#I just don’t feel like it matters whether or not I exist in anyone’s life or in general

[deityofhearts]

the current (and consistent) mood is “my presence is unnecessary and contributes nothing”

[kikyoupdates]

Rivalry | Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader 

katsuki catches feelings for his new rival

Bakugou Katsuki has a crush, and he refuses to admit it. 

There’s a girl in his class who drives him absolutely insane. All throughout middle school, he’s had the top grades. His attitude, foul mouth, and appearance may fool people into believing he’s a delinquent—and to some extent, he is—but the truth is that he has a rigid, early bedtime, he does all his homework diligently, he studies at great length for tests, and he’s never missed a single day of class. 

He’s the best student there is. Or rather—he’s just the best in general. 

But this year, everything changed. 

There’s something about you that seems to catch everyone’s eye. You showed up at the beginning of the school year, a new transfer student, and from that moment onward, Katsuki swears his life got flipped upside down. 

You’re gifted. You’ve got the best grades not only in the class, but out of everyone in the whole school. Every time exam scores are posted for others to see, Katsuki is forced to grit his teeth at the sight of your name at the very top, time and time again.

It’s not just your grades, though. You’ve got a powerful Quirk, too. It’s some kind of energy control that allows you to levitate objects, enhance your physical strength, and also defend against attacks. It’s strong and versatile. Perfect for becoming a hero—which is exactly what you plan to be. 

The final nail in the coffin is that you’re also popular. 

Katsuki is used to being the center of attention wherever he goes. He’s used to being complimented for his intellect, his talent, his strength, and the sheer magnitude of his presence. Thanks to everyone praising him to high heaven, ever since he was a kid, his ego has become massively inflated. 

So, when he realizes that people are paying more attention to you than they are to him, he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to handle it. 

Katsuki finds himself glaring at you just about constantly. You’ve always got a group of students gathered around you. You’re always smiling and laughing, looking carefree as can be. You’re also the only person in the whole class who doesn’t treat Izuku like dirt—which just pisses him off even more. 

One day, you stop in front of his desk with a bright smile. 

“Here you go, Bakugou,” you say, handing him a cookie. “This is for you.” 

Katsuki looks up at you in disbelief. “Why would I ever want this shit?” 

“I dunno. It was my birthday recently, so I baked cookies to hand out to the class. Don’t you want one? I thought everyone likes cookies.” 

“I would rather die than eat that,” he snarls, and he angrily shoves the cookie back into your hands. 

He’s dramatic as all hell, of course, and that kind of vicious remark would have been more than enough to make anyone feel self-conscious. It was needlessly harsh. He obviously didn’t mean it. Given the option of eating your cookie or dying, he would definitely eat the cookie. 

Not that it really matters, though.

You’re completely unfazed. 

“Damn, I didn’t know you were deathly afraid of cookies,” you muse. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time. What about cupcakes? Are cupcakes safe for you to eat?” 

Katsuki’s entire face turns red. “That’s obviously not what I meant, asshole!” 

“I know,” you giggle, and for some reason, the sound makes Katsuki’s heart skip a beat. “Sorry for teasing. You’re really funny, Bakugou. I like you.” 

He parts his lips to respond, but he’s incapable of forming any words. It feels like whatever he was about to say just died in the back of his throat. All of a sudden, he’s frozen in place, brain running haywire. 

“I like you.” 

You’re making fun of him. You have to be. And why should he even care whether you actually like him or not? He doesn’t give a shit about you. He can’t stand you. You’re the bane of his goddamn existence. 

…fuck. 

That’s what he keeps telling himself, but given how red his face is, it’s sounding harder and harder to believe. 

“I’ll make something else next time,” you beam. “I’m sure one day, I’ll figure out something you like. I’ve noticed you eat spicy food a lot. Maybe I should try making a curry. Ah, but if it’s good, you have to be honest with me, okay? You’re not allowed to lie.” 

Katsuki’s heart does another flip. It’s so stupid. He can’t believe his mind even bothered to read into it, but…

The fact that you know what kind of food he likes means you’ve at least been paying some attention to him, right? 

“I’m going to beat you,” Katsuki blurts. His voice wavers slightly, and he grinds his teeth together in embarrassment, but still, he persists. “On the next round of exams… I’m going to place first. Just you watch.”

Normally, Katsuki can’t stand to lose. He can’t stand the feeling of inferiority. The idea that someone else might be better than him.

And yet, despite his frustration, despite how much he claims you drive him up the wall, he actually doesn’t mind the challenge. It’s exciting. It makes him respect you that much more. 

“We’ll see about that,” you grin—and he’s convinced you have to be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

No doubt about it. 

Something about you just gets his heart racing.

Check out the author’s library!

Read more on Ada’s Quotev (Kikyo and Starflame), Ao3, and Wattpad (Kikyo and Starflame)!!

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[reiding-writing]

Hey Red! I really enjoyed all of your writings especially because I am also a sucker for angst and hurt/comfort fic. Anyway, can I request fic about post-prison Spencer x reader (romantic) where the reader is the one who distanced herself from Spencer because after the first time Spencer released from prison, he doesn't want to touch anyone? Bet he'll be so heartbroken and thinking that she's over their relationship. Thank you! Sorry if it's too specific ❤️

distance [ s.r ]

Spencer makes a show of physically distancing himself from his teammates after he returns from prison, and in trying to abide by that boundary you accidentally misread his intentions

WARNINGS: miscommunication, established relationship

pairing: post-prison!spencer x gn!reader

genre: ANGST, hurt/comfort, happy ending

wc: 1.6k

masterlist!!

a/n: gave this one a happy ending as an apology for transgression-

You waited for 84 days to see him again; And yet now he’s stood here in front of you you can’t even bring yourself to speak to him.

He’s thinner than you remember. His cheekbones show more prominently. He has stubble lining his chin. His hair is more unruly. His eyes don’t shine anymore.

Spencer changed in those 84 days, and the second you caught his eyes a hairline fracture formed in your heart.

Gone was the Spencer who would light up at the most insignificant thing. Gone was the Spencer who would look at you with those sweet innocent eyes that would make you weak at the knees. Gone was the Spencer who would link his pinky finger in yours so that he could anchor himself to you no matter where you were.

Gone was the Spencer you knew.

Your Spencer didn’t exist anymore.

You watched as he swerved a hug from Morgan as he entered the office, clasping both of his hands behind his back with an awkward smile as he walked through the bullpen towards you were standing in front of his desk, eerily resembling the 23 year old Spencer who avoided everyone like they had the plague.

“Hey Spence…” Your voice is a lot more breathless than you thought it’d be, only amplified as you look into those gorgeous hazel eyes that you’d dreamed about being able to look into again for the past three months. “..How are you?”

It’s a completely unnecessary question Spencer thinks, it makes it sound like you’re just his co-worker and not the love of his life.

“I’m alright…” His eyebrows twitch when you take a few steps away from his desk as he nears you, like you can’t bear to be too close.

Then again, he probably looks like hell, so he can’t entirely blame you.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

“That’s good,” You press your lips into a line, nodding softly with your eyes flickering everywhere except his face. He’d been gone for 84 days, but you were treating him like you’d never met.

“I’m gonna go make some coffee-” You point lamely towards the kitchenette with your thumb, sliding past him to walk towards it as he watched you leave, eyes burning into the back of your head.

It was a weird feeling to say the least. You were ecstatic that he was home, that you could finally see his beautiful face again and know that he wasn’t suffering in a prison cell. But you weren’t sure how to express that. Whether you should express that.

You fumble with the coffee machine as you lose yourself in your thoughts. Everything about Spencer’s body language when he entered the office told you he wanted space, and you wanted to respect that.

You understood that he’d definitely been through a lot over the past few months and that he wanted time to collect himself before he let anybody else back in; But the way he looked at you when you moved away from him made you unsure. Did he want to be left alone? Did he actually want you to suffocate him with a hug like you were originally planning on doing?

You weren’t sure. And that was the worst part, because depending on which option you chose you could unintentionally swerve things into being worse than they already were.

You chose the safe option. Let him come to you. Leave him be and allow him to choose what he wanted.

He didn’t approach you for a few days, and you figured that meant your decision was correct, that he truly did just want some space to gain his bearings again and allow himself the downtime to focus on himself before anyone else.

You were wrong.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Spencer caught you right as you left the office, stood in the middle of the hallway leading to the elevator with an exhausted expression on your face after working for almost 10 straight hours.

You do nothing more than blink in his direction at his question, exhaustion morphing into confusion once your eyes catch him expression.

You could see his own tiredness echoed through the bags forming under his eyes and the way his shoulders slumped at his sides, but you could also see a flicker of hurt floating around in his gaze, seemingly amplified under the white florescents as if to torture you.

“I’m- not avoiding you Spencer,”

“Yes you are.” His tone is rigid, a stark difference from the soft and whispered tone you’d grown used to with him. It felt like having a bucket of ice water poured over your head, and as if to physically acknowledge that feeling, a shudder ran its way up your spine and into the base of your skull. “Every time I’m within ten feet of you, you make an excuse to leave.”

You can’t really argue with him there. You had been keeping your distance. But only because you thought that’s what Spencer wanted.

“Do you not love me anymore? Is that it? Am I too broken for you now?”

“What- No-” Your confusion turns into shock at his accusations, and you immediately shake your head in denial.

“Then why are you treating me like a stranger you’ve never met?” His tone borders between angry and upset, and you can see the start of tears forming in his eyes as he stares at you like you’d just ripped up a first-edition copy of his favourite book.

“I waited for the day i’d finally be able to see you again and now you’re acting like I never existed in your mind at all.” You can hear the strain in his voice as he tries to stop it from cracking under his emotions.

“Spence-”

“Have you moved on? You found someone better for you right?”

“Spencer-”

“I hope he makes you happy-”

He barely has time to get out the last sentence as you give a sharp tug on his tie and pull his face down to yours, effectively silencing all of his insecurities with a kiss. It’s soft but firm, and slightly salty. He must’ve started crying.

“I love you Spencer.” Your words hold no room for debate as your lips part from his, connection maintained through the way your foreheads press together.

“But you- Why did you- I thought…” His mind seems to run a thousand miles a minute as he stares at you, finally close enough to see the details of your face that nobody else had the privilege to know. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore…”

“Spence…” You shake your head as it rests against his, a firm denial of his doubt in your complete and utter adoration of him.

“But you kept moving away from me whenever i’d try to come over to you,” He speaks through stuttered breaths, his eyes squeezed shut to hopefully stop the tears that assault his cheeks, running hot down his skin and pooling underneath the curve of his chin.

“I just thought you wanted space baby,” Your thumbs move deftly over his cheeks, wiping away the streaks of tears and taking Spencer’s insecurity with them. “I saw you dodging everyone’s advances and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,”

“I don’t want space from you,” When he opens his eyes again, they’re big, round, and still glistening with the moisture of his tears. But most of all they’re filled with nothing but pure affection for you. “I never want space from you…”

You sure that if you keep eye contact with him for much longer that you’ll start crying yourself, so you redirect his head to lie against your shoulder as you wrap your arms tight around his torso.

“I missed you…” His voice is so quiet that if you weren’t holding him in your arms you wouldn’t have heard it.

“I missed you too Spence,” Your head rests against his, you hand rubbing soft lines up and down his spine over his shirt as he soaks in all the affection he’s missed over the last three months.

“Can I stay at yours tonight? Please?” His gaze is enough of a ‘please’ in itself, but the way his voice drops to almost a whisper when he adds the plea onto the end of his question makes it impossible for you to deny him. Although it’s not like you were going to in the first place.

“Of course you can Spence,” You place a kiss to his left temple as you carefully break the hug, taking his hand in yours to lead him to the elevator. “Lets go home,”

[justmeinadaze]

What about a girl who on the surface seems to be happy. She's the one that is always there for people no matter what. Yet no one is there for her when she really needs someone. In a dark day where she thinks if she leaves the world no ones life would really change because she never really meant anything to other people. But Eddie finds her in a really bad state and somehow talks to her down and slowly overtime helps her feel wanted and loved. Shows her she's not alone.

A/N: I pushing this request and another someone gave me together because they were very similar. I get this to the core of my being and please never forget you aren't alone <3. You matter and the world is 100 time better because you're in it.

Warnings: Heavy material, mentions of emotional pain and depression especially feeling like no one cares and feeling like a burden. Enter with caution. I imagine a lot of us here have felt this at least at one point in our life.

Word Count: 2476

Everything is loud. 

Especially that voice that tells you no one cares.  Yeah you have your friends but they have their partners and their families. Yeah you have work but that’s all it is…work. The people you help are there for just that. As soon as you leave their peripherals it’s like you no longer exist. You have your family but it always feels like they are looking for number one…themselves. You’ve done everything for so many people and yet it feels like no one would do the same for you. 

It's not like you expect anyone to. You do things for people because you genuinely want to. Sometimes, however, it would just to be nice to feel like you were someone else’s first choice… 

Someone who woke up and was excited because they knew they were going to get to spend their day with you. Someone who while out in the world saw something random and their first thought was to call you to tell you. Someone who when you needed something whether it be to laugh or shoulder to cry on wouldn’t hesitate to be there. Someone who asked about your day because they were genuinely curious and not because they needed something. Someone who loved you unconditionally because you’re you.

It was a slow build up to tonight.

It starts with the little voice throughout your day telling you that no one would care. They’ll all move on after you’re gone. How long would it even take for someone to notice? No one calls unless they need something and you’re always the one to text first. You initiate meet ups with your friends and even then it’s hard to get everyone together. You fade in the background at work unless your boss needs someone to belittle. 

You haven’t seen your family face to face in so long. They always say their busy or their schedules are tight. Sometimes you call just to talk to your parents and no one answers. 

You had tried dating but most people you met up with just wanted sex. Anytime you tried finding a genuine connection, it was met with an innuendo that made your eyes roll. 

Today was particularly hard. Your account was overdrawn and you didn’t know how you were going to make it to the next check. Your boss said you seemed distracted and that you need to get your numbers to a better place or else you’d get a write up that could lead to a termination. You called your sister during your break but she didn’t answer instead posting online a selfie with her and her friends at lunch. You messaged a friend with a joke hoping to start a conversation about your worries without coming off like a bother. 

“I’m so exhausted. I wish I could meet a millionaire so I don’t have to work anymore lol”

She responded with a simple laughing emoji. 

You laid in bed scrolling through your phone at all the happy photos of people with their partners, other friends, and or children. They all seemed genuinely happy…why couldn’t you? You were really good at playing content but it took every ounce of energy you had. You didn’t want to pretend anymore. 

You wanted to place the weight of everything down for even just one day of relief while someone took you in their arms and told you that you were safe. 

The voice was practically screaming now in your head that you would never get that relief. The only way to end the pain is to remove yourself entirely from the equation. 

Your logic brain knew it didn’t want that but you didn’t know how to turn it off. 

Opening your front door, you ran outside in the rain in no particular direction hoping that you would end up wherever you were meant to be. You don’t know how long you were on your feet but suddenly you were swept off them as you fell forward into the mud beneath you. 

You heard a faint voice but it was hard to understand under the wind and thunder that shook the sky. A leather jacket covered your arms before you were lifted by your biceps and carried into a home nearby. 

“Jesus, sweetheart. Are you insane? You’re going to get yourself killed walking out there in this weather.”, the boy scolded as he shook his hair like a dog and took off the shirt he was wearing without any hesitation. “Fuck. Here let me take that here.” Grabbing his jacket, he rung it out in the kitchen and hung it on the counter. 

You watched him with wide eyes as he moved around what you realized was a trailer with purpose. 

“Alright, here’s a towel. Do you need to use my phone to call someone or—” The towel he handed you promptly feel to the floor when you didn’t reach out to take it from him, giving him pause as you both stared at it on the ground. 

His bare feet scooted against the rug as he placed himself in front of you and bent down to grab the towel again. You could feel his eyes scanning over you and when you glanced up to meet them you noticed they know reflected concern. 

“You know what? I’m being rude. I haven’t even introduced myself and I just pulled you into my humble abode.” With a big tooth filled grin, he extended his arms out wide and bowed. “My name is Eddie Munson and you are…?” He waits but when you don’t respond, he nonchalantly shakes his head as he stands to his full height again. “No worries. You can tell me when you’re ready. Um, I don’t think a towel will be enough and since it’s still storming you are more than welcome to use our shower. I have some fresh clothes you can change into and we can wash the mud off your outfit. If you want, of course. No pressure.”

“O-Ok.”

One of his eyebrows quirks at the sound of your voice before he flashes you another soft smile.

“Ok? Cool.”

***

When you step out of the shower, you can’t help but feel more relaxed under the steam that filled the bathroom. Eddie’s cigarette smelling clothes added an extra layer of comfort as they hung off your small frame. Glancing at the items on the sink, you smiled at the aftershave and hair product that lingered. Picking up his cologne, your smile grew as you inhale the smell that could best be described as home. You could get lost in that smell…

Continuing to dry your hair as you headed towards his room, you found the metalhead shoveling arms full of clothes that were on his floor into the closet. 

“Oh, uh, hey. Sorry. Yeah…my room isn’t usually this messy but…”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

His face visibly scrunched in confusion as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. 

“What makes you think you ruined my night?”

“I just…kind of…appeared.”

“Nice, pretty girl like you shows up on my doorstep. Introverts dream right there, honey.”, he chuckles as you blush. “Naw, you didn’t ruin my night. I was just going to lay here, smoke some weed and listen to some music. Would, um, would you like to join me?”

You think for a moment as your eyes take him in. Eddie had changed out of his wet clothes and put on a long sleeve shirt with some shorts that reached past his knees. His hair had begun to dry and frizz in an adorable manner that had butterflies flutter in your tummy. 

“Ok.”

“Yeah? Cool.”

“Y/N.” As he slides down to the floor, his head tilts when he hears you speak. “That’s my name.”

Grinning, he reaches under his bedside table and pulls out a little box with a couple of joints pre rolled within. 

“That’s very beautiful. So Y/N, is there a particular genre I should stay away from or are you openminded with music?”

“I’d like to think I’m pretty open minded.”

Eddie lights the end of the paper between his lips and his chest moves with every inhale and exhale before passing it to you. The effects are immediate as you feel calmness wash over you, handing it to him before laying on your back beside him. 

While you continue to listen to the music that plays neither of you says a word as you pass the joint freely between each other. The most recent song ends and a guitar rift begins to play that you feel like you’ve heard before. When you turn to look his way, your eyes lock with his earnest ones as if he’s waiting for you to recognize it. 

When the singer begins to sing the lyrics, your eyes close as you grab your stomach and laugh harder than you felt like you ever had before. Watching the way your personality unfolded has Eddie cackling with you until you were finally able to catch your breath. 

“Is that a fucking rock version of Lil Wayne’s ‘Lollipop’?! Oh my god it sounds amazing.”

“I have this weird fascination with rap songs turned into metal covers. It just tickles my funny bone the right way.”

“I love it.”

“And I love your laugh. It’s infectious.”

Glancing his way, you softly smile as you pass him the last of the bud in your hand for him to finish. 

“Thank you.”

“It’s nice to see you smile. You seemed a bit sad when you came in.”

“Yeah…we don’t have to talk about it though.”

“Do you not WANT to talk about it?”

“No, I just…you don’t wanna hear all that heavy stuff.”, you sigh as you sit up and lean against his dresser. 

“I mean I want to hear more about you, Y/N, and if that ‘heavy stuff’ is a part of you than I wanna hear it.”, he responds as he sits up as well. 

“You don’t know me, Eddie.”

“I’m trying to, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why do you want to know? Like I said you don’t know me. Why do you care?”

“I care because I want to know why a gorgeous, seemingly kind woman like you was walking out alone at night during a thunderstorm. Whatever caused her to do that must be really hurting her and I know how much that sucks. I want to help…if I can.”

Your eyes take him in as he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them to hold them in place. It was so odd to feel safe with someone you didn’t know. You weren’t sure if it was his smooth voice, the intense yet soft hues of his own eyes, or the protective concerned energy that surrounded him but you decided to take a leap and let go.

“When I get lonely…sometimes the voices in my head…get too loud. Not like you know voices, voices but just like that little voice…that makes the world…seem hopeless.”

“Like…no one cares about you to put you first and maybe the world would somehow be better without you in it?” When your gaze shifts his way, you find his have moved to the void in the floor in front him. “Yeah, I know how that feels especially when you hear it being reiterated with that voice.”

“It’s like an extra weight is pushing down on me and I can’t breathe.”

“You just want someone to take off some of that slack and tell you everything is going to be ok. And not because they want something or because they feel like they have to but because they genuinely want to.”

As you nod, you hastily try to dry the tears that fall before he notices.

“Y/N? I promise everything is going to be ok.” When Eddie slid closer to you, you couldn’t stop yourself as you climbed into his lap and curled into his broad chest as his arms circled around you. “You’re safe and the world is 1000 times better because you’re here.”

He continued to coo softly that everything was ok, rocking you gently in his arms as you continued to cry. 

################

Six Months Later

You beam as you hold Eddie’s hand at the table with your friend and her date as you wait for your food to served. 

“Hey, you know what would be fun? Maybe after we eat, we can head over to Scoops and try that new peanut flavor they have.”

“Oh, yeah!”, your friend exclaims with bright eyes. “I heard it’s so delicious.”

“I mean ice cream sounds great but Y/N can’t have that flavor. She’s allergic remember?”, your boyfriend replies nonchalantly as he quietly thanks the waiter as he places plates down in front of everybody. Without skipping a beat, Eddie opens your burger and steals your pickles he knows you give him every time before wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he eats with his free hand. 

Since that first night you met him, everything came almost easy with Eddie. For the first time, you felt heard and understood. Those first couple of months, you half expected him to disappear but every day he showed up with the same enthusiasm that made your heart want to explode. 

The first time you two fought, he realized it was because you were afraid to be open. 

“Sweetheart, how am I supposed to know it bothers you if you don’t tell me?”

“I just…I don’t want to lose you. I like you a lot, Eddie, and I’m afraid—”

“To be yourself? Baby, I like you a lot to. YOU… not some image of you. Don’t make yourself unhappy to make me happy. I don’t want that.”

From that moment on, you did everything you could to express how you felt and every time he tried to meet you in the middle. Every bad day, you were there for each other no questions asked. Every good day, you relished especially the small moments where you two would just lay on the floor and listen to music enjoying each other’s company without feeling like he’d rather be somewhere else. 

You were his first choice and he was yours. 

“How about we go to the arcade? They have that ice cream shop next door and then we can play some pool.”, you suggest knowing Eddie can smoke while you guys play as the music you both like plays. 

“That sounds like fun.”, your friend grins. “I’m not good with pool but I know Adam likes to show off.”

“So does Ed.”, you giggle. 

“Pfft, like you don’t like watching me bend over the table when I shoot my shot.”, he teases as he throws a wink your way before kissing your forehead.

##############

Eddie Asks/ Donate to me :)

Just in case y'all wanted to hear the song :P

[bishopsbeloved]

crystal clear

kate bishop x fem reader

there’s something about kate bishop that you can’t get enough of. you need to be close to her, always, but you’ll take whatever you can get — even if that means you’re just her fuckbuddy.

fwb to lovers, fluff and angst (happy ending), mentions of sex, god i love kate bishop, 3.3k words

read this fic on ao3!

Kate Bishop doesn’t swing by your borough very often.

When she does, it’s for either superheroing or sex. Her being in the area for the former will inevitably lead to her calling you for the latter.

You met through a mutual friend in college. You got on really well as friends at first, but you were undeniably attracted to her (who wouldn’t be?), and at a drunken New Year’s party she proved that attraction mutual when you were her New Year’s kiss. You ended up doing a lot more than kissing that night, and when you woke up in her bed the next morning she ever-so-casually suggested that the two of you “do this again sometime”.

“It’ll be good for both of us,” she shrugged. “You’re stressed with school, I’m stressed with… this,” she nodded over at her suit and bow, haphazardly discarded in the corner of her room.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea. You knew somewhere deep within you that you wouldn’t be satisfied with just sex. Kate Bishop is the kind of person that it’s difficult to get enough of, and you wanted all of her. But you’d take whatever you could get.

The two of you laid out ground rules, of course. Neither of you would sleep with anyone else (Kate didn’t have the time to find anyone else, and you didn’t have the interest). You wouldn’t tell any of your other friends (“America will never let me hear the end of it,” Kate said, nose wrinkling), and, most importantly, rule number one, you wouldn’t let it ruin the friendship.

“It’s just sex,” Kate insisted. “We can’t— I don’t do relationships.”

It’s not like it was news to you. Kate Bishop doesn’t do relationships, ever. Everyone knows it. You bit your lip and nodded, stomach already sinking a little. In retrospect, that should’ve been your first warning sign.

You hadn’t meant to break rule number one, though. Honest. If anything, it’s Kate’s fault, for being so… Kate. And it’s didn’t happen all at once, either. In an effort to maintain your pre-existing friendship, you both continued your routine of coffees every Wednesday morning, and walks with Pizza Dog in Central Park. Everything was as it always was on the surface, but within you could feel a shift begin, no matter how badly you wanted things to stay the same. Every time you caught yourself staring at her too long or laughing too hard at something dumb she said or your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing, you did everything in your power to put a stop to it. But you were helpless. Kate Bishop is a beacon, a lighthouse, and you’re drawn in to her against your will, no matter what you’re doing — whether it’s movie night or a coffee not-date or those late-night talks after sex or, yes, the sex itself. The sex is great. Just like everything else with her.

Fuck.

It happens gradually, so gradually, but everything comes to a crescendo when you roll over one morning and she’s already awake, staring at you with such depth and warmth in her big blue eyes. You blink back at her for a moment and know with frightening clarity that you’re in love with her. It’s crystal clear. You can taste your love for her on your lips when she kisses you good morning, and it terrifies you.

You don’t know what to do. You can’t tell her, that’ll ruin everything. It’s the number one condition of this arrangement — don’t jeopardise the friendship. This will do more than just jeopardise it. She’ll never want to talk to you again. And now that you’ve gotten used to Kate Bishop’s presence in your life, you never want to let it go. She makes your days brighter, she’s a joy to be around no matter what you’re doing, and you want to be around her in whatever capacity is achievable. Even if that capacity is friends who fuck sometimes.

So even though it’s a bad, awful idea, even though you’re already breaking the most important rule of the agreement, you carry on with it. You respond to every you up? text and then try to ignore the way your chest hurts the next morning when she walks out the door. Sometimes she’s gone before you even wake up. You think you prefer that, in some ways. At least you don’t have to watch her go.

Kate’s visits to your part of the city are sporadic, and mainly motivated by you, to be honest. There’ll be times when she doesn’t call in on you for a week, and then the next she’ll be at your place for three nights in a row. (She always makes an effort to maintain your Wednesday morning meets, though — a gesture you’d be touched by if you knew no better.)

This week has been one of those in which you haven’t seen her at all. Your life is a little less bright when she’s not around, although you do your best to distract yourself with college things and coursework, and your attempts are generally semi-successful. You’re just getting ready to turn in for the night when your phone chirps out the little notification tone reserved exclusively for Kate, and her name flashes on your lockscreen.

kate bishop <3: you awake? i’m abt five mins away

Your heart is in your throat, but you of course tell her yes.

kate bishop <3: ok omw

you: do i need to have the bandaids ready?

Your teasing, of course, refers to all of the times she’s shown up on your doorstep a little worse for wear. You’re sure you’re a qualified nurse by this point.

kate bishop <3: no

kate bishop <3: …yes

you: see you soon

You place your phone down, grinning stupidly to yourself.

(You are very, very stupid.)

In barely any time at all she is sat on your kitchen counter with you stood between her legs, gently dabbing at the most recent gash on her forehead.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” you reassure her exasperatedly.

“There was a lot of blood,” she pouts. You laugh softly.

“That’s what flesh wounds do. Even small ones. You should know that by now,” you tease, carefully extracting a Band-Aid from the packaging.

She sighs. “No, I think I’m seriously injured, and I need a pretty girl to kiss it better.”

If literally anybody else had said that you would not be smiling dopily back at them with a stomach full of butterflies. But it’s Kate Bishop, so you place the Band-Aid over her forehead cut before dropping a kiss on top of it. “Better?”

“Maybe if we kissed in… some other places.” The latter half is said against your skin as she wraps her arms around your waist to draw you in closer. You can’t help but melt into her arms as she begins to trail kisses down your neck, and the lower she gets the more open-mouthed they become. She grins wickedly when you start to make those little noises at the back of your throat that she loves to draw out of you.

“So sensitive,” she murmurs, her hands beginning to slide lower. Her eyes meet yours and they’re dark and stormy in the way that sets your stomach alight.

“Katie,” you pant, and she pauses to look up at you. “Maybe we shouldn’t— if you’re so seriously injured,” you try breathlessly, and she laughs. (The sound sends a little shiver up your spine. You adore her laugh.)

“You know I’ll eat pussy no matter what’s wrong with me,” she retorts, and you feel your face heat up. Yes, you do know that. You know it from experience. There was a time she had a broken nose, and — well — the activities she roped you into didn’t help that broken nose.

So you let yourself succumb to her touch, as you do every other night she wants you, and try your best to quash the bad, bad feeling that’s been threatening to surface the last few months.

Part of it is guilt, you think. You’re pretty much lying to her — or lying by omission, anyway — when you continue to pretend you’re not breaking the most important rule. You kind of feel like you’re violating her. She didn’t sign up for her dumb fuckbuddy hopelessly pining after her.

But also, you’re beginning to feel that maybe you deserve happiness. Maybe you deserve better than being the dumb fuckbuddy who hopelessly pines. You want to love, and be loved. You can’t stomach meaningless sex anymore, and you can’t stomach being meaningless to Kate.

Maybe if this ends now, you and Kate can still salvage your friendship.

You know ending things won’t be easy. That’s why you’ve been putting it off for this long. But you have to stop giving yourself false hope. It’s getting pathetic.

Even as you’re coming on her tongue you tell yourself resolutely this is the last time you’ll sleep with Kate Bishop.

When the act in question is over, she lays her head on your bare chest, humming softly. Your love for her hits you all at once; it sets you alight and sickens you all over again. You can’t do this anymore. This ends now.

“Kate,” you say quietly. “I’ve been thinking.”

The way that you say it makes her shoulders tense, she can tell something’s not right. She moves to sit up so she can see your face and take your hand between hers. You gently retract your hand, you don’t meet her eyes, and the cleft between her brows only deepens. “What? What is it?”

“I think,” you say shakily, “I think this… should end now.” You swallow, still not really looking at her.

“Why?” She says it quietly, and you can’t glean much else from her one-word response.

“I don’t really wanna be someone’s fuckbuddy anymore. I want to be someone’s girlfriend,” you admit.

Kate is silent for a few moments. “You know that I— I don’t —”

“Do relationships? Yeah,” you exhale. You tilt back your head, looking at the ceiling, anywhere but her. “So that’s why I’m saying we should— maybe we stop.”

“Okay,” she says eventually, and despite yourself you feel your shoulders sag a little as she confirms your beliefs. She doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. This is what it’s always been — just sex.

You feel her eyes on you and you’re careful to keep your gaze averted. You’re certain that if you look at her you’ll cry. Because you’re not looking at her, though, you miss the way she opens her mouth to say something else before thinking better and closing it again. You don’t see the way her bottom lip trembles as she turns away from you and begins to gather her various belongings, scattered across your room. You grab your phone from the nightstand and scroll through it mindlessly while Kate fixes her messy sex hair in the mirror. You only look up when she moves to open the door.

“I’ll… I’ll text you when I’m in the neighbourhood,” she says half-heartedly.

You press your lips together and nod. “See you around, Katie.”

“Bye, Y/N/N,” she murmurs, and closes the door behind her. You finally allow the tears to spill from your eyes.

You didn’t expect her to actually follow through. There’s radio silence between the two of you for a good while. You chicken out of breaking it to ask if Wednesday mornings are still on, and she certainly doesn’t initiate conversation, so you don’t see or hear from Kate Bishop for almost a fortnight (which is probably for the best, you’ll admit, since she’s left you in a right state). When she finally does text you, you almost fall out of your bed reading it, and have to double check that you’re not seeing things.

Sure enough, though:

kate bishop <3 (now):

can i come over?

You hastily type out a reply.

sure, when?

kate bishop <3: now lol?

kate bishop <3: i’m already omw

This makes you shoot out of bed. You’ve taken the definitely-not-breakup hard, and pretty much haven’t left your bed in the two weeks since you last saw Kate, much less your apartment. You’ve kinda just spent your time crying, eating ice cream and ignoring America’s threatening texts that come through when you miss another game night. You’re just not ready to face Kate in a social setting. One on one, though, is probably manageable. At least if it goes downhill no one else will see you cry. You’ll need to clean yourself up, though.

You spend the few extra minutes you know you’ll have, because Kate says hi to every dog she sees on the sidewalk, shovelling clothes from the floor into your closet in a vain attempt to make your place look a little more presentable, and questioning why you said yes to her coming over at all. When you hear a knock on the door, the silly little pattern only she does (“how else will you know it’s me?” she always says), you feel sick to your stomach.

You answer the door, and the two of you blink at each other for a few moments. Sure, it’s only been two weeks, but it also feels like there’s been a lifetime of change between you. The Band-Aid you put on her forehead when you last saw her is gone, and the cut beneath it is almost healed. A few others have replaced it on various different parts of her face, though. Her hair is loose, her cheeks are a little flushed from the journey to you and god, she’s so pretty.

“Hi,” you squeak out, and before you can do anything else she’s rushed forward and her arms are wrapping around you, tightly. It takes you a minute to process but then you return the hug, just as hard, breathing her in like it’s the last time you’ll ever see her.

“Hi,” you say again, but it’s much quieter this time, a whisper in her ear. She hums a greeting back into yours.

“I really missed you,” she murmurs quietly, and your breath hitches. You weren’t expecting any of this. She holds you close to her for a moment longer before finally letting you go. You don’t really know what to do with yourself, so you just step aside and let her into your apartment, closing the door behind her.

She wanders into the middle of your room, intently taking in everything like it’s her first visit. It’s not — far from it — and not much has changed since she was last here. There’s a moment of silence, and you can see the cogs turning in her brain. She’s building herself up to something. You don’t know what exactly, you don’t know what’s about to happen, but she’s got that faraway look in her eye.

“Kate,” you say tentatively, “what—”

She spins around to look at you, like you saying her name has grounded her, and she earnestly reaches for your hands. You give them to her uncertainly.

“Y/N,” she says, and her voice is thick with emotion in a way you’ve never heard it before. “I—”

She studies you intensely for a long, long moment before pulling you flush against her and pressing her lips to yours.

You can’t help it. Your eyes flutter shut at the familiar sensation, at the way she tastes, and your hands slide through her hair. The way she feels against you makes your head spin, and you’re gasping into her mouth and she’s whining, backing up towards the couch, and then suddenly she’s sat on it and you’re on her lap and Kate’s tongue is beginning to slide against yours, and it’s so good. You groan, your brain beginning to catch up with your body, and it takes every shred of willpower you possess to gently push her back.

“Katie,” you say weakly. She leans up desperately to reconnect the kiss, and when you shift from her lap to the empty seat on the couch next to her she makes a quiet noise of protest, her hands reaching out for you. “Kate. I told you I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Her face falls. She looks like a kicked puppy, and your heart clenches, but then she presses her lips together and looks up at you with determination.

“Y/N,” she says, reaching again for your hand. She’s not deterred when you don’t let her take it. She takes a deep breath, and you know as she opens her mouth you’re in for one of her trademark Kate Bishop rambles. “I am a fucking idiot. Think of the stupidest person you‘ve ever met and times it by twelve and that’s me. I literally—” She buries her face in her hands for a moment before continuing. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have let you end things. That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Which is seriously saying something, you literally watched me shoot down a priceless historical bell last year. You are— you’re— it wasn’t just sex to me, Y/N,” she says desperately, and this time when she reaches for your hand you let her. “I don’t think it ever was. I don’t know. I said I don’t do relationships, because it’s true usually I don’t, and that’s what you agreed to when we started this so I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and also I didn’t know how to tell you that I’m maybe a tiny bit obsessed with you, like I’m always thinking about you, how do you say that to someone? That’s not a normal thing to say, and then I didn’t want to freak you out and then you wanted to end things so I thought maybe that would be easier for you, I thought maybe you didn’t want me like that so I just let it happen which why did I do that, but then it was too late because I’m an idiot so I was trying to let it go, but I can’t sleep, Y/N, all I can think about is you, and I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do, but I do. I do want a relationship with you, I want it so bad I want everything with you, and if you don’t then you can forget this ever happened because I don’t want to make anything weird and America will kill me if I ruin her perfect Wii Sports game night team, but I just— I really had to tell you. I want a relationship with you, I want to be your girlfriend. I want— yeah. Yeah,” she says breathlessly, her eyes bright, and when she finishes her spiel her shoulders drop in the way they always do, like a physical weight has been lifted from her body. You stare up at her adoringly, and take her face between both of your hands.

“Kate Bishop,” you say sincerely, “you are such an idiot.”

“Wh—” she manages, before your lips meet with hers again.

This kiss is different. For the first time, the two of you are on the same page. Kate Bishop is yours, she wants you, and the thought makes you want to sing. On her lips now you taste something beautiful blossoming between you. You kiss her until you’re breathless, until the air that’s in your lungs is hers, and then you rest your head in the crook of her neck while she holds you as close to her as she can, clutching you like she can’t believe this is real, her chest heaving and hands shaky.

“I— I really do want to be your girlfriend,” she whispers again, and this time it’s so gentle and vulnerable. Your heart bursts at the way she’s so earnestly giving herself to you, no matter how much she swore she wouldn’t.

“Okay,” you tell her, and when your eyes meet hers are full of hope. “Okay.”

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

Romantic Homicide

Yandere assassin x divorcee afab reader

You had a hit placed on you by your ex monster in law. That nightmare of a woman couldn’t stand how her son had loved you so much and didn’t have his undivided attention on her (emotional incest??). Yet it wasn’t enough that the two of you are now divorced, she wanted you dead for breaking her son’s heart. Even though she was the main source of your separation. The reason why you could no longer be with the man you loved. The painful thorn stuck in your side that you finally couldn’t stand. So you removed yourself from the equation.

It didn’t matter that your ex, Vincent, sobbed and begged for you to not leave him on his hands and knees like a dog. The wealthy man sniveled at your feet and yet you could not find the strength in yourself to fight this battle any longer. The monster can have her precious son, you deserved to be happy.

Vincent had no backbone. You put up with so much verbal and even physical abuse from his mother due to your common background, and he never stood up for you. Sure Vincent would cry and apologize to you for his mother, but he never stood up to her. He was a coward. Vincent could use as many honeyed words as he pleased but they would no longer be told to you. You were hardened now and had no motivation left to fight… yet his mother wanted you dead for leaving him. She needed to make up her mind on what she wanted from you.

When you divorced Vincent Beau, you didn’t even accept any alimony because you didn’t want any of the filthy money from his family. And yet his mother, Manon, despised you even more for it… that strange woman.

So here you were in your bed with a masked hitman with wild green eyes wild and a sharp blade pressed to your neck. The thinnest of cuts formed on your neck as blood slowly pooled around your head like a grotesque halo. His breathing ragged and his voice deep like the bottomless ocean. “Any last words?”

You hummed and thought for a moment. How kind of a hitman to offer you any final words… yet you could focus on nothing else but his beautiful green eyes.

Vincent and Manon were far on your mind. It was simply your killer and you in this small world. Should you even offer the man any words? You didn’t care to beg for your life seeing to it that your monster in law would do anything to rid the world of your very existence even if he did let you go.

You stared deeply into his wild green eyes that reminded you of a forest. The ones you’d see in a National Geographic magazine. They were so unlike the cognac brown eyes of Vincent. You wondered if his face was as handsome as his piercing eyes.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” You gave him a small smile and shut your eyes to wait for the final blow.

A moment passed and then another… yet it never came. The knife was flung carelessly across the room with a loud clang. Large, gloved hands roughly grabbed your face as his lips were suddenly pressed against yours. His stubble tickled your face while his mouth eagerly moved against yours.

You couldn’t even register whether or not you wanted to kiss back since he pulled away like had been burned. His gloved hands quickly shoved the mask back on before you could catch a glimpse of his face.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long… to think you feel the same way as me…” You squeaked when he scooped you up into his arms to carry you out of your home. “I just have to burn this whole place down so she thinks you’re dead… then we can be together.”

You’re as confused as a newly born fawn. This man seemed to know you but you had no idea who he was… did you know him? He seemed familiar with Manon but then again, she was a socialite. He could be anyone…

He unceremoniously shoved you into the trunk of his car. His green eyes lit up like a child on Christmas Day. “Don’t make a sound, okay? We have to convince mother that you died.”

And when the trunk door closed and left you in complete darkness, his identity finally clicked in your brain.

Acheros Beau, Vincent’s half brother and the illegitimate son of the Beau family. The family’s darkest secret and now your delusional captor who believed you were in love with him.

You hugged your knees from within the car’s trunk as you felt yourself shiver. What on earth have you done to capture the amorous feelings of a deranged psychopath?

You didn’t know whether to be grateful to your situation or horrified. Maybe it would have been better to die in the comfort of your home rather than await what terrible fate may lie ahead… more time could tell. For now you would count the seconds until you woke up from this realistic nightmare.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)

some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry

title: the dancer and the angel part 3

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??

parts: part 1 part 2

warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

GRAYSON’S POV

Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-

I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.

Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.

I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I’m going to lose her, all of her.

I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.

“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.

It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.

It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.

“No,” I reply.

My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it’s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.

“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.

I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?

Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.

“I’m sorry.”

My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.

“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.

I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.

I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.

But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.

“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.

“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.

“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.

A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.

But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.

“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.

“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.

I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.

“Leave Grayson.”

I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.

***

Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.

911

***

The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?

The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.

I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.

She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.

I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.

I know her.

I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.

“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”

His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.

“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.

“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.

I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.

“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.

“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.

The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.

“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”

“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.

I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.

“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.

“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.

“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”

“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.

Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”

“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.

“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.

“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”

The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained

“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.

I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”

He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”

I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“

“What happened?” Nash drawls.

I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.

“I kissed Lyra.”

The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”

Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.

Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“

Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.

“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”

Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.

“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.

Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.

“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”

“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.

“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.

“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”

“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.

“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.

“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.

“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.

“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.

“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.

“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.

“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.

“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.

“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”

“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.

“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”

“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.

“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”

“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”

I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.

“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”

“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.

“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”

“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.

“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.

“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”

“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.

“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“

“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.

“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“

Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.

“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”

“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.

“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”

“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”

“Jameson,” Nash says.

He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”

“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”

“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”

“Good you should!” he screams back.

Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.

“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”

His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.

“Jameson.”

He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.

“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”

Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.

“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”

Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.

“Talk.”

I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“

“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”

“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”

She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.

“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.

Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“

I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.

“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.

“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“

I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.

“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”

I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.

“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.

“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”

Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I made a mistake,” I press on.

“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”

“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.

“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”

“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.

“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.

“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.

No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.

“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”

“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”

“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.

“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.

“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”

“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“

“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.

I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.

“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.

He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.

“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”

I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.

Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.

“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.

Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Honestly?” Xander asks.

I nod

“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.

“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”

“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.

“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”

Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”

“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”

“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”

“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”

“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.

“You don’t-“

“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“

“Grayson-“ Nash begins.

“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.

My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.

“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”

The change of tense makes my soul ache.

“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

I nod numbly, robotically.

“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”

Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.

He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”

Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.

“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.

Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”

“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”

“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”

“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.

“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.

“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.

“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.

I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.

“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,

Nash shakes his head softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.

“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”

The room grows still.

“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.

“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.

“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.

“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”

“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,

“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.

“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”

My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”

“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.

‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.

“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.

Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.

“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.

“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.

“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”

“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.

They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.

“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”

They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can barely breathe, “who died?”

“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”

“What?” I say, my tone deadly,

Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.

“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”

“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Gigi’s missing.”

The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.

***

YOUR POV

I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.

I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”

Only me, huh? Only me…

The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.

***

I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?

There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.

idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…

I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always

TIG masterlist

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

HI I'm new to your blog and can't find your rules or if your requests are open so if they aren't just ignore!!

I would like to request the 3rd years with gojo reader! The scenarios can be whatever bit I would really like to see it after your nanami post!! Have a great day and remember to take breaks <33

Gojo Satoru Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

The world you come from is filled with curses–spirits surviving from the negative feelings they’ve accumulated in life. You are the most powerful, the one all curse-users and curses respect. Because of this your laidback and silly persona is one of confidence which doesn’t waver even with the existence of magic. Too bad your suitors could care less, not to mention you can still be caught off guard. Now it’s a matter of who’s trying first:

Trey Clover

“So you’re the most powerful where you’re from?” “What!? You don’t believe me? Do you want me to smash a can again?”

“No no I’m sure you’re plenty strong. I’m just worried that carrying such a burden on you’re own.” He’s worried beyond belief 

Whether you rambunctious and playful or quiet and relaxed he doesn’t want you in that role 

Because the more he hears about how much this world of yours is constantly on you

Its just not right

To have whole clans obsessing over you

So he gathers its better with just him

And no way will he be as overbearing 

Just don’t expect him not to slyly test your powers with magic

He’s just making sure

Because if so it’s best for him to handle all matters of your protection and happiness

Lilia Vanrouge

“I see! You’re quite the hero where you’re from! Got anyone to share the spotlight with?”

“Ha, no. Nobody’s gotten close to even touching me!”

“Good to know!”

He’s already planned for himself to be there

But he’s already been through a war

He’d much rather spend his new life with you traveling or lounging somewhere exotic

Not fighting gross curses and jealous curse users

So he’ll make the grand decision to keep you here forever

And while you might be the strongest he was once the strongest too

And sometimes a more forceful retirement is the way to go

[lightlycareless]

Ok but like… virgin!naoya 👀👀👀👀👀 thoughts?

😏 hello. what an interesting topic...

I initially wanted to write something short, like hc's or such, but you know me I just gotta go the whole way hahahah. Anyways, this is very... idk how to say it, I feel kinda bad for Naoya, but I had to exagerate some things because honestly I do not feel a man like him would be a virgin for too long, you know?

anyways, here are the warnings: smut. naoya being weird, a dork tbh (but a perverted one too) and something tells me this is lowkey bottom!naoya too... anyways; MINORS DNI. happy reading!!

Virgin!naoya where all of his thoughts are, of course, having his first time.

He wholeheartedly believes the reason why he hasn't been able to do it is because everyone around him doesn't have good taste. Like, they can't see all that he offers, what a great deal he is:

He has money, prestige, a good education (he’s attending one of the best colleges in the country!) and literally no worry in the world ‘cause the rest of his life is set thanks to his family.

But at the same time, he doesn’t want people to just want him for that.

Unbelievably, he desires someone that will make him feel like the amazing, accomplished, talented, one of a kind, never seen before, man he considers himself to be, even if he didn’t have anything under his name.

If he just wanted sex, he could pay someone for that!

And yet, he still waits for the right one.

Naturally, Naoya isn’t any proud of the fact that he hasn’t been able to get it on with anyone, so he goes to the extent of making things up to compensate for that.

Whenever people around him start talking about their flings, one-night stands amongst other things, Naoya always has something to say:

“Experiences” of course, that he made up from watching porn. And apparently no one has been able to catch him in the lie, either because he turned very aggressive when confronted, or because they didn’t care tbh.

Until someone dared confront him.

“But you didn’t go out that night.”

“I saw you somewhere else though.”

“I thought you said you stayed home all day that time…?”

To say a few.

And when the pieces began to fall into place, alongside the fact how “nervous” he got when asked to elaborate, the earth-shattering truth comes out:

“Wait—Naoya, don’t tell me you… you’re a virgin?”

It’s safe to say that Naoya hides himself from the goddamn world for the following days, right after making the curious asker regret their existence.

But now that the truth was out there, he was on a mission to prove everyone wrong; he was going to lose his virginity, no matter what it took, and stop being the laughingstock of his friends.

He’d start by going date, after date, after date with any girl he thought attractive in hopes of finally getting laid.

But somehow, it just never went through; not even the most desperate woman would accept him, because of course, he just had to open his mouth and that’d be enough for everyone to run away.

Naoya is now, for all intents and purposes, desperate. Wasn’t sex supposed to be the easiest thing to find in the world??

Like, even his dad got laid! He exists for a reason! Why can’t he have the same luck??? He’s even better looking than him!! So why is it so goddamn hard???

…

Naoya really, really doesn’t want to pay someone to do it; doesn’t want to hurt his pride, make everyone believe that he wasn’t able to get it out of his pure charm…

But his delusions don’t get bad until he meets the new girl at school; a transfer student from Tokyo that wanted to know what Kyoto was all about.

Naoya usually didn’t care about these situations, unless he could get use them to his advantage.

But that quickly changes when he sees her—you.

Not that he had any choice, because you had an alluring aura that attracted everyone to you, whether because of your status as a new student, or your surprisingly fun personality.

He got to experience this last part after discovering you had a class with him, eventually assigned to do a group project for the end of the semester.

It all started by meeting at the library after school to work on it, before exchanging numbers, social media, and eventually, hanging out outside of campus to talk not only about the project, but other things as well.

Naoya tries his hardest to not socialize beyond necessary means, share nothing that pertains to personal matters.

But he couldn’t, because the more he spends time with you, the more he learns how much in common the two have. Things he didn’t think a girl like you would like, enjoy talking about, or even wanted to know more of.

It also helped that he found you very attractive. Perhaps the prettiest woman he’s seen in his life—but he sure liked being admired by you more.

However, let’s not forget this is a man that has been “deprived” of sex, so it doesn’t take long for him before he starts fantasizing about you: starting by notion of how your skin would feel against him—it’s warm, it’s scent.

To how you’d look underneath your clothes, how you’d squirm beneath him, begging him to take you and mark you as solely his with those desperate moans he can already hear through your lovely voice.

By that point, Naoya is already getting off at the thought of you about… daily, really. Getting hard the moment he sees you do anything remotely provocative, although unintentionally, or just because you’re there.

Porn is now with actresses that resemble you, immediately getting angry when he doesn’t find any that suits his preference, resorting to stalking your social media afterwards.

He’s highly grateful that you’ve trusted him to add you online, thinks you foolish for having done so. However, it came with a price:

Whenever he sees a glimpse, the faintest hint of another man alongside you, (or worse, in a relationship) makes him highly jealous, to the point of wanting to directly confront you and demand who was that?! And how dare you talk to him while seeing someone else!

Only to stop when (what little) his common sense tells him that if he does so, he might lose you permanently; and he doesn’t want to do that with the only person that has made him feel this way.

Besides, you once (seemingly unprovokedly) told him you were single. So there's that.

Yet, as much as he was obsessed with you, finished to the thought of you, hallucinates of you—he doesn’t go beyond that. Doesn’t do anything to make his dreams a reality.

Or more like you win him to it, one day asking him if “he’d like to get something to eat with you one day” and not precisely to work on that tedious group project, but as a…

“What—like… a date?” he asks bluntly, you look away for a brief second, flustered, before nodding.

So, he accepts, even when he thought he should’ve been the first one to ask but whatever, this is something he can still use to his advantage, precisely for his little setback.

The two end up going to a nearby mall, walking around to see the stores before getting something to eat and watching a movie.

Nothing happens there, as much as he would’ve liked to; however, you do lean into him, rest your head over your shoulder before grabbing his hand and remaining that way until the movie ended.

“I had fun, Naoya.” You’d say as he dropped you off at home. “I hope we can go out again.”

Let’s say Naoya didn’t sleep that night at all.

The two would continue to hang out, both inside and outside the campus, to the point everyone believed Naoya and you were now dating.

Neither denied nor confirmed the rumors for the question had yet to be asked, but even when Naoya had to admit that this was the most time he had invested to getting into a girl’s pants—he'd almost forgotten why he started all this in the first place.

Naoya was genuinely enjoying spending time with you, mostly because you didn’t run away when he began to grow more comfortable with you—although you would tell him to not say certain things (and he’d try, keyword: try)—and as stated before, you were... different.

But he still wanted it, of course. So it shouldn’t come to anyone’s surprise that after a few dates, long nights calling and texting one another, as well as insinuating wanting more, it finally happens.

The two agree to spend the night at Naoya’s apartment after spending the whole day together. How he managed to take you there in the first place, after being unable to keep hands off one another, is to be commended.

Naoya hastily takes you to his bedroom as soon as both walk through the door, where you’d get undressed before moving to the bed.

It’s apparent to you that he wants to get to the main course as soon as possible, yet there’s still hesitation behind his actions, starting from the bruteness behind his kisses, to the tremble in his fingers; almost as if he didn’t know what to do or how to touch you.

But your desire didn’t allow you to worry much about those trivial things, moving forward to the moment Naoya had been daydreaming of.

“Put the condom on, Naoya…” you whined as you laid back on the bed. Naoya, now on top of you, scoffs.

“Why? You’re the only one I’m seeing.” There’s the slightest tremble in his voice, but he means his words either way.

Besides, it’s his first time, he doesn’t want some stupid rubber getting in the way.

“Because I don’t want to get pregnant—we’re not even dating yet!” You jest with a giggle; and the thought of you begetting his child after your first night with him only makes him feel hotter. He wouldn’t mind marrying you, but one step at a time. “Just pull out, ok?”

Naoya was already near his limit when you said those words, but he’s pushed past the edge when hearing the sharp gasp you make upon seeing his cock.

He always knew he packed something good, but he was never sure until hearing your reaction, which certainly urged him to become more arrogant (incredibly) and eager.

And after some quick preparations, as well as mental encouragement from his side, it was finally time for the main event.

He’d had his fair share of reimaginations of what his first time would be like, the kind of pussy he’d like to see, and the beautiful girl he’d get as well.

But none of them compared to the real thing: it’s safe to say that you surpassed all expectations, and he couldn’t wait to have a taste of the pleasure he had been unfairly deprived fro—

“It’s a bit lower, Naoya.” You gently murmur, swiftly cutting through his thoughts, upon feeling his cock prod at… well, anywhere but your entrance.

“…Right.” He frowns, slightly embarrassed before swallowing, refocusing on the prize at hand, adjusting the tip a bit lower and onto your entrance.

He feels the warmth radiating of it as he coats on your glistening sick, before pushing past your tight rim in one swift, yet agonizingly pleasurable, movement.

Naoya never liked exaggeration; thought it to be immature, if not incredulous, but he can’t resort to anything else when describing the sensations he’s immediately engulfed with when entering your cunt.

The tightness, the warmth, it’s gumminess—it was all of his fantasies + more merging into his reality. Ones that just grew hotter and hotter the deeper he moved, making his plans of plummeting into you falter, lowly whimpering as he acknowledged what is happening.

He’s finally having sex—losing his virginity.

And it was so, so much better than he imagined.

It’s like getting high; with the world around him starting to spin as he could only think about staying inside you, relishing on the pleasure he should’ve gotten ages ago, but now it’s here and he—he…!

Naoya wants to move, wants to experience more of the vice grip of your walls on his cock, the softness of your breasts, or the warmth of your kisses.

All while making you scream, call out the name of the one making you feel this way!

But he can’t.

He just... can’t move; he doesn’t—he doesn’t know how to.

As much as he wants to, longed to do so, he’s forced instead to remain there while your body completely overtakes his senses: eyes blurry, jaw tightly clenched, alongside his desperate whines are just a few examples of this.

“Naoya, please…” you beg, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and moving him closer to you, enough to whisper against his ear, as your walls squeeze his cock, as to accentuating your neediness. “Fuck me”

He really, really wished you hadn’t done that.

“Y/N!” He gasps, finally moving his hips back before snapping them against you, mentally preparing for the long night ahead—

Only that he doesn’t move again as soon as he hits your cervix; instead, he keeps still yet again, deep inside you, while letting out a light groan before resting his head against the crook of your neck.

It doesn’t compute at first for you, believing something wrong had occurred, maybe he didn’t want to spend the night with you anymore—

Until a warm, sticky sensation begins to invade your walls; it’s then that everything falls into place, making your eyes snap to him, more than ready to scold him for going against your request—

Only to see that this hadn’t been voluntary; his tightly shut eyes and flustered face proving you other wise as he continued to indulge in this happening, a sensation he undeniably wishes to persevere…

Unless you were to pull him back to reality.

“Naoya—did you… did you just cum?”

“Wha—what?” he breathes, still capable of acknowledging you through the drowning sensation of his orgasm.

“Did you just cum?” you repeat. “Inside me—Naoya, did you—"

“What? No—I—” he says, wishing to refute your incredulous claim, excuse it had been nothing but your imagination, because he couldn’t be one of those!

But one quick look at your entrance was enough to prove him wrong, pulling his cock out and allowing his seed to drip down your pussy and to the sheets; proving that truly, he had finished as soon as he entered you.

“I didn’t—"

And this made him highly embarrassed, if not disappointed.

“Then what happened? You just moved and then—"

“Get out.” He inadvertently says, you blink.

“Excuse me?”

“I said—get out.”

"Naoya, I didn't—I don't think that's— let's talk fir—"

“Leave before I fucking drag out you myself!”

He doesn’t want to deal with this situation anymore, doesn’t want to feel further humiliated by his blatantly obvious inexperience, nor hear anything from you that might highlight this fact—that much is clear by his tone, which swiftly prompts you pick up your things, dress up, and leave him, alongside the notion that his life will be ruined from this point forward.

Because more than shame of the present, he fears the future:

He knows you’re going to tell others of his mishap, spread his disgrace as your life depended on it, further tarnishing his already soiled image for the rest of his life.

All that Naoya could think of from that moment forward was the lengths he’ll have to go to avoid facing the consequences of his ruined reputation: he’ll have to switch cities, change his number, perhaps even his name!

And not only that, but he’ll also have to live in isolation to avoid the jests that will undoubtedly come from his family once they hear of his mistake.

The rest he could tolerate; but this... this he cannot.

But when he returns to campus, expecting to be bombarded by his group of “friends” mocking him for acting like a horny teenager, alongside some other lies you created to further humiliate him…

Nothing seems to have changed.

In fact, everyone continued to act as they always did; his friends greeting him, the rest avoiding him… essentially allowing him to continue his daily routine like it was any other day.

Including meeting you in class.

Naoya does his best to avoid you, having arrived to the conclusion that you’re instead holding his misadventure as blackmail to use when it better suits your needs.

But he can’t, not when you insist on talking to him through class, almost enough to be reprimanded by the teacher.

“What do you want?!” he scowls as soon as the two are alone, in a far away classroom rarely anyone uses.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” You admit. “Why hadn’t you responded my—"

“For what? To make fun of me again??”

“What? No! I wasn’t—I didn’t make fun of you. Why would you even suggest—"

“Then what is it, Y/N? What other reason would you have for this, then?” you don’t respond, this makes him angrier. “Why haven’t you told anyone of what happened that night, hm? Waiting for the perfect moment?”

“What are you even saying?” you ask back, genuinely confused by his accusations. “I get it, it was… surprising, not exactly what anyone would want, but I’d never do that!”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Naoya goaded. “Certainly, you must know my reputation by now, all you could get by spreading something like that!”

“…Because that’s—that’s not what I want to do with someone I like!” You cry.

“What?” he asks, perplexed. Not an answer that aligned to his predispositions. “What do you mean you—you like me?”

He had some notion of that, blatantly obvious by the way you'd following him around like a lost puppy, or the whispers coming from those around you.

In other words, his shock came from the fact that he never believed it was genuine; maybe because deep inside him, he thought everyone always wanted something from him. Seemed to be like that, even up to this point, thinking one of his friends had maybe set you up for this, him willingly naive...

Yet, the evidence was outstandingly contrary.

“Why would I ask you out if I didn’t?” you insist; he shrugs. “…Is this common for you, Naoya? To have people talk behind your back and such?”

“A bit.”

“You need better friends.” You attempt to jest. He sighs.

“… So what? What do you want to talk about?” Naoya begins anew. You press your lips together.

“… I just wanted to tell you that I didn't care that... that happened. And that I didn't mean to do things to make you feel embarrassed, of course.” You explain. “Although I have to admit that it did startle me, thought you had done it in purpose… but then, I saw it was something else, and...”

“I’m assuming you already now that was my first—"

“It was my first time too.” You admit, he blinks, not believing your words. “At least… getting to that part.”

“You? Your first time?”

“I don’t know how to take that.” You frown.

“I was referring to what others think of you. You must’ve heard that by now." he says.

“Yeah; I have.” you admit. "But I'm not interested in that."

“Then why me? Why are even you doing all of this, even after that?”

“Because you don’t treat me like they do; to you, I’m just another student coming for class, not some shiny new toy some can’t wait to get their hands on..." you murmur, before chuckling. "And because you’re the most handsome one here!"

"Really?" he raises an eyebrow, doing his best to avoid his fluster from showing on his face.

You chuckle, Naoya smirks.

“… I thought it was cute.”

“What was?”

“…you know, that.” You silently admit, Naoya finally blushes. “I mean, I didn’t like you finishing inside me, but I... I never had anyone like me that much, you know? If anything... I’m surprised you haven’t done this with anyone else.”

“It’s simply my reality.” he says; some things are just incapable of being explained.

“Well then, I’m flattered I was the first one.” You grin. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

“I’m the one supposed to say that.” He frowns, you giggle. “… so… what does this mean?”

“…That we can try it again, everything I mean. I still like you, after all...” you chuckle nervously, before looking away. “But only if you still want to, of course, I don't want to sound like I'm—”

“Dinner; tonight, in my apartment.” He says immediately. “After 7, once I’m done working out, I'll go pick you up.”

“I’d like that.” You smile, taking a step closer. “But first we have to finish our group assignment! Also, don’t kick me out again! Or I won’t take it nicely this time…”

“Then my girlfriend shouldn’t tease me.” Naoya smirks, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close to him, hands resting on your waist. You pout, flustered.

“Don’t make it too easy.” You respond, tiptoeing to kiss him. “…my dear boyfriend.”

it's like all universes will have me writing naoya and y/n ending up together; you'll have to specify otherwise if you don't want to i'm sorry that's just how it is here.

also I recently saw american psycho and idk why (I guess it makes sense) but the whole dynamic of patrick bateman and his colleagues makes me think of Naoya; like they'll always be competition, seeing who is better in what—but even then, no one really likes Naoya HAHAHAH

anyways, i had fun humiliating Naoya a bit :) y/n really committed to the unconditional love thing here—but now that I'm done with this, I can certainly say this is more of a bottom!naoya kind of thing. It truly feels like it, doesn't it? hehe.

Hope you enjoyed it either way!! Thank you for sending in this ask ❤️ Take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[cthulhuwritesstuff]

Let’s talk about escapism.

In case of these two peculiar lovable dummies, escape from reality they face on daily basis (not to mention that those realities are also what both of them believe they deserve) is being with each other.

Both realities are quite different (which is the issue number one), and at this point, I believe we all know what those realities are.

However, when brought down to crisp clear simplicity: they both suffer from tremendous amounts of guilt and are both in trauma-induced, nerve-wracking, depressing state of survival mode. They understand each other very well, because it takes one to know one, but neither of them is allowed to see that. It is more of an instinct that they do not question in fear of breaking their little kaleidoscope image of a fantasy where they just are.

Means of escape in this case is sex, where both of them get to let go of that baggage for a while and ignore the existence of it altogether.

This tactic, no matter how enticing and addictive, is still just a means to an end, and it has a low shelf-life expectancy.

They are both aware, partially or subconsciously, of this engagement and are both unwilling to to let go of it because “You are the only thing that makes me feel alive and not just like I am surviving Hell.” (Literally)

BUT, as long as it’s not addressed head on, it is not real and it can’t hurt them, and as we already know — real things in their lives hurt them and are what makes them miserable.

Stolas is aware of that. He is way ahead of Blitz when it comes to that realization.

Stolas himself mentions the adoration and fear he has toward their escape method several times, in his songs.

Stolas not only knows he’s at risk of losing his escape method, but due to him bringing these feelings he had developed for Blitz forward into his reality, they suffocate him just like the rest of his life does. He has no capacities to rationalize it all, he has never healed. So he convinces himself, despite hope and reason, that Blitz doesn’t want the real him.

He had made this decision even before Blitz came in, whether he liked it or not. The spark Blitz brings into his life is far too small to battle the overbearing guilt of simply existing. He trained and fed that monster for years.

His hope sounds more like foolishness and naïveté to him, because “How can someone love me?”

So he leaves the situation before the conflict begins, because that is how he copes. He wants to escape the crashing “reality he deserves” (which is being all alone and sad), and no matter how much we know that’s not true, right now, Blitz is a part of that reality for good, not his escape method anymore.

Stolas’ image is all he has, and keeping himself composed is literally all he has left when he finally faces Blitz. When Blitz doesn’t allow him to leave, doesn’t understand why he is being “dismissed” and challenges him, the dam breaks and Stolas now forces him out to get some of his equilibrium back. That creates a whole new problem I cannot wait to see addressed in the future episodes. Stolas will most probably overcompensate for that last “show of weakness” in some way. Let’s remember: Blitz had never seen Stolas cry before, and honestly, I don’t think anyone who matters has.

On the other side, Blitz has the realization of “this is real” the moment Stolas offers him the crystal with no strings attached.

“I can always do better” said after Stolas had already placed his freedom on the palm of his hand is him asking not to be forced to face the fact that this is not just a fantasy world anymore.

“Keep it the way it was because that doesn’t hurt” might be the words to go by, and Blitz— no matter the fact that he hears exactly what Stolas is telling him and understands it, too — is now terrified.

Because Blitz is not good enough. He is not a reliable person. He is trash. He is at the bottom of the food chain. He is a murderer. A selfish, heartbreaking freak. He is a hypocrite and a pervert. He is undeserving of understanding, of comfort, of grace.

And that feeling of instant pain and rage you get when you read those words is exactly what he fights against each day while telling all those things to himself.

None of it true, yet Blitz believes it wholeheartedly.

He attempts to push that away again by slipping into the all-too-easy role play, into silly make believe, not because he is cruel, not because he is obtuse, but because he is desperate to keep the door to his escape route open. To keep the fantasy going, because he has no capacities to realize his feelings (or Stolas’ feelings) yet.

And when he is, yet again, cut off, is where the fight or flight kicks in and his inner voices start screaming.

There must be a real, tangible reason that Stolas is doing this. There must be some kind of an endgame that Blitz can understand. Blitz needs his equilibrium back now, and there’s the point of breaking.

Stolas is probably getting bored of him. Stolas now knows what he likes and that he can get it anywhere he wishes, so he is throwing Blitz away and trying to masquerade it as a kind gesture. And to Blitz, who takes pride in standing his ground and never backing down, who despises being looked down on and being pitied, this is absolutely infuriating. It is downright insulting.

Rage pours forth, and he is borderline incoherent, but everything he says is a precise image of what he thinks of himself first and what he wants Stolas to do second. There is nothing to land on however, Stolas is not his escape anymore, so when Blitz falls into anger, he burns to crisp and says things he doesn’t mean.

Escaping into Stolas was all too easy and he had taken it for granted — both of them had. Stolas shows this by, even for a moment, hoping Blitz would say “yes, I will stay” at the drop of a dime, and Blitz by expecting Stolas to take everything he dishes out, bear traps and insults included, and still want to be around him.

Neither of these things happen, neither gets to escape themselves. The spell is broken and now they are both hurt, they are both alone. They are equally at fault when it comes to that fight and they are equally overdue for facing their own demons. They were, at the end of the day, singing two different songs and there was no room for really understanding the other side when there’s already so many assumptions, insecurities, self-hatred and conclusions about what they had birthed from pain and previously accumulated fear.

We are not supposed to be told this straight up through the show. Neither of them is supposed to say this aloud because real life doesn’t work that way, and I love that. It is very raw and visceral and it is very well crafted.

As I said before, I will say it again: miscommunication in this episode was done flawlessly and I cannot wait to see how it all gets resolved.

[kingofanemptyworld]

Rin, identity issues, and the complications of being an isolated, alienated teenager

It feels sort of weird to say but I generally don’t head canon characters as having particular sexualities. Whatever people go for in fics is usually fine with me - gay, lesbian, bi, pan, something more general like queer. As long as it makes sense for the story they’ve built and the character they’ve shaped to fit it, I’m good. Unless you’re ignoring a canon LGBTQ+ sexuality, in which case, yeah, I’ll take issue with that.

But anyway. Rin.

I’ve got my personal ship for him (BonRin my beloved), but regardless of the pairing I see him as bisexual. He’s so open with his infatuation with Shiemi, and okay, sure, fandom likes to ignore the love interest in shounen for the most part because we’ve got gay ships to peddle. But I don’t see the point in that unless it really reads like it’s a front, or a result of a character suppressing themselves for one reason or another. And with Rin, I think it’s pretty clear his affection for Shiemi is sincere. You technically have the in-universe evidence of the demon that brought out his true desires to back that up, but even without it, Rin likes her. It’s complicated because of Yukio and Shiemi’s own inexperience with romance, and yet I never once doubt he really likes her.

That being said… he’s very appreciative of the guys in his life, too. (Peddling my gay ship here) Bon in particular, considering he’s often admiring how cool he thinks Bon is, that his haircut suits him whether it’s the blonde rooster look or the undercut. If you don’t want to see it as romantic interest, that’s your prerogative, but to me Rin comes across as seeing cool and cute as different traits he finds attractive (in Bon and Shiemi respectively).

I also think his bisexuality would fit neatly into his narrative struggles to “pass” throughout the early parts of the series. Rin has grown up as the neighborhood problem child, ostracized for being violent, and eventually he decides he’s fine with just his brother and his father — and the rest of the monastery, presumably — for company. (Except that’s absolutely not true and clearly he’s starved for friendship and support.) People looked at him and saw a monster, even before his demonic heritage made an appearance; why would he bother giving them even more ammunition when it comes to reasons to hate him? So no matter when he figured out his attraction to guys, he’s not going to lean into it, because he also likes girls, right? (Ignoring for a moment that bisexuality is a lot more nuanced than that.)

Rin likes girls, Rin is human — that’s what’s going to get people to like him, or at the very least tolerate him. That he likes guys, that he’s half demon, he can shove that shit down and pretend it doesn’t exist. Lock up any stray thoughts and keep the sword sheathed around anyone who doesn’t already know.

(Excuse me for being amused by Rin wielding his humanity and supposed heterosexuality as a sword and shield.)

The problem, of course, is that he can’t keep up the facade forever. The narrative won’t let him. Rin has to embrace his demonic side, because it’s the only way to move forward and to continue to help his loved ones. And once he’s moved past the issue of his friends being upset over the deception, when they understand he’s still Rin despite what he’d hidden from them, Rin is finally allowed to be himself. He uses his flames, he lets his tail move freely in the open around the Cram School kids. Rin still doesn’t like this side of himself — it’s inextricably tied to every moment of pain and isolation he’s dealt with his entire life, including the death of Father Fujimoto (and, y’know, his mom). But he is moving forward, he’s trying to adapt.

And isn’t that some great fucking subtext for his bisexuality, too?

[messierthanthou]

Untitled - Bottom!Billy - Rated E - 2.5k Words - Written in Honour of @aggressiveviking !! Enjoy, everyone!

If it wasn’t for Neil, Billy could and would love more. But it has all been beat out of him, scared to ever even think of the things he wants to. Daily life is a masquerade, him in a lion’s mask, the rest surrounding him those of lambs.

It was a long way to the top of the food chain, but even greater would the fall be, if it was that anyone dared threaten his role at the top of the school’s hierarchy. 

Which - perhaps unintentionally - one Steve Harrington attempts purely by existing. Those deep brown eyes that sees past the mask of the still freshly crowned king disturbs Billy on such a ground-shaking level that it is do or die, whether either of them wants to or not, a battle is brewing between the two, and Billy, no matter his pains in life, is not ready to give up.

So he finds himself in the pouring rain, standing just a few feet away from the Harrington mansion, soaked to the bone but it doesn’t cool off his heated temper nor does it calm down his pounding heart.

Billy doesn’t know exactly what he wants, but he can’t let it keep bubbling up inside him at school, because what if he loses it? Exactly what it is he could lose, he doesn’t know, but he does know that he needs to release some of the pressure burning inside him.

Without forethought as to what he’ll say or do once Steve is there, he knocks on the door and rings the bell. He’s angry, he’s nervous, he’s unsure; everything floods his senses all at once, and as soon as the door opens even an inch, he pushes it all the way and stomps inside, past a startled Harrington.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Steve erupts immediately.

“You alone?”

“Why?”

“No reason.” Billy shrugs, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“You can’t just barge in like this, Hargrove. What are you even doing here? Get out!”

The door is still wide open.

“You’d really send me out into the rain? Cold.”

Harrington groans out in displeasure, then closes the door. Billy figured he’d be a good sport. He’s too kind, even to his nemesis, and it makes the fury in Billy boil worse.

“I’ll get you a towel.”

While Steve vanishes to go find that towel, Billy stomps around the place, dripping on the floor as he goes. He knew they were rich, Steve’s parents, but this is ridiculously fancy for Hawkins. Hell, even their family portrait in the living room is an actual painting, and not just an oversized photograph.

Harrington catches up to Billy when he’s neck deep in the fridge, looking for the cold beers that he finds.

“You can’t just-” Steve starts off with, but Billy is quick to crack open the bottle against the marble countertops. 

Then Billy yanks the towel from the brunette’s grasp and throws it over his shoulder before taking a large gulp of the beer, which tastes far better than what comes out of a keg.

“Nice castle you got here, princess.”

Steve avoids eye contact at that, looking to the side and shifting in place. “What do you want?” he asks skittishly.

Billy doesn’t answer right away as the bottle occupies his lips, and soon there’s not a drop left. “I don’t know.”

“You… you don’t know?” Steve scoffs. “You barge into my house, and you don’t know why?”

The blonde shrugs and shakes his expressionless head.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

As a matter of fact, he does.

Steve then looks down at the floor. “You’re dripping everywhere, dry up for Christ's sake!”

Then Billy smirks a little, teasingly so. “Make me.”

He watches as Harrington clenches his fists before they come near his face, and Billy accepts it; the inevitable punch coming his way. It’s possibly what he deserves, he’s unsure of actually what, but a hit might be it. And yet, he doesn’t hurt, instead he feels softness caress his face, going through his hair, as Steve dries him off with the towel.

“Take off your jacket.”

“What?”

“I said take off your jacket,” Steve repeats.

“Why?”

“Because if we don’t get you dried off and warm, you’ll get sick.”

“And why do you care?”

The pretty boy takes a step back, towel still in hand. This time he’s the one to shrug, and doesn’t offer another word, lowering silence onto the two of them.

For a moment too long and quiet, Billy considers why Steve wants him out of his clothes, but perhaps the reason is simply more innocent than what Billy imagines. So he does as suggested, taking off his jacket.

“You can borrow some dry clothes, but once the rain is done you’re out, understood?” Steve sounds so certain of that.

“Sure thing, princess.”

Steve exhales hard enough for Billy to hear it, and is that a slight blush to his cheeks? Or anger at the pet name?

“Come on.”

Harrington’s bedroom is surprisingly barren in comparison to the rest of the house; nothing on the walls besides that shit ass ugly wallpaper, a few pieces of furniture around the room, curtains, and lamps. Billy’s room is a cluttered mess in comparison, but at least his got personality, and this is more like a showroom at a furniture store.

“I’m sure I got something that will fit you…” Steve starts rummaging through the dresser, and as his back is turned to Billy, the blonde starts undressing.

All of it.

And when Harrington turns around, there’s just a gentle gasp from open lips as his eyes seem to be guided like a magnet down to Billy’s limp dick. For whatever reason, Billy gets a kick out of the stare, feeling heat shoot through him to his groin.

“Billy…”

“What?” He grins wickedly. “See something you like?”

Steve looks away, but being naked in the pretty boy's bedroom, it excites Billy beyond belief, beyond understanding. Beyond common sense.

So he takes a step forward, just a small one to test the sudden tension between them. Steve tries to take a step back, but bumps against the dresser behind him.

As much as his heart is beating him into a weak pulp, Billy can’t stop walking closer after that initial tentative step. And he plans to continue till Steve says or does something to stop him. But he doesn’t, so the blonde winds up with his feet next to the other’s, too close perhaps, as he can smell Steve’s body soap and hear his elevated breathing.

They’ve been quiet for too long, so Billy says, “Steve, look at me.”

Without blinking Steve turns his head to look straight into ocean blue eyes, and their noses early touch. He looks concerned.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy, huh?” Billy whispers in a teasing way, almost sensual without intending to be, but the nearness makes it seem like something it might not be. “You wanna punch me, don’t you? Start a fight?” Billy gazes down at Steve’s plump lips, then back up to meet his stare. “Come on then, do it. Hit me. Show me with your fists how much you hate me.”

And for a second time tonight, Steve touches Billy in an unexpected way, as his mouth gently and experimentally presses a kiss against Billy’s.

Who’s stunned. Such a tender act, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and two thoughts cause war in his head.

Kiss him back, or punch him.

The kiss wins.

But his hands don't stay idle either, as they grab the collar of Steve’s polo shirt and pull him into a far more ravenous kiss than what the brunette offered before. And it does things to Billy that he’s unsure of why it does. He’s confused, angry, furious in fact, but also undoubtedly and impossibly turned on. Never before has he gotten so hard so fast.

And when Steve grabs him by the hips he moans into their brutish kisses. It’s almost as if he can’t think any further past this moment, and yet his hands act by pulling at Harrington’s shirt till Steve takes it off. While his hands are off Billy, they go down to undo his belt and loosen the button on his jeans before the zipper runs free.

With his hands back on tan skin, he softly pushes as he guides Billy backwards and onto the bed, where they both fall together and bounce around a little with slight chuckles.

Billy can’t remember when he last laughed in earnest.

But he doesn’t linger in that moment, instead he crawls back till he meets the headboard and a couple of pillows. Then he spreads his legs for Steve, who places himself between Billy’s thighs and leans down to kiss and nibble across his waxed clean chest. The blonde moans when a tongue finds its way to a nipple, and the tip plays with the sensitive bud, hardening it before lips close around it to suck, and Billy’s sounds grow even more elated.

There are no real words uttered past hoarse curses and yes’s, yet Steve seems to understand what Billy wants as he reaches for a drawer in the side table, and brings out a bottle of lube.

The lid comes off with a clear pop, and the clear fluid pours over three of Steve’s digits. But he pauses, both of them out of breath and silent as the cold lube runs down Steve’s hand and drips onto Billy’s chest. Their eyes then meet, and he can tell that Harrington is searching for approval.

Billy’s heart is in overdrive, but so is his lusty need to feel the other inside of him, so he nods just the once, which proves to be enough for Steve to bring his hand down between them, between Billy’s thighs, between his buttocks and into his hole.

It’s not something he’s used to past a few trial runs with his own thick fingers, but Steve’s are thinner and longer, reaching deeper than Billy expected to, and it takes a moment to get used to the sensation.

And what an amazing sensation it is; Billy gets worried that the pure anticipation of getting fucked by Harrington’s cock might undo him too soon, but he resist the urge to touch himself and finish it all so quickly.

After a few thrusts he dares beg, “More.”

The thrill of a second finger makes him louder, more keen on expressing his incoherent thoughts, and when Steve continues to thrust ever so gently, Billy leaks onto his own stomach whilst gripping at the sheets.

Harrington simply stares starry eyed at the expressiveness of the blonde’s expressions of elation.

It doesn’t take long for Billy to need another finger. “Fuck, pretty boy, more…”

The stretch of the third hurts just a little bit, a slight burning sensation of his rim, but on the inside he feels like melting butter, easy and pliable in the brunette’s hands, a moaning, leaking mess of spectacular nerves coming looser and looser, til those three fingers aren’t enough anymore.

“Come on then, princess, give it all to me. Fuck me.”

It’s more uncomfortable being empty of Steve than it was getting fingered by him, but it gives Billy a moment to breathe without gasping and moaning as he watches Steve lather up his cock and guide it up to Billy’s expectant hole.

Slowly, inch by inch, he glides inside with the most tender of movements, and if Billy thought that Harrington’s fingers were long, reaching where he couldn’t himself, his prick goes past that, pushing in till Billy’s convinced it’ll fill him up completely.

It is breathtaking. 

“You okay?” Steve asks him softly once he’s completely inside of Billy.

He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine, princess.”

“Good… Good. I’m gonna start moving, just tell me if you want to stop.”

The blonde understands now why all those girls want Steve. He’s nice. Too nice maybe. Billy can’t stand looking at him, turns his head to the side and nods.

So Harrington starts, pulling out carefully before pushing in again, and Billy swears he’ll meet a swift end to this experience if he doesn’t hold back, for the feeling of getting fucked so gently is beyond excellent. Every motion, every inch, it consumes him with blinding and deafening lust, all of which he gives clear sound to by the way of moaning and gasping. 

Then Steve leans in to kiss his neck, somehow finding soft spots Billy didn’t know he had, and it helps in the worst way. 

Minutes pass this way, slow thrusts and kind kisses, so tender it might just ruin the war between the two for good, make Billy fall head first into growing a crush on Harrington, something he’s sure he doesn’t want, but doubt comes in with every near loving touch.

“Billy…” Steve mumbles and it sounds perfect coming from him.

So the blonde turns his head to meet those brown eyes gazing dearly down at him.

“Please, keep looking at me.”

Oh it brings forth buried feelings like it’s golden treasure that Billy has been trying to find for so long. Something he didn’t know he even could find within himself. So he looks at Steve as they go through this gentle time together. Billy didn’t think it possible that he and the brunette could be like this. Normally he’s so calculative, thoroughly thinking every word before saying them, practicing in the mirror for hours, but this all came so naturally once he was naked in Steve’s bedroom.

This is easier than hating and fighting him. This is it. Completeness.

“Faster,” he pleads.

And Steve complies, increasing the pace of his thrusts, and every time he bottoms out inside of Billy, the blonde calls out louder and louder, the heat in his gut building up till it engulfs him with fiery passion that can undoubtedly be heard all throughout the woods surrounding the mansion. 

“Billy, fuck!” Harrington hasn’t been completely quiet throughout, but now he’s becoming wilder with his voice, calling out the blonde’s name, telling him how amazing he feels, how incredible this is.

All the praise is what brings him to climax, his dick untouched by hands but rubbed between their stomachs proves to be enough friction, making him moan as his body tenses up and his cock empties out in the space between them.

“Don’t stop!” he calls out, riding the wave of ecstasy for a while longer than what masturbation brings him to. 

“I-I- ah!” Steve tries to speak, but is cut off as he too reaches the peak, which Billy can tell from the way his thrusts become erratic and his whole body shivers and trembles, then it stills, then collapses onto the blonde with his entire weight.

And Billy releases his grip on the sheets that he’s been choking out this entire time. Everything is peaceful and soft and he doesn’t want this moment to end, ever. 

Steve breathes out from exhaustion, and says, “How about a shower?”

Billy hopes that Steve can’t see the little secret smile he has when he responds with, “Sounds great.”

[uchihaharlot]

Heyooo, how are you, bro?

I hope your health is better now!

I have one innocent request.

"How would all Uchiha act if they finds out that you are self-harming?" (Mostly Madara pls😏)

I don't know if it's allowed topic... but yeah.

NSFW; TW self harm; minor mentions of injury; small prologue;

Before I go into this hc, I want to expressly tell anyone who reads this; whether we are mutuals or not. Whether you like my writing, like me or don’t or whatever.

My blog is a safe haven. You can openly message me, befriend me on discord (ask for my handle) or interact in the comments. If you feel like there are people who don’t care enough as they should. I just want to say that, I do. I don’t know who you are, what you’re doing. But I love you. Do not think for a single iota that your existence is merely coincidence, I’m not by any means a holier than thou individual and I’ve had my fair share of this isn’t worth living for: but trust me; it is and then some.

Madara:

Madara comes from an era where you put your best fist forward when things aren’t right. His level of resolve is steel cut and unwavering…but seeing you hurt yourself as an outlet, doesn’t sit well with Madara. And he’s into good old fashioned methods of healing…sorta. Expect to be tied up to his bed; not in the way you’d like either. For days he will keep you there, turning your body so you won’t get bed sores. Feeding you and letting you up to the toilet fa few times a day, and once at night if needed. All of this until you finally talk it out with him, and agree to find a better solution to figuring out how to express your feelings/pain. Insists on being around you every second of the day.

Obito:

I won’t lie, seeing you hurt yourself this way; it makes him cry. Do you want Obito to cry!? He’s inconsolable when you won’t even consider him as a vent source. And, while he won’t selfishly make it about him. He will openly admit most (ok all) of his faults in the hopes you would share your own. Whatever it is, Obito is sure that there are far better way to convey the message you want to share. Suffering in silence is only so fool proof.

Shisui:

No. No, no. No. Shisui one hundred percent won’t stand for it, and despite your protests of him almost catapulting himself off a cliff, he will tell you the error of his ways. Undoubtedly will make sure that you understand that even his own potential sacrifice would have been fruitless, and that you shouldn’t compare apples to oranges. And from there, Shisui will spend countless hours, days and nights proving to you just how sacred human life is. He inadvertently blames himself for some of this, you mentioning his almost demise opens old wounds and Shisui takes the opportunity for you both to grow and evolve. He wants to be a role model; not the reason you justify it.

Itachi:

In a way; he’s bereaved. This is highly unusual for you, and Itachi’s keen eyes (and new prescription glasses) catch a glimpse of your fresh wounds as he lightly snatches your arm. ‘Why would you do this?’ and ‘that’s not a logical reason to purposely harm yourself.’ Are a few of his stern words to you. Itachi is a no nonsense man, and he won’t tolerate you hurt yourself. If he was a true jerk, like he tricked many to believe for the longest time; he’d put you in Tsukuyomi and really give you something to think about. But instead, he inundated you day in and day out with his concern. Hoping that if you see one person who cares; you will eventually open up.

Sasuke:

Sasuke, traumatized by his older brother—not once but twice and more, lived in excruciating detail his own parents death, several times over. In the matter of three seconds; he understands your grief. Whatever you might be going through, I think when it comes to seeing other people suffering—especially as adult Sasuke, he can’t cope with it, and rarely did for himself. Which is sort of mkes him the besy person for this. He also doesn’t mince words and tells you straight out that you’re only causing yourself more harm in the long run. His method of cut and dry reality checks come in waves, when you think he’s not watching you, he’s right there. Don’t under estimate his capabilities. You’re on his radar and Sasuke won’t hesitate to use his techniques to get you talking; the sooner you find the root cause of your problems. The better, take it from someone who let their pain fester until it boiled over, it’s not worth it.

[faela404]

i saw your requests were open, and i really liked your dazai with a sibling piece so i offer you this, pm dazai with a little sibling? i wonder what he’d act like

ahhh i’m glad you liked it! i added tachihara, i hope that’s okay! <3

pm! dazai & tachihara x gn! younger sibling! reader (platonic !)

☆ checkmate ☆

☆ pm! osamu dazai ☆

☆ honestly, dazai would be more of a distant yet still protective older brother

☆ he wouldn’t go out of his way to make sure you two have a good relationship, in fact he’d push you away

☆ while you two wouldn’t have much communication with each other, you’d still feel safe telling him about any problems in your life

☆ in fact there was one time, a few months before dazai parted from the port mafia, you had just started college/ university

☆ your roommates have all been pretty cool aside from one, he acts extremely inappropriately towards you and no matter what he won’t stop

☆ so in need of a chance to rant about this to someone, you text your brother

☆ you don’t expect much of a response from him, if any at all

☆ and you really don’t get much, just a simple “that sucks” or “i’m busy y/n tell me about it later” (though he still wouldn’t listen later)

☆ your just happy to have finally got it off of your chest

☆ what a coincidence though, only a day later the guy apologises and doesn’t even look at you again!

☆ why does he look so scared though? and oh! is that a bruise around his throat?? it almost looks like someone strangled him.. how peculiar

☆ all in all, pm! dazai wouldn’t be the best when it comes to communication but, he does care and would do anything for you

☆ tachihara michizō ☆

☆ tachihara would definitely want to be a part of your life, in fact he’d probably be more of your best friend than your brother!

☆ he’d come over whenever he could to check on you, whether it be in the morning before he goes to work, or the middle of the night after a particularly hard mission

☆ he just wants to make sure you’re safe, he knows that with his line of work he’s bound to make enemies with some really dangerous people, people who could easily target you to get to him

☆ so because of this he will run background checks on anyone in your life, friends, classmates, partners, the people you walk past on the street, you name them and he can tell you everything about them and their life

☆ he just wants to make sure you’re being as safe as possible, it’s the most important thing to him

☆ luckily no one has targeted you yet, he’s done a pretty damn good job at making sure no one even knows you exist

☆ however, these extensive background checks do come in handy when someone in your life does try to hurt you

☆ recently you had been getting harassed by this shop vendor on your way to the gym in the morning, at first you thought she was being friendly but, over time the comments she made to you started getting way out of hand

☆ she’d make lewd comments about your body or refer to you as “baby” or “darling” it was starting to make you extremely uncomfortable

☆ one day tachihara had come to check on you in the morning like usual, however he had caught you right before you was about to go to the gym so he figured, “hey i’ll walk ya! it’ll be nice”

☆ so thats what he did, he began walking you to the gym, you had hoped that since tachihara was with you, she wouldn’t say anything today

☆ you was completely wrong

☆ she continued her verbal harassment right infront of tachihara

☆ saying he was pissed would be an understatement

☆ i don’t know just how much she appreciated having her entire life story read back to her by a man she didn’t know

☆ but it didnt matter, because after that moment, she never spoke to you again, in fact she had moved her stall to a whole different street

☆ tachihara is definitely a protective brother but, it’s very much appreciated in those kinda moments

a/n - ahhh this was fun! thanks for the request! i was gonna add chuuya too but tbh i couldn’t think of him as an older brother yk-

anyway i hope you enjoyed this and remember to take care of yourself! <3

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter three: this doesn’t feel right | read chapter two

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 6.6k

━ warnings: robbery, gun gets pulled but nothing happens, brief mention of blood, basically canon-typical violence

━ masterlist

━ a/n: decided to include the last minute scene i wrote between tim and steph, specifically the one at the very end. fair warning, we shift to steph’s pov! also my first time writing for a canon chatacter so be gentle <3

“How’ve things been?”

“Like you don’t know.”

Red Robin, you think, sure has the gall to look as smug as he does right now.

After all, it’s not as if he had a point to prove to you. You very specifically told him he didn’t and that you didn’t care what he did regardless of whether he took your advice or not. 

Despite the look on his face, he manages to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” you say, a little bit more accusingly than you mean to, following him as he ventures to the candy aisle. 

“Alright,” he concedes, not looking at you as he bends forward to peer at the display of gummy candy. “But just so you know, it ended up taking a life of its own. You’ve made a solid impression so far.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. The list of places we can visit like this without having the cops called or worse is very short.”

“But that perception works.”

“Well, sometimes it’s less about fear and more about plain disapproval. Which also does its own job but… tiring, sometimes.”

That… makes sense. The Flash can walk down the street in Keystone and Central without anyone getting all up in arms about it. These guys can’t. 

“But it’s necessary, no?” Just curiosity. Not agreeing, exactly. 

Red Robin takes two packs of sour gummy worms and straightens, turning away from you to head to the refrigerators at the back. “Doesn’t change the fact that we can find it a little bit tiring. Makes you wonder if you can strike a balance, but in the end, it’s nothing more than an ideal. Fear rules best.”

“I’m sure.”

“Civilian, remember?”

“Yeah, well, this civilian gets to pass judgment since I’m a citizen of this city just like you guys are.” 

Seems like they forget that sometimes. Or Batman does. You’ve heard whispers of metas who found out they had powers and attempted to use them for good. Only to be sharply turned away by Batman. 

There is something to be said about ensuring not just anybody goes out and does what they do, lest they get themselves and others killed, but the impression you’ve gotten is that he doesn’t allow metas in the city. No matter their experience or skill level. The only exception to the rule, so far, is Signal. 

You don’t know. When you were younger, they seemed cool. As you got older, that changed. How could you trust them? How could anyone know if they were trying to do good or if they were just enacting their own convoluted brand of justice? Red Hood’s existence several years ago proved that to you and all the others. 

Even if he was trying to set himself apart from Batman or whatever, the fact remains that everyone in East End, in Park Row, in the Narrows, in the Bowery, feared that they might be next. Didn’t matter if you were innocent or not because one’s definition of innocent differed sharply from his—from theirs. And when you were desperate like most people there were, that changed everything, too. 

Sure, the GCPD is corrupt and so is the justice system and the government and practically every institution in this city, in this country, but… you just don’t know. 

So, maybe he does have a point to prove to you.

Maybe they all do. 

“Well, look,” he starts, surprising you as he turns with two bottles of Zesti in hand. “If you want us to stop coming around, we will. No harm done.”

Fine.

Fine.

Maybe you’ll regret the decision but… it does make them all the more tangible to you. 

“It’s fine. Keep coming around. Might discourage anyone from trying their luck and it keeps my shifts interesting.”

“And it’s all about you, is it?”

“If not, find another Circle K to haunt.”

He laughs. The sound is familiar but nice, in a way. Comforting almost. It’s then you shake your head and turn away sharply, trying to push the feeling away.

There’s that, too. Maybe if you can keep Red Robin coming around long enough, you’ll figure out what exactly it is about him that bothers you, that niggles at you.

It should help take your mind off things. Like your growing concern about Tim’s lack of contact with you. You and Steph have hung out twice since she came back and both times he said he was busy. It shouldn’t be something that bothers you, but the fact that your attempt a few days ago to hang out with him alone for ice cream was also shot down with that same excuse. And of course, his sparse replies to your texts.

But he did reply eventually. Just some agreement about what you said about Signal. Didn’t exactly carry the conversation much further but at least he replied, right? Same goes for the shared group chat between you, him, and Steph.

You haven’t spoken to her about it, either, but you don’t want to.

It’s—complicated.

That’s just what your life feels like these days.

Complicated.

Red Robin keeps coming around.

The others come around, too. You don’t see much of Signal working the night shift but you do see Black Bat again. Even Spoiler, though she keeps her distance for a reason you can’t understand. Not to say she is mean or anything. She just waves at you but she never says much else. You’ll hear her and Black Bat talking quietly, though the words themselves are lost on you no matter how hard you strain your ears.

You keep worrying about Tim, of course, and hanging out with Steph, who squeezes in time to see you in between her internship with social services. 

For a while, things are calm. The vigilantes who pop up grow increasingly familiar and any wariness evaporates. 

Then you get a new face.

The guy walking around the store in the oversized grey hoodie is doing a bad job at robbing you, you think.

Well, he hasn’t actually robbed you. But his hand stays in the pocket of his hoodie, clearly grasping something as he makes a couple circuits around the store. Either scoping it out to see if there is anyone else to worry about or trying to work himself up to it. You think it’s the latter, with how nervous and sweaty he looks. 

Mostly, it’s for your own nerves to think that. 

It’s been a hot minute since the store was robbed and you were held at gunpoint (or knifepoint). You aren’t explicitly allowed to trigger the silent alarm until either of those things make an appearance, so even with the bad feeling in your gut, you can’t yet do anything. 

You are close, though. So very close. 

But you don’t have to wait any longer as he rounds the corner and pulls out the gun. 

Oh, great.

Before he can say anything, before you can say or do something, the door swings open.

When you both look, there is nothing there.

You wince at the rush of hot smelly air from the outside.

“Who—who’s there?!” he yells, then swings the gun back to you. “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything—”

The arrow comes out of nowhere. 

One blink and it’s embedded in his hand, the same hand holding—previously holding—the gun. You flinch as the weapon clatters sharply to the ground, your stomach churning at the sight of the arrow embedded in his hand, blood dripping; he yells in pain, dropping to his knees. 

Then comes the owner of the arrow.

Dressed in black and dark shades of purple, the Huntress is a sight to behold. Her boots are soundless on the tiles. She looks… bored as she talks to someone. Some kind of comm, you guess. 

“Yeah, I know, I’m on my way back, I’m picking up coffee. From the—yeah. So he’s gotten to you, too? Figures. What’s the sound—? Oh, just some idiot trying to rob the store. Yeah, go ahead and call the cops.”

You stare, heart beating so quickly you feel a little dizzy, as she knocks the guy out, leaving him to slump on the ground. She kicks the gun further away from him for good measure.

Finally, she looks at you. 

The Huntress, a figure you’ve only seen in the newspaper or articles online, mostly grainy pictures, is very pretty up close. Shoulder-length dark hair, olive skin, lips painted a deep, pretty shade of purple, and sharp blue eyes, easily revealed through her mask. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, watching you carefully.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer. “Thank you.”

A slight shrug. “All in a day’s work. Coffee?”

“Um. Over there.”

“Thanks.” 

You watch, befuddled, as the Huntress steps over the body of the now-unconscious robber and strides to the coffee machine, entirely unbothered as she grabs three cups. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how you take your coffee, O. Give me some credit. Is Cat coming by? No? Alright, just you and BC, then.” 

As the machine sputters out coffee, she comes back over to you. “Do you have any drink carriers?”

“Yeah, they’re over there.”

You point them out, on the other side of the Slurpee machine, and she nods her thanks, grabbing one. 

She returns to the counter a couple minutes later. 

“So, um,” you start, clearing your throat. “Is there anything in particular I should say to the police about this?”

She tilts her head, confused for a moment, before realizing what you mean.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You can say it was me. They’ll want to see the footage, too. Let them.” She pauses, giving you an appraising look. “Is there anyone you would like me to call?”

“Call?” you ask, confused as you ring up the coffees.

She fiddles with a pouch in her utility belt without taking her eyes off you, pulling out a ten dollar bill.

“Red Robin?”

“Red—no. No, I don’t think… I’m fine, I mean.” 

Huntress nods and lets it go, accepting her change. 

“The cops’ll be here in a few,” she says. “I’ll be around until then, so don’t worry.”

 “Thank you, again.”

She gives you the smallest of smiles. “Like I said. All in a day’s—night’s—work.”

You watch her go, one part of you not wanting her to leave, but the other assuaged by her promise to hang around and make sure nothing and nobody bothers you again.

The police arrive a little while after that. By the arrow in the man’s hand, they already know who saved you, but they still demand to see the footage.

“So, it was the Huntress?”

“Yes.”

“Has she ever come by?” 

“No.”

“Have you ever interacted with her anywhere else?”

You pause, barely stopping yourself from narrowing your eyes, because you do not like the accusatory tone this cop is giving you. What did he say his name was? Bullock or something. 

You send a silent apology to Sandra Bullock for having to share her last name with this idiot.

“Well?” he asks, burning cigarette hanging from his lips, arms crossed. The smell of tobacco is nauseating this close. What’s worse is you’re outside while the other guys handle things inside. Even at one in the morning, the heat edges on unbearable and the humidity is even worse, making your skin tacky with it. 

“No,” you say, a tiny bit exasperated. “I have never interacted with her before this. Why would I want to?”

“You were talking to her.”

“She was talking to me. Asked me if I was okay.” 

Unlike any of these assholes who blew in here, sirens wailing, and made you put your hands up as they came in, guns brandished, even though the guy was obviously down for the count. Honestly, they scare you more than the shooter. At least in that moment. These guys can be real trigger-happy.

Now, they’re just a pain in your ass.

You need a Slurpee, you think. No, deserve one. For your troubles.

“It’s cut-and-dry, Harv,” the other detective, Montoya, puts in, having stepped away. She sends you a sympathetic look that just annoys you even more. “Got some calls from a few other convenience stores for suspicious activity. They saw this guy, too, but he always left before doing anything. Guess he finally worked up the nerve to do it here but it didn’t work out well in his favor.”

Bullock grunts. “You run her ID?”

Oh, for the love of—

“She’s clear. We’re good.”

Behind you, two EMTs haul the still-unconscious robber out and into the ambulance, which promptly leaves; a cop with gloves on steps out, the gun in a baggie. 

Montoya asks you a few more questions, obviously trying to make up for Bullock’s brusque manner of speaking, but it’s a futile effort. You still cooperate, however, as politely as you can with the annoyance still burning inside you and this damnable heat. 

Eventually, they leave, called away to some other incident, cars peeling away from the curb, blue-and-red lights flashing, sirens wailing. 

You watch them go, allowing your scowl to come out full-force, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Bullock’s always like that. It’s not personal.”

“Jesus,” you hiss, heart pounding as you whirl around; it takes a moment for your eyes to pick out Red Robin leaned against the brick apartment building next to the store, his figure mostly cloaked in shadows.

He steps into the light. Despite the nonchalant tone of his previous words, he looks, dare you say, worried.

“Just coming around?”

“No. I heard what happened. Wanted to come and see how you were.”

“Annoyed. And hot. And tired. Come on, let’s go inside. The AC isn’t that great but it’s better than this.”

Red Robin follows you in. You click your tongue upon finding the blood from the guy’s hand still on the tile. So, now you have to clean that, too, on top of the paperwork you have to fill out for the incident. Great.

You jump at the nudge of a knuckle between your shoulder blades. “What—”

“I can clean it up.”

“No, that’s—”

“Let me do it. I have more experience cleaning blood than you.”

“Charming,” you mutter. “But alright, fine. Thanks.”

“Cleaning supplies?”

“First aisle.”

A nod and he turns, cape fluttering behind him.

You rub your forehead, feeling a headache start to form, and continue for the Slurpee machine at the other end of the store. 

A few minutes later, Red Robin joins you, wiping his gloved hands with what looks and smells to be antiseptic pads. 

“Good as new,” he tells you, reaching for a Slurpee cup, too, as you sip at yours. “Like nothing ever happened.”

You sigh. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“So,” he starts, holding the cup beneath the tube for… the Zesti Cola flavor? What a complete weirdo. 

“Are you—” he stops when he looks at you. “You’re judging me.”

“Who comes in to get a Cola-flavored Slurpee? That’s weird. You might as well just get a bottle of it.”

“Woah. It’s so not the same thing. If there was a drink form of, what do you get? Blue raspberry? Yeah. If there was a drink form of that, would you do that instead? A Slurpee is about the consistency. The slushy factor.”

Okay, that’s fair, but something about everything he just said makes you laugh. Hard.

Maybe the heat is getting to you. Maybe it’s the hysteria setting in. Maybe it’s Red Robin passionately defending his choice in Slurpee flavor and saying shit like ‘The slushy factor’ with a straight face. You don’t know. 

“You’re finally losing it, aren’t you?” Despite his words, Red Robin looks almost relieved. He really was worried, you surmise, which is a… touching thought.

You quell your giggles, shaking your head; though the laughter was nice, your head is really pounding now.

“Here,” he says, digging through a pouch at his utility belt, pulling out a mini packet of… huh. Tylenol.

“Tampered?” you ask, taking it from him, anyway.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.”

“Again. Charming.” But it still doesn’t change the thoughtfulness of the action; he doesn’t have to. If anything, this stuff is probably best kept for him. Though with their proclivity for putting their lives in danger, you don’t imagine Tylenol would be particularly helpful against gunshot wounds, but still…

“Thanks,” you say, a little quieter now, more meaning in your voice as you tear it open and shake out two pills.

Red Robin shakes his head. “It’s the least I can do.”

You can tell he means it. Which is, again, both touching and maybe a little bit confusing, too.

But trying to decipher why he does what he does is a futile effort.

This is, after all, the same guy who dresses up and goes out fighting the worst of the worst night after night.

Best not to look too closely. Who knows what you might find.

Despite your best efforts, Steph finds out about what happened. Something about the newspaper, which is odd, because you don’t recall seeing the news there—honestly, much more crazy shit happens overnight in Gotham. Robberies are old news.

But either way, you can’t complain too much because you are appreciative of her coddling the next day, which includes, but is not limited to, ordering takeout, burrowing on your crappy couch together, and watching old 2000s movies.

The only thing missing is—

“He said he was busy but he sent me the money for takeout. To make up for it.”

You purse your lips but don’t say anything. That you don’t want his money. You just want—

Nothing.

“We don’t need him,” Steph says determinedly in the next second. Which is a departure from what she usually says—that you’ll see Tim eventually, that his work at WE will let up. You don’t have the energy to ponder why.

You sigh, sinking further into the couch. Steph is warm next to you. You can smell her shampoo. Jasmine.

“I guess not,” you concede in a mumble.

You can’t do anything but concede. After all, it’s your initial avoidance of him at the start of June that caused this, right? And he keeps dodging your calls, your requests to hang out—points in which you might’ve been able to clear the air, apologize for it, but… no.

It’s not like you could track him down. You know the apartments he lives in—down in Old Gotham, in a much more expensive building than your shitty one here in Coventry. But sometimes he spends time at the manor, too, up in Bristol and you can’t ambush him there. You couldn’t. That would be too much. Right?

Trying to find him at WE is a lost cause, too. Not just because they have three given locations throughout the city but because you wouldn’t know if he was in or not.

Or maybe you’re just looking for the easy way out.

Complicated.

Why does it have to be so complicated?

“You look tired.”

“Thank you, Red, because that’s what every girl loves to hear.”

“Just a simple observation,” he responds, leaning against the counter, eating a kolach. Your Slurpee cups sweat in the mid-June heat, creating rings of condensation on the scuffed and scratched counter. You watch a droplet slowly roll down, joining the ring of water.

Your eyelids are heavy, dragging with each blink. A dull headache reminds you of your restless sleep and you’re sure the bags under your eyes tell it to the world, too. To Red Robin, specifically.

He finishes his kolach, crumpling the wrapper in one hand, looking steadily at you all the while.

“What?”

“Is it because of what happened last week?” he asks and his voice is frightfully gentle in a way you are not emotionally prepared to deal with.

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s not that.”

The occasional nightmare bothers you but that’s normal. You can deal with that.

“Then?”

You shake your head. God, you are exhausted. You fold your arms on the counter and bury your face there.

It’s quiet for a minute.

The refrigerators hum at the back. The AC makes an odd clanging noise before it turns on. Somewhere outside, a dog barks.

“I’m a good listener,” Red hedges after a minute. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“It’s stupid,” you say, voice muffled.

“Why?”

“Because it’s, like, stupid twenty-year-old drama and not, I dunno, the latest rumors on drug trades.”

Red laughs. It’s a pleasant sound that makes something inside you unwind.

“You should be relieved to hear I am up to date on the latest rumors on drug trades. And also, believe it or not, I do like to talk about things other than crime.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

A soft chuckle. It sounds almost affectionate.

“Come on. Whatever it is, it’s making you lose sleep. That’s not good.”

“Losing some sleep isn’t the end of the world.”

“I don’t know. Feels like it might be for you.”

You grunt, an old memory from Keystone niggling at you. You set it aside for the moment.

“It’s nothing,” you say eventually. “It’s just—nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” he remarks. “But if you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s cool, too. If you ever do—”

“Dr. Red, to the rescue.”

He laughs. “Well, I’m not a licensed therapist and I can’t promise my advice is sound, either, so…”

“Don’t sue you?”

“Like you even could. But still, I’m here.”

You want to ask why but that might be too much for you right now.

You let yourself settle with some generic explanation, that he is obligated to ask that as a vigilante, as someone who is generally supposed to be concerned with the wellbeing of the citizens of this city. And also he is trying to prove some kind of point, so this is part of that. 

“So,” you quickly say to change the topic. “What are the latest rumors on the drug trade?”

He laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You look tired.”

“Thank you, Flash, that’s exactly what I’d like to hear.”

 “Just a simple observation,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Well, rest assured, I have Tim and Steph on my case about it. They’ve both demanded a video call with me tomorrow despite me telling them I am alive and well. Apparently, just saying I’m alive isn’t reassuring. Can’t imagine why. That’s more than enough in Gotham…”

Mother hens, the both of them.

And Flash, too, apparently, though he does a better job of covering it up.

Off near the coffee machine, a melodic hum of Dancing in the Dark, the song currently playing lowly overhead, reaches you. You tune into it, the sound lulling you, both because it’s pleasant and because the song makes you think of Tim and his love for Bruce Springsteen (largely in honor of his late father, Jack Drake). Because of that, you totally miss Flash’s next words.

“—here? Oh, Jesus, Piper! Stop humming. You’re distracting her.”

“Oh, sorry!” comes the apologetic and still melodic voice of the Pied Piper. More normal now, though, letting you shake your head and focus again. Piper comes around the aisle, a big cup of coffee in hand; he gives you a handsome and apologetic smile that you wave off.

“It’s fine—what were you saying, Flash?”

He wiggles his fingers at you. “I’m just curious about those two, that’s all, since they seem very worried about you, oh, practically all the time. Not that it’s unwarranted, of course.”

“I’m fine, Flash.”

He gives you a look. “I don’t believe that but seems like they got it covered so, I’ll let it go. I’m still curious about them, though. What are we talking here? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Both boyfriend and girlfriend? That’s cool, I don’t judge.”

“Are you—what? In regards to who?”

“You, obviously.”

You shake your head quickly. “No. No, absolutely not. Tim and Steph dated when they were teens, they’re exes. That’s weird.”

A bit of an uncomfortable discussion, too, if only because you are… too aware of your own attraction to Tim. A different kind of attraction. One that has you constantly admiring him. Or had you, back when you were in Gotham. With Steph, you know she is stupidly pretty but it doesn’t fluster you.

It's… nothing.

(It has to be nothing.)

“Feelings are a natural part of life, kiddo! Nothing weird about it. Have they been weird about it?”

“We’ve never even discussed the remote possibility of me dating either of them—because that would never happen in a million years.”

“Well, if they’re friends, then it shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t get many exes who can stay friends after a breakup. Right, Pipes?”

“It’s true,” he says easily, and, hold on a fucking minute, is… is the Flash implying that he and Piper dated?

“Yes, we did,” Flash answers and oh, you said that out loud, and this is… a bit of Flash lore that you aren’t sure you ever needed to know.

But still. He continues, shooting a grin at Piper. “And we’re still great friends! Me, him, and my wife!”

“Wife?” you choke out.

Great. More lore.

Piper rolls his eyes. “Flash.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean to give that away but it’s fine, we can trust her. She’s a friend.”

The words would be sweet if you still weren’t compartmentalizing the fact that he is actually married and… apparently dated the Pied Piper at one point. The Pied Piper who used to be part of the Flash’s rogue gallery, then reformed. Huh.

“You—” you point at him for good measure “—have a wife? Someone actually married you?”

Piper bursts out laughing. It’s a pleasant sound you could get lost in… No! Focus.

Flash looks affronted. “I’ll have you know I am excellent husband material!”

Piper, still chuckling, looks at you and gives a small shrug. “It is true. The superhero community isn’t very ripe with it, for reasons I’m sure you can figure out, so, Flash is a bit of a standout in that area.”

“Because the bar is low.”

“Not true,” Flash interjects. “Superman is married. You know how hard it is to compete with Superman? It’s hard. But I manage it. We’re nearly neck-and-neck in terms of husband material, I’d say.”

He ignores Piper’s snort of laughter and leans in conspiratorially. “But you know who isn’t married? Batman. He’s not husband material. He’s not even boyfriend material.”

You look at Piper, who shrugs. “Never met the guy, thankfully, but from what I’ve heard from Flash, I have to agree. The tall, dark, and broody thing can be attractive but—”

“He’s just a sourpuss,” Flash finishes. “No sense of whimsy whatsoever.”

“Oh, and you have that?”

Piper laughs as Flash sputters. “I can have fun! Why do you think I hang around you?”

You laugh. “That’s… Alright. Fine.”

Flash cocks his head suddenly, no doubt listening to the police frequency he tunes into. Piper fishes out a twenty for everything and tells you to keep the change. In the next moment, the both of them are gone, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind and arcing blue lightning that makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

Okay, then.

Your video call is the next day—Saturday—and it goes as well as you think it will.

“You look like shit.”

Steph is more blunt about it, but the sight of Tim’s grimacing face on your laptop screen shows he very much agrees.

“Thank you, my dear friends, it is lovely to see you, too, yes, I’m doing quite well, thank you. And you?”

“Okay, fair,” Tim says, holding up a hand, “but don’t lie and saying you’re doing ‘quite well.’ Someone doing ‘quite well’ doesn’t look as exhausted as you look.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And you wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Or boyfriend,” Steph tacks on immediately, not one to miss an opportunity to tag him. 

He rolls his eyes. You shuffle around, freshly showered, looking around for your lotion, then remember it’s in the bathroom.

“Give me a sec,” you say to them, heading over to it.

The audio of the video call feeds out from the speakers of your laptop, so you can easily hear their next conversation.

“It’s so hard, isn’t it?” Steph asks

“What is?” comes Tim’s confused question.

“The urge to resist wiring her money. It’s written all over your face, duckie.”

“Like you don’t want to, either,” he shoots back.

A pause.

“Maybe we can—"

“I can hear you!” you call as you go back to your desk, bottle of lotion in hand. They look a tad sheepish as you settle in your chair. “And look, fine, I won’t say to a couple bucks—"

“Define a couple bucks,” Tim says.

“Max twenty—for dinner—” as soon as you say that, they’re both scrambling for their phones. You grimace. “Guys, come on, it’s not that bad.”

Tim gives you a concerned look. “Even your bags have bags.”

You blink. “Did you just… quote Spongebob?”

Steph grins in the other frame. “He’s finally cultured.”

Then they both return their focus to their phones.

A second later, yours chimes with notifications from Cashapp, twenty dollars from each of them.

“Guys… everything is fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Steph says stubbornly. “But that’s fine. You know you can rely on us, right? We’re friends. That’s what friends do. I know Timothy over here doesn’t always set the greatest examples for it—”

“Thanks, Steph.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies without missing a beat. “Anyway, let us help.”

“You’re already helping,” you soothe. “So, it’s okay. This semester is going to be tough but it’ll be worth it. And after this, it’ll be easier, okay? You guys are here now—”

“Not in a way that really matters,” Tim mutters.

“Which is not an invitation to come over here,” you warn—him, mostly. Steph would go along with it but he’d be the instigator.

They both pout.

You smile. Sometimes, it’s hard to handle the fact that you have friends like this. Friends who care so deeply, who love you so much, it feels hard to breathe. Because you know you love them just as much.

“I love you guys,” you say next, because you have to say it, they have to know; it’s hard for you, sometimes, just because it scares you, but after everything, you know how important it is for the people you love to know you love them.

They soften, echoing the words, and that’s enough for you.

Of course it is.

You don’t have much. No parents, no other family.

But you have them.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

A slow blink. “Updating Redbird’s security protocols?”

The garage of Tim’s townhouse smells sharply of oil and rubber. But he isn’t elbow-deep in the engine today, just seated off to the side, laptop perched on his lap and hooked up to its system. ‘Updating’ it. God knows why. The Redbird’s security protocols are just as stringent as the Batmobile’s.

Jason once regaled them with his plan, way back when, to blow it up. Bruce included. And how he went about it.

“It’s got safeguards like crazy, right? Even when it’s idle or shut down. Come up to it, fire a gun, launch a missile—doesn’t matter. Not gonna touch it before the security protocols kick in. It can sense you on thermal, air currents, video recognition, all of it.”

“So, how’d you get past it?”

“SEAL-grade wetsuit. Invisible to thermal with reflection fibers that play hell with video. But the biggest thing? Going slow. And I mean slow. Like five seconds per inch slow.”

The insane attention to detail and paranoia runs in the family, obviously.

Tim had sat in for that. Stephanie remembers the look on his face. Begrudging respect, combined with a familiar twitchiness that told her he was absolutely dying to run out and start updating his stuff.

Question everything. That’s what Bruce says.

Tim tries to separate himself from it. He really does. It gets tiring, exhausting, to live like that. But old habits die hard and his big brain precedes him sometimes. Wondering at the possibilities, at the million-in-one scenarios.

Ordinarily, Stephanie has more sympathy for him. Really. But right now, after your phone call about his little visit to Circle K…

She’s pissed.

“Don’t play dumb,” she says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“What is it that I’m playing dumb about?” he asks, averting his attention back to his laptop, keys clacking quickly, pausing momentarily as he takes a swig of Red Bull.

She tells him.

At the sound of your name, he stops.

But now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “Visiting her? As Red Robin? What are you thinking, Tim?”

The clack of keys resumes. The set of his gaze on the laptop screen is very intentional now. Avoiding her.

“It’s nothing, Steph,” he says and she almost believes it. But she knows him, so she doesn’t. “It’s harmless.”

“So, why won’t you hang out with us? Her? Because I assume you’re also avoiding her individually.”

A little sigh. Impatient. “I’m not avoiding her. I really was busy. Have been busy. You know how the heat messes with the city.”

It’s the excuse that bothers Stephanie.

Tim is making some kind of choice here. Choosing to favor Red Robin over himself, over Tim Drake, and it makes no sense. Red Robin isn’t your best friend. He isn’t even your favorite vigilante. (Black Canary is. She agrees, though it would be nice for Spoiler to get some spotlight but that is neither here nor there.)

You know who is your best friend? (One of them, anyway.)

Tim freakin’ Drake.

Stephanie knows why he’s avoiding you all of a sudden. The connection will be too easy to make. It’s why she—as Spoiler—keeps her distance. Tucks away her hair, hides her face even more, when she and Cass visit Circle K.

Even though! They had talked about telling you. Stephanie wanted to tell you so badly. You know who her father is. Was. You know how her mom used to be like. You know everything and you never once judged. You were, to be sure, a bit wary of them—the vigilantes—but most were. You wouldn’t turn them away if you knew.

If there is anything Stephanie knows, it is that.

But then she went away to Metropolis for a week and a half and suddenly, he’s visiting you as Red Robin. And he’s not trying to ease you into it, not trying to help you latch onto some clues, to make it easier—because they’d discussed that, too!—he’s doing it because… Well, she doesn’t really know. But there is a reason. She knows that much. A big reason.

It makes no sense to her, considering his feelings. Complicates things unnecessarily. Especially with how he’s avoiding you because of it, because he apparently got cold feet on telling you the truth.

And it’s the excuse… it’s the excuse that pisses her off.

Their relationship, back when they were kids, had some questionable origins. It did. Stephanie did things she wasn’t proud of. He did things he wasn’t proud of. It was messy. She tries not to kick herself about it—about being a silly girl in love, awed at the attention of a boy like Robin, knowing he was dating a girl (Ariana Dzerchenko, her name was, she would later find) and making moves on him despite that, moves that he always, always went along with. Like two magnets that couldn’t help but fall together.

Don’t get her wrong! The blame is not solely on her. It’s on him, too. She shouldn’t have pushed. He shouldn’t have went along with it, knowing he had a girlfriend, too. He shouldn’t have held his knowledge of her identity over her head the way he did. He isn’t mean-spirited at heart but he had an advantage over her. He knew she was Stephanie Brown. She knew him only as Robin and nothing else. Not until later on that would change and that… that was another mess entirely.

But they were dumb and young. Stephanie tries not to hold it against herself. They know better now. She knows better now. Knows what she deserves.

But this feels too close to him crossing that line.

No, he has crossed that line.

Given one persona up for another.

Approaching you as Red Robin, while you know nothing of him, and doing god knows what…

Someone is going to get hurt.

Last time, it was him. The circumstances, Bruce’s unceremonious reveal of his identity to her—a mistake, an egregious overstep—it all culminated in Tim feeling betrayed. Betrayed that Bruce would reveal that to her without Tim’s say so, without even asking him if he was okay with her knowing. Betrayed that Stephanie went along with it.

This time?

Stephanie feels it in her bones.

The person who is going to get hurt is you.

You, clueless about these lives they lead, clueless as Tim monopolizes your time as Red Robin, all the while you have no idea it’s him. You, her best friend. Stephanie loves you to the end of the universe.

She doesn’t want to see you hurt.

The mere thought of it, of the potential fallout, leaves a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Steph. Steph, it’s fine.”

She blinks, coming back to herself. Tim is standing in front of her now, dark brows knitted together, blue eyes intent on her face. Concerned.

“You’re lying to her.”

“We’ve been lying to her.”

“Not like this,” she says quietly. “Not this way. You’re… This is too much, Tim. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he says. For what it’s worth, to anyone else, it sounds believable. But like she said. Stephanie knows him. For better or for worse.

And on that end, she also knows he is not going to budge. No matter how much Stephanie wants to drill this into him, grab him by the shoulders and make her point. Once he’s made a decision, he commits.

Or more like he’s dug himself into this grave and he doesn’t (can’t?) want to get out.

“This is a mistake,” she says. “And you know it. I just hope you actually try to fix it sooner rather than later. Because if you break her heart, I’m going to break something of yours.”

Stephanie loves Tim. He’s a great friend. They’ve had their ups and downs—even discounting their relationship—but they’re solid. They are.

But she loves you, too. So much so it sometimes feels like she’s going to burst with it. She’s never had something like that, like this, and in the end, she doesn’t want to choose, but Tim knows better. And because he knows better, you are her first priority.

Even worse, he doesn’t seem bothered by the threat. Relieved, if anything.

“I’m counting on it, Steph.”

Which is so unfair in so many ways (fix it, she wants to yell, don’t rely on me to come clean up when shit hits the fan—do it yourself!) but she’s had enough of this conversation and all the ways this can go wrong.

Maybe he will turn around. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But she doesn’t think so. He won’t. Not until the consequences of this, of his lies, of his excuses, come hit him in the face.

She wishes it weren’t like that—knowing what it will result in.

But some things you just can’t change.

She knows better with Tim.

She really, really does.

reblogs are appreciated!

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[silverwhittlingknife]

Hi! Thoughts on Dick and Tim during Murderer/Fugitive, and their argument over whether Bruce killed Vesper?

(My interpretation was that to Dick, Robin means not only unwavering loyalty to Batman, but unwavering faith (“I’m dismayed that there can be a Robin who believes Batman could be guilty of murder”)— whereas to Tim it’s more about having faith in the symbol and the mission, not the person)

Tim (suspicious that Bruce has emotional blind spots and is about to get a case wrong): Nightwing. Channel Two. Go discreet. (Gotham Knights 1)

Dick: I don't - I don't see how you can say that and still wear that uniform... Tim: The guy who gave it to me–the guy who wore it first–HE taught me never to back away from any possibility that might lead to the truth. And he still believes that… right? (Gotham Knights 26)

Ooh, look, it’s one of my favorite comics of all time. <33

Yeah!!  I think hmmm.  Both Dick and Tim are intensely loyal to Bruce and they both care about him a lot.  But they do think about their loyalty to him in very different ways.

Also tl;dr I am biased here but also I am right dsfsfs - although I do think that Tim's loyalty is kinda to the symbol, I also think a big part of the issue here is that Tim's more unambiguous personal faith is given to Dick, not to Bruce. When Dick says, How can you wear that uniform and not have faith in Bruce, Tim answers, essentially, I wear this uniform because I have faith in you. Which is not what Dick wants to hear!

I had SO MANY THOUGHTS about this, so below the cut:

Dick and Bruce and the importance of faith

Tim and Bruce and the importance of doubt

More rambling Dick-and-Tim-and-Bruce thoughts

Dick and Bruce and faith

Dick’s notion of loyalty is pretty firm: “It's no secret Batman and I have had our... issues. But I won't be involved in anything that hurts him.”  His connection to Bruce, from the very beginning, is all about their shared sense of mission: the oath in the candlelight. Dick’s got this intense loyalty that he feels he owes to Bruce, and he feels betrayed when it seems like Bruce isn’t reciprocating, because as far as Dick’s concerned they owe it to each other.

I think you owe me an explanation, Bruce. ... We were the Dynamic Duo, don’t you remember? / If Bruce Wayne doesn’t exist, who am I the son of? / I know you have to live through restraint. I understand how brevity is your moral compass. But why lie to me, of all people? Why would you lie to me. ME. ... I trust you more than anyone. / I've trusted Batman with my life since I was eight. / On top of everything, he's my father now, too... I want to hit people just for thinking bad thoughts about him.

Dick’s first experience of Bruce is fighting by his side.  He initially conceptualizes his role of Robin as about being steadfast partners to each other, and although he'll sometimes later recategorize it as a kid's role, that doesn't change the way he thinks of his own relationship to Bruce: partners, no matter what.

Dick fights with Bruce a lot - he'll pick a physical fight in this very arc! He's not afraid to stand up to Bruce! He wants to be independent and bristles when he feels bossed around or ignored or when Bruce is dismissive or doesn't listen or doesn't call on him for help! But paradoxically, he stands up to Bruce because he has faith in him. Dick respects Bruce enough to confront him and he expects Bruce to offer him the same respect in return. He'll pour out his heart to Bruce because despite everything, some part of him expects Bruce to have an answer, to step up, to be the person Dick's determined to believe he can be.

Tim and Bruce and doubt

By contrast, Tim initially interacts with Bruce like a detective stalking a criminal.  He collects newspaper reports. He follows Bruce and takes photos of him and gathers evidence to present to Dick. He goes to talk to Dick, not Bruce, about Bruce’s problems—and Tim will pretty consistently continue to talk about Bruce to Dick (or occasionally to Alfred), to work behind Bruce’s back, to be frank with Dick in ways that he’s not frank with Bruce.  Tim’s often at pains to insist that he does respect and care about Bruce, but one of the reasons he has to keep insisting this verbally is because his actions and assumptions suggest a lack of trust.

Tim’s first experience of Bruce is of someone who could be a knight or a monster, who needs help and intervention, who can be loved but not entirely trusted.  Someone who isn’t gonna be okay on his own; someone who needs saving and fixing; someone whose sense of himself can’t be entirely trusted or listened to.  Batman needs a Robin.  No matter what he thinks he wants.

In New Titans 71, Wolfman writes Dick musing about Tim as a Robin and how he’s different from Dick himself, and thinking, “He questions more.”  Much later, in Teen Titans/Outsiders, Kory will note the same difference.  Which is a funny thing to write given all Dick’s fights with Bruce—but I also think it’s a true insight!  Tim’s default is questioning.  Almost his entire tenure as Robin is spent as Bruce's apprentice, not his kid, and that affects his attitude a lot. He never takes his trust in Bruce for granted.  It’s carefully considered—and it could be revoked.  A part of Tim is always judging and measuring Bruce, deciding which qualities he thinks are admirable and which ones not so much, what's worrisome and what's not, analyzing whether Bruce is looking after his health or not, etc etc.

You have to promise me something. You'll listen to Alfred and at least call it a night and give yourself a chance to heal. / How many times are we going to have this conversation, Bruce? You died tonight. For almost two minutes you were dead. / Maybe Batman doesn't need to know about this. / He's a hard guy to get to know. / I have friends. He has... associates. / Bruce has been on the job the longest. It’s slowly driven him mad and eaten the human part right out of him. / My boss - my teacher is gone, gone as in fled, but also gone out of his head. And now he may be a murderer as well. / I think maybe Batman has gone crazy. / Don't like the risks he's taking. Don't like the way he spoke to me. I hope it's the concussion talking. I don't want to think his edge is coming back.

It’s not that Dick never worries about Bruce in this way.  He does!  In the arc right before Lonely Place of Dying, his inner monologue compares Bruce to an alcoholic. And IMO it’s strongly implied in Gotham Knights 26 (the Dick-and-Tim fight about Bruce maybe being a murderer) that one of the reasons Dick is so forceful and so upset by Tim’s suggestion is that he’s suppressing his own private doubts.  Tim’s dragging into the open something that Dick is refusing to look closely at.  Dick's faith is an act of will—if I’m going to be Bruce’s ally, then I can’t believe he’s capable of this.  I can’t allow myself to believe it.  And if I believe he’s capable of it, then I’m not acting as his ally anymore:

Dick: "I think it’s… admirable that you can continue serving a system in which you have so little faith. But I can’t. I can’t, Tim. I cannot believe that Batman is guilty of murder. I do not believe it, and I will not believe it. And I can’t stand with anyone who does."

You don't get this upset about somebody saying that the Earth is flat, you know? Dick's not laughing the accusation off; instead, he's drawing a hard line - I will not consider this. I refuse to go there. The topic is off-limits.

(In the same comic, you've got a similar fight going on between Alfred and Leslie with similar stakes - Alfred refusing to believe it but clearly harboring secret doubts, Leslie openly suspicious.)

General Dick-and-Tim-and-Bruce thoughts

Tim to friends: "I lie to Batman" (Teen Titans 3) Dick to Bruce: "But why lie to me, of all people? Why would you lie to me. ME." (Outsiders 21)

It’s always been Tim’s instinct to strategize around Bruce rather than with him. Tim will lie and circumvent Bruce’s orders, whereas Dick will disagree to his face.  Dick respects Bruce enough to give him his say and argue back, whereas Tim tends to think of Bruce as an admired-but-unstable figure who you sometimes listen to but sometimes plan around.

And I think you get the core of that in this arc!

Tim voices his concerns pretty frankly to Dick, but is way more circumspect in front of Bruce, because he doesn't entirely trust Bruce - Tim thinks "is Bruce stable and trustworthy" is "a decision that Dick and I will make in consultation with each other," not a decision that Bruce can make.

In the past, Dick has basically gone along with this kind of thing - he and Tim gossip about Bruce a lot! So it's not surprising that Tim's first thought is that they can confer on it again. But when it becomes a question of "is Bruce murderous, criminal, immoral," then Dick's loyalty kicks in. That's too serious an accusation for Dick to feel entirely comfortable talking about it behind Bruce's back.

Generally IMO, how Dick conceptualizes his loyalty tends to vary a lot depending on who he's talking to. So e.g. in general, Dick's more likely to gripe about Bruce to Tim than he is to gripe about Bruce to the Titans, because he knows that Tim basically likes Bruce. Tim's Robin! Dick takes for granted that Tim is loyal. So it's not disloyal to complain about Bruce to Tim, because Dick and Tim are both on Bruce's side. Dick complains to Tim about Bruce abruptly summoning them into No Man's Land, but doesn't share the same complaint with the Titans. And that's because the Titans aren't friendly toward Bruce in general, and so bitching to them would be disloyal, would be airing dirty laundry outside the family.

By contrast, Tim's a safe audience... until you end up in a situation like Bruce Wayne: Murderer, when suddenly it sounds like Tim may not be on Bruce's side anymore. What are you saying, Tim?

I do think that if Tim had been right, if Bruce had been a murderer, Dick would've ultimately helped take him down. He's very defensive of Bruce because that's how Dick understands the obligations of loyalty, but... he's part of confronting Bruce and demanding explanations in the Cave, and he and Tim (and Cass and Babs) all investigate Bruce together. I think if there had been very very very credible evidence, Dick would've helped fight to take evil!Bruce down. But I also think he would've never stopped mentally searching for an explanation: mind control? body double? I think he'd have an incredibly hard time accepting that Bruce had just murdered someone.

And I mean! In Dick's defense! I don't think Bruce would! At the end of the day, I think Bruce deserves all kinds of criticism in post-Crisis, but I also tend to think that Dick's read of him is a bit more accurate than Tim's, that even though Bruce can act monstrously in all kinds of ways he is at bottom a person who would never ever ever murder a civilian girlfriend no matter how unstable he got and no matter how threatened his secret was. Dick might have a bit more faith in him than he deserves, but at the same time, Tim's jumping to the worst-case scenario pretty fast here, much as he does during Batman: RIP, and I think you could definitely argue that Dick - who's known Bruce longer and better, who lived with Bruce for years instead of just worked with him - has a better and more instinctive sense of Bruce's strengths instead of just his faults.

(And in Tim's defense, as Babs is about to point out to Dick, Bruce has not been behaving especially well recently and Tim has a lot of reasons to be frustrated with him. And Tim's not the only one - Babs is pretty suspicious too!)

.... And of course, I mean, as a Dick and Tim fan, I love that this arc makes very clear that Tim feels his own loyalty is to the symbol, yes, but also that he associates the symbol with Dick first and with Dick's sense of morals, that he trusts Dick, that he sees the costume as something Dick gave him and that's the legacy that he's trying to live up to, to never walk away from the truth, that he thinks the two of them need to be willing to consider the worst of Bruce .... and also the delightful paradox that this isn't loyalty that Dick asked for or wants or welcomes!!

Dick has always taken for granted that Tim was loyal to Bruce, not to Dick; he's not at all happy to hear the opposite. This isn't a heartwarming moment for them but instead a really fraught one, because it's a declaration of Tim's loyalty but it's a declaration of Tim's loyalty that's specifically about not offering unconditional loyalty to Bruce, so Dick feels like he's being invited to be traitors together instead of feeling touched by Tim's trust. Tim's loyalty is something he has to learn to come to terms with rather than something he's happy to have.

And I think that's great!! I love love love these kinds of complicated emotional dynamics (TM), and Bruce Wayne: Murderer is full of them. It's such a fun read.