#I feel like they gonna breake my heart again

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 12: All I Want For Christmas

Y/N spends Christmas with Logan and Wade, and Logan's wondering what he really wants to find underneath the Christmas tree.🎄

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, angst & fluff, D&W.

word count: 5K+

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone!!! before saying anything about this special chapter, I just wanted to thank you all for all the support on this series!! I love you guys so so much!!! and although this chapter made me giggle and kick my feet in the air, then I got a little carried away and...turns out Christmas isn't the happiest time of the year.....so sorry....enjoy? (don't worry, I will NOT let you down)

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the apartment as Y/N shuffled into the kitchen, her steps quiet against the floor. Her pajamas hung loose, her hair a tousled mess from sleep, but she didn’t care— not yet, anyway.

And then, she saw him.

Logan stood by the counter, leaning casually as he sipped from his mug. His hair was still damp from a recent shower, the dark strands curling slightly at the ends. His shirt clung just enough to his frame to hint at the muscles underneath, and for a moment—just a fleeting, traitorous moment—her eyes lingered a little too long.

When he reached for something on the top shelf, the hem of his shirt lifted, revealing a strip of skin and a flash of muscle along his waist. She swallowed hard, shaking her head. What is wrong with me? It was just Logan. Her roommate. Her very grumpy, very private, very…

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice rough but warm, breaking her train of thought.

Y/N blinked, her cheeks heating. “Morning,” she replied, forcing herself to look away as she reached for a mug.

The cup was warm in her hands, grounding her as she poured herself some coffee. She took a sip, savoring the bitter edge of it. This is fine. Everything is fine.

“So,” Logan started, watching her over the rim of his mug. “What’s your plan for Christmas?”

Y/N hesitated, swirling her coffee. “Nothing, really. My dad and brother are in Europe, and flights to California to see my mom… well, not exactly in the cards right now.” She offered a small shrug, though there was a hint of sadness in her voice.

Logan frowned, his grip tightening on the handle of his mug. After a beat, he said, “Wade and I usually celebrate here. Althea, his old roommate, comes over. It’s nothin’ fancy, but it’s good. You should join us.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Logan, I don’t want to intrude—”

“You’re not intruding,” Logan interrupted. “You’re family, Y/N. ‘Course you’re welcome.”

Her heart warmed at his words, and a smile spread across her face. “Thank you, Logan. That… means a lot.”

Just then, Wade barreled into the kitchen, already half-dressed for work. “What’s up, my favorite morning people?”

Logan smirked. “Y/N’s joining us for Christmas.”

Wade froze mid-bite of a piece of toast. “Yes!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up. “Y/N, you and Blind Al are gonna hit it off. She’s got this whole ‘beautiful disaster’ vibe going on, but you’ll love her.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling genuinely touched by their enthusiasm. “Thanks, Wade. I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be!” Wade called as he rushed out the door. “Oh, and save me some cookies or I’ll never forgive you!”

The apartment settled into quiet again. Logan finished his coffee, setting the mug in the sink. “What about you? What are you doing today?”

Y/N tilted her head. “I need to run some errands, maybe pick up a few Christmas gifts. You?”

Logan shrugged. “Not much planned.”

She paused for a second, wondering if her next question was a good idea, then she smiled. Why wouldn’t it be? “Wanna come with me?”

Logan would be a liar if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

———

Logan had never liked shopping. Too many people, too much noise, and too many choices. It was the kind of thing he avoided at all costs—until today.

He trailed behind Y/N as she navigated the aisles, her attention flitting from one shelf to the next with a focus that he found oddly endearing. She examined items carefully, turning them over in her hands before either placing them back or tossing them into her cart.

Every now and then, she’d turn to him, asking his opinion. Like now.

“What do you think Wade would like?” she asked, holding up a pair of novelty socks with comic book characters on them.

“Probably those,” Logan said with a smirk. “The more ridiculous, the better.”

Her laughter was soft but genuine, and it tugged at something deep in his chest. She smiled easily, even when he barely gave her much to work with. She always had a way of drawing him out, making him feel… less guarded.

“Noted,” she said, tossing the socks into the cart.

As they continued, Y/N brought up another name. “What about Althea? I want to get her something too.”

“You don’t have to get everyone somethin’,” Logan said gruffly.

“I want to,” Y/N insisted. “Christmas is about giving, right?”

Logan shook his head but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, and don’t think I forgot about you,” Y/N teased, nudging him lightly.

He stopped in his tracks. “Wait—you got me somethin’?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Logan,” she interrupted. “It’s Christmas.”

Before he could respond, she turned and headed down the next aisle, her focus already shifting to whatever caught her eye. Logan stayed rooted to the spot, watching her go.

For a moment, everything else faded—the noise, the people, the chaos of the store. All he could focus on was her, the way she seemed to light up even the dullest places.

His chest tightened, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him. He didn’t know what to call it, didn’t want to call it anything, but it was there all the same.

“You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible over the chatter of the store.

After a moment, he shook his head, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he trailed after her.

———

The coffee shop buzzed with a quiet energy, the hum of conversation blending with the clatter of plates and the hiss of the espresso machine. Logan sat across from Y/N, the table between them littered with sandwiches, pastries, and steaming mugs. She was talking, her voice animated as she recounted a story about one of her students.

“...and then he looks me dead in the eye and says, Miss, I’m not late. Time is just a concept.’” Y/N laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and Logan couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

“Smart kid,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Too smart,” she replied with a shake of her head, still smiling.

But then something shifted. The lightness in her expression dimmed, her smile faltering as her gaze fixed on something—or someone—behind him.

Logan’s brow furrowed. He turned slightly in his seat, his eyes landing on a man approaching their table. The guy was average-looking, nothing particularly striking, but there was something about the way he walked—like he knew he belonged in her world, or at least used to.

“Y/N,” the man said, his smile tentative. “Wow, it’s been a while.”

“Hi, Mark,” Y/N replied, her voice polite but strained.

Logan glanced at her, catching the subtle tension in her posture, the way her fingers gripped the edge of her mug just a little too tightly. So, that was Mark.

The man’s gaze flicked to Logan, his smile faltering slightly. “And… you are?”

“Logan,” Y/N said quickly, before Logan could respond. “My roommate.”

Mark’s eyebrows lifted, and his smile thinned. “Oh. Roommate.”

Logan said nothing, his face impassive, but he could feel the weight of Mark’s scrutiny, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Is that all you are?

Mark turned his attention back to Y/N. “So… how’s everything?” he asked, his tone forced, as though he felt obligated to make small talk.

“Good,” Y/N replied, her voice clipped. “Good. You?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh… I’ve been going to therapy,” he said, his words tumbling out awkwardly.

“Oh,” Y/N said, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “That’s… good.”

An awkward silence settled over the table, heavy and suffocating. Logan’s jaw tightened as he watched Y/N’s discomfort. He wanted to say something, to cut through the tension, but he knew this wasn’t his moment to step in.

“Well,” Mark said finally, his smile brittle. “It was good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied softly, not quite meeting his eyes.

Mark gave a small wave and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N stared down at her coffee, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“You alright?” Logan asked.

She exhaled slowly, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Yeah,” she said, though the tightness in her voice betrayed her. “I just wasn’t expecting to see my ex today. Sorry, that was really weird.”

Logan nodded, his chest tightening inexplicably. “No need to apologize, he was the weird one.”

That made her chuckle and he smiled again. Y/N’s eyes lingered on him, her expression softening. “Have you ever had that happen?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his coffee. “Can’t say I’ve had many good relationships to begin with.”

She tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, a small shrug accompanying his words. “I mean, nothing real or long-lasting. Guess I’m not exactly easy to be with.”

“I don’t believe that,” Y/N said, softly. “You just haven’t found the right person yet.”

Logan looked up, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, the noise of the coffee shop a distant hum. There was something in her gaze, something that made his chest ache and his thoughts scatter.

He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Maybe,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Y/N smiled faintly, her attention drifting back to her coffee, but Logan could still feel the weight of the moment lingering between them, unspoken and unresolved.

———

By the time they returned to the apartment, the festive glow of the city lights outside had faded into a softer, quieter hum. Inside, the atmosphere felt almost intimate as they each set about putting away the day’s purchases.

Y/N carried the neatly wrapped gifts she’d picked out for Wade and a few others to her room, her mind still replaying snippets of the day. She placed the bags on her bed, pausing for a moment as her fingers brushed over the ribbon on one of the packages.

Meanwhile, Logan busied himself in the kitchen, unpacking a few groceries he had bought for dinner. His movements were slow and deliberate, but his focus wavered as the sound of Y/N’s light footsteps from the other room reached him.

It was the kind of silence that wasn’t quite empty.

When Y/N came back out to the living room, Logan glanced up briefly, his eyes catching hers.

“Got everything sorted?” he asked.

She nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said, placing a carton of eggs in the fridge. “All set.”

It was an ordinary exchange, but it lingered, hanging in the air between them like the faint scent of pine from the tiny tree Wade had set up in the corner.

Neither of them said much else as they gathered their things to head out, but the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was... charged.

———

The bar was alive with energy, the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter filling the space. Wade was on stage, commanding the room with a confidence that seemed almost effortless.

Y/N and Logan sat together near the bar and when Wade finished his set, he bounded over to them, his grin practically splitting his face.

“Well, well,” he said, plopping down in the seat next to Logan. “Look at you two. What’d you lovebirds get up to today?”

Logan tensed, his jaw tightening as he shot Wade a warning glance.

“Ran errands,” he said curtly, taking a sip from his drink.

“Bought gifts,” Y/N added with a smile, her tone light and unbothered.

Wade’s eyes flicked between the two of them, his smirk growing. “Oh, gifts, huh? For each other, maybe?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “For everyone but each other, actually.”

Wade leaned closer to Logan, lowering his voice but making no effort to hide his teasing grin. “You’re gonna spill every detail later,” he said conspiratorially. “Or else.”

Logan sighed, his gaze flickering toward Y/N, who seemed blissfully unaware of Wade’s antics. “You’re relentless,” he muttered.

“And you love me for it,” Wade shot back, raising his glass in mock salute.

For Y/N, the day had been... strange. Comfortable in some ways, yet unsettling in others. Being around Logan had a way of grounding her and throwing her off balance all at once, a mix of feelings she couldn’t quite name.

For Logan, it had been much the same. A day that lingered, heavy with a tension he couldn’t ignore and wasn’t ready to face.

As they left the bar and stepped into the cold night air, neither of them said much, but the weight of the unspoken hung between them, unacknowledged yet undeniable.

———

*Christmas Eve*

The apartment was aglow with the warm light of fairy lights strung across the walls and a small Christmas tree standing proudly in the corner. The scent of roasted vegetables and spiced desserts filled the air, mixing with the soft hum of holiday music playing from the speakers.

Y/N stood on a chair near the window, carefully hanging the last of the ornaments, a delicate glass star. She adjusted it until it caught the light just right, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. Her long red dress shimmered faintly in the glow of the lights, hugging her figure in all the right ways while remaining elegant and festive.

Logan walked in from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He stopped mid-step, his breath catching as his eyes fell on her.

She was radiant.

He couldn’t look away, and for a moment, everything else faded: the chatter from the kitchen, the music, even the sound of Wade's muffled laughter from somewhere down the hall.

For a moment, he forgot where he was.

“Logan?”

Her voice pulled him back, startling him. He blinked, feeling caught, and quickly masked his reaction.

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice gruff.

Her brow furrowed slightly, as though she wanted to ask something, but before she could, the front door swung open with a burst of energy.

“We’re here!” Wade’s booming voice broke the moment.

Logan exhaled quietly in relief, stepping aside as Wade entered, grinning from ear to ear. Behind him followed a petite older woman with cropped gray hair and a sharp yet welcoming presence. Her dark glasses hinted at her blindness, but her confident stride suggested it had never slowed her down.

“Y/N, this is Althea,” Wade announced with dramatic flair. “Al, meet the famous new roommate. Be warned—she’s deceptively charming.”

Y/N laughed, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “It’s great to finally meet you. Wade talks about you all the time.”

“Does he?” Althea’s tone was dry, but the faint curve of her lips showed her amusement. Ignoring Y/N’s hand, she reached out instead, her fingers brushing Y/N’s arm. “Forgive me, I don’t do handshakes. May I...?”

Y/N quickly caught on, her voice warm. “Of course.”

Althea’s hands moved gently to Y/N’s face, tracing her features with practiced care. Y/N held still, feeling a blend of curiosity and vulnerability.

“You’ve got a kind face,” Althea remarked, a smile softening her sharp features. “And I’d bet beautiful too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. She laughed lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

Wade, observing the scene from the kitchen, raised a brow. “Look at you, Al, playing all sweet. Y/N, don’t let her fool you. She’s got a mouth that could make a sailor blush.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wade,” Althea shot back without missing a beat, her tone deadpan.

Y/N burst into laughter, startled by the abruptness of the retort. The sound of her laugh made Logan glance over from his spot near the counter. His lips twitched, caught between a smirk and something softer.

Wade caught the look and snorted. He leaned in closer to Logan, dropping his voice. “Oh, man, you’re hopeless.”

Logan scowled, draining his drink in one go. “Shut up, Wade.”

Unfazed, Wade grinned. “Hey, just saying— there’s mistletoe. Clock’s ticking.”

Logan’s ears burned red, but he turned away, pretending to busy himself with setting the table.

“Alright, ladies!” Wade called, clapping his hands. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s feast!”

———

The four of them gathered around the small dining table, the dishes carefully arranged in the center. Wade had gone all out, as usual, and the spread was both impressive and slightly chaotic.

Y/N found herself seated next to Logan, their chairs close enough that their elbows occasionally brushed as they passed plates back and forth.

“This looks amazing,” Y/N said, her eyes wide as she surveyed the food.

“Don’t give Wade too much credit,” Logan grumbled. “Half of this was my doing.”

“Hey!” Wade protested, pointing his fork at Logan. “Without me, this meal would’ve been functional but boring. Like you.”

Althea snorted, cutting in with a smirk. “Oh, please, the two of you are basically a mismatched couple from some sitcom. You just need a laugh track.”

The meal carried on, Wade cracking jokes like it was his job (it is) and Logan sighing like he couldn’t care less. Still, there was a rhythm to their back-and-forth, one that made Y/N smile even when Wade was pushing the boundaries.

At one point, Wade casually leaned back and tossed out a comment about how Logan’s “festive cheer” seemed to skyrocket whenever Y/N was around. Logan didn’t hesitate— his foot shot out under the table, hitting Wade’s leg.

Wade yelped, clutching his leg. “Rude! I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!”

“Keep it up, and I’ll aim higher,” Logan muttered.

Y/N chuckled, her shoulders shaking slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Wade, sensing he was close to crossing a line, dialed it back just enough. The jokes stayed, but the comments about Logan and Y/N turned more playful, less obvious.

By the time the food was gone and the playlist had shifted to quieter, slower songs, the atmosphere felt easy, comfortable. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arm casually draped over the back of Y/N’s chair. He didn’t think much of it—it just felt like a natural place for it to be.

Y/N leaned back slightly, her shoulder brushing against his arm every so often. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything, and neither did he. Wade noticed, of course. He always noticed. But for once, he kept his mouth shut, letting the moment pass without a single jab or smirk.

Logan found himself watching Y/N as she laughed at something Althea said, her whole face lighting up. He didn’t realize he was staring, not really. Everything about the evening felt oddly normal, like this was just how things were meant to be.

———

Y/N and Althea sat side by side on the couch, the room warm and quiet now that dinner had ended. Logan leaned against the kitchen counter, nursing a glass of whiskey, while Wade sprawled in an armchair, pretending to be invested in their conversation. In reality, his focus shifted between the two women and Logan, who seemed utterly captivated by every word Y/N spoke, though he still didn’t seem to realize it.

Wade smirked faintly to himself, but again, said nothing.

“You know,” Althea was saying, “it’s rare to find people who make you feel at home so quickly. You’ve got a good heart, Y/N. I can see why these two keep you around.”

Y/N laughed. “Well, thank you, though I’m still figuring out how to deal with them sometimes.” She glanced playfully toward Logan and Wade.

“Hey!” Wade interjected, feigning offense. “We’re delightful.”

“That’s debatable,” Althea quipped.

They all laughed, and Y/N reached for a small bag she had tucked away under the coffee table. “Speaking of feeling at home, I actually got you a little something. Just a small gift.”

Althea’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “For me?”

Y/N handed her the bag, and inside was a plush, incredibly soft sweater in a deep burgundy color.

“For winter,” Y/N explained, smiling. “I thought it might be cozy for the colder days.”

Althea ran her hands over the fabric, her expression softening. “Alright, you’re officially my favorite now.”

Wade gasped dramatically. “What about us?”

Logan smirked into his glass, shaking his head.

“You two?” Althea said, turning her face toward the men with mock exasperation. “I don’t even know how Y/N puts up with you.”

The group laughed, the easy warmth of the evening wrapping around them like a blanket.

Once the laughter subsided, Wade and Logan presented their shared gift to Althea— a huge weighted blanket in a beautiful forest green color.

“For when you’re not here to roast us,” Wade said with a wink.

Althea ran her hands over the blanket, her lips curving into a genuine smile. “Alright, fine, maybe you two aren’t so bad. Thank you.”

———

When it was time for Althea to leave, Wade grabbed his coat and keys, patting Althea’s shoulder as they headed for the door. “I’ll drive her back. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone,” he teased, looking between Logan and Y/N.

“We’ll try to behave,” Y/N replied with a grin, earning a chuckle from Wade and a low, amused hum from Logan.

As the door closed behind them, the apartment was blanketed in a peaceful quiet. The soft glow of the Christmas lights cast warm patterns on the walls, and the faint scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air.

Logan moved to the table, stacking plates. “We should probably clean this up,” he said, glancing over at Y/N.

“Good idea,” she agreed, grabbing a tray of glasses. They worked side by side in silence, their movements synchronized without effort.

“You didn’t have to get Althea anything,” Logan said after a moment, his voice low. “She’s not really the sentimental type.”

Y/N shrugged, glancing over her shoulder. “It wasn’t about that. She’s important to you and Wade, and I wanted to show I appreciate her too.”

Logan paused, his hands stilling for a moment. “She seemed to like you.”

“She’s easy to like,” Y/N replied with a smile, turning back to the sink. “I think she keeps you grounded.”

Logan let out a small huff of amusement. “Yeah, she does. She’s one of the few people who knows how to call me out without pissing me off.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers brushing against his as she handed him a glass to dry. “That’s a skill worth respecting.”

The quiet between them was comfortable, almost tangible, but it was broken when Logan cleared his throat. “Speaking of gifts…”

Y/N turned, curious. Logan reached behind a stack of plates and pulled out a small box, wrapped neatly in dark green paper. “I, uh… I got you something.”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Logan, you didn’t have to—”

“Just open it,” he interrupted, his tone gruff but soft.

Taking the box, Y/N unwrapped it carefully, revealing a delicate necklace with a shimmering emerald pendant. The stone caught the light beautifully, its hues shifting like the ocean.

“Logan,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stunning.”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought it might suit you.”

Her fingers brushed over the pendant, her heart swelling at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. But then, realization dawned, and her eyes widened. “Wait… is this an emerald? Logan, this is way too much!”

“It’s a gift,” he said simply, his tone brooking no argument.

She looked at him, torn between awe and disbelief. “I can’t believe you—”

“Let me help,” he murmured, taking the necklace from her hands.

Y/N turned around, holding her breath as he fastened it around her neck. His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. When she turned back to face him, their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

Logan’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words eluded him. Instead, he gave a small nod, stepping back just enough to give her space.

“I should get your gift,” Y/N said, breaking the spell as she hurried to her room.

She returned with a neatly wrapped package. Logan opened it carefully, revealing a sleek black leather jacket. His brows lifted, his fingers brushing over the material.

“You mentioned your old one was wearing out,” Y/N said quickly. “And I thought—”

“It’s perfect,” Logan interrupted, his voice steady but warm.

She relaxed, her smile widening as she watched him try it on. It fit perfectly, the jacket molding to his broad frame like it had been made for him.

Relief washed over her, and she returned his smile. “I’m glad.”

Logan raised an eyebrow as he looked at the jacket again. "So, let me get this straight... you can get me a jacket as fancy as this, but I can’t even get you a beautiful necklace for Christmas?" he teased, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Y/N smirked and shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "It’s Christmas, Logan. Don’t overthink it," she replied, brushing him off with a quick wave of her hand.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, right, of course. Christmas," he muttered, half to himself. He glanced at the jacket again, his fingers brushing the smooth material. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” he said quietly.

“You’re worth it,” Y/N said before she could stop herself.

Logan looked up, his eyes locking onto hers. The weight of her words hung in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.

The moment stretched between them, the only sound being the Christmas playlist in the background, playing on low volume. Logan’s hand brushed hers as he set the jacket down, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat.

Before either of them could say more, the front door swung open.

“I’m back!” Wade announced as he burst through the door. “I hope you two didn’t burn the place down without me.”

Y/N and Logan stepped apart almost instinctively, their brief closeness retreating into the unspoken space between them.

“Place is still standing,” Logan said, his tone calm as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

Wade gave him a pointed look, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly before they flicked over to the small box on the table. He didn’t comment immediately, though a knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “Good. Hate to think I’d miss out on the drama. So,” he added, as casually as Wade could manage, “what’ve you two been up to?”

“Just cleaning up,” Y/N said with a warm smile, the necklace still hanging delicately around her neck.

Wade’s eyes landed on the necklace, his smirk widening briefly before he shook it off and clapped his hands together. “Right, cleaning. Sure. Well, hope you saved me some holiday cheer. Now, let’s finish this properly and…give me my gifts.”

As Y/N moved toward the living room to join him by the tree, Wade paused briefly near Logan. He leaned in, speaking just low enough to avoid Y/N overhearing.

“Nice gift, Peanut,” he murmured, a sly grin on his face. “Now, try to take the next step.”

Logan shot him a warning glare but said nothing, shaking his head as Wade walked off with a chuckle.

By the tree, Y/N had already settled herself cross-legged on the floor, her fingers absentmindedly brushing against the pendant. Logan hesitated, standing back for a moment as Wade grabbed a gift and rattled it loudly.

“Come on, Grinch, get over here,” Wade said, louder this time.

Logan sighed and made his way over, sitting a bit stiffly on the couch behind Y/N. His gaze lingered on her as she leaned toward the tree, her movements soft and unassuming. She turned slightly, catching his eye with a brief smile that made something stir in his chest.

As the night carried on, the living room buzzed softly with warmth, the twinkle of Christmas lights casting a gentle glow. Wade lounged near the tree, holding court with one of his exaggerated stories about a gift exchange gone horribly wrong. Y/N laughed, her face lighting up as she added her own tale— a hilarious recount of a miscommunication during her first Secret Santa at work.

Logan sat on the couch, watching them. He leaned back, silent, his gaze flickering between Wade’s theatrical gestures and the way Y/N’s smile reached her eyes. The sound of her laugh stirred something warm and sharp in him, though he kept his face impassive.

The way she wore that necklace—his gift to her—like it had always belonged there. And maybe it did. But that didn’t mean he did.

The leather jacket sat on the coffee table. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it. It wasn’t just the thoughtfulness— it was the way it seemed to fit him so perfectly, like she had known something about him that even he didn’t.

“You’re quiet, Peanut,” Wade teased, nudging him with his foot. “Plotting your next great escape?”

Logan huffed, shaking his head. “Just listening.”

Y/N smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Alright, Logan,” she said, leaning slightly toward him, “what’s the worst gift you’ve ever received?”

He blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, the question cut through the haze of his thoughts, and he scrambled to push the weight of his emotions aside.

“Worst gift?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Y/N prompted, tilting her head with that easy, genuine interest she always carried.

“Probably a pair of socks with reindeer on them,” Logan said with a wry smirk. “Ugliest thing I ever saw.”

Wade snorted. “Bet you still wore them, though.”

Logan shrugged, his lips twitching. “They were warm.”

“I know I love mine.” Wade said as he put his feet in the air, showing off the socks Y/N had got him.

The conversation flowed on, but Logan felt himself retreating into his thoughts again.

Y/N’s fingers brushed the pendant around her neck, and Logan’s heart stuttered in his chest. She wore his gift like it was a part of her, and somehow that made the ache in his chest sharper.

The truth clawed at him, relentless. He wanted something to happen— something more than these stolen moments of warmth. But he couldn’t let himself have it. Not with her.

Not someone like her.

Someone so kind, so brilliant, so effortlessly beautiful. Someone who deserved all the light and laughter she brought into the world. Someone who didn’t deserve the shadow of his past— the darkness he never spoke about, the weight of nightmares that dragged him down night after night.

The necklace had been a mistake. A moment of weakness. When he’d chosen it, he hadn’t thought about what it meant, only that it was perfect for her. 

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he knew what it meant.

But the moment he held it in his hands, the contrast had been too evident. It felt almost cruel to give her something so precious, as if he were trying to convince her he was something he wasn’t.

Wade’s voice cut through his thoughts, dragging his focus back to the room. Logan could feel his friend’s eyes on him. Wade always saw too much.

And Wade knew. Of course, he did. The way Logan’s gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his words faltered whenever Y/N was near. Wade saw it all, he knew it wasn’t just a simple little crush. It was probably the reason why he wouldn’t stop commenting on it.

But Logan didn’t need any of it. He didn’t need Wade pointing out how far he’d already fallen.

His heart ached with the weight of it. The selfishness of wanting to reach out, to take a chance, to risk everything for the possibility of more. But it was her. And he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Wade’s eyes briefly. He saw the smirk, the unspoken challenge, and ignored it.

He’d make it through this. He’d hide what he felt. He had to.

Because Y/N deserved better than him.

Logan leaned back on the couch, his face as still as stone as he forced his thoughts into submission.

“Alright,” Wade said, clapping his hands. “Time for another story— this one’s a real masterpiece.”

Logan let out a low hum, feigning interest as Wade began, but his focus was elsewhere.

Y/N’s laugh rang out again, soft and clear, and Logan clenched his jaw against the warmth it stirred.

He’d pretend. He’d hide.

And maybe, if he was lucky, it would be enough.

XXX

[misahyochaeng]

Can we get a momo car smut? it would suit her scene in the Strategy mv 😮‍💨

Let Me Into Your Heart. 🎄

tw - fluff, angst, smut, car sex, idol x idol!reader, tenth member reader, friends to (?), cunnilingus, bi-curious!reader, implied cheating/breakup, fingering, first time with a girl, praise kink.

note: a lil christmas gift for yall!!! enjoy

—

“Should we get more popcorn?” Chaeyoung asked as she shook around the unpopped kernels in the ceramic bowl they had all been using. All ten eyes fixated on the TV screen that was displaying the movie “Home Alone.” It had become a group tradition to watch it every christmas-eve.

“Chaeyoung, this is our fifth bag, we’re gonna run out of popcorn before this movie is even finished.” Jihyo scolded lightly as she sat on Sana’s lap, the Japanese girl toying and twirling with some locs of Jihyo’s hair. “Well it’s not my fault some people here aren’t saving some popcorn for the rest of us!” Chaeyoung argued as she eyed you and Momo, a pout of her face as she sulked with furrowed brows. Momo stuck her tongue out and mocked the girl while you stuck your middle finger out and pouted, some banter immersing you all as the movie continued on.

Your phone buzzed.

Jisung: “Y/N, can we talk?.”

The playful banter continued for a few moments before your phone buzzed again, louder this time, cutting through the sound of the movie. You glanced down at the screen, your heart sinking slightly at the message:

Jisung: “Please, it’s serious.”

For the past few days, he'd been distant—barely answering texts, no late-night calls after hard weeks of recording, no cute emojis or "I miss you" messages. Nothing. The sudden flood of unease gnawed at your popcorn filled stomach. You weren’t sure if it was the holiday season or the amount of unaligned schedules, but the weight of his absence had started to feel heavier than usual.

Momo, sitting beside you, noticed the subtle shift in your mood. She glanced at your phone and then back at you, her expression softening. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly, her voice laced with concern, her hand caressing yours with her thumb.

You froze for a moment, suddenly aware of how tense your shoulders had become. You didn’t want to dive into it now—not with everyone here, not on Christmas Eve. You forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like it might break at any moment. "Yeah... I'm fine. I’m just gonna step outside for a bit. I'll be right back."

Momo looked at you for a second longer, her brow furrowed, but she didn’t press. She knew better than to push too hard when you weren’t ready to talk. "Alright. Let me know if you need anything," she said softly, her eyes staying on you for a moment before you stood up and headed for the door.

You made your way down the hallway, the muffled sound of laughter from the living room fading behind you. The cold air hit your face as you stepped outside, the sudden silence almost suffocating. You unlocked your phone again, reading Jisung’s message over and over:

Jisung: “Call me. I need to tell you now.”

A chill ran through you, though not from the shivering cold. Serious? What did that even mean? You stared at the screen, fingers frozen in place. Part of you didn’t want to know the answer, but you couldn’t ignore it. You needed to hear it from him, even though you already had a sinking feeling in your gut.

Taking a shaky breath, you tapped his name, a little white heart next to it. The phone rang twice, then he picked up. His voice was different—distant, quieter than usual.

"Hey," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but it cracked slightly. "Hey," Jisung replied, but there was something in his tone—hesitation? Nervousness? You couldn’t tell.

You swallowed, trying to shake off the dread creeping into your chest. "What’s going on? Is everything alright?" There was a long pause before he spoke again, his voice even more strained now. "I... I think we need to talk."

The words hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. We need to talk—you knew what that meant. You felt the air go still, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “About what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He let out a long breath, like he was trying to find the right words. “I don’t think we’re... I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore,” he said, his voice barely audible now. “I think it’s time we... end things.”

You couldn’t breathe for a second. The words stung in a way you hadn’t expected. You felt your chest tighten, the cold air no longer offering any relief. “Jisung, no...” you managed to whisper, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. You had expected this to come, but hearing it... it still hurt.

There was silence on the other end for a long moment, and then he sighed. "I’m sorry. I just... I think it’s better this way." The words felt like a slap in the face, and the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet. It was Christmas Eve. You had been hoping, maybe even pretending, that things could be fixed, that it was just a rough patch. But this... this was the final word.

You tried to steady your breath, but it felt impossible. Please, you thought. Just don’t let it end like this.

"Jisung, please... don’t do this," you whispered, your voice cracking despite your best effort to keep it steady. "We can fix this. I know we can. Just... talk to me. Please." There was a long silence on the other end, and you could almost feel the distance growing between you, stretching wider and wider. His voice finally broke through, distant and emotionless. "I’ve already talked to my company," he said, each word heavier than the last. "They’re going to issue a statement tomorrow. It’s already been decided."

A statement. Your chest tightened. Your throat felt like it was closing. "A statement?" you echoed, almost laughing at how absurd it sounded, but the bitter edge to your voice made it clear you weren’t finding any humor in it. "You’re not just ending things, Jisung. You’re... you’re making it official with a statement?"

“I can’t keep doing this,” he said, and there was a finality to it. Something in his tone said this wasn’t a conversation anymore—it was a conclusion. A chapter closing. “This... it’s for the best.” The words stabbed at you like a thousand needles. For the best? How could this be for the best?

“No,” you whispered, your heart pounding. “No, Jisung. I don’t want this. I can’t just... let you go. Not like this. You can’t make a decision like that without even trying—please.” You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to pull yourself together, but you were barely holding on. “We can talk about it. We can fix this. Please.”

“I’ve thought about it, and I know this is what’s best for both of us,” he replied, but his words felt like they were slipping away from you, becoming less real with every breath. There was no room for anything else, no space for the love you’d shared. Just cold, emotionless distance. A lump formed in your throat as you pressed your palm to your forehead, trying to stop the tears from coming. "But I love you," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I don’t want to let you go. Please don’t do this. I can’t—"

He sighed. It was long and exhausted, like he was done explaining, done trying to make you understand. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft but final, like he was already saying goodbye. “I think it’s better this way. I really do.”

"No," you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, your entire body trembling. *Please, don’t hang up. Please, don’t leave me with just this.* "Please... please just listen to me, Jisung. We can work through it. We can—"

But before you could finish, there was a sharp click.

The call ended.

You stared at your phone, your hand shaking, the empty screen glaring back at you as if mocking your attempts to hold it together. The cold air outside suddenly felt suffocating, and you clutched the phone in your hand, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

He was gone. Just like that.

A familiar voice cut through the cold silence.

“Y/N, the girls told me to bring you a jacket, Jihyo didn’t want you catching a co—”

Momo stopped mid-sentence when she saw you, her words faltering as she took in the sight of you standing there. Your face was pale, eyes swollen and red, and your nose was bright from the cold, but it was clear—it wasn’t the cold that had made you look this way.

Her breath caught in her chest. She could see it in your eyes—something had shattered, and it wasn’t just the chill of the night.

You didn’t speak, just stood there, looking like you were trying to hold yourself together, but barely. Momo’s heart twisted as she saw how small you seemed, how lost you were.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, instinctively, Momo stepped forward, her voice soft but full of concern. “Y/N…”

You didn’t respond. You just looked at her, your lips trembling, and that was all it took for Momo to close the distance between you. She didn't ask any more questions, not yet—she just shrugged the jacket off her shoulders and wrapped it around you, the thick wool lining offering warmth against your skin. The smell of her perfume, the faintest trace of something sweet and familiar, clung to the jacket, mixing with the cold air around you.

She pulled you closer, wrapping her arms around you, her hands warm against your trembling body. For a few seconds, she just held you, letting the silence settle between you. She could feel the tension in your body—the way you were trying to hold it all in, like you were waiting for something to change.

Momo didn’t know what to say. The words felt like they were stuck in her throat, but one thing she did know: you needed her, and that was enough for now.

Her thumb brushed softly across your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. She took a deep breath, her voice breaking the silence, but barely above a whisper. “What happened?” Her words were careful, like she didn’t want to push you too hard. "Y/N, please talk to me."

You closed your eyes, the pain in your chest threatening to crush you with each breath you took. You shook your head as if to shake off the reality of it. “He… he ended it. Just like that.”

Her arms tightened around you, but she didn’t say anything for a moment. She just let you keep talking, keep processing.

“He… said it was for the best. That it’s over. That we’re over.” You choked on the last words, your throat so tight you could barely breathe. “He’s already talking to his company, Momo. They’re going to release a statement tomorrow…” You trailed off, your voice barely audible, and your hands gripped the edges of the jacket she’d wrapped around you as if it were the only thing anchoring you to reality.

Momo’s chest ached as she heard your words, her heart breaking for you. She knew you and Jisung had been going through something, but this? This felt so final. Her fingers brushed against your hair gently, tucking a strand behind your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You just shook your head, unable to say anything more. The weight of everything was too much, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself lean into her warmth. Momo held you like she’d never let you go, like she could protect you from all of this pain, even though she knew she couldn’t. But she would be here. She would always be here.

Momo gently pulled away, but kept her hands on your arms, her voice soft but insistent. “Okay, listen to me. We’re gonna get through this,” she said, her tone more confident now, though there was still a quiver of concern underneath. “I’m gonna go talk to the girls. We’ll come up with something. I’ll take you out for a little drive, get some air. You deserve that right now, okay?”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. You just nodded, still trying to breathe through the ache in your chest. Momo squeezed your shoulders before rushing back inside to join the others.

Momo burst back into the living room, still feeling the weight of the moment. The girls glanced up at her, noticing her flushed cheeks and the wild, panicked look in her eyes. Before anyone could say anything, Momo blurted out, “It’s over. She... he ended it. It’s over.”

The words hit the room like a bomb, and the girls froze. For a second, no one moved. Then, a beat later, Nayeon looked up from her phone, her eyes wide. “Wait, wait—what?” She blinked rapidly, trying to process. “Momo, have you seen a ghost? What’s happening?” Momo groaned, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “I’m serious, Nayeon. It’s over. Y/N’s heartbroken, and I... I don’t know what to do. She’s falling apart, and I just—” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “I need to fix this.”

Jihyo looked up from her seat with a knowing smile, trying to calm Momo down. “We’re not saying you have to fix everything, Momo. But you can’t do it alone.”

“Right,” Sana added, her voice light with a teasing tone. “You need help. You’ve been practically obsessed with Y/N for months. It's okay, we see it.” Momo’s face turned beet red, her hands flailing in the air as she tried to brush off their comments. “I... I’m just trying to help her. This is about her, not me!” She was still panicking, but it was clear from her flushed face and darting eyes that they were right. She liked you. She always had.

Chaeyoung gave her a knowing look, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Momo… you do know this is just a breakup, right?”

Momo froze. “What do you mean? Of course it’s just a breakup—what else could it be?!” she said, waving her arms dramatically. Sana, eyes twinkling, smirked. “Momo, we’ve been watching you two for months now. The way you look at her? You think we didn’t notice? Please.”

“Yeah, you’ve practically been ready to confess,” Jihyo added, crossing her arms. “Except you keep getting interrupted by work or... Y/N’s boyfriends or whatever.” Momo’s face went bright red. “What? No! I—I’m just—what?!" Her hands flailed in the air even harder now, like she was trying to swat the conversation away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m just trying to make her feel better, okay? She’s my best friend. That’s all.”

Chaeyoung leaned back into the couch, crossing her arms with an exaggerated sigh. “Sure. Best friend. And you want to make her feel better because...?”

Sana and Jihyo both shot Momo a knowing look, and Momo groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Okay, fine! Fine, I like her. But that doesn’t matter right now! She’s hurting, and I need to figure out how to help her.”

“Look,” Jihyo said, leaning forward with a smirk. “It’s okay. We’ve all been in your shoes at some point.” She paused dramatically, glancing at the others. “Well, not everyone.” She shot a look at Sana, who rolled her eyes.

But now wasn’t the time for that. “I’m taking her out for a drive. She needs to clear her head,” Momo said quickly, trying to regain control of the situation. “I’m gonna be there for her. I just... I need to get her to feel better, okay?”

Chaeyoung leaned back on the couch, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. “Oh, so now we’re trying to get her to feel better. What happened to the Momo who was all, ‘We’re just friends’? Huh? You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

Momo’s face went even redder, but before she could respond, Jihyo stepped in, holding up a bar of chocolate with a smirk. “Here, Momo,” she said, tossing it to her. “You’re gonna need this. Chocolate fixes everything.”

Momo caught the chocolate, but she barely acknowledged it, her mind still racing; then she blinked, momentarily distracted by the random appearance of chocolate in Jihyo’s pocket. “...Wait, did you just have that in your pocket this whole time?”

Jihyo smirked, unwrapping another bar she had stored. “Never leave home without it.”

“Oh you’re weird.. anyways, right. I’ve got this. I’ll take her for a drive, talk things through... Just... make her feel better. Mission: Help Y/N Feel Better is a go.” She gave a dramatic sigh, half-exasperated, half-hoping she wasn’t totally messing this up.

The girls all nodded in unison, giving her supportive smiles.

Momo quickly turned toward the door, but not before shooting one last glance at the girls, her mind still racing. "Thanks, guys."

The scene shifted, and suddenly, Momo was standing with you at the front door. The moment of action felt strangely quiet between you two, almost like you were both holding your breath.

“So...” Momo started awkwardly, holding the strings of her hoodie inbetween her fingers like it might help steady her. “I thought... maybe we could just go for a little drive? Clear our heads. Get away from all of this for a bit.”

You stood there for a second, still processing everything, feeling the cold air against your cheeks. You glanced at her, your eyes tired, but you nodded.

“Yeah,” you whispered, forcing a weak smile. “That sounds... good.”

Momo hesitated, her hands fidgeting with her hoodie before she stuffed her hands in its pockets. Her heart skipped. It was like it was happening too fast, but also, it was the only thing that made sense. You needed comfort, and she needed to be there for you. That’s all she could do right now.

“Alright,” Momo said, almost to herself, trying to regain her composure. “Let’s go.” And with that, the door clicked closed behind you both, the world outside waiting—neither of you knowing exactly how the night would unfold, but knowing you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Momo opened the car door for you, her hands steady but her mind racing. “Here,” she said softly, offering a warm smile as you slid into the seat. She closed the door gently behind you before walking around to the driver’s side, sliding in and starting the engine. She glanced at you with a playful smile. “You want the heater on?”

You groggily nodded, your body shivering slightly from the cold air outside. The warmth of the car hit you almost immediately, flushing through you like a wave, and you let out a small sigh of relief.

Momo reached into the backseat, pulling out a thick, cozy-looking blanket. She held it up to you, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness. “Do you always just keep this here?”

You raised an eyebrow at her teasing. “Do you want it or not?” Momo shot back, her lips puckered in that endearing way she did when she was being playful.

You giggled softly, nodding. “Fine, I’ll take it.”

With a smile, she wrapped the blanket around you, tucking it in carefully, her hands brushing against your arms as she did. You let out a pleased sigh, sinking deeper into the warmth.

Momo buckled up, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway, her focus now on the road ahead. The quiet hum of the engine filled the car, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You watched the side windows begin to fog up, your breath a little heavier, as you gazed out at the Christmas decorations twinkling in the distance. Couples walked hand-in-hand, laughing under the soft glow of holiday lights, and for a moment, you forgot how cold it had been outside, lost in the warmth of the car.

But then, just as quickly as it came, the thought of him slipped into your mind. It had been your second Christmas together. Your second Christmas you wouldn’t get to share with him again. The ache in your chest returned, the holiday cheer around you somehow making it worse.

Momo broke the silence before it could consume you. “Are you thinking about him again?” she asked bluntly, glancing over at you.

You froze for a second, caught off guard, then quickly lied. “No,” you said, forcing a small smile as you looked away from her.

Momo didn’t miss the way you stiffened, the shift in your expression. She knew. Her voice softened, but there was something else there, something sharp. “He never really deserved you.”

The way she said it made something in your chest tighten. There was an odd tone in her voice—something... almost like jealousy? You looked over at her, trying to make sense of it, but before you could ask, she continued, rambling softly as if trying to hide the edge in her words.

“He was an ass, Y/N. Seriously. No one should treat you the way he did. You deserve so much more than that...”

You couldn’t help it. You teased, your lips curling into a small grin. “Are you sure you’re not the one going through the breakup?”

Momo’s eyes widened in surprise before she laughed softly, her usual playful nature returning. “I’m just... sympathizing,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of something deeper you couldn’t quite place.

You softened, your expression turning more serious. “Thank you, Momo.”

The silence fell again, but this time, it felt different. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just two people, driving through the night, each lost in their own thoughts but sharing the same space, the same moment. The world outside was busy, filled with lights and laughter, but here, in the car, there was only warmth and quiet.

After a few more minutes of driving, Momo pulled into a small coffee shop parking lot. The warm glow of the shop’s windows was inviting, and the smell of coffee and cocoa drifted in the air. Momo shifted the car into park and turned to you, her smile returning. “Let’s go get some hot cocoa. You look like you could use it.”

You stared at the coffee shop happily, a soft smile tugging at your lips. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been craving something sweet, something to distract you from the ache that had been gnawing at your chest.

With a quick nod, you unbuckled your seatbelt, excitement bubbling up inside you. “I love hot cocoa,” you said, practically bouncing in your seat.

Momo chuckled at your enthusiasm, rolling her eyes playfully as you quickly hopped out of the car, your steps light. “You’re like a little kid,” she teased, but there was affection in her voice.

You didn’t care. For the first time all night, you felt a little lighter, and Momo was the reason for it.

As you both stepped into the coffee shop, the cozy atmosphere immediately embraced you. The air was filled with the scent of coffee, cinnamon, and a hint of peppermint. The place was decorated with twinkling lights, a large tree in the corner sparkling with gold and red ornaments, and little touches of holiday cheer all around. The soft hum of Christmas music played in the background, making everything feel warm and festive.

Momo walked up to the counter and ordered the Christmas special hot cocoa—whipped cream topped with little Christmas sprinkles, the kind that made you feel like you were inside a snow globe. When the drinks arrived, she handed one to you with a smile.

You took a sip, and the sweetness hit you almost immediately, the warmth of the cocoa comforting you in ways you didn’t expect. A wide smile spread across your face, and Momo watched, amused.

She giggled softly, her eyes crinkling with affection. “You’re adorable,” she mumbled under her breath, watching you with a soft expression. Then, without warning, she pulled out her phone and snapped a quick picture.

You blinked, caught off guard but still smiling, and struck a playful pose, holding up your mug like a model. You giggled at yourself as Momo put the phone down, her eyes still fixed on you.

“I probably look so bad right now,” you said, rubbing your eyes lightly, feeling a little embarrassed.

Momo quickly shook her head, her voice a little too loud in her rush to correct you. “Don’t say that! You’re always pretty, Y/N.” The words slipped out awkwardly, and she immediately flushed, her cheeks turning pink.

You couldn’t help but tease her. “Aww, you’re so sweet, Momo,” you said, your voice teasing as you grinned. “You’re totally in love with me, aren’t you?”

Momo sulked, slumping in her chair and crossing her arms, clearly embarrassed. “Shut up,” she muttered, hiding her face behind her mug. “You’re such a brat.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, sipping your drinks. Then, just as the moment started to feel peaceful, Momo reached into the pocket of her hoodie. She paused for a moment before pulling out the chocolate Jihyo had given her earlier. She placed it on the table, shoving it toward you.

“Wowww, so charming,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you picked up the chocolate, unwrapping it with a playful smile.

Momo rolled her eyes dramatically, but she was secretly pleased. “Shut up, just take it,” she muttered.

You bit into the chocolate, letting out a hum of delight at the rich flavor. “Mmm, this is so good,” you sighed, before raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t these Jihyo’s chocolates?”

Momo hesitated for a second, her cheeks flushing again. “Uh... yeah... but she said I could have it... or something...” she trailed off, clearly not wanting to elaborate.

You smirked, teasing her again. “Sure you didn’t just steal it, huh?”

She quickly changed the topic, eager to avoid the embarrassment. “Okay, okay. Let’s go for another drive. There are some really cute light displays I wanted to show you. You’ll love them.”

You finished your cocoa with a smile, feeling lighter than before, and nodded eagerly. “I’m in,” you said, excited again. “Lead the way!”

Momo stood up and grabbed her jacket, offering her hand out to you with a smile. “Alright, let’s get out of here. The lights are waiting.”

You slipped your hand into hers, and together, you stepped out into the chilly night air, the car ride ahead feeling like the perfect distraction, filled with warmth, laughter, and—maybe even a little bit of magic.

Momo sat in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as you climbed back into the car. Your cheeks were flushed from the cold, but your eyes sparkled, still captivated by the lights you had just seen.

“These lights are so pretty,” you said softly, glancing out the window at the glow illuminating the snowy streets. Turning to her, you added with a small smile, “This is really nice... especially because I’m with you.”

Momo’s fingers twitched against the steering wheel, her heart skipping a beat. She tried to steady her breath, her eyes briefly flicking to yours before darting back to the road. “Really?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

You nodded, resting your hands in your lap. “Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this... peaceful.”

She wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in her throat. Just as she gathered the courage to speak, your phone buzzed, breaking the fragile moment. You sighed, pulling it out and staring at the screen. Jisung. Your stomach twisted as you hesitated, but ultimately, you answered.

“Hello?” Your voice lacked its usual warmth.

On the other end, Jisung’s tone was sharp and frustrated. “Y/N, we need to talk.”

“What’s left to talk about?” you replied, exhaustion lacing your words. “You broke up with me today, Jisung. On Christmas Eve.”

“I didn’t mean for it to be like that!” he snapped, his voice rising. “But you never listen to me—”

His words blurred together as your chest tightened, the overwhelming weight of the day catching up to you. You blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears burning your eyes. “I don’t have the energy for this,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. But before you could say more, Momo leaned over and gently, but firmly, took the phone from your hand.

“She’s busy,” Momo said sharply into the receiver, her tone calm but edged with steel. Without waiting for a response, she hung up and set the phone down on the dashboard. You stared at her, stunned. “Momo, you didn’t have to do that—”

“Yes, I did,” she interrupted, her jaw tightening. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, the intensity there made you forget to breathe. “He doesn’t get to talk to you like that. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Her voice was steady, but there was a tremble in her hands that gave her away. “You deserve so much more than someone who makes you feel like this, Y/N. Someone who cares about you, who treats you the way you deserve to be treated.”

You swallowed hard, her words striking something deep within you. “Momo...”

Her eyes softened, and she looked down at her lap, exhaling slowly. “If it were me,” she continued, her voice quieter now, “I’d treat you better than that.”

Her confession lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. Your heart raced, and you turned to fully face her, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah?” Momo froze, realizing the weight of what she’d just said. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet yours, her vulnerability laid bare. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice barely audible but sure.

The silence between you thickened, the atmosphere in the car charged. Outside, the city lights sparkled in the distance, but neither of you noticed.

“I want to kiss you right now,” Momo blurted, her voice cutting through the quiet. Your lips curved into the faintest smile, and you tilted your head slightly. “So do it.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she hesitated. Then, she leaned in, her hand trembling as it came to rest gently against your cheek. Her lips brushed yours softly at first, testing, before pressing more firmly. The kiss was warm, tender, and filled with an unspoken emotion that made your heart ache in the best way.

The faint taste of chocolate and strawberry lingered between you, and when she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. Her eyes fluttered open, searching yours nervously.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. You smiled, your fingers brushing against her cheek as you leaned closer. “Then don’t stop now.”

Her lips curved into a shy smile before she kissed you again, the city lights twinkling behind you as the night finally felt like Christmas.

The kiss deepened slowly, the initial tenderness giving way to something more urgent, more desperate. Momo’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, her fingers threading through your hair as she tilted her head to press closer. Her lips moved against yours with a quiet, restrained passion, as though she had been holding herself back for far too long but was afraid of overwhelming you.

Your hand found its way to her shoulder, gripping the fabric of her hoodie as if grounding yourself in the moment. Her other hand rested on your waist, fingers splayed like she couldn’t get enough of the feel of you under her touch.

The warmth in the car seemed to rise, the windows fogging slightly as her lips parted against yours, and you felt her breath mix with your own. There was a soft, almost inaudible sound from her throat, a hum of satisfaction that sent a shiver through you.

Your body leaned into hers instinctively, the space between you shrinking until there was hardly any left, swinging your legs over to straddle her lap. The kiss grew more insistent, her lips moving with a rhythm that felt like a conversation without words. She pulled you closer, and your chest pressed against hers, the tension thick and electric.

When you broke apart for air, both of you were breathing heavily, your faces still inches apart. Her dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something raw and unfiltered that made your pulse race. Her thumb brushed against your jaw as if she couldn’t stop touching you, and her lips were slightly swollen, glistening from the kiss.

“Momo…” you whispered, your voice trembling with both nerves and anticipation.

Her eyes flicked to your lips, and she exhaled shakily. “I—” she began, but words seemed to fail her as her gaze returned to yours, her need palpable in the way her hands tightened their hold on you. “I want you.” she bit her lip lightly, “Please?”

You nodded lightly and she didn’t waste any time, latching onto your neck, a needy groan escaping her lips as she bit onto your skin. “Fuck, Momo..” you whined.

She continues to suck on your neck, her hands roaming under your shirt to toy with your chest almost possessively. She breaks away slightly, panting, "Let’s go to the back..."

You nod and she climbs into the backseat after you, a lustfilled glint in her eyes. She closes the door and locks it, ensuring privacy. She turns to face you, her gaze intense, yet you could see the slight nervousness on it. "Take off your shirt..."

You slip off your jacket before taking off your shirt, revealing your black bra that’s decorated with lace at the hems, Momo’s mouth practically drooled at the sight, “You’re so beautiful..” she muttered before pulling you closer, she pushed you down softly onto the cars door as she hovered over your body, kissing from your collarbone to your chest, swiftly unlatching your bra, almost like muscle memory.

She cursed under her breath at the sight of your bare chest and didn’t waste any time to latch on, putting her swollen lips onto one of your hardened nipples, a sensitive moan escaping your lips as your hands tangled onto her black hair, she hummed in delight, “Gosh Y/N-ie, you taste so good..” you whimpered as you grinded your clothed center on her thigh, a pout on your lip as you carressed her head.

“No ones fucked you like this before, no?” she kept sucking your tits as her hands fiddled on the buttons of your jeans. You shook your head, “Bet that shit-head of your boyfriend couldn’t make you feel good.” she bit softly onto your nipple, you threw your head back slightly. “Hnngh— n-no…” Momo chuckled softly “Yeah? couldn’t make your pretty cunt feel good?”

She digged her hand through your pants and began toying on your swollen clit through your underwear, “Couldn’t… satisfy me.—Nngh.”

“Gosh, you’re so wet, baby, so fucking cute, can’t wait to feel you inside me.” she smirked against your skin, leaving a path of wet kisses all over your collarbone and breasts. “Please, i need it Momo..”

“Yeah? you need me inside you? Fuck..” she slowly dipped her fingers in your wet cunt, moving your panties to the side as she tested the waters, letting you adjust to her length, you could see in her face she was holding back—holding back the urge to absolutely ruin you with her fingers, make you forget the existence of that shitty man from how good she was making that pussy feel.

She curled her fingers in deeper, her palm rubbing your clit from time to time, she pressed her lips on yours in a hungry kiss, a low husky growl leaving her lips as your moans vibrated against them, your sounds were like a vivid symphony to her, she craved more and more, the touch of your skin, the wetness and tight squeeze around her length, the smell of slight musk covered by your fruity perfume—she craved it all.

“Gosh i’ve wanted this for so long. I crave you, Y/N.” she moved her fingers in figure eights, “Wanted you so badly—wanted to have you like this.” she kissed your neck as she curled her fingers, inching them even deeper now, “Fuck—! Momo.. It feels so good!” she chuckled before speeding up her pace again, the muscles on her forearm flexing at every thrust. “Yeah? Unnie fucks your pussy good, right?”

“So fucking good—Gosh, fuckfuck fuck! Momo..” She practically ripped your pants off you, the garment flying somewhere to the passenger seat, your panties coming off with it too. “Good girl, baby.” she coos as she puts her tongue right on your pussy, both her fingers and tongue doing the work, your hand instinctively went to push her further into your cunt, her structured nose brushing against your clit, she smelled the scent of sex, your wetness—it was addicting.

Her chin was coated with a mix of her own saliva and your pussy juices. The sound of pornographic squelching, low groans and moans echoed through the cars exterior, you were so dripping wet she was sure she’d have to deep clean her car seat after this.

She grabbed your thighs, a rather harsh squeeze as she pushed you down onto her tongue, you began rutting your hips back and forth on her face, humping your cunt on it like a bitch in heat. It wasn’t long until you felt close, that knot form in your stomach, breathing getting heavier and moans going up an octave as your voice cracked. “Momo-nee, fuck…fuckfuckfuck— close, i’m fucking close.”

She spat on your cunt, “Yeah? cum for me, Y/N, keep moaning my name.” and you did as requested, vision turning white as you saw stars; eyes rolling to the back of your head as your body went into a slight spasm from your orgasm.

She helped you ride your high, seeing your face during orgasm and how pretty your back looked arched might’ve made her cum on the spot, untouched. “Gosh, you’re so pretty..” she pampered you with kisses all over your face and lips, tiny whiny giggles from the ticklish feeling leaving your lips.

Suddenly your face grew red and you avoided her gaze.

“Are you okay?” Momo’s eyebrows furrowed as she caressed your cheek, her eyes beady under the christmas moonlight. “I’m sorry if i pushed it, I…uhm.. we can pretend this never happened and I’ll—“

“No no, it’s okay. I liked it, a lot, It’s just…” you bit your lip out of hesitation “That was my first time with uhm.. a girl.”

Momo’s face grew red, she tried to speak up but only an exhale escaped her mouth, there was a moment of silence before you both giggled, “Come on, let’s go home before the girls think i drove you off a cliff or something.” She handed you your clothes and the blanket that was in the passenger before she jumped to the drivers seat, starting the engine and driving off while you got dressed in the back.

“I guess that chocolate really was useful after all.”

[yandere-yearnings]

HEAVENCALL (??? x Fem!Reader)

feat. Cecilia Romano

♡ oneshot, approx. 1k words

♡ post-specific warnings: NSFW, sub + bottom afab reader, fingering (reader receiving), 'good girl' used on reader, depictions of gore and violence, masochism & sadism, Stockholm syndrome, abuse, collaring, blood play, (extreme) knife play, implied mind break, implied imprisonment, vaguely implied reference to cannibalism, extreme toxicity, DDDNE

♡ a/n: most important thing to anyone reading this is to pls be mindful of the content warnings above and to not read if you think it could be triggering for you. this is vv dark fiction and i legit cannot stress that enough. a lighter christmas fic will be posted soon, which can be viewed alternatively.

this is @unhappy-last-resort's gift for our secret santa fic exchange!! unhappy i'm gonna need you to forgive me for how shitty this turned out lmao. i lied when i said it would be my last rewrite and got wasted so i could churn smth out before today. i'm burnt out to all fuck and too tired to fix the medical inaccuracies drunk me did not consider so pls pretend that the femoral artery does not exist and the bleeding is venous otherwise our reader is technically dead and not just passed out💀 this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. proofread, unedited.

♡♡♡

It was because you hadn’t seen light in days. Chained up to this wall, waiting like a dog for your angel to come down to you — sensitive eyes, slithers of blinding white around her silhouette looking like a luminous halo. Deaf to her footsteps, blind to the blood on her dress or the stench of it, all you knew was her when she put her hands on you. Learning to treasure it, since it would only be you here grieving every touch you were deprived of when she left.  

“Miserable thing,” fingers smoothing out in your hair turn violent, she tugs, “feel special yet?”

When she chokes you, you do. You think the collar might just cut into your flesh from the force as Cecilia pulls on it. Lips meeting hers, you are whole again with the way her nails dig into your cheek, like she wants to rip the skin right off. Bringing the claim she has on each corner of your soul right to the surface, the sole thing that has become easy for you to understand is that you are ruined for this world.

“Please…” you beg, and you remain unaware of what for. There is something pulsating inside of you, blood beating bones from depths in which a consuming rot grows ugly. Cecilia’s scalpel shows an animal starved, and you recognise that it’s you. The spit and drool come like magic, she wets your dry throat easy with just a few fingers in your mouth — you are hungry. Her knees hit the ground for you, in turn your heart wants to come right up as penance for your unworthiness.

Thin gown bunched up into the crease of your groin, too light to feel any warmth from it — and you are too taken by the coldness of the blade on your thigh to care. Aching for the push, so your body could give way and you could feel the sharpness nestle inside of you, to wrap around something, to bury it in the grave of an open wound. Cecilia keeps a distance your cuffed wrists cannot close, and your desire drips from you with nothing to hide, nor cling to.

Spine lined with explosives, the first graze has the pleasure spark seriatim; the release of pressure you had been neck-deep in brutalises you, and you are delirious on the feel of being ripped apart without the motions. Each score burns. New layers of you are uncovered and exposed to this world and Cecilia wrenches your head down to watch. 

Mouth agape, your drool parts a translucent line over the pooling sangria. “More,” pleading for it, despite how muffled it came out. You want her to rip this chunk of you right off. You want to be between her teeth and down her throat. You want, and it’s butchering. “Deeper,” the tears come with your chest squeezing, come with the choked up moan when her digits bear down on your tongue harder. Your mistake is clear to you the moment you see the wash of those baby blues lock on you, the reverie of bringing the sky down to your prison and the vastness as you lost your mind to it has your breath hitching.

Ringing in your ears dulled to the scattering greys when Cecilia hits you, cheekbone smashing against the wall, sending the vibrations all throughout your skull. Ecstasy takes on the taste of metal. Sure enough, the savage inside of you is unsettled, is not yet satisfied.

“When have I ever let you command me?” Her knife edge twists, makes ribbons of your tissues — makes you writhe deliciously. “Do you think you have a will?”

“No.” The answer needs no contemplation, it has been ingrained in you. “‘M sorry,” your vision spots when you crane your neck, you’ve been putting more and more of your weight into the bricks, your shackles sting. “Was so good I went dumb, ‘m sorry. I won’t do it again,” you sniffle, “p-please…”

Acutely aware of the moment the surgical steel leaves you; biting your lip to suppress your whimper when the air hits. “That’s better,” and you are sure this is a punishment until Cecilia takes your face, “see, you know how to be a good girl, don’t you?”

Something hot floods your guts, you’re nodding before you even have a chance to rub your thighs together — not that you’d be allowed to. Her palm is pressing right to the laceration, she keeps you splayed apart like that, and her nails are mere millimetres away from showing you a supernova. Red tracks streak a trail all the way to your core, the fabric in contact with it is damp, is threading clear strings to a place that’s throbbing with need to be desecrated.

All your nerves fray when she sinks in, and just like that, the ability to latch onto her human caress is wasted on you. Only remembering how to stay agape, how to curl your toes and tear from your bottom lip to hold back your moans. Your walls are sopping for her, they slobber just as much as you do for the euphoria Cecilia imposes into you. Gasping her name, flashes of a world outside you no longer want to return to, legs trembling when her thumb comes up. She plays you so well, makes a mess — makes a masterpiece out of all your misery and mortality alike.

Whispering, “you were my best decision,” — and like a blessing, your undoing lays rest to you. Pink slick and pain, everything becomes sweet in this swarming black. Angels. Her laughter, a hymn. Singing. Heavencall.

[bloggerspam]

Merry Christmas Eve! We're in the home stretch now. :)

===

"Alright Ghost of the Here and Now,"

Jason grumbles with false bravado, "Lay it on me. What are you gonna show me? Bruce yelling at me? Alfred's disappointment? Dickie's New and Exciting Life?"

Danny simply stares at him in silent disappointment. The ghost is floating, his legs gone and merged into a ghostly tail. He's floating this way and that, humming as he observes Jason slumped on his bed.

Jason huffs, impatient after his ordeal with Dani, and decides to be a little shit. "Do you change sizes too? Like the one in the book does?"

Danny considers him for a moment, before smiling. Jason blinks, and suddenly Danny is gone.

He straightens up, looking this way and that for the ghost. He couldn't have just..left, right?

A little chirrup freezes him, looking down at his lap towards the source of the sound.

Danny, apparently, can change sizes.

He looks exactly the same, just miniature now, in his lap. Ghostly tail a little longer, face and eyes a little more rounder, hands little paws.

Just a little guy.

"Huh." Jason cradles Danny in his palms, bringing him up to his face, "Cool. Can you talk like that too? Or just the chirping?"

Baby Danny grins, tiny teeth sharp, as the miniature medallion on his chest begins to whir. He reaches up and boops Jason on the nose, causing him to blink against not just the action but also the sudden flash of green.

When his eyes open up again, Jason is sitting on the ledge of an unfamiliar building overlooking an unfamiliar city.

"This is Jump City." Danny's voice startles him, almost making him flinch off the building. Thankfully, his bat-training kicks in so he doesn't fall.

"Think happy thoughts." Not so thankfully, Danny, now back to human size, pushes him off the building anyway.

He screams, hands automatically reaching to grab for a grapple gun that isn't there. Fuck.

Fuck!!!

Jason tries to look for a ledge, anything to break his fall, when suddenly and abruptly his fall stops.

A moment of vertigo later, he realizes he's been grabbed by some unknown force and is floating.

"You didn't think happy thoughts." He looks around and notices that Danny is below him, looking up with a shit-eating grin.

"O-only psychopaths," Jason breathes out through his sheer panic, "Would think happy thoughts when they're falling off a fucking building."

Danny chortles out a loud laugh, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Besides," Jason gulps to get his heart back in control, "You're not Peter Pan."

"You're right." Danny floats around and above him, Jason's body floating to follow, "But much as we joke about it, I'm not the Ghost of Christmas Present either."

"I guess it would be pointless to show me something I already know." Jason surmises, finally getting his heart in control. Danny must have some kind of telekinesis, different from Dani.

"I'd argue against that," Danny shrugs, "But I have a feeling you're good at twisting things."

"I resent that." Jason huffs, "I see what I see."

"Debatable." Danny huffs back, finally finding the building he was looking for and touching them down on a very large T-shaped building. "Besides, I've got something you won't be able to finagle your way out of."

"Finagle," Jason scoffs, "Whatever. Where even are we? Weird fucking shape for a building."

"It's Titans Tower." Danny smirks, walking up a set of stairs to the helipad, "You know, your brother's home?"

Jason jolts, looking around more closely. He hasn't been to the Tower yet, though Dickie promised he would bring him Christmas Break. It's….

"Really in your face huh?" Danny chuckles, "And I thought my house was obnoxious."

"It…sure is something." Jason agrees, wondering what Bruce thinks about all this.

He must know, right? Bruce ‘paranoid is my state of being’ Wayne couldn't have been okay with this. Titans Tower is glaringly obvious, on its own little island just a little bit away from the city. Was this Dickie's idea? Rebellion? And Bruce just lets him?

Then again, Dickie is the golden child. Can't do no wrong, even now he supposes.

But Dickie can't be serious, right? Like, he's just got his superhero base just….out there. For all and sundry to just. Know.

How can Dickie even sleep at night?

Danny grabs his hand suddenly, pulling him off to the side of the helipad and putting a finger to his lips. Jason nods, knowing the deal by now.

A second later, they go invisible just as the noise of an aircraft enters the sky.

They wait as the aircraft lands, watching as the Titans empty out in an exhausted jumble. They jostle each other, ribbing and bantering and familiar. Jason recognizes them from Dickie's pictures, feeling a pang of something go through him at how comfortable each and every one of them are with each other.

"Rob." Cyborg suddenly jolts up, frantically tapping at something on the computer on his arm.

"It's Nightwing, Cy." Dickie, in his Nightwing uniform, chuckles as he emerges from behind the pack to step onto the roof. "Robin is my darling brother now, remember?"

Jason bites his lip, to prevent any noise from coming out. Danny squeezes his hand and he realizes he's stepped forward a bit, towards Dickie.

He looks…the same, but different. His hair's reaching his butt, for God's sake. He always kept it long, but it couldn't have been that long, right? It was at his shoulders or something the last time he saw his brother. His uniform is a little different too: he's got padded gauntlets to go with his utility belt now.

He looks haggard, tired smile and slumping shoulders and all.

"Dick." Cyborg's voice is grave, making Jason tense. What happened? "Comms are back online."

Dickie straightens up, exhausted playfulness suddenly alert and serious. He pulls out a communicator from his utility belt and scans the multitude of messages he seems to be receiving.

Jason watches as the other Titans do the same, all reacting in staggered effect as they each have varied amounts of notifications.

It's Starfire's reaction that makes Jason pull against Danny's grip. A hand covers his mouth, the other arm coming around to grip at Jason and keep him still as he struggles.

Starfire has a hand covering her mouth, dropping the communicator and frantically going over to Dickie who is, who's…

Something breaks in Nightwing's hands. His communicator? Jason didn't even know he was that strong, didn't know that was possible. But no, it seems to be fine, just cracked to all hell with a missing antenna—

Nightwing presses some buttons, Starfire fretting around him, hovering as the others stand tense and ready to start…start what?

What the fuck is going on? Jason bites at Danny's hand, but Danny doesn't even fucking flinch. What the fuck is going on!

"Batman." Nightwing's voice is a growl, causing shivers through his spine, stilling him in fear. He's never seen Dickie this mad.

"Why the fuck," Nightwing clenches his fist, body coiled tense like he's about to strike, "is the Gotham Gazette saying my little brother is dead."

A pin could be dropped 3 miles away, and Jason would be able to hear it.

"It doesn't fucking matter that I was off planet, he's my little brother!"

Jason can't breathe. You'll meet her, Danny had said, And then you'll die.

"YOU HAD HIS FUCKING FUNERAL WITHOUT ME, BRUCE!" Nightwing is screaming, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. The rest of the Titans huddle together, watching warily.

Jason can't fucking see anymore, things are blurring. He's never seen Dickie this distraught, and he can't believe Bruce would do that. He can't—He really did die.

Somehow, even when told point blank, Jason didn't actually think about what would happen after his death.

Some part of him thinks it wouldn't have mattered much anyway, a street kid like him.

But Dickie is screaming hoarsely into the communicator at Bruce, and Bruce held a funeral for him.

Even though Jason knew they would, at least to a certain extent, it still surprises him.

It's a conflicting feeling, this trust and fear.

It feels like ages, with Dickie's rage acting as white noise, before Jason can get a grip.

He's being held, he thinks, can feel the way Danny's chest rises and falls against his back. The hand over his mouth is gone, migrated to his chest and pushing lightly as if to coax Jason into breathing. A makeshift CPR.

The other hand is being gripped by Jason's hands against his stomach. Jason almost lets go, or at least wants to, but realizes he can't bring himself to.

He stares at where Dick is crumpled on the ground with his teammates surrounding him and doesn't know what to think, how to feel, what to do now.

He just watches as Dickie grieves.

Grieves him.

"I'm going to fucking kill him." Dickie finally mutters to the ground. The rest of the Titans wisely say nothing.

His brother gathers himself up and marches back into the aircraft they came in on, growling out a "I'm going to Gotham. Cyborg's in charge."

Starfire reaches out to him to place a hand on his shoulder delicately. Dickie holds it for a moment, breathing, but shakes his head with a whisper. Jason is too far away to hear it, but Starfire nods with a crumpled expression and lets him go.

Soon, the aircraft lifts up and the Titans vacate the roof.

"Why did you show me this?" Jason croaks out.

Danny makes them both visible, getting them both floating up into the sky. Unlike Gotham, there is no smog to hide in here at Jump City.

It's clear blue skies and good weather days Jason's not used to seeing. Danny lets them hover there, making a sort of glowing green platform for Jason to sit upon. It's grounding, tethers Jason to something so he doesn't float away emotionally either.

"You see what you see." Danny answers with a shrug. It should sound smug, the way he throws Jason's words back at him, but all it sounds like is exhaustion. "You ever think about what you don't?"

"No point," Jason’s voice is small, a facsimile of confidence, still shaken by this side of Dickie he's never known. "They don't wanna show me, then it's not for me."

"Street Kid logic." Danny hums as he floats lazily around Jason on the platform. "Mind your business, and nobody minds you."

"Nothing's free," Jason agrees, "Even love comes at a cost."

Danny's nose wrinkles as he flips to float on his stomach, as if he's just rolling around on a bed and not in the middle of the sky. He lays his cheek down on the cross of his arms, feet kicking behind him like a teenager looking bored.

Danny is around Jason's age, so maybe he is bored. But he highly doubts it with the way Danny's eyes run over him like sharp knives running down his skin along the face of the blade. Not quite cutting, but the danger is there if you move it the wrong way.

"My little sister was an experiment," Danny says, apropos of nothing, "She was brainwashed and groomed by her creator."

What the fuck do you even say to that? Luckily, Danny doesn't seem to need Jason to say anything.

"His one downfall was that he allowed her to read books." Danny smirked, "Got her smart. When she was sent to kill me, I talked her out of it by giving her information. She didn't really believe me at first, but eventually, she learned for herself. She asked questions, she saw with her own two eyes. She grew,"

Danny sits up in the air, crisscross applesauce, sitting gently across from Jason on the platform.

"You wanted to know who your birth mother was." Danny shrugs, "So she showed you."

Danny reaches over to pry Jason's hands apart. He'd be digging his nails into his palms without thinking. Danny looks over his hands, blowing a cold breath over them to soothe the ache.

"You focused on Sheila abandoning you. You saw how similar you were to a broken-down Willis. You took in the way Catherine deteriorated, the way the drugs made her chase the high instead of staying with you."

Danny's glowing green gaze sears into Jason, making him feel small and unimportant in the way that the stars make you feel. The enormity of space condensed into deep black pupils.

"You should have focused on the more important things: Willis’ love for Sheila, unanswered but enduring. Catherine choosing you, time and again, when she was just a stranger—when she didn't have to, until she couldn't anymore. Dick grieving you with the kind of anger that burns a whole world down."

Danny sighs, the medallion clicking into a spin, whirling at a speed that blurs.

"I'll ask you again: You see what you see, Jason Todd." Danny lifts a hand, snapping his fingers. "But do you ever think about what you don't?"

The platform below them hollows out, the sound of a snap echoing, before they fall in a glowing green light.

Jason doesn't really have time to scream when he tumbles down onto cold linoleum flooring.

"What the fuck?" Jason spits out, instead of thinking about Danny's words, "Where are we now?"

"Place called Nanda Parbat." Danny's voice floats above him, and when he looks up Danny's scanning their surroundings. It makes him tense up, joining him as he straightens up.

They're inside a room of some sort. A lab, maybe. There're a couple of large tubes, pods? The pods are all white, with only a small window high up to show what's inside.

"Why are we here?" Jason whispers as Danny floats towards one in particular.

"Damian Wayne was created using the DNA of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul, the daughter of the Demon Head of the League of Assassins." Jason lifts, no doubt Danny's telekinesis, to peer into the window Danny is gesturing to. "He is artificially aged up over the course of 2 months until he is developed enough as a toddler to undergo training as the heir of Ra's Al Ghul."

Through the window, Jason can see a baby floating in the glowing green water that fills the pod. It's a boy, with black hair and darker skin, pudgy hands clenched like fists. He looks about 2 years old.

"He'll be about four years old when he's let out," Danny continues, "And when he turns approximately 12 years old, his life at the League is threatened so he is sent to Gotham."

"Bruce has a kid?" Jason breathes out, thoughts racing in a loop. He has a kid, a real one. What will happen to Dickie? What will happen to him?

"He has several," Danny smiles, Jason can hear it in his voice even if he can't tear his eyes away from the baby floating before him, "But yes, Damian will be the only blood son."

"Dickie is one thing, but I don't count." Jason winces, "Not…not anymore."

Danny clicks his tongue, making a face. He grabs Jason and that tingling feeling washes over him again as they walk through several walls and floors until they're peeking through a floor to watch what looks like a training session from the ceiling.

It's a girl, he thinks. Short bobbed hair, black as night, skin pale just like Jason's. She looks about his age and is being harshly trained by a man who shares the same eyes.

They watch for only a minute or two before Jason feels the need to beat the shit out of the guy, Danny yanking him up and floating them through to the building's rooftop.

"Cassandra Cain." Danny explains, "born and raised as a weapon for her father, for the League. Eventually, she comes in contact with Bruce. The rest, as they say, is history. She's your one and only (legal) older sister."

The medallion whirs again, a portal opening up that Danny wastes no time pulling them through.

Jason is getting whiplash.

They step onto another rooftop, the air tasting familiar. Looking around, Jason recognizes the Narrows.

Danny points to a lit-up window, where they can see a small family having a raucous dinner. A man and woman, African Americans, sit across from each other pointing forks and laughing at each other. There's an equally dark-skinned toddler slapping at his high chair, smile wide and messy with baby food.

"That baby, Duke Thomas, goes through a war." Danny explains, "He carries the Robin mantle in the way that soldiers carry cigarettes, and becomes a beacon for Gotham. Bruce brings him in when his parents are unable to."

Danny grabs his hand once more, dragging him into a run across almost familiar rooftops.

He stops them and points at a dimly lit window, where you can just see a desk lamp lighting up the room.

"Stephanie Brown, by her own volition, never gets adopted." A girl opens the window to look out, crossing her arms and laying her head on them. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulder, blowing into the breeze as she searches the sky for stars hidden in the smog. "But her Robin brought a little bit of laughter, a little bit of fun, after years of hurt and pain."

Jason watches as Stephanie seemingly gives up, huffing a little and shutting the window before the light is summarily turned off for the night.

"You still haven't answered me," Jason whispers, volume just above the now humming whorl of the medallion hanging on Danny's neck. "Why are we here?"

Danny still doesn't answer, pulling them through the new portal to a rooftop. One that Jason is intimately familiar with from a different angle.

Jason looks to his left, to a rooftop just three buildings away, where his favorite gargoyle sits sentinel over Gotham. The sky is clearer than before, a different night from the Gotham they just stepped away from, ever-present smog no longer crowding the night sky.

The stars are still far away, but the moon is bright, like a spotlight highlighting Jason's favorite refuge.

"That's—" Jason starts to say, but Danny's arm stops him. He's pointing to the right, to a rooftop across the street.

It takes Jason a moment, several in fact, before he sees it. Before he sees them.

There's someone hiding in the depths of the shadows, small and eerily still. Jason wouldn't have been able to see them, if not for the reflection of a camera lens.

"Timothy Drake Wayne." Danny drops his arm, stopping Jason from taking any steps further out of the shadows they're hiding in, "Is too smart, too self-sacrificing, too self-deprecating, and too numb to the world."

"He takes Robin with a clenched fist, takes the brunt of a lot of hits, and honestly?" Danny chuckles humorlessly, "If it weren't for him, Batman would have been dead several times over."

As if his name summoned him, Batman grapples onto the scene, stopping just beside the gargoyle.

Jason flinches. He doesn't know how he knows, but this Batman is different from his Batman.

There's something desperate and…almost threatening about this Batman.

Like a hurt animal.

This must be after Jason's death, he didn't know that Bruce knew he had a favorite gargoyle, but he wouldn't be surprised.

Apparently, this Timothy character knew, so why wouldn't Batman?

Jason feels like he should be more surprised, or at least disturbed, that some random civilian knows this much about him. If Timothy knows Jason's favorite gargoyle, he must have been following them for a while.

He doesn't know what to feel, the whiplash cocktail of feelings swarming through his system. The truth about his parents, these future Robins and siblings, Dickie's rage and grief, and now he has to combat an apparent stalker turned sibling and a grieving Batman.

It's almost too much.

"After your death, Batman gets a little…violent." Danny's voice pulls him back, tugging him out of the shadows through another portal, away from the visage of a brooding Batman, too far away to hear the clicking of a camera.

"Tim asks Dick to come back first, having known your secret identities for a while now." They walk through a large hallway, similar to Wayne Manor, but without any of the personality Alfred works so hard to maintain. "But Dick refused, so Tim took it upon himself."

This mansion is sterile, straight out of a magazine. The paintings are impersonal and expensive, the decor is sparse but tasteful, and everything looks so…slate.

There's none of the warm wood tones Wayne Manor has, each book and decoration modern and cold and empty.

Danny brings his finger up to his lips to signal the need for quiet as they once more go invisible, phasing through a nondescript door.

It's a bedroom, a little cluttered and slightly messy, with more personality than the entirety of the rest of the Mansion.

Not that that's saying much.

The room is still way cleaner than Jason's, by virtue of just…a lack of things.

There's a bed, unmade crumpled, and a nightstand that houses a single alarm clock and lamp. A skateboard leans against the bookshelf, crammed to the gills with a variety of textbooks and nonfiction novels. A small pile of clothes crowds a half-full hamper, and Jason almost trips on a pair of shoes tossed at the closet door carelessly.

Nothing hangs on the walls, and the colors of the room range from blue to blue to blue.

The desk has a computer on it, with a screensaver being a newspaper clipping that Jason is intimately familiar with: The one single blurry photo of Batman and Dickie's Robin the Gotham Gazette managed to get. An empty mug stained with brown sludge sits on the corner of the desk, right next to what looks like two spare high-end cameras.

Someone lives here, clearly, but it still feels so…empty. Only hints of a person in a Mansion that screams of loneliness.

Danny tugs them over to stand near the desk, floating them up slightly at a good vantage point just as a door, different from the one they entered through, swings open.

A boy, dark-haired and blue-eyed just like Bruce. He's small, pale, and so concentrated on the strip of film in his hands that Jason's surprised he doesn't run into anything as he beelines to his desk.

The boy carefully starts to cut the film into negatives, placing them into a box he pulls out of a safety deposit box that had been hidden under his bed.

The box is full of negatives but in the dark Jason can't even hope to guess what's on them.

The boy then gets up to go to the bookshelf, pulling out a Textbook to reveal a second layer of what looks like photo albums behind, taking one and bringing it to the desk.

When he opens it, Jason is surprised to see most of the pictures are of him.

Of Robin, the second.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, he suspected but he didn't—This is Timothy Drake Wayne?

"What happened to you?" Timothy whispers to the Jason in the photos, "What really happened? Nightwing won't come back, and Batman…I have to do something."

Jason wants to say something, but he doesn't know what. He leans forward but is pulled back up through the ceiling once more.

"He's…just a kid." Jason says into the Gotham sky. He seems to be up here a lot, on this ghost adventure.

Jason realizes, for as much as Robin flies through Gotham, he's never really taken the time to just enjoy the sky. He's not sure he's in the right mind to do so now, but maybe when this is all over…

"You're just a kid." Danny points out before his voice goes low. "He's only two years younger than you."

That doesn't make sense. Jason is average-sized for his age, having bulked up under Alfred's care for the past year or so.

Timothy's a Drake, Jason recognizes the name now. They're…They're neighbors. For a given definition of neighbors when there’re acres between their mansions. 

Is that how the kid knows about them? Timothy is smaller than Jason was when he was still living on the streets.

"What time is it right now?" Jason asks as Danny conjures up another platform for Jason to lay back on. It's both harder and softer than he expected.

"Hmm…" Danny drifts around him once more, circling and circling. "I'd say about 9pm."

"…I don't think I've ever seen the Drake Mansion lit up, despite being neighbors." Jason keeps his volume low, maybe hoping for his words to get lost in the breeze.

"Well, there is a lot of space between Wayne Manor and the Drake residence." Danny reasons.

"It's 9pm, Danny." Jason's voice rises, slowly but steadily in heated reprimand. "It's 9pm, and his mansion is cold with no sign of any adult. He's two years younger than me. Where are his parents? Fuck, big house like that, where's the fucking babysitter? Or, or—or a fucking servant, whatever rich people fucking do!"

Jason pants, angry and tired and wrung out like a used towel. Danny lets him get his breathing together, the silence percolating like blood spilled from a ragged wound.

"I never liked Batman, y'know. Not really." Jason is getting real fucking tired of Danny's subject changes.

"Child soldiers, all of you." Danny continues, ignoring the way Jason hisses and rearing up for a fight, "And I was never much one for billionaires in the first place."

Danny drifts closer, coming to sit beside an irate Jason trying to keep his breathing even.

"But Tim?" Danny huffs out a little laugh, "I get Tim—I get the neglected parents, and feeling responsible for things beyond me, bigger than me. I get having unending curiosity and restless bones. I even get taking your mentors by the collars and shaking sense into them."

"I get taking the brunt and blame and the short end of the stick and still getting back up." Danny looks up to the sky, still so oddly clear, and sighs. "I get being the little guy."

Jason laughs humorlessly and disbelievingly. "Tiny Tim."

Danny snaps, pointing a finger at him with a cheeky smile. "Tiny Tim. Funny how it works out huh?"

"Does Tim…" Jason carefully asks, "Does Tim die in my future?"

"He doesn't—no rest for the wicked I suppose." Danny shrugs. "Not for lack of trying, you and Damian try to kill him at least once. Steph even tosses a brick at him."

Jason sputters.

Danny laughs, loud and raucous, before settling down and wiping a stray tear away. "He lives, all who come after him fail." Danny suddenly becomes very grave. "There are worse things than Death, Jason Todd. Take it from me. But whilst Tim may be self-sacrificing, he's always enjoyed the little things."

“Very poetic.” Jason sits up, bringing a knee up to lean his arm on. “Thematic too.”

Danny smiles, leaning back on his arms to continue watching the night stars barely visible through the city light pollution. “You asked me why we’re here. You’ve asked us who we are and how we know these things, and I told you the truth.”

Jason opens his mouth to say something, but is stopped by Danny’s glowing green eyes. “We’re ghosts, of a sort. Living, breathing ghosts here to show you a different way of life for the benefit of one specific individual.” Danny smiles sardonically, “The chance to ‘prevent your death’ was purely incidental.”

 Jason, for some reason, relaxes at that. He remembers Danny’s words from earlier in this long, long evening.

Your death, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't really affect much of anything at all.

Emotional whiplash be damned, he’s got a choice.

He has the power. 

“I wanted to show you what you would be losing if you started over.” Danny continues, “If you still decide to chase after Sheila, to die and come back remade, your memories of tonight will simply fade away.”

Danny starts to float, holding out a hand for Jason to take. He does so wordlessly.

“If you take the chance, then these people are what you will be losing.” Danny smirks, medallion humming as it starts to tick, “These people are the people you’ll have to find again.”

This time when they fall through the portal, it’s a familiar place and they’re already invisible.

Jason takes the cue and keeps his mouth shut as they float through Commissioner Gordan’s apartment to a familiar bedroom. 

Babs is sitting on her bed, legs tucked to the side to make room for Dickie, who is slumped kneeling on the floor beside her.

He’s using her lap as a pillow, resting his arms on her thighs and—and crying.

“I miss him too.” Babs is cooing at him, petting his hair, muttering nonsense and shedding tears herself. 

Jason feels a heat pooling in the back of his eyes, a sticky feeling clogging up his throat as he bites his lip to keep from making sounds. 

He’s shaking as he's pulled through the window, taking a familiar route back to the Manor. Danny keeps them invisible, gentle mercy as Jason sniffles and rubs at his face. 

“If–” Jason stutters out, “Did…did it have to be me? Couldn’t—couldn’t you guys have offered it to Dickie? Or Babs? Fix her legs?”

“She’s not broken, Jason.” Danny’s voice is soft, but firm. “Legs or not, Barbara Gordon endures and chooses her path. Batgirl might be retired, but it’s a mantle that can be picked up, and Oracle will live on to watch over Gotham.”

Cowed, Jason stays silent as they arrive at the Manor. 

They drift through the entrance of the Cave, and Jason’s about to ask why they’re entering this way when he’s interrupted by a sudden crash!

“Take it down!” Bruce’s familiar growl is yelling. “You had no right—”

“I will not allow you to forget, Master Bruce.” Alfie’s voice is smooth, cold. 

Bruce is breathing heavily, barely restraining himself. Alfie stands tall and stoic, as usual, against him, right in front of—

Is that his uniform?

It’s—it’s tattered and ruined.

Put up in a macabre display of a fallen soldier, a memorial of a battle lost.

Sometimes, Jason forgets that Alfie used to be a military man.

Before Jason can even fully understand the situation, they phase upwards, turning this way and that before he’s gently deposited onto his bed once more.

Jason, true to form, falls back to starfish on his bed again. 

“That was shitty of you.” Jason rumbles, “You didn’t have to—you didn’t have to show me that.”

“I did.” Danny argues, “Otherwise you’d try and say something stupid, like ‘Bruce doesn’t care’ or ‘I’m not actually his kid’ or whatever bullshit you think with that backwards brain of yours.”

“Hey!” Jason tosses a pillow at Danny. 

Danny, the asshole, lets it fall through him to hit his bookshelf.  “Bet you’re thinking something like I’m not even worth it.”

Jason wisely does not say anything to that, opting to curl up under his sheets.

“Dani gave you what you wanted to know. I gave you what you don’t know.” Danny sighs, a mechanical whir following it at an almost distant pace. 

“I guess Dan’s just gotta show you what you should know. Or maybe what future you already does know?” Jason stills at that, curling the blankets around him tighter and rolling himself into a little cocoon.

Danny chuckles mirthlessly when he realizes Jason won’t answer. “I thought it was the whole Red Hood thing you had going on, but you’re really just like that huh? No wonder Dan relates to you.”

“I resent that.” A low rumbling voice cuts in. Dan.

Jason peeks out from his blanket burrito to watch as Danny goes up to the larger man with a wide grin. 

“Dani did a number on him,” Danny reports with the kind of shit-eating tone only younger siblings can have. “And I didn’t help.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Figures you guys would leave me to clean up your messes.”

“Refreshing isn’t it?” Danny’s grin goes sharp as he takes off the medallion, “To be on the other side of the equation.”

Dan groans, but obligingly bends down so that Danny can place the medallion around the older man’s neck. 

Danny then switches places with Dan, stepping halfway through the portal with only his upper body peeking out as his older counterpart floats down to stand next to Jason’s bed. 

Danny waves, changing his voice into this dramatic tone, theatre-like, “And now I leave you with the Ghost of Christmas yet to come!”

“You mean the future?” Jason chuckles tiredly, “Must I?”

The portal pops out of existence, Danny’s laughter echoing just a little bit with it in answer.

A Christmas Carol AU

Inspired by a prompt found in the @haunting-heroes-creative-games :) (i.e. back on my shit again)

When a 15 year old Jason, pissed at Bruce for taking Robin away from him, finds his birth certificate he realizes Catherine Todd is not his real mother.

Just as he resolves to go out and search for his birth mother, Jason finds himself accosted by three ghosts in his room, talking about A Christmas Carol of all things.

===

"So, what? We're gonna Christmas Carol him?"

Dan scoffs, crossing his bulky arms with an unimpressed look. "We hated that movie."

"I didn't." Dani chirps, disturbingly cheery, "I didn't see it!"

"We hate Christmas," Danny corrects, "But the movie was alright, and the logic is sound."

"I don't hate Christmas," Dani once again interjects cheerily, "I've never participated!"

"Sound my ass," Dan growls over her, throwing his hands up. "We don't even know this guy!"

"Minor detail." Danny insists, "Tuck can look him up."

"He's a fucking Bat, Danny." Dan scrunches up his face, pinching the bridge of his nose just like Vlad does when he's disgruntled with any of Dad's shenanigans.

"He's a Robin, actually." Dani pipes in, "And he's just a kid. How hard is it gonna be to pretend to be this kid's Ghosts?"

"You're a kid," Dan reminds her, crossing his arms, "And you didn't believe me when I told you sticking a fork in the outlet would shock you."

"I believed you," Dani sniffs haughtily, crossing her arms and pointing her nose up with a snooty voice, "The warning simply did not deter me from doing it anyway."

"We don't have to convince him we're his Ghosts, or even that we knew him before," Danny reasons, needling, "We just have to convince him that we're…"

He hums, pointing at Dani. "Past."

He points at himself, "Present."

He points at Dan, "Future."

Dani does a little cheer, arms up and twirling into the air before landing with her legs over Dan's shoulders, hands and head settling atop Dan's fiery, but harmless, hair. It flickers, before going limp into long white strands that Dani messes up by gently scrunching up the strands and running her fingers through them.

Dan lets her, huffing and looking weirdly like a downtrodden, wet cat. "Why am I future?"

"Because." Danny doesn't continue, because he knows it makes Dan annoyed. True to form, his scowl gets worse, like sucking on a lemon. They all know why anyway.

Dani grins, triumphant and knowing, letting her voice go real deep, "The future," she intones into Dan's hair, "is here."

"The future is now," Danny corrects her, but doesn't lose his smile, floating up to tuck a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

"The future is already here," Dan mumbles his correction, or is it a follow-up? "It's just not evenly distributed."

"How about you distribute some of those muscles, Gibson," Danny sighs, shaking his head "Waiting for puberty is such a drag, and we both know you didn't get the mass from Vlad's side of the family."

Dan makes a moue of disgust, but it serves him right. The consequences of his own actions, and whatnot. He looks up at Dani, who simply shrugs. "I think you'll do great." She leans down to give him two pats on the arm.

"So how's acting out A Christmas Carol gonna help us stop this Jason guy from blowing up?" Dani fiddles with Dan's hair, tongue poking out as she attempts a braid, "Will he even see us? Ghosts in this dimension taste funny."

"He'll be able to see us, it's magically rich enough for some ghosts to maintain a semblance of themselves," Danny explains for the third time. Dani and Dan hum at different pitches, and even though Danny is the common denominator he kind of hates that Vlad has more of a lasting impression on them. "The ectoplasm here is scarce and mostly corrupted, though, so it's rare."

"So there's lotsa bad ghosts here?" Dani eyes the messy braid she's made, proud, even as Dan's silky hair immediately causes it to fall apart, "Or 'mentally unsound' or whatever Frostbite called it."

"No," Dan grumbles, annoyed and indulging all at once, "Corruption begets ecto-rot, but the scarcity means they're not strong enough to actually retain their sense of self enough to rot."

"Shades," Danny explains when Dani looks even more confused, "There's lots of shades."

"Is this one of the Olympian dimensions?" Dani groans, flopping over Dan's shoulder as he sits down on the sofa, "I love Pandora and all, but if I see Zeus again I'm gonna lose it."

"It's one of the hero dimensions," Danny hums, taking over braiding Dan's hair the way Jazz made him when they were little, "There's a couple of Amazons walking about, but on the whole no Olympians."

"I don't know why he didn't just dump me in a Norse dimension." Dan leans back and closes his eyes to their ministrations. "Especially with my current occupation."

The three of them are sitting in Dan's apartment, a large loft studio located somewhere in the UK of the aforementioned hero-dimension. Alber-something, Danny can't remember. Doesn't need to, it being a different dimension from his anyway.

Dan doesn't have a lot of things: a sofa and TV, a bed in the corner, a decent but small kitchen. They're still trying to figure out decorations, but Dan on the whole is a minimalist so it's been slow going.

He's working as a bartender these nights, whiling away his odd existence now that his form has stabilized.

And wasn't that a trip? Learning that hey, adult lightning halfas shouldn't really be mixed with teenage ice halfas, actually!

Apparently, ectoplasm can become corrupted if you try to combine incompatible sources.

Apparently, side effects include (but are not limited to) unmitigated violence and a devastating need for vengeance.

Sound familiar?

"This dimension has a lot of time continuity errors," Danny reminds him, "Dropping you here gave the least amount of pushback."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan flaps a lazy hand, "Praise be the speedforce and flashpoints and whatnot."

"Plus," Dani adds softly, absent-minded as she watches Danny finish up the braid, "Lotsa heroes to help out if you relapse."

Dan heaves a slow, controlled sigh. Danny and Dani both pretend they don't notice.

"Is it bad?" Dan doesn't open his eyes, his voice is so low Danny can only hear him by virtue of his ghost powers, "Like me levels bad?"

"No." Danny shakes his head, leaning into his older self, his older brother of sorts, "He decapitated eight crime lords, killed a couple of assassins, maybe an innocent or two depending on your definition of things."

"Past tense?" Dan scrunches his nose. They all hate how confusing Time Shenanigans are.

"He's living as Red Hood, right this very moment."

"Red Hood?" Dani questions, "That his hero name?"

"Crime lord alias." Danny corrects her, "But he's more of a vigilante these days. Has a bat on his chest and everything."

"But it's bad enough to warrant a trip to the past." Dan points out, "Bad enough for us to try and persuade him. Does he relapse?"

"Not…exactly." Danny scrunches his face, not wanting to explain Clockwork's ambiguity.

Dani floats to spread over Danny and Dan's laps, sprawling out and purring like a cat. Self-soothing, though it's more for their benefit than hers.

"Like Dani said, there’re lots of heroes here, and he doesn't have powers." Danny continues, petting at Dani's soft hair, "The world doesn't end. He doesn't have the means to, even with the ecto-rot."

Danny pauses, and chooses his words deliberately and carefully. "And deep down, Jason Todd is a hero through and through. Relapse would be…difficult. His Obsession is similar to yours."

Dan lets that sit for a moment, but nods, Danny moving a little with the motion. The tension slowly bleeds out as they wait like that, enjoying each other's company.

"If the world doesn't end," Dani whispers, "Why is Clockwork sending all of us?"

Danny thinks on that, on his meeting with Clockwork. The Ancient's voice when he explained what would happen.

He thinks about Jason Todd, about Bruce Wayne, and Catherine, and Sheila. He thinks about Batman, and Robin.

He thinks about Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, about Damian Al Ghul, about Cassandra Cain, and all of Jason's Outlaws.

He thinks about a tattered uniform that stays up in a glass case for a long, long time.

Most of all, he thinks about Dan.

He thinks about regrets and one bad day away.

And then he stops thinking about it, because sometimes the past is the past, and other times, it's the future that never happens that haunts you instead.

"You know, Dani." He settles on, "I'm not sure. He probably has his reasons."

Dan leans heavier onto him, and they lean together like that, with Dani in their laps.

Ghosts of decisions made, unmade, and never to be.

Follow the story on AO3 here!

[nhaomhi]

✦ All I Want for Christmas is You .ᐟ

pairing: regretful!sunghoon x heartbroken!yn

synopsis: after a big fight, sunghoon completely disappeared. now, years later, you’re having to spend yet another Christmas alone.

genre: light angst, fluff, second chance

word count: 0.6k

naomi’s note: this lowkey sucks and i rushed it but i’m loving all of these christmas fics ahh 😭😭 i’m gonna try to make my fics longer cuz they always end up under 1k lol

.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The snowstorm was relentless, covering the city in a thick, white blanket. You stood by the window of your dimly lit apartment, watching the flakes swirl outside. The warm glow of your Christmas tree illuminated the room, but it didn’t feel festive. It felt… empty.

You sighed, clutching the mug of hot cocoa in your hands, and glanced at the clock. 10:23 PM. Two hours and it would be Christmas.

Your heart twisted as you thought about Sunghoon. You hadn’t seen him in over a year—not since the fight.

It had been ugly. He was overwhelmed with his skating career, constantly traveling, barely replying to your texts. You had felt like an afterthought, and when you confronted him, it all exploded. He said you didn’t understand the pressure he was under, and you said he didn’t care enough to make time for you.

He’d walked out that night, leaving you standing in the doorway with tears streaming down your face. You thought he’d come back, thought he’d call, but the silence stretched on, day after day, month after month.

Now, as Christmas approached, all you could think about was him. The way he used to drag you out into the snow to go ice skating, how he always pretended to lose so you could win your snowball fights. The way he’d hold your hand and tell you that you were his home, no matter where his career took him.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You frowned, setting your mug down and crossing the room.

When you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat.

“Sunghoon?”

He stood there, snow clinging to his dark hair and coat, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place—regret? Hope?

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice almost lost in the howling wind.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see,” he began, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “But I couldn’t let another Christmas go by without trying to fix this.”

Your heart ached as you looked at him, the familiar features you’d missed so much. “You left, Sunghoon. You didn’t even try stay. How could you leave so easily after one fight? Why didn’t you find a reason to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice breaking. “I know I hurt you. And I’ve spent every single day wishing I could take it back.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his eyes glistening. “I thought if I let myself get too close, I’d lose everything. But the truth is, I lost everything the moment I lost you.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you tried to process what he was saying. “You can’t just show up after all this time and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t expect that,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “But I had to try. Because… all I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is you.”

You wiped at your tears, your heart torn between anger and the love you couldn’t deny. “How do I know you won’t leave again?”

“You don’t,” he said honestly. “But I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I won’t.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the wind outside. Then, slowly, you stepped aside, letting him into the warmth of your apartment.

As he closed the door behind him, he looked at you, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t break my heart again, Sunghoon.”

He reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. “Never.”

He kissed you softly, bringing his hands to wrap around your waist. The kiss was gentle and tender, full of longing. The years of pent up emotions pouring out.

And as the clock struck midnight, you let yourself believe in second chances.

[totally-not-your-babe]

I'd like to inform (warn) everyone that The Bad Batch Final (god it hurt's) Season will be my personality for the rest of the year. (My family, friends and therapist gonna love this...)

Thank you for your understanding.

[carlottastudios]

Every day I get closer to making an unhinged behemoth of a post listing all of the things about Kaeya and his possible connections to mythology & stuff that I notice but NOBODY ELSE SEEMS TO BRING UP IN THEIR THEORIES

(edit: OMG I reached the tag limit I'm so sorry)

[skitskatdacat63]

"Bring on The Dancing Horses"(x) - Echo and The Bunnymen × Ferrari Drivers

[blupengu]

Oh how naive I was…

[faaun]

ok let's catch up quickly

[jathun]

ngl I have such a love/hate relationship with the fate franchise

[cornerihaunt]

.

[clits-and-clips]

I know I had to go through this and learn how to be alone and self sufficient but the one thing that's really keeping me going is the thought of us circling back to be with eachother again and idk if it's going to be bad or good at the end of this tunnel

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Pac didn't know about Richas :((( I'm crying for real now

[checkyalaterallygator]

i am at war with myself. i keep finding myself suddenly on netflix about to rewatch vld and i just can’t put myself through that again, i can’t. lance is a farmer. allura is dead. shiro gay but you’d never know. i’m not strong enough.

[seventh-district]

i’m not like other girls, my “Rest” stats are a heart rate of 110bpm and a HRV of 14 fucking milliseconds. :)