#trigger happy tuesday

[longeyelashedtragedy]

i feel really sad. just squashed under the heavy weight of sadness

#it's the way that no matter what i still can't see any happy endings for myself... #it's one of those days when i just want to disappear forever and none of my coping mechanisms are working #i know part of the reason is that i have to return to the extremely literally trauma triggering job on tuesday #i'm going to try to get transfered to a new (again) location to finish out my 'contract' plus i do like the skills i learn at my job #if they won't transfer me i will have to quit and i've never quit a job before #there's other things going on too though. idk. just hate that my life's turned out like this #but from what i've seen with my particular combination of mental issues #i've been punching above my weight almost my whole life #i hope this isn't the limit #brain stuff

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Undead Florist

Anon said: Basically, I just wanted Danny to deliver flowers to the Justice League heroes from his fans. If you can include Everlasting Trio. U can add whatever crack you think would be best! Thank you!

Clark is in the middle of blocking a heat ray attack from a robot that copies the powers of any Justice League member when the unexpected happens. A kid, no older than fourteen, boldly walks into the battlefield carrying a lavish bouquet of red roses and trigger lilies.

He's dressed in a worker uniform: light brown khakis, a black shirt with a light-born vest, and a black baseball hat resting neatly on his head. There is a company logo on the upper right of his vest but Clark does not recognize the stylized D.

There was a still moment when Clark's super speed could see the exact second Amazo spotted the child. The boy wasn't paying attention, staring at his phone screen, which had the faint details of a map, and had two headphones in his ear.

Clark's eyes widen in horror, and he opens his mouth to try to shout a warning—though he doubts the kid could hear him over the loud music playing in his ear—but before he can, Amazo flung out an arm straight at the kid's head, still pinning Clark down with a cheap version of his own laser ray eyes.

No! No, please, he's so young! He pleads mentally, frozen in horror as the robot's hand goes right through the kid's head. It took a solid minute for Clark to realize that Amazo's hand hadn't ripped through the skull of the child but rather had passed through him as if the boy was not physically there.

From underneath a black baseball cap, brim, electric blue eyes stare at Amazo. Gesturing vaguely to the arm going through his head, the boy frowns. "Rude much?"

"Access: Black Canary," Amazo says in response, his jaw opening wider as a super-powered scream is released, pointing black at the kid's face.

The frown on the worker deepens as the boy reaches up and- slaps the android in the face? "Dude, I'm trying to work. I have like eight flower deliveries today. Also, that was a weak imitation. This is a real Ghostly Wail."

He opens his jaw, letting out a sound that wasn't as loud as Black Canary or Amazo but somehow worse.

And the sound—the unholy screech that releases from the child sends Clark to his knees, quivering in his boots as Amazo disintegrates right before his eyes. The only thing left of the android is a smothering pair of robotic legs that fall over with a loud thump.

The boy huffs, paying no mind to the fact that he took out the enemy the league had spent the last six hours fighting before Clark tried to lure it away from the city. He merely glances back at his phone, following the little moving icon on the map until he stands before the fallen hero.

"Hi! Are you Superman?" The kid asks in a polite, chipper tone. It's such a whiplash change between his normal voice and his customer service voice that it sets in. This is really just a Tuesday for him.

Clark opens and closes his mouth with a weak "Yes" and is pushed out.

The kid's smile grows as he pushes the flowers into his arms. Clark nearly drops the vase, scrambling to get a good hold of them as the kid pulls out a harmonica and plays a little jingle. It sounds like a mix between Happy Birthday and Ring Around the Roses.

Once he is done, the boy holds out his arms wide open and loudly proclaims, in a very obvious Transatlantic accent, which makes him sound... rather otherwordly: "These flowers are sent by your fan Kattie Longsmith in Metropolis, wishing to thank you for rescuing her mother and brother from a fire. She wants to remind you that she is your biggest fan and hopes you have a lovely day. Thank you for selecting the Undead Florist as your means of flora travel!"

With a theatric bow, the boy blinks out of existence.

Clark is left kneeling alone in a destroyed cornfield, beating black and blue, while holding a vase of lavished roses and lilies. He is unsure how long he will stay there, trying to process what he just saw as the Batplane flies onto the scene, Bruce jumping out of it with a cry of his name.

Batman growls upon taking in the scene before his friend rushes to his side. "What happened?"

"I ugh...I got a flower delivery." He manages to utter, eyes still trained on the spot of the strange kid.

"What?"

"Trust me, I'm as confused."

It turns out that Clark's delivery is not an isolated incident. Over the past three months, various Justice League members have reported similar interactions with the Undead Florist.

Flash got a bouquet while trying to stop Captain Cold. The kid had wandered in the middle of a fight, unfreezing the speedster to hand over yellow lilies and sunflowers from a little boy named Teddy Smith in Central City. He had melted the freeze ray that was shot at him while Barry was in the middle of a panic, thinking he would watch a child die.

One little jingle and message was delivered in a Transatlantic accent later, and the boy was gone without a trace again. Bruce had gone to the scene, trying to find anything that could give him some clue, but he disputed the clear picture of his face and the recording of his voice. Nothing about the boy came up in their systems.

Wonder Woman was next, receiving two large bouquets of roses from a fellow woman she had rescued named Trix Cooperman. Her jingle was slightly smoother jazz , and the message leaned towards romantic than gratitude from a fan, but the boy had delivered it nonetheless.

He also took out Cheetah with a well-placed punch, highly impressing Diana. He had the makings of a warrior.

Then Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Martian Man Hunter, Batman, Martian Man Hunter, Hawkgirl, Aquaman, Zatanna, and surprisingly Vigilante each got their own flower grams.

None of them were able to get any information about the child, seeing as he only appeared when the members were in the middle of a fight, which was driving Bruce mad.

Of course, they had tracked down all the clients but met a dead end when each claimed they had never placed an order with Undead Florist. Even when Diana was holding her rope, the people gave the same answer.

They had no idea why Undead Florist was delivering flowers in their name or where the message that came along with the flowers appeared from. The chilling part was that the messages did actively represent their emotions and feelings towards the heroes, but how the overpowered child knew that was left unanswered.

The other thing that bothered Bruce was that the Undead Florist only appeared when they were in battle.

"Maybe it's because he doesn't know how to find you otherwise," Nightwing suggested at the Justice League-wide meeting.

"He uses a GPS that is locked into the heroes." Batman grunts, not dismissing the suggestion but challenging it, which causes his eldest son to shrug.

"Undead could be following online tips or something. It's not like the Leauge is seen just strolling around the cities, but people tweak when they do happen to see us."

"We could test that. Have a group of heroes just relaxing at a cafe or something. See where he appears and if there is a pattern after monitoring social media." Red Robin suggests, rubbing his chin.

Batman considers it before nodding. "I shall divide the teams."

The Justice League goes out, doing as instructed, and sure enough, they find the Undead Florist appearing more and more. Red Robing happily puts together the pattern, pointing to social media generated by the younger generation's demographics.

Undead Florist is an actual teenager using DCtweets to find heroes to bring flowers to. They have enough proof of that to show he's harmless if one ignores his more than impressive battle skills.

"Now all we need to do is catch him," Clark announces. "We don't want to scare him, but the Justice League really needs to know how he's doing all of this. It could be a security risk."

Meanwhile, Danny chills in his haunt, watching Sam tend to the flowers in a large greenhouse he placed for her. Tucker is typing away on a ghost zone-powered supercomputer, looking at all the Soul orders their business is getting.

The Ghost Zone didn't have a formal currency; they had Deals instead. Even small unconscious deals—like wishing on a shooting star, throwing a coin in a fountain, or sending a prayer or two—could be turned into deals if a higher being encountered them.

Luckily for those people, Danny and his lovers are very kind higher beings and choose to complete their requests in a way that satisfies all of their obsessions without stealing souls.

Sam got to spread her greenery across worlds, Tucker got to spend time with tech from different universes and Danny was able to explore and protect the souls of humans.

That Danny could exchange these Soul orders for gold was no one business but their own.

"Ohhh, another order, Red Robin, from Universe Nine!" Tucker crows. "It's roses in the shape of a heart from Kon-el. Aw, he's in love with his best friend!"

"That's sweet." Danny smiles, leaning over his boyfriend's shoulder to read the message he must memorize when he struts into Gotham. "I know how much fun dating best friends is."

"Let's help those losers confess then!" Sam calls, raising her hands as roses of various colors burst to life around her.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #everlasting trio #Dimension travel #The JL are confused #Danny is a flower delivery boy running a business with his boyfriend and girlfriend #Crack #Just imagine this scranny looking kid wander around #This is after Phantom Planet but no reveal #Just poly powerup #Deals are currency in ghost zone

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

[lesbianchipbastard]

anyways hey girl. omoris your prime defenders

explanation of this au below cut cause i actually put a lot of thought into it (HUGE SPOILERS FOR OMORI, PRIME DEFENDERS SEASON 1, AND VAGUELY FOR PRIME DEFENDERS SEASON 2)

—-

this is a pretty different take on the omori dynamic, because it strays pretty far from it obviously. i didn’t really give the party any direct parallels to any of the characters characters (except ashe, because this au is meant to take place in her brain).

gist of it: “headspace” is where ashe went when the trickster took her brain over. it’s where she spends most of her days, but that doesn’t mean she’s not haunted by her past and the glimpses of the real world she gets.

instead of collecting keys for the hangman puzzle, she collects pages, like from her book. each page summons a boss battle against/interaction with the entity on it. sometimes it’s benign stuff like the healing angel or duck, and sometimes it’s not. when ashe levels up to like. level 5 or something she unlocks the giant spectral hand which she used for a lot of combat in season 1.

in a lot of points during an omori playthrough, collecting a key for hangman would trigger a memory. when ashe interacts with a benign spirit from a page, she gets a happy memory, like getting pizza with everyone. when she fights off a malicious spirit, she gets an occasional glimpse into the real world— and sees the destruction the trickster has done and the effect it’s had on everybody.

instead of making ashe’s sprite entirely black and white, i chose to keep her colors pretty dull but also still rather close to her real world colors. this is cause of the symbolism of the other pd boys, and the fact that they all have very vibrant monochrome designs. before they showed up in ashe’s life, her days were very dull, spent cooped up in her room, and when they barged into her house on some random tuesday, they brought color back into her life.

and, obviously, ashe’s “something” would be her mother.

in combat, ashe gets to use moves from the pages she collected. vyncent does knife-based attacks but every couple turns can “charge up” for a small magic one (like how he can light small fires). william does ghost-based attacks, and so he does best when team attacking with ashe. dakota has martial arts-based attacks (basically pretty similar to kel’s skill set from the game). he also has the most hp and is usually the tank of the party.

i’ll probably add some more to this later but this ideas been sitting in my brain for like two days now i needed to get it out

#ignore how fucked up vyncent’s sprite is i’m too eepy to fix it #also no spoilers please !! on season 2 episode 34 #vixen rambles #vixen draws #jrwi #jrwi pd #jrwi prime defenders #art #my art #ashe winters #dakota cole #vyncent sol #william wisp

[paddockbunny]

B + Touch + Pierre Gasly

On Deck

Summary : When your boyfriend Pierre has a little time off he whisks you away to a gorgeous hotel…then surprises you further by helping you fulfil one of your dreams. Rating : 18+ Pairing : Pierre Gasly x Reader Word Count : 2,800 ONE SHOT Trigger Warnings : 18+, NSFW, adult language, discussion of sex, intimate touching female, public sex Images : curated from Pintrest

List : List B. Prompt : Touch - our muses touching one another discreetly but intimately in a public setting.

Dating Pierre had many perks. From brands sending you free clothes to being invited to events like fashion shows and tennis matches. But your favourite perk of all was the complimentary holidays and hotel stays he was consistently offered. And while he had to turn many of them down because he was working, on the odd occasions he did accept, you were always his favourite room mate. So this unexpected trip to Sardinia in between races could most definitely be classed as a perk.

The pair of you arrived on the Tuesday to beautiful warm sunshine and every single last drop of tension melted away in both of your bodies. The oranges that lined the driveway to the stunning five star resort filled the air with a beautiful citrus aroma that you could get drunk off and you grasped your boyfriend’s hand tighter when you saw the welcome glasses of champagne awaiting you at the hotel entrance. Pierre loved watching you reactions to experiences only he had been able to give you. He got off somewhat knowing he could impress and dazzle you more than any man that had come before him. It thrilled him to see your eyes widen in awe or excitement rushing around your body at these new adventures he could provide you with. He was glad it was him making these memories with you. And you in turn always made sure to thank him, diligently, thoroughly and exactly how he liked.

For three days the pair of you spent your time rotating between sunbathing, eating and fucking. Pierre was in his element in all three and you were more than happy to do whatever it was he felt like doing just because you were happy to be with him.

On Friday, you awoke to an empty bed. Pierre’s voice was muffled outside on the balcony. You took the opportunity of being alone in the huge, comfortable hotel bed to stretch out like a cat. As your muscles pulled and twisted you felt the burn from your inner thighs. Last night’s energetic sex clearly still reverberating through your body. The smirk crept upon your lips without realising it the memory of your legs up around Pierre’s shoulders as he fucked you hard and deep. You were in your own little world when he re-entered the room and you heard his low rumbling laughter.

“What are you thinking about?” “You.” Your response was quick and his cocky eyebrow raise was met with an equally as confident smirk as your eyes travelled down his body. He was stood next to the bed clad only in his black tight boxers that left little to the imagination and your mouth practically watered thinking about him being in your mouth. You rolled on to your stomach and pulled yourself up on to your knees before crawling to close the space between you. You were still completely naked, the hotel sheets disregarded behind you, and Pierre took full advantage of his view. He didn’t hide the fact his eyes were roaming all over your body. He knew that you knew he enjoyed when you were so completely exposed to him. You watched him checking out your boobs first before those azure blue orbs fell lower and settled to his favourite place, between your legs. Your hands slowly caressing up his chest and around his neck was what brought him out of being transfixed. But what snapped him back into reality was you guiding his hand to where his eyes had just been. Your insinuation of morning sex couldn’t be any more obvious.

What you thought would be met with eager willingness was instead met with a frustrated sounding growl from your boyfriend. “Fuck. I want too, I really, really want too but I’ve just organised a surprise, baby.” He sighed. So that was what he was doing out on the balcony. “A surprise?” Your eyebrows met in the middle quizzically. “What kind of surprise?” He knew you weren’t a huge fan of surprises and were more of a preparer type person. You liked knowing what you were going to do, where you were going, what you were going to wear. Pierre smiled. His fingers ghosted over your delicate folds - a reminder his hand was intact exactly where you had let it too only moments before - as he slowly nodded.

“I’m not going to tell you what we’re doing. You just need a bikini.” You almost didn’t hear his words because your brain was completely distracted by the shudder that passed through you from the action of his fingers. And just because he liked to play with you, he raised his fingers to his mouth. He enclosed his mouth around them, no doubt tasting your wet slick excitement on them, and moaned deeply because he knew exactly how pent up it got you when he teased you.

“Where are we going?” You asked Pierre (threatening to go in a huff) for the fourth and final time as you got into the chauffeur driven Mercedes parked right in front of the hotel lobby. He had been tight lipped when you tried to coax his plans out of him right after he told you you needed a bikini. You tried hard to get the answer from him and even used dirty tactics by holding up two different styles in front of him - the first option was an impossibly tiny thong that l barely covered anything at all; while the second was an extreme high cut that left little to the imagination, it didn’t surprise you when he went for the first option - and when that didn’t work you pouted, lowered your chin so your eyes were as big as they got when you were about to blow him, and asked again. Nothing. The last attempt was when you got in the elevator and tried to trick him into admitting his plans but he wiggled his finger back and forth and told you; “Patience is a virtue, doll”

So there you sat in the back of the car, pretending you were cool with not knowing the plans while Pierre’s hand ran up and down your bare thigh. He pretended like he wasn’t deliberately trying to torture you by pushing the white cotton hem of your dress further up your thigh with each stroke, but you had his number. You deliberately ignored him and gazed out of the window. His grip got harder to make you look at him but you continued freezing him out.

“If you don’t look at me I’ll make the rest of this journey very uncomfortable for you.” He had leaned across the car and purred the line straight into your ear. His body press harshly against your side but you couldn’t ignore the fact his hand had slid up to cup your clothed core. Your mouth dropped open but your head rolled back and your eyes went straight to his. “Good girl.” Was amused that he got what he wanted. Proud of himself even. He sat back - his hand retreating - and playfully shook his head. He knew you were being bratty because he hadn’t told you what was going on and was smug that he still held onto his secret.

The car ride lasted only a short while. Fifteen or so minutes and you had began to twig around 20 seconds ago when the car pulled into the marina. “Did you?” It had been a bit of a dream of yours to go on a yacht one day. A proper yacht, a big one. You had been on small sail boats, catamarans, gondola’s and the motorboats they have in Lake Como but never an actual yacht. “Is this a good surprise?” He bit his bottom lip awaiting your response. It was the best surprise. You couldn’t believe he remembered you talking about going on the types of vessels you were passing by. You didn’t think he paid attention to thought all the Below Deck references you dropped whenever you were near the sea. “The best!” You exclaimed while practically leaping across the car and squishing your lips on to his. Pierre was a romantic at heart. He had an animalistic raw sexual energy sure but deep down, he was the biggest, sweetest sentimental teddy bear.

You finally pulled off your little white dress when Cassandra (your chief stew) disappeared to make the pair of you some cocktails to enjoy on the main deck aft while you sunbathed. Pierre, clad in his now signature orange swim trunks, was already laying out on the sun deck. Every toned muscle on full display. He had been watching you as you removed the practically see through white dress and toss it aside. You watched him swallow and rolled his eyes at your teeny tiny bikini - the one he himself had chosen for you to wear. “I’m going to have a semi all day now I’ve seen you in that.” He groaned into your ear when he pulled you down to join him once you took his outstretched hand. “I know you will.” You winked and playfully but your lip “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that when you chose this one. I did give you a choice.” He laughed because he knew he had stitched himself up. “At least give me something to day dream about while I sunbathe, babe.” His eyes lowered to your equally as small bikini top. He was a butt guy through and through but Pierre couldn’t resist your perfectly proportioned boobs either. You glanced quickly around making sure none of the crew would catch you (or prying eyes from another boat) and pulled down the cups of the black bikini quickly. You counted to five before covering yourself back up again and Pierre burst out laughing out of his enjoyment at your little flash.

You felt little beads of sweat form on your chest as you baked in the hot Italian sun. The salty sea air served as a delicious fan to cool your scorching skin. Your head fell to the side and you took in the visage of your unbelievable boyfriend. His skin was glistening with sweat. The scattering of hair on his chest gleamed with it like they were minuscule little crystals. His cut abs were mere fodder for the v shaped guidelines that disappeared below the stretchy band of his swim shorts. Your mouth watered. How could it not? You had been hot for him all day. From the moment you woke up with the dull ache between your thighs - and sore adductors being a reminder of how good the sex really was. You let an unsteady breath escape your throat as you continued down and drunk in the rest of him. He had one leg propped up, his muscly tanned thighs on full display, and you felt the desperation for him kick in. Swiftly you glanced around again and checked the pair of you were alone. Naughtiness consumed you. You felt possessed by your urges.

Leaning over him you kissed his lips gently. He wasn’t sleeping but hadn’t been expecting your action. Even if it was a welcome one all the same. Your body stayed where it was as your finger danced along the waistband containing what you craved. “Baby….” You purred as you kissed the spot under his ear you knew he liked “there’s no one here, they’re all below deck.” You weren’t sure if that was entirely true but you had seen enough reality tv to know they would disappear pretty quickly if they happened to stumble upon anything. Pierre lowered his sunglasses before asking; “Is my good girl feeling a little risqué?” His mother tongue delighting in the pronunciation of the last word. You nodded and you saw all of the dirty thoughts rushing around Pierre’s brain all at once. “Do you think you can stay quiet?” His hand wrapped itself around your wrist - the one resting on his lower tummy while your fingers played with his happy trail - and guided it away. It collided with the mattress of the sun deck behind you and the pressure Pierre applied made it hard for you to move. His body rolled half way on top of yours. “Well?” He asked wanting a vocal confirmation “do you think you can stay quiet?” Normally Pierre wanted to pull every single loud pant, moan, gasp and sigh from you before he made you scream so now he wanted the opposite it was overwhelmingly thrilling. “I can try.” His eyes narrowed “I promise.”

Your word was enough for him. His hand left your wrist and instead came to the valley between your boobs. His fingers trailed down with delicate lightness. You knew better than to let your eyes follow the direction of his hand. He liked eye contact above all else so you kept staring straight back at him. Your mouth opened and you fought back the sigh that was about to leave it when his fingers dipped past the black neoprene fabric that clothed you. “How long have you been this wet?” He as good as hissed at you. “Since I woke up thinking about the way you fucked me last night.” A shaky yet pleased laugh left your boyfriends own parted lips. His forefinger slipped up and down your throbbing folds and you instinctively opened your legs wider for him. He spread the product of your excitement over sensitive creases before he settled on the bundle of nerves that he was by now, best friends with. You couldn’t help but inhale deeply as he made quick work of circling your responsive bud and drawing more and more quick breaths from you. In a normal, less public, setting you would by now be heavy breathing, moaning his name and gripping hold of whatever your hand could find.

“Pierre….” You whimpered quietly, in a broken, breathy tone that was completely carnal. He stepped up the pace and your hands went to his neck, needing to hold on to something as he worked you closer and closer to your high. “You’re so beautiful when you’re this close.” His words caressed your lips before his tongue delved in. He knew you were close (he always knew) when your hips raised up off the daybed underneath you. Desperately seeking more friction, more pressure from his fingers - which of course he gave you without hesitation. “Fuck, Pierre…” the smallest of pleas left you as his mouth swallowed your words.

And then you had to remind yourself to open your eyes for him as he made you climax, hard and sudden. Your body tensed as the high aroused your soul. Shockwave after shockwave came in unrelenting waves like the ocean below the yacht. Pierre kept going, his pace only slightly slowing, to make sure you rode every last inch of the orgasm he graced you with and only when your thighs stopped shaking did he dip his fingers down to the wetness his actions had produced. You saw the pride and smugness overtake him as he felt what he had done to you.

Then without a single shred of warning his hand left your bikini bottoms and the elastic material snapped back against your skin. “Can I get you both another drink?” Cassandra’s Italian laced voice came from behind us. “We’re fine, thank you” Pierre answers for the both of you. You stayed exactly where you were, clinging to him almost, as he did so. A heat spread up upon your cheeks and you realised you were holding your breath. “She’s gone.” He said quickly before erupting into laughter

“Oh my God!” You yelped and buried your face in his neck. There was no option that to feel instantly mortified. The girl couldn’t have been older than you nor Pierre and she had innocently approached you both after you had been doing something so utterly obscene. “Did she see us? I was quiet wasn’t I?” “Shhh….Mon Amour” he kisses you gently “don’t worry, I’ll just tip them a little extra.” He winked when he pulled back and playfully you hit him on his chest for being so typically well, Pierre, about things. “I’ll tip them EVEN MORE if I can fuck you right here on the deck.” You knew he wasn’t joking but you laughed none the less. “Ok” Your words caught his attention “but first, let’s take a dip…” his reply came swiftly; “Fine, as long as it’s the skinny type”

#Pierre Gasly #Pierre Gasly imagine #pierre gasly imagines #pierre gasly fanfic #Pierre Gasly one shot #pierre gasly fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #Pierre Gasly x reader #Pierre Gasly x you #Pierre Gasly x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfiction

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your shift ends and you’re ready to just be alone. It isn’t your first choice of work. In Sokovia, you had your own office and you worked from home on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Here, your resume can’t get you much else than the convenience store gig. Money is money. After all you’ve lost, it’s the only thing left in this world with any meaning.

You come up to the house. It’s a dour building with chipped brick and dark windows. One is covered on the inside with newspaper. The stairs to the second level creak with your steps and your keys jingle as you twist them in the lock. Everything is so loud.

Inside, the hallway is grim with shadows. You kick off your shoes before you enter and clutch the strap of your bag. You have a package of ramen left. You’ll choke that down and close your eyes.

As you come further down the hall, you slow down, odd shapes littered across the floor just outside your door. You get nearer and notice your door is open. How can that be? You always lock it. You double and even triple check.

You stop short of the mess of your meagre belongings across the floor. Three cans, carrots, beans, and pees are dented on their sides; your package of ramen is crushed, the seam split and spilling out broken noodles; your only other sweater is slashed down the front, the stitching unraveling all around the gash; and your bedding dragged off your bed and into the hallway. All that you have, not much at all, right there before you.

You look at the blackened doorway. You can see from there that the top hinge is broken, you can assume the lock is too. You don’t dare go any further as you fear someone lurking inside. You turn back to the door, contemplating whether to retreat or brave the unknown.

The lock flips back, grinding as the deadbolt slides back, and the door opens. You brace yourself as S enters. He looks perturbed even before he sees you. You press your lips together, staring at him dumbly. His eyes meet yours and his brows arch. Then his gaze falls behind you.

He reaches to flip on the light switch beside the door frame. He exhales, disappointment, and closes the door, locking it. He beckons you closer with two fingers. You’re too addled to refuse. You move towards him and sidle against the wall as he signals past you.

Almost militarily, he marches past you. He takes out his cellphone and shines the light ahead of him. His other fist balls as he nears your bedroom. He flashes the light inside as he comes to fill the doorway. You see the room glow before him as his eyes search.

“Dirty coward’s not here,” he snarls as he lowers his phone, thumbing off the light. “... find him.”

He pivots and slides his phone into his back pocket. He seems even bigger as he strides away. You gulp and follow him. 

“Um, sir, it’s–”

“Not okay,” he passes by the kitchen and through the shared front room, “that creep–”

“Really, it’s not– I don’t want to–”

“Thinks he can mess with you. I don’t like bullies,” he growls as he continues on briskly.

“Please, er, I don’t like confrontation. Or violence.”

“I’m not going to get violent,” he stops at the next hall and turns halfway, “just gonna scare him like he did you.”

“You don’t have to–”

“I do. You don’t get it but I do,” he turns back to his mission and stomps into the hall. 

You’re a few steps behind him as he gets to the furthest door. He hammers on it with his large fist. You cower and wring your hands. Your legs shake as the loud pounding rolls in your head like thunder; like buildings collapsing all around you as plumes of dust and smoke choke your lungs.

“What do you think you’re doing, you little worm?” S’s sneer fades as the sight of him grabbing the greasy man by the collar blurs to coloured orbs.

You don’t hear the man’s response or what comes next. You cover your ears and stagger back until your back meets the wall. The memories of your home falling down around you, of the streets littered with bodies, screams erupting from every corner, as horror rains from the sky.

A slam brings you back. You quiver and gasp as you look over. Your hands are clutched in tight fists against your chest, nails digging into your palms. S steps back on his heel as he glares at the closed door.

“Don’t think he’ll bother you ag…” his voice trails as he looks around, stopping short as he sees you towards the other end of the hall, “I… are you alright?”

You can’t speak or move. You just stand, blinking, trembling, as you stare back at him. He nears and you flinch out of his reach as he stretches a hand out. You force your arms down.

“I don’t like violence,” you whisper.

“I didn’t hurt him. Just scared him.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m sorry, I thought…” he pauses, recalculating as you turn your chin away. “I didn’t think. I’m really sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You shrug. You shake your head and drag your feet out of the hall. You cross the front room and go back down the next. You get down and start to gather up what you can salvage. The rest you’ll sweep into the dustpan.

“What are you going to do? Door’s broken.”

You stand up with the dented cans and your pillow. “Landlord.”

“She’ll have to call someone. She won’t answer her phone either. Too late.”

“What else can I do?” You mumble and go into your room.

You wade around the darkness cautiously but the lamp isn’t where it should be. You kick it with your foot. The overhead light doesn’t work. The space is illuminated by something else. You look at the star of light in the doorway, S’s silhouette behind it as he shines his phone inward.

You peer around. The smell of piss roils off the mattress. You can’t believe it. Why would he do that? To scare you? Why? You were nice. Except you didn’t let him in last night. The memory makes you shudder.

“Real piece of work. Hopefully Muriel finally evicts him,” S says, “I’ll vouch that it was him too.”

You don’t say anything. It seems like fate is against you. You can’t even have this shitty room.

“Tell you what, you can have my room for the night. I’ll sleep on the couch. The others don’t bother me.”

You hang your head, “I can’t…”

“Well, I can’t let you stay in here. Or out on the couch. If you won’t take it, I’ll just have to sleep outside your door.”

You roll your eyes, “why?”

He sniffs and lets out a long breath, “that’s what decent people do. They help each other.”

You’re exhausted and mortified and the smell of urine is making you sick. You don’t have the energy to argue. Not with this man. Just like the shake, you won’t win.

“Just the night,” you agree, “I’ll pay you for it–”

“I won’t take the money.”

“Please,” you beg.

“Keep your money,” he insists, “I have extra sheets. I’ll get those changed.”

You nod and stay in the darkness. You hug your possessions glumly, push your lip in and out as you wallow. You just need one good thing. Just one.

“How was it? The strawberry?” He lingers just outside the door as he shuts the light off, “I never tried it.”

You swallow, “a bit too sweet.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the lost #nomad!steve #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america

[golbrocklovely]

mr. fantastic // sam golbach

A/N: first off, sorry this is getting posted so late. had to make some last minute revisions. so, for this one and colby's fic later on, i need to give some slight context. basically in both of these, they are AUs were snc are corrupt ppl, or have a bit of a corruption aspect to their personalities. some of these fics are/can be seen as dark, so i totally get if you don't feel comfortable reading it. just give a good look over of the trigger warnings and see how you feel. if you do enjoy it, please lmk what you think. also this fic is very vaguely based off the boys, the tv show/comic book series. sam is a smidge (and i mean a very tiny amount) reminiscent of homelander. do with that information as you will. happy haunting!

prompt: everyone around you loves sam, or as he's commonly known as - mr. fantastic. but you can see right through his facade. but when he starts winning over your friends, you know something is going on, and it's not good. || AU!superhero!sam x fem!reader

trigger warning: SMUT, enemies-to-lovers, you used to have a crush on sam in high school and now he's a superhero, superhero!sam, corrupt!sam, twist ending, i would say a hint of dubcon (but y/n never says no or stop, but just to be on the safe side i'm letting yall know), manipulation via powers and magical handcuffs (it will make sense in the story lol), hate fucking/rough sex, unprotective sex, cursing, mentions of: babygirl, slut, good girl, my girl, baby, degrading language

word count: 6769

I couldn't stand him, or anyone else like him. Everyone praised the ground he walked on, but me? Every time I saw him, he made me sick to my stomach.

Well, maybe not sick. But I did hate seeing his dumb, stupid face.

You would think with superheroes becoming known to the public, life would get easier. Crime would go down, more criminals would be off the streets, and the overall quality of life would skyrocket. But that just wasn't factually accurate. Did you know in my city alone, the crime rate has gone up 25% since last year? And what exactly are the superheroes doing about it? Causing more destruction and chaos. I swear, bad things only truly started happening once they came out to the public all those years ago.

The only saving grace I had in my life was that I wasn't alone in my feelings towards superheroes. I had my two best friends, Macie and Rachel, and they both felt the same way I did. Especially towards the best-known superhero in our city, Mr. Fantastic. His real name was Sam Golbach, and I hated him deeply.

He and I had history, you could say. We both went to the same high school. We were both nerdy, and just overall losers. We graduated and moved away to the same city, and then a couple years ago, all of a sudden, he is shown on the news as the newest superhero to save us. It made no sense to me because I remember him from high school. He never had powers. And there's no way that he, the guy that got shoved into lockers and made fun of for being a band nerd, would have tolerated being bullied like that if his powers were super strength and flight. And not only that, but the way the news describes his upbringing: it's all a lie! They paint him to be this all-American boy. They say he was a jock and just a bit shy for most of his life until finally growing into his powers at 19. Most superheroes get their powers by 16, so that alone should be telling that something is off with him. But no. Everyone just believes the lies he tells them. And that is why I hate him.

I may also hate him because I had a huge crush on him in high school and he never gave me the time of day. But I mostly hate him for all of the superhero stuff, not the high school bullshit.

Mostly.

It was like any other normal Tuesday in our office. Our manager, Sally, would bring in donuts, George would make some comment about the week moving too slowly, and around ten o'clock we would all have to stop working to watch the daily superhero news. It was mandatory in our office, as our jobs revolved around fixing superheroes’ fuck ups.

It was almost ten, and we all sat around the flatscreen hanging in the middle of one of our bigger conference rooms, waiting for the news to begin. I glanced around, noticing that Rachel wasn't in. I furrowed my brow, leaning towards Macie.

"Have you seen Rach?" I asked.

She shrugged, "No but I talked to her last night and she seemed fine. Maybe she's just running late or is taking a half day."

I hummed, "Maybe..."

The news turned on loudly, quieting everyone in the office. I leaned back in my chair, sighing deeply. God, please let today be a normal, boring news day.

"Hello everyone, thank you all for coming out this morning," the police commissioner nodded his head, looking at the audience that had formed outside of the precinct. "As always, we like to start with the positives and then move onto the, uh, wreckage. Please hold all questions until the end of the press conference. And now, I pass the stand to Mr. Fantastic."

A bunch of people clapped in the office, some wooing lowly. I grimaced, rolling my eyes the moment he popped on screen.

"Good morning, hello. Oh no need for cheering, thank you. You're too kind," He smiled brightly, shushing the crowd politely. "First, like I always say during these press conferences, thank you for letting me protect this city. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I couldn't protect the lovely citizens of this place."

"You'd probably be working at a Burger King by now." I mumbled, getting close to Macie. She snickered, gazing back at the screen.

"So last night was eventful, like most nights here. I was able to stop two car jackings, and finally put an end to the mask thief that's been vandalizing all of the inner city's school buses. You can all be glad that today, your kids are riding on safe, clean transit." Sam pointed, giving his trademark wink and smile.

I groaned, lulling my head back in the chair. Could this day get any more boring?

"I also have some fantastic news to share with you all," He chuckled, the crowd following suit. "I saved a special young woman from a purse nabbing and possible assault last night around 2:30. Now as you all know, I know many of the people I save like to remain anonymous, but this one really wanted to let you all know how she felt. And of course, I just can't say no to any of you. So please, allow me to give her the floor." He let out another laugh, backing away from the mic. I glanced at the clock, realizing only five minutes had passed. God must have been punishing me, specifically.

Suddenly, everyone in the room gasped, Macie being the loudest. She slapped my leg, pointing at the tv. I turned and my eyes widened at the sight. Rachel, with tears welling up in her eyes, stood at the podium, smiling brightly. "Thank you all. I just wanted to say that Mr. Fantastic," she turned to him giving him a sensual gaze, "Sam, is one of the best superheroes around. This man saved my life, and I couldn't be more grateful for him. He is amazing and so handsome, and this city should be thankful to have a man like him. I love you, Sam. Thank you so much."

She reached over, giving him a huge hug. He accepted her embrace, allowing her to run her hands almost up and down his body too many times.

My mouth dropped open, unable to comprehend what I was watching. Rachel hated Sam just as much as I did. Literally last week she wished a car would fall out of the sky and squish him because he held up her commute stopping a supervillain from breaking out of the state prison. And now she was on tv, basically ready to suck his dick, because he saved her!

Macie and I looked at each other, knowing we needed to talk to Rach as soon as possible. I sent Rach a quick text, telling her to meet us at our usual lunch spot.

~~~~

My eyes narrowed at Rachel, her smile irritating me. "Please, repeat the story one more time for me."

"Okay, if I must," she giggled. "Last night I went to the corner store because I was craving some ice cream. As I was walking home, a man rushed me and stole my purse. I tried to chase after him but couldn't catch him. He ran across the street, and out of the shadows... there was Sam. He swooped in, grabbed the man, roughed him up, and got my purse back to me. God, it was seriously so hot to see him in action like that."

Rach lightly fanned herself, and I had to hold back my vomit.

"So, he saved you, gave you your purse back. And then what?" Macie questioned.

She continued, "He walked me home and... I woke up this morning knowing I had to thank him for saving my life. So on my way to work, I stopped by the police station, saw him and begged him to let me speak at the conference."

I blinked hard, "He didn't save your life. You weren't threatened. Some random dude just stole your purse."

She pouted, "Yeah, but he saved me so much hassle of having to call my credit card companies and tell them to shut everything off and having to get a new I.D.-"

I jumped in, "I get that, and I'm not trying to downplay it, but like.... last week you wanted a car to fall out of the sky on top of him."

"And the week before that we betted on the subway crushing him between the tracks during that pipe burst. What's changed?" Macie argued, taking a sip of her coffee.

"He saved me," she stated plainly, with a soft smile. "You know, I think we've been so focused on this idea of him that I think if we got to really know him, we would know he's a great guy."

"Have you forgotten that he is lying to the public about his upbringing and reputation? Or the fact any time he saves someone, there is destruction in his wake that our company has to clean up, causing our jobs to be more difficult?" I scowled at her, unable to hold back.

She rolled her eyes hard, "Oh, come off it, Y/N. The only reason you care about that is because he rejected you in high school and you're too hung up on it."

"Excuse me?" I deadpanned.

Rach crossed her arms defiantly. "You heard me. I will no longer be a part of your rain-on-Sam parade. He is an amazing man. And a great superhero."

"Even if any of that were true, you gotta admit that this 180 you're doing is weird. You fucking hated him last night." Macie argued.

"And now I want to marry him." Rach smirked.

My eyes widened, "What the fuck did you just say?"

"If you want me to be honest, I'll say it. I think he is the man of my dreams and everything I could hope for in a partner. I want him, and I hope he'll have me." She turned to Macie, almost giggling, "I slipped him my number at the conference."

"You can't be fucking serious, Rach." I groaned.

"I just know he’s great in the bedroom..." Rach thought out loud.

"Oh... so you've completely lost it. Good to know." I remarked, taking a quick sip of my coffee.

"Don't be jealous of our love. Maybe one day he'll save you too." She quipped.

I laughed sarcastically, "I would rather get crushed by a car, thanks."

~~~~

Two weeks had passed since Rach's incident with Sam. We hadn't been talking to one another all that much, just casual conversation in passing. Maybe she was right to some extent. Maybe I was holding onto this hatred for Sam just because he didn't care about my existence back when we were kids. I should let it go, and stop being such a hater.

At least, I thought that way, until this morning.

I had tunnel vision as I glared at the tv, unable to peel my eyes away as I watched the news. Another press conference. Another day of kissing Sam's ass. But this time, he again introduced another woman that wanted to thank him publicly. And this time... it was Macie.

Her spiel was the same, her mannerisms almost identical to Rach's speech. I watched, my mouth a gaped, as she thanked Sam profusely for saving her from the purse nabber. She leaned up and kissed his cheek multiple times, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt desperately.

You've got to be fucking kidding me. There's no way that this was actually happening. Something fishy was going on, and it had everything to do with Sam. I fucking knew he was trouble. I just needed to get proof.

I met with Macie alone at our usual spot. I begged her to tell me everything in detail, and her story was eerily similar to Rachel's.

"So a guy stole your purse as you left some club, Sam got it back to you, walked you home, and then you woke up today knowing you had to tell the world how great he is." I reiterated her story, annoyed.

"Exactly. He really is truly a fantastic guy." She snorted, rolling her eyes, "Oh my God, sorry. Such a bad pun."

"Yeah... that." I blinked, holding in my rage. "So, you don't happen to feel the same way as Rach, tho, right? Like... you're not in love with him?"

She thought about it for a moment, "I do think he's amazing, and I would love to be married to him... So I guess you could say yeah. I am in love. Am I blushing?"

I sighed deeply, "What exactly changed? I know he saved you, or your purse, and that's great. I'm so happy he did that. But what exactly made you wake up today and feel this need to wish to have his children?"

"I don't know. It's like... this light just switched off in my head. I just feel that deep down in my soul, I want to be his. And I really hope he'll have me." She smiled dreamily.

Hearing her say almost the exact same thing as Rach made my composure crack. "Do you hear yourself? You want to be his?! He is a douchey superhero who makes our jobs harder, and not to mention barely does anything to actually help the crime rate in this city! He got you your purse back, and all of sudden you want to... be his? You can't be serious."

She shook her head, glaring. "You know, I think Rach was right. You are jealous of the love he and I share, all because he rejected you."

"He didn't even reject me! He didn't know I existed! There's a difference," I took a breath, trying to calm down. "You don't think it's odd that all of sudden you want to have his children? You don't even want to have kids."

Macie ignored me, continuing her argument. "Either way, you come across really bitter and I hope if he comes to save you, you change your attitude. To be held in his arms would be a dream come true."

She stood up dramatically, leaving the restaurant in a huff.

~~~~

After the shitty month I had, I needed to buy some alcohol to drink my troubles away. Rach and Macie hadn't talked to me since their "savings", so work had become even more tedious and annoying. And now, it seemed like I was the only one in the office that didn't like Sam. Morale had really gone up once he saved two of our coworkers, and I had to quietly sit there, pretending I did despise the man or the situation as a whole.

As I walked home from the liquor store, I noticed how quiet the streets had become as I got closer to my apartment. It was like anyone that was out on the street moments ago disappeared. There were sirens off in the distance and the light rumble of the subway underneath the streets. The low buzz of the street light above me caught my eye, and as I looked up, the light flickered. A chill ran up my spine suddenly.

Okay, maybe I was just freaking myself out for no reason.

A body slammed into mine from behind, almost knocking me flat on the ground. A man wrestled my bag out of my hand, sprinting off down the street.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" I screamed. I began to chase after him, my speed not even remotely catching up to him.

My thoughts swirled of all the things I had in that bag. My wallet, my phone, and my key to get into my apartment. I groaned loudly, annoyed.

Where the fuck were any of the superheroes when you needed them?

The man ducked into an alleyway, a loud crash coming from there. I ran to where he was, finding him passed out in the street. His nose had blood running down it, like someone punched him. My purse was nowhere in sight.

"Are you looking for this?" A voice said from behind me.

I spun on my heels, coming face-to-face with Mr. Fantastic himself, Sam.

I opened my mouth to speak but was unable to say anything. I had so much I wanted to say, but couldn't decide on what.

"No need to be shocked, miss. I know, superheroes are a lot to take in." He smiled softly.

Hearing his voice brought me out of my stupor. "That's not why I'm shocked. You kinda just... came out of nowhere."

His face dropped, surprised by my tone. "Oh..."

We stood there awkwardly for a moment, both unsure what to say next.

He reached out, my purse in his hand. "Um, here you go, Miss...?"

"Y/N. My name is Y/N." I stated.

"What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl." He complimented me.

"Thanks, I guess," I mumbled. "And thank you for getting my purse back. It means a lot."

"It's all in a day's work. Or night's technically." His well-known laugh escaped his lips.

I blinked, slowly walking away from him, "Yeah.... Anyway, I gotta get back home. It's late, and I wanna get drunk."

"Oh, well, why don't I walk you home?" He asked, keeping in step with me.

"I don't think there's any need to." I argued politely.

"No, let me. It's clearly unsafe on these streets." Sam responded.

"Well, you just stopped the purse nabber... again. For the third time. Maybe this time he can finally get arrested." I smiled bitterly, trying not to sound it.

"The police have already been called and they are on their way. So, why don't I walk you home?" He stopped in front of me, looking me in the eyes genuinely. "I will be worried if I don't make sure you get there safely."

I exhaled, "...Okay, fine."

I walked home silently, not wanting to speak to Sam. He stepped in time with me, never speaking. I almost forgot he was with me, until he cleared his throat once or twice.

I pointed up at my building, pulling my keys out to go inside, "Well, we're here. Thanks for walking me home, I gotta get upstairs and get to drinking. So, goodbye."

"Wait, before you go up, can I ask you something?" He queried.

I squeezed my eyes shut, opening them again and turning back to him. "Sure, I guess."

He crossed his arms, cocking his head. "How did you know I stopped the purse nabber before? Those were such minor crimes I solved; I'm surprised anyone would remember them."

"Well, you didn't really solve the crime since clearly the man never got put away." I retorted; my voice sickeningly sweet.

Sam raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to answer his previous question.

"My friends were the two you saved." I deadpanned.

"Oh really, what a small world." He pursed his lips in thought, "Their names were... Rachel and Macie, correct?"

"Yep, them exactly." I nodded.

"They were kinda like you, in a way." He mentioned.

I furrowed my brow, "What do you mean by that?"

His tone shifted. It was no longer the public persona one he used on the news. Now, it was more... casual. Equally as snarky as mine. "They too didn't like me. Or were a little... snippy with me."

Oh, well if you wanna play like that... "Yeah, and weirdly now, they want your babies."

He faux-gasped. "What a strange turn of events."

"I guess you changed their minds. How exactly did you do that?" I glared at him, accusatory.

"My charming personality." He smirked.

"Right." I jeered.

"I mean, if you really want to know the answer, let me into your apartment," his voice was almost sultry, his eyes mischievous. "Let me have one drink with you."

I narrowed my gaze at him, blinking slowly. "You're serious."

"100%. But I mean, if you don't want to know, then I can just leave." He pointed to the street, backing away.

"No, you can come up." I felt this overwhelming sensation that I had made a grave mistake, but I continued. "But if for even a second you make me uncomfortable, I have every right to resend your invitation."

"You know I'm not a vampire, right?" Sam snickered. "I'll respect your wishes regardless, but you can't just kick me out that easily."

"Okay fine, if you don't get out of my house when I say so, I'll stab you. Got it?" I grinned crazily.

He raised an eyebrow playfully, "Feisty... Sure, I hear you loud and clear."

We walked up to my place, my eyes catching his form out of the corner of my eye. What the hell was I even doing? Why was I inviting this asshole to my apartment?

I mean, I know why. But God, I just hope this ends quickly.

I cleared my throat as we both stepped in. Sam glanced around my apartment, giving a soft whistle. "Fan-cy."

I rolled my eyes, knowing he was joking. "Well, some of us aren't government paid employees with apartments in skyrises."

"You are a very defensive person. Do you always feel like you're being attacked, or is that just your general tone with me?" He shot back.

"I guess you just bring it out of me." I popped the bottle of whiskey open, the sound reverberating as I smiled bitterly. I poured two cups, dropping a cube into both.

"You're into whiskey, huh?" He gave me a quick once over, "That's kinda sexy."

"No one asked." I raised my glass, "Cheers."

"To new beginnings." He toasted.

"Sure..." I took a long sip, the whiskey burning a little extra hard.

He let out a light cough. "Hooo, that's has a kick."

"So, are you gonna tell me how or why my friends all of sudden started liking you or not?" I asked coldly.

"You don't mess around." He chuckled.

"I only invited you up here for that reason." I replied honestly.

"It wasn't to sleep with me?" He hummed, "I'm surprised."

"I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth." I spat.

"Well, thank God I'm not." He quipped.

I placed my hands on my hips, annoyed. "So... the reason?"

Sam walked over to my living room, taking in everything. His eyes scanned my bookshelves, stopping suddenly. "Hey, how do you have this?"

I glanced up at the ceiling, hoping God could feel my glare from down here. "Have what?"

He pulled a book out, its green and white cover I knew all too well. "This yearbook. This is the school I went to, the year I graduated."

My heart dropped and I raced over to him, "Hey that's mine!"

He flew across the room easily, flipping through the book. "God, I haven't seen this in so long. But again, how did you get this?"

"Give it back to me." I demanded, stomping up to him.

"Wait a second. Is this you?" He opened up to a page with my high school portrait, little writings around it from friends of mine from back then.

I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks, making me speechless. I yanked the book out of his hands, going back to the bookshelf.

"You went to my high school. Wait, Y/N...." He gasped suddenly, "I remember you! Wow, you got a lot hotter."

"Thanks. Can't say the same for you." I grunted, hating how warm my face felt.

He spun me around, his eyes staring into mine. "Now, there's no need to lie to me."

"You don't understand personal space, do you?" I bitched, trying to push him back.

He barely moved; his eyes unchanging. "Am I not allowed to be close to you? Do I make you nervous or something?"

"No, I just hate your presence." I did my best to hide the shakiness in my voice, my body hitting the edge of my window and radiator.

"Strangely, you are the only woman that's like that." He jested, "Is it because you're hiding a crush or some-"

"No!" I cleared my throat, huffing. "No. I don't have a crush on you."

For a second it looked like he moved, his face holding back a smile. "Can you say that again for me?"

"I definitely have a crush on you." I breathed, my brain feeling like it buffered for a second. Why the fuck did I just say that?

He backed away, cocking his head. "Oh you do? Glad you could admit it."

"I wasn't admitting anything. I was just joking, and the joke is that I've had feelings for you since high school." I gasped, "What the fuck?!"

He teased, "I'm so happy you feel comfortable telling me the truth."

"Why am I saying this?" I whispered to myself.

He pointed down to my hand, "It probably has something to do with the handcuffs I put on you."

"Wha-?" I glanced down, and sure enough one of my wrists was handcuffed to the radiator by my window.

"You gotta be a bit more observant than that." He laughed sincerely, lounging on my couch.

I let out a ragged breath, pissed. "How the fuck did you-"

"Those handcuffs are really only meant to be used by me on criminals, that way they confess. But sometimes I like to use it for more..." He gazed at me longingly, "spicier reasons."

"You're a fucking creep." I hissed.

"And you're into it." He snapped.

"Yes I am." Oh my God...

He bit his lip, pleased at my answer. "So, your friends actually told me, without needing the handcuffs B-T-W, that you had a crush on me since high school. And now seeing you, I remember who you are. You were just as nerdy as me."

"Oh, at least you're admitting that now. Why, because there's no cameras around to lie to?" I sassed, pulling at the handcuffs.

"Hey, it's not a lie that I tell. I just... fib a bit." He settled into my couch, fluffing up one of the pillows, "I did play sports, so that would qualify me as a jock."

I scoffed, "Ping-pong is barely a sport."

"Says you," he grumbled. "But that can't be the only reason you hate me slash love me."

"I don't love you." I stated honestly.

"Oh, but you will," Sam uttered lowly. “You still didn't answer my question though. So, is it really just the crush bullshit?"

"No. It's not just that," I started. "You lied, not only about your upbringing. But your powers. You didn't have them in high school. You got bullied just as much as me, if not more so. If you had super strength, you would have kicked Joe's shins in."

He chuckled mockingly. "God, are you, like, obsessed with me? How do you know so much?"

"Joe bullied me too, dumbass. I'm not obsessed with you, I just don't understand you at all. And I know you're a liar. And I try to use those reasons to hide the feelings I still have," I groaned, pulling at the handcuffs more. "Jesus Christ get these handcuffs off!"

"Not yet," Sam commented. "So... you are right. I do lie, in a lot of ways, to the general public. Sometimes I throw in extra crimes I 'solved' during the night, when usually I'm just chilling at the 24-hour Taco Bell."

I gaped, "I fucking knew it!"

He sat up, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Jokes on you, it's actually the 24-hour Wendys."

"Why do you lie? People love you. There's no need to pretend." I argued.

"Ahh, but there is. I have a lot riding on me to be one of the best superheroes around." He remarked.

I hid my eye roll. "Like what?”

"You're right about one thing. I didn't have superpowers in high school. I wasn't born a superhero. When we graduated, an up-and-coming bio-tech company, Malusvir, reached out to random people asking if they wanted to be part of a study for $50k. I thought, I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, might as well go see what's up. Go be a guinea pig for some money." Sam shook his head, his anger brewing, "Come to find out, they were testing out if they could grow superheroes."

"What the fuck?" I squeaked.

"I was injected a whole lot of times with... something. And while I was basically comatose for months, all of a sudden, superheroes started bursting on the scene. The government was finally letting them out of the bag, and they were allowing all heroes to sign up to become part of the Superheroes Task Force." Sam stood up, starting to pace. "When I awoke, I was one of the only ones that survived the trial run. This company ended up getting bought out by the government, and they covered it up by going bankrupt and saying they were making chemical weapons, which isn't technically wrong."

"Does the government know about you being... home grown?" I inquired.

"No. The bio-tech company used an alias for all of us, so no one found out. And the secrets disappeared with the CEO when he flew out of the country back to his home country and mysteriously died. I'm pretty sure he's just hiding. Or was killed for what he knew." He informed, his eyes almost glazing over.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" I questioned, confused.

"Because no one will believe you." He replied softly, his voice taking me back. Then, he switched back into his cocky self. "So... that's my story. But back to you, how long were you into me?"

"Since junior year." I confessed.

"You liked 17-year-old me?" He winced, "Oof, now that's a choice."

"So was that haircut." I quipped lightheartedly.

He leaned towards me, whispering. "And those cargo shorts."

I snickered, and he smiled genuinely for the first time.

A silence fell over us for a moment, then he looked up at me and asked nonchalantly. "So... do you wanna fuck?"

I choked, "What?"

"Is it really that surprising of a question? You're into me, and I find you hot," his eyes snaked down my body. "Especially handcuffed."

I stammered, "I-I don't-"

"Look, if you don't want to, understandable. I am a bit of a dick. But let me put it to you this way, have sex with me and get all that anger out that you feel towards me." He stepped closer to me, teasingly. "A good hate fucking helps out everyone involved, really."

I breathed, "You're insane."

"Or, if you have sex with me, and I'm bad... you can brag to your friends that I suck." He offered.

I sucked in a deep breath, already knowing my answer. "You raise a good point there."

"So, will you let me make you feel good or no?" He wrapped an arm around me tightly, bringing his face close. Our bodies were pressed together, my heart speeding up. "Do you wanna fuck me or not?"

"Yes I do." I admitted.

"See, and I didn't have to keep the handcuffs on you for you to tell the truth." He raised up his hand showing the cuffs, smirking.

I scoffed, shoving him back. "You are such a dick."

"And you love every second of it." He taunted, back up to the couch.

"I do, I can't lie." I bit my lip, staring at his mouth.

He sat down, pulling me towards him. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Fuck me like you hate me."

I straddled his lap, grinding down on him as our mouths connected. He shoved his tongue into my mouth, a moan falling from my lips. He gripped my ass, pushing me down more onto his lap. I yanked on his hair, digging my nails into his scalp and chest.

He winced, chuckling darkly as he pulled away from our kiss. "Oh you like it rough, baby?"

"Yeah." I smirked.

"Well good," he bunched up my shirt, tearing it away from my body suddenly. The ripping fabric fell apart in his hands and he chuckled darkly. I gasped loudly, a pleasurable chill running down my spine. "Me too."

I whined, "I liked that shirt."

"I don't care." He slammed his lips back onto mine quickly, taking my breath away. He nibbled on my lip, our teeth clashing together from the intensity of the kiss. I grinded myself against his growing bulge, my wet panties pressing into my sex achingly. I hadn't even realized how hot and bothered he had made me, but I wasn't complaining. I needed this, and clearly so did he.

We removed our clothes desperately, needing each other. He sat back against my couch, gazing up at me hungrily.

"God, your body is killing me." He grunted, "Give it to me."

I settled back down onto his lap, my sex grazing his leaking cock. Our breaths stifled, hitching at the feeling of our bodies being so close and so bare. I lined up my hips, slowly taking in every inch of his dick.

Breathy moans fell from my lips, his groans almost covering up my sounds. Once he was completely inside of me, we stared into each other's eyes intensely.

He began moving his hips, his eyes never leaving mine. "How's it feel, baby? Riding the dick of someone you hate."

"I love it." I whimpered.

"Of course you do. You take me so well, babygirl." He grinned.

I grimaced, "Ew, don't call me that."

"I'll call you whatever I want to, and you'll enjoy every second of it." He slapped my ass hard, pushing into me harder, "Won't you?"

"Yeah, I will." I laughed, moving up and down on his cock, "Fuck, you are so annoying."

His voice was raspy as he glared at me, "Oh, I am? Well, you ain't any better."

I snickered, "Nice comeback, nerd."

He grabbed my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. He pounded into me faster, "Nice cunt, slut. Take this dick."

"Oh my God, fuck yes Sam!" I whined.

I bounced up and down on his cock, his hips meeting with mine, making him go deeper and deeper each time. Sweat slid down our bodies, the room rising in temperature from our movements.

His lips brushed against my ear, nibbling along my neck. "Baby, baby, do you wanna know something? I forgot to tell you something."

I groaned, displeased. "Do you know how to not fucking talk?"

"But babygirl, I think this is really important. You'll want to hear it." He hummed, his thrusts stopping.

"What? What is it?" I slowed my hips, my pussy quivering around him, needing more.

He let out a breathy laugh, pushing my hair out of my face. "So, I forgot one major detail when I told you about the bio-tech company that made me the way I am."

I rolled my eyes, not interested in this conversation at all, "What did you forget to tell me?"

"Malusvir..." The lights behind Sam's eyes dimmed, his face dropping. "They weren't making superheroes."

My heart skipped a beat, my eyes fluttering, "What do you me-"

His hand wrapped around my throat quickly, squeezing tightly. My breath hitched, and Sam began to pound into me again, his hips picking back up the pace they were at once before.

"You are such a silly, dumb girl. Your friends were just as dumb as you. Maybe even dumber." His almost sinister gaze sent shivers of pleasure down my spine as his grip tightened.

I held onto his shoulders, my heart rate picking up as he made it harder to breathe. "S-Sam, fuck."

"You wanna know how I got your friends to fall in love with me?" He pressed his mouth against my ear, whispering harshly. "I fucked them. Just like I'm fucking you. All three of you were so desperate and needy for this dick. But you? God, you're so much sexier."

I shook my head, "You're fucking joking..."

"No, I'm not. And yet, even as I tell you this, you're still riding me." Sam smirked, growling, "God, aren't you pathetic? Your crush runs real deep. Just like my cock."

"Fuck you." I spat.

"Fuck you right back." He leaned in again, biting my earlobe and neck. "I could literally feel you squeeze around me when I called you pathetic. Don't pretend you don't like this."

I tried ignoring him, but he was right. My body reacted to him saying it again, throbbing around him. "How did you make them-"

"Love me? Pheromones, mostly. Thanks to all of those..." His eyes closed tightly as he got lost in thought. "Injections. Fuuuck. God, you make it hard to think sweetheart."

He had to be lying. He had to be fucking with me. "So they fucked you, and that made them fall in love with you? But Rach said-"

“I fucked them but made it so they can't tell anyone. They remember it, but will never say a word. No one would believe them anyway." He winked, releasing his hand from my neck and sliding it down my body to my clit. "Oh baby, you are in for a world of change once you come. Or once I come inside of you."

"S-Shut up Sam. Shit, fuck yeah..." I let out a breathy moan, my hips stuttering. His cock was hitting the right spot repeatedly, his thumb rubbing my clit gently, making it hard to do anything but whine. "You're just fucking with me."

"Believe what you want to, Y/N. In the end, you're gonna be mine." His lustful blue eyes bore into mine, his voice husky as he continued fucking me. "My girl to use whenever I want to. My girl that gets love drunk on my cock. Aren't you excited for that? Don't you want that? To be my little plaything forever?"

"Yeaahhh," I mewled. My eyes widened, realizing what I said. "Fuck, h-how did you-"

"It's already happening. You can't stop it now. But you don't want to, either. Take this dick more and more, slut." He gripped my hips, slamming me down onto him over and over again. My brain grew quiet, mindless. All I could think of was his leaking cock deep within me and needing him to come inside of me. I needed his come. I needed him.

"Aww, baby. You're in love, aren't you? You love me, don't you?" He mocked, a feign innocent smile on his face.

I tried shaking my head. I was not in love with him. But my body didn't listen to me anymore.

I nodded my head, unable to stop myself. My heart surged, a wave of adoration washing over me as I took in Sam's face. God, he was so handsome, even more so when he was fucking me. I cried out in pleasure, my hips bucking hastily.

He bit his lip, his head falling back against the couch. "Good girl. You're my good girl. Forever."

"Forever." I repeated, my heart soaring.

"Who's are you? Tell me." He ordered, his eyes staring into mine.

"Yours." I whined wantonly.

He sped up his actions, fucking me faster and deeper. "Say it again."

Borderline sobbing, I stuttered out, "I'mmmm youuurss."

"Again!" He yelled, rubbing my clit harder.

"I'm yours, Sam!" I panted, bouncing on his dick as fast as I could.

"That's it, baby. You're so close. Get close for me!" He shouted darkly.

I begged desperately, my body overwhelmed, "Fuck Sam, please! Let me come! I fucking need it! I need you."

"That's right babygirl." He grabbed my neck again, growling, "Fucking come! Come for me!"

I exploded in ecstasy, my brain turning off as I came the hardest I ever had before. My body took over, my hips rutting against Sam's. My nails dug into his arm and shoulder, holding onto him for dear life as I rode him through my orgasm. Suddenly, he came inside of me, his groans thundering off the walls of my apartment. His hips bucked into me with abandon, pounding me once more before dropping back down onto the couch. I felt his cum leak out of my cunt, sliding down my inner thigh. Our bodies collapsed against one another, completely spent.

As I passed out, the last thing I heard was a small whisper that escaped his lips. "Mine."

#sam golbach #sam golbach fic #sam golbach fanfic #sam golbach fanfiction #sam golbach oneshot #sam golbach one shot #sam golbach smut #sam golbach x reader #golbrocklovely's 13 nights of halloween

[markliving]

MISS YOU

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader, platonic!megumi x platonic!reader synopse: After his relationship with you ends, Gojo meets you again in the middle of a mission, where he didn't expect to see you there, and rescues you, ending with a somewhat revealing conversation. warnings: exes to lovers, drama, fluff, a little of angst, happy ending. word count: 2499

Gojo Satoru's eyes were wide as he recognized the person walking a few meters in front of him. It had to be her, or else he was freaking out to the point of seeing his ex, who he hadn't seen in a few years and who he was still in love with, body and soul. Yes, the strongest sorcerer in the Jujutsu world was still in love with his ex, a normal person, with no powers, with no knowledge of the world in which Satoru lived. This last fact, which then, was the trigger for a painful ending for both of them.

Yuuji looked at his teacher in doubt, they had stopped suddenly, just like that. He moved his gaze forward, in the same direction Gojo was looking, in search of what the other was looking for, but he didn't find anyone he knew.

“Sensei…” Yuuji thought about asking something, but Gojo quickly cut him off.

“Come on, Nobara and Megumi must be delirious by now.”

Satoru had a thousand thoughts circulating through his mind at the exact moment they started walking again. He wishes had the courage, the lack of shame in the face, to go to the girl you saw seconds ago and act as if nothing had happened. But how would he go up to the woman and say: “Hi, how are you? It's been a long time since we've seen each other.” nonetheless, at that moment there, not even he could say what had happened to him.

When they arrived at the mission location, where Megumi and Nobara were waiting for them, the girl was the first to realize that something wrong had happened. Gojo had his hands in his pocket and had whispered “let's get this over with” to the three, and for those ones who already knew the teacher they had very well, where most of the time he left the three of them to deal with the curses alone, such words and posture were alarming.

“Are you okay?” asked Nobara, receiving a yes from the oldest, who began walking towards the abandoned building.

“He saw a woman when we were coming, and he's been like that ever since” commented Yuuji.

“A woman?” This time it was Megumi who asked. The gears of his brain tried to associate each woman he found in the apartment he shared withJoy, After all, he was her guardian, and only one woman appeared in his mind, the only one who really seemed to love the white-haired asshole.

The other boy nodded in agreement.

“Are you going to make small talk there or what?” They heard Satoru's voice, who was still waiting for them.

The second time Gojo saw the mysterious woman was in the presence of Megumi. Gojo and his need for sugar caused the two of them to be in that situation at first.

It was still a Tuesday, and it seemed that Megumi was two steps away from killing the man next to him. Satoru had forgotten to restock the cupboards and fridge, and when they saw, there was nothing edible enough for them to eat in the morning. He could still hear Satoru saying that eggs with lettuce and milk were a good combination, but his stomach turned every time he thought about it.

After the oldest realized that even he didn't want that, they headed towards a bakery close to where they lived. The bread and some snacks that they sold ready-made were Megumi's favorite choice. And the opposite of Satoru's, who got three strawberry donuts and a coffee with extra sugar, it shouldn't even be called coffee anymore because it was so absurd.

They sat at a table in the back and ate what they ordered. From time to time, Gojo exchanged a few words with the boy, who responded briefly, until the moment when Megumi started to stare at something behind Satoru, who bitterly regretted killing his curiosity by looking at the person Fushiguro stared. 

“So she was the one who left you stunned that day on the mission” Megumi commented seriously. “I didn't know she had returned to the city.”

“Neither do I” replied the oldest.

You didn't seem to notice the presence of your ex and the boy you promised to protect at all costs, even though you glanced in their direction a few times, and Satoru was eternally grateful for that, he wasn't ready for a meeting between you two.

“You should talk to her.” It seemed like Megumi had read his mind, but in a totally opposite way. “Apologize for making an idiot of her, or maybe tell her that you're an idiot and did everything wrong, or just tell her the truth.”

“Sorry Gumi, I know you liked her” he shrugged, “but the past is the past.” The way he said it was funny, because he didn't even believe he had said that.

And for the second time, in less than a month, he spent an entire day thinking about the woman who he still had dreams in certain nights.

Satoru was a busy man, that was a fact. After Itadori Yuuji ate one of Sukuna's fingers that night at school, his life became even busier. The Jujutsu world had become a worse mess than it already was, and he was the strongest sorcerer. He, Gojo Satoru, carried a huge burden, the burden of being the strongest, the one who should protect the world… and it sucked.

The curses were more aggressive, and the one looking directly at him seemed to embody this fact. The curse was not of a high level, at most level 2, but it was smart enough to take hostages. There were others like the other curse, his students were taking care of it, but the building was huge, and they weren't sure how many curses were there. This whole situation was rare, he had never seen several different curses together in the same place.

“Sensei!” Megumi shouted from some room in the hallway they were in.

Gojo made a straight and quick gesture with his hand, immediately leaving the room and the curse, heading towards Megumi's voice to reach him. The corridor wasn't that long, he even found one of Megumi's dogs going to search one of the rooms that was still missing, he arrived at the last door, which was half open, opening it completely and finding the boy standing in the middle of the room along with his other shikigami.

“She's here” said Fushiguro, upon seeing Gojo at the door.

 He wanted to ask who, but his brain quickly rattled off the facts of the past few days and who he knew who could, one in a million, work in this building. He remembered a while ago, when you had mentioned at some point that you had received a job offer at the company in that building, and it seemed like his entire body had gone into a state of shock. If you were here, you had accepted the proposal.

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs. There's no one there yet” Megumi replied.

He had no idea what was going on in Gojo's mind, he would guess that the feelings he saw the older man harbor for a whole year after the two broke up were coming out little by little in that exact moment. He hoped the man wouldn't do anything crazy or anything like that.

Satoru didn't even think twice about teleporting upstairs. He was about to do something crazy if any of those curses had touched you. And it didn't even cross his mind that the reason for their breakup, as soon as you saw it, would come back to the surface when they found each other, after all, at that time he promised himself that keeping the secret about being a sorcerer was better than nothing.

The rooms on that floor were larger, appeared to be used for company conferences. There were few places to hide, and for the first time in his life, he prayed to some deity that you were safe. As he searched one of these rooms, he heard whispers from what sounded like a child and an older person counting numbers under their breath.

“What is a child doing here?” he whispered to himself.

“Who's there?” The person inside the room asked.

Satoru recognized that voice very well, how could he not? He spent almost 3 years listening to you whisper his name several times, among many other things.

“[Name]”  he called for you  softly.

Without thinking twice, he opened the half-open door, where he found the woman he loved so much in the same way he remembered, along with a girl, who looked to be about seven years old, holding your hand and with her eyes all teary.

“Satoru, what the hell are you doing here?” His face was surprised, and for a second he could see a trace of relief coming from you.

“Shit… We need to get out of here.” He  was scared as hell.

Gojo approached you and took your empty hand, leading you and the child towards the fire escape. In his mind, he thought that if they went down that way it would be safer, and they would find Megumi downstairs.

“T-there are some monsters here” stammered you, letting go of the hand that Gojo was holding and stopping.

“I know that. You need to get out of here as quickly as possible.” The man spoke quickly. “Megumi… he's downstairs, he can help you better than me.”

Upon hearing the boy's name, your eyes widened, thinking about why he was in this building, and only then did it sink in that nothing made sense. The building where you worked had been attacked by horrible creatures, your ex-boyfriend was in front of you, exactly as you remembered, with the eye band thing and everything, and the boy that you saw Satoru take care of for three years, was on the floor below doing who knows what. 

“You need to get down now.”

Two hours after the incident, Satoru, Megumi, Nobara and Yuuji were in the hospital corridor waiting for news from you, the last two not knowing why Gojo and Fushiguro seemed so apprehensive. They didn't quite know how to start a conversation with them and ask who the woman in the room was, without wanting to seem intrusive or anything like that, but the silence was already bothering them both.

“Sensei, who is the wom…” The door was opened before Yuuji could complete the sentence, revealing the silhouette of a woman, the same one he had seen a while ago and that left Gojo unregulated.

“What are you doing here?” asked you when you saw Satoru and Megumi's faces, along with two other children that you had never seen.

“We wanted to know how you are” Megumi was the one who replied.

You didn't really know how to react to the boy's response, as you didn't expect such an act from them, especially from Gojo, who was looking at you from behind his strip with a thousand thoughts in his mind.

“Can we talk?” The man got up from the bench and stopped in front of her. “Alone.”

Nobara and Yuuji left looking like they didn't like it very much, wanting to hear the future conversation between you two. Megumi seemed a little reluctant to leave you guys alone, however, after you gave him a small smile as a sign that he could go without worrying, he left you two.

“Look…”

“You have a lot to explain, Satoru” you cut him off. The more you tried to put things together, the more confused you seemed to get.

“Me and Megumi... we can see those things.” He was so distressed that he didn't even notice his shoulders falling after feeling like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. “And we have some powers.”

“Like Harry Potter?”

“Harry Potter?” asked Satoru, a little shocked by the meaningless association you made and receiving a nod.  “No. It has nothing to do with Harry Potter.”

“Then…”

“We are sorcerers. These creatures you saw today are curses, they are born from negative feelings, and I work to kill them.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell me this before? — you asked, irritated. The pieces of the puzzle little by little begin to fit together in your mind. “ You are idiot?”

“What?” Satoru was stunned.

“Did you do all that fuss because you didn't want to tell the truth?”

And there it was, the dreaded subject had arrived. The albino's heart was out of rhythm, he thought it would be easier, he had lied for your good, he was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, what if some curse attacked you without him being around? Two hours ago, he saw that his thesis was blocked by past events.

“I thought if I walked away, you'd be safer,” he replied. His hands were sweating, he didn't know where to put them. “You are too important to me, and I couldn't bear to lose you.”

“And you still lost me, didn't you?” Satoru seemed to have received a bucket of cold water, after such words from you. “I spent a whole year wondering what the hell had happened for everything to end so suddenly. I've loved you all this time… I mean, I still think I love you, but it doesn't matter anymore.”

Satoru opened his mouth and closed it, dumbfounded. He expected everything except “I think I love you”. A year had passed and, just like you, he still loved you.

“You love me?” You seemed not to be paying attention to the words coming out of your mouth and when Gojo asked such a thing, his penny seemed to have dropped as well.

“I… it's a lot for one day, Satoru. Hours ago I was being attacked by some monsters, and now, here we are arguing about our old relationship.”

“Go out with me again,” he said. “I'll tell you anything you want, and if you think it's no longer possible, I won't go after you again. I just need a chance.” He sounded like he was begging.

The voice inside Gojo's head said that if he didn't do something now, he would probably never have the chance to do it again. He hated the fact that he might lose you a second time.

“I know I made a big mistake with you, and I regret it bitterly. But I just need a second chance.”

"I swear, Gojo Satoru... I swear if you do anything like that again, I will curse you for the rest of your life."

Satoru at that moment promised himself that he would never hurt you again the way he had done in the past. He didn't know he could miss a person as much as he did in that one year apart, and he wouldn't want to feel that way again. Having someone you love by your side was comfortable.

a/n: i hope you guys liked! And my ask are open for request 👋

#gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #female reader #fluff #exes to lovers #drama #gojo satoru #x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you

[my--moon]

Hiii<3

Hope ur having a great day!

can I get some Jason Grace x Reader fluff where the reader has some body image issues and doesn’t cope with them very well?

And can the reader be gender neutral? thank you<33

❝ Diet Culture ❞

Pairing; Jason Grace X GN!reader (Child of Hypnos) Warning; Please be wary before reading, there are so mentions of triggering topics. Mentions of body issues, diet culture, eating disorders and starving, angst and comfort. Yes I did base this fic of the songs “Diet Coke” and “Diet Culture” sue me! A/N; You gave me the power to write an angsty fic I will write an angsty fic (there's fluff I swear)

“Eat more” “Eat less” “You're too fat” “You're too skinny”

The constant struggle of beauty standards. Making young people ask themselves: “Am I too fat/skinny?” when they looked perfect.

(Y/N) fell victim to this curse of asking themselves if they look pretty enough for their lover, Jason Grace.

It was battle. Two sides; one side telling them to eat. One side tell them not to.

Struggling to figure out if regular or diet coke was better for them. Struggling to figure out if their figure matched the outfit. Struggling to look pretty compared to the others in their cabin.

One Tuesday morning, Jason walked into their cabin, trying to find his lover after a long day. He glanced over at a closed door, only a slither of the door was open. He could see (Y/N)'s figure.

Jason heard muffled whispers. Is someone else in there? He walked closer to the door, watching for anything through the crack of the door.

(Y/N) looked disheveled. Their hair was messy from a day of sleeping. Their shirt was oversized and the collar was slipping off their shoulder. They sat on their bed, looking at their build in the mirror.

(Y/N) groaned in displeasure, thinking to themself “i look disgusting..”, their stomach rumbled with hunger. (Y/N) reached for their bedside table draws.

Rummaging through the draws, they pulled out a pack of sugar free gum and a bottle of water that was half filled.

“Nothing feels as good as water on an empty stomach.. Right?” They said to themselves. As if trying to convince themselves that they weren't hungry.

The child of Hypnos chugged down the warm water and swallowed it with a gulp. They took out two pieces of gum and started chewing on it.

“Mm.. Strawberry.” They mumbled.

Jason's brows furrowed. Chewing gum to try and curb their hunger? I'm no doctor, but that's... That's not right... He thought to himself.

The son of Jupiter knocked on the door. He heard his lover scrambled to their feet and opened the door. Their face was smiling and happy, like they weren't on the verge of tears just a second ago.

“Hey! What's up? Did I sleep all day again?” They asked with a chuckle, obviously jokingly.

“Not really. Just 12:34pm right now.” Jason replied, walking into their room, spotting the empty bottle he saw them chug just a second ago.

“Oh, cool. Pretty early compared to last time..” (Y/N) chuckled softly, remembering the last time when they slept for 13 hours by accident.

“Mm.” He hummed, sitting down on their bed, opening his arms for (Y/N) to cuddle him. (Y/N) gladly accepted the hug and embraced him back.

The two laid on their backs, snuggling into the comfy navy blue blankets. Jason broke the comforting silence.

He knew it might've been risky to mention this but... “Hey, how was your day? You eat anything good?”

(Y/N) paused before answering, but Jason knew they were lying. “Yea, I had leftovers from dinner..”

“Love, did you really?”

(Y/N)'s original happy face faulted. “Yea, of course.” They lied.

“Honey... Can you tell me the truth?”

Tears threatened to spill from (Y/N)'s eyes. “I'm not lying, Jason.” They lied again. Jason shook his head.

“No, don't give me that bullshit. I saw what you did. Now I'll ask you again, okay? Did you eat today?”

“...” A tear ran down their cheek and slid down their throat. “N.. No.. Not today..”

“When was the last time you ate a decent meal?” Jason asked gently. Keeping a firm yet comforting grip on their waist.

“Yesterday.. At lunch.” (Y/N) muffled a sob. More tears ran down their cheeks. Jason's grip around them tightened.

“Shh shh.. Honey.. It's alright, okay?” Jason whispered to them. He wiped away their hot tears from their soft cheeks.

“Now, c'mon. If I get some food—some good food—will you eat it?” The son of Jupiter asked his lover.

“I'm not hungry...” (Y/N) choked out. Holding his wrists as his hands caressed their face.

“Please? Can you eat for me?” He asked again. “Please, honey..”

“...” (Y/N) gathered their composure and took a deep but shaky breath. “Alri.. Alright.”

“Thank you, honey.” Jason smiled softly at his lover. He kissed their temple and rested his forehead against their own. “I'm so proud of you. Y'know that, right?”

More tears slid down their cheeks. “I'm sorry.. I'm sorry I'm not perfect enough for you..” They sobbed.

“What in Hades name do you mean? You're more than perfect, my love.” Jason replied. (Y/N)'s glassy, teary eyes looked up, begging for reassurance.

“I am..? But I'm fat.. And yuck.” (Y/N) mumbled out, trying not to sob and cry more.

“No, you're not. Your body is perfect and beautiful. Who ever tells you otherwise is an idiot.” Jason countered.

(Y/N) let out a sad but true laugh at his words. Jason smiled back at the sight of their laughter.

“C'mon. Sit back down and I'll make you some proper, and good food for you to eat. And I'll be here. I'm never leaving you, okay?” Jason added.

“Remember that, honey. I'm always here for you.” He said with a soft smile.

#jason grace x you #jason grace #Jason Grace angst #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson headcanon #pjo hoo toa #hoo x reader #hoo fanfic #diet culture #two #ANGST HEAVY ANGST #please be wary

[synoname-wordsmith]

Leftovers and Burnt Toast: Sanji x gn!reader

Summary: sanji has some concerning eating habits. you've ignored them for as long as you can, but what happens when you finally confront him about it?

Warning: eating disorder, angst, eventually comfort, let me know if I missed any

A/n: inspiration hit at 2 am after reading the linked post. I'm not a writer, so don't come for me. Also, I'm pretty sure I used gender neutral language, but if not, let me know, and I'll edit. Happy reading

Heavily inspired by this post:

You weren't spying on the cook you were observant, and those old habits never really died, did they? You were a spy, and it was in your blood to notice things. Moving silently through rooms thing caught your eye, even if it wasn't intentional. So no, you weren't spying on Sanji. You just started to notice a pattern.

Spending your time in the kitchen working on research of nearing islands, you could see him moving through his space, cooking, and baking but never eating. At first, you thought he just wasn't big on snacking and saved his appetite for meals, but when meal time came, his plate was hardly full. You knew he didn't waste food, so small portions made sense, but he never went back for more.

Then you noticed he skipped breakfast. Every day, he entered the kitchen just moments after you set up your books and notes, and not once did he grab anything to eat. And when breakfast for the crew was finished and being divided up among the group, he was always last to take. And with Luffy, that meant scraps and crumbs at best. Lunch was the same, and dinner didn't change the pattern either.

He didn't snack while he meal prepped, and the few times you "accidentally" made too much and offered it to him he graciously smiled and thanked you, but handed it off when Ussopp showed interest.

You've heard his stomach growl, so you knew Hunger was something he experienced, but you couldn't wrap your head around his avoidance.

***

It was a Tuesday when you finally said something. Coming home early from an excursion on the latest island. You entered the kitchen and was met with the familiar warmth of Sanji's blue eyes.

"Hello love, i didn't expect anyone back so early, i can whip you something up if you like"

"No, thank you," you matched his light tone. "Nami and i grabbed a bite at one of the little taverns." he smiled at that and turned back to what he was doing. You paused for a second, then made your way to one of the stools across from him. Watching his fluid movements through the kitchen as you considered speaking again.

"Have you eaten?" You hoped the nervousness wasn't prevalent in your voice. He paused before turning around. Smiling his signature smile.

"No need to worry about me, mademoiselle, that's my job"

"That's the thing, though," you paused, trying to find the right words. "i do worry about you," you paused again, and before you could speak, he interjected.

"Don't waste any energy worrying that pretty little head of yours, darling," he laughed airly, "especially about m-"

"You havent eaten since sunday!" You blurted without thinking. The silence that followed was deafening, and Sanji's face reflected that.

Just as quickly as his smile faltered, though, it was back. "That can't be right, love, surely you're mistaken"

"Im not," your voice was barely a whisper, "i made too much toast when i woke up on purpose, and you ate the extra, but you haven't eaten anything since then. No lunches or suppers, and you never snack." You risked looking up from your fidgeting hands. His eyes were wide, and his smile was gone.

"Have you been watching me that closely?"

"Not on purpose, noticing things is what i do, but once it became a pattern, i couldn't not see it, and - Sanji, what is going on?"

He laughed again, but it lacked humor, and then he reached for a cigarette. He didn't speak until his first exhale. He was stalling, another habit of his you noticed.

"I assure you im fine." his voice was low, and his eyes glossed over as if he was seeing something far away.

"I dont think you are," you whispered, willing him to look back at you. "i didn't want to pry, but i also noticed the more stressed you are, the longer you go between meals." He took a drag looking at his shoes. You could feel panic crawling up your throat. "We dont keep secrets. Remember? That's what you said to me. And I've been trying every day since then to be open and honest with you. Why is it not a two way street-?"

"Enough!" He didn't yell, but his voice was low, and his tone was heavy. You froze.

"Sanji-"

"No, this is of no concern to you, and I do not appreciate you sticking your nose where it does not belong " you had never seen him like this, he seemed genuinely angry. It scared you

"Sanji-" you tried again

"Maybe it's best you work out of the map room with Nami from now on." he turned from you like he was done with the conversation. Your hands shook, and you tried to fight the tears that pricked your eyes.

You felt frozen and before you could organize your scattered mind to respond the rest of the crew entered the kitchen

"Sanji! Look at all these groceries Nami found! Supper tonight will be amazing!" Luffy yelled cutting through the tension like an oblivious knife.

In a moment, Sanji reacted, posture shifting and smile returning. "Of course it will! Show me what you bought!"

You felt yourself lose control of the little composure you had left and slipped out of the kitchen without being noticed. If you were going to cry, it wouldn't be with an audience

***

"just talk to him"

it had been 3 days since you confronted Sanji and neither of you had been hiding the tension well. You had tried to give him space and act as if nothing was wrong, at least around the others, and Sanji seemed to have decided on the same approach. You moved to the map room and held off Nami's questioning stare for a few days with vague statements, but meal times were still tense. 

You tried to ignore it and to interact with the rest of the crew but it felt like a giant flashing sign was going off above his plate now. You kept quiet, kept your distance but the worry was eating at your insides.

" do i need to remind you 'Just talk to him' is how we ended up in this predicament in the first place " 

You had finally caved and told nami what was going down in the evening of day 2. She was perceptive and terribly persistent, before you knew it you had told her everything.

"Sure, but we both know Sanji is the poster child for not asking for help. Its probably why you get along so well" the last part was meant to be a joke, you scoffed 

"You're one to talk" you retort trying to hide your smirk. A moment of ease sat among you as you both laughed, but all too soon your anxiety started to settle in.

Nami sighed and placed a hand on your arm, "look, he was probably just caught off guard and embarrassed last time. Try again."

"Ya, probably." You aren't as sure as you sound, though.

***

Supper came and went and you had meant to talk to him as he cleaned up but Usopp and Luffy monopolized his time. Before you knew it it was dark and everyone had dissappear inside for the night.

You hadn't seen Sanji since the kitchen was clean but decided to do one more sweep of the place before giving up for the night. 

That's when you saw him out on the deck. He stood near the railing facing the sea, the kitchen giving just enough light to illuminate the smoke rising off his cigarette.

You went out and joined him. Leaning on the railing beside him. He didn't look at you and you didn't say anything as you both watched the dark waves.

You started to pick at your cuticles in the silence trying to figure out what to say.

"Im sorry i snapped at you, it was unfair" you turned your head to look at him but he kept his sight trained forward. "You were right and i got defensive and mad"

You wanted to tell him it's okay, that you don't take ot personally. You also had a million questions rapid firing in you brain but the look in Sanji's eye made you hesitant to speak up. You didn't want to shatter whatever aire was floating around you both.

"It was my mothers birthday last week. I didn't even realize the date until after you said something to me" you turned your body to him this time. Sanji rarely spoke of his family before Zeff and when he did it was vague with glossy eyes. Only after calming him down from a few nasty nightmares did you piece together very basic ideas of his home life. "So when you said i eat less when im stressed i guess you hit the nail on the head." He discarded his cigarettes into the sea and leaned forward on the railing. You reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He took a deep breath and continued. "I knew i did that, with the food i mean, i just- food isnt really for me you know? Dont get me wrong i love food and cooking, but i do that others, for you guys. It's like a love language i guess." He pulls put another cigarette

"I do eat when i feel i need to, but starving isn't a foreign feeling, and, i guess, along the way, i forgot the urgency that is supposed to come with that." He exhales smoke with a dry laugh. "I never considered it was a problem,  and i never meant to worry you. For that, im sorry"

He finally looked over at you. His words broke your heart and you tried to keep your breathing steady. If you cried he would make this about you, and you didn't want that.

"You need to eat, Sanji. You deserve to be healthy, not just alive." he smiled at that. It was more to himself, and it didn't reach his eyes. He took another drag.

"You keep saying that." He tried to joke, it almost had the lightness of the Sanji you knew. You felt you grip on his arm tighten as you fought harder against tears. 

"How are you joking, how do you not see you deserve the love and care you so selflessly give to others?" The words came rushed and more pointed then intended but your control on your emotions was deteriorating quickly. "I don't ask about your family, and i'm not going to start now but whatever they did and said to you, they were wrong. You deserve love Sanji" 

He opened his mouth, but you spoke again before he could. "No, you deserve kindness and unconditional love. From others, but also yourself." You hadn't noticed you were crying and only noticed you were shaking when he embraced you."i care about you so much, we all do. Please take care of yourself. If not for you, for us. For me." 

You felt his arms tighten around you and he didn't speak for a moment but when he did it was clear he was crying also.

"Im sorry" it was barely a whisper "i don't want to upset you, i'll do better"

"I just wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish you would talk to me."

"I know I'm sorry, I'll do better at that too." You sniffled and looked up at him. His face was streaked with tears and his eyes puffy. You half smiled up at him

"Hey, I thought apologizing too much was my thing." With that he laughed. A real, heartfelt Sanji laugh. Hearing it made you feel like you could breathe again.

He wiped his face and then yours, leaving his hands on either side of your face. 

"We can figure this out together, right? As long as it's together?"

"Together," you echoed.

#sanji headcanons #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #opla sanji #sanji x reader #sanji imagine #one piece live action

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Prologue

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The cupcake is smashed. Pink icing and gaudy star-shaped sprinkles coat the interior of the box, and the pastry itself has devolved into crumbs. You just stare at it. It had cost you seventeen dollars. It was expensive, yeah. But you’d spent the last three months walking past it every morning and afternoon in the bougie cafe’s windows. You’d waited. You’d wanted.

And it was destroyed. Completely. The perfect swirl of the buttercream was no more. The single, delicate flower made of frosting had lost half it’s petals. You weren’t sure how you could eat it. The wrapping had been warped, but maybe a tea spoon would work?

You let your head fall into your hands, a sob wracking your shoulders. And then less than a second later you swallow down the feeling, and stride over to your shitty apartment’s tiny kitchen. You grab a lighter, a plastic wine glass and the bottle of white wine Molly had given you earlier today. You hadn’t told her what happened yet, but she could tell something had. She’d gave you the wine, a hug, and the promise to always be by your side.

Despite today’s circumstances, despite this week’s circumstances, despite this decade’s circumstances, you were going to have a good birthday getting black-out drunk.

You weren’t going to let yourself sink into one of your funks. Even if it was the worst day of the year by far. Even if it was the second worst birthday of your life.

You just don’t. It’s not allowed.

Your phone rings. Sliding it out of your pocket, you stare blankly at the name on the screen. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Malcom. One of George’s friends. You reject the call, block the number, and slide your phone back in your pocket. See? Dealing with things like an adult. Not throwing a temper tantrum, not crying, not… well, destroying your life in an epic meltdown. You’d had a few of those. Still, despite your obvious erraticness, you hadn’t been fired this year. Yay!

You told yourself you were getting better, even as the universe seemingly conspired against your happiness. You were kind of convinced it was.

Turning, you play with the cap on the wine, walking over to your old ratty couch and falling into it. The beast groans at the contact, but you pay it no mind. The thing was probably older than you, and you were celebrating your twenty-first today.

You were an orphan in Gotham, it was not your first time drinking. Molly had dragged you to so many awful parties over the years. But this wine was probably the fanciest you’d ever been given. Scratch that, definitely was. You pour yourself a glass, stick the birthday candle half-hazardly into the largest chunk of cupcake, and grab the remote.

The only true comfort you can get on this day. A woman, a reporter. She speaks, but you can’t really hear what she’s saying. You chug down a glass of the wine, apologising in your head to Molly, and then pour yourself another.

It takes a few minutes, but your muscles relax, and her words tune into focus.

“Today’s memorial, is once again sponsored by the Wayne foundation.”

Yeah, because they’re the only charity organisation in the city. The family of billionaires were debatably the only good ones in existance. Debtable because you weren’t sure if they were good enough themselves. As an orphan who’d known the cruelty of the system yourself, you were a mix of bitter and grateful towards them. Sure, they’d been the only thing that kept you out of true poverty. You were still an awful bitch about it.

You always had been the jealous type. The other kids who got better backpacks or toys or whatever had you seething with fury. The multitude of orphans Bruce Wayne risen out of poverty were not safe from your envy. It didn’t matter if you were… Well, a little bit, just a teeny-tiny-tiddly-little bit… obsessed. Obsessed with them. Kind of manic about it, actually.

You were working on it. Today was a bad day, and you were a little too raw. So, like every little dumb animal on the planet, you went straight to your creature comforts. You pretended you were a roman eating and drinking on their chaise lounge, watching their magnificent entertainment.

Delusional. Your sofa was falling apart at the seems, your cupcake was debris and your entertainment was a memorial service. Wine was good, though.

Gotta focus on the good parts.

You watch the TV screen, the reporter’s voice drifting in and out of focus. There was a family photo of the Waynes and their family friends, all in perfect suits and dresses and pearls and fancy watches. You’d bet that those little accessories were worth more than a year of your rent.

And you lived in fucking Gotham, both the most expensive city to live in, and the worst at the same time. A miracle, truly.

Anyway, they were all stunningly beautiful, even some of the guys. God knows how much the internet went on about Richard Grayson’s long eyelashes. You’d always been enamored with Dick’s good looks. Even Damian Wayne who had only turned nineteen a few months ago and was three years younger than you was already being fawned over by the tabloids.

Gotham’s newest young rich bachelor. Bitterly envious, that was you. You didn’t like that emotion, though, so you turned your attention to others. Namely, delusion.

You let yourself get swept up in daydreams. Of having a rich family, of one so close knit as the Wayne’s. Of having a handsome, loving, kind partner. You don’t let yourself dream about your real family, of a George that was faithful.

You just don’t.

Maybe someone like Tim Drake. Loyal, everyone who knew him described him as loyal. His romances with Bernard Dowd and Stephanie Brown were famous. There were hundreds of papparazzi photos of him with big bundles of roses and a sweet look on his face. You thought someone like Tim Drake would probably be like one of the heroes in your romance novels. Something silly like a meet cute in an airport, or maybe a bookstore or a cafe. He was pretty famous in Gotham’s niche hipster coffee scene, right?

Yeah, you could see it now. Some dumb but cute scene where you get confused and accidentally take his order. You get the same drink, and bond over your shared love of caramel syrup. Like he didn’t live on the opposite side of the city from you, and you probably couldn’t afford whatever fancy shit he drunk. Italian coffee beans versus… well, you didn’t actually know what you bought. You knew it didn’t taste very good, but it was dirt cheap.

What were you doing? Ah, yes, silly daydreams about romance.

But even as you think of Tim, Dick Grayson was so pretty, and he’d had his fair share of partners too. Someone with such an angelic face had to have a personality to match, and the media agreed. Of course you didn’t really know what he was like, this was all just fantasy. Other than numerous tabloid interviews and television, which suggested he had a kind heart and a love for bad jokes you truly knew nothing about the guy. Still, he’d be the golden retriever trope, you think. Or the knight in shining armor, saving his heroine from one of the many disaster’s plaguing Gotham and confessing his love in one big final act. His meet cute would be the airplane one. The blue of his eyes, it makes you think of the sky. You’d take his seat, but he’d be super sweet about it. Like he didn’t have a private jet, and would never be caught on economy.

You think Damian Wayne could play a good romance lead as well. From what you’d seen, he seemed to have a terrible personality, which was perfect for any modern romance. A classic enemies to lovers, with some bickering. Maybe he’d have secretly loved her the entire time, and maybe there’d be a good grovel at the end. So, appreciating his character, he’d have to have a meet ugly. Probably get stuck in an elevator with him or something, and he’d get to display his keen intellect and argumentative nature.

You swirl your wine, nodding your head. Brilliant ideas today, you should talk to Molly more. She’d definitely appreciate your wisdom. She wanted to be a screen writer one day, and all this would be very helpful. She was going to college for it. You couldn’t afford college.

Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were a genius. It was hard to tell, so you take another sip. That’ll help you figure things out.

“As always, the Wayne families’ faces are morose as they celebrate the late Jason Todd.”

And as always, you felt an odd connection with the dead man. Your lives had both technically ended the same day, in the same grand calamity. Sure, you were still technically alive. Kicking about. But everyone you loved dying in one fell swoop, right in front of your eyes? You felt more like a ghost these days.

Weren’t you supposed to be fighting those sorts of thoughts off? Whatever, it was too much effort anyway.

Your slight obsession with the Wayne family had been initially started by Jason Todd. You hadn’t been thinking about him as much recently with George in your life, but he swung right back into place as soon as George left your life. Like a magnet, or more likely, a compulsion.

But now you were brought right back to the morning after. Seeing the entire city grieving the day after you’d lost your family, your first thought had been ‘Good, I’m not the only one,’ and then you’d stopped being an idiot and realised the city was mourning Jason Todd, heir to the Wayne name. Sure, there’d been hundreds of others who’d died, but that was Gotham. Your family had gotten a plaque filled with tens of other forgotten names, Jason had gotten framed photos hung around the city.

Today, his photo was once again surrounded by thousands of bouquets. Peonies, roses, daffodils, lillies, a rainbow of petals that almost covered his memorial stone. It reminded you of your sad-ass cupcake. When the camera zoomed out, you could see your smaller set of poseys against one of the thirty towering monuments, the tiny names crammed into the rock. Your families name was on line fifty-two, near the bottom. You could only afford the flowers once a year, but you visited once a week at least.

There were other flowers. Other offerings. Other candles. Jason’s dwarfed them all.

You sometimes couldn’t tell if you hated the dead man or were hopelessly in love with him. Obviously it didn’t matter. Even when he was alive he was out of both your league and your tax bracket.

Still, you were absolutely certain of it, Jason Todd would beat up George Lancaster. So fucking bad. To a bloody pulp. He’d be eager to do it, as well. You could hum and haw about how you thought violence was bad but he’d see right to the core of you.

The part of you that wanted George Lancaster to suffer. And he’d do it with a kiss and a promise that he’d make it slow. He’d save you from all your monsters, and he’d do it eagerly. And that was the fantasy of it all, wasn’t it?

You lift your glass, in celebration of your dead parasocial imaginary boyfriend. You hoped he wouldn’t be jealous of your new living parasocial imaginary boyfriends. Hiccuping out a laugh, you swallow down another gulp.

And even then, of course you wanted Bruce Wayne as a father. As someone who has seen the worst of the world, and would protect you from it. As someone who would wipe away the tears, who would save you from your own self. And you wanted Cassandra as a sister, someone to groan over guys with and steal clothes off. You wanted the close relationships they shared with Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown, with Duke who’d only recently come into their fold. You even wanted their dog you’d seen in photos, the cat that Damian posted on his instagram, the fucking cow they kept for god knows reason inside the estate. You wanted everything, every part of their lives. You were a jealous person, but more than that, you were a greedy person.

You glance at the clock.

11:57.

You shakily open the candle packet, picking a green one out. That had been Sam’s last favourite colour, but he switched them so often it was hard to remember. You stab it into the pink frosting. Julie always chose pink for her cake. Chasey loved flowers, particularly poseys. The flowers had looked like posesys before they’d been crushed.

You light the candle. It’s tiny flame flickers in the dark room, the warm light overpowered by the cool from the television. You peek back over to the clock.

11:58.

And Mum always made her wish at midnight, because she believed that was when it was most likely to come true.

What would you wish for? You never did, because you never knew what you wanted to wish for. Everything you wanted, everything you could’ve wanted, was gone. It couldn’t come back, it was impossible.

11:59.

You look at the TV, at the blinding forms of the Wayne family. Of their graveyard, with the manor in the background. It’s as impossible as everything else. But that’s what they represent for you, isn’t it?

Something hopeful. Something impossible.

You wanted impossible.

12:00.

You lean over the messy cupcake, and blow the candle out. It disappears in one blow, and you sink back into the couch. You take a few crumbs from the cupcake and sneak them past your lips. In your drunkenness, you probably get more on the couch than in your mouth.

You let your eyes flutter shut, and because only you can, you give yourself the comfort of lies. You imagine loving embraces, whispered platitudes. You imagine that today was a good day, that you’d find yourself tomorrow happy. That you wouldn’t wake up with a hangover, that you wouldn’t have a shitty job, an evil ex, and mountains of debt.

That you’d have people who loved you, who could ease the pain.

And you don’t even care who they are.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

[courtforshort15]

Coffee Shop Woes

Part 2: First Date Jitters

Part 3: Late Night Confessions

Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader

Word Count: 3900

Summary: You’re pretty sure you want to have his babies, but you don’t even know his name. Maybe you’ll actually speak to him next time you see him, but it’s unlikely. Very unlikely.

Trigger warning: the devastation that is Matt Murdock's charm.

Masterlist

You see him every Tuesday.

This little coffee shop, in the heart of Hell's Kitchen, had become your favorite place to frequent for your mid-morning pick me up shortly after you had moved to New York. You found yourself there often, sneaking away from the office for a small chunk of time to grab a latte and one of their to die for blueberry muffins. It was just a few blocks away from where you worked, and the quick walk usually provided enough time to shake off the drowsiness that set in from an 8am boring as all fuck team meeting.

One morning, you had stumbled into the shop half an hour later than usual, bleary eyed and head pounding from staring at too many spreadsheets, only to see him there, calmly waiting on his cup of coffee. Dark hair, a devastatingly charming smile, and dark red glasses you'd sell your digity for to see behind.

He had been flirting with the barista, his ever-so-slightly raspy baritone floating through the shop, and you had struggled to remember your own coffee order, clumsily spitting it out to the woman behind the register. Before you could even finish paying, he had his fresh coffee in his hand, and was making his way to leave, white cane tapping on the floor in front of him. Someone opened the door for him, and he was gone.

If you stared longingly after him, people were polite enough to ignore it.

Despite your frequency at the coffee shop, it took a few weeks for you to nail down his routine.

He was there every Tuesday around the 10 o'clock hour. You had adjusted your schedule slightly to fit his, hoping to catch a glimpse of him when you could. Sometimes you were there before him, sometimes he was on his way out as you watched from half a block away, but for the most part, you got to see his stupidly handsome face for at least a few seconds.

It was barely enough to get you through the day, and by the following Tuesday, you were more than ready for your weekly fix sighting of him.

You often had to remind yourself that following him to his next destination would be borderline stalker behavior, and the last thing you wanted was a restraining order from the man of all your dreams and dirty fantasies.

For five long weeks, you waited for someone to randomly blurt out his name, or for him to introduce himself to someone close by so that you could overhear it. This seemed to be the best way to learn it, you reasoned, as you were too chicken shit to actually say a word to the man.

Like you, he was a regular at the coffee shop. The baristas seemed to know him well, and when he ordered his drink, they never needed to call his name out when it was ready. But one day, much to your ever-lasting happiness, a new barista asked him his name while taking down his order, and you had arrived just in time to hear him give it.

Matthew.

Names shouldn't carry so much on its shoulders, but his held your heart, and it didn't even know it.

You cursed the traitorous muscle that beat inside your chest.

You found yourself mouthing his name, standing a few people behind him in line, a helplessly dopey smile on your face that you're sure looked absolutely ridiculous, and you didn't notice the way his head tilted slightly in your direction as he handed the woman his credit card.

For months you found yourself watching him. You felt like it was on the edge of creepy, but you told yourself that coming to this coffee shop had already been your Tuesday routine, long before you had seen him for the first time. You were able to pine from afar, made all the way easier by the fact that he couldn't actually see you do it.

You weren't sure if that made your pining more or less creepy, now that you thought about it.

"You could always just talk to him, you know," Brittany said to you one time as she made your latte.

"What?" Your eyes snapped up to her face from your phone, the Facebook personality quiz you'd been taking momentarily forgotten.

"Oh, please," she laughed. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your heart eyes are so obvious it hurts."

Horrified, you looked at her, feeling the blood draining from your face. "Did he...? Did you...what do you mean by that?"

"You come here every Tuesday like clockwork, and I see you scan the shop for him every damn time. I can't decide if it's pathetic or adorable," she snickered. She finished making your drink before handing it to you from across the counter. "Maybe you should actually talk to him some time. He's a nice guy. Single, in case you're wondering."

"What...I don't...how would you even know that?" You demanded, trying to come across as nonchalant and failing miserably.

"Because sometimes his friend Foggy comes in with him, and that man is always trying to set Matt up with whatever barista is working."

"Oh."

"He's always joking, of course, but you can tell deep down that he's kinda serious. Seems Matt has probably been single for a while."

"How is a man like that perpetually single?" You asked incredulously. "You've seen his face, right? The gods sculpted that jawline themselves. The gods, Brittany."

Brittany snickered. "And that suit isn't hiding anything. You can just tell he's probably ripped underneath."

You groaned. "Ugh, I know. I've spent too much time staring at those straining buttons on his button-up."

"Same here, my friend."

You shook your head at her, a look on your face that could only be described as exasperated, even as you smiled. "Was your point to get me worked up before going back to work? Or was it to point out that he's extraordinarily out of my league?"

Brittany shrugged her shoulders, grinning. "My point was that Matt's a flirt, but he's not seeing anyone. Shoot your shot. He may not be able to see you undressing him with your eyes, but everyone else can. Maybe it's time to do something about it."

You nodded your head awkwardly, before making a beeline for the front door, cursing Brittany for putting dangerous thoughts in your head. To your horror, the man in question entered the coffee shop on your way out, and you audibly squeaked before stepping around him, avoiding his cane as it tapped in front of him. Brittany's laugh followed you out the door.

In the following weeks, even as you continued to bury your head in the sand when it came to the man you secretly hoped would father your children, you couldn't help but ask Brittany what she knew about him.

"You really should just ask him yourself," she flat out laughed at you. 

Rude.

"Come on, Brittany," you groaned. "You know I have the social skills of pre-7th year Neville Longbottom. I am awkward as all fuck and my flirting skills are non-existent."

She snorted.

"I think you can manage a hello, at the very least."

"Please," you all but begged her. It definitely wasn't your proudest moment. "Just a tiny bit of additional information so I know what I'm dealing with."

"Fine," she said with a look of fond exasperation as she handed another patron their coffee. "He's a lawyer, has his own practice with his friends. Known around here as someone who takes cases regardless if the person can pay all the legal fees. Just wants to make sure people have full representation, even if they can't always afford it."

"So he's attractive and an actual good person. That's just.. perfect. Why couldn't he be an asshole?" You resisted the urge to smack your head on the counter, repeatedly. "That would make things easier."

"Would him being an asshole make you stop staring at him like you want to have him for dinner and dessert?"

"Absolutely not."

Brittany laughed again, certainly taking no pity on your apparent misery. "Just talk to him. You never know."

The coffee shop was large enough to avoid speaking and bumping into people, so it justified your reasoning for not striking up a conversation with the man. And despite Brittany's teasing encouragement, it was two more weeks before you actually said anything to him.

To be fair, speaking with him that random Tuesday morning hadn't necessarily been by choice, so you couldn't take credit for the idea. For all of Brittany's nudging, you were still far too shy to say anything.

You entered the coffee shop, unsurprised to see a line ahead of you, and were disappointed to see that Matt wasn't there. Perhaps you had missed him, and you mourned the loss. Sighing, sad that you were doomed to go without your weekly dose of Matthew, you tried not to show the disappointment on your face, knowing would Brittany notice and mercilessly call you out on it.

When it was your turn to order, you took a step forward towards the counter, smiling at Natalie, the young woman behind the register. She greeted you by name, throwing a smile your way, but stopped you before you could place your order.

"So, our credit card system is down right now," she said apologetically. "We've tried rebooting it a few times, but it's still causing issues. Are you able to pay with cash?"

The bell on the door chimed behind you as it opened, but you didn't pay any attention to it.

Your hand reached into your purse and immediately dug out your wallet, frowning when you realized you didn't have any cash stuffed in it. You sighed internally as you looked back up at her. "Uh...no. I don't have cash on me. Do you happen to know where the nearest ATM is?"

"No need," a familiar baritone interrupted Natalie before she could answer. "I've got it."

You didn't need to turn around to know who had just spoken. Days, weeks, months of fantasizing and memorizing that voice had made sure of that.

Your heart skipped a beat, a strangled noise unwillingly clawing its way out of your throat.

Slowly, you spun around to face him, noting the wide smile on his lips and your reflection in his red glasses. He stood a few inches taller than you, just under six feet, and his tie was ever so slightly crooked.

It was so downright charming that you almost hated him for it. Almost.

"No, no, it's ok," you rushed to get out once you finished not-so subtly running your eyes over his lean, but clearly muscled frame. Did he have to fill it out so good? Jesus. "You don't have to do that. It's fine, I'll just go grab cash."

"Or you could just buy me a cup of coffee next time you're in here at 10am," he shrugged, his fingers already opening up his wallet as he leaned around you to rest his cane against the counter. Your eyes widened at the implication behind his words.

"How would you-"

"How would I even know you're in here?" He asked, eyebrows raised, sly grin on his lips. "I'm good at picking out voices and recognizing them. You're always here on Tuesdays, too, and oddly enough, usually at the same time as me."

"It's a coincidence."

"I'm sure it is." He was smirking.

You hesitated slightly, before you slowly put your wallet back in your purse, gulping loudly. You were glad he couldn't see the way your blush had spread to your chest, and the way your hands were shaking noticeably.

He had just completely called you out on your (apparently) pathetic stalker-like tendencies and you were absolutely reeling.

Matt's smile widened even further, as if he knew some secret you didn't. "So, are you gonna let me buy you a cup of coffee?"

"I...yeah, if you're sure." You turned back to Natalie and placed your normal order, before swinging back to him. "Thank you, truly."

He waved it away. "No issue at all."

Unsure of what to do next (Should you continue the conversation? Should you move to Antarctica in hopes he'd forget how awkward you are?), you moved out of the way so that he could order. You waited over to the side as Brittany made your drink, an amused glance thrown your way. She wiggled her eyebrows at you, mouthing a sly "make your move" before she turned around to grab something on the shelf behind her. You glared at her back, heart still hammering in your chest.

Christ, you really were that obvious, weren't you?

A white cane clicked on the ground to your right and you looked away from the barista, noticing that Matt had come to stand next to you. He was without his suit jacket today, and you couldn't help but...want. The sleeves on his button-up were rolled up to his elbows, and you eyed his toned forearms in appreciation.

Even while your head was spinning, you felt the warmth of desire spread down your spine. The man inhaled sharply, but shook his head slightly before opening his mouth to speak.

"So," he began, head tilted in your direction. His cheeks were a little flushed now, too, and you watched as his lips curved into a smile. You briefly wondered what else those lips could do. "Do I get go know the name of the girl who is always checking me out?"

Whatever you had been expecting to come out of his mouth, it certainly wasn’t that.

"W-what?" You sputtered. Eyes widening, cheeks flushing, you stared at him in alarm, all lustful images abruptly exiting your brain. You were glad you weren't drinking your coffee already, or else it would be all over the floor as you choked. "What are you talking about? I don't...I haven't...why would you think I'm always checking you out?"

"It's just a feeling that I have."

"I don't think you're talking to the right person," you objected weakly as you shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. His grin sharpened.

"Oh, I'm positive I am."

You heard Brittany snort, and your eyes snapped to her. She refused to look at you, but you could see the way she was snickering and shaking her head.

Your eyes narrowed even as your panic flared up again.

"Brittany told you."

"Brittany told me," he confirmed, shoulders shaking as he downright giggled.

"God damn it, what a traitor," you swore. Brittany was still laughing, and you had to resist throwing your phone at her. "Why is this happening?"

"She said something about a pretty girl always staring at me, but who was too shy to say anything," he smirked, and even while your horror continued to flare up underneath your skin, you felt a twinge of relief, grateful he couldn't see the grimace on your heated face. "I thought maybe I should buy you a cup of coffee sometime, to at least put you out of your misery."

"How kind of you," you said dryly. You internally begged Brittany to make your latte faster before you died of embarrassment right there in the coffee shop.

He carried on as if you hadn't said anything. "But it turns out that I like listening to the sound of your voice anyway, and I think maybe I'd like to hear it more often."

"Oh God, you totally say that to all the girls, don't you?"

"I plead the fifth," he responded easily, but he didn't deny it. You squinted your eyes at him.

"So that's a yes, then."

"Doesn't mean I'm not being honest," he told you teasingly. His body was turned completely towards yours now, no longer just at your side. You couldn't help but shiver under his complete focus, feeling like he was observing you with an intensity you hadn't felt before as he lay the full weight of his charm at your feet.

"You sure are a smooth talker," you accused him. You were still blushing ridiculously, to Brittany's utter delight. You were never going to hear the end of this.

"So I've been told." Matt continued to grin. "So, dinner?"

Your eyes bugged out of your head as you gaped at him.

"D-dinner? You literally just asked what my name is like 30 seconds ago." You cleared your throat audibly, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably. "Moving a little fast, don't you think?"

He laughed. "I already know your name actually, I was just trying to be polite about it and not come across as weird."

"You're not doing a very good job." You hated the way your voice shook, mentally berating yourself for how socially inept you were. The man couldn't see, but you were 100% sure he knew the effect he was having on you.

"As if you don't already know my name," he scoffed in a good natured fashion.

You objected immediately. "That's not the point! You're the one using all the pick-up lines on me, here."

God, how embarrassing.

"I get the feeling you're enjoying it though," he shrugged as your jaw dropped even lower in indignation. For all of your apparent protests, you knew that he was right, and it wasn't fair that he knew it, too. "Italian? Seafood? I also have a few amazing pizza places up my sleeve."

"At this point I'll be shocked if you don't have my phone number already since you apparently know all my secrets."

"Now that's just pushing it," he said, no doubt aware of the irony. "I want to respect boundaries, of course." His sly grin told you he was only half joking.

"Of course," you muttered, bemused. The man shook his head and took a small step closer to you. You fought against your impulse to take a step back. Being in the same coffee shop as him was one thing, but him being within arm's reach was another, and you were having a difficult time adjusting. Vaguely, you wondered if he could feel the heat of near humiliation radiating off of you.

"But seriously," Matt said when you went quiet for a moment, toning down the flirtatious smile on his lips, though it didn't disappear entirely. You found yourself staring at the ridiculously adorable dimple on his cheek, almost hating how he had you completely under his thumb without realizing it. "I'd love to take you to dinner, if you're interested. Or drinks, if that works better. No pressure if not."

"Do you ask out every girl that you find out has a crush on you?" You had no idea how you'd ended up here, the man you had been ogling for months suddenly giving you his undivided attention. If you'd been asked how you imagined your day going, this would not ever be on your list of possible scenarios.

You'd have ranked a second alien invasion of New York City higher on the list of possibilities before ever imaging something like this would happen, despite being in the general vicinity as him every Tuesday.

"No," he shook his head, his cocky grin back on his face, "just the ones who alter their schedule just to catch a glimpse of me. Who am I to deny you a chance to see me in a different setting?"

"Oh my god," you moaned in horror, hands reaching up to cover your face. "This can't be happening."

"It's cute." He continued to smile brightly. You watched him grab your drinks from the barista through your fingers. He handed you yours.

"It's embarrassing," you grumbled.

"Let's agree to disagree," he remarked cheerfully.

You were silent, willing the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Matt observed your silence, tongue peaking out to lick his lips, as if suddenly nervous. If you hadn't been so flustered, you would have found it endearing, but as it was, you were completely overwhelmed.

Matt had caught on to that, it seemed.

"Tell you what," he said suddenly. "I've put you on the spot, I know. If all you want this to be is a stranger buying you a cup of coffee, no hard feelings. But if you'd like to go out sometime, have Brittany give you my number. We can go from there." He gave you one last warm smile before taking a long sip of his coffee, and turned and left. You didn't say goodbye, too distracted by the way his mouth had curled around the lip of the coffee cup.

What the f-

Still in a haze, you stood there in the coffee shop, mouth slightly open, unsure of what the hell had just happened. Brittany called out your name suddenly and you jumped, forcing yourself to snap back to the present. Waggling her eyebrows, she waved a slip of paper, a series of digits written on it in black ink, forming what you knew would be his phone number.

"I hate you," you said halfheartedly, willing the flames in your cheeks to settle down. You knew you looked like a lobster with how bright your face was burning.

"No, you don't," she denied in a sing-song voice. "I just gave you the man of your dreams. I'll accept a bottle of my favorite wine as my thank you gift, and an amazing basket full of artisan cheeses and crackers."

You opened your mouth to argue, but you caught sight of the gentle encouragement in her eyes, buried beneath her smug grin. Your objection to the whole situation slowed to a stop as you considered it for a moment. Shoot your shot, her words echoed in your head.

Fuck it.

You took a deep breath, straightened your spine, and ignored the voice in the back of your head that was telling you to run. With a wave of newfound determination, you strode forward, taking the paper from its position between her fingers, and ignored the exaggerated wink she threw your way.

"Get it girl," you heard her call out to as you left the coffee shop. "Don't forget to name your first born after me!"

To your credit, you made it all the way to your office before dialing the number, heart pounding in your throat. And if you'd made it back there faster than usual, knocking into at least two old women in your haste, you didn't acknowledge it.

The phone rang only twice before he picked it up, but each second felt like a lifetime as you nervously bit at the hang nail on your thumb.

"This is Murdock."

God, his voice still managed to hit you like a brick over the phone. How would you ever recover from this man? You were in trouble already, and had been from that first Tuesday all those months ago.

Words were monetarily caught in your throat, unable to get out, but you pushed past the nerves that had seized your body and been put into hyperdrive since he had offered to buy your latte.

"Hey, it's me...uh, the girl always awkwardly staring at you in the coffee shop that you apparently knew about the whole time," you rambled. You heard a brief huff of laughter from the other end. "So...dinner?"

A beat of silence, but when he finally answered, you could practically feel his smirk of satisfaction.

"I'd love to."

----

5 months later

"So, wait...you're telling me that you always knew when I was in the coffee shop, or if I had already left?"

"Yes."

"Because of your super duper sense of smell?"

"This answer is also yes."

"And you could hear my voice from blocks away?"

"Still yes."

"So you could always hear the way I professed my undying love for you and your chest."

"Yes, and those were absolutely my favorite conversations to listen in on."

"You have absolutely no shame."

"None at all."

"God, this is embarrassing. All those times I thought I was getting away with stealthily admiring you from afar."

"In case you're wondering, I could also hear your heart rate spike whenever you looked my way, or smell how aroused you were when you-"

"Shut UP."

We all know Matt Murdock is a smooth, charming son of a bitch when he wants to be

-

#daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #i love him your honor #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x AFABReader #x reader #matt murdock x you #fanfiction #matt murdock's charm #meet cute

[demigod-of-the-agni]

A DEVIL REBORN

Happy Halloween!!! A detailed ID will be placed under the cut (it's close to being 1K i could literally post this to Ao3)

p1. ड्याम्म (dyamma) - Nepali for "(feeling) full", "hitting something"

p3. Chutiya - Hindi for "idiot", "moron" and other related insults

p5. க்ரீச் (kreech) - Tamil onomatopoeia describing scraping/screeching sounds

[Extended Image ID: DYAMMA! Slamming his hands on a table, Achanba Okram finds himself in the darkness of his laboratory. He is wearing black clothes and a white lab coat on top, and has a bowl cut with rectangular glasses.

His thoughts whirl within boxes that are coloured gold and are outlined with red; they put a voice to the uneasy feelings Okram knows are stirring inside of him. The thought boxes read:

With Pavitr gone, I finally have time to string my thoughts together. Half-drowned answers bleed out of my pores. Coalescing like some great, abysmal creature of unknown origin.

Bracing his hands against the table, Okram is acutely aware of his body, of the gaping holes in his back that bubble with demonic energy. His thoughts narrate, My body quakes when I begin to question, wracked with paranoia. With dread, as if the idea of what I had to face was unbearable.

The holes in back — four of them, spaced evenly from each other — begin to ooze golden liquid, hot like fire and viscous like tar.

And yet, Okram thinks, I felt it all the same: that crawling, scintillating horror of my reality. Of my tainted flesh and blood. My being here is the work of demonic forces.

Golden arms, fluid yet bony, powered by some otherworldly thing, unravel from the void in his back. They flounder and expand around him, filling the lab with a cold glow. The fingers are tipped with talons, and, if he looked hard enough, Okram swears they are edged with blood.

I died years ago, Okram thinks. I lost my humanity to the fire of the devil's madness. Thus, the question remains: what is the future of Achanba Okram, a DEVIL REBORN?

The lights of the lab suddenly brighten, and Okram hears him before he sees him. His arms register the presence of the other person, immediately unraveling and slipping out of reality. Just outside, Pavitr Prabhakar's voice calls, "HEY, DOCTOR OKRAM! Sorry I'm late! Traffic was abysmal today."

Pavitr's entrance catches Okram by surprise, and he stutters out, "PAVITR?! You- ah- you have one of your shifts today?"

His thoughts reprimand him, You CHUTIYA! Pavitr always has his shifts on Tuesdays!

Pavitr is unaware of Okram's turmoil, sauntering into the laboratory while hefting up a white plastic bag. He's wearing a black and white flannel shirt, and he has circular earrings. Pavitr's eyes are trained on the bag in his hand. He answers Okram's question with, "Yeah, I do. I, uh, got a little hungry along the way (I'm always so hungry)." Pavitr whispers the last part as he lifts the bag up. He continues, "so I went and bought some vada pav, and—"

He suddenly pauses, his eyes locking onto Okram. He can't tell what is going beyond Pavitr's eyes, but the other man's analysing gaze unnerves Okram to a degree beyond description.

(In Pavitr's POV: his Spider-Sense was just triggered. Red and gold squiggly lines emanate from and surround his head in a halo.)

Pavitr lowers the bag slightly in concern. "Uhm," Pavitr says "are you okay, Doctor?"

Dread and fear floods Okram's system. Suddenly he is hyperaware of everything in the room, including the golden arm that has sprouted from his back and was lying on the workbench behind him, right in Pavitr's line of sight.

Play dumb! Okram's mind screams at him. Accordingly, Okram replies, a tad too tightly, "Of course I am, Pavitr! Why wouldn't I be?"

KREECH. The golden arm scrapes its taloned fingers across the table, no doubt giving away its location.

Okram chuckles nervously, sweating almost immediately, at which his mind howls, Not that dumb!

Pavitr narrows his eyes at Okram and at the golden arm on the workbench. "Are those...demonic arms?" he asks Okram, a shadow crossing his face.

(In Pavitr's POV: In the back of his mind, Pavitr sees a vague and faded image forming in response to seeing the arms. He remembers Doctor Octopus, the man with two extra sets of arms who had attacked him many years ago; he was one of the first villains Pavitr fought as Spider-Man. But... Doctor Octopus died a long time ago. Perhaps...?)

"Oh, Doctor..."

Pavitr's gaze softens as he asks, "Are you being haunted by demons? Have you been attacked by them? Why didn't you tell me? I'm so sorry this has been happening to you. I can't imagine how stressful this is for you." A moment, and then, "Do you want to talk about?"

Okram hides his face in his hands, quickly responding, "No, I'm alright, Pavitr."

Pavitr walks forward, placing his bag down and reaching down to place a reassuring hand on Okram's shoulder. "But, Doctor, men of your generation have ignored their mental health for too long."

"Yes, I know," Okram sighs.

"It'll be okay, Doctor," Pavitr promises, "we can figure something out!"

"And what?" Okram asks somewhat sarcastically. "You will be here with me 'every step of the way'?"

"One hundred percent!" Pavitr says.

Behind them, one of Okram's demonic arms reaches out to peer at Pavitr and Okram; if an arm could be happy, it certainly was. The arm is seemingly pleased with Pavitr's helpful and understanding nature. /.End ID]

#i finished this comic the night before an exam. pray for me #anyway THE COMIC IS HEREEEEEEEEE #this thing has been rolling around in my mind for SOOO LONG lmao #only real spidey fans will understand that this interaction is based on that one scene between peter and otto octavius- #-in the first ps4 spidey game #friendly reminder that pavitr prabhakar (at least in the comics) does not know the identity of his version of doctor octopus #so my brain knew it would be super fucking funny to have this scene happen in the mmau except the roles are swapped. how fucking funny #(please tell me it's funny i worked so hard on this hyperspecific joke) #also yes that picture of pavitr with the bag? that i've been reblogging where he picks up sad peter parker or gets jumped by miguel? #yes that came from here. I AM A COMEDIAN #but narratively-speaking. considering this is now canon for the mythic mumbattan au.... #thinking about how i far i can push the insomniac spidey agenda into this universe. thinking. just THINKING. wait I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHI #and it is FANTASTIC oh you guys are gonna love it #cackling. you'll have to wait for it tho <3 #spider man #spider man india #pavitr prabhakar #achanba okram #(also in case you didn't know. achanba okram ISN'T REAL. HE'S MY LITTLE GUY. I MADE HIM) #(he's like. half oc half established character) #artoftheagni #mythic mumbattan au #atsv #across the spider verse #atsv pavitr #doctor octopus

[leahsfavefics]

All I Want for Christmas is Joon (Teaser)

Title: All I Want for Christmas is Joon

Banner: the incredible @kithtaehyung

Pairing: art historian!Namjoon x art historian!reader (f)

Rating/genre: m (18+) angst, fluff, smut, second chance au

Estimated WC: 20k - this teaser is 792 words!

Posting Date: Dec 21st

Summary: You have had a rough year following the mutual break up with your grad school sweetheart. On a whim, you book a spontaneous trip to Europe for the holidays to help get you out of the funk you’re in and assert your independence. It would be great, if it weren’t for the fact that you keep bumping into your ex boyfriend.

Part of the Jingle All the Way collab!

BEFORE:

Your fingers itched over your computer mouse, hesitating on the ‘click’ you so ardently wanted to make. Anxiety held you back.

“Just do it,” Melissa hollered from your kitchen. You smiled, impressed at how she sensed your hesitation somehow. Outside of your family, she’s one of only two people that could ever read you that well. Though you guess that now she’s the only person that can, since the other is your ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in over a year.

You took her encouragement with a grain of salt. She was always egging on whatever hair brained idea you had, ever since elementary school. This time, though, maybe she was right.

“It’s expensive. And I’d be all by myself. I’ve never traveled all by myself,” you whined in response.

“Bitch, it’s literally cheaper than it’s ever going to be,” she shot back, strolling into the living room and leaning against the couch where you sat. You couldn’t argue. The Travel Tuesday flight deals this year were insane. You’ve never seen a round trip flight to Europe be less than $500, and somehow the itinerary you’ve secured rang in at $386.00 round trip, taxes and fees included. It was probably a bulk fair with a million restrictions and you’d be fucked if you wanted to change it, but the flight left in 3 weeks. If you booked this, you were going no matter what.

“And traveling by yourself is not bad,” Melissa continued. “Obviously I’d rather be on a girls’ trip with you or on a trip with Taehyung, but it’s also really nice to not have to worry about anyone but yourself. Sure, there’s no one to take cute pictures of you unless you want to ask a stranger, but you can do whatever you want without consulting with anyone or taking their feelings into account. Craving sushi? Go get sushi! Want a nap? Go take a nap! Want to check out an obscure museum no one would be interested in but you? Do it! You only have yourself to worry about.”

You sighed. “You’re right, I know you’re right. But you’re so much more adventurous than I am.” Mel and her husband, Taehyung, were always going off and doing the wildest of things. Going on amazing trips around the world, skydiving, scuba diving, the list goes on. Whether they were a match made in heaven or hell, you weren’t sure- they rarely said no to each other’s schemes. They were happy though, and beyond in love, and that’s all you could ever want for your best friend.

“That’s not true.” Melissa said. “You’re adventurous, you’re just also nervous. Ever since…. You know what. You’ve been complaining that you want to get better at doing things on your own. This is your chance. And you’ve wanted to go to Norway for ages. You can’t achieve your dreams if you’re afraid to pull the trigger when the opportunity presents itself.” You winced, but it was the truth. The hard truth, but the truth nonetheless. And you trusted Melissa to give it to you straight when you needed it. Since the breakup with Namjoon over a year ago, you’d been wallowing. The two of you did everything together, attached at the hip since you met in your grad school apartment building the weekend you both moved in. You’d made it all through college, moving in together the second year of school into a nice apartment off campus that you still occupied. The study abroad semester Namjoon spent in Paris had been tough, especially because you’d only had enough time and money for one brief visit, but it wasn’t until college was over that things fell apart. Art History is a tough field to get a job in. You were both insanely lucky to land jobs fresh out of college. Grades and letters of recommendation helped, but still. It was unfortunate that they were across the country. You’d barely made it through one bout of long distance. You thought it better to end things rather than face that again, and with no end date in sight. 

“You’re right. I know how to travel. Namjoon and I took a few trips together. And you and I have gone on trips together. I need to learn how to be comfortable doing things on my own. I’m 25 years old. I can’t wait around forever.” You nodded as you spoke, convincing yourself. Taking a shaking breath, you squeezed your eyes shut and made that final click. 

Melissa squealed in excitement and pulled you in for a constricting hug that pulled a laugh from you despite your nerves about your newly booked solo adventure. “I’m so proud of you! And excited! You’re going to fucking Norway!!”

#bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon x reader #namjoon au

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 22

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: So Tuesday was a mess.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Dr. Kemp leans forward, elbows on his knees as he watches you. Patient, intent, he listens without distraction to every word you say. His attention is almost eerie but only because you’re not used to it. He hangs off of every word.

“I don’t hate Amber,” you frown and hug your legs, only then realising how small you’ve made yourself in the chair, “I love her… I just don’t know if she ever loved me.”

He nods and sits up, dragging his fingers down his chin as he props an elbow on the armrest. He presses his finger against his mouth as he hums thoughtfully. He drops his hand and smiles.

“Are you worried about if she loves you or… are you afraid that you don’t deserve her love? Or anyone’s?” He prompts gently.

You bit down on your tongue. You lower your chin as you think. Your heart plummets deep as your skin tingles hotly.

“Both,” you admit.

“It’s like I said, sweetheart, you have to love yourself first. Then you will see how others can love you,” he drapes one leg over the other, “but we should unpack your relationship with your sister a bit further. We can’t do all that today, but we can start.”

You nod and cup your chin. You make yourself sit up and look at him. You push your feet over the edge and straighten your back.

“Codependency. It’s very toxic. Amber has her flaws, as we all do. What you’ve pointed out about her isn’t out of the question but I don’t know her, I can’t diagnose her. But I can help you draw boundaries and make sense of things,” he explains, “you feel that you were a burden, that you were entirely helpless without her. Did you ever consider she felt the same way? That she attached herself to you because otherwise, she felt useless.”

You look above him and examine the curtain. That’s easier than looking him in the face. You put your hands in your lap and wring them tightly. No, you never thought of it that way because that can’t be true.

“Why… why would she feel like that? I give her nothing. I’m…”

“Now, let’s stop right there,” he raises a thick finger, “what did I say about talking about yourself? Be kind.”

“Yes, Doctor,” you murmur, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, you owe yourself one.”

You bow your head guiltily. The more you talk to him, the more aware you are of all your bad habits. Isn’t this supposed to help you feel better? Not feel worse?

“It’s work, it hurts and then it feels good,” he says, “but the important thing is that you keep going. You keep the progress up, even if some days we don’t take a step forward, he have to keep looking ahead.” He lowers his hand over the end of the armrest, “I think this week you should write about Amber, try to get your thoughts out. Along with your other homework which is…”

You blink at him and give a dumb look. He smiles, “be nice to you. I want you to write down everything you do all week to that end. Baths, moisturising, reading a book, sketching something, anything that makes you happy.”

“Okay,” you grip your knees, slowly trailing your hands up to tug down the pleats of your skirt. You’re not used to it, you almost forgot you were wearing the thing, “I’ll try.”

“You’ll do great,” he encourages, “you already have done so much.”

🕊️

You're exhausted after the session. Almost despondent on the drive to Andy's as everything Steve said swirls in your mind. A thousand thoughts to add to your already overcrowded head. 

"Honey," Andy's voice cuts through your trance, "are you okay?"

"Uh, I'm sorry," you say, stunned to find the car parked in front of his house, his eyes boring into you with concern, "yeah, I'm fine."

"Oh, you haven't said a word," he slides the keys free of the ignition, "and you weren't responding."

"No, no, it's... I was thinking."

"Ah," he nods, hesitating to get out of the car as he hovers his hand against the door, "about... did Steve say something?"

"Um, just about stuff," you reply evasively, "nothing big."

"Well, you now I'm always here for you, right? That you can talk to me too?"

You nod and fake a smile. He's nice and all but you can't tell him everything. You can't even tell Steve everything you put in your journal. Somethings are meant just for you.

"I know," you murmur, "is it alright if I lay down for a bit. I'm really tired out."

"Sure you can, dove," he reaches over you caress the crease of your skirt, "just for a little. You don't want to waste the day."

"I won't," you promise and pull the handle on your door.

You turn and hide your face from him. He's right but it still irks you. Sometimes he can be so bossy. You've done what he wants. You're doing the therapy, so why can't you have one day to just burrow away.

🕊️

You spend your time alone staring at the ceiling, all tied up with Andy’s suggestion. Don’t sleep the day away. Sigh, now you can’t even close your eyes. You’re too worried about doing just that.

After a few hours, you give up, hoping to find some solace in a cup of tea. You can pop out and assure Andy that you’re awake. Maybe you should work on the painting. He must be getting impatient for that as well.

You pull on a loose wooly cardigan, the one with the patch sewn into it, and hide your clingy t-shirt beneath it.  You come downstairs and pass the archway of the living room. The TV is lit up with the menu but Andy’s nowhere to be found.

You hear him. You go further down and peek into the kitchen. Something tinkles against porcelain as you watch him pour the contents of a bag into a bowl. There are several set out already, on a neat wooden tray with two glass bottles of soda.

���Um…” you step into the doorway. “I… was going to put the kettle on.”

He looks over at you and smiles. It’s only then you notice his clothing. A pair of thin plaid pajamas and a navy blue sweatshirt. He looks cozy. You’re not used to that. He’s all buttoned-up and tidy.

“Oh, sure,” he says, “I can get some tea out… but er,” he sets the bowl with the rest, “you kinda walked in on my surprise.”

“Surprise?” You wonder.

“Yeah, uh, I was thinking we could do a movie night. Your choice,” he presses closed the seal of the M&Ms bag and puts it at the back of the counter. “I got all these snacks and some soda if you like, but if you want tea instead–”

“Oh,” you bat your lashes.

“Oh?” He sounds nervous as he echoes your syllable.

“I… I wasn’t expecting this. I…” you fold your arms over your stomach, “you really… did all this?”

You tiptoe forward and raise your chin to see onto the tray. He grins proudly as you near and see the assortment of snacks; trail mix, chips, gummies, chocolate…

“Pretty simple but I figured maybe it would be fun.”

You suck your lower lip in and look up at him. His eyes are shining, almost hopeful. He did all this for you. He actually wants to spend time with you. He was even excited about it.

“It’s wonderful,” you say, “I hope… I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful. Only surprised.”

“Of course, honey,” he slides the tray off the counter, “let me get this.”

He carries the spread across the kitchen and you trail him into the front room. You linger at the threshold as he sets down the snacks on the low coffee table. The room smells of raspberry. You hum at the scent and notice the candle already lit on the table. The lights are dim as the flame lends a flicker to the space.

“Like it?” Andy looks up at your audible sniff. 

“Smells nice,” you assure him.

“Well? You gonna just stand there or find something to watch?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you scurry over as he holds out the remote.

You sit on the couch and he drops down beside you. As you sit forward, he leans back, his arm stretched out behind you carelessly. You flick through the title cards of all the movies, intimidated by the endless selection.

“What kind of movies do you like?” You ask, almost embarrassed to choose one yourself.

“Whatever you like, dove,” he says.

It feels like the back of your shirt is moving, just along the bottom. The sensation is so light and you’re too nervous to look at Andy. You put your elbow on your knee and cup your chin. You guess it doesn’t really matter. You choose a title your recognise, not recalling what the movie is about.

“Don’t forget to dig in,” Andy sits up.

“Er, okay,” you put the remote down and take the bottle of soda. You read the label in the low light. It looks fancy. You try to twist the metal cap off but it threatens to cut into your hand. “Ow.”

“Here,” Andy reaches over, “let me.”

He grips the neck and pops off the metal lid with ease. He hands it back to you and takes his own. You thank him under your breath and hover your mouth over the top. You take a sip, the bubbles tickling your nose.

“Mmm,” you hide a cough at the carbonation, “ooh, pretzels.”

You reach for one of the twisted treats. He chuckles as the credits play and he takes a rippled chip. You bite into a pretzel and focus on the screen. He’s sitting so close. You glance over, there’s lots of couch free.

You nibble nervously as the opening scene plays. You focus on the dialogue, not quite picking up on everything. The movie’s much more serious than you expected. You finish a handful of the dry food and wash it down with soda before flopping back.

You squint at the screen and try to untangle the furling plot. It’s kind of boring. You hide a yawn in your cuff and keep your hand to your mouth. The scene shifts and suddenly a bed frame rocks, knocking against the wall as the camera pans down to reveal the two bodies writhing on the mattress.

Oh my! There’s always one of these scenes.

You fight not to close your eyes. You’re mortified as you stare wide-eyed, the room hotly silent except for the activity on screen. You can hear Andy’s breaths and your own. His foot moves as he adjusts his leg and you flinch, almost expecting him to move closer. No, why would he do that?

The scene finally ends. That was torture. Amber always lets you fast forward through those ones. You lean forward to hide your discomfort with another swig of soda. Andy clears his throat but doesn’t comment.

You munch on a mixture of sweet and salty, your stomach squirming. You’re just going to make yourself sick. You recline again, eyes burning and itchy as they threaten to close. No, you don’t want to upset Andy. You can’t fall asleep.

The man and woman argue in the street. You don’t know who would ever do that. Those sorts of conversations are better behind closed doors. You don’t really get relationships; they seem confusing and stressful.

You arch your back, stretching out a kink in your side and a snort from beside you makes you flinch. You don’t look over, not until it comes again. Andy’s shadow sits with its head back, nose to the ceiling as he snores. Oh no, he fell asleep first!

You’re almost happy it’s him. You were so afraid of doing so, fearing at how he might react. You just think it’s funny. This movie really is boring.

You giggle and call his name. He doesn’t react. You call again, “wake up.”

Still nothing. You chew your lip and raise a shaky hand. You touch his arm, poking him with two fingers. You repeat his name. He’s now waking up. You nudge him hard and he slips, first one way then back towards you. Before you can react, he folds over onto your lap.

His weight hits your legs and you squeak. You don’t think as you grab onto his shoulder and try to shake him. He’s so heavy! And big. The difference between you is obvious but even more in that moment. He is immovable, like a boulder crushing you.

“Andy,” you say, “please, wake up.”

He bends his arm and grips your knee, nestling in as he snorts deeper. He must be exhausted. He drove you all the way to therapy and then got all these snacks together for movie night. And now, he can’t even enjoy it. All for you. All his effort spoiled because of you.

You deflate and sink back into the cushions. You kick your legs and try to wiggle free of him. You can’t seem to get out. You surrender and look at the screen. You guess you’ll finish this darn movie.

#fic #don't speak #andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #au #library au #defending jacob #series