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saffusthings · 2 months ago

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second chances

mob boss!lando norris x reader

part thirty-eight: trouble's calling

word count: 4.9k

warnings: this chapter contains themes of grief, alcohol abuse, and attempted suicide. reader discretion is advised.

if you or someone you love is struggling, please - reach out, and let someone help. you are never on your own.

thirty-seven | thirty-eight | thirty-nine

The car rolled to a gentle stop outside the Norris estate’s black iron gate. Max had already stepped out, the others trailing behind with the energy of soldiers after battle — relieved, sore, and very much exhausted.

The driver’s door didn't open. Lando was still sitting in the driver’s seat, his hands loose on the wheel, and his gaze somewhere far beyond the windshield. He certainly didn’t seem to be in any rush to get out of the car.

Max turned back, leaning into the open window of his passenger side door. “Mate, you comin’ in?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Nah,” he murmured. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Max frowned. “You good?”

There was a beat of hesitation. Then Lando nodded, a tired smile on his lips.

“Yeah.”

Max opened his mouth — maybe to say be careful, maybe to say you’ve done enough tonight — but before he could even begin to form the words, the car was already rolling away, taillights vanishing into the dark.

Fewtrell couldn’t help but worry, even if tonight had gone well. Usually they’d all celebrate together after a win like this – maybe not with cake and confetti, but they’d found some drinks and takeout did the trick just as well.

Max also knew how hard Lando had been taking everything. Everyone else still saw the ruthless leader that Lando showed them, but Max had known him for a lifetime. Something about him had been different lately, both for better and for worse. He’d disappear at odd times, sometimes not returning for days.

Then there was the time Carlos had to call him because Lando was spiraling, obsessing over getting his revenge like a madman instead of the tactical leader they all knew him to be. There was also the night that none of them had talked about, the one everyone in the Circle would pretend never happened.

But Max could never forget it.

The first night Lando was back at the mansion after Daniel’s death, there was something hollower in his eyes. Everyone was grieving, of course. But there was something to be said about what it must’ve taken from Lando to be the one to sit by Daniel’s side the longest, talking and comforting and joking until it came time for final promises. It was Lando’s hand that blessed Daniel one final time as he gently closed the eyelids of one of his oldest friends, someone who’d been a mentor to him back when he was first starting to make a name for himself.

Everyone blamed themselves, at least a little bit. But no one blamed themselves as much as Lando Norris.

He’d come home that next night, his shoulders weighed down, his voice empty. Where everyone expected a moment of remembrance, or a rallying speech, or a battle cry or just something–

Lando Norris didn’t say a word.

Instead, he walked past everyone who tried to call out to him, and headed straight for his office. The door remained locked for hours.

None of them would forget the muffled sound of heaving sobs they heard that night. It was Carlos who had noticed when those pained cries finally dissipated into weaker whimpers–

Until there was abrupt silence.

Fewtrell had to break the door open, ramming his side against it with the full force of his weight behind him, over and over again until the weight finally gave out. The locking mechanism finally broke, and when Max entered, it felt like he did too.

He walked in, only to find Lando collapsed in a heap on the floor, an awkward mess of limbs in the center of his handcrafted rug. When he stepped closer, he saw that Lando was shaking, the trembling of his body sloshing around the bourbon of the glass in his hand.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, mate? You don’t look well,” he tried gently, knowing that Lando was a bit like a cat in that often approaching him with kindness outright only made him scamper away.

But even Max Fewtrell had never seen him like this before.

Lando had attempted to say something in response, but it was too incomprehensible for Max to make it out.

“What is it, hm? Talk to me–”

“Leave me… alone,” Lando slurred, voice caught somewhere short of anger but still past sorrow. “Go away.”

It was only then that Max became close enough to notice the wet glassiness of his eyes, the flush of his cheeks.

Lando was crying.

“Lando, buddy, talk to me, yeah? I’m here–”

“It won’t work,” he cried, words blurring into one another. “Why won’t it work?”

Confused, Max was just about to ask what Lando was talking about when he saw it.

His heart dropped.

Its black metal glinting in the loose, barely-there grip of Lando’s right hand, was his gun.

It won’t work.

“I tried,” Lando laughed –a terribly weak, heartbreaking thing– but it comes out alot more sniffly than he intended. “Two times, I tried. Stupid thing keeps jammin’.”

Taking a shaky breath, Max put on his most believable smile. His hand carefully reached for the loaded gun, speaking only in gentle tones. “Don’t worry about that’, yeah?” Max coaxed, his voice not nearly as strong as he’d hoped. Still, he plucked the weapon out of Lando’s reach, using his fingers like a pair of forceps.

“No, no,” Lando shook his head, eyes wide and innocent. ”Tha’s mine, give it–”

In his inebriated state, Lando’s efforts to reach the gun were futile, practically missing Max’s hand by a mile. Tucking the now locked weapon into the waistband of his pants, Max wrapped his arms around Lando’s shoulders, locking the younger man’s arms in place. Lando struggled futilely against the gentle yet firm grip for a few minutes, until the exhaustion of his efforts gave way to the real storm that had been brewing inside.

That night, Max sat there, holding Lando as he cried until he finally passed out in his hold, exhausted by the toll of his own emotions. That night, Max rambled on and on, saying all the nice things Lando would have never let him say if he wasn’t absolutely blackout drunk.

Later, as he poured a spare blanket over Lando’s sleeping form, Max didn’t look at Lando and see the same man he did every day. Instead, he saw a boy, one whose heart was in unimaginable pain.

And when Lando woke the next day and said nothing about the events of the previous night, Max and Carlos exchanged a look, silently vowing to never speak a word of this to anyone.

Now, as Max watched the taillights of Lando’s car fade into the distant darkness, he was torn between hope and fear.

Hope – that Lando would find himself knocking on a familiar apartment door, instead of picking up the bottle. That Lando would leave his gun untouched tonight. That instead of locking himself alone somewhere, that maybe he’d find his way to the only arms he’d ever really allowed to hold him. That maybe when he’d return to the mansion in the morning that little bit more sated, something warm in his expression and lax muscles.

Hope, that Lando would find his way to the one that makes him better.

She must have fallen asleep waiting for him.

Again.

The lights in her apartment were dim, just the amber glow of the kitchen under-cabinet lights, and her small figure curled up on the couch under a throw blanket — like she’d tried to stay up and just couldn’t quite make it.

The apartment was mostly dark when Lando arrived, save for the lamp Y/N always left on when she waited for him. Y/N hadn’t meant to fall asleep — that much was obvious from the blanket tugged halfway over her shoulders, a plate of untouched cookies sitting on the coffee table beside a mug of cocoa now gone cold. Beside that table, her figure was curled up on the couch in a quiet doze.

His chest ached, in an alarmingly familiar, fluttery way.

Lando stood in the doorway for a long moment, the night’s weight still pressing against his ribs. Then he stepped in and quietly locked the door behind him.

Without a word, he dropped his coat by the door and stepped inside. He carefully and painstakingly closed the door behind him, silent as a ghost. Then crossed the room in four slow strides and knelt beside her, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. When she stirred, her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked into the darkness until she found him.

“Liam?”

He didn’t answer. He just leaned in and, as gently as he could manage, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him — not because she needed it, but because he did.

She was half asleep still, eyes half-lidded, but something in her just knew. Knew it was him, knew he had come home by touch alone, by smell. Even without really opening her eyes she knew it was him, simply by the way his breaths came and his feet made the floorboards creak in familiar tones.

“Hey,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep, “how was work?”

He didn’t answer, and just held her tighter.

“Come,” Y/N invited softly. “...Sit with me?”

They shifted together until they were both curled on the couch — him half-sprawled, her tucked against his chest, his arms still locked around her like he didn’t trust the world not to take her away if he let go for even a second. It was only after a few long beats had passed, that he finally spoke.

“Needed this,” he mumbled into her shoulder, barely above a breath.

Her heart stuttered.

“Yeah?” she asked.

He nodded again, but slower this time, his cheek brushing against her collarbone.

Her fingers kept stroking his hair. She felt the way he softened under her touch, tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders.

“Long day, huh?”

“...How’d you know?” he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion

She laughed softly, then kissed the crown of his head. “Lucky guess, I s’pose. But sometimes you get all clingy like this after you’ve had a long day.”

A beat passed.

“M’not clingy.”

“You’re literally on top of me right now.”

He spoke against her, words muffled by the fabric of her sleeping shirt. “Shh, don’t move.”

She laughed softly, before shifting slightly. “Actually, that reminds me, lemme get up a sec—”

“Noooo,” he groaned, arms tightening.

“Oh, c’mon,” she said, smiling as she gently pried herself loose. She laughed again, breath warm in his hair. “I’m just getting your dinner plate. Food will make you feel better, I promise. I bet you haven’t eaten, huh?”

Lando rolled his eyes.

Of course, she’s right.

Naturally, that only made him more annoyed.

A minute later, she returned with the plate she’d tucked away for him in the microwave — still warm, perfectly portioned. He stared at it like she’d handed him the world on a paper plate instead of just a burger and fries.

“Here,” she said, nudging it toward him. “Eat.”

He took the first bite of the burger without a word, and she watched the way his shoulders sank with each chew, like the weight of his day finally could finally evaporate.

“How’d you keep the fries, like, crunchy?”

“Magic,” she deadpanned.

“N’ you didn’t put the tomatoes by the bread,” he breathed, his tone filled with awe. “You made sure it wouldn’t be soggy?”

When she looked at him, the way his eyes were wide with wonder, like she’d performed a miracle instead of simply remembering how he liked his sandwiches, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Duh,” she smiled. “Of course, stupid.”

She didn’t say anything else after that – just stayed close while he ate, her thigh pressed against his and her presence a steady heartbeat beside him.

And for the first time that day, Lando breathed easy.

It didn’t take him long to finish the food.

Not with her curled beside him, teasing him with those little glances and the occasional pleased hum when he actually paused to take the time to breathe and chew his food slowly instead of just wolfing it down. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the food was right in front of him.

He wondered how she’d known.

Is it possible for someone to know you better than you know yourself?

Finally, once he was done, she nudged his arm. “Here, I’ll take it. I’ll only be a minute.”

She took the empty plate from his hands, letting her fingers brush his for a beat longer than necessary.

He made a sound between a groan and a sigh, lifting the plate with an unnecessary amount of effort, like even that motion exhausted him. Even if he looked a little foolish, maybe it was worth it if it made her smile at him like that.

He must’ve gotten lost in some unknown train of thought, however, because he found himself brought back to the present by the sound of her voice.

“You know,” she said lightly, “this might be the quietest you’ve ever been.”

Lando offered a lazy, sideways smirk, but didn’t reply. He seemed perfectly content to just watch her, the outline of her growing smaller as she walked over to the kitchen to take care of those dishes.

“You feeling better now?” she asked as she disappeared down the hallway.

Lando only hummed in reply — noncommittal, eyes heavy-lidded, his body already leaning into the couch cushions like they were trying to swallow him whole.

She called something back over her shoulder after that —maybe another question, or perhaps she was teasing him again— but by the time she rinsed the plate and returned to the living room…

He was already gone.

His body was splayed across her couch like a crooked painting, and with one arm behind his head, the other rested loosely on his chest.

Just like that, he was fast asleep. All of him had gone completely still, save for the slow rise and fall of his breath. His curls were a mess and there was a tiny crease between his brows, like he was still thinking away, even in slumber.

She ran warm water into the sink, the clink of plates and the faint hum of the faucet oddly comforting. She easily rinsed the plate before tucking it into the dishwasher. “So, you wanna tell me about your day now?”

Drying her fingers with a dishcloth, the scent of soap mingled with the warm night air. There was a beat, then another, where there was only silence as she waited.

No answer.

She dried her hands and turned back toward the living room, tossing her question lightly over her shoulder. “Li?”

Still nothing.

When she re-entered the room, she found him completely gone — fast asleep, his arm draped over the back of the couch where she’d been sitting just moments before. His head lolled slightly to the side, curls flattened from her fingers, his breathing slow and steady. Out cold.

And somehow, even like this, he still looked vaguely annoyed — his brow furrowed like even his dreams required sharp angles and unfinished business.

Aww.

Once she was done admiring the sight, she hovered for a moment, unsure as she glanced at the clock.

Midnight.

It wasn’t even worth trying to move him. And god knows he looked like he needed the sleep. She should’ve just grabbed a blanket and gone to her room.

But yet, her feet didn’t move.

She hesitated, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek.

It’d been a long day. For both of them, maybe. She could go to bed, sure. Let him sleep it off here, leave a blanket and a note for when he woke.

But…

She hesitated.

She thought back to the way he’d curled around her earlier, holding her so easily like he needed it as much as she did. And she couldn’t shake the way it felt, lying in his arms, the unspoken comfort between them. No one had ever made her feel like this — like it was okay to not pretend, to just be… here.

Liam didn’t talk much. But sometimes, silence was better. And sometimes, she thought, she could almost feel the words he didn’t say, the weight of his world in the moments where everything just slowed.

What did it mean to let someone stay? To want them to stay?

She glanced back at him, his face now a little more relaxed, eyes closed in that deep sleep that made him look younger, vulnerable in ways he never allowed anyone to see.

She always did sleep better with him.

Not always beside him, even. Just… with him. In the room. In his orbit.

There was something about the steady sound of his breath and the way his body went warm and boneless when he let himself relax – the kind of rest he never seemed to get alone.

So maybe she was selfish for it.

But Y/N was tired too, and if this was what they were, whatever this was…

Then maybe it was okay to let herself indulge in these comforts.

Just a little, she told herself.

Cautiously, Y/N lowered herself beside him, trying not to disturb the quiet. The couch wasn’t huge, but she tucked herself in — back to the cushions, knees bent — and before she could even settle properly, Lando shifted in his sleep.

It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t anything other than natural, even. By now, she knew how her body gravitated toward his. He’d made space for her countless times before, whether that be on the couch or the floor or that one time on her bed or even in her favorite armchair, all without having to say a word. And there was something comforting in that.

Her eyes dropped to the space beside him.

It was certainly narrow. Probably cramped. Definitely not designed for two.

She crossed to the couch and knelt beside him, trying not to disturb the sleep he’d clearly been starved of. His face had smoothed out now — not a trace of his usual tension in his jaw. Whatever worries chased him in daylight had finally, at least for tonight, let go.

Carefully, slowly, she lowered herself into the space next to him.

As soon as she settled, Liam’s body shifted, like he was aware of her — even in sleep. His arm moved a fraction, just enough to make room for her, his torso inching closer as if they’d done this a thousand times, as if this was their natural rhythm.

Her body melted into the space he created, a perfect fit, and she exhaled a long, peaceful breath. The rhythm of his breathing matched her own, deep and steady, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to relax completely. There was nothing forced, nothing rushed.

It was as if he knew. As if his body recognized hers before his brain could catch up. The way his arm dropped over her waist like it belonged there, his chest pressed lightly against her back, the heat of him sinking into her like gravity.

There was just that intuitive way he had of molding to her shape like he’d been doing it forever — his arm finding her waist, palm flattening like memory, his leg hitching slightly over hers to make space. Still mostly asleep.

Her breath caught. She didn’t dare move.

Instead, she just tucked herself into the blanket she’d messily stretched over the both of them before she let her eyes slip shut and her breathing slow.

There was one last thought she remembered before the haze of drowsiness washed it away, the quietest of questions.

I wonder if soulmates are real.

Before she could find herself an answer, sleep wrapped her in its warm embrace, and Y/N finally slept like nothing was missing.

She woke to the distant, shrill sound of a phone ringing.

At first, she thought it was part of the dream—some strange, hollow melody echoing through a version of her apartment that wasn’t quite right. But then it kept going, a shrill, persistent ring, slicing through the fog of sleep like a blade.

She groaned softly, her head buried into the back cushion of the couch. Her neck ached. Her arm was numb beneath the weight of his chest. Her face was buried in something warm and solid. Lando’s shirt, she realized after a moment, already rumpled from the night before. He was still out cold, one arm curled beneath her, the other across her hip like a weight he didn’t want to give up.

Raising her head, her eyes blinked blearily into the dim apartment as she noticed the light seeping faintly through the curtains. Her body was still cocooned in the warmth of Liam and his body heat, his limbs still wrapped around her like sleep had erased whatever boundary they might’ve once pretended existed.

Apparently it had been a long sleep, because her muscles felt like they’d melted and then reformed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept that deeply.

Liam didn’t even twitch — somehow completely dead to the world, his jaw slack, his breath slow. It was almost like he’d had such a long day that even the adrenaline gave up. It was rare for him to sleep this long.

Hell, it was rare for her to sleep this long. But they must have slept for quite some time, judging by the fact that the light filtering through the blinds was far too sharp for early morning, and her mouth tasted like she hadn’t spoken in hours.

The phone rang again. She grumbled softly, squeezing her eyes shut tighter before cracking them open.

She blinked slowly, the air cool against her face.

I should probably turn the heat up a bit.

Her back ached in that specific way the couch always promised after too many hours, but the weight across her waist was solid and warm.

Still asleep, his breath warm against the back of her neck, his body curled around hers like he had no plans to move. He didn’t stir, didn’t even move an inch despite the incessant ringing noise. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest against her spine, he could’ve passed for a corpse.

Dumbass, she thought fondly.

She groaned softly and peeled herself away, wincing as his arm that draped over her waist like a stubborn paperweight refused to let go for a beat too long before eventually sliding off.

“Liam,” she whispered half-heartedly, lazily nudging his shoulder. He didn’t even stir. “Liam, your phone’s goin off…”

Nothing.

Y/N didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

This man could survive a war and sleep through an earthquake, she thought wryly, rubbing the side of her neck as she reluctantly decided to actually get up.

With a quiet sigh, she slipped off the couch, wrapping her arms around herself as she padded across the apartment in her socks, still half-asleep and squinting at the brightness of the morning light spilling in through the windows.

The phone was on the kitchen counter where he’d dropped it the night before. The stupid thing was still vibrating, still ringing.

She reached for it just as it lit up again.

Max Fewtrell.

She recognized him instantly — not just from Liam’s stories and the grainy pictures he’d show her every once in a while, but also of course from the one time he’d dropped a completely wasted Liam at her doorstep, mumbling something about how Liam could probably use her company.

Her thumb hesitated for half a second, but then she answered.

“He—”

But she didn’t even get the full word out.

“Lando, thank god— mate, where the fuck have you been?” Max’s voice was loud, frantic, all in one breath. “I’ve been calling you for hours. No one’s heard from you, we didn’t know where you were or whether you were alive. Do you even realize how much chaos that causes?”

She blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed again.

She was frozen.

“I mean, I always tell you to check in. You said you would. Did you forget what happened last time you went dark after a job? I thought maybe something went wrong, or— Lando? Wait, are you there? Fucking say something—”

“…What?”

The word came out so quietly she might as well have not even said it. Then there was silence, for a beat too long.

She didn’t breathe.

“Lando?” Max again, his voice lowering, seeming to slow down a bit compared to the earlier spiralling. “Lando, are you there? Fuck, just say something, will you—”

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

Her thumb hovered over the button to end the call. Her heart spiked, throat dry, brain catching up to the name.

Lando.

Not Liam.

It wasn’t some nickname, wasn’t some casual slip of syllables.

The thoughts formed a tidal whirlpool, slamming into her so hard that it felt like her mind was blanking and she’d had the wind knocked out of her.

So she hung up. It was immediate, instinctively – like the phone itself had burned her.

The silence that followed was deafening.

With slow fingers, she set the phone back down, as if moving too fast might trigger another hidden landmine. As if the very idea of being seen holding it might further implicate her in something she wasn’t prepared to carry.

With her heartbeat still hammering in her ears, she spared a glance back at the couch where he still lay, peacefully unaware. There, nothing looked out of place — his lashes casting soft shadows across his cheek, the blanket half-twisted around his waist, the corner of his mouth barely curved in his sleep.

She looked at the man still fast asleep on her couch. The same man who said he worked in “business.” The same man who came home that one night with bruises and blood on his knuckles. The same man who made her tea and called her ��sweetheart” and fell asleep with his nose tucked into her hair like he’d always belonged there.

Her hands suddenly felt cold.

Who the hell had been in her home all this time?

Max’s voice still rang in her ears.

Lando?

Lando.

Lando. Not Liam. Not the man on her couch. Not the man who’d just spent the night wrapped around her, holding her in a protective embrace like she was something precious.

She stared at the phone on the counter like it might explode.

Missed Call: Max Fewtrell.

Her breathing was too loud in the quiet. Her heart wouldn’t settle. Instead, her grip on the counter tightened. Her heart beat too fast. Something cracked inside her — not loudly, not all at once, but quiet. Like glass under pressure, fine and fragile.

Y/N was startled from her thoughts when behind her, she heard the soft scuff of movement.

She turned just as he walked in, sleepy and loose-limbed, dragging a hand through his curls. He looked like he was still warm from sleep, still him.

There was a yawn then, soft and lazy, before his bare feet padded across the hardwood and stopped in the doorway of her kitchen. His voice was rough with sleep, still warm with leftover affection.

“Morning, Angel,” he mumbled, before grinning – a lopsided, dorky thing. “Do we have somewhere to be, or…?”

Once-familiar brown eyes sought hers, his whole expression immediately pausing when she didn’t smile back, when she didn’t say anything at all.

That was when he saw it, something foreign swirling and clouding those eyes he’d come to love.

Not surprise. Not confusion.

But fear.

It was a subtle, visceral kind of fear. It made her take a step back before she could stop herself. Her fingers curled into her palm like it’d somehow protect her, but at the same time her breathing was becoming too shallow.

His smile dropped.

“Hey,” he said more gently, his hands automatically reaching for her until she flinched back from him. Hurt flashed across his face, like it hurt him to be away from her, like he couldn’t possibly understand what the hell was going on right now.

All he knew was that she looked upset, that she looked afraid. His instinct was to reach out, to hold her, to comfort her. Confusion was written clearly across his face as his eyes searched hers, desperate to decipher why she wouldn’t let him soothe her.

“Hey, sweetheart. S’alright, it’s okay,” he tried, but she could still barely look at him. “What happened?”

Her eyes darted to the phone on the counter, then back to him. She looked like she wanted to ask a thousand things and none of them, all at once. But she really wanted was to go back to twenty minutes ago, where al she’d known was sweetness and warmth and safety instead of this fear that threatened to split her chest open.

Lando only grew more worried and more confused the longer she didn't answer him. In all the time he’d gotten to know her, she’d never looked like this.

For once, he was at a loss, unsure of what to do.

Her voice came out quiet, uncertain. It took all the strength she could muster to keep the words from splintering halfway in her throat.

“…Who's Lando?”

a/n: i'm just gonna go ahead and leave this here...

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armed-with-a-waffle-iron · 14 days ago

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The Canon Batman Timeline

I tried my best.

It's important to me that even comic characters can age and grow.

TLDR: I think the best way to plot out a Batman timeline is to pay attention to the ages of characters over time.

Long version:

Batman: Year One, Catwoman: Her Sister's Keeper, The Long Halloween and Dark Victory all take place consecutively and over the course of Batman's first 5 years.

Bruce Wayne is 25 when he returns to Gotham on Jan 4, Year One, and likely turns 26 that year. Selina Kyle is 19 during Year One.

Dick Grayson becomes Robin at 13 in Dark Victory, towards the end of Year Five and spends 6 years as Robin.

Adapted Silver Age stories follow Dark Victory.

Dinah Lance becomes Black Canary and co-founds the JLA at 19, early in the Silver Age.

Barbara Gordon becomes Batgirl at 18, after the Teen Titans have formed, likely around around Year Eight. She is in-between Dick and Dinah's ages.

Adapted Bronze Age stories begin in Year Ten, after Dick leaves for college at 18.

Helena Bertinelli becomes a vigilante at the end of summer in Year Eleven, after turning 21, returns to Gotham and begins calling herself The Huntress in Year Twelve, after Ash Wednesday. She meets a 29 year-old Catwoman, who she's around 8 years younger than.

Dick is fired by Bruce at the end of Year Eleven at 19. Dick becomes Nightwing and Jason becomes Robin in early Year Twelve.

Crisis happens in Year Twelve and the Modern Age begins. Dick turns 20 around this time.

In Year Thirteen, Death in the Family, Killing Joke, Huntress (1989), A Lonely Place of Dying and Cry of the Huntress occur.

Barbara becomes Oracle, Tim Drake becomes Robin at 13, Stephanie Brown becomes The Spoiler at 15 around Labour Day, and Jean-Paul Valley becomes Azrael as a post-graduate student. Dick is 21.

Knightfall takes place, over the course of 6 months between Year Thirteen and Fourteen.

In Year Fourteen, Prodigal, Contagion, Legacy, Cataclysm and Aftershock occur consecutively.

It is also in this year that Helena and Barbara join the JLA, Barbara forms the Birds of Prey, adding Dinah, and Tim co-founds Young Justice.

The entirety of Year Fifteen is the No Man's Land year.

Helena becomes The Bat, in Batman's absence, while also moonlighting as the Huntress.

Stephanie Brown has a baby at 16 and Cassandra Cain becomes Batgirl at 17.

The Titans form again, Donna Troy turns 23 and she is the same age as Dick.

Year Sixteen begins with New Gotham and ends with Infinite Crisis. Cry for Blood, Outlaws, Joker: Last Laugh, Fugitive/Murderer and Family occur in this year.

Renee Montoya turns 29, Cassandra turns 18, Tim turns 16 and Jason would have turned 18.

Helena joins the Birds of Prey, Tim joins the Teen Titans, Dick joins the Outsiders and Stephanie has a stint as Robin.

Jean-Paul dies.

Year Seventeen is the 52 year and is largely a timeskip. Kate Kane becomes Batwoman and Renee becomes The Question.

Year Eighteen opens with One Year Later.

Final Crisis occurs and Bruce "dies". Battle for the Cowl occurs.

Dick becomes Batman and Damian becomes Robin, at 10. Dick joins the JLA.

Stephanie becomes Batgirl at 19 and attends university, and Tim becomes Red Robin.

Michael Lane becomes Azrael at around 30 and Kate turns 32.

In Year Nineteen, Bruce Wayne returns and begins Batman Inc.. Cassandra becomes Black Bat.

The Black Mirror, Gates of Gotham and Leviathan Strikes occur.

The Convergence timeskip begins.

Towards the end of Year Twenty, Convergence concludes and so does Post-Crisis continuity.

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months ago

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It was a bad idea from the start, really.

Will is very smug about it.

"I'm not," he insists, lying. He adjusts Nico's arm over his shoulder, breathing heavier with every step up the rocky hillside. "I'm just pointing out that it's very lucky you love someone who is right so often. Else you'd be dead."

His barely hidden smirk makes it a whole lot easier for Nico to be guilt-free about his current incapacitation. In fact, he cuts any effort at all, going completely limp. Will stumbles, damn near dropping him and sending them both tumbling back down into the sea, but manages, at the last second, to find his balance.

He's smug about that, too.

"You have the kind of arrogance they talk about in the Bible," Nico points out, as Will slides his arm under his legs and lifts. "Just saying."

"Do I."

"Mhm. Unchecked. Your father's son, truly."

"Oh, get fucked."

He's laughing as he says it, and Nico smiles, victorious. He swings his legs idly as Will labors, enjoying the sweat beading on his top lip and the shift of his muscles under his wandering hands.

"You know, I landed us pretty good for being near-death."

"You landed us in an underwater cave eight feet from the surface," Will says drily. He pauses, flash of warmth blooming under his palms, then shakes his head in exasperation and keeps hiking. "And you're nowhere near death, you man-baby."

"I'm dying."

"You have a couple scrapes and hay fever."

"I can see the light!"

"Bold of you to assume you're making it to the pearly gates."

Nico pauses. "Okay, point to Will." Will grins. Nico pinches him to teach him humility. "Onwards, servant. And in silence as your panting and human distress bothers me."

Will rolls his eyes again, but he suffers from Finding Nico Funny Disorder and also kind of Enjoying Being Ordered Around Not That He'll Admit It Syndrome, so Nico suffers no consequences. Instead, he inspects the countryside, humming along to the beat of Will's elevated heart.

In terms of places Nico has been stranded, this place is pretty good.

It's warm, for starters. A balmy seventy-seven to eighty, if he had to hazard a guess. The sun is out but it's a little cloudy, so it's not too awful, and if Nico had to haul both another person and two backpacks worth of overpacking he's sure he would be much less pleased about the light humidity, but as it is he is not, and he doesn't mind. The wind from the ocean -- channel, rather -- undercuts it nicely, anyway, and it smells like saltwater and pine needles.

"Are we out west?" Will asks, puffing a little. Nico refrains from making a comment about keeping in shape but it is a close thing. "Don't see pines like these back home much."

Nico hums, looking up at the forest. It's true -- among the many indistinguishable conifers peppering the wet soil are strange, sparse pine trees with trunks that seem almost cartoonish, geometrical. Like an exaggerated idea of a pine tree rather than a real one.

"Hold on. Lemme down, I can check."

"Nah. Let's get somewhere level first, okay?" He squeezes, gently, pressing a kiss to Nico's temple. "You're still a little wheezy," he murmurs, which is rich coming from someone who has not caught his breath for the last twenty minutes at minimum. "You can frolic about like the little GPS you are when you've had a minute to get your bearings."

Nico scowls and refuses to acknowledge the care in the action. He is not a GPS and it is disrespectful to refer to him as such. It would be akin to him calling Will a glowstick.

"Which you do," drawls Will. "On the daily."

"Yeah, but you're cute when you're mad," Nico argues. The comment, predictably, has Will's freckles flashing, and Nico grins. "See?"

"You're intolerable."

"Hm. Four years and counting, though."

"Yeah, yeah."

The incline steepens and Will's breathing steepens with it. Nico can hear the extra effort in his chest, in his pounding heart, and squeezes his shoulders. He teases, but Will has hiked them both a mile at least -- on a steep incline, too, trying to navigate the shifting rock and soil. And he's tired, and he dragged them both up from the water, and there -- there's another couple hundred feet until the hill slopes off, at least. Will takes a moment to catch his breath and Nico brushes the hair off his sweaty forehead.

"Almost there," he says quietly. "Almost there, and we can rest for a bit."

Will nods, and pushes forward. There is that look in his eye, familiar; eyes clouded and distance and face wiped totally smooth. The same face he gets when the infirmary gets a touch too crowded and he reaches, on long-dead instinct, for the helping hand of a sibling that isn't there, and shuts down. The same face he gets when someone peels a boiled egg and the smell of sulfur drags him down, the same face he gets when he wakes himself up half past three in the morning and grits his teeth through the screaming so he doesn't wake anybody up. The same face he gets when he is hurting, when he is tired, but there are others hurting worse, and he forgets. And he forces it away.

Nico hates it. He always has.

But Will is his own person, and he is strong. And there are hardly fifty feet left until they can rest.

They crest the top of the hill -- cliffside, really -- and Will makes no grand heaving, does not drop him. He sets him, gently, on the yellowed grass, and sets his bags down next, arranging them carefully so they hold their own weight. He straightens slowly and holds himself stiffly.

"Will," Nico says softly. "Come sit."

Will works his jaw. "Gimme a minute."

Nico nods, and watches him. He can almost picture the chanting he is doing in his head, trying to release the tension manually, trying to coach himself through the haziness. Trying to bring himself back, like Mr. D. taught him. There is nothing Nico can do, to fish him out of his own head, to drag him out of the place he goes and sits when things are too hard. The place where he used to live, unbidden to everyone. Where he would lose time by the months and resurface with a plastic smile and a practiced laugh and hands clenched so tightly the tendons are worn like old guitar strings.

He sighs, and slumps forward. Nico watches him sway, carefully, hands poised to dart out. But he gathers himself, eyes gently shut, and makes his careful way to the ground next to Nico. Nico places a hand between his shoulder blades.

"You with me?"

He nods. "Yeah." He leans back into the cool relief of Nico's hand, knocking their knees together. "Yeah, I'm with you."

"Good."

It's beautiful, from this height.

However high up they are -- Nico doesn't bother estimating -- they can see out for miles, nothing but ocean and forest as far as the eye can glean. The water is peppered with dozens of other islands, some bigger than others, and the yellowed sun shines in gentle brushstrokes through the woolen clouds, tiny beams of light piercing their way through and onto spotted cliffsides. Chittering coastal birds chase crabs along the rocky beach, and farther in the waves, Nico can see the coasting fins of a group of orcas. He tilts his head, curious, and when he feels his lungs are full enough, and his eyesight is clear and steady, he exhales, long and slow, and rests his hands spread and flat on the soil, searching. He extends his feeling as far as it will go down and outward, feeling Will's life forcing flickering -- tired but strong -- to his right, and millions of other creatures in the ground beneath them. He lets their noise fade and swell and wash over him, like the blending conversations of a large crowd, and tries to follow the waves of seismic energy as they shift and ebb beneath him, rumbling a conversation with connected plates all throughout the Earth.

"BC," he murmurs, blinking his eyes open. Will watches him, head propped on his bent knee. "Canada. Uh, Haida Gwaii, I think."

Will blinks. "Really?"

Nico nods. "Pretty sure." He is not expecting the slow, teasing smile that spreads over Will's face, and he is suspicious of it. He narrows his eyes. "What."

"Oh, nothing."

"Do not lie to me, William Andrew."

"Nothing! I mean it." He pauses. "I was just wondering --"

"Oh, here we go."

"-- it must be the dyslexia, I guess --"

"-- do you ever stop talking --"

"I mean, BC, NY, practically the same thing --"

"I hope you get eaten by a bear. Genuinely."

"-- easy mistake." Will grins. Nico scowls. "Anyone would make it, I'm sure."

"I was drained, you irritating jackass."

"Of course, of course. That totally explains why you shadow travelled us four thousand miles in the wrong direction."

"It's not -- four thousand miles, you dickhead." Nico pauses. "Fuck, is it?"

Will shrugs. "More or less. We're on the literal opposite point of the continent."

"Well." Nico blinks, staring back out the coast. "Shit."

"S'okay." Will stands, brushing off his shorts. "Let's keep moving."

Nico bites his tongue-- Will knows himself. He pushes himself, too, but he's smarter than to leave them both incapacitated. He holds out a hand, and Nico takes it, pulling himself to his shaky feet. He holds up a hand when Will tries to lift him again, and Will sighs, but falls into step beside him, hovering.

The hike is a helluva lot easier when they are not travelling eighty degrees upright. Will leads them into the dense forest and Nico lets him, making a face at the mugginess and the mosquitoes he can already feel but trusting Will's judgement regardless. If he gets malaria, it will be Will's problem, anyway.

"You are such a goddamn drama queen."

"Your fault. I used to be cool and traumatized."

"It's really cute that you genuinely believe that."

"Shut the fuck up."

Will snickers, but does. Probably less because Nico told him to and more because his dumb ass was not looking where he was going and almost walked into a tree, but that's none of Nico's business. He'll just remember the moment for eternity and bring it up next time Will tells him he should spend more time calibrating himself with nature.

They walk for a long time. A couple hours, at least, but Will packed six different water bottles, something Nico did indeed mock him for when they left ("It's a two-day quest, Will, I promise there will be a fucking water bottle available for purchase in Delaware." "Sure, go ahead, trust Delaware and see where that gets you.") but now tastefully pretends is not the case. The granola bars he stuffed in there are the nutritionally bereft but delicious ones from Costco, and they are melted to shit and waterlogged, but they're good anyway. Will tries and fails to ration them. Nico is faster. Plus, they'll…hunt, or something. Probably.

"I have never hunted a single thing in my life and you haven't either, nature boy, but sure, whatever. Let's Bear Grylls this thing."

Nico primly ignores his gripes. Will gets grouchy when he gets anxious, it's fine. He also happens to be very attractive when he is grouchy and Nico happens to be very attracted to him, so these things have a way of working themselves out. Especially because Will has a very sensitive spot on the side of his neck that he isn't quite aware that he has, so as soon as Nico gets close enough to lovingly and perhaps a touch hungrily also bite him he will be fine. Well, he will be goo, but that works. Nico can handle him when he is goo.

"Stop looking at me like you're going to eat me. You know it freaks me out."

It doesn't freak him out. It makes his whole face very hot and his brain kind of non-functional. But Nico is loving and benevolent and refrains from pointing this out.

"We should stop and eat, then."

"You just had fourteen granola bars!"

"Yeah, like an hour ago."

Will reaches out and pretends to strangle him. Nico darts out and grabs one of his hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Will melts at the speed of sound.

"What -- okay, whatever. What Ever, okay. Fine."

He tosses his backpacks -- actually tosses, Christ, someone get this boy a BFA -- and sits heavily on the forest floor, ears burning. Nico looks at the mud and pine needles, wrinkles his nose, and sits delicately on Will's lap. This does nothing for him in the embarrassment slash flusteredness slash superhots he has for Nico, but it does have the added benefit of immediate physical affection and a solid weight in his lap, so his breathing calms. He tilts his face forward until his head is tucked between the space of Nico's neck and his shoulder. Nico reaches up, sliding a hand through his damp curls.

"Check-in," he says quietly.

"Buzzy," Will admits. "Tired. But -- fine."

Nico nods. He cards his hand more regularly through his boyfriend's hair, shifting so Will is slumped against him, and both elbows rest on his broad shoulders; he spends extra time on all the knots, untangling them gently and flicking the shedding strands to the side. He pushes his fringe off his forehead and, when Will doesn't stop him, starts to weave the sections into braids, splitting his hair down the middle of his scalp. He ties both ends off with one of the several elastics on his wrist and grins at the dandelion-pouf of the short strands. He kisses the crown of his head.

"You're cute as hell, you know that?"

"Bleh."

"Don't bleh me. I am the Prince of Hell. I would know." "Whatever, nerd." Will straightens slightly, leaning back against a tree trunk and adjusting Nico's weight. "Your turn. You good?"

"A little wheezy," Nico tells him. "Not that you were right or anything but the quest could maybe have waited until I was not contagious."

"Yeah. Damn, I wish someone would have told you that."

"Oh, can it, Mr. I Can Still Run My Infirmary With A Broken Spine."

"I mean. I could. I did, actually, and it went pretty well."

"You literally almost permanently paralyzed yourself."

"But I didn't! So there." Nico kisses him quiet, because sometimes he actually wants to shake the hypocrisy out of him. The way Will grins, cheeky, into the kiss tells him that he is aware and this was the goal. Fucker.

"I think this is a good spot," Will murmurs, sighing into Nico's mouth. Nico occupies his lips for a little bit longer, kissing every time he opens them to speak -- there are many benefits to dating a virus-immune doctor -- but moves, eventually and mournfully, onto the corner of his mouth, his jaw. His neck. It is a little bit unfair in terms of letting him focus but Will smells like salt and lavender still, somehow, and he looks good surrounded in browns and greens. "For the night, I mean."

"It's maybe two in the afternoon, Solace."

"Well, you need a nap. And I don't want to set up camp twice."

Nico pulls off, shrugging. He has a feeling you need a nap is code for if I don't sleep in the next ten minutes I am going out pass out on the floor. It has been before.

"Works for me."

Together they unpack the entirety of Will's bags. There's a lot of shit in there -- more than Nico assumed could actually fit in any kind of logical space -- and chief among it two bedrolls, a couple blankets, a tarp, some rations (that are not candy-stick granola bars that Nico shoved in there last minute) and, even, some fishing hooks and line. And, of course, more medical supplies than what probably exists on the entire island.

"You can never be too prepared," Will says primly, when Nico bites the corner of his mouth.

"You have leukemia medication," Nico points out.

"Well. Who knows."

"…Right."

Patting his neurotic boyfriend lovingly yet condescendingly on the forehead, which is somewhat of a challenge since he is distantly related to the Yeti or perhaps Godzilla, Nico grabs the tarp and some paracord string and leaves in search of some good branches. Will sings, high and clear, and Nico uses it as his version of Ariadne's string -- he never goes far enough that he can't hear the words, or the pout in his voice when he misses a note. He sings something ridiculous about a small-town judge and a murder plot, twangy and over-the-top and old, no doubt, and Nico smiles, piling the branches in his hands.

Will is convinced he can't sing -- and maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't see the world in quarter notes like his mother, or hear a jazz solo in a creaky door jamb like his prodigy brother. Maybe the birds don't stop when he hums and maybe his guitar is always a little flat. But his voice is rumbly, and curls in the air like camp smoke. And he knows more songs than any other soul living or dead, and when he hums something he made up about the sound of the wind against bending flower petals it warms you, from deep in your stomach. When he makes up a tune to put behind the most famous Italian sonnets or forgets the real tune of a rock song he heard in the back of a tour van ten years ago, Nico's breaths all taste a little sweeter. When his voice gets reedy and pleading and he pants next to Nico's ear, in warm, early mornings, he feels like he's drunk off sound alone.

He likes Will's voice.

He comes back with enough sturdy branches for a lean-to the Hunters would be jealous of, and Will smiles when he sees him. He doesn't stop singing, maybe because he's trying to keep himself awake, maybe because he knows Nico likes it, even though it turns up his vowels in a shy kind of way. Maybe both, or neither. Either way Nico joins him, humming a halfway decent harmony, and hands him the branches one by one, lingering whenever he can at the brush of their equally roughened fingers.

"'Kay," Will says, or sighs. "'S good as it's gonna get, I think."

It's a cute little tent, honestly. There's not a lot of space and once upon a time Nico would have chafed at the thought of it, whether he liked Will or not. A person needs their distance.

But he doesn't, really. Need distance from Will. Maybe he did, before they learned each other. Before they fell into depths unseen and struggled their way back up, before Will helped him angry and hurting, before Nico helped him quiet and blank. Before they learned each other's silences and sacrifices, before Nico knew what it meant to sit next to someone and exist on the same wavelength, in different spaces. Before he knew what it meant to share the same air.

They're codependant, a little.

Nico likes depending on him.

Will squeezes his hand. Nico squeezes back, and together they spread out their bedrolls, pushing them next to each other, and configure themselves around the balance of sticks and corded twine, of tired knees and aching backs. Nico fits his arms around Will's waist and his leg between his thighs, his forehead to the dip in his back and his breathing matching every inhale, every exhale. Will rests a too-warm palm on his wrist and sags into him, exhausted, and together they lay, still and sticky and warm, and it's a little uncomfortable. But it's good, too.

"It'll take you a couple days to get your strength back," Will says softly. "There are a lot of bears in BC."

"I have a sword," Nico points out.

"They're endangered."

"Hm."

"We have one drachma."

"Just the one?"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

Nico curls tighter into him. He can tell, without looking, that he has his eyes squeezed shut -- guilty. As if Nico remembered to pack any emergency drachmas or medical supplies or anything outside of granola bars that are 92% chocolate.

"You're not worried about bears."

"No."

"I don't think the eidola followed us from Delaware, sweetheart."

"…Me either." He swallows. "Lotta weird shit in a lotta weird places, though."

Nico hums. He's right. Of all their quests and visits to Will's mother and errands and dates, they've been left unbothered maybe seven total times. Nico doesn't have great luck, and Will is some kind of homing beacon. They never go long without some motherfucker ruining things.

…Nico has a feeling, though.

A good one. For the first time in a while.

"I think we'll be okay," he says, carefully. "I can't promise and I don't know for sure. But I'm not -- I'm a little weak, Will, but I'm not that sick. And you're tired, but you're capable." He punctuates the statement with a firm kiss on the back of Will's neck, anticipating his shaking head. "I think you're right to save it. But you can sleep, and we'll be fine."

There is a lot of shit coiled up in Will's head. Years worth of baggage Nico will never untangle in a day, in a month, in four years. It will take him a lifetime.

But he's gotten pretty good at helping Will wade through it, he thinks.

"Yeah," Will sighs, loosening. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He brings Nico's hand up to his mouth, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to his wrist. "We'll stay here for a bit. Three days, at least, it'll take you that long to come back to normal strength."

Protest stirs its way up Nico's chest, but he swallows it back. It won't kill him to wait it out. They have supplies. It will be nice, not to get back to camp exhausted.

Plus, he and Will…

Well, they could maybe use a break, in the wilderness, where no one can bother them.

"We'll IM if we get desperate. We're not too far from New Rome, anyway." Will yawns. Nico squeezes around his waist, and he leans back fondly. "Don't let me sleep longer than an hour, okay? I wanna scope out the place a little more before sundown."

Nico nods, and Will exhales, and in minutes he's out. Nico has always been jealous of his ability to just drop anywhere, in minutes; he could sleep standing up on one foot on the peak of Mount Everest. But now it only makes him smile, and he presses the curl of his lips to Will's warm skin, breathing in the smell of him. It's indistinguishable, almost, from the general outdoorsyness around them, and Nico takes the careful time to memorize it. To memorize it, and them, and the shape of Will in his arms.

He looks out over Will's shoulder and carefully counts the minutes.

-- -- --

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northshrine · 1 year ago

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adding a little bit into this but what absolutely kills me, keeps me up at night, what i think makes gaikaka/kakagai (or however you like to call it, really) so good is because for once kakashi is not in a position where he’s at the other end of pure envy or outright idolization; that gai consistently sees kakashi as someone to chase after only because he wanted to be as good and as strong—that maybe the idea of Being Strong was born after gai saw his father being the punching bag of the village even when he was so good and so kind and hardly disturb anyone, that maybe he wanted to prove these people wrong, that he wanted so much to protect this youth his father had always believed in—as this little kid, a little bit smaller than he was, stood up for him who failed standing up for his father, and the rest is history.

i think if there is someone who knows all too well how lonely a road can be as someone who is good, the best really, is kakashi. and i think it’s not an exaggeration to say that amidst his losses, having someone who strive to be beside him, to stand alongside him on a road that he somewhere along the way finally realize is not a single logged bridge, without envy and with his best interest at heart, who can chastise and remind him should he ever stray or lost his way, is one of kakashi’s greatest blessings.

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(a.k.a a chunk out of a gaikakagai thesis i haven’t written yet and yapped on the bird app instead but i know full well the bird will just swallow up the thread bc tagging system Sucks so i put it here too, part 9963802629)

(++)

#boat rant #gaikaka #kakagai #and the price he has to pay for the companion is gai’s supposed death because there should only be one (1) conclusion #at the end of Eight Gates. but look at them now #bros who LOATHE each other techniques and all the hypocrisy surrounding them WILL stay together <3

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thatrandomidiot182 · 3 months ago

Text

Weddings and Funerals

Chapter Warnings. unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage drinking, arguments, reader downplaying other peoples trauma, reader is an unreliable narrator.

The couple of days leading up to the funeral are a blur.

You call out of work for the weekend, needing the time to just... take a break and gather your thoughts. Sift through your emotions and prepare yourself to go back to the manor and see everyone for the first time since you left.

God knows what shit you're gonna have to put up with when you get there.

You hoped you would also be able to get some rest since you didn't have to worry about your horrid work schedule, but that was just wishful thinking. You haven't had a proper, relaxing, eight hour sleep since before you were bitten by that damn spider.

Alfred's death only fueled the nightmares that already plagued your life, and the few times you did manage to pass out, you woke up within minutes, screaming and drenched in your own sweat.

You honestly felt bad for your neighbors, especially the new one. What a great first impression you were making on the guy. You two haven't even met yet, and he's already having to deal with your bullshit...

The fact that you and Dick were arguing loud enough for the whole building to hear probably didn't help either.

That night, Dick didn't end up leaving your apartment until nearly two in the morning. With the two of you spending nearly three hours in a heated back and forth about whether or not it was appropriate for you to attend.

In the end, Dick threatened to bury the letter with Alfred if you didn't go.

So, because you felt an obligation to him and yourself, you caved.

Which is the only reason you're currently sitting in a cab, paying the absurd fare to travel from your place all the way up to Wayne Manor with a tumbler full of stolen whiskey and a knockoff brand of cola.

"Jesus, you sure picked a day to come all the way out here, huh?" The drivers voice calls out to you playfully, eyes carefully trained on the muddy terrain as he skillfully maneuvers through the rain and fog.

He had a point though, Gothams weather is notoriously bad, but today it seems like even the city itself was mourning.

Rain had been pouring down since before the sun rose, with thick fog following not long after, making the roads slick and dangerous, which is why the ride was so expensive.

Apparently the Gotham taxi cabs charge an extra, 'extreme weather' fee, who knew?

At least someone was getting something good out of all of this.

You respond with a small, polite hum, eyes glued shut after having spotted one too many shadowy figures hidden in the passing scenery.

"Well, here we are, creepy ass Wayne Manor. You got the code to the gate or you want me to drop you off here?" The man's accented voice rouses you from your thoughts.

"Here's fine, thank you." You pull out a wad of cash from your pocket, swiftly counting out the ridiculous amount, seriously, ninety bucks for a fourty five minute drive!? Before handing it over with a frown.

The man offers you an unbothered shrug in response to your irritation, handing you the receipt after quickly snatching the cash from your hand.

You exit the car with a huff, pulling the collar of your coat higher in an attempt to keep dry as you rush towards the gate, wincing at the sound of screeching tires behind you.

"I hope he gets robbed today." You grumble irritably as you punch in the code, brow furrowing as it blares a bright red 'INCORRECT.'

You try again, thinking maybe you put the number in wrong, only to get the same result.

You try once more, a disbelieving smile on your face as the number is once again rejected.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" You let out a frustrated growl, moving to push the intercom button instead.

"Dick Grayson, you gave me the wrong fucking code, you asshole! Let me in!"

You shiver as your clothes get more drenched the longer you stand in the rain. Moving to pace the length of the gate to keep your feet from sinking into the mud.

Five minutes goes by with no response, and you're just about ready to turn and walk back to the city when a car pulls up behind you, blinding you with the bright led headlights.

You squint through the pain, trying in vain to see who the hell just pulled up on you, when the sound of a car door opening breaks the silence.

Your name is said through a shocked laugh, "Holy shit! Is that really you? I didn't believe Dick when he said you were gonna show up." Stephanie Brown's high pitched voice is easily recognized by your trained ears, and you have to prevent yourself from immediately snapping at her.

"Yeah, well, don't go thinking he's Mr. Reliable. Dude gave me the wrong gate code." You roll your eyes as she lets out a sympathetic groan.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. Here, why don't you hop in the back seat and we'll drive you in?" Her offer is about as tempting as a can of sardines, but you take it with little hesitation, wanting to get out of the rain that had finally made its way to your inner layers.

You huff quietly as you plop into the backseat of the sleek, black suv, blinking in surprise at the other occupants.

Cassandra Cain stares back at you through the rear view mirror, offering a small nod of acknowledgment that you ridgedly return.

Duke Thomas then gives a small, awkward wave, occampanied by an equally awkward smile as he inches away from your soaked figure on the seat next to him.

"Hey." You repeat the greeting stiffly, swiftly uncapping your tumbler and taking a large gulp of the mixture as Stephanie makes her reappearance, slamming the drivers door shut behind her as she starts moving forward.

"It's been a while, huh? You look good. I like your hair!" Her grin is forced, and you snort at her attempted small talk.

"Thanks."

There was a million other things you wanted to add onto that, things like;

'It's the exact same as it was two years ago, but you wouldn't know that, huh?'

Or, 'Wow, I'm surprised you actually noticed I cut it!'

Or maybe, 'I'm actually shocked you realized it's almost double the length it was when I left because I doubt you even realized what it looked like before!'

However, once again, you decide to be the bigger person and keep your thoughts to yourself, content with the visible cringe she adorns after your dry response.

Thankfully it doesn't take long to reach the driveway, and you don't bother hiding the smirk of amusement as Duke all but jumps out of the car as soon as it rolls to a stop.

Cassandra is expectedly silent as she waits for Stephanie before making her retreat as well.

You take an extra second to gather yourself before you follow their lead, slamming the car door behind you as you begrudgingly stalk up the brick walkway.

The silence surrounding the area is sufficating.

Not in the usual, 'creepy old manor that's almost always empty despite the nearly dozen of inhabitants' way. This silence was heavy, and you can tell by the way their shoulders tense that the three people with you also felt the weight of the moment as you all stand before the front door solemnly.

"He'd usually have the door open by now..." Stephanie's voice is smaller than you've ever heard from her before, and it's then that you take the moment to reprimand yourself while coming to a sinking realization.

You've been so caught up in your own grudges and emotions about the people here that you've overlooked the fact that they're all mourning too.

However, despite you, who has been through something like this more times than you'd like to think about, this was the family's first time loosing someone so close, so brutally. That you knew of at least.

So far, the only thing that's prevented you from breaking down and crashing out on everyone this long is the fact that this isn't your first rodeo.

You fiest had to deal with it when you watched your mom and step-dad die.

Then, you dealt with it when you had to watch Gwen's funeral from afar, hidden in the branches of a tree.

You dealt with it when you cradled Henry in your arms during his dad's own burial.

You dealt with it when the responsibility of planning your tia's death rites fell onto you.

This was actually the sixth funeral you'd been to in the last decade of your life.

But right now, you have to remind yourself that they aren't you. They haven't gone through, seen or dealt with all the shit you have in the past nine years, so it's unfair of you to bring your personal issues into this when they're struggling during such a time.

Although, it'd almost be poetic justice to give them a taste of their own medicine.

You'd keep that in mind for later, right now, the sudden epiphany leaves you squaring your shoulders and cracking the door open as you make a promise to yourself.

Today was about Alfred, and you won't be the one to draw away from that.

"He'd also be scolding me about coming in like a wet cat and getting his floors dirty." Your remark gets a shocked wet laugh out of Stephanie and a small, grateful smile from Duke. Cassandra's eyes soften as her lips quirk ever so slightly.

You quickly split from the trio with little more than a nod of farewell as you make your way to the kitchen, pausing at the entryway as a lump forms in your throat.

Besides Bruces office, this was where Alfred spent the majority of his time. Between cooking, cleaning, and teaching you how to cook and clean, his presence was more often than not somewhere in the kitchen. Either rummaging through the cabinets for ingredients, placing leftovers in the fridge, preparing plates on the island or rinsing dishes in the sink.

Your hands shake as you watch him turn away from the stove, his aged face meeting your eyes with the patient smile he always wore whenever you'd mess up a recipe.

You blink back tears as you eagerly brush past him, avoiding looking at him as you sling a web to grab the fancy whiskey off of the top shelf of the cabinet.

You hastily yank open your tumbler, refilling the canister with the expensive liquid and scoffing at the disapproving stare you see out of the corner of your eye.

"Don't look at me like that. You used to do the same thing when Bruce and the boys had a rough night." You roll your teary eyes, taking a swig straight from the bottle before moving over to the trash can to remove the web.

"Thought nobody knew about your little habit, but I could always smell it on your breath–" You laugh, "I don't blame you, of course not. This family could push even an angel to alchoholism–"

A whisper of your name has your mouth snapping shut, arm moving behind your back in a shotty attempt to hide the bottle from whoever had entered the kitchen.

Bruce looms in the entryway like a shadow, blinking in surprise as you stare back at him with wide eyes and pursed lips, looking very akin to a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Your face is quick to fall into a scowl once you meet eyes with the man, turning your back on him in order to place the bottle on the counter, berating yourself for being so jumpy.

"I... didn't think you'd show up... Who were you talking to?" His voice is meek, and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from making a sparky remark.

He's grieving.

You repeat the sentiment in your head as you lean against the counter, hands busying themselves with closing your tumbler as you avoid looking at him.

"Yeah, nobody did, apparently." You scoff. "Just... talking to myself..." You glance at the stove wearily, heart dropping as the space before it remains empty.

Any response Bruce may have made is prevented from seeing the light of day as another gruff voice interrupts from behind him, "Why the hell are you here?"

You roll your eyes, scowl back with a vengeance as you glance over Bruces shoulder to meet the sickening green eyes of Jason Todd.

One of your top five least favorite people in Gotham looms over Bruce menacingly as he glares back at you, face mirroring your scowl with equal ferocity.

"I was invited–"

"You have no right!" He cuts you off with a shout, easily shoving past Bruce to crowd you against the counter.

"Jason." Bruces warning tone is ignored.

"You have got some fucking nerve showing your face here after what you did!" Your posture is tense, body effectively roused from its slump as you square your shoulders, raising your chin to meet Jason's stare head on as he jabs his finger in your collarbone.

"Jason!" Bruce snaps at the contact, eyes darting warily between your face and hands as Jason continues to ignore him.

"You didn't even know Alfred! You're probably just here because playing the big bad adult got hard, and your little minimum wage day job isn't paying the bills–" Your lips curl into a snarl, unnaturally sharp canines bearing defensively as you shove him out of your face, effectively sending him stumbling back into the island.

"You don't know shit about what I've been doing! And I'm willing to bet that I spent more time with Alfred then you did these past couple of years–" Bruce swiftly rushes to stand between the two of you, placing a hand on Jason's chest warningly as he mirrors the action on your shoulder.

"That's enough! Both of you!" You give a disbelieving scoff at his reprimanding, mentally beating yourself over the pang of hurt that rolled through you.

"Sad to see nothing changes in this fucking house." Bruces appearance is almost enough for you to feel a bit of remorse for your comment– if it weren't for his obvious favoritism in the moment.

His skin was pale, even more than usual with a pallor closer to a corpse than a living man. Sunken cheekbones and purple eyebags have his face nearly unrecognisable if it weren't for the unmistakable steel blue gaze that glared at you. His graying hair was neatly combed back, but your enhanced eyesight has you catching the clumps of dandruff and grease that hide in between the strands.

He dons a black blazer with mismatched cufflinks over a black turtleneck, with black slacks that were wrinkled to hell and back. His oxfords are scuffed and dull, and it's obvious he didn't bother to prep them beforehand. Not like Alfred would have done...

He looked smaller than usual, and you can only assume he hadn't been eating well, if at all, since Alfred's death.

However pathetic he may or may not look only further enrages you as you can't help but draw the similarities between your appearance and his.

You've never looked so alike before.

The Wayne genes are strong, but your mothers were thankfully stronger. You'd never had to confront the fact that you looked like your father because he was never around during your youth, making it easy to hate him without gaining a sense of self-hatred as well. However, ever since coming to Gotham, you've been harshly forced to face the reality that you do look like him.

And right now, the matching scowls, eyebags and exhaustion only solidify the fact as you feel like you're looking into a fucked up mirror the longer you stare at one another.

"Bruce? The-uh, security guys are here..."

Tim's meek voice breaks the tension, and works to bring you back to your senses.

Based on Bruces tense shoulders and Jason's guilty face, the same could be said for them as you all turn away from one another.

"Thank you, Tim. We'll be leaving soon, I suggest you get yourselves together before then." With that, Bruce takes his leave, sparing you and Jason one last stern glare before following Tim out.

Jason scoffs but says nothing as he harshly bumps your shoulder on his own way out, sparing you annoyed glare when you don't budge.

"Alfred, there better be a gold coin in that letter..." You groan quietly, rubbing a tired hand down your face and grabbing your tumbler before silently padding behind them.

Hushed murmurs make their way to your ears as you reach the foyer.

"–come out of his room–"

"–don't even know if he's dressed!"

"–hasn't said a word for three days..."

Bruce and Barbara are engaged in a heated discussion at the bottom of one of the staircases, the rest of the family loitering around the room awkwardly as the security team waits by the front doors.

"I'll go talk to him–" Barbara hurriedly moves in front of Bruce, placing a gentle hand on his forearm with a nervous frown, "We've already tried, he won't even open the door... Dick's up there right now, I think we should let him handle it."

You snort at her words, gaining a sick sense of amusement at Bruces hurt, confused stare.

"Why don't we just get the cars arranged while we wait–" Barbara's voice goes quiet at the sound of footsteps, everyone's attention moving to the top of the stairs where Dick and Damian make their appearance.

Dick gives everyone a small, relieved smile as Damian stands there silently. Arms crossed over his chest with a tear stained face and puffy, red eyes.

His cheeks were glistening in the dim light, and you could see him becoming more uncomfortable the longer everyone stared.

"Damian–"

"I call shotgun." Your words work to break everyone from their stupor, eyes snapping towards you as you interrupt Bruce by strutting towards the exit, stopping only to confirm the decision with security before walking outside.

The ride to the cathedral was so awkward you ended up downing half of your drink before everyone gathered back together.

The family big enough that everyone needed to split between three cars, not including the three additional decoys that were empty and filled with the security team.

Bruce, Dick and Damian were in the first car, and you could only imagine what they were saying to the poor kid.

Barbara, Jason and Cassandra all occupied the second, a smart decision on Bruces part, as placing Jason with either you or Damian at the moment is an instant recipe for disaster.

Your car followed last with Tim and Stephanie, and you spent the entire ride trying not to bash your head through the window from Stephanie's attempted small talk. You assume she was just trying to distract Timothy from his moping, as he looked almost as bad as Bruce, but still, her inauthentic prodding into your life was unwelcome.

So, to entertain yourself and fuck with them, you answered all of her questions with the most ridiculous answer you could conjur on the spot.

'How have you been?'

Fine, you know, besides the incident with the hotdogs.

'Where do you live?'

You rent a room in the Iceberg Lounge. Yeah, it's pretty great besides the occasional gang war in the living room.

'Where do you work?'

You train pigeons for local magician shows.

The best part was that you knew that they already knew the answers, which made it even more hilarious when Stephanie finally gave up and stopped trying to talk to you.

When you finally arrived at the steps to the building, you were horrified to see the sidewalks flooded with paparazzi, civillians and reporters. And because Bruce has an image to uphold, you were all forced to walk right through the center of the crowd, being blinded by the flashes and deafened by the shouts.

The security guard to your right ends up tugging you forward with an iron grip on your bicep after you attempt to lunge towards a photographer who shouted at you to walk faster.

Once you're safely enclosed in the building, hidden behind the thick, wooden doors, you turn around to see Kate Kane, Harper Row and Selina fucking Kyle all awaiting your arrival. You ended up taking a large desperate gulp of your drink at the sight of Bruce melting into the latter's embrace.

The absolute rage that overcame your being at the view of them being all lovey-dovey had you denting the steel canister in your hand in frustration over the fact that you didn't feel even the slightest bit tipsy by now.

Every day, you find more reasons to curse that spider to hell. Your ridiculously high alcohol tolerance is only the latest to be added to the list.

The only reason you even bother drinking anymore is because the sting that follows a sip of alcohol has become a soothing sensation in your toughest moments.

The burn is grounding, and you find yourself itching for that sensation whenever you start spiraling.

Concerning? Perhaps.

It's not like you got anyone to worry about it, though.

They're all dead.

The entire three hour service was excruciating.

Not only were you stuck sitting the entire time, but you were also still in semi-wet clothing, and you finished your drink during the first half hour.

Which made sitting through the entire ordeal so much harder...

It was painfully obvious that the whole thing was planned just to upkeep appearances.

From the way Bruce and Dick had basically caged Damian in-between them with a steel loving grip on his shoulders to the way Jason sat alone in the very back, carefully placed away from the 'hidden' cameras and journalists that littered the crowd...

It was obviously all just a show.

Of comraderie, solidarity, love and family...

It made you sick.

It made you furious to the point of nausea.

The way Tim, Dick and Bruce all had a generic, PR-approved speech to go up and deliver for ten minutes...

The way Selina clung to Bruce like a wet napkin and whispered in his ear with an exaggerated pout...

The way Stephanie and Cassandra spent the whole three hours whispering and giggling back and forth like it was a fucking wedding and not a funeral.

But most of all, it pained you, watching the way little Damian Wayne had to sit and grit his teeth and bear it all in the front row. Trapped between his keepers like an animal who's expected to lash out at any moment...

It had you setting aside your grievances the moment you began to see yourself in him.

Had you hiding the bent remnants of your canister in your coat after discreetly taking your super powered frustration out on it once it was sufficiently empty.

The salt in the wound was the fact that the man leading the rites had blatantly never met Alfred before. He spent the first two hours droning on in vague metaphors and dramatic readings, with the last fifteen minutes of his time being dedicated to rambling on about nothing relevant to the man or occasion.

The last fourty five minutes were then reserved for Bruce to make his final comments and lead everyone in a joint, 'moment of rememberance.'

Fucking bullshit is what it all was, and you were regretting ever letting your guard down and allowing Dick guilt you into coming just to end up playing the part of the perfect family.

The ride back to the manor was swift and silent, thankfully.

You don't know if it was because Stephanie finally caught a hint or they caught onto your foul mood, but either way, you were grateful for the chance to mellow out.

Or, try to, at least.

Because as soon as you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by Damian and Bruce glaring at one another, Dick and Selina standing between them with a grimace.

"Damian, he didn't mean it–"

Dick didn't get to finish his sentence before Damian took off into the manor, slamming the doors open and closed hastily.

You rub the crease in your brow with a heavy sigh at the sight, ignoring everyone's concerned murmurs and strolling inside quietly. Quickly making your way to the second, unused, living room and straight towards the dusty fireplace.

Where, once again, you were greeted with a familiar smile, a teasing comment accompanying the sight, "Finally done being stubborn? Shall I fetch the matches?" His accent bleeds into your ears with an ease similar to the way your aunts would, and it has your heart sinking.

You decidely ignore the phantom this time, brushing past his nonexistent form to spark the fireplace to life.

Plopping down on the couch, you immediately slump into the cushions, closing your eyes and forcing all of your attention to the roar of the fire and the warmth seeping into your skin.

You take the moment to breathe through your emotions. Imagining all the anger, frustration and pain flowing out of you with every exhale, solitude and silence replacing the adrenaline and regret.

A choked, shuddering breath suddenly brings you out of your haze, eyes snapping open at the noise. You strain your hearing to the best of its ability, before your spider senses finally kick in and alert you to the additional presence in the room with you.

You can hear their heartbeat.

Loud. Strong, but irregular... Erratic. Like it was struggling to decide between speeding up and slowing down.

Their lungs follow a similar pattern, breaths catching and pausing in a sequence of stutters and sobs.

What had the hairs on the back of your neck raising, was that if it weren't for your spider senses, you wouldn't have known they were there at all.

Slowly, you drag your eyes along the wall before you, from the top corners where webs were beginning to form, down over the portraits and decorations littering the wall paper and all the way to the bottom trim– and the body huddled in the left corner of the room, furthest from the entryway.

Damians green eyes met your own in a defensive glare. The light of the fire reflecting off his glassy irises with a sickening glow, reminiscent of a cat in the night.

Not a bad comparison, for at the moment his defensive posture, forced scowl and weary eyes are similar to a cornered kitten.

You stare back at him in silence for a long moment, your own tired gaze eyeing him in the dim lighting with conflicting emotions.

You only speak when Damian shuffles slightly, muscles tensing in what you assume is the intention to flee, "Pretty shit service, huh? Alfred hated The Beatles." You snort, head slumping back onto the couch with a weak laugh.

You hear his shuffling stop. "I imagine he'd be strangling your dad right now for letting them play that song. If there was one thing he never played about it was his taste in music." Your lips quirk at the memory of Alfred's scowl whenever he spoke about his distaste of the band.

You close your eyes, allowing your sixth sense to take over and alert you to Damians presence drawing closer.

"It's kind of funny... Now that I'm thinking about it, they pulled the same shit at my mom's funeral too. My Tia was so upset, and I was so young that I didn't understand why–" You laugh weakly, "–I mean, it's just music right? What's the big deal. It's not like she could hear it anyway." You abruptly stop yourself, pausing to take a deep breath as Damians presence lingers beside the couch.

"But it's not just music. It's the fact that there were so many people there who insisted on helping out... and yet none of them actually knew her. They didn't care about her or know her favorite colors or songs. They didn't use her favorite pictures. Didn't put her favorite flowers in her casket. They didn't even put the right fucking name on her grave." You huff, eyes welling up with tears as you stare into the fireplace.

You take a second to compose yourself before you start again, voice low and heavy as Damian takes a hesitant seat on the furthest cushion from you, curling into the corner. "You know... Everyone always says it gets easier... That eventually, you stop crying when you think of them, and that your chest doesn't hurt as much when you talk about them but... It doesn't." You feel the movement through the couch as Damian flinches.

"I think everyone who says stuff like that is full of shit. Especially when they've never had to sit and watch someone they love die, without being able to do a damn thing about it." Your jaw clentches and you ignore the way Damian tenses beside you, giving him the gift of privacy for his vulnerability.

"I've been through it... More than I ever should have." You pause to swallow the lump in your throat, "I was ten when I watched my mom and step-dads murder from the kitchen closet..." You ignore his shocked stare, eyes trained on the burning logs before you, "Fifteen, when my girlfriend died in my arms. A month away from seventeen when my Tia was killed and I had to..." You stop there, taking a deep breath before changing your trajectory.

"They mean well. Dick... Bruce... All of them, the-they do. They care about you, and they want to make sure you're okay, which is why they're being so... suffocating." You smile sadly.

"But they don't get it. None of them will ever be able to get it..." You trail off hesitantly, "Bruce's parents died so long ago. He's forgotten the details, fogotten the pain that comes with witnessing the brutality." You huff, crossing your arms as you stare blankly into the flames, "Dick was so young when the accident happened that he doesn't even remember looking away." You frown, "Jason's mom wasn't mangled or mutilated–" You ramble, "–Barbara, Tim, and Duke's parents are all still alive, and Stephanie and Cassandra are no-contact with their families!"

You take a moment to catch your breath after your rant, face screwed up in a pathetic display of hurt and envy.

"... I'm not going to sit here and tell you that it'll get better. That he's in a better place or that a day will come when his death doesn't haunt you, but... I will tell you that it wasn't your fault." You finally turn to face him, placing a hand on the couch behind his head as you demand his attention.

"Damian. Look at me." You see him scowl, his eyes glued to the carpeted floor as he clutches his knees closer to his chest.

"Look at me." Your voice is stern, but quiet. Demanding, but not harsh.

He finally, hesitantly, draws his gaze to meet yours, angered face falling at your soft eyes and furrowed brows.

"There was nothing you could have done to save him." You hate yourself the moment the words leave your lips, but you push on, desperate to reassure the boy in a way you wish someone would have done to you.

"It was out of your control. There was nothing you could have done to stop Bane, and he was always going to kill him no matter what you did or didn't do. You are fourteen years old, and he's a grown ass man built like a fucking tank who's jacked up on a fucked steroid knockoff... You couldn't save Alfred, and that is not your fault." Your voice cracks with emotion, and you hand your head to hide your tears from Damians face as he quietly lets his own fall after.

You don't know how long the two of you sit in that room before someone finally finds you guys. Simply basking in one anothers presence and the solidarity that comes with your words as the fire dwindles by the minute.

Damian never spoke a word, but you can tell that your speech had left him with a lot to think about.

You didn't speak after that either, content to close your eyes and enjoy the calm stillness of the room.

Your clothes are finally dry by the time Jason stalks through the doorway, glaring at you suspiciously as he rounds the couch to eye Damian in disbelief.

"So this is where you ran off to? Hiding away with them, of all people? Do you know how long we've been looking for you!? His body–" You interrupt him with a scowl, pushing up from the couch to stand in front of him.

"You must really like the sound of your own voice, huh? You just never shut the fuck up–"

"What the hell did you say to me!?"

"So you're deaf now too? I said–" You pause at the feeling of a tug on the end of your jacket, looking back to see Damian glaring at the taller male with pained eyes.

The action has you speechless, voice caught in your throat at the first friendly contact he's ever made.

"Lets... Let's just go." You stutter, shoving past Jason with Damian hot on your heels, trailing your featherlight steps with his own silent patters.

You hear Jason stomping behind you but don't bother sparing a glance back, focusing instead on the nearly unnoticeable presence at your side.

Why the hell is he so quiet?

Not even Felix had your ears straining so much to hear him, and he's the most light-footed person you know.

The oddity only adds to your suspicion of Damian.

He's always been an enigma to you, ever since the day you met.

He's violent, arrogant and incredibly rude, but also concernedly disciplined and tense.

Quiet and confident, always eyeing the faces in the room like someone was about to jump out and attack.

He's analytical and defensive, but not paranoid.

He's everything that a kid his age shouldn't be... and it worries you.

Sets off the nerves that scream there's danger around. That something is out to get you and you need to be prepared.

You always shoved those thoughts aside, assuming he was just an angsty tween with a concerning fascination with blades.

Until he finally turned one on you, and you realized there was more to the story than Bruce was feeding you. His movements were too precise, too swift and comfortable for him to have just been in a blind rage. His strikes were carefully calculated, every one delivered with the intent to hit.

To kill.

And somehow, you were the bad guy for fighting back?

You shake your head to ride yourself of the thoughts, reminding yourself that it wasn't the time to dwell on such things.

Not when Alfred was waiting.

The three of you step into the garden in a lingering tense silence. Damian still lingered at your side, while Jason immediately took off to stand next to Cassandra and Barbara, who stared at you like you had grown another head.

You ignore their baffled stares as you grab an umbrella from the porch before walking closer, stopping a few feet away as you wait for the rest of the group.

Their hushed whispers and side glances don't bother you for long as your attention gets drawn to Bruce and the rest of the family, who finally make their appearance.

"Damian, there you are, we were worried..." Dicks voice trails off as he glances at you in shock, eyes darting between you and Damian confusedly.

You simply offer a shrug in response, still pretty confused yourself as Bruce looked like he's a second away from a heart attack at your proximity to the boy.

"If I knew there was a dress code, I wouldn't have worn this dress." Selina's sultry voice snaps everyone out of their confused, concerned stares as they turn to her.

She simply smiles and raises a brow as she gesture to where you, Bruce and Damian had all unintentionally clustered together. "Must be a Wayne thing, hm?" You glance down confusedly, before balking as the joke finally lands.

Bruce and Damian were almost carbon copies of one another with their black turtlenecks and matching blazers.

Glancing around, you notice Tim and Cassandra also looking at one another in amusement as they take in their matching black turtleneck sweaters.

You also spot Harper nudging Kate with a grin as the redhead tries to hide her own shirts collar behind her leather jacket.

Of course, you had also decided to wear a black turtleneck today... What a fucking coincidence...

You scowl at the reminder of the blood in your veins, turning to take off down the winding path to the graveyard as laughter rings out behind you.

You hear Damian huff, glancing down with a small smirk at the unamused frown decorating his face.

Everyone was quick to follow behind, and the light atmosphere was swiftly replaced with solemnity as the graveyard slowly came into view.

Damian eventually staggered back to walk next to Dick, and you laughed as you picked up on Dicks concerned questioning.

Like you were the one who had a history of violence...

The thought had you shaking your head in disappointment and hurt. The night at your apartment had you foolishly hoping that maybe he wasn't like the others. After all, he wasn't really around enough to know everything, simply believing whatever bullshit the others fed him. Maybe you guys could still work past your issues and... become friends?

You honestly don't know what you were thinking. He's just like everyone else.

He always was.

You come to a stop just before the burial site, throat closing at the sight of the casket hanging above the empty grave.

Bruce had opted for a closed casket... apparently, Bane hadn't just snapped Alfred's spine but actually crushed his entire head.

There wasn't much left to view.

Unlike the cathedral, there was no official schedule. No professional religious leader to spout nonsense and religious guilt. No reporters, no police, just family.

And you, of course.

Surprisingly, Barbara takes the lead. Taking a moment to read from some of Alfred's favorite verses and quote his favorite poets before moving on to reminisce about the man.

She speaks of the good times and brings smiles to everyone's faces when mentioning cherished memories.

The fact that none of them contained you only made you the slightest bit uncomfortable, since you were expecting it.

Didn't make it hurt any less, though.

Still, you had to give it to her. She did a good job. Better than you did.

Once she was done, Dick, Tim, Jason, Cassandra and Stephanie all took turns to say a few words as well.

Jason and Cassandra were very blunt, short with their words and quick to say what they wanted before pulling back to lurk in the shadows.

Tim and Stephanie spoke one after the other, and held each other's hand through it all. Tim choked on his words and Stephanie lightened the mood with a small quip that Alfred would have ripped his hair out at the state of everyone's attire.

Dick spoke for a few minutes about the man he considered a grandfather, but eventually had to stop as he could no longer muster words through the tears.

Kate, Selina and Harper all ended up next to you as Bruce encased his eldest in a desperate embrace, Damian hanging onto their coattails with barely concealed tears.

"You gonna say anything?"

"No. Doesn't feel appropriate, you?"

"No, I uhm– Didn't know him that well..."

"What about you?"

It takes them calling your name for you to realize that they were addressing you, turning your head to meet Harper and Kate's inquisitive stares with wide eyes.

"Oh. Uh– No. He uhm– He already knew everything I would want to tell him... H-He knows..." You nod shakily, moreso to reassure yourself than them as they offer you their own nods of understanding.

Selina is unnaturally silent as she lurks beside you, head trained on Bruce as she grazes her shoulder against yours.

"He misses you, you know. He regrets what happe–"

"If he really did then he'd be the one here telling me, not you."

Your voice is harsh when you cut her off, hand cracking the plastic of the umbrella in your hand as her words have you losing your composure at her audacity.

Her silence has you eyeing her from the corner of your eye, scoffing at her disapproving frown.

Alfred's casket is lowered just as the sun begins to set, the dark mahogany glistening in the remnants of the days fading light.

Everyone slowly makes their way back to the manor as Bruce begins shoveling dirt into the grave. Damian lingers beside him, watching the wood dissapear with haunted green eyes.

Dick walks with you on the path through the garden, a thick silence surrounding the two of you as you share your umbrella.

The rain had lessened considerably since your morning escapade, but it was still falling in a consistent drizzle. Enough to have you watching your step to avoid getting mud on your shoes.

"It was nice... seeing you– seeing everyone together for once..." Dick is hesitant with his words, and you can tell based on his rapid heartbeat that he's nervous about it.

"I think it'd be good to do it more... You know, it's not right that the only time everyone gets together like this is for weddings or funerals–" You roll your eyes with a weak smile, biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood to prevent yourself from spitting at him.

You'd never attended a wedding with them.

"–If... If you're not too busy.. I want to start having dinner with everyone, like this. Maybe once a month, or–"

"Dick, let's not do this." You cut him off with a choked whimper.

"Let's not pretend that everything's okay. That today changed anything between all of us." You laugh humorlessly, "Jason hates me. Bruce looks at me like I'm a bomb waiting to go off and everyone else thinks I'm unstable!" You stop yourself at the sudden rise of your voice, squeezing your eyes closed to gain a semblance of stability.

"The only reason I even came today was for Alfred. That's it." You sigh.

"I didn't come here planning to reconcile or start playing along with your guys' little happy family routine. I'll go back to my apartment, and you guys can continue on like I don't exist." Your voice is shakier than you'd intended, and you hate the way it has Dick looking at you.

"But what if you didn't–"

"I will. I am." You're stern with your words, eyes hardened as you meet his pleading gaze. "I'm not going to force myself to saty here and apologize or act like what I did was wrong. It's unfair of you to ask me to do that–"

"That's not what I'm–"

"–but it is!" You don't let him escape accountability.

"It is. You expect me to just ignore everything that happened, everything they said and did to me, just because you feel– what, guilty? Remorseful?" You scoff.

He's silent, and you pause as you finally reach the porch. "I'm done trying to fit in here. I don't belong, I never did... The one person who bothered trying to prove differently is dead... and I... I only regret leaving because it meant disappointing him."

Your words settle in the air with a weight that hangs on both of your shoulders like a brick.

Dick finally begins to understand the depth of your pain.

You begin to finally let go of your delusional dreams of having a father.

You depart from one another with a stiff embrace and the one-sided promise of fixing things.

Dick pays for your cab, and hands you Alfred's letter after scamming your phone number out of you.

You block his own as soon as he finishes putting it in.

Now you sit, shaking your head and giggling in disbelief at the contents, giggling in a fit of manic amusement. Salty tears trail your face as you grip the paper with trembling hands.

Forgive them.

Forgive yourself.

This world needs all the heroes it can get. Especially Gotham.

– Grandpa Al

Taglist <3: @onceinamillionposter , @jscrawls @bat1212 , @1abi , @cosmosluckycharms , @homeless-clown

Updates are going to slow down from now on bc this is the third series I have going on rn. I'll do my best to update at least once a month, possibly twice, depending on when I have time, but they'll all be pretty long. Not quite as long as this one tho, this chapter is a monster, I feel like it might even be a bit too long, lol.

Thank you all for the support <3

#VENOMOUS THINGS #x reader #reader insert #batfam x reader #batman #batfam #spiderman atsv #spiderman itsv #spider!reader #dc x marvel au #dc x reader

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goodomensafterdark · 1 year ago

Text

Writers Guild Presents - Tethered - Ch 7 - Memories

Big thank you to @gleafer for accepting to let me use this piece as illustration to this chapter! Go support her on Patreon -we promise that your loins will catch on FIRE ;)

Written by NegotiationReal6508 on our subreddit!

Chapter 7 of work in progress

TW/CW: Angst, Discussion of attempted suicide, implied character death, panic attack, some light smut.

Summary:

Crowley wakes up in a mental hospital with no memory of how he got there. Without his demonic powers, neither the doctors, nor the people who claim to be his family will believe he is who he says he is. With the evidence against him mounting, his only lifeline to the real world is a cryptic note left by an unseen messenger. The longer he stays in this hospital, the harder it becomes to recall for sure, is Crowley really a demon of Hell? Or has his entire existence been nothing more than a delusion conjured by a grieving mind?

Excerpt:

Crowley stood in a noisy airport at the arrivals gate holding a bouquet of red roses, fidgeting nervously. All of his usual laidback swagger was buried under a blanket of anxiety, his spine was a solid metal rod. He was always a little bouncy when Aziraphale came to visit, but this time was different. Crowley hopped his feet up and down like the floor was burning hot sand. He juggled the little box in his jacket pocket as he stared at the sliding glass doors, willing the familiar head of blond hair to appear through them. Were the roses too cliché? Maybe he should have gotten the peonies instead. Too late now.

“There, I see him.” Crowley turned to the young man beside him. “Are you recording?”

“Yeah, it's on,” said Adam.

“Right, here he comes.” Crowley shook out his shoulders and trilled his lips. He knew he looked ridiculous, but it was an airport; no one ever looked their best at an airport. He moved towards the beacon that was Aziraphale’s gleaming smile. His heart thudded like hoofbeats in his chest. Breathe, he reminded himself. Breathing and walking, those were the two main requirements at the moment. He had no idea what his facial expression was, he just hoped he was smiling too. God, Aziraphale was so gorgeous, even after eight hours on a plane. How was that even possible?

“Hello, my darling!” Aziraphale greeted him.

“Hi,” said Crowley, because that was about as eloquent as he could manage. He unceremoniously handed the bouquet to Aziraphale.

“Oh my!” Aziraphale chuckled. “Flowers? What's the occasion?”

And there was Crowley’s opening. Aziraphale was reaching out his arms for an embrace but Crowley needed to do what he came to do first. He bent down on one knee, and pulled the little box from his pocket.

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Or start from chapter 1 - Dies Lunae

Special thanks to my beautiful betas: u/KotiasCamorra, u/Paperclip_Ninja

#good omens after dark #goad #good omens #good omens fanfic #writers of after dark #writers guild presents #good omens fanart #artists of after dark

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chezzywezzy · 11 months ago

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Yandere Michael Myers (1/3)

Word Count; 3.7k

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I rolled onto my side, hand slamming down on the alarm. A groggy yawn escaped my lips. Daylight cascaded past the curtains. Normally, I’d loiter a little longer, but it was my first day at a new job, and I was carpooling with Irene, a sweet neighbor and mother of four with whom I became acquainted.

So, I stepped out of bed and went to the bathroom, going through my morning routine with extra care. I was tired, but despite that, motivated. After all, it was my first job straight out of college after having received my nursing degree. Sure, the job would probably be more intense than most… but my parents wanted me to return home.

I finished up a thin layer of makeup and got dressed. I supposed that I wouldn’t need to be all flashy since I’d be wearing a nursing outfit upon arrival, but I still wanted to leave a good impression on my new boss, Samuel Loomis.

I took my time eating breakfast. I was quite nervous, but I knew things would go smoothly. Sure, working at a sanitarium could be unsafe, but even the most dangerous members of society deserve to be treated with humanity.

It was approaching half-past-eight, so I zoomed out the door. Irene was parked out front and I walked up to the car. I opened the door, greeting,” Hey, Irene!”

“Good morning, Y/n,” the black-haired Asian woman greeted.

We headed through Haddonfield. The radio was turned to a minimum. We made some small talk on the drive, eventually exiting the main town and venturing through some forestry. We eventually approached the Smith’s Grove Sanitarium. I fiddled with my bag.

The guards let us through the front gate after confirming our identities. Irene parked near the front of the dismal grey building. All of the barred windows were off-putting. It must’ve gotten cold during the winter.

“I hope you can last,” Irene sighed. “This job can be… stressful. It depends on who your assigned patients are, though. Mine are fairly nice, but some of our coworkers have experienced violence. And infrequently, death.”

Shivers rolled down my spine. I mustered no reply. We went to the front desk. “Hi, sir. I’m a new employee. Where am I supposed to go?” I asked the attendant, leaning against the counter.

He sent me a small smile. “I’ll call Doctor Loomis. He always insists on showing new employees around himself.”

He reached for the phone and pressed a button, calling for Doctor Loomis. Meanwhile, I sent Irene off since she had more pressing matters.

A middle-aged man emerged from one of the doors a few minutes later. I recognized him immediately, as his book was incredibly popular, even today.

“Hello, sir!”

The man sent me a warm grin. “You must be Ms. L/n. There’s no time to waste. Let me show you around.”

“Great! Thank you for this opportunity, sir.”

A tour began. I was shaking in my boots, but hardly from the circumstances. I felt more at home in the sanitarium than in any other place, but I was determined to make a good impression on her new boss. The tour seemed almost redundant; it was as though I hadn’t been thoroughly introduced to the map in my pocket already.

“I have a patient that I’d like you to take special care of. Of course, there will be others, but this one… needs someone with such a sunny disposition such as yourself,” Dr. Loomis explained. “I’m sure you’ve heard and perhaps grown up with the stories of this particular patient: Michael Myers. He is a renowned serial killer.”

“Yes,” I replied chipperly. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“Good, because you are going to right now.”

The abruptness took me aback. Anxiety attempted to curl against my insides, but I didn’t allow it. We halted in front of a door that was far sturdier than the others; the door looked fresh and new, which told a story all of its own. Dr. Loomis withdrew keys from his pocket and inserted one. I couldn’t help but gulp.

The door squeals open. I anticipate the deadpan stare as the man and I make immediate eye contact. I had only heard of his strange mask, but never had I seen what he actually looked like: brown, tussled, and overgrown hair. A sharp jawline. Bright blue eyes. Broad and tall. Everything that, under normal circumstances, would make a girl’s heart flutter. But mine was still. He sat in a perfect posture on the bed, and thick metal cuffs gave him little to no freedom with a chain stuck in the wall.

“Michael. This is Y/n, your new nurse. I hired her to attend to — almost exclusively — your needs. I hope you two can get along. Ms. L/n?” Dr. Loomis introduced, ushering me in.

I grinned, trying to shake off the nerves. “Hello, Michael. I look forward to helping you out. Take it easy on me while I get used to the job, alright?”

“Very good. Now, Ms. L/n will get your lunch medication.”

I was startled but eagerly nodded, having already been shown and trained the how of it all. “Yes. It was wonderful to meet you, Michael.”

As Dr. Loomis and I exited, I felt his gaze glued to me. It was rather unnerving.

Ten minutes later, alone and armed only with my alarm, cell key, and medications, I returned. I took a deep breath. Little did Loomis know, but I had a vague history with Michael Myers. Although we never spoke, he had been in my kindergarten class all the way to when he went on a murder spree. I couldn’t help but wonder if he knew me, too.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t want to work at this specific sanitarium, even though it was my dream job. However, due to parental pressure, I was urged not to leave the area. Coincidentally, this was the only place hiring. Michael Myers was old enough that my parents didn’t bat an eye when I mentioned where I would be working, so it all fit together perfectly.

I entered the room with the small metal tray. Michael hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes bore into me — or perhaps beyond me — and his fists were still clenched in his lap. “Now, although I’m new,” I began,” I’m sure you know the drill. A few pills and a shot.”

I approached warily. Michael did nothing but blink. I sat the tray down on the bedside table, my moves calculated. I grabbed the styrofoam cup of water and handed it to him. He downed his pills with ease and took the shot like a champ. It put me on edge how still the man was. I carefully sat on the bed next to him.

“Although I was advised against breaching the five feet of the chain’s length, I hope you won’t mind. I just… wanted you to get to know me a little since I’ll be working closely with you.” His gaze flitted toward me, cold. “I just recently graduated from nursing school with a specialization in psychiatrics. I was born and raised in Haddonfield, the same as you. And this kind of job is my dream job since I believe that even criminals deserve care and to be treated as humans. So, Michael, I hope you understand that I will do my best to ensure you are well cared for, even in these conditions.”

As I expected, there was hardly any indication he had heard me at all. I stood and nodded. “Anyways, I believe it’s time for lunch. I’ve heard you aren’t allowed to eat with the others, but… I’m hoping I can change that.”

~~~

And change that I did. Dr. Loomis was surprised by Michael’s supposed ‘obedience,’ which had been there from the start. By the time he allowed me to take him to the cafeteria, I had been working there for two months. And although I watched closely, I had hardly noticed any changes in his behavior. My coworker, Irene, convinced me otherwise. With the dangerous stunts I’d been pulling proximity-wise, it was shocking that I had yet to end up like the others.

I wasn’t one to play dumb. I knew that Michael had the highest kill count with the nurses. With giant hands and a large body, he could easily overpower me, but the encouragement I’d gotten from my superiors kept me going. And today was major progress.

Guards clutched at his elbows as we walked down the sanitarium halls. I frowned slightly, knowing that if Michael wanted to do anything, he certainly could, cuffs or otherwise. I walked slightly ahead, having been entrusted with the keys to the cuffs. Although Michael would be somewhat separated, Dr. Loomis believed this to be major news for Michael’s rehabilitation — and now, the doctor was supporting me in risky endeavors.

I grabbed lunch for him as the guards settled him in the corner of the cafeteria. Eyes from the other patients were stuck to me, as I’d only been vaguely introduced. I. Mainly worked with Michael, although I covered a shift for the nurse who works with Marcus — and I understood why she called off so often.

Marcus was an interesting subject. He was a serial rapist, and it showed. Despite his history, Dr. Loomis often had female nurses working with him. And when I did, he did nothing but spit cruel, perverse cat calls at me. I heard a familiar whistle and knew it had come from his general area. I wasn’t surprised that the serial killer made me more comfortable than the rapist.

I returned to Michael with his food. His eyes bore into me, and I smiled. “Now, Michael, I had to pull many strings for this. I hope you appreciate this, but I’m allowed to remove your cuffs for a more comfortable eating experience.”

Michael's eyes flickered to his hands and back to me. I noticed his lips twitched, too. Progress, I chanted in my head. This was progress.

The guards took the handcuffs and held them tightly. They were trained to assess everyone and everything as a threat. Michael was slow and calculated, rolling his wrists. He then took his fork and ate. A sense of intrigue fell over the other patients, and some of the other nurses had their eyes glued to Michael’s form. They were waiting for a freakout that wouldn’t happen, either because Michael was making progress or because he wasn’t dumb enough to plan a breakout in this environment.

Mealtime passed without a hitch. I spent the entire time saddled up beside him. My job felt meaningful as I sat with him. When it was time for him to be escorted back to his room, I told Michael I would see about more comfortable handcuffs for him. Exiting the cafeteria was without hitches, minus a loud holler from Marcus, to which I couldn’t help but notice how Michael’s hands clenched.

When he was safely back in his cell, I decided to try another risky maneuver; I set him free from his restraints and sat beside him on the bed. Michael was still; he always was. I cleared my throat, beginning my typical speech of positivity.

“I know it probably seems silly to you, Michael, but I’m quite proud of you. I’m glad you’re challenging expectations here. You’re really making progress, whether you admit to it or not, and I thank you for that.”

~~~

Or so I thought. That night, my landline awoke me from a deep slumber. I thought nothing of it, deciding I wouldn’t be a pushover and pick up another night shift at work. However, the ringing persisted. And when it stopped momentarily, it came again.

I rolled out of bed. My hair was disheveled, and my purple silk pajamas — a gracious housewarming gift from my mother — were crumpled and twisted slightly. I shuffled downstairs, the ringing getting louder the closer I grew. I finally made it to the phone.

“Hello —“

“L/n, you need to get down here right now! It’s an emergency —“

“Dr. Loomis, what —“

“He’s gone on a rampage. Twelve nurses are dead, and so are five patients —“

“I’ll be right there!”

The line went dead instantly. My mouth no longer felt dry. I was fully alert, although some sleep persisted in the creases of my eyes. I dashed upstairs and pulled on my earlier clothes, which lay scattered on the ground. With that, I made it to my bright blue buggy and drove to my endangered work site.

I’m not entirely sure what motivated me. I thought the police would better handle the situation, and it felt as though all of my efforts had been reduced to nothing. Something had set him off. But I wasn’t a therapist. I shouldn’t have crossed that boundary of trying to give him opportunities.

I pulled into the parking lot.

The moment I exited the car, I heard screaming. Several police cars were parked in front of the sanitarium's entrance. A group of police officers was huddled, but even they seemed worried. I pushed past despite warnings to remain outside. I dashed through the entrance. I followed the sound of the screams.

And upon entering the prisoner hallways, I found her. My dear friend and coworker, Irene. She lay in the middle of the hallway as a twitching, bloody mess. A weapon had clearly been used: the handcuffs. Her head was bashed in, but there was also bruising around her throat. She’s been bashed and choked to death.

The halls were eerily silent. All of the cells had been unlocked. Some of the patients’ corpses were scattered. All of this destruction… was done by one man.

What had I done? What part of Michael had I unlocked?

I skulked down the hallways. Where were the guards? Where were the police? Where was anybody?

I passed by deceased coworkers as I skulked carefully down the hallways. Occasionally, some of the corpses released dying breaths, but I was certain I was following the blood. And then, as I glanced at the floor, I noticed the smears stopped and bloody footsteps began. The feet were large, and the shoe prints belonged to prisoner shoewear. I gulped, recognizing that the footsteps went straight toward the cafeteria entrance. Worst of all, if Michael discovered the back exit for the cafeteria staff, he would be free.

The doors were wide open, and one was even off the hinges. I stood in the entrance. It was pitch black inside, although the lights sometimes flickered on and off. The footsteps seemed to fade out very quickly into the cafeteria.

I gulped and took a step back. What was I thinking? That I could confront him? The man was a mammoth and a maniac. I was just the nurse who supported his development. He probably hated my guts, despite what Dr. Loomis thought.

None of the bodies belonged to Dr. Loomis. So where was he? And where was Michael?

I wasn’t left wondering for very long. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some postils gleaming from the hallway to my right. The police were here, and I was nothing more than bait. No wonder they let me through so easily. Shivers rolled down my spine, and I took two steps into the blackness of the cafeteria.

As the lights flickered on, I saw him. He was holding the corpse of Marcus, that damned patient. I didn’t feel too bad about him, but I was shaking in my boots as the body fell to the ground, and Michael’s gaze turned directly toward me.

His expression had not changed from that of any other day. Cold. Calm. Empty.

And as though he was gliding, he made a beeline toward me. So many questions about his escape flashed through my cranium, and all I could do was freeze in place. A scream remained silent in my throat as I put my trust in the police to be right behind me. My fists clenched, and I opened my mouth just as Michael was a few feet away from me.

“Michael, stop!”

He did.

That made my heart drop to my stomach. However, I realized I did hold some power. I was waiting desperately for the police to enter and intervene, but they were waiting. I decidedly didn’t want them to and took a step back. Michael tilted his head, unblinking. He stayed frozen in place. A plastic knife with the handle broken off was in his bloodied hands, and I noticed some gelatin goo was sticking to the tips. His jumpsuit was drenched and sprayed, as was his face. His hair had never looked more tussled. And even without smiling, he had never seemed more gleeful.

“Michael, what… what is happening? Why did you… do this?”

Before Michael could even think, shuffling footsteps came from behind me. My jaw dropped as an arm suddenly looped around my waist and pulled me away. But Michael just stood standing still as gunshots drilled into his chest. And then, finally, he dropped.

~~~

“Ms. L/n, I understand —“

“No, Dr. Loomis, you don’t,” I pleaded, my aggravation present. “Michael is alive and detained. Something I did set him off, or he was planning it. Nothing I can do will help. I refuse to return to work. I am quitting, effective immediately.”

Dr. Loomis, from behind his work desk, suddenly banged his fists into the desk. “L/n! I know it’s been hard on everyone, but we need you here. We’ve lost twelve nurses. The nurse-to-patient ratio isn’t adding up. The sanitarium is overrun and, if even for the short term, we need you here. I know what we went through was hard, and what happened here can’t happen again.”

“But it will. Does anyone even know how he escaped?” I quipped snappily. “He never even managed to escape his handcuffs. He didn’t need to. So who’s to say it won’t happen again?”

“Because he is being sent away to a sanitarium called Smith’s Grove Sanitarium. It has a high level of security, far better than ours —“

“Good. But that doesn’t mean I am capable of returning to work. I am leaving now, Dr. Loomis.”

With an exasperated expression, Dr. Loomis grasped at the air where I once sat. I didn’t glance back as I exited the office. And I didn’t spare any moments to analyze my surroundings until I was in my car on the road heading far, far away from the sanitarium.

My parents, having finally connected the dots about my job, had been scared shitless. Luckily, it was summer, and the Haddonfield High School was hiring for a new biology position. I was planning to apply to keep things rolling. Deep down, though, I just wanted to ditch this town and escape the parental pressures I was forced into. It was a little late for that, though. The damage had been done.

~~~

For class that day, I had been gracious. I put on the Charlie Brown Halloween movie and sat at my desk. I couldn’t help but notice that as most kids were either passing notes, doodling, or watching, I had one student whose eyes were glued to the window. Laurie had her pen stuck in her mouth as she adamantly stared out.

Suddenly, Laurie looked rather alarmed and made direct eye contact with me. “Ma’am?”

“Yes, Laurie?”

“Can - can I go to the bathroom?”

I paused, glancing out the window for myself. A car was driving away. “Yes, Laurie, go ahead.”

Some of the kids snickered, to which I sent a stern glare. I went back to grading papers, instead getting lost in thought. Teaching was hardly my calling. I was a natural stutterer in the wrong element and did not enjoy disciplining undisciplined children. I also felt that it was dull to go back to the basics, which I would probably end up doing year after year with no change. I knew I had a lot of liberty and the job paid well, but it wasn’t like my time at the sanitarium, with doubled paychecks and a routine that wasn’t up to me. However, I promised my parents to stick around until a better job opportunity popped up.

The movie credits were suddenly rolling, and a student alerted me from my position. Laurie had rejoined the group at some point. I flicked off the television.

“Well, since I’m everybody’s favorite teacher, and it’s Halloween, why don’t you all just head out early? Class dismissed. Don’t cause any ruckus. I’m looking at you, Tommy.”

I sent a friendly grin, and the students whooped and hollered. Laurie only glanced away from the window and began packing her things. Laurie was a good student: studious, communicative, and attentive. Perhaps movie days just weren’t her style. Several students came up to talk to me in a line after class, wishing me a happy holiday or asking about grades. Laurie slunk out of the classroom quietly.

After the classroom had been evacuated, I sighed, and out of morbid curiosity, I wandered over to Laurie’s seat. I was taken aback as I recognized that the car from earlier had returned, but even more disturbing, a tall figure with a white mask and brown hair loomed over the vehicle. He made direct eye contact with me.

My brain began processing so many horrors all at once. I hadn’t thought about Michael specifically in months, but it all came flooding back. His history… but it was also Halloween. And no news had come to me about Michael’s escape. Not from Dr. Loomis or the papers.

Regardless, I stumbled back, blinking at the masked figure. We maintained a long, steady eye contact. Even when a man walking his dog strolled on the opposite side of the street, I knew the masked figure’s gaze remained glued to me.

It couldn’t be Michael. It was a creepy Halloween prank…

I steeled myself and wandered back to my desk. I hurriedly packed up, abandoning the biology tests on the desk in a flurry. Prank or otherwise, I was thoroughly disturbed and wanted to escape that man’s gaze.

When I glanced out the window one last time, the car and man were long gone.

#yandere #x y/n #x reader #self insert #yandere x reader #yandere slashers #michael myers #halloween #halloween 1978 #slashers #michael myers x reader #yandere michael myers

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interlunium-opus · 6 months ago

Text

►DANCING WITH THE DEVIL #004: FINALE [Sunghoon.]

Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale

Abstract: Eight years have passed since you betrayed Park Sunghoon, leaving his fate shrouded in uncertainty. You thought you'd left that world behind, but the serial killings in the capital city —which bore a haunting resemblance to that in your past—pulled you right back into the shadows you once escaped. What began as a quest to prove your worth soon unraveled into something far more sinister: a labyrinthine network of power, deceit, and danger hidden beneath a veneer of opulence.Now, amidst the grandeur of a castle steeped in blood-soaked tradition, you find yourself, once again, entangled with Sunghoon—a ghost from your past whose motives remain as inscrutable as ever. The stakes are now higher, the games deadlier, and survival feels like chasing a mirage. As you navigate a web of twisted rituals and deadly alliances, the tension between you and Sunghoon ignites once again.But this time, the game is different. With whispers of betrayal and lingering wounds threatening to consume you both, you must decide if trust is a risk worth taking—because in doing so, you are not just exposing the truths they've hidden, but also the feelings you’ve fought so hard to suppress and bury.

Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale

Genre: vampire!sunghoon | horror | thriller | fantasy | romance (or is it? 😋)||| wc: ~13.2k

Featuring: Anton from Riize. [ PSA! ] There's also a Jaeyun here -- this is actually Enhypen Jake lol. Soz, no one fits the role that Jaeyun has in here better than Dark Blood Jake so I plead you guys to just go along and imagine that the Jake in Part 1-3 and Jaeyun in this Part are two different people ((who happen to look alike)) HAHAH

Warnings: blood; violence; injuries (some are self-inflicted); suggestiveness (some are forced); mentions of crimes (missing persons, murder, serial killings); manipulation; toxicity; trauma.

A/N: because Part 4 is too long, I had to split it into two parts and this is the 2nd part, the Finale. So if you're new to Part 4, please start with the Prelude first if you haven't :>

— xi

The gates groaned open, their rusted hinges echoing like a death knell through the oppressive stillness. Beyond them, the maze stretched into darkness, its towering hedges jagged and irregular, as if the structure itself had grown wild and angry over centuries. You stood among the others at the entrance, the flickering torchlight casting distorted shadows across their pale faces. Fear lingered in the air, clinging like smoke.

The host’s voice rang out, its unnerving cheer slicing through the tension. “Thirty minutes!” he announced. “That’s the grace period you’ve earned, dear victors. Thirty minutes to navigate the maze and claim your freedom. Once the thirty minutes is up, your claimants will descend and should you get captured then your fate is sealed in blood and eternity."

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the night, and chaos erupted. Humans surged forward like a desperate tide, plunging into the maze’s gaping maw.

It didn’t take long for the maze to reveal its true nature.

Branches lunged like claws, snagging at clothes and tearing through skin. You flinched as a woman ahead of you stumbled, her sleeve caught and shredded. Blood welled from her arm, the crimson stark against her pale skin. A man further ahead tripped, his cry piercing as a hidden root twisted around his ankle, sending him sprawling. His hand scraped against a jagged stone, a deep gash splitting his palm.

“It’s a... trap,” you muttered under your breath, the pieces clicking into place. Every twisted path seemed designed to injure, every branch poised to tear flesh. Every movement, every stumble left behind the scent of blood, marking them like a beacon. The maze wasn’t a challenge; it was a slaughterhouse, designed to render them helpless before the hunt even began.

You glanced back toward the castle, your breath catching as you spotted the vampires in the Grand Hall beyond the glass-paneled windows. Warm light spilled out, casting golden reflections on the darkened grounds. They lounged at long tables, wine glasses glinting in their hands as they laughed and gestured. It wasn’t chaos to them; it was entertainment. A grotesque theater of blood and desperation, framed perfectly for their amusement.

Resolve hardened in your chest. You weren’t going to play their game.

Turning sharply, you broke away from the panicked crowd and ran back toward the castle. The thought struck you with chilling clarity as your feet pounded against the ground: the staff had been dismissed, the mortals were in the maze. The castle wasn’t just the safest place to escape the hunt—it was the perfect trap as inside those walls, only vampires remained.

There was no way you would let the maze tear you apart piece by piece. If they wanted a game, you’d give them one on your own terms. And so with bold and calculated steps, you headed back, but instead of the Grand Hall where vampires lounged with glasses of wine in hand, reveling in their twisted theater of blood and desperation, you headed deeper—to the cellar you’d stumbled upon yesterday while frantically searching for a first-aid kit after finding Sunghoon bloodied at the foot of your bed.

Back then, you hadn’t paid much attention—your mind consumed with stopping the bleeding. But the sight had lingered: towering racks of bottles and colossal barrels stacked like monoliths. Most importantly, you recalled how the cellar was situated directly beneath the Grand Hall—a precarious foundation for a room already weathered by centuries. Its position alone made it a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Now, as you descended the spiral staircase once more, your steps were deliberate, your breaths steady. The cellar stretched before you, even larger than you’d remembered. Rows of barrels lined the space, their labels faded but still legible in the dim light: port, sherry, even brandy. The air was thick, carrying the faint tang of aged wine and the sharper bite of spirits—a volatile combination.

You moved quickly, tipping barrels one by one. Thick liquid gushed out, pooling across the stone floor in a growing lake. As the pungent scent of wine filled the air, an idea struck you: a trail. The fire couldn’t stay confined to the cellar—it needed to climb, to reach the vampires in their gilded cage above.

Grabbing an uncorked bottle from the shelves, you dipped it into the pooling wine and began creating a path. The liquid splashed as you worked, leaving a continuous, glistening line up the stairs and toward the hall’s entrance. When the first bottle ran dry, you spotted a smaller cask labeled lamp oil. Without hesitation, you tipped it into the mix, thickening the trail. Your hands moved with precision, painting a path meant to spark chaos.

At the top of the staircase, you paused, heart pounding. The torchlight flickered in your grip as you surveyed your work. The lake of wine and spirits in the cellar. The trail snaking upward. The puddle pooling at the hall’s threshold. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. You recalled overhearing a maid speaking about the Grand Hall—its ancient foundations riddled with cracks and shored up by makeshift supports. If any place in the castle would collapse under fire, it was here.

But, as your surveyed the trail you'd left, you knew it wasn’t enough. You needed chaos. You needed to bait them. You need to cover all the loopholes. Maximise the impact.

So you swiftly reached for the dagger concealed in your garter belt, your eyes darting for a spot to make the sacrifice. Your forearm. Without hesitation, you pressed the blade against your skin, slicing deeper than ever before—this time, you needed more. A sharp sting shot through you, making your breath hitch, but you didn’t falter. Blood welled instantly, warm and vivid, tracing the edge of the wound like liquid fire. With hurried yet deliberate steps, you smeared your blood on the walls leading down to the cellar.

All your near-death interactions with vampires teaches you one important thing: they do not think when it comes to fresh blood when desperation hits.They are creatures of impulse and in the desperation stoked by an inferno—yet another exploitable weakness—the smoke and heat would confuse their senses, leaving the scent of fresh blood as their only compass. Thus, just like how the maze was meant to draw blood—you’d turned their weapon against them, your blood would lead them straight to the hottest part of the castle.

Once you decided blood had strategically been spread enough in certain key locations, you wrapped a torn fabric from your gown tightly—trying to staunch the bleeding before you set your plan in motion.

Your torch flickered ominously, its light casting jagged shadows across the stone walls. It was time.

Crouching low, you ignited the flammable trail at the midpoint of the staircase. Immediately, flames surged to life, spreading upward and downward with terrifying speed. The fire roared as it consumed the path you’d created, its glow painting the narrow corridor in hues of gold and crimson.

You didn’t wait to see the inferno take hold. Spinning on your heel, you darted into a nearby passage—a maid’s shortcut you had overheard during your time wandering the castle. The narrow corridor was damp, the air thick with mildew, but it offered a chance to slip past the chaos you’d unleashed.

When you emerged, the familiar Eastern end of the Corridors of Treachery loomed before you, its twisting halls stretching endlessly into shadow. But this time, you didn’t falter. One last thing, you thought, your steps confident and resolute as you opened a door—the Library.

This was your next target.

The blaze below would cripple them, but the knowledge contained in this room—the ancient texts, the records of their lineage and power—it needed to be destroyed. If the castle was to fall, their legacy must, too, for every words here were like poison, waiting to be unleashed by the next power-hungry bloodsucker.

Your steps were steady as you made your way to the shelves, already knowing where to go. The Obsidian Testament waited for you in its usual place, its ominous presence untouched even amidst the growing chaos. The moonlight spilled through the tall windows, catching the hidden coat of arms engraved on its cover—a silent reminder of Sunghoon’s bloodline, regal and intricate, yet tainted by the weight of its history.

Without hesitation, you lit the edge of the book, watching as the flames began their ravenous work. The coat of arms—so proud, so immovable—gradually crumbled under the heat. You hurled it onto a growing pile of texts, the fire spreading hungrily across the brittle pages.

Let it all burn.

“I knew it was you—" a voice pierced through the sound of crackling flames and the ominous groan of weakening wood.

Jaeyun.

He strode forward with a deliberate, menacing pace, his hand sweeping back his golden hair in a single, frustrated motion. The movement exposed his sharp, angular features. Gone was the mischievous grin that had once softened him, replaced by a cold, predatory expression that turned his beauty into something terrifying.

“I was going to grant you an escape and this—" he roared, “is how you repay me?!”

“As if,” you spat scornfully, “I saw the layout of the maze the other day from the tower–it’s a labyrinth, all towering hedges and twisting paths. No flowers, no statues, no space for anything but confusion. So the moment you told me of statues as the hint for escape, I knew you were trying to bait me."

He scoffed, dragging his sword behind him, the blade scraping against the ground with a grating hiss. The nearby flames cast flickering shadows across his face, making his sneer all the more menacing, “I get it now. You chose me exactly because you needed me here. If you had chosen Sunghoon, you knew I’d left the castle and gone after you–"

You stepped back instinctively, his sneer slowly twisting, faltering into a grimace that betrayed the quiet fury simmering beneath the surface. “You chose me,” he continued, each word dripping with venom, “to trick him. To let him escape this carnage you’ve been planning.”

He didn’t flinch as burnt books tumbled from the crumbling shelves, landing in smouldering heaps around him. His grimace deepened, a bitter edge curling his lips. “How disgustingly cliché.”

“You read too much fairytales.” you hissed, your voice cutting through the crackling of the flames. “I chose you because I knew what a narcissistic, overconfident, manipulative prick you are. I knew you’d let your guard down the moment your name is picked and that is all I needed to take this whole place down. To take the rot down.”

The taunt landed like a strike, and Jaeyun lunged. His speed was startling, and before you could react, your back slammed against a nearby wall. The impact forced the breath from your lungs, your body pinned as his eyes—blazing with a fury to match the fire—bore into yours.

Fuck, you thought, the heat pressing against your skin, the air growing heavier with smoke. At this rate, even you might not escape the fire.

But you’d banked on this. Vampires were slaves to their emotions when pushed to the brink. Jaeyun could have fled. He could have saved himself. Instead, here he was, his rage blinding him to the inferno that threatened to consume them both.

“I can still reap you now,” he snarled, his fangs elongating to their full, menacing length. “You’d be my 100th you know. Two cycles of reaping, countless bodies left in my wake, and still standing. Do you think your little bonfire will end me? Pray harder.”

His hand tightened around your throat, pressing you harder against the wall. The pressure wasn’t just threatening—it was exactly what you needed. His body leaned closer, his focus narrowed to you and his fury. This was the calculated risk you’d taken: baiting him to lose control, to get close enough for you to finish this. And he had proven you right.

You could have fled, but you hadn’t. You’d gambled on his inability to walk away from the stage you’d set ablaze. Jaeyun, the cunning puppeteer, wouldn’t let his masterpiece burn without trying to stop it. His pride wouldn’t allow it. And now, blinded by anger, he failed to notice the flames inching closer, the smoke curling around his form.

“Big talk,” you rasped, your voice steady beneath his crushing grip. “And yet… you’ve already lost.”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion cutting through the storm of rage. For a split second, his body tensed—but then his gaze dropped.

There, plunged deep into his abdomen, was your dagger. The blade caught the firelight, its hilt adorned with a small charm bearing Sunghoon’s crest. The ruby glinted wickedly, its light reflecting the chaos of the flames around you.

Jaeyun’s grip faltered, his hand loosening slightly as blood, dark and thick, bloomed through his shirt, and you didn’t hesitate. Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you shoved him off, wrenching the blade free as you bolted out of the library. The flames roared louder now, licking hungrily at the walls, their heat pressing against your back.

But you didn’t make it far. A force barrelled into you, slamming you to the ground with a weight that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Fucking get off me—” you gasped, twisting under his grip.

Jaeyun was on top of you, pinning you with an iron hold. His nails had elongated into claws, sharp and gleaming in the firelight. He pressed them against your neck, just enough to draw thin lines of blood.

“Look at you—squirming like a wounded rabbit. How adorable,” he murmured, his voice soft but dripping with cruel amusement. His weight crushed you against the stone floor, unforgiving and cold beneath you. He forced your head to an unnatural angle, his claws digging deeper, anchoring you helplessly in place.

"Haven't you heard? struggling makes the blood sweeter," he drawled, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, his breathing hot and heavy, "so go ahead—struggle all you want, you are just sweetening my feast."

His tongue dragged across the cut he’d made, slow and deliberate, a mocking gesture that sent a shiver of revulsion down your spine. “Ah,” he exhaled sharply, shuddering in such a revolting way, “there it is—so much sweeter when you fight.” The words dripped from his lips like venom, each syllable a mockery of your helplessness. He lingered, the softness of his lips a deliberate contrast to the sharp sting of his claws. It was as if he was deliberately prolonging the act to rattle you—to cut where it hurts the most: your autonomy and dignity.

“Do you think he tasted you like this?” he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of the wound in deliberate malice and intimacy, relishing in your revulsion and savouring the power he held over you and every flicker of your discomfort. “Or is this my privilege alone?”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I wonder…” he murmured, his voice curling with mock tenderness, “does he know how much sweeter you become when you squirm?” His claws pressed harder, the sharp sting blossoming into pain, his next words cutting deeper than his nails ever could. “Or is that just for me too?”

The sharpness of his teeth grazed your neck, far too close, far too sharp—sharper than you remembered Sunghoon’s ever being. Your breath hitched, panic clawing at the edges of your mind, the firelight around you seeming to flicker with your racing pulse. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable—

But then instead of pain. You felt the weight lifted.

A rush of air and heat overwhelmed you as Jaeyun was torn away. Your body trembled, the world tilting for a moment. When you clambered back to your feet, you saw them—two figures clashing across the corridor, their movements a blur amidst glowing embers and smoke-choked air.

Sunghoon and Jaeyun.

The firelight cast jagged shadows across the walls, illuminating the ferocity of their battle.

Sunghoon’s strikes were calculated, but desperation bled into each swing of his blade—precise yet strained. His strength, though formidable, seemed frayed at the edges, each swing costing him more than the last. As he stepped closer to the firelight, you saw it clearly: the cuts marring his face and the dark smudges of ash clinging to his disheveled clothing. He must’ve faced other vampires on his way here, you thought.

In contrast, Jaeyun moved with unnerving ease, his blows quick and unrelenting, each one a chilling display of power. The oppressive heat and smoke clawed at the air, suffocating and disorienting, but Jaeyun seemed untouched—his strength unfaltering, a cruel testament to the reaping cycles that had forged him into something far beyond human, even vampiric.

“You came just in time, Romeo.” Jaeyun sneered, sidestepping a blow with maddening grace. "Did you see how perfectly she fits in my hand?" he taunted as he swung his blade, forcing Sunghoon back, "ah—and her taste. Her warm skin. The way she shivered. You know, if you hadn't interrupted, I’d have heard her make that sound again. You know the one—soft, breathless, perfect."

It was revolting to hear him say those filthy words but at that moment your dignity took a backseat for all you could think of was Sunghoon. As if Jaeyun knew exactly how to play with someone's mind, Sunghoon’s strikes came faster, heavier—but clumsier. Fury bled into every swing, the precision of his usual attacks dulled by anger. Then their swords met with a thunderous crash, the force sending sparks flying as both pressed forward, neither giving ground. Sunghoon’s chest heaved, his labored breaths a stark contrast to Jaeyun’s unnerving composure, his taunting smirk growing wider.

Jaeyun continued, his voice dripping with cruel amusement, “but I guess you wouldn’t know, would you? She has never let you touch her like that, has she?” His grin sharpened, his next words a venomous whisper. “Not the way she let me, at least.”

Sunghoon charged again, his blows landing harder than before, but Jaeyun danced out of reach, his blade glinting in the firelight, "—because she will never accept you the way you are Sunghoon," his voice was laced with mock pity, "you're just another bloodthirsty beast."

Then, with a sudden shift, Jaeyun lunged, forcing Sunghoon back with a flurry of heavy strikes. “You should’ve stopped pretending to be noble and reaped her,” he hissed, his blows driving Sunghoon toward the corner. “That’s the only way you’ll ever have her.” His grin twisted into something darker as he leaned closer, delivering the final barb. “And maybe—just maybe—it would’ve brought back the strength you used to have because this…” Jaeyun’s blade pressed closer, his eyes gleaming with disdain. “—is just pathetic.”

You swallowed thickly for the odds doesn't seem to stack up for Sunghoon. Your body reacted instinctively to go after him, but his gaze stopped you cold. The sharp jerk of his head said it all: Run.

But you couldn’t.

Then their blades clashed again, the sharp ring echoing through the suffocating heat. Sunghoon’s strikes, though deliberate, were slower now, his movements burdened by the corner he’d been forced into. The stone wall pressed against his back, leaving him little room to manoeuver. Yet even there, with Jaeyun bearing down on him, his defiance burned brighter.

“You can amass all the power and influence you want,” Sunghoon said through gritted teeth, his blade locking with Jaeyun’s in a deadly stalemate. His voice was low but cutting, his eyes blazing with quiet fury. “But you’ll never be able to claim something you’ve never had the right to.”

"The blood you take," Sunghoon shoved him back with a surge of strength, their blades separating with a hiss of steel, "won't make yours anymore purer. It just taints you irreparably."

Jaeyun froze for the briefest moment as if the words had landed exactly where they were meant to. The smirk on his lips faltered, not gone but strained, like a mask beginning to crack.

"That is probably why," Sunghoon continued, his strikes growing sharper, each one cutting closer, "my very existence riles you so isn't it? even when I've never made any moves to challenge your house of cards?"

Jaeyun’s movements lost some of their calculated ease, his strikes heavier but less precise, each blow betraying his frustration. The tables had turned and now it was Jaeyun’s turn to be riled up, his composure unraveling with every word.

Sensing the shift, Sunghoon adjusted his stance, lowering his weight in anticipation. Jaeyun lunged, his overconfidence driving him forward—but Sunghoon was ready. With a blur of motion, he pivoted sharply, driving his shoulder into Jaeyun’s chest with brutal force. The impact sent Jaeyun sprawling backward, skidding across the debris-strewn floor until he collided with a broken pillar.

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. Before Jaeyun could recover, he closed the distance with unrelenting precision, dropping to one knee and driving his blade into Jaeyun’s exposed abdomen. The force of the strike pinned Jaeyun to the ground, his body jerking under the weight of the blow. Blood bloomed instantly, dark and thick, pooling across the cracked stone beneath them. Jaeyun hissed, his hands clawing at the blade embedded in his torso. For a moment, it seemed as though Sunghoon had won. You held your breath, hope flickering to life.

Then, Jaeyun’s lips curled into a bloodied smirk. “You're nowhere enough,” he rasped, his voice laced with venom, “—of a challenge Sunghoon.”

It was only then you noticed it—Jaeyun’s own blade, slick with Sunghoon’s blood, had been driven deep into his flank. You hadn’t seen the strike. Neither had Sunghoon. But there it was, protruding cruelly through his abdomen, crimson spreading across his shirt like spilled ink.

“Sunghoon!” The name tore from your lips, sharp and raw. You stepped forward instinctively, but before you could reach him, the ceiling above groaned ominously. A massive chunk of debris collapsed, slamming into the ground between you and them.

The impact sent you stumbling back, coughing as a thick cloud of smoke and dust billowed around you. “No—” you rasped, your voice cracking as you strained to see through the haze.

Sunghoon gritted his teeth, his knuckles tightening on his blade, though he didn’t withdraw. Nor did he stagger nor falter. Instead, he shifted his weight forward, his strength bearing down on the blade, every ounce of effort ensuring Jaeyun couldn’t push him off.

“You sure about that?” Sunghoon rasped, his voice hoarse and strained.

Jaeyun’s smirk twisted into confusion as his eyes darted down. Horror dawned as he saw Sunghoon’s blood streaming from his wound, dripping steadily onto the gaping injury in Jaeyun’s abdomen—the wound you had inflicted earlier. The reaction was instantaneous. Frost-like patterns spreading outward from the contact point, jagged and unrelenting, crystallising his torso and limbs, locking him in place. His claws scrambled at the stone floor, scraping against it in desperation as his body stiffened. His voice cracked, teetering on the edge of panic. “No-no—you—“

You recalled an excerpt from The Annals of Kings—a fleeting detail about how the blood of a Pureblood, though inert on the skin of another vampire, becomes lethal toxin when mingled with another’s wounds—an alchemical reaction born of their cursed lineage. And therein lay the tragedy: the blood they so revered—the symbol of their purity, power, and immortality—was also their undoing. The very essence that granted them supremacy over all others carried the seeds of their destruction, a cruel paradox embedded in their existence.

You realized then what Sunghoon had allowed Jaeyun to do. He hadn’t just been defending himself; he had turned his own wound into a weapon. Sunghoon had weaponized the very thing their kind held sacred, knowing it would be Jaeyun’s end—even as it left him vulnerable to his own impending collapse. In heaving, ragged breaths, Sunghoon rasped, “I only finished what she started—". His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment the weight of his gaze—the unspoken truth behind his sacrifice—struck you harder than any blow.

Jaeyun regurgitated, his body stiffening as the crystal consumed him entirely, his face locked in a mask of rage and terror. A sharp crack echoed through the hall as his crystalline form splintered, into ashen dust, swirling briefly in the fiery glow before dissipating into the suffocating smoke, vanishing as though he had never existed.

Sunghoon staggered back from the remains, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His hands moved to the blade embedded in his flank, his fingers trembling as he gripped the hilt. With a sharp, agonized groan, he wrenched it free, the sound of metal against flesh almost drowned out by the crackling flames around him.

The moment the blade left his body, blood poured from the wound in thick, unrelenting streams. His face, already pale, lost what little colour it had left, the crimson staining his hands stark against his ashen skin. He swayed, his frame lurching unsteadily as though the weight of the air itself had become too much to bear.

And then he pitched forward, catching himself on trembling hands before he collapsed entirely. Blood dripped from his wound in heavy rivulets as his body sagged against the stone floor. For a moment, he seemed almost unrecognizable—so human in his fragility, so far from the invulnerable figure you had known.

You should have ran away then.

The exit was there, your path to freedom blazing clearly through the smoke and flames. You could have escaped—left behind the horrors that had haunted you, the chaos that had led you to this moment.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you ran toward him. Through the flames and falling debris, through the suffocating heat, you reached him. His weight sagged heavily against you as you tried to pull him upright, your arms straining with the effort.

His face was pale, slick with sweat, and streaked with soot. Blood continued to pour freely from his wound, dark and thick, in a way that was achingly human. His eyes, so often guarded and unreadable, now lay bare—soft and raw, stripped of all pretense.

“You’re stupid!” you choked out, your voice trembling as you pressed your hands against his wound, desperate to staunch the bleeding. “Why did you come back to the castle?”

“You’re the stupid one,” he rasped, a faint, ghostly smirk tugging at his cracked lips. “Why haven’t you run? I stalled long enough for you—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, panic lacing your words as you struggled to lift him again. His body was limp, heavier than you could manage alone, and he slumped back to his knees, his breathing shallow and laboured, each breath a fight.

He was worse off than the last time you’d patched him up—far worse—and the realization sent a jolt of fear through you. At this rate, neither of you would escape the flames. You’d both burn together in this crumbling castle.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice barely audible now, “we’ve bantered long enough.”

His body pitched forward, and you caught him instinctively. His weight collapsed into your arms, his head coming to rest weakly in the nook of your shoulder. You felt the faint brush of his lips against your skin—soft, fleeting, and entirely unlike the possessive ferocity you’d known from him. His hand trembled as it moved to your back, curling with a weak insistence, a stark contrast to the vice-like grip he had on you just hours ago.

“I’m letting you go now, y/n,” he whispered, his words a quiet confession, laced with both sorrow and resolve. “This is the only way I could ever let you go.”

Your breath hitched. You knew what he meant, and you didn’t want that. Perhaps you never did.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling but firm, the weight of your conviction cutting through the chaos around you. Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Not yet.

Your hands moved with purpose, tearing the makeshift bandage from your arm. Blood pooled from the cut, rich and red, but you didn’t hesitate. “Take my blood, Sunghoon,” you demanded, thrusting your arm toward him. “Quickly. You need it—”

He shook his head weakly, his breaths shallow and uneven. “y/n, go,” he rasped, his voice barely audible above the roar of the flames. “We’re running out of time.”

“Damn it, Sunghoon!” you barked, desperation breaking through the cracks in your resolve. “You don’t get to tell me what to do—not now, not like this!”

His eyes, already losing focus, flickered with something—protest, perhaps, or regret. But you didn’t give him the chance. Before he could stop you, you brought your arm to your lips, the sharp metallic tang of blood filling your mouth. Without hesitation, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, crushing your lips to his.

The transfer was immediate. You felt his body stiffen, his hand twitching weakly against your back in surprise. When you pulled away, his lips were stained crimson, his gaze dazed, unfocused.

“Is that enough?” you asked, your voice trembling. “it’s not right? take more.” You leaned closer, your breathing uneven as you tilted your head to the side. “Take it from my neck. That works best for you, doesn’t it?”

“y/n, stop—” he croaked, his voice fractured.

For a moment, you froze, your gaze locking onto his. The sight of him—so pale, so vulnerable, teetering on the edge of collapse—was unbearable, it was twisting your heart painfully. Frustration burned through you, hot and unrelenting.

“You’re making this hard,” you muttered under your breath, your voice shaking.

Before he could utter another word, you shifted upwards, wrapping your arms tightly over his shoulder, steadying him and angling yourself so that his face was close enough to your neck. “Bite me,” you whispered, your voice thick with both resolve and something far more raw. “I’ll let you.”

The hand he already had on your back shifted, his fingers curling faintly into the fabric of your gown, but it wasn’t a grip of possession, but one of desperation—as though he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his other hand began to move. Trembling, hesitant, it brushed against your shoulder, its path uncertain, as though he feared you might flinch or pull away.

The roughness of his palm met the curve of your neck, his touch both gentle and weighted. His fingers curled there, delicate yet unyielding, cradling the nape of your neck as though it was something fragile, irreplaceable. Each movement was deliberate, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his hand.

It wasn’t the possessive grip you’d known before. This was something far more tender, far more devastating. It was as though his very existence hung by a thread, and you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

“y/n. You don't understand. I’ve lost too much blood,” he murmured, his lips brushing featherlight against your neck. “I wouldn’t be able to stop—”

“I trust you,” you interrupted, your voice trembling but unyielding as you held him tighter. “I trust you, Sunghoon. I trust that you’ll take just enough to survive.”

His hold on you tightened as if trying to ground himself in the weight of your words. I trust you—the words hung between you, fragile yet immense. It was the very words he needed to hear all along; the very words you’ve fought so desperately not to feel, much less say.

Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, resolve. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the shadows of exhaustion etched into his features. The vulnerability in his gaze was a blade cutting both ways, and you knew it would haunt you long after this moment passed.

“I trust you,” you repeated softly, your voice unwavering this time.

Above you, debris crashed to the floor, the flames roaring louder. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with smoke, but you didn’t move. Neither did he. Time was slipping away, but in this moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

His expression twisted, as though your words had broken something in him. Pain flickered across his face—not just physical, but something deeper, something that had been buried for far too long. His hand, trembling now, reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, gentle and deliberate, as if committing the feel of you to memory. Then his hand shifted, cradling the side of your neck. His thumb grazed your skin, reverent, unhurried, as though this was both a goodbye and a plea to stay.

“We’re always at odds, aren’t we?” he murmured softly, "I asked you to run but you stayed. I asked you to save yourself, but you're trying to save me instead."

You grinned bitterly, “always.”

For a moment, his gaze lingered, searching yours, before he dipped his head into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, almost hesitant. Then the sharp prickle of pain came—a fleeting sting as his fangs broke your skin—but it was eclipsed by the strange, disarming lull that followed.

His grip on you tightened, his body pressing closer, desperate and unyielding. You could feel the urgency in every movement, the hunger in every pull of his lips against your skin. It was overwhelming, the pull of his fangs relentless, like he was drawing not just blood but something far deeper—something he couldn’t bear to lose.

You should have been terrified. You should have fought back.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Even as your vision blurred, as the edges of the world dissolved into the inferno raging around you, one truth anchored you to him:

You trusted him.

— xii

You woke with a jolt, a sharp gasp tearing through your chest as sterile, artificial air filled your lungs. The glaring white walls seemed to close in around you, their starkness more oppressive than calming. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly above, casting an antiseptic glow that made the space feel detached, clinical—eerily devoid of life.

Your gaze darted frantically across the room, your pulse racing with every detail that didn’t belong. There was no warmth here, no trace of familiarity. Just the suffocating stillness pressing down on you, as though the air itself had weight. For a terrifying moment, it felt like a void, a purgatory for fractured souls. Perhaps you were dead. After everything—the chaos, the blood, the flames—was this where it all ended?

A tremor passed through you, the memory of his voice, his face, flashing like a spark in the darkness. The desperation in his eyes. The warmth of his hand against yours, the fragile connection you clung to even as the world burned around you.

“Sunghoon?” The name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, trembling with hope and fear. It wasn’t just a question; it was a plea, a tether you threw into the void, praying it would hold. The sound of it shattered the oppressive silence, leaving a raw ache in its wake.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, and pain flared like lightning through your body. Every nerve screamed in protest—your ribs, your limbs, even the faintest breath. “Sunghoon?” you called again, louder this time, the desperation cracking through your voice.

You forced yourself upright, your bare feet meeting the icy bite of the tile floor. Your legs wobbled beneath you, your strength slipping like sand through your fingers. The IV pole clattered to the ground as you collapsed, clutching the bedframe in a desperate bid for balance.

The sound shattered the room’s oppressive quiet and almost immediately the door swung open with a sharp creak. Your heart leapt, relief surging through your veins. “Sungho—”

But it wasn’t him.

“y/n!” Anton’s voice cut through the tension as he hurried to your side, his face etched with concern. He dropped to his knees beside you, steadying your trembling frame. “What are you doing? You’re still too weak. Lie back down!”

“Anton,” you rasped, your hands gripping his shirt tightly. “Where’s Sunghoon?”

“Sunghoo—?” He frowned, confused, before realization dawned. “Ah, Mr. Park? y/n, he left weeks ago. Don’t you remember? He was called back to his headquarters. Some urgent matters in Prague.”

You shook your head vehemently, your grip on him tightening. “No, that’s not right. He was with me. He—”

“y/n,” Anton said gently but firmly, helping you back onto the bed. “you’ve been unconscious for 2 weeks—your mind is probably still foggy especially given all you had to endure. Don’t you remember? We held a farewell lunch for him? You were there, muttering spiteful things under your breath when he delivered his farewell speech.”

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. “We didn’t,” you whispered hoarsely. “He was—” The words died in your throat. You clung to the fragments of memory that felt more like splinters now. “What about the people then? and the- the castle?”

Anton’s sat beside you, voice gentle, “the castle is gone, razed to the ground. Some people were found scattered across the compound, but all of them had hazy memories—smoke inhalation and trauma-induced amnesia, according to the doctors. No signs of foul play though. Just a gas leak in an old building. The fire spread too fast.”

“How about casualties?” you asked, your mind flashing to the vampires that should be stuck in the hall.

Anton shook his head. “None. Just scattered jewelry and strange clothing pieces found in the halls—probably left behind by looters after the fire started. Authorities have investigated it thoroughly though and nothing indicates foul play. Even the castle’s owner isn’t pressing charges or requesting further inquiry.”

“But Sungh- someone – someone must have been with me,” you pressed on, the words stumbling out.

“y/n,” Anton repeated, his voice more serious now, “no one was. You were alone in the glasshouse. The only one unconscious, in fact. They theorised, given the proximity, you must have spent a lot of time inside compared to others which is why you were unconscious. But point is—investigations had been done and foul play is ruled out. Everyone is safe.”

“Every..." you echoed, “—no. I think there were some who didn’t— do you have a list? the guests? the survivo—" your words faltered as your head spun, a sharp pang cutting through the fog of your thoughts. You groaned, swaying unsteadily. Anton was quick to catch you, steadying your trembling form as he guided you to lean back against the bed.

"y/n, stop—" he said, his tone full of concern. "Look, you've been unconscious for almost 2 weeks. You're not in the right state of mind yet. Let me get the doctor first, okay? don’t move.”

You barely registered his words as you stared up at the sterile ceiling, your mind racing with fragmented memories. Sunghoon. The flames. The battle. His bloodied body against yours. The way he’d looked at you in those final moments—his eyes full of something unspoken, something that clung to you even now.

Instinctively, your hand rose to your neck, brushing against the skin there—and froze. Faint but undeniable, you felt it: a mark. His bite mark.

Your breath hitched as the weight of it sank in. It was the confirmation you needed. That he was real. That your memories weren’t muddled or fabricated. That he had been there.

For a moment, a spark of relief lit in your chest. He’d been there. You hadn’t imagined him. The connection you clung to wasn’t some fever dream born of smoke and fear.

But as your fingers lingered over the faint indentations, that spark dimmed, flickering under the weight of a new truth.

Anton had said you’d been unconscious for two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks is a long time for someone like him to stay away. Too long.

Suddenly, the silence felt unbearable—crushing in its emptiness, each second a reminder of all the truths his absence could mean. Each one as cruel as the next.

— xiii

A month had passed, and unlike before—when you could sense Sunghoon in the shadows, catch the faintest trace of his cologne lingering in the air, or swear you felt his touch as you brushed past strangers—he was utterly, completely gone.

His absence was deafening.

So you buried yourself in work, to drown out the silence that followed you everywhere and to lock the memories away. Perhaps if you don’t think about it, the ache would dull. Even better, fade entirely.

Until one night.

You were reaching for something from the shelves in your bedroom when your elbow knocked a box off the shelf. It crashed to the floor with a hollow thud, its contents spilling out in an unceremonious heap. You froze, your pulse quickening as you recognized it—the box of belongings you’d had with you when they took you to the hospital. You’d refused to unpack it then, shoving it out of sight to avoid reopening wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal. The castle. The flames. Him.

But it had been a month. Surely, someone like you would have moved on by now.

“It’s just clothes,” you muttered to yourself, crouching to gather the scattered items. Your fingers brushed against the fabric of the dress you’d worn that night. It felt foreign and familiar all at once, its torn edges and scorched seams tangible remnants of that nightmare. As you bunched it up, you winced and drop the dress, a sharp sting prickling your fingertip.

“Ouch,” you muttered, seeing it draw blood. “What kind of dress would be this sha-"

It was a brooch.

No, not just any brooch. It was a brooch bearing his crest. Sunghoon’s crest.

The ruby gleamed faintly, tarnished by smoke and fire, but still unmistakable. Regal. Intricate. For a moment, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. It lay nestled in the folds of the dress, as if it had always been waiting for you to find it. Tentatively, your fingers closed around it, and as you pulled it free, the weight of it settled in your palm like a stone.

Your breath hitched as the dam burst. Memories flooded in—his voice, his touch, the way he’d looked at you in those final moments. The way he’d fought for you. The way he’d bled for you. The way he’d let you go.

The way he was gone.

Your chest tightened painfully as you stared at the brooch, its sharp edges pressing into your palm. This was all that remained. The only proof that he had existed, that any of it had been real.

The thought clawed at you, unrelenting, as a darker possibility crept into your mind. Vampires left no trace when they perished—no ashes, no remains. If he was gone, truly gone, you might never know. And that terrified you. In fact it terrified and pained you even more than if he was gone simply because he had walked away.

Your grip on the crest tightened, the sharp edges digging into your skin, grounding you in a pain that couldn’t compare to the ache tearing through your chest. You closed your eyes, clutching it to your heart, as though holding it closer might somehow bridge the impossible distance between you and him.

You closed your eyes, whispering his name into the stillness of the room, hoping—praying—that somehow, somewhere, he could hear you.

But the room offered no answer.

Only silence. Only absence.

And the ache—deep and unrelenting—remained.

(( just kidding 🤡 ))

Five years had passed.

Sunghoon never re-eappeared in your life.

You have by then made peace with the fact that perhaps he was never coming back. Perhaps he was gone. Forever.

Memories of him didn’t sting as sharply as they once did. The ache was still there, faint and distant, like a hole you cannot fill but it’s at least not a gaping hole anymore.

By then you could even convince yourself that perhaps, you have really gotten over him.

But then you’d be an outright liar.

Because you still wore his crest as a pendant, hidden beneath your shirt—a weight you carried, not just on your chest but deep within you. It was a quiet reminder, a silent wall you couldn’t breach.

And while memories of him no longer brought tears to your eyes, dreams of those nights—the chaos, the fire, the way his blood soaked through your hands—still jolted you awake, your face damp with tears you didn't remember shedding. They were the only testament to how deeply, how irreparably, the experience and memories had scarred you.

So you did what you did best: buried yourself in work. You numbed the ache, dulled the thoughts that haunted you, and clawed your way to higher pinnacles of success, reaching farther than you’d ever imagined. Even now, halfway across the world in Venice, Italy, you weren’t here for leisure—you were here for work.

It wasn’t until your final evening that Anton managed to drag you to the Carnevale di Venezia. “You need to live more,” he said, practically shoving you into the car. Begrudgingly, you agreed.

But the moment you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by men and women in elaborate period gowns and Venetian masks—and your stomach twisted.

The sight wasn’t just familiar—it was identical. Hauntingly so. To that of five years ago.

Sickening memories long buried clawed their way back to the surface—the blood, the shadows, the terror. It didn’t carry the ache it once had, but it brought something far worse: a creeping fear that wormed its way beneath your calm exterior, unraveling the composure you’d worked so hard to rebuild.

You swallowed hard, legs heavy, but Anton was too enamoured with the festivities to notice. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you through the crowd like an overexcited child.

When he stopped in front of an antique shop selling ornate masks and extravagant dresses, you could feel the air thinning. The shopkeeper offered you a delicate mask to try on, but as Anton reached toward your face to put one on, your body reacted faster than your mind did. Your hand shot up, gripping his wrist in an iron hold, your fingers digging into his skin, as if you were trying to fend him off. As if he was attacking you.

“y/n—” he froze, his voice laced with shock, his playful grin vanishing. His gaze flickered to your trembling hand, then back to your face, his concern deepening.

Your heart pounded, the masks and laughter around you blurring into dark suffocating shadows. For a moment, you weren’t in Venice. You were back there—in the castle, in the nightmare. You blinked rapidly, forcing yourself to breathe, “sorry,” you stammered, dropping his wrist as though it burned you, “I—uh—the breakfast I had this morning—it’s not sitting right.”

Anton rubbed his wrist, his brows furrowed in confusion and concern. “y/n, are you okay?”

You forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack under the weight of your panic. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, waving him off. “Just... go ahead and try something on. I’ll stick with you—just not with all this.” You gestured vaguely at the masks, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

Anton sighed, his concern still visible. “Fine. Promise me you'll stop brooding and actually try to have some fun after?”

“What are you? Five?” you teased halfheartedly, shoving him playfully toward a nearby fitting room to change.

When he emerged from the fitting room, the sheer absurdity of his appearance—a frock too large, a mask so elaborate it drowned his features—pulled a reluctant laugh from you. For a fleeting moment, the tension in your chest eased and you let yourself be dragged along as Anton paraded through the festivities, snapping pictures and weaving through the crowd with unabashed joy.

But then, a procession swept through.

Figures in hooded cloaks and plague doctor masks glided past, their movements deliberate and haunting. The crowd murmured in awe, parting to let them pass, but you froze. The sight slammed into you like a blow, the memories rising unbidden—shadows in corridors, masks that promised death, the chase that had nearly taken everything from you.

“Anton,” you called, your voice tight, panic edging in. “Let’s move on—”

But he was gone.

“Anton?” Your voice cracked as you turned in place, your eyes darting through the sea of masked strangers. The crowd swelled, pressing against you, their laughter sharp and hollow, the music twisting into a dissonant wail. “Anton!” you shouted, louder now, desperation threading through your words.

No response.

The world spun, the faces around you blurring into grotesque shapes. Each mask seemed to leer at you, each figure a spectre of the past. Your breaths came shallow and rapid, the air thick, suffocating.

You stumbled, muttering apologies to strangers who didn’t respond, their masked faces a wall of indifference.

Then suddenly ahead, you caught sight of a figure perched on a raised platform, dressed in elaborate silks that shimmered in the flickering light. But it wasn’t the outfit that made your stomach drop—it was the mask.

A jester mask.

The painted grin stretched unnaturally wide, its hollow eyes glinting as though they could see through you. Bells dangled from the cap, their faint chime cutting through the distant hum of laughter. The figure moved with a deliberate slowness, their head tilting at an unnatural angle as they raised their hand. A thorny rose appeared in their grasp, the gesture painfully deliberate, as though meant just for you.

And then, with a flick of their wrist, the rose ignited, flames curling up the stem until it disintegrated into ash. The sharp smell of burning filled the air, suffocating and bitter, clawing at your senses. The fire, the laughter, the castle, Jaeyun—it all came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. You spun on your heel, desperate to escape, only to collide with someone else.

A man in a Bauta mask loomed over you, his breath audible through the thin slits. His towering frame bent closer, murmuring something low and indistinct. But you didn’t hear him. Couldn’t. The panic clawed at your chest, your vision tunneling as you shoved past him and broke into the crowd again.

The masks blurred together, grotesque and faceless, shadows from a nightmare that wouldn’t end. You moved blindly, each step unsteady, until—

You saw him.

An uncovered face, sharp and unmistakable in a sea of obscured ones.

The air seemed to leave your lungs. The noise of the carnival faded, the crowd melting into a haze of color and motion.

No mask. No cloak. Just him.

But it couldn’t be, you told yourself. It had to be a hallucination, your mind playing cruel tricks, dredging him up from memories you’d buried too deep. Then suddenly the crowd surged again, jostling you sideways. Your feet stumbled against the uneven pavement, your balance slipping.

You braced for the fall, but strong arms caught you.

“I’m sorry—” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to gather yourself. But then your gaze drop, and the words died in your throat. Right in your line of sight, pinned to the lapel of his suit, was a ruby crest, gleaming faintly under the dim, flickering light.

The very crest you wore as a pendant, tucked close to your heart like a secret you refused to let go of.

Your breath hitched, the roar of your pulse drowning out the world, the air turning electric as the ache in your chest returned with a vengeance. The carnival around you dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the man before you.

Your trembling eyes trailed upward, hesitation clawing at you with every inch. Fear mingled with hope, disbelief warred with yearning. And then you saw him.

Sunghoon.

It was really him. The sharp lines of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes, the way his presence seemed to draw the air from your lungs. He wasn’t wearing a mask, just like you. Amidst a sea of hidden faces, he stood barefaced, unapologetically himself.

Time seemed to still. Your heart clenched painfully as the flood of emotions you’d spent five years suppressing surged forward, overwhelming you.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

His gaze was still so intense and all-consuming, yet it no longer had the same sharpness as it did before. It no longer aimed to paralyze you or probe the depths of your mind. Instead, it carried a softness, an ache, as though trying to express all the things that words had failed to capture. And just like that, in the silence, in the circle of each other's arms, the years of separation unraveled in the space between you. Every unspoken word, every lingering ache, every memory you’d fought to bury rose to the surface, raw and undeniable, contained in that one look.

Your lips parted, but no sound came. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say. His name? An accusation? A plea?

Yet, as if avoidance and defensiveness were hardwired into you when it came to him, you started to pull yourself away—but, as always, he anticipated it and before you could even take a step back, his grip on you tightened.

“y/n, don’t,” he said, his grip strong yet his voice soft, almost pleading.

The sound of your name on his lips shattered something inside you. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears. “You left,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice. “You never came back. I—” you stammered, “—I even thought you might have died.”

“I’m here now,” he murmured, his voice steady but laced with something heavier—guilt, perhaps, or regret. “I never wanted to leave you y/n. But I had to.”

You stiffened, the heat rising in your chest overtaking the trembling in your hands. “You had to?” the bitterness in your voice surprised even you. “That’s what you’re going with? You had to vanish, leave me with nothing but questions—nothing but ghosts—and then reappear like you’ve done nothing wrong? like some noble martyr?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “You think it was easy for me? That leaving you behind was some choice I wanted to make?”

“Then why?” your voice cracked, the words sharper than you intended. “Why did you leave? You could have left a trace, a sign, let me know that—” you caught yourself, shaking your head as your hands balled into fists, “—no. You know what, it doesn't matter anymore. You should have continued to stay away. I was doing just fine. Finally doing just fine and yet here you are. Must have been fun staying in the shadows and trailing me around—seeing me lose my mind in the past 5 years then coming back just when I've finally gotten over you?!"

The accusation lingered, heavy in the space between you.

But even as you spoke, the weight of your own words pressed against you. Wasn’t this exactly what you wanted—to see him again? To demand an answer for the questions that had haunted you in the dead of night? And yet, now that he was here, standing in front of you, the anger felt hollow. A shield, yes, but one that barely held back the ache threatening to flood through the cracks.

You glanced at his face, searching for something—anything—that would reignite the rage you clung to so desperately. But his eyes, dark and steady, reflected none of the sharp arrogance you once associated with him. Instead, they were quiet. Soft. Aching.

Damn him. Damn him for looking at you like that, as if you meant something to him. As if he was hurting just as much as it had hurt you.

His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “y/n I had no choice," he said softly, his voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. “The fire may have purged the deviants who deserved punishments but it sent shockwaves through my world. If I’d stayed, I would have brought danger to your door..." he sighed, "so I stayed away. And continued staying away especially after seeing you finally able to smile and laugh so freely over the recent years—as if you could finally breathe. I realised then that perhaps this was the sacrifice I needed to make, the debt I owed you—your peace."

His voice dropped, quieter now, as though the memory itself was unbearable. “But then tonight…” his hand flexed at his side, his grip on your wrist tightening briefly. “I saw the terror and dread suddenly return to your face—the very expressions I swore I’d never let you feel again." He paused, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered to meet yours, “—and before I even knew what I was doing, it all broke. Every reason I had to stay away dissipated and all I wanted—all I want—is to protect you. To take it all away.”

He took a step closer, the space between you shrinking. His voice softened, steady but raw. “And when our eyes met. I thought there was something there—some sort of softness. For once, you didn't look at me with the usual armor in your eyes…" he faltered, his throat tightening, “—and that stripped away the last vestiges of my resolve; every lie I told myself. I realised then, I was never meant to be a saint nor be selfless. Not with you."

You froze, his vulnerability hitting you harder than it should have. But the simmering anger, the years of buried hurt, clawed its way back to the surface. “You’re always so good at that you know—vanishing, making me go nearly insane with guilt, and then coming back just when I thought I’d finally gotten over you.” You swallowed hard, the bitterness in your voice sharpening. “Exactly like 13 years ago, after I poisoned you.”

He stilled, his gaze flickering with something unreadable—regret, pain, guilt. But you didn’t give him a chance to speak.

"Back then, you should have come back, hunted me down and killed me—" you hissed, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "We'd have nipped it in the bud. Save ourselves. But instead, you dragged it on for so long. Perhaps this was your way of ruining me—from the inside out. The first time through guilt. The second time through loss."

He swallowed thickly, his mouth parting as though to sigh, but the sound never came. His jaw tensed, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of a confession dragged from the depths of him. "y/n. I stayed away the first time because I was afraid."

His gaze flickered down for a moment, as if grounding himself, before rising to meet yours again. "After you poisoned me, I was afraid that if I saw you again..." he paused, his jaw tightening as though the words physically hurt to say. "—I wouldn’t want to kill you. That instead—like some pathetic moth drawn to the flame, or worse, like a stupid dog that doesn’t see the cruelty of its master—I’d come running to you. I’d embrace you."

The words hung between you, the implication of every words filling the space—a confession that tore through you even as it laid him bare. That was when you realised, perhaps, just like how you've avoided him to prevent anything from growing between you, Sunghoon's scathing and predatory words were perhaps his way of masking his devotion—a way to convince himself that it was all simply powerplay and primal desires. And you take that bait too literally as it all fitted with your own defense mechanism—the logic and rationality that you always employ to stop yourself from becoming vulnerable. But knowing the truth didn’t soften the ache. If anything, it sharpened it—because it meant you had been fighting the same battle, just on opposite sides. Both of you circling the same truth but never daring to claim it.

"Then maybe all this proves is that we're never meant to be. Like fire feeding fire, we burn each other alive, pretending it's warmth, until there's nothing left of us but smoke and ruin," you said, your voice hollow but steady, as if the words had been carved out of you.

“Then let me be the ruin,” he closed the remaining distance between you, his presence towering but his movements slow, as though afraid to startle you. "Let it burn me down to nothing. Let it hollow me out, scorch every part of me. But don’t ask me to extinguish it—not when it’s the only thing keeping me alive."

"You've lived for so long," you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion. "you, of all people, should know better that being self-destructive like this doesn't ensure happiness."

“It’s exactly because I’ve lived for so long,” he said, his voice low and weighted with a quiet sorrow, “that I know ruin is the only thing that stays, where nothing else lasts.”

The silence that followed was thick, not suffocating but heavy, like something unspoken had finally settled between you. When he drew closer, you didn't back away this time. When his hand cupped your cheek—warm, steady, and lingering—you didn’t pull away either. It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t surrender. But for now, it was enough for it conveyed more than words ever could.

Two years had passed since you were reunited with Sunghoon. Seven years since the fire. And fifteen years, in total, since you met him—the man who had brought chaos, danger, and frustration into your life than you thought possible.

If someone had told you then that he would become a near-permanent fixture in your life—and your apartment—you might have laughed. Or rolled your eyes.

Or poisoned him again.

“Fuck,” you nearly dropped your groceries as you stepped into your apartment to find him lounging on the couch like he owned the place, dressed in pajama bottoms and a black robe. Its opening, casually loose and just revealing enough to hint at his chest, made the sight far too leisurely for your liking. In fact, he looked so at ease, so disgustingly domestic, like he belonged—but the sight only made his presence feel more invasive. “Why are you always here? Go back to your penthouse. It’s way bigger.”

“But there’s no you,” he said, far too smoothly, suddenly reappearing beside you. Before you could protest, he took the groceries from your hands, unpacking them into the fridge and shelves with alarming familiarity.

Perhaps it wasn’t alarming anymore. He’d been doing this for months—showing up whenever he had a moment to spare from whatever duties occupied a vampire’s time. He even bought the unit next to yours, offering excuses to drop by that were as ridiculous as they were transparent: needing eggs, faulty lighting, lost keys. All nonsense, of course, since he didn’t need nourishment, had no reason to fear the dark and can teleport just fine if he wanted to.

“Right, what’s your excuse tonight?” you asked, flopping onto the couch.

“The a/c is broken,” he replied smoothly.

“You used that excuse two weeks ago Sunghoon.”

“Did I?” he mused, unbothered. “Well, this time it’s the sprinklers. Got set off when I was trying to sear my steak. Now the place is flooded. Disgusting, really.”

You scoffed. “Sunghoon, cut the crap. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I just want to be with you,” he quipped with a shrug. “You always rejected my offer to ask you to move in with me—penthouse, townhouse, heck even the manor near that hiking spot you like—so here I am. Playing househusband. Or maid, depending on the day.”

“Right,” you said, raising a brow, “you definitely need to stop lounging around in that robe. It’s too casual. People might think you’re my husband or something.”

He grinned, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in that infuriating way. “That’s the goal.”

“You know normal humans and vampires can’t co-exist in that way right?”

“We’re anything but normal y/n,” he replied smoothly, making his way to the living room and plopping down to your left. His elbow propped lazily on the headrest, his posture screaming nonchalance, as if daring you to challenge him. “We can do whatever we please. Or however you please.”

You furrowed your brows, annoyed. If his teasing back then had been a game of one-upmanship—an endless, borderline competitive battle of wits—now it had shifted into something more dangerous. Flirtatious, deliberate, and entirely designed to fluster you. A different ball game—one you weren’t used to playing.

Leaning back, you crossed your arms. “Well, bad news. It’s time for me to do normal stuff and settle down, and the guy earlier—”

“Right, the one you had a date with—“ he cut in, “—or rather the one you were forced to meet up with—“

“—is the best candidate so far,” you continued, rolling your eyes at his interruption. You were used to it by now—used to him knowing too much about your life, like an ever-present fly on the wall, “—he is mature, understanding, and not clingy.”

“Sounds exactly like me but a pale imitiation because come on, I am way good looking in a way no human can replicate and most importantly,” his hand found your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His voice dropped, low and steady. “Only I understand you and your complexity y/n and only you understand mine. We are made for each other—we’re too dysfunctional for others, but perfect for each other. No one else could survive us.”

“Then what if one day I feel so suffocated and poison you again?” you shot back.

“I’ll let you,” he said quietly, his lips curving in a subtle, almost resigned way as his eyes bore into yours. This could have been lighthearted and playful but those voice and those gaze were anything but. “I've told you this before: I’ll let you ruin me in the end as long as you’ll have me.”

“Don’t you ever feel that you’ve given too much and I’ve not given enough—" you retorted. It wasn’t meant to hurt him. You just wanted to come clean with him.

“Oh, I know that very much. Better than anyone in fact—” he murmured, his fingers brushing your collar before slipping beneath it, catching the chain that lay hidden against your skin. “And this—” he lifted it gently, his thumb grazing the crest you wore as a pendant with a reverence that only he could feel, “—you wearing this—it says more than you ever could.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” you muttered, smacking his hand off. “Your crest has been very useful—it keeps other biters at bay.”

Then suddenly, his hand moved before you could react, sliding to the curve of your right waist with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver racing up your spine. His fingers pressed lightly into your side, tracing the curve of your body as though memorizing the path. The motion was unhurried, grounding you in place while leaving no question of his intent. Then, he shifted closer, bracing one knee on the cushion beside you before the other followed suit in one fluid motion. The couch dipped under his weight, trapping you effortlessly. His hand found the headrest behind you, his presence closing in until all you could feel was him—the heat radiating from his body, the cadence of his breath, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long before trailing upward along your side.

“Then use me like you use the crest—” he murmured, his voice dipping to something quieter, almost reverent. His lips hovered inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours as his hand trailed up the curve of your spine, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, “—you know I’m completely at your mercy.”

“For someone who should be wise beyond his years, you don’t seem to learn your lesson,” you managed to say back, raising a hand to his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him.

The tension thickened, swallowing the space entirely as his right hand slid up the nape of your neck, warm and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt through your senses. Without warning, he tilted your head back sharply, making you look up at him in a strained way as he towered over you, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made the air around you feel heavier. "I never learn my lesson when it comes to you," he murmured as his face dipped closer. His voice was steady almost reverent—but the weight of control behind it was unmistakable.

His eyes moved slowly, tracing a path from your eyes to your lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply, the motion betraying the thin thread of restraint he clung to. It was as though swallowing was the only thing keeping him tethered, holding back something far more dangerous than words. When his gaze returned to yours, it was darker, sharper, and filled with a hunger barely leashed, “—and I don’t want to. Ever.”

His words hung in the air for only a moment before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was anything but gentle—it was a brutal collision of yearning, years of pent-up emotions, frustration, and something far darker that had simmered between you for far too long. The force of his kiss drove you backward, your head pressing into the unyielding headrest as he claimed your lips. The angle left you no choice but to tilt your head farther in a strained way, a soft gasp escaping you—one he seized without hesitation, deepening the kiss, consuming you entirely.

He tasted of power and desire, a heady combination that made your head spin. Then, with a sharp, sudden motion, he pulled you towards him with startling strength, pressing your bodies together with a searing intensity—making you feel every inch of him: the hard, unyielding planes of his chest, the muscular ridges of his abdomen, even the tension in his body, the coiled power, the barely leashed restraint. His hand, splayed over your back, was like a steel band around your waist, forcing your body to arch unnaturally backwards as his kiss pursued you, driving you farther back, lips growing more demanding and insistent by the second.

Your body gradually grew pliant under his domineering, possessive, hold–overwhelmed by the ferocity and sheer possessiveness of his every kiss and touch. There was literally no room to think, no space to resist—not that you wanted to. He overwhelmed every sense, each touch unraveling the walls you’d so carefully built. You told yourself it was only physical, that the fire consuming you was nothing but desire. But deep down, you knew better. You weren’t just losing control—you were giving it to him.

Your hands flew to his biceps, clinging for balance, your fingers digging into his tense muscles for support, feeling the power and strength that lay beneath. His muscles flexed under your touch, a silent warning of the raw, untamed masculinity that simmered just below his skin. As you struggled to draw in air, your lips parted unwittingly, and Sunghoon was quick to take advantage. Before you could even gasp for breath, his thumb pressed down on your chin, forcing your lips apart, his tongue already breaching past to plunder your mouth with a fierce and primal intensity that left you breathless.

Emboldened, Sunghoon's hand slithered up your back like a serpent claiming its prey, his large hand nearly covering the entire width of your back. Then with a fluid motion, without breaking the kiss at all, he lifted you with surprising ease, his arm muscles flexing in a display of raw power and dominance, as he manoeuvered you sideways before forcefully pushing you down onto the cushions with controlled strength—enough to knock the air out of your lungs but not enough to suffocate. Yet.

The couch groaned under the weight of your entangled bodies, sinking further as Sunghoon hovered over you, his powerful legs bracketing your hips, his muscular frame dwarfing yours. He pushed you deeper into the cushions, his body a solid, warm weight pressing you down, his lips never breaking contact with yours, his kiss relentless. He angled your head to his liking, his free hand exploring your body with a gentle dominance, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to the swell of your hips, a teasing caress that made your heart race. It was as if he was trying to etch every curve into memory.

Finally he pulled back, but only so slightly to grant you reprieve from his lips, for his weight still anchored him firmly against you as he straddled your hips, creating a tantalizing gap between your bodies. His gaze had completely shifted then—smouldering in a way that authoritatively pinned you in place without having to physically restrain you. "This is your chance," he said, his voice gravelly with restrained desire, as he tore the robe from his shoulders with an impatient motion, letting it fall in a forgotten heap on the floor. Bare from the waist up, his muscular frame seemed even more commanding, each ridge of muscle sharp and unyielding without the confines of clothing.

This wasn’t the first time you’d seen his bare torso, but tonight, his physique felt too imposing—as if every ridge of muscle was sculpted exactly to intimidate and conquer. The air around him seemed to hum with power while the intensity of his gaze stole words right from your throat. He continued, "you can resist, push me away, or even slap me, but once I begin, I won't be able to stop".

You swallowed thickly, the weight of his piercing gaze pressing down on you, making you feel small beneath him. It wasn’t just his physical presence—towering, commanding—that made your breath hitch. It was the intensity in his eyes, the way they seemed to strip you bare, leaving no room for pretense or armor. You hated that he could do this to you, hated more that you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t lie to yourself: he was indeed intimidating at the moment. But was it fear that made your pulse race, or something darker, something you weren’t ready to name?

You could push him away, the words lingered in your mind like an invitation. But the truth was, you’d had a thousand chances to stop him before things went too far. And yet, here you were, under him. Because as much as you hated his power over you, you had already decided to let it in.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, the loose cardigan slipping from your shoulders, exposing your bare skin to his ravenous gaze. Sunghoon’s eyes darkened like a brewing storm, his chest rising and falling in sync with your own ragged breaths. Your lips still tingled from the searing kiss, the memory of his touch a constant reminder that you hadn’t stopped him. That you hadn’t wanted to.

"I wouldn’t have let you get this far if I wasn’t sure, Sungh—" you panted out, but before you could finish, he surged forward, recapturing your lips with a fierce and almost punishing force. The kiss was a tempest, a chaotic collision of passion and need, pulling you under and leaving you breathless, weightless, and utterly undone.

As his mouth consumed yours, his hands moved with purpose and urgency, stripping away your cardigan with a deft touch. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, making you acutely aware of every inch of him. His other hand slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curvature of your spine with a deliberate languor that made your breath hitch. Your body arched into his touch, your restraint crumbling under the weight of his passion. He responded by pressing you deeper into the plush couch, his body a heavy, welcome weight, pinning you beneath him, a captive to his desire.

The soft cushions molded to your form, offering a sensual contrast to the hard planes of his chest against your soft skin. "Sunghoon—" you gasped, struggling for air and begging him to slow down, but he showed no mercy. Instead, his lips descended upon yours with even greater ferocity, turning the kiss hungrier, messier and wetter as his mouth and tongue move with a frenzied passion that bordered on brutal, as if he was trying to consume you whole and leave nothing but ashes in his wake—the ferocity of which was mirrored by the rhythm of his hips as he ground against you, a tantalizing preview of what was to come.

You knew you were treading uncharted territories—felt it in the way his hands gripped you, relentless and commanding with a possessiveness that bordered on primal—every movement daring you to stop him and knowing you wouldn’t. But then again, this had always been the dynamic between you two: a dance on the knife’s edge—a battle masquerading as a game, where neither truly won. Every step only pulled you deeper into the other's orbit, not for the comfort peace or safety, but for the chaos only the other could create.

But somewhere along the way, the chaos had shifted. It was no longer about fighting against each other, about destruction for the sake of it. Instead, it had become something far more dangerous: a harmony within the chaos.

You had learned to move in sync, not because you sought peace, but because you understood each other too well. The storm hadn’t disappeared—it never would—but now, you weathered it together. No one else could bear the weight of your detachment—the walls you built, the silence you carried—but him. And no one else could bear his chaos—the storm within him, the fire that never died—the way you did.

You weren’t drawn to each other just for the fire, but because you were each other’s constant. You were his unshakable anchor: the force that rooted him in a reality he couldn’t manipulate, teaching him that respect—not domination—was the foundation of something enduring and real. And he was your constant storm: a chaotic force that blows through your carefully constructed walls, showing you that stability isn't always the answer. You let him destabilize your certainty; he lets you unravel his control.

You two were a mess and yet you two never sought to change nor fix the other. Because within one another was the only place where everything made sense, even as the world burned around you. It wasn’t peace, nor was it safety—but it was home. And it was inevitable, as it always had been.

A/N: DONE. DUSTED. GONE. PHEW. Now I can pack peacefully for my flight tomorrow. This is farthest and the most committed I've ever been in writing so please, show me some appreciation by leaving feedback. This is possibly my last writing after all. Also! just wanted to shed some light into the ending: I've created two very complex, messy as hell, multi-layered, characters who went through hell and back with a knife ((or fangs)) on each other's throat for most of the time, so you can’t expect a Hallmark-esque ending with elopement, three kids, and a cozy life baking sourdough in a quaint cottage deep in the woods. After everything they’ve been through—betrayals, obsession, bloodshed, and vulnerability—it would feel unrealistic to wrap their relationship in a neat bow. There’s too much baggage to simply ignore, and I am honoring those journey, their personality and their arcs by opting for such an ending in the epilogue. One that is unapologetically and messily theirs.

#enhypen vampire #enhypen imagines #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon vampire #kpop imagines #sunghoon scenarios #enhypen sunghoon scenarios #kpop scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen vampire au

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teamchasezwrites · 6 months ago

Text

Breed You

Word Count: 8,504

Characters: Damian Priest/OC

Genre: Smut, Side of fluff

Tags: Breeding Kink, Smut, Dirty Talk, Pregnancy Kink, Sexual Explicit Content

Summary: Thoughts about having sex with his wife were nothing new for Damian. Having thoughts of mounting her from behind and breeding her... well... those were new.

Author's Note: When it comes to writing smut, this post fits me to a T. I almost reported it under "I'm in this photo and I don't like it." This story is the first time I've attempting writing a kink and I do hate how it wasn't the main focal point. Go easy on me! Enjoy

Inspired by:

The door to the arena closed behind Damian as he stepped into the private parking lot. He nodded his head to a couple crew members standing along the building. A lingering acrid stench hung in the air indicating a cigarette break. He would never forget the smell as a former smoker himself. Ten years clean the smell now irritated his nose.

The building did little to hold in the cheers of the thousands of fans inside. The music was muffled but he couldn’t distinguished which wrestler was headed to the ring or who was victorious. If he were being honest with himself, he had no idea what was even on the card for the night beyond his own match – an eight man tag team match between Judgement Day and R-Truth, The Miz, and DIY. Judgement Day won of course. He was able to secure the pin on R-Truth.

Then his focus turned from the job to something better. Thankful Triple H was now in charge and he was a big champion of letting wrestlers have time off for family. His match needed to be in the first part of Raw or else it would throw off the scheduling for his traveling. Like the ripple a rock makes in the water as it plunges into its depth. The rings start off small and get bigger and bigger. He didn’t get out of the arena on time, he’ll miss his flight from LAX. If he missed his flight, it was a six hour drive.

Without traffic.

And six hours was way too long of a delay to be where he so desperately needed to be.

Damian hit the button on the key fob of his rental and tossed his black duffle bag into the passenger seat as he climbed into the nondescript sedan. He pushed the button on the dash and the engine started immediately. The radio started blasting Death Angel’s “Father of Lies”. He quickly reached out turning the volume down a couple notches from where he’d been rocking out earlier on his way to the Honda Center.

As he backed from the the parking spot, he sent a little prayer up for traffic to work with him. There was slim wiggle room and it was already a little after six local time. Los Angelas wasn’t exactly known for its commute.

Whatever Gods controlled the traffic were on his side because he was able to make it to the rental drop off at LAX in the time the GPS estimated. The drop off was quick and he was able to zip through security and make it to his gate with time to spare. Boarding hadn’t begun yet so he took the time he had to go to the bathroom and check his phone.

He sat in a chair surrounded by no one. The black hat on his head pulled low over his eyes with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over it. The long braided extensions he currently had his hair styled in was hidden by the hoodie helping give him a case of anonymity. Though he was still a six foot five man with bulking muscles. He definitely stood out against the rest of the passengers awaiting the same flight.

‘Made it to the airport.’

Roughly two hours – depending on how long it took to board and actually take off – before he would be at his destination. His leg bounced in anticipation.

While he waited, Damian scrolled through his social media. He liked posts from fellow Raw wrestlers and shared posts from WWE’s main account about him to his accounts. When boarding was announced he stood, shouldering his bag.

The attendant at the gate scanned the ticket on his phone with a smile. “Have a good flight.”

He responded with a smile and made his way onto the boarding bridge. He stepped into the plane, ducking his head where he smiled at the flight attendant welcoming him and quickly found his seat. Keeping his phone in his hand he stuffed his bag into the overhead compartment and took his assigned window seat.

The anticipation continued to build and he wished the passengers would move more quickly to their seats. The clock didn’t start ticking until the plane was in the air.

75 minutes until touchdown.

Damian’s phone chirped in his ear through the AirPods. He had yet to turn his playlist on. Glancing down at his lock screen he saw the notification. His lips spread into a smile.

Ali: You’re so close!!

He swiped his thumb across the notification to open the message thread.

‘Boarded now.’

‘If I could fly this plane, I’d already be on the way.’

A college-aged looking kid took the empty seat next to him before Damian could stand and try to do just that.

‘I’ll be your sexy flight attendant to mess around in your cock pit.’

Damian grinned at the sexual connotation of his wife’s text. ‘You do know your way around my cock…’

An image appeared next and he greedily tapped on it to enlarge it on his screen. The photo was dark, the only light source were the candles lining the edge of the bathtub and the windowsill above it. His wife’s feet peeked out of the water through the reflection of the candles. The feet glistened with water. Her skin tanned and perfect in the candlelight.

‘I’m gonna start right there and work my way up. I won’t be stopping until my lips have touched every piece of skin.’

He shifted in his seat. First to make sure his phone screen was hidden from prying eyes. Second, to alleviate the growing pressure against his zipper.

‘I hope you’ll be spending extra time in certain places on your quest.”

‘There’ll be quite a few layovers in all my favorite places.”

‘Fuck Dame… I need you to hurry up.’

Damian bit back the moan wanting to come out. He could almost feel her need coming through in the previous text. ‘Are you on edge Corazón? Do you need to cum?’

‘My fingers are nothing compared to yours.’

Damian shifted again at her words. There was no way to inauspiciously press the heel of his hand to his cock for some form of relief. ‘I’ll be there soon Baby.’

The plane finished boarding during his shameless conversation with his wife. The flight attendants were already closing the overhead compartments. ‘Getting ready to take off. I’ll see you soon. I love you.’

Ali’s answering ‘I love you’ text had him putting his phone in airplane mode and pressing the button on the side. The screen went dark. Tucking it in his hoodie pocket, he stared out the window as the plane taxied away from the terminal and down the runway.

The wait wasn’t long before pilot had them speeding down the runway past the other flights waiting their turn. The buildings on the ground flew by as the plane picked up speed. The nose lifted and soon the plane was off the ground and climbing high into the air.

The anticipation danced around in his belly like nerves. Damian couldn’t even explain the feeling. Ali was just in his arms yesterday when he kissed her goodbye at their front door before heading to the airport to fly to California for Monday Night Raw.

Maybe it had to do with the fact he was flying to Mammoth Mountain where he was spending the next six days nestled in a cozy room with his wife in the California ski town. Six days of uninterrupted time with just him and her. Celebrating five years of marriage. Celebrating their love.

Jesus did he love her.

They met in a club in New Jersey. The relationship was purely sexual on the onslaught. Then it turned into an on-again off-again before he finally wizened up to make it permanent in 2017. He didn’t know where wrestling was taking him at the time, but he knew Ali was it.

The plane leveled off and settled in for the quick jaunt west. The seatbelt sign clicked off but Damian paid it no attention. He retrieved his phone from his hoodie pocket and entered his passcode. He had a few games he could play to pass the time; an old pro at traveling now but he ended up in his photos. Skipping the raunchy and inappropriate memes he’d send Rhea and the rest of the Judgement Day in their group text, he narrowed in on the true photos on his camera.

The first one to pop up was a photo taken just last Wednesday on Valentine’s Day. A picture of him and Gabriela – his four year old daughter. She was perched on his back in a piggy back ride. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck in a pinching squeeze with his arms hooked around her already long legs securing her to him. Long legs and arms reminded him of a newborn horse. Her dark brown hair hung in a mass of wild waves hadn’t yet met a comb that morning. Her brown eyes sparkled in pure delight or mischief. The crooked little grin proudly displayed on her face.

Gabriela – an absolute surprise to them both finding out they were already many weeks along after their wedding. Completely spoiled rotten and one hundred percent Papi’s little girl.

Then there was a photo of two year old Ian taken that same morning, sitting at the kitchen table in his booster chair. His hand griping the small fork in a backwards grip with a look of pure determination on his face as he tried to stab the syrup covered pancake.

A smile formed on his lips as he could still hear his son chanting ‘Papi, Papi, Papi,’ as he dished up the special heart shaped pancakes to him and his sister along with cut up sausage patties and strawberries.

He swiped his thumb again and there was a tired looking Ali with her own heart shaped pancake. He liked to imagine she was tired because he wore her out the night before but he knew better. The culprit of her (and his) exhaustion was sitting in his wife’s lap, sporting an open mouth grin showing off her teeth. Sofia just turned one last month and had yet to sleep through the night. He was beginning to think she never would.

Damian could still smell the fresh baby scent when he nuzzled her sweet little face and kissed her goodbye yesterday.

He continued to scroll through the photos in his phone, getting further away from the current photos. His kids regressed quickly through the months and his heart twisted a little noticing how much Gabi changed in just this last year alone. Sofia became that tiny infant again; the one he was almost too afraid to hold after delivery. She’d been the smallest of his children. Not quite clocking six pounds. He felt like an overgrown oaf cradling her in his arms.

A couple more scrolls and there was Ali laying in the hospital bed, looking exhausted yet beautiful still in the midst of labor though not at the pushing stage. Her belly big and round with a stubborn Sofia not wanting to come out.

There was a stirring deep in his own belly he couldn’t place as he stared at a few more photos of Ali in the hospital before Sofia was born.

He kept swiping back through photos and his breath caught in his throat at the black and white photo. Taken at Christmas time because he received a tripod for his phone. Happy he could now take photos with his family without them having to be selfies all the time. This photo though…

Ali was lying in their bed on her back. The long flowing sheer negligee was deep red he remembered. The slit started at the center of the bra cups and down the entire length allowing it to fall open exposing her belly. Her back was slightly arched allowing her belly to be more prominent. Her head lifted a little, exposing her neck and the angle of her jaw.

He laid between her legs, shirtless with a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. His arms holding himself above her to keep his weight off her. The black and white photo drawing out the tattoos on his left arm more. His arms were slightly bent so he could dip and press his lips against Ali’s belly.

He’d forgotten all about the photo.

The next photo showed him on his knees in front of a standing Ali kissing her belly again. Then they were both standing. Him behind her with his arms wrapped around her, his hands on either side of her belly. Another photo of Ali by herself. Turned sideways to the camera, displaying her pregnant belly. One arm resting on top, the other cradling it from underneath.

Damian’s scrolls became faster almost frantic as he swiped through his photos searching for the ones with Ali pregnant. Anything with his wife’s belly on display. As he stared at the photos he couldn’t help but remember how it felt when they made love.

Her breasts enlarged, full of milk to nourish their babies. Her nipples tender and sensitive. The cries he could draw from just tracing his tongue around the areola. How her legs would jerk back and forth listlessly.

With her belly big and round, their frequent position would be him taking her from behind. He would help ease her onto her hands and knees as he situated himself behind her on his knees. He’d run his cock through her glistening folds before slowly sinking in. His hands would be gripping her hips as he moved in and out of her. Slowly his hands would move to her belly. He’d pull her up so her back was to his chest. She’d sink on him allowing him better access to her belly.

He loved the weight of her belly. The feel. The look… how it turned him on to see her pregnant with his child. It bolstered the possessiveness he felt when it came to it wife. He was the man who sent his seed deep inside her body, marking his claim.

Damian swallowed roughly on a dry mouth. The path his thoughts took were surprising. His cock was painfully hard in his jeans now as thoughts swirled in his head of impregnating his wife once more. Of releasing his unfettered sperm deep inside her.

Of mounting his wife from behind and breeding her.

Watching once more as her belly grew round with his child.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Please fasten your dealt belts as we make our descent into Mammoth Lakes. Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”

Damian’s thoughts were nearly feral as he exited the plane and walked into the small, private terminal of Mammoth Lakes Airport. His stride was purposeful as he exited the main doors. A few vehicles were lined up to fill with passengers to take them to various locations on the mountain.

He stepped up to the first one at the front of the line. “There’s a nice tip if you take me to The Lodge without waiting to fill the vehicle.”

The man grinned. “Yes Sir,” he gave him a mock salute. He started the vehicle as Damian climbed inside.

He fastened his seatbelt and pulled out his phone taking it off airplane mode. It chimed in his ear as the van pulled away from the curb.

A video from his mom waited. He tapped the video and was rewarded when his screen filled with Gabi. ‘Hi Papi! I love you!’ Her face zoomed in as she must have kissed the phone. He smiled watching as the phone shook and he was left staring at his daughter’s ear as she turned her head. Then she was off running, her giggles coming through his AirPods. ‘Say hi to Papi Ian.’ His son came into view as he pressed his face against his sister’s. Their faces squished together to fit both on the screen. ‘Hi Papi!’ Ian always over accented the ending sound in his name, holding onto the ‘e’ for a few beats. He loved it. ‘Say I love you!’ He chuckled at Gabi’s whisper. ‘Love you.’ Ian parroted as he learned toward the phone showing off his mouth full of teeth. The screen shook again and bounced as Gabi was on the move again. ‘Careful Sweetie.’ He heard his mother’s voice. Then Sofia was on the screen. Sitting in his mother’s lap. Her pink blanket in her lap. Her mouth sucking on her binkie. Even though the phone Damian could see the heaviness in her eyes as she held onto the last vestibules of wake, no doubt too intrigued by the movements of her siblings. ‘Feefa loves you too Papi.’ The nickname caused him to smile. Gabi had such a hard time saying Sofia. It came out as Feefa and even he called her that at times. His heart burst when Sofia pushed the binkie out of her mouth, a wide grin of her face as she saw her own reflection in the phone. ‘Wave to Papi, Feefa. Wave.’ A cheer nearly left his mouth at the same time as his mother’s when Sofia raised her hand out opening and shutting her fingers. ‘Bye Papi! I love you!’

The video ended and a small wave of sadness went through him. He missed them. He missed chasing Gabi through the house trying to corral her into the bath before bed. He missed snuggling with both Gabi and Ian on his lap as he read a bedtime story. He missed giving Sofia the final bottle before bed. Her brown eyes staring up at him holding him captive. Her small hand reaching up to touch his cheek, petting his beard. He would take her hand and press soft kisses to her fingers.

“We’re here Sir.”

Damian looked up from his phone. The Lodge loomed before him. He tucked his phone into his hoodie as he unfastened his seat belt. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took a couple bills out and handed them to the driver. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

Damian shouldered his bag as he tucked his wallet back in his pocket. He shut the door to the vehicle and started walking to the front doors as the van pulled away behind him.

The lobby was busy with the evening dinner hour. The lifts were closed. Skiing done for the night. Everyone was gathered, unwinding from a day on the slopes. The bar was standing room only. The roar of laughter and chatter echoing through the lobby. There was a line of patrons waiting to enter the restaurant. The large fire place was on the far wall. The flames danced in bright orange, red, and yellow hues. The seats around the fire were filled with friends and lovers alike.

Damian kept his head down and gaze averted as he ducked into a corner; phone already in hand. He had a waiting message from Ali.

An image.

He swallowed roughly and opened it. He released a breathy moan when the picture popped up. Ali lay on her stomach on the light colored comforter. The photo caught the side of her face; the mass of curls dipping in front of her shoulder and over her back. She wore no bra.

Her legs bent behind her, ankles crossed. Her back arched, sending her ass popping up. A pair of white lace panties sat on her waist and dipped between ass cheeks.

‘You’re killing me.’

He wanted her just like that. Wanted to slid up behind her and press his lips to the curve of an ass cheek before sinking his teeth in it. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and pull her back while his other hand set about unbuckling his pants.

‘Where are you?’

‘In the lobby trying not to be recognized while trying to get a room number out of this girl.’

‘Is she cute?’

‘Fucking hot.’

‘Yeah?’

‘What would you do if you got her room number?’

‘Corazon you’re playing with fire.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’d slip into her room while she’s laying on the bed. I’d press a kiss to her ankle while I climb between her legs. Pressing kisses to the back of her thighs up to her ass where I’d sink my teeth in to the soft flesh. I’d trace my tongue along the lace panties to where they dip down between her cheeks. I’d run my hand up her back to tangle into her hair and pull back causing her to arch more into me. I’d run my finger down between her cheeks to where her pretty pussy waits for me. Dripping wet. I’d press my finger deep inside her, pumping into her. Then I’d pull my hard cock out running it through her wet pussy lips as she begs for me to take her. She’d be so wet for me I can slid all the way into her on one hard thrust. There is no softness here. Just hard and fast until I have her screaming and coming apart all over my cock. When she does, I’ll give her what she so desperately wants. My hot cum painting deep inside her pussy walls.’

Fuck. Hard and fast is probably all he’s going to be good for the first time. He tugged at his hoodie in an effort to pull it down to cover his raging hard on.

‘Get here right the fuck now or it’s gonna be my fingers I’m riding hard and fast.’

The room number came through immediately after.

Armed with the information, Damian made his was through the lobby toward the elevator. Outside he appeared calm, on the inside he was wound so tight he threatened to explode. It wouldn’t take much. The simple squeeze of his cock to ward off an impending orgasm would send him in a tailspin.

Jesus he needed to get a hold of himself.

The elevator was thankfully empty when it arrived and no one followed him on. He hit the button to close the doors before anyone could slip through.

Moments later he was stalking down the hallway. Eyes catching door numbers as he passed. Then he was standing outside his room for the next six days. His wife just on the other side. Anticipation rolled through him. He raised his hand to tap softly on the door when it was pulled open and he was yanked through.

Hands palmed his cheeks pulling him down into a hot kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth. There was no finesse. Just desperate strokes.

The door clicked shut behind him. His bag falling off his shoulder to the floor. Her hands grabbed at the hem of his hoodie frantically trying to push it up his body needing to get him naked. To feel that warm skin beneath her fingers. Feel his hard muscles.

“Corazon, wait,” Damian murmured through the kisses.

“I can’t… I need you. Right now,” Ali’s hands hit skin and she moaned into his mouth. His skin was fever warm and she ran her hands up his chest, pushing both the hoodie and t-shirt up.

With strength he wasn’t sure he had, he broke the kiss with a groan and straightened. He caught sight of her for the first time. He moaned as his eyes raked over her naked body. “Ali, baby… you better not have been answering the door like that to anyone else.”

“And if I did?” Ali reversed her destination and her hands traveled south to Damian’s jeans.

Damian growled at her words. He pushed the hood from his head and ripped the hat off. With one hand gripping the hem of his hoodie, he yanked both it and his t-shirt over his head. His AirPods fell from his ears, bouncing to places unknown on the floor.

He didn’t care.

“No one gets to see this but me, Corazon,” he growled. He carded a hand through her hair to the back of her head where he yanked her forward. He swallowed her squeak as his lips captured hers. She fell against his body; her hands trapped between them. His tongue licked her lips and when she opened for him, he darted forward. He plundered her mouth chasing an acidic taste with a hint of bubbly… fruity… as if she’d been drinking a glass of wine. He had images of dribbling the wine on her body and licking it off.

His hands traced down her back; his palm rough against her soft skin. He cupped her ass and pressed her against his hard cock still confined in his jeans. Her arms broke free from between them to wrap around his neck, twisting in his hair. He felt her shift against him and he lifted her effortlessly in his arms. Her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Damian,” she moaned against his lips. “Fuck me…” She nipped his bottom lip then ran her tongue over it to soothe the sting.

“I got something better for you…” Damian carried her further into the room and turned toward the right to enter the bedroom. He’d check out the room tomorrow. He laid her down on the comforter from the earlier photo. ‘Maybe not,’ he thought staring down at her.

Her hair spread against the blanket. Her pupils blown wide in desire. A red hue of arousal on her cheeks. Full breasts on display, a size larger after three pregnancies. Her nipples erect and enticing beckoning him to take one in his mouth. His eyes trailed down her stomach, softer now, to the small triangle patch of light brown curls. Her legs parted under his gaze revealing her glistening folds.

Like a starving man faced with a buffet he fell to his knees on the floor. He ran his hands up her legs. His fingers light over the skin drawing goosebumps. Up over her knees to her thighs. The skin so soft beneath his touch.

“Damian…” His name fell from her lips like a plea.

The cadence entered his body touching every dark recess before wrapping around his cock. The breathy moan from between her lips had him reaching down and frantically ripping down his zipper to free his cock from his briefs. He wrapped his hand around the hard flesh and squeezed. Hard. He groaned, tossing his head back. A bead of cum appeared on the tip and he breathed to ward off his orgasm.

With his orgasm staved off for now Damian opened his eyes catching sight of Ali leaning up on one elbow her face full of want and desire. The hunger in her eyes had him groaning. “The way you make me feel Corazon,” he whispered as he parted her legs. He hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to his mouth.

Damian placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh and Ali shivered as his beard scratched the delicate skin. “Oh Damian…” the words fell from her lips as her eyes drifted close.

“I haven’t even started yet.” Damian smirked. He took pity on his wife – and himself by lowering his head and licking a stripe straight up her center. Tanginess burst on his tongue and he moaned, pressing his face closer.

Short licks at her entrance before moving up to her clit. His tongue circled the bundle of nerves, flicking the button, drawing soft cries from Ali. Back down through her folds to her entrance his pressed his tongue deep inside.

“Damian…” Ali mewled, her hips undulating in the hold he still had on her thighs. Keeping her right where he wanted. Where she wanted. Her back arched as his tongue assaulted her clit again. His movements sure and knowing. He could always work her into a frenzy within minutes. Her hands fisted in the comforter beneath her, pulling the fabric.

A cry fell from her lips when he pressed two fingers deep inside her channel. They slid in without resistance. She been slick all evening since she watched him in the ring during his match on TV, his muscles rippling and glistening under the lights. Her thighs closed on his head.

“Let me at this pretty pussy Corazon,” Damian murmured as he pressed a hand on the inside of her thigh cocking her leg higher onto the bed, opening her up to him. “I can’t wait to sink my cock in you. You’re squeezing my fingers so well…you need me baby don’t you,” he pressed a kiss at the crease of her thigh.

“Yes,” Ali hissed. She reached down and grabbed his ponytail, the braided strands twisting in her hold. She wished his hair was free from the braids so she could tangle her fingers in it. “Please…”

“You beg so nicely.” He removed his fingers only to replace them with his tongue. He buried his face in her folds, his nose at her clit. He wiggled his tongue inside her. He licked between her folds to his clit. His tongue swirling around it, flicking over it. He pressed his fingers back inside her as her hand pressed his head closer. He knew she was close based on that hand.

Twisting his fingers he curled them up to the front wall, searching and finding the slightly rigid patch of skin. Ali’s breath hitched at the contact followed by a low moan. Pre-cum dribbled down his cock. He closed his lips around her clit and sucked. Ali’s hips came off the bed and he used his free hand to hold her in place.

It took another flick on his tongue and she came with a cry. Her hand had a stinging grip on his hair as she pressed his face into her pussy. Her hips jerked wildly as her body convulsed.

Damian slowed his fingers, moving them in and out of her in an almost lazy manner. He pressed soft kisses and gentle licks to her folds before letting his fingers slip from her opening. His cock so hard it was painful. A wet spot on his jeans where his cock leaked.

Raising up he pressed his face into her belly. He kissed the small pouch she carried. The extra ten pounds she always complained about in the mirror. The same pouch he loved so much.

Ali’s hand had relaxed her grip on his hair but her fingers started to move again. Soft little caresses against the short stubble of his faded haircut. He closed his eyes concentrating on those ministrations as they moved toward his cheek. When her other hand cupped the other side of his face and started lifting his head, he opened his eyes to meet hers. He grinned at the sated look on her face.

“Come up here,” Ali whispered.

Damian would follow her anywhere. He pushed to his feet, his knees protesting from the prolonged position.

Ali moaned seeing her husband’s cock jutting from his jeans. She reached out and wrapped a hand around the hard, hot flesh drawing a hiss from Damian. She glanced up through her eyelashes to see his head tossed back and his eyes shut. A look of pure bliss on his face.

She kept her strokes light and teasing. Her thumb took a swipe through the creamy liquid pooled on the tip. She brought her thumb to her mouth, sucking the digit in; tongue swirling over the pad. Her eyes drifted closed as the saltiness flavor burst on her tongue.

“Fuck,” Damian moaned watching Ali suck on her thumb where she collected a drop of his cum. He quickly kicked off his shoes and shucked his jeans and briefs down his legs. After removing his socks he stood tall with his cock in hand.

“Yes,” Ali breathed. Her mouth watered as she stared at her husband in all his naked glory. The broadness of his shoulders, into his powerfully toned chest. The tattoos covering sculpted arms from his wrists to his shoulders. The libra and skulls entwined piece on his right pec. The cross coming out of the flames on his left bleeding into a skull morphing into a lily flower. Her favorite piece on his body because it represented her and their children.

An exquisite piece with a lily (her favorite flower) coming out of the nose opening. Its petals going up and covering an entire eye socket. The only shown eye socket – just a black shadowed circle meshed so well it almost looked like a petal itself. The cheekbone defined so well it acted as another petal. Then it gave way to the teeth before the jawbone became petals once again. Their children’s names - in her loopy cursive – were written in each of the petals.

She drew her eyes away from his chest and downward; over the taunt abs with the hint of definition that came and went depending on his gym workout and dieting. The sexy v-line on either side of his hips that made her want to fall to her knees and do his bidding when they’d peek out of low slung jeans on his hips. She always thought it was a travesty his ring gear covered the sexy Adonis belt.

Her eyes followed the line her tongue has traced so many times before to his cock – hard and red still grasped in his hand. The area completely shaved. The skin perfectly smooth. His fingers languidly moving up and down. She drew her lip between her teeth when his thumb circled the tip collecting the drop of cum pooled at the slit before massaging it against his length with his movements. Her thighs closed as she rubbed them together looking for friction; her pussy clenched around emptiness.

His balls were drawn up tight beneath his shaft, telling her how close he was to coming. They were heavy and full and she felt a gush of fluid between her thighs at the thought of his virile cum filling her, coating her womb.

A white hot need shot through her. Her mind clouded as arousal built. Her fingers tingled and her body grew hot. Wetness slicked her thighs and saturated the blanket beneath her.

Her eyes hit his thighs – muscular and powerful. She wanted to spread her legs on either side of his thigh and press her pussy to the hard muscle and ride until she came.

Damian nearly came watching the different emotions flicker across Ali’s face as her eyes roamed his body. He preened under her perusal, tightening his muscles, making them more defined. His pecs rippled. The veins on his arms more pronounced.

“Damian… please,” her voice was rough and full of need. She scooted away from the edge and laid back on the bed. Her legs parted in invitation and her fingers ran through the soft brown curls framing her aching slit.

“Corazon… Baby girl…you have no idea how much I need you” Damian placed his hands on the bed as he bent over and kissed her delicate ankle. He didn’t linger as he moved his lips up her leg, placing a kiss to the inside of her knee. It drew a whimper from her and cum leaked from his cock at the sound painting the comforter.

He bypassed her cunt – slick and swollen from her first orgasm. The heady scent of her arousal invaded his nostrils and he breathed deeply causing a full body shiver to course through him. He nuzzled her belly. His tongue tracing the feint stretch marks spidering on the skin.

Continuing on his upward path, his nose lightly traced up her stomach. His mouth pressing ghosting kisses on the soft kiss, leaving behind a trace of wetness to dry in the air. Her nipples were drawn in stiff peaks and he took one in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the hardened pebble. She arched into his mouth as her hand twisted in the braided locks.

“You gotta… take these out,” she gasped as he sucked her nipple. His teeth nipped and then there was a long swipe with a flattened tongue over the flesh to soothe.

“Tomorrow,” Damian murmured against her skin as he drew her other nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Damian…” Ali’s hand clutched his bicep; her nails digging into the tattooed skin. She dug the nails of her other hand into his scalp pushing her breast further into his mouth even as her back arched up. Pleasure zinged through her, pooling deep in her belly. Her pussy clenched and released milking the emptiness, wishing he’d shove his cock deep into her.

Before Damian had a chance to latch onto the spot where her neck met shoulder and that place right behind her ear that always made her cry out, Ali’s hands were cupping either side of his face. She drug his lips to hers.

She moaned into his mouth when his weeping cock painted her thigh. His tongue wasted no time entering her mouth tangling with hers; each fighting for dominance. It slid against hers and she pressed her hips wantonly against him surrendering to his touch. The movement seductive as she sought pleasure from his body.

“Damian,” she whispered breathlessly. She felt lightheaded and dizzy. Drowning in need. “Please…”

Damian pushed up on his knees, a hand on his cock giving it a quick hard squeeze at the base. He stared down at her, breathing heavily. His got impossibly harder twitching in his hand. She was spread out before him like an offering. Her hair fanned out on the comforter. His fingers itched to bury in the soft silky tresses. Her eyes blown wide in arousal. The black nearly absorbing the green he loved so much. Her lips – swollen from his kisses – parted as her breaths came out heavy. He watched, transfixed, as her tongue came out to lick along the bottom lip, coating it in wetness. Her skin a red hue from her cheeks sweeping south over her chest.

He reached out and traced a finger down until he got to her stomach. Her belly twitch beneath his touch and he spread both his hands over her abdomen. In a blink his mind morphed the soft, pillowy pouch to full and round with child.

His child.

“Dios Corazon, te necesito,” Damian moaned. His hands ran down either of her thighs pushing them further apart as he moved closer.

“Take me Damian…” Ali begged. “Please. Now.” Tilting her hips up in offering.

Damian wrapped his hand around his cock and ran it through Ali’s wet folds before lining up and pressing forward. His eyes closed and he groaned as he entered her body, her pussy gripping him. He sank to the hilt, his hips pressed against hers.

Ali clenched around him drawing a low moan from deep in his throat. He tossed his head back, his eyes clenched tightly as he breathed through his teeth trying to keep from coming. She was tight and warm wrapped around him.

He opened his eyes and stared down at her. “Corazon I’m barely hanging on…”

“Good. I need you to fuck me… right now.”

Damian groaned at her words. He pulled from her body, his eyes watching his cock appear, slicked with her creamy juices. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he sunk back in.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day…”

Damian fell onto his elbows over her. “Corazon you have no idea what I’ve been thinking about all day.” He seized her lips in a hard kiss. His tongue entered her mouth, demanding.

Ali wrapped her arms around his massive shoulders pulling him closer. Her skin tingled and her core flooded as his tongue stroked hers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. She broke the kiss on a moan. His cock driving deep inside her. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Damian groaned and buried his face in Ali’s neck as his mind exploded with images of her pregnant belly. His arm muscles bulged as he kept his full weight from crushing her. His hips pistoned in and out sharply. His balls smacking against her skin. They were drawn tight to his body, ready to explode.

“Tell me,” Ali whispered nipping his ear, drawing the lobe between her lips. The movement caused his hips to move faster and she released a heady moan in his ear. Her nails raked down his back leaving red streaks in their place.

“I wanna breed you… I wanna fill you with my cum.” Damian sucked a bruising kiss on her neck. “Plant my seed deep in your womb. Watch you grow big with my baby.”

Ali felt the gush of liquid at his words, coating Damian’s cock. Her eyes darkened with lust. The thought of his cum coating her pussy, painting her womb ignited her insides. Her belly growing round and full with Damian’s child.

“I wanna roll you over and fuck you from behind. Keep fucking you all night long until I’ve fucked a baby into you…”

Ali tightened her legs around Damian, stopping his movements. He was trapped deep inside her. When he lifted his head to meet her eyes, she saw some trepidation like he’d overstepped a line. She fisted his hair and brought his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. “Do it,” she whispered, their eyes meeting once again. She saw his eyes flare with desire and she clenched around him. “Breed me, Damian. Put a baby in me…”

Damian moved like lightning. He pulled out with a moan and helped his wife roll over to her hands and knees. The moan he released was harsh and visceral staring at his wife. Her ass and pussy on display. Her pussy lips red and swollen from his thrusts. A slickness coating them and her thighs.

He moved behind her. His corse hairy thighs pressing against her soft skin. He didn’t waste a moment. He thrust back in sinking fully into her. Their moans were loud and long at the invasion. He hoped no one was on the other side of the wall but he was beyond caring.

He withdrew once again watching his cum coated cock pull from her body. The way her lips seem to clench around him as to stop him from leaving.

“Give me a baby Damian,” Ali moaned tossing her head back.

“Fuck yeah,” Damian breathed through his teeth. His pace was harsh and brutal; unrelenting. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room mixed the creaking of the bed. “I’m gonna fill you full of my cum. Then I’m gonna keep my cock buried deep inside of you so my cum has no choice but to fill your womb.”

She cried out in pleasure, rocking on her knees to meet his thrusts. Her thighs and arms quaked; her muscles quivering. Her pussy nearly purring with the assault. “Damian…” she chanted her husband’s name as if she was sending a prayer. Maybe she was. His fingers gripped her hips with bruising force. It sent another bolt of lightning through her flooding her core.

She spread her knees further apart and gasped as his balls slapped against her clit with each thrust. Tears built in the corner of her eyes. “Oh…I…Damian…” she whimpered against the tight coiling in her belly. The feeling so big and powerful it scared her. Her hands fisted in the comforter; nails digging into the fabric.

“I got you,” Damian’s voice blanketed her trembling body. Her safety net. Her protector. “Let go for me.”

“With… you…” Her voice desperate trying to hold her orgasm at bay.

“Always.”

It was like a spring breaking free. The tension inside her snapped and she came with a loud wail. Light burst behind her clenched eyelids. She trembled as lightning danced through her body, sending tingles up and down her arms and legs. Her pussy clenched around him as she gushed, coating his cock with her essence.

“Ah… ah…” Damian’s face contorted in pleasure as Ali’s pussy clenched around him as she withered and arched on his cock as her orgasm worked through her. He snapped his hips one final time sending his cock deep inside her. He came with a roar. Rope after rope of his hot thick white sperm shooting from his throbbing cock deep inside her pussy.

Ali moaned at the feel of her husband’s sperm releasing inside her, coating her walls. She lifted her head toward the ceiling. Her messy hair showering down her back, sticking to the sweat soaked skin. Her pussy spasmed with each twitch of Damian’s cock inside her.

Damian’s body trembled as the last of his cum released inside of wife. A full body shudder as his muscles turned to goo, weakened by the force of his orgasm. It took a considerable amount of effort to unlock his fingers from Ali’s hips. He pulled out of his wife with a groan, watching as his cum dribbled out after.

With two fingers he pressed his cum back inside drawing another moan. Her pussy clenched around his fingers in mini spasms as she recovered. Damian pressed a kiss to the small of Ali’s back before he collapsed on his back beside her.

His heart hammered against his rib cage. Every so often his muscles would twitch as electrons starting firing, trying to get his body back online. His breaths came out in gasps, his lungs heaving in exertion. His body shone with a sheen of sweat. Heat radiated off his body. He wondered if his legs would even be able to hold him up in the shower.

The shower was forgotten when the mattress shifted and Ali’s head hit his shoulder. Her own breath coming out in gasps hot and sticky across his skin. Her body pressed against his side and her leg entwining with his. He wrapped his arm around her back holding her more firmly to his side. His hand rested on her hip. His fingers lightly caressing the skin.

“Corazon, you’re gonna kill me before the week is out.”

Ali hummed and pressed her lips to his chest, right over that lily flower tattoo. She tilted her head up and Damian turned his head to meet hers. Their lips collided – softly this time. Slowly their lips moved together. His arm crossed his body and she felt his calloused hand cup her cheek gently. His fingertips just breaching her hair. Their mouths opened and their tongues mated. The stroke soft and smooth. Lazy. The furious desperation from moments ago satisfied for now.

Their lips parted and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Ali’s eyes blinked opened. Light filtered in from a crack in the curtains but she couldn’t distinguish the time. Her phone was plugged in on the nightstand but she would have to leave the warm cocoon she was currently enveloped in.

Damian lay behind her, his arms wrapped around her. His body pressed against hers. His face tucked into her neck. She could feel the soft tuffs of hair blowing gently on her skin with each breath he took.

She shifted. Both her body and Damian protested the movement. Her muscles deliciously used after last night’s lovemaking. From the desperate first time to the needy time in the shower after hands strayed and lingered to the slow and lazy way he slipped inside her as the first feint glow of sunrise hinted.

Damian’s hold tightened on her. A small noise of protest from the back of his throat as he pulled her more securely to him, snuggling against her body.

Speaking of delicious…

His hard cock pressed into her ass. Twitching over one globe leaving a string of wetness behind. She bit her lip and fought against the desire to press her ass into his crotch.

Wetness once again pooled at her center, slicking her lower lips. She pressed her thighs together, keeping the ministrations minute so not to disturb Damian and find some type of relief. His hand lay lax against her belly and she had designs about pushing it down until his fingers pressed between her folds; until those calloused fingers rubbed her clit.

She wondered if she kept the movements slow if he’d wake up or if he’d finger her in his sleep. She arched against his cock almost subconsciously. The hard flesh pulsed against the soft globe of her ass cheek. What was he thinking about to be hard right now?

‘I wanna breed you.’

His words from last night echoed in Ali’s mind. God they were so hot. Something she never thought she’d think. Did she have a breeding kink? Did she have this inane desire to be bred like an animal? Was it the thought of getting pregnant that caused her insides to turn to liquid?

Or was it the thought of actually being pregnant that made her burst with one of the most intensive orgasms she’s ever had?

Was it the want of having another baby with Damian leading the charge? Of her stomach growing full and around. Of feeling the little flutterings and kicks. Of nurturing a tiny human being with her body. Creating another little mixture of her and Damian?

A heavy dose of want coursed through her. One that had her pressing herself back on Damian’s cock. Her hips gyrating against him.

It didn’t take long before the hand on her stomach tensed as Damian’s body came to life as she pulled it from sleep. His body hardened behind her. His hips moving with hers. Lips ghosted over her neck as his fingers dipped dangerously close to her center.

“Someone woke up feeling a little frisky.” His voice was low and sleep filled in her ear. Goosebumps broke out over her arms.

Ali hummed in answer, cocking her head to allow him better access to her neck. His teeth nipped her ear and drew her lobe between his teeth and suckled. She moaned and settled her hand over his, pushing him toward her aching center. They ran through her slickness together, coating their fingers with her arousal.

A moan escaped as he pressed a finger inside her.

“You’re already so wet for me,” Damian breathed as he ran that slick finger through her folds to her clit.

“Damian,” she moaned. Her eyes falling shut. “Breed me…”

Damian’s fingers stilled at his words and he lifted his head to stare at his wife. Unsure if he heard correctly.

Ali could feel the embarrassment on her cheeks but she turned her head to meet Damian’s eyes. “If you’re serious about wanting another baby, I won’t take my pill today.”

“You’re serious?” Damian’s eyes searched hers looking for any small trace of doubt. He found nothing. He slowly began to smile.

“Breed me Damian. Fuck a baby into me.”

With a groan his lips met hers.

#damian priest fanfic #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfics #damian priest #damian priest x oc #wwe #fanfiction #wwe smut #damian priest smut #damian priest fanfiction #breeding k1nk

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trivia-yandere · 2 years ago

Text

Study Partner

An alternate world in which the elites rule the world and have everything at their fingertips. At a top elite college, “Study Partners” - the most desirable sexual partners around the world - are assigned to the top 10% of students with the highest grades.

word count: 2.820

warning: smut, reader is naked majority of the time, porn with little plot, facial, oral sex, saliva, voyeurism, public indecency, masturbation, creampie, anal, double penetration, drooling, cum swallowing, handjobs, overstimulation

@seokjinkismet @bloodline1632 @babycandy111

@srslythis-ismylife @darkuni63 @momnomnom @sweetempathprunetree

Alternate Universe

"Congratulations students." says the dean, hands clapping together. He was a short and fat man with round glasses on his face. "On being in the top 10% of students with the highest grades."

Jungkook held his head in his hands and released a sigh. His eyes boredly watched his death on the flat screen television in the classroom he sat. On a Saturday of all days.

"You'd think we'd get a medal or something." Jimin scoffs. "Instead of being forced inside of a classroom on the weekend."

The top 10% of students were only 1,000 out of the 10,000 attending the private university. It was a University their parents attended and even their grandparents, fully funded by the elite last names that attended throughout decades. While the school remained vacant with the rest of the students attending, only the 1,000 students were permitted on University grounds. Guards lined up outside the gates and ID'd each student as they entered and were instructed to show where they would be for the day.

"Why'd they separate us?" asks Taehyung, seated with his leg on another desk. "Having 5 in a room seems like such a hassle."

Hoseok hums in agreement.

"You all must be confused as to why you're here on a free day, but you'll be confused no longer. We have separated you to the correct rooms where each of you will be awarded for your grades." the dean smiles, a sinister wide smile.

Hoseok's eyes the windows to the right of the room, showing the hallway of the University. It soon litters with women and men all around the same ages - and all naked.

The television turns black and the door that held the five men - Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook - swings open. A guard strolls in and behind him, a woman - you. You're naked like the rest, nipples perky and erect as you bounced inside cheerfully.

"Studying starts now. Lunch will be in the next two hours." the guard says, and like clockwork, the television displays a countdown.

The guard closes the door and you smile at the faces of the five men inside, all confused and bewildered.

"Hello." you wave to them, but neither of them respond. "I'm sure you're all wondering what's going on."

"Yes, we are." Jungkook murmurs, but his eyes glue themselves to your exposed clit. It feels dirty to stare at you, especially in front of his hyungs.

"I'm Y/N. I'm a study partner." you began to speak, making your way closer to them. "You as the top 10% of students are being rewarded for keeping your grades high."

"With...?" Jimin questions. But he's sure he knows the answer.

"Sex." you answer coolly. "You can do anything you want with me, of course." you smile cutely and Jimin reddens. "All at once or one at a time."

Taehyung shakes his head and snickers. "This is crazy." but he feels his cock twitch with excitement.

"It is." you agree. "But it's a reward for working so hard. So today, you'll use me for whatever desires you have."

You're already naked, so it doesn't take long for you to stroll to the closest person - Park Jimin. You lift your leg to place your knee upon his desk, pussy - glistening and wet - flashing him.

Jimin gulps visibly, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes don't glance away from you to know that they're eight eyes upon him and you.

You grasp Jimin's hand and place it upon your naked breast. These men weren't going to take the first move, and you didn't blame them. It was a tradition spawning decades that study partners will be gifted to elite students with the highest grades. The tradition itself is left a secret until the time comes, former alumni vowing to not reveal it. You would never forget the look on the faces of those prior to the five men - bewildered but willing.

"Let me take care of you, Jimin-ssi." you murmur.

Jungkook feels his pants grow tighter at the sight of you and Jimin, eyes wide and body frozen in shock. You place your lips upon Jimin, hand encouraging him to fondle your breast - and when Jimin does your throat allows you to moan in satisfaction.

Taehyung doesn't recall how long you and Jimin kiss, it's all a blur to him. What he does know is that he blinks and you're upon your knees, ass high into the air and your lips are around Jimin's cock. You waste no time gagging upon it, reaching it deep into your throat like a pro.

Jimin's moaning, eyes snapping shut. Your mouth was amazing and your throat proved to be even better.

"You're so hard, Jimin-ssi." you swipe your tongue against the tip of his cock teasingly. "Is what I'm doing making you this hard?"

Jimin nods hastily. He was breathing heavily and sweating. He feels you take him in your mouth once more, this time slobbering messily upon his cock, even taking it out and slapping yourself with it a few times the way you knew he liked it - never revealing to any of them how you know their kinks.

Hoseok doesn't stop himself from reaching into his sweats. He was but a man, and watching you pleasure Jimin to the point the man is twitching in his seat is hot. He wraps a hand around his cock and pumps, eyes on your pussy clenching on nothing - oh how he wished it was his cock you were clenching around.

"If you keep sucking like that I'm gonna cum." Jimin hisses, groaning at the way your mouth suctions around his cock.

Jimin is coming undone and you do nothing but suck harder. You wrap a hand around the base of his cock and pump him while you suck and soon Jimin is twitching harder in his seat.

Jimin peaks his eyes open as he's cumming to witness your smiling face, cum dripping out of his cock and right onto your lips. You were enjoying this - you had to be. Initially, he assumed you were doing this for the money - and with working for a private elite school, the money was amazing. But you truly enjoyed pleasuring him - and for that he found it more worthwhile. The cum drips down your chin and onto your chest.

Jimin falls limp into his seat while you lick the remaining cum from your lips.

Namjoon is the first to react. He - like Hoseok - was but a man and already had his cock out and ready. He quickly grasps you from your position and hoists you up. You yelp, but turn to face the tall man.

"You're so cute when you're horny." you murmur to Namjoon, and before he can react to your words you push him besides Jimin in an empty seat. You sit upon him, both legs on either side of him. Your clit is dripping with excitement when you rub it against his cock, and Namjoon swallows as you do so. "You know, I have been assigned to you all since you started."

Namjoon's ears perk, as do the other four men.

"They allowed me to study each of you. They showed me pictures and I just knew I couldn't wait to have you." you continue to grind against Namjoon while his hands dig into the skin of your hips. "I prepared myself for this moment and I won't stop until I've satisfied each of you."

You pushed yourself onto Namjoon's tip, entering it inside of you.

Namjoon grunts, eyes glued to your bouncing breast as you adjusted to his size. Your pussy was hot and wet and his cock felt as if it was going to melt - and could he truly be angered if it did?

You embrace Namjoon, both arms tugging him closer to you. Your breast suffocates him as you bounce atop of him, but he doesn't care. He cannot bring himself to. All he does care about is the way your pussy is making him feel - as if he could cum any moment now and wouldn't be ashamed by how quick it was.

Hoseok was the next to follow. His cock felt ready to explode at the sight of you and Namjoon and waiting for his turn was not an option. He tugs you off of Namjoon, but the only one upset about it is the man and not you. You instead giggle at his action.

Hoseok pushes you upon a glaring Namjoon and enters you, wasting no time to crack his hips inside of you at a brutal pace. Your hands clench Namjoon's shoulders for support. Your moans filled the room along with Hoseok's brutal thrusts. Your pussy is dripping slick down your thighs, but you do nothing but beg for more and more - needing to be filled by the man.

Your breasts clap against one another loudly when Hoseok yanks you by your neck closer to him. Namjoon takes this opportunity to take a nipple into his mouth and suck, left hand cupping your wet clit. He rubs circles on your clit and you're coming undone right before their eyes - and the eyes of Taehyung and Jungkook.

"I'm gonna cum!" You wail, legs shaking in great pleasure. Hoseok's cock was so big and he knew just how to fuck you - deep and hard just how you loved it. Namjoon's fingers playing with your clit as he sucked and bite at your breast was the icing on top, and just as Hoseok shoots his cum into you, you're squirting against Namjoon's hand, a long cry of satisfaction leaving your lips.

"It's my turn!" Jungkook hisses, cock out and ready to pounce, but Namjoon shakes his head.

"Hobi took my turn." Namjoon retorts.

"You let him." Jungkook rolls his eyes and he's already grabbing you by your arm when Namjoon tugs you closer to him.

"I can take the both of you." you moan. Your pussy throbs for more, even after Hoseok's powerful rampage.

"H-Huh?" Jungkook flushes at your statement. He swallows thickly, eyes already dark with lust. His mind is blurred enough at the fact that this wasn’t a wet dream. No, you were actually here taking everyone so well.

Namjoon is already seated, so it isn't hard to turn towards Jungkook and bring him closer to you. You turn back around and sit upon Namjoon, directing his cock closer to your pussy. He gulps when you center it at your hole and begin to thrust inside.

"Now you both can have a turn." you murmur, the pressure of having Namjoon inside of you causes you to take a deep breath, but it doesn't last long. Jungkook is already behind you and centering his own cock at your hole.

Jungkook has never done this before and it feels amazing to enter you. He coughs a couple groans when he does so - so tight and warm, inviting. Your back arches to take more of him, and it was the invitation needed for Jungkook to thrust.

As you feel Jungkook fuck your ass, Namjoon begins to thrust inside of your pussy. You never felt so satisfied and full at once - and the sensation was amazing. Your breasts are directly against Namjoon’s chest, fingers clenching his shoulders.

The situation right now feels surreal for Jungkook - and so filthy. The sane part of him wants himself to slow down - that you were still a woman and is deemed fragile. But you’re the one moaning so loud for them - telling him and Namjoon how much you truly wanted it.

And who was Jungkook but a man to give you what you were begging for?

“She’s so tight.” Jungkook grunts, hands firmly placed upon your hips, his own hips snapping directly inside of you.

“Please fuck me as hard as you’d like.” you slurr, your insides churning with such pleasure. You don’t notice Taehyung come before you until your hair is being yanked, and even then you cannot bring yourself to care.

The position had to be uncomfortable to you, but Taehyung doesn’t care. After all, you stated that you wanted all of them, and that’s what he was going to give you until it was his turn to fuck you.

Taehyung places his cock against your willing tongue, groaning at the wet sensation. He slaps your cheek and you do as you were silently told. You begin to suck upon Taehyung’s cock, throat vibrating with Namjoon’s and Jungkook’s thrusts.

“She’s so filthy.” Taehyung chuckles, a hand firmly in your hair. “The perfect whore with all of her holes stuffed.”

You groan a response.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook snaps his hips even harder, his eyes clenching shut. He couldn’t look at you anymore, not while you appeared so filthy. He focuses on cumming, your tight walls clenching around him each time.

Jungkook removes himself from inside of you, hand wrapped around his cock. He grabs you from Taehyung - much to the mans annoyance - and cum directly onto your mouth. You open your mouth even wider to swallow every last droplet.

“Oh, shit.” Namjoon was next, but he didn't remove himself. He cums deep inside of you, thrusts sloppy and his eyes on the sight of you swallowing Jungkook’s cum.

“My turn.” Taehyung sing-songs, all too excited. He grabs you from Namjoon and roughly presses you against a nearby desk, chest slamming against it. He spreads your legs apart and doesn’t waste any time in entering you. “You’re still tight as if you weren’t fucked by so many cocks already.”

Taehyung’s speed is degrading, he cares solely about his own please - but you aren’t upset. You’ve came so many times now that if you didn’t this time, you wouldn’t be angry.

You slam against the cold desk with each thrust from Taehyung. Your pussy clenches, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Please cum inside of me!” you wail, overstimulation getting to you. You feel fresh tears swell in your eyes.

Taehyung slams a hand over your mouth, thrusts never stopping. He’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach, something that shouldn’t be possible.

“I’ll give you what you want.” Taehyung laughs, eyes zoning in on the way your ass bounces against his cock. He was never meant to last long - not with how wet, willing and tight you were. A few more sloppy thrusts and he’s cumming inside of you, so much that it begins to drip out before he could remove himself.

Jimin stands once more. “We don’t have much time left. I want to cum in her next.”

The time has went by rapidly, and the timer shown that there was only 30 minutes left until lunch,

“I’m sure we can all cum just one more time.” Hoseok’s already hard again, dark eyes filled with lust.

Jimin flips you onto your back. Your legs open automatically for him, but you’re far too exhausted to do anything.

“I can take two in my mouth.” you slur, already opening your mouth to invite any two inside.

Jimin growls. He grasps his cock and enters you just as you allow Namjoon and Hoseok inside your mouth. In each hand, Jungkook and Taehyung are being pumped.

Jimin focuses on your bouncing breast, then to the way your mouth was being fucked by his hyungs. You were truly a sight to behold - a woman willing to do anything to please them. He places a thumb upon your clit and rubs roughly while he fucks inside of you.

“She likes that, hyung.” Jungkook groans, his cock being pumped so tightly in your soft hands.

Jimin knows, he can feel you clench him even tighter. How your pussy isn’t stretched out by the amount of cocks you had inside of you, he’d never know.

There’s saliva seeping out of your mouth, but you cannot bring yourself to care. You’ve come twice already with Jimin inside of you. You were far from exhausted, allowing Taehyung and Jungkook to jack themselves with your hands and for Namjoon and Hoseok to use your mouth as they wanted.

Your eyes remained open, but you couldn’t focus on anything - your vision was blurry due to the tears and even not, you were currently seeing stars due to the overstimulation.

Jimin cums deep inside of you with a final thrust, slapping your clit harshly. Namjoon was next, the first to remove himself from your lips to coat your cheeks with his warm seed. Jungkook and Taehyung follow suit, both coating each of your breasts and finally Hoseok, deep inside of your throat.

You cough when you finally feel oxygen run through your lungs - the alarm blaring in the room. It was now lunchtime, you note, and you heard shuffling just outside the classroom walls.

Anticipation runs through you knowing that there was still the whole day ahead of you with the five men after lunch was over.

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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

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NOW YOU’RE A STRANGER (AND I’M STILL JULY)

season three of "come home"

a lot can change in a year, and when summer comes to hawkins, you think you're finally okay with this idea. you've settled things with jonathan, nancy is now your friend, and steve harrington calls you angel. then dustin intercepts a secret russian code and your grand plans of you and robin teasing steve all summer, and maybe even falling in love, all come crashing down. (meanwhile all steve wants to do is ask you out). (but the russians complicate things). (as usual).

episode one: suzie, do you copy?

you help nancy sneak through jonathans window, the party uses you for your "in" with steve, and you sorta become the reason dustin almost blinds lucas. meanwhile, steve tries, and fails, to make you his girlfriend (this will happen all summer), but have no fear ! dustin intercepts a russian code and makes everything even harder for everyone. what a sweet brother <3

episode two: the mall rats

dreams are weird, billy is a hitchhiker, and hopper flirts with joyce in front of you (youre not sure which is scarier), somehow robin knows russian and has genius ears, you get caught in an awkward breakup showdown, and you shamefully are shocked when you discover that hawkins is anything but normal. you would think youd be a pro at this already, but at least steve is hot and really good at sneaking through windows.

episode three: the case of the missing lifeguard

dustin blackmails you for $5 and then dubs steve as boyfriend material for you, robin cracks yet another russian code, you all almost waterboard yourselves after sneaking onto the mall's roof, you have a sexy nervous breakdown, and jonathan takes you for a drive in his sick car.

episode four: the sauna test

dustin has some brotherly concern for you (dont tell anyone though), steve is offended you dont think he can fight, nancy gets upset during therapy hour, robin encourages child endangerment, erica becomes your hero, and you lose your lunch on hawkins makeshift tower of terror (aka sketchy russian elevators).

episode five: the flayed

you have the worst birthday of your life, you almost strangle steve with your bare hands and then later get snot all over him, erica is your savior, dustin is doing his best, robin starts to suspect things, and the russians have opened a gate to the upside down. its all pretty miserable tbh. but hey ! at least steve won a fight !

episode six: e pluribus unum

things get hot and heavy in the face of death, mean russians kidnap your hot almost-boyfriend, you have a philosophical discussion about nerdiness with the kids, acid becomes your new favorite weapon, and steve and robin try drugs together. yippee !

episode seven: the bite

steve and robin are your nightmare blunt rotation, you manage to escape a russian lair: mario cart style, you learn that therapy sessions are fun in public bathrooms, steve places your brother on the russian fbi most wanted list, el probably just killed a bunch of people (deserved), and reunions with jonathan are always special when one of you is gravely injured.

episode eight: the battle of starcourt

jonathan becomes a certified surgeon, hopper returns and is oddly sentimental (wonder what that could mean !), you and dustin show off your musical theater talents, the mind flayer becomes a track star, fireworks become weapons, and really a lot just happens so suddenly it gives you whiplash. dont worry though, the rest of your summer involves painful goodbyes and the scary realization that youre growing up. absolutely disgusting. but at least steve gets to kiss you whenever now, so hooray for that ! side note: you keep making promises to people, surely there wont be narrative foreshadowing as a result !

SET BETWEEN SEASONS 3 AND 4

episode nine: the good

the party battles the horrors of high school and leave you stranded, tw: applying for college is harder than fighting literal demons (you would know, youve done it), jonathan joins your nightmare blunt rotation, max worries you, and steve solidifies his position of Best Boyfriend in the World as you slowly fall apart (though is anyone really surprised ??).

STATUS: complete

season three title based on this song x

blurbs set within the "come home" universe can be found here x

“COME HOME” SERIES MASTERLIST

this is a part of my stranger things rewrite, “come home”, and other seasons can be found linked above :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #nyas masterlist #ch season three #m's writing #season 3 baby !!!!!#shes so so so much #my god #get ready for chaos gamers !!

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dayasfilms · 2 months ago

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Chapter Eight - The Gate

Summary: All of you separate into groups to work together to close the gate for good. At least, you hope that it is gone forever.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ content, mentions of Y/N, violence, blood, mentions of death, use of weapons, a little bit of fluff, there is smut but not too graphic

Word Count: 8.6k

Note: This is the last chapter of season two! This is a lot longer than the rest so far. I can’t wait to write season three and have you all read it. It’s definitely one of my favorite seasons!

Series Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

Eleven.

She was back.

Your mouth parted in shock as you stared at the girl standing in front of you, the one everyone thought was gone. Eleven.

Across the room, Mike rushed forward, wrapping her in a hug. The two held each other tightly, as if afraid the other might disappear again.

“I never gave up on you,” Mike said, his voice trembling. “I called you. Every night. For–”

“Three-hundred and fifty three days,” Eleven finished softly. “I heard.”

Mike pulled back, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me you were there? That you were okay?”

“Because I wouldn’t let her,” Hopper said, stepping forward.

You turned sharply toward him, eyes wide, and caught your mom doing the same.

Hopper crossed the room and embraced Eleven. “The hell is this? Where have you been?”

“Where have you been?” Eleven asked quietly, hugging him back.

Mike’s expression darkened. “You were hiding her,” he muttered, then shoved Hopper. “You’ve been hiding her this whole time!”

“Hey!” Hopper barked, grabbing Mike by the shoulders. “Let’s talk. Alone.”

He pulled Mike into another room, shutting the door behind them. You could still hear Mike yelling, feeling hurt, betrayed, and furious.

Your mom walked over to Eleven and gently pulled her into a warm hug. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?”

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Steve. “So…that’s Eleven? The girl with powers?”

You nodded, watching Eleven speak softly to your mom. “Yeah. That’s El.”

Then her eyes met yours. She walked up and wrapped her arms around you tightly, her small frame pressing into yours.

“Hey, how’ve you been, El?” You asked, hugging her back.

“Good,” she said quietly, a shy smile forming on her face.

You let her go and watched as she drifted toward the other kids. They swarmed her instantly, joy and awe in their voices. But when Max stepped forward to introduce herself, Eleven didn’t respond. You caught the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Maybe she was just being cautious since Max was new.

Soon, Eleven moved over to Joyce.

“Can I see him?” She asked gently, and you knew ‘him’ meant Will.

You blinked, realizing that, somehow, they’d never met in person. Only through her powers. Joyce led her to Will’s room, where he still lay unconscious. The rest of you remained in the living room, waiting. Minutes later, Joyce returned with Eleven and brought her over to the dining table, pointing at the code that said ‘Close Gate.’

Everyone gathered behind them.

Joyce looked at Eleven. “You opened the gate before, right?”

“Yes,” Eleven said, eyes scanning the message again.

Joyce hesitated, her voice tight with hope. “If we got you back there…do you think you could close it?”

Eleven looked at her, thinking about what she said.

Once again, everyone gathered around the dining room table. You could feel the tension in the air, however, this time, there was hope.

Eleven stood at the head of the table. The fact that she was here now, with them, changed everything. They could now close the gate for good.

Hopper leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, eyes dark and grim. “It’s not like it was before. It’s grown,” he said. “A lot. And, I mean, that’s considering we can get in there. The place is crawling with those dogs–”

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin interjected quickly, lifting his head with a strange sort of pride.

Hopper blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, uh, Demo-dogs,” Dustin repeated, clearly trying to mask his nervousness behind enthusiasm. “Like Demogorgon and dogs. You put them together, it sounds pretty badass–”

“Dustin!” You snapped, getting irritated. “Seriously?”

He shrunk slightly under your glare. “It’s not important, I’m sorry.”

The room quieted again. Then, Eleven’s voice cut through. “I can do it.”

All heads turned toward her. Her voice was small, but firm. Her eyes didn’t waver.

“You’re not hearing me,” Hopper said, his tone softening as he addressed her.

“I’m hearing you. I can do it,” Eleven said again, more insistent this time.

You could feel the emotion behind her words. The way her fists clenched at her sides, the way her chin tilted just slightly upward. She believed in herself, and you wanted so badly to believe in her too.

Yasmin stepped closer and rested a hand gently on Eleven’s shoulder. “Listen, even if El can close it, there’s still another problem.” Everyone turned toward her, the group’s attention now on what she had to say. “Like the kids said, the brain dies, the body dies.”

“I thought that was the whole point,” Max chimed in, puzzled.

“It is, but if we’re really right about this…” Mike began, his voice laced with unease. “I mean, if El closes the gate and kills the mind flayer’s army–”

“Will’s a part of that army,” Lucas finished, his voice almost a whisper as the realization dawned on him.

“Closing the gate will kill him,” Mike said, the final blow landing.

Silence followed.

Everyone’s gaze shifted to Joyce. She stood motionless, her arms crossed tightly, eyes locked on something in the distance. You could see the fear behind her eyes. Losing Will wasn’t an option, not after everything. There had to be another way.

And then, something shifted in her expression, an idea forming.

Without a word, she turned and walked quickly out of the room. Everyone followed her, hope flickering again in their hearts.

In Will’s room, the light was dim and the air cold. The curtains fluttered slightly from the wind slipping through the open window. Joyce paused by the sill, staring at the boy who lay unconscious on the bed, pale and still.

“He likes it cold,” she murmured.

“What?” Hopper asked, frowning.

“It’s what Will kept saying to me,” Joyce explained, her voice steadier now as her motherly instinct took over. “He likes it cold.” She moved forward and shut the window with a sharp click, getting rid of the chill from outside. She turned back to the group. “We keep giving it what it wants.”

You glanced at Will, lying so peacefully it hurt to look at him. “If this is a virus, and Will’s the host, then…”

“Then we need to make the host uninhabitable,” Jonathan said, picking up on your thought.

“So if he likes it cold…” Nancy began.

“We need to burn it out of him,” Joyce finished, her voice like steel.

The room tensed. The implication was terrifying, but it made sense.

“We have to do it somewhere he doesn’t know this time,” Mike added, thinking fast now.

“Yeah, somewhere far away,” said Dustin.

Everyone had their parts set. The plan was clear, even if the air was thick with nerves. Joyce, Jonathan, and Will would head out to Hopper’s cabin, tucked away in the woods, where they could try to force the Mind Flayer out of Will. Meanwhile, Yasmin, Hopper, and Eleven were preparing to return to the lab, that cold and broken facility now overrun by monsters, to close the gate. The rest of you, including Steve, the kids, Nancy, and yourself, would stay behind at the Byers house.

You walked down the path, the gravel crunching under your shoes as you caught up to Jonathan. He was already by the car, placing a blanket over Will in the back seat. You hugged him tightly, your arms locking around him, feeling the tension in his muscles.

“Everything will be okay,” you told him quietly. He held on a second longer than you expected, his breathing uneven as he pulled away. “Be careful.”

“You too,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours before he climbed into the driver’s seat. He gave you a final glance, then shut the door with a solid thud.

As the car rumbled to life, you noticed Nancy nearby, still standing, her eyes following the vehicle. You made your way over, tapping her shoulder. She turned, startled out of her thoughts.

“You should go with them, Nance,” you said softly.

She stared at you in confusion. “What?” She asked. “No, no, I–I can’t just leave Mike–”

“Nancy,” you interrupted. “I’ve been taking care of these kids for years now, don’t worry. Plus, I have Steve, and believe it or not…” You turned your head. Steve was a few feet away, talking with Dustin. A small smile crept onto your face. “He’s a pretty good babysitter.”

Nancy followed your gaze, her expression softening. “I don’t know what happened between you two,” she said thoughtfully, drawing your attention back to her. “But you guys are good for each other. Genuinely.”

You smiled and pulled her into a tight hug. “Be careful, Nance,” you whispered as you let go.

She nodded once, then turned and jogged over to the car, climbing in just as it started to pull away. You raised a hand in farewell, crossing your arms again once they disappeared down the road.

From behind you, the soft patter of footsteps came closer. Your mom came over, her arms wrapping around you tightly in an instant. She kissed your forehead, rocking you back and forth quickly. “Be careful, sweetheart.”

“You too,” you muttered against her jacket, eyes briefly shutting.

When you stepped back, she tucked your hair behind your ears. “If you’re planning something, I want you to think about it first before doing anything.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What do you mean? I’m not going to do anything.”

Yasmin chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “I can see it in your eyes. There’s something going on in that head of yours, so just be safe.”

“I can handle myself.” You shrugged with confidence, giving her a reassuring look.

She gave you a final kiss on the top of your head, brushing your shoulder as she stepped away. “I know you can.”

With that, she headed toward Hopper’s truck. Hopper walked towards you, stopping in front of you and rested a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid,” he said, eyeing you knowingly.

You scoffed, the edge of a grin tugging at your lips. “What is it with you and my mom thinking I’m going to do something crazy? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He grunted, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and shook his head. “If you’re going to do something,” he warned. “I’d hold back on it.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a raised eyebrow. “I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.” Your eyes flicked toward the truck where Yasmin and Eleven were waiting, then back to Hopper. “But you guys, please be safe.”

“We will,” Hopper said with a nod, then pulled you into a brief hug. You returned it, then stepped back.

Eleven peeked out from the backseat and gave a small wave. You waved back, watching as the engine started up. Dust swirled around the tires as Hopper drove off, following the same road Jonathan had just taken.

Behind you, the Byers house sat quiet. The porch creaked slightly under the group’s weight, all of you watching the departing truck fade into the trees.

This was it. Now they wait.

Mike paced furiously in the living room, his footsteps sharp against the floor as he muttered under his breath. His arms folded and unfolded repeatedly as he turned on his heel every few seconds, eyes darting to the curtained window like he was expecting something to burst through it. Lucas and Max were crouched near the broken window, picking up shards of glass. A cold breeze slipped through the crack.

From the kitchen, a loud thump echoed out. You followed the noise, stepping through the doorway, and froze when you saw Dustin and Steve struggling to shove the limp demodog into the refrigerator.

“Oh my God!” You shrieked, taking a step back as the fridge door finally slammed shut. “You are not putting a dead demogorgon in there!”

“Y/N, please!” Dustin exclaimed, throwing his arms up in defense as he wiped sweat off his forehead. “This is important!”

Your eyes snapped to Steve, who stood beside the fridge looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor. He offered a sheepish smile and pointed toward Dustin. “He made me…”

“Steve!” You crossed your arms in disbelief, before throwing a glare at Dustin. “You’re explaining this to Joyce, birdbrain.”

You turned on your heel and strode out of the kitchen. From the living room, Lucas’s voice rang out in frustration. “Mike, would you just stop already?”

You walked back in just in time to see Mike spin on Lucas, his voice tense. “You weren’t in there, okay, Lucas? That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs.”

From the kitchen, Dustin’s head popped around the corner. “Demo-dogs!”

“The chief and Yasmin will take care of her,” Lucas said, clearly trying to calm Mike down.

“Like she needs protection,” Max chimed in, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she picked up another piece of glass.

Steve strolled into the living room, brushing his hands off a towel as he decided to chime in. “Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?”

Mike shot him a look, raising a brow. “Okay, first of all, this isn’t some stupid sports game. And second, we’re not even in the game. We’re on the bench.”

Steve faltered, his mouth opening and closing before he settled on his point. “So my point is…” He trailed off as the kids waited for him to continue. “Right, yeah, we’re on the bench, so, uh, there’s nothing we can do.”

While their argument carried on, you slipped quietly down the hallway toward Jonathan’s room. The door creaked as you pushed it open. In the far corner rested your rifle, propped against the wall beside the dresser. You crossed the room and grabbed it, pulling open a nearby drawer for extra bullets. One by one, you loaded them into a bag.

The idea came to you in an instant. Go to the tunnels, light everything on fire. Sitting back and waiting felt wrong and useless. You couldn’t just stay here while the others were fighting to get the creature out of Will or in that cursed lab. Not when you could do something.

From the other room, voices rose again. “Wait,” Lucas said. “Where’s Y/N?”

You stepped back into the living room, your loaded bag slung over one shoulder, a gas canister in one hand, and the rifle hanging from the other. All heads turned at once, the sight of you armed drawing immediate attention.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Steve asked, his expression going from confused to alarmed as he stepped forward to stop you.

You stopped, staring at the group. “You guys stay here, while I go back to the tunnels and…” you held up the lighter in your free hand as you put the gas canister down, the flame flicking to life with a soft click. “Help the others out.”

Mike’s reaction was immediate. “You can’t go there by yourself!” His voice rose, panic slipping in.

“Yeah! You’re going to die if you think you can manage it all by yourself!” Dustin added, practically shouting. “We have to come with you!”

You narrowed your eyes, irritation rising. “Okay, first of all, I’m more than capable of handling this alone.” You jabbed a finger toward the boys. “Second of all, you guys are not going anywhere. You are staying here, with Steve, and waiting for this to be all over.”

Mike spoke up again. “This is crazy. You don’t even know what’s down there now, let alone know where the tunnels even are!”

You snapped the lighter shut with a sharp click and stuffed it into the bag. “No, but I know what’s up here. A group of kids, and one babysitter with a nail bat. So unless any of you have suddenly turned into Rambo, you’re not coming with me.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and stepped closer, dropping his voice as he said your name. “I get it. I do. You want to help. But doing this alone?”

You gave him a look, softer this time, but firm. “What’s not going to help is sitting around hoping someone else handles it. I’m not walking in there blind, Steve. I have gear, I have ammo, and I have a plan.”

Max stood, folding her arms. “You’re seriously not gonna let us help?”

“How are you even going to get there?” Lucas questioned.

You tilted your head. “I’ll take Joyce’s car, obviously.”

Steve stepped in front of you, his hand gently wrapping around your bicep. “You can’t do this,” he said, his voice softer now, more cautious. “What if something happens? Then what?”

“Listen, I’ve gotten out of wo–,” you said, but the words caught in your throat before you could finish. Your jaw tensed as the room fell silent, the others watching you with furrowed brows. You winced slightly, shook your head, and forced your voice steady. “I can handle it.”

Suddenly, a low, aggressive rev of an engine echoed near the Byers house.

Max’s head snapped toward the window, her face draining of color. “It’s my brother,” she said, backing away. “He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.” Her gaze flicked to Lucas, panic setting in.

You and Steve exchanged a tense glance before he moved toward the door. “Stay here,” he said firmly.

“Steve–” you reached out instinctively, but he was already outside.

You huffed, muttering something under your breath, and set your gear down in the far corner, stepping in front of the kids.

“Back up. Stay away from the windows,” you warned, eyeing them sharply.

Of course, they didn’t listen.

You looked through the peephole, your fingers twitching slightly. A few moments passed before Billy’s head snapped toward the window. You whirled around, eyes narrowing.

“I told you to get away from the damn windows!”

You turned back just in time to see Billy slam Steve to the ground. You tensed as Billy approached the house, shoulders rolling, that smug strut of his even more obnoxious than usual.

The door burst open, with him standing there. His lip curled into a smirk the second he saw you.

“Well, well, well,” he began. “Didn’t expect you, princess.”

You gave him a dry smile. “Didn’t expect you here, Hargrove. This isn’t exactly the place for douchebags.”

Billy chuckled. “Still got that mouth on you.”

You stepped between him and the kids, eyes flat. “Why don’t you do everyone a favor and turn that car of yours around before you embarrass yourself.”

He stepped closer. You didn’t budge.

“No can do, princess,” he sneered. “You wanna explain why my sister’s holed up with you and Harrington in a stranger’s house?”

His eyes slid over to Lucas. And just like that, the smile dropped.

“Lucas Sinclair,” Billy said coldly. “Of course. What a surprise.”

He moved toward Lucas, but you were faster, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him back with enough force to make him stumble.

“Try again,” you said coolly.

He barked a short laugh. “What are you gonna do, princess? Scratch me?”

“Oh, I can do a lot more than that,” you muttered.

Billy shoved you. You stumbled back a step but caught yourself instantly.

“Stay out of this,” he warned. “When people disobey me, I break things.”

His hand lifted, and just as it reached you, you caught it. His smirk faltered.

Your voice was low, lethal. “Touch any of them, and I’ll show you exactly how breakable you are.”

His other hand swung, but you were faster, driving a solid punch into his face that sent him staggering into the wall. The kids gasped. Billy wiped the blood from his mouth, fury in his eyes.

“You’re dead, Kaul.” Just as he was about to lunge at you, Steve grabbed him from behind, spinning him around.

“No,” Steve growled. “You are.”

Steve threw a punch. Billy laughed, the sound echoing in the room.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all!” Billy exclaimed. “I’ve been wanting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about!”

Steve pushed him. “Get out.”

It was silent for a few seconds, until Billy swung back and hit Steve hard, knocking him sideways.

You lunged again, slamming your knee into Billy’s ribs and sending him to the floor. He barely caught his breath before you dragged him up by the collar and hurled him across the living room, crashing into a table.

You followed up with a spinning kick that had him coughing, crumpled on the floor. He tried to grab your ankle, but you twisted out of reach, slipped behind him, and hooked your arm around his neck. A quick toss and he hit the wall hard.

Billy groaned, rising slowly. Steve struggled upright, blood dripping from his nose, blinking through the dizziness. Steve attempted to punch Billy again, but the latter beat him to it, knocking him to the ground.

“Steve!” You called, fear in your voice. He punched Steve, once, twice, and then knocked him flat again.

You rushed to Billy, slammed him against the wall, and this time, you didn’t hold back. Two hard strikes to the gut and one to the side of the head. He fell to the ground.

You ran over to Steve, holding his face. You checked for a pulse, letting out a sigh of relief when you felt it beating under your finger.

Billy slowly started to get up once again. He stalked towards you, his eyes glaring at the back of your head. You could feel his presence as he got closer, and just as you were about to turn around to throw another blow, Max pressed a syringe into his neck.

“What the hell is this?” He gasped, swaying.

You watched as he hit the floor.

Max grabbed the nail bat, her eyes blazing. “From now on, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?”

Billy laughed through the haze. “Screw you.”

She slammed the bat between his legs, making him jolt. “Say you understand!” She screamed. “Say it! Say it!”

“I…I understand,” Billy said quietly.

“What?”

“I understand,” he said a little louder, then he fell unconscious.

The boys stared in awe.

Max’s eyes met yours. You blinked, then nodded once, impressed.

The redhead snagged his car keys. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, like it was nothing.

You exhaled, cracking your knuckles. “Okay, then.”

You helped Steve into the backseat, checking his face for signs of a concussion, when the engine suddenly roared to life.

“What the–” You looked up in alarm. “MAX!?”

“I’m driving,” Max called from the driver’s seat, already reversing out of the driveway with terrifying confidence.

“NO!” You lunged forward but it was too late. The car jolted forward and took off down the road, making you fly back into the backseat.

“I’m a zoomer!” She grinned in the rearview mirror.

“You’re twelve!” You shouted back, gripping the grab handle as she took a hard left.

“I’m actually thirteen!”

“That doesn’t make it any better!”

Knowing you had no other choice, you took the ice pack Dustin had grabbed from the freezer and gently pressed it to Steve’s bruised face. Mike was on your left, Lucas rode shotgun, and Dustin sat to your right, with Steve sprawled halfway across your lap.

You groaned, clutching the grab handle above your head as Max took another turn. “Stop the damn car and let me drive!”

“I can’t just stop,” Max replied casually, eyes fixed on the road. “It’s gonna waste time.”

You threw your head back with an exasperated grunt. “You’re gonna kill us before we even get there.”

Beneath your hands, Steve shifted with a groan. His eyelids fluttered open.

“Hey, it’s okay, you put up a good fight,” Dustin said quickly, trying to ease him in. “He kicked your ass, but you tried to kick back. If Y/N hadn’t been there, you’d definitely be dead.”

Mike snorted. “She totally saved your ass.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Lucas pointed out the windshield. “Okay, Max, you’re gonna keep straight for half a mile and then take a left on Mount Sinai.”

Steve blinked at Max, then at you, then back at Max. Confusion gave way to alarm.

“Wait. WAIT! Why is Max driving?!” He yelled. “Y/N, WHAT THE HELL?!”

“I tried!” You snapped, glaring at him. “She jumped in and started the car before I could even get your unconscious body buckled in!”

“Just relax,” Dustin said quickly. “She’s driven before.”

Mike gave him a look. “Yeah, in a parking lot.”

Steve immediately started struggling in your lap like he was being held hostage. Dustin shoved him back down gently. “Nope. Nope. Stay down. You’ve got a concussion or something, man.”

You kept quiet, pressing the ice pack a little harder to distract him as Max took another sharp turn, sending everyone lurching.

“MAX! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” You shouted, bracing yourself as the car veered dangerously.

“Oh my GOD!” Steve yelled, gripping you like it would save him from death.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” Max screamed.

“Make a left, make a left–NOW!” Lucas shouted.

Max jerked the wheel. The car crashed through a wooden fence with a crack, and it miraculously kept going.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” You screeched, your grip tight on the grab handle.

The car exploded into chaotic screaming, everyone yelling over each other as Max floored it.

“Jesus Christ, we’re gonna die!” Mike screamed.

“I’m never letting you drive anything ever again!” You growled at Max.

“Can everyone just CALM DOWN?” Max hollered.

Finally, she swerved the car off-road and slammed on the brakes, parking on a patch of grass.

You slapped a hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. “Okay,” you muttered. “I’m alive. Somehow.”

Steve groaned from your lap, voice weak. “Tell me I’m hallucinating all this.”

You all piled out of the car, yanking open the trunk and grabbing the gear you’d stuffed in there earlier. Steve stumbled out after you, already yelling at the kids to stop what they were doing. You ignored him.

While strapping on your gear, you called out to the kids. “Start suiting up. Now.”

Steve stormed toward you, frustration clear in his movements. Before you could walk away, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward him until your faces were inches apart. His voice dropped low. “What are you doing?”

His breath ghosted across your skin. Your eyes flicked from his to his lips and back. His did the same.

“Steve,” you said sternly. “Do you trust me?”

“What? Yes, of course I trust you,” he answered instantly, like it wasn’t even a question.

“Then trust that we can do this.” You gestured toward the kids. “As long as I’m alive, nothing’s going to happen to them. Got it?”

He held your gaze for what felt like forever, then finally exhaled and nodded.

“Wait,” he said, still gripping your wrist. “Did your mom teach you how to fight?”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“At the house,” he said. “Where’d you learn moves like that?”

Realization dawned. Your lips parted. “Oh…uh, yeah. My mom taught me.” You grabbed some safety gear from the trunk and shoved it into his chest. “Now get moving.”

Together, you followed the kids to the edge of the gaping hole in the ground. One by one, you began going down the rope, Mike leading the way toward the main source. But when the kids started walking ahead, you stepped in front of them.

“Hey, wait. Behind me, alright?” You told them. “If anything happens to you kids, Steve and I are getting the blame.”

They all nodded.

Steve moved to your side, but you stopped him with a hand on his chest. “No. You’re in the back.”

Steve threw his arms up. “What? Why?”

“In case something comes from behind and grabs one of them, Steve.” You shoved him gently back. “Go.”

With a grumble, he complied.

Mike helped you lead the way through the tunnel, flashlight bouncing off the slick walls. Then, Dustin screamed.

You spun around and bolted back, crouching next to him. “What happened?!”

“It’s in my mouth! Shit!” Dustin spat something onto the ground. Everyone stared in horror, until he looked up and grinned. “I’m okay.”

Steve groaned. “Very funny, man.”

You gave Steve a pointed look. “I thought I told you to stay in the back?”

“He was right next to me!” Steve said defensively, gesturing at Dustin.

Soon after, you all reached the location. Flashlights lit up the area.

“Alright, Wheeler. I think we found your hub,” Steve muttered.

You turned to the kids. “Ready?”

“Let’s drench it,” Mike said.

Gasoline splashed over the ground, the walls, soaking everything. Steve flicked open his lighter, the flame casting a soft glow. He nodded, then dropped it.

The tunnel exploded into fire.

“Go, go, go!” You yelled, grabbing the kids as the fire roared behind you.

Steve grabbed your hand and didn’t let go, holding tight like he was afraid you’d vanish if he did.

You kept running, until Mike fell. “Help!” He cried out, something grabbing his leg.

You and Steve turned back. Steve swung his bat hard, slamming it into the creature. It shrieked and let go. Mike scrambled up.

Before you could leave, something blocked your path. A small demogorgon.

“Dart?” Dustin whispered, stepping forward.

“Dustin, no!” You shouted, but he raised a hand to silence you.

“Trust me.” He pulled down his mask and goggles and crouched low. “It’s me. Dustin. You remember me?”

You all watched, frozen, as Dustin slowly held out a nougat. Dart sniffed, then started eating it.

Dustin stepped back. “Go,” he whispered.

You moved past, one by one, Dustin rejoining the group after a soft goodbye to the creature.

You saw the exit just up ahead. But then came the roar.

Demogorgons.

You heard them before you saw them. They were too fast, too close. Steve started helping the kids up, hoisting them through the exit. You helped too, pushing them up one by one.

Only you and Steve were left. But it was too late. They were here.

Steve grabbed his bat in one hand and wrapped the other around your waist, pulling you close. You raised your gun. The kids screamed for you to climb, but you didn’t move. There were too many.

You and Steve locked eyes, both realizing it at the same time.

You clutched each other tightly and shut your eyes.

But nothing happened.

You opened your eyes to see the demogorgons racing past you, ignoring you completely. Your head turned to follow them, and that’s when you realized it. “Eleven,” you breathed.

You and Steve stared at each other, hearts pounding.

The kids reached down to pull you both out. You climbed up using the rope, collapsing on the grass above.

Max threw her arms around you. “That scared the shit out of me.”

You laughed shakily, hugging her back. “Yeah…me too.”

Everyone backed away from the tunnel as it began to glow, bright light spilling upward until you had to shield your eyes. Then, just as quickly, the light faded into darkness.

The group looked around in silence.

You knew what had happened.

Eleven had closed the gate.

You rang the doorbell, shifting on your feet as you waited on the front porch. Your eyes drifted to the quiet, dimly lit street, the night air brushing against your skin.

The door creaked open.

Max stood there, a nervous but excited smile on her face. She stepped outside, gently shutting the door behind her. “Hey,” she greeted.

“Hey, Max,” you replied, pulling her into a warm hug. “You look beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she ducked her head with a sheepish grin. “Thanks.”

You nodded toward your car parked by the curb. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You both climbed in, and you drove to Hawkins Middle School.

“Are you excited about the dance?” You asked, eyes flicking from the road to her and back again.

Max shrugged, playing with the hem of her dress. “I guess. Dances aren’t really my thing, but…Lucas asked me, so I figured, why not.”

You hummed knowingly, a smile tugging at your lips. “So, do you like Lucas?”

Max coughed on air, eyes going wide. “I–uh–what?”

“Relax,” you laughed, throwing her a teasing glance. “I’m kidding.”

“Oh,” she muttered, still flustered. You smirked wider, shaking your head.

You’d agreed to take Max to the Snowball Dance the second she asked. It was an easy yes. You had a soft spot for the kid, even if her driving gave you whiplash. You were originally planning to take Eleven, but when Hopper asked Yasmin for help getting her ready, your mom jumped at the chance. Watching her fuss over dresses and lip gloss made you smile more than you’d expected.

When you pulled up in front of the school, the building was glowing with warm lights, faint music leaking through the doors.

“I hope you have fun,” you told Max, shifting to face her.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “Thanks…for driving me.”

“Anytime,” you said softly. “I’m here if you need more than just a ride.”

She nodded and reached for the door. As she stepped out, something small fell on the seat, a hair clip. You spotted it just in time and grabbed it, jumping out of the car.

“Max!” You called. She turned back. You jogged over, gently sliding the clip back into her hair. “There. Better.”

“Thanks,” she said again.

You stepped back and walked back over to the driver’s side as she walked toward the school entrance. You leaned against the side of your car, arms crossed, watching her check in at the doors, your lips curled in a proud grin.

“You look stunning,” a voice said behind you. You turned to see Steve standing there, hands in his pockets. His car was parked just behind yours. He looked clean, like he was trying not to try too hard.

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He laughed softly, eyes skimming your face before flicking to your lips, then back up again. “Do you have any plans tonight?”

You feigned a sad nod. “Sorry. I’m busy.”

His smile faltered, just for a second. “Oh. Uh… that’s fine–”

“I’m kidding,” you said with a giggle, cutting him off. “I’m free tonight.”

He exhaled a laugh of relief, shaking his head. “God, you’re such a pain.”

“You like it.”

“I love it.”

You both stood there for a second, quiet settling between you, but it wasn’t awkward.

“So,” Steve said, nudging your shoulder with his. “You wanna get out of here?”

You gave him a sideways glance, your voice dropping playfully. “Careful, Harrington. Say stuff like that and I’ll start thinking you’ve got other intentions.”

His eyes widened, hands raising defensively. “What? No–I didn’t mean it like that!”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk. “Relax, Steve. I’m messing with you.” You turned your gaze toward the building, then back at him. “Although…I am seriously craving burgers. At that place we used to go all the time, remember? Want to come?”

“Yeah!” He said, too fast. He cleared his throat. “I mean, uh, yeah. Sure. That sounds great.”

You grinned. Stepping closer, you reached for the collar of his shirt, straightening it with slow, deliberate fingers. The gap between your bodies disappeared, and Steve’s hands instinctively found your waist. His breath hitched.

You bit your lip, as you locked eyes. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

With a sudden push, you backed him off just enough to dart away, laughing as you jumped inside your car, driving away.

Steve blinked, momentarily stunned. “Hey! That’s cheating!”

He threw his hands up, then let out a laugh, the kind that stayed stuck on his lips. Shaking his head, he bolted to his car, sliding into the driver’s seat and driving out after you, grinning like an idiot the whole way.

You couldn’t stop the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, or the way your face warmed with every compliment. Your heart always seemed to beat a little faster whenever your eyes met Steve’s.

The two of you sat inside the restaurant, long after you had finished your food, tucked into the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

It felt just like it used to, back when Steve would take you out on casual dates or late-night drives, always finding new excuses to spend time together. You were younger then, and though you were still a few months away from adulthood now, so much had changed between you.

Steve paid for the both of you, and as you stepped out of the restaurant, his hand found the small of your back, guiding you gently outside. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine.

He noticed. Brow furrowed, Steve stepped in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your arms. “You cold?”

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “No, I’m not cold.”

His hands lingered for a beat longer before he slowly let go. You hadn’t realized how warm his touch had been until it was gone.

“Steve…” you whispered, looking up at him.

“Yeah?” His voice was just as soft.

You searched his eyes, unsure of what to say. His hands twitched at his sides, aching to touch you again, but he kept them where they were.

“I had a great time,” Steve finally said, breaking the silence.

You smiled, nodding. “Yeah…me too.”

He hesitated, not ready to let the moment end. “So, uh…do you need to pick up Max soon, or…?”

You shook your head. “No, her mom’s getting her. What about Dustin?”

“He’s good. His mom’s picking him up, too.”

You hummed. “Okay…”

Steve shifted, not being able to hold back any longer. “I–I know we’re not together anymore, but…God, I really want to kiss you.”

Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. You opened your mouth, but no words came out fast enough.

Steve took your silence as a no. His shoulders slumped as he began to turn away, cheeks flushed. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just said th–”

“Steve…”

“Just forget I said anything, seriously. We can go back to how it was, like, thirty seconds ago–”

“Steve.”

“This is so–”

You cupped his face, making him stop. His eyes snapped to yours. “Kiss me.”

He froze. “What–?”

You didn’t let him finish. Your lips crashed against his, and his hands immediately flew to your waist, pulling you in. The kiss deepened, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently.

A soft sound escaped him, half whimper, half sigh, straight into your mouth. Your body pressed into his, craving his touch like it was oxygen.

“I love you so much,” Steve whispered against your lips, gripping your waist tighter. “I need you so badly.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him even closer. The night was quiet, the parking lot nearly empty, thankfully, or the two of you would’ve had an audience for the intense makeout session happening outside a burger joint.

You gasped when Steve nipped at your bottom lip, taking the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. “I love you too,” you mumbled, the words swallowed between kisses.

He pressed you gently against the side of his car, grinding his hips into yours just enough to make your breath hitch. The action finally made you come to your senses. You pulled back, gently pushing at his chest.

“Steve, wait…” you said breathlessly, glancing around the lot.

He stepped back, chest heaving, hands still on your waist. “Shit, I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

You giggled, and the sound made his eyes soften. “I know,” you said. “But, um…we can’t exactly go at it in public.”

The way you said it made Steve groan, face turning a deeper red as he shifted uncomfortably. “Jesus, don’t say stuff like that…”

Your gaze dropped briefly to his problem, and you stifled a laugh when you saw just how red he got. “Wow…do I really have that effect on you?”

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you just said that.” Then he pinched your sides, making you squeal. “You already know I’ve been obsessed with you since day one.”

You tilted your head. “Do I?”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Oh? Do I need to remind you?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded, fluttering your lashes at him. “My house or yours?”

His expression flickered with shock. “Wait. Seriously?”

You placed your hands on either side of his face again, this time tenderly. “Steve, yes. I want to do this with you. I’ve had time to think, and I’m sure. I want you.”

He looked at you, stunned, before pulling you into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. Then, one by one, he kissed every part of your face, your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and finally, your lips.

You barely made it through the front door of his house before his lips found yours again. You kicked your shoes off blindly while Steve backed you into the hallway, the thick knit of his sweater soft beneath your fingertips as you gripped the fabric tightly.

He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like he’d spent every night since your breakup imagining this exact moment.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers pressed against your bare skin. You gasped into his mouth, your own hands tugging at the hem of his sweater as you walked backward toward his bedroom.

By the time your legs hit the edge of the bed, you’d managed to pull his sweater off completely. You reached for him, pulling him back down with you onto the bed.

Steve’s fingers traced gently along your waist as he tugged your top over your head, letting it fall somewhere behind you. His hands slowed when they brushed the edge of the scar along your side, the same scar he’d seen before, but still seemed to draw his attention like it was the first time.

His eyes flicked up to yours, the intimacy between you softening just for a moment. “You never told me how you got this,” he said quietly, thumb brushing along the faded line.

You swallowed, trying to keep your face neutral. “I told you before, remember?” You said lightly, reaching for him. “Car accident when I was younger.”

He nodded, not pushing, not questioning.

But his fingers lingered.

And then, just like all the times before, he bent down and pressed a kiss to the scar. Slow and deliberate.

You turned your head, staring at the ceiling as your chest rose and fell a little too quickly. Steve kissed it again, a whisper of his breath warm against your skin. “You always try to hide it from me.”

“I hate looking at it.”

“Then I’ll help you stop hating it.” Steve’s lips lingered against your skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him back up to meet your eyes. Your foreheads touched, and his fingers traced your skin.

“You’re sure?” He murmured.

You nodded. “Yes.”

His hands slid down to your hips, fingers curling under the waistband of your skirt. He tugged gently, slowly guiding it down your legs, your tights following in one smooth motion. He threw the clothes somewhere in the room, leaving you laying in just your underwear and bra, your skin prickling under his gaze.

You didn’t hesitate, your hands found the button of his jeans, popping it open easily. You pushed them down his hips, watching them fall to the floor, leaving him in his boxers. His breath caught as your fingers brushed against him, and he stepped closer, hands coming to rest at either side of your body.

His breath hitched as he hovered over you, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to take a mental picture. Not just of your body, but of the way you looked at him right then.

Steve leaned down, capturing your lips again, this time slower, deeper. His kiss wasn’t rushed, it was full of love, like he was trying to show you everything he hadn’t said out loud in the weeks you’d spent apart. His hand traced up the side of your thigh, thumb pressing gently into your skin as he gripped it.

You arched into him, feeling the tension coil low in your stomach. His lips left yours and traveled along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pausing every now and then to press lingering kisses to your skin.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered against your collarbone. His voice was hoarse, thick with desire.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, gently pulling at the roots. “Then show me.”

That seemed to break something in him. His hands roamed your body like he was rediscovering you, the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, the softness of your stomach. He dipped his head again, kissing just above your bra, his fingers brushing under the band as though silently asking for permission.

You nodded, breathless.

He slid the straps down your shoulders, his lips following the trail. When he pulled the fabric away, he paused again. He took a shaky breath like he had to remind himself that this was real, that you were really here, wanting him back.

“You’re perfect,” he said softly, almost in disbelief.

You didn’t speak. You just pulled him down to you again, feeling the heat of his chest pressed to yours. Skin to skin. The sensation sent warmth shooting through your whole body.

He took off his boxers, the fabric pooling against his ankles as he kicked it away. Steve shifted, settling between your legs as he held himself over you, careful, still gentle. You could feel the weight of him, the way his muscles tensed under your touch, how his body responded to yours with every move.

Your hands explored the line of his back, fingertips memorizing every ridge, every mark. You kissed his shoulder, his neck, felt the way his breath stuttered when your lips brushed just below his ear.

When his forehead met yours, you both stilled for a moment. Just breathing. Sharing the same space, the same air. “I love you,” he murmured.

You smiled softly, your hand resting against his cheek. “I love you too.”

And then his lips were back on yours.

Your bodies moved in sync, like you’d never been apart. Every kiss, every touch made your skin light on fire.

Steve’s hands were everywhere. He kissed your shoulder, then down your arm, pausing to intertwine your fingers with his, grounding himself as he thrusted into you. You squeezed gently, and he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars.

Your desperation increased, the way your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, the way he breathed your name like a prayer against your skin. His lips brushed over your lips, locking eyes with you as soft moans slipped out of your mouth.

“I love every part of you,” Steve whispered, his lips brushing against your skin with each word.

You pulled him back to your lips, kissing him like you couldn’t quite believe this was real, like you needed to feel him closer. His hand slipped behind your back, lifting you slightly so your bodies pressed together without space.

With every movement, every breath, Steve made sure you felt it, how much he adored you, how much he wanted you, how much he missed you. And when the two of you finally stilled again, coming out of your highs, hearts racing, chests rising and falling in sync, he held you like nothing else in the world mattered besides you two.

You buried your face in his neck, your voice muffled. “That was good.”

His arms tightened around you, his lips pressing to the top of your head. “Yeah?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

Steve wrapped his arms around you, moving slowly, like he was afraid to break the moment. With careful hands, he picked you up and laid you down more comfortably against the pillows, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight as he joined you. He pulled the comforter up over your bare bodies, tucking it gently around your shoulders like he wanted to keep you warm and safe from everything.

The room was quiet, dim except for the soft glow spilling in from the streetlight outside. Steve’s fingers found yours beneath the blanket, lacing them together. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in slow circles.

“You okay?” He murmured, voice hoarse but gentle.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart softening at the look in his eyes. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

You reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re so pretty.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed instantly, the pink spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He ducked his head a little and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Honey…”

“I mean it, Steve,” you said, your voice gentle.

He let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like he didn’t know what to do with the compliment. “You can’t just say things like that and expect me not to combust.”

You giggled softly, tracing your finger down the bridge of his nose. “What, you can call me beautiful a hundred times a day, but I call you pretty once and you lose it?”

“That’s different,” he mumbled. “You are beautiful. Me? I’m just–”

“You’re everything,” you cut in firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument. “I love your stupid hair and your stupid perfect face and those stupid pretty moles on your skin.”

He blinked, caught off guard, lips twitching up into a smile he couldn’t hide. “Okay, that was a lot of stupid.”

“I know,” you teased, grinning as you leaned in to kiss the moles on his face. “I’m obsessed.”

He exhaled a breathy laugh, burying his face in your neck to hide how red he was. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You curled closer into him, tugging the comforter up again as his arms instinctively wrapped around you. “Would you rather die any other way?”

Steve laughed. “No, of course not.”

He pulled you in, pressing a lingering kiss to your collarbone like he never wanted to let go. You shifted closer, tucking yourself into his chest. He held you tighter without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your hair.

The silence that followed was the kind you only got with someone who made you feel safe. You stayed like that for a while, two hearts beating in sync. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, feeling safe in his arms.

Steve didn’t sleep for a while. He just lay there, watching you, memorizing every line of your face as if he could hold on to the moment forever. You were breathtaking in your quiet, peaceful stillness, and he was helplessly in love with you.

So much time has been lost from being apart from you. Time spent in pain, time tangled in things neither of you could control. And though he couldn’t change the past, he could promise himself this, that now that he had you back, he wouldn’t let go. Not again.

Eventually, sleep claimed him too, his arms wrapped securely around you, his heart full in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. Your lives have changed, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better, but neither of you would trade any of it, not when it led to this moment.

If only the two of you knew what danger waited just around the corner, and what the future had in store for you.

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