#and I think it might be a decent ending point too
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seven
empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)
this story takes place about a year after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.
cw: light eye horror
~
He’s still new to the whole going-to-work thing. It’s kind of like school, and Jimmy had never liked school, but it’s different in the way that he’s getting paid for his work. And it’s a decent bit more enjoyable than school—he’s learning about cars, getting familiar with the inner workings of machines, and he hasn’t properly had the chance to pop open a hood since he was a teenager and would help his dad with checking the coolant and whatall.
It’s nothing glamorous, but Jimmy really likes his job—more than when he worked as a call service agent, at least. Today he’d learned how to even the weight of a motorcycle, and even though he’d pinched his fingers between the exhaust pipe and the engine, his boss had praised his efforts and let him off early.
Scott usually picks him up from work—they’ve got a second car, but Jimmy doesn’t take his driving test until this weekend so he’s not really meant to be driving himself anywhere—but Scott isn’t free for another hour, so Jimmy meanders around downtown.
He used to live on these streets, so it’s more instinct and less purpose that leads him down to the park across the block from his old apartment building—now closed, he observes, for renovations. The park is lonely at this time of day, two rusting swings hanging silently and a plastic slide gleaming in the sun.
Jimmy stops for a moment, stares at the yellowed grass and bleached plastic playground equipment. He’d never allowed himself to go anywhere near this park, a spot of joy for the kids living in the rundown neighborhood.
He can’t hang here long for risk of being chased off by some bathrobe-clad mother, accusing him of being a predator, so Jimmy turns back to the main part of downtown and heads back in the direction of the mechanic. Maybe Scott’s patrolling in the area, can show off some ice tricks.
There’s a handful of other walkers starting to appear when he makes it back into downtown proper, mostly those returning to work from lunch and high schoolers skipping out of school early. Once upon a time, Jimmy knew how to blend in perfectly with this crowd. Once upon a time, he could never stay in one place for too long.
He slides in among them just as easily as he once might have, moving at the same speed and keeping to the common footpath. He keeps his eyes down and dodges anyone coming from the other direction without issue.
Which is why it’s weird when someone runs right into him.
“Oh, geez—sorry, can I—”
“Well, isn’t it great to see you!”
Jimmy blinks, flinches as the man he’d run into slaps him on the back a couple of times. He . . . he has no clue who this is.
His mind instantly cycles through various brutes from Xornoth’s manor, but this face doesn’t match any of them. This man is a bit stocky, straw-colored hair hanging over his forehead, thin beard a bit darker in color. He’s smiling widely, even as he takes Jimmy by the hand and starts dragging him off.
Jimmy can’t help it—some strange man is pulling him away and he panics—with a snap of adrenaline—
The man jumps back, Jimmy coming with him, as a chair is thrown out of the window of the building beside them, narrowly missing them. He chuckles, taps his nose knowingly.
“You aren’t getting me with that one! Don’t worry, I just want to talk. How about in that deli?”
He doesn’t point anywhere, strangely enough, so Jimmy just glances around until he sees a deli.
All the well-trained alarm systems in Jimmy’s brain are firing, but. . . .
Now that he thinks about it, there is something familiar about this man. Maybe it’s his cadence, or his eyes—
And Jimmy realizes with a start that the man is blind, his eyes clouded over, faded scars stretching across them.
He’s shocked enough that he lets the man lead him into the deli, grab them a table, and order himself a sandwich.
That’s when he notices that the man is not only blind, but has earplugs in.
“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying loudly as the man tucks into his sandwich, “I think you may have mistaken me with someone else.”
The man winces. “You don’t have to shout, I’m right here,” he says around a mouthful of sandwich. “And no, Tim, I know who you are.”
If that isn’t ominous. And also the wrong name, though it once again scritches at the part of his brain that finds something about this man so oddly familiar. “Jimmy,” he automatically corrects. “Not Tim. And I really ought to get going—”
“Back to Scott?”
Jimmy freezes, halfway out of his seat.
“Because I’m pretty sure he’s patrolling around the East side of the city, y’know. Unless you want to call Lizzie. Pretty sure she’s not busy at the minute.”
The man takes another bite out of his sandwich, scratches his beard.
Jimmy’s stomach goes cold. How did he—how can—it’s—
“See Tim, there’s not a lot that I don’t hear about,” the man continues. “However, there is something that I need to know, if you wouldn’t mind answering.”
He needs to get away. Fight or flight has fully kicked in, and Jimmy needs to run. Jimmy raises his hand, ready to do—something, shatter his chair or collapse the table or hurt him in some way—but the man only tsks.
“Come on then, none of that. The three of us have got to stick together, really. Wouldn’t be good to start fighting, especially with the way Nine acts.”
Slowly, Jimmy sits back down. It’s not because he’s intimidated, he tells himself. His fingers twitch. He could kill this man in an instant, and no one would ever know.
The man puts down his sandwich in its wrapper and leans in, head tilted a bit to the side. “So,” he says lowly, “did you kill them?”
Jimmy knows, instinctively, that he means Xornoth.
And it’s not intimidation that makes Jimmy answer. It’s some strange feeling that he knows this man, and cares about him. Something familiar in the line of his nose and the color of his hair.
“Yeah,” says Jimmy in the same low tone. “Yeah, I did.”
The man sits back, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Good. I figured you did, y’know, but I was sleeping when it happened. You could’ve pulled a runner, y’know? Could’ve been someone else to get them. That wouldn’t have been right, though. It had to be one of their . . . erm, what did they start calling them? Subjects?”
Jimmy swallows, then mutters an answer in the affirmative. He keeps having to remind himself that he doesn’t know this man, as familiar as he is. How does he know so much?
“Right. Back in my day, we were ‘participants’. What a joke.” The man shakes his head, then takes another bite of his sandwich. “Well, thanks for the info. I won’t tell anyone, promise—well, I’ll tell Nine, but Nine isn’t much of a talker, so it won’t get out or anything.”
“Right,” Jimmy manages. He checks his phone; Scott should be coming to pick him up soon. He casts his eyes about, trying to think of anything to say to the strange man with white scars and earplugs.
“What happened to your eyes?” he asks eventually. The man smiles ruefully, one hand going up to trace over the scars. They aren’t precise in any way, some smaller ones littered around the corners, long ones down the middle. If Jimmy looks closely, he can even see the places the irises are entirely missing along with the scar, leaving the man with cloudy white streaks through his eyes.
“Let’s just say—next time those scientists of theirs have you on the table, make sure and ask ‘em to strap down your hands,” the man says. “Not that that should ever happen to you again, but you never know, y’know?”
Well.
Jimmy feels slightly ill, staring at those scars. Most of his aren’t self-inflicted, nor nearly as visible as those. Sure, he has one across his cheek, and a small one above his eyebrow, but they don’t usually attract much attention. Scott even thinks they make him look rather dashing. He can only imagine the stares and questions this man gets on a daily basis.
The stranger finishes his sandwich, wiping his fingers off with the wrapper. He stands, tips an imaginary hat toward Jimmy.
“Well, I’ll be off. The city’s a bit loud, don’t you think? Oh, and thanks for footing the bill.”
And then he’s gone, and Jimmy sits there in stunned silence until he shakes himself, heads up to the counter, and pays.
He tries to forget about the man. As weeks pass, he moves on, his days taken up by work and Scott and his friends. And he mostly does forget about the familiar stranger, too busy to spare the mental energy needed to try and figure out who he was.
That is, until one night, nearly a month later.
Lizzie had managed to get a hold of their high school’s yearbook from when she was a senior and Jimmy a sophomore, and together with Scott and Joel they paged through it, laughing at Lizzie’s galaxy-themed outfit and Jimmy’s unbrushed hair.
They stop on the page of the soccer team, and Jimmy knows from the coos and laughs that they’re looking at him and his ridiculous hair, but his eyes are caught on a familiar face.
“Who’s that?” he finds himself saying, pointing to the boy beside him, the boy who has his arm slung around his shoulders, the boy who—in one small picture off to the side, is knuckling Jimmy’s head.
And then he remembers.
He pages through the yearbook until he finds him.
A senior that year. One of his friends, and one of the only people who tried to still hang out with him after his powers got out of hand.
He’d almost completely forgotten about Martyn.
Martyn, the dude with the new Playstation. He’d been powered—not strongly, but with some fairly average super hearing and far vision.
Jimmy thinks back to the man he’d met, blinded by his own hands, hearing so intense that he has to wear earplugs at all times.
And then he wonders, dreading the unknown answer, what kind of mistakes had been made with the experiments before his own—and who on earth Nine might be.
#empires smp#empires smp fanfic#empires superpowers au#esh au#jimmy solidarity#scott smajor#flower husbands#martyn inthelittlewood#mas writes#051424#finally. he's here#after all the fighting he did to get here#when i explicitly told him no#martyn: that sign can't stop me bc i can't read! im blind!#the number seven really just suits this man huh#somebody guessed that martyn would have been one of the subjects lol#you were correct! congrats!#lmk what you guys think#love you guys
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((some big shit is gonna happen today plot-wise))
#update#not story#not an ask#read the tags#it would be a decent point to end the chapter soon-ish?? but like#there's still more i wanna cover this isn't the final point#there's a little more#just saying it may be reaching. close to an end point soon#unless you think it went by too fast#then i might squeeze more shit in#what do you think pls give feedback#i'm not the most confident in my pacing
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I feel like whatever was going on with majima/mirei/katsuya in the early 90s was some sort of complicated bisexual love triangle situation. like majima is majima and katsuya’s handsome and eloquent and absolutely doesn’t seem straight to me, but on top of that it feels like there was some sort of confusing tension between katsuya and mirei, not sure if it was romantic or one-sided or what but. SOMETHING. I don’t know what the hell was going on with those three really but no way in hell do I believe the romantic/sexual/??? depth ends with majima and mirei
#katsuya is HANDSOME and CHARMING and ELOQUENT. I just KNOW at least one of them was into him. probably both#one way I’m imagining it could’ve went is like#katsuya introduces majima and mirei to one another and mirei crushes on him pretty quick (because she is 19 and quick to do so)#majima doesn’t really particularly have an interest in her- not cause she’s unattractive or anything probably mostly because she’s almost a#because she’s almost a decade younger than him and barely legal. but at some point she confides in katsuya about her feelings for him and#katsuya being the sweet and honorable kinda dude he is acts as a wingman and tries to get majima to go out with her#and eventually majima relents because he doesn’t want to end up admitting to katsuya that he actually had a thing for KATSUYA#and by playing wingman for his good friend mirei majima takes it as him being uninterested and thus doesn’t shoot his shot and yeah#katsuya’s hard to say no to and hey I mean maybe mirei- a civilian- will make his life more capable of Normalcy#she’s conventionally attractive and is a decent enough friend- albeit he didn’t really know what she was like as a person before she was#crushing on him and also. again. she’s 19 and an idol. so inevitably her identity in general is NOT solid yet#almost as if rebounding off a relationship he never even Got- things move insanely quickly with mirei and they’re married in less than a#year. the whole time katsuya is there cheering them on- he’s smart and I think he’d see the red flags when it comes to their ages and#maturity at least but I think that’d become more apparent over time and he’d start to have regrets but#it’s way too late for that. especially when she comes to him bawling her eyes out because she’s found out she’s pregnant and she has no#idea what to do. both for her career and because she’s literally barely an adult she doesn’t want a child at that point but obviously she#knows she’ll feel guilty and- more than that- deep shame for terminating. she’s insightful even at that age and also maybe can read majima#well enough to know that he might take her abortion as a sign for him to book it to no longer cause her anymore issues. katsuya reassures#her cause what else is he gonna do. but of course she’s right and his commitment issues kick in big time and yeah. over the years katsuya’s#the in-between still close with both of them. specifically he’s closer with mirei and they trust one another a lot more than majima with#either of them- just because majima’s Like That and his trust issues create distance easily. nonetheless at some point majima asks him if#he’s been single for so long because he was hung up on mirei and apologizes if he got in the way of them and that leads into some really#long overdue admissions and likely hooking up. but of course majima is STILL majima and again kinda books it because feelings are#inconvenient and their time for something like a relationship has passed (or something like that).#mirei often wonders if things would’ve been better if she’d have ended up with katsuya instead but similar to majima she’s career-focused#now and just wants to value him as a friend regardless of any lingering potential feelings. majima ends up falling hard for kiryu#sooner than later and life just moves on from any romanticism beteeen the three of them- a nostalgic closeness lingers instead#rambling#that was. a lot.
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GOJO SATORU: ONE FOR THE MONEY, TWO FOR THE SHOW
✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: you and satoru, your fake boyfriend, have awards to accept and places to be. so how'd you two end up fucking in a bathroom? NSFW
contents: fem!reader. semi-public sex, p –> v, blowjob, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, you two get walked in on at the end (kinda). references hungry for more. not proofread, ignore any minor mistakes. 3.5K words.
“you two are so cute together,” the interviewer sighs, looking at you and satoru in turn. “please, tell us more about your relationship!”
satoru laughs, resting his hand on your back and pulling you into his side. you put on a smile and instinctually put a hand on his chest, pretending not to notice the way he stiffens up at the contact. “where do i even begin?” satoru asks dryly, turning and looking down at you affectionately, and he’s almost a good enough actor for you to believe there’s any real emotion behind those cold blue eyes.
two weeks ago, satoru’s media team came to you with a request for you two to start dating as a way of gaining more attention from your fans. naturally, you declined—it’s not like you’d gain anything from the deal but the burden of being paraded around on the arm of the man you hated—satoru gojo, the cocky son of some famous actor in the 90’s. but after multiple increases in the amount of money satoru’s team was willing to throw at you, you finally agreed under the condition that this arrangement would end the second you wanted it to.
“i’m sure you’ve seen our latest movie on netflix,” satoru starts, looking back up at the interviewer, whose eyes have practically turned into hearts. “the one with the serial killer, yeah? well, it started from there and just grew into more.”
“i guess you could say the attraction on the screen wasn’t all acting,” you add with a knowing smile. good thing you were a decent enough actor to pretend as if you weren’t just lying through your teeth, otherwise the millions of dollars in your bank account would all be gone.
the interviewer laughs and turns to the camera, saying something about how the chemistry between you and satoru was what really made the movie a hit—in fact, it might even be the reason you’re both getting nominated for best actor and actress.
“well, if you’d excuse us, i think we should get back to the party,” satoru jumps in, nodding his head at the interviewer in thanks. he removes his hand from your back as you follow him to the main area, weaving through crowds of fans and interviewers on his way there. you walk at his side, heels clacking against the freshly polished floor. satoru dips his head and whispers, “hold my hand.”
you scrunch up your nose and shake your head. “no thanks, it’s not like anyone’s watching right now. it’s way too crowded.”
“just do it,” satoru mutters, grabbing your hand anyways. when you start to pull away, he fixes you with a stern look and adds, “they’ll think something’s wrong if you don’t.”
“ugh, fine.”
two hours pass, filled with other actors’ remarks on how good you and satoru make as a couple. suguru geto, one of satoru’s close friends who had played a cult leader in a recent documentary even said that you might be the girl who could fix satoru. yeah, right.
“so, when do awards start?” you ask satoru, swirling your drink and relishing the sound of the ice clacking against the side of the glass. he shrugs and takes a swig from his own cup, which looks suspiciously like apple cider disguised as champagne. “really? you’re nominated for like, four awards, and you don’t even know when you’re getting them?”
satoru laughs carelessly and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on the short cut of your dress. “at this point, i’ve got so many awards that it doesn’t even matter anymore. and by the way, you look really good in that dress. oh, wait, didn’t i buy it for you?”
“you’re not smooth.”
“then why am i nominated for best actor, huh?”
“because the system’s absolute shit, obviously. otherwise toji would win every time.”
satoru groans and drinks the last couple sips of his drink, rolling his eyes. “don’t even mention that piece of shit.” you shrug in response, hiding your smile behind your glass. a couple years back, satoru had lost a role to toji and to his despair, the movie did really well, despite what he’d promised to the producers who had turned him down. and it looks like he’s still bitter over that, and all of a sudden, the perfect plan to piss satoru off appears in your head.
“look, it’s toji right there!” you gasp, setting down your drink and hopping off your seat, walking over to toji while ignoring satoru’s warnings. “oh, hi, i’m a big fan,” you say to the tall, well-built man, smiling bashfully. toji turns and looks down at you, raising an eyebrow and smiling.
“hey, pretty, you’re the girl in that movie with the serial killer, yeah?” he asks, crossing his arms. you nod and internally marvel at how tall he is—especially compared to satoru, who, by any standards, is pretty damn tall. toji looks you up and down, taking his sweet time drinking in the way your dress hugs your figure. “that scene in the alley was really fuckin’ good,” toji adds conversationally. “you’re definitely winnin’ best actress for that.”
anyone who’s watched the movie knows that the scene he’s referring to is the one where you get fucked by satoru against a dark alley wall—and you’ve seen enough edits of the scene to know exactly why it’s getting all the hype.
“aw, thanks,” you say coyly, resting a hand on your hip and tilting your head. “y’know, i’ve always wanted to star in a movie with you,” you continue, hearing satoru come up behind you in the background. you ignore the sickeningly obvious way he clears his throat and flutter your eyelashes at toji, who’s eying you with interest.
“i’d like that. i can probably pull some strings,” toji replies with a smirk. his dark eyes flicker from you to satoru and his smile turns almost patronizing. “and who’s this?”
“her boyfriend. and i really hate to interrupt this friendly chat, but she’s not up for grabs,” satoru snaps, wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging you back to your spot at the bar. you shoot satoru an indignant glare, but receive no reply besides his tightening jaw. toji laughs and waves you off, mouthing “call me” at you when you turn back apologetically.
satoru drags you by the hand to one of the bathrooms, shoving open the door with the side of his arm and pulling you inside. there’s a long, shiny counter, which you become very familiar with once your fake boyfriend hoists you up and sits you on it. “the fuck was that?” satoru hisses, narrowing his eyes accusingly.
“what, we were just talki—”
“i don’t like the way he was looking at you,” satoru interrupts, crossing his arms tensely. he fixes you with a cold stare and you fidget uncomfortably with the hem of your dress, which you now realize is rather short.
“okay, and?” you reply irritably, starting to get annoyed by the way satoru keeps patronizing you. “it’s not like we’re even dating, gojo,” you snap, emphasizing the use of his last name.
“yeah? well, i don’t need my ‘girlfriend’ slutting herself out to the guy everyone knows i hate,” satoru fires back, taking a step forward. his palms rest on the counter on either side of your exposed legs, and you suddenly notice how red satoru’s face is. the flush in his cheeks wasn’t as noticeable underneath the bar’s dim lights, but here, it’s rather obvious.
“are you jealous?” you ask incredulously, unable to suppress the cheeky smile that finds itself on your face. satoru’s jaw slackens and his eyes widen, and that’s enough of a sign for you to confirm it—satoru gojo, your fake boyfriend, is jealous. he doesn’t reply immediately, so you laugh, throwing back your head and giggling at the way satoru’s petty rivalry seems to be only one of the reasons he was so eager to get you away from toji. “aw, that’s so cute, but we aren’t even dating, sweetheart,” you coo, reaching out and caressing the side of satoru’s face.
he instantly swats your hand away, rolling his eyes at your laughter. “well, we still have to act like it, you idiot,” he mutters, leaning over you and eying the low neckline of your dress. you instinctively cross your arms and glare at him, and satoru only cocks an eyebrow in return. “so, if we were actually dating, do y’know what i’d be doing right now?”
“what?” you decide to humor him.
satoru’s demeanor completely changes at your question, going from pissed and flushed red to almost playful.
“this.”
and just like that, satoru slips his slender fingers underneath the bottom of your dress and pulls it up, exposing your black, lacy panties.
“gojo, what the—”
“shh, it’s all for the show,” he whispers teasingly, brushing one finger against the warm skin of your thigh. you involuntarily shiver from his touch, and against all rational impulse, find yourself wanting more.
in the acting community, satoru was well-known for being a stuck-up brat, and when you two had first announced your relationship, plenty of actors doubted it. after all, how could you, the classy it-girl of the movie industry, date an asshole like satoru? but even you were surprised at how easily people started to believe it when you two interacted in front of them. you’ve been told that you two had a rather unexpected burst of chemistry together, and that your relationship might actually make it.
what a shame.
satoru hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, raising an eyebrow when you don’t protest. he maintains eye contact with you as he slides your panties down your thighs, exposing your embarrassingly-wet cunt. satoru looks almost as surprised as you do at how soaked you are, even as he runs two fingers over your slit before sliding them in. you hate how good it feels—it’s been a while since you got a chance to sleep with another man, especially since you’ve been stuck with satoru for the past two weeks.
“shit, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” satoru murmurs, scoffing in mild disbelief as he meets your eyes and smiles. he curls his fingers upwards, causing your thighs to reflexively close before satoru reopens them. “so, wanna explain, sweetheart?” he tsks, tapping your thigh with his other hand.
you make a face and look away, cheeks heating up the longer satoru waits for a response. “it’s probably from toji,” you snap back after a moment. satoru laughs sarcastically, shaking his head almost condescendingly and pulling out his fingers.
“nice try, hon,” he says sweetly, lifting his fingers to his mouth and licking off your slick in one smooth motion. satoru exhales heavily and swallows, taking his time in doing so. “want me to go grab toji to join us?” satoru asks, forcing a smile on his lips. “i’m sure he’d love to watch you beg—”
“shut it, gojo,” you interrupt, swatting away his hand, which somehow found its way back in between your thighs. “we have an award show to get to, there’s not enough time for this bullshi—”
that was a mistake. satoru instantly lifts you off the counter and, ignoring the rather wide range of curse words you throw at him, sets you on the ground and starts unzipping his pants. “shh, we got all the time in the world. they can’t give an award to someone who isn’t there, right?” satoru cooes, threading one of his hands through your hair and pulling you closer to him. his other hand finishes unzipping his pants, freeing his already-hard dick.
you look up at satoru, forcing yourself to act unimpressed—even though you know damn well he can see through your half-hearted attempt at hiding your real feelings. “s’ that all?” you ask, hating yourself for the crack in your voice when satoru laughs at you.
“ah, i think it’ll be more than enough for your pretty face to handle. now c’mon, open nice n’ wide for me,” satoru instructs you, reaching down and tilting up your chin as he guides his dick into your mouth. against all rational impulse, you let him, all while glaring daggers at him from below.
you run your tongue over his flushed red tip, and satoru sucks in a harsh breath, chest tensing as you continue kitten-licking him. his hand moves from your chin to the top of your head, and he pushes your mouth farther onto his dick, jaw tightening the more your tongue laps at him.
sure, maybe you shouldn’t be sucking off your fake boyfriend in a bathroom where anyone could walk in at any time, but it’s the first time you’ve felt this way in too long, and you weren’t ready to let this feeling go just yet. so you humor satoru and moan, smiling when you feel the way his whole body loosen up at the soft vibration. “f-fuck, didn’t think you’d actually know how to give a man a good time,” satoru mutters through gritted teeth.
“really?” you ask, pulling away from his dick for a moment to catch a breath. “we fucked for that movie, though, and you seemed pretty damn satisfied then, didn’t you?” you say in-between heaving breaths. satoru scoffs and shakes his head, pushing your mouth back onto his dick.
“yeah, but that was for a movie. this isn’t,” he clarifies, eyes fixed on the mix of spit and pre-cum dribbling down your chin as you continue sucking him off. “fuck, why are you good at this?” he hisses, almost incredulously—it’s as if he was hoping you wouldn’t be this good for him for some reason, but now’s not the time to reason through it or wonder what’s going on in his mind.
satoru shudders around you, and you feel the hair threaded through your hair tighten. it’s not enough to be painful, but his grip still makes you whine from the increased pressure. his breathing becomes more shallow as you run your tongue over his length, and his foot starts to bounce on the floor as he gets closer to cumming down your throat. “shit, baby, m’ close,” satoru confirms a moment later, tilting his chin back and glaring at the ceiling.
“fuckin’ hell, i—” he cuts himself off with a loud, lengthy groan, pushing your head even farther on his dick and tensing as the full force of satoru’s orgasm hits him. he lets loose a flurry of curse words as he cums in your mouth, filling you up to the point where it starts dripping down the side of your face. it’s hot and salty, two sensations that you normally wouldn’t put together, but in this moment it’s all you can think about as you slide one hand downwards towards your throbbing pussy.
still reeling from his surprisingly quick orgasm, satoru leans back onto the counter and pants for air. as for you, you’re starting to want some of his pleasure for yourself—so you slip two fingers inside your cunt and pulse them back and forth, needy moans slipping out of your lips at every thrust. “gojo,” you call, looking up at him and licking his cum off your lips. the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cum dripping down your lips and fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt is enough for satoru to cum again, but he forces himself to maintain some level of control.
“jus’ call me satoru,” he murmurs, reaching down and tugging you up to your feet. it’s hard to stand while your legs are trembling, but thankfully, satoru does most of the work for you by positioning you against the wall, back facing him as he aligns his still-hard dick in front of your dripping pussy. “say it,” satoru mutters in your ear, resting one hand on your waist and the other on the wall just above your shoulder. “say my name f’me, sweetheart.”
“s-satoru,” you breathe, and a moment later, your fake boyfriend—who doesn’t feel so fake anymore—shoves himself inside of your welcoming cunt. you’re already wet enough to the point where he doesn’t really need to prep you at all, but you’re still just tight enough so that every thrust feels like he’s breaking you down in the best way possible.
“y’feel so good,” satoru groans, resting his chin on your shoulder and snapping his hips back and forth, setting a steady yet harsh pace. you stutter out satoru’s name again and again as your vision goes blurry, with your only thoughts revolving around the dick shoved up inside you and the man praising you in your ear.
satoru curses when he feels your walls clench around him, breaths growing shallower with every thrust. “arch your back for me, princess,” he mutters, eyes fluttering rapidly as he squeezes your waist. “yeah, jus’ like that,” satoru praises, breath brushing against the side of your face as he continues thrusting into you. “how’re you feeling, pretty? s’ this all right with you?”
you nod shakily in response, swollen lips hanging wide open as you gasp for air. satoru clicks his tongue and slows his pace, dipping his chin and studying your face. “gonna need you to use your words, angel.”
“m' good, i wanna cum,” you mumble, a loud moan slipping through your lips when satoru laughs and resumes fucking you a millisecond after you answer.
“i’m gonna fill you up, baby, i promise,” satoru whispers, and his words are barely audible over the lewd, sticky sounds coming from everywhere. all your senses are directed at satoru—the man you really shouldn’t be fucking right now, but all your inhibitions fade away as you feel your stomach start to tighten as you approach your orgasm.
“fuck, satoru, m’ close,” you whimper, arching your back even more and clenching your teeth shut. satoru sucks in a sharp breath as he confirms that he’s also about to cum, and his thrusts grow sloppier the closer he gets. “don’t stop, please, i—”
from there on, your words mix themselves together, with the only understandable word being satoru’s name. your fake boyfriend spills into you first, cum leaking from his tip and mixing with yours as you both chase your releases. and it hits you hard—if it wasn’t for satoru, you would’ve crumbled to the ground from the sheer force of your orgasm. all you can see is white as satoru finishes emptying his load inside of you, and the sticky, viscous liquid trails down the warm skin of your thighs as it overflows from your abused hole.
“shit,” satoru mutters, stumbling backwards and eyeing his now-soiled clothes. “this was a couple thousand dollars, damn it.”
you exhale a breathy laugh and turn around, leaning against the wall and meeting his half-lidded eyes. “you kidding? my dress was way more than that, and there’s no way i can wear that out now.”
satoru grins, running a hand through his ruffled hair and walking back towards you, touching your waist and sliding a finger over your dripping cunt. “you were so good f’me, baby. what were we arguing about again?”
“i have no idea,” you mumble, watching satoru lick his finger clean. he’s shameless—even as clarity returns to both of your minds, he still insists on dragging the moment on. not that you mind—that was the best sex you’d had in a while, even if it was too fast and in a bathroom.
“we should get back to the ceremony,” you say distractedly, pulling down your dress and frowning at the new wrinkles. “can i wear your suitjacket? i don’t want people to see this.”
satoru sticks out his bottom lip and pouts, looking you up and down. “but i like it. you look like you just got fucked by a really hot guy. oh, wait, that’s me!”
“you’re an asshole.”
before satoru can reply, the bathroom door opens, and you both jump out of your skins. thankfully, satoru had time to pull his pants on, otherwise it would’ve been significantly more embarrassing. suguru pokes his head in the bathroom and rolls his eyes when he sees you and satoru, and an exasperated sigh slips out of his lips when he sees your fucked-out states.
“are you two seriously fucking during the awards?” suguru snaps, amber eyes glittering with dry amusement. you look away bashfully, tugging down your dress even farther out of embarrassment. satoru shrugs nonchalantly and walks over to suguru, offering his hand in search of a fistbump.
suguru eyes him dubiously and crosses his arms. “did you wash your hands?”
“heh, no, not yet.”
ignoring satoru’s smug grin, suguru swats his arm away with the back of his hand, disgust evident all over his face. “gross, fuck off.” he turns to you and arches an eyebrow, looking you up and down disapprovingly. “you two should clean up before coming outside, otherwise they’ll probably take away your awards,” suguru adds, wrinkling his nose. “i’ll tell them you’re on your way.”
“okay, thanks,” you mutter, face warmer than ever. suguru nods in response and leaves, and when you and satoru finally return to the awards ceremony, there’s plenty of whispers about you two, and most of them aren’t very family-friendly.
well, at the very least, nobody’s gonna doubt that you two were a couple now!
#osaemu#gojo smut#jjk smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#jjk x you#satoru gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo x y/n#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#satoru gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n
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Not Here
[Yandere! Platonic! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]
[Warnings: Mentions of neglect, Mild Yandere Behavior, Batfam being hella stupid.]
(Not really proofread. The birds and bats seeing that y'know- maybe not paying attention to people and neglecting them isn't a good thing. Chaos ensues. More of a development thing. Might be a little ooc?)
Tags: @bigcandlesmolbrain
Chapter 2 of this post. Chapter 3 Pt. 1, Pt. 2. [Series Masterlist]
๑۩۞۩๑—————————————————————๑۩۞۩๑
Bruce liked to think he was a good father, for anything that was worth. Or at the very least, a decent one.
He wasn't perfect by any means, but he felt like he raised his children the best he could, and had made them into responsible and diligent adults. Dick was a great example of this, and even if Damian was still growing up, Bruce had hope that he'd turn out to be good as well. The hardships his current Robin had to face would pay off in the end, Bruce was almost too sure of that.
Those he decided to take under his wing had their flaws, yes, but even if he didn't say it out loud or point it out often. He did believe that they were good at what they do, or at least were on the right path to becoming good vigilantes. Bruce couldn't help but be proud and prideful of where his children and sidekicks were, and could only look forward to how they would continue to develop as time went on. Despite their feelings towards him, and his own faults, mistakes, paranoia, and so on. Along with how he felt about them, and their flaws — he couldn't help but respect the people those in his little mess of a family where becoming, and turning out to be.
Or maybe he was both overestimating and underestimating himself, and the true effects he had on those he decided to look after.
Since, for a few days now, he felt like something was... off.
The Manor seemed quieter these days, and even if he couldn't remember a time where it was particularly loud, the detail felt misplaced to him. Sure, he hasn't hosted a gala or party in a while, but that didn't feel like it was the reason why the silence suddenly bothered him.
Bruce tried to think of all possible reasons, a little surprised himself that this feeling of his was bothering him so much, but the more he thought about it the more confused he became. There didn't seem to be a particular reason for this... and yet, just as he was about to put this feeling aside, he heard it.
["I, um, I was just wondering..."]
["Oh, uhh, that's quite alright! Oh, one moment please... oh! Second chorus... T'was brilling, and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wade..."]
It sounded like some sort of... play? Bruce wasn't too sure, but still decided to check it out regardless, wondering why something like that was playing in the first place.
So, allowing the sounds of the play to guide him, he continued on.
["Why- why you're a cat!"]
The voices grew louder as Bruce drew closer, interest peaked as he tried to recall and see of he knew this play. The lines sounding familiar, now that he was really listening to them.
["A Cheshire Cat. All mimsy were the borogoves..."]
Once Bruce rounded the corner he saw a... familiar face on the screen.
A student play was being filmed, and the play itself was Alice in Wonderland.
Whereas Bruce didn't recognize the actor for Alice, he did recognize the actor for the Cheshire Cat, but couldn't quite put his finger on it...
Was... was that...?
"Y/n?" He whispered your name, voice barely above a whisper.
No, it couldn't be. You didn't participate in any plays, and surely if you did he would've known about it. Even then, that didn't explain why he was seeing this now. The play itself had to have been a recording, since you looked so young...
How long ago did this take place?
["Oh, wait! Don't go, please!"]
["Very well. Third chorus..."]
["Oh no, no, no... thank you, but- but I just wanted to ask you which way I ought to go."]
["Well, that depends on where you want to get to."]
["Oh, it really doesn't matter... as long as I g-"]
["Then it really doesn't matter which way you go! Ah-hmm.... and the momeraths outgrabe..."]
Bruce was staring so intensely at the screen that he hardly noticed how the lines and voices faded into the background. His focus centered on you, disbelief gnawing at the back of his head.
He had never seen you smile like that before, not during all the times he's seen you anyway. Even if those moments themselves were small and short from what he could remember, the smile you wore during your performance felt... new in a way. Like something he hadn't seen before — not on your face anyway. Though that wasn't the only thing that made Bruce feel weird as he watched the play.
It wasn't anything to do with your acting skills. They were fine for the most part — and honestly considering the age you probably were during the time of the play, they might've been above average, or even a little higher than that. Not even the girl who played Alice, who also did relatively well, was the source of this odd feeling.
It wasn't the costumes or the set up, or even the lighting, and how he could faintly see the silhouette of other actors and such just behind the curtain, because of the camera angle. No, it hardly had anything to do with anything like that, but, how should he put this...
... How come he didn't know about this? How come he wasn't aware of this play before? Let alone that they had a recording of it, and that you were even a part of it... but Bruce still felt bothered by this whole realization because, well.
Why didn't you tell him about this?
"Master Bruce?"
The sudden voice snapped Bruce out of whatever trance he was stuck in, as he whipped his head around to face the source of it.
He huffed softly, "Oh, hey Alfred." Bruce greeted calmly, acting as if the butler hadn't caught him off guard.
Alred couldn't help but raise a brow at that.
Almost in a silent, embarrassed way, Bruce glanced off to the side only to notice that the recording was still playing, and so he decided to ask about it. Since, if someone knew anything about anyone in this Manor, it would be Alfred.
"Say... what's this playing on the TV?"
"It's a recording of one of Master Y/n's plays, Master Bruce." Alfred answered simply, almost as if it was common knowledge. "Apologies if it's too loud, I decided to play it while cleaning. I can change it or turn it down if you'd like."
"No, no it's fine... but since when has Y/n acted in plays? I don't remember hearing about this." Bruce stated, confusion growing as another emotion began to swell in his chest. One he was all too familiar with, but ignored for the moment.
"Since middle school, if I recall correctly, but it was only while they were younger. Having only been in three school plays in total, I believe." Alfred moved closer to Bruce as he looked at the screen, eyes softening for a moment as he watched you move along the stage. You had grown up so much since then, and the stage fright you used to have felt like nothing more but a faint memory now.
You wouldn't believe how incredibly proud of you he is.
"It's a shame they didn't do any more afterwards, since it would've been nice to have a few more recordings of their performances, but I suppose that's what happens when you find a new passion." He looked back at Bruce. That previous softness in his gaze nowhere to be found.
There was a certain way how his eyes looked at the billionaire, as if expecting something. As if expecting this.
Alfred had higher hopes, but you had left for a reason. Even if he knew what that reason was, it was only now did he see it more clearly. Especially as he witnessed Bruce's face shift into one of shock and surprise.
"They've always told you, Master Bruce, but you're schedule has just always been too full." Alfred handed Bruce a piece of paper, and Bruce took it wordlessly, looking it over.
It was a flyer promoting a play — the Alice in Wonderland play that was still going in the background — with the dates and times listed below, along with some of the cast members. Your name stuck out like a sour thumb compared to the rest.
Bruce did remember seeing this before, but one thing did still confuse him as he looked back at Alfred.
"I'm pretty sure you gave this to me at the time, not Y/n."
"That I did, sir, but that was only because Master Y/n was having some trouble with catching you attention, because they had wanted to give you the flyer themself. So I offered to give it to you for them." Alfred replied truthfully, cleaning up a little more while he was at it, and leaving Bruce to his thoughts for the moment.
He didn't remember you trying to catch his attention... but if what Alfred says is true then that makes sense, even if it made Bruce feel bad in a way. The feeling growing a little more when he realized something Alfred had said.
"And this happened all three times?"
"You sound surprised, Master Bruce."
Bruce ran a hand through his hair, eyes pinned on the flyer as he pressed his pursed into a thin line. Countless thoughts floated around in his head, all of them jumbled up and messy as he just didn't know what to make of this. Missing one was probably fine, and maybe two at a push, but all three? How could he have missed every single one?
Sure he was busy, but he didn't think it was this bad. Did he just forget? How did he not notice such a thing had slipped right past him?
All Bruce could do was sigh. There was nothing he could do about it now, and even if there was a way to make it up to you, he didn't know where to start, or if that would change anything to begin with. Besides, he didn't even know how long it's been since these performances had happened.
...
Wait a minute-
"Alfred, how long ago was this?"
Alfred just looked at Bruce, brows just barely creased before he took a breath of his own.
"A few years ago, sir."
What?
At the look of disbelief on Bruce's face, Alfred could only stand and straighten himself out as he calmly asked, "How old do you think Master Y/n is, sir?"
"Oh, well, they're..."
... Bruce couldn't even think of an answer.
Obviously you had to be in highschool since it had been years since you've performed in a play, with the Alice in Wonderland play being one of them, but how old were you exactly? What year were you in? Were you a sophomore? Junior? Surely you weren't a freshman, but even then — what high school did you even go to? Bruce didn't think you were home schooled, or else he'd definitely notice that... or would he?
Oh no.
What if you already graduated? What if you already had gone and done something that not even Alfred knew about? Did you have a job? Where would you even work? Were you already in college? What college would you even go to? Did you manage to get a scholarship? What would be you major? Where would you be studying? Would you even stay in Gotham? Were you even old enough to be out on your own? Could you even drink yet? Could you drive? Did you own a car? Or even a motor bike? When was your birthday? Did it already pass? What's the month? The day? The year?
How old are you?
"I... I think I'm going to go and just check up on them." Bruce couldn't answer, and while he had a vauge idea. That's all it was, an idea. So he moved the subject along, and made his way up the stairs, leaving Alfred behind. Just watching as the world's greatest detective left the room, all because he couldn't figure out the age of one of his own kids. One he had chosen to take in and watch over like all the rest, and yet left behind all the same in the process.
Alfred could only sigh to himself as he paused the recording of the play. Ejecting the disc and putting it in its respective case, and placing it in its usual spot.
This was the only way, he decided. This was the only way.
--------------
Bruce didn't feel much better by the time he reached your room. It took him mistakenly stumbling into two guest rooms before he finally reached it, and honestly he felt more regret over that alone.
Most of this time he hardly remembered that the room before him now was even occupied, let alone that you had claimed it as yours. What didn't help was that it was only now that he remembered introducing this space as your own, and yet he had forgotten that small detail so quickly.
Regardless, Bruce just pushed that all to the side as he knocked on the door, taking in a breath.
"Y/n?" He called out, only to get no respose. So he tried knocking again, but he still got nothing.
Sure, he was getting a little confused, but just pushed that to the side with everything else, as he stared down at the door knob.
... Should he?
He had to talk with you eventually, especially considering what he just figured out and how little he actually knew about you. He needed to talk with you. He couldn't just let this slide, not with what he knew now. He couldn't. He wouldn't.
So, be tried the knob, and was kind of surprised that it was unlocked. Though besides that little strange detail, he gently pushed the door open, and took a peak inside.
Oh. You weren't even here...
Bruce didn't know how to feel about that.
Regardless of that, however, he opened up the door a little wider, and stepped inside. What he saw only made him more confused, but also feel so much worse when he looked all over the room. How could this be...?
Various things were on your desk, shelves, and hung on the walls. Your room looked surprisingly clean, but honestly Bruce doesn't know what he was expecting. After all, he didn't even know your exact age or hardly anything about you, and even then — by the looks of things, he had missed out on so much more than he originally thought.
Trophies, awards, medals, and certificates were littered about your room. The very sight of them made the paper in Bruce's hands feel so much heavier, and yet he still held onto it as he further inspected the awards, and few pictures hung on your walls.
Every color was here, from bronze to silver to gold, and at some point it seemed you were able to get a consistent amount of silvers and gold. The awards themselves were from various events and activities that barely corresponded with each other. From fencing to swimming, and dance to pottery. From track and field to literacy, and gymnastics to cooking.
It was like you had tried to do so much of everything, and were trying to collect all of these awards from all of these different activities, rather than earn them because you deserved it for all your hard work and dedication to do that particular activity, but Bruce just couldn't understand why. Why go through all of the effort just to move on to the next thing? It... didn't make sense.
Right next to you black belt for martial arts, you had hung up the few medals you had gotten from track, and right below that were some awards you had for gymnastics. Beside your soccer trophies you had some kind of art award, and beside that was more awards and things you had received from playing and participating in other sports and activities. Bruce had no idea you were even into some of these things, but just from looking at your room, he could tell you weren't all that into or interested in some of the activities you did. Seeing as some activities and such had more awards when compared to others, but one thing in particular seemed to really catch your interest.
Music.
Not only did you have a whole wall and section of your room dedicated to it, but it felt more organized, and the placement of awards and such seemed more thought out in a way.
Countless awards littered the wall, and from the placement alone he knew you were proud of them. The pictures hung on the wall showed you shaking someone's hand as you either held up an award or album cover. You smiled, and Bruce could see how genuine it was as he felt like he could feel your happiness radiate off the photo itself. The people you were shaking hands with looked pretty happy themselves, and Bruce was a little surprised that he recognized them, but that made him feel more conflicted.
The people in those photos with you, were famous, and you had gotten those opportunities to meet them and shake their hand all by yourself.
All of these awards — they were only the finishing products of what you had spent all of your time doing. They were only small glimpses into the person you truly were, and as Bruce looked at the records you had hung on the wall, he could feel his own regret spilling out of his bleeding heart.
He wish he was there with you.
He wish that he had been there to see you even get half of these rewards that you undoubtedly deserved. He wish he got to hear the music you played, and what kind of songs you wrote. He wish he had been there to see you go on, and work your way up, with him being there as your support, and yet...
He had missed everything.
From the plays, to the matches you had, to the games you played in and competitions you participated in, and how could he forget your performances that even earned you such big, important awards. Awards that probably meant so much to you, because of how far it showed you had grown.
Bruce missed it all. Every little thing.
... He had to find you.
No if's or but's this time. No more excuses. He had to find you. Bruce needed to.
So he did a more thorough search of your room. Finally placing the flyer down on your desk as he looked around. He checked your closet, your bed, even under the picture frames, and moved some of the awards around, in order to better check and search for anything. Any hint that could point to where you had gone, and or where you might be. Any clue, any thing that could tell him about you.
He even made sure to take a mental note of the people in the photos, just in case he had to reach out to them and ask if they knew where you were by some off chance. Though that was only if Bruce was convinced that you weren't even in the Manor, and getting some extra information on you never hurt anyway. Seeing as he had a lot of catching up to do.
As he searched, he ran into various things. From equipment, art pieces — most of which were unfinished — and old notes, to other random items. Like an airsoft gun, some glass beakers, various ties, a pair of shades, a glasses frame, and a sewing kit next to a first-aid kit? Bruce didn't want to think about how the first-aid kit both looked used, and was empty.
Bruce even stumbled upon a fancy looking tuxedo he didn't remember buying you at all, but a small tag caught his eye and-
Oh, it was a gift from someone else, and with the note you left behind the tag — most likely with the intention of giving the tuxedo back — it was safe to assume that you and this person knew each other quite well...
Bruce just put the tux back. He would've gotten you a better one anyway if you had just asked, or if he even knew you needed one in the first place. Though regardless of that, he kept looking.
Eventually, he looked under your bed, and found a single box under there. Undisturbed... sitting innocently in the darkness.
Bruce didn't waste much time as he reached out and grabbed it, and placed it on your bed. There was a thin layer of dust on top of it, which Bruce found a little strange but kept in mind as he opened the box and looked inside. There, he saw a variety of notebooks and papers, and from the looks of things, the items in here had been collecting a bit of dust too...
When was the last time you touched these?
It seemed a little strange that these were tucked away from everything else, and clearly you didn't want other people going through it or even seeing them since you kept it so out of view. Were they diaries? Bruce would rather learn anything personal about you from yourself, he didn't want to go through your things like this, but considering the situation...
He sighed, and just picked up a random notebook. If this could help him find you, then so be it. He didn't want to do this but he couldn't leave you alone either. Not again.
Yet, he was so focused on looking through your things that he didn't even realize that someone had passed by, and noticed the odd room Bruce was in. A room that they themselves haven't seen before.
"Woah, what's this place? An old childhood room or something?" Dick asked as he invited himself into the room, mindlessly looking around, not really paying attention to anything in particular as he waltzed around.
"It's Y/n's room." Bruce stated bluntly, still looking over the dusty notebooks in the box. Some simply labeled 'Notes' or 'Practice', while one in particular was called 'Ideas/List & Progress' with little drawn sparkles around it. Another two weren't labeled with titles or words, and instead with small music notes doodled onto the cover in your favorite color. Though Bruce didn't know the color was your favorite.
Nevertheless, Bruce decided to look through one of the notebooks with music notes on it, completely missing how Dick had froze, and turned to look at him as if he was crazy.
"What? You've got to be kidding, right?" Bruce just gestured to one of the records on the wall, flipping through the notebook in his hand as he read through it quickly but carefully.
Dick, still not entirely convinced and honestly just really confused, looked at one of the records Bruce had gestured towards, and felt like he had just gotten ran over by a truck with how hard reality hit him. There your name was, signed and everything, with a well-known producer listened as well.
His eyes even darted to the other records, only to find the same thing, and for just one final check, he looked at one of the awards on the wall.
Your name was engraved on it.
"Holy-" He covered his mouth, more than shocked as he looked around the room again, hand falling from his face, "but that means-" Now Dick was paying more attention to the room, moving from one thing to another as he looked over everything now.
"How did they- there's no way they did all of this? And- what. They even did gymnastics?!" To say that Dick was in absolute disbelief and shock was an understatement. Yet he hardly had any time to recover or process anything as another person popped into the room, albeit only temporarily.
"I'm afraid it is quite possible, Master Dick." Alfred spoke up, catching the attention of the oldest sibling as he moved into the room, and set a stack of papers on your desk, right next to the flyer Bruce had set down.
Confused and curious, Dick looked at the stack once Alfred had pulled away from it, and picked up the first paper.
It was another flyer, but this time for some kind of solo event or concert you'd be doing. The date written down was a few days ago... a week or so having already passed since then, but how could this be?
Dick hesitated, but took another one as he looked it over. Again, it was for some kind of concert or performance, but the date and time was further away. Three weeks to a month having passed since, but how did they not notice? Didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell them?
"This doesn't make any sense... why didn't Y/n tell us about any of these things?" He asked, mostly to himself as he continued to look through the various flyers.
"Why don't you tell me, Master Dick?" Alfred quipped, looking at Dick in a knowing way before stepping out of the room, "Now, I'll be heading off, but I do trust that both of you make the right choice this time around." With that, he simply left. Leaving Dick confused but feeling worse at the same time as he looked back at the flyers, mind racing until he spotted something.
Carfully, Dick pulled out another flyer out of the pile as he placed the others to the side. He recognized this one, but where had he seen it before? Was it...
... Oh god.
Dick whipped out his phone and checked his messages. He had to scroll down a bit, but he quickly found your contact and tapped on it. He flipped through your messages, hundreds upon thousands of which he never responded to, and even if that alone made he feel bad. When he found what he was looking for, he felt even worse.
He found a message of you sending him a photo of the flyer, and said how you hoped you'd see him there. The message itself had been sent almost a year ago, and as he looked back at the flyer, he didn't know how to feel. Yet he kept looking, especially as he spotted another familiar poster.
Some of them he was able to connect back to another message you had sent, and the further back he went the more he responded... but it wasn't much, and he seemed to leave you on read more times than not. He had made an effort, but clearly it wasn't enough.
Dick couldn't imagine how that must've felt for you, and he almost didn't want to. Yet he still continued to search through the flyers, and came across one he had an odd memory of. He did remember seeing a text for it, but also remembered hearing about it somehow? He wasn't too sure, but just incase he did decide to look through his voicemail. He didn't know what he'd find, but he decided to just have a little look, even if he wasn't sure he'd even find anything.
So, he matched the date of the message and scrolled until he found it.
The voicemail innocently stared at him, and Dick couldn't help but hesitate before he tapped on it, and let it play. Heart already heavy as he stared down at the flyer. The kind of look someone gave when they already knew it was too late, and Dick didn't know what was worse. The fact that he basically missed out on your entire life at this point, or that he had nothing to say for it besides that he was sorry, and had just forgotten about these things one too many times.
["Hey, Dick! I, um, I hope everything is going well and that patrol hasn't been too bad." Your voice wavered as you spoke. You were clearly nervous but you tried to push on anyway, and cleared your throat before you tried again.]
["How are you, though? I heard that you had a rough night the other day- and I know I'm not really into all this crime-fighting stuff like everyone else but... I just hope you're okay, y'know?" You chuckled nervously before you cleared your throat again, "An-anyway, um, yeah. I just- hope you're okay." The sound of a paper being fiddled with could be heard, and you took in a small breath.]
["So... I have this performance I'll be doing next Saturday- it's more of a competition really, since other musicians and stuff will be there too. It's at 7 o'clock, and I know you guys mostly work at night and everything- but if you could drop by or even just quickly come around at 8:15 that would be great! Since, um, that's when I'll be performing..."]
Dick looked at awards you hung on the wall as the voicemall continued to play. Based on the date of the performance he was able to find the award. You had gotten second place.
["It's um, it's a piece I wrote that's a tribute to your family- the Flying Graysons, that is, since we're allowed to play songs we wrote if they were approved beforehand, and it was! So, um, I really hope you don't mind. Your family is cool! Not that Bruce and everyone else isn't or anything- um, I'm going to stop talking about that before I say something stupid. But! I couldn't help but feel inspired so I, y'know-" you cleared your throat again. Clearly nervous.]
["Sorry for my rambling- but, yeah. You can pass by if you want or have the time, and it's right by that one place Bruce had that whole charity announcement on Monday. You can't miss it, there will be lights and all this other stuff- not to mention that it'll probably be loud considering things, but uh, yeah."]
["So if you think you can make it or pass by, it's at 7! Next Saturday! And if you can't make it by then, I play at 8:15! So, yeah. Remember that! If- if you want to. Hope to see you there! And if I don't, that's okay. I just hope you enjoy the piece if you hear it. Have a good night! Or-! Or day! Whenever you listen this- um, bye!"]
What? You had wrote a song for him? For his parents? For them?
Dick's heart swelled. He didn't even get to hear it either, he wasn't able to. He didn't have time, and he forgot, but that didn't make things better, did it?
You had gone through all of that effort, and not only made a song for him but even played it during a competition and got second place. Yet he couldn't even put a few minutes to the side to listen to it. He didn't.
Now Dick definitely felt awful.
However, he did notice that there was another voicemail left by you just a few minutes after the last one. So, he decided to play that too before his guilt and regret could fully settle in, as if it'd make him feel better somehow.
["8:45! IT'S 8:45! THAT'S WHEN I PLAY! NOT- Not 8:15, sorry! I mixed up the times- that's when a friend of mine plays, not me! Sorry! Uh, but yeah. I play at 8:45- stop by if you can! I hope to see you then! Buh-bye!"]
Okay, well, Dick officially felt worse now. So much worse.
You had all this character and personality, and yet he was never able to fully see it — to hear it like he has now. Not like this, not while he was paying attention.
Your voice was so much different than what he remembered, and despite your nerves you really tried to tell him because you hoped he'd be there. You tried to tell him in hopes he'd actually show up, and he never did. Even as he listened to your other voice messages, he could hear how his own actions, or lack thereof, were affecting you.
The messages grew shorter, more to the point, and while you did still sound enthusiastic — it's like he could hear the hope dying in your voice. The hope that'd he show up. That any effort would be made, but that didn't happen, and it didn't help that Dick was listening to some of the voicemails he was going through right now, for the first time.
He could only imagine the pain he caused you, and Bruce was thinking the same thing.
Bruce was still looking through your notebooks as Dick was regretting everything he had done to you in the past.
The notebook Bruce was reading now was one where you had written down majority of your more recent song ideas, along with things you wanted to try and melodies you were trying to mix together. It was mostly full of lyrics and small notes to yourself about certain things you wanted to keep in mind, and though there was a lot of things crossed out, Bruce couldn't help but be... charmed in a strange way.
How you talked to yourself was adorable, and seeing your excitement for your own performances and such through each word you wrote, just made Bruce feel so happy for you. He could almost picture your smile and how giddy you felt when you were writing some of these things down, or how focused you were when trying to figure out how to continue the chorus of a song you were making — or if there should even be lyrics to begin with. Along with how you wanted the song itself to sound, and what emotions you wanted to capture in it.
With each page turned it's like he could see the entire process you went through when it came to your song composition. Like he was almost there with you in the moment, watching you do your thing, and honestly? Just by that alone he couldn't help but grow... softer.
Bruce loved seeing how your mind worked when it came to music, and your thought process behind each and every little thing. He just... he felt like through each line and little note he read and looked over, he was falling in love. The kind of love that he couldn't quite describe, besides just the love only a father could feel when they really see their child for who they are for the first time. The kind of love Bruce hadn't felt in a long while, nor this intensely.
You were so creative and passionate, so driven to achieve your dream and do what you loved. You were just so... you, and there was just something about the way you expressed that in the notebook that felt charming. The deeper Bruce got into the notebook, the harder it was to not love you, and each time he saw one of your little notes, he could feel himself smiling. You were so precious, how could he not see that before?
Though, besides all of that, he did notice a small pattern.
Every performance you had, you mentioned in the notebook and would express your feelings about it, and every time you did — you'd write something beneath it. Just a small paragraph about certain hopes you had. Hopes that made Bruce's heart squeeze tighter.
It was you hoping that they'd get to see you perform, that they'd show up, and suddenly Bruce was reminded of why he was doing this in the first place. So, he started to flip through your book, shaking out of whatever trance he was in.
With each performance that passed, the little paragraph got shorter, smaller, simpler. Like a quiet prayer that was dying down, as the believer slowly lost their hope and faith. It even came to a point where only one sentence was written for a while.
"I hope I see one of them."
Bruce's heart broke a little more each and every time he saw it, but the page that really got to him was when the sentence was smudged, small wrinkles and creases were on the page, and you couldn’t even finish writing the sentence as the end of the 'e' in 'them' dragged out.
What didn't help was when he flipped a few more pages, and found the last performance you had written about. It was a few months ago, but the date didn't immediately catch Bruce's eye. No, no, no, what caught his attention at first was the change of that single sentence.
"I hope the audience enjoys it."
His heart shattered at that, smile fading as he took in a breath. A moment passed, with Bruce just stating at the writing. Wishing for the impossible, and to change things that had already been done. It was too late, but he somehow refused to believe that now.
Finally, he noticed the date and paused.
That... couldn't be right. You used to write in this notebook all the time from what he could tell, why did you stop? Did something happen that day?
If months really have passed... then that would explain all the dust on the box and contents within it, but still, it didn't make sense. Weren't you still here in the Manor? Bruce honestly couldn't think of why'd you would stop writing unless you somehow couldn't reach the notebook, but you couldn’t have left, right? Surely, above everything else, he would've notice that, right?
...
Bruce finally looked at Dick, seeing the oldest just staring at old flyers from various events and such you had participated in throughout your life. A life they never got to see.
"When was Y/n's last performance?" He asked bluntly, getting straight to the point.
Dick glanced at Bruce for a moment before looking back down at your desk. He moved some of the papers around before he found the most recent one and looked over to his father with a raised brow.
"About a week ago, why?"
Bruce looked back down at the notebook in his hand, eyes scanning over the date again before he closed it. Looking back at Dick, he asked another question.
"Have you seen Y/n around?"
Dick grew quiet at that, and after a moment he just sighed and shook his head.
"No, I can't say I have." It was only then did he catch what Bruce may have been thinking, "You don't think they-"
"It's a possibility. We can't be too sure just yet," Bruce just wanted to hold onto his hope that you were still here, and even if the chance was small he was willing to take it. He didn't want to believe that they had pushed you so far away that you would not only consider leaving, but actually went ahead and did it. He wanted to be doubtful, but he couldn't rule out anything. Not yet.
"Just keep looking, I'll go ask the others." Bruce stated as he placed the notebook back in the box and headed out the room.
"Keep looking? For what?! Other events we missed? More ways we ignored them? Things they did without us?!"
To say Dick's guilt was eating away at him would be an understatement. It was practically devouring him at this point, and he could just barely take it.
Bruce paused at the doorframe, sighing as he looked back at Dick, "Any hints or clues to where they could be. Favorite spots they might frequent, places where their lessons were held, people they know, anything." He left him with that, causing Dick to just run a stressed hand through his hair as he took a breath.
Worry and regret heavily weighed down on him, but all he could do was carry it for now. He'd make it up to you somehow. He would, and he'd finally get to hear that song one way or another.
As Dick started his search, so did Bruce.
Bruce did a general search around the house, looking for anyone he came across while also trying to look for you. He thought that if he was lucky, he'd run into you. Even if the possibility was small, it could still happen — or he hoped so anyway.
Just this once, Bruce really hoped for the best.
Though, he did end up running into someone, even if it wasn't who he was looking for.
"Woah, someone looks serious. What's got your bat panties in a twist?" Jason asked, amused, "Actually, wait, don't tell me. I don't c-"
"Have you seen Y/n?" Bruce cut Jason off, getting straight to the point.
The sudden question confused Jason as he gave Bruce a weird look, some of his amusment still remaining but it began to die down a bit.
"No... why?"
Bruce took a breath, fingers twitching, "Do you know where they could be?"
"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Jason's own confusion began to take over, his amusement continuing to die down, "Seriously, did something happen? Why are you suddenly looking for them?"
Bruce took a moment, just looking at Jason before he sighed.
"When was the last time you saw them?"
"... A few days ago..." Jason glanced off to the side.
"Jason."
"Okay, okay! Fine. I don't fucking know! A few weeks ago? Maybe?!" He answered, getting agitated already. "I'm barely here enough as it is, how am I supposed to know where they are!"
Again, Bruce took in another breath, but there was something about it that Jason didn't like. Maybe he inhaled too sharply or deeply — Jason wasn't sure, but all he knew was that he wasn't going to like what Bruce was about to say.
"Dick hasn't seen them either."
"And that's supposed to be a surprise, how? He lives all the way in Bludhaven, of course he isn't going to see Y/n. 'Cause they live here-"
"I haven't seen them."
"..." That was a little more surprising, but just a little more. It still couldn’t mean anything... right?
"With all the shit you do, I would be surprised if you even saw them on a semi-regular basis." Jason crossed his arms, still not convinced — not entirely anyway. Yet Bruce could only exhale softly, the action bothering Jason even more.
"It's just a possibility. I'm trying to find them. Think you can help out?" Bruce clarified before asking. Additional help would definitely be great, especially because it meant that they could find you faster. He could find you faster.
"What makes you think I'm gonna do that?"
"Did know that Y/n wrote a song that's a tributed to you?"
"... What."
Bruce sighed, "You don't have to do it because I asked you to, or even because I want to find them. You can do it for yourself, Jason. But I'll leave that decision to you." Then, he just walked off to continue his search for you, and the other occupants of the Manor. Leaving Jason by himself, alone...
"That bitch-" Jason cursed under his breath as he walked off, deciding that he'll help look. Though only so he could ask you if Bruce was bullshiting him or not, and not for any other reason...
... Wait, you wrote songs? Like, actually?
Jason just shook his head, already upset enough as he shoved the thought to the side. When he found you he could ask, and how hard could that be? The Manor was only so big, and besides, you were just one person. He could probably find you before Bruce if he just looked in the right places, but the only thing now was finding those places...
Okay, so maybe he saw the problem, but still. This couldn't be too hard. You were the only one in the whole family who wasn't a vigilante, and so it was only about a matter of time.
Nevertheless, Jason began looking around as well, trying to figure out where he should look as he mindlessly checked every other room he came across. Where would you even go anyway? He'd probably check your room first but he figured that Bruce had already checked there, and it wasn't like Jason knew where your room even was. Though he just chalked that up to how infrequent his incredibly short visits were.
Still, he didn't even know where to start, and would rather avoid searching the entire Manor if he could. He tried to scratch his brain for anything but he just... had no idea.
Well, okay, he had one idea, but that was only because of one night. Even then he's still not sure it was you who he saw on the-
["Master Y/n? Are you alright?"]
Jason's thought process was cut off by a sudden voice. He immediately recognized it as Alfred's, and a realization hit him. Right! He should look for Alfred first, he'd know where you are. Alfred practically knew everything about everyone in the Manor, so he'd lnow something for sure.
So, he followed the sound until he stood in the doorway of one of the lounges. The television was on and playing some kind of recording, but Jason paid no mind to it.
Confused, Jason called out, "Alfred?"
When he didn't receive a response, he huffed as his eyes drifted to the television. What was playing, anyway?
You — a smaller, younger version of you — stood in a door way, looking out in the hall before turning back to the camera. Big, innocent eyes looking up. Looking at Jason.
You couldn't have been no older than eight or nine.
[You gave a little nod with a small hum, "I'm okay, Alfred. Just... waiting, like you said."]
A small, soft huff could be heard from the other end of the camera, and the camera moved to be placed down a counter of some kind. Which revealed Alfred to be the one having been recording everything so far.
["Yes, well. How about we do a little something while we wait, hm?" Alfred asked, moving a stool closer to the counter — moving the camera again to be placed on the kitchen isle this time.]
Ingredients and tools used for baking could be seem on the counter. The stool Alfred had place was next to where he was standing, and a good distance away from the stove.
[You looked at Alfred curiously, "What are we going to do?"]
["Oh, nothing too much, Master Y/n. But... I do require a bit of assistance baking this cake, that is if you'd like to help, of course." Alfred patted the top of the stool as he spoke, "Though you can always just watch, if you'd like."]
[You perked up at what Alfred said, climbing up onto the stool enthusiastically with a smile. "I wanna help!" You exclaimed, looking over the ingredients before looking back at Alfred, "But... what cake are we making?"]
[Alfred hummed, pretending to think before be looked back down at you, "Well, what kind of cake would you like, Master Y/n? It is your birthday after all."]
["Really?" When Alfred nodded, you gasped excitedly before suggesting your favorite flavor at the time.]
["Well then, let's get started, shall we?"]
From there, the rest of the recording was of you and Alfred baking. With Alfred helping you when he had to, and laughing lightly when you would inevitably make a mess.
Laughs and jokes were exchanged, and it was probably the happiest Jason has ever seen you... which made him feel weird in a way. He didn't like it, not one bit, and yet he continued to watch the old, wholesome memory play out before him.
Jason watched as you got a bit of flour on your nose and how Alfred wiped it off. He watched as while Alfred was deciding on the shape of the cake, you gathered all the different colors and types of sprinkles you could find, and was looking at a particular color of food coloring. How you nearly fell trying to grab the food coloring, and how Alfred just narrowly managed to catch you. How after that, Alfred visibly recovered from the near heart attack he had gotten from watching you fall, and just watched you add the food coloring to the frosting after you had thanked him for catching you, and apologized for falling.
... It got Jason thinking, if only a little bit.
He didn't know much about you, not really anyway. Even if his visits were few and far inbetween, not to mention incredibly short, someone would think that he'd catch onto a few things about you, or just generally have more interactions with you, but he didn't. All he really knew was that you knew how to play the violin really well, but that was assuming that who he saw that night really was you. Even if he doesn't know who else it'd be.
Jason still remembered that one occurrence despite how long it's been since then... but that was for a different time. He had to focus now, but he still couldn't help but watch the little version of you trying to frost the cake without being too messy, but failing miserably.
It did get him thinking about how many small moments he had missed with you, and just... how little time he had actually spent around you.
Obviously, you weren't a little kid anymore. After all, the last time he remembered seeing you — you were already a teenager. Though was that really a good thing? Jason did remember having some kind of interaction with you in the past... but it wasn't much of anything, and even then he probably forgot half of those moments. What definitely didn't help is that you both didn't have each other's phone numbers, and the only form of communication you had was seeing each other in person.
.... Okay, maybe this whole 'finding you' thing was definitely a lot harder than Jason had originally thought.
["... Are they going to come, Alfred?" You asked, sitting in front of the cake you and Alfred had just made together, looking up at the camera that Alfred was holding once again.]
[Alfred didn't respond right away, but did eventually say, "I'm afraid not, Master Y/n, but if you'd like we could wait a little longer."]
[You shook your head, looking at the cake before looking back at the camera, "It's okay. We can blow out the candles now, but..." you hesitated, looking down at the table, "could you... stay with me? Please?" You looked away, embrassed for asking but didn't take back what you said.]
[Again, a soft huff came from the other end of the camera. "Of course, Master Y/n."]
After a short happy birthday song, the camera was placed down on the table as Alfred cut the cake. It was only after Alfred had given both you and himself a slice did the footage cut out.
Nothing could describe the face you made when Alfred said that no one was coming. Just like how Jason couldn't even begin to describe what it made him feel.
Even when a new recording started, he could hardly pay attention to it as all he saw was your face staring up at the camera. Expression not necessarily sad or upset, but it was easily the most heartbreaking thing Jason had ever seen. A kid shouldn't have a face like that. You shouldn't have a face like that.
Jason was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Cassandra trying to get his attention, nor did he feel her even pull on his sleeve. All he could think of was you, sitting at that table all by yourself. Alone.
He just turned the other way, practically stomping down the hall as he looked straight ahead, glaring.
He had to find you. Now.
Cass, on the other hand, was just confused. Watching as Jason stormed off before looking back at the recording that was playing on the television. What about it had made Jason sp upset? She didn't know, but she was a bit curious.
Bruce had already confronted her and asked her where you were, and of course she didn't know either. He did mention something about how Damian was trying to help a little, which was a surprise in itself, and how Jason might be trying to search for you too, and had asked her if she could do the same. She agreed, of course, just wanting to help out, but having run into Jason just now? That was... odd. Especially when he suddenly stormed off like that, but that wasn't her main focus right now. She still had to-
["Are you still trying to record this, Alfred?"]
Wait... was that your voice?
Cassandra turned back to the television, only to see the camera pointed towards the floor.
["Of course, Master Y/n. Just give me one moment, I almost have the camera set up."]
Oh, Alfred was there too? What was going on?
[Light laughter was heard before you spoke again, "Here, let me help you."]
The camera began to move, and as it paned up, there you were. A soft smile on your face, shining colored hues looking at the camera as you made a few more adjustments before stepping away.
Now, you definitely looked like a teenager or young adult. Voice more matured and settled, almost calm in a way.
["There. That should be good, what do you think?" You asked Alfred, tilting your head to the side a bit, most likely looking at the butler.]
["I have to agree, Master Y/n. Everything should be working properly." Alfred then came into frame, moving towards the counter as you moved around the kitchen isle to follow him. "Now, what is it that you wanted to make this year?"]
["Oh! Right, well..." and you told him, already grabbing a few necessarily ingredients from around the kitchen.]
It wasn't long before the two of you started baking again, but this time around you were clearly more experienced than your younger self — not that Cass was aware of that anyway. You both did your own parts, working exceedingly well together as the conversation between the two of you was nothing but natural.
Cass never saw you talk so naturally, or even knew you could bake, but there were a lot of things she didn't know about you.
She could see that in the footage, you were really relaxed and happy. Almost at ease as you skillfully moved about, as if knowing the necessary steps to make what you were hoping to bake by heart, and how you navigated the kitchen made it look as if you almost knew it as well as Alfred did. It was almost refreshing to see you just be so... in tune with your surroundings, and Cass almost wished she had been there to see you bake for herself. Though she could settle watching footage of you bake for now.
Even if she didn't know why you were even baking in the first place until Alfred mentioned something about a gift for your Birthday, and how that led you to talking about some of the things your friends had given you.
This was... your birthday? Just you and Alfred?
That didn't feel right... but then again, she didn't even know when your birthday was to begin with — and now that she thinks about, had you ever celebrated Christmas with everyone? As a whole family?
... She wasn't sure.
["Are you certain that you don't want to wait, Master Y/n? You never know, someone could show up this time." Alfred asked, looking at you with slight concern.]
[You only smiled, "I'm sure. Besides, even if any of them did come, we both know that it'd be on accident." You laughed lightly to yourself, looking down at the pastry both you and Alfred had made together. "I doubt they even know when my birthday is, but that's okay." You looked back at Alfred, your smile still happy but... there was something off with it.]
["I've told you before, haven't I? You're all the company I need in this house. I'm happy just spending my birthdays like this with you." You took a piece of the pastry and ripped it off before holding it in the air, as if doing a toast, and held it toward Alfred. "So, happy birthday to me?"]
[Alfred sighed softly, but could only smile as he took his own piece of the pastry, copying your actions as he held the piece toward you, "Happy birthday, Master Y/n."]
The footage cut right after, and suddenly Cass found herself in a similar position that Jason had been in just a few moments ago. Just staring at the screen, unsure what to do with this new information, the weight on her chest growing.
Had you really spent every birthday like that? If so... then why didn't you tell anyone? Or had you tried, only for nothing to come of it?
The thought alone hurt, strangely enough, and all Cass wanted to do was... well. She wasn't sure.
She wanted to do so many things, and yet she didn't know if anything would work. Or if anything she could do would fix... well, anything at all.
She wanted to try your baking and... and celebrate a birthday with you. Or maybe she just felt obligated to do so after having seen the recording, but a big part of her did mean it. Especially because she didn't want you to feel alone or anything ever again, not after seeing the extent it went to. Though perhaps there was some irony in that thought that Cass failed to realize.
Regardless, Cass found herself walking off too. Completely missing the figure who turned off the television, and unplugged the camera from it that held all of the footage both her and Jason were shown.
Cass was practically speed walking as she checked the library — remembering have seen glimpses of you in there before — while Jason checked the music room, only for both to turn up equally empty. Yet they kept looking. Everyone did.
Dick tried calling and texting you while trying to see if there was anywhere you could be outside of the Manor. Tim ended up helping as he ran into Dick, and was basically locating and tracking down all the places you've been to with the help of your notebooks and awards in your room. All the while listening to some very earlier pieces you've wrote and played on the mp3 player he found in your box.
Bruce was still looking all over the Manor for you, each minute that passed making him more paranoid and worried. What started as a small possibility was growing into a certainty and he did not enjoy that at all. Damian had decided to search for Alfred, since it seemed like the smartest choice if they wanted to end this quickly. Yet when he did find Alfred and asked him where you were, it turned out that Alfred didn't know where you were either.
While yes, he did know some of the teachers and coaches you've had in the past, he didn't know where you were at this exact moment. How could that be? It was simple, really.
Alfred hadn't seen you in a while either, and once that little piece of information spread around the family... what followed after could only be described as chaos.
The Manor was practically flipped upside down as Bruce, Damian, Jason, and Cass searched for you. Not a single room went unchecked, and when they still came out empty handed, their own worries began to fuel each others.
Dick was the first one to suit up and head out, already calling Barbara as night fell on Gotham, with Tim beginning to suit up — yet Jason had beat him to the punch and was out the second the Manor was cleared. Cass was next to follow, with Bruce and Damian not following too far behind. Tim only left after informing Stephanie — and after downloading some of your songs — and telling Alfred to keep a look out just in case you came back home.
In just a few hours, what started as an unusually uneventful and calm, quiet day for the family, quickly turned into one of the most panicked induced searches and painful night of their lives.
All because of you.
---------
You were tuning your guitar calmly, tapping your foot to the melody playing in your head as you hummed. The silence surrounding you was peaceful for a chance, and didn't feel suffocating or as unnerving as the silence in the Manor did.
Honestly, it took a bit of getting used to but after a few weeks you had grown to love it. Waking up everyday and having someone there to not only greet you, but actually acknowledge you also took a bit of getting used to, but you managed much more easily with that.
Sure, there were other things as well, but you eased into it and had come to accept these small things as just parts of your new life. Yet, you still found yourself appreciating and noticing the smallest things, and almost crying over them too.
It had been a few months since you had left the Manor, and honestly you couldn't be happier.
You now shared an apartment with one of your closets friends, and your career helped you cover your half of the rent, as well as other expenses. You had truly found comfort with this new lifestyle, and even if you'd like to move out of Gotham one day — you could settle for this for now.
This, you believed, was what peace truly felt like.
Even when your phone started to go off like crazy — you just took one look at who it was and rolled your eyes, putting your phone on silent as you placed it face down on the table in front of you. You didn't know what Dick and Tim needed so badly, but you were sure they'd be able to figure it out themselves. After all, they were the sons of the world's greatest detective, right? They could handle themselves.
So you just leaned back into your couch, sighing softly as you mindlessly strummed away at your guitar, smiling a little to yourself when the tune was just right. Creating a melody came all too naturally to you, and all you did was carry it on — humming softly as countless ideas filled your head. A small song beginning to form, even if unintentionally.
A song that went on — with the suffering of Gotham going on in the background. The city being cleared out and searched by the vigilantes that dared to protect it, all of it being done just to look for one person. You.
The shouts and screams served as the base, with the shattering of glass and bones being the lower kick, perhaps. The heart beat serving as the tempo, and so on.
So, just as you had years ago, you played on. Calm and happy in your own little world, unaware of the horrors to come — and destruction being made in your name.
–––––
Well, that's long, isn't it?
Might be making a another post that kind of details what some of the others did before everything went to hell? We'll see. Maybe.
Sorry again for any mistakes, especially towards the halfway point/end there.
#platonic yandere batfam#yandere batman#yandere batfam#yandere dc#yandere x gn reader#gn reader#platonic yandere#honestly this is probably the longest post i've ever made#not series
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➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader
➥ word count | 4.4k
➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; fwb, angst w/ a happy ending, teasing, finger fucking, squirting, praise kink, frottage, dirty talk, pet names, commitment issues, jealous!jk, possessive!jk, dom!jk, idiots in love, misunderstandings
➥ summary | after being stood up one too many times, you realize you're in love with jungkook. and that just won't do.
➥ notes | istg i've re-written this more times than i care to count 💀 enjoy!
🖤 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🖤
cnt make it 2nite
The text is blunt - biting. No explanation offered, and certainly no false platitudes found in the lifeless string of black letters. Rather simple and straight to the point.
As you should have expected from Jungkook. He wasn’t known for his verbosity, and even less so for his love of texting.
But as you chew the fat of your cheek, reading it over and over again in an attempt to glean some hidden meaning that isn’t there, you admit to yourself - at least privately - there’s no more avoiding the truth.
One that’s been hovering over your shoulder for weeks like a shroud; an unwelcome guest you can’t ignore anymore: Jungkook’s been avoiding you.
It shouldn’t be surprising.
Moreover, it shouldn’t hurt.
There shouldn’t be an ache in your chest every time you see his contact or the plummet of your stomach when that inevitable excuse comes through.
In the end, he owes you nothing. The arrangement between you is casual, just a little fun between good friends.
It still fucking sucks though, you think, sucking your teeth.
Night thoroughly ruined before it’s begun, it’s only a matter of deciding how to respond now. In the past you’ve used a plethora of options, but you’re stumped. Unsure how to correlate the level of hurt to the nature of your not-relationship.
Should you be petty, passive-aggressive, indifferent - or worst of all: honest?
Hah, no way. I’d rather die.
Beside you, the bartender politely averts his gaze and busies himself with polishing a stack of pint glasses. It’s a slow night, and that’s saying something as this bar’s a little hole in the wall.
It’s never overly busy, which is one of the reason’s it’s a favorite meeting spot of yours. The floors might be sticky, but the music’s decent, the strobe lights they kick on after 10 PM aren’t offensive enough to induce a migraine, and the drinks are cheap with a heavy pour.
Watching him work is impressive - and almost distracting enough for you to ignore the needle sharp ache taking root beneath your ribs, the churn of your stomach.
Humiliation burns hot, creeps up your neck to settle into the apples of your cheeks as you’re stood up.
Again.
It isn’t the first time - it won’t be the last.
But it cuts deeper than all the rest combined, harder to shake off. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. The growing distance between you throbs like an open wound, as if Jungkook himself plunged a hand into your chest.
Scooped out any tender, soft thing he could find and left you hollowed out. Drained.
Not taking his flakiness personally used to be so easy. And now… well.
Goddamnit. A palm scrubs over your decolletage roughly to soothe the throb of your heart. What the hell did you expect to happen, getting involved with Jeon Jungkook, huh?
Everything from his stupidly pretty eyes to the dangerous curl of his mouth, the thick soles of his boots to the lapels of his leather jacket scream walking red flag.
Never mind the fact his proclivities are an open secret among the group. He’s never tried to hide his distaste for commitment. Finds it too monotonous. Predictable.
An eternally free soul much preferring to flit from one experience to the next, never shackled down for long. The Icarus of myth made flesh.
He runs through women like he runs through shoes, and you witnessed enough of the ensuing heartbreak and tears to be wary.
But knowing and feeling something are two very different things.
The dichotomy throws you off-kilter and finds you abandoned in a bar, once again, to choke on a regret so bitter you swear it’ll burn a hole through your throat.
What’s going on with me, you think, this is nothing new. He does this all the time.
You used to get on so well.
Any initial misgivings faded away in the face of Jungkook’s blinding attention, his unfaltering kindness lurking just beneath that surface of grit and gravel.
Even after you fuck, he never acts any differently, as casual between the sheets as he is lounging on your couch.
It's been great, it's been enough - until now.
Just the thought of going back to your empty apartment, alone, only to wake up and fall back into Jungkook’s orbit tomorrow when he swings by with a half-assed apology on his lips, and your favorite drink in hand is enough to make your skin crawl.
Stomach twisting itself into knots, everything in you rebels against the sudden cold realization: nothing will change - least of all Jungkook.
He’ll continue to take-take-take.
You'll continue to give-give-give.
On and on you'll go; a distant star orbiting a black hole, losing little bits of itself until there's nothing left.
Then he’ll leave your life as quickly as he entered it, a blurry after-image there and gone in the blink of an eye.
Fuck, I - I can’t do this anymore, you think, a shiver rattling down your spine, Because I…
An errant thought gains teeth, sinks them deep. Refuses to budge as an awful truth - one buried so deep you forgot it was there, ever lurking in the shadows - rises to the forefront of your mind.
And then --
Oh.
It’s because I love him - because I’m in love with him.
Suddenly it hurts to breathe, your lungs burning as you drown on the air itself. The steel band cinching around your ribs threatens to crack you open.
Your heart lurches in your chest, despair following swiftly to settle over your shoulders. Moreover, there is no one to blame except yourself.
Even if you want it to, it will never work out because loving Jungkook is to love the ghost of a long-forgotten memory.
And there are too many hurts to soothe, too many disappointments to name.
I can’t believe I actually -- shit. You swipe a shaky hand over your forehead. When you swallow, a sour taste clings to the back of your tongue. Should’ve known better.
You glance at your phone, the cursor blinking back at you mockingly. Should’ve done a lot of things, I guess.
Now, you're in too deep.
Waiting without ever realizing you began to do so in the first place; a life on pause, surviving off scraps of half-measures and maybe's, what-ifs, and if only's.
Now, it's clear the only way out is through.
The time to let go is here.
You need to muster up some semblance of self, and work to untangle the threads of connection binding you together. You need space to rediscover the pieces of your heart you left with him.
How to live without the taste of his kiss, the clench of his muscles, the thrust of his cock.
A new life sans Jungkook which begins with a simple reply in place of everything you really want to say: ok.
Then you wave the bartender over.
He does you a kindness once more, pretending not to notice the tears brimming along your lower lash line. “You ready to order?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah - sorry, I was…”
His mouth twitches. You waver.
Then the screen of your phone lights up with a notification.
Refusing to look lest you cave, emotions too fresh - scraped raw and tender, you switch on DND and turn it face down where it will remain until you go home.
You're far too fragile (and sober) to think about reading Jungkook’s reply, let alone engage with him in any meaningful way.
“I’ll take a double vodka cranberry.”
Maybe if you get drunk enough, you'll forget about the home he carved in your bones.
Bottoms up, bitch.
w8 nvm guys cnt make it
y/n?
i cn b ovr in 10
???
gn ttyt
hey, sorry. called it early.
wyd?
nothing much. you?
nm running some mtchs
cool, cool. you able to swing by today?
yeh b there in 30 :)
In hindsight, trying to have this conversation with Jungkook face to face isn’t the brightest idea. But if anything, last night showed you every choice you’ve made lately is a disaster waiting to happen.
Your life’s already a mess - and you’re hopelessly in love with a man that’ll never love you back - so what’s another mistake added to a long string of misfortune.
So what if your hands tremble and your stomach churns as you unlock the door to let him in.
So what if he leans in for a kiss and you duck to the side, his lips brushing the slope of your cheek.
So what if he pauses and gives you a long, searching look before toeing off his shoes and offering you the drink he picked up on the way.
It can’t get any worse, right?
Only the hungry, molten mixture of rage and rebellion fueling you thus far fizzles away the minute you see him head towards your bedroom with a wink.
Anguish and despair follows in its wake, nipping at your heels.
This is all you’ll ever be to him, you remind yourself as you step into the room. A fun time. Nothing serious. You have to break it off.
You shoot him a tight smile. “Did you have a good night?”
Jungkook shrugs, glancing around at the decorations littering your dresser. “Nah, not really.” His gaze slides to you, traveling from your head to your bare toes in a slow once over. “I definitely would’ve had a better time with you.”
Swallowing roughly, you rub your hands over your arms and suddenly feel far too naked - exposed in your light summer dress. “Hah,” you intone without humor, awkward and stilted. “Probably not. I was out by 11:30.”
“Mm, that’s not like you.” Jungkook hums, moving forward until he’s right in front of you. His hands reach for you, grabbing your wrists gently. His thumb strokes over your pulse point. “You’re acting weird. Is there something you want to talk about, baby?”
Of course he’d notice.
It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. Jungkook always pays attention to the details, makes leaps of logic based on little more than quiet observations.
You stitch together a chuckle. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, his lip ring dimpling the swell of his bottom lip. Your chests brush with every inhale, sharing space and breath.
“Nothing,” he agrees.
It’s torture. It’s too intimate.
The glow of your overhead lamp highlights the sweep of his cheekbones, the curl of his lashes as he blinks slow and happy. The barely there impression of his body is too much.
You shrink back, clearing your throat.
“No, don’t do that. Where are you going?”
His eyes, shimmering with warmth, plead with you to stay, his shoulders curving towards you. A large palm settles over your shoulder, sparks igniting wherever he touches.
“Stop hiding. You can talk to me about anything. Come on, I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
Steeling your resolve, you inhale and exhale with a shudder. His expression is open, soft. You know it won’t last, and take a few seconds to commit how he looks in this moment to memory.
For all you know, this will be one of the last times you’ll be this close to him again. At least until you can beat your feelings into submission.
And then you can’t put it off anymore, unable to take the ginger strokes of his fingers. The calming caresses as if he thinks you’re something precious. Quick like ripping off a band-aid, otherwise the words will never get past the bend of your throat.
“I want to stop.”
You catch the way his eyes darken, sharpen in the dim overhead light. He knows exactly what you’re talking about, but his half-smile never falters.
Of course, he refuses to make this easy on you. To acknowledge this is happening. He’s always been a greedy man; wants what he can’t have, and destroys what he does.
“Stop what?” Jungkook says. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, baby.”
“Kook,” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “You know what I mean. I just - I can’t do,” your voice cracks, a hand motioning to the space between you, “this anymore.”
A vein throbs on the side of his neck, his jaw working in response. Muscles tense and release with every grit of his teeth. He asks, “You gonna tell me why, huh? Or are you just going to ditch me and act like it didn’t mean something?”
“Kook…”
There’s a certain grief that can’t be spoken, gnarled roots burrowing deep in your chest. A sense of loss so keenly felt it almost steals your breath.
You wish this wasn’t happening, you wish you could take it all back but this pantomime of a relationship isn’t fair to you. Not anymore. And you knew this conversation wouldn’t be fun, but Jungkook’s staunch denial still manages to surprise you.
“It didn’t mean anything though,” you say.
At least, not to you, you think. To me, it meant the world.
-- And that’s the problem.
You need to stop whatever this is between you from building. He’s already shown he doesn’t share your desire for more in a multitude of ways. He’s been avoiding you for a reason, whether he was consciously aware of your feelings or not.
Undoubtedly, you trust him with your life but not your heart.
As sweet as he is, has been, he won’t treat it gently. Not through any intentional ill-will but because he can’t contain his own commitment issues let alone make room for yours.
It’s better this way.
Let what you have - had - stay a memory unmarred by the ugliness of your hurt feelings and bitter disappointments.
Jungkook’s shoulders draw up towards his ears, his gaze glacial as his hands slide away from you. “Is there a reason you’re done with me now?”
Shadows lurk in the depths of his eyes, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. Everything about him looks weighted down.
“Well, is there? I mean, shit, I think I’ve earned an answer after all the time we spent together.”
Your heart breaks for him, everything in you calling out to close the gap and offer him comfort. But you can’t. You don’t trust yourself to touch him without wanting more than your heart can bear.
“I’m not done with you,” you say. “I would never do that to you, Kook. I just - I can’t be with you like that anymore, that’s all. I need space but I’ll still be around, I promise.”
The glare he shoots your way freezes the blood in your veins. “Cut the bullshit,” he snarls. “Tell.me.why.”
You avert your gaze, arms wrapping around your chest. “Why does that - I -”
You only had one rule at the very beginning of this mess: if there’s someone you’re serious about, you stop fucking. It comes as a handy lie - a believable excuse that’ll stop any further questioning.
You don’t think you have the fortitude if Jungkook keeps pressing you, cracking under the weight of your grief and the anger in his eyes like fine china.
“I think I - I think I want to start looking for a boyfriend again.”
An expression flashes across his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. But there’s no doubt he recognizes it for the goodbye it’s supposed to be.
This is it, you think.
You can put what you had to rest and move on, a memory on a shelf you’ll dust off years down the line when the hurt isn’t so prevalent. And hopefully, with time, you can relearn how to be friends.
Though the strange gleam to his eyes sends a prickle of apprehension down your spine, and then you find yourself being manhandled as he snaps forward like a snake coiled to strike.
Air flees your lungs as Jungkook shoves you with a firm palm, your feet stumbling over themselves as you trip backwards into your bed frame.
Wood knocks into the backs of your knees, and you fold like a stack of cards. The sheets puff out around you, the scent of your laundry detergent tickling your nose.
You blink at the textured ceiling, mouth agape as you try to process what happened.
The empty space above you doesn’t stay vacant, Jungkook quickly crowding you into the mattress with his weight as he settles over top of your body.
He molds himself to your front, his firm hips slotting themselves between your thighs. Broad palms, warm and calloused, skim your sides and ruck up the skirt of your dress as he reaches under you to grip the soft globes of your ass.
He yanks you into him, your pelvises slotting together. You whine before you can stop yourself, eyes fluttering shut at the heat of his body.
Teeth scrape along the delicate skin of your neck, the sharp pricks of pleasure-pain coaxing a shiver down your spine.
Lips brush the shell of your ear, his minty breath puffing against the side of your face as he speaks, low and husky, “So that’s it, huh?”
“What--!”
Teeth nip your earlobe, and you wince.
“My girl thinks she’s going to leave me for someone else?” Jungkook snorts. “Like I’d ever let that fucking happen.”
“I’m not your girl.”
You squirm, a bolt of awareness slicing through you as your body responds to his proximity, the weight of him over you electrifying. Liquid desire blooms behind your navel, uncomfortable and unwelcome.
“I never was.”
Blunt nails dig into the fat of your ass, and a cruel mouth latches onto the corner of your jaw. “Ah, is that right?” Jungkook asks, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your torso, your nipples tightening as they drag over the plains of his chest. “You’re not my girl?”
You swallow, and ignore the throb of your clit as the line of his cock ruts into you. “I’m not your girl, Jungkook.”
“If you’re not my girl,” he grinds into the cradle of your hips, teasing - taunting, “then why the fuck are you so wet?”
Keening, you twitch, involuntarily rocking up into the firm pressure of his shaft. The angle’s just right, spreading your folds beneath the thin cotton of your panties and giving your neglected clit the perfect stimulation.
Exposing your soaked core to the chill of your room as your body warms with mortification.
Jungkook hums in approval, giving the side of your neck a sloppy kiss followed by a stinging nip. “You think some nobody can fuck you better than me?”
“That’s not what I - ffuck!”
Heat pools low in your belly, blood pumping fast. You’re steadily losing control, the aborted rolls of your hips increasing in frequency.
“Answer me.”
A sharp burst of copper floods your mouth, your skin splitting open with how hard you’re chewing on it. Blood clings to the swell of your bottom lip, a ruby red bead you lick away with a nervous tongue.
Sweat dappled your brow, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the molten desire curdling your stomach.
The softness of your body knows the hardness of his, every curve has a matching divot. The heady, pleasant scent of his cologne floods your lungs with every stuttered inhale.
Your senses are overwhelmed as he surrounds you.
“Shit, Kook, please,” you plead, hands tangling in the sheets by your head.
You’re not sure what you’re asking for but at the same time, you’re not sure how you ended up here. Again.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
This was supposed to be an amenable end to a dubious affair. It’s anything but.
“I want you to tell me who your cunt belongs to.”
Fingers inch down to tease along the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and play with the elastic of your panties.
You tremble, gooseflesh dimpling the exposed skin of your arms as knuckles brush over the length of your soaked pussy.
Your clit pulses, the pressure enough to tease.
“Come on, baby,” Jungkook coaxes, working his way beneath the fabric clinging to your core, “tell me you’re my girl.”
His cock nestles into the crook of your hip, hot and heavy through his jeans as a darkened patch blooms across the denim crotch. The sticky wetness of his pre-cum smearing into your skin as arousal swells, crashing over you.
Leaving you a whimpering, trembling mess in the cage of his arms.
“You just have to say it - say you’re my girl and I’ll be so, so good to you.” His breath warms the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is say it, and I’ll make you cum so hard you see stars.”
Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to cobble together a response, sliding a thick finger through your sticky folds and into your needy pussy just as your lips part.
All words leave you, your mind wiped clean as a low, broken cry echoes out into the room. Swallowed up by the sounds of city life outside your apartment as he works to stretch you open.
You clamp down at the sudden fullness, walls tight and fluttering around his finger like they would be around his cock.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You always feel so soft and wet.”
Whining in agreement, you give up any pretense of resistance, letting primal desire chase away the despair, the guilt that threatens to choke you. Wiping your mind clean of any thoughts until the only thing that remains is the thrust of his fingers and the ache in your cunt.
Your hands slip, scrambling for purchase with sweaty palms. “J-Jungkook!”
Your knees tremble where they dig into his sides, air rushing from you in heavy pants as the space between your bodies heats up. You know you won’t last long, already hanging on the edge.
Never in a million years did you expect to be so turned on by Jungkook’s rough behavior. He usually treats you like something delicate.
Though he holds no such compunction now, raw in his desperate desire to make you cum.
Jungkook peppers kisses onto whatever skin he can reach, spreading your thighs wider with his torso. His knuckles strain against the fabric of your panties, stretching out the cotton and ruining them forevermore as he slips another finger into you.
Then his dark head bows, catching your gaze, and he says, “Hold on.”
Barely seconds after you anchor yourself to his shoulders, he starts finger fucking you to within an inch of your life. His forearm ripples with strength, the movements of his fingers pressing and rubbing against all the right spots. Curling up to massage at your g-spot until you’re shaking beneath him with hitched breaths.
“Shit, shit,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as your toes flex against his side, “Kook, baby, please don’t stop.”
He huffs a laugh, dark and amused. “Wouldn’t ever do that to you, baby.”
“S’good - I - I’m close.”
You sob, tears brimming along your lash line. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your pussy ring in your ears, as embarrassing as it is arousing. He’s making you gush, slick wetting your inner thighs, dribbling down your ass to stain the sheets.
“So close, gonna - hnnng - gonna cum.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, baby. Give me that squirt.”
You shake your head. “I can’t - I can’t!”
If you could, you’d suspend time so this moment never ends. The finality of your arrangement hovering just on the other side of pleasure.
In the back of your mind, you know Jungkook’s only behaving this way because he’s jealous. Angry. He doesn’t mean it, and this is a mistake.
It’ll only hurt you in the long run but you’ll take what you can get.
After all, this is the last time you’ll be together like this.
“No,” he shushes, dropping a kiss to your sweaty brow, “No, don’t lie. I know you can. I’ll make you.”
There’s no escape.
He refuses to let you escape, using his weight to keep you pinned as he spreads his fingers open inside you, twisting and fucking so deep you feel a twinge behind your navel.
And then you’re right there, crashing over the edge as the bubble of pleasure bursts, crackling through your limbs.
You cum harder than you ever have before. Nails sinking into his shoulders with a hiss as a wounded, broken wail scrapes its way out of your throat.
Your pussy throbs, gummy walls sucking him deeper as a rush of cum gushes from you in spurts. Your ears ring with white noise, and you’re vaguely aware of the fact your hands have gone numb.
For several long moments, you float with a head full of cotton, only rejoining the atmosphere when warmth dribbles down your ass in sticky rivulets of squirt.
Jungkook’s arm is curled around your waist, holding you close as his nose nuzzles into the side of your head. Tender lips dust kisses over your crown. His cock is still a heavy weight digging into your hip but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to relieve himself.
“Jungkook,” you sigh, a wave of fatigue crashing over you. Your eyes sting when you close them, a lump building in your throat. You ache all over pleasantly, satisfaction settling deep into your bones. In spite of that, a rift opens in your heart. “Jungkook, I--”
He kisses your shoulder, shushing you. “Don’t ruin it. Just let me hold you for a little while longer… please.”
The tears are almost impossible to stop. “It’s already hard enough, don’t make me -- I can’t just…”
Jungkook squeezes you gently. “I love you,” he says, “but I swear to god you can be so stupid sometimes.”
You jolt, eyes swinging up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. “What did you just - I - I don’t. ..Jungkook?”
“How could I not feel the same?” he asks, tone resigned and wary. “Honestly scared the shit out of me when I realized because, well, y’know I don’t have the best track record.” He averts his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I almost fucked everything up too, but Namjoonie-hyung helped me get my head on straight.”
Something unfurls in your chest, and you feel as light as air. Ridiculously buoyant with happiness. Hope.
Oh, how stupid.
“We’re kind of idiots, aren’t we?” you ask, sniffling as you shoot him a watery smile. “Like… the biggest.”
Jungkook hums in agreement, a boyish gleam to his eyes. “I mean, you said it. Not me.”
#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x you#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts smut#jungkook#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook x you#jungkook fic#bts jungkook
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On the Matter of Mirrors
Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else.
‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed.
But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right?
“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps.
They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.
All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him.
“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.
He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger.
“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender.
“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts.
“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”
“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again.
“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”
Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”
It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”
“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope.
Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic.
Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested.
His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss.
He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life.
The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief.
Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”
A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute.
“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge.
Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own.
“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.
“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”
Eddie frowns, suddenly serious.
“You should forget all about Nancy.”
Steve frowns too. “That so?”
“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”
“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”
“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats.
“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget.
When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.
Give us a kudos, if ye dare x
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The Knuckles show
The announcement of a live action Knuckles streaming miniseries was surprising, to say the least. I mean, what would such a show even be about in a version of the Sonic universe with no Angel Island and barely any characters from the games around? Is he gonna go treasure hunting with the gang from Montana or something? Would a streaming miniseries have the CGI budget to squeeze in any new game characters, even briefly? Rouge? Amy? At least one member of Team Chaotix? Anyone?
Now the show is finally out, and it turns out what they actually made was a comedy show about bumbling deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, the minor comic relief character played by Adam Pally who you might not even remember all that well from the first two movies, with Knuckles as his sidekick. While, yes, Knuckles does get a decent amount of screentime and opportunities to punch bad guys and do cool moves from the games, large stretches of this show focus on Wade's personal life, to the point that a couple times I almost forgot I was watching a Sonic-related show. If you're judging it purely by the metric of how well it adapts and engages with its source material, this surely must be one of the worst adaptations the Sonic franchise has ever seen.
So then, despite some huge complaints... why do I kinda like it?
(This will contain full spoilers for the Knuckles show.)
A brief summary of what the show is actually about because I know half of you aren't going to watch it
The show picks up not too long after the end of the second movie. Knuckles is now living in Montana with Sonic, Tails, and the Wachowskis out of a sense of debt to them, though he doesn't really see it as his home. He doesn't feel like he belongs on Earth, and his life currently lacks direction. After communing with the ghost of Pachacamac, though, Knuckles is instructed to keep his culture alive by teaching "the ways of the echidna warrior" to a new apprentice: deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, who's currently more concerned about winning a bowling tournament in Reno than anything else.
Things are complicated by the interference of two rogue GUN agents - Agent Willoughby, played by Ellie Taylor in a bad wig, and Agent Mason, played by Kid Cudi. (Yes, the artist behind the second movie's credits song is one of the bad guys in this.) They want to steal Knuckles' power and sell it to a former associate of Robotnik's played by Rory McCann (The Hound from Game of Thrones), who now works as a black market arms dealer. Yes, they're still doing the thing where Sonic and friends' quills radiate some kind of super-energy that the bad guys all want. No, I don't particularly love this element of the Paramount Sonic continuity. Anyway, they go after Knuckles and Wade, complicating their straightforward road trip to Reno. Antics ensue.
The Wade show
So here's the thing. While the first episode focuses largely on Knuckles, the entire rest of the show is very much the story of Wade, and by extension the other original human characters invented for this miniseries.
Episode 2 is about Wade having to rescue Knuckles from captivity after the GUN agents get him. Knuckles spends most of the episode in a cage.
Episode 3 is about introducing Wade's Jewish family, including his slightly overbearing mother and weird sister, so that Knuckles can learn about their family traditions and have Shabbat dinner with them (and then save them from bounty hunters that the GUN agents hired).
Episode 4 only features Knuckles at the very beginning and very end of the episode, probably for less than a minute total. Wade is captured by a bounty hunter he personally knows, and Knuckles decides to let that be a trial for Wade to overcome on his own.
The last two episodes feature the climactic showdowns with the GUN agents and their arms-dealing ally, who comes in with a mech for the obligatory final boss fight. You'd think this would be Knuckles' time to shine, but really, these episodes are mostly about the bowling tournament in Reno where Wade encounters his estranged father, wrapping up his own personal arc. While Knuckles does get some fights, a lot of the finale is spent on lengthy bowling scenes where Knuckles isn't in the room or even mentioned. It frequently feels more like a spiritual successor to '00s sports comedy movies like Dodgeball, Talladega Nights, or Blades of Glory than it does a part of the Sonic franchise, and the presence of ESPN 8: The Ocho commentary in the finale only drives those Dodgeball comparisons home. They get so immersed in the bowling stuff that it's genuinely hilarious when the show suddenly pivots and remembers "oh shit we still need to do the final boss fight"
Throughout all this, Wade is the protagonist. He's the character we spend more time with, he's the character who drives most of the major events, he's the character who gets more of an arc. The emotional core is Wade's journey. Knuckles is still present - sometimes, at least - but he's there as Wade's wingman, and also just as the excuse for there to be some fight scenes.
How much Sonic stuff is actually in this show?
Honestly? Not much.
Sonic and Tails are only in the first episode. Sonic gets some good scenes, but Tails gets a grand total of five lines. I counted. Unsurprisingly, Jim Carrey is absent as Robotnik, though he does get mentioned a fair bit. (For that matter, basically the entire established human cast beyond Wade is absent, even including Tom, though Maddie is there in episode one.)
GUN is involved in the story, which helps it feel slightly more connected to Sonic, but it kind of feels like it's GUN in name only. They don't use any recognizable GUN tech, and they don't call in the military. It's just two agents in suits. They might as well be the Men in Black.
The Master Emerald is mentioned as something Knuckles has to guard, but it's never seen. Angel Island is pictured as a drawing during the show's intro, appearing exactly how it does in Sonic 3, but it's never referenced at all beyond that.
I guess the climax taking place in and around a Reno casino is a reference to Sonic's many casino-themed levels. That's something. I'll give them that.
Oh, and if you're wondering if this is the point where we finally start to get actual music from the games: no, it's not. The soundtrack consists of a lot of '80s needle drops, many of which are generic Hollywood picks like "Holding Out for a Hero" for the billionth time, thought it at least has some slightly less obvious picks than the Mario movie. The theme song is '80s rock song "The Warrior" by Scandal. You'll hear it many times. You'll hear the Adventure era Knuckles raps zero times in this. You'll briefly hear classic A Tribe Called Quest song "Can I Kick It?" before Knuckles takes the question too literally and breaks the radio in Wade's car.
Beyond a handful of surface level references for nerds (one of which is admittedly wild - we'll get to that), this is probably the least an officially licensed adaptation of Sonic the Hedgehog has ever tried to actually engage with its source material. I struggle to think of another Sonic adaptation that has less to do with Sonic. For as much shit as I and countless others have given Penders for seemingly ignoring the content of the games in favor of building his own convoluted mythos, his Knuckles comics honestly included way more elements from the games than this show does.
Somehow, the one new(-ish) Sonic character introduced in this is the ghost of Pachacamac of all characters. Not even Tikal! Pachacamac! A very minor character nobody has particularly strong feelings about! You can't even use the excuse that they already had the character model, because they completely redesigned him compared to his cameo in the first movie to better match his Sonic Adventure design. And he's voiced by Christopher Lloyd! Honestly, so many of his lines are strained that it sounds like he's on death's door here, but then he'll surprise you with a more casual line like "just do it, man" and it catches me so off guard that I can't help but laugh.
Pachacamac here has basically nothing to do with the game character he takes his name and appearance from. Where the game character was a cruel warlord who kicked off a 3000 year cycle of violence, Paramount Pachacamac is now just this chill old man who gives Knuckles (and later Wade) advice in two episodes of the show. Hell, he also feels completely disconnected from his established role in the movies, where he's literally the guy who shot Longclaw. The show will not grapple with this contradiction at all. He's just here to be a thing fans like me will recognize from the games. Again, if that's all they wanted, it's kind of baffling that they didn't just use Tikal.
I don't love Knuckles in this
But what about Knuckles himself? Well, he doesn't feel all that much like Knuckles to me. Ironically, he sometimes feels like one of the weaker elements in his own show.
Back when the second movie came out, I noted that Knuckles' characterization seemed to be pulling heavily from MCU Thor as a gallant warrior from an archaic alien culture who doesn't really understand modern day Earth stuff. That worked for me in that movie. It was just there for spice. Just a little extra flavor for the character in what was otherwise a very faithful adaptation of Knuckles' storyline in Sonic 3 & Knuckles. Without those familiar elements grounding him and with a much higher reliance on comedy, Idris Elba's Knuckles becomes a pretty one-note character in this.
In damn near every scene with Knuckles, he's going to say something about being a proud, honorable echidna warrior, or brag about his glorious feats of strength, or be confused about some Earth thing and call it sorcery, or act like every other character is also a member of some noble warrior clan. He still has his moments for sure, but this schtick kinda gets old fast, and it just doesn't feel like Knuckles to me. His entire character feels derived from the scene in the diner where Thor smashes the cup on the ground and goes "Another!" Sure, I can picture game Knuckles smashing a radio to turn it off and being a little too gung-ho about busting holes through walls. That's Knuckles behavior. But building a barbarian combat pit in the living room so the Wachowski family dog can fight the mailman? Nope. That's some other guy now. It really does just feel like them taking a broad character archetype from something popular that kinda sorta fits Knuckles and just running with that, rather than trying to actually adapt the character.
Oh, but don't worry, he wears the OVA hat for like two minutes! AND he loves grapes! See, Sonic nerds? We read the wiki! That's his favorite food! Grapes! This is gonna come up like five times!
Knuckles kind of gets an arc here, but not as much as Wade does. I think the stuff about him starting to feel at home on Earth thanks to Wade's mom and the way he connects with their Jewish family traditions is oddly sweet. This arc is kind of let down, though, by the fact that Knuckles' heritage is treated as a complete joke. He's a cartoonish pastiche of various historical warrior cultures stuck together in a blender and used mostly for comedic effect. When Pachacamac's ghost appears, he's reading a newspaper and bemoaning the fact that the Mets lost again. This is not the place for a serious examination of Knuckles' feelings on being the last of his kind.
This is far from the only time the show undercuts itself with its jokes and attempts at self-parody. In the first episode, for instance, Knuckles clashes with GUN Agent Mason and his tech-enhanced punches, leading to an extremely on-the-nose inversion of the "Do I look like I need your power?" scene showcased in the trailer for the second movie. Except this time, Agent Willoughby butts in and points out how stupid that line is in this new context, since they're literally trying to steal Knuckles' power. The fight can't just be cool, they have to get cute with it. A lot of stuff like that happens in this show.
Given all these complaints, the first two episodes left me thinking I'd be fairly negative on this show overall. This seemed like the version of the show from the fandom's collective nightmares, one that undoes all of the progress the movie series seemed to have been making towards faithfulness to the games. Like, just look at these cast posters. Is this what you want out of Sonic? Do these excite you?
But then, something strange happened. Over time, I just kind of let the jokes and shenanigans wash over me and basked in how fucking weird this show is.
And I started to actually enjoy it.
Look. The Wade & Knuckles Show was never going to be peak Sonic. But that sure as hell doesn't mean it can't be entertaining.
This show is so fucking goofy
Here's the thing.
The show is funny.
Unlike a lot of other people, I didn't hate all the wedding stuff in Hawaii in Sonic 2, because I thought a lot of it was funny, both in its actual jokes and in the ways in which they tied everything back to Sonic. Tom looking wistfully at some bodybuilders doing Top Gun shit and spraying each other with beer and being like "I wish Sonic had that" is weirdly funny. The twist that those muscle bros are all agents of the newly formed GUN, who orchestrated the wedding as an elaborate scheme to catch Sonic, is funny. Mr. Olive Garden becoming the fucking GUN Commander is VERY funny. Are any of these elements of my dream Sonic movie? No, of course not. But my dream Sonic movie was never gonna happen in live action.
The Knuckles show follows up on the comedy of the previous films by being probably the funniest live action Sonic release yet. Did every joke land for me? God no. There are some stinkers in there that made me roll my eyes. But enough of them landed that it worked out for me overall. A big part of this is the fact that they've got a good cast of actors and/or comedians here.
Adam Pally is funny as Wade, and I found myself liking him more and more as a character as the show went on. He becomes an oddly endearing loser, with some sweet moments in his personal arc that made me feel for the guy. I like Wade more than Tom now, thanks to this show. I will now be happier to see Wade in Sonic 3 than I would have been previously.
The supporting cast is frequently great, too, many of whom are playing completely cartoonish, over-the-top characters. They took a cue from how exaggerated Carrey's performance was as Robotnik and decided to just abandon all pretense that this is the real world. Stockard Channing as Wade's mom is funny, and carries some of the more sincere parts of the show. Cary Elwes as Wade's very British dad who abandoned him as a child to run off and be the world's most egotistical professional bowler is funny. Edi Patterson as Wade's sister Wanda is... well, she's kinda trying too hard, but she has her moments. The Mighty Boosh co-creator Julian Barratt(!!) as a scenery-chewing bounty hunter, who was also somehow Wade's former best friend and bowling partner, is VERY funny. I love this guy.
(Honestly, they should let more people who were on Garth Marenghi's Darkplace be in Sonic stuff. Where's Matt Berry)
This is kind of a stacked cast for a bunch of stupid side characters in a live action Knuckles show! And honestly, that just makes it funnier to me. Even when they're not funny, the fact that this exists makes it funny. They somehow convinced Paramount to give them a bunch of money to make a spiritual successor to Dodgeball about a schlubby guy who wants to beat his dad at a bowling tournament... except also Knuckles the fucking Echidna is there as his personal life coach. My life is richer for the fact that I can say that sentence. I think about all the little kids who are probably watching this show this weekend, going in expecting a show about Knuckles the Echidna and having to sit through extensive bowling scenes and lore about Wade's family, and sorry kids, but I just have to laugh. Wade isn't even on the poster! The poster is just a picture of Knuckles!! They punked those kids!!!
In a franchise where every single aspect is so carefully micromanaged these days, it feels truly special to get an adaptation this bonkers. It frequently appeals to the same part of me that enjoys the fact that there's an officially licensed Knuckles comic in which Charmy Bee's best friend (also a bee) dies of an accidental LSD overdose from a drug-laced chili dog. Or like, everything about the original 1993 Super Mario Bros. movie. Or the fact that they made seven direct-to-DVD sequels to Alpha and Omega, one of which is half a retread of the adventure from the first movie (with more annoying supporting characters in tow this time) and half a literal clip show of the first movie. The sheer absurdity of the fact that these things exist is charming to me. Except, with the Knuckles show, it has the added benefit of frequently being funny on purpose! This is why I'm not sure I'd call it "so bad it's good." Like, it's not amazing, but there were a lot of parts that I enjoyed in the exact way I was supposed to enjoy them.
Look. Here's a list of real lines of dialogue from the Sega-approved Knuckles the Echidna streaming show that they're billing as a pillar of the Paramount+ lineup, to drive this point home. Let these marinate for a minute:
"I only eat grapes, and Cool Ranch Doritos™."
"Annihilate this little girl, Wade. Crush her spirit. Humiliate her so badly her parents won't even look at her again." "Doesn't that seem like we're going a bit far?" "Not far enough."
"So is he Jewish?" "Half, I think."
"I had a friend who when he listened to Alien Ant Farm he could lift a Toyota Corolla over his head."
"I'm in dire financial straits. Due to my lawsuit against an unnamed rainforest-themed restaurant franchise, I don't have two pennies to my name."
"We're here in sunny Reno, Nevada, which is so close to Hell you can smell the sparks."
"You can't threaten me with your Jewish karate chops because I am a federal agent."
"I will say, regardless of how you feel about child abandonment - and I'm against it! - the deals at TJ Maxx can't be beat."
This is a Sonic show in which they got Paul Scheer and Rob Huebel to appear as ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators.
This is a show where Wade's mom insists upon pronouncing "Knuckles" with the throaty Hebrew "ch" sound, and declares that Knuckles is basically Jewish. Later, they watch Pretty Woman together while enjoying a nice slice of key lime pie. Knuckles comments: "I don't understand. This young streetwalker with a heart made of gold, why do the others treat her with such disdain? Is it so wrong to walk the streets?"
This is a show where the fourth episode is directed by one of the guys from The Lonely Island and features a hallucinatory low budget rock opera stage musical put on by the ghost of Pachacamac. It recounts Knuckles' life story, with Wade playing Knuckles and the "evil" Longclaw played by the bounty hunter guy who's played by the Mighty Boosh guy.
Look at this.
And also, Knuckles' singing voice is provided by Michael Bolton, which they proudly announce in the middle of the musical.
And also...
Also...???
IBLIS IS IN IT????????????
Yes, Iblis!
From Sonic '06!!
Knuckles is said to have looked for a mythical power called the "Flames of Disaster" to avenge his clan, which ended up being the power that was within him all along that lets him do fire punches yadda yadda yadda. As part of this, he apparently fought Iblis off-screen at some point, as conveyed with the giant singing papier-mâché Iblis in the musical.
...Then Iblis sings about hitting up Facebook Marketplace
How? How does any of this exist? Why reference '06 of all games? How did Iblis get into the live action Sonic movie universe before Amy and Metal Sonic? Why are they using Iblis and the term "Flames of Disaster" in such a goofy way that completely disregards their original context?
I don't know. I don't know how any of this happened. But I love it. We got a Knuckles miniseries in which Michael Bolton sings the phrase "the Flames of Disaster." The world is a beautiful place sometimes.
Some people will tell you to skip episode four. "Knuckles is barely even in it," they say. "It's dumb and pointless," they say. "They clearly just ran out of special effects budget," they say. These are people whose opinions you should disregard. The episode with the least Knuckles in it is somehow the most entertaining episode of the show. I would, in fact, go as far as to say that if you only decide to watch one episode of the Knuckles show to see what goofy bullshit they get up to, it should be this one.
I cannot be mad at this show. It's so dumb, but it completely owns the fact that it's a dumb and unnecessary spinoff. Inferiority is baked into its very DNA. It's very self-consciously redoing the premise of the first movie, but stupider. It's about The Other Cop from the movies, instead of the competent one. Instead of being into a "cooler" sport, his life revolves around professional bowling. Instead of going to Vegas, he goes to Reno. Even his tragic backstory that shaped his entire life sucks. He was abandoned by his pro bowler dad in a TJ Maxx. Not even a nicer department store. A fucking TJ Maxx. This whole show is a Dril tweet.
They put a ton of effort into making it dumb in an occasionally spectacular way. So much effort was put into that joke rock opera that fans will just write off as stupid filler. They put their whole pussies into it. This is not a poorly made show. This has better production values than half the shit made for Disney+. This was made with love. Maybe not as much love for the Sonic the Hedgehog series of video games as we'd like, but it's love nonetheless.
Maybe this show broke me and these are the ramblings of a madwoman. Maybe I'm just really nostalgic for the '90s and '00s comedy movies all the Wade stuff is modeled after. Maybe the Alan Wake fan in me just really loves it when a story pivots to a silly rock opera for no real reason. I won't discount any of these possibilities. This isn't high art. This isn't something I would recommend to anyone with zero interest in Sonic, and it also isn't going to sway Sonic fans who hate the Paramount universe. I really can't blame them for being bewildered by this show. But for a specific type of person, this is the absurd three-star Sonic-adjacent comedy miniseries of your dreams. It's a mid masterpiece.
Again, I just have to step back, realize the fact that this shouldn't exist, and smile. Sega's too afraid to do stupid bullshit with the franchise like this these days. And I can't blame them, after years of Sonic being a treated as a laughingstock. But part of me misses some of the goofy shit. No matter how much I tore some of the Archie comics apart as I was reading them for this blog, I just look back on stuff like Cal and Al or the Many Hands issues and laugh. And that same part of me looks at this show about Knuckles being the sidekick to this fucking guy, and just goes...
"We're so back."
In conclusion, I genuinely think this was a more enjoyable TV show than Sonic Prime.
I wouldn't go back and rewatch Sonic Prime anytime soon, aside from maybe, like, a couple of the Shadow-heavy episodes. Huge stretches of that show bored me to tears. The writers squandered all of that show's potential. But I would rewatch the Knuckles show, which takes a terrible premise and has a lot of fun with it, in a heartbeat. Even the bowling parts. The bowling scenes in the Knuckles show are more engaging than 70% of the fights in Sonic Prime. I am not trolling. I mean that sincerely, with all my heart. Don't @ me.
Stray observations
There is effectively zero meaningful setup for the third movie in this, unless Wade's family or the two GUN agents come back or something. Project Shadow is not mentioned in this. There is no secret post-credits scene with Gerald
The CGI in this is pretty good. Not quite on par with the movies, but pretty good. Sonic's weird forehead wrinkles are distracting in his scenes though. Please fix that
I wouldn't say I liked this as much as the second movie, which obviously gets a ton of points for, you know. The Cool Sonic Shit. But I had more fun with it than the first movie, which I still feel is a painfully generic family movie that was only saved by Tyson's redesign
"Grapes are an interesting choice for someone who doesn't use his individual fingers."
Agent Willoughby was apparently the one at GUN who had to buy the Olive Garden gift cards and set up the fake wedding. Her origin story is that she hated doing shit like that and wanted to go fight aliens
This miniseries contains another Keanu namedrop because Wade's childhood bedroom has a Speed poster on the wall. I swear, if Sonic doesn't say Shadow sounds just like Keanu...
Knuckles is familiar with Paul Blart Mall Cop
Near the end the ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators say that the 1974 Reno bowling championship was also interrupted by an extraterrestrial, and given that was exactly 50 years ago I can't write off the possibility that that was Shadow. Please for the love of god give us a sequel series after the third movie where Wade takes Shadow the Hedgehog bowling. I need this more than I need air
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Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Astarion.
I started playing bg3 and i have it bad for this vampiric menace of a man.
misc character masterlist
Warnings: blood drinking, he’s a vampire so yeah
1. He’s basically a cat but gods forbid you tell him that.
I have a tortie and let me tell ya, she is the sassiest animal I’ve ever met. This cat will climb into the closet just high enough that the dogs can see her but can’t reach her. She will jump into the counter and stare at me because she knows she’s not allowed up there. She will bat at the screen in the window until it pops open and she can escape. But jokes on you! she doesn’t actually escape, she just goes to the back door and meows until someone lets her in.
Anyways this is exactly how Astarion is. He’s sassy but hides it as being a witty nobleman when he’s really just being the sass master. He will do things purely to get a reaction out of people i.e. when he attacked you the first time you met. There was no need to try and pull one over on you like that but he did it anyways because he can. If you get too close to Gale (aka talk to him), he will pout and give you the cold shoulder because gale ‘is such a bore and I’m obviously better company than that, darling.’
He will make the biggest scene if he feels like your attention is being pulled away from him. Oh you’re talking to Shadowheart by the fire later than usual? He’s glowering at your back from his tent until you look over your shoulder at him. When you make eye contact, he’s going to roll his eyes and huff as he throws open the tent flaps. Shadowheart chuckles under her breath because she knows exactly what’s happening.
The longer you’ve known each other, the bolder he gets. He’ll add more each time. At first it’s just the staring and huffing. It moves to glaring at your companion and then waltzing over to you so he say something sassy like “I am not your mother. I should not have to drag you to bed each night.” When that stops getting the reaction he wants, he’ll plop down next you and make every annoyed noise known to man. He might even start to nudge you, extending out one delicate hand to touch your knee or elbow until you get the hint.
But don’t you dare call him out on this. Like a cat, Astarion needs to feek comfortable safe with you. If he gets even a whiff of negativity (or what he thinks is), it sets your relationship back weeks. Pointing out his little feline quirks will feel like you’re complaining or annoyed with him and he can’t handle it. He’ll pull away from you and resort back to his stand offish ways. He’s making sassy but lowkey hurtful comments all of the time. They’re not directed at you because he would never forgive himself if he upset you but that sentiment doesn’t extend to anyone else. Worst of all he won’t feed from you and would damn near starve himself before asking you.
It’s a delicate dance between the two of you but one you would never quit.
2. Feeding from you is difficult for him.
At first it was merely a means to an end but then you became more important to him and now he can’t bring himself to feed from you as much. He would rather never do it but alas blood is in limited supply and you’ve already given him permission to take what he needs. If he can, he finds some other way but it doesn’t always work out. You’ve never asked him why he seems to avoid such a normal task but it’s always on your mind and one night you blurt it out.
I imagine it’s been a long few days and tonight is the first time you’ve been able to relax. Freshly bathed, fed, and now sipping at decent wine, you’re lounging with Karlach and Shadowheart. The three of you have had more than enough wine to be relaxed and have passed over into what Astarion calls ‘delightful chaos’. You’re giggly enough to be entertaining but can still hold a conversation albeit slow and slurred. Your pale elf has been cranky all day and poor Gale has been the target for most of it. You tried to step in and at least lessen Astarion’s onslaught but that earned you the nastiest glare to date. Since then Astarion has been sulking in the shadows or hiding in his tent. You’re the only one brave enough to go near him when he’s like this however it’s still rather dangerous.
On clumsy feet you find yourself just outside of him tent where you can feel the brooding and angst wafting from inside.
“Astarion?” You gentle whisper to the fabric, awaiting his acknowledgment.
“What?” His response is short and biting, similar to how he’s been speaking at Gale.
Assuming he doesn’t realize that it’s you, you say his name again and ask if you can come in. He nearly brings his tent to the ground when he rips open the flaps.
“What?” He repeats with fury and pain in his dull eyes.
It should scare you, seeing him so feral and unrestrained but seeing him causes a wild smile to break out on your face. Your hands go to reach for his face but quickly they fall when you remember that everyone is watching you closely. Whatever wine you drank has given you an armor of courage (and stupidity really). You smile at him with all of the affection you harbor for this ethereal being and slide past him into his tent. The simple action sends everyone else into high alert while Astarion barely contains the hiss he wants to send their way.
When he turns around, he finds you already sitting beside his bedroll with your knees pulled up with your arms wrapped around them.
“What do you want?”
All he gets in response is a blink and then a beckoning to join you. Patting the space next to you, you quietly ask him to join you however he is determined to be cross with you for barging in. He repeats his early question with a hardened glower in your direction.
“Astarion…” you murmur to him, your voice low and gentle, “you need to feed.”
The sheer audacity to utter such a thing infuriates him to no end but you’re right. He does and the sanguine desire is growing far too large to hold in anymore.
He still tries to deny it but his words are unusually weak and he stumbles over each one.
“Come,” you order softly as you move to lay down on his bedroll and brush your hair away, “drink what you need. I trust you.”
Those three words are almost as powerful as a declaration of love to the vampire spawn. He finds himself crumble to the ground and crawl over your divine figure. The unholy need to devour you that he usually despises with his entire being is welcomed as his fangs sink into your neck. One of your hands comes to hold his shoulder and the other cradles the back of his head, keeping him close as he feeds from you. Your gentle touch and reassuring voice overwhelms poor Astarion. He begins to whimper and moan into the supple skin of your neck without even realizing it. When he pulls away to keep from completely draining you, he’s breathless and muttering to himself you how good you taste.
Why he would ever deny himself this divine experience?
3. He refuses to admit it that he loves when you initiate touch.
Because of his past, you’ve decided that you will only touch him if he asks and if you get explicit consent. Most of the time you wait until he invites you in some manner whether that be he telling you to get over here or paw at you like a cat. He appreciates it, he really does but sometimes he craves the feeling that he gets when you ask him.
His favorite, though, is when you ask him if you can lay in him when he reads. You’ve been napping in his tent on and off all day, having chosen to stay back and recoup after the long events from the past week. Most of your companions have been doing the same but Astarion has been trying his hardest to not spend too much time around you. It’s hard enough to not just bask in your affection but even more so when you’ve been cuddled up in his tent all day. When you finally decide to go to your own tent, he takes the opportunity to reclaim his bedroll. It smells of your sweet scent and is still warm from your body, something he secretly craves.
You return to his tent a few hours later after everyone has eaten and settled in for the night. Peering down at him with sleeping eyes, you cross your arms and huff when he ignores you for his reading.
“Yes, my dear?” He quietly chuckles while still pretending to read his book.
“You’re in my spot.”
“We’re in my tent therefore it is my spot.”
You can’t exactly argue with him. You plop down next to him and give him the biggest puppy eyes imaginable.
“Will you at least let me lay on you if you’re not going to move?”
If it could his heart would be doing flips and his cheeks would be red but alas neither thing is truly possible.
“That depends…” he pretends to be uninterested in your request and continues with his straight face as he flips to the next page in his book. He can hear your huff of annoyance and fails to hide the small smirk that tugs at his pale lips.
“On what?” You pry even though you both know this is just a little game and he’s going to give in.
“Ask me nicely.” He drawls in that low seductive voice he uses when he’s trying to persuade you. Finally he flickers his eyes over to yours. That simple action alone steals your breath and chases away any negative feelings you might’ve had.
You crawl closer to him, nearly touching him but not quite as you whisper your request again.
“Of course you can, my dear,” he whispers back while his smirk has fully taken over his face. “Lay your head here."
He pats his sternum and waits for you to settle. Much like a lover seeking warmth in the night, you immediately take refuge in his arms and cuddle as close as you can to him. You feel him set his the book on your upper back when you've found the comfort and warmth you sought.
Astarion begins to murmur the book’s words as his other hands rests at the base of your head. His fingers don’t yet feel confident in moving to thread into your hair but they do softly rub at the tension in your skull. Peace is found in your embrace and he couldn’t be happier that you asked him to join your party all those weeks ago.
#astarion#astarion bg3#astarion imagine#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion fic#astarion fanfic#bg3#bg3 astarion#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 tav#baldurs gate astarion#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate tav#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate fanfiction
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Practice On Me — Part Nine — Azriel x Reader
Summary: Roza’s arrival in Windhaven brings some home truths crashing down on Reader. She just needs a hug, someone to talk to, but it all goes very, very wrong…
Word Count: 3k.
Warnings: None.
Chaos evades logic.
There is no rationality to be found here. No sense to be made of the ample feelings that begin to chew you up and spit you out.
All you know, as you lace your breeches up and correct yourself, is that you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.
“Are you decent?” Roza calls, her back still to you.
You tie the last lace. Clear your throat. “All good.”
The closest person you’ve ever had to a mother figure turns on the spot. She’s absolutely beautiful — fucking glowing — her swollen belly visible through her thick coat, and her eyes alight with a quality you’ve never seen before.
Rhysand really is the mirror image of her.
“I actually cannot believe I just witnessed that.” She grouses. “And just when I thought the morning sickness had finally come to an end, too. My poor, poor eyes.”
Cassian makes a noise. “Roz, that’s a bit dramatic—”
“You be quiet.” She points a finger at him. “Your mouth has done quite enough tonight, thank you very much.”
The two of them stare at each other — Cassian wanting to be a little shit and push his luck, and Roza wanting to…
Well, to gouge her eyes out with a rusty spoon, probably.
But then Cassian cracks a grin, and he’s bounding over to the female like an excitable pup. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
“Watch your language.” Roza scorns, but she happily accepts the hug that Cass yanks her into. “Gods, you’ve grown even more.”
You…you are rooted to the spot. Unable to move.
You want to go over there, too. To embrace her. But…but just seeing Roza makes the previous couple of months come hammering down on you in an unwelcome downpour of unwanted realisations.
You think: Roza caught me fooling around with Cassian.
And then you think: Fucking hell, I fooled around with Cassian again.
And then you’re wondering how — how you’ve let the recent events of your life veer down such a beaten, broken path.
It’s like Roza’s appearance brings a clarity that has been very much absent as of late. She’s always been a figure of reason and wisdom, always stopped you from spiralling.
And now she’s here, you’re looking at Cassian — your damn friend — and wondering just how much damage you might have caused.
He’s mid-conversation with Roza when he seems to notice you staring at him. Roza notices, too.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She says.
You open your mouth, unsure how you intend to respond. All that slips out is a rasped, “I’m just…so glad you’re here.”
Cassian snorts. “Tell that to your face.”
You can’t bring yourself to laugh at the jibe. And it would seem that Roza can’t, either. She’s studying you in that assessing way you’ve seen her wear a thousand times before — the one where the motherly instinct kicks in, and she’s sensing something is wrong. It seems to be a subconscious act, the way she slides her hand over her bump.
“So what are you doing back here, anyway?” Cassian asks her, slinging an arm round her shoulders. “I thought the High Lord wanted you to stay in Velaris for the pregnancy.”
“He does.” Roza says. “But then I found out Y/N had somehow ended up homeless and that he hadn’t bothered to help, so he and I aren’t on the best of terms right now.” She eyes you again. “I’ve come to move you properly into the cottage — including retrieving your belongings from your father’s house. I will not have you freezing your ass off in this dump.”
Gods, you love her.
She’s so fierce, so passionate. This is a female who housed three lost, rowdy children under her roof and offered them the same amount of love as she felt for her biological son. This is a female who does what she believes is right and damns the consequences. This is a female who doesn’t hesitate — not for one second — to help somebody in need.
She’s the exact kind of female you want yourself to be. And she’s the only person you wish to see in that moment.
“Perfect.” Cassian chirps brightly. “I’ll help. Let’s go fetch Y/N’s stuff from the bastard’s house right now.”
He takes a step towards the door, but Roza is laying a hand on his arm. She doesn’t look away from you once. “Cassian, my darling, I love you endlessly. And so, I say this with the greatest of adoration — fuck off to the mead hall, or something, and leave Y/N and I to have some girl time alone.”
“What?” He squawks in outrage. “But you just got here.”
“And I promise you we’ll catch up properly later. But right now, Y/N and I need some time alone.”
“But—”
“Do you want to stay and discuss the ins and outs of childbirth?”
Instantly, he falters. The change of tune would be comical if you were actually capable of feeling anything but despair in that moment.
“You know what?” He cracks a grin. “The mead hall sounds great right about now.”
Roza chuckles. “I thought it might. I’m taking Y/N back to the cottage. I’ll come and fetch you when we’re done. And if you see Az or Rhys, be sure to tell them to stay away, too.”
Oh.
This is going to be a serious talk.
You can’t remember the last time Roza was so insistent about it just being the two of you.
Probably when you got your first ever cycle, and she held and soothed and bathed you through it.
Will she still be so tender when she hears of the full scope of the mess you’ve created for yourself? You’re not sure you’d deserve it.
“Go easy, Cass.” Roza warns. “Don’t get into any fights.”
“Pff. As if I would.” Your friend lands a kiss on her cheek. “You look beautiful, Roz.” He says, and then he’s bustling out of the door without a care in the world.
You stare after him. Wish you could be that carefree. It feels…it feels impossible.
Gods, you just want to fucking cry.
Roza can see that. She holds a hand out.
“Come, my little dove.” She says. “Let’s get you home.”
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
It kind of feels like walking into the cottage for the very first time, all over again.
You remember that night like it happened only yesterday. Remember how the cold had felt as you’d followed Azriel through the snow. The noises of bickering coming from behind the door.
Even at eleven, Az had always seemed so much taller than you. You’d noticed that as he’d strode ahead and led you inside.
Roza had been standing in the kitchen, and she’d turned to you with a curious expression. “Oh.” She’d chirped, with more warmth than you’d ever heard from your own kin. “What have we here, then?”
You, Azriel had explained to her, had been set upon by a group of males far older than you. Az had defended you, and then he’d invited you to share his dinner.
Roza had taken one look at the dirt packed beneath your fingernails and told you to thoroughly wash your hands before taking a seat. You’d done just that.
And it was at that very table that Rhysand had introduced himself.
“I’m Rhysand. My father is the High Lord.”
Roza had scolded him for showing off.
And it was after that that Cassian had eyed you with a wild, feral look and simply said, “I bet I could beat you in an arm wrestle. I beat everyone.”
“Not at my dinner table, you don’t.” Roza had put a stop to that immediately. And then she’d placed a steaming pie in the centre of the table, and High Lords and arm wrestles were all but forgotten, and Azriel had been quiet and shy at your side, but dutifully offering you different foods before he took any for himself—
Standing at the threshold of the cottage, now…it’s like watching that entire scene play out before you. The ghosts of your younger, wayward selves feast greedily on a wholesome meal that lets you forget your harrowing experiences for a little while.
How things have changed.
You finally step in. Kick the door shut behind you. The smells and warmth of your sanctuary envelop you, and you know — you fucking know that you won’t be able to keep a lid on your tears for long.
“Don’t know how many times I’ve told those idiots to put the fire out before they leave the house.” Roza mutters, but she goes striding straight towards that burning fire and welcomes its warmth. “Although, I must admit, I’m a little impressed. I expected this place to be far messier in my absence than it is. Don’t tell me they’ve actually been cleaning—”
“Roza.” You cut in, your voice shaky, desperate. “About what you saw—”
She turns back to you. Says nothing as concerned, violet eyes sweep the length of your body. She’s letting you speak, but you don’t know what the fuck to say.
You open and close your mouth as though the act will make some sense of…any of this.
It doesn’t.
“I didn’t realise you and Cassian were…” Roza clears her throat. Pauses. “I just…what of Azriel, Y/N?”
You blink at her.
Roza’s very good at knowing things she hasn’t been told, but for her to know about you and Az when she’s been in Velaris this whole time, and when, as far as you’re aware, these things have been strictly kept between you and Azriel only—
“What?” You breathe.
“Perhaps I’m wrong, I don’t know.” She frowns. “But I always suspected that you and Az would be…something more. Your connection with him has always run a little deeper than with anyone else. That’s why I was so shocked when I found you…and Cass…”
Is she wrong?
No.
And fucking damn you for taking all these years to see it. Fucking damn you for only realising you wanted Azriel as more than just your friend when somebody else began to recognise his brilliance.
Fucking damn you for all of this, and damn Azriel, too, and damn everyone.
It all comes showering down on you in an instant, harsh and unwelcome.
You love Azriel. Not just in the way you love Rhysand and Cassian. You’re in love with his soul, his spirit. Who he is will always be tethered to who you are, even though he isn’t yours to cling onto. It’s been that way since you were old enough to harbour such feelings, and you’ve been burying it all these years, burying it under bad choices and regrettable actions, because all of that seemed easier to face, than…this. The fact that you were never able to control your heart, stop it from feeling such things, and now you feel them so intensely that it hurts.
Had your deal with Az ever really been about helping him, or had it been a selfish ruse under which you could have some small experience to remember him by when he inevitably gave his heart to somebody else?
Because you are just Y/N. You’ve always just been Y/N.
You are not Kaeda — Kaeda with the wings, and the strength, and the excellence.
Just Y/N. Just Y/N—
“Speak to me, my love.” Roza steps closer. “I’m worried about you.”
Your eyes blur with tears. Your legs buckle, and you’re bracing one hand on the back of the couch while the other flies up to cup over your mouth.
“Oh, gods, what have I done?” Your voice breaks.
“Speak to me.” Roza says again.
“This is all such a mess.”
“What is, Y/N?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know what—what to do!”
“You need to breathe.” She responds firmly. “Deep breaths. Now.”
You try. Gods, you try. But your chest is constricting, and the air won’t reach your lungs, and all you can hear on a constant loop inside your head is one, bellowing sentence.
Everything is irreversibly changed.
Roza closes the gap between you and cups your face. The touch is soft, but firm. She forces you to look at her, and her face is blurred by your tears, but you know she’s looking at you how she’s always looked at you — with love.
“Tell me what’s going on, and I can help you through it.” She pleads.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” You sob back.
She yanks you close, arms wrapping around you. She’s held you like this through so, so much. This is no different.
But it feels different, in that it feels worse. Not only is it possible that your actions could change your relationships with both Cassian and Azriel, but also that they could change their relationship with each other, too — change the strong, steadfast dynamic between your three closest friends.
You tremble, clinging to Roza like you may just collapse. Your heartbeat gallops in your ears like rhythmic footfalls.
“Y/N—”
“It all turned into a total mess.” You choke out. “I was feeling things — I am feeling things — and then Azriel had Kaeda and I was jealous and stupid and I — I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have slept with Cassian.”
“You did what?”
Those three, outraged words are not spoken in Roza’s voice. The sudden interjection of Azriel’s is enough for your sobs to catch in your throat.
Every single inch of your body goes cold as you step back to look at him. Blink at him. Roza fights to keep hold of you.
Normally, he would have hurried over to embrace her. But he stays rooted to the last step of the staircase. He’s staring at you. Only you.
You’ve never seen him look so pale.
“Az.” Roza sighs softly. “We didn’t realise you were home.”
He doesn’t look away from you — not once — as he asks, “What did you just say?”
Roza inches towards him. “I think we all need to sit down and talk about this—”
“You fucked Cassian?”
Tears spill over, roll down your cheeks. Your voice doesn’t want to show itself as you croak out, “Az, I can explain.”
“You fucked Cassian?” He’s repeating it like…like he needs to. Like it won’t get into his head any other way. “You had sex with him?”
“Yes, but—”
“Around the time you and I were doing similar things?”
Roza’s head whips round to you in surprise. You’d failed to mention that bit. After a moment, she rights herself once more. “Azriel, you should let her speak.”
“I can’t fucking believe you.” Letting you speak is the last thing on his mind as he steps down, storming past the two of you. You reach out for him, but he’s jerking away, heading for the door.
“Azriel, please.” Your voice cracks. “Let me explain.”
“Explain that you fucked Cass? At the same time that I was sharing such…such huge things with you—”
“At the same time you were sharing them with Kaeda!”
He falls still, hand faltering on the doorknob, shoulders hunched.
And then he glances over his shoulder at you with an expression so bleak, you’d do anything, make a bargain with anyone, to wipe it from his face.
“Except that I’ve never touched Kaeda like that.” He says. “Not once. I couldn’t.”
Before you’re capable of summoning an answer, he’s yanking the door open and thundering out into the snow.
Shock pulses through you, ice-cold and harrowing. You blink, and blink and blink and blink, and you think Roza might be saying your name, but you can only choke out another sob that grates against your throat, and then your legs are moving forward, stumbling out of the door.
“Az, wait!” You cry, but he’s already striding far into the distance. “Please!”
You try to move, but it’s like the snow is binding your ankles, grounding you firmly to the spot. You sob. Try to move. Fall. Get up. It’s cold and wet. You’re hurting. Everything’s hurting.
And somebody’s yelling — yelling at you.
“Hey!” You know the voice. It’s a voice you don’t like. But you can’t put a face to it until its owner is stopping in front of you, sneering at you. Lord Devlon. “What did I tell you about staying away from these parts, girl?”
You’re incapable of answering him. You’re not even looking at him. You just stare and stare in the direction that Az disappeared in, fat, hot tears rolling down your cheeks.
“I’m talking to you.” Devlon grabs your chin between his fingers, hard. “Insolent female—”
“Remove your hand from her face at once.”
He blinks at the sight of Roza stepping out of the cottage. Clearly, he had no clue she’d returned. And even he won’t speak out against the High Lord’s pregnant mate.
He drops his hand immediately.
Roza steps up to your side and narrows her gorgeous eyes at him. Her hand sits on her swollen belly. “Look at you, Lord Devlon — following orders like a good dog. Now, go on. Fuck off.”
There’s a slight twitch of a muscle as he clenches his jaw. He hates every second of it, but he obediently turns away from you.
“Oh — Lord Devlon?” Roza calls after him.
He stops. Turns. “Yes, lady?”
“I decide who can and cannot live in my house.” She stares him down. “That call is mine and mine alone. And if I hear of you giving Y/N any more trouble? I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”
She turns her back to him with utter dismissal. If you weren’t so devastated, you might laugh at his stunned expression.
But Roza sees the pain in your eyes, and she pulls you into her arms.
“Come, my love.” She murmurs softly. “Let’s get you inside.”
az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes
#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader#shadowsinger x reader#azriel acotar#azriel x you#azriel fic#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#acotar fandom#acotar x reader#acotar writing#acotar fanfic#acotar headcanon#acotar smut#acotar series#acotar fic#azriel fanfiction#azriel fanfic#reader insert#illyrians#rhysand#cassian
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Second Chances ꙳ ੭ * ‧
synopsis: your old situationship from many years ago just moved back in town and of course, he has to text you. but it’s not just any normal text — he’s asking you out on a proper date this time. will you give a second chance to Cupid? or will you be left here feeling stupid?
genre: lee minho x fem!reader | exes (??) to lovers wc: 4.6k tags/warnings: fluff, some light angst, slightly suggestive but nothing srs, mild cursing, kissing, small mentions of crying T-T
now playing 🎧: from the start by laufey
[this is part of my valentine’s series where i write a short story for each member surrounding themes of love, newfound romance, relationship hardships & more.]
“Why don’t you give Tinder a try already? I’m sick of hearing you nagging all day about being lonely!” Areum abruptly suggests mid-convo , resting her palm on the side of her face.
As you both casually wait for the food to arrive, you end up on the dreadful topic of dating again. You got into a real heated discussion with her, sitting in a booth at this new restaurant one of your coworker’s recommended. It wasn’t super well known but they wouldn’t stop raving about how delicious their breadsticks were. The place wasn’t too jam packed but definitely had a decent amount of people. What you weren’t anticipating on was seeing dozens of couples here, it kind of threw your whole vibe off since it only reminded you of your current sad relationship status. Maybe you were putting far too much thought into it but everything seemed so highly unfair. Glaring in envy while they all happily rub in your face that they’ve found their forever companion.
Life really can be cruel at times.
“You can’t be for real right now..” you instantly side eye your friend from across the table. Feeling personally triggered whenever she mentions online dating. You refuse to try it, never wanting to partake in such a vain concept where you swipe left and right based solely on looks. “That’s not the same as real romance. I want to meet someone naturally, wanna tell my kids when they grow up how I met their dreamy, hunk of a father in aisle 39 at Whole Foods.”
One could say it’s almost pathetic in a way— this burning desire you harbor within, longing for a pure, quaint, and beautiful love. Constantly catching yourself daydreaming about finding your life partner, the person you’re going to marry and possibly create an eternal family with. That day has yet to come unfortunately, but you still hold onto the thought of you someday meeting the one.
You thought you found them before, but thou shalt not speak thy names out into existence.
“Well, good luck finding ‘real romance’ in the big age of 2024-” Areum snorts in amusement, taking a pause to sip on her mango strawberry lemonade. “I need whatever drugs you’re on that’s making you this delulu so I can fantasize about my knight and shining armor that’s never coming!”
God you hate that word. Delulu. Why are you suddenly “delusional” for wanting a picture perfect romance? It doesn’t need to be perfect per se, but you want to feel adored, swept off your feet and embraced like the true queen you are. Was that too much to ask? Considering the current state of dating in this day and age, it might just be.
“I mean, let’s face it girl. You literally don’t know the first thing about love ___, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows like in the K-dramas y’know! Haven’t you only had like one boyfriend in high school? You barely even dated that guy for a month-”
“That’s because he dumped me to go move to LA and become a dumb YouTuber!” You snapped back, cutting her off to get all the facts straight.
It was hard not to grimace while thinking of such old memories. Dating a Minecraft streamer definitely had to be one of the most embarrassingly cringe choices you’ve ever made.
“Whatever that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to get at here is you don’t have the best track record when it comes to men. Remember that other guy you were seeing before we graduated? I thought y’all would’ve dated for sure but he turned out to be a dickhole just like the rest of ‘em…” Areum shakes her head in disbelief, recalling all those times you’d call in a frenzied panic about things not working out.
“What was his name again? Min… Minwoo? No, that’s not it.. it was definitely Min something.” She attempts on remembering but keeps drawing a blank.
“Minho.” You answer almost instantaneously. His name still rolled off the tongue smooth as velvet.
It felt weird though. Saying it out loud after so many years of blocking it from your immediate vocabulary. A name you thought would never escape your lips again.
“Damn, you really still think about him don’t you?” She dares to ask, knowing how difficult it is for you to even talk about this anymore.
You only respond by nodding slowly, unable to bring yourself to look at her. It was far too intense; bearing the emotions of hurt and guilt from a past fling that meant more to you but nothing to the other. That’s how most of your tragic stories end— always too overly into them while they barely reciprocate any of that energy towards you. The thing is, you thought Minho actually liked you, even so far as wanting to date in the near future. Considering he brought you over his parent’s house (to hook up of course), and though you didn’t meet them you still think that meant something. Most men don’t just bring any woman they’re seeing to their parent’s place without somewhat thinking a potential relationship could happen down the line.
“So that’s why you should download Tinder and start swipin’ on some other cuties! It’ll at least distract you for a bit and get your mind off that asswipe,” Areum pitches her idea once more, “there’s plenty other fish in the sea ___. Not everyone online is some crazy serial killer, plus you clearly don’t seem to be having much luck out in the real world.”
You wanted to jump up from the table and erase that smirk from her face but instead you roll your eyes at that last remark. “I don’t need those shitty dating apps. I’m very capable of finding someone in real life for your information!” You quickly retort as a means to defend yourself. Even though she did have a point, her delivery could’ve been a little bit nicer.
It’s not easy being a hopeless romantic, you can’t help but yearn for that special someone to enter your life and change it for the better. You won’t feel wholly satisfied nor complete until you do. The sad reality of the matter was that you are still painfully single. No one’s interesting enough to cease your attention, let alone go on any actual dates. Areum’s had enough of your bitching and whining though, there’s only so many rants and tirades she can keep listening to about your vicious hatred for men before she loses it completely. Your nonexistent love life has become more of a nuisance as that time of year approaches— Valentine’s Day. A god forsaken holiday you’ve always loathed with a passion. Wanting nothing more than to be one of those girls on the receiving end getting flowers and chocolates. A day full of the utmost joy and pleasant surprises from your loving significant other.
Must be nice..
Speaking of surprises.. The buzzing in your ear echoes from your phone pinging loudly, indefinitely startling you. Grabbing it to check the sudden notification, your eyes go absurdly wide at the contact name displayed on your screen. Blinking numerous times from shock, you stare at your phone in incredulity; making sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.
Lee Minho. The Lee Minho?
What kind of sorcery is being conjured where the instant you bring him up, he somehow texts you after all these years of not speaking? This coincidence was more than unsettling to you. A part of your inner thoughts still believes this is all some elaborate joke being played on you, waiting for a cameraman to pop out of some curtain to announce you’ve just been pranked. But nothing happens, life proceeds as normal. Now you’re left with the most puzzling notification you might’ve ever received.
It was your last year of college and the pressure of your academics along with appeasing your family was getting to you immensely. You needed an escape from all of it, desperately. Which you found through none other than Lee Minho, the boy who worked as a barista at Cozmo’s; this coffee shop you used to frequent a lot. It was a cute, small family-owned establishment and they made the best matcha lattes— in your humble opinion. You’d pick one up almost every day along with a slice of freshly baked cinnamon bread. It started off as only playful banter with him in the beginning, then it lead to more as time went on. One day, as you reached out to pay he blocked your hand from moving any closer, letting you freely walk away without spending a dime. This soon became a regular occurrence, as you’d start seeing Minho outside of work, getting to know more and more about him. You remember so desperately wanting to date back then, pitying your past self for thinking there was even a chance.
‘Maybe he’s just texted the wrong person’ you psyche yourself into thinking, but when you unlock your phone to finally read the message — an uncomfortable lump forms in the pit of your throat.
Minho 🐈:
Hey is this still ___’s number?
You honestly don’t know why you still have his number saved, let alone allowing a whole emoji to be next to it. Though it never was like you to delete anything, no matter how painful it may have been. More lingering questions makes you want to seek out the possible solutions. Why would he text you of all people ? None of this adds up in your mind realistically. Furrowing your brows in concentration, you think of what to say as you draft out a response.
Yes… who’s this?
After a tedious struggle of typing out multiple paragraphs and immediately deleting them, you went over your words a few more times before sending a final reply. It would’ve been strange had you knew exactly who he was off the bat, that’ll just be dead giveaway you still had his contact info saved this whole time. But with that logic, doesn’t that make Minho just as odd for still keeping your number after all this time has passed?
Your phone dings again.
Minho 🐈:
Srsly -_-
Did you really delete my number??
Bet he didn’t see that one coming. He probably thought the moment he texts you, you were gonna kiss up to him like you’ve always done in the past. Mentally giggling to yourself at the image of him getting flustered by you not knowing who he was at first. Feels good to know you knocked his confidence down a peg.
Lol, chillax.. I know it’s you Minho :P
Not even a minute later, a flood of incoming messages appear. Biting your lip out of nervousness, your heart couldn’t stop beating so fast— anxiously checking your phone as the atmosphere around you suddenly gets stuffier.
Minho 🐈:
Better be lucky I didn’t block you after that ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Guess who’s back in the city btw. Did ya miss me? ;)
No need to answer that, I already know you did. You should stop by at Cozmo’s again sometime!
Also what’re you up to this week? I need you to clear out all your plans because I’m taking you out on a date.
You always knew Minho was the bold type but this was on another level. The sheer audacity he has to even ask something like this after not reaching out for almost 3 years was more than ballsy on his part. It felt like a surge of butterflies erupting in your stomach, getting lightheaded as you think about seeing him again. He really had an effect on you like no other.
Glancing up from your screen to finally pay attention to Areum again, you assure her everything’s going to be just fine. “Looks like I won’t be needing to download Tinder after all.”
Later on that day you ended up going to Cozmo’s and meeting up with Minho. It never really took much convincing from him to get you to budge, though it was a hell of a lot worse back then. You used to blindly follow along with anything he said just to seek his approval, hoping that eventually he’ll see you as the girl he wants to settle down with. Alas, nothing ever blossomed into something more, and you knew deep down that this was headed nowhere— but that still didn’t stop you from fantasizing about a future with him. Getting lost into deep thought, head heavy in the clouds as you imagine the idea of Minho confessing his undying love for you. You’ll be so caught off guard as he gets down on one knee, looking at you with the entire solar system in eyes while he proposes in the most charming way. It really is pitiful how much you still daydream about a guy who wasn’t your boyfriend but would constantly act like he was, then up and leaves without mentioning a single word about it.
You convinced yourself he ran off with someone else to have a better life with, even hearing through town gossip that he’s moved to South Korea to pursue becoming an idol. Whatever the case may be it still weighed heavily on your mind that he never bothered to tell you anything, even a simple ‘goodbye’ would’ve sufficed the empty hole in your heart. The main reason you agreed on meeting up with Minho was to finally ask, why? Why did he pretend to like you? Why did he act like your boyfriend when he never had intentions on seriously dating? Why was he so good at making you fall so hard for him..?
“You look great.” You subconsciously blurt out, affixed in a daze as you stare in awe at the man in front of you.
It’s been a while since you came here— never able to fully bring yourself to try and go back. Though you knew this place first, and they really did have the best Mactha lattes in the universe. It reminded you too much of him and you sadly had to let it go.
You weren’t proud of it but you did go home quickly to change clothes and redo your makeup. Usually you wouldn’t care but this was the only guy you’ve been consistently crushing on for years, you had to feel good inside and out. Minho was just as gorgeous as you remembered, if not he looked even more ethereal — which seemed impossible in itself already. He’s grown up so beautifully, his facial features became more sharp, especially his jawline which looks so defined and sculpted by the Gods.
Minho lightly chuckles at your timidness, some things just never change. “You look way better.” His lips drew into a faint smirk as he admires your presence.
He meant every word of what he said, you looked really good, and it was making him even more frustrated that so much time has passed. Regretting the way he handled things so many years ago, wishing he could take it all back and do everything differently. Seeing you again made it easier for Minho to suppress the guilt he’s borne for so long. This moment feels like a second chance to make amends for his past mistakes.
You couldn’t help but blush when you hear his compliment, feeling your ears grow hot as you look at the ground. There was a silent pause between you that lasted for what seemed like ages. Weirdly enough the conversation flowed well after he finally broke the awkwardness, the chemistry was overall still there and were able to pick up right where it left off.
“I’m so glad you came ___, I’ve been dying to see you since I got here. I’m surprised you even still responded to my lame ass.”
Minho’s light confession puzzles you. If he really was dying to see you, why’d he wait so long to get in contact with you? To be fair, you don’t know the exact time he came back.
“Oh, is that so? When’d you come back? Also show me pics of Korea, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like there.” You fondly inquire, leaning against the side of the wall as he’s still behind the counter. He mentioned to you he’s only working part time because his parents would rather mooch off their son for free labor than to hire and pay a new employee.
“Yesterday,” he quickly states before taking out his phone to scroll through his gallery, “guess my sister must’ve told you I went there huh?”
You shook your head, “Nah, I haven’t talked to Elle in a while. She’s tried hitting me up a few times though.. but I found out through Areum ‘cause she was seeing Hoseok back then.”
They were definitely “seeing” each other alright, but mostly in the bedroom. Areum didn’t want anything exclusive with Hoseok and neither did he, it was the perfect friends with benefits situation. Minho and Hoseok were good friends who’ve known each other for a while, so naturally he’d tell Areum everything and overshare at some point.
“Agh, there’s a customer gotta take this. One sec, sorry!” He briefly apologizes before bringing his attention to the new person heading inside. You nod, signaling he’s good to go. “I’ll be waiting over there,” you point to a small wooden table with 2 chairs in a corner.
Once Minho comes back you notice he’s no longer wearing his purple work apron; back in his regular attire now and sporting an oversized dark grey hoodie that was three times too big. He was holding a large cup with green liquid and a paper bag in his hand, that’s when it clicks for you— he still remembers your favorite meal.
He’s grinning the whole time he’s handing you the matcha latte and cinnamon pastry, smiling from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas Day. This was the most you’ve seen him be so enthusiastic about something, even back when you were “with” him you can’t recall him beaming with such energy like this.
“Awh, thank you. I haven’t had either one of these in years!” You wanted to give him the biggest hug but you refrained from doing so, feeling as though it may be too early for that.
“Of course dear, anything for you.”
Why does everything he says have to make you melt from the inside out? It’s not fair! >:(
Glancing down at your yummy beverage, you see a message written on the side of the glass with bold permanent sharpie. Tilting your head to read it, the words are bit jumbled together but you get the gist. You’re almost left speechless after it reads: ‘___, Will you be my valentine?’
Your most dreaded and least favorite holiday is here, yippee! But, there’s a twist on this year’s turn of events; you actually have someone to celebrate this wretched tradition with. You should be excited but all you’re feeling is the sudden urge to vomit as you were nervous out of your mind. This was kind of weird to you, going on a date with your ex boyfriend who was never even your real boyfriend. Looking back on it now you shouldn’t have tolerated a relationship dynamic like that, Minho was clearly taking advantage of your passiveness by not explicitly saying what he wanted. On the contrary, you had no one to blame but yourself, you never spoke up or criticized anything even if it didn’t coincide with your personal morals.
The fact he never took you on an actual date until now speaks volumes, you obviously didn’t have enough self worth back to demand better treatment. It took you years of figuring out what a real, healthy relationship is supposed to be like through trials of therapy and that was an emotional rollercoaster in itself. All your uncertainties soon faded away once you became more secure and knew exactly what you wanted for yourself. It took every ounce of patience and acceptance to unlearn all your bad coping mechanisms and other toxic behaviors that were only stunting your inner growth. You’re happy to be in a position now where you’re able to express wholeheartedly what you deserve, it’s the best feeling ever to feel like you’re in control of your own life.
You spent almost 3 hours getting ready and your bedroom now looked like a war zone. The outfit you chose was super girly, a frilly white dress with pink platform heels— Minho’s going to drool in amazement when he sees you. When you sent Areum photos of you before heading out, she responds right way with a series of hearts and other sweet comments— hyping you up to no end like the best friend she is. She’s also able to help pull you out of your doubtful headspace, when you felt unsure if you could really go through with this she quickly psyched you out of it. Reminding you exactly who you are and why you are the prize, not him. ‘He should be the one who’s nervous, not the other way around’ you assure yourself over and over as a mini ego boost.
His jaw dropped when he spotted you walking up to his car, infatuated by how pretty and perfect you looked in every way possible. It angers him so much to know he took all this for granted, he didn’t appreciate all of you the way he should’ve but now he gets another chance to redo everything and right his wrongs. It’s a lot of pressure but he bravely accepts it, he could never mess up another opportunity like this again. The car ride was fairly silent in the beginning, you were vibing in peace as the only thing you could hear was Minho’s soft indie playlist as background music.
You ultimately chose to be the one to speak first, breaking the ice with a simple inquiry about the date. “So where are we going?” Looking out at the scenery from the window, all you is trees and more trees. If it’s something to do with nature you surely don’t want any parts of it, you’ve never been too fond of the wilderness.
“It’s a surprise, I can’t tell you.” He keeps a tight seal on today’s destination without dropping a single hint, forcing you to go completely blind into this. As he goes back to focus on the road, you sigh anxiously after hearing him refuse to disclose anything.
Did he seriously forget what kind of person you are? Anyone who’s close to you at all knows you’ve never been into those types of things. Ever.
“You know I hate surprises Minho,” you remind him, attempting to pry for more information. Even shooting him a doe eyed look along with poking out your bottom lip, but he doesn’t falter.
He simply nods, “I know but you’ll like this one, just have a little bit of faith me.” Flashing an innocent smile at you, he seems to be overly confident in whatever his plan consists of.
After almost half an hour passes the car finally comes to a stop, you scan the area and instantly notice a sense of familiarity among the place. Across from you was an ice cream parlor you thought didn’t exist anymore. But there it is, still standing with dozens of customers waiting in line. The small shop was famously known for its fish-shaped ice cream cones, you’ve always wanted to visit the place and try it when you were a little from seeing it on TV all the time. When you told Minho about it, you said how your parents would say it was too far but it actually closed down and they didn’t know how to tell you. From time to time you’d still think about that place, but you would’ve never thought they relocated. Being here with Minho brings an indescribable amount of happiness to your spirit.
“I mentioned this place like one time in passing, how’d you even remember?” You wonder in amazement, after all these years he still remembers something as minuscule as this.
“It may not have seemed like it but I paid attention to every little detail you told me ___, all it. Of course I know you don’t like surprises but how else would I have been able to take you here?” He sweetly expresses to you, not wanting to hold back anymore.
You wanted to cry right here, right now. All your emotions came crashing down at once and it’s hard to keep them concealed. A lot has changed within these years, things feel so different with him now, especially with how much he’s matured. You notice how he doesn’t act like the typical fuckboy in his early 20’s anymore, he’s much more interested in getting to know only person — that being you.
“I’ve rehearsed this in my head like a million times and I don’t think I’ll ever say it the right way I want but it’s time I start being as transparent as possible with you…” Minho takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve always liked you ___, from the start actually,” he keeps going, “I was just scared, of what I don’t know.. Commitment maybe?”
Slightly looking in another direction, your vision faintly blurs from tears welling up, “I- I honestly don’t know what to say..”
“Then don’t say anything at all, I don’t need you to. I may not know the first thing about how to love someone, but I want to learn all of it with you.” He feels all the remorse of leaving you alone for all these years, unable to process the pain you must’ve endured at him not getting into contact with you. “I’m so sorry ___. For everything, I’m going to make it all better I promise.”
Your eyes subconsciously flutter shut when he comes in contact with you. Connecting in perfect symmetry with your lips to sync together in motion. His gentle hands cupped your face delicately; his touch was so warm and inviting. Your fingers were deeply tangled in his brunette locks, relishing every minute as he tilts his head to capture more of you. He genuinely couldn’t believe he went this long without kissing these luscious lips again. His tongue grazed the bottom of your lip to subtly ask for entry and you comply. Dopamine floods both your senses like a series of fireworks going off, feeling intoxicated by each other’s taste. It was probably that vanilla bean chapstick you always wore— an old favorite of his and is still your go-to flavor of choice. He wanted to savor you in this moment for as long as he could, cherish the fact he has you in his hold again.
“Want to know something funny?” He asks out of nowhere, still smirking from that heated kiss that just happened seconds ago.
“Hm?”
“You’re the reason I ended up coming back here.” Minho states bluntly, no hesitation detected in his voice whatsoever.
You struggle to comprehend anything, overwhelmed by all his sudden confessions. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I never want to leave your side ever again ___. I’m staying here with you, I already made the biggest mistake of losing you once I can’t let the same thing happen twice.” He spoke tenderly from the bottom of his heart, it felt so genuine you couldn’t not believe him.
Going back to rewind time isn’t possible, but “do-over’s” are, and sometimes we’re able to get those second chances to make things right when we get them wrong the first time.
[End <3].
#skz fluff#lee know fluff#skz x reader#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#lee know x reader#lee know skz#lee know x female reader#lee minho x reader#lee minho fluff#stray kids fluff#skz drabbles#lee know drabbles#lee know scenarios#lee know angst#lee know smut#stray kids scenarios#skz scenarios#skz angst#skz au
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That time Heisenberg stabbed Ethan with a rusty fencepost
Thanks to this one fic project that needed a pornographically detailed list of Ethan’s most memorable injuries, I've spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Heisenberg stabs him with when they first met. Working mostly from a free-camera version from youtube, I settled on calling a metal pipe with a square profile.
Tumblr: I was wrong. The reality is so much worse.
Having cracked the game files and installed my own free-camera mod, I tracked down the original asset for this thing, and, well...
No, really, this is it! Check out those matching cross-bars if you doubt me.
FWIW, it isn’t actually a spear. Those semi-mangled crossbars flag it instead as a spear-headed fence-post. (This may not be a distinction that Ethan would find very comforting after being stabbed with the thing, but there it is, regardless.)
In fact, if you poke around the cemetery area just outside the castle gate, you can even find the fence it presumably came from.
Look in on the cemetery near the church from the lane leading up to the Duke's shop beside it, and this is what you'll see.
It's not a perfect match (in fact, it's even worse viewed from the opposite side, because someone has clearly stuffed up the textures on different sides of the same asset). I'll also note that if you go back to this fence again after meeting Heisenberg, you won’t find any suspicious gaps in it where a post was recently ripped out. So I’m going to just go ahead and assume this particular piece was lying in a pile of surplus scrap in the cellar somewhere, and Heisenberg did not, in fact, drag the thing all the way there from well outside the whole damn building. I mean, at that point, you’re just showing off.
The fence post is, admittedly, pretty hard to get a good look at in the actual game. Unlike all the other crap Heisenberg already has levitating around him in this scene, the fencepost doesn’t appear at all until Heisenberg stabs Ethan with it. It actually seems to emerge at speed from between a couple of barrels at the back. But if you’re enough of a lunatic to play around with the various slow motion/rewind settings that came with the free camera mod, you can get a decent shot of it in flight, cleaning up any remaining doubt that this is the same asset that was used in game.
It even freaking spins in the air as it moves. FTR, yes, it does go in pointy-end first. And the whole fucking spearhead ends up buried in poor Ethan. (Please feel free to insert your own dick-joke here.) Those paying really close attention might even note that the blood on Ethan's shirt is present even before the spear hits him, but that's just going to be virtual-stunt-coordination having a normal one.
I can offer you no similarly definitive insight into why Heisenberg would think stabbing Ethan with this thing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you if he knew for sure that it was Ethan Winters he was talking to at this point (maybe he's just playing dumb, pretending not to recognise him. Or maybe he legit didn't know that Ethan himself had made an appearance until Miranda told him. Sure, he's already got that whole conspiracy board, but finding real pictures of this Ethan-guy is surprisingly hard.) But whether Heis was already testing out Ethan’s ‘interesting body’, or whether he’d just generally assumed that anyone who could survive a full lycan assault on the village wouldn’t be too seriously inconvenienced by a little stabbing, hoo boy was this one way to make a first impression.
I’m not even sure which of these losers is the bigger idiot here: the one who imagined Ethan might still agree to work with him even after inserting a very convincing imitation-spearhead into his intestines, or the one who never thought to seriously question how he keeps shrugging off injuries just as exciting as this one.
They probably deserve each other.
#Karl Heisenberg#Ethan Winters#RE meta#winterberg#Resident Evil Village#Resident Evil#RE assets#not to soapbox but that's also why the popularity of AO3's 'soft' Heisenberg tag makes me roll my eyes so hard#this dude is 'soft' like a fencepost to the gut
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Winning? Is that what you think it's about? I'm not trying to win. I'm not doing this because I want to beat someone, or because I hate someone, or because, because I want to blame someone. It's not because it's fun, and God knows it's not because it's easy. It's not even because it works, because it hardly ever does. I do what I do, because it's right! Because it's decent! And above all, it's kind. It's just that. Just kind. If I run away today, good people will die. If I stand and fight, some of them might live. Maybe not many, maybe not for long. Hey, you know, maybe there's no point in any of this at all, but it's the best I can do, so I'm going to do it. And I will stand here doing it till it kills me. You're going to die too, some day. How will that be? Have you thought about it? What would you die for? Who I am is where I stand. Where I stand, is where I fall. Stand with me. These people are terrified. Maybe we can help, a little. Why not, just at the end, just be kind?
make me choose | @blakbonnet asked: 10 or 12
#doctor who#dwedit#doctorwhoedit#twelfth doctor#twelfthdoctoredit#peter capaldi#petercapaldiedit#moffatedit#blakbonnet#make me choose#*mine#*edits#100#this was a lot more epic in my head haha
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Hi there, no shade to your art or anything as you seem like a decent artist, but your e/ucien art is really cringe. You know that Elain is physically repulsed by him, right? Drawing her and Lucien together is borderline r*pe and S/A at best. I don't understand why you e/ucien and gwy*riel shippers like drawing porn of noncon characters. It's really disgusting and harmful to the whole community.
Elriel is the only consensual couple, so I can understand the art of them. But even as you e/uciens like to point out Lucien is an S/A victim too, right? So it's not good to ship him and draw him practically r*ping Elain. I just find it odd of all these standards you guys hold yourselves to because it's your "ship". It's clear you don't even care about the character's needs or wants.
As I've stated, no shade you clearly have some talent. It's just a shame to see that go to waste drawing unsavory scenes between nonconsenting characters for your ship. I think your skills would be much better utilized drawing elriel instead. We have a great community of extremely talented artists, and the best part is our ship is cannon and consenting! We really do have it all!
Have a lovely day 😘
Hi anon!
Thanks for stopping by and enjoying my work! =3
I think you might have missed the point of fanart, so allow me to explain.
I am a fan of Elain and Lucien, so I will draw them. I can draw them in AU, in canon text, in fanon, in whatever manner I want. They are CANON mates, which is more than I can say for your ship. You go on about how they had an ALMOST kiss, but they didn't. Az calls their meeting a mistake then leaves to ignore her while he spends time with Gwyn and gets a spark in his chest thinking about her eyes lighting up with joy.
You say "no shade" to my work, but then say I'm drawing SA and I'm harming the community, and insult my ship. I fail to see how drawing mates in an intimate setting is harming anyone. Sounds like someone just doesn't like the fact that their ship ended in a BC and is paving the way for Elain and Lucien to be together.
Artist/writers will draw/write what they want to, and shouldn't feel shamed or bullied into doing something they don't want to, because you think your ship is morally superior. It's not. Az rejected Elain then fucked off, Elain isn't even shedding a tear over it. She handed back the necklace just as she did TT. Not looking back.
You enjoy your ship with your artists. I quite like mine very much, and I know come their book, we'll have even more canon to draw inspiration from. Until then I, and all the other writers and artists who support Gwynriel and Elucien will have fun with our fan works!
#elucien#pro elucien#elucien supremacy#elain x lucien#anti e/riel#pro gwynriel#pro fanart#I'll draw what I damn well please#dont like it dont look at it
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Bruises | Bada Lee x reader
Bebe Gang AU
Pairing: gang member! Bada x reader
Synopsis: you take care of Bada after a fight. things get steamy (literally) by the end
Warnings: none i guess it's mostly fluff
Note: i had this idea for days in my head and had to write it down. at some point i even thought about a backstory about the first date to this but i was getting too messy and confusing. maybe i'll write it separately. hope you enjoy~
Masterlist
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It was on your third date when Bada blurted out that she was part of a gang. It was a very much needed refreshing summer night after a scorching day that you spent at work. Bada texted you unexpectedly, saying she happened to be around you neighborhood. You were both in front of the convenience store close to your apartment, munching on some ice cream. Her treat, she said. She was sitting on the plastic chair, her hair braided loosely falling over her shoulder. You were standing up, leaning against the table. You had been sitting on a chair all day, you told her when she asked you to sit next to her. And it wasn’t a lie. But more than that you loved the few moments you could see her from above and from afar, admire her lean and athletic figure as a whole. You were focused on her lips, though. She was wearing a white cap that covered her eyes, but you could clearly see her freezing and glistening lips in the streetlight as she was taking another bite. You had been stealing glances now and then, thankful for her cap otherwise she would have seen that ever since you met your mind was clouded with fantasies about her. And you hadn’t even kissed yet.
“Do you mind?” She asked. It was obvious she hadn’t planned it. She later confessed that the thought of you hating her because of it was too agonizing to keep on hiding.
“I... don’t mind.” You mumbled, embarrassed by the thought of being caught almost drooling over her. The shock of the new information wiped that feeling away quickly. “I really don’t.” You said again after getting hold of yourself. The distant city lights were pretty but not pretty enough to take your eyes off Bada.
“You might.” She said with a half smile, a mixture of both worry about the future and relief about the present. A smile that always made your heart shrink and almost explode into a million pieces.
And she was right. You knew it even in that moment that it was something you should put more thought into. Some would even call it a red flag, maybe a deal breaker. But it was too late for you by then. Anytime would have been too late. You thought about it on many nights like these, when she was late and you were waiting for her full of worry. The third date was actually a pretty decent moment to choose. The first date would have been too early, it would have ruined the mood. By the second date you were still trying to figure out if you could be a match, talking things like movies and childhood stories. Thinking about it, that night didn’t even qualify as a date, though every occasion you had to meet was a date to both of you.
You had had a crush on Bada for a long time before. She was the friend of a friend you happened to run into a couple of times. You never exchanged more than the usual greetings and small talk, but you couldn’t get her out of your mind since seeing her for the first time. It was a silly little crush that you were not going to do anything about, even though you felt butterflies in your lower stomach at the mention of her name.
We have to cancel tonight. I’ll be late.
She was already half an hour late when you got the text. Tonight was supposed to be a chill date at her place after a long time of both of you being busy and unable to see each other. Having a spare key, you got there earlier anyway, excited to see her.
I’m here already. See you later.
You knew it had to be something dangerous when she didn’t even say sorry for cancelling plans. She was always a baby, sulking and apologizing countless times when she wasn’t able to make it. That’s when you started to worry.
You looked for a movie to keep your mind busy while you waited for your girlfriend to come home. However, it was only a background noise in the empty apartment. All you could pay attention to was the ringing ambulance or the barking of a dog outside. Every notification you got on your phone you hoped it was another message from her. Your heart was beating faster full of worry, mind running to all the bad things that could happen.
I don’t mind. You told her that night but she knew you would. It was unfair to keep you waiting like this, have you worry every time she was late in case someone ganged up on her or she got into a conflict for her friends.
I know how to fight. Bada had tried to comfort you when you would inspect her bruises.
That’s the problem. You said. If you know how to fight you get into fights. She only half smiled like she did that night in front of the convenience store. That coy smile with only one corner of her mouth curled up that you found so attractive yet so annoying sometimes. You wanted to hit her too.
Yet, you never complained about it. You liked her too much.
After about an hour you heard the familiar beep of the front door being unlocked. You jumped from the bed where you had been scooping under a fluffy blanket, the cold air hitting your bare legs. You were wearing one of her oversized T-shirts.
Bada just got in by the time you stopped by the door in the hallway. She was taking her sneakers off and, as she leaned over to get her slippers she winced in pain, standing back up slower than usual. That’s when she saw you waiting for her. She smiled gently, opening her arms and gesturing for you to come closer. You rushed in her arms, holding her tightly. The T-shirt you had been wearing had only a faint memory of her scent but now you could feel it clearly. She winced once again when you hugged her and you wanted to pull away, scared that she is in pain. She only held you tighter, slender fingers brushing through your hair.
“Sorry I’m late.” She said in a low voice.
“Are you hurt?” You asked when she finally allowed you to pull away and have a look at her face. Even though she wanted to brush off the question, you noticed the scratch on her cheek and frowned.
“I’m fine.” She took off her jacket. That’s when you noticed it was way dirtier than when she left. “Are you mad at me?” Bada asked as you grabbed the jacket from her hands and looked at her with rather cold eyes.
“Of course I am.” Bada raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Look what you did to your pretty face! Do you know how much money I’ll have to spend on skincare to fix it?” She started giggling and touched her cheek carefully. It did sting. The more you looked at her entire body the more you started noticing details that you didn’t see at first. Bruises here and there, dirt and even some dark red on her T-shirt and chest. Your brain immediately realized it’s dried blood and your expression changed, feeling nauseous.
“It’s not mine.” She sighed, noticing your distress. You took a deep breath and turned around on your heels, feeling the need of fresh air.
“I’ll run you a bath. You get rid of these dirty clothes.” You said as you made your way to the bathroom.
“You’re so wifey today.” Bada teased as she followed you around the apartment. She stopped by the bathroom door, taking her clothes off as you instructed, leaving them in a pile next to the washing machine.
“Even I could beat you up in this state miss Bada Lee.” You rolled your eyes as you checked the temperature of the water and tossed in some scented liquid for bubbles.
“Really?” She asked. She took off her T-shirt and cargo pants, only her underwear left on. You didn’t hear her coming in the bathroom right behind you because of the running water. As you sat up and turned around, ready to say another sassy comeback to her teasing, you stopped and almost chocked on air. She was right in front of you, inches away, towering over your smaller figure. The top of your head barely reached past her shoulders and you looked up and down her body, not daring to look up in her eyes. Dried blood was staining her skin too, on her tummy and up her neck. Your eyes followed the lines of her tall and toned body, barely covered. You felt blood rush through your veins and you knew your face was undeniably red. Bada grinned, knowing how easily intimidated you were whenever she took advantage of the difference in height between the two of you. After a few moments that felt like an eternity you finally mustered up the courage to move away.
“I’ll get something for your face.” You mumbled, trying not to show how flustered you were. Bada’s tongue pushed against the inside of her cheek as she let you leave the bathroom quietly. After you closed the door rather loudly behind you she let out a giggle that she had been holding inside for your sake. You were so cute when you were all worked up like that. Because, as much as it was dangerous, Bada knew few things turned you on more than seeing her roughed up a bit. Maybe you had a savior complex. Or you were simply horny.
Nonetheless, as she waited for the bath to fill up, Bada inspected her body in the mirror. It was nothing serious, she had been through worse. Ignoring the dirt she guessed she would look perfectly fine after the much needed bath, leave two or three bruises that would only show their purple color the next morning. The wound on her face was indeed nasty, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.
You came back after a while, after her body was warmed up and soaked in the vanilla scented water you had prepared for her.
“Thought you forgot about me.” She said, not bothering to open her eyes. Her hair was up in a messy bun so it wouldn’t get wet. Only her bangs were sticking to her forehead as her head was leaned back against the edge of the tub.
“I had to go buy some stuff we ran out of last time.” You said as you crouched next to her on the floor.
“It’s not that bad anyway. If I just wash my face a bit more carefully it’ll go away in no time.” Bada lazily opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. The bubbles in the water were covering up to her collarbone. “Why don’t you get in with me?”
“In your dirty water? No thanks.” You grinned and reached for the hair roller. Leaning over the bath tub you gently brushed her bangs before rolling them up so you could clean her face. “You should have washed your hair too.” You hummed.
“Wash it for me?” She asked, standing still like a doll letting you do your thing. A very pretty doll, you thought.
“Tomorrow.” You sighed and she smiled.
You gently wiped her face clean and disinfected the wound. She would hiss in pain at times but nonetheless it was a minor thing. You’ve seen her through worse. All while you took care of her Bada had her eyes closed, enjoying the pampering. Her body had relaxed completely and her muscles felt like jelly. She didn’t want to get out anytime soon, although the water was getting cold and was indeed dirty.
You didn’t want to admit it but she was right about her face. It wasn’t something that needed extra care and she could have handled on her own, washing around the scratch and covering it with a band aid. But you loved to take care of her. You loved to treat her gently, run your fingers over the curve of her jaw, observe every detail of her face. You watched as her lips moved and curled as you touched sensitive spots and her brows furrowed then straightened back in a calm expression. After you were done with the skincare and the products were well absorbed into her skin you took the roller out of her bangs and gently arranged the strands of hair on her forehead. Your eyes traveled lower, to her neck down her collarbones and her chest that was lost in bubbles. You didn’t notice when she peeped at you through her lashes, a bright gummy smile plastering all over her face.
“You’re so in love with me.” Bada said.
“Mhm.” You only agreed to her teasing, placing your forearms on the edge of the tub and resting your head on top of them. You weren’t even going to deny it or mind that your eyes were an open book for her. One of her hands made its way out of the water to touch your face gently. Foam and water was running down her fingers over the bruised up knuckles. “Does it hurt?” You asked and she moved her hand away to inspect it from afar. She tried to clench her fist then release, feeling the stinging sensation of bare flesh. You extended your arm too so you could reach her hand and carefully intertwine your fingers with hers.
“Hmm… My hand is bigger than yours.” She said and you chuckled.
“Fuckboy 101. Any other pickup lines from the streets?” You said sarcastically but a part of you was excited by all of these gentle touches between the two of you. So excited that, if you would let your intrusive thoughts win, you’d take her hand and place it around your throat-
“Only that you’re so pretty.” Something about the way she emphasized the last words only contributed to your excitement. It wasn’t the usual affectionate tone when she complimented your makeup, your outfit or simply your features out of pure love. It was something deeper and darker than that, almost like when she would call you pretty in bed when you’d be on top of her-
“Whatever gang fight you got into must have messed with your adrenaline levels and got you horny instead.” You tried to hide the fact that your mind had started to create fantasies in real time.
“Me?” Bada asked sheepishly as she pulled your hand closer and pressed her lips gently against it. You felt a very familiar sensation in your lower stomach. It was very entertaining to her, seeing you fight to hide what was obviously hiding behind your eyes when you would stare blankly at her. Maybe you were right about it and adrenaline really was to blame. Or maybe seeing you wearing her clothes did something to her.
Bada leaned forward, shivering when the colder air hit her bared back. She was about to get out of the water.
“This is going to be all green and purple tomorrow.” You said, the tip of your finger barely touching a spot on her back. She instinctively moved away from your touch. You were right, it really hurt. “You’re so sensitive I can’t even ride you properly yet you’re teasing me.” You teased back.
It was her time to blush. At least she could blame it on the hot water.
“So you have been thinking about it. Pervert.” You rolled your eyes at her. This bickering and teasing was something usual in your relationship. You sat up to grab the towel for her. When you turned back you froze in front of her for the second time that night. She had stood up, this time completely naked in front of you, water dripping down her body. It took all the strength inside you to simply swallow. You could feel the heat coming out of her body but there was another kind of heat coming from within you. As if you weren’t flustered enough, her fingers gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up this time. Her touch was warm and wet and arousing. “I’m cold.” She said as if she didn’t notice, as if she didn’t intend to make you feel like this. You knew and she must have known too that you were getting wet just because she barely touched you. “My towel?”
You couldn’t take it anymore. You let the towel fall on the floor and placed your hands on her waist, pulling her closer. The water on her body wetted your T-shirt too but it didn’t matter. Standing on you tippy toes to reach her, you pressed your lips against hers, finally getting what you wanted since she got home. Her lips moved along with yours as your fingers dug into her skin, hungry to posses as much of her as possible. Her hands cupped both your cheeks as she took control of the kiss. Your fingers glided softly all over her skin from her hips to her waist to her breasts and-
“Ouch.” She breathed against your lips when you pressed against a bruise.
“Sorry.” You mumbled. She brushed her lips lightly against yours.
“Let’s take this out of here.” Bada said and you grabbed her hand in excitement, rushing her to the bedroom.
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Not to continue to Doctor Who on main, but the Twelfth Doctor's monologue from "The Doctor Falls" is like... idk it just hits so close for me. It really just gets at the heart of the person I want to be, the person I'm trying to be, the person I hope I am. It's perfect.
Winning? Is that what you think it's about? I'm not trying to win. I'm not doing this because I want to beat someone, or because I hate someone, or because, because I want to blame someone. It's not because it's fun and God knows it's not because it's easy. It's not even because it works, because it hardly ever does. I do what I do, because it's right! Because it's decent! And above all, it's kind. It's just that. Just kind. If I run away today, good people will die. If I stand and fight, some of them might live. Maybe not many, maybe not for long. Hey, you know, maybe there's no point in any of this at all, but it's the best I can do, so I'm going to do it. And I will stand here doing it till it kills me. You're going to die too, some day. How will that be? Have you thought about it? What would you die for? Who I am is where I stand. Where I stand, is where I fall. Stand with me. These people are terrified. Maybe we can help, a little. Why not, just at the end, just be kind?
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