#I just want some platonic fics please

[soulreader05]

It’s so hard trying to find platonic from new fandoms yet all you find is explicit stuff…

And even when I do find some platonic content, it’s so small…

[formosusiniquis]

a smile for the in-laws at the holidays

written for @thefreakandthehair's spicy six-ber challenge - It’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad

WC: 5414 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | platonic Stobin & pre-steddie | AO3

It starts with the red light on the Harrington answering machine. Blinky and out of place, he's shouting, “Who would leave you a message?” Before he even stops to wonder if anyone can hear him. Steve had followed Robin straight to the bathroom when they'd gotten back to his place, he's given up on trying to figure out just what had them joined at the brain, hip, and bladder preferring instead to just wait and see which of the hundred and fifty bathrooms in the McMansion they would re-emerge from.

“I talk to more than just you.” Steve’s voice echoes off the walls of the hall bathroom barely audible over the sound of running water and Robin’s half of the conversation the two of them were still actively having. 

Echolocated, he moves to the door they're hidden behind to continue to conversation at a volume that hurts his fucked up throat less.

“Jury's still out on that. But it's not like Wheeler is gonna leave a message.”

He can feel Robin’s spiritual hum of agreement, his conversation with Steve now interesting enough that she's paused hers.

“I keep telling you that Nancy and me are friends.”

His personal jury is playing a game of 12 Angry Men on that subject. Seven months post apocalypse and what started as one especially delusional voice insisting that there was “lip looking” and “chemistry between himself and the prettiest boy Hawkins has ever seen” has now become a beautifully hung 6 versus 6; with the part of him that was hoping he would get to learn if Steve Harrington was as beautifully hung as the rumors said gaining traction.

“If Nancy Wheeler needed you, she isn't leaving a message,” Robin picks up the track Eddie's wishful thinking abandoned, “she’s going to get your machine, hang up, and call me and then Eddie and then the Hendersons and then Family Video, the arcade, the-”

“Assuming it's life or death.”

“It's always life or death.”

Through the bathroom door, Steve's eyeroll is practically audible. “It is not.”

“I don't think Nancy Wheeler has ever once shot the shit, the breeze, or anything that wasn't an active threat on her life, so again not leaving a message.” Eddie calls out.

He's rewarded for his status as shit-head as the door swings open and he gets to see Steve's fondly annoyed face. Bitchy eyebrows raised and lip curled into something pretending it isn't a smile. He wipes his hands down Eddie's shirt in a failed attempt at returning the annoyance. First the backs then the front running down his chest from collarbone to chest.

Maybe it's his imagination but he could swear it lingers. The tips of his fingers taking their time on their pass down his chest to his sides. The jury will be accepting it as evidence.

“Dustin then,” Steve says.

“This is the Professor to the Hair, come in Hair.” Robin comes out of the bathroom mimicking the familiar sound of the walkie.

“Claudia then.”

“If it's Claudia, that means dinner.”

And that's the best thing about Robin, he thinks, her attention to the important details. Then there's her follow through, as she leads the charge back to the end table where the answering machine sits, all before Steve's hands have fully left his sides.

Her rewinding is unmatched, she takes the tape back to the final seconds of the outgoing message.

When it plays his first thought is honestly that Steve should probably replace the tape soon. The “Sorry I missed you,” has the warped and wobbling sound of an overplayed ribbon. But the woman speaking is not any more familiar as the tape levels out. “The lawyer recommended some time separated, I would have preferred actual separation. What's the point of this no-fault thing after all, but I suppose threatening to castrate a man at a public dinner doesn't make for a very good case for favorable asset division.

“Listen to me blabber on. I've got some things to see to here, but then I'll be on the first thing that gets me home. I’ll see you for Thanksgiving! I love you, Shadow, see you soon.”

There's enough detail there to pick out the obvious: he's now heard what Steve's mom sounds like. Which rattles his world the same kind of way learning that Freak lived with his grandma and her ‘best friend’ did.

And well maybe he has spent the last seven months, and a good five years before that, convinced that Steve doesn’t actually have parents. That he sprung into a fully formed, perfectly manicured existence like the Athena of Midwestern gay bait. Which is to say he’s too busy realigning his entire world view to notice how Steve is reacting to the sudden introduction of his mother until the door is already slamming shut behind him.

“Shit.”

The first time he sees Steve after that he’s alone.

It’s unnerving enough that he touches his back pocket to make sure his walkman is there. Steve might be smiling but it doesn’t meet his eyes, his hair flops at the awkward angle it does when he’s been tugging at it. It’s the Right Side Up Family Video, so he tries his best to approach the object of his possibly reciprocated affections like he’s a normal person and not like he's afraid that a secret pod person is behind the desk.

“Stevie, hey,” the probably Pod-Steve finches at the practically inside voice level way that Eddie has greeted him. He assumes that all further communication should be done in the same style he uses to talk to Tom Bombadil, the tray tabby he is going to coax into the trailer.

With both hands raised in a subtle non-threatening gesture, he tries for levity when he says “ I know it's Thanksgiving, but it’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad.”

“This is the first time she'll meet Robin.”

He says it in the easy way Eddie has learned is habitual for Steve. He tosses out facts like putting them out in the world like they aren’t a big deal will make it so. But unlike admitting he knows a teenager with psychic powers or that he helps reset Hawkins expiration date on a yearly basis, this time he can’t hide the quiet desperation in his eyes.

“Oh.” His rings tap on the clamshell box in his hands, the dull sounds of each contact annoying even him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s Robin.”

Normally he likes when Steve’s eyes linger on him. It makes his stomach flutter and his heart race, and it's the closest thing anyone will let him get to high now that he's technically died, twice. The vacant way Steve's eyes hold on his doesn't feel like that.

The thing is Eddie isn't sure if the jokes Dustin keeps making about Steve and Robin having their own little hive mind are actually jokes. It's sort of a reverse Clark Kent situation, he's never not seen the two of them in the same place at the same time, and now that he has Superman is looking pretty vincible.

“Exactly,” Steve says, after pausing for too long. “It's Robin.”

His improvisation fails him. It feels like his brain is moving a thousand miles an hour and not coming up with anything. His foot is on the gas but the road is wet, and his tires are spinning without catching on anything. He thinks maybe, maybe, he could bullshit something about good parents and families you make being just as important as the blood ones. When the bell above the door chimes saving him from fucking it up.

Steve straightens up like someone in the sky just yanked on his strings, smiling like he doesn't have a care in the world; and like Mrs. Johnson isn't glaring at Eddie like she has the Ronald Reagan given power to kill him with her eyes.

Eddie escapes before she can move to trying to bludgeon him with a copy of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly that she's returning.

He's safely in the van.When he realizes he's still holding the movie Wayne asked him to return.

He'll try again later.

Robin is behind the counter when he comes back. Alone. She looks adrift. Staring out over the counter at the wide expanse of shelves and tapes, she doesn't seem to be taking any of them in. Just staring, empty.

There's a movie playing, Back to the Future, but it's noise. Just noise. Because Robin is in Family Video right now the same way that Steve is.

Video in hand once again, Eddie approaches the wide-eyed thing at the counter cautiously. Robin's shirt collar is popped on one side and he doesn't think it's a fashion choice. Her face is bare and it doesn't move when he reaches the counter. Not when he sets the tape down. Not even when he says, hey.

“Did you rewind that?” She asks. Her eyebrows don't furrow, her mouth only moves enough to get the words out.

“It's Wayne's.”

Robin grabs it from the counter, scans it, and adds it to a stack that only looks taller than it did this afternoon.

“Look, Robin,” he tries more gently than he spoke to Steve this morning, still smarting from the way he had responded. “It's just dinner. It can't be that bad.”

She blinks once. Twice. Three, four quick times before she finally seems to be looking at him. A lemon pucker frown twisted across her face. 

“She knows we're married.”

Robin turned 18 three days after the end of the world didn't happen. She spent the day in the hospital, in a chair that sat in the space between his bed and the bed they ended up putting Steve in. He hears one doctor call it, “Miraculous, really,” that he had been standing at all this long after his injuries and with the infection that had set in.

He collapsed in the middle of the Hawkins High gym with someone's donated sweater tossed over his shoulder.

And they won't let Robin in the ambulance. Tears streaking down her face, voice hoarse, and the EMT who survived doing his job in a place like Hawkins has the balls of steel to look her in her red faced, dripping nose glory, and tell her only family can travel in the back of the bus.

Wayne Munson, who was only in the gym to put up more posters of Eddie when he was caught by a limping Dustin Henderson, is the softest touch on this side of the Ohio River. Wayne Munson found himself playing taxi, making a quick stop at the Buckley house before taking all of the loved ones that the ambulance left behind to Hawkins General.

Inside the backpack she forced Wayne to let her grab, is a change of clothes for both of them. A strange amalgamation of pieces from both of their closets and, more importantly, a blank marriage certificate waiting to be signed.

You can, it turns out, get just about anything with the right forms mimeographed from the library or a bright enough smile when you ask for them.

And what Robin got with the correct forms was getting to request a marriage license without anyone at the county clerk's office looking at her twice. And with the smile she gets the hospital notary ready to officiate their marriage once Wayne and a sour faced nurse agreed to be witnesses. Eddie only gets to watch, too shaky still to sign his name on the license, he chose privately to think of himself as the flower girl with some extra special buds he could give the happy couple once he could get out of here.

It wasn’t storybook, but Robin and Steve were smiling so wide that it made the stitches on the side of his own face hurt. He could tell from the set of Wayne’s shoulders that he was trying not to cry and if they had him on a little less morphine he might be on the same boat. He called for the first cheers to the happy couple and it didn’t feel weird at all that neither the Harringtons nor Buckleys were there to watch their two children get hitched.

Eddie is the only witness left when later that night the cot comes out and Robin and Steve Harrington-Buckley bed down separately for their hospital honeymoon. It's not like he wants to overhear their marital pillowtalk, but even though he knows he's supposed to be asleep it won't come.

It’s Robin’s voice he notices first, a rough whisper that soothes something in him. The words wash over him for a second before his brain catches up. “In two years,” she pauses, but even Eddie who barely knows them can tell that Steve is and always is riveted to whatever she is saying. “When we get out of this shithole, I'm gonna have an affair with the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.”

"Is that the feminism Glory Steinway is teaching people, women doing men's jobs?” Steve’s little giggle makes his heart monitor jump, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and hopes they think he’s just dreaming. “That would explain why my dad doesn't like her.”

“A Steinway is a piano. It's Gloria Steinem.”

“And you can try, but I've seen your taste,” Steve continues his part of the conversation like she hasn’t even spoken.

But Robin continues hers too. “And anyway, I don't know if that second part even applies anymore anyway, asshole. Not after that stuff we've been talking about.”

He’s not a good person, he knows that, that’s the only explanation for the way he was straining to hear like he could make his ear stretch across the floor toward them to hear better.

Steve blows a raspberry, surprising enough that Eddie flinches back in his bed. “I can't think about that if I can't sleep on my back.”

“That's not how it works,” Robin says with the confidence of someone who isn’t sure what she’s saying and lets Eddie be sure that he’s not going to learn anything else about whatever stuff they had been talking about.

“It is how it works. I've got to have my arm all funny to get comfortable enough to sleep.”

“Make sure I'm in here when Nurse Ratched comes to check on you and learns you dislocate your shoulder to sleep on your side.”

“I don't think that's Becky's last name, I think it's Collins.”

“Who cares. Now scoot over, one of us should get some sleep tonight and this cot is worse than Eddie's floor.”

He understood the bone deep instinct for protection Steve had now. The same drive that had Steve, still high on painkillers and a lack of sleep, stumbling out of the bed beside Eddie’s in the hospital. “They always say it’s gone, and then it comes back,” he’d whispered while clutching Eddie’s hand tight. 

Underneath the warning, he’d heard the want. The desire to take Robin and Eddie and the kids and everyone he cared about, to shove them all in the back of a car and drive as far away from Hawkins as he could. To stop them all from doing something stupid that shouldn’t be their responsibility anyway, to drive until Hawkins was a stain on a map that couldn’t be seen in the rearview mirror.

That’s how he feels right now.

It’s been three days and he hasn’t seen Steve and Robin in the same place at the same time. It feels like a sign he should have been looking for that this thing is coming back.

So he tries to think of his next steps as self-preservation. He has a certain reputation to uphold and going to the mall isn’t very counterculture. But Sam Goody is Sam Goody and getting his nearest and dearest their favorite tracks on cassette feels like the same kind of practical as the thick wool socks Wayne gave him last year. If he brought Steve and Robin then their presents wouldn’t be a surprise, is his reasoning And maybe that’s self-preservation too, it’s a long drive to Bloomington and it’s hard to imagine mirror-Steve and Robin being very fun to road trip with.

He’s talked himself around on it by the time he’s window shopping the Gap. Nancy is trying to organize a Christmas party from Boston with the single minded determination he would expect of a general arranging a siege. She had them pick names for Secret Santa while she was home for fall break and he’d drawn the short straw and ended up with the general herself. Which puts him outside The Gap, all he really knows about Nancy is her penchant for guns and a good sweater and he’d hate to get her a 9mm she’s already got.

The pastel colors are probably some kind of danger signal, but he’s already stepped inside and has his hands on a sweater he hopes says ‘I’m a badass and there’s a gun in my handbag don’t fuck with me’ in prep when he spots the danger.

The danger being Steve, alone still, with a dark plaid skirt pinched between his fingers.

He drops the sweater and slips back out the store, hoping he hasn’t been caught. He’ll find Wheeler a fancy pen or a nice notebook somewhere in Indy.

It's two days before Thanksgiving and when Eddie walks into Steve's place the first thing he hears is shouting.

Hand on the door knob, he pauses, listening as Robin's voice carries throughout the house. “I'm not wearing it.”

“Robin-”

“No, listen to me! I am not wearing that. I’m not gonna meet your mom looking like some, some-”

“Nancy.”

“You said that, not me.”

“Robin. Robin!” Footsteps, Eddie hears footsteps. Robin’s angry heels slamming down hard on the floors beneath her enough that he can track her movement through Steve’s house even though she’s only wearing her socks. He takes a step back toward the door. Puts his hand back on the door handle, ready to pretend that he had just walked in. Ready to pretend that he hadn’t heard the two most in-sync people in his life arguing like the Wheelers.

“Let me storm out! Let me leave. I can’t just stay here and argue with you until we both say something-” The knob twists in his hand to the sound of the desperation in Robin’s voice. Eddie’s feet don’t move, frozen in place by courage or cowardice or the seven years of high school engrained need to hear every last bit of gossip possible.

Steve has always been good at making good gossip. “Robin!”

“I’m not wearing that fucking thing just because you want to and can’t!”

He knows the sound of an argument ending when he hears it. The holidays always leave him a little more tuned in for the sounds of smashing glasses and raised voices.

The silence that comes after a landing hit. 

The door knob gives in his hand, pulling it just wide enough that he can feel the chill of the late November air, Eddie is a little surprised at what side of the door he finds himself on when he slams it shut again.

Footsteps moving faster toward him, heavy heel first steps. He starts putting on the production of arriving: shaking his shoulders like he’s shaking off the frosty chill of the early winter hitting Hawkins like the latest plague. He’s got a toe at the heel of one boot, ready to kick it off when Robin comes barreling toward him. Barrelling into him, he stumbles over his tangled up feet to keep them both from falling to the floor.

She’s got a hand pressed into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, using it to drag him impossibly closer. He can smell the coffee on her breath when she hisses, “As one of the people responsible for saving your life, I need you to put me in that death trap you call a van and repay your debt.”

“I-?” Closer than he thinks he’s ever been to Robin, the fight he just overheard playing through his head once again, he tries to parse through the pissed off urgency in her voice that’s now being directed at him.

Her eyes are wild and she only looks more insistent as Steve’s voice carries from the kitchen. “Is that Eddie? Eddie, come in here and taste this.”

“If you have never trusted me before, trust me now, if you value your life you'll leave.”

There’s a part of his brain that believes her. There really is.

But then Steve whines, “Seriously, Eddie, I need you.” It’s a tone of voice Eddie has only heard in his wildest fantasies, and sometimes not even then.

“Oh that's a cheap trick,” Robin snaps.

“Please?” He drags the word out into a moan. Something sultry that Eddie wouldn’t dare dream of, so it has to be real.

“Cheap trick,” he pats Robin on the shoulder as he walks toward the vision he can only just begin to imagine in the kitchen. “Yeah sure, put them on.”

“This is for your own good.” For a band geek, she’s strong. Maybe it’s the world saving. 

Eddie has only managed a step toward what has to be everything he’s ever dreamed of when her hand closes tight around his arm and pulls him back toward the door. The jury in his head has just reached the unanimous decision that he does actually have a shot with Steve Harrington as he’s being lifted kicking, but not yet screaming, by a scrawny band nerd and now they’re calling for her head.

“Eddie?”

“I’m taking him with me. Maybe between the two of us we can get the right onions.”

“Who would use a sweet onion for a green bean casserole?”

He’s stunned, still enough that Robin can finish pushing him back out the door he just walked through. Not because Steve was being a bitch, Steve’s always kind of an ass, but that Robin wouldn’t respond. The ‘god you never listen to me and I’m actually mad about something else but this is the thing that’s broken me’ tone is one he associates with the bitterly married Mr. and Mrs. O’Leary from the trailer two down, the frowning couples in the grocery, not Steve and Robin.

Steve and Robin had full conversations in their brains with nothing but facial expressions and laughter, they didn’t storm out of the house angry and resentful. 

It feels like something is broken, waiting to be fixed. Broken things have always preoccupied him, and they’re halfway down the road before he realizes they aren’t headed toward town.

And that he isn’t the one driving.

“Um, Buckley? Did you get your license when I wasn’t looking?”

“I have my permit. We have the beamer, it's not like we’re going that far.” He grabs the oh shit bar as she rounds a corner without breaking.

“All due respect to the royal carriage- Shit, brake. Brake! Arwen doesn’t exactly handle the same.” He recognizes where they’re headed now, if only because the edge of the quarry is quickly approaching. Maybe he hasn't given enough weight to the amount of stress she’s under.

“It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous.”The edge of the quarry is looming and her foot is too light on the brake. Even as the dust flies out behind the van, he’s torn between listening to her and watching the windshield. The brakes squeal as her foot finally presses down hard enough to actually stop the van all the while chanting. “It’s a dinner. A dinner. All this for a dinner.”

They stop. The car rocks back, Eddie lunges for the column to make sure it’s in park while Robin launches herself out of the cab.

He can see her pacing beside the van in the side view mirror, her mouth moving in a rant he can’t hear over the sound of his own panting breath. “Okay, this is okay,” the words leave his mouth but they might as well be coming from some third tag along in the van. “Robin is freaking out, so you can’t freak out.”

He scrambles into the back, knees smarting as he crawls across the blankets that aren’t doing enough to cushion the floor. Robin almost gets hit, when he tosses open the doors to usher her in.

“Climb in, we’ll partake in the time honored tradition of escaping from family, getting high, and bitching.” 

She doesn’t look convinced, hands shaking when he grabs ahold to help her get into the back. Eddie makes it a point not to look at her as she settles. She fusses, fidgeting with pillows and smoothing out the afghan that Steve picked out from the thrift store, and he holds any comment about how Steve had done the same thing the last time they hit the drive in mostly because he knows she was there for it. His time is better spent carefully rolling up a fresh joint, lighting it, and taking a big hit.

He still doesn’t know everything that happened to them before he got involved with the Upside Down. But he knows that the Harrington-Buckleys don’t handle being high well these days. But with the doors open, the ambiance, and the faint second hand smoke it isn't long before Robin is speaking.

“It was funny when he was showing me the best way to climb into a girl's window or scale a trellis.” She isn't looking at him while she speaks. Her eyes are locked on the toes of the new Chuck Taylors that she and Steve had lucked into at a thrift store in Seymour of all places. One blue and one red, they'd split the pair after decorating them. The two of them so in sync they even share a shoe size.

Still the words keep tumbling out, slow but gaining speed like a snowball rolling down a hill. “It was fun learning the best way to shotgun a beer and the flirty hand thing. And I liked, like, having someone who will gossip with me and we can paint our nails.” 

She stops, breath shuddering and it's worse, now that he's got the smell of weed around him but none of the haze, when she looks at him with red, watery eyes. “But now I'm gonna be the girl who isn't girl enough who ruined her perfect son and made him not boy enough and ruins their relationship forever. He loves his mom.”

“And he loves you, Rob.” There's no right amount of emphasis to put on the words. It feels like he’s repeating facts to a conspiracy theorist. DnD isn't devil worship. The Earth is round. Steve Harrington loves Robin Buckley, no matter what.

And just like spouting facts, he isn't met with a good reaction.

“I know,” she croaks, voice breaking as she holds back a sob. “I know and he knows better than anyone that loving someone isn’t enough to keep you from resenting them.”

It's miserable. He feels miserable. Robin looks miserable. And if there’s anything he hates more than injustice it’s misery.

“What can I do?”

 She sits up further, grabs the wrist that’s holding the forgotten joint, a look on her face that makes him think of the urgency of a quest. “I can’t be someone he ends up resenting in a year, in five.”

“What can I do, Robin?”

“Say you’ll come Thursday?”

That sounds like the worst idea in the world, Eddie Munson, former murder suspect, joining in at the Rockwellian dinner table. But he isn’t good at denying his friends much of anything these days. “Will it help? Me being there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. But you’ll be there for me, for him, for us.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

Thanksgiving comes and Eddie’s hands are sweating around the wheel of the van as he sits in the Harrington driveway.

He hasn’t celebrated the holiday in earnest like this since he was little. When his own mom was still alive and they would load up in the pick up to drive to his Mammaw’s house where it would smell like roasted turkey and fresh baked bread. Now he and Wayne need the money too badly to skip out on the holiday pay. They would have turkey sandwiches for lunch before he would leave and Eddie would float around town selling to the teens who had slipped out their front doors for a “walk” before dinner so they could stand to be around their overbearing relatives.

Which leaves him in the position of trying to figure out his role here.

Is he the dirtbag that Steve has somehow managed to befriend, there to take the heat off of Robin and make her better by default? 

Is he the reformed killer that the two of them have fixed through the power of their goodness, there to make them both look like the power couple that they are? 

Is he there as their friend Eddie, there to be moral support in a stressful situation?

He isn’t sure and each different version of himself that he can imagine looks different. Each a different performance that requires different costuming.

It’s left him arriving late, wearing a hodgepodge of pieces that speak to each version. Stitched up jeans and a thrifted band shirt, overtop that one of Wayne’s cowboy shirts and he’ll kick off his trusty Reeboks at the door if he can get himself to go inside. He isn’t sure what anyone is going to think if he manages to make it in the door, but he can imagine what the neighbors are thinking right now.

Trudging up to the door, nerves prick at his fingertips but he doesn’t regret coming. Not even as he tries to anticipate the stuffy, frigid silence he’s about to walk into.

At least the food will be good, the stuff Steve made anyway.

Through the door he hears laughter.

When he knocks, it doesn’t stop.

And then he’s looking at Steve wearing that skirt from the Gap with his hair pinned back. “Eddie!” His eyes are wide, sparkling with a bright joy that Eddie hasn’t seen in days.

From down the hall voices, Robin’s he knows too well not to identify and the other’s can only be Mrs. Harrington, chorus, “Oh Eddie!” Before he hears the sounds of giggling laughter once again. Steve’s face flushes a beautiful, distracting pink.

“I should have brought something,” Eddie finds himself saying. Empty hands clenching even as his eyes are locked on those two moles on Steve’s cheek and how they stand out on that blush.

“You never have to bring anything, Ed.”

“Stevie! Quit hogging Eddie, we want to see him,” Robin’s voice has the slip sliding quality Eddie has come to associate with drinking.

“There’s still time to run, if you want to avoid everything,” Steve teases.

“You know I’m not a runner anymore, and anyway your missus invited me.”

“And nobody has ever accused Eddie Munson of being rude.”

“Got that right, baby.” Eddie can feel the smile on his face broaden as Steve rolls their eyes, a smile tugging at their lips, and that sweet pink kissing his face again. 

But when Steve’s hand runs down his wrist, a tentative touch reaching to tangle their fingers, the situation he’s in fully cements itself in his mind. Fingertips brush past one another as Steve keeps walking and Eddie stays put. He can hear Robin’s familiar cackle and a pleasant laugh that shares the same cadence as Steve’s coming from the kitchen. Warm brown eyes look him up and down, he tries to ignore that as he listens for whatever conversation is accompanying that laugh.

“She wants to meet you, y’know.” Steve says finally. “Hasn’t shut up about how my tastes have gotten better now that I’m back to my old self.”

“And she means me?”

“She means Robin,” he laughs, “but she’ll like you because I do. Because you haven’t said anything about this,” he flicks his hand down to his skirt. “Because you won’t say anything when you see she’s wearing the same outfit.’”

“Mama’s boy?”

“Something like that. C’mon, I need someone on my side in there.”

“Yeah, alright,” Eddie agrees, reaching out to grab Steve’s hand for real, “It’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad, right?”

[sweetpumpkinmouse]

I have a revelation!

(This is a rant about certain Envy shippers and certain writing choices. No worries, it’s not a ship-bashing post!)

I think the one of the real reasons why I don’t like Envy as much as I wish to, is because people bend over backwards to mischaracterize/demonize characters in order for the relationship to even work. Not even working with the canon or trying to make an interesting story.

They mischaracterize V as a heartbroken, jealous sad girl who is sad that her property—I mean, former lover is in love with someone else. Just like any other shitty Olivia Rodrigo song.

Or they make N so hung up on his crush on V to the point where he’s flanderized to the sky and beyond.

It just puts a bad taste in my mouth.

I remember seeing this one comic where made N upset, and N is getting reminded of all the horrible things he’s been told, so V comforts him. Okay, standard, what’s the problem? The problem is that the characters that are shown is Cyn (makes sense) and UZI (what)! Why Uzi? That doesn’t make fucking sense! If it was J, then that would be accurate, but Uzi? Really?

I’m not done. There was an Envy Heather edit. Completely missed the point. No other words. Unlike the last example, it didn’t piss me off, just “did we even watch the same show?”

Same with Thuzi, and even Vuzi or Juzi in some cases. FUCKING CODEGOLD! And I think Nuzi and NUziV too, but to a lesser extent from what I seen.

I feel bad because I don’t want to hate the ship. I do see its merits and why people like it. I even follow creators or works that ship Envy or have it as the main focus. But by god, certain people make that so difficult sometimes.

This isn’t a problem specific to this ship or this fandom, IT’S EVERYWHERE AND IT DRIVES ME NUTS!

Like why strip the characters from their nuance and chemistry they already have in canon, just to turn them into bland archetype, or to demonize “the other woman”?

[fandomcrazy]

This is all based on a dream I had that woke me up coughing my lungs out (not related to the dream, I've just been sick the past few days)

Hawks quirk (from mha if it wasn’t clear) being Robyn's quirk

Her apartment is in the sky (like actually I'm not even joking, it's just hanging there by pure magic) and right across from the lecture hall she takes notes from with her super vision (part of the quirk ig)

Steve becomes her roommate

Before she meets steve she's known nancy for a while now

Nancy think steve might not know Robyn's a lesbian but Robyn let's her know that "no yeha I told him everything we've been talking about this hot girl that literally everyone in town knows and how her nose is so perfect and how she's so graceful and-"

"Yes Robyn I get the point" Nancy says.

Steve up until this point just thought they were making conversation and was getting to know his potential date. His world view comes crashing down after only hearing Robyn's side of the conversation with Nancy on the phone.

Steve has a mental quirk so it doesn't outwardly show that much except for the little details around his body. Robyn doesn't know what the quirk is (neither do i honestly) and doesn’t remember to ask. Steve appreciates this and is large bonus to having Robyn as his roommate/friend(?).

Most people don't like going to Robyn's apartment because you need to activate your quirk to get there and you need to be synced up with her security feed, which takes a lot of patience and time to do. Steve feels conflicted about hearing this. On one hand it's good because that guarantees almost no one will be able to get to him here but he has to use his quirk everytime he wants to go home.

Now the rest of the Hawkins gang have all been synced up to the security monitor just in case, except for the quirkless and mutation type quirks but they still have a system for that. Almost everyone asks Robyn once in a while if she can just fly them there instead of them activating probably dangerous or embarrassing or not easily accessible quirks. No one else except robyn in the Hawkins gang has a transmutation quirk until Eddie comes along with bat wings on his back at all times. Robyn are the same in that sense, that they can both fly but Eddie can't exactly fly over large bodies of water and he's not as fast as her. No one is as fast as Robyn everyone in the party has agreed.

Robyn knows what she's capable of. She knows she could easily cheat during tests or quizzes at her university without getting caught but she just. Doesn't want to. She wants to prove to herself that she can accomplish something without resorting to taking the easy way out. If she has to bomb 3/4 of tests she takes than so be it as long as she doesn't get thrown put of the university she doesn't care. She'll work double shifts if it means getting to prove that she can do things herself. (This might or might not lead to her slowly neglecting herself and her needs, needing someone to make her understand spreading herself so thin she can barely hold her wings up in the sky is not proving anything to anyone, especially herself(Steve says all this yall, maybe less eloquently but the point gets across)). Maybe this all started from a young age when her parents expected a lot from her, expected her to solve all their problems for them (maybe financial? Idk) and it just made her more convinced to not do anything for themn, but for herself. And although, at the time, this kind of thinking was healthy, it was not sustainable in the long run after separating herself from them in the future.

Oh uhhh heros and villains don't exist, quirks and criminals exist. There is technology created that stuns a persons quirk factor and makes them immobile (paralyzed) temporarily. This technology was used on Steve as a child to make him more "docile".

I like to give as much angst to characters that I think would look hot being pathetic wet dogs-

Robyn and Nancy end up together obvi (if you didn't catch it up there, Nancy was a little jealous of Robyn talking about someone she might be interested in like that that isn't her (that was literally her who Robyn described but whatever)).

Steve and Eddie

And literally anyone else you want to ship I'm a big elmax or elumax supporter and Dustin being steddie's kid basically

Also why the fuck is nobody talking about the sass potential with Dustin and Erica friendship?? They're like copy paste stobyn but with a different font that makes them roast everyone else instead of each other

Anyway don't take any of this too seriously it only took like 30 minutes (that's a lot fo time holy shit 💀😭😭 I'm a slow writer) and no brain power because, again, I just woke up with a coughing fit that probably made me lose a lung. I should probably check on that.

Anyway, BYEEEEE

[wp100]

this tweet is so weird like fanfiction isn't real. who cares if something isn't realistic. it might be "realistic" to some people. not everyone's experiences are universal.

Write whatever the fuck you want, regardless of experience, yknow, unless it's something actually really serious, like mental health. some things require research before writing or portraying

edit: and might i add that fic writers and artists are pouring their hearts into the fics and art you read/look at for FREE? We post our work for free and people say stuff like this. Saying stuff like this doesn't help, just feels unnecessary, and a tad mean

[sugaredbloodcells]

why does ao3 gotta be down the one time i wanna use it jsjdkskd

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[whydousernamesevenexist]

Okayy, people are doing this, and I need motivation, so let's try it:

If this gets:

20 notes - I'll go eat an apple ✅ apple has been eaten!

50 notes - I'll vacuum ✅ done

100 notes - I'll make a masterlist of my Marauders fake tweets and it'll be pinned on my blog ✅ done (it was hell 🥲)

200 notes - I'll go through my camera roll and delete old unnecessary photos ✅ 5200 photos deleted

500 notes - I'll finally clean my desk ✅ done

1000 notes - I'll wash my hair✅ done

2000 notes - I'll tell my gf that I'm pretty sure I'm aroace, and even though she's an awesome person, I love her only platonically (I'm aware that she deserves to know and keeping this from her only makes it worse, but I'm nervous and I don't wanna hurt her, so I need this as a push) ✅ okay notes goal reached, I'm gonna tell her tonight, thanks for the motivation guys!

5000 - I'll start to write a Starchaser fic that I have an idea for (I'm not sure if I'll even post it, but I should at least try writing it)

Only 20 comments per person please! Reblog as much as you want. (Ofc I'm not gonna come to your house and assassinate you if you comment over the limit 😅 nothing bad happens if you comment a few more. I just meant it like… please don't comment a 100 times, I wanna have some space between the tasks😅)

Edit: literally just write as many comments as you want, since the numbers I need to reach are high

No tags to start it, bc I'm honestly nervous and I don't really want this to get many notes 🥲 (y'all can tag as many people as you want to tho)

[always-just-red]

@lunariadew asked: 'Can you write a poly fic maby like a feel good fic or date night or something with all the boys! I’m greedy and I think there’s not enough poly fics as there should be'

Nothing profound this time around! Just some good old-fashioned shenanigans. I've wanted to do a fic with all the boys for SO long (Infold, hire me to write a sitcom-style show for the guys, PLEASE) I've kept it platonic since it's early stages; it's open to interpretation about how many sparks are flying and between whom exactly..... 👀 But if ppl want more of this, I'm all over it. Platonic or romantic? I'll play it by ear!

Game Night

L&DS Boys X Reader

Summary: The most important men in your life can manage one evening together, right? For you? Please? Pretty please?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, some swearing, a lil conflict, non-canon (I know some of the guys probably know each-other but we're pretending they don't 😇)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Rafayel… what do you think this is?”

The artist stands at your open door, wearing a self-assured smile and one of the flashier outfits you’ve seen him in, and that’s really saying something. Between you is a bouquet of lilies, petals curled like frozen licks of fire that compliment— deliberately, if you had to guess— the warmer fires within his eyes. Those eyes narrow at your question.

“What do you think it is?” he says suspiciously, lowering the flowers.

“…Game night?”

You’re not sure why you phrase it so tentatively. You know what it is; you’re the host. You open your door wider, stepping aside to give Rafayel a better view of the apartment behind you, and the remainder of his smile sinks.

“Hi,” Xavier calls out, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s giving a wholesome sort of wave.

“Hi…” Rafayel answers, barely more than a whisper as his eyes flit between everyone else in the room, because he’s the last to arrive. “Game night, yeah,” he nods assertively, “I knew that.” Then a deep breath: “Can I, like, put these somewhere—”

“Kitchen counter,” you gesture.

“Got it.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Closing the door behind him, you watch as he skirts past the lounge and makes for your kitchen, where another bouquet already lies waiting. He zeroes in on it. “Looks like mine’s not the only heart you’re breaking tonight, huh, cutie? What are these—” he pokes at a petal— “daturas?”

“They’re her favourite,” speaks a distinctly low voice.

Rafayel doesn’t look up. He plonks his bouquet on top of the other and winces: “They’re really not, though.”

“He’s right,” you chip in, giving Sylus a sheepish smile, and now Rafayel looks up, beaming.

“She likes roses,” Zayne says, with the calm confidence he’d quote a medical journal. On the sofa beside him, Xavier nods, and you grin at them both.

“Noted,” Sylus chuckles.

Rafayel’s less convinced. “Since when?!”

“Since forever, Raf. I like lilies too, so I didn’t say anything, ‘kay?” You beckon him back to the lounge, ignoring his splutters of disbelief. “C’mere, let me introduce you to everyone.”

The man slinks to your side like a reluctant shadow, and your hands find your hips. “This is Zayne. Xavier,” you point out, putting faces to names; Rafayel’s heard stories about each. Then you nod towards Sylus. “Over there’s Skye.”

From his place by the window, Sylus lifts a hand in greeting.

“So… yeah,” you finish. Oh, wait! “Guys, this is—”

“They know who I am,” Rafayel shrugs, his fame apparently heavy on his shoulders. He glances around the room for validation, but he gets none, so he tries again. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Sorry,” Xavier admits with an awkward smile, glancing back at Sylus: you?

The man has to think about it. You know for a fact he’s traded more than one of Rafayel’s paintings for a profit, but he smirks and gives an even more exaggerated shrug than the artist himself.

Really?

“You’re Rafayel,” Zayne states plainly.

“Yeah! See, I told you, cutie—”

“You slipped on a paintbrush and checked yourself into Akso, right? The nurses still talk about it.”

Rafayel’s enthusiasm drains. He looks conflicted as he mulls over the additional information. “In, like, a good way?” he hazards.

Zayne stares back at him, wielding silence like a scalpel before cutting deeper with a: “…sure.”

You bite back a smile. Leaving the two to discuss the finer details of Rafayel’s notoriety at the hospital, you wander over to the kitchen, where you fish out a vase from the back of a cupboard. You fill it, set it down on the counter, then reach for Sylus’s bouquet. There’s a black satin ribbon; you untie it.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetie?” asks the man himself, joining you discreetly.

The others can’t really hear you— they’re still talking. “What,” you smirk, retrieving your scissors from a drawer, “you worried Xavier’s gonna arrest you?”

Sylus laughs lowly, quietly. “That’s adorable.”

“Good.” You pick up a flower and trim a leaf from the stem. “Because even if he wanted to—” you wave it, just short of his face— “I’d protect you, ok?”

He regards the flower beneath his nose. Smiles smugly. “These can be toxic, sweetie.”

“Really? Whoops.” You put it down, then snatch up a lily from Rafayel’s bouquet. “En Garde!”

“These too.”

“What the hell?”

The flame-red flower drops from your fingers, and Sylus laughs more sincerely. “Stick to roses, kitten. Or…” He moves his hand over his deconstructed bouquet, his Evol pruning the rest of the leaves from the stems. A tendril of it gathers the flowers, delivering them to him so he can hold them out to you with a flourish. “Live dangerously. Who am I to judge?”

You take them, then plop them into the vase. “Cute.”

“I’m here all week,” he grins. “You’d better wash your hands, hmm?”

With a hmph of agreement, you turn to the sink. You spend half a minute, rubbing soap and warm water over your hands, and when you turn back around— still drying them— something is different. The lilies are gone. Sylus is looking at you, innocuous.

“Real mature, Skye.”

He makes no effort to defend himself. You’re about to tell him that his magic better extend to making flowers reappear when your attention is whipped back to the lounge. The voices from that side have raised, so you lean forward on your kitchen island, watching their owners in a sort of stakeout.

“I take it you have a plan,” Sylus whispers, leaning with you.        

You look at him. He looks back. “The plan is for hosts,” you scold, “not guests.” He’s much too close so you step away, reaching for the vase of daturas and holding them threateningly out, like you’re not afraid to use them. “Go back to the guests, deserter.”

Sylus lifts his hands in surrender, smirking in a way that says he knows he’s met his match. You shoo him further, back into enemy lines, then resume your stakeout. Xavier is sharing his own “embarrassing” medical story— talking about a time where he once passed out from exhaustion while fighting at your side, and you think it’s supposed to make Rafayel feel better.

It doesn’t, of course, and even Zayne is gazing down at the floor, self-conscious.

Sylus meets your eyes across the room, signals with a tip of his head: now's a good time for that master plan, sweetie.

Right. Your plan. Your master plan, yeah.

…

“You should have picked the doctor.”

Sylus’s words are near-silent: for you, not anyone else, and you pretend you don’t hear them. “But no,” he carries on, because he knows you can, “you just had to have the artist.”

“It’s Pictionary!” you snap, drawing all eyes in the room.

Lounging beside you, Sylus feigns an amused surprise, as though he hasn’t just been trying to elicit that exact reaction. On the other sofa, Zayne and Xavier stare, taken more genuinely aback. You give a smile of apology.

“Guys, concentrate!” Rafayel clicks his fingers at you. He’s stood in the centre of the space by a large drawing pad, and he goes back to frantically sketching on it. The drawing is… interesting. Abstract. Maybe even beautiful? But you don’t have a clue what it is.

“Thirty seconds,” warns Zayne, studying the little egg-timer he’s guarding.

You tilt your head at the drawing. There’s maybe a— wait, where did those extra colours come from? Where did he even get those pens? Anyway… there’s a circle. “A globe?” you guess. “Earth! No? Umm… oh! The sun! The moon!”

Rafayel shakes his head with every suggestion, adding even more intricate, unhelpful scribbles. Is that a fifth pen?! You nudge your other teammate, calling for back-up.

Sylus regards the drawing listlessly. “A unicorn.”

“What?!” Rafayel’s tone has reached a pitch that almost makes you wince. “No! C’mon, are you even trying?”

“No,” Sylus lilts with a pleasant smile, lifting the drink he’s been nursing to his lips.

You kick his foot. “A bowl of fruit!” you exclaim, determined to make up for the lack of enthusiasm. “A plate? A plate with food? Breakfast! Lunch! Dinner!”

“Time’s up,” Zayne interrupts, and it’s a mercy, really; you deflate with a sigh.

Rafayel puts his hands on his hips as he takes a step back to observe his work. He tucks four fine-liners back into his pocket— purses his lips as though he really can’t see a problem— and he’s keeping you all in suspense.

Sylus is up in an instant, stealing a card from where it’s been discarded on the coffee table. He reads the answer, then rolls his eyes. The original pen was also abandoned, so he plucks it up, then strides to the drawing pad.

He draws an oval. Then a triangle.

“A fish! A fish!” you cry out.

“You’re good at this, sweetie,” Sylus grins. He puts the lid on the pen with a click before dropping it into Rafayel’s hand.

“Is it my turn?” Xavier asks, trying to relieve the tension of the room. He gets up and smiles as Rafayel passes him the pen. “Your drawing is pretty. The composition is really—”

“Don’t,” Rafayel says. “Like, thanks? But don’t.”

“Fair enough,” Xavier chuckles.

You all prepare for the next round: Zayne handing you the egg-timer, Xavier re-organising the stack of prompt cards. Sylus takes a photo of the drawing pad before ambling back over— a moping Rafayel in tow— and they both sink down either side of you. You glance at the latter, giggling. “A fish, Raf? Really?”

“So I didn’t just wanna draw you some basic fish, ok?” The artist crosses his arms with a pout. “But fine, enjoy mediocrity, I guess.”

To your left, Sylus raises his glass in toast to the notion. There’s a noise: Xavier tearing the used page from the pad. You look up. “Xavier, can I have that?”

“Sure.” He brings it over to you.

You look at the drawing again, holding it at arm’s length and rotating it experimentally. You’re seeing a lot, but nothing that screams ‘fish’. There’s a circle, still. Oh! “It’s a fish bowl! Wait, wait, wait— is that Reddie?”

“Yeah!” Rafayel beams.

“Aww!”

The renewed team spirit drops off with Sylus; he’s on his phone, not paying attention. He seems to sense your scrutiny because he peers up, gives a ghost of a smile, then returns to whatever he’s doing. Meanwhile, Xavier is ready for his turn, so he signals for you to start the timer. You give him a thumbs up as you turn it over. “Go!”

He starts drawing.

“A car,” Zayne guesses after all of five seconds. Correct. Next. “A river? No. Oh. A snake.” Yes. “A cupcake?” Also yes. (In fairness, he was never going to struggle with that one.) “A person? Ok. Oh, a scientist, no? Ah, a doctor.” Yes again, and really— what?

Zayne continues to list correct answers, though thankfully, that’s the last of the coincidences. You watch on, vaguely in awe, until you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You check it casually, aware that Sylus is next to you, looking down at it too.

It’s a text from him: The drawing… Can I have it?

You glance up at him subtly, meeting his eyes and giving a discreet yet firm shake of your head. He frowns. You’re not having this debate here, now, so you let your gaze return to the drawing pad while idly retrieving your drink.

A few seconds later, there’s another text: Found buyer

Then another: Quarter of a mil

You almost choke on that drink.

“Umm… cutie?” Rafayel asks, poking you. He points at the timer you’ve left on the coffee table, and the top half is empty.

“Shit, yeah. That’s time!” you call.

Xavier stops drawing. The small, crude sketches behind him have reached double digits. He looks really proud. “Great! How many was that?”

His eyes find you. Zayne and Rafayel’s, too. Were you supposed to be counting? Uh—

“Eleven,” says Sylus, and it’s way too smug to be a lie.

“Awesome!” Xavier flips the drawing pad over to where you’ve been tallying point totals. He adds eleven marks to one side. “That’s—” he counts both— “ah, thirty-three to nine.”

A silence falls over the room. Unsure of what else to do, you give a half-hearted round of applause and Xavier laughs awkwardly, still humble, despite it all. “I think we’re kinda done with Pictionary, yeah?” you suggest, rising from your seat. “I should probably get started on food, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.”

The insistence came from Xavier, and you freeze suspiciously; he’s never turned down free food.

“You’ve already done so much,” he explains, “setting this all up for us. You should relax, really! Leave it to me.”

The word ‘relax’ is not synonymous with the image of Xavier anywhere near your kitchen, but he’s looking at you so earnestly, blue eyes brimming with warmth, and what are you supposed to say? No thanks, Xavier— I value my life? Everyone’s watching you. Gods help you. “That’s really sweet, Xavier. Thanks.”

Your fellow Hunter’s smile widens even more. He heads off to the kitchen, a spring to his step that makes your heart sink with dread. “Actually—” you glance at your ex-teammates— “could you two go help him? Zayne and I’ll tidy up over here.”

Rafayel and Sylus do as they’re asked, even though their expressions remind you that cooking is not, typically, a three-man job. It’s tactical, though. You wanted a moment alone with Zayne. “Are you ok?” you ask, once the others are out of earshot. “I know this must all be a lot. The guys can be, well… yeah.”

He knows what you mean, right?

Zayne has slipped away from the couch; he’s crouched on the floor, collecting a few prompt cards that have wandered astray. He glances up at you, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “I’m ok,” he assures with a fond smile. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” He hands you the cards and you slot them back into their deck. Then you turn to the drawing pad. “You and Xavier make a good team, huh?”

The doctor straightens to his full height. “Mmm. It helped that we didn’t spend the entire game comparing the size of our… drawing abilities.” 

You laugh unashamedly. The pen’s still at-hand, so you pick it up— reward another point.

Zayne chuckles.

“Food’s gonna be a while.”

You both turn, following the voice back to Sylus, who has apparently decided he’s had his fill of kitchen duty. What was that— a minute? He seems to have anticipated your dissatisfaction, because he’s brought a bribe with him: the box of chocolates that had come with his bouquet. It’s already open and he holds it out, tempting you.

He’s right— you don’t know when you’ll next be eating— so you select a heart-shaped chocolate, popping it into your mouth with a smile and a muffled: “thanks.”

Sylus smiles back. Then he holds the box out to Zayne. “Doctor?”

It takes a nod of encouragement from you to prompt Zayne into taking something. He chooses a white chocolate truffle, mumbles his own thanks, but Sylus doesn’t relent— not yet. He shakes the box slightly, incitingly, and he doesn’t move it away until Zayne takes two more.

Your physician shoots you a surreptitious smile as Sylus falls back onto the couch, content he’s won your hearts, and that he won’t be sent back to the kitchen anytime soon. His long fingers lift another chocolate from the box, and he meets your eyes as he slips it slowly past his lips, humming like he’s enjoying himself.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. He gives you the least convincing look of innocence you’ve ever seen.

There’s an exclamation from the kitchen: “Hey, where did my flowers go!?” 

Shit. You hastily push the drawing pad aside then scurry over to assist Rafayel. You don’t have a plan, exactly; it’s not like you can help him look for them. “Umm… they’re around, Raf. I moved them somewhere safer, that’s all.”

“Where?”

“Uh—”

“Does it matter?” Sylus speaks from behind you, because he and Zayne are close at your heels. “She said they’re somewhere safe.” He leans on the kitchen island. “Don’t you trust her?”

Rafayel scoffs. “I trust her plenty.”

“So prove it. Drop it.”

“Skye,” you caution, “stop.”

Sylus does stop, but not because you asked. He’s done enough already, hasn’t he? Rafayel is bristling with indignance— a lit fuse— and behind him, Xavier sneakily checks the trash can, looking relieved at what he doesn’t find. He gives you a subtle glance: Where actually are the flowers?

You lift a shoulder an inch: Beats me!

There’s a soft, almost imperceptible crackle, and it draws your eyes to the vase of daturas between you all. They’ve caught light— their petals twisting, darkening, within larger flowers of fire.

“Rafayel!” you gasp. “No, no, no, the fire alarm!”

The torched flowers are encased, all of a sudden, in a fine layer of shimmering frost. Sylus blinks down at them, unmoved by their destruction. Zayne’s hand is still outstretched, snowflakes etched over his palm. Then something… odd happens. The ice doesn’t stop. It spreads over the rest of the kitchen island, to all of your bewilderment.

“Zayne?” Your voice is fraught with worry, but you don’t give a damn about your kitchen.

The man winces, and you so rarely see him out of control. The silver-white patterns have crawled up his wrist, and the ice continues to spread; even Sylus steps back. Sharp, jagged crystals start to form— inching out towards everyone.

“Zayne!” you try again.

His chest rises as he drags air through his teeth; it looks like it hurts, but the ice does stop. The others are still, suspended by momentary uncertainty, and you rush to Zayne’s side, taking his hand.

“What the hell was that?” Rafayel remarks, shaking away his surprise and thawing an icicle that’s way too close for comfort.

“He wouldn’t have needed to use his Evol if you hadn’t used yours.”

It’s Xavier, strangely— you would have expected Sylus. The Hunter’s tone is gentle as always, but there’s something behind it, this time: a frustration that lends an edge.

Rafayel hears it too. “Hey, I’m not the one who started this!” He points to Sylus. “He—”

“Has been lighting fires all evening,” Xavier finishes. “But at least his were only figurative.”

Sylus laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh where you just know he’s vying to make things worse. “Look at that,” he says, “the boy next door can bite.”

Xavier’s eyes sharpen. Beside you, Zayne slips his hand from yours. It’s an instinct you know well. This moment is volatile, and you have to be ready. It could go a dozen different ways; it’s just waiting for a spark.

“Guys,” you manage to get out, “please, just… everyone, take a breath, ok? Everything’s fine, we just have to—”

A spark.

There’s smoke. Actual smoke. “Xavier, behind you!” Zayne alerts.

It’s creeping out of the oven and Xavier turns— eyes wide— to open its door before any of you can stop him. Thicker smoke billows out, filling the air, and you all scramble away from it. The fire alarm triggers. You think Rafayel’s shouting something, but you can’t really hear him. Then Sylus is shouting. Maybe even Zayne. The alarm is piercing your ears and making you dizzy— or is it the smoke?

You feel a hand on your shoulder and suddenly everything changes.

There’s cool air, brushing over your skin, and it’s dark; you’re outside the building. You can still hear the alarm, shrill but further away, and your window is easy to spot: there’s a red light flashing behind it. Sylus leans into your vision, saying your name.

“Stay here,” he tells you, “alright?”

He’s gone in another moment, lost to a flicker of crimson-black darkness.

Gods, you’re so stupid.

…

You sit on a short wall outside of your building, and the street is full of people. You recognise most of them: neighbours. Every single one is mad at you. You’re all waiting for the alarm to cut out— for the all-clear to be given. The fire wasn’t that serious in the end, but there’s still a procedure. You would know; this isn’t exactly your first evacuation.

The guys are safe, which is good, because it means you can kill them later. They’ve all gotten lost in the throng, and your neighbours can keep them. Maybe they’ll kill them for you.  

“Hey, cutie.”

You were staring down at your feet, but you look up at Rafayel’s voice. He’s coming towards you, evoking a sense of déjà vu, because he’s clutching a bouquet of flame lilies. That’s… the bouquet of flame lilies. How?

“Skye gave ‘em back to me,” he explains, chuckling at your expression, and he’s close enough now to hold the flowers out to you. “I don’t know where he was keeping them. His Evol’s weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say timidly, taking the bouquet and gazing down into the petals; they still smell sweet.

Rafayel sits next to you, shuffling close, and he leans his head on your shoulder with a tired sigh. You want to be mad at him. You really, really do— but you’re suddenly not.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel.” The admission barely makes it out of your throat.

You feel his head lift. “You’re sorry?”

“I know it was just a misunderstanding,” you speak into the flowers, “but tonight… wasn’t what you were expecting, I get it. I mean, I kinda threw you into the deep end with all this. You didn’t know you were gonna be around other people, and I—”

“Whoa— cut that out, yeah? You’re killing me, cutie. I spend the whole evening causing trouble, and you’re gonna take all the blame? Nope. Not happening. It was a collaborative effort at least, ok?”

You giggle. “Ok.”  

“Good.” His head slumps back down on your shoulder, and yours tilts to rest against it. “Thanks, though. Really,” he whispers, so quiet you almost don’t notice.

Footsteps and familiar voices draw you from the intimacy of the moment. The others are wandering back to you, having finally escaped the veritable mob of your neighbours. They all look tired.

Xavier settles down on the other side of you, and Zayne sits beside him. Sylus takes a seat next to Rafayel with a huff, but he’s not half as unhappy as he’s pretending to be.

All of you sit in silence, gazes flitting between your window— where there are still glimpses of moving figures— and everyone else who’s been evacuated. For the first time all evening, the quiet isn’t tense. It’s peaceful. Easy.

“We’ll do better next time,” Zayne speaks softly.

Next time? You scoff. “Do any of you actually want there to be a next time?”

“I had fun,” Sylus chuckles. He’s taken his coin from his pocket, and he flips it, amusing himself.

“I had fun too,” Xavier grins.

“Cooking again, Xavier?” quips one of your neighbours, as they happen to pass by.

The man beside you laughs, but you can tell it’s forced. Your hand finds his; you give it a little squeeze, letting him know that it wasn’t his fault. His heart was in the right place. It’s always in the right place.

You nudge Rafayel away from you so you can sit up straighter, your free hand rubbing your arm, caressing prickled skin. You’re about to ask for a jacket when something heavy drapes over your shoulders. It’s a coat— still warm— and its owner is stood behind you; you didn’t even notice him get up.

“Thanks, Sylus,” you smile.

All eyes turn to you. What are they—?

Oh.

[domjaehyun]

the need to know (l.dh) — part three

PAIRING. sneaky link!fwb!haechan x fem!reader  GENRE. smut, fluff, mild angst, some humor CONTENTS. mentions of marijuana, explicit smut (unprotected sex, oral (receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, dom!haechan, switch!reader, breast play, nothing too crazy in this fic dw) WORD COUNT. in total, 40.4k, part three has 7.9k SUMMARY. you and haechan have undoubtedly had tension for the majority of your friendship. what happens when you act on it? PLAYLIST. the need to know (feat. sza) - wale // notice me - sza NOTES. tada!! here’s the third and final part! it’s a lot shorter than the other two because logically it made sense to split them up like this 😁 i hope you enjoy!! your positive feedback is always appreciated 💖 thank you for reading!!

READ PART ONE HERE. — READ PART TWO HERE.

Later in the week, you’re lying cozy on the couch, scrolling through Twitter, when you’re suddenly reminded that you and your friends had plans for later today. You switch over to your Messages group chat and shoot off a quick text to put out feelers to see if everyone’s still free.

you [15:02pm] hii y’all are we still on for pottery today? chuu chuu train [15:03pm] um….. no actually 😟 i got called in for a shift at the hospital last minute mark [15:07pm] this girl at my job asked me to get drinks with her… she’s really cute… jeno [15:10pm] go get her mark 😎 i have a new client today and this was the only time she had free for her consultation :/ jaemin [15:12pm] i’m technically still free but like . kinda think i’m coming down with something you [15:14pm] sigh why must you all let me down like this 😞 renjun [15:16pm] why are you all blowing up my phone 🤨 cut it out you disliked “why are you all blowing up my phone 🤨 cut it out” you [15:17pm] okay cranky pants… you signed up to be friends with us chuu chuu train [15:19pm] yeah this gc isn’t called “the platonic polycule” for nothing!!! chuu chuu train [15:19pm] now can you make it to pottery today?   renjun [15:17pm] no i can’t sorry 😕 like i’m free but i have a design for a site due by the end of tonight and i haven’t finished… you [15:20pm] brb entering the deepest of depressions

You knock three times on Jihyo’s door, waiting for her to reply before flinging her door open with a wail. “Jihyo, everyone’s bailing!”

“I saw,” she says sympathetically.

“Only ones going are you, me, and Haechan.” you lament, collapsing onto her bed.

“Well, if that’s the case,” she says thoughtfully, “I’m not going, either.”

“What?!” you exclaim, looking up at her with an incredulous expression.

“You think I want to sit there and third-wheel whatever it is you two have going on?” she chuckles, stroking your hair soothingly. “Take it as an opportunity to do more of… whatever you two call your arrangement.”

“You’re… well, I can’t decide if I want to thank you or hit you with a pillow.” you sigh dejectedly, and she chuckles understandingly.

you [15:30pm] haechan please say you’re going… jihyo just bailed (verbally) and now i’m all alone 😞 haechan [15:32pm] my schedule’s all free for you 😌 you loved “my schedule’s all free for you 😌” you [15:33pm] AND THAT IS HOW TO BE A RELIABLE FRIEND, EVERYONE. TAKE NOTES!!!! you [15:34pm] anyway that concludes this conversation. everyone but haechan is in the dog house until further notice. farewell

You lock your phone and look up at Jihyo with a small smile. “You’re not in the dog house.” you inform her, and she smiles, running her fingers through your hair.

“Thank you for that. Want help picking out your outfit for your little pottery date with Haechan?” she offers, wiggling her eyebrows excitedly.

“It’s not a date,” you stress, sitting up. “It’s two friends hanging out and making pottery together.”

“Okay, do you want help picking out an outfit to look super duper cute for your date that’s totally not a date?” she amends with a sly grin, and you scowl, deciding to hit her with a pillow after all. “Hey!”

“That’s for teasing me.” you huff, setting the pillow back down. “But yes, I would like help.”

“Expecting help after you assaulted me is beyond crazy, by the way.”

“Please?” you plead, giving her your best puppy dog eyes, and she sighs in defeat, closing her laptop and flinging her covers off her legs.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

“Are you nervous?” you ask as you two walk up to the building your pottery class is in, and Haechan shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Of course not,” he replies confidently. “I’m good with my hands; you should know that.”

“I don’t think this activity requires the exact same skill set as the one you’re talking about, but okay.” you say with an amused expression, and he shrugs.

“I’m a fast learner.”

As it turns out, Haechan is not, in fact, as fast of a learner as he thought he was.

You giggle to yourself as you watch him struggle to make a decent looking pinch pot. “I thought you were good with your hands?” you tease as you smooth out the thumbprints in your own surprisingly pretty pinch pot, and he frowns in your direction.

“Apparently, my hands’ skills are best applied elsewhere.” he huffs, much to your amusement.

“Evidently,” you remark, smiling to yourself. “Do you want help?” you ask, and he shakes his head. 

“No… I’m hoping I have better luck when we start using the wheel.” he answers, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Okay… well, good luck with that.” you say, returning your attention to your work as you diligently make the rim of the bowl even and level.

After some time, you’re all instructed to switch to throwing on the wheel, and you’re surprised to find that it comes naturally to you, your hands sculpting a lovely bowl with a wide mouth. 

“Haechan, are you sure you don’t need help?” you offer again as you see him accidentally dig his thumb into his pot too harshly, resulting in an uneven, deep dent going around half of the bowl.

“Maybe a little assistance would be nice,” he admits in defeat, and you smile, turning off your wheel and coming to stand behind him.

“I’m gonna show you how to do it, okay?” you say softly, taking his clay covered hands in your own and guiding them to the clay on his wheel. “Wanna start over?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs, pouting, and you nod, moving to sit behind him. You rest your chin on his shoulder as you guide his hands through reverting his misshapen bowl into an even mound of clay.

“Wet your hands a little bit,” you explain, gesturing to the bowl of grayish water beside his wheel. “It’ll help you manipulate the clay better.” He dips his hands in the water, shaking them off slightly before returning his hands to the clay, tentatively placing his hands on either side of the clay. 

“Spread it out like this,” you say gently, showing him how to use his thumbs to carefully widen the surface area of the clay. “Keep your palms close like a guide for how wide you want it to get.”

“Mhm,” he hums distractedly, brows furrowed in concentration, and you help him shape the base of the bowl he’s making, forming a sort of stout cylinder of clay. 

“Good,” you encourage him, and he cracks a shy smile at the compliment, turning his head slightly to look at you. “Pay attention to what you’re doing.”

He sighs loudly, momentarily attracting the attention of some other students, but he relents, turning his head back to focus on his bowl.

“Next, you’re gonna make a small dent with your thumb in the center of the clay, and we’re gonna slowly drag the dent outwards with our thumbs to deepen and open up the mouth of the bowl.” you say next, and he nods, tongue poking out slightly as he tries to do what you’re asking him to do. “Carefully,” you remind him, guiding his thumbs as he methodically opens up the dent he made, his bowl now looking much better than before.

“Hey, it’s working!” he says excitedly, and you smile fondly, nodding. You hesitate before your next action, but decide to follow through with it anyway, turning your face in towards him to peck him gently on the cheek. He takes his hands off the wheel abruptly, turning his face towards yours as he searches your eyes with curiosity. “You kissed me.”

“I did,” you confirm, wishing he wouldn’t make such a big deal of it.

“What was that for?” he asks curiously, and you give a small shrug.

“A reward for doing a good job? And incentive to keep doing a good job.”

“So… if I make a pretty bowl, I can get another kiss?”

“Perhaps.”

“On the lips?”

“Don’t push it.” you say, rolling your eyes with an amused smile.

“Fine,” he relents, pouting slightly. “Hey, have you seen that movie, Ghost?”

“With Jennifer Love Hewitt?” you ask, and he nods. “I haven’t, but I’m pretty sure I know where you’re going with this.”

“The pottery scene?” he questions, testing you, and you nod with a smile. “Can we?”

You pause, thinking about it, before you nod. “Sure.”

He bounces in his seat excitedly before he refocuses his attention on his bowl, practically vibrating with excitement as your hands close in over his. 

Wordlessly, you help him shape his bowl, deepening the inside and lengthening the body. Your hands glide together smoothly and you’re so focused on doing a good job that it takes you ages to realize that Haechan isn’t even looking at the bowl anymore, his gaze now focused entirely on you with a mix of wonder and fascination on his face.

“Please pay attention before you distract me too and we fuck this bowl up.” you say with a small, amused smile, and he shakes his head.

“I think I need more incentive.” he states, and you look at him with a slight roll of your eyes.

“Just say you want me to kiss you again.”

“Okay, I want you to kiss me again.”

“No. Focus on the bowl.”

“What?! You just told me to say I want another kiss.” he complains, frowning.

“I didn’t say I was going to give you one. I just wanted you to be upfront about what you want.”

“I want a kiss,” he says, stubbornness creeping into his voice, and you sigh. 

“If I give you a kiss, will you focus?”

“Yes, ma’am.” he agrees, nodding to seal his promise, and you purse your lips thoughtfully as you think it over.

“Okay.” you say finally, and he beams at you before removing his hands from the wheel entirely and turning in his seat to face you. You lean in, Haechan moving with you, and connect your lips in a sweet kiss.

He hums, pleased, and moves to cup your cheek before you grab his wrist and set it down on his lap.

“You have clay all over your hands, and I don’t think that’d look too good on my face.” you murmur against his lips as you two part, and he laughs, the sound surprisingly sheepish for him.

“Sorry, I forgot.” he chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Thanks for the kiss, baby.”

“You’re welcome. You think we can finish the bowl now?”

“I think your kiss gave me enough strength to push through and finish strong.” he remarks with a cheeky grin, and you snort.

“That is so dramatic. You’re lucky you’re cute.” you huff, and he beams at you.

“Sure am.”

By the time you two make it back to your front door, the sun is starting to set, streaks of orange, gold, and a beautiful shade of rose filtering in through the window in your hallway.

“I had a really fun time today,” Haechan says, looping his pinky around yours and swinging your hands back and forth.

“Me too,” you agree, smiling. “Are you gonna tell me what you painted at the bottom of your bowl now?”

“Nope,” he replies with a grin. When you pout, he coos fondly, mirroring your expression. “You’ll see when they’re finished and we go to pick them up.”

“Fine,” you huff. “Hey, do you… maybe want to come in? Jihyo and Jiwoo are still out.” you ask, nibbling your bottom lip nervously.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he admits with a sheepish grin, and a relieved smile overtakes your face as you unlock your front door and lead him inside.

“So, you’re telling me you’re not even the slightest bit curious what a parallel universe might look like for you?” you ask incredulously.

“Oh, I’m definitely curious,” he replies. “I just can’t imagine wanting to live in that reality.”

“Really? What if in your parallel universe you were a hot shot musician?” 

“Still no.” 

“You’re insane,” you gasp, and he chuckles softly, the look in his eyes incredibly raw and vulnerable, and you find yourself scrambling over your words in an attempt to protect the quivering heart Haechan’s presenting to you in his gaze. “Well—why this universe, hm? Why, out of all the universes you could be a part of, do you want this one?”

“I wouldn’t want to live in a parallel universe,” Haechan says slowly, “if it means I might not meet you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the gravity of his words weighing heavy in your heart, and now you think you understand the look he was giving you earlier. “Do you mean that?” you ask softly, and he nods, leaning in to brush his lips against your cheek.

“Every word, pretty.” he confirms, and you’re grateful you’re sitting down because you would have visibly swooned otherwise. 

“Jeez, Haechan, are you trying to woo me?” you joke softly, and he tilts your chin up with one finger, turning your head to face him.

“Mm, depends,” he sighs, brushing his lips against yours with a hint of a smile. “Is it working?”

“Not gonna lie? Yeah,” you murmur, smiling bashfully when he chuckles.

“Good,” he chuckles, kissing you softly. Like the others, this kiss ensnares your mind and body, but there’s a tenderness, a hesitance you don’t see from Haechan often. He molds his lips with yours slowly and sweetly, chasing after you when you pull back slightly for air before breaking the kiss and nuzzling your nose with his. “Hi,” he says softly, smiling shyly.

“Hi,” you giggle, kissing his nose lightly. He beams at you and leans in for another kiss, his hand gently resting on your knee. As you two kiss, his hand moves up gradually, pushing up the hem of your sundress until it’s bunched up your thigh just before your underwear.

His kisses grow in passion, in need, until he’s greedily kissing you as you run out of air and have to break the kiss with a gasp. “Let me kiss you,” he whines, clutching at your thigh as he leans in again.

“Let me breathe for a second,” you laugh, and he chuckles quietly.

“Sorry. You done breathing yet?” he asks, and you snort, bursting out into laughter. He joins you, tickled by your amusement, and when you manage to control yourselves, he sighs happily. “So—”

“Yes, I’m done breathing.” you say with a small roll of your eyes and a smile, and he grins, leaning in to kiss you again. 

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he wonders, and you shake your head. “I’m an idiot, then,” he continues, “because you look stunning.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, and he nods firmly. 

“This little white and pink number you have on,” he murmurs, tugging at the strap on your shoulder until it slips off, “is driving me crazy.”

“Is it, now?” you hum, goading him on, and he nods again.

“It matches your cute little bow.” he points out, and you smile, pleased.

“It does,” you confirm, and he smiles before kissing you again. “You know what else it matches?”

“Mm, what, baby?” he mumbles against your lips.

“My underwear.” you answer, and he stills, looking at you with wonder and desire in his eyes.

“You’re joking,” he breathes, and you shake your head, smiling. “Let me see?” It’s phrased like a question, but it’s anything but if the way Haechan is already lifting your dress is any indication. “Please?” he adds almost as an afterthought, and you giggle, allowing him to pull your dress up enough to see your baby pink underwear. “Fuck,” he groans, his head falling into your lap, and you laugh as he presses his face between your legs, quickly maneuvering himself so your thighs are on either side of his body. He presses a loud kiss to the front of your underwear, then another slightly lower, and when his lips graze your clit through the fabric, you jolt, and he smiles. “You liked that?”

“A little,” you fib, and he nods in smug confirmation, leaning back down to press another kiss to the fabric over the seat of your underwear where a damp spot is gradually forming. 

“A little?” he echoes skeptically. “This doesn’t feel like a little.” he points out as his lips brush against your dampened underwear.

“Don’t get cocky,” you breathe, tugging on his hair as a warning.

“You make it so hard not to, baby,” he coos, trailing one finger up your slit through the underwear and around your clit in circles as you squirm slightly and keen for his touch. “Look how well you react to me, pretty girl—you expect that not to make my head a little big?”

“Whatever,” you huff, frowning petulantly. “Just stop teasing.”

“What is it you want me to do?” he asks innocently, and you roll your eyes.

“Same thing you wanna do.” you reply, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I want to taste your pretty pussy,” he says slowly, maintaining eye contact the whole while. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you agree instantly, and he smiles. “What now?”

“Say it,” he urges softly, lifting himself up to bring his lips to yours. “I want you to say it.”

“Haechan, please don’t tease me,” you plead, and he shakes his head.

“Wanna know how bad you want it.” he replies, and you sigh loudly. 

“I want you to… do that.” you mumble, and he shakes his head with a growing smile.

“Do what?” 

“Haechan!”

“Baby, say it and I’ll make your eyes roll back, I swear,” he says seriously. “I just want you to say it.”

“I want you to… go down on me.” you murmur shyly, and he beams, returning his head to between your legs.

“Now was that so hard?” he asks, and you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“Yes, actually.” 

“Aw, poor baby,” he teases, his words almost distracting you from the way his fingers tug your underwear aside. “You’ll live,” he assures you before leaning in to kiss you right on the clit. You jolt at the sudden sensation, moving away from him, but he loops his arms around your thighs and pulls you back to his face, tongue stroking against your folds before delving in between them. His nose bumps your clit with every lewd wet glide of his tongue along your core, and your breath catches every time, your body wired with desire and anticipation as he messily but expertly devours you.

“Feels good,” you whine breathlessly, and you can feel him smile against your core.

“I know, baby, you’re so wet,” he purrs, sucking on your clit with a groan and a loud, wet pop as he pulls back. “Am I that good, or do you just like me that much?”

You don’t know what comes over you, especially given that Haechan gave you an easy out, but you moan out, “I like you,” heat warming your cheeks as you realize what you just said.

“Yeah, baby? You like me?” he echoes, pressing two fingers against your entrance. “How much?”

“So much, Haechan, like you so much,” you gasp, wanting nothing more than for him to continue, and he moans in delight before doing just that, fingers pushing into you greedily before he litters kisses all over your inner thighs and drags his tongue in wet stripes up your thigh to your core. 

“Like you too, baby, so fucking much,” he grunts, pumping his fingers inside of you as he flicks his tongue over your clit. “Tastes so good, baby, pussy tastes so good—”

“Haechan—”

“Let me make you cum, baby, I wanna make you cum,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you to fuck into your g-spot. “Please cum for me, please, please, please—” His lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking and kissing and tongue flicking and swirling around the sensitive button, and his throaty pleas for your release send vibrations through your clit, your body electrified with jolts of pleasure.

“Gonna—you’re gonna make me cum, Haechan—” you whimper breathlessly, and he links the fingers of his free hand with yours as he looks up at you, watching in wonder as you start to fall apart. His tongue works against you fervently, lapping up every bit of arousal that gushes from your entrance around his fingers, and your back arches off the bed, your abdomen tensing as your peak hits. Pleasure shoots through you like a dose of adrenaline, your stomach coiling in on itself as the aftershocks of your climax start to appear. 

Haechan moves with you every bit of the way, craning his neck upwards to keep licking at your core, desperate for every drop of pleasure he can get from you. Your hips drop to the bed, your body feeling spent as he languidly swirls his tongue around your clit and his fingers inside of you.

“Felt good, baby?” he asks throatily, and you nod with a blissed out smile.

“Felt amazing.” you assure him, and he beams up at you, your cum glistening on his chin. 

He crawls up your body to kiss you, quickly deepening the kiss as he reaches to open his pants. You reach your hand inside his boxers when he’s finished, wrapping your hand around his base and starting to stroke him up and down. He groans and lowers his head to kiss down your neck and when he gets to your collarbone, he nips at the thin flesh there, making you hiss in pleasure.

“Need you inside,” you moan, and he nods eagerly, pushing his boxers down and out of the way as his length emerges from its confines.

Without further ado, you bring the head of his shaft to your entrance, pushing it in as far as you can manage, and he whimpers with pleasure, breathing in loudly through his nose. 

“Feels good?” you coo against his lips, and he nods vigorously, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“Feels so fucking good, baby, you have no idea—your pussy drives me crazy.” he grunts before thrusting in more. “Need more, baby, I need it so bad—” he rasps out, and you nod encouragingly, pulling him closer to you.

“Take it, Haechan, it’s yours,” you assure him, and his eyes roll back into his head in bliss before he’s kissing you again, lips molding with yours feverishly as he thrusts into you until he’s bottomed out fully. “So full,” you moan, and he grins distractedly, brows still furrowed as he moves in and out of you in slow, fluid strokes.

“Love filling my baby up,” he coos as his hips settle into the rhythm he’s set for himself. “Pretty baby’s pussy loves sucking my cock in, doesn’t it?”

“Mm—love it, Haechan, feels so good—”

This time around feels… different. Not bad-different at all, just… intimate. There’s the possessiveness from that night at the hotel in Fire Island, then there’s this, a heady blend of devotion and belonging to each other and you just about lose your mind as his length twitches inside of you. 

“Gonna fill you up, baby, gonna make you all mine,” he pants, and you nod with a whimper, reaching for him for another kiss which he reciprocates eagerly. As you kiss him, his length throbs inside of you, pulsing with need, and you can tell he’s close. “Want to cum, baby, but I want you to cum with me.”

You reach between your bodies and start to rub at your clit rapidly, free hand clutching your clothed breast as your whines and cries escalate in volume. His lips find their way to your neck and you just about pass out from all the pleasure, a deep shudder traveling through you when his mouth seeks purchase behind your ear, tongue trailing up and down the small crevice.

Your climaxes come right around the same time; Haechan’s starts first, but yours comes in with all the force of a wildfire, burning through everything in its path. Gasps and moans and the sounds of the sheets rustling are all you can hear as you two ride out your highs, and your eyes screw shut, white stars twinkling and flooding your vision as you rock down onto him to milk your climaxes for all they’re worth. 

When you’re both fully depleted of energy, he pulls out of you and lies down beside you, both of you breathing loudly. After a moment of rest, Haechan gets up and heads out of the room, returning shortly after with a damp cloth which he uses to wipe you down. 

“Thanks,” you sigh sleepily, and he nods with a smile, cupping your chin and kissing you sweetly. 

“It’s getting late,” he sighs. “I should probably get going.”

“Wh—well, why?” you ask with a frown, and he smiles sadly. 

“I have a lot of coding to do tomorrow.” he explains, and you nod slowly, carefully thinking over your next words.

“Do you wanna just… spend the night here?” you ask tentatively, and he looks over at you, hope alight in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean,” you start to say, stumbling over your words slightly. “I feel like it’s late—”

“So late.” he agrees.

“And Ubers are probably expensive back to your place right now—”

“Don’t even get me started on the surge pricing.”

“Right! So, I mean, financially, it just makes sense for you… to stay… here… with me.” you finish, and he looks you over slowly with a budding grin on his face.

“I think that’s clearly the most economically sound decision.” he agrees, and you smile, relieved.

“Great. Now come back here.” you say, patting the spot next to you, and he obliges eagerly, climbing onto the bed and snuggling up to you. “Y’know, we’ve broken, like, all the rules basically.” you mumble, and he scoffs dismissively.

“Maybe those rules are outdated and stupid.”

“I mean, we did put them in place for a reason,” you sigh, and he lifts his head up to look at you skeptically. “But, I mean, maybe they don’t really apply to our scenario anymore…”

“Exactly.” he replies with a hint of smugness in his tone. “So cuddle me and go to sleep.”

And so you do just that, wondering all the while how Haechan might define your scenario now.

When you wake up in the morning, Haechan is hugging you to his chest, your legs tangled together. You peek up at him, smiling at his puffy lips slightly parted as he breathes softly. 

“Haechan?” you say softly, and his nose wrinkles slightly before it relaxes, the male not stirring. “Haechan,” you hum gently, and he scrunches his eyes closed before he barely opens them to look at you. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he mumbles sleepily.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, and he breathes in deeply before nodding. “Want me to make, like, pancakes or something?”

“Please?” he rasps, and your core tingles with need at his low voice.

“Okay,” you whisper, moving to untangle yourself from him. He groans in protest, clutching you tighter, and you chuckle lightly. “I can’t make the pancakes from the bed,” you remind him, and he frowns before loosening his grip on you, allowing you to extract yourself from his arms. 

You climb out of the bed, grabbing some clothes to wear around the house and going to the bathroom to wash up. When you’re done, you make your way to the kitchen and start setting up to make pancakes, eggs, and bacon as a treat.

You’re letting the pan warm up on the stove as you mix the batter when Haechan emerges from the hallway, sleepily shuffling towards you.

“I have so much work to do today,” he groans, sitting down at the kitchen island and putting his head down. 

“Aw, poor Haechan.” you coo sympathetically, and your soft tone is enough to evoke the whininess from him that you knew was waiting to come out.

“I don’t wanna,” he complains, and you nod understandingly. 

“I bet.” you sigh, pouring the first pancake into the pan. The sizzle starts slow and builds gradually as the batter cooks, and you turn to face Haechan, walking around the kitchen island and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and resting your cheek on his back. You feel him relax in your embrace, Haechan turning around to face you so he can hold your waist and press his lips to your forehead.

“You’re the best.” he mumbles against your forehead. He pulls back slightly to look at you, something tender in his eyes that you haven’t seen before to this extent. It thrills you and yet, something in you is holding back, waiting for the bad news to hit. 

Sure enough, a moment later, a dopey smile crosses his features and he parts his lips to speak, the words “I l—” barely making it out before he snaps his mouth shut with a look of alarm, provoking you to raise your eyebrows in confusion.

“You l—” you prompt him, and he shakes his head, extracting himself from you. 

“I should, um, go get started on my codes for my boss.” he mutters, that same hint of panic weighing on his every action as he starts to walk towards your room, turns back to face you, then shakes his head and finally heads to your room.

“What the hell was that?” you wonder aloud, hurt and confused, but you don’t have much time to deliberate, because he’s entering the kitchen once more, now looking significantly more awake and, more importantly, ready to leave. “Oh, you’re leaving?” you reply, even more confusion swimming in your head.

“Yeah, I, um, I have to get a head start on my work if I don’t want to be up all night,” he mumbles with a chuckle, and the hollowness of it makes your heart ache.

“Haechan, did I do something?” you ask carefully, trying not to sound as wounded as you feel.

“No,” he’s quick—perhaps too quick—to say, shaking his head vehemently. “I just really have to go.” he insists, heading to your front door without a single look back. 

When your door shuts, you stand there, contemplating what just happened and what could have gone so wrong that it made Haechan up and leave like that. You flip the pancake in the pan over half-heartedly, observing the golden brown cooked side before your vision clouds with unshed tears.

“Fuck,” you mutter, wiping your eyes. You hear footsteps heading towards the kitchen from what sounds like Jihyo’s room, and sure enough, she steps into the kitchen, regarding you curiously. 

“Hey,” she says carefully, watching you with increasing concern as you try and fail not to cry. “You okay?”

“Want pancakes?” you ask, your voice cracking on the last syllable, and she rushes over to you, pulling you into a tight, warm hug as you break down quietly in her arms.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she soothes you, rubbing your back in comforting motions. “What happened?”

You sniffle pathetically as you start to tearfully explain everything that went down, from last night to this very strange morning, and Jihyo listens intently, her brows furrowing in sympathy as your bottom lip trembles when you get to recounting the activities of this morning.

“Wow,” she finally says. “Okay, get dressed. No more sad pancakes. We’re gonna get brunch, my treat, and we’re gonna talk this out until you feel better.” she urges, patting your butt lightly to push you forward. 

“Okay,” you say sadly, heading to your room to get dressed.

“So,” Jihyo says as she stirs her coffee. “How long has this been going on?”

You take a break from listlessly poking at your crepes and think back. “About two weeks,” you answer, and she raises her eyebrows.

“It took two weeks for this whole thing to get this off-track?” she asks, surprised, and you nod. “You definitely have feelings for each other.”

“I mean, I have feelings for him,” you explain. “I don’t know if it’s reciprocated.”

She shoots you a blank look over her coffee mug as she takes a tentative sip. “My love?”

“Hm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

You sigh. “What is it?”

“You sound like an idiot.”

“Hey!” 

“You do! You two made rules, he broke virtually every last one of them, and you think he doesn’t have feelings for you?” she exclaims in disbelief.

“Well, he said he wanted it to be casual.” you defend yourself petulantly, and she rolls her eyes.

“Is it casual now?”

“Well, no…”

“And whose fault is that?”

“...Mine?” you ask, and she tsks in disapproval.

“No. Well, slightly, because you allowed it, but Haechan is the one who made things complicated! Sure, he said he wanted it to be casual, but he’s being anything but. He’s walking around acting like your straight-up boyfriend, and you can’t tell if he likes you or not?” she says incredulously, and you pause, thinking over her words.

“Well, then, why would he say he wanted to keep things casual?” you huff, frowning.

“One of two reasons: he might have thought you weren’t interested in dating him and just wanted to be with you in any way he can get.” she explains, and you nod thoughtfully.

“And the other reason?”

“Well, sometimes guys say they don’t want anything serious so they can use it as an excuse to fool around with other girls.” she says honestly, and you blink several times before speaking next.

“You think he’s fooling around with other girls?” you ask worriedly, and she stares at you blankly.

“That should not have been the only takeaway you got from what I just said.”

“Oh, sorry.” you mumble, sipping at your iced coffee.

“Look, can I be honest with you?” Jihyo asks, continuing on before you can answer to say, “Great; I feel like you already liked him before this happened, he definitely liked you too, and now you’re conflicted because of feelings that were present before this was set in motion.” 

You think over her words once more before saying, “So, you don’t think he’s fucking around with other girls?”

Sighing loudly, Jihyo pinches the bridge of her nose. “You are about as stubborn as a mule, you know that?”

“Yes,” you reply with a doleful look. “It’s one of my specialties.”

“Does Jiwoo know about all of this?” she asks, and you shake your head.

“I haven’t told her anything, so I don’t think so.” you sigh, and she screws her face up in thought.

“Maybe we should consult her and see what she thinks.” she suggests helpfully, and you shrug. “Now, I’m not sure if you know this, but the crepes are supposed to make you feel better… but you have to actually eat them to feel the benefits.”

You smile sheepishly and separate a forkful, placing the now-room temperature food in your mouth and chewing. A small smile starts to grow on your face, and she smiles, pleased.

“Now, I want you to think about this carefully; like, do you really want to do this?” Jihyo asks, and you shrug.

“I want things to stay the way they were before this morning.” you lament.

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want to be his girlfriend?”

“Oh! Oh, I do. I very much do, yes.” you say, nodding emphatically, and she smiles fondly.

“Then I think we should see what Jiwoo says. She’ll probably agree with me because, well… I’m right.”

“Says you,” you mumble under your breath, and she raises a challenging eyebrow.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Thought so.” 

“I think you always liked him,” Jiwoo says. “Like, I could tell from a mile away; anyone could tell. It’s in the way you guys look at each other.” 

“Wait, you guys really think he likes me back?” you ask, hopeful and bewildered.

“Yes, dummy, he likes you back.” Jiwoo says with a roll of her eyes.

“Well… that’s not enough!” you exclaim, and Jihyo and Jiwoo groan, exasperated. “I need him to say it!”

As if the heavens were listening, your phone lights up with an incoming call notification from none other than Haechan. “Oh, shit,” you mumble, staring at it blankly.

“Um, pick up?” Jihyo stresses, whacking your arm. “Girl, pick up!” 

You snatch the phone up from the bed and answer it, calling, “Hello?” into the phone and waiting with bated breath.

“Speaker!” Jiwoo mouths, and Jihyo nods vigorously in agreement. 

You put it on speaker in time for Haechan’s voice to filter through the phone. “Hey, are you home?” 

“Yes, I am,” you answer casually, as if your last interaction didn’t literally reduce you to tears.

“Are Jihyo or Jiwoo home?” he asks, and all of you make the same confused expression at each other, looking at the phone in bewilderment.

“Say no!” Jihyo whispers, and you wave her off.

“They’re home,” you answer, and she throws her hands up in the air in exasperation. “Why?”

“Can you come outside for a second? I need to ask you something.”

“Y’know, Haechan, phone calls were invented so people could ask other people things.”

“I know, but I want to see you,” he stresses hopefully, and you look between Jihyo and Jiwoo, both of whom are nodding vigorously. “Please?”

“Okay,” you agree, and Jiwoo collapses on her back, Jihyo heaving a relieved sigh. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Great,” he says, abruptly ending the call.

“What if he wants to cut things off?” you worry aloud, and Jihyo grabs your shoulders, shaking them firmly. 

“He’s not gonna cut things off. You’ll never know what he wants to do if you don’t go down there and talk to him.” she says sternly, and you blink at her petulantly.

“Fine,” you lament, getting up from the bed and trudging to the front door. 

When you get downstairs, you can see Haechan waiting through the glass doors of your lobby entrance, and he perks up visibly when he sees you, a good indicator.

You step outside and look at Haechan, whose smile widens when you’re standing in front of him.

“Hi,” you say carefully, and his smile turns sheepish.

“Hi,” he says, and it dawns on you that he’s holding his hands behind his back.

“What are you hiding?” you ask curiously, and he smiles wider, presenting you with something wrapped in grayish brown craft paper. You take it and hold onto it, but Haechan frowns, making you let out a noise of confusion.

“Open it!” he urges, and you can’t help but smile at his eagerness, obliging and opening the wrapping. There, in your hands, is the bowl you helped Haechan make; it’s been lightly glazed with your favorite shade of pink, and it looks prettier than it did when you two made it, somehow.

“Oh! Thank you,” you say with a smile, and he gestures for you to continue, making you let out yet another confused sound. 

“Look at the bottom of the bowl.” he says excitedly, and you do just that, peering inside to see—

“Oh,” you gasp softly.

There, in Haechan’s handwriting, are the words “Be Mine?” 

“That’s why I wouldn’t let you see when I was done painting.” he says, bashful now, and you smile widely, looking up at him with bright eyes. “Sorry I’ve been so weird and quiet today; I already liked you, but it hit me last night that I really like you, and this morning I realized that I might even love you.”

“Oh?” you say, smiling so widely it hurts.

“Yeah,” he confirms, nodding proudly. “I went to the pottery place and paid the instructor to bake mine early so I could bring it to you.” 

“Oh, Haechan,” you say softly, your heart swelling in your chest until you fear it might burst.

“I know I said I wasn’t ready for a relationship, but I’m willing to try it if it means I get to be with you—properly this time.” he finishes, and you look up from the bowl to see a hopeful look on his face.

“Oh, thank God,” you sigh, relieved, and Haechan visibly relaxes, a wide smile on his face. “I’ve liked you for ages, actually—like, long before we started this whole arrangement.”

“Me too,” he echoes shyly, and you step closer, throwing your arms around his neck for a tight hug. He wraps his arms around your waist and stays there, holding you tightly. You turn your face inwards to kiss him on the cheek, only for Haechan to look at you like you just slapped him in the face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, confused, and he huffs petulantly.

“I just professed my undying love for you and all I get is a kiss on the cheek?” he squawks, affronted, and you snicker.

“‘Undying love’ is a little crazy, Haechan,” you point out, and he glowers at you.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m a little crazy.” he counters, and you feign surprise.

“Wow… no way… I had no idea… I am just so shocked.” you drawl, and he narrows his eyes.

“Ha, ha, ha. Stop mocking me and put that mouth to better use,” he huffs, pulling you into him for a kiss. It’s deep and slow, Haechan kissing you like he has all the time in the world.

You hear familiar voices cheering, and you look around before looking up to see Jihyo and Jiwoo sticking their heads out of your window, watching you two with smiles on their faces.

“Didn’t know your roommates and our friends were Peeping Toms,” he jokes, and you giggle.

“Less talking, more kissing!” Jiwoo calls out.

“Mind your business, perverts!” you splutter indignantly. 

“No, no, no, why don’t we do what the perverts say?” Haechan suggests with a grin, and kisses you before you can respond, breathing in deeply as he wraps his arms around you tighter.

As you stand on the street, kissing Haechan in front of your best friends, all you can do is smile.

“I don’t think I can eat anymore,” Jaemin groans, rubbing his stomach as you all trudge down the boardwalk. “When they call it a food truck crawl, they’re not kidding; I feel like I should be on my hands and knees right now.”

“You’re weak,” Renjun comments casually. “I’m fine.”

“No, but I really can’t.” Jaemin protests, and Jihyo chuckles. “What’s so funny?” 

“You said that three trucks ago.” she points out, and Jaemin frowns.

“Yeah, but I feel like I’m about to burst—” Jaemin bemoans before stopping short. When you all follow his gaze to a fried dough truck, you burst out laughing.

“What was that about you being about to burst?” you tease, and Jaemin makes a conflicted face, rubbing his stomach.

“Well… maybe I can make room for something sweet…” he mumbles, and you nod in understanding.

“You definitely can,” you encourage him, and he smiles before leading the way to the food truck.

“You’re a bad influence,” Mark laughs, and you shrug.

“He wanted it! I just let him know he could probably fit it in his stomach.” 

“Yeah, leave my girl alone.” Haechan gripes, looping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his side.

“Yeah, leave his girl alone.” you huff, scrunching your nose at Mark, who rolls his eyes.

“You’re definitely more insufferable together,” he comments, and you smile, shrugging.

“Too bad.”

“Yeah, deal with it.” Haechan chuckles, kissing you on the cheek.

“Petition to make them break up?” Renjun proposes, and Jihyo reaches over to swat his arm. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself,” she counters. “I think they’re cute.”

“Why, thank you, Jihyo, my dear friend.” you sigh happily, resting your head on Haechan’s shoulder.

You’re finally at the food truck, and after the attendant takes your order, Haechan steps forward, tapping his phone to the card reader when it prompts him to pay.

“Haechan, baby, you’ve paid for all my food; the pretzel bits, the funnel cake, the loaded hot dogs, the ice cream—”

“I know—”

“The mozzarella sticks—”

“I want to!”

“The tater tots—”

“Baby.”

“And now the fried dough!” you finish off as if he’d never spoken, and he smiles fondly, cupping your face in his hands.

“You’re my girl, right?”

“Of course,” you reply, the words slightly distorted due to his hold on your face.

“That’s right. You’re my girl, so I got you.” he answers simply, and you feel heat rushing to your face.

“Fuck, why was that attractive?” you mumble to yourself, and he chuckles, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I’m glad you like it, because I’m not stopping any time soon.” he informs you. “Got it?”

“Got it.” you reply, and he nods in satisfaction.

“Good.” he says, releasing your face and taking your hand. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand, and you smile fondly, happier than ever.

“Hey, Haechan, if I bat my eyes all cute like her, can I get free food, too?” Renjun asks, and Haechan snorts.

“Good luck looking as good as she does when she does it.” 

“Did you just call me ugly?!” Renjun splutters, and Haechan raises his hands defensively, your linked hand coming up with his involuntarily.

“No one said that. I just said you’re not gonna look as good to me as she does when she does it.” he replies calmly, and Renjun narrows his eyes at him.

“Tread carefully, Lee Haechan.” Renjun warns him.

Haechan rolls his eyes. “I’m so scared.”

“I’ll deglove you!” Renjun threatens, and you raise an eyebrow. 

“I’ll castrate you if you even think about it for too long.” you tell him.

Renjun frowns. “I hate when they’re on the same side, and now they’re gonna be on the same side forever!”

He stomps off to another food truck in the distance, and your friends, after receiving their orders, follow after him. You and Haechan fall to the back of the group, and Haechan hums thoughtfully, prompting you to turn your head to look at him.

“What is it?”

“I like the sound of that.” he muses, and you make a face.

“Surely we’re not talking about the castrating and degloving.”

“We most certainly are not.” Haechan assures you, and you relax. “The ‘forever’ part.” You promptly inhale so sharply that you choke on the bite of fried dough in your mouth, and Haechan rubs your back soothingly as you cough and hack and gasp for air. “You alright, baby?”

“I’m good,” you pant, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “Before I almost died just now, I was going to say that… I like the sound of ‘forever’ too.”

“With me?” he asks hopefully, and you roll your eyes.

“No, with Jeno.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Not funny.”

“Wasn’t laughing. Yes, with you, dummy.”

“I may be a dummy, but I’m your dummy. And you’re stuck with me. Forever.” he draws out the last word with a bright grin.

And as you lean in to kiss him, you murmur, “I definitely can live with that.”

and that’s the end! i hope you enjoyed!! stay tuned for a bonus scene of this fic, exclusive to patreon!!

[mooooonnnzz]

I saw your earlier post on Platonic fics and Im a sucker for them so here u go : father figure stanford headcannons maybe takes place after he comes back from the portal, reader is an adventurous spirit that works at the shack and maybe secretly helped stan get his brother back? Idk im just throwing things here lol

You Know I Love You Still

Stanford x daughter!reader

💗 stanford dad hc!!

💗 i literally saw the request it and started writing and got a lil carried away 😭 its like half story half hc? if that makes sense

💗 requests r so open rn! i def dont have any fav requests… (anything platonic or familial will be the first ones i write i LOVE those types of requests)

💗 the age of the reader is young like 16/17? ik that lowkey contradicts with the time line but wtv STANFORD DAD HC!!

💗 it’s a little bit of everything? like it’s not only just reader and stanford, the twins r also included in some scenarios and also stan

💗 a big happy family 😭

💗 fem reader gulp i completely didnt realize until i was done that i used she/her when referring to the reader

💗 next fic will use gender neutral pronouns I SWUEAR!!

💗2k words

💗 i apologize for rhe misspell and mistakes i didnt catch in advance

Working together with your Uncle Stan to build the portal to bring your dad back to the right dimension was tiresome. Nights were sleepless and many of them were spent in the underground lab, where you and Stan did everything possible to assemble the portal. Trying to keep such a secret away from the twins and Soos was unexpectedly hard. The knowledge of hiding someone so vital to you and to your Uncle Stan was weighing down on you and him. Then came the day where his awaited arrival was promised. You could barely sleep that night. You thought of so many different possibilities and scenarios of how you would greet him. Would he remember you? Did he ever miss you? Does he even love you?!

The next day came in like a tornado and before you knew it, you were protectively standing in front of the button; trying your absolute hardest to prevent the twins from pressing the button.

“Why do you guys want to stop the portal so badly!” You yelled over the loud swirling wind that emitted from the portal. “Because it’s dangerous!” Dipper retorted, using his arm to shield him from the debris whizzing past him. “G-Grunkle Stan isn’t who he says he is!” Dipper said, stepping closer to you.

“Whatever you guys saw or heard isn’t what you think it is! Please, you need to believe me.” You begged, your eyes brimming with tears. You’ve worked so hard to get this portal up and running and you weren’t going to let Dipper or anyone stop you from being able to see your dad.

Soos came up from behind and wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry, dude.” He picked you up and took you away from the button. “Soos, no!” You thrashed around his hold. You pound your fists against his arms, hoping it’ll loosen his grip on you but nothing you did worked. No matter how much you begged and fought against him, he didn’t budge. He just held you closer to him, muttering ‘I’m Sorry’ under his breath.

“This all stops now!” Dipper raised his hand, palm flattened out, ready to push the button when Stan appeared at the doorway. “Don’t touch that button!”

He’s hunched forward, hand leaning on the frame of the doorway as he pants. Relief washes over you upon seeing Stan. Silence fills the room for a minute and all you can hear is your heart hammer against your ribcage. Stan walks towards Dipper, beckoning him to not press the button.

“If you just let me explain—“ He’s cut off by his watch repeatedly beeping. Suddenly the ground begins to shake.

The portal powers up and the circle enlarges. The electricity spazzes and travels throughout the room, creating streaks of electrical power. Your feet lift off the ground and soon everyone’s floating up in the air. The wind is fierce and it’s whipping through every direction, pushing you towards the wall.

Dipper yells at Mable to turn off the portal before it causes anymore damage. She tugs herself closer to the button using a stray cable and while she wraps herself around the neck holding up the button, Stan is begging her to listen to him and to not press the button. He’s soon tackled by Soos who pushes him away from Mable. They all fight with each other and you’re watching with a bated breath.

The portal pulses with power, sending you back first into the wall. Stan and Dipper bicker back and forth and Mable is torn with the decision of either believing her brother or her Grunkle. She lowers her hand, eyes closed and you're almost convinced she’s going to press the button when she lets go of the button. She floats up with her arms raised. “Grunkle Stan, I believe you.” She says.

“Mable, are you crazy?! We’re all gonna—!”

The world flashes white and you're immediately knocked out. You awaken to yourself plummeting face first down to the floor. You groan, pushing yourself up with one hand and the other wiping off the dust on your face. Looking around you can see your family scattered around the room, each of them slowly waking up from whatever happened and stumbling back to their feet.

Your head quickly whips towards the portal and your heart lurches into your throat upon seeing a figure step out of it. He stands still, staring straight ahead as he takes off his hood and goggles. And what hid behind them was your father.

After the initial shock of meeting the one behind the three books and the reveal of him being related to Stan was pushed aside, you presented yourself with the help of Stan. “H-Hi, Dad.” You awkwardly greet yourself.

His eyes stop on you and he freezes, eyes blown wide and mouth slightly ajar. He takes a minute to process the absurdity of the situation before he’s snapping back to consciousness. He blinks once, his mouth stuttering as he finds the right words to say. He then blinks again, stepping a cautious step towards you. Your name softly spills out of his mouth and your heart soars hearing your Dad finally utter your name again.

You take a step forward and then another and another until you’re face to face with him. Being closer to him allowed you to see how much he has aged since the last time you saw him. “Dad…” You whisper, throwing yourself into him.

A light wheeze escapes his mouth from the sudden impact of your body crashing on him. Once he recovers, his arms are quickly wrapped around you, hugging you with so much warmth and love you almost sobbed right then and there.

He snuggled his face against your hair, breathing in your familiar scent he missed so dearly while he was away. “We have so much to catch up on.” You say so quietly that he almost lost your words if it wasn’t for you being directly near his ear. He hums in affirmation, cherishing the long awaited reunion with his daughter.

“I feel like this is another part where one of us faints again.” Mable says in utter disbelief at the scene that unfolded in front of her. “Ohoh!” Soos laughed out. “I’m so on it, dudes.” As if on command his eyes roll to the back of his head and he faints flat on his back.

HEADCANON TIME!!

• You weren’t really expecting to talk to him much due to Stan wanting to talk to his brother, but after their fight, he came looking for you. When he found you, you were sitting on the couch that was outside on the porch. You were reading a book you recently purchased from the bookstore. Nose deep in your book, you failed to realize Ford standing beside you. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trench coat. Quietly he asked, “Is there room for one more?”

• The night was spent with the two of you getting to know each other. From your favorite color to your favorite show, what food you like to eat and so on. Ford wanted to fully understand and know you as a person. He wanted to make up all the years he lost with you.

• The next day, you awoke to the smell of your favorite breakfast food being cooked. With haste you pushed your blanket off of you and slipped on your slippers and sped off into the kitchen where Ford was buttering the pan. He looked over to you and flashed you a smile. “I made you your favorite.” He said, motioning over to the table where he laid out your breakfast. “You didn’t have to do this.” You scratched your cheek, a small laugh of surprise leaving you. “I’m just doing what I always dreamed of doing.” He shoveled out his breakfast onto his plate using a spatula. “How’s the food, kiddo?” He asks, placing the pan and spatula on the dirty side of the sink. “Actually pretty good for someone who hasn't been in this dimension for over a decade!” You jest, taking another delicious bite from your breakfast. Ford jokingly rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and sat down on his chair. “Already poking fun at me.” He said, shaking his head.

• Stanford knew he had to focus on his projects, he had so many things he left unfinished that he'd been dying to get his hands on the minute he stepped foot into his dimension. But he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from you. He loved seeing you interact with the twins, he loved watching how pieces of his personality shone through you. Like the way you’re so meticulous with where you put things, or how you were forever curious about the things around you, and even the abundance of questions you’d mutter to yourself as you discovered something new. That’s all of him right there, in front of him and he couldn’t grasp such a thought that you were his!

• He finds himself gazing upon baby photos Stan took of you when you were younger. Even if he’s angry at his twin currently, he’s forever grateful that he documented such beautiful memories in a scrapbook. “Y’know, I used to tell stories about you to her.” A shriek leaves Ford. He jumps forward, the scrapbook tumbling down his lap and onto the floor. “You idiot! Be careful.” Stan sneered, kneeling down to the floor to pick up the scrapbook. “Stanley!” Ford leans his head back, trying to regain his composure. “You scared me!” He says. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Stan waves him off, grabbing the scrapbook and tucking it in between his arms. They stand in awkward silence, eyes darting around the place uneasily. “Did…” Ford starts, shattering the silence. “Did she like the stories you told of me?” Stan smiles fondly, nodding his head. “She loved them. She thought you were some stupid amazing superhero, no matter what I told her.” Ford furrowed his brows. “Wait, what do you mean by no matter what you told her?” Stan nervously laughed. “Hey, why don’t you keep looking at these photos! Wait here, look at this one. Haha! She’s trying to eat her toes, isn’t that adorable?” “Stanley.”

• Outings between the two of you were very common. He loved being tugged around the town of Gravity Falls by you as you pointed at various different shops and locations. You told him the reasons why you hated them or loved them, and some were tied to stories that happened within the summer. He seriously questioned how you and the twins survived so many times where you were just so close to death. The mall was a place where you and him resided the most. With the money he took from Stan, he paid for almost everything you wanted. Entering the shack with so many bags was a shock to everyone. “Woah! Did you buy the whole mall?” Mable jokes, grabbing one of the bags to help you with the load. “Basically,” you laughed, instructing Mable to rally Soos and Dipper to have a little haul of what you bought. Stan watched with a raised brow as you stumbled into the living room with Mable following closely behind. “Where did you get all the money to buy her all of that?” Stan asks. “Just stole some money from some hobo.” Ford said, walking into the living room to join in on the haul. Stan didn’t understand what he said and opened the cash register. When he saw all the money he had stored the day before gone, it all clicked.

• Adventures out in the woods is a must. Gathering the twins and your dad, all four of you venture out into the woods in hopes to find something new. “Why couldn’t Grunkle Stan tag along with us?” Mable asked as she kneeled down to pluck a flower from the dirt. “Because he’s being a wet towel.” Dipper muttered, scribbling down a rough drawing of the flower Mable was picking in a book you bought him. “So what kind of anomalies you three stumbled upon?” Ford questioned. You and the twins began to dump everything onto him, from when you started seeing them to when Dipper and Mable came. Ford couldn’t truly focus on what they were saying, mostly because it was a jumbled excited mess of words, but partially because he was astonished with the trio in front of him. They went through so much and yet they’re still so headstrong. He could definitely see a little bit of him in Dipper and Mable.

• Stan would find you and Ford fallen asleep on the couch or in his lab, all huddled up together and completely knocked out. Snores filled the room and he found it amusing that you and him both snores the same. Videos and photos were definitely taken by Mable.

• Ford would tell stories of his adventures in another dimension to you. Stemming from how he started from the ground up to him getting banned from many other dimensions for stealing parts. “You’re not so different from Uncle Stan,” You laughed, shaking your head. “What! It was only a few…hundred dimensions.”

• There’s times where you’d wake up in a cold sweat, afraid that your Dad finally coming back was just a painful dream your brain played on you. But when you would get ready to find him, you’d step on his stomach or back. “Ough!” Ford groaned out in pain. Being suddenly woken up from his sleep, he sat up, looking around confused. “What are you doing sleeping on the floor?” You sat back down on your bed, pulling the blankets over you. “Is there a problem with me sleeping on the floor?” Ford asks, looking at you with squinted eyes. “No, no.” You laid back down on your bed. “Go back to sleep. I’m better now,” You say, somewhat amused with Ford sleeping on the floor beside your bed. “Goodnight, I love you.” You brush your fingers playfully across his face to annoy him. He shoves your fingers away from his face, huffing out. “Goodnight,” He shuffles to his side, looking up to you with a small smile. “I love you more, kiddo.”

[mxltifxnd0m]

drunken words ↼ d. winchester

summary: drunk you isn't the best at keeping their mouth shut

pairings: dean winchester x reader, dean winchester x gn! reader, platonic sam winchester x reader

requested: yes/no: by @traiitorjoe; thank you for sending your request!

word count: 3.0K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', none really, some cursing, a little bit of fluff, sam being a meddling little shit, some angst, kinda edited

a/n: i got this request in july and i felt so bad for having put it off for so long but here we have it! there is a potential for a pt.2 so if anyone wants that lmk lol

but enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me!

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Dealing with the Winchesters always felt like a Herculean task when you would run into them while you were on a hunt. The first time you ran into them was when they barged into the farmhouse that you were staking out for a nest of vampires. They went in, guns blazing, and you cursed them out under your breath as you hurriedly left the hiding spot you were in and rushed into the nest to help them clean out. 

It was safe to say that they were surprised and confused by your anger when you guys had killed all of the vamps. You didn’t recognize them at first when they first ran into the farmhouse, but now that you were standing there and really looking at them, you instantly knew that these were the infamous Winchester brothers you’d heard from Bobby and other hunters.  

Regardless of who they were, you were furious that they had messed up the hunt that you were on, and they were on the receiving end of your fury while they looked at you dumbfounded. After you were done yelling at them, you left the farmhouse fuming and decided to leave them with the cleanup job. 

The brothers were so confused by you that they didn’t even think to ask for your name. They also were slightly scared by your fury, and they failed to realize that you clearly knew who they were, but they had no idea who you were, only that they had taken over your hunt and were really mad about it. Dean only hoped that he wouldn’t run into you ever again. 

But as fate was a fickle thing, you would run into the brothers on your next hunt in a small town in Oregon, where a witch was terrorizing the men of the town, and it just so happened that you had arrived at the station the same time they did. You had to play along with them until you got the information you needed, and then when you tried to leave the station before them, a hand slammed your door before you could get into your car. 

You turned around to be met with emerald green eyes filled with irritation and thinly veiled curiosity. 

“Did you need something Winchester?” You said with a scowl etched into your face. 

Dean scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, answers. Who the hell are you?” 

“What’s it matter to you?” 

“Because you’re a hunter and we could use some help on this case.” Sam interjected, and your eyes were ripped away from the man in front of you. You almost forgot about the taller Winchester that was lingering behind Dean. 

You raised an eyebrow at Sam while Dean’s head jerked over his shoulder and glared at his brother. Sam stared back at his brother with raised brows, sending him a look that said, ‘What? It doesn’t hurt to ask.’ 

“I don’t think your brother here is keen on working with me.” 

“You’re damn right I’m not. You went off on us for no reason and left us to clean up.” 

You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of them cleaning up the plethora of severed heads and bodies from that farmhouse. But you ignored Dean's words as you contemplated the offer Sam was proposing. 

“Fine I’ll help, but you’ll have to follow my lead on this one.” 

Sam nodded, agreeing with you, and sent you a dimpled smile. 

Dean opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by you slicing the air with your hand in front of his face. 

“Zip it Winchester, either you listen to me or I leave you high and dry on this hunt.” You waved around the copy of the case file that you convinced the Sheriff to give you before leaving the station. 

Dean all but glared at you and stomped towards the black Chevy Impala that was parked down the street. You couldn’t help but smirk at Dean’s grumpy attitude, and Sam told you which motel they were staying in and followed them to it. 

With three heads instead of one (more like two since Dean barely did any research and stuck you and Sam with it), you guys found the witch in no time and disposed of her swiftly. You had to admit that working with the brothers was more manageable than working on your own. But you knew that this had to be a one-off occurrence because you had heard about all of the craziness that surrounded the Winchesters. You were not keen on being pulled into any of it. 

Once the hunt was over, Sam gave you his number and told you to call if you needed help or vice versa. You took it to be polite, but you knew that you weren’t going to call them unless your life depended on it. The three of you went your separate ways before Destiny decided to play her games, and somehow, you ended up working on most of the hunts the brothers were working on. 

It’s like some higher power wanted you to work the Winchesters against your better wishes. Alas, you ended up working with them every time because you couldn’t resist Sam Winchester’s pleading puppy dog eyes. But you got on quite well with Sam, and he slowly became a good friend of yours. 

But your relationship with Dean, on the other hand… Well, let’s just say you had a mutual hatred for each other. You guys practically fought like cats and dogs anytime you interacted, and the two of you couldn’t help but let snide comments leave your lips each time the other was wrong or messed up. Both of you bickered like an old married couple that should have divorced a long time ago, so much so that Sam had to be the mediator constantly if you were to work with the brothers. If he hadn’t, he wasn’t sure if you were either going to throw a punch or fuck each other. 

Dean Winchester is an incredibly infuriating man, and you hated that you found him attractive. It wasn’t lost on you that both of the brothers were hot, like they should be on the cover of a magazine hot, but there was something about Dean that drew you to him more. You didn’t want him to know that, so you hid your attraction for him through your sarcastic demeanor. Eventually, Sam had enough of your bickering that held so much sexual tension that he locked the two of you in the motel room he and Dean were sharing until the two of you could have a civil conversation. 

Sam had left the two of you for a couple of hours. He was half expecting to find the two of you naked in Dean’s bed, but when he unlocked the door, he saw the two of you on separate beds and watching a random movie that was playing on the TV in the room.

In the time that Sam was gone, you guys had bickered and gotten in each other’s faces, but you eventually admitted that it was tiring to keep up the fact that you didn’t exactly hate Dean since the moment you met him and to your surprise, he admitted the same thing. After that, you guys sat on separate beds, finding some common ground between the two of you, and watched whatever was on the TV. 

After that incident, the two of you still argued like a married couple, but there wasn’t any heat behind your words, and it turned into friendly banter between you and the older Winchester. Months went by, and you found yourself as the unofficial third partner to the brothers, accompanying them on the majority of the hunts that they picked up.  

You didn’t know how it happened, but to your utter shock and horror, along the way of becoming friends with Dean Winchester, you developed feelings for him. Of course, you had no idea when you started to feel like this around Dean. Sam was perceptive, caught onto your change in behavior, and had basically interrogated you when he saw you glare at the woman Dean decided to take home that night, trying to ignore the stinging sensation in your chest as he left the bar the three of you were at. 

You had vehemently denied that you felt anything for Dean, but all Sam said in response was a shit-eating grin and gave you a look that said, ‘Yeah, you’re lying, and I know it.’ 

Once Sam had figured out that you liked his brother, he stopped at nothing to leave the two of you alone in hopes that you’d put on your big kid pants and admit your feelings towards him (spoiler alert, you never did). As much as you loved Sam, you honestly wanted to punch him in the face every time he urged you to tell Dean about your feelings. 

You knew that Dean wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you definitely knew that he wasn’t one for love or relationships, as evident with the women he picked up at bars after successful hunts. Did your heart clench any time you saw the satisfied smirk on his face the morning after the night out at the bar? You wouldn’t admit it to anyone but yourself, but yeah, it did. 

Now, after a successful hunt, you and the Winchesters found yourselves at the bar across the street from the motel you were staying in. The three of you were at a booth at the corner of the bar, and you had gotten the first round of drinks for each of you. But when Dean volunteered to grab the third round (Sam had gotten the second one), Sam said he was turning in for the night and shot you a sly smile, and you knew exactly what he meant by it. You glared at him briefly before telling him goodnight through gritted teeth (Dean had seen this interaction between you and his brother and was confused by it but brushed it off).

Sam left, and Dean turned to you. “Still want a drink?” He asked. 

You nodded in response, and Dean shot you a small smile before his knuckles knocked on the table, and he made his way toward the bar. A couple of minutes had passed, and Dean wasn’t back from the bar. You looked up from your empty glass to see him being chatted up by a woman dressed to the nines, and clearly, Dean was into her. 

You let out a harsh breath before shaking your head, getting up from the booth, heading to the opposite side of the bar Dean was at, and ordering a vodka soda. You downed in quickly and told the bartender to keep the drinks coming. You didn’t know how many you had until you heard a gruff voice telling the bartender to give you water instead of another drink. You could vaguely recognize Dean’s voice through your drunken haze. 

You turned around in your seat to see Dean right next to you with furrowed brows. “You alright there, kid?” 

Dean hadn’t seen you this drunk before, so he was half concerned but also half amused by the cute pout you had on your face. 

“M’not a kid.” You slurred out, irritated. You hated the nickname that Dean had given you; you weren’t much younger than Dean, you were the same age as Sam. 

“Then why are you pouting like you didn’t get the candy you asked for?” Dean asked, his tone amused. 

You couldn’t help but scowl at him and look around for the woman he was talking to earlier. “Where’s the girl-*hiccup* you were talking to?” You questioned, dazed. 

Dean’s face had scrunched up. “Turns out she plays for the same team.” He muttered lowly, but you managed to hear it through the bar chatter. 

You couldn’t help but burst out in drunken giggles at Dean’s failed attempt to take someone home. Dean looked at you, slightly embarrassed, but couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your laughter. 

“Okay, we should probably get you back to your room.” Dean coaxed you off of the bar stool you were sitting on before paying for the tabs and leading you out of the bar. Dean had tucked you into his side as you walked on wobbly legs across the street to the motel. 

Once you reached your room (which was coincidentally right next to the boys’ room). Dean asked where you had your key. You were leaning into Dean, so his question was spoken into your ear quietly, and it sent a shiver down your spine. 

“M’back pocket.” You mumbled out. 

You didn’t see this as your eyes were closed as you rested your head against his shoulder, but his eyes widened at the realization that he’d have to grab it from your jeans pocket. 

“If you remember this in the morning, please don’t punch me, I swear I wasn’t trying to cop a feel.” He had muttered something else under his breath, but you were too out of it to notice what he said. 

Dean managed to get your room key out of your pocket and unlocked your door. He led the two of you inside, and when you saw your bed, you quickly ripped yourself from Dean’s embrace and fell face-first into bed, uncaring if you were still in jeans. 

Dean chuckled at you, and you looked up at him with a pout. “Are you laughing at me?”  

He shook his head, trying to stifle his amusement. “No, of course not.” 

You squinted suspiciously at him before sitting up and pawing at your combat boots. You were fumbling with the laces until you felt a warm hand cover yours. You looked up and found Dean kneeling on the floor in front of you. You couldn’t help but stare at him as he untied your boots for you and pulled them off of your feet. 

“You’re pretty.” You couldn’t help but blurt out drunkenly. 

Dean laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mirth. “Maybe I should get you drunk often, maybe you’ll compliment me more.” He sent you one of his smug smirks before standing up and heading toward the small kitchenette in your room.

He filled a glass with water before heading to the bathroom. He grabbed some aspirin that was stored in the medicine cabinet (you had no idea that he knew where you stored your painkillers). He came over to the bed with the water and painkillers and set them on the nightstand.

As he was bustling around your room, you had managed to wiggle off your jeans and get underneath the covers of the bed.  You looked at Dean underneath the warm lighting of the lamp that illuminated the room. His freckles were prominent in this lighting, and you couldn’t help but stare at his side profile. 

Dean noticed your intense gaze on him and smirked down at you after setting the water and aspirin on your nightstand. “See something you like?” He gently teased. Dean felt his hand twitch, trying to resist the temptation to brush back the stray hairs on your forehead. 

“Mhm, I like your face.” You smiled in a drunken bliss before your eyes fluttered. “I like you a lot actually.” You said before you felt the pull of sleep tug at your eyes. 

Your eyes shut, and your breathing evened out as you succumbed to sleep, leaving Dean standing in shock next to you. He looked down at your sleeping form before shaking his head. He’d deny the fact he felt his heartbeat quicken at your drunken admission. Dean quickly left your room and entered his shared room with Sam. 

Lucky for him, Sam was sound asleep in his bed, and Dean quickly got ready for bed, trying to ignore the fact you may or may not have shared the same feelings as he did. 

You woke up with a groan. Your head was pounding. You saw through your bleary eyes that there were some painkillers left out with a glass of water right next to them on your nightstand. You sat up as quickly as you could and grabbed the things off the nightstand. You downed some of the water before taking the aspirin and then drinking the rest of the water. 

You put the glass back on the nightstand before crawling back under the covers, wanting to let the ache in your head subside slightly before getting ready for the day. But fate was not on your side because pounding came from your door, making pain shoot through your head, and Dean waltzed into your room with a bag of food and a wide smirk on his face. 

“Rise and shine, kid!” He said enthusiastically. 

You shot up from your spot on the bed and glared at him. “I hate you. And stop calling me kid.” 

“Well, that’s not what you said last night.” Dean smirked knowingly. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach; what the hell did you say last night? “What do you mean?” 

Dean placed the food on the table before leaning on its edge. “Do you not remember what you said last night?” 

You shook your head. “Nope. Last thing I remember was you leading me out of the bar.” 

Dean's smirk faltered. He wasn’t expecting that. “You don’t remember anything at all after that?” 

“No. Why did I say anything important?” 

Dean cleared his throat, trying to seem nonchalant and hide what he was actually feeling. He shook his head. 

“Uh, no. But I got you some grub, we’re gonna head out in 30 so be ready then.” He said stiffly before leaving the room. Not looking at you once before the door closed with a click. 

You stared at the door, confused. That was probably the most awkward Dean had ever been around you. But you shook it off and decided to pack up and eat the breakfast Dean got you. 

You’d figure out what you said to Dean later. 

[maximwtf]

as a junho lover i am BEGGING you to please release the fic you had 😭😭😭😭

Hwang Jun-Ho x detective! Reader

Words: 3970

google docs pages: 6

Warnings: Platonic relationship mostly, but squint and it’s not. Squid Game season 1 spoilers, violence, guns, choking, character death but not major. 

Opening: You and Jun-ho are colleagues and your shift tonight would only consist of being on patrol. This leads to a lot of talking as per usual, before you spot something suspicious.

AN// G/N reader. A lot of you wanted me to post this ancient piece of media back up, so your wish is my command. This was actually fun for me to read as well. This was last posted in 2021 and soon after deleted, no memory of why I did that :”D. But I hope yall will still enjoy this s1 inspired fic ! And before anyone asks, I won't write a pt 2 for this, since I don't remember where I was taking this story initially;(

“I know you miss him.”

You were walking behind Jun-ho towards his car. Tonight's shift would be just you and him on patrol. There was nothing surprising with that, since he was your partner and you had gotten to know him pretty well over the years. But the problem was that you hadn’t slept well last night, and you had forgotten to bring your lunch while in a hurry this morning. So this meant that you'd either have to be without food the whole night or beg for Jun-ho to stop for a moment before the stores closed.

You watched how Jun-ho unlocked the doors of the car. The front lights lit up for a second, Indicating the doors had opened. He stepped into the driver's seat and sat down. You soon followed and sat down on the seat next to him. Nothing out of the ordinary, another normal shift. 

The car was almost fully white, with two stripes going on both of the sides. The smaller stripe was yellow and on top of that was a larger stripe in blue. Under the stripes was text that said ‘Police’. On the roof of the car, there were the usual police red and blue lights but also a bigger light for searching in the dark. The seats were fully black, like most of the car was on the inside.

Jun-ho started the car, and slowly drove away from the police office. The sun had gone down a little bit ago, and slowly but surely the street lights had turned on. It had rained earlier that day, so the streets were a little wet still. The car had no lights on inside, only the lights on the control board were illuminating a soft light against whatever it managed to touch. The street lamps passing by allowing some more light to come in every once in a while. This was exactly what you were used to, since the two of you had been on night patrol a lot recently.

You sat in silence as Jun-ho drove through the familiar streets. Watching the yellowish lights as they passed you, one by one. Your gaze wandered off to Jun-ho. You couldn’t tell how he was feeling, since he was only looking at the road with no defined expression on his face. He had told you on your last shift that he hadn’t seen his brother in a while, but you weren’t sure if he had been found already or not. Not sure if it was appropriate to ask about it again, seeing as it might have been a sensitive topic. But if Jun-ho was feeling out of it, you weren’t sure if he should be working a night shift.

“Hey, could we stop by a store? I forgot my ‘lunch’, and I don't want to pull an all-nighter without anything to eat.” You requested with a hint of embarrassment in your voice. But it was either this or having to suffer through the night with no food. Either way, this was maybe the best way to start a conversation, to see how  your partner was doing. Jun-ho turned his gaze at you for a little bit before he replied. “Sure, just make it quick.” He said with a nod. 

Soon the car pulled up near a store and you left to grab something to eat. Knowing that you didn't have a lot of time, you just took the nearest thing that happened to be some sort of a salad. You grabbed the nearest energy drink just to be sure the night would pass smoothly, and went to pay. As you were walking back to the car, you saw Jun-ho writing something on his phone. Not thinking much of it, and seating yourself back down next to him. “Sorry for this. I’ll try to wake up earlier next time.” You apologized, while placing the food on the back seat. “It’s okay. You didn’t waste much time.” He hummed as a reply, and started the car again. The small walkie talkie that he had connected to his belt was making noise. The other officers that were on the same shift seemed to be actively talking right now. This didn’t worry you yet, since they would have contacted you two if something was going on nearby.

After a while of going around the part of the town you were supposed to patro, you reached back to get the energy drink. Staying up late last night had started to turn against you, starting to feel awfully worn out by now. Your eyes were looking at the almost empty streets, as you lifted the can up to your lips. 

Your gaze detected movement on the road, and soon seeing a dog crossing the street. Jun-ho didn’t seem to be bothered by it, continuing on. Panicking for a moment when the realisation hit you that he must have not seen the damn thing. You quickly put the can on the cup holder. “Stop, there’s a dog!” You exclaimed to Jun-ho. His eyes widened and he pressed down the brakes. The car stopped just in time, and the dog crossed the road quickly, with its tail in between its legs. Your body almost hit the dashboard, but thankfully your seat belt held you in place. You were both staring at the road with widened eyes. All you could hear was heavy breathing that was coming from the both of you. 

You slowly leaned back and rested your body on the seat. “Pull the car on the side of the road.” You demanded quietly, voice firm. Jun-ho did as you requested, and parked the car on the side. “How did you not see the dog?” You asked in a much calmer voice, body seemingly still in some form of shock. You didn’t want to be mean to him, since it could have just been a mistake on his part. “I was in my thoughts. I’m sorry for putting you in danger.” Jun-ho sighed, with his gaze avoiding you. “Now, you look at me and tell me what is going on. You seem totally out of it?” You huffed and tilted your head in confusion. It took him a while, but he turned to look at you again. “And now the second part. Are you doing okay?” You asked the question in a different way so he couldn’t avoid the topic. “I’m doing just fine. I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I promise.” Jun-ho tried to convince you.

He turned away to start the car again, but you had other plans. “Have they found your brother yet?” You asked with a more monotone voice. Trying to dig a little deeper this time. Straight after saying this, Jun-ho stopped completely for a brief moment. “He’s…still missing.” The man admitted quietly while looking at the windshield. He leaned back on the seat like you had done and closed his eyes. You furrowed your brows in worry. Before you were able to reply, he continued. “I have reported him as missing already, but they can’t seem to find him. I have some evidence of..something but nothing that would actually help.” He pressed his palms against the steering wheel firmly, eyes opening again.

You looked at him with a freshly formed frown on your face. “What's the evidence you’ve found so far?” You asked, interested in the topic because you wanted to help him. “A card with a circle, triangle and a square on it. My brother had one in his room and I recently saw another man have a similar card. They’re related but I don’t know how.” Jun-ho replied, and turned his gaze back to you with sorrow behind his eyes. “Well, have you talked to the man yet? Maybe he knows what’s going on?” You tilted your head. “I tried to, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to tell me anything..” The man sighed again, but this time with more frustration. “I know you miss him, but you can’t give up. Did you see what was written on the card?” You patted his shoulder, an attempt to wipe the saddened look off of his face. “There was only a number on the back, nothing more.” He explained, not much to go off of. “We need a little more evidence to really start looking into this, but I can try to help you. I’m sure we can find him.”  You tried to smile a little and offered a hug to him. Jun-ho looked at you for a moment and accepted the offer.

After you had pulled back from the hug, the walkie talkie started to make noise again. Jun-ho answered it quickly. The person talking to Jun-ho told him to switch cars to a civil one, because they had spotted something going on near you two. Jun-ho ended the call, and started the car again. “Seems like we’ve got a case on our hands.” He hummed, and pulled the car back on the road. Like nothing had happened.

At this hour it was fully dark. Only the street lights, signs and the lights from the car broke veil the darkness. There were only a few people walking on the streets, most likely coming from a bar. 

Before you knew it, you had arrived all the way back to the police office. You could barely see the whole building in the dark, the city having not invested a whole lot on the building. Jun-ho took the keys from the car and stepped out. You took your items and followed him, hurrying to the side of the car he was standing by. He led you to a fully black car, around the corner from the office. “Let’s be quick.” He stated quietly and opened the door to the passenger seat. You smiled at him kindly, and stepped in. He soon sat down on the driver's side and pulled the car onto the road. “Where are we going?” You asked while putting on your seat belt. “Here.” Jun-ho said as he was typing the location on the navigator. You didn’t recognize the street’s name, but you decided to not ask where it was located. You’d see soon enough. “Did they tell you what was going on there?” You asked for more information, hoping that Jun-ho didn’t mind. “Someone who we have been looking for has been reported to be in that area. We were called to check if he’s still there.” Jun-ho quickly explained while driving faster. You two didn’t have time to lose, since the man could get away any moment. 

The navigator kept giving directions, and Jun-ho was following them. You seemed to be getting closer by the second. But suddenly Jun-ho slowed down the whole car. “What are you doing?” You questioned your partner. But what you didn’t know was that he had seen something far more important to him than the person you two had been called to look for. “That’s him. That’s the man that had the same card as my brother.” Jun-ho said quietly before he started to back up the car. He backed in the shadows and turned off the lights from the car. “I might get fired for this, but I'll make sure that you’ll be fine.” The man murmured, as his eyes were following Gi-hun get picked up by a big van. “Wait- Are you trying to tell me that you’ll disobey the request to find the man the office has been looking for just to follow him? What if we end up in danger? There’s no backup.” Your heart beat got faster the more you thought about this. This didn’t seem like the worst case scenario was going to be fired, but something way worse. “This might be my only chance to get to know where my brother is. I’m not letting this go.” He replied with confidence in his voice.

As much as you appreciated and trusted this man, you weren’t sure if you should tell him no. And even if you did, would he even listen at this point. Before you had time to say anything against his plan, the van started to drive away. Jun-ho started to slowly shadow it. He had turned off all the lights from the car, and he wasn’t using the headlights either. You had never been in a situation like this, but there was no getting out of this now.

“Do you have a phone?” Jun-ho asked with a more serious tone. “Y-yes, why?” You asked but still showed him your phone. It was almost fully charged, only a few percents missing. “Good. Just in case we get separated.” He nodded and kept following the van. “So are you saying we might? We’re not getting out of this car are we?” You asked in a panicked voice. “You don’t have to. But I want to know what’s going on. They’re clearly going somewhere and my brother has to be somewhere with them.” Jun-ho spoke, attention clearly keen on the van. 

Soon the van stopped. The navigator showed that you were close to a port. Suddenly you were able to see multiple of the same kind of van going the same way. They all turned and started to drive towards a cargo ship. There was a lot of space for all the vans and some people with red clothing showing where the vans should be parked. Seemingly a well orchestrated operation, whatever this was.

Jun-ho stopped the car and parked it so that it wouldn’t be too easy to see. “Now. You stay here, and I’ll call you in a little bit once I have found out what's going on here.” Jun-ho started to undo his seat belt and get out. “Wait- We don’t even know who these people are, and we don’t have any backup. What if they come and ask what I’m doing here?” You started to get restless. “Just..” Jun-ho had to think about this for a moment. “Tell them you’re waiting for your boyfriend.” He finally said and closed the door. Your eyes widened for a moment but before you could form any words, he was gone. 

There were more lights near the port, so it was easy to see all the grey vans enter the ship. There were huge yellow towers built to hover on top of the bridge that led to the ship that had multiple bright lights showing the way to the drivers of the vans. There didn’t seem to be anyone else but more of the people with the red suits. The situation unfolding before your eyes, seemingly sketchier by the minute.

It was hard to see, but you could make out where Jun-ho was standing. He took out his phone and started to type something. You started to look even more worried. Now wasn’t the best time to start looking at your phone. The worry caused your hand to start wandering closer to the door handle. Your eyes were still focused on him, and you saw when he switched the phone to a gun. Only hoping it was loaded full, but it wasn’t safe anyway to go on a mission like this with only one gun anyway.

As your hand started to open the door, Jun-ho ran from the place he was hiding in. From what you could see he had hidden behind one of the vans. “Damn it..” You cussed under your breath and got out of the car. After making sure that there was no one around, you ran towards another van, and copied what he did. You got on your back and quickly got under the van. Quickly finding something to hold on to and lift your body up from the ground.

Soon after doing this the vans started to all move in the cargo ship. There was some talking  you could hear, and after that the ship left the port. You had no idea where the two of you were going, but you had to follow your partner. You would never forgive yourself if he never came back from this mission that no one even had an idea you two were on. Knowing no one would believe you if you told them Jun-ho had disappeared just like his brother.

The vans you had gotten under were neatly parked next to each other, near the back of the ship. You saw him shift and then get up, still staying behind the van. You took a quiet deep breath and followed his lead. “Hey.” You whispered quietly, so that no one would hear you. With a quick movement he was pointing his gun at you, before he realised who it was. “What are you doing?! I told you to stay in the car?” He whispered back with tension in his voice. “And I’d go to the office alone, to explain to the boss where you had disappeared? As if they’d believe me.” You murmured back. He then quickly switched to your side. “Do you have your gun?” He whispered close to your ear. You shivered slightly at this, placing your hand over the firearm. “I do, it’s full,”  you whispered back. He only nodded at you and went to peek over the edge of the van. While he was doing that someone started to talk through a microphone. “Check the players,” echoed through the ship. With this the side doors of the vans opened by themselves. 

“Get in.” Jun-ho whispered quickly before he stepped in one of the vans. Without another thought you stepped in the van that Jun-ho had been under, ready to follow his lead. Knowing by now how sensitive this situation was. One wrong move, and you’d truly see what these men dressed in red were truly up to.

Your eyes scanned the people sitting in the van. You couldn’t see too well, no lights on in the vans. But no matter how well you looked, you couldn’t see anyone that even slightly looked like Jun-ho’s brother. Before you knew it, you heard the drivers of the cars step out. Your eyes widened. The only thing you could think of was to pretend to be one of the people in the van. 

You sat down on one of the seats at the back, and pretended to sleep. You were able to open one of your eyes slightly, trying to stay up to date on what was happening. You saw a masked person with a full red suit and a black mask with a white circle on it. They were scanning the other people in the van by checking something from behind their ears. You had no idea what Jun-ho was going to do, but as the suited person started to come closer to you. Knowing you didn’t have whatever the others had gotten placed behind their ears, you prepared to attack the suited man. 

 They tested one of your ears and then turned your head to test your other ear. Not being able to find the chip they were looking for. You opened your eyes and quickly attacked them. You hit the mask so that the person fell backwards, buying yourself some time. While they were trying to get up, you moved behind them. The person tried to stab you with a black knife, but you dodged it. You took a hold of their wrist and repeatedly hit it against the seats of the van, until they let go of the knife.  With that you hit their head with your knee and began to choke them. Trying to make as little noise as possible as to not alert any of their companions.

The van moved a little as the person struggled until they started to go limp. You let go of the pink suited person, and took a deep breath. Your heart beat was going crazy at this point, and your hands were shaking. Not once during your time as a detective had you had to fight like this for your life. The idea of you two being alone on this mission, and not even knowing if Jun-ho was alive scared you. 

You knew that you didn’t have a lot of time, so you began to strip the pink suit off the person. It was better to hide in plain sight, especially if they were all dressed the same. You took off the mask as well and dressed up. You had no clue what the job of this person was, other than checking the players and driving the van, but maybe you’d be able to just follow the others. After getting the suit on, you took your tag that showed who you were off, and placed it in the pocket of the person that was now wearing your clothes. 

After that you lifted up the body of the person, attempting to drag them outside the van. Not being used to doing something like this made it hard to lift up a whole body alone. While struggling you wobbled to the edge of the ship, and dropped the body in water. After this you turned around to see where you were supposed to go, you saw another pink suited person. They heard you and turned around. You froze up, not really having a plan to go off of. You felt a tap on your shoulder. “I saw what you did.” A man’s voice said. You could tell it was Jun-ho’s, since it was more muffled due to the mask. But you took the gamble. “You did the same,” You mumbled back. The other masked person made no move to harm you, confirming you’d been correct.

“Hey, you two!” You both turned to look at who was talking to you. There was a person in a pink suit, but this one had a triangle on the mask and a gun. Behind them there was another pink suited person. Only, they had a square on their mask and no gun in hand. You were too stressed out to say anything, and you assumed Jun-ho could sense this since he started to talk. “This is...They were feeling sea sick.” Jun-ho said to the triangle. They didn’t reply, but the square stepped forward, pointing their gun down. 

Their behaviour made you wonder if the symbols on their masks had something to do with their ranking system. Attempting to figure it out while Jun-ho was conversing with them. Square, then triangle, and that left the circle. And if it was the last one it meant that it was the lowest position. “Did you forget the rules?” A man’s voice said from behind the square mask. “You do not speak without your supervisor’s approval.” They continued. You were trying to make your breathing as calm as possible, so that the square wouldn’t notice anything. “Go wait in the cabin,” the square ordered. He gave you and Jun-ho a stare before walking away, taking the triangle with him. 

After they had left you put your hand on your chest to take a breather. You had no idea what you had gotten yourself into, and you couldn’t even blame Jun-ho. You had killed a random man a minute ago and after that you were pointed a gun at, and it was most likely only going to get worse from here.

“Are you doing alright?” Jun-ho’s voice asked, as he kneeled down a little, and pulled your upper body back up by your shoulder. “We have to get to these ‘cabins’, just follow me. Please?” Jun-ho kept talking to you. Giving you a moment to recollect yourself after the encounter. “I’ll recover, I just need to rest for a moment…” You exhaled while looking at your shaky hands. With that you nodded and Jun-ho started to walk up the stairs, where the other circles had gone as well.

[xxrougefangxx]

Jason Todd x Reader fic recs

This is originally made for @marinas-trench , but anybody can use this. Will update as I find more

Added little notes in pink to specify some stuff, includes BOTH platonic and romantic works.

Anybody who does use these recs please try to reblog works- that's the Tumblr algorithm likes don't do anything- to help the authors out <3 (no pressure tho)

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Authors because I can't pick a favorite work:

DC Masterlist by @sanguineterrain - The works speak for themselves.

@jasmines-library - Includes lots of platonic batfamily x reader and the hurt/comfort is just *chefs kiss*

@morverenmaybewrites Ao3 link- Her works are just godsend. She portrays Jason in such a beautiful way and acknowledges his trauma as well.

@minnieearsposts Ao3 Link - Jason works are 10/10, but she also has many other fics that connect with each other. Definitely recommend

@xxgoblin-dumplingxx - All of the au's are just magnificent! There's no master list but you can check the works out using tags.

Batfam masterlist by @book-place - All works are platonic

@writersfailure - Honestly a gold mine, check out their dc master list and other fics as well!

@wh1sp3rr - The jackpot at the end of the rainbow. That's all I'm going to say

@dccomicsimagines - Amazing pieces of work that I can't believe I didn't find before.

Series :

love is not designed for the cynical by @thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels - The thoughts and emotions are portrayed SO BEAUTIFULLY!!! And while Jason is just spectacular, I also recommend the other series as well.

What we want by @sophiethewitch1 - It's with all the batboys

Crimson Red by @ravenna-reid - Has multiple parts all located on the master list.

Guard Dog by @mostly-imagines

Your secrets are ours, kid by@jaythes1mp - Platonic and yandere

again &. again masterlist by @acid-ixx - Platonic and yandere

Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie by @urmoonlightbebe - I can't believe I almost forgot to add this here

Batfam x neglected reader by @dickgraysonass - Platonic

Gilded Cage by @heavysighing-dreamyeyes

Headcannons/Drabbles:

Girl!DadJason by @in-som-niyah

Reaction to you letting go of their hand by @gay-dorito-dust - Its paired up with both Dick and Damian

Existentional Crisis by @millyhelp

College student!Jason by @orchidsangel

BabyDaddy! Jason fic idea by @kuromitos

Unnamed by @aldryrththerainbowheart

Saturdays by @zer0wzs

Unnamed by @misdeliria

Artist!Reader by @charliedakotariley - This is so wholesome I love it

Fics:

JasonTodd x Fem!Reader by @spidernuggets - reader gets stuck in a time loop to save Jason

sickly sweet romance of u & jay by @wh1sp3rr

Unnamed by @millyhelp

tired and touchstarved!Jason by @indulgentdaydream

A Spoonful of Honey by @stararch4ngelqueen

Golden by @orionremastered

Reader who likes Superman more than Batman by @spidernuggets

Reader who prefers Superman more than batman (different fic than above) by @gay-dorito-dust

Rescuer by @kimberly-spirits13

graceless by @udiudijaye - platonic batfam x batsis but love the fic and had to recommend

Take care by @batsycline69

Forensic Psychologist Reader by @ravenna-reid

What are you doing here? by @a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all

What a night by @batboysandgirls

call me your fool by @jasonsmirrorball

18+ Works MDNI

Til Death Do We Part Brings Us Together by @luvf4ngz - I love the au idea!

Jason distracting you from studying by @millyhelp

Slumber Party by @dollwritesarchive - Includes Dick

Thoughts on Jason being rough by @midnightorchids

jason 'don't run from this dick' todd by @killakalx

BabyDaddy!Jason by @hanasnx

Say Sorry by @dancewithdeath11

Jason fucking reader in the Batmobile by @martiniluvr

Series 18+

guns and roses masterlist by @jayswhorex

[parkersbliss]

if you and the COD men had Instagram

pairing: task force 141 x gender neutral reader (platonic), ft. keegan, alex, konig and alejandro

warnings: totally inaccurate brain rot, some of these people would not have instagram or post them like this LOL, like def OOC but it was funny to me? obvi they don't actually know each other canonically

a/n: I canon ghost would actually vaguely appear in the back of their insta posts with no tag and people just think the grim reaper is coming after them :)

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

Liked by valval, kganrusset, and 226 others

soapify gang and @/lasvargas !!! view all 33 comments

(Y/U/N) ZOO WEE MAMA SOAP UR BICEPSSS 🤤 → soapify glad someone noticed → gatzby one bite? 🥺 → soapify boy.

j.price my men → (Y/U/N) no, MY men :)

gatzby ghost in jeans really completes the vibes → (Y/U/N) imagine ghost is actually smiling behind the mask → user141 I'm not.

lasvargas this is too cold, showing the opps fr → (Y/U/N) @/iphilgraves 😘 → gatzby BITCH U HAVE HIS INSTA?? → soapify do NOT bring his energy on my page. → j.price (Y/N). office. now. → (Y/U/N) awww 🙁 → user141 this doesn't surprise me

Liked by iphilgraves, sandroach and 463 others

gatzby FOAP!! view all 122 comments

user141 Calling an airstrike on you right now. → gatzby NO PLEASE

soapify GHOAP → user141 Die.

(Y/U/N) bros got an overbite fr → user141 I will literally knock out your teeth.

katelasss Never seen this angle of him → user141 And you never will again.

iphilgraves Not so tough with the jaw hanging out, now? → lasvargas gtfo before I bomb you → iphilgraves Thought we were teaming up to mutually bully him → gatzby I BLOCKED U??? → iphilgraves Whoops

j.price Did you take this before we got ambushed? → (Y/U/N) it was funny → j.price Kids 🤦‍♂️

Liked by walkingL, imrudyyyy and 658 others

(Y/U/N) did somebody say serve? view all 99 comments

user141 Serve your country. → (Y/U/N) I am????

soapify serve me a sandwich → (Y/U/N) bitch.

gatzby serve me that ASS → (Y/U/N) say less king

j.price Serve some revenge. → (Y/U/N) sir yes sir

lasvargas we all know this diva

katelasss Can you serve a response to your emails? → (Y/U/N) oops, yes ma'am

alexkellar scrolling feels like a divorce → (Y/U/N) it is

vladmak What core is this? → (Y/U/N) beat ur ass core.

Liked by konig, alexkellar and 833 others

(Y/U/N) he wanted to say hi (we’re stranded at sea) @/kganrusset view all 129 comments

kganrusset YOU wanted to take the photo 🫵 → (Y/U/N) details, details → kganrusset whatever 😒 lmk when you get tired of handing out my number to other bitches → soapify am I included in bitches? → (Y/U/N) are u fucking serious. → gatzby yeah. → kganrusset you can reach me at 348-

j.price How did you end up with Keegan out there? → (Y/U/N) girls trip! → kganrusset Please take them back.

user141 Ghosts crossover before gta6? → (Y/U/N) ghost joining the ghosts when?

soapify the mcu (military commander universe) is expanding → kilokarim ULF crossover again? → iphilgraves shadow company crossover? → (Y/U/N) when? → gatzby (Y/N) STOP. → lasvargas mexican special forces crossover? → konig KorTac crossover? → vladmak Konni crossover? → katelasss No.

j.price Why don't you have half of those people blocked? → (Y/U/N) my bad, cap → user141 They're not blocking them. → (Y/U/N) I like the drama 🤷‍♀️

—

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE. 

taglist: @trxpslxt @looking1016 @the-kakawshi-bird @Bitchyzombietaco @lilwinchester67

[thedarkestrivernymph]

A Heart Of Gold

Platonic! Y! Royal Child x Cruel/Uncaring! Royal! Mother! Reader x Y! Mistress! of cheating husband x Y! Brother in Law

word count: 11,5k (probably one of the lengthiest fics I have ever written haha)

warnings: mention of abuse (both verbal and physical), neglect, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murderous thoughts, morally gray! reader, paranoia, harassment, unconsenual acts, kissing, mentions of death(s), killing, breakdowns/meltdowns, generational trauma, unhealthy mother/child dynamics, obsessive behaviour, classism, misogynistic views, homophobia, not completely accurate historical depictions!

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Author's note: Boy this got lengthy, still I hope you enjoy it! :) So let's dive into it, shall we?

“A heart of glass shatters, but a heart of gold melts into something newer and sturdier. Into something dangerous and menacing. It molds to a new life of cruelty, while the heart of glass is swept away, its pieces discarded and forgotten. I don't want to travel with the wind, fleet in one blink, I want to be reborn, experience freedom for the first time in my life. I want to have a heart of gold.”

Do you know the feeling of an itch that no matter how much you scratch, how incessant you drag your nails over that patch of skin, you can just never get rid of? That was motherhood, but worse.

For you, at least.

The life of a commoner was jarring, a constant battle for life, that most, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate, would never succeed in defeating. Most died young, early thirties or fourties, with nasty diseases of all kinds being the reason—and yet they always seemed so lively compared to nobility. The nobility with all of their masquerades and dramatics. They never were allowed to let the intricately crafted mask crack, even for a second, if they valued their life that is.

Perhaps that's why you had envied those mindless pigs most of your life—working away until their bones cracked and fell into themselves. That mindless devotion and that foul language they could use whenever they pleased, the sheer stupidity in believing in something higher and more valuable than the crown, was so vastly different to your own complex persona. Your life was quiet, filled with studying, tea-parties that never reached deeper than surface level of conversation and endless long nights where you would raise your gaze to the heavens above and just stare at the stars, as if the answers you desperately longed for were written in them.

You were like a man deprived of water, thirsting for something to quench your endless need for freedom. Any kind you could get your hands on, you clutched on—wether it was the question of if you maids were to dress you in blue or white or rather in violet and yellow, or something simple if you wanted to wander around in the gardens that day; you loved all these small luxuries. Even the pearls of your mother's, now hanging from your neck like heavy cobblestones on a string, felt nothing compared to the little escapades you were allowed. And the needle you were embroidering with in this old moaning manor pricking you gave you some semblance of joy, that at least in some shape or form there was something under your control.

Until even that had lost its taste—like your once most favoured dish that had reminded you of childhood in your youth, the fields, the servant's children that you would play with after repetitive lessons and so much more, one day none could comfort you anymore. As many others, you grew out of your juvenile thinking much too soon and in a way that was far too shattering of an experience.

Sweet seventeen and the marriage with the crown prince was held. You had known before, it was to be expected, you had anticipated the dreadful day when you would have to give up your freedom in exchange of legacy and reputation, yet actively knowing and actively being were two vastly different states one could experience. So as the princess you had been, you had bowed down to everyone in power; to your mother with her stern gaze and even harsher words, to your father with his cane as sharp as his gaze was, to the king of a different nation, you had only visited once in childhood who was nothing more than a distant memory at this point in time and lastly to your future husband, who would not reign, but still hold enough power to crush a small country with just his fist.

So you bore the stranger a child, one not out of love, but out of duty to the crown, to your family—to everyone who had invested in you as a powerful tool as the key to peace between two neighbouring kingdoms. “He’s pretty. His eyes are like mine,” were his first words upon seeing the crying infant still caked in blood with you drenched in your own sweat. The world had crumpled in that moment, only to rebuild itself a second time in your life as you remembered that nothing ever was out of love. Everything was done out of ego. At least concerning nobility and royalty. And you were royalty.

That’s when the curse had started—the deep loathing for something that didn’t deserve it.

“Mother!” you frowned, determined to keep your gaze on the embroidery in your hands.

“Mother!” another high-pitched cry and you swore a vein on your forehead was about to just pop open and deflate like a par of lungs you wanted to slice through with a scarpel.

You glanced at the door, counting the steps and sure enough it took the little demon thirty-two before bursting right in as always. “Mother! There you are— look, look mother! Misses has just taught me how to..” you tuned out after the second word, already feeling another headache bloom between your brows, subtly ushering your maid closer so that she could take care of the chaos. Ignoring the way the boy protested and cried as he was led out with the excuse that his dear mommy was tired and in need of rest.

That had been ten years ago—in fact you were just melodramatic and liked to revisit your past, thinking about how foolish you had been to ever belief love was more than a myth. Sighing you took another bite from your steak.

“Mother, have you heard? I won this year's tournament again.” the deep voice startled you.

“Oh, you have?” another bite and it would be over soon, another bite and you wouldn't have to talk any more than necessary.

“Yes mother, has father not informed you?” no, don't let your thoughts get bad, he didn't mean to mention his father.

“Mother, you and father haven't been talking much, have you now? How utterly disappointing. I had assumed that he at the very least would share my achievements with you, mother dear.” you were losing it again, because you could swear he was doing it on purpose, he was rubbing salt in your wound knowingly. No, no he wasn’t, you were just paranoid, instead why not focus on the flower motive on the egde of your plate or the rich red swirling in your cup or—

“Mother? You seem rather pale. Would you like me to call your maid?”

He isn’t doing it on purpose.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He didn't ask to be born, he was just here because he had to—as you were, as the worker ants and the pigs were, as the common folk were.

Just breathe.

“Mother—” no you couldn't just breathe.

Your fists slammed against the dinning table, causing silverwear to clink against porcelain and wine to spill. It dripped to the floor and with it your last nerve.

“Don’t you dare, Nicholas! You and I, as well as any other resident in the palace, are very much aware of your father's open infidelity—and to incessantly remind me of it, is just unacceptable! When will you grow out of your boyish theatrics and take life seriously? You should concern yourself more with your studies and yourself than my matters!” you were standing, you didn't even know when you had stood up, but now you were face to face with your son for the first time in the duration of the entire dinner—and you tasted bile. Luscious chestnut coloured hair, forest green eyes and fair skin with an oval face; he was the copy of his father, quite literally and everything in you felt deeply disturbed by it. Or perhaps it was because of the way he would stare at you, even as a baby, with this sort of hunger, this all-consuming need to take and take, without giving back, like a parasite in your guts, feeding off whatever you consumed.

“Mother, you wound me." he had the audacity to jest, smiling that bone-chilling smile. Sometimes you wondered if that really was your son and not just a demon that had slipped into his skin at birth. “I am your son, mother. I worry for you. You’ve had such a weak constitution since my childhood, I cannot help myself.” devil. You shuddered.

Beyond yourself and all responsibilities that came with being bound to the crown, you stormed off. Your maids rushed behind you but you swat them away, yelling at them to leave you be, that you just needed fresh air and throwing what other excuses you managed to come up with at them. And they were quick to listen—even though with great reluctance scattering like baby ducklings would, while the guards stationed in front of the dinning hall were watching you silently. Everyone was, constantly.

You huffed, hands gripping your gown like the talons of a bird clung to a mouse and you ran—perhaps if your mother could see you now, she would claw her way out of her grave to berate and scold you like the child you were behaving as, but you couldn’t stop your legs from moving forward, even as your feet started to ache and you felt something warm run down your shoe.

“Your Majesty?” you halted.

“What is the matter? You seem upset?” Charles. Your gaze softened, something that happened far too little. Soft brown curls with a matching chocolate brown gaze all dressed up in a relaxing blue. He was like a gift wrapped in a blue bow.

“I was just walking by. All council members were called.” he was blunt and clipped as always—comfortingly so, gazing at you in thinly veiled concern.

Before you could spout whatever irresponsible nonesense that your mind could conjure up, he had clasped a hand around your wrist, quick to check for curious eyes that would misinterpernt the rather narrow distance between you two, before pulling you both aside into an empty chamber nearby—the room not much bigger than a closet, obviously something forgotten.

You opened your mouth ready to speak but he beat you to it.

“Is it your husband again? He’s a fool. To think he can feel free of guilt when his lovely wife has to suffer because of his childishness.” you felt his hand cup your cheek and you melted, the darkness and slight chill of the room suddenly secondary, as warmth from your very insides bloomed.

“I don't know anymore, Charles,” you sighed, head against his chest. You found a steady rhythm there, something unlike your life.

“He brought her here. Here! Into the castle. He wants to make her his second queen, his second queen! That's unheard of but he's so stubborn and he won't listen. Not to me, not to his advisors—he just doesn’t listen.” there was some relief in sharing your pain, some relief that at least someone would listen to what you felt and thought.

“It's a scandal.” he admitted in a whisper, now rubbing your back in gentle circles. “To have a mistress for all the world to see and to want to elavate her status to yours. He’s crazy. You deserve better, much better.” he consoled you and reassured you, making you feel more at ease with your teenage-like outburst. You ought to pull yourself togehter, (y/n). Be quiet and strong. Don’t cause a fuss, men don’t like that. Yeah, mother, you did everything right, but father still had three bastards he brought home.

Exhausted you groaned, embracing the very chest that Charles has been offering you since the first day at the palace. Sometimes you would wonder what would’ve been if you had married Charles instead of your husband, but you never thought too long or too hard about it, because to be tuthful the prospect that you could’ve lead a happier life depressed you.

Something wet rolled down your cheek.

You pulled away.

“Thank you, Charles. You’ve always been very understanding. But I should return to my chambers. It’s late. Where were you headed to again? You should make haste.” you were quick to dismiss as usual. It was unheard of that in-laws were so close with eachother, especially when the gown you were wearing once had been your husbands gift. It was like his cruel paw extended time and place to even shackle you in place here in the furthest corners of the palace, alone with the man that you had— in your younger years at least— occasionaly thought about at night, when your husband would be working or have his occasional trysts with some courtesan.

He was quiet for a second or two, letting you spiral furhter into the dark place that had a permenant residence inside of your mind, only to startle you with a squeeze to your shoulders. “Are you certain? You still appear unwell and I would feel like a terrible brother-in-law if I just—” you didn’t let him finish.

“No, no need. I am absoloutely capable of returning by myself. Just you go.” and with that escaped before you could cry your eyes out in front his brother, even when he was the only human in the family of festering little demons, you would rather not let him catch you off guard. He was the apple Eve was tempted with only to fail the test, but you were better than that, you were a noble, not just any you were a royal, you wouldn’t fall for fate’s cruel tricks.

You rushed through the halls, your heels clicking with each step, as the night only turned darker and your thoughts only more frenzied. Finally you reached your chambers, your skittish maids, breathing out in relief, rushing towards you to check in on you and your trembling state. You waved them off, barking again to be left alone, only this time they wouldn’t. Suspiciously so.

“Why won’t you let me enter? Speak.”

“My queen, we would never think about witholding you from returning to your own chambers, but there is an issue of sorts, you see..” the oldest of the bunch spoke up, the same age as your mother would be if she was still alive and well.

With slits for eyes you glowered, now more persistent in your demand, even if it was one of your most loyal of maids, you wouldn’t be leniet enough to let them off the hook so easily. “Speak.”

“My queen it is that—”

Oh.

Staring at you so incredibly smugly, as if you couldn’t wipe the floor with her visage if you wanted to, was the twenty something mistress of your husband, of the the king, Maria.

How ironic of a name.

“Oh? If that isn’t the first queen. How delighted I am, to meet the woman the king adores as much as he adores me. And how beautiful of a woman you are! So graceful, even at your age, with a child that’s nearly old enough to build his own family! You must be proud! Certainly, you’re so lovely.” you felt your eye twitch. She was utterly shameless standing in the doorway to your chambers while dressed in nothing but a chiffony nightgown and black hair like the streaks of tint on paper. How utterly depraved and sick.

As she smiled too, you probably turned red in the face.

“I am so happy to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you—all he does is talk about you. I am glad you’re my opponent I can vie for the king’s affection with. Anyone else would’ve been bland in comparison to you.” her fingers brushed away a strand of hair in your face and it probably took all of your self-restraint not to snap and bury your fingers in her scalp to pluck away some of that inky black. “I am truly grateful.” her blue eyes were worse, piercing and clear like the streams of fresh waters—truly a horrible colour to be gifted to such snake, undeserving of such beauty.

“Why are you here? This isn’t the king’s bedroom, girl.” you were cold, slapping away her hand and trying to undermine her presence with the fact that you were older and more experienced, yet she just giggled. Was it wrong that she reminded you of your son? The both of them certainly were the same level of vile, making you feel uncomfortably unauthorative in their presence.

“Oh it isn’t? My mistake, your Majesty. But you can just call me Maria, no need to be so distant. Or you could get used to calling me Queen Maria. Pardon—is it a sensitive topic? You’re glaring at me so intensely, I am uncertain if I should fear for my life.” on second thought maybe being thrown into prison for bashing in the king’s mistress’ head against a wall didn’t sound so appaling. No, pull yourself together.

“I ask of you to move. These are my chambers. So move, now.” one more minute of this and you were sure you would end up growling like an animal, but thankfully she finally took the hint and brushed past you but not without a flying kiss your way. “See you soon, your majesty.”

At the end your maids held you back from tearing her apart like a rabid dog the moment she turned to walk away. Thankfully, they were also able to pull you into your chambers before fleeting before your outburst. Vases were flying—clothes ripped apart and you burned the single strands of black you found, above your lamp’s little flame. All while you stared up at the night sky, like you used to, asking the heavens why they had cursed you. Why a god couldn’t have let you be born as an empty-headed piglet, why you had to be able to understand language, why you just couldn’t rip anyone’s head off that treaded too close to you.

At the end of your breakdown you found your mother’s pearls scattered on the checkered tiles like the stars that mocked you from above. You pursued your lips into a smile. It was somewhat symbolic.

Mother was dead. Father too.

But you weren’t, not yet at least. So why waste it with stupid things such as deceny? You had desired for more than superficial workship of your body—you wanted real love, something to take your mind off your duties. And if the king was allowed such a thing, then you would just aquire one too.

Charles had always been friendly to you. Why not pay the favour back? After all, he was such a good brother-in-law.

The imaginary gods truly scorned you, didn't they? Because why else would you be dining with your husband, his mistress and your son. Were you truly nothing but the butt of the joke? Your presence meant nothing—all the years of hard-work, serving the crown and greater good, for what?

For Maria to wink at you and mock you in broad daylight, with even your son doing nothing but quietly watch. Father like son. How true that statement was.

Were you disappointed though? No, you didn't expect much of demons festering off others.

The eggs were cooked into gooey soft richness, just as you liked it, giving you some semblance of comfort. Today you were dressed in rich velvet purple; truly a gown for special occasions and this particular day probably was the most special out of all. It was the day you had anticipated all these upcoming weeks with nothing but an ache deep in your chest whenever you thought of it.

Today he would announce when the law would be finalized—and with its finalization the death of your dignity.

Maria would officially be the king’s second queen, not consort, not mistress—not even the occasional courtesan he liked to fuck, no, she would be of your status, when she was nothing but a count’s daughter. It was laughable really, you stabbed at the beacon on your plate as if it had committed a crime against you.

From childhood until your marriage to him, you as a royal princess had been kept endlessly busy with tutoring of all kinds; writing and reading first and foremost then state affairs, french, latin, philosophy, politics, how to properly sit and talk, embroidery and so much more that at eight you had started wishing to be born a pig, kept fed until slaughter.

“As you all know,” all heads drifted in his direction, sitting proud at the head of the mahogany table, “The law will be legalized by the end of the month and to celebrate this joyous occasion. I ask my first wife, to prepare a banquet for my love.” he probably didn't even see you as a human, only as a political ally.

“Of course, your Majesty. I would love to.” nevertheless you replied as if you had a choice in the matter anyways, flinching as soft hands snaked up your arms. “You will? That's wonderful news! I cannot share just how honoured I am that you will be planning this! Anything you make must be nothing short of astounding beauty!” was she trying to gain even more of the king’s favour? It certainly seemed to work on your lovesick husband, who only leaned back in his seat, the cushions were red—a colour worthy of a king and let his lips curl up into a tender smile, with moss greens that seemed to scarily soften up.

Had your husband ever been capable of such a look?

You couldn't remember him ever staring at you so lovingly. It was chilling to say the least. Perhaps even repulsing.

You were quick to look down at your plate again—wishing for nothing more but to peel her fingers off of you, hopefully with so much force that one of her fingers would clean-cut break into two. It wasn't a question of love nor jealousy after all; but a matter of respect, and she was downright waddling her tail in front of you in victory. As if she deserved your just title as much, if not more than you. Slut.

“Mother,” this time it was the voice of your son calling out to you, “it seems you will be occupied for the time being with the courtesan's banquet,” he sighed, “and I here I was anticipating to spend some time with you after my exams.”

Had he just—

Silence.

Even the servants could do nothing but stare at the prince wearing such a proud expression, as if what he did was the right course of action. As if he just didn't insult his father's current obsession with the occupation she had before he brought her into the castle.

Everyone knew not to mention it, not even in the passing. Just hinting at it could cost you lots yet here was the crown prince doing what he knew not to do.

Oddly enough, while electricity zapped through the air, something destructive brewing beneath the king’s icy cold gaze—you could nothing but gape in fascination at your spawn. Were you imagining it, or was he protesting against his father? If you didn't know it sny better, you would've thought he did it to defend your honour. But that was laughable.

It seemed the young prince had grown up, when you had no clue, but sometime ago probably, with the way he held his chin up high, no fear visible in his gaze all while holding his father's glare.

You would be lying if you said you weren't weirded out. Hopefully him acting out wouldn't put you in bigger trouble than you already were in. He could at least grant you such a favour.

“What—what did just leave your mouth?” the king practically spat, your husband rising a hand decked out with hefty golden rings.

“I said, father,” you internally groaned, this child was just determined to cause you misery, “Courtesan. Because that is exactly what she is. Isn't that right, Maria? Before father married you, you were nothing but a whore with your legs wide spread open to please—”

Thwack. The king loomed over his own son, like God, – if he existed – probably had over Lucifer to berate him one last time before he would've earned his fall from grace.

“Enough! One more word and I will forget myself entirely!” the threat rung through the entire dining hall, it rung so deep it seeped into your bones.

Nicholas’ cheek was left marked with imprints of fat rings that managed to slice through skin and leave one side of his face a swirl of red and slowly forming purple. He hadn't just hit his son, but he had done so, with such force that his head was moved out of your sight.

Yet he still talked; spat out words like they burned his tongue.

“What, father? Can't handle the truth—”

“Edwin! Oh dear!” Maria’s fingers only now left your arm. She was rushing to the man that was supposedly your husband, to stop him from actually killing the boy he had wanted so badly. Immediately she latched onto him, practically throwing herself at him, dotting on him, doing her best to calm his wrath and somehow it worked. While all you could do was watch in stunned silence.

Your cousin, what was her name again— ah, yes, Lilian— would’ve surely snorted out a laugh at the scene. She found everything dark and morbid to be fascinating, perhaps that's why she had married a duke that would occasionally beat her into a bloody pulp?

Getting sidetracked again, weren't you? Point is you could accept much, but this, this was crossing a thin line that needed to be kept up for the balance of all things holy to the crown. If a mistress managed to throw everything out of order, then you truly had failed all your marital duty as a partner and as a queen.

Perhaps mother had been right? But then again, father had never been the big romantic, you were sure the man had been incapable of falling in love—obviously different to the Edwin you thought you had known all those years. He seemed enamored and it was truly terrifying.

The meal ended shortly after with the King storming off and his mistress right with him. Now, you never enjoyed being affectionate with Nicholas, however even you had to admit that you should probably offer the boy some words of wisdom.

Even if you liked to think of him as a little gremlin with a copy of his father for a face, you knew he wasn't exactly the same as him. Sometimes, it was hard to admit, your son did manage to spark some motherly affection in you, as scary as it was. So sighing, you rounded the table and your gaze landed on the brunette boy.

“Come, let's get you cleaned up.” was the most affectionate mumbling you forced out from between your lips. Only to turn around almost immediately, not waiting for him to collect himself as you wandered out and away from the dining hall. There was a short burst of laughter—probably, you weren't sure, you hoped it wasn't crying. You hated seeing him cry. He was an ugly crier. Then you heard footsteps behind you and soon passing by a few of your family portraits, the irony not lost on you—your life in contrast to the perfectly crafted deception painted onto these canvases—you found yourself in your study.

“Sit.” your words were always clipped when you talked to him, weren't they? It was hard to remember.

Nevertheless you rummaged through your drawers, the subtle scent of wood mixing with the incense that you were quick to ignite.

Funny, so that's what your study looked like? It was organised and thoroughly dusted, with each book and document in different neatly arranged piles. He remembered never been allowed in here as a boy, only able to take sneak peaks at you at your desk while the door closed in behind his nanny's somber face. Now it made sense, you feared a child would ruin your precision and need for perfection. Oh, mother, is that the reason you shun me so?

You felt that unexplainable chill again, which would always travel down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. See that look in his eyes? Those soulless green orbs you swore would burn a hole into your face from how intensely he was staring at you as you sat down in front of him. That's exactly why you didn't want anything to do with him, he was just—so peculiar.

“Close your eyes.” was your next command, not being able to stand the abyss you found in your own son’s gaze. You waited while you prepared the cotton through soaking it in alcohol.

And thankfully he listened. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Mother” he spoke. “Mhm,” you hummed.

“Mother, aren't you mad at father?” you paused, inhaled, already unnerved before continuing to pat his cheek gently.

“It's not in my place to question what the king does, neither is it yours Nicholas.” a soft sigh escaped you, “You ought to behave yourself. The little stunt you pulled at dinner tonight was dangerous. He may be your father, but before all else he is the king. And you should respect him until the crown is yours. Or do you wish to ruin your future just because?”

“It wasn't just because—” you chuckled, letting your hand fall away from his cheek as he forced the words from between his teeth.

“Oh?” you used the same look your mother always gave you—a scoff and a frown combined to make the one on the recieving end feel disgustingly guilty. You shook your head at him, youth.

“The reason isn't of any importance, what is of importance however is you ascending to the throne. And you cannot do so if your father hates you so. You may be older and of pure blood, but if the new woman at his side falls pregnant with a boy and you continue to be foolish, then you can just stand and watch everything being ripped away from you.” were you getting emotional, describing your future too while trying to warn him? Maybe. You didn't realise it until your son threw himself at you, alright, maybe not literally but he embraced you, as if you were the child and he the parent.

You stilled.

When had been the last time you hugged your son? You couldn't remember. The moment was peaceful, oddly so and just for a split second you forgot of your revulsion towards that child and let him clutch onto you.

“Mother,” he breathed against your shoulder, startling you, “Mother he’s openly betraying you. While the whole nation watches. You don't deserve this mother, you deserve a better man. If I had been my father I wouldn't have—” you immediately pushed him away.

Did you mishear?

“Don't—don’t ever talk like that again!” you declared, instead of questioning it further, immediately assuming that the fault lied in your twisted mind. You must've misunderstood you must've—

Something was brewing beneath his exterior, you could tell. Something dangerous flicked in his gaze, something that you knew justified your fear towards your own spawn. Now, any minute, you swore he would burst and unleash his inner demons.

“Mother,”

“I apologise.” he smiled. You felt yourself release a breath, one you weren't aware you had been holding.

“I didn't think about my words, I am truly sorry.”

You quickly wrapped things up after that and it was not long before you send him off on his merry way. If he continued to talk about his father as if he wished for him to be only a memory and his skeleton six feet under the earth, then he would only spiral into a world of trouble and take you with him.

Besides—since when was he this rebellious? You sighed, feeling pain bloom between your brows.

Was this some sort of mockery?

To shame you continuously?

Or why for god's sake was this bitch in your chambers again?

“Your Majesty!” she chirped and you wished you could claw your eyes out and stuff them into her mouth so she would finally shut up.

“Child…”

“Maria, it's Maria, your majesty!” she huffed, then pouted, again clad in nothing but her nightgown, underwear really; silk that fell over her shoulders and reached down to her ankles.

“Besides—,” she pouted and you started to question the sanity of this woman, “You're not much older than me, your Majesty. Mhm, like an elder sister! How about I call you queen sister? Since we both will be queens!” she giggled.

Had she been dropped on her head at birth? You couldn't help but stare wordlessly, as she interlinked her arm with yours.

“Again. This is not the king’s chambers.”

“But queen sister—”

“Don't call me that.”

“But—”

“I said don't call me that!” you screamed.

Great. Now you were causing a scene in the hallway, with your maids and the guards watching. Great.

However you hadn't been prepared yet for the grand finale—suddenly she bursted into tears. Graciously of course, she was a lady, a lady with many tricks up her sleeve that is. She was crying, seemingly an endless stream, sobbing and quivering, staring up at you with big puppy-dog eyes.

If there was a god in heaven, you were certain that he hated you.

“My queen” she was still sobbing, now leaning forward so her cold lips could brush against your ear.

“You scream at me again and I’ll tell the king that you insulted me to my face.”

You gasped, this cocky little—

Yet what could you do? You knew one of her words amounted to a bar of gold to him; something to be treasured, possibly sacred. But you, he never had viewed you as such, you were the mother of his child and the queen yes—but your presence, —you knew as much as that— never has been valuable besides those two strong points. He saw you as an ally, a friend of sorts, a political fawn; someone with an intellect, but nothing more.

You didn't want to imagine his anger at even just daring to belittle what was rightfully his, that you, the queen in his little game of chess, would've mustered up courage that bordered on dangerously life-threatening.

So you sighed, with liquid anger pumping through your veins and your face flushing from the pressure of it. Your temples hurt again. Your head hurt again

You didn't register her leaving with a shit—eating grin on her face, nor the fact that one of your maid, Leslie, was half-carrying you inside your chamber, having to sit you down on your bed before feeding you your medicine in form of a brew.

It was funny, like your memory was wiped clean—as if your mind was a clean slate similar to how it had been when you were a drooling infant. Everything around you eased, the tension, the worries—what even was there to worry? You hummed, even purred in satisfaction as you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

You hated waking up. Peace never existed beyond a deep slumber void of dreams. You hated dreams, you hated being dragged up and dressed like a doll and hated the sky. Especially the sky with its sparkling stars all mocking you, calling you as you were; defeated.

Utterly so.

Your reminisced about your beloved husband calling you to discuss something urgent with him. What could've been this urgent matter, one may ponder? Well, it was Maria.

“Have you started your preparations for the ball, yet?” his tone was colder than usual.

“No, but I am very much in—”

“Then haste. It will be held soon enough.”

You nodded politely, not wanting to aggregate his nerves further. So he waved you off and dismissed you, until he abruptly spoke up.

“And make sure that boy learns some manners.” his glare was so sharp it cut into your nape.

“Will do, husband.” you fled the room after that.

Perhaps you did not actually flee, but you certainly felt inclined to do so. Sometimes you did fantasize about escaping to a lone island, one that would resemble the paradise your nanny had always spoken so fondly of. What was her name again? You didn't remember, you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried because all you called her was Mommy—obviously only behind closed doors, away from any eyes or ears that could rat her out to your real hag of a mother.

She had been the only thing close to a mother's loving embrace which you so frequently would read about in books; fairytales and romances. An angel with crooked teeth and a hunchback, but an angel no less, with a softness to her that you never were able to replicate no matter how hard you tried. She was simply of different blood that wasn't blue nor red but gold; she wasn't like the rest of them. But you were like them, hiding behind a mask, no matter how terrible life whipped at you to reveal the truth—you wouldn't, you were trained to not give in after all, drilled from a young age.

And she had been so adamant to free you, telling you stories about juicy fruits with tastes rivalling that of honey, a sky that never darkened and greenery that never faded—if you narrowed your eyes to slits, you could imagine the royal garden spread out in front of you to be the paradise she so often spoke about.

You sighed again. Those were just childish fantasies. Something she had made up to bring you happiness, even if your shared wonder only lasted two years before she was caught being too affectionate with you and discarded.

As a chubby five-year old you had been devastated and confused, wondering why she had left you behind to fend for yourself, alone with the wolves. But as you matured, as your own son's nannies came and disappeared, you realized it had never been her fault in the first place. They had been at fault.

“Your majesty!”

Some of your days were good, tranquil even, but some—some were either destructively evil or somberly empty.

“Your majesty—” and today you wanted to be somber, away from everything. But fate didn't want this. Of course it didn't, fate despised you as you did your mother. So even if you had promised to betray fate instead and experience an adventurous tryst with the man in front of you just out of spite, you felt no desire to speak with him or anyone else, after the short but life-threatening conversation you had had with his majesty.

“Has he upset you again?”, Charles sighed, his initial enthusiasm fading, “It seems every time we converse you're miserable.”

Now that he mentioned it—he wasn't wrong. He was like some sort of saviour, someone that reminded you of your nanny so long ago and your hardened heart softened again. You didn't want to push him away, not Charles, not the man with soft-features, a tender look in his eyes, with his dashing looks and personality—not when he was only a few years younger than you. So little in fact, it wouldn't matter at your age anymore.

“Seems so.” you muttered and you couldn't hold your hand back from outstretching to pull him down besides you on your little white-painted bench placed in the shades, with another piece of embroidery in your lap. For a moment he was silent, stunned by your fingers wrapped around his wrist for all eyes to feast on—and continuing to hold it even as he sat.

“It seems you're always there for me, Charles.” was this a fever dream? Or why else would you, the queen, tempt him so, seductive as always, yet bolder than ever, calling him so intimately out here—hopefully out of the ear of onlookers to the spectacle; your maid and a few guards scattered around.

And then you even fluttered your lashes at him, so blindingly beautiful that it hurt. Tantalizing with your lips that he was certain were sweeter than sugar, and the new heart-robbing smile on those soft pillars of warmth. The slope of your nose, the apple of your cheek, everything about you was sin incarnate and he was just helpless to the devil’s calls. Just what if he leaned down and—

“I thank you.” god you teased him.

“It's my pleasure. As a devotee to the crown.” he managed to finesse and gloss over his little stammer with a bright smile and you, thankfully, let it slip.

Or at least he assumed so.

Actually you were giggling in your head like one of those young village girls, when a boy would ask for a dance—you had watched that spectacle occur one time out on the countryside for some respite after mother's passing.

What a time it had been, so beautifully peaceful with only the birds to yap away— similar to now, the only difference was that now you were holding his hand, and nothing, not even the king could prevent you from enjoying this moment to the fullest.

“Charles. How long have we known eachother?”

“Fourteen years and counting, your Majesty.” he answered, with warmth in his eyes. The day was warm—the sun blazing and at its peak, with the garden neatly trimmed, sitting beneath the proud tall that was probably older than both of you combined, the shade provided you would with protection from her rays.

“Thank you, Charles, for always consoling me in times of need.” your fingers slithered between his own, entangling your hands under lingering eyes, yet in that little moment you found yourself not caring. Life was short, so why shouldn't you be able to enjoy life to the fullest as his majesty. If it came and he would hear of this, you would accept whatever punishment, because you were sick of not being free.

Then again you felt freedom spread her wings above you with Charles by your side.

You smiled, softly, gently, tenderly even. A smile not even your son had ever earned from you—something he probably never would, no matter what he tried, because he was still that man’s son with motives behind his façade that you could never figure out. He was still the baby that terrified you with the ravenous hunger in his soul reflected in his gaze.

And that very son, was plastered against one of the castle windows, his glare bearing down on you both, if possible, it would have burned a hole through your face from the sheer intensity of it. You had always viewed your child as creepy—unsettling to be around for too long. But you had never possessed any evidence for it—you knew not to blame a seedling, something that had sprung from you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from feeling dread when meeting his eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, this silent horror was not completely irrational.

Actually it was simple survival instinct.

Especially when the heir to the kingdom craved nothing more but your motherly love and seeing you give affection to his uncle, of all people – his enemy — he couldn't help but trash your favourite vase. Actually he wasn't that different to you in that sense—he needed chaos and destruction to satisfy the inner barbarian in him.

“Mother,” he slammed his fists onto your desk. He had been snooping around your study—his favourite past time activity since he had managed to steal the second pair of keys to the room you viewed as sacred and safe. If you just knew, Mother.

“You give, Mother. To everyone but me.”

he was trying to maintain his composure, to not burst into a jealous rage from seeing you intertwined hands, the close proximity you shared—the smile plastered onto your face much more similar to that of a young maiden experiencing her first love than the queen with a heart of ice.

The moment his uncle dared to lean forward to brazenly press a kiss to your knuckles, was the moment he snapped. Destruction reigned over your study, his desire for carnage so raw, he treated craftsmanship like flesh and blood, strangling them as if they owed him an apology.

Then finally it was over.

As it was, peace settled over his silhouette, drenched in his own sweat in the stifling hot room, panting like a rabid dog.

“Mother,” you both were gone now from his view, he should haste, he knew, but he couldn't leave without these last words.

“If you won't give me your love willingly, as a mother should. Then I will take what is mine to own. I will overthrow father, be the king. You won't be able to escape, me, your son. You won't shun me no longer, mother. I won't allow it.”

Mother I will own your leash.

When you finally parted—you felt light and airy. Freedom was on the tip on your tongue, and butterflies danced around your hollowed out chest. Summer lingered on your skin, warm and sandy, reminding you of beaches you had never visited and tropical fruits that run over the back of your hand when you squeezed tad too tightly.

You hadn't felt so giddy in a while, nothing could ruin your good mood, not your husband, nor his mistress and neither your son. Cotton clouds were wrapping around you and you would be damned if you wasted time to not mock the stars back, staring up at the bright sky with a sneer. See, Mother? I will have my freedom too. I won't end like you, heartbroken by a man that never learned to love.

How foolish you were. Unassuming even. Years of living on this earth, shackled by fate and you still dared to dream.

So when the door to your study gave in and you entered to discover—

nothing amiss.

You sighed, you were being paranoid again, weren't you? How silly of you. Why would anything be out of order—children and most servants were forbid from entering. You handled delicate matters, events even; such as banquets and balls, carefully writing out invitations to selected guests, curating the invitations. Also you were responsible for all of your servants and the choices they made.

Before the old king’s unfortunate death you had been responsible with his care. He had deteriorated into a bad mental state in the last two years of his life; so much so that he couldn't recognise his son anymore. You had shared your husband's pain then, younger and naïve, a decade ago.

But you didn't, not anymore, not after so much you suffered through and with him only for him to sought out a courtesan and bend the entire law for her, risking even a coop!

You approached your sleeping quarters as always, while thinking about Maria, which granted you with a pulsing headache—in the literal sense. You should ask one of your maids, maybe Leslie, to brew you, your medicine once again.

“Maria." you greeted her dryly, the routine familiar now.

“Your Majesty!” she chirped as always and you had to control the twitch of your eye—or the twitch in your hand to slap her.

You opted to just silently stare at her, agitated by having to encounter her each night in your chambers, dressed in a nightgown you didn't want to imagine the king peeling off of her skin. She was trying to shame you, in front of your closest servants and in front of the guilt-stricken guard—that couldn't deny her request because in fear of attracting the king's anger.

“Your Majesty! I have waited and waited, just where have you been?” she was active as a child—but her eyes mirrored that of a snake, just searching for one of your weak points, so that she could torment you further until she managed to properly get rid of you.

“Maria please move. I would like to rest.”

“Then let's rest together! I am terribly tired—you know how tiring the king can be! So ravenous.” she snickered, much to the horror of your servants around you, “Oh..my apologies. Am I hurting your Majesty’s feelings?” her slanted gaze drooped, pity and amusement lingering in their depths.

Oh.

She did not—

That bitch!

“Leave!” you roared. Not towards her but to everyone around you, needing to feel her scalp beneath your fingers. You knew what you would be doing now was going to wind up ruining your just newly acquired saccharine taste of freedom, and probably destroy your life—but your anger gripped your by your shoulders and slapped you on your back as you roughly shoved her inside of your chambers.

Darkness shrouded the room in thrilling mystery of what to come—at least you thought Maria found it to be thrilling judging by her giddy following, excited to play a sick and twisted game of cat and mouse in the privacy of your chambers.

Your burst came all too soon and familiar—stripping you of any royalty, drowning out all the voices in your head trying to shackle the beast you would become when allowed. Usually you were only to do so in private, behind your doors—with only your servants to be subjected to your other face, but this time you wanted to indulge Maria. Show her heavenly grace and what it meant to be of royal descent.

You strangled her.

Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye, you couldn't stop or control yourself before tackling her causing her to stumble over your carpet in shock, crashing with into your nightshade, lamp shattering the moment it embraced the marbled floors while she embraced you as you both tumbled into your bed.

“Have the king! Have him all you want—like all the other men that you had between your legs. Warm him at cold nights! I urge you, please do.” hissing you leaned down to continue. “But know that you will never be able to be loved as much by the court, by the people, by everyone else. You won't survive this for too long. Even if I am beheaded after this.” you snarled while noting that she was indeed oddly calm beneath your palms. You were uncertain. Maybe it was the sheer shock? Perhaps she was weaker than you had assumed?

Or, she had died.

Panic surged through you. You weren't ready to be her murderer just yet! The thought alone made you flinch as if it branded your forehead in big bold letters in crimson. As if everyone could already bear witness to your crimes.

And suddenly you stood in front of the court.

Fingers pointed at you, screeching out blurts of sentences you couldn't make out, while you were dragged away by your own son, his grip on your hair so tight that you swore your scalp would peel off any minute now.

Kicked to kneel in front of the king, you begged and pleaded but mercy was foreign to the man that robbed you of your youth, and that you robbed of love and his sword swung high and far before—

You convulsed, gagging only at the thought, letting loose of her neck instantly, falling off of her onto the silken covers.

“I am sorry—” you mumbled, scrambling away from her, stubbornly looking away from the assumed corpse.

You were about to flee, kicking away the covers, dazed by the turn of events, trying to claw yourself back to your feet.

Run, Run, Run. It chanted inside of your head, and you surely would’ve managed to do so, if Maria’s fingers didn't clasp around your arm like a python’s jaw.

“Where are you going, your Majesty? We just started didn't we.” you shrieked, her hoarse voice genuinely startling.

Slowly you turned around to face the woman, with wide-eyed panic still clear on your face. “Let go of me!”

“Why? So you can take flight? Escape? Your majesty, even if you run, Edwin’s underlings will still catch you.” she was grinning, a feverish rush on her cheeks, mania clear and deep in her icy blue stare. “There's no one to run to, your Majesty. No where to hide. Embrace it. You're a monster. Old and greedy, craving things that no longer are yours.”

Was the bed coming closer? Or were you being pushed down? Because soon enough you laid on your bed, another headache, so potent it nearly blinded you with its pain—left you at the mercy of her cruel words.

“The king doesn't love you. He never has. Never will.” she muttered, with purple blooming on her throat like blossoming tulips, “You suffer for naught, your Majesty. Why do you worry for someone with such little regard of your person?” it was a bitter pill to swallow the truth in her words—and even if you wished to protest, you couldn't.

You were tongue-tied from the agony, with suddenly lead instead of bones, only further sinking into the open arms of your bedding.

“You're a fool, your Majesty.” a laugh ripped free from her throat. “For ever agreeing to be alone with me, don't you fear what I could be? Don't you fear my hands on your cheeks? Don't you fear the lust for blood in my gaze?” her voice like a melody, like a drug to aid to your wounds—it worked better than the mix of herbs you usually downed to find relief.

“Will you kill me?” you asked, only to earn another boisterous laugh that felt like a whip on your soul accompanied with slanted eyes that slithered over your form.

“No, far worse,” she paused, gaze smoldering.

“I will love you and you will love me.”

Pause.

You gawked. What was she saying?

“What?” you spat, puzzled.

She was completely deprived of sisterly love, or so it seemed. This was bizarre, downright weird—had she gone mad? Now you feared whatever her sick mind conjured next.

Something morphed and shifted until a smile so daunting, that if it weren't for the pulsing agony between your brows, you would've slapped it off her face and gladly so, while simultaneously increasingly feeling as if you were trapped in the coils of a snake.

“Edwin doesn't see you, as I do, your Majesty. He cannot see the madness in you, as I can. The insanity in your eyes, the very same one I crave to have. He doesn't love you, he doesn't. Not like I do.” your brows scrunched up, puzzled, she truly spoke like a madwoman.

Maria only chuckled. Her gaze narrowed in on your lips, in a way that twisted your stomach in discomfort; the way a man leers at a woman he desires. What foolishness! She couldn't possibly mean such an atrocity! It was never heard of a woman with a woman—

And as if to prove you wrong, tear your worldview apart, she leaned down with heavy paws pressing onto your shoulders. Your corset seemed tighter. The air or the lack of it was stifling. She wouldn't, right?

Fate truly had never been kind to you—and now it proved itself to be only more cruel as her lips crashed onto yours.

She was feverish with soft lips and scraping teeth, her tongue poked and prodded as if she tried to hollow out the warm cavern of your mouth. Her scent lingered in your nose so strongly it made your eyes water—lavender mixed with something you failed to recognise as she smashed her mouth against yours over and over again, until you were convinced that she was trying to strangle you with the wet muscle in her mouth instead of her hands.

The moment she let go off your figure, as stiff as a board , she was smirking deviously, as if she won a prize in a competition. As if the prize was you.

“I promise—” she leaned down, languidly slow, as if she had all the time in the world with no concern for the ravenous chaos she had just unleashed inside of you, “that even after Edwin’s reign, you will stay queen by my side.”

A bone-chilling cold kiss pressed to your damp temple.

“Goodnight, my queen.”

Sleep was not kind enough to visit you that night or the night after even though Maria had abruptly stopped with her nightly visits after that faithful encounter—still, your head was a buzzing beehive of thoughts. You were overwhelmed and at a loss for words at the strangeness of it all. For her to kiss you and demand—No, you refused to ponder about it further.

Nevertheless as if fate wished to humiliate you further —the stars in the sky hiding behind the light of the sun at daytime mocking you — your son was glued to you for the past half an hour or so, even had send all your servants away and no matter how much you tried to pry him off he would have an excuse prepared smoothly evading all your accusations. It was creepy. Has he sensed something? He never was so persistent.

Nevertheless you still couldn't fathom why she had did, what she had done.

Even days later, it just didn't make sense. What benefit could she reap from forcing her mouth onto yours and behaving like a man? You shuddered just at the thought, everything about this situation was odd, vile, repulsing and something else. Something you wished to keep buried deep in you and left unexplored.

“Mother, look! It's a swan with ducklings.” he pointed out the window, at this very moment behaving much more closer in age to a child than to a man. “Yes, Nicholas. How grand.” you muttered dryly, eyes kept steady on the embroidery in your lamp while indulging him slightly, after countless failed attempts and of hushing him away, you had tired and the pounding headache that wouldn't relent didn't make you any more awake.

“Swans mate for life. Do you believe this one is mated?” your brow twitched in frustration, eyes kept steadily on your needle, going in-and-out of the tight fabric.

“I do not concern myself with such matters, perhaps you also shouldn't.” you muttered abrasively, watching the motive of a purple tulip come to life, something about it eerily similar.

“I believe that it was mated. Then rid itself of its mate. It knows it doesn't need one. Just look mother— all the cygnets that follow without her mate in sight. They all seem so happy. Especially the mother swan, the way she—” red obscured your vision.

Something warm and human dripped down your hand. You didn't move, didn't even breathe, all you did was stare at the needle sticking out of your hand.

“Mother?—” a gasp, “Mother!” his footsteps were overwhelmingly loud, even louder than his ramblings that were grating on your nerves.

“Oh Mother.” the condescending attribute of his tone was sharp and rung in your ears. “What have you done? Your beautiful skin,” he was mumbling again. God, when would this child stop mumbling beneath his breath! And his eyes full of fake pity concealing something much darker made you just want to pluck the needle from your hand and ram it into your throat, perhaps then the scornful look on your mother's face would finally stop haunting you every living moment.

“Mother, you're upset again, aren't you? You're always upset.” Nicholas face fell as if genuinely distraught, taking your wounded hand in his, prodding at the damage you caused. “Father doesn't know how to care for you, he is mean and brutish. To scold you for informing him that you can't possibly prepare the banquet because you're unwell and getting mad at you. He’s audacious, a fool. He doesn't deserve you—no one deserves you Mother. No one but me.”

You yelped as he pressed down onto the needle, causing further damage to your hand—the pain unbearably uncomfortable. For days your head was a dizzy spur of thoughts, paranoid and refusing to meet Charles and now, you couldn't even be properly be enraged about your son's foolishness. At least the mind-numbing headache of yours lessened thanks to the one in your hand.

Suddenly he was much closer, eyes a combination of bright and hopeful and sick. There was something manic about his gaze too, something that made you swallow thickly, alarm you once more to jot stare at the demon dressed in your son's human’s shell.

“Mother, I will be a fair king. I will be good. And I will take care of you in a way, no man or husband can. So just endure it for a while longer, I know you carry all this pain with you—and all of it is the reason why you can't love me fully. But if father, his whore and everyone else that upsets you dies—then you will be free. Then you will be free to love me how much you want. We can finally be happy mother.”

You were about to puke. Was this what you had allowed to grow? Over all the years, no matter how much you detested spending time with the little copy of Edwin, you had made sure he only had the best nannies, a great governess and tutors at hand. All for him to spew out such nonsense.

But you had known. Known since the day he was born, that Nicholas was not sane. And right now it both angered and chilled you to see your worst fears manifest in flesh and blood.

“Get lost. Out of my eyes.” you hissed, bathed in cold sweat. You had to get up and out. Needed to flee before you were given the moment to acknowledge that you were raising such cruelness beneath the facade of a noble. Perhaps what amplified your dread was that he—the look of insanity in his eyes, the hatred, yet longing mixing into a destructive love— and you weren't so different after all.

That you both craved motherly affection so intensely you both had spiralled, into different lows, but spiralled nonetheless.

“Mother—you don't mean that.” he smiled. Yet not calm anymore. He wouldn't hide it no longer. You deserved to know that he forgave you, that he saw your pain and ache and that he would ease it for you. Just let him destroy the world only to rebuild it in your name, so that you could finally love him.

“No.” you breathed. He didn't relent, clutching your hand as if it was sacred.

“No! Let go!” you shoved him away this time, crying out in pain, as the needle’s head now pierced through your palm. You were trembling. The creatures lurking in the shadows would now find you. Freedom was a dream, happiness equally but at least you used to have peace, at least you used to have Charles, but this new reality of yours, with your son as the same maniac you were in your youth, would destroy it all. He will take from you, as he always had.

Your anger boiled over.

It was a mistake—he was the heir for god's sake, no matter how foul his mouth had gotten!

Nothing changed the fact that it was done though.

You slapped him right across the face, as his father had done, startling him into a stunned moment of silence. He was as if frozen, shocked that the verbal abuse you inflicted on him would actually one day turn physical. For a moment everything halted, the particles of dust in the air, the chirping of the birds, the soft footsteps echoing around the castle and only shock remained.

Then he smiled.

“Mother—”

And you fled.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the room in such a hurry, you still held your embroidery in your hand while out in the hallway, running pathetically slowly. This wasn't your son. Even after years you still refused the truth, you didn't ask for this! Fate was cruel, but it couldn't be this—not this! You were a queen now, your mother would've been proud, the same mother you had thrown off the balcony.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, sick to the stomach. No, not now! You couldn't cry now, not when duty and responsibility always came before being and feeling and living and— Before you even realized you plucked the needle from the back of your hand, throwing the embroidery against one of the oil paintings hanging nearby, hoping your blood could lay curses and if it actually could,

You hoped to curse this entire castle.

Everything should’ve changed after her death! You should've been free, should’ve lived a better life than her—but you were following into her footsteps, the same miserable marriage only used as a pawn, with the same excuse for a husband caring even little for his heir. You hated it, hated it so much you could burst!

“Your Majesty?”

“Charles,” you muttered, lip between your teeth. You groaned, stumbling forward, dressed in red—the colour which had adored your mother as she had laid lifelessly on the ground. Life was funny indeed wasn't it?

The man has been your angel for so many years, once more spread his wings embracing you in all his glory, letting your red taint him with the evil your mother, you and your son bore. It was in your blood, in your very DNA, you were bred to be a demon—perhaps that's why your son's eyes had always send a chill down your spine, not because he possessed the same potent green of his father, but he held the same wickedness in it. The one you recognised.

“By god!—”

And speak of the devil and he rushed towards you, immediately growling at his uncle that held you in his clutches. Yet before he could step further forward, the doors to his father's study opened, the room one of the largest and proudest and with its opening the king stepped out with Maria as always glued to his side.

All of them and the servants—all were staring at you, while you couldn't help but let your tears flow; your pounding headache, the blinding lights and the blurry edges in your vision everything you could focus on, all were maddening.

You were dying weren't you? This was probably the divine judgment for all your sins. Perhaps the stars were right to scorn and mock you; you were indeed pitiful, a creature born out of neglect and the same abuse you instilled on others now.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded as proud as ever, before the world was replaced by a void and swallowed you whole and the chaotic cries around you dimmed, until your own stopped.

Until you were no more.

Hopefully this time you would be reborn as a bird with fully fleshed-out wings.