#well one of them. one i miss and i will scream it from the rooftop

[sampilled]

why did i have a very emotional moment in a taco bell last night? looking for a table to sit at and the only one that was free was the one i always sat at with my best friends when i was 17.

[clockwayswrites]

Die Screaming, Live Laughing

Danny/Tim, Cyan, Wind through tree branches/Windchimes @wisteriavines @darkstarsapocalypse (I saw you before you changed that! Twins!)

cw:bar parent fentons, more temporary character death, bones

The faint, mechanical whir under his fingertips as he spins the camera lens comforts Tim. The fiddling is familiar from the years of following Bats and crime across the city. The rooftops of Gotham are an environment that he’s far more familiar with than here. Here is nothing but endless trees and leaves.

Well, somewhere here is also the campgrounds and Bernard, Ives, Steph, and Cass; but that’s far out of sight and almost out of mind. It’s easy, as he listens to the wind rustle through the trees, to feel like nothing exists but the trees and Tim and his camera.

He spins the lens again.

Ostensibly, the four of them are in these woods to find Mothman. Which would be cool! But even Tim, who proposed this whole thing, knows that it’s just an excuse for the four of them to do something away from Gotham. To do something to make actual use of their summer between high school and college.

If Tim went to college, that is.

He’d been accepted, sure, but he… he just didn’t know if he wanted to. It felt like there were more important things to be doing than college. College was sitting in a classroom and listening to someone drone on about a subject that Tim could crash course himself on with the right library access in a month. It also meant new people and new noises and maybe even a new home. None of that sounds great, really. Moving in with Bruce to Wayne Manor had been enough change, thank you very much.

Tim’s foot catches on something and he does a half step to keep his balance. He expects to see a tree root when he glances down. It’s bone instead. That’s not… unexpected. They had already seen deer in the woods, the creatures got stupidly close to the campsite. It would make sense that with the big rains the few weeks before, there could have been old remains uncovered. But there’s something…

The dirt brushes away easily from the surface of the bone and, with a little digging, Tim is able to pull it free of the earth.

This isn’t a deer bone.

Tim knows this shape.

This is human. A femur.

“You have to be careful where you’re walking out here.”

Tim stands and spins, the femur held like his staff would be.

The speaker is leaning against a tree several feet away. The golden, setting sun backlights them, making them look almost angelic with how they’re wreathed in light. They’re hard to look at.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim says, plastering on a nervous smile that was only half for show. How did they sneak up on him? That should have been impossible with the leaves and branches scattered across the forest floor. “Do you run into animal skeletons a lot out here?”

“Not really,” they say with a shrug before they start forward towards Tim. Their steps are silent. “I don’t really get around. And also, that’s not an animal skeleton.”

“No?” Tim’s grip on the femur tightens. “How do you know that?”

“How? Well, that’s because it’s mine!”

Tim swings.

The femur goes right through the stranger.

“Sorry! Little intense, I get it!” They back up a step and raise their arms. The dappled sunlight shines right through their hand. Shines right through them like the stranger is just made out of gossamer. “I get it, but be careful with that, please? It’s my arm! Or leg? No, leg.”

“Leg, it’s a femur,” Tim says, his mouth running without him as his brain works.

“Leg. Ancients, I miss having legs. And arms… and, well, anything solid really,” the stranger sighs. “I am sorry for scaring you. Just… it’s hard not to get a little intense when someone is holding one of my bones, you know?”

“Oh shit! That’s right, sorry,” Tim stammers as he hurries to put the femur back down on the disturbed earth. “Do you— I mean, should I rebury it? Did the rains washing away the earth, um, wake you up?”

“Kinda?” They tilt their head as they crouch down next to Tim.

It’s clear now, as they move a bit out of the light, how transparent they are. It’s like in the shadow they lose tangency. Their hair is still just as blinding, being bright white in a way that’s really beautiful. They reach out to touch the femur but stop short.

“I’m tied to my bones. It’s why they dumped them all the way out here. After they killed me, I mean, all the way killed me, I haunted the fuck out of them. And yeah, sure, they could hurt this form of me too, but I always found a way out and then it all started again. Burying my bones was the only way to get rid of me, and those fuckers didn’t even scratch me a headstone in the tree or anything. Some parents, huh?”

“Holy— yeah,” Tim says. Looking back down at the other partially exposed bones he has to swallow back a wave of sadness. “Is that a yes to covering them up?”

“Actually… I’d like you to dig them up. I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll get justice or whatever, but I’d… I’d like to be somewhere proper and under my name.”

“What is it? Your name?”

“Danny.”

“Okay, Danny,” Tim gives a little nod and starts digging. “My friends and I will get you somewhere you feel safe. I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Danny doesn’t help dig. He can’t, he explains as Tim and him talk. While his bones are buried, he’s not able to interact with them or else he would have gotten them out of there a long time ago. They learn together that as soon as the bones are free and set gently aside that Danny can touch them.

Tim never thought he’d see someone so emotional over a tibia, but Tim can’t blame the guy. Tim figures he’d be emotional over his own bones too.

The big bones are the easiest. The ribs Tim is extra careful with. The fingers are weirdly like peanut shells in his hand. (He’s not going to eat pb&j for weeks now.) Danny chats the whole time, asking Tim about the world. Tim feels wholly inadequate to catch someone up like that, but when conversation turns to technology Tim settles into a rhythm.

It also lets them figure out that while Danny died just shy of nineteen, he’s apparently spent almost two decades in the ground. He still looks just shy of nineteen. He looks like he should be in the forest for the same reason that Tim is, celebrating the end of one era and the start of the next. Danny should be looking to the future, not mourning it.

It makes Tim pause when he finally unearths Danny’s skull. What would it have been like to see Danny smile? To hear him laugh without that faint echoing quality that he has as a ghost? To touch him?

“I’m sorry,” Tim says and holds out the skull. Danny’s skull.

“Thank you,” Danny whispers. His hands tremble as he reaches out towards the skull. He crumples forward before he can touch it, a sob tearing through him.

“I’ll make sure you’re somewhere nice.

“Thank you.” Danny lets out a breath he doesn’t have and sags forward the last inch. His forehead bumps against the skull.

Then he keeps going forward.

The world explodes into light.

-

“Tim?!”

“Are you sure he’s still alive?”

“You can see him breathing, Bernard.”

“Pulse.”

“Tim!”

Tim gasps awake and blinks rapidly to clear his vision. His friends and sister stand clustered above him. It has gotten dark and their flashlights are blinding.

“You okay?” Cass asks.

“Ow.”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Steph sighs. “Hey Tim, who the fuck is that?”

“Wha—” Fuck his head hurts. Who the fuck is who?

Oh, the person laying in his arms. The person who’s solid and warm and alive.

Tim starts laughing.

“Okay, maybe a little not okay,” Steph amends.

“Is he ever?” Tim hears Ives mutter.

“Guys,” Tim interrupts them discussing his status once he can breathe again. “This? This is Danny.”

“Being alive again hurts,” Danny mumbles against Tim’s neck and Tim can’t help it, he just starts laughing again.

Being alive does hurt, but fuck if that isn’t wonderful sometimes.

---

AN: So this one got away from me a little but, uh... tada? I was planing to have it all explained more, but once Danny didn't purposefully do it, that didn't fit. Basically all if his frankly absurd powers and as a ghost got jump started by his skull and Tim's lifeforce and tada? 100% pulled some from Tim's Gotham Knights character where he's an awkward little bean who is so not neurotpyical. Him and Bernard taking a vacation to hunt Mothman is from that too.

Anyways, stay delightful, darlings!

[byuntrash101]

clutch. - 이페릭스.

clutch: when someone or a team performs really well in important situations.

SYNOPSIS. felix is the last one standing against the last squad. since you don't want to end the night on a loss you give your friend felix a little motivation: "felix, if you clutch this i'll send you my tits"

bsf!felix x f!reader ft. seungmin, smut, mdni

tags. sub!felix, also simp felix (he's got a big fat crush on you), also felix' gorgeous and luscious hair, phone sex, guided masturbation, masturbation (f & m), nudes, use of toys, begging, teasing, pet names (good boy, pretty boy, baby), praising (he deserves 'em, ok??), squirting, orgasms (f & m). wc. 2.9k

a/n. i hope you enjoy because this is pure filth lolzzz. my inspiration comes from a twitcher that was playing val and one of her friends said that to her and she fucking slayed everything. also this is based on apex because i dont play val or lol so yeah.

“Fuck! I’m down” you heard Seungmin wail in your headset. You sighed, annoyed. It was your very last game of the evening and you really didn’t want to end on a loss. Your eyes went up to the corner of the screen again. It was down to the last team and you could have been the champions. But you died in a 2v1 earlier and the team didn’t have anymore respawn beacons. You still had hope to win because Seungmin could surely take them but he was cornered and the other team had the high ground. Felix was the last one standing on your team and well… He wasn’t the best player and the enemy squad was still full.��

Felix was petrified watching all of his squad get slaughtered one by one. He was frantically checking his hiding spot, hearing the steps of the other squad coming in.

“Felix if you clutch this I’ll send you my tits”.

The silence that followed was almost religious. Felix didn’t even think, he didn’t let his nerves take the best out of him at the idea of possibly seeing you in a way he had secretly dreamed of for a long time now. Instead it calmed him, he was in a sort of serene trance. He knew if wanted to get his crush’s nude he had to do this. He had to win.

So he did.

In a second he jumped out of his hiding spot, surprising the healer of the enemy squad and fired first and took them down. He was light as a shadow as precise as an assassin. He heard the footsteps coming in from the left so he circled the building by the right. He jumped on the roof waiting for the last two enemies to find him. One opened the door just beneath Felix he fired, not missing a single shot but the second one quickly came to help his teammate. Felix had to take cover but as the first one was trying to heal he shot again to take them down. He quickly came down the rooftop and made the final blow with his melee weapon. And there it was: you are the champions. Written in red and gold across the screen while epic music played in the background but Felix heard none of it. The song was completely drowned out by the loud cheers of his friends. 

You and Seungmin screamed and jumped. You couldn’t believe what you saw, Felix single handedly took out the entire last squad. When you got up your chair to jump around you were really thankful you swapped for a wireless headset. 

“Broooooo” Seungmin started, “What the fuck was that? You absolute legend.”

“Mate, I don’t even know”

“Lix, that was actually insane!” you chipped in.

The conversation went on and Felix was patiently waiting for someone to bring up what you said earlier. But no one said anything. It was probably a figure of speech or a joke… Yeah, probably a joke. And Felix couldn’t help the little tinge of disappointment that tainted his heart when he heard you say goodnight at the other end of the line.

“I really gotta go, I’m working in the morning” Seungming started.

“Yeah” Felix chuckled, trying his hardest to maintain the euphoria of winning, because somehow he still felt like he lost in the end.

“Good night, Lixie” you whispered.

“Bye” He exhaled, staring at your small icon before the green halo around it disappeared. 

Your picture was smiling right at him and he sighed again picturing you smiling like this tonight. Then he thought of what you said again. He slapped his forehead and frowned at himself. How did he actually believe that?! Of course it was a joke. A stupid joke you would make to your friends… A friend who you love platonically… Platonically and that’s it… Felix had to understand that, he had to accept that. After all these years you probably saw him as a brother. 

He cringed and shook his head at the idea, trying to stop the dreadful train of thoughts before he’d eventually break his own heart. But right when he was hovering above the shut down button the distinct sound of a new message chimed in.

[Attachment received: for_the_goat_my_lixie.jpg]

Just like earlier, Felis didn’t take a second breath, didn’t scramble, his hand was steady when he clicked on it. What the screen then showed knocked the air right out of his lungs. 

You are so beautiful. 

You were wearing your gaming gear, your LED baby blue headset, your hair beautifully tied back, no make up. Your gray demon slayer hoodie was pulled up. You seemingly didn’t wear a bra today because the hoodie was the only thing you needed to lift up to snap the perfect picture of your heavenly tits. 

Felix swallowed thickly, he flipped his long blond hair out of his eyes as they were screwed onto the screen as hot blood rushed to his groin at an alarming rate. He felt dizzy as his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. You looked so mischievous, wearing a devilish little smirk slightly crooked, just so playful. Your breasts were squished together and you held the camera with one hand with the other lifting up the hoodie. Your nipples were pebbled. So fucking perfect, Felix thought as his hand found his growing bulge. The perfect size, the perfect color. Perfection. And to top it all off your tongue was sticking out, a long and thick string of saliva was dripping onto your chest, right into the cleavage and rolling down to your nipples, making your skin wet and shiny. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. You were the most erotic thing ever.

[incoming audio call: staydreamgurl]

Felix panicked for a second, almost knocking the ninja energy drink on his custom keyboard.

“Shit” he caught the can before the disaster and picked up the call. 

“Hm-Hello?” Felix tried, his deep voice was careful, almost hesitant. And you chuckled at his awkwardness.

“So,” you started, Felix could hear the same devilish crooked smirk through the phone. “What are you gonna do with it?” You sounded so naughty and Felix almost choked on his saliva, a novel attitude he was not about to start complaining about.

“Hmm… I-I don’t really know yet” He lied, his eyes fluttering to the huge bottle of lotion behind the monitor. 

“Liar” you said, tit for tat.

Fuck.

“You’re gonna jack off to it” 

“Yeah” He chuckled awkwardly again. “I was gonna do that”

“How?”

“W-what, what do you mean?”

“How are you gonna touch yourself to my pic?” There was not an ounce of hesitation in your voice. “Tell me how you’re gonna do it”

“I-I…Hmmm” Felix stammered, he was at a loss for words. This brand new attitude you had, your sultry voice, your pushy, self assured demeanor and the lewd photo that was still full-screen on his monitor. He loved all of that a little too much.

“You want help?”

“What?”

“I could tell you exactly how to do it. You’d just have to listen to me and do what I tell you.”

“Fuck” he let escape, his breath was already short. Was he fucking dreaming? Was it really happening? Was something finally happening? He would have ever imagined this. Not tonight after dreaming about it countless times. It was finally happening. “Hm, yeah, y-yeah I’d love that.” Felix agreed.

“Good boy.” you praised in the same sultry tone, the pet name made Felix’ cock jump between his thighs.

“Grab your lube, your lotion. What do you usually use?” You asked, your voice a little lower, a little quieter too.

“I-I use lotion.” Felix said, reaching behind his monitor and dragging the blue and white bottle to him.

“Oh! So naughty, not so innocent after all, huh?” You chuckled. “Take your clothes off, all of them.” You ordered, and in a split second Felix was completely naked on his chair, his pink nipples were hardening as he pushed his back onto the comfortable gaming chair.

“Are you hard?” you asked in a sinful sigh that had Felix’s heart flutter stupidly.

“Y-Yes” Felix said, struggling not to stroke himself, impatiently waiting for your instructions. “I’m so fucking hard right now.”

“My bare tits get you hard, pretty boy?” You said, a little rasp in the voice that didn’t go unnoticed.

His dick throbbed again as he let out a stifled sigh. He definitely liked the way you were talking to him.

“F-fuck yes they do. And your voice too.” Felix’s usually deep voice sounded ever so slightly more squeaky. “C-can I please touch myself, now?”

“Already begging, huh?” you asked, rather amused.

“Please” Felix huffed quietly. For you he seemed he had only been waiting a couple of minutes but in reality he had been waiting for you for a lifetime. He was so eager for you, so thirsty for more of you in a brand new novel way. A version of you that he never met and only ever dreamt of was suddenly here, suddenly you were real. And he couldn't get to know the new you fast enough.

“Get the lotion in your hand, a good amount. I want it to glide smoothly”

“Yes!” Felix hastened to answer. He extended his hand and pushed on the pump twice, getting a generous dollop of lotion onto his palm.

“Now smear it on yourself. Base to tip, everywhere and don’t forget the balls.” He immediately did as he was told. He hissed quietly at the feeling of the cold lotion on his hot cock. He took the lotion to his base, all the way up to his tip and down to the balls.

“There, there. Good job baby” you cooed and the kind words earned you a small little whimper.

Felix was gripping down at his cock, trying hard not to stroke himself yet, waiting for you. 

“Now, start rubbing your thumb over the tip, tease yourself a little bit for me, baby”

“O-okay” he said, his fist went up his shaft and his thumb circled his tip, teasing the little ridges at the sides and going up to also tease his slit. He gasped at how sensitive he already was.

“Tell me how it feels, baby don’t be shy” you whispered.

“Nghh... It feels s’good but I-I want more” Felix’ voice bordered on a grunt, as his hips involuntarily bucked into his fist. “Please can I stroke it?”

“I really like when you beg” You huffed again, your voice sounded strained. “Keep going baby, I might just say yes”

“Shittt” Felix was still rubbing his tip, growing more sensitive by the second. “pleasepleasepleaseplease, l-let me jack off for you, I’ll be so good for you. I-I… Aaah- I promise”.

“Hmmmm” you hummed in satisfaction. “Good boy, you make me so wet. Can you hear it?”

Just then Felix held his breath, turning up the volume in his headset and he heard the most melodious sounds he’s ever heard. A beautiful symphony of lewd wet noises erupting from your end of the call. It sounded so sinful. 

“I hope you won’t mind that I started without you. I just couldn’t resist fucking myself with my favorite toy right now” you chuckled, almost bashfully, as if you weren’t now spilling the most sinful arrangement of words known to man.

Felix’ eyes grew twice their size as his jaw hung open in surprise, he could have exploded in his hand right there. He would have pledged abstinence for a month to see you right now. Hell, he would have given everything! Everything to see you push the toy inside your wet and dripping little pussy. But he didn’t want to possibly scare you away by asking after waiting for so long so he settled for a less intrusive question.

“H-how is it? The toy? What does it look like?” Felix burned with impatience for more details that would make him imagine you perfectly.

“It’s purple, thick and long. I can’t take it all in but it feels so fucking good.” You confessed, feeling more pleasure coming in with another deep thrust of your wrist.

“Goddamn- Aaah…” Felix sighed as he imagined your dripping little cunt all stretched out by the big purple cock you were holding and mercilessly shoving into your throbbing little pussy.

“Touch yourself now, stroke your cock for me, Felix”

“Fuck yesss” He literally melted as his hand wrapped around his clock and dragged the lotion across his shaft down to the base and back up to the tip again. “Aaah- Fuck-”

“Not too fast, baby” you said, as more lewd wet noises erupted from your end.

“Fuck, o-okay” Felix slowed down, but somehow it was agonizing, he wanted to feel more, and he wanted to match your rhythm, imagine he was the one inside you right now, rearranging your guts and making you pant and moan. You sounded so heavenly and Felix was convinced you looked even more unreal. His eyes fluttered back to the picture on his screen taking in your perfect tits and picturing them bouncing with each thrust of your wrist, maybe you were even the big toy with two hands, your breasts squished between your arms, shoving it inside with force, making your back arch against the chair.

“Oh god- Felix” you moaned, your breath catching in your throat as you gave yourself a particularly powerful thrust. “Oh f-fuck” you hissed. “I’m getting close.”

“Oh fuck yes, Please can I go faster? I-I wanna finish with you”

“Yesss, stroke it faster baby, really milk your cock for me. I’m…Nggghh- I’m almost there.”

“Fuck, you sound so fucking hot I’m going insane” Felix sighed as he stroked his cock faster, his movements were more shallow, focussing mainly on his tip as his other hand naturally came up to tease his hard sensitive pink nipples. He let out a high pitched moan, that made your cunt grip on the purple cock inside you, you huffed and moaned picturing Felix’s cock weeping for you, twitching for you, simply awaiting your command to finally explode.

“Listen, Lixie, I want you to cum on my tits, cum on my pic”

The cute nickname sounded so sinful on your lips right now. Felix grabbed the screen and pulled it closer to him, not caring about straining the cables of his carefully put together setup. He wasn’t thinking of anything  that wasn’t the way you right now. His mind and thoughts were only for your perfectly wet and tight cunt and how it would feel around him.

He kept on stroking himself, his tip touching your tongue on the picture, smearing precum on  his screen. 

“Ahh fuck, I can’t hold it much longer” He whimpered. “Pleasepleaseplease I wanna cum for you, let me c-cum for you.”

He sounded so perfect for you, so desperate, on the verge of insanity, begging you to let him cum. You pictured his tight balls filled to the brim with delicious piping hot cum he specially cooked up just for you. The idea brought you over the edge.

“Nowww, Felix. Cum. Cum with me”.

Your movements became uneven as your pussy clenched down on the toy, throbbing uncontrollably. The crushing weight of your orgasm swept you off your feet, sending radiating heat from your core to each of your limbs. Every muscle of your body tensed up and spurts of translucent liquid rushed out of you, soaking the toy beneath you and the chair.

You sounded so fucking divine, and even if he couldn’t see Felix heard you were squirting, he heard the liquid rushing out of your to get soaked in by the chair and even crashing on the floor. Those wet sounds coupled with your divine moans and your command for him to cum was more than enough.

He aimed right at your perfect tits, the first squirt of cum was absolutely massive, almost effectively covering your whole chest in one go. Felix felt himself twitch in his hand as he moaned, his voice was so high pitched that his voice cracked but none of you even noticed. He aimed the second spurt at your pretty face, picturing he was cumming on your perfect tongue and you could taste him, eagerly waiting for him with your tongue out, just like in the picture. He couldn't stop cumming, rope after rope of cum came crashing on his screen, covering your picture in thick layers of cum. 

When he was done a satisfying shiver ran down his spine and he sighed at the way his muscles relaxed, he felt at peace finally. There was a silence that was only cut by both of your sighs and pants but the silence wasn’t awkward. Not anymore, you went too far for that.

“That was amazing.” You were the first one to speak, when you had caught your breath. “I came so hard,” you confessed as you looked down at the mess you had made.

“For me too. I don’t think I ever came this much ever.” Felix brushed the sweaty strands of blond hair away for his eyes as he was also looking at his cum gradually thinning out and dripping off the monitor onto his desk. 

“We should do that again” You suggested and Felix sat up in his chair, he ceased the opportunity.

“Maybe next time… you could like… let me see you” He said, testing the waters, trying to take things even further.

“No, next time I’ll let you feel me”.

want more subby felix? try my fic girls like me ♡

SYNOPSIS. felix's heart flutter when he thinks of you but he's not sure if he can be with a girl like you...

want to be udpated when i post? join the taglist here

skz masterlist | navigation

[theemporium]

violet fluff, luke and his grumpy gf who isn’t always the best at saying or showing her affection,

"I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it."

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

29. “I do love you, you know. Even if I’m shit at showing it.” 

.

Usually, you were never one to let comments get to you. 

It was something you were well aware came with territory of dating someone in the spotlight, but it didn’t turn you away. You weren’t one to let the opinions of people you knew bother you, let alone strangers on the internet hiding behind a screen. It was something you could easily disconnect from, knowing full well most comments were made through a veil of jealousy and envy. 

You were secure in your relationship with Luke, why bother with people desperate to poke holes in something they didn’t know the details of?

It had been family skate day with the Devils and you had been told by Luke that the two of you were featured in the video the team posted on Instagram. You went to look for pure curiosity reasons, maybe drop a like before moving on with the day. You weren’t even sure why you looked at the comments. You weren’t sure why a few of them stuck out. 

user: she literally looks like she wants to be anywhere else, idk why luke is with her

And maybe in the long run, it wouldn’t have bothered you. But then you found yourself with the team a week or so later, at some random bar in Jersey celebrating another win to the streak. You were settled in the seat beside Luke, his arm over the back of your chair and a beer in his other hand whilst you nursed a vodka coke he had gotten you. 

“Oh, cover your eyes, people!” Curtis had laughed from the other side of the table, a teasing smile on his face. “They are within five inches of each other. Don’t get too excited, Luke!”

And—

You get it. You two didn’t show much PDA around the team or anyone in general. It wasn’t your kind of style. Luke sometimes held your hand or pulled you close, maybe a kiss to the top of your head. But overall, neither one of you was overly affectionate, especially in public. 

And it never bothered you before. It still didn’t. But maybe it did peeve you off just a little that people just assumed it meant something more, that the lack of affection was telling of something else, that you didn’t—

“Luke?” 

“Hm?” The boy hummed, his eyes glued to his phone screen as he aimlessly scrolled through what he missed in the old UMICH chat. His head was on your lap, his body sprawled over the couch whilst you were flicking through random channels. It had been a fairly normal evening for you both, minus the thoughts plaguing you. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

Luke paused, drawing his gaze away from his phone to look up at you with a frown. “What?” He questioned, an almost disbelieving laugh leaving his lips. “I mean, yeah. But where is this coming from?” 

“Nothing, I—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as you reached down to push some hair away from his face. He leaned into the touch. “I do love you, you know. Even if I’m shit at showing it.” 

“I think you show it just fine, babe,” he assured you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist so he could tug your hand closer and press a soft kiss to your palm. It made your lips twitch upwards. “I know you’re obsessed with me, no need to go screaming it from the rooftops.” 

You scoffed, tugging your hand away. “Loser.” 

“Your loser that you love,” Luke retorted, a boyish grin on his face that you were endlessly fond of. 

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

.

[jasmines-library]

batfam with the youngest robin (prob 12-13) who gets kidnapped by the joker during a mission and a year or so later the joker reveals the kid who is now brainwashed to be the joker jr

i was thinking like maybe how they’d react and maybe that they can rescue y/n and un-brainwash them and like comfort them and stuff

if not that’s fine i don’t mind!!! i can also like explain better if needed lol

The Stranger In The Mirror.

Note: You guys literally send in the best requests, I took inspo from Batman Beyond where this happens to Tim but I also added my own little twists as always.

Warnings: Torture (graphic), brainwashing, manipulation, drugging, breakdown basically hurt not comfort (poor reader is going through it all in this one.)

Word count: 2.5k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

��Help! Somebody please!”

You heard the cry before you saw what was happening. A female voice begging desperately for help, pleading for mercy as the two men backed her against the wall of the alley. They stalked towards her menacingly and you could see the way her face contorted with a fear that gripped her so tight as she moved feebly in an attempt to get past the two men. But they were large and between them took up most of the alley so that it was nearly impossible for her to slip past, and even if she did they would be on her in a second. 

Using your grappling hook to secure a line on a nearby railing, you propelled yourself down from the rooftop. Before your feet hit the floor, you took the crooks out with a well placed blow that sent them crumpling to the ground like a sack of flour. Resheathing your hook, you turned to the woman. 

“Are you alright, Miss?”

She smiled, looking at you from under the brim of her hat with an all too familiar smile “Much better now you’re here.”

A brief flash of recognition crossed over your face, obscured by your mask as you realised who those brown eyes belonged to but you had no time to act on it before she hit you on the back of the head. Hard. With a manic laugh. 

“Night night, Birdy.”

~

When you awoke, you were laying on something cold. A piece of metal that you had been bound to by ropes that burned against your wrists and feet as you struggled to free yourself. The table was tilted at an angle that allowed you to squint against your throbbing head to take in your surroundings. The room you were in was well lit and seemed surprisingly sterile given the situation. Strange concoctions of colours that made you grimace hung on the walls and bubbled away in tubes on one of the many workbenches across the room. The tools made your stomach churn. But then you saw him. 

Perched all high and mighty in a chair opposite you the Joker had sprawled himself out across a chair, flashing you one of his sickening, signature grins. 

“Hiya, Birdy!” He stood with glee, making his way over to you with a spring in his step-almost like he was skipping. 

“Why the hell am I here, Joker?” You spat at him, baring your teeth. 

“Can’t a guy just hang out with his favourite vigilante?” He mused, turning away from you as he began organising things on the desk that you couldn’t see, you tugged in the restraints to try and catch a glimpse of them.

“Cut the crap.”

“You all really are no fun.” He rolled his eyes “Not to worry that’ll all change soon when I morph you into the perfect weapon. Me.”

“What?” 

“Well, what’s better than one of me? Two of me. And you little bird, know all the ways to destroy your pesky family.”

“I’m not going to tell you shit.”

He shrugged, turning back to you with a pair of jump leads in hand. “We’ll see.”

Walking towards you with a grin he attached them to the table before reaching towards the dial. You thrashed desperate to break free but the ropes securing you in place allowed no leeway for you to move. When his fingers brushed the dial and the voltage came flooding through the wires, you let out a blood curdling scream. The pain was everywhere as your body arched, twitched and writhed against the rope. It burned at your skin, drawing blood and forming blisters against your wrists and your ankles. When the current finally stopped and you fell slack against the restraints your diaphragm jerked and spluttered against each pain filled gasp. 

“Are you ready to talk now?”

~

They realised very quickly that you were missing. You hadn’t returned home after your patrol. They tried not to let the worry get the best of them, but this was Gotham. They waited, watching the seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, but there was no sign of you. You were gone. 

Everyone was on high alert. For three, agonising weeks they searched every inch of Gotham, using every possible connection they had but no one found any leads. Tim was growing frustrated, hacking into every database he could find as Bruce and the other boys scoured the city. But you were gone without a trace. That was until one tedious Wednesday morning, the batcave received an urgent call. 

~

Your head was fuzzy. Whatever the Joker had dozed you with this time was really taking a toll on you. 

Your head hung low resting against your chest as you breathed slowly, trying to push away the fuzziness in your brain. Your entire body had grown numb; now too used to the pain it had been put through, too weak to hold yourself up as you lay slack against the table and although all dosed up now you may not be able to feel anything, you would never be able to forget the endless torment he had put you through; that would forever be etched into your mind. 

The screams still seemed to ricochet off of the walls, burying themselves into each crack just to resurface once it went quiet. The feeling of your skin being torn apart still lingered, the pinch followed by the burn as the Joker slashed you with his weapons, screaming at you to tell him all that you knew about Batman. Of course, you refused at first. Oh how you were so brave trying to hold your tongue. But you couldn’t help the screams that ripped from your mouth and left your throat raw and soon when they layers of your mind had been peeled away by the cruel hallucinations he put you through with his serums and his words, you soon began to crack; your fragile body unable to take anymore of this torture. 

Your wrists had been burnt red raw; the trails of blood tracked down your arms and mixed with dirt and blood, showing where it had beaded down your forearms as you struggled. Burned with tears your anguish was clear amongst your struggle and you were pretty sure that you had at least three broken ribs and four missing fingernails. Maybe more. 

But you were growing to like the pain somewhat. Because it meant that you were still alive. It meant that your family was on your way…or… had they stopped looking for you. 

The Joker's cruel words rang through your hazy mind. He had told you about the video he had sent to them. How there was no response. They didn’t care. None of them did or you would have been home right now. He had injected you with something as he said it, but you swatted off the prick of the needle as though it were a pesky mosquito bite. 

“Soon,” He told you as the drug settled into the numbness of your body. “You will realise that I am helping you. That I am the only one that cares for you. Not Batman. Not any of those pesky Birds. Me.” he hovered in the doorway just before he left. “I’ll be back, Junior.” Junior.  He had stopped calling you by your name recently. 

And as much as you didn’t want to agree with the man who had put you and your family through so much…you were beginning to believe it. The Joker had dragged you away from a life cycle of patrol and ending crimes. He was giving you a place to stay when your family had so clearly given up on you. The Joker had confided so much in you in your time together that you felt like you almost knew him personally. And it had made you think that… he was misunderstood. Lonely. Much more similar to you than- 

No.

No. No. No. You shook the thoughts from your head. ‘They’re coming.’ you told yourself. ‘But…’

Your mind was fighting itself now, conflicted between what you knew and what you were being told. Fighting between your family and the man who stood constantly before you.  It fought until one side finally inched free and you realised something. 

The Joker. 

The Joker was right. He was helping you. 

When he returned to you that night, you greeted him with a dumb smile. He was  glad to see that his plan had worked. That he had broken you down enough to mould you into exactly what he wants. 

He grinned manically. He could now move onto phase two: training you to kill The Bat. This stage would be considerably easier. You already knew Batman’s weaknesses; you had admitted that during one of the electroshock sessions. He just had to convince you that Batman was the real enemy. The only thing left to do besides that was lure him over to you. Which should’ve been easy enough.

~

Tim shot up from his seat the moment your face flashed up on the screen. Somehow, someone had overridden the computer’s controls and he was now staring at your bloodied and beaten face lolling against a metal table. 

“Bruce!” Tim cried, scrambling to grab the attention of his father. 

Bruce had never moved faster across the cave than he did to reach Tim, his stomach dropping when he saw the screen, with him came the rest of his sons who too were alerted by the shout. 

Tim didn’t have to say anything else as they all gathered around to look queasily at the screen. You weren’t moving as the live stream played and this only worried your family more, but then an all too familiar green hair came into frame walking towards you menacingly. 

Bruce felt sick when he saw you flinch and try to squirm away from the Joker’s touch. 

“Smile for the camera.” He said, gripping your hair so that they could see your face. You blinked slowly permanent tears scarring your face amongst the blood and dirt. 

“I hope you’re watching Batsy. You’re about to see the end of your little bird.”

Dick, who bit his lip anxiously as he observed instinctively gripped Damians shoulders and tried to push him away as the Joker reached for the dial again. They saw your body react despite its weakened state; legs kicking and trying as you tried to scramble away. But Damian refused to leave, especially when his little sibling was in this state. It was horrific, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the screen so he watched shell shocked. That was until your first scream cut through all of them and he turned away. Dick pulled him close as he screwed his eyes shut and Jason clenched his fists. 

“Tim.” Bruce ordered “Turn it off. Find a signal.”

“I’m trying.” He said “But…there is no signal and something is overriding the controls.”

Bruce ran his hands through his hair until after an agonising few minutes, your screams stopped. 

The Joker moved swiftly for a syringe which you didn’t even react to as he injected it into your system. Not good. 

“They’re not coming for you, birdy. They don’t care.” The Joker taunted before turning back towards the camera. With one manic laugh he gave a final bow and the signal fizzled out. 

The five of them stood there in complete silence. All silent. Most angry. Most heartbroken. 

“Suit up. We don’t stop until we find them.”

~

By the time the vigilantes arrived, you were ready. Poised on the top floor of Arkham’s abandoned asylum cafeteria. 

You had seen Batman arrive, sauntering furiously into the open room to where Joker had positioned himself. You had seen the other four sneak in too, wrapping themselves around the room and slinking throughout the asylum in search of you. 

Once Joker had riled up the Bat enough to send him on a chase to him around a loop of the asylum, you jumped down from the bannister with a conniving grin. 

“I know you’re all in here.” You laughed. And soon, one after the other your brothers appeared from the shadows gawping at the stark contrast of your appearance. You were skinnier and clearly injured from head to toe, but what struck them the most was the purple and green that the Joker had donned you in. 

“R…” Red hood warned as he stepped toward you. “We don’t wanna hurt you. We just want to take you home.”’

You raised your weapon. “Liar!”

“No kid. We wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.” Red Robin said.

“You left me. You didn’t come back for me and you left me here to rot!” You gritted your teeth.

“That’s not true. That’s the joker talking.” Damian.

“He is helping me! He is helping me reach my full potential- I am already so much more than I was before.”

You raised the pistol. It was loaded and you knew that it would do damage. That was the intention. And that's what you were going to do. You were going to take them out one by one until they get what they deserve-

“R…” Dick said as you raised the gun your finger inching towards the trigger. “You know us Little Wing. We’re your big brothers.”

You moved swiftly, dodging them as they moved closer in sync. One of them reached out to try and grab you, but you gripped his arm and threw him over your shoulder. The five of you tussled until everything paused when Batman burst back into the room. 

Your gun was pointed at him in an instant, locking in on him as you readied your stance and poised your finger on the trigger. no one said anything. No one even dared to breathe. Bruce just looked at you from behind his cowl as you grinned at him, sickeningly mirroring the villain who appeared behind him sending him keeling to the ground. You laughed. 

“Do it.” Joker urged. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Your hand trembled as you looked down at him pleading at you. He looked so…vulnerable. And your mind screamed at you. Wrongwrongwrong. You were torn again. This was Bruce…your father. Your family. Your enemy- 

“Do it, Junior.” He pressed. Your lip trembled. 

Do it. No. Do it-  You wanted to scream. 

“R.” Batman uttered one single letter.

You pulled the trigger. No one moved. A cry of pain rang out across the room. The Joker dropped to the floor.

You let out a sob and dropped to your knees realisation catching up on you. A pair of arms wrapped around you and pulled you to their chest as you completely broke down. 

“It’s okay Y/N. It’s okay. We’ve got you now.”

Everything hurt. Everything was so disgustingly wrong. You had tried to kill Bruce- you had given away your secrets… you let out an unholy sob.

“Shh.” Jason cooed. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean it.”

“Everyone is okay, Little wing.” Damian promised, taking your bloodied hand gently and tracing circles across the back of it. “We can fix this…”

Batfam Taglist:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

[slaaverin]

One of the things that confuses me about jikook possibly being a couple is they don’t read very romantic to me these days. They absolutely do love each other, I have no doubt about that, and multiple times they will do things that are bizarrely sexual and wouldn’t fit well in a purely platonic relationship but there’s still something missing imo. It’s funny, they used to come across as more romantic when they were younger (particularly 2017-2021) but not so much in 2022 and 2023. Maybe it’s that they’ve known each other for so long that some of the romance has died down the same way it does with other couples or idk maybe they’re just better at hiding it now?

I half agree with you and half not.

I think they still read romantic.

As you said, maybe not like before.

But I think our vision is skewed because before chapter 2 we saw them more too. We had interactions almost every day. Jikook jikooked all the time. So to us it felt more, whereas after the start of chapter 2 we saw them way less, but in my mind I have no doubts those interactions were still happening behind the scenes.

I don't think the romance has died down or that they are hiding per se.

I think that simply after a certain amount of years in a long-term relationship the affection is shown in a more quiet and simple way. It shows they are very secured in the relationship.

They kept saying "this is romantic" "this is romance" and all, so I'm sure they had this idea in mind during those trips.

Of course it would be romantic, they are together and they share a romance. I don't see two friends saying something like this, it wouldn't even cross their minds.

I think during AYS they shared very tender moments. Very affectionate moments. There was also a lot of flirting and weird sex jokes. I don't think their romance is dead at all, simply that they didn't have to scream it on rooftops. Those trips were for them two above all.

I also would like you to keep in mind that they showed only a limited amount of hours per day. And were also mindful to what they showed or not. I believe they were somewhat careful not to show too much in front of camera (even if some things that was shown were already really shocking to me).

I think jikook see each other a lot outside of schedule, and that allows them to be a normal couple. They've come a long way. So now in front of cameras they have nothing to prove anymore, not to themselves or to us, because they've already shared everything that was politically correct to share with us during all those years.

Now they can simply be casual in their interactions, with a sense of deep love and care that breathes normalcy without any need to show off, because they don't need to. They both know where they stand. They both know what they mean to each other.

I personally didn't see their relationship having less romance than before in AYS, in truth I saw that their relationship evolved into something even deeper and more certain than ever.

It's like going from new couple to married couple, there is a different feel to it. But it's not less. It's a love that is more profound but doesn't need to be as loud.

I don't think there is anything missing, they've given us everything I personally wanted and more. Yes in 2022-2023 we saw them less but the times we did they were jikooking as usual. It's safe to say the relationship didn't change behind close doors and with what we saw in AYS I think it evolved way more than any of us could have expected or imagined.

During all this time they were still on their journey as a couple even if we didn't see it.

And the cherry on top is MS, they were the only one enlisting together, going to great length to remain together.

I'm not saying that MS is romantic in any way, I don't believe they would be much in a romance mood in there at all. But the act of enlisting just to be sure they can have each other's presence and support is a very romantic move to me, very telling of how much they really care. Which is a lot.

Wait until 2025 to hear them incessantly yap about all their military stories and all the behinds of AYS, wait for all of their insides jokes that will turn into flirting as usual and you'll tell me again if they are not as romantic as before lmaooo

We're going to see them way more and the jikooking will be back full force and I pray the lord that people will stop constantly doubting them and we can go back to regular program

Some romantic shots to finish off:

Straight out of a romance movie 🥺

Take care anon 💜

[ladykailitha]

Around the World Part 6

Hello! And welcome to another chapter of this very underrated fic. Thank you to everyone who has given it love in the way of comments, reblogs/tags, and likes.

It's London calling! And we meet a Murray Bauman in the wild. Eddie and Steve get a little introspective and Steve does something rash.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

~

Their trip through the haunting and beautiful Ireland was amazing. So many tales and history. This is why Steve wanted to do more than just America like Eddie had originally wanted, because America just didn’t have the history Europe and other places did. Not unless you wanted to disturb actual First Nation people and that was something he wanted to avoid at all cost, thank you.

They were on the ferry from Northern Ireland to Scotland and Steve was looking out over his shoulder at the water as he leaned against the guardrail. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the wind to blow through his hair.

Eddie slid his arm around him and Steve laid his head on his shoulder.

Today Eddie had his beard and faux-dreadlocks in a light blue button up shirt and cream colored wide-legged pants. His chunky sunglasses covered the his face.

“You know,” Eddie murmured, “until we reached this leg of our journey and you started to disguise me, I didn’t realize how much I missed just being Eddie Munson, regular guy. I can really see the appeal of you and friends’ way of doing it.”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Of course it means that we can’t go all out and buy everything we want, stay in fancy hotels, show up at restaurants without a reservation and get in. But I can go into my local grocery store and buy two tubs of mint ice cream because I felt like it.” He lifted his head to look Eddie in the eye. “Like some Karen would judge me, but it’s not going to go up on TMZ that I’m letting myself go.”

God, Eddie had had that happen more times than he cared to count. Like once Chrissy was on her period and he went to go get her chocolate, Ben and Jerry’s, and pads. Before he even got to his car it was all over the internet that he was letting himself go, just because it was 2am and his best friend needed something to help her feel better.

“You think you’ll ever come out?” he asked, pulling Steve in closer.

It was a familiar and well-worn topic of theirs; whether or not Steve would ever come out as bisexual at least.

He ducked his head and looked away. He didn’t know. He didn’t like hiding parts of himself for those he loved. He would like to tell people this is the love of my life.

“Would you leave me if I said no?” he mumbled, not daring to look up.

Eddie placed his finger under Steve’s chin and lifted his head gently. “Of course not, Stevie. There are literal actors who have been married for years and no one knows. It’s just between them. We could do that too. Just a quiet ceremony, Robin and Chrissy as the witnesses, and a justice of the peace.”

Steve let out a weak sort of watery laugh and shook his head. “I want all our friends there, famous and otherwise. I want a full tilt party with music playing into the early hours of the morning. I want fancy tuxes and flowers galore. I know I might not get that, the absolute coward that I am. But if I marry you, it be to scream from the rooftops that I love you.”

Eddie bumped their shoulders together. “Softy.” Steve blushed. “Besides there is nothing in the world that says we can’t have it both ways. Have a quiet little ‘just us’ and then go full tilt when you come out. You don’t even have to tell anyone. Just a little comfort that I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll think about it.”

Eddie kissed him deeply and then tucked his head under his chin and they stayed like that until the ferry docked in Scotland.

~

God, Scotland and England were beautiful countries Eddie decided as he watched the rolling green hills from his train window. That was another thing he really liked about Europe in general, just all the different ways to travel that weren’t a car.

He looked over at Steve who had his glasses on and reading a book. He smiled at the title. His boyfriend wasn’t a fantasy fan or science fiction either, really, but put a clever mystery in his hands and you would have to pry to the book from his cold, dead fingers.

He glanced over at Chrissy and Robin who were playing Go Fish! They had asked him if he wanted to join them, but he passed. He rarely got time to just relax and watch the scenery go by when he was on tour. He was always doing something related to the band. Writing music, practicing, talking about the next venue, interview, or TV spot.

Him and his friends had fun, because of course they did. But it was nice to just let his mind wander. Currently he was sad that they were going to have to miss Wales this time. He really wanted to buy some Welsh gold jewelry. It’s super rare and absolutely gorgeous.

Maybe he would have to come back later and get something special for Steve. Just something simple like matching bands even if it wasn’t on the left hand. Or necklaces. Just something simple to prove they were it for each other.

“I made an appointment with a well-known tattoo artist in London,” Steve said nonchalant, but like he was reading Eddie’s thoughts.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to Steve. Robin nearly giving herself whiplash in her speed.

“As your friend, manager, and platonic soulmate,” she said darkly, “I advise against that. You can cover it up but someone, somewhere will see it.”

Steve looked up from his book and leveled her with his best bitchy glare. “Not if it’s on my ass.”

Chrissy and Eddie’s eyebrows shot up and they shared a shocked glance. Eddie always loved tattoos, he had a couple of stick and poke style ones from when he was young and stupid and couldn’t afford to pay for an artist to do the job, but there was one place, well technically two if you included his dick, which he absolutely did, that he refused to get a tattoo on and that was his ass. Not being able to sit down properly for what would probably be weeks was not his idea of a good time.

“Not really, though, right?” Chrissy asked with a grimace.

Steve took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Of course not really. Sheesh, you guys. But I hid fucking hickies from the both of you for a year and you never noticed, so I’m pretty sure I can hide one fucking tattoo.”

Robin and Chrissy shared their little ‘manager’ glance and Chrissy folded first.

“You’re right, Steve,” she said calmly. “Not once did you forget or slip up and you should be applauded for that. But is there a reason you’re deciding to get a tattoo now instead of waiting until we’re back in the States and you can use Eddie’s personal artist?”

He looked over at Robin and their little telepathy thing went off again and this time Robin folded first.

“It’s for Eddie,” she murmured. “They can’t be out as a couple and with Steve being the romantic that he is, wouldn’t want to get married without all his friends there, so this is his way of telling Eddie he isn’t going anywhere either.”

Eddie blinked for a moment. “Do you think they take walk-ins?”

“I booked it for both of us.” Steve smiled at him and took his hand. Eddie beamed back at him.

“They are so disgustingly cute,” Robin huffed, crossing her arms. “I bet Steve has this really sweet idea for a tattoo that even if people do notice it they won’t be able to tell the meaning but he and Eddie will know and be so sickeningly precious about it.”

Eddie gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. “I love my super clever boyfriend and can’t wait to see what this brilliant plan is.”

~

Steve’s brilliant plan was half of a white mask on Eddie’s inner wrist and half of guitar on Steve’s and when they held hands it formed almost heart.

The tattoo artist was really impressed with the idea and was more than happy to implement it. Steve walked out of there, completely smug as Chrissy pointed out. Deservedly so.

They were to stay in London for three days because of all the haunted places in London alone, there were so many worth visiting. They were going to start at Jack the Ripper tour and move onto the tour of London.

The tour they learned with deep dismay had accidentally been scheduled at 2pm and not 2am like Eddie had thought it said. It was so boring and their tour guide so dull, Eddie accidentally tripped of one of those concrete pillars they had in the middle of the sidewalk to prevent cars from driving up on it.

“Oof!” Eddie wheezed as he straightened up. “Why do they even put those things here?”

“Chrissy Cunningham,” a nasally voice said from behind them. “What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”

They all turned slowly to see a weaselly little bald man with thick horn-rimmed glass.

“Holy shit,” Chrissy said slowly. “Murray Bauman, as I live and breath. What the hell are you doing in London?”

He shrugged. “Eking out a living doing tours for bored tourists. When the biggest metal band in the world drops you, so does everyone else.”

Chrissy and Eddie shared a grimace. Corroded Coffin had deliberately did that to Nancy after the shit she pulled with Steve and trying to be The Fallen’s agent. But this one was a complete accident.

“Oh fuck off,” Robin said with a grin. “You love it. I can tell. You have actual notes written down, you have a map marked with all the spots the murders take place. I bet you have all the great stories.”

Murray flushed and cocked his head to the side. “I mean I didn’t want to brag. But yeah, certainly better than Molly over there.” He jutted his thumb at their tour guide. “Most of the good ones are from tour companies and then you get people like Molly who make it look legit online and trick people into taking day tours.”

“God, I was so bored,” Eddie huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I felt jet lagged.”

Murray’s eyes instantly narrowed and cocked his head to the side and instantly everyone else tensed up. He took in their reactions and mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “if you’re still in town tomorrow, meet me here at 9pm and I’ll give you a proper tour.”

Chrissy licked her lips slowly. “Or what?”

“Huh?” He was confused for a moment before he smacked his forehead. “Oh! No, no. I’m not going to blackmail you. Holy shit. If people want to enjoy a vacation without all the publicity, good on them.” He looked Eddie up and down. “Looks good on you kid.”

Eddie was suddenly glad for the large sunglasses and beard because it hid the blush on his cheeks.

“No, I’m just saying,” Murray continued, “that if you wanted to experience a proper Jack the Ripper tour, I’m willing to do it. I don’t have a tour currently booked and beside I like her.” He pointed at Robin, who grinned back him.

The four them all shared glances at each other.

“I’m down,” Steve said with a shrug. “If you’re as good as you say you are and aren’t trying to actively ‘get back’ at Chrissy for taking your job, I know I’d be interested in seeing what Whitechapel has to offer after dark.”

“I like him too,” Murray said brightly, rubbing his hands together. “So what do the rest of you say?”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Steve’s three menaces said together.

He just smiled fondly and shook his head.

~

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @garden-of-gay

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina

[seichira]

to do it all again.

not manga spoiler free !

manjiro sano lost you in his past life. he has had to live with the agony of seeing you fall apart at his lies of betrayal and infidelity. now that he gets the opportunity to turn back time, there is nothing he wouldn’t do to make things right.

pairing : timeleaper!mikey x reader

content : angst with comfort. second chances. major manga spoilers. confessions of cheating (but it was a lie told by mikey to push reader away). cursing. mentions of death.

mikey stands on the ledge of a rooftop of the building, looking over the city lights illuminating the night, letting the wind brush through his long hair.

he could see the people from here, albeit tiny, he can still observe everyone who passes by. there are smiles on their faces, lovers holding their hands, happily walking on the streets of tokyo aimlessly.

a sharp pain shoots through his chest when he looks beside him, ready to hold the hand of the love of his life, only to be reminded that he is entirely all by himself. it hurts, and he knows he doesn’t have the right to complain when he was the one who pushed you and everyone else away.

he is alone by choice. he distanced himself and deliberately wanted everyone to hate him by choice. that should make it all alright, that the sole reason he has nothing is him. that is what he tells himself.

no matter how self-destructive he is, there is a voice in his head that loves him, and it questions everything that has gone wrong in mikey’s life.

is it really his choice if he doesn’t like it? is it really by choice if had things been different, he wouldn’t have to do it? if he wishes he had another choice?

how is any of this fair?

how could you let them do this to you, mikey?

who gets to decide who is dangerous and not? who gets to decide who would live happily with their loved ones and those who would die alone? if there is a god out there, how is it any fair just for him to be standing on top of the world... all cold and broken?

it doesn’t make any fucking sense.

it’s all so fucking unfair.

all his life, he has done nothing but envy people for being happy, and for not being afraid to be. because whenever he’s happy, he always had to brace himself for the consequence that would come next.

his happiness was always conditional. always with a price to pay. and now he thinks he has maxed out, having experienced pure bliss with you.

the love of his goddamn pitiful life.

maybe this is payment for being too happy. for thinking you’d both have a future together. it is his punishment for ever thinking it was possible for him to be with someone as good as you.

mikey will repent for it, but he misses you so.

he misses you so much he is close to hallucinating an image of you in all the places you’ve been to together. his throat itches at the urge to scream his lungs out at being full of too much longing.

he misses you, and his skin longs for your touch, his heart for your love, and his soul for your warmth. but he can’t do anything to change that.

he closes his eyes to get rid of the sight of people living their lives just right below him, and try to get a memory of you smiling at him.

instead, he is confronted by the memory of the night when he let you go. no—it’s not just letting you go. he deliberately hurt you so you could let him go.

manjiro sano remembers it all. he remembers your betrayal-stricken eyes. he remembers your quivering lips. he remembers your hiccups in between your sobs. he remembers how he broke your heart, the very thing he promised that he wouldn’t do.

he remembers it all too well.

it sucks to be the one who remembers.

“i don’t think i heard you right, manjiro.”

your boyfriend hasn’t been coming home lately. it worries you, where he is, where he stays when he’s not home. you worry if he eats well, if he is alright and not all beaten up somewhere.

despite his behavior, you brush it off as something that he has to do. maybe he needed some time to himself. perhaps something important came up in kantou manji hang. he’s an important man, after all.

you don’t have the heart to assume something else other than that. so, the revelation he makes to you tonight as soon as you gets in the door shocks you.

“you heard me right,” he says without emotion, despite the havoc wreaking inside his body it makes him want to hurl. “i cheated on you. kissed and slept with someone else. i can’t bear to keep it from you.”

his heart is acting like a ticking time bomb. the confusion in your eyes, not believing what he just said, hurts more than if you would just scream at him and throw curses around.

she doesn’t believe me.

the expression on your face is straight. you are waiting for the punchline. it is a cruel fucking joke but you’re willing to forgive him for it if he would just say that he’s tripping.

but he doesn’t say anything. he just stands at the doorway, almost one foot outside the door because he’s so ready to leave. he’s ready to leave you and you don’t understand why.

“you’re lying.”

he shakes his head, and it was the cue for your heart to start clawing out of your ribs in the realization that he might just be telling the truth.

but he’s manjiro sano. he is yours. he has always been yours like you have been his. there is no way he could do that to you. the person who kisses your forehead goodnight could not possibly cheat on you.

“i’m not lying.”

he is lying. he hasn’t been coming home because his impulses have been worst than ever. he’s afraid he’d black out and wake up to your cold body next to him. he’s terrified that his love would not be enough to keep you safe from the danger that is himself.

he is lying, because it is physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually impossible for the man to even look at somebody else that is not you.

you are the only one he wants. you are the only one he has ever loved. that is his greatest, naked truth. and right now, he has to convince you otherwise.

how could he fucking possibly make you believe that he doesn’t love you anymore, when his entire body knows for sure that it belongs to you. only you.

“i tried to stop it, but i’ve been so fuckin’ lonely lately with all those nights alone. needed someone to keep me warm, you know.” it feels like insects are crawling underneath his skin at the disgust he feels at his own words, despite coming from a place of untruth.

in denial, it is your turn to shake your head. you even manage to crack a smile in hopes that he would return it. “mikey, p-please? i don’t get it, love. this is not a good joke. please, stop it, yeah?”

your pleas don’t fall on deaf ears. he’s willing to stop saying it over and over now only if you would believe him and just push him away.

but you’re not doing that.

see, mikey? this is how much she loves you. she loves you too much for her own good. she loves you so much she believes you’re not capable of doing this. she loves you. love her enough to let her go before you become the death of her.

“i’m not kidding. i slept with someone else, and i liked it. i wanted it to happen.”

when the realization hits you, when the coldness behind his ivory eyes supported his claims of cheating on you, you break and manjiro sano breaks with you.

he cannot bare to look at the sobs that leave the lips that he worships, nor the tears that escape the eyes that he would be a slave for.

you are hurting because of him and he knows it would happen. he wanted this to happen. better break your heart than have you die on his arms. he can’t let that happen. not in this lifetime and not in the next.

for five minutes, the only sound bouncing off the walls of your studio apartment is your wails. cries of someone who feels like they have lost everything, including faith in all that they have ever believed in.

“why…” you whisper, but loud enough for him to hear. “why would you… how could… i don’t understand. i can’t wrap my head around it.”

he wants to look away, but he doesn’t. he looks at you, bearing your broken heart to him, serving it to him on a silver platter.

mikey etches it in his mind to make sure he remembers how hurt you were, so he can pay for it in hell. he is not sure how, but he will suffer for it. he promises he will burn just to fucking pay for this—this moment, right here.

“i’ll just grab my stuff and i’ll be out before you know it.”

your eyes widen and you hurry to block his way to the bedroom. “what? no! no! you’re not leaving, mikey! we’re going to talk about this, okay? y-you can’t leave like this. this is your home. don’t go. please.”

the look he gives you is incredulous. “are you sick in the head? i cheated on you, and you want me to stay?”

you flinch at the reminder. he can’t believe it left your mind for a moment. you can’t believe it either because even though everything has been said and done, you still can’t believe it.

“everything hurts! looking at you hurts too much right now, but i need to understand! i want to hate you but i’m willing to talk about it if you have an explanation! you can call me stupid but i’m not letting you go! make me understand! just… don’t leave.”

he looks away because he can only take so much. he wants to get away from here as fast as possible so he won’t have to hear or see the aftermath of the storm he just created.

pushing past through you, you stumble in your foot following him to the bedroom where he brought out a bag that he now fills with some of his clothes. without you noticing, he grabs a hoodie of yours and leaves you one of his, along with most of his things.

“you don’t have to leave! you can say sorry right now and i will forgive you, manjiro!” you continue to sob as you reach out a hand to stop his arms from moving more.

he shoots you a weary look. “why can’t you just let me fuckin’ leave?!”

“because i might never get to see you again! as much as i can’t bare to look at you knowing what you did, i can never live knowing i’d never see you again! you will disappear! i know you!”

he wants to take you in an embrace and ask for your forgiveness for lying, but he has to stand his ground. everyone he has ever loved will die, if he doesn’t leave.

you will be in peril if he doesn’t do this. and there is nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice to keep that from happening.

“if-if you don’t have feelings the person you slept with, we can figure this out. mikey, love, i’m willing to work this out with you. j-just don’t leave.”

you just thought him how to get out of this. he is going to say it, and he is not going to mean it.

“i love them.”

if the thought of him being physically involved with someone else brought excruciating pain, this—him falling in love with someone else—was death.

mikey dies with you.

i will pay for this, baby. i will burn in hell to pay for this. i will never forgive myself for this. i promise, that i shall never be happy again after this.

at the battle of the two tomans, he finds himself begging takemichi to stay alive.

“this is why i pushed you all away, see? this is exactly what i feared would happen!” he cries out because he is exhausted.

his dark impulses are gone, but takemichi is gone, and you are gone. everyone he loves is gone, in one way or another.

he has done everything in his power to keep this from happening. he survived lonely nights, ate bland meals, and lived in isolation the past years just to keep all of you safe.

he had to watch his friends reach milestones and celebrate with each other, face hurdles together, simply hanging out as the sun sets while he does nothing but wish he was included—all of that to stop this, but it’s happening. there was nothing else he could have done but life is working against him still.

right now, he’s soaking in the blood of one of his very best friends. shinichiro is gone, emma is gone, izana is gone, draken is gone, and he doesn’t doubt that there would be a next if he keeps himself close.

why? i don’t understand. he has followed everything even when it killed him, so why?

“c’mon, takemitchi! wake the hell up, damn it!”

the people whom he once called his friends are all weeping tears of grief at the sight of the new leader of tokyo manji gang bleeding out. they won’t ever say it, but mikey is sure they are blaming him for it. everyone probably thinks they would have been better off without him, without meeting him again like this.

they all have each other, they would have been fine. but what about mikey? what about him?

do they not know?

do they not know how much he wept and how he made his house a disaster right after he went home when he saw draken laying lifelessly on the ground with three bullet holes in his body?

do they not know how much he wishes he could just be selfish for once and come home to you? so you can wipe his tears and nurse his pain?

of course, they don’t know. he never showed that to anyone. no matter how much he wished someone saw it anyway.

he had to stand by his decision, no matter how lonely the road he chose was. he would choose it again and again, if it ensures this won’t happen. but it’s happening.

and he wants nothing else but make it right.

again, again, and again.

the next time mikey opens his eyes, he is back in his childhood home. he lays awake on his bed, confused as to why he could hear shinichiro’s screams for emma to get off the couch, and the latter’s cheeky giggles.

he thinks, what a dream. i miss them so much since the day they left me. the heavens know what i’d give to go back to this day.

mikey startles when the door to his bedroom opens, revealing shinichiro.

he almost wants to cry and throw himself at his brother to hug him, but the older sibling got to open his mouth first.

“and you! when will you get up?! when it’s christmas? move it or you’ll be late for school again! that won’t be a good impression to make for your y/n, your crush!”

this dream is a little too realistic. still, he follows his brother like a good boy, completely going with the flow of this dream.

but when he steps on the floor, his foot catches a lego scattered around, and he yelps in pain. in pain.

that’s not normal in a dream, is it?

slowly, the idea of the possibility of time-leaping introduced to him by takemichi hits him. he sprints outside his room and snaps his head to the calendar.

and the year suggests that he is eight years old. a child. and this year, everyone is alive.

“emma?” he calls for his sister that he carried lifeless on his back by himself. there are now real tears in his eyes, and his sister slowly approaches him.

“hmm? are you okay, mikey?” the blondie little girl asks curiously, confused as to why mikey has literal waterfalls for an eye right now.

“will you punch me on the face real hard?”

without a second thought, emma does so, like she has been waiting for her whole life to do that. mikey grunts, but tears only continue to flow at pure happiness of this second chance.

he embraces emma in his arms. “you’re here. oh, my god. you’re really here. nii-san will protect you this time, yeah? i promise ‘ya that.”

his next thought… is none other than you.

he doesn’t bother to put on his uniform. despite shinichiro calling him to get back, he only rides his bike and pedals as fast as he can to get to school. he looks for the 2nd graders’ classroom.

and there you were. sitting all too cute and pretty on the colorful chairs of the elementary school you both attended, with a spare seat next to you that you specifically reserved for him because he is always late.

time stops for him when you raise your head to look up at him, and meet his eyes.

you are both alive, and you are both young with your whole lives ahead of you. you don’t know it yet, but this little crush thing going on between you two right now will grow into something bigger.

you have no idea that you will end up kissing him first on your last day at middle school, and move in together at eighteen.

but he knows.

he knows what went right. he knows what went wrong. and he knows what to do this time so he won’t have to let you go anymore.

so he walks up to you, and says:

“hi. you look like my girlfriend.”

you laugh it off as a poorly executed pick-up line he heard from his brother, but then again, he knows something you don’t know.

you are his girlfriend. or at least, you will be.

“manjiro, you look like you need some sleep!” you say as your cheeks flush at his line anyway, pertaining to his puffy eyes that are results of his incessant crying.

manjiro sano smiles.

“i think so, too.”

[j2hoes]

Police Cars And Paintings. (Wally Clark x Reader)

Summary: Wally helps Y/N get her justice.

Word count: 2,593

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings - Murder? Swearing.

“Y/N Y/L/N was loved by all, caring, supportive and kind are just three words that her family and friends used to describe the young woman whose life was so tragically cut short at the age of seventeen. Y/N was a senior at Split River high school, with hopes of attending New York Fashion School, in order to pursue her dreams of studying fashion design. She was the valedictorian with a passion for the arts. We learn today that her body was discovered in the school’s art room, with multiple stab wounds to her  neck, chest and stomach. Police believe the attack was premeditated and to remain vigilant as her killer is still yet to be caught.”

Letting out a pained scream, I launch the tv remote directly at the screen in front of me, causing the image to shift and blur before settling into a dull, gray static. Feeling multiple pairs of eyes on me, I grip my hair, tugging slightly to feel the tightness in my skull as a way to relieve the emotional pain weighing me down.

“Hey, let’s not do that okay. It won’t help you.” Wally tells me, gently grabbing my arms and forcing them down as he wraps his arms around me in a comforting hug. Well as best as he can leaning from behind the sofa.

“Are we not gonna talk about the fact that she just broke the tv? She’s ruined movie night for everyone.” Rhonda complains, eyes shooting daggers at me.

“Like you even care about movie night. There’s other TV's in this school, we’re not gonna miss one.” I snap back, rage still coursing through my body. “At least your murderer was caught.”

Rhonda scoffs, turning to look at Mr Martin, who has remained oddly silent, as she slips her lollipop back into her mouth. Mr Martin simply shares a disapproving glance, not impressed by either of our actions or comments though he still remains silent. Not wanting to make the tension in the room any worse. It’s so thick you could cut it with a knife, cliche I know.

“At least you know who did it, that’s got to count for something and I’m sure the police will work it out soon enough. I mean, they already know that it was a planned attack.” Charlie comments, hoping to make me feel a little better, yet I still feel just as bad. If not worse than moments prior.

“Yeah and he’s still walking about school as though nothing happened! The cops don’t give a shit Charlie, I’m already dead, it’s not like anything worse is going to happen to me that they have to worry about.”

Wally’s embrace relaxes as he stands up straighter, arms falling to his side, causing me and everyone else in the room to turn and look at him. A serious expression is settled upon his face, an unusual sight as he is normally sporting a soft smile or at least a playful lightness in his eyes.

“Wait, the guy that did this goes to school here? He’s still here?” Wally asks, his questions directed at me as though nobody else is even in the room. Clearly something has rattled him.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m so pissed off. I still have to see him every single day and there’s no escape. Not even in death I get peace.”

With a huff, I push myself off the sofa. Forcing a smile at the group as I make my exit, the moment I step out of the gym I start running. Sprinting as fast as I can to the other side of the school before climbing up the stairs to the rooftop. The art room used to be my quiet place, where I would find myself able to relax and feel at ease. Not anymore. So, the roof is my quiet place now. After moving all of my art supplies here, I’ve found that there’s no reason for me to even step foot in the art room anymore. It’s been a month and it’s still too painful to be in there.

Picking up my paintbrush and dipping it into my paint to continue the mural I have been working on, I hear another pair of footsteps lightly jogging up the stairs. I know it’s Wally, I don’t even need to turn around to know it’s him. Ever since I arrived in this world, he’s been my rock. Helping me get through everything and it’s safe to say that in the short amount of time I’ve known him, he’s found a special place in my heart. It’s not a crush. I swear it’s not a crush. I just happen to have a soft spot for him.

“Holy shit. I knew you liked art but this is insane, why have I never seen this?”

Wally’s stare is glued to the mural I’ve painted, each ghost gazing back at him from their position on the wall. Rhonda’s trademark moody stare, Charlie’s sweet but somewhat shy smile, even Dawn’s curiosity shines through in her chestnut brown eyes. I watch as he notices himself. A proud smile resting on his lips. Wally was the most difficult to paint, I wanted to make sure I captured his beauty properly, though that tends to be very hard to do when someone is physically perfect.

“You even got my necklace, Y/N this looks so real. Like you’re so talented, this belongs in a gallery or something.” Wally continues, brushing his finger down the side of his painted face, still in awe.

“It’s still a work in progress. I haven’t even started on Mr Martin, or the band kids or the girl in the theater whose name I always forget.” I tell him, swatting his hand away from the wall before he smudges any paint that may still be wet.

“Yeah, but do you really want them on there? Mr Martin sure, but the others, they never show up to the support group. You should keep it contained, no? You haven’t even painted yourself yet.”

“That’s kind of rude Wally. I painted Dawn and she never comes to the group, but she’s my friend.” I tell him, placing my paintbrush down and beginning to walk over to the rail at the edge of the roof. “We’re all dead, we deserve some sort of memorial.”

Leaning against the rail, I watch the kids below living their lives as normal. As though nothing is wrong, as though I wasn’t just murdered a month ago. God, if they knew this is what happens after death, they’d be terrified.

The football team are running drills on the field, accompanied by the cheerleaders who are going over the same routines. Students sit in the bleachers, either reading or making notes as they study. Occasionally laughing together as they discuss the latest gossip or show each other something they’ve seen on social media. It’s a peaceful scene, watching as they stress over things so trivial, things that won’t matter in ten years time.

“How come you never told me that the guy who killed you still goes to this school? I knew he hadn’t been caught but I assumed that’s because was on the run or something.” Wally asks me, leaning with his back against the rail so that he can watch me rather than the school.

“I don’t know. I try to avoid him and I know how nosey the rest of that group are, especially Rhonda. No doubt you’d all be following him around the school like a bunch of creeps.”

“Yeah but that’s just because we care about you.” Wally nudges me as he speaks, trying to get me to smile, which proves to be very easy as I make eye contact with him.

My heart flutters, making me nervous as I stare up at him. Wally’s height would intimidate me if I didn’t know how much of a big softie he was. I truly don’t think there is a bad bone in his body, he breaks the stereotypical idea of what a jock is. Charming and popular, sure, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Feeling his hand touch my chin, my smile grows wider as it gently moves to cup my cheek. His other hand combs through his hair, a nervous trait of his. Something I picked up on a while back, it doesn’t happen often because Wally isn’t one for getting nervous. He opens his mouth slightly, about to ask something. However, before he can my eyes catch sight of something on the field below.

“That’s him.” I point out, a flash of disappointment crosses his face before he removes his hand and turns to see what I’m looking at.

Harry Cole, clad in a dark hoodie is walking by the side of the field, heading straight to the art block. His pace is quick, almost like he’s in a rush and it’s the most panicked I’ve seen him since my death. Clearly something’s happened, a breakthrough in the investigation maybe? Police hot on his tail. Whatever it is, I need to know.

“That’s the dickhead that killed you?” Wally asks, scowling now as he takes him in.

“Yeah, come on, he’s up to something.”

Without even a second thought, I grab Wally’s hand, taking off in a slight run in order to catch whatever Harry’s up to. Wally’s gripping my hand in a firm hold, as if he’ll lose him if he lets go, thumb gently tracing circles into my skin despite us running.

Upon entering the art room, I immediately see Harry at the sinks, furiously scrubbing at something. Sharing a confused glance with Wally, I slowly approach him. I know he can’t see me and yet I’m still worried that I’ll disrupt him and spook me off, leaving me with no answers.

The closer I get the stronger the smell of bleach is, and then I finally see what he is cleaning. Butcher knife gleaming under the bright white lights, I spot the specks of blood still coating the handle and I know he’s trying to remove any evidence. Gloves adorn his hands in an attempt to mask his fingerprints. A silent tear rolls down my cheek at the thought of him never getting caught.

Wally’s arm wraps around my shoulder delicately. “You don’t need to see this.”

To my surprise, I don’t fight with him as he gently escorts me out of the room. I make no noise as I let the tears fall down my cheeks and I know Wally sees. Yet, he stays quiet. Not wanting to further upset me. He helps me to sit down on the old sofa that resides on the roof. With his hands on my knees he crouches in front of me, a concerned look on his face.

“You’ll be okay Y/N. I promise.” He tells me, words soothing my pain little by little. “Look I’ve got to run somewhere but I will be back so fast. I swear.”

Nodding my head gently, he presses a soft kiss to my forehead before dashing off to wherever he needs to be. Allowing me to wallow in my pain. The more days that pass, the more I feel as though justice isn’t possible. The more I feel like Harry will get away with everything.

Curling up into a ball, I allow my emotions to take over. Wails audible and body shaking with anger and sadness. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I don’t understand how the others do it. They’ve been dead longer but surely they still feel the pain and anguish of being dead. Surely they must be hurting too.

I’m brought back to reality by the sounds of sirens, I’m not sure how long I was sat consumed in my sadness but I know that Wally is standing by the rail. Watching whatever it is that is taking place below. The sirens ring through my ears and I jump up to stand beside him, his arm instantly wrapping around me despite no words being said.

Police cars fill the car park, grabbing the attention of pretty much everyone in the near vicinity. Students stand in shock at the commotion being caused. Each window is filled with faces, eager to bear witness to what is happening outside. Wally’s arm squeezes my shoulders, a show of encouragement and support. I swear if he wasn’t by my side, physically holding me up with the arm that is wrapped around me, I think I would be a nervous heap on the ground.

With that, I spot it. Several police officers surround Harry as he is walked out of the school building in handcuffs. His hood shielding his face from view to the majority of students, however, I know it's him. Same outfit, same demeanor, same person. They’ve got him. I feel a weight lift from my shoulders and I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

“How did that happen? How did they know it was him?” I ask, completely bewildered by the entire situation.

Wally looks down at me, a shy smile on his face. He knows something I don’t. Turning to face him properly, I take his hands in mine, raising my eyebrows in an attempt to get an outside. Only for him in turn to focus his stare onto the floor.

“Wally?”

“Dawn has a pretty big social media presence within the school community. She runs it as though she’s an anonymous gossip blog, nobody knows who she is but everyone knows her.” He starts, still leaving me confused as to how this happened. “I managed to get her to the art room in time to take a picture of him with the knife. She posted it, it went viral and now the police are here.”

Feeling a rush of emotions run through my body, I somehow gain the confidence to pull Wally down by his gold chain. Gentle enough that it doesn’t snap but with enough force that he’s taken off guard. My hands hold his face as I press my lips to his, feeling his hands hold my forearms as he delicately moves his lips against mine. As I pull away slowly, my mouth drops open in shock as I gaze at Wally who is now eye level with me. Hunched over in order to kiss me.

“I am so sorry Wally. I have no idea where that came from, I just -”

Wally cuts me off with his lips on mine once again, he maneuvers slightly so that my back presses against the rail and I wrap my arms around his neck as the kiss begins to grow more passionate. His hands are holding my waist, body pressed tightly against mine as I feel every inch of my body tingle with excitement. I know Wally feels it too. When I force myself to pull away for some air, he doesn’t hesitate before moving to press light kisses against my neck.

“I’ve never felt this with anyone before Y/N.” He whispers against my skin, goosebumps raising at the feel of his lips moving against my neck.

He moves to look at me, a big, goofy smile on his face as I move my hands to play with the necklace dangling in front of me. Wally places his hands on the rail besides me, watching me eagerly, awaiting my next move.

“I really, really like you Wally.”

He chuckles softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I really, really like you as well.”

[nina-renmen]

This is like my first time ever making an "ask" to someone and I'm not even sure if you're taking requests for oneshots and stuff like that at the moment so feel free to ignore this if you arent!!

If you are however, could I ask for a Pickle (Baki) x reader where reader has kind of developed their own style of fighting by emulating the form of Godzilla (any era/version) and Pickle actually gets taken aback?

I don't mind if the reader is written as black or any gender at all nor how it ends, so you can have as much creative freedom with this as you like!

Thank you for considering!

This idea is really interesting! It’d be hard to pass up writing this! I’m not very well versed in Godzilla so if I get anything wrong please correct me!

The air was crisp and cold, the moonlight barely peeking out from the clouds. Y/n groaned, winding her shoulder before hearing a familiar pop. With a sigh of satisfaction coming from her as she continued to walk down the poorly lit streets.

A huffing sound could be heard as she exited the alley way and came out into the open area. An arena across from her held a large hold was in front of her. ‘Isn’t that where pickle was held?’ Y/n thought. Her [eye color] eyes focusing on the damage. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she sensed a presence behind her.

She could not only see her breath but because of the cold air she could see another’s too. Y/n swiftly turned around, eyes widening at the sight of the primitive man’s arms reaching out to grab her. Creating some distance between them, y/n set the grocery bag on the dewy grass. Immediately taking a stance, one that pickle seemed to recognize.

His grin widened, flashing a sharp pair of canines. Unbeknownst to you the prehistoric man was following you, ever since you showed up at that arena to see his fight with Jack. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your voice, the way your eyes lit up just like his when blood was spilt. Not only were you mate worthy but you were strong at that.

But what pickle failed to realize is just how strong you were. Usually the primitive man would know just by looking at someone. But you were so small compared to him. Granite, everyone was.

Without thinking Pickle took quick steps towards you, not realizing that the way his claws were out or the way he flashed his sharp teeth at you was threatening. Immediately y/n pulled her leg back, sinking deeper into her position. Showing off the entirety of it. His eyes widened, stopping in his tracks. The form was so familiar but he couldn’t remember it.

A small growl came from the depths of pickle. His chest rumbling as his eyes narrowed, taking a step back. Where had he seen this stance from?! His mind screamed danger at him, told him to get away. But he wanted you. He needed to have you. He was this close to taking you all for himself, he couldn’t loose now. Who knows when the next opportunity would arise?

Ignoring his consciousness he proceeded anyway only to have a sharp pain go through his body. He didn’t know what had happened until his body went through a concrete building.

He stared up at the ceiling above him, eyes wide. Slowly he sat up, a brick or two falling. Indicating that the building was going to crumble any minute. Pickle stood up, his eyes darting around to find you through all the dust and debri.

Pickle let out a growl when he couldn’t find you, his eyes narrowed as he walked through the debri. He just had you! How could he have let you get away? He would have never expected someone like you to have hit that hard. And your stance…..he hadn’t seen that stance since he was a child.

His ears picked up the sound of rustling. Turning around he almost missed the flash of [hair color] hair fleeing around the corner. Pickle ran after you. Or tried to. A sharp prick stung his neck. And…..he begun to feel drowsy.

Pulling the needle out of him he looked down at it. They were sedating him. An unknown man up on the rooftop, a gun that was loaded with the needles in his hand that was pointed at Pickle. The last thing the primitive man could see was your form walking back up to him. Your warm hands holding his head up as he fell, making sure his skull didn’t crash against the concrete.

He’d just have to try harder next time.

[hedgiwithapen]

Leverage let's go steal a beetle

Eliot Spencer really, really hated it when the con had to change gears halfway through. Made things messy and complicated and it was never good for anyone but Sophie to try playing two parts. But he adjusted his stupid little hat and hoisted himself up into the pilot's seat of the Helicopter.

"Hey." said the man already in the copilot's chair. "You're not Johnson."

"No," Eliot said. "He got sick. Celiac flare up, I think. Trust me, you do not want him flying one of these things." That was one way of putting it, anyways. Beaten over the head with a stale baguette was a little more accurate but hey, who was really counting.

"And you're...authorized?" The copilot asked, looking doubtful. 

"Am I--I got called in on my night off because she's got something that has to happen tonight. I mean, If you want, I can just go, and you can explain to Ms. Kord why her chopper's grounded for the night.  I had dinner reservations, man."

"No!" the copilot said frantically, no doubt thinking about the fate of anyone who disappointed Victoria Kord. Eliot had a feeling her idea of a severance package was a little something like the Hannity lady back at Wakefield's.  

"Alright then," Eliot said, settling in. Damn. It was a sweet helicopter. Shame he wasn't going to get to keep it.

~

Jaime felt more like he was falling, not flying, gravity dragging him towards his home. He could hear Khaji Da in his ear, feeding him information about the helicopter, the dozens of Kord Industry's private army foot soldiers surrounding the house, all armed to the teeth. Well, so was he, with anything he could imagine. 

He spun in the air, aiming the world's largest staple gun, dodging the live rounds they were firing at him.

Somehow that made this more real than the fight earlier. It was one thing to be fighting for his life running from the Kord building, all that glass and chrome and unreal wealth. Not here, above the rooftops and powerlines he'd known all his life. 

"Stand down. Give me back my Scarab." He heard Jenny's Aunt--and when had that become who she was, in his head?--say over some kind of loudspeaker. Half the neighborhood must have heard it, and the gunshots, but no sirens wailed.

"The Scarab's not yours," he said, unsure if she could hear him. He aimed at the Helicopter to be sure she understood. It dipped just enough that he missed. He could tell from Khaji's delight that this--deflecting bullets, firing back--was something they could do all night if they needed to.

"Target the family," came the next order. Jaime's blood ran cold.

He dove forward, but not in time. 

The house he'd grown up in exploded.

"No!" he screamed, mentally directing everything into the thrusters. He had time, he had---

Khaji Da stopped him, feet above the flames.

|You will die. I cannot allow you to go in|

"They're in there!" Jaime yelled back. "I can--I can still-- I have to save them!"

|No lifesigns are detected| Khaji Da responded. |I am sorry, Jaime Reyes.|

Jaime didn't have the chance to scream again as a flare of purple lightning lashed out, some kind of net or grapple or bolas that burned and stung and dragged him from the sky.

The last thing he saw was his home in flames, the roof caving in.

~

(approximately ten minutes earlier)

Parker dropped through the hole in the roof, swinging herself so she landed on the worn and patched linoleum instead of directly on the table. 

The older woman, who had the vibes of Hardison's Nana if she was Eliot, which was frankly a terrifying thought, threw a sandal at her head. Parker caught it easily. "Everybody out," she said, the Spanish falling easily from her lips and apparently throwing everyone else for a loop. The two men stared at her. The Nana threw another sandal. Parker ducked under that one.

Parker huffed a little. "Kord's people are coming to kill you all," she said, not bothering to beat around the bush. " Or worse? Not super clear on that. So. Everybody out, come on."

"Why should we trust you, blondie?" one of the men asked.

"Where's Jaime?" the girl about Breanna's age demanded. 

"Because I'm the good guy, and I don't know, but if we stick around here we will continue to not know. It's not safe here, can we go?" Parker pushed.

"You expect us to trust you? You broke into our house!"

"You left a hole in the roof, that's practically an invitation." Parker reached up and tapped her com. "Eliot? ETA? Someone give me something, they won't leave." 

"Seven minutes," Eliot said. "Get them out."

Breanna chattered breathlessly in the other ear. 

Parker turned off the com. "GarlicBre52 says you can trust me. I'm the Cavalry. Good enough?"

"Garlic sent you?" the more paranoid man said, looking suddenly like he might actually believe her. "How'd they know about any--"

"Look, you can talk to her yourself, after we go, because in about 5 and a half minutes, this place is going to be on fire and we need to not be here when it is." Parker was getting impatient. 

"Everyone, go," Nana Sandals said, and everyone obeyed, following Parker out the back door, and along a hedge to the next street over. Parker heaved open the food truck door. 

"What about my son?" the man who wasn't staring with outright glee at all the tech said. "What did you do--"

"Hey, we didn't do anything," Breanna said. "Parker, you told them we're here to help, right?"

"Of course I did!"

"Then where is Jaime?"

"Uhhh," Breanna said, fingers flying over her keyboard. " About a minute out. Don't worry, Eliot's going to get him."

"Eliot," Nana repeated. 

"Yeah, Breanna said. She spun in her chair. "Hey, Rudy."

"You know this girl?" Nana asked. Rudy frowned. 

"How do you know my name?" he said. "Garlic, I take it?"

"Eh, Really good facial recognition. I'm Breanna. Thanks for that tip last month, by the way-- the cobalt instead of tungsten? Really worked great."

Rudy gave a modest tip of one shoulder. "Yeah, Ma, I know her. From online."

"Uncle Rudy, you didn't tell me your government conspiracy hacker friends were cute girls. I'm Milli, by the way."

"Flirting later," the woman who had to be Milli's mom said. "Someone explain what's going on. Please."

Breanna made a face. "Uh. Long story very very short, Kord Industries wants something your son has, and we really don't want them to have it, and they want it bad enough to, uh. Kill you? So we're faking your deaths, if that's cool. I mean. Also if that's not cool? But like. Just until we take them down so like. Three days tops."

"And someone named Eliot is finding Jaime?"

"Should be, right about--" everything shook "--now."

~~

Eliot thumbed the buttons and switches on the control panel, giving a glance back. The poor kid was semi-conscious, dragged into the back of the helicopter at Victoria's feet. He swallowed bile. 

"Set a course for the island," Victoria ordered. 

Eliot glanced at the densely packed neighborhood below, lit up behind them with the orange of flame and the dancing lights of firetrucks. "Yes Ma'am," he said, and turned towards the water.  Carefully, casually, he released his seatbelt and harness, stretching his legs just a little.

"You're going too far west," Victoria snapped. "Johnson, get it together, unless you want to be fired."

"Mm." Eliot said. "That threat would work a lot better if I worked for you." He veered sharply, slamming everyone to the side as he snapped off the toggles and jammed the steering, then threw himself into the back.

Eliot thanked God and Hardison for the latter's parachute stash. 

"Hope you can swim, kid," he said,  pushing off hard with Jaime Reyes in hand as the helicopter spun wildly towards the water.

~~

Jaime choked, sputtering wildly and trying to yank away from the iron grip around his waist. He remembered the helicopter--being grabbed--the house--his family--

"Calm yourself, Jaime," Khaji Da said, but that was easier said then done.

"Let me go! Let go," Jaime thrashed, sinking deeper before popping back up above the water.

"Easy, kid. You good to swim?"  The grip didn't release. Jaime twisted, trying to get a hand under the man's throat.  Khaji could make anything he imagined, and he could imagine a lot of ways to hurt the people who'd--who'd killed---

"Hey." the man said, kicking them both closer to shore. "Don't do that, man. It's ok. We got them out."

Jaime blinked, salt water stinging his eyes and burning his nose as he tried to parse the threat.

|The Eliot Spencer is not lying| Khaji Da said. |Recent data suggests his connection to the fall of multiple criminal organizations. Recommended course of action: hear him out.| 

That was just unexpected enough for Jaime to listen.

"See that food truck parked on the beach?" Eliot Spencer asked. "That's them.  So don't just go haring off or try to gut me, ok? Can you swim?"

"Yeah, I--" he sputtered again on a too-large wave. "If you hurt them--Khaji--"

|Food Truck: Brick and Basil, contains several life-signatures that match the Reyes household, with additional signatures. No one is currently experiencing physical distress.|

The beach rose to meet them, the sand cool and soft under Jaime's bare feet. Eliot Spencer let out a piercing whistle, and the side of the truck swung open. Jaime sagged in relief as Khaji pointed out the silhouette of his sister, unharmed.

[ninikrumbs]

Later

Summary: Gojo Satoru x Reader. Seeing off your best friend before he fights the King of Curses. Promises of laters and unfinished confessions.

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Implied death (Not reader). Author has not read the manga. Not proofread.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was the day, you thought. You stare at your shoes, anxiety ripping though you. The cold winter air making you shiver as you waited.

December 24th

Usually, this time of the year, youd be finalising presents or getting dolled up for the annual holiday party. Probably preparing the cake you always say is such a hassle to bake but you actually look forward to making it every year.

But no. This year -with ominous dark clouds covering the sky- you were waiting for the biggest fight of all Jujutsu history to occur.

Standing beside Shoko in Jujustsu High. You watched as every person that ever meant something to you -those who are left anyway- say their "Send that bastard to hell, Sensei!" and "Make him regret ever coming back!" wishes.

"He's gonna come back, y'know." Shokos warm and comforting voice met your ears. Though she sounded like she was trying to convince herself aswell.

And as someone who wanted to believe her, you gently grasped her hand beside you. "I know."

Eventually, cerulean blue eyes found yours in the midst of the crowd. A confident smile curved on his lips as he slowly made his way to you and Shoko.

Satoru Gojo. Then small flashbacks of your time together in high school passed through your mind.

Yaga screaming his and Geto's ears off as you and Shoko watch tittering on the sidelines.

Gojo stealing a bite from your bento, declaring that youre food was better than his, earning a slap to his hand from you.

Geto and Gojo rolling around the floor wrestling each other over a stupid towel.

Gojo's calm and relax face as he slept on the school rooftop beside you, with his hands behind his head and the wind lulling both of you to sleep.

You have lost so much people. And you already lost one best friend. Without a doubt, you're not ready to lose another. Not Gojo. Not when you haven't even had the chance to tell him yet. He was called the strongest for a reason, right?

Right?

"No tears, sweetheart." His voice soft and gentle, as he leaned down to properly face you. You blinked, not even realizing that tears were threatening to fall down your face.

Slender fingers wiped a stray tear away. You shyed away from his touch, embarrassed that he caught you in such a state of distress. You didn't want him to think that you didn't have faith in him.

Shoko let go of your hand and stepped away from the two of you. Obviously noticing the intimate moment you were sharing even if you didnt.

You sniffled, "Just kick his ass, okay?!"

Face growing red at your stupid comment, wishing you said something more original.

But Gojo didn't seem to mind. In fact he grinned wider. "Yes, Maam!"

He posed in a fake salute, earning a small laugh from you. You missed the twinkle in his eyes from finally making you smile after what seemed like hours of you looking like you're barely holding it together.

Well, he wasn't wrong. The rope around your lungs finally loosened as you let out a breath you didnt even know you were holding.

Suprising both Gojo and yourself. You pulled him down into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. His hands immediately found your waist as he sank into you. His head nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

His warm breath and tight grip on your waist said everything he couldn't say with words. Confident as he was, he was scared too. Not of Sukuna or any curse. But he was scared that if he didn't play his cards right, he wouldnt be able to come back to this. To you. And that terrifed him more than anything.

Studenot and allies alike, stood by and watch the scene unfold before them. Some with knowing gazes and others with baffled ones. Whispers could be heard from around you, but they all fade into the background.

"Wait f'me, okay?" His muffled words made you grip him even tighter as you nodded helplessly.

"Hurry back, Satoru."

He pulled away in surprise. You never called him that before. Its always Gojo or the affectionate idiot, but never his first name.

Pressing his forehead to yours, he whispered, "How am I suppose to leave now?"

Saving the world be damn. All he wanted to was to teleport you away and finally say the thing he's been holding back all these years.

You smiled softly at him. Gojo has left many times before. For overseas missions or something else, but this time it feels like he was going to some place farther. A place where you couldn't follow. And its that thought that finally gives you the courage to say whats been on your mind since yesterday.

"I want to tell you something later," You began, eyes darting to the side. "Ive been wanting to tell you this for a long time now.. so that's why I need you to hurry back, Toru."

Gojo groaned inwardly, burying his face into your neck once more. "Say that again."

"Say what again?"

"My name."

You chuckled softly, "Toru."

He pulled you impossibly closer to him, as you ran your fingers through his hair. It was just his name, but damn did it make him feel like he was on cloud nine when it came from your lips.

Why here and why now? He thought. Is the possibility of his death really making the both of you finally adress the feelings you've been tip toeing around each other over the years?

The impending goodbye grew closer and closer. Gojo knows he should let you go and pull away but his arms wouldn't agree with his brain. He pulls away just enough to look at you. His eyes traced your face trying to ingrave your face into his brain.

After what seemed like hours. You both finally pulled away, fingers tracing each other, aching to keep some sort of contact before they dropped to your sides.

"Later?" You asked, voice full of hope.

His signature grin curved his lips, "Later."

And that was the last thing he said before he turned around to leave. Your eyes never leaving his broad back as he looked back and gave you a cocky wink.

December 24th

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru. Your Satoru. Alive.

[simpforchuchu]

The One

Prompts: DAY 6 - “you lied to me @febuwhump Characters: Yasushi x reader Fandom: High and Low Summary: Yasushi escapes from hospital before the fight and reader finds out…

A/n for prompts: Hello guys! This is my first time trying a prompt challenge. I hope you like the short fics I wrote. I will finish them by writing some of the requests I have. I love you 💜

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of fights, injuries, blood but mostly fluffy

“Yasushi!”

The young girl's scream echoed throughout the school. Oya boys had just returned from the fight with Housen. They were all injured and tired. But one person should definitely not have been in that fight.

Yasushi Nishikawa. Yasushi, who was injured in his head after the Kidra attack and had to be in the hospital…

Oya's leaders turned their gaze towards the sound coming from the stairs. Yasushi knew very well who was coming. He sighed and waited for his girlfriend to appear at the door.

As soon as Y/n stepped through the rooftop door, she found her boyfriend in front of her. The young boy's gaze softened as soon as he saw the worried girl and he smiled.

“Y/n! I wasn't expecting you!”

Y/n angrily stepped towards him and stood right in front of him. She looked at the bandage on his head, stained red with blood, and shouted in fear.

“You bastard! You lied to me!"

When everyone looked at the girl screaming in surprise, Yasushi was calmly waiting for the young girl to scream.

“You were supposed to be in the hospital! You said you were staying with your mother! But I heard you went to a fight! Have you lost your mind?!”

The young girl was angry. But she was more afraid. She didn't know how she ran to the hospital after they attacked Yasushi. And that damn boy escaped from the hospital.

“Do you have any idea how worried I am, you idiot?!”

Yasushi hugged the girl in front of him tightly with the young girl's trembling voice. Although Y/n was suddenly startled and surprised by the arms surrounding her, she calmed down with the voice whispering in her ear.

“I'm okay, I know you're scared. But I'm okay.”

The young girl tightly wrapped her arms around her boyfriend's body while the hands wandering through her hair calmed her down.

“I will kill you…”

Yasushi smiled.

"I know."

The young girl whispered reproachfully

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.” The young boy objected and smiled. He kissed the young girl's hair and hugged her tighter.

He knew she was the one…

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx @ninamarie1994 @thatpoindexterpixy @koala-yuna @star2fishmeg @little-miss-naill

[bats-and-birds-24]

Chapter 2:

The first time Bruce's heart shattered, he saw his parents shot dead in front of him.

The second time his heart shattered, he was carrying Jason's broken body out of a destroyed warehouse.

After Jason's death, Bruce's mind would not let him rest. He didn't deserve to, not after failing his son that badly.

Sounds of Jason screaming for Bruce, mixed with the Joker's cacophony of gory clangs of crowbar cracking bone, were etched into his mind.

His thoughts took over his life.

He should've noticed that Jason had left to go meet up with his so called "mother".

He needed to be better, Gotham needed to be safer.

He will make Gotham safe.

It started with him cracking down on the Joker gang, but then he started to expand the list, any criminal who hurt kids would face his wrath.

All he would see in his mind's eye as he punched them to bloody unconsciousness was the Joker's face.

Batman might have broken his oath if he had caught sight of Joker during those days.

In the middle of the haze filled bloodbath that was Bruce's life after Jason's death, he somehow managed to miss a curious pair of eyes following him from rooftop to rooftop.

The first time he met Tim, Bruce flinched.

Another dark haired child with determination sparking in his eyes.

He can't do this again.

It got worse when he said he wanted to be Robin.

"Batman needs a Robin." He stated matter of factly.

Even though his hands trembled his eyes were locked with Bruce's own.

Tim was scared but determined.

"Robin's done, he's dead. No one else can be Robin again." Bruce croaked out. The kid's face looked crestfallen.

Good, maybe he'll avoid Batman from now on.

Bruce should've known it wouldn't be that easy. Tim had somehow managed to get Dick on his side.

How he managed to do that was a mystery, as Bruce himself was iced out of Dick's life.

Their communication being brief and work related.

The final straw was when Alfred managed to corner him in the library.

Jason's favourite spot in the manor.

"Master Bruce, you cannot keep avoiding young master Tim forever." Alfred stated

"It's for his own good Alfred." Bruce snapped not even looking up at him.

"Is it now? The boy's been running around with barely a jacket on in this cold, doing dangerous detective work to try and gain your approval." Alfred replied with a pointed stare.

"I tried to dissuade him." Bruce muttered.

"He's marked, you know that won't work." He sighed.

"Alfred I can't make him Robin, end of discussion." He replied in a frustrated huff.

In the end Alfred got his way.

He always did.

But the feeling wasn't the same. He didn't feel proud or happy when he saw Robin in the field anymore. Just relief that he's survived another day.

He kept a close eye on Tim as well, checking in via comms during patrol and spying in his bedroom to ensure that he hadn't snuck off into the chilly Gotham night.

He can't fail another Robin.

Until he did.

Tim had been caught by the Joker gang and he didn't even trust Bruce enough to call for help. He had multiple bruises and a dislocated shoulder.

He got away alive, but it could've gone worse.

Much worse.

Should he ban Tim from being Robin, should he tell his parents?

No that won't work, the Drakes barely seem involved in their son's life, Tim would probably find a way to circumvent the ban. The kid was too stubborn for his own good.

He was getting a headache.

Bruce rubbed his mark absently as he pondered on what to do.

[marsdreamworld]

Electric Love - CL16 x reader

mars’ notes: First off, wtaf??? i’m so so so happy that you guys liked my lando blurb that much, i was half distracted and incredibly anxious when i wrote it, so the fact that so many people like it is absolutely insane to me jnfruncr - anyways, here’s a cute little (not so little) Charles fic i had bouncing around in my head :) thank you @love-belle for listening to me ramble!! please please lmk what you think, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated <333

summary: 4 times Charles almost told you he loved you, and the one time he did.

warnings: none!! super fluffy (again)

———————————————————-

The first time Charles almost let those three precious words slip from his lips was during an unassuming pasta date the two of you had planned. You had gone to the grocery store earlier in the day, and had remembered the old, silver unused pasta maker that was stashed in the back of yours and Charles’ kitchen cabinet, and decided that it seemed like a good day to finally teach your boyfriend how to properly cook the Italian staple. You’d come home in a flurry of excitement, bags dangling from your arms and a bright smile on your face, stating that you were going to teach him how to cook so well that he’d rival Yuki Tsunoda, teasing that maybe that way he’d be able to get Pierre over to his house for a dinner date as well. He’d smiled, grabbed the bags from your hands and set them down on the kitchen counter, before winding his arms around you and kissing you softly, telling you that he missed you and couldn’t wait.

You were too full of excitement to wait any longer, turning on the old radio in the corner of the kitchen, the sound of an old 1950s love song filling the space whilst Charles got two glasses and a bottle of red wine from the rack in the living room. Once your glasses were full and your hands had been washed, you’d dragged him over to the kitchen counter and thrust a “kiss the cook” apron into his hands, instructing him to put it on so he wouldn’t get flour all over himself. He’d asked whether you had a matching one, to which you replied that you’d done this far too many times to spill any flour and that your outfit would be ruined with it. He’d let his eye roam your figure, taking in the sweatshirt you’d stolen from him yesterday, claiming it smelt like him, along with the cute giraffe print pyjama bottoms you adored so much; your hair clipped back messily, sleeves pulled up to your elbows, and Charles swore he’d never seen anything as beautiful.

He was elbow deep in dough before he knew it, hands sticky with egg yolk and flour, the substance sticking to his skin despite how hard he was trying to pull it off. You were standing next to him, your own ball of dough perfectly rolled and kneaded, hands free of any lingering blobs of dough. A piece of hair had fallen into your face, and you’d used your shoulder to attempt to push it back behind your ear again, huffing when it returned to block your vision. Something had just felt so right - he could imagine doing this after a hectic race weekend, coming home to you making a fresh batch of pasta to go with his favourite white sauce, love songs in the background and wine glass in hand. He thought of you standing at this very kitchen counter, flour smudged on your face as you taught a mini version of you how to knead dough, and how to use the pasta machine that he knew was going to come very close to sucking in his fingers.

“Charlie? You ok, my love? Pasta isn’t that hard to make, baby, you just need more flour.”

You’d looked over to catch him staring at you, cheeks red and eyes glazed, and it took everything in him to not spit out how much he loved you. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops, post it on every social media platform, say it over and over until your heart was beating as fast as his was. He watched as you leaned over, sprinkling more flour onto his hands, and all he could do was smile.

————————-

The second time Charles almost confessed the inner workings of his heart was during a race weekend - Spa, to be exact. Spa was a race that was heavy with memories, good and bad. Antoine’s ghost still lingered at every corner, and the cheers of the 2019 crowd still rang in his ears during his track walk. It was a weekend that stirred up a plethora of emotions, contrasting and deep, and it weighed on him. He’d made it a point to leave flowers for his friend every year, joining Pierre alongside the track when they went to pay their respects. This would be the first time you would be by his side, at your insistence. He’d told you countless times that it was he was perfectly fine with just Pierre for company, that you didn’t have to drag yourself out there with him and get soaked, but you wouldn’t back down.

“I don’t care whether it’s storming or if people are passing out from the heat, Charles Leclerc, I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not. You’ve gone through enough on your own, and I’m not letting you do it again, not while I’m here.”

He’d stood in silence, gaping at you until your expression faltered and your hands fell from their resting place on your hips. You were halfway through stammering an apology, explaining that you just didn’t want him to be going through that alone, that you were always there for him when he surged forward and kissed you, hands cradling your face.

He was so overwhelmed in that moment, thoughts of Antoine floating through his head, a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him that it could be his turn this weekend, that he’d never get to tell you how he feels. He pulled back, thumbs brushing over your delicate cheeks, lips forming the words, when suddenly,

“Charles! You have a press conference in 5! Get a move on!”

Fred’s voice broke through the bubble, and you both jumped, startled by the shout. A weight settled in his chest, Charles desperately looking back at you, hoping that what he didn’t have a chance to say was evident in his eyes. You smiled back at him as if to say “me too”, and that was the end of that.

————————-

The third time was during family dinner. His mother had invited the two of you, along with Arthur, Lorenzo and their respective partners, over to her cosy house in Monaco for an evening meal. You had spent the last thirty minutes stressing over whether or not you looked good enough to meet “the woman who gave birth to the prince of Monaco” and thirty minutes before that stressing over which wine to take, if any. Once a good enough Chardonnay had been chosen (a 20 year old bottle you had been gifted by your boss and had deemed too fancy to just open over a plate of pasta at home), and your hair curled and make up painted to perfection, you turned to look at Charles, smiling, shooting him a “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” and he couldn’t help but laugh.

The drive to his mother’s house was fairly uneventful, with him humming along to a French song playing on the radio, one hand on the wheel and the other situated on your thigh, slipping in between the slit of cherry red, silk dress you had chosen for the occasion. The windows were down, the wind whipping through your hair, and you were smiling and singing along with him, a pretty picture of contentment.

You had calmed down by the time the two of you had reached the front door, confident enough to greet his mother with a hug and a kiss to the cheek, laughing when she said that you looked “absolutely amazing, chèrie”. You had bantered with his brothers, giving as good as you got, helped set the table and pick the music, and had even taken over Arthur’s babysitting duties, spending time playing dolls with his little nieces. Looking at how well you fit in with his family made Charles’ heart beat out of his chest. He felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see his Maman standing next to him, a light smile on her lips.

“She’s the one, my boy.” she said, and all Charles could do was nod in agreement, quietly saying the words,

“I think I love her, maman.”

Pascale simply smiled, and turned to walk back to the kitchen.

————————

He actually got through the first word and a half the fourth time. It seemed like whenever Charles actually got the opportunity to tell you he loved you, something or the other interrupted him, and this time was no exception. He never thought he would end up here, in a dingy club bathroom, wine stain on his brand new white shirt, and you standing by the sink laughing at him.

He had just won the Australian GP, Carlos coming in a close second, and Daniel stealing the third step of the podium. The season had started well for the team, and in natural Ferrari fashion, they had all gotten dressed up and found their way to the nearest club. Drinks flowed, partners were found and dragged to the dance floor, sweaty bodies pressed so close that it was hard to figure out who was who. He had been walking back from the bar, his and your drinks in hand, making his way back to his fellow drivers and you in a pretty black dress you’d picked out earlier in the day, when someone had bumped into him, wine spilling and staining his shirt. You’d turned at the noise that escaped his throat, an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal, and had kept a straight face for all of three seconds before you were laughing.

You’d taken the now empty glasses from his hands, set them down on the table and looped your arm through his, pulling him in the direction of the bathrooms.

“You know, now might not be the best time for a quickie, mon ètoile, my shirt is soaked.”

You had simply looked back at him, and told him that that was “even more reason to get that shirt off him”, your tone insinuating that you wouldn’t be doing anything of the sort. Once in the bathroom, the door locked and lights on, you’d beelined for the tissues, soaking them in a little water and soap before turning back to him with a determined look in your eyes. Instructing him to hold still, you’d taken to trying to scrub the stain out, armed with tissue that was on the verge of disintegrating. He knew the stain wasn’t going to budge, a voice that sounded like his mother’s telling him that he’d need hydrogen peroxide or vinegar at the very least, but he let you grip his shirt regardless, perching himself on the lip of the sink and pulling you closer to stand in between his legs. His eyes roved over your face, taking in the slight crease in between your eyebrows, and your teeth biting at your lower lip. There was something so endearing about the way you looked trying to rub something as stubborn as a wine stain out of his clothes that made him want to never let you go.

Tell her now, you idiot, who cares if you’re in a club bathroom, it’ll make for an interesting story to tell your kids later, he thought to himself.

“Ma chèrie?”, he waited for you to look up from his shirt before continuing, “I lo-“

“Charles! Did you manage to get that wine out yet? We’re waiting to order the next round of shots, mate, hurry up!”

The banging on the door, combined with his teammate’s voice, had interrupted him, the moment well and truly over. He grumbled to himself, something about never having a moment of peace, before looking up at you, nodding his head towards the direction of the door.

There was always next time.

————————-

It had been a quiet moment, just you and him somewhere on the coast of Monaco, yacht rocking with the waves, peaceful. The day had started the way it usually did, the sun streaming into his eyes as you curled into his side, screwing your eyes shut in a vain effort to try and sleep a little longer. He’d kissed you, slow and soft, before whispering a hushed good morning, smiling when he got a sleepy mumble in response. He’d pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, with you whining as he jostled you, only quieting down when he pulled you back into the warmth of his arms. The two of you had stayed there for another half an hour, drifting in and out of consciousness before your stomach rumbled, effectively declaring that it was time to get out of bed and start working on breakfast. Charles knew you didn’t usually like to eat in the mornings, claiming that it made you feel slightly nauseous, but that you were an absolute sucker for a good cup of coffee and waffles, so he set out to make exactly that whilst you were in the shower.

It was not going well, to say the least. He’d even pulled up a waffle recipe on his phone, specifying to Google that he needed one that was beginner friendly. It had started out well, with him grabbing all the ingredients listed, even going so far as to grab the measuring cups you used when you baked the vanilla cookies he loved so much; and then he actually had to start putting everything together. He’d ended up cracking the first egg with far too much force, causing it to spill all over his hand, with slivers of the shell ending up in the bowl below. Once he had fished out the infuriatingly small pieces out of the egg mixture and added the milk, he got to work measuring out the flour, only to misjudge how heavy the bag was, and spilling it all over the counter and himself. He was stood stock still, face stuck in disbelief when you had walked in, freezing as you took in the scene unfolding in your kitchen.

“Oh, my love” was all you’d managed to get out, before you were making your way over to him, brushing your thumb across his cheek and saying “You’ve got a little something there.”

Once the breakfast disaster was cleaned, and you had taken over to make edible waffles, the two of you had migrated to the living room, curling up on the couch under your favourite fluffy blanket, armed with snacks to start a movie marathon. Sundays during summer break were reserved for snacking on salted caramel ice cream and brain-rotting romcoms, and it was tradition for you and Charles to bicker over which movie was put on first. Charles knew he would give in after the first minute of arguing, when you pulled out the big guns and flashed a sweet smile at him, and today was no different. He was glad it was no different.

The day had passed in a haze of kisses, sweet fruit and good wine. The weather was beautiful, wonderfully warm with a light breeze, and Charles had stated that it was the perfect night for a picnic under the stars on his yacht, ushering you in the direction of your room, telling you to get dressed. He grabbed a few more bottles of the wine you had been loving in the last couple of days, cutting up fruits and cubes of cheese for your impromptu picnic, before packing it all up into a small basket you could take with you. You’d come out of the bedroom in a white summer dress, and Charles felt his heart stop at the sight of you. You looked ethereal, like his own personal angel, and he told you as much, before gently taking hold of your hand and leading you to his car, picnic basket in hand.

You had been out on the water for an hour or so when you had leaned into Charles, your head resting on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his. He’d looked down at you and smiled, all dimples and warmth, before leaning down and kissing you softly, his lips just brushing over yours. You’d settled in and were sharing your second bottle of wine, looking up at the stars and talking about everything and nothing, the topic of your conversation ranging from who could find the most constellations to new recipes you wanted to try out the next time you had the chance. Charles was watching you ramble about a new cake recipe that you’d seen (or was it pie? He was hardly paying attention, too caught up in the way your eyes lit up and the way your cheeks flushed) when he just blurted it out.

“I love you.”

You had stopped midway through your sentence, words suddenly sticking to the inside your throat as you gazed up at him. He was looking at you with glazed eyes, the stars reflected in them, and panicking because what if you didn’t say it back? What if he had misread the situation so badly and had ended up ruining a perfectly good day because he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself like-

“I love you too.”

And just like that, the breath was knocked out of his chest. You loved him. Him, Charles Leclerc, you loved him. He wanted to hear those words every single day, every morning when he woke up, every night before he went to sleep, every day for the rest of his life.

“Say it again”, he begged, needing to make sure you were really saying that you loved him, and this wasn’t just some sick, twisted dream, a figment of his imagination. You repeated it in hushed whisper, again and again, watching as the dimpled smile you had come to adore grew on his face, before pushing yourself up and kissing him again.

Yes, today had been the perfect day.

[ontoheartache]

all your edges

ao3

notes: this is 3k of ryliver rpf pwp. love and light<3

also: i know the chairs were directors chairs and their feet were on boxes etc etc. for the purposes of this fic pls ignore that

They’ve been stuck in this room for hours now, doing interview after interview. The questions have started blurring together, to the point where Ryan isn’t sure if Oliver’s been asked about his accent once or five times, but he knows it was at least once too many. There’s a space between their chairs that feels like miles separating them, but is realistically only a few inches. It’s not far enough for Ryan to miss the downturn of Oliver’s mouth, or the tension lining his shoulders. Not even the goose memes that Ryan’s been texting him have helped.

Once upon a time, Ryan’s first instinct would’ve been to shove at his shoulder, to crack a joke so ridiculous that Oliver had no choice but to laugh, but things are different now. Ryan is self aware enough to know he’s always had stars in his eyes when it comes to Oliver, but that hasn’t always been reciprocated. Oliver has always smiled easily, has always been quick to laugh when Ryan is the slightest bit silly, but there was a disconnect there. For good reason, sure, but it had used to sting all the same.

Now, though? Oliver grins a little wider when he meets Ryan’s eyes. When he laughs, he throws his head back and lets it wash over him, as if Ryan inspires that kind of joy easily and is equally worthy of witnessing it. Being the focus of Oliver’s endless light steals the breath from his lungs sometimes, makes him dizzy with it. He doesn’t know if he could live without it, if he could survive losing it now that he’s been allowed to have it.

If he’s honest, Ryan doesn’t know how they ended up here. It feels like one day they were Ryan and Oliver, then the next they were something else entirely. Maybe he should be more concerned about that, but he’s been happy lately. Blindingly happy, happier than he thinks he’s been in years. He could pretend that has nothing to do with them – with Oliver and his face splitting smile – but he’s lied through his teeth for years. He pretended he was fine, pretended he was happy, pretended he could breathe while someone else sucked up all the air in every room of his life. He doesn’t want to do that now, doesn’t want to do that ever again. He’ll scream from the rooftops before he ever holds his breath again.

Ryan doesn’t know how they ended up here – tangled up in each other in a way that will end up drowning them both if they’re not careful – but maybe he’s okay with that. He finds that he’s okay with a lot of things when Oliver is smiling at him.

He’s not okay with the frown on his face, or the dim light of his eyes. They’ve been trapped in front of this camera for most of the day and he can see the way it’s eating away at Oliver, how he’s slouched in his chair a little further with every repeated question. And, well, Ryan just can’t accept that. Not when he can fix it.

The cameras click off and the handful of people in the room with them filter out. Break time has dawned, finally, but he and Oliver have nowhere to go. They’d come to the set together and had no plans until after, when they’d ride back to Oliver’s together. The makeshift set has been stocked with snacks and blankets, a leather couch on the opposite side of the room from where the interview space has been set up. Oliver had napped there earlier, curled up under a light green blanket. Ryan didn’t take pictures, but it was a near thing.

When they’re alone, the door clicking shut behind the last crew member stuck in interview limbo with them, Ryan slides his chair as close to Oliver’s as possible. He slots himself along Oliver’s side as best he can, until they’re pressed together at the shoulders. It’s second nature for Oliver’s hand to drop to Ryan’s thigh, for his fingers to press in. The tension in Oliver’s shoulders bleeds out the longer they sit there, Ryan can feel it happening in slow motion from the line of heat between their bodies. The satisfaction of that makes him dizzy.

He leans a little to the side, then bumps back against Oliver’s shoulder. It rouses a smile out of him, a slight tug at the edges of his mouth. His thumb digs a little more firmly into Ryan’s thigh in response, and it sets his veins alight.

“You good?” Ryan asks, soft and quiet.

“Mmhm,” Oliver hums. “Tired.”

He moves then, separating their bodies as he pushes his chair to the side. He adjusts until he’s facing Ryan, then a tired grin spreads across his face as he settles back. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something wicked in his expression. Something inside of Ryan gives under the weight of it.

“C’mere,” he says. He pats his thighs.

And, god. His feet are firmly planted on the floor, long legs parted near obscenely. His curls are messy, a shade darker now that the lights have been dimmed. The jacket he’s wearing shouldn’t look so good stretched across his shoulders, but there’s something about the white shirt underneath it. It makes Ryan’s blood heat up, draws his eyes to Oliver’s throat. His jaw aches just looking at him.

He’s helpless but to obey.

Ryan’s stomach swoops when he stands, cheeks deepening in color as he all but scrambles towards Oliver. He’ll refuse to admit it later, when Oliver teases him in the car on the way to his house, but he nearly stumbles over his feet. He hasn’t felt this giddy, this full of livewire and accelerant, since he was much younger than he is now. He wonders idly if it’s ever been like this before, if he’s ever felt this kind of addicted to anyone else. He pushes the thought away, writing it off before it can go roots.

Instead, he allows his mind to go blissfully blank as he settles himself on Oliver’s lap. He rests his knees on either side of Oliver’s legs and straddles him, adjusting until he’s comfortable and as balanced as the chair will allow while supporting two grown men. Hands settle on his waist as he rests his own on Oliver’s shoulders.

“Hi,” he says, drumming his fingers against the fabric of his jacket. He has to look down, just a little, to meet Oliver’s blue eyes. There’s a certain thrill in that, when he’s so used to glancing slightly upwards.

“Hi, idiot,” Oliver says, grinning.

Ryan scowls. “I’m in your lap, stupid. Be nice.”

“And I’ve had your dick in my mouth. Calm down.”

At that, Ryan surges forward. When his lips meets the side of Oliver’s neck, he sucks the skin into his mouth. Bites down on his pulse point. He can feel Oliver’s groan in his teeth at the same time that the fingers on his hips dig in sharp.

“You dick,” Oliver says, choking on a gasp.

Ryan hums, sucking a bruise into his throat. He pulls back just enough to move up a little, towards his jawline. He nips at the skin, grazes his way up towards the hinge of his jaw. He’s just started working on another bruise, right below his ear, when he’s suddenly jostled by Oliver bringing a hand up to cup the back of his neck, guiding him until their eyes meet.

“Baby,” Oliver says, slow and deliberate. Ryan’s vision goes fuzzy around the edges near immediately, his limbs melting as Oliver twists his fingers in his hair and tugs. “Behave.”

Oliver’s pupils are blown wide, hot breath fanning across Ryan’s pinked cheeks. The bruise Ryan had been working on is purpling, teeth marks around the edges. The collar of his jacket brushes it with every breath. Ryan wants, suddenly and all encompassingly, to rip the jacket off of him. He wants to rid himself of his own shirt, to pull off the white fabric that’s setting his nerves alight. He wants, more than anything, to grab Oliver’s t-shirt by the collar and tug it apart, until it’s strips of cloth he can brush off of his shoulders. There’s too much separating him from Oliver – fabric and skin and bones and blood – and all Ryan wants to do is crawl inside of him, nest inside of his ribcage. He can’t breathe around the want clogging his throat.

He goes to fumble with the buttons of Oliver’s jacket. He just manages to push the fabric partly off of his shoulders before Oliver tangles his fingers in the necklace hanging from Ryan’s neck and yanks him into a kiss.

They collide hard, lips and teeth and tongues clashing before they’re able to settle into a rhythm. Oliver keeps hold of the necklace, uses it to pull Ryan back in every time he breaks for air. The bite of the cord on the back of his neck steadies him. Before long, all he can do is tangle his fingers into the hair at the nape of Oliver's neck and give in. Let the waves of desire and want and need take him under – until he’s drowning in it, consumed by the heat spreading throughout his body.

Part of him – a part he’s buried and swallowed down for as long as he can remember – wants to stay here, like this, forever. Part of him thinks that fate has been guiding him here, towards them, for as long as he’s been alive. Part of him believes stars have lived and died in the name of this, in the inevitability of them. Part of him, with a name and a soul and more bullet wounds than papercut scars, looks at Oliver and sees the universe collapsing in on itself, over and over and over again. Supernovas inside of supernovas.

Sometimes he likes to turn that part of him around and around in his head. He wonders, staring up at the ceiling late at night, how much of this is Ryan and Oliver, and how much of it is Eddie and Buck. Where does Ryan end and Eddie begin? Does he look at Oliver, beautiful and so endlessly complicated Oliver, and see Buck? Where do they separate, or are they so intertwined that to pull them apart would unravel everything? Is it Ryan that wants to burrow into Oliver, or is it Eddie that wants to carve out a home in Buck’s chest cavity?

Does it matter?

Ryan is pulled back into reality before he can answer himself.

The pressure on the back of his neck releases, the cord of his necklace no longer biting into his skin. Ryan pulls back, mouth slick as he gasps for air.

“Arms around my neck, Ry,” Oliver says. He does as instructed, almost absentmindedly, just before Oliver gets his hands under his thighs. The room spins, his stomach lurching as Oliver stands, weight shifting as Ryan goes from straddling him to wrapping his legs around his waist and holding on.

“What are you doing?” Ryan laughs.

Oliver hums, walking them slowly across the room. He stops, then feigns releasing his grip. Ryan definitely does not yelp.

“Couch,” is all the warning he gets before Oliver does it again, this time dropping him onto the black leather couch the crew had pushed against the wall earlier this morning.

Ryan glares up at him, certain he must look intimidating with his flushed cheeks and his mouth kiss bitten. Oliver doesn’t look much better – jacket half off, bruises on his neck, and his lips spit slick and swollen. They’d make headlines if they were to be interviewed now.

Oliver’s heated stare softens the longer he lingers above him. He’s smiling by the time he decides to move, maneuvering so he’s straddling Ryan’s hips. “What do you want, Ry?”

Ryan squirms, shifting and tugging until he’s laid down on the couch and Oliver is hovering over him, arms braced on either side of his head and a leg parting his thighs. “Like this.”

This time, it’s Ryan who tugs Oliver into a kiss. It’s slow, gentler than before, almost sweet. They stay like that for a while, until Oliver shifts and brings a hand to Ryan’s jaw. His thumb caresses his skin, presses in just slightly, until Ryan lets his mouth fall slack. From there, the hunger begins to build between them, filling them upupup. When Oliver finally rocks down into him, their clothed cocks brushing and sending sparks dancing up their spines, Ryan gasps into the kiss and pulls back just enough to pant into the space between them. Instead of pulling him back in, Oliver tucks his face into his neck, presses kisses up and down his throat as they settle into a slow and steady grinding of their hips.

Ryan whimpers as teeth scatter bruises on his skin, hips arching to meet Oliver’s with every filthy grind. Oliver’s thigh presses in between his legs, adding a delicious friction that has moans spilling out of his mouth without his permission, filling the room before he can manage to bite them back. He’s never felt this out of control, this needy. He thinks anything more than this might break him, might split him open until he’s nothing but desire, nothing but a writhing bundle of nerves for Oliver to use, to fuck, to take apart.

They’ve been here before, in red lit corners and cozy villas. Ryan has felt the weight of him on his tongue, tasted his cum. He’s felt the burn of his cock inside of him, been able to taste it in the back of his throat with every thrust. Ryan has fucked into that warm mouth, spilled and spilled and spilled down that inviting throat. He’s held Oliver down and taken him, has ridden him until they were both shaking and spent. This is innocent in comparison, but Ryan feels torn apart. Like sometime between the chair and the couch, Oliver has cracked open his chest and now his soul is leaking past his ribcage.

They’re dry humping like teenagers and Ryan feels more vulnerable about it now than he ever felt when he was a teenager. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Please.” Ryan searches desperately for an anchor, for anything to tether him to his body when he feels like he’s liable to float away. He clenches the fabric of Oliver’s jacket in his hands. “Please.”

Oliver huffs a laugh into the tender skin of his throat, only pulling back when Ryan whines high and breathy. “Please what, Ry? What do you want?”

Ryan shakes his head, clenches his eyes shut. He grinds up into Oliver’s thigh and doesn’t quite achieve friction. Oliver moved his leg just out of his reach.

He must make a noise, because the kiss Oliver lays on his forehead is in the shape of a smile.

“What do you want?” Oliver repeats. “What do you need?”

Ryan breaks.

“You,” he begs. He blinks his eyes open. Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“You have me,” Oliver promises, no hesitation. He presses his thigh back against Ryan’s aching cock. He can’t bring himself to refute it, to give voice to the words rattling around in the back of his mind. Don’t say that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Don’t treat me like we’re anyone but ourselves, like we ever could be.

Instead, he moans low in his throat, grasps the jacket tighter as he trembles with every roll of Oliver’s hips. He can feel the heavy weight of him on his own thigh, can nearly taste the heat of him if he breathes deep enough. If the cameras were on, pointed in their direction, Ryan’s sure they would catch his mouth watering, would see the way he’s panting for it.

Oliver presses another kiss to his forehead. He lowers himself down a little more, until his body is pressed more firmly into Ryan’s.

All at once, Ryan gives himself over to the sensation, to the helplessness of it all. He forgets, for now, that he and Oliver have ever been anyone else. He pretends that they met in a coffee shop, in a bar somewhere on the outskirts of LA, in a firehouse, in a million places over eons of time. He pretends, for a moment, that he and Oliver are people who feel something for one another other than the phantom love of the people that live inside of them. He pretends this is something he can have, something he gets to keep.

“Baby,” he gasps, like a prayer falling off his tongue. He’s teetering so close to the edge. The edge of consumption, the edge of pleasure, the edge of everything.

Oliver presses their foreheads together, sweaty strands of hair mussing together. Every breath he takes is its own gasp, tiny puffs of air fanning across Ryan’s nose. “I know, I know. Come on, Ry. Let go.”

Ryan keens, hips canting upwards, seeking a deeper friction than their clothes can allow. “I can’t. Please, please, please.”

“You can,” Oliver says. “You’re so good. Just give in.”

He shakes his head, somewhere on the edge of frantic. “Can’t, can’t, can’t.”

Oliver turns his head, starts trailing kisses from Ryan’s brow, his temple, down to his jawline. He moves, just a bit, and presses his thigh a little more firmly into the damp patch of Ryan’s pants. “Let go, baby.”

Ryan grinds up. Once, twice, three times before he shakes apart. Oliver’s name falls from his mouth like an oath.

He pretends that Buck isn’t woven into the middle, and when Oliver comes undone seconds later, he ignores the Eddie laced into the mantra of RyanRyanRyan.

Later, when Oliver’s driving and Ryan’s watching the world race by the windows, he’ll wonder again how they ended up here. He’ll ask himself if it’s really him that’s happy, or if it’s the part of him that exists somewhere behind his ribs. He’ll look over at Oliver, at the sun dancing through his curls, and he’ll wonder if he can live with shouting from the rooftops about the wrong things, about the wrong people. He’ll see those bright blue eyes and wonder if it really is the wrong people after all, or if maybe they could be the same from a certain point of view.

Then, Oliver will turn to him and smile. That bright, crack-the-sky-in-half smile. Ryan will still wonder, still rotate the thoughts in his mind at night, but he’ll be okay with not knowing. He’s okay with a lot of things when Oliver is smiling at him.

For now, Oliver collapses beside him, back to the couch. Their pants are sticky and drying by the second. Oliver’s jacket is more off than on, and he awkwardly shuffles out of it. When Ryan turns onto his side, back to Oliver’s chest, he drapes the jacket over them as best he can. They find themselves holding hands, Oliver’s arm curling around Ryan’s waist.

As their breathing settles, Ryan brings their joined hands to his lips.

“Dork,” Oliver says quietly into the back of Ryan’s neck.

“Idiot,” Ryan counters.

When they drift off to sleep, they’re both smiling.