#Curb Your Ego

[scopophilic1997]

scopOphilic_micromessaging_925 - scopOphilic1997 presents a new micro-messaging series: small, subtle, and often unintentional messages we send and receive verbally and non-verbally.

[clubshowerart]

If you're giving me your all, you aren't give yourself anything.

[messiahzzz]

[bby-deerling]

law + feeling clingy

masterlist

tagging my fellow law kissers: @risenwrites @themushroomofdeath @willowhaze26

law is so paradoxical, in that he simultaneously hates to show affection in front of others, but can't seem to curb his jealousy, especially when his ego is at stake. once he's decided you're his, even if he hasn't quite made you aware of that yet, the slightest hint of a threat to your connection sends him spiraling and desperate to regain control.

and if you were unsure of law's feelings before, they're crystal clear now; it's hard for you to ignore the way his lanky form hangs behind you, invading your personal space as if he thought nothing of it, despite normally being very cautious to not overstep any boundaries. he asserts his assumed position at your side with a tattooed hand resting firmly on your shoulder; it's a subtle sign—something that could easily be brushed off as a friendly or familiar touch—but the intensity of his aura lets you know that law doesn't intend to let you go in any sense of the word.

when law is craving every ounce of your attention, he never asks outright; he needs to feel wanted, and so communicating his needs feels counterintuitive. instead he'll use every trick up his sleeve to turn your focus towards him until you're eating out of the palm of his hand, just like he had intended.

though he thinks he is being sneaky, the way that law becomes possessive and clingy whenever you receive attention from anyone else is glaringly obvious to anyone paying the slightest bit of attention. however, deep in the caverns of law's wounded heart, getting others to notice and acknowledge what is his might have been his goal all along.

[suguru-getos]

Kinktober day 26:

Hate sex w/ Kaveh

Ps: I know we are in December please let me live TwT

Kaveh and you had an argument over an architecture project, causing both of your rage to unfold.

Warnings: Spanking, Kaveh is le top, arguments, rough pace, etc.

A loud thud against the wall, kabedoning you while Kaveh’s fierce, ruby pupils carnally unravelled the very cells of your skin with rage. “What? Did you fucking think you were doing?” The low, hot growl of his voice made you quiver. You were mad too; he had no right to act like the asshole he is after all. Yet, the intensity of his rage, laced with demanding dominance made you shiver.

You both were clearly too hot headed right now, with how Kaveh reacted on your insistance with the Kshahrewar, to let you take part in the Desert project. Kaveh was strictly against it, absolutely determined & using his high followed authority to deny you. “No, y/n. That is not happening.” It was blood boiling how no one stood against him. The fucking light of the Kshahrewar or whatever. You hated him at the moment.

“I didn’t ask you, Kaveh,” you spat back, your rage overpowering your logic, initiating a much avoided argument with your senior.

The room echoed in silent, curbed whispers from Kaveh’s subordinates as you stomped away, only to be quickly followed by him.

Here you were, against the wall, trying to match the same fervor that he carried. “Fuck you, Kaveh, get the fuck off my face!” You exclaimed, hands resting and gripping the white fabric of his shoulder, pushing him away with all your might.

“I told you, didn’t I? That area has lots of Ermites, you don’t even have a vision!” Kaveh gritted, pulling you close into a forced hug, hands knitting against your hair and tugging it softly. “Stop bratting the fuck out,”

Unfortunately for Kaveh, and fortunately for Kaveh, his touches were agressive yet sensual, your body slowly melting like a candle enflamed. “You stop trying to control me-” you glared, jaw clenching with suppressed desire intertwined with anger.

Kaveh’s lips curled into a brimming frustration. He felt so helpless, yet he couldn’t deny the fact that you standing your ground firmly was doing things to him, sending jolts of aches down his privates. At the same time, he wanted to push you around, tame you even… Kaveh was conflicted.

Tugging your hair back sharply, inhaling and eating your whines, his lips latched onto yours, hungrily devouring everything you had to offer, devouring your disobedience, your ego, your rage. Possessive hands snaking all over the curves of your body, squeezing your covered nipples, your heaving chest, gliding down onto your crotch, cupping your heated cunt.

“What the fuck- Kaveh-” you almost sounded pleased, no resistances in the tone of your voice as his baritoned, lacy voice responded. “Shut the fuck up, and be good,”

“You shut the fu- AH” your whine echoed when Kaveh’s fingers roughly found their way inside your sopping, drooling, clothed pussy. The scrunched clothing entering your gaping hole instead of his cock, made you even more frustrated.

“I said, be good. Angel,” Kaveh smirked softly, grinning tenderly at your agitated pout.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want me to fuck the attitude out of you, don’t tell me you don’t want to make it difficult for me, my little brat,” Kaveh cooed, hands slipping inside the waistband of your panties, pinching your clit sharply.

“AGH-” the way your knees buckled in subsequent submission was admirable to him, awarding you with a kiss that slowly turned agressive, suckling onto the sweet spot of your neck.

“I hate you, Kaveh,” you gritted through brimming tears, his touch felt so good, but you were just as angry, hands landing towards his crotch as you cupped his semi, holding his clothed cock into your hands and giving it a firm squeeze.

“Hmm-” Kaveh retorted with a gasp, “show me how much yeah?”

Lifting you up as if you weighed nothing, Kaveh wrapped your legs around him, striding towards his office table. The movements were so quick it barely gave you time to register any of it, by the time you did… you were already bent over against his table, tits pressed onto the wooden surface as Kaveh’s hand kept you steady and unmoving.

“You know I could spank you until you apologize,” he cooed, hand caressing the curve of your ass.

“You know I could kill you-” you grunted, frustration imminent.

“Oh you do kill me everyday, with how fucking unbearable you are. Yet, you are mine,” a loud smack echoed through the walls, Kaveh’s handprint marking the plush skin of your ass.

Tears prickled in your eyes at the painful pleasure seeping through your core, Kaveh was quickly to soothe your irritated skin. “You drive me crazy,” he growled against the shell of your ear, peppering kisses across the nape of your neck.

“You are the worst,” you squirmed, feeling his skilled fingers tug at your pants, admiring the hand print on your now raw ass, “I know, baby,” the tip of his cock stained his pants with pre, watching you all vulnerable and ready to be wrecked.

He was quick on his feet, letting his cock caress your wet and sticky folds, watching how your cunt clenched in anticipation and how your hips jerked backwards to have more access to him. “Stop fucking around Kaveh!” You yelled, erupting an amused chuckle from him.

“Don’t make me use a fucking strap on you- you fucking— AHH-” your irritated sentence turned into a breathless mewl, screaming out at the sudden feeling of having his cock balls deep inside you, stretching you painfully apart.

“Cat got your tongue now?” Kaveh smirked, not giving your pussy time to process and picked up a brutal pace, long, deep, harsh thrusts against your sobbing hole. Hands cupping your mouth to ensure your silence, muffling all your moans.

“Mine, and you will always be fucking mine. I don’t care how much you- you hate me for protecting you,” Kaveh spoke through broken pants, biting your neck, suckling onto your skin, squeezing your tits.

Just at the very moment you were about to tip off the edge, Kaveh thrusted himself out with a jerk. “No, you fucking brat, I’m not done with you yet,”

Maybe you need to take control instead, ride him until his cocky whines turn into desperate pleas. Or maybe, maybe you should submit… and let yourself be taken care of by your man.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-three — friends? (💋)

"Hey, if any reason we don't make it out without anyone seeing us, I just want to say that," You paused to look at him while you two were walking. "I think I’d rather be in a dating scandal with an insulin pen than you."

The corners of his lips twitched. "Wow." He said sarcastically, attention mainly on where he was going. "I never knew you were capable of thinking."

"My brain power’s not for free, just so you know," You immediately responded. "I changed my mind what I said earlier. I want at least three Twitter apologies and a lifetime supply of Jason Derulo concert tickets."

Scaramouche's eyebrows furrowed, giving you the nastiest side-eye that you could have ever imagined from him. "I'd rather take my chances with the scandal, thanks.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. You couldn't help but look at him a lot more than usual today. The allure that rang true put him in a different light, despite the light not being your cup of tea whenever he opens his mouth.

It was almost like the gravity of the situation didn't matter anymore. Still, you remained high and mighty. "I guess I'd want to be around me too."

"You're very sure of yourself for someone who's annoying every other day of the week."

"I’ll take it. It's why I exposed you so bad, and you flailed." You smiled, which caused Scaramouche to grunt in frustration. "You got burned, and you knew it too. Despite all odds, I kind of won."

"You did? Is that why you went AWOL for two weeks when I responded?" There was a split moment of silence between them as they stood there, and Scaramouche chuckled. The sound was low and throaty in the dimly lit alleyway. "All the considering, and this is very painful to say, but you were better with words than I was."

"Is that... another COMPLIMENT I HEAR COMING FROM YOUR-? I forgot it’s three in the morning." You sighed, shoulders dropping. "I'm satisfied with being the cunning wordsmith."

“You’re also just pretty fucking unfortunate to be around, but we can stroke your ego.”

“I love that you’re taking the diplomatic approach here.” You teased, feeling your heart warm up from his staring. Both of you looked at each other, uncertain to say anything, but hesitant to break the eye contact.

“Hey— uh.” You continued, stammering on your words. “If this all blows over? You wanna…go out?”

The amount of silence that was between them should have been enough of an indication to you, but you definitely knew it was solidified once he looked at you with a blank stare. “No.”

“Yeah, no. I started feeling like I was going to vomit when I said that anyway.” You quickly recovered, turning your body away to bite at your hand. Your eyes squeezed tight in embarrassment, hoping that you melt by some galactic beam in the next two seconds.

Amongst their chatter, and the alleyway that hid both of your figures, a distant rumble slowly became louder as the sound echoed off the walls. A pair of headlights pierced the darkness, and the beams of them against the worn down pavement on the curb assured them that it was definitely the group.

"Come on, come on!" Hu Tao shouted from the window, making you and Scaramouche cringe. She clearly found joy from this, because for some reason, the smile plastered on her face spoke volumes.

You both shared a fleeting glance, a silent exchange of words before entering the car.

"Well, well, well. If I would have known that Scaramouche himself would be in my car, I would have put 3/4th's water in my gas tank." Heizou raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with amusement and mirth.

"Oh, be nice." You pursed your lips, squinting. "Like you made an effort to help me out in the past. Now you're on your high horse?"

"Um, that's alleged."

"Really? Is it? How's that case against (Y/N)'s hater going, Officer Shikanoin? Found any way to protect them?" Lumine spoke up, her arms crossed stubbornly. "Well?"

"Listen! I was given a very narrow band of things that I can do with that! Aaaand, my hands were tied with a lot of other things." Heizou defended.

"Yeah, I'm sure your hands were tied with all the Cheetos you were picking up, the ones you spilled in some sawdust." Yanfei chimed in with a wry grin. "But I suppose I can't blame you for your...preferences."

"You knew that was an accident."

"Oh Heizou, I never saw it as an accident."

The two of them were arguing so much with input from the others in the car, that you and Scaramouche could only look at each other again and back at the scene. This was the only way the two of you were getting home safe from social media.

"You wasted 2 hours picking up every single one-"

"I don't see how this is relevant to where we're going right now!" Heizou immediately interrupted her before she could finish. "Directions, anyone? Before I hit a dead end?"

Yanfei immediately started tapping on her phone screen, pulling up the GPS navigation app she used. "So you turn left, but the rest of it is all you." She said, shoving her phone towards Heizou who snatched it out of her hand.

"Where are we going anyway?" Hu Tao asked, too enamored in Yanfei to say anything substantial until now.

"Ei has a vacation lodge, it's pretty cool, and it has way too many guest rooms. We're going there, I assume you have a key to it, Scaramouche?"

Scaramouche couldn't even respond properly, only offering a yard long stare. "How do you know she has a vacation lodge?"

"Did you forget that you're an influencer?" Another mysterious voice, almost similar to a child’s, appeared suddenly.

Nahida’s head popped up from the back seat, next to Lumine. It was less surprising knowing that all of them were clashing groups, anyway. But Aether’s eyes narrowed to the front seat.

“Officer Shikanoin…” Aether said in almost a disgusted tone. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“It’s definitely NOT what you’re thinking right now—” Heizou took his hands off the wheel, causing the car to swerve for a split second. “DEAL WITH IT, okay. I’ll explain when we get there.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @melpomenelurks (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT MOBIUS'S HEAVY KEYS

I wrote a meta on S1 Mobius here, mostly exploring his interrogation persona and emotional trajectory toward S1E6. I also have a fun little list on all the things I love about him here.

@mitromana posted about how we should talk about Mobius's sass and even cruelty more. @wowwwmobius posted how Mobius realistically would not be doing well post-S2E6 (I wholeheartedly agree), and they and @inwantofamuse shared amazing comments. All of this inspired this meta.

Thank you @mitromana @wowwwmobius @inwantofamuse!

Mobius's interrogation scenes are him at his most cruel and ruthless. The flipside of being a highly empathetic person is that it is very VERY easy to use this skill in highly abusive, cunning, and powerful ways. This is especially true if the person armed with this skill is exceptionally intelligent and is convinced their motivations are good. At the TVA, before Loki's exposure of the truth, Mobius is both of these things. Worse, he has access to the TVA's more ethically unconscionable technology, which he does not hesitate to use.

The road to evil is paved with good intentions. Mobius strolls onto this road more than once, but he manages to not stay on it because two people curb this risk: Loki and, yes, Sylvie.

Take in Loki's words and posture in this scene. The words alone are a frail and weak comeback for a silver-tongue God of lies. They do nothing but reveal Loki is in FACT scared. His arms are crossed tightly over his abdomen, a primal protective response. He's leaned as far away from Mobius as possible. This is the best Loki can come up with in the face of a boring man in a boring suit, really?

You can see why Mobius was moved into the position of Analyst from Hunter. He may not be able to prune children, but he can literally bring a God like Loki to the ground, breathless, confused, and frightened, with nothing more than WORDS. And this is with a variant Mobius likes. Imagine what he can do to a variant he hates.

For HWR and Ravonna's purposes, Mobius is the perfect weapon to get whatever they want out of whatever variant they capture before sending them off to get pruned. How do they keep him from questioning anything?

Memory-wiping (more than once), brainwashing, propaganda, and:

A little something for Mobius's identity, something that fulfills his intrinsic need to take care of others while also gently stroking his ego.

Yes, the genocide of multiple timelines over the span of eons is horrifying. But Mobius is capable of being complicit with it as long as his environment feeds his intrinsic psychological and emotional needs. The people on the Sacred Timeline become his new children, and he will do anything ANYTHING to protect them.

There was one thing HWR and Ravonna didn't anticipate: that this man's empathy for a specific Loki would be the very thing that liberates the multiverse and his own bondage from a corrupt bureaucracy.

However...

I don't believe Mobius ever anticipated becoming emotionally compromised when he advocated on Loki's behalf. He likely genuinely believed that after centuries of studying Loki, he knew him well enough to make him useful for the TVA. But the subconscious, oh. That is a different story, and in Loki's own words, Mobius has a gift for lying to himself.

I discuss the interrogation scene and Sif loop scene in depth here, so I won't repeat myself, but I'd like to draw our attention to the 2 gifs below, framing my analysis:

Imagine where Mobius's mind must be at:

I spent centuries studying you and believing in you. I waited more centuries for your nexus event to come. I tasked every hunter to inform me of your arrival immediately, no matter what I was doing, no matter where I was. I abandoned a case. I ran to your trial. I put my job, reputation, and eons-long friendship with Ravonna on the line. I tested your theory. I brought you with me on the field. You talked to me. You challenged me. You made me proud. You made me laugh.

I gave you daggers and you stabbed me. You STABBED me. When all I wanted to give you was--

Mobius cracked hard and fast. Applaud Owen Wilson for THIS interpretation of the script and THIS delivery.

Thankfully, the very person who put Mobius in this fragile state of mind is also the person Mobius deeply wants to believe in. Even after being betrayed, Mobius still wants to believe in Loki and his capacity to be a wonderful person. And so he looks at Ravonna's TemPad, decides Loki deserves to be with whoever he wants to be with (even if that person will never be Mobius himself), frees Loki to help him save the woman he loves, and gets pruned for it.

Mobius survives thanks to plot-armor. And who is the first person he meets?

The bane of his existence.

And Sylvie wastes no time driving a knife into a very fresh wound. Mobius, however, only recently unleashed all his rage. His reservoir for compartamentalizing has refreshed, so he can take Sylvie's truth bravely, without a flinch, and acknowledge that truth with one of his own.

Mobius owns it. He doesn't deny it. He tacitly agrees with her and gives her a reason why.

We should remember how dangerous Mobius can be. He is currently sitting in a car with the variant he is most likely to hate. Sylvie is strong, clever, and resilient, but her ability to regulate her emotions is weak, especially if she is triggered. Mobius can destroy her very easily with his words.

But Mobius can't hate her. He can't. She was right and he was wrong, but most importantly Loki loves her.

He won't hurt the person Loki loves most. No. He will take her to him instead. He can stomach the pain, the disappointment. He's good at that. Loki's well-being, his happiness, comes first.

In fact, Mobius stomachs Sylvie's knife twists a second time and chooses not to defend himself. I don't doubt a large part of him agrees with her. Nevertheless, he can't help but hope Loki might stand up for him in that moment. He tries, and fails, to make light of it by rolling his eyes and turning to his friend. When Loki leaves him not explaining why, his true feelings about this interaction surfaces on his face.

Aren't you going to say anything?

The saddest thing is that this is the LAST intimate moment THIS Mobius has with Loki before Loki crosses the gangway and never returns. This is it. This is what he's left with: the thought Loki didn't care enough to defend him and Loki leaving.

HE doesn't get to hear that he's just trying to see in the dark and is doing everything he can to keep the surviving timelines alive. SYLVIE does.

HE doesn't get to hear Loki tell him he saved his life. DON does.

HE doesn't get the final goodbye and "thank you, Mobius", his PAST SELF does. And if Mobius happens to remember this moment in the present, he will know that he was the one who propelled Loki to bear this massive burden ALONE.

My worry for Mobius post-S2E6 is that he is more than talented at ignoring his own needs and addressing his own problems. He is infinitely better--a master, even--at taking care of anyone else. It's a devastating flaw, but it comes from a very raw place:

His heart, his soul, will always remember being a single parent.

Being a parent at all is hard to begin with. There are only so many hours in a day, and the majority of it is devoted to putting someone else's needs before your own. Being a single parent is even harder. You might have a few people to help you, but ultimately, there's no partner to share every high and low intimately. To be a single parent of not one but TWO children?

Game over.

Some viewers have interpreted Don ignoring his sons' phone calls at work as negligent. Honestly, I don't think that's the case. He will call them back. Don is Mobius and Mobius is Don. He will take care of them. But refusing every beck and call at work is the only personal boundary he has. He cannot have many boundaries for himself at home or anywhere else. He has to decline not one but two calls for his own sanity. Nevermind that he works Monday through Saturday, nine to five, to make enough money to keep them healthy and happy. Where is the break? There is none. This is Don's glorious purpose.

Mobius leaving the TVA is understandable for two crucial reasons: One, it is a reminder of all his horrifying acts and complicity. Two, it is a reminder Loki is no longer there. But by leaving the TVA, Mobius separates himself from his only support system. That's not good. That is decidely unhealthy. The fact that it doesn't cross B-15, Casey, or OB's minds that this is a very bad idea tells you everything you need to know about the number of genuinely close friends Mobius has.

Mobius has two. He walked away from one to be with the second, and the second walked away from him, too. TWICE.

But he still loves him anyway.

When you take a man like this and take away everything that's kept him functional: the TVA, Ravonna, Loki, and then show him a content life in which he cannot even be with his own children because another version of him already exists, what do you think will happen to him given we've seen how violently Mobius can snap?

And guess what: only one person has ever seen Mobius snap on more than one occasion. Only one person understands the triggers and how to handle them. I'll give you three guesses as to who it is.

Mobius "has a happy ending" is absolute bullshit. He is at risk.

[scopophilic1997]

scopOphilic_micromessaging_792 - scopOphilic1997 presents a new micro-messaging series: small, subtle, and often unintentional messages we send and receive verbally and non-verbally.

[indyanapolis898]

A Tale of Two Tombstones

bruce wayne x f!reader

Synopsis: Batman needs a break after endless nights of work. He decides to visit his parent's grave as Bruce Wayne, where he's able to open up to his parents and someone else.

The roaring of his motorcycle halted as it pulled into its intended parking spot. The rider slid off the bike, falling heavily onto the dusty ground of the cave in which his headquarters resided. 

A few grunts escaped his lips as he lay idly in the dim lighting of the cavern. Batman moved his gloved hands to his face to remove his dirty cowl, bloodying his gloves in the process. His messy, damp hair covered his forehead; the sweat combined with the blood on his face and head. 

He took a few unsteady breaths, trying to gain his composure. He'd finished another late night of work at the cost of his physical health. His body armor would need serious work and repatching. He blinked a few times, shutting his eyes to sleep for a few minutes.

***

Bruce Wayne opened his eyes, shifting his body, which resulted in a painful shout.

"Hey, easy there," said a concerned Alfred, rushing to the operating table in the surgery room- located in the south wing of Wayne Manor. 

"Where- what-," Bruce breathily mumbled. 

"I found you in the cave after the computer alerted me of your presence. You took a heavy beating. I stitched up most of your wounds, but you've earned some rest, Master Bruce." 

"No. I-" Bruce cut himself off with ragged coughs. Alfred sat the bed up and raised an eyebrow with an I told you so, look. 

"Fine," Bruce finally accepted his fate and lay back on the pillow to rest more.

*** 

Bruce garnered a total of eighteen hours in and out of sleep, healing very slowly from the brutal fight he'd gotten into in a gang-filled subway station. They had tech and brute weapons that Batman hadn't seen before. They were strong enough to plaster him and his suit. The gang was still on the loose. It was plaguing Bruce's weary mind, but he knew he was in no state to get back into crimefighting. 

Sometimes, while laying in bed with his eyes open because his mind wouldn't stop running, Bruce wondered if his thoughts would ever quiet down. The only thing that could help was getting things off his chest. It was a temporary high; however, his ego and insecurity kept him from sharing with Alfred. That's why, with Alfred's permission, Bruce found himself limping to the mansion's garage in a simple gray sweater, black trench coat, and jeans. His hair was messy and unkempt, only kept out of his face with the pair of sunglasses that rested on his forehead.

Bruce entered one of his vehicles, a black SUV with tinted windows, and let his driver take him to the Gotham Graveyard. 

***

After a morning of light showers, the sky had cleared up into a baby blue. Bruce struggled out of the car, leaving the driver to wait on the curb outside the cemetery. It was an empty scene. Rows and rows of headstones sat under a canopy of trees with no people to visit. The graveyard resided in a more rural area of the city, so the memorial area was quiet besides the occasional squawking of birds and the wind rustling the autumn-kissed leaves.

Bruce stepped onto the damp, all-too-familiar grassy path leading to the headstones of his late parents. 

Their monuments were big and overly fancy. The cleaner Alfred hired twenty-six years ago still came every month to polish and clean the headstones. In honor of the Wayne's, a bench sat on the side of the stones, so Bruce sat there, idly taking in the silence. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

Speaking in a tranquil but emotional voice, Bruce began to talk to the air, confessing how he missed them, his beloved mother and father. 

"...and that's why I came. I just needed to talk. I needed to be in your presence again. I believe Alfred still cries over you, Father. He acts strong, as you taught, but deep down, he's like me: broken."

"I wish I could be fully capable of feeling, but all I think about is the injustice and monstrous side of the city. The city that took you two away."

Bruce stared at the ground, trying to focus on the words he was saying when a leaf crunching from behind alerted him to whip around. 

A woman, maybe five foot, stood behind him, wide-eyed and embarrassed. 

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you..." she caught her breath, most likely at the realization of who she was talking to, but regained her train of thought. "My mother... her grave is just behind them," she explained, gesturing to a headstone behind the Wayne's. 

Heather Lycona. 

Bruce resorted to nodding in reply. The woman approached closer to the headstone but stopped, clearly wanting to say something the way her mouth opened and closed. Bruce cocked a brow. He decided to attempt to be conversive. "How?" he nodded his head at her mother's gravestone.

"What?"

"How did she pass?" he tilted his head. She clutched the ends of the scarf she was wearing, a shade of black to contrast the white dress under her jet puffer coat. 

"Oh, um, gang violence. Three months ago, Mom was out at night just trying to get groceries, and, she um..."

Bruce nodded in indication he understood. "Mine as well."

"I know- I mean, I know the story, of course," she awkwardly laughed as a buffer. She looked around and then back at Bruce sitting on the bench. "I'm sorry for intruding on your moment. I-I can come back later."

Bruce shook his head wordlessly. "No, that won't be necessary. I did what I came here to do," he answered raspily. 

"May I sit?" 

Bruce didn't expect the woman to want to be in his presence any longer, yet he wasn't against her sitting with him. Her eyes could tell a story, one that he wanted to hear. His eyes traveled to the open space beside him, barely nodding at it. 

She sat down on the wooden bench, breathing in the mossy air. "There's something about the cemetery that's so peaceful. Everyone says it's scary because it's the resting place for hundreds of people, but I believe it's just a reminder of all the lives that came before us. Everyone is just asleep here, and we sit with them."

Usually, Bruce wouldn't be a fan of the conversation, yet he decided that she was intriguing, a type of thoughtfulness he appreciated. 

He hummed at her words. "Bruce Wayne," he introduced even though she knew very well who he was, leaning back into the bench. 

"Y/N Lycona." 

"Why did you visit today?"

"Sometimes I just enjoy being around her. It's peaceful here."

"I understand."

"What about you? Why did you visit, Mr. Wayne?"

He glanced at her before looking back to the swaying tree branches. "Same as you," he breathed out. He wasn't sure why she was asking him. Not that Bruce believed he was too good to answer questions, but because he'd assume she wouldn't be interested in him. Usually, people were interested in his position. 

"Do you ever feel they were the only people who understood you? I feel like that with Mom."

Bruce nodded, barely moved his gaze to her, then studied her with his signature deadpan expression. Bruce picked up once again on what he'd thought earlier. Y/N seemed warm, like in the right situation, she'd open up. She probably thought a lot. The woman stared off at the trees like he'd been earlier, looking deep in thought. 

"Your mind... is it always running?" 

She quietly sniffled in the chilled air. "Yes. I got approved for the investigative division of the GCPD. I want to help find and eliminate the gangs of Gotham. I don't know what my mother would've wanted me to do for her case, but I know she wanted me to help bring justice to the city. She got me through school for criminal justice. It's what I wanted to do from the start, but it was for the sake of others. Now, it's all for her- for her justice."

"You seem very driven, detective. I hope you do what you set out to do," Bruce stated. 

"If I can contribute to bringing criminals and killers to prison, I'll do what I must. I can't just watch someone turn into the next Heather. Gotham needs change." 

For the first time in a while, Bruce's lips slightly twisted up. "Then we are very alike." 

The two sat in comfortable silence for ten minutes, occasionally making small comments. 

Bruce decided he'd stayed his welcome, opting to stand up suddenly. He nodded down at Y/N. "I give you my best wishes on your assignment. I'll be using my resources to continue assisting the work," he said, his tone void of emotion, but they could both tell he meant it. 

"Good to talk to you, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce is fine," he mumbled audibly, turning to leave. 

"Thank you for understanding. You don't say much," Y/N chuckled, "but I could tell you understood me."

Bruce gave a close-mouthed smirk, walked out the gates, and got in his car. 

"Thank you for your patience, Gerald."

The driver nodded and drove the pair back to the manor. 

Bruce came out of his visit knowing two things: 

First, he'd have to visit the cemetery more often. 

And second, as soon as he could get back his vigilante work, he would thwart every gang he could get his hands on. If it would help fulfill Y/N's goal, he'd devote all his energy to it. 

[say-al0e]

Bet

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The members of the Dagger Squad have a bet going that you and Rooster will end up together. Who wins when they find out you’ve been together for weeks? | Ft. “Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we’ll end up together,” requested by Anon.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, drinking, Dagger Squad are only observant when they want to be.

Pairing: Rooster x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Top Gun Taglist | Requests are open!

“Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we’ll end up together.”

Though it was clear Bradley was speaking to you - the only other person in earshot was the older bartender Penny hired on - his gaze remained on the group surrounding the pool table. A sea of khaki filled your vision, ran together in a way that now seemed so familiar, as you followed his line of sight and bit back a laugh.

Even from across the bar, you could see the not-so-discreet stares of the ragtag group you’d fallen into. It was clear that they were watching, waiting to see if their inkling was correct, and you raised a hand to wave as you caught Hangman’s eye. When he wagged his brows, eyes darting between you and Bradley - who Jake had loudly sworn would wait until you were both old and grey to confess his feelings - you shook your head.

“Who wins when they find out we’ve been together for weeks now?”

Neither of you intended to keep the relationship a secret - especially from the group who’d quickly become like family - but you wanted to build a foundation before announcing it to your friends, especially on the off chance things didn’t work. It was fun, however, to witness your observant friends study each interaction you shared for the slightest hint of an attraction.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the way Bradley’s lips curved into a grin. It felt like a Herculean effort to keep from turning your head to glance at him. You knew that if you did, however, you would lose yourself in the warmth of his eyes, in the soft smile and lighthearted conversation he offered, and you promised yourself you’d at least attempt to spend time with Phoenix before disappearing with him.

Bradley hummed as he lifted his beer bottle, “Bob.” He drained the remainder of his beer before turning to face you. His knee, denim-clad but still so warm, knocked into yours as he waited for you to meet his eyes. “Figured it’d be Phoenix,” he teased, eyes glittering with a warmth that had you considering cancelling your plans and begging him to take you home.

“Somehow, she has gotten the idea that I’m seeing someone.” Bradley laughed, undoubtedly having expected Phoenix to hear the latest gossip about your relationship. “But to her, you’re just Bar Boy.” At his furrowed brows, uncertain as to where the name came from, you grinned. “Partners don’t get names until things are serious. Sarah was just the Redhead until she and Phoenix made things official. I tried telling her it was you I’ve been seeing but she wasn’t having it.”

Bradley blinked, somewhat surprised Phoenix had refused such a key detail, before shaking his head. “Wanna make a bet of our own?” The proposition was intriguing, if only because he wasn’t what you would call a betting man. There was a glint in his eyes that had you shifting on your stool, pressing your thighs together in an effort to curb the sudden ache as your gaze flickered to his mouth. “You with me, honey?”

Though Bradley was nowhere near Hangman in terms of ego, he’d gotten more comfortable - more playful, more confident - in his ability to rile you up with a glance. He reveled in it, enjoyed the little bit of power he’d found himself gifted, and grinned when you flustered. The hint of laughter in his question, the tone that made you realize he was both teasing and completely serious, made you roll your eyes as you reached for your drink. “Fuck off, Bradshaw. What’s the bet?”

“I bet,” he began, shifting just a touch closer, though still farther than you wanted him, “that Phoenix will give you that disappointed look when she finds out the sex you’ve been raving about has been with me.”

A furtive glance over his shoulder confirmed that you were still far out of earshot of anyone who might’ve had an interest in the conversation. You blamed the newfound confidence on the confession you’d made the night before - the half-asleep, completely sated, post-coital confession that he was the best you’d ever had - and hoped he’d keep it up as his gaze flickered to your mouth in return. 

“What makes you so confident I’ve been raving about our sex life, Rooster?” Bradley grinned at the use of his callsign, a blinding smile that nearly made you lose your train of thought, as you huffed. “For all you know, I could’ve told her Bar Boy’s the worst lay I’ve ever had.”

“You could have,” he acknowledged, grinning behind the neck of his beer, “ but I overheard you on the phone last week.”His he confessed with a laugh as he nodded to the bartender in search of another beer. “And, I mean, you gave a pretty glowing review last night, so…”

Bradley laughed a little harder as you rolled your eyes but you both knew he had you as you averted your gaze. “You’ve been spending too much time with Hangman,” you huffed, prompting a break in the teasing mask he wore. Though he rolled his eyes, suddenly, your Bradley was back - flushed cheeks and bright eyes, with a bouncing knee and hands itching to reach out for you. “Honestly, I have a feeling she knows it’s you I’m seeing and just does’t want to ask until we say something. She and Bob gossip more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Perks of being quiet,” he agreed, nodding sagely as he spared Bob a glance. “He knows all the secrets. Makes sense he’d win the bet, then.” He paused, gaze returning to you as he cocked his head and raised a brow. “Speaking of Phoenix, where is she? Thought you were supposed to hang out before we pretend we aren’t leaving together.”

As you considered his observation, you frowned. Neither you nor Bradley had been terribly discreet - there were nights you sat on the deck, drinks in hand and eyes locked solely on one another; nights you stood behind him as he played, hand on his shoulder and attention solely on him; nights you wandered off, leaving nothing but footprints in the sand as you delved deeper into one another; nights you left, stepped out into the darkness and waited by his Bronco, only for him to follow less than a minute later.

“Now that you mention it,” you murmured as you placed your now empty glass onto the bar, “I think Bob’s the only one with common sense. We’re not exactly pictures of stealth.”

Bradley shrugged. “Speak for yourself,” he teased, grinning as he shifted - knees knocking into yours, foot hooking under the bar of your stool to pull you closer - to hide his wandering hands. A warm palm, calloused from years of work, rested on your bare thigh, just below the fraying denim of your shorts, and you knew he could feel the goosebumps that erupted across your skin.

The weight of his touch derailed your thoughts for a brief moment. He always ran a fraction warmer than everyone else and the searing heat of his palm had you leaning in closer, despite yourself - despite your surroundings. If you were alone, you would’ve given in, devoted yourself entirely to him in that moment, but a shout from the pool tables reminded you exactly where you were.

With a deep breath, you shook your head. “Anyway,” you continued, shooting a weak glare at Bradley as he tried to hide his smile, “Sarah’s sister has been in town. They were going to have dinner with her before Phoenix came here to give them some quality time together. She was supposed to be here an hour ago, though.”

It was unlike Phoenix to be late for anything - Navy culture aside, Phoenix was simply the friend who always had their shit together - and you had half a mind to text her, just to check in. However, when you pulled out your phone, a text from her met you on the home screen. ‘Restaurant is packed, not sure when I’ll make it. Ditch me for Bar Boy but I’m getting all the details when we get breakfast tomorrow.’

Bradley glanced over at the screen when you nudged him and laughed as he read Phoenix’s message. The hand on your thigh drifted a touch higher, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shorts, before he squeezed gently. Warm eyes met yours, glittering in the light of the bar, and you could see the question in them.

Without the need to wait for Phoenix, there was nothing tying either of you to the Hard Deck for the evening. For a moment, you hesitated, wondering whether you should ask, before you tilted your head.

“They’re still staring, aren’t they?” Bradley hummed, gaze only briefly flickering in the direction of the pool tables your friends crowded around, as you watched him drain the rest of his beer. “Want to give them something to stare at?”

Bradley shook his head, though you could see the corner of his mouth curve into a smile as he waved down the bartender. “I’m ready whenever you are, honey.”

After settling both your tab and his, Bradley stood from his stool and, with a brightness you hadn’t seen before, offered you a hand. Without caring that the entire Dagger Squad was watching, eyes wide and ready to speculate about whether this was the first time or the fiftieth, you took Bradley’s hand and followed him out of the Hard Deck.

Cheers - wolf whistles and shouted comments that would’ve made you blush if you were leaving with anyone other than Bradley Bradshaw - followed you out the door. Even as you stepped into the parking lot, you could hear the commotion and wondered how long it would be before they moved on to another topic.

Before you could climb into the Bronco, a call of your name rang out across the parking lot. Phoenix, dressed in something other than her uniform, raised a brow at the sight of Bradley holding open the door for you. “Where are you going?”

With a grin, you climbed into the passenger seat and shot Bradley a glance. “Tell Hangman that Bob won the bet,” you instructed, grinning as Bradley laughed and rounded the Bronco to climb into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Phoenix, to her credit, laughed as she put the pieces together. With a shake of her head, she shouted, “I knew Rooster was Bar Boy!” However, after a moment of contemplation, she grimaced. It was a look of disappointment you’d seen a handful of times - mostly directed at Hangman - and, beside you, Bradley laughed. “Gross, no more details about the sex!”

“Love you, Nat! See you in the morning!”

As Bradley pulled out of the parking lot, grin a little triumphant and hand wrapped in yours, you realized that maybe having your friends in on the secret wasn’t such a bad thing. Especially if it meant seeing Hangman lose to Bob.

_________________________________________________

Author’s Note: This is the first thing I’ve finished in months, oh my god. I put off watching the movie for so long but, honestly, I am not immune to the Top Gun beach scene. 

[rustedhearts]

Shades of Cool (Boxer!Steve x Librarian!Fem reader)

summary: steve’s new ride inflates his ego (and anger).

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the steve collection ♡

warnings: angst, daddy issues, verbal argument (shocker), maybe a little shoving and manhandling, otherwise cutesy fluff :)

hawkins, indiana, november 15th 1989

Last week, Steve got a Harley.

He had a fight in Chicago, and you sprang to the phone the moment it shrilled at ten-thirty, knowing it meant the fight was over and Steve was on the other line.

"Hey, pretty girl," he mumbled through the phone.

You could tell from the low grumble of his voice—the way his words mushed together all souped up and unenunciated—that he'd taken too many hits to be coherent. But Steve continued to surprise everyone with his relentless stamina and easy energy.

"Hi, Stevie," you practically cooed, the rubber cord of the telephone coiling its way around your finger. "You win for me tonight, champ?"

Steve snickered into the receiver, a hoarse and half-coughed chuckle following suit. "Yeah. Yeah, baby, I won."

A burst of pride sparked through your chest, like it always did. No matter how many calls you got from Steve, announcing his inevitable victory in the ring, they never got old. You never got tired of hearing his delirious mumbling, of picturing the busted lip you could hear through his words. The sound of his voice graveling through the phone never failed to send cold shivers down your spine, and tingles through your nerves. You were always a giggly, grinning mess when you bid him goodnight.

"And...got a surprise t' show you 'morrow when I come home," Steve declared, and your heart hammered in your chest with impatience.

"Can't wait to see it."

What you hadn't expected was for Steve to come ripping down your street on a black Harley Cruiser. You straightened up from your place on the sofa, chin tucked over the back to watch the street for sightings of your bloody boxer. The bike came roaring to the curb of your front lawn, idling for a moment before Steve kicked the stand down and eased the engine off. You leapt to your knees, pushing the curtains further apart to watch with wide blown eyes as his leather-gloved hands rose to pull off the helmet.

A heap of chestnut locks flopped free from the helmet, billowing in the wind. Steve tucked the helmet in the crook of his arm, wrapped in the black leather of a thick jacket zipped to the collar. He turned, concealing any view of his ass from you—but then you could see him, in all his bruised and bloodied glory: fat lip, swollen cheekbone, busted brow bone. He slipped a pair of black shades over his eyes on his ascent toward the front porch, and you scrambled to your feet to beat him there.

Yanking the door open, you beamed in delight at the sight of Steve—looming tall in a pair of sturdy steel-toed boots and his new black leather attire.

"Hey, pretty girl," he drawled, cocking a lopsided grin.

You closed the gap between the two of you, mounting his firm figure in one bound. Arms wrapping around his neck, legs around his torso, nose burying its way into the pine-scented warmth of his neck. Steve steadied himself on the rail of your front steps with one hand, pressing the other against the small of your back with a grunt. Once he had steadied, Steve chuckled gruffly.

"Missed me?"

You sighed into his neck, pressing a desperate kiss to the underside of his jaw. "You have no idea."

Steve lowered his chin to hook over your shoulder, bridging the minuscule distance between you. His eyes pinched closed behind the darkened shades, a huff of air expelling from his nose.

"Me too."

♡ ♡

"So...I mean, I love it, don't get me wrong but...why the Harley?"

After a good forty-five minutes of a tight embrace on your front porch, the two of you wandered toward the curb to check out Steve's new toy. Steve crossed his arms, grinning down at the gleaming black hunk of metal and iron.

"Just a little celebratory gift to myself. Ready for a ride?"

Steve hopped off the curb, boots scuffing against the asphalt of the street as he rounded the bike. You paled, watching him open the back hatch and pull out a pink helmet, smaller than his with your initials in a pretty cursive font along the right side. He met you on the curb again, wiggling it in his hands.

"Come on," Steve cooed, a grin playing on his lips, "got 'er just for you, angel."

You pouted uneasily, reaching out for the straps, just for Steve to playfully bat at your hands until they fell back to your sides. He bumped his knuckles under your chin gently until it lifted, and the helmet found its way over your skull. It was heavy and thick, and your head felt like a bowling ball on a string when he snapped the buckles together under your jaw.

Steve's smile spread his mouth wide, hands tapping the sides of your helmet gently. "There. Beautiful, baby."

He planted a gentle peck on your pouting mouth and tugged you by the hand toward the bike. He mounted the leather seat, both feet planted on the ground as he patted the space behind him. You braced yourself on his shoulders as you stepped up onto the footrest and slung your leg over. Once you were seated, Steve reached for your hands, bringing them to rest against his stomach with your arms circled around his waist.

"Hold on tight, 'kay, baby?"

You squished your cheek against his shoulder, bobbing your heavy head.

"Not too fast please, Stevie," you squeaked.

"'Course not, angel."

The bike roared to life, and an involuntary squeal ripped from your throat, arms tightening around Steve's body. He tried not to groan from the way your elbows dug into his ribs and brushed against his bruises. Soreness dragged on him, but Steve was too excited to show you his new toy to bother taking a moment to rest. He gave the throttle a squeeze, and the air seeped from your lungs at the growl of the humming bike between your legs.

You hung onto Steve for dear life the entire way through Hawkins, barely catching a glimpse of streets and shops whizzing by, unable to pry your eyes open. When he slowed to a stop and parked on the curb, it took a moment for you to register the world stilling. Steve chuckled, rubbing his gloved hands along yours.

"Doin' okay, angel?"

You groaned, nodding despite the dizziness fogging your brain. "Mhm."

He gave you a moment to settle before prying your arms away, pushing off the bike to stand on the curb and unclip your helmet. When it came off, you immediately reached to smooth your hair and Steve cracked a smile, wrapping his hand around your jaw to squish your cheeks and angle your mouth to his will.

"Look beautiful, baby."

You burned at his affection, eyes fluttering closed again when he captured your mouth in a wet kiss. You whimpered against the swipe of his warm tongue on your lower lip and Steve chuckled.

"Come on, I'm starving."

♡ ♡

Now, you only had a few days together before Steve had to take off for another fight in Boston, and you'd been pouting about it since he got here. Steve did all he could, spending every spare moment giving his full attention to you. You accompanied him to the gym to train, then out to lunch and dinner after. You brought him home to lounge in your room, though your parents were against the idea of him spending the night. You went to his tiny apartment and spent hours tangled together in bed.

And he drove the bike everywhere you went. To the gym, to the library to pick you up, to your house, to every diner and restaurant you went to. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't noticed the certain air of cockiness riding the bike seemed to add to his demeanor. The way he smirked when eyes followed the pair of you floating away from it, the way he slung his arm around you like putting on a show after helping you off the bike.

Of course, the new addition to his image was attractive. In fact, you'd had a few dreams about him bending you over the leather seat with the engine revving (your fantasies weren't always the safest or most practical).

But for the past few days, Steve had been irritable, and you'd been pouty. The combination didn't mesh well.

The tiniest things sent Steve over the edge—he had a short temper, as you'd come to learn. While it was never directed at you, it still affected you. And when Steve was irritable, he drove fast. How fast he drove depended on how irritable he was feeling. He could go from fast to way-too-fucking-fast before you had a moment to catch your breath behind him.

And for your pouting...well, Steve was leaving again. You only just got him back, and you knew when he'd return in a few more days, he'd just have to leave again.

"Fuckin' Christ," Steve muttered around a cigarette, stomping ahead of you toward the bike parked in the lot of his apartment building.

You scurried to catch up, adjusting the strap of your purse over your shoulder as it slipped with speed. Your skirt ruffled in the wind, and you struggled to keep up and keep it down at the same time.

"Can't we take the car?" you huffed as you approached the bike, and Steve fished his lighter out of the pocket of his leather jacket to light the cig.

He mounted the bike, resting back as he replaced the lighter and sucked in a drag of smoke. The scowl on his mouth deepened, and his eyes slid over to you still standing in the parking lot.

"Why?" Steve pulled the cigarette away and blew the smoke toward the sky.

You shifted, adjusting your purse again. "I'm...I'm wearing a skirt, Steve."

He eyed the skirt, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth. "Yeah, so?"

You crossed your arms, a familiar pout finding its way to your face. Steve sighed at the sight of it, eyes rolling.

"Baby, come on," he groaned, hand coming to rest on the clutch.

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, gazing wearily at the sleek, black Harley like at any moment, it would rev up and bite you like a jaguar on the prowl. Steve tapped his finger on the clutch and tossed his cigarette toward the pavement.

"You..." Your voice as small, hesitant.

Steve jerked his chin forward, brows raising. "I what?"

A pitiful whine left you, and you dropped your arms, shoulders slumping in defeat. "You...you're gonna get mad, and then you're gonna drive too fast."

Steve's brows dropped, knitting together and accompanying his deep frown.

"What? M' not mad. M' gonna be if you don't get on the fuckin' bike and I'm late—"

"—Steven," you cut him off sharply.

Steve instantly leapt off the bike, shuffling over to you with a heavy sigh. He took your hands where they dangled at your sides and gathered them between his palms. They came to press against his chest with his guidance.

"C'mere, baby," he grumbled. You stepped in close, peering at your hands embraced by his.

"M' not mad," Steve said, head shaking. "Why d' you think I'm gonna get mad?"

Your chest tightened a little, and nerves clawed their way up your spine. You didn't want to hurt his feelings. But if you didn't tell him, how would he ever know what he's doing wrong?

"You always get mad."

Steve softened greatly, bending at the neck to press a kiss to your forehead with another heavy sigh. His thumbs rubbed at your wrists, the tip of his nose making a soothing circle at your hairline.

"Jesus, angel, m' sorry. It's just been tough. It's this job, you know? It's...it's...—"

"—I get it," you interrupted again, tipping your head back to flash him a small smile.

He cocked his head. "You do?"

You nodded, perking up on your tiptoes to peck his mouth. "Course I do, Stevie. It's fine. Come on, let's take the bike."

Your hands slipped from his grasp, and he hooked his chin over his shoulder to watch you head toward the bike. Your skirt fluttered up and gave way to the backs of your thighs and the bite marks Steve left last night.

"You sure?"

You mounted the bike, gathering your helmet in your lap to unclip the buckles. You flashed him a dazzling smile—a smile so pretty that he couldn't see through it.

"I'm sure, baby."

♡ ♡

And you were right.

After four hours of training—where your ass went numb from sitting on the padded bench so long and your brain felt like mush from reading the same book you'd been trying to get through for a week—Steve stomped into the locker room with another scowl on his face.

You followed him in, book tucked behind your back, and eased against the cold metal of the lockers. Steve whipped his gloves into his duffel bag, clawing at the black wraps around his hands to undo them. You could practically see the steam radiating off his flushed, glossy skin. You could feel the thrum of his aggravation, could see it in the way his eyes hardened and lips thinned.

"You did great in there," you commented.

Steve didn't even look up. He balled his wraps up and shoved them into his bag, turning to yank open his locker for a change of clothes.

"Not great enough," he huffed.

You frowned, bringing your book to rest against your chest. Steve pulled a sweatshirt over his sticky skin. You knew he preferred to shower at home, where he could press you against the wall and rut into you without the off chance of someone listening through the wall. Steve never liked to share you, even in theory.

"Come on, Stevie, that's not true. You're too hard on yourself—"

"—I have to win," Steve snapped.

You flinched, jumping when the locker door slammed shut and rattled the row of them. He finally looked at you, though you preferred when he wasn't. His eyes were empty, glassed over with the familiar, stubborn haze they hold when Steve starts thinking too hard. When he beats himself up, and as he admitted a few weeks ago, starts hearing his father's voice in his head.

"Do you understand that? If I don't win, I go nowhere. I stay here, in this same shit-hole town I've always been in, and I go nowhere. I can't just be great, Libby. I have to be the best."

Steve slung his bag over his shoulder, brushing past you in a petulant stomp toward the door. You blinked at the empty air where he once stood, digesting his growled words. You didn't think Hawkins was so bad. You liked your small town life here. And you were here, weren't you?

Didn't that mean anything?

"See you tomorrow, Libby!" Big, the hulking, bald-headed man Steve called his coach waved to you from where he was wiping down the ring across the gym.

You waved back, barely mustering a pitiful grin to toss back at him as you followed Steve toward the exit.

"Y-Yeah, see you."

In the parking lot, Steve opened the hatch on the seat of the bike to shove his duffel in. You'd packed it neatly so it would bunch up small enough to fit this morning, and now that Steve had haphazardly thrown things in, it was too bulky for the compartment. You lingered on the curb as you watched him slam the hatch up and down, attempting to force it in.

"Steve, it's not gonna—"

He groaned, shoving himself away from the bike toward the wall of the gym beside you. In an instant, his hand darted out to punch it, and you gasped at the sharp crack that followed the impact of his skin against brick.

"Steve! What the hell?"

Steve's hands flew to his head, running through the length of his hair in exasperation. "Stop! Just...stop!"

He waved you off, wandering to the end of the sidewalk near the road. You watched him go for a moment, biting back tears. You knew he'd get angry, he always did—but why was he suddenly angry with you?

"Steve," you sighed, heels clicking in a hurry toward his pacing figure.

Cars moved at a glacial pace along the road, rotating between the town shops. You stopped behind Steve and placed your hand delicately on his shoulder, attempting to soothe his tense muscles despite your wobbling lower lip. Despite your chest feeling like it could cave in at any moment.

"Steve, I don't understand why you're so upset."

A snicker of laughter came spitting from Steve, and you recoiled back when he whirled around on his heel. He suddenly seemed so big.

"Of course you don't," he sneered. "Of course you don't get it. Why would you? You don't have people breathing down your fuckin' neck all the time, telling you: be better, be better, be better."

Each word came punctuated with a sharp smack of his knuckles against his palm, and you winced as he advanced with fury in his eyes. You took a skittered step back toward the gym, teeth sinking into your trembling lip.

"But w-why are you taking it on me?" you blubbered, tears stinging in your lash line.

Steve came to a stop, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. He shuddered out a sigh. "I'm sorry. I don't know, I'm sorry."

You smacked at the tears rolling down your cheeks, though the salty taste had already started seeping into your mouth.

"You don't know?"

Steve huffed sharply through his nose like a bull, ripping his hands away from his eyes to stomp toward the parking lot again. "No, I don't fuckin' know!"

You followed, tears turning hot with frustration.

"So I'm just supposed to take it? Huh?" You reached forward and shoved Steve's shoulder, but he kept going, hands balling into fists at his sides. "I'm supposed to let you drag me around and yell at me when you're feeling stressed out?"

Steve's boots kicked up gravel when he came to an abrupt stop, and your teeth clench together with a hardened glare that challenges his.

"I never fuckin' said that," Steve bit out.

You stood tall in your tiny checkered heels, stomping one involuntarily when you curled your fingers into fists. "You didn't have to!"

Steve's tongue prodded at the inside of his cheek, hands coming to sit on his hips as he tipped his head back. He scoffed, shaking his head to himself in disbelief—and that's what really did you in.

"You know what, Steve? Screw you."

Steve let his head fall back, settling his empty eyes on you. "Oh, screw me?"

"Yeah, screw you. You come home, you jerk me around, and then you leave. Then you come home again, jerk me around more, and leave again. And what do I get, Steve?"

Steve's nostrils flared with a tightening of his jaw, eyes bouncing around the flushed features of your contorted face. He'd never seen you so upset. Sure, you had a few spats over the past few months—but he'd never seen you yell like this. And deep down, he knew it was his fault. He was just too stubborn to admit it.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Libby—"

"—I want you to stop taking your shit out on me!"

Steve huffed, stomping the rest of the way toward his bike. You were right. Of course you were right. But you still just didn't understand.

You didn't understand that Steve spent every night alone in his hotel room, a hundred miles away and aching, wishing you were there. He slipped in bathtubs, too weak to stand with all the bruises on his abdomen, too dizzy to stand the steam. He got sick on more than one occasion before a fight on the off chance that he might lose, because if there's one thing that terrified Steve, it was failure.

He broke so many phones that Big started only half-jokingly suggesting Steve be put in a room without one, because Steve picked up the phone to call you but got too scared you wouldn't answer. He thought that the longer he was away, the better off you'd be. The longer you'd have to see how fucked up he was, the easier it'd be for you to leave him. He wasn't a good man, and sooner or later, you'd see that.

This job was the only thing Steve was good at, and if he wasn't the best, Steve felt like he was nothing.

"Steve," you sighed, watching his eyes dart around and his harshness crumble, "just...talk to me. Talk, not yell."

Steve shook his head, forcing himself to look away from your pink, swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "I can't."

You frowned, wiping more tears away. "What? You can't?"

Steve shoved at his duffel still sticking out of the hatch until it could somewhat close before mounting the bike. He dipped into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his sunglasses, sliding them over his aching eyes. All the yelling made him suddenly realize how terribly his head hurt.

"Get on the bike, baby," he ordered sternly. He kicked the stand up and brought the bike to both wheels, revving the engine with a twist of his hand around the handle.

You crossed your arms, sniffling nosily. He watched you jerk your chin up, defiance painted across your glossy face.

"No."

Steve glared at you through his shades. "Get on the fucking bike, Libby."

You dropped your arms. "No! I'm walking home, asshole."

To his surprise, you spun around and started stomping toward the road, every step coming with a bounce of your hair and flutter of your skirt. Steve hurriedly cut the engine and kicked the stand down, jogging to catch up with your brisk walk.

"Hey—hey! You're not fuckin' walking."

You yanked your arm from his hold the moment he grabbed you, but Steve was insistent. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you back before you could reach the crosswalk. You pushed at his arm, but it was anchored around you, a barrier between you and your destination away from him.

"Steve, let go!"

He ignored you, and the more you pushed and pulled at his arm, the more Steve felt his defenses crumbling. Did you really want to get away from him that badly? Had he truly been that terrible? A tightness overwhelmed his stomach, clenching and squeezing like a sickness. Something stung his eyes and collected in his ears like an ache.

"Steve, let me g—hey! Put me down!"

The world turned upside down and your head spun when Steve suddenly threw you over his shoulder. But you gave up on your assault, any fight in you deflating just as Steve's did at the sudden realization of your very public fight. The tears returned in your eyes, stinging with salty warmth, and by the time Steve bent down to set you gently on the bike, they were starting to gather in your hairline.

Steve brushed your hair down with two heavy palms, swiping under your eyes to free them of tears with his thumbs. You sniffled, eyes fluttering shut at the firmness of his palms cradling your face.

"Please stop cryin', angel," he mumbled, his ordinary grumble morphing into a soft whine.

You sniffled again—a pathetic, pouting mess in his hands. Steve swooped down to press a kiss to your swollen lips. When your frown persisted, Steve kissed again. And again, and again, and again, until you were giggling snottily and pushing the heels of your palms against his shoulders. But the frown had been replaced with a halfway smile, and that was all that mattered to Steve. He pressed his thumb into the corner of your mouth.

Silence ensued. The whoosh of cars slugging by, the sporadic chirp of horns, and the distant chirp of birds were the only sounds that filled it. Your head tipped to lean into Steve's hold. His hands still smelled like sweat and leather. The bike was warm under your legs.

"I just get...I get so angry," Steve whispered.

Your eyes popped open, blinking up at him. "Why?"

Though he did his best to hide it, a pinched look passed over Steve's face. He slid his hand across your cheek and into your hair, urging it behind your ear.

"I don't know. 've always been like this, you know? Ever since I was a kid. Guess I know who I get it from."

Steve snickered, but you shook your head and brought your hand to cradle his against your face. You pressed a kiss to his wrist, stroking his forearm.

"No, Steve. You're nothing like your father."

Though he hadn't said it explicitly, you knew what the stories of Steve's father insinuated—he was abusive. He beat Steve for every minor inconvenience, and now Steve walked through life thinking everything he did was wrong. He always worried about being good. He always wanted to be good.

For a moment, Steve didn't know what to say. He certainly didn't believe you. Right now, he felt exactly like his father, who Steve watched from his bedroom doorway as he berated Steve's mother and made her burst into tears. He had his father's temper. He always did.

"Just talk to me, Stevie. I don't like when we yell," you told him, pressing another kiss to his wrist.

Steve leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. "I know. I know, baby. Me neither."

You sniffled, nudging your nose against his. Steve cracked a small smile at the affection.

"I guess I'm just...starting to feel the pressure," Steve sighed. "It's starting to feel like...this shit's real."

You nodded. "I know. I guess it's starting to scare me, too."

Steve's brows furrowed. "What, why?"

"I already barely get to see you. What's gonna happen when you make it big?"

Steve inhaled deeply, rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks again. "Then you come with me. Wherever I go, you come, too."

You tipped your head back, meeting his eyes. "You wouldn't mind?"

Steve chuckled, pulling back to get a good look at you.

"Baby, are you crazy? I want you with me every second of the fuckin' day."

You giggled, head tipping toward your shoulder. Steve lunged forward and smacked an urgent kiss against your cheek, still sticky with tears.

"But...what about work? What about the library?" you mumbled.

Steve shook his head, pushing your head back in place with his hand. He pressed another kiss to your mouth. "We'll figure it out. No matter what, it's me and you, baby. Okay? Just me and you."

You reached up, a smile playing in your lips, and placed your hand against his cheek.

"Just me and you."

You had no idea what you were in for. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't have made that promise.

♡ ♡

[luveline]

hi could you write something with Eddie Munson x reader who has acne and is insecure about it? thank you so much ❤️❤️❤️

tysm for your request! tw body insecurity ♡ fem!reader | 1.5k words

Slurpees. The ultimate treasure of summer. Well, besides Eddie, your reluctant yet doting chauffeur. 

"Do we need to get slurpees every single day?" he asks, shoulder against the door. You skirt around him with a grateful smile, straw between your lips. 

"'We' don't need to to do anything," you say after a refreshing sip. 

"And let you drink alone?" he jokes.  

"My hero," you murmur around your straw. You refuse to get back in his van straight away, worried that the heat will bake you into a crisp. 

You set yourself down on the sidewalk, cold under your naked thighs from the shade. Your cup drips condensation down the valley of your chest and you shiver, dipping your chin down to watch it disappear. 

"It's a nice dress," Eddie says, sitting heavily beside you. He's dressed in a similar fashion, little clothing – or as little as his sense of style allows. A Metallica t-shirt that's tight to his distracting biceps and black jeans. 

You reach your hand out to feel the fabric, find his knee warm beneath your palm. 

"How can you wear these? They steal all the sun." 

"What would you have me wear?" he asks theatrically, lifting his chin like he's dying to know the answer. 

"Shorts." 

"Shorts!" He laughs, and then, "No," much more serious. "I don't think so." 

You shuffle closer across the sidewalk, the curb a bump under your thighs as you peer into his cup. 

"Wanna try it?" he asks. 

Eddie has an obsession with mixing flavours. A rainbow seeping into muddy brown glares at you. You take a sip despite its less than persuasive appearance and wince as you pull back. 

"Sweet," you say, licking your lips. 

"It's mostly cherry," he says. 

"I can tell." 

Eddie's eyes flit to your cup and you hold it up to his lips. Yours is evidently much nicer. His eyes soften, his lashes dark and long and twitching with pleasure. 

"Wanna trade?" 

"Drop dead," you say quickly. 

Eddie stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back until he breaks, laughing his awfully endearing laugh, a peel of boyish giggles wherein he ducks his face into your bare shoulder. His lips are cold as they brush the beginning of the curve of your neck. 

"Good thing I'm a masochist, sweetheart. You're mean."

"I learned it all from you." 

He kisses your shoulder and you shiver with happiness, his hair tickling you lightly as he says, "Yeah, you did. Sometimes I wish I hadn't teased you so badly at first. Maybe you'd be sweeter." 

You pretend that you don't know he's only kidding. "You don't think I'm sweet?" 

His lips part. The tip of his nose glides over your skin as he gives you a short, open-mouthed kiss.  "As sugar." 

You're glad he can't see your face. You smile like an idiot, stirring your slurpee to give the illusion you're more than a lovesick fool. 

He lifts his head. You can feel his gaze on your face and feel suddenly insecure but he doesn't say anything. Not that you were expecting him to be mean, or that he hasn't seen your acne before, but the summer heat makes you sweat and the sweat worsens your skin. You've been flaring up for a week. Angry, sore patches decorate your skin under a thin layer of powder that doesn't do what you want it to do. 

You turn your face away from him. You can't withstand the weight of his gaze, not whilst knowing how bad you look. 

You take a big sip of slurpee and Eddie follows suit, his hand creeping onto your knee. He squeezes. 

"What do you wanna do now you've had your fix?" he asks eventually, his fingers too warm on your leg.

"It's getting pretty late. Maybe I should go home." 

He groans and tips his head back. You can't help but look at him, hungry to see the shape of his throat and his Adam's apple. He's always hot when he sulks though you'd never tell him for fear of increasing his ego, or worse the teasing you'd suffer. 

"Sleep over," he says. 

"I can't," you say. 

He drops his head back down, pouting. "Why?" 

You stab your slurpee, mixing the ice at the top with the flavour pooling at the bottom. "'Cos I'd have to take off my makeup before we go to bed." 

Your admission is met with a small silence and then a very Eddie sigh. Fond, perplexed, slightly exasperated. 

"Why's that matter?" he asks. 

"You know why." 

"I know that I love how you look without make-up," he says. He doesn't miss a beat. 

"It's… It's been really bad. My skin."  

"Can I tell you something? And don't- don't take this for what it isn't, I think you're beautiful, but I've noticed that it's worse lately." 

You feel a little bit like you've been stabbed. Of course he's noticed – it's hard not to, especially when you're always in such close proximity to one another. It still feels awful. 

"I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to say that," he says quickly, his voice high and strung out.

You sound the same. "No, I get it. It's disgusting. Impossible not to notice." 

"Hey," he says, putting his slurpee down between his shoes. "That's not it. It's not disgusting." 

"It is." 

"It isn't. Nothing about you is disgusting." 

You frown at your knees. Eddie's hand chases up your thigh as he turns his body to yours. 

"Here, look at me." 

You worry you'll burst into tears if you talk so you don't as you turn to him again. He dips his head towards his chest and holds eye contact, eyebrows rising. 

"I don't want you to think you have to hide it from me. I see it and it doesn't make you any less pretty." 

You swallow around the lump in your throat, hands damp and squeezing uselessly at your drink.

He grasps your thigh and gives you a good shake. "Do you know what I'm saying? You're beautiful, capital B, and if wearing makeup is making it worse you don't have to do it for my sake." 

"It's not just for you. It's for everybody. I don't-" you roll your eyes at yourself and sniff, infuriated with how emotional you are. "I can't look at myself when I don't have it on." 

"That's a real shame, sweetheart," he says quietly.

"Yeah," you mutter. 

You tap your knees together.

"I could do it." 

You squint at him. "What?" 

"If you're finding it hard to look at yourself, I'll do it. I fucking love looking at you." 

"Eddie." 

"I'm serious." He picks up his slurpee cup and takes a sip for dramatic effect, straw still in his mouth as he says, "I'll work for free." 

"I bet you would." 

He slams the cup down on the ground so hard that brown slushy hits the curved lid. "Is that sarcasm? Are you being sarcastic with me?" 

"Guilty," you say. You smile, endeared with his melodrama. 

He smiles like you've given him everything he's ever wanted and it's awful and you want to rub your wet hand over his cute face to wipe it away. He mistakes your attack for a forthcoming embrace and grins, tucking his head against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist. You can feel the muscle of his bicep flex under your own as you slide it around his neck in reaction, your slurpee haphazardly pushed away.

"You're so pretty," he half-whispers, incredulous. "I don't get how you can't see that." 

You tuck your face in his neck. His curls hide you from view. It's a short relief.

"Stay the night?" he asks, his hand at the nape of your neck. 

You sigh. You really, really want to. 

"You're sure it doesn't gross you out?" 

"Fucking positive, babe." You deliberate. He gives you a light squeeze. "Got a TV dinner with your name on it." 

You're cursing yourself internally as you give in. "What are we having?"

He presses a kiss to your neck, pleased as punch to have his way, and pulls back to see your face. "We're having whatever you want. Swedish meatballs, chicken pot pie," he starts to list your options, dragging, 

"Mac and cheese?" you ask. 

"You want mac and cheese? We'll go to Bradley's right now and get you some mac and cheese." He holds you at arm's length. "I'm a firm believer in pretty girls getting everything they want." 

"I bet." 

"Again with the sarcasm." He gives your face an adoring once over and drops his hold on you in favour of his cup, staggering to his feet. "Awesome. Get in the van. I'm not above manhandling you." 

You stay sitting and grin up at him. He flicks condensation at you. "Get up!" 

"You'll have to manhandle me." 

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Sicko. Finish your drink and let's go." 

You don't rush.

[lunariamv]

curbing yandere gojo satoru ♡ yan gojo x fem reader; obsessive + possessive behavior, manipulation, gaslighting, slight misogyny, stalking, attempted kidnapping, violence, death shoutout to the anime death battle matchup threads on reddit so i could write this dumb shitpost gone girl and breaking bad vibes accidentally (lol)

Okay, what the hell. This is not fair.

Life has seemingly cursed you if this is what your fate is. Ever since you were little, your jerk-off parents were controlling psychopaths. They prioritized the clan. It's always been about the needs of the family and never you. Your clan, a bloodline of gifted sorcerers, with incredible powers passed down the family tree. They're incredibly prestigious, and super airheaded. The childhood you had was filled with training, studying, and striving to be the best to prove your worth. Thank the gods you were able to keep your wit and you never became an arrogant husk of your former self as a result of your stressful upbringing.

Since the clan wants to breed nothing but powerful sorcerers, they try to keep the family to be strictly sorcerers of a high class… which was why as soon as you were brought into the world, you were assigned to marry someone from another powerful family. Mind you, that you had never met. A betrothal out of your control, and it was to a nameless, faceless spouse. If that wasn't already terrifying, it wasn't until you were older that you finally met them, and desperately wish you hadn't.

He's too weird for you. Gojo Satoru had given you the ick when he tried to get incredibly mushy with you. The first impression was so awful it left a permanent scar on your potential relationship, and never healed. Honestly, you didn't see how people thought he was hot. In fact, you thought he was kind of stuck up. Sometimes you'd find yourself thinking, maybe if someone inflates his ego enough, his head will explode.

You know who you actually like? Nanami Kento! The two of you met in Jujutsu High, and you've been head over heels for him ever since. He's handsome, intelligent, and stern, your ideal type. Though Gojo tried his hardest to keep you away from him, it was nearly impossible to stop your schoolgirl crush from blooming. So it really sucked when he quit being a sorcerer while you and Gojo continued on to be alumni. Still, you made time to visit him when you could. Even though Kento came off as strict at first, the two of you had pretty good chemistry.

Then one day he disappeared without a trace. Everyone who cared had written him off as the salary man who just needed a break, but you didn't buy it.

So for the past few months, you've been investigating his disappearance on your own. Gojo keeps trying to hinder you, monitoring your actions and intervening under the guise of 'trying to bond with his fiancé,' but you're pretty sure he knows something. Hell, maybe he did it.

Needless to say, you're incredibly skeptical of Gojo. Ever since you first met, he's leaned into the whole fiancé romance trope way too hard, which you despised, since you held feelings for someone else. It's so annoying, how this grown man acts like a lovesick puppy around you. Saying you were disgusted was putting it mildly, and this resulted in you rejecting his advances at every turn. Even now you're trying to push the limits on this whole 'fiancé' thing. Maybe you should just cut ties with your family and break up with him. What exactly is stopping you?

Gojo. Gojo is stopping you.

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo's been madly in love with you for as long as he can remember. Primarily due to the fact that you were strong and capable enough to be his equal. Not only that, but the fact you weren't easily phased by him drove him absolutely crazy. Even when the mask was off and he wore his glasses, you didn't treat him any differently, compared to most women who melted in his presence. He loved messing with you and trying to win your affections, so much so it's become a game to him. The sardonic, witty personality you have contrasts with him well. The two of you are clearly made for each other, so why do you play so hard to get?

Gojo was currently resting at his nice apartment. Consumed by thoughts of you, his cute soon-to-be wife. Unlike you, he was incredibly excited about the marriage. In fact, he wanted to just hurry up and tie the knot already, if it weren't for you being hellbent on trying to stall it for as long as you could. He might be considered traditional, but part of him wanted to know if he could turn you into a stay at home housewife. You'd definitely protest, seeing it as demeaning, but he liked the idea of you only being subservient to him alone. You'd live a quieter life, safely at his side, and you'd be solely for his eyes. At the moment, he was stalking- watching you on his phone tracker. It should be about now…

Oblivious to this fact, you were heading to your new apartment. Merrily, you had just gotten it and (oops!) forgot to tell Gojo about it. Before you went to the building though, you decided to get a snack at a nearby café. For the first time in a while, you leisurely went through your phone, paying more attention to your device than you normally do. It was just to do some cleaning up of apps you didn't need anymore. That's when you saw it.

What the hell is this thing…?

Never in your life do you recall installing this app on your phone. It was submerged, buried in the endless pit of your apps, as if it was playing hide and seek. At the top bar, you could see something was running, too, and it was sucking up your battery. Narrowing your eyes in confusion, you pulled up your search engine and looked it up.

Oh, it's a tracking app?

The reveal was so unsettling that you find yourself smiling. An amused yet horrified chuckle escaped you. Eyebrows furrowing, you muttered under your breath. "Oh no, get this shit off, I don't want this…" As you were saying that, you were deleting all of the suspicious looking apps on your phone. You even went ahead and did some extra research about tracking and put up some extra scans.

The white haired man frowned in displeasure upon realizing the GPS was stuck. The blip was frozen. Either it was as awful as the reviews warned, or you figured it out. What a pain. Regardless, he still held your last known whereabouts right there. Guess he shouldn't rely on technology so much and instead do things the old fashioned way, right? With that in mind, he went out to the last place the marker had placed you.

Back at your place, you were resting on your couch. You were still trying to wrap your head around the tracker on your phone. Who put that there? Gojo, most likely. He must've set it up the last time you two crossed paths, while you were distracted. While you wanted to be shocked at that reveal, you couldn't say you were surprised. He always struck you as a weirdo, to the point you were under the impression that he was borderline obsessed with you or something. It doesn't shock you in the slightest that creep would stoop this low.

Perhaps this was the tipping point you needed. After all, he just violated your privacy, and who knows what other things he's done. Holding up your phone, you called your parents to break the 'terrible' news. Needless to say, they didn't take your declaration to call off the wedding very well. No doubt this would kill relations between your family and the Gojo clan. Though, you found yourself feeling rather apathetic to the matter.

For nearly all of your life, you had taken a backseat for the good of your lineage. Years and years of enduring painstaking training, studying, and then a forced engagement for them, and for what? Virtually nothing in return. It wasn't even going to a good cause anyways, as this involuntary construction of human life served only to benefit an outdated, egocentric family tradition. The only 'good' you can argue you've done was saving lives as a sorcerer, which was just a byproduct of their success.

In that call, you told them to disown you if it pained them that much to have a disappointing daughter. To fully break away, you'd move to another country or something. Even though your intent was to sever the ties, there was a sliver of remorse deep in the recesses of your heart. Despite your cruel upbringing, you did feel some attachment to your parents. They were your family, and they were all you had. However, you couldn't marry someone you didn't love. Especially someone who was this clearly unhinged.

They were protesting all the while before you hung up. After a moment, you dialed another number.

There's a slight deep chuckle over the line. "…Well, it's about time." Gojo's voice ardently crooned over the phone. You could practically hear the smug grin on his stupid face. He sounded rather pleased that you finally called him for a change, like he had been waiting for this moment his whole life.

The cocky tone voice in his voice almost made you laugh. Almost. It seemed you beat your parents or his in delivering him the bad news.

"Hi Satoru." You said casually, as if you weren't about to drop a bombshell on him. Then you spoke the following lines. "I'm sorry, but I can't marry you."

There was a brief pause. One that drew on for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Mm…? Did you say something, (Y/N)? I didn't quite catch that." He asked innocently. However, you're absolutely certain he heard you the first time. Even so, you decide to be nice, and twist the knife even further.

"I said," Your voice becomes more stern as you narrowed your eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can't marry you Gojo. The wedding is off."

"It should be obvious, but I'm not too fond of you, and I'd rather marry someone I actually love." The words flowed out of you like a river. A cool wave of relief washed off you as you truthfully spoke your mind. Speaking the truth felt incredibly good. For once, you felt like you were taking control. No more sitting aside, waiting for someone else to tell you what to do.

There's another split second of silence before Gojo spoke again. "(Y/N), I sincerely think you should reconsider." He drew a breath. "Think about your family, remember what this'll mean for them. Both your family and mine have been waiting for this since we were kids. Do you really want to do this to them?" He's trying to be rational, trying to convince you otherwise. If he was as crazy as you're theorizing, he must be suppressing his anger right now. Though, you're just as insane as he is. You know this'll drive him to his boiling point, and with that in mind, you continued your sprint across the thin tightrope.

"No, I'm pretty sure. Don't bother, I've already informed my parents about my decision. I hope you can forgive me for being selfish." At least you're kind enough to apologize. With that, you pulled your phone away from your ear. A digit hovered over the red button.

"(Y/N)--" Before he could reply, you hung up the call. Relief washed over you. With a genuinely content smile, you went back to whatever you were doing before.

On the other line, Gojo sat there motionlessly with his phone, the dial tone ringing in his ears. Silently, he held a haunted expression on his visage. Pale with wide eyes, it was like he had seen a ghost. It quickly faded once the anger set in, and his face twisted into a furious scowl. He's practically seething. Why are you doing this to him?! He wasn't oblivious to your tendency to reject his advances, but he didn't expect you to go this far. He'd figure you'd come around eventually, not throw it all away! All you had to do was go along and marry him. It was going to be perfect.

No, don't worry. Gojo faintly smiled to himself. This is still salvageable. He just needs to talk to you in person. Once you're face to face, he'll get you to change your mind, with a little persuasion, of course. Trying to suppress his raging anger, he calmed himself down as he swiftly walked down the streets.

Unbothered, you were laying on the couch, currently browsing the web for potential places to go. Singapore seems really good right about now…

"(Y/N)? Open the door!"

Ugh, there he is. It surprisingly didn't take that long for him to find you. To be fair, you deactivated the tracker a block down from where the complex was. He most likely found it and then asked your landlord for your door. Kinda stupid of you.

With a tired sigh, you lowered your head and fell silent for a moment. Maybe if you ignore him, he'll give up and go away.

Of course, he doesn't. Suddenly, your front door was violently kicked open. The loud slam made you gradually raise your head, drawing your attention. Your gaze flicked over to it, and lo and behold, Gojo was standing there at the entrance.

"…Well that's rude." You uttered with a nonchalant tone. Was breaking your door really necessary? Wonder what the costs are to get that fixed…

Maybe he was trying to play along, because he ended up gently closing the broken door behind him. He walked dangerously closer to you. "(Y/N), please. I'm begging you to reconsider." He spoke up. Although his voice was sultry, a smooth cadence like marble, there was a mild urgency hidden in the depths. "I love you. You're my darling fiancé, and I want you to marry me."

Standing up, you narrowed your eyes. A disapproving glare formed on your features. Perhaps in another life, or another universe, you would've found his declaration sweet. It was truly heart stealing stuff. Something that would make you melt into his arms like chocolate. Unfortunately, you wouldn't fall for it in this timeline. "How many times do I have to say it, Satoru? I'm not into you."

Tilting your head about an inch, your gaze bore into his. If he wasn't so upset, he would've been reveling over how gorgeous you looked right now. "I've officially broken up with you. So while I'm asking nicely, give up while you still have your dignity." You warned him.

Your threat garnered a low chuckle from Gojo. To him, it was nothing. While he did consider you to be 'equals', there was a clear difference in strength. He was one of the strongest sorcerers in the world, if not the strongest. While you were no doubt strong, he was much more powerful. If anything, he should be saying those words to you.

"That's cute." He nonchalantly commented with a smoldering glance. While his tone held intense admiration, the grin on his face was condescending. Either way, it's gross, and made you grimace slightly.

Despite the growing tension in the room, you refused to back down. If he was going to try to force you to be with him, you'd gladly fight against it. After all, it'd be a shame to let all your intense sorcery training go to waste. When he stepped closer, you got into a fighting stance.

Gojo stepped forward, and you anticipate it. His Limitless.

You’ve sparred with him before, so the concept of his ability wasn’t foreign to you. Taking a deep breath, you watched him carefully. Heightening your awareness, your focus sharpened, and you seemingly step out of your body for a moment. The heightened focus was like an astral projection.

The man dashed towards you in the blink of an eye. He went to strike, and you swiftly moved with a deflect. However, your counter attack doesn’t hit and you’re sent skidding back a few feet. Gojo chuckled again, and you could tell from that and his attack that he’s not taking this seriously. You’ll make him.

The two of you start fighting. Gojo engaged by trying to hit you, and his movements were fast, but you’re able to counter him to the best of your ability. Still, he’s holding back, and you figured that asshole enjoyed messing with you. Even so, you still used all your strength to fight back. If he wouldn't give his all, you most certainly will.

Meanwhile, Gojo realized you’re serious about putting up a fight. He’s been holding back as to not hurt his darling fiancé, but this was starting to become a pain in the neck. Might as well put an end to this already, even if it meant knocking you out.

In an instant, Gojo came at you. Time decelerated to a drag, and you forced your body to the side. With one swift motion, you evaded his grab for you. Following your movements, a sharp breath escaped you.

That’s when you observe the two of you had fully switched places. Finally, after dancing around him, your form was by the door, and it’s prime time to make an escape. To subtly inch toward the exit during the fight, that had been your plan all along.

Unfortunately, Gojo had long anticipated this ploy of yours. He simply played along because he could easily stop you. He raised a hand.

That’s when you call it. Limitless.

Gojo was going to close the gap and catch you. You wouldn’t be able to hit him. It was over.

Though, there was no fearful look in your eyes. They were stern and full of conviction. “That notion… I'll veto it.” You declare softly.

Silence followed your words. There was still a large gap of space between you two. What should've happened was a deletion of space, there was nothing of the sort. Caught off guard by this revelation, Gojo stopped and furrowed his brows slightly in confusion. His outstretched hand dropped about an inch.

What just happened?

His split second bewilderment opened a window of opportunity to you. Taking advantage of his stunned disposition, you spun on your heel and took off running out of the building.

Thankfully, you got the feeling in your leg back in the nick of time. You ran away.

A sigh escaped your lips. Back pressed against the side wall of the locked bathroom stall, you stared at the tile for a moment. The women's restroom of this coffee shop was empty, the only sound being the constant hum of the ventilation. Once you believed you were ready, you delved into your pocket and took out a card. Flipping it over, you read the printed numbers and inputted them into your burner phone. It was only a few seconds of ringing when the other line picked up.

You lowered the card. "I'm looking for a Hoover Max Extract Pressure-Pro Model 60."

It was burning hot in the car, so you had the windows rolled down. The cool wind blew your hair back, a reinvigorating feeling to the senses. You were driving down a long stretch of road. No other cars or people in sight. The yellow baked sun highlighted the dry, sandy grass patches surrounding you that seemed to go on for miles. With one hand on the wheel, you pushed up your sunglasses before resting your arm on the window of your SL Mercedes. Traveling to a new country was a whole different ballpark, but you were going to make it work. After being cooped up in a stuffy cargo plane, the open road was a sigh of relief.

Growing up, you and Gojo went to the same schools together to Jujutsu High. This meant he knew your sorcerer abilities pretty well. As far as he knew, your curse ability boiled down to energy manipulation.

Although the ability is labeled as ‘energy,’ the underlying truth was that's only the surface level explanation. There's more to it. The true extent of your abilities was kept a secret, thanks to your discreet, privileged family. As a child, you were told you had been graced with intense power. Though, you were vowed to keep quiet about the secret art you had.

The power to negate power.

In order to perfect it, you’ve been training it all your life. Surprisingly enough, this was the first time you’ve had a sincere reason to use it. For the binding vow that accompanies it is concerning.

At the price of negating forces of nature, altering the flow of destiny, an suitable exchange must be made. By contingency, the exchange offers up a functioning part of your body. A fair trade.

“To negate something means to willingly negate a piece of you,” your mother would tell your younger self.

The moment you cancelled Gojo’s Limitless, you had lost the feeling in one of your legs. It had gone numb, like a useless piece of plastic. In that state, you wouldn’t be able to move too fast. Thankfully, it came back quickly so you could make your escape.

For that reason, it was a double edged sword. Dangerous, but handy. You’d have to keep on your toes for the rest of your life, and you’d have to keep up your physical fighting, but as far as sorcery goes… Gojo can’t touch you. And you… can certainly hit him.

Thanks to your ability… you were able to escape him that day.

It was incredible. Being able to take control of your life, gave you a rush that you’d never think of ever having.

Once you escaped, you did everything you could to discreetly change your identity. Using your leftover riches from your family name, you were able to call in a person to help you ‘disappear.’ Gojo would never be able to track you. And with that, (Y/N) (L/N) vanished off the face of the earth. She was gone.

It was a nice, sunny day. You were relaxing at home.

It's been three years since then. By now, you should try to settle down, right? However, your cautiousness made you hesitant. If Gojo ever did come for you, the last thing you wanted was for someone to get caught in the crossfire. Like Nanami.

Upon reminiscing, you frown in realization. You never did find out anything about Nanami’s disappearance, didn’t you? Maybe he was dead after all. It wouldn't shock you if it turned out Gojo made him vanish. It'd line up with how creepy he had been thus far.

You offered him a small prayer in your mind. Hopefully he was at peace, wherever he was now.

After that, you went out onto the backyard porch. The crashing waves of the ocean ahead always set you at ease. The warm sun heated your skin. Leaning against the wooden railing, you closed your eyes, and lost yourself to the sound of nature.

"What a lovely sight." The sudden voice made you jump. What scared you the most was not that it terminated your solitary without warning, but that it took you years to forget about that cadence, until now.

Standing a few feet away on the platform, leaning against the railing, was a forbidden sight. A man that shouldn't exist in your little safe paradise. Somehow, he got here undetected, past all of your locks and security cameras.

Gojo turned to you with a charming smile. As if this was a reunion between two old friends. In a malevolent way, it was. "Though you could do much better than this, it's a nice place."

Remaining silent, you didn't say his name. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

How did he find you? Your benefactor, with no ties to the Gojo clan, changed your records, your appearance, and virtually anything that had to deal with your identity. Not a single trace was left. And yet, here he stood in your home.

Why couldn't he just leave you alone?

There were plenty of women out there he could easily have. Any of them would be happy to grant his desires, or even replace you as his estranged wife. You didn't understand why he insisted on having you.

"Why won't you give up already?" You asked calmly, an apathetic look in your eyes. At least three years have passed since you escaped the shackles of your predetermined live. Plenty of time for him to move on and find someone else. In a way, hiding was supposed to be your form of encouragement.

Between the two of you, he was much more stubborn. Arrogance paved the way for greed, and he refused to lose when it came to anything. A man with the mentality of a spoiled child. Such entitlement of course, extended to you. He didn't give up because he didn't want anyone else. Letting you go and moving on was too easy. Why settle for something he can get with ease, when it was much more exciting to chase what he can't have?

"I've already told you, (Y/N). Millions of times over…" He stepped closer while you retreated back. "I love you." His voice was warm and genuine.

"And it's a lie." You retorted with a razor-like glare. If he truly cared as much as he says, he would let you go. He wouldn't still be here. It was a selfish act, not one out of love. Perhaps he did a long time ago, but his sentimental emotions were corrupted by his egotism. "If you loved me, you'd leave me be."

"(Y/N). Why are you so selfish?" He asked, and you paused. As if a switch had been flipped, his expression grew cold. "Running away from your family, running away from me, and running away from us. You had a good life, and became a powerful sorcerer. Why would you throw that all away? For cowardice? For your insecurities?"

He held up his hand. A hopeful, promising shine was in his eyes. "I came here because I refuse to give up on you. I care about you. Come back with me, and I promise to help you. We'll get through this together. I'll make you happy." He proposed with a warm smile.

A pit formed in your stomach. Even now, he's still trying to manipulate you. Twisting the narrative to belittle your desire for freedom as an insecurity. Justifying his stalking and chasing after you as some sort of savior situation. That your autonomy was something that needed to be fixed. If you weren't so disgusted, you could see yourself laughing at the absurdity of it all. "No. I don't want to go anywhere with you." You gave him your answer.

"Aaah… that's not the right answer." He sighed with a hint of amusement. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned his back to the railing. Then he faced you and held out his hand.

He tried to use his ability, but you were quick to stop him. Your arm went limp, but you raised your leg. Kicking him as hard as you could, he was sent flying through the wall. He quickly recovered and got back up.

He dashed forward, and you swiftly dodged out of the way. You got a few good hits in, since he was wary to not use Limitless in excess against you. Now that he couldn't use it to protective himself, everything was fair game. You threw anything you could that was in the house. Lamps, décor, and even furniture. He dodged most of them.

"Enough with this, (Y/N)!" He called out to you. The house was nearly destroyed from all the fighting. Gojo grumbled under his breath. Now that he was aware you could nullify his ability, he had to get creative.

Suddenly, he disappeared from your vision. Heart racing in your chest, you glanced around the room and kept your guard up. There was no running outside, because he could be waiting at the exit.

You turned and sensed something. With your energy magic, you charged the tv to make it explode. Gojo emerged from the shadows and came at you. He was using his Limitless. You had no choice but to nullify it and prepare to counterattack, but suddenly, your mind went blank.

Just now, you had rolled the dice, and yielded the worst possible results. The worst part to neutralize… your brain. It made you lose.

When consciousness came back to you, Gojo was holding you in a tight grip. Pointed at your neck, the tip an inch away from your skin, was a syringe.

Gojo was breathing heavily. Pressing his built chest into your back, you could hear him in your ear. It was a good effort you put up against him, but now it was over. At last, he had you. "Let's go home, shall we?" He hummed with delight.

Before he could move, you snapped your fingers. A explosion of smoke erupted from your body, and the mass coated the air like a screen. You threw your head back, crashing into his face. His grip weakened slightly and you stomped on his foot with all your might, and jabbed your elbow into his abdomen. With a grunt of pain, he fully released you. Not wasting any time, you ran forward and dashed out the back door.

You spun around to see him emerge from the smoke to give chase. Reaching a hand into your pocket, you darted to the edge of the porch. You vaulted over wooden railing and jumped off. In your hand was a small device. You pressed the button.

A large explosion blew up your beloved home. There was a loud, thunderous crash. Debris flew in all directions, and the source was consumed in fire. Once your feet landed onto the sandy beach, you took off running.

On the run yet again. All the money you spent on disappearing the first time had significantly depleted your sources, and nearly the rest had just gone up in flames. You'd have to get creative with your next disappearance, for whatever time you had left.

As you were running, you suddenly stumbled and halted in place. The dizzy spell was so faint, it took you a second to recognize it. During that fight, the syringe must've touched you.

The unknown drug he gave you… you had no idea how much time you had until you passed out. However much time you had, it most likely wasn't enough to hide where you couldn't be found. All of your options were drying up.

Frozen, you stared at the ground. A blank expression haunted your tired features as you fixated on the gravel at your feet.

Was this it? It's all over?

Closing your eyes, you took a shaky breath. It's not. With your remaining strength, you continued running.

Gojo's manipulative speech to you, at first you completely dismissed it as nothing but deceptive garbage. It was bred on twisting your actions to make him seem like the victim. A gaslighting trap, to warp your perspective of reality, and convince you to return to him. Almost like the domains he put his enemies in. At least, that's what you originally thought. After reflecting upon it, you realized that there was some truth to his words. Even when fabricating lies, there will always be a hint of truth hiding in the cracks.

Maybe he was right.

All you've done is run away. In your youth, you fled from living a normal life to become the perfect child your parents wanted. At the expense of your childhood. You ran away from mistakes and imperfections to strive for greatness. Once that was over, you ran away from your family when they needed you most. Then you ran away from Gojo, from your relationship and your engagement. Here you were, proving him right by running away again.

If you kept going, you'd never be able to stop running. This track you set yourself upon, it was an endless one. A nonstop cycle of running on a wheel, with no destination. Gojo, while rendered vulnerable for the moment, was still immortal in the grand scheme of things. He held too much power. Untouchable and relentless, he'll be chasing you forever.

Perhaps… it was time to stop.

When you finally came to a halt, you were near the edge of a cliff. Below, the gathering ocean, crashing against the rocks. The comforting sound you had come to admire. The sun was setting in the sky, and the stars were finally revealing themselves. You've always wanted to come here, but you never found the opportunity.

"(Y/N)…" Gojo called your name. Though he sounded tired, there was a hint of teasing to it. It was the end of the line, after all. Even if you tried to jump, he could catch you. This game of tag had finally reached it's conclusion. "It's over. There's no need for this."

Silently, you met his gaze. The light breeze swept your hair as you stood still. A few seconds passed when you eventually parted your lips. "You're absolutely right." You said with a faint smile and soft eyes. "I'm done with you. Farewell, Satoru."

A bold choice of words. As much as he rather wouldn't, Gojo decided he'd have to hurt you, just so you couldn't run away anymore. Upon stepping back, you suddenly found yourself in a new space. The area around you was a celestial realm, a starry prison. He called his Limitless, and cemented you inside a domain. This way, you couldn't evade him. Even if you nullified it, he could just cast it again and again until you gave up.

So, he didn't know you were on the verge of collapsing. That was perfect.

Once more, you opened your eyes wide. They began to glow. Channeling all of your curse energy, you took his power, and turned it off.

Upon doing so, there was a sharp pain in your chest. Blood stopped pumping and your breath slowed to a cease. It was then that you lost feeling in your head, then your body. Falling back, you lost your balance and went over the edge. Your vision was growing blurry, and everything felt cold. Faintly, you could feel your body falling.

Cancelling his ability wasn't the ultimate goal. The consequences were. To negate all of his powers at once, you offered up the most important function of your body. The heart of the machine. It was held for as long as you could, and you made it.

Finally, you were away from him. To the one place where he couldn't get you. It might've been one last run, but it was something you did of your own volition. Nobody told you what to do, and you freely made your choice. Maybe Gojo could have given you a promising life, but you would never be happy. This outcome was what satisfied you. Your legs had grown tired from running, and now you could finally rest.

rip girlie

i like how at the start i was trolling but at the end it just got sad :')

dividers: cafekitsune

follow for other writings;

♡ quotev ♡ wattpad ♡ archive ♡ caard ♡

[evan4ever]

Better Than Me

Warnings: Angry distressed Kai, past memories of abuse, smut/sexual indications

a/n: mostly Kai’s perspective, flashbacks, might be kinda confusing sorryyyy

—

It’s been 3 months since Kai ended things with you. It was truly a selfless act, breaking up and kicking you out for your own safety. But it’s Kai, it never comes out that way.

“You don’t belong here”

“You don’t fit”

“You’re a liability”

“You could never amount to what this group needs”

“I don’t want you anymore”

Every word hurt. Sure, you weren’t as good at killing as the rest. You had a ways to go. But you tried your best and you figured Kai would teach you like he did the rest of the members. But instead, he kicked you to the curb. Didn’t even kill you like he would anyone else. Threw you out like you were nothing.

And you spent the last few months picking up the broken pieces of yourself and putting them back together. You never went back, Kai made it clear to stay the fuck away, that he didn’t want to see your face again and if he did, it would be ugly. You knew what he was capable of, so you stayed away at his request.

Kai, on the other hand, was a fucking mess. He was angrier than ever. Scarier. The members walked on eggshells around him. They didn’t understand why he broke up with you only to become even colder than before. If you truly made him as unhappy as he said, wouldn’t that mean with you being gone, he’d be better? Nicer? No, Kai wasn’t capable of being nice, they knew that. But they definitely expected anything but this.

It was late tonight. Kai ended the meeting and everyone went their own ways leaving Kai alone in the basement. Silence filled his ears, and that made his mind race. Memories filled within him. He was at his all time low, he hated everything around him, everyone around him that wasn’t you.

He looked around the empty room, his eyes landing on his empty, unmade bed and his heart instantly aching at the sight. 3 months ago, you would be in it. Ready for him to come to you, ready to take care of him after his stressful day and after every meeting. Now empty and sad looking.

• flashback •

“You’re kidding?!” You gasped in shock while laying in bed, your arms around Kai holding him to your chest while his arms were wrapped around your body.

“Not in the slightest.” He grinned to himself proudly. He had just told you what he had found out one of the members had done.

“And then what?” You urged him to continue while one of your hands fingered through his hair gently, soothingly.

“I killed him, of course. Couldn’t have a big mouth running around the city like that.” He shrugged against your body, snuggling into you more which allowed you to wrap your free hand around him tighter. This was normal for you two, always ending your night talking about the happenings that the day held. You loved hearing him tell you all about his day, and he loved how interested you always were. It was so comfortable that it became a routine.

“Never. How’d you kill him?” You tilted your head, interested in all the details. Another thing Kai loved about you — you wanted to know everything. You wanted to know the most gruesome details and it was empowering to him. Maybe the fact that you talked him up. You always fueled his ego and he fucking loved it.

“My bare hands, baby. The worst way to go, don’t you think?” He moved his head back a bit so he could look up to you, your eyes immediately looking down to meet his.

“Oh yeah. Watching as the man before you holds any air from your lungs, feeling that fear fill your body with every attempted gasp, knowing your life is coming to an end and being dragged out for minutes? The worst.” You explained your take on suffocating, not that you’d know for sure but how you’d imagine it. “And you, watching the life slowly slip away from your victim, the one who went behind your back and threatened everything you’ve worked so hard for? There’s no other way to do it.”

Kai smiled up at you, his head tilting to the side now as he admired his beautiful freak. All he could think was how did he get so lucky? You were never scared of him, and that was a win, because he knew the others were. No, you stood proudly as his side through every kill, every fight, every torture. You were a goddamn godsend.

• end of flashback •

Kai’s jaw clenched hard as he shook the memory from his head, his hands running through his hair and down his face trying to wipe all the feelings that came rushing back. This has been happening for awhile now. He did so good in the beginning, not thinking about you or what he had with you. But as time went by, memories began flooding him and despite his hardest efforts to keep them away, he was no match, and all he could do was keep trying.

He let out a small huff before finally making his way to his desk. He needed to find some documents, that was on his agenda for the day and something that had been discussed during the meeting, so he figured that would keep him occupied considering he had no idea where the fuck he put them last. Most of the important papers and documents and files were always placed on or in his desk somewhere, so it was a start. He began flipping through all the papers that were spread across the top of the desk, picking through them as he eyed each one for the title, but found nothing. He opened drawer after drawer repeating his previous actions, picking through everything within each drawer and slamming each one shut when he still failed to find what he needed.

He opened the last drawer and immediately stood up straight from his crouching stance, swallowing hard as he stared down at what was now in front of him. Pictures. He nearly forgot how to breathe as he remembered taking them and hiding them from you so you wouldn’t take them when you packed your belongings to leave. Each one a picture of the two of you. From selfies you took of you alone, selfies you took with him, Polaroids he took of you, pictures of you two together that someone else, likely Winter, took. They filled the entire drawer alone.

He didn’t know exactly why he took them. He was supposed to let you go, but for some reason he couldn’t bare the thought of not having some kind of reminder of your relationship. He couldn’t bare the thought of you taking the pictures just to throw them away or burn them with your memory of him. So he took them and hid them from you, pretending not to know where they were when you asked before you left.

And now, as he stared down at them, he felt the rage build. He pulled one from the pile and gazed down at it as another memory filled his head. The picture was a selfie you had taken of yourself and him at the mall, your arms around him and kissing his cheek so aggressively. He chuckled at it, remembering how happy he was in that moment. You brought him to Victoria’s Secret so he could pick out a new lingerie piece for you, you wanting him to pick out his very favorite.

• flashback •

“Come onnn..” you urged, pulling him with you into the overly feminine store. Kai groaned but allowed you to pull him and guide him around. He was disgusted by the amount of estrogen the place was filled with, but was happy seeing your wide smile and hearing your occasional giggles. Not to mention, knowing he’d get to fuck you in whatever he picked out later was a bonus. “Okay! Pick anything you like. What do you want to see me in?”

Kai looked around at the multiple sets in front of him, eyeing them intensely trying to imagine you in every piece. Each one sexier than the previous and making him hard just thinking about you in them. “This one.” He grabbed the deep navy blue set, of course being the most revealing. You grinned and took it from him before taking his hand again and leading him to the dressing rooms, entering one while he stood in front of the now closed door. Kai shoved his hands in his pocket and swatted uncomfortable while he waited for you, avoiding any and all eye contact from other females in the area.

“Okay, almost done… okay! Ready?” Kai hummed a response to you, his eyes flickering to the door as you opened it so he could see you from inside. His eyes went wide when he saw you, not yet taking in the set on your body but because others might be able to see you, quickly entering the dressing room and closing the door behind him. You took a step back a bit confused, your eyebrows furrowing while you stare at him. “Wha—“

“Someone could’ve seen you.” He cut you off, almost angrily. You tilted your head a bit, but he continued. “You’re for my eyes only.” His eyes darkened then as they traveled down your almost naked body hungrily, a low groan escaping from his throat. You pressed your lips together tightly while you gazed up at him through your lashes seductively.

“Well then, what do you think? Is this the one?” You questioned, doing a quick turn around for him so he could take in every angle. He watched, his eyes never leaving your body.

“I think I need to fuck you right here, right now” he practically growled, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him only to back you up against the wall, his lips on yours roughly, wasting no time in pulling his pants and boxers down enough to release his member so he could fuck you hard against the dressing room wall, no mercy or care for the other beings that could hear.

• end flashback •

Kai remembered the way you felt, the way you tasted and the way you sounded so perfect. If there was one memory he didn’t want to lose, it was that one. The ecstatic feeling, the adrenaline, and laughing as you were kicked out. He smiled when he thought about the fact that you dressed yourself with the lingerie still on, running out as you were both screamed at. You got a free lingerie set and he got one of the best fucks of his life out of it.

He set the picture down gently on top of the desk over the other papers, sucking in a sharp breath as he rested his palms on the desk and leaned on them. His eyes closed as he once again tried ridding himself of the thought of you, but to no avail. You were stuck there like a sliver embedded in his heart. He told himself over and over that he wouldn’t miss you, but if a lie alone could kill, he’d be dead and buried 6 feet under.

The harder he tried to stop thinking about you, the more memories flooded. Your hair in his face, the way your innocence tasted, the bed he laid in at night getting colder and the constant pretending that he could ever forget you. It was like a tornado in his head at this point, the picture of you in his head finally pushing him over the edge.

The little switch in his mind flipped and Kai lost it, swiping all of the papers and items off of his desk sending them crashing to the floor before grabbing the desk and flipping it easily with a loud thud as it broke into pieces on the ground.

“Fuck!” He screamed, kicking the pieces of wood multiple times before turning and punching his wall, his fist going straight through it. He pulled it back and gazed down at it, his fist now bloodied. His jaw clenched at the painfully good feeling it gave him, immediately throwing his fist into the wall again making a new hole. Then again, and again, and again.

He pulled himself back, already out of breath but needing to break more shit. He grabbed on of the broken legs of the desk and turned around, swinging it into the TV that was placed on a TV stand and sending it flying, beginning to beat the TV stand next before kicking it as well. He grabbed his computer and flung it into the wall with another loud crash, grabbed his nightstand lamp and threw it into another wall next.

Everyone could hear from above him, but no one dared to check on him or interfere, for fear of their life. Not even when you had entered the home and made your way to the basement. Some wanted to object, tell you that you were making a mistake by going down there, that you were the last person he would want to see. But everyone stayed silent and watched you disappear behind the basement door.

You could hear the crashing and the pained screams from Kai. Your heart hurt even though you had no idea what this fit of rage was about, definitely not thinking it was about you. You had came back after all these months because you had forgotten a few of your belongings and it took all this time to get the nerve to go redeem them. You wouldn’t bother if they weren’t important, but you needed them. And walking in on a silent house full of quiet people only sharing glances at one another before your ears filled with the muffled noises from below and deciding to check on him.

You still loved him, therefore if it killed you to make sure he was alright, so be it.

But just as you turned the corner to find him, you were nearly struck with the bedside table that Kai had just throw, a gasp leaving your mouth as you ducked and nearly hit the floor to avoid being hit. You blinked a few times before bringing yourself back to your feet carefully, your eyebrows raising high as you saw the state of the room. Everything was broken. Glass was shattered. And when your eyes landed on Kai, your heart sunk. Both of his hands bloody and bruised. It took everything to finally lift your eyes to his, his already on you.

Though they weren’t angry. They didn’t hold an ounce of anger in seeing you. No, they were full of surprise and despair.

He was broken.

But why? Surely it couldn’t be over your relationship ending. He was the one who ended it, after all.

“Why are you here?” He finally spoke, clearing his throat and recomposing himself so he was standing straight, trying his best to look intimidating. But you weren’t intimidated. You were just worried.

“I forgot some things..” you began slowly, looking around the mess of a room again before clearing your throat and wrapping yourself in your own arms, “I was just going to grab them and go..” you nodded. “Are you okay?” You whispered out after a few moments of silence, Kai’s eyes quickly looking away from yours.

“Fine. Get what you need and go.” He waved you off as he turned to his bed and stood before it. You watched him carefully, deciding to slowly make your way to him when he didn’t move another muscle. He heard your shuffling of each footstep and felt your presence grow closer, and he wanted to tell you not to touch him, to fucking leave him alone, but he couldn’t get it out. He was desperate to feel you.

When he didn’t move or object your closeness, you slowly raised your hand and rested it on his shoulder. He tensed under it, but quickly relaxed and that was your sign that he was allowing you to comfort him. You rested your other hand on his other shoulder and gently rubbed down his biceps and back up. Within some minutes, he relaxed his body more into your touch, allowing himself to lean back into you. You rested your head on his back, continuing to comfort him.

It felt so good to feel him again, and him feel you. The last 3 months have been nothing but hell for you both and this was all you needed. Kai silently cursed at himself for giving in and not sticking to his word. But he needed to feel you again.

You slipped your arms underneath his and allowed yourself to hug him from behind, his head falling back slightly as he held your arms tightly to him. His eyes were fixated on the ceiling as his mind raced, knowing this was the last thing either of you should be doing.

He felt so guilty. You were so good, good to him, good for him — and he was so bad. Bad for you. He knew that, and he hated that you couldn’t see it and he couldn’t make you.

You heard him let out a big sigh but didn’t move from your position.

“You deserve much better than me.” He spoke quietly. You swallowed hard at his words, but only hugged him tighter.

Maybe so. But you didn’t care. You loved him, you needed him.

—

Tags: @evanpetersmood @witchsbitchestime @demxnicprxncess @yes-divine-ruler @shjjpm @evanpsrealwife @iruzias @jangsuzchap @quicksilversg1rl l @submissiveforahsmen @angelmenace @lovelizzie-blog1 @justa19 @daylas-life @simp4petermaximoff @totta69

[spid3r-trans]

hi !! i came from ao3 and as a drabble request maybe you can do hobie meeting miles’ friends (e.g. ganke or maybe some ocs)

love ur work 🫶🏽

Miles spends most of his weekends with Hobie.

And lunch periods.

And patrols after school.

And evenings.

And– well, you get the point.

Still, despite the easy way they fell into each other’s lives, Miles’ worlds remain mostly separate.

His parents have met Hobie, that’s at least one secret Miles no longer has to keep. He brings Hobie to most of his family’s parties as a plus one, and his mother always sets an extra place at the dinner table for him – Miles doesn’t even have to ask anymore. But it’s more than that.

Hobie himself is his own world to Miles.

There’s home, and then there’s Hobie. There’s hero work, and there’s Hobie. There’s school, and still, there’s Hobie.

In all of the challenges Miles must face, through the dangers that each day brings, and despite all of the lies and alibis he has to create— Hobie is there. Tethering him to the things that really matter, to the person he really is.

But when Hobie comes crashing in through his dorm window, words collide.

Miles’ friends at school have known something is up. Especially Ganke, who sees his roommate even less than usual. For the most part, Ganke assumes it’s spider-related extracurricular activities— but he’s pretty sure fighting crime doesn’t make you smile at your phone and kick your feet.

Or sneak out of the dorms after hours.

Or doodle hearts on everything.

Or— well, you get the point.

Regardless of the telltale signs, he’s busy with his own interests. If Miles has something he wants to tell him, Ganke knows he’ll say it when he’s ready.

That’s how he thought it would play out, anyway.

Ganke is used to the window of their dorm room being open. Miles is in and out, constantly. Which, really, could be worse. He’d rather have Spider-Man as a roommate than half the other kids at this school— only it’s not the Spider-Man he’s expecting that swings in.

Hobie’s boots land heavily on the hardwood flooring, making Ganke cringe. The kids in the dorm room below already hate them, and this has surely guaranteed that another passive aggressive note will be slipped under the door in the near future. Ganke shakes his head, he can deal with that at another time, he has more pressing matters at hand.

The boy in front of him seems restless— agitated— but not dangerous. His head snaps as he looks around, the lenses of his mask narrowed as he searches for... something.

Ganke doesn’t exactly have training for a situation like this. He stays standing near the outskirts of the room, unsure.

“Uh, can I help yo-”

“I’m looking for Miles.”

Ganke has to blink several times to maintain his composure. The silence does nothing to curb Hobie’s distress.

“Sorry, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting the accent. Wow. You are super cool though.”

The lenses of the mask stay narrowed. Hobie knows Ganke. He recognizes him from pictures and stories that Miles tells about their antics, so he knows Ganke is aware of Miles’ alter ego— he’s just not grasping the urgency of the situation.

“Listen, alright?” Hobie says, not bothering to hide the slight edge that cuts through his voice, “Miles went out last night to fight a bad guy — a really bad guy — and no one’s been able to get ‘hold of him since. He should be here. Do you know where he is?”

Ganke shrugs slightly, trying to feign apathy.

“I don’t really keep track. I’m not really his ‘guy in the chair,’ y’know?”

It’s not his finest moment. He can tell Hobie is frowning even with the mask obscuring his face.

Ganke has to physically place himself between Hobie and the door to stop him from storming out. He might not be Miles’ “guy in the chair,” but letting a superhero from another dimension walk through the halls of their private school seems like a really bad idea— especially when said superhero seems amped up enough to go through hell and back for Miles. It doesn’t really seem like a good headspace to be thinking through any decisions.

“He’s fine, okay?” Ganke tells him, “he was here this morning!”

Hobie stills, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I think he’s got class,” Ganke explains, eyes darting to the clock on the wall, “he should be coming back soon if you…want to…wait.”

He can’t really take back the words once he’s said them, but he has no idea how he’s going to keep the protective vigilante distracted until Miles gets back. Hobie seems skeptical, he hesitates, and Ganke thinks that he won’t even take him up on the offer— and then he sighs, pulling off his mask and relenting.

Before Ganke can stop himself, the words are out of his mouth.

“How are you even cooler under your mask?” He asks. It must’ve been the right thing to say, since despite his worry, Hobie cracks a smile.

“I was this cool the whole time.”

—

Every part of Miles is sore. All he wants to do is lay down and never think about bad guys or biochemistry or both ever again.

He thinks he did okay on the test, passed it at least, but he could’ve done better if he had slept at all or could hold his pencil without his bruised knuckles aching. To say he’d gotten a little beaten up was an understatement. He can’t even message his friends to complain about it because his phone snapped clean in half during the fight. God, his parents are going to kill him.

He turns the key to his dorm, pushing it open, but stopping dead in his tracks at the scene in front of him.

Ganke is sitting on the top bunk— it’s Miles’ bed but it’s not that unusual for him to be up there. What is unusual is that Hobie is sitting beside him, perched on the metal bed rail with a video game controller clutched in his hands— tapping away while Ganke cheers him on loudly.

Miles puts his bag on the ground, kicking the door closed behind him.

“So, uh, what’s going on here?”

The game is immediately forgotten, Hobie discarding the controller as he drops down in a fluid motion to put his arms around Miles.

“I told you he’d be back, see?” Ganke says, peering down at them with a smile that’s a little too smug.

Hobie pulls back from Miles, one of his hands finding Miles’ cheek as he inspects him for visible injuries.

“I’m good, I’m good, I promise.” Miles lets out a breathless laugh, before a realization hits him. “Did you cross dimensions just to check on me?”

“You haven’t been answering messages from anyone.” Hobie says pointedly.

“I know, my phone broke when-”

Ganke leans forward, interrupting the moment.

“Miles, you didn’t tell me the person you’re dating is so cool! I can’t believe you didn’t bring him around sooner!”

Neither of them can hide the red that colors their cheeks.

“Yeah, well,” Miles shrugs, “I guess he is pretty cool.”

[thecoleopterawithana]

Hello!

I'm looking for a section of the lunchroom tape (from the Get Back sessions) where John says something to Paul along the lines of "I mean, you've only recently realised what you were doing to me". Does that ring any bells?

You seem to know your way around amoralto's archives, and I'm not having any luck searching there :)

Thanks!

Hi, @i-am-the-oyster (love the name, by the way)!

I think you might be referring to this section of the Lunchroom Tape:

JOHN: And it’s just that, you know. It’s only this year that you’ve suddenly realised, like who I am, or who he is, or anything like that.

I find this bit of the conversation particularly impenetrable; and all the more fascinating because of it. It's here that we have this famed exchange (whose full meaning still eludes me):

JOHN: Because you – ’cause you’ve suddenly got it all, you see. PAUL: Mm. JOHN: I know that, because of the way I am, like when we were in Mendips, like I said, “Do you like me?” or whatever it is. I’ve always – uh, played that one. PAUL: [laughs nervously] Yes. JOHN: So. PAUL: Uh, I’d been watching, I’d been watching. I’d been watching the picture. YOKO: Go back to George. What are we going to do about George?

I encourage folks to go listen to the full audio and transcript and try their hand at decoding it!

I don't know if it's accessible on the mobile app, but @amoralto has a separate page with links to all the Get Back excerpts, listed in chronological order. It's a pretty neat resource if you want to just binge through interesting little snippets from these sessions (some that made it onto the documentary, and many that didn't).

To those curious about the Lunchroom Tape in particular, here's a (play)list of all the transcribed excerpts, with @amoralto's descriptions for context:

We Have Egos

Over lunch, the remaining Beatles touch on George’s resignation from the band on the 10th, as well as a group meeting held the previous day which ended in less than desirable circumstances (with George leaving the room, frustrated by John’s persistently Yoko-filtered standard of communication). While Yoko contends that it would be easy for John (and Paul) to regain George’s favour, John points out that this is a more deeply-rooted issue than it may seem, compounded over the years by John and Paul’s treatment of George and his defaulted status within the group. Upon this problem of overriding egos, however, Paul suggests (passive-aggressively) that it isn’t just the Lennon-and-McCartney tandem that is causing George upset and consternation. 

Jealousy For You

As the problem of George’s current resignation from the band is discussed, John makes it about him and Paul wonders what it’s all worth.

The Way We All Feel Guilty About Our Relationship To Each Other

John contends with how the force of his partnership with Paul and his relationship with Yoko has negatively affected George and perhaps directly contributed to George’s walkout on the group three days prior.

Cabbage

During a discussion on how the rest of the group should move forward after George’s departure on the 10th, John wonders if they should get George back at all, suggesting his role as a Beatle is replaceable (unlike his own or Paul’s), and likens this unkindly to how Ringo first replaced Pete Best. Paul notes that John has been the top buck in getting himself heard (and getting his way) since the inception of the group (which John protests) and quickly reassures Ringo when he wryly declares himself to be little more than rabbit food for the group. Paul admits that both he and John have done one over on George, albeit unconsciously as an effect of the competition and unaware of how it may have hurt George in the process, but John argues that he’s known since early childhood how manipulative he himself can be, and has tried to curb it to little avail.

What You Are

In the middle of a personal discussion with John and Ringo about the band, its tenuous future, and their relationships with one another, Paul (in response to John’s admission of insecurity in the face of external pressures from the public and media to perform) is emphatic about his faith in them and their abilities and contends that whatever interpersonal problems they have can be resolved, for what their music is worth.

Working At A Relationship

While Yoko and Paul conduct their own conversation with each other, Linda talks to John about the inevitable difficulties any relationship faces - even in the context of a musical partnership - and why it doesn’t prove the relationship itself is an expired one. John (inexplicably or not) laments that the White Album doesn’t sound like the genuine, inspired band collaboration they achieved in the past. 

You've Got To Blame Yourself

As Paul encourages an unconfident Ringo to go ahead with his plans to record a solo LP, John hedgingly brings up his own apprehensions about following his instincts (especially when he’s not even sure what he really wants to do). In their inimitable and emotionally non-committal fashion, John and Paul engage in metaphors about intentions, conveying these intentions in actions, and how these actions may be conveyed by those who see it. (Basically: what John and Paul talk about when they talk about love.)

How Much More Have I Done Towards Helping You Write?

John and Paul have an obfuscating conversation about their songwriting partnership and creative process, which has been incapacitated by a lack of direction, misplaced (misread) intentions, and the unmet (unrealised) expectations they’ve inflicted upon each other. (In other words: issues. And some projecting of issues onto George, for good measure.)

What We're All About

In the midst of a personal discussion about working together within the band, John tries to explain the disconnect in their process, and why he can’t envision their songs the way Paul can. As both John and Paul circle around the issues of honest communication and (living up to) each other’s expectations, they eventually project onto George bring George into the quandary of the Lennon-McCartney partnership.