#the best ending imaginable... :]]

[aquanutart]

I was talking and I mentioned that I have my old Game Boy and original Pokemon cartridge. I said, "I think they still work."

I was told, "The internal batteries on the Game Boy cartridges have run out. They're all dead."

"Oh," I said, trying not to show how crestfallen I was. I felt like I was losing nerd cred for not knowing that, although I never kept up with that type of info anyway. I'm here for the fantasy and imaginative aspects of games, and tend not to follow the competitive or technical details.

I tried not to feel anything as I went home. If they were real animals, I reminded myself, I would have had to say goodbye long ago.

But like so many other people, Pokemon was my childhood. It was all I thought about and dreamed about, and the closest thing I could imagine to heartbreak was the knowledge that they weren't real. I spent nearly all my time writing longhand self-insert Pokemon fanfiction--far more than I spent actually playing the game. My Pokemon were with me in my imagination wherever I went. I started playing Pokemon Blue when I was 5, and the last time I had played it was probably when I was 9 or 10. I remembered I had turned it on again one more time after that, not to play it, but to look at my childhood Pokemon.

It was during high school, after a move overseas that completely upended my life, and I was struggling with the crushing blow of being taken away from everything I knew and trying to make sense of anything (least of all adolescence) in another language. All I wanted was to go back to childhood and have everything go back to how it was before.

Seeing my Pokemon, just as I'd left them, had comforted me. I had looked at their stats pages, taken photos of them with my digital camera (that I don't even know if I still have), and then turned it off without doing anything.

That was probably 9 or 10 years after the games came out. It had been a long time since then. I had long since taken the AA batteries out of my Game Boy Color and left it untouched. I didn't even have AA batteries anymore.

It had worked then. But now it had been 27 years... I thought about not trying to turn my cartridge back on. As long as I didn't turn it on, I could believe my Pokemon were still there, the way I remembered them.

On my day off, which happened to be Pokemon Day, I googled and read that some people on forums and Reddit were still able to play their original Pokemon games.

Then... it was possible. I went out to buy toothpaste. At the store, I asked where I could find AA batteries.

It was a big thing for me to be able to go to the store and buy things myself. When I moved at age 13, I felt like something went wrong with growing up. It was difficult to follow what people were saying, and people didn't always understand what I said either. I had been introverted even in English, but now I had enough negative experiences that I became afraid and stopped trying to talk to people altogether.

I threw myself into video games and reliving childhood memories. The internet was where I could communicate in my first language and understand. I lived online and didn't interact with the real world. On the internet I felt like I was understood and could find people who shared my interests the way I did, but in the real world it always felt like I could get hurt if anyone knew me.

I realize now that I could have had a better experience overseas if I'd known how to adapt and socialize, but this was not something I knew even in English, and trying to learn in another language made it ten times harder. I'm sorry now for missing out on interactions that I know I could have had, but I just didn't know how. I wouldn't know how until I learned, and it took me a long time to learn.

I grew up online, in the company of others who had trouble fitting in with the real world, even in their own language. Those experiences shaped me, and the friendships I've made and support I've received online are invaluable to me. The internet gave me a way to live, and through it I learned how to interact with others. But in many ways, for many years, it felt like my life was put on hold and I stopped growing up.

Several years ago I moved back, to not far from where I was born, and I was able to work for the first time. I began to interact with people and feel like I had a place in the real world.

After shutting myself away for so many years, every little step I made out in the world felt terrifying. But every little thing I did on my own made me feel like I was living for the first time.

Even something as little as going to the store and buying a pack of batteries.

I was directed to a shelf at the end of an aisle, and found myself looking at a rack of lithium AA batteries. Did they not sell the old kind anymore?

I walked around to the other side and was relieved to find the familiar black and brown Duracell batteries I'd known from my childhood. I felt more confident about putting in a battery that looked the same as I remembered. The smallest pack they sold was an 8-pack for $12.99. I really didn't need 8 batteries. I didn't have any other devices that used them.

I thought, what if I turn it on and it doesn't work and I'll have wasted $12.99?

I also thought we might already have batteries. I might be able to say, "Mom, do we have any batteries?" and she'd pull out two AAs from a drawer somewhere and I'd save my money.

But somehow I felt like part of what was important about this was being an adult and being able to buy my own batteries.

Yet... what if it just ended up making me sad? Was it better not to know?

I went to the checkout with just the toothpaste and stood hesitating at the edge of the checkout line.

If I didn't get the batteries now, and it turned out we didn't have any batteries, I wouldn't try it. I knew I would just put it off until even more time passed, and then... "Are you in line?" someone asked me.

"No," I said, and I turned around and went back to the shelf.

I bought the batteries.

At home, I took out my original Game Boy Color from the drawer where I left it, the one my dad had surprised me with when I was 5 years old and that I had brought overseas and back.

I put the batteries in and turned it on without a cartridge first to make sure the batteries were inserted correctly. The Game Boy logo scrolled across the screen and it made the familiar blinging Game Boy startup noise. I turned it off again, satisfied.

I took out my original Pokemon Blue cartridge, momentarily having to remember which way it went in, and slotted it in.

I turned it on, watched the whole Pokemon Blue intro out of nostalgia, and then pressed START.

My heart leaped for joy.

MY POKEMON!!!! MY POKEMON ARE ALIVE!!! 🥺🥺🥺

My original Pokemon, that were with me in 1998 when I was 5-6 years old, are still with me 27 years later. I want to cry!!! I love the old sprites, I'm SO happy to see them again 😭😭😭 the Pokemon look so little and cheerful at the same time, which I love 🥺🥺🥺 I know there are people with many more hours on their games, who have leveled all their Pokemon to 100. But these are my Pokemon who were with me through my childhood, and I spent many more hours making up stories about them than actually playing the game. I'm so happy to see them again 😭😭😭

All I want is to see my Pokemon. My other Pokemon are in boxes. Now, how do I get to the nearest PC? Where am I?

Oh... Oh. I have to confess something. When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark cave areas, and whenever I got to them, I stopped playing for a while. (I was stuck at Mt. Moon until I was like, 7.) So I never actually beat the game.

And here I am on Victory Road, with the team of Pokemon I was taking to the Elite Four, without an Escape Rope.

The only way for me to see my other Pokemon is... to finally make it through Victory Road, after 27 years?!

[onionninjasstuff]

something something future leo dies early and mikey takes on the role of cj's main mentor. something something mikey-centric movie. idk what his arc would be abt BUT I HAVE AN ITCH THAT NEEDS TO BE SCRATCHED

[cameforstuff]

Hate Mail

Stan had gotten used to reading and replying to piles of mail in a day, slowed by carefully deciphering the messy crayon so he could give the best response. It would usually take him several minutes to think of the perfect doodle to slip in with it. Sometimes he would scrap it several times before he was happy with the result.

His last letter was from a little girl from California asking if it could rain soda she poured it into the ocean. He’d written a polite answer explaining that it would be bad for the sea animals, and a simple experiment she could do with evaporation instead. After a bit of thought he drew Dr. Pine sitting a a table chatting with a sea turtle in purple crayon at the bottom. He was almost glad he had not improved his drawing skills since he was twelve. 

The next letter shocked him a bit. He almost set it aside when he saw it, thinking a bill had been slipped with the fan letters. Yet there on the front, in almost obnoxious cursive, was the typical address to Dr. Pine. There was no return address.

Another odd thing about the letter was just how carefully it had been put together. The wording straight and the envelope closed seemingly perfectly. Yet the bottom corner was scrunched like the writer had been holding it like their life depended on it. Stan opened the letter, to his surprise there was two. 

The first was like any letter from a kid, slightly messy handwriting gushing about their favorite part of the last episode. The ‘Tate Mcgucket’ seemed to really enjoy them discussing the lake’s food web and listed a few of his favorite fish. 

The second letter however was not as kind. It listed 12 inaccuracies in the episode. Each going in lengthy detail. He could only skim it as the text shrunk to save room. The explanations were familiar in a way. Kind of like how he tried to explain things, but laced with passive aggressive remarks. Hate mail was a thing he had gotten from angsty teenagers and upset parents on occasion, but this letter felt different. It was addressed by a ‘Mr. Mystery PhD, A real one unlike yours.’ He stared at the letter for several minutes unsure of what to do with it. 

He moved back to the first letter, replying to it like any other. Drawing a Dr. Pine riding a large bass. He quickly popped open a book for references, this kid seemed like the type to appreciate the effort. Then he looked back at the other letter. A bit of annoyance now when he remembered the letter had no return address. He pinned both to a the corkboard above his desk and moved on to replying to other letters.

He decided he was going to get his reply to Tate, not only because he was determined to reply to every letter, but also to spite this ‘Mr Mystery.’ He may be right that Stan is not a real doctor, but he was a man to stubborn for his own good

______

And thus a saga of mail exchanges begins. Where? Uh I lost it in shipping, you know how mail goes.

Forgot to link the post that this is based on.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hello Madam. Sorry Madam.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[fizzyapplecandy]

Ateez as Romance Tropes

The one with the flower crown

Other members

Mingi x reader

Genres and warnings: biker Mingi, preschool teacher reader, strangers to lovers, established relationship, mild mature content, fluff, happy ending

Word count: 2.8k

Mingi's black and white world became a burst of colours once you entered, and he wants to seal the deal with a flower

Two years ago, one of Mingi's worst days ever was about to become the best day of his life. The day he met you, the love of his life. Mingi wasn't usually one to express his feelings out loud, but you brought the romantic side out of him.

His new bike had just crashed, the engine shutting off completely in the middle of a secluded road. He loved riding his bike along the forest roads, but today just wasn't meant to be. Luckily, just as he was about to give up hope, a small yellow Mini Cooper pulled up beside him.

"Hey there, need any help?"

When he took a closer look at the person behind the wheel, his breath stopped. You were the most gorgeous human being Mingi had ever seen in his life. Your smile was contagious, but he had to hold himself together. Clad in ripped jeans, a black tank top and a chunky leather jacket, with his Harley next to him, he was the epitome of a bad boy. How on earth he drew you in, you didn't know, but those big, doe like eyes sealed the deal.

"Oh... Well, if you know how to fix a bike engine, then yes. If not, move along."

Okay, Mingi had to admit that was kind of rude to say, but he panicked. There you were, in your white summer dress all cheerful, willing to help a stranger. Did you not know about stranger danger?

Instead of taking offence to his response, you only chuckled and got out of your car. You were a lot smaller than him, and it stirred something deep inside of him.

"I hate to disappoint you, but the only bike I can fix is the one you have to pedal, so we're out of luck. But, I can drive you into town if you want?"

Mingi scoffed, trying to avoid looking into her eyes.

"Aren't you supposed to be scared of a stranger? How are you so willing to help?"

You smiled, stepping closer to him and checking him out.

"You're Song Mingi, right? You come to pick up Jiwoo from preschool once in a while?"

"How do you know that?" He asked, his brows furrowed.

"I'm teaching the class next door, so I see you sometimes. It's hard not to notice you, dressed in chains and leather all the time."

"Hey, you make it seem like I'm into some S&M type of shit, you know?"

You put your hands on your hips, shaking your head.

"Language, mister."

"Sorry." He immediately responded, a bit flustered about the impact you had on him.

"So, do you want a ride or not?"

Two years later, you were living with him in the apartment above his workshop, all decked out in flowers and fairy lights. Mingi let you decorate the place however you wanted, and he even stayed silent when you brought fresh flowers into his shop.

His friends were always ready to tease the bad boy, but Mingi never complained. Sometimes, you wondered if he would think you'd be ruining his image, but Mingi couldn't care less. As long as his princess was happy, he was too.

"Sugar, are you home?" His deep voice boomed from the entrance.

"In the kitchen!" You shouted, continuing to stir the pot with your strawberry jam.

"Ooh, it smells nice in here. What is my sugar plum making?"

Two strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back on his sturdy chest. The scent of leather and motor oil wafted into your nose, and the smile on your face was inevitable.

"Strawberry jam. I went to the market after preschool, and couldn't help myself when I saw them."

"You should always act on your impulses, really. That way we can have fresh jam all year around."

"Are you saying I'm impulsive? I always have a plan!"

Mingi chuckled, strengthening his hold on you.

"Oh, like the time you bought red hair dye and cried when it actually turned out red?"

You gasped, leaving the spoon beside the pot and turning around in his grip.

"Well, you said you liked it!" Your arms went up to his shoulders, grabbing the lapels of his jacket.

"I would like you even if you were bald. Hair doesn't matter to me. Oh! What about that time you wanted to get a tattoo like me, but cried when the artist showed you the needle?"

"Hey, I wanted to do it for you! You wouldn't stop laughing after we left the parlour." You pouted, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Well, trying to, because he was too tall for you to reach properly.

"Sorry, sugar. You were just too cute."

Mingi placed a kiss on your hair, running his fingers through it. He missed you today, more than he could explain. For some reason, whenever Mingi is stressed his only thought is to come home to you, and today has been awful.

"Want to know something?" He whispered into your ear.

"What?" You asked, lifting your head to look into his glossy eyes.

"I couldn't stop thinking about that little number you wore to bed last night. It made it really difficult to focus all day."

You blushed, hiding your face into his chest now.

"Oh, stop it. I thought I looked funny. Lace isn't my thing if it's not on dresses."

"It really, really is. I think you should go put it on again, let me see it in daylight. In fact, that's what you're going to do, because you're my good girl, right?"

You shivered, lifting your head again. Mingi was in the mood, that much was obvious. But there was something in his eyes that told you it was more than just horny desire.

"I-I'll go put it on. Turn off my jam, don't let it burn!"

"Yes, ma'am." He laughed, pinching your ass cheek lightly, making you yelp as you walked away.

Mingi was left alone in the kitchen, stirring the pot with delicious homemade jam once more before turning off the stove and leaning against the counter.

His thoughts were filled with you, even when you were literally in the room next door. It was inevitable at this point. His day started with you wrapped in his embrace, sharing light kisses and meaningful words. It ended the same, but he loved indulging in your soft body after the long hours he spent away from you. Taking off your white and pink dresses, removing the bows and clips from your hair. It brought him peace, something he longed for ever since he was a rambunctious teenager. People tend to stare at the two of you when you walk down the street. They probably wonder what a lovely girl like you did with the dark giant. What they didn't know was that you, and Mingi, loved the differences you had. You had a strong man by your side, always ready to protect you and care for you. He had someone that listened to him after he got too into his own head to think straight, always there to ease his worries.

You two complimented each other more than others could see, and he always called you his little sanctuary.

His little, too sexy to be true, sanctuary.

"I'm ready for you, stud."

Mingi lifted his head, his breath getting caught in his throat. You were a dream come true, all wrapped up in white lace. It made him wonder what you would look like in another white ensemble, walking down a flower path to him.

"My, my... What a delight."

He came closer to you, making you walk back into the wall. His large form towered over your small one, crowding you in with his arms.

"Say, my little sugar plum, can I have a taste of you? I've been craving something sweet all day."

His lips brushed against yours as he spoke, one of his hands making its way down your body until it reached the edge of the lacy nightgown.

"Hm? Can I? You know I'm not a patient man."

You took a deep breath, placing your palms on his chest.

"Y-Yeah. Yes. Yes, you can."

"That's my girl."

With that, he slowly got down on his knees, lifting the edge of the flimsy fabric up.

You were in for a long night.

.

.

"Song Mingi, you look like you just won the lottery. You haven't stopped grinning since this morning. What's gotten into you?"

His best friend and trusted worker, Yunho, asked.

"Oh, nothing in particular."

He usually shared every detail of his life with Yunho, but he couldn't tell him about the way he enjoyed your body into the early morning hours. You went to work sleepy, but incredibly satisfied. The same thing applied to him. His greasy hands continued working on a broken car motor, the smile never leaving his face.

The day went by quickly, and before he knew it, you were entering the shop with your hands full of bags.

"Hey there boys, how's it going?"

"Y/N! Lovely to see you!" Yunho shouted from across the garage, walking over to you. You stood on your tip toes, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Likewise, Yunho. Now, where is my baby?"

You stepped around a giggling Yunho, walking over to your boyfriend.

"There you are! Look what I have!"

Mingi couldn't even get a word in before you started pulling out what seemed like fake flowers from your bags.

"The spring festival is coming up, so we're making flower crowns at the preschool. Your niece Jiwoo is coming to the workshop tomorrow as well."

"That's cool. But why did you bring all of this home?" He asked, trying not to dirty the flowers with his greasy hands.

"Well, I have to make a few crowns as an example, so I'll head upstairs to start. I'm so excited! I even bought a new dress to wear! I'll show you when you get done with work."

You leaned up to give him a quick kiss, grabbing your bags and heading towards the door.

"Bye boys, have a nice day!"

"Bye Y/N." Yunho waved, looking over at his friend. It was obvious Mingi was in love, but his next words shocked him a bit.

"Do you think getting married in a leather jacket is not acceptable?"

"What?" He asked, dumbfounded by the sudden question.

"I guess I'd have to suck it up and wear a suit. Damn it!"

Mingi started rambling quietly, turning around to continue working on the motor. Yunho stood frozen, realizing what his best friend had in mind.

"Hey, I better be the best man or I'm throwing a fit at your wedding."

He only got a chuckle in response.

.

.

The apartment was filled with a nice smell of Mingi's favorite dish. Another reason why he loved coming home to you. He mentally added that to another list of reasons, soon to be revealed.

"Mingi! Hurry up, I need your help!"

He took off him combat boots, hanging his jacket on the rack next to the front door. His feet took him to the living room, and he had to hide the huge grin behind his hand.

There you were, a colourful flower crown sitting on your head, surrounded by dozens of smaller crowns.

"I got a bit carried away." You laughed, folding another fake stem into the crown you were currently making.

"I can see that, sugar. What do you need me for?" He asked, sitting on the floor next to you. He stood out like a sore thumb, in all black next to the rainbow explosion in your living room.

"Well, I wanted to make one for you, too. But I need to measure your head first."

You took a measuring tape, not waiting for Mingi's response before wrapping it around his head.

"Okay, got it. Go eat while it's warm, I'll finish this one and then I'll be all done."

It was funny how you shooed him away, but Mingi only chuckled and went to do as he was told. You chatted with him while he ate, wanting to know how his day went. He heart softened, noticing how you listened carefully even with your hands full. You really cared for him, and Mingi was falling in love more and more as each second passed.

Without a second thought, he marched over to you again, sitting down and wrapping you into his arms.

"Hey there." You laughed, surprised by his sudden affection.

"Hey. Sorry, I can't seem to stay away from you lately."

"It's okay, I don't mind one bit. Here-" You turned around and straddled his strong thighs. There was a crown in your hands, a mixture of red and white flowers. You patted his hair, placing it on his head and arranging his bangs. Once you were satisfied, you placed a kiss on his nose and smiled.

"You look so pretty baby." You cooed, pinching one of his cheeks. Mingi blushed, flustered with your words. Usually it was the other way around, but Mingi realized the impact you had on him.

"Do you have any more flowers left?"

You nodded, motioning behind you.

"A bunch, look. There's tulips, lilies, daisies-"

"Give me a daisy."

You were a bit confused, but you reached over a picked a small one up. Handing it to Mingi, you watched as he twisted the wired stem around. He made a circle with it, with the daisy on top. It almost looked like a ring, but you he was just being silly, right?

"Y/N, you know how much I love you, right?"

You nodded, finding it difficult to form a sentence.

"You... You brought so much joy, so much colour into my life, I will forever be thankful. I know I'm not the most posh man you've ever met, but I'll try, for you. I'll even wear a suit to our wedding, I promise!"

He paused, realising what he'd just said. Your eyes widened, confused by his sudden confession.

"Mingi..."

"Oh crap, I can't even do this right." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to get himself together.

"What I was trying to say is... Y/N, my sugar, will you marry me? Will you make my life even more colourful?"

He lifted the little flower ring up, holding it out to you so gently, with eyes full of adoration.

You smiled, your own filling with tears.

"Oh, Mingi... Of course I will marry you, you silly little man!"

There was no chance for him to say anything, because you smashed your lips onto his. Your teeth bumped, the kiss soon turning more passionate as his arms wrapped around your waist. Yours were holding onto his cheeks, trying to pull him as close as possible. You both smiled into the kiss, parting to look into each other's eyes. That's when you noticed the tears brimming in his.

"Here, sugar, you forgot your ring."

He took your hand, placing the little daisy ring around your finger. He kissed your hand, cradling it to his chest.

"I promise I'll buy you a real one tomorrow, this was kind of... Not planned."

You chuckled, kissing him again. "I can see that. Don't worry, this ring will do just fine."

"Y/N, love, you deserve one that will shine as bright as your eyes. But wear this one until then, the world needs to know you're mine."

You wrapped Mingi into a hug, his arms tightening around you. The two of you stayed like that for a while, with flower crowns surrounding you, the one on Mingi's head a bit crooked from all of the kissing.

.

.

"Dude, is that a new fashion trend? What's with the crown?"

Yunho chuckled, watching as his best friend moved around the shop in greasy overalls with a flower crown on top of his head.

"Y/N made it. We're going to the spring festival in a couple of days, I'm just getting into the mood."

Yunho nodded, hiding his grin behind his hand.

"Well, it suits you. It's surprising how much, actually."

"Yeah, you should see Y/N's. It suits the ring I got her this morning. You should take a look at it."

Yunho froze, watching as his best friend grinned, taking a little box out of his pocket.

"You... You're asking her to marry you?"

"Oh, I already did yesterday. It was kind of impulsive, I know, that's why I didn't have a ring ready. But Yunho... She's the one, man."

His best friend waked over to him, pulling Mingi into a hug.

"I know that. I knew it the first time you introduced her to us. The look on your face was all it took for me to figure it out."

"Am I that pathetic?" Mingi chuckled, handing the box over so that Yunho could see the ring.

"No, you're just in love."

The men smiled, watching as the little diamon ring with a daisy twinkled in the morning sunlight.

Mingi could only wonder how much it would shine once it was placed on your delicate finger.

It couldn't be brighter than your smile though, that's for sure.

.

.

[technically-human]

The fastest runner

[anitalenia]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𝒄𝒘: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr don’t come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh 😔🤚🏻 maybe some typos 😚 i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr 😔😔🤚🏻🤚🏻 ₊˚⊹♡

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆; eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy.

Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didn’t have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.

They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.

Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldn’t care less.

Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.

He didn’t really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.

Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.

Despite what many people believed, Bruce didn’t have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldn’t possibly be burdened by anything.

That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.

He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.

He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruce’s ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.

Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.

Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.

Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldn’t find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.

Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone else’s focus.

Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.

The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline — always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.

Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.

No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.

He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.

He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.

But no, it was not always easy.

Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.

It was looks of hatred and envy from men he’d never even met, women he’d abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.

He didn’t care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.

That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time… living on his father’s name… will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune… yada yada yada.

Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.

However, as much as he hated labels — more so his — whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldn’t find it in sensible reason to argue that they weren’t pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.

They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.

Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.

However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.

Husband.

Your husband.

The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didn’t shy from.

Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.

It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.

He couldn’t think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.

Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.

You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruce’s touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.

“Oh Bruce…” You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, get it just like that… mmhmm.” Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.

You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.

You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.

Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.

“Mm, fuck, honey.” Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.

You didn’t respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.

“Ohhh, feels so good-“ You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.

Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips — lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.

He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didn’t care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.

“Yes, sweetheart, god, yesss…” Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.

He couldn’t help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didn’t ever want to be apart from you.

You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.

He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.

Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.

He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.

His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.

His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.

You couldn’t quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.

He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.

“That’s good, sweetheart… that’s it… just how you know I like it…”

Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.

You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.

His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.

“So beautiful, sweetheart, so good…”

Bruce couldn’t help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.

You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.

You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.

The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.

You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.

You didn’t care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.

Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.

“F-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.” You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.

“Yeah, honey? It feels good?” Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so you’d gasp some more for him.

It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.

It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.

It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesn’t want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldn’t continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.

“Feels so good, Bruce, I can’t—“ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.

Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, “Yes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, you have no idea…”

The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.

“Always for you, baby…” You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasn’t inside you.

Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.

He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.

Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.

The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.

You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.

Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldn’t even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.

You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.

“Ah, Bruce…” You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.

“Such a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like this…” Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.

You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.

Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.

You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.

You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.

You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.

When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.

He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.

In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.

He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasn’t this, he wasn’t that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.

No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.

Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.

You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.

You didn’t care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?

There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.

This night, every night just like this one — nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didn’t have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.

He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. ₊˚⊹♡

tagging , @little-miss-chaoss , @ghostslillady , @boobaeri , @prayingal

[snowluvvie]

strawberry shortcake 🍓

Rodrick <33

₊˚⊹ ♡. Rodrick Heffley is certainly not a planner, he never has been. He spends plenty of time agonizing over how exactly he's gonna blow your socks off on the big day, but when he's ready to start planning, he realizes that it's two days away. He scrapes together the couple bucks in his wallet, some change from his dorm room couch (and you're 99% sure he took some money from Greg's piggy bank,) to present you on Valentine's Day with a grand total of: a beanie-baby stuffed animal, a box of candy hearts, a mostly-crushed bouquet of flowers from the gas station, and a hand-burned CD with the title "jams 4 hot gf" scrawled across the front in his inexcusably terrible handwriting. He's basically grinding his toe into the dirt all shy-like when he gives them to you, giving you a classic "I know it's not much, but—" though you cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him so hard he makes an oof noise, the wind knocked out of him.

The two of you make an appearance at your favorite date spot—an extremely sketchy, extremely sticky bowling alley where three of the lanes are perpetually closed, and the lights in the attached arcade flicker ominously. Your squeals and his laughter echo off the wood-paneled walls, and for your whole game (him appearing on the scoreboard as RODPRICK and you as THE BABE,) it feels like you're the only two people on the whole planet. Rodrick insists on winning you a stuffed animal from the claw machine, and you put on an oscar-winning performance of being equally as excited every time he tries, and equally as shocked and disappointed every time it slips from the metal grasp. You rub his back consolingly as you walk away once his pockets are officially empty, and he slings an arm over your shoulders as he mutters, "at least you got the beanie baby" with a defeated shake of his head.

You almost let out a little sniffle at the card he gives you (it takes you a couple tries to read it cause good lord, his handwriting really is awful,) which says "ur way too cool and hot and smart for me, but i'm glad u haven't realized that yet. happy valentine's day babe :)" accompanied by the worst drawing of you two as stick figures you've ever seen. He even plays you an extremely sincere but terribly loud love song on the drum set in the communal music room, and the two of you get promptly kicked out halfway through. Ending the day with your face buried in his hoodie, watching some stupid movie, the whole day having cost probably $30 total, you hum against his lips when he kisses you and think about how it was kind of the best day you've ever had. Sure, it made it glaringly obvious that Rodrick Heffley is a total disaster—but c'mon, he's your disaster.

[everythingisromant1c]

It's Always Been You

james potter x fem!reader

Completed! Series

summary - You've known golden-boy James Potter for as long as you can remember. Though you don't just know him—he's your very best friend. But there's just one problem: you've fallen deeply, madly in love with him. Or two problems, if you count his thing for your friend Lily Evans. As time goes by, all you want is to get over him. Although, James seems set on making that the most impossible challenge of them all.

tags: James Potter x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, pining, unrequited love (or is it), "why are you pushing me away?", some miscommunication, Marauder!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, and a kiss that changed everything.

warnings: underage drinking, some mild cursing, occasional innuendo, she/her pronouns used, no use of y/n

a/n: this story has been a long time in the making ... but I'm very excited for it to be out! a very special thank u to everyone who supported it during its release, it rly means the world to me. with that being said, happy reading !! hope you guys enjoy <3 - e

check this out on my ao3!

*masterlist

read here:

Chapter 1 ->

Chapter 2 ->

Chapter 3 ->

Chapter 4 ->

Chapter 5 ->

Chapter 6 ->

Chapter 7 ->

Chapter 8 ->

Chapter 9 ->

Chapter 10 ->

Chapter 11 ->

Chapter 12 ->

*completed* <33

[beautyofattolia]

I think the order of reasons Katniss gives for why Peeta shouldn't be mad at her for playing up their romance is so funny. Like she starts with the fact that they didn't know each other and she was trying to survive and that she doesn't understand what exists between her and Gale. But then she goes into "well I'm never going to get married and he'll just hate me for that!" and "I can't afford love that leads to children or family!"

Girl. Why are you thinking about marriage or children with a man you claim you have no feelings for? Did Peeta ever say he wanted to get married? Did he ever say he wanted children?

NO! Katniss is literally doing this all on her own! She's coming up with a happily-ever-after-domestic-bliss-married-with-kids fantasy in her head with absolutely no input from Peeta and then is like "I could never give him what he wants!"

What he wants? Or what you want, Katnsis?

She's down so bad for him and we're not even in Catching Fire yet.

[electricabsolution]

dylan’s love for the office perks being recontexualized as being driven by his innate need to feel like he’s excelling because of his insecurities around being “a fuckup” or that he isn’t good enough. and the perks are concrete proof that he can actually do something well. im feeling ill

[snickerdoodleinhell]

Can we please pour one out for Tilla?

[nidbaesenpai]

WIP sketch of a fun idea i had lurking in my sketch books. Its such a stretch but stay with me,,, lost flower paper craft village where Siffrin eventually transfers those skills into woodworking. This is goes hand in hand with viet Siffrin and Loop

[worldheavyeetchamp]

imagine you've just started a brand new job in a new city. your new captain seemed oddly enthusiastic about hiring you and the interview seemed more like an audition for a blind date.

you show up on your first day and notice three of your coworkers staring at you while you change. you introduce yourself and they seem nice, but the tall guy that looks suspiciously similar to your new captain is weirdly tense. you notice that he seems to only be that way towards you. this would be fine — you've experienced worse a hell of a lot farther from home than this — but he's your new partner, this is your job, and you've got a kid at home that is counting on you to make this work. so you try and you try and you try.

you're in an ambulance with your partner, and your patient has a live grenade round in his leg. you think that you should be worried — you might not ever leave this ambulance, after all — but something in the air has shifted. something between you and your partner — buck, his name is buck — is changing as the seconds pass. the round makes its way safely into the box, and the clink of metal hitting metal sounds a lot like pieces clicking into place.

you make it out of the ambulance. buck's looking at you like your face is a sunrise. you tell him he can have your back and you're surprised by how ardently you mean it. his smile is shy, bashful, when he says that maybe you could have his. you realize, slowly and suddenly, that you've just made a friend.

you don't realize until he's standing in front of you, handing you all of the answers in the form of a woman named carla, that you've just found your best friend.

you don't realize until he's standing in front of you, bloody and swaying on his feet at the sight of your son in your arms, that you've just found your son's best friend.

you don't realize until he's standing in front of you, rain soaked with mud-caked hands, that you've just found your life partner.

you don't realize until he's standing in front of you, your blood on his face and in his mouth, that you've just found the love of your life.

instead, you're standing in front of a burning ambulance. buck's eyes are a little too bright, his face softer than it's been the whole time you've known him. his smile comes easy. you look at him in the firelight and something flickers to life inside of your chest. you won't know what it is for a long time. you think, for the first time in a while, that you've got time to figure it out.

[randomalistic]

This is so incredibly cringe BUT I AM FREE!! And I know you'll understand me. RANDALL FROM MONSTERS INC (and university) IS TAKING OVER MY BRAINNNN. I FEAR HE IS MY TURBO. I NEED FANART SO BAD!!!! I'M LOSING MY MIND, THE FANDOM IS DEAD BUT I NEED IT TO REVIVE ITSELF JUST FOR ME! MAYBE THIS CAN BRING THE SLIGHTEST BIT MORE ATTENTION TO MY POOKIE RANDALL??? 🙏🙏🙏 I genuinely CANNOT stop thinking about him I'm so insane

I HEAR YOU ANON ‼️‼️‼️

DO YOU FEEL THAT 2013 TUMBLR COURSING THROUGH YOUR VEINS 🦎

Anyways ya I like Randall too. Hostile work environment pookie💜 LOL. also I think he has furry appeal. got that gecko taur in him. If i could I would un-banish him from hell (Florida 2001) and place him in your lap

BE THE CHANGE YOU WISH TO SEE IN THE WORLD ON THE INTERNET 🌄

[ponderingmoonlight]

one stolen kiss pt. 2

Pairing: Guren x fem!reader; slight Kureto x fem!reader hehehe

Word Count: 2,3k

Synopsis: As if your annoyance didn't already reached its limit when Guren decided to kiss you out of the blue, you find yourself in his office a few days later. But it's not only him who urges to see you again...

Warnings: I never planned to make more than a one shot out of part 1 so the story still didn't fully develop and probably never will lol (all thanks to pookie @shinecrystalmoon). Buuut I have a plot in mind and this story will have around 3-5 chapters. If you wanna get tagged let me know <3

Part One: Click here

The days following the battle are absolute hell.

Not because of the injuries, not because of the examinations, not even because of the cleanup efforts that follow every mission.

No.

It’s because of Guren fucking Ichinose.

The bastard has taken up residence in your head, and he isn’t leaving anytime soon.

Every time you close your eyes, you can still feel his lips on yours - firm, demanding, knowing. The way his fingers curled around your wrist, the way his grip burned against the nape of your neck, the way his breath ghosted over your skin like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

You hate it.

Hate how your heart still jumps when you replay the moment in your head. Hate how your skin burns with phantom touches that aren’t there. Hate that he looked so damn smug after you slapped him, like he had expected it, like he had enjoyed it.

And worst of all, hate that he was right.

This won’t be the last time. This was just the beginning of a journey you didn’t ask for, an open door to a path you so desperately fought against with every fiber of your being.

You simply cannot allow Guren to get under your skin. You can’t afford to catch feeling for a man who turns heads on a regular basis, who only toys with you. The first time you’ve met him, you swore on your life that you won’t let it happen, that you’re immune.

Your frustration builds over the days like a volcano on the brink of eruption. Every moment spent sparring, every meeting, every sideways glance you throw his way - he’s there, radiating that effortless confidence, that irritating charisma, and not once does he acknowledge what happened.

Like it was nothing. Like it hasn’t changed a damn thing.

Well, maybe it hasn’t for him. Maybe it was just another game, another power play, another way to remind you that he’s always one step ahead.

But for you?

It’s a problem. A huge, infuriating, all-consuming problem.

So when you’re summoned to his office one evening for a mission report, you’re already on edge.

You storm down the hall, gripping the stack of reports so tightly your knuckles ache. It’s late, the corridors of the headquarters mostly deserted, save for a few passing officers who barely glance your way. The last thing you need is to be alone in a room with him for the first time after that.

But you have no choice. After all, he is still your superior. And you worked way too hard to get personal feelings in your way at this point.

With a deep breath, you knock once before pushing open the door.

Guren is seated at his desk, one leg crossed over the other, his uniform jacket discarded over the back of his chair. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his fingers lazily spinning a pen between them. When he looks up, his dark eyes gleam with unmistakable amusement.

“You’re late.”

You slam the reports onto his desk with a force that makes the nearby lamp rattle. Don’t let him get under your skin, don’t listen to what that jerk is saying.

“I was busy.”

He hums, unimpressed.

“Busy thinking about me?”

Your breath catches. For a second, your brain short-circuits, and that half-second of silence is all he needs.

His smirk widens.

“You were, weren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m flattered.”

You clench your jaw, barely resisting the urge to launch a stapler at his head.

“I wasn’t thinking about you”, you lie shamelessly.

Guren leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his chin propped on one hand.

“Liar.”

Your nails dig into your palms.

“Can we just get this over with, Sir?”

“Oh? In a hurry?”

His tone is maddeningly casual.

“Got somewhere better to be?”

“Yes. Anywhere that isn’t here.”

He chuckles, that deep, knowing sound that makes your stomach flip.

“You sure? Because I distinctly remember you not wanting to leave the last time we were this close.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you grit your teeth.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Guren tsk-tsks, feigning disappointment.

“Now, now. That’s no way to talk to your superior officer.”

“You are the absolute worst.”

“And yet,” he muses, tapping the pen against his lip, “you haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss.”

Your eye twitches.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Guren stands, rounding the desk in slow, deliberate steps, like a predator sizing up its prey. You force yourself to stand your ground, ignoring the way your pulse spikes as he comes to a stop in front of you, far too close for comfort.

“I wonder,” he murmurs, tilting his head as if considering something, “if I kissed you again, would you slap me again? Or would you just kiss me back?”

Your breath catches. Damn him. Damn him to hell.

You glare up at him, willing yourself to push past the tension, to find the upper hand, to regain control of the situation. But before you can say anything, Guren leans in just slightly, close enough that his breath fans against your cheek.

“Tell me,” he muses, “do you still feel it?”

Your entire body tenses.

“Feel what?”

His lips curve.

“Me.”

Your heart nearly slams out of your chest.

You need to leave. Now. Before you do something reckless. Before you give him another win.

Forcing yourself to take a step back, you straighten, lifting your chin.

“You’re delusional.”

Guren chuckles, but there’s something different in his expression now, something sharper, something that makes you feel like you’re playing right into his hands.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs.

“Sooner or later, you’ll admit it.”

You scoff.

“Admit what?”

He smiles, dark and knowing.

“That you want me just as much as I want you.”

Your throat goes dry.

Before you can frame a response, before you can throw some kind of insult his way, he steps back, exuding that same infuriating confidence, and gestures toward the reports on his desk.

“Now,” he continues, all business again, “let’s go over this mission.”

You hate him. Truly, deeply, absolutely hate him.

And yet, as you sit down across from him, struggling to focus on the damn report, you can’t stop the one undeniable truth clawing its way to the surface.

You can still feel him. And it haunts you until this silly little meeting is finally over.

The second you finish the last sentence of your report, he sends you away like the conversation before never really happened. No explanation, no discussion. Just a simple dismissal, as if the past few days, the tension, the kiss, the damn teasing, meant absolutely nothing.

It infuriates you to the core.

By the time you step into the shower, the rage boiling inside you is nearly unbearable. The hot water does nothing to soothe it, not even when your surroundings aren’t recognizable due to the fog. If anything, it only strengthens your frustration, washing away the filth and blood but doing nothing for the storm raging in your chest.

You scrub your skin harder than necessary, jaw clenched so tightly it aches. He didn’t even look at you when he gave the order. Just told you to report back, like you were some soldier to be commanded, not someone he had kissed like he was starving, someone he himself states he has feelings for.

Bastard.

The worst part? A part of you expected it. This is Guren Ichinose, after all - always one step ahead, always keeping you at arm’s length just when you think you’ve caught up. But it doesn’t make it any less irritating.

As the water runs over your shoulders, you replay the moment in his office, the way he leaned in, the way he spoke like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And then he just-

You slam your fist against the shower wall, exhaling sharply. Enough. Thinking about him won’t change anything. If he wants to push you away, fine. You’re not going to sit around waiting for him to decide when you’re worth his attention. No, actually it should be him who aches for you.

You step out, wrapping a towel around yourself, still fuming as you make your way back to your room. You’re too wrapped up in your thoughts to sense the shift in the air, the presence lurking beyond the door.

Until it’s too late.

The moment you push the door open, you freeze.

Someone is sitting on the edge of your bed, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed, almost casual - except for the unmistakable air of authority that clings to him like a second skin.

Kureto Hiragi.

Your blood runs cold, an ice cold shiver runs down your spine.

His dark eyes sweep over you, taking in your damp hair, your barely covered form, and the slight hitch in your breath before his lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Took your time," he muses, voice smooth as silk, dangerous as a blade.

"I was starting to think you wouldn’t show."

You tighten your grip on the towel, your muscles coiled, your mind racing.

Why the hell is he here?

He sits like he owns the place, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled together as he watches you with the cool detachment of a man who controls everything he touches. His uniform is crisp, not a thread out of place, his presence commanding even in stillness.

Your grip tightens on the towel wrapped around you, water still dripping from your damp hair onto the floor.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?”

Kureto doesn’t answer immediately. His sharp, calculating gaze sweeps over you, evaluating, noting the lack of armor, the vulnerability of your current state, but his expression remains unreadable.

“I was waiting.”

You straighten, forcing your voice into something firm, unaffected.

“For what?”

His lips barely curve into a smirk.

“For you.”

The way he says it makes irritation bristle beneath your skin. Kureto is not the kind of man who waits on anyone. If he’s here, in your private quarters, it’s because he has a purpose. And you’re not going to like it.

“For what reason?” you press, keeping your posture rigid, unyielding.

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, tone deceptively light.

“Are you and Guren a couple now?”

Your heart stutters - but only for a second.

“What?”

His dark eyes remain locked onto yours, unwavering.

“It’s a simple question. I’m sure you can handle that much, Major (y/n).”

Your jaw clenches, the way he spits out for title almost making your guts turn.

“That’s none of your business.”

Kureto tilts his head, studying you with that same cool intensity that always makes people squirm.

“So that’s a no?”

“Obviously.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to say it so vehemently, but you do.

For a moment, Kureto says nothing. Then, slowly, he stands.

“You were always stubborn,” he muses, taking a measured step toward you.

“Always so determined to stand on your own.”

Your muscles tense, but you hold your ground as he closes the distance.

“I remember when you refused my help.”

 His voice is quieter now, but no less sharp.

“You wanted to achieve your dreams without my influence.”

He stops just shy of invading your space, though the air between you feels suffocating.

“I respected that.”

His gaze sharpens when he meets yours while he towers over you.

“But tell me, is Guren giving you what you want?”

Your stomach twists. Not because of the question itself, but because of the way he asks it. Because of the way it forces you to think about Guren in a way you don’t want to.

Your silence is answer enough.

Kureto exhales a quiet chuckle.

“Good,” he comments your silent answer, tilting his head.

“Because I’d hate to think you rejected me for your career, only to throw yourself at someone else.”

You don’t flinch, but something unsettles in your chest. Fuck, that’s what he’s referring to. When you first joined the Japanese imperial army, Kureto was the first who welcomed you. Did he see your potential, your unwavering urge to change the world, your abilities that already showed in the early stages of your training?

To this day, you have absolutely no idea what it was that draw his attention towards you. Fact is, that things between both of you started to get serious – too serious for your liking.

You dumped him for your career. A grave mistake?

His fingers brush against your arm, light, barely a touch, but enough to send a warning.

“If he ever crosses a line, you come to me. I’ll handle it.”

Your throat tightens. Maybe.

“I don’t need you to handle anything for me. Just like I told you back then”

Kureto’s smirk returns, but this time, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course not.”

He turns, walking toward the door. But before he steps out, he pauses - just enough to let his last words settle like ice in your veins.

“Just don’t play games with me, either.”

And then he’s gone.

You remain standing there, pulse unsteady, the room still carrying the weight of his presence.

As much as you hate to admit it, you know he meant every word.

And worse?

You know he’s watching. That both of them are watching.