, creating theories that maybe he had a thing for you.

They had no idea how right they were.

You’re one of the most respectful rock interviewers, now, although you wrote when you could. Your friendliness with artists made you a big secret keeper, but the most dangerous one you’ve kept? 

You’re in love with a man your supposed to be objectively reporting on. Nothing, absolutely nothing had prepared you foy the storm that was Han Jisung. 

Dead Rebels had just exploded onto the scene with their debut album, Eulogy of the Wild. The band had a rep for backstage chaos and making teenage rebellion poetic. When you were first sent to interview them you expected another ego-driven freak who thought he was larger than life. What you got instead was Jisung- charismatic and entirely too observant for your comfort.

You could’ve sworn he’d never taken his eyes off you. had looked at you like he saw past your façade. Then you kept crossing paths in award shows, backstage events. He’d seek you out and you’d always forget to ask him one or two questions that lingered too long.  

“How does someone like you end up in a job, like this?” he asked once, during a cigarette break on the balcony. Both of you were at another party that you’d forgotten the name of. No cameras followed you this time.

“Someone like me?”

He nodded, leaning against the railing. “You’re too real for this industry. I mean, you don’t just ask questions and shit…you get people. Y’know?” you shrugged. “I like music. I like the truth. Simple as that.” Jisung nodded, flicking ash from his cigarette. “No one’s ever asked me the truth before you did that day.”

And bam!

Phone calls then lasted till odd hours where you talked about anything but work. Sneaking out of parties and events just to spend time together. Songs played only for you, in your hotel room where Jisung let down the rockstar persona and became himself. And then one night he kissed you. Just a peaceful lingering moment in the dim light of your apartment (yes, you had given him your address after he asked nicely more than seven times) with the weight of everything unspoken pouring out.

“This is a bad idea”, you had whispered against his lips. 

“Probably,” he murmured “But I’m still gonna do it again.”

And he did. Again, and again.

Jisung hated secrets and loving you and having to keep you as one was something that pissed him off even more. The media was already obsessed with his love life constantly linking him to models, actresses and fellow musicians.

“You need to stop making vague comments now, people are getting suspicious.” You had said one day, flipping through a tabloid in a hotel room. The headline roared, JISUNG’S SECERT MUSE, WHO IS SHE? Jisung groaned as he took it from her hands. “But I love watching them lose their heads.” You rolled your eyes. 

Ever since they embarked in a relationship there were too many close calls with the paparazzi. And the fights, over secrecy and the constant fear of being exposed. Y/N’s career could be ruined or the band’s image could be shaken. But their love was real. And no amount of cameras, tabloids or industry bullshit could change that.

-

“That’s a wrap!”, someone called out, and the tension in the room snapped as crew members bean moving equipment, conversations picking up around them. And so, the backstage lounge was clogged up with cigarette smoke once again as Jisung and his members lit blunts. Y/N’s heart was still pounding as she slid off her mic pack, the remnants of the interview still hanging as the last of the media crew packed up their equipment. Y/N sat across from Jisung as she handed a crew her mic. He looked at her. 

‘Another illusion well crafted, babe. I’m proud of you.’

You forced a professional smile. “I hope to see you around, rockstar.” You stood, smoothing out your blouse. “You heading out already?” he asked. You glanced over your shoulder meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Early flight tomorrow.” Jisung leaned back on the couch feigning nonchalance, but the way his fingers gripped the armrest betrayed him. “Shame. Guess I’ll be drinking alone tonight.” You smirked, turning back to the door. “Don’t do anything reckless, rockstar.” And you walked out ignoring the way his gaze burned on your skin.

-

 The elevator ride was quiet, save for the classics overhead. You pressed your lips together, steadying your breath. The soft ding signaled your arrival. You walked through the hotel lobby, head down, hood up. You were just another guest walking through. In your pocket your fingers brushed over the room number scrawled in Jisung’s lazy handwriting. When you reached the door, you knocked once. On your attempt to knock again the door cracked open.

There Jisung stood. Fresh out of the shower, his damp hair messily falling over his forehead, droplets still clinging to his skin. He was wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, revealing the sharp cut of his abs and the intricate designs of his tattoos. The air that wafted out of the room smelled like soap, cologne, and a faint trace of smoke, mixing with the heat from his shower. His eyes flickered over you, slow deliberate, like he was drinking you in.

“You’re late,” he murmured, voice hoarse yet laced with softness. Before you could respond he reached out, gripping your wrist and pulling you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, and Jisung used his other hand to twist the lock.

Your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your waist, firm enough to keep you in place. “Had to make it convincing,” you finally murmured, your pulse skyrocketing. His lips curled into a knowing smile. “Yeah?” low and teasing he stepped closer. “Oh, and by the way, that little eye roll earlier? Cute, but they’re gonna catch on one day.”

“And whose fault is that?”

His hands slid to the small of your back. “You make it really hard not to look at you the way I want to.” You exhaled sharply, letting your forehead rest against his. “Jisung…”  

“I know, baby.” He murmured. “Just us. Just for tonight, yeah?”

You answered by closing the distance between you. your lips melting with his, fingers tangling into his hair as he sighed into the kiss- like he’d been waiting all damn day. You both had. For the moments that didn’t always last. With no camera, no prying eyes and no pretending.

I feel dissatisfied with this...I feel like I could've done more. please try to enjoy. I'll do better next time.

Taglist:

@pessimisticloather @pixie-felix @jitrulyslayyed @imagine-all-the-imagines @leeknow-minho2 @imeverycliche @jc27s @necrozica @sh0dor1

Check my pinned if you would like to be tagged!

~kc💗

[in1-nutshell]

I think I am doing this right I have a request. It is about vampire buddy tfp. When she Mets the decepticons. I have a few ideas. One of them is that she has relationship with Airachnid. She doesn’t attack her or talk to her either it’s more like a relationship coworkers. Airachnid- buddy is that you how long has it been. Buddy-…….”waves happy” Another is that she stays away from megatron because of the dark energon inside of him. Another is how she meet breakdown Buddy- “drinking blood of an unconscious Vehicon”. Breakdown- walking by “WHAT THE SLAG IS THAT” start pointing at buddy Last one is that she is in escape experiment from shockwave. Starscream- “WHY WOULD YOU MAKE THAT!!!” Shockwave- because starscream she will eat and eat until she’s a mindless monster. Every day she will become hunger and hunger until she can’t think right. And she knows that so she will come here to long for something to prevent that. And when she takes the bait we strike”. I hope this ins’t to much and can you do something what you did last time. Like having each of their reactions to this please. Thank you for reading this request

Been a while since we've seen Vampire Con Buddy, lets see what she's doing!

Hope you enjoy!

Vampire Con Bot Buddy on the Nemesis

SFW, Platonic, Mention of Vampire activity, Mention of injuries, Mention of Stalking, Cybertronian reader

TFP

Alternative title: 3 Things Vampire Con Buddy has done on the Nemesis

1. ‘Manifest from the Shadows’

Buddy doesn’t have this ability… that she can confirm.

As far as she can tell, she can just be really still in the shadows, and it takes others a long time to figure out she was in the same room.

Most of the time it is not on purpose.

She is just very quiet and still when she isn’t on the hunt.

Though there are times that Buddy does leverage this edge.

Starscream is walking around the Nemesis. He looks around and sighs. No one is here. He turns to his left and a pair of red optics stare right back at him. Starscream: “GGAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!” The Second in Command screams and runs away. Arachnid walks around the corner chuckling to herself as Buddy walks from the shadows. Arachnid: “Good work.” Buddy just nods as the spider passes them an energon cube. She makes a face while looking at Arachnid. Arachnid: “Take it or leave it.” Buddy grumbles and starts drinking the energon from the cube.

2. Kidnapping

Due to Buddy’s ‘peculiar’ tastes, she has a trouble time ingesting regular energon like most bots.

She found it must better consume it through the neck cables of other Cybertronians.

Normally, they would simply go out and search for a frame close by or an Autobot that wandered too far into Decepticon territory.

But since arriving on Earth, food sources have been scares.

Good thing Buddy had a backup plan.

She would go after some lower ranked Con’s and sip bit of their energon.

Never fully draining, they were still needed to fight.

Steve is walking with Breakdown. They notice a Vechicon slowly getting up from the floor with his servo on his helm. Breakdown: “Hey there, you alright?” The con shakes his helm and gives him a thumbs up. Steve spots two small holes on the cons neck cable. Steve: “Buddy got him.” Breakdown shudders. Breakdown: “If there’s one con here besides Arachnid that I hate its Buddy. With her creepy—” Buddy falls from the vents with energon covering part of her face. Breakdown, Steve and the other Vechicon: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

3. Stalking

One of Buddy’s habits.

For some strange reason, she would select one con at random and simply stalk them.

The Con could be in the air, Buddy is just a couple feet away.

The Con could be underwater, Buddy is on their left.

The Con could even be in deep space!

Buddy is never too far.

After a short period of time, she would select someone else to stalk and the cycle repeats.

Shockwave is in his lab. Buddy is a couple feet away just watching him. Starscream walks in, momentarily jumping at the sight of Buddy on the floor. Starscream: “How are you not affected by her being there?” Shockwave: “It would be illogical to feel that way. She has done nothing to cause me discomfort, thus, illogical to feel threaten.” Starscream huffs, his wings flaring a bit. Starscream: “…Word has it around the Nemesis that she is your creation Shockwave. Is that true? Is that logical?” Starscream’s taunting voice hitching at the last comment. Shockwave stops momentarily. Shockwave: “… Perhaps.” Starscream freezes. Starscream: “what?” Shockwave ignores him and hands him some data pads. Shockwave: “Lord Megatron requires these.” Starscream grumbles and walks out of the lab. Starscream: : “Megatron requires this… well I’ll show—GGGAAAAHHH!” He jumped noticing Buddy was following him now. Starscream: “No! No! NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!!!!!”

[eclipse-msoul]

Belong to me in Oblivion

Chapter 3 :-

Inside the circus brightly lit lights as the laughter echoed throughout giving joy to the poor Gothamite souls. It was practically glowing with joy and the glittering colours made even the saddest souls smile.

Richard Grayson was beaming as he stood behind the curtains. His parents were getting ready to perform and so was he. He was ready. Thinking nothing could top the happiness he was feeling he went out and your voice was heard by him almost immediately.

So you came today too huh. Hehe

His parents noticed too and flashed you their million dollar smile. You smiled back and raised a thumbs up. Oh, He was going to perform amazingly today, those new tricks were going to be so fun. 

Among the crowd of people screaming out the Graysons name, your eyes were on him. Warm and glimmering with life. You were wearing a gorgeous black dress – making your features stand out even more – a red lipstick making you glow even more.

He almost couldn't wait to show his tricks. His parents had every bit of confidence and he had every skill. He was going to make this and he was going to have a blast and when he was levitating ready to show you his acrobats.

The performance was going even better than usual and Richard knew his parents and everyone in the circus were doing amazingly.

The last of the act was just a few seconds away and he was so ready. He loved it afterall. His parents the flying Grayson's leaped and he steadied his hands to catch them.

Nothing.

His parents weren't holding his hands, infact they weren't even holding the rope. They were on the ground and looking at him. Why were they so sad? Weren't they just smiling at him? Weren't he suppose to swing his mother to his father , why were they laying down their.

His mind couldn't register the noise, he could barely look away. His body got down and he scrambled close to them. They were probably tired….maybe they needed a nap.

Perhaps that's why someone closed their eyes. He didn't know people could sleep like that. He should ask his mum when she wakes. He turned around and raised his brow.

                             “ RUN-”

            “ -Someone call the GCDP-”

                 “ -Move out of the way- ”

           “- Hey , your blocking me ! Get off-”

                            “ Poor kid. ”

Why were people screaming , it wasn't a big deal. His parents just needed some sleep and then they could perform. He was good enough – so why was no one smiling. It was silly.

“ Yes..sir….The flying Graysons-”

“....are gone.”

His eyes gawked at those words. Were his parents getting fired – he should probably go wake them. Tell his papa that he shouldn't sleep during a performance. He was going to laugh for weeks at his pa’s confused face.

Just then a white cloth was dropped on them.

He froze.

This…isn't right

They were covering his parents. Also now that he notices why were his shoes wet. They were a deep shade of red.

It

Almost

Resembled 

Blood

He felt a shiver and suddenly he couldn't breath. Men in black came and took his parents away , not before passing him a look of pity. Why.

Unknowingly he heard himself sniffle – he touched his face. It was wet

 His tears were overflowing – he fell to his knees to grasp a bit of air – tried to run to his parents but someone's arms pulled him back.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get out. He was shaking, trembling – if that was the word. They were like a cage, Oh why were they so strong.He struggled and cried to be let out but it wouldn't.Those arms pulled him in and hugged him.

                  “ Dick ! Please– breathe-” 

He paused. 

His arms stopped hitting the stranger and he remained still as his mind began to think. Dick ? Right ,That was his nickname. Who was calling him that? His mom?

No

That voice was different 

“ (Name)...?”

The stranger hugged him, pulled out and dick observed that familiar face in front of his eyes. You were there. He felt small, incredibly small. Your pretty fingers whipped the little drops off his cheeks.

Your little smile – it resembled one he's seen on his mother – was nice. He thinks he might be wrong or else your hands wouldn't be trembling so badly.

“ Yes, Dick–its…me.” you said looking right at him. “ I'm here…” Your words were little yet enough. 

He felt dizzy and slipped a step.You of course caught him in your arms and steadied him.

As he strode off, he thought – The warmth was so nice. His arms felt tired and his eyes began to close – darkness welcomed him and he smiled right back.

         _______________________________

You watched in absolute horror as the ropes snapped and the Flying Grayson's fell. Bruce jumped to cover your eyes to prevent you from seeing that. It was far too late.

Their necks snapped and a cracking sound echoed loudly throughout the circus. Everyone sat silent, before they didn't. You tried to remove the hand covering your eyes but it didn't budge.

“ Bruce Wanye , remove your hand this-” you stopped right in the middle. His hand grip loosened and he let go. 

Thomas and Bruce were staring right at the bloody scene of death and you knew – if their pale face didn't tell you enough – what their minds were thinking.

Their eyes flickered at each other as they communicated, all while you stood in the middle trying to understand what your eyes had seen. You quickly got up and your eyes narrowed in panic.

 Dick

Your mind searched. Where was he ?

You got up and jumped down. Bruce and Thomas followed you as well. You paced and ran towards him.Your heart broke at the sight of the boy.

He stood alone and silent – watching in complete but utter blindness as the white cloth was dropped. His eyes slowly turned from confusion to realization and tears began to swell up.

And when he looked down at his feet – the blood tightly holding onto his feet as if to mock him – the final string broke.

He let out the most wretched scream as you held him in , pulling him away from his now-dead-parents. 

Bruce and Thomas were mere steps back and you could feel their eyes as if they were reliving their trauma. Dick kept kicking and punching you while struggling to get out but you held him firm.

It hurt

Truly

Why was someone so young going through this? Gotham was too cruel , not even little acrobats were spared from its brutality. That's why even if no one wanted it Gotham gave a gift to every traveller that came.

That's why your friends were dead and that's why the little kid that always smiled was crying

Dick's screams and hits soon slowed and he stopped all together. He said your name in the most broken voice and you couldn't hold back your sobs. But , no, the kid was the one suffering and you were not going to let him see you cry.

So you pulled and reassured him. Helping him stand as he embraced you in a hug , this time himself. His breathing had evened out in a matter of minutes and his weight was on your whole body.

You let out a breath of relief you didn't know was trapped inside. Bruce came and helped you carry little Richard. 

You knew one thing

And that was you were not leaving that boy on his own.

It seemed the two Wanye’s thought the same. It took a while to convince CPS and GCDP to let you take him home. To the Wayne Mansion.

Once you were in the car and on your way, time slowed down. Your hands caressed the unfortunate boy's hair as his snores came out.

  “ I'll protect you no matter what, Richard.”

You mumbled as your eyes turned to look at the scenery passing by , while your mind kept on repeating Grayson's screams.

TBC…

[cams-cult]

check your window…….

hes at your window★★★

stalker!chris x reader

summary- chris watches you orgasm through your window

contains- !!!stalking!!!

chris watched as you grinded up against this random guy at a party, how your hips synced perfectly with one another’s.

his eyes were practically shooting daggers at this dude. his jealous gaze not seeming to capture your attention luckily. but also in his case unluckily. he needed your attention. craved it even. but he would never ever say anything to you about it. not a single word. he didn’t exactly have you where he wanted you. but he would. soon you’d be all his. no one else’s. and no one was getting in his way.

it was driving him crazy to say the least. he stood there, drink in hand as his eyes were glued to your every move with this prick.

you and chris weren’t even official, you just fucked around and went. it was a repeating cycle that went on and on and on for months.

until chris started to develop these feelings for you. ones that he’d never felt for anyone else before. ones that drove him berserk.

he’d developed these feelings for you only months after your first hookup. he loved how you were just a good person. a person with human decency which is rare in todays society.

he couldn’t help but wonder what you did in your free time, how you spent it. what you did during the day before you got worked up enough to call him to fuck one out.

> the following day, 11:27 pm

he promised he’d never do this again, that his last love interest was the last time and he’d put this old habits in the past. but just one more time wouldn’t kill? would it?

there he stood, outside your window. he found the perfect angle through your bedroom curtains. seeing perfectly through your window and into your room. he saw your little teddy bear that had always hit the floor when he came over. the bed frame that hit the wall when he was hitting all of those spots that made you crazy. he saw the closet that you always had rummaged through when you were late for work when you guys had intimacy all night.

you had everything so neatly in your room. it intrigued him that you were so organized. how the slightest mess freaked you out.

all of a sudden he sees you walk in your room in just a towel. he watches as you drop the towel getting a perfect view of your ass. he sees as you rummage through your closet for some pjs, giving him deja vu from hookup mornings.

as if that sight alone wasn’t enough to get him hard.

but this time it was different. you stop rummaging through your closet and plop down on your bed, grabbing your teddy bear.

you were still nude. little water droplets still on your body. work had kicked your ass all day. you were spent to say the least.

your boss had screamed at you to do his own errands, and you forget to do one thing and it’s all over. everything ached. you just wanted to relax and let go.

it had been such a long day for you, chris could see it all over your pretty face.

he sees your hand slide slowly down to your needy cunt, how your lip hides in between your teeth as your hand inches closer and closer.

chris could already feel himself getting harder by the second. “fuck” he whispers as he palms himself.

your hand reaches it down to your clit as you rub it in circles slowly. chris watches as your face contorts from stressed to bliss in just the matter of 5 seconds.

it was so hot to him watching you let go. how your muscles were so very tense, he could see that you ached for some sort of pleasure. and he was glad he got a front row seat to watch.

his breath hitches in his throat as he continues to palm himself, his dick now painfully hard.

your legs were wide open giving yourself easier access to your own pleasure and chris’s eyes easier access. you clutch your teddy as your slow circles become fast.

how chris wished those were his fingers making you feel so good. he’d make sure you’d get everything you needed on a day like this. you wouldn’t even have to move, he’d just make you sit back and relax and let him make you feel so much better.

your moans were soft as your head dipped back into your pillow, your body bracing itself for your orgasm.

chris imagined the feeling of you clenching around him, how you squeezed him so good. he was sort of mad you didn’t call him up to help you out. he could fully help you, he knew he could. so why didn’t you?

your body which was covered in water droplets from your shower just moments ago was now mixed with the sweat of your arousal.

chris was bursting at the seams. his cock was hurting so bad for you. he wanted to fill your perfect little pussy full of his babies, but all he could do was watch. he knew he could just call, but youd had a terrible day and he could tell you were close.

chris always knew when you were close. your face always looked at ease, not to mention the fact that your muscles relaxed instantaneously anyway. but more so as you were about to finish.

you continue rubbing your clit in fast circles as you bring yourself to the edge, your body relaxing. now biting into your teddy bear to save your dear neighbors from hearing you scream in pleasure. it had been a long day, so you definitely needed this.

chris took his palm off of his cock as he just watched you put on a show for him….one that you weren’t aware of. he grunted quietly to himself as he watched you arch your back not 1….not 2….but 3 times as you orgasm.

your body shakes and relaxes upon seconds of orgasming.

your moans are muffled by your teddy as you clench around nothing. your fingers could never replace chris’s. you didn’t even attempt to try.

your completely out of breath, but at ease now that you satisfied yourself. it was a shit day, but it was over.

chris knew you couldn’t hit the spots that he could, and it made him happy that you didn’t try. despite your long day.

after you clean yourself back up and put your clothes on, chris leaves to take care of his problem.

that you caused.

{all rights reserved > ©cams-cult}

a/n: i just finished the netflix series “YOU” and “she” by tyler the creator is stuck in my noggin so here’s this:3 hope you guys like it !

taglist: @chrislilcumslvt @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @chrepsi

[xtinyslip]

the front she'd put forward to shield herself from the nit picks that he was going to say was starting to fold in on itself. she could feel it beginning to crumble away and she couldn't put the pieces back together quickly enough without it being even more obvious. "... i know." even though she'd said it so quietly, it was like she had screamed it because of how loud her acknowledging that felt. especially to him right now but... she did know. john wasn't included because he was just as fucked up, if not worse then they had met but parker? cooper? they were better off without her and she wasn't sure there was any coming back from admitting that. especially when the next topic of conversation was the autobiography, he was supposedly letting his wife write about her. no, HELPING her write. "i..." and she did look at him, she tried to look him in the eye as if to say - HELP ME THE FUCK OUT HERE? because what was she even supposed to say? it was the first time she'd actually turned her back on him, trying to get a little distance to catch her breath. the one thing she was NOT going to do was cry. NEVER. not even a drop. she wasn't sure her tears were brave enough to go against her right now but she was flushed from where she'd been holding them back. "is that your fucked up foreplay? laughing about me?" was he really alright with donna doing this? no, but was he? she tried to sneak a look at him again but changed her mind last minute. "i shouldn't be surprised. the only mind-blowing part about the experience is that you get to imagine it's with me." well, that got some of her spark back, some of her bite that she had needed. thank you, p. it literally made ALL the sense in the world now, no wonder he was at it with donna all the time. "but i am, your rightfully so scared of the real thing so you settle for someone that won't object to sex so you can imagine it's me. that you're still with me. you're not actually taking a break from me at all. are you?" if his mask slipped? she was going to wedge herself into whatever gap it left. sspecially after what he had just said to her. "OH, I AM BECAUSE I CAN AT LEAST ADMIT WHAT I WANT YOU. YOU CAN'T EVEN FUMBLE THAT OUT. CAN YOU? PATHETIC! IT WASN'T A RISK, P, IT WAS FUCKING RELATIONSHIP SUICIDE! IT WAS WORSE THAN THAT! WHY ARE YOU SO AFRAID TO SEE THAT? BECAUSE YOU DON'T WANT TO ADMIT YOU'VE BEEN A PRICK OUT OF STUBBORNNESS? IT'S ME. IT IS ME! I WILL TAKE EVERY RISK -- I --" she was so fucking angry with him for just not being able to see it. to see that she would do ANYTHING for him but that move? his plan? she knew how that ended and she wanted MORE for them. when had that become meaning she didn't want him anymore? "fuck. you." and in that moment she really meant it, closing her hand back over the keys tightly. he cared so much about them? good, she was never giving them back. "i could flush them? say bye bye to them p. i can't wait for you to explain to donna where and how you lost them? oh wait, just do what you have been doing and imagine it's me and it should be easy for you to let her down?" keeping herself facing him as she started to back away. would she flush them right in front of his face out of SPITE. after what he'd said? YES. @fcdcdmcmories

"IS THAT SO? YOU KNOW BETTER THAN I DO THAT WE WOULD HAVE ALL BEEN BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU. ME. COOPER. EVEN KRAMER. EVEN WILL. ALL YOU WANT IS TO CHAIN US DOWN." was that the truth? no, he had never felt chained when he was with her. the only thing that he had felt was.. true and complete fucking love but where had that lead him? where had it put him? right now, he had absolutely NO FUCKING idea. "that's what you made me, sweetheart. AS SELFISH AND UGLY AS YOU. shocked? surprise? one can't spend that long near you and not have that happen." he knew that he had hit a raw nerve and for a moment there, he wanted to take it all back, but.. no, she had drove him to this. she had made it happen. hadn't she? yes. or was that what he was telling himself, just so he could feel a little better? it was awful and he was awful and right now, he wanted to SCREAM. HE DID. "oh, that hasn't stopped donna from stopping her writing. she believes she can do better. a book is not an article, after all. AND SHE'S A BETTER WRITER THAN CORY." parker couldn't look away or at her either and he didn't know WHAT to do with himself. for a moment, he found himself scoffing, cheeks turning red. "have you lost your mind? i said no such thing! as if i think about you when i'm-" BECAUSE HE HAD DONE THAT. MORE THAN ONE TIME BY NOW. HERS WAS THE ONLY FACE HE SAW. "that's insane. i love donna. i want to be with her. you're not on my mind." looking away, desperately, because his mask had slipped just a little bit and he didn't know how to put it back on at all. "as if you're any better than me! we could have been together but you're too much of a coward to take a RISK! YOU LOST ME BECAUSE OF IT! WAS IT WORTH IT? HUH?" when he saw his keys, stopped. what the fuck? "give them back. it's mine. it was a present from donna and i'll not have you take it away like all else." / @xtinyslip

[aceofwhump]

Doctor Who 3x13 ''Last of the Time Lords''

[megaclubdiolis]

柄本 佑 || 「光る君へ」 (2024) · 第四十四回 「望月の夜」 ​​​

[norikuna]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

[luv-lock]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ MY CRAZY BOYFRIEND 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

☆⁠ 𝘗𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎 : Robins x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : 𝘋𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥, 90𝘴 𝘛𝘪𝘮 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘦, 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦.

☆⁠ NOTES : 𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

⎯ DICK GRAYSON

You walked into your room, ready to flop on your bed after a long day, only to scream when you saw Dick fucking Grayson himself sitting cross-legged on your floor, holding one of your shirts. “What the hell, Dick?!” you yelled, clutching your chest. “What are you doing in my room?” He looked up, completely unfazed, flashing his signature charming grin. “Hey, babe. I missed you.” You pointed at the shirt in his hands. “Why do you have my shirt?” Dick stood up, holding it close to his chest like a lifeline. “It smells like you, and I needed it to get through patrol last night. Do you know how hard it is to fight crime without the love of your life’s essence keeping you grounded?” “Dick, that’s so creepy!” you exclaimed, though you were trying not to laugh. “But I love you,” he said with those puppy-dog eyes, leaning closer. “And I thought about you the whole time. Did you think about me too?” “Not like this!”

⎯ JASON TODD

You were out with Jason at a local diner, enjoying some milkshakes when you noticed he kept glancing at you while trying (and failing) to be subtle about it. “Okay, what’s up?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. Jason grinned, leaning forward with his chin on his hand. “Nothing, just thinking about how cute you look when you drink your milkshake.” “...Thanks?” you said, feeling your face heat up. Then, out of nowhere, Jason pulled a tiny notepad out of his pocket and started furiously writing. “What are you doing?” you asked, bewildered. “I’m cataloging everything you do that makes my heart race,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like, right now—number 438: The way you scrunch your nose when you’re confused.” Your jaw dropped. “You have a list?” “Of course I do,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “How else am I supposed to remember every little thing I love about you?” You buried your face in your hands, torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment. “Jason, people can hear you!” “Good,” he said, smirking. “Let the world know how much I love you.”

⎯ 90s TIM DRAKE

You were sitting on your couch when Tim burst through your front door, looking frantic. “Tim?! What are you doing?!” you shouted, startled. “I need to check your internet history,” he said, completely serious. “What?” you gawked, standing up. Tim held up his laptop like it was a sacred relic. “I hacked into your Wi-Fi and noticed some…suspicious searches.” “You WHAT?!” “Why were you looking up ‘how to tell if your boyfriend is crazy’ at 3 a.m.?” he demanded, his face a mix of hurt and desperation. You stared at him, your mouth open in shock. “Tim, what the hell! That was a meme! I wasn’t being serious!” “Oh.” He blinked, looking sheepish for about two seconds before he perked up. “Well, now you don’t have to wonder. I am crazy—for you.” “Get out of my house!”

⎯ DAMIAN WAYNE

You were in your backyard when you heard a rustling noise coming from the bushes. Frowning, you approached cautiously, only to jump back when Damian crawled out on all fours like a feral cat. “Damian?! What are you doing in my bushes?!” He stood up, brushing off his uniform like this was a perfectly normal situation. “I was ensuring your safety.” “By hiding in my bushes?” you asked, flabbergasted. “I must remain vigilant,” he said, crossing his arms. “You are surrounded by incompetent fools who cannot be trusted with your protection.” “Damian, my dad is literally inside the house.” “He doesn’t have the necessary training to spot an assassin from 300 yards away,” Damian scoffed. “But do not fear—I am here.” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is so creepy. Do you even hear yourself?” “Creepy? No. Devoted? Absolutely.”

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[greengoblinswifey]

In-Ho is one kinky fucker.

In-ho liked to fuck you anywhere, anytime. In the control room, the bathroom, the forest, the maze, anywhere. He would even have you sit on his cock, slowly bouncing up and down as he spoke sternly to the guards.

It didn’t matter the situation or the place, as soon as his cock stood at attention, he needed you bouncing on it.

With that being said, it shouldn’t have surprised you when In-ho freed his cock from his pants and gestured you to sit. It shouldn’t have surprised you when his cock throbbed inside you as he watched the players get shot one by one.

“Fuck baby, keep going. Bounce on me,” he groaned. You lifted yourself up, then fell back down, the feeling of his cock stretching your pussy making your head fall onto his shoulders.

His veiny hand snaked around your neck, positioning your head so your gaze was locked on the monitors. He thrusted up into you, meeting your bounces with his hand tightening around your neck. He let out a low moan as more players were killed, the guards hunting them like wild animals.

“Look at that one, look at him just begging for mercy. Pathetic.” In-ho’s breath as he chuckled deeply fanned against ear when he spoke, sending a shiver down your spine. You knew he was sick for this. You knew you were sick for even enjoying this too. But the way his cock throbbed inside you each time a player was killed? It made you cum every single time.

Your body convulsed uncontrollably above him, your orgasm crashing down as shots rang out from the monitors. In-ho’s thrusts grew more precise, somehow, deeper. Your nails dug into his thighs trying to soothe the overstimulation, but it was no use.

He held your jaw, positioning you to look at the corner of the monitor. “Look at that one. He’s about to be eliminated and when he is, I need my pretty girl to cum with me, got that?”

“Y-yes sir,” you rasped, feeling the coil in your lower abdomen tighten. You resumed bouncing on his cock as he fucked up into you and as soon as the man you were both staring at was sprayed with bullets, your orgasm hit you like a truck.

Both your moans mixed with the screams of the players as your climaxes took ahold of you. You felt his cum coat your walls and you clenched instinctively around him, milking him of every drop.

“Good girl. That’s a good girl. This’ll be a regular occurrence,” he cooed, the last of his cum spilling inside you.

Now, you were actually looking forward to players being eliminated.

[misayani]

HONEY (R U COMING?) — SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x  fem reader

◜arrogant and bratty reader (044) recruiting se-mi (380) for the second game

𔗨 author's note — wasn't seeing enough fanfics for my baby so ... [lowercase intended]

"i dont see anyone else that's good enough for us" you hear gyeong-su comment with a huff. 

you're currently standing with three idiots—thanos, gyeong-su, and nam-gyu, slightly distanced from the three with your arms crossed against your chest and while your twirl your hair. 

"yo thanos, what are we going to do?" nam-gyu's irritating voice cut through all the noise of other people communicating.

thanos turned to him, his head bopping, motherfucker's high again. "i don't fucking care man, let them come to us. i mean, who wouldn't want to be with the great thanos!" 

both men chuckled as nam-gyu speaks up once again, "what about you 044? make yourself useful, can't just sit pretty doing nothing eh?".

"and you call yourself useful?" you scoff as you turned around to face the three, eyebrows raised. thanos smirked at you as you sighed, "fine, i'll make myself useful. no one would probably even care to join you, even if you begged." 

"you bitc—" nam-gyu would've reached you already if it weren't for thanos holding him back while cackling at the both of you.

with one last huff, you strutted your way to the crowd, scanning around the room for someone who met your personal standards—hot, unbothered, and most specially, a woman. 

your eyes landed on a person wearing a jacket with the number '380'. with a confident smirk, you walked towards the woman whose back is facing you and talking to someone.

"leave." your voice broke their conversation as they both looked at you. you eyes were darted to the boy specifically, him being the one you told to leave.

"w-what?" the boy stuttered, looking at you bewildered.

you furrow your eyesbrows, taking a step closer to the boy, "do i seriously need to get you hearing aids? i said leave." 

the boy scrambled away before you can even take your second step to him. with a pleased smile, you turned to the utterly attractive woman who looked at you with an amused expression.

"join me." short and straight to the point. you were confidently sure that she would just say yes and come with you— surely, who in their right minds would turn down a pretty girl's offe-

"why should i?" she voices out. oh. my. fucking. god is her voice so alluring. her looks already made your legs feel like jelly and then comes her voice?— yes lord.

snapping out of your fantasies, you furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at her with an expression that read 'how dare you?' 

"a-are you serious? why shouldn't you?" you looked at her up and down in attempt to intimidate her, but really just an excuse to check her out.

"can't just expect me to join you after rudely making the boy i was talking to leave, sweetheart." she crosses her arms as she made her way closer.

sweetheart. heat rushed to your cheeks and you scoff, rolling your eyes. 

"what do you want me to do then? he doesn't look like someone who's good enough to join forces with in a death game like this anyways." you rebut. 

"and you think you're good enough?" she smirks at you. before you could even utter another word, she straights up and looks down at you—caused by height difference, making you feel small— and chuckles.

"what's your name and give me one good reason why i should join you."

you told her your name, which made you sound too eager for your liking, before you straightened yourself up and flicked you hair to the back.

 "i'll make sure you win. team up with someone who actually looks like they're capable of winning instead of someone who looks like a lost puppy." your eyes darted to the boy she was talking to earlier who was now talking to other people before returning your gaze to her.

she crosses her arms and brings a finger to her mouth to bite down on and stares at you, which made you scream internally. what the fuck. how can someone be this hot?

after some silence between you two, she spoke up "fine. but if i lose, i'll come for you."

huh. 'come for me?' won't be such a bad idea, right? the thoughts made you smirk as you boldy traveled your eyes over her figure. 

"oh, i think you have me mistaken. i won't mind at all if you came for me" your voice sounded innocent, but your words were laced with an obvious innuendo.

"oh?" she smirks. before you could even let her finish her sentence, you speak up once again to avert the topic.

"how will you come for me if you die anyways?" you roll your eyes to try and hide your flustered state. "which, by the way, you won't. my group is decent, me being the best member of course." 

and as if on cue, thanos and the two made their way to the both of you, his annoying voice dominating the noise surrounding you. 

"there you are doll, been lookin for you." you scoff at his words as thanos turns to face 380, which you still don't know the name of, "and who is this señorita?"

you opened your mouth to say something but 380 beat you to it. "se-mi. she recruited me." she says, nodding to you. 

moanable name. you thought.

"really? another woman? you already make this team weak." nam-gyu yaps as he turns to face you, saliva escaping his mouth. filthy.

you scoff as you step away and point your finger at him, "fucking shut your mouth. you haven't done shit to this team. your ass can't fucking talk." 

before a fight between you two broke out, gyeong-su already restrained nam-gyu. thanos whistles, "well. there's that."

the purple-haired man throws his arm over your shoulders and faced nam-gyu. "let's not talk shit now eh? we're a fucking team!" he yells as he raised his free arm up, "try not to kill each other off, we still have games to play."

nam-gyu rolls his eyes and se-mi watches the scene unfold, snickering.

"now come on my folks, come on." thanos frees you from his hold as he walked through the crowd, arms spread as if bragging, with nam-gyu and gyeong-su following.

your lips unsubconsciously turn into a pout as you turned to face se-mi, who was already looking at you.

"cute." she eyes you up and down and starts walking towards thanos' direction. your mouth opens as if you let out a silent gasp at what she said and just stared.

she realized you weren't following so she stopped and turned her head to look at you.

"coming?" she smirks

oh i'm definitely coming.

@misayani

[suni-writings]

Stop hating me.

jude bellingham x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

+18!! mdni

(content warning: smut, fingering, unprotected sex [have safe sex pls])

ps: it's been a while since i wrote smut pls be nice about it

“Bellingham, we shouldn’t-”

“Save your regret for later, princess,” he cut her off, quickly finding her lips into a sloppy kiss.

Pinned against the wall, with his muscular body pressed against hers, she knew salvation wouldn’t come. There was no god, no force of the nature that could stop what was bound to happen. That could stop them.

“We both are going to regret this,” she mumbled between the kiss, her voice hoarse and low, panting. Why was she even trying to deny it?

“Jesus, princess. Can you shut your fucking mouth for a second?” He asked with a small smirk, his breath sparse. “So feisty. Always wanting to have the last word, always wanting to control everything…”

As the taunting words left Jude’s mouth, his right hand started moving slowly. From her neck to her collarbones, to the valley of her breasts, to her lower belly, applying just enough pressure to hear her pant once again. To hear her losing control, losing her morals and everything she had ever believed happened between them.

“Let it go,” he whispered in her ear, his plump lips brushing against her ear and gently biting her earlobe. “Let it go, doll. Let me take care of you.”

Everything was a mess. This wasn’t the moment nor the place for this to happen. She wasn’t even supposed to do as much as look at him. But something about his unbuttoned social shirt and his now wrinkled suit, the intoxicating smell of his expensive cologne and that goddamn smirk of his made her brain stop working, being guided by something so primal that she had yet to understand.

“It’s- a fucking club bathroom. Anyone could come in-”

Jude just groaned, annoyed and frustrated. He knew he had chosen the only woman who wouldn’t want to take him tonight – but he also knew that was merely a façade. If she thought he didn’t notice her lingering stares, the way she’d hold her breath next to him whenever she was slightly caught by surprise and the desire in her eyes, she was so wrong.

“Let them fucking come. They’ll see me and leave in the same instant. I don’t fucking care if there’ll be headlines about my behavior tomorrow.” He said, staring into her eyes, his tone firm. “Let me take care of you. Know you need it. See right through you, princess.”

She opened her mouth to come with a smart retort, but he was quicker. Jude’s hands went to the back of her thighs, suddenly pulling her and lifting her of the ground with ease. Guiding her to the sink countertop and gently placing her there – perhaps the only gentle act he had and would have throughout the night.

“The more you talk, the more I’ll want to shut you up,” he warned her with a husky tone, his finger under her chin to make sure she was looking at him. “And that’ll just make me tease you more and not give you what you want.”

She gulped and gave him a small nod. She’d never say it out loud, she’d never give him the pleasure of agreeing with him. So difficult, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, he was more than pleased with the challenge of making her scream his name to prove otherwise.

“Good,” he said, his thumb tracing her bottom lip as she looked at him. Uncertainty, desire and frustration placed behind her eyelids. He could see all of that. “You’re so pretty. So desirable,” he whispered, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel his breath. “Wouldn’t want you spending the night with anyone else. It’d fucking kill me, princess.”

She barely remembered how they ended up in that bathroom. How they went from barely looking at each other to this closeness in the span of a few hours. She knew she had drunk as much as him – they wouldn’t be there otherwise. Not when they’ve always claimed to hate each other. If they were in their right minds, they wouldn’t even be in the same room.

She remembered having a man hitting on her as she drank. He was attractive, for sure, but nothing that would make her give him any attention. She remembered smoking her strawberry mango vape when Jude abruptly took it out of her hand when he wasn’t even that close a few moments before. His tight grip on her wrist, not enough to hurt her, but enough to keep it there, guiding her away from the man, was something she couldn’t forget.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She asked him with annoyance as he guided them to a more secluded spot. God, she hated admitting it, but he looked so good in formal clothes.

“Taking you away from that fucking douchebag that was eating you with his eyes,” he retorted, the anger clear in his tone as he gave her back her vape. She quickly put it in her purse. “You have to stop smoking that crap, as well.”

“I’m sorry, but since when did you feel entitle to control my life in any way whatsoever?” She asked with a sarcastic smile, annoyed at his attitude.

“If you think, for a second, I’d let you leave the club with that guy, with someone that’s not even close to your level-” he stopped once he realized what had said. He licked his lips and sighed, his hands resting on his waist as she looked at him with confusion.

“Who would be close to my level, then?” She asked with crossed arms, tilting her head.

Jude just gave her a small, cocky grin that he always carried with him. Thank God for his drinks, because only then he’d have the courage to retort her so easily.

“Who do you think, princess?”

After that, it was all blurry. A mix of tongues against each other, the taste of his strong drinks, his cologne, his hands pulling her closer. The anger, the frustration, the desire – until stumbling upon the bathroom because they had no other choice when lust controlled them so easily.

The feeling of the cold tiles of the countertop and Bellingham’s confession brought her back to the moment, looking into his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to leave the club with him,” she said, her eyes falling to his mouth. So, so close that she could reminisce the taste of it. “I wasn’t going to leave the club with anyone.”

Jude seemed rather pleased by her reply, his body finding a way to be even closer to hers. Despite always trying to say they hated each other; it was always the same – like magnets being drawn. All they had been doing, this whole time, was prolongating the inevitable. He was fucking tired of it.

“Good,” he whispered, his hand slowly travelling to the insides of her thighs, dangerously close to her warmth. She held back a whimper and he grinned at the sight. It was almost as if she was already coming undone from a single movement. “Wouldn’t want anyone but me to have the privilege.”

She looked up at Jude, suddenly realizing how big he was, how easily he was towering her and she could barely see past his long shoulders. With a sudden movement, her arms were now resting on his shoulders, caressing them.

“Need you to say it’s mine, darling. Would you do that for me, hm?” He whispered in her ear, expecting a tantrum, some remark to show how bratty she was. But his fingers were too close to her core for her to even come up with something that smart.

“That what is yours?,” was the best she could come up with, acting innocent despite the way her voice cracked.

Jude, in response, only looked deeply into her eyes as he pressed two fingers to her covered warmth, feeling the damp that was formed.

“That this is mine.” He spoke lowly, pressing his fingers even harder, earning a gasp from her as her eyelids shut, as if she was still trying to hold herself back. To gather some self-control.

“It’s yours,” she whispered. Jude thought about demanding her to speak louder, but it was already so much than he ever expected her to say.

His middle finger tossed her underclothing to the side, his index finger already moving over to her clits with enough pressure, in slow, circle motions.

“Already so wet, princess. All that denial and for what?” Bellingham chuckled lowly, almost as if as taunting her, as if his own underwear wasn’t feeling extremely tight. “Tell me what you want.”

She sighed. She had been holding back for so long that she decided that it wasn’t time to play around anymore.

“Want you to fuck me,” she said, looking into his deep brown eyes in a silent plea.

And how could he ever deny her anything when she was looking at him like that?

He inserted two digits into her core, moving them around her walls, trying to know which spot pleasured her the most just from the way she had to shut her eyelids strongly. She felt so warm and looked so desperate that the bulge in his pants became even more apparent, if that was possible.

“I wish I could just slam myself into you right now,” he whispered in her ear as his fingers began to distance from each other inside her, scissoring her slowly as she gasped. “But I need to get you prepped. Don’t want to hurt you that much.”

When Jude said, her eyes fell to the prominent bulge, realizing how big he actually was and whimpering just from imagining. He chuckled against her ear as she clenched around his fingers, knowing exactly what went on inside her head.

After realizing she was almost about to cum on his fingers, Jude took them off her and she whimpered again at the sudden emptiness. He sucked his fingers as the other hand undid his belt in a single, quick motion. She rushed to help to unbutton his pants, and even more eagerly to help him take his underwear off just enough so his cock would jump out.

As it sprung out, she watched it in all its rigidness. It was bigger than she expected, and his tip was already leaking with precum. It hit her, then, that Jude was just as vulnerable and desperate as she was.

Her hand quickly grabbed his cock, moving slowly and spreading his precum around it so her movements came with more ease. To his own surprise, he moaned, not being able to hold back anymore.

Jude gripped around her wrist, taking her hand away from his member and lining his hips with her entrance. His tip teased her once, twice, threatening to finally go inside her. Eager and impatient, she moved her hips, so he was finally inside her.

He moved slowly as she felt like she was burning from inside out, having a hard time adjusting to his size. As he finally bottomed inside her, Jude gave her some time to get used to it. When she gave him a small nod, that’s when he started moving.

“Shit,” he mumbled in her ear, trying his best to not go too hard. She clenched around him, whimpering and moaning, not bothering anymore to hide a single sound. It was driving him insane. “You feel so, so good.”

“Jude,” she called him out, her eyes closed. He thought it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen – her hair all messy, her dress wrinkled, panting and desperate. If he wasn’t in the same state, he would be taunting her. Usually, that was how he was. But, for some reason, it was different with her. He needed to be inside her.

He didn’t even realize when exactly his thrusts became harder and erratically. He only knew that because she was moaning his name more often, louder.

When he accidentally hit her sweet spot, she saw stars behind her eyes, arching her back and rolling her eyes. God, if she had more of this, she would drool. She couldn’t think – not at all, not when he was slamming into her walls like that.

“Jude, I’m-” she clenched tightly around him, and he moaned.

“I know, baby,” he was panting as well. He needed to make her cum, and perhaps, more desperately, to cum. He didn’t know for how long he could handle it. “Cum for me, princess. You’ve been such a good girl, taking my cock so well. Cum.”

It felt more like he was ordering than praising, but, as soon as she came, he spilled inside her walls.

“Fuck,” Jude said, trying his best to grab for air as his head fell to her shoulders. She caressed him softly. Even though they were both a mess and could barely breathe, he chuckled from her act. Smirking, he looked at her and said: “Was that all I needed to do for you to stop hating me?”