#i am just. can barely stand it here anymore

[mamiobesssionfics]

What I See in You

Rhea Ripley x Reader

TW: Self-harm, scars, insecurities

Summary: You’ve hidden your scars for months, never intending for Rhea to see. But when an innocent moment reveals more than skin, her reaction is not fear or pity.

You never meant for her to see.

It was late, a quiet night in your shared flat after one of her matches. She’d come home sore and satisfied, hair still damp from the shower, lounging in her sleep shorts and one of your oversized hoodies.

You were curled beside her on the couch, her head on your lap, fingers tracing absent patterns along your leg. You hadn’t realised how high your sleeve had slipped. Not until she paused.

Not until the silence turned sharp.

Her hand stilled.

You followed her gaze, and your heart dropped.

The thin, raised lines were old, faded, some barely visible but not invisible enough.

Not to her. Not to Rhea, whose eyes sharpened like glass cracking under weight.

“Babe,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… what is that?”

You froze. You couldn’t speak. Shame rose like a tide, thick in your throat. You made a move to pull your sleeve down, but she caught your wrist gently.

“Don’t,” she murmured. “Don’t hide from me.”

Her thumb brushed over one mark. Then another.

Careful. As if touching something sacred, not broken.

You looked away. “It’s not recent.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Her voice cracked like the edge of a storm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed. “Because it’s not who I am anymore. Because I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

She shifted, sitting up, facing you fully. Her eyes were burning now not with judgement, but with rage.

Not at you. At the world.

“Is that what you think I’d do? Look at you and see something weak?”

You shrugged, unable to meet her gaze. “You deserve someone... whole.”

Rhea let out a breath that was almost a growl, then cupped your face in her hands, firm but tender.

“You are whole. You are still here. Still standing. That makes you stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

You tried to blink back the tears, but they came anyway and she pulled you into her arms before they could fall.

“I hate that you ever felt that alone,” she whispered into your hair. “I hate that something made you hurt this badly. If I could go back and fight whatever did this to you, I would.”

You nodded into her chest, barely able to speak. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything all at once,” she said, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “But let me help you carry it. Please.”

You took her hand and placed it over your chest, your heart fluttering beneath her fingers.

“You already are.”

She stayed with you the whole night, wrapped around you like armour. No teasing. No distractions. Just warmth, breath, skin. She kissed your scars once, not as an apology, not as a promise, but as proof.

That she saw you. All of you.

And she wasn’t going anywhere.

A/N: If you ever feel like you want to talk with someone, I'm here. I truly mean it! I know I might be just some stranger on the internet, but I can listen and try my best.

Masterlist

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[shedelulululu]

melfrank w/ 11 or 14?

11. things you said when you were drunk (full list here)

angst | Mel had a lot of wine :( | infidelity | 890 on ao3 here

It has barely cooled despite the sun disappearing over 2 hours ago. The humidity robbing her of the relief of the gentle breeze — she feels disgusting, hours old sweat clinging to her skin, and somehow the inside of her apartment was worse. She swishes the wine around in her glass, her 3rd? 5th? She had lost count. It was a vinho verde, some Portuguese thing or some other he brought. He wanted to try something new, it was cheap, refreshing, good for two bottles and one night.

Despite it all, she luxuriates in these moments. Curling on a cheap white plastic chair, wearing one of his impossibly soft band tees and nothing else, and his cum from earlier drying along the crease of her thigh. Frank sits in an identical chair less than a foot away, left just in his boxer briefs, one hand holding his wine glass, the other a lit cigarette. If asked, she hates the habit, has asked if he’ll stop. He’d shrug before taking a drag, it’s not benzos. The truth was she found comfort in the smell, it reminded her of home; a wraparound porch in Baldwin, Michigan, parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents, chattering, ignoring Mel and Becca sat further into the backyard, pointedly avoiding their bad habits. It was also true what they said, smoking does unfortunately look very sexy.

Bone tired, satiated, for a moment, she can feel happy. She doesn’t want him to leave, but she can see the cigarette disappearing like time.

“I guess you can’t stay tonight?” she looks up at him, brown eyes magnified by her glasses, pleading for something she knows he can’t— won’t give.

“Uh — no not tonight, Abby needs —” he stumbles over his excuse, she interrupts him, not really interested in hearing the details.

“In another life, then.” the softness disappearing from her voice. Usually she’d nod, the ever understanding mistress, the one who understood her place even if it left lacerations every time she had to leave their bubble.

“No c’mon, Mel, don’t be like that, things are just complicated —”

She rolled her eyes, really she wanted to strangle him. Complicated was when he was in rehab and she could only send him letters, complicated was when he was in his first year of sobriety and needed stability so they were strictly friends, complicated was when the kids weren’t in school yet and Abby was with them 24/7 and didn’t have her own career. It’s been nearly a year, and still.

She cuts him off, “I’m tired Frank. I’ve been waiting, and what am I even waiting for anymore? You’re not gonna leave her.” She laughs mirthlessly to herself, pouring another glass, pushing her luck. Her own words hit her like a freight train, mumbling over and over that he won’t leave her, like a sick mantra. She had to have been crazy, to ever think he would. “Why would you? You get to have your polished suburban family, beautiful wife,” the wife he swore he rarely got along with, that he only married out of obligation in the first place, that he hadn’t been intimate with since the birth of Jasmine, “and the naive fucked up orphan girl will still open her legs for you, let you cry for hours on her couch after a bad shift so the kids don’t have to see. You don’t have to commit to her, you can show up last minute, you can derail her entire day, and she’s a real cheap date too.” Tears started streaming down her face at some point, “oh my god, I’m so pathetic, I’m 31, and I’m crying because I really thought you’d eventually pick me.”

She stands, hands gripping the metal separating her from a 12 storey fall. She’s crying still, she wants to vomit, she wants to jump, she wants and wants and wants. “I’m done” she whispers into the wind. It’s fine. She was used to never getting what she wanted.

He fiddles with his ring. Still loose, and yet he never lost it. She had tried hiding it once, sliding it in the pocket of his discarded hoodie. She thought he’d be amused. He was frantic. He looked so disappointed when she revealed it’s location. That should’ve been her first sign.

“Melissa…”

“Don’t.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here, how can I make you happy?” she turns her head, he looks so small in his chair, she was never sure how it was possible for such a tall man to resemble a terrified child but he perfected it. She almost feels bad for the hysterical laughter that flows out of mouth.

“Leave.” She says, “and don’t you dare think of knocking on my door, calling me over, or even sending me a text until there are signed divorce papers in you hand.”

“It’s not that easy Mel,” he’s begging.

She levels him a blank stare “then don’t do it. But I’m not allowing you to fuck me up more.” He winces at her words, a scabbed over wound opening. He nods finally. He might be crying —she doesn’t want to know.

He makes his way to leave. Pulling her into a hug she doesn’t reciprocate, just barely receiving. He places a kiss to the top of her head — a final act of torment.

[ngc-5194]

yknow i could very easily accept someone not liking the mobile kh games if people actually gave... understandable reasons??

mostly i've heard that they're 'inaccesable'. which. they're in general more accessable since the console they run on is a phone, a device more people have than a ps4. though, granted, it is the offline version of both games only.

however, if you don't have a phone, have limited space on your phone, or are uninterested in a mostly unplayable game, all of which are understandable, there are cutscene compilations (ux (story important, all), dr) available on youtube too!

if the lots of reading is the issue then there is a completely dubbed version of the cutscenes of ux and you can easily find voiced playthroughs of both union x and dark road on youtube as well.

(for instance, here is a playthrough of dark road that i watched as my phone needed repairs by the time i had caught up with the series enough to move onto khdr. but, of course, there are many more options if you simply search up 'kingdom hearts [dark road/union x] playthrough' on youtube. find whichever one suits the kind of videos you like to watch best!)

if you don't have the time to sit through all of the cutscenes, there are summaries also avaliable! here is a video one for union x, and though unfortunately i can't find a similar one for dark road, it is also always acceptable to just read the wiki section on the story of the game! (here is the union x wiki section as well)

the other major complaint i've heard is that it's 'too confusing' or that the story 'doesn't make sense in parts'.

to which i first must ask, what part of kingdom hearts does make sense to you then? many many signifigant, heavily important parts of this series can be the most mind boggling things you have ever read or heard. so much so that we are known as the fans of that overly complex and insane disney game. that is what we are known for!!

and more to an actual point, there are many many people out there in this fandom who would be thrilled to talk to you about parts of the plot you found confusing. who have posts pages and pages long on minute details.

we are all fans of this weird ass game series and we all can. i don't know. help each other, newcomers and people who have been here awhile alike. us fans who like the mobile games are no different. we are willing to share and help and explain anything you need.

and as for the take that the mobile games are 'unimportant'.

strelitzia, someone deeply important to marluxia, larxene, and ventus' backstories, is seemingly implied to be one of the main characters in kh4 and if you have no knowledge of union x, then you likely have zero idea who she is.

the foretellers and the master of masters are being set up as potential villians in the next arc of the series. all of these characters were introduced in union x, four years before back cover released. and while yes, back cover gives the perspective of the foretellers more while union x is from the eyes of the keykids, there are many interactions with the foretellers in union x, beyond the scope of back cover, that are deeply important to the plot and establishment of their characters.

while yes, dark road has drastically less set up for the future in it, as all of the characters featured are now dead, it gives a lot of depth to xehanort and eraqus both. eraqus' behaviours and motivations are given reason—not necessarily morally good ones, and certainly not ones that always provide justification for his actions, but actual fully defined reasons for it all.

as it has always been with kh, every game is important to understand the story. you couldn't simply play kh1 kh2 and kh3 and expect to understand everything, and you can not expect to understand everything if you don't at least know surface level of the stories of the mobile games too.

you do not have to play them yourself. they do not have to be your favourite games in the series. if you are reading this and you hate them, you can stay not liking them even for all i care.

but you have to accept that they are important to the plot of the series. that they can not simply be ignored if you want to grasp the entire story of kingdom hearts.

[exopelagic]

i can’t believe i managed to get fucking mono and didn’t even get it by doing anything fun

[maskedbyghost]

Part 3 of Simon Leaving During Sex Like a Coward

It started with flowers. It’s not the kind you grab at the corner store in a panic, but ones clearly ordered days in advance — expensive, moody ones, all dark reds and deep purples. You didn’t open the door when they arrived immediately. You just stood behind it, your arms crossed, and watched them through the peephole before deciding to get them.

On day two, he texted.

I know I don’t deserve a reply. I just want you to know I’m not giving up.

You left it on read on purpose. And it felt good.

On day three, he was parked outside your building when you came back from work. Just standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking up when you approached, but not moving toward you.

“You stalking me now?” You said, not slowing your pace.

He didn’t smile. “No. I’m just here in case you feel like yelling at me in person today.”

You didn’t. You went upstairs and slammed the door a little harder than necessary, and when you looked out the window twenty minutes later, he was still standing there, doing absolutely nothing. Just waiting. Like a dog. A huge, sad, apologetic dog.

You caved on day five.

“Fine,” you’d said, opening the door just enough to stare at him through the gap. “You want a chance? Take me out. And I swear to God if you bring me to some ‘cozy little place’ where the waitress flirts with you, I will throw your wallet in a river.”

He didn’t even blink. “Got it.”

The first date was at a sushi place where the staff barely looked up. You sat across from him in silence until he cleared his throat.

“You look good,” he said, nervous in a way you’d never seen before.

“I know.”

He cracked a smile. You didn’t.

For a second date, he chose a little cafe by the river. You sipped your drink while he talked about stupid things, about his neighbor's cat and how he chipped a tooth once in a pub fight because he tripped over a pool cue — anything to fill the space. You just listened.

“You don’t say much anymore,” he said quietly after a while.

“I said you could take me out. Didn’t say I’d make it easy.”

He nodded, like he agreed with the punishment.

On the third date, he let you choose. You picked laser tag. You didn’t go easy. You shot him in the back six times and made fun of how slow he was, called him grandpa, and asked if he needed a sit-down break. He called you a menace and grinned through all of it. When the round ended, and you were both panting in the hallway, he looked at you with something like relief.

“You smiled,” he said, like it physically pained him to notice.

“It was at your expense,” you said, wiping sweat from your neck.

“Still counts.”

By the fifth date, you were letting him walk beside you without an awkward amount of space. Still no kissing. He reached for your hand once, and you pulled away with a look so sharp he apologized out loud.

“You don’t get to touch me yet,” you said.

“Right.”

“But you can carry my leftovers.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He got the tattoo on a Tuesday.

Didn’t tell you about it. He just showed up at your door again, holding your favorite overpriced dessert like it was a peace offering. You opened the door and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“No flowers today?”

“Didn’t think they’d survive the guilt trip you were gonna hit me with.”

“Smart.”

He stepped inside when you let him. “I got something,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“If it’s another apology letter I’m gonna start framing them like art.” You said with a smirk on your face.

He didn’t say anything. Just tugged off his glove and held up his left hand. On the inside of his ring finger, you could see fresh ink. Your name in cursive letters.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

You stared. “You tattooed my name on your ring finger.”

“Mhm.”

“Like. Where a ring would go.”

“Exactly.”

You blinked at him, still shocked.

“If this doesn’t prove how sure I am about you,” he said slowly, “then I dunno what will… but just to be safe—” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, sleek black bag from that stupid luxury brand you once mentioned in passing. “Bribery.”

You snorted despite yourself. “You really think a designer bag’s gonna make me forgive you?”

He looked sheepish. “No. But I thought it’d make you laugh.”

You took it from his hand. “I’ll laugh when I sell it and buy ten pairs of shoes.”

“That’s fair.”

You opened the bag. Inside was your favorite candy, a folded napkin from the cafe, and a tiny note that said “I remember everything.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then...

“You’re really not gonna give up, huh?”

“Never.”

You sighed. “Fine. You can kiss my forehead.”

He chuckled as he leaned in gently, pressed his lips just there, warm and steady, and didn’t ask for more.

It wasn’t until weeks later, after more petty jokes and slow conversations and him learning exactly how many hoops you’d make him jump through, that you finally let him spend the night again. You were already in bed when he came back from brushing his teeth, and you didn’t say anything as he slipped under the covers. Just pulled him in, hands on his chest, legs sliding over his, the way they used to.

He kissed you carefully. Like he didn’t want to push it. But you tugged him in with both hands, and he pressed you down into the mattress like it hadn’t been months, like he was starving for every second of you.

When he was finally inside you again, moving slowly, sweat running down his spine, and arms shaking from trying to hold back, he looked at you like he could cry.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking open on the words.

You rolled your eyes, breathless. “Is it my turn now to leave orr…?”

He groaned and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, muttering something about you being a nightmare, and you just laughed and wrapped your legs around him tighter, because you knew damn well he liked it that way.

---------------------------------------------

idkkk....i kinda lost inspiration halfway...sorry if this sucks..

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbaybay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

At the Emperor’s Word -Viktor x Reader x Jayce

Summary: Sneaking around the academy after hours sounds like a good idea right up until you get caught; then, it becomes a great idea.

Pairing: Dom!Viktor x Sub!Reader x Switch! Jayce

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Explicit (PwP)

Tags: Threesome, Kissing, Handjob, Voyeurism, Obedience Kink, Praise Kink, Slight Cuckolding, Edging, Degradation, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Masturbation, Voice Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Lap Sex, Light Punishment Kink, Big Dick Viktor, Pet Names, Begging, Slight Choking, Vaginal Sex, Teasing, Rough Sex

Notes: A little fashionably late, but here is my absolutely filthy piece in celebration of Viktor’s birthday 🎉!! Viktor, my dearest, thank you for being my beloved husband and the devoted father of our many children. Glorious ovulation everyone ✌️💕.

You try to stifle a chuckle.

“Jayce, we can't-”

He's warm, so warm. You always feel yourself melt under his touch.

“C'mon, just a minute…” he insists.

You can't help but giggle breathlessly as he brings your hand into his pants, a large hand wrapping your fingers around his already half-hard cock. His body presses yours against the workbench, the firm wood digging into your lower back. His other hand slides against the fabric of your skirt, cushioning the strain, and not so subtly placing his palm over your ass.

He nuzzles his face against the top of your head, letting out a pleased groan when your fist starts moving. You suppress another laugh, trying your best to remain quiet, but you're positively enamoured of those sounds he makes when you touch him. Without even seeing his face, you know the content smile hasn't left his lips; he's so easy to please.

He's twitching under your grip, gripping your cheeks to the rhythm of the strokes. You quicken the pace, and he lets out a low moan that echoes through the empty lab.

This wing of the academy is always empty at this time of night, but there's something exciting about having to stay quiet. You can feel how close he's getting, the slight rutting of his hips a now familiar sign. His breath hitches, he's almost there, just a little more-

“I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

You yelp in surprise, pulling out your hand from Jayce's pants so fast your arm hits the wooden desk behind you. Jayce lets out a confused, frustrated shout at the sudden loss of friction as you wince in pain.

There, at the entrance of the lab, stands a looming figure, holding one of the large doors partially open. The light from the corridor obscures his face from the darkness of the lab; but there is no mistaking who this silhouette belongs to.

Viktor makes a single step forward, the metallic sound of his crutch against the tiled floor making you wince, as he lets the door close behind him. The room falls into obscurity again, the pale glow of the moon and the distant city lights only faintly shining through the windows.

“Ah, Viktor!” Jayce almost bellows in an overly cheery tone, walking backwards to put some distance between the two of you. “I- We were waiting for you! Got a bunch of interesting notes about today's experiments to show you !”

Viktor's face is blank, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in cold annoyance. He is neither amused nor does he seem the believe Jayce's jovial act. He nods curtly at the other man's pants, which are obviously, painfully unbuttoned. Jayce cringes as he quickly stumbles to reattach them, sliding the buttons in the wrong slits. You're frozen in place, eyes wide in fear, incapable of looking away from Viktor's frigid expression. But his focus is not on you; it's on Jayce.

“So,” he starts loudly, not bothering with whispers, “You barely spend any time working in the lab anymore. You have not even checked any of the upgrades I have suggested for the hexgates in the last month.” His voice is apathetic and dry, and his eyes narrow when he says the next words:

“And this is what you've been up to?”

Jayce opens his mouth like he's ready to argue, but the glare from his work partner seems to change his mind. He lowers his head silently, like a puppy being scolded. Viktor's golden pupils slide to you, and you now understand exactly why Jayce prefers looking at the floor.

“From Jayce I could expect,” Viktor remarks, the weight of his stare making you shrink, “but from you? I'll admit I'm disappointed.”

You bow your head in embarrassment. Your cheeks are burning, and you know there's no way to pretend like this is only a misunderstanding. You wish you could vanish on the spot.

Jayce, always the hero, comes to your defence quickly: “Viktor, it wasn't her idea-”

“I'm so sorry sir,” you interrupt him, stepping forward. You know Viktor well enough to recognize he's not a fan of poor excuses or avoiding accountability. “I swear this internship means the world to me. I know how many other students dream of working on hextech. It won't ever happen again.”

He seems pleased by your answer, although his expression stays perfectly stoic.

“That's good to hear,” he hums, walking closer to the both of you. He stops a few feet away, a ray of moonlight passing through a coloured beaker catching in his auburn hair. It illuminates him in an eerie, reddish glow, like he's not quite human, almost a phantom. “Well then, do not let me stop the both of you. Keep going, as you were.”

You have to assume he's joking, even if his tone sounds anything but, and you let out a confused, nervous giggle. But he isn't laughing, and neither is Jayce.

“Viktor…” there's uncertainty in the taller man's voice. It's not fear, or alarm, but he's apprehensive about something.

Viktor lets out a small sigh of lassitude, discontent evident. He looks at you again, with these amber eyes that make you feel like the world around you vanishes. Like there's nothing but him, and the words about to leave his lips.

“It would appear my partner is suddenly hard of hearing. Were my instructions unclear to you as well?”

You swallow. Your lips feel dry. Jayce is still unmoving next to you, still as a board, watching your interaction with his lab partner with an uneasy look.

“…No sir,” you mutter, just loudly enough for both men to hear. Viktor gives you the shadow of a smile.

“C'mon Viktor, you've humiliated her enough,” Jayce argues softly, raising his hand in a gesture of peace. But the other man has clearly decided Jayce hasn't gained his favour for the night, barely sparing him an icy glare.

“I do not believe I was talking to you,” he states matter-of-factly. The man of progress makes a strangled sound of protest, clearly insulted, but Viktor seems to have all but forgotten about him, now. It's back to only you and him, and the teasing smile dancing on his lips.

“He's always like this. Begging for attention,” Viktor tells you in a tone of confidence, like the topic of the conversation isn't standing less than a foot away from you with a baffled look on his face. “One has to wonder if he is compensating for something, but I figure you are in a good position to tell, right?”

You can’t prevent the corners of your mouth from lifting at the underhanded jab; Viktor seems emboldened by your reaction, voice louder when he continues:

“I certainly hope he's been more of a gentleman to you than this. Or does he only bend you over in our lab like an animal?”

The comment is enough to pull Jayce out of his stupor, and he raises his arms in protest.

“Hey, I'm not that-” he starts heatedly.

“Jayce.”

It's just his name; nothing else. You've said it to him hundreds of times. But there's something different in the way Viktor says it, the slow pronunciation of the syllables, the hardness of the accent, the deepness of the voice. Whatever it is, Jayce is compelled by it just as much as an order. He stops right in his tracks, his arms falling uselessly back to his side, like a dog listening to a command.

Viktor hums in approval, but his stare is no less punishing.

“I was not talking to you. When it is your turn to speak, you will know.”

Jayce's mouth is slightly agape, his eyes wide, an expression you can't quite read on his face; but he obeys. He stands there like a puppet, unmoving, drinking Viktor's words. You can't help but notice the still present strain in his badly buttoned pants.

The thinner man's gaze softens once more as it falls on you. He makes another step forward; close enough that you could reach him with your hand if you tried. He looks at you encouragingly: “Answer the question, sweet thing.”

The room feels like it's shrunk to barely a tenth of its size. Your breath has become shallow without you noticing. But isn't quite from fear anymore.

“T-twice in the lab before,” you stutter, the embarrassment of recounting your adventures to your direct supervisor burning your cheeks. The arousal in the air is undeniable now, and he's visibly aware of it. “And in the library. Once in my bedroom.”

Viktor hums pensively, studying your answer. It almost feels like you're passing some kind of final exam; the world's most sexually charged exam, undoubtedly.

“So he is aware of the basic notion of privacy behind closed doors, then,” Viktor concludes, the thin smirk now fully on display. “Who would have thought.”

He doesn't look away from your eyes when he finally speaks to the other man again.

“Jayce. How close are you?”

You glance at the taller engineer; he's started palming himself through his pants, his breathing irregular. His hair is dishevelled from your previous activities, and his cheeks are a bright crimson against his caramel skin. He's usually so dominating, on top of things, handling you like a chiffon doll up and down his dick with that cocky smile of his. You've never seen him like this; flustered, desperate, seeming so small despite all of his stature.

“Pretty close,” Jayce almost moans out, voice raspy for exertion. He's biting his own bottom lip so tightly it might start bleeding. “Just a little more.”

Viktor finally gives him a slight smile, though it's dripping with self-satisfaction. He's close enough to you that you can smell him now, that you could brush away the wayward strands of hair on his forehead. His face has been marked by the passage of time and countless hours of work, heavy bags under his eyes, cheeks almost gaudy. And yet, there is no sign of him ever losing control of this moment. Nothing could change the hypnotic power of his eyes, the controlling tone of his voice, or the subjugating effect of his slightly crooked smile.

“I suppose we should oblige,” he suggests lightly, his free hand brushing your cheek. His fingers are thin and lithe, cold against your skin, and you lean into the touch. He gives you a moment to pull away, if you want to; but you don't.

The kiss is slow at first, gentle, just the way little girls dream their prince charming might one day give them. He lets you decide when to pick up the speed, and you initiate after a few seconds by slipping your tongue in his mouth. It's messier, now, teeth clashing every now and then, saliva pooling where your lips meet. He tastes nothing like Jayce, his flavour of dark coffee and fresh mint; Viktor is sweet, like milk and honey, like a slice of lemon cake in the summer heat.

When he pulls away for air, you feel like time has started to move once again, as if you've just emerged from a dream. He's smirking confidently, still, but not entirely unfazed; his pale cheeks have turned pink, his breathing is slightly laboured, and there are traces of smudged saliva on the corners of his mouth.

A foreign whine makes you both turn towards Jayce, who is clearly on the edge of orgasm. He's abandoned any pretence of innocence, his cock fully pulled out of his pants as he rubs it furiously, eyes locked on the two of you.

“Stop,” Viktor only says.

Jayce groans in frantic frustration, slowing his rhythm but incapable of removing his hand. He's harder than you've ever seen him, his tip almost a painful red.

“No, no, c'mon V, don't do this. Please keep going,” he begs, looking at you with pitiful eyes, pleading silently. You want to touch him, to let him touch himself. But you know it's not your decision; it's Viktor's. And he's made his ruling, so you're not about to get on your research director's bad side again.

The head engineer offers a proud smile at your lack of answer to Jayce, the kind he usually reserves for reports submitted in advance or ingenious schematics. You recognize him more like this, strict, but never unappreciative of your efforts. He never forgets to slip a word of encouragement when you're stuck, never hesitates to reread your notes with you when the math isn't quite adding up. The cold anger seems to have fully passed, and now only the teasing, taunting satisfaction remains.

“I believe you may have forgotten that as per her contract, she is my assistant. Meaning she is under my direct command.”

He's looking at Jayce now, whose hand is still wrapped around his length, but unmoving. His cock is twitching in his grasp, desperate as the rest of him. His whole body shifts to the rhythm of his respiration, large shoulders slumped in defeat. Viktor doesn't turn to you when he asks you the following question, choosing instead to stare deeply into Jayce's citrine eyes.

“Is that not correct?”

You don't hesitate with your answer this time.

“Yes sir.”

His focus is still on the other man, but he strokes your cheek again with his left hand. He rests his weight comfortably on his crutch, like he doesn't have a single worry in the world in this moment.

“Good girl.”

You feel yourself tighten at that. That voice could tell you to find a way to harness the power of the goddamn stars before figuring out the hexcore, and you would comply.

“Jayce, could you bring the chair over here? The larger one.”

Viktor points with his chin towards a wooden chair with a flat backing, in a corner of the lab. Jayce looks back and forth between the chair and his partner, like he's unsure if he's joking or testing him. When no additional directions come from Viktor, he sighs in discomfort, clearly disgruntled, unceremoniously shoving himself back in his pants to go fetch the chair. The thinner man hums in appreciation when he brings it back and places it next to him.

“Thank you, Jayce.”

He sits, using his crutch for balance as he shifts slightly to find a comfortable position. His hand leaves the burgundy handgrip, instead settling on the metallic upper section. He looks like the king of a forgotten kingdom, resting on his wooden throne, sceptre in hand. You and Jayce, his obedient consorts, can't do anything but await his next command.

It comes in the form of a simple motion of his hand, beckoning you closer. You only stop when your legs bump against his, standing above him. His fingers caress the fabric of your skirt studyingly, like he's committing the feel to memory. They eventually catch on the waistband, tugging it questioningly. His golden eyes look up at you, the colour of the sunrise etched in his pupils. You nod earnestly in approval, and he lowers the skirt down until it reaches your knees, letting it fall to the floor. You're suddenly very thankful you dressed up this morning knowing you would see Jayce.

The design is simple, a line of flowery lace hugging your hips, and curving to the shape of your ass. It's the kind of thing Jayce loves; he'll even make you keep your panties on sometimes as he fucks you, just pushing the bottom of the fabric to the side to fit himself inside you. It's the lace he can’t resist, you think, the way it barely covers anything and rests against your skin like a present for him to unwrap.

It doesn’t seem to have the same effect on Viktor, but you can tell he’s still appreciative, cold hand sneaking under the lace to squeeze a cheek firmly.

“This is fucking torture,” Jayce groans in complaint, standing still just barely a few feet away. He's obviously aware he's not supposed to interfere with the two of you, or to touch himself for relief, but the glistening sweat on his forehead and down the prominent vein on his neck indicates how difficult this is for him.

“And you should know better than to have sex next to a table covered in explosive materials and one-of-a-kind prototypes,” Viktor retorts, sparing him a slightly displeased glance. “What if you had broken something irreplaceable?”

Jayce seems genuinely embarrassed by that; he may not show it as often these days with how busy he is, but you know he still cares about the academy's research and the state of hextech.

“I'm sorry Viktor. I wasn't thinking…”

“I am aware you were not thinking. And that is exactly the issue. You forget how much of our profession relies on thinking, not talking.”

It's crystal clear that's going to be the end of the conversation, for now. Viktor's fingers slide to your hip, following the shape of the panties until your inner thigh. A small tap with a single digit tells him everything he needs to know.

“Look at this,” he smiles, taunting but affectionate, “Already so wet just from a kiss. Or was it the sound of my voice that did it, I wonder.”

Both, it's both, and every single thing that has happened in this lab since he entered it. You tremble when his finger moves slowly against the damp fabric, not quite oversensitive, but a little on edge.

“I, um-” Jayce hesitantly speaks up from the side. “I fingered her a bit earlier. I… think she should be alright?”

This time, Viktor doesn't reprimand him for talking; he seems surprisingly pleased, eyes boring into yours for confirmation.

“Is that so?” he exhales softly.

You nod breathlessly. Why is it always so difficult to talk when he's studying you like this?

The teasing finger slips under the fabric, gently making its way into you. You let out an involuntary sound of eagerness as he verifies if you've been loosened up, analyzing you with the precision of a machine. He removes the digit with a crooked grin when he judges you've passed, and you whine at the loss; it was barely anything in the first place, but it soothed the feeling of total emptiness in your core.

“Color me impressed,” Viktor declares, half genuine, half mocking. “I do not think I have ever seen Jayce do his work in advance.”

Said man groans in defeated complaint:

“You're turning her against me.”

Viktor lets out a wry snort:

“You do that well enough on your own. You touched her without even making her cum?”

He pats your pussy comfortingly, and you almost sing to the feeling. Your panties get lowered swiftly, and you discard them with little decorum. Viktor's assertive expression has softened enough that you feel emboldened enough to try to join in the banter:

“Jayce thinks foreplay is watching him get undressed. He's not exactly an expert.”

Viktor laughs at that, a charming and genuine sound, and you feel yourself glow with pride. The topic of mockery doesn't seem as pleased, his cheeks red, his lips thin:

“See? Told you. You've already worked your fucking magic on her.”

Viktor starts unbuttoning his pants, the teasing smile still etched on his angular features. His fingers work nimbly, swiftly, with the precision only the best engineer in Runeterra could muster in such circumstances.

“It is not magic, Jayce. Simply talent and practice.”

He does quick work of lowering his pants, just enough to expose his underwear. The confirmation that he is indeed not as unbothered as he still may seem is poking through the fabric. Judging by the defined outline and the sizeable tent, you can instantly confirm a hypothesis you've had since the start of your internship: the Assistant to the Dean of the Academy is packing.

He's not unaware of it either; his golden eyes follow the movement of your own, playfully examining your reaction. It's different from Jayce's endearing ego and constant need for praise; Viktor knows his worth, but he revels in the admiration, the stares filled with awe and devotion.

If Jayce needs to feel worthy, then Viktor needs to feel wanted.

He finally frees his cock from the restrive fabric, letting the member bob slightly. He's not even fully hard, and he's huge, the length imposing, the bulbous tip a pleasant shade of pink. The skin is as pale as the rest of him, blueish veins marking it like porcelain; only a few well-trimmed auburn curls at the base remind you he's not sculpted from actual marble.

Jayce lets out a low, tentatively playful whistle as the other man’s slender fingers wrap around the shaft.

“Flattery will not get you far, Jayce,” Viktor comments absentmindedly. “You and I both know this is nothing you have not seen before.”

He moves his hand in an open, loose fist, evidently without any real intent to finish himself off; not with the way he's made you stand right above him, not with how he's looking right at you. You swallow with difficulty, licking your lips for moisture. The energy between the two of you is tangible, electric, as he keeps working himself tantalizingly slow.

“Darling. Sweet thing. Do you want this?”

You nod vigorously, the words stuck in your throat again.

“Tell me, then. Please. Tell me how much you want this,” he requests, and it's hard to tell whether that's an order or a plea with the way his voice lowers, just barely louder than a whisper.

You feel like you're high, your mind a jumbled mess of adrenaline and lust. There are no sentences that could possibly express how he's got you under his spell. How many times have you imagined a scene like this, in only a year of being his assistant? The stolen glances, the passing touches, you had no reason to believe they were anything more than figments of your lustful imagination. The very idea that he could be the one doubting your interest in him is laughable, and yet his gaze is probing you for a response, his lips parted with bated breath.

“I want this. I want you,” you swear to him, staring back so deeply into the amber irises there could not be a single question left. “Please, sir.”

You bring a hand to the crook of his neck; the coolness of the skin under your palm, the sharpness of his collarbone against your fingertips, the beating of his heart below your thumb. He has to know this is real.

Viktor smiles slightly, the little mole above his lips shifting alongside his dimples.

“I would ask you to be weary of my right leg, then. It is not quite as strong as it used to be, although that is not saying much.”

You've never seen the emotion that crosses Viktor's face in that moment, gone in under a second. It's so subtle one might have missed it; bitterness, regret, defeat. The tragedy of a man brilliant enough to change the whole world, but who wouldn't live long enough to see it. If Janna truly watches over the lost children of Zaun, then she is turning a blind eye to the brightest of them all.

You could say something, try and comfort him, but you choose not to. There's nothing that can be said to change things; there’s only the present, and there are only actions.

You sink down on him slowly, the both of you moaning in unison. You can't help the array of whines escaping your pinched lips. The heat from where your bodies meet is overwhelming, the stretch delightful and filling. He's not fully inside you and you're already wondering how much more you can take. It's dizzying, the pain making you grit your teeth, but you persist, fingers clenching on the back of the chair. When you've fully bottomed out, you let out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Viktor soothingly pats your back, and you hang on to him for dear life, wrapping both arms around his back.

“Are you alright?” he whispers softly, worry evident in his voice. You want to answer, but you're quite certain if you open your mouth you'll only get confused gibberish out, because fuck, he's filling you so much it's hard to even think. You shift your grip to his shoulder blades, trying to anchor yourself, absentmindedly noticing the cool feeling of metal under his uniform. You trace the intricate patterns with your fingers to ground yourself, recognizing the shapes of bolts and screws, as you feel your breathing slowly even out

“I’m ok,” you eventually manage to exhale. “I just- need a second“

Viktor makes an understanding hum, his hand caressing the valley of your back like you're doing with his, his strokes mellow. He moves his head slightly to look at Jayce behind you, throwing him an irritated glare.

“So much for your preparations,” he points out with irony.

Without needing to see him, you know exactly the kind of disgruntled face Jayce is making: “She only needs three to fit me, you're just stupid big.”

“I can move,” you interrupt them, the pain now only a vague tingle; all that remains is the yearning for him.

You place both hands on the back of the chair to balance your weight, being careful of Viktor's weaker leg. You bring yourself up slowly, tantalizingly, before letting yourself fall back on his length. There's no other way to describe the broken moan you release than dirty.

“Eh,” Viktor remarks slyly, groaning when you start moving again. “S-she does not seem to think it’s stupid.”

You fuck yourself on him with abandon, fast, rough, not caring of how debauched you may look. If anything, Jayce seems very appreciative if his moans and curses are any indication.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants somewhere behind you, too far to feel his warmth, but close enough to hear he's pumping himself to the same rhythm you're riding Viktor. “You're doing such a good job taking him, princess…”

He's truly begging when he calls the other man's name again, delirious from the unending edging:

“V, please, make her turn to my side, I have to see her face.”

Viktor's hooded eyes bare into yours, his raspy pants echoing through your head as you thrust up and down his length.

“Do you think he is truly sorry, now?” he asks, the ever-teasing glimmer in his pupils shining despite the clear physical effort from his body.

You can't even remember what Jayce has to be sorry for; you whimper a positive ‘huh-uh’. Viktor nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck for a moment, gently bitting the sweaty skin in a surprising hint of possessiveness, but he does finally agree to free Jayce of his torture.

“I will trust your good judgment. You can come here, Jayce.”

You yelp in surprise when two strong but familiar hands suddenly grab you at the waist and turn you around, almost pulling you off Viktor's cock and into a messy kiss. The slight tickle of Jayce's stubble is pleasantly itchy, his tongue desperately searching for more of your taste. You moan wantonly against his mouth when you feel Viktor twitch inside you, but the man under you doesn't seem fully pleased: a thinner but firm hand brings you back against his chest, and he throws Jayce an irritated glare.

“I give you an inch and you take a mile. Typical,” the older man accuses him with a bitter tone, his accent more pronounced, rigid. “You do not get to touch, and you are only allowed to cum on her.”

His lips come to your ear in the ghost of a kiss, velvety smooth:

“Would that be agreeable to you, sweet thing?”

You just know you want to keep going, really; so you do exactly that as a reply.

This position is harder for movement, since without the support of the chair’s back, you would have to rely on putting pressure on Viktor's knees. Thankfully, with Jayce’s proximity, you can use his muscled chest for balance. He certainly doesn't mind being used like this if the expression he’s wearing is any sign: his entire face is crimson, his eyes heavy, laboured breaths escaping his abused lips. He's still following your pace, pumping up and down every time your ass meets Viktor's hip bones. It has to be painful by now, with the way he's been rubbing himself raw for so long without release, but he's either too entranced to care or getting off the burning friction

“So obedient,” Viktor praises you, his free hand moving to your lower stomach, long fingers digging gently into your skin; you wonder if he’s trying to feel himself move inside you. “We might still be able to make a top student out of you. What do you think, Jayce?”

Much like yourself, Jayce seems beyond the capacity for words. He's looking at you like he wants to devour you, like he wants to take you off Viktor's lap and fuck you right on the floor. But you both know he wouldn't do that without Viktor's approval, at the risk of getting on the other man’s bad side again.

Viktor's cock hits a peculiarly sensitive spot inside you and you cry out from the sudden shock, loling out your tongue involuntarily. Jayc makes a strangled sound at the sight, and it visibly takes all his self-control to not shove himself into the warmth of your throat.

“For once, I cannot get you to talk when I actually want you to,” Viktor tsks in disapproval, but it's clear he's not frustrated; rather, he seems to enjoy the trance-like silence Jayce has been reduced to.

“F-fuck, I think this is the hottest thing I've ever seen,” the younger man sputters, delirious, his fist moving with a frenzied pace. “I can see your cock in and out of her every time she bounces like that. Her tits look so good…”

You recognize that slight pitch in his voice, the rumbling in his throat; he's close again.

“What else?” Viktor hums, not letting him have a moment of respite. You can hear ragged gasps next to your ear, parts of heaved curses indicating he too is nearing his end, but he's still firmly insistent on being the one in control of it all.

Jayce whines in struggle, but it's hard to hear with how loud the sound of your own moans echo in the room. You've been using Viktor's cock to hit that one spot over and over, chasing your high without restraint, the familiar clenching of your walls maddening.

“She looks all fucked out. Like she -fuck- like she's so close to cumming around you…”

The other man seems pleased by that if the way you feel him twitch inside you is evidence. “Good observations,” he replies in playful irony. “Perhaps there is still a scientist in there.”

The hand on your stomach leaves its comfortable position to wrap around your neck, the pressure light, just barely restricting airflow.

“Sweet thing,” he calls out to you once more. “You can pick up the pace a little. I want you to never look away from Mr Talis's eyes.”

It's a hard request to fulfill considering how badly you want to squint your eyes shut in the agonizing pleasure; but you try your very best, unshed tears of exhaustion starting to pool and blurying your vision.

The sight of you so desperately trying to obey Viktor's order to focus on nothing but him is what finally undoes Jayce, who lets out one final loud curse:

“Shit-!”

He cums all over your academy blouse with a shout, little droplets reaching as high as your chin. It barely takes three more thrusts against Viktor for you to join him, crying tears of relief as an intense wave of bliss rocks your entire body. With your limbs reduced to nothing but putty, your head falls forward in exhaustion, thankfully stopped by Jayce's strong torso; the fabric of his dress shirt feels like satin against your face, burying your sobs.

Viktor takes a moment longer to reach his peak, fucking into your exhausted body with concentration, thick eyebrows furrowed. It's too much, too rough, and you throw your head back to whine against his neck pitifully. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath before he finally unloads into you with a long groan.

“Shh, good girl,” he compliments you soothingly as his warmth settles into your core, kissing your neck leisurely in praise. “You have done so well.”

He bends your head back slightly more to catch your mouth in an open-mouth kiss, slow and tired, sloppy from your mutual exhaustion. Jayce groans, his hand somehow still on his softened cock, pumping it lazily; his stamina is utterly unbelievable.

“Okay, actually, this might be the hottest thing I've ever seen,” he comments hoarsely, absorbing the way your tongue dances with Viktor's with every inch of his capacities.

Viktor concludes the wet kiss with a small peck on your lips, smiling as your head falls back on his shoulder in fatigue, your eyes shut close.

“Because you managed to get yourself all over her?” he throws back at Jayce, as calm and confident as if he hadn't just made you go through the most intense orgasm of your life. “Your ego will never cease to impress me.”

The stars behind your eyelids are still spinning; you weakly try to move an arm, finding it almost completely unresponsive.

“Sir?” you ask, and you almost don't recognize your voice with how rough and broken it resonates in the empty lab.

“I think we have reached the point where you are allowed to call me by my name in private,” Viktor amusedly hums close to you.

“Viktor, I…”

You want to open your eyes, to look into his golden eyes again and see the way he looks right after sex, but they're sealed shut from how worn out you are. “…I don't think I can move right away.”

That earns you a content chuckle from one man and a disbelieving laugh from the other.

“Jayce,” Viktor asks, now with a tone of request rather than command, “be a gentleman for once and carry her to her bedroom. The poor thing is exhausted.”

Jayce snorts, for once tonight the one hitting back with irony:

“And whose fault is that?”

Viktor’s fingers, still loosely wrapped around your throat as lightly as feathers, slide down to massage the tender muscles at the base of your nape. You moan brokenly into the touch. You couldn't move even if you wanted to.

“Undeniably yours. I am not the one sneaking around in the academy for nefarious purposes,” Viktor retorts playfully, tiredness noticeable but skillfully hidden in his voice. “But if you were to have a bad idea like this once more… I believe I can offer you my services as her supervisor. For both your sakes.”

[ddejavvu]

Hiccup’s the kind of guy I want to shock with just how horny I am for him.

He’s not some naive little baby, he knows you’re attracted to him, that’s why you’re with him. It might have been hard for him to swallow at first because of how everyone treated him growing up but he believes you when you kiss him, when you tell him he’s handsome, when you start getting blushy around him. maybe he’ll even own it, showing off a bit in the ways he knows you like. Licking his lips when he concentrates, directing you somewhere with a hand on your shoulder, running a hand through his hair. But he underestimates just how much you want to bang him, and you genuinely shock him when you get your hands on him.

You’re extra desperate in kissing him before your first time, but honestly, so is he. He’s already blissed out. Maybe he even gets a round (what he thinks is the one and only) in before you really let your freak flag fly. He’s panting beside you on the bed, stoked out of his mind because he just had sex and he was pretty darn sure for a lot of his teenage years that that’d never happen for him.

He’s celebrating in his head while still trying to be comforting for you, brushing his pinky up and down your bare hip while he catches his breath. Then you’re hauling yourself up before he’s able to move, and trying to maneuver yourself to take his dick in your mouth. If it’s your first time he’s a little nervous still. Maybe he flinches away and you have to assure him that yes, you really want to do this, yes even though you’ve both just cum, yes even though it’s late, yes even though he hasn’t done it for you. And he stutters through a promise that he will, but you’d do it a thousand times with no reciprocation just to get your mouth on him. You’re obscene with it. You’re greedy, gagging and choking voluntarily, always lunging forwards to shove more of him into your mouth than you can handle. He has to scruff you and force you to come up for air, and you cough and choke on the pre that had oozed into your throat paired with the rough intrusion of his cock.

‘Woah!’ He’s holding you at arm’s length worriedly, ‘Don’t-! You’re gonna choke!’

‘I want to,’ you groan, trying in vain to squirm out of his hold, mumbling his name and a thousand vulgar things you want to do and have done to you. His pale cheeks light up bright red, and when he cums you let it pour down your throat and clog your airway. You rub your face into his pubes, inhaling his sweat and musk and you suck him off until he wrenches you off, unable to stand the stimulation anymore. You seem to be doing it for yourself, too. There’s some eye contact, a lustful glance through your eyelashes here and there, but you’re going after it like a dog with a bone, sucking and licking and gulping like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

You bite and lick and suck bruises into his arms. You push his face into your breasts. You yank on his hair. You shove him up against the walls of the buildings of Berk in broad daylight, barely concealed by 90° from the rest of the villagers. He knows you love him, he loves you too. He knows you think he’s hot, he thinks you’re hot.

He knows you’re into him but every time you fuck he’s surprised by just how much you want him. He looks in the mirror and considers himself worthy of attraction, he’s got a nice jawline that stubble inhabits if he doesn’t keep himself shaved. His hair can be messed into something flattering to his features. His leather accoutrements makes him look cool. He knows all of this, but every time he thinks he’s prepared himself for just how much you’re into him, he is reminded that there is something deeply primal inside of you that takes hold whenever you get your hands on him.

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[linoxpudding]

Falling For You

summary: based on the promt "you walk in, and my heart beats differently." – when his best friend unknowingly makes his heart race, he realizes it’s love, leading to a heartfelt confession that changes everything

pairing: skz x reader

genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers

a/n: oh to be confessed like this, based on this cute request ♡

*all the images are collected from pinterest, I tried to add pics that capture the vibe*

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan

You walk into Chan’s studio, balancing a takeout bag and two cups of coffee. It was already late at night. He looks up from his laptop, exhaustion written all over his face - until he sees you.

"You brought me food?" he asks, eyes softening.

You set it down on the small coffee table in the room. "You work too much." You can tell he’s been glued to his work all night.

Chan lets out a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well…" He exhales, watching as you take his wrist and pull him up from the chair, leading him to the couch to sit beside him. Your legs brush as you begin unpacking the food containers.

For a while, the only sounds are the faint hum of the studio equipment and the soft rustling of food being opened. Chan watches you, the weariness in his eyes slowly fading as he takes in the sight of you sitting there, your presence grounding him in a way nothing else can.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he murmurs, "You walk in, and my heart beats differently."

You freeze, your heart skipping at his words. "What?" You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

His eyes flick to yours, realizing what he just said out loud. But instead of backtracking, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I mean it," he says. "It doesn’t matter how tired I am - whenever you’re here, suddenly, everything feels… better."

You swallow, warmth blooming in your chest. "Chan…"

He smiles, tilting his head. "Tell me I’m not crazy."

Your smile is soft, tender, as you lean forward a little. "You’re not crazy," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because I feel the same way."

Chan exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He smiles, a little shy, but there’s something calming in his eyes, a quiet relief in knowing that what he’d felt, what he’d tried to keep to himself, wasn’t just a one-sided thing.

Then, with a soft chuckle, he reaches out, squeezing your hand. "Good," he says. "Because I don’t think I can keep pretending anymore."

Lee Know

You were at Minho's apartment, playing with Soonie, Dongie and Dori.

Minho leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you giggle as Dori climbs onto your lap. His cats are obsessed with you, and honestly? He doesn’t blame them. There was a certain comfort in watching you interact with his cats, and he found himself smiling, despite his best efforts not to.

"You guys are such traitors," he mutters.

You glance up, amused. "Because they love me more?"

He clicks his tongue, looking away. "My heart has an annoying habit of skipping when you’re around," he mumbles under his breath.

You blink. "What?"

Minho exhales, rubbing his temples. "Nothing."

You stand, stepping closer. "Minho..."

He finally looks at you, eyes searching. Then, in a moment of rare vulnerability, he murmurs, "I think you stole my heart the same way you stole theirs."

Your lips part in surprise.

"So you better take care of it," he adds, smirking - but there’s something nervous in his gaze.

You grin, reaching for his hand. "Guess that means you have to take care of mine too, then."

His smirk softens, and for once, he doesn’t hide. He stepped closer, leaning down, and as he did, you closed the distance, your lips meeting in a soft, tentative kiss.

Just as the kiss deepened, Dori meowed, rubbing against Minho’s legs. You pulled away, laughing softly.

"Of course," Minho muttered, letting out a sigh.

You grinned. "Guess we’ll finish this later."

He smiled, not letting go of your hand. "I’m counting on it."

As the evening passed, you both stole a few more kisses, the cats weaving around you both. This felt right, and you both knew this was just the beginning of something that was always meant to be.

Seo Changbin

It was one of your regular hangouts at his place. After catching up and playing some board games, you sat on the couch, cradling a warm cup of soothing lemon tea, when you burst into laughter at another one of Changbin's jokes.

You’re doubled over with laughter, clutching your stomach as Changbin wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

"That..." you gasp between laughs. "That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard."

He grins. "And yet, you’re laughing."

You swat at his arm, still breathless. "I can’t help it. Your dumb jokes always get me."

Changbin watches you, his chest tightening in a way that’s almost painful. He’s always been strong and always carried himself with confidence, but with you? He’s just a guy who falls harder every day.

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "You walk in, and my heart beats differently. Like it just ran a marathon."

The words hang between you, soft yet heavy.

His ears immediately turn red, and he scrambles to cover it up, flexing his arms. "I mean, obviously, you make my heart race because I work out, and adrenaline -"

"Changbin."

He freezes. "Huh?"

You’re staring at him, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips.

"Just admit it," you tease gently. "No excuses this time."

He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine." His voice is quieter now, more certain. "I like you, alright? A lot."

Something warm spreads through your chest. "Good," you murmur, scooting closer. "Because I like you too."

His eyes widen slightly before his lips curve into that soft, downturned smile you love so much. "Really?"

"Really."

And just like that, the tension shifts into something lighter, something new.

Changbin lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Man, I was so ready to play that off."

You laugh, nudging him. "Yeah, well, I’m glad you didn’t."

He grins. "Me too."

And when he pulls you into a warm, crushing hug, neither of you feel like letting go anytime soon.

Hwang Hyunjin

It was another wine and paint evening with your best friend, Hyunjin. The room smelled like fresh paint and sweet red wine, soft music playing in the background as the two of you settled into your usual spot - his cozy living room.

You were laughing over some silly comment Hyunjin made about your attempt at painting, the wine giving you a bit more courage than usual. But as you glanced at him, something was different. His usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced with an almost unreadable expression, as if he were lost in thought.

"You’re staring," you teased, nudging his shoulder.

He blinked, snapping out of his daze. His lips tugged into a soft smile, but there was something deeper behind his eyes, something he wasn’t quite saying. He set his brush down slowly, his hands shaking just a little.

"Yeah," he whispered, eyes not leaving yours. "I guess I am."

You chuckled, confused but amused. "You okay there, Hyunjin?"

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze intense now, almost as if he were seeing you in a completely new light. Then, in a soft but steady voice, he said, "You walk in, and my heart beats differently."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you froze. The moment felt like it stretched on forever. The playful, carefree energy you both usually shared suddenly felt like it had shifted into something entirely new.

Hyunjin’s eyes softened as he continued, his voice a little shakier now. "I’ve always thought you were amazing, but... lately, when I’m with you, everything just feels different. My heart races, and it’s like nothing else matters. You’re more than just my best friend."

His words hung in the air, and your mind spun. You had always known there was something special between you, but hearing it out loud from Hyunjin’s lips made it all feel so much more real, so much more intense.

You set your brush down, staring at him for a moment, trying to process what he just said. "Hyunjin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you saying what I think you’re saying?"

He smiled, a little shy now, the vulnerability in his eyes evident. "I think I am. I like you, more than just as a friend."

Your heart raced, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. There was something so beautiful in the way he looked at you.

You swallowed, your voice thick with emotion. "I like you too. A lot more than I should."

Hyunjin’s eyes softened even further, and before you knew it, he leaned in, his lips gently brushing against your lips in a tender, intimate kiss that made your heart race. You kissed him back with just as much eagerness. When you both pulled away, he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your lips.

"I’m glad," he murmured. "I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while."

And as you both sat there, surrounded by the soft glow of the room and the quiet hum of the music, you realized that everything had changed. But, in that moment, it felt like it was just the beginning of something even more beautiful.

Han Jisung

The arcade is alive with flashing lights and the sound of beeping machines as you and Jisung race through the games, each of you determined to outdo the other. You’ve been at it for hours, laughing and joking, each challenge bringing out the competitive side in both of you.

Jisung throws his hands up in the air in mock frustration, his usual playful energy bubbling up. “That’s IT. I refuse to lose to you again!” he declares, eyes wide with dramatic flair.

You burst out laughing, holding up the plushie you won from the claw machine, the prize dangling from your hand as a reminder of your win. “Face it, Han, I’m just better.”

He groans dramatically, acting like the weight of defeat is too much for him to bear. You can’t help but giggle at his antics, but as you turn to leave the game station, you catch a glimpse of his face - his usual smirk has faded into something far softer. He stops mid-motion, staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time in a different way.

“Jisung?” you ask, your voice a little quieter, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. “You okay?”

He swallows, his expression shifting from amused to something more nervous. He glances down for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts before looking at you again. His words are almost a whisper, but the arcade’s lively hum suddenly seems to fade into the background. “My heart trips over itself whenever you’re near.”

Your breath catches. You freeze, unsure if you heard him right. “What?”

Jisung’s eyes widen in panic, his face flushing a deep red. “Oh my God, I did not mean to say that out loud-”

Before he can retreat into his usual nervous ramble, you reach out, grabbing his wrist gently, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to hold back your laughter. “No, no, don’t take it back,” you say, your voice teasing but soft.

He stops, blinking in surprise at you, unsure how to respond. “Why not?” he asks, the vulnerability in his eyes clear now, as if waiting for your reaction.

You grin, stepping a little closer to him. “Because mine does the same thing,” you whisper, quieter now, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you realize what you just admitted.

His jaw drops, his expression flickering between disbelief and sheer happiness. For a moment, neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, that trademark Jisung smile - bright, wide, and utterly infectious - spreads across his face.

He takes a step closer, his hand brushing yours with the same ease he’s always had, but now, it feels like it means something more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he admits, his tone soft but full of sincerity. You can’t help the way your heart skips at his words.

“Well,” you reply, your voice playful but tender, “I guess we’ve both been a little slow to catch on.”

Jisung grins, the familiar mischievous twinkle back in his eyes. “Maybe, but we’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You nod, your chest full of warmth as you both stand there, the arcade noise fades into the background, and in this moment, it's just the two of you - in your own little world.

Lee Felix

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to take a late-night walk under the star-filled sky. Felix had texted you earlier, saying he was picking you up for a walk, claiming he missed his best friend.

The streets are quiet, the world almost still, as you walk side by side with Felix. The cool night air brushes against your skin, and the distant hum of the city seems far away, leaving only the sound of your footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

"You ever think about home?" Felix asks suddenly, his voice soft, carrying a hint of something deeper, something you can’t quite place.

You glance at him, surprised by the question. "Yeah, sometimes. Why?"

He exhales, his breath visible in the crisp air, and then looks up at the stars. "I think… being near you feels like home."

You pause, your heart skipping a beat as his words settle in. You stop walking, a gentle tension filling the space between you, the silence hanging heavy with unspoken emotions. Felix, sensing the change, looks at you, his expression both soft and vulnerable.

"Felix...." you begin, but you can’t seem to find the words to express the warmth blooming in your chest.

Before you can say more, his fingers brush yours. The contact sends a spark through you, igniting something that’s been simmering quietly beneath the surface. He turns to face you, his gaze locking with yours, and in that moment, everything else fades away.

"You walk in, and my heart beats differently," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I’ve loved you for a long time."

His eyes are wide, searching, hoping for a response. Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve known this feeling for a while, but hearing it from him makes it real. You smile, the warmth in your chest spreading to your cheeks as you step closer, intertwining your fingers with his.

"You are my home," you reply softly, your voice steady but full of meaning.

It felt freeing, finally having the courage to say this to him. Felix’s breath hitches, his eyes wide with surprise, and then, without another word, he pulls you into a hug. It’s warm, enveloping, the kind of hug that feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

His arms tighten around you, and for a moment, you both just stand there, the world continuing to spin, but in that moment, it’s just you two - safe, together, and home.

As you pull back slightly, still holding him close, he smiles, his usual energy mixing with a softness you’ve never seen before. "I’m glad you feel the same," he says, a shy grin tugging at his lips.

With your hand still in his, you resume your walk, the night sky above you and the quiet comfort of each other’s company wrapping around you like a blanket. You don’t need to say anything more - because in that moment, you both know. You’ve found home.

Kim Seungmin

The movie night had started like any other - just the two of you curled up on the couch, a pile of snacks between you, laughing at the screen. But somewhere along the way, you’d drifted off, your head resting against Seungmin’s chest, your body curled into his side.

Seungmin sighs as he looks down at you, the soft glow of the TV casting gentle shadows across your face. The movie is still playing, but he’s barely paying attention anymore.

You’re so unfair.

You always fall asleep like this - so trusting, so comfortable, so close. And each time, it gets harder for him to pretend that he doesn’t want more.

He hesitates for a second, then, thinking you’re already deep asleep, he finally lets the words slip.

"Everything feels right when you’re here," he murmurs. His hand, which had been resting lightly on your back, stills. "I don’t know when it started, but… I don’t think I just see you as my best friend anymore." His voice is softer now, more vulnerable than he’d ever let it be if you were awake. "Like whenever you walk in, my heart beats differently."

His sighs and continues saying, "and if I had any sense, I’d probably keep this to myself."

"But you don’t," you whisper.

Seungmin freezes.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his. A small, knowing smile plays on your lips.

"You weren’t sleeping," he accuses, ears turning bright red.

You shake your head, grinning. "Nope."

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again - but no words come out. His mind is racing, trying to figure out what to say, how to backtrack, but you don’t give him the chance.

Instead, before he can overthink it, you cup his face and press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

Seungmin completely short-circuits.

His body tenses for half a second before melting into you, his hands gripping your waist like he can’t believe this is real. When you finally pull back, his wide eyes search yours, completely breathless.

"You- what- why—" he stammers, ears burning.

You laugh, leaning your forehead against his. "Because I feel the same way, idiot."

His lips part, processing your words, before the softest, happiest chuckle escapes him.

"You’re really unfair," he mumbles, his arms tightening around you.

"You love it," you tease.

And with a shy, utterly smitten smile, he whispers, "Yeah. I really do."

He rests his forehead against yours, the movie now just a distant hum in the background, both of you lost in the warmth of each other, and neither of you can stop smiling.

Yang Jeongin

Jeongin had planned this. Every little detail. The amusement park, the endless laughter, the way he let you win at a few games (but only a few), and now - this. The Ferris wheel. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

He’d been waiting for the right moment, but as he watches you take in the view, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, he realizes - there is no right moment. There’s just you. And that’s always been enough.

The Ferris wheel sways gently as it stops at the very top, the city stretching below in a sea of twinkling lights. You and Jeongin sit side by side, legs dangling, the warmth of the evening still lingering in the air.

"Wow," you murmur, gazing out at the skyline. "It’s beautiful from up here.

Jeongin hums in agreement, but his eyes aren’t on the view. They’re on you.

When you turn to face him, you catch the way he’s looking at you - soft, thoughtful, like he’s trying to memorize this exact moment.

"What?" you ask, tilting your head.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Then, exhaling softly, he gathers his courage. "You walk in, and my heart beats differently."

The amusement park noise fades into the background. Your breath catches. "Jeongin…?"

He swallows, nervous but determined. "I wanted today to be special because I wanted to tell you that, I like you. A lot. And… I don’t want this to just be another one of our hangouts." His fingers fidget with the hem of his sleeve. "I was kinda hoping it could be our first date instead."

Your heart races, warmth blooming in your chest. "You planned all this… for me?"

"Of course," he admits, a little shyly. "You make everything better just by being there. And when you’re near, everything slows down."

A slow smile spreads across your face. "Then… let’s make it official."

And before he can say anything else, you close the distance, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.

Jeongin freezes, eyes wide, ears turning bright red. "W-Wait....does that-does that mean"

You chuckle, "yes, dummy. It means yes."

Jeongin exhales, a mixture of relief and something softer, something new. And then, with the Ferris wheel carrying you both gently forward, he reaches for your hand, fingers hesitantly brushing against yours.

This time, you don’t hesitate. You intertwine them, letting the world slow down just a little more.

[save-the-child-qais]

This powerful image captures the face of a wounded Palestinian woman whose hijab is soaked in blood—likely her own or that of a loved one. Her eyes tell a story of unimaginable pain and strength in the face of loss. She stands in a chaotic hospital hallway, surrounded by others in distress. As an oppressed and weak woman from Gaza, I see myself in her. I, too, have suffered greatly—my baby, Qais, was injured in the war, and the hospital refused to treat him because we cannot pay. Please, I beg you to help us. Your donation can provide the medicine and care Qais urgently needs.

Life in Gaza is unbearable for women like me.

1. I wait in line for two hours just to bring food back to our tent – food that is never enough.

2. I work counting and scanning passersby – a small job that barely pays, just so I can afford one dose of medicine.

3. We were turned away from the hospital – they said no money, no treatment, even for a child as young as Qais.

I carry this pain in silence, but I cannot bear it alone anymore. The woman in this picture used her hijab to try and save her son’s life. I am doing everything I can to save mine. But without help, I fear I will lose him too. Please, donate anything you can—no matter how small. Even a few dollars could mean a meal, a medicine dose, or a chance for Qais to live. Share this, speak up, and help us survive.

PLEASE DONATE HERE

If Qais was your only child, would you leave him to face his fate alone?

DONATE HERE PLEASE

Please stop ✋🚨 you're the only hope to save a child😔😭

Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #64 )🍉🇵🇸

[rmview]

finding out you were a bet, ENHYPEN.

featuring — enhypen members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of what happens when you find out that dating you was actually a bet they made but they caught the feels!

contents — angst, arguments, hurt.

hee ☁ seung

heeseung froze when he saw the look on your face — hurt, betrayal, disbelief. “you knew?” he asked quietly, his voice barely audible.

“you lied to me,” you said, your voice trembling as you held back tears. “dating me was just a bet?”

heeseung’s head fell into his hands as he sank onto the edge of the couch. “at first, yes,” he admitted, his voice shaky and almost panicked. “but it wasn’t supposed to turn into… this.”

“into what?” you demanded, your eyes narrowing as the frustration bubbled over. “into me falling for you while you were laughing behind my back?”

“no!” he shouted, his voice loud enough to startle you. he stood abruptly, his face pale as he struggled to meet your eyes. “i swear it was never like that. it was stupid — immature. i didn’t think… i didn’t think i’d fall for you the way i did.”

you scoffed, crossing your arms as tears spilled over. “how am i supposed to believe anything you say now?”

he took a hesitant step closer, his hands raised as if to reach for you but stopping midway. “because i know i don’t deserve your trust, but i love you. that’s real. it’s the only thing i’m sure of,” he said, his voice shaking. “if you walk away right now, i won’t blame you, but please, don’t think for a second that what i feel for you isn’t real.”

jay ☁

“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice cold but laced with pain. “were you ever going to?”

jay’s jaw tightened as he leaned against the wall, staring at the floor. “i wanted to, but i didn’t know how,” he admitted, his tone subdued.

“right, because lying to me was easier,” you shot back, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

jay finally looked up, his dark eyes filled with regret. “it wasn’t like that,” he said firmly. “at first, yeah, it was a bet. but i didn’t think it would turn into this. into me actually caring about you.”

“you cared so much you kept it a secret,” you said bitterly.

he pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you. “because i was scared of this,” he said, gesturing between you. “of losing you before i could show you how much you mean to me. i know it’s my fault and i messed up, but you’ve got to believe me when i say i’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

you hesitated, his words conflicting with your anger. “you broke my trust, jay,” you whispered.

“i know,” he said, his voice soft but unwavering. “and i’ll do whatever it takes to earn it back. just give me a chance to prove to you that i’m not the guy who made that stupid bet anymore.”

sung ☁ hoon

sunghoon’s face turned pale when you confronted him. “is it true?” you asked, your voice trembling. “was dating me just some kind of bet to you?”

he froze, his usually calm demeanor crumbling. “who told you that?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“so it’s true,” you said, the hurt in your eyes making his stomach twist.

“at first, yes,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. “but it wasn’t like that for long. i swear, everything i feel for you now… it’s real.”

you let out a bitter laugh, tears slipping down your cheeks. “how convenient for you. do you know how humiliating this is for me?”

“i know,” he said, his voice trembling as he took a step closer. “and i hate myself for it. for being so stupid, for not telling you sooner. but please, believe me when i say i never meant to hurt you.”

“how can i believe anything you say now?” you shot back.

he hesitated, his eyes pleading. “because i wouldn’t be standing here like this if i didn’t care about you,” he said, his voice breaking. “you mean everything to me. i know i don’t deserve your forgiveness, but i’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. just… don’t walk away from me.”

jake ☁

the moment jake saw the text on your phone, he knew the truth had come out. “you know,” he said, his voice hollow as he approached you.

you turned to face him, eyes blurring with tears. “how could you do this to me?”

jake’s chest tightened at the sight of your pain. he had never seen you cry. “it wasn’t supposed to go this far,” he said quickly, his voice desperate. “it was a dumb bet, and i was stupid to agree to it. but i swear, everything after that… it’s real. you have to believe me.”

“how can i?” you asked, your voice cracking as you almost felt nauseous from the news sinking in. “you lied to me from the start, jake. i thought you cared about me.”

“i do!” he exclaimed, stepping closer. his hands hovered near yours, but he didn’t dare touch you. “i care about you so much it scares me. that’s why i didn’t tell you — i didn’t know how to admit i’d messed up so badly.”

you shook your head, your eyes full of hurt. “i can’t even look at you right now.”

jake’s shoulders slumped, his voice trembling. “i don’t blame you,” he said softly. “but if there’s even the smallest part of you that feels the way i do, please… let me fix this. let me prove i’m not that guy that you think i am. i don’t want to lose you.”

su ☁ noo

sunoo knew something was wrong the moment you looked at him, your usual warmth replaced with cold distance. “what’s going on?” he asked nervously.

“i know,” you said bluntly, holding up your phone with a message that revealed everything. “dating me was just a bet to you.”

his breath hitched, and he immediately shook his head. “it’s not like that anymore,” he said quickly, his voice filled with panic.

“then what was it like?” you demanded, your voice breaking. “was it all just a joke to you?”

“no,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “it was never a joke, even in the beginning. i know i was wrong — so wrong — but i didn’t think it would turn into this. into me falling for you.”

you crossed your arms, tears welling in your eyes. “how am i supposed to believe that?”

sunoo’s own eyes filled with tears as he clasped his hands together, almost in prayer. “because i’ve never cared about anyone the way i care about you,” he said, his voice cracking. “you make me want to be better—to deserve you. please don’t give up on us because of my stupid mistake.”

jung ☁ won

jungwon could feel the tension radiating from you as soon as you walked in. “what’s wrong?” he asked cautiously.

you turned to him, holding your phone tightly. “were you ever going to tell me?”

his heart dropped. “tell you what?” he asked hesitantly, though he already knew.

“that this whole thing — us — was just a bet?” you said, your voice trembling with anger and pain.

jungwon’s lips parted, but no words came out. finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “it started that way,” he admitted, his voice low. “but it’s not like that anymore. i swear, i didn’t mean for it to happen, but… i fell for you.”

you scoffed, your arms crossed. “do you know how humiliating this is for me? how stupid i feel for trusting you?”

“i know,” he said, his voice filled with guilt. “and i hate myself for it every day. but please, don’t think for a second that my feelings for you aren’t real. they are.”

you shook your head, tears spilling over. “i don’t know if i can believe you.”

jungwon stepped closer, his expression desperate. “then let me show you,” he said softly. “give me a chance to prove to you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i’ll do whatever it takes.”

ni ☁ ki

ni-ki’s eyes widened as soon as he heard your words. “it was a bet, wasn’t it?” you asked, your voice cold.

he froze, his usually playful demeanor gone. “who told you?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

“so it’s true,” you said, your voice cracking. “i can’t believe this.”

“it was stupid,” he blurted, stepping toward you. “i was stupid. i didn’t think it would matter at first, but then i got to know you, and everything changed.”

you shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me. that i was just a game to you.”

“you were never just a game,” he said urgently, his voice trembling. “i know i messed up — i know i don’t deserve your forgiveness. but you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like this, and i don’t want to lose you.”

you hesitated, your anger battling with the raw sincerity in his voice. “how am i supposed to trust you again?”

“i’ll earn it,” he said quickly, his hands clenching into fists. “i’ll spend the rest of my life earning it if i have to. just don’t leave. please.”

notes: first enhypen post <3 likes and reblogs are very much appreciated since i'm still a new writer :')

[rafeys-angel13]

how sexist!rafe talks about you to his friends

warnings: mention of sex; degrading language.

writers notes: idea from @cameronsbabydoll! fic here

rafe and his buddies are at the country club playing golf with a few drinks. it’s a nice sunday afternoon so rafe dropped you off at a friends house and headed to the country club.

“how’s your girl, rafe?” topper asks, practicing his swings.

“yeah, she’s perfect” rafe smirks and looks over at topper.

“i’m happy for you man… she’s a pretty little thing… is she being good for you?” topper leans against the golf cart.

“yeah.. she’s good…” he nods “brainless… but so perfect, she’s such a good girl”

kelce joins in the conversation now, standing between the two and taking a long swig of his beer before speaking up.

“i don’t know where the hell you found her but she’s perfect, mine barely even wants to fuck anymore” he scoffs and topper chuckles.

rafe smirks and takes this as his chance to show you off.

“that’s sad, man… mine lets me fuck her every night… she’s like a little doll. i just get to have my way with her and she loves it. it’s a win win, keeps us both happy” rafe nods and topper shakes his head with a smirk.

“you lucky bastard” kelce scoffs and finishes his beer.

rafe continues talking about you; the things you do for him, how often you clean and cook, how you wear whatever he tells you to and how obedient you are while showing them pictures of you in some dresses and skirts he’d bought you recently, topper and kelce are in awe as he swipes through the album he has dedicated to photos of you.

“there… look at her in that little pink dress and the heels… such a sweet little thing…” he smirks as the other men agree.

“fucked her so good that night, had her screaming my name so much she forgot her own…” his laugh almost wicked.

they carry on golfing for a little while before rafe’s phone pings, he pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the contact. it’s you, saying you’d got a ride home from your friends and asking him how long he will be until he’s back.

“see, she’s begging me to come back already… so desperate for my attention.” he shows the guys the text and they chuckle slightly.

“you gonna go home, then?” topper questions.

“am i hell, she can wait” he scoffs, acting like he doesn’t wanna be by your side 24/7, which he definitely does but will never admit, not even to you.

- ‘i’ll be home as soon as i can, angel x’

he messages back, not letting the guys see how soft he is with you.

-

[nephynes]

Perv brothers bsf heeseung x naive reader?

reqs distracting me from my wips 😭

MDNI

════════════════════════════

It’s just a Saturday. Your voice is a little too sweet as you tell Jay you’re heading out, shoes already on, bag on shoulder. You’re dressed cute, nothing crazy. A pastel pleated skirt, a snug cardigan, glossy lips. It’s warm outside, and you wanted to feel pretty.

The boys barely glance up from the TV. Jay’s on the floor, Sunghoon beside him, Heeseung sprawled back on the couch.

Sunghoon glances your way and smiles. “You look nice. Going on a date?”

You pause. “Huh? No, just the mall.”

Jay snorts before you can say more. “She’s never been on a date. Never kissed anyone.”

You flush, shifting your weight. “Okay, thank you, that’s enough—”

“She hasn’t!” Jay laughs, like it’s something adorable. “She still sleeps with that giant stuffed bear. What’s its name again? Bearie?”

“Stop.” You mutter, smiling despite yourself, and grab your bag. You wave and duck out, cheeks warm. “Bye, Jongie.”

The door clicks shut behind you.

Heeseung can’t move or even blink.

He’s barely heard a word the last ten minutes, too focused on the way you looked walking away—how your skirt moved when you turned, how your thighs were bare, how your lips looked just a little bit glossy.

Never kissed anyone?

He bites the inside of his cheek, tongue pressed to his molars. There’s a warmth low in his gut, sharp and greedy. His mind is already going places it shouldn’t.

Jay’s little sister.

Jay’s naive little sister.

Heeseung’s thumb taps rhythmically on the controller, but he’s not playing anymore. The screen goes red—game over. Sunghoon groans. Jay curses. Heeseung doesn’t say a word.

He’s too busy replaying your voice in his head.

Just the mall.

He wonders what you’d wear if it was a date.

If you’d let them kiss you.

He doesn’t like the thought of anyone else finding out how soft you are. Not when he’s already imagining what it would be like to teach you himself.

It wasn’t even like you were trying to sneak up on him, you’d only come back because you forgot your phone, the familiar weight of it missing from your bag as soon as you reached the curb. The front door creaks open without you knocking, because it’s your house. Because you live here.

What you don’t expect is Heeseung.

In your room.

Kneeling by your laundry hamper.

You stop, blinking multiple times just to be sure you’re seeing it right. His hand buried elbow-deep in the pile of your worn clothes. Your pajama shorts. Your socks. Your panties.

“Heeseung?”

He doesn’t even flinch.

Slowly, he turns his head to look at you, like he was waiting for you to catch him.

Your throat dries. “What are you—what are you doing?”

He stands. Casual. Calm. Like he wasn’t just sifting through your panties like he had a right.

“You weren’t supposed to be back so soon,” he says. His voice is light, a little amused.

“I forgot my phone—” you stammer, heart punching against your chest. “I—I’m gonna tell Jay.”

Heeseung chuckles. Steps toward you. “No you’re not.”

You backpedal automatically, bumping into the doorframe. “You’re gross.”

“Am I?” He’s closer now, and you can smell his boy musk—warm and dizzying. He cocks his head, smiling slowly. “Then why are you shaking, baby?”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” His eyes drop to your lips. “You caught me red-handed. You should be screaming. You should be crying. But you’re just standing there looking at me like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

He leans in. His breath grazes your cheek.

“You wanna know what I was gonna do with them?”

You try to look away—he catches your jaw between his fingers, tilting your head up.

“I was gonna take them with me. Maybe sleep with them under my pillow for a few nights. Maybe wrap them around my cock while I jerk off, thinking about what your voice sounds like when you moan.”

You gasp, but it’s not outrage that follows—it’s heat, flushing across your skin like you’re burning.

Heeseung’s smile deepens, eyes gleaming.

“See?” he murmurs. “You like it.”

You press your thighs together instinctively. He notices.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He laughs under his breath. “You’re gonna be so much fun.”

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• a/n: i just know you guys are gonna ask for a part 2

[radawaycunt]

Aqua Thermae

Also on AO3

Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.3k words

Summary: After a particularly great victory in the arena, Lucius is rewarded with both a visit to a bathhouse and you -- a high-ranking courtesan -- to keep him company.

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI this fic is 18+), reader is a courtesan (so SW), mentions of violence, shenanigans in and out of water, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, maybe some historical inaccuracies? forgive my sins please, and I thinkkk that's it but lmk if anything else!

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It had been a very long time since he’d been somewhere so luxurious. One of Rome’s finest bathhouses brought echoes of a comfortable life long past in the emperor’s palace. The marble pillars and fine mosaic floors, the detailed frescoes on the walls, and a large thermal pool all for himself.

Then other flashes of memory came to him – his mother’s kindness, his father’s armor, his uncle Comodus’ booming voice, and the cross of their swords…

He shucked his heavy breastplate and immediately felt the steam on his already sweat-slick skin. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. If only memories were so easy to get rid of, he might not always feel so tormented.

Lavishness was not something he had ever actively sought out, even if he was entitled to it as the direct descendant to the throne, but it was strange to think he was once accustomed to it. So much had happened since his forced departure, like a hundred lives melding into one.

Now, after a long, grueling fight with a mighty rhinoceros and its fierce rider, he wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in the warm water until his head swam and his muscles no longer ached so badly.

But then he noticed you standing on one side of the pool, a carafe of wine and a platter of dates, cheese, and nuts waiting on a low table next to you. You smiled as your eyes locked and Lucius’ back immediately straightened. Not much took him by surprise anymore, but this certainly had.

“Who are you?” He asked, curious rather than irritated at your presence.

You inclined your head genially. “You may call me whatever you like.”

He huffed in amusement, giving you a once-over. “Very well, then. And who sent you here?”

“Macrinus wanted nothing but the best company for you, his champion,” you said, serving him some wine. “I am to be your prize, along with this bath.”

His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally and he looked away in an almost bashful manner. His profile was proud and handsome, kissed by the sun and the strikes of his opponents. He had the face of a hero history would always remember – Or at least you would, certainly.

He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could trust anything that came from Macrinus. But as he took another look at you, your allure was too great for him not to be stirred. He could tread carefully, but he didn’t really want to deny himself pleasure, however fleeting it may be.

“I take it your company is quite coveted around here?” He asked, approaching to accept the wine you offered.

You nodded in response, fingertips barely brushing his as he took the glass. He held your gaze as he took a sip and you almost lost yourself in the infinite blue of his eyes. 

“By the likes of who?” He asked.

“Fierce gladiators such as yourself,” you said pointedly, unable to help your wandering eyes from finding the rippling muscles of his chest. “Merchants. Senators. Even emperor Geta has had his fill of me, but Caracalla was content with just watching.”

“Let us not speak of them now,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing at the names of the bloodthirsty twin emperors. “Within these walls, it is just the two of us. Nothing more.”

You nodded in understanding as he set down his glass on the table. “Would you like me to help you finish undressing?”

“I can manage,” he said, but now his eyes roamed appreciatively over your form, barely covered by a nearly see-through shift. “But I should like to help you, so you may join me.”

“How very kind of you,” you grinned, a salacious edge to your tone. 

He stepped even closer, reaching to unclasp the bronze brooch at your shoulder. The shift fell in a puddle of fabric at your feet, your body completely bare underneath. He let out a small, shuddering breath, fingers lightly tracing one of your clavicles.

For a moment, his expression was clouded as something crossed his mind. He stared off into the middle distance, but before he could really lose himself, you decided to intervene. You pulled him in, one hand cupping the back of his head as you went on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his ear.

“Whatever you’d like to forget, I should really like to help you,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he rasped, one callused hand grasping your hip, while the other gently tilted your head to one side so your lips would meet his.

You tasted the sweet wine on his tongue and breathed him in. He smelled of the arena — blood and sand and sweat. It was not unfamiliar to you, but it was heady coming off of him, fueling your growing desire. 

Deftly, he managed to reach between your bodies to undo his pteruges and the loincloth underneath, both joining your shift on the floor. You felt the hardness of his own want against your lower abdomen, but he made no move to hasten things along. 

“Come now, let us wash the day off of you,” you said softly, pulling away to guide him into the water.

You waited by the edge for him to submerge himself first, watching the way his muscles worked as he walked. He had the grace of a warrior, as if poised for attack at any moment. You almost shudder at his deep groan of contentment, leaning back against the edge. Sliding closer, you massaged his broad shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension. His hand found your calf, caressing it. 

He closed his eyes and let himself be pampered, your touch transporting him far away, beyond even the shores of Ostia. He thought of your luminous eyes, the honeyed taste of your lips, and the smell of rose oil on your skin… What lovely comfort you offered. He wanted more of you and he suspected he would still not have enough.

If winning meant earning moments like this, with you, then he would never let himself be defeated in the arena. Or elsewhere, for that matter.

“My very own Venus Pompeiana,” he said softly, turning around so he could slot his body between your legs and face you. “The Gods seem to be favoring me greatly today.”

You cupped his face tenderly. “Something tells me they will continue to do so, too.”

He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded as they dropped to your lips. “Tell me, did you emerge from the seafoam, too?”

You laughed, delighted at his words. “Yes, I am salt, and brine, and pearls made flesh.”

His strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the water with him. His lips found yours again and your legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring yourself to him. He submerged both of you for a moment and you chuckled against his lips when you resurfaced.

He kissed you like he might never be able to do so again — like a desperate lover forced to say goodbye before sailing off to war. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, his beard tickling the lower half of your face. Your head swam and you wished you could spend an eternity there, in that moment.

You let his hands wander a little, getting bolder by the minute, but then you pulled away and playfully swam away from him. A safe distance away, you splashed some water at him, inciting him to give chase. 

He swam after you unhurriedly, his head low in the water so that you mostly saw his eyes. You could tell he was smiling from the way they creased at the corners, and you felt a thrill low in your spine as he drew closer. It reminded you of a crocodile pursuing its prey, biding its time before the right moment came along. 

A nervous giggle escaped you as you backed away, even daring to splash more water in his direction. He slipped under the water and for a delirious moment of uncertainty, you thought your heart might leap out of your chest. You searched for any sign of him, but the water was cloudy and concealed him well.

Suddenly, you felt the graze of teeth on your hip and you cried out, startled. Lucius re-emerged, shaking water from his hair and cornering you against the edge of the pool.

“Got you now,” he rasped, pressing you against him and bending to kiss your throat.

“Mercy,” you gasped, smiling wide as you amiably submitted to his attention. “Oh, please have mercy.”

He lifted your hips further so that his cock rested against your folds. You tried to move against him as best as the angle would allow and he helped guide you with one hand on your hip. 

“Mercy?” he said against your jaw, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. “You see how you’ve got me? I’ve not had any mercy from you.”

You grinned slyly. “You thought I’d yield so easily?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Actually, you make it very hard not to, as much as I like to play,” you conceded, biting your lip.

He chuckled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he fought the urge to slip inside you and claim you for himself. But not yet, of course, as he wanted to play with you a little while longer too. 

“Shall we put you to the test?”

He lifted you out of the water and sat you back on the edge. With one broad palm on your sternum, he gently pushed you backward. Instinctively, your legs hiked up, but you let him be the one to spread them.

He let out a low groan at the sight, his gaze incandescent as it met yours. He kissed your calf, then the inside of your knee, and steadily progressed up your inner thigh as he propped himself half out of the water.

Your hips shifted as he got close to his target, but then he moved to your other leg, repeating the same torturously slow process. You propped up on your elbows to give him a slightly annoyed look and he grinned cheekily.

“How’s that for mercy?” He asked, but before you could respond, his head dipped and his tongue finally found where you were aching.

A breathy Oh escaped you as your back arched, fingers digging into his curls once more. He was just as skilled with his mouth as with a blade, easily finding the tenderest, most sensitive spots. He had you squirming on the tiled floors, the tip of his tongue tracing circular patterns on your clit.

“Gods,” he moaned, the taste of you only making him hungrier and greedier for more.

You tried to grind against his face, chasing the waves of pleasure that already crested over you. His beard added just enough friction to create another layer of stimulation, and soon enough, your eyes were searching for constellations at the back of your skull.

“Lucius, oh, Lucius,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me– Ah!”

He felt triumphant at your trembling under him, more honey flowing from you and onto his tongue. You made soft, almost pleading sounds, holding onto his head as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, prolonging your pleasure for as long as you both could stand it. His blood felt near boiling and yet the only cure for it was you. 

Ravenous and near feral, he pulled himself out of the water and crawled over you. Finally – mercifully – he slid into you with ease, going slow and deep at first so you could adjust to him. He watched your reactions closely, feeling himself twitch inside of you — so warm and soft and perfect for him.

But that wasn't the only way he wanted to have you, and every time either of you grew closer to the edge, he changed positions. His stamina was astounding, especially considering he had been fighting for his life only a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until you were on top of him, his hands aiding the gyrations of your hips, that you could get revenge for all his teasing. You set the pace, finding an angle where you could grind your clit against his pelvis with each move. His eyes roamed over you reverently, like you were the true goddess of love, and he was your subject worshipping at your temple. Sweat slick skin, the bounce of your breasts, your bared throat as you tilted your head backward in ecstasy… He found divinity in all of this.

His self-composure began to dissolve as his grip on you tightened. His brows furrowed and his mouth was slack, his moans spilling out wantonly. He was beautiful, so truly beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hips positioning upwards to meet your movements. 

As you happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him, he lifted his torso to meet you halfway. He cupped the back of your head as his body tensed, spilling his seed inside you hotly. You came harder than before, your cunt squeezing him tightly in time with the twitching of his cock. 

Spent, you collapsed on his chest, the two of you sharing a laugh, high on endorphins. He wiped a stray strand of hair from your forehead with even more tenderness than you thought you’d ever experienced. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world, having found something so good in a place as hostile as Rome. He wouldn’t let you go so easily. 

“Come to the next games,” he said softly before he could really think about it.

You hesitated. As much as you’d love to see him in action, you didn’t think you could bear to see him get hurt… Or worse. 

“You want me to watch you fight?” You asked, trying to keep the fear away from your expression. 

“I want you to see me win,” he said without a shred of doubt. “That way, you can be sure that no man can stop me from claiming my reward right after.”

You shuddered, biting down a giddy grin. “I’ll be there for you to find me, my champion.”

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[clockwayswrites]

Cont. DoMAYn D5 - ch2 p1

masterpost (it's not getting it's on one yet)

Danny considers leaving.

It would be the smart thing to do.

(Which is why Danny knows he won’t do it.)

Mostly it’s because Jason is still clinging to Danny like he’s the thing that brought Jason back to life. He didn’t, he wasn’t, but Danny gets wanting that sense of security. He gets needing someone with a beating heart near after coming back to life.

So instead of leaving, which would be the smart thing, Danny helps Jason drink some more tea and eat one of the oatmeal cookies. At least the snacks were a good idea that Danny actually followed through with.

A slamming car door is loud against the relative silence of the graveyard. It makes Danny flinch. Which makes Jason move. Suddenly, Danny is wrapped up like Jason is trying to protect him. Danny isn’t used to being protected, not anymore. It makes a weird feeling bubble in his stomach that he tries not to think about too hard.

The important part are the two figures sprinting across the damn grave dirt, dressing gowns fluttering behind them like they’re in one of those Gothic horrors that Jazz likes to watch.

“Jason!”

“D-dad!”

“Jason!”

Danny tries to get them up and standing, but Jason’s like a new born calf, all rubbery and boneless. They’re barely up and off the cold earth before a man to rival Jack’s size is barreling into them. Danny does his best to squeeze out of the way without breaking Jason’s hold on his sleeve. (The possum isn’t as lucky and is crushed between the reuniting family.)

“Jason, Jaylad,” The man—Mr. Wayne—sobs the names like a prayer. His hands move over Jason’s face like being able to touch his son again burns, but that at the same time, that if he lets go, Jason will vanish.

Would Danny’s parents feel the same, if they knew he had died?

The older man standing behind the pair has his hand to his mouth, like he’s hoping to keep the tears welling in his eyes tucked away. He tears his way from the pair and over to Danny. Danny flinches at the notice.

Jason’s hand tightens.

“Are you the dear lad who called us?” Oh, it’s the British man, that makes sense.

“Um, yes sir. You guys got here quick!” Danny said.

Now was the time to go, before the questions and comments and shooting. Danny tries to take a little step back, but Jason holds fast. Worst, Danny watches as the older man—Alfie’s—eyes move from him to the dead boi picnic set up to the relatively undisturbed grave.

He watches as the confusion set in.

He has to go.

“Master Bruce,” Alfie murmurs, pulling Mr. Wayne’s attention away from frantically checking over Jason.

Danny watches Mr. Wayne look around with a sinking heart.

Please no. Don’t let them be angry. Don’t let them turn Jason away. Don’t let them.

Mr. Wayne places his hand lightly on the back of Jason’s head.

Danny breaths out. “I—I should go.” Go home where he parents don’t know what he is because they don’t know to ask. Where he can pretend a little longer—

“What’s your name?” Mr. Wayne’s voice is a low rumble, like it belongs somehow in the dark night. It’s oddly comforting.

“Me? I’m no one, just glad that—” Danny cuts himself off as bright green suddenly obscures part of his vision.

“Oh my,” Alfie murmurers while Bruce Wayne just makes a slightly strangled little sound.

Danny sighs, reaches up with his free hand, and plucks the green sticky note from his forehead.

‘His name is Danny Fenton’, the note reads. Great. Now they know his name.

Second note appears as Danny sighs. He doesn’t even get a chance to grab this once before Alfie is plucking it to read.

“Well, that we certainly can do,” he said, a slight tilt of amusement to his lips.

“Alfred,” Mr. Wayne admonishes.

“Master Wayne,” Alfie—Alfred? says back, his own admonishment far more cutting. “Some supernatural force just brought our boy back to us. If it is simply asking us to feed the boy who helped him, I am not going to refuse it.”

Mr. Wayne sighs. “Yes, Alfred.”