15. Waka's Girl

Who is she? PT 3

You can't take it anymore.

ft. Satoru, Suguru, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji

CW: Angst, men being men, arguments. 🙄

A/N: Hi besties! Hope you enjoy part 3, more to come! Also I'm sorry if someone had already requested to be tagged when I posted this. Unfortunately I won't be taking any more additions to the taglist as it takes a lot of my time to go searching around for people. I'll be keeping the ones already tagged of course! If you had requested before and I skipped you just shoot me a message and I'll add you.

PT. 2

Tag list:

@v1x3n @haruchiyoreen @riameriash @kitises @collectionofdolls @redmushr0om @satorushousewife @linaaeatsfamilies @soobsdior @sa4vvyyt @heh123321 @iluv-ace @erishishigami @pimento-mori @aphroditesworld15 @lov3vivian @entr4p3 @exquisitenesss @linaaeatsfamilies @ilovegetosuguru @trsh-kitty @yunho-leeknow @peachesvault @herefor-tojis-tits @piggaloaf @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @hoshies1 @maybe-a-bi-witch @dreamingoftomorroww @sleepyoriana @moncher-ire @kuroosluthoe @serendididy @garejuremuzum @tojisrealwifey @prettysleppy325 @d1gital-data @luvsymai @yourname-exee @satorusprites @agustdeeyaa @pandabiene5115 @justbelljust @miscellaneous-misty @sweetlyvibe @namjooningera @sh0ot1ngst4r @hvnnibvni @dazaisfavgf @your-favorite-god @jkrafe @ietss @justonemoresworld @kisswoshita @rawwrrgal @castiel2dope @chckn-pi @rax-writes @astragat @chckn-pi @haloyesme @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @sataurnv3 @jasminelee324

Hospital room (2)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

the jjk men realize how big of a mistake sending you back to tokyo was

incl: Gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna.

angst angst angst | taglist open

[EMERGENCY] GINZA LINE SERVICE SUSPENDED - TUNNEL COLLAPSE DETECTED – SERVICE TRAIN G08 PARTIALLY CRUSHED

REMAIN CALM AND FOLLOW STAFF INSTRUCTIONS

taglist:

@starlightanyaaa @not-aya @yourangel04 @m4n-eat3r @whoreforjjkmen @totallygyomeiswife @jjklover365daysayear @linaaeatsfamilies @jaemdonut @tatsuomii @perqbeth @yegrnn @chosostonguepiercing @samstrav @aquamarine001 @higuchislut @domainexpansionmypants @mortallyshadysoul @thigh-o-saur @hi-itsmee28 @go-go-gadget-autism @magalimachete @paula-bratu @miitsuis @eddiemxnsonlvr @raendarkfaerie @26xidk @sugurulefttesticle @chim-i @luvysmai @dovenu @waywardfanwinner @cherrymoon4 @lizzie3d2y @zaynerider @desi-laila @estellafake @ayumigotabittoolonely @byerno6 @kodzukensworld @bellsoftheball @patpatspatz @kxgumi @enerofairy @miizuzu @melimelisworld (i hope i got everybody)

Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal Brokeback Mountain (2005) dir. Ang Lee

just a pretty face part four (pre-relationship)

summary: let me explain !! warnings: angst, talk of drinking, talk of food, suggestive, language, slut shaming, 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact, not proofread incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, shiu, sukuna, choso, ino ps: if your not being tagged, check your settings

this is kinda a filler chapter to show how the jjk men are reacting before the real drama happens. im kinda stuck between a few different options for ch. five, so peer pressure me into what you guys want !!

part one, part two, part three, part four

taglist: @higuchislut @entr4p3 @waterfal-ling @yourname-exee @kuro-chi69 @ourfinalisation @erishishigami @your-favorite-god @queenmimis @b0nez9 @mikorinstan @spookypeacesandwich @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @ventila98 @viatorem-maris @reivunzu @softobvvillion @blurpleuni-squid @hellv1ra @shesabeeler @tatsuomii @mortallyshadysoul @animereaderinsertwriter @v1x3n @satoruswifeyyyy @indiewritesxoxo @justbelljust @emi311 @rosieandthethorns @r0ckst4rjk @rawwrrgal @linaaeatsfamilies

home routine because this is what i really need

they become a little family…

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

— sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

PART ONE 4.9k words

short summary. in which your heartbreak over mikey pulls you into the dangerous and irresistible orbit of Bonten's Number Two, Haruchiyo Sanzu. warnings. sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, graphic violence, substance abuse, toxic/manipulative relationships, explicit sexual content, depression & self-destructive behaviour, strong language. tags. female reader insert, bonten au, tsundere!sanzu, ex-boyfriend!mikey, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, eventual smut, heavy pining/yearning.

masterlist

Manjiro Sano once promised you forever. He'd said it so easily back then, like it was a given, something as natural as breathing. You were fifteen, standing by the riverbank after another reckless night, his blonde hair glowing under the streetlights. He had to tilt his head up to meet your eyes then, his expression so open, so sure.

"It's you and me, always."

Now, nearly ten years later, that memory feels like a lifeline in the middle of a storm. You hold onto it so tightly that your knuckles turn white. It's the only thing keeping you grounded as you stand in the shadowed corner of a chapel, watching him slip a ring onto another woman's finger.

The bride is stunning, of course. Her white gown flows around her like something out of a dream, her face set in a serene mask of duty. And Manjiro—Mikey—he looks... distant. Like he's not even there, going through the motions, his face unreadable, hollow. It's a mask you've seen him wear too many times now, a defense mechanism, something to protect the broken parts of him he never lets anyone see.

You sip your wine slowly, the bitter taste doing little to mask the bile rising in your throat. A strange mixture of dark satisfaction and aching sadness twists inside you, an uncomfortable knot of emotions you can't quite unravel. 

He doesn't love her, you remind yourself. He's still yours. He promised.

But the truth is, the wine does little to dull the sharp edge of betrayal. The ceremony feels like a bad dream, one you can't wake up from. 

It's a sham. Just a business arrangement, nothing more. A duty to his late brother Shinichiro, who made a deal with her family long ago, a deal Mikey feels bound to honor. You respect that, you always have. His loyalty is part of what made you fall for him all those years ago.

But it still feels like a knife in your chest, twisted with every vow spoken. You won't question it though. You can't. Because questioning it would mean questioning Shin's memory, and that's something you'll never do. Still, the pain lingers, like a bruise you can't stop pressing on.

As the ceremony ends and the couple walks down the aisle, Mikey's eyes meet yours, even from across the room. For a brief moment, his lips curve into that familiar soft smile, the one that's always been just for you, full of unspoken words and old promises. It's enough to settle your nerves, if only slightly. 

He's still yours, you remind yourself again. This doesn't change anything.

The guests start to shuffle toward the reception hall, but you hang back, feeling the taste of the wine and the weight of the day pressing down on you. The laughter and chatter fades as you step into a quieter hallway, seeking a moment of solitude, a reprieve from the overwhelming noise of celebration.

But you're not alone. A figure leans against the far wall, tall and lean, with faded pink hair that you'd recognize anywhere.

Haruchiyo Sanzu.

Of course, he'd be here. Even though no one from Bonten was supposed to attend, you should've known Sanzu would show up, disregarding protocol like he always does. He's dressed in one of his garish purple suits, the cigarette in his hand burning slowly as he takes a long drag, his katana resting lazily against the wall next to him. The sight of it makes you roll your eyes despite the situation. How he manages to carry that damn thing everywhere without someone calling the cops on him is beyond you.

He doesn't even look at you as you approach, though you know he's aware of your presence. Sanzu's always like that—aloof, unreadable, like he's waiting for something but never telling you what.

Your heels click against the marble floor, the sound too loud in the silence, as you stop in front of him. You cross your arms, defensive. 

You've never liked him. Not since the beginning. And he's never made an effort to hide the fact that he feels the same way about you. His disdain has been obvious for years now—cutting comments, backhanded remarks. Always just subtle enough to avoid Mikey's wrath.

"You shouldn't be here, Number Two," you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the haze of tension.

Sanzu exhales a slow stream of smoke, not bothering to meet your gaze as he taps the ash onto the floor, a flick of his wrist that seems deliberate in its carelessness. 

"Neither should you," he replies, voice lazy, eyes flickering toward you briefly before he adds, with a smirk, "Mistress."

The word lands like a punch to the gut. You stiffen, your chest tightening as anger flares hot and fast inside you. You want to snap back, to tell him to fuck off, but you hold it in, forcing yourself to stay composed.

Sanzu's teal eyes slide back to you, and there's a gleam in them that you hate—a predatory gleam, like he's enjoying this far too much. He tilts his head, studying you like you're something amusing, something to poke and prod until it breaks.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" His voice is smooth, laced with mockery. "You know, it's almost cute. The way you're still holding out hope. Like he's going to drop everything and come running back to you."

Your jaw clenches, but you don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You've dealt with Sanzu long enough to know better than to let him get under your skin. He feeds off that kind of thing, turns it into a weapon.

"Shut up," you bite out, your voice low, controlled. "You don't know a damn thing about us."

That earns you a smirk, his scarred lips curling into something cold and twisted. "Don't I?" He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly as if savoring the moment. 

"I know enough. I know he's up there, at the altar, with his wife, while you're out here clinging to whatever scraps he throws you."

You feel your fists tighten at your sides, nails biting into your palms. The urge to slap that smug look off his face is overwhelming, but you know better. You've learned that lesson the hard way. Sanzu isn't just annoying—he's dangerous. And he wouldn't hesitate to turn this entire ceremony into a disaster just to prove a point.

"Fuck you," you snap, barely keeping your voice steady.

Sanzu's smile fades, replaced by something colder, something far more dangerous. His eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you've pushed him too far. But then he chuckles, low and dark, like he's enjoying the tension between you.

"Feisty today, huh?" His voice is almost amused, but there's an edge to it, a warning. "You're out here sulking while your beloved plays house. Maybe that fairy tale you're clinging to doesn't mean shit anymore."

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, a mix of anger and something you can't quite place. It's the truth in his words that stings the most, the haunting possibility that he could be be right.

"At least I'm not the one standing out here with a stupid katana looking like a fucking fool," you shoot back, your voice sharp.

Sanzu's eyes flash, but instead of responding, he steps forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His presence is suffocating, too close, too intense. You feel your pulse quicken, the air between you crackled with unspoken danger.

"Maybe," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl. "But you're not untouchable. Sooner or later, even Mikey won't be able to protect you. Then what?"

His words hang in the air like a threat, and for the first time, a shiver of uncertainty runs through you. You meet his gaze, refusing to show fear, but something about the way he's looking at you now—cold, calculating—makes your stomach churn.

You don't answer. Instead, you turn and walk away, your heels echoing in the empty hallway. But Sanzu's words linger, like a dark cloud that follows you, heavy and inescapable. You push them down, focusing on the only thing that matters: Mikey's promise.

But deep down, you wonder if Sanzu's right. And that thought, more than anything, terrifies you.

Manjiro Sano keeps his promises. At least, that's what you've always believed. He said it with conviction when you were fifteen, when his bright blonde hair caught the sunlight and his eyes reflected an unwavering certainty. His promises became your lifeline, a thread that tethered you to him, through the chaos of Tokyo Manji, through Bonten, through all the things that should have torn you apart. You never doubted him.

But now, with a ring on another woman's finger, that belief feels less like truth and more like denial. 

You lie beside him, his arms wrapped loosely around you, his breath steady against your skin. In the quiet darkness, you try to convince yourself that this—you—is still his reality. Not the woman he married out of obligation. Not the business empire he's running. But you, the one he promised forever. The one he swore to love no matter what. 

But there's something cold in his touch tonight. Not the soft warmth you used to know, but a distant, mechanical tenderness. His fingers trace absent patterns on your skin, but they feel foreign now, like they're just going through the motions. He's here, physically, but his mind is far away, lost in a place you can't reach.

"Did something happen?" you ask, keeping your voice light, even as anxiety twists in your stomach. 

He's staring at the ceiling, eyes vacant, as if the weight of the world is pressing down on his chest. The silence is thick, heavy, a barrier between you that wasn't there before. You wish he'd tell you. You wish he'd break through that wall and let you in, but he never does. Not anymore.

He shifts slightly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second. "What do you mean, love?" His voice is soft, casual, but there's something missing. Something that used to be there—a spark, a fire that you could always count on. Now, it's just... hollow.

"You seem distracted," you murmur, choosing your words carefully, even though your heart is screaming to ask more.

Mikey sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He pulls you closer, but the embrace feels almost... polite. Like he's afraid to hold on too tightly. You want to shake him, to tell him to stop being so careful. To hold you like he used to—like he was afraid of losing you. But instead, he just holds you the way someone holds a fragile thing.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice quieter now, as though he's confessing something he doesn't want to. "It's just Bonten stuff."

And that's it. The conversation ends. Your heart clenches at the emptiness of his explanation, at how easily he can sweep your concerns under the rug. 

You know Bonten is complicated—dangerous even—but you've always been kept at a distance from that side of his world. He's never let you close enough to see the true depth of what he's carrying. You've respected his boundaries, trusted him, but now you wonder if that distance is starting to destroy you.

"Oh." The word leaves your lips, but it feels small, insignificant.

The silence returns, thicker than before, wrapping itself around both of you like a suffocating shroud. You stare at him, at the man you once thought you knew so completely, and wonder when he became a stranger.

You want to reach out, to bridge the gap, but fear holds you back. There's a fragility in the air tonight, something that makes you hesitate. If you push too hard, if you ask for too much, you're afraid the entire thing will shatter. Maybe it already has. Maybe that's why his touch feels different now, why his kisses lack the urgency they once had.

You long for the Mikey who would stay up with you until dawn, laughing, his arms tight around you as if you were his whole world. You miss the nights when he couldn't keep his hands off you, when his love felt raw and reckless, a fire that burned brighter than anything else. Now, it's all ashes.

"You don't have to carry it all alone," you whisper, hoping that your words might reach him, might bring him back from wherever he's gone. "I can help. You don't always have to protect me from it."

He doesn't respond right away. For a long moment, there's only the sound of his breathing, deep and rhythmic. When he finally speaks, his voice is distant, almost resigned.

"I know."

But he doesn't mean it. You can hear it in the way he says it—like it's just something he's supposed to say, not something he believes. His walls are still up, and you're on the outside, no matter how close you are in this bed, no matter how many nights you spend together.

You press your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Once, that sound would have comforted you. Now, it only makes you feel more alone. Even when he's with you, he's somewhere else. And the space between you grows wider every day.

"Mikey..." you try again, but your voice falters. 

You want to tell him you're scared. That you're afraid you're losing him, that this marriage is pulling him further away from you than you can bear. But the words won't come.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, but it feels like a goodbye more than a reassurance. And that scares you most of all.

You close your eyes, trying to drown out the doubts, the fear, the aching emptiness. But it lingers, like a shadow that won't go away. You tell yourself he still loves you. He promised you forever. He's just... distracted. It's Bonten. It's the marriage. It's everything else.

But deep down, you know. You know that the Mikey who promised you forever is slipping further and further away. And no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to pull him back.

Manjiro Sano never lies to you. He never has before, and you never thought he could. You know he keeps secrets sometimes, but it's always to protect you—or so you've convinced yourself. You've clung to this justification, repeating it like a prayer when things feel too uncertain. 

When there's a question he doesn't want to answer, he'll give you a vague response, the kind that leaves you in a haze of ambiguity, and you never push him further. You know better than to force the issue. Sometimes, he'll be blunt and tell you outright that it's none of your concern. But a lie? Never.

At least, he never did until now.

Sitting across from him, in the dim light of your shared apartment, the shadows cast across his face, you notice the subtle shift in his expression. His gaze remains low, unfocused, like he's avoiding you. The way his fingers tap against the armrest of his chair—once steady, now restless—betrays him. The quiet cadence of the room, punctuated by the tension building between you, only makes his discomfort more pronounced. 

You know he's lying, even though the words are barely out of his mouth. It feels like a crack splintering through the foundation of your entire relationship.

It's not that you're good at detecting lies; you've never needed to be, not with him. His cold distance has always been paired with an odd, unwavering honesty, no matter how painful it could be. But this time? This time, he's hiding something. His body language is too off, too tense, like he's barely holding onto his own façade.

You asked a simple question: "Where were you?"

He hasn't been home in a week. It's not unusual—Mikey has never been the type to stick around. You've long since accepted the lonely nights, the excuses of 'business meetings' and 'late-night operations' with Bonten. You'd even accepted the wife. 

But something feels different now, a gnawing unease that claws at the back of your mind. You thought he'd say he was dealing with Bonten's usual mayhem, or perhaps, reluctantly admit that he'd been spending time with her. Anything would've been better than the silence hanging in the air now, thick with unspoken truths.

But you never expected him to lie.

Instead of the rage you thought would surge, an icy dread curls through your chest. Fear. A raw, unsettling fear that digs its nails into you as you realize just how far away he feels. As if he's not just sitting across from you, but miles away, unreachable. The distance between you stretches and stretches, suffocating in its vastness. It's like watching him drift out to sea while you stand, helpless, on the shore.

You need answers. The kind you know Mikey won't give you. So you turn to the only other person who might know what's going on: Haruchiyo Sanzu.

God, you hate him. There's not a day that passes where you don't fantasize about knocking that arrogant smirk off his face. Sanzu embodies everything that repels you—his cruelty, his recklessness, his toxic devotion to Mikey. But one thing you can count on is that Sanzu never spares your feelings. If anything, he takes sadistic pleasure in tearing you down with his cold truths. 

And that's why you're standing here, in front of his door, hand trembling slightly as you press the doorbell. The silence stretches, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You press the button again, your anxiety spiking with each passing second. 

Finally, the door creaks open, and there he is—Sanzu. He leans lazily against the doorframe, like your presence is a personal offense. His disheveled appearance surprises you—hair unkempt, shirt unbuttoned at the top. There's a faint scent of soap, but he looks like he's been in a rush, as if your arrival interrupted something.

His eyes narrow, flashing with irritation. "The fuck are you doing here?" His voice is cold, almost bored, like he can't be bothered to care.

"I need to talk to you." You're surprised your voice comes out steady when everything inside you feels like it's spiraling out of control.

Sanzu doesn't even give you the courtesy of a full response. He turns, slamming the door behind him, heading toward the elevator without a second glance. You follow, your pulse quickening. His long strides make it difficult to keep up.

"Where are you going?" you ask, slightly breathless. You hate how small you feel next to him, like you're always scrambling to catch up.

"To work. Where else?" He doesn't even look back as he taps the elevator button impatiently. His eyes flick to you briefly, condescending, before he adds, "Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of doing nothing all day."

The dismissiveness in his tone grates on your nerves. You swallow back the retort, knowing it's not worth the fight. You're not here to argue with Sanzu—you're here for something much more important.

The elevator ride is thick with tension, the air suffocating between you. He stares at the floor numbers as they change, clearly eager to get away from you. You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to say what you came here for.

"I need to ask you about Bonten." Your words feel heavy in the silence.

Sanzu's head snaps toward you, eyes sharp and piercing. There's a moment of silence, and you feel the weight of his stare, like he's assessing how much to toy with you before answering.

"I warned you," he says, voice dangerously low. "Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Just because you're Mikey's little sidepiece doesn't mean you're part of this world."

Sidepiece. The word hits like a slap, stinging far more than you'd care to admit. But you hold your ground, your voice sharper now as you bite back, "I was asking nicely, wasn't I?"

He lets out a cruel chuckle, his amusement laced with mockery. "And you should've known better than to come to me."

When the elevator doors open, Sanzu strides out, leaving you to catch up once again. You hurry behind him, the cold concrete of the basement parking lot biting through your shoes as you watch him head toward the row of parked bikes.

"Just tell me where Mikey's been," you call out, your voice cracking slightly. The desperation seeps through despite your best efforts to keep it buried. 

Sanzu doesn't even slow down. He throws a leg over his black superbike, adjusting the helmet in his hands. 

His tone is icy as he responds, "Why the hell would I tell you?"

You feel the panic rising, the gnawing insecurity clawing at your chest. You can't let this go. 

"It's his wife, isn't it? Something's going on between them?" The words tumble out before you can stop them, but you know it's true.

Sanzu finally turns to face you, his expression dark, a twisted glint in his eyes. "You really wanna know?" His voice is like a knife, cold and cutting. 

"Married couples fuck and have kids. You didn't think they'd just sit around holding hands, did you?"

Your world tilts. Pregnant. Mikey's wife is pregnant. The words hang in the air, crushing you. Sanzu's bike roars to life, drowning out everything as he speeds away, leaving you standing there, reeling.

Manjiro Sano says he still loves you. He says it so many times, even when you confront him about her pregnancy. You have tears in your eyes, your voice quivering as the words left your lips. His hands, warm and gentle, hold you close—just like always. The softness in his embrace feels too familiar, almost comforting, like you could convince yourself, just for a moment, that nothing has changed. That you could still believe him.

He'd whispers that she might be his wife, but you are the one who had his heart. That his feelings for you haven't shifted, not even after this new life he is bringing into the world. That you still matter.

But something about it never sits right after that day.

It isn't the sex that bothers you. You've made peace with that. He is married, after all, and while it stings, you tell yourself it's just physical. Something they have to do. Something that won't affect your place in his life. Mikey's quiet assurances of love are enough to quell the hurt, at least for a while. He always knows exactly what to say, how to soothe your insecurities without letting them fester.

Until they do.

Each time he doesn't come home, doesn't call, doesn't text—each time he leaves you waiting, that old promise of his love grows weaker. It starts to feel like a distant echo, hollow and fragile. The uncertainty eats you away, the creeping doubt filling the space between your conversations. And then comes the guilt. You couldn't ignore it anymore, couldn't shove it to the back of your mind. She is pregnant with his child. 

And you? 

You are the other woman now. The mistress. The sidepiece. 

You tell yourself to be patient, to wait it out, to trust him. But those same reassurances you cling to begin unraveling with every unanswered phone call. Mikey's silences cut deeper than his words ever could, a painful reminder that you are no longer the center of his world. You are becoming the afterthought.

And today is your ninth anniversary. Nine years.

Nine years since the day the two of you had become inseparable, since the day you thought you'd be each other's forever. And as you get ready, as you slip on your favorite dress and touch up your makeup, you're hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia—memories flooding back of how you used to be. How easy it was back then, how natural everything felt when there were no lies between you. 

It takes everything in you to keep your spirits up as you head to his office, imagining the look on his face when you surprise him. Maybe that's what you need—a face-to-face reminder of who you are to him. That spark between you will rekindle, and the distance will melt away.

You hope.

The lobby feels colder than usual, and as you step inside, something feels off. The receptionist greets you with a stiff smile. You've seen her enough times to know that she's never this tense. She doesn't say much, but there's an awkwardness in the air, like she knows something you don't.

Your nerves tighten as you enter the elevator. The ride to the top floor feels longer than usual, the anticipation in your chest growing with each passing second. When the doors open, you step out into the executive lounge, the familiar sight of Bonten's most trusted members lounging around.

Ran is the first to notice you, his lazy smirk never quite reaching his eyes. Kakucho is next, nearly spilling his drink when he spots you.

"You okay there?" you ask with a light laugh, trying to ignore the unease in the pit of your stomach.

Kakucho straightens up, but his eyes dart nervously toward the hallway that leads to Mikey's office. "You here to see Mikey?" he asks, his voice strained.

You nod, offering him a small smile. "Yeah. I thought I'd surprise him." 

Ran's smirk doesn't falter, but there's something about the way he's watching you that makes your skin prickle. 

"Surprise, huh?" he says, his voice cool and detached.

Kakucho shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you and the hallway again. "Maybe now isn't the best time..." he starts, his voice trailing off as if he doesn't want to finish the thought.

But you brush off the strange tension between them. Kakucho's always been awkward with you, right? 

You make your way down the hall, your heels clicking against the marble floors in rhythm with your racing heart. This is supposed to be a happy moment—your anniversary. You don't want to ruin it by reading too much into their strange behavior.

But then you hear it.

A voice. Her voice.

You freeze mid-step, the sound of her moaning his name sending a violent shock through your system. The world around you blurs, your body moving on autopilot as you edge closer to the door, your hand trembling as you press it against the wood. The crack in the door is just wide enough for you to see.

Mikey is there, his wife's legs draped over his shoulders, his hands on her thighs, his face pressed between her legs.

You can't breathe. 

This is different.

Not the act itself—but the intimacy, the tenderness in how he touches her. He's doing something for her that he's never done for you. Not once, in all your time together, had he ever gone down on you. But here he is, giving her something more, something deeper. And you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces.

You can't stay here.

Your feet carry you backward, your movements slow, cautious. You shut the door as softly as you can, careful not to make a sound. Your entire body feels numb, a sick feeling twisting in your stomach as you stand there, staring at the ground, trying to process what you've just seen. 

Why did he never do that for you?

A rush of shame washes over you, mingling with the rage bubbling in your chest. You'd always told yourself you were enough for him. But now you wonder—were you? Was it all a lie, just something to keep you hanging on, while he gave her all the things you thought were reserved for you?

The world feels like it's tilting around you, the walls closing in as you stand there, numb. The sound of footsteps snaps you back to reality.

"You're here to see Mikey too?" Kakucho's voice filters through the haze.

"Yeah, yeah," comes the lazy reply. 

It's Sanzu, his voice slurred and casual, as if nothing in the world could touch him. He's closer now, and you barely register it, lost in the whirlwind of your own thoughts.

Ran's voice follows, a teasing edge to his tone. "Dude, you're tripping balls."

Sanzu laughs, a sound so careless it makes your skin crawl. "Friday night, what'd you expect?"

Before you can fully process the situation, a rough hand grabs you by the arm and yanks you back. You stumble, whirling around to face him.

Sanzu.

His teal eyes are wild, bloodshot and blown wide from whatever cocktail of drugs he's taken today. You know he's high, as the smell of drugs clinging to him, intoxicating the air around you.

"What the fuck are you up to this time?" he sneers, his voice low and mocking.

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging painfully into your arm. "S-Sanzu, I—"

He cuts you off, his face uncomfortably close to yours now. "Scared?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. The sick amusement in his voice makes your stomach turn. He's enjoying this—enjoying your fear, your vulnerability.

You try to twist free, but he pulls you closer, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "You should be," he whispers, his voice dripping with malice.

Your heart races, panic clawing at your chest. Sanzu when he's like this—high, unpredictable—is a beast you've learned to fear. He's always been unstable, but now, he's downright terrifying.

Yet, as you stand there, trembling in his grasp, all you can think about is Mikey. The lie he told you. The image of him with her, of how easily he discarded you, flashes through your mind again and again.

I still love you.

The words are poison now, burning through you as Sanzu's grip tightens.

< part one ends >

author's notes. hello there sanzu kinnie fam <3 i'm so excited to finally share the first part of my sanzu fanfic, 'bonten's number two'!! this idea has been brewing in my head for two years (lol) and i cant wait to see what you think ;) if you enjoyed it, please consider leaving notes! i'd love to hear your thoughts (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

thanks for reading guys! you're awesome!! <3

taglist. @iluv-ace @reiners-milkbiddies (comment below if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

caitvi x f!reader, established!vi x reader

caitlyn learns something new.

~~~~

"your girlfriend's pretty," caitlyn says innocently enough, watching as you play with the kids of the underground. there's something about that's so magnetic, so utterly wonderful that caitlyn can't help but be drawn in.

vi sighs dreamily. "isn't she?" she replies, smiling before eyeing caitlyn playfully. "so, ah, you like women, huh?"

caitlyn turns an adorable shade of pink, blue eyes widening as she looks at vi.

"i–! i mean, i do find–find women to be a-attractive and–" she stutters and vi can't help but find it immensely endearing. it makes her want to tease caitlyn more.

"relax, cupcake," vi says with a laugh. "this is a safe space and besides, that's good to know."

caitlyn blinks, the pinks of her cheeks fading a little.

"why?"

vi nods over to you. "because pretty girl and i have been having some talks so she'll be happy to hear you swing that way."

caitlyn's brows furrow, her confusion obvious as she says, "what do you–?"

then she looks over at you and sees you staring at vi and her. your eyes meet before you're winking at her, pretty face alight with mischief and opportunities.

caitlyn gasps, suddenly feeling hot beneath her collar, as she ignores vi's knowing laugh.

oh.

THIS MEANS WAR II

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.8k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I did not expect the amount of love the first chapter got in such a short amount of time, thank you to everyone who took the time to read, reblog and like the story! warnings: sexual innuendos, milo, tooth rotting fluff

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY 

You definitely regretted drinking the moment you dragged yourself into the university the next morning. Every step toward the lecture hall felt like an uphill battle against the thumping in your skull and the dull ache behind your eyes—a painful souvenir from the night before with Milo and Anthony.

But the headache wasn’t the only thing off.

As you strolled through the halls, something felt… strange. Eyes followed you. Smiles lingered longer than usual—both from staff and students alike. A few even nodded in greeting, like you were a celebrity instead of a perpetually tired lecturer with a coffee addiction and zero patience for idiocy before 10 a.m.

“Y/N!” a voice called.

You turned to see one of the biology professors leaning against the doorframe of his lecture hall, his eyes scanning you with a little too much interest. “Can I just say—you look good today.”

You blinked, confused. “Uh. Thank you?” you replied, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. You gave a stiff nod and turned away, hurrying to your own classroom. What the hell was that about?

You hadn’t even dressed up. Just your usual—black slacks, a long-sleeved blouse tucked in neatly, sensible shoes. Your hair was pulled back into a taut bun, and despite your best efforts with concealer, the dark circles under your eyes were still winning the war. You looked worse than usual, if anything. Hungover. Sleep-deprived. Mildly irritated at the world.

And yet…

Your students were acting odd too. Whispering. Staring. One of them winked as he passed by your desk. You blinked at him, uncertain whether you were still drunk or hallucinating from lack of sleep.

The questions today were unusually… stupid. Even for a Thursday.

And then, at the end of class, one of your students—one who had never said more than five words to you before—lingered near your desk.

“Listen,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just gotta say, I am totally down… if you are, Doctor.”

You stared blankly. “Down? Are you catching something?”

His cheeks flushed red. “No—I meant, um—uh, if you’re looking to, like, go on a date—uh, never mind!” He turned on his heel and all but ran from the room, babbling something incoherent.

But you heard it. Just one word.

Dating site.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, heart skipping a beat as you snatched up your phone and hurried into the hallway, dialing Milo’s number with shaky fingers.

He answered on the third ring, voice groggy. “Hello?”

“What the fuck did you do, Milo?” you hissed into the phone.

There was a pause, then an easy drawl. “Well hello to you too.”

“Milo!”

“Relax,” he said. “I’m doing the Lord’s work. That pussy is growing cobwebs down there and you know it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Please—please do not tell me you did what I think you did.”

“Alright,” Milo said breezily. “I won’t tell you.”

Then the line went dead.

You let out a strangled sound of protest, halfway between a scream and a groan. Before you could redial, your phone vibrated. A message.

One link.

You clicked it—and froze.

“Oh my god.”

There it was. Your face. Your full name. And a profile on some godforsaken dating app with a bio you definitely hadn’t written.

Name: Y/N

Age: Mid-twenties

Occupation: Lecturer

Orientation: Bi-curious

About Me: Former gymnast. Skilled in oral communication. Open-minded, flexible, and always up for a challenge.

Looking for: Something serious… or seriously fun ;)

“Oh my god.” You felt your soul leave your body.

You called Milo again, barely waiting for him to pick up before snapping, “What the hell is wrong with you?! Bi-curious? Gymnastics? Skilled in oral communication?!”

“What?” he replied, completely unfazed. “I didn’t lie. You were a gymnast. And your current job is lecturer. You do communicate. Orally. Often.”

“Bi-curious?” you exclaimed, staring at the profile in horror. “I'm not sure that's even an official orientation!”

“It means you’re flexible, babe,” Milo said, absolutely unbothered. “And hey—you never know, it might be a woman who saves that pussy.”

You gaped at your phone. “Milo—”

“Then we can be one of those powerfully gay couples,” he went on dreamily, “with their iconic gay best friend. Four of us. Taking over brunch. Matching vacation fits. It’s giving legacy.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “This isn’t a Hallmark Pride Month special.”

“Not yet. But give it time.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you growled. “I’m going to end you, slowly.”

“How about thank you?”

You dragged a hand down your face. “You just made everyone I work with—and every guy in my lecture hall—think I’m down to be their naughty professor fantasy!”

“Okay, first of all,” he said, “you teach university, not high school. They’re all consenting adults. Secondly, that’s just good branding. It means you’re open to role play.”

You inhaled slowly. “I’m not sleeping with one of my students.”you snapped. “That’s not just unethical—it’s gross! Have you ever read a university policy?”

“yes, yes, heard it all before, I don’t need to read policy.” he sighed dramatically. “Look, I’m just trying to help you find your future husband—or at the very least, get laid. You’ve been walking around like a haunted Victorian widow.”

“I don’t think my future husband is going to take me seriously when you’ve basically made me sound like a bisexual stripper with a PhD,” you groaned, scrubbing a hand down your face. Your eyes dropped to the profile again—specifically to the picture of you clinging to a pole at Milo and Anthony’s joint bachelor party. You were laughing, clearly drunk, mid-spin.

He had made that the cover photo.

“Milo, I swear to God—”

But then you absently tapped the notifications.

New matches: 7

You scrolled… paused.

And there it was.

A face that made your breath catch.

Messy black hair. Stupidly handsome. Jaw carved by angels—or the devil, you weren’t sure. Those bright, glacier-blue eyes that had no business looking so damn good in a dating profile.

Your mouth went dry.

“Well,” you muttered faintly, “speaking of Dicks…”

“Ooh, I know that tone,” Milo crooned through the phone. “Girl, if you don’t swipe right on him—”

You bit your lip, torn between common sense and sheer thirst. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t what? That man looks like he bench-presses women for sport.” Milo stated, clearly having pulled up your profile from wherever he was lounging. “If you don’t swipe, I will do it for you. Right the fuck now. Don’t forget—I have admin privileges.”

You hesitated. Your thumb hovered.

Your eyes flicked to his profile again.

Dick Grayson.

He really was unfairly attractive. Possibly the hottest man you’d ever seen.

“…Fine!” you huffed. “I’ll go on one date. One. Only because this man looks like he could make me forget my own name.”

“That’s my girl!” Milo whooped like a proud pageant mom. “Thank me later—preferably while holding one of his babies.”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Oh, and don’t forget—lingerie. And swallow, don’t—”

You hung up at that part, shaking your head—but you were grinning.

God help you.

DICK'S APARTMENT

Dick sighed, dragging a hand down his face. It had been almost ten hours since he and Jason made the discovery—and still, radio silence. No updates, no leads. Just a whole lot of waiting.

He’d given Jason the “don’t get too obsessed” speech, but the truth was, he was just as bad. Maybe worse. Their entire family had a toxic relationship with the word rest, especially when the Joker was involved. That clown had left more scars on them than anyone cared to admit.

Finally, unable to sit still, Dick pulled out his phone and hit call.

“Babs,” he said the moment she picked up, “any news on the case?”

Barbara sighed. “Nothing. Mancini was right about one thing—this guy who stole Joker’s formula? He’s a ghost. Even the Joker’s gone quiet. Bruce and Tim are still digging.”

“Great,” Dick muttered, jaw clenched.

“I know it sucks sitting around,” Barbara said gently. “But we still don’t have confirmation Mancini was telling the truth. You know that.”

“I know.” He rubbed at the tension building at the back of his neck.

There was a beat of silence before she asked, “Hey… when was the last time you actually went out?”

“I go out all the time,” he said defensively.

“Coming home to see your brothers doesn’t count. Neither does hanging out with the team. And don’t even try bringing up Wally.”

He huffed. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” she cut in, amused. “But seriously, Dick. When was the last time you did something for you? Had fun. Met someone.”

He exhaled slowly. “There’s no time for that. You know how this life works. It’s not exactly relationship-friendly.”

Barbara didn’t argue. It was the truth—and the reason they’d broken up in the first place. They might always be best friends, always care for each other, but the vigilante life was relentless. Demanding. Even with all their shared understanding, it hadn’t been enough to keep them together.

So Dick kept it casual. One night, rarely ever two. Just enough to feel human. Never enough to drag some poor unsuspecting person into his shit.

“But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” Barbara said, voice soft but firm. “You don’t always have to be Nightwing. Or the responsible older brother. You’re allowed to just be Dick sometimes.”

He let out a low groan. “At this rate, I am going to end up like Bruce.”

“Exactly,” she sighed. “And that is not a compliment.”

“Take that back.” He barked a short laugh, though it lacked bite. “If I end up like Bruce, put me down.”

“Only if you do something about it.”

“I want to. I do. But I can’t.” His voice dipped lower, more tired than he meant it to sound. “There’s just… no time for that stuff.”

“Well, now you’ve got some,” Barbara said, and he didn’t need to see her face to hear the grin curling in her voice.

Dick froze. Suspicion creeping in. “…Babs. What did you do?”

“Well, with the others still working to verify Mancini’s story and both Gotham and Blüdhaven being surprisingly quiet for once,” Barbara said lightly, “you, my friend, are officially off-duty.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “And that means… what exactly?”

“It means,” she continued with that too sweet tone, “you’re free to go out.”

He frowned. “Go out?” He could sense there was more. “Barbara, what did you do?”

“Oh, nothing too scandalous,” she replied airily. “Just… made you a dating profile.”

“You what?!” he barked, half standing from his chair.

“A very tasteful one,” she added quickly, clearly anticipating his outrage. “No shirtless gym selfies, no cheesy pick-up lines. I even used that photo of you from the Wayne Foundation gala last year—black suit, hair slicked back, looking all suave and charming.”

“Barbara,” he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Relax! You look great. And I may or may not have… already swiped on someone for you.”

He rubbed at his temples, already feeling the headache forming. “Are you serious right now?”

“You said it yourself. There’s no time. So I’m helping speed along the process. Now you’ve got a reason to go out and be you. Besides, she’s very cute. And smart. You’ll like her.”

Dick groaned. “Babs, this is not—this isn’t—God.” He dropped his head into his hand. “You can’t just sign me up for this stuff.”

“I can and I did. You’re welcome.” 

“I’m beaming with gratitude,” Dick muttered dryly. “Look just cancel the stupid profile.”

“You can’t back out now,” she sing-songed. “It’s already confirmed. Six o’clock. At that bar you like—Brick & Ember.”

Dick let out a slow breath, already resigning himself to the inevitable. He wasn’t the type to ghost someone. Even if the date went south, he’d at least be polite. End things gently. No use in being a dick to some poor girl dragged into Barbara’s scheme.

“Well,” he muttered, “at least you picked a good place.”

“Actually,” Barbara said with a grin in her voice, “she suggested it.”

That made him pause. “…Oh.”

So she had good taste too.

“I haven’t even seen her profile.” He weakly argued.

“Well, maybe you should check your notifications.” Her tone dipped into that singsong territory that meant he had absolutely no escape.

Against his better judgment, Dick pulled his phone away and opened the app she’d clearly installed behind his back. There it was.

One new match.

He clicked it.

And then blinked.

Barbara smirked, already knowing. “Told you she’s cute.”

Dick stared at the profile, brows lifting slightly. She was cute. Striking, actually. Hair loose and open, a sharp jawline softened by a crooked smile in one picture, and in another—God, was she… dancing on a pole?

“What the hell is this photo?”

Barbara’s voice rang in his ear, smug and satisfied. “Told you. Thank me later.”

Before he could respond, the line clicked dead.

Dick sighed, but his eyes drifted back to your photo. His thumb hovered over your name. You were definitely his type. And for the first time in a long while, he actually curious to see how the night might go.

BRICK & EMBER

It was nearly six when Dick grabbed his jacket, heading for the door—only for his phone to buzz in his pocket. He checked the caller ID and sighed.

Jason.

He answered anyway. “What’s up, Little Wing?”

“Any updates?” Jason asked without preamble.

“None so far,” Dick replied, trying to keep his voice even. “I called Babs this morning. She promised to keep me posted.”

“How can you be so calm?” Jason snapped, frustration bleeding through the line. “The Joker is out there, and if what Mancini said is true, we cannot let him get his hands on that formula.”

Dick let out a slow breath. “I’m not as calm as you think, Jay. But until Bruce and Tim dig up something concrete, running around blind isn’t going to help.”

Jason wasn’t convinced. “We don’t have to sit on our asses. We could be out there now. Start shaking the tree. You know how this works. Someone always knows something—you just need to find the right branches to snap.”

“Give it one more day,” Dick said, his voice firm. “If Bruce and Tim don’t find anything by then, we’ll start digging too.”

The last thing he needed was Jason storming off on his own. Not with the Joker possibly in the wind. That wound was still raw—for Jason, for all of them. 

“Besides,” Dick added, “I can’t tonight.”

Jason paused. “Why not?”

“I have a date.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A date?” Jason said flatly. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Dick sighed, already regretting saying anything.

“There’s a chemical weapon on the loose, and the Clown Prince of Batshit is out there hunting God knows what—and you’re going out for tapas?”

“It’s not tapas—”

“You are the reason Bruce has high blood pressure,” Jason muttered darkly.

“First of all, that’s because of you and Damian,” Dick shot back. “And second—look, it’s one date. And if you want to point fingers, blame Barbara. She’s the one who signed me up for the damn dating site.”

Jason let out a short, incredulous snort. “Of course she did. That woman’s probably had a spreadsheet tracking your love life since college.”

“I wouldn’t be shocked if she wired me with a mic just to coach me through the date.”

Jason huffed—something between a laugh and a groan. “So who is it this time? Some socialite with a podcast? A yoga instructor with three divorces?”

Dick grinned. “Actually? She’s a doctor.”

Jason paused. “…Huh. You’re actually going out with someone smart and normal?”

“She teaches at Gotham U.”

“Damn. That’s hot.”

Dick chuckled. “See? You do support me.”

“I didn’t say I supported you,” Jason snapped. “I said she’s hot. Big difference.”

“Mhm,” Dick hummed, smug.

There was a pause. The silence sat for a beat, a little more relaxed now.

Then Jason muttered, “Just… keep your comm on, alright? I’ll be your back up if she turns out to be a psycho.”

Dick laughed under his breath. “Thanks, but I think I can handle dinner with a woman who isn’t actively trying to kill me.”

A beat.

“…Though in Gotham, that might be asking too much.”

Jason chuckled, low and dry. “Exactly. You attract chaos, Grayson. Don’t act surprised if she pulls out a flamethrower over appetizers.”

“If she does, I’ll send you a selfie.”

“Better yet, send me her number.”

“Jay.” Dick said, laughing now.

Jason snorted something that sounded dangerously close to affection before hanging up.

Dick glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. Jason’s call had eaten through his buffer. Grabbing his jacket, he headed out in a rush, weaving through the evening crowd with practiced ease.

He was nearly at the bar when doubt started creeping in.

She sounded perfect. Too perfect. Jason might’ve been joking, but… what if she was a psycho? Or a catfish? Or worse—some bored cougar using decade-old filters and a killer photo angle?

God, if she turned out to be fifty and looking for a sugar baby, Jason would never let him live it down.

The closer he got, the more cautious his steps became. A part of him braced for the worst. There had to be a catch. There always was.

He exhaled and pushed the door open.

Warm light spilled out from within—amber glow, clinking glasses, low laughter threading through ambient music. His blue eyes swept the room, scanning past faces and tables, until they landed on you.

And just like that, the world stopped.

You weren’t a catfish. You weren’t a cougar. You weren’t fifty.

If anything, you were even more stunning in person—hair pulled back just enough to frame your face, posture relaxed but unmistakably poised, fingers curled around a glass you hadn’t touched in a while.

And as if you could feel him watching, you turned.

Your gaze met his. And then you smiled.

It hit him like a punch to the gut—warm, radiant, unexpected.

Yep.

There had to be a catch.

Because no one looked that good—not without hiding something.

He was five minutes late, and you were already beginning to regret letting Milo talk you into this ridiculous scheme. He could’ve been using fake pictures. He could’ve been an old man. Or a serial killer. Or, knowing your luck, both.

If your murder ended up on the evening news, you were going to haunt Milo’s ass for the rest of his damned life.

You were just about to talk yourself out of it—stand up, make a graceful exit, maybe fake a stomach bug—when the bar’s front door chimed open.

Instinctively, you turned.

And there he was.

Relief swept through you like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Not a catfish. Not a creepy older man. Not a serial killer—probably. No, he looked exactly like his profile.

Actually… better.

You slid out of your seat as he approached.

He was taller than his profile made him seem—broad-shouldered in a fitted navy button-down, black jeans, and that kind of easy, confident walk that made it obvious he belonged anywhere he stepped. His dark hair was tousled just enough to look good without trying, and when his eyes met yours, he smiled.

Dimples. Of course he had dimples.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, voice warm, edged with something rougher—like he laughed often, but didn’t sleep enough.

You nodded, sliding your phone into your purse. “And you’re not secretly a 65-year-old retiree named Gerald. So we’re off to a good start.”

He grinned, quick and genuine. “Only on weekends.”

That earned a laugh from you—real, despite yourself. The bartender arrived, sliding two drinks across the bar, and you thanked him as you both began walking to take your seats.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show,” you said, tilting your glass toward him, teasing just enough to cover the fact that you’d almost bolted five minutes earlier.

“Traffic was a nightmare,” he replied smoothly, pulling out your chair before settling into his. “Also had to convince my brother I wasn’t walking straight into a potential kidnapping.”

You raised a brow, amused. “Protective, is he?”

He smirked. “Let’s just say he’s got trust issues. I think he genuinely expected you to be an arms dealer with a basement full of body bags.”

You sipped your drink. “So… not far off.”

That pulled a laugh from him.

You grinned. “Well, good to know I wasn’t the only one worried about that… wait—” you narrowed your eyes, leaning forward as if reconsidering, “you’re not a kidnapper, are you?”

He leaned back, one brow arched, eyes sparkling with amusement. “That depends. How do you feel about being lured into vans with puppies and free Wi-Fi?”

You snorted into your drink. “Honestly? That’s a tempting offer after the day I’ve had.”

“Noted,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “Next time, I’ll bring a golden retriever and a mobile hotspot.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You joke, but if you’d been five more minutes late, I was one panic spiral away from texting my best friend to start emotionally drafting my eulogy. He’s the reason I even have that damned profile, if we’re being fully transparent.”

“Well,” he said, lifting his glass slightly, “in the spirit of honesty—same. My best friend is also the reason I had a profile.”

You grinned. “Look at that. We already have more in common than I thought.”

“Mutual best friend peer pressure,” he said dryly. “Truly the bedrock of all great romances.”

You clinked your glass against his, smiling into the rim. “Still. I’m glad he pushed me. Even if I was convinced you were going to ghost me or try to sell me a timeshare.”

Dick smirked. “Oh, I considered it. But then I saw your profile and figured a neuroscientist would be smart enough to spot the pyramid scheme.”

“Smart enough, maybe,” you replied, eyes narrowing playfully. “But I stayed, didn’t I?”

His lips twitched. “Touché.”

He leaned forward just a little, forearms resting on the table, that easy charm sharpening slightly into curiosity. “So… how’s it going so far? On a scale from ‘tragic mistake’ to ‘might not fake an emergency text.’”

You made a show of considering it. “Hmm… somewhere between ‘free food is free food’ and ‘I might actually want to see how this ends.’”

He laughed, low and genuine. “I’ll take it. That’s progress.”

A beat passed. Not awkward. Just…Comfortable.

He leaned in slightly, the teasing softening in his voice. “You seem like someone who doesn’t usually do this kind of thing.”

Your smile faded just a touch, replaced by something quieter. “I don’t. Not really.”

“No horror date stories, then?”

Oh, I have one,” you said, arching a brow. “Three years of one.”

That surprised a laugh out of him, though the look in his eyes shifted—warm, attentive. “Oof. Long-term horror.”

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ lightly. “But it taught me a lot. Like how to spot a red flag… and never trust a man named Jake.”

Dick laughed, eyes glinting. “Jake, huh? Should I be worried?”

You narrowed your gaze playfully. “Not unless you’re hiding bleached hair and have an ego the size of Wayne Tower under that charm.”

He grinned. “Good news—definitely not blonde. And the ego?” He leaned in just a little, voice dipping playfully. “Mostly under control. Depends on the lighting.”

You laughed. “Ah, so it swells at golden hour. Noted.”

“Only if someone’s complimenting my jawline.”

“Oh, God,” you groaned, but you were smiling. “I walked into this, didn’t I?”

He raised his glass again, eyes glinting. “And now you can’t walk out. Social contract and all.”

You sipped your drink, still grinning. “You’re more charming than I expected.”

“Most people expect broody or boring,” he said with a shrug. “So I like to keep ‘mildly delightful’ in my back pocket.”

“Mildly delightful,” you echoed, amused. “That’s your official rating now.”

“I’ll take it,” he said with mock pride. “Could be worse. So…” He tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Tell me—what makes a brilliant, sharp, slightly intimidating neuroscientist swipe right on a guy with two pictures and a suspiciously short bio?”

You smiled, but this time it carried a note of honesty beneath the humor. “Because he didn’t try too hard. No gym selfies. No weird filters. And his first message actually had punctuation. That’s rare, you know.”

“High standards.”

“I work with brains,” you said simply. “I tried settling once. Never again.”

He gave a small nod, his smile thoughtful now. “A woman who knows what she wants—I respect that.”

It was your turn to tilt your head, curiosity glinting behind your grin. “Alright—your turn. What made you agree to this date? Because I saw the profile Milo made for me and—look, it was a disaster. For the record, I do not make a habit of dancing on poles. That was one time. At his bachelor party. Too many drinks. I got dared.”

He laughed, full and unguarded, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re telling me that wasn’t a career aspiration?”

“Shocking, I know,” you said dryly. “My dreams of becoming a neuroscientist-pole-dancer hybrid never quite took off.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.” He leaned in a little, expression mock-serious. “I was really banking on a lap dance over dessert.”

You nearly choked on your drink, snorting. “That's implying i stay long enough for dessert.”

“Then I guess I better make the main course memorable to convince you,” He smirked, leaning back just slightly, before the humor in his expression giving way to something softer. “But for the record?” A pause. “It was your eyes.”

That made you blink. “My eyes?”

He shrugged, but there was something sincere in his voice now. “Your eyes stood out. They were open. Genuine. Not guarded or jaded like most people in this city. That kind of thing’s basically extinct in Gotham.”

You blinked.

And okay, maybe the wine was hitting, or maybe it was the way he said it—casual but genuine—but your heart did something.

“Don’t ruin it now,” you said lightly, recovering with a smile. “That was dangerously close to poetic.”

“I have layers,” he said, lifting his glass in a lazy half-toast.

“Clearly.”

He smiled again—slower this time. Less of a flirt, more of a study. “I like people who don’t bullshit. You strike me as someone who cuts through it.”

You tapped your glass against the table lightly. “Only when I’m not too busy overanalyzing everything within a five-mile radius.”

“Perfect,” he said, finishing the last of his drink. “You overanalyze. I underreact. Balance.”

You raised your glass. “A healthy relationship dynamic if I’ve ever heard one.”

Dick was utterly smitten by the end of the night.

You were everything he wanted—and nothing he’d expected.

He’d known you were brilliant going in—your profile, however chaotic, couldn’t hide that—but what caught him off guard was everything else. The dry wit. The unapologetic honesty. The way you didn’t flinch from teasing him, even when he gave as good as he got.

You weren’t trying to impress him. You weren’t putting on a act like some of the socialites he’d went out with. You were just you—sharp, bold, genuine—and it was the most refreshing thing he’d felt in a long, long time.

Which was why, when the check had been paid and the last of the drinks were gone, he found himself reluctant to leave. Not literally dragging his feet—but close.

“I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself this much without having to dodge bullets,” he said as you both stepped out into the cool Gotham night.

You grinned, tugging your coat tighter. “Gotham’s highest standard for a good evening.”

He glanced at you, that crooked smile creeping in again. “I mean it. This was… really nice.”

You gave a softer smile this time. “Yeah. It was.”

A small beat of silence passed—once again not awkward, just content.

Then he cleared his throat. “So… I don’t usually say this on first dates—”

You smirked. “That sounds promising.”

“—but I want to see you again.”

You arched a brow. “That’s not scandalous, Dick.”

“I just mean—” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, “usually I don’t care if there’s a second date. With you, I do.”

Your smile widened, but your voice stayed light. “Well, lucky for you… I don’t usually give second chances.”

He blinked, caught somewhere between amused and confused.

You took your phone out, holding it up between you. “But I’m willing to make an exception.”

He chuckled, pulling his own phone from his pocket and handing it over without hesitation. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

You tilted your head. “Only if you’re lucky.”

Phones were exchanged, numbers saved. As he handed yours back, his fingers brushed yours—just briefly—but the moment lingered.

“I’ll text you,” he said, voice a shade lower now.

You hesitated just a second, like you were weighing something—then stepped forward.

Leaning up onto your toes, your lips brushed the edge of his jaw, featherlight.

You pulled back, biting your lip as if trying to hold back a smile.

“I hope you do,” you murmured.

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"jealous, jealous, jealous boyy..." w/ kazuha (ft. aether)

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