#too many possibles scenes i wanted to keep going

[tobi-rx]

HOLY FUCK. I’m going insane lowk, because I’m currently writing about what being cogless miners might’ve been like in a TF Fanfic, and this made me think more about what it might’ve been like for Elita specifically, and reexamine this moment in the context of the film as a whole, because I think this moment was the Catalyst, actually.

Warning: this is going to be long because I have a lot of thoughts, and oh boy do so many things in this movie work so cohesively.

Let’s start with something the movie clearly establishes:

1. The mines are a death trap.

Jazz nearly died in the mines, he would have if protocol was followed.

I don’t think Elita-One was wrong for trying to get D-16 and Orion to leave Jazz behind. It wasn’t guaranteed that Orion and D-16 would actually be able to succeed in rescuing Jazz and making it out of the collapsing mine tunnel themselves. Better to have 1 bot die than to have all 3 die. In her own way, I think she cared about the other bots, because when she saw that D-16 and Orion might actually make it out with Jazz in tow, she attempted to aid them by throwing one of the things the miners used to keep the tunnel open into the collapsing tunnel.

I think all the cogless bots in the energon mines cared about each other, at the very least in the camaraderie sort of way where it’s like, “hey we’re all stuck in this shitty situation together, better to look out for each other and make sure we all stay alive for as long as possible.” Because what happened with Jazz had to have happened many times over, and many times over, the Jazz in the situation probably did die. All the cogless mining bots have had to watch so many of their friends die over the cycles. They all know energon mining is dangerous, as illustrated by the flashback to Orion and D-16’s first meeting. However, as Darkwing stated they are cogless bots with limited options, so as a result, most are probably resigned this to being their reality. They probably keep going on the hope that maybe they’ll be able to rise in the ranks, and have a less dangerous job, where everyday isn’t another dance with death. At least, until Sentinel finds the Matrix of Leadership, and they no longer have to mine for energon, which will surely happen soon, right? (It won’t.)

I have a headcanon, based on the unused storyboard version of the confrontation with Sentinel. I think rising in the ranks to better guarantee he and Orion wouldn’t die in the mines was D-16’s plan. He states in the storyboard he would have been happy being a miner, and playing strat ball with Orion every night. He also states that he wanted to make shift boss and lead an expedition off world. Moreover, D-16 is strong as shit evidenced by him punching rocks as he and Orion carried Jazz out, and with the unused scene where he punched a dent in a punching bag.

He probably would have been able to survive, and look out for himself just fine. Maybe he was a bit of a loner, trying not to get too attached to anyone just in case he’d have to bear the hurt of losing them in an unfortunate, but commonplace accident. Then there goes Orion Pax, who probably wormed his way into D-16’s heart and before D-16 knew it, he was attached. D-16 knows very well his strength isn’t enough to save everyone, but maybe at the very least, he could make shift boss, and save his best friend. And D-16 would have been happy with that, especially because D-16 still had faith in Sentinel, faith in the system, faith that this whole fucked up situation would be temporary. This precise thing is why the truth about Sentinel hit so much harder for him than it did for any of the other 4 of the main gang. Out of all the 4 of the main gang, D-16 is the only one who truly believed in the system, and had idols to become newly disillusioned of.

Many bots in Iacon probably hoped the same: that all this would be temporary, and someone had to mine for energon since it stopped flowing. They probably didn’t mind as long as they still got to live their lifestyles, so long as they didn’t have to think about the fact that sooner or later, energon would run out and they’d face starvation. While Sentinel’s regime probably couldn’t use force to make fully fledged transformers mine for energon, if a whole generation had their cogs removed, their inherent ability and power stripped from them, then Sentinel’s regime could do exactly that to the cogless. The bots of Iacon city would not have walked away from Omelas.

Elita probably had a similar mindset to D-16, of not getting attached to anyone, and just focusing on rising up the ranks. Except she didn’t happen to have a bot like Orion Pax as her best friend and saboteur. Elita was so close to finally getting promoted, and maybe getting out of the death trap. I think that’s why she was so devastated that she was stripped of everything she had worked for.

D-16 probably have been Elita’s rank if he didn’t have a bot like Orion Pax as his best friend, because D-16 probably suffered a demotion or 2 for helping Orion Pax get away with his crimes (breaking and entering where he wasn’t supposed to). It’s probably why despite clearly caring about Orion, D-16 still offhandedly, half jokes, that he needs a new best friend. He’s trying to save himself and Orion, but Orion, at least in his point of view, keeps sabotaging that.

Here’s something else the movie establishes:

2. Elita’s assessment of Orion is right, and it’s also wrong.

Throughout the film, it’s stated and implied that other bots think Orion is crazy, stupid, defective, and idiot. And to some extent, Orion probably thinks of himself like that also, given that in response to D-16 asking “ARE YOU CRAZY?” He says, “sure feels like it.”

His actions seem crazy, idiotic, etc. Like the logic component of his processor has something wrong with it, but that isn’t true at all. Sometimes I feel like the fandom characterizes Orion as just a silly little guy full of whimsy, a dumbass, or incompetent because of his low rank.

Elita is right, in that Orion has this optimism and hope that no other bot seems to have, and that this is what drives his choices. Orion is upbeat and silly, because he kinda has to be if he wants to keep that hope alive, in others, and especially in himself. The will to make the world better isn’t quashed by resignation that he is powerless in the system, like it is for so many other bots.

Elita is right in that his choices are bold, but also very stupid. His choices are stupid, I think, because of desperation resulting from a logical conclusion that Orion must have come to. Elita is wrong in saying that his optimism is blind. His optimism is survival.

Every bot probably knows that if the Matrix remains lost, then they will all eventually starve. The lower ranked bots would be the first to be hit, the hardest hit, and likely were already being hit with rationing, as in the movie, Sentinel states to the Quintessons that there is barely enough energon left for the cybertronians. Earlier, when Orion was being chased, he takes as much energon as he can carry, and stuff as much as he can into his mouth, because maybe he hadn’t been getting as much energon as he actually needs. Impending starvation would be the first component of Orion’s desperation, because that means time is quickly running out.

I think at the beginning of the film, Orion still had faith in the system, just not as much as D-16. Like most everyone in Iacon, Orion’s hopes hinged on finding the Matrix of Leadership, so that he, D-16, and all their friends would no longer have to mine for energon. Unlike D-16, I think Orion had lost full faith in Sentinel long before the reveal of the truth. There’s probably only so many times Sentinel can come back without having found the Matrix before bots start thinking maybe the search for the Matrix might be futile. Except Orion can’t let himself believe that the Matrix isn’t out there somehow. There’s a missing piece to the puzzle to the search for the Matrix, a puzzle which Sentinel clearly has yet to solve.

The Matrix is powerful, it’s semi sentient because it’s described as an “entity” by Alpha Trion in the first sequence of the movie where Orion breaks into the archives, and it’s shrouded in mystery. There’s so much bots don’t know about the Matrix. Sentinel didn’t seem to know that the Matrix would dissolve in his hands if he wasn’t deemed worthy. He seemed to think it was an object he could just take. That too was news to our main gang when Alpha Trion showed them the truth.

So if Orion can better understand the Matrix, maybe that would help solve that missing piece to the puzzle. Maybe a better understanding of the object they’re all hoping to be found would let them get better at finding it. When answers in what he could freely access proved unsatisfactory and limited, it was probably only then that Orion broke into the restricted vaults of the Archives. He’s no stranger to breaking and entering, and does break and enter into more than just the archives (because is very familiar with the restricted area of the Iacon 5000 stadium he broke into and took D-16 to).

Now we’re going to get to why I think Elita getting fired was the Catalyst.

Orion is a bot of great will and determination, and he also has a strong sense of justice.

Every bot probably KNOWs the system is wrong, but they don’t exactly have the power, but more importantly, they don’t have the will to fight back. They haven’t hit their point where they’re like “this is intolerable, and something must be done.” I think Elita getting fired was when Orion hit that point.

Orion is good natured and joking towards the bots that chase him out of the Archives. Sure he might get beaten up, but he IS breaking and entering into someplace he’s not supposed to be. That’s justifiable.

Orion might have made a joke about flipping Darkwing off, but he wasn’t joking in his expression of resentment and anger towards Darkwing on behalf of Elita. He is genuinely sorry that his choice of not following protocol resulted in the chain reaction that led to Elita getting fired, but only because it got Elita fired.

Now even if Elita isn’t as close to other cogless bots as I think most cogless bots were probably to each other, Orion Pax is observant, and intelligent as hell. This quality is evident in the sequence where Orion is getting chased out of the archives as he improvises the many stunts he pulls in his escape.

The original poster and the tags in the other reposts suggest that Darkwing is abusing Elita because of her mirroring Darkwing’s behavior and mannerisms. If my headcanon about Elita not letting herself get close to anyone is right, her situation probably wasn’t helped by the fact she was already isolated. Maybe that’s why Orion tried to make small talk with Elita… wait hang on. I’m looking back at the script again.

Oh my god. Orion could tell she was in a good mood today despite D-16 not really seeing it. Orion is still trying to joke and make small talk with her despite being rebuffed by Elita.

And she chuckled at Orion’s joke. Oh my god guys what if Orion was the closest thing Elita had to an actual friend, or like the only bot who didn’t stop trying to be friendly to her, and Orion either suspected strongly or knew about Darkwing abusing her, so he’d been trying to reach out.

The point is, Elita probably was happy because if that day went well, Darkwing might have no longer had power over her, but then one of the Energon processors got destroyed. And so Darkwing, having the power to do so (probably on a whim), stripped her of all her rank.

That was unfair, that was unjust, that was probably the final nail in the coffin for Orion to say that the system is broken, this is intolerable, and something must be done. Because it is right after this sequence that Sentinel announces the Iacon 5000 is happening, and then Orion gets the idea to race in the Iacon 5000 to really shake things up for the status quo.

And of course, he drags D-16 along because they always had each other’s backs. D-16 was his partner in crime.

Orion Pax is a bot of great will and determination, but I think he also gets tunnel vision when he puts it in his own head that he has to do something like race in the Iacon 5000, or stop Sentinel from continuing to rule under a pretense built on betrayal and falsehood. This is what leads him to ignore D-16 not wanting to go along with Orion’s plan to race in the Iacon 5000, but if things go wrong, maybe Orion throught it would, worst case scenario, end with them getting a few injuries and D-16 would eventually forgive him. This same tunnel vision is what leads Orion to prioritize stopping Sentinel, and overlooking (despite noticing) D-16’s spiral as a result of D-16’s crisis of faith.

I think maybe Orion being the closest thing Elita had to a friend is why despite ruining her life, she doesn’t just completely hate him. I think maybe that’s why she has such insight into Orion as a person, and thus why she is willing to go along with his crazy scheme to find the Matrix, because she still harbors some good will towards him, and knows he’s not a complete idiot despite referring to him as such. I think this is sets the stage for why she ultimately does back Orion up in leading rather than lead herself in attacking the Sentinel’s tower to rescue D-16, Bee, and the captured high guard.

End of my breakdown and theorizing, hope this makes sense and hope whoever reads this to the end found the whole thing interesting and worthwhile.

late but i was rewatching the mouth of unicron scene and noticed that elita didnt use her flashlight??

which is odd bc she was just leading the gang earlier so youd think shed use it

but then i remembered this scene

when she was demoted, (if we are following the whole “bodily autonomy” themes) darkwing most likely took that ability from her bc of a new lack of status

if i may also add elita is the only bot that actively flinches at darkwing. (ironhide does not and orion only flinched at him when he saw that he was bout to be punched)

darkwing is known to be aggressive and violent but both d16 and orion are shocked that he would put his hands on him while elita seemed to be bracing herself, assuming the worst from him

him crippling her probably isnt the first hes done something awful to her

[carigm]

The “Teaser”, mlvn rooftop convo, and Lord of the Rings parallel…

This is gonna be a long post, so grab some snacks y’all.

First of all, the teaser the Duffers shared at this Netflix shareholders event was basically all BTS stuff, and according to someone that was there, we have mostly seen all of it. The actual clips from the show they showed were so short that most people missed it. However, over those short clips it seems they played a voiceover of part of the mlvn rooftop convo. Notice how the Suffer Sisters are literally incapable of sharing anything new, and the only audio they disclosed is from the ONE scene that’s been leaked to death, and even transcribed multiple times with the help of AI. In any case, Netflix did not share this teaser with the masses, and it’s unlikely they ever will. Stranger Things is not going to the Super Bowl this year (yes you heard that right) and the Tudum Event isn’t until May. Our only hope before that would be them releasing something on Will’s birthday, but whether in March or May, I believe we’ll be getting a proper teaser by then.

People that attended the event reported that El has a voiceover line where she goes “they don’t get to write the ending, we do” and apparently a voiceover Mike line where he goes “we’ll finish this together” (I’m not sure if this was paraphrased or not). Immediately, we all realized that these lines sound pretty close to what Mike is allegedly saying to her during the rooftop scene. Many people in the fandom have taken the time to transcribe that scene, some with AI and some without, and although some things could be wrong here and there, the general idea of it seems pretty clear. I’m attaching an AI reading of the scene here, so I can point out where I think his dialogue might be from…

Around the 1.43 mark, the AI picked up “enjoying it, together”, however I think this is where the “we’ll finish it, together” line comes into play. If anything, this shows AI isn’t 100% accurate, and it does call into question some of these previous lines 😂…I think it’s possible that after this speech from Mike about stories, fantasy endings and heroes, El tries to follow his advice and be positive, and maybe she delivers the “they don’t get to write our ending, we do” line back to him. It’s unfortunate because obviously we can’t see her face in the video, but I think it makes sense she would reply with that because right after it seems like he says “of, course…” and then proceeds to seemingly add that the Party can have a happy ending, without all the fantasy elements he mentioned before.

I find it very interesting that he’s choosing to speak to her with this storytelling analogy, which at first I believed to be a D&D analogy, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like he’s talking about an actual story. And then the lord of the rings parallel hit me, specifically with this scene. If you’re not aware, Finn Wolfhard has mentioned lotr twice now when talking about season 5, and I personally think it’s possible that Mike is using lord of the rings here as a reference to describe the hero’s journey and relate it to what the party has been through. Think about it, he’s trying to cheer El up, who has been stuck in that fuckass radio station for a year, who’s probably extremely tired of everything she has been dealing with for years, and he just wants to offer her some consolation so she can keep going and fighting. Does that sound familiar?

Well my friends, if it does, that’s because it is a direct parallel to Frodo and Sam from Lord of the Rings. I’ve always thought Byler were insanely samfrodo coded (funny enough the last S4 Byler scene is almost identical to this scene too), but it seems the Duffers are paralleling mlvn to them here. In lotr, Frodo bears the biggest burden of the story, as he follows his hero’s journey to Mordor to defeat evil. Along the way, ofc, he becomes increasingly weary and hopeless, and it is up to Sam (his best friend) to cheer him up and provide him with strength to keep him going. How does Sam do this? Interestingly enough, he encourages Frodo by describing all the beautiful things that will come AFTER they have won, what they and their friends will be able to enjoy when they get back home. Basically everything Mike appears to be saying to El in this scene, fantasizing about the end of the battle. To make the parallels even crazier, while on his hero’s journey, Frodo has to remain in hiding because there are multiple forces looking for him, and we know that El is basically hiding away from the government.

Another thing I want to point out is that in lotr (spoilers I guess 😭) good does win in the end, and the main characters get to return back home. However, Frodo is so changed by the journey and all the things he encountered that he simply cannot stay with his friends. Instead, he leaves and goes to the Undying Lands, where he finds peace. He doesn’t die, but he also cannot stay in Middle Earth. Him and Sam have a beautiful goodbye scene and then Sam is left with the literal book of stories Frodo started, and is told by Frodo to “finish it”.

Make of that what you will…

[teddywesworl]

different anon but re: sex scenes ask, i’m curious to see how you lay out things to outline for continuity of characterization, and what the drive and stakes are in a scene to avoid the sexual archetypes. would you mind sharing what that process looks like for you? really admire your technical breakdowns of writing (yes even and especially when they end up being ‘controversial’)

ok so. I had to take this ask to a word doc to get all my thoughts in order, so that’s your fair warning about how involved my answer is going to be.

First off, I gotta say I always think it’s funny and strange which “takes” of mine get people in a twist, because it’s very frequently the really basic foundational stuff that you would be taught in the first week or two of any introductory fiction writing class. One time, multiple people blocked me on twitter for saying that every paragraph should serve the whole and that readers will get bored if you go on tangents that have nothing to do with the core drive of the story. There was a qrt with the ‘no fun allowed’ robot. I was basically explaining what “kill your darlings” actually means, but even that was too much.

That said, I think the key to continuity of character in sex scenes is very simple: treat sex as any other action, and treat sex scenes like any other scene.

Naturally, that’s easier said than done, because it contains within itself a pair of mandates:

Get your character fundamentals down before attempting to apply them to sex, and

Deconstruct your own relationship with DHSM archetypes.

Yes, sorry, the almost three hour long Contrapoints Twilight video really is the best framework I’ve ever encountered for breaking down cultural norms concerning sex in fiction (and irl tbh), and I think it’s required viewing for anyone who really wants to deliberately subvert those norms.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Step one: character fundamentals.

In the simplest possible terms, good smut is character work. You’re taking blorbo and putting them in a situation. Often, this is a deeply vulnerable situation wrapped up in a lot of emotions. What kind of emotions are they feeling? Do they feel vulnerable? How do they respond to that vulnerability? Are the blorbos boning out of love? Affection? Frustration? Fear of loss? Is it a hatefuck? Multiple of the above? That’s layer one.

Next layer down: are both (or however many) parties here for the same reason, or are their motivations and experiences different? Everyone in a story has their own drives which may be in conflict with one another or, at the very least, play off of one another in interesting ways; the same principle should apply to sex scenes.

Example.

This is from chapter 2 of baseless fabric:

Rook’s fingers bury themselves in Lucanis’s hair, her nails scraping his scalp. “I’ll show you,” she says, and then—oh, yes—tongues and teeth and spit! Rook’s arms around Lucanis’s neck. Arching backs and sweet sighs and a pleasure that fogs Lucanis’s mind. Rook pulls at Lucanis, and Lucanis tries to keep his hips away. He is embarrassed at how quickly he has grown hard; he is alarmed that he could be so forward, so presumptuous as to expose himself in this way and to seek this kind of pleasure in her. Why? asks Spite. It is for her. She came to you for this. Lucanis struggles against this reasoning, though he knows that Spite is correct. That strange despair deep within grows fat on this knowledge. He is still afraid, and it was such long and difficult work to accept that he would never be desired in this way by a person he desired in turn.

Three parties are involved in this scene: Spite, Lucanis, and Rook.

Spite has no sexual attraction or sex drive per se, because he is a non-corporeal entity to whom those concepts are kind of alien, but he enjoys physical pleasure and has an emotional attachment to both Lucanis and Rook, so there’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t enjoy sex. He experiences everything Lucanis’s body does, and he has a front row seat to the inner workings of Lucanis’s fucked up little brain. In the video game as written, one could argue that Spite’s core drive is essentially to help Lucanis first survive and then recover from extraordinary trauma (out of. Spite. literally). He picks apart Lucanis’s fear and self-hatred and exposes all of it to Rook, in full confidence that Rook can fix it.

Lucanis, meanwhile, is a big ol’ demi virgin who (I was just talking w @ofcrowsanddragons about this last night) has come to view his own basic human needs as monstrous. It’s dangerous for him to need anything. Even sleep! He’s had both physical and emotional vulnerability drilled out of him from a very young age! He can’t let anyone know he needs! What if his needs are exploited? What if someone notices he needs something and takes advantage? For Lucanis, I imagine that allowing himself to be vulnerable in a safe, controlled way that feels good, with someone he trusts entirely, would be… woof. Very intense.

Rook is the wild card in terms of fanfic and character study, because, as a customizable PC, she could be anything. And she might be physically undescribed in my fics, but the character choices I’ve made aren’t by mistake; I’m writing about The Lucanis Romance, after all, and that provides opportunities for Rook to play both partner and foil. And so: my Rook is sexually experienced, shameless, and a bit vulgar, and she grew up poor. She’s Lucanis’s opposite in a lot of ways, and she serves to highlight his hangups by contrast. He talks down at himself for “seeking pleasure in her,” while her desire for him is uncomplicated. She wants this guy. She cares for him. It feels good when he touches her. On its own, maybe that’s not super interesting fodder for fiction, but she and Spite force Lucanis to reckon with his irrational self-talk and maladaptive coping mechanisms. She can get away with being a bit two-dimensional, because her main function in the story is to challenge his perspective.

The climax (lol) of the fic is arguably the following line in chapter 3: “The despair of fulfillment, the anguish of joy—he thinks he is not made for such things, and so he fights them, even desperate as he is to submit.” Everything in this first encounter between Lucanis and Rook builds toward that final evolution of the idea that Lucanis fears his own emotional needs and resists their fulfillment.

Et voila: Lucanis’s character is examined and has the opportunity to develop through sex!

Still, I admit, all of this is easier said than done. Character study of any kind takes practice to get a feel for, and writing effective character-driven sex requires that you be aware of your own relationship with culturally imposed norms.

Step two: becoming an archetype understander

Watch the Contrapoints video if you haven’t. Yes, in full. I promise it’s worth it. But if you want to save it for later and keep reading this post now, DHSM stands for Default Heterosexual Sado-Masochism, and it’s an extremely useful framework for understanding how patriarchal romantic and sexual roles are organized.

Natalie Wynn defines DHSM as “a division of sexuality into bipolar roles,” as follows:

She goes on: “In reality, none of these roles are interchangeable or even necessarily correlated. Being masculine does not imply being a top, and neither imply being dominant. […] But in DHSM, these roles are assumed to be bundled together and assumed to belong to the sexuality of men.”

I contend that when we are reading E-rated fanfiction and we cross that jarring threshold from in-character plot to out-of-character smut, we have most often just encountered the author deferring to cultural sex scene-writing norms prescribed by DHSM. And, importantly, the sex scene doesn’t have to be heterosexual for DHSM to be in the room!

One of the most important things you can do as you’re writing sex is to ensure that you are aware of the cultural pressure to conform to this false dichotomy.  Notice I didn’t even say ‘don’t conform;’ there are certainly ways to examine & play with DHSM while nominally conforming to it. However, DHSM is omnipresent as a basic assumption in mainstream romance and romantic subplot, and you may be surprised at the extent to which the average person automatically reaches for it while writing. In fact, once you start seeing it, you may not be able to stop.

One of the things I really like about Lucanis as a character is his relationship to DHSM. He’s an assassin, arguably a professional predator. He is extremely rich, and he ends the story with a nation-shaping amount of political power. He is also, quite literally, possessed. His whole personal arc is about his fraught relationship with agency. His romance arc requires that you, the player, pursue him to a much more dramatic degree than any of the other companions, just to get to the point of acknowledged flirtation. He breaks the assumed role. He looks like the Latin Lover trope sprouted wings; but that’s not him.

This is, frankly, why a large proportion of the Rookanis ao3 tag bums me out: there’s so much fic in there that pulls back toward that assumption of bipolarity, flattening him as a result. Lucanis as an aggressive or dominant lover does nothing for me, because I feel that it misunderstands his approach to intimacy.

Now what?

I’ve just said an embarrassing number of words about writing pornography. But how does one synthesize all this stuff?

Here’s an exercise I recommend:

Pick a pairing of your choice and consider each character’s relationship with the DHSM dichotomy. Deliberately run down those columns above and decide which character more closely matches each descriptor in each pair, individually—if they match either, which they may not! Examine the ways in which that pairing might break bipolarity.

Then, try to come up with a sexual scenario that demonstrates that break in DHSM. This is a valuable exercise because it attacks both points simultaneously: it forces you to think of your character fundamentals, and it directly challenges the archetypes.

To use the same baseless fabric example, Rook is clearly the pursuer, but she’s got an exhibitionist streak, and she very much desires penetration:

She leans back, rests her weight on her hands, and deliberately opens the vee of her thighs. Her chemise drapes across them, and it hides very little. There is a shadow beneath, intensified by the flicker of the hearth, and Lucanis’s eye is drawn inexorably down—

Later in the same scene, Spite's POV refers to the act of penetrating Rook as surrender:

The body knows what to do. The instinct for it is ancient and innate, and the rhythm is made at the conjunction of Lucanis’s flesh and heart and mind. It is surrender, a hopeless exposure of underbelly and throat, and it feels good. Lucanis plants one hand on the table and rolls his hips.

Lucanis also acknowledges, multiple times, that he had his own preconceived notions about how sex is supposed to go, which Rook has challenged. For example:

Rook hums and smiles and closes the narrow gap between them. What begins as a simple press of lips develops into the luxuriant slide of tongues, Lucanis pushing the hem of her chemise up so he can bury his hand between her thighs. Rook hooks a knee over Lucanis’s hip and tugs him in until he acquiesces and thrusts into her. It is all slow and lazy. Soft. It feels the way Lucanis always thought it should, except in the ways he couldn’t have foreseen. His body aches from the violence of the previous day, and Rook’s must, as well; the pleasure cuts through the pain, colors it, transforms it into something almost sweet. Rook’s arms coil around him, and she makes the most beautiful little sounds.

(Uh oh, buddy! That's a little masochistic of you!)

If you are working deliberately to improve your character-driven sex scenes, I strongly recommend starting with short (up to like 3k words) ficlets as practice. Pick a trope or two to toss in for extra “put the blorbos in situations” sauce. Forced proximity! Drunken confessions! Hurt/comfort! Fuck or die! Etc. All great fun. Alternately, sometimes you will simply be possessed by the knowledge that certain characters will have certain kinks. Like Lucanis and somnophilia (you get it, right? I don’t even have to explain why. Isn’t that neat?).

As a side benefit, doing this exercise thoughtfully will make you better at character writing more generally. No, really. Spending this time analyzing characters’ relationships to intimacy will help you understand what makes them tick in so many other ways.

Let me sum up.

So, in summary: good smut is character work, and you need your character fundamentals first. However, cultural norms impose the division of sexuality into bipolar roles. Breaking that bipolarity subverts a subconscious expectation, adds tension and interest, and forces both writer and reader to really think about the characters in front of them.

Does that……. Does that answer your question about process?? I swear I didn’t start with the intent to write two thousand earth words about this. And also, I don’t typically sit down and think to myself “how will I break DHSM today?” I have enough practice at this point (and a deep enough obsession with the function of social power) that my disdain for DHSM automatically inserts itself into basically everything I write. I do think these two pieces (1. character first and 2. fuck DHSM) make up the foundation of how I approach smut, though, so hopefully this has been a useful response!!

[29daffodils]

to plot or to not plot, that's the question

there's post under the tag that... really tickled my brain because i somewhat agree with it. but not entirely, considering i do still believe OP sounds... i dunno, something, while they are telling FK stans to “have some dignity”. so I'll just add to that, because i think fan interpretation and looking deep into a story is important, than say, just being fed all the info.

now let's start with saying i am a FKT stan and I'll be somewhat biased in my approach, but i will still try to keep this as neutral as possible.

that said, i do think jojo's writing needs improvement. a looooooot of improvement. the other day i was complaining to my friend @skyfish7 how jojo tends to use serious topics as plot devices and then does nothing with them. also the fact that he has a flair for drama and usually seems to include it in places to engage the viewers but he handles it poorly (boeing, I'm looking at you bitchass) or simply doesn't conclude them well (kant's phobia, bison's bdsm shtick, etc, i know we still have 2 eps left, don't kill me yet).

i do think OP was coming from a genuine place but also, i will take the time to defend jojo here too. because THK is not all trash. joong and dunk's characters are visibly seen to be falling in love, whereas first and khaotung's are more subtle.

i know what OP means by saying that it's still hard to believe that kant is in love with bison. because part of me feels that too. i believe a lot of it is because we do not see any detailed development where it's needed or it is skipped over in favour for more drama. like i said, jojo tends to gravitate towards big impactful scenes but he does not lay out the finer details. i am choosing to think that's just his writing style and not him just being a terrible writer. as my girl sky said, it leaves something to the viewer's imagination. and yes, she's right and i agree. spoon feeding every bit of a story is lame and boring, but sometime you do need to add little details where they are needed.

if you've already read my post about how THK seems to be losing steam, you might know what I'm talking about.

I'm very much convinced that this could have done well with a binge watch or if it were in movie format. but imo there's too many things going on with the focus distributed disproportionately among them, which in turn, i think, kinda makes the character development take backseat.

but let me add something about bikant because OP seems to be under the impression that they are simply trash.

jojo tends to make the falling in love subtle. at least for his FK characters. in bikant's case, they were both already smitten with each other from the first meeting. especially kant. he was head over heels for bison and it was very visible. it was deliberately shown. so when he does start the mission of getting dirt on him, the most visible emotion we see from kant is guilt. nothing else but guilt. and that is because it's already established he likes bison as a person. kant's character is written as someone who compartmentalizes things so even when he does find out bison's a hitman and there's proof (we see him staring horrified at the corkboard in their house) he quickly dismisses it. we repeatedly see style telling us that kant is smitten with bison. why? because kant doesn't have the mental capacity to think about romance right now, so it's style who tells the viewers his friend is wrapped around bison's little finger. the time when we finally actually see him do anything remotely truthful is ep#7 — the bowling alley and northern lights scene. kant has successfully gathered all the info he can and now he knows he might lose bison. so this one night he actually goes and lets himself love truthfully. he does all the things he would have done after that first meeting with bison. and then when bison gets shot, that's when he realises what he actually wants. the hospital scene is an important one because it cements the fact that kant cares, kant is in love, but his brain hasn't caught up to the feeling yet the idea is there, the proof is there, but he hasn't had the reprieve to sit and think and let that love marinate well. it's why even when kant says that he loves bison, it's difficult for us to believe. it's difficult for bison to believe. remember, we are viewing the beach scene from bison's pov and he ultimately asks, “you are not fooling me again, are you?” and that is the question from the viewers as well.

“you are not fooling us again, are you, kant?”

so all bison and we can do is take kant at face value and choose to believe him. that's all there is to it.

bison on the other hand? bro has been whipped since the first night. he is a hopeless romantic. he is an abused child hungering for love stuck in an adult's body. bison has been infatuated with kant from the get go, but he has also been suspicious and we have seen that suspicion slowly drop and build back up again time and time. but the moment bison actually spends all of ep#7 with kant and says, “i feel like my life is about to change”, that's him falling in love. that's him acknowledging that he is gone for good and he is finally choosing to believe kant despite the previous shady sus things he's done. bison had chosen to believe in him despite fadel warning him time and time again, and that's why the beach scene hits so hard. he is simply a fool in love. he is naive. he is the younger brother who doesn't know better. he just wanted to love, he loved and he got duped into being loved back (we all know that wasn't the case, but, bison POV like i said).

now, coming back to the point i was trying to make : do i think an extra tidbit of scene where kant's thought process was expanded on could have been better? yes.. maybe. but as a writer who likes to keep her readers interpreting and guessing, i choose to forgive jojo this time (as well). like i said, maybe this is just how he tends to write and honestly that's fine. every writer has a set of audience they are aiming for and i think there are plenty who enjoy his work (i do too, i just wish he'd tone down on the super big things suddenly being thrown in out of nowhere and then doing nothing with it).

and as far as sandray goes, boy do i have news for OP because ray is a classic example of a mentally ill abused child who is now an alcoholic and sand is a surrogate husband/caregiver growing up in poverty who puts himself last. that's their story. that's the story jojo wanted to tell, and i will rant about ray and sand and forgiveness (because OP thinks he is an asshole, so i want to make a point) but.... in a different post.

for now, this is it. i hope you forgive and understand kant. bro is trying and so are we.

[reidgif]

spencer reid + season 1 vs season 13/14

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

His Pumpkin

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none, pure fluff, dad Lando

“Lan..” You sighed exhausted opening the door of Lando’s gaming room. On your hip, you hold your little girl Isla, who cries inconsolably and keeps rubbing her tired eyes with her little hands.

“Hold on, Max” Lando says into the microphone, removing the headphones from his ears and turning his gaze from the monitor to you and Isla. “Hey, baby. What’s wrong?” He asks getting up from his chair and walking up to the two of you.

“It's long past her bedtime and she just doesn't wanna fall asleep.” You say, already too tired and too pregnant to have any strength to spend another hour putting your three-year-old to sleep. “She is so tired she can barely keep her eyes open. I don’t know what to do anymore. Can you please take her over?”

“Of course, come here” Lando takes Isla in his arms giving her a kiss on her cheek to calm her down. “Are you okay?” He asks you.

“Yeah, I’m just exhausted. I’ll finish the laundry and then I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, baby. I’ll be with you when she’s asleep.”

You leave the room and Lando walks back to his gaming chair with Isla in his arms.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin? Why are you crying and not sleeping? Hm?” He asks Isla sitting down with her and removing her curly hair out of her face.

“I don’t wanna go to sleep, daddy” She sobs.

“But it’s almost 11 p.m., baby. It’s way too late. You wanna lie here on daddy’s chest until I finish something with uncle Max?”

“Okay”

Lando being Isla’s favorite place to sleep on, immediately gets her to agree with his suggestion. She nodds and takes her position laying her little head into the crook of his neck while the rest of her body clung to Lando’s chest.

“Okay, pumpkin.” He places another kiss on her cheek and starts rubbing her back with his hand while with the other he puts his headphones back on. He wasn’t actually gaming, he was doing something with Max for the new quadrant video so he wanted to get that done as soon as possible.

It took them another 45 minutes to finish what they were working on and when Lando looked down to his daughter he smiled when he saw her fast asleep with parted lips. Poor thing was so tired that as soon as her head hit Lando’s chest, she drifted off to sleep.

However, when Lando got up from the chair with her and started to carry her to her room she startled and woke up again. Realizing he was putting her down in her own bed, she just started crying again.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay” Lando cooed her as she clung onto his arm.

“With you and mommy” She cried not wanting to sleep alone in her bed.

“Pumpkin, you know you can’t sleep with us while mommy has a baby brother in her belly” He explained to her God knows how many times already.

Considering that Isla is very restless when she sleeps and keeps tossing and turning throughout the night, Lando was more worried than you that she would kick you in the stomach, so he himself made the rule that she cannot sleep with you until you give birth.

“Daddy will lie in bed with you here, okay?”

He had planned to wait until she fell asleep again and slowly creep out of her bed and get back to you, but that went out the window when Lando doze off and ended up sleeping with Isla in bed.

When you woke up in the morning and realized that Lando wasn't next to you, you immediately knew what was going on because this wasn't the first time he fell asleep with Isla while trying to put her to sleep.

You slowly and quietly opened the door to her room and put your hand over your mouth, holding back from bursting out laughing when you saw the scene in front of you.

Lando was lying on his back with his head between lots of stuffed toys, two of them even falling over his forehead while Isla was sleeping peacefully with her back turned to Lando.

“Baby” You laughed softly slowly shaking his arm.

“Hm?” He raised his head looking around through one eye completely out of it wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“There’s a slight possibilty those stuffed toys might suffocate you” You chuckled quietly. “Wanna go to our bed?”

“Yeah, let’s go” He mumbled tiredly getting out of bed.

Once you got to your room he took off the clothes he fell asleep in the night before and got back into bed with you. He kissed you a few times before lowering his head to the level of your round pregnant belly and left a couple of kisses there too.

“Thank you for last night, I was really tired. I love you.” You said running your fingers through Lando’s curls same as Isla’s.

“No need to thank me, baby. Just please remind me that we don't buy any more stuffed toys for pumpkin. I'm kinda running out of space in her bed.”

“Okay, baby. I will, don’t worry.” You laughed as he nuzzled his head into your neck and closed his eyes to get some rest before pumpkin is all ready and awake to start her day again.

[hexhomos]

Hello fellow Jayce defender.

First off, virtual kisses on both your cheeks for your Arcane analysis. They're refreshing to read, and insightful as well.

Something that's always bothered me about the way fans interact with Jayce is assuming that he's always the one making the mistakes in any of his relationships. It's almost funny in a way how they strip other characters of their autonomy and arcs just so they can point out how Jayce is failing his partners.

With Mel and Viktor especially, there's this narrative that Jayce simultaneously ignores both of their needs while also prioritising one over the other. Either he neglects Viktor to go and swoon over Mel, or he abandons his relationship with Mel to go play science with Viktor, or he neglects both to go do his own things while they suffer through their own plots.

And it's fascinating how incredibly mistaken these people are, and also how they reduce his character to only being important when he's in a relationship.

I'm here like, "hey, do you wanna discuss the reason for how Jayce seemingly knows how to navigate the ways of high class society very easily is probably because he's had to rely on sponsorships and donations for most of his youth to find his research because his house is too poor to be able afford it?"

Or "It's canonical that Jayce only ever had one friend in his youth before Viktor, and that was the daughter of his main sponsor, do you think it's interesting that this indicates he probably had difficulty making or maintaining friendships and that this is possibly a symptom of the Academy mainly housing elite and rich students so they couldn't relate to his struggles and he couldn't relate to theirs?"

But no, people just want to hate on him for not being the picture perfect boytoy in a relationship.

And I mean, it's not like it's just reduced to Jayce either. So many other characters have had similar treatments where they're reduced to either their most basic qualities or mischaracterised entirely. And I'm really not trying to be the fandom police or whatever - everyone interprets differently - I just find it frustrating is all.

Anyways, you're cool.

YES I never have time to talk about this bc people don't give a fuck but in Jayce's journals we even see him stewing with envy and petty rage at this star-rising student on the academy that he sees as the example of a perfect prodigy (in opposition to how much Jayce fucks things up...)

It also strongly suggests he's on a scholarship, which ties into his suicide attempt.

Jayce is keeping his experiments a secret from everyone to avoid the blowback and isolating himself further and further when they don't work. Jayce is flawed! He's proud of his dream pitch to the point of hilarity. Jayce doesn't like socializing, he does it out of obligation! Even when he's being raised to a councilor position in s1 he's PANICKING. He doesn't want the fucking job, he doesn't like the parties nor the people, his truest honest self is that moment in season 2 where he declares the lab was always his home, and so was Viktor.

But even then he subsumes his own wants spends most of s1 trying to attend to the needs of other people. He routinely asks Viktor if he's alright, if he wants to come up to do the presentation, if he's sure those experiments are safe, etc. He tries to make Heimerdinger proud despite his constant rejections of their projects, and only turns on him when he threatens viktor's wellbeing. The reason why he doesn't announce anything on progress day is that he Was listening to Heimers so-called wisdom and it only bit him in the ass. Jayce gets himself in trouble with the council by being too naive and assuming his new post will allow him to crackdown on Piltovan corruption aided by the Hexgates. Majority of the complaints wrt relationships I see people making of him are just wildly exaggerated. "He was neglecting viktor" bro he talks about viktor in nearly every scene he has with mel 😭 viktor is the one who isolates himself and randomly disappears at times bc he's a grown man with his own boundaries.

Jayce's entire life is defined by the transactional nature of his existence, his work, the patronage receives - all depending on how much he can play the showpony role without fucking it up. It's not a comfortable position. Jayce is stressing out the whole damn show because if one person isn't pissed at him, someone else will be, and it always comes down to revokable money, investments, social standing. if he really was as uncaring and well-off as some claim he wouldn't give a shit. He could just coast along life, but that's not what he's doing ever. He only 'frees' himself in season 2 by abandoning his life's dream and the rotten reality that existed around it. Which is kind of bleak, but at least its over.

[callmeagardengnome]

✗ sugar and sin ✗ | PARK SEONGHWA

pairings  ✃  mafia! seonghwa x fem! reader

genre  ✃  mafia au, non-idol au, SLOW BURNN

synopsis  ✃  

seonghwa goes above and beyond to eliminate his targets: going undercover in places they go to most. when you happen to spend your time in a secluded bakery, seonghwa decides to bake your treats with doses of poison - yet somehow, you keep surviving.

in which you thought you made a new friend in your local bakery, when in reality - your ‘baker’ keeps mistaking laxatives for poison.

w.c  ✃ 9.1k

c.w  ✃ dark themes, some desc of gore, poison, drink-spiking, kiss scene but no smut, very very slight yandere behaviour, cursing, reader + seonghwa are in their 20s (not too relevant to plot), reader wants to be an architect.

author’s note: ngl, this story ended up a little more wholesome than i anticipated but oh well. remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, any and all feedback helps!

not proofread!

masterlist

it was official. you were a walking, unkillable creature sent to test seonghwa’s patience. 

you had to be at this point. that was the sixth poisoned-cream puff he’d given you this week and you were still talking on the phone about some guy you met at work. 

seonghwa’s fingers curled around the register, his knuckles turning white. when was the last time it took him this long to kill someone? five years ago?

time flies by fast - and yet it’s going painfully slow to take. you. out. 

“oh my god, no way-“ you laughed suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. 

seonghwa sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. he turned around and headed for the kitchen. if you weren’t going to die quickly, the least he could do was distract himself. 

“back to baking,” he muttered through clenched teeth. 

1 MONTH AGO - SIGHTSEEING

the early morning was cool, damp and filled with the scent of rain. the light drizzle from the grey sky above pattered against the balcony railing as birds chirped louder than the traffic below.

seonghwa sat on the metal chair, placing his steaming cup of tea onto the small table next to him. 

the balcony door slid open. 

a yawn was heard from behind him. “are you people-watching again?” hongjoong asked, rubbing his eyes. 

seonghwa didn’t look back, only nodding in response.

“you’re on food duty now, remember?” hongjoong stepped onto the balcony, sitting on the chair beside his friend. “you don’t need to look for targets..”

seonghwa leaned forward, mumbling, “is it wrong to have hobbies?” 

the morning rush was in full swing - people running with umbrellas over their heads, cars splashing through puddles and delivery workers speeding on bikes. it was oddly satisfying to watch, especially when you weren’t a part of any of it.

hongjoong rested his chin on his hand. “i don’t pay you to kill anymore. i hope you know this.”

“yeah, yeah,” seonghwa said absentmindedly, like he’d done many times before - though something caught his attention.

his eyes narrowed, focusing on a girl - must be in her early 20s, hurrying down the sidewalk with a large stack of papers in her arms. her steps were rushed, nearly bumping into the people ahead of her.

and then it happened.

she tripped over her own foot, causing her to stumble forward. the papers flew out of her grasp, scattering onto the crowded pavement. she dropped to her knees, scurrying to gather them.

but before she could, a gust of wind swept most of them down the street.

seonghwa got up from his chair abruptly, his tea long forgotten.

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “did you see something?”

seonghwa didn’t answer. his attention was fixed on you, your hands moving as fast as possible to salvage the remaining papers. just as you managed to grab a few, a van sped through a nearby puddle, splashing you from head to toe.

you froze, shivering. and to make things worse, the light rain turned into a heavy downpour. “...fuck!”

seonghwa’s eyes lit up in fascination. 

he’d never seen someone as unlucky, unfortunate and pathetic as you in all of his years. 

you were perfect.

“seonghwa-?”

a slow, almost predatory smirk spread across seonghwa’s lips. he couldn’t take his eyes off of you - the defeated and helpless girl that stood frozen on the pavement, completely drenched. 

“i found my target.”

2 WEEKS AGO - IT’S CALLED EMPLOYMENT 

the smell of fresh bread and melted butter greeted you as you pushed the bakery door open, the small bell jingling. 

“ah ‘____’!” the old baker, mrs earl, said with a smile. “it’s good to see you again.”

you gave her a bright grin. “i brought you the new crossword,” you placed a folded newspaper on the counter.

“oh honey, you’re an angel,” she thanked.

you waved off the praise, already making your way to the display case. you grabbed your free muffin (it wasn’t technically free, but mrs earl adored you enough to turn a blind eye) and took a bite.

as you ate, she wiped her hands with a dishcloth. “you know, a boy came in today. said he wanted a job.”

you raised an eyebrow. “someone applied?” 

“mhm,” she nodded, her smile widening. “i was quite shocked, he’s very young- around your age.”

“..huh,” you said, unsure of how to respond. it was hard to imagine someone else your age showing interest in such a bakery.

mrs earl’s eyes twinkled as she giggled, “he was such a gentleman, too. handsome, if i may add.”

you grinned. “mrs earl, are you into him?”

she laughed heartily. “of course not! i still have my boys at the country club..”

“..anyways,” she continued, slightly softer. “with him around, i don’t need to come in anymore.”

“...really?”

she nodded firmly. “why not? i think he’s capable enough to manage things while i go on vacation.”

“..if you say so,” you replied, a little doubtful. 

you’ve grown so attached to mrs earl that the idea of someone else stepping in felt.. strange. even then, you quickly pushed those thoughts away. you weren’t going to stop her from having her well-deserved break.

but little did you know - across the street, seonghwa sat on a weathered bench, his eyes following you. 

you were an open book, he realised. your patterns were consistent, your routine almost boring in its predictability. lunch breaks at the bakery. post-work visits for a chat and a muffin. your world revolved around this tiny little bakery that it made you so so easy to track.

it was perfect.

and now all he had to do was wait.

1 WEEK AGO - HEY I JUST MET YOU, AND THIS IS CRAZY

holy shit. 

mrs earl wasn’t kidding when she said the new hire was handsome.

a man stood behind the counter, arranging pastries with meticulous care. his hair fell perfectly, right out of a shampoo commercial, while his skin looked impossibly flawless and clean. 

“...wow,” you breathed out before you could stop yourself.

the man turned, his sharp features softened by a slight tilt of his head. 

you blinked rapidly, scrambling to recover. “i mean- hi!” you blurted with a nervous laugh. “i’m ‘____’, i’m a regular here,” you stuck your hand out.

it took a second before he shook your hand, giving you a small, polite smile. “mrs earl told me about you.”

your rubbed the back of your neck. “good things i hope..” you chuckled, earning a nod. 

“you’re..” you looked down, squinting to read the name tag pinned neatly to his apron. “seonghwa..?”

“correct.”

as seonghwa moved to the display case, you couldn’t help but watch him. everything about him was so polished, so graceful - it was like he belonged in the movies. 

when you saw the row of pastries he was arranging, you raised an eyebrow. that’s different. 

he glanced at you. “sorry, i don’t make muffins as good as mrs earl,” he admitted sheepishly. “but i think my cream puffs are up there.”

you stared at the tray of golden, perfectly piped pastries, your mouth watering. “c-can i take one?”

his lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes darkening slightly. “of course.”

PRESENT - PLOT ARMOUR GOES CRAZYY

outside, the world bustled with its usual chaos, but inside the bakery? everything felt calm - too calm for seonghwa, whose patience was wearing dangerously thin.

from behind the counter, he had an excellent view of you. you chatted animatedly on the phone, the sunlight streaming in making you look annoyingly serene for someone who shouldn’t be here. 

“girl- the guy at my office is cutee,” you said as you stirred the remnants of your coffee.

seonghwa’s jaw tightened. the coffee you were sipping had enough poison to kill a sumo wrestler. you should’ve been dead on the floor by now.

so how the hell were you still alive?

blissfully unaware of his glare, you laughed at something your friend said. “are you crazy? why should i make the first move?”

when he first saw you, seonghwa thought you’d be his easiest target yet. he almost pitied you. your sheer unluckiness practically screamed death. 

yet here you were, as if life itself decided to mock him.

as you hung up the call, you stood up and strolled to the counter, rummaging through your bag. “how much do i owe you?”

seonghwa shook his head, sighing. “it’s on the house,” he said. 

you paused, slipping your phone into your pocket. “seonghwa, you really need to stop giving me free food,” you pulled out a ten-dollar bill.

“but i want to,” he shrugged. 

you studied him for a moment, tilting your head. “then can i get another coffee to-go, please?”

his eye twitched.

it was such an harmless request, something seemingly so simple. yet it felt like an insult to his entire career.

still, seonghwa forced a smile, taking the cash. “of course.”

turning to the coffee pot, he poured another cup. when you looked away to check your phone, he sprinkled a little extra poison into the drink - just to be sure.

“thank you so much,” your face lit up as you took the cup from him. “you’re a lifesaver.”

the irony hit him like a truck, but he simply nodded.

as you turned to leave, he stared at the coffee pot, his mind spinning.

how? how?

you were unkillable. immune. an anomaly wrapped in plot armour so thick and absurd it made his chest ache with something he couldn’t name. 

obsession, frustration, fascination - it all blurred together into one singular thought:

he needed stronger poison.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“..helloo?” a hand waved in front of seonghwa, snapping him out of his thoughts.

seonghwa blinked, turning to find wooyoung standing beside him, wooden spoon in hand, his apron splattered in sauces. 

“you’re sanding the plate,” wooyoung smirked before turning back to the bubbling pot on the stove. 

the sound of running water filled the hideout’s small kitchen, together with the clanging of pots and pans. seonghwa stood over the sink, yellow rubber gloves on his hands as he washed the dishes.

seonghwa looked down - and to his horror, he’d been scrubbing the same spot on the plate for who knows how long. a noticeable mark formed, the glaze nearly wearing off. 

wooyoung glanced over his shoulder. “you okay?”

“yeah,” seonghwa replied.

a short silence followed before wooyoung spoke up again. “…you still haven’t killed that girl.”

seonghwa rolled his eyes, nearly breaking the ceramic in his hands. “don’t remind me. she’s invincible.”

“invincible?” wooyoung barked out a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “to you?”

seonghwa’s lips pressed into a thin line, sighing. the memory of the coffee earlier was still fresh in his mind. “my poison doesn’t work on her.”

wooyoung paused. “we have poison?”

“yeah,” seonghwa muttered, rinsing the plate and setting it on the drying rack. “the blue ones in the cupboard.”

wooyoung’s face shifted slowly from confusion, to realisation, to then poorly concealed amusement.

“seonghwa..” he began carefully, facing him. “you know those are laxatives, right..?”

the sponge in seonghwa’s hand nearly slipped into the soapy water. “..what?”

“they’re laxatives,” wooyoung repeated. “i mean, they do look the same, but they’re laxatives.” 

seonghwa stared at him. “those are the only ones left- what happened to my poison?”

“we uh-” wooyoung hesitated, shifting on his feet. “we crushed it up and made paint..”

the air in the kitchen turned deathly still.

“you what?”

“i thought no one used it-!”

“i use it-! who makes paint with pills?” seonghwa snapped, his hands gripping the edges of the sink. he exhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay calm. “now i have to get more from that dealer.”

“uhh..” wooyoung cringed.

seonghwa turned to him, narrowing his eyes. “don’t tell me..”

wooyoung gulped, nodding slowly. “...san killed him.” 

WEEK 3 - TOUCH GRASS

the sound of your best friend’s voice echoed from your phone as you sat by the window, nibbling on the cream puff seonghwa gave you - again.

“i know this is TMI,” you said quietly. “but i’ve been shitting a lot lately. i don’t know if it's my period or lactose intolerance acting up.”

as you took another bite, the cream puff melted in your mouth, its sweetness making you temporarily forget about your bowel issues. 

rejecting it felt stupid - it was free. sure, it was weird that seonghwa kept giving you free food, but mrs earl trusted him, so why shouldn’t you?

still, you couldn’t quite figure him out. the man had a habit of glaring at you from across the bakery. were you that pretty? yes. but his glares didn’t feel like he was admiring you. they leaned more towards… anger.

your friend on the other end of the call burst out laughing - and you joined her for a moment. but before your friend could reply, your phone screen went black. 

“ugh, seriously?” you grumbled, tapping the screen repeatedly. with an annoyed sigh, you stuffed the dead phone into your bag.

with nothing else to do, your attention shifted. your eyes eventually landed on seonghwa, who was watching you with a blank face. 

it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him, right? after all, you see him everyday - and since your phone died, maybe it’s finally time to get some real human interaction in.

you gave him a wide smile. “hey, seonghwa.”

he blinked, visibly startled. “i uh-”

“-why don’t you sit with me?” you asked. “you’re not busy, are you?” 

for a moment, he seemed frozen. but somehow, you managed to convince him to sit across from you.

“so...” you began. “how are you?”

“good.”

you blinked. this wasn’t the riveting conversation you were hoping for.

unfazed, you continued. “how’s work been? stressful?”

he exhaled softly, shaking his head. “it’s fine. how about you? how’s work?”

“it’s alright,” you shrugged. “it’s gotten better since i started coming here. the vending machines at work are always broken.”

he nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “yeah- it’s even more convenient since it’s walking distance, right?”

you paused. 

“...how do you know that?”

seonghwa’s fingers froze mid-tap. 

“mrs earl,” he said finally. “she said a lot of her regulars work in the area.”

“oh, that makes sense,” you said, your suspicions fading quickly. you glanced out the window, your face softening. “i miss her..”

seonghwa let out a quiet sigh of relief, nodding as though he agreed with you.

but inside, his mind was screaming. that was way too close. 

focus.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you kicked your shoes and slumped onto the couch, letting out a long sigh. the day had been.. something. your chat with seonghwa was pretty awkward, but more than anything, it made you miss mrs earl.

reaching for your phone, you dialed her number.

“‘____’! my favourite customer,” she greeted cheerfully, the background noise filled with chatter and clinking glasses.

“mrs earl!” you replied. “how are you? are the boys at your country club treating you well?”

“oh, you know how they are,” she giggled. “trying to impress me with golf and fancy dinners. it’s nice to relax for a change.”

you chuckled, sinking deeper into the couch. “that sounds perfect. you deserve it.”

the conversation flowed easily unlike the one earlier. you updated her on the usual - work and office gossip. but eventually, the topic drifted to the bakery.

“i hope the new boy hasn’t burned the place down,” mrs earl began.

“he’s actually a pretty good baker,” you said. “his cream puffs are unreal-”

you paused for a moment before you added. “though i have to say, they make my stomach hurt whenever i eat them.”

the line went quiet.

“...please elaborate,” mrs earl chuckled softly.

“i mean- i don’t know,” you shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “after i eat his pastries, my trips to the toilet are… traumatic.” you let out a small laugh. “but they’re so tasty, it’s worth the lactose intolerance.”

another silence followed, longer this time. you frowned slightly, shifting on the couch. 

“mrs earl?”

her voice finally came through, slower this time. “that’s.. impossible, my dear.”

“what do you mean?” you asked, sitting a little straighter.

“well,” she began carefully. “the bakery strictly uses oat milk. we don’t use any dairy products in our pastries.”

“...what?”

“the cream, the milk- everything is plant-based,” she continued. “it’s been that way for years. didn’t i tell you that when you first came in?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

mrs earl’s voice broke the silence again. “it could be something else. you’ve been stressed, haven’t you?”

“yeah..” you replied automatically, though your thoughts were far from the conversation.

“take care of yourself, honey,” she said gently. “i have to go, but call me again soon, okay?”

you nodded. “okay.. bye, mrs earl.”

“stay well, ‘____’.”

the call ended, leaving you sitting on the couch, phone in hand. for a long moment, you stared at the screen, her voice echoing in your head. 

the bakery strictly uses oat milk.

MONTH 1 - I WAS SPACING OUT

you sat at your regular table by the window, flipping through your notebook while sipping on your coffee.

you tapped your pencil against the table. yes, ‘traumatic’ was probably an exaggeration for your bathroom trips - but if there was no dairy in seonghwa’s cream puffs, then what was messing with your stomach?

you quickly shook your head, a sigh escaping your lips. ‘too weird to think about,’ you thought to yourself. whatever it was, the food was worth it.

you returned back to sketching, taking out your ruler to make straight lines. but as you drew, you couldn’t help but feel a certain someone’s eyes on you. 

“you’re staring again,” you said without looking up. 

a long pause settled over the bakery before you heard a, “..no, i wasn’t.”

you glanced up, a smile tugging at your lips. “wanna see what i’m working on?” 

and that was how seonghwa found himself unusually close to you, sitting beside you as you showed him your sketches - clean lines forming buildings, bridges and intricate floor plans. 

“you like drawing?” he asked.

“yeah,” you nodded, flipping to another page. “i wanted to be an architect.” 

seonghwa’s brow furrowed slightly. “then why aren’t you doing it?” 

you let out a laugh. “because i’m broke,” you said simply. “i’d rather work in an office than take out student loans.” 

you flipped through more sketches - some labelled with small notes in the margins while others had more detailed calculations. “it’s just a little hobby of mine.”

seonghwa’s eyes darted between you and the notebook. “this doesn’t look like a hobby,” he muttered.

you raised an eyebrow. “what does it look like then?”

“it looks like something you’re serious about.” 

you paused, blinking at him before leaning closer. “i’m serious about a lot of things, seonghwa- but that doesn’t mean i make a career out of them.”

the silence between you stretched as you flipped through the pages. the energy shifted to something you couldn’t quite explain - and as you tilted the notebook to show him a certain sketch, you realised that his eyes weren’t even on the paper anymore, they were on you. 

you sighed, closing the notebook. as you slipped it into your bag, you noticed how his eyes were still following you, sharp yet strangely soft with concern.

“don’t worry-” you said, smoothing out your clothes. “i’m perfectly content with where i am now.”

“are you?” he asked.

you met his eyes for a moment longer than usual. “yep,” you finished the last sip of your coffee. “how could i not be? free cream puffs and all, right?”

seonghwa didn’t respond.

“thanks for looking at my sketches,” you smiled, turning away. “hope i didn’t bother you.”

as he watched you walk out the door, he let out a slow sigh he didn’t realise he was holding, running a hand through his hair.

he stared up at the ceiling, leaning back into the chair. and for the first time in a long time, seonghwa felt sympathy. 

MONTH 2 - FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC 

over the past few weeks, you developed the habit of waving seonghwa over to join you whenever you stopped by the bakery. what started as polite small talk turned into embarrassing work stories you had.

this afternoon was no different. you sat across from him, coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other, complaining about your friends’ latest questionable decision.

“yeah, she doesn’t listen to me,” you took a bite out of the cookie. “like- why fuck him if you hate him, y’know?”

behind his usual composed self, you caught the faintest twitch of seonghwa’s lips, followed by a sound so soft you almost missed it - a low chuckle.

you froze mid-bite. “did you just.. laugh?”

seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “yeah..?”

you leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. “i’ve never seen you laugh before.”

“i’m sure you have,” he blinked.

“no, i would’ve remembered it,” you shook your head, grinning. “i like it.”

seonghwa choked, caught off guard. before he could even respond or process what you said, his phone buzzed in his apron pocket. he glanced at the screen and frowned.

“excuse me,” he said, heading to the small kitchen in the bakery, leaving you slightly confused.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

seonghwa pressed the phone to his ear. “what?” he asked.

“i got your poison ready,” san’s voice came through.

seonghwa nearly dropped his phone, swallowing the lump in his throat. “...really?”

“yeah- you wanted it extra strong, right?” san continued. “it took some tweaking, but it’s ready to go.”

the baker’s eyes darted to the half-open kitchen door. he could almost picture you sitting on the other side of it. “right… good.”

this was it. no more laxatives, no more delays.

it’s real now.

the thought of finishing the job left a strange knot in his chest - not dread exactly, but something close to it.

he wasn’t supposed to feel this way - no, he’s never felt this way. his work had always been detached. he never tried to make connections outside of the world of crime, didn’t deal with people who weren’t tied to his web of blood.

not until you came along.

you talked to him like he was.. normal. like he was a regular guy in a regular bakery.

he was finally seen as a person, not a killer. 

it was refreshing. 

“hello?” san’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“i uh-“ seonghwa cleared his throat, realising that he was silent for too long. “just leave the poison on my desk. i’ll get it later.

“sure,” san replied before adding, “but don’t overthink it, okay? just get it done.”

seonghwa hung up, staring at his phone for a moment before slipping it back into his pocket.

just get it done.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

from your seat, you only caught bits and pieces of seonghwa’s call. you didn’t mean to listen in, but your ears got carried away. 

his voice was low and hard to hear, muffled by the thin walls of the bakery - but one word stood out: poison.

your brows furrowed as you leaned back into your chair, the word echoing in your mind. poison? like food poisoning? did he get it? was that what you had?

you pushed those thoughts out of your mind. after all, what were the odds that your new friend seonghwa said something like ‘poison’ in a bakery of all places? you must’ve misheard.

the door creaked open as seonghwa stepped out, dusting his apron off as he walked back to the table.

“sorry about that,” he said, sitting across from you.

you tilted your head. “everything okay?”

“yeah,” he replied - but you swear you caught a hint of guilt in his eyes. “where were we?”

MONTH 3 - THIS ISN’T FUN ANYMORE

you wandered through the aisles that had shelves lined with tools, appliances and decorations. mrs earl invited you out for a little shopping spree, wanting to pick out a few things for her house.

as she inspected a stack of plates, something caught your attention - a small set of colourful forks, each with cute designs of fruits and animals.

“these are adorable,” you muttered as you picked it up.

mrs earl looked over your shoulder. “i didn’t know you liked these things.”

you shook your head, laughing softly. “oh- i do, but this is for seonghwa.”

“for seonghwa?” she raised an eyebrow.

“yeah,” you nodded. “he’s always giving me free food. i just thought it’d be nice to get him something.”

mrs earl’s lips curved into a knowing smile, though she said nothing. instead, she patted your shoulder and moved to examine another shelf.

over the past few weeks, seonghwa had become quite a good friend of yours. after all, you saw him everyday and you started to look forward to his presence whenever you stopped by.

and honestly? you’ve been wanting to pay him back for ages. all the free pastries, coffees and times he let you ramble on about work without looking annoyed. he needed.. compensation, if that was what it was called.

you sighed. what if he thought you were weird? well, it didn’t really matter - you wanted to do this.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the bakery was quiet and empty. seonghwa stood at the counter, his fingers gripping a small packet of crushed pills in one hand and the coffee you ordered in the other.

the poison felt heavier that it should, sinking into his palm as a reminder of what he was about to do. his mind spun, his thoughts fuzzy.

was this really happening?

he stared at the packet, his breathing shallow. it took him longer than usual to go near the wretched thing, let alone hold it. now, standing with the poison scarily close to your coffee, the reality set in.

your life was in his hands.

seonghwa’s chest tightened. he could just stop, throw the poison away, pour the coffee down the sink and pretend that none of this happened. after all, no one was forcing him to do this - except himself.

he sighed shakily, his fingers trembling as he began to shove the poison into his pocket.

but then the door swung open. you weren’t supposed to be back yet.

“hey seonghwa-!”

your voice startled him. his eyes snapped to the door as you walked in with paper bags, followed by mrs earl.

“i got you something-“ you said before your smile faltered, your eyes landing on the packet in his hand. “is that.. wait- is that drugs?”

seonghwa coughed, fully shoving it into his pocket quickly. “no- it’s not-”

your eyes narrowed - and before seonghwa could react, you went behind the counter and reached into his pocket, pulling out the packet.

“wait-”

your lips parted as you read the label. “...poison?” you breathed out.

the words hung in the air.

your eyes darted to the coffee cup still clutched in his other hand. it was unmistakably yours, your drink order obvious. and it didn’t take long for the pieces to click.

“are you-“ you gulped. “...are you trying to kill me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

seonghwa stood frozen, unable to respond. 

mrs earl, who was trailing behind, looked at the packet in your hand, then at seonghwa.

“what is the meaning of this?” she demanded. she stormed over to him, grabbing a nearby towel and smacking it across his shoulder. “i trusted you with my food! my bakery! and this is what you do?!”

seonghwa flinched but didn’t resist. his eyes, however, weren’t on mrs earl - they were on you.

you were completely still, the poison clutched in your hands. 

seonghwa opened his mouth to say something - anything, but the words died before they could form. you couldn’t even look at him, your eyes wide and unfocused.

ignoring how his chest tightened, he turned and dashed - leaving nothing but silence in the bakery.

mrs earl paced angrily, muttering curses under her breath. but you didn’t hear her - you couldn’t. your eyes remained fixed on the packet, your breathing heavy.

you sat down, throwing the poison far away from you. your heart pounded in your chest, each beat louder than the last. 

holy shit.

he was going to kill you. 

MONTH 4 - ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

you leaned back in your seat, stretching your arms above your head. you powered down your computer, your office building quiet - working overtime seemed more tiring than usual.

you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder when your eyes landed on a small box tucked into the corner of your desk.

the fork set.

for weeks, you avoided looking at it. the sight of it was a reminder of the bakery - your now-dead friendship with seonghwa and the moment you realised he tried to kill you.

why did you even keep this?

you didn’t want to bring it home. you didn’t want to keep it at all. maybe it was time to throw it away and be done with it. 

you stepped out of your office building, the streets eerily silent. the only source of light you had were the streetlights that shined yellow light onto the pavement.

you clenched the fork set in your hands.

poison.

the word did circles around your mind, sending an uncomfortable feeling throughout your body. was that why your stomach always hurt after eating his pastries? was he actually trying to poison you the whole time?

the idea of it stung. you thought back to all the times you trusted him, to all the times you talked.

was any of it even real?

your thoughts were interrupted by the faint sight of movement you caught from the corner of your eye.

you stopped, glancing to the alley to your left. at first, it was hard to make out what you were seeing, the shadows dark. but then you froze.

a man stood there, holding a gun.

and someone else was infront of him, pinned against the wall.

your breath hitched when you realised who it was.

seonghwa.

his eyes locked onto yours, wide with fear as the gunman barked something you couldn’t hear. his face was bruised, blood smeared along his jaw and soaking his shirt.

you gulped.

this man tried to kill you. you could just.. walk away, pretend this didn’t happen.

you took a step back, everything in your body telling you to leave. but then, seonghwa’s trembling hand reached toward you, his fingers shaking as he silently pleaded.

shit.

you don’t know what compelled you - pity or something else entirely, but your grip tightened on the box in your hand. quickly, you opened it, grabbing the first fork you saw.

without thinking, you chucked it at the gunman.

the fork struck his shoulder with a dull thud, making him whip around in shock, pointing the gun at you.

your heart stopped. this was it.

but seonghwa worked fast.

grabbing the fork, he lunged forward with all the strength he had, driving it into the gunman’s neck.

the man stumbled, choking as he clawed at his throat, slumping to the ground.

seonghwa collapsed to his knees, panting heavily as the fork clattered from his hand to the pavement. blood dripped from his fingertips, pooling around him as he pressed a hand to his side, trying to stop his wound from bleeding.

“...thank you,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse.

you stared at him, your chest heaving. you stepped closer, looking down at his bloodied state. “damn it.”

seonghwa glanced up at you, his eyes filled with… gratitude? sincerity? relief? or was that desperation?

you sighed, shaking your head. “you’re lucky i’m a nice person.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“i’m sorry-”

“don’t talk to me,” you cut him off, shoving a cold can of soda into his hand.

you brought seonghwa to your office, the only place you could think of where he wouldn’t be found - or bleed out. he sat in your coworker’s chair, guilt written all over his face.

with a heavy sigh, you sank into your own chair across from him, leaning back as you tried to catch your breath.

for what felt like an eternity, the two of you sat in silence, your eyes locked in an unspoken fight. dark red tissues piled up beside seonghwa as he pressed another one to the cut on his cheek, wincing.

you didn’t want to feel sorry for him. you didn’t want to care. but seeing him like this - injured, his clothes stained with the horrid look of blood, made it impossible to ignore the way your stomach twisted.

“...how did you end up like this?”

your words cracked, betraying the hurt and confusion you tried so so hard to bottle up.

“i-” began before stopping himself, his voice faltering. he pressed his lips into a thin line, looking away from you. 

EARLIER THAT DAY

“wha-? you can’t say no, seonghwa,” hongjoong snapped. “this is your job.”

seonghwa slouched deeper into the couch, arms crossed over his chest. his eyes followed his boss as he paced around the room. “i don’t want to go.”

“‘i don’t want to go’,” hongjoong mocked, stopping mid-step to glare at him. “i’m not asking you to go, i’m telling you.”

seonghwa stayed silent.

“come on,” hoongjoong ran a hand through his hair. “we got a tip they’re loitering around these streets. the least you could do is check it out.”

‘they’.

aka the drug cartel that had been bothering hongjoong and the group for months. even then, seonghwa shook his head, refusing his boss’s orders.

hongjoong let out a frustrated sigh. “you’ve been like this ever since you failed to kill that girl. you’re depressed- go outside.”

seonghwa’s head snapped up. “i’m not depressed,” he glared.

“right,” hongjoong chuckled dryly. “because moping and lazing around is normal behavior for you. wake up.”

seonghwa bit back a retort, his nails biting into his palms. he wasn’t depressed. he wasn’t.

was he?

a heavy silence settled over the room. sure, the last few weeks have been.. off. he hadn’t been sleeping well. his appetite was nonexistent. and everytime he thought about you, he felt an ache in his heart that he couldn’t quite shake.

it wasn’t depression. it was just a.. slump.

he was not depressed. 

seonghwa sighed, rolling his eyes. “whatever,” he muttered finally. he pushed himself up. “i better be paid good for this.”

PRESENT

seonghwa gulped, staring at the bruises on his arms. finally, he met your eyes, shifting uncomfortably. “...it’s just my job.”

you crossed your arms. “your job?”

he said nothing.

“seonghwa-” you began, leaning forward. “what kind of job leaves you looking like this?”

his shoulders stiffened, and for a moment - you thought he wouldn’t answer. but then he sighed, wiping his bloody hands on his shirt. 

“if i tell you,” he said. “you need to promise me something.”

you raised an eyebrow. “promise what?”

“that you won’t tell anyone.”

a dry laugh escaped your lips. “i’m not promising anything. spit it out.”

“...i’m in a gang.”

“wha-” you stared at him, your face blank for a second before you let out a snort and cackle. “you’re joking, right?”

but when he didn’t laugh, you froze.

“wait- you’re not joking?” you asked, your voice quieter.

he shook his head.

his words hit you like a wave. your mind spun, connecting the dots - the poison, his sketchy behaviour, the guilty look in his eyes - it all fell into place.

“...is that why you tried to kill me?” you asked after a long pause. “what did i do?”

“that’s..” seonghwa trailed off, looking away. “unrelated.”

you rolled your eyes. “of course it is.”

his face softened into something almost remorseful. ���i don’t really know how to talk about this,” he said. “but i know i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t have to save me, but you did,” he leaned forward. “and i keep wondering why- because if it was the other way around, i don’t think i would’ve done the same.”

you raised your eyebrow.

“i’m sorry, really,” he said, quieter now. “i don’t know what else i can say, but i just.. i don’t want you to think i’m taking any of it lightly.”

you stared at him, surprised by how sincere he was. “seonghwa..”

“i know an apology won’t fix anything,” he said. “but i’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“whatever it takes?” you asked, furrowing your brows. 

he nodded quickly.

you scoffed, leaning in closer, your eyes piercing his. “if you really mean that, prove it.”

“i will,’ he said immediately.

“…uhuh,” you looked him up and down before standing, grabbing your bag. “you can start by cleaning the blood off of my coworker’s chair.”

he let out a faint chuckle, though it was more self-deprecating than anything. before you walked away, you paused, turning back to him.

“seonghwa?”

“yeah?”

you stepped closer, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards you. “before you try anything stupid, remember this: i still have that poison of yours.”

MONTH 5 - WALK HIM LIKE A DOG

you had to admit - it was convenient having your own personal assistant, even if the circumstances were… complicated.

it wasn’t like you asked for this arrangement. seonghwa brought it upon himself, showing up whenever you called. 

printer jammed? he’d be there in ten minutes. out of pens? he’d have a pack delivered to your desk. of course you didn’t trust him with tasks involving your drinks or food, but even then - he made himself useful with other things.

over time, you got used to calling him for simple errands - and he never complained. 

it was most definitely awkward though, especially when he tried to make small talk with you.

“..your hair looks nice,” he said once as he stood by your desk.

“thanks,” you replied, not looking up from your screen.

a moment passed. you glanced over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow when you noticed he was still standing there. “...do you need something?”

he quickly shook his head, turning away as he muttered an apology.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it amusing. as much as you hated to admit it, having him around wasn’t unbearable. 

as days turned into weeks, the distrust you held so tightly began to loosen its grip. it wasn’t like you forgot what he did, there were just moments when he seemed normal.

“you’re terrible at this,” you smirked, watching him struggle to assemble the new office chair you ordered.

he looked up at you. “i might be terrible, but at least i can read the instructions.”

you laughed.

but then you’d remember.

you’d remember the poison, the fact that this man tried to kill you for what seemed like no reason. 

and everything goes back to square one. 

MONTH 5.5 - T.G.I.F BY KATY PERRY

that friday, your coworkers insisted on dragging you out for a night at the club.

“let’s get wasted!” they said. “it’ll be fun!” they said.

that was probably a lie, but you gave in, changing your clothes before heading out.

neon lights shined erratically, painting the crowd in shifting shades of red, blue and green. bass-heavy music filled the club, so loud that it felt like waves went through your body. it was chaotic and packed to the brim with bodies swaying and stumbling.

it’d only been ten minutes and you already lost sight of your coworkers in the sea of people.

“shit,” you muttered under your breath, trying to find the exit. 

you pushed through drunk, clumsy dancers, finally spotting the door. but as you approached it, two towering men stepped infront of it, their shoulders forming an impenetrable wall.

“wha-?” you frowned, stopping. “i can’t leave?”

they didn’t respond.

“fine, whatever,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. if you were going to be stuck here, might as well grab a drink.

you made your way to the bar, squeezing between a group of rowdy patrons to get the bartender’s attention. but just as you opened your mouth to order, you heard a voice behind you.

“hey, angel.”

you paused, glancing behind to see a man standing way too close. he was quite well-dressed, but an unsettling smirk settled on his face.

“excuse me?” you raised an eyebrow.

“can i buy you a drink?” he purred, leaning closer. “i think i’ll regret it if i don’t.”

you blinked. “no, it’s okay-“

“-two shots of tequila,” he called out to the bartender, cutting you off. 

you stared at him, barely processing his words before a shot glass was placed infront of you, the clear liquid weirdly fizzing. 

“thank you, but i don’t-“

“drink.”

before you could react, his hand was at the back of your head, tilting it back as he pressed the shot glass to your lips. the liquid burned as it slid down your throat - making you cough violently while the heat seared your chest. 

“wha- what is happening?” you mumbled. your limbs felt heavy and your head was spinning as your vision blurred. 

the man’s smirk deepened, his face inches from yours as he gripped your wrist. “let me ask you something, angel.”

you blinked, your thoughts sluggish and messy.

“what do you know about a man named park seonghwa?”

the name hit you in the face, your breath hitching. “i-”

his grip on your wrist tightened painfully. “answer.”

“he’s just a baker,” you said quickly.

the man chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “are you sure?”

you nodded, unable to form a response.

he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “then why did he poison my boss a few months ago?”

poison. 

that stupid stupid word haunting you again. 

the man laughed again, low and ominous. “you had a reaction there- you know something i don’t?”

you shook your head weakly, the motion making your dizziness worse. your knees buckled slightly, making you grip the edge of the sticky counter to steady yourself.

suddenly, the man’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, still holding you firmly in place.

“yeah,” he said after a moment. “i got his girlfriend right here.”

your eyes widened. “i’m not his girlfri-”

before you could finish, his hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your words.

“sleep,” he whispered, your world fading to black.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

seonghwa laid in bed, staring at the ceiling where his fan spun. with a sigh, he shifted under the covers, letting sleep take over him.

but just as he closed his eyes, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. his brows furrowed as he reached for it.

he swiped to answer it, not looking at the screen. “yes?”

“hey seonghwa,” a low, gruff voice was heard on the other end.

instantly, he was wide awake, sitting upright in the bed. his grip on the phone tightened. “...who is this?”

the voice chuckled. “i got your pretty little girlfriend right here- knocked out like a light.”

seonghwa paused. “...girlfriend?”

“yeah,” the man replied. “the chick you’re always hanging around. surprised you weren’t with her, thought i’d have to put up a fight.”

seonghwa’s blood turned cold as the realisation hit.

you.

he didn’t waste another second. he hung up immediately, throwing off the covers as he leapt out of bed, grabbing his jacket.

his footsteps echoed through the hideout as he stormed toward jongho’s room. he barged through the door without knocking, startling jongho who was hunched over his gaming setup.

jongho spun around in his chair. “what the hell-?”

“trace this number. now,” seonghwa shoved the phone into jongho’s hands.

jongho blinked. “i’m in the middle of a game.”

“i don’t care.”

jongho groaned, taking his headset off as he tapped the phone screen. “fine.”

seonghwa paced around the room like a caged animal - his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to calm himself down. if they’d taken you, it was most definitely his fault. 

“got it,” jongho said after a while, typing something into his laptop. “you want me to track the phone too?”

“yes-” seonghwa snapped. “hurry.”

jongho glanced up at him, his brows furrowed. “what’s going on?”

“someone has her,” seonghwa muttered.

jongho’s eyes widened slightly, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “i thought you were over her?”

“wha- no,” seonghwa glared at him. “just find her.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you slowly woke up, your head throbbing. your first attempt to open your eyes was met with darkness. no - something pressed against your face. a blindfold. 

your body felt stiff, the coarse bite of rope digging into your wrists and ankles. inhaling shakily, you realised something else: your mouth was muffled by a towel, trapping your cries before they could escape.

panic ran around your mind as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. the surface beneath you swayed gently - and you could hear the occasional creak of metal together with muffled voices. a vehicle. you were in a moving vehicle.

but out of nowhere, you heard a shout.

“shit!”

the vehicle swerved violently, the tires screeching against the asphalt with a sound sharp enough to make you wince. your body jerked with the motion, the restraints keeping you in place. tears spilled beneath your blindfold, your breaths shallow and rapid against the towel.

the screeching came to an abrupt stop, followed by the jarring slam of a door.

what came next was a symphony of screams and the sickening, wet sounds of a blade piercing flesh, bodies hitting the ground. you clenched your fists, trembling.

the next door opened. 

another scream. 

another stab.

then silence.

your chest heaved, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. was this it? were you next?

then your blindfold slipped away.

your eyes fluttered open, the tears caught in your lashes making your eyelids feel heavy. when your vision eventually cleared, the first thing you saw was him.

seonghwa. his face splattered with blood, his dark eyes wide as he searched yours. his chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath.

“are you okay?” he asked, removing the towel from your mouth.

tears spilled down your cheeks faster now, your emotions overwhelming you in a way you’ve never felt before.

seonghwa’s face softened as he wiped your tears with his thumb, the blood on his hands smearing across your skin.

he moved to the ropes binding your wrists and ankles, his hands working quickly. 

“i’m sorry,” he said softly. “i’m so sorry- shit. i should’ve stayed away from you.”

the moment you were free, you threw your arms around him. he stiffened at first, caught off guard, but then his hands moved to your back.

your body shook against his as you cried. over his shoulder, you saw the man at the bar - his lifeless body crumpled on the ground, stab wounds dotting him.

“i’m so sorry,” seonghwa whispered again, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “this is all my fault.”

you pulled back slightly, your face still wet with tears. his hands stayed on your shoulders. “did they hurt you?” he asked softly.

you shook your head.

the vehicle fell into a heavy silence, the only sounds being your sniffling.

seonghwa gulped. “i’m sorry-”

“-thank you,” you said at the same time.

both of you froze, your words overlapping.

you chuckled, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“i’m really sorry,” he said once more, his voice cracking.

you studied him for a moment, taking in his disheveled hair, the blood on his skin and the exhaustion in his eyes. 

“...were you sleeping?” you asked, noticing the pajama shirt peeking out from under his jacket.

“yeah, i was about to.”

your eyes widened. “you saved me even though you were about to sleep?”

he raised an eyebrow. “was i not supposed to?” 

you stared at him, stunned. “...thank you.”

MONTH 6 - JUST DO IT

you’ve been staring at the text for hours, the words glowing on your phone screen.

let’s meet up.

seonghwa sent it to you that morning. no follow-up, no explanation, just those three words. and yet, they felt more heavy than you could even imagine.

what could you even say?

you tried to distract yourself, grabbing your laptop and scrolling through social media, but nothing held your attention for more than a second. your mind kept drifting back to the message.

your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with another notification. not him. but you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at the text again.

let’s meet up.

‘he saved you-’ you reminded yourself. ‘-but he also tried to kill you.’

it should’ve been simple. black and white. a clear boundary between trust and mistrust. but nothing about seonghwa was simple.

when you thought about him, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t the poison or the lies. 

it was his hands, trembling as he untied you. 

it was his voice, breaking with regret as he apologised. 

it was the way he looked at you, like he didn’t deserve your forgiveness but was desperate for it anyway.

you hated it.

you hated that he saved you. hated how jumbled your feelings were.

and most of all, you hated how much time you spent thinking about him and his stupidly flawless face. 

you groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. “this is ridiculous.”

this wasn’t what you needed right now. you grabbed your bag and went out the door. maybe grocery shopping would clear your head.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the store was crowded, filled with after-work shoppers. you walked aimlessly, picking up a few essentials here and there, but your mind was still on that text.

you stopped at the fridges, grabbing a drink. but as you turned to place it in your basket, you collided with someone. “watch it-” you began.

your words fell short when you realised you bumped into seonghwa, his phone in one hand and an awkward expression on his face. his eyes widened - and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“hey,” he said finally.

you blinked, letting out a nervous chuckle. “hey,” you raised your free hand in a small wave.

“...can we talk?”

you nodded slowly. “yeah,” you put your drink into your basket. “what’s up?”

seonghwa glanced around, looking at the other shoppers nearby. “maybe not here.”

you nodded, heading to the checkout line without another word.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you sat beside seonghwa on a wooden bench, your grocery bag resting at your feet. the both of you settled down in a park, a quieter and less busy place where you could actually breathe.

you reached for your drink, opening it. “thirsty?” you asked, holding it out to him.

he shook his head.

“i didn’t poison it,” you smirked.

seonghwa gave you a look, his ears turning pink. “you know i feel bad about that,” he muttered.

you chuckled softly, taking a sip. “sorry, sorry,” you said, turning to face him fully. “what did you want to talk about?”

he paused, hesitating as he fiddled with the edge of his jacket. “i just wanted to apologise,” he said finally.

you sighed setting the drink aside. “seonghwa- this is the hundredth time you’ve said that.”

“i know but-”

“i forgive you,” you said, your mouth moving faster than your mind.

his head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “what?”

“i forgive you,” you repeated, more confidently this time.

“...really?” he asked, completely shocked.

“yeah,” you shrugged. “you saved me. and it’s not like i can stay mad at you forever.”

seonghwa blinked. “you definitely can,” he said. “i wouldn’t blame you for it.”

silence fell between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. 

his fingers brushed against yours accidentally - and he instantly pulled his hand back, his face turning a shade of red. “oh my god- i’m so sorry-”

“seonghwa,” you interrupted, reaching for his hand and holding it gently - his fingers slightly calloused. “stop apologising.”

“i can’t help it,” he admitted quietly.

everything seemed to come to a standstill.

the distant sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling faded into the background. your eyes locked, time pausing.

neither of you spoke.

slowly, almost unconsciously, you both leaned closer. the faint warmth of his breath brushed against your lips, uneven and nervous, mirroring your own.

you blinked, your breath caught in your throat when you realised just how close his face was to yours. “woah..” you whispered.

seonghwa immediately leaned back, clearing his throat. “sorry-”

before he could retreat any further, you reached out instinctively, your fingers curling around his jaw - his skin hot under your touch. “stop saying that,” you mumbled, your thumb brushing lightly against his cheek.

he froze, his eyes searching yours for something - permission, reassurance or maybe a blend of both.

you saw how he looked down at your lips for a split second, his adam’s apple bobbing. “...is this okay?” seonghwa breathed out shakily. 

you smiled softly, your thumb tracing slow circles on his jaw. “of course.”

the moment his lips pressed against yours, the world disappeared. 

his shoulders relaxed as he leaned into you, his hand rising to cup your cheek. his touch was careful, as if he was afraid of hurting you in some way.

your lips moved together in a soft, slow rhythm, the warmth of him spreading through you like a comforting fire. 

the sensation was intoxicating - and you found yourselves melting into each other’s touch. 

seonghwa’s breath hitched as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. his heart pounded against yours, a blush creeping up his neck, leaving him lightheaded.

when you finally pulled back, your lips were tingling. and before you could say anything, seonghwa leaned forward again, leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline.

“hey!”

a voice broke the moment like a needle popping a balloon. both of you jumped, your heads snapping toward the sound.

a parent stood not too far away, their hands clamped over their child’s eyes. “please do this at home or something,” they said, glaring at the two of you before walking away quickly.

you and seonghwa exchanged a look, your cheeks flushing as you tried to stifle your laughter.

“yeah,” he said, looking into your eyes, then at your lips. “let’s do this somewhere else.”

series taglist [OPEN] - @hanoishere @scuzmunkie @sinfullygay @arusio @midnightrebel1028 @neemaxx @seungminsrighthand @arilevenatz @ateezswonderland @beabatiny @lemirabitur @sunnyhokyu @frzzenfrxg @cylovesmg @txtsoobean @seonghwasslytherin @sundaybossanova @sweetinsaniiity @cybrnaya @choisanchwego @mrskill2 @devilzliaison @scary-thingz @gaonashi @jonghosbrainrot @mintchocoyum

BONUS SCENE - CUE THE MARIACHI BAND

you stirred awake to the faint aroma of something tasty wafting through the air. groggily, you rubbed your eyes open, only to find seonghwa standing by the bed, a tray in his hands.

“happy anniversary,” he said softly, his lips curving into a smile.

you pushed yourself up on the pillows, your eyes wide with surprise as you took in the tray - a plate of freshly baked bread and scrambled eggs.

“thank you..” you mumbled, half-asleep but touched by the gesture.

seonghwa stepped closer, carefully placing the tray on your lap. he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “eat quickly,” he said with a hint of excitement. “i got you something.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i thought we said no gifts this year.”

he shrugged, smirking. “i lied.”

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop a smile from forming on your lips. you grabbed a piece of bread and started eating. it was perfect, just like everything he made.

when you were finished, you slid out of bed, wrapping your cardigan tighter around yourself. you walked to where seonghwa was, sitting next to him.

“seonghwa,” you began. “we agreed- no gifts.”

“i know,” he said, reaching for something on the coffee table. “but i changed my mind.”

your eyes landed on the envelope in his hands. you stared at it as he handed it to you, your brows furrowing slightly. “what’s this?” you asked, taking it hesitantly.

“open it.”

sliding your finger under the seal, you pulled out a letter. as your eyes skimmed the words, your jaw dropped.

“...is this-?”

“yeah.”

“you paid for my school?!” you exclaimed in disbelief.

he nodded. “you wanted to be an architect, right?”

“i do but..” you looked at him in shock, the letter trembling in your hands. “isn’t it expensive?”

“so?” he leaned closer to you, pulling you gently towards him.

your lips parted, trying to form words. “but you paid in full-”

“it doesn’t matter,” he cut you off softly, pecking your cheek. “i wanted to do it. for you.”

you searched his eyes, completely stunned. he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. 

when you eventually pulled away, he didn’t let you go fully. instead, he smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “happy anniversary.”

deleted scenes | other fics

[luludeluluramblings]

LoungeSinger!Reader??? Can you tell us a little bit about that,please🥺🥺🥺?

LoungeSinger!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family Member (Romantic)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I had this in my head rent free for all of November after listening to Hozier. More specifically, Too Sweet and Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene. This has so many different directions it could go in and I'm having a hard time picking one.

Warnings: GN!Reader, incarceration, possible manipulation

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You had gotten it into your head that you could handle it. That you didn't need that small town mindset. And, that you were going to do something about it.

Now, moving to one of the most dangerous cities in the country to sing at some smokey bar might not have been the brightest of all your ideas. But, fuck the light, it hurts your eyes anyway.

You knew you got lucky when you found some decent paying bar that hired your naive ass. You knew you were good when you sang and made people fall in love with you. You didn't know how fucked you where when you made the wrong people fall in love with more than just your voice.

It had started innocently enough. No one in Gotham would blame you for falling for it. Not even your judgmental family back home would've blamed your for it. The devil is a charmer after all, and he looks like an angel as well. Sure, you were a seductive thing. But, you bit that apple not realizing it was a pomegranate in disguise.

The Bat Family were all about helping people from what you understood. You hadn't exactly expected to run into them. Not with how cautious you tended to be. Just because you were brave enough to move to Gotham of your own accord doesn't mean you were stupid enough not to take precautions. Avoiding dark alleyways. Carrying pepper spray. Taking a taxi even if it was only for two blocks.

But, they came to you. More specifically the bar you worked at. Asking questions from the busboy first. Then the Bartender. Then the waitress. Then you, the singer.

You were fully prepared to help them with whatever it was they were investigating. Wanting to do your part to help. However, you may have been beguiled by their first question.

"What's someone as pretty and as talented as you doing in a city like this?"

Of course, even with your flushing cheeks, you had figured that they were just being charming for kicks. That it was just in their nature and that they weren't really as captivated by you as they had sounded.

Still, they threw in flirty lines every now and then when they had asked you questions about the area. Things you had seen. Things you had heard. Where you lived.

Simple, investigative things.

You hadn't expected it to have gone on for multiple days though. Night after night, week after week of them coming back to talk.

When you had asked around your bar, they hadn't done that for anyone else. And, the people you did mention it to told you to keep it hushed with a cheeky grin and a knowing gleam in their eyes at the sight of our blush. You didn't need everyone in Gotham knowing you were flirting with one of its vigilantes.

It continues on like that for weeks, then months. Flirting and heated rooftop rendezvouses.

But, not years.

Because it suddenly comes to a bone rattling stop when the very bar you work at is shut down by the Gotham City Police and everyone is arrested. Including you. All

Everyone you know and trust, on the inside of those cells with you.

You'd contact your masked lover, but you don't know how. And, you don't want to. Not when you hear the officers talking about how they got all the information about your boss apparently laundering money for some local small time gang. Not when you hear their alias being mentioned.

No one blames you for what happened, thankfully. In fact, you received a substantial amount of pity for your situation. Poor thing. Manipulated and used and tossed aside.

Or, were you?

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Did we do something to have them throw us in there? Did they think we were about to leave Gotham? Was is all a big misunderstanding? Is the GCPD just corrupt? Are they going to bail us out? Who is our masked lover? SO MANY POSSIBILITIES!

[caxycreations]

Okay, I've been nerd sniped, I'm sorry

NOTE: If you're going to reblog just to say "not reading that" or some other rude shit, DON'T. I've seen so many notifications of people just saying they couldn't be bothered to read it. I don't know if it's just that they don't see how incredibly rude and disheartening that is or if they know and don't care, but either way it really hurts to see, so please don't reblog if it's just to tell me you won't read it.

So let's go through the canonical likelihood they could each beat Goku. For the sake of keeping canon, we'll keep groups/pairs together if they would never reasonably be apart for something like this. Long post below the cut.

So first up are the ones I see that would, without a doubt, beat Goku.

Saiki K

Saiki is an omnipotent psychic/psionic with quite literally every single possible power out there. Now, this on its own isn't enough to beat Goku. Versatility doesn't mean everything, but Saiki is also powerful enough to rewrite the genetics and reality of everything within range, and his range is, so far, "Earth".

So this, on its own, would allow him to rewrite Goku's biology to make him Human. Bye bye zenkai boosts, bye bye Saiyan transformations. And Saiki, with his powers, has no trouble beating a Human of any caliber if he truly wanted to. And for those who ask "Why would he ever fight Goku?"

One simple reason: Goku would sense his immense power, and be excited for a fight. Goku is respectful enough to not force one if he's refused, but he's persistent enough to badger Saiki until he's given a chance. And Saiki, being Saiki, would simply take off one of his limiters, or both, and rewrite reality as such: "Being an alien isn't possible", thereby making it effective immediately that Goku must be lying/insane, and he is, in fact, Human. Easy win for Saiki.

And for those who would argue against this, bear in mind, the funniest way to beat Goku in this instance would be to simply make him weaker than Saiki, and Saiki is a gag character from a gag series, and it's already been shown in the world of Dragon Ball, and again in Dragon Ball Super, that Goku is incapable of defeating a gag character regardless of that characters canonical ability.

Saiki could win without gag character status, but even in the instance of Goku "beating" him, the gag would turn out to be that Saiki only pretended to get beaten, and is actually entirely unharmed because it was the easiest way to get Goku to leave him alone. Followed by a reveal that Goku will still show up now and then to ask for sparring matches, to drive the point home.

Popeye

Gag character. Would get beaten handily, crawl his way to spinach, and then be exactly as strong as he needs to be to take Goku down in however many hits is funniest.

Bugs Bunny

The gag character to end all gag characters. Someone on this hellsite once described Bugs as a "Trickster God who traps us in our own societal expectations" or some such. Like convincing Thanos to remove the Infinity Gauntlet by establishing a security checkpoint with a metal detector and shaming him into cooperating by telling him there's others waiting.

He could beat Goku in a billion ways, and each and every one of them would involve some shenanigan like Goku throwing a spirit bomb, Bugs showing up behind him holding it, saying "Ehhh, can you hold this for a second?" and as soon as Goku takes it and Bugs is off-screen, it would explode and Goku would be a pile of ashes with blinking eyes. Bugs would win because Bugs' gag is that...well, he simply can't be beaten.

The Warner Trio

Gag trio. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot would snark, sass, and sarcastic-joke their way into the scene, and they would spend the entire time poking fun at him, roasting his look, being unfazed by his attacks because "Nice laser show but we didn't bring our glowsticks." and just being too unbothered to care.

They would undoubtedly annoy Goku into admitting defeat simply to get away from them.

Road Runner

Gag character. Would force Goku to chase him, Goku would fire some blasts, chase him around, and inevitably be led right into the path of a blast he fired earlier to be disintegrated by it.

Pop Team Epic

I know nothing about this series except that it is a gag series. They are gag characters. That means Goku is inherently incapable of beating them.

ASDF Guy

Gag character. Could beat Goku with a simple "Hello, Mine-Turtle!" or "I like Trains."

Heart Diagram

Goku was literally killed by a heart virus in Future Trunks' timeline. This is one that has actually canonically already killed Goku.

Chowder

Gag character. Would likely be after S-Cells for some recipe and need to take Goku's as he's "The only Saiyan in this episode!" or some such, thereby ending the fight with a shot of Chowder wearing Goku's Gi for comedic effect while Dahl stirs raw Super Saiyan aura in a pot to hint that Chowder killed Goku for his S-Cells.

Force Ghost Trio

Gag versions of serious characters, and also ghosts. Goku is canonically unable to beat ghosts or gag characters, and these guys are both.

Those are the ones that would, without a doubt, beat Goku.

Now, let's go over the ones that could, potentially, be it likely or unlikely.

Kirby

Kirby is often considered a gag character, but he isn't. He has a very specific level of power, even if that level of power is "fuck you" levels of power. Kirby has beaten Gods, but so has Goku, even more often and with greater ease. However, Kirby has absorption and power-theft. Kirby could, potentially, absorb Goku (he isn't the brightest and Kirby has his unassuming appearance on his side) and take on his strongest form, including its powerup, and given Kirby in base form is likely more powerful than Goku in base form (Goku needed SSJ to scare Supreme Kai, Kirby beats Gods in base), it's possible Kirby would be more powerful than Goku with the same power up.

Kevin McCallister

Okay, hear me out.

Kevin is technically a gag character, BUT. He is not TRULY a gag character. He just happens to be a comedy character.

So he isn't guaranteed to win, but he could still possibly do so. How you ask?

Goku has been somewhat injured or lightly shaken by the following: planet-shattering attacks. Punches that rock the universe. Energy blasts so potent they would destroy entire galaxies.

Goku has been rendered inconsolable from the pain of the following: chest pain and a half-heartedly, boredly tossed pebble.

It is canon that when Goku and the other fighters in the series are expecting an attack or primed for battle, they are protected by their ki, like armor. It's how they're able to knock away attacks that would destroy planets, or put their "bare" hands on plasma energy that would normally burn the skin off you from a mile away let alone touching it.

This is why when Krillin threw the rock at Goku, it left him in agony and bruised him despite Goku being in Super Saiyan form at the time. This is why Chi-Chi is able to injure Goku regardless of how strong he gets.

So, how does this relate to Kevin being able to beat him? It's everything. It's critical information.

Kevin McCallister's entire M.O. is unexpected attacks. You open a door, you see a bucket fall, think it's over, turns out no, second bucket pulled by the first, second bucket is full of paint and open, you're blinded, you get your bearings, you take a step and feel cars, you smirk and step over them only to find marbles, you slip, you land on the cars which turn out to have been rigged to break easier to let loose a single thumbtack which is now firmly stuck in your back or butt. You bolt upright only to slam your head on a 2x4 that was rigged to hang down from a rope when you fell because your impact shook things enough to make it fall from a precarious perch above.

You get the idea. Every time you think it's safe to let your guard down, that's when the next wave hits. So you say "well he would stop letting his guard down" right? You fool. You know nothing of Goku. He would never put his guard UP. This is a human child, Goku can sense his pitiful power level. His strength? His speed? His ki? Weak. Pathetic. Nothing. A scouter wouldn't even register his power it's so low.

Goku never raises his guard to Chi-Chi, or to Bulma, or to Hercule. He does not raise his defense against normal, powerless, non-combative humans.

"BUT KEVIN IS COMBATIVE" No. He isn't. Goku can sense intent, power, and location. But Kevin isn't actively intending to hurt Goku. He's intending to protect himself and his home. He's not actively wanting to hurt Goku, he's just wanting Goku to leave. He doesn't have power to threaten Goku with, so Goku won't pick up on any threatening aura. And while Goku could simply instant transmission to Kevin and do what he will, we're not talking about how Goku could win, we're going over the fact Kevin could POSSIBLY win.

Enough injury and Goku is down for the count. Otherwise, Goku leaves to avoid further injury, and thereby admits defeat. Both cases, Kevin wins.

Shedinja

This one took me...quite a while. I had to do a lot of extra research for this. So, my immediate thought was Shedinja is a Ghost type, so ghost rules, right? Nah. Bug and Ghost type, and they are the physical shell left behind that has been reanimated. So they very much are physical beings, and given their ability to faint in the games and show they are capable of being physically damaged.

But There's a real case to be made for Shedinja beating Goku.

It can learn Ghost type moves, which operate on ghost-logic, and therefore are a canon weakness Goku is known to have. So things like Shadow Ball, Hex, Curse, and the like would all effect Goku regardless of Ki or form.

It also has access to Wonder Guard, which renders it "immune to all damage types that are not Super-Effective". For those unaware, we can actually attribute Typings to Goku's moves based on attributes and traits they share with Pokemon moves. His melee is, by nature, Fighting type, which Shedinja is immune to. In fact, Shedinja is immune to ALL attack types except Flying, Rock, Ghost, Dark, and Fire type moves, which are all Super Effective.

Goku's most common methods would actually fall under Fighting and Normal type attacks. "But his Ki blasts-" would be Normal type moves. You want proof?

Focus Energy is Normal Type. Quick Attack is Normal Type. Self Destruct is Normal Type. Techno Blast is Normal Type. Tera Blast is Normal Type. These are all energy based moves similar to ki blasts. Know what other energy based move is Normal Type? Hyperbeam. Which is almost identical to the Kamehameha and every other beam attack in DBZ.

Those few attacks Goku has that aren't going to be Normal Type will be Fighting Type.

Shedinja is Immune to all Normal and Fighting Type moves. Goku literally can not damage Shedinja, but Shedinja can damage Goku through Ghost Type moves. Shedinja can beat Goku. But why is it not "absolutely will" beat him? Because Goku can also transform his Ki and if he finds out Shedinja is vulnerable to fire, he can and will use that to his advantage.

That's who could potentially beat Goku. Here's who absolutely could not.

Saitama

I forgot to go over Saitama originally so here's the edit that features that analysis. Bear in mind I am saying this as someone who has seen Seasons 1 and 2 of the show AND is aware of some of the events of the manga.

A lot of reblogs over Saitama claim he is a gag character. But there is a case to be made that he is NOT. What is that case you ask? Well, for the sake of fairness, here is how I am handling gag characters: if their gag is in effect in 100% of all cases (such as looney tunes like Bugs or Road Runner) or if the gag is triggered in 100% of all cases (such as Saiki K or Chowder) then they are a True Gag Character and will insta-win.

However, if their gag has failed (such as Wario, or, yes, even Saitama) in ANY case, then it CAN fail again, and the fairest fight is one against two non-gag characters, so we can safely apply non-gag Saitama here since his gag has failed and Goku meets the conditions to cause it to fail again, which I'll explain.

So, first off, how does his gag fail? Well, his gag is that he kills everything instantly in one hit, unless he actively chooses not to. So we can safely say his gag fails if any of the following are true: he fails to instantly kill an enemy with a single hit while intending to do so, OR if he fails to kill an enemy with a serious hit intended to kill.

He meets both of these conditions. Boros survived for several seconds AFTER Saitama hit him with a Serious Punch. It was a single hit that intended to kill...But he didn't kill Boros INSTANTLY with it. Another example of his gag failing, if that doesn't satisfy, is Garou. Garou, in the manga, has survived MULTIPLE Serious Punches with intent to kill. This, on its own, is proof Saitama's Serious Punch does in fact have a limit to its output. It also proves his gag can, and does, fail against certain opponents.

So the next thing we need to look at is similarities between Garou and Boros to identify what they share that could possibly allow them to get around Saitama's gag, or to nullify it entirely. First similarity is that both are determined to have a good, satisfying fight. Boros crossed the stars seeking one, and Garou sought to become a true Monster powerful enough to force every hero, every do-gooder, to unite under one banner just to take him down. They both seek a battle to end all battles, even if Garou's intention is to end it in his favor, not simply enjoy the fight.

The second similarity is that they have incredibly unique circumstances, even by OPM standards. Garou is a man who has always felt love for the bad guy, he looks to the monsters as inspirations, as the misunderstood and the victimized by those claiming to be heroes. He's trained by an S-Class hero, and has developed into a being of unimaginable power in the pursuit of his dream. Very much a true foil to Saitama, who looked to heroes in comics as inspirations, as the righteous and unshakably moral, self-taught through and through and developed into a being of unimaginable power in the pursuit of HIS dream. Garou is, in this way, a reflection of Saitama, the Tails to Saitama's Heads, the dark to his light.

Boros on the other hand is an alien, forced to become strong by his homeworld's unforgiving conditions, developing a level of power necessary to survive and then some, and on realizing he was far too powerful for his own good, he sought purpose, meaning, and when he heard he may find a worthy opponent, he did everything he could to achieve that future, to realize his dream of facing a foe that would give him a true challenge.

So what are the similarities we can identify? Notably unique circumstances even by OPM standards, sharing strong similarities to Saitama's desires or dreams (Garou dreaming of becoming the greatest Monster vs Saitama dreaming of becoming the greatest Hero, Boros feeling lost in life and seeking a worthy foe vs Saitama feeling bored with living and wishing for the sensation of a real fight again), and the desire for a serious and ultimate battle.

Goku fits ALL of these conditions. He is an alien sent to Earth for his protection, grew up in hostile conditions (surviving on his own for most of his childhood, constant battles with Nation-level threats throughout his teen years, constant battles with world or universe-level threats throughout his adulthood), trained extensively until he was the best of the best, has the ultimate dream of a truly satisfying battle (a dream he routinely seeks out by facing down powerful foes), and being entirely bored with mundane life because there's absolutely no challenge to it, not to mention the fact he has the ultimate dream of becoming the strongest, something he shares with Saitama's pre-OPM self.

Since Goku fits ALL the conditions needed to make this battle exempt from the gag, we will NOT be considering it, as Saitama is not a True Gag Character, and Goku fitting conditions for nullifying it means we can assume actual power limits and such.

So let's look at feats of power. Saitama's Serious Side Hop technique allowed him to create AT LEAST 60 after-images (based on the manga panel) which, when compared with Sonic's 4, means Saitama was moving 15x faster than Sonic in that moment (bare minimum). An afterimage like that is created by moving at least 572mph, stopping in each position for at least 1/255th of a second (any less and the human eye can't pick up on it), so by moving from position A to B for 1/255th of a second and back to A, going 572mph between the two, you create the afterimage.

Sonic creates 4 simultaneously, meaning he needs to move to 3 positions and then back to starting position, or go from A to B, B to A, A to C, C to A, A to D, and repeat.

This means Sonic, to move into each of these positions in less than 1/255th of a second, would need to be moving ~4x faster than the speed for one afterimage. That puts him as moving at 2,228mph while creating those 4 afterimages. Given he is capable of Mach 5 speeds (he's said to be hypersonic) this feat is easy for him, as Mach 5 is 3,805mph. I assume, just as it's easier to move at top speed in a straight line than at sharp turns for a normal person, it's likely more difficult to create such consistent afterimages and so the difficulty that makes it his best attack is from the technique and reaction involved, not the speed itself.

In any case, if Saitama made at least 60 afterimages, putting him at 15x faster than Sonic's speed while creating 4, that puts Saitama's speed at 33,420mph just to account for the 60 we can count in the manga panel. This means 33,420 is the MINIMUM speed we can assume for Saitama's max ability. To be generous, given he wasn't winded after doing that and given he was able to react incredibly easily to the near-instant directional changes, I'll be kind and put his maximum speed at 10,000x this number.

That puts Saitama's speed at 334,200,000mph, or 49.8% the speed of light. We'll be kind again and say 50% the speed of light, round up that last .2%

So we have a speed value for Saitama. Now what about Goku? Well, let's look at Goku on Namek, for a moment. Base form Goku, at the start of his fight against Freeza. Goku, BEFORE his super saiyan transformation, was moving at 3.26 (we'll round down to 3) times the speed of light. How do I get this number? Buckle up, it's involved.

The Namekian ship Bulma, Krillin, and Gohan took to get to Namek made it from Earth to Jupiter in "seconds". That means less than a minute, so we'll say it took them 1 minute just to lowball it and to have a solid starting number. Jupiter, when the two planets are at their closest to each other (assuming shorter distance for slower speed, another lowball), is 365,000,000 miles from Earth. This means the Namekian ship moved 365mil miles in 1 minute.

That puts the Namekian ship at a speed of 21.9 billion miles per hour. They made it to Namek in 30 days of travel. The ship Goku took to Namek made the trip in 5 days. That means Goku's ship is 6 times faster than the Namekian ship. Don't worry, the ship speed DOES matter in this, I promise you.

So Goku's ship moves at 131,400,000,000mph. That's 131 billion, 400 million miles per hour. Or 195x the speed of light.

Why does the ship speed matter so much, you might ask?

Because King Kai could visually keep up with the ship. He was able to track Goku's progress with ease, and could see his ships movements without problems. This means King Kai's eyes and brain are capable of perceiving and processing things that move at 195x the speed of light.

Why does that matter? Because Super Saiyan is canonically a 50x multiplier to ALL base ability. Strength, speed, durability, etc.

And Goku, in Super Saiyan, was moving so fast King Kai stated he could no longer keep up. King Kai, capable of seeing and processing the input of vision on a ship moving 195x the speed of light, could not see or process the input of vision on Super Saiyan Goku.

We'll lowball it, and say Goku only needed to move 1 mph faster than 195x the speed of light for King Kai to lose track of him. So whatever value we get, we'll add 1mph to for Goku's base form speed.

So 195x the speed of light +1mph. 195/50=3.9x the speed of light. That's 2,616,900,000mph, adding in the extra mph makes it 2,616,900,001mph. So Base Form Goku moves at ~3.9x the speed of light, ON NAMEK. Super Saiyan is a 50x multiplier, putting him at ~195x the speed of light. Super Saiyan 2 is a 100x multiplier to Base, so 390x the speed of light. Super Saiyan 3 is a 400x multiplier, so 1,560x the speed of light. Super Saiyan God is a 20,000 multiplier so 78,000x the speed of light. Super Saiyan Blue is a 1 million times multiplier, so 3,900,000x the speed of light. And lastly, Mastered Ultra Instinct is a 300 billion times multipler, so 1.17 trillion times the speed of light.

Why did I bother going through all those multipliers? He wins in Base as of Namek saga lol. Anyway, continuing on to strength now that we've established Base Goku on Namek could move 3.9x faster than the Speed of Light while Saitama could only move at 0.5x the Speed of Light.

Strength. Okay. This one is harder to gauge, but we CAN gauge it. We'll go in terms of level of damage, so human level (would be on-par or less than peak human ability), town level (small towns), city level (large cities), nation level (an entire nation, less than a continent), continent level (one or more nations that span an entire continent), world-surface level (the surface of an Earth-sized planet), Planetary (capable of destroying an entire Earth-sized planet), Solar (capable of destroying a solar system), Galactic (capable of destroying a galaxy), multi-galactic (capable of destroying many galaxies), Universal (capable of destroying an entire universe), Multiversal (capable of destroying multiple universes).

We'll start with Goku this time. Goku's punches are, as of the Battle of Gods arc, strong enough to match Beerus perfectly to nullify the shockwaves of Beerus' attacks. Mind you, the mere shockwave of Beerus' attacks are enough to rip and tear the fabric of the universe itself, as stated by Elder Kai. This puts Goku's punches as being powerful enough to tear the fabric of the universe in when he first obtained Super Saiyan God. Why does this matter for Base Goku? Because Base Goku retained his SSJG power, as stated by Beerus.

So Goku in Base, post-battle of gods, is physically capable of punches that can tear apart the universe from the aftershocks alone. This is important to note because Elder Kai could physically feel the shockwaves from the World of the Kais. This makes Goku Universe-level in strength. This means Goku, post-BoG, in Super Saiyan is 50x stronger than what's needed for Universal, while Goku, as of current manga canon (assuming he didn't actually get any stronger since BoG and is simply more powerful due to new transformations) is capable of a form (Mastered Ultra Instinct) that puts him 300 billion times stronger than minimum Universe level strength.

And Saitama? Where does he fit here? Well, I thought this gap would be bigger honestly? But after researching, it seems the gap isn't all that big. Saitama has, canonically, with a Serious Punch, snuffed out an entire cylinder of stars and presumably every planet, moon, asteroid, and more, at a distance surpassing that of our solar system, and with a diameter surpassing it as well. This puts Saitama's power (if we lowball it MASSIVELY) at Solar. He could, in a single punch, destroy our entire solar system, and he wouldn't even need to be serious to do it. It's worth noting this is coupled with Garou's own Saitama-level Serious Punch, so we can assume this level of power is double Saitama's own.

So how do we determine the specifics? Well, he cleared an area large enough to cover, presumably, half the area of stars destroyed in the path of his and Garou's serious punches.

Through future revelations in the series we learn they didn't "destroy" every star in that path, but likely only several were destroyed, and possibly a galaxy, while the remainder of the void left behind was from the shockwave forcing every other star within range into a new position, creating a void in space that all stars had been moved from, save the few that were in the DIRECT path of their attack.

Another theory is that the Serious Punch^2 simply distorted the photons in the area, resulting in the appearance of a massive void, and this theory is based on the angles in the manga and comments made by other characters that paint Earth as the only thing in real danger from the power of the attack.

To be fair to Saitama, where we would lowball Goku, we'll highball Saitama, and say the Serious Punch^2 outright destroyed every star in the area. That level of power would, naturally, have shockwaves that push nearby stars out of the way AND distort photons in the area, resulting in a massive cone of destruction surrounded by a large cylinder of force.

This puts Saitama at, quite easily, multi-galactic level of strength.

But why did I say this gap isn't as big as I expected? One simple thing. Saitama has canonically punched his way into a different dimension in the manga. That means he's capable of brute-forcing his way out of the bounds of his universe. He is capable of physically destroying the fabric of the universe.

Meaning Saitama's strength is, bare minimum, Universal in close proximity. That puts him, strength-wise, on par with Goku, who through training has become stronger than Super Buu (who was so strong he could shout his way out of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, a dimension separate from our own), meaning Goku is also Universal in close proximity.

So...while I expected Saitama to be ~Planetary, MAYBE he'd be Solar at most...Research indicates he's actually Universal, or near-Universal, meaning the fight may not be too far a gap after all.

Goku may have Saitama beat on speed (given recent manga events in OPM, I'm willing to allow that Saitama is faster than light speed, but Goku having as many forms as he does (Kaioken, which he can combine with other forms and can hit a multiplier of x100 on top of whatever power he currently has, SSJ1-3, SSJG, SSJB, MUI) means even if Saitama matches Base Goku, he's likely not going to stand up to his stronger forms).

But on strength, I'd wager they're close enough for this fight to be one hell of a battle.

What about Durability? After all, all the strength in the world won't save you if you're as easy to kill as a simple bullet to the head, right?

Goku has withstood universe-ripping punches (from Beerus, the God of Destruction, and based on comments in the manga he's one of the stronger Gods of Destruction too), dimension-tearing attacks (from Goku Black, pre-Fusion), energy blasts that even the Gods of Destruction were nervous of (from Jiren during the Tournament of Power), and he survived multiple blasts from Granolah post-wish buff, who was renowned for his sniping power pre-wish, and post-wish was as powerful as he would be if he had spent every single second of the next 147 years training non-stop with the absolute healthiest amount of rest and physical care, making him, presently, as powerful as he would be at the END of that time, with the price paid being that he only had 3 years to live as he lost 1 year of his lifespan for each power boost.

It was also clear that Granolah was the strongest in the universe...at the time of his wish. Goku and Vegeta, who were already on their way, were not as powerful as Granolah even with their transformations. They became stronger during their fight with him, and stronger still during their fight with Gas (who was more powerful than Granolah after Gas transformed and mastered his transformation).

So we can safely assume Goku is Multiversal in Durability, as he himself was able to output Universal damage with each punch, and he was able to survive hits from beings drastically stronger than himself.

What about Saitama? Well, Saitama was able to survive the force of the Serious Punch^2 and he was able to casually bust his way into another dimension. So his Serious Punch, if he wanted it to, could easily destroy the barrier between universes or dimensions.

And given he survived the force of two of them impacting each other, I would put Saitama at, bare minimum, Universe-level durability. But given he was able to survive prolonged battle against Garou, who is a Power Mimic and has shown Saitama-level strength, we can safely assume Saitama is BEYOND Universal-level durability, and so we can put him right there with Goku at Multiversal durability.

So what do we have so far?

Goku has speed equal to, in Base Form, 3.9x lightspeed, and 1.17 trillion times lightspeed in his most powerful form.

Goku has Universal level strength in Base Form, 300 billion times that in his most powerful form.

Goku has Universal durability in Base Form, Multiversal durability in his most powerful form (300 billion times his Base Form's durability).

Saitama has speed equal to, at minimum, 0.5x lightspeed, and at maximum, if we highball it, 2x lightspeed.

Saitama has Universal strength.

Saitama has Universal durability at minimum, and Multiversal durability at maximum.

At this point, I'm convinced the speed difference between Base Goku and Saitama means nothing. Saitama's durability means even with Base Goku moving at his top speed, his impacts won't be enough to beat Saitama. At top speed Base Goku may be putting out Universal damage, but he's not putting out enough to actually BEAT Saitama. Only injure.

Making me rethink my "Goku wins in Base lol" claim earlier, how dare you!

Anyway, at this point, Goku would HAVE to transform to beat Saitama. His ability to sense power and Saitama's evident inability to suppress it (as evidenced by multiple characters sensing his ungodly power even while Saitama is completely relaxed) would mean Goku would know, right away, he needs to transform for the fight.

Saitama's durability means Goku would likely need Super Saiyan 2 or 3, or, more likely, SSJG. Super Saiyan God's multiplier to Granolah-arc Goku, after all of his training with Whis and Vegeta, would most likely be enough to beat Saitama. And given SSJG is enough to "most likely" beat him, then Super Saiyan Blue (aka Super Saiyan God Super Saiyan, the form above SSJG) is surely enough, and Mastered Ultra Instinct (a form drastically more powerful than SSJB) is absolutely more than enough to beat Saitama.

And given Goku's mastery over the Kaioken technique, and he's been shown to enter Kaioken x 20 while in Super Saiyan Blue for fair amounts of time as of the Moro saga, meaning even if SSB wasn't enough, given MUI is overkill, it's possible SSB x10 or x20 would be.

The point being, Goku wins this fight due to a combination of technique, experience, and power from his transformations. Given Goku is faster than Saitama and would sense his power as Saitama doesn't know how to suppress it, nothing Saitama could do would be a surprise attack to Goku, meaning Goku would have ample opportunity to react to everything Saitama does.

And given the relatively similar strengths the two bear, Goku would recognize he needs to transform to beat Saitama's output.

And given Saitama's greater durability than Base Goku, and greater durability than even what Saitama himself can put out, Goku would see he needs to transform to have enough of his own output to beat Saitama's durability.

Conclusion: Goku would absolutely win this fight, BUT...I'll give Saitama credit where it's due.

Out of everyone on the entire list, Saitama is the fairest matchup here, and the one most likely to give Goku a truly satisfying fight, given it would be a battle on par with those Goku has enjoyed most.

Kingdom Hearts Mickey

K.H. Mickey has a clear power limit and ability set. He is not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, or durable enough to beat Goku, but he is just enough of a threat for Goku to actually put his guard up, which is why K.H. Mickey would lose; Goku would see it as a fight, unlike with Kevin.

Crash Bandicoot

Crash isn't nearly powerful enough to be a threat to Goku, but he IS insane enough to push Goku to hostility. Goku would feel the need to put effort into getting him away and that is his downfall.

Hatsune Miku

Goku would assume she is a Red Ribbon android and fight her on assumption she's trying to kill him or bring harm to Earth. He would hit her full force expecting her to tank it and she would keel over dead instantly.

Wario

Everything he could possibly do, the Red Ribbon Army has tried and done better, and they've never beaten Goku. Neither would he.

Sans

Lost to a child with slightly above average human determination, and standard human strength and speed. He does not beat Goku.

And just because you specifically told me not to @ you, have this :)

@that-one-enby-onyx

[mocchii-writes]

Hi, could I please request jealous and possessive Chishiya? Thanks

Paring: Chishiya Shuntaro x fem!reader

Warnings: Aggressive guys, reader gets kinda uncomfy, mentions of showering together lols

A/n: Hope headcanons work, totally willing to expand this, tho just lmk ♡

The type to lowkey stalk you before dating

He wouldn't think of it as stalking tho. He would just want to know more about you

He would claim he doesn't get jealous, but he does

Arisu getting a little too friendly? Oh boy

He'll find a good moment to briefly pull him to the side

Arisu is innocent, he just gets a talk

It's possibly a scary one, but better than a random guy touching you up sometime

Don't they know you're his?

Well, they do now!

And he'll try to keep you out of the loop

Though you may question where he got split knuckles, he'll brush you off

He might get a little clingy after

At least, for Chishiya

"You know you're mine, right?" He'd say, not really asking

"Are you jealous?" You smiled

"That's not what I said."

You might decide to hang out at the pool for a little

but you know that never lasts long

After one too many people hugging you, or a few more guys talking to you than Chishiya would prefer, you'd feel two hands on your waist, and a swift exit would be made

He'd have a huge glaring issue

but he doesn't care, nor is it an issue to him

It scares off most problems people, though

He's the type to get silent revenge

He's not one for making a scene, usually, but if it's the easiest option, well...

You were sipping a nice tropical drink, sitting by the pool with your legs in the water, when a boy walks up to you, clearly checking you out as he sits beside you.

"Hey there." He smiles at you. He seems innocent enough, and he probably isn't aware that you're not up for grabs, but Chishiya isn't one for the benefit of the doubt. He knows how this will end, but he watches from the shade to grasp how much he could get away with.

"Hi!" You smile, waving back. The boy quickly breaks his soft exterior and rests his hand on your shoulder, smirking at you. It's almost funny if you weren't so uncomfortable.

"Wanna go catch some shade?" He stands up, pulling you with him a little aggressively. His serenade is cut short, though, as he feels a harsh sting shoot up his calf as he stumbles into the pool. A hand briefly covers your eyes from the splash, and you don't have to think twice when you're being pulled away by Chishiya, leaving a commotion behind you.

"A little aggressive, no?" You ask him. He simply shrugs in response.

He'd almost never get upset at you because you never flirt back with anybody but the man himself

Sometimes, though, he can mistranslate a situation and get upset

He usually gives you the silent treatment until he'll finally breaks, snapping something at you

"Do I not satisfy your expectations? Am I not enough for you?" He'd say angrily.

"Chi-Shi, you know that's not true. Stop it!" You'd plead.

"If you're so interested in other people, go on then." He doesn't mean it. He never does. He knows if you tried to leave, he would beg if he needed to. He truly can't live without you, but you'd never hear him say that.

Whenever he's jealous, you can tell.

He'll always deny it, but he's got a darker look in his eye, and he's probably a little clingier

Very touchy, in private more than public

He'll hold you in public if he wants to send a message, though.

When you're spending time with him (often) he probably will struggle to let you up

"I need to shower. Please let me get up." You'd smile, whining.

"Only if you let me join." You wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face as you struggled and eventually gave up with a sigh.

A/n: Hope this works, Anon! I was trying not to surpass the line between possessive and yandere, but I assumed it wasn't too big of a deal ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ also had some NSFW ideas for this too, so lmkkk

~🍡🍡

Send requests!!

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 13: Piece Me Back Together

Summary: Your pack deals with the aftermath of your heat.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex irl), spanking (it’s like once), choking (kind of), light Dom/sub dynamics, Johnny's praise kink, excessive use of the word cock, heat cycles, mating cycles, brief mention of blood, brief medical stuff, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, and of course a little fluff

A/N: Well folks, we've made it past the heat portion of the fic. Now things can really start moving. Lots of aftercare, some world building, and of course a little spice at the end for you all to enjoy (as if the last chapter wasn't enough lol). I tried to catch all the possible tags for this one but as always, let me know if I missed one. The smut happens in the very last scene, so if you'd prefer not to read it, then skip that last little bit. You won't really miss much. Also, there's a lot of jumping around in time in this one so I tried to mark when things are happening relative to the present moment in the fic.

Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

6 Days Ago

“Looks comfortable.” 

Kyle glances up as Johnny closes the door to his room, blanket and pillow in hand. “Slept on worse.” He shrugs, glancing down at the cot set up in the hallway before looking back up at Johnny. “Moving out?” 

“Camping in Si’s office for the next week. Keep our distance.” He nods at the closed door. 

“Probably for the best.” Kyle says. “Have fun!” 

“Don’t enjoy yourself too much.” Johnny winks at him before making his way down the hallway and disappearing around the corner. 

Kyle shakes his head, starting to sort through the many bags of supplies they’ve stocked up on in preparation for their omega’s heat. They’re well prepared, all of them, for the next week, Kyle especially. He’s spent the last few days reading up on what to expect, how to best help and support his alpha and omega, and what to look out for in case things start going wrong. He doesn’t think they will. He has a lot of faith in Price and he knows Price will take good care of their omega. 

Still, he can’t help but feel a bit nervous. He has a big job to do, even though there’s not much to do until after the heat is over with. He just has to ensure Price doesn’t hurt you accidentally, or maul you to death. He doesn’t think that’s likely to happen, but then again, one can never know. 

Kyle lets out a shaky breath, grabbing the bags with the electrolytes and nutrient bars before heading for your door. 

It’s going to be a long week. 

Present Day

It’s quiet. Has been for almost an hour now. Kyle rises from the cot, slipping his phone into his pocket. He slowly approaches the door, leaning in to listen for a moment before putting his hand on the knob. He lets out a breath before pushing the door open slowly, slipping in and closing the door quietly. The smells in the room are worse than they had been last night, a toxic mix of omega, alpha, sex, and sweat. He takes a moment to breathe, adjusting to the scent. 

You and Price are spooned together on the bed, asleep, or at least you are. Price had pulled the blankets up around you, tucking you in. Kyle approaches slowly, not wanting to accidentally step on a wrapper and startle either of you and risk you getting scared or Price getting territorial. He brushes the damp strands of hair from your face, your body temperature significantly lower than it had been even last night. He pulls the forehead thermometer from his pocket, taking your temperature quickly before sending a text to Dr. Keller. 

He carefully lifts the blankets, checking beneath. You’re still locked together as he expected, and he lowers the blankets back down, tucking you both in again. He unplugs Price’s phone from the charging cord that he’d plugged in last night, rotating it to your phone. He knew the chances of either of you being aware enough to use a phone for anything would be low, but just in case, he kept them both charged. 

He tiptoes through the mess of wrappers and bottles, grabbing the bag of trash that he had started a couple days ago. He picks up the mess on the floor, cleaning off the nightstand as well before setting out a new bottle of electrolytes and a couple nutrient bars. There’s still quite a few left, but those could be saved for your next heat. 

Price stirs a bit as Kyle sets the bag of trash off to the side next to the bag of things that would have to go to the wash. He hurries over, gently keeping Price from moving too much. 

“Easy. You’re still knotted.” He says, putting a hand on Price’s shoulder as you let out a quiet sound. His skin is warm and sticky from sweat, and probably other things. 

Price rubs his eyes before blinking up at Kyle. “What day is it?” 

“Morning of the sixth day.” He answers, passing Price the bottle of electrolytes. “I think it’s over. Her temperature’s back to normal. Just waiting on Dr. Keller’s opinion.” 

Price hums, unscrewing the cap from the bottle before taking a long drink. “Feel like shit.” 

Kyle grins. “Been a long week for you, Cap. How do you feel?” 

Price screws the cap back on the bottle before leaning over you to place it on the nightstand. “Like I got hit by a truck and rolled down a hill.” 

“Speaking from experience, sir?” Kyle smirks. 

Price gives him a look before closing his eyes again, relaxing against your back. He lets out a groan as his knot deflates, his cock slipping from your folds. “Christ, that's going to hurt later.”

“Let me get the bath started.” Kyle says, going into your bathroom. 

He starts the water, making sure it’s warm enough before he grabs the epsom salt off the counter and adds some in. He leaves the water running as he moves back to the bedroom, helping Price off the bed first. The alpha groans as he stands, leaning heavily against Kyle’s side. Kyle wraps his arm around his shoulders, supporting Price as they make their way to the bathroom. 

“I’ve been beaten, tortured, shot. I’ve jumped out of moving cars, been in helicopter crashes.” Price says, grunting as Kyle helps him down into the bath. “This might be the worst I’ve ever felt.” 

“Not quite as spry as you used to be, old man?” Kyle teases, making sure he’s comfortable. 

“Plenty spry, but god I forgot how energetic omegas can be.” Price leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. 

“Just relax.” Kyle says, turning off the water. “I’ll bring her in.” 

He heads back into your room, approaching the bed. You’re shivering, eyes squeezed closed and eyebrows pinched. Kyle kneels down next to the bed, placing a gentle hand on your arm. You start a bit at the touch, a quiet whimper leaving your lips. 

“Shh, easy love.” Kyle tries to soothe you as you shake. “You’re alright.” 

You let out a whine, seeking out your alpha in your disoriented state. The bathwater splashes as Price shifts in response to your call, his own instincts still on high alert. 

“Let’s get you into the bath.” Kyle says before gently slipping his arms under you and lifting you up. 

You let out a whine in protest, your body sore and aching from the last six days. Kyle quickly carries you to the bath, easing you into the water between Price’s legs. You’re trembling, quiet whines leaving your lips as he eases you back against Price’s chest. The alpha wraps his arms around you, a quiet rumble sounding from his chest as he tries to ease your disorientation and discomfort. 

Kyle leaves you and Price there to soak as he heads back to the room to strip the sheets and start the laundry. Most of your pillows and stuffed animals are stacked in the corner of the room by your desk, spared from the mess that the bed has turned into. The sheets are still wet with a concoction of fluids, and he knows they’ll need to soak for a while. He stuffs them into the bag with your clothes, along with your blankets, before he heads down the hall to the laundry room. 

He checks on you and Price when he returns, both of you content still in the bath. He can’t help but smile as he watches the two of you, pride swelling in his chest at the sight of his alpha taking care of their omega. 

Their omega. 

It seems almost strange to think now. They’d gone so long without an omega, and thought they wouldn’t be getting one. Now, six weeks later, they’ve all fallen head over heels for a little omega none of them even knew they needed. He can’t imagine life without an omega now, how well you fit into their pack, how well you fit with all of them, how you’ve only served to make them stronger and more efficient. 

He hates to admit that perhaps Laswell was right. 

Maybe they did need you after all. 

Kyle bags up the plastic mattress protector, glad to see it did its job. He replaces the sheets and blankets for now, knowing you’ll want to nest once you’re more aware. He checks his phone before heading back into the bathroom, kneeling down next to the tub. Your shaking has subsided, reduced to a shudder here and there as you’ve slowly relaxed in the hot water. 

Kyle grabs a cloth and your body wash, starting to gently clean your skin, or at least get the sweat and other fluids off. Bruises litter your skin and the claiming mark on your shoulder is scabbed and angry. Kyle carefully washes it, not wanting to apply too much pressure as he cleans off the dried blood still stuck to your skin. He knows it’s going to hurt for a while. 

“What did Dr. Keller say?” Price asks as he helps ease you up so Kyle can wash your back. 

“Said if her temperature is normal then the worst is over.” Kyle answers. “She wants to do a check up soon, make sure everything’s alright. Said she’d come here to do it, if that’s alright.” 

Price grunts quietly as Kyle starts to wash his chest. “That’s fine. Easier than going all the way to the medical building. Simon and Johnny?” 

“Fine.” Kyle answers. “Been keeping busy running drills and stuff. Johnny’s been keeping Simon occupied.” 

Price hums, letting his eyes close as Kyle washes his neck and shoulders. “Good.” 

Kyle makes sure to get all of the soap rinsed off before pulling the plug on the water, carefully lifting you up to stand. He lets you lean against him, grabbing one of the towels to dry you off as best he can. Price gets himself standing, drying himself off as Kyle helps you back to bed. Price joins you, wrapping his arms around you tight as Kyle tucks the blankets up around you both. 

“Can I get you anything?” Kyle asks as he sets a new bottle of electrolytes on the nightstand. “Real food maybe?” 

“I’d kill for some bangers and mash, maybe a pint.” Price says, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” Kyle says, glancing at you one last time before he leaves the room. 

Your body aches. There’s a deep soreness in your muscles, and a painful throb between your legs. Your skin feels raw and tight, and there's a steady pulse behind your eyes. A quiet sound leaves your lips before you can stop it, the sound cracking and broken from your raw throat. There's a desert in your mouth again, your tongue dry and heavy in your mouth.

Your thoughts are dragged away from the agony in your body as a quiet rumbling starts somewhere in front of you, your brain going quiet except for the need to seek it out. You press yourself closer to it, meeting warm skin as you try to get closer and closer. You want to bury yourself in it, seep into its depths until you can feel the vibrations of it in your bones. Arms wrap around you, pulling you in closer until you're squished against a bare chest. 

You press your face against the soft skin, trying to get closer to the rumbling purr vibrating from deep within. You let out another sound, body going lax as the purr lulls you into a relaxed state. The tension leaves your body, easing the ache in your muscles a bit. Not much, but enough to pull a relieved sigh from your lips. 

“Easy, love.” A quiet voice says, another hand touching your back. 

You tense slightly at the intrusion on your safe space, but quickly relax as the hand stills on your skin. The calming scent of beta overtakes you, easing your mind to a quiet hum as your alpha and beta work to calm you. You feel a bit disoriented as reality slowly begins to return, seeping back into your brain. 

You went into heat. 

You remember waking up with the blistering inferno burning hot within you, the insatiable need pulsing between your legs. You remember Kyle being there, the soft scent of him as he helped you prepare, pulling off your clothes and making you drink some of the electrolytes. You remember John entering the room, the way his scent made your brain feel like mush. You remember him sinking his teeth into your shoulder, his knot forcing you open before everything went dark. 

Everything else is a dark blur, wiped from your memory after your instincts took over. 

You shift against the body you’re pressed close to, a deep ache rippling through you. It hurts, everything hurts. Your hips are sore, your shoulder is throbbing, every muscle feels like you just did a triathlon with no training, and there’s a sharp throbbing between your thighs. 

You’re crying before you even realize it, the tears uncontrollable as they slide down your cheeks, the quiet sniffles and sobs aggravating your already aching body. The arms around you tighten, the purring getting louder, but you can’t stop the onslaught of tears. 

You flinch as something tickles the skin of your forehead, chapped lips pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. You let out a whine as you continue to cry, your mind a swirl of confusion and disorientation as you try to come to terms with everything that’s happened. You don’t know how long it’s been, what day it is. You don’t even know what happened to you in the last week. 

You continue to cry, oblivious to the conversation happening over you, the gentle purring in your ears lulling you into a dazed state as you float in and out of consciousness. The pain of being moved momentarily brings you back before you settle again, laying back against a chest. A baggy shirt is pulled over your head, smelling of your alpha. The fabric feels different than it had days ago when you’d woken up in the throes of your heat. It’s soft, not offending, and it offers you warmth and comfort. 

You don’t want to move, you don’t want to do anything. Exhaustion pulls at the edges of your mind as you lay there, the tears still streaming down your cheeks.

He hasn’t stopped purring since you woke up. The low rumble in his chest hasn’t stopped, and neither has the ache blooming there since you started crying. Even in your dazed, half asleep state, the tears still roll down your cheeks, quiet shaky breaths catching every so often. He’s not sure what to do, how to help. He’s never been with an omega that’s cried before. Not like this. 

His purring kicks up in volume as you startle awake when the door opens, letting out a broken whimper as your space suddenly gets invaded. He tries to soothe you, his arms tightening around you to try and ground you in his presence. 

“Hi, honey.” Dr. Keller says, kneeling down next to the bed, her voice soft and the scent of beta thick in the air. “Still a bit out of it, huh?” 

“She hasn’t stopped crying since she woke up.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on your arm with his thumb. 

“That’s not unusual.” Dr. Keller says, digging through her bag to pull out a thermometer. “There’s a lot going on right now for her. Besides the exhaustion and the confusion and the pain, there’s a lot of rapid hormonal changes happening. Some omegas can just wake up and hop out of it immediately and be just fine.” 

John frees one of your arms so Dr. Keller can take your pulse and blood pressure. 

“Others might struggle a bit more.” She continues. “Purebred omegas especially have a hard time coming out of it. They’re more sensitive to those instincts and the sudden cut off of them is rather jarring.” She puts her equipment back in her bag. “Her vitals look good, which makes me confident to hold off on any further examinations until she’s more alert and aware.” 

“Are there things we should look out for?” Kyle asks. 

“She’s going to be drowsy and fatigued for a while, but if you can’t wake her at all, call me. If her breathing gets shallow or her pulse weakens or she starts developing a fever again, call me. Also check for blood the next time she uses the bathroom. Her vitals aren’t showing any indication of internal injuries, though, so I think she’ll be just fine.” She pulls a pill bottle from her bag. “I’ve prescribed some muscle relaxers for her. There’s a week’s worth in there. It’ll help with the pain and discomfort, but they will make her sleepy. The best thing she can do right now is rest and recover. Once she’s more aware, you can try some soft foods and lots of liquids. If she’s really struggling, I can set up an IV and get some fluids into her, perk her up a bit.” 

“Thank you.” John says, shifting you slightly so Dr. Keller can look at the bite mark on your shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” She asks him, pulling out a disinfectant wipe.

“Sore.” John huffs out a laugh. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.” 

Dr. Keller hums as she cleans the wound on your shoulder. “I know I’m not here to give you medical advice, but as your omega’s doctor I feel the need to remind you not to ignore your own symptoms. She needs you right now, more than ever. So don’t try to macho man your way through anything. You need to rest just as much as she does.” 

“Yes, doctor.” He grumbles, adjusting your shirt once she’s done. 

Dr. Keller gives him a smile. “You did a good job.” She turns to Kyle. “Both of you. Don’t hesitate to call me. It’s what I’m here for.” 

A smile tugs at John’s lips as Kyle practically beams from Dr. Keller’s praise. He did do a good job. You’re both still breathing after all. 

3 Days Ago

“I cannae take anymore.” Johnny pants, his breaths near wheezes as he rests his hands on his knees. “Ye said you'd go easy on me.”

“I never promised anything, Johnny.” Simon says, standing behind him. 

“Hell's bells, L.T.” Johnny groans, dropping to his hands and knees. “Gonna kill me at this rate.”

“Don't be dramatic. C'mon, again.” 

“Uh uh.” Johnny says, flopping onto his side on the ground. “Am pure done in! ‘S almost lunch anyway.” He rolls onto his back, looking in the direction of the barracks as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “Think they're havin’ fun?”

Simon looks down at him, looming over him like a shadow. “Probably seems like it right now. Be a different story when it’s done.”

“Sometimes I wish I knew what it was like.” Johnny says, turning his gaze up to Simon's face. He can't see much under the mask, and right now is one of those moments when he wishes he could. 

“You really don't. It's messy and gory.” Simon offers him a hand, helping Johnny to his feet. “Gotta be prepared to pick up the pieces afterwards.” Simon turns, heading in the direction of the barracks. 

“That why you've never taken an omega?” Johnny asks, following him.

Simon stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at Johnny. Johnny's back straightens at the look in Simon's eyes. No, not Simon. Ghost. He's looking at Ghost again. 

“Drop it. Or I'll make you do another lap.” Ghost says, his voice taking on the low rasp he gets when he's shifted into the laser focused headspace of the Lieutenant. 

“Yes, sir.” Johnny says, following after Ghost as they head back towards the barracks. 

Ghost slips into the showers once they enter, Johnny heading to the corner to peek down the hallway towards their rooms. It's quiet now. It hadn't been when they left earlier. He could hear it as they passed the hall to go out the door, the distant sound of moans and the bedframe knocking against the wall. He had fought the erection threatening to tent his shorts all the way to the field. He knows heats are no light matter, but the mental image he's drawn up of you blissed out, mouth open as you moan, back arching in pleasure has been plaguing him for nearly two weeks. He's desperate, practically chomping at the bit to get a chance to see it himself first hand, to see the real thing putting his mental image to shame. 

He makes his way down the hallway, keeping a respectful distance between himself and your room. Kyle looks up from his spot on the bed where he'd been scrolling on his phone.

“How're they doin’?” Johnny asks, wiping the sweat from his face. 

“Alright. Sleeping for the moment.” Kyle answers. Johnny can only imagine the torture of having to sit and listen to nonstop fucking for the last three days. 

“We're gonna grab lunch soon. Want us tae bring ye somethin’?” 

Kyle nods. “Sure. That'd be great.” 

“Ye got it.” Johnny nods, passing a glance at your door before looking back to Kyle. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, mate.” Kyle says, watching his fellow beta walk back down the hall. 

Johnny glances up from his phone as Simon huffs out what's the tenth sigh in the last three minutes. The alpha is seated at his desk, clicking away at something on his computer and occasionally mashing away at the keyboard rather harshly. Johnny's surprised he hasn't cracked a key yet, or just thrown the whole thing out the window. The beta can see how tightly his alpha is wrung by the tenseness in his shoulders, the hard set of his brow, the set line of his lips, the occasional tick of his jaw. 

“What's got ye all riled up?” Johnny finally breaks the silence, setting his phone aside. 

“Nothing.” Simon grumbles, ignoring Johnny's gaze.

Johnny’s brow furrows and he pushes himself to stand, moving over to Simon’s side. “Doesnae seem like nothin’ to me.” He puts his hands on Simon’s broad shoulders, squeezing them, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Awful tense, Si.” 

“Leave it, Johnny.” Simon grumbles, trying to swat the beta away, but he’s insistent. 

“Wouldnae be a little omega getting you so tense, would it?” Johnny teases. 

Simon turns to him, his eyes darkening. His jaw clenches, hands closing into fists where they sit on the armrests of his chair. “Don’t push it, Johnny.” His voice has that deep rumble to it, the threat of his alpha coming through. 

Johnny stares at him, feeling the danger prickling at the back of his neck, but at the same time, he wants to push that boundary. He wants to see just how far he can push his alpha until he finally gives in. 

“I don’t know why ye keep torturing yourself like this, Si. Ye know ye like her. She’d be more’n willing-” 

“That’s the problem.” Simon snaps, pushing himself up from his seat, forcing Johnny to take a step back. “She’s not doing this because she wants to. She’s only doing this because she’s been told to do it.” 

“She’s an omega. Her whole life was going tae be people tellin’ her what to do and forcin’ her tae do things, even if she didn’t want to. Ye think things would have been different if she’d been put with a different pack?” Johnny doesn’t back down from Simon’s glare, having been on the receiving end of it enough times now he’s almost immune to it. “Things could have been a lot worse for her. She might not have wanted to be here, but she is. Ye can’t change that, Si. No matter how badly you might want to.” 

Johnny can tell by the slow fall to Simon’s tense shoulders that he’s struck home. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it’s what they were dealt. You’re here with them, and he’s going to make sure you feel as comfortable as possible. 

Simon lets out another sigh, turning away from Johnny to crawl into their makeshift bed. He lays down with a huff, closing his eyes. Johnny smirks, slowly crawling onto the two cots pushed together, laying down right next to Simon. He rests his hand on Simon’s thigh, feeling the powerful muscle flex under his hand. He slowly begins to drag it higher, Simon’s eyes opening again. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Simon rasps, but he doesn’t move, even as Johnny reaches the junction of his hip and thigh. 

“Yer all worked up, big guy.” Johnny says, leaning his head on his hand, slowly moving his hand over Simon’s very prominent bulge. “Thought I’d help ye.” 

“What makes you think I want your help?” Simon says, still laying still. 

Johnny lifts his brows, slowly rubbing Simon through his pants. “This looks rather painful, and I seem to be the only option to help, since everyone else is rather occupied-” 

Johnny’s words are cut off as he finds himself suddenly on his back, Simon’s hand around his throat. The alpha is leaning over him, a deep rumble vibrating through his chest. “You talk too much, Johnny.” Simon rumbles, leaning close to the beta’s face. 

“I’ve been told tha’ before.” Johnny says, leaning up to try and kiss his alpha, but Simon backs away before he can make contact. “By you if I remember correctly.” 

Simon’s fingers flex around his throat, a moan spilling from his lips as Simon grinds his hips against Johnny’s. His cock is hard in his pants, has been for a while. He’s not sure if it’s from the lewd thoughts that have been plaguing his mind since you first kissed him, weeks ago, or if it’s just a response to the knowledge that you’re currently fucking their pack alpha like your life depends on it. 

Johnny lets out a whimper, bucking up against Simon desperately. Simon tuts at him, pressing against his throat to keep him still on the bed as he sits himself up on top of the beta. 

“Naughty little thing.” Simon says, staring down into his blue eyes. “Know you’ve been thinking about sinking your cock into the new little omega for weeks.” Johnny lets out a whine, his cock twitching in his pants. “I don’t think you’ll even make it that long, will you pup?” Simon chuckles. “Gonna cum in your pants as soon as you see her tits, huh?” Simon presses down, putting more pressure against his cock as he rubs it through his pants. “Gonna cum in your pants just thinking about it.” 

Johnny holds his breath, trying to focus anywhere except for Simon’s hand. He squeezes his eyes closed as Simon undoes the button on his cargo pants, releasing his throat to tug the fabric down around his knees. 

“Bloody hell.” Simon says, wrapping a hand around Johnny’s hard cock. “Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.” 

“I thought Kyle’s was the prettiest.” Johnny says, opening his eyes to glance down at his alpha. 

“Kyle’s just pretty.” Simon says, slowly stroking Johnny’s cock. “You have the prettiest cock.” 

“Christ...” Johnny breathes as Simon continues to jerk his cock, his hips bucking as he can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. 

A pathetic whimper leaves Johnny’s lips as Simon pulls his hand away, sitting up on his knees over his beta. He undoes his belt, tossing it to the floor before undoing his pants, pulling them and his briefs down to release his own throbbing cock. Johnny licks his lips as Simon fists his own cock, slowly stroking it. 

“Turn around. Let me see that pretty ass.” Simon says. 

“Yes, sir.” Johnny smirks, wiggling himself until he’s flat on his stomach, pushing his ass into the air as best he can with his legs trapped between Simon’s. 

Simon purrs quietly at Johnny’s response, running his hands over his beta’s pert cheeks. “Prettiest ass too.” He murmurs, gently spreading his cheeks. 

“I’m startin’ to think I might be the prettiest.” Johnny says, gasping quietly as a glob of warm spit hits his hole. 

“Give me a night with Kyle and I’ll get back to you on that.” Simon says, pressing a finger into Johnny’s ass. 

Johnny groans, pressing his face into the pillow. “Fucking Christ.” 

“You can take it.” Simon soothes him, reaching down to fish the lube out of the bag he’d tossed it in last night. He squirts some on his finger before pressing further in, spreading Johnny’s ass open. “Good boy.” 

Johnny nearly melts into the cot, letting out a pathetic sound as Simon adds a second finger. He’s still sore from the last three days, but his drive to please his alpha pushes away any sensitivity he’s feeling. That, and the lust burning hot in him. Betas don’t have heat cycles, but he might as well be in the middle of one with how horny he’s been these last few days. He knows part of it is Simon being worked up by the knowledge that there’s an omega in heat nearby, and his own body reacting to his alpha. He’s never been around an omega in heat, and he doesn’t think Simon has either. 

He’s not sure Simon has ever been with an omega at all before. 

More cold lube hits his hole, a second finger pressing in. He gasps at the stretch, squeezing around Simon’s thick fingers. Simon’s other hand trails up his back, pushing his shirt up as he goes. Johnny pushes himself up slightly, tugging the fabric over his head before he relaxes back down against the blankets. 

Simon presses a third finger in, working Johnny open with what still won’t be enough, but Johnny won’t complain. He’s taken his alpha before. He’ll do it gladly again. 

“Fuck, Johnny.” Simon grunts as Johnny squeezes around his fingers again. 

“Cannae help it.” Johnny whines. “Feels too good.” 

“Didn’t say you could cum yet.” Simon says, removing his fingers. “Naughty pup.” 

Johnny lets out a pathetic sounding whimper, pressing his ass up to try and chase Simon’s fingers. He yelps as Simon’s hand meets his skin, his hips dropping back to the bed at the force of Simon’s spank. 

“Stay still.” Simon growls, the cap of the lube popping open again. 

Johnny does as he’s told, keeping himself still as Simon prepares himself. He groans as the tip of Simon’s cock presses against his hole, his hands fisting the sheets at the stretch. Simon’s hand rubs his back, trying to get him to relax. Johnny breathes, forcing himself to go lax, letting Simon slip in further. 

“Good boy.” Simon groans, bracing himself on the bed as he presses further and further into Johnny’s tight hole. “That’s my good boy. You can take it.” 

“Fuck!” Johnny groans, practically preening from the praise. 

“That’s it.” Simon groans, pressing in until his hips are flush with Johnny’s ass. “Bloody fucking hell.” 

Johnny’s mind goes blank as he’s filled, all thoughts leaving at the feeling of his alpha inside of him. He’s panting already, stretched open around his alpha’s cock. Simon begins to move, rocking his hips slowly, drawing his cock out before pushing it back in. Johnny whines, pushing back against Simon, needing more. 

“Please...” Johnny begs. “Please alpha!”

“Fuck.” Simon grunts, bracing himself further before snapping his hips against Johnny. “Like that? That what you want, pup?”

Johnny almost yelps at the sensation, hands fisting the blankets as his body rocks forward on the cot. “Fuck, yes!” 

Simon sets a brutal pace, hips snapping against Johnny’s ass. Pleasure numbs Johnny’s mind as the sensation of Simon inside of him. His cock is trapped between his body and the cot, dragging against the blankets with every thrust. He’s going to cum soon, he knows that. He won’t be able to hold it, not with how sensitive he already is. 

“Gonna cum, can’t hold it!” He whines, pushing back against Simon’s thrusts for more friction. “Fuck, alpha!” 

Johnny cums quickly with a groan, the blankets getting damp under him as he shakes in his release. Simon doesn’t stop, undeterred by Johnny’s clenching around him in his orgasm. He’s going to ring a few more out of Johnny before he’s done. 

They’re both in for a long night. 

NEXT ->

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[gghostwriter]

Something where the reader is like sunshine, but gets cornered by an unsub and takes them down nosweat, the reader used to play ice hockey so they brawl like hell?

And at a dinner Rossi hosts, the reader offers to help cook but Morgan keeps poking the bear, teasing reader about their crush in spencer so reader asks if she can take this outside and Rossi is like "be my guest, knock him down a peg" and reader almost immediately pins Morgan and gets him to tap out

"Motherfucker I played ice hockey, I'll always win" Penelope is just gushing over reader and reader gives a wink to Spence before heading back to the kitchen to help plate up dinner

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader Trope: Friends who Flirt (?); A bit heavier than my usual fluff but still fluff, I guess Warning: CM violence, vague descriptions of fight scenes A/N: Anon, going to be honest, I had a hard time writing this. I don’t have much knowledge on ice hockey or any sport in general so I tried my best to google moves from hockey and defense that I can incorporate here. Also I know you mentioned Reader to be a sunshine type but I kinda tweaked it so the Reader can be sweet and snarky both at the same time. No further editing was done, hope that’s alright and I hope you still enjoy this! Main masterlist

Ice Princess. // Spencer Reid

You’d like to think you were hired to join the highly sought after, golden child of the FBI—The BAU—due to your well rounded resume and skill set. But a year into being part of the team, you were starting to get the feeling you were hand selected to match Dr. Spencer Reid’s intellect and observation skills. In most cases, the two of you were always teamed up, working on geographical profiles, visiting the autopsy labs, and setting base in the police stations. All were an integral part of the job, you understood plus you’ve built an incredible rapport (crush) on the 187 IQ genius, but sometimes you miss the adrenaline and physical leg work that goes through catching an unsub. How is it that Morgan gets to kick down as many doors as he wants and you can’t? 

“Princess, is that what i think it is?” Morgan asked, spotting you enter the bullpen with a large pink Tupperware on hand. “It is isn’t it?”

“Uh huh, but they’re not all for you!” You reached inside to grab two pre-packaged home made cookies and tossed them in his direction. 

He looked at the two pieces he had on hand and back to the Tupperware. “That looks like it holds more than twenty pieces. So how is it I only get two?”

You giggled. “Congratulations SSA Derek Morgan, you know how to estimate.”

“Ha ha very funny, Ice Princess,” he stood to take a peek over your shoulder. “But I was right, what gives Y/N?”

A cup of steaming coffee was placed on your desk, courtesy of Spencer. “Hey Y/N. How was your weekend?” 

You blushed. “It was great! I spent my time at the ice skating rink and baking. Look, cookies!” 

“I see how it is,” Morgan teased, watching the two youngest members blush and flirt with each other. “Does pretty boy over here get more than two pieces?”

“Yes, he does. He gets four to be exact since he’s really nice—”

Morgan averted his eyes and fake coughed ‘crush’ causing you to blush even more than you thought possible.

“—and Hotch gets four, too.” 

“Wait wait,” he held up his hands. “Reid, I get. But Hotch?”

You shrugged. “He is our boss, after all.”

“I can smell the lie from a mile away, Princess. What is it really?” He paused, making eye contact with Spencer before turning back to you.

“Bribery,” they both stated.

You stomped your boot clad foot on the ground, in defense. “No it’s not!”

He laughed. “Face it, Y/N. The big man will never put you in the line of fire, not if he could help it. Don’t you think so, Reid?” 

“He does have a point. The percentage of you being partnered up with Morgan in the past cases was at a measly 3% and you were only partnered up with him because Hotch was also there to cover your back—” the glare you were giving him was enough for him to backtrack. “—Not that you can’t take care of yourself—that’s not what I’m saying, you’re a great agent, you have the skills—” each word intensifying your gaze. “I’ll stop now.” He squeaked out.

Morgan patted his back. “What he meant to say was, Hotch has a soft spot for you and your lean, glitter wearing build. Which reminds me, when will we ever see videos of you twirling and jumping on ice, Princess?”

You laughed, his assumption of you being an ice skating princess never failed to make you chuckle. If only he knew the truth. “Never, Morgan. Never.” 

———

In the grand scheme of things, maybe the universe had heard your grumbles and finally decided to throw you a bone. It happened during the latest case in Florida, a narcissistic male unsub was loose on the streets attacking and kidnapping women that all shared the same physical traits as you. This information was pointed out when the team had found the third victim’s body—mangled and throat deeply slashed that her head was almost severed. They all shared similarities with you—slight build and delicate features. So it came as a no surprise when the unsub set his eyes on you as the next victim.

“You’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he whispered to your ears, having been caught in a bear hug attack. “I bet I could snap you in half, like a toothpick. I’ll enjoy breaking you.” 

Bending forward, you twisted your upper body to elbow his face, and breaking free. “Try me.” 

You cursed your luck, having left behind your holster in the hotel room. You were just stepping out to grab a case file left behind in the SUV when the unsub cornered you and made his move.

The smirk on your face seemed to enrage him, enough for him to come charging at you like a bull. You kept your mind cool, feinting to the left—a body fake move from hockey before throwing a heel palm strike straight to his nose, causing it to break and bleed. The unsub howls in pain and while he was pre-occupied, you quickly twist his arm throwing him to the ground.

By the time the remaining members of the team came to your rescue, you were sitting on the unconscious unsub with your hair mused and a saccharine smile on your face. Morgan says nothing, eyebrows raised, as he all but drags the unsub to the nearest police car.

It was during one of the dinner parties hosted by Rossi where the dark skinned, muscular agent goaded you into showing him your moves. 

“C’mon Princess, you can flirt with Lover Boy here later,” He slyly said, noting how close you were standing to Reid who was busy steering the pasta sauce. “I got to know how you took down that unsub.”

You laughed. “Spence, do you hear someone whining? Sounds like a yapping Chihuahua.” 

Spence laughed having spied the indignation on Morgan’s face. “You’re right, Y/N. I didn’t know Rossi got a new family member.”

“Oh hell, I’m no Chihuahua. Do you see these muscles—” He flexed his arms. “I’m more German Shepherd than anything. All the flirting with genius over here has clouded your eyesight, better get that checked out.” 

You scoffed before turning to Rossi for permission who chuckled at the irritation on your usual angelic face. “Be my guest Bambina, knock him down a peg for me but please, do it outside, I’d rather not get blood on my authentic Persian rug.” 

Morgan whooped with glee as he all but ran out to the backyard with you right behind him. He rolled his neck and waved you close. “Hit me with your best shot, Ice Skating Princess.” 

You smiled, not wanting to correct his favorite nickname of you. Before he could utter another word, you ran straight to him, exerting force on your legs and bracing your arms for impact. The tackle making him lose footing which was what you were aiming for then you proceeded to hook your leg behind his, causing him to tumble down and before he even hit the grass, you twisted making him fall chest first and his hands pinned behind him.

“What the—” Morgan struggled to get up. “Alright, alright. You win.” 

You laughed, helping him stand, as the team members all cheered behind you.

“Did they teach you that in skating school or something?” 

“Morgan, I played ice hockey, not ice skating and—” you smirked as his mouth dropped open. “—I always win, motherfucker.” 

“Bambina, language.” Rossi, the mother hen of the group, chided.

You laughed, sending Spencer a wink before skipping to where he was, awestruck and blushing beet red from Penelope’s teasing.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[mywhisperingwords]

old habits die screaming | fred g. weasley

summary: you move in with your ex, what could go wrong? word count: 7.9k masterlist

Living with your ex-boyfriend can only be a mistake, right?

It had been almost a year since you and Fred decided to end your relationship. You were better off as you had started—as friends.

It wasn’t easy at first. The wounds were fresh, the silences heavy, and the fights far too frequent. But somehow, you worked through it together.

After plenty of arguments, tears, and a lot of healing, you reached a point where you could be in the same room without feeling the overwhelming urge to run away.

If it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have fought so hard. But this was Fred. Your friendship with him had always been the most important bond in your life, and losing it wasn’t an option.

Looking back, you were glad you’d chosen to fight for that connection. Sitting now in the corner booth of your favorite pub, surrounded by friends and laughter, you couldn’t stop the wide grin spreading across your face as Fred spoke.

You could’ve jumped into his arms at his offer.

A week ago, your life had imploded spectacularly: you’d been kicked out of your flat two days after losing your job. The domino effect of disaster left you crashing on your friends’ couches, hopping from one uncomfortable sofa to another.

And while you loved your friends dearly, the experience was testing your patience, your self-esteem, and your spine.

That’s when Fred, in typical Fred fashion, swooped in with the most ridiculous yet perfect solution.

“You could stay at my place,” he’d said, a casual shrug accompanying the suggestion. “I’ve got an extra room since George moved in with his ball and chain.”

The table erupted in laughter, Angelina rolling her eyes at his choice of words, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was Fred’s familiar grin and the weight of the offer hanging in the air.

“Are you sure?” you asked, the hesitation in your voice giving away the doubts swirling in your head. “It could get… awkward, you know. With us… well, you know…”

Fred didn’t miss a beat. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I think we can do a pretty solid job of keeping our hands to ourselves.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he leaned closer. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me?”

He wiggled his eyebrows at you in that infuriatingly playful way he always did.

You couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, the tension in your chest easing as his old, familiar comfort washed over you.

The conversation quickly shifted, but the decision had been made.

What could possibly go wrong with moving in with your ex?

&

Not long after that night at the pub, you found yourself in George’s old room, surrounded by far too many boxes and not nearly enough energy to deal with them. Each box seemed to mock you with its disorganized contents, and you stood there, hands on your hips, debating whether to start with clothes, books, or the sentimental knick-knacks you didn’t even remember packing.

Before you could decide, Fred’s head popped around the doorframe. “Fancy some dinner?”

You sighed in relief, your indecision instantly forgotten. “Please. Anything to escape this chaos.”

Fred grinned, disappearing down the hall. You followed him into the small kitchen, where he was already busy at the stove, stirring something in a pan that smelled faintly of garlic and herbs. You sank into one of the chairs at the tiny dining table, resting your chin in your hand as you watched him work.

For a moment, the scene felt so familiar it almost hurt. It pulled you back to all those nights when the two of you had cooked together, laughing over burnt toast or spilled sauce, stealing bites from each other’s plates.

But things were different now. There was a distance between you—a carefully constructed wall you’d both built, brick by painful brick, to protect what remained of your friendship.

You could only hope that wall wouldn’t close in on you.

Fred placed two plates on the table with a flourish, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Ta-da. I call it ‘whatever-was-in-the-fridge pasta.’ A Fred Weasley original.”

You laughed, grateful for the lightness he always managed to bring.

Dinner was simple but comforting, the kind of meal that settled warmly in your chest. The two of you slipped into an easy rhythm, trading jokes and stories like old times. You found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks, the stress of everything—your flat, your job, your entire mess of a life—fading away, if only for a little while.

For the first time since it all fell apart, you felt at peace. You glanced at Fred across the table, his familiar lopsided grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and thought that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

How wrong you had been.

&

It was on a crisp autumn morning, just a fortnight since you’d moved in, that the thought first crept into your mind:

This was a mistake.

It was a fleeting moment, almost insignificant, but it clung stubbornly to the edges of your thoughts, refusing to be shaken loose.

Since you didn’t have much to do aside from scouring the job listings and managing the mess of boxes still scattered in your room, you had the luxury of sleeping in most mornings.

Fred, on the other hand, wasn’t so fortunate. Running the shop demanded early starts and long hours, which meant you rarely crossed paths until the evenings.

It was working.

Or at least, it had been.

Until this morning.

You shuffled into the sunlit kitchen, still half-asleep, the smell of coffee pulling you forward like a siren’s call. But as you reached the doorway, you froze, your breath catching somewhere in your throat.

Fred stood at the stove, his back to you, clad in nothing but his briefs.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him like this before—you had. Too many times to count. But that was different. Back then, he’d been yours.

Now?

Now, you didn’t know where to look.

Your heart stumbled over itself as your gaze drifted, unbidden, tracing the familiar lines of his body—the broad curve of his shoulders, the strong planes of his back, the way his muscles shifted as he moved.

And then he turned.

A smirk spread across his face, that maddeningly familiar, cocky smirk, as he held up a spatula. “Eggs?” he asked casually, as if nothing about this moment was unusual.

You blinked, feeling rooted to the spot, your mouth suddenly dry.

There was something so mundane about it—Fred cooking breakfast in his kitchen. And yet, something about it reached deep inside you and pulled. Hard.

It was too easy to imagine this being your life again. Waking up late, wandering into the kitchen to find him there, teasing you while he cooked. The scene was almost domestic, dangerously so, and it sent your mind spiraling down a path you didn’t want to take.

Because it wasn’t real. Not anymore.

Your gaze drifted, unwelcome memories forcing their way into your mind. The way his hands now gripping the frying pan had once held your hips, firm and possessive. The way his bare skin had felt against yours in the dim light of his bedroom.

Your breath hitched, and you snapped yourself out of it, gripping the doorframe as if the wood could anchor you to reality.

You had no right to think of him like that anymore.

Clearing your throat, you forced a shaky smile and stepped further into the kitchen. “Don’t you own a shirt?”

Fred grinned, unbothered by your obvious fluster. “Not when I’m cooking,” he quipped, flipping the eggs with a practiced ease. “Adds a bit of danger to the whole process, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, hoping he couldn’t see the way your cheeks burned. “Or maybe it’s just lazy,” you shot back, trying to sound unaffected as you grabbed a mug and poured yourself some coffee.

Fred chuckled, low and warm, and for a second, you let yourself bask in the sound. It had always been your favorite.

But then his voice broke the moment. “What’s got you up so early anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said, sipping your coffee to avoid looking at him.

“Hmm,” he murmured, as if he didn’t entirely believe you, but thankfully, he didn’t press.

The conversation shifted to easier topics, and you tried to focus on his words, on anything other than the fact that he was standing so close, so familiar, and yet so utterly out of reach.

But even after he left for the shop, the image of him standing there, half-dressed and utterly at ease, stayed with you.

And for the rest of the day, that tiny, insignificant moment stuck to the edges of your mind, whispering the truth you didn’t want to admit.

Maybe this wasn’t working.

Maybe this had been a mistake after all.

&

The first snow of the season came unexpectedly.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, distractedly flipping through another edition of the Daily Prophet job listings, when Fred came bursting through the door, his hair dusted with flakes, a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

“It’s snowing!” he announced, shaking the cold off like an overexcited puppy.

You looked up, startled, and frowned at the wet footprints trailing in behind him. “Fred, you’re getting the floor all—”

“Forget the floor! Come outside!”

“Fred, I don’t even have shoes on—”

Before you could protest further, he grabbed your hand and tugged you out of your chair, pulling you toward the door.

“Fred!” you yelped as the cold air hit you, your socks instantly soaked when you stepped out onto the snowy stoop.

But you didn’t have time to be annoyed. Fred was already crouched down, packing a snowball with the expertise of someone who’d been doing it his entire life. He grinned up at you, mischievous and boyish, the sight of it almost enough to steal your breath.

“Oh, no,” you said, holding up your hands. “Don’t even think about—”

Before you could finish, the snowball hit you square in the chest, exploding into a flurry of cold, powdery shards.

“Fred!”

You didn’t even think. Instinct took over, and within seconds you were scooping up your own handful of snow, chasing him as he darted out into the yard.

The next few minutes were filled with laughter and shouted threats, snow flying as the two of you ducked and weaved around the garden like children. The world beyond the snow-covered fence seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the soft crunch of your footsteps.

Eventually, you managed to tackle Fred into a snowbank, both of you collapsing in a heap, breathless and grinning.

“You’re ruthless,” he said, brushing snow out of his hair.

“You started it,” you countered, trying to catch your breath.

Fred tilted his head to look at you, his eyes warm and sparkling with mischief. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you smile like that.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words settling between you. But before you could overthink it, he reached out and gently brushed a snowflake off your cheek.

For a moment, everything else melted away.

It felt like old times—the way you used to laugh together, the easy intimacy that had always been so uniquely yours.

“God, I missed this,” you murmured without thinking, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred’s smile faltered, just for a moment, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

The warmth of the moment lingered, but then Fred’s hand fell away, his gaze shifting to the snow-covered ground.

“But we both know how it ends,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that made your chest ache.

Reality crashed back in like a cold gust of wind. The fragile bubble of warmth and laughter popped, leaving you both shivering in its absence.

He stood up first, brushing the snow off his trousers, and offered you a hand.

“Come on,” he said, forcing a smile. “You’re going to catch a cold if we stay out here.”

You hesitated, then took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet.

As you walked back toward the house, the distance between you felt heavier than it had in weeks.

&

In early winter, you slipped up for the first time.

It started like any other day, except that another owl swooped through the window with yet another rejection letter. The sight of it sitting on the kitchen counter—crisp, neat, and utterly damning—felt like the final nail in the coffin of your hopes.

You didn’t even have the strength to open it.

By mid-afternoon, you were curled up on the sofa, a blanket draped over your legs, staring blankly out the window. The world beyond seemed vibrant, crisp leaves dancing in the wind, golden light bathing the streets below. But you felt none of it.

The warmth of the blanket couldn’t touch the cold knot in your chest.

Hopeless. That’s what you felt. Like a failure, floundering without direction, your life reduced to waiting for scraps of acknowledgment from people who didn’t even know you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You hadn’t moved from the sofa by the time Fred came home late that night. You heard the familiar creak of the door and the soft shuffle of his boots as he tried not to wake you. But the moment he walked into the room, silhouetted by the dim hallway light, something inside you snapped.

The tears you’d been holding at bay all day broke free.

Fred froze, the exhaustion on his face melting into concern. “Hey,” he murmured, crossing the room in a few quick strides. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t even find the words to answer. You only shook your head, a sob catching in your throat, as he sat down beside you. His arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, resting his chin lightly on the top of your head. “Let it out.”

And you did.

You sobbed into him, every frustration and doubt from the past few weeks pouring out in hot, silent tears. His hand moved gently against your back, soothing without a word, while his other arm stayed securely around your shoulders, grounding you.

For the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel alone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whimpered finally, your voice small and raw.

Fred’s grip tightened, his lips brushing your temple in an almost unconscious gesture of comfort. “Yes, you can,” he said softly. His voice was steady, unwavering, the kind of certainty you couldn’t find in yourself right now.

You shook your head, your hands gripping the front of his jumper like it was the only thing keeping you tethered.

He didn’t argue further, just held you tighter, letting the weight of his presence speak louder than words.

Eventually, the tears stopped, but the ache in your chest didn’t. You stayed like that for what felt like hours, curled into him, your breathing slowly matching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When you finally pulled away, he caught your hand before you could retreat too far. “Come on,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You blinked at him, confused. “Where?”

“My bed,” he said simply. “You need a good night’s sleep, and I’m not letting you spend another second crying on that damn sofa.”

You wanted to argue that he did not have to do that, that you had your own bed across the hallway, but you didn’t have the energy. And maybe, deep down, you didn’t want to.

So, for the first time since you’d moved in, you found yourself in Fred’s bed.

It shouldn’t have felt as natural as it did. The way he curled around you, his arm slung protectively across your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your back—it was too easy to sink into it, to let yourself believe, for one fleeting moment, that nothing had changed.

But everything had.

You told yourself this would be the last time.

You should’ve known how dangerous it was to live with your ex. There was a line you weren’t supposed to cross, and you’d already been skirting too close to it for weeks.

Now, you’d crossed it entirely.

And yet, as you drifted off to sleep in the safety of his arms, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Not yet.

&

One cold winter morning, Fred was running late for work.

The flat was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace, and you sat curled up on the sofa, cradling a steaming mug of tea in your hands. Meanwhile, Fred was tearing through the living room like a tornado, muttering to himself as he hunted for the various pieces of his wardrobe that were inexplicably scattered across the room.

“If only you knew what a closet is,” you murmured, hiding a smile behind your mug as he dropped to his knees, peering under the chair.

Fred shot you a mock glare, his brows furrowing in exaggerated offense. “No need. There’s order in chaos, love,” he replied, triumphantly holding up a lone sock as if it were a Quidditch trophy.

You snorted, setting your tea on the coffee table and reaching for the Daily Prophet. “Your chaos is just chaos, Fred.”

“Pff,” he scoffed, tugging on the sock and hopping on one foot as he tried to pull on his boot. “I don’t have time to argue with you—” He paused, glancing at his watch. His eyes widened in alarm. “Merlin’s beard, the shop was supposed to open—forty minutes ago!”

You raised an eyebrow, watching him stumble around the room with his hair sticking up in every direction and his jumper only halfway over his head. He looked utterly ridiculous, yet there was something about the scene that made your stomach flip. Maybe it was the way the morning light caught the freckles on his nose, or maybe it was the way his laughter used to sound against your ear—

No. You stopped that thought dead in its tracks.

But your mind betrayed you anyway, pulling you into memories of soft skin beneath your fingertips, rough hands tugging at the small of your back, and whispered words that once felt like promises.

The invisible lines you’d so carefully drawn between you had been blurred too many times now to count, and no amount of scolding yourself could erase the heat creeping up your neck.

“You’d better hurry, then,” you said, your voice raspier than intended. You cleared your throat, praying he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks burned as you avoided his gaze.

“Right,” he muttered distractedly, grabbing his scarf from the armchair. His movements were quick, thoughtless, like second nature. But then—

He leaned down and kissed you.

It was brief, instinctive, and utterly devastating. The soft press of his lips against yours lasted no longer than a heartbeat, a fleeting goodbye born of muscle memory.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you sat frozen, staring at the empty space he had stood in just seconds before.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. It was as if the world had tilted off its axis, throwing everything you thought you understood into question.

It had felt strangely right—so natural it almost didn’t register at first. But the more the moment replayed in your mind, the more you felt the weight of it.

Because it was wrong. So, so wrong.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Which was exactly what you told Alicia as you sat in the old, familiar pub.

The words spilled out in a rush—disjointed and jumbled—until you finally reached the part where Fred kissed you that morning. You hesitated then, your hands twisting in your lap, afraid to meet her gaze.

You already knew what you’d see there. That look of hers, the one that was a mixture of concern and pity, like she could already see you running headfirst into a brick wall.

The last thing you wanted was to hear her confirm what you were already screaming at yourself: that this was a mistake.

So instead of looking at her, you let your gaze wander across the pub, drawn like a magnet to the figure at the bar. Fred.

It was always him.

He hadn’t seen you yet, and for a moment, you let yourself watch him, trying to process the pull you felt every time he was near. That same pull that had existed when you were together and hadn’t let up since. If anything, it had grown stronger, tighter, like a thread wrapped around your ribcage, making it difficult to breathe.

You hadn’t spoken to him since this morning. The weight of the moment between you still hung in the air, unresolved and suffocating. You were too afraid to ask him about it, too afraid of what excuse he’d offer to explain it away.

Because talking about it would make it real. And you hated real.

Fred leaned casually against the bar, chatting with the bartender when a woman approached him—a woman with wide eyes and an even wider smile. She laughed at something he said, the kind of laugh that was too loud, too eager, and she placed her hand on his arm as if she’d known him forever.

Your stomach dropped.

It was as if the room tilted, the walls closing in on you as a bitter thought crept into your mind: Maybe this has already become too real.

You tightened your grip on your glass, trying to focus on Alicia’s voice, but her words faded into background noise. Your eyes were glued to the woman at the bar, to Fred’s easy grin, to the casual charm he wielded so effortlessly.

And for a brief, searing moment, you wanted to march over there and pull them apart. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because no matter how much it hurt, you had no claim on him.

You downed your drink in one go, the burn in your throat dulling the ache in your chest just slightly. Turning back to Alicia, you tried to force yourself to listen, to focus, but your gaze betrayed you. It kept drifting back to Fred, your thoughts spiraling further into chaos.

Later that night, you walked into the flat right behind Fred.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of coats as you hung yours on the rack. You wanted to let it go, to shove your feelings aside and leave the night behind you. But you couldn’t stop yourself.

“So,” you began, your voice sharper than intended, “you seemed to have had fun tonight.”

Fred froze for a fraction of a second, his back to you. Then he turned, his expression guarded but not unkind. He opened his mouth, almost as if to apologize, but you didn’t let him.

“Don’t worry,” you said quickly, cutting him off before he could say something that would make it worse. “I wouldn’t get in your way.”

Fred’s brows knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You folded your arms, leaning back against the wall as if the nonchalant stance would keep you from unraveling. “If you wanted to bring someone home,” you said, each word tasting like poison, “I wouldn’t get in your way.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes then—something raw and vulnerable—but it disappeared almost instantly, buried beneath a mask of indifference.

“Right,” he said slowly, his voice unusually flat. “I’m guessing that goes for you too, correct?”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, all you wanted was to scream No, it doesn’t. It never will. There’s no one else I want but you.

But you couldn’t say that.

Because you were friends.

And friends didn’t feel this way.

“Yeah,” you muttered instead, the lie twisting like a knife in your chest.

Fred held your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, turning on his heel. “Then it’s settled,” he said quietly, walking toward his room.

He paused at the door, his back still to you. “Good night.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the suffocating weight of everything left unsaid.

It was only until later that night, when the mess of your mind was keeping you up that you realized neither one of you had addressed the kiss.

&

The conversation clung to the edges of your mind, never quite letting go.

You hated that about Fred—you could never completely shut him out, even when you desperately wanted to.

Still, you tried to forget about it, preferably with some liquor and a good time with your friends. But fate had other plans.

It was a Friday night when Alicia called you to announce, in dramatic detail, that her food poisoning was “worse than a dragon pox outbreak,” and Angelina owled that she was stuck at work late.

That meant you had the flat to yourself. Just you and your thoughts. Merlin, you hated it.

After pacing the living room for a while and deciding that drinking alone wasn’t a good look, you grabbed a book and sank onto the sofa.

Reading was supposed to be a distraction, but the words blurred right in front of your eyes. Your mind kept wandering—to Fred. Specifically, to Fred tonight before he left.

His stupidly tight shirt. The way it clung to his arms, leaving very little to the imagination. His hair, just the right amount of messy, like he had spent hours perfecting that careless look. And his cologne—that intoxicating mix of spice and citrus that lingered in the air long after he was gone.

You cursed yourself.

You were halfway through debating whether to make tea or wallow in self-pity when you heard it—the sound of a key in the lock.

Your heart sank.

Why was Fred home already?

And then you heard her voice.

A woman’s voice.

Your pulse quickened as you bolted upright, looking around in a panic. You needed to escape. Now.

But before you could make it to your room, the door swung open, and you were trapped. The only viable hiding spot was the narrow space behind the sofa. It wasn’t your proudest moment, but you dove behind it anyway, crouching low and praying Fred wouldn’t notice you.

The woman sauntered into the living room, plopping onto the sofa with a cheerful sigh. Meanwhile, Fred’s footsteps padded toward the kitchen.

This was the worst night of your life.

You crouched there, frozen, as the woman began talking about something you couldn’t quite make out. Probably complimenting his laugh or his eyes or his stupidly perfect shoulders.

And Fred? Fred was doing exactly what you told him he could do—move on. See other people. Be happy.

So why did it feel like your lungs were caving in?

He returned a moment later, a drink in hand, and you peeked around the edge of the sofa. He sat down beside her, too close for your liking, and started talking about some prank he used to pull at Hogwarts.

“Oh, back in school, George and I used to—”

You rolled your eyes before you could stop yourself. His story wasn’t even that funny. Or maybe it was, but you were too busy hating every second of this.

The woman’s laugh, high-pitched and syrupy, pierced the air. “You’re hilarious,” she giggled, leaning toward him.

Fred gave her a grin—the kind that made your heart ache.

You clenched your fists. This was fine. Completely fine. Totally normal behavior for two adults living together who happened to have a romantic history.

And then she said it: “Why don’t we take this party someplace else?”

Her voice was laced with suggestion, and you saw Fred freeze for a fraction of a second, his grin faltering.

Before you could stop yourself, you shot up like a Whomping Willow branch.

“Wait!”

The woman shrieked, nearly spilling her drink, and Fred whipped his head around, his expression morphing from shock to confusion.

“I, um…” You scrambled for an excuse, heat rushing to your face. “I think I lost my wand. Somewhere… in the sofa cushions.” You pointed vaguely at the seat beside her.

Fred’s brow furrowed. “You… lost your wand in the sofa?”

“Yes. Definitely. It, uh, slipped out of my pocket earlier.”

The woman stared at you like you were a particularly odd blast-ended skrewt, and Fred just blinked, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a laugh.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you said, desperate to fill the awkward silence. “Help me look!”

Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he obliged, leaning over to pat the cushions while the woman scooted a little farther away, clearly uncomfortable.

“This is… awkward,” she muttered, gathering her purse.

You couldn’t agree more.

“Well, I think I’ll just… leave you to it,” she added, standing up and smoothing her skirt.

Fred straightened, looking vaguely annoyed. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she cut him off, already halfway to the door. “Maybe another time.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with Fred in the now painfully quiet living room.

Fred turned to you slowly, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but definitely not pleased.

“So,” he drawled, voice thick with sarcasm. “Your wand, huh? Convenient timing, don’t you think?”

You clenched your jaw, heat rising to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, no, of course not,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his voice sharp. “Why would you mean to scare off the first person I’ve gone out with in over a year?”

“I didn’t scare her off!” you shot back, folding your arms defensively.

Fred arched an eyebrow, his tone cutting. “Really? Because hiding behind the sofa and then jumping out like a deranged jack-in-the-box wasn’t at all intimidating.”

You winced but refused to back down. “Maybe if you weren’t so quick to bring random women home, I wouldn’t have been caught off guard!”

Fred let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Right. That’s rich coming from you. You’re the one who said this—” He gestured between the two of you. “—was supposed to be fine. You’re the one who told me to meet other people. So excuse me for trying to have a life outside of… whatever the hell this is.”

Your chest tightened at his words, anger bubbling under your skin. “I’m not the one bringing strangers into our home like it’s some—some bachelor pad!”

Fred’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into something lower, more dangerous. “Our home? That’s funny, because it feels a hell of a lot like my home, and you’re just squatting here until you figure out what to do with your life.”

The words hit like a slap, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“How dare you,” you hissed, stepping closer until you were nearly toe-to-toe with him.

Fred didn’t back away, his jaw tight and his eyes stormy. “Well, if the shoe fits…”

“I’m not some charity case, Fred!” you snapped, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. “You think I wanted to be here, living with you, watching you move on while I’m stuck—”

You stopped yourself, but it was too late. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Fred’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second, and then his expression hardened again. “Stuck on what? Me?” he demanded, his voice rising.

You didn’t answer, but the silence spoke volumes.

Fred let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, you’re unbelievable. You don’t want me to move on, but you don’t want me either. What the hell do you want, then?”

“I don’t know!” you shouted, the admission tearing from your throat. “I don’t know, Fred, okay? All I know is that seeing you with her—hearing her laugh, watching her touch you—it made me want to scream.”

Fred stared at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to be jealous. Not after you ended it.”

Your heart pounded, your body thrumming with anger and something else you didn’t want to name. “It took two, didn’t it?”

The tension between you was suffocating, the air thick with everything you’d been avoiding for weeks.

Fred’s gaze flickered to your lips, and for one reckless moment, you thought he might kiss you.

And then he did.

It wasn’t gentle or sweet—it was angry, desperate, a clash of teeth and lips and frustration. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, your hands tangling in his hair as he backed you against the wall, his body pressing into yours like he couldn’t get close enough.

“This is a mistake,” you whispered against his lips, even as your hands tugged at his shirt.

“Probably,” Fred muttered, his voice rough, before pulling you back into another bruising kiss.

His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize every inch of you, and you clung to him, giving in to the storm you’d both been holding back for far too long.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this wouldn’t fix anything, as he lifted you up and carried you into his room. It wouldn’t erase the pain or the heartbreak or the mess of your situation.

But for now, you let yourself fall back into old habits, into him, and pretended for just a little while longer that this wasn’t the worst idea you’d ever had.

&

The next morning, for a fleeting moment, you woke up feeling weightless, the kind of lightness you hadn’t felt in months. The sun spilled through the curtains, warm and golden, and Fred’s steady breathing next to you was a sound you hadn’t realized you missed so much.

And then reality hit like a cold slap to the face.

The events of the last few months flooded back into your mind—the breakup, the awkward dinners, the unspoken tension, and now this. You and Fred, tangled up in sheets and old habits, pretending for one reckless night that things hadn’t fallen apart.

Your stomach twisted painfully.

This wasn’t sustainable.

You needed to move out.

The thought settled heavily in your chest as you forced yourself out of bed. You dressed quickly, careful not to make too much noise, and retreated to the kitchen.

By the time Fred padded in, his hair still tousled from sleep, you were already seated at the table with your hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Fred looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly, and you swore you saw a flicker of hope in his eyes—hope that made what you were about to say so much harder.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to look at him. “We can’t keep doing this,” you began, your voice quiet but firm. “It’s not fair to either of us.”

Fred froze, his hand still on the kettle. Slowly, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “What are you saying?”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the table like it might steady you. “I’m saying I need to move out, Fred. This—living here, being around you all the time—it’s not working. We’re just falling into old habits.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he just nodded slowly, his gaze fixed somewhere just past you.

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he said, his voice bitter, almost mocking.

You flinched at his tone. “Fred—”

“No, really,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours now, sharp and accusing. “It’s like déjà vu. You decide it’s not working, and you leave. I don’t even get a say in it, do I?”

Your heart ached at the crack in his voice, but you couldn’t let yourself falter. “This isn’t about blame, Fred. It’s about what’s best for both of us.”

“Right,” he said, laughing humorlessly. “And you’ve decided that for us, just like last time.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. “Fred, please—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “Don’t try to make this sound noble or selfless or whatever it is you’re telling yourself to make it easier.”

You stared at him, speechless, as the anger in his eyes softened into something far more painful. “You said we were better off as friends. And I…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I thought you’d come back. That we’d figure it out. But you didn’t, did you?”

Your throat felt tight, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how.”

This wasn’t fair. You might’ve been the one back then who initiated the breakup, but he didn’t argue, not really.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “And now you’re running again. But sure, let’s call it what’s ‘best for both of us.’”

You stood abruptly, unable to sit still under his gaze any longer. “This isn’t easy for me either, Fred.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath.

You ignored the sting of his words and moved toward your room, determined to pack before you lost your resolve. Fred didn’t follow you.

By the time you’d stuffed a bag with enough essentials to last a few days at Alicia’s, the silence in the flat was deafening.

Fred was standing by the door when you emerged, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable once again. He didn’t say a word as you moved toward the door, your bag slung over your shoulder.

For a brief moment, you hesitated, turning to look at him. You wanted him to say something—anything. To stop you, to fight for you, to give you a reason to stay.

But Fred just stared at you, his face a mask of indifference. “Take care of yourself.”

So you opened the door, stepping out into the chilly winter air.

The second time wasn’t easier than the first. If anything, it was worse.

Because this time, you weren’t just walking away from Fred. You were walking away from the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could’ve been different.

And Fred didn’t stop you.

&

When Alicia opened the door, she didn’t even need to ask.

One look at you—bag slung over your shoulder, eyes red from holding back tears—and she simply stepped aside to let you in.

“You know where the spare room is,” she said softly, shutting the door behind you. “I’ll make tea.”

For the next few days, Alicia didn’t push. She let you sit quietly on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around you, lost in your thoughts. She gave you space to unpack—or not unpack, as you hadn’t even opened your bag yet. She simply existed around you, chatting about work or gossip or Quidditch, letting you be quiet but never alone.

But Alicia wasn’t a particularly patient person, and by the third day, her concern boiled over.

“Alright,” she said, setting down two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table and sitting across from you. “Out with it. What happened?”

You stared at the tea, your fingers curling around the mug for warmth. “I moved out,” you said finally, your voice hoarse from disuse.

Alicia blinked, clearly trying to process this. “You what?”

“I moved out,” you repeated, your grip tightening on the mug. “I told Fred it wasn’t working. That I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Alicia leaned back, crossing her arms. “Why?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Why do you think? Because we’re a disaster waiting to happen. Because the first time we tried this, it ended in flames, and now we’re just… ignoring all of it, hoping it’ll magically work this time. Spoiler: it won’t.”

Alicia’s brow furrowed. “Ignoring it? Are you serious?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, for someone who’s ‘ignoring it,’ you two seem to have a bloody hard time staying away from each other.”

You frowned, thrown off by her point.

“Think about it,” she pressed. “You’ve been living together, falling back into each other’s lives. Sure, maybe you weren’t talking about it, but you were doing something. You were letting yourself be close to him again.”

“That’s not the same thing as trying to fix it,” you countered, your voice shaky.

“No, it’s not,” Alicia admitted. “But it’s not nothing, either. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything being with him again. And don’t even think about lying to me, because I know you.”

You looked away, your chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. It’s still going to end the same way. We’re just… Fred and I, we’re not meant to be.”

Alicia snorted. “Says who? You? Because from what I’ve seen, Fred seems pretty bloody convinced otherwise.”

Your jaw clenched, and you stared at the floor.

“Look,” Alicia continued, softening her tone. “I get it. You’re scared. You’re terrified of putting yourself out there again, of having it all fall apart a second time. That’s normal. But running away from it? That’s just—sorry, mate—stupid.”

You bristled, finally meeting her eyes. “It’s not stupid. It’s self-preservation. Do you know how much it hurt the first time? How much it broke me to lose him? I can’t do that again.”

“And what if you don’t lose him?” Alicia asked, leaning forward. “What if it actually works this time? You’ll never know if you keep running away.”

You opened your mouth to argue but hesitated.

Alicia sighed, her expression softening further. “Look, I know you think you’re saving yourself from the pain, but you’re also cutting yourself off from the happiness you could have with him. You’re assuming it’s going to end badly, but what if it doesn’t? What if this time, it’s different?”

“I just… I don’t know,” you murmured, your voice cracking.

“Then find out,” Alicia said gently. “You can’t keep running from something just because it’s scary. That’s not how love works. You have to fight for it, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

Her words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. But as you sat there, sipping your tea and staring into the middle distance, a small, stubborn thought crept into your mind.

What if Alicia was right?

What if you owed it to yourself—and to Fred—to find out?

&

The hallway felt colder than you remembered. Or maybe it was the nerves pooling in your stomach, twisting tighter with every passing second.

You stood outside Fred’s flat, your hand hovering over the door as you debated knocking for the fifth time.

This is a mistake, your mind whispered. But Alicia’s voice was louder, pushing you forward. You’ll never know if you don’t try.

The peeling paint on the frame, the faint scuff marks on the floor where he always kicked his shoes off—it was all achingly familiar. And still, it felt like you didn’t belong here anymore.

But you were here. That had to count for something.

Your hand hovered over the door for what felt like forever before you finally forced yourself to knock.

The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and for a moment, you considered running. The urge to flee was strong—you’d done it before. But then you heard shuffling from the other side of the door, followed by the unmistakable creak of the hinges.

Fred stood there, barefoot and in an old t-shirt that had seen better days, his hair sticking up in every direction like he’d been running his hands through it all morning. His face was unreadable, his mouth set in a hard line, but his eyes—those damn eyes—told you everything. They were wide and raw, flickering between surprise, confusion, and something you didn’t dare name.

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, staring at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like a heavy fog.

“I—” you started, your voice cracking.

But before you could say another word, Fred closed the space between you in one swift motion.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you to him as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was urgent and messy, filled with all the words you hadn’t said and all the feelings you couldn’t quite explain.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, clutching at him as if he might disappear, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was no fear, no doubt, no past mistakes—just Fred.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together as he refused to let you go.

“Fred,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his voice rough. His hands tightened on your waist, grounding both of you. “Don’t say it unless you mean it. I can’t—” His voice broke, and he shook his head like he was trying to push the words away.

“I’m not leaving,” you interrupted, your voice gaining strength. “I’m not running this time. I promise.”

Fred’s breath hitched, and his eyes searched yours, like he didn’t quite believe you yet. “You came back,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your throat tight. “I was scared. I still am. But—” You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t. I want to try, Fred. Really try this time.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his brow furrowed like he was trying to make sense of what you’d said. Then, slowly, a soft, disbelieving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Took you long enough.”

You laughed, a wet, shaky sound that was half relief, half exasperation. “You’re not exactly easy to figure out, you know.”

“And you’re impossible,” he shot back, his grin widening.

His words were teasing, but the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made your heart ache.

“Fred, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softening. “For leaving. For hurting you. I thought I was protecting myself, but I was just being a coward.”

Fred let out a shaky breath, his hands moving to cup your face. “I know,” he said quietly. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

The weight of his words settled over you, warm and comforting, and for the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again.

You stood there for a moment, letting the silence stretch between you, until a thought popped into your head and escaped before you could stop it.

“Can I move back in?”

Fred blinked, and then his laughter filled the hallway, rich and familiar and so very Fred. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re not getting your old room back,” he teased, his voice low and warm.

“Oh?” you said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, his grin softening. “You’re stuck with mine now.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Guess I can live with that.”

Fred’s smile turned tender, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that felt like a promise.

Home wasn’t a place. It was Fred.

[morbiderotica]

Hii! Can i pls request a Light x reader nsfw? You know the scenes where L planted a camera in his room right? Well maybe to make L less suspicious of him Light fucks the reader in his room? I thought that it was a hot idea♡ you dont have to do it if you dont want to😊

★ DECEPTION ─ fem!reader

#NOTES ─ i love you for requesting this i cannot tell you how many times i've day dreamed about this (sorry it took so long)

#WARNINGS ─ smut, cnc peeping toms (L), p in v,

#SUMMARY ─ "there was an elaborate plan set in place. but as soon as light's hands snaked around your waist you seemed to forget everything you were supposed to do and say." innocent until proven guilty

there was an elaborate plan set in place. but as soon as light's hands snaked around your waist you seemed to forget everything you were supposed to do and say. his moderately chapped lips kissing your cheek lovingly. much unlike how light usually behaved around you.

"light." his name left your lips, trying to warn him he'd made your mind go blank. but he knew.

"i know." he whispered back, displeasure laced in his voice. luckily, light was more than capable of carrying out the plan for the both of you.

"just let me do all the work." he muttered, his voice not loud enough to be picked up on by the mics on the camera but still he was careful with what he said.

he hoped you would be too. you nodded. looking up at light with a lustful look in your eye that he couldn't deny was making him a little aroused. light kissed your jaw, roughly. as if light was capable of doing anything without roughness.

"last chance to back out." it's not a soft tone, but it does let you know that he won't be mad at you if you do decide you don't want some random creep watching you have sex with your friend.

you shake your head, you weren't going to let him down now. and to be totally honest, the thought of someone watching you in such a vulnerable position was intriguing to say the least. light began to undress you once you'd given him your final consent.

meanwhile, L watched his screen with wider eyes than normal. his eyes grazing every pixel of the screen as he watched light take off your shirt. neglecting the other screens that were broadcasting equally, if not more, important information. L racked his brain trying to figure out if this was just a trick of if he was really witnessing this dirty scene play out.

all your clothes were off in what seemed like a blink of an eye. pressed into the mattress with light's knee inches away from your heated core. you dumbly pull at his tie, fucked out expression but light hadn't even gotten started with you yet.

"you got any thoughts in there at all?" he smirks. silently gloating now that he knew he had every single person he knew wrapped around his godly finger. there was not a thought behind your blown out pupils. it prided light to know he had such an effect on you.

"i haven't even done anything yet." he furthers. and L was hearing all of it.

you paw at the waist band of his bland khaki pants. light chuckled feeling your shaky hands trying to get more of him. his rubs his hand over your chest, caressing your nipple with his pointer and thumb.

"patient girls get rewarded." he tsks. he's met with a whine to which he chuckles again. he knows L will over analyze and find something wrong with the scenario if he doesn't hurry up.

"you wanna get rewarded?" he unbuttons his pants with one hand. you're eager, desperate. you need hm in a way you didn't even know it was possible to want one of your friend.

he reaches over you, grabbing a condom from the book shelf. it was wedged between two books. clearly he was trying to keep it hidden from his maid of a mom and his nosy sister.

he opens the condom with his teeth and you might as well just have hearts in your eyes as you watch him. the wrapper falls somewhere unimportant on the bed. he rolls the condom on. you knew it was only a matter of time before you finally felt full with his cock.

© 2023 MORBIDEROTICA

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero!

Pt 6: Wet Cat

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 (You're here) - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10

Hey guys! So there may be some confronting scenes from this chapter onwards! (suicide mentions, panic attacks, abusive actions, etc) I will notify you at the start of the chapters if there is any from here on!

You feel sick.

Extremely sick.

The day you decided to have off left you thinking things over. Your mother basically lost her job, your father had shown aggressive behaviours in front of the two Waynes – not that they would care much but it was humiliating to think about – and on top of that the Waynes have proven that they will stoop so low!

All because you tried to keep your civilian identity a secret.

Telling your mother went as good as could be expected. She yelled, she walked around frantically, she smashed a plate and then she left.

Knowing her it would be your job to find a new job she can have. So, you open your laptop and start browsing. The laptop is old and barely works but it makes do. You scroll through the many websites for job searching.

You send the possible jobs to your mother before deciding that that was enough and closing your laptop. You open up your phone and browse through Instagram. As your scrolling a message notification pops up from an unknown number and you feel your head hurt – You’re sure this will be something stupid that will get you into trouble.

Pressing on the notification you read through the message.

"Hello,

I am Richard “Dick” Grayson. I am messaging you on behalf of Bruce Wayne as he doesn't want you contact taking up space."

You quirk a brow. You aren't an idiot, there's no links or anything pertaining to scam material and judging by how the message is written you doubt it's a prank.

You respond. It's the polite thing to do and you need some good karma.

"Hi! Is there something he needed?"

You cringe slightly at the exclamation mark, you only included it so he wouldn't think too poorly of you - though looking back on it you doubt it'll change much. He doesn't respond, surprise surprise, you sigh in frustration and turn off your phone.

Looking at the clock on the wall you see it's only ten in the morning. You couldn't be bothered to wait until night to rest so you make your way to your bed and fall into a nice sleep.

Meanwhile Dick was weirded out and confused, why did you seem so happy and excited in the message? Sure it wasn't much but punctuation changes everything!

He had only messaged because he wanted to harass you into blocking him so that you could get into trouble for not knowing what was going on - with the only way of knowing being through him.

But now, now he feels... Off. It's not like he feels bad but he doesn't feel right either.

He scoffs and turns off the phone, honestly he doesn't know how to respond to begin with. He leaves his room at the manor and walks down to the kitchen and passed Damian who was entertaining himself with Titus.

Dick grabs some water and leans against the counter in thought. If he was going to harass you he needed to be witty with it to the point of insanity otherwise you wouldn't get annoyed enough.

Opening up his phone once more he drafts up another message.

"He wants you to head down to the cafe in downtown Gotham."

He pauses, there's a couple cafes he's visited with his girlfriends before, despite the fact it was in a shady area.

"He said to go to The Wayne Memorial Cafe"

Dick waits for a response or even for the read sign to pop up but nothing happens. He furrows his brows, it's ten in the morning, what could you be doing that is more important than speaking to one of the members of the most influential family in Gotham? No, America!

Sleeping. That was what you were doing. You were enjoying it too.

That was of course until you were rudely awoken by your phone ringing with an unknown contact. You drowsily glance at it and answer the phone.

"Hello...?"

God. Your voice sounded like shit. You bitterly scowl at your voice.

"Finally. It's rude to ignore people's messages!" Dick chastises. You scrunch your nose in disgust and hang up immediately. You know you said you would try and be in his good graces but frankly you don't have the will power right now.

You quickly add his contact so you'd be less surprised and you turned off your notifications. You glance at his messages and raise a brow, why would Bruce want to meet up with you?

You sigh before sitting up and stretching slightly. You doubt Bruce would accept you not going.

You dress in something comfortable before grabbing your keys and your phone. You would bring your earbuds but you needed to stay vigilante if you were heading downtown.

The bus ride to the train station was crowded and the train was worse. This better be worth it.

You walk down to the cafe. The Wayne Memorial Cafe was made for Martha and Thomas Wayne, obviously, and is one of the nicest places in Gotham. Bruce funds it so it can stay open, clean and cozy.

You personally don't mind it, it's a nice small part of Gotham that seems untouched, out of place in downtown.

Approaching the cafe you notice some things off. There was no one around or inside the cafe and the lights were off. You couldn't see any movement so there couldn't be anyone inside either... The door was cracked open slightly letting out the air conditioning.

Opening the door to the cafe you were greeted with a bucket of ice cold water dumped on your head, the, luckily plastic and not metal, bucket hitting your head on the way down.

It feels like stones just fell in your stomach as the cold water drenches everything. Your clothes, your hair, your socks, your phone.

You look down, sensing someone nearby. You hear snickering and feel even sicker.

Of course it was a joke, Dick had thought it would be funny to do this.

You feel frustrated. You want to scream, punch, anything. But, instead, you feel tears flooding your eyes and the warm water contrasting with the cold water falling down your cheeks.

There's a lump in your throat and suddenly you're back in elementary school, kids surrounding you as your pinned to your locker and your water bottle is dumped on you. You had provided wrong answers to those kids on purpose and now you were paying the price.

They laughed, pointed fingers then left you damp and humiliated in a crowded hallway. You couldn't even be spared the jokes made afterwards because everyone saw. Everyone knew.

The jokes weren't horrible, just cruel.

You sniffle, you choke back a sob as you're brought back to the present. You furrow your brows angrily and you're sure your face looks ugly as you lift your head to glare at Dick Grayson who had stopped laughing and was now surprised.

You scoff, no words would come out. You're not sure you even wanted to speak to begin with. What would have even said to someone so influential? Nothing that wouldn't of gotten you in deeper shit.

To your amazing luck a clap of thunder rings through the tense, choking air and rain starts to pour down.

The sky was fine before, why now did it decide to rain? Why did life constantly fuck you over? You were so done!

You turn and walk off. Looking up at the crying clouds your scowl lifts slightly, at least now you aren't the only person who will be drenched and you can brush it off easily.

Dick was confused. It was funny at first. You looked like a wet cat, you looked stupid - it matched your opinions on Aranea.

But, then you were silent. That threw him off. Silence isn't something he particularly likes when he does something like that.

He saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, it was almost impossible to see though due to how soaked you were. He notices how the tears drop onto your now ruined phone - one that he doubts you can replace due to your financial status.

Still, you're just standing there, silent. It was unnerving. He couldn't see your eyes but he could tell that you were probably in your own head - memories maybe? Either way the silence was making him feel bad.

He expected yelling, screaming, punching or something! Something that could get you into more trouble. But this. This was just painful to watch. Guilt is the first word that comes to mind. He feels guilty.

He watches you lift your head, he's prepared for you to yell. You don't. You... Glare? That's not fair. Now he feels like a bad guy. He feels like the rich douche bullying the broke weakling.

He watches as you flinch slightly at the rain starting. You don't seem to notice your own actions. He grimaces as he watches you leave, he was supposed to be the hero in this scenario but looking back he doesn't even know how he could have been seen as a hero at all.

You are just a civilian, you just have opinions that differ. He knows more than anyone that people don't have to love what everyone else loves. He also knows that you took your hatred to a maximum - but never targeted Aranea directly.

He glances at his phone, he filmed the whole thing and had planned to send it to the group chat but now it just feels wrong to do.

The others know of his plan though and are awaiting the video. Surely, they'll also realize how south this all went and back off from (Reader)... Right?

Right.

So, with that thought in mind he sends the video to the lively GC and shuts off his phone. He has to make it up to you, otherwise his guilty conscience won't settle and calm down.