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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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Bad For Business: Level Ten

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4K] An enemies to lovers AU. Join the team at the Upside Down Arcade, where the machines eat your quarters and the staff have some personal issues. Stay tuned for the Pick Your Own Adventure polls to progress in the story.

“Who’s Logan Duncan?”

You faltered, hands slipping over the buttons of Dig Dug as you looked over at Steve. The game beeped angrily at you as one of the tiny dragons took your last life. You frowned, annoyed, and tried to not let the embarrassment of Steve’s question show on your face.

You were the last two in the arcade, dealt another closing shift together because everyone else got the chance to reject Murray’s question first. Your name was pencilled in beside Steve’s on the staff schedule and due to recent events, it didn’t really bother you as much as it used to. You’d both spent the majority of closing playing on the machines, smirking at each other at every win and pointedly ignoring the bucket of soapy water you should’ve been using to clean the Icee stain that Dustin Henderson created over by Donkey Kong.

“Who?” You tried and failed to sound nonchalant.

Steve frowned too, holding up a piece of wrinkled paper that had a phone number scrawled on it, a name underneath with the instructions to ‘call me.’ You’d thought nothing of it when the stranger had slipped it to you across the desk that afternoon. The guy - Logan - had been nice enough, fairly handsome with short blonde hair and a nice smile who’d tried all afternoon to win enough tickets for his little sister.

But that didn’t matter.

“This guy,” Steve waved the slip of paper in front of you, scowling when you shoved another coin into the machine. Dig Dug started up again, beeping like it was arguing with him. “It fell out of your jacket when I was cleaning the office.”

You snorted, your eyes back on the screen even though you knew Steve was staring at you. “Nobody cleans the office, Steven.”

Steve ignored this, staring down at the note. The handwriting was much neater than his, he noticed. “So, are you gonna call him? This Logan guy, I’m guessing he wants a date, you gonna go?” He said the strangers name in an exaggerated drawl, like it was a ridiculous thing to be called.

“Are you jealous?” You asked, a smile starting at the corners of your mouth, lifting your lips too easily. Dig Dug was still playing, the digitised beeps filling the silence as you tore your gaze away from your tunnels to look at the boy.

Steve was pink and glaring, rosy cheeked as he scowled at you. He would’ve argued back immediately if it weren’t for the pit of his stomach turning over. He knew he was flushed, the tips of his ears no doubt red, but he felt fucking green. He’d been hooking up with you for the past month, nothing promised, nothing spoken about. Just the usual teasing and arguments broken up by frantic make out sessions in the back of his car, his fingers slipping under your skirt when you were both still fuzzy with sleep and early for a shift.

It had been a month of pulling at clothes, little patience had when it came to getting the other one as undressed as possible in a half hour lunch break. You lied easily to your friends, your parents, your co-workers, hardly feeling guilty as you snuck out your bedroom window and into the BMW that was parked half way down the street. The way Steve made you feel was too good to feel guilty over.

And that was becoming a problem.

“Jealous?” Steve repeated. “Me? No. No!”

He was cute when he floundered, you realised. Always handsome, but especially cute as he stared at you wide eyed and fidgeting, his hands - and Logan’s number - shoved into his pockets before he changed his mind and crossed his arms over his chest instead.

“Why would I need to be jealous? We’re not- we’re not like, dating or anything.” Steve swallowed hard, biting back the ‘are we?’ he wanted to add onto the end of his statement. “I’m just, you know, wondering.”

The arcade was quiet as you watched the boy struggle through his words, shyness biting at his cheeks, his skin cotton candy pink under the lights. Once again, Dig Dug died and the game beeped at you, the screen flashing brightly. Steve Harrington seemed determined to make you lose your high score, one way or another.

“No, I guess we’re not,” you mused, making a face that made Steve wonder what your game plan was. You looked too calm, less concerned about the conversation topic than the boy was. “I suppose I should call him then, huh?”

Steve’s frown returned, a deep thing that pinched his brows together and he wrinkled his nose in annoyance. Logan’s number had disappeared from his hold, and you wondered if it was a scrunched up ball in the depths of his jeans pocket. You turned away from the screen, leaning against the machine instead, the low lights of the arcade turning you both into shades of neon and shadows, inky where it wasn’t bright.

“He doesn’t look your type, princess.”

You grinned, unable to help yourself. For all the years of poking and pressing and teasing each other, a jealous Steve might just be your new favourite game. You pouted, all dramatic, doe eyed and pretty. “He doesn’t?” You brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of Steve’s chest, just for an excuse to touch him. “Tell me, what’s my type, Harrington?”

Steve was on you before you could stop yourself from grinning, your smile devoured by his lips, an angry kiss that was full of frustration. Steve missed you until you gave in, lips melting between his, a pretty push and pull that had enough fight behind it that it made him groan. You let him back you up against the side of Dig Dug, the buzz of the electronics inside making your skin fizz, Steve’s open mouthed kisses down your neck doing the same.

It’s why you’d started wearing dresses to work, skirts, all flowy and short, easily pulled up in the same way that Steve was doing now. His hands wandered easily, more than used to what you liked, what you wanted, how you felt against him. One hand was on the nape of your neck, keeping your mouth against his, the other trailing fire up your bare thigh. You were just as ready for it all, fingers fisting his hair, pulling him closer as if to prove some kind of point. Steve was pressed up against every inch of you, already half hard from the way you whined when he nipped at your bottom lip.

“Someone who can turn you on like this,” Steve finally answered, breathless as he was cocky. His fingers slipped under the cotton of your underwear, barely ghosting over your slit but you were wet enough that he moaned alongside you. “Shit, honey, already so needy, huh?” He tutted, all mock condescension, his nose nuzzling against your cheek as he grinned.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you told him, but your breath was a little weak, wrecked by lust and you were still clinging onto Steve as he continued to tease two fingers over your folds.

Steve hummed, barely able to keep himself from laughing. It was a warm wash of hair over your neck, another kiss to your jaw. His fingers explored further, Steve cooing softly when you brought one foot up to press against Space Invaders, spreading yourself wider for him. Steve had you pressed between to arcade machines, hardly hidden, but far away enough from the one working camera above the cash register.

“You like it,” he reminded you, coaxing another pretty noise from your lips as he rubbed softly over your clit. It was a slow tease, something you both rarely had time for, but Steve seemed intent on proving himself today. “Don’t you? C’mon, princess, you’re usually so chatty for me. Don’t you wanna tell me how much you like it?”

You weren’t sure what Steve was referring to anymore, if he wanted to know that you liked it when he teased you, or if you liked what he was doing to your cunt, those slow, lazy circles on your clit that was making a mess of his hand.

You whined, impatient and bratty and not wanting to give in. So you curled a hand around Steve’s wrist instead, silently telling him he better not stop. But the boy tsked, a disapproving sound that still made your cunt clench down on nothing, and shit, maybe Steve could tell because he was smirking even wider than before.

“D’you think Logan could make you feel like this?” Steve cooed, voice dropping an octave, a raspy, warm thing that made you shiver. “Hmm? Think he could touch you this good? I make you come real hard, don’t I princess? Tell me.”

You were panting, eyebrows pinched together, body lazy against Steve’s as you trusted him to keep you upright. You knew the boy wanted an answer, wanted you to give in and beg and plead all pretty, doing everything he could to get your voice that breathy way he loved.

“You’re- you’re alright,” you tried to tease but you sounded pitchy and desperate, fingers scratching through Steve’s hair just to drop and cling to his shoulders instead.

Steve grinned when he kissed you, a bruising thing that was meant to make you back down but you licked your tongue over his with as much heat as he did. It wasn’t a secret Steve could make you come. Shit, he could make you come embarrassingly fast, his fingers and tongue well acquainted with every part of you now. His ego was far from bashed at your words, he knew what he did to you, ‘cause you did the same to him. Still, he frowned, a mocking pout on his lips as he tried to pretend you hurt his feelings. Instead, his cock jumped in his jeans, pressing against the denim and he tried his best not to rut against your thigh.

“Try again, honey.” Steve’s fingers fell away from your clit only to dip inside of you, two curled up just right, thick and stretching you out. His voice was sugar, syrup, sticky sweet and falling onto your skin. “C’mon, I know you wanna be good for me.”

And you did. But old habits die hard so you grinned and cupped Steve’s crotch, palming over the denim until you could wrap your fingers around the outline of his hard cock. You watched his eyes flash and his nostrils flare at your touch, hips jutting forward like he couldn’t help himself.

“I dunno - mmph - think I could be good for a guy who took me out.”

Steve’s mouth dropped, lips parting and eyes going a little hazy, both at your touch and his words. He leaned in, fingers slowing, a lazy drag in and out, hitting all the right spots and making you squirm. His forehead touched yours, breath fanning over your cheeks and you could smell his cologne, that expensive stuff that now clung to your pillowcases, the jacket you wore the night before when he had you pressed into the backseat of his car.

“Yeah?” Steve groaned, nose bumping yours, eyes fluttering shut ‘cause you were squeezing the hard length of him, smiling every time his cock twitched in your hold. Still, he didn’t make a move to undo his jeans, happy to let you tease him despite the way he thumbed over your clit. “You wanna go on a date w’me, princess?”

“I didn’t say that,” you panted, always wanting an argument. Your eyes fluttered closed, a fight to keep them open as Steve hooked his fingers and rubbed little circles inside of you. “So full of yourself, Harrington.”

Steve grinned, liking the bite, the fight, the bitchy, bratty side of you that kept him hard as a fucking rock. He kissed at your cheek, sweeter than you deserved. “I think you’ll find you’re full of me, sweetheart.”

You would’ve rolled your eyes, maybe even snarked back, but Steve sped up his movements and put more pressure on your clit, heat hooking in your stomach and windingwindingwinding.

“Want you inside me,” you said instead, a whimper clawing at your throat, your hands pulling at Steve’s jean button. “Like, right now.”

Steve let out a noise that was a mix between a moan and a whine; a needy, wrecked thing that only made you even more desperate for him. He’d had you every way bar that, had his fingers and mouth and tongue discovering every part of you, in the back of his car, in the staff room, the store cupboard, your bedroom when your parents left for the weekend.

But something always happened, time ticked too fast, condoms were lost from impatient fingers behind towers of boxes, police officers shone flashlights into windows and co-workers banged on locked doors. But now. Now…

“You’re - oh shit - you’re tryin’ to distract me from my point,” Steve argued weakly, his eyes closing as you shoved his jeans out of your way and pushed your hand into his boxers. He was hot and hard and leaking, finger barely able to wrap around the girth of him but he hissed at your touch. “We were having a discussion, princess - fuck me, do that again - about, ‘bout a date.”

You pulled the boy into you, pushing up to your toes, up against Steve, your free hand fisting the collar of his T-shirt until he took the hint and kissed you. Hands still played with the other, slow teases that faster and more precise the more your lips touched.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, a salacious plead that made your body flush with heat but Steve just threw his head back and let you nip at his throat.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, fingers slipping from your cunt, leaving wetness against your thigh as he grabbed at you, hitching your leg higher up his hip. He ground into you, pushing his cock further into your hand, crushing his hips into yours. Your dress slipped up, the pretty fabric bunching between you, showing off the wet patch on the front of your underwear and Steve swore down he blanked out, just for a second. “Tell me you wanna go on a date with me, honey. Admit it and I’ll give you whatever you fucking want.”

You weren’t ready to lose this game, this fight. Not yet. So you doubled down and let out a soft whine, a pretty, girlish sound that matched the way you looked up at Steve from beneath your lashes, doe eyed and lips parted, your mouth a pink, pouty thing from all his kisses. You felt his cock throb in your hand and you gave him a little squeeze before you spoke.

“Don’t you wanna fuck me?” You were whispering, still pressed between the arcade machines and up against Steve, both of you bathed in ultraviolet light. Dig Dug still beeped for attention, an incessant noise, but Steve’s choppy breaths were louder. “Because I want you to fuck me so bad, Steve. Please?”

He groaned, head ripping forward in defeat so you taste the sound on your lips, his teeth nipping at your jaw, your throat. He was losing it, losing the game, losing the fight, losing control. Steve rolled his hips into yours, nudged his nose at your cheek and waited until you met his gaze. His eyes were hooded, darker than ever, burnt caramel under thick lashes.

“Say ‘please’ again for me,” he murmured, lips brushing over yours, an almost kiss, but you could taste his words and they were spun sugar, they were dripping in sin. “Shit, princess, say ‘please’ again.”

So you smiled, saccharine sweet, pecking at Steve’s lips once, twice before you whispered, “please fuck me, Steve.”

It all happened fast after that, Steve fumbling in his wallet for a condom, the packet falling to the floor before you stepped on the foil, hands pulling at Steve’s boxers, at your own underwear. Cotton and lace got stuffed into Steve’s pocket, his lips kissing a trail over your thighs as he held you pull them off, everything about it messy and frantic. He took a quick lick through your folds while he was on his knees, rough and deep enough that you gasped out, legs buckling, dragging him back up to by his hair to kiss you. He grunted as you licked the taste of yourself off his tongue, his hands grabbing at your waist almost too tight before he told you:

“Turn ‘round, honey.”

The pet names were falling from his mouth too easily, coated in affection because he was too caught up in the way you spun for him, hands braced ok the arcade machine, back arched for him. Even when he called you ‘princess’ now, it was with a fondness that he’d managed to hide before.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praised, smoothing a hand over your ass, bringinf your dress up to fist it at your lower back, holding you as he tugged at his cock, once, twice, and gave you the first inch. “Jesus Christ, look at you.”

He was a stretch, something you’d anticipated, because every time you took Steve’s cock in your mouth, your jaw ached and it was a messy, sloppy thing. But Steve loved it, cooing and praising you for every inch you could take, telling you how pretty you looked and now was no different. He palmed at your ass as he slid in a little more, pulling at your cheeks so he could watch the way your pussy sucked him in, pink and pretty and wet.

He was gone.

“Yeah, fuck, takin’ my cock so well, honey, does that feel good?” He was rambling, words tripping from his lips too fast, punctuated with harsh pants as he smoothed a comforting hand down your spine. You could only nod and whine in response. “Fucking Christ, she’s such a pretty thing, so greedy, huh? Does she want more?”

Steve slipped a hand round your front, fingers trailing across the soft of your stomach, over the swell of your chest until he found the edge of your sundress and he could pull down the collar, fingertips pulling roughly at a nipple. “Tell me.”

You found your voice then, huffing out a moan before pulling Steve closer by the nape of his neck, your back crushed to his front, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against your bare ass every time he rocked his hips into you.

“More, yeahyeahyeah,” you told him, eyes closed, head thrown back against his shoulder so he could kiss and bite and suck at your neck. You were going to be a mess tomorrow, skin littered in six shades of purple because of Steve fucking Harrington. “Harder, Steve.”

He did as you demanded, hand leaving your chest so he could drag it up to your neck and press his fingers to the skin there, firm enough that you got a little wetter, clenching around him as he held you against his chest, fucking up into you at a pace that was quickly making you fall apart.

“Oh my god, shit, Steve—”

You felt him nod, cheek rubbing against yours sweetly, the beginnings of stubble scraping across your jaw and he kissed away the sting, his lips peppering over your cheek, your chin, your neck. “I know, I know, honey,” he groaned, his voice hoarse, ruined. He moaned out your name, a quiet thing just for you to hear. “Please tell me you’re close.”

You whined an agreement, hips pushing back against Steve’s so he could fuck into you deeper, your cheek leaning against the side of Dig Dug while Steve pounded you from behind. It made you feel a little hazy, body connected to Steve’s, the faraway noises of the arcade melting with the lights, the sound of skin on skin and your stuttered breaths.

“Touch yourself,” Steve ordered, hips losing their rhythm. He was close. You could tell by the way his hand was clutching at your hip, still holding the hem of your dress as the blunt of his nails scraped over your skin, you could tell by the way he was whispering your name like a fucking prayer. “Touch that clit, honey, show her some love for me.”

You obeyed, too easily, the same way you did when you were on your knees for him and he told you he wanted to watch you touch yourself while he rubbed the head of his cock over your tongue. It was fucking awful, how easily you did what Steve asked. But your middle and pointer found the bundle of nerves and a livewire went through you, body electric, pulsing, buzzing, all with the slick slide of Steve’s hard length slipping in and out of you. You tensed up, jaw dropping, forehead thudding almost too against the game machine.

“M’gonna come,” you managed to warn the boy, fingers running fast circles between your thighs. “Steve, I’m so fucking close.”

Steve didn’t waste any time, growling something filthy as he let his hand leave your neck to hold you round your tummy instead, hauling you back against him so he could feel every part of him pressed along your body. Hands sneaking over the soft of your stomach, cupping at your tits, lips kissing at your shoulders, nose nudging up behind your ear so he could groan softly into your hair as you clenched around his cock.

“That’s it?” He murmured sweetly, too sweet for how he was grinding his dick into you. “There? Yeah, honey?”

You whined, murmuring your agreement as you clutched at his hands, doing your best to tangle your fingers with his so there was something to hold onto as you fell apart. You shattered, a noiseless scream leaving your throat as you fell forward, a hand planted against the buttons of Dig Dug and the screen flashed its scoreboard with yours and Steve’s name at the top. Steve tumbled over the edge soon after, a few quick pumps of his hips until he was spilling into the condom and groaning into the hair against your neck, your bodies slick and hot with exertion.

It was a quiet, comfortable bubble when he finally slipped out of you, both of you catching your breaths. It was fuschia coloured, neon green and cyan blue, quiet and fuzzy, a bubble you didn’t want to pop. Steve got rid of what he needed to put in a trash can out back before he returned to help you back into your underwear, a kiss he couldn’t help give pressed to your knee as he slid the cotton back up your legs. Your dress was smoothed down, your hands petted at his wild hair and you both tried not to laugh at the marks on your necks, the glossy sheen of your swollen lips, the bright thing in both your eyes that could only come from a good orgasm and happiness.

Steve cleared his throat as he pulled Logan Duncan’s phone number from his pocket once more. It was crumpled and scrunched, a little ripped and he squinted at it before showing it to you between two fingers.

“So, I’ll pick you up at eight?”

His cockiness was back, a confident question that he already knew the answer to because he was letting the piece of paper drop to the floor. You smiled, rolled your eyes and dropped all pretence of the game.

‘What game?’ you thought. When did you stop pretending to hate Steve Harrington?

“You gonna come to my door? Meet my parents?” You asked, smug, excited. Nervous. “Gonna wine and dine me, Harrington?”

Steve grinned.

BONUS CHOICES

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington oneshot

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i-only-ever-asked-questions · 9 months

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Map of Soho Good Omens Season 2 - Part 3 (the intersecting street)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 Update: Map and pictures further down now have Lucky Snake, and the description of both the Lucky Snake and The Chinese Buffet Restaurant have been updated too.

We don't know the name of the street that crosses Whickber Street. It starts between the market and the furniture store, and after a crooked crossing of Whickber St., it continues between the bookshop and the Dirty Donkey Pub until it ends on Wardour Street. On that upper block we have: -A. Z. Fell & Co. The bookshop has a backdoor that leads to this street. -Bilton Scaggs Hats and Caps This shop has been here for centuries. Originally Bilton and Scaggs was a publishing firm that printed among other things "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch." Neil believes they went out of business in the late 19th century and the hat makers took over. Their shop was called Bilton and Scaggs Milliner & Haberdasher for a while and eventually they changed to Bilton Scaggs Hats and Caps. But honestly, only Aziraphale knows the whole story.

On the other side of the street we have: -The Dirty Donkey We don't know how long this pub has been in business, but we know that it was already there in the 40's when the zombies used it to hide and spy on the heroes. And then in 1967 Crowley used a private room to set up the caper to steal holy water from a church. The set was also used to set up two of the pubs where Gabriel and Beelzebub met. Both scenes were filmed on the same day! After the tour, the first episode of Season 2 was screened inside the pub for those lucky enough to win spots. The Dirty Donkey Pub has also appeared in Neil's "We Can Get Them for You Wholesale" and "Sandman: Overture." In the show, one of the elevators to Heaven and Hell opens inside the Dirty Donkey, maybe this supernatural ability allows it to show up in many different Neilverses ;) -"Model" This is Mrs. Sandwich mysterious establishment. Nobody really knows what happens there. We know the upper floor has lovely pink curtains, presumably for her girls who also love coffee. -Will Goldstone's Magic Shop Named after Will Goldston (not sure why an extra "e"), a stage magician who wrote many books on magic. The store existed in 1941 when it was run by Pat (who met a gruesome end at the hands of zombie nazis). Will Goldston himself died in 1948. So, was he the owner of the store and Pat just an employee? Did someone use his name? Or is that the reason behind the additional "e", to claim it wasn't him? We don't know. In current times it is operated by Mutt.

This street ends on Waldour Street and because we don't see much of it, I included those shops in this post: -Chinese Buffet Restaurant (updated) The English sign just says "Chinese Restaurant", Google translate gave me "Chinese Buffet Restaurant" for the sign on either side (if you look closely both sides say the same thing). There is no other writing that I could see so I would say that we don't know if it has another name or where is it written (inside maybe?). @embracing-the-ineffable raised the question of how do we know Mr. and Ms. Cheng own the restaurant. The truth is that we don't know for sure. We have assumed it probably because Aziraphale and Ms. Cheng are in front of the restaurant when he invites her to the meeting, but for all we know she was just walking on the street when they met. The Chengs could easily own the Herbal Pharmacy or the Grocery Store. We just don't know for sure -Lucky Snake (updated) To the right of the restaurant (our left) there is another store with yellow walls and red lanterns. It was brought to my attention (thank you!) that this is the infamous Lucky Snake we see in Aziraphale's typed list of shops. In Season 1 it was called "Oriental Delights" but this season it is a grocery store. -Herbal Medicine and Pharmacy - Traditional Chinese medicine appointments To the left of the restaurant (our right) we have the herbalist/pharmacy. This is written in English while "traditional medicine appointments" is written in Chinese. There is no other name outside either.

Turning around and looking towards Whickber Street, we can get a peek all the way to Great Windmill Street, between the news agency and the market. -Windmill Theatre Today it is called Windmill Soho but the name Windmill Theatre is equally recognizable. In 1941 it was owned by Mrs. Laura Henderson. The theatre was famous for 1)not closing at all, even during the heaviest of bombings and 2)its motionless nude girls (tableaux vivants) called the "Windmill Girls". Because of this, it used the motto "We Never Closed" (although people modified to "We Never Clothed"). In the set, the doors are not props, they are the real doors to the internal docks of the studio, which honestly it is very clever.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 3 #good omens 2 set #good omens soho #A. Z. Fell & Co.#Bilton Scaggs #the dirty donkey #mrs. sandwich #will goldstone's magic shop #Mr. and Mrs. Cheng #Waldour st #Windmill theatre

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nogenderbee · 2 months

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♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕗𝕝𝕚𝕣𝕥 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ daily anon request: MMJ LEN, N25 LUKA AND VBS KAITO WITH A... UHHHHHHHH💀🤷‍♂️🥺💀🥺🤷‍♂️😼💀😼🤫 flirty reader?? The type of person to like point at something and when they look at that direction, reader like, turns their chin to face them🥺🥺🥺🤧 or maybe the type to lift up their chin?? Or like.. the type to go OVERBOARD and by that, like FULL OVERBOARD the type of person to blast fireworks when asking u out😘 (flirty x flirty is my fav trope)

(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

DAILY QUSSTIONNNNN😡😡😡😡 not sure if i did this but ur favorite n25 cards?? Idk the names but it would be the new kanades new card😔 ena's i nandesu card, mafuyus white day card and mizukis diner card!!

-daily! Anon

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ HEHSUWD THAT'S SO COOL

ANYWAY QUESTION FIRST

For Kanade itd be card from "Heart in Water" event, for Mafuyu from "Drifting Slumber at Dawn", for Ena it'd be her colorfesta card with her sekai fragment, and for Mizuki it'd be their Phantom Chaser card!! Tho I admit I had small problem picking for Ena and Mafuyu 😔

GOING BACK TO FIC TOPIC I hope you like it!!! 'Cause I certainly had my fun while writing this ^^

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

MMJ!Len was just on backstage with you while the other idols had their daily practice on the main stage. But you couldn't let it be just a normal hangout... no... you had your mischievous plan ready!

"Hey Len... what's that?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"There."

You pointed at something, tho he only gave it a quick look and went back to you with his gaze, not giving you enough time to make your plan a reality.

"I don't see anything..."

"Just look closer!"

He went back with his gaze to where you were pointing, now trying to take a better look, even squinting his eyes.

"I still can't-"

He began but your hand was already on his cheek and tilting it back to yourself. His mouth was literally making small "o" as you did that. After a while tho, he finally blinked and chuckled, reilizing what was your intention.

"Sneaky~ Don't worry tho, I'll prepare something for you next time!"

"Hehe~ Think you can outwin me?"

"I can try~"

He gave you his determined smirk to show just how serious he is about his goal! Because when he said that, he was already planning how to sweep you off your feet and surprising you at the same time!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @superstar-ethereal - come get your banana boy!

N25!Luka was simply minding her own business... walking through Empty SEKAI without much destination. Or maybe her destination was her lover? Who knows~

What matters is that once she saw them, she gently smirked to herself as she decided to greet them, maybe even surprise them! But you had the very same goal...

So once she came over and was about to spook you, she was spooked instead! You quickly turned around, wrapping your arms securey around her waist and made her weight rely on your arms a little bit.

"Look who's in my arms yet again~ Couldn't wait any longer?"

She was a little bit surprised but soon let out a gentle scoff, maybe even followed by chuckle your ears simply couldn't catch...

"And you couldn't hold back from wrapping your arms around me immidietly after seeing me~ And who's guilty, hm?"

This time it was you letting out a gentle chuckle as you saw your girlfriend in the right mood! Tho she always is a little of a tease, you guess...

"Maybe we both are? You can't resist me and I can't resist you~?"

"Heh~ Maybe~"

She said with gentle smirked as she stood back up just to cup your face with her gentle hands and place even gentler kiss on the tip of your nose!

"Or maybe it's just you~"

Oh she wouldn't let you win that easily... seems you need to prepare yourself for even more teasing and tough fight to see who really is to blame here!

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@bleachtheidiot @prsk-krow @superstar-ethereal - come get your elegant woman~

VBS!KAITO was just casually sitting on some street with you, as the two of you decided to get some fresh air and just relax!

Poor boy didn't expect anything... he just leaned back against the wall and dozed off as he stared at the sky, lost in his own thoughts, as his right hand caressed your left. It was surely cute seeing him like that but you had to make this hangout a bit more interesting...

So out of nowhere you reached your right hand and held his chin, making him immidietly wake up from his little dreamland and turn to you, who had a smirk on their face right now.

"Is something wrong, love?"

"Your attention is on the wrong thing, that's what's wrong, darling~"

"Haha... I'm sorry... I can explain myself tho."

He pointed up at the sky, even moving himself closer to you to make sure your gaze will be exactly where he'd want it.

"If you tilt your head a bit... doesn't this cloud look like a heart a little bit?"

How could you ever even pretend you're mad at him when he's like that? Well... you can't... but you surely can tease him about what he just said!

"Awh~ Did that remembered you about me so much~?"

"Why of course. There's no hiding our feelings, love~"

He looked back at you with caring smile, his right hand was still softly caressing your felt, untill he brought it to his lips to leave a gentle kiss on it's palm, before returning to just caressing.

"You really can't stop thinking about me, huh~?"

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@bleachtheidiot @hayillaaaaaaa @wabatle @sucodelaranja86 - come get your soft gentleman~

20 notes · View notes

jasntodds · 2 years

Text

Caving In [1]

Pairing: Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader, Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 13,538

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, mentions of various injuries including a mention of road rash, bruises, cuts, and a burn, mentions of death, some fluff I suppose, a mention of drug addiction, jason todd is a smartass and so is the reader, reader gets arrested (not long and doesn’t go to the station or anything like that), a mention of the Joker and Two-Face

Summary: ❝Tell me Atlas: What is heavier, The world or its people’s hearts?❞ You never expected your life to end up this way, turned upside down by an infamous Gotham villain. It’s been a living hell, every single day, until Dick Grayson brings you to Titans tower where you meet Gar Logan and Jason Todd.

A/N: I came out of the gate swinging with a long chapter. But, I have literally been writing this every single day for a month straight and I have never been more excited about posting a series before. I am VERY proud of this series so please lemme know what you guys think!! I am easily motivated to post more often when I get feedback 😂 The first few chapters take place between season 2 episode 1 and season 2 episode 2. You can add yourself the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

You didn’t have what you would consider a horrible childhood. In the grand scheme of things, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. You had a mom who loved you and did her absolute best to provide for you. You rarely ever fought and your mom took care of you. You had a few friends, none that really stuck around when shit hit the fan, but you don’t blame them. So, you had some friends and that was cool while it lasted. Your dad was ad deadbeat addict you only remember seeing once and the way you see it, good riddance. You had your mom.

Had.

However, that was then and this is now where you’re standing on the street, using a car window breaker to break into a car late at night in the middle of Gotham City. Gotham has a habit of breeding some real fucked up psychos. You’re almost positive it has got be the water and it’s only a matter of time before everyone in the city either turns into Batman and Robin or The Joker and The Riddler. The psycho doesn’t care who you are and if you have a family, they take and take and laugh in the face of everyone else’s agony. So, here you are breaking into a car as you’ve done for last few months since the Joker decided to do what he does best. Kill.

Whenever you break into a car, which is almost nightly now, you remember judging those who did before because this is someone else’s property. They probably worked hard for it and who are you to take it from them. But, no one ever said surviving was easy. You get it now, a little guilty about it but not guilty enough to stop.

“Sweet.” You huff to yourself, smile on your face as you find a hundred dollars in the center console. “Idiot.” You mumble as you stuff it in your pocket.

You rummage around the car some more, hoping to find more. If the person was dumb enough to leave a hundred dollars, maybe there’s something you could sell. You push around a few unimportant things like papers and a pair of old shoes, not finding much. With the shrug of a shoulder, you consider this car a win and back out of the car only for the flashing of red and blue to catch your attention from your peripheral.

“Ah, fuck me.” You groan, turning on your heels and sprinting as fast as your legs will let you down a close alleyway.

The sirens sound behind you. There’s still a smile plastered across your face with the lights behind you and your feet smacking puddles. The city lights guide you in and out of other alleys and down side streets. It’s a bit of a thrill. The air is wet on your skin, thick with moisture from the previous storm. The city streets have that smell of wet pavement and fresh rain, something that lives in your bones. Running through the streets of Gotham is a regular activity but you find it fun, adrenaline in your blood and city lights guiding the way.

This is not the first time GCPD has found you breaking into a car but they didn’t catch you then and you don’t think they’ll catch you now. The only one really competent at catching anyone committing a crime is Gotham is Batman and Robin but they don’t normally go after kids robbing cars. It’s not exactly hot radar here.

Your chest heaves with every step but you’re having a blast. The burning almost doesn’t bother you with every stride, lungs feeling like they could collapse at any moment. That’s part of the thrill, how far can you run before they catch you or your lungs explode. Well, normally, but tonight the pavement is a little too slick. You go to run around a corner, shoes slipping on the pavement, sending you right into the pavement.

“Shit!” You scream out, feeling the road rash on your arms and your legs, knowing you ripped your clothes from the fall.

“Hands up.” One of the cops says as they catch up, getting out of his car.

You roll your eyes, racking your brain in hopes you can come up with a big bad escape plan. You do not want to go into the system. “Can’t you see I’m little hurt here, asshole?”

“Looks like that’s on you.” His voice is annoyed. “Get up.”

“Again, I’m hurt.” You pout up at him. “I should really have an ambulance. It’s your fault I fell.”

“How do you figure?” The cop questions, making it evident this is not how what he thought he’d be doing tonight.

“You were chasing me.” You shrug a shoulder, looking at your elbow, grimacing at the sight of blood and gravel in your arm. “I wouldn’t have fallen had you just let me go.”

“You committed a crime. You’re not getting off.”

“I’m a minor living in Gotham City who just broke into a single car. Our courts can’t even keep the fucking Joker behind bars, you think I’ll be put away? Please.” You let out a scoff following by a hollowed laugh.

The one thing you have never learned how to do is hold your tongue. It’s always been a little bit of an issue but ever since your mom died, it’s gotten worse. Who do you have to hold your tongue for? You have no one. At least if the cop arrests you, you’ll have a warm bed to sleep in and probably a meal. Not a good one, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Get up.” The cops sneers, grabbing your arm and yanking you up. “We’ll take you to the hospital to get checked out. Where are your parents?”

“Dad’s somewhere getting high, mom’s in six feet under.” Your voice is nonchalant as you shake your arm free, your knees and arms feeling like they’re vibrating from the pain.

The cop looks down at you with a sigh. Unfortunately, this isn’t an unusual thing for him or any other cop in Gotham to deal with. Kids with parents who are either dead, nonexistent, or not participating in their lives is normal thing here. Far more normal than any other city. You have a smart mouth and you robbed a car but you’re also alone, parentless, and clearly homeless. He doesn’t really want to take you to the station. It’s another kid thrown into the prison system.

“You’re gonna call CPS, right?” You ask from the back of the squad car as the cop drives.

“That is protocol.” He says, glancing to you in the rearview mirror.

“I think that’s a horrible idea.” You scoff, plopping back in your seat, crossing your arms to the best of your ability with the stinging road rash.

“Can’t just let you live on the streets.”

“You could.” You sigh. scrunching your nose.

“Don’t you want a place to live?”

“Yeah, but the system is corrupt. You would know. Why the fuck would I wanna go there? I can take care of myself.”

“You’re in the back of my car and for what? A few bucks?”

“I’ve been doing fine. The pavement’s wet.” You pout. If you had shoes with actual grip, you wouldn’t have fallen.

“Look, I’m sure you’ll be fine, okay?” The cop’s voice is quieter this time, trying his best to be reassuring. “Lots of kids turn out fine.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring him as you watch the city pass by. There’s something in your gut that just knows this is not going to end well for you. Foster care, group homes, it never sounds like it’s going to end well, not for you. Maybe others, sure. Not all foster homes and group homes are bad, but you can feel it in your bones, the shattering of your world consuming you with every passing building. This is going to get really fucking bad.

1 Year Later

Your eyes peek open, lids heavy and weighed down as your chest heaves. Your face is in agony with an aching pain your right side. Your head is throbbing as you blink your eyes, swearing it feels like you’ve been hit with a sledgehammer. The pavement is cool beneath you as your eyes move up the walls in front of you, a red and worn-away brick. It’s all moving so slowly for you, almost like a YouTube video lagging at 480p. Slow and staggered, taking in one sense at a time as you come to.

You feel someone beside you, their hand is warm on your arm and he comes into focus from the corner of your eye. Your heart rate spikes, the drowsiness vaporizes and the throbbing of your head suddenly makes everything click. Your eyes widen and you grab his forearm with your hand, a burning and stinging sensation makes him yank his hand away.

“Fuck!” He yells, looking at the growing chemical burn on his arm and back to you as you try to scramble to your feet, legs weak and stinging. “Wait!” He yells at you, trying to get you to stay put, processing what’s going on.

You get to your feet, the man following your lead and standing up, holding his arm across his stomach. Your eyes scan him over and look behind him, trying to ignore the throbbing in your head to come up with a clear plan to escape him. You’re not going back to the basement or to the heinous piece of shit who clearly left you here for dead.

“Who are you?” He asks, his voice is stern, jaw squared while he looks to your hands that outstretched in front of you. Your palms are flowing a florescent green aimed right at him.

You shake your head, matching his stare, teeth grinding. There's a firey anger in your eyes, almost telling him to go ahead and try you. You’re in agony, every muscle feels likes it’s being eaten by fire ants and you’re using every bit of strength to square off with him. But you hold that hard stare not willing to move. The pain will have to take a backseat this time.

“Look,” He lowers his voice trying to ignore the stinging pain of his arm. “I found you here. I was making sure you were okay.”

You scoff. “Sure. You just check on random people passed out in an alley?” You’ve lost a bit faith in humanity recently.

“You burn everyone who tries to help you?” He quips.

Your eyes narrow, not playing the game of getting ‘helped’ again. “Bold of you to assume people help.”

He sighs, dropping his head while his hair falls onto his forehead. “I’m Dick.” He picks up his head, stepping forward just one step and you take one back. “You’re hurt.” He gestures to your side where blood is seeping through the fabric of your shirt.

You look down and see the bright red staining the white fabric. Oh, that’s not good. A sense of queasiness comes over you and that’s when you really start taking in what’s happened. Flashes of the day before haunt your eyes, clouding your view of Dick. You slam your eyes shut which just seems to make the memories worse. The throbbing becomes a catastrophic earthquake in your head, begging to crumble everything in its path. Your hands come to your head, trying to get it to stop as the world around you starts to spin.

Dick takes a few steps forward. “Hey, are you okay?” Dick asks, looking down at you but before you can tell Dick to leave you alone, everything falls black, your legs going limp as you pass out, Dick catching you on the way down. “Alright, then.”

He looks you over, taking notice in the several cuts, bruises, and scars you have on your exposed skin. He has no idea what happened to you but he does know one thing, he’s going to find out and he’s gonna find out how you burned him. Dick’s always had a thing for saving kids so he picks you up and decides to take you to the tower. You were terrified, at least he knows you’ll be safe there.

Back at the tower, the elevator doors open and Dick walks through caring you with broken skin. Gar and Rachel are in the living room, their attention pulled back as they hear him come in.

“Hey, what are--” Gar pauses from his seat on the ottoman while Rachel stands up from her seat, eyes wide and confused as Dick comes into view.

“Who is that? What happened?” Rachel asks, her words fast as she walks over to Dick, Gar right behind her.

“I found her.” Dick states, his voice a bit exasperated. “Gar, can you help me?”

“Uh…sure.” Gar nods, knowing it’s because of Dr. Caulder that Dick’s even asking.

“Rachel, go spar with Jason.” Dick says and Rachel shakes her head but does as she’s told while Dick and Gar head off to the infirmary wing.

Dick places you on a bed while Gar stays behind him. This is weird. He knew Dick had a thing for picking up strays, that’s how him and Rachel ended up with Dick. But, it’s very weird being on the other side of that and actually seeing him bring someone home, especially someone who’s as banged up as you are and unconscious no less. It makes Gar pretty uncomfortable.

Dick directs Gar to grab bandages and the saline solution so they can clean some of the blood cuts that are visible to them. Gar does as directed without saying a single word. He just follows Dick’s lead and helps him clean a few cuts on your arms while Dick cleans a gash on your cheek. Whatever happened to you was bad, that’s something that everyone can see clear as day. But, they don’t know how it happened or why and maybe that’s the scariest part about it. Whatever happened, was bad and what if you’re more than a random person from the streets? Or what if you are and someone is hunting you or something? It’s a terrifying thought.

As they finish up, Gar sees Dick start addressing his own wound. He hadn’t noticed it before but now he can see a red burn on his arm. But, when Gar asked Dick about it, Dick brushed it off a bit by just saying you had done it when you came to for a minute. He didn’t seem to be too concerned about it which made Gar more confused by the whole situation. Not only are you just some girl off the streets but you also have powers and have already burned someone. That sounds a bit dangerous but Gar isn’t one to question authority so he goes with it.

They finish up before leaving you alone. Dick and Gar head to the comms lab where Dick gains access to the security cameras where he found you. He’s mostly showing Gar how to do the same, just in case something happens and Gar ever needs to know. Gar is more of the tech guy in the tower anyway. So, Gar watches closely as Dick brings up the city’s security cameras and they find footage of an older car that looks to be in decent condition pulling into the alley. A bald man with a medium build gets out, looking around to see if anyone is around. He walks to the back of the car and opens the door, pulling you out, looking completely lifeless. He dumps you up against a wall before getting back into his car, pulling out of the alley and driving away as if nothing happened.

Dick shakes his head, his jaw clenching and he just cannot understand how people do that to kids. Being a detective and Robin, he saw it a lot, grown adults beating on kids or getting verbally horrible with them, taking them to drug deals. It’s a mess and he cannot understand why adults do that to kids like it’s normal and it’s okay. There will never come a day where it doesn’t send his blood into a rapid boil.

“Do you think he…did that to her?” Gar asks, looking up to Dick with worry in his eyes.

Dick looks at him, seeing the concern embedded in his face. “I’m not sure.” Dick keeps his voice level, looking back at the screen. “But, by the looks of it, yeah or he knows who did.”

“Why would someone do that?” There’s sadness etched in every word. Gar doesn’t like real violence very much. He doesn’t know why anyone results to it unless it’s a dire situation. Similar to Dick, he just doesn’t understand how someone can do that to another person.

“Maybe we’ll get some answers as to what happened when she wakes up.” Dick nods his head, trying not to worry Gar more. “Why don’t you go join the others? I’ll watch the cameras until she wakes up.” The question was more of a request, rather than an actual offer and Gar knows that.

Gar nods his head and leaves, head swimming with the who, what, when, where, and why of the situation. Maybe you’re dangerous and that’s why it happened. You did burn Dick so you at least, have powers. But, maybe there’s more to it. Maybe you tried to defend yourself and it didn’t end in your favor. Gar knows it’ll be picking at the back of his head until they find out more but for now, there’s nothing he can do but listen to Dick and join Rachel and Jason.

You finally come to a few hours later. Your eyes open slowly, seeing a wall with a TV mounted to the wall in front of you, similar to a hospital room. But, it’s aesthetically warmer as you look around. The walls aren’t white and the lights aren’t fluorescent. The bed is definitely more comfortable and so is the blanket. For a split second, you almost forgot about your encounter with Dick and think maybe you really could be safe in a hospital but that second fades.

It comes back like a polaroid printing. Slow and fading the images, dulling the colors as it develops. It’s blotchy, the alley and Dick standing in front of you. A part of you isn’t entirely sure you can picture his face. All you know for certain is that he’s tall with brown hair and then you remember burning him, which wasn’t entirely on purpose. But, that’s it, it’s like it all just stop developing like maybe someone moved the camera right as they clicked the capture button. It just gets blurry and blank so you look around a bit more.

You notice gauze bandages wrapped around the cuts on your arms, an IV sticking out of your hand. You touch your face where there’s a bandage covering the large gash you had and you sit in a state of foggy confusion. Who is that guy and did he bring you here? If so, why? What’s his motive? Everyone has a motive and it’s never just to be kind. No one is ever just that nice. And where is here anyway? The room is big but it’s not a hospital, there isn’t anyone walking the hallway from where you can see. There isn’t a window looking into the room on the wall or on the door. It’s like a standard room so it’s not a hospital.

Dick walks into the room as you’re looking around, you only notice him when you look over and the dread fills your bones. It shouldn’t be too shocking given the amount times you’ve been hurt but you didn’t hear him come in and that sucks. Surely, with the laminate flooring and him wearing shoes, you should have been able to hear his footsteps but you didn’t. You can’t remember if his voice was muffled in the alley or if it was clear and that’s a bit unsettling. But, this has happened before and the hearing always comes back in a few days.

“You’re awake.” Dick says as he walks to the foot of your bed, his voice sounding a little muffled. You just stare at him, not wanting to talk until you know what’s going on. “What’s your name?” He asks and you get that look in your eye like you did in the alley, filled of anger and spite, with the slightest touch of terror. You shake your head slowly, standing your ground on not talking. “Alright,” Dick sighs, putting his hands in his front pockets. “Not talking?” Dick asks and you give him the quick raise of your brows, tilting your head slightly to your right.

It’s not that Dick thought this would be easy. He remembers being taken home by Bruce, how new and scary everything was. He had just witnessed his parents die and then some strange billionaire picks him up, decides to adopt him. It was weird and this is weird. It’s a little different and he doesn’t know your story, but he can understand your hesitance in talking.

“Well,” Dick lets out a breath. “Do you remember what happened?” Dick asks. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just nod your head. The alley?” Dick clarifies and your eyes narrow but you nod your head twice. “Do you remember how you got there?” Dick asks and he sees your eyes fade as if you’re not with him anymore. The heart monitor starts to steadily go up.

You remember everything, the haunting in your bones running your blood cold. You remember everything in vivid detail. He asks that question and you’re right back where you were, right in that room in that chair, in screaming agony. It’s all there, right in the front of your head and you might not be there now but you swear you never escaped.

“Okay,” Dick gets the hint that you do remember but it’s nothing good. “The tower is safe, fully secured if you’re worried about someone coming to get you.” That brings you back and of course you’re worried about that. But what does he know? “No one here is gonna hurt you.” Dick assures you and he can see the slightest bit of relief come your face. “There’s Gar, he came in and helped me clean up your cuts. They’re pretty bad.” Dick explains, getting no reaction. “Rachel, she’s nice, good kid and then there’s Jason, he’s a bit much sometimes but he’s a good kid, too.” You raise a brow at him, as if to be questioning why there are three other teenagers here. “It’s a long story.” Dick states and you give him a long singular nod. “What’s your name?”

You debate it for a minute. If you tell him, he might be able to find who did it and call him to come get you. But, you look to the badges on your arms and you figure he could also just run a blood test of some sort and figure it out. If this is some type of medical center, that’s something he could do. There is also the slight chance he actually wants to help and maybe telling him your name is just that. Telling him your name.

“Y/n.” Your voice is graveled.

The corner of Dick’s mouth pulls into a small smile. “I’m Dick.” He says and you nod again, remembering that detail. “How’d you burn my arm?” He asks, this time a little sterner and you match him again, shaking your head slowly.

That’s not something you’re going to discuss with some random, run-of-the-mill average person. Having powers and talking to a seemingly powerless person doesn’t seem to end well for the one with powers. So, she keeps her mouth pressed into a hard line.

“You’re not gonna tell me, huh?” Dick asks and he chuckles softly. You sure are stubborn. You shake your head giving him a small but sarcastic grin. “Alright,” Dick nods his head. “How’s food?”

The idea of food is almost nauseating from lack of food recently. The more you think about it the more foods come to your head. Burgers, pizza, pasta, even a bag of chips. All of it is making your mouth water. You are fucking hungry.

You nod slowly.

“I’ll have Gar bring something in for you.” Dick says as he starts walking towards the stand next to your bed. You move slightly to get away from him, your right side aching with the movement. “I’m just grabbing the remote for you.” Dick assures you, keeping his voice level while he opens the drawer and pulls out a black remote. “Here, there are streaming services connected. You can watch whatever.” You narrow your eyes as if expecting it to be a trick of some sort. “It’s just a remote.” Dick tells you and you take it from him slowly, carefully dodging his hands.

You give him a thankful nod as you turn the TV on, a welcome screen lighting up the once black screen. Dick gives you a warm smile before heading for the door, choosing to let you be by yourself for a few minutes. You watch him leave and once he’s out of view, you put your attention to the TV. This whole thing feels weirder by the minute but you’re injured and it hurts to even move. So, you scroll through recommended movies and find one that you remember your mom always saying you should watch together. You never got around to it so you turn it on now, letting the movie help you forget everything that’s happened.

It's half an hour before someone knocks on the open door to your room. You look over to see a cute boy with green and black hair wearing a black shirt with a red logo at the door. He gives you a wide and cheeky smile, holding a plate of pizza.

"Hey, I'm Gar." He greets you, walking in and to the side of your bed.

You look between his eyes and his hair. Green hair. Interesting choice. "Y/n."

"Here." Gar offers the plate to you gently.

You eye it carefully, not sure if you should really take it. What if it’s been poisoned? For all you know, these people are also crazy. But, you look back to his eyes and they’re so warm and welcoming, his smile kind and hopeful. And you are hungry. So, you take it with reluctance, careful not to brush his hands.

"Dick wanted me to bring it to you." Gar states.

"Thanks." The word is quiet as you rest the plate on your lap.

Gar watches as you seem disinterested. Dick told him you were not too talkative and seemed scared, that’s why he asked Gar to bring it in. Rachel is kind of course but Gar tends to be a little warmer and Jason is an unpredictable smartass. Gar seems like the best shot to find out information and he knows that’s why he’s here. But, he feels a bit bad for it and he kind of just wants you to eat.

"There's, uh, there's different kinds of pizza in the kitchen. If you wanted something else I could--"

"It's okay." You offer him a gentle laugh. His words were rambled as if he were nervous and you think it’s kind of sweet. "Cheese is fine." You pick the slice, Gar sticking his hands into his pants pockets.

He watches her for a few seconds, noticing the marks on your wrists, brows furrowing. The marks look like they're ligature marks. The very middle is a brighter color as if to have been rubbed raw. A sting punches Gar's heart and he moves his eyes to the TV, not wanting to look at any more injuries you might have. He’s seen enough for today.

"Oh, I love this movie!" Gar gushes, watching as the goonies walk through a cave, trying to escape the Fratellis.

You glance over to him, barely turning your head. "Yeah?" You ask before taking a bite of your pizza.

"Have you never seen it?" Gar asks, looking back to you, ready to start rambling about it.

He loves movies, especially classic. Movies and video games, that’s how he killed his time at Caulder House and that’s how he kills a lot his time here when Dick isn’t having them train. He likes the adventures the characters get to go and the ones he gets to partake in for video games. Being hidden away like a dirty secret, it was the only way for him to have some type of adventure and the love of movies and video games grew. He could talk for hours on end about them.

"No?" You chuckle softly, finding the excitement in his voice amusing. "Looks old."

"1985, Steven Spielberg." Gar beams.

"Oh, okay so you know the movie." You chuckle, chewing your lip and it feels so casual with him.

Maybe it's just because he brought you food. Or that he seems the same age as you and he looks non-threatening, especially with the green hair. He also just seems ready to talk about anything which you thinks is a little funny. And he's not asking you any questions about who you are or what you can do. On top of that, he’s not looking at you the way Dick was, with some sort of expectation of something. Maybe that’s just Dick’s face, but it’s like he expected you to just talk and talk about what happened. You don’t want people to expect something from you anymore and Gar doesn’t. He just likes the movie.

"D-did you w-wanna watch it?" You raise the question, eyeing him from the corner of your eye. It’s been awhile since you’ve had contact with other people, let alone someone your own age who just wants to talk about a movie.

"Really? Yeah!" Gar jogs around the bed, going to the chair that's by the windows and pulling it closer to your bed. "Cool." Gar bounces in his seat. There’s a reason he has this poster hanging in his room, he will watch it at any given opportunity.

You laugh at the boy who's a little too excited to watch a movie but it's kind of nice. "I like your hair." You say quietly.

"Oh, uh, thanks." Gar smiles softly at you. "Oh watch this, Data has awesome gadgets." Gar's attention goes back to the screen as you watch Data's shoes up from the back, oil spilling from the heels.

"Well, that's cool." You raise your brows, finding it interesting.

"Right?!" Gar exclaims. “He even has a winch attached to him!” Gar says. “But, that’s later, sorry, don’t wanna spoil it.” Gar looks down for a second and then back to the screen.

“No, that’s really cool.” You nod at him. “I liked the zipline between their houses.” You let out a laugh. “I actually think my mom would have killed me if I tried that but it was sick.”

“Yeah, right? Dick should let us put in a zipline.” Gar looks back at you, the excitement etched across his face.

The two of you sit and watch more of the movie while you finish the pizza. You look to him every so often, subconsciously making sure he isn't planning anything or looks like he might be ready to do something fucked up. It's as if you’re fully prepared for him being nice to turn out to be some type of act but instead, he just keeps his eyes on the screen and points out fun little facts he has about the movie when the scenes come on. It's a little confusing for you. You don't really understand why he'd be in here over a movie unless he was told to. It’s nice, of course, but Dick was a bit persistent which makes you wonder if that’s why Gar came in here in the first place.

Gar looks back at you, catching you look at him. He lets out a sigh, looking back to the movie and the smile falls. "You, uh, you wanna know why I'm here, huh?" He looks back to you.

You scrunch your face. "Kind of." You shrug, watching Gar grow defeated. "I-I don't mind....you in here. I-I just don't...d-don't know why you are." Your eyes are slightly narrowed.

"Dick asked me to see if I could get you to talk." Gar confesses. He’s gotten you to say more than Dick did so he didn’t see a point in hiding it. Maybe honesty will get them a little further.

"Mmm, yeah that tracks from the two minutes I've known him." You roll your eyes.

"Well, uh, in his defense, you did burn him." Gar slows his words down as he looks at you again.

You shrug, looking your hands on the blanket. It's a little bit of shame flowing through your veins. If Dick really was just trying to help and your head told you something different, that's really an issue. You wouldn't want to hurt anyone that was really trying to help you. You’ve just spent so much time in the defensive mode it's like your mind forgot what it's like to shut it off for a minute.

"How'd you do it?" Gar asks carefully.

"Mm, nice try." You shake your head at him, appreciating the effort but it’s still a no for you.

Gar shrugs, looking back to the TV. Having powers can be dangerous and Gar knows that so maybe you knowing you’re not alone will help. "I can turn into a tiger. If you're worried about sounding like you're a freak or--"

"Sorry, did you say...tiger?" You question, your voice nearly yelling.

"Yeah." Gar laughs. "I guess, it's uh, kind weird." He hangs his head a bit.

"What? That's fucking awesome. How do you do it?" Your words all slur together as you sit up, crossing your legs and leaning forward.

Gar laughs as he watches as you get excited. The only one who's ever seemed interested in it, kind of like this is Rachel. It's making Gar feel incredible and powerful. "I don't know. This doctor cured me from a mysterious disease. This was one of the side effects." Gar gestures to his head. "Turning into a green tiger."

"That's the coolest thing I have ever fucking heard in my life. Can I see?" You forget every ounce of suspicion you should have in this unfamiliar place but how many times do you run into someone who can turn into a tiger? Batman has cool gadgets and a cool car and Superman can fly but neither of them can turn into an animal. Turning into an animal is basically the coolest thing in the entire world.

"Maybe...." Gar pauses, a grin tugging at his lips. He's not so sure Dick would be happy if he decided to transform just because you asked. "So, what about you?"

You sigh and if he's gonna tell you, maybe you can tell him something. Turning into a tiger is still a power. "I can produce acid with my hands." You flip your palms up, gesturing toward Gar but not too close. Your palms glow a fluorescent green. "I can control how much and how strong it is." The green fades as you put your hand back down in your lap.

"That's awesome." Gar's brows knit together. "Have you been like that your whole life?"

You shakes your head, the mood shifting in the room. "No, something new. But, uh, we're not gonna talk about that."

"Okay." Gar gives you a side smile, accepting that he got an answer.

He doesn't really like to push people for answers anyway. He knows the only reason Dick as him to come here is because Gar is the most likely get something out you. Jason is....an asshole and would likely call you a freak. Rachel doesn't really have a lot of control with her powers so if something happened, that probably wouldn't end well. Gar was really Dick's best option in trying to get any answer of you and Gar does want to help. He helps people. He'd say it's one of his better qualities.

You let out a sigh, watching Gar get back into the movie. "I'm-I'm gonna have to like...talk to him, aren't I?"

Gar looks back at you, pursing his lips with a shrug. "Yeah, but hey, he's really not a bad guy. He can help. He won’t force you to talk, but it’s not a bad idea."

You scoff, seeing flashes of the last night you spent on the streets of Gotham. "Yeah, you know the last person who told me that...." You pause, seeing Gar's eyes soften. "Well, I ended up here." You gesture a hand over your face, knowing it can't look pretty by the sense of the throbbing. "So."

"I'm sorry." Gar says softly. "For whatever you went through."

"Thanks." You say quietly. "Is there anyway I can....borrow a hoodie or something? It's...cold." You pause and you’ve always been good at deflecting.

He nods. "Uh, yeah, yeah. I can grab you one." He stands up quickly, moving to the doorway. "I'll be right back." He smiles sweetly at you before leaving, jogging down the hallway.

Gar jogs to his room, rummaging through his clothes, looking for an oversized hoodie. He could have asked Rachel because he knows Rachel has to have something, too but he almost worries that Rachel will go bring it herself. It's obvious you don't really want to talk to anyone and Dick asked him to do it. He wasn't even supposed to actually leave you alone until Dick told him to. He's never been very good at staying put when he's told to. Call it a flaw. So, he goes through his clothes quickly and finds a gray zip-up hoodie.

"Gotcha." Gar says triumphantly before quickly turning around.

"What are you doing?" Dick asks with exasperation, arms crossed as he stands in the doorway.

Gar's eyes widen. "Uh, hey, Dick. I was just grabbing Y/n a hoodie. She asked."

"Didn't I tell you not to leave her alone?" Dick questions but his tone isn’t mad or upset and Gar nods. "It's alright." Dick shakes his head and offers Gar a gentle smile. "Just trying to help?"

"Yeah." Gar nods slowly. “I feel bad for her.”

"I'll bring it to her." Dick holds out a hand and Gar hands over the hoodie. "Did you find anything out?"

"She can produce acid from her hands. They turn green so I guess it can be obvious." Gar explains, feeling a little bad about it since you obviously don't want him to know but Gar isn't going to lie to Dick. "That's really it, though."

"Good work. Thank you." Dick says with a closed, half smile.

"You're welcome." Gar says, not exactly pleased about it.

Dick leaves Gar in his room, heading back to you. While Gar was talking with you, Dick came up with a plan. He has to find out what's going on. So, he's just going to try and make friends with you. Surely, you seeing that Gar is just another kid and is happy and healthy should help. He'll try to level with you. Not push you or badger you, just level.

You catch a glimpse of Dick coming through the doorframe caring a grey hoodie and you just shake your head. You aren't sure what you expected. Is it too much to ask that you just doesn't want to do talk to this Dick guy?

"Gar was bringing this to you. I stopped him." Dick says, offering the hoodie to you as you narrow your eyes at him.

Everyone always has an ulterior motive. You’re trying to figure out what his could possibly be. Taking in kids who need help? Who have powers? If that's what he's doing, is he building a team of teenage weapons? Is he powered, too? Does he not think it's a little bit weird? But you’re cold and take the hoodie from him.

"Acid, huh?" Dick asks, walking to the front of your bed, your eyes following him still narrowed. "How much control do you have?" Dick asks.

Your brows raise, looking side to side. What a weird fucking question. "Uh...I-I don't...I don't know. A lot, I guess?" You pause, watching him carefully. "Why?"

"I'm just wondering. If you're going to stay here, it's best for me to know." Dick explains and he's so calm despite the fact you burned him.

Stay? You don't know these people, why would you stay? Is that something that people do? Just stay with complete strangers in hopes they aren't serial killers or something? What if they're all a group of serial killers?

"Why would I stay?" You challenge.

Dick shrugs. "Do you have anywhere to go?"

You chew the inside of your cheek, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands. "No." Your voice is broken, as you dodge looking at Dick.

That's a fair point. You don't have anywhere to go. The only place you’ve ever known is Gotham and that basement. That's it. You don't know anyone in the city or have a phone to call anyone back in Gotham, not that you want to really. At least in Gotham, living on the streets wasn't easy but it was familiar. You knew the cars to break into, the stores to rob and get away with it. You knew where all the cameras were and the GCPD shift schedule. But, this is San Francisco and you are clueless.

"I know it seems..." Dick pauses for a second as he leans against the wall behind him. "Scary maybe?" He pauses again, you looking up to him. "But, really, I just wanna help."

You think about it for a few seconds. This is the most comfortable you’ve been in a year. You’re on high alert and you don't think your brain will ever rest but you’re warm, in a bed, watching a movie. You had pizza. You can't remember the last time you had pizza. And you got all this by not robbing anyone or squatting. Maybe a night or two couldn't hurt.

"O-okay." You say quietly.

"Yeah?" Dick offers a side smile, surprised you said okay. "Did you want to stay here?"

"Um...if that's...okay." Your words are soft and unsure. "As long as you're not gonna like....kill me, I guess."

Dick chuckles softly, looking to the floor and back to you. "We're not gonna kill you."

"Well, that's great then." You shrug, tugging at the sleeves again. "Um...what about the others? Do they have powers?" You ask before continuing. "Gar said he can turn into a Tiger so...."

"Yeah, he can." Dick confirms it and catches the smile wanting to split your face. "Rachel, she has powers. We're still trying to figure them out. Then there's Jason, don't mind him." Dick warns with a grin. "You'll get used to him but he doesn't have powers. He's pretty good at combat, though."

You nod, as if to be accepting what he's saying. "So, you just...pluck kids off the street or?"

"For someone who doesn't answer a lot of questions, you sure have a lot of them." Dick offers a light-hearted chuckle.

You tilt your head with a shrug. "I-I, uh, haven't, uh." You furrow your brows. "Haven't had much contact with anyone really. In a while." You suck in a breath. “I am also just an inquisitive person.”

Dick nods. "Rachel found me, actually. She needed help, I didn't want to help but..." He pauses thinking back to the whole mess that unfolded. "I couldn't just leave her on her own."

"Now you want to help?"

Dick nods once more. "Yeah, she doesn't have anyone else. I lost my parents so I get it. I didn't have anyone either until someone decided to reach out."

You nod slowly, grasping it now. It's like a passing of the kindness kind of thing. Someone helped him as a kid, showed him some of the greatest kindness so now he's out here doing the same. Assuming what he's saying is all true, that is.

"What about Gar and Jason?"

"Gar was with Rachel, we got separate and he helped her. Wanted to come with and he didn't have a place that he felt like he belonged. Jason....well, he needs more guidance. He's not really allowed to go back to being who he was yet. I took him in."

Your eyes narrow with suspension again. "Is he like a bad person or something?" The way he talks about Jason compared to the others is a little weird. He speaks highly of Rachel and Gar but seems to have a harder time doing that with Jason. There is some sort of history there that you are very intrigued about.

"No," Dick answers quickly with a shake of his head. "He's just a little reckless."

"Ahh." You say quietly, knowing that being reckless tends to be a little fun but also understanding the consequences. If it weren't for recklessness, you'd still be in Gotham. "So, what now then?"

"I can show you around, show you to a room that'll be yours if you’re feeling up for it."

"I'll have a room?" You ask with a scoff. "How fucking big is this place?"

Dick laughs. "It's pretty big."

"Sweet." You sit up fully, crossing your legs. "Then what?"

"Do you have other powers?" Dick asks, feeling like maybe he'll get an answer.

The other one isn’t a big deal, really. It doesn’t hurt anyone and will maybe just protect you. To you, right now, it doesn’t seem like not telling him is really going to be much benefit to you anyway but you also doesn’t know exactly how to explain it.

“Uh...” Your brows furrow as you search for words. “If...someone tries to....hit me or attack me,” You start. “I get this intense throbbing in the back of my head and I just....know where they’ll come from.” You explain.

“Combat clairvoyance, how long have you had that?” Dick asks, finding it interesting.

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s a new thing, like the acid.”

“Okay,” Dick nods his head. “Anything else?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” You answer honestly. Maybe you have more, maybe not. You’re hoping with everything in you that you don’t have some hidden power, one is more than enough for you and you’re stuck with two.

"Okay then." He seems satisfied with answers, choosing not to push to find out how you got your powers for right now. "Want the tour or did you want to rest some more?"

"Tour." You say without even thinking about it. You’ve been in the same room for months and you’re tired of being locked in one room. You want to see everything.

"Alright." Dick chuckles. He walks to the side of your bed and offers you an arm to help you.

"I'm fine." You shrug him off, pulling the blanket off of you, revealing your black leggings that have holes at one of the knees and one on the other shin. "Are there like....clothes I can borrow?" You ask as you get out of the bed carefully, your legs feeling a bit weak as you stand.

"I’m sure we’ll find something. Hoodie is Gar's though." Dick explains.

"Cool." You flash him a smile. "He's cool."

"Yeah, he's a good kid." Dick smiles back at you as the two of you exit the room.

Dick leads you down the hallway and decides to start with the kitchen and living area. It's right in the middle of the tower and figured that might be a good place to start. You take in the open-concept rooms. You’re relieved it's not all white. You remember watching HGTV back in Gotham and everything was always white. It's like these grown adults had a problem with color. Who would want to live in a place that looks like a hospital? But this tower isn't like that. It has a dark color palette. The floors, the walls, all dark but big floor-to-ceiling windows line the back wall of the two rooms giving the place plenty of light. A large fireplace sits in the center of the living room, not against a wall. You like it a lot more than you would ever openly admit.

"Kitchen, living room." Dick gestures a hand out, letting you walk in front of him to look at the rooms.

"It's nice." You say, looking back at Dick. "You an interior designer or something?" You quip, looking to the windows, seeing the city.

Dick just looks at you, looking unamused before a smile cracks across his face. "No," He scoffs. "I didn't decorate the place."

"Mmm, a shame. It would give you at least a point in my book." You look back to him and give a sarcastic grin.

"You're keeping a point system?" Dick’s brows riase, unsure if you’re joking or not.

"You don't?" You scoff with a chuckle.

It was a sarcastic comment but you’re not gonna let that go. You'd keep the bit going for as long as you know Dick now. He's stuck with a point system.

"What's next?" You ask.

"Follow me." Dick walks past you, leading you down a dark hallway.

You follow closely, looking at the rooms you pass which all have doors closed. The spacing of the doors indicated they're all large rooms. You couldn't tell what the housing market is like, something you never could even in Gotham but you'd have to bet this is at least a million-dollar house, apartment? Whatever it should be called. It's so fucking big.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you reach what seems to be a training room, a boy with black hair hitting a punching bag off to the side. You take in the area and are actually seriously questioning if Dick is turning kids into weapons. What would the point be to have a room like this if not? And there is already a kid working out so it’s being used. Maybe it’ll be beneficial to you. Learn a few things and escape when the time is right.

"This is the training room. When you're able, you can train here with everyone else." Dick explains, putting his hands in his pockets as you stand at the open sliding doors.

The boy turns around hearing Dick talk. He looks at you with bruises and cuts across your face. He grimaces at the sight of you. Gar told him Dick brought you home but he didn’t think it was that bad.

"What the fuck happened to your face?" He asks with a scoff.

"What the fuck happened to yours?" You strike back, Dick doing a double take with the fire in your words.

"My face is fucking perfect, fuck you." Jason sneers, he was just asking a simple question. He didn't expect for you to have a comment back.

"Yeah, who the fuck says? Fuck you." You sneer back at him.

The immediate question of your face just caught you off guard. It seemed a bit rude, the way he asked and you’re not gonna let him talk to you like that. But, by the way his nostrils flare, you can tell that challenging him will be fun.

Dick watches the two of you, not even sure exactly what he expected from Jason but this should have been it.

"Hey," Dick shakes his head.

"She started it." Jason pouts his glove-covered hand at you.

"You asked what happened to my face!" You defend. “And my name is y/n.”

"Because you look like someone fucked you up. Maybe get in here and spar a bit, it'll save your face next time if you’re that offended." Jason snips.

"Jason, right?" You look to Dick and Dick nods.

"Heard about me, huh?" Jason gains a cocky grin as he walks closer to you.

"That tracks." You nod with the roll of your eyes. If he’s like this all the time, you get why Gar and Dick have both said you’d get used to him. But, what they don’t know is that people like Jason are always really fun to fuck with.

"What?" Jason asks, the smile still wide, almost expecting everyone to talk highly of him.

"Just heard you're really good at combat." You smile at him, playing into his ego and deciding to have a little bit of fun with him.

"Yeah, maybe I can show you a thing or two." Jason looks you up and down.

"I can show you." You do the same, mimicking his actions.

Dick stands there a bit in shock as to what is happening right now. You blatantly refused to talk to him and warmed up a bit to Gar. But, had he known introducing you to Jason would get you talking, he might have just done that first. What is even going on? And why are you humoring him?

"Can we not--" Dick starts but Jason cuts him off.

"Look, babe, it looks like you're the one who needs help." Jason offers and you can't tell if this is him being nice or if he's trying to get laid or what but whatever the fuck it is, it is not working. But, either way, you know this is going to be fun.

"Okay, I'll bet you, you can't fucking touch me." You challenge him while Dick snaps his attention to you. Did you suddenly forget you were injured?

"You need more rest. Let's continue--"

"What's the bet?" Jason plays along.

You smirk at him, looking him up and down again. "Mmm, I don't know. If you can't land a single hit in thirty seconds, you owe me whatever I decide. If you win...."

Dick is standing there, asking the universe "Why him?" what did he do for this? He was just trying to help and now he's here with two of the same people. Of all people you had to be like, it had to be Jason. Can't be another Gar or Rachel. No, you have to be like Jason because Dick can never catch a break.

"I'll let you let off this time." Jason offers, catching Dick by surprise.

"Deal." You stick out your hand, Jason catching a glimpse of the mark on your wrists, pausing. "Don't make it fucking weird."

"Deal." Jason widens his eyes before sticking a hand out.

“Be careful.” Dick warns them.

Normally, Dick would step in and stop this. You’re injured and shouldn’t be doing anything really but he is pretty interested to see the combat clairvoyance in action. Jason is reckless and hot headed but he’s not violent and Dick doesn’t believe Jason will go full out. So, Dick doesn’t stop you as you walk to the middle of the floor, straight face.

"Come on, babe, let's see what you got." You mock Jason and Jason wastes no time in moving towards you.

Jason takes a swing, you dodging him making him miss, ignoring the pain your side. Your ability to mess with someone like Jason should also be a superpower. You will do everything in your power to not let any of your injuries interfere with this. Jason stutters for a second before trying again, missing. You give him a side smirk with the raise of your brows, taunting him. Jason huffs before putting more power into it, going faster this time and you put your arm up just in time to block him.

"What the fuck?" Jason mutters, throwing punches and trying to kick you while you keep dodging and blocking him.

It's fun for you and you know nothing about combat but you remember seeing videos of Batman and Robin fighting. He reminds you of them, the way he fights. If those two are any indication, he really must be good at it. But, this is also unfair to him and you think it's funny. You like how he's growing more and more frustrated, nostrils flaring with every miss. Jason takes another swing, right for the center of your face, you catch his fist, less than an inch from your nose.

You look past his fist, not letting him go, deciding to mess with him a little more. "You're kind of cute, ya know?" Jason narrows his eyes but his arm doesn't relax. He knows the tactic and he’d be lying if he didn’t find it a bit amusing that you tried it. "Nothing?" You raise a brow.

"Nice try." Jason yanks his fist away, going to the floor to trip you but you’re just quick enough for him to miss.

"Okay, that's enough." Dick walks to the middle with you, tired of watching and if this goes on any longer, he knows he'll be hearing from Jason about it. It's never something he wants to deal with.

“I won, thanks for that.” You beam at Jason. “Needed it.”

“You're just not playing fucking fair." Jason yells behind Dick.

"So, you thought it was fair to try hitting me, someone who has no combat experience and is injured but it's not fair for me to not tell you that I can avoid being hit?" You question and watch Jason become flustered.

"You started it." Jason groans and you can't help but find it funny.

You completely understands why Dick and Gar weren't very vocal about Jason. You get it now. He's definitely something else. Most people would probably find him annoying and an asshole, which he is, but you find it amusing more than anything. Plus, he looks like he carries damage. Something about the way he moves, the lost and distant look in his eyes. It's interesting.

"Yeah," You grin with a shrug. "And what are you gonna do about it?" You taunt, a wide, challenging smile on display.

Jason's brows furrow as he jerks his head back. He's never had anyone challenge him like this before and he's not a fan of it. He takes the same shit he dishes out but it is kind of fun going back and forth about it. But he really doesn't get it. No one comes out of the gate swinging like that.

"We're gonna continue the tour if that's okay with the two of you." Dick looks between you, his voice more a statement rather than an actual question.

"Okay." You offer him an apologetic smile.

"Yeah, I got shit to do." Jason mumbles, walking back to where he was when you first walked in, eyes trailing on you a little longer than he really wanted.

You smirk to yourself, watching Jason walk back to the punching bag. It's weird because he's kind of an asshole but something about him feels like home. Maybe it's because he isn't tip-toeing around you or offering you some weird type of kindness that makes your skin crawl. He doesn't look sympathetic and look at you with pity. Not after you talked away. Dick and Gar do though, it makes you shift and you hate the uneasiness about it.

You follow Dick back down another hallway decorated with lights and a few memorabilia-type things. It gives you the impression this isn't some new superhero thing, despite the younger ages of the other kids. It looks like this place was lived in for awhile, haunted by previous heroes.

"This is your room." Dick opens a black door, sitting in between two other rooms and showing you inside.

It's plain and simple. A TV sits on an entertainment center against the left-hand wall. Large windows line the first half of the room and a bed sits against the right wall. It's as if the room is literally divided into two parts, a living area and a sleeping area. Two small backless shelving units divide the two areas. A dresser is next to the left-hand side of the door, a turntable and a lamp sitting on top. They're empty and so is a bookshelf next to the left side of the bed. It's so empty.

"We can go tomorrow to get you some clothes and a few things if you want." Dick offers as you walk into the room fully taking it in.

"Uh..." You stutter, turning around to face him. "I-I don't have...money?"

Dick smiles gently. "It's okay. I got it."

Your eyes narrow at him and you cannot figure out why he would do this. "Okay...why? Like why are you doing this? Everyone has a motive so what's yours?"

Dick shrugs a shoulder, putting his hands in his pockets. "The people here are special and so are you. It's hard being out there and being special."

"So what makes you special then?"

"Same as Jason."

"Ahh." You nods your head once. Interesting. "What if I don't wanna fight?" You ask.

Dick shakes his head. "You don't have to, you just have to learn to control your powers. It's up to you if want to learn more. But you'll be safe here."

You feel like this is some type of dream about to turn into a nightmare. You’ve had a dream before where someone comes to rescue you from the dreadful and dreary basement but then they turn. They find out about your powers or they're just as fucked up as her foster dad and they just use you. An endless string of torture. This doesn't feel like that, not really, because this isn't a dream. You’re wide awake but it's hard to believe.

"Okay." You say, turning back around and walking to the TV.

"You can stream from it if you want, it's connected to the Wi-Fi already with the accounts, like the TV in the other room." Dick explains.

You look back to him. "Cool." Your voice is quiet and you always just liked to watch TV and movies.

It wasn't a coping mechanism or some type of escape from the hell for Gotham. Some people find fun in sports or art or social media, your thing was TV. You just found it fun to see the stories play out in front of your eyes, not reading, just watching. A part of you think it might sound dumb if you said TV was one of the things you missed the most.

"Well," Dick sighs. "I'll leave you be then. If you need anything, I'll be around and so will everyone else. Gar is to the right and Jason left, Rachel is across the hall." Dick explains.

You nod, still just looking around unsure how to even feel about being here. Is there a way you can plan an escape if shit hits the fan? Always have some type of escape plan. Anything can happen and you won't be captured again and held captive. But, Dick is really nice and there's a part of you that is certain if he were kidnapping kids and holding them here against their will, he would have let Jason go a long time ago.

"Uh....t-t-thank you." You stutter catching Dick right before he leaves the room. "For saving me."

"Don't mention it." Dick smiles at you, feeling good about the decision to help you. "Just don't burn me again."

"Yeah..." You scrunch your face. "Sorry."

"It's alright, get some rest." Dick says kindly before leaving you to yourself, shutting the door behind him.

Meanwhile, in the training room, Gar and Rachel have joined Jason. Rachel, thus far, is the only one who hasn't met you and she's curious. And if Dick is gonna bring another person so soon, all three of them feel like they need to talk about it. They should get a say if someone gets to join their little found family.

"What is she like?" Rachel asks.

"She's nice, seems scared though." Gar shrugs while Jason scoffs.

"She's a bitch." Jason walks over to the two of them. "And she's a freak."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You think everyone is a freak." Jason has also called her a freak on more than one occasion.

"She was nice to me." Gar shrugs, casually knowing it's not exactly easy to be nice to Jason even on a good day.

He's his best friend, of course, but he's not easy to get along with. It's kind of up to Jason and what kind of day he's had. Gar, on the other hand, is the easiest one in the tower to get along with. He's just nice to everyone even if they aren't nice to him.

"Did she tell you how and why she burned Dick?" Rachel asks, ignoring Jason as he takes a seat beside Gar.

"She can produce acid with her hands." Gar states, ignoring the groan leaving Jason. "She didn't say why."

"Maybe that's why Dick brought her, to help control her powers." Rachel offers.

"Maybe." Gar tilts his head with the raise of his brows, not really thinking that's what it is. "I think he just has a thing for picking up strays."

"I wasn't a stray." Jason scoffs in his own defense, the idea of Bruce sending him here still sour in his mouth.

Rachel glares at him, unamused while Gar just shakes his head and ignores him. "You could talk to her." Gar says. "She's only talked to us, maybe a girl will make her feel better about being here."

"Yeah," Rachel laughs softly. "There's too much testosterone here." Rachel looks to Jason. "Is that okay with you?" She asks mockingly, not actually asking for his opinion.

Jason shrugs, seemingly to have not gotten the sarcastic tone. "She is hot, ya know, besides the cuts and shit so yeah. Need something pretty to look at it."

"Gross." Gar grimaces.

"You're such a fuckboy." Rachel shakes her head, looking back to Gar.

"Hey, fuck you." Jason retorts. "All you do is stare at Gar, I want someone to look at."

"I do not!" Rachel fires back, cheeks tinting red.

Gar watches the two of them, shifting in his seat having never noticed if she did stare at him or not. He's hoping she knows they're just friends. He is not very good at letting people down softly, mostly because he trips over his words and makes everything worse by trying to spare their feelings.

"Right." Jason scoffs, getting back to his feet. "You're with me, right?" Jason looks to Gar. "About y/n?"

"Uh..." Gar tilts his head, forehead wrinkling not even wanting to get into this.

He thinks it's a little insensitive. Of course, it's exactly what he expects from Jason but he's not gonna get dragged into it. You just got here and you’re very clearly traumatized. He's not looking at you in any type of way besides with sympathy and empathy. Though he does think you’re pretty, even with the cuts and bruises Jason wants to so rudely dismiss but Gar won't say it. It's not his place or the time. Surely, they can let you settle in and let you just do your own thing. They don't need to be talking about you.

Jason shakes his head. "We gotta find out more about her though, right? Like who the fuck is she?"

"Does it matter?" Rachel counters.

"Yeah, man, I don't think it's up to us." Gar adds in.

Jason puts his weight to one leg. "What if she's like...here to kill us or some shit? Shouldn't we know?"

"Pretty sure Dick would have looked into that already." Gar states, eyes slightly narrowed at him.

Jason is paranoid and dramatic and over-enthusiastic about being a hero. Gar thinks it's the coolest thing that's ever happened to him, becoming a Titan. There are so few people who get to say they're a Titan and Gar is one of them. He's so excited to get out there and fight these big bad guys but not until Dick says they're ready. Jason, on the other hand, has the experience and doesn't think he even needs to be here. Gar can tell Jason is just hoping you will be part of a big bad plot.

"Did he tell you that?" Jason counters.

"He doesn't need to, Jason." Rachel grows more annoyed with Jason with every passing second.

"Come on, you wanna know, right? How she got her powers? Ended up here? Think it's some coincidence or some shit with Dick finding her?" Jason argues, looking directly at Gar knowing Gar won't be able to resist. "We can find out."

"Gar." Rachel says.

It's the way she said his name that he knows it's threatening but...Jason has a point. If Dick and you don't find out, no one else will know. He doesn't think Rachel will rat them out or anything. Jason is always just very persistent and he'll probably do it himself, if Gar is there and he gets caught, maybe Dick will go easier on him and they won't have to listen to it.

Gar sighs. "Fine but just to sure."

"Unbelievable." Rachel stands up. "You two are terrible. We shouldn't pry into someone else's privacy."

"What if there is someone though? Jason kind of has a point." Gar counters, still sitting on the ground. “I mean, you were being chased by people who wanted to kill you. Maybe it’s better if we find out just to be safe.”

"You don't have to come." Jason shrugs a shoulder, looking at Rachel.

"I wasn't going to. You two do whatever you want." She waves her hands in annoyance before heading to leave the training room. "I'm going to be normal and just talk to her." Rachel leaves the boys to themselves, knowing they won't be far behind to go to the computer.

Gar and Jason stay in the training room a little longer before making their way to the infirmary. They saw the cuts and Gar helped Dick clean them up so Gar knows they can get blood from the garbage to run your DNA. It's definitely an invasion of privacy that doesn't quite sit well with him but what if Jason is right? He's paranoid, sure, but what if Dick didn't look into you? What are they supposed to do? It can't hurt. Dick sometimes seems too trusting, he didn't really ask Gar any questions before letting him join the little group. If Dick is just waiting for you to start talking and you’re a part of something bigger, that would be very not good for any of them. That's the reasons he lists as to why this isn't some horrible thing they're doing.

"Y/n Y/l/n." Jason crosses his arms as they see your picture show up on the screen.

"Born in Gotham City." Gar says, sitting at the computer, matching the stare on the large screen before looking at Jason, then back to the screen. "Uh...let's see. Her mom was killed...by the Joker." Gar's voice grows sad and quiet, looking over to Jason knowing his dad was killed by Two-Face.

"Shit." Jason huffs, a sense of what one might describe as guilt comes over him knowing what it's like.

"Dad has a rap sheet for drugs." Gar looks back to Jason and then back to the computer, growing more uncomfortable with the similarities of the two of you. "She was arrested for breaking into cars, put into foster care. That's all there is." Gar reads it off before looking back to Jason.

Jason squints his eyes at the screen, knowing how close he was to being you and something in the pit of his stomach feels horrible for how he treated you. It makes him feel uneasy, knowing he could have been you had he just robbed the wrong car of the hubcaps, had you robbed the right one. It’s a reality check.

"Look up the guy." Jason says, hiding the uneasiness in his voice.

"Jerry Johnson, what a name." Gar mocks. "Uh....former scientist from Gotham."

Gar lets the words sit in his mouth. The thing about Gotham is that it really does breed special kind of people. The fucked up kind of special. Mr. Freeze, Scarecrow, Penguin, the Joker, the Riddler, what is happening in that city? It doesn't take much for Gar to figure that your powers didn't come from anything accidental, that you were some type of test subject your foster dad used. That explains a lot, your attitude toward Dick. The defensiveness. Gar wonders how he came out the other end not like that. He wasn't really an experiment but...it was some crazy scientists who thought Gar changing into a tiger was better than dying. It is but it's not always easy and he's not always a fan of it. It's hard to imagine how you might feel.

"Fuck, dude." Jason huffs, looking down to Gar. "Think that guy did that to her?"

Gar shrugs, not wanting to think of someone being victimized like that. Beat, tortured, chained up. It makes his stomach twist. "Maybe." Gar clears his throat. "We should...get out of here." He looks away from the computer.

"Yeah," Jason says quietly while Gar exits out of everything.

"It doesn't seem like she's the bad guy." Gar's voice is defeated and maybe a part of him was hoping you would be. It would give them something to do but this just got really sad, really fast.

"Guess not." Jason mutters and Gar can't tell if he's disappointed or just lost in his thought about it.

"You okay, dude?"

"Yeah." Jason gives him a grin. "Just fucked up."

Gar curls his lips in with a nod. "Yeah."

While the boys sit and figure out how they're supposed to handle this newfound information without letting you or Dick know how they found out, Rachel went to your room.

You’re in your room, sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and watching Zombieland. The movie's been out for a while but you’re so in love with it. There's zombies who don't just walk and eat people. They actually have speed and the characters aren't dumb. There are rules to surviving any type of horror movie and this guy in the movie just gets it. It's by far one of your favorite comfort movies. And you’re having a great time, just relaxing for the first time in a year. It's like you can almost breathe clearly again, wrapped in a blanket on a couch and in a warm home. But, then a knock sounds on your door and you’re reminded that you’re not alone.

You get up, taking the blanket with you. "Uh....hey?" You ask, seeing the girl with purple hair, dressed head to toe in black with a weird red gem in the center of her forehead.

"Hey," Rachel smiles softly. "I'm Rachel."

"Y/n." You offer, hand still on the door.

"I just wanted to come and meet you. I know you met everyone else." Rachel explains nicely.

You nod and you almost feel like an animal at a zoo but that's not Rachel's fault. It's like when someone new comes to school halfway through the school year and suddenly everyone wants to talk to them. They're like a new toy.

"Yeah, uh, yeah." You nod, sliding your hand off the door. "Did....you wanna come in?" You ask, not sure if you should or not. It all feels so bizarre.

"Sure." Rachel smiles softly, walking inside while you shut the door. "How do you like your room?" Rachel looks around at the empty place, wondering how you would decorate it.

"It's okay." You answer with a shrug. "Kind of boring, I guess."

"Dick will get you stuff to make it yours." Rachel explains.

"Right." You nod slowly before going back to your spot on the couch.

You don't have much else to say. You’re not actively trying to be standoffish. Rachel is just being nice but you don't even know how you’re supposed to talk to people and you’re truthfully tired and want to enjoy your movie. You just didn't want to sound like a bitch and tell Rachel to leave.

"What do you think about the guys?" Rachel asks, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, not getting too close to you which you really appreciate. Rachel figures talking about the guys might be an easy way to get you to warm up to her.

"Uh..." You furrows your brows and a smile creeps onto your face. "Gar's really nice." You say quietly. "Dick is okay, I guess. Jason's an asshole."

Rachel lets out a laugh. "I know! It's been just us for a month." Rachel leans her head back dramatically making you laugh. "You'll get used to him. Gar and Dick make it easier."

You shake your head. "I don't mind, actually." You huff with a smile, earning yourself a surprised and confused look from Rachel. You shrug. "He's funny to fuck with. He gets all mad and I think it's funny."

"What'd you do?" Rachel asks, intrigued why someone would find it funny but also kind of wants to see someone actually get under Jason's skin and not be bothered by whatever ignorant comment he'll say.

"I asked him what was wrong with his face when he asked about mine then I challenged him to a bet. He lost." You hold your up proudly.

"What was the bet? Teach me. He bugs me." Rachel says dramatically, her eyes wide.

"I can do this thing," This time when you explain it, your head is held with pride and confidence. "I can sense when someone is gonna attack me, told him he could hit me and he couldn't."

"That's awesome! Can I be there next time, please?" Rachel pleads.

Rachel and Jason haven’t gotten along since her dad possessed him. They got along fine when they met in Chicago but then things got a little rocky. Rachel actually doesn’t like not getting along with him, especially living under the same roof, but she can’t pinpoint exactly what it was that made him not like her. She’s tried to be nice but it never really gets her anywhere with him. So, seeing someone put Jason in his place sounds like a good time.

"Sure. I don't think Dick thought it was very funny." You let out a soft chuckle, warming up to Rachel. She is very nice.

"Gar will think it's hilarious. They spar together more than us and Gar puts up a good fight but Jason always wins." Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Gar doesn't seem like a fighter."

Rachel shrugs a shoulder. "He's not."

"Probably a good thing, he's cute." You blurt it out, shocked you actually said that out loud. "I have said too much."

"No, it's okay. He is." Rachel laughs softly.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" You backtrack. "Are you a thing?"

"No!" Rachel exclaims. "No, we're just friends. No one here is like a thing or anything."

"Oh, okay. That's a bit surprising. Though, I guess you wouldn't be into Jason." You joke.

"God, no." Rachel grimaces with the thought. "I'd rather die." Rachel says making you laugh. "Is that Gar's?" Rachel points towards the hoodie.

"Uh...yeah. He loaned to me. I asked for a hoodie because it's a little cold in here."

"That's really nice of him." Rachel offers a soft side smile.

"Yeah..." You tug the sleeves over your hands.

"Can I ask what happened to you?" Rachel asks carefully.

You shift in your seat. You’d love to go as long as humanly possible without saying anything about it. It's just traumatic. It's not even like it's a secret. It's just hard to talk about and you don't know these people at all. It feels like something more personal than to just go around and blasting it to complete strangers. If Dick makes you say something, you will but until then, you'd like to just tell them on your own time. Not when you’re asked.

"Uh...it's....a-a long story." You look to the TV and Rachel can see that a part of you just shut down with the question. It's obvious that it's bad but Rachel didn't think it would cause a distant reaction.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me or anything but if you want to talk about it, you can talk to me." Rachel's voice is quiet.

"T-thank you." You glance at her from the corner of your eye. "Uh...it's okay. I, uh, I just don't wanna talk about it yet." You shake your head.

"That's okay." Rachel smiles softly. "No pressure. We all have shit here." Rachel huffs with a laugh.

"I can tell." You whisper. "No offense." You say quickly. "You seem fine, actually but everyone else has....a vibe. Even Gar, feels like there's something going on. Jason can't be that big of an asshole without having trauma and Dick seems like he picks up teenagers off the street because of trauma."

Rachel laughs. "Yeah, pretty much." She lets out a sigh. "My dad is a demon who tried to kill me."

You furrow your brows, forehead wrinkling as you slowly turn to look at Rachel. "I'm sorry, what?"

Rachel nods. "Gave this as a trophy." Rachel taps the gem that's embedded to her forehead.

"Well..." You pause. "What the fuck?" You laugh. "It's not funny...I just....did not think I'd hear that."

"Yeah," Rachel laughs softly. "I didn't expect to find out my dad was a demon. I guess it explains a lot." Rachel scrunches her nose.

"Yeah, meeting the parental figure that fucked shit up can sometimes have answers even if it's not the ones you want." You say quietly, feeling Rachel staring at you. "Long story, dad's an addict. Got the answers I didn't want but needed."

"Jeez." Rachel sighs.

"Yeah," You say, realizing you’re saying too much and figured this was enough for the night. "Hey, uh, I'm like...really tired." You tug the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands again. "Can I get some sleep?" You ask slowly, trying not to sound harsh.

"Yeah, of course!" Rachel says quickly, getting up from her spot. "I'll see you tomorrow." Rachel smiles at you. "You can trust us, just so you know. We're a family here."

"Thanks." You answer before Rachel heads for the door and leaves.

You almost hate to admit but you think maybe you could fit in here. It's a bunch of people with trauma trying to make something work, maybe even work through it. You actually like everyone that lives here from the small interactions you’ve had. Everyone seems genuine, even if one of them is an asshole, at least it's genuine. None of them seem to be here being held against their will. Rachel and Gar made you feel comfortable. The door isn't locked and you can leave when you want. Something about it still feels too good to be true but for this moment, just this moment, you let yourself sit in peace with the hope that it's all going to be okay again.

next chapter

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Tag list: @italiana-20 // @fairyofshampooF----

#gar logan #jason todd #gar logan x reader #garfield logan x reader #jason todd x reader #gar logan fanfic #gar logan fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #titans #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #caving in

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writing-good-vibes · 8 months

Note

For Valentine's Day, number 1 under angsty prompts. The Replacement. A little bit of jealous ex!Corey maybe...

ahh thank you for your req !!

WARNINGS for (past) corey x gn!reader, jealousy, mildly stalkerish behaviour, dark post accident!corey, mentions of joan being The Worst and mild implications of violence.

💔 very cute divider by @/firefly-graphics 💔

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

Corey didn't like being jealous. Being jealous made his stomach ache, a horrible sickly feeling deep down in his gut that wouldn't go away, made worse by his tossing and turning at night while he tried to sleep. Being jealous made his fingers hurt, and he'd clench them into fists, hard enough for his blunt nails to leave red crescents in his palms, to try and ease the pressure in his sore knuckles. Being jealous made his eyes water and his chest tight and it made him want to scream, sat in his bed alone at night, watching the radio tower blink tauntingly through his window.

But Corey couldn't help it, Corey was jealous.

Maybe it was his own fault -- it was definitely his own fault -- that you didn't want him anymore, that you got out the first chance you had, that you chose to dodge the bullet that is Corey 'Kid Killer' Cunningham.

And he can't really blame you because he knows that you were getting bored with his reluctance to go anywhere, and with all his nervous habits he still hadn't been able to shake.

He knows it's because the looks got too much for you. Because the mutterings behind your back were starting to take their tole. Because the soda thrown at him from a car window as you walked down the street was only a taste of what was to come.

He really only had himself to blame, and yet he couldn't make himself let go of you so easily. Especially not now he'd seen his replacement.

It's difficult not to compare himself. Corey's been monitoring his placement in every league possible since middle school; popularity, academics, looks. He'd skated along in the middle of the pack popularity-wise, which suited him just fine, and he was never quite top of the class but he was close enough to keep his GPA up, and well... he wasn't winning any prizes compared to some of the guys at school, but he'd lived with it.

But next to his Replacement? Oh, Corey never stood a chance.

And Corey doesn't want to do this. Of course he doesn't. He sees you from across the street, holding his hand. He sees walk you around the dollar store while he pushes the cart. He sees you take him back to your place. And he follows you back to his sometimes too.

Momma's upset with him when he's late for dinner.

It's funny how much he still misses you, even when he sees you all the time. You smile and your smile is like sunshine. You look and your eyes are sharp and clever and deep enough to drown in. Your voice, god he could listen to you forever and ever and never get bored.

He closes his eyes and thinks about it, reconfigures all these sightings onto himself. You smile at him, you look at him, you talk to him, not his replacement

He's cold, and his stomach aches, and his fingers hurt, and his chest is tight when you open your door. He doesn't remember looking through the kitchen draw, or leaving home, or when his cheeks got so wet.

"Corey? Is everything okay?"

Momma always told him no one else would ever love him, and that's Corey down to the bone: always wanting something he can't have.

on the topic of jealousy, you should also read [warnings apply]:

clean again by blake (@/slutforstabbings). after corey survives the events of ends he travels south and, against his better judgement, falls in love with the reader. corey's jealous streak is strong in this story, but it comes up most directly in chapter 7.

rock bottom by toxic (@/toxicanonymity). corey can't decide if he wants to do the reader or michael, so he does both. and even though he gets the best of both worlds, he's still somehow jealous of both of his partners.

#corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗#this could never be me because i could never break up with corey #never ever no matter what he did #*except* maybe in a role play situation so he can get all riled up and beat up a guy i'm leading on and then rock my world.#like the toxic couple we are #and then i comfort him with the sweetest softest fluffiest aftercare to promise him i would never break up with him irl #sorry yeah anyway i hope you enjoyed 🤗💗

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cherieprincess · 2 years

Text

A major aspect of the plot of Goncharov (1973) that I don’t think people are discussing enough is the power struggle that plays out between Katya Goncharova and Sofia Ambrosini.

To Katya, Sofia is everything. Despite Katya being embittered and worn and tired of the world, and that being visible in the way she treats Sofia ("teaching" her to play cards and fire a gun and leading her through the streets, influencing her behaviour and movements, constantly making it clear she is more versed in the ways of the world than Sofia is), she still sees a chance for something new in her - something full of genuine love. She plays with Sofia at first because of her own lack of autonomy - she's frustrated, upset, and lost, and in Sofia she thinks she's found someone she can finally feel differently with, in a way that would be enjoyable to them both.

As smart and versed in the ways of the world as Katya is, with her femme fatale energy, the fact that she's convinced herself that she is more experienced than Sofia is exactly what shoots her in the foot about it. Katya allows herself to put genuine trust in Sofia because she's managed to convince herself that she's smarter and that Sofia is young and new - a sheep amongst the wolves - and Sofia played along masterfully. Katya's self-inflicted superiority, so to speak, is what drags her down; though I'm unsure if superiority is the right term. It's not that she overestimates herself, but she underestimates Sofia.

When Katya realises that Sofia hasn't just been keeping up in this game of chess, but has been winning, her delusion of grandeur shatters around her so fast. She immediately realises she's lost, and though she fights back, the way she’s easily overpowered means that in the end she has to appeal to Sofia. And yet Katya’s self-assuredness is still there - or at least an attempt to keep it up is. Her "appeal" is her softly going "Sof, you know this isn’t how our time ends." Katya is trying so desperately to hold onto some sense of power or control, so she makes a blanket statement rather than asking for mercy. And Sofia’s silent response of a smile, moments before she pushes Katya under the water, tells Katya there’s no use in pretending she still holds the reins.

So throughout, their power balance has fluctuated. Katya's seemed in control from the start, from the very first scene where she offers Sofia an apple, an unmistakeable reference to the temptation into evil that occured in the Garden of Eden. Sofia snatched control back and lifted herself on top, both figuratively and metaphorically, as she shoved Katya down into the water. And in the final scene between the two of them, the power balance is equal.

The two share a cigarette - clearly a distinct parallel of them finally sharing control over the situation - and Sofia seems entirely unfazed as Katya sharpens her knife. Sofia’s calm "If I am going to be stabbed, then I want to feel every second of it", causes Katya to laugh for the first time since the poker game at the scene near the beginning of the film, and she drops the knife. The tension between them disappears as the knife hits the ground - Katya's dropped both the knife and her mindset of having a foothold over Sofia, and Sofia's made it clear that she’s willing to take whatever Katya has to give her, but on her own terms.

Whether or not the two get to develop their relationship on equal footing, post the events of the film, is beholden to whether or not the viewer believes Katya survived or not. But whether the knife scene is the closing line to their personal story, or the opening line to a newly negotiated life between them, it leaves them at the end of a struggle that was laced through the entire film, and honestly is incredibly narratively satisfying.

#goncharov #goncharov (1973)#goncharov posting #gonchposting #unreality #fake film #katya #katya goncharov #katya michailov #katya goncharova #sofia #sofia ambrosini #katya x sofia #goncharov analysis #jesus christ I cannot stop thinking about these two

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youllallriseintheink · 2 years

Note

Rank the Pokemon villains by how much you don't wanna end up physically fighting them.

Alright! Here they are ranked from “don’t do it under any circumstances if you value your life” and “please go easy on them, be nice.”

Guzma: do not, and I repeat do NOT fight Guzma. At the first provocation, he will pound you. He’s big, he’s strong, he’s experienced at street fighting, and he will use much more force than necessary, beating down on you long after it’s clear that he’s won the fight. Do NOT. If he initiates a fight, run away while praying.

Ghetsis: No. Do not underestimate Ghetsis because half his body is injured. Between his massive height and his cane, he has a ridiculous amount of reach, and he will use it to hit you hard with that thick metal rod before you’re anywhere near close enough to hit him. If he gets you in a vulnerable position, he will physically torment you for his own enjoyment until you run away or until he’s satisfied. Run away if he initiates. If you absolutely must fight him, find something to throw at him and make sure he doesn’t get in range of you.

Archie: he’s quick, coordinated, very strong, enjoys roughhousing with his buddies, and will take pride in pinning you down easily. You’re highly unlikely to win a fight against him unless you’re also very strong and good with your fists. That being said, he knows when to quit and will stop once he’s won or you’re no longer a threat to him.

Lysandre: while not interested in physical fighting, Lysandre is absurdly tall and keeps in shape for aesthetic reasons. He’s more than capable of stopping you if you try to attack him.

Giovanni: He’s not very fast since he’s over fifty years old. That being said, don’t underestimate him too much. As a gym leader, he’s a fighter at heart, has well-honed instincts for it, and knows where to hit you to do maximum damage. He’s also built like a boulder and very strong. It would take a fair amount of strength, speed, and/or strategy to beat him, and even if you do, you're going to leave with some serious bruises.

N: he’d rather not fight you, but Ghetsis taught him some self-defence and he’s as graceful as water and in pretty good shape. He’ll probably be able to diffuse things if you come at him. Also, do not fight him outside, especially in areas he’s familiar with, or he might get some help from the local wildlife. Trust me, you don’t want that.

Cyrus: let me put it this way: could Cyrus beat you in a fair fight? Probably not. He’s on the small side and not particularly athletic. Can he make it so unpleasant that you’ll wish you hadn’t bothered? Yes. If you’re a threat to his safety, he will claw your face, jab your eyes, twist your nose, kick below the belt, knee your stomach, and generally make himself more trouble than he’s worth. So go at him if you must, but make quick work of him.

Silver: he’s a pretty average teenage boy overall: agile, fairly strong, and has a lot of fighting spirit in him. That being said, he’d be a reckless fighter. If you’re a decent fighter and use a bit of strategy, you have a fair chance against him.

Lusamine: much like Cyrus, she’s unlikely to win a fair fight because she’s fairly physically weak, but she’s capable of dishing out some pain. She’s more than willing to kick you with those heels and rip at your face with her hands. Make it quick and don’t underestimate her or you’ll regret it.

Rose: Rose is not a fighter. At all. He has very little fighting experience, and basically no instinct for physical combat since his days of competitive battling are far behind him. He’s also fairly slow-moving. He won’t put up much of a fight.

Maxie: Maxie will come out swinging at you if you make him angry enough, but he’s very small and very impulsive, so he’d be more of a danger to himself if he’s up against someone willing to fight back. You can win against him easily if you have average size and strength on your side.

Piers: he’s weak and fragile and there’s a good chance he slept 3 hours last night and hasn’t eaten all day. You could but please don’t.

#thanks for the ask #pokemon #pokemon villains #rocket leader giovanni #magma boss maxie #aqua boss archie #galactic boss cyrus #plasma leader ghetsis #pokemon n #lusamine #skull boss guzma #flare boss lysandre #gym leader piers #chairman rose

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 6 months

Text

Blood and sand - Chapter Three

He had to get out of this. His knack would only help half of this problem, and he had to get untied. Had to get away from here. Had to—

“You might not be worth it if you can’t get through a few simple ropes,” said a stranger’s voice, a chipper voice, and John Luke went stiff as a board in fear.

Nothing followed.

“Hello?” John Luke managed, voice cracking.

“Mm, no, no good,” said the voice, and the wet, slightly sticky footsteps circling did not make anything better. “‘John Luke?’ No, no, no. Just Luke. We already have a John. Are you trying to confuse people?”

Written for the @malevolentmadnessmixup. Art by @aktrashpanda.

>>>>READ ON AO3 OR BELOW<<<<

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Chapter Three: A Progressive Complication

The Dreamlands fit him better than any where John Luke had ever been.

He made his way. He used his knack, and raised money like that easily enough. He heeded the warning about slavers, and kidnappers, and looked for a way to bring Parker back to life.

John Luke was eleven years and six months old when he learned about the Games, and he knew at once this was the opportunity he’d been looking for.

He sat with other travelers in a small, one-room cabin in the mountains of Leng, sheltered from a storm, bundled within an inch of his life against the cold. He’d heard there was some kind of god up here that answered questions, but so far, he hadn’t been able to find them. “One wish?” he said, muffled through his scarf.

The guy talking (one of Dagon’s, if the bulging eyes were any indication) nodded. “Yepperoonie. Win the Games, get a wish. Anything.”

“Anything,” repeated a big guy across the table, whose arms were more scar than skin.

“The King in Yellow, man,” said Dagon’s offspring. “The King in Yellow.”

John Luke hadn’t spent six months in the Dreamlands to be unaware of that name, but all the cautions he’d heard paled in comparison to what was on offer. “Where are the Games?”

Alan the fish-man grinned. “Fuck if I know.” And he laughed.

Fine. John Luke would find out somewhere else. He sipped his hot tea, waited out the storm, then left Leng behind to find his answers.

John Luke was twelve when he found both answers and warnings in Celephaïs.

“Oh, Carcosa moves,” said one kindly barmaid whose sore wrist he'd helped, “but you don’t want to find it. It isn’t safe for anyone these days, especially not mortals.”

“Who the fuck knows? He’s crazy,” said one drunk guy, whose black eye John Luke had tended, and who was then hushed and dragged off by his friends.

“I wouldn’t go looking, if I were you,” said a grizzled old sailor with six eyes, who otherwise looked perfectly human.

"Is that so, sir?" said John Luke, trying to help the old sailor's gout.

“Something went wrong about twenty years ago, kid," said the guy. "Hastur’s lost it. I really wouldn’t go, if I were you.”

“I have to,” said John Luke, because he did, and because he knew it couldn’t be as simple as no one knows, or there would be neither Games nor rumors.

He liked Celephaïs; it had everything San Francisco didn't, including clean water and streets, friendly strangers, and a magnificent lack of racialism, at least toward John Luke. Nobody cared here that he had almond-shaped eyes. Nobody cared about the color of his skin. And no one cared that he was a child; he could make his own way, manage on his own.

Someone here would know where Carcosa was. Someone would tell him. He paid for his tea and stepped out into the empty street.

The moons were stunning, four of them full, light dancing on the dark ocean waves. John Luke stood at the top of the cobblestone hill, surrounded by fancy lawns and distant fancy residences, and watched the waves, and wished Parker could see it all with him.

He wanted to show his brother everything he’d learned. He was sure Parker would be proud of him. Maybe they didn’t have to go back to Earth. By now, John Luke’s knack had become a true talent. It earned him money, and while it also put him in danger of slavers (he’d been warned so many times), he was sure he could keep his head down and manage to build an entire life here. Parker was so smart, and so strong, and he would love it here, too. They could work together, and build the kind of life that—

“That’s him,” he heard, low and mean.

And he was grabbed.

John Luke shouted. He struggled. He kicked and bit, and a sack went over his head, pulling tight, pressing his hood into his face, and he knew he wasn’t suffocating, but he was, and his cries did not escape the sack over his mouth, and the rope around him was so tight it bruised. He screamed.

And was suddenly dropped onto the uneven paving stones, getting the breath knocked out of him, and then came sounds.

Bad sounds.

Worse sounds than threats of slavers, worse than his own pained cries. Tearing sounds, and screaming sounds, and popping-wet-flesh sounds, and they were worse than his fear, worse than nightmares, worse than anything he’d ever heard in his life.

(Though there was that one time the horse-drawn ice-truck had gotten into that horrible accident, and the horses screaming and the smell of blood were so much the same as this.)

And then came nothing.

Nobody grabbed him. All was silent except for his panicked breathing. What had happened? Where were the slavers, or whoever they had been?

He had to get out of this. His knack would only help half of this problem, and he had to get untied. Had to get away from here. Had to—

“You might not be worth it if you can’t get through a few simple ropes,” said a stranger’s voice, a chipper voice, and John Luke went stiff as a board in fear.

Nothing followed.

“Hello?” John Luke managed, voice cracking.

Those footsteps… He couldn’t help imagining bare feet on blood, in viscera, in gore, and being called the wrong name (which the guy shouldn't have known anyway) did not help. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t get free. He couldn’t even form the words help me through his tight throat.

“Yeah… maybe this was a waste of time,” said the man as if to himself. “Tell you what: get free in three minutes, or I kill you, and all your problems will be solved. And… go!”

He meant it. The man meant it. John Luke (Just Luke?) knew the man meant it.

He lost seconds to terror.

Parker.

Parker wouldn't give up. He never gave up. John Luke (Just Luke—actually, he sort of liked it) thought fast, and used a cauterizing spell to burn through the rope.

It hurt. It hurt so badly, but burns were something he could heal, so he just had to hold on until the rope snapped clean through. He was crying as he sat up, burned, scared, but proud of himself, regardless. He pulled off the hood and winced to his feet.

“Not bad. That was almost entertaining,” said the man, and there he was: squatted, perched on the neat stone fencing like a gargoyle. Blood dripped from his feet and stained trousers legs. He was a white man, tall and narrow, and his eyes gleamed like bright light on fresh blood. He pointed at Just Luke with one finger, skin or something worse sticking out from his fingernails. “You… I dunno. I don't really like kids, you understand, and you’re not that interesting? But he won’t think that. No. In fact, I think your goal might just fuck them both up. Create some friction? Split their focus? You feel me?”

Just Luke stared. He would have replied, manners and self-preservation merging in his head, but he was a little distracted by the environment.

It looked like the slavers had exploded. Shreds hung from gas lamps; chunks clogged gutters. No, they'd exploded after the worst had happened: six skins—complete, looking ready to be blown up like balloons into people again—lay draped on either side of this guy on the fence, hands and feet neatly turned the same directions.

Nobody was alive. There was no spark to fan back into flame. He would have tried to heal them, if there were, no matter how wicked they were, but they were dead. In spite of reason, his throat tightened, and his eyes filled.

“Ugh. Fucking kids,” said the man, and snapped his fingers. “Focus. I'm saying this once.”

“Yes, sir,” Just Luke mumbled because it felt like he had to say something or he might be skinned, too.

The man snorted. “No, because now you’d know it was coming, so… something else. I’m thinking laminectomy, personally, but anyway: The games are in Mhor.”

“Mhor?” said Just Luke in a tiny voice.

“Ya.” The guy shifted, weirdly bird-like, weight moving from barefoot to bare foot on the bloodied fence. “There’s a caravan leaving from the port at the Naraxa River in two hours. Sky ship; not like the ones going to Serannian. This is… not as nice. But if you buy a ticket, they’ll get you into the Eastern Desert. And if you survive the trip, and don't get stabbed or infested by something more interesting than you are, or, I dunno, just plain beaten to death, you'll reach the Last Lonely Inn. The Butcher goes there.”

“The… Butcher?” said Just Luke, drawn in, held by this guy’s animation, his words, his awful, hateful eyes.

“He’s the guy who picks folks up for the games, gosling,” said the guy. “Not the most interesting of Dennises, but he serves his purpose. All you have to do is survive the ride.” That smile was pristine, shockingly white against the gristle and gore everywhere else. “I suggest you do it. If you don't, you probably won’t see me again, so there’s that… but I guaran-fucking-tee you will never get your brother back. You thought running away to the Dreamlands was your big life-changing choice? Oh, no, no, no. This is it.”

Just Luke trembled. “Wh… why are you telling… why did you do this?” He couldn't quite say saved me because this didn’t feel saved.

“Bored,” said the man, shifting his weight again. “No little divorces lately, but as anyone can tell you, kids are great at causing divorces, capisce?”

Just Luke did not capisce.

The guy sighed. “This is what I'm reduced to. Pitiful. Look, just try to grow up a little quicker, would you? You know, being less obvious than a foghorn, maybe? Stop flashing your knack? Or you definitely won’t make it to the Games, and your bwuver stays fucking dead. Ciao!” And he vanished. Poof. Gone. Not a sound. Not a puff of smoke.

How had he known all that? What the fuck was he? Some kind of… flesh-eating fairy godfather?

For some reason, Just Luke thought of the nián shòu, the child-eating dragon kept at bay on the New Year with fireworks and costumes and the color red. This being had no problem with the color red, so. Probably not.

And just Luke was standing here in the middle of carnage, splattered with death. He dared not be found here. Breath hitching, he took off at a run.

Two hours was long enough to toss his old cloak and get a new one. Long enough to get a ticket, to buy a real knife, bigger than the tiny folding one he’d taken from uncle Xi’s dresser. Long enough to scrub blood from his trouser and shoes, and finally, to board the ship.

It was a bad idea, said his gut, but he had no other leads.

Celephaïs was nice. It had a lot of nice people. Well, nobody nice rode this vessel. The sailors (flyers?) were rough and smelly. The other passengers were rough and smelly and violent, and had three fights and one murder before the ship even got into the air.

Just Luke would have helped—his knack drove him, sometimes, like a need—but this was a decisive kill, dead before the body hit the deck. They tossed the body overboard when below changed to wilderness.

Just Luke did not try to go down into the hull where the others stayed. He huddled on deck, behind the nets securing cargo, and over the next three days, watched the green and beautiful Dreamlands below wither to brown and ugly wastes.

[chapter four] [masterpost]

#malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #arthur lester #john doe #dennis collins #luke yang #kiy malevolent #malevolent madness mixup #blood and sand fic #kayne malevolent #oscar malevolent

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romancesources · 1 year

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FALLOUT: NEW VEGAS SERIES, ARCADE GANNON EDITION. (some of these are edited for general use, while some keep their context for the overarching fallout universe. feel free to change them around to suit your needs.)

what? did you expect me to applaud your efforts to support a deranged warlord?

you are bad for helping them. please stop.

if you can find a way to push them out of the picture as well, i think everyone will be better off.

the only way to ensure relative safety and independence for the people here is to prevent others from taking control of the region.

i'll be here. just don't expect me to fend off a gang of super mutants while you're gone.

just as a warning, my covert bandaging skills are a little rusty.

i'm not standing here because i'm overburdened with emotion. take some of this stuff off of me so i can move a little more easily.

hmmm. might need some antidote here.

yep. that's poison.

will the medical wonders of the post-apocalyptic world never cease?

if you could spare any ammunition, that would be really terrific.

it is my medical opinion that that could have gone better.

i could use a syringe of med-x or two... or eight.

back to the tomb, i suppose. If you need me, et cetera.

i'm hardly a whirlwind of death when left to my own devices, but all right.

we are coming for you. run, and we will catch you. hide, and we will find you. no matter what you do, you are all going to die.

fighting's not my strong suit, but i'll see what i can do.

if there's one thing there's no shortage of in the mojave, it's violence.

it would be nice if things could stop tearing each other apart around here.

did someone slip psycho into your water or are you just naturally berserk?

we have enough problems around here!

i thought my charm could win you over, but i guess it wasn't meant to be. are you sure you want me to go?

you have quite the menagerie at your disposal.

i'm just saying that if it were to fall into a lake and be irreparably damaged... and if you threw an emp grenade in after it...

well, there are worse things happening in the world, right?

thanks for asking. i appreciate it, i do.

back in your good graces again? i knew you'd see the light.

i'm really very boring. you'd get better stories out of a junkie.

i don't want to be... alarmist or anything, but maybe you should ditch that thing.

okay. don't have to make a decision now. just... sleep on it or something.

i guess they don't make 'em like they used to.

physician, heal thyself... guess it's a good thing they invented stims.

i don't think you need to worry about the specifics. basically, expect a lot of firepower and dead bodies.

let's just say it's truly a sight to behold.

it's the least i could do. all i ask is that you put it to good use.

i may not be the one to help stop him here, but you are.

fortis fortuna adiuvat. good luck, and good bye.

i'd rather they have it than allow all that knowledge to disappear.

i'd just prefer that it goes to an organization who are less likely to use it for... violent purposes.

that's a grim deal to make.

not all sacrifices are made by the willing.

but where is the lamb for this burnt offering?

that was their decision to make, not yours.

there are other ways to punish people, other ways to condemn their actions.

what we always do. whatever we can.

i was an only child and spent most of my time with my mother.

my father died when i was young and i never got over it.

oh... and i like medicine and reading books about failed socioeconomic policies.

right now, i'm sure you're asking yourself, 'why hasn't some lucky man scooped this bachelor off his feet?' like i said, i'm very boring.

some people do. i just... don't.

look, i appreciate that you're trying to be friendly, but i'd just rather not discuss it.

why do they need more power?

hmm. that's a valid point.

i'm not really behind them in all of this, but the last thing i want is panic in the streets.

i'm thinking that i'm leaving because you are a sociopath. good riddance.

what's changed since then?

there's something i need to go do, but i'll catch up with you later. thanks again for your help with the others. it means a lot to me.

you can't hold onto a past you've never had.

what's the point of surviving the war?

no way are they getting away with this. i'm not letting it happen. you're not letting it happen.

they abdicate responsibility to a myth of historical inevitability.

i suppose you're right. when you're part of something for that long, maybe it's impossible to let go without losing part of yourself.

i'll always feel like something is missing from my life.

not everyone dreams of being a revolutionary, i suppose. maybe we can't all change the world.

maybe it's enough just to do good for the short time that we're here.

it seems presumptuous of me to think that i could join the fight, even if this is a cause worth fighting for.

if you lose your humanity, then i suppose that is all that's left.

victrix causa deis placuit sed victa catoni.

in the words of socrates, 'go fornicate yourself.'

okay. i just wanted you to confirm that i'm traveling in the company of an insane fascist. thanks.

the people who live here don't deserve to be victims of your misguided attempts at political engineering. or are they just collateral damage?

great! you're either unimaginably cruel or profoundly insane!

i hope you get everything that's coming to you.

all i know is that you are a bad person and i don't want to be around you anymore.

because everyone would be conscripted or enslaved. and the people who are unfit for military service or slavery would be put down.

overt flirtation will get you everywhere, you know.

caveat samaritanus.

oh, you know. finding alternative treatments for common illnesses and injuries.

there are worse things one can be, though i do admit, it is a bit boring.

don't mind me. i'm just voicing my thoughts so they don't burrow out of my skull in a fit of abject despondency.

i'm enthusiastic about helping people, but nihil novi sub sole.

but the side effect of medical success is that more people live longer. funny how that works.

cuts, lacerations, broken bones. infections resulting from all of the above. common cold, influenza. take your pick.

there are plenty of ways to die out here, and most of them, surprisingly, don't have anything to do with war. just common human fragility.

no offense intended, but why should i go anywhere with you?

short of canceling our imminent travel plans, that's the best thing you could have said.

no disrespect intended, but you aren't the first person to dream up the idea.

i can't say i understand your obsession, but for that i suppose i'd have to spend a night in your grave.

i'm here because of you, so i figure you're the one most deserving of it.

why don't you make like odysseus and get lost?

for as lack of adornment is said to become some women, so will this place, without your presence, bring delight.

interesting way of handling things. very sub rosa.

it's hard to find justice in all of this, but i suppose this is as close as it gets.

i'd like to assume that we're tiptoeing into the mouth of hell out of academic curiosity, but i'm not so open-minded that i've lost my brains.

i'm no botanist, but i think this may not be entirely natural.

it's a shame what happened up here. i understand arguments about the 'fog of war,' but that can't be much consolation to the survivors.

i'm not exactly a mercenary, but taking out scumbags of this magnitude wouldn't cause me to lose any sleep.

what a load of brahmin shit! can you believe that guy?

#rp meme #ask meme #fallout rp meme #sentence meme #mine.#s: fnv.

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dunkzillla · 2 years

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New Tricks for an Old Dog (1/?)

William Regal x Wheeler Yuta, Chuck Taylor x Wheeler Yuta

A little later than I was hoping, but @slapofhonor asked for Chuck/Yuta, and @di0brando asked for Regal/Yuta, and I knew I could (somewhat, I hope) deliver with this. Updates will be sporadic but I hope you enjoy regardless!

Title: New Tricks for an Old Dog

Pairings: Wheeler Yuta/William Regal, Wheeler Yuta/Chuck Taylor

Rating/Warnings: Explicit — Sexual Content, Language, mentions of Disordered Eating.

Word Count: 4553

Summary: Barista by day, sex worker by night, Wheeler Yuta is burning the candle at both ends trying to make ends meet. Businessman and Lord by day, lonely old man by night, William Regal desperately searches for something to make him feel alive.

“Fuck sake Trent you prick! I told you to go around the back!”

Wheeler’s eyes flutter open, woken by the loud shouting, and fall on the old, blinking alarm clock on the bedside table. Four thirty am.

Wheeler sighs. He could spend the next half an hour laying here in bed listening to Chuck yell at Trent and Orange over Fortnite or he could get up and have hot lemon water and a few wheat thins while sitting next to his boyfriend before heading off to work. He throws the thin covers off himself and grabs Chuck’s sweats and hoodie from the floor and slips them on. They’re far too big, Chuck’s much bigger than him, stockier, taller, but they make him feel warm and safe and they smell like him.

“Piece of shit can you not just listen to me for one second?” Chuck yells again, and when Wheeler steps into the living room he can hear the sounds of gunfire on the screen, the tap tap tap of Chuck’s thumbs on his controller. He must hear Wheeler step into the room, because he turns and looks up at him, sheepish. “Shit, sorry babe, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Wheeler stands behind him on the couch and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry, needed to get up for work anyway. You want breakfast?”

“No thanks babe, I had toast when I got up.” He says, turning his face so he can kiss Wheeler, chaste and quick before turning back to his game.

Wheeler sighs a little. He doesn’t know how Chuck can spend so long staring at the screen, playing the same game day in day out. He barely sleeps, less than Wheeler does with two jobs, moving only to use the bathroom and shower, make himself microwave pizzas and burgers if Wheeler’s not there to do it for him. Which, he isn’t a lot of the time because of his two jobs.

Times have been hard for them since they moved out into their new place. Chuck lost his job a few months after they signed the lease, and then decided that instead of getting another job, he was going to focus on his video game career. The trouble is, there really is no video game career, Chuck’s simply not good enough to be a professional gamer, nor does he have the money to spend on the kind of equipment that professional gamers have which allow them to easily win tournaments and spend all of their days gaming. So Chuck spends all day ‘practicing’ and then enters tournaments on the weekends, coming so far down leaderboards that he doesn’t even make any money. He’s unemployed, playing video games all day, while Wheeler works two jobs to try and pull them both out of the mountain of debt they’re buried under.

Wheeler works at Starbucks during the day, making just above minimum wage and whatever meger tips get put in the jar, and by night, Wheeler walks the streets and sells his body to men that drive by.

He never intended to become a sex worker. He never intended to get into strange cars with strange men and let them do what they wanted with him for fifty to a hundred bucks, but he met Daniel Garcia in a YMCA queue waiting for free condoms and heard all about the little spot where he and a few others go to make a little extra money. Wheeler had been in debt enough to know that his paycheck this month wasn’t going to cover all of the bills, so he’d gone down that night — telling Chuck he was going to do a trial shift at a gas station — and worked the street with Daniel. He gave out four blowjobs, one hand job, and got fucked by a man twice his age. He made three hundred and fifty dollars in four hours, more than he makes in a week at Starbucks.

He’d felt sick when he got home, seeing Chuck curled up on the couch, waiting for him to get home. But they needed the money, Chuck’s gaming skyrocketed the electricity bill and with only him making any money, he needed more than just a minimum wage job or two to keep the roof over their head and a bit of food on the table. So Wheeler set his guilt aside and went out the next night too, making even more than he did the first time, and went out the night after that and the night after that, and he hasn’t stopped since. He misses a couple of nights here and there, Wednesdays are the slowest days and sometimes it’s hardly worth standing out waiting for someone to drive by, and on Chuck’s birthday, he doesn’t go then. But every other night Wheeler stands with Daniel and waits for men to pull up so he can say, “You looking for something hot stuff?”, before getting into their car.

But even with the sex work, Wheeler doesn’t make enough for them to live comfortably. He doesn’t always get great hours at Starbucks, reducing the amount he earns, and when it rains, Johns don’t want to pick up soggy and damp sex workers. So he goes without a lot, the groceries he buys tend to be things that can go in the cupboard or freezer, non perishables, and even then he lets Chuck eat most of them, microwave pizzas, microwave burgers and hot dogs, pizza pockets and bags of chips, he’s bigger than Wheeler and needs more, and he gets to eat the leftover pastries and sandwiches at work, so he doesn’t mind. His shoes are falling apart, and he wears the same cycle of clothes so that he can keep a good few pairs of jeans and shirts for special occasions. Not that there are many of them, these days.

Daniel gave him some stuff to work the street with. Told him that men, particularly the ones that frequent their street, like them in skirts and sparkly tops. He went to Goodwill and found himself a second set of clothes, and he alternates them every night, wearing one sparkly top with one skirt, swapping it the next. He’s got a trusty pair of knee high boots with a chunky heel that keeps his feet warm when it’s cold.

Chuck still doesn’t know what he does at night. He told him he got the job at the gas station and works nights. When he gets home, usually around three in the morning, later if it’s a good night, he’s already changed out of his skirt and boots in Daniel’s car and he wears one of Chuck’s hoodies everywhere to mask any leftover scent of another man’s cologne.

Wheeler makes himself a mug of hot water with a squeeze of bottled lemon juice in and roots in the cupboard for his wheat thins and takes out two, holding them in his palm and going over to sit next to Chuck on the couch. He leans against his arm and sips on his water, nibbles on his cracker and watches Chuck and his friends get absolutely decimated by teens at Fortnite.

“You got work tonight baby?” Chuck asks when the game ends and the loading screen flickers.

Guilt gnaws at Wheeler’s belly like hunger does, and he swallows down the dry cracker as he nods. “Mhm. Not sure what time I’ll finish, depends if Jade can get a babysitter to come in the middle of the night.”

Jade Cargill isn’t exactly a made up person, she’s the wonderful woman who gives him his free condoms at the YMCA and helps him sort out his sexual health check ups, she just isn’t his colleague at the gas station like he’s told Chuck.

“Remember to eat, yeah?”

“I’ll have something at work. And gas station snacks.” That’s not completely a lie, either. He does get food on his break at Starbucks, and gas station snacks are the chips he and Danny share when there’s a quiet hour and no Johns.

Chuck puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in to kiss his temple, “Make sure you do. You work too hard, my little Yuta bear.”

A little bitterly, Wheeler thinks ‘and who’s fault is that?’, but it’s unfair, really, because he hasn’t asked Chuck to get a job, he’s letting him live out his dream for as long as he can until he realises it’s not going anywhere. When he does, Chuck will get a new job and there’ll be two incomes and things will settle down again. Wheeler can stop working the streets and he’ll be able to make a proper dinner for the two of them.

“I have to get ready, kick their asses babe.” He murmurs softly, finishing off his water and licking the crumbs of the crackers from the palm.

“Don’t I always?” Chuck says like it’s true, and Wheeler just laughs as he makes his way into the bathroom and jumps into the shower. He’s in and out, using as little hot water as he can but making sure he’s clean, brushes his teeth by scraping out the toothpaste tube, refusing to buy another one until there isn’t even a drop left in this one.

He comes back out into the living room wearing his beige chinos and black Starbucks shirt and Chuck wolf whistles at him like he does every morning.

“Boy do I love me a man in uniform.” He grins, and the screen is loading again, so it’s not really a surprise when he leans over the side of the couch and tugs Wheeler in by his belt loops, pulling him onto his lap.

“Chuckie, I gotta go to work.” Wheeler says quietly, but he’s smiling, warmth spreading through him with the way Chuck looks at him, hands sliding over his body and down to rest on his ass.

“I know I know, just wanna give my boy a little goodbye kiss.” He says, and he tips his face up until Wheeler takes pity on him and leans down to kiss him.

Chuck's kisses light him up from the inside, the way his big arms feel wrapped around his small waist, the way he dominates his mouth with his tongue.

“Chuckie I mean it, I gotta go or I’ll be late.” Wheeler breathes out as Chuck deepens the kiss, grinding up into him like he’s trying to start something.

“You know I can make it super quick, baby.”

Wheeler huffs out a laugh, and manages to de-tangle himself from Chuck’s grasp. “Later babe, promise. But I can’t be late.”

Chuck lets out a long, sexually frustrated sigh. “You prance around in those tight little trousers and expect me not to do anything.” He whines like a teenager, and Wheeler rolls his eyes, kissing his cheek.

“I love you, see you later.”

“Love you too baby, have a good day.”

Wheeler heads out, tucking his hands into his hoodie pockets as he gets out into the cold fall air.

He works a ten hour shift, thankful for it despite his aching feet because it’s way better than the five hour shifts he was getting offered last week, and gets home at five, eleven hours after he left the apartment this morning.

Chuck is in the exact same position as he was when Wheeler left at six am, except the apartments got a bit messier. There’s an empty cup noodles pot tipped over onto the coffee table, leaking the last of the sauce out after being toppled over by the weight of the fork.

“Hey baby, good day?”

Wheeler dumps his things by the couch and drops onto it, his aching, throbbing feet finally getting the weight off them. He can feel the hole in his shoe having gotten bigger. No matter how much money he makes tonight, he’s going to have to use a little of it to get him a new pair from Goodwill. Well. A newish pair.

“As good as anyone can have with entitled middle class people screaming at you for having made their coffee too hot or too cold,” He says, watching the tv screen show Chuck’s character ducking behind doors trying not to get shot. “What about yours?”

“Got accepted into a mini tournament today, won two hundred dollars.”

Wheeler sits up a little, he can see the pride on Chuck’s face, his little flushed cheeks and patchy stubble. “Baby that’s amazing, well done.” Wheeler says, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Just a little more practice and I’ll be getting those big cash prizes in the big leagues.”

Chuck says it with such reverence, such confidence, that Wheeler really wants to believe him. He really does, it’s just, he knows that no matter how much Chuck practices, he’s never going to be as good as those guys in the professional leagues. Chucks been jobless for months now, almost a full year, and he doesn’t seem any better than he was when he started. Wheeler doesn’t know how much more their landlord will forgive when it comes to late and not the full amount rent payments.

“Yeah Chuckie, just a little more,” He smiles softly, lying too easily to him these days. “I’m gonna’ go for a nap before work, I’ll see you in a little bit.” He says, giving him a quick kiss before dragging his already exhausted body into the bedroom and flopping down onto the bed, not even bothering to change out of his Starbucks uniform.

He sleeps for a couple of hours, waking up feeling less exhausted but not at all rested, before getting up and taking another quick shower. Wheeler’s just got time for a quick lemon water once he’s put on some clothes and brushes his hair before he hears Daniel’s car horn blasting from outside.

“See you later on babe, make sure you get some sleep.” He calls to Chuck as he makes his way out of the apartment, leaving him in the same place for the second time in one day, and knowing that he’ll return later, at about four am, to find him exactly where he left him. Chuck’s “I will, I love you.” back to him gets lost in the sound of the door closing behind him and his feet pattering down the stairs towards Daniel’s car outside.

It’s a rusty old heap of junk, but Wheeler’s thankful that Daniel has it, because it gets them too and from the street they work when it’s cold and raining, keeps their belongings safe, and gives Yuta a place to change into his skirt and boots that are tucked into his bag.

“Took your time, Yoots.” Daniel grumbles when he gets in, but there’s no heat to it.

“I overslept a little, long day at work.”

“Has—“

“No, Chuck still doesn’t have a job. You don’t need to ask every time.”

“I was going to say did he win any tournaments, actually.”

Wheeler rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “No you weren’t. And yeah, he did, actually, two hundred dollars.” He says as he shimmies into his skirt. It’s a short little black thing, with the sides cut out but pulled together with a silver string detail. It’s not the type of skirt you wear underwear with, so he doesn’t.

“Wow, that’s really going to put a dent in the thousands of dollars of rent arrears you’re in.” Daniel says, one arm slung out of the window and the other one on the wheel. It’s not that far to the street they frequent, so Wheeler works himself quickly into the halter neck silver top, and slides on his boots. Daniel’s already dressed, though they both always put on their shimmery lipstick together.

“Every little bit helps, Danny.” Wheeler says, taking the lipstick from Daniel and applying it to his lips. Daniel looks at him sympathetically but doesn’t say anything else, just gets out of the car and adjusts his purple mini dress.

It’s a slow kind of night to start with, they only get a couple of cars swing through, Hook across the street taking one of them, Daniel taking another, and then one of them asking for both him and Daniel, which, isn’t entirely unusual, though it does make for a very cramped double-team blowjob in the back of the Johns Ford Mondeo.

It’s around midnight when the black Rolls Royce turns the corner. It drives by once, then comes around again.

“What the fuck is a Rolls doing around here?” Wheeler says, and Daniel’s already hiking his dress up a little further and looking down at himself to make sure he looks okay.

“Hey, no, this one’s mine. You’ve already got Bryan in the Mercedes.” Wheeler whines, stepping away from Daniel a little, like he’ll be able to sprint to the flashy car and get there first. He won’t, he’d die in these heels doing that.

“I recognise the plate, he knows Bryan.”

“So I should take him! Bryan will get jealous.”

“Wheeler—“

“Please? You can take him next time if he comes around again. I need this.”

Daniel actually smiles at him, one of those ‘you’re something else but I love you,’ smiles and steps back to lean against the wall. “Go on then, don’t keep him waiting.” He says.

“Thank you!” Wheeler says quietly, before turning and heading over to the Rolls, the window sliding down the closer Wheeler gets.

“Looking for some fun, hot stuff?” He says in his softest, sweetest voice.

“Most certainly with you, pet. Jump in.”

The man is British, and for once he’s actually good looking. He’s older, Wheeler thinks maybe he’s in his fifties, with mousy hair striped white and gray in some places, a soft face with smile lines and crow's feet. He’s rakishly handsome, and Wheeler finds himself on the verge of aroused as the man drives them a little further down the street to park up.

“What’s your name petal?” He asks when they park up.

“Yuta, sir.” Wheeler says. He’s always used his last name, it’s personal enough that he can connect, not intimate enough that it feels too close to home.

The man smiles when he says sir, and a rough hand settles on Wheeler’s thigh, stroking the smooth, bare skin. “One with many friends,” He hums softly. “What a beautiful name for a beautiful flower such as yourself.” He says. The words make Wheeler blush, which doesn't happen when he’s with Johns. He feels hot all over, the way this man is looking at him is doing something to him, the way his accent settles in his ears and over his skin. It’s nothing like he’s ever experienced before.

“My name is William Regal, but you can keep calling me sir, if you’d like, it sounds so wonderful coming from that pretty mouth.” He says, squeezing at Wheeler’s thigh again, inching just a little higher, his pinky finger dipping under the hem of the skirt. Wheeler can feel himself getting hard under his skirt. It usually doesn’t happen this quickly, only when he’s touched himself on the build up to getting fucked or on the rare occasion that John’s want to go down on him. This time though, he’s got arousal shooting all over his body and he’s barely been touched.

Wheeler spreads his legs invitingly, biting his lip and tugging his skirt just a little higher. “How would you like me, sir? Oral is—“

“Don’t fret yourself with your rates, petal, I’ve more than enough money that I don’t need to know. Why don’t you come take a seat here? I’d like to get a closer look at that pretty face.” Regal taps his lap, and Wheeler feels a little thrill run through him as he climbs over the centre console of the car to slip into the man’s lap.

“There you go, look at you. Pretty little flower. Bryan told me you were.”

“You came here looking for me?” The thought makes Wheeler shiver, though he's not sure whether it’s good or bad.

“I guess you could say I did, petal. Bryan uses Master Garcia’s services, and he told me that he had a friend who was simply wonderful. I thought I would come see for myself.”

Wheeler can’t help but preen at that, there’s something about a man, someone clearly well off and important, being told about little old Wheeler, standing on a street corner waiting for Johns to pay him for sex and coming to see him. Because he was told he was pretty. Wheeler knows he’s been doing this too long, that he thinks that’s a good thing.

“Do I live up to your expectations, sir?” He purrs.

Regal lifts a hand and runs it down the seam of his top, fingertips just barely touching his skin. “I think you might just be the prettiest thing I have ever seen, little Yuta. But I think I’m going to have to see a little more, just to be sure.”

Wheeler shifts in his lap, and he can feel the man hardening underneath him. And because this man is clearly well off, Wheeler decides to push his luck, just a little. “Taking my clothes off costs you extra.” He grins with a cheeky look in his eye. And it’s true, really, Wheeler doesn’t take his clothes off very often. It’s more intimate than he’d normally like, but he’ll do it on occasions.

Regal reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. It’s thick, bills are stuffed into the pocket and the little slits are all occupied with cards. He pulls one out, turns it in his long fingers a few times, before sliding it right into Wheeler’s mouth, like he’s about to draw money from an ATM.

“7381. Take. Them. Off.”

Wheeler shivers, slipping out of his slinky little top and dropping it into the footwell of the car. He takes the card out of his mouth and looks at it. It’s a Black American Express card. Wheeler knows that they only give these out to people who spend a certain amount of money. An obscene amount of money. And this man just gave him his card, with the PIN number. Just to take his clothes off. He puts the card on the empty seat, and he pulls his skirt above his hips and up his chest and off, he’s lost enough weight lately that it slides right off. Wheeler drops the skirt with the top into the footwell, leaving him naked in Regal’s slap, wearing only his boots.

“Oh pet, you really are the prettiest thing I have ever seen.” Regal says, fingers moving across Wheeler’s skin, making goosebumps erupt all over his arms.

William Regal fucks him in the car just like that. He pushes his chair back, kisses Wheeler as he stretches him open with his fingers, using his own, premium brand lube and condoms rather than the shitty, cheap brand Wheeler gets for free from the YMCA. Regal kisses across his chest as Wheeler rides him likes he’s never ridden a John before, using the back of the chair as leverage to fuck himself down, letting Regal’s fingers press bruises into his hips. He comes harder than he has for a long time, even with Chuck, crying out until his throat is sore as the orgasm rips through him.

They’re both a panting mess by the end of it, the car windows steamed up and Wheeler’s skin sweaty and balmy as Regal continues to run his hands all over him, like he can’t get enough of him. Truth be told, Wheeler doesn’t know if he can get enough of William Regal, either. His cock is long and thick inside of him, his hands rough and skilled, his mouth sweet and addictive.

When they’ve caught their breath, Wheeler reaches back and plucks his top and skirt from the floor, shifts out of Regal’s lap and into the passenger chair again so he can redress. His thighs are sticky with lube, and his lipstick is nearly all gone. He’s going to have to clean himself up in Daniel’s car.

“I trust this should cover our hour of fun, petal?” Regal says, handing him the thickest wad of notes Wheeler has ever seen.

“Sir, that is far too much.”

“Not at all. You’re beautiful, and you are more than wonderful company. Take it, flower.”

Wheeler’s not even sure how much is there, but the stack is topped with crisp one hundred dollar bills, so he knows it’s way more than he charges for intercourse usually. He doesn’t argue anymore, because he does need the money, and if this man is generous enough to tip really well, then who is he to question him? He does, however, pick up the black AMEX card and hold it out to him.

“Take it, petal. 7381.” Regal says, reminding him of the PIN code. Wheeler stares at him, mouth agape.

“Sir, I couldn’t possibly—“

“Oh hush, darling. You think I don’t know someone down on their luck? Not many do this line of work for fun, and I would like to help.”

“I still can’t accept—“

“Yes you can. In fact, I’m asking you, as part of your services, to take my card with you. I know you probably don’t have a set charge for that kind of thing but, you can just charge it to the card at a later date, hm?” Regal smiles, and he takes Wheeler’s hand, kissing his knuckles before pushing his hand with the card in away from him.

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, thank you, petal. Will I see you around here again?”

Wheeler nods, slipping the money and credit card into his little bag. “I’m here every night, excerpt for Wednesdays.”

“Prior engagements?” Regal muses with a smile.

“Slow day, not much fun in standing around waiting for nothing.”

Regal hums, “I suppose you're right, flower. I will be back on a day that is not a Wednesday.” He says.

Wheeler smiles, and for the first time, he feels happy and excited about a John returning. He’s never really had a bad experience with one, some can be rude and a little rough, but he’s never had to call for help or been hurt by someone. Though that doesn’t mean that he actively wants any of them to come back, that he’s excited when they do. They’re just random men, faceless, money makers. William Regal feels different.

“I’ll look forward to it, sir.” He says, and he leans over, pressing a kiss to his cheek and surprising them both as he does so, before he slips out of the car, feeling an ache between his legs.

“Goodnight, little Yuta.” Regal says, the window sliding down once again. Wheeler turns to look over his shoulder as he starts to cross the road to walk back to the street corner.

“Goodnight Mr Regal.”

#wheeler yuta x william regal #wheeler yuta x chuck taylor #wheeler yuta #william regal #regal #chuck taylor #daniel garcia #bryan danielson x daniel garcia #writing #soooo I wasn’t supposed to start something new and chaptered but this little plot bunny just. it got away from me #and when slap and kenzie asked for the respective pairings I just had tooooo!!!#had to give the people what they want #my beloveds I hope you enjoy

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