#this is yet another incentive for me to try and get back into the work force

[exeggcute]

the great reddit API meltdown of '23, or: this was always bound to happen

there's a lot of press about what's going on with reddit right now (app shutdowns, subreddit blackouts, the CEO continually putting his foot in his mouth), but I haven't seen as much stuff talking about how reddit got into this situation to begin with. so as a certified non-expert and Context Enjoyer I thought it might be helpful to lay things out as I understand them—a high-level view, surveying the whole landscape—in the wonderful world of startups, IPOs, and extremely angry users.

disclaimer that I am not a founder or VC (lmao), have yet to work at a company with a successful IPO, and am not a reddit employee or third-party reddit developer or even a subreddit moderator. I do work at a startup, know my way around an API or two, and have spent twelve regrettable years on reddit itself. which is to say that I make no promises of infallibility, but I hope you'll at least find all this interesting.

profit now or profit later

before you can really get into reddit as reddit, it helps to know a bit about startups (of which reddit is one). and before I launch into that, let me share my Three Types Of Websites framework, which is basically just a mental model about financial incentives that's helped me contextualize some of this stuff.

(1) website/software that does not exist to make money: relatively rare, for a variety of reasons, among them that it costs money to build and maintain a website in the first place. wikipedia is the evergreen example, although even wikipedia's been subject to criticism for how the wikimedia foundation pays out its employees and all that fun nonprofit stuff. what's important here is that even when making money is not the goal, money itself is still a factor, whether it's solicited via donations or it's just one guy paying out of pocket to host a hobby site. but websites in this category do, generally, offer free, no-strings-attached experiences to their users.

(I do want push back against the retrospective nostalgia of "everything on the internet used to be this way" because I don't think that was ever really true—look at AOL, the dotcom boom, the rise of banner ads. I distinctly remember that neopets had multiple corporate sponsors, including a cookie crisp-themed flash game. yahoo bought geocities for $3.6 billion; money's always been trading hands, obvious or not. it's indisputable that the internet is simply different now than it was ten or twenty years ago, and that monetization models themselves have largely changed as well (I have thoughts about this as it relates to web 1.0 vs web 2.0 and their associated costs/scale/etc.), but I think the only time people weren't trying to squeeze the internet for all the dimes it can offer was when the internet was first conceived as a tool for national defense.)

(2) website/software that exists to make money now: the type that requires the least explanation. mostly non-startup apps and services, including any random ecommerce storefront, mobile apps that cost three bucks to download, an MMO with a recurring subscription, or even a news website that runs banner ads and/or offers paid subscriptions. in most (but not all) cases, the "make money now" part is obvious, so these things don't feel free to us as users, even to the extent that they might have watered-down free versions or limited access free trials. no one's shocked when WoW offers another paid expansion packs because WoW's been around for two decades and has explicitly been trying to make money that whole time.

(3) website/software that exists to make money later: this is the fun one, and more common than you'd think. "make money later" is more or less the entire startup business model—I'll get into that in the next section—and is deployed with the expectation that you will make money at some point, but not always by means as obvious as "selling WoW expansions for forty bucks a pop."

companies in this category tend to have two closely entwined characteristics: they prioritize growth above all else, regardless of whether this growth is profitable in any way (now, or sometimes, ever), and they do this by offering users really cool and awesome shit at little to no cost (or, if not for free, then at least at a significant loss to the company).

so from a user perspective, these things either seem free or far cheaper than their competitors. but of course websites and software and apps and [blank]-as-a-service tools cost money to build and maintain, and that money has to come from somewhere, and the people supplying that money, generally, expect to get it back...

just not immediately.

startups, VCs, IPOs, and you

here's the extremely condensed "did NOT go to harvard business school" version of how a startup works:

(1) you have a cool idea.

(2) you convince some venture capitalists (also known as VCs) that your idea is cool. if they see the potential in what you're pitching, they'll give you money in exchange for partial ownership of your company—which means that if/when the company starts trading its stock publicly, these investors will own X numbers of shares that they can sell at any time. in other words, you get free money now (and you'll likely seek multiple "rounds" of investors over the years to sustain your company), but with the explicit expectations that these investors will get their payoff later, assuming you don't crash and burn before that happens.

during this phase, you want to do anything in your power to make your company appealing to investors so you can attract more of them and raise funds as needed. because you are definitely not bringing in the necessary revenue to offset operating costs by yourself.

it's also worth nothing that this is less about projecting the long-term profitability of your company than it's about its perceived profitability—i.e., VCs want to put their money behind a company that other people will also have confidence in, because that's what makes stock valuable, and VCs are in it for stock prices.

(3) there are two non-exclusive win conditions for your startup: you can get acquired, and you can have an IPO (also referred to as "going public"). these are often called "exit scenarios" and they benefit VCs and founders, as well as some employees. it's also possible for a company to get acquired, possibly even more than once, and then later go public.

acquisition: sell the whole damn thing to someone else. there are a million ways this can happen, some better than others, but in many cases this means anyone with ownership of the company (which includes both investors and employees who hold stock options) get their stock bought out by the acquiring company and end up with cash in hand. in varying amounts, of course. sometimes the founders walk away, sometimes the employees get laid off, but not always.

IPO: short for "initial public offering," this is when the company starts trading its stocks publicly, which means anyone who wants to can start buying that company's stock, which really means that VCs (and employees with stock options) can turn that hypothetical money into real money by selling their company stock to interested buyers.

drawing from that, companies don't go for an IPO until they think their stock will actually be worth something (or else what's the point?)—specifically, worth more than the amount of money that investors poured into it. The Powers That Be will speculate about a company's IPO potential way ahead of time, which is where you'll hear stuff about companies who have an estimated IPO evaluation of (to pull a completely random example) $10B. actually I lied, that was not a random example, that was reddit's valuation back in 2021 lol. but a valuation is basically just "how much will people be interested in our stock?"

as such, in the time leading up to an IPO, it's really really important to do everything you can to make your company seem like a good investment (which is how you get stock prices up), usually by making the company's numbers look good. but! if you plan on cashing out, the long-term effects of your decisions aren't top of mind here. remember, the industry lingo is "exit scenario."

if all of this seems like a good short-term strategy for companies and their VCs, but an unsustainable model for anyone who's buying those stocks during the IPO, that's because it often is.

also worth noting that it's possible for a company to be technically unprofitable as a business (meaning their costs outstrip their revenue) and still trade enormously well on the stock market; uber is the perennial example of this. to the people who make money solely off of buying and selling stock, it literally does not matter that the actual rideshare model isn't netting any income—people think the stock is valuable, so it's valuable.

this is also why, for example, elon musk is richer than god: if he were only the CEO of tesla, the money he'd make from selling mediocre cars would be (comparatively, lol) minimal. but he's also one of tesla's angel investors, which means he holds a shitload of tesla stock, and tesla's stock has performed well since their IPO a decade ago (despite recent dips)—even if tesla itself has never been a huge moneymaker, public faith in the company's eventual success has kept them trading at high levels. granted, this also means most of musk's wealth is hypothetical and not liquid; if TSLA dropped to nothing, so would the value of all the stock he holds (and his net work with it).

what's an API, anyway?

to move in an entirely different direction: we can't get into reddit's API debacle without understanding what an API itself is.

an API (short for "application programming interface," not that it really matters) is a series of code instructions that independent developers can use to plug their shit into someone else's shit. like a series of tin cans on strings between two kids' treehouses, but for sending and receiving data.

APIs work by yoinking data directly from a company's servers instead of displaying anything visually to users. so I could use reddit's API to build my own app that takes the day's top r/AITA post and transcribes it into pig latin: my app is a bunch of lines of code, and some of those lines of code fetch data from reddit (and then transcribe that data into pig latin), and then my app displays the content to anyone who wants to see it, not reddit itself. as far as reddit is concerned, no additional human beings laid eyeballs on that r/AITA post, and reddit never had a chance to serve ads alongside the pig-latinized content in my app. (put a pin in this part—it'll be relevant later.)

but at its core, an API is really a type of protocol, which encompasses a broad category of formats and business models and so on. some APIs are completely free to use, like how anyone can build a discord bot (but you still have to host it yourself). some companies offer free APIs to third-party developers can build their own plugins, and then the company and the third-party dev split the profit on those plugins. some APIs have a free tier for hobbyists and a paid tier for big professional projects (like every weather API ever, lol). some APIs are strictly paid services because the API itself is the company's core offering.

reddit's financial foundations

okay thanks for sticking with me. I promise we're almost ready to be almost ready to talk about the current backlash.

reddit has always been a startup's startup from day one: its founders created the site after attending a startup incubator (which is basically a summer camp run by VCs) with the successful goal of creating a financially successful site. backed by that delicious y combinator money, reddit got acquired by conde nast only a year or two after its creation, which netted its founders a couple million each. this was back in like, 2006 by the way. in the time since that acquisition, reddit's gone through a bunch of additional funding rounds, including from big-name investors like a16z, peter thiel (yes, that guy), sam altman (yes, also that guy), sequoia, fidelity, and tencent. crunchbase says that they've raised a total of $1.3B in investor backing.

in all this time, reddit has never been a public company, or, strictly speaking, profitable.

APIs and third-party apps

reddit has offered free API access for basically as long as it's had a public API—remember, as a "make money later" company, their primary goal is growth, which means attracting as many users as possible to the platform. so letting anyone build an app or widget is (or really, was) in line with that goal.

as such, third-party reddit apps have been around forever. by third-party apps, I mean apps that use the reddit API to display actual reddit content in an unofficial wrapper. iirc reddit didn't even have an official mobile app until semi-recently, so many of these third-party mobile apps in particular just sprung up to meet an unmet need, and they've kept a small but dedicated userbase ever since. some people also prefer the user experience of the unofficial apps, especially since they offer extra settings to customize what you're seeing and few to no ads (and any ads these apps do display are to the benefit of the third-party developers, not reddit itself.)

(let me add this preemptively: one solution I've seen proposed to the paid API backlash is that reddit should have third-party developers display reddit's ads in those third-party apps, but this isn't really possible or advisable due to boring adtech reasons I won't inflict on you here. source: just trust me bro)

in addition to mobile apps, there are also third-party tools that don’t replace the Official Reddit Viewing Experience but do offer auxiliary features like being able to mass-delete your post history, tools that make the site more accessible to people who use screen readers, and tools that help moderators of subreddits moderate more easily. not to mention a small army of reddit bots like u/AutoWikibot or u/RemindMebot (and then the bots that tally the number of people who reply to bot comments with “good bot” or “bad bot).

the number of people who use third-party apps is relatively small, but they arguably comprise some of reddit’s most dedicated users, which means that third-party apps are important to the people who keep reddit running and the people who supply reddit with high-quality content.

unpaid moderators and user-generated content

so reddit is sort of two things: reddit is a platform, but it’s also a community.

the platform is all the unsexy (or, if you like python, sexy) stuff under the hood that actually makes the damn thing work. this is what the company spends money building and maintaining and "owns." the community is all the stuff that happens on the platform: posts, people, petty squabbles. so the platform is where the content lives, but ultimately the content is the reason people use reddit—no one’s like “yeah, I spend time on here because the backend framework really impressed me."

and all of this content is supplied by users, which is not unique among social media platforms, but the content is also managed by users, which is. paid employees do not govern subreddits; unpaid volunteers do. and moderation is the only thing that keeps reddit even remotely tolerable—without someone to remove spam, ban annoying users, and (god willing) enforce rules against abuse and hate speech, a subreddit loses its appeal and therefore its users. not dissimilar to the situation we’re seeing play out at twitter, except at twitter it was the loss of paid moderators;  reddit is arguably in a more precarious position because they could lose this unpaid labor at any moment, and as an already-unprofitable company they absolutely cannot afford to implement paid labor as a substitute.

oh yeah? spell "IPO" backwards

so here we are, June 2023, and reddit is licking its lips in anticipation of a long-fabled IPO. which means it’s time to start fluffing themselves up for investors by cutting costs (yay, layoffs!) and seeking new avenues of profit, however small.

this brings us to the current controversy: reddit announced a new API pricing plan that more or less prevents anyone from using it for free.

from reddit's perspective, the ostensible benefits of charging for API access are twofold: first, there's direct profit to be made off of the developers who (may or may not) pay several thousand dollars a month to use it, and second, cutting off unsanctioned third-party mobile apps (possibly) funnels those apps' users back into the official reddit mobile app. and since users on third-party apps reap the benefit of reddit's site architecture (and hosting, and development, and all the other expenses the site itself incurs) without “earning” money for reddit by generating ad impressions, there’s a financial incentive at work here: even if only a small percentage of people use third-party apps, getting them to use the official app instead translates to increased ad revenue, however marginal.

(also worth mentioning that chatGPT and other LLMs were trained via tools that used reddit's API to scrape post and content data, and now that openAI is reaping the profits of that training without giving reddit any kickbacks, reddit probably wants to prevent repeats of this from happening in the future. if you want to train the next LLM, it's gonna cost you.)

of course, these changes only benefit reddit if they actually increase the company’s revenue and perceived value/growth—which is hard to do when your users (who are also the people who supply the content for other users to engage with, who are also the people who moderate your communities and make them fun to participate in) get really fucking pissed and threaten to walk.

pricing shenanigans

under the new API pricing plan, third-party developers are suddenly facing steep costs to maintain the apps and tools they’ve built.

most paid APIs are priced by volume: basically, the more data you send and receive, the more money it costs. so if your third-party app has a lot of users, you’ll have to make more API requests to fetch content for those users, and your app becomes more expensive to maintain. (this isn’t an issue if the tool you’re building also turns a profit, but most third-party reddit apps make little, if any, money.)

which is why, even though third-party apps capture a relatively small portion of reddit’s users, the developer of a popular third-party app called apollo recently learned that it would cost them about $20 million a year to keep the app running. and apollo actually offers some paid features (for extra in-app features independent of what reddit offers), but nowhere near enough to break even on those API costs.

so apollo, any many apps like it, were suddenly unable to keep their doors open under the new API pricing model and announced that they'd be forced to shut down.

backlash, blackout

plenty has been said already about the current subreddit blackouts—in like, official news outlets and everything—so this might be the least interesting section of my whole post lol. the short version is that enough redditors got pissed enough that they collectively decided to take subreddits “offline” in protest, either by making them read-only or making them completely inaccessible. their goal was to send a message, and that message was "if you piss us off and we bail, here's what reddit's gonna be like: a ghost town."

but, you may ask, if third-party apps only captured a small number of users in the first place, how was the backlash strong enough to result in a near-sitewide blackout? well, two reasons:

first and foremost, since moderators in particular are fond of third-party tools, and since moderators wield outsized power (as both the people who keep your site more or less civil, and as the people who can take a subreddit offline if they feel like it), it’s in your best interests to keep them happy. especially since they don’t get paid to do this job in the first place, won’t keep doing it if it gets too hard, and essentially have nothing to lose by stepping down.

then, to a lesser extent, the non-moderator users on third-party apps tend to be Power Users who’ve been on reddit since its inception, and as such likely supply a disproportionate amount of the high-quality content for other users to see (and for ads to be served alongside). if you drive away those users, you’re effectively kneecapping your overall site traffic (which is bad for Growth) and reducing the number/value of any ad impressions you can serve (which is bad for revenue).

also a secret third reason, which is that even people who use the official apps have no stake in a potential IPO, can smell the general unfairness of this whole situation, and would enjoy the schadenfreude of investors getting fucked over. not to mention that reddit’s current CEO has made a complete ass of himself and now everyone hates him and wants to see him suffer personally.

(granted, it seems like reddit may acquiesce slightly and grant free API access to a select set of moderation/accessibility tools, but at this point it comes across as an empty gesture.)

"later" is now "now"

TL;DR: this whole thing is a combination of many factors, specifically reddit being intensely user-driven and self-governed, but also a high-traffic site that costs a lot of money to run (why they willingly decided to start hosting video a few years back is beyond me...), while also being angled as a public stock market offering in the very near future. to some extent I understand why reddit’s CEO doubled down on the changes—he wants to look strong for investors—but he’s also made a fool of himself and cast a shadow of uncertainty onto reddit’s future, not to mention the PR nightmare surrounding all of this. and since arguably the most important thing in an IPO is how much faith people have in your company, I honestly think reddit would’ve fared better if they hadn’t gone nuclear with the API changes in the first place.

that said, I also think it’s a mistake to assume that reddit care (or needs to care) about its users in any meaningful way, or at least not as more than means to an end. if reddit shuts down in three years, but all of the people sitting on stock options right now cashed out at $120/share and escaped unscathed... that’s a success story! you got your money! VCs want to recoup their investment—they don’t care about longevity (at least not after they’re gone), user experience, or even sustained profit. those were never the forces driving them, because these were never the ultimate metrics of their success.

and to be clear: this isn’t unique to reddit. this is how pretty much all startups operate.

I talked about the difference between “make money now” companies and “make money later” companies, and what we’re experiencing is the painful transition from “later” to “now.” as users, this change is almost invisible until it’s already happened—it’s like a rug we didn’t even know existed gets pulled out from under us.

the pre-IPO honeymoon phase is awesome as a user, because companies have no expectation of profit, only growth. if you can rely on VC money to stay afloat, your only concern is building a user base, not squeezing a profit out of them. and to do that, you offer cool shit at a loss: everything’s chocolate and flowers and quarterly reports about the number of signups you’re getting!

...until you reach a critical mass of users, VCs want to cash in, and to prepare for that IPO leadership starts thinking of ways to make the website (appear) profitable and implements a bunch of shit that makes users go “wait, what?”

I also touched on this earlier, but I want to reiterate a bit here: I think the myth of the benign non-monetized internet of yore is exactly that—a myth. what has changed are the specific market factors behind these websites, and their scale, and the means by which they attempt to monetize their services and/or make their services look attractive to investors, and so from a user perspective things feel worse because the specific ways we’re getting squeezed have evolved. maybe they are even worse, at least in the ways that matter. but I’m also increasingly less surprised when this occurs, because making money is and has always been the goal for all of these ventures, regardless of how they try to do so.

[capslocked]

DIPLOMACY

male reader x kim minju

7k words

For those not paying attention - of which there seems to be an increasing number - it’s not that she doesn’t have the pedigree. But just shy of getting into that storied history or into the nitty-gritty of her curriculum vitae, the only thing that really matters is:

"This all seems a little beneath me." 

It’s another day of this. Of you, of her, of trying to gather the mien of someone who isn’t utterly disarmed by Minju’s usual, beautiful, challenging self. Which, let’s be honest, is always an uphill battle.

Minju nearly pouts, flipping through a copy of the dossier idly from the other side of the desk in a gesture that reads both bored and dismissive and every little thing it needs to annoy you.

"Look," you offer up, graciously diplomatic all things considered, "it's about finding the right springboard, to something else more… substantial."

"Or to something else, you know, beneath me." Her red lips turn down ever so slightly. She doesn't seem so interested in playing ball on this one. And, for you, amounts to something of a huge problem.

See, Minju doesn't quite understand how the working world really, actually works. That the carrot that's dangled in front of her is your carrot just as much as it is hers - that you stand to lose out just as badly. That it's both of your asses on the line if things fall apart and Minju's shortsighted insistence to only work those certain roles befitting a name like hers puts that all at risk.

"Maybe you can tell me something,” you start, coming across more curt than you possibly intended - but not by much, “how many of your former cohorts have had their career aspirations line up with reality, Miss Kim?"

“I’m picky, not naive,” she sighs, not missing a beat, and you watch her dark hair cascade gently down her shoulder when she reaches a hand back to unfix her loose ponytail from its hair clip.

“You might see how I can get the two confused.”

“Then spare me the lecture,” says Minju.

Though she says nothing else, an unspoken you already get paid too much for that hangs in the air.

The tricky part is that no matter what else Minju does, her contract has some non-negotiable clauses to them that no talent has before, or will likely get afterwards. Things that cannot be broken. Like the requirement of her making x number of media appearances, and she gets to approve all of them.

Or that her agent's take home comes from a fixed fifteen percent of her gross earnings, with further incentives when her roles hit specific milestones. But with her refusing projects like the ones in the dossier before you, it leaves you in the unenviable position of losing out on your guaranteed fixed income or trying to convince your diva talent to do what it is she ought to be doing.

The truth is that there’s quite a long list of things no one has had the guts to say ‘no’ to yet.

And, well, it's rather simple and obvious when you look at her:

Minju is that particular blend of A-lister gorgeous. The special look that’s all kinds of mesmerizing and magnetizing, in full bloom - that makes you feel like you're suffocating in beauty. Like if she said come here, you would go; the type where a single look is all it takes and then - just like that - she's got your number forever.

Because everything about her is tailored - from her clothes to her perfect porcelain features. And they made her that way for a purpose: to sell records. (Which, that's exactly what they did.) You can hardly blame the people in power over there, wanting what's best, in a position where everyone would kill for a taste, or even just a glimmer of possibility.

"I don't suppose the part of the governor’s neglected wife is capturing your imagination.” You push the dossier closer, and she doesn’t so much as look at it. “It’s this year’s big budget political thriller, a shoo-in for awards.”

“You mean the one who ends up in a lot of very steamy shots on the apartment’s rooftop pool. Maybe I’m mistaken, but you can’t really unshow your tits.”

"This isn't about being above, Miss Kim, it's about being well regarded; it’s about proving you’re easy to work with,” you argue. “We could-"

"Find a better use of my time?" she cuts in, closing the dossier shut. There's a long moment in which she's looking you over, her gaze sizing up every little inch.

"Your big break won't happen just because you ask for it." You grimace a bit, hating to tell it like it is, but not really wanting to just coddle her either. "But listen - we work together, one project at a time - we can build up to it."

Minju crosses her arms with a loud hmph. "And what are you going to do if I decide not to accept these projects?"

There’s enough edge in her voice that it gives you pause.

"If," she says again pointedly, a teasing little grin tugging at her lips.

So - actually, another thing: when you start digging into the details, there’s more problems than just what can be seen at the surface. Which perhaps it’s too reductive, but essentially everything between you and the talent sitting on the other side of your desk is not quite so straightforward. It was never about Minju doing the best she could for either of your careers; it was about Minju making sure her needs were taken care of, no matter what.

Months ago, thanks in part to the way Minju filled out this tiny black excuse of a cocktail dress, and as a compromise of sorts, there’s an uncharacteristic mistake you ended up making. Or two or maybe a couple.

Because there’d been the perfect backdrop - an end of year party, beautiful dresses and suits, lots and lots of champagne, the kind of jovial mood that inspired one drink too many - and then you and her, taking off down one of the hallways, towards the exit.

Of course, you ended up exactly where neither of you should have ever been - where the snow was falling gracefully and melting into the pavement, behind a private accessway at the back of the venue, somewhere dark and dingy and dripping with a smell reminiscent of garbage; somewhere your hands had gripped firm fistfuls of Minju’s waist before you shoved her up against the back of the building. 

In short:

You remember how she gasped when her palms hit the brickwork, how you figured you may as well give her everything she wants.

(So what, it was one time, you hear yourself explaining, mildly repentant, and to say that it’s complicated the matter is a massive fucking understatement.)

In the interest of full disclosure, you tell her, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

"That maybe," she hums, tongue flicking out over her lips before she purses them thoughtfully. "You should persuade me a little better."

"And let’s suppose, I don’t do any of that," you persist.

"It'd be a shame, wouldn't it, having such a promising future cut short so early? If word got out. From such a respectable agency too, of all places. Couldn't live with yourself," Minju remarks, leaning forward on her elbows until her eyes are level with your own. “Come to think of it, it’s the kind of thing that could totally, like, end your career.”

But as she sits there, arching that perfect brow again, you don't feel so good about the whole thing. You take another look at her - which, your mistakes start there, if nowhere else - at the girl that is somehow not the airheaded starlet she’s supposed to be. No, she’s calculating. A rarity, though you do know the type: here’s a girl who just happened to take her brains for granted in the years she was pampered by the industry - the same one that fattened on her only to later spit her out. And that thought, the look of cold intellect in her eyes and the slight upward curl at the corner of her mouth, has you frozen just a bit stiff.

She takes a key card from her clutch, and throws it onto the desk in front of you.

“Minju,” you caution, and there’s a taste of danger on each syllable of her name - more of a warning for yourself than you can conceive of it ever being for her.

"I'm only suggesting" - she’s watching you nearly fucking choke, amused - "what's best."

And when the lines get muddied between the two of you, that's exactly the issue. What's best. As though this was always Minju's aim. Maybe you've read it wrong, maybe you've gotten too lost in your own delusions, maybe - maybe, it doesn’t matter -

"For work," she adds, at which point her knee bumps yours playfully beneath the desk, leaving the suggestion open, and the implication unmistakable. "Whatever's required."

Here, you should definitely tell Minju no. Say no. Say: you're a professional, and getting involved with her, romantically, officially, personally - whatever - would lead to nothing but disaster. That’d be the responsible thing probably. It’d be generous to say you end up getting even halfway there:

"There's rules against this, you know."

Minju tips her head. “Why ever would there be rules in place against doing your job?”

She thinks that if she feigns being clueless, you'll bite, which -

“Against me folding you over this desk and fucking you until your forget your name.”

"My apologies," she practically coos, knowing that she’s not only made progress, but that she’s wrapping you around her finger. She is a bright girl after all. “You might see how I can get the two confused.”

At that, you figure, the only real move, to be perfectly blunt, is to play Minju at her own game -

To convince her to bend, just a little. To persuade her. So you lean closer, you start to promise, with your face just next to hers:

"You want me to show you how I might handle an uncooperative talent? Would that do it for you, huh?"

And now if that isn’t enough to earn you a whole look, one that’s equally a challenge and a triumph; you watch as she bites the inside of her cheek, not that she can help the smirk creeping across her pretty mouth, a grin full of want and need and all those dangerous, thrilling thoughts that're probably too predictable given your unique sliver of history you’ve already carved out.

She arches that perfect brow of hers once more, toying with the corner of her lip between her teeth. 

You navigate around your desk to hand her your pen, with instructions that are perfectly clear: "then for once in your life, be useful, and sign on the fucking dotted line."

And her whole act falls apart just like that.

She’s humming almost pleasantly to herself as you settle in flush behind her, sinking into you just a little when your hand arrives at her waist, another carding through her hair. “Here,” you point out, watching her name materialize in ink on the document - pressing your lips to the nape of her neck each time she finishes penning out an exaggerated curl of a u.

“And here.”

“And here.”

“And here."

She signs again - and again - and that merits a reward; she’s good when she wants to be. Persuasive when she needs to be.

You can hear her murmur your name when your mouth slips just beneath her jaw, when you mark your next path across the bare skin of her shoulder and when she gets started on the last page of the documents, it happens just like this -

The pen drops from her fingers at some point, tumbling onto the desktop with a clack that might as well be a round leaving the chamber of a starting pistol. The office door isn't even locked and you have half a mind to check on the blinds, but the idea of some desperate executive running face first into this scene - where you’re smoothing your hands down the fabric of Minju’s top, down the rise of her jeans, fiddling slowly with the button at her waist - it holds an unfortunate sort of appeal; those blinds, they're mostly closed anyway. And at this hour of the afternoon, well - maybe it’s a little more clear why Minju asked to reschedule this meeting in the first place.

At first, it’s just a  few of your fingers dipping under the waistband of her pants, following the curve of her hip, her thigh, then inward, and when you reach down to find her already burning up in anticipation, she inhales sharp, a noise that makes you groan in turn, low, right into the hollow behind her ear. Minju, to her credit, is absolutely willing, so very helpful and - as you pinch the soft, tender skin at her hip, she's saying something but you haven't quite paid it a moment's mind.

Her head turns, eyes looking up at you ever-so-slightly-more-vulnerable than their usual mischief and calculation, and there’s a hint of a demand dancing on her tongue, ready and waiting; she moves her leg upwards just a few inches, settling to rest her knee on top of the tabletop, a calculated little pose, angling her hips so you can sink your hand lower, closer, press your fingers into the lace over her hot cunt even deeper.

Here you figure you're probably ruining the fabric, drenching it in her own slick as you work two, then three fingertips in tight circles. You’ll ruin it, and you’ll ruin more - ruin everything and take what you're owed. As her breath hitches again, in some way that makes your senses come to life: you can feel her skin become taut and tense, gooseflesh rising when your hand untangles from her hair and slides up under her shirt, can hear the steady rush of blood in your ears, her pulse quickening, the heart in her chest beating rapid -

(She can pretend all she wants that this was an attempt at extortion. She can pretend she’s not an easy read; that she doesn’t like being easy for you, when she’s hot and whimpering and aching so wet, creaming on your fingers when you haven’t even gotten her pants off.)

- as if every part of her wasn't made for this, as you lay out your first real proposal:

“Do you remember what I asked you? The first time, right after you signed on, when you were so good for me up against the bricks in the alley?”

Minju chokes out an affirmative when you toy with her pussy where she’s craving the shape of anything, but, boy, are the rough pads of your fingers more than up to the task.

"I remember you almost couldn't answer, you didn't dare want to admit that it's what you needed - isn't that right?"

She moans with a voice thick as honey when a couple more fingers brush up against her wet lips and fuck, she does look breathtakingly good; she's exquisite, she's irresistible - the image of a living wet dream.

"Say it, baby," you croon, her voice beginning to melt a bit at the edges, her own heat burning her resolve up from the bottom up as you tug sharply at a string on her lace.

Minju sighs. Arches into your touch.

Because you’re settling into this torturous pattern, where you draw inwards, closer, so close to the little bundle of nerves, her cunt flexing and rippling hungrily when your fingers flick once or twice around it, only for her to wince just slightly as your fingers trace down towards her entrance to start all over again -

Minju steels herself, drawing in a heavy breath past her teeth. “You asked how rough you could be.”

There's something so painfully wicked, how her voice falters there - but then your own voice is rasping right back in a similar caliber of depravity.

“Hm. That’s pretty close to how I remember it.” After all, you are always taking care of Minju - her concerns, her contracts, her needs. So if she was interested, why the fuck would you hold back on providing exactly what she wants. “But help me out, what did you tell me?”

Another twist - another catch. Another push - another pull. She's going to break so sweetly if you're patient - and, ahh, patience - she's shuddering underneath your touch, squirming against you so nicely that you've already gotten away with a bit too much, this much, these fingers and you and Minju's breathy gasps.

"M-that you could be. That you could-" she stutters, all as you feel her folds start to swell, then quiver, as your thumb drags painfully over her clit again - 

And in that moment Minju starts to consider if this were a good idea or not, but her back is already arching against your chest. She's gripping your arm to get you right where she wants you, and the reality of this hits her - a rush of cold clarity through her head just as everything else threatens to spiral into something else, something frantic, something hot and animal and making the muscles at her core begin to clench up.

But you just ease out of her completely, a whine coming out from the back of Minju's throat - her thighs parting further in desperation.

And oh, the disappointment, the sound, it’s incredible - a high pitch - almost a sob -

You slide your other hand in her hair to make sure she's got an earful of your words:

"What was it you said, hm?" you whisper, nipping at the skin on her neck, the side of her jaw - she's shuddering with it when your mouth lingers so close -

“As rough as you fucking want.”

God, the little things that her voice does to you. “Exactly, sweetheart.”

And how's that boundary supposed to hold up and remain uncrossed then, really, if you just give her whatever the fuck she asks for - especially if you have your mouth working it's way around her pulse-point, toying with her as she starts to tense and soften all at once.

In fact, Minju can only stutter out an okay or two as you grind forward, the hard suggestion of your cock nestling up against her rear, just shy of the perfect spot between her legs, and even with still a few layers of clothes between you, the feeling - fuck, the friction, the sight - it’s enough to get you grinning.

Enough to form this near-half-coherent thought: that it’s what's always had you on edge with this girl. She is absolutely every bit your type. Everything about her, right down to the way that she was put together.

All her hard edges and soft curves that should've never really been yours to covet and now, somehow, have become exactly that. Oh, she's the kind of temptation that's better suited for the life of glitz and glamor and the time it requires for indulging in it. You never thought that you would actually ever get here, even as the years have begun to stack up and time starts to grind everything in the back of your head and turn it all over into something like resentment.

If only Minju weren't so good at making you a sucker for those pouty lips and big doe eyes.

Particularly when she's turned around - face to face now - she's the epitome of gorgeous, equal parts aphrodite and adonis; a fucking knockout, her body sculpted and lithe and athletic. Those lines curving out and away like they might tell time, like her thighs could count the minutes and seconds until she's straddling you in your lap with her ankles locked in at the small of your back and you're rutting up into her without reservation, without doubt.

(So what, really, is your goddamned excuse? Your pride? The nature of the beast in you that demands that you must have some degree of control over yourself? The power that your position, here, now, provides? But you can hardly be blamed, even when it's wrong and filthy and so fucking good.)

"You’re stalling." Minju’s leaning back against the desk, tilting her chin up, blinking lazily, and there’s a bit of bite in her voice again.

It takes a minute for it to dawn on you that it must be intentional, trying to get a further rise out of you, the same way your hands have risen up to trace the dips and elevations of her spine, her every vertebra, your fingertips mapping the hollows and rounds of her back. To learn the geography of her shoulders and where, and when, and how to get her breath catching in her lungs, each labored intake of air a little harsher, hastier, hotter than the last.

"You know," you start, spreading your palm across a soft plane of denim, fingers pulling onto the cheek of her ass, dragging her even tighter against you, "I always figured your reputation was a little overdramatized. Most everyone's bound to have a story or two."

She laughs, full of mirth. When the mood strikes, she's the picture of perfection, and she knows it. "Well? Were you disappointed?"

As she coils an arm around your waist to slide your shirt free from the confines of your pants, and as a deft hand slips its way in, you stop asking yourself about right or wrong, good or bad, or about the kisses that land playfully at the corner of your mouth - until you hold her tight and seize her lips, hard, like you mean it - it isn't long before she's fumbling and scrambling with the zipper at your waist. 

"That depends," you’re pulling yourself away long enough to say.

"I think I know the answer." 

And by the way she shivers a little when you shove up the bottom of her top, the way she's melting into your mouth and demanding more and more and more, Minju does. You think she probably has since the first night that your threads got all tangled up. Especially when she slides off her top - her bra - her jeans - leaving them in a pile that lasts barely a second where it started once you sweep everything off of your desk in one broad, efficient gesture -

There's a thud when a pair of binders and a couple of books hit the floor. Someone exclaiming in recognition, the muffled noise drifting through the office door, and, oh, this would probably be the best moment to remember how painfully thin the walls are; you consider whether to walk over and lock the office door, and when Minju’s fingers run up your sides, you decide you won’t.

Too little too late, you figure.

And before you can take a second to give it the more congruent thought it deserves, Minju opens her mouth: "which, in your professional opinion," a hum and a slur as her nails find their way to your collar, "is well, that the thing I should take," she gets out, unbuttoning you at the cuffs, loosening the last of your shirt, "really," her hands palming over the fabric on either side of the lapels, working their way downwards, "how - how do you think this goes?"

“Oh, Minju.” She’s all but begging you to fuck her and still has the wherewithal to be asking for terms.

Like her fingers aren’t completely down your pants, locking around your hard cock - pumping you with soft, lazy strokes - not too different from how you have her chewing on her lip every time your fingers circle over the entrance to her cunt, tenting the last of her lace all slow and careful.

It’s driving her crazy. She just bites into the edge of her thumb in response.

"Fine. Alright. Let me explain it clearly." You dip a finger into her cunt; the whimper is short-lived when she tightens around you and it hits home, the pressure so delicious that she can barely stutter to keep up.

“A negotiation, of sorts-”

“Yeah, sure, we can call it that.”

The mental picture you have of your length outlined against Minju's tiny fist - as she works it into her hand, steady - it's all almost more than you can possibly bear: the way her long legs stretch out so pretty in front of you, the way her wrist twists with each pass and every bump at the veins of her forearm that is such a damn perfect shade of porcelain white in the dim glow of the desk lamp.

This girl with her pert pink mouth and those lips, the ones that aren't quite touching yours but rather smirking the whole time. (If only you were to make her scream loud enough, because you know she could be so much prettier.)

The thought flits through your brain, unbidden and treacherous -

"Think, fuck - think of this, as a one-way track into your career. Think of me, a guiding hand - if you want to. The key to all this," you continue, spacing the words carefully so you don't falter under the pace Minju is picking up, "is that you're going to need to be compliant. Easy."

"Mm. And in exchange?" she bites, choking down an embarrassing moan.

"Here's the basics." And there, there's no fucking reason for you not to dip the tips of your fingers right on downwards, tap into her soft heat until her hips are arching away from the flat of the desk, searching for more. “Whenever you need me to take care of you, I’m there, however you need it: on my fingers, my tongue, my cock - I’ll make you fucking cum over and over.”

"That sounds," she gasps, losing track of the end of her sentence, rolling herself along the pads of your fingers, taking them deeper into her, "very-very-oh fuck-”

Her grip around your cock releases, arms throwing themselves around your shoulders, holding on tight as she starts to trust you implicitly - to give her exactly what she wants, what she needs - and give herself over to you, to your fingers, circling and circling and circling.

“See, tomorrow,” you start, “there’s an audition,” and when you pull your finger out of her cunt, Minju lets out this sound that’s between a whimper and a whine. Her pretty mouth has dropped open, like she's all out of words, lost somewhere, chasing this. Getting dire.

“It’s this teen soap; they need someone young, someone pretty, do you think you can do that for me?”

She doesn’t answer so much as grab and tug and pull you even closer as the heel of your hand pushes and presses over her clit, just about enough force behind it that, eventually, you begin to feel a certain rigidity through her limbs, how the lines of her face and her faultless features grow more and more focused, fixed and concentrated; her voice reduced to the high-pitched huffs and half-formed syllables of pure and utter desperation.

I can, I can - she’s murmuring - please, yes, I will - putting herself right into your capable hands.

When you feel Minju tightening, flexing around nothing, then seizing and shivering, her pussy throbbing hot and wet and clenching around your finger as it again works deeper inside her, an anguished groan finds its way out from her throat.

And from yours, well -

"Show up," you command, giving her another knuckle, curling it just right - watching as her expression contorts and twists up for all her worth. "Make a good impression. Don't make me fucking beg. Show up, Unreserved. Understood?"

And if her body wasn't making her pleas utterly transparent, she's screaming in agreement. It takes you barely a couple seconds, working up inside her cunt until she's all full-body, fully, blissfully spent. She starts to nod, needy, eyes screwing shut.

“And let’s say, something else pops up. A little racy, a little more gravure, just the right amount scandalous, I need you to keep an open mind.”

When it sinks in what you've said, Minju gives this wail, low and perfect - her cunt throbbing over the pulse at your palm - inches away from cumming and shaking and creaming on your hand. You could ask for anything, you think, and she’d give it to you -

“My PR team,” she gasps out, the consonants of her words fraying at the seams, “it’s up to my PR team.”

“Minju,” you say, priming a loaded question and a half. “Do you trust me?”

She nods, expression readable and open like a book. It starts to set in just about then, how you’re going to fucking ruin this girl.

Your breath runs hot, right against her temple, and you whisper the slightest affirmation, “good girl, I’ll take care of it.”

Because to be fair, you’ve not made it this long in your career without learning how to pull a string - how you might pull up on the sensitive skin straddling Minju’s clit and get her reeling; her pussy flutters in the tight, wet heat, muscles clamping, demanding as you work yourself in deeper and then, when the timing's right, pull out to slide a second finger past the slip of lace she has covering her cunt.

She's this tight, dripping, overwhelming fit - even more than you have yet to discover, to tease and then take, the heel of your wrist landing on her clit in a heavy pattern, circles - circles - circles -

- so you figure: fuck the PR team.

If only they knew how well and thorough you were going to fuck the rules right out of Minju.

That you were going to remind her who's the one in the driver’s seat of her life, of her career, that you would make sure she stays in her lane - the proper lane - that this, you think to yourself, might become a recurring sort of negotiation, the kind she's so shockingly eager to accept.

You'd be doing her a favor, fucking a couple good lines into her head, into her skin, into her cunt.

And soon, before long -

She's gritting her teeth around the shape of your name and giving one last heave against the hard wood of the desk underneath her. It's almost beautiful to watch how Minju crumbles into herself; the way she grinds back onto the digits in her cunt. How you’re dragging her underwear down her thigh, pulling your cock into your fist and twisting her leg around your waist until finally, you press yourself right up against the heat radiating from her cunt.

“I’m going to take good care of you, Minju, don’t worry, I’ll fuck this pussy of yours just right. I'm going to make you shake and cum all over me.”

“Please.” Fuck, she looks at you sincerely - no games, no bullshit - pupils so very blown out with want, with need. You watch her adorable mouth uptick into this faint lazy smile as she tilts her head into your collarbone, lips parting slightly to remind you: “as rough as you fucking want-” 

And you sink right in. 

It’s all skin-on-skin as Minju practically collapses in your arms; pushing deep past her soaking entrance - your hips slotting together just so, cock engulfed by her tight heat. Minju fucking wails when you drag back from her cunt, slow - so, so agonizingly slow.

You let her recover just a bit, watching her breathing quicken and shallow.

And the word on her lips becomes something reverent, the most indecent prayer, pleading please, please, please let me have it, please fuck me with your cock- 

You brace yourself, thrusting back in, and she doesn't wince this time, holding fast to you like you aren’t the one fucking her open and taking her apart.

“God, I - look, this perfect little fucking cunt, look at how you’re stretching around me, Minju,” you’re telling her - promising her really - all of which doesn't count for shit when, once, and then again, and a couple more times after that, your hips meet hers and she starts to break just so slightly around you. “I can’t believe - it’s like you were fucking made for my cock, baby, you’re taking me so fucking well.”

"Now, show me why - why the fuck everyone wants you - wants you to be their-" she's trying, in a fashion  all to her credit and her fault. She should probably care more about that raw, unhinged noise you’re making right into the crook of her neck when you bury yourself deeper into her pussy. But in the next moment, with another wild crash of your hips, the tables start to turn.

Slowly at first, and then all at once.

Because the sound you’re ripping from her chest when you start fucking her - truly fucking her - becomes far, far filthier than anything you've ever heard a girl like her make. All of it coaxed out from you working the edge of her pussy open, stretching her, hitting each and every sensitive spot inside her.

Minju tips her head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling and fluorescent lights, brow creasing in the middle, mouth gaping open. You find you might have missed something, when she moves to hold you down, hold you in place with an insistent leg, the back of her heel digging into your ass. As though there were somewhere you might possibly want to go.

It all comes down to something she's murmuring, quietly, harboring this smug lilt like you aren’t fucking her raw and senseless: how maybe the key to unlocking the rest of her potential isn’t all that dissimilar, not as off-brand as you may have been initially worried about. And the notion that both of you might actually be profiting off of this - how it shouldn’t sound as incredible as it does - is doing absolutely fucking nothing to slow the brutal pace you fall into.

"Fuck, just like that," and she's smiling, grinning really, nails biting into your nape - your name and curses and a fuck you or two falling out of her mouth as you pound each short breath right out of her chest. 

"The only talent I'm gonna need to show," she manages, dizzy, and with one arm hooking around your waist, she pulls the two of you close, right up against each other. The sound your skin makes, clapping against hers - her cunt tight, pulsing, quivering around you - "is my, my, my-"

Your thumb should have never left her clit, you realize, pressing down on where your cock is disappearing between her legs, pushing up against that bundle of nerves that can get her screaming. That’s how you’ll punctuate your end of the bargain, how you’ll make her cum and cum and cum -

"-talent for being such a-"

There's something ungovernable in you, something fumbling, as you find yourself drawn to her lips like a magnet - claiming them in a kiss that has you both growling with all the intensity you can muster, groaning as her jaw goes slack, surrendering to the fucking. To this hard, solid snap of your hips, a raw fuck forward that pushes Minju against the edge of the tabletop.

It doesn’t matter what she had wanted to say, though it must be evident how easy she can wind you up, and you do your best not to be too gentle. Pushing into her so rough that her breasts, oh-so-delicate, bounce up and down along her chest, nipples tight and rosy, begging to be tasted and played with.

You’re pressing your mouth on hers hard, fucking her harder - fingers digging into the flesh around her thighs and leaving marks and memories, all these reminders you’ll be sure to come back to.

But the fact is that this is your girl in so many ways: needy and a dream in all her curves, and how her waist rocks back, her body fitting so perfectly against yours - you're hooked on all of it. On her - she is temptation made real, in blood and bone and soft, supple skin, so exquisitely touchable, just like the sound that she makes, high and tittering when your thumb starts to work her clit over; each swirl and figure eight sending a jolt through her nerves and straight back into your own spine. It's difficult - hard to focus, you find - when all her exposed skin has these drops of sweat standing in saltwater relief, how it rolls down the plane of her chest and disappears where her waist flares wide.

Minju turns her cheek, mouthing falling open, and asks with a certain helpless pleading, “yes, can you-”

she sighs,

“right there,”

she hiccups,

“please, again,”

she begs,

“again, harder, i’m so close-”

Not before long, the desk is scraping loudly across the carpet, moving right into the next office over, all from where you have your hand trapping her voice back in her throat, palm over where she’s practically sobbing for you to let her cum. 

From where you’ve got her locked in tight, lifting her up into your arms, into some perverse, unspoken promise to carry her the rest of the way. To do with her whatever you want.

"I'm going to show you," you're gritting out, "exactly how a professional handles their star, the girl at the center of it all, their top draw - and it's so easy, isn't it? This is - fuck, sweetheart - you're nothing more than a - just a desperate little cockslut who's aching to cum, and it's good - oh so, fucking-"

When that next shiver courses down the length of her perfect form, it's entirely because of you, when her legs are still locked and clamped over you like this, as she sputters and babbles, totally cock-addled and barely managing a coherent thought. “Please, sir, please, fuck-”

And then a keening, sounding low, lost.

“Sir. Please, sir, please just - I just wanna-" Her lips are shaping all these words that never quite materialize - because her cunt is slick, the whole of it hotter and softer than anything else in this goddamn room. Maybe anything else in this whole building. Or in the entire world. It makes her whimper and ache, her voice rising and rising, belting out, need it, need it, please let me cum -

Which -

Minju, oh god, Minju cums, and you are fucked sideways to hell and beyond when her whole body convulses, shakes, every single part of her contracting, contracting - all at once - the way her hands claw desperately onto the blades of your shoulders as the room gets taken up with the scent of her; the sounds she's making are fucked and filthy. She starts to become undone as you double your pace, aiming true - thrusting, pounding, nailing Minju right into the finish.

“Minju, sweetheart, I’m going to cum in you,” you tell her, and it’s not even a question, or a concern. You’re dictating, not negotiating when you say it to her again, when you tell her you’re going to fill her perfect pussy so full with your cum, she'll be hung up on it for weeks.

One long, stretched out moan is all it could ever take; a split second, where everything runs blindingly hot, and you bury yourself as deep into her pussy as you possibly can.

Cumming so much, spilling out deep inside - this heavy flood of cum that pools warmly at the back of her cunt and fills every corner of Minju - she whines and sobs and tells you it's too much, please, all this hot and thick white cum pumping right into her -

As you throb into her, she's having a hard time saying anything beyond your name, actually, because if anyone can, if anyone would, if Minju can trust anyone and anything in this world more, it would be you.

Her chest shudders and shudders, and she kisses you in a vain effort to quiet her own body, to quiet yours. She has all this faith she's pouring right down your throat as you rock the last of your orgasm into her twitching heat, spilling and spilling and spilling, not caring about the wetness leaking onto the carpet. Not bothering to mask the obscene slickness, how everything gets completely fucking sopping between the two of you.

When she's practically drooling over you, eyelids growing heavy and fluttering, Minju sags heavily into the bend of your arms. In that shallow heaving and gasping for air that bathes the both of you - blissed the hell out, a lazy tangle of limbs - and without warning she turns to speak into your neck, her breath cooling, like a whisper of a dream:

“Okay, and already… I guess this isn’t entirely-”

“Completely terrible,” you offer after you swallow the dryness in your mouth.

Minju smiles into your shoulder. “And sir, in the spirit of honesty and transparency, I think I - I think I really did want - this - you - the entire thing…”

You stop her there, right in the middle of that particular train wreck. A drop in your voice, and the message is clear, when your mouth works its way to hers.

(No more of her talking like that.

Besides, she looks even better on your lips like this, and fuck, doesn’t Minju taste like you will have to remember, like a little bit like desperation, but only in the way that it has you both completely hopeless, hanging on to every whimper as your cock slides lazily about her well-fucked pussy, a bit deeper, a bit further.)

Like there is something far beyond professionalism guiding the hand with which you hold her hip and let her ass spill through the gaps of your fingers.

It’s all mixed up, how in this exact moment you figure this is a terrible, terrible idea, the worst kind of agreement, this pact - because no one could look at you, could look at either of you and have any doubts in mind now. But you can see it, how you’ll both wear this little agreement like the most beautiful stain in your histories. Even though it might, conceivably, cost one or both of you dearly at some point in time. 

And yet, still.

"Will you - can I - can you..."

She's clinging onto you with all her remaining energy, like she wants to see it through.

But her eyes - the poor thing - her expression is melting into this haze, her face contorted in something like pain and something else entirely: a different kind of satisfied glimmer. It's almost unreadable how that sharp mouth softens at the edges as her cunt gives this small flutter over the head of your cock, as you pump her so full, threatening to overflow.

And in your ear, you catch this little whisper. It says, “please, let me show you,” she's practically purring, “let me, let me - I'm gonna clean you up now, lick my cum right off you.”

It's true. Minju can act and perform and pose and make faces, for a shit ton of people - but she’ll play-act any facade you might ask her to, and she'll do it for you - because, this time around, all you ask her is this:

To be yours.

To be a good girl for you, an obedient little thing, in your private audience, away from the cameras and the lights, away from everyone.

When her knees hit the carpet, she is perfectly between your legs, palms on your hips and fingers splaying out against you.

And when she tries her damnedest like this, no one should bother ever pretending to think differently - least of all, you - and certainly, not while your cock is hardening again in the wet heat of her mouth, under the curl of her tongue, the gentle touches of her fingers -

How can anyone ever bring themselves to tell her that she isn't completely, indisputably the greatest.

(The very, fucking best.

And in every other way: the woman of your dreams. A woman, you realize, you ought to endeavor to keep, in all manners, and forever.

Minju, who could probably do anything, and you, who just might be able to give it to her.)

[seoulmatez]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝐵𝒜𝐵𝒴 𝐼𝒯'𝒮 𝒞𝒪𝐿𝒟 𝒪𝒰𝒯𝒮𝐼𝒟𝐸

info ⭑ nagi seishiro x reader ﾉ 0.9k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff 

note ⭑ something short and sweet for the boy! it's been a while since i've written so forgive me if i'm rusty :3 

“jeez, sei, walk any closer and people might start thinking you’re my shadow,” you mumble into your scarf, tipping your chin up so your next words will be more audible. you’re walking home with nagi now but instead of the man taking steps beside you, he’s closely tracing your footsteps, arms wrapped around you and his hands stuffed in your pockets with yours. 

he’s stuck to you like super glue—like you’re his personal space heater.

“can’t help it,” he speaks up from behind you. if he’s able to get any closer, he does with his words. “it’s starting to get cold.”

besides being a notorious homebody, your boyfriend hates the cold. he hates how it makes his fingertips numb and his skin flush bright red and he especially hates how it makes his nose runny. even now, when the temperatures have yet to hit their coldest, he has a coat zipped up over his hoodie and a crochet bunny beanie sitting atop his head. snowy tufts of hair stick out from the hat but he’s sure to have the tops of his ears tucked away.

“poor baby,” you coo, fumbling for his hand in your pocket. you give it a squeeze before bringing up a suggestion that might help chase the chill away. “want some hot chocolate when we get home?”

you can practically feel him perk up behind you at the offer. nagi may hate the cold, but he loves getting warmed up—especially if it’s with you. he settles his chin on the top of your head and hums a confirmation, the vibration giving you all the answer you need.

he can’t see it, but you smile as you give his hand another loving squeeze. “anything for you, my snow prince.”

nagi groans at the unwanted nickname but it does little–nothing, really–to deter him from hanging off of you the rest of the way home.

it’s not long before the two of you are back at your apartment, settling into the warmth of the unit. while nagi readies the living room for your cozy night in, you stand at the counter with two mugs in front of you and a pot of milk heating up on the stove. the lyrics of the song that’s been stuck in your head these days drift through the air as you make your way about the kitchen to grab whipped cream from the fridge and marshmallows from the pantry.

when you’re back at your workstation and preparing to assemble your warm drinks, you call out for nagi. he’s particularly picky when it comes to the ratio of toppings and you’ve learned it’s best to simply have him supervise. you expect to hear his heavy footsteps alerting you of his arrival but are instead met with his icy hands snaking up beneath your hoodie.

you flinch and then squeal at the sensation, turning around in his hold to scold him. “sei! your hands are freezing!”

any attempt to push him away is futile. despite his lazy exterior characterized by oversized clothes and his floppy-eared hat, nagi is stronger than he looks. his grasp isn’t painful but it’s firm, like he has no intention of letting you go.

he pulls you closer and buries his head into your neck. his voice is muffled when he says, “i know,” he draws out the vowel, “but you aren’t. just help me get warm.”

“i’m trying to do that but it’s a bit hard when your ice packs for hands are up my shirt.” you turn your head to leave a kiss behind his ear as an incentive for him to let you get back to your task. it works, nagi loosening his hold on you in favor of standing at your side. there’s a pout on his lips but he silently watches and waits for you to continue making the drinks.

without the cute distraction, you’re able to pour the milk into each of the mugs and combine the liquid and powder to make the rich, chocolatey base. you add a pretty swirl of whipped cream to your cup before turning to nagi and spraying some of the sweet foam into his mouth. his cheeks puff out and you giggle at the sight before returning your attention to the mugs and beginning to add the whipped topping to nagi’s. through a mouthful, he tells you when to stop.

fluffy marshmallows come next. you sprinkle the minis on between each cup, glancing at nagi to see when you’ve reached his desired amount. he licks the lingering cream off of his lips while he nods in a silent gesture for you to continue. you’re sure you’re going to run out of space to pile them on when he finally says you’ve added enough. like usually, you dig into the bag for a few more of the bouncy treats to feed to your boyfriend.

he happily chews away while you return the ingredients to their place in the kitchen. you join him at the counter as he’s swallowing and like a magnet, he pulls you into him. you don’t fight it this time, choosing to melt into his hold instead.

nagi dips his head down, whispering a quiet, “thank you,” against your lips before capturing them in a kiss. he tastes like dessert, his mouth sweet from the whipped cream and marshmallows, lips soft from the chapstick he’s consistent about putting on in the colder months. and, unlike the rest of him, they’re warm.

you pull away with a smile, jerking your head in the direction of the mugs. “shall we go get warm under the blanket?”

he nods. “sounds good.”

hey there, it's manon :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

[unofficial-writing]

She Calls me Freddie (Pt. 1)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst, topics of pain and injuries (mostly burns)

Summary: The twins managed to buy another ticket to the world cup for you but after the Death eater attack, your trip was cut short

Word Count: 5k

Author’s Note: This series was originally from years ago and i’m so so excited to finally write and put it out. it’s so special to me and I hope you enjoy it! Welcome to part one of many <3

༺═────────────═༻

You were woken up that morning by Ginny shaking you. “Y/n.” She repeated your name a few times before she got a response. You groaned and rolled over onto your other side.

“We let you sleep as long as we could,” Hermione told you. You opened your eyes to see her sitting in front of Ginny’s mirror, doing her hair for the day. “But you won’t have any time to get ready if you don’t get up now.”

“And you will be left behind.” Ginny added with a laugh, taking her pillow and throwing it at you.

“Fine,” You said groggily, throwing the pillow back at her which unfortunately she caught. You sat up and stood quickly to avoid being tempted into lying back down again. If there was one thing you weren’t, it was a morning person. And that particular morning was the morning of the Quidditch world cup, which meant a long walk before the sun was even up.

Satisfied, Ginny returned to her mirror, standing behind Hermione to use the space above her. You walked over to your trunk, digging through it to find an outfit. Unlike the other two, you hadn’t had one planned the night before. You ended up pulling out a sweater and a pair of jeans.

“Are the boys up yet?” You asked as you got dressed, sleep still masking your voice even though you were starting to wake up. Ginny shook her head.

“We haven’t checked yet but I doubt it.” She replied, not bothering to pull her attention away from what she was doing. “I don’t think they’ll get up until they’re forced.” It didn’t take long for the three of you to be ready and leave your room. You split up to go wake the others, Ginny and Hermione heading to Ron’s room and you to the twins’.

You climbed a couple flights of stairs and strode down the hall to Fred and George’s room, giving a swift knock to the door. “Boys!” You called, waiting for a response. After a second knock and nothing, you sighed and opened the door. Both the twins were sound asleep, Fred covered with at least three blankets and George snoring.

“Fred, George, do you realize what time it is?” You asked and with a quick swish of your wand, the lamps in the room were lit. The sun was only just starting to rise, therefore it was still dark in the house.

George responded by covering his eyes, even though the lamps weren’t all that bright. “God, y/n.” he complained. Fred on the other hand was too buried in his blankets to notice.

You sighed and walked over to his bed, removing the first layer of blanket. “Fred, get up.” You told him, hearing only him mumble something inaudible as a response.

“Hm?” You responded. The boy grabbed onto your arms in an attempt to pull you down with him. He failed however, giving up since he was still half asleep. You were able to plant your feet and get out of his grasp. “Poor choice of timing to try and get me in your bed.” You huffed, pulling off the last blanket which got him up quickly. “If I have to be up right now, so do you.”

“Good morning to you too.” Fred yawned, resting his head in his hands.

Once they were both sitting up and looked like they weren’t about to fall back to sleep, you walked out their door, turning back around before closing it. “After breakfast, we’re leaving. And nobody is safe from being left behind.” You announced to them what Ginny had said with a hint of teasing in your voice, hoping it would be enough incentive to keep them awake.

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Downstairs you greeted Molly, who was still working on breakfast. Since you were the first one down, you helped her finish. “Oh thank you, dear!” She said, giving you a warm smile.

Ginny and Hermione were next to come down, followed by Arthur, Harry, and Ron. It was only after you were all seated that the twins came down too. George was first and looked like he was still asleep. “Glad you decided to join us after all.” You said as he sat down across from you.

“Don’t you start, y/n” he groaned, leaning his head back in his chair.

When Fred came down he was wide awake, his long legs taking him out of the stairs and into the kitchen. He ruffled your hair and sat down beside you, close enough that you could smell the faintest scent of gunpowder off of him.

“So last night we were working on these fireworks.” He started to explain, confirming the smell. “We’ll have to show you.”

“Ohhh, is that why you wouldn’t get up?” You inquired with a smile. He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Oh please, like Hermione and Ginny didn’t have a hard time waking you.” He returned. As you talked, you pointed briefly to his food, reminding him to start eating it before he got too distracted by talking. “Once you’re asleep— thanks— nothing can get you up without someone ending up injured.”

“No, that’s only when you wake me up.” You corrected. “And George.” The both of you glanced in his direction, only to see him sound asleep in his chair. Ron beside him slapped his arm, waking him up with a jolt. He sighed and sat back up, returning to his breakfast.

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You left most of your belongings at home, bringing only what you needed for the game that night. The world cup was one of, if not the most important quidditch event in the world. You watch it remotely every year, but this year the twins surprised you with a ticket.

To get there you all would travel by portkey, but it was a hike to get to it. Now on that hike, you found yourself following Arthur Weasley on a wide trail through the woods. He was in an extremely good mood. Everyone was today. Even those who weren’t a fan of quidditch were excited for the event today.

“We’ll be meeting Amos Diggory.” Arthur announced. “And his son, Cedric, which you boys have met.” He gestured to Fred and George. You had met him once a few years ago as well, but you were in a different house and you didn’t get the chance to interact much.

The group reached a large tree where the two waited. “Arthur!” Amos greeted him, he carried a large pack and hiking stick. “It’s about time, son!” Cedric walked up beside him, sporting a smile. He was rather handsome, with friendly eyes and brown curls atop his head. You noticed that he glanced at you first.

“Sorry Amos! Some of us had a bit of a sleepy start.” He replied, turning to look back at his son’s. On cue, Ron let out a yawn.

“You’ve met my boys,” Arthur started and then introduced the rest of you.” This is my daughter Ginny and here is Harry, Hermione and y/n. This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works with me at the ministry.” The man lifted his head in a friendly way. Arthur then turned to Cedric.

“And this strapping young man must be Credric, am I right?” He asked, shaking the boys hand.

“Yes, sir.” Was his response, that smile glued to his face. After introductions were finished, the group proceeded again down the trail. But Cedric stayed back to greet you.

“Y/n.” Cedric spoke in a charming tone, giving a polite kiss to the back of your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

“You as well, Cedric.” You responded with a chuckle, wearing kind expression on your face. He mimicked it and walked back up to the front of the group. Hermione beside you nudged you with her elbow and gave you a smirk. Behind you, Fred and George exchanged a look, subtle enough to go unnoticed by you. But you hear one of them huff.

“I think he fancies you,” Ginny whispered in a playful voice, leaning in close to be unheard by the rest.

“Oh no, Gin. Y/n only has eyes for your brother.” Hermione added quickly, immediately receiving a glare from you. Laughter erupted from the two girls.

“Shush, both of you!” You told her, glancing back to see if anyone heard. The twins looked occupied with whatever they were talking about. “And I don’t like Fred any more than usual.” Which would normally be true. But there was a different dynamic between you recently. Nothing about your friendship had changed but you had certainly grown closer recently. But the topic wasn’t something you wanted to dive into at that moment, on your hike to the portkey.

─────────────────────────

After around an hour more of walking, you came out into a huge field of yellowish-green grass. You had felt the uphill climb for a while now and that was confirmed upon seeing a cliff that dropped downward a little ways off. Beyond it lay the sea, its blue surface darker with the overcast weather that morning. As you worked your way closer, you could taste the air develop a hint of salt and feel the wind pick up.

“It’s just up here!” Arthur called, pointing up the hill where an old leather boot sat. It stood up among the grass as if it was planted there, which it likely had been. As your neared it you were instructed to spread out so that everyone had a spot around it.

“Why are we all gathered around that manky old boot?” Harry asked. You imagined he’d never seen a portkey before before, given that he was raised outside the wizarding community.

“That’s not just any manky old boot, mate.” Fred started, settling into a spot next to you.

“It’s a portkey.” George finished, readjusting the bag he carried over his shoulder. Harry followed to find a spot around the boot.

“Time to go!” Amos announced and began counting. “Three..” you shared a look with Fred, placing your hand on the boot with everyone else. You knew what a portkey was, but you’d never actually traveled by one before “Two..”

“Harry!” Arthur called. The boy didn’t have a hold on the boot. He quickly grabbed it before Amos finished counting.

“One!” As he spoke the portkey lifted off the ground, taking us with it. It began to spin, fast enough that you closed your eyes to avoid dizziness. The spinning lasted somewhere around thirty seconds and once it stopped, you were dropped onto the ground. You groaned at the impact, opening your eyes to see the portkey had gone but the rest of the group was down around you. Arthur, Amos, and Cedric, however, had landed gracefully and now walked past you. Arthur beckoned you to follow.

“Come on, this way!” He called. You sat up, rubbing the back of your head. It had a dull ache, but it faded quickly.

“Plan on sleeping here?” Fred asked, making his way to you and offering his hand.

“Oh shove off, Freddie.” you replied, taking it. He pulled you to your feet easily and walked with you to the rest of the group. You climbed up a slope and when you reached the top, the game grounds came into view.

“Bloody hell.” Ron got out, taken by the sight. There were rows and rows of tents in the outer edge, all with different festive decorations. As you moved inward there were tents selling everything from flags to fireworks, which there were no shortage of.

As you walked through the tents, a few were set off right next to you. They stretch up and burst into colorful sparks, raining back down and forming different shapes and figures.

“Those are brilliant!” George exclaimed, lifting his head to watch as we walked. Smiled and laughter filled the group as you made your way through the maze of festivities. That’s when you parted from the Diggorys.

“See you later, Cedric,” George called out to him as Arthur led the rest in the opposite direction, eventually bringing you to a small tent.

“Don’t worry, it’s much bigger on the inside.” You elbowed Harry playfully after seeing his puzzled expression. You ducked into the tent, which opened into a huge space with multiple different rooms off the main.

“Ok, Girls on the left and boys on the right!” Arthur called out. On your side, there were three beds where each of you dropped your bags. You took out a small paint bag out and brought it into the main room.

“I have face paints for us,” You started, pulling the colors out and setting them on the table. “But I imagine we’ll want some other stuff too. Like hats and flags.”

“We can go get some then,” Fred suggested, stepping down into the room. “They have all the tents just a few down from us.”

“Yeah, let’s go now before it gets too busy.” You responded, abandoning the table and standing to head for the tent’s exit. George came into the room, crossing his arms.

“Be back in time to paint my face, y/n!” George yelled as you left the tent, followed quickly by Fred. You two navigated the area, starting to make your way to the shops. There was a tent for everything you could think of.

“Fred, let’s get a firework!” You exclaimed, taking his arm and bringing him to a vendor. Little sparks fluttered around his tent in all different colors and shapes. “Which is a good one?”

Fred looked about the explosives, eventually landing on a large circular one, with a long stick out the bottom. “This one.” He handed the man a galleon, taking the firework in one hand and your hand in the other.

“Careful where you light that thing!” The vendor called as you were led through the crowd and into a small clearing.

“This looks like barely enough room.” You told him, helping him set the rocket into the ground.

“As long as it’s pointed up,” He started, positioning it correctly. He held a hand out for your wand, which you offered to him. “It won’t bother anyone down here.”

He flicked your wand to summon a spark, which started to move up the little wick toward the firework. As soon as it was lit, Fred stood and pulled you back with him. It went off with a whistle, reaching a little ways above the tents before bursting into a huge explosion. Sparks danced above you before raining back down and eventually fading into nothing. Fred cheered and gave you a high five.

“Now that’s a firework.” He said with both hands still on your shoulders, flashing you a smile. It warmed your chest and gave you an almost giddy feeling.

Fred slipping your wand back into your pocket for you and then you were off again. You went down the aisle of tents, stopping here and there to pick up things like flags, hats, and scarves. You even stopped briefly at a jewelry tent after it had caught your eye.

“Oh, I love this one.” You said pointing to a woven bracelet containing small stone beads.

“Really? You’ve never been much of a jewelry person.” He responded, which was correct. You didn’t really have anything against jewelry, you just never wore anything except for earrings and the occasional bracelet.

“Bracelets are an exception.” You explained. “Maybe I can come back and get it after the game.” You moved on from the stand, continuing down the aisle. You now approached the stadium.

“We probably have everything we need.” You started. “Do you—” You turned around to find that Fred had fallen behind and was now walking to catch up. Once he reached you, you asked again.

“Do you want to go back to the tent?” You asked. He nodded in response.

“Yeah, you still need to paint my face.” The boy reminded you, pointing to his cheek. You chuckled and led him back in the other direction.

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Once you were back at the tent, you broke out the paints. Ginny offered to help so you showed her the basics of it. She ended up doing Ron and Hermione as well as herself. You started with Harry

“Ok, which team?” You asked, prepping one of your brushes.

“I’ll go with Bulgaria.” He requested. “Just one flag though.” You painted the red and black onto his cheeks which he thanked you for. After that you did George, who wanted the same but with the Irish colors and a flag on both cheeks. Once he was done, Fred sat down in front of you with his legs crossed.

“Ok, I’m thinking a huge clover. Covering my entire face.” He gestured to his face, picking up the brush and handing it to you. You laughed, putting a hand onto the side of his face to hold him straight and painting with the other.

“I hope you’re not kidding when you say your entire face.” You said, focusing on what you were doing, which was difficult because the boy kept making faces at you. You had made his entire face white and the clover quite literally covered nearly every inch of it.

“I’m not.” Fred responded. He had given up on making faces and now just gazed at your eyes, which you would argue was even more distracting. Once you were finished, you handed him a small mirror.

“Exactly what I was imagining!” He said, taking your brush from you. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I can probably do it myself, Fred.” You replied, raising an eyebrow. If you knew Fred Weasley, you knew it was safer not to hand him face paint. He gave you a look.

“What? Worried I’ll put a giant clover on your face?” He asked sarcastically. You shook your head, absolutely horrible at saying no to him.

“Fine, just do a flag for me.” You instructed, handing him your paints, but you interrupted him before he could start. “But If you mess up my face, Fredrick Weasley, I’ll never let you touch it again.”

“I won’t! God, woman.” Fred laughed as he spoke. He put a hand under your chin, holding your jaw to keep your head still while he painted. To get back at him, you made direct eye contact with him, chuckling as he struggled to keep his eyes from drifting to yours.

After he finished one cheek he moved onto the next, but the brush strokes were definitely not making a flag. “Freddie?”

“Hm?”

“What are you putting on my face?”

“Just trust me, love.” He assured, glancing down to your eyes for a moment before continuing. You sighed and Fred tilted your chin gently to the side so he could see it better. Once he was done he leaned back to examine his work, taking a little too long before he said anything.

George across the room looked at Ron and started fake gagging, both of them laughing shamelessly. Fred rolled his eyes and handed you your little mirror. He had put the Irish flag on one side and three small clovers on the other. When you looked back up at him he had a smile, knowing you liked it.

“I’m impressed.” You said. “You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.”

“Told you, I’m a natural.” He replied, leaning back on the couch. You chuckled, setting the mirror back down on the table.

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Once the sun went down, you and the rest of the group made your way to the stadium. Your seats were at the top level so it required climbing several flights of stairs that sprouted up just beyond the entrance. About one flight up you were stopped by the Malfoys, the father and son pair. You hadn’t really spoken to either of them personally but they had always seemed like prats from the interactions you heard about.

“Blimey dad, how high up are we?” Ron asked, leaning over the railing to try and see down into the stadium.

“Well let’s put it this way.” Lucius started, leaning into his cane. “If it rains, you’ll be the first to know.” Most of us ignored them and continued walking but Harry and Hermione stopped when Draco chimed in.

“Father and I are in the minister’s box.” He added, giving Harry a smug look. “By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself.”

“Don’t boast, Draco.” His father scolded, jabbing him with his cane. “There’s no need with these people.” Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm, turning her away from the Malfoys. Before he lifted his other hand from the rail, Lucius used the snake end of his can to trap it. Harry jumped at the sudden pain.

“Do enjoy yourself, won’t you? Lucius said. “While you can.” He released his hand and you reached down to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, turning him away from them again. This time they continued going their own way and you were able to make it up to your seats.

This was the first time you could get a good look into the stadium. Below you were an ungodly number of levels, stretching down to the bottom where the field resided. On either side of the green, three posts grew upward, the hoops at the top almost as high up as you were.

Cheers and whoops came from every direction, filling your ears with the sound. “When does the game start?” You called out over the applause. Fred leaned down to answer but was interrupted by the formation of brooms speeding by above, seeming to just barely miss the top of your heads. White and green clouds trailed behind the players as the flew toward the center of the stadium, creating a firework display there.

Then the Bulgarian team entered, crashing directly through their show and throwing off the display. They flew in a triangle formation, sporting their red and black colors. At the front, the team’s seeker led the group, showing off as he passed through the audience.

“Who’s that?” Ginny asked.

“That sis, is the greatest seeker in the world!” George answered. His voice nearly drowned out by the crowd. Somehow the applause managed to grow lauded than it was before the seeker, Viktor Krum, had made his entrance.

The game lasted for a long time, only coming to an end when Krum caught the snitch. His catch handed the win over to the Irish, who ended up with around twenty more points in total.

─────────────────────────

Back in the tent you all celebrated, giddy on the excitement of earlier in the day. You found yourself wrapped in the Irish flag that Fred had picked out, watching them goof around. A loud explosion went off outside, sounding like one of the larger fireworks you had seen.

“There’s no one like Krum.” Ron started, standing up on the table. “He’s like a bird the way he rides the wind.” Fred threw another flag at him, which he caught and balled up in front of him.

“He’s more than an athlete, he’s an artist.” Ron continued, clearly infatuated with the quidditch player.

“I think you’re in love, Ron.” You said, earning a look from him.

“Viktor, I love you!” George sang, taking his brother’s arm.

“Viktor, I do!” Fred added, taking his other one.

“When we’re apart my heart beats only for you!” Everyone finished, being cut off by another big firework going off, followed by shouting from a ways away.

“Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on.” Fred stated, smoothing his hair out of his face. Arthur, who had been gone for a few minutes, entered the tent again, grabbing his son’s shoulder.

“It’s not the Irish.” He said in a tone that made your smile drop. He crossed the tent to reach Ginny. “We’ve got to get out of here, now.”

The scene outside was completely different from what you thought you had heard. The fireworks really had been big explosions. Tents were on fire and people fled screaming.

“Get back to the portkey everyone, and stick together!” Arthur commanded, turning to the twins. “Ginny is your responsibility, do not lose her!” He handed her off, George taking her arm and keeping ahold of her.

The chaos had delayed your reaction time while you tried to process the sudden terror. It took another explosion and more screams to break you out of it. George began running with Ginny in tow and you watched them weave through the mess.

“Y/n!” Fred yelled, taking your hand and gripping it tightly. He dragged you through the tents, following quickly behind George. He hadn’t accounted for the height difference and that you would be slightly slower than him because he continued to lead you through until you started to trip.

“Fred,” you managed to get out, the smell of smoke and burning fabric climbing into your throat. He slowed down a little, probably just considering picking you up at that point. As you passed a larger tent, you suddenly tripped over a pile of debris and Fred quickly turned to grab you. Another explosion hit, sending the tent up in flames and you two to the side. Burns tore at your leg.

The flag, which you didn’t even realize you still carried, caught fire and pain seared through your shoulder as you tried to rip the slip of fabric off. Fred hauled you to your feet, yanking the flag away and tossing it to the side.

“Are you ok?” He yelled above the chaos, his eye darting to your arm and then your leg. You winced but nodded and continued moving. Finally both of you came out onto the hill again. It was dark, but you made it to the bottom where the portkey was.

You had to stop there, gritting your teeth from the untreated burns. Fred slipped an arm around your waist to help support you. After looking around, you saw that only George, Ginny, and Arthur had made it back. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were nowhere in sight.

“Where are the others?” You asked. Arthur looked around the incomplete group.

“Stay here!” He ordered, heading back up the hill. “Whatever you do, do not go back in there!” He disappeared back into the chaos.

“Are you ok?” Fred asked his siblings, who seemed shaken but unharmed.

“A couple scratches but nothing severe.” George replied. You patted Fred’s arm so he’d let you sink to the ground. He took your hand to help you get there, unintentionally letting out a wince. You let go to see a nasty burn where he had grabbed the flag.

“Fred, your hand.” You pointed out, but he shook his head and pulled it away.

“Don’t worry about me.” He replied quickly. Then Hermione and Ron came running down the slope. But Harry wasn’t with them. Hermione landed beside you, setting down her smaller bag which she had managed to save.

“Y/n, what happened?” She asked. the burns were painful but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off so they weren’t yet unbearable.

“Where’s Harry?” You asked her, ignoring her question. She looked around, finding that Harry wasn’t there. She then frantically dug through her bag, pulling out a roll of bandages and some sort of cream. They were muggle supplies, which you had some knowledge on since one of your parents was a muggle.

“Ginny!” Hermione called to the girl, who was looking much younger now. “Wrap her burns, like I showed you!” She turned back around and headed up the hill with Ron, despite George’s protests.

“I’ll show you, Gin.” You said, gritting your teeth. She came over, kneeling down beside you. “Rip the pant leg.” Ginny was able to tear it easily since it was mostly singed anyway. Fred and George grimaced at the burns it revealed.

“Put the cream on and then wrap it.” You instructed, trying to speak calmly through the quickly growing pain. You held your burned arm in your uninjured, the whole side of your body now stinging. She did as you said, the cream bringing some relief to your leg.

Under your instruction, she took of your jacket, decently wrapped your shoulder and arm, and then got your jacket back on to shield the injuries.

“Thank you, Ginny. That was perfect.” You assured her, the stinging was now muted but still very much so present. You heard her sigh in relief at your words.

With your burns covered for now, you took Fred’s hand and wrapped it carefully, apologizing with every sound he made. After a while the screams and explosions had died out, leaving the black, smoky remains of the festival grounds. It wasn’t until about an hour after Arthur had left that he retuned, Hermione, Ron, and Harry now following behind him.

“Is everyone ok?” He asked, making his way through the group. Fred and George helped you onto your feet.

“Y/n got the worst of it,” George explained, leaving you with Fred. “The rest of us are ok.”

“Ginny bandaged everything.” You said, heaving a sigh. “I’ll be alright.”

“Well done, Ginny.” Arthur praised, putting a hand on her shoulder. After a final headcount, you all grabbed ahold of the portkey and took it back home. The walk back was brutal, but both Fred and George helped you and once you were there you received better medical attention. By the next morning you were nearly back to normal.

“How are you feeling?” Fred asked as you walked into their bedroom, noting that you were no longer limping. You expected George to be sitting there too but he wasn’t in the room.

“Better now,” you told him, sitting down on his bed with your back against the wall. “Your mother fixed me right up. But I’ll probably have those scars for a while.”

He chuckled, coming to sit down beside you. Fred pulled you into a big hug, sighing. “Sorry you tripped, I was just trying to get you out of there.” He apologized, releasing you from his embrace. You sat back against the wall again, wanting him to hold you for longer.

“I know, Freddie. Don’t worry about it.” You assured, giving him a soft smile. He returned it. His green eyes gave you that same look they did while you were painting his face.

You sighed. School hadn’t even started yet and you could tell this wasn’t going to be a quiet year. But not even those burns could make you trade it for anything else.

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Click here for part 2!

[danwhobrowses]

So a thing happened on Critical Role this week (campaign 3 ep 91), we're gonna talk about it - a long talk - so if you haven't been caught up and don't wanna be spoiled don't keep reading okay?

One of the disadvantages of being in a different time zone is that after fretting all morning, going to work, thinking 'it's 7am maybe it's done now' I had to sit in my office for a stressful final half hour murmuring don't do this don't fucking do this don't you dare fucking do this!

I already was worried for everyone given the cliffhanger last episode, and the 5 hour length made me further worried as players kept being knocked down by Otohan Thull - already frightening in base form but now with an even higher AC and empowered. Then Sam Riegel had to do what he does best, a devastating sacrifice where FCG blows himself up to take down Otohan - Ludinus' No. 2, harrowed for being proficient in slaughter, defeated by no assassin or warrior but a cleric saving their friends. We've been well past 'get off the moon' hours with this one, but now there is an impact on every one of the Hells to think about, which is what this will be about.

FCG Though he is dead there is still stuff to talk about with FCG's death. A common debate right now is the potential of the Reincarnate spell; while the wording of the death implies that FCG's current body is irreparable there is a chance that a 5th Level Druid Spell can fashion him a new body, one of flesh, bone and tongue. The body itself needs to be dead for less than 10 days so there is wiggle room to gain the necessary components too if the top brass of Exandria turn it into a fetch quest. There is argument on both sides though; if FCG comes back does it undermine his sacrifice? Perhaps, but there's no incentive for the Hells to not try. Reincarnation hasn't quite happened in Critical Role yet - Since Molly/Lucien/Kingsley was kinda different, he kinda had the opposite, different mind same body - so it'd be a refreshing new option and also a way to redesign FCG without having to create a whole new cleric (because they definitely need a cleric) with a whole new skillset that the Hells will need to warm towards before the final battle. But at the same time, the soul has to be willing. FCG was content with his sacrifice, and in the arms of the Changebringer would he go back? I'd like to hope so if it's an option, it'd also entertain a whole new character arc for him as a 'real boy' - plus Matt and Sam don't have to fully abide to the D100 rule of what race he turns into. Of course, I like this angle more than needing a new character, because I like happy endings and it makes narrative sense that the Hells would claw and bite to pull him from that sweet goodnight. It would also validate a reason for the Hells to align with the gods, because if divine favour comes into play and the Gods decide against helping Bell's Hells' greatest advocate for saving them then they are foolishly and callously forsaking key players to their survival, FCG reincarnating with the help of the Gods would play a big part in the Hells standing with them rather than losing faith in them, and even with friction between the Titans & Temults and the Gods from the past they would have a common enemy. Still living or dying can have varying effects on the other characters.

Ashton From the moment Ashton met FCG they wanted to make sure this little bot would be okay, that they'd learn to value their life and be able to thrive. While part of that did happen, Ashton is likely going to feel like nothing's changed since Bassuras; knocked out by Otohan and when awakened a friend is dead, another person they couldn't protect.

Before the shard, I think Ashton would very easily fly off the handle, in their anger they'd blame everything including themselves and maybe even consider leaving themselves, it probably have made them more self-destructive too. Now though I'm not so sure, nobody would hold it against them to waver a little on their promise to take care of themselves in a burst of grief, this was after all their best friend someone they looked after like a little brother, and while I can see Ashton quietly and angrily grieving I can also see Ashton double down on trying to keep their promise, making sure that FCG didn't go out like a martyr and that it won't be in vain. FCG reincarnating would assist in Ashton's character drive too, since I feel like they would detest any replacement cleric because it's not FCG, they may also be less abrasive towards the gods if they came through for them and proved that they care - at least to the Changebringer, think they'd still throw copper at the Dawnfather given the whole Angel incident.

Imogen As the nominated leader of Bell's Hells, many will probably look to Imogen Temult for action, the problem is she has her own mother issues to deal with too - and I'm not entirely sold that Liliana has fully made a turn just yet, only that she won't hand over the Hells to Ludinus. FCG's death is gonna produce a lot of guilt from Imogen though, she was detesting the fact that she had to play dead at 1HP while Otohan cut down her friends again, she will likely blame her inaction which in turn may push her to be more aggressive in combat.

At the same time, I can see her being one of the more gung ho characters to push towards the Reincarnate option, perhaps even going as far as to accost or lambast anyone regardless of alliances or rank who she feels isn't as committed. Imogen has been in the position of loss before, and knowing that FCG had a connection with FRIDA she would likely compel herself to fix it rather than have to deliver the bad news. Regardless of whether he reincarnates though I feel like Imogen may look towards some more defensive spells, and maybe through Liliana try to tap into the powers of an Exalted to try and match the power she saw from Otohan, a risky endeavour for sure but FCG took an even greater risk for them.

Orym Orym is probably the toughest of the Hells to read when it comes to FCG's death. There will of course be a deep sadness at the loss of a friend, but I would also sense a...not bitterness but discontent that this is how it went down. Otohan killed his family, he kept fighting her until he could no longer stand because that's what they would've done, and now she's dead but it doesn't make it better, he wasn't the one to do it, he didn't even see it, and the one who did is gone with her. When Bor'dor was killed, Orym coldly reminded himself that 'we're at war', but I don't think he can justify that way with FCG, the loss was greater than the catharsis.

The death also has to turn attention to his deal with Nanna Mori. Many have pointed out that there is a lot of technicalities that may prolong, void or complete the deal; it was never specified how many times the Hells could return from the moon to continue the deal, but at the same time they did technically return from the moon to Exandria safe and sound via the Secret Backdoor. Still, Mori is his best friend's grandmother, there could be leeway on that matter too and even if he does have to commit to the deal (which I call 'Fatekeeper Orym') it's never been explicitly said that Orym needs to constantly attend to Mori in the Feywild, only that he has to be her caretaker and answer her beck and call. However, FCG's death will likely provide a sobering thought that his deal with Mori was perhaps voided, unless there is one more thread he can have her pull. When it comes to seeking options to bring a friend back, I would keep a close eye on Orym - it's not the first time Liam's resolved himself to be damned before.

Fearne Fearne will likely be a linchpin if the Hells seek out Reincarnate. The spell is exclusive to Druids and if Keyleth isn't on hand to do it the task and pressure will fall to her. It'll be interesting how she reacts, I don't wanna say she'll be the most positive of it because she'll certainly be upset, but I can see her being optimistic even if it's to also convince herself, the one who is most encouraging to find a way. As a shipper I of course want her to be the one who comforts and gets through to Ashton while they grieve but if she also is key to his reincarnation that also adds to their slow-burn. Outside of that, FCG's death may also lead into learning about Mori's deal with Orym, which will probably anger her that Orym kept it from her, there is also the fact that having FCG's life in her hands may bring back bad memories of Bassuras and Whitestone. One must also especially worry about her Asmodeus calling card, the Prince of Lies does nothing for free and I still feel like Klask was planted in her path by Asmodeus' (and maybe even Athion's) titan-seeking design.

If FCG does reincarnate though, I could see her friendship with FCG being even greater than it was, since they'll both feel a greater zeal for life - it may also make her feel further distant from her Evil vision, since she will have saved half her friends rather than risked killing them. If not though, Fearne may have to play mediator for the new cleric and may also be pushed towards freeing up more slots for healing to provide more support for the Hells in future battles.

Chetney It's gonna be an interesting one for Chetney too, from one perspective you could see him thinking that FCG traded their life for his; he died, he made peace with that, but then the one who revived him died. Chetney's more personal mindset has often been cloaked in secrecy, perhaps as one of the least open of the Hells despite many claiming him as the Heart of the group, so I wonder if Chetney may harbour some Survivor's Guilt for what happened.

I can see Chetney being the one to keep his emotions close to his chest, even if FCG were to reincarnate he would perhaps try to shrug off that he always knew it'd happen anyway. That being said someone who remains stoic and unwavering may prove a positive or a negative to the group, depending on the person or their interpretation of it. If a new cleric comes along though I could see him being additionally protective of them, having been the new guy before.

Laudna We should all be worried for Laudna right now. The recent 4SD already revealed that Laudna's 'close to the brink' and I'm pretty sure this is the brink. The aftermath of the Otohan fight will likely push each of the Hells to get stronger, since had they hit harder or been able to take stronger blows it wouldn't have come to this, but that will mean bad things when it comes to Laudna, as she may seek to gain power the only way she thinks she can - through Delilah. After all her last two levels went to Sorcery and did little in the fight, whereas her Warlock class Eldritch Blasts hurt Otohan fairly decently, such a thing can linger in the mind for Delilah to manipulate.

It'll be telling if they do try to Reincarnate him whether the damage will have been done already to Laudna, and that the joy of bringing him back turns to tragedy of Laudna losing herself further, as it often does it will fall to how she leans on Imogen, and how open about it she'll be to her. If FCG is lost however, we may have to keep a very close eye on Laudna being next.

Bell's Hells As I mentioned with Laudna, FCG's death will have made something apparent and clear; despite everything Bell's Hells need to get stronger. Even at Lv13, even with Exalted powers, Fey bargains and Titan shards they still just barely escaped a TPK, and granted they were weakened and worn out but no fight is guaranteed to ever be fought at 100%. Otohan may've been the toughest General of the Vanguard but the other Generals - the Weavemind, Zathuda and the Dominon of Cruft Commander - are still not ones to take lightly, Ludinus is still not one to take lightly, and if Liliana is going to be used by him to become a vessel for Predathos, that cannot be taken lightly. Bell's Hells may need to look towards enhancing their stats as well as their equipment, the harness is still a factor too which can boost them all with enough enchanted items at their disposal. An interesting one would be if Otohan's backpack ends up in one of the Hells' hands; many beforehand have talked about Orym being an Echo Knight but I would personally like to see Ashton take it, since it is powered by the Potion of Possibility like their own Dunamancy powers, it's possible (eheh) that they may align in some manner and could you imagine Ashton + 3 Echoes all raging to get All 4 Dunamancies? Otohan's swords may also provide unique properties for Chetney and/or Orym to use. Reincarnation or not I feel like that may be the Hells' next plan once it's discussed whether to attempt Reincarnation and they're off of Ruidus, gathering allies will likely also be something to prepare for for the final battle given how Otohan stated that they have 'enough Ruidusborns' for their plan. As a group it is difficult to tell if this will strengthen or weaken them, it could strengthen them in a 'never again' way like the Nein, but they were also very enthusiastic about bringing Molly back - it drove them through several arcs - FCG however often was the Hells' beacon of hope and the self-imposed attempted therapist, without that the Hells will either have to put it upon themselves to go the extra lengths or they'll close further in on themselves. If FCG does reincarnate I feel like it would definitely strengthen them mentally but if not I am not so sure.

It shouldn't come to a surprise that I will hold onto the Reincarnate potential so that the Hells can get back their friend, but rest assured I'm worried for all of them right now, there are crossroads ahead.

[lomlhwa]

i'm trying to work (k.hj)

pairing: producer bf!hongjoong x non-idol s/o!reader

preview: it's late and hongjoong is still working on his new song. he said you could go home hours ago. you decide that maybe he just needs some... incentive to go home.

tags/warnings: genderless reader, big dick hongjoong, oral (m.receiving), under the desk head for the win, throat fucking, a lot of spit and some crying, cum eating

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 715

song recs for this fic: she don't like the lights by justin bieber, look don't touch by odetari, seven by jungkook

a/n: it's been so long since i posted T-T i'm so sorry guys. i hope you enjoy this really quick fic while i try and get back on my writing feet <3

you pick up your phone and check the time. 02:00 am. hongjoong said he would take you home 4 hours ago. you knew better than to believe his timelines when he gets invested in a new song. you glance over at him hunched over his computer and soundboard. 

“joong,” you say quietly. he hums at you as a response. “can we go home?” you can see him shake his head. you sigh, dropping your arms down on the couch. “you said we could go home hours ago, how are you not done yet?” he can hear the upset in your voice. he just shrugs. “i’m not done yet.”

another hour passes before you’re sick of just sitting behind hongjoong and being ignored. suddenly, you get a brilliant idea. 

you inch your way over to the side of his desk. he’s so enveloped in his work that he doesn’t even notice that you’ve moved from your seat. you drop down to crawling under his desk, doing your best to not bump his legs. you don’t want to give yourself away just yet.

you settle into a comfortable position under his desk. well, as comfortable as you can get. you wait a few minutes to see if hongjoong has picked up on anything yet. he hasn’t.

you move your hands towards his pants, trying to be as discreet as possible. you tug on the waistband of his sweatpants. you manage to tug them down enough to get his cock to spring out. he knows you’re there for sure now.

he pushes his chair out a bit to see you. “what are you-” you cut his sentence off by taking his length into your mouth. he lets out a small, shaky moan when you do so. he rests his head on his hand, looking down at you sitting with his cock in your mouth. he watches as you struggle to get the whole thing down your throat.

“you’re really this desperate for my attention, are you?” he asks, cocking one of his eyebrows. you nod slightly, your mouth still full. “okay, then be good and get me off,” he says before pushing his chair back in, causing his cock to jab the back of your throat. you barely manage to fight off a gag. 

once he settles into his chair again, you start bobbing your head slowly. your tongue darts out to trace the veins that line his length. he makes the occasional guttural sound. you try your best to deep throat the whole thing but you can barely breathe doing that. 

you can tell he’s getting close when his legs start trembling. he finally stops paying attention to his work and leans back in his chair to look at you. hongjoong rests his hand on the back of your head, guiding your mouth up and down.

“baby…” he says. “let me fuck your throat.” you nod. you stop your motions, sinking your mouth down as far as you can without gagging. he tangles his fingers in your hair to keep your head still. you put your hands on his thighs to ground yourself. 

he starts thrusting up into your mouth at a fast pace. he’s chasing his high like an animal. tears sting your eyes and saliva drips from your parted lips. your gag reflex is going crazy. your lungs are crying for air.

hongjoong’s face twists in pleasure as his high creeps up on him. his thrusts get more erratic, his balls slapping your face. his head is thrown back, sweet moans leaving his throat.

finally, his high crashes over him. he holds your head down, your nose pressed to his pelvis. he shoots 4 ropes of cum down your throat. you cough and sputter as he holds you down.

when he finally lets go, you come flying off him, coughing and gagging. you swallow all his cum, not really having a choice not to. you wipe your mascara infused tears off your face and wipe your mouth of your saliva.

hongjoong catches his breath before leaning over to save his work and close his tabs. he takes one look at you and laughs. he pulls his pants back up and stands up. he leans down to help you off the floor. “let’s go home.”

© lomlhwa 2023

[sw33tsnow]

Beautiful stranger

Firefighter!Simon Riley x illed!F!Reader (18+)

Summary:

Warnings: NOT FOR MINORS, protective!Simon, soft&sweet!Simon, "single-day memories" illness!reader, misunderstanding, (slight) angst, metions of injuries and blood, wholesome, etc. Wordcount: 3k

NOTE(s):

I'M TERRIBLY APOLOGIZE FOR ANY GRAMMAR AND LANGUAGE ERRS.

This blog is quite silly but it's adorable too, so I hope y'all enjoy it🙏🏻🙏🏻.

Simon could list a thousand reasons why he despised the humidity and fog in Manchester, and at such an odd time of year, the snow had started to melt, making the roads so much more treacherous and sticky.

But standing in front of this cozy book café with minimalist yet refined decor, all of the stubbornness vanishes. Taking a deep breath, it felt as if he's living again. Because behind that door is you, the blond's most important person who has been, is, and will continue to be. The one he would crawl back to, even if it is hundreds of miles away.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Simon was sent back to Manchester with the fire department a few years ago. Simon didn't want to go into details how it happened, let alone consider returning here, but he was extremely annoyed because the big boss had denied his request not to move him. The blond lost his family in the fire, which served as incentive and desire to become a fireman. Fortunately, he met a new family and was sent to another area to work, but still eventually returned to where he came from.

The first few days were bland, so Simon opted to go strolling around the neighbourhood, which was understandable given how much had changed since his last visit.

And he stumbled into your café.

To his surprise, your café is rather small and pleasant. It's nestled in a narrow lane and hence well hidden from the main road, making it difficult to spot. With the main brown and cream tones, along with plenty of doors with glass panels and vines clinging to the walls outside, indicated that the owner is a calm and hospitable person. Wholly opposite him in every way. 

Simon had initially intended to stick to the plan exactly: visit and take note of a few noteworthy locations, without loitering. But even a tea junkie like him was lured in by the aroma of the roasted coffee beans.

"One cup surely won't kill me" The blond thought to himself.

Pushing the door open, the pleasant sound of the small bell hanging right above the door rang out. The bell wasn't loud but due to the quiet space of the shop, it rang for a while before stopping. Simon glanced around, and as soon as his gaze fell behind the cashier, you got up, grinned so sweetly, and tilted your head slightly to invite Simon to approach.

"Good afternoon, sir" You said in a soft tone so as not to disturb the other guests and bowed your head slightly, "What can I get for you today?"

"Nothing in mind, do you have...uhm, any suggestions?" Simon replied in his baritone voice, trying not to seem overly snarky, 

For some reason, he didn't want to scare you, you looked so small compared to him and so approachable or he didn't want to make you feel nervous because of his rigidity.

The smile returned to your face. Without makeup, your long, slightly downturned eyelashes and smooth skin give you a serious, aloof look when you're not smiling. But the dimples, the large eyes and the way you have to look up to meet his eyes due to the height difference made the man know for sure that he has terribly misjudged you.

Your pupils fixed at the blond's for quite a while, truly taking him in and then sparked up, "A warm cuppa Earl Grey is all you need but I think a Mont Blanc would brighten your mood also, sir"

Simon gave you a nod, but he didn't seem convinced.

"Don't worry, I guess you're not a sweet tooth so I suggested that specific dessert." You turned to face him after glancing at the glass cabinet next to you that was holding an array of cakes, saying, "The choice is still yours."

The man was quietly pretty impressed by your dexterity and persuasiveness, rarely was Simon wowed by anyone since Johnny was the closest with his exuberance.

"All heard you" The blond nodded and kept his tone flat.

"Lovely" Your voice dropped to a whisper at the end of your sentence "Tha'll be £7.49 total" Your fingernails clicking on the screen behind the register desk.

"If you need anything else, feel free to call for me"

It was odd how Simon, far from being happy that he was back in Manchester as his mates had assumed, was secretly pleased for this transfer. However, the blond's frequent visits to this tiny bistro were becoming more frequent. For the first time in many years, Simon had to spend part of his personal income on more delectable cakes and coffee for his coworkers in order to allay suspicions. Simon also increased his frequency of gym visits, citing his need for extra coffee from his workouts as his justification, and for no other reason at all, when he bought it for everyone.

And gradually, the man and you also spoke more. The familiar time and your gorgeous smile were what greeted him every time, could probably say Simon felt at ease in this quaint café, so all of his awkwardness slowly vanished and was replaced by a naturalness between the two of you.

"Mr. Riley" You beamed, "You’re late today"

Simon chuckled lowly and shook his head before saying, "Told ya t' call me Simon, luv"

"Right, my apologies" You gave a cheeky smirk, "Usual?"

"Nah, I need something stronger t'day" He looked at the blackboards written in crisp white chalk hanging behind you, above the stacks of washed cups.

"How 'bout an Egg coffee from my hometown?" You tilted your head, "It's sweet enough so ya won't need a tart but the coffee is strong"

"Yeah? Still wanna 'ave a taste of your new recipe though" He smirked, "Ya forgot, 'aven't ya?"

Raising your eyebrows a little as you giggled gently in front of your lips, "Of course not, I'll get it for you right away" 

"Do ya need anything else, Mr. Riley?" 

"Uh, yeah....Can I take tha' Pumpkin Pie? Need to bring some treats back for the mates” The man scratched his head and looked at you.

"Already in love with ma baking, Simon?" You sweetly asked.

Simon blushed and coughed, but he knew you weren't the kind to make fun of people too much, so he kept quiet.

And you… did it on purpose. The fact that you described Simon's first meeting in over eight pages was embarrassing. The voice, the towering height and sturdy shoulders, and of course the messy wind-blown blonde locks. Oh my, the deep tone that used to give you butterflies in your stomach, as though you were bewildered by your own muscle memory. It seemed as though falling in love with this gentleman was possible without even knowing his face. However, as soon as he removed his thin mask to savor the flavor of the tea you had prepared, that dashing visage was glued to the front of your notebook.

Although you didn't have any intentions on those previous days, it was definitely the reason you called his name, Simon, to see the light pink layer spread across his ears.

"Here you go" You handed the pie, "My treat"

And of course the blond refused you, but what could he do, you're more stubborn. So Simon had to leave with you seeing him off at the door, because he couldn't stop insisting on paying for the pie.

Bidding the taller gentleman farewell, you blew on your hands and rubbed them together to warm them before rolling up your sleeves and began to wash the dirty plates and cups.

"Someone's in love" The young girl gave you a prod and spoke with your mother tongue, it's your sister.

You laughed and rinsed the soapy cup, wiped your hands on your apron, and without hesitation aimed straight at this little employee's chubby cheeks and pinched them. As usual, the little girl just cried out in pain and gently pushed you hand away.

"Watch it" You glared, teasingly threatening her.

The girl stroked her cheek and murmured, "I'm not wrong." "Not like the other customers you mentioned to me to help you remember, Mr. Riley is indeed very special to you."

You didn't object, just smiled warmly and shook your head, turning back to wash your cups. If you were to talk, you didn't know Simon that well. You were always curious to know what he did for a job, how his family was, and so on. You just wanted to hear that honey-like voice respond to all of your queries. God, though, how do you open up?

.....And how would he react to your condition?

_-_-_-_-_-_

The familiar chime of the bell caught the attention of the girl who was occupied with the mop and the wet wooden floor was decorated with footprints of mud and melted snow. With a quick glance at the clock, it was late enough for the shop to be open, as evidenced by the chairs driven upside down on the tables.

"Mr. Riley!?" Leaning the mop against the wall, the young girl looked surprised before turning directly to face the older man.

Simon's dark brown eyes quit darting around, as though he was looking for someone, and he nodded a greeting. As if understanding his gesture, the girl pointed towards the back door of the café and he immediately followed the direction she pointed, not forgetting to also grunt out thank you.

It was difficult to tell the difference between hot breathing and cigarette smoke owing to the chilly weather, but the aroma was unmistakable - that's how Simon found you. Standing in a jet black turtleneck dress that accentuated your skin, the waistline hugging your lower belly and the shapely hips that made him gulp. You leaned against the wall, holding a lit cigarette between your index and middle fingers while the smoke steadily out your mouth and nose. You were wearing a long trench coat and matching boots that nearly reached your knees. Although you were worn out, Simon thought that didn't take away at all from your beauty.

"I thought you're gonna to keep the cigarette fo' me like you said?" The man came slowly toward you and cleared his throat.

Startled that you hadn't heard the footsteps, you whirled around. You glanced at the person in front of you and blinked. Messy hair neatly combed, big palms with a beautiful bouquet, and warm eyes looking straight at you. Simon gently took the cigarette from your hand and brought it to his lips to inhale.

"My apology....do I know you, sir?"

What?

Simon must have heard it wrong, mustn't he? The blond gave you a subtle glimpse before giving you back the half-burnt cigarette. You weren't upset with him, were you? The man chuckled softly, he grabbed your chin and brought you closer to his face.

You didn't back away nor did you push him off, but your eyes were distant and confused even though you tried to hide it. Simon's panic was starting to set in. What happened while he was gone?

You, on the other hand, had no fear of this man. You had no idea why, yet he treated you so gently. His deep voice and stern appearance went against every gesture. You couldn't recall what it meant but you know there's something going on between you and this man.

“I'll see you later”

The man spoke after a long silence. After offering you the bouquet with a "This's for you," he gingerly withdrew and swiftly vanished from the view.

You immediately stubbed out your cigarette and ran after him but it was so contrasting to his muscular body, Simon silently disappeared into thin air, as if he had evaporated from the earth.

Even after two days had passed, Simon was still haunted by the incidents of that evening. Did he do something wrong, did he forget to bring you the souvenir he promised or did he buy you the flowers you didn’t want? Or did you just…..want to forget him? Negative thoughts continued to torment the blond, making it impossible for him to concentrate on his duties, which explains why Captain Price disciplined him with 200 push-ups and cleaning the training area.

Yet Simon couldn't help but think of you. He longed to see and to speak with you, words couldn't describe how much he missed you. He wished to convey to you his true feelings for you. But you're so cold, so distant, is it because you didn't feel as close to him as he did to you?

As if recognizing that he would never be able to answer these questions for himself, Simon made the decision to investigate the reason behind this. The man began by going over the fire station reports and surprisingly found that there had been a gas explosion in your apartment complex.

Your sister was on her way home from her friend's house that evening when she unexpectedly received a call from an unknown number asking her to come to your building and pick you up. The cop cars and fire trucks were so many that their blue and red lights were flashing all over the place as soon as she went onto the street where your flat was located, hurting her eyes. Narrowing her eyes, your sister stared up at the destroyed building and the horrible smoke rising from the fire that was being put out. When she regained consciousness, she looked about for you. She rushed to the area labeled with caution warning tape and saw you on a stretcher being taken into the ambulance as your cat remained by your side. The process of getting to ride in the ambulance with you to the hospital as your acquaintance was lengthy, even had to show her ID for proof.

It took your sister a long time to win you over to the idea that you could trust her when you woke up. She had given you her phone to see how she saved you in the contact and pictures of the two of you. Fortunately, the cat was nearby, so you assumed that it was also your pet because animals never lie. That day, she also had to help you remember that you owned a café, your exceptional baking and cooking skills, and pretty much everything else that matters.

All of your personal stuff was burned so you had to stay with your sister. The girl was so terrified and worried about you at the time that she only remembered what was immediately relevant and neglected Simon due to his lack of presence for such a long time.

Simon, after learning everything, was just as astonished. Stumbling into his truck and making his way to the address of your flat, which was mentioned in the report. Simon flashed his badge to get on the scene and discovered your notebook on the rotting wooden floor, with a corner burned.

Flipping through the pages, afraid they might crumble, he read your handwriting. The notebook was mostly filled with recipes and reminders, and there are a few pages dedicated to regular visitors. And there’s Simon, with his stolen side profile that was taken by you probably, and dozens of pages about him. The more he read, the more the blond felt like you’re keeping a diary with him as the subject. On how sweet his tea should be, what desserts he loves, and oh, how you describe his smile.

And then a tear, two, until the man's vision blurred. He realized how much you loved him too.

Gently tucking your notebook inside his thick coat, Simon walked out of the apartment building and straight to his car. He needed to see you now, you needed his help, he knew that for sure.

The café is quieter than normal today, which you had a lot of time walking about behind the cashier counter. Occasionally, you'd catch a glimpse of someone passing by the glass door, but they didn't stop by. You let out a sigh and bent down to clean the tabletop for the zillionth time before throwing the towel over your shoulder.

The engine of the car heavily stops at the curb opposite your shop. You narrowed your eyes to get a better look and oh, it's the same man who handed you the bouquet the last time and well, vanished. He still has the same good looks as the notes you wrote in your brand new note.

The man entered, his gaze falling on you right away. You didn't know why, but you instantly froze and flushed. He came over to where you were standing in an instant, grabbed your face in his hands, and gave you a passionate kiss. Alright, that was a bit too much. Despite your best efforts, the man in front of you continued to kiss you while holding you so closely that it was difficult for you to breathe.

“Gosh, get a room you two” Your sister made the disgusted face towards both of you.

"What do you think you're doing?" With a mixture of embarrassment and anger, you asked.

There was no response from the man, just an embrace that took away your ability to chastise him. You saw that his shoulders were trembling a little and that your shirt was damp, which made you anxious because you couldn't figure out why he was sobbing.

With shaking hands, the blond man pulled out your charred notepad and gave it to you, saying, "I'm really sorry"

You took it in surprise, flipping through the slightly burned pages, then the beautiful smile of the man in front of you appeared through the polaroid on the page with the notes written by you. Your eyes were also filled with tears, reading back the memories you had for him.

Then you looked up at him, to see his warm eyes still following your every move. Your small hand tightly grasped the man's jacket, your lips pressed tightly together even though there were so many words that wanted to be said.

“Hush, don’t cry, luv” He cooed, kissed your forehead “Let’s start again….”

“Simon” You cried into his chest.

“Yes, it’s me, your Simon”

Taglist: @shadowlali , @ghostlythots , @brickwall035

[sugaarquoted]

Can I request the vice wardens plus silver or replace him with Lilia them seeing their crush alone and breaking down after seeing them "attempt," to do magic but failed because they don't have any. They just wanted to know what it's like plus grim keeps messing up and dragging their grades down

what a sweet request! i apologize for taking so long to get to writing it- have had a lot on my plate recently. as compensation i'll do the vice wardens with silver included :) hope you enjoy!

just a note! savanaclaw does not have a vice housewarden so that is why savanclaw is not present in this work

and! since you said 'crush' i will be leaving ortho out of this since i only do platonic works for him :)

What luck you had.

First you get transported to this mysterious place filled with magic and unknown capabilities of others. But you are expected to keep up your grades while lacking said abilities?

That seemed unfair didn't it? Especially with a certain... weasel who had a habit bringing your shared grades down constantly with his 'oh so great capabilities'.

Of course you were used to his antics by now, as it had been months since the beginning of your journey in this new world.

Yet the issue with your dropping grades never faltered.

Somehow, you had a burst of motivation to try taking things into your own hands.

Reading book after book, asking for opinion after opinion you were lead blind into believing you could be successful in the art of magic of just a mere human.

You are not sure what it was today but you could slowly feel your incentive fade after the failure that had occurred.

Now with each attempt leading to failure, you came to the conclusion that this world maybe was not meant for you after all, along with the magic everyone seemed to possess.

What are you going to do...

Trey Clover

Trey had a lot to keep track of as vice house warden, not as much as the house warden himself but still a significant amount of tasks.

Hence why he was heading out of the dorm at this later-than-usual hour, scrambling for last minute supplies.

On the way to Mr. S's Mystery Shop, picking up goods and ingredients last minute for yet another dorm get together, he almost missed the sight of you pacing back and forth not far from where he was heading to.

He had a lot to think of this evening after all. But your well-being was no added weight to his duties.

"Hey, Prefect, you alright-"

He almost immediately noticed your panicked expression paired with your anxious pacing as he approached.

Trey sat you down outside the shop, letting you lean on him if need be.

Offers you a snack, if you're hungry, and water.

Spends most of the time is spent comforting you and asking you if you need anything. (He cares so much about your health, especially now when it is obvious you need some assurance)

Speaking of assurance, he very much makes it his duty to tell you how appreciative everyone here is.

He is here for you right now and anything you need, he can supply.

"You really are an important part of our lives, Prefect. Even without magic, and.. whether or not you have that ability does not matter one bit to me.

Ahem Well.. would you like to come back to Heartslabyul? Help out with some baking if you'd like. Might keep your mind of things for awhile"

Jade Leech

As soon as you had walked into the Mostro Lounge, you managed to catch eyes with Jade, who was currently cleaning cutlery in the meantime before it was necessary for him to serve the guests again.

He watched as you scurried off to one of the corner tables near the aquarium's decorum.

That was strange, you usually pick one of the centre tables to save while you wait for any of the usuals to join you.

"Good evening, Prefect, how may I assist you tonight?"

You seemed to be in a daze or somewhat surprised as he asked. To prompt your lack of context, due to only now picking up on his question. He continued.

"Are you awaiting any of our other usual guests? Or will this be a table for one tonight. If the latter is the case, may I take your order?"

Now, Jade was many things. One of those things not being dense. It was obvious enough that something was up with the dear Prefect.

Another thing is that he is Azul's right hand man, most trusted, more so. Meaning he did have an unusually busy Wednesday evening at the Lounge. But he was willing to take his chances for you.

Opts to keep you company 'while he can get away with it' as he says

Does not specifically point out that he can tell something is wrong. But does make it obvious he knows at the very least.

Definitely talks about some silly thing Floyd did, or mentions something Azul was frustrated about simply to take your mind off of whatever seemed to bother you in the moment.

He did not wish to know what was affecting you, since naturally it would have been his duty to report it to Azul.

Truly did care about making you feel better, with his sly comments included to tease you nonetheless.

"Return to work? My my, do you wish for my leave already? There is nothing better I could be doing in this moment besides keeping you company like what I am doing right now.

Are you sure you wouldn't like something off the menu? I am sure you can get away with a discount, and I will make sure your request is the top of our priority."

Jamil Viper

A cold evening on a school day in the middle of the week was not really the prime time to be out and about. Especially when Ramshackle was just a short walk away. Not that it would really provide much warmth knowing its current state.

Yet here you were, out doors and sitting on the steps in front of Night Raven College's main building. Alone for that matter.

Jamil was prepared to walk away, pretend he did not notice you. It was not like it was his problem. However he did notice, and... he cared.

Momentarily stopping in his tracks he turns and heads in your direction, sitting down on the cool concrete steps once he did.

After a moment of thought he sighs, then silently removes his uniform blazer and drapes it over your shoulders despite you already wearing your own. Since—

"—Its cold out, don't you think?"

He lets the question linger after another moment of silence, before choosing to speak once more. Something was up.

"Aren't you usually with Grim?"

Jamil's comment trails off as he picks up some of the pieces. Maybe it was intentional Grim, or anyone else for that matter, was not here.

Lets you speak up about your issue if you desire, or lets your silence stay quiet but comforting nonetheless.

If you decide to tell him about your thoughts he will provide a welcoming aura for you to talk.

Your problems were not really his business, but if he could tell something is weighing you down, it would be better to get it off your chest sooner than later.

Stays with you as long as you need, or as long as he can until he needs to pry Kalim out of some situation sooner or later.

Overall, is here when and if you need him to be.

"I guess this world really is strange if you put it that way. But you are welcome here. You have helped us all out, some of us more than others. I'm sure Kalim can agree...

Speaking of, I should head back and check on him. You're welcome to come along if you'd like. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you as well."

Rook Hunt'

"Bonjour!"

Rook called out, hoping to take you out of your supposed trance; noticing you seated on a bench near a tree, providing some sort of camouflage for you. Nothing that could fool Rook, however.

His plan seemed work, noticing you looking in his direction. He tipped his hat towards you before he took up a seat next to you before realizing, upon further inspection, there were tears beginning to dry on your cheeks.

"Ah! C'est ne pas possible! Who would have dared to make an attempt to deject your heart with sorrow?"

Rook's sudden overdramatic reaction definitely caused a few heads to turn in your direction, momentarily for the most part

His reactions towards anything would never differ would they.

Despite his over the top reactions. He cares. so. much.

If you wanna share what is going on? He's here. If not? he is still here.

And if it was someone, or something, that causes you this much stress clearly they were the ones in the wrong!

Ask if you need anything. Anything and he will supply it within seconds.

May go on a rant using long descriptions with words you barely know the meaning to, just because he knows it'll make you smile.

Just wants to see you smile and display feelings of joy!

"Mais, you are our Prefect, plus cher, non? You are a very important piece of all our lives now. All of us truly appreciate you dearly! How couldn't we? Ah, still not convinced maintenant?

Let us go inside yes? I have no doubts, Roi de Poison will be able to provide a second perspective to my reasoning."

Lilia Vanrouge

This evening was rather boring for Lilia. For once, he truly had nothing to do. Of course there were always things to be done back at Diasomnia, but tonight he felt for a need of fresh air. So he decided to use Malleus' tactic and take a stroll around Ramshackle.

Unsurprisingly, due to the area he walked, he noticed the Prefect alone by the dorm building.

What a perfect opportunity!

Pranks were in a fae's nature, scaring people included all the more.

Luckily, a nearby tree had perfect placement for his idea, and so he carried through.

Until he took a good look at your expression. You did not look very happy-go-lucky at all in that moment. Still he decided to at least go and check up on you, after scaring you of course.

Using magic to place himself sneakily within the branches of the nearby tree, he suddenly appeared in front of your view, attempting to surprise you with this process.

It was successful! However, after now seeing your expression further up close, he presumes this may not have been the best time and place for his own shenanigans.

Indirectly apologizes for his "childish behaviour" as he says

Instead of sitting beside you, he crouches down a little as the two of you interact

Although he is one of the 'people' who utilizes magic for almost every basic task and action, he tries greatly to prove to you the not so great and tricky aspects of the art (even for someone as experienced with it as he is)

He also shows you how you can enjoy it without having any of your own

Shows you both sides to magic, the good and not so great

"This world may not be as familiar as you think right now, but magic shouldn't be the finality of what you seek. Know of the friends and relationships you have and the memories you create each day.

Everyone here has grown very fond of you, some more than you might ever think to know. Well then, come along now! Let's get you inside and warm."

Silver

They look wonderful here.

The light of the sun splitting the leaves of the trees, turning the green grass more of a golden hue. The quiet call of birds broke the silence the calming breeze caused.

But most of all. You.

You were in the midst of this sight, adding to the perfect painted picture in Silver's eyes.

Calmly staring off into the distance while the light reflects glowing skin and shiny cheeks.

But... what was causing the shine.

Tears, he realized.

Now that was more than enough to get him to actually stop merely watching from a distance. Just to make sure those were not actually tears.

"Uhm— hello, Prefect"

He began, peeking around the tree you were leaning against.

"I was watch—"

No that did not sound right at all. Quite creepy if he does say so himself...

A moment of silence passes before he decides to make a second attempt with hopefully better wording, praying you forgot the first by now.

"Is... there something on your mind?"

He was met with silence. Which is reasonable after you have most likely just been crying, and now attempting not to shed any more.

"You know.. I like to come here when things aren't always going to plan as well. It is very calming and peaceful here isn't it?"

Since it is obvious that the silence brought at least a bit of comfort to your problem, he lets the comfortable stay that way for the most part

Talks and asks as much as he can, to make sure he has done anything he possibly can to make you feel better

Ends up falling asleep at one point, despite trying his hardest not to

Even you ended up making this relaxing spot more relaxing for him with just your presence alone

Very much cares, but won't force you to reveal what is on your mind if you don't feel like it

"My 'spot'? Oh— no that's not it. I just happen to go here a lot. We can share if it brings you ease. Of course if you'd like to. I wouldn't mind at all, in fact that might be really nice...

Is whatever's on your mind still bothering you? Well.. if I am ever feeling down father always has some sort of trick. Maybe we can go and see him and he will think of something for you as well."

[ellephlox]

Deprivation

Summary: Matt thinks you can't go sixty hours without sleep. You think otherwise.

Pairing: Matt x f!reader

Warnings: Choking, sleep deprivation, some profanity, accidental cut with knife on hand, intimacy

Matt, you quickly learned, was the smartest man you knew, except in one regard: he had absolutely no clue of what it meant to have a damn sleep schedule.

To be fair, this was to be expected. He was a lawyer, and had his little double identity, so of course he wasn't going to get a full eight hours every night.

But sometimes he'd be back from his vigilante activities, and didn't even have any court cases to prepare for, and yet you'd wake up to find him out in the living room listening to the city. So you would go out to him, wrapping your arms around yourself because it was cold when you didn't have his body heat warming you up, and try to coerce him to come back to bed. And he'd always oblige, following you back into bed, but even then you knew he was lying awake, staring at the ceiling. It wasn't insomnia, he had told you. He just liked to stay awake. He liked listening to his city.

That was something you could respect. But when it got to the point that he was only getting a few hours of shut-eye each night, and Foggy reported to you that Matt was getting really tired at work — well, that was just another way that he self-sabotaged.

"It's probably not very good for you," you told him, as gently as possible, on a Friday afternoon when he'd gotten out of the office early. "Not getting enough sleep can lead to all sorts of health issues down the road — both mental and physical."

Matt had the audacity to smirk at that. "Don't worry. I've got bigger things to worry about."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Besides, if I have to lose an hour of sleep, it's worth it if it means I can save someone's life."

"You don't have to be Superman, Matt. You're human. You have needs, too. How about I start matching my sleep schedule to yours? How would you feel about it then?"

"We have different sleep needs," he said simply.

You narrowed your eyes. "What is that supposed to mean? 'Different sleep needs?' What are you implying, that I couldn't do it?"

"I'm saying that just because my sleep schedule seems impossible to you, it's not the end of the world to me."

"I never said it was impossible. I just don't like seeing how little sleep you get," you said obstinately. "I could deal with no sleep just fine." Which, really, was an unsubstantiated claim, but it wasn't as though there was any reason to believe that you wouldn't do just fine.

"I'd beg to differ."

"My sleep needs are beside the point," you said mulishly, wrapping your arms around him. "But here's my final say. You should start getting an average of six hours of sleep a night, at least — averaged out over the course of every two weeks — without argument. Okay?"

Matt raised his eyebrows. "That's a steep request. No incentives? No bribery? Why on earth would I do that?"

"Because I'm the love of your life and you want to make me happy by getting more sleep?"

"Yes to the first part, no to the second. Sorry, sweetheart."

"Please?"

"Hm. I'm reconsidering." Matt planted a kiss on your forehead. "And the answer is no. Unless..." He pulled back, his eyebrows drawn in. "You think you can 'deal with no sleep just fine', you said?"

"Sure. Mind over matter."

"I'll make a proposal for you," he said. "If you can go sixty hours without sleep, then I'll make an effort to do your at-least-six-hours-a-night suggestion."

A grin broke across your face. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious."

"Because I'm going to win, Matt. Like I said, mind over matter."

"Sixty hours is a lot harder than you'd think, Y/N."

"It'll be a piece of cake, considering what's on the line," you said, checking the time. "Okay. It's four in the afternoon right now. I woke up at six this morning, thanks to the work I had to get done for my boss. So sixty hours from when I woke up this morning would be... six in the evening on Sunday. Friday morning to Sunday evening, then? Easy. You are going to be eating your words, Murdock."

His own smile was wicked. "You'll be wanting to cave after thirty-six hours."

"Ha. Unlikely." You held out your hand. "So it's a deal, then?"

Matt shook your hand firmly, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Nighttime arrived quickly. Usually, when Matt started suiting up to head out for the night, you'd be getting ready for your shower and brushing your teeth.

Tonight, you had other plans.

"What do you think you're doing?" Matt said sharply, coming into the bedroom as he straightened his cowl. You glanced over him, admiring the Daredevil suit. Seriously, how did all the people he saved every night not just fall in love with him?

"I'm getting dressed," you said innocently. "Is that a problem?"

"Yes. You're putting on your thicker coat, the one you wear only when you plan on being outside for awhile."

"Going outside is a crime now?"

"Y/N, it's nine at night. It's pitch black outside. I don't want you getting kidnapped, or mugged, or—"

"It's okay. I'm just going to the movie theatre."

"The movie theatre," he repeated.

"Yeah. While you're being a vigilante, I'm going to go watch a film. Because I've still got forty-eight-ish hours of staying awake and I intend to enjoy that time."

Matt's frown deepened. "Are you taking a taxi?"

"The theatre's only a few blocks away," you said, knowing exactly how he'd react.

"I'll follow you, then, to make sure you get there safely," he decided. "What time does the movie end?"

"I haven't decided what I'm watching yet, so I'm not sure. But I promise I'll text your burner, okay? I won't be reckless."

Once Matt was satisfied that you weren't going to go anywhere aside from the theatre ("There's been a human trafficking ring going on around here lately, and I'm not taking any chances with you wandering around"), you started your trek to the movies, appreciating the dark figure tailing you along the rooftops and blowing him a kiss before you entered the theatre.

The rest of the night passed more quickly than you expected. You finally got home close to midnight, after walking back with Matt, who stayed on the sidewalks with you since the streets were empty. Once you got back to the apartment, you did some reading until Matt returned, plowing through two books on your to-read list.

"Getting tired?" Matt asked when he came in, stripping off his cowl. It was one of the rare nights that he didn't have any blood on him, so you ran up and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his middle.

"I could run a marathon right now," you said. "You, on the other hand, can go to bed. Get some rest."

"If you're staying up, then I'm staying up."

"The deal was for me to stay up sixty straight hours, Matt. Not you. In fact, the whole point of this is to have you get more sleep. Go to bed, really."

"If I fall asleep, then I won't know if you lose the bet and fall asleep," he objected.

You rolled your eyes. "Good thing you're a human lie detector, Matt. You can ask me tomorrow whether I've slept or not."

You had pulled all-nighters before, but never without even a ten minute reprieve of a nap. It did start to get exhausting, and you were feeling punch-drunk by the time dawn rolled around. Matt didn't sleep in — in fact, he was up just a bit after dawn — and you fought to hide anything that might indicate to him that, in fact, you were already feeling tired enough that you wanted to just crash on the couch and sleep for ten hours.

"Good morning." Matt entered the living room, where you were getting through your third book. Your eyes felt dry and heavy, so you blinked a few times, trying to sweep away the weariness.

"Good morning," you said, with much more energy in your voice than what you felt inside.

"Did you fall asleep at all last night?"

"Nope," you said blithely, and Matt's nod confirmed the truth to your statement. "Twenty-four hours of sixty are complete."

"You're not even halfway there. Feel like giving up?"

"That's insulting that you'd even ask me that." You sipped at your water. "So, lazy Saturday today?"

"Not quite," Matt said, looking altogether suspiciously pleased with himself. "I meant to tell you — we have a busy day, actually. I signed us up to volunteer at a civil rights event this morning. We'll be collecting money and signing people in — I'll type names into the system, you take care of the money. If that's alright with you, of course."

It wasn't like Matt to forget to tell you about something like this, let alone not ask you in the first place if it was something you were up to doing. You chewed your lip. "Yeah, no problem."

"Then Foggy's invited us to lunch with him and Karen. We're supposed to meet up at a café a few blocks away then go for a walk to check out the new museum that's down in Chelsea. Oh, and last night I overheard some details about that human trafficking ring, so I was hoping we could do some research this evening and look into some names that might be involved."

"Is that all?" you asked, feeling a sinking feeling in your stomach at the prospect of everything Matt had listed.

"Well," he said, taking his hand to toy with your hair. "I thought tonight would be perfect for cleaning out the kitchen. You've been saying for awhile that we need to get into all the cupboards and dust off everything. We could do the closets, too. Might as well get it all done at once."

You scowled. "Since when are you into deep cleaning on a Saturday?"

"It seemed like the ideal day for it," he said vaguely, still looking far too satisfied with himself. Unbelievable.

You swallowed your irritation, though, and feigned optimism. "Sounds good to me."

"Really? It won't be too busy of a day? Because I know you didn't get any sleep last night." This last bit was pointed, and you struggled to keep up your facade.

"Not too busy at all," you said, patting his thigh twice and standing up to stretch. "It sounds perfect."

Matt's smile widened. "You're lying."

"No, I'm not," you insisted, heading to the bathroom to get ready. Shit, I'm tired. One glance into the bedroom, at the blankets still unmade, and it was difficult to not cave right there and crawl under the covers. "I'm going to win this, Matt. Try to overwork me all you want, because I'm still going to beat you."

His grin only broadened.

As the day went on, it got more and more difficult. You found yourself feeling lightheaded, as though your thoughts were hovering slightly outside of your head, and you kept losing your train of thought. Keeping up with the conversation with Foggy and Karen took so much energy that you found yourself blinking heavily in the museum, trying to avoid looking at the oh-so-comfy padded benches along the walls that looked just fantastic for grabbing a quick twenty-minute nap. You must've started looking pretty tired, because even Foggy noticed.

"You alright, Y/N?" he asked, slowing his pace to walk beside you.

"I'm fine. Totally fine. Why?" you said, shaking off the tendrils of sleep that were playing with your eyelids.

Foggy gave you a look. "You and Matt both suck at lying when it comes to convincing me that you're 'fine.' What's going on?"

You had no choice but to explain the bet to Karen and Foggy, both of whom, to your annoyance, leaned towards Matt's side, insisting that there was no way you could make it until Sunday evening.

"You're all underestimating me," you said, lightening your footsteps to appear more buoyant and vivacious. "Just because I'm tired doesn't mean I'll lose."

Matt, in all his smug glory, had the audacity to turn around, lowering the museum-issued phone that provided audio descriptions of each painting. "You're admitting that you're tired? If you want, we can head home and you can take a nap."

"Enough from the peanut gallery, Murdock," you said.

Matt tapped the side of his white cane playfully on your leg. "Just looking out for your wellbeing, dearest."

"You can take your looking out and shove it up your—"

"Coffee!" Foggy said triumphantly, pointing to the museum café. "Just because I think you're going to lose, Y/N, doesn't mean I want you to lose. Come on, let's pump some caffeine into you."

"Nope." You shook your head. "I'm going to do this au naturale."

"Did Matt make a clause saying you couldn't?" Karen's arms were crossed. "Because if so, he's just being too much of a lawyer—"

"He didn't. But I want to do it alone without any support. Not even from coffee," you said.

Still, Matt looked too confident. It unnerved you.

You had to fight to get through the rest of the day. While researching the names Matt had overheard, you kept finding your hand slipping as your eyes fell, and then you'd jar upright and try to focus your eyes on the paper in front of you.

The fourth time it happened, Matt's hand appeared on your back. "You can always take a rest if you need one."

"I don't need to sleep. I'm good."

"I never said sleep. I just said rest. Unless you think you'd fall asleep if you took a rest?"

You shoved his hand away. "You have such little faith in me."

"I can hear every single time your eyes slip," he said. "Your heart rate is really slowing down."

You shook your head violently. "Nope. See? Look." Jumping up, you bounced on your feet a bit, shaking yourself awake. "Heart rate is soaring."

"Great. Then we could start on the cleaning, if you want."

Right. You'd forgotten about the little bout of cleaning he had felt so remarkably inspired to do. "Sounds wonderful."

You started on the drawers, pulling out all of the utensils and miscellaneous tchotchkes that crowded the space. Inside were plastic spoons and forks that had been amassed over the past few months, disposable chopsticks, and a set of nice chef's knives that you used to chop vegetables. In the back you found the old knife sharpener, which you hadn't seen in a good year or so.

The knives could be sharpened. Or were they still sharp enough? You remembered there were one or two knives that were far too dull to cut the sweet potatoes and carrots the last time you cooked, but you couldn't remember which two knives. Carefully you picked up each knife, one-by-one, and pressed it gently against your thumb to test how sharp it was.

The intention was to do it without actually slicing your thumb open. But you picked up a knife that you thought was dull, applied a bit too much pressure, and immediately a thin red line of blood appeared on the pad of your thumb.

"Ow," you muttered, reaching for a paper towel to absorb the blood.

Matt emerged from the closet almost immediately, concern creasing his forehead. You had to stifle a laugh as you imagined him going to blood like a moth being attracted to light.

"You alright?" he asked, taking your hand and examining it. "I wasn't listening — what happened?"

"Nothing. I just was testing the sharpness of the blades."

Matt gave you an incredulous look. "On your own hand?"

"I didn't mean to actually cut my thumb!" you protested. "I just... I don't know! It was a dumb decision. Not my proudest moment. Or... I guess I'm just not the sharpest knife in the drawer." You snorted at your own joke.

Matt didn't smile. "How about I take over with the knives?"

"Come on. Not even a smile? That was a really good pun."

"If you weren't so tired, I doubt you'd find it funny."

"Mm. Maybe." You went to the fridge. "I'll start cleaning this out."

Matt acquiesced, and he started sharpening all of the knives after pointedly handing you a Band-Aid for your cut. You worked together in relative silence to finish cleaning the kitchen. You hit a second wind and didn't feel too tired while you were working, especially once you put on a podcast for the two of you to listen to as you cleaned.

But that changed once you finished. Matt settled on the couch, stretched out in a nearly horizontal position, and gestured for you to lie on top of him. You wedged yourself in so that you were half on top of him, and half squished between him and the back of the couch, and rested your head on his chest.

"Are you going out tonight?" you asked. Matt stroked your hair, running his fingers down and against the nape of your neck.

"I'm taking a night off," he said. "I thought we could put on a movie."

You lifted your eyes to his face. "What? I thought you were doing all you could to make today as exhausting as possible for me."

"I thought a movie would be nice."

"I don't trust you, Murdock." You narrowed your eyes at him. "Here's my hypothesis. You made today as tiring as possible so that now, when you're suggesting a lovely, calming activity, I'll fall asleep, and then you won't have to hold up your end of the deal."

"I would never be so malicious as to do that."

"For some reason, I just don't believe you." You snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm, feeling far too warm and comfortable. "I won't fall asleep."

His hand moved from your neck to your back. "Okay."

It was nice that he wasn't going out to do his other job tonight, at least. It wasn't often that he took a night off. It was impossible to not stress whenever he was out, and having just one night when you knew he'd be safe and sound was relieving. At least he had the red suit now. You weren't sure how he wasn't dead, considering the number of times he'd gone out with nothing but the black mask, which offered about as much protection as if he'd simply gone out naked.

Plus, now he had backup that he could call, if he needed help. Frank Castle, as gruff and hostile as he was — and as bloodthirsty as he was — for some reason held a soft spot when it came to Matt, and he could be counted on if things got sticky. Then there was Jessica, who had every bit as apathetic an exterior as Frank did, but she too could be trusted with Matt's life. Luke and Danny you were less familiar with but you would have counted on them in any pinch, too. Plus, you'd tried to convince Matt that the Avengers would take him in as part of the team, but he had flat-out refused. You liked the idea of Matt joining the Avengers. Missions, getting credit for the people he saved, having an opportunity to do fancy galas and dinners with people like Thor, or Falcon, or...

You jolted upright. "I'm not asleep!"

Matt's hand stopped on your back. "Your eyes were shut. And your heart was slowing significantly. I think that counts as sleeping."

"No, it doesn't!" you argued, sitting up. "Sleeping has to be at least a few minutes."

"According to what law?"

"I wasn't asleep, Matt." You glared at him. "And that's not fair! You were trying to get me to fall asleep!"

"I didn't violate any rules." He pulled you in again. "Just... lay here a couple more minutes."

You struggled out of his grip. "I'm not risking it. That was too close. I'm going to bake cookies."

"Cookies?"

"To celebrate my victory when I survive the next twenty-four hours without falling asleep. I'm over two thirds done, Matt — it's been almost forty hours. I can do the last stretch."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

You ignored him and got to your feet, pausing slightly to knead your hands into your temples and wake yourself up more. Matt followed you into the kitchen, and you could tell he was amused. His head turned slightly at every single one of your movements, tracking you perfectly so that you imagined he had a sharp image in his mind of what you were doing.

Baking helped. You moved almost robotically, following the instructions from the recipe of an old cookbook you'd had for years.

"That's salt, sweetie."

You blinked and looked at what you were doing. You had the 1/2 cup in your hand, full of...

Salt. Not sugar.

You dumped the salt away and scooped the sugar instead. "Thanks," you said. "Stupid mistake. Did you hear or smell it?"

"Smelled."

When it came time to beat the dough, you plugged in the stand mixer and then leaned against the counter. The rhythmic whirring of the machine was like a massage on your head.

You didn't even realize that your eyes had closed until you were tilting forward, jarring up as you did so to catch yourself on the counter. Matt had already lunged forward to grab you, and he didn't wait for your excuses, taking you by the shoulders and steering you to the couch.

"I need to finish the cookies," you objected. "Matt, I caught myself in time, it was just a stupid little moment—"

"Look, I can appreciate that we had a bet going, but maybe this isn't the best idea." Matt's eyes, despite not making contact with your own, were scanning your face beseechingly. "Sleep deprivation can cause worse than brain fog and micro-sleeps. It can affect your immune system, make you hallucinate, increase anxiety—"

"All temporary," you insisted, but he was right; you could feel an indescribable sense of stress curdling in your chest, and your hands were trembling slightly. All of your movements felt as though they were in slow-motion, like your brain had been frozen and sensory input had to go through slowly.

Matt finished making the cookies. Somehow, you stayed awake while on the couch, but your head kept rolling forward without you meaning for it to happen — it was a vicious cycle of your head tipping forward far enough that you'd snap back up and shake your head a few times. Get it together. This is important, stay awake.

And, just like that — in the span of a few seconds — you found yourself snapping up again as your head fell forward.

"Y/N—" Matt began, but you cut him off.

"Shut up," you said amicably. "I know you know my head's rolling around. But I'm in this to win."

He only sighed.

You managed to pass the next two hours without a peep from Matt, who nevertheless kept turning his head towards you every time that you blinked even slightly longer than normal, as though to say, I hear you and you're not fooling anyone.

You ignored him as much as you could. Browsing on your laptop, you discovered, was a good way of keeping awake, probably because of the light from the screen, so you took the time to clean out your photos and drive. Matt did end up leaving briefly for a ten-minute jaunt down to the street, where he could apparently hear a man trying to rob a teenager, so you had the pleasure of watching him in action as Daredevil from the window. He'd gotten such a reputation in Hell's Kitchen at this point that he didn't even need the suit this time, let alone any fists. Merely walking menacingly, with the black mask tied around his head, was enough to make the robber flee in the other direction. You smiled to yourself, watching as Matt gently put a hand on the shoulder of the teen — presumably asking if he was alright.

1am.

2am.

3am.

Matt had fallen asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling gently. You didn't dare move for fear of waking him up.

4am.

5am.

The sun rose. The city woke up; chatter resumed on the streets, cars roared past.

8am. Ten hours to go. You glanced at the clock and yawned, listening appreciatively to the background clatter as Matt prepared breakfast. And then you glanced back at the clock.

It was swaying, back and forth, as though it were on a ship. You squinted at it, frowning. Sometimes the light from the bill board outside could throw the appearance of objects in the apartments and give them odd shadows. But, no, the clock was certainly swaying.

The strangest part was that nothing else in the apartment seemed to be moving. You checked, leveling your gaze at the flowers sitting on the table. But they were perfectly still. When you turned to the clock again, it was no longer moving.

You straightened, your heart beginning to beat faster. Something felt off.

And then, a man moved, his head ducking just out of sight behind the sliding door to the bedroom. You leapt to your feet just as a pot clanged behind you.

"What's wrong?" Matt was at your side, his eyebrows drawn together. "Your heart's racing—"

"There's a man in there!"

"In where?"

"The bedroom!" It seemed impossible to you that Matt didn't know what you were talking about. You'd seen the movement, it was there; someone was standing just inside the bedroom.

"There's no one in there," he said, slowly.

"I'll check, then." You marched forward, and it was a testament to Matt's confidence that no one was there that he didn't try to stop you but instead stood still as you peered into the room.

As he had said: no one was in there. Confusedly you glanced around, and even started to get on your knees to look under the bed, but then it occurred to you.

I'm seeing things. I must be seeing things, that has to be it. Matt had said sleep deprivation could do that, didn't he?

Your cheeks were hot as you came out of the bedroom to rejoin him by the couch. "Sorry. I thought I saw something," you said, as casually as possible. "Must have been the sunlight coming out from behind a cloud."

You didn't really expect Matt to buy your bullshit, and you were right. He snorted, and without warning, his hands were pressed against your shoulders, strong enough that you toppled backwards onto the couch. He leaned over you, settling with his knee against your chest as he straddled your waist.

You yelped. "What are you doing?"

"Pinning you here. Keeping you horizontal until you fall asleep." He ran his fingers over his watch. "It's early. I've got all day to wait here until you do."

"Matt!"

"Game over, Y/N. You need to get some sleep. And this isn't even about me not wanting to lose the bet anymore. I'm worried about you."

"Ha. I'll be fine. One little sleep and I'll be good as new. But in the meantime, I am not going to let you win just like that."

"If it's easier, I could just... take matters into my own hands." His fingers went to your throat, squeezing gently. Goosebumps prickled up your arms as his hands brushed under your jaw, flexing ever so slightly as though any second they would close and cut off your air flow. Despite the current weight of your eyelids, Matt's fingertips dancing over your neck was enough to make your heart start pumping.

You tipped your head back slightly. "You're going to choke me, but not in your suit? I must say, I'm disappointed."

Matt smirked. "Never said I was going to. I only threatened to."

"Oh." You could feel heat rising into your cheeks slightly. Really eloquent, absolutely articulate, way to use your words, Y/N—

"Either way, sweetheart," Matt continued, "You're not getting up from this couch anytime soon."

"Well, I assumed as much," you said, squirming slightly, but there was no getting Matt off of you. Unless you tickled him, maybe. You'd never tried that before. Was he ticklish? You reached up swiftly with your right hand, but got no closer than a foot away. His own hand snatched your wrist and, with ease, pinned that to the couch as well. Uselessly you wriggled under him, like a damn fish on a dock, but he had you down and there was no escaping him.

It didn't help that exhaustion was making you ramble more than usual. "So this is what it's like," you said, gazing up at Matt.

"What?"

"This is what it's like," you repeated. "I've always wondered how it feels to be some lowly criminal, lying on the dirty sidewalk and staring up at Daredevil as he looms over me."

Matt laughed. "Not quite. Typically I don't do this to criminals." And he leaned down, his lips meeting yours. You lifted your head to meet him, and then flopped back down, smiling.

"How do they not get transfixed by you?" you said. "I mean, seriously, if I were a criminal, I'd probably freeze on the spot if I saw you and then beg for you to be my paramour."

"Your paramour?"

"Mm. Paramour. Or courter. Wooer. My beau. I would say to you, 'I'm repenting, dear Daredevil! Spare me and take me into your arms!' Then we'd gallop away into the sunset together." You felt drunk; the words were spilling out of you before you knew what you were saying.

"I think you're just a tad overtired, sweetheart."

You snuggled in closer to him. "Tell me something."

"What do you want to hear?"

"I don't know. Maybe one of the bad guys you've fought recently. I want all the details — who it was, how you found them, what you did, what they did, and how you won."

Matt didn't question the request. He paused for a minute, maybe two, as he likely thought about it, and then he started talking, his voice low and warm. The sun was streaming across you and the smell of oatmeal cooking on the stove wafted in. You listened to him, at first, but then the words became a meaningless jumble, and then...

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Until there was a scraping sound. Then a chopping sound. More scraping, then a sizzle. The smell of onions was potent and it made your mouth water.

You sat up slowly, trying to process what was happening. "You're putting onions in the oatmeal?"

There was the sound of the knife being put down, and then Matt came in from the kitchen. "Sorry. Oatmeal got finished hours ago."

Your mouth drifted open. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What time is it?"

"Eight."

"A.M.?" you asked, knowing perfectly well as soon as you glanced to the window that it was far too dark to be eight in the morning. You didn't wait for him to answer. "Nope. It's P.M., isn't it? I slept the whole day?"

"You did. And I officially won the bet."

You groaned, standing up to stretch. "And now the entire Sunday is gone. Damn. I really thought I'd win." You remembered how you'd fallen asleep, on the couch with Matt on top of you. "Although you manipulated me. I don't think it counts."

"You fell asleep," he countered. "That was the only condition of the bet — you were supposed to not fall asleep in order to win."

"But without any influence from others! I didn't drink any coffee to aid myself, so it's not fair that you decided to obstruct me! I declare a red card, Murdock. We're going to redo this bet next weekend."

"Really? You want to go through all of that again?"

You considered it. The smell of onions was distracting. "Well, maybe not," you grumbled, coming up next to him to examine what he was making. "But if I didn't win the bet, then nor did you. We both lost, okay?"

And, maybe he was humoring you, but he shook your hand formally, as though you had completed a deal again.

It was a loss, of sorts, you reflected, but ultimately, nothing could be a loss, so long as you were with him.

[beyondsuki]

Star - Shine

Star

/stär/

a fixed luminous point in the night sky which is a large, remote incandescent body like the sun.

Toji Fushiguro

The woman in the ring

Instagram - Masterlist

Pairing: MmaFighter!Fushiguro Toji x black f!reader

Genre: Romance, Smut, Angst

Summary: What happens when you help MMA fighter Fushiguro Toji —unbeknownst to him—in his time of need?

Toji thought himself a simple man. A simple man who had never fallen in love. Although he would never audibly admit that.

Yes, there was a period in his life when he was married but he never truly felt there. He was young, and a star on the rise. Temptation was all around him yet he stayed faithful and committed to his vows. For five years he was betrothed. Tied down, trapped. For five years his marriage was perilous.

The cause of the divorce was an affair accusation. She thought he was sleeping with a journalist. A journalist? He laughed when she vocalized her concerns. She was incandescent. “You really think that I would sleep with a journalist?” That one sentence matured into a fight neither of them came back from.

He left that night and returned the next morning with divorce papers. He allowed her to keep the house while he now resides in a penthouse that overlooks the city. Every once in a while, a feeling of penitence washes over him and leaves him wondering whether or not he should’ve just stayed. “Toji! Hurry up, we have to get going, the fight is about to start.” He finished wrapping his fists. He grabbed his silk robe off its hook and slipped it on. The coolness of it lasted a few seconds longer than usual before latching on to his body heat. As he walked out and the routine cheering of his fans filled his senses, an unfamiliar face in the crowd caught his eye.

You work hard. You’re currently in medical school earning your M.D. so you can cross the finish line with the label and job title ‘Neurosurgeon’. “(Y/N) Come onn why not?!” Your friend Stacey from your class based solely on muscles was trying to get you to come to watch a fight. “We are in Medical School Stace, why do you want to see people hurting themselves deliberately?!” “It’s not even about that for real.” She said tucking her brown hair behind her ear. Her green eyes flashing with a fierce incentive. “Then what is it about?” “Have you seen Toji Fushiguro!?” “No. And I don’t want to see him.” She pulled out her phone “Let me just show you.” You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily knowing you wouldn’t be able to win this fight. She pulled up a picture and tilted the phone toward you. “Wow.” He is.. “I know right!! So let’s goo I literally bought two tickets and they weren’t cheap.” “Fine.” She had finally persuaded you into getting ready.

You readied yourself and are now sitting in the front row of the Fushiguro Toji vs Alexei Morozov fight waiting for the star fighter to come out. A coalescence of music and loud screaming invaded your ears making you turn your head towards the back. He was much larger than you imagined. Standing at, at least 6’5 this burly man managed to win the hearts of more than a few thirst quenched women. His sinewy muscles stuck out like a sore thumb. And his very presence left a bitter sweet taste in your mouth.

Someone slapped your shoulder dragging you out of your daydream “He’s looking over here oh my god!?” His gaze robbed you of an essential part of human homeostasis—your breath.

You ripped your eyes away from his and looked to the floor. When he walked on stage and his back was to you, you looked up again. You watched as the ‘Fushiguro’ on his silk robe morphed as he slipped it off. When the fight started you winced at the first punch. Tricep, Bicep, Latissimus dorsi, gluteus medius. You named the muscles being hit as practice due to yet another test the next day. Suddenly, Fushiguro was hit in the head and started bleeding.. a lot. You stood out of habit to get a closer look. The ‘medic’ that was attempting to stop the bleeding was failing miserably at her job. You pushed past the journalists and photographers.

“You need to apply pressure!” You yelled trying to get as close as possible. “Ma’am I’m gonna need you to back up.” Some guy with long hair said. “I know I know but your medic is not helping him. She needs to apply pressure to stop the bleeding and he needs to be stitched immediately.” The man looked back at the ‘medic’ staring at the fighter with goo-goo eyes. He pursed his lips and lifted the tape. You walked through and made your way to the mat. You tapped on the woman’s shoulder “Excuse me” she moved out of the way instinctively. “Hello Mr. Fushiguro.” You said while sliding your hands through a pair of latex gloves.

He looked at you confused. “You don’t know me but I’m here to help you.” You took some gauze from the pile of medical supplies and applied pressure to the cut above his eyebrow. You were wearing a black skirt with a white button-down top that slightly exposed your cleavage. His gaze could be felt even under the angry burn of the lights. You frantically searched the pile for an alcohol wipe. Once you found one you held it up to him “Rip.” He did as you asked “This is going to sting.” He pulled air through his teeth as you cleaned it. “Is there thread over there?” You asked the former ‘medic’ who just stood there in awe “Hello?” “O-oh me?” “Who else would I be talking to?” You said. Words coming out laced with venom “I-uh no there’s not.” “Of course not..” you glanced down. Next best thing you thought as you picked up some glue.

You applied it to the wound and squeezed. You grabbed some tape that specialized in holding wounds together and placed it on the cut. “Rag,” you said to the girl. She quickly handed you a rag and you wiped the sweat, dirt, and blood off the fighter's face. You paused for a moment as you looked into his eyes. The one thing you’d been avoiding all night. Brown pools of the sweetest honey. You snapped out of it though when you felt his large hands on your waist. He gently moved you out of the way to get up. You felt heat crawl up your neck, feeling grateful that your brown skin hid the blush appearing. This was when you noticed all the blood that stained your shirt.

You left the ring entering back into reality as you searched for your brunette friend. As you were removing your gloves you heard a familiar voice. “Oh my god!- Will you leave me the fuck alone! She’s my friend and I’m a doctor!” The man with raven hair lifted the tape reluctantly and Stacey ran over to you “Oh my god! How was it?! What was he like!?” She said frantically trying to look behind you to get a glimpse of the fight from up close. “We didn’t really talk..” “But I saw you talking?” “I was talking to the ‘Medic’” you said making air quotes. “Oh..”

You walked over to a man with white hair wearing a shirt labeled ‘Manager’ leaving your overly excited friend on her own. “Excuse me? Do you happen to have a shirt I could borrow?” “Hmm..” he hummed as he tapped his index finger on his lip “I do have an extra one but…” “But?” “It’s his” Oh “It should be fine. He doesn’t ever wear it.” He turned around revealing the ‘Fushiguro’ on his back. He walked to his bag and came back with a shirt. “Here.” “Thank you.” “Please hurry, it looks like we’ll be needing you again soon.” You glanced back at the fight just as Fushiguro took a hit.

You took the shirt and went to the nearest bathroom. You changed out of your button-down blouse and into the one Fushiguro’s manager had gifted you. It was huge. It stopped just before your skirt ended and it was three times the width you were. You placed your shirt in your bag and then went back to the ring.

You stepped in as they were hydrating him. “Hello again Mr. Fushiguro,” He nodded, his eye starting to swell. After slipping into another pair of gloves, you grabbed an ice pack and slapped it in your hand to get it to activate. “Hold this here.” You said to the girl. She obliged and you began to tend to his bleeding shoulder. You grabbed the bottle of alcohol and a cotton round. “You might need to hold on to something for this one.” Just then, you felt his hands on your hips. A chill ran down your spine causing you to pause. They were so warm.

You let out a tremulous breath and resumed to tend to his wound. He tightened his grip when you applied the round. “Sorry.” You apologized. He just stared at you. “What’s your name?” He spoke finally. “(Y/N)” “(Y/N)..” he repeated back, almost dazed “That’s me.” You finished cleaning his wound and could now move on to patching it. Once you were done you moved out of the way—well, at least you tried but he kept you there, in place. “Mr. Fushiguro- I- the round is starting in 10 seconds.” You said, your tone incredulous “Find me after the fight.” “What?” “Gotta go.” He moved you out of the way and stood up.

You left the ring confused once again. You took the gloves off and decided to watch the rest from where you were standing. Fushiguro ended up winning causing an uproar in the arena. Stacey on the other hand hit it off with some journalist. “Are you sure you don’t need a ride?” “Positive.” “Okay! See you tomorrow.” She walked away giddy. You tapped on a blonde man wearing a Fushiguro shirt. “Um- Excuse me?” He turned around “I was told to find Mr. Fushiguro after the fight?” He cocked his eyebrow while his eyes scanned your body. “By who?” “Mr. Fushiguro…” Just then the man with the white hair came out “Kento what the fuck? Why isn’t she halfway to Toji already?” The man shrugged. “C’mon,” the manager led you through the tunnels to where you assumed the fighter would be. “He’s right in there.” He said pointing at a room labeled ‘Fushiguro Toji’ “W-wait you’re not coming in?” “Oh no, I don’t bother him after fights.”

You cautiously walked over to the door and gave a light knock. “Move.” You heard from behind the door. “Hi..” you said when he opened the door. His face was smug “Hi.” He smirked. Your eyes traveled down his figure. He was lacking a shirt, revealing his sinewy abdomen. “Everybody out.” “But sir- we haven’t finished your trea-“ “She’ll handle it.” He opened the door wide enough for the nurses to leave while he leaned against the frame. They all gave you dirty looks as they made their way out. “You just gonna stand there?” He said walking back to his seat. You walked in and closed the door behind you. He cocked his eyebrow “So this is that kind of visit?” “W-what?! I-I didn’t know if y-you wanted privacy!” He laughed “I’m teasing.” You shook your head while he chuckled. A deep, sexy chuckle. One that made you tingle and throb in all the right places. “I knew that..” “Oh did you now?” “I did.” You said before walking over and grabbing the medical supplies.

Toji felt a chills where your fingers graced his back. “Y’know..most people are scared of me.” He said slightly looking back “You? No way” You said, sarcasm laced in your words as you applied ointment to a few of his wounds. “Your possy seemed to have no problems with you. I mean, they all looked pretty disappointed when they had to leave” “Tch yeah...no matter how many times I kick them out they never get used to it.” You laughed. Toji felt his heart flutter. You walked around to his front, moving his slightly sweaty hair out of the way to look at the scar you had patched earlier. “Everything looks good. Well, not good but you know.” Your eyes scanned his face, skillfully avoiding his eyes. “How’d you get that?” You pointed to the scar on his lip. “Accident.” You finally found his eyes. “..You are a vague man.” You felt your pockets. “Do you mind?” You asked, showing him your chapstick. “Only if you come back to my place.”

You froze and tried to read his expression but you couldn’t. You smiled “I don’t give it up that easily.” He grabbed your wrists and slightly pulled you forward. “You sure?” Yes “…no” he cracked a smile and you applied the chapstick. Dipping it slightly when you reach his scar. “Is that a yes?” “Only if you want it to be.” Your heart was beating so loud you were sure he could hear it. He stared at your lips and you sheepishly glanced at his.

He let your wrists go and your lips connected. You felt a burning heat erupt in the very pit of your stomach. You’ve kissed men before but never like this. You loosely wrapped your arms around his neck as you stood up straighter. You both pulled away at the same time. He swiped his tongue over his teeth before standing up. Your arms fell back at your side as he grabbed his shirt and slipped it over his head. He grabbed his bag and then your hand. It was so large in comparison that he completely encased it. “Mr. Fushiguro wher-“ “Toji.” “What?” “Call me Toji.” He said looking back at you. You were struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Toji.” “Yes?” “Where are we going?” “You’ll see.” You walked with him as he pulled you through the tunnels.

On your way there, more of his security started to surround you. When you finally made it out you entered an epileptic’s worst nightmare. You put your arm over your eyes to help shield them from the flashing lights. You felt Toji’s arm wrap around you as you pushed through the photographers.

You sighed when you finally reached the car. “Shit.” “It’s not over.” You watched as they migrated around the car. You finally pulled off and you were on your way. When you arrived, paparazzi swarmed the car once again. His security opened his door and he got out. He then helped you out of the car. As you walked, your hand slipped out of his and you began to drown in the sea of paparazzi. You fell and scraped one of your knees.

Toji stopped immediately after he no longer felt your hand in his. “Mr. Fushiguro! Mr. Fushiguro!” He pushed five reporters out of the way with one swing of his arm. Suddenly, you felt yourself being picked up, bridal style. “T-Toji I can walk.” “I’m not letting you get run over again.” He carried you into the lobby and to the elevator before setting you down. He opened the door to his penthouse when you got there and told you to sit on the couch “Yes sir.” You said throwing your hands up.

He disappeared into a room and when he reappeared he was holding a first aid kit. He set it on the couch as he knelt between your thighs. “Oh Toji you really don-“ he glanced up at you, causing your talking to cease. He cleaned it with an alcohol wipe and as he placed the bandaid on your knee, he looked up at you. “Thank you..”

He squeezed as his hand traveled further up your skirt. “Let me know if you want me to stop.” You nodded slowly. When he got to your panties he swiped his thumb across the wet spot. You shuddered and closed your eyes. “Aht aht. Look at me.” You opened them again to look into his. You felt him use his other hand to pull your panties to the side and open your legs wider. “What a pretty pussy…and so wet too.” He ran a finger through your folds and you tried to close your legs. He held them open and rubbed circles on your puffy clit. “Fuck..” you said, breathless.

He pulled at the hem of your lace panties before sliding them off. He placed them in his pocket before sliding his middle and ring fingers into his mouth. He went back to rubbing your clit as he slid a finger inside. A loud moan ripped through your throat. You placed a hand on his shoulder for stability. He slipped another finger in and curled them. You trembled. He stood up as he fingered you, placing a knee on the couch.

He began to kiss you, traveling down your neck with sloppy, wet kisses. Kisses that left you wanting more. Lewd squelching filled the room as his fingers fucked into you tirelessly. Suddenly, you felt your stomach tighten and your moaning became louder. You tried to speak but nothing came out. “Are you gonna cum? Hmm?” He hummed against your neck sending chills down your spine. He could tell by the way you were clamping down on him that your orgasm was near.

Chills ran down your entire body when he spoke to you. “You gonna cum on my fingers? Hm? Go ahead…make a mess for me.” “Tojii” you spoke finally. You let out a loud whine as you came around his fingers. “Good girl” he said as he helped you ride out your orgasm.

You watched through half lidded eyes as he slid his fingers out and placed them into his mouth. He sucked them clean and pulled them out with a ‘pop’. You felt yourself being picked up and carried. He laid you down on his bed, “I’m gonna go shower. Do not touch yourself until I get back.” You nodded “I need words.” “Yes daddy” You said, your voice feigning innocence. Toji felt his cock twitch. He walked away and to the bathroom. You writhed on the bed, more horny then you’ve ever been. About twenty minutes later Toji came out in just a towel.

You sat upright. You looked so small on his abnormally large bed. He walked over to you and you could feel the blush creeping up on you. The towel he wore didn’t cover much. He placed his fingers on your jaw and lifted your head to make sure you looked him in the eye. “There’s no turning back after I start.” He said with an expression that made you feral. You nodded. “Words.” “O-okay” he smiled. He leaned in and kissed you. It was deep and sexy. The way he grabbed your neck with his warm, calloused hand. The way he moved them across your body. Squishing the plush of your ass, stomach, and thighs as if he was memorizing every inch of you.

He started to kiss down your neck. You shuddered underneath him as you let him take full control. You felt his hands slide up your shirt as he kissed and licked around your collarbone. He unhooked your bra with ease and slid it off under your shirt. “Leave the shirt on.” He’s been wanting to fuck you in it since you first put it on. It was bunched up over your breasts. He sat back to admire you. “So pretty…” before you could be embarrassed, he ran his tongue over a nipple. You moaned as your hands found purchase in his short cut raven hair. He bit, pinched, and soothed with his tongue.

He guided you out of your skirt and licked his fingers. He slowly rubbed down your slit, smearing the cum from twenty minutes prior. Placing his hands on your knees, he pushed them towards your chest. He squeezed on your thighs before wrapping his arms around them and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He made his tongue flat and wide as he licked up your cunt. You shivered with a moan “fuckk”. You placed your hand in his hair and tried to push him away. Everything was so sensitive. Too sensitive. You felt him smirk against your pussy as he held you against him with more force. He was enjoying this as much—if not more than you were. He loved the way you smelled, the way you writhed under him with every touch, the way you sounded. Everything about you was sheer perfection in his eyes.

You whined as he hummed into you. Your legs shook as a thin layer of sweat started to coat your skin. “Toji..” “Hm?” He hummed. “I’m- ouu” you couldn’t get the words out. “What is it baby?” “I-I’m uh-gonna c-um” “mm cum on my tongue princess.” And almost as if on command, your orgasm washed over you.

Once again, he helped you ride it out. Lapping up your orgasm along the way. You panted as he backed away. Even through half-lidded eyes you could see the glistening of his chin from your juices. He wiped his mouth with his arm and then bent down to kiss you. The kiss was sloppy and allowed you to taste yourself. You moaned into it and that was his last straw. He pulled his towel off and threw it to the floor, allowing you to see a glimpse of exactly how big he was. You quivered when you felt him rub his tip through your folds. He kissed you again and you gasped when you felt him slowly sink into you.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you felt him stretch you. He kissed them as you dug your nails into his shoulders, creating little crescent moon impressions. “I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me baby.” Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you slightly relaxed. “That’s it, just r-relax” his hot breath fanned against your ear. He pushed his lips into your swollen ones. Swollen from how much abuse they had adhered from both you and him. He swallowed your whine as he pushed all the way in. “Shit s-so tight.” his voice broke as he almost bottomed out. He sat there for a moment letting you adjust to his size. After a few moments he felt your grip on his shoulder loosen a bit. “P-please move T-toji” he obliged and moved slowly at first, giving the pain a chance to cease.

The moans you released were like music to his ears. The way you tried to talk but ended up just babbling something that ended with his name. “Faster.” You managed to get out. He obliged once again. The room was filled with lewd slapping and squelching noises. He buried his head into your neck allowing you to smell his..vanilla shampoo?

“(Y/N) fuck- your pussy’s s-ucking me I-in so goood mm” he was practically whining. His words turned you on even more. “ouu” you moaned next to his ear. He backed away to sit up on his knees. He looked down to see the ring of white that sat at the base of his cock. Watching the way he completely disappeared inside of you. He moved his hand down to your clit and rubbed in slow circles as he fucked into you. Your moaning crescendoed and your legs shook. “Wait wait- ouu fuck wait.” You put your hand out in an attempt to get him to slow his strokes. He intertwined his fingers with yours as he continued to play with your sensitive nub. Tears graced your lashes as the shaking became more intense. “You gonna cum? Hm? Cum with me baby. Can you do that?” You were clamping down on him so good.

That familiar knot in your stomach was about to snap. He leaned into your neck anew. You bit down on his shoulder as you ran your nails down his back. “Tojii- ouu- mm I’m gonna- shit I’m gonna c-cum.” Your eyes rolled back and your vision went white when you came. Your entire body shook as his thrusts became sloppy. He whined as he pulled out and came on your stomach and shirt. He leaned his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath and came down from your high.

He peppered kisses all around your face as your body relaxed. “You did so good.” Was the last thing you really heard him say.

He went to the bathroom and cleaned himself up. He threw on a pair of boxers before coming back into the room. He cleaned your stomach and thighs with a warm towel making sure to be extra gentle. He pulled that shirt off of you and replaced it with the top to his green silk pajamas. You looked so cute in his large shirt. He then carried you to the bathroom and sat you down on the toilet. “(Y/N), wake up.” You opened your eyes to find a squatting Toji in front of you. From what you could make out, he had green pajama bottoms on with no shirt.

“What?” You were so cute. “You need to pee.” You nodded slowly. “Can you turn around?” You said, slurring the words together. He laughed. “(Y/N).” “Mhm?” “We just fucked.” “So? Nobody can pee with a six foot five man staring them down...” You said in protest. “Absolutely adorable…fine.” He turned around and you peed. When you were finished he helped you to the sink and then carried you back to bed. He covered you and then grabbed your clothes from earlier. He put them in the washing machine and cut all the lights off.

When he got in bed, you were facing away from him. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close. He kissed the top of your head before slowly drifting to sleep with you.

@kazushawty

[killercooksblog]

KillerCook Baking Challenge

Howdy - In celebration of starting this blog, I present a challenge! If you've read the book, you'll know the first chapter was about BROWNIES! AKA the best dessert ever, probably. I'll post it below so if you have no idea what I'm talking about you can catch up and participate!

I love a good brownie, and I think everyone has their own unique way of baking goods that makes the recipe special in its own way! Yes, even box mix, cause I know not everyone is following those instructions all the time. If you're a raw batter eater, you're amongst safe company!

The challenge: I want you to make a pan of brownies with you're own secret ingredient that makes it *chef's kiss.* To participate, you gotta submit a pic of your brownie platter to my submissions or ask box by 3:00 PM EST Saturday, June 8th. Additionally, you need to submit a summary of the flavor and texture of your recipe, without saying the name of your secret ingredient.

For example: in my double mint chocolate brownies chapter, I would summarize it as - a dulcet double layer of cacao richness that's not too cakey and not too moist, that will leave you with a fresh and happy ending.

Or something like that. Get creative! I wanna rate your brownies! I'll be playing along too and for the sake of it, I won't be doing mint chips so I can leave y'all guessing too ;)

With the camera set in place, Killer dusted his apron and straightened his helmet one last time before pressing the ‘Go Live’ button, muttering a quick, "It's show time," under his breath.

“Hello, Killer here,” raising a hand in the air, the quarter sleeve of his dress shirt rolled neatly on his forearm. “Time for another day of relaxing vibes and delicious desserts. Today, I’m making Double Chocolate Mint Brownies. I love a goody, gooey brownie, especially when there’s mini chocolate chips and ganache involved.”

As he spoke the well-rehearsed introduction, Killer wandered around the kitchen pulling out mixing tools and fixing himself a glass of bubble milk tea, congregating on the island countertop. Oven already preheated, eggs and butter on standby and at room temperature. Slurping up a tapioca ball, he paused for a minute while he chewed.

“Mm, ‘scuse me, didn’t expect that one to come up all the way. Tasty. Moving on, you know my number one motto: A clean and sterile working environment is best when dealing with things you intend to eat. And please, enough with the Jason Vorhees jokes, my mask looks nothing like his. I’m trying to make a name for myself as an independent serial killer……of hunger and all your hearts,” he brought his hands together to make a heart shape for the audience.

The ping of a microtransaction being made caught Killer’s attention, leaning close to his phone. Someone had bought and redeemed a highlighted message, and it was one of those moments he wished he hadn’t added that incentive, now being forced to read and answer it live.

“MurderinoSquadAssemble has this to say – ‘a serial killer of hunger and OUR hearts? Seems sus but ok. #redflagbehavior.’ Calm down armchair detective. For the record, I haven’t been caught yet and it won’t be to the likes of you.”

Biting down a chuckle, Killer stepped back to put on plastic gloves, a baking hat, and his favorite apron. It was a faded blue color but what really made it endearing for him, was the print.

That’s Hot

It had a small whisk and measuring spoons sprawled on the bottom, and the capital T had a baker’s hat falling off it. Underneath the text, a stovetop on fire. A gift from Kid on his 25th birthday.

Smiling privately, Killer turned to give the audience his side profile as he tied the apron strings. His dress shirt clung to his muscled arms, threatening to burst if he flexed too hard. His ass looked firm and thick in the dark chino relaxed pants he wore.

Prepping the baking tray, Killer explained the ingredients he was using and his choices for alternatives. He preferred to use ethically sourced chocolate and tapioca flour instead of all-purpose flour. He used vegan butter but liked to brown it first to caramelize a bit before combining it to the batter.

“This flour is what I used to make the tapioca pearls for my milk tea in my 14th video. It’s still up if you want to check it out and give it some love,” he poured the batter into the pans.

Turning around completely, he walked to the oven to place the pan on the middle rack. Killer didn’t need to bend down as much as he did to place the pan inside. He also didn’t need to jut his hips backwards a little to make his butt look bigger on camera, but it was nice hearing the pings echoing in the kitchen as he was gifted with tips and praise. Not that he’d admit that to anyone of course.

Killer turned the volume of his Bluetooth speaker louder, enjoying the lofi channel playlist he chose for the day’s stream. It was hard to find good music these days, not with a DMCA lawsuit one flagged video away.

“You can find where I use the same ingredients for the pre-made mint filling layer in my 20th video, when I made my homemade No-reos.”

Underneath the kitchen island countertop was a small red button that Killer pushed. That was the alarm indicator Kid had installed to notify the redhead that it was time for him stop what he was doing, get dressed, and join the video for the taste test.

Hoping beyond hope that Kid would be wearing the clothes Killer laid out for him, the masked man entertained the audience. Acknowledging the redeemed gifts, answering comments and questions and taking a much needed bathroom break. Letting the ads run a bit longer to milk the revenue, Killer stood at the doorway waiting for Kid to make an appearance. Asshole was running late, unbelievable. HE WANTED to be in the live streams, Killer didn’t ask him to be a part of it.

Shaking his head, he sat down in front of the camera, preparing to be KillerCook once more. The oven had three minutes left on the timer and the smell of chocolate wafted. The stream continuing, he began whisking the ganache to pour over the brownies.

Killer heard Kid walking through the hallway as he whisked. Bursting through the door, shirtless, his golden piercings that littered his nipples, nose bridge and ears shined from the open kitchen windows that showed a beautiful sunny day outside.

Timer going off, Killer fumbled to the back while hissing out, “Put a fucking shirt on! Why do you do this every time?!”

“C’mon Kill, they’re not gonna ban you for male nipples, be real.”

“Not risking it, we’re already on thin ice for using copyright music after 2 warnings. Remember? That’s how you lost Your Job as the video editor. Put on a shirt or I pull the plug.”

Angrily swearing, Kid walked back through the door to find a shirt.

“The last step is pouring the ganache over the mint layer and spreading it evenly for a smooth coating. Then you’ll want to store it in the fridge to let the top layer set. This will take up to an hour or you can keep it in longer until you’re ready to eat.”

Cutting into the pan to prepare a square for Kid, the masked baker placed both the pan and the taste test piece in the fridge. Killer once again entertained the audience for the 5 minutes it took for Kid to come back, in a ruffled black vest that was unbuttoned. Killer pulled out a chair for him and went to retrieve the taste test square, placing it on the table in front of Kid.

Coming into view of the camera with an annoyed pout on his face, Kid shot a sneer at Killer before tightening his jaw and looking directly into the lens.

“Alright, now the reason you’re all really here. To watch me eat shit you can’t have and look hot doing it.”

Standing straight, he stuck out his right arm and flexed, slowly moving it down with deliberate motions that further focused on his bulging muscles instead of the baked good. Bringing it to his face, Kid licked his maroon painted lips before taking a bite with a grin. Letting out an approving grunt.

“How’s it taste?”

“Tastes damn good, brother,” Kid responded, biting into the brownie again.

“Can you uh elaborate some more for the audience?”

“It’s chocolate, tastes like chocolate,” he grunted out in between bites.

Sighing deeply, “Does the texture feel balanced? Is it too dry? Can you even taste the mint I added with the chocolate chips?”

Licking his fingers clean and wiping his mouth with the back of hand, Kid shrugged. “Tastes perfect. Like any good brownie should be, it’s moist,” devilish smirk on his face and he faced the camera.

Feeling Killer’s serious as fuck glare through the mask, “Yeah yeah you can taste the mint. It doesn’t overwhelm the chocolate but it wasn’t overstated either. Like a little nudge wanting acknowledgment.”

“And there you have it, moist and acknowledged. Tune in next time when I make one of my favorite dishes, Spaghetti aglio e olio. It’s simple to prepare and like everything else I make, slays. This has been Faffaffaffa-Food with Killer.”

End Livestream.

Killer lifted his baker’s hat, helmet and took his hairnet off, pulling his hair from the tight wound rubber elastic he’d put it in.

“One of these days you’re going to get me banned, dickwad. Think about that the next time you want to fuck around. All those comments of praise and validation gone just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “Because you can’t stop being a dumb whore for 5 minutes.”

“I’m a whore?! Oh stuff a brownie in yer mouth and calm down. You’re not you when you’re hangry,” Kid snickered, ducking out of the kitchen to avoid the stainless-steel bowls flung at him.

Bonus: The comment section

ICantEven101: Killer-san, why won’t my sauce stick to my noodles? KillerCook: You may be using too much oil or butter. A good trick is to add in pasta water to thicken the sauce. Corn starch is a good binder as well.

VanillyExtract: PunkNeverDied69 can I take you on a date? 🥺 PunkNeverDied69: You can’t afford my tastes.

GimmeDa’Za: Day 15 of asking for a Heat cameo and dutch oven pizzas. FlamingHot420: Why are you people obsessed with me? I walked into the kitchen ONE TIME.

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

kiridai + part time jobs p1

for anon who asked "if kirisaki worked part time, what kind of job would it be and how would they behave?" i'll get round to doing hanamiya + zaki + maybe the others eventually, but i figured it was better to post something than nothing. also because it was matsumoto's bday last week and there's nowhere near enough matsumoto content out there. kiridai's unsung hero <3

Hara Kazuya

cannot keep a part time job to save his life

he doesn’t need one for the money but his parents thought it would be a good idea for him to get some real world experience instead of doing whatever the fuck it is that he does all day when he’s not at school or on the court

the problem is though that not having a financial incentive to keep a job means that hara doesn’t take them very seriously

the corporate environment - and most of his part time jobs have been corporate, working for family friends’ big businesses - bores him to death

and when he’s bored, the urge to bother poor innocent accountants and administrators, who are just trying to finish their 9-5 to go home to their family, is unbearable

what do you mean ‘have sympathy for middle-aged and depressed old salarymen who were minding their own business?' thinks hara as he sets forth on yet another mission to find someone to terrorise

so yeah, it’s not surprising that the jobs don’t usually last

i mean, he practically fires himself

like he gets called into the boss’s office, or into hr, or whatever, and they minute they say “so, hara, i think we need to discuss your behaviour recently…” hara interjects with “it’s horrible, isn’t it? guess i’m fired. sick. see you never.”

and is out of the office before they have time to call him back

the longest part time job he ever held down was at a music store, which worked for a while because he got along with most of his coworkers, and liked fiddling with some of the instruments on sale

but, yet again, bored hara + customer-facing role = very dangerous combination

even though some of the customers liked hara's very rock ‘n’ roll attitude to customer service, the minute his manager had to make cuts, hara was the first to go

(in retrospect, maybe it was something to do with how often he’d mock the manager for not having made it as a singer. hara just can’t help himself when it comes to kicking someone who’s already down.)

Furuhashi Kojiro

i’m not going to try be creative here, and anyone who knows anything about furuhashi already knows what his part time job would be

furuhashi works part time at a flower shop / garden centre type deal

furuhashi loves the flowers and plants under his charge, genuinely loves them like they’re his children

furuhashi hates the vast majority of his customers, with the same scathing fury that any animal lover would have if they had to let people with a history of animal cruelty adopt an animal in their care

when furuhashi sees that one person who 'loves' plants but can’t keep them alive to save their life (as they always tell furuhashi with a sheepish smile, “i love having them around but i just don’t have the knack for it!”)-

yeah the look on furuhashi’s face could kill

(n.b. the customer in question is probably hayama because he’s sort of got that vibe)

really furuhashi deserves our pity for having to spend so much time dealing with people he would gladly stab to death given a dark alley with no cctv

these being people who forget to water their plants; people who keep buying bouquets for their loved ones, bouquets that never end up watered and die an early death; people who buy a plant even after being told its high maintenance, ignore looking after the most basic needs, and then come back a week later like “uhh you sold me dying plants”

”i sold you dying plants,” repeats furuhashi, very slowly, eyes more less dead-fish and more piranha-on-the-prowl

“yeah, so can i get a refund or what?”

“i sold you dying plants,” says furuhashi again and his voice is getting lower, raspier, like a movie character who’s about to swear he’ll get vengeance on his wife’s murderer

luckily the customer realises its not worth taking a punt trying to get a refund they don’t deserve, in a darkly lit garden centre where they’re the only customer around, and they flee the scene before furuhashi starts an experiment on whether human flesh is a good fertiliser

honestly furuhashi’s probably the only person who’ll ever experience a garden centre to yakuza pipeline, because one day some oyabun’s going to scout him based on that anti-plant-killer rage alone

Seto Kentaro

torn about what to say here because, on the one hand, i can see seto being a trader as a part time job - after all, the man likes maths so he’s going to be good with spotting patterns

but, on the other hand, i really struggle to imagine him committing to a part time job whilst he’s in high school, or even university

there’s no motivation for him to have one, since his family are well-off enough to support his studies without him needing to pay for anything; and between studies, sleep, and basketball, does he really have the time for a job?

his parents would rather have their son studying to make sure he gets into tokyo university, than have him waste time with a part time job since he’s already got a work ethic (sort of)

maybe, like hara, seto’s parents get him a gig at a family friend’s company? you know, to get him out there networking in the world

but this would just be a part time job over the summer, and probably not many hours either, more just something for him to put on his cv

(though with a network of rich people, who needs a cv? hahahahaha…. ….)

and to be honest, i think seto would probably do alright in the corporate environment (by corporate, i mean big bucks corporate), even as a high schooler

he’d have to do something mentally stimulating - because if he was told to just deliver coffees to people, he: a) wouldn’t be bothered to do it, and b) would be too insulted to do it

but if he was doing something mentally stimulating, and maybe working with a team of fellow smart young people, then i do think he’d work hard and even enjoy what he was doing.

the man needs more hanamiyas in his life

(a sentence that applies to very few people in this world)

Matsumoto Itsuki

works at some sports equipment chain store as a sales assistant. he’d be lying if he said he enjoys the job, but it does mean discounts on his gear and gym membership, and, unlike many of the students at kiridai, he does appreciate having some extra money on hand.

when he’s at work without stuff to do, he’s usually twirling a basketball on his fingertips or trying to convince his coworkers to let him do inventory checks and avoid the customer-facing side of things

unfortunately this usually doesn’t work because a) matsumoto wasn’t gifted with a silver tongue and b) the guy who’s usually on matsumoto’s shifts with him refuses to let matsumoto live down the time where he hid in the storeroom to avoid hanamiya and hara who had just popped into the shop, and then locked himself in there by accident

‘course, that was when matsumoto had only recently joined the basketball team, and was still filled with teen angst and awkwardness

these days, if a teammate comes to the shop, he sticks his middle finger up at them if they ask for help and essentially treats them like he wishes he could treat all the customers

on the other hand, he always applies his employee discount to their purchases, even when the customer in question is hara in a particularly irritating mood. so let it not be said that matsumoto doesn’t have a soft spot for his teammates.

but, yeah, in general customer service is not matsumoto’s thing

he does genuinely try to help customers out and does a very good job of not punching annoying customers in the face (this is easier said than done in matsumoto’s case; after all, he spends most of his time with a bunch of guys who all believe violence is The Solution TM), but sometimes he lets his guard down

like the time someone came in saying they were new to play golf and wanted recommendations for a suitable club

“why the fuck would you want to play golf?” says matsumoto a little louder than intended.

“excuse me!” goes the customer

“what?” replies matsumoto before remembering he is talking in the real world and not in his daydream land where he beats up customers. “shit. um. let me go show you the club brands we stock.”

the only reason he didn’t get fired afterwards was because the store’s running low on staff as is

oh and matsumoto’s the only guy the manager doesn’t scold for not smiling at customers, because matsumoto’s customer-service smile makes him look like a gun is being held up to his forehead

it scared away far more customers than it attracted

[madara-fate]

Why the flipping do people hate Sakura so much they gotta project their hatred on Sasuke calling him names like abuser? It make me very mad how haters try to paint Sasuke as a Abusive Person and Sakura as some type of battered wife while they try to excuse Karin or Naruto as a some type of special persons to Sasuke.

This type of mental ginnastic is ridiculous and very hypocritical full of pairing bias.

Sakura wasn't in any relationship with Sasuke and both were enemies who didn't saw each other in years. This isn't Abuse. By this logic Sasori, Zaku, Gaara and Shin abused the hell out of Sakura. Konoha and Naruto incentives abuse by making girls and boys fighting to death in mission and chuunin exams. This argument really doesn't work in this manga. When Sasuke try to kill Sakura as his official girlfriend or wife this non sense argument will make some sense.

Sakura isn't some fragile toddler. She was trained by Tsunade, planed to kill Sasuke using a poisoned Kunai and almost managed to get that. She knew what she was doing, she knew that she put herself in dangerous situation. She even knocked out Kiba, Lee and Sai so she can accomplish her task of killing Sasuke alone.

Sasuke considered the entire Konoha as his mortal enemy and Sakura was the one who chase Sasuke to kill him. Sasuke saw Sakura and stoped to listen her, she tried to trick him and Sasuke figured her lie easily. She put a Kunai behind Sasuke's back when he was fighting Kakashi and he reacted. She failed miserably due her own actions and love who she tried to deny.

Karin situation was worst because Karin was helping Sasuke against Danzo, she wasn't from Konoha and was his current teammate. Sasuke didn't hesitate to pierce Karin and let she die on the ground to get Danzo.

Sasuke apologized to Sakura after he was truly redeemed. Sasuke was more guilt tripped and sincere with his apologies to Sakura.

So why the hell haters try to paint Karin/Naruto as a better light than Sakura?

Why the flipping do people hate Sakura so much they gotta project their hatred on Sasuke calling him names like abuser? It make me very mad how haters try to paint Sasuke as a Abusive Person and Sakura as some type of battered wife while they try to excuse Karin or Naruto as a some type of special persons to Sasuke.

Sakura wasn't in any relationship with Sasuke and both were enemies who didn't saw each other in years. This isn't Abuse. By this logic Sasori, Zaku, Gaara and Shin abused the hell out of Sakura. Konoha and Naruto incentives abuse by making girls and boys fighting to death in mission and chuunin exams. This argument really doesn't work in this manga. When Sasuke try to kill Sakura as his official girlfriend or wife this non sense argument will make some sense.

"Abusive" just became one of those buzzwords that people always throw in SS's direction, despite the fact that as you rightfully explained, that criticism makes no sense.

Karin situation was worst because Karin was helping Sasuke against Danzo, she wasn't from Konoha and was his current teammate. Sasuke didn't hesitate to pierce Karin and let she die on the ground to get Danzo.

That's just one of the many things that people who try to pedestalise SK in comparison to SS tend to either overlook or intentionally ignore altogether. Here's another thing they ignore - They always tend to say how Sasuke apparently called Sakura useless, despite him doing no such thing; he only said that there was nothing that she (or anyone else for that matter) could have done about the people who were trapped in the infinite Tsukuyomi:

And yet they conveniently ignore the fact that the one time Sasuke actually did call someone useless, it was with regards to Karin:

Funny that, isn't it?

Sasuke apologized to Sakura after he was truly redeemed. Sasuke was more guilt tripped and sincere with his apologies to Sakura.

"Guilt tripped" isn't the term I would use to describe Sasuke after he was saved from his hatred. Nobody made him feel guilty, he just came to his own conclusions after being able to see clearly again.

[wedgieplease]

Jack's Work Wedgies

Been extra horny this week, so I decided to try my hand at a different story.

Jack groans and goes to snooze the alarm when he notices that the time reads 7:25 AM, a full 25 minutes later than he should have gotten up. 

“Fuuuuckahhhhh,” he exhaled as he stretched the drowsiness away.

“Time for another wonderful day at the office,” he muttered sarcastically as he forced himself out of bed. 

He shuffled over to his “clothes corner”, where his closet, dresser, and hamper were. 

He quickly slid off last night’s trunks as he opened his underwear and sock drawer. Reaching for a new pair, he pulled out a pair of red and white striped briefs with pink hearts on the thick waistband. 

“This’ll do,” he thought to himself as he slid them on.

He finished up with a pair of thin khaki shorts, a black polo and black socks. 

He had a quick bowl of oatmeal for breakfast and ran out the door to make it on time for work. 

When Jack finally made it to the office, He was called in to the boss’s office as soon as he clocked in. Lost in dread the whole way, he stopped at the doors. 

A shadow quickly darted from one side of the door to the other as his boss opened the door to let him in.

“Good morning, Jack, please come in,” his boss said quickly.

“Good morning Peter,” Jack responded as he stepped inside.

“You’re 10 minutes late, for the third time this week.” Peter said.

“I’m sorry boss, I must’ve-” 

“Save the excuse,” Peter cut him off, “because I don’t care. The fact is, you keep showing up late and it needs to stop. I’ve come up with an incentive to motivate you to get here on time.” 

“Peter, is that really necessary?” Jack asked.

“You haven’t even heard my plan.” Peter continued, offended, “For every ten minutes you’re late, I add one extra pull to onto the wedgie I give you that day. Understood?” 

“Really? Wedgies? We’re not in school anymore!” Jack scoffed.

“Maybe you need to go back, considering how you never learned to be on time and be prepared.” Peter taunted. 

“Great talk, thank you for coming to see me.”  Peter said as he began to escort Jack out of the office. “By the way, your shoe’s untied. You should fix that before the rest of your coworkers what a mess you are.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Jack bent down to tie it. In the process, his polo shirt untucked.

“Ow, what the hell?!” Jack straightened his back in a split second.

“”I haven’t seen undies this cute since primary school!” Peter mocked. “Ah ah ah! You’ve came in 10 minutes late three times this week. That adds up to 3 tugs!” 

“Pet-AHHH,” Jack tried to protest, but his boss gave him another firm yank. 

“You say we’re not in school anymore yet here you are showing up late with these lil boy undies.” Peter laughed.

“Oh, and by the way: say anything about our arrangement and you’re fired. Understood?” Peter gave a third yank, the heart-waistband reaching the bottom of Jack’s shoulder blade.

“Aeigh, fine, just let me get back to work.” Jack pleaded as his waistband snapped his back. 

“Going forwards, I will be rounding up the minutes, so be here on time to avoid punishment.” Peter added as he reached for the door to show his employee out.

“Do we really have to- UGH” Jack grunted as the familiar feeling of his usually-comfortable briefs becoming a thong interrupted his argument.

“I look forward to your timely arrivals moving forward,” Peter said as he practically shoved Jack into the hallway. 

Thankfully for Jack, he managed to pull his shirt down before being exposed to the open hallway. He didn’t have time to de-thong his undies, so he was forced to do the walk of shame back to his cubicle with his valentines themed undies making their way deeper into his crack. 

[butterflydm]

wot deeper dive 2x1: a taste of solitude

Today is all about 2x1 for me! I am going to go scene by scene, talk up some thoughts about where we're starting with all our lovely characters in this first episode of season 2.

This specific post I am going to avoid any spoilers from the books! I will be doing another post later today that includes those spoilers and related thoughts.

Our first scene is the meeting that Our Friend From the Eye is having with his buddies, which I've talked about before since it was one of the released teasers but I really do love how it sets up some themes that I'm sure we'll follow over the course of the season -- what is evil? How can you tell if something or someone is evil? I really get the vibe that we're going to do a deep interrogation of Why People Become Darkfriends and I am here for it. I love him setting up his own philosophical view on the world here.

What the Man is arguing here is essentially that the Trollocs (and, by extension, the Shadow) aren't immoral but are amoral instead. "Hungry" rather than "malicious".

2. I do mourn the loss of our lovely little title sequence. I guess they wanted to squeeze every last possible second that they could for content!

3. I love the sort of bait-and-switch here where Moiraine is working her ass off... in order to fill a bath for herself. But this whole sequence is so touching and heartbreaking. When she tries to heat the water but fails to reach the Source. Heartbreaking! And when she's all alone, you can really see how she's despairing over her situation and her helplessness. She can't hold in her tears when she's alone.

4. And Lan is feeling his own sense of despair here. Equally heartbreaking. Going from a feeling so deeply connected to someone to them just being gone, and not as a temporary thing but, as far as you know, a forever thing.

5. Verin and Adeleas (and Tomas) are a fun set of characters. I just found their entire setup very charming and I enjoyed everything with them. Poor Adeleas is so thirsty though, lol.

6. It really is hard to see Moiraine staying at such an emotional distance from Lan! She didn't even look at him.

7. Egwene's Journey Through The White Tower did a good job setting the new expectations for her current situation and her role here as a novice -- cleaning the Amrylin's room, enjoying the view, the little bow she gives Leane, trying not to watch Alanna having fun with Maksim and Ihvon, passing by the Warder sparring area, and ending in the kitchens. We learn here that the Amrylin is off traveling. Hmm. I wonder where she went (I mean, it's likely an excuse to not have the actress for this set of episode -- I'm guessing we'll only get Sophie for one episode, maybe two, for this season).

8. Nynaeve telling Egwene to stop smiling over doing her chores, lol. I don't think we get a 'time-stamp' yet in this part -- I think it's Perrin who first lets us know how long it's been since they parted at Fal Dara. I'm guessing that they didn't leave Fal Dara right away and needed to take time to recover before heading to Tar Valon -- I even wonder if maybe Perrin & co actually traveled with Nynaeve and Egwene to Tar Valon as an escort? Because they all celebrate Bel Tine later in this episode, so it's been one year since 1x1, but Perrin notes that he's been hunting the Horn with the boys for "five months". This would also mean that Loial could have gotten some Aes Sedai healing at the Tower. I don't think that the show will go back and address it because we are barreling forward but... things that make me go 'hmm'.

9. Nynaeve is SO ANNOYED and feels so bait-and-switched by Siuan's promises, lol. "I have enough character". Amazing, perfect, no notes.

10. I love so much how Alanna's lesson is folded into the chores! She's teaching them but also showing them useful things (purifying water is a VERY useful skill!) while also giving them an incentive to get better as quickly as possible lol. Alanna as the Charming Green is such an interesting contrast to Liandrin the Bitter Red, especially since they're both getting explored as full, rich characters.

11. Egwene takes lessons wherever she can find them -- here, we see her avoiding using her hands because she doesn't want to be helpless if someone ties her hands up again, like Valda did. Ah, we do get the "five months" timestamp here too -- five months "in this Tower", so that's not including the travel time it took to get there. That matches what Perrin is saying, so I feel like there is an implication there that Perrin & co escorted Egwene & Nynaeve to the Tower. Five months is a long time for Nynaeve to have completely failed to channel again despite being surrounded by teachers, so I understand why she's so frustrated.

12. Nynaeve drinking the glass of filthy water is just so disgusting but also perfect. And Alanna just going ??? what is wrong with that girl???

13. So... holy shit, a novice died under Liandrin's teachings. Wild that she was given permission to 'talk' to Nynaeve. I'm with Alanna on that, 100%. Liandrin should not have been allowed anywhere near Nynaeve.

14. Liandrin gives us some world updates: Hunt for the Horn declared in Illian; Trollocs raiding Arafel; and a new false Dragon is Saldaea. Thank you for the world info update, Liandrin! I appreciate it!

15. Perrin writing letters to his friends really gets to me. It makes me very emotional. I love that sense of connection getting to still be present. And Perrin has been writing them regular letters!! And Perrin is also writing letters home and asking if Mat has found his way back!!

16. Oh, hello, Mysterious Golden-eyed Tracker. Nice to meet you, Elyas.

And the way they're doing everything with Perrin is interesting. I feel like given the audience something to experience is important, rather than it being Perrin narrating what he sees/smells, especially since he hasn't talked about any of what he's been going through with anyone on-screen, really.

17. Padan Fain killing a young woman and helping slaughter an entire caravan of people who follow the path of non-violence. What was that about not being able to tell if someone's actions are evil or not, Man from The Eye of the World?

18. One of the children escaped, and one of the Tuatha'an dogs killed one of the Darkfriend soldiers protecting the young girl's escape but died protecting her.

19. Moiraine is very successfully sneaky here with Doman, making him believe she's after one thing but getting him to haggle down on the thing that she's truly interested in. And I think she realizes that Doman has something real because of his mention that he's being followed and then the whole, you know, "Old Tongue written in blood" thing. She plays him good. But then when she realizes how much danger he might be in, she gives him another ten marks to help him out.

Lan's thoughts on the bond are very poetic. I love him getting to talk these things over with another Warder. And Lan is very aware that Moiraine is trying to push him away and is determined not to let her freeze him out, but it's hard!

20. Nynaeve finding so much more comradery with the Warders than with the Aes Sedai (but then also that moment when she insults Alanna and they make it clear that she's gone too far). We also get a bit of a look into the Alanna-Maksim-Ihvon poly dynamics. Nynaeve does try to reach out to Egwene but Egwene is never in her room!

21. It is so funny that Alanna thought that Egwene came to her for advice on poly relationships. Egwene trying to mirror Alanna with how she leans against the cushions: also hilarious. (who does Alanna think that Egwene is having sex with, I gotta wonder, lol) Poor Egwene. Once Alanna realizes what Egwene is actually asking, though, she gives her some solid advice.

22. Nynaeve practicing Alanna's lesson on her own because she DOES want to learn but she doesn't want to fail in front of other people. And Liandrin's entire scene with her was so well done but also: wow, yikes ouch. Nynaeve's reaction to being shielded by Liandrin (getting teary; looking at her hands afterwards) reminds me of Moiraine's reaction to what happened to her at the Eye. Liandrin is also really good at getting under people's skins. Hearing the official Red policy on Warders is really a sad way to look at things, but does explain a lot (but she's also trying to get Nynaeve to react). "You saw that weave only once but you were able to copy it" - Nynaeve's a quick learner, when she can touch the Power. Such an intense scene!

23. Really liked the funeral scene. Elyas buries the brave dog who protected the little girl. Ingtar and Perrin talk about Darkfriends and revenge and grace. "All men deserve a proper burial". Perrin talking about being worried that the rage will overwhelm him (which is directly what led to him accidentally killing his wife in the premiere). "Anger won't bring my men back." But Perrin can't stop thinking about how open and warm his people were to Fain, and then Fain betrayed them all (with a smile!).

24. Lan telling Moiraine not to smile at him while they're in a terrible situation like this, and she's pushing him away. Getting two flashbacks from that -- a. Nynaeve telling Egwene not to smile about doing her chores earlier in this episode and b. Siuan telling Moiraine not to smile back in episode 1x6. This does hurt and I think it hurts Lan that he knows what she's doing, trying to drive him away, and it's still working anyway because he doesn't feel that intimate connection that they've shared for the last twenty years.

25. Us getting that lovely moment of Perrin writing the letter, and Egwene and Nynaeve receiving it, and Rand all on his own, thinking of his friends, and then poor Mat, getting tormented by Liandrin by her only reading part of the letter, making him believe that his friends don't care about him anymore. The way Egwene and Nynaeve are able to connect for a moment, and how all five of them are thinking about each other on Bel Tine (which tells us that it's officially been a year since 1x1). Perrin is a wonderful correspondent, with a very nice way with words.

26. "A dozen letters now, and not a single mention of Mat Cauthon." Liandrin is very very good at knife-twisting. Also, Perrin has sent them a dozen letters in only five months. He is a very faithful correspondent. Ugh, I was immediately gutted by the look on Mat's face. And this is confirmation that Mat has heard that Rand is dead (and from Liandrin, probably the worst person to hear it from!). Ah, we have a "six months" timestamp from Mat here, so it took Egwene & Nynaeve roughly a month or so to get to Tar Valon from Fal Dara, since they've been in the Tower for five months. Ugh, Liandrin has been picking and picking at him for six months. My poor darling. And I bet he's especially emotional over it right now because it's Bel Tine.

27. Mat can't afford a lantern this year either, and he doesn't have any other ways of getting one. Perrin almost says goodbye to Laila here but can't quite do it (that's how I'm interpreting the moment with the ring), which means that this lantern is only for Rand. And Nynaeve and Egwene also put out a lantern for Rand, to say goodbye. Then we see Rand with a lantern, all by himself in a city. We only get this one glimpse of Rand in the whole episode but it's still very emotional.

28. Love the reveal that Mat is secretly trying to work on an escape plan. Great moment to end his little scene here on.

29. Also love Lan getting some Warder therapy from Adeleas, Verin, and Tomas. Also, lol, Adeleas just wants to eat her meal. I love Verin and Adeleas's relationship. This is such a good scene.

30. Apologies to my dearest Moiraine & Lan, but I never have much to say about fight scenes. That scene sure did... fight. Good fighting in that scene. Their hands touching at the end got to me though. I liked getting to see Verin channel Tomas's sword to be on fire. That was pretty cool.

[albatmobile]

The Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds Chapter 23

𓅪 After not hearing from Roy or Jason for five years, you suddenly find yourself taking in extra income as a babysitter for their child.

𓅪 Rated: E | 8.3k includes: smut ur welcome, Jason and Roy being whores, Bruce and Ollie appearance

fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist]

Chapter 23: Love Me Like You Used To | ao3 - wattpad

The three of you stay up practically all night, talking about whatever comes to mind while sleep continues to elude your minds.

The adrenaline has yet to wear off and you still feel like there’s so much to be said, yet the three of you continue to talk about the dumbest shit just like you had back in high school. 

You all take turns saying the most ridiculous, slap-happy influenced bullshit to see who will laugh the hardest, Jason being the hardest nut to crack, of course. Eventually, around five, you all tire out.

“You know,” Roy yawns, leaning his head on your shoulder, “Damian has that Cali king in our room.” 

“I remember.” You’d just been in there the other night. It’s not like the couch was exactly looking appetizing with your injury. “Your boyfriend is right here, Roy,” you chide lightly.

“It’s not like that, but it could be. Right, Jay?” 

Jason surprisingly smirks at you, leaving you to sputter. 

It’s unfair how easily they manage to make you blush, especially now, even when you’re tired and injured. As it is, every move you make leaves your body in agonizing, stabbing pain and your eyelids can hardly remain open.

“Stop teasing me,” it comes out as more of a weak demand than anything as sleep tugs at your heavy eyelids. 

You yawn, feeling Roy’s head bob against your shoulder before resting your head atop his.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” Roy stirs and urges you into the room. You willingly oblige, allowing him to lead you to the mattress. 

Lian’s already passed out. Her little snores sputter out into the dark room and you try to minimize your movement to not wake her a whole hour earlier than she’d normally wake up. If she does end up waking up, you know none of you will be able to go to sleep for at least another hour. Your mind tiredly lists off Lian’s little quirks with a smile, knowing she’d want to be fed and entertained, meaning you’d be stuck on babysitting duty until Damian or Jon would get up.

The ache you feel in your body and eyelids is enough incentive to keep as still as possible.

You make quick work of changing into your PJs while Jason and Roy turn around to give you space. 

It’s quite funny, in your sleep-induced state, how they still try to grant you modesty when they’ve literally seen all there is to see. Nonetheless, you appreciate the gesture. Once you’ve changed, Roy slips into bed behind you while Jason lies across from you, his fingers tickling your scalp from over Lian’s sleeping form. 

You’d always been prone to falling asleep wherever. However, after these few days of bliss with them, your body rejects anything less than being snuggled between them. 

You’re awoken what seems like minutes later by Lian’s pleas from the other room for Jon to put on Superman. 

You blearily let yourself close the new gap between you and Jason. You sleepily hike your leg in between his and snuggle your head into the crook of his neck. He stirs slightly but ultimately begins tracing up and down your arm. 

Beside you, Roy’s still conked out, laying stomach down with his arm thrown over your waist. His haphazard snores are angled into your shoulder while his legs are eagle-spread across the mattress.  

Jason’s skin smells intimate, like sleep.

You crave more. 

You nuzzle his neck, feeling him smile in response. “Morning," you say as he shifts, allowing your thick thigh further in between his own muscular ones. “Mm,” you mumble dreamily. His fingers begin tickling underneath your, well, technically his, sleep shirt. 

“You sleep alright?” Jason’s morning voice is pure sin, rumbling all the way from the pooling heat in your lower region down to your toes. You nod, smiling when his eyes briefly slide close as he fights to keep whatever lingering dregs of sleep he can before gracing you with his emerald gaze a few moments later. “Tha’sgood, babe.”

“Yeah," your response is a breathy whisper against the roar of Roy’s deep slumber and Lian’s joyful screams in the living room. Man, could these Harper’s make some noise in the morning.

You shuffle closer, still feeling the weight of Roy’s arm around your waist as Jason’s left arm soon falls beside it, pulling you flush against his warm chest. Your head presses against his chest hair, looking up at his neck when you hear him yawn. 

Once he’s done, he moves his head backward a bit so that he can meet your gaze.

He seems more awake than before when he wishes you good morning and nearly kisses you before fully waking up, “Sorry.” Jason’s green eyes are wild as he searches your face for a response. 

You just smile tiredly in return and tug for his fingers around your waist to start tickling up your sides again. 

He finally relaxes again, smiling at your cute, early-morning behavior and easily gives in to your request. The shirt rises and with it, exposing your panties. Jason continues his ticklish sensations. Unbeknownst to him, his ministrations are causing other things to tickle at the same time.

“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.” 

“Oh?” he questions, blinking back at you slowly like he still thinks he might be in the midst of dreaming. His motions on your soft skin cease so swiftly you almost miss it before resuming like they’d never stopped in the first place.

You can’t help but bite your lip at the deep timber of Jason’s voice while you’re in such an intimate position like this. 

Your eyes flick back down to the safety of his chest, unable to face the intensity behind his slitted eyes. “Jay?” you start unsurely.

You hear him gulp, wondering just what kind of effect you’re having on him, all while trying to hide his obvious one on you.

Your nickname is a hushed response back. 

His rough fingers trail down, drawing his shirt on you down with it. He comes to a light stop right above the waistband of your thong with a hypnotizing barely-there pressure. You need more. You need the pads of his fingertips to go lower and lower until they… 

You unwittingly buck into the touch and gasp with embarrassment. He doesn’t allow you to drown in it for too long, however. The gentle pressure lifts as his fingers move to caress under your chin, motioning it upward. You give in easily, though the heat on your cheeks prevents you from looking at him again quite yet.

When you finally gain the courage to look at him, you can’t help the look of absolute wonder on your face as you explore his face for any sign of resistance. Yes, he’d already kissed you, but it’d been in the midst of all the recent stress and chaos. Who’s to say that this isn’t just another one-off event? 

“I don’t think,” you finally muster after a few seconds of studying his expression. ‘I don’t think I can hold back anymore,’is what you want to say, but your lips refuse to reveal your cards just yet. Your bottom lip trembles as an overwhelming surge of lust and anticipation after years of this chase takes hold of you. “I can’t think,” you whimper, hoping he’ll somehow understand this all means you really want his tongue in your mouth like, five years ago. Now, though… Now is the next best thing. “Please, no more teasing me.”

Jason’s eyes widen. 

His fingers trickle further up your jawline at a tantalizingly slow pace. The deliberate touch draws your face closer to his on the pillow with every catch of his callouses against your soft cheeks. 

Where Roy’s lips are chapped, his hands have always been surprisingly soft. Jason, on the other hand, Jason’s lips have always been smooth and supple, but his hands are rough and calloused.

“No more,” he agrees deeply. 

It’s your turn to look surprised. “Really?” you ask.

He leans down, lips brushing lightly against your forehead as his next words send you over the point of no return. “I promise,” he whispers. Jason places a gentle kiss where his lips have been resting before moving further down to kiss at the tip of your nose. “Anything you want, you can have, babe. Just say the words.”

Your one hand rests on his sculpted stomach while your other hand mimics his own and rests along his chiseled jawline. He’d always looked like one of those Greek statues in Damian’s art books, but his scars and iridescent jewel-toned eyes put him in an entirely different category. Jason’s beauty is truly that of a god, which no marble nor sculptor could ever do justice.

“I can’t wait anymore,” you breathe out, feeling relief with each word that pushes past the anticipation lodged in your throat. “Please,” you beg. “Please, don’t make me wait for you any longer, Jay. Please, I can’t…” you trail off at the same time he seems to snap.

Jason groans, finally ducking his head down to meet your lips and give you exactly what you’ve been aching for.

It’s at this exact moment that Roy snorts awake with a jolt, moving to drowsily spoon you like he had last night, just as your lips finally brush against Jason’s. 

Roy’s unexpected touch causes you to startle backward into his morning wood with a tiny yelp. Upon contact with his heavy, clothed member, you arch your back, blushing when you realize what you’ve just done.

He winces as if you’d hurt him, then wiggles back against you. “Oh, man, princess. I forgot you were here,” he yawns dramatically.

You’re still very much entangled with his boyfriend right in front of him, though he seems more interested in the situation than upset by it. 

“Gee, thanks, Roy.” 

“Just playing, baby,” he teases. Roy makes to spoon you but stops just short of fully pressing himself against your back. All the while, Jason’s slitted green eyes stare the two of you down with sleepy interest. “This okay?” Does he mean spooning you, or the fact his morning wood is now directly pressed up against your bare ass. 

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re all three dancing around the idea of fucking? Well, at least you’re dancing around the idea and have to remind yourself that they’re the ones who are dating, not you. 

Something does feel different in the air after last night, though. 

It’s as if the floodgates have finally opened and yet, even though you now feel like you can be completely open and vulnerable with them, you still don’t exactly know where you stand relationship-wise with them. Frankly, you’re too scared to ask. 

You bite at your lower lip when his dick twitches against you and can’t help but nod. Your answer escapes your lips in a gasp, “Yes.”

Jason’s eyes flick upward and you know he and Roy are doing that annoying ass eye-communication-thing they do so well before they’re both closing in on you. 

Your stomach flips as the reality of the situation comes crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Roy clears his throat. Your whole body goes tense, waiting for them to throw you out of the room, but it never comes. Instead, you’re met with his gruff, morning voice. It’s not fair the things it’s stirring inside yourself. 

“Do you want us?” His words alone are enough that you feel a rush of wetness seep onto your thighs. “Because we really want you, baby.”

They forcibly remain still on the mattress as they await your answer.

You can’t help but gulp around the excitement that it’s finally, finally happening.

Your hands grip the sheets as you grind back into Roy. At the same time, you tug Jason’s abs flush against your tits.

It’s not enough of an answer, apparently.

“We’re gonna need to hear that pretty voice, babe,” he sounds barely restrained as his words lewdly tickle against your ears.

“Loud and clear,” Roy adds as a hot whisper against the shell of your ear. “You can do that for us, can’t you?” Your breath hitches in your throat. “Or are you going to be a bad girl?”

Your legs tremble, wanting so badly to flip on your back and spread yourself for both of them right then and there, but you’ve been patient- so fucking patient. The least you can do is return the favor of all their teasing and blue balls for a few moments more.

“What if I don’t want to be bad?” you challenge. Your eyes slowly trail up Jason’s chiseled abdomen, lit up like a work of Michelangelo’s in the morning sun. “What if all I’ve been trying to do is be a good girl for the two of you.” 

You notice Jason’s eyes flicking up greedily to meet Roy’s and wonder if you’ve said something wrong.

You’re quickly assured that, no, you haven’t said anything wrong when Jason takes the lead and flips you on your side to pin you against the mattress. It happens so fast that you’re left staring up at him in brief confusion, then arousal as one of Jason’s thick thighs slots deliciously between your own.

“I like good girls,” Jason says your name with his heavy eyes boring into you like loaded guns, shooting fire all the way down to your aching wetness. “I like ‘em a lot,” the last part of his sentence is grumbled against your neck as he steadily makes his way toward your gasping mouth. 

It’s everything you’ve known you needed and so much more.

Your heart pours itself into the kiss, gliding against his plump lips like they’re your lifeline. 

A steady pouring of adrenaline leaves you nearly shaking after having waited so many fucking years for this kind of clarity. No, for this kind of relief. 

It’s finally yours for the taking and, boy, do you take.

The flood walls finally give way, bursting as both of them descend upon you, taking turns sucking your lips until they’re swollen up like a sex doll.

Roy’s still lying on his side as he caresses your cheek and leverages your head to get a deeper angle. His hand tantalizingly trickles up your thigh to rest at the small of your waist while he gives you exactly what you want. 

“You’re perfect, princess,” he gasps once Jason cups your cheek to move your lips back to his. This is how it continues until Roy finally has the courage to bare himself completely. “What?” he says, covering his dick when you and Jason break away to stare at the latest development.

“Roy,” you gasp, staring at him in shock, openly taking in his, well, everything for the first time since the showers. This time, his pink-tipped cock bounces up and down under your inspection. 

Jason looks down at you, then at Roy as if, for once, they’re the ones who are unable to read you.

“Like what you see?” He’s smirking like usual, but it lacks its usual charm. There’s no way he’s actually self-conscious right now, right? 

You gulp, realizing they’re way out of your league, yet they’re just as self-conscious as you’re feeling. 

“I always have.”

Roy smirks. “Have a thing for redheads, then?”

“Yeah,” you nod easily, “and their angsty boyfriends.” 

Jason lets out a sexy chuckle, while Roy looks downright devilish.

You’ve obviously quelled any remaining timidness as he slinks toward you, smirking like the cat who got the cream. Roy straddles your waist with his cock slipping ever so slightly through your slick folds before his slit rubs against your sensitive nub. You throw your head back at the contact with a pathetic moan that has Jason on your lips in an instant.

His strong hand slides up your neck, securing his hold around it into the kiss as Roy grinds against your twitching cunt. 

“Jay,” he moans when you grind up to meet his thrust. The tip of his cock catches on your entrance, nearly pushing in. You break away from the kiss with a shocked gasp, arching up off the mattress.

Jason rips your shirt off of you, literally rips it from your body. You and Roy stare at him in shock, but he just shrugs. “What?” he asks entirely too innocently.

The three of you all seem to realize at the same time that your tits are now fully exposed and waste no time descending upon them. Each of them taunts your nipples at a different pace, with different strokes, but at the same time. 

“Fuck,” you curse. You’re in dire need of relief, so your hand travels downward only to be stopped by Jason’s calloused hands. 

“I thought you said you were a good girl, babe,” Jason’s eyes sear into yours with a playful glint flashing across their emerald surface, “or did you tell daddy a lie?” His mouth hovers tantalizingly close to your erect bud while he awaits your answer. 

“I-” For the first time in your life, you’re rendered speechless as these two god-like men ravenously stare down at your naked body, eyeing you up like prey.

Roy smirks over at Jason, coming out slightly slurred as if he's already drunk on sex. “She’s speechless, Jay,” he teases you.

Your eyes narrow in an instant. “Shut it, Harper.” 

He may have his dick sliding against the wet folds of your cunt, but you aren’t so desperate as to let him talk shit.

His mouth obediently snaps shut at the same time Jason laughs. 

Your clit is desperate to be touched and you feel half delirious because of it. Roy seems to understand because he slithers down your stomach and positions himself between your legs, restraining them in his strong grip to prevent you from closing them.

“I’ll shut up and eat your pussy, princess. That works for me, too.”

“Good,” you say around a small smirk.

With this, you nod down at him, tangling his fiery locks in between your fingers to tug him close to where you so desperately need him. He groans as he mouths against your lips, barely flicking at your clit just to be a dick. It leaves you a panting mess, nonetheless, as his slow, deliberate laps at your cunt leave you wriggling against his boyfriend’s chest. 

Jason moves from the side of you, removing his boxers as he does so to trap your head between his deliciously scarred thighs. For the first time, you come face to face, well, face to dick with his eye-widening member. 

You can’t help but stare at what you’ve only ever imagined.

It’s thick, veiny and fucking perfect. You need it shoved down your throat, stat.

Your mouth unwittingly opens and he needs no further encouragement than to settle his hefty cock onto your willing tongue. When his length breaches against the back of your throat, you feel yourself nearly go cross-eyed. Without hesitation, you obediently swallow around it, feeling tears tinge in the corners of your eyes at the challenging stretch he presents.

At the same time, Roy knows exactly all the angles and pressure to use on you to make you a withering mess in mere seconds. You’ve never felt anything like it before and you’re seriously convinced you’re going to come before either of them even get the chance to fuck you. Carefully, his thick fingers add one after the other into your tight heat, plunging in and out as he stretches you obscenely. 

You take Jason’s dick like a champ, swallowing it all the way to the base with every demanding thrust he sends your way. You find yourself actually enjoying the pain as your mouth stretches and drools around his thick cock. It definitely helps that Roy’s making an absolute mess of your cunt. Every barrage of fast flicks and slow, flat licks from his skilled tongue leave you a gurgling mess against Jason’s thrusts.

It’s too much and Roy seems to know it with how sporadic your thrusts are against his slick-coated mouth. All of a sudden, the redhead smacks Jason on the ass, sending his cock all the way to the back of your throat.

You nearly scream at the obscene pressure, teary eyes never leaving Jason’s green ones all the while.

You mumble sadly around Jason’s member when Roy’s mouth removes itself from you with a loud slurp. His fingers gently follow soon after, leaving you feeling completely stretched and empty. Jason seems to understand what this means and moves to lie beside you with a wink.

“You ready for what’s next, babe?”

What’s next?

Your blown-out eyes nod dumbly, causing both of them to chuckle at your uncharacteristic quietness. 

Roy’s eyes impishly flash between your naked bodies like it’s Christmas morning. “How you wanna do this, Jay?” he questions giddily.

You watch as Jason’s dick twitches. “Just like how we always talked about, love,” he responds without hesitation.

Roy smirks and smacks lightly at your hip. You give him a confused look but rise to your knees nonetheless. 

“Follow my lead, princess.”

You watch as Roy spreads his legs across Jason’s upper thighs so their cocks bounce against each other. Roy motions for you to come closer and, when you do, his hand covers yours and drags it over to their leaking tips. 

You don’t need his help to know what’s next.

Timidly, you wrap your lithe fingers around the impressive girth of their combined erections and begin to beat them off together. You wonder if you’re even doing it right when Roy throws his head back and moans like an absolute whore, something you and Jason share an amused look at. The look only lasts for so long before you feel your face flush.

“You like that?” Jason questions darkly. you bite lightly at your lower lip, turning to face Jason’s lust-drunk eyes. “You get off on making Roy come undone like the slut he is?”

Roy groans appreciatively.

Meanwhile, Jason’s words spur your hands into a frantic pace that leaves both of them fucking desperately up into your fist for more delicious friction. As if it’s too much, Jason motions to Roy and Roy stops your hand mid-jerk.

Jason shifts so he’s half-propped up by the headboard, looking absolutely pleased with his arms tucked behind his head while Roy situates your dripping cunt over his cock. When you slowly sink down on his length, growing accustomed to the stretch as you do, Jason can hardly stop himself from bucking up into your tight heat. He probably would’ve left you sore had Roy’s sturdy hands not remained on either side of his hip bones to control him. 

You’re definitely grateful Roy had fingered you as thoroughly as he had earlier. It makes what’s happening now a hell of a lot more pleasurable. You take your time as the uncomfortableness soon turns to pleasure with help from their tantalizing touches as you slowly sink further down on Jason’s cock. 

They don’t seem to mind how long it’s taking at all. If anything, it seems like they’re grateful for the slowdown in pace, if only to last longer once you finally reach his base.

Once you grow accustomed to the intense feeling, you gently rest back on Roy’s freckled thighs, which are spread similarly to yours, across Jason’s thick thighs. You're definitely grateful Roy had been so thorough with his fingering earlier.

“Tell me,” Roy whispers your name against the shell of your ear from behind. Jason begins to thrust in and out of you, carefully watching your every minute reaction. “Did you fantasize about this?” he groans around a particular thrust. “Did you get off picturing me getting stuffed by me and Jay, baby? So full and so good for us just like this, princess?”

“YES!” you exclaim your admission. Roy’s hand snakes around to flick your clit cruelly as if pleased with your answer. “Fuck, yes. I did,” you breathe, feeling droll spilling from the corner of your mouth, but Jason easily wipes it with his thumb and a Cheshire grin. “You both know I did.”

It seems like you aren’t the only one who’s fantasized about this if their desperate, pleased reactions are anything to go by.

“Shit,” Roy groans as he lines himself up with your twitching hole. “You don’t know how many wet dreams I’ve had about this.”

“Enough to force us to get new sheets every year,” Jason supplies with an easy roll of his eyes. He moves his calloused hands to support some of your weight as Roy’s cock begins to rub against your slick slit.

“Jay,” Roy whines like the brat he is. “Fuck, I don’t think I’m going to fit." You feel more than see his head resting against the back of yours as he restrains himself from tearing straight into you. “Your pussy’s too tight for both of us, baby,” he groans sinfully.

You whimper at the sensation. The head of his cock hardly has enough room with Jason’s thick member already filling the majority of your cunt. 

“That’s so fucking hot,” you inadvertently admit in the heat of sex. As soon as the words escape, you move to cover it but Jason’s already there, removing your hands from your mouth. 

“We want to hear everything,” Jason’s dark, domineering tone drips around your name, thick like honey. “We want you to give us everything, babe. All of it.”

It’s enough to unleash a sputtered moan that you wish you could cover up but don’t. Jason seems to recognize this and coos lightly with simmering praise that leaves you dripping on Roy’s cock steadily slipping into your wet heat right alongside Jason’s.

“Fuck,” your curse is barely a breath as your head knocks back into Roy’s as he becomes fully situated inside of you. “I don’t wanna come yet.” You shake your head desperately while Jason drinks in your reaction with thirsty, verdant eyes. “Please,” you beg them, “I can’t come yet. Fuck!” 

You’re completely stuffed with both of their thick lengths pushing into every possible wall inside of you. You swear you could come right here and now with their overwhelming sensation, but once they start thrusting into you, you know you’re not going to last long.

Your desperate whines and whimpers fall on deaf ears as they continue their ruthless assault on your cunt. As it is, they’re barely leaving you time to breathe with each purposeful thrust they shudder into you.

Jason removes his hands to situate themselves behind his head, watching you ride him while Roy fucks into you from behind.

You don’t think you’ve managed to stop moaning for even a millisecond since Roy’s pink-tipped dick slipped inside your already-filled pussy. His head pathetically splayed across your shoulder, panting like he’s barely holding himself back from fully ravaging your pussy.

That won’t do.

“Harder, Roy.”

Jason groans at the same time Roy does. Both of them buck into you simultaneously, leaving you seeing stars.

You can’t even begin to attempt to cover your screams as they ring out across the expanse of the room. It feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced before and your body reacts openly because of it.

Roy’s hand remains rubbing at your clit, while the other snakes around your front to jiggle your tits. You find yourself entranced as they bounce up and down with each pump and your hips. You sputter when his fingers flick at your nipples and clench down around them as you stave off your orgasm for another moment longer, but it’s in vain.

You’re coming, falling backward into Roy’s sturdy chest as you release on their dicks. You’re shaking into Roy’s hold around you while Jason’s calloused hands soothingly run up and down your thick thighs. The redhead manages to steady you with a pleased chuckle as your arousal cools, then sparks and simmers again in the pit of your stomach. 

Regardless of your orgasm, Jason greedily continues to fuck into you.

Hell, he doesn’t even slow his thrusts as he continues to fuck into you with a dazed look settled across his half-lidded eyes. He bites his lip as he and Roy fuck your come into you with their own precome adding to the lewd syrup drizzling from your squelching hole with each thrust.

Jason seems lucid as he watches Roy fondle your abused tits, leaving you to writhe against him whorishly as he brings you close to the edge again. Jason himself doesn’t look too far off either, as his small gasps and grunts become more frequent and more desperate.

Roy’s breath fans across your neck in small puffs as he makes cruel work of your overly sensitive nub. 

You come again with a pained cry, arching your back with your eyes crossing as they milk every last drop of come from you. Roy fucks into you as Jason’s sinking out of you. This is how they continue until you’re stuffed with both of their come.

Both you and Roy fall forward, completely spent, onto Jason’s toned chest.  

Jason’s heaving beneath your weight when he finally speaks up, “Was it everything you imagined?”

You’re still catching your breath as you consider your answer. 

Your pussy aches pleasantly, you’re completely fucked out and the two men you’ve always loved are the reason for it all.

“Fuck yeah, Jay.”

Roy groans and you feel his dick twitch against your ass in interest. 

You end up going a few more rounds before you’re all entirely spent. You wash each other off in Damian’s rich-ass shower before joining Jon, Damian and Lian in the living room.

“I’ve never known either of you to sleep in so long,” Damian greets your group skeptically, though his stare stare is entirely pointed at you and Jason.

You shrug, blushing. 

“Babe’s still speechless, Jay,” Roy mutters through a smirk, freckled cheeks still lit up with the red heat of sex. One searing look from you, though and he concedes easily, throwing up his hands in faux-surrender. 

Words escape you and you have no interest in opening your mouth and babbling like an idiot, which will inevitably happen if you do.

Jon hangs out with you, Jason, Roy and Lian, even going so far as to offer to watch her with Damian so you guys can start on a plan. Eventually, it’s decided that Arsenal and Red Hood will search for your parents and leads into who all had been contracted but ultimately lost Deadshot’s trail. 

Meanwhile, you try to trace him but keep running into Belle Reve’s annoying ass firewall. Further digging brings up something called-

“Task Force X?” you question quietly to yourself, squinting your eyes at the screen as you try to make sense of the name. After a few more hours of research, you give up and pass along the information. Apparently, they can both make sense of the connection and this earns you the title of ‘their Oracle.’ 

Once you’re finished, Lian’s itching to get outside, so the three of you relieve Jon of his babysitting duties to take her to Gotham Botanical Gardens.

You can’t help but be reminded of the last time you were here with Jason and Roy after their kiss and subsequent weirdness. Coupled with this morning’s predicament, you couldn’t help but be amused by your current predicament all these years later.

Here you are, hours post-sex with them, yet you can’t help but feel like your insecure fifteen-year-old self around them. 

As if repeating five years ago when Jason and Roy had split off from each other to brood in silence all those years ago, you emulate them. Without even meaning to, you remain somewhat distant from the three of them, excluding yourself on account of your own self-doubt.

You’re still hesitant around them and you’re pretty sure they’re picking up on it because now they’re giving you even more space.

It’s a good sign that they aren’t currently arguing about you impeding upon their relationship. They seem fine, but you can’t be sure. 

They don’t mention anything to you, so you continue to walk on eggshells around your feelings for both of them.

You just hope they won’t notice.

Jason and Roy have Lian, all hand-in-hand, walking around the botanical gardens all hand while you trail anxiously behind them. You don’t even realize you’re wringing your hands until Roy’s freckled hand stops the movement.

Roy glances at you with a curious, raised brow. “You know, you can totally join in on this, princess. Just say the word,” he offers with a small smile. 

You wince at being caught.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you respond hesitantly. 

Roy chuckles, his light green eyes crinkling as he does so. Without another word, he nudges Jason who turns around to give you a look you’re starting to get familiar with. Upon seeing your conflicted expression, Jason bridges the gap and extends his free hand out to you.

You stare at it as if it’s going to hurt you and aren’t able to school your response before Jason can notice. His hand falters briefly before you grab it and lace your fingers in between his automatically.

You understand that, yes, they just had sex with you- you just don’t understand what it means, never mind where the three of you go from here. It’s not like they’re exactly screaming your relationship status from the rooftops.

Jason gently squeezes your hand before you can spiral too far into your doubts. Instead, he draws your attention to the butterflies that suddenly flock around you. 

Lian giggles at the sight of butterflies flitting about your hair, “You have a butterfly crown!”

“A true princess,” Roy says, moving beside you to hold your free hand while Lian takes off to skip around close by. “Definitely a different vibe from when me and Jay were arguing and shit here, don’t you think?”

You’re definitely in a better place in life now than you were back then, even with all this crazy shit going on.

Maybe the hesitancy is all in your head. Maybe there’s truly no reason for your insecurity. With both of their hands securely wrapped around yours, you allow yourself to believe it. Even if it’s only for today, you do believe it.

“Definitely,” you agree, squeezing both of their hands at the same time. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to smiling this hard.

Lian quickly becomes distracted by the ice cream stand a few yards off the main garden path.

You take up Lian-duty as you quickly follow behind her before she can get too far away. When you turn around, you’re met with a familiar face talking to Jason and Roy- Deadshot. 

You quickly steer Lian’s attention toward the ice cream man, which isn’t too difficult. The entire time, though, you can’t deny the pressing feeling of eyes on your back. After ordering and waiting a few minutes, you finally gain the courage to check behind you to find Deadshot gone.

You give Lian her ice cream cone, hoping it’ll be enough to keep her preoccupied enough while you and her dads reconvene. Just what the fuck did the mercenary want now?

Jason and Roy are deep in conversation as you and Lian approach. They only briefly stop to let you know he hasn’t been asked to renew the contract against you, meaning they’ve most likely dropped it.

“Probably realized it was more expensive to hire mercenaries than whatever payout they’d receive from you.” 

That’s too easy.

Nothing is ever easy with them.

“Or they’re waiting it out with someone else,” you surmise.

Roy seems confused, “Why would they keep trying to kill you?” 

“I think I’m their only failsafe,” you sigh. “I mean, all they’ve ever cared about is money and it’s the one thing they’ve never securely had.”

“Pieces of shit,” Jason curses. He turns and bangs his fist against the tree beside him like the true edgelord he is. Your group is quiet for a few beats as you take in the information. Finally, Jason speaks again, “They’re clearly in some sort of trouble to go to their last resort.” His brows knit together in concentration as he ponders the next move. “Maybe we could barter with them?” 

“They do just want money,” you offer as you think back to their cruel, cold nature. It’s all they’ve ever wanted, but it’s still something that seemed to elude them like a curse. 

This is apparently great news to Roy who grins.

“Well, then, sweetheart,” Roy says as he wraps his built arm around your shoulder, “we’re probably two good people to know.” He hesitates for a moment before correcting his former statement, Well, technically not us, but still close!” 

•••

That same day, you find yourself in a meeting at Wayne Industries with Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen. The CEO suite is at the top of the building and requires the front desk assistant to insert a key in the elevator to reach the level. 

“Have you ever been to your dad’s work before?” you ask, looking up at Jason innocently. 

His eyes flicker down to yours briefly before focusing back on the climbing numbers on the screen. “No.”

Before you can question him further, the doors ding and slide open to reveal wall-to-floor windows overlooking all of Gotham. 

“Oh, no way!” you exclaim as you take in Bruce’s impressive office.

Oliver fiddles slightly with his mustache. “Queen Industries doesn’t really dedicate an entire floor to my office,” he clears his throat obnoxiously before stage whispering to you from behind his hand, “more like two floors, not bragging, though. We wouldn’t want Bats over there to get too jealous, now, would we?” He shoots a wink at Bruce’s unimpressed deadpan. “Anyway, nice to see ya again, little missy. Still a spitfire as ever, I presume?” He gives you a tiny noogie with his hand that you quickly slap away. Oliver hisses, withdrawing his touch immediately, “I’m gonna take that as a yes, then.”

You can’t help but laugh at his tenacity.

Though your past self would be flipping out that you’re standing right in front of Green Arrow, you’re more preoccupied with the danger at hand to feel anything other than anxiety. 

“Nice to see you again, too, Mr. Harper," you say, confused when the atmosphere in the room turns awkward. You quickly look around for an answer as to why. “What?”

“It’s called Queen Industries for a reason, kid.” Your brows furrow in confusion at Oliver’s explanation. “I’m just Roy’s adopted dad,” Oliver says, subconsciously running a hand through his hair. “Guess we never really got around to talking about changing your last name or not, did we, kid?” He shoots a sad smile Roy’s way, but the redhead’s gaze refuses to lift from the marble floor.

Jason steps in to get the conversation on track. “So, the money.”

Roy seems to breathe a sigh of relief at the shift in conversation.

Bruce, who’s remained largely unnoticed the entire time, now takes the center of the room, seeming to call the meeting to order. You were only ever used to seeing Bruce around the manor, never during his business hours.

His crisp suit complied with his slicked-back hair means Bruce is fully in character. Well, his other character.

Jason’s eyes are off toward the windows, but Roy stares Bruce down as he rehashes the situation to them. There’s no real malice behind his eyes, but the challenge is evident even to you. 

“We have two options: either A. we take them down,” Roy says. He makes to list off on his fingers, but Bruce’s unimpressed face briefly stops him.

“No killing,” Bruce interrupts.

Roy rolls his eyes before continuing on as if Bruce hadn’t just cut him off, “Or B. bribe them.”

“I don’t barter with terrorists,” Bruce says, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

You turn to Jason, wondering how his wonderful plan is actually going to work if one of the main proponents is out within seconds of hearing your pitch. It’s obviously time to pivot, but you can’t help but feel a bit scorned at him for turning it all down so easily with, quite literally, your life on the line.

“So,” you drawl, looking up at the ceiling as if deep in thought, “if you don’t barter and you don’t kill, what exactly do you do? Because it seems to be a whole lot of nothing.” By now, you’re staring at Bruce again, trying to ignore how the rest of the room’s mouths are on the floor. 

Hey, it’s life or death. If someone’s going to stand the fuck up, it may as well be you. Seriously, talk about advocating for yourself.

Ollie’s previously upset face morphs into a wicked smile directed Bruce’s way that you can tell the other man is purposefully ignoring.

“Don’t forget you’re the one asking me for my help,” Bruce quirks an amused brow at you. “For my money, too, not to mention.” 

“And mine!” Ollie butts in with his finger held high in the air, demanding his presence also be recognized. “Which,” he nods toward Bruce’s daunting form, “unfortunately, I am also not keen on giving for the same reasons.”

“Alright, so, what exactly do you both,” you look pointedly at Ollie before turning back to Bruce, “recommend that I do, then?”

Bruce takes you in for a moment, almost like he’s proud of you, though surely, you’re reading too much into it. He stands up from his desk, coming around it slowly while his gruff voice rumbles out wisdom that could only come from his alter ego’s past experience. 

“If you give them the money,” Bruce stops and leans against the desk, crossing his arms across his chest as he does, “it will only prolong them for so long. Money is the easiest bargaining chip, but it’s always temporary.” His blue eyes bore into yours as he watches you attempt to put together the puzzle. “They’ll always come back searching for more until the inevitable happens.” He stops dramatically, pursing his lips a bit before continuing, “All this, of course, assuming that money truly is their endgame.” 

You stare at him like he just dropped a bomb. This information is coming from the world’s greatest detective, so you listen to every single word he’s saying earnestly. 

Here, you’re truly able to see where Bruce and Batman collide.

You tirelessly search your mind to try to think of other possible motives but quickly reach a wall.

Jason huffs frustratedly, but you stop him before he can speak.

“No, Bruce is right.” With everyone’s attention on you, you can’t allow yourself to crumble. “It has to go deeper,” you rest a pensive hand under your chin as you delve deeper, “but how do we find out more?”

Bruce stops leaning against his desk and moves back around it to face out the window. Ollie rolls his eyes at the dramatic action but still attempts to replicate a mysterious pose, much to your amusement. 

It’s completely quiet in Bruce’s soundproof CEO suite atop Wayne Tower, but you can practically hear everyone’s thoughts bouncing off the walls.

“I may be able to help you there,” Bruce says. He slightly turns his face from the window to meet yours. “I think I know a guy.”

All the men in the room bemoan his cheesy line, but internally, you’re fangirling hard.

“Oh, come on,” Ollie groans.

You watch as Bruce types something into his phone and, moments later, the elevator springs back open to reveal…

“Damian?” you rush forward to greet him, albeit with a questioning gaze.

He kisses you on your cheeks, muttering your name in greeting before stepping into view of the rest of the room. “You called, father?”

“Oh, this is just fantastic,” Jason mutters to Roy. Their arms are crossed defensively over their chests at the sight of Damian in a pressed, navy suit and slicked-back hair. He looked like a literal matryoshka of Bruce. “I thought this was a closed meeting, Bruce,” Jason hisses out his father’s name like a curse.

“You’re looking at Wayne Enterprise’s new director of the R&D department.” 

Holy shit.

“You’re leading Research and Development?” you ask, looking over at your friend incredulously. “That’s awesome!” He smiles at your praise and briefly looks at Bruce before his honied eyes land back on you. “I definitely want to see what you have hiding down there.”

“Someday soon,” Damian promises. “Until then, you’ll need a secured place to stay while I set about repairs on the penthouse. Shouldn’t be long, anyway.”

•••

“I just don’t see why we need to stay at the manor,” Roy huffs as he packs up whatever clothes he’d actually managed to unpack in the first place. “Even if it’s just for a night or two, we should’ve just robbed your dad and bounced.”

Jason sighs, coming to resituate Roy’s unfolded mess of a bag in a more orderly fashion.

“Do you even hear yourself, dumbass?” Jason chides him before snatching the boxers Roy was scrunching up out of his hands to refold and repack. “What kind of shitty plan would that be?” Roy wrinkles his freckled nose. “Not morally, jesus,” Jason states in exasperation. “I just mean, logically, what sense would that make?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roy mutters, flopping on the bed beside you. He’s apparently resigned to allow Jason to take over packing duties, though you think Jason probably prefers it that way, anyway. “Gettin’ soft on ol’ Batsy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”

“Shut up,” Jason hisses with a glare that stops even you in your tracks.

“Scouts honor,” Roy continues to tease until Jason smacks him with the first article of clothing he can find in the unfolded pile on the floor, which just so happens to be one of your thongs. Your face flares red when Roy picks it up and inhales your scent with a pleased groan. He looks around at Jason and your aghast faces and challenges the two of you. “What?” You merely snort. “What?!” he asks again with more desperation, looking to Jason for support but finding none.

•••

You gleefully skip with Lian as you give her the rundown of the mansion. Though you haven’t really been here much since high school, you still know your way around the intricate mahogany walls of Wayne Manor. 

All the while, Jason and Roy busy themselves with toting around the luggage and Alfred had already become preoccupied with cooking dinner. This left you to show the bouncing kid around.

You take her to the library, where you’re affronted with memories of passion, confusion and a cacophony of hormones. Then to the gym, where you’d faced a nearly intolerable amount of pain and exertion to be able to protect Lian the way you do now.

You decide to mess around a bit with their sparring equipment while Lian distracts herself with the colorful resistance bands that are scattered near the door. You giggle at her little grunts of frustration as she teeters around with the bands on the floor.

While you’re deep in routine, you don’t even realize she’s wandered off until you hear her loud gasp.

You quickly turn around, only to find the room empty and panic. Though, how much trouble could a toddler really get into at Wayne Manor? Never mind, you think, as the thought alone only increases your panic.

“Lian?!” you call out, wandering the labyrinth of halls until you finally catch sight of her little pigtails. 

Lian manages to stumble into the only room you’ve been wanting to avoid.

Damian’s old art room.

It’s largely untouched, with white cloths covering the various easels. The furniture and the bookshelves seem relatively kept up without much dust littering their mahogany shelves. Only one painting remains uncovered and Lian quickly makes her way over to it. Your eyes follow her to her destination, locking onto the canvas.

There, across the room, is the familiar painting depicting your first visit to Wayne Manor. 

Upon closer inspection, a thick layer of dust has accumulated on the piece that you’d last seen drying, feeling sickening nostalgia stirring in the bottom of your stomach. It’s a bittersweet reminder of just how much has changed and, yet, how it’s all still the same.

“You look beautiful,” Lian says as she grabs the picture and holds it close to her face to inspect it. You can’t help but become mesmerized by the once-familiar strokes. “Did daddies make you?”

“No,” you answer, still distracted by the acrylic work, “Uncle Damian.”

You look so young, so innocent and naive of what was to come. Sometimes, you wish you could go back to that sweet ignorance only youth brings, but you wouldn’t trade where you are right for anything- even with all the new danger.

“Oh.” She puts a finger near her mouth like she’s thinking about the implications before it slides into her mouth and she begins to bite at it. “I want to paint, too.”

You can’t help but giggle at her adorableness, “We will soon, okay?”

“Okay, mommy,” she says, clearly appeased.

You place the canvas back with gentle care, giving it one last look over.

They find the two of you in the game room twenty minutes later, watching Ponyo. 

Lian’s sitting right up next to the screen to watch while you’re splayed across one of the couches. Roy easily comes, lifting you up and settling beneath your body with a pleased groan. Meanwhile, Jason scoops Lian up to snuggle on the other couch. She tries to protest and go back to her spot, but Jason chides her. 

“Sitting that close isn’t good for your neck, baby.”

“That’s shoot,” she pouts grumpily.

“Hey,” Roy’s chest vibrates below you, “no cursing.”

She gawks, “You said it wasn’t a curse!”

You try your best to hide your smile but find the whole thing too fucking cute to stop it from gracing your face.

Roy sighs, “We’re not doing this right now, Lian. Daddies are tired.” He elevates your legs that lie atop his onto the arm of the couch as if to prove his point.

She huffs, crossing her arms adorably under her chin with puffed-out cheeks, “One day, I will curse.”

A threat and a promise the three of you know she’ll keep.

Before Roy can retort, Alfred’s at the stairs announcing dinner. 

He looks at her as if to say she was saved by the bell, but Lian’s already proudly looking at Roy in Jason’s lap like she knows. It’s here you’re able to see her mother shining through and can’t help but smile. 

On Lian, it’s cute. On Cheshire… not so much.

“Feels just like old times, kinda,” Roy rubs a sheepish hand through his locks. He gathers Lian in his arms from Jason while the latter guides the three of you out of the room and down into the dining room. “This time though, like, complete.”

That basically sums it all up.

“Yeah,” you agree, “now, all we need is for Jason to throw a book at me.”

“Oh, come off it. You make me seem like a fucki’- freakin’,” he shoots an apologetic look Lian’s way. “I wasn’t that bad,” Jason tries again, refusing to concede. 

“Whatever you say,” you say with a wink thrown his way. You can’t help but revel when he blushes in response.

Just like old times.

•••

After dinner, Roy puts Lian to bed while you and Jason tinker around in the library into the late hours of the night. 

You’re researching on one of the couches with Jason stretched stomach-side-down across your lap on his own laptop. Your laptop rests on his chiseled back while you attempt to research the account your parents had created in your name.

Roy comes in and takes over for another couple of hours while Jason’s soft snores sound from beside you until he, too, conks out.

You feel yourself start to drift off when your screen suddenly blacks out.

You sigh, moving to search for the power cord and quickly giving up. Jason’s weight on you, coupled with Roy’s weight at your feet is enough to lull you off into dream world, too. You forget the laptop, figuring you can just charge it in the morning and go to shut it when you see a blue error screen blinking.

You wipe at your eyes, squinting as the blinking blue goes black again.

What the fuck?

You feel fully awake now as you straighten the laptop on Jason’s back to get a better view. Suddenly, the blue screen produces a place to type a password. 

The cursor innocently blinks in the box, patiently waiting for your response.

You look around the dark room as if you’ll somehow find the answer and aren’t surprised when you turn back around to the screen without it.

All the clues smash around in your panicked skull, trying to filter through each one with conviction.

Blood is thicker than water. 

Life insurance policy.

What started it all?

You blink.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard as you type your full name into the password bar. You hesitate briefly, wondering if you should wake anyone up before trying to crack the code. It’s possible you’ll only get one shot at a guess, but you know deep down there’s only one possible answer.

You hit enter with a hesitant twitch of your fingers. 

You watch as the password loads, then the screen goes black again.

Your breath hitches.

There, in the top left corner of your screen, is an address.

You watch as the cursor blinks, following along with each letter that’s typed. The next sentence forms: Give yourself up and no one else gets hurt. The cursor blinks an unknown logo before your entire laptop shuts down entirely.

You sit there, letting the moment wash over you. 

This is a chance to end everything without any casualties. Who are you to turn it down? Even earlier, when Bruce was coming up with a plan, it was obvious your chances of survival were meek. Why should anyone else suffer for something only you have the power to end?

It’s mercy and you take it.

You slip out into the cold of the night, closer and closer to the end.

You’re not scared but rather resolute with each step you take toward the end of your journey, knowing you’re making the best choice. You round another corner when you hear it- footsteps.

“There you are.” 

A/N: was it worth the wait??

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