#we could have done our own league now that i think about it

[skijumpingf1]

Is someone else doing the podium tip from fis?

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[natsaffection]

Auge um Auge Pt. 1 | N.R

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger!reader

Warnings: Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22) heist, hostage

Word Count: 4,6 K

A/N: This is the first of many. I tried to design the phone calls in a way that you can tell who the scene is currently focusing on. If the text is written in italics, it means the person is just be heard over the phone, we can’t see the person. Does it make sense? 😀✨

Inside the café, you sat alone at a corner table. You had chosen this spot instinctively: back to the wall, with a clear view of all the windows and exits. A cryptic clue had brought you here, an anonymous message about “an opportunity to make good money” and your curiosity had pushed you to accept. You didn’t know how carefully orchestrated this “coincidental” meeting really was.

A man entered, moving deliberately slowly as he looked around. Then, his eyes met yours. With that one deliberate glance, you felt his unspeakable presence. Without asking, he sat down across from you and placed a worn leather briefcase on the table between you. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of conversations and clinking cups in the café filled the silence, but in your immediate surroundings, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Thank you for coming.” he began, his voice so smooth and even that it could have calmed thunder. “I know the message was vague. But if it caught your attention, then I believe I was right to seek you out.” Your posture remained guarded, one hand resting on the table, the other hanging loosely below, close enough to your bag where you kept a small knife. You had reasons to mistrust strangers offering you “opportunities.” Yet something about his demeanor made you hesitate in your suspicion. “Who exactly are you?”

He tilted his head and offered a slight smile. “My name isn’t important right now. What matters is that I know you. I’ve done my research. Born in a small village outside Madrid, left at nineteen to find work in the city. Smart, but restless. Various odd jobs, some of questionable legality.” He paused, letting the words linger in the air. “You have certain..talents. Quick thinking. A knack for improvisation. And most importantly: a silver tongue when you choose to use it. A gift for distraction.” You stiffened, a flicker of indignation flashing in your eyes. “Do you run background checks on everyone who responds to your cryptic messages?”

“I only contact people who have the potential to be exceptional.” he replied simply. “You’re resourceful, charming when it suits you, and you know how to read people. That’s exactly what I need.” You felt both flattered and uneasy. Your head swirled with questions. Who was this man? Why you? Yet his way of speaking made you curious enough to listen, if only to figure out what game he was playing.

After a moment of silence, the man leaned forward and opened the worn leather briefcase, revealing a neatly arranged set of papers. “I have a plan..” he said slowly, each word precise. “A plan that requires a group of very specific individuals, each with their own unique skills. The payoff, if done correctly, will be unimaginable.”

He slid a sheet toward you, a digitized blueprint of the Spanish National Bank. You raised an eyebrow, forcing yourself not to overreact, but your pulse quickened. Everyone in the city had heard of elaborate heists, but this? This was a whole different league. “You’re seriously planning to rob a bank?” you asked in a hushed voice. His gaze didn’t waver. “Not just rob it. Print. We’ll control the bank from the inside and print our own money. Theoretically billions, without harming any hostages, if everything goes according to plan.” He let that sink in before continuing in the same calm tone. “I want to be honest. It’s dangerous. But if executed with precision, we can pull it off with minimal risk.”

You swallowed hard. Small-time cons, pickpocketing, the occasional forged ID, those were nothing new to you. But this was on a scale you’d never imagined. “Why me?” you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady. The man clasped his hands together. “Because the role I need to fill is unique. I need someone who can manipulate from a distance. Someone who can talk, persuade, and distract. The police will send their best negotiators, their best investigators. I need our best talker to run them in circles.”

You studied the blueprints, “And you think I can do that?” He smiled faintly, a hint of warmth breaking through his cool exterior. “I know you can. You see, most of the people I’ve recruited so far are experts in other areas..lockpicking, explosives, hacking. But none of them have your talent for conversation and deception. We need you to mislead the police or divert their attention through phone calls if necessary. Maybe even face-to-face, under the right circumstances.” His expression grew serious. “You’ll be the voice standing between them and us.”

Your thoughts raced. This was insane. But the promise of such an enormous reward, combined with the sudden spark of possibility, tugged at you. Could you really pull this off? Deceiving the police? You couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement pulsing beneath your skin. “That’s..a big challenge.” The man nodded. “I’m aware of that. And it won’t be easy. You’ll be taught, trained. I have an entire plan for handling negotiations, exploiting their psychology. But your role, your brilliance in improvisation will be crucial.” You clenched your jaw, forcing the surge of adrenaline back. 

“Let’s say I agree..What guarantee do I have that you won’t let me take the fall if this all goes wrong?” His eyes softened. A carefully orchestrated expression of compassion. “I don’t pick people just to abandon them. I want every one of us to leave that bank alive and wealthier than we ever dreamed. I’ll make arrangements for everything, including your safety.” 

You studied him closely. There was something reassuring about his self-confidence, the way he radiated unshakable calm. But a heist of this magnitude? If you got caught, you could forget the next twenty years of your life maybe more. “Why not just hire a smooth con artist?” you asked, still skeptical. 

“I didn’t hire you,” he corrected gently. “I chose you. I’ve followed your career closely. The forgeries you pulled off last year, the incident in Valencia. You disappeared right under the police’s noses. That means you’re not only skilled with words but also unafraid of taking risks.” He tapped the blueprints again. “You’re exactly the person I need.” 

You took a sip of your latte, your thoughts racing. Part of you wanted to run, to go back to the life you knew. But a larger, bolder part of you was intrigued. Maybe it was pride, maybe ambition. At twenty-two, you were restless, searching for something bigger than petty crime. 

The man noticed your hesitation. “Let me put it another way. If you stay on your current path, how much will you make in five, ten years? Enough for a run-down apartment, enough to get by. If you join me, you walk away with a future you can shape yourself, no more scraping by, no more limited horizons.” You took a deep breath. “I’m not suicidal. I’m not looking for a thrill.” 

“Neither am I.” he replied. “But I believe in orchestrating the perfect plan. And you can help make it perfect.”  The next half hour was spent discussing hypothetical scenarios: the bank’s security forces, how negotiations typically played out, the psychological profiles of the best police investigators. With every insight the man revealed, you felt more convinced that he knew what he was doing. There was an almost obsessive thoroughness to his approach and it was infectious. 

Finally, as the coffee cups were empty and the café had grown quieter, the man leaned back in his chair. “This won’t be a short operation. We’ll spend months at a remote location preparing. You’ll learn negotiation tactics, how to handle phone calls, modulate your voice. We’ll plan for every possible scenario.” You raised an eyebrow. “Months? You’re serious.” 

“I’ve been planning this for years.” he said plainly. “And I need complete dedication. If you say yes, you have to be all in.” Your heart pounded loudly in your chest. Your entire future, one path leading you further into small-time cons, the other a leap into the unknown hinged on your next words. You stared into his calm, patient gaze and found something you rarely saw in others: unshakable conviction. “Alright..” you said, your voice quieter than you’d intended. “I’m in.” The man nodded, a flicker of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “I promise you.” he said, closing the folder. “You won’t regret it.” 

You left the café with your thoughts racing, the images of the blueprints burned into your mind. Outside, the night felt sharper, colder. But inside, a new spark had ignited a heady mix of fear and possibility. You realized this was the turning point in your life. Whether it led to ruin or triumph, you had stepped onto a path few dared to tread. 

That night, as you tossed and turned in your..let’s call it an apartment, the man’s calm smile replayed in your mind. His words echoed: You’ll be our best negotiator. You’ll be the one to stall them. Despite your nerves, excitement coursed through your veins. You imagined talking to lead negotiators, deflecting their questions with clever half-truths, steering them off track to protect your newly formed crew. You thought about one day facing the country’s best investigators, outwitting them, buying precious time. You could hardly believe you’d agreed, but there was no turning back. If the man’s plan was as flawless as he claimed, you would leave that bank with a fortune and a reputation for pulling off the greatest heist in modern history. 

Days later, you stepped out of the car. Before you stood the hideout, a large, slightly rundown estate hidden among dense woods. You slung your backpack over one shoulder, trying to mask your nerves as the man led you inside. The house’s interior was simple but functional. The walls were a dull beige, and the furniture looked like it had been pieced together from secondhand stores. At the end of the hallway, you spotted a large whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. 

“You’ll live here with the others.” the man said, opening the door to a modest bedroom with a single bed and a small desk. “This will be your space. I hope you’re comfortable sharing your time and ideas with the team.” 

“Are they already here?” you asked, stepping out of the room. “They’ve been waiting for you.” He replied. “Come. It’s time to meet your colleagues.” The team was spread out on mismatched chairs and sofas, chatting loudly and tossing playful insults. When you entered the room, the conversation stopped, and all eyes turned to you. 

“Everyone..” the man began, gesturing toward you. “This is our final recruit. She’ll handle external operations, disinformation, strategy, and hacking. You’ll rely on her as much as on each other.” The silence lingered until a tall man with slicked-back hair stood and walked toward you, his steps measured and deliberate. He extended his hand, his gaze cool and appraising. 

“What should we call you?” he asked. You shook his hand and met his gaze. “I guess we’ll figure that out.” Berlin grinned and stepped back as the others introduced themselves. Tokyo was the first to offer her hand, her grip firm. “You’re sure she can keep up, professor?” You scoffed. “I’ll manage just fine, thanks.” Rio grinned and waved from the couch. “We had a bet about what kind of person you’d be. I said tech genius.”

“And I said brat..” Nairobi added with a wide grin, arms crossed. “Let’s see who’s right.” The next morning, you sat at a long wooden table in a makeshift classroom, a notebook open in front of you. The rest of the team was scattered around the room, some leaning back in their chairs, others fiddling idly with pens. 

The Professor stood at the whiteboard, methodically sketching the layout of the Spanish National Bank. His voice was calm yet compelling as he explained the plan. “This..” he said, circling a section of the blueprint, “is the control room. Once we’re inside, we’ll take control of the security systems and isolate the bank from external interference. And this is where you come in.” He looked directly at you, and you straightened in your chair. “Your job will be to monitor law enforcement communications, lay false trails, and manipulate media coverage. We need the public on our side.” 

“Understood.” you said, jotting down notes. “What kind of false trails are we talking about?” 

“Think like a magician..” the Professor replied. “The hand the audience sees is never the one doing the work.” Tokyo leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes. “Why does she get to stay outside while we risk our necks inside?” 

“Because I can lie better than you.” you shot back with a sly smile. The room erupted in laughter, and even Tokyo couldn’t suppress a grudging grin. After another long day of lectures, the crew gathered in the common room. A half-full bottle of whiskey sat on the table as they relaxed. Nairobi leaned forward, her eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“Alright, it’s time.” she said, tapping the table. “What’s your city name, new girl?” You blinked. “I thought that was just for the people going into the bank.” 

“Nope!” Rio said with a broad grin. “If you’re part of the crew, you need a name. House rule.” The others immediately started throwing out suggestions. “Paris” said Nairobi. “Elegant but a little edgy.” 

“New York..” Tokyo chimed in. “Got attitude.” 

“Vegas!” Denver called out with a laugh. “A wild card…” You rolled your eyes. “You’re all terrible at this.” Berlin, who had been silent until now, took a sip of his drink and grinned. “How about Lisbon? Unexpected. Like her.” The room fell quiet for a moment as everyone considered the suggestion. You looked at Berlin, surprised by the thoughtfulness of his choice. 

“Lisbon..” Nairobi said, testing the word. “I like it. It suits her.” Over the next few weeks, you grew closer to the crew. Despite their teasing and larger-than-life personalities, they worked seamlessly together under the Professor’s guidance. One evening, Nairobi found you sitting alone in front of the whiteboard. “Everything okay?” 

You hesitated before admitting, “This..this is bigger than anything I’ve ever done. What if I screw it up?” Nairobi placed a hand on your shoulder. “We all feel that way. But we’ve got each other’s backs, okay? You’re not alone.” Late that night, you found the Professor in the study, surrounded by blueprints and diagrams. You hesitated in the doorway before stepping in. “Why did you choose me?” you asked quietly. The Professor looked up, surprised by the question. “Because you’re brilliant. And because I saw something in you..a willingness to challenge the system.” You frowned. “But I’m young and Inexperienced.” 

“You’re also adaptable.” he replied. “And resourceful. Those are qualities no amount of experience can replace.” Slowly, you nodded, his words sinking in. For the first time since joining the crew, you felt like you truly belonged. 

Exactly four months later, the bank was a scene of chaos. The echoes of screams, hurried footsteps, and the loud clatter of boots filled the marble halls. Tokyo was leading a group of terrified hostages into the main hall, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Beside her, Berlin radiated calm authority as he issued orders to the crew. “Rio, secure the hostages. Nairobi, lock down the printing area.” Berlin’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. “Denver, check the security personnel. I don’t want any surprises.” 

“On it.” Denver replied, moving toward the staff members who had been removed from the security room earlier. Behind the locked doors of the bank manager’s office, your voice crackled through the earpieces. You weren’t physically in the bank but monitored everything through surveillance cameras the crew had hacked. Your calm, steady tone stood in stark contrast to the tense atmosphere. 

“Tokyo, you’re pacing too quickly..” you said. “You’re making the hostages nervous.” Tokyo scowled but slowed her steps, muttering under her breath. Berlin, catching her reaction, chuckled quietly. “It’s like having the Professor in our ears. How delightful.” 

“I heard that!” you retorted sharply, though there was a hint of amusement in your voice. “And Berlin, fix your posture. You’re less intimidating when you slouch.” Berlin smirked and glanced at the nearest camera. “She’s lucky she’s not in here with us.” 

A few miles away, in an unassuming abandoned warehouse, you sat at a desk cluttered with monitors, laptops, and cables. Wearing a headset, your eyes flicked between various camera feeds, one of the hostages in the bank’s main hall, another of Rio working on the vault door, and another of police cars setting up barricades outside. 

The Professor stood behind you, arms crossed as he studied the feeds. He was calm, but his fingers twitched slightly against his sleeves, a small sign of his nerves. “How does it look?” he asked quietly.  “So far, so good.” you replied. “We’ve got the media narrative under control. I published the fake manifesto this morning, so they’re already painting us as anti-establishment rebels. Public opinion should swing our way by this afternoon.” The Professor nodded, satisfied. “And the police?” 

“They’ve set up a perimeter.” you said, pressing a few keys to pull up a live drone feed. “But they’re waiting for someone to take command. I’m guessing that’ll be their negotiator.” As if on cue, a new voice crackled over the police radio you had tapped into. You froze, your eyes narrowing. 

“Natasha Romanoff, FBI. I’m taking command.”  She stepped out of a sleek black SUV, her expression unreadable. Dressed in a sharp black suit, her red hair tied neatly into a ponytail, she exuded authority. The air buzzed with tension as officers bustled around, setting up barricades, unloading equipment, and securing the area.  Natasha surveyed the scene with a practiced eye. Her gaze lingered on the massive front doors of the bank, barricaded from the inside. On nearby rooftops, snipers had taken position, their scopes trained on the windows. A young officer hurried to her side, clipboard in hand. “Agent Romanoff, the perimeter is secure. No one gets in or out without our clearance.” 

“Good,” Natasha replied, her tone crisp. “Have we made contact?” 

“Not yet. They’ve refused to answer the phone lines.” She nodded and stepped into the command tent. Inside, monitors displayed live drone footage of the bank’s exterior and a floor plan of the building. Natasha studied the images, her mind already working through possible scenarios. The officers in the tent glanced at her cautiously. She had a reputation. Efficient, methodical, relentless. Natasha didn’t tolerate mistakes, and everyone knew it. 

“What do we know about them?” she asked, crossing her arms as she addressed the room.  “They’re highly organized!” an officer replied. “They took over the bank in under five minutes. No one’s been injured, but they’re heavily armed.” 

“Any demands?” She asked. "Not yet. But we found this outside." the officer said, handing Natasha a printed copy of the fake manifesto you had planted earlier. "They claim this is a statement against corruption in the financial system. It’s already all over the news." Natasha scanned the document, her sharp eyes taking in the calculated wording. "They’re trying to sway public opinion to their side.." she murmured. "Clever. That’ll make it harder for us to take an aggressive approach." 

She tossed the paper onto the table. "Establish a line of communication with their leader. I want to know who we’re dealing with." Natasha reached for the phone connected to the bank’s central line. She knew this call wouldn’t be about negotiating, it was about gathering information. She needed to figure out who was on the other end, what they wanted, and how far they were willing to go. 

Inside the bank, Berlin picked up the ringing phone with a charming smile. "This is Berlin." he said smoothly. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" 

"This is Natasha Romanoff, FBI." she replied. Her voice was calm but firm, leaving no room for pleasantries. "I’d like to speak to the person in charge." 

"I’m afraid that won’t be possible right now." Berlin said with amusement. "But I’ll happily take a message." Natasha’s eyes narrowed. "My only concern is the safety of your hostages. That’s my priority." 

"Of course it is.." Berlin replied, his smile audible. "And you’ll be pleased to hear they are..so far..perfectly safe." Natasha paused, listening intently to the faint background noises on the line. Muffled voices, the sound of footsteps on marble, and something else, a faint beeping, like an alarm. 

"You’re playing a dangerous game." she said finally. "But I’m very good at games." Berlin chuckled softly. "I’m sure you are. But this isn’t chess, Agent Romanoff. This is..theater. And the show has just begun." He hung up before she could respond. 

Back at the hideout, you listened to the conversation through the tapped line, your headset firmly in place. Leaning back in your chair, you chewed on your thumbnail, analyzing Natasha’s voice. "She’s sharp.." you murmured. "If we’re not careful, she’ll see right through us." The Professor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Then we’ll have to stay one step ahead of her. Remember, the goal isn’t just to survive this heist. It’s to make them believe they’re in control, right up until the moment they lose everything." 

You glanced at the screen displaying Natasha’s image from a news feed. Her piercing green eyes, the way she moved with calm authority..it was unsettling. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel something else. Admiration, perhaps. Curiosity. "Be careful." the Professor said, noticing your gaze. "She’s not just your opponent. She’s your equal." 

The rest of the team was already hours deep into securing the hostages and working on the vault. Berlin’s voice crackled over the comms: "Lisbon, it’s your turn. She wants to speak to the mastermind. Time to give her a show." Adjusting your headset, you took a deep breath. Your nerves were taut, but you masked them with a confident grin. "Understood. Let’s do this." 

You activated the line and pressed a button on the soundboard. A calm, distorted male voice filled the air: "This is Lisbon." In the command tent, Natasha picked up the phone. The room fell silent as the officers leaned in to catch every word. Natasha held the receiver to her ear, her expression neutral, but her eyes sharp as razors. "Lisbon." she repeated. "So, you’re the one pulling the strings here."

"Correct." your distorted voice replied. "And you must be Agent Romanoff. I’ve heard quite a bit about you." Natasha ignored the flattery. "If you’ve done your homework, then you know I’m here to ensure your hostages come out alive. That’s my only concern." You pressed a button on the soundboard, triggering a soft, deep laugh. "And here I thought you were here to negotiate." 

"That depends." Natasha replied smoothly. "What do you want?" Leaning closer to the microphone, you tapped your fingers on the desk, guiding the conversation. You knew Natasha was trying to size you up, searching for any slip, any weakness, but you weren’t going to make it easy for her. 

"What do I want?" Your distorted voice pondered, deliberately stretching the pause. "I want justice. The kind that makes headlines. The kind that shakes the foundations of a broken system." Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly. "You’re talking about the economy."

"Very good, Agent Romanoff. You catch on quickly." 

"Don’t patronize me." Natasha snapped, her voice tight with tension. "If this is about making a political statement, you’ve already made it. But taking hostages isn’t the way to change the world."

You smiled, pressing another button to play a short, dismissive laugh. "Isn’t it? History would beg to differ." 

Natasha’s jaw tightened. "If you think you’re the first person to try this, you’re mistaken. I’ve seen how these situations end, and it’s never in your favor. You can still stop this." 

"Stop?" you repeated, genuine amusement creeping into your real voice beneath the distortion. "Agent Romanoff, I didn’t plan this for years just to ‘stop’ now. But I appreciate the offer." 

Natasha changed her tactic, her tone softening. "How about this. Give me something in return. A gesture of goodwill. Release a few hostages, and I’ll ensure you get a fair hearing." You hesitated for the briefest moment, not because you were considering it, but because you felt the sincerity in Natasha’s voice. For a fleeting second, the tension felt personal, almost disarming. But then you steadied yourself, pressing another soundboard clip. 

The voice came through, cool and calculated, "A generous offer, but unnecessary. I assure you, our hostages are perfectly safe, as long as you follow my instructions." 

"And what are those instructions?" 

"Patience, Agent Romanoff. All in good time." Natasha leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she studied the voice on the other end. Something felt..off. The rhythm was too perfect, too controlled. It reminded her of an actor reading from a script. She decided to apply pressure. 

"You know, you’re remarkably composed for someone running an operation of this scale. Most people would sound different." Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you played another soundboard clip: a soft, measured chuckle. "I’m not ‘most people,’ Agent Romanoff." 

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. "No, you’re not. But you know what? I don’t think that’s your real voice. You’re hiding something." Your grin faltered for a fraction of a second before you recovered, quickly playing another soundboard clip. "Believe what you want. It changes nothing." 

"Maybe not." Natasha replied, her voice colder. "But you should know one thing about me: I don’t stop until I find the truth. And when I do, you’ll regret underestimating me." You glanced at the Professor, who gave you a small nod of approval. Deciding it was time to end the conversation on your terms, you spoke with finality. "I look forward to it, Agent Romanoff." you said, your real voice still hidden beneath the distortion. "In the meantime, I suggest you focus on keeping the public calm. The more chaos you allow, the less control you’ll have. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

Before Natasha could respond, you cut the line. You took off your headset and exhaled deeply, running a hand through your hair. Your heart was still racing, but a hint of pride coursed through you. You had held your ground. The Professor approached you, his expression calm but thoughtful. "Well done." he said. "But you need to be careful. She’s already suspicious." 

"She’s sharp.." you admitted, leaning back in your chair. "It almost felt like she could see right through the soundboard." 

"She’s testing you." he replied. "She’s looking for cracks in your façade. But she won’t find any as long as you stay focused." You nodded, though your mind lingered on Natasha’s voice. There was something about it..something unsettling yet magnetic. You pushed the thought aside, knowing there was no room for distraction. 

In the command tent, Natasha set the phone down and leaned back in her chair. The officers around her whispered among themselves, but she waved them off, her mind already working at full speed.  "He’s good." she said aloud, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. "Ma’am?" an officer asked. 

"That voice.." Natasha continued, her brow furrowed. "It’s too smooth. Too controlled. Whoever that was, they’re hiding behind a mask. And I’m going to find out who they really are. Bring Hill here. I want her to look into this." She stared at the bank, her green eyes sharp with determination. The game had begun, and Natasha Romanoff was ready to play. 

-

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[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag XV

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, mentions of violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, semi public sex,  jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

“Mother, please…”

Your parents and Rafe found your exasperation amusing, your back vibrating from the feel of his soft chuckle as you leaned against him. The blond wrapped his arms around you as your mother quietly pleaded for ‘just one more’. Your father wasn’t on your side on today of all days, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“You know how she gets,” he told you. “Let her have this.”

“It’s just Midsummers,” you said to them. “We do this every year.”

You tried not to let your unenthusiastic thoughts slip through too much, but where there was once a time you loved Midsummers, you mostly just wanted to get the night over with now. It still brought you joy—this you wouldn’t deny—but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. You used to look forward to it, and while you enjoyed getting dolled up and seeing your parents’ friends as they asked about you, you didn’t enjoy smiling in everyone’s faces and gushing over how happy you were with Rafe.

You looked forward to the food and drinks and floating around in a beautiful dress, but you didn’t look forward to Rafe’s hand on your waist all night. You didn’t look forward to laughing along as countless people wondered when Rafe planned on popping the question. You didn’t look forward to posing for countless pictures.

…as you were currently doing.

“Mother,” you sighed.

“You should be used to this by now,” she softly laughed. “…and grateful because I’m going to be far worse than you could ever imagine on your wedding day.”

Your stomach twisted at that, and you swallowed down bile just as Rafe tightened his arms around you.

“Stop being such a brat and just let your mom take the picture.”

His voice was quiet as his lips grazed your ear, and you kept a smile on your face as he straightened again. The older woman made a noise of approval, and you felt no relief when she was finally done. You glanced at Rafe just as your mother turned to your father to discuss the best ones, face even as your boyfriend adjusted your necklace.

He’d just bought it.

“Just stop smiling,” he murmured. “You look like you’re being tortured.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Rafe paused, staring you down for a moment before a small smirk made its way onto his lips. Dropping one arm, the other hand moved towards your face, touching your red lips.

“Cute…”

“We’ll meet you both there,” your father said over his shoulder as he walked your mother to his car. “…and please don’t forget to set the alarm. I think someone broke into our pool house.”

His words made your heart drop, and you whipped your head around to stare at the older man with wide eyes.

“What?” you said, voice uneven.

Your father made a gesture with his hand like he was scolding himself for forgetting to tell you that.

“Yeah, I went in there the other day looking for my golf clubs, and it just looked…off. Lived in,” he said, opening the car door. “I might install a camera or two, I don’t know.”

They bid you both goodbye, none the wiser to the internal turmoil he’d just caused, and you swallowed just as Rafe started to pull you back inside. You heard him scoff.

“Probably some Pogue looking to mooch,” he snidely commented, making his way to your father’s bar. “Typical.”

Clearing your throat, you grabbed your purse.

“It’s probably nothing,” you found yourself murmuring. “Besides, it’s a pool house, not exactly The Hilton.”

“Babe, your fucking basement would be like The Ritz to those people,” Rafe said with a shake of his head as he downed a quick drink. “You think too highly of them and their lack of standards.”

You really didn’t want Rafe of all people to preach to you about standards, and you huffed.

“Do you plan on driving there drunk or…?”

Rafe was in a lighter mood today, and so that actually brought a chuckle out of him. Pouring one more drink out of your father’s bottle, he made his way to you. When he kissed you, you could taste the alcohol on his lips, and you watched him pull away to empty the glass.

“I need something in my system if I’m going to be around my family and their friends all night. Especially Rose’s book club women,” he said with a shudder, guiding you out after setting the alarm.

You were almost to his truck when he stopped you, forcing you to face him. You felt nervous as you looked at the blond because you had no idea what he was thinking nor what was about to come out of his mouth. You rested your hands on his arms as he pulled you closer, his own hands comfortable at the small of your back. His blue gaze flitted between your own.

“Try to lose the pout, alright?” he said to you. “Your knee is much better, your nose is practically like new, and you look good enough to eat.”

Rafe leaned in, gently pressing his lips to your cheek.

“Things could always be worse,” was what he said to you when he pulled away, a hint of a threat in his voice as he stared into your eyes.

Yes, you supposed that was true, and you allowed him to walk you to the passenger door.

You didn’t know what Ward had said to him exactly, but you couldn’t ignore the restraint Rafe had practiced for weeks, now. You didn’t know if Ward had legitimately found something to scare him with or if it was a conversation that went more along the lines of ‘at least wait for her to fully recover’. You realized that your thoughts were bordering along something much worse than praising a fish for swimming, but it was relieving to not have to deal with Rafe’s violence and especially for this length of time.

The reprieve was almost enough to make you feel bad for seeing JJ behind his back.

Almost.

“I almost didn’t recognize you.”

The dark-haired girl turned to look at you, her confusion dying down as she placed the face to the voice. Kie weighed your words over in her mind, head slightly tilting from side to side before a small smile adorned her face.

“I know that’s meant as a compliment, so I’ll take it as one,” she said, taking her drink from the bartender. “I look like an uppity Kook princess…no offense.”

You didn’t take any offense to it.

“I know you wouldn’t dare be caught dead here willingly,” you commented, and Kie rolled her eyes over to her mom.

The woman was talking to your mom, a third woman with them that you didn’t recognize.

“It’s amazing how you know me so much better than my own mom,” she snidely replied, taking a sip of her punch. “She keeps waiting for me to ‘grow up’ as she puts it…”

You felt her eyes on you as the bartender finally gave you your own drink. You discreetly shook your head when he asked if you wanted anything else in it, the man no doubt familiar with how underage attendants got their way around here. At Kie’s surprised look, you spoke.

“I still take painkillers, so…”

The tan girl nodded at that, and a look passed over her features that looked a lot like concern.

“Sarah told me that your leg is much better.”

“It is, yeah,” you confirmed. “I can walk without a splint for the most part, but Rafe and my parents still want me to stay off of it if I can.”

She nodded, a soft ‘that’s good’ reaching your ears. Kie looked like she wanted to say more, and despite you two being friendly—with her eventually coming around to you—it was very clear in this moment that you were not friends. You blamed Rafe for that and was just about to go find him when she spoke again.

“It’s not my place…it’s really JJ’s to tell you the truth, but… He was really out of line that day in the hospital.”

Her words took you by surprise, her expression even more so because she looked genuinely embarrassed by what had occurred.

“Yeah, Rafe’s an asshole, and sure, sometimes he’s an asshole to you, and we’re probably the only ones who ever see that, but… JJ accusing him of that was really gross and uncalled for,” she continued.

You looked down at her words, unable to defend JJ in the way you wanted. Everyone thought he was just being a dick who hated Rafe, but in actuality he was right, and you took a sip of your drink.

“His feelings aren’t any excuse to accuse someone of something like that…”

You looked at her again at her words, expression inquiring.

“You know, about Rafe…and you,” she eventually added, albeit reluctantly.

She shrugged at the look on your face, her own expression softer than what you were used to.

“I think he likes you,” she said, shocking you. “Or…at the very least you surprised him. You’re just not what he expected.”

You struggled to respond to that, taking another sip.

“What makes you say that?” you wondered with a scoff.

“He brings you up sometimes. Just to me,” she added at the look on your face. “Nothing crazy. I just think he worries about you dating Rafe, and I keep telling him you’re with that guy for a reason.”

You swallowed, unsure of how to feel about JJ talking to Kie about you.

“There’s probably a whole other side to Rafe the rest of us will just never see…”

You thought to yourself if she only knew.

“That’s flattering,” you slowly said, attempting to steady your heart. “I didn’t even think JJ cared enough about me to talk about me to anyone. Especially to you.”

Sarah was always vocal about how tight-knit John B.’s friend group was before she came along. There’d been a few days where you absentmindedly listened to her talk about how she’d felt like she was intruding at first, only feeling welcomed by all after some time. You especially remembered a few comments on how protective Kie was over her boys, doubly so towards Sarah considering their history.

“I was surprised too,” the other girl agreed. “…but I guess he just wanted to talk to a girl about it.”

You only nodded at that, and you could feel her gaze on you, although it was hard to read when you looked at her.

“You know he’s here tonight…”

Even though your face didn’t move, your heart did skip a beat in your chest, and you sharply inhaled. You didn’t need her to confirm who she was talking about, but she did anyway, and you took another sip of your drink.

“He’s making some extra money,” she explained. “I didn’t get why he’d want to work Midsummers of all events, but…maybe now I do.”

Your gaze met hers at that, and before you could really study her expression, you were interrupted.

“You’re going to hang by the bar all night?” Rafe wondered, saddling up next to you as he flagged down the bartender.

He only just noticed Kie after a moment, throwing her a dismissive look before resting his blue eyes on you.

“Is she why I’ve had to entertain myself with Kelce and Topper despite coming with my beautiful girlfriend?”

You hated the way he talked about her like she wasn’t there, but before you could scold him on it, Kie made herself scarce with one last glance thrown your way. You forced it out of your mind, sighing at him.

“You three were discussing football. I figured that was your subtle way of excluding me…”

After being handed a drink he was just shy of being legal for, Rafe snaked his arm around your waist. He pressed his lips to yours, humming to himself.

“If I’d wanted you to go away, I would’ve said so,” he murmured into the kiss.

His lips made their way to your cheek, and that was the moment you took note of familiar blond hair over his shoulder. Just as Kie said, he was wearing a uniform, a serving tray in his hand, and you blinked. Was he really here just for you? It seemed like way too big of a risk to take, but you found yourself glad that he was.

You needed to tell him that he couldn’t sleep in the pool house for a while.

It was then that you heard Kelce call your boyfriend over, and you both turned to see the other guy waving him over. He and Topper and some of Rafe’s other friends were laughing down at someone’s phone, and Rafe squeezed your waist.

“Now I’m telling you to entertain yourself,” he chuckled. “I won’t be long.”

He left you to go and see what was so funny, and you tapped your finger against your glass a few times before stepping away. JJ’s blue gaze was already on you when you glanced over, and you looked back at Rafe one more time before stepping into the building. A few beats had passed before you heard footsteps mirroring yours.

Knowing this cursed place like the back of your hand, you were quick and discreet in slipping into a storage room. You swallowed down the rest of your drink as you slowly paced, telling yourself you were on a time crunch. It wasn’t too much longer before you had company, and you were quick to get your words out before JJ got the wrong idea.

“You can’t stay at the pool house tonight,” you told him, giving him pause. “Not for a while actually. Not until I can convince my father he doesn’t need to install cameras.”

You sighed.

“I might just tell him I’m the one who’s been in there.”

The blond nodded at that, and you watched him purse his lips.

“So…this isn’t what I thought it was going to be.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile at that, gently laughing to yourself.

“No, JJ,” you admonished. “Rafe is…right outside.”

You gestured towards the door.

“…and his friends will keep him occupied for a while sure, but definitely not long enough to…”

You trailed off, shrugging and dropping your arm. Your words made JJ’s eyebrows raise, and he gave you a look you were more than familiar with.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

You gave him a look.

“JJ…be serious…”

He slowly made his way to you, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time.

“I am,” he breathed, gaze finally dropping. “You look beautiful.”

Rafe had given you the same compliment, but it meant more coming from JJ’s lips, and your own lips parted. Your stomach always flipped when he said things like that to you, and you reminded yourself that you hadn’t met up with him for this. You said that, but the more you looked at him the more you thought how nice he looked in something akin to a suit.

JJ’s blond hair was just a tad neater, resembling Rafe’s almost, and you didn’t think you liked it. Too busy taking in his uncharacteristic appearance, you didn’t pay attention to how close he’d gotten until his hand was touching your necklace. It was a tennis one, the expensive piece of jewelry catching the light, and you focused in on JJ’s face just as he let out a low whistle.

“Rafe bought it,” you explained, noting how much it felt like a collar. “He insisted I wear it tonight.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall, telling yourself to leave, to tell JJ that you’d see him later. However, you couldn’t deny that you didn’t want to, hating that you were here with Rafe instead. You wanted to prolong your time with the other blond for as long as possible, and you knew that JJ was thinking the same thing by the way his hand rested on your cheek.

“JJ…”

Your voice was low as he moved closer.

“Rafe isn’t going to be distracted forever.”

He looked between your eyes at that, his teeth sinking into his lip. He seemed to be contemplating it for a few moments before dropping to his knees. Your heart thudded in your chest as he reached under your dress, dragging your underwear down, and you didn’t stop him as your stomach flipped. You didn’t miss the way he slipped them into his pocket as he stood, lips immediately finding yours.

You couldn’t resist rubbing your thighs together in anticipation, feeling heat settle in the pit of your stomach. JJ tasted the inside of your mouth, and you could tell he’d had a drink or two earlier. He took his time in kissing you, mouth slowly moving against yours, and somewhere along the way he seemed to remember where you were…what you were not supposed to be doing…and who you had to get back to.

Resting between JJ and the wall, you helped him undo his pants, hand immediately wrapping around his cock the moment it was free. He hissed against your lips, and you couldn’t hold back your smile, kissing him harder and stroking him. He groaned into the kiss when you squeezed him, and reminding yourself of Rafe, you pushed your lower half against his.

One of JJ’s hands slid behind your thigh before hooking your leg against his waist. He rested between your legs as his lips traveled down your neck, and with your underwear in his pocket, you could feel the tip of him poking at your bare skin, a shudder passing through you as you wrapped your arms around him.

Guiding the tip of him between your folds, JJ pushed himself through his fist a few times before sliding into you with one quick thrust. You threw your head back, gasping at the tight fight and thinking you liked it a little better when you weren’t as wet. The slight burn made you buck your hips, and JJ’s hands were tight on you as he started to thrust into you.

You couldn’t swallow down your moan, reaching out to press your hand against the wall as JJ fucked you. Wrapping your other arm around his shoulder and neck, you pressed your face against him, teeth sinking into the nice shirt he had on. His hands were guiding your hips to meet him thrust for thrust, his cock stretching you out. You grew wetter with every movement, and it wasn’t long before each thrust was smoother and easier than the last.

For a few moments, you forgot all about Rafe and Midsummers and the fact that you had to go back out there and smile on your boyfriend’s arm. There was even a faint thought that he might be looking for you that you pushed out of your mind. All you could focus on was the feeling of JJ inside of you, chasing both of your climaxes. You wanted to keep fucking him for hours, but you knew that wouldn’t be possible, now.

You glanced at the clock again when JJ left open mouthed kisses against your throat, groaning against your skin as you squeezed him. You kept pushing your hips forward to meet his thrusts, dripping around his cock, and pulling at his uniform. Your other hand reached between you, dipping under your dress and circling your bundle of nerves. Your toes curled at the feel, and when you came, you came hard.

You swallowed down your moan as you tightened around JJ, and when your climax triggered his own, he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. You clung to each other as you came together and getting it in your head that you needed to go, you dropped your leg. You were going to help JJ get redressed, but he deterred you with a quick kiss.

“Go, go,” he urged, ushering you out of the room, and you hurried to make sure your hair and dress were fine as you sped away from the room.

You were down the hall when you felt JJ dripping down your thighs, and with a start, you realized he still had your underwear. You were contemplating turning back when you heard your name, the sound getting closer and closer until Rafe finally rounded the corner. Your eyes were wide as they met his angry ones, and you didn’t get a word out before his hand tightened on your arm.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“The bathroom,” was your quick answer, blinking before adding to it. “…and then the kitchens. I was trying to find a ginger-ale. My stomach felt weird.”

“I’ve been looking for you forever,” he spat, pulling you in the opposite direction of the party. “Sarah and my dad are being especially irritating, right now.”

When Rafe pulled you into an empty room, your heart sank.

…because you knew what he wanted.

“Rafe…not here…”

Your words actually gave him pause, and your boyfriend looked at you like you’d lost your mind. One of his hands pressed to the very door you were leaning against, and you watched him tilt his head at you. His hair wasn’t so neat now—a sign that he’d been running his hands through it—and you swallowed at the way he looked between your eyes.

“We’ve never not fucked at Midsummers,” he told you. “It’s practically a tradition, now.”

He softly laughed to himself, finding that funny.

“Can’t we just go? Let’s just go home and shower and-.”

“I’m not ready to go,” he cut you off, eyeing you. “My sister has been annoying me, and my dad is making me want to snort four lines of coke, and instead, I choose to fuck my girlfriend.”

The determination on his face made your nerves spike, and you were all too aware in this moment of the feel of JJ’s cum drying on the inside of your thighs. You didn’t think Rafe would even notice such a thing in his haste to be inside of you, but you knew you didn’t have the capacity to not feel icky fucking Rafe after just doing so with JJ.

“…but for whatever reason, she’s fighting me on that.”

Now, he looked angrier than he did before, and you looked towards the ceiling.

“I thought we were past this…”

When you looked at him again, his face was much closer.

“I thought we were on the same page about the least you could do in this relationship.”

You looked down at that, chest clenching painfully at the memory. The silence between you was thick with tension, and when he slowly reached up to touch your face, you let your eyes close.

“Are you going to fuck me, or do I need to give you another nose job?”

At his soft words, you looked into his eyes. Rafe was entirely serious, and with a shaky sigh, you reached for his belt. He didn’t say a word as you unbuckled it, and you shuddered when he leaned in to kiss your cheek, inhaling at the feel of you slipping your hand into his pants. His hand reached up to the back of your neck as you stroked him, fingers finding that stupid necklace and tightening it around your throat.

“Fuck,” he cursed against your skin.

Rafe moved you towards an empty table, hurried in pushing you onto it, and he didn’t hesitate in covering your frame and guiding himself into you. He groaned at the smooth entry, kissing you again and pushing his hips against yours.

“So wet for me already?” he hummed into the kiss.

He reached under you to lift your hips a bit, holding you right where he wanted you as he thrust into you. So eager to fuck you, Rafe didn’t even notice your lack of underwear. Or at least not enough to comment on it if he did, too preoccupied with taking out his frustrations on your body. You held onto him and his arm as you squeezed your eyes shut, fighting to convince yourself that you weren’t as horrible as you felt.

It wasn’t even twenty minutes ago when JJ was inside of you, fucking you in some storage room and fighting to make you come before you had to get back to Rafe. Now, here you were, once again in an empty room but having sex with someone entirely different. You shuddered as you recalled Rafe’s words, knowing that it wasn’t your arousal for him but instead a combination from both you and JJ after the other blond had come inside of you.

The thought made you want to shy away from the man on top of you, but there was nowhere to go. The table shook beneath his rough thrusts, and Rafe seemed to forget that you were there as he pounded into you. You flinched and squirmed beneath your boyfriend from both the rough treatment and the overstimulation, feeling torn between wanting to come again and pushing Rafe away.

When he fisted his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling your head back, you knew that you were in for a long night.

Your chest was painfully tight as you stared at Rafe in horror. Your boyfriend looked nothing like the gentleman he pretended to be but instead like the monster he often was. Only this time, that violent gleam in his eyes wasn’t directed at you. It had set its sights on JJ.

“Rafe…come on, this is ridiculous, let’s just go,” you repeated for the umpteenth time.

It was only an hour ago that you were hanging onto him as he fucked you in some empty room, pent up and angry at both Sarah and Ward. Now—somehow—you’d found yourselves outside as his friends held JJ’s arms, your boyfriend gearing up to hit him again. It was unfair and disgusting and cruel.

“You’re being an asshole, and for what? Because he’s here?”

The party was still going on, and twenty minutes ago you’d thought you were leaving. Now, you were basically forced to watch Rafe hurt the guy you were sleeping with. He kept telling you to leave, that this wouldn’t take long and wouldn’t be much longer, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to abandon JJ so easily.

“Rafe!”

“Get in the damn truck,” he called over his shoulder.

He sounded exasperated with you, and his friends chuckled. You looked between them in disgust, most notably at Topper who clearly wasn’t enjoying this as much as the others but didn’t have the balls to actually say something. Disappointed in all of them, your eyes briefly met JJ’s, his practically pleading with you to just leave.

You huffed.

“Fuck this,” you spat, making your way back towards the building to find someone who worked here.

Your tone must have caught Rafe’s attention because he was quick to stop you, roughly grabbing you.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he chuckled, but it had an edge to it. “I thought I said to wait in the truck?”

He looked at you like you’d lost your mind.

“What, you’re-you were going to go tattle on me?”

“This is shitty, and I won’t stand by and let it happen,” you replied.

“Who gives a fuck? He’s a Pogue!”

“…and so that makes this okay? I want to go home, and you want to stand here beating on someone who can’t even fight back!”

Rafe looked between your eyes, and you hated the way he tilted his head.

“Why do you care so much about what happens to him?”

“You’re so stupid-! It could be anyone, Rafe,” you sneered. “This is childish and mean.”

Rafe stared you down for what felt like too long—too still—and your heart beat faster the longer it went on. Before you knew it, his hand had fisted into your hair, and he was dragging you over to his friends.

“See… This is why he’s always making googly eyes at you,” Rafe said, not sounding the least bit amused. “This is why he’s making comments and accusations about me and our relationship.”

Rafe maneuvered his arm around your neck, holding you close as he grinned at JJ.

“You’re too nice, baby. Too sympathetic,” he chuckled, gesturing to the other blond. “He’s got himself a little crush, I just know it.”

You attempted to move out of Rafe’s grip, but he wouldn’t budge. You hated the bruising that was already forming under JJ’s eyes and the blood on his lip too. You made a noise of protest when Rafe kissed you on the lips, sloppily and rough, before turning away.

“Hey, JJ,” your boyfriend softly said, tone mocking. “She’s just being nice…because that’s just who she is.”

“Rafe…”

“Don’t go getting any ideas.”

“You’re making a fool of yourself,” you spat at Rafe, knowing that he was doing so in more ways than one.

Rafe looked at you in mock outrage, shrugging.

“I’m just trying to help him out,” he told you. “It’s not my fault these Pogues always want what we have.”

“Rafe, stop this,” you hissed. “You’re being an asshole.”

The words had barely left your mouth when his hand roughly closed around your chin. You winced at the feel, and neither you nor Rafe missed the way JJ tried to break free. Rafe’s friends chuckled at the sight, but Rafe didn’t, merely staring at the other blond.

“Look at you,” he finally mused. “I don’t know whether I should feel flattered or offended that you feel so protective over my girlfriend.”

There wasn’t a hint of humor in his tone, and before you could quite marinate on that, you were harshly thrown to the ground. The mood seemed to shift at that, and you could tell that his friends hadn’t been expecting that. You didn’t know if Rafe was drunk or high or both, but he’d never been so public in his cavalier treatment of you.

“She’s my girlfriend, JJ, and I could do anything I want to her…”

You attempted to push yourself up when you felt the sole of his shoe on your knee…that knee.

“I could set her little healing journey back…”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, sure that he wouldn’t with so many witnesses, but also…not so sure. You glanced at JJ, but the other blond was staring at Rafe with wide eyes, and you couldn’t tell whether he was angry or scared. Probably both.

“I could rip her hair out right here…” he gestured to his friends. “…and do you think any of them would stop me?”

“Rafe,” Topper finally said, and your boyfriend’s gaze snapped to him.

“Would you?”

Topper just stared at him, but his silence spoke volumes, and you only attempted to stand again when your boyfriend finally moved his foot. He pointed around, his gaze resting on JJ again.

“None of them are going to do shit,” he said to him. “So, what makes you so special to think you have a say in how I treat my girlfriend?”

Your lips trembled as you finally stood to your feet.

“…because she was nice to you once? Because she doesn’t want me to kick your ass now?”

You looked between them, the faint sounds of the party reaching your ears.

“Truth be told, I should kick your face in for that stunt you pulled at the hospital,” your boyfriend sneered.

“Rafe, you’ve made your point!”

You hated this entire pissing contest he was doing, and at this point, you half expected Rafe to whip it out and mark his territory. He stared JJ down for what felt like too long, his friends equally uncomfortable now with the turn the night had taken. You could see it in his eyes that he wanted to slap you clear across the face—maybe even break your arm—all just to prove that he could do whatever he wanted to you, and there wasn’t a thing JJ could do about it.

Rafe, however, settled for harshly grabbing your face and spitting right into your mouth as you gasped.

Taken aback, you couldn’t hold in your coughing fit, forced to follow along as he roughly grabbed your arm.

“Like I said JJ. Anything I want,” he repeated.

Dragging you along, Rafe tossed his next words over his shoulder at his friends.

“That Pogue’s all yours.”

You felt riddled with disgust the whole way to his truck, humiliated and angry. You blinked back tears as you recalled the way his friends did nothing, didn’t even move a muscle as he threw you to the ground, and you didn’t know what you hated more—that or Topper’s cowardly attempt that he ultimately backed out of.

Once you were at his truck and away from prying eyes, the slap came harshly and swiftly.

It made your ears ring and your cheek sting, tears forming behind your eyes as Rafe leaned in. His nose grazed the burning cheek, and you could hear his labored breathing as his chest heaved against your arm. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and neither did you, just staring into the darkness as a few tears finally spilled over.

“That is the last time you defend that Pogue…especially around me,” he whispered. “Do you understand?”

You started to nod when his hand circled around your throat, making you sharply inhale.

“I want to hear you fucking say it.”

Pulling at his arm, you eventually gave up on that, forcing the word out.

“Yes,” you struggled to say.

Shoving you away from him, he opened the passenger door, telling you to get inside. Wiping your face, you did, settling in the seat with a newfound hatred for Midsummers.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

[spoonfulofmilo]

Mick x driver!male!reader but childhood friends to rivals to lovers trope pls?

been writing this for so long, but I love it so much, and I'm finally happy with it :)

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mick schumacher x male!driver!reader - childhood friends to rivals to lovers

2004

---

“Micky, Micky!”

Michael watched as the 2 kids smiled at the camera, both struggling to hoist their trophies up for the trophy. He saw the trophy tilt and tried to cry out, however it was too late.

Y/N could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as his head hurt. He’d heard his friend Max’s dad say that men don’t cry, and unless he was dying, there was no reason to cry. But he was 5 and the impact that the metal trophy had made with his head had really hurt.

But before the tears could fall out, Mick had already placed both his and Y/N’s trophies on the ground and was giving his best friend the biggest hug, and trying to stop him crying.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay You’re okay. This only hurt because it scared you. It doesn’t hurt as badly as the karting crash from last month, you’re okay, aren’t you.”

Y/N wiped his tears and nodded, trying to smile as he gasped to get his tears under control. Mick gave him the biggest hug ever as he stopped crying and picked up his trophy again.

Michael watched as the photos began again and the 2 kids smiled. Those 2 were going to do great things some day, he knew it.

---

2009

---

Michael didn’t think that Y/N would be happy when he got out of the kart. Mick and him had been fighting the entire race, miles ahead of anyone else and it had looked like Y/N would win it.

Until Mick went for a daring dive down the inside of Y/N’s kart, resulting in a spin for Y/N. He’d gotten back, gotten up to close to Mick again, but that spin had been costly, as Mick crossed the line and Y/N crossed it in second.

Michael didn’t even try to look for Y/N’s parents. They either would’ve gone home, expecting Michael to bring him home, or they’d be waiting in the pits for an opportunity to berate their son.

If they had done the former, Michael reckoned he would simply decide to let Y/N stay over for a sleepover tonight. He needed it.

As Michael wandered down to the pits where the drivers were finishing and parking up, he tried to blend in. It was easier than it used to be, back when he was racing he’d spend a while after every race taking photos with a couple of kids, talking to them, trying to convince them not to give up on their dreams even when it’s impossible. But now, ducking through, he was almost invisible.

And as he approached the two 10 year old boys, all he saw was jubilation. The 2 kids were happy, celebrating each other.

‘Papa! Papa! Did you see that, I won!’

“He did very well, even though I’m not exactly happy about that dive down the inside.”

Nothing about Y/N’s face indicated that he was unhappy, except for the darted around eyes that signalled he was looking for his parents.

They weren’t here. Clearly. Michael pulled Y/N into a hug. “C’mon, let’s get you 2 on the podium, and then we can head home. You wanna stay at home tonight?”

Michael didn’t even realise he had referred to his own home as Y/N’s home, as he saw his face light up.

“Home sounds good,” smiled Y/N, as he darted off to follow Mick to the podium.

---

2019

---

“Mick. I get that we were friends, back in karting, but life happens. Stuff happens. We’re both gunning for the championship and the f1 seat.”

“That doesn’t mean that anything has to change between the 2 of us, Y/N. We never let that stuff get between us usually. We were fighting for seats our entire childhood, and it never got between us then.”

“Yeah, well, this is the big leagues, Schumacher, sink or swim. I would wish you good luck out there, but I think I need it more.”

Y/N smiled at Mick, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It was a planned smile, like he knew what he was doing the whole time. Then he turned and left the driver room, heading towards the garage.

Mick tried to stop his eyes welling up with tears. First of all, Y/N was his friend. He didn’t know where this competitive spirit had come from. Well, Y/N had always been competitive, but not an asshole. And right now, he was being an asshole.

And Y/N knew of all people how much he hated his last name. How he hated when people referred to him as Schumacher, how he wanted to be seen as his own person, not his father’s son. And yet Y/N had called him Schumacher.

“Fucking asshole” was all Mick thought to himself as he prepared for the race.

---

2020

---

Y/N looked like he was going to throw something. Or murder someone. Or crash his car into a barrier. He looked positively fuming as Prema surrounded Mick, congratulating him on his driver championship and celebrating the team’s championship.

But Y/N, the person who’d been with him since karting, since they’d both been born. That was who he wanted to see and talk to. He bounded towards where the other prema driver was getting weighed.

“Y/N! Y/N, we got the championship!”

Y/N didn’t respond, just simply nodded, before listening to whatever the official was saying and wandering away from Mick.

As if he didn’t exist.

“Y/N” he called again, seeing him take out his headphones, maybe he hadn’t heard Mick’s calls. He could hear his family and team calling out, ready to celebrate. But he wanted to celebrate with Y/N.

Mick called out again “Y/N.”

“The fuck you want Schumacher?”

“I… wanted to celebrate the win with you. We won the teams championships. We should be celebrate.”

“Yeah, congrats. Congrats on your seat for next year as well.”

“I- oh, c’mon Y/N, you’ll get a seat. I bet Christian Horner’s just seeing how long you can hold out before he gives you the Alpha Tauri seat.”

“Yeah, well. Currently you have a contract and I don’t, so excuse me if I’m a little salty.”

“Y/L/N.”

Mick saw the way his jaw tightened, as he heard his father’s voice.

“I have to go, now Mick. Enjoy your win, and congratulations.”

Mick watched him walk off, towards his father. He saw the way he curled in on himself, as his father slung his arm around his shoulders.

Days later, when Y/N’s seat at Alpha Tauri was confirmed, Mick messaged him congratulations.

Y/N didn’t message back.

---

2022

---

“When did you start hating me Y/N?”

Mick was pissed. Y/N had nearly taken him out early in the race. He hadn’t spoken to him in years, since the end of 2020, over a year ago. He missed his childhood friend, and the fans had too.

Finding childhood photos of the 2 of them, often with Michael, had brought up more painful memories than he would like to admit.

Y/N was hyper aware of the cameras following them through the paddock, and so continued walking until he could pull Mick into a quiet corner where the cameras couldn’t reach them.

Inevitably, Y/N thought as he pulled Mick into the side of a motorhome, this will end up on the next season of drive to survive, but god do I care, no.

“I never hated you Mick. I tried to make myself hate you, but I couldn’t. You could hate me, and I would still love you.” 

Y/N tried to retract the ‘l’ word as soon as it came out of his mouth, covering his mouth and praying that Mick didn’t hear him correctly. Yeah they’d said ‘i love you’ to each other as kids, but that was when they were young, and kids and they didn’t understand the word, or the world that they lived in, or themselves fully. It was just another silly childhood promise.

Besides, while Y/N understood himself as queer, there were never any queer drivers, and he was probably about 95% sure that Mick was straight. He’d been spotted with girls through the junior formulas and he’d even been introduced to a couple of the girls. They were all lovely, but they never seemed to last a long time.

Mick's eyes widened as he heard the love word come out of Y/N’s mouth. Honestly, he was confused as to how he never saw the signs of Y/N’s queerness. The fact that there was 1 girl in karting, when he was 14, and then she never showed up again. The way his eyes had always lingered just long enough that it was unusual, but not long enough to cause any real suspicion. The way he’d gone on a few dates here and there, but always been super hush hush about the whole thing, not mentioning it until after it had happened. The way those dates had always had they/them pronouns, or they hadn’t been named.

“Y/N…you love me?” Fuck, Y/N had really fucked this up.

“No,” Mick’s heart dropped “No, I, fuck fine. It’s not like I’m ruining any friendship. Yes. Yes. I love you. And I have since, well not the day I met you. Maybe when we first got into single seaters… fuck i don’t know, but yeah i love you.” Y/N took Mick’s silence badly and just decided to walk out towards his driver’s room.

Mick didn’t follow him.

---

2025

---

Y/N couldn’t even be pissed as he crossed the line second behind Mick. The Ferrari just seemed happy, even from 5 seconds behind.

“AND MICK SCHUMACHER CROSSES THE LINE FIRST TO WIN THE GERMAN GRAND PRIX AND CLAIM HIS FIRST EVER WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP, and there’s his father on the screen looking every part like the proud dad that I’d imagine he is right now.”

“That’s right Crofty, it may not be the 7 world championships that Schumacher Sr achieved, but still this championship must mean so much to him.”

Mick pulled in to the pitlane, behind the number 1 stand, and he just sat in the scarlet Ferrari crying.

He had done it.

He had won a world championship.

Y/N pulled up beside him in the dark blue red bull, smile evident even after losing the championship.

He watched as he pulled off his helmet, watching as Mick embraced his family, his mum, his dad, his sister, his niece. He stood to the side high fiving his team, and thanking them for a great year. Next year would be their year.

And he didn’t exactly try and stop Mick as the German ran towards him, helmet off, and pulled him into a kiss.

---

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[dark-night-hero]

「We found love」 Kamisato Ayato

↳ In which as fate lead the two of you together, an unfamiliar yet strangely warm feelings starts to grew on both of you leading you two to find something that you had never felt before. But then again, what could fate possibly lead you two when you are leagues apart.

Ayato was bored, annoyed and is quietly disgusted. The smell of body odors and the strong smell of flowery fragrance that tried to hide it was unpleasant to his nose. The constant shattering around him that makes the corner of his lips thug down if it was not for his good sense of control in his facial expression. He constantly, though not in anyones watch, shift on his seat. He does not like anything here at all, if it was not such profitable deal he would not have come here at all. And now that the deal have finally been sealed, there was nothing left but to enjoy the presence of the courtesan that entered the room as soon as the deal was done.

Ayato never liked it on brothels. In the first place, he rarely went into one, and even if he did, that was because of his retainers choosing it as a meetin place, in which never happened again by the way. And some for importsnt meetings like this that he cannot refuse. Ayato never saw nor think of any reasons to go to one. Recalling the constant reminder of his late father not to be involved in such things. There is nothing good that would come into him if he were to get involved and get into brothels. A place where nothing but temporary temptation and pleasure there is to come that might drove someone into their own demise once out of control.

Ayato was just about to leave, seemed to be done for today as he stood up when he was grabbed by the wirst of his hand by his business partner. It took him all of his facial muscles to keep the smile on his face as we asked, "What's the matter?" The man just smiled at him, his free hand warping around the oiran, considered to be a high rank courtesan, and bringing her close to him. "Don't leave yet, Mr. Kamisato. The main show is just about to start." Just as Ayato was about to refuse politely, the door opened gently, and the first thing that Ayato noticed was the smell of spring filling the room. It was not that strong smell of flowers that he had smelled earlier but the smell of spring, the smell of blossoms, the sweet and air smell of perfume fills the air.

The second thing he noticed was the sparkly ornaments all over the hair and elegant kimono that they were wearing. And then the kitsune mask that they were wearing, hiding away their face from anyones sight. "Ren Sakura?!" The man beside him utter in disbelief as the figure elegantly walks in, in their hand was a string instrument. She walks in a stead phases of that of a noble, no, perhaps she walks even more of a noble than by far all the nobles Ayato have seen. Ayato watches with curiosity, eyes never once looking away now that you have caught his interest, watching you sit down gracefully and set up your instrument to your liking. "Apologies our dear guest, Hanahime, my beloved oiran could not make it tonight. In return, I hope you would not mind me filling in on her behalf."

In that split secons, Ayato felt like the two of you looked at each other. "Of-of course! Who would dare rejects to be in the presence of you, a tayu, Ren Sakura?!" A tayu? As far as Ayato could remember, oiran was considered a high courtesan, and right above that was a tayu, the highest class courtesan known to entertain only the nobility and emperial court, in short, the almighty shogun. "I'm glad that is the case." The masked tayu giggles, "Then, I shall play a familiar piece befitting for tonights gathering." Once again, Ayato felt like his eyes met those that were behind the mask.

Ayato thought it was a bad idea, after all. He does not like brothels. The place, the smell, the people in general. It would be the last place you would ever expect him to be found. And yet there he is, asking for a familiar name that seemed to be coming out of everyone's mouth but only a few get to really see. Ren Sakura, Ayato knew it was not their real name. Most of the courtesan in here has a name that they use and not their real name. And for someone who rarely went and vowed not to long ago that he would never set foot in here again, he was quite knowledgeable. Even he does not fully know why he was here, whether it was the smell, the mask, the way they played the instrument or even the way they giggle, Ayato does not know which one to choose.

But if there is one thing for sure is that you have caught his interest and nothing could stop himself from finding more about you. Though one of the main reason why he chooses to go back in here was to prove to himself that nothing good would come out of here. It was just a passing interest, it would not last long, right? Once again, the door slide open and the scent of spring enters the room. With no hint of hurry, Ayato raise his head to look at you who was quietly and gently entering the room. Once again, you were wearing a kitsune mask. "It's a pleasure to meet you again, Mister." You bow to him, raising your hands together along the process as you bow your hands. "Is there anything you would like me to do?"

Kamisato Ayato was honestly the last man you would expect to be your client for the night. But then again given his status in life, it would not hurt his pocket to afford you for the night. Still, glancing at him underneath your mask, his beauty was just like what you have heard from your fellow courtesan. He looks a lot like a gentleman, his aura radiating of that of a highest noble but his fake smile tells something else. Just what does this guy want from you? You doubt he was the kind of person who actually comes into a brothel for pleasure, in the first place, you bet many female nobles would actually wanted to be- to die just to be in the arms of his man right in front of you. "Do you know how to play shogi?" He asked and you halted for a moment. "Yes I do, I shall go and set up for us."

"I... lost." Ayato utter in disbelief, back straightening as he looks at the board pieces with wide eyes before looking at you. You who was smiling underneath your mask after managing to finally defeat him after five close matches of shogi between the two of you. "If you have not make a mistake during the first five move then perhaps I wouldn't have beaten you Mister." You chuckle, once again setting uo the pieces back in their starting place, once again serving the commissioner another cup of tea in which he gladly took a sip. "You gave yourself a little credit. Not to brag but no one has ever come close into defeating me and you actually did that five times and really did beat me one match." This time it was his turn to chuckle.

When the Kamisato Ayato left that day, you never thought to see him again. But you did, once in a while, you did. And you are not sure fi you are glad he did. Maybe it was the sense of boredom that you are feeling due to the lack of customers that were actually availing you for their entertainment, then again, you could only have your price to blame for being so expensive that it might even cause them half of their yearly income for you to be on their presence.

Kamisato Ayato, or Ayato like he told you to call him when the two of you were in each other presence was quite an unpredictable young man. There were times were we would came in the brothel only for you to watch him sleep, playing the flute for him as a lullaby. In most of the cases, he would be in here to ppay shogi with you, bringing over some unique beverage and foods that is tasting weird most of time. But there would also be one of those rare days where he would just bring his leftover paperworks to the brothel and do it there, leaving you to fill up the tea cup that he has just consume and sometimes, he would let you handle some of his paperworks, entertaining the basic questions of the papers that he had assigned to you. Nevertheless, for someone whom rarely set foot out the brothel, you only have to thank him for the things that he would often get to you. If there is one thing that remains the same though would be the fact that Ayato has never seen you without your kitsune mask.

"Will there ever be a day where I get to see your face?" Ayato asked out of the blue as he lay his head on your lap as you hummed a lovely tune underneath your mask. And then by his question, you stop. "Did the madam not tell you?" You asked him. "If you're willing to pay the price, that is." You chuckle when you felt his finger traces all the way from the back of your ears down into your chin. You halted for a moment, before you relax. The feeling of your beating heart in yor chest was getting harder and harder to ignore the more time you spent with him. It was actually dangerous.

You always warn yourself not to get too attach with your clients. In the first place there is any room for attachment because you knew they only want something from you. The way they would look at you with such lustful eyes always leave a bittersweet feeling on your tongue, so you only have yourself to thank that you manage to price yourself up as a tayu. Whom unlike oiran is not for the work of pleasure. You are mostly for entertainment. Then again, due to your high price, only those with the highest class individuals get to afford you to be in their presence. And even if they did, you were only to attend gathering to perform. Unlike Ayato who seemingly spent his free time with you and you do not know how to make something out of it. You felt like there is something going on between the two of you but you yourself was quite afraid to accept it. Because somewhere deep in your heart you alreay know that you had fallen for him. But you also know that nothing good will come out of it.

Ayato on the other hand has his mind in the midst of chaos. Ayato was in love with you. That was truth. It's been over a year ever since he irst met you. And he could still remember the day he realised he was in love with you. You see, Ayato was a meticulous, cunning and a mysterious person. A man who would do anything to achieve his goals and eliminate anything that were to stand in the way of his family. The same man who once in a while would felt a huge amount of fatigue. Maybe it was all due to his paperworks or maybe because of during those times the conflict of opinions between his retainers just would not subdued. Or maybe the fact that his parents death anniversary was approaching. He just felt tired and exhausted.

That night, all those months ago. Ayato find himself on his way on the familiar path to the brothel, just like usual, wearing his robe that hide away most of his figures underneath, in the night of his parents date of passing. That night, Kamisayo Ayato find himself seeking to be in your arms. You have quite the wit, and your intelligence was second to none. Ayato have never seen your face, but to be honest that is something he cared about. That night, Ayato just remained in silence as he listen to you playing the string instrument. He just sat there staring at you in silence that is when you sense that something was wrong. "Is there something bothering you?" You asked, setting the instrument down as you stood up and approached him. "It's okay, you don't have to talk about it if you do not want to talk about it." You utter as you sat down beside him.

That night, the two of you just sit there on silence, your hand above his as he lean in head on your shoulder. It was nothing but an act of comfort, yet that simple act seemingly touched the depths of his heart as he cane to realize one thing before he fell asleep in your arms that night. "Take a rest hmmm Ayato." As fatigue slowly takes over him, he felt himself being gently laid in the mattress and in those split moment, his lavender iris met with a pair of (eye color) ones before everything went black. In the following morning, Ayato find himself all alone in the room, feeling new as ever. Still he felt like something was missing, so he woke up and was about to leave when something caught his eyes. It was a letter saying. "I have told the others to prepare you a breakfast before you leave, but feel free to leave if you're in a hurry." Then he laugh, he laughs then fold the paper and kept in the pocket right within this chest, close to his heart. Right, the moment when he felt like you were his one and only solace, he knew he was in love with you. He knew you were the one for him.

And yet he was contemplating which is only natural. He was a man with noble bloodline, he is the current head of the Kamisato clan, and the current commissioner of the Yashiro commission. He was one of the faces of Inuzama. A well known bachelor and is expected to be wed with a fellow noble blood, one of the prettiest and elegant among the rest. What would his retainers- the citizens say if he were to be fall for someone like you. Although you were the highest along the courtesan, in most cases Nobles only see courtesan as their pass time and play thing. Ayato knew you were different, you are not just a courtesan in his eyes, you are more than a play thing to him. Ayato wanted you, he was in love with you after all. But if the price of his love would cause such scandal, such ruin in his- their image. Would his love remains the same?

Ayato find himself visiting the brothel less and less, telling you advance he would be busy and would not be able to visit for a while. You would reply at him with a laugh, joking letting him now you would not be having someone too entertain you for a while. Ayato knew you were rarely seek out due to your high price. Maybe that was the reason why he was so relaxed. He knew that no matter what, you would be in there, waiting. Be waiting for him to come. Even if you do not love him, he might be a friend at least to you, right?

Weekly visits turn into trice a month, then turn into monthly visit. This visit started going less and less until he visits you twice in every three months. Ayato thought that that would lessen the feelngs he felt for you. But no, in fact, it grew stronger. His longing for you intensified and yet you remained the same, giving him the same enthusiasm and welcome wheneverhe come back. He does not know it he should be hurt of revealed.

And then one night, you started being affectionate than you usually do. Dropping hints here and there. Being all over touchy. And man, he was barely hanging on a thread. And so he pulls away, grabbing your hand that was inside his shirt. "Wai-" "Do you not want this?" You asked, masked still in face. "I-" Holding your hand, he realised that you were trembling, your hands were trembling. Suddenly he became aware of one fact, you were holding back too. And is ready to withdraw with one single word from him. With a moment of silence he opened his mouth, "Do you, want this?" He asked, letting go of your hand as both hands fell to his side. And when he say you nod. His hands unconsciously went towards your mask. You did not move, you just let him pull the string that is holding your mask before it falls off the ground.

There his eyes widen as he got to take a look at your face for the first time. Your (eye color) eyes looks more mesmerising than he imagined it to be, those lips, those lips that were curled up into a beautiful smile. Without thinking much about. Ayato grabbed you on the nape of your neck and pull you into a deep and hungry kiss. It was as if he was starving, starving for a very long time in which he did. He might not have admit it but he was waiting, fantasising for this night to come. It was night full of unsaid words and feelings and yet the way the two of you hold each other says it all. "Stay for the night?" "I will."

Ayato was the one who left first when the morning come. To him, that night was not a mistake, at the same time. It was a night that is to be buried on the back of his mind. It was the same night he, the two of you realised that the two of you were leagues apart. A love that could only be kept in the dark, away from the world to see. In a coincidence, Ayato was not able to visit the brothel in the following days and weeks due to the following festival to come at the time. Thus it is only natural that he was unaware of the things that were happening within the brothel.

"Have you heard? A high ranking courtesan has been bought from the Hōkōtei?" Ayato did not mean to eavesdrop, but was not that the name of the brothel you work ay? "Huh?" "Yeah it's true, they have been bought a month ago but the news were just spreading because an official tried to spend a night with them recently but it turns out they were long gone from the list of courtesan from the brothel." "That sounds impossible, just how rarely were they were-" "It's Ren Sakura! Of course only a few coould afford Ren Sakura! Do you know that the cost of spending a match of shogi with themm would cost a yeat of our earnings? What more was a night with them?! Argh! Just how much were they b-" "What did you say?" "Huh- oh! Yashiro Com-" "What did you say?" "Hu-uh?" "Tell me everything. Now."

Ayato never run. He was a man with elegance, you would never see him run in which dishevelled manner. And yet here he was, sweat rolling down his chin, clothes dishevelled, hair in a mess as he pant heavily in front of the familiar brothel, people who seemed to recognise him started whispering with each other and yet he did not give a damn about every single thing instead, stromed inside the brothel, to be specific, into the room of the owner, the madam. "Where were they?" He asked as soon as he saw the familiar madam who was casually smoking with a pipe in hand and then his lavender ones met with a pair of violet ones. "I'm afraid I cannot disclose the location of my client, Yashiro Commissioner." She laughed as if mocking him. "Where-" "They waited for you for years, at being said, I suppose its natural that if you won't make a move, someone else would. Do you think that they would just sit still and wait for you every single time?" His lavander iris tremble upon the madam statement. "In the first place, you were never interest in buying them. Why are you getting so worked up like they were stolen from you?" "You never plan to take responsibility for my child because you two were leagues apart, they were just a courtesan and you're a noble. The two of you were never meant to, isn't that right?" Every words that left her- the madam's mouth felt like a dagger stabbing his heart. Because it was true.

"Get out of my pavilon and never set foot in here every again." "Mada-" "Do I have to drag you out myself? Kamisato Ayato?" Her piercing violey eyes bore before him. "You brought this upon yourself, stop looking like you just lost the love of your life when they surely meant nothing to you and oh- here. Wear this and this." He felt numb, whether it was his heart of his body. He felt numb. So following the madam words, he left upon wearing the robe that was given to him. He felt like his body was moving on its own, his mind was foggy, he wanted to cry at the same time he could not. "My lord- are you alright?" "I'll be in my room, Thoma. Thank you."

Inside his room, Ayato sat in front of his shogi board and started playing alone, moving the pieces by himself doing the moves you would often does. In the end, he find himseld loosing in his own game. And so he laugh, he laughed as tears roll down his cheecks. Teeth grinning as he felt mad, mad to himself for lying, lying to himself. For being selfless, for losing the love of his life so easily. He angrily throw away the shogi board to the side, scattering its pieces all over this room as he stood up. He then proceed to remove his robe that was given by the madam back in the brothel. He was about to trow it too when his hands was pierced by something. On the robes pocket was a hair piece ornaments. But then again, he mad. About to throw the piece of ornaments into the ground with his bloody hand until he realised how familiar looking it was and his eyes widen. It was your hair ornament. The one he have seen you often wear. "This.." Then he found a letter.

It was not that long until silence once again field the room followed by sobs. "I'm sorry." He cried. "I was a fool, I'm sorry." The letter was slowly crumbling on the palm of his hand as he pull it closer to his chet as well as the piece of ornament. As if doing such thing would bring you close to him. "I love you." He utter in helplessness. "I love you..." He cried. But it was already too late, for you have already went away. Far within his sight to see, far within his arms to reach.

My Ayato,

Funny how you're "my" Ayato when you're not.

I thought we found love.

But perhaps that was just me, for the moment when I woke up in the morning, you were no where in sight. It was such a shame. I thought we had something. Turns out I was just being delusional. After all, how could a noble like you fall for a mere courtesan like me.

Still, I am grateful for the times we have spend together. I will treasure those moments deep within my heart.

I am glad that my first time was with you, my one and only love.

Come to think of it, I never told you my name, no? Then again, what would be the use when we sould never see each other again? But still, I still want you to know it.

My name is (First name). I doubt you'll remember it though.

Then, I apologise that I have to leave without saying anything I am afraid even if I did, nothing would change. If it wasn't the case, you have long take me away from this place. But you never did.

Your Lovely courtesan, Ren Sakura.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: late na ko fuck, bye.

[junespriince]

Wally: I sit here today because my uncle retired and you guys just dragged me in here, I didn't have a choice. I was working my own city, the Titans, and sometimes helped other heroes and now I have to work here and come to almost daily meetings? How can I get fired? Can marrying your son in Vegas make you let me leave? I want out of this.

Bruce: the dimension overlord said you must be here, we need a speedster or balance will be distributed.

Wally: how about you disturb deez nuts old man. I don't give two donkeys pucks about this "balance" when I'm forced to look at my two biggest enemies all day.

Oliver: I know Barry raised you, but could you have manners kid?

Wally: can you stop getting pegged by my therapist?

Oliver, blushing as if the league doesn't already know this:

Wally: no? Okay, then shut up.

Bruce: this is a bit excessive, West.

Wally: says the guy who fights his ex father in law/enemy shirtless. I don't know about you, but if my son grandfather challenged me to a duel the shirt stays on.

Bruce: how?

Wally: what does "dating your son" mean to you? Self proclaimed greatest detective over here lady and gents, give him some applause for being stupid. Though, with all the smart women you attracted I guess it has it charms to a certain group.

Clark: a lot of sass today, huh?

Wally: and rightly so Mr. Kent—

Clark: kid, you've known me for years and marrying my kid, it's uncle Clark now.

Wally: sir, I was raised my a Midwestern woman, it's sir, ma'am, and whatnot, deal with it. Anyways, it's rightly deserved, I'm losing a lot of precious time spending it here because Gotham's playboy bicycle decided now he'll have a standard and not fix this problem by helping the dimensions asshat get laid. Do you understand how much this cut into my personal life outside of heroing, Bruce?

Bruce: well—

Wally: shut up sir, you don't because unlike you I don't have a son I was blackmailed into adopting that can run the business, no, I'm an average man here working a real job, and trying to make time for my boyfriend. We get it, you're an emo furry with a tragic backstory that makes it hard to emote, well bucko guess what, I had shitty parents, uncle Hal thinks I have no friends, and what else... OH yeah! I was stuck in the speed force trying to get out and everyone I loved stop trying to save me and assumed I was dead. So, fire me!

Bruce, and his ego™: no. Balance needs to be kept.

Wally: I will make you regret this choice.

Both of them glaring at each other:

Diana: well, at least meetings will be interesting.

Hal: in my defense you didn't have friends over when I visited so how was i supposed to know...

Oliver: didn't Barry told you one time to come because Wally was at my house having a sleepover with Roy?

Hal: ... Okay I'mma be so real right now, I heard come over and the rest was white noise.

Wally: ew. I'm right here.

Hal: kid, hush, the adults are talking.

Wally: ... I'm 29, dude bye. I'm done with this. *Gets up and leaves*

Arthur: he has grown up so much.

Bruce, who knows Wally at his worst teen years: yeah, he's gotten worse.

Oliver: so about this fighting shirtless with your ex father in law.

Bruce: so about you getting pegged by our therapist.

Oliver:

Bruce:

Oliver: I hate you.

Bruce: yeah, yeah, love you too idiot.

[jenscx]

[04] tumblr girls — daydreaming

it was cliché; being in love with danielle marsh, the straightest girl on earth. you thought your feelings were hopeless, until you discover her tumblr blog.

you pace back and forth in your room, heavy footsteps thudding against the hardwood floors. the incessant buzzing of your phone is the last thing you’re thinking of. in your mind, there was only one person who resides there. danielle likes someone, she likes her project partner. she likes you.

but unbeknownst to her, you had betrayed her trust and invaded her privacy to feed your curiosity. a thawing pain in your heart continues. would danielle be upset if she found out? what if you don’t tell her at all? yet, it didn’t feel right to keep it a secret. if danielle truly liked you, would she rid those feelings when she finds out what you had done?

it wasn’t meant to be like this. danielle was just someone out of reach. someone unachievable. you couldn’t have her. she’s way out of your league.

a series of knocks on your door pulls you out of your reverie. alarmed, you quickly go to open it, only to find heejin staring at you, unamused.

“i don’t know what you’re doing but,” she starts, “stop stomping around! kim hyunjin’s over right now and she thinks we have a ghost in our house!”

“i’m just thinking!” you push heejin out of your room, “and who’s kim hyunjin?”

judging by heejin’s red face, you could see through your sister’s facade immediately.

“you have a girl over? at this time? what if mom finds out?”

heejin swats at you, “i’m not doing anything with her! she’s just here to look at my paintings.”

you shoot her a glare. what the hell was she talking about when you had told her of your feelings towards danielle? she literally had love problems of her own. maybe you shouldn’t take advice from heejin, she was an anime nerd for god’s sake. sometimes she would even naruto run in the house— oh my goodness, you really should not take her advice.

“whatever, i’ll be quieter. go play with your jock,” you shoo her away. heejin says incredulously, “hyunjin’s not a stereotypical jock, she’s smart too! good at basketball and academics—” you close the door in her face, leaving you in the solitude of your own room and your thoughts. a blank white canvas fills your mind, envisioning nothing but emptiness. danielle marsh, your crush of how many years, has feelings for you too.

what were you meant to do now? even if you did confess, you would have to tell danielle that you knew of her crush and it would kill you to see the disappointment evident on her face. you groan loudly, almost collapsing on the floor in your dilemma. maybe you should sit down lest you faint. you hesitate to take another step, fearing that heejin might come stomping up again, demanding you rid yourself of your legs.

sunshinesza. sunshine, like her. it’s cliche, but she lights up your day whenever you catch a glimpse of her. when you had first noticed her in the hallway, you took that same route every day to class afterwards, just to see her. minji and hanni obviously had no clue why you were so adamant on taking the long way, but you had so easily convinced them with some gummy bears. you glance at your own laptop, the google tab staring blankly at you. your fingers act before you think, typing in tumblr.com and danielle’s user.

no new posts. you shouldn’t really expect much. the last one was flooded with supportive comments and people urging her to confess. you scrunch your nose, pondering on how it would be like to receive a heartfelt confession from danielle. would she stutter through? would her cheeks be splashed with redness? would she buy your favourite flowers?

your finger ultimately scrolls back to the top.

a resigned sigh escapes your lips as you flop back onto your bed. tempted to just text danielle about it, you end up giving into your inner thoughts.

jeon y/n [10.16pm]:

hi danielle, ik it’s kind of late

but i was wondering

would you like to go to this dog cafe?

i heard you like dogs, so…

heard, yeah right. your stalking of her tumblr blog had revealed her immense love for animals almost immediately. supported by the numerous presentations she gave in class on animals, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

her reply comes almost instantly.

danielle [10.16pm]:

omg!

really?

yes!!!! <3

the heart. that emoticon. you feel your own heart seconds away from bursting with affection.

jeon y/n [10.17pm]:

okay!

we could go on wed?

school’s closed that day

minji told me ^^

danielle [10.18pm]:

sure!!!!

how does minji know?

i didn’t know u were close to minji..

jeon y/n [10.18pm]:

minji’s in stuco!

oh we’ve been friends for a long time

hanni joined us after transferring from australia

danielle doesn’t respond anymore, only leaving you with a ‘delivered’. you wonder if you said something wrong. was it about minji? danielle didn’t seem to like her that much.

she eventually replies before you start to wallow in your grief.

danielle [10.25pm]:

oh cool

so, see u soon?

you swallow up your anxiety and fear.

jeon y/n [10.26pm]:

see you! <3

your head falls onto your pillow pathetically.

danielle has heard the phrase ‘spring has arrived’ countless times in the various dramas she’s watched. it’s an extremely popular line that more often than not, is taken figuratively. of course it could mean literally that spring has arrived, but it’s more commonly used as a reference to when someone has experienced the first bloom of romance in their life. the swarm of butterflies attacking their stomach, the giddiness and immense sense of euphoria, the excitement and nervousness of it all. at least that’s what an intensive amount of shows and books told her.

she has never experienced something like that. countless boys, all awkwardly cute in their own way, stumbling up to her with roses and a stuttered out confession. she has never reacted to them with extreme happiness, only sending them a strained smile and a polite rejection. even in australia, no boy has managed to capture her heart. sure, some of them were good-looking and conventionally handsome. yet, she hasn’t found someone attractive. danielle never expected any differently when she moved to korea. after a hectic move, her mother had sent her off to middle school.

exhilarated eyes and a bright smile, danielle marched on in the hallways of her school, greeting everyone cheerfully. stares had trailed after her, wondering, who was this new kid?

maybe danielle had been a tad bit too excited on her first day. she just really wanted to make a good impression so that she could have friends! her mother reminded her to keep an eye out for any potential trouble. fifteen and carefree, danielle obviously did not heed her words and went about her day talking to everyone but herself.

“hi! i’m dani!” she introduced herself, a wide grin on her face. the girl looked up slowly, unimpressed.

“i’m haerin,” the girl, haerin, replied in awkward english. it was extremely butchered, but danielle appreciated the sentiment.

“my korean name’s jihye,” she smiles even bigger, “can we be friends? i transferred here from australia.” the cat-eyed girl nods, eyes glued onto danielle, as if scanning her.

haerin then gestures to the seat next to her, a small smile on her face, “you can sit next to me.”

she was danielle’s first friend, and the only friend she really needed (other than hyein, of course. danielle would be caught dead if hyein found out she said that). needless to say, the australian never found much purpose in befriending others when she had haerin. her best friend was a listener, an observer, perfectly contrasting danielle’s rapid fire rants. haerin and her fit perfectly, in her opinion. and no one really came close to rivalling haerin’s spot of being danielle’s favourite person.

yet, at sixteen, spring had arrived in the form of her literature classmate.

“who’s that?” danielle whispered to haerin. the girl wakes up from her nap, eyes roaming across the class before landing on the girl danielle was pointing at.

haerin, thoroughly disturbed by the interruptance of her nap, answered, “jeon y/n. she was from the other block.”

danielle nodded, eyes as wide as saucers and her gaze stuck onto her new infatuation’s back like bubblegum. your hair fell by the side, exposing your look of concentration. a pen was caught between your lips, nibbling it as your eyebrows furrowed. danielle didn’t feel any of the butterflies or immediate affection. this wasn’t the love she was taught. it was almost like time had slowed down, leaving her to bask in your afterglow. her throat dried up and feeling an intense need to hydrate herself, she did so. while gulping down her water, your eyes glanced back, meeting hers for a fraction of a second.

no, her version of love wasn’t like anything else. it was the crinkle in your eyes as she choked violently on her water and the amused look you gave her after.

spring had arrived for danielle at sixteen, and it wouldn’t leave for another few more decades.

throughout her school life, danielle had kept a watchful eye on you. sometimes, if she’s lucky, you might spare her a glance, but only for a second before looking away hurriedly. danielle thought you hated her guts so much you couldn’t even stand the sight of her. genuinely distressed by this, she had immediately claimed the seat in the front, hoping she might feel your gaze every once in a while, even if it was to look at the whiteboard.

even after becoming a cheerleader, which danielle guessed was a high rank in her school’s hierarchy, she still couldn’t help but let her gaze follow your strides through the school. you had never shown up to the games and maybe danielle was deluded to think you had no point to, not interested in any of the charming jocks on court. her mind had pointed out maybe you weren’t interested in cheerleaders like danielle either, but she focused on the positives.

her only chances to see you was during class or during lunch, neither of which were particularly viable for her long-term yearning but hey, she’s a cheerful girl who looks on the bright side. surprisingly, even with your features and sweet personality, no one really approached you. danielle counts that as a win. maybe it was because people didn’t really know what to expect from someone like you. quiet, yet extroverted with friends. smart, but silly at times (danielle really liked you when you were acting silly). was it a blessing for no one else to take up your time other than danielle?

she’s never felt this way before. definitely not for those boys with captivating smirks and dreamy eyes. she only feels the longingness to be by your side, she yearned to just be in the proximity of your comfort, to be on the receiving end of your endearing smile. she’s so incredibly curious about you. she wants to know everything that makes you you. she’s curious about your music taste. she’s curious about the way your mind works. she’s curious about your late night thoughts and how they make you feel. she’s curious about every single thing about you.

isn’t that what love is?

you make her so vulnerable without trying. has she ever crossed your mind at least once? danielle thinks her vulnerability means love. to submit wholly, with dedication and devotion. she wants to disclose everything about herself to you, just to feel the closeness of your soul. how will she ever know what love is?

maybe it’s the fact she doesn’t feel like she’s betraying a part of herself to keep pretending.

she knows how it feels to be looked at differently.

the thirteen year old girl in her heart remembers the look of disgust when her friends in australia saw two boys holding hands.

would she experience that again? even though she wasn’t on the receiving end, she still felt tears well up. she knew who she was. optimistic, sure, but if nature doesn’t have a single thing that blooms all year, how could danielle do the same?

you make her weak. she wants to know everything about you. and if receiving your affection meant revulsion and exclusion from others, danielle would gladly suffer for your hand.

she truly believes she hasn’t lived some of her life’s best days. she hasn’t seen it all, hasn’t felt it all. maybe that is what’s keeping her so upbeat all the time. the chance of experiencing something better tomorrow than today, the possibility that her life might change for the better in an instant. she wants to live all her best days with you.

maybe she wore her heart on her sleeve for so long because she knew that someone like you would be so soft and gentle with it.

you conquer all thoughts in her mind. she’s never met someone so alluring. maybe it’s the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you make her feel inside. maybe it’s your eyes or even your smile, danielle doesn’t know it herself.

she’s attracted to you like opposite poles of a magnet.

danielle marsh dreams of you, and only you.

you quickly swallow the piece of bread in your mouth when you spot danielle standing by your desk.

“danielle,” you call out, cheeks still stuffed. your face only heats up when danielle giggles, “morning y/n.”

she’s holding a lunchbox.

the same my melody lunchbox as before.

“i made dakgangjeong for you,” she mutters shyly, a bashful smile spreading across her face, “you mentioned that you liked it before.”

dakgangjeong, sweet crispy fried chicken. your crush made more food for you. was she an angel who came down to earth?

“really?” you ask, surprised and mouth agape, “oh my god, i could marry you right now.”

“oh!” she laughs, “i mean, we’re a bit too young to get married don’t you think?”

you facepalm yourself internally, wondering why you blurted out a marriage proposal to danielle. thankfully, the girl didn’t seem to mind that much, maybe it was a reach but she actually seemed to like it?

(she did. danielle was just a better actress than you).

“sorry, i was just— sorry. i didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

danielle only chuckles. you feel a bit guilty for knowing the true reason she’s been treating you so well. so maybe you weren’t so deluded after all. or maybe a mysterious genie is just granting anybody’s wishes now.

“uh,” you turn away to hide your blush, “what are you going to wear tomorrow?”

the girl pauses, thinking.

“i haven’t decided, but i’ll text you later?” danielle tilts her head like an adorable puppy. you didn’t realise how close she was before. her close proximity catches you off guard and you almost fling the lunchbox in the air when she leaves a lingering touch on your skin, making goosebumps rise across your arm.

“great, uhm, yeah— awesome,” you mutter. your friends stare at you, an apathetic and maybe sympathetic gaze.

danielle shoots one of her god gifted smiles, the one which exposes all of her pearly whites and a hint of her tongue. it stretches across her face and you’re left admiring her like she’s a deity.

“talk to you later? class is about to start.”

you nod, distrustful of your voice. if you weren’t careful, you might squeak at her or do something even more embarrassing. oh my god, what if you manage to humiliate yourself so badly danielle gets the ick and stops liking you? maybe you should shut up from now on.

the girl hops back to her seat. you’re rooted in the same spot, a hushed whisper from hanni asking you to sit down breaking your stare.

“you’re giving me second-hand embarrassment,” minji says, her face contorted into faux disgust. hanni’s own rivals hers.

you wonder how is it that even after knowing danielle likes you back, it seems like she still has the upper hand on you?

masterlist | next

[phantoms-planet]

Barred Protection Chapter Six!

Hey all, sorry this took a while. I also forgot to put this here when I was posting it on AO3, oops, but it's here now!

First Chapter

TW: overstimulation and its effects

How long had it been since the nice man had come in and held him? He wasn’t sure. Danny knew that he was only allowed to see this man when he couldn’t cry anymore. He missed the man so much.

Danny had started referring to him as Comfort in his head. Normally he knew he could make a better name but his whole head fuzzed intolerably when he tried to now.

Despite wanting to ask Comfort’s actual name, Danny’s hoarse voice never seemed loud enough anymore.

Danny wanted Comfort so badly that when a dark shape blocked most of his vision he instinctually went to lean into it. The shape pulled back for a quick second before Danny was being hoisted slightly higher in the air.

They were letting him down! Did this mean there was a new person that was going to make him feel better? But he hadn’t stopped crying.

Something green and blue was now in his vision as he was flipped around to laying on his back. The green thing got bigger, closer, before reaching out to his head. Calloused fingers pressed in between his eyes.

Hello, do you understand?

Danny jolted. That voice wasn’t warbled and watery. It was clear as if it were in his head. He tried to respond but nothing came from his mouth.

I am J’ohn. We are here to rescue you.

Images flashed of a facility being broken into by a bunch of costumed people. They looked so familiar it made him ache. J’ohn was very patient, holding the image for as long as Danny needed. Danny keened as he tried to recognize who had him but he simply couldn’t.

Do you know the Justice League?

Did he? Danny didn’t know. He felt he should know but nothing was familiar to him about the images and names that the green guy was sending him. The green guy seemed to give up.

Can you tell us your name? Where you’re from?

Danny tried; he got his name but where he was from? His head fogged out at the force of trying to remember. Maybe if he thought of people he knew? His parents were indistinguishable blobs of color. His sister, he had a sister, she was…she…

He was so tired. Thinking was so tiring.

There was a moment where concern washed over him and then the fingers on his forehead were gone. Danny nuzzled into whoever had ahold of him. It would be okay to sleep for a bit, right? They…the justice…?

League, the Justice League. Right. They wouldn’t mind if he took a small nap…right?

He slipped into nothingness as someone carded their hands through his hair.

---

Daelus stared in horror as rings enveloped Subject P, revealing a young boy with black hair instead of the entity he had grown to know.

This wasn’t right. He was promised that whatever he had bought wasn’t human. But the being in front of him was very human.

It had to be a trick, something Subject P was doing to garner more sympathy from the Justice League.

Daelus had done extensive work to ensure that he wouldn’t harm a person in his company. He gave employees full benefits and wages almost higher than the company could afford at first. He had paid sick days, paid holidays, paid mental health days: all because he wanted to best for the people working under him.

He hadn’t missed a single thing regarding helping others, he couldn’t have.

Subject P even got the best care he could offer without sacrificing work flow. The subject was fed high end food, muscles stretched regularly to avoid atrophie and stiffness, they even went so far as to brush the being’s teeth twice a day!

The being that was currently curling in on batman just like…

…like a child.

A human child.

He had been using a child for medicines. He’d- God he’d tortured a child.

All at once the feeling in his legs went out. Wonder Woman had good reflexes, thank goodness, or his face would have smashed into the floor. Daelus watched the boy nuzzle into Batman’s chest. A sickening churning in his gut started. He quickly turned away before it could get overwhelming.

“Come on.” Wonder Woman yanked him to his feet again before escorting him from his own facility and into a police transport.

Daelus didn’t do much more than stare blankly at the floor as the door shut behind him. All he had wanted was to help people, to fix the ailments that never seemed to end.

The attempts to ensure he didn’t buy a meta had failed spectacularly. His stomach started churning again. No wonder the being had taken the shape of a young child, it-he-WAS a young child.

The boy’s face stayed at the front of his mind. He crushed his eyes shut. “What have I done…?”

---

The boy was safely in the watch tower medbay. Daelus had plead guilty on all charges, not even putting up much of a fight. Batman was suspicious of that, but the boy was his top priority, especially with how little information J’ohn was able to pull from his mind.

J’ohn had said that the boy’s mind was similar to a static filled television screen. A few things popped in here and there but never a clear enough picture. The only thing he got from the boy was his name.

The room was dimly lit, the sound so silent it pressed in on your eardrums. J’ohn had insisted there be as little stimulus as possible to help Danny recover.

Severe overstimulation. That’s what the medical team had said. Danny had been subjected to a near constant stream of overstimulation in order to be used as he had been. Batman pursed his lips at the memory of that horrible room. Screams echoed in his mind.

What kind of man just showed a young child constant images of people being harmed and killed? What sick mind had come up with that?

Dealus had seemed dangerous, but not to the degree he had been revealed as.

A grunt broke the silence as Batman mulled over how the news was going to handle this story. A meta child being used to synthesize the medicine that so many people were depending on.

And with those people depending on it, often times to survive, what would happen now that the truth was out? Ameliorate couldn’t sell medicine after this. There would be a scandal for sure; one that could and probably would end up tearing the country- maybe even the world- apart with debates of ethics vs human lives.

There wasn’t going to be a clear cut answer. No path that would make everyone happy. He hated these situations more than anything.

A soft sigh pulled him from his thoughts. Danny was…interesting. The boy was switching between his forms seemingly at random and had been ever since they got him out. He had been sleeping almost the entire time but when he did wake he became increasingly panicked if not accompanied by someone.

Flash had, at one point, brought up that he heard Danny muttering for ‘comfort’, as though it were a proper noun and not a feeling. This worried Batman.

Worried he may have been, there wasn’t much he could do to help the boy. A facial search had come up with nothing and just the name ‘Danny’ would leave him with thousands of people to sift through.

Batman looked away from Danny as he heard the door hiss open. J’ohn nodded a greeting before stepping up to Danny’s side.

For the past week he had been trying to sooth Danny’s mind with his own powers. They couldn’t tell if it was helping anything but it was shown not to hurt so the medical staff didn’t stop him from trying.

Batman stayed for the thirty minutes it took for J’ohn to give up for the day. There was no change from Danny, but he hadn’t expected one.

J’ohn sat in the chair opposite of the one Batman was in. “Have you found any signs of where Daelus acquired Danny?”

He let out a grunt. The martian nodded before getting situated to take over companion duties.

As Batman stalked the halls he pursed his lips again. There wasn’t any record in Daelus’s files about how he obtained ‘Subject P’ but there was plenty of records of his care and needs.

In an odd way it was as if Daelus had wanted the best care for the boy despite the state Danny was in. He let out another grunt. It looked like if he needed information, he was going to have to get it from Daelus himself.

---

Clockwork smiled to himself as he watched his looking glass. Everything was as it should be again, the League in the right direction to get Danny more help than they could provide. It would be quite some time before he saw young Daniel again but the time spent healing would not be a loss to him.

Yes, even Frostbite would soon be soothed in his worries.

Everything was going the way it should.

[piratefishmama]

Finders Givers | Part 5

“So why’d you freak out?” Eddie expected the grilling, the second they left that extravagant building, he expected the grilling. “I mean, they were both super nice, I mean… Robin was… wow, I mean did you see her? I just—” he also kind of expected that, with the way Chrissy had just frozen at her entrance? Yeah. he expected that. “Wowzers y’know? But Steve was really nice too! He’d have probably offered us those jobs Eddie, we need jobs! Just cause rent is frozen doesn’t mean we don’t need jobs, we could save up our wages and use it on like, a holiday or something, we could go to Hawaii an be dumb white people tourists like in Lilo and Sti—”

“Did you not feel the vibes that guy was giving off?” Eddie didn’t usually interrupt her, she could go on a tangent, and the tangents were usually pretty cute so he’d often just let her go on with herself until she ran out of topics, allowing her to feel comfortable to just talk without feeling like she shouldn’t, but this time… he couldn’t hold it in.

“Steve?” She didn’t seem to mind though “yeah, I almost offered to let you two have some alone time, he was giving you serious bedroom eyes—”

“Chrissy no, nope! Not that! No he’s—he’s weird.”

“Weird in a hot way? Cause in my humble opinion he was working that suit. Do you think that tan was natural because oo-wee was it working for him.”

“Well yes, we both have eyes, but also no, dangerous weird, y’know? Something felt wrong about him, Chriss.” He felt like he was drifting in open waters and Steve was a huge leviathan type thing just waiting in the depths beneath him to drag him down away from light, away from life.

“You’re just saying that because he’s the boss of this big multimillion dollar company. Next you’ll be saying he’s capitalism personified or something, rich man buys out the neighbourhood, blah blah I can’t do your infamous table speeches, but listen, Eddie, he’s… he seems nice, maybe he is just nice.”

“And maybe he’s the mafia.”

“Eddie…”

“HE COULD BE! We don’t know that he isn’t.”

“This isn’t a movie, Eddie, c’mon let's just go home, maybe we can call up later about those jobs, yeah? It couldn’t hurt to work at a place you play at. Lenny wouldn’t give us the time of day when we tried applying for jobs there before, maybe we can get one now, it’s like… fate! Maybe Steve and Robin will come in one night and we can wow them with our fancy bartender skills, which we’ll of course learn through extensive trial and error, maybe a training montage, I’ll get my very own uptown girl an you’ll get your own hot rich man who’ll buy you fancy things and pamper you like I know you won’t admit you like but I know you’d eat that shit up.”

“Thought you just said this wasn’t a movie.”

“Some movies are based on real life stories! It could happen! It’s more likely than the mafia, c’mon.” Well… she had a point, they did need jobs, and Steve had… well he’d been nice hadn’t he?

There could be so many ulterior motives to what he was doing but why would it have to negatively affect them? It could just negatively affect some dude called Phil who lived two states over, it didn’t even have to involve them, really. Besides getting them a new job, right?

Right?

“…Fine, but you can send over our resumes, I don’t want anything to do with this! If the handsome rich devil man decides to give us the jobs, and comes into the bar, and I HAPPEN to serve him, and impress him then I will concede that the universe would like me to have a nice thing happen, but I will not go looking for fairytale endings, okay?” He knew better than to get his hopes up.

Steve Harrington had looked at him like he was dinner, he’d done the whole stuck staring stupid bit, and it’d been endearing, cute, surprising considering holy shit Steve was like… way out of his league, but… if the universe wanted it to happen then the universe would make it happen!

Eddie would have no part in the process of it happening! He’d just… indulge a little in the end result.

“Someday, Eddie. Someday I’m going to convince you to go and find good things for yourself, and you’ll see just how easy it is to make yourself happy.”

“Someday perhaps, but today is not that day.”

“Be honest now… what did you think of him?” It wasn’t a common thing, Steve sat in front of Robin’s desk, in the chair opposite her big floor to ceiling windows, with Robin looking pretty menacing in her high backed chair, shadowed, her hands steepled at her chin, thumbs pressed into her own throat in thought, her silence stretched long enough for him to tack on “think from a non-lesbian standpoint.”

“I think he looks like a passel of Opossum in a trench coat. A domesticated raccoon, a wet rat that some cruel individual permed for some reason.”

“Well that’s mean, and definitely not from a non-lesbian standpoint.”

“That’s from a person with eyes standpoint.” Steve rolled his own eyes and slumped backwards in the chair like a petulant teenager, arms crossed over his chest. “He looks like he’d scamper, Steve.”

“What’s wrong with scampering?! It’s cute to scamper!”

“It’s reserved for tiny critters, not fully grown adult men.”

“Men can scamper if they want to, don’t you impose your weird masculine rules on us, Robbie, it’s problematic.”

“I swear to god if I catch you on twitter—” shook her head, hand lifted to cut herself off “Steve… is this guy really worth all the money you’re throwing at this?” It was a lot of money, a lot, and they wouldnt get any of it back.

“I mean… I don’t know, but then I didn’t know if Jane would be worth it, or if she’d get any use out of the bakery I bought for her, I didn’t know if paying Nancy’s debts off would be worth it, I didn’t know if any of you would be worth the effort and money I put in to bring you all in and keep you all healthy and safe, and I still did what I did for all of you, so… why is this guy any different?” So far he’d been a spectacular judge of character. “Plus!!! He comes with a very cute blonde!! I’m sure you noticed the very cute blonde.”

“Aren’t you worried that they might be dating?” It was a very good point, and one he hadn’t actually considered. But then—

“If they are then they are, it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give them a chance like I gave all of you guys a chance.” Anyone who’d knock the shit out of their manager for their friend or partner was alright by him, it showed a loyalty that laughed in the face of authority, he LIKED when people laughed in the face of authory. Authority figures needed to be laughed at sometimes. And punched other times. Robin’s shoulders slacked, her expression shifting to one of soft amusement. “Yooooou wanted me to say that didn’t you?”

“Maybe a little. Just making sure you’re not thinking entirely with your dick. They’re not dating by the way… she’s not even a little bit his type.” Eddie had been quite open about his own sexuality, on purpose or just as a spur of the moment thing, Robin didn’t know, but it was nice to know Steve’s interest wasn’t entirely a lost cause.

“I was wondering why you dropped my relationship status in there.”

“Mmm… I did notice the very cute blonde… she seemed nice.” Bubbly, cute, like a cheerleader “and only because Chrissy seemed very nice… only because I would very much like to see her again… am I going to agree to go along with this nonsense without further complaint.”

“You cant agree to go along with something without complaint while calling it nonsense.”

“Watch me, Dingus.”

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World

Chapter 5 (Batter up)

a/n: To clarify, I do not own the rights to any pictures or names used in this story, except for Sierra Riley. All other rights and names belong to the NFL and MLB. Additionally, some characters are inspired by the game MLB The Show 24, which includes fictional characters. The title of the book is inspired by the song "It's a Man's World" by James Brown and Betty Jean Newsome, for which I also do not own the rights. All rights are held by Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp. and Unichappell Music, Inc. Enjoy!

If you had told me 10 years ago that I would be playing for the Atlanta Braves, I would have told you. You're lying, but here I am. After the draft, I had to fly to Florida for spring training, and then when that was over, I flew to Atlanta to sign my rookie contract, which is $380k for my first year plus a 2 million signing bonus. Then fly to Cincinnati for my first game for the season. Safe to say I've had a crazy couple of weeks. 

Oh and how fitting that Joe is throwing out the first pitch since its Reds opening day.  So it's really true what they say. It does come full circle. 

I walked out from the clubhouse into the away dugout. I noticed Joe in the batter's box swinging a bat at baseballs as they fired out the shooter and must I say he looked damn good while doing it too. 

Ok, time I come clean about something. Do I have a crush on my best friend Joe Burrow? Yes. Am I scared to tell him? Yes. Why? because if I do I'm going to make a complete fool of myself and I just do not want to risk that and possibly losing a friend.  

But friends don't text each other every day for random things or have late-night phone conversions like they used to when they were in LSU together. To sum it up over the last couple of months Joe and I have slipped back into our old ways and not that I'm complaining I just wish we were more. 

I noticed Joe had finished and might as well say hello. I walked out towards home plate catching the tail end of his conversation “I'm so proud of her…to watch her play in college I knew she was big league bound and now she's here.” I heard Joe tell my teammate Austin Riley, a third baseman. 

“There's the woman of the hour!” I hear Ja’marr call out as I make my way toward the group, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

I shake my head, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Stop! I'm done crying for today,” I reply, my voice tinged with a slight whine, reflecting the emotional rollercoaster I've been on.

Ja’marr looks at me with a supportive smile. “How do you feel? Are you ready for this?” he asks, his eyes filled with genuine concern. I nod slowly, trying to muster a confident expression despite my jitters. “I feel ready; I’m just trying not to overthink everything,” I admit, forcing a nervous smile.

“Sis, you’ve got this in the bag!” Ja’marr encourages, his voice steady and reassuring. “Don’t let them cloud your mind—just play your heart out, like you do every time.” His words resonate with me, pushing back the self-doubt that threatens to creep in.

“Ri, you’ve worked your ass off for this moment,” Joe chimes in, giving me a playful nudge on my shoulder. “You’re going to absolutely kill it today! And we just happen to have front-row seats to witness your brilliance.” His enthusiasm and belief in me fill me with warmth and motivation.

Nodding, I accept their words with a grateful smile, feeling a rush of confidence. “Thanks, you guys! That really helps. But now I have to ask: what the hell is this?” I say, gesturing pointedly at the Cincinnati jerseys they are both proudly wearing. They burst into laughter, clearly thinking they could charm their way out of my noticing their blatant team allegiance.

“Hey it was a gift from them but believe me I would wore yours if I could” Ja'marr gives his excuse. I turn to Joe waiting for his.

“I'm from Ohio.” he gives the most obvious answer—typical Joe.

------

Against all odds, Joe delivered a flawless pitch after the pregame festivities and the stirring national anthem. I could feel the excitement coursing through me—this was my moment, my MLB debut.

As they called my name, I heard Joe and Ja’marr erupting with cheers from their private suite through the crowd their support only boosted my confidence and set the stage for what was about to happen.

I locked in my focus, ready to face the pitcher. He glanced at the runner on first, then turned his gaze to me and wound up for the throw.

The pitch came rushing straight at me! I instinctively jumped back, narrowly avoiding it. “One ball, no strikes.” But that wasn’t a mistake; he wanted to rattle me. Too bad for him—I’m not easily shaken. 

I reset myself, gripping the bat firmly, ready for the next challenge. The pitcher checked the runner again and delivered another pitch.

This time, he made a crucial misstep—an offspeed pitch! I saw it coming, and without hesitation, I swung with all my power. The crack of the bat was electric, and I sent that ball soaring out of the park. A home run on my very first hit! 2-0, baby! Now that’s how you make an unforgettable debut. 

-------

We won only by the skin of our teeth 5-4. I had just changed out of my away uniform into some sweets and a hoodie when I heard a knock on my locker room door. 

“It's open” I shout, not feeling like walking to the door. 

The door opens and Joe pops his head in “Hey can I come in?” 

I waved my hand “Yeah come on” 

 He steps in closing the door behind him “Getting ready to head out just wanted to say you looked great out there today” he compliments. 

“Thanks, I had to show off a bit, you know. Oh! I meant to give this back to you, but everything just happened so fast,” I said, remembering his chain that he gave to me to wear on Daft Night. But I never did give it back to him. If I remember right, I was in my gym bag. Bingo pulled it right out. 

I went to hand it back to him be he stopped me “Keep it Ri” 

 “Huh?” I said making sure I heard him right. This boy is crazy.

Joe cracked a little smile “Keep it...believe me I've got plenty”  

I looked at him to make sure he wasn't joking “You sure cause this is worth more than my signing bonus” I joked nervously.

He smiled and nodded his head “Yeah I'm sure think of it as an ‘I knew you would make it’s gift”.

I smiled “Ok no take takebacks Burrow,” I said putting back in my bag. 

“What are you doing when you leave here?” Joe asked suddenly. I shrugged my shoulders. “It's still early so I'm not really tired. Might just chill back at the hotel. Why what's up?” I answered taking a seat on the bench.

He looks at me for a second then slightly shakes his head. “Some friends of mine wanted to go out to eat and all but Ja'marr had to leave soo…” 

“You want me to go in his place?” I finished the sentence for him. 

This is not anything new. I went to a lot of Joe's events as his plus one back in LSU. And he did the same thing for me. 

“Yeah but if you want to call it a day I understand” he quickly says.

I shake my head with a laugh “No I'll go with you, Joe. Plus it would be nice to get a breather before tomorrow's game” I said, opening up my suitcase. 

“Give me a few to get changed and I'll be right out”

Joe raised his eyebrows “You really could go in what you have on” he said nonchalantly 

Is this boy out of his mind? “Joe I'm not hanging out around people I don't know in a hoodie and sweatpants,” I said looking at him all upside his head.

“Yes, you can cause one where only going to Texas Roadhouse. Two you just finished a hell of a baseball game and have a right to wear this. And if someone has a problem with it then we can go and have our own dinner” he says the confidence just flows out as he says it.

My stomach should have not tightened up but I just love how protective this man is. Biting my lip not knowing what to say except “Alright let's go”

-------

Joe was walking me up to my room after that impromptu hangout session with his friends which by the way all amazing. 

“Yeah I'm definitely paying for this tomorrow,” I said feeling like I was ready to pop. 

Joe gives out a small chuckle “Yeah that makes two of us”  

I give him this funny look “You got time to burn it off, Joe. I on the other hand have to play a game tomorrow” I said pulling out my keycard for my room. “Fair point Far point,” Joe said not disagreeing with me

Stopping in front of my room “This is me” I said turning to Joe “Thanks again for inviting me” I said suddenly nervous as I looked at him and his features pretty blue eyes, dirty blonde hair so silky you could run your fingers through it and not get tangled. To some it up this boy was fine. 

His voice knocked me out of my thoughts “No thank you for coming. I owe you one for this Ri” 

Yeah, a date.

“What’d you say” I saw Joe's eyebrows raise..Did I say that out loud could have sworn I said that in my head. 

“I didn't say anything,” I said quickly shaking my head trying to avoid this conversation at all costs.

“Nah, Nah you said something. What did you say?” he asked stepping a little closer. Looking the other way with a blush on my cheeks “I said a date” I repeat my words still not looking a him. 

He stood there with the biggest smirk on his face “I still didn't hear what you said say it again and this time” he paused to gently grab my chin “Look at me” 

Soaked absolutely Soked straight through.

Unable to move I said it again looking straight dead in his eyes “A date. You owe me a date” 

Joe nodded his head and let my chin go “That's what I thought you said” he said stepping away from me. “Ok, how about this. If you get to the World Series which I know you will I'll take you on a date” he said proposing a challenge or more like a bet. “Ok and if I don’t,” I said waiting for the catch no pun intended. 

“Then I still take you on the date’

[codenamesazanka]

it's quite masterful how we get the 'Deku's a murderer and Society has learned no lesson' out of the way in the first half so the lasting impression is that Spinner is a hypocritical fanatical criminal. Well, I guess he always has been! That's true. But it's also true that Society is crap here too - the man saying he's glad Shigaraki has been 'exterminated', THE OLD LADY, and Heroes already looking for the next threat. It's the framing that's key, then.

We go from Spinner saying Shigaraki laughed about destruction -> the horizon at Deika -> Shigaraki was his spokesperson -> Shigaraki gave him a dream and purpose -> Shigaraki was his Hero -> Shigaraki was a gamer -> Shigaraki was his first friend.

Starting off with Shigaraki the Villain, and turning into Shigaraki the Hero, then Shigaraki the Person. Plus we have Spinner's crying peaking at the 'friend' bit, so both he and Shigaraki are humanized as the outside world via TV documentary resolutely decides to deny Shigaraki this.

But then Deku comes to reaffirm that friendship - And here is where things starts to shift. Shigaraki also thought of Spinner as a friend... so why couldn't Spinner have done something to save him? If they were friends, Spinner should've helped. Why didn't Spinner act? And thus the blame is part Spinner's for being an unthinking coward, for not being strong enough to resist the momentum.

(There is truth to this too, but I have to wonder - what could he have done? He's in a cave with AFO, getting his own feelings taken advantage of, utterly confused by the changes Shigaraki's going through; while Heroes have shown they're not an option of help - how could they, when they killed Twice and wants to kill Shigaraki, and at the moment is building something called SKY COFFIN DEATH ARENA. Here is Spinner with such limited options, but he should've, could've saved Shigaraki, somehow.)

While Spinner is stewing in this guilt, the TV document gives its last line: "Right now, a second or third Shigaraki Tomura or AFO could be holding their breath/waiting to strike. We must turn our attention to the next threat." We're talking threats again, we talking being on guard for the next big Villain, we're talking as if Shigaraki Tomura and AFO just happens - there's no idea of prevention, the Villain already has it in their mind to attack and is just waiting, like a predator stalking a prey... Setting the tone for Spinner's next scene: he'll be writing a book that will immortalize Shigaraki and the League, and it'll be about how they lived to destroy.

(Like, this makes sense. Of course Spinner's book will be about that destruction, because that destruction is an important element to the friendship: Shigaraki was the first person to become Spinner's friend, to reach through the miasma of oppression and hopelessness, to offer to destroy injustice and give him a purpose and a dream. But the very thing that rightfully endeared Shigaraki to Spinner is what the outside world is currently condemning, and uncaring to understand the reason. This book will only feed into the world's current perceptions. It will not help at all.)

So after reaching that emotional peak, we then descend: Spinner thinks he couldn't save his Hero → documentary line about watching out for the next threat -> Spinner saying he'll write a book that will remind the world Shigaraki and the League lived to destroy -> Spinner reacting angrily at Deku's simple suggestion of making the book a comic (can't he see it's actually encouragement? can't he see it's lighthearted?) -> Spinner's last line being him hypocritically calling the Hero kid who defeated him an anti-heteromorph insult.

And meanwhile, if you can even still remember Deku not denying he's a murderer, Deku's last line here is that he won't forget Shigaraki for the rest of his life. Compassionate. Determined. Noble. (That he showed the world the killing of Shigaraki Tomura so that people can say "I’m so glad he was exterminated!"? That's distant from him, literally - that was the first page, and this is the 11th page.)

This flow is utterly fascinating. It's really is.

[suppose-i-was-worm]

I Put A Spell On You

Fake Dating (Part 1)

**I know, it's not the one that I started writing and was really funny, I'm having a lot of trouble with that one. Enjoy this one instead!**

“I need your help.”

Damian frowned, stashing away the knife he’d hidden beneath his pillow. Danny was crouched on the sill of the window he’d come in through, looking at him with wide blue eyes.

“Tt. What do you need? It is well past midnight.”

“I need you to fake date me.”

“What?”

Danny flinched, and Damian realized how sharp his question had been.

“My apologies. Please explain to me what is going on so that I can best assist you.”

Coming fully into the room, Danny started to explain.

“So, you know my parents and holidays, right? They- they’ve started hounding me about bringing home a significant other since Jazz got married.”

Damian nodded- he was familiar with Danny’s parents’ personality, even having never met them.

“Anyways, for Thanksgiving, they’re threatening to invite Paulina over and make me sit next to her. Paulina, Dames! I wouldn’t survive. So I told them I had a boyfriend who lived here in Gotham, and now they’re insisting on coming here to visit. If they find out I lied, I’ll be dead! My grades are too good for an early death.”

“So you came to me.”

“You’re the only person I know well enough to pull this off, Damian.”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit picked up from his father.

“And you did not think to tell them about-“

Cutting him off, Danny grabbed Damian’s face and looked directly into his eyes, a serious look on his face.

“Damian, I assure you it would be a fate worse than death if they found out how we met.”

Damian pulled himself away from Danny, glad for the dim light of his bedroom hiding the blush heating up his cheeks. The other man had never been that close to his face, and Damian would probably say that Danny’s eyes were more dangerous for him than the entire League of Assassins.

“Please, Dames? It’s Paulina we’re talking about.”

Closing his eyes, Damian thought things through. Fake dating Danny would be- a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing, as it would require him to be close to the other man for extended periods. A curse, because he knew it would end as soon as Danny’s parents left Gotham. For Damian, who had been struck by Danny’s beauty from the first moment he’d seen the other, the brief benefits might just outweigh the pain of them ending. At least he’d have the memory of being close to Danny.

When he opened his eyes, Danny was holding his hands in a mock praying position, looking up at Damian through his lashes.

“Tt. Fine.”

Danny lit up, literally, and then darted forward, planting a kiss on Damian’s cheek.

“You’re the best! They’re coming in to town tomorrow- drop by mine when you can!”

The other man slid back out of the window and flew off before Damian recovered from the kiss enough to protest the short notice.

~~~

The next day found Damian waiting outside Danny’s apartment, flowers in hand. He had done some investigation as to what he ought to bring with him to meet a significant other’s parents, so he was also armed with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates.

The door opened soon enough after his knock, revealing an older woman he had never seen before. He could see where Danny got his frame, though, as well as his delicate features.

“You must be Damian! Come in! Danny’s elbow deep in the microwave with Jack. I’m Maddie- we’ve heard so much about you!”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He stepped inside the apartment, handing Maddie the wine and chocolates after she closed the door.

“Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you? Danny!”

Danny poked his head out of the kitchen, and Damian almost swooned at the look Danny gave him.

“Hey Dames! Glad you could make it!”

He emerged, wiping what looked like grease off his hands, and took the flowers that Damian handed him.

“For you, Beloved.”

More importantly, he also took the short kiss Damian gave him over the bouquet.

When Damian pulled away, he was delighted to see that Danny was flushed.

“Uh- thank you! They’re beautiful.”

“Oh, you two are so cute! How long have you been dating?”

“Three years.”

“Not long.”

Danny and Damian spoke at the same time, and then Damian smiled smoothly, determined to fix his mistake.

“Perhaps I feel like our time together until now has been too short. Every time I see you, you are as beautiful as the day we met.”

He was rewarded with Danny flushing an even brighter red.

Maddie turned to her son, hands on her hips.

“You’ve been dating this polite young man for so long and hadn’t told us?”

Danny shuffled his feet, looking bashful.

“I didn’t want to scare him away. I really like him, mom.”

A large man came out of the kitchen, laughing a booming laugh.

“We can tell, Danno. It’s not like you haven’t been talking about him for the last few years.”

Damian looked over at Danny, doing his best not to let his expression show. Danny had been talking about him to his parents? For years?

Danny laughed nervously and then herded everyone into the dining room.

If he were being honest, Damian had pulled out all of his acting skills to charm the Drs. Fenton throughout the evening. He did not need acting skills for his interactions with Danny. He kept close to the other, wrapping an arm around his shoulder when he could and dropping light kisses into the shorter man’s hair when the opportunity presented itself.

It was heaven.

Danny walked him out to his car after dinner, and didn’t let go of Damian’s hand the entire way.

“Thank you for tonight, Dames.”

Damian smiled down at the love of his life.

“Of course, Beloved. Anything for my husband.”

With a scoff, Danny let go of Damian’s hand and stepped back.

“Sure, Damian. Drive safe.”

~~~

Danny Fenton knew when he was screwed. His parents had been in Gotham for a week, and Damian was still dropping by to see him on a semi regular basis. He’d even been touchy, and Danny knew that of all people, Damian Wayne wasn’t ever physically affectionate.

It partly gave him hope, and partly made him think this gambit was hopeless. He was aware of Damian’s extra-curriculars, after all, and knew the entire family were good actors.

And yet-

Damian’s parting kiss to him had been long and clinging the evening before his parents left, and he seemed reluctant to leave Danny standing in his own doorway. His hand lingered on Danny’s wrist, and his eyes were the last to tear away.

So, yeah. Danny was fifty percent sure that Damian might possibly reciprocate his feelings, but he didn’t have the courage to ask outright.

He hadn’t had the courage to ask much of Damian since they met, even though he’d been half in love with the other man the moment they laid eyes on each other.

It had been a routine summoning- He’d tasted the blood in his mouth, and while it did not necessarily taste like the blood of an innocent (he always went to bat for the victim in those cases), it piqued his curiosity enough to check things out.

He rose from the summoning circle, crown of fire wreathing his head as he showed off his less human appearance.

The cultists fell away from him, scrambling to bow and prostrate themselves in front of him.

“Oh great Ghost King! Please accept this sacrifice in order to take your rightful place as the lord of all worlds!”

Danny looked down to see a handsome young man in a well fitted suit glaring up at him, blood drying from a wound on his head.

When their eyes met, something changed. The summoning circle flared from Danny’s own ice blue to a sharp neon green, and something lit up under the chair the ‘sacrifice’ was tied to.

With noises of surprise, the cultists started to rise to investigate, but Danny snapped his fingers and caught them all in ice.

Landing, Danny inspected both the runes in the summoning circle and the one beneath the sacrifice, and then floated out of the circle to find the book the cultists had been using to summon him.

When he found it, he had the urge to finish these idiots off himself. They had somehow botched the ritual so much that they had turned it into something of a wedding, and now he was ghost married to a human civilian.

Turning back to said human civilian, he found the other on his feet on the opposite side of the room, holding an improvised weapon.

“Oh cool, you got free. Good news, you’re not going to die.”

The civilian stiffened even more, arching an eyebrow.

“Tt. What is the bad news?”

Danny shrugged.

“Oh, not much. We’re just kinda… Married now? I’ll find a way to dissolve it, or something, and you’re not obligated to have anything to do with me, but… Yeah. Supernaturally married. Is a thing. That we are.”

Civilian’s shoulders slumped, and he stalked out of the warehouse (why was it always warehouses?). Danny followed behind.

“Oh, hey, we’re in Gotham!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Close to my apartment.”

The man turned to him incredulously.

“The ghost king has an apartment in Gotham?”

Danny let his transformation wash over him.

“Well, Danny Fenton does, and I’m him most of the time.”

“Damian Wayne. A pleasure.”

Damian held out his hand, and Danny shook it carefully.

“Totally! I’m gonna- go. I guess. And look into the ghost married thing.”

“No rush. It might be advantageous to be married to an interdimensional king.”

With a laugh, Danny lifted into the air.

“Sure. I’m cool with being friends, if you want. Maybe we can work together.”

“I can do friends.”

[hypermania]

transcript of the full thread:

"A very long thread: To the League fans, We found out this news along with you on Friday. I see the pain and anger and worry out there, which for the LGBTQIA+ fans of the show is of course compounded by what’s happening across the country right now. #ALeagueOfTheirOwn

So the first and most important thing to say is: Before anything, before you fight for the show or each other, please take care of yourselves. Reach out to your community and ask for help if you need it. You aren’t alone. Please be kind to yourselves.

As I’ve been thinking about what’s happened, I come back to a quote from Penny Marshall’s film: “The hard is what makes it great.” Making this show is so hard and so great. There’s quite a bit to say about what’s been hard, but at this point that’s in the past.

Of course, if we have an avenue to do it well, we will continue the show, and I love seeing the noise you’re making in support of that. The noise matters!

And it’s hard for me to imagine there wouldn’t be a home for a show that thanks to you was in the Nielsen Top 10 for three weeks, was the top show on Amazon for a month and in the top five for six, that was recognized by critics as something special, that’s been recognized…

…with awards from GLAAD, HRC and a million other organizations, that was on a million year-end top ten lists, and that has a built in and deeply passionate audience.

Amazon is pursuing different kinds of programming, but to the rest of the world this show is a hit and has huge value and even greater potential. But first things first, we have to win this strike and get a fair deal before we can explore what comes next.

But for a moment, I want to talk about what happens if the world didn’t quite change quickly enough for you to have all the seasons of this show that we want to give you.

If we don’t find a good path forward, I will still know that League did what it came here to do and, in its own small way, changed the world.

And that’s because of all of you, and the light you continue to shine on the show — How you let it matter to you, how you let it become a mirror, how you let it change you.

I’ve never experienced a response to a show that’s as deep, personal, creative and meaningful as what the fans have done with League. When we were making the season 1, we all wondered and worried about whether people would accept it on its own terms next to the film.

They have, and you did that, and so much more. You lit up the internet on your first watch throughs of the show, when you realized where it was going (and made all of us laugh in the process).

You wrote enough fan fiction for 100 novels and created an outpouring of art and creativity that could fill its own museum — I’ve truly never seen anything like it.

You lifted up a 95 year old who had just come out of the closet and made her into a celebrity who gets recognized wherever she goes. Every time any member of the cast appears at anything, you turn it into a convention.

You stop Abbi wherever she goes, and though I’m a happily inconspicuous person, and you constantly find me and stop me and give me gifts that now have a shelf in my house.

When thousands of you appeared to see D’Arcy at the stage door of The Thanksgiving Play over its run, you turned it into the hottest queer bar in New York. You made Max’s suit and Chante’s beautiful performance into a movement.

A mob of you went to Pittsburgh and saw all of our locations. You dressed as the characters and made our characters into one of the biggest halloween costumes of last year.

You came out, you changed pronouns, you started living more openly, you gave sermons in church about the show, you opened bars, and you got a truly mind boggling number of tattoos that say “to the five” and “rob the bank.” What else am I forgetting? I'm sure you'll remind me.

But most importantly, you made a community, you found each other and found joy, which of course is what the show is about. In many more ways than I would ever have let myself imagine while we were making it, you literally bring the show to life every day.

Thank you for making our work mean something bigger. We’ve heard from so many different kinds of people around the world who are watching League.

But, in a time when all queer people are personally and politically under attack across the country and HRC has declared a “state of emergency,” my biggest fear is that the many queer fans of League will take this reversal as one more invalidation, one more blow, one more…

…effect of the general politicization of our identities. Most of us grew up feeling invisible, and as we gain strength, the predictable backlash forces are trying their hardest to get us to go back underground.

In case anyone needs to hear it: You are not small, niche, modest, off-putting or marginal, and neither are your stories. You are multitudes, you are building, and your stories are universal. You are the most rapidly growing audience and consumer group in this country.

You are powerful. You are the future, and the people who don’t recognize your importance now will feel be clamoring to catch up in a few years. As Chante said so beautifully when we received the Human Right Campaign Visionary award, you are the main characters. Be proud.

Be angry if you that’s how you feel, but know that we are going to win, and don’t ever let this moment or any other make you small. The biggest lesson of the characters in this show is that, in a world that had no space for them at all, they LIVED. (Continued)

They found love, they did the things they loved, they won. You’re doing the same thing, and just like them, you are heroes. We are still fighting for League. But whether we win or lose this one, I’m so proud.

From the time when we began working on the season, Abbi, Deta and I said to each other — Let’s not hold anything back, for as long as we get to be here, let’s do this the right way.

We got so many notes wondering if the exploration of the queer world of the 1940s or Max’s world would be better saved for season 2, if people needed to start somewhere a little more familiar. I’m so glad we didn’t listen, cause now I’m sitting here without any regrets.

And no matter what happens, the people behind League aren’t going anywhere. Give us a minute, we will be back with more for you to watch and read and feel. We’re going to win.

And you’re not going anywhere either, because what you’ve built and what you are is bigger than this show. It’s the story of our community, that comes to us through the hidden history that League shows just one small part of: The bars got raided and shut down.

But the people didn’t go anywhere, and they opened a new bar, and out of those spaces came music, cinema, dance, culture — What we now see as mainstream was birthed from the spaces our predecessors were forced to hide in. They made joy there."

[elizabethemerald]

Gala Daze DPxDC

AO3

“What a great idea Vladdie!” 

“I don’t know Jack…” 

“Oh I assure you, my dear Maddie that Daniel will be perfectly safe with me. I won’t let him out of my sight for a moment.” 

“Come on Maddie, it would be a perfect opportunity for our Danno to bump elbows with some rich bigwigs!” 

“Well maybe he can talk to them about getting some funding for ghost extermination. Very well Vlad. You can take Danny to Gotham.”

Danny was disassociating. While not entirely a new state of being, a dissociative episode had never lasted this long for him. He had been fully checked out from his body ever since the flight from Amity Park to Gotham. He had been thinking about turning intangible and just letting the plane fly through him so he could go home, when Vlad had leaned over to him to whisper in his ear. Vlad said if Danny stepped even one toe out of line, or did anything to embarrass him, Vlad would overshadow as many people as it took to ensure that Jazz was turned down by every college she applied to. He would ruin her entire future if Danny did even one thing wrong. 

Danny had started disassociating after that. 

His parents had done a lot to hurt him and Jazz. Usually the harm the elder Fentons did to their children was either accidental or unknowing. Like when Jazz was sick for days after the Thanksgiving dinner where Dad tried to fry the turkey in ectoplasm or like when they shot Danny when he was out as Phantom. 

However this time there was no excuse for them hurting their kids. If they ever listened to their children they would know that Danny hated Vlad and Jazz didn’t trust him. The kids had said over and over again for years that they didn’t like Vlad, but no! Uncle Vladdie could do no wrong! Danny and Jazz were just making things up for attention. 

Ancients, Danny hoped that he could keep his nose clean for the trip, he didn’t want to be responsible for Jazz having to give up her dreams of getting into an Ivy League school. He had lost huge swaths of time. He barely remembered leaving the airport and the next time he was cognizant they were heading to the gala in the tailored suits Vlad had ordered. 

Fortunately Vlad loved nothing more than the sound of his own voice, not even Danny or his mom. So he was more than happy to talk to the people around them about Danny and any time someone asked Danny a question he would be the one to answer instead. Vlad kept his hand either on Danny’s shoulder or on the back of his neck at all times so he couldn’t even slip away. 

Now he was talking to some rich fruitloop who kept trying to engage Danny in conversation. Brucie? Wait? Bruce Wayne? Yeah the guy was rich but why would Vlad go out of his way to introduce Danny to this airhead? 

“Well, yes, my son Damian does have many interests, but I can’t say that any of them have to do with NASA's latest satellite.” Mr. Wayne was saying in response to something Vlad had said. Ah. That made sense. Vlad wanted to brag, shove his superiority into Mr. Wayne’s face. Brucie turned to address Danny. “Tell me Daniel, what do you know about NASA's deep space satellite?”

“Uh, I prefer Danny actually, Mr. Wayne.” Danny said. Mr. Wayne’s eyebrows rose marginally considering those were his first words during this conversation. “And I-”

“Yes, Daniel really is attached to that childish nickname, isn’t he?” Vlad spoke up again. “Really Brucie, you would think children would grow up at some point. We should discuss this more over a game of golf next week…”

Danny let Vlad’s words wash over him again. The worst thing about Vlad was he really knew how to push Danny’s buttons. Of course he would bring up the new satellite only to show off to his rich rival, then not even let Danny talk about it. And then insulting him for his name! Prick!

He tried to avoid looking at Brucie’s concerned face. Obviously he was a socialite and knew all about the proper behavior for galas, and Vlad probably wasn’t meeting those social rules. There was a small part of Danny’s chaos-gremlin brain that wanted to say something seemingly innocuous but super sus if you thought about it. Nothing would make Danny happier than getting Vlad investigated for something stupid like tax fraud, but he couldn’t risk Jazz’s career just for spite. Or gremlin urges. 

Vlad moved his hand from Danny’s shoulder down to his lower back. Danny did everything he could to keep the snarl he wanted to make at that action from coming out. He still couldn’t help the full body shudder that shook his frame for a fraction of a second. Vlad shot him a look filled with malice and promised pain so Danny reigned himself back in and put his attention firmly on the floor in front of him. 

Danny clenched his fists, driving his nails into his own palms. He was sure he was bleeding, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t do anything. He hated feeling powerless. You would think that after the portal accident and him gaining actual real powers the feeling would be far more rare, except it happens far too often and he hated it. His hands were shaking with rage and suppressed desire to punch Vlad right in his smug, manipulative, fruit-loop face. 

He chanced a glance up just in time to see a girl melt out of the shadows near the wall. If he didn’t know better he would say she was a ghost with how easily she was able to appear. But she definitely wasn’t a ghost. Perhaps a touch liminal, but not a ghost. And she was watching him. 

Danny tilted his head slightly to get a better look at her and she tilted her head to match. Her eyes flicked to the two adults for only a fraction of a second to confirm they were still engaged in whatever conversation they were having, then her hand came up and she signed for letters in what Danny recognized as ASL. 

“R U O K.” 

She merely looked the question at him. He risked a peak at Vlad, but he was focused on trying to strong arm Brucie into meeting for a golf match and some private drinks. Other than his thumb rubbing circles into the small of Danny’s back he wasn’t paying any attention to him. Danny looked back at the girl who was watching him intently. He gave the smallest shake of his head he could, hoping that Vlad wouldn’t notice. The girl nodded and slipped effortlessly back into the shadows, all but disappearing from view. 

Several more minutes went by of mindless conversation with Mr. Wayne seemingly had given up on trying to get Danny to answer questions. He let his mind drift again to his beloved stars as he began naming the stars in biggest constellations visible in the night sky. 

For a while Danny thought that nothing would come of the mystery girl who had checked on him, until a crash echoed across the hall from the entrance of the gala hall. Vlad finally released Danny’s shoulder to whirl to face the noise. Then to his surprise, Mr. Wayne turned as well to put himself in between Danny and the crash, effectively hiding him from Vlad. At first he thought that was just serial adopter Brucie Wayne’s first gut instinct in a crisis, putting his body between a threat and the nearest black haired kid. 

However, immediately after Mr. Wayne stepped in front of him, two kids appeared out of the crowd, grabbed Danny’s shoulders and started to drag him away. He recognized the asian girl who had signed to him, and the other was, even more surprisingly, Damian Freaking Wayne! That meant that the other girl must be Cassandra Wayne! Sam had made sure Danny knew all the Waynes before the topic of the gala had even come up. Apparently the Waynes were the only people who made the events her parents dragged her to worth it. 

Damian and Cassandra maneuvered through the crowd so effortlessly Danny had to take a moment to check if they were using intangibility. The trio weaved through as the noise behind them got even louder until they pulled him into a back room of the hall where a very tired looking Timothy Drake-Wayne was already there on his laptop. He looked up at Danny in confusion for a second before returning his attention to the computer in front of him. 

“Don’t worry, that noise was just the chandelier in the entrance hall falling. Apparently it couldn’t take Dick’s weight.” Timothy, actual real CEO of Wayne enterprises said. Tucker would be losing his mind right now. 

Cassandra settled Danny into a chair while Damian marched up to Timothy. Danny could finally take a moment to look properly at the Waynes. All three of them wore elegant, likely name brand suits. Timothy was wearing a plain white shirt under his suit jacket while Cassandra and Damian wore black on black suits, though Damian’s did have some green highlights at the lapels and pockets. Timothy looked like his eye bags had eye bags, which Danny could relate to. 

“Father ordered you not to work for the night of the Gala.” Damian snapped. When Timothy didn’t dignify that with a response the youngest Wayne turned back to face Danny. “Vladimir Masters escorted you to the gala tonight.” 

Danny couldn’t help but snort. 

“What a polite way of phrasing that.” He said with a dark chuckle. 

“Would it be more accurate to call you his hostage?” Timothy asked from his chair, where he was still focusing on his computer screen and whatever it was he was working on. 

That brought Danny up short. He tried to stutter out a denial, but Damian quickly spoke over him. 

“Has he hurt you? Threatened you or someone you care about?” Damian demanded. 

“N-no!  He would never lay a finger on me!” Danny was quick to say, trying to project as much confidence as possible. Cassandra moved her flat hand in line across her face. Damian glanced at her and his eyes narrowed at Danny. 

“You don’t have to lie to protect him. We can protect you, our family has resources.” 

Danny shook his head over and over again. 

“I can’t talk about it. I can’t talk about it. I can’t talk about it.” He had to repeat himself, the phrase trapping themselves in his mind as he kept saying it over and over again. 

If he told them what Vlad had done to him, Vlad would ruin Jazz’s entire life. He already regularly tried to kill his father, but there was no telling what he would do to Jazz. Danny couldn’t tell them about being thrown into walls during his fights with Plasimus, or the clones Danny had watched melt in his arms under Vlad’s uncaring eye. He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. 

While he was panicking, Damian had withdrawn, visibly uncertain about how best to approach him. Cassandra and Timothy had come closer, Cassandra had her hand on his shoulder providing a calm, steadying presence. Timothy had closed his laptop and scooted forward his attention now fully on Danny. He made some motion to the others that seemed to symbolize that he was going to be taking point. 

“You’re not from Gotham originally, is that right?” When Danny nodded he continued. “We have some heroes here in Gotham. Believe it or not, we Waynes get kidnapped a lot, get rescued a lot. We know some of the Bats, they could help you.” 

Danny was already shaking his head again. 

“No, no no! That’s even worse. The worst thing that can happen if you Waynes help me is Brucie gives Vlad WE for pennies on the dollar and Vlad gets even richer. But if you get Batman involved, then he could have a man inside the JL. He could turn them against the people, use them as a tool to take over whatever he wants. He could overthrow the Ghost King…”

Now Danny was really panicking. He had muttered the last bit, terror carving its way through him. It would be like the absolute worst of the fight with Pariah Dark and Dan all over again. Danny would have to fight, and maybe kill the Justice League to stop him. If he won, he would have to eradicate Earth’s heroes, and if he lost Vlad would become King of the Infinite Realms. 

“You are talking about mind control.” Damian said, his eyes wide.

“No! Not mind control. Overshadowing. Humans call it possession.” Danny was rambling now. Desperately trying to convince these silly rich people not to get involved. Danny was a lost cause, he couldn’t be helped. All he could do was keep his head down long enough for Jazz to get into her college of choice. The Waynes glanced at each other nervously for a moment and Damian pulled his phone from his pocket. 

“I think I need to make a call.” 

Danny snapped his head up, his attention on the far wall as his breath came out in a foggy puff, like he had just walked into a freezer. He didn't know it but his eyes were blazing green at that moment. 

“It’s too late now.” 

The Waynes all step back or slouch against their chairs. Only a second later the door to their room snaps open, Vlad furious, his once spotless suit now covered in red wine and assorted finger foods. His eyes burned red with rage as he locked onto Danny. Timothy immediately stood to his feet. 

“Ah, Mr. Masters.” Vlad pulled himself back from his rage with difficulty to acknowledge the young CEO. “We were just coming out to look for you. Your ward was grabbed by our security team. Small case of mistaken identity. It's standard procedure during these sorts of events to get my brothers and sister to safety in the event of another terrorist attack. Or worse a Joker attack. Thankfully it seems everything is under control. You may take your charge now.” 

Timothy brushed past Vlad without another comment. Damian glared at him, but he glared at everyone, while Cassandra just stared at Vlad, unblinking, like some kind of demonic cat. Her complete lack of reaction obviously weirded Vlad out even more than Damian’s aggression. 

“Oh I’ll do that.” He grabbed Danny’s arm hard enough to bruise. “Come Daniel. We’re leaving.” 

Danny turned away from the Waynes as he was dragged out the door. He didn’t want to face their pity. At least he did a good enough job convincing them that they can’t help him. Now he just had to last long enough to get back home again. He let himself checkout, ignoring Vlad’s crushing grip on his arm as he dragged from the gala and back to the hotel. 

When Danny next checked in with his body it was to Vlad screaming in his face and burning pain in his body. In Vlad’s furious race out of the Gala after his humiliation he had pulled Danny’s arm out of his socket. And to emphasize his points Vlad would hit him with ecto fire, each hit destroying more of his once nice suit and leaving burns on his body. 

“You think you can just toy with me in front of these richest elite? I will make your life hell! I will make your sister’s life hell! She’ll be lucky to make a living on the street corners of a shit hole like this!” He gestured out to the window, which Danny belatedly realized was open. “I just don’t understand why you make me do this to you, Daniel. Little Badger, you are forcing my hand and I-”

He shrieked as a batarang whipped from the open window. The lights in the hotel room flickered for a second and Batman, Robin and Orphan were standing in the room when the lights returned. Vlad turned to them, furious that they would interrupt. 

“Vladimir Masters. We have some questions for you.” Batman growled. 

“No! I think you’ll find Batman, that I have some questions for you!” Vlad’s eyes flared red. Danny tried to stop him but he was backhanded away

Vlad floated into the air as his ghost transformation rolled over his body. He reached out to grab Batman but before he could several things happened at once. First and most shockingly, Robin drew a katana and cut off Plasmius’ hand at the wrist. Then several voices shouted out at once.

“Azarath Metrion Zinthos!”

“Dnib siht tirips ot sti ydob!” 

“Puer iste spiritus maxime!”

Chains of gold, purple and blazing fire wrapped around Plasmius again and again. The chains dragged him down to the ground even as he snarled and swore at them. A man in a trench coat, a woman in a long black cloak and an actual stage magician appeared in the room, magic sparking at their fingertips. Cassandra had bypassed the battle completely to come to Danny's side, though she did still have her weapons in her hands. Batman turned to address him, ignoring Vlad’s continued vitriol in the middle of the arcane trap. 

“You’re safe now Danny. You don’t have to worry about him hurting you ever again. This I swear.” Batman said, his voice just as serious as it ever was, and for the first time in his life, Danny felt like he could actually believe it when someone told him he was safe. He collapsed to his knees, shuddering sobs shaking his body. He was safe, Jazz was safe from Vlad’s machinations. Maybe this nightmare could finally be over.