#Komaeda Writings

[valictini]

Anyway congrats to sansmaeda, see you all on sunday for the most wedding ever

Bonus: collective mental breakdown below

You just never know what to expect with this funny little guy!

[m0us34rt]

I am cringe but I am free.

[m-y-fandoms]

Commission: Nagito Komaeda and Kokichi Ouma - Kissing/Makeout Headcanons + First Kiss Drabble

Fic premise assumes you are the S/O (established relationship or crush) and WANT to be kissed by them, keep this in mind.

Word count: 2.6k words

Nagito Komaeda

Nagito is very ill (obviously) both mentally and physically. With this in mind and just seeing how he acts in-game, I have always retained the idea that he has different sides of himself. I think a lot of the time, the illness gets to his head.

Which Nagito you get can change day by day depending on his mood, his goals, or his current mental state, as we see in-game. Think of how he acts in the beginning of Chapter 1 versus say Chapter 5.

There was a very smug, passive-aggressive (and sometimes just plain aggressive), and sharp-witted Nagito…

Or the giggling, self-hating, hope-gasming mess of a man Nagito.

As his S/O, you got both sides, and both sides would serve you in his own way. He would always strive to please you, even if his methods and words sometimes weren’t the best.

After all, he wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if he didn’t see you as a beacon of hope. You were worthy in every way to him, even when he felt like he didn’t deserve you.

Early into your relationship, Nagito would be very needy, in disbelief that someone like him could have someone like you. He’d be touch-starved, nearly worshiping your body as you made out.

His hands would shake as he ran them up and down your sides while you kissed, clawing at your scalp, desperate to pull you in as if he’d lose you if he didn’t.

He’d be out of breath, ragged, not wanting to separate from you. He wouldn’t believe you would want to be near him, much less lock lips with him. He would savor every second, heart beating wildly in his chest. He would feel like he could pass out at any second.

As your relationship progressed and you two got more comfortable being romantic and vulnerable around each other, he would become more confident and initiate the connections between you two more often.

There would still be times where he acted a bit strange or timid, even in your trusted presence, but now making out with you was something he wanted to enjoy regularly, craved and needed, rather than an occurrence he thought would never happen to him in a million years.

He warms up to you like an engine, going from clinging to you and asking between kisses why you have feelings for a mess like him, to leaving you speechless and breathless as he pushes you up against the wall of your private cottage. He’d cage you in with his arms on either side of you, wanting you only to himself, biting at your bottom lip.

He’d become greedy with your touch and time, dragging you away from the group to make out in your room and tell you how you drive him wild.

The First Kiss

You sat on the floor of Nagito’s cabin with him like you did pretty much every night, cross-legged and hiding a hand of cards from him so he couldn’t cheat. He won nearly every time anyway, so he didn’t need that extra advantage. You enjoyed whisking him away for alone time like this. You found that many of your classmates either didn’t like Nagito or didn’t understand him. Most found him odd, even those who called him a friend. He never saw their judgements or little jabs as hurtful because he thought he deserved it. It made you really enjoy the time spent between only the two of you, because there was no judgement toward him, no stress. You could just be yourselves. He could even tell you about his ideals and plans for hope for the world all he wanted without being side-eyed. You often talked for hours as you played video games you borrowed from Chiaki and ate snacks. 

Everyone knew you two were a thing, a close friendship that had blossomed into a mutual crush. You were rarely seen without the other, and in fact most had an inkling that if Nagito wasn’t with you, he was up to something. 

You had a lot of fun with him, despite his constant questioning of your feelings for him: asking why you’d want to even be around someone like him, assuring you that he knew he could be a bother. He felt like he was a waste of your time, and you were slowly getting him out of the habit of feeling that way.

Now into early hours of the morning, everyone else was fast asleep for the night. Nagito walked you back to your cabin in the dark of the humid night, lit only by small lanterns adorning the cottage walls. This was your routine. Once in a while you fell asleep in his bed while he slept on the floor with a single blanket and pillow but him walking you back to your room before then was the norm. He’d casually wrap his coat around your shoulders on the rare occasion it was chilly, sometimes risk awkwardly reaching for your hand. He’d never been forward with you thus far, making it clear that while he wanted more, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. He wasn’t the best choice for you. He was meant to support you, to bolster your hope, not be a romantic equal. Tonight, it felt a little different, though. You wanted your relationship to move to the next level. You were going crazy, left with only the gentle embraces or leaning against him on his bed to satisfy you until your next fix. You needed more.

“Well… goodnight (Y/N),” Nagito flashed you a sideways grin, hesitating as if something were on his mind before turning to return to his cabin alone. You’d met his eyes and he looked away, already beginning his trek back. You reached out, grasping the tips of his fingers then securely moving your way up his arm to halt him.

“Nagito, wait…” He snapped his ghostly white face back to you immediately, expectantly almost…

“Yeah?” You swallowed nervously, losing the confidence and adrenaline rush when his eyes searched yours. He had a way of making butterflies appear in your stomach. He was just… so pretty, especially in the low lighting, especially with your nerves on fire. “What is it, (Y/N)...?” He stepped closer when the silence lingered.

“I, well… don’t go, yet…” You struggled to find the words. You couldn’t just ask straight out, right?

“Okay… I’ll stay. Is something wrong?” He hadn’t known you to ever be nervous or at a loss of words around him. That was everyone else’s job.

“Well, I want to… well…” he stepped a bit closer and your heart rate picked up. “Is it okay if maybe, I kiss you?” He felt his heart sink. His eyes went wide, pupils blown out in disbelief, but yet he stepped closer, as if his body and mind were at opposition.

“What? You want to kiss someone like me? Why would you-”

“If you don’t want to, please, it’s okay. Seriously, we don’t have to-.” You started back tracking immediately, thinking maybe you’d gone too far. 

“Well of course I want to, but… I mean someone like me would only soil you. Can you imagine my filthy lips on y-”

“I do imagine your lips… a lot.” You spoke barely above a whisper, and he moved closer once more, until your chest lightly bumped against his.

“Really? Wow, I can’t imagine such a shining beacon of hope such as yourself wanting anything to do with me…” His eyes darted between yours and your bottom lip, feeling the stirrings of desire in the pit of his stomach.

“You say that a lot, you know… I wish you wouldn’t.” You tilted your head slightly, leaning in gently, extending your neck just barely.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice took on a slightly husky tone, and he didn’t stop you when your lips bumped against his, so reluctantly, so jittery. When he didn’t pull away, you pressed a little harder.

Almost like his cautious and unsure mood from just before was a merely a farce, he tilted his head to match, and his lips melted into yours like they were meant to fit together. Touch-starved and needy, he brought two shaky hands up to clutch onto your shoulders, as if you’d blow away with the wind if he didn’t. Allowing you very little time or room to breathe, his tongue found its way past your lips and brushed against yours. He felt you return the gesture with even more enthusiasm, and you heard as much as felt him moan into your mouth. The rumble in his chest sent sparks to your brain. He moved one hand around your waist, the other grabbing the back of your neck desperately, pulling you further in when you couldn’t physically be any closer. He was frantic, needing more and more of you. His mind was racing with so many thoughts at once.

Needing air urgently, you pulled away and found him hesitant to let go. So you didn’t. Not wanting to part from him either, you rested your forehead against his, bringing your hands up to run through his cloud of messy white locks.

Kokichi Ouma

Kokichi is not shy.

He is bold, teasing, and very loud about his feelngs for you.

Because while he loved to lie, your flustered reactions to his affections were so much more rewarding.

When it came to kissing, well there was no better way to rile you up and get that reaction he was looking for.

He loves PDA.

Kissing you in public was not only a way to mess with you, but to show the world you belonged to him.

He would do drive by kisses, running up to you for a peck then scampering off before you had a moment to process.

He would make bets, games, dares where you had to kiss him if you lost.

Kokichi was not nice.

When he made out with you in the privacy of your own dorm rooms, he was rough and unforgiving. He liked your little yips and gasps of surprise.

He would nibble at your jaw…

Bite your bottom lip a little too hard and lick up the bead of blood that spilled out…

Wrap one hand around your throat to keep you in place…

Sometimes he would tease you, hovering his lips over yours until you were nearly begging him to just kiss you already.

Your embarrassment was super cute to him.

When he was really into it, sometimes he’d pull at your hair or grab your backside, and when your lips parted to gasp, shoved his tongue in, an opportunist.

The First Kiss

You were traipsing about with Kokichi, investigating the newly unlocked areas of the academy. Exploring the vast and mysterious campus was daunting alone, but super fun with Kokichi by your side. You bounced between recently opened labs while Kokichi bothered their owners.

After a while, as the day was winding down and you’d begun to run low on energy, you sat with Kokichi on the top step of the flight of stairs just down the hall from Kiyo’s lab. The atmosphere was dark and gloomy, like the set of a horror film. You’d never have come up to this floor alone. You wondered why such a cheery girl like Angie had her lab - used to create beautiful art - on such a spooky floor. Kokichi, of course, had been messing with you the whole time, claiming he’d seen a dark shadow down the hall or that he swore he heard Kiyo hatching an evil plan in his lab earlier. You’d punched his shoulder, begging him to cut it out before you ran back to your dorm and left him behind. Looking down the creaky steps, you spoke a warning to him:

“Kokichi, I’m serious! You know this place freaks me out already. I don’t need you adding to i- mmph!” Your words were cut off, muffled into an awkward noise when Kokichi’s lips crashed onto yours. Your eyes widened in shock, but his were closed as he kissed you and pulled back just as fast. He leaned back on his hands, smirking mischeviously at you.

“W-what was that for?!” You sputtered, feeling your pulse throb in your chest.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Kokichi feigned innocence, his mouth agape in a childish look of guilt.

“You kissed me???” Your brows furrowed suspiciously.

“Well, I like you!” He grinned genuinely. “I know you like me too~! I heard you talking to Saihara about it the other day!” You were shocked at his apparent spying on you and would address it later, but he was right. You did have a crush on Kokichi, and you’d spoken to your close friend Shuichi about it at length, but you’d never have told Kokichi himself. You expected a swift and humiliating rejection if you did. You liked Kokichi a lot actually, but thought that to him, you were nothing more than a plaything, a way to avoid boredom because you tolerated him unlike most of your peers. A friend at most. 

Your mind was racing, wondering how he could confess his feelings for you so bluntly, so plainly… Wasn’t he nervous at all? Was this a lie? Who can state that they like someone as more than a friend so casually?

But then you remembered that this was Kokichi. He wasn’t like other people. He was unique, for sure. You’d never met anyone like him.

“If you knew, why didn’t you tell me before?” You questioned, disbelief in your voice. He really was something else. “Ahhh!” You cried out as you were pushed backwards suddenly, now laying flat on the floor against the landing of the stairs. Kokichi jumped astride you, ignoring your question and straddling your waist. With a devilish grin he looked at you, pinned down below him. “Kokichi!” You squealed, not able to do much else. Your limbs felt like jelly and you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Awww I love that embarrassed expression on you~! You know, (Y/N)... you’re kinda cute this way.” He leaned down, letting the tip of his nose wiggle against yours. “You want more?” He mused, his tone low and impish. Turning your head away from him shyly, you paused, thinking about if you should humiliate yourself by playing along first, before nodding in response.

“Then beg for it…” he frowned down at you, deadly serious and commanding an intimidating presence.

“Stop it, Kokichi! You’re being cruel…” You threw an arm over your eyes, obscuring him from view, wishing you could just disappear at this very moment. You couldn’t take the teasing anymore. You were used to it from him, but not in this way. Never in this way.

“Come on now… if you act like that, I won’t kiss you ever again!” He crinkled his nose and furrowed his brow in disapproval. Your ears perked up at that, and you acted on instinct, reaching up and grabbing his checkered bandana in a vice-like grip. His mouth fell agape just a little, brows raising. “Oh, so that’s how it is~” he snickered. 

He knew he had you in his trap, just where he wanted you. You tugged on the bandana, and he let you, bringing his lips down to hover right above yours. You closed your eyes expectantly, waiting for a kiss that never came. After a second, you felt the weight of his body lift off of you, and your eyes fluttered open in disappointment.

“Kokichi?” You sat up to see him already a few steps ahead of you, ready to make a break for it.

“Tell you what… if you can catch me, I’ll take you back to your room and kiss you all you want~!” He gestured flippantly to you, waving his hand, and took off at the speed of light.

[vi-enti]

something to hold onto

in which an ultimate yakuza doesn't know the word "touch-starved", and finds every other way to describe his annoying new craving for cuddles. too bad the only person he wants to cuddle is that guy who blew up multiple structures, who poisoned himself, who laughed like a child when he beat him at chess and pouted the same way when beaten, who knew exactly how much sugar he liked in his tea, who made his heart still with a smile, who—oh fuck, he was so far gone. how the hell had that happened?

something to hold onto - guravity - Dangan Ronpa Series [Archive of Our Own]

(inspired by this post by @hajihiko and thank you to @causeitsagame for all her help! ♡)

[breadflavouredlemon]

There's always this thing in komahina fanfics where Komaeda doesn't believe Hinata actually loves him. That trope is fine, nothing wrong with that of course. But the other way around always hits different.

Like what if he's just a substitute for Kamukura/another character? What if Komaeda only wants him because he has talent now? Or he's only staying with Hinata because he feels indebted to him? What if he's not special enough for him, that he's easily replaceable to the other? It pretty much has a lot of potential.

Hinata is just as complex as Komaeda is, and I swear, I'll eat anything up with Hajime-centric komahina angst. >:(

[karugoround]

AU where Komaeda is the one who signs for the Kamukura project. Some things about this AU under the cut 🖤

Nagizuru

A being so bright it burns everything in its path. The lobotomy messed up his luck and now it's way more destructive, so the institution had to insolate him inside a locked building with thick walls known as "the lighthouse". This worsened his health, since he spends most of his days sedated or in bed. Always smiling, but no emotion. It is believed that anyone who interacts with him directly will be the victim of a terrible misfortune. All the doctors who were part of the surgery died one by one in strange circumstances.

Servant!hajime

Also known as the caretaker. He was the next one on the list for the Kamukura Project. He showed so much interest and willingness for this project that the institution gave him the dangerous duty of taking care of the subject and monitoring him. Because of this, he has also been the victim of several accidents from which he miraculously survived, causing blindness in one eye, a lightning strike scar on his torso and some burn marks. Despite this, he never leaves Nagizuru's side. Nobody knows if it's because he is forced to do so, or if there's a personal interest behind it.

[spaceprinceencie]

I think about Nagito’s death at the end of SDR2 a lot. There’s so much symbolism and meaning in it. His death reflects a lot of the other deaths from the first game, which is a cool easter egg, but the meaning of that also kind of blows my mind. 

The symbolism of how he’s embodying so much of the despair from the first game, compiled into a single death. How he’s depending on his luck to burn out every last ounce of despair from this death game, while also embodying every ounce from the last one at the same time. He - intentionally/consciously or not - is embodying as much despair as he can so he can burn it all away and bring hope. 

But most recently I’ve also been thinking a lot about the spear. 

Because there’s two major ways you can interpret Nagito’s luck cycle: either luck is a real supernatural force that exists in the DR universe, or Nagito is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Personally, I do think it’s hard to argue that everything that happens to Nagito throughout the series is totally unrelated to some greater supernatural force. But I also think it’s so tragic to think of his luck cycle as just a bunch of psychological tricks. So a little bit of this is a “what if”: even if it’s not the most likely explanation, there is a way of arguing for it and I think that’s interesting. He believes with all his heart that he’s cursed by this luck cycle. That good and bad will happen to him in extremes, in waves. Confirmation bias tells us he’ll pick out that pattern easily, searching for evidence that supports his understanding of the world, and then presenting what is essentially cherry-picked evidence to other characters. Which is often what we see of his luck cycle: the narrative he has constructed. Then, throw in how he’d subconsciously make decisions and put himself in situations that further supports his view of himself and the world. He might purposefully put himself in precarious positions when he thinks there’s bad luck due. He might do something like hang a spear above his own head. That act, metaphorical or literal, is then, also sort of his essence, isn’t it? Nagito hangs spears above him, poised to kill him, and waits for his luck - real or not - to use them. And when the spear falls, because if you keep hanging spears above your head eventually they’ll fall, he calls it intentional and purposeful. He calls it part of his luck cycle. But how much of it is really luck, and how much of it is that he’s just hanging spears and waiting? How much of it is that he really believes he deserves bad luck or pain or hurt? Honestly, we don’t know exactly if the poison killed him before the spear did. We can certainly assume it did, since Monokuma rules Nanami the killer, and because the spear was supposedly released upon Nagito’s death (and the nature of the poison). However, I think there’s enough doubt in there to argue that, even if its unlikely, the spear did kill him. Monokuma could’ve lied, there was no one and no way to prove him wrong after all. The poison could’ve weakened Nagito just enough that he wasn’t dead until the spear impaled him. 

Just, think of the potential symbolism of the fact that we can only assume- based on incomplete and biased observations - that the poison killed him. That Nagito’s luck killed him. From that biased assumption, we are led to believe his luck is cyclic and intentional. Just like everything Nagito does and says could be seen as a biased presentation of evidence that leads us to the same conclusions. But realistically we can also assume that Nagito just killed himself by hanging a spear over himself and waiting. We can also assume Nagito's luck isn't as drastic as he claims. What if, in reality, he just keeps hanging spears above him and waiting, maybe even hoping, they fall?

[aliveko]

a veeery long time coming illustration for @draconicsparkle ‘s fanfic of @karugoround ‘s Nagizuru AU

here’s the link to all the chapters! This one features Nagizuru in a flower field.. if you want to know what brought him and his servant into this scenery read on! It hasn’t been an easy way..

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43949782/chapters/110507266

[zorionbbq]

akiyama studied law????

[idyllcy]

portal

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: smut, nsfw themes

Summary: For eternity past and eternity beyond, Tim would stay in your arms, even if you no longer remember him, even if you no longer care — he would chase you.

Tim doesn't necessarily remember the first time he met you.

Perhaps it had been when he first joined the tower under Dick's help to see you peering from behind his brother, arms wrapped around his arm, Dick's hand on your waist — or maybe it was when he caught you making out with Jason in an alleyway after patrol had ended. Or even, it could have been that time you sat on his father's lap without thinking twice to take over whatever he had been doing on the computer. Tim knew you as bad news. That's all he needed to know about you. He didn't want anything to do with you.

But despite all of it, Tim does remember the first time he met you.

He met you long before he had ever been Red Robin, before he had even considered taking the title of Robin, long before he had discovered Robin had been Dick Grayson. He had met you in his parents' backyard on a playdate while your families discussed business. He had met you under the comfort of the spring breeze, the sun of a splendid day, the greenest grass between your fingers and the warmth of the earth. He had met you with round cheeks and short legs, the two of you making dirt soup in the comfort of his garden. The two of you refused to taste it and watched as the water continued to sink into the grass each time.

"d'ya think we're drowning the plants." You blink, remembering something from your teacher.

"No way." He grumbles. "Not enough water to drown them."

Timothy Jackson Drake met you when he was five years old in his family's backyard.

As much as he denied the fact, he would not have traded it for anything else in the world.

You had been close, he admits. Holding hands as he showed you around the garden the next time you came over, helping you climb up into his treehouse, scribbling on the walls of your initials and his with a heart surrounding the two, mumbling hushed secrets that only five-year-olds could tell, giggling and laughing at each other in the small wooden room. But you scribbled other things. You scribbled animals and shapes and colors and designs and the whole universe on the blank canvases of white paper he would give you. Characters named after him, after his friends, after the stars. Everything you drew held a certain life to it, and Tim had been in love with it as much as a five-year-old could.

The two of you shared the kitchen counter as you raced each other to complete your math homework, years ahead of your own age group, head spinning as Tim tried to teach you long division at five, his own head spinning when you showed him how to do algebra. It's how it had been for so long, the kitchen island being the two of you's safe space away from school and the other pressures of socializing. Tim didn't have to smile at lying adults when he had you in his house.

But your friendship didn't stop there.

Children in their mother's arms, holding hands as your two families posed for a photo with the Flying Graysons. You had told Tim shyly that you found Richard Grayson attractive, flushed cheeks, as any five-year-old girl would have said. It was under your breath once away from the family. He looked back at the acrobat and then at you, striking you with a "he's too old for you" causing you to drop your jaw and smack him. It would have been a fight had your mother not stepped in immediately and had you apologize for hitting him. You did it with a pout on your lip, and Tim had blown a raspberry at you. You probably would have given him a middle finger if you knew how to do one.

The same held when the two of you watched the rope snap and the two adults fall to their deaths.

You let out a scream, trying desperately to reach at the falling acrobats, your mother holding onto you for dear life, begging you to not, chanting it over and over again like a mantra, true fear in her eyes, not from the deaths, but out of fear that you would do something. Tim's heart broke, but he didn't fail to notice the way you yelled at your mother immediately after the two families separated, arguing that the deaths were unnecessary and there was no way they would have died had you stepped in. Your mother hushed you instead, telling you to keep your mouth shut in public, and Tim wondered if there was something different about you.

Not that he would ever get to see you again.

Your mother had dropped by one afternoon, without you, three weeks after the show, a box of her cookies with her and an apology on her lips, letting his own mother know that the two of you were moving. Tim had watched from the couch, the documentary running in the back long tuned out, his face frowning. You were nowhere in sight. He'd never get to see you again. You didn't even come see him as a goodbye. Maybe you were still in a bad mood from the death. Yet, as more and more excuses conjured in his brain for you, he wondered why. It still hurt. You were his only friend. The frown was present on his face even when he went to bed.

His mother, later on, told him (one night while he was half asleep) that the two of you were running away, not moving. That it was dangerous for a mother and daughter to live alone in Gotham without spectacular wealth like him. That there was never any family fortune to begin with and that your mother nearly lost the custody battle. You didn't see him not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to. She had pressed a kiss to his forehead, not before letting him know that he would start boarding school soon. (He didn't want to go)

Tim never got to ask why.

Instead, the next time the two of you meet, the two of you are fourteen, and Tim's grapple has just been cut by someone. He wonders how far Batman is, and he wonders if he could just reach onto the brick wall next to him. He can't. So, he presses the button on his suit, alerting Batman. Maybe he'd be able to get him before he'd break his spine or something. He prays his line is still active. Hopefully Oracle had some way of helping him. Maybe even Nightwing would be able to swing in.

"Oracle-" His voice breaks, wind in his mic. "Where's the Bat? My grapple got cut. Criminal heading southeast on—"

"I'm on it." Another voice cuts in on the line, and he pauses as he lands on the ground gently, looking around him. He hears the sound of moving behind him, but he isn't able to see anything from the darkness. They blended in better than the bat himself. He fell from the twentieth floor and landed as if he had jumped off the first floor of an elementary school playground. The sound disappears just as quickly as if had appeared.

"We have an emergency support?"

Batman nods at him. "Portal."

"Who's Portal?"

"Not sure myself." He hands Robin a new grapple, and he nods. "Do not do that again."

"Yes, B."

So, as Tim steps back into the Batcave for the night, he finds himself clicking on the mic again. "Oracle?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know who Portal is?"

The end of the line is silent.

"No. Sorry."

"How'd we meet them?"

"They appeared one day," Oracle hums. "Nightwing had slipped on his footing and appeared back on the roof immediately as he had opened his mouth. Then it happened once with B, then with me, and a handful of times with Jason."

Tim nods. "Can I dig into them?"

"Without their knowledge." Oracle laughs. "Though hard. They're on the line right now, right?"

A third voice joins. "Mhm."

"Are you alright with it?"

Their voice is distorted. A voice changer. "You won't find anything on me."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It can be."

"If you find anything about me, you show me your face." Tim grins.

"And if you fail within a week, you'll stop trying to figure out who I am."

"Deal."

Tim finds himself cooped up in his room for the rest of the week, searching through voice files, body cam footage, anything that might give him a lead on you. He finds nothing. Just your voice. So, he tries putting the distorted voice through a filter for your voice and matching it to someone in the files. No one. Not even in the FBI database. Tim finishes patrol a week later, sighing into the lines. He found nothing. You won.

"So? Did you find anything?"

"No."

"Oh. I was hoping you could help me figure it out." The voice on the line goes silent.

"Huh?"

You don't speak on line ever again after that.

Tim pauses when he recalls you called him by first name. Not Robin. But it's strange. Unless you were some genius, there was no way you would have been able to— ah. It seems he's forgotten something important to him. Yet the name sticks in the back of his mind, not daring to let it tumble from past his lips after so many damned years of being apart. It'll be something he holds in himself until you would appear one day. He doesn't know. Maybe he'll never see you physically again. He doesn't understand why the longing, but he supposes it's what he deserves.

So, the two of you meet at fourteen and that was it. Tim triple-checks his equipment before leaving, upgrades after upgrades being made. He fears there will never be a need to call you ever again.

Except that isn't the end.

The next time Tim sees you, he gets to see you. The two of you are eighteen, and Tim is finally getting to meet you, put a name to your face. Your hands are around Dick's arm, peering at him, mask on your face as Tim stares straight at you, eyes digging into you, neither of you breaking eye contact as Dick had just finished reintroducing Tim to the team. You blink at him slowly, lashes fluttering, and Tim curses the way his heart skips a beat as you do. Then, Dick moves on to introduce you. You still don't move. Neither of you do.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?"

Tim's heart crawls up his throat at the nickname tumble from his brother's lips.

"Have I met him before?" You blink at Dick, doe-eyed. Tim feels weird at the look.

"Not during the time that you've been with us." He hums, letting you step out. "This is Portal. Our emergency contact."

"Oh." Tim finally puts two and two together, body moving on its own, rushing over to clasp his hand on top of yours, words tumbling out before he can think. "We've met before. We grew up together."

"Oh." You blink at him owlishly, and Tim's breath catches in his throat all over again. "I... don't remember. Sorry."

"Portal was found half dead on the ground when she was nine." Dick hums. "Retrograde amnesia."

Tim lets go, staring as your eyes linger on your hand for a little longer.

"Pleased to meet you." You smile at him, lips pulled into a gentle smile. He can't see your eyes behind the mask, so how much more different you must look now is left to his imagination. Not to mention the way it was hard to register you in general. Huh. Speaking of which, he can't really see you. Strange.

"You can't see Portal without the new masks." Dick tosses him another domino mask, an exact replica of his current one, and he puts it on, your presence flashing away and then back as he does. He pauses at the sight of you. No — He can't. He doesn't deserve to.

He really wonders, for a moment, if it was even possible to rekindle the friendship you had with him so many years ago. Maybe you would have preferred to forget.

"Red Robin's in charge while I'm gone." Dick drops something in your hand, the object passing through your hand and disappearing before he presses his lips to the corner of yours. "If you need me, ask Portal."

Tim stares at you, blinking slowly.

"Slept with the whole team before, huh?"

You raise a brow at him, expression dropping. "Really?"

"Why else would my brother kiss you?"

"So that equates to the whole team? I thought you were the smart Robin." You sigh.

"Does he know you're such a bitch?"

"Gee, and I thought we were hitting it off well." You deadpan. "No. I'm sleeping with your brother."

"Did you really forget everything?" Tim takes a step toward you.

"Yes." You sigh. "It's been nine years. I gave up on remembering."

"Yeah?" another step.

"Mhm." You tilt your head to stare at him.

"Do you remember your mom?"

"Died in the mugging."

"And your dad?"

"Out of the picture."

"And me?"

You look at Tim through your lashes as he stares at you, forehead now on yours, eyes falling to your lips. God, he could kiss you right now. It wouldn't be fair to either of you. He doesn't even think his own emotions are anything far from obsession over an old friend, but he's sure you're not just a friend to him because the things he would do to you if you would just let him. He's nothing short of obsessed. Shit. He's not supposed to be like this. His lips brush yours as your breath hitches, his own mirroring you. He likes you more than he could admit.

"Robin, was it?"

"Tim, for you." and he presses his lips to yours.

Tim wonders if among the tangled sheets and fingers, you could remember him. It's selfish of him, nipping at your bottom lip and pressing his skin to yours, mumbling memories across your skin, eyes gentle and soft despite the lack of romance between the two of you. It could be one-sided. It could take forever, even if he were asked. He would have waited for that long. He would have waited however long it took. Even if it took an eternity. He would have spent said eternity in your arms, reminding you of every moment if that's what it took.

But Tim returns to Gotham in a short while after that, the taste of your lips lingering on his, staring out at the city on rare peaceful nights, fingers pressed to his lips, still remembering you. On certain nights he finds himself sitting on the roofs, wondering if he called you, maybe you would come. Just a gentle cry for help to Oracle, and then you'd appear. He'd pull you to his lap, pressing his lips to yours until you'd get for him to touch you in some way, and then he'd tease you, getting you drunk off the same feeling he had when you were around him. He'd have you beg for him the same way he begged for you.

He wonders if you feel the same as him.

The next time Tim gets to see you, you're in an alleyway, Red Hood's arms on you, mask abandoned somewhere on the ground, domino mask still on. Tim watches. He has no reason to interfere. Your fingers are tangled in Jason's hair, his own hands flush on your waist, both of your lines turned off, presumably. He can't hear the two of you make out, and he's sure that Babs and the others wouldn't want to either. Your eyes are half-lidded, mouths messy against each other, and Tim reaches up to his mask, requesting Oracle to send his voice to you two's line and stares down. He has no reason to interfere, but maybe he wanted you for himself.

"Red, isn't it a little improper to be making out with someone during patrol?" His lips curl into a smirk as he finishes.

He watches as Jason pulls away, scowling at the sound of Tim's voice, and he watches as your eyes meet his, mouth shiny with your messed up lip gloss and a broken strand of saliva fresh on your lips. You disappear as fast as you reappear, pulling Tim from the edge, pressing your lips to his, the taste of Jason's last cigarette still fresh in your mouth, catching Tim off guard as you nip at his bottom lip, tongue pressing into his mouth. Tim collects himself just as quickly, a hand finding itself on your face while the other rested on your waist, leading you to a wall.

Your back presses against the brick as Tim's hand moves to your face, tilting your head to give himself more access to your mouth, eyes half-lidded as he stares at your closed eyes and pretty lashes. He brushes over your cheek gently, again and again until you lean further into him, chest pressed to his impossibly closer, moaning quietly as he moves a hand back to your hair, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling on the strands, still tilting your head so he could completely devour you. He grasps onto you harder, lips on yours, brain spinning with lust, drunk off of your lips, desperate to savor every last piece of you, desperate to smother you until you could remember who he was to you. To kiss you until the only thing you could think of in your day-to-day life was how good his lips felt against your own.

You pull away first, lack of air getting to you, Tim chasing your lips as you hold him at an arm's length away, head hung as you try to catch your breath, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the mess of your chapstick even more evident. Tim glances down to see what he can of you, licking his lips to try and see if your lip gloss was flavored. cherry. He'd make a mess of you each time if it meant you would look so blissed out just from making out with him. Maybe you'd look even better from below, his head between your thighs, just like—

"Red Robin, where are you?"

"I'm with Portal." He answers as you finally straighten, collecting the mess of spit and lipgloss around your mouth, staring him dead in the eye as you lick it off your fingers, giving him a show.

"I bet you were making out with her, huh?" Jason's voice rings on the line, and Tim opens his mouth for a retort as you press your palm to his lips, leaning into where his mic was, smirk on your lips.

"And if he was?" Tim notices that your mic has been turned off, and he jumps in his skin as Dick's voice registers in his ear.

It's a shriek.

The sound adjusts itself in his ear so that it doesn't blow his eardrums, and he pauses, staring at the way you stared at him at the witches' hour, lips pulled into a gentle smile, the stars in your eyes, rendering Tim breathless. He steps back at you, hand brushing your hair out of your eyes, staring down at you, breath caught in his own throat. Oh, if only he could have you the way he wanted to. The way he wanted to wake up and press his face into your bare skin under the rays of the sun — the way where he would clutch you close under the kisses of the moon after patrol, his arms wrapped around you to thank you for the morning.

But he can't have you that way. Not yet.

You tilt your head at him as he exhales, pressing his forehead to yours again, resting his eyes for a moment.

"I can take you home." You blink at him.

"Please, Portal." Your name sounds like a prayer tumbling from his lips, one begging to have all of you. His hands don't move from your face.

You open a portal underneath his feet, sending the two of you to the Batcave, and you shake yourself free from his grasp, once again disappearing from his vision. He sighs, turning on his heel, getting ready to head upstairs.

"So, Portal?" He pauses in his stripping to stare at Dick. "No judgement, of course."

"What judgement is there? You've hooked up with her before."

"Once."

"She said you were hooking up."

"Oh, no. She was far too invested in something she lost for us to actually be something under a relationship." Dick throws Tim a towel.

"And Jason?"

"She was testing something." Jason grins, emerging from the showers. "She was right. Where's my phone?"

Dick tosses it to him.

"Owe her twenty."

"What was she betting on?"

The two share a glance and then stare at Tim.

"Do you know why you couldn't find anything on her when you tried so many years ago?"

"What does this-"

It clicks all of a sudden.

The next time Tim sees you, you hop onto Batman's lap like it's nothing, taking over the computer without asking him to move. He watches as your fingers fly over the keyboard and search bar, finding the files that Batman had thought he had trashed. You had a way for everything, even if it was no longer on the computer. He could do that, but watching you do it was so much more attractive. Especially when you were bent over the desk like that, ass in the air. He glances at his dad and the fact that he looks unbothered, still staring up at the big computer as you continue to type in lines of code to try and break through the lock.

"Who does this belong to again?"

"Red needs it for Penguin."

"Double R or Red?"

"Red."

"Ah!" You grin as the password is cracked, and you lick your lips as you step off of Batman, the man ruffling your hair as he clicks into the files to find the one Jason needed. Tim frowns. It's dad. It's a sign of fatherly affection. His own father isn't into you, yet he finds himself taking deep breaths to calm himself anyway, fingers reaching for yours, pressing them to his lips. He finds himself doing things he wouldn't for anyone else for you. Only for you. For the little girl who sat in a treehouse and drew characters out of cartoons — for the young woman in his arms in the tower, lips pressed to his in the dead of the night, body between his hands like a midnight's memory, one that would be gone with the wind.

You blink at him as you always have, owlishly, doe-eyed, questioning his intent with that faux innocence you showed the vast majority of the world. He lowers it, running his thumb over the back of your hand in circles, a thoughtless smile on his lips, fingers brushing over your ring finger unconsciously. If anyone notices, they don't mention anything, letting him bask in the moment of domesticity, even if it were fake and something out of a movie that the two of you did not live in. Even if the two of you did ever get to experience a moment like that, it would be far into the future, the day Gotham would be safer.

If that day ever did come.

"What would you do if the moon collapses on us all one day?"

You stare at him.

Tim opens his mouth to explain the question, only for you to cut him off.

"I would put Gotham on the runway."

Tim meets you again many years later. He receives a letter from you detailing Paris Fashion Week, inviting "Mr. Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne", which you added in invisible ink afterward, sounded like too much of a mouthful. Tim had always known to check your letters for it, so he wasn't surprised. He tells his assistant to email you a confirmation, that yes he would join you for the event. He stares at the spot reserved for him, pulling up the official list and checking whether or not he would be sitting next to you.

He's excited.

Not that he's never seen you draw or sketch since the treehouse, but he's excited to see what kind of fashion you're bringing to this world. On the plane, he's suddenly five again, scribbling images from his memories, the characters you had named after him, the characters you had named after your friends, every single critter, shapes still familiar on his fingers and the ballpoint pen he had thoroughly spent by the end of the flight. He realizes he forgot to sleep on the plane.

As if you had known, Tim is provided with a pillow and blanket on the car ride to your studio, just a little over an hour outside of Paris, giving him plenty of time to sleep in. He wakes up as the car stops, thanking the driver in French, though unfamiliar on his tongue. He wonders if you speak fluently. He assumes you must, given how you had told him you'd cover the languages he didn't.

The first thing he hears from your mouth is Chinese, voice still the same soothing honey he's grown to know, and you're talking to one of your assistants while telling another one in French to bring something. The only way he can tell is because you point at the closet and then at him. You finish with the first one, giving the French one a thumbs up when she brings out a suit as you reach for Tim's face, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw as you touch him.

"Hey." You smile.

"I'm here for my fitting."

"Mhm."

Tim finds that you look gorgeous no matter what you're doing. You help him into the outfit, the measurements both from his aide and from previously when you had taken his measurements before, and you exhale in relief as he fits. You click your tongue as an assistant hands you a paintbrush, and Tim's eyes widen in fear as you reach to start painting over his suit.

Your name feels foreign on his lips.

"Yeah?" You blink up at him. He's so much taller than you now that he's on the pedestal.

"Are you going to paint over the fabric?"

"That's the point, Tim," You part your lips. "Do you just want to wear white?"

"No, um."

"Do you have an idea on what you want?"

"Kind of?"

You let his aide hand you the sketches he had made on the plane, and you grin.

"Do you mind matching with me if you want these?"

"Oh, lovely." He swallows as he scans your face for a reaction. "You don't need to ask. It's always a yes."

"I'm glad you're not as bulky as Jason or Bruce." You hum, starting at his collar, the characters tumbling out of your hand like molten gold, as if you had been Rumplestiltskin, spinning straw into gold. But you wouldn't have been him, you would have been his fairy godmother, magic tumbling from your wand, granting all of his wishes without asking anything of him. He follows your face as you draw little characters all over his clothes, the little characters scattered throughout. You pull the pen off of him with a click, stepping back to look at the design. He wonders if you'll notice how he's more chiseled now, just for you.

"Have you been bodybuilding?"

"More exercise than before, yeah." He smiles at you.

You grin, lowering your voice. "You wanted me to notice. Just for me?"

"Just for you."

You blink at him in surprise. You weren't expecting him to actually affirm you. "Alright. We'll keep your suit overnight and in two days time, Christine," you motion at another aide, "will be helping you get ready with the makeup team."

"And you?" Taking your hand, he steps down from the pedestal.

"We will leave together." You press a kiss to his other jaw this time. "Hm?"

Tim lowers his voice, pulling you close to hold his lips to your ear. "and after?"

"If you're on your best behavior," You press a hand to his chest, pushing yourself back gently. "maybe I'll give you a treat."

Tim smiles. "Sounds good to me."

You wave bye at him as he returns to his hotel room, heart racing in his chest, the feeling of your hands still lingering on his face. And he was hopeless, as he always had been in the face of you. Only you could bring him to his knees to this degree, heart racing in his chest with an aching for you, desperate to have you. Any way. Have you in his arms, hands, lips on yours, skin pressed to yours — anything as long as it's you. anything. Anything as long as his fingers are entwined with yours and his skin is with you.

Two days pass in a blur, Tim lifting his face slightly as the makeup artist pats the foundation on his face, his eyes meeting your aide's as she explains (in perfect English) why he was wearing what he was, and how your designs were all channeling the true spirit of Gotham, from the deaths to the life to the children shielded constantly from nightmares that rested in their hands, including the ones left on the street to rot as a result of the corrupted justice system. There was everything in between there. Tim glances at some of the designs that you were showcasing, ready to watch the show.

He closes his eyes as the makeup artist starts drawing on his skin, the ceiling light reflecting off of his skin, the sound of your laughter as a child ringing in his ears as he stares at himself in the mirror. He looks clean and shaven, skin taken care of perfectly, almost as though he had never once scratched or hurt himself. The lack of scars on his hands and any part of skin showing was only further proof of it. Ah. So you were showing off your set, even until the end of time.

"You are the children of the elite."

He understands immediately.

That meant something else for you.

You meet him in the car, sitting on the inside, turning to glance at him. Your outfit is surprisingly clean for the children of the streets.

"We're quite the different tale, hm?" He smiles.

"You ever walked a runway?" You raise a brow at him.

"Once. I was very young back then."

"Great." You smile. "You'll be walking."

"Without a rehersal?"

"There will be a sized down one backstage as the other ones walk." You click on your tablet, showing him the formation, pressing a hand to his thigh as you lean over. "The two of us will be weaving through all the models. They all stop at a certain position."

"So it's like an art gallery."

"Almost. We're the last two to walk." You bat your lashes at him.

"Is that why you told me depending on my behavior?"

"You better break a sweat faking this, or else don't even think about getting a kiss later." You smile sweetly as the car stops. Tim steps out first, holding his hand out for you, and you follow him as the two of you walk down the carpet, waving at a couple of paparazzi, hand fit snugly on his forearm. Tim is sure to nod at the paparazzi as he passes, ignoring all of their questions. You stop him when the two of you need to take a photo, the same paparazzi smile he's seen you flash so many times as Portal on your face, and he flashes one of his own, practiced for the cameras, just like his father. He wonders if you invited anyone else.

The two of you head backstage as you change out of the outfit into another one, stepping outside to greet everyone with a bow, a word of thanks, and then tucking yourself back into the walls as the models start walking. You change back into the outfit you wore previously, three makeup artists decorating your face. Doodles straight out of the white paper left in his abandoned treehouse. Characters out of the ballpoint pen he wasted on the plane. He looks like the exact personification of the children of Gotham. Something innocent yet sinister about your entire outfit. You were the children on the street, stealing, grabbing, robbing, doing anything if it meant you could survive another day in the harsh winter and dried summers. It meant doing errands for mobsters that would lead to gold or death.

He finds it strange that you still look so pretty even with the graffiti of Gotham on your face.

He pauses at the pen in everyone's hands.

"Sharpie?"

"Eyeliner." You glance at the models as they walk out one by one, pulling your tablet out again, showing Tim how to weave through the models, pointing at the cameras as well, showing him the formation. "We meet at the end."

It's well thought out on your end. It may seem childish, but the route that boys and girls in Gotham took was still tragically different in all the worst ways, and you were desperate to show that. It was a fashion show in an art gallery, so you were going to make it an art show. Tim and you stand on both sides, hands pushing both of you out at the same time as the two of you weave through the models, and your pacing gets significantly fast, more frantic, brows furrowed, tugging at the jacket, desperate to cover more, heels clicking on the floor that you step on, eventually breaking into a full run as if something were chasing you. Tim walks, speeding up significantly less than you, gripping the knife in his hand, and the two of you eventually meet in the middle, you crashing into his chest as the two of you hold weapons to each other. You had picked up a gun along the way and he still had the knife in his hand.

The two of you stay still, pointing the weapons at each other — the crowd pausing.

You fire the gun at him.

The baggy clothes on the models all drop, revealing the rambunctious outfits only fit for nightlife for the Gotham elite, the splendid galas and parties at manors, the models all starting their walk again, Tim leading the men, you leading the women. You press your hand to his shoulder sweetly as you pass him, that smile on your face again. The show goes on, the actual outfits now on display instead of the streets of Gotham. No one bothers picking up the discarded clothes. The streets were dirty, and that would never change. You step behind the drapes as they move to wipe the makeup from you, changing you into your final outfit to step onto the stage once the models were all gone. You sit in place, Tim standing to the side, watching as the eyeliner is removed.You can feel his eyes trailed on your skin. You wonder what he's thinking.

You step up as all the models return, the show wrapping up as you show yourself at the end again, thanking everyone for joining you. Tim finds the smile on your face to be still fake, nothing like the one he's grown used to, yet he finds some sort of honesty behind it. You look dazzling under the lights. The city of Gotham is apparent all over you and the models you had hired, all of them out of the city itself. Even as none of the trashed clothes are taken care of on the runway until everyone leaves. He wonders if Bruce would have liked this show, had he been invited. He's sure you extended an invite to him. Yet it doesn't matter. Tim had been the one to be with you.

"Is there an afterparty?" He presses his hand to your lower back, backstage, getting ready to leave. The lights have dimmed by now.

"Yeah." You yawn, blinking slowly. "I'm not going."

"Really?" He tilts his head at you.

You press a kiss to his nose, hand tracing his jaw. "I said I'd reward you if you were good."

"Was I?"

"The best." You smile at him saccharinely and Tim wants nothing but to have you.

Tim finds that you haven't changed much since the last time he had his hands on you.

Your skin is still soft in his hand, the plush of your thigh familiar as he kisses you feverishly, tongue shoved so far down your throat he's sure he'd go straight to hell just for the kiss. He finds himself tugging at the zipper of your dress, hands sliding it down your waist as you whimper at the cold without the fabric, the silk pooling at your feet. He leads you out of the dress, lifting your thigh to help you out, mumbling for you to jump against your lips, your legs wrapping around his waist as he continued at your lips, sex pressing in the air.

"Pretty, pretty girl," He groans as you loosen the tie around his neck, pulling it over his head as you slide the buttons out quickly, pressing your lips to his neck and biting. Tim relaxes in your touch, letting your fingers roam his skin as you peel the dress shirt off of him, lips red on his skin, sucking and biting at it, Tim moaning as you do. He glances at the way your teeth dig into his pecs, marks visible as you pull away, glancing at your artwork on his skin.

"My turn," He mumbles against your skin, holding your head gently tilting it to get access to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, lips wrapping around it, sucking hickeys over your neck and collar, the red bound to turn purple sometime overnight, the thought sending blood straight to Tim's head, his lashes fluttering against your skin. You bite back your moans as Tim continues his ministrations, head spinning with all the things he could do to you at the moment. He's waited so long to have you again.

Instead, he finds himself on his knees for you, lips pressed to your cunt, nose bumping your clit as he eats you out, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh, drinking in every sound that slipped past your lips as his fingers curled into you the way he knew you liked it, your body reacting the same as so many years ago. Your fingers tug at his hair, the gel long washed off in the shower, his makeup removed as soon as the two of you had arrived back at the hotel. His name spills out of your lips like a mantra, begging him to let you cum, legs shaking with you pressed against the wall. He will admit. He might've gotten a little impatient.

"Tim, Tim," You whimper. "'m close."

He hums, tongue in your pussy, the vibrations drumming against your clit, and he moves another hand to circle at your clit, fingers and tongue speeding up, making you cum with a broken cry and tightening of your fingers in his hair, his tongue never stopping lapping at your cum, hands moving back to hold your legs apart for him to finish with you, only leaving position once he was sure there was none left, your slick messy on his nose and chin as he used his fingers to wipe it off, staring you in the eye as he licked it off of his hand.

"God," You mumble, pressing him onto the bed, pulling his belt off in a swift motion with his pants, hands reaching for the rest of your cum on his face and spitting into it, using it as lube, running your hand up and down Tim's length, eyes glued to it as you press down the slit to collect his precum, the erection angry with red, making you swallow. You lift yourself gently, bottoming him out in one swift motion, a moan and a choke breaking out past your lips as you do, digging your chin into Tim's shoulder. His hands trace gentle circles on your waist, lifting you with ease to put you underneath him, lacing his fingers with yours, thrusting slowly.

"Fuck me like you mean it, Drake." You hiss at him. He didn't have any intent to speed up.

The use of his last name as Tim irritated, hips snapping into yours, instantly much more talkative than before. "Drake? Really? After all of this time," His grip on your hand tightens, lowering his lips to your ear, his breaths against your ear, "I shouldn't be Drake to you. It's Tim," He snaps his hips again, causing you to curl forward, "and I'll make sure you know that's what you should be screaming." He leans back up, hand pressed next to you, plowing into you, mess of slick, sweat and cum staining silk sheets, your other hand gripping said sheets to the point of your knuckles turning white, toes curling. "Now scream my name, pretty girl."

You hadn't known he was capable of this, but you follow his orders, his name breaking past your lips with each thrust, mindless blabbering slipping down your tongue onto his, even when he swoops down to kiss you, tongue in your mouth, giving you a taste of what was left of yourself on his tongue. The sex in the air hangs hard as Tim continues drilling into you, both hands moved to your hips this time, helping himself control the rhythm better, eyes zeroed in on your face as your eyes threaten to flutter shut from him, eyes rolled to the back as he moves a hand down.

"'m close- 'm close!" You cry.

"Yeah? Come on, pretty girl." His thumb finds itself on your clit again, smirking at the way you clench around him. "Cum for me. Tell everyone who's making you feel so good."

You cry his name as you arch your back, tears staining your cheeks and lips bruised from the kissing, spit visible on the corner of your lips, begging for him to slow down as he chases his own orgasm, Tim zoning you out, thumb still on your clit, desperate for his own release. You claw at his hand as you feel another orgasm threatening to break past, Tim holding both hands down with the other as he feels your walls flutter around him again, squeezing him as you cum again, messier this time, squirting all over his hips as he feels his own orgasm coming. He opts to pull out, only for you to wrap your arms around his neck, begging for him to fill you. "'m yours, please, Tim." You moan into his ear.

Tim spills into you with a stutter of his hips, biting on your shoulder as he does, warmth flooding your cunt as you exhale in bliss. The sheets are ruined and you're sure the hotel is going to fine you, but it isn't an issue. Not if the workers don't rat on you. You let go of Tim as he pulls out of you, pressing gentle kisses to your skin, eyes tired.

"Not enough sleep?"

"Surprised I fucked you without accidentally passing out." He smiles against your skin.

"We need to shower again." You grimace. "We're going to be all disgusting in the morning."

Tim rests his head on your chest, eyes closing. "Love?"

"Yeah?"

"Go out with me?"

"About time."

"Yeah?"

"Of course," You press a kiss to his hair. "For you? Always."

And as the moon and stars whisper to each other of the two of you, limbs tangled together, kisses from the moonlight fresh on both of you's skins as you sit in the bathtub together, helping each other wash off, thoughtless giggles on both of your minds and mindless kisses pressed on each other's skin as you rinse each other off, you both find something back in your life you both missed. The warmth of each other's skin and arms wrapped around each other, just as you had done as kids, you do now, a reminder of the love you've both shared. Tim finds that you don't need to remember him. You just needed to love him.

And love him you do.

[raskolnikov-moved]

Unlike how popular fanon depicts him, Komaeda's character straight up does not make sense if he was neurotypical and had "normal" empathy. He has low empathy and little remorse and appears to have something similar to anosognosia. He can't magically "heal" from these things just because they're inconsistent with your ooc viewpoint of him. I think people are just afraid of depicting low empathy as something value neutral because they either completely avoid it or erase it or demonize and vilify it and those perceptions are both dumb and ableist. It also shows a complete lack of knowledge of the source material and of mental conditions in general.

[thatstroubling]

Poll: What is, on average, the best Danganronpa chapter across the 3 mainline games?

AKA all Danganronpa murders are the same <3.

Parallels among the murders of the same chapter are listed below:

Chapter 1, AKA: "In a murder committed out of fear and panic, after dusk, in a location where the protagonist appeared shortly before, a strongly motivated individual, after taking initiative on their own, is murdered as a result of a betrayal by the protagonist's best ally, after which the corpse of the victim is found slumped on the floor and during the trial for which the blame is for a prolonged time placed on the protagonist or their ally (who was indeed involved, but ultimately is not the blackened)."

Chapter 2, AKA: "In an attempt to maintain allegiance to an important individual and to uphold a sense of honor for their Ultimate title, a capable classmate bludgeons to death the mentally strong yet physically weak (or mentally weak and physically strong) fan favorite (who therefore ends up dying too early) in a hands-on-hands physical confrontation, after which the placement of the corpse as well as the "perceived" crime scene is messed with to pin the blame on another person."

Chapter 3, AKA: "A-not-mentally-well-adjusted individual commits an immaculate and complicated double murder for a unthinkably irrational or amoral cause, which includes a body appearing at the crime scene out of nowhere in a seemingly impossible fashion, and in which one of the victims is the one who was lured out by the killer and willfully takes part in the action (but unknowing that it will result in their own murder) and in which the other victim ends up being the socially ostracized individual, simply because they happen to be at a wrong place at the wrong time."

Chapter 4, AKA: "Within a set-up for a locked room murder mystery, the good-hearted fan favorite becomes a part of a two-person life-and-death allegiance to perform a heroic act of self-sacrificial killing using an unknown murder method with the intention of getting themself killed so that everyone else may live, while one person is revealed to have had a deeper insight into the killing game for some time."

Chapter 5, AKA: "In an unsuccessful attempt to bring the killing game to its conclusion, the most malicious student of the class orchestrates an almost perfect, convoluted and seemingly unnecessarily but indeed intentionally violent murder (which serves as a way of mangling the corpse to a point where the murder method is concealed), whose solving hinges on the protagonist's new but trusted ally's confession about their not-really-consenting involvement."

Chapter 6, AKA: "After a retrospective investigation that brings to light new circumstances about the game's setting as well as its previous events, an existential crisis consumes the remaining survivors as the identity of the class and the killing game itself is revealed, during which Junko Enoshima appears (of course), and which ends with the true protagonist killing the mastermind in order to seek redemption, freedom and hope for their classmates.

P.S. This whole thing was primarily inspired to by my desire to prove Nagito's assumptions from chapter 4 wrong:

Most of these are fortunatelly not true when we also take V3 into account: while Rantaro was important, he wasn't stabbed; a serial killer was revealed in the third chapter, not the in the second; and I wouldn't exactly classify chapter 4 murder as a suicide in either sdr2 or v3 (though we DID have two people playing Russian roulette in the Funhouse, yikes). All in all, the murders wouldn't have been nearly as shocking if they correlated with what had been already pointed out in the second game before, so I'm not really surprised that there ended up being other similarities among the murders.

That's all, thank you for reading <3

[anonzentimes]

Does anyone else do this thing where you're afraid to mischaracterize a character you like to the point that it's hard to write?

And that sometimes for a short while you feel as if you understand the character and are happy, and then someone says something and you go back to not being able to write because you're embarrassed??

I'm always this cycle where I'll be really happy about media I like and then get really ashamed rinse and repeat lol

Like I sort of miss when I was a younger kid who could do anything without being embarrassed, I can barely start having new hobbies because I feel so horrible when i mess up something, If I didn't start editing videos super super young I bet I wouldn't be able to do it now.

[m-y-fandoms]

COMMISSION: Nagito Komaeda and Kokichi Ouma (x reader) - Yandere Relationship Headcannons + Scenario Drabble

Warnings: This is yandere content. Obsessive, possessive stuff. Don’t like = don’t read. Like my Korekiyo version, sexual NSFW will be under a labeled heading so you can skip that section, then the drabble after, which is SFW will have its own heading warning again. Additional warnings for violence, unhealthy relationships, and mentions of dub/noncon. Also SPOILERS for SDR2 and V3.

Word Count: 1.7k

Let me get this out of the way first of all: you picked two of the easiest Danganronpa characters to make yandere. With their personalities, mindsets, intelligence, and how they react to stress, it’s very easy to imagine these two going yandere for their lover/darling. It’s not a reach at all. So let’s get into it.

Nagito Komaeda

SFW Headcannons:

FOR SURE the delusional type of yandere.

He’s delusional in his daily life at times, so when he’s fallen in love, such an intense emotion corrupts him further.

He would delude himself so far as to believe that his luck cycle couldn’t affect or touch his darling, the ultimate hope in his eyes.

He knows that the people around him often get hurt because of his luck cycle, but when it comes to his darling, he has fully deluded himself into thinking that he can protect them, that his love for them is so strong that he knows what’s best for them.

He thinks so lowly of himself and so highly of his beloved, that he believes that just once, for once, his luck can’t harm them.

Nagito believes in his beloved as the pinnacle of shining hope, and worships the ground they walk on.

Nagito is so in love with the embodiment of hope, that I truly believe that he would rather see his darling dead than to let their hope be muddied or fade.

He’d kill them with his own two hands before he’d let this world corrupt them.

He would hoard them to himself, always making excuses and distractions to steal more of their time and attention.

He knows he doesn’t deserve them or their time and energy, but he’s highly intelligent and thinks of roundabout ways to keep them around him at all times.

He always seems to be where they are.

If they need a favor done, or a question answered, he’s there.

When it comes to romance, as I said, he’s a worshipper, obsessive.

NSFW Headcannons

He would kiss and mark every inch of their body, be greedy with them, needing to touch every sensitive spot on their body.

Nagito is both the ultimate switch/verse and the ultimate pleaser when it comes to his lover.

With a lover that accepts his delusional yandere side, he’s obsessed with becoming their perfect lover. He already hates himself and knows he will never be good enough for them, so he needs to mold himself into whatever they want from him at that moment.

When his darling wants a dominant, aggressive top, that’s who he will be. He is more than willing to mess around with impact play, ropes, fear play, breeding, praise and degradation. He would love nothing more than to take them by surprise and force his desires onto them for their pleasure. He would be a master of dub/non con play.

If his darling wants to see him as a submissive, pathetic mess, he will fill that role. Whimpering, crying, begging: all his specialities. He would let them smack him around, pull his hair, talk down to him, and he would revel in it.

Kinks I think Yandere Nagito would definitely be into: wax play, knife/gun play, choking/breathplay, shibari, CNC, degradation, spanking, public humiliation, edging, impact play, breeding, hair-pulling.

Yandere Nagito Drabble:

“Shhh! Shhh, don’t cry, my love…” Nagito caressed the back of your neck gently, lowering your body to the ground slowly as it slumped in his arms, all energy slowly draining from your form. Your vision was blurring, closing in at the edges as more and more blood seeped from your wound. The knife Nagito had just buried into your stomach now sat discarded beside you. Strategically, he sat cradling you into his arms, only allowing the blood to spill onto his own clothing or pool onto the thick blanket he’d set out below you beforehand.

You could only gasp for breath, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. You knew Nagito was dangerous, but you’d never thought he’d turn on you specifically. It always seemed like he’d kill for you, die for you, but to take your life with his own hands?

“T-they won’t get to you… this world… Monokuma… I won’t let them!” His voice quivered, his mind and heart buzzing with both crazed love for you and grief at your necessary passing. He had to do it, though. No one else was worthy of taking your life, and he wouldn’t let that damned bear have the pleasure.

After learning the truth of this world as the reward for completing the Final Dead Room, he’d concluded that this was the only way to spare you, his beloved, from this wretched world. It was the only solution. If you were the traitor, stuck in this evil world with your wicked peers, you deserved to be released. If you weren’t the traitor, surely you were tricked, brainwashed into becoming a remnant of despair, and you must understand that he can’t allow the love of his life to oppose hope. You wouldn't want that, right? Surely, you’d see the need, you’d see it his way…

As the life faded from your eyes, he gripped you closer, now freely weeping into the bloody mess of your limp body. This was all temporary. He’d join you, soon. The plan was already in motion.

Kokichi Ouma

SFW Headcannons:

Kokichi would be another yandere who thinks he always knows what’s best for his darling.

Unlike Nagito, who would kill his darling to retain their purity, Kokichi would do anything, including killing himself or others, to keep his darling alive.

In their own way, maybe both feel like they are doing their darlings a kindness with their methods.

Kokichi is not a nice, caring, subservient type of yandere. Some yanderes obsessively live to serve their darling and worship them. Kokichi is so scared of losing his darling that he is restrictive, possessive, sometimes extremely cruel to them.

He expects them to do what he says, when he says, because it’s all for their own good, for their protection.

He does not like when others interact with them.

He sees pretty much all other interactions with others as cheating/flirtation in his own deluded mind.

When someone especially charismatic like Kaito talks to his darling, he feels himself fuming, and drags them away with a rough grip on their arm, or publicly embarrasses them so badly that they don’t want to continue the interaction.

NSFW Headcannons

Kokichi is not a kind lover.

Mainly, he sees his pleasure as his darling’s pleasure. After all, if it feels good for him, why wouldn’t it feel good for them, too?

On the rare occasion he does decide to focus on his partner’s pleasure and preferences during sexual encounters, he is very frustrated and angered by anything less that an overly-enthusiatic response.

He loves their praise, as he thinks he deserves it.

And though he relishes in the returned affections of his darling, a sick part of him loves when they cry, beg or resist as well.

Kokichi is territorial, leaving bruises and marks.

And he wants others to see them, for sure.

His infatuation for his beloved becomes the center of every goal. He wants to end the killing game for them, for him, for their love. He wants to rule this world with them.

Kinks Yandere Kokichi would be into: spanking, fear play, knife play for sure, degradation, slut-shaming, impact play, bondage, public/semi-public/voyeurism, CNC, humiliation (giving, not recieving), overstimulation (giving)

Yandere Kokichi Drabble:

Fuzzy-brained, disoriented, your eyes cracked open slowly, a migraine thumping in the back of your head. You groaned, eyes focusing in to see a figure in front of you, even in the low lighting.

Of course it was him. Who else would it be?

The last thing you remembered, you were sitting in the cafeteria, trying to destress and process after Gonta’s trial. You were drinking a steaming hot cup of tea, waiting for Shuichi to show up, and for some reason, your energy began to rapidly deplete. Your limbs got numb and heavy, your mind clouded, until your world faded to black.

Nothing in the tea had tasted off, nothing in your environment felt suspicious. That’s how good he’d gotten at this…

Now you were here, sitting before him. He’d taken you silently and skillfully.

“You drugged my tea?” Kokichi approached, bending down to meet your eye level. Further taking in your surroundings, you now realized that you were in fact chained up, locked to the wall behind you in the bathroom of the Exisal hangar.

“You weren’t gonna come on your own…” he pouted, a look begging for sympathy on his face, “and I could ‘ve dragged you here myself, but the kicking and screaming would attract too much attention…” He leaned toward you, leaving a quick, teasing peck of a kiss on the tip of your nose. If your hands were free to wipe it away, you would’ve.

He was right though. You wouldn’t have come on your own, and not quietly, either. At one point, you considered Kokichi a friend, even with his stalkerish obsession with you. You saw the good in him, and knew he had redeeming qualities. Now… after what he’d done to Gonta, after the absolute shit-show that was that last trial and the complete flip he’d made, you wanted nothing to do with him.

Kokichi walked to the other side of the room, and after some rustling into a little bag he’d brought with him, he brought forth a roll of duct tape. Without hesitation, and with a crooked grin on his face, he tore a thick strip off and pasted it across your mouth. Your wiggling provided little resistance, as he had you locked down pretty well.

“There! Can’t have you alerting the others, fraternizing with the enemy!” He had a crazed look in his eye as he spoke those words.It was like he actually believed them, believed his own lies. As if he could read the thought behind your puzzle expression and furrowed brow, he continued: “I’m going to end this killing game, once and for all! You and me, we’re gonna be the last two standing… I’ll make sure of it! Everyone else is merely an obstacle, an opposing force! Place your trust in me, and we will rule this world together!” He giggled, becoming more and more unstable with each word.

He wanted you to trust him, but had you chained up?

“This is for your own good. You’ll only get in my way, colluding with those idiots! You just don’t know what’s best for you, so you’re gonna sit here and look pretty, while I take what’s rightfully ours.” With that, he reached into his pocket, taking out what looked to be a small remote, a controller of some kind. You could only imagine its purpose.

[ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa]

Antag Swap Ideas

Clown: Out of all of the 3 main games what cast do ya'll think Ouma would thrive with?? And why is it sdr2?/j Hina: Trigger Happy Havoc It is not SDR2, no way sksksksms Clown: Nah but I'm curious if any of you think he would have genuinely had a better time with the others Also shhh, let me pretend he'd have an easier time with hajime hinata Me: It's true, no pretending Hina: Well Makoto is the calmest dkdkkddk I just think THH as a whole tends to get less angry Not as many loud personalities to conflict with Me: There's no need to fight, he'd be way better off in either of those than in v3 Ves: kokichi in thh would be so funny. he is pulling celeste's pigtails

Hina: (Also I am going under the assumption by joining these casts he is replacing either Byakuya or Nagito respectively) Clown: Yeah same

Hina: Nagito would thrive in V3 Ves: he would be friends with tsumugi ..frenemies maybe Clown: HE WOULD BE Nagito would attach himself to kaede so fast And it will go so bad, but in a very funny way Hina: Byakuya in SDR2 would go well tbh There’s two of him Ves: I'M THE REAL BYAKUYA, KILL THE CLONE- Clown: He's the less cool byakuya everyone's gonna vote him off the island Me: Twogami [handshake emoji] Fuyuhiko - being the Cooler Dan to him

Me: Sdr2 Works because they're all like that. He wouldn't be outcasted. He doesn't reach the levels at which Nagito managed to cross the line of their tolerance Hina: See my thought with THH is having more calculated personalities, more people who are willing to work together. I think he’d have a better time as a leader in that cast Thh never outcasts anyone in the way the other games do Me: Oh yeah, he would be still able to antagonize a few people in thh and keep his shtick, it just would not escalate like in v3, because they have more integrity (low bar) and can be more normal about disliking someone. Sdr2 gang would be just not phased by this clown, they'd sense he's one of them (freaks) Ves: he'd fare better even in udg i think v3 is a uniquely unhinged cast Clown: Yeah!! This combined with the fact that hajime is just the type of person to push pass any frustration and think about what they can do (asking nagito for help when he needs it), akane being suprisingly good at reading people (like fuyuhiko), and even Hiyoko with her not being shy on putting out there that she has a grudge and doubts. For ouma in THH tho, what would his relationship with kirgiri be like? Hina: I think it’d be a mutual respect Maybe not besties I don’t think she trusts him But she can respect him Clown: I could see him getting along with chihiro and sakura too, and sayaka Okay yeah I can see how he would've been Ballin in literally any of the other two casts Sakuras gonna shove him to the side and go "Actually I'm the one who's gonna sacrifice myself to further our goal to end the killing game" and then they fight/j Having a play fight over who takes the last bottle of poison (the rest are shattered on the floor) Apollo: I love Kokichi and Chihiro friendship

Clown: Okay but imagining ouma in thh oh man, so much. IF the first murder still is Sayaka breaking down and going for it I can imagine him doing his silly little warnings towards her. But since she is not the main driving force of the group like kaede was how differently would it affect him?? And with the sakura situation, that fucker never sleeps. Like kirgiri he is sticking his nose everywhere. I could see him finding out that sakura is hiding something, and begin to needle her about it. Offhand comments here and there. And sakura is smart, and more than that she isnt rash, she'd confront him about it in private almost immediately. And she wouldn't try to kill him. Maybe she would tell him or maybe not but she isn't violent with him and she doesn't fit his view of a murderer. DOUBTS.

[batw1nggg]

thinking about how . chisa shows compassion for komaeda in a very brief like. Two scenes. and then immediately proceeds to get despaired as a tradeoff for saving komaeda and chiaki when they find the hideout under the statue . even just being bare minimum decent human being to komaeda instantly lands you on lady luck’s assassination list even just having the potential to form any kind of bond with him gets you killed even if youre just his high school teacher or even his fucking dog ouggh the curse oughhh i need to lie down