#things like this are ... very new to him. in a way

[kermdoeswriting]

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

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"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[hairmetal666]

There's a boy, Eddie meets a boy, and it's mundane because they're boys and it's summer and they find each other like lonely boys in summer do. It shouldn't be the defining experience of Eddie's life, that summer, that boy. His memories are all sun drenched, tanned skin, minnow catching, swimming, camping under the stars, a fumbling, toasted-marshmallow-sticky first kiss. He grows up and still Eddie thinks there will never be anyone else like that boy.

---

There's this new teen soap schlock on the CW. It fills his social media algorithms with gossip and BTS footage and spoilers. He ignores every bit of it, so far from the target audience it's laughable.

Jeff, Gareth, and Freak get into it. At first, he takes this as a betrayal of the highest order, threatens to kill all their characters in their next dnd session, but they convince him to give it a shot.

It's airs Thursday nights and thank god Wayne is at work, he'd never live it down. He turns the TV on just in time for the cold open, and within ten seconds there's a beautiful man on screen. Chestnut hair, coiffed carefully back; down-turned, hazel puppy dog eyes; freckles and moles dotting his face and neck--Eddie would recognize them anywhere, spent hours mapping the constellations of them during their one magical summer.

He sinks to his knees in front of the TV--nose inches from the screen--watches the whole episode that way. For the entire hour, the only thing he sees is Steve Harrington.

Eddie doesn't move until after the credits have rolled. He can't believe that the boy he knew all those years ago is an actor on a popular show, that he'd just missed finding him, all this time.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he Googles, which is a mistake immediately, because the most popular pictures are from a GQ photoshoot where Steve is very wet and very shirtless, the amount of chest hair on display enough to kill a man. He forgets how to breathe for several seconds, before quickly scrolling away, which is also a mistake because it's how he learns that Steve 1) dated his castmate, Nancy Wheeler for several years before 2) she got caught cheating on him with another castmate, and 3) he's often seen out and about with his current on-screen girlfriend, Robin Buckley.

For his own sanity, he has to put his phone away. It isn't like he's going to see Steve ever again, obviously, so he needs to forget all this. Keep the memory of that summer safe.

---

It's late spring and Gareth invites them all to their favorite bar in Indianapolis. One of their friends from their Corroded Coffin days got a gig playing bass for some up and coming indie guy, tickets and drinks are comped. It's not their usual vibe, musically, but who is Eddie to say no to a free night out?

And, look, night of, the music isn't his vibe, but the place is packed and he's with his best friends, and the drinks are flowing, so even he finds himself swaying along to the whiney hipster shit coming from the stage.

Eventually, the lights go down for the headliner, and the crowd crushes forward in a way Eddie isn't used to in this bar. He lets himself be pushed forward, somehow ending up right in front of the stage.

When the lights go up, he stops breathing.

It's Steve.

Steve right there in front of him, guitar strapped across his midsection. He's wearing dorky little Ray-Ban sunglasses, but Eddie would know that hair, those moles, anywhere.

There's no way Steve will notice him, remember him, but it's enough to see him now, to hear his music. Eddie dances and smiles at the boy who got away. Maybe he'll mourn later for the distant hope he harbored deep within his heart. But, he thinks, this is enough.

Steve comes out for the encore, takes off the sunglasses, tosses them straight to Eddie, smiles big and genuine and familiar. His heart stops. It can't be real, it can't mean anything, but he's so elated that his soul might rise from his body.

The show ends, the buzz of it, of Steve, reverberating through Eddie as he makes his way back to the bar. It's crowded with people, but he slides through the bodies until he's at the front. Someone taps him on the back, and he thinks they're trying to get through, but when he turns it's Steve.

His smile is so beautiful, Eddie thinks that maybe he's dying.

"Eddie!" Steve says.

"Stevie!" He doesn't mean for the old nickname to come out, couldn't keep it in.

"You remember me!" Steve is beaming.

"I'd never forget you." He's smiling just as hard. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Steve's nose wrinkles. "I've got, like, fifty coming. We could go somewhere quiet to talk?"

He's never said yes to something so fast in his life.

They go back to the postage stamp sized green room, and he's surprised to see Robin Buckley there. His stomach shrivels for a second, but she stands and he sees the lesbian flag painted on the side of her Converse, the oversized vest she's wearing.

"You want me to skedaddle?" She asks. He loves her immediately.

"Do you mind?" Steve asks. Robin shakes her head.

"Nice to meet you, Eddie," she calls as she sails out the door.

"You told her about me?" He knows his smile is downright goofy.

Steve blushes. "Um, yeah. Maybe a little? Just that I met a boy from near here one summer. And, uh, maybe something about him being my first kiss?"

"Oh." Eddie thinks he might burst into flame. "I wasn't sure if--I didn't know if you'd remember."

"I'd never forget," Steve says.

"You got famous." Eddie says, which is dumb, but he doesn't know how to deal with Steve cherishing those childhood memories the same way he does.

"I guess I did." Steve looks down, hair tumbling around his face. "It's probably not what you were expecting."

"Did I expect to turn on the tv and see my first crush staring at me in HD? Not quite. But It was amazing. You're amazing."

"I'm on a CW show," Steve laughs.

"So?"

"I think maybe you're a little biased about your first crush."

"Are you saying that's a bad thing?" They're flirting, he thinks. Can't believe it's happening, that Steve might--

"Well, maybe, but only if you tell me you don't have a crush on me anymore."

"Are you kidding? I saw that GQ photoshoot."

Steve's laugh is loud and bright, like fireworks in Eddie's chest. They're closer now, sharing warmth, breath.

"I have some candids if you want to see."

"Don't tempt me with a good time, Stevie."

They're quiet for a second, Eddie a little breathless from how hard they're flirting, how right it feels.

"You were great out there," he says.

"Thanks." Steve smiles, bashful. "I know it's not your kind of music."

Eddie shrugs. "I like what you do."

"And to think, you've barely gotten a taste yet." Steve pauses for a beat, horror dawning on his face. "Oh, shit. That was--I'm sorry--I--Robin says I always come on too strong, and I promised I would play it cool, but--"

"You never have to play it cool with me," Eddie says, sincere through his laughter.

"This is fast, though, right? I mean. The second I saw you in the crowd, it--it confirmed everything I thought when we first met. That's--is that crazy?"

Eddie's smile is softer now. "Not at all." Gently, he cups Steve's cheek with his hand. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please," Steve breathes. "God, Eddie, please."

Their mouths meet and it starts out sweet and slow, but it's not childhood crushes anymore. Eddie's tongue teases at the seam of Steve's lips, which part for him like he's the only one in the world with the magic words.

It's sweeter than any marshmallow.

[stealingyourbones]

Zeta Beams are a very finicky and powerful technology that require specific conditions to work properly.

Being shot with an unknown ray from one of Lex Luthors guns mid zeta was not one of those conditions.

Superboy, reappearing out of the zeta beam, now dazed and confused, stumbles and leans against the closest solid object and takes in his surroundings.

He’s in a lab of some sort, and whoever used it knew a wide variety of sciences. Chemistry equipment consolidated to one corner of the room while a mildly cluttered bench of mechanisms, welding equipment, and doohickeys take over another corner of the room. The entire workplace was bathed in a toxic green light coming from…

Kon turned and gawked at the massive swirling green vortex and pushed off the metal edge of the tear in reality that he had been leaning on.

His mind was running miles a minute. He was meant to be at the Watchtower and he’s here in some windowless laboratory and a portal that looks like something straight out of science fiction. He doesn’t know what to do but all of his scrambling thoughts screeched to a halt the moment he heard footsteps and an unknown heartbeat coming down a set of stairs he hadn’t noticed on his quick scan of the room.

He should have flown to the ceiling and hid or used his X-Ray vision to identify the threat but he was reeling so badly he just stood frozen in place, a foot or two away from the portal casting a long shadow that cut through the violently green glow.

A man in an orange jumpsuit barrels down the stairs with- is that a bazooka?

The orange wall of a human man whipped around the barrel to face him. “DIE GHOST!”.

“I’m sorry what?”

Kon didn’t get a verbal answer but he sure as hell got a physical one. The man pulled the trigger and a glowing green bullet of *something* shot towards him. Kon momentarily debated dodging out of the way with his super speed but thought better of it. Robin would tell him to stay still and show the threat that he couldn’t be harmed to shut down the fight before it could escalate any further.

Blocking his face from debris, Kon closes his eyes and lets the projectile make contact.

He expected to be thrown back into the strange vortex portal thing or feel the impact, but to his surprise he felt absolutely nothing. Whatever glowing green and white metallic stuff he was hit with, he was completely invulnerable to as a half Kryptonian.

(It is at this point where I sped the writing along to bullet point outlines)

- Kon goes hey wtf man I’m not a ghost

- Jack doesn’t buy it it might be a ghost trick.

- Jack slowly walks up to Kon with a Fenton bat.

- Kon stares at him arms crossed. He knows now he can’t be hurt

- Jack, making full eye contact with Kon and goes ‘you can’t fool me ghost’ or something and hits him over the head with the bat.

- Bat shatters over Kon’s head as Kon stares at him and does a “are you done?”

- as he says this Jack Fenton slowly raises a lipstick lazer

- Jack turns on lazer and Kon glares at Jack exasperatedly.

- Kon’s patience runs out. He grabs the lazer from jacks hands and crushes it in his palm.

- I’m not a ghost man. I was trying to zeta to the watchtower and now I’m here now can you stop??

- Jack doesn’t understand what those words mean. Mutters that this might be a fascinating new discovery and goes over to the tech corner

- Grabs a tsa metal detector wand looking thing and waves it over Kon, who hasnt moved and is now curious to see what this man will do knowing now that he can’t be hurt. (Later found that this universe boosts his powers a tad which is making him More Invulnerable)

- It beeps and jack looks at it and his face of confusion turns to a massive grin. He turns towards the stairs and shouts to Maddie that they have a extradimensional non ghost guest and to move the ghost gear out of the guest room.

- Kon is like what the shit why did this mans attitude chanhe so much

- kon is then temporarily housed by the Fentons whilst they are delighted to start on a new big project. they plan to make an addition onto the ghost zone portal to find the frequency of other dimensions and make a gateway between them using Kon as the tuning fork to find his dimension.

[grimmweepers]

— ★ 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after waiting for so long, alhaitham finally loses his virginity to you on his birthday

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: VIRGIN!alhaitham x FEM!reader, established relationship, there is some fluff sprinkled onto all this smut i promise, p0rn with plot, virginity loss (m), slightly more experienced reader, pet names ‘baby’ ‘love’, reader wears a skirt & dress, alcohol mention, handjob, masturbation (f), deepthroat, rough fucking, no protection, creampie, cowgirl, might be a little ooc. 5.7k wc (idk what happened) MDNI. 18+ only. | masterlist

𝐚/𝐧: a birthday piece! happy birthday alhaitham! 🎁

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Your boyfriend was a virgin.

And for most people, virginity was often a touchy subject. Still, when you started dating Alhaitham, you weren’t surprised by his indifference towards the topic. He never danced around it or became flustered when the subject of sex came up. During your first conversation about it, he didn’t fidget, didn’t sugarcoat, he simply took a sip of his coffee and stated, “I’ve never had sex before.” Then after finishing his cup, he added, “Not for lack of opportunity. I just never prioritised it.”

There was no shame or awkwardness, just a fact laid bare between you. And, really, why would there be?

Sex wasn’t something he’d avoided out of fear or insecurity. To him, it was nothing but a passing thought. 

At the time, you grazed over his humble boast because, of course, Alhaitham had opportunities. He was, by all objective measures, incredibly handsome and you told him this very often as his girlfriend.

The scribe might’ve been notorious for being difficult to converse with but people were still drawn to his appearance, whether he wanted them to be or not. 

That conversation weighed more to you now. Not because of what he said but because of what it implied. Despite the passing interest others had in him and the potential experiences he could have had, he had waited. Not intentionally nor with some frivolous romantic ideal in mind, but simply because no one before you had ever made him want to.

As your relationship progressed, you discovered that contrary to popular belief, Alhaitham was still human (really, it’s a shock to some) and like any other human, he had needs that were managed with usual discretion (his hands). So while he had no qualms admitting he was a virgin, he also never pretended to be entirely unaffected by the curse of morning wood or the challenge of dating someone who was totally his type and much more vivacious than he. 

But when you turned him on (which wasn’t difficult), no matter how heated things got, they never went past a certain point. It wasn’t hesitation on his part, nor was it uncertainty on yours. 

It might’ve been because he’d never done it before, or maybe because it felt too significant to rush into. Either way, whenever things teetered on the edge of no return, one of you would always pull back. Every time it happened, it left you a little more restless than before.

It had started slow, as most things did.

Your first kiss with Alhaitham had been more curious than anything else. He always paid attention to detail so he was careful in how he studied you. The more he kissed you, the more he adjusted to the newness of it. You could even taste the hesitance on him but that had been months ago. Now, he’d memorise the way the shape of your lips fit against his, and kissing him felt as natural as breathing.

In the beginning, your make-out sessions had been tame. Nothing more than lazy, unhurried exchanges between reading breaks or in the fleeting moments before you parted from him. Uncaring for any responsibility he had prior, he would hold you close in his burly arms and take you in.

However, in time, those kisses evolved into something you had to be broken apart from.

His hands had also grown bolder. They would slide up your sides, paw at the curve of your spine, and settle on your hips to pull you closer. He noted the way you reacted to him—the way you tossed your head back when his fingers mapped your sensitive skin, the way your grip made home in his hair when his tongue delved deeper.

And you learned things about him, too.

You learned that even though the Alhaitham you first met had an air of mystery to him, there was something far more desperate laying dormant beneath that imaginary veil… lest his control slip. If you sucked on his lower lip, a groan would softly erupt from his mouth. If you allowed him to bury his face into the crook of your neck, the love bites he’d give you would feel much more erotic.

Then his touches became scandalous over time. Alhaitham seemed to explore you more. 

He started to kiss—no, lick along your jaw, then down your neck, sucking lightly at your pulse just to hear your breath stuttering. His hands, no longer satisfied with resting at your waist, began to push under your shirt time and time again, ghosting over your ribs, tracing the dip of your back, just to gauge a reaction to his touch.

Your body continued to hum with need long after you had settled on opposite sides of the sofa, swollen lips and skin warm.

Each encounter left you both embarrassingly sticky by the end of it so you never bothered to admit you’d touched yourself to the thought of him long after he’d gone home. And neither did he.

An invisible string was about to snap, and the most recent time was the hardest to walk away from.

On that particular day, while you were nestled on his lap, Alhaitham had been kissing you with extra urgency—as if the taste of you wasn’t enough and every movement of your lips was drawing him into a slow-burning fire.

Each kiss was another spark, every touch a flicker of heat that spread and throbbed in the most wicked parts of you.

His hands traveled all over you, fingers that normally stayed at your ribs and waist started drifting lower so you sluggishly rolled your hips to match his rhythm, losing it at how hard he was growing beneath you. 

Maybe it was because you’d worn a skirt that day but you felt closer to him than ever. Having your legs sprawled across his lap and feeling what you assumed was the head of his cock prod your sweet spot made your body scream even more for him. So it didn’t help your case at all when he suddenly stilled his fingers under your skirt and gingerly kneaded the back of your clothed pussy. The touch was petal soft but enough to make you whine without permission.

“Holy shit,” your words came out in plumes. 

You half-expected it to escalate then but instead, he pulled away. A familiar pang settled in your chest. He didn’t do it out of regret—you knew that much, but all that racing intention now became idly slow. 

“I’m sorry,” he said a little too quickly, it almost sounded awkward but you were too busy trying to figure out what he was apologising for. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong. 

“For what exactly?” You asked.

Alhaitham took a moment to think. 

“For not having more restraint,” his glossy eyes searched you, uncertain of what he wanted. “That felt impulsive.” 

It was unintentional but you’d never seen him look so innocent. Or vulnerable. 

Tilting your head, you said with a chuckle, “If I’m ever caught complaining about my boyfriend not being able to keep his hands off me, alert the authorities because that’s not me.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” 

None of this was your fault either, of course. Stopping was as much of a crime to him as it was to you, but he quietly returned your laughter, and timidly squeezed your hips as if to ground himself. “I just don’t want this to be something that happened because we couldn’t control ourselves.” 

In other words, he wanted something planned. Maybe he had envisioned it unfolding differently.

Which was reasonable, you thought. It was his first time, not yours. And it wasn’t discouraging at all—that solid bulge pressing between your legs revealed enough about the effect you had on him. No part of him didn’t want to flip you over and fuck you senseless on that sofa but perhaps an impulsive make-out shouldn’t steer the wheel for something he held off for so long.

So despite how badly you wanted him, you stopped. You waited. You told yourself the anticipation was half the fun. “You’re right. You’re right. Must you always be right?”

“Just a gift bestowed from the Archon.” Sarcasm, even when all the blood that should’ve been in his head had rushed to his cock. He watched you sigh, “It seems you don’t agree?”

“Well if say I don’t, you could always ravish me until I do.” You smiled from ear to ear, satisfied when a pale shade of pink immediately dusted his cheeks.  

“Stop that.” 

Alhiatham was thankful when you rolled off his lap and collapsed beside him with a buoyant giggle.

Even then, he already missed the weight of you on his groin and the phantom tingle from when he allowed himself to touch you over your underwear was still fresh on his fingers. He didn’t dare look at you right away, afraid that one glance at your pretty face, kiss-swollen lips, and the tremble in your thighs would set his skin alight all over again.

— — —

Remnants of Alhaitham’s birthday were scattered around your home. Half-finished slices of cake on abandoned plates. Few too many empty glasses littering the coffee table. The lingering scent of candles recently blown out.

Looking at the mess, you felt a wave of gratitude that the last batch of your friends had already come and gone. 

Honestly, it was a good thing he chose to celebrate at your place. If he’d done it at his, there would’ve been an inevitable crowd, and he and Kaveh would’ve probably found themselves locked in a debate over something trivial like the spelling of a single word. The only thing to break it up would be the arrival of dawn.

Here, it was just the two of you. While you’d both enjoyed the company earlier, ending the night like this felt right.

As the street lamps outside flickered on to welcome the evening, Alhaitham lounged beside you. This was the most relaxed he’d looked all day, with one arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa, and the other resting on his thigh with a new tome balanced loosely between his fingers. The dim light softened the sharp lines of his face, making him appear boyish as his sea-green eyes read the pages.

But he wasn’t really reading.

It was obvious by how his eyes were fixed on the same spot. His pupils were slightly dilated and maybe he had the wine to blame. Or something else altogether. 

You finally broke the silence, leaning on the armrest to reach for your own glass. “It’s still your birthday, you know?”

Alhaitham returned his attention to you, closing the tome you bought for him without marking his place. “Is there a statute of limitations on celebrating?” 

Huffing a laugh, “Not exactly,” you said, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a sip. “But I’ve been thinking about your birthday gift.”

“Hm?” He replied, slightly confused. He’d thought you’d already given him everything earlier in the day.

“Just wondering if there’s anything else you might want,” you set your glass down and watched the dark liquid ripple. This was the perfect opportunity to bring up what had been on both of your minds.

“Oh?” He blinked at you. “Well, this book you sought was quite a rare find, I’m aware there are only two other copies. For that alone, I needn’t ask for more.” 

“And if I told you that was only the appetiser?” 

Alhaitham adamantly shook his head, “I’m not following.” 

But you both knew that was false. The entire conversation was laced with implications and this was a Haravatat genius you were speaking to. Nothing needed to be spelled out for him because you saw his throat bob with a subtle swallow. That alone told you he was already waging war with his thoughts. 

Tonight felt different. 

Aside from it being his literal birthday, ever since the morning you’d caught him eyeing your body on numerous counts. 

One instance was when you conveniently sat across from him while your friends mingled, positioned so perfectly that he could see the triangle of underwear between your legs. It left little to the imagination and when images flashed of him running his sticky tongue over your panties—he bit the inside of his cheeks in shame. 

Another time was not too long ago when you adjusted the strap of your dress—he was sitting where he was now and you had noticed his fixation on the exposed skin of your shoulder. When the flimsy strap irritatingly fell again, you pretended not to see him shifting his shorts by the crotch. 

Something other than enticement was festering behind his gaze. It wasn’t out-right staring but you had an inkling you were being carefully watched. 

Maybe assessed was the better word. 

There was only so much pretend-reading he could do before it became obvious that your boyfriend was undressing you in his mind and using his tome as a silly cover. All of that told you he was ready. 

He just needed a little nudge. A precious courtesy. 

“Haitham, you’ve been thinking about it. Haven’t you?” 

Alhaitham’s lips parted like he was about to deny it. But he didn’t. He wasn’t even sure he could. Between a sigh and a too-long pause, you were surprised when he admitted, “Of course I have. I’m not immune to… well, you.” 

An intentional smile formed at the drop of that last word and your cheeks immediately grew hot. “You look beautiful,” he continued, but then his tone dipped into something far more audacious. “I might be convinced you were trying to steal my thunder today.” 

The sincerity behind his delivery of it made your heart pound like a drumline beneath your ribs. 

When you dared slip your hand to his knee, his muscles reflexively twitched. He didn’t try to stop you as you slowly traced the outline of his leg. 

“That honesty is going to get you in a lot of trouble, birthday boy.”  

“Trouble?” He said with a knowing smirk. “I think I’m already in enough trouble for tonight, don’t you?” You let him take your wrist to his mouth and he suckled above your pulse, soft and slow.

Goosebumps danced across your arm before you stood up.

Alhaitham tracked every step you made and his burning hands instinctively moved to your waist when you stopped between his legs. As you leaned down, he almost shut his eyes, expecting a kiss. “What do you mean? I’m terribly innocent.”

The heat of his touch seared through your dress and you didn’t falter when he started bunching up the fabric. 

Alhaitham, he was different. 

Unlike the temporary touches of almost-lovers, every place his hands explored left a trail of fire in their wake. He always held you like the space between you was something he could not tolerate. Everything had to be met. Tongue. Hands. Body. Mind. 

Alhaitham loved you. Deeply. Utterly. In ways that contradicted his nature. It was neither measured nor composed, only barbaric and all-encompassing. 

And credit must be due to you for being the most patient person in the world.

“So,” you said quietly, brushing away those unruly greys that tickled his forehead. “Do you feel like this time is rushed?”

His long fingers tightened around you, answering your question before he spoke. Whatever hesitation he felt had apparently already passed. “No, this is perfect.” 

As he looked up at you through those curtain of long lashes, an indulgent question had accidentally slipped out of your mouth: “How often do you picture yourself having your way with me?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Clearly defeated by your feathery voice, he exhaled through his nose, almost jaded, “Constantly."

For some reason, you were still caught by surprise. Even if it lasted for a sliver of a second, when his admiration for you felt too good to be true, sometimes you thought it all a farce. But you were wrong.

"In fact, I’m thinking about it right now," he continued.

Without needing any more reassurance than that, you closed the distance. “Do you mind?” You asked over his lips. 

“Not at all,” he said like he was granting you a wish. 

One tender kiss bled into another, then another, until his tongue started rolling over yours, swallowing your gasps in between. Then it turned into something wet and visceral. Your body wilted each time they collided but when his teeth sunk into your bottom lip, a riot of sensations gathered between your thighs. 

Fuck, you swore internally. 

Alhaitham may be a virgin but he sure didn’t kiss like one.

Still standing, you snaked your arms around his neck and combed at the ends of his hair. No matter how often you’d done this, the sound of his grunts always drowned out the rest of the world. 

Your lips broke apart for only a moment when you were forced to find air. There were too many annoying layers between the two of you so the cycle of kissing and never crossing that line was forever broken when you pulled on his shirt, “Take this off.” 

Letting you go, even for a second, was unbearable so when he lifted his arms to rid himself of the barrier, he greedily chased another kiss. The fabric dragged over his torso, revealing inch by inch of warm, silky skin stretched taut over muscle, and as soon as the shirt was gone, you traced the broad plane of his chest. 

From this view, you wonder if he was thinking about how many times he had imagined this moment. How many nights he had stared at the ceiling, picturing your hands on him just like this? 

“Nervous?” You asked, following your palm over the firm ridges of his abdomen as you connected lips again, pecking them softly this time like a butterfly kissing the edge of a blooming flower.

“Impossible,” Alhaitham relaxed his shoulders and pulled blindly at your waist. You looked so pretty—if anything, he was excited to fuck you. “I’m in good hands.”

Your lips trailed downward, over his jaw, his throat, ghosting his uncharted collarbones before moving even lower. Cushions collapsed to the floor as he began to fray beneath you, his body keening toward your open-mouth kisses no matter how much he tried to hold himself together.

“Baby—” he rasped. Your knees wobbled at his sweet call. The quietest groan escaped his mouth and you felt it reverberate against your lips where they hovered just above his navel. His scent was richer here—clean but muskier, and engulfing your senses to the point of dizziness. 

Sinking to your knees, your tongue followed the dark path of hair that disappeared beneath his shorts while your hands nimbly pushed at his growing tent, “—Fuck,” he sighed, screwing his eyes shut.  It pulsed involuntarily against the restraint and already, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Your heart was racing, the size of it felt even bigger in your hand. 

You toyed at the waistband, “Haitham, tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

He nodded, slumping back into the sofa. Sure, but he doesn’t think he will. His lack of words made you wonder if he’d actually heard you. 

You palmed his bulge one last time before pulling everything down and immediately, his cock sprung against his stomach, giving it a good slapping sound while you ogled at the sheer size. And weight. 

It was so much prettier than you’d imagine—not too veiny, plump and pink at the tip, slightly curved, and already glistening with precum under the hues of evening light. A handful of beauty marks dotted the underside of his shaft which would only help you out in the future when you had to decide which parts of him you wanted to kiss first. It might’ve been the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. 

Rubbing your thumb over the tip, you peered up at him, and as expected, “Oh…” he rolled his eyes back, lulling himself in the immediate pleasure. At that moment, he knew fucking his fist in the dead of night would never feel the same again. Not when they can be hugged by your soft, velvety hands.

Alhaitham’s body jittered under you with each small stroke along his length. Another fat ball of precum dribbled over your knuckles and made it extra slippery—he was so hard, he could barely look at you through his drowsy eyes. 

“Do you like how this feels, baby?”

His feelings wavered between bucking for more friction or letting you dictate his ruin. “I- ah- love it. Keep going… Please…” Either way, by the time this was over, Alhaitham was going to walk away a new man. 

His cock was so heavy, so wide in your hand that you briefly imagined it training your hole open. You desperately clenched around nothing—suddenly it was your turn to feel needy and as a result, your strokes became even faster as you thought about him stuffing you with it instead. 

Each languid pump chipped away at his resolve but it was you who was beginning to lose control. Your free hand couldn’t hold still for any longer so they snaked to the throbbing heat that had been building between your legs for too long. The first roll of circles over your clit sent a sharp jolt up your spine. “Mmmm,” you were already so wet, your slick drenched your fingers within seconds.

Alhaitham's thighs twitched at the sound of you. That was a moan. A real fucking moan. A multitude of things could turn him on but watching his girlfriend play with herself and moaning above his cock made him spasm in his spot. He was begging for more, even if he couldn’t form the words. 

“Ahh, Haitham…” you mewled his name softly as you slid two fingers inside your sopping entrance. Without waiting any longer, you spat on the leaking tip as a courtesy warning before taking the entire length in your mouth all at once.

“God…” Alhaitham groaned, drawn out like the sensation alone could tear him apart. He could’ve jumped out of his seat if not for the vice grip he had on the sofa, his knuckles white from holding onto it like a lifeline. The inside of your mouth was so warm, your tongue so blissfully foreign and you felt him stiffen up even more when you sloppily sucked and popped off with a messy slurp. 

“This definitely... isn't your first time,” His voice was rough with lust.

Every tantalising lick was written off as proof of your experience.  

The praise, while indirect, made your cunt clamp around your moving fingers. You hummed, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock before pulling back with another lewd pop, “No,” you casually admitted, licking a stray tear of precum from your lips. “But it’s my first time taking something so big.” 

“No need to flatter me,” he murmured softly, lifting your dripping chin with a single finger, “You’re already doing enough.”  

But damn, he thought. If that were true, he’d be the one to stretch you further than anyone else.

After returning your lips around him, he unexpectedly brought his hand to the back of your head. 

This time, he didn’t want to sit back. “Slowly…” he sucked in a breath. “I… want to try something.” 

Alhaitham apparently grew some confidence of his own which made your fingers work even faster inside yourself. Your lips sank lower and lower. Throat tightening as his thick cock tunneled its way through—

“Mmph—!!” Your sudden yelp was muffled when his mushroom tip nudged the back of your throat. The vibration of it made him buckle his knees beside you. 

Oh, he was weak for you. And he knew it. 

“Ugh— Look at you…” he groaned through gritted teeth. Still, despite the newfound confidence, he was losing the battle fast. He had buckled so hard, he was worried he’d already cum but he was relieved when you gagged and withdrew, leaving only strings of saliva connecting to his fat length. 

That was enough to tell him he couldn’t hold it off anymore. 

Alhaitham could barely think straight. His cock was twitching, aching, still glossy from your mouth, and somehow standing taller than when all of this started. 

“Come here,” he pleaded and now his heart pounded because it was finally happening. 

His eyes were hazy when he hoisted you up, catching you in his lap to taste himself on your tongue. The kiss was feral and teeth-clashing and the curl of your name kept being whispered again and again between breaths. 

His hands wasted no time, sliding down your body, comfortably hiking up your dress while he met his cock with your entrance. Even with your underwear in the way, you felt just how girthy he was and squeezed around the head as much as your flimsy panties allowed. 

“Haitham~” you whimpered, continuing to grind on him. 

Between his own rolling of his hips, he eagerly helped you tug your dress over your head. Then you hurriedly removed your underwear and returned to his lap.

For a brief moment, he just stared. 

His jaw went slack. His chest rose and fell slowly. 

It was a showcase of your bare body, your soft tummy, your sweat-stricken tits, and your exposed pussy. 

Suddenly, you felt shy, but he reached out with surprising gentleness, smoothing his palm over your waist, then up to your chest. 

“I know I keep repeating myself but seriously,” he hushed, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you shiver. “You’re beautiful.” 

He looked at you like you were something divine and overcome, your lips crashed against his.

A guttural sound escaped his throat as he kissed you back with just as much hunger.

 “I love you,” you whispered to him. Another twist of your tongue. I love you. Another hand tangled in his hair. I love you. Another peek at your loving boyfriend, eyes shut and kissing you so tenderly like it’s the only thing he knew. I love you. 

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers parting the opening where you were dripping for him. If you hadn’t known him at all, you would’ve never guessed this was his first time. Perhaps preparing for this really paid off in the end. 

Your legs trembled around his hand, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. The need clawed at you.

His hand gripped your putty thighs, forcing them open as he stared at the pretty mess. 

Alhaitham flicked his gaze back to yours, “I love you, too,” his voice was hoarse. “And I need to be inside you.” It was then you understood why puppy eyes worked on people. No argument could ever shield him away when he pleaded for you like that. It would be like kicking a puppy in the most literal sense.

You gave him a nod of approval. It’s okay. 

He exhaled as he positioned himself. The downright weight of it jerking against your clit made you whimper. You couldn’t help but rock into it, circling his shaft with your juices while he was on the cusp of shattering. 

Finally, he lined the swollen head at your entrance and a sharp gasp left you as he slowly pushed in, stretching you apart like all those times you fantasised in the privacy of your bedroom but this was much, much better. 

Inch by inch, your walls latched onto him and—

“Shit—” Alhaitham cursed under his breath. 

Nothing has ever felt so warm or soft. Or all-consuming. His entire vision was a blur. There was no doubt he was already painting a clear, sticky mess on your walls. 

Your nails sank into his meaty arms, his name tumbled from your lips as he gradually slotted himself completely inside you. His groan was so deep and wrecked, that it made you tremble around him even more. 

Your legs tightened at his side, urging him deeper. “T-Thoughts?” You asked, barely. It remained a mystery how you stayed teasing even as pleasure threatened to steal your words away. 

“You’re so… tight,” he managed to breathe, thrusting up experimentally. His head dropped to your shoulder as he relished in the wet heat of you wrapped around him. “Better than my hands."

"Better than I ever imagined, actually." A strained chuckle left him, “And I imagined a lot.” 

Another slow thrust. His fingers embedded themselves around your waist, possessive, obsessive, and he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.

You smiled even though you knew he couldn’t see, “You don’t have to hold back.” 

Your cute encouragement made him snap.

He lifted you slightly before slamming you down on his hips, plunging as far as he could. Right as he did, you arched your back and struggled to find your bearings. The sound of your jutted cries echoed freely in the living room, only for it to be swallowed by his muttering against your skin—

“You’re perfect.” 

A deep thrust, much harder this time. 

“I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

His teeth scraped against your neck. 

And then he really started fucking you. 

Every bounce punctured all the right spots and you could only whine while rivers of sweat glued your bodies together. You tried to keep up with him but he was so fervent with his hips, your mind went cloudy. 

More often than not, you tend to forget how strong your boyfriend was but you’ll never need a reminder after this. Not with how easily his large hands guided you up and down his throbbing cock. You were helpless against the feverish way he moved you. 

Plap. Plap. Plap. Each wet slap of your fleshy ass against his thighs sent a violent shudder through him, decorating his skin with flushed, red marks where you landed. 

Who knew Alhaitham could be so obscene and filthy?

“I can see why—people—enjoy this,” was all he could muster you as deliciously gripped him. Every word punched out of him from the force of your tight cunt. 

However, as good as it felt, most of his enjoyment came from looking at you. 

“Mhm…!” you babbled, brain foggy and hands abandoning his shoulders to roll your sensitive nipples between your fingers, twisting and tugging and arching your back so your tits were right in his face. “But are you—?” You tried to ask between ragged moans but he cut you off with a snap of his hips.

He’d never seen you in such a messy state, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He was nearly offended at the implication that he wasn’t. How could he not be? He was buried to the hilt and drinking in every filthy little sound that spilled from your lips.

He wanted to engrave the image of this memory into his mind forever.

The creak of the sofa legs as they scraped back and forth on your floor; the squelch of your soaking pussy; your arousal smearing the base of his shaft, running down his legs with every feverish roll. 

Even like this, even while he was losing every last shred of innocence, his mind was already latching onto something else—

“I’m already looking forward to doing this again…” 

Alhaitham, who fucking loved you, was also going to love fucking you. 

Oh, and the toe-curling sensation of his balls smacking the back of your pussy intensified. 

For each erratic push, your battered clit rubbed even more against his pubic bone. Your eyes were starting to drop and your voice only came in erotic moans. “Baby, please…” You’ve adjusted to the stretch by now but you’ll never get used to how you can feel every curve or ridge mind-meltingly dragging inside you. “Don’t stop—”

He wishes he could just record the way you coo at him like that, because your honeyed tone damn near made him bust on the spot. 

“F-Fuckk-Ngh… Love, I’m close,” he groaned, forehead falling against yours as his hips stuttered. His hungry, feral eyes—wild, desperate, blown back with lust, searched yours, now certain of what he wanted.

“Inside,” you panted, cradling the back of his head with your arms. “I bought a contraceptive tonic… You can cum inside.” 

Alhaitham froze, for just a second. 

But with your permission, he lost whatever fragile thread of control he had left. Using the last of his strength, he clumsily wrapped himself around your waist and attacked your g-spot over and over. 

“Quickly,” you urged him, “Because I’m gonna—!” A feeling in your stomach coiled before you could finish your sentence. With his hips rolling at an angle, everything you were holding together finally broke apart. Your ears abruptly rang and your vision went entirely white, as if months’ worth of pent-up energy was gushing out of you.

You pushed through the untangling in your gut, feeling everything all at once as your orgasm obliterated your senses. The downpour left you mewling, writhing, and spasming around him like a tightening knot. You've cummed to the thought of him but you always felt like something was missing.

Nothing but desperate moaning and the crying of his name met his ears while you blissfully rode him out.

A harsh thrust later did it for him, too.

His merciless rhythm shattered as he rutted inside one last time, a guttural groan ripping from his throat like all the air was being punched from his lungs. “Hah—I’m cumming!” His cock pulsed violently as he came, hot ropes of ivory spilling deep inside you, with him losing focus after each shudder of his hips. 

So much of it was already oozing out of you despite how tight you still were and you saw the ruin it brought on him. He was beautiful with his brows pinched tight and strands of damp silver sticking to his forehead. Every flex of his toned arms and chest showcased the primal strength beneath his elegance.

Alhaitham whimpered—it was barely audible as slumped against your chest. He clung to you, panting, hot breath fanning your shoulder as he pumped out the last tremors of his release. His balls tightened for the final time as they emptied inside you.

Neither of you moved. Just sticky heat, layers upon layers of sweat, and the aftershocks pulsing through your trembling bodies.

Then, slowly, his hands fell to his sides.

“…That was…” he started, feeling like his mind was still trying to piece itself together. His body practically surrendered against the sofa.

You swiped a thumb over his jaw, smiling. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

When Alhaitham lifted his head, blinking at you, completely softened by the afterglow, it hit you.

Your boyfriend wasn’t a virgin anymore.

© 2025 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform.

divider: @/adornedwithlight

[evermoreness]

hi lovely!! i had a random idea for a fic where reader is harry’s kindergarten teacher and he lets it slip to you that single dad james thinks she’s pretty? im just imaging a little 5 year old letting that information slip like it’s the most casual thing in the world and meanwhile james is dying of embarrassment hahahha. i just thought it would be cute :)

— This idea is so cute! Thanks for sharing with me, hope you like it! @iloveremmy

secret crush | james potter

pairing: james potter x muggle!reader

summary: dad!james is definitely ready to love again after some time, he just didn't think it would be harry's kindergarten teacher.

obs: feel free to send any requests!

masterlist

The small classroom was filled with laughter, crayons, and the chaotic energy only a group of five-year-olds could create. The walls were covered in colorful drawings, some resembling actual objects and others looking more like abstract masterpieces only a parent could pretend to understand.

At the front of the room stood y/n, the most beloved teacher in the entire kindergarten. She had a natural warmth about her, making every child feel special. She was also quick-witted and funny, always finding a way to make the most mundane things exciting. Her students adored her.

And at the center of it all, sitting on one of the tiny chairs like he was some kind of prince, was Harry Potter.

Harry was an interesting child—smart, playful, and with a sass level that could rival a teenager. He had a mop of messy black hair that never seemed to stay put, big green eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a personality far too charming for a five-year-old.

He had been extra sassy today, insisting he was "way too advanced" for their ABC exercises and that "Uncle Moony reads him much harder books." You had learned by now to just nod along when Harry said bizarre things like that.

You had taken a particular liking to him. Not that you played favorites (at least, not openly), but something about Harry made you want to protect him even more than the other kids. Maybe it was the fact that he was being raised by a single dad, or maybe it was the way he always looked at you with that cheeky little grin whenever he was about to say something absurd.

Right now, that cheeky grin was in full force.

"Miss y/l/n," Harry said, swinging his legs under the table as he colored.

"Yes, love?" you replied, crouching down to his level.

He leaned in as if he was about to share the most confidential secret of his life. "My dad thinks you're pretty."

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh!

You opened your mouth to respond, but Harry, apparently very pleased with himself, continued. "He says you're too young to have this many kids"

Well, you definitely held back the laughter, but as you didn't have an answer to that, you just changed subjects. You leaned over to glance at Harry’s drawing. It was a messy but clearly heartfelt attempt at a stick figure version of himself and his dad, complete with what looked like… a broomstick?

“That’s a great drawing, Harry!” you praised, ruffling his hair. “Is that you and your dad?”

Harry nodded, proudly holding up his masterpiece. “Yeah! That’s me, and that’s Daddy, and he’s flying really fast on his broom because he’s the best at Quidditch!”

Let's say Harry Potter was a really imaginative kid. He would always say some really funny stories about witches and sometimes, he would full on create new words. Like he was just doing now. You found it cute, but little did you know that it was actually all true.

You grinned. “I bet he is.”

Harry’s little legs swung as he beamed. “Yeah! And he says he used to be the best Seeker at Hogwarts! I wanna be like him when I grow up!”

“That’s a great dream,” you said, genuinely warmed by how much Harry admired his father.

James was tall, lean, and had the same messy hair as his son. He was dressed casually, but there was something effortlessly charming about him. And then there were his eyes—warm, hazel, and currently widening in horror as he realized what his son was in the middle of saying.

"And my dad also said—oh, hey, Dad!" Harry greeted, as if he hadn’t just delivered a verbal nuke seconds before.

James, who had clearly heard enough, looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "Harry," he started, his voice a little strained, "what exactly have you been telling Miss y/l/n?"

Harry, completely unfazed, gestured at his teacher. "I was just telling her how you think she's pretty."

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You found it cute how a grown man was becoming all flustered right now.

“I mean—” James rubbed the back of his neck. “I might have said something along the lines of you being… you know… a good teacher.”

Harry frowned. “No, you didn’t.”

James glared at his son. A warning look. A look that screamed drop it, drop it now, child.

Harry, of course, did not drop it.

James let out an awkward, nervous laugh, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Yeah, um, I don't know where he got that from—"

"You said it last night," Harry reminded him. "When you were talking to Uncle Pads and you said—"

"Okay, that's enough, kiddo!" James cut in quickly, picking up Harry like he was a sack of potatoes. His face was an interesting shade of pink now. "Time to go, say goodbye to your teacher!"

Harry, enjoying this far too much, gave you a knowing look before waving. "Bye, Miss! See you tomorrow! Oh, and it's okay! My dad only likes you a little bit."

James groaned. "Oh, for Merlin's sake—"

You, to your credit, simply gave James a bright, amused smile. "It’s fine. Kids say the funniest things."

James, still trying to compose himself, let out a breath. "Yeah. They do."

You tilted your head, studying him for a second. "Though, I have to say, you do have a very smart kid. And very honest."

James gave you a sheepish smile. "Yeah… unfortunately, he gets that from his mother."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something sad, something that made you instinctively soften your tone. "She must've been wonderful."

James nodded. "Yeah. She really was."

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between them. Then, because James couldn't handle any more embarrassment today, he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Right. Well. We'll be going now. Before Harry decides to share my entire life story."

You grinned. "That’s probably a good idea. Have a good evening, Harry. James."

James hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "You too."

As he walked out, still carrying a smug-looking Harry, you couldn't help but shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself.

James Potter, huh?

This was going to be interesting.

As soon as they were outside, James crouched down and gave Harry a look of pure exasperation. “Alright, Prongslet. Why?”

Harry just grinned up at him, utterly unapologetic. “I like Miss y/n. You like Miss y/n. Uncle Padfoot said you should talk to her more. I was helping.”

James dropped his head in his hands. “You and Sirius are banned from talking to each other ever again.”

The aftermath

James Potter was dying.

Not literally—he had survived multiple Quidditch accidents, a war, and Voldemort himself—but right now, standing outside of Harry’s kindergarten classroom, he was convinced that actual death would be less painful than the secondhand embarrassment he had just experienced.

His five-year-old son, his sweet, traitorous, utterly clueless son, had just casually exposed his very real, very secret crush on Miss y/n.

He was never showing his face in that classroom again.

…Okay, that was a lie.

He’d be back tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the day after that.

Because Harry loved school, and James definitely wasn’t going to pull him out just because he got caught being a pathetic twenty-five-year-old with a schoolboy crush on his kid’s teacher.

But, Merlin’s beard, how was he supposed to look you in the eyes again?

But instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, because—screw it—he wasn’t actually opposed to talking to you.

At first, James had been mortified, barely able to meet your eyes when he picked up his son. But as the days went by, he found himself lingering a little longer each time. It started small—asking how Harry was doing, if he was behaving (spoiler: he wasn’t), and if he was making friends.

But then your conversations stretched longer.

“So, uh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I actually wanted to talk to you about Harry.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

James nodded, trying to look serious. “Yeah. His, uh… behavior.”

You blinked, looking at Harry, who was currently playing with another student and doing absolutely nothing wrong.

“…His behavior?” you echoed.

James cleared his throat. “Yes. It’s, uh, very concerning.”

You folded your arms, clearly humoring him. “What exactly is concerning about it?”

James hesitated. “Well. You know. The talking thing.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “The talking thing?”

James sighed, knowing you weren’t buying it. “Yeah. You know. The way he just… talks. No filter. Says things. About me.”

You did laugh then, shaking your head. “James, you do realize that’s completely normal for his age, right?”

James groaned. “I was hoping you’d say there was a cure.”

You grinned. “Afraid not.”

James huffed, but there was a smile playing at his lips now. “Brilliant. Well, at least tell me—how do I make sure he doesn’t casually ruin my life every time he opens his mouth?”

You shrugged. “Sorry, but I think you’re doomed.”

James sighed dramatically. “That’s what I thought.” He glanced at Harry again, who was still happily playing, then looked back at you. “Well, I guess I should be glad he didn’t say anything too bad.”

You smirked. “Oh, no, just that you think I’m really pretty and smile a lot when you talk about me.”

James groaned. “Merlin’s sake, why would you repeat it?”

You laughed. “Because it’s funny.”

James shot her a look. “For you, maybe.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Oh, come on, James. It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that I’m going to be forced to relocate and change my name now, right?”

You snorted. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” James deadpanned. “I’ll be John Smith from now on. You’ve never met me before in your life.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Well, John Smith, if it makes you feel any better…” you hesitated for a second, then shrugged, your voice softer. “I don’t mind what Harry said.”

James froze.

Your eyes were warm, teasing but also… something else.

And suddenly, James realized—maybe this wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought.

Maybe Harry had just given him the best excuse in the world to talk to the woman he’d been secretly crushing on.

And maybe—just maybe—he was okay with that.

For the first time that day, James grinned.

“Well then,” he said. “In that case, I think I can survive the humiliation.”

You chuckled. “Glad to hear it.”

From that day forward, James’s routine of picking Harry up from school became a little different.

At first, he told himself he was just being polite—nothing wrong with staying an extra minute or two to talk to Harry’s teacher, right? Totally normal. Every parent did that.

Except every time, those one or two minutes stretched longer.

And longer.

Until one day, he realized he was actively looking forward to pick-up time—not just to see Harry, but because he’d get to talk to you.

Getting to know each other

James had fully intended to keep his distance after the Incident—as he now called it in his head. He had absolutely not planned to linger when picking up Harry, nor did he intend to talk to you for longer than necessary. But that's not exactly what happened since they had been talking a lot lately.

"Everything good today?" James would ask, standing at the doorway.

"Harry was a little sassy during storytime," you would say, amused. "He insisted he already knew how it ended and started narrating over me."

James sighed, rubbing his temple. "Of course, he did. Did he at least get it right?"

"Surprisingly, yes," you said. "Honestly, he’s way too smart for a five-year-old."

James smirked. "He gets it from me, obviously."

"Oh, obviously," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

And then, the next day…

"Harry told me today that he was going to ‘summon his broom’ to get out of naptime."

James coughed. "Uh. Kids have wild imaginations, don’t they?"

"Mhm," you said, amused. "Though, I have to say, that’s a very specific thing to imagine."

James quickly changed the subject.

And then, the next day after that...

He found himself lingering near your desk, watching Harry shove his tiny arms into his backpack with all the grace of a rampaging hippogriff.

“So,” James started, leaning against the desk, “should I be worried about his academic future, or is struggling with backpack logistics a phase?”

You grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s a phase. I think.”

James sighed dramatically. “Merlin’s sake, that’s a relief. I was beginning to think I’d have to enroll him in some kind of Backpack Etiquette for Beginners course.”

You chuckled. “Well, I do give him stickers when he remembers to pack up neatly.”

James blinked. “That’s brilliant.”

You shrugged, smirking. “Bribery works wonders at this age.”

James laughed. “Noted.”

And just like that, their conversation stretched past the usual parent-teacher exchange.

James found himself not in a rush to leave.

You didn’t seem to mind.

And Harry, for once, didn’t interrupt with any more mortifying revelations.

A win for James.

A week later, James arrived earlier than usual and found you organizing a small shelf of children’s books.

“Expanding their literary horizons?” he asked, stepping closer.

You looked up, smiling. “Trying to. Some of them are still convinced books are just really boring building blocks.”

James smirked. “Ah, yes. The tragic underappreciation of literature.”

You chuckled. “Exactly.” you tilted your head. “Did you like reading when you were a kid?”

James shrugged. “I liked it. But I wasn’t the sit-quietly-and-read type. That was Remus.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Remus?”

“My best mate,” James explained. “Loves books. Absolute nightmare when you try to pull him away from one.”

You grinned. “Sounds like the kind of student I’d love to have.”

“Oh, absolutely,” James said. “Meanwhile, I was the kid causing problems in the back of the class.”

You pretended to gasp. “You? Causing trouble? I would never have guessed.”

James smirked. “Shocking, I know.”

You fell into easy conversation after that, sharing stories about school, books, and the different kinds of students you had over the years.

James barely noticed the time passing.

Neither did you.

"Alright, I have to ask," you said one day, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorway. "What’s up with Harry and the ‘Uncles’?"

James blinked. "What do you mean?"

"He talks about Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony constantly," you said. "Are they even real people?" you said, knowing that those names were definitely not usual. Maybe they were imaginary friends.

James tried not to laugh, he couldn't explain it to you in a detailed way, you were a Muggle after all. "Padfoot and Moony are my best mates. They are very real. It's just their nicknames. Padfoot is Sirius, Moony is Remus."

You smiled, trying to understand why they were even called that. "I swear, sometimes Harry sounds like a tiny old man when he quotes them."

James laughed. "That… yeah, that tracks. They’ve been around his whole life."

You smirked. "So, which one gives the worst advice?"

"Oh, definitely Sirius," James said immediately. "He told Harry once that he could read his mind and my poor kid spent the rest of the week scared to think"

You burst out laughing. "That’s terrible!"

"I know!" James said, grinning. "Remus had to be the voice of reason that day, convincing Harry that his uncle couldn't read his mind"

The small talk everyday was becoming a habit.

James would ask about your day, and you would roll your eyes and dramatically recount whatever chaos had ensued in your classroom—kids throwing crayons, glue disasters, the occasional crying over absolutely nothing. You were expressive, funny, and had this energy that James found… comforting.

You, in turn, asked about James—not just about Harry but about him. His work, his hobbies, things he liked. And James found himself telling you, actually enjoying your chats instead of awkwardly stumbling over his words like he thought he would.

But, of course, Harry noticed.

"Dad," Harry groaned one afternoon as James leaned against the classroom doorway, chatting away with you while other parents picked up their kids. "You’re doing it again."

James blinked down at his son. "Doing what, Prongslet?"

Harry huffed dramatically, grabbing his tiny backpack. "Talking and talking and talking."

You burst into laughter. "Oh no, Potter, you’ve been caught."

James narrowed his eyes at his son. "Maybe I like talking to your teacher, kiddo."

Harry groaned even louder, stomping toward the door. "Ugh, come on! We're always the last ones now!"

You laughed, nudging Harry’s nose playfully. "Oh, come on, am I that bad?"

Harry sighed dramatically. "No, but Daddy talks to you too much."

James cleared his throat. "Well, I just—y’know—parent stuff. Making sure you’re doing okay."

Harry squinted at him. "Uh-huh. Sure, Dad."

You smirked. "Guess I must be very interesting, huh?"

James ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "Uh… yeah. I mean, no—I mean—"

You just chuckled and waved at Harry. "See you tomorrow, little tornado."

Harry grumbled something under his breath about adults being annoying and led the way out.

James followed, but not before sneaking one last glance at you.

Getting some advice (from the professionals)

By the time a couple of weeks had passed, James knew he had to do something.

Because this? This standing-in-the-doorway-every-day-for-way-too-long thing? This was not normal behavior. He wasn’t just talking to you about Harry anymore. He liked talking to you, period.

And that? That was terrifying.

You were the first person he’d felt anything for since Lily. It wasn’t the same—Lily had been his great, big, all-consuming love. But you? You were warmth, laughter, easy conversations, and teasing smiles. And that was something.

Which meant he was going to do the scariest thing he’d done since facing off against Voldemort.

He was going to ask you out.

Sirius and Remus, of course, had opinions.

"You just gotta charm her, Prongs," Sirius said confidently, lounging on James' couch. "Lay it on thick—tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, maybe throw in a ‘your eyes shine brighter than the stars’—"

Remus snorted from his chair. "Yes, James. Do that. That definitely won’t make her think you’re a lunatic."

Sirius furrowed his brows at his boyfriend "Hey! I think it worked wonders when i charmed you to like me"

Remus gave him a look "When did exactly you charmed me, pads?"

Sirius was quick to answer "Second year, of course, and it worked!"

Remus was trying not to laugh "Do you actually know that it didn't work, i just liked you back?"

Before Sirius could even snap back, his face surprised, James groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I don’t need to charm her. I just… need to not make a fool of myself."

Sirius smirked. "Well, that’s impossible. But, hey, shoot your shot."

James was pacing his living room, gripping his hair. "I can’t do it. I can’t do it."

Sirius was looking deeply amused. "You, the James Potter, too scared to ask a woman out? This is history in the making."

Remus, sitting in an armchair, gave a long-suffering sigh. "James, it’s just coffee."

"Just coffee? Moony, I haven’t dated since Lily!" James threw his hands up. "What if she says no? What if she thinks I’m a terrible father for even thinking about dating?"

"Mate," Sirius said, sitting up. "I promise you, the last thing she’s thinking is that you’re a terrible father. She likes you."

James scoffed. "She doesn’t like me."

Sirius smirked. "Oh, yeah? Then why does she always smile at you? And laugh at your terrible dad jokes? And talk to you for an eternity?"

"That’s just—she’s nice!" James insisted.

Remus gave him a knowing look. "James. Just ask her."

James groaned. "Fine. But if I make an idiot of myself, I’m blaming both of you."

He was really going to ask you out.

Taking actions

It was a Friday afternoon. James had spent the entire day hyping himself up. This was it. No more standing around like an idiot. No more pretending he was just talking about Harry.

He was going to ask you out. Casually. Coolly. Like a totally normal, smooth person.

(He was absolutely not smooth.)

"Hey, y/n," James started as he leaned on the doorway of the classroom, trying to look relaxed.

You, who was organizing a chaotic pile of paper, looked up and smiled. "Hey, Potter. You’re right on time for the usual end-of-the-day complaints from your son."

Harry, currently sulking with his backpack, threw up his hands. "They played ring around the rosie today! Do you know how boring that is?!"

You laughed. "What, not exciting enough for you?"

"No!"

James smirked. "That’s tragic, mate."

Harry crossed his arms. "Can we go now or are you gonna talk for twenty years again?"

James cleared his throat. Now or never.

"Actually," he said, looking at you, "I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime."

You blinked. "What?"

James internally panicked. "Casual coffee. Like—like two people, drinking coffee, talking, existing in the same space—"

You raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you asking me out?"

James wanted to die. "I—I mean—yeah? But, like, you don’t have to—"

You grinned. "James."

He swallowed. "Yeah?"

"I’d love to."

James froze. "Wait. What?"

You smirked. "I said yes, Potter. You good?"

James stared at you, processing, before a slow grin spread across his face. "Oh. Well. That’s… good. That’s great. That’s—"

Harry groaned. "Finally!"

James turned to him. "Oh, what now?!"

Harry threw his hands up. "It took you forever to ask her! I thought you were never gonna do it!"

You laughed. "Seriously?"

James groaned. "Can’t anything be a secret in this family?"

You just smirked. "Apparently not."

James, still grinning, nodded. "Alright then. Coffee it is."

And for the first time in a long time, James felt something that wasn’t just surviving. He felt happy.

[thegrinningghost]

Hey OP!! I saw your art this morning and it has been plaguing my mind ever since, so I figured I’d write a short story to go with your art. Also, have a moodboard based on it! I hope you don’t mind another reblog–I know you’ve already gotten so many, but I thought it’d be cool to write and share with you =D

Also, this AU is really cool, so props to you and your friends! It’s definitely made me have many ideas. Anywayy, on with the story!

  (some StarSky / SkyStar if you squint)

The storm had paused in its movements, snowflakes peacefully swaying in the slight breeze. The Arctic was known to be deafening; a place of isolation, and a home to very few. Still, it held the very same wonders of life. Perhaps even more. And, in some miraculous scheme, the young scientist managed to be stationed in the desolate land. Now, he wasn’t a real scientist at the moment, doing real science-y things, but science isn’t always about blowing something up, which he had noted many times to his friends on their daily calls. As of now, he was scouting the land, carrying his bag full of tools and his faithful sketchbook. It was in that raggedy thing, full of many torn pages and typos, that he wrote down his observations of the natural spectacles he saw on his daily outings. It had become a source of comfort when the frost seemed to bite too close to his heart, one that he constantly held close to him. It felt like home.

Speaking of home, only a sea away, a jet was flying dangerously low to the salty sea spray. Though it appeared like the pilot was testing their luck with fate, there was meticulous skill in their movements as they cruised across the frosty, open seas. Just moments prior had there been yelling, voices that still hung low from their ears. Still, they refused to let the weight bury them into the sea, though the prospect of drowning did sound especially intriguing. The slowly rising head of a whale urged the jet out of their thoughts, and to make room for the natural inhabitants of their newfound home. In a swift moment of spinning away from the aquatic beast, the jet slowed before launching far ahead, aiming for a desolate land frozen in time.

      The snowflakes had stopped their graceful dance through the sky, and so nature took its turn. The natural residents were always a sight to behold; fanciful creatures of many similarities and differences, not too far from those like the scientist. Though, they often had a better time fitting in.

      It was when the scientist was observing a particular lynx that had become a common spectacle over the past few days, that things began to go downhill. In fact, they were nearly launched down one when the snow sprayed in massive, collateral damage. Shielding himself with his arm, time seemed to freeze, and if possible, the temperature lowered even further as he slowly raised his head. Hunched down, with a massive sword steeped in the frosty ground, was a massive, mechanical creature. The menace had scared off the lynx, but that fact barely phased to scientist. This was something new, something yet to be seen. Someone. And he was curious. Something that would get someone killed.

      “You are . . . beautiful.” His words were hushed, mesmerized by the way that the being stood tall against the white-tinted sky. Despite his mumblings, the creature heard, and stared in startled awe. A small creature. And it spoke to him. So, in turn, he spoke back, voice nearly just as soft.

      “Thank you,” though it sounded more like a question.

      The young man smiled and laughed, though the wind stole all sound of it.

      “What’s your name?”

      “What?”

      “Your name! Like . . . what someone calls you. I’ll go first! My name is Sky, though my friends like to call me by my accidental nickname, Skyfire.” He rubbed his neck sheepishly, eager to speak, though not about how he just so happened to gain said nickname. “Now you.”

      The bot hummed, processing everything that has happened up till this point. How his flight for escapism had failed, how he met this creature, and how it just so willingly gave out its name to him. Like a personally address of where to find it. Though it was awfully strange, and its hand stuck out was quite the unappealing sight, the Seeker had no other clue of how to respond, and so sprung forth a simple answer.

      “You may call me Starscream. Now, tell me about your little home.”

      And in turn, Skyfire smiled. “Of course! But only if you tell me everything about you and where you come from in return!”

my friends and i made a selfindulgent little au where the autobots are humans and decepticons cybertronians so have human!skyfire meeting starscream (made him armada ver. cause i can)

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

FIRE BREATHING—wait, haven't i seen this before ?! - the dragon's route ☆ !

cashmoneyyysstuff's big 6K event!!

synopsis : big red horns, sharp fangs, fiery breath and a blazing temper—meet your new mate katsuki !! and.. the big ass whole in your wall ?!

you were hoping to start your day off like usual, but apparently it seemed the universe just didn't want it that way.

based on the something that had just blasted through the wall of your dorm room.

despite almost jumping to your ceiling, you're still in a daze. which is why when you managed to catch a mop of blond through your misty eyes—despite the big ass red horns and massive wings towering behind its back, the first word you uttered was a sleepy—

"kahsuki...?"

after which, you promptly fall back asleep.

when you wake up again. you jump to the ceiling again, but for a couple of different reasons.

you've definitely overslept and were no doubt going to have to rush to class.

your boyfriend was mostly likely already on his way to your dorm room and would definitely not be happy to have to wait for you.

it feels pretty chilly all of a sudden, you realise— only to then realise there was a damn hole in your fucking wall.

hole in the wall. something blasted through your wall. something was still in your room when you fell back asleep. you fell back asleep.

how the hell did you fall back asleep ??!!!!

"i was wondering when you'd awaken, you sleep like a log." the deep rumble of the something's voice startles you. you look to your right, only to see...

"katsuki ?"

except it wasn't...quite him. big red horns had sprouted along the sides of his head, his bored slanted eyes seemed just a bit sharper, just a bit redder. you could catch the glint of a little red earring, and you absolutely couldn't miss the mountains of jewellery he had dangling around his neck. nor the tribal looking tattoos (when'd he get those done ?) on his arms and his very exposed chest.

he hums, choosing to ignore your words to continue staring at you. "i'll ignore you using my name so casually, 'cus your face isn't..." he trails off, reaching a large hand out to smush your cheeks together "...too bad to look at." he settles.

you're absolutely, completely, positively, stumped.

"what are you talking about ?" you paw at his wrist to get him to release you. he doesn't let go, but he does relent and soften his hold slightly.

"how'd you get in my room ? and wha'd ya do to m'wall ?" you ask sleepily, bleary eyes squinting at your boyfriend's bored face.

"you called for me. so here i am." he answered simply. simple as that and it looked like he had absolutely no intention of elaborating. you, still being very sleepy, decide to say the only other thing on your mind.

"i didn't know you liked cosplaying..."

katsuki tilts his head, everything on him dangles "what the hell are you on about ? prattling on like that...you humans say some strange things."

you turn to look at the giant hole in your wall, really look at it.

you point towards the sun shining in your face, reminding you it was very much time to wake up "wha—ka'suki, my wall—"

"i'll fix it later." your boyfriend groans. "but why ?"

"i just told you—"

"but i didn't—"

knock, knock !!

you both perk up as a rather loud series of bangs rattle your door. oh god, katsuki was here and you still hadn't gotten dressed!! you can already hear him complaining—

wait but—

you turn to look at katsuki with the horns. he's let go off your face by now and his eyes are fixed on the door like he's ready to pounce.

you jump, leap up from your bed. grab a fistful of your handle and swing it open and—

"katsuki ?"

"the hell are doin' ? class starts in like, twenty minutes ! i swear, this is the last fuckin' time i'm coming to pick your ass up..."

he rambles and mumbles and you know he's lying cus this is the second time this week he's said this exact same phrase. but you feel like you've just been hit dead on by a sound grenade.

wait but—

"the fuck happened here ?!" katsuki's eyes immediately flit to your decimated wall, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry, and then his eyes flit past you to katsuki (?) already on his feet still in front of your bed. . . .

"AND WHO THE FUCK IS THAT??!!"

"MORE LIKE WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU ?!" katsuki barks. and you cannot believe it when your boyfriend starts bickering with...himself.

god, you wish you could go back to sleep.

"...can anybody tell me what's happening here ?"

"that's what i'd like to know !" you're boyfriend exclaimed from the your left, foot tapping impatiently on the floor, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed "sensei, you better deal with this weirdo 'fore i do it !" he warned.

"as if ! don't make me laugh, like a weakling like you could lay a finger on me." your boyfriend, the one on your right and with the— oh yeah —the horns and a tail—growled. arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, legs spread out laying back like he was demanding dominance in the room, occasionally glaring at the other teachers walking in and out the lounge.

you have a margin of about .2 seconds, a singular eye twitch from your boyfriend before they're both shooting up from their seats, foreheads almost knocking against each other " HAH ?! you trynna talk shit wearin' my face, you faker ?! i'll roast you alive !" your (original ? is that what you should call it ?) boyfriend's already rolling up his sleeves, hands popping in warning.

the dragon barks out a loud laugh "try it if you want, i"ll rip you apart 'till there's nothin' left of ya !" he growls, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

all you can manage is a sigh while they bicker, missing how the both of them shoot you a brief look. until your homeroom teacher sends chills through all three of your spines, sending you a harsh glare and a singular rackle of his throat sends every ounce of killing intent in the room flying, overpowered by the dead eye of the man before you. you didn't sign up to have your fight of flight instincts kick in this early in the morning !

neither of them sit back down, but they do rip they gazes away from each other to look at the bigger threat in the room, occasionally sending each other nasty side eyes.

mr. aizawa rubs at his temples and lets out a very, very tired sigh, pushing his hair back "now...can anyone tell me what is happening ?" he starts up again, he sighs when no one seems to have an answer for him. the black haired man points to your boyfriend with the horns "you, answer quickly—what's your name ?"

the horned boy grumbles, but lowly growls out an answer "bakugou katsuki, better not forget it.." you hear your boyfriend let out a quiet scoff on your other side. aizawa sensei ignore it, quickly whipping a finger towards him.

"you. has anything happened to you recently ? have you had any strange interactions lately ?"

katsuki racks his brain, thinking for a moment before he grunts "mm, i guess...was out to get groceries last weekend and this weirdo bumped into me. started apologising like crazy too, somethin' about how 'the after effects shouldn't be too bad' or whatever."

"that's suspicious as hell !!" you gawk "why didn't you say anything when it happened ?!" you exclaim.

"i don't fucking know, thought he was just a crackhead or something ! how was i supposed to know this was gonna happen ?!" katsuki shoots back, pointing over to his doppelgänger. mr aizawa nods to himself, mildly intrigued.

"okay, so we've narrowed down our cause...the problem is what we do now." you bite your lip in thought. your boyfriend finally takes his seat back next to you and the beast stiffens, immediately shooting back down next to you as well and even scooting his chair closer to yours. getting an unimpressed eye-roll from your boyfriend, before he sneakily tries to do the same.

"ain't it obvious ? all we gotta do is send this bastard back where he came from." you turn to look up at the beast katsuki's shoulder pressed to yours. honestly as unbelievable as it was in this situation you couldn't help but be reminded of those cheesy otome games you used to like when you were younger. or those random 12 episode anime you'd watch where the main boys would fight for the girls love—except this was your boyfriend ! and if the room wasn't so tense this would kinda be a dream come true—but you needed to focus !

"uhm, well...katsuki..?" and both of them immediately turn to you, it almost makes you jump—snap out of it. "..how do we send you back ?" katsuki stares at you then sends you an amused huff.

"wouldn't know," he shrugs. and then he's already so close but leans in closer and if you hadn't backed up in time your noses would've bumped. "pretty bold of you to try and send me away after you called me, sweets. but you're not getting rid of me that easy."

your skin heats up despite your best efforts "i—keep telling you i didn't call you ! i don't even know how i would do that !"

he's so in your space, leaning in ever closer despite you trying to keep your distance and he talks to you lowly "if you're worried about these morons hearing you, rest assured i'll clear this place out in no time. no different from any old dungeon in here." he boasts proudly, you can practically taste your ticking time bomb of a boyfriend about to basically implode from next to you.

quickly, you place your hand on top of his leg basically by instinct. his leg stops bouncing but he still sounds anything but pleased, he practically burns behind you as he grumbles under his breath. you feel bad for your homeroom teacher who can only watch and sigh.

"anyway. we'll wait and see what happens after a while. l/n, this bakugou seems pretty attached to you so i'll grant you and excused absence to watch over him until we get this sorted out." the older man explained. your katsuki immediately straightens up.

"oh, fuck no ! i'm not letting' her stay with this creep ?!"

"i know it might not be ideal, but you can't exactly take him to class." your teacher sweatdrops. the blonde can't exactly disagree and he curses under his breath. you take this chance to reassure him, rubbing his leg soothingly.

"i'll be all good, katsuki. you don't need to worry." you smile

your boyfriend searches your face for any signs of distress, sends his clone one look then immediately looks back at you with hardened eyes " i'll stay with you then."

your teacher cuts you off before you can respond "i don't remember allowing you to cut class, bakugou." you both stiffen at his tone. you feel a bit bad when you see how conflicted he looks between being a secret goodie two shoes and wanting to watch over you.

"hey," you assured, "i'll be fine. besides, it's still you so it shouldn't be all bad." you tease. and even though he still looks a bit worried, katsuki resigns and sighs lowly saying "if he does anything to you i'll fucking kill 'im." you pat his shoulder in agreement and katsuki sets out to go to class (not before sending horned katsuki a very deadly glare you're sure would've killed anyone else if it wasn't to designated to...himself.)

your attention is brought back to your teacher who is also starting to make his way to class, grabbing his sleeping bag and complaining about being 'too tired for this...'

"well i'll leave you to it. l/n, if you need anything let me know." and though he stays deadpanned, the tone of his voice is warm and you know he means it, you nod, he sighs, then leaves you alone with katsuki...number two ?

you could make the best out of this, you had to until you could figure something out. "well, let's try to get along then, yeah ?" you smiled, reaching a hand out to shake his. katsuki scowls down at your hand like it was nasty before grabbing it and pulling you up with him until your pressed right against his chest, you can see the identical faded scar under his eye better now, your heart hammers hard against your chest. or was it his ? you can't tell the difference.

he presses his nose to yours "i won't accept you treating me like your comerade. you're mine, i'm yours, and you will treat me as such." he commands. he leans forward and bites your cheek softly "understand ?"

all you can manage is a dumb nod. katsuki seems happy with himself, and smirks. he squeezes your hand then tells you to lead the way. you nod robotically, and while you walk back trying to avoid crowded hallways, you remember.

"ah ! hey, about my wall..!"

"tch, i got it. told you i'd fix it didn't i ?"

as promised, katsuki had fixed your wall, somehow. you won't question it.

aside from that, it was just you and your literal other worldly boyfriend now.

currently, you've been allowed to skip class. seeing as it would be quite the hassle to bring what looked like a barbarian bakugou into class. he had already caused enough trouble in the teacher's lounge and your homeroom teacher had determined that if he worked like any other bakugou, he'd be manageable with you around.

your katsuki, your boyfriend katsuki, had used any free time he could find to check up on you through text, openly very opposed to leaving you alone with his clone (although the other katsuki insisted that your boyfriend was his clone.) but you managed to reassure him. and you'd really, really like to avoid another death match like the one from this morning.

so, it was currently just you and him.

"so what do you wanna eat, you must be hungry right ? we've still got left over pancake mix in here if you'd like !" you call from where your head is hidden inside the cupboard.

you're a little bit happy that you're able to properly have breakfast considering you did sleep in. you turn to see dragon katsuki (he insisted on the fact that he was in fact a dragon and not a demon.) still carefully scanning the common room with his eyes. looking around for anything off like a hunter as he slowly makes his way over to you.

"you don't have to be scared, y'know ? it's just us here." you manage to tease, you think you're only able to mess with him because he is your boyfriend...in a way. he huffs loudly, chest puffing out while he continues to scan the area "don't insult me, m'not afraid of nuffin'." he boasts.

yup, definitely your katsuki...

"alright, tough guy.." you hum. picking up all your ingredients to begin making your breakfast peacefully without kaminari around to try to catch a lick of the batter or a bite of your pancakes. dragon katsuki finally gets curious enough seeing you prancing around the stove and makes his way over to you, looming over your shoulder, he runs very warm and you will yourself to ignore it.

"want some ? " you ask, still whipping your batter around, adding some extra milk to make it extra fluffy.

"what is it ?" he asks, scrunching his nose up. he leans closer to your shoulder to sniff at the mix.

"pancakes—well, not yet, but it will be." you explain. "they're good." you reassure and he grunts. which with your katsuki, was usually meant as an agreement.

you freeze up for a moment when you feel him lay his head on your shoulder, before promptly continuing. is this still weird even if it's your boyfriend's clone ? other version from another dimension ?

"so...what brings you here ?" you spoke awkwardly. katsuki's breath hits the side of your neck when he turns to look up at you.

"i've told you a million times already." he almost whines.

"and i keep asking because you make no sense ! i didn't call for you, i would've just...used my phone if i wanted you over !" you spluttered.

"that flimsy piece of plastic is as useless as the rest of your human technology. that has nothing to do with it." he presses his hand to your heart and speaks lowly when he continues "this called for me, right here." you feel your heart hammer, no doubt he feels it too because a soft little smirk forms on his face. "so, i came." a bigger smirks builds on his face when he looks up at you "you should be grateful really, i don't give my time to just anyone."

you scoff, he banters exactly like your boyfriend too. "oh, i feel so honoured that you destroyed my wall." you deadpan.

he rolls his eyes with a whinge "but i fixed it, no ?"

"there was no need for you to destroy it in the first place ! talk about a first impression." you huff.

"you're mine, no need for first impressions if i already know you were made for me." katsuki grumbles.

your heart skips despite itself, you try to remain poised "yours, huh ?"

"you are, and you seem to like the sound of that, too." he smirks.

"do not !" you deny.

"your heartbeat has picked up again—oh, and again just now—" you shrug your shoulder to try and nudge him off, embarrassed. but all it does is make him laugh and wrap his arms around you. you try to ignore the fact he is very shirtless behind you. you pour your batter onto your skillet.

"it did not, you liar."

"ya forget my hearing is superior to yours, sweets. i hear every little sound you make. can't hide shit from me."

"la, la la—damn, this is sizzling so hard i just cannot make out a single thing you're saying !" you say dramatically loud. you feel katsuki shake his head and he leans up to nip at your ear like he knows it'll make you squeal.

yup, that's your boyfriend alright...

the dragon boy has destroyed about ten pancakes and two glasses of juice before he calls it quits. he's a bit of a messy eater, but you don't mind much. (that is one difference you've managed to find between him and your boyfriend.)

you're sitting across from him and now that you've calmed down you take your time to look at his features. you really look at him.

"what's your name ?" you ask. he raises a brow at your sudden question, gulping down a last bite of fluffy pancake.

"you know my name." he answers simply.

"just—c'mon !" you whine, he rolls his eyes but relents anyway.

"bakugou, katsuki."

" okay..." you continue warily " how old are you ?"

"eighteen."

built like that ?! although your boyfriend's always had a pretty...impressive body—you quickly shake these thoughts away. okay, same age as your boyfriend.

"favorite food ?"

"don't care s'long as it's spicy."

"what's your favourite colour ?"

"fuckin'—who cares ?" he grumbles.

holy shit, this was your katsuki.

"i just don't get it, you're both so much alike !" you marveled, stretching out across the island table, dragon katsuki makes a displeased face at your words but doesn't comment, licking his fingers.

"you look so much like katsuki, too—well, my katsuki, other than the horns.." you look down behind the high chair he's sitting at, his now missing tail. he'd told you he could tuck it away, somehow. things could not get any weirder than this, you're sure. "...and the tail."

katsuki pops a maple syrup covered finger out of his mouth to stare at you. "i am your katsuki. and if you're talking about the usurper you shouldn't worry, i'll have dealt with 'im soon." he spits out, scowling down at his plate. then he looks around the room. "where is he, anyway ?"

you sweatdrop "you don't need to worry about him right now, yeah ? it's just us two here." and you fail to notice the way his eyes zero on you at your words "and please don't do anything to him, i'd rather not have my boyfriend try and kill...himself ?" you wonder, running a hand across your forehead. too focused to realise the dragon boy had made is way over to you.

you squeak when you feel a hard head of hair knock against the side of your skull, nudging at you like a cat. and instinctively, you turn around to meet eyes identical with the one's you love so much. his eyes are sharp and fiery red as they fix onto yours.

"you're too focused on that guy...stop thinkin' about him so much when your mate's right in front of you, dammit..." he mutters, cheeks slowly turning pink and the hard base of his horns dig against your scalp. your heart thrums faster inside your chest. this katsuki was so different and yet so similar to the one you were used to. it simply felt like you got to see another side to the boy you loved.

"don't start getting jealous of yourself now, suki." you tease. you put a bit more of your weight against him and he pushes back with a low growl, closing his eyes and nudging against your head and neck. you could've sworn you just heard a sort of purr sound coming from him ?

"that sham is everything except me, quit insulting me." he shoots, you can feel his jaw tighten from where he's nestled in your shoulder and it's literally instinctive how your hand reaches up to pet his hair and—oh, there it is again, that rumble that comes all the way from his chest that you feeling radiating through your bones. he seems very happy.

you snort at his words and decide to mess with him "my sincerest apologies, is there anything i can do to make you forgive me ?"

but then he's leaning up to look at you and the atmosphere is tense, so tense. you're tempted to hold your breath. he looks at you intensely, studying your next move like you were actual prey.

"i mean..." he starts quietly "there is something you could do..."

oh, oh it's coming. you know that look.

god, he really is your katsuki. you quickly squeeze your eyes shut and wait, but what you expect doesn't come. you peek at him when you feel his forehead connect to yours again. he speaks, still just as quiet but just as intensely.

"promise me. promise me you'll be mine. forever." he orders, breathing getting just a bit heavier, or maybe that was yours—had it always been this hot ?

"y-yeah, yeah of course i am..." and he leans in to lick at your cheek, gnawing at it like a dog.

you giggle "yes, i promise !" he seems happy with your answer, a softer smile forms on his face as he looks at you like you're treasure.

"right, i'll hold ya to it then."

and the instant you blink—he's gone.

you're left alone to think about what the hell just happened, left with the extra dishes you'd made for your mysterious guest.

about a few hours later, your boyfriend—the non dragon one—practically charges into your room, almost destroying your door in the process. you'd heard him stomping down the hallway so you weren't too phased.

"where is he ?! where is that fucking overgrown, horned, lizard fucker at ?!" katsuki charges in like a bull—hands popping and ready for action, he's looks like he's sweating a bit too and you wonder if he ran here.

"he's already gone, suki." you giggle, putting your phone down to properly look at him "he left a few hours beforehand. i guess there's a sort of time limit to this quirk, huh ? but then i wonder why it acts so late.." you think to yourself out loud. you've just noticed that your boyfriend has been way too quiet when you suddenly feel your bed dip and his big hands drop down onto your cheeks to turn you around as he sees fit, ignoring your squeals of protest.

"what happened while i was gone ? did he do anything—did he touch you ?!" your boyfriend rambles. you grab his wrists with both hands and smile with puffed out cheeks.

"welax, an' lemme go ! m'okay !" your muffled voice squeals out, your laughter makes your boyfriend shake his head with a huff, releasing you softly although he doesn't let you go fully yet, leaning down a bit more to get to look at you better, both of his knees dig into your matress where you're laying between him.

"honestly, he wasn't a big deal. we just had some food and chatted a bit. he was nice, real sweetheart." you explained, your boyfriend's face scrunched up more and more as you do. you snort and reach up to pinch he's cheeks "don't make that face, you'll get wrinkles, handsome."

katsuki shoo's your hands off, scoffing but feeling himself blush at your petname. he takes his turn to grip your wrists.

"shut up, don't talk about that weirdo like that. bastard was a damn shape shifter an' your treating him like the love of your life 'r something..." he groused, you giggle.

"well..." you tease. katsuki immediately cuts you off with a sharp "don't." his eyes squinted and sharp but he rubs so softly at your wrists and blushes even harder. when he backs off of you, he flops back on your bed with a harsh sigh, he's still holding onto one of your wrists.

you play with a short strand of his hair in your reach, twirling it around your finger with a silly smile "it was kinda cool, though. it was so freaky how alike you guys were." katsuki's nose pulls up at your ceiling while you speak "he was just as much of a brat as you were, it was cute."

your boyfriend looks at you incredulously, squeezing your wrist in reprimand "you're such a weirdo. don't go sympathizing with a clone."

"actually, i think he might be from an alternate dimension."

"durr, actually, durr—" katsuki mocks you with a nasally voice "doesn't matter and no one cares—clone's a clone. and i'm better."

"oh, yeah. totally." you joked, chuckling when he looks at you skeptically. then, he flips over to lay on top of you with his full weight "oof ! fuh—katsuki !" you wheeze out. your boyfriend only makes himself more comfortable, letting out an exaggerated sigh into your neck like he hadn't heard you.

"well, anyway...i'm glad things have gone back to normal. as much as i do love you, i think one katsuki is more than enough for everyone." you manage, reflexively carding your finger through his hair, to which a happy noise rumbles out from his chest, almost like the dragon boy you'd talked to just a few hours ago.

you think having two katsuki would be too much for your heart to handle, as irritating as he is.

"got that right." your boyfriend said groggily, letting out a small yawn into your warming skin. " i'm the only katsuki you need anyway."

you don't know if he misunderstood you on purpose, but you feel him smirk against your shoulder when you burst out into laughter, and you think that's just fine.

"mhm, dragon or not, you can't out do the doer, hm ?" you tease.

"damn right." your boyfriend shoots back and you both share a laugh.

this day had been rather crazy, but you couldn't find it in yourself to complain about it. you're happy to find out even another version of katsuki was as annoyingly endearing as ever, and that you loved him just as much.

and most importantly, that everything was back to normal now.

and especially your wall.

taglist ! ( if your name is in bold i couldnt tag u :(( ) :

@jastoo46 @cecelia77 @erenstitanweave @closehereyes @stoned-anime-babe @taxavoider @yannvi @sugurusmoon @allurearia @kaerotica @wonubby @cupidsblonde @catsoupki @ita606 @andysdrafts @omitea @lili-of-the-vally @serpent-hearted @ghostorchidd @shewki @pirana10 @witch-craft-works @kanvis @okkotsuus @dragonscribble @emmiesarchive @screaming-dough @napbatata @cacaandweewizzsstuff @redollface @meowsannie @katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba @moonshuul @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam @aspiringwriter1111 @redvelvetstan1 @niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia @qyuin

[norikuna]

UNADULTERATED LOATHING ! ☓. ── ( 五条 悟, gojo satoru )

⌗ dazzling starlet, bardot reincarnatе. well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist ? you have an effect on gojo satoru, and he tells you that it's pure, unadulterated loathing. but why does his heart say otherwise?

ᯓ starring ─ ﹙ 五条 悟 : gojo satoru ﹚ ─ the strongest x reader

𝓳𝓳𝓴. ㅤ﹑ ( 呪術廻戦 x afab!reader )  ─── ❛ cw ⌓. sfw. wicked!au. enemies to lovers, gojo is SO in love, mutual pining, this is just a one-shot, like a quick snippet. wc ⌓. 2k.

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ( author says ) i finally watched wicked and i was listening to olivia rodrigo's lacy

you push through the doors of your long awaited assigned dormitory, already dreaming of the quiet solitude that's ready for you. that blissful moment when you can drop your bags, sink into the comfort of your room, and finally crack open that hefty book in your bag.

but the moment that you step aside, that dream dies a swift and unceremonious death. this room is a disaster. a veritable storm of pale blue, navy, and stark white sprawls across every available surface that the eye can take in. clothes draped over chairs, video game casings cracked open at odd angles, and half-finished letters abandoned in precarious piles. there's even a pair of sunglasses littered on the floor, so very close to polished tips of your new boots.

you just inhale sharply, already bracing yourself for the worst as you round the heavy trunk that blocks your path. only to collide, at full, devastating force into a solid, broad chest.

a firm plane of muscle that belongs to none other than the golden boy, gojo satoru.

and god, how your head snaps up in horror. his ever-present sunglasses are pushed up to his white hair, exposing a pair of sharp and wary eyes. bright and assessing, and currently locked onto you as if your very presence is the final act of some awful cosmic joke.

for a long and weighty moment, neither of you speak. there's a realisation settling between the two of you like a stone dropped into deep water. the administration truly did not make a mistake, gojo satoru was your new roommate.

"do you really think this is fair?" you ask, voice a tad weaker than you had hoped.

gojo just exhales through his nose, as if he's suffering through tragedies untold, "i do not." but his voice is melodic, smooth, as he straightens his spine so the very uppermost tufts of his snowy hair brush the ceiling, "as i was promised a private suite. but thanks for asking."

your eyes fall back skywards, stepping past him to assess your new surrounding. manoeuvring carefully through this...mess. gojo, for his part, seems content to move aside and keep his distance. he's just watching you in the large, oaken vanity, fiddling with his already-perfect hair.

casual, far too casual. he's suspicious, you realise. which, considering your mutual dislike, is quite fair.

still, it seems as though he's eager to make a show of his generosity. gojo's leaning away from the mirror, "i saved you some space, by the way." gesturing a long limb towards the farthest, least appealing corner of the room, where a diminutive daybed sits awkwardly beside a tiny, lopsided table with exactly one draw. your eyes fall on gojo's own bed, a rather ornate and gilded piece with curtans. ugh, what a diva.

gojo somehow must be mistaking your stony grimace for gratitude, for he's smiling. all beatific and cherubic, as though he's a saint sent down from the heavens above, "it was nothing. roommates do these things for each other, after all."

your eyes meet jewel-blue, still watching as gojo basks in your silent outrage. he's stretching his arms out luxuriously, kicking up his own boots onto a plush, cornflower blue ottoman.

you're going to strangle gojo satoru in his sleep. but had you not turned away from the walking waste of oxygen, you might have noticed the sudden, red flush that plastered itself onto gojo's alabaster skin — crawling up his neck until it tickled at his ears.

the room is now steeped in candlelight, the soft glow of gojo's lamp casting a cool, blue hue over everything. shadows flicker along the walls, elongating the handsome angles of his face as he lounges at his desk, twirling a navy feather-quill between his fingers. the fine parchment before him still lays untouched, for his gaze keeps drifting to you.

you, curled up on your far end of the room on your bed, bathed in the tired amber glow of your own lamp. gojo just watches as you're lost in your own careful strokes of ink on dry parchment. and he hates to admit it, loathes to even bestow upon you this grace, but he's fascinated by the sight of you — the most brilliant (if odd) peer in this damn cohort.

you write the way people pray, head bowed and utterly absorbed as each word is something sacred. your lashes cast long shadows on your cheeks, and gojo just gnaws at the soft flesh in his own mouth. enraptured by the parting of your lips lost in thought.

gojo satoru has seen beautiful things before, no-one raised in the illustrious gojo clan hasn't, but this is something else. something he can't quite name, and he fears that he hates you for the hold you have over him.

"to whom it may concern at the ol' gojo clan. guess what?" gojo finally begins, scrawling the words onto his letters without much thought. pretending to make a big show of tapping his chin, kicking back against his bed.

but across the room, you're so, so adamant to barely acknowledge gojo. forgoing his desire for constant attention to be rather focused on your own letter to home, "my dear father. thank you for agreeting to let me stay."

gojo's exhaling dramatically, head lolling back onto his tired neck, "i can't hear your guesses because this is a letter. so i'll just tell you."

silence stretches between the two of you, filled only by the faint rustling of paper, and the distant sound of laughter from the courtyard below. gojo's fingers tap out a restless rhythm against the wood of his bedside table. you're still refusing to acknowledge him, still wrapped up in your letter, and gojo — who has spent his entire life commanding love and affection, expecting it, feels something like irritation curl in his chest. or maybe it's something else entirely.

he tries again, and unbeknownst to the lovestruck gojo, you're penning the exact same words on your own letters.

"there's been some confusion over rooming here at school."

you're suddenly glancing over at him, and gojo bites his heavy tongue at the flicker of exasperation flashing through your eyes. watching as you sigh, and shake your head, "but of course," you scrawl, "i'll focus on my studies."

gojo's lips twitch, "but of course, i'll rise above it."

it seems that neither of you are aware that you are both writing in tandem now, so very synchronised as gojo dips his quill lazily into that half-empty ink pot, "for i know that's how you'd want me to respond."

gojo watches from you from behind the rim of his sunglasses, shameless in his greed for the sight of you, and utterly fascinated. the delicate furrow of your brow, the way your fingers tap absently against the desk when you pause to think. he knows people. he understands them.

but you? you are a riddle wrapped in something unfairly lovely, a puzzle he isn't even sure he's able to solve, because maybe knowing would make the mystery less intoxicating. gojo briefly wonders why he feels as though he's about to hurl.

"yes, there's been some confusion, for you see, my roommate is..."

gojo pauses, contemplating, for how does one describe you? how does anyone categorise something so strangely, annoyingly captivating?

you are contradictions woven into the shape of a person. sharp and soft, cold and brilliant, distant but so alive. he wants to say infuriating or prickly or entirely too self-serious, but none of those words quite capture the way that gojo's world seems to tilt slightly whenever you shoot him that unimpressed look.

"unusually and exceedingly peculiar, and altogether quite impossible to describe."

but you? you have very little hesitation. your quill barely lingering before you hastily scribble away, "blonde."

scratching the quill against the cheap parchment in a single stroke, amending yourself, "or rather, silver-haired and silver-tongued. yet, all too lacking for wit or decency."

and so you gently blow on the drying ink, neatly creasing the letter as you do your best not to meet gojo satoru's eyes. isn't he just too much? too loud, too arrogant, too sure of himself?

gojo satoru walks into a room as though it belongs to him, like the air bends around him and gravity itself is an afterthought to the heir of the gojo clan.

and god, you hate the way that your eyes must betray you first, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw or the effortless sway of his posture. the way his silver-white hair falls perfectly, no matter how carelessly he runs a hand through it. you hate, truly loathe the way gojo tilts his head when he's pretending to listen, or the way pink lips curl when he's about to say something that will drive you absolutely nuts.

you tell yourself that you find him irritating, not intoxicating. that you're unmoved, not entranced. that you don't notice the absurd prettiness of the school's golden boy, that annoyingly, careless confidence and the way he seems to puncture the air out of your lungs.

gojo's snowy head jerks, as though he can hear your thoughts. eyes narrowing behind dark lenses as he folds his own letter and tucks it into the pocket of his uniform jacket. you just school your features, and shoot him a seething look as though you did not just spend the last five minutes memorising every single detail of his face.

it's just loathing. pure, unadulterated loathing.

[wearysparrows]

Twice the Sun Rises

ao3/masterlist

Summary: Caleb stands you up for dinner for unknown reasons. You make your way to a club in Skyhaven, and he intercepts your time with a stranger. Back at his apartment, you tell him the truth of your feelings.

cw (18+): female reader, reader is mc, Cock Warming, pnv sex, Creampie, Jealousy, Alcohol usage, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Pseudo-Incest, mentions of eating disorders, Mentions of Suicide, Pet Names, Happy Ending, Not Beta Read 6.5K\

Caleb was late.

You had agreed to meet at a restaurant in Skyhaven. He was pulling another late night, and planned to come straight from his duties as the Colonel to meet with you. Your relationship had remained tumultuous at best, but he had been making every effort to reconcile with you in the only ways he knew how. The same ways he had reconciled with you as a child. You checked your phone for the umpteenth time that night. No new texts from Caleb. It was nearly forty-five minutes past the time you had agreed to meet. Even with the ways he had changed, and in some sense, the things you were unable to recognize – you knew this wasn’t like him. He was always cordial. Usually, replies to your texts came almost instantly, and your phone calls were answered within two rings. Still, doubt dug dirty little claws into the corners of your mind. Maybe he didn’t want to see you. Maybe he was hung up with someone else. Even as the Colonel, he was still handsome, successful. It wasn’t impossible. You knew very little of Caleb’s private life, despite his assertion that he was an open book. The past was certainly open – but the state of the future remained continually uncertain. 

  You had picked somewhere mid-scale, hidden away in a corner of Skyhaven that wouldn’t draw too much attention. Despite Caleb’s insistence that all would be well, the idea of being seen with him while he was the Colonel seemed, in your mind, to bode poorly for both of you. You tapped your finger anxiously on the table. The unused silverware reflected your frowning face back at you. You cast your gaze from it. You had yet to order, and the waiter was flitting about nervously in your periphery – clearly wanting to clear the section of you to make room for patrons who were actually paying. Considering Caleb had chosen tonight to be otherwise occupied, who were you to deny the waiter his paycheck? With a barely constrained sigh, you lifted yourself from the booth and quietly slipped from the dark warmth of the restaurant back into the street, the door finalizing your leave with a soft bell behind you. 

Now what?

You were in Skyhaven, and it was late. The air had taken on a new lightness of chill that it hadn’t had when you had first arrived. You should have brought a jacket. It wasn’t as if you could just take the next train back to Linkon and disappear quietly in your sheets to accept the truth of your abandonment. You could go to Caleb’s apartment, (he had given you the master key, after all) but that idea seemed even less enticing, considering the logistics of your current situation. You needed a middle ground to wait it out, until Caleb deigned to grace you with his presence. You looked up at the night sky. Not a star was visible for the density of the light pollution, blocked out even further by the towering black skyscrapers. Without the permanent residents of the sky to guide your way, you suddenly felt lonely. Afraid. 

Perhaps Caleb’s return from the other side of death was all just a fantasy you had dreamed in your delirium, and you had brought yourself here to meet the illusion of your brother for a date. How could you have laid a body down when you hadn’t even been able to hold his ghost in your arms one final time?  The world outside seemed to reflect your uncertainty. Lights around you blurred, and your body, ever the machine that you had pushed to its utmost limits, picked a direction that seemed productive to head in. You let your legs carry you past all manner of buildings, seeing nothing, brushing against other goers of the night, who looked at you with a mix of concern and confusion clear on their faces. The attention did nothing to help your state. You needed to hide. From them, from yourself. From your brother’s ghost.

You picked an establishment at random, one that seemed like you could disappear into a crowd, in the back of the bar, and let the pulse of sounds drown the spectre of Caleb back into the world of infinite shadow where it belonged. A sign outside glowed faintly yellow. The Golden Fleece, it read.

  There was virtually no line. The bouncer let you in wordlessly after you produced your ID. You slipped inside, and were immediately integrated into a throng of pulsating bodies in various degrees of undress. The smell was that of the sweat of the night, permeated by the heat of alcohol. Music with a deep, rhythmic bass welcomed you with a fervent undercurrent of antagonism, and you felt as if it met your heartbeat in time. Your blood coursed with the melody, and you were accepted further and further into the writhing mass of limbs. Your breath still hadn’t found you completely, and you searched for somewhere to lean – to rest. A wall. You pushed your way through until you found it, and leaned your back against it, blessedly. It was cold through the back of your dress. How long had it been since you had worn something besides your uniform? You regretted leaving its comfort behind in the name of trying to look nice for Caleb.

Caleb.

You studied the floor, focusing on the rhythm of the music instead of the impossible race your own thoughts were attempting to conduct. Something out of time, disjointed. Strange and staccato around the forbidden shape of your brother’s name.

Your brother. The one you had come here to escape the thought of. 

Providentially, a distraction in the form of a man appeared. Your first impression of him was a pair of monk-strap shoes that seemed a little too nice for this fine establishment, even if the club was, to your eye, upscale. Your eyes drifted up and up. He was tall – not Caleb tall, but enough. He had a bright face, with pretty golden curls, like Apollo, and blue eyes full of white light. Nothing like the dark hair and deep lilacs of your brother, but enough. He had straight teeth, too. He didn’t have a crooked tooth. Not like Caleb.

It would have to be enough.

He was leaning down to talk into your ear, over the sounds of the music, asking you if you wanted a drink in a deep voice with an accent you couldn’t place. Not the fond, boyish sound your brother had retained, despite growing up into such a big man. You agreed, and let him order you one – no, two drinks from the bar. Somehow, he had led you by the hand to the stools and sat you next to him. You sipped the drinks interchangeably. Both were too sweet. Not the sour tastes Caleb liked. Hawthorn, lemon. You could almost taste them on his breath when his face would come close.

Your new companion was surprisingly pleasant – a strangely stark contrast to the dark of the club, with his halo of curls and pale skin. You found yourself warming to him unexpectedly, despite the dullness of his conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the shade that nipped at your heels, the one that left footprints in the shape of your brother’s behind it. The man’s hand covered yours on the bar, and you let it. His right hand was warm. Not like Caleb’s. Not like the one he had lost. When you resonated with him, you could feel the undercurrent of its cold, persistent ache. The pain was always there. A constant reminder of how he perceived himself. No longer whole. A tool. A body to be used. Not your brother. Not a man. A weapon.

Your right arm throbbed.

“Hey, are you alright?”

The deep, concerned drawl of the man whose hand you were holding snapped you out of the vestiges of Caleb’s feelings, the lingering webs of him. You shook your head apologetically. 

“Sorry, yeah. Got a lot on my mind.”

The man nodded empathetically, as if he could understand what you were going through. He tapped the top of your hand.

“Dancing with me might help you forget about it. At least for a while.”

In any other moment, your first instinct would have been to deny him. But your brother was dead. You were a few drinks in. No one was coming for you. You wouldn’t forget. Ever.

What was one little dance in the grand scheme of fuck-all?

So you nodded your assent, and let the man with the pretty curls lead you by the hand onto the dance floor. They bounced as he walked, like a cherub. You still didn’t even know his name, though he had probably told you. It didn’t matter. He made his way behind you, and his hands were warm on your hips as you leaned back against him. When you weren’t looking, you could imagine it was Caleb. Almost.

Even if one hand was too warm. Even if he smelled wrong. You danced for a time, leaning back into the wrong body. Trying to be one with the music. The man’s face was by your ear, and he started to say the beginning of a word, but he stopped short, and stilled. You looked up from where you had been watching the moving feet of the people around you. Some had begun to stop, to part. There was a tittering of proverbial feathers, an undercurrent of fear. People parted as a dark sea. A tall pair of boots came into your vision, then the large body of man in a black uniform, heavily decorated. A cap with a golden crest sat atop his head. Dark hair framed his brow, and amethyst eyes burned from within his skull. He came towards you with rhythmic footsteps, in time with the music that pounded in your ears, those of a trained soldier, the same hypnotic rhythm as he had counted for you as a child as you jumped rope. 

One, two, three, four…

The echo of the beat of your heart.

The man's hands were still on your hips. You no longer wanted them to be. Looking at Caleb, you weren’t sure you ever had. The man spoke, concern palpable in his tone. His hands left your sides, then. He stepped back from behind you, anxiety leaking into his tone. He rubbed a hand up your arm, probably hoping to be reassuring. 

“Do you know this guy? Why is he..?”

You heard the unspoken words in his ask. Caleb was an impossible figure, one that rose from the dead and imposed his presence. Returned to the clouds without you. Even if other people didn’t know him, they sensed him. Something different. Something powerful. Words slipped out of your mouth. The only ones you had. A dead man walking was standing before you. A man who had died as your brother, and come back as someone you didn’t recognize.

“Don’t worry. He’s my big brother.”

You heard the strange relief in your own tone, and it surprised even you. 

“Your brother? Not your boyfriend?”

You shook your head. How could you even begin to define Caleb? You couldn’t grasp him any more than you could tug his phantom from your memories of sunshine. 

The man seemed to dissolve back into the crowd, compelled by some force. Perhaps Caleb’s energy – perhaps his evol. Perhaps he could sense it was best to leave. It was impossible to say. His removal was wordless, calculated, painless. Caleb’s face was completely still. He was frightening, like this. A man who had once leaked liquid sunshine from all of his cracks, now the tall blackness of an obelisk. But even in all his terror, he was alive. Standing before you. Except there was something there, in the face of death. Walking with a little smile, hopeless, fond. A touch of an upturned lip. The surroundings seem to wash away. Caleb was stepping towards you, closer, closer, until he was leaning down to speak into your ear. His tone was strangely forlorn. Almost fond. It didn’t match that dead face.

“It’s been a while since you called me your big brother.”

I’m not your brother.

An echo of his own words. Of course it had been a while. He was dead. And then he wasn’t. He wasn’t your brother. He wasn’t dead. He left you behind. When he went to college. When he died. When he was no longer your brother. When he stood you up. You were always looking at his back.

Except now, when he was looking down into your face. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists, and used his back to part the people around you – leading you, walking backwards while looking at you. His face betrayed no anxiety, but his grip was so tight that it bordered on pain. He was wearing those leather gloves, so you couldn’t feel his skin. He guided you back to the wall you had been leaning on when this all began, and swiftly pressed you against it, rotating you with a grip on your hips to do so. He took up all of your vision, leaving you unable to see anything save for his face and chest. The other patrons of the club disappeared, leaving just you and him. Looking into the flint of his lilac eyes reminded you of just why you had ended up here in the first place, in the arms of someone who felt just vaguely Caleb shaped when he was holding you from behind. Your anger rose like black bile in your throat. You had been avoiding meeting him in person, despite his willingness to text and call. You always had an excuse. Another mission. You needed to protect Rafayel. Sylus commandeered your expertise for some clandestine event in the N109. Finally, though, you had relented. Agreed to meet up. Used a day off where you could have been in the sheets of your own bed to meet up with Caleb. Overcome your fear of touching someone who still had grave dirt on his back.

And he had blown you off.

Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe he had realized you weren’t the same person you were growing up. Figured out you weren’t willing to be his little shadow anymore. Not a creature he could clip the wings of and keep in a cage. You had a gravitational pull of your own. New orbiters. A different life. 

It was better that he didn’t care. It really, really was.

So he didn’t need to see your anger. It wasn’t a privilege that was afforded to him anymore. Even with the blood alcohol level you were sporting, your thoughts stayed comparatively level. You looked up into his handsome face. He looked down into yours. You spoke first, over the pulse of the music. You almost had to yell into his face to be heard.

“Why are you here, Caleb? Just let me go.”

Caleb’s eyes widened a fraction. His dark brow furrowed. He made no move to let you off of the wall. You pushed on one of his arms that caged you in. Once, then again with more force. He didn’t budge. 

“You’re asking me why I’m here? I’m here to pick you up. To take you home. I was–”

You pushed on his elbow again, interrupting him. He only leaned into you further. His scent was so strong. Honey, amber. Wheatgrass. Apple peel. 

You raised your voice, just a touch.

“My home is in Linkon. You made it clear you didn’t want to see me. So just let me go.”

His hand held the back of your neck, trying to guide you to look into his face.

“Baby, look at me. Please hear me out. Please.”

Hearing him plead so earnestly, so sweetly, did make you look at him, despite yourself. You saw the tension of his body. The sweat that beaded along his hairline. There was a dark spot on his collar, on his otherwise crisp uniform. Suspiciously red. Your anger was forgotten, if only for a moment.

“Is that blood?”

Your hands spread on his chest, underneath his uniform jacket, almost of their own accord. He was slightly damp from his sweat. He leaned into your touch.

“Not mine,” he breathed into your ear. His voice barely concealed his want.

You wanted to push him away. To pull him closer.

You swallowed. He continued.

“I was on my way to see you, but I got a call from the fleet. There was…an incident. One the Colonel couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t use my phone, princess. Not in all that commotion. All I could think about was gettin’ back to you. I came straight here, as soon as I could. As soon as it was over. I’m really sorry.”

A few things became clear to you, at that moment. The first was that whatever incident had occurred, Caleb was under order not to discuss it with anyone. Secondly, Caleb had likely ended multiple lives before stepping into the club. Thirdly, he had referred to himself as the Colonel, like it was a skin suit he put on and wore. A third person. Not himself. The Colonel killed. Caleb – your brother– came to pick you up, still wearing that skin. Lastly, Caleb somehow knew your location, despite you long since having removed the bracelet he had put on you to keep track of your whereabouts. His hands had moved from caging you against the wall to running up your stomach, your sides, your arms. Before you could respond, he was nosing your neck again, speaking.  His voice, sweet with his apology not moments before, had taken on a harder edge.

“You smell like someone else. You were with someone else when I came.”

It wasn’t a question. He hadn’t even given you a chance to get a word in edgewise to accept or deny his explanation, his apology, before moving on to what you had been doing while he was enacting whatever nonsensical violence the fleet required of him. Your anger had begun to dull into flat resignation. 

“Yeah, well, while you were taking care of your incident, someone else was taking care of me. So there’s no need to worry. Apology accepted. Now let me go, so I can fuck off back home and you won’t have to deal with me again.”

You saw real hurt flash in Caleb’s eyes, just as a strobe light illuminated his face. Then, it cooled into a smile with warmth that didn’t reach elsewhere.

“Takin’ care of you? There’s no one else that could take care of you like I do. Even if there was,”

Caleb made a motion next to his head, miming a gun with two fingers. His thumb pulled the trigger, and his head recoiled in a mock suicide. His smile had a sort of frenzied panic to it. It reminded you of when he had offered to build you a garden, to rebuild your little house in Linkon. A maze.

“I’d just make them go away. And it’ll only be us. Just like always.” 

His voice, though he almost had to yell, was chipper. Your eyes drifted to the blood on Caleb’s shirt. 

Your right arm ached.

“Caleb–”

But he wasn’t listening. Caleb hoisted you into his arms effortlessly, and any struggle you could put up was subdued by the force of his evol pinning you close to his chest. Your face was just next to his collar, next to that blood stain. You smelled the iron of it. Of someone else's blood on him. The hand that was hooked under your knees made a motion, and an eerie slowness fell over the club. People still moved, but it was as if someone had taken frames from them – like they were photographs spliced together to create the illusion of movement. The music slowed strangely, too, a low hum instead of a pumping bass, like a sound out of Hell. Caleb carried you, stalking through the mass of slowed bodies. He looked down into your face. You saw the fondness of your big brother in his eyes as he spoke, and you were as a child again in his arms.

“I’m going to take you home. You’re going to wash up, and I’m going to cook you dinner. You’re going to eat, and then I’ll put you to bed. Okay, princess?”

What could you do but nod when he was like this? Your body felt exhausted from the weight of his evol, from the weight of his possession. You leaned your head against his chest, and inhaled his lovely scent, clutching at his uniform. He took you from the club and into the cool of the night, where his car was parked in the street. You squirmed upon seeing it, and Caleb chuckled, his evol opening the passenger side door. 

“I hate this fucking car,” you complained. 

As if he could do anything about it right now.

He deposited you in the passenger’s seat. His big hands took their time putting your seatbelt on. He lingered over your hip, just barely brushing your ass, and adjusted the strap over your breasts. A touch that was barely there. Your body was too warm. The alcohol. His touch. You wanted him to take the softest parts of you into his hands. Instead, he pulled away, and answered your complaint with soft placation.

“I know, baby. Be a good girl and bear with it for now.”

He pulled away, and offered you a little smile before shutting you in. He came around the driver’s side, and got in next to you. The vehicle roared to life under his touch. You turned towards him, adjusting your body. You put your elbow on the console, resting your weight on it. Even now, you found yourself falling into the familiar rapport of your banter.

“And what if I wasn’t good? Are you going to punish me?”

You echoed his own words back at him. Caleb’s expression was unreadable, but his gloved fingers brushed delicately over your forearm as he guided the car onto the darkness of the street.

“Do you want me to punish you?”

Caleb’s fingers retracted back to the wheel. His voice was so soft compared to the tone he had used in the nightclub. More delicate than even his touch.

“Or do you feel like you need to be punished? Like you deserve it? The way you punish yourself?”

You stared at him, agog.  His eyes, face, hands – all were quiet. You snorted, indignant. Heated words tumbled out of your mouth.

“That’s rich, coming from you. As if you don’t punish yourself in every aspect – even your meals are punishments, Caleb. I’ve seen the way you eat, the way you push your body. I know you. Maybe I’m your punishment, too.”

Caleb chuckled, a little exhale of breath. He shook his head. The fingers of his gloved right hand slipped into yours. A passing streetlight illuminated his face brilliantly, just for the briefest moment.

“What sin did I commit to earn such a perfect little punishment like you? If that’s what you are, I was born to be punished.”

Caleb had insisted on carrying you from the car into his apartment. You no longer had the energy to deny his insistence, so you let him. You clung to his front, one of his hands securely under your ass, the other around your back. You buried your face in his shoulder. The decorations on his uniform dug into the places where your skin was bare, like proof of violences committed, embedded into your skin. You pressed closer to him as he walked, and heard him inhale, almost imperceptibly, as you tightened your hold. Rather than let you go, Caleb’s evol retrieved his key, and unlocked his door. He carried you in, and shut the door behind him with a kick of his boot. You clung to him tighter.

He was going to put you down, but you didn’t want him to. You wanted to crawl inside that stupid uniform, to be the Colonel. To be Caleb. To be your brother. To be him. 

He smelled so, so good.

But he didn’t put you down. He carried you into the living room, and deposited your combined bodies onto the couch. You naturally came to straddle him. You felt his chest move with a laugh. The ornaments that hung from his ribbons clinked with the movement.

“You’re like a little vine, clingin’ to me. We can stay like this, but you’d feel better if you changed out of your shoes ‘n dress, angel. You need to eat, too.”

You peeled yourself from his chest to look into his face. His hat cast a dark shadow over his eyes. You removed it for him, wanting him to be in the light. His face became a little more familiar. A little more Caleb. You set the cap aside on the couch. Caleb made no move to stop you. He merely tilted his head with a smile. His hair was a little damp with sweat.

“And what about you? You’re still in full uniform. Aren’t you hot? Uncomfortable? You’re still wearing your boots. You need to eat, too. Shower. Rest.”

Caleb twirled some of your hair between his fingers thoughtfully. He was still wearing those damnable gloves, like an intentional barrier between you. The longer you sat on top of him, the harder you felt him grow underneath you.

“What happened to the little girl who demanded I help her dress and undress? To feed her? I feel a little spoiled, havin’ you ask me to take care of myself. I might get the wrong idea if you keep it up.”

You took yourself from his arms, and he squeezed you for a moment, as if reluctant to let you go. But he did release you. You stood in front of him, and bent up your knee, so that your foot was on his knee as he sat, against the white pants of his uniform. If helping you would compel him to take care of yourself, you would indulge him.

“Take off my shoes.”

Caleb’s eyes came alight as you spoke. They roved over your leg, down to your foot on his knee. He could have looked directly up your dress, had he wanted. You wanted. But he didn’t. Instead, he trained his eye on your foot, and his hands began working the straps open, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. He slid the shoe from your foot, lifting it by your heel. 

“Even your feet are pretty,” he murmured, seemingly talking to himself more than to you. He lifted your foot further, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your ankle, before letting it down delicately. He held his hands out expectantly for your other foot, and you put it in them. He repeated the same routine. Your shoes were set aside. His compliance and the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream had put you into a playful mood.  Any thoughts of eating or resting left you. You knew Caleb.

I’ll always play with you. Always.

 You stalked away from him, out of the living room and into the kitchen. He stood and followed after you obediently, the smile still on his face. You heard the sound of his dog tags clink as he got up, even underneath his uniform. His footsteps were assured, confident. 

“Playin’ tag with me, pretty girl?”

You leaned your stomach and face against the counter of his kitchen island. It was pleasantly cool on your too-hot skin.

“Not tag. Just wanted a change of scenery.”

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. He came to stand behind you. Hovering. You had a bizarre sensation, like for a fleeting moment, you were him. Seeing yourself through his eyes. Feeling his want. Your arm ached. The same feeling echoed between your legs. 

Pain as a result of desire. Desire as a result of pain.

You blinked, slowly, and it was gone.

“I like this scene.”

You peeked back at him. He rolled his right shoulder. You wondered if it was hurting him. You stayed leaning over the counter.

“Help me unzip, Caleb.”

Caleb said nothing. His hips slotted against yours. You felt his dick hard on your ass, his gloved hands making contact with the zipper of your dress. He took his time, the sound of the teeth coming apart loud in the otherwise silent apartment. The seams of his leather gloves ghosted over the skin of your back, making goosebumps crawl all the way up to your neck. You lifted your torso as he made his way to the bottom of the zipper, and the dress fell in a pool around your feet, like the shed skin of a snake. You hadn’t worn a bra under the dress, so you were left in just your panties. You leaned back down against the counter. It was too-cold on your bare stomach and breasts. You melted into it. Your body felt like a heavy liquid. Caleb leaned over you, enveloping you with the heat of his torso on your back. He supported himself with one hand by your head. 

“I should undress you, too,” You said, nearly speaking into the countertop.

“Not should. I want to.”

Caleb was quiet. The leather of his gloved fingers trailed down your sides, as if mapping them. You moved your hips back against him, and drank in the sound he made with an eagerness that surprised even yourself. You wished he would crush you up with those hands, peel off your skin, look at your insides – anything besides touching you like you would fall apart.

Why did he insist on staying clothed? The barrier began to frustrate you more and more. You pushed your hips against him again. He gripped your hips, grunting. His touch forced you to be still. He whispered, close to your ear.

“Should I let you? Earlier, you said someone else was takin’ care of you. Now, I want to take care of you. Only me. Do you want it to only be me? Is it only me?”

You knew what he was asking.

Is there someone else?

Caleb slid the last of your remaining garments from your body. They joined the corpse of your dress on the floor. You were naked, bent over the counter. You shivered. He hadn’t even removed his boots. Caleb leaned up, away from your back. You heard the sound of his zipper.

“Caleb,” you pleaded. The words he wanted to hear – you weren’t sure you had them. What did it mean for you to accept his care? To let go of being alone? To let go of the fact that he was dead?

To let go of your brother?

“Please,” you tried. You heard a shuffling of fabric, a quiet exhale.

“It’s so hard for me to say no to you. You know it, too.”

He sounded relaxed, like had sounded when he was certain he would win a game for you as kids. You pushed your thighs together, anticipating his touch. 

“But I won’t say yes, either. Not until you tell me that it’s only me, pip.”

The nickname sent an inexplicable wave of sadness washing over you. Instead of giving you what you hoped for, Caleb’s gloves caressed your thighs, your ass. You felt no shyness about being exposed to him; only that it was right. Only that you wanted more from him, like you had for a long time. His hands squeezed with less delicacy than before, spreading you open. Gripping your muscles with big, strong hands.

“I’ve wanted to see you open for me like this for so long,”

His thumbs kept you spread apart. You looked back over his shoulder. He was looking at your sex with such intensity that it made your heart want to come out of your throat.

“So perfect. My pretty girl.” 

“Caleb,” you tried. You were used to making demands of him. Maybe he would give in to you. Like always.

“I want you inside of me. Please.”

You lifted your hips, stood on your tiptoes. Caleb made a frustrated sound in his throat.

“I’ll fill you up, baby. Don’t worry. But I won’t do anythin’ more than that until you tell me what I need to hear.”

A gasp left you as you felt the head of Caleb’s cock press against you. You were so wet that you were certain he wouldn’t struggle. Even with his size. You heard him spit into his glove, then wrap it around his cock, stroking himself with the wet leather.

Caleb was sliding himself inside you, then. Stretching you apart with himself, filling you in ways that you had imagined so, so many times. He was impossibly warm, perfectly big. It was like your body already knew his shape and size. It accepted him with only the smallest of difficulties. You overflowed with him perfectly. You scrabbled at the countertop, and Caleb trapped your wrists between one of his hands.

You both breathed silently, for a time. You, through your open mouth, he through his nose. His weight was reassuring on top of you. 

“Caleb,” you breathed,

“You feel so – so good inside of me.”

Caleb’s cock twitched inside of you at your words. 

“I know, baby. It’s ‘cause I was made for you. To make you feel good.”

As if to prove his point, he shifted his hips against you harder. Not fucking you, just trying to reach deeper inside. You lifted your hips into him. He gripped you, holding you in place. You still couldn’t feel any of his skin – just his uniform and leather. You hated it. Even while he was inside you, he punished himself. He punished you. 

“Touch me. Without the gloves – just..” 

His hands caressed your sides, your ribs. Your shoulder blades.

“Tell me the truth, then. Go on. I know you can do that for me, right?” 

He fisted a hand in your hair, and pulled your head up by your neck. His teeth grazed the newly exposed skin there. You swallowed with difficulty. The angle made it harder to speak. Your voice came out cracked, but assured.

“You’re the only one. My only brother. My only man. Caleb, please. It’s – it’s just you. It could only ever be you.”

A sound of pure aggression, arousal, ripped out of Caleb’s throat. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

His gloves came off, then. They landed with ferocity on the counter next to you, thrown down. Caleb’s hands – one metal, one flesh, caressed your skin. You were still full of him, his hands stroking every inch he could reach, cold and warm at the same time. He lifted you so that your back was against his chest, cock still inside of you. One hand, the metal one, went gently around your neck. Squeezed. The other went between your legs.

“You’re gonna’ cum on my cock, okay? I’m not going to fuck you, and you’re going to cum.”

You arched into him, wanting more than just his hand. More than just his stillness inside of you. More than a punishment.

“But–”

Your hands tugged at his mechanical arm, looking for purchase. Hoping to spur him on. 

“Do as you’re told.” 

His command came at the same time that his fingers started to move against you. As he touched you, quicker and with more urgency, you felt him grow impossibly larger inside of you, twitching with every sound and movement you made. You barely had time to whisper his name before you felt yourself tighten around him, your pleasure reaching its peak with just his fingers and his closeness, after being teased for so long. Your body stiffened, and he lifted you as you came, your feet dangling just above the floor. He held you tight, so tight you could no longer breathe, if only for a moment. His hips made one singular movement – only fucking into you once, the sound wet. 

“Fuck, baby girl, I’m gonna’ come inside of you –”

You felt the heat of his spill inside of you just moments after, his dick pulsing. You fell limply back into him, and he stayed inside of you, riding it out as he held your full weight. He slipped out of you as he began to soften, and you were lifted into his arms by his evol, into a princess carry. You hardly had the energy to cling to him, your body melting into his. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead as he walked. His gait, the heavy sound of his boots – they lulled you into a state of relaxation. Neither of you seemed to have words, for that time. Nothing was needed.

He brought you into his – your – bedroom, and laid you gently on the bed. You stretched sore limbs. He was still in that fucking uniform. He turned from you, and you caught him by the sleeve.

“Don’t go.” 

Caleb smiled, stroking his hand through your damp hair. 

“I’m just gettin’ something to clean you up. Two seconds.”

“One,” you counted.

Caleb grinned, and hurried to retrieve a towel. He returned with it shortly, and wiped you down, lifting your weary arms, between your legs. You watched him through your lashes as he did so. He had tucked himself back into his boxers, but he was clearly hard again. 

“Caleb,” you threatened,

“If you don’t let me take off that uniform, I’m going to throttle you in your sleep.”

Caleb’s brows shot up, and a cheeky grin erupted over his features. He pinched your cheek between his thumb and index finger.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, pip-squeak.” 

This was your Caleb. Not the Colonel. You rolled your eyes at him, and threw your legs over the edge of the bed. You stood, naked, yet somehow invulnerable near him. He stood, too. His hands hovered around you, like he expected you to fall at any moment. Instead of falling, you went for his tie. You made quick work of the knot, and discarded it on the carpet. Then came his jacket. It fell heavily to the floor. Then his dress shirt. Then his undershirt, until was left in just his pants and boots. You knelt. 

“Pip–” he protested. He sounded strained.

You hushed him, and unzipped his boots, tugging them off of his feet. He helped you lift them off. Then came his socks. Even over the sounds of fabric and leather, you could hear the intensity of his breathing pick up. You righted yourself, and slid both his pants and boxers off in one go. He stepped out of them, not sparing them a second glance. He hugged you to him, as soon as he was naked. His cock was hard against your naked stomach. His big arms crushed you against him, like he was trying to meld you to him. His body was so warm that it was like basking in the heat of the summer sun.

“Caleb,” you said, nearly imperceptibly, into his chest.

He stroked your hair with his big palm, rough from handling a yoke.

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry. I’m home.”

[connorsui]

UNLIMITED ACCESS!

This was wonderfully requested by my beloved @madam8 who gave me such a beautiful idea for a sylus date and I couldn't let go of it until I completed it 😭😭🩷🩷 like it's so cute that even when I was studying I kept thinking of new ways to end the fic or new scenes to add into it. --- it was ...AAUGH- my heart ...tho I do apologize for how long this one took out ur girl was busy trying not to fail classes 💀💀 ...lol 💅🏻

p.s if you see my corpse surrounded by flowers anywhere you can blame it on this ask ✨️ I LOVE IT

It started, as most things with Sylus did, with...

extravagance.

He had a habit of planning nights that felt more like events—private rooftops overlooking the shimmering city skyline, candlelit dinners in places that required reservations months in advance, evenings where the very sky seemed to bend to his will.

Luxurious. Impeccable. Always grand.

And while you loved those moments—loved him—there was something else you had been craving lately.

Something... simpler.

So one evening, as he idly twirled a glass of dark liquor between his fingers and casually mentioned taking you to a private villa on an island, you leaned into his space, resting your chin on your palm, and asked—

"Why don’t we do something more…plain? Just for the day—I mean."

Sylus stilled slightly, red eyes flickering toward you, waiting.

"Don’t get me wrong, I love our dates," you continued, "but I think it’d be nice to just do something fun. Silly, even. Maybe a little childish?"

A playful smile curled at your lips.

"Just… something where you don’t have to rent out an entire skyline to impress me."

He raised a brow, surprised. "You wish for something plain?"

You grinned. "Exactly. So let’s just have a normal date. Like—oh! What about an amusement park? Or an arcade? Or the fair!"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a measured movement. "Your ideas are enjoyable… I wouldn't mind indulging in them."

"Yeah! It’ll be fun, I promise. We can see what rides you like, if you’ll actually tolerate roller coasters, or if you’re one of those people who insists they’re too predictable." You smirked. "Oh, and you have to try winning me something from one of those carnival games."

He regarded you with that ever-neutral gaze, quiet and considering, before finally murmuring—

"For you, I wouldn’t mind fulfilling that request."

You smiled, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek, already excited for whatever simple, carefree date he would plan.

Or so you thought.

Because somehow—somehow—things escalated.

Instead of just buying tickets like a normal person, Sylus had decided the best course of action was to…

Buy. The. Entire. Damn. Park.

Your favorite amusement park, to be exact.

And now here you stood at the entrance, staring up at the massive sign that should have been buzzing with families, groups of friends, and screaming children running past in excitement.

Instead, it was silent.

The ticket booths? Closed. The parking lot? Void of life.

The only people here were you, Sylus, and the staff, who stood patiently, waiting only for the two of you.

You turned to him slowly, your brain still buffering.

"Sylus… I—when I said I wanted a fun day with you… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Sylus, as usual, looked completely unbothered. "Did I get the wrong park?"

You blinked. "…No, but—Sylus, what—" You gestured at the empty surroundings, struggling to form a coherent thought. "You didn’t have to—How did you even do this?"

He tilted his head, as if you had asked a genuinely confusing question. "I bought it."

You took a deep breath. "No, I know that, but why?"

Sylus blinked at you, expression calm yet calculating, like he was trying to gauge whether you were actually upset.

"Would you prefer a different one? I can acquire another if this one isn’t to your liking."

You choked. "Acquire—Sylus, I meant let’s just have a normal day at the park! With other people! Like… buying tickets, not—not monopolizing an entire amusement park for us!"

He hummed thoughtfully. "That would be inconvenient. I don’t like crowds."

Your brain short-circuited. "Okay, fair, but I’m not even sure how to react to this." You ran a hand down your face, staring at the vast, empty park. "Do I just… accept this? Should I ask you to sell it back? Is it even going to open to normal people when we're not here?"

Sylus exhaled softly, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His red eyes, sharp yet steady, held an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I wanted you to have the best experience," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate—like he was peeling back the layers of his thoughts just for you. "No interruptions. No strangers ruining our time. No one else pulling your attention away."

His thumb ghosted along your jaw, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

"I wanted today to be ours. Every moment, every ride, every second—only for us."

Your heart squeezed at the weight of his words.

Sylus was always confident, always in control—but this was different. This wasn’t about power or extravagance.

This was about ...you.

He had done this for you.

Damn him.

Damn him and his ability to turn something so ridiculous into something that made your heart melt.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples before looking up at him again. "You really don’t do things halfway, huh?"

His lips twitched, almost smirking. "Would you expect anything less?"

You huffed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

His hand slipped from your chin to your wrist, fingers curling around it as he tugged you toward the entrance.

"Then let’s stop worrying about it and enjoy it as much as we can."

You let him pull you forward, your brain still catching up to the fact that this was happening. That you were about to experience an amusement park that was literally all yours for the day.

And honestly?

You weren’t going to complain.

But as you walked in, something felt... strange.

The park was…alive?

Despite the complete absence of other guests, the workers were still here—acting as if today was a completely normal day.

Vendors stood at their booths, flipping burgers, making cotton candy, lining up pretzels under warming lamps. The game stalls were manned, workers casually leaning against counters, ready to hand out prizes.

The park’s parade performers were still marching down the street. A princess in a poofy dress waved at you. Mascot characters moved in synchronized greetings, despite the fact that no one was here but you.

It was… surreal.

Sylus squeezed your hand as you slowed to take it all in. "I told them to proceed as usual. It would’ve been eerie if everything was frozen."

You turned to him. "So… it’s like the park is still running, but we’re the only ones who get to experience it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don’t you think it’s better this way?"

You inhaled deeply, looking around again.

Sylus watched you carefully, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Are you alright?"

You hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course! I mean—” You hesitated again, glancing around as your expression softened. “It’s nothing wrong, I promise! I love that you did this, I do, but…” You exhaled, running a hand through your hair before looking up at him again.

“I just—I wanted this day to be special not just for us entirely, but to have a moment together surrounded by everyone and everything.” Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. “The chatter, the energy, the crowds moving past us. The chaos of it all.”

You shrugged, a little sheepish. “I know you don’t like being around too many people, and I love that you wanted to make this day perfect for me, but part of what makes an amusement park so special is the shared experience, y’know? That feeling of being one in a sea of people, laughing together, screaming on rides, getting bumped into by kids running past, standing too close in lines because there's no choice…”

Your words trailed off as you searched his gaze, unsure how he’d react.

For a moment, Sylus didn’t say anything. His red eyes remained locked onto yours, unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his fingers idly traced over your knuckles, as if considering your words carefully.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose—slow and measured, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“…I see...I- ” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a shift in his tone.

He glanced around, taking in the completely empty pathways, the stalls with no customers, the parade performing for no one but you two. The sight of the workers, stationed and waiting, but missing the usual life of the park.

Sylus was pragmatic. He saw a problem, he solved it. Simple. To him, the best way to ensure you had an amazing day was to remove all obstacles—the crowds, the noise, the inconvenience of waiting in lines or dealing with other people.

But now, as he watched you, something seemed to click.

“…Would you like me to open the park?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—you mean, like, right now?”

He nodded once. “If it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered. "Sylus—I didn’t say all that just to guilt you into—”

He raised a brow. “It’s not about guilt. You wanted to share this moment with people and I took that possibility from you” He pulled out his phone as if he could undo an entire park shutdown with a single call—which, knowing him, he probably could.

You stared at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh, reaching to stop his hand before he could dial. “Okay, hold on, let’s think about this rationally—”

Sylus merely looked at you, waiting for what you were bound to say next.

You exhaled, lacing your fingers with his properly. “Look, it’s okay. I love what you did, and I will enjoy this day with you.” You squeezed his hand. “I just needed a moment to process it, that’s all.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his red eyes scanning your face as if committing every little twitch of emotion to memory. Then, his gaze flickered past you, landing on a nearby booth.

A teddy bear stand.

Without a word, he turned, gently tugging you along by the hand.

You blinked in surprise. “Wait—where are we—?”

He stopped in front of the booth, staring at the rows of stuffed bears lined up in varying sizes, from tiny keychains to ones nearly as tall as you. His jaw was set, unreadable, but his grip around your hand was firm.

“Sylus?” You tilted your head at him, watching as he eyed the game—a classic ring toss setup.

“I failed to give you what you really wanted,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You should at least receive something in return.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it.

Soft, but laced with frustration.

Like he was genuinely bothered that his attempt to make you happy had missed the mark.

“Sylus…” You squeezed his hand, stepping closer. “You don’t have to win me anything—”

He ignored that, already rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease. His focus was entirely on the game now, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the distance, the weight of the rings stacked beside the booth’s attendant.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

Sylus said nothing, simply holding his hand out for the rings. The worker—completely unphased, as if watching an overpowered, absurdly rich man win rigged carnival games was just another part of the job—wordlessly handed them over.

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Sylus, you really don’t have to—”

The first ring landed perfectly on the bottle.

Your mouth snapped shut.

Another.

And another.

Without missing a single shot.

The worker gave a small, almost-impressed nod. “Pick your prize.”

Sylus turned to you, expectant.

You stared between him and the game, caught between laughter and disbelief. “This your way of an apology gift?

“And would that change anything if I said yes?”

“Sylus –”

You huffed, shaking your head before pointing to one of the bigger teddy bears—one with a white soft, plush face and an oversized red ribbon around its neck.

Sylus retrieved it without hesitation, turning to face you fully as he held it out.

“ you sure you didn't have me in mind? ” he said simply.

You giggled at him, your fingers curling around the soft fabric as you accepted the gift. “mayyybee”

It wasn’t about the bear. It wasn’t about the game.

It was him.

Sylus, who never half-assed anything. Who overthought in ways you weren’t always aware of. Who, despite his arrogance, still hated feeling like he had let you down.

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“…You’re too much at times” you murmured, hugging the teddy bear to your chest.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Says the one getting emotional over a stuffed animal.”

You shot him a playful glare, but when he reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, you softened.

“....Still,Thank you, for everything-- I mean” you murmured.

Sylus didn’t say anything, but his grip lingered—just for a second—not thinking of letting you go.

But as you continued walking, you caught the way his fingers brushed against his phone once more, a brief flicker of thought crossing his expression.

You narrowed your eyes. “Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not secretly opening the park back up again ….behind my back…are you?”

His lips curled, amused. “...perhaps”

[kashverse]

reading in the bathtub is an art. a refined, luxurious experience that not everyone can afford—because first, you need a bathtub. 

nanami knew this when he was investing in real estate. a house? non-negotiable. a bathtub? even more so. so, naturally, his bathroom is a haven. a scientifically optimized oasis. the water is at the perfect temperature, bubble bath carefully selected for its all-natural ingredients and sophisticated scent. a wooden tray stretches across the tub, holding a single lit candle (subtle, not overwhelming), a perfectly arranged plate of snacks, and a glass of wine—because real men drink wine. and while he lounges, perfectly balanced between relaxation and intellectual stimulation, he reads the american economic review or whatever riveting financial analysis he’s stumbled upon that day. nanami does not work overtime. because this is what he comes home to.

meanwhile, on the other side of the city, gojo is living the same dream. sort of. he saw a tiktok about this once. self-care. candles. a book. it all seemed very aesthetic. so, naturally, he has a copy of true literary genius—diary of a wimpy kid—in his hands. but gojo is not a silent reader. he is an orator, and the rubber ducks in front of him are his enraptured audience. his narration is passionate, animated, occasionally breaking off into dramatic reenactments. eventually, he gets bored of the actual text, so the book is unceremoniously shoved to the side, where half of it immediately gets submerged. whatever. duck storytime has begun. one of them is an undercover agent. another is hiding from their tragic past. the smallest duck, whom he has named "gregory," is framed for tax evasion. it is a gripping tale.

geto, on the other hand, approaches bath time with absolute precision. self-care isn’t just a routine. it’s a philosophy. he enters the bathroom with purpose, hair already secured in a perfectly executed, no-nonsense bun. his book of choice? the latest issue of vogue, which is not just being read—it is being annotated. entire pages are flagged with sticky notes, margins scribbled with commentary on new product lines, runway looks, places to visit, people to admire, things to buy. he is invested. if someone walked in, they might mistake this for serious academic research. in a way, it is.

meanwhile, toji does not have a bathtub. neither has he asked for one, nor have you asked for one, so he does not see the point. but this does not mean he is not a man of literature. he reads—specifically, your ninth-grade diary. in the shower. out loud. your innermost thoughts during your peak one direction era echo against the tiles as he smirks, flipping the pages with all the arrogance of someone who now holds ultimate leverage over you. he will never let you live this down.

choso, bless his heart, does not understand why people read in the bath, but he is fully committed to the concept. he brings a book in with full enthusiasm, and he will read it. even as his fingers wrinkle into pruned, soggy raisins. even when the pages begin to warp from the moisture. he is determined.

sukuna does not read. not because he can't—he just refuses. he will soak, though, reclining in the bath like some ancient king surveying his kingdom. you will read to him. because that is how it was done ‘in his time.’ and he sees no reason to change tradition. if you attempt to stop, he will nudge you with his foot until you resume. "keep going," he grumbles, eyes shut, thoroughly enjoying this outdated, borderline royal treatment. whatever. 

[zealouswitchwerewolf]

Tim didn't know what had made him decide to give Damian another chance. If he had to guess, he'd say it was a collection of small moments instead of one big life-changing one. The way Damian was gentle with the animals at the farm, taking care of them in any way they needed without waiting to be asked or caring about dirtying his clothes. It was about the secret smiles Damian got when he thought no one was watching. How he helped the Kents around the house with excitement, delighted to learn new skills instead of annoyed at being put to work. He saw his need to be of use even when no one required it. He was so small. He had seen him struggle to reach things all around the kitchen while trying to help, too shy to ask for a stool, too stubborn to give up.

He was just a kid. A kid with assassin training and a lifetime of trauma but a kid nonetheless. Looking back to his early days at the manor, he could see the insecurity in his actions against Tim. The way he had acted out of fear instead of real aggression. Bruce hadn't helped. Too busy with Jason and the league and Batman to raise a child, or the last 4 for that matter. Damian had received no reassurances of his place in the family. No way to know if he would be allowed to stay without carving a place for himself. Tim understood it better now that he had seen the inner workings of the league. The realization had come gradually but it had stayed on the back of his mind, making him feel like he was missing something. It had gotten him to pay more attention to the kid.

That was how he had finally seen what was bothering him. It was in the small gestures. The minute flinches he displayed every time he was shown affection, the way he seemed to lean towards any kind of friendly touch for the first few seconds only to step away from it as soon as he realized what he was doing. Tim could see his walls were up almost all the time, even while knowing he was in a safe space. At first he had thought it was because of him. Eventually he realized it was another part of his training. That's when he realized Damian still felt like every single moment was a test of some kind. The uncertainty around his undefined position in the family still preventing him from relaxing, even now that he had Robin.

The kid was desperate for affection and clearly touch starved but couldn't let himself lower his guard enough to get what he needed. Hugs didn't help either. It opened him to too many attacks and he could not relax while knowing he was vulnerable in more ways than one. He could see the kid's anxiety skyrocket whenever the Kents initiated one. He hoped it was different with Dick, the two of them had formed a deep connection. Either way, it wasn't enough.

It got worse when the Waynes had their falling out. Tim knew the hero community had decided to shield him but it didn't stop him from keeping informed. He was well aware of the moment things blew up on their face after they realized Bruce's words were just that. Hollow and not backed by Bruce's beliefs. His love was very much conditional and his affection given sparsely.

It was something that wouldn't change unless Bruce put some serious effort into maturing his emotional intelligence and realigning his priorities. Tim didn't see it happening any time soon. He had finally accepted there was not much he could do about it. Not really. He had been trying for years at the expense of his health and sanity and the best he had accomplished was giving him a superficially happy family with such a fragile foundation that it had taken just one small blow to tear the illusion apart. He couldn't fix someone that didn't think there was anything wrong with his current way of life. Leaving was one of the hardest things he had done but he didn't regret it.

That said, he still felt partially responsible. He knew Bruce's mess was his own and Tim shouldn't have to be there to clean it. Dick and Jason were all grown up and perfectly capable of making their own choices. Cass, Steph, Barbara and Duke had all moved on and found communities where they fit in with people they cared about out of the family. They were thriving. Damian, however, was still a child. He didn't have as many options or enough experience in interpersonal relationships to know anything was wrong to begin with or how to go about changing it. Tim couldn't let his little brother suffer without at least trying to help. He had decided to intervene.

It had taken him a few days to determine the best approach. He wanted Damian to know he had options and to show him how healthy relationships worked. He wanted him to be able to relax and let down his walls when he was around people he trusted, even if Tim was not included in that list. He did not want to interact with the rest of the Waynes. With that in mind, he had settled on a plan and gotten to work.

He had started small. He had talked to the Kents. At first it was just Martha and Jonathan present. He had explained the situation and his theories on what would help Damian. He had told them to find a balance to provide affection to Damian through touch without making him feel vulnerable or exposed to an attack. He had then asked Jon, with Ma and Pa's blessing, to start inviting Damian to the farm more often and for shorter trips. He had then started working on his own relationship with Damian.

He approached it slowly, being nearby without being perceived as a threat. Sitting close enough to count as company but not to touch if either of them extended their arms. Working on his homework or his projects without putting on headphones or making himself unapproachable. Keeping his body language open and inviting. Letting Damian be the one to decide if he wanted to interact and do so on his terms. Eventually, the kid took him up on it. It started with small gestures, Damian sitting closer and working on his drawings while Tim kept doing homework. Bringing him snacks or drinks if he got up to get his own.

After a while, they started talking as well. Damian was hesitant at first. Tim had seen him try and talk and had decided it counted as the first move and asked about his pets. It was easier from then. They talked about the farm, the Kents, Tim's independent projects, his major, Damian's drawings, his upcoming events. Damian had told him Bruce demanded his attendance at a gala later that week and Tim had given him tips and tricks to survive Gotham's elite. They still tiptoed around the topic of their family. Damian didn't talk about them, even if he mentioned their name every once in a while. Tim didn't push.

Eventually, Damian had gathered the courage to apologize about his early interactions with Tim. Tim had accepted the apology and taken it as an invitation to start a bigger conversation about healthy relationships and family dynamics. Damian looked thoughtful and sad. Tim had taken it a step further and made him promise to come to him if he ever felt unsafe in his current situation. Damian had looked perplexed and ready to snap his walls back up. Tim had given him enough examples and details to show that he was being earnest and had managed to extract the promise.

Now, Damian was at his door with too many bags to only be visiting but too little to contain everything he owned. Tim couldn't say he didn't see it coming. He had still hoped to be wrong.

The next few months went by quickly. They settled into a routine and Tim made sure to establish clear expectations and well defined boundaries around their arrangement. He started looking for houses, taking Damian to see the more promising ones. He knew his little brother would want to have his animals back with him and they needed more space than the apartment could provide. He bought enough psychology books to fill up a small library. He showed most to Damian. Some he kept to himself. He talked to Ma constantly, trying to make sure he was giving Damian everything he needed to thrive and grow knowing that he was loved. That he mattered. It was nerve wracking. It was worth it when Damian led him to his room, proudly showing his decorations and waiting for Tim's approval. The trust in his eyes was the best compliment Tim had gotten in a long time.

As they got used to living together and relying on each other, Tim kept adding new things to their routine that he thought would benefit Damian. He bought him materials for his art, clothes meant for comfort more than usefulness, things for his pets. He offered to teach him photography, Damian agreed and offered to teach him different drawing techniques. He started introducing Damian to new people, partly to ensure he had more people in his corner if Tim wasn't available but also to expand his bubble of trust and work on de-isolating him after all the years he had spent mostly alone in the manor. He started with people Damian already knew and trusted. Cass, then Steph and Duke, then Kon and Bart, then J'onn, Diana, and Clark, then Zatanna, then some of his university friends, and so on.

He took note of who Damian seemed to click with and arranged more outings with them. He wasn't expecting Damian to connect with everyone but he wanted to give him the option to do so and enough people for Damian to interact without any expectations outside of getting to know them for a bit. Only a select few were allowed inside their house. Tim's priority was for it to be Damian's safe space and he wasn't going to jeopardize that for anything. Only people that had earned Damian's full trust got to visit them in their sanctuary. Everyone else met them outside. It was a good system.

He also enrolled Damian into school, silently transferring legal guardianship of the boy to himself after he had gotten his permission to do so. He didn't think the bats had noticed yet. Bruce was still trying to get to Tim in any way possible (Tim saw his repeated attempts on his security systems and kept an eye on the times he tried to get people to give away his information). Dick had gone back to Bludhaven after the latest screaming match and wasn't aware there was anything out of the ordinary happening. Alfred had contacted Ma Kent to inquire about Damian's safety (his words, not Tim's) then had continued with his duties as Bruce's butler without doing anything else. He cared in his own way, just not enough to take a stand against his ward.

Life kept going. Damian's 13th birthday came and went, they spent it with the Kents and visiting Damian's animals. They moved to a bigger house and Tim started looking at blueprints to build something to house Damian's pets closer to the boy. As they moved in, they decided to turn the living room into a shared study for them both. On one side Damian's painting materials and all his drawings, on the other a sturdy table with comfy seats and enough space for Tim to work on his latest project. They included a couch and a few other places to sit and spend time together. They turned a smaller room into a game room with a big TV, board games and different consoles. They turned the rest of the rooms that weren't their own into guest rooms for the Kents and the few others allowed to visit. Slowly they started filling the walls with their own decorations. Damian's drawings of Titus and Alfred, Tim's pictures of the city and Damian's pets, a few of the ones they had taken together on their excursions. Damian lamented leaving all his old art projects behind but when Tim offered to get them he decided to just start new ones.

Damian's first big drawing in the new house had been a surprise to Tim. He had insisted on covering it whenever he wasn't working on it, making Tim promise not to take a peek and being careful not to show it to him whenever he added to it. Tim was curious but he wanted to respect his little brother's privacy and let him do things on his own terms. It took almost a month to complete. Damian had finished it while Tim was out of the house. By the time he had come back, Damian had been waiting impatiently at the door and had led him to their study as soon as he was within reach. Once they were there, Damian had started fidgeting before hesitantly turning his finished painting so that Tim could finally see it.

Tim felt his heart fill with warmth. It was a painting of him and Damian standing at the Kent's farm. It was breathtaking. Damian had managed to capture the welcoming essence of the Kent's while keeping the focus on him and Tim and their closeness. It felt more like a candid picture of them than a portrait. Full of life and love. Tim felt a few tears escape his eyes as he pulled Damian close and hugged him. Later that day, he got it framed in a design both him and Damian approved of and hung it up in the center of their living room. Even as Damian's collection grew and the walls started filling with art from both of them depicting their adventures, it remained his favorite.

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? They they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

[magnecalliope]

I think the size of the Kingdom vs the Honey Badgers is indicative of the way that Foolish and Bad treat the mortals around them. Disregarding of the fact that both of them have admitted they don't really feel bad about dragging bystanders into their quarrels for a second, they both have very different modes of interacting with the world around them.

Foolish, for example, is friendly and personable. He makes an effort to be diplomatic, to make everyone feel included and welcome whether they are part of his faction or not. Even if his relationships are only skin deep, people can't help but fall a little in love with him. He's the life of the party, the host everyone wants to hang out with. It's easy to say yes to someone like that when they ask you to join their team.

Bad, on the other hand, is more closed off, holding people at arm's length. His relationships tend to be more transactional, and he can be downright nasty to even those he considers allies. Despite keeping a relatively friendly tone he frequently says offputting things, either to shock or because he is genuinely just that disconnected from social mores. Even if he's a brilliant tactician and strong ally, he's just not the kind of person most normal people would want to be around.

Foolish loves to surround himself with mortals like they are his playthings. They're collectibles. And sure, he'll be a little sad if they break, but he can always get new ones. Bad treats them more like tools. What does it matter if he only has a couple allies as long as those allies fulfill their purpose? But the thing is that some tools are so specialized, that their value is incalculable. They can't easily be replaced, and their loss is that much more devastating when it happens.

[ithinkthiswasabadidea]

I'm not anywhere really near or into Kingdom Come: Deliverance, but since the second game released recently, I've seen a lot of new attention on my social medias, particularly around Henry and Hans' relationship

And I, very obviously, love queer characters and relationships, and even moreso the canon ones, so I watched the IGN video explaining how one might romance Hans in the second game

Man. I was blown away.

By now I've played a handful of rpg's and romanced a handful of npc's, but not ONCE has the dialogue and action of a confession scene ever felt quite so real and as beautifully acted

I have almost zero other context about the games or characters, yet I haven't stopped thinking about that romance scene in days

That you build up the affection and genuine care for Hans through dialogue choices feels completely non-forced, and you can tell that Hans enjoys your presence and respects you immensely. Henry gently encouraging and helping Hans when he's uncomfortable, always concerned about his wellbeing. There's such a solid foundation of mutual trust that even I, as an outside viewer, can tell that both men truly would put their lives in the others hands

And then the confession scene itself? Henry coming to say goodbye, and because of the work that has been put in to convey Henry's feelings of care and devotion for Hans, it's Hans himself who starts the conversation. He tells a story that he 'doesn't have his own words for', displaying that he's uncertain about how this might go, but knowing that it needs to be said before Henry leaves. He's both deflecting and projecting, using this story as a way to cushion the segue into his own feelings, or the blow of rejection should it come. And as Hans imagines something terrible happening to Henry, he immediately gets emotional, voice shaking, knowing he'd be unable to help

There's a small moment as Henry reassures that he'll be alright, when he places a hand on top of Hans' and this small, delightfully hopeful smile appears on Hans' face. I take this to be the moment where Hans believes that Henry has understood his story, and his way of confessing his feelings, and that Henry feels the same way about him. Then Henry stands, moving to leave and Hans' smile drops. Perhaps Henry's confidence falters here, and before he can reciprocate his true feelings and kiss him, Hans is running on adrenaline and courage and pulls Henry into the kiss instead, before he can second-guess himself

It's awkward, uncertain. Hans has this almost crushing grip on Henry like he's barely sure what he's just done, just that he couldn't let him walk away without doing something . And when Henry turns his head and steps back, noises of shock and breathlessness, Hans jumps back like he's been burned and spurned. He's stammering and stuttering out an apology, quiet and upset, unlike his usual self

Hans' body language as he turns away, making himself smaller, making more space between them than is necessary, it displays how he thinks his actions have just been perceived - that Henry doesn't feel the same way, he just ruined a perfectly good friendship, he's made himself look weak. He rubs at his mouth like he wishes he could remove the feel of Henry's lips against his own, tries apologising again, gasping for air, screws up his face in anxiety or anger for his recklessness......

Then Henry makes his own decision and speeds back over to him, pulling him into an even more crushing embrace and kiss, before they make their way over to the bed

The acting direction here in this scene is just so delectablely real . It looks and feels like I'm a fly on the wall of a real life confession, where both men are less than certain about their futures, and even less certain about how their relationship is perceived in the others eyes. Hans is visibly scared of rejection when Henry turns his back, Henry is visibly coming to terms with what he wants in this moment

The reactions are the most natural thing in the world, especially in a game that strives for realism. There was clearly a great deal of care that went into writing and directing this relationship, and with how naturally it progressed to this climax

And I think that's where the divide is for me, when I think about the romance options in BG3 or other rpgs, because there is something more flowery and shiny about those romances that I've experienced. Like they're too perfect, too polished and rehearsed, no room to have any fuck ups or moments of imperfection. But it's the awkwardness and show of non-positive emotions and reactions, rather than immediate lust and experience, that really pins the Henry and Hans scene above the rest

There's probably more I could say, and I'm sure there's more that others who know these characters and the games could say, but I just wanted to get my thoughts into some words and hope that it strikes true with someone else

I don't think I've ever seen a romance scene in a video game, that has felt so genuine as this. A thousand kudos to the actors for Hans and Henry, and the writers and directors for this marvellously curated scene ❤️

[scorpioriesling]

OML so good things come it groups of three has had me in a headlock and I don’t want to escape. I have trieddddddd so very hard to find scraps of smth like it and I found nothing😔. So here I am wondering if we the people can get another Liam/Ridoc/Bodhi (or another combination of fw guys if ur feeling silly) x Reader PLEASE 🙏. If you wanna make it a part two or a whole new thing idc Ill eat whatever you give me your writing is AMAZING.

-🎀Anon

Good Things Come in Groups of Three (Round 2)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Liam x Ridoc x Bodhi x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, smut

Summary: Studying in the library late at night has your mind wandering… you can blame it on the time of night, the lack of sleep, or simply being alone. Regardless of the excuse, you can’t seem to put those 3 boys out of your mind.

SR’s Note: Thank you for your patience, queen. (; I hope this part 2 measures up to your expectations!! Also, I don’t want to spoil anything, but I do have this group of 3 + reader involved once again!! It’s only a draft right now for Kinktober… so you definitely don’t want to miss out!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Your eyes roved over the text, trying to commit it to memory. Jesinia had done you a solid, pulling some of the best tomes for you to study before your test on Friday. Her expertise not only a scribe, but as your friend just might be what saved your grade.

If you could keep your mind from wandering, that is.

You'd caught yourself thinking, more than once, about the utterly insane predicament you'd found yourself in last week. It seemed that every time you turned a page in the textbook, images would race through your mind, each one as dirty as the last.

Liam fucking you in the shower.

Sitting atop Ridoc's face.

Bodhi's dick filling your throat.

...fuck.

You shake your head, the memory only sending more uncomfortable sensations to your core. This wasn't the time, nor the place -- nowhere, would ever be the time or place again. That was a one and done deal; one you'd be much too embarassed to repeat.

As your palms press into your eyes, you turn your attention to the wall clock, trying to make out the numbers it read.

11:57 pm.

Dammit, you hadn't wanted to be here this late. Perhaps all the reading and pouring over the material was good though, as you felt much more prepared for your upcoming exam. However, you'd failed to notice everyone emptying out of the library over the past few hours.

Your breath catches as you glance around, the dark silence of the hall sending a shiver down your spine. You were right, no one was here at this hour; it was simply you, and the stacks of books.

Book stacks you wouldn't mind being fucked against.

Okay, you really had to stop.

Glancing around once more, you slunk down into your chair a little lower, your fingers slowly leaving the table in favor of tracing along your leather pants. The pressure was getting unbearable, every moment of your past rendezvouz replaying in your mind as your panties grew wetter and wetter.

Ridoc's dick felt so good when he made you ride him.

You unzipped your leathers, your fingers slowly making their way underneath. A sigh escapes your lips as your fingertips brush your clothed clit, moving in small circles atop your panties.

Fuck... the sight of Liam jerking off to you too.

A soft whimper leaves your lips, your eyes widening into slits as you glance around one more time. You just had to make sure, certainly, that no one was in here.

Oh Gods... and Bodhi, spanking your ass-

"You do know this is a, public, space, don't you?"

Your eyes fly open, the figure standing just in the shadows of the nearby bookshelf causing your heart to race. Your hand flies from your pants as you shimmy in your chair, working to rezip.

"O-oh my Gods, uhm, oh my Gods-" you fumble, your vision blurred in embarassment as you stare down at your pants. Why wouldn't the damned zipper just fucking work, already?

Your breath hitches as a large, tanned hand moves atop yours. Your cheeks deepen in color, chest still rising and falling as the adrenaline courses through your veins.

"As your trainer," Bodhi says, his voice low. "I'd tell you to fix yourself, and send you to your dorm to finish this matter in private. Alone."

Your eyes slowly look up, meeting his darkened brown ones as he glares at you.

"But, as an interested party, I'm going to tell you to keep going."

You loose a shaky breath, his unforgiving stare a cross between anger and intrigue. You open your mouth to speak, but Bodhi's hand pushes your shoulder back against the back of the chair.

"Don't say a word, Y/N -- you got caught being a bad, bad girl." He tuts, leaning back to sit in the chair next to you. "Now, you answer to me."

You gulp, staying put as he stretches his legs out before him and gets comfortable, folding his muscled arms over his chest. He couldn’t possibly be serious!

"Keep going." He bites out, and you stare at him wide-eyed.

He scoffs. "What, now you can't hear, either? I said keep going." Your fingers fuddle with the waistband of your pants, shaking as you shove your leathers down to your knees.

"Mhm... play with that pussy, like the bad girl you fuckin' are."

Your fingers find your clit once more, the pleasure mounting in your core as Bodhi's eyes are glued to your every move. In an attempt to stifle your moan, your lip catches between your teeth, muffling the whimper. He's hovering over you in an instant, his hand braced against the back of your chair as his lips move mere inches from yours.

"Why so quiet tonight, hm?" He taunts, and you glare up at him as a wave of defiance rushes through you.

"B-because... it's a.. library." You grit out, failing to think of any other comeback. He laughs, full and unabashedly as he shakes his head low, his eyes meeting yours once more.

"You didn't seem to care that this is a library when you started playing with your cunt, though." He draws in a breath, his gaze flickering between your underwear and your face. "Bad riders don't get rewarded, Y/N... they only get punished."

Your heart races as two more figures appear from the shadows, their hungry gazes trained on you and your minstrations. A small swallow in fear is all Bodhi needs before his hands grip at your waist, hauling you atop the table and sending the books scattering to the floor.

"B-Bodhi... what-"

"Ohh, don't act like this isn't what you wanted," Ridoc sneers from beside you. He leans casually against the bookshelf, the obvious tent in his pants indication that maybe he wanted this to happen too.

"Oh, she wanted it alright," Bodhi huffs, grabbing your pants and roughly yanking them down your legs. He shucks your boots off, tossing them over his shoulder before ripping your pants over your feet. "Caught her playing with herself all alone in here."

Liam tsks, flanking the other side of the table as he watches in faux-disappointment. Had they all arranged this? Had they known you'd be in here?

"I-I..."

"Keep your mouth shut," Bodhi demands, yanking his own pants down just enough for his enormous erection to spring free. Your mouth waters at the sight; you'd forgotten how damn big he was.

"You're gonna work off this little violation, alright?" He chuckles, pulling you to the edge of the table so just your ass hung off the wood. His hand wraps around his cock, pumping it twice before sliding it against your soaking folds. You whimper, and he glares down at you.

"And... you'll be quiet if I say so, alright?" He chuckles, pressing the tip of his dick against your hole. "This is, after all, a library."

The sound threatening to erupt as he slides all the way in can only be described as nothing short of a deafening scream. He pushes himself all the way in, his pelvis flat against your thighs as you try and keep your noises at bay. Wasting no time, he yanks his cock out, only to slam back in with so much force that a small wail breaks free.

"Fuck... tight as fuck Y/N," he comments, speeding up as he fucks himself into you. "Squeezing my goddamned dick, baby."

You moan, the sound mixed with the creaking of the table beneath you. Bodhi's breaths come out in short pants above you, his gaze locked onto where his thick length is pounding into you.

"I... oh Gods," you cry out, your heaed turning to the side as you catch sight of Liam beside you. His tongue rakes across his bottom lip, his own cock hardening beneath his palm. The sight alone could make you cum, especially with the way Bodhi is pounding into you-

"Don't you dare cum," he growls, his hands bracing against your hips as he shoves you closer to him. Your gaze switches back to him as he leans over you, each stroke faster than the last as he barely pulls out anymore. "You're not cumming... not fucking yet."

You whimper as his mouth falls open above you, his eyes half-lidded as his thrusts grow sloppy. Your own impending orgasm has built up, threatening to burst any moment inside of you.

"B-Bodhi-"

"Fuck!' He shouts, your skin flush against his as his cock jumps, pumping his release inside of you. His breathing is heavy, his chest moving rapidly underneath the restraint of his zipped flight jacket. Your face twists in frustration, the heat in your lower tummy already receding as he yanks his cock out of you, a trail of clear semen following.

Sitting up on your hands, you only catch your breath for a minute before Liam saunters toward you, a cocky smile plastered on his face. His hands grip your knees, forcing your legs apart as you try and squeeze them together.

"You're not getting off that easy tonight -- I hope you've realized that."

You stare up at the gorgeous male; a dark, starved look crossing his features as he peers down at you. Your chest heaves as he slowly sits before you, only taking perch on the edge of the chair.

Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he leans forward, his lips mere inches from your glistening cunt -- and blows a stream of cool air across your skin. You clench around nothing, the sensation both extremely erotic and frustrating at the same time.

"Liam, please-"

"Ahh ahh," Bodhi tuts, leaning agaist a nearby table. "I said no mouthing off tonight, remember?"

Liam's dimple pops as he smiles, his handsome features only making you wish your cunt was pressed against his lips. You lie back down as he licks his lips once, his fingers softly trailing along the skin of your thighs. You whimper as he continues toying with you, barely able to keep your writhing at bay.

"Is this... what you want?" He says quietly, as his forefinger presses against your clit. You gasp, sitting up on your forearms to look down at his smug expression.

"Yes... oh Gods, please yes-" You grit out, as his digit slowly circles your clit. You squirm against the touch, wishing for more as he slides his finger around your sensitive bud.

"This isn't about you, though." He says, chuckling as he retracts his finger. He glances up at you before rising between your legs, his hands gripping your waist to flip you over onto your stomach. You gasp as your chest presses against the flat wood, and your stomach drops at the sight before you.

Ridoc stands on the other side of the table, his hand fisting his cock furiously as he gazes down at you.

"Open."

It's all you need to hear before widening your mouth, laying your tongue out flat just like he'd like it.

"Fuck... been waiting for this for damn near a week," he complains, slapping his length against your wet muscle. You squeak in pleasure as you feel Liam behind you, his fingers circling your pulsating opening.

"So wet, baby," he coos, as his ring and middle finger plunge into your aching pussy. He plunges them in, again and again-- the embarassing squelch of your vagina gripping his digits bringing a flush to your cheeks.

Ridoc's free hand caresses your chin, guiding his hard length to your awaiting mouth. You suck in a breath as he sinks his cock in, pushing it to the back of your throat as he groans. Gagging around him, he retracts, shoving back in moments later.

"Gods, Y/N -- you've been saving up for us, hm?" You hear the grin in Liam's voice, your cunt pulsating as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. Unable to speak as Ridoc continues fucking your mouth, you only groan in response.

Liam curls his fingers, the tips rubbing against the sensitive spot inside -- you feel as though you'll explode. You huff out a breath, tears forming in your eyes as Ridoc continues assaulting your throat. The combined sensations are too much, your orgasm building with each minstration.

"It's a good thing you're so sexy," he laughs, patting you on the cheek with his free hand. "You've been on my mind all week, baby."

Liam retracts his fingers, and you cry out in frustration. Ridoc pulls out too, the emptiness on either end leaving you hot, bothered, and again, unreleased.

"Don't worry," Ridoc chuckles. "We still have more we want from you."

He appears on the opposite side of the table, standing where Liam just was, his open palm landing a harsh slap against the meat of your ass. You whine, only wishing he'd pleasure you more.

You don't have to beg much.

His hands clench around your hips, drawing you up onto your knees and forearms on the table. You wail again as he spanks you, clenching only when you feel his erection slapping against your cunt.

"You want me, huh?" He teases, landing another slap when you don't respond. "You want me to fuck you?"

You scream in pleasure, glancing behind you to watch as he slides his cock in.

"Yes, please Ridoc! Please fuck me-"

Your words are cut short as a hand wraps around your throat, yanking your head to look before you. Liam chuckles, his hands quickly finding your breast as he stands beside Bodhi -- who's guiding his cock to your lips.

"I told you," he grumbles. "Bad girls... have to be quiet."

He shoves his length in, choking you as he pushes down your throat. Liam pulls your hair, keeping your mouth in place as Bodhi fucks his dick down your raw throat. Ridoc pants from behind you, his girth reaching unimaginable depths inside your quaking pussy.

"You like that, huh?" Bodhi shakes his head, plunging his cock deeper in your mouth. "Like taking my cock while Ridoc fucks you?"

Another wave of pleasure racks your bones, the feeling of their dicks in two of your holes almost more than you can take. You gurgle around Bodhi's length as Ridoc's balls slap against your clit, heightening your senses even more.

"Can't... can't take much more," you garble out, and Liam's fingers pinch your nipple.

"You'll take, what we give you."

You squeak, tears threatening to spill over as you try your hardest to keep your orgasm at bay. Your walls clench around Ridoc's big cock, each thrust pushing you closer, and closer...

He cums with a gasp, hot ropes of his release splattering across your ass. He heaves as he squeezes your right buttcheek, his spent cock resting against the other. Bodhi grits his teeth before releasing as well, his seed spraying down your throat. He yanks his cock out, and Liam moves to hold your jaw as you muster a cough.

"Swallow it all," he commands, and you do as your told. Bodhi retreats, resting lazily in a chair as the aftermath of his orgasm washes over him.

If only you could feel the same.

You gulp down his salty-sweet taste, your muscles growing tired after your night of pleasure. Well... as much pleasure as you were allowed, orgasm-denial and all.

Liam pulls you off the table, holding you upright as he slowly backs you into one of the shadowed bookshelves. You groan again as he kneels before you, Bodhi and Ridoc flanking your either side.

"We've had our fun with you... do you think you deserve to cum?"

You nod your head at his sultry words, and he doesn't even look away from your glistening pussy as he speaks to the other two.

"Do you think she deserves to cum?"

Bodhi tuts while reaching for your chest, openly palming your left breast.

“I suppose she’s been quite good for us tonight.”

Liam nods in agreement, his lips pressing a single kiss against your folds. Your hips involuntarily buck in protest, a short moan coming out as Ridoc rolls your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Shhhh.. patience, baby.”

His voice alone could get you off, such contrast to his usually irritating tone.

Liam’s tongue flicks out, swiping across your cunt as he rolls his thumb over your clit. You squirm, your breaths coming out in quick bursts.

“L-Liam I… won’t last long-“

He chuckles, the vibration edging you further. Ridoc replaces his fingers with his mouth, leaning in to suck and mark your right breast with his teeth. You lean your head back against the shelves, the feeling of ecstasy finally within reach.

“You wanna cum, Y/N?” Bodhi’s breath skates across your skin, goosebumps arising just below your ear as he squeezes your breast partially hard.

“Such a little tease with these gorgeous things,” he continues, and you begin shaking, the feeling of the orgasm within reach.

“Oh FUCK, I’m-“

Ridoc’s hand claps over your mouth as Bodhi holds you upright. You tremble and shake atop Liam’s tongue, the pent up energy from all night finally reaching its sweet release. Liam’s hands reach around and squeeze your ass, holding you in place as you cum on his lips.

“Anybody in here?”

Your eyes widen, heartbeat quickening as you hear the male guard’s voice ring out through the otherwise empty library. Your eyes meet Bodhi’s, and he holds a single finger to his lips. Shh.

“Hello?”

The voice calls again, and the three of you stand in silence against the darkness from the shelves. After a few minutes, the entry door opens and closes once more, and you finally release a breath.

“Well… that was close,” you laugh, the first real sentence you’d uttered in hours. Surely the sunlight would be peeking through the windows anytime now…

You step toward your discarded clothes, making to grab them and put them on when a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you tightly against a very bare, very toned chest.

“Oh come on — you didn’t think we were actually finished here, did you?”

[kingedbishop]

The android looked over once again, waiting for Rook to snap back at him. When it was clear she intended to leave him alone he glanced back to Vincent. If his communication skills were poor, he felt he was about to set a new low, but still reached to give his friend a gentle pat in reassurance. Everything was fine, they were just having a feisty mutant over for a bit.

Bishop smirked. That gave him something to work with.

"Yes, that is expected behavior from the rebellious youngest brother."

Even the most collected deviant had to deal with their own emotions and while he couldn't say for sure how prominent Nines' ego was, Bishop would still poke at him until he got a reaction.

It was entertaining enough to him, in any case. He had no reason to stop.

"That's typical of private contractors." he mused, "So you were saved entirely by greed alone. I suppose there is some irony in that."

Much like the fact that androids were simply being tossed in a landfill instead of being recycled. It seemed Cyberlife's entire existence was simply tainted by incompetence.

Rook watched the way Dan's skin regenerated, glad to see no damage was done. The last thing she wanted was to be accused of having hurt the most important guy in the house, especially when she had done nothing but ask questions.

"Who knows, maybe he's patient zero." She shrugged, "Maybe he's like Sixty and likes the way he is. It's never good to assume somebody who's very energetic and content with what they have is dumb. I have a friend who is just as bouncy as Kelvin and she's smarter and wiser than most people."

It didn't look like Kelvin was causing real trouble on purpose. He just moved quietly and that made it easy to forget he was even there doing his own thing.

"So that's why you've got Commander Data running about. Maybe you could ask Willow to talk to Kelvin. He can't talk to you, but she can probably translate for him."

While Rook didn’t represent a threat, she definitely wasn't short on comments.

"Bishop's knitting. How do I even get myself in these situations?"

"Ungrateful bird." The android only briefly glared at her. It wasn't his fault if he wore the face of a monster.

"What's the matter now? I was under the impression this household promoted healthy siblings relationships."

Bishop doubted the taunting would distract Nines, but he really wanted to make it clear that he wasn't the only one who could read people to a decent degree.

It didn't mean he cared about their motivations, but he was aware of them.

"Oh, I see now that I'm playing cards with a rather exclusive group. Though I can't help questioning how the two of you were allowed to roam freely. Are you fugitives like my copycat?"

It seemed like a legit question to him. The military wasn't exactly known for giving up on important assets for nothing. They couldn't afford to let him, the most dedicated man to have ever lived, go away, Bishop had to wonder how they'd give the androids up.

"Well, we've got to try." Rook replied, "I went through what's left of his base and it gave me nightmares, Strasky is going through so much worse. And I still want to help those other people, even if some of them are annoying."

It was basic decency, really. Rook didn't mention the new android at first, assuming they were all able to detect each other to some extent. Dan's reaction quickly proved her wrong and prompted her to switch to her flames form the time being. She didn't want to end up like that wall.

"...Yes, Willow does that sometimes. She can keep track of each one of you guys and all the appliances too while she's in the area. That's why she's so calm. She can also probably go through all your circuits and stuff, but that'd be rude." Rook explained, "Who's that guy?"