#I suffered through like 5 of his books before giving up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

evanchantingpeters · 5 months ago

Text

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 7 - Final)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Summary ─ A couple of months after Jake’s (Evan’s friend) tragic accident left him fighting for his life in intensive care, Evan is spiralling, lost in despair, a shadow of his former self. Just as a sliver of good news about his condition offers a ray of hope, Y/N steps in, determined to bring some light into Evan’s shattered world. She starts with a seductive dance and builds to a night of passion. But Evan has a surprise—one that will change everything in a way Y/N never saw coming.

Warnings ─ Obscene language, lap dance, oral (both receiving), overstimulation, mild daddy kink, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cowgirl, missionary, extra smutty—like you like it.

Word count ─ 5.1K (I had a lot to say 🤫)

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

Previously on: How I met Evan Peters (Part 6)

“W-what’s up, Jeremy?” he stutters, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s Jake,” Jeremy blurts out, his expression twisting into one of anguish. “He’s fallen off the roof.” Jeremy’s words hit like a punch to the gut, the colour draining from Evan’s face. The room goes deathly quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. The room spins as everything comes to a screeching halt.

Two months after Jake’s accident

Thursday, 16:42 pm

You settle into the cosy corner of his New York apartment, the city’s hustle muffled by the soft hum of the radiator. A rustic wooden desk hosting your work setup and a quirky lamp, which has seen better days but adds to the character, stands against the wall. A plush bean bag chair invites you to sink in while a baroque rug sprawls beneath your feet, and a bookshelf stuffed with books and random knick-knacks lurks by your side. Sunlight streams through light, breezy curtains, making it a perfect workspace for your remote routine. With Evan busy with press and meetings for the next few weeks, this place feels almost like a retreat—if only you could shake off the looming frustration of the Excel table before you.

You’d think by now you’d have mastered the art of not losing your shit at work, being the corporate girlie you are, while dealing with this stupid spreadsheet, but nope. Here you are, puffing like the Big Bad Wolf trying to blow down formulas that refuse to behave.

As you’re fighting and suffering through, your hand drifts toward your phone. You know how it goes. Brain’s fried, and next thing you know, you’re aimlessly scrolling through the endless pit of Instagram reels without even realising it. Well, this time it’s Evan’s name glowing like a beacon of your favourite “distraction,” and your stomach flutters, your heart racing.

Oh, hello, messages!

You open the chat, expecting a quick “I’ll be back in 10’, baby. Can’t wait to kiss you” text or maybe a meme about cats judging people (you know, standard fare). Instead, what do you find? A picture. But not just any picture. Oh no, this man, YOUR man, is standing there in a white tee, his pose giving swagger “yo” next to Todd McFarlane, a comic book legend. The whole shebang.

And here comes the string of messages:

“Babyyyy, look - Todd McFarlane in da house for the press conference!!”

“he’s signed the Amazing Spider-Man hardcopy!!”

“ill bring it home and we frame it ;)”

“we’re going live.. tune in xx”

“changed into the blazer and stripy tee you picked for me. Love you so ♥️”

Let’s pause here. Not at Todd McFarlane – who, mind you, is hands-down a god in his domain, but no. Your eyes, traitors that they are, keep sliding back to that picture of Evan.

Because damn.

Todd’s cool and all, but Evan in that white tee and messy curls? Where do you even begin? The man looks like he rolled out of bed straight into a photoshoot and decided to smoulder for no apparent reason. You know the one—that half-cocked sly smile that screams, “Yeah, I know what I’m doing to do, and you’re welcome.”

You catch yourself zooming in and drooling over him like a total goofball. The scrunched-up grimace. The luscious Tarzan hair. The way his eyes carry a hint of sadness and fatigue but with residues of that familiar spark he always has. It’s weird how something as simple as a picture can make your heart do that silly backflip thing over and over again after more than a year with him.

Snap out of it, girl. Spreadsheet’s waiting. But no, instead of getting back to formulas, your brain takes a little detour down Memory Lane. Suddenly, you’re remembering the last time Evan was kneeling in front of you. Not in some adorable, “let me tie your shoes, princess” way, but more of an arousing “let me worship you, queen,” Roman Empire situation.

Oh, yeah. That night.

You’d seized your throne aka that big armchair in the middle of the dimly-lit living room. And there he was, on his knees, completely surrendered to you. His tongue was lapping on your wet folds like you were the sweetest cake frosting he’d ever tasted. His slender fingers were plumping in and out of you in all the right spots as he slurped up your syrups and juices, sucking on your clit like it’s cherry on dessert.

His tongue would thrash and french kiss your puffy sobbing walls up near the throbbing bulb of your sensitive clit. You tugged on his hair, his brown curls wrapped around your fingers like reins as he pulled you apart, inch by inch. Your jaw tightened as his tongue and fingers mercilessly rutted into you, giving you crazed whiplash as you squirt, all while licking you clean with eager choked moans.

Your body tremors and orgasmic vibrations were seismic… just like they are now as your cunt pulsates and aches for him, even though you’re sitting at the dining table, fully clothed and miles away from him.

Funny how memories can sneak up on you like that, isn’t it?

But here’s the kicker. As much as you’d love for a repeat performance, that’s not where you guys are at these days. Not since Jake fell off the roof at the party he hosted at his place. You get it–one of Evan’s best friends is in a hospital bed, clinging to life while in a coma, and Evan’s drowning in his own sea of emotions and sorrow. The man is dragging so much weight on his shoulders right now.

And you respect that. You really do. Your sex life has justifiably taken a backseat, but you’re not here to push or force him. What you have and share with him isn’t mere lust; you love him, and you acknowledge that he’s having it rough at the moment. You’ve been trying to be his rock, the one who keeps him grounded while he navigates the heavy blizzard of the tragedy.

But you can’t help it.

Sometimes, your mind slips back to those sizzling moments where your bodies speak in a language only you two comprehend. Because, let’s be real—he might be wearing the blazer you chose for him in the morning, but under all that fabric, you’re the one who gets to undress the real Evan. And if that’s not worth waiting for, you don’t know what is.

You sigh, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you’ve left the spreadsheets and work far behind with all those cheeky little fantasies that gnaw on your brain. Still knee-deep in wet daydreams of Evan and his—well, *coughing* talents, when the universe decides to slap you in the face with reality.

That “we’re going live, tune in xx” text blinks back at you from the chat, practically yelling to stop fantasising and actually be the supportive girlfriend you claim to be.

Gasp.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Gasp again.

The press conference! You need to watch it. Like, now.

You scramble up from the table so fast, you’d think the chair is lava, and launch into a desperate hunt for the TV remote. The remote is like a cryptid—always hiding in the most inconvenient places at the worst times. Last week? In the fridge. Don’t ask. Today? Who knows. You’re flipping couch cushions like you’re on an archaeological dig.

“WHERE IS IT?!” you yelp, your high-pitched voice bouncing off the walls like you’re a banshee in panic mode. Female rage core.

Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. It’s like the remote’s decided to pack its bags and set off to Narnia with no return ticket.

Curse you, technology masterminds.

Plan B.

You rush back to your laptop, slide your fingers along the trackpad to wake it up, and—oh no, what’s this? Your whole screen’s been hijacked by the most evil of phrases:

Software Update: 30% Complete.

Are. You. For. Real.

You stare at the loading bar like you can will it to go faster. Or pretend you’re not watching, so it speeds up. Smart but nah, that’s placebo—no such luck. This thing is moving slower than a Monday morning during rush hours, and if you wait for it, you’ll be watching Evan’s interview in the past tense or through his narration once he’s back home.

You let out a huff that could probably power a small wind turbine and whip out your phone, praying to every deity that your Wi-Fi doesn’t fail you amidst crisis.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter through gritted teeth, frantically tapping apps like your fingers are on caffeine overload. And just when you think someone is playing another cruel trick on you—boom, there it is. The live stream.

The screen lights up, and there comes baby Evan on stage, looking all sleek and profesh in his blazer (you knew the combo with the stripes underneath would work wonders *proud stylist smiling*). He’s sitting on a stool along with his co-stars, all of them gathered in this massive amphitheatre for their upcoming movie press tour.

He’s got the mic in his hand, finishing up a sentence with that smooth, husky tone. You know, that voice that sounds like a lullaby wrapped in velvet. But there’s also the twist of dorky humour and the cute brow furrows he taps into when he’s either totally in his element or way too awkward.

The interviewer gives him a nod, then sighs. Your stomach drops.

The next question is about Jake, as he’s guy well known for scripting some of the most beloved TV shows. If there were a Hall of Fame for TV writers, his star would be as big as a small planet. He’s adored by fandoms for his wit and creativity, and now you’re all grappling with the fallout from his misfortune.

You can see the shift in Evan’s face from media charm to something… darker, melancholic. He’s trying so hard to stay composed, but you know him. That tiny flicker of anguish behind his eyes filters through the cracks.

Evan takes a sharp breath and clears his throat. “Yeah, Jake was moved from LA and remains in ICU here in New York,” he admits, voice steady but edged with quiet vulnerability. “But there’s… a... there’s a glimmer of hope. He moved his hand today.”

For a second, the world stops spinning. Did he just say—? He moved?!

Your heart does a somersault, and you can’t help it—you cheer and clap right along with the audience, even though you’re alone in the living room in your mismatched socks, overstretched yoga shorts, and messy bun. Who cares, honestly? Jake moved his hand.

Evan lets the crowd’s enthusiasm bubble up for a second before he delicately taming it. “It’s good news,” he continues, his voice like a fuzzy blanket, soothing yet cautious. “But let’s not start planning the parade just yet—there’s a long road ahead for him. We’ll have to see how his health evolves from here. I just wanted to share this little nugget of hope. His family’s already spreading the word, and they gave me the green light to pass it on to all of you.”

There’s a tightness in his voice, and you can tell he’s got a fortress built around his emotions, probably fighting not to let it crumble in front of all those people and cameras. Your baby’s always been strong like steel this way, the type who carries everyone’s baggage on his shoulders without ever letting on how heavy it is.

You sit there, phone in hand, staring at his face on the screen. There’s so much going on behind those eyes, and you know he probably feels like crap underneath that calm exterior.

You wish you could reach through the screen and just be there with him in a “I’ve got you, you’re not alone” kind of way. You’ve been weathering this storm together, and it’s been tough as hell. It’s taken everything in him just to stay afloat, but he’s doing it. He’s really doing it...

There’s something about post-work Thursdays that sends you into this frantic, impulsive must-clean-everything-in-sight mode. Not that Evan cares if there’s a pile of laundry in the corner or if the dishes are threatening to stage a rebellion in the sink, but still. He doesn’t expect you to tackle it all just because you’re working fully from home; he can do it himself, but you want the place to look neat and tidy. You know, like “I have my life together and didn’t just spend the last two hours binge-watching cooking videos on YouTube” level of very demure, very mindful adulthood.

So here you are, in full-on cleaning tornado mode—scrubbing the counter with the kind of intensity that could probably burn calories—when your ears perk at the rustling sound.

That magical jingle of keys. The ignition. The click of the door unlocking.

Baby Evan’s home.

You drop the sponge like it’s on fire and just bolt. You don’t even think. It’s pure instinct, like you’re a puppy who heard the treat jar open. Your pulse leaps, your feet fly, and before you know it, you’re flinging the front door open just as he steps in. And there he is.

Your man. Your whole heart.

He’s got his arms full—takeout bags in one hand, his backpack slung over his shoulder, looking more mouth-watering than anything that could possibly be in those containers. His hair’s a little ruffled, his shirt rumpled from the day, but to you, he might as well be walking straight out of a rom-com.

“EVIEEEE!” you squeal, pouncing at him with the enthusiasm of a kid on a sugar high.

“Whoa!” he chuckles heartily, catching you mid-air. He spins you around even though you can sense the stiffness in his body as he battles not to drop the dinner. He’s out of breath, but he holds you tight, like he’s afraid to let go. His backpack slides down his arm, and for a second, you’re just tangled together—glued around him, his hands grasping on you firmly.

“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” he teases, his voice hoarse from the long day. But you can see it in his eyes—he’s just as hyped to be back in your little cocoon as you are.

“You have no idea,” you breathe, and before you can utter anything else, his lips are on yours, kissing you like he’s been starved for weeks. You’re pretty sure you hear the bags crinkle between you two, but whatever… they can wait.

It’s not just a kiss. Oh no, this is the you-just-got-kissed-senseless kind that says, “I’m never letting you out of my reach again.” It’s deep and sloppy, and you feel it all the way down your toes. Little lewd moans escape your bodies as your tongues greet each other, swirling around in a lustful dance. He tastes like toffee, baby powder, warmth, comfort, and home.

You melt into each other, completely forgetting about the bags or the fact that you’ve still got soap on your hands. You twirl faster together as his hands mischievously squeeze your ass, making you giggle into his mouth.

“I was counting the hours to get to you, Y/N, and time was a total bitch today,” he grumbles, and it’s a husky purr near the nape of your neck. Your plump lips curl into an “awh, my poor baby” pout, cupping his cheeks in your palms as you swarm his face with little pecks.

When he finally sets you down, you’re both grinning like idiots. Your heart’s doing cartwheels, and your stomach feels like you’ve swallowed a whole bunch of butterflies. You missed him. Not just having him around, but all the little things tied in—his laugh, his hands on you, the way he stares at you like you’re a precious gem.

Closing the door behind you, you pace together towards the kitchen, and get the itch to drop the question, “Did Jake really move?” Your voice is hopeful, but there’s a little tinge of fear there too. You know how much this means to Evan, so you need to tread about cautiously.

He pauses, chucking his backpack aside before turning to you. His eyes soften, and he nods, stepping closer. His hands find your waist again, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “Yeah. He really did.”

Before you can even process the relief, Evan’s lips are on yours again, soft whimpers rolling off him. This time, the kiss is slower, more tender like silky ribbons on your mouth. His lips trail from your mouth down to your neck, his breath tingly against your heated skin. “Gosh, how much I needed you today,” he whispers between kisses, his voice dense with emotion as he presses his mouth lower, toward the neckline of your sports bra. His fingers gently graze your sides and rest on your hip bones before massaging your ass, and your breath hitches.

You thread your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension melt out of him as his body leans into yours. “Me too,” you huff out, because honestly, you feel like you’ve been holding your breath all day, just waiting for him to come home.

But then you pull away slightly, the thought of Jake scratching the back of your mind. “Can we go see him now?”

Evan sighs, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath warm and steady. “Not tonight,” he exhales, taking a couple of steps back. “It’s just family. They wanna keep it low with the visits.”

You shake your head in acknowledgment, nervously biting your fingernail. You get it—you really do—but there’s still that little sting of disappointment tugging at your chest. “How ‘bout tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, glancing over at you again as he tears the bags apart and unpacks the food. “We’ll try tomorrow afternoon. His family’s still adjusting, but I’ll talk to them.”

The relief that washes over you is like a pleasant, summer breeze, calming your frayed nerves. Tomorrow. You let out a breathy, “Okay, great,” your shoulders finally loosening. As you approach him to help dispose of the bags, Evan’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist in one quick, playful motion, pulling you flush against him.

You barely have time to gasp before his lips crash against yours, his tongue barging in your mouth without warning, assaulting yours in tantalising ways that are better left unsaid. You loop your arms around the back of his head and drag him closer, your tits cushioning his shredded chest.

“Don’t leave, please,” he hushes, his lips caressing yours. His voice is huskier now, a bit rougher around the edges, and you can feel the warmth from his body merging with yours. His free hand slips down to the supple flesh of your waist again, fingers curling just under the hem of your top to tuck underneath.

You smirk against his mouth, tilting your head slightly. “You know, we do live together, sir” you tease, playfully pinching the tip of his nose.

“That’s a reminder in case you forgot,” he quips, nuzzling into the slope of your neck. His broad shoulders are curved over you from behind like a shield, throwing every organ in your body on high alert, your heart drumming violently.

He pulls back, and before you can react, he gives your ass a quick, cheeky smack that makes you jump. Your mouth drops open in surprise, but he just grins smugly, like he’s fully aware of what he’s done, and he’s proud of it.

“Hey!” you whimper, swatting at him, but there’s no denying your pulse thumps fiercely.

“What?” he squeaks sheepishly, throwing his hands up in exasperation, but the glint in his eye gives him away. “You look too good to keep my hands off. Plus, guess who was stuck in my head the whole day. Hint—it’s not the burgers,” he fires back, waggling his eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes comically, but your heartbeat is up now. There’s something about the way he’s staring down at you—like he’s hungry, and it’s not just for the takeout. You notice it when he leans in again, this time with a heat that wasn’t there a moment ago. His lips trace a line of open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. Your fingers twist around his shirt, gripping it, as his hands roam a little lower, tugging you closer until you can feel every ounce of him pressed against you.

“Speaking of burgers, if food’s your love language, then you’re speaking mine fluently,” you chuckle, but the second you catch the look Evan gives you—whoa, buddy. Food’s officially second on his menu. His eyes are a pair of flamed balls, fixed onto you like you’re the main course, dessert, and everything in between—like you’re the most appetising thing in the room.

And, let’s just say, he’s a lot more “warmed up” than usual. His kisses grow deeper, rougher, and the way he’s touching you are the real giveaway… The man’s practically simmering.

And oh, honey, you’re more than pleased to help him get away tonight. So, in your most casual, not-at-all-planned-in-your-head-already way, you decide tonight’s the night to put up a show… Literally.

You let your hands glide down his chest, feeling every erratic beat of his heart beneath his shirt. “You’ve been through a lot lately,” you murmur softly, your fingers dipping lower until you’re just hovering over his belt buckle, toying with the metal. “How about I pamper you tonight?”

You let your tongue slide over his upper lip, and damn if he doesn’t shudder. His eyes flash with thrill and curiosity—mixed with something darker, more primal. “Oh?” His voice comes out in this sexy rasp like he’s intrigued but still playing along, letting you lead for now.

You bite back a smug grin. Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.

With a playful wink, you step back, making sure to drag your hand across his chest one last time. “Sit tight, big boy,” you purr, backing away with just the right amount of sway in your hips. “This show’s just getting started.”

You saunter down the hallway, feeling his gaze burning a path down your back. You can feel your heart pounding as you head into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. The second it clicks shut, you lean against it for a second to catch your breath. The adrenaline makes your hands quiver a little as you rummage through the drawer.

There it is: that little black number you’ve been saving for a night just like this.

A lacy, black lingerie piece, sheer in all the right places, hugging curves like it was made for you. You shimmy it on, adjusting the straps, making sure everything’s sitting just so.

A quick glance in the mirror as you set your hair free from the bun—tousled, sexy-but-effortless vibe, check. The lace hints at more than it conceals, and your lips curl into a slow smile. Oh, yeah, he’s done for. You toss on a silky robe, leaving it untied, the lace peeking through just enough to give him a preview. A little fragrance spritz and a light touch of your lipstick, and you’re sorted.

When you open the door and walk back into the living room, you find him perched on the couch, his eyes snapping to you like magnets, intense and feral, as you come into view. His posture is stiff, knuckles blanched as they grip the cushions like he’s holding on for dear life. His pupils, wide and black with want, devouring the sight of you as if you are something forbidden, yet irresistible.

His gaze lingers, darkening when it catches on the soft peek of skin where your robe parts. He swallows hard, audibly, and when you let the silky fabric slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet, his jaw clenches—hard (hint: and not just his jaw).

The low light of the room encases you as it casts a sensual glow over the room, deepening the shadows and sharpening the tension between you two like a blade.

“F-fuck,” he wheezes, like the breath’s been knocked clean and shallow out of him. He tries to maintain some semblance of self-control, but the sharp despair in his voice betrays him. He sinks deeper into the couch, spreading his legs slightly, shooting you this look that’s pure, unfiltered desire as he drinks you in.

You want to torture him, enjoying how his gaze rakes over every inch of you, so you slowly strut over to him. Each step is deliberate, your hips swinging in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that’s nothing short of tempting. His composure slips just a little more—a twitch in his jaw, a harsh swallow, the way his chest rises and falls, faster with every second. His eyes flick down to the curves, then back up to your scandalous tits before snapping back to your face.

The heat from his body radiates into yours as you come to a stop, your thighs rubbing against his knees, and his hands instinctively move to grab your waist. But you’re not giving in that easily. “Uh-uh,” you purr, wagging a teasing finger at him, your lips forming a sly smile.

His fingers freeze, but his eyes burn with frustration as you stretch, purposely slow, letting your ass hover just above his lap. The unmistakable press of his hardness through his jeans sends a jolt of arousal through you, and you can’t help but smirk. “I’m in charge tonight, remember?”

Evan lets out a furious groan, his head falling back defeated against the cushions, hands flexing in silent restraint. The power you hold over him tonight? Oh, it’s delicious, addictive. You throw him one last, seductive glance before turning around, giving him the full view of your barely-there lingerie—delicate straps criss-crossing down your back and framing your ass like a gift he’s dying to unwrap.

You hear as a muttered curse slips past his lips, low and guttural. He’s so close to breaking, and you haven’t even actually started yet. You scroll through your phone’s playlist, cueing up the perfect song for the occasion. The room is soon filled with the slow, sultry beats of Beyoncé’s ‘Dance For You,’ wrapping around both of you like a spell. You start slow, letting the music guide your hips, rolling in hypnotic circles.

You saunter towards a nearby chair, aka your prop, bending over it as your body flows like liquid heat to the beat. His eyes religiously follow every motion, waiting, his breathing growing heavier like he’s holding on a thread with every flick of your hips, every arch of your spine.

You roam your fingers up my body, teasingly stopping at your hips before dragging them higher, skimming over your breasts. With agonising slowness, you untie your bra, holding his attention and eye contact hostage. The second the lace slips off your body, you toss it in his direction with a devilish grin. He catches it with a hungry grunt, burying his face in the fabric like a man possessed, his smirk turning malicious as he inhales deeply.

“God, you’re killing me,” he groans, eyes exploding with thirst for you. The sight of him, chest heaving, lips slightly parted—oh, it’s so sadistically satisfying.

You’re gonna make him beg for it.

Leaning forward, just enough for your bare breasts to graze his chest, you bring your lips up to his ear, hot breath fanning the side of his face, “Good,” voice dripping with a promise for more. You pull back just a fraction, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m just getting started.”

You circle behind him, and he twists his head, tracking your every move, but you’re not finished (no pun intended).

“Please, Y/N. Come sit on my lap, or my face…just—” His voice breaks, raw and pleading, his body squirming as he shifts, desperate for release. The power thrumming through your veins is out of this world, and you bite your bottom lip knowing you’ve got him right on the edge.

You start with the lightest touch, dragging your fingers over the hard lines of his shoulders, tracing down the sculpted muscles of his chest, feeling the shudder that runs through him as you slide lower. Your fingers brush over the taut muscles of his thighs.

His stiff length twitches beneath your touch, his growl of desire low and animalistic. His hands stretch again, desperate to reach for you, but you chuckle softly, knowing he’s at your mercy tonight. His usual command is gone, flipped on its head, and that hunger in his eyes tells you he’s loving every second of it.

The music pulses through the room as you circle back around to him. You bend low, your curves on full display, just close enough for him to grab a handful of your ass with an eager groan that rumbles through his chest. He finally pulls you into him, lips attacking your skin, trailing down your spine with feverish kisses as he peels your thong off. His breath brushes against your slit and clit as he descends, his lips so dangerously close it sends your body humming with desire.

He can smell your fertility; the pheromones emitting from your body intensify his animal instinct to breed. His breathing is erratic now, his body practically vibrating with need to take you, but you still “hold the leash.”

He breaths come out in heavy bursts as he watches you straddle him, knees planted on either side of his hips. You grind down slowly, feeling the friction as you move in slow, sensual circles. His hands latch onto your thighs, his grip harsh and desperate, leaving marks that make your skin tingle. But still, you don’t let him seize control. Not yet.

Leaning in, you pepper steamy kisses along his neck, feeling his rapid pulse beneath your lips, your teeth tracing the sharp edge of his jawline. You tenderly bite at his earlobe, and he growls lowly, his hands spasming with despair to grab you, but even then, you won’t allow him to touch you the way he wants.

“The more you resist, the harder I’ll fuck you,” he warns with a hiss, his voice dark. It’s a threat and a vow all rolled into one that sends a heat pooling between your thighs.

“Perfect,” you retort in a hushed whisper against the shell of his ear, lips barely brushing the corner of his mouth—teasing but not quite giving in. “That’s the idea, baby.”

You’re serving cunt, and he knows it well.

With a slow, calculated slide, you lower yourself down his body, your hands stripping him of his blazer as you go. You let your hands trace over his thighs and the hardened, erected mound in between. Kneeling between his legs, you lock eyes with him, watching the way his breath stutters, anticipation swirling in the air. Slowly, you unbuckle his belt, your fingers stroking his length just enough to drive him nuts as he lets out a shaky gasp.

You pop the button on his jeans and pull down the zipper with your teeth. The second you free him from the tight confines of denim, his aching cock springs out, pulsing with raw desire for you, the fabric of his boxers barely able to contain him.

You glance up at him again with a smug smile before leaning down, your lips brushing along his head. His hips buck instinctively, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. But you take your time, taunting him with light flicks of your tongue.

Finally, you wrap your lips around him, licking his sensitive red tip with the end of your tongue. You swirl it around and lap up the shiny little pearls of precum that keep seeping out in his pent-up arousal. “F-fuuuck, Y/N. You’re gonna make me blow in a sec,” he grunts out with a hitched voice as you take his whole size in your mouth.

Your eyes flash up at him, filled with mischief as you take him deeper, your lips stretching to fit his full size. “Isn’t that the point?” you murmur, your voice on a seductive octave. “I want you to cum hard... fucking hard all over me.”

Your fingers trace the thick vein along the underside of his shaft before squeezing his hardness and pumping with a fast and firm tempo. Your hand works in sync with your mouth as you suck the upper half of his delicious cock, pulling him in and out, each movement making him gasp and buckle uncontrollably.

His head falls back, eyes screwed shut, muscles tensing. Some inaudible drabble slips off him as he thrusts into your mouth. Pools of saliva are pouring out of the edges of your lips, your eyebrows knitted together as you keep gagging at his cock hitting the back of your throat. You push further, your lips tight around him as you meet his gaze once more, your eyes wild with intensity. His fingers weave into your hair, but he doesn’t force you—he doesn’t have to. You’re in the saddle tonight, guiding him closer to his magical release.

Your hand reaches for his, fingers intertwining as your head bobs up and down on him, earning little moans of delight from his chest. He’s a hot mess; trembling under the weight of the pleasure you’re generously giving him as you slide your mouth down his dick, your cheeks hollowed in a blend of sensual sucks and frantic pumps.

The sound of you gagging, the wet slurp of your lips, and the way you glance up at him so innocently, brow furrowed with effort, has him reeling. “Ahh, yeah, keep going,” he breathes out, biting his bottom lip.

He gets a good yet gentle grasp of your hair, thrusting into your mouth in shallow, desperate strokes, but you maintain control, building him up slowly, methodically. He adores your lips, especially the way they loop around his dick and release these mewling sounds against it.

But now, his whole body is shuddering, his cock jerking inside, and you can feel the tell-tale sign he’s about to bust his load in your mouth. The blood rushes to his dick, draining any sane thought and cell in his brain, leaving him driven only by his primal instinct and craving for climax.

You slide onto his throbbing cock once more, gobbling on it like the insatiable whore you are. He presses your head down and keeps you there for a few seconds. As you detach from his member to draw a breath, his body immediately locks up, his abs contracting, and then—he’s there.

His head snaps back as he erupts shivering whimpers of your name, painting your face with copious amounts of his thick, white, and deliciously salty cum, his release spilling over your lips.

You open your mouth, tongue stretched out, catching the last drops as you pump him, milking every ounce of his release. His cum drips down your chin, and you let your fingers swipe off the remnants from your face, licking them off slowly, savouring the taste. Nothing goes to waste as you look up at him, lips wet, cheeks flushed with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“You’re one hungry bitch, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice strained, still shaky from the intensity of his high. He laughs weakly, dragging his thumb across your cheek with a tender caress, though his hard-on still convulses, not quite ready to soften. He winces as he tries to adjust himself, zipping up his jeans with difficulty, but the look of satisfaction on his face is unmistakable.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, licking your lips as you flash him a sly, knowing smirk. His chest rises and falls heavily, his face reddish, eyes droopy, still lost in the haze of afterglow.

Without wavering your eyes from him, you crawl up and climb to his lap, feeling your pussy drip with every inch of his skin that presses against you. He ogles your naked torso like a dog drooling over the bone. You position yourself just right, his semi-clothed swollen tip nudging against your slippery entrance.

“I am hungry for you, baby,�� you purr with a pout as your fingertips draw lazy circles over the ridges of his abs. His eyes darken, filled with a renewed lust as he watches you, licking his lips like a predator eyeing its prey.

Letting out a dark, throaty chuckle, he wastes no time—he hammers his lips against yours, shoving his tongue deep into your mouth and kissing you with reckless abandon. His hands greedily paw at your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, tugging them just hard enough to make you moan against his lips.

The arousal between you is electric as your body grinds against his, the friction sending sparks flying through you both; it’s like static rubbing off against each other, and you are about to feel yourself short circuit any minute.

His hands hook around your ass cheeks before delivering a sharp, stinging slap that makes you yelp in pleasure, the sound echoing through the room. You press your lips harder against his with a mewl, tongues tangling.

“Evan,” you hush out between sloppy kisses, barely coherent amidst loud teeth smacking and clashing together. All thanks to his fingers dipping between your legs, teasing your clit with maddening eights as he grins victoriously, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you.

“My slut’s ready for me?” he hums, giving your ass another smack, the sound of flesh against flesh making you quiver with delight. Your hips swerve on his raging boner, the body-against-body friction igniting an ever-powerful spark within you both. To say you’re a ‘mere’ tease for him is an understatement.

“You’re doing so good, my baby girl,” he gruffs, and his rough, veiny hands glide possessively toward your rocking waist as you begin to rub yourself against his thigh, slowly... teasingly. Every roll of your hips has him biting his lip, his eyes glued to the way your body moves against him.

“You’re in night care, baby boy, remember?” you hush, your voice laced with dominance as you lift your hips, fingers deftly undoing his trousers again. Your hand wraps around his cock, positioning him at your slick slit. Slowly, achingly slow, you sink down onto him, inch by inch. The stretch forces a moaning gasp out of you as your body adjusts to accommodate his size. Fiery electricity surges through you both, and he hisses watching as your pulsating pussy desperately tries to swallow his cock.

His hands tighten on your hips as you take him deeper, your nails digging into his biceps when he bottoms out, filling you completely. The fullness makes you shudder, your breath leaving you in a jagged burst as his tip presses snugly against your cervix. The deep groan that escapes his throat vibrates through your body, making you clench around him involuntarily, his hips stilling cautiously.

You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, languid circles, setting a rhythm that’s equal parts torture and bliss for both. His hands grip you harder, leaving faint red imprints on your flushed flesh, but he doesn’t push or pull—he’s letting you have the upper hand in riding him, his eyes dark and hungry as he admires you, mouth parted. The way he’s looking at you though? Like you’re a goddess descending from the heavens just for him. Oh, that does something to you.

“Look at you, baby. So fucking gorgeous, taking me like that,” he murmurs, pride and desire dripping from every word. A crooked smile is etched on his face hearing the sloshing whines squawk out of your poor needy folds as they cling to his cock. Every thrust, every grind, every little whimper from your lips makes his large member throb inside you, stretching you deliciously as you plop up and down on him.

You lean down, sealing your lips in a hungry, desperate kiss, your tongues twirling in a messy dance. It’s all teeth and moans again as he hits that sweet spot deep inside. It’s the type of kiss that makes time stop, like nothing else exists except for the raw, primitive connection between you two.

His hands trail up your bare back, fingers tangling in your hair, keeping you close as you grind down harder. Your bodies move in sync, perfectly attuned to each other, and you can feel his cock twitching inside you with every movement. His eyes dart down to your bouncing breasts and toned stomach, but you quickly grab his jaw, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Nu-uh,” you whisper against his lips, your voice tinged with authority. “Eyes on mine, boy.”

He lets off a hearty chuckle, even going so far as to wriggle your ass back against him. “You feel so damn amazing, baby,” he huffs, voice rough with desire, talking over your whiny babbles. He cranes his neck to kiss the edge of your jaw before tenderly nipping at the skin.

Panting heavily, you exhale, “I could do this all night.” Your hips move faster, sliding up and down his thick length, the friction sending bolts of euphoria through you. His breathing grows ragged, and you can feel the tension rising, winding tighter and tighter. You’re so soft—sweet gummy flesh compressing around him with such ease, wringing him tight like a vice. He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.

He lets out a low groan, barely holding himself together as your walls squeeze around him. “Thaaat’s it, hngh. This pussy knows it’s place,” he grouses, and your eyes widen, realising the shift in dynamic—he’s reclaimed control, already winning ground, sis. Before you know it, his plumpish tip drills further between each corner of your dripping cunt. Your small sobs amplify as he starts to move beneath you, his hips thrusting up harder, making your entire body quake with each deep pound.

“I love fucking you so much,” he grunts, nearly whining, his head tilting back as his cock jerks inside you.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Evan’s grip tightens on your hips. With one fluid motion, he lifts you off him, his arms hook beneath your thighs. You gasp, caught off guard, your body hanging in his grasp as he stands up, practically growling with primal need.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, sending a bolt of excitement straight down your spine.

Without hesitation, he spins you around, carrying you across the room, your legs instinctively bundling around his waist. You’re in such a sweet, sexual brain fog that it takes you a second to get what’s going on. With one swift movement, he sweeps his arm across the dining table, sending glasses, cutlery, and whatever else is there crashing to the floor in a chaotic symphony of clatters.

“Evan!” You giggle dazedly, hands clasping on his shoulders as he sets you down on the table, the cold wood against your back making you shiver—but not nearly as much as the fire blazing in his eyes.

He leans over you and shushes you with a kiss, his lips brushing against yours as he pushes your legs apart. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You don’t have time to argue—not that you want to. He grabs your hips, yanking you to the very edge of the table, his body wedged firmly between your legs. There’s no remorse in his eyes—just pure, animalistic desire. One hand snakes under your ass, the other glides down your left thigh, lifting it effortlessly over his broad shoulder. The way he leans down and looks at you now, almost in slow motion... gosh. It’s like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed… like nothing else matters but taking you right here, right now, and it sets your entire body on fire.

He wants to smash, and he’ll get it.

The scent of your cunt is intoxicating, stirring every primal instinct inside Evan that he knows he must keep in check. He draws his hips back slowly, only his tip nestling inside you, then jams just once inside you. Your whole body jumps at the impact, your pleading eyes boring deep into his, a breathy hum punched out of you. He pulls back and slams forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls are cuddling him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip is wedged against.

His hands roam up your thighs, grasping you like he can’t get enough. With each slow, deliberate stroke, he sinks deeper into you, your body arching off the table in response. The sensation of him rutting in and out of your sobbing sex is overwhelming—every movement has your breath hitching, your fingers clutching the edge of the table, desperate for some kind of anchor.

Your orgasm is building again, fast and intense. As the pressure inside you give way to climax, tears cascade down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy.

“E-Evan, I can’t take it! T-too much!”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Say please, baby,” he grits out, his voice low and commanding. His hips thrust into yours harder, making you lose all sense of logic. Your mind is blank, mouth hanging open, unable to form words as the pleasure consumes you.

“P-please,” a pained mewl tumbles out of you, and that single word tips him off the edge. His hips stutter, and with a series of deep thrusts along with a carnal chant of “ah, ah, ah, ah” pouring from his lips, he gushes inside you—creamy gooey ropes of cum dribble into you, not missing at all.

He’s panting heavily, hips jerking involuntarily as he empties himself, filling you to the brim with thick, sticky cum.

His groans of satisfaction blend with your breathy moans as you cling to him, feeling his weight stick against your skin like it’s adhesive. You bite into the soft skin of his neck, muffling your whimpers as he continues to thrust lazily, drawing out every last bit of his orgasm.

“Come for me,” he demands, his voice low and raspy, each word filled with the same raw desire that’s coursing through your veins. “I wanna feel you.”

That’s it—the words, the intensity, the feeling of him completely owning your body, claiming you in a way that makes your head spin—have you on a chokehold. You suck in lungfuls of air as the incoming pangs of orgasmic waves smash over you with impossible force. You can’t hold back the loud moans spilling from your lips, your body arching up and writhing beneath him as you come hard, your walls spasming around his cock.

He presses his forehead to yours, his hand gently stroking your cheek, his breath hot against your lips. Your body convulses uncontrollably in his arms as he rides out your climax with you, his cock still throbbing inside your over-sensitive core.

As you come down, your breaths laboured and uneven, he buries his head to your chest, his mouth warm against your skin as his kisses travel down to your boobs, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. Each subtle touch sends aftershocks of pleasure through you, your body still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

You huff, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. “You’re a menace, you know that?” you whisper, still trying to catch your breath. But he’s not done yet. You giggle softly as he moves lower, planting tingly smoochies to your skin, his breath like a warm breeze against your thighs.

“You smell like honey… I wanna taste you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the soft curve of your inner thigh. His fingers part your sloping folds, spreading you open for him as he watches the glistening cum leak from your swollen pussy. His primitive need to eat you up tests his sense of control.

His tongue plunges between your labia, stretching them up with a slow and deliberate lick. Your thighs quiver around his head in the aftershocks of your climax, straining moans and semi-shrieks falling from your lips as his tongue dives deeper between your folds. The wet sound of him slurping up the mix of your juices and his cum is obscene, but it only drives you wilder, especially as he mumbles the moto, “Y/N... Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Your fingers lace in his drenched thick, curly brown locks, holding him in place. The untamed animal inside him is finally sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs. His teeth sink ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, and you can’t stop the desperate little wails flipping from your throat.

Your eager pussy can’t help but drool. Streams of your slick cascade down between the crevices of your thighs and coat the entirety of his fingers. With a rosy flat tongue, he pads and licks you clean, taking every few seconds to pull his fingers in—only to push them right back out. As he re-enters, he pokes against your g-spot again, and again, and again…

That’s all it takes for the sharp twisting coil to snap within you for the second time, and your thighs turbulently shake within his feeble grasp. “Fuck, fuck,” you choke out, your breath coming in hollow bursts as you feel his hushed praises and loving words ghost against your clit. You can’t stay still for the life of you—it’s as if every muscle in your body rips apart once you come into his mouth, your jaw slackened and your eyes widened.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” you ramble, and Evan’s still flicking his tongue against your sobbing slit.

You’re making a mess out of him, and he’s still eating it up—the dedication. His chin got such a pretty glimmer of shine all thanks to your slick running down. With an echoing pop, he slides his fingers off your pussy, stretching his digits further apart just to see how your sap glues against them. The shaking from your multiple orgasmic release keeps on, the ringing in your ears never subsiding.

“Mmph, Y/N. So beautiful,” he cries out, his voice cracking with emotion as he presses a kiss to your swollen, sensitive lips. Your sweet slickness smears against his stubble even more, but he couldn’t care less. All that matters is you, lying there beneath him, glowing with the outcome of your pleasure.

Evan’s gaze lingers on you for a long moment, his chest still heaving as he melts in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, thoroughly wrecked from the intensity of what just happened. His hand gently strokes your thigh, trailing up and down in soothing circles as the both of you come down from the high together.

Propping your weight on your elbows, you stare down on him, a lazy grin playing at the corners of your lips. You pull him up for a sloppy, rough kiss. Your fingers pinch on his well-defined jaw as he rests on top of her. You can feel his stiff length press against her stomach, and it feels great.

You reach up to brush his damp hair from his forehead. “You really know how to leave a girl breathless,” you mumble teasingly, though your voice is barely above a whisper, still catching.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your palm. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, and you giggle softly, the sound light and airy.

You lay there for a while, the after-sex haze still buzzing through your veins. Evan’s sprawled out on the sofa, shirtless. His hair is all tousled, looking like some kind of model from a cologne ad—except sexier, and definitely more accessible. You watch him, feeling a dopey grin spread across your face. This man… God, this man.

You pull yourself up, snuggling into that familiar blue blanket from the edge of the couch—the one you always steal when it’s movie night, or when you’re feeling cosy after a particularly intense workout (aka “fuck time”).

“You look like a smurf burrito,” Evan quips, his hand lazily draped across his abs as he watches you pace around the room.

You snort, cuddling deeper into the blanket. “Better than looking like a sweaty, shirtless disaster.” You throw him a wink and a brow waggle, but honestly, the view is prime real estate right now. That man should charge admission.

He smirks smugly, running a hand through his messy curls. “Sweaty, shirtless disaster, huh? I was under the impression you were enjoying said disaster inside you just a few minutes ago.”

“Touché,” you giggle as you flop down the sofa, letting your head fall back against the armrest. “But the jury’s still out on whether I enjoyed it or tolerated it.”

“Oh, is that so?” His eyebrow quirks, and that playful gleam you love so much flickers back in his eyes. He leans forward, crawling towards you on the sofa with that predator-like grace, his hands landing on either side of your bundled-up self.

“Maybe.” You bite your lip, trying to keep a straight face, but your heart's already doing flips at the way he’s looking at you. Damn, those eyes.

“Hmm. Well, maybe I should just—” Evan dips down, his lips grazing your ribcage, making you gasp. You wriggle away playfully, pulling the blanket up higher as if it’s some kind of armour.

“Okay, okay! I loved it. Five stars on Yelp, glowing review and a side of fries.” You’re laughing now, barely able to keep up the act.

Evan chuckles triumphantly, that warm, rumbling sound that makes your pulse leap in your throat. “Five stars? Well, that must make me the Michelin Man of love.”

“Please,” you laugh, “the only thing you’re qualifying for is most likely to be found with a pizza slice in hand.”

His grin widens, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Well, speaking of pizza, how about we start planning our wedding menu? I’m thinking pepperoni and extra cheese for the wedding cake. You know, something to make the guests feel like they’re in a pizzeria.”

You roll your eyes, giggling at his ridiculousness. “So, pizza-themed wedding, huh? What are we going to serve? Breadsticks as the bouquet?”

“Absolutely! And the best part? I’ll have a pepperoni ring!” He starts mimicking a ring toss, and you can’t help but crack up.

“Oh wow, my future husband is a real romantic,” you say, shaking your head in mock disbelief.

But then Evan leans in closer, his expression turning serious, and you feel the air shift. “But really, I want to make sure I don’t just slice into this whole ‘life together’ thing. I want to do it right. So, how about we order that wedding cake now because…” He reaches into his pocket, and your heart skips a beat as he pulls out a small velvet box.

You narrow your eyes in suspicion as you sit up. “What are you doing? Is this some kind of prank”

“Well, not exactly a prank. Unless you think proposing is some kind of joke.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” The word barely squeaks out, and you’re pretty sure your brain just exploded. Did he—did he just say proposing?

Evan’s mouth pulls into this soft smile, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee on the sofa. “I mean, I’ve got the ring and all that the protocol requires,” he mutters and your eyes bulge, mouth agape. “...and I don’t want to waste another minute from making you my wife!”

Your heart stops.

You leap up from the sofa, shaky hands flying to your mouth, shock flooding your system. The blanket almost slips off, eyes wide and heart pounding like you’re on the world’s most chaotic and steepest rollercoaster. Did he—did he also just say wife? “Are you serious?”

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice a little shaky but full of that Evan confidence that always makes you feel like the only person in the room, “I’ve been through a lot lately. We both have. But the one constant through it all—through the tough days and the good ones, the sleepless nights and the mornings I wake up next to you—is that I want every single day to be with you.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this.

“From the moment I saw you in that club, I never looked away. We started off with a bang, quite literally, but I’ve felt like I’ve known you my whole life and won the love lottery. You’re my jackpot. The reason I smile—even when I feel like I’ve hit every bump on the road. You make even the ordinary feel extraordinary, and I want to make this last forever.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this. Your pulse hammers so loud you swear he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“So here I am, making it official, ready to take a gamble on the biggest bet of my life. Will you marry me and make me the luckiest man on the planet?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a subtle and stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart throbs so hard, you’re sure it’ll burst out of your chest.

“You drive me crazy in the best way possible. You’re my best friend, my partner in crime, my favourite person to order burgers with. I want to spend the rest of my life making you laugh, making you mad, and maybe every now and then... sweeping plates off the table to get to you faster.” He smirks, his eyes twinkling.

“Evan!” you gasp, half-laughing through your tears, remembering the chaos from a few minutes ago.

He chuckles heartily, but there’s something so tender in his expression now. “So, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a simple yet stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“Yes!” you shout, your voice breaking with joy as you toss the blanket aside and fling yourself into his arms, knocking him backward onto the sofa. He laughs as you straddle his waist, hugging him tight, tears of joy streaming down your face.

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, kissing him hard, your heart swelling with so much love it feels like it might burst.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, smiling up at you as you kiss him again, both of you tangled in this beautiful, overwhelming moment.

He slips the ring onto your finger, and you hold your hand up, marvelling at how perfectly it fits—how perfectly it all fits.

And as you both lie there, wrapped up in each other and the ridiculousness of the moment, Evan chuckles. “So, Smurf burrito, looks like you’re stuck with me for life.”

You laugh, smothering his face with smoochies of aggressive cuteness magnitude. “Lucky me. Now... about those burgers? I’m still hungry.”

Evan grins, pulling you closer. “First, how about I show you just how well I can speak your love language?”

“Burgers first, then more disaster sex,” you tease, giggling as he tries to tickle you.

“Deal,” he whispers, stealing another kiss, because honestly, in this moment, you’re the best thing on the menu.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling, @babymazz

Announcement

This might not be a forever goodbye, and who knows, a spinoff of this series might pop up someday, but this is going to be the final part, y’all. I’ll admit, I sometimes feel like I’m navigating through a tiny room with towering walls in this digital space; like my creative expression is being restricted and policed, and I cannot fully communicate or channel my “writing persona,” if you will, in here. Still, every bit of your love and support has made it worth it. I’ve poured so much into this world, and Evan, well… he’s been an incredible muse through it all. So, thanks a bunch, truly. xx

132 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 9 months ago

Text

Paper Hearts Part 5

I have no restraint. I have NO restraint. I HAVE NO RESTRAINT!!! So guess who starting writing a SEQUEL to this because she was feeling too sad to write Sweet Home Indiana? Yup! I would apologize, but this story is too cute for words.

We have a mild panic attack about the ending of the chapter from Steve, Eddie's plan, and Steve accepting an offer that made mostly in jest, but also in deep earnest.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TAG LIST IS CLOSED!!!

But if the people on my list that haven't interacted on my stuff lately don't reply by Sunday slots may open up. So don't despair just yet if you want to be on the list and can't.

****

Steve banged his head on his locker in frustration. Why did he do that? Why did he tell Eddie he was interested in boys, too? Why did he trust the other boy to have his back? Especially when no one else seemed to.

He sighed.

He wrenched open his locker and a little pink heart fluttered to the floor. He frowned as he picked it up.

They weren’t going to hand out the hearts until Valentine’s Day so what was this then?

-Stevie

I like the way you’re kind even when it doesn’t benefit you.

Kas

Steve blinked down at the little heart in confusion. It wasn’t the exactly the same color as the hearts they were going to give out for the holiday. But it was close. He rubbed his thumb over the sender’s name.

Kas.

He knew it wasn’t a real name, having recently poured over the yearbook. So it had to be a reference to something, but what he didn’t know. He stuck it in his jacket pocket and grabbed what he needed for his next class, vowing to worry about it later.

As he sat in his chemistry class waiting for it to start he pulled it out of his pocket to look at it again. The pen was red ink and bold. Steve found himself smiling at the strange little pink heart.

Suddenly it was ripped out of his hand.

His head snapped up to see Tommy H. standing there with it in his hand. “Someone is sending Harrington Valentine’s hearts?”

“Give it back, Tommy,” Steve growled. “It’s none of your business. Not anymore.”

Tommy looked him in the eye before tossing it to the ground and walking off. “Whatever.”

Steve bent over to pick it up.

“Some girl named Kassy or whatever,” Tommy was telling Nicole. “Could be anyone from the younger grades.”

“I suppose so,” she said, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “But anyone with sense would know he’s the plague now.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Just because he refuses to suck either of you two off doesn’t mean he’s still not the hottest guy in school.”

Tommy rounded on her and called her a bitch.

She just scoffed and swung back around just as the teacher walked into the room. The tardy bell rang and he called the class to order, effectively squashing all gossip.

Steve ducked his head to hide his smile. He might feel a bit bitter that it was her party that Nancy threw their relationship in his face at, but it wasn’t her fault his girlfriend had gotten so pissed drunk that she lost her ironclad control. And right now he was feeling especially grateful to her for that comment.

He managed to get through his class just from riding that high alone.

His last class was algebra and it really should have been made illegal by now. The way the numbers and letters seemed to float off of the page as he struggled to parse their meaning. He just had to pass one quarter of this shit and he could graduate.

So he put his head down to learn and just suffer through it.

After school, he got to his locker and knelt down to open it.

Again a pink heart fluttered out of it. But this time it had a couple of friends. Steve stuck them in his jacket pocket again and exchanged books. He grabbed his English and history homework so that he could get them done for tomorrow.

He opened the back door of his car and threw in his backpack. He went to open his door when Eddie was suddenly at his side.

He leaned up against the door, preventing Steve from opening it.

“So the king swings for both teams?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve looked around, but they were alone for the most part, so he just shrugged. “Some guys are hot and for some reason I can’t fathom, I trust you not have it all over the school by lunch tomorrow.”

Eddie chuckled and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I wouldn’t do that to ya.”

“Yeah and why would that be?” Steve asked turning around and sticking his hands in his front pockets.

“That would be because it would be hypocritical of me to go spreading around the school someone likes guys,” he said, bumping their shoulders together.

Steve looked at him for a long time before he nodded. “You know by now I don’t put much stock into rumors. I did that once and got my shit rocked for it. Lesson learned, man.”

“I heard about the infamous Byers left hook,” Eddie agreed. “That was some pretty major shit rocking.”

The jock rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he was my first concussion.”

The older boy looked up at the sky as he thought about it and then nodded. “Billy Hargrove would be round two, I’m assuming?”

Steve nodded and then threw his head back. “This year has gone from bad to worse and I’m barely keeping my head above water.”

Eddie hummed his agreement. It really has seemed like Steve couldn’t catch a break. “I feel that. I’m really struggling this year. Last year I didn’t graduate because I so focused on getting out of here, making it with my music that I forgot the promise I made to my mom that I would. Graduate I mean. But this year is just hell.”

“That sucks, Eds,” he agreed.

“You think you’re going to graduate?”

“God, I hope so,” Steve murmured, collapsing against the side of his car. “I just want to get out of this town.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “Where would you even go, man?”

“I’d pick a direction and just drive for as long as I could,” he admitted softly. “I just need to be as far away from this place as I can.”

The metalhead nodded. “If we both graduate we should hop into my van and just run for the coast.”

Steve smiled fondly. “I think I’d like that.”

Eddie pushed himself off the car and then waved Steve goodbye.

The younger boy got into his car with a sigh of relief. Not only did Eddie promise not to out him, he came out to Steve, too. Now it was mutually assured destruction.

Steve smiled and started the car for home. Maybe this year was starting to get a little better.

****

Eddie shoved his hands in his back pockets as he made his way to his van. He didn’t know what possessed him to ask Steve to runaway with him or what possessed Steve to agree but it left a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest.

He hauled himself into the van and sat there for a moment just thinking about it. Of course that meant graduating himself, so he would have to focus on that. His van roared to life and he drove off.

It took him a couple of tries but he finally found the construction paper he needed. He had even found some black construction paper that he was going to use to make little paper bats to tape on the inside of his locker to make it less miserable.

Especially as he was told he couldn’t have his metal band posters up in there. They were too “evil” and “Satanic” and he should be more “Christ like” as if they were epitome of Christian virtue with all the hate they had for anyone not like them.

But Eddie got down to work and started making as many pink hearts as he could. He had thought briefly about adding a couple of red hearts in the mix, but he thought that was a step too far. He didn’t want to get Steve’s hopes up that he had multiple crushes on him if that wasn’t true.

He still planned on giving Steve his one red heart that he had bought. That wasn’t in question. He had already filled it out and returned it to the great big baskets that had been in the main hall.

It simply read:

Stevie,

You make being in this town worth living in,

Love,

Kas

He let out a slow shuddering breath. That was one of the scariest things he had to do since choosing to live with an uncle he had only met twice his entire life over being in the system. He knew his life was infinitely greater being with Uncle Wayne and he hoped this would yield a similar result.

Because he had made a promise and with all signs pointing toward Steve at least being receptive to a date, he had to shoot his shot and hope for the best.

He had made roughly fifty or so of the pink hearts and set about dividing them into four piles. With Jeff, Gareth, and Brian offering to help with the friendship hearts he wanted to make sure everyone got a few of them. Plus it made it easier to come up with things. Because even if they came up with similar ideas, they at least would be phrased slightly different so Steve wouldn’t figure it out.

He also had the idea of using pseudonyms so that it wasn’t all anonymous and initials, though there would some of those too.

But it was time for band practice, so he gathered up his things and the hearts and trotted off to his van, a wave and goodbye to Wayne on his way out.

****

Steve finally opened the other three hearts. Two were anonymous but the third surprisingly was from Tina.

It read it in the tiniest print that was still legible:

Steve,

I know we’re supposed to turn these in or whatever,

But I just wanted to say you’re still A-OK in my book.

-Tina

He blushed. That was nice of her and after she stuck up for him in chemistry, he was feeling a little better about himself.

The other two were just as sweet if a tad unusual in their delivery. The first one said:

Steve,

I��m sorry you lost your crown,

you kept the bullies from being their worst selves.

And the other read:

Steve,

You are a good dude.

Sorry people are shit right now.

Steve shook his head. They were well-tended, he had no doubt but they were odd. Like they were trying to find something nice to say and didn’t know how to word it.

Which, fair.

He knew he had a hard time coming up with complements for the twenty girls he’d picked out for his little project. He had to make sure the message wasn’t creepy or would come across as stalker-y.

He smiled down at the messages. He pulled out a little notebook that he had used to collect all the little things that the kids had given him over the past couple years and put the hearts on their own little page. He carefully put the book back, hidden between two textbooks from his freshman year.

“Steven!” his mom called. “We’re home!”

“Coming, Mom!” he cried, hurrying down the stairs.

****

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: Closed

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

@fullpoetrybread @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @lololol-1234 @dotdot-wierdlife

@ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself @dam28lh

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #post season 2 #valentine's fic

211 notes · View notes

makncheese12 · 2 years ago

Text

Top Shelf

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: being the kid of a well-known book store owner was easy, so was running into famous people. But being book smart doesn’t make everyone people smart.

Warnings: my writing, language(bad words😯), my attempt at being funny, mention of gun shots and head shots, mentions of my favorite book(literally love Ruta Sepetys sm omg.

A/N: part 2? I am going to make you all suffer through the most oblivious slow burn. R if going to be so dumb/oblivious it’ll hurt you all🫶🏻

Word count - 3.6k

Credits: @novmoth (my friend from school who feeds into my delusions and gives me more ideas for this story🫶🏻)

(bare with me English is not my first language🥲 I’m getting help from my friend to edit it)

You were born to it.

The books. The films. The music and video games.

It was your life, literally. With your parents being owners of the infamous establishment called ‘top shelf’, you had no choice but to.

And you wouldn’t ever change.

Books upon books, movie after movie, games old and new and music that could last you weeks. Who would want to change such a life?

Your father was the first to start it.

He was poor man in Washington but had just enough money to buy it from the man who owned the small movie shop before he retired. He slowly started added book shelves and video games to the mix. Getting few customers but enough to survive day to day during the time of his early years

Your mother was a wealthy run away. Wanting something different and new in her life when she met your father. The man was playing on his game boy behind the counter before he saw her.

The poor boy and his run away wife, a classic really.

The rest after that is history.

As soon as they found out your mother was pregnant with you, they used the rest of her money they saved and went to New York where they bought the huge abandoned apartment complex.

They broke all the insides down and built what you now know as your second home. Hundreds of video games, films and music in one section and thousands of books in another.

Thus, Top Shelf was born only two weeks after you.

You met many friends there in the comfort section where students and business people worked as you all goofed off.

Your had also met your small friend group during your younger years, the four of you all never letting your father have the peace he wanted and dragging him all over New York.

With the thousands of books and hundreds of video games and films your parents sold, you had money. Lots of it.

But your mother made sure you never let that get the best of you, never. It went against everything she went for when she ran away.

She would make sure you would work for and earn everything you got, always.

She never let you have too much online activity, in case her family found you and made sure you were both street smart and book smart.

Your neighbors made sure you were street smart more than anything but you still gave her credit for trying.

Though, the book store was beautiful in every season. Winter was a favorite and when it was busiest. It was too your favorite.

Your father lighting the public fire place, your mother setting soft seasonal music, hell even the cheesy Christmas cartoons on the TV’s set the mood for the perfect bookstore vibe.

The lights dim just enough to where it almost felt like dark academy yet the plants that grew down the upstairs railing made the entire place feel more alive.

————

“Bullshit!” You yell out as you throw your head back onto the head rest of your chair, groaning loudly as the photo sound of your death snapped in your ears.

“Man, he’s fucking using cheats!” Dru calls out through the mic before his name pops up above to yours in dark red on the screen as you respawn.

“Of course he is, he’s a pussy.” Mj says, as her name, too, pops up on the screen.

“Oh come on, guys!” Lyle says through his staticky mic. “You all just suck.” He laughs

“Now I know your cheating, dude. Your mic is acting up again, just like last time!” Dru says, the sound of his voice booming louder than needed and you roll my eyes.

“DD, just because you like to replay games without using cheats doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” Lyle says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“It’s multiplayer, stupid! It’s meant to be fair for everyone!” Dru says making you snort. “Says the guy who chases around little kids and steals their horses making them cry.” Mj says making Dru blow into his mic making loud, unnecessary noises.

“Quit that!” You say taking one head phone off your ear. “Tsk tsk tsk,” Lyle starts. “Such a sore loser.”

“I’ll show you sore loser, get on Elden ring and we’ll test your irritation.” Dru says, mic now muffled by his own spit.

“Your tank build is not enough to stop me, comet azur will always save the day.” He says in a sing-song voice.

“And you call me a try hard, yet you’re the one always using a broken spell.” Dru complains. “Theres nothing I have to try hard at when I can just hold a simple button.” The sound of Dru’s groans become louder as his spit clears out from his Mic. “Same thing!”

You laugh once again before picking up your phone and looking at the time.

“Shit!” Your eyes go wide at the sight, 8:48 AM.

You quickly throw the head set off and push yourself out of the chair, opening your closet grabbing a quick pair of jeans and a hoodie before rushing to put it all on.

Your cat skids across the floor, startled by your sudden movements before a crashing in the your pile of books and out the door.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble as you jump up and down to put on your shoes, failing at not falling and race toward the door. “Sorry!” You call to your cat who yells at you next to his food bowl.

You grab your keys and rush out the door before slamming it shut and locking it.

“Ay, y/n!” Your neighbor, Rosa, shouts from beside her door. “Quiet will you! I just put Nona to sleep!” She yells raising her news paper tapping your head with it.

“Sorry! sorry, Señora Rosa.” You whisper yell as you try to push her weaponized hand away. “I’m just a little late.”

“And I just got a moment of peace! Quiet!” She says giving you one last wack making you try and shrink away from her as you rush toward the stairs.

“You got your pepper spray, right?” She calls and you raise your key chain to show her the attached small can. “¡Buena niña!”

You rush down the stairs and push passed the glass door, almost slipping on the ice before running down the street.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket making you quickly take it out.

“Hello?” You ask without knowing who it was.

“Arthur Morgan would be very disappointed at your sudden disappearance from an important mission.” Lyle says before sighing.

“It’s multiplayer, there are no main missions.” You say, trying to avoid the ice on the ground before stopping at the red hand across the street. “Plus, we were in the middle of four way 1v1. He’d be more upset that we were going against each other.”

“Loyalty is everything in such a game,” he says, sarcasm in his voice and you imagine him shaking his head. “Of course he would be upset at my bullet in DD’s head.”

“Why’d you call me exactly?” You ask watching the hand turn into a green man walking before taking off again.

“Well, you just yelled ‘shit!’ Before disappearing on us, had to make sure someone didn’t break in and kill you.” He replies casually as if he knew that weren’t the case. “But after hearing you continue on your ‘shit’ rant and the door slam I figured it was okay, just had to call and make sure, y’know?”

“Ever heard of a text, loser?” You ask, barley missing a man walking and looking down at his phone. “Gross,” he says before making a gagging noise. “why waste such time typing when I can simply just hit one button?”

“You’re so lazy.” You laugh out loud as you run across another street. “Work smarter not harder, Y/N. You should know this with that big brain of yours.”

“What if I want to work both smarter and harder?” You ask, running up to the glass window to see the books lined up. “Well, then your just weird.” You roll your eyes.

“Just kidding. I guess you can do both, I just personally prefer the alternative.” He says as the sound of guns shooting fills the phone. “Yeah, also sorry about leaving.” You say pushing into the store being greeting with the familiar smell of books and the warm smile of my mother.

“I forgot I had to get ready for work.”

“You’re at top shelf?” He ask and you reply with a ‘mhm’. “I might stop by later to say hello actually, I need a new game anyway.” He laughs as the sound of Dru yelling in the back ground becomes more prominent.

“Sounds good, see you loser” You say as you take your sweat shirt off, leaving you in your tank top you hand before leaving. “Later,” you hear him say before hanging up.

“Good morning,” you hear your mother say as you pull the staff sweat shirt over your head and pull up your sleeves. “Mornin’,” you reply before kissing her cheek.

“Wheres dad?” You ask looking around before your eyes setting on the woman stack a pile of books into one pile.

“He’s going to be out of town for a few days,” she says carrying the pile to the check back station. “A vacation, I insisted as I continue your training.” She says making you smile.

“We both know he needs it, he’s getting older.” She says and your smile fades as you nod. “So are you.” You mumble and she, too, nods.

“You know him getting old is different from me getting old.” She states, sighing quietly.

“What’s todays task?” You ask, quickly changing the subject at the sight of her sad frown. She looks at you for a moment before smiling once again.

She moves to storage closet and unlocks it, allowing you to see the boxes upon boxes along with stacks of different other things.

“To be a good store owner, you have to know your customers.” She says returning with a large box that you quickly take from her.

“Just put it on that table — and to know your customers, you must socialize and help them throughout the store.” She finishes as you take the box to the table noticing the label romance written across it.

“That also means having to work while helping the customers, so you’ll be on stock duty as well.” She says with a smile.

Yes.

You mentally say to yourself. Stock duty required work of you finding the places of different books, movies and games which also meant finding new things you didn’t know about before.

“One more thing,” you mother says as she walks behind the counter to finish opening up the store. “No head phones.” Your eyes go wide.

“But ma!” You call out to the lady who switches the sign from closed to open. “What else am I supposed to do when I stock!” You call, holding onto the white cords and swinging them around.

“Help the customers and socialize.” She laughs out making you frown. “I should call CPS.” You mumble carrying the box to the sorted area before hearing the woman’s laugh.

“Sure, call ahead but don’t be disappointed when they decline a twenty year old.”

You roll your eyes before continuing down the aisle.

“And after you sort those, get the others out of the storage closet!” You huff quietly as you glance back with a small playful glare on your face.

“If I wanted to work out, I would have gone to the gym.” You say and she rolls her eyes. “You’ll be just as sore in the morning, trust me.”

————

Hours hand passed, since you last seen the romance box having moved on to the horror section of the films.

You search through their placement areas, looking at all the old cinematic master pieces, the many Dracula films placed neatly next to each other, in order of both year and name.

Horror was one of the favorites when coming here, your father being a collected through his years he had many people couldn’t get their hands on.

Sure you could watch it online now but where’s the fun in that when you have a real copy with the static noises and written voices on screen. Some people still had some class left in them.

You hear a book hit the floor making the library echo as heads turned toward the cause of the sudden interruption of their silence.

“Shit—” You hear someone say quietly, making you roll your eyes as you place the rest of the CD’s in their rightful places before making your way toward the aisle the noise came from.

You subtly make your way toward the aisle while acting like your checking the books before taking a peek around the corner.

You see a rather short girl — shorter than the third shelf — craning her neck to look up at all the books in front of her.

Just to your luck, your mother placed a box for that genre next to the end of the shelf and you picked it up.

You make your way down the aisle and set the box toward the middle before looking up the girl who was already staring, and boy was she something.

Freckles littered across her tan skin, strands of her short hair fell from her half up half down style, her eyes — damn her eyes — they were the prettiest brown you’ve ever seen.

You smile lightly before picking up the first book and reading both the authors name and the title while trying to slow down your racing heart.

Who was this girl? Matter of fact, what was she? She wasn’t a regular, that’s for sure but you always get random people coming in so it didn’t exactly matter.

After putting away a few books, you glance up to see the girl a few feet away and on her tippy toes, reaching for a book on the fifth or sixth shelf.

You snorted quietly catching the girls attention making you quickly look away to keep yourself from laughing.

“You think this is funny?” She asks and you begin shaking in quiet laughter.

After a few moments, you compose yourself and stand shaking your head.

“No, not at all. Would you like some help?” You ask taking step toward her. She narrows her eyes. “Are you making fun of me right now?” She asks, both amusement and annoyance in her voice.

“Why would I do that? It’s poor customer service.” You say with a smile before watching her own smile grow.

“It’s poor customer service to laugh at a customer.” She mumbles before stepping back. “Please.” You walk up and grab the book.

“Look how easy that was.” She says, taking the book you held out for her. “Being six-foot-two does have its perks.” She says looking over the back of the book.

You roll your eyes but your smile only grows. Looking down at the book you nod and raise your eye brows, “that’s a good one, read it a few years back.” You say, making your way back to box of books.

“I’d hope so, for all the work I had to do to try and get it.” She mumbles making you smile and shake your head. “Anything else good?” She asks, looking down to you.

“You’re asking me if there’s anything else good in here when there’s just by the look of it thousands of books here?” You ask, smirking at her when she rubs the back of her neck.

“Yes, there is, I’ve read more than I can count. My recommendation board is up by the front desk if you want to check it out.” You say before placing crave by Tracy Wolff into the slot.

“You must have come here a lot before working then? If you’ve read so many books from here.” She asks, following hot on your trail with the book tucked between her arm. “Oh, for sure,” you say nodding. “The owners and I are real close, we were together a whole nine months before I was born.”

Her eyes widen slightly at the information. “You’re parents own this place?” She asks, gesturing to the entire book store and you nod, smiling.

It felt like you were a teenage boy, flaunting his muscles to a girl he finds attractive.

“Wow,” she says looking around once again. Book still tucked tightly into her arm as she did so. “Just wow. Your parents have taste.”

“More like their people pleasers.” You say shaking your head. The real other reason why horror is so popular in the movie section is because of their request.

Every week they check their request list and buy everything people ask for. New books, new movies, new music and games, there’s always something new. You’re surprised there’s still room, then again the place would be as big you supposed.

“They like having their customers choice their number one priority. It’s good business.” You say looking up to the girl who had a look of wonder in her eyes as she stared down at you but there was also something else. Something you couldn’t quite place.

She stares at you for another moment before speaking again, “do you.. know who I am?” She asks and your furrow your eye brows in question.

“Should I?” You ask tilting your head. She stares for another moment again, eyes scanning your face and it’s features as if searching for something.

Her smile then grows, as she shakes her head. “You shouldn’t, or rather shouldn’t have to. It’s just a surprise.” She says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

You knit your eye brows together in confusion.

She walks out of the aisle and you catch the light smile on her face as she does.

What the hell? You wonder to yourself as you place the last few books away.

You were pretty sure that was the last section, unless your mother put out some more stuff you didn’t notice. You’d just check out the to-do list.

Your mother and father always had one for both you and their own sake. Adding things so no one would forget.

As you made your way to check out, you see the girl walking in the general distraction as well.

“All set?” You ask, placing the box inside the others, moving past the small door attached to the low counter.

“Yep,” she says once again staring at you.

You take the book you got for her earlier along with another you recognize almost immediately. “Between shades of gray?” You ask, looking at her as if she were serious.

“Your description seemed trust worthy enough to make me interested.” You glance over to see your board clearly flipped through before nodding.

You scan both books. “Careful, it’s sad, dark and traumatic. It’s one of my favorites though.” You say looking up at her, she pauses for a moment, staring at you once again and just smiles and shakes her head.

“I think I can deal with a few of those.”

“Bartering or buying?” You ask. “Bartering,” she replies and you nod. “Good, I need to get a review on what you think.” You say with a smirk and you see a glint of something in her eyes.

“Name?” You ask and she looks at you a little confused. “We have to know whose using our books, how else do you think we send emails threatening to charge or get them back?” You snort.

“Oh, your totally right.” she says quietly before taking out her credit card.

“Jenna Ortega..” she says and you nod, typing in the name before reaching for the credit. Her grip on the card tightens at your lack of response.

You pull the card gently but her grip is to hard for you to take.

“Can I… get the card?” You ask, looking around slightly uncomfortably with the stone like stare she was giving you.

“Are you sure you don’t know who I am?” She asks letting go allowing you to swipe the card.

“Again, should I?”

You both stare at each other, both confused and entrapped by the other.

You find is strange how she thinks you know who she is or why you don’t know her.

Maybe she was some big deal somewhere off and you still have yet to hear about her.

Her name did ring a bell but you weren’t sure. Was she a person you knew from your child hood? An old friend trying to reconnect? Maybe some relative on your moms sent by the older ones to investigate if it was really you.

“Miss Ortega?” You’re both broken out of your thoughts as two large men stand behind her. “Time to go.” he says gesturing to a few people who were standing and staring in your general direction.

One grabs the bag off the counter before quickly walking towards the door.

“Looks like I gotta go,” she says, smile now suddenly shy with others watching. “Don’t worry, I’ll return your book Y/N.” She says before walking toward the door, one of the men right behind her.

“Yeah, you bet-“ you pause after the the realization hits you. “Wait, how’d you-?” You begin to ask before watching her gesture to her chest.

You knit your eyebrows together, you look down to see the name tag right under the library symbol.

She was strange.. cute.. but strange

Read next sort here!

A/N : Some parts once again rushed🧍🏽‍♀️This is just an introduction I suppose, the details will get better I tried my hardest🥲

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #celebrity x reader #top shelf #book store #book store owner #scream #Wednesday Addams #Vada Cavell #tara carpenter #scream 5 #scream 6 #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega x you

1K notes · View notes

mischievous-piltovan · 1 month ago

Text

The Undying Oath (NSFW)

Chapter 3: It All Came Crumbling Down (SFW)

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader

Summary: As reader navigates her grief, she watches the rug being swept from under her. One after the other, the pillars holding together her life crumble, and she's forced to cling to her values and ideals, upholding Viktor's legacy.

A/N: This is more of a bridge chapter, connecting the setup of the two previous chapters to where I want to bring the story next. I hope you like it despite that. Happy New Year!!

Warnings: Major Character Death. Loss of a loved one. Angsty. War.

Word Count: 6.4K Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 (In Progress) Also on AO3

The few seconds it took for Jayce's words to finally sink in felt like an eternity. The synapses in her brain fought hard to soften the blow, the mechanisms of grief starting to engage as soon as the message was received.

The only thing preventing her legs from giving out was the surge of guilt rapidly encapsulating her whole body. She did not deserve to rest.

It was all for nothing.

Her mind plagued her with images of Viktor in his final days, slowly decaying. Suffering not only from his ailments, but from the pain of betrayal from the only person he sought comfort from, as his condition started preventing him from the work he often escaped to. Those tired golden eyes piercing her in accusation as they slowly closed a final time.

She could only tell Jayce's approaching her once his hand reached her shoulder. Her eyes quickly went from his hand to his face, where he wore an apologetic expression.

"It's not your fault." He said as softly as he could.

She couldn't respond. Her hanging mouth felt as dry as when she was in Shurima. Her gaze followed Viktor's statue body up to his face, the sharp corners adorning his jaw looked as pristine as they did the first time they met. He was beautiful.

Her beautiful fiancee whose thick accented voice she would never hear again.

That's when the grieving surpassed the guilt. She fell to her knees in a painful sob, her hand finding purchase on the statue before her. The tears rolling down her cheeks blurred her vision, but it didn't stop the flashing images of Viktor behind her eyes. She sobbed quietly, holding back her voice as much as she could - she shouldn't be allowed to grieve for the loss she bestowed upon herself.

Jayce kneeled beside her in silence for a moment, a hand gently placed on her back for comfort. But it wasn't long before he decided to leave her alone - he felt like she needed a moment by herself with Viktor.

As the tears started to subdued, she groggily sat beside the statue of Viktor hugging her knees together and resting her head on his feet. She spent the night in Jayce's office in a broken slumber, whispering apologies to the cold night air during the brief moments of consciousness.

She woke up the next day with Jayce's warm hand on her shoulder.

"Let's get you to your dorm," he spoke softly "You need some proper rest."

She didn't have the presence of mind to deny him, so she simply nodded before Jayce took her hand, gently bringing her to her feet and led her through the halls of the Academy.

Once they reached her door, he cooed her inside.

"I'll leave you to it, the Council needs me," he said. "I'll come by later so we can get you some food, okay? Rest well."

As soon as the door closed behind her, she was hit by a stale yet familiar scent - the scent of her life together with Viktor. The room was untouched, as if they had left it just this morning to work and she was coming back at the end of the day, the thin layer of dust covering every surface the only indication that time had passed. The bed was unmade, piles of books filled the shelves by the windows, there were some clothes discarded on the floor probably from the last time one of them jumped in bed after a long day and couldn't bother throwing them into the hamper.

A renewed wave of misery crashed onto her at the sight, she forced herself to stand her ground and not collapse onto the floor again. She walked around slowly, taking in every little detail, not daring to touch anything, as if preserving the scene could somehow bring her back to that old life from two years ago.

She stopped at Viktor's desk upon noticing his journal opened up on his last entry. She felt conflicted, there was a part of her that desperately wanted to read his journal in a feeble attempt to feel close to him again and she almost gave in to the urge, but the guilt held her in place - was she even allowed to pry into his personal notes after everything she did?

She took a deep breath. This journal was Viktor's last words, his final message to the world - there could be his will or dying wishes written in there, he was a very meticulous man after all. He deserved at least to be heard a final time. The girl sat down on his chair, pulling the journal closer to her.

"I am afraid I might be living the twilight of my life and I'll soon be headed to that good night.

Despite working tirelessly to find a way to prolong my days, to cure this wretched ailment that fell upon me, I still can't see even a glimpse of a solution in the horizon.

And this growing decay inside me doesn't seem to want to stop anytime soon, expanding the distance between us in this morbid race I've been forced into.

The only thing keeping me sane is the light and warmth of my hearthfire that is [Y/n]. The possibility of a future where we get to grow old together side by side keeps the darkness at bay. I'm sure I'll find a way to get there.”

She hastily closed the journal back to save the pages from getting stained as the tears began falling copiously down her face again. Her knees gave out and she fell down, holding her torso up by the edge of the desk.

The tears turned to sobbing and then to wailing. In the uncanny familiarity of their bedroom, she finally allowed herself to grieve.

As the tears started to subside, she felt the weight of exhaustion pull her down. It hit her that she hadn't had a proper night of sleep on a bed ever since she left on her expedition. For a moment, the lethargy she felt paired up with the self-loathing festering inside of her had her considering curling down on the floor where she knelt and sleeping right there, but something tugged at her.

She felt a warm gentle humming radiating from her left arm, traversing its extent in waves. She quickly pulled back the sleeve of her coat and saw the golden veins on her marbled new arm faintly glowing. The sensation was gone as quickly as it came, the luminescent golden quality of the appendage dying down. and she realized she didn't feel as tired as before.

Her new magic came to her aid.

She chuckled dryly. “You would have loved this, Vik. A way to prolong your working hours without any chemical additives.”

She pulled the sleeve back down, standing up. Shedding the garments from the trip unceremoniously, she opted for a pair of sweats and a shirt whose sleeves fully covered the new arm. There was too much weighting at her mind at the moment, unpacking the stuff she went through with anyone just wasn't on the docket.

As the second wind her arm provided her died down, she grabbed Viktor’s journal from his desk and hopped onto bed. She fell asleep holding the journal tight against her body, lulled by the faint scent of him that still lingered onto the unmade bed.

The next five days happened in a daze. She laid in bed for hours, unable to leave, with energy to only to switch between silently crying, sobbing or sleeping. Jayce would come when he could, bringing her food and consoling her for as much time as he was able to spare. She was grateful for him, but would often leave a lot of what he brought untouched - she felt chronically nauseated.

On the sixth day, Jayce found her sitting up on the bed.

She was unkept, drained, yet there was a glint of something else behind her eyes. Something different from the ruined state she had been in. The sides of her mouth even curled up in a forced half-smile when she noticed the man.

“Good morning,” he muttered gently, placing the tray of food on the desk. “How are you feeling?”

“Not good,” she answered, looking down. “But a bit better than before.”

“Good to hear,” Jayce responded, sitting on the edge of the bed with her.

“I need to leave this room and do something,” she muttered, turning to the window. “Occupy myself a bit.”

“I think that’s a wonderful ideal,” Jayce said, reaching for one of her hands. She flinched for a second, avoiding his contact at first. But then quickly relaxed right after, offering her right hand out to him. He took it in earnest.

“They say that's good for the grieving process.”

“Yeah, it wouldn't be fair to Viktor’s memory either,” she chuckled. “I wonder what he'd say if he saw me like that.”

It was Jayce’s turn to chuckle. “I think he'd understand.”

“I might head back to the UDS, the Undercity model definitely needs to be updated after two years.”

Jayce didn't respond. How odd.

She searched his face and saw apprehension, his eyes fixated on a corner of the room.

Finally, with a deep breath, he met her gaze.

“The UDS has been dismantled.”

A couple of seconds passed before his words fully sank in.

“What?”

“With the growing conflict with the Undercity, priorities shifted,” he explained. “It didn't make sense to allocate funds to it any longer.”

Yet another pillar of her life tumbling down in front of her. All the work she's done over the past decade was discarded on a whim.

How Piltovan of them.

“That's my life's work, Jayce,” she barked, yanking her hand away from his grasp. “What about all my documents? My blueprints? My model? Was it all just discarded?”

He paused again.

“No,” he responded apprehensively. “Look, I tried arguing against it…”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Jayce…”

“You have to understand the circumstances, everything changed after the Council was bombed…,” he trailed off.

“Spit it out, Jayce!”

He swallowed dryly before speaking. “Everything that was in the UDS room is being used in the effort against the Undercity, including your model.”

“WHAT?” She almost jumped out of the bed. “With whose authorization? This is absolutely preposterous, I can't –”

She fought to find the words. Pressure started to build beneath her skin as an onslaught of thoughts plagued her mind, one more preposterous than the other. She could feel her jaw clenching, her breathing getting labored.

Her marbled arm getting warmer.

“Everything I mapped and cataloged about the Undercity was to help them, to better their lives,” she said between her teeth. “Not to brutalize them.”

“I know, but the intel the UDS could provide was detrimental to the conflict effort. The Council voted for it almost unanimously,” Jayce tried justifying. “There was nothing I could do.”

Likely story.

She scoffed. “And what would the Council have me do then? Escapading through the Lanes to gather more intel for their war effort? Because you know I won't do it.”

“No…

Jayce paused, taking a deep breath.

“With me out of the Lab and Viktor gone, you are the only one left with decent knowledge to continue developing projects on HexTech…”

She glared at him.

“What are you suggesting?”

Jayce swallowed dryly once more, unenthusiastically meeting her gaze. And with the same lack of intention, as if he couldn't believe his next words himself, he blurted out.

“They want you to develop HexTech weapons.”

Jayce's words brought their exchange to a standstill. With knitted brows, he waited for her response, trying to gauge her reaction from her countenance. All the while, she waited for his next words. Because there needed to be next words.

Because the nature of this proposition was so absurd, Jayce couldn't be serious.

“No.”

“(Y/N)-,” Jayce tried arguing, but she abruptly cut him off.

“I won't do it, that's final,” then pressure bubbled back up, each word pronounced like a punch. “Honestly, I feel offended you even considered bringing this to me.”

Jayce huffed. “You think I don't understand how this sounds? I don't like the idea either, but the conflict with the Undercity has been escalating to a degree that's getting out of hand.”

“Oh, so the solution is to bomb them with HexTech explosives? To litter their underground with HexTech mines?”

“We need the upper hand to put an end to the conflict!” It was Jayce’s turn to get worked up. “It would issue their rendition and we would be sparing lives!”

“We would be taking lives!” The swell of ire poisoned her words, building them into a vile crescendo. “To paint it as a panacea to the conflict is wishful thinking at best.”

“It is not ideal, but we’re far past the peaceful negotiations phase,” he retorted. “You would know that if you were here in the past two years.”

Jayce had a terrible habit to resort to petty comebacks whenever a discussion wasn't going his way. She saw it happen more times than she wished to whenever he and Viktor got stuck working on particular complex projects for far too long and exhaustion made everyone cranky.

Right now, dealing with the socio-political calamity at hand was clearly turning him into the worst version of said Jayce. And, like she did in the past, there was a world in which she'd brush it off and simply reel the conversation back to the topic at hand. To douse the flames so as not to get them both burned.

This was not such a world.

In the next second, she violently got up, lifting a finger at Jayce. “I will NEVER willingly participate in the genocide of my husband's people!”

Jayce did the same, barreling towards her, shoving a finger to her face. “He WASN’T your husband. You LEFT HIM at the altar to DIE!”

That was the last straw.

---------------------------------------------------

Jayce had realized he went too far the moment he noticed the tight knot in her brows and the lack of glimmer in her eyes, a blend of hurt and rage. He’d apologize, said he didn't mean it and the words that came out of him were mere fruits of the spur of the moment.

But it was the last pillar holding up the home she built in Piltover. And it came crashing down before her eyes, the falling rubble sending debris all around her. And as the dust settled down, she saw the only possible way forward.

Or downward.

She started packing as soon as Jayce left her room, sliding a large over-the-shoulder bag from under the bed. She made quick work of stuffing some clothes, her journal, and some other light equipment. She finished up by carefully placing Viktor's journal atop her belongings, slotted between some fabrics for safekeeping.

She put her coat on, pulled the hood over her head, slinged the bag over her shoulders and sneaked out of Academy.

And she was suddenly back to when she was a kid.

The divide between Topside and the Undercity seems abrupt at first glance. A clean cut, where one could easily pinpoint where one ended and the other started.

However, someone from The Fringes knows that there are a lot more shades of gray in this black-and-white picture Topsiders like to paint.

Much like the intricacies of the socioeconomic relations of the sister cities, exist capillary breaches connecting them. Crevices invisible to the eyes of Piltovans, that in their hubris, never made an effort to look into. Alleyways a little wider than a foot that always remained unpatrolled by enforcers before the conflict and that she was sure wouldn't be patrolled now.

From checkpoint to checkpoint, she slipped between those cracks until there were no more blue uniforms in sight.

Truth be told, the Enforcers were much more worried about preventing trenchers from moving up than making sure no topsider was sneaking into the Undercity.

She stopped sneaking once the familiar smell of stale urbanity air hit her nostrils. The streets were eerily quiet, much different from the neon-bathed everlasting nightlife she was used to - if it wasn't for the humming of machinery or the eventual person walking hastily by her, she'd assume it was a ghost town.

Apprehension took hold. She wasn’t sure exactly where to go, just hoped she'd stumble upon a friendly face at some point. Maybe people who’d recognize the Architect from all the on-site data gathering she used to do as part of the UDS. Maybe even someone who'd remember her walking around with Viktor.

Pain rose from her chest at the memory.

In the new relative calmness devoid of the fear of being perceived, her mind raced. There was a cacophony of emotions roaring inside her, sadness that her place in the academy was no more, grief from the very recent loss of her fianceé, guilt from breaking her promise and leaving Viktor to die alone.

But on top of it all was rage. Pure molten ire for Piltover taking over her life's work, which she toiled over for years on an underfunded (due to pure disinterest of topside on the matter) section of the academy, and twisting it, completely stripping it of its original purpose, perverting it at its core.

And Jayce, of all people, not vetoing it?

She fumed, clenching her jaw as she made her way forward. Her marbled arm tingled erratically every time a new painful memory resurfaced, but she was far too engulfed in her righteous wrath to take notice of that.

Or of the quickly approaching footsteps from behind.

In an instant, she felt the loss of the weight of her bag as someone swiftly took it off of her shoulder. The figure then held her bag tight against them, never faltering in their stride. It took her a second to snap back from the astonishment before dashing behind the thief.

She ran as fast as she could, not worried with her clothes, her equipment or any of her belongings inside her bag - only Viktor’s journal. But as the chase continued, her lungs burned, not used to the thick, polluted air of the Lanes anymore. Soon, every fiber of her body started screaming for her to stop, her legs started faltering and she watched as the distance between her and the thief grew.

She was going to lose the very last piece of him she had. Have it mercilessly snatched away from her grasp. And again, she was gonna be unable to prevent it.

The very thought made her sick, like a humming uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. And it quickly expanded, hot and incandescent, every cell inside her igniting in a chain-reaction until it engulfed her in a golden inferno.

Her marbled arm flew forward on instinct, the veins glowing an intense golden hue. With a scream, as if all the pressure that had been building up exploded, a burst of energy went flying from her outstretched palm, hitting the thief squarely in the back.They fell on the floor, rolling around from momentum, before stopping.

She stopped at their prone body, falling to her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Gazing down down at her marbled arm, she notoced the vein’s glow was already dimming. As soon as her breathing normalized and the nausea from exertion subsided, she grabbed her bag back and slung it across her torso.

She got up and was about to leave the scene, but something told her not to. She glanced back at the thief's form, still prone on the floor. Worry nagged at her, she had no idea what had just transpired and how whatever that was could've affected the thief outside of stopping them in their tracks.

She took a deep breath before kneeling back down beside the thief and turning them on their back. She was met with his eyes, wide and scared, frantically looking at her. The rest of his body was completely still. Whatever she's done, seemed to have paralyzed him. Locked him in his own body.

She panicked. The thief, a man probably in his early 20's, didn't deserve this fate. Glancing over her marbled arm, she wondered if she could somehow reverse it. She was supposed to be a healer mage now, right? She did it before, sort of.

Taking another deep breath, she placed her marbled palm on his chest. With her eyes closed, she tried to envision him running earlier, tried to perceive her own guilt for his fate, tried to beg the Cosmos, the Immortal Flame that made her its Aspect, to heal the man and grant him back his movement.

And then she started feeling a warmth blossoming in her gut, slowly travelling through her body up until her marbled palm. She opened her eyes and watched as the golden veins on her arm glowed, bathing her and the man in a cozy warm light. As soon as the light subsided, the thief gasped, quickly sitting up and scooting backwards.

“It's ok-,” she faltered, being suddenly overtaken by vertigo. Whatever healing she did paired with the chase seemed to have taken its toll, rendering her unable to continue. Her body stumbled forward, heavy with exhaustion. She barely had the presence of mind to catch herself with both palms to the floor.

From her peripheral vision, other figures started approaching the scene.

She heard their conversations.

“Be careful, she's a mage.”

“Go check if Nadir is OK, I'll deal with her.”

“Look at her clothes, she's a Piltie.”

“Quick, grab her stuff before she's back up again.”

Don't . But the words wouldn't come out. The figures kept closing in. She held her bag with as much force as she could muster, but her arms felt amorphous. There was no defending the bag anymore.

“Wait! Don't harm her! That's (Y/N)!”

A familiar voice rang from a figure further back. She looked up from her curled state on the floor, spots dancing in her vision with the motion.

“Ralph-,” was all she could muster before passing out.

---------------------------------------------------

The next time she opened her eyes, she was on a bed. The ceiling above was wooden, planks held together by bolted steel.

“Ah, you're awake.”

She quickly sat up trying to find the source of the voice. On a chair on the far end of the room sat a tall, lean man with light brown hair.

“Ralph?”

He beamed at her, dimples forming at the sides of his mouth. The same smile that would grace her all those years ago, when she was still just a kid of The Fringes. The first in command of the little band of misfits that she called her friends.

The man that used to have her heart.

“I really wasn’t expecting to see you down here,’ he said. “I'm sorry about the debacle the boys put you through, they didn't know.”

Memories of the chase came back at his words.

“My bag!” She frantically looked around. “Where's my bag!?”

“Woah, woah. Easy there!” Ralph cooed, motioning with his hands in an attempt to calm her down. “It's right there, on the floor next to the bed.”

She sighed in relief upon looking down and spotting the leather bag with gold and white accents she brought from Piltover.

Ralph chuckled. “So, how are you feeling?”

She lightly shook her head with a sneer. Such a mundane question felt almost comical at this point. She exhaled before responding. “A bit tired, but nothing to write home about…”

“Glad to hear it,” there was a shift in his eyes, as if a mask fell off. “Now, can you tell me exactly what you are doing back here in the Lanes?”

She frowned. “Why's that important? It's me Ralph, the Undercity is basically my home.”

Ralph leaned over, a more serious expression adorning his features. “You have to understand, (Y/N), the Undercity and the Topside are basically at war. It is very suspicious to have a Piltie wandering around the neighborhood.”

“I'm not a Piltie!” She scoffed, clearly offended. “You fancy me a spy or something?”

“Not me, I know who you are,” he continued. “But the others don't. And I need a good explanation to give them about someone from up there just happening to be here, especially with the little trick you pulled on poor Nadir.”

She grimaced as worry tugged at her.

“The one who took my bag,” she whispered. “Is he ok?”

“He's fine, just a little shaken. He'll live.”

She sighed in relief. Ralph kept eyeing her, suspicion still heavy on the pinch of his brow.

“Let's start with that,” he continued. “Was that some new fancy weapon Piltover developed for us?”

She blinked in bewilderment. “Of course not! Why would you think I'd be the one to contraband Piltovan weapons to use on Zaunites?”

Ralph didn't answer. Instead he studied her face, seemingly checking if it betrayed her words.

“Then what was it? Nadir said that he couldn't move after you shot him. And that somehow you undid it with your hands.”

She exhaled, looking down at her hands. At this angle, one could assume her marbled appendage was but a glove or some form of accessory, and not her actual limb.

Would it be wise to lay everything out to Ralph? That she was essentially a mage now, something unusual enough to be anyone's guess what kind of reaction the Zaunites would have?

On the other hand, what would omitting her newfound abilities really do? Was this sort of preservation even necessary at this point? She didn't have anywhere to go, no reputation to uphold, no legacy to keep.

Maybe this new identity might put a bigger target on her back. But could also be the key to open new doors on her path.

She was willing to take the risk.

“There's a lot I need to tell. Bear with me.”

She told Ralph about Viktor. How she indeed became romantically involved with him. How his health drastically declined during the last years of their relationship. About her research on mages and the subsequent quest that it led her to.

Ralph listened patiently without a word, his expression unreadable.

“I ended up in Targon and, although I couldn't bring a mage back with me,” she pulled her sleeve up, fully revealing the marbled arm. “I brought back a neat souvenir.”

With a knitted brow, Ralph got up from his seat, carefully getting closer to her. His eyes locked on her arm.

“What is that?”

“An arm,” she said matter-of-factly. “That's also a conduit for magic.”

She offered her arm up towards him. He studied it, carefully touching her marbled forearm with sheer curiosity, her words gradually sinking in.

“You became a mage?”

“Yes. Well, technically a host for an Aspect,” she replied. “Supposedly, I can heal people now.”

“Were you able to heal Viktor?”

The tightness in her chest returned. Guilt tore her insides, like a knife between her ribs. She swallowed back a lump forming in her throat before speaking.

“When I got back, he was already gone.”

His eyes shot up from her arm, acknowledging her words.

“I'm so sorry to hear that.”

Ralph let go of her arm, sitting beside her on the bed. He shed whatever guarded facade he was putting up until now, instead wearing a familiar soft expression. She found comfort in that.

Enough to break her own facade down as tears began rolling down her face.

Ralph wrapped his arms around her at the sight, pulling her into his chest. The gentleness of the act paired with nostalgic familiarity that was him made her feel unusually safe. And she let go, the tears crashing down like a downpour, staining his shirt in its wake. She sobbed as he soothed her, gently running his fingers through her hair.

She felt so weak, as thin as paper. Coming undone on a moment’s notice. A house that wasn't a home, with no beans, pillars or columns - standing on its walls alone. The whole of it coming down on the slightest of breezes.

She pulled herself away from him after calming down, sitting up straight again.

“I'm sorry about this…”

“Don't be,” he cooed. “You went through a lot, I'm not sure what I would do with myself if Lyanna d-.” He paused, rethinking his next words. “If I lost Lyanna.”

They sat in silence for a bit, not knowing what to say next. But somehow it was comfortable, as if time hadn't passed and they were still two kids again, without a care in the world. She was glad, she desperately needed some semblance of normalcy.

Ralph was the first to break the silence.

“Tell me more about this arm of yours,” he turned to her. “How does it work?”

She held her marbled arm, studying the golden veins on its surface. “Honestly, I'm not sure. The most I did with it was what happened with that Nadir guy.”

Ralph hummed, a wishful glint behind his eyes as he once again analyzed her limb. He then looked down as his own right arm.

“May I ask you to try something?”

With his left arm, he pulled the jacket he wore off, just enough to unveil his right arm.

Or what was left of it.

Her eyes grew wide in stupor at the sight. His arm was missing from the middle of his biceps down, the limb crudely bandaged up at the bottom. The tissue was tinted red with dried blood.

“Oh gods, what happened!?”

He chuckled dryly. “Enforcer bomb went out right next to me, I was lucky it only took my arm.”

“Ok,” she exhaled in resolution. “You want me to try to heal that wound?”

“Actually… Can you try bringing my arm back?”

Her eyes shot up to his face in exasperation.

“That's one tall order!”

“Could you at least try?,” he pleaded. “You said you weren't sure how those powers worked, but you did heal a man from being paralyzed.”

She scoffed. “Paralyzing that I inflicted in the first place!”

“All the more reasons to try then, that arm seems to be packing quite a punch.”

“I'm not sure about that…”

“Please, (Y/N),” the vulnerability in his voice caught her off-guard. “I need both my arms to work. We've been fighting for scraps ever since the conflict with Topside broke out, the loss of my arm only made providing for my family that much harder.”

With a deep breath, she reached Ralph's damaged arm with her marbled hand. Carefully as not to hurt him, she pressed her palm on top of the bandages.

“Here goes nothing.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to perform the same method she did when healing Nadir. She pictured Ralph with his right arm outstretched, the bottom part of his stump free of bandages, all the innards exposed. His humerus slowly regenerated, growing out of the upper arm region until it was complete, the radius, ulna and the hand following right after. Once the bones were settled, all muscles, tendons and ligaments acted the same way, until his whole arm was good as new. She then prayed, begged to the Celestials and the Aspect of the Immortal Flame to regenerate Ralph's arm. To bring back his full range of motions.

Her marbled arm hummed with energy, like an electric current traveling from her core to her palm in waves. Her breath hitched, weariness setting in as if she was on a jog, her energy getting steadily drained. But she persisted as much as she could, until the lightheadness she felt verged into a fainting spell.

Letting go of his arm, she panted as she caught her breath. She blinked a few times after opening her eyes in an attempt to get rid of the spots dancing around her vision. She glanced at Ralph's arm once she composed herself.

Where once was a badly bruised stump, with bloodied scars still inflamed, was a stump smooth and completely healed. The skin all around it even seemed fuller and healthier.

But there was no new arm in sight. Whatever healing she could muster couldn't create new flesh.

Her eyes met Ralph's, whose crestfallen expression told her he had arrived at the same conclusion.

But he quickly shook his head, smiling at her.

“At least you sped the healing process. It's a relief to get rid of the soreness.”

He then proceeded to take a big stretch with a loud yawn, before making a thespian show for getting up.

“If you don't have somewhere to stay, you should come to my place. I think Ekko would be interested in having you and those powers join his ranks.”

---------------------------------------------------

Ekko was indeed interested to have her and her powers join his ranks. Ralph led her to what she'd learn was the Firelight’s hideout - an oasis hidden at the upper level of the Undercity. A resistance group that once fought against the exploitation of Undercitizens in the hands of chembarons, and now fought back against Topsider’s occupation and forced pacification.

The people of the Hideout had mixed feelings towards her at first. There were those suspicious of someone who came from the Topside, hosting magic inside a bizarre arm. However, there were also those who knew her from when she was known as the Architect from the Academy, responsible for leading urban projects for the betterment of the Undercity. Soon, the suspicion thinned out, thanks to the vouching of Ralph and Lyanna, and she started to use her newfound powers for the sake of the community the Firelights had created.

Having a purpose again helped her navigate her grief better. With each smile her healing helped provide, each burden she helped lift, her consciousness felt a little less heavy. Viktor would be pleased, having his legacy survived in her, despite the suffering she'd previously caused him.

She learned of a mural on which the Firelights would paint the faces of notorious Undercitizens lost. After a while, she convinced them to add Viktor's face to the roster - a fellow Undercitizen Scholar who fought tooth and nail to make the Lanes s better place. She'd find herself looking up at him often; somehow, it brought her comfort to see his face among his people again. It kept her resolve firm in assisting Ralph and the Firelights.

Although the community was very self-sustainable, she learned that the conflict between Topside and the Undercity had created scarcity. One method they found of somewhat countering it was stealing as much as they could from the people outside the Hideout - especially from Pilties. That was what happened to her on her first day back - Ralph’s team spotted her gilded bag from a mile away, and so she’d become a target.

One day, after one of these expeditions, Ralph came up to her as she was doing some healing on an elderly Lady.

“Hey.”

He called from behind her.

“Give me a second, Ralph.”

She had her eyes closed, as she gently pressed her marbled palm on the lady's upper back. After a while, the glow of the veins on her arm faded out as she exhaled.

“There, Mrs. Siva. You should be able to breathe better now.” She beamed at the lady. On cue, Mrs. Siva took a long and unobstructed breath and smiled.

“Good heavens, the rasping is gone,” the Old Lady exclaimed. She turned around, taking both of the girl's hands. “Thank you kindly, my dear.”

The girl smiled back. “Don't mention it. Come back to me whenever you need.”

As Mrs. Siva left, the girl turned to face Ralph. Her eyes widened as she saw him.

“Your arm!”

Ralph smiled, waving at her with his hand. His new right hand. Connected to his new right arm. From the middle of his upper arm, where once was nothing, a mechanical prosthetic arm sprung, in steel and copper.

Prosthetics and augmentations were common in the Undercity, but with conflict causing both scarcity and destruction, rendering more and more people in need of mechanized limbs, they had become difficult to come by. That in itself would be enough cause to be surprised at Ralph's new acquisition, but this one also had a… refinement that was not commonly seen. She watched him wave at her, his movements natural and smooth, as if it was a real arm. If she didn't know, it could've easily been mistaken for a weird over-the-elbow metallic glove and not a prosthetic.

“That's amazing! Where did you get that?”

“It is, isn't it?” He twirled his wrist around, opening and closing his fingers. “I heard people talking about this guy’s workshop at the Entresol level and I decided to check it out. Turns out he was the real deal!”

“It must have cost a fortune,” she commented, getting up from her stool, and reaching for his new arm in awe.

“Would you believe me if I said it didn't cost me a single penny? The dude's doing this from the goodness of his heart or something.”

“Oh, wow,” she muttered. Instinctively, she glanced back at the painted mural, spotting Viktor. “I'm glad there's still people out there just making people's lives better.”

“Tell me about it, although… “ he scratched his chin, his eyes looking away from her. “He was mighty impressed with how the arm had healed before he did the procedure, and I ended up telling him about… Well, about you.”

Her eyes shot back at him with a scowl.

“Are you insane?”

“Wait wait, hear me out. Do you see this?” He brought both of his hands close to each other, touching each finger from his flesh hand to his prosthetic one rhythmically, with an impossible precision. “This kind of finesse is not a thing when it comes to prosthetics, and he theorized that life-like movements are a direct result of the interface between his tech and your healing magic.”

She hummed in response, eyes trailing his prosthetic arm again. Failing to bring Ralph’s arm back had pained her. It made her reminisce of her own time being an amputee, how even the most simple of tasks suddenly became a hassle in the face of her disability. She also watched him being often cast aside in the hideout, even when done not maliciously - the lack of his limb made him a liability. But now he had his arm back - and a damn good one at that.

Imagine if all of the people in the hideout in need of a limb had a fine prosthetic like Ralph now possessed.

“He said he was interested in meeting you.”

She blinked a few times out of her thoughts. With a long exhale, she turned to look at Ralph.

“I’m interested in meeting him too.”

---------

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 (In Progress)

#viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor x reader #arcane #mischie writing #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktorxreader #viktor x y/n

71 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 30 days ago

Text

*Disclaimer - This post will possibly upset anyone who is not fully onboard the Elain and Lucien are ready to have a book train. It does not mean that I think they're definitely getting the next book because I have no idea what Sarah's 5 year plan looks like and what future she has planned for this series. However it is for the people who believe that the characters of Elain and Lucien are beyond ready to have a book and could upset anyone who is on board the "Gwynriel is definitely next" train. So out of respect for my Gwynriel mutuals I wanted to give forewarning that this post may not be for you.

I have been seeing certain takes make their rounds again. "Elain is not yet developed enough to have a book." "Elain and Lucien need more time before dealing with their bond".

First, I think Gwynriel is happening. I think the seeds have been scattered, I think just as the Nessian bonus in MAF left hints for their bond, the Azriel bonus left us crumbs for his bond with Gwyn. With that said, we were given only crumbs for both of those pairings in their bonus and that did not mean Nessian was ready to accept their bond in the very next book which means Gwynriel may also not be ready to accept their bond in the very next book. Nessian had nearly two years on their timeline to cook and as the SF bonus happened in December and the book ended April, with Az and Gwyn only sharing a few moments here and there in training, their path to one another is still in the baby stages. Gwynriel shared a moment on Solstice but Elucien shared many moments in ACOWAR which proves a moment still does not mean two characters are ready to end up together.

So when people say that Elain and Lucien, after over two years of having a confirmed bond that needs dealt with, aren't ready to deal with it, I feel frustrated.

If after over two years Elain and Lucien are not ready to address their bond, something that is an issue for every single person around them, then why would Az and Gwyn be ready to deal with a bond neither even seems aware of? When none of their friends are aware of it? Feyre began using Lucien's bond against him in MAF, Eris has been talking about the Elucien bond since ACOWAR, Cassian asked Lucien about Elain in SF, he felt sadness over Lucien's disappointment at Solstice, Rhys and Az got into a fight over Elucien's bond, Nesta thought Elain was a wretch for sitting far away from her mate at Solstice, Feyre was worried about Elain and Lucien in FAS, encouraging Elain to get to know him, and so on. The Elucien bond has been a major plot point in this series since the end of book 2. If they're not ready after 3 books then how are Gwynriel ready after barely 1?

If Lucien, after spending centuries mourning the loss of who he thought was his mate only to now have struggled for over 2 years with an unfulfilled bond with his actual mate isn't ready to have resolution than why would Az be ready to receive a mate that he's not even aware of and hasn't suffered for? That's not to say he didn't suffer over the years of pining for Mor but he hasn't suffered for Gwyn the way Rhys suffered for Feyre, the way Cassian suffered for Nesta, the way Lucien is suffering for Elain?

I'm not sure if people are expecting Elain to "soften" towards Lucien before her book but that doesn't make a lot of sense when you think of where Rhys and Feyre started in MAF and where Nesta and Cassian started in SF. Elain ignoring Lucien puts them in the perfect position to begin their book.

As far as Elain not being ready to have a book, did she not offer to search for the Trove in SF when even Nesta was too afraid? Was she not confirmed to have shown teeth? Did she not insist that she'd go to the Court of Nightmares when it's known that cruelty bothers her? Is she not out and about on her own traveling through Velaris to help others?

To say Elain is not ready for her own book but Gwyn is makes no sense. Gwyn has still not voluntarily chosen to leave the library beyond visiting the safety of a friends house and for training in a safe environment. She did not actively choose to put herself into danger (she was forced into the Rite). Was she brilliant in the Rite? Absolutely! But Elain was brilliant in a war that took place over a year ago and where we stand on the current timeline is Gwyn was not even sure she'd attend Nesta's mating ceremony ("Gwyn had said she might leave for Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony in three days") and Elain is offering to help the NC do whatever is necessary ("Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that was a part of this court - and would do whatever was needed")

Could Sarah still write a Gwynriel book and make Gwyn ready to tackle whatever she wants her too? 100%. That's not the point I'm making. The point is that the text in SF literally proves Elain is ready to take on more, that she volunteered to take on more even when it involves something possibly dangerous while the text still showed some slight hesitation on Gwyn's part to even go to Nesta's wedding, so anyone claiming Gwyn is ready while Elain is not baffles me.

Gwyn leaving the library for the first time in two years only to end up mated to Az within the same year seems less likely to me than Elain finally resolving her bond with Lucien after over 2 years.

Again, that doesn't mean Sarah can't go that route if that's what she wants but for anyone to claim Gwyn is ready while Elain is not seems to be ignoring everything Sarah has written about Elain.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elain archeron #lucien and elain #elain x lucien #elain and lucien #pro lucien vanserra

55 notes · View notes

bedtimegiraffe · 1 month ago

Text

Baldur, Aerin, and MC- Relationships with Violence

All three of these characters have really unique relationships with violence and physical force, which are very well put on display by the confrontation scene in Book 3, Chapter 5.

Baldur: Violence First

Baldur loooves violence. He makes that clear when you meet him, quickly using his size and strength to get his way. His preferred means of interacting with the world is physical- violence and sex.

But he isn't impulsively lashing out in all directions- most his violence is purposeful. Even if that purpose is incredibly selfish, it is a purpose. A conscious choice.

This isn't a person who just acts out without thinking about it. This is someone who has made a conscious choice to intimidate and injure others to meet good own ends. In the Deadwood, it's a public show of force to prove that he is in charge, not Aerin. Most of the time, it's choosing to physically hurt Aerin when they're alone to minimize any intervention. I think it's safe to assume that Aerin was Baldur's most common target, but not his only one.

For Baldur, violence is his primary method of problem solving- his first thought. In part because he enjoys asserting his own power and control over others through physical means.

That's why at the River of Seekers, Baldur isn't looking into the present like Mal's mom. He has no loved ones, he has no interest in the world without him in it. If Baldur isn't physically influencing others, he doesn't care. So he's doing his best Narcissus impression until he loses himself. His physical ability to dominate others is gone, leaving him with just fond memories of it.

(For those who didn't have the Greek mythology phase I did: Narcissus was a self-centered jerk who was cursed to fall in love with his own reflection in a pool, leading to his death.)

Aerin: Violence Last

Before spotting Baldur in the river, Aerin 'jokes' about killing him again. But I think this was more of an attempt to connect with Valax than anying else. Because even if Aerin reaches Baldur before you do, he doesn't attack him. In fact, Aerin never touches him at all. MC is the one who finally forces Baldur to pay attention. Aerin just... asks him questions before quickly giving up.

Because, barring a strong outside influence, Aerin doesn't solve his problems with violence. Even when he's fully Dreadlord corrupted, Aerin never strikes first. He doesn't attack Baldur until he physically grabs and verbally threatens him.

It also seems significant that he doesn't try to make Baldur suffer- he doesn't beat him or mock him, though based on what we see he absolutely could have in that moment. Aerin kills Baldur incredibly cleanly. Sure, he gloated about it a little, but it felt like Aerin celebrating finally 'winning,' not the violence itself.

Aerin, almost universally, tries to talk his way out of problems. I'd guess this is a combination of his generally more cerebral temperament and the fact that acting out physically never would have gotten him anywhere when he was younger (and probably still won't).

At the river, Baldur seems clearly uninterested in fighting back. But still, Aerin never takes a shot at him just because he can. And it isn't because he's afraid of Baldur in this moment- we see fear from Aerin in situations that mirror his brother's abuse. But this isn't one of them. Aerin is sad and angry.

But still, Aerin's emphasis is on words, not fighting. "You've got nothing to say?" Aerin just doesn't get satisfaction from physical violence like his brother does. Hitting him (or dismembering him, as Aerin hyperbolically says later) wouldn't have felt good to Aerin. He wanted to win on his terms, verbally getting through to Baldur that he lost and Aerin was right all along.

But unfortunately for Aerin, Baldur was never going to give him that satisfaction.

MC: Violence When Necessary

MC take a more moderate approach than either Valleros brother. To MC, violence is one of their many tools. Literally one third of their abilities are "combat." Violence isn't their favorite, not something they enjoy, but something occasionally necessary for the greater good. Even if they view the violence itself as "bad."

How MC gets Baldur's attention at the river is a great example. Because you have three options, all involving some degree of physical or magical force.

And it's a good thing they did. Because Baldur was never going to respond to words and Aerin was never going to try anything else. This problem, like many others, needs a flexible approach.

That flexibility and the willingness to learn may be MC's greatest strengths. MC builds the most diverse skillset of anyone in the party and is willing to apply whatever might work to the situation. And that well-rounded understanding and approach to problem solving is key to saving the day.

Screenshots are a combination of my own stockpiles and ones from Neckrone Shen on youtube, who has saved me untold hours of replaying.

#This started as a simple 'I think it's interesting that Aerin didn't immediately deck Baldur' and it got away from me #The analyses are back baby!#I live in mild fear that I'm missing something crucial VIPs have already seen but that's life sometimes #aerin valleros #baldur valleros #bolas mc #blades mc #choices bolas #blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow 3 #cw violence #cw abuse

55 notes · View notes

jasntodds · 6 months ago

Text

Penace [5]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 13,401

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of angst, some fluff, mentions of death, panic attack (jason), ptsd (jason), hurt/comfort, mention of scars

Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update!! I had a bunch of stuff going on last month and stuff happened and I just did not have the mental capacity to edit this chapter. I'm so sorry!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

The next morning rolls around leaving Jason to wake up first. You're still sound asleep facing him, some of your hair covering your face. Jason takes a tentative finger and moves some of the strands from your face. He takes this time to exist. Sleep always came easier when you were around. Less nightmares, not as much tossing and turning, no insomnia. It was always easier with you around and last night was no different.

You fell asleep first just as you usually did when he read to you. You were cuddled into his side and it felt like it always did for that half hour. Just the two of you in bed together with a book and enough trauma for the both of you. Jason thinks you're both really good at being able to exist in a moment as if nothing happened. There's something in you that allows you both to ignore it all even for a few minutes and just pretend to be who you were before instead of just skin and bones.

The world, people, expect you both to be something specific, to act a certain way. You told him once, in a sort of one-off conversation, you felt like people expected something different. At the tower, you always felt like the others expected you to remain quiet or be angry all the time, to snap at some point. Maybe you did. But, your blood was never filled with anger but grief for what you should have been able to have. When Jason died and you got angry, they expected the silence. They expected the grief to hit you like a train. They expected you to quit, get revenge on the Joker before Bruce did. They expected more than rage-filled blood and red-stained hands. And they expected you to move on because what else was there to do? He was dead. And you were alone. People put up expectations and in some ways you feel like you need to meet some of them. Be more careful, get angry, snap, pretend like it's all fine because it's always been fine. But, then you lay down with Jason and you can watch movies and talk about your mom and you can exist in a way that you want without the weight of expectations collapsing your lungs.

Everyone thinks Jason is angry, always has even before he died. He was never angry. He was upset and hurt and didn't know where to put it. He was never angry but everyone expected him to be so he played into it. They expected him to be some sort of fuck boy so he played into it. They expected him to be reckless and so he was. Maybe he was always a little reckless, no one forced him to rob the Batmobile or go with the red hoods when he was a teenager. But they expect it. And now...Jason can feel it. They expect him to lose his mind and until then, they expect him to be fine. He lived, right? Joker is dead, Bruce avenged his death, and he was brought back. He should be fine, right?

They expect him to be fine without ever considering the scars lingering on his chest or marking up his mind like scuffed up wood. But with you, there are no expectations. He is allowed to read and tell you about theater stuff. He is allowed to have nightmares and be scared. He is allowed to just be. When Jason is around you, he's allowed to exist in a way that he wants without the weight of expectations strangling the life out of him.

Maybe that's why you can exist in moments like these as if nothing ever happened. It is the only time neither of you are facing some false hope of expectations. It is the only time you both can be damaged in all your glory. It is the only time you're allowed to bear your scars with pride and show the beauty they've left behind. You can just...be.

He eyes you softly, brows pinched together and you look so peaceful. He wants nothing more than to pull you into him and sleep like this all day. But it is not his place. He's surprised you stayed in the first place let alone stayed in bed with him. He is so glad you did but there is so much you haven't talked about. So much happened and there's just so much between you. He wonders if you'll ever be able to recover or if this is all you'll be. Just a one-off sleepover sometimes.

He doesn't like that idea very much.

Jason forces himself to get out of bed and make his way to the training area where he keeps his fridge. He expects to be able to grab a few eggs and make an omelet, see what else he has and maybe he could make you (and Tim) pancakes. But, as he enters the room, Tim is seated at the table with a tablet open and his brows pinched together.

"Oh, hey." Tim chimes, offering Jason a wave and a glance before he looks back to the tablet. "I made toast and a pot of coffee." Tim explains.

Jason scratches his head before he shakes it and fully enters the room. "Right, yeah, okay." Jason clears his throat, trying to get rid of the sleep still etched in his tone. "Did you even fucking sleep?"

"Yeah, of course." Tim brushes the question, voice still chipper and a part of it reminds Jason of how Gar usually was at the tower. "Early riser."

"A roof fell on top of you last night." Jason states as he walks over to the coffee pot seeing about a quarter of a cup left. He lets out a sigh before he dumps the pot in the sink and starts a fresh pot.

"Oh, yeah but I'm fine." Tim shakes it off.

Jason can almost hear your voice in his head telling him to push for an answer. A roof fell on top of him and his boyfriend is in a coma. Jason does not buy for a single second that he's simply an early riser. No one is an early riser with this job, not if you want more than three hours of sleep a night. It would be responsible of him to ask Tim if he were okay.

"Seriously, you alright?" Jason asks as he leans against the table to face Tim.

Tim looks up at him and while he knew some of Jason before, this is different. The most of Jason he knows is actually Red Hood related. You didn't talk a lot about him when you hung out and he only spoke to Jason a handful of times, usually about his order at Excellent Gotham. There wasn't much said about Bruce Wayne's newest son. Instead, he knows Red Hood is ruthless, brutal, and scary. He is intimidating and will kill someone if need be. He knows Red Hood almost got his dad killed and almost got you killed and got Dick killed. His association with Crane got him killed. Tim knows Red Hood is someone he wants on his side because if he's not, that could be for the worst.

But, he's looking at Jason Todd who happens to be Red Hood and in this moment he doesn't feel like any of those things. He feels like he did when you introduced him. Normal. Calm. Nice. Tim knew there was more to Red Hood. Not only did he meet Jason and he trusts your general opinion of people, but Tim doesn't believe anyone is as two-dimensional as they may seem. Yet, some part of him almost feels surprised with Jason asking if he's okay but it doesn't feel like it's out of obligation. Instead, it feels like he might actually be genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine." Tim answers. "Just..." Tim lets out a breath. "Gar said they haven't made any progress with Bernard. And I'm here..." Tim trails off. "Almost getting crushed by a roof and getting trained by you and y/n."

Jason pushes off the table as the coffee pot dings. "You've only been here like two days." Jason states as he makes his way back over to the coffee. "How'd it happen?" Jason asks as he starts to pour himself a cup, making sure to leave enough for you.

"Some video game thing that Brother Blood released." Tim groans. "No one knows how to get anyone out of their comas."

"Look," Jason starts as he walks back over to Tim. "That fucking sucks, alright? But, you and the Titans will figure it out. You're a genius, man." Jason lets out this scoff that comes out as a chuckle. "The way I see it, all those people and Bernard are lucky to have you looking out for 'em."

"Yeah, except I suck at this." Tim lets out a groan, tilting his head back. "I mean, Dick was...incredible. He was so good at this whole thing and he still is. And then you took over and you were just as great." Tim pauses for a few seconds as Jason watches the defeat start to wash over his features. "How am I supposed to live up to that when I can't even get any intel on this guy? When I can't even figure out a damn video game?!"

"Didn't you choose to be Robin?" Jason asks.

"Yeah but y/n said—"

"I died as Robin." Jason cuts him off because it doesn't matter what you said or didn't say. Jason knows Tim is going to be great at this. "Don't take what she says to heart too much. Her viewpoint of Robin will always be tainted because I died. Because it involved Bruce. You chose this, man." Jason points a finger at him. "No one else is crazy enough to do that, not after me. But you did. That means something. Don't get in your head about it, alright? You're smart as fuck and you're capable."

"But what if I was wrong?" Tim asks knowing it takes a special kind of confidence to not only volunteer to be Robin following Dick and Jason but to have the confidence he could do it.

"Dick wouldn't have asked you to be Robin if he thought you were." Jason says it so simply. "We were trained by Bruce for months before we put on the mask and cape, just remember that." Jason states as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"Thank you." Tim offers a soft smile. "Didn't think you'd be the pep talk kind of guy."

"I'm not." Jason lets out a booming cackle. "So don't go telling people I am."

Tim lets out a soft laugh before he locks the tablet. "She still sleeping?" He decides not to push his luck and changes subject, surprised not to see Sam yet.

Jason nods softly. "Yeah, letting her sleep."

"She doesn't sleep a lot, that's what Gar said...that Molly said."

"Yeah..." Jason pulls in a breath as his heart starts to break. "Comes with the job sometimes." Jason only half-lies.

"She's sleeping now." Tim gains a cheeky smile.

"Shut up." Jason groans and he not getting into any of that with Tim. Nope. "Did you want something more than toast?" Jason immediately changes subject before Tim can try to return the pep talk favor for relationship advice. "Toast is a shit breakfast." Jason puts his Wonder Woman mug down before he gets up.

Tim offers a chuckle. "Uh...yeah, I could eat something else."

Jason looks through some cabinets and the fridge. "Omelet or pancakes?"

"Omelet?" Tim questions softly. "Didn't think I'd have an option." Tim did not thnk Jason could really cook, given the whole eggs, beer, and cheese comment.

"Was making both anyway." Jason retorts. He's just trying to be nice.

Tim lets out a laugh. "Oh, I get it."

"If you don't shut up, we won't train today." Jason almost wants to shut his head in the fridge door with his comment. Who the fuck is he? Dick? Gar? Ugh.

Meanwhile, you're finally stirring awake to an empty and cold bed. Your hand reaches over and you feel the spot where Jason was is cold. Your eyes peek open to see he's no longer there or even in the room. It's not that you should have expected him to be you think but there's a part of you that's still disappointed. Somewhere in your head you almost hoped you'd wake up together and you'd have one of your awkward realizations together. You'd stumble over yourselves and your words but it'd feel like home. It'd be warm and comfortable anyway. And then you'd find your footing where it almost felt safest, in the mix of bantering and flirting. But, he's gone. You're not sure that feeling is something you'd ever be able to get used to.

But, you get up anyway, stretching before you get out of bed. You grab one of Jason's hoodies from the table, tugging it over your head as you walk out of the room. You head to the room with the fridge that you're not sure you should really call a kitchen since there's all the training equipment in there, too. Why is he like this?

As you get closer, you hear Jason's laughter bouncing off the walls. Your heart skips a beat and you don't even notice the way the corners of your mouth perk up into a tender smile. You pause just to listen for a few seconds while his laughter subsides and he goes on with his story. He tells Tim some story about a fight with the Riddler and how mad he was. You've heard the story before but hearing him talk so casually and lightly about his Robin days makes you want to burst.

In the few times you've talked of Robin, there's been a sense of bitterness and sadness surrounding the mantle but now he's laughing and joking. He has stories that aren't tied with grief and pain. Robin always meant the entire world to him and you're so happy he seems to still have some of that joy telling the stories. You think maybe he is getting better. Maybe Leslie really is helping him again.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." Jason quips as you walk into the room.

You clear your throat sarcastically. "Get fucked."

Jason flips you off with a tender smile while Tim lets out a laugh.

"Guess I won't make you pancakes then." Jason shrugs dramatically and you know it's a hollow threat but it is also not a chance you're willing to take.

Your eyes narrow slightly before a smile comes to your lips again. "Do not get fucked."

Jason tilts his head and lets out a laugh. "Dunno, think it'll help?"

You shake your head. "You are a bit uptight."

"Look who's fucking talking." Jason waves the spatula at her.

"I am so not uptight." You laugh as you take a seat beside Tim.

"Well." Tim adds in with a shake of his head and the scrunch of his nose.

"The fuck does that mean, Tim?" Your eyes widen at him.

Tim's eyes widen slightly back at her before he quickly looks to Jason. He might help him with Robin but if he wants to go back and forth with you on this front, that's all him. Jason will let him sink. He knows exactly which side he should always be on and it's wherever you are.

"You're on your own." Jason chimes, waving a spatula in the air as he turns back to the stove, the first batch of pancakes already on the burner.

"Nothing." Tim shakes his head with a smile.

"Right." You laugh softly as you roll your eyes.

Jason walks over with a mug in hand. He hands it off to you and your brows quickly raise seeing it's your Supergirl mug from the manor. You packed and moved but forgot the mug. While things aren't...bad per se, between you and Bruce, you did not go back for anything you forgot and you almost laugh. You may not have gone back but clearly Jason at the very least took your mug, likely with the intention to give it to Molly to give to you.

"Thank you." You hold your mug up to him as he goes to walk away.

"You're welcome." Jason gives you a bright and cheeky smile.

"So, what're we going today?" You ask the boys while Jason finishes breakfast.

"I really got to find this Venta guy and get back." Tim states.

"Figure we'll eat, train a bit, then help Tim here try to get some intel." Jason explains, finishing the pancakes before he moves onto the omelets.

"Sounds good." You suck in a breath, pulling out your phone to send a quick text to Molly to let her know you're awake and what the plan is.

Jason finishes up your breakfast before joining you and Tim at the table with three plates in hand, a delicate balancing act on his way. Tim offers a quick thank you before digging in, the toast clearly not holding him over too well. You offer Jason a tender smile before you dig in. Your chest warms and your skin bursts with goosebumps knowing Jason made pancakes for you.

Jason offers such a specific type of subtle kindness that seems to be overlooked by a lot of people. It's not so much in his words which after all this time, you figured out it's just because he's not too good at expressing himself most of the time. For him, actions say everything that gets caught in his throat. And it's not just with you he does it with. Bruce preferred his omelet differently and Jason never even asked, he always just made an extra one with the things Bruce liked. Gar mentioned he was looking for a few Saga comics and Jason found them and shipped them to Titans tower just because he could. He always offers to help Molly with anything she's working on. He extends his kindness with actions just to display how much he cares about the people who offer him the same kindness.

You think it's one of your favorite things about him.

The three of you finish up your food and get changed for training. The three of you take your time stretching and getting ready to allow your food to settle a little. Training starts just as it did yesterday, Jason taking the first round and then you. Tim still doesn't stand a chance but you and Jason can already see some improvement the longer you train which comes as a big relief.

After training, the three of you get suited up and head out, deciding to go to the marina this time. Tim rides with you, hoping to find something out tonight. He feels like he's running out of time. Meanwhile, you and Jason are looking to see how he does not in a training room with a safety net. A roof fell on him last night and he seems incredibly unbothered. To you, it only feels right to have him out on the streets anyway, even if it's under false pretenses. So, while you're "looking" for Venta or trying to get intel on him, you're also patrolling, showing Tim the ropes, teaching him the art of grappling between buildings. This is all just more training, making sure he'll be safe out there in the open without the security blanket of you and Jason or the Titans or being in one location. Jason and you think Tim will be just fine. He's smart and capable, he pays attention. This is not a game to him.

It matters.

It always mattered to Dick and Jason, too but it's different with Tim. Bruce offered Robin to Dick and Jason. They were his sons. Batman and Robin. They had months and months of training and while it was hard and brutal at times, there was something that felt magical about the whole thing. It felt surreal. With Tim, it's as if he feels he is obligated to fill the role. Unlike Dick and Jason, Tim chose it and there's somehow more pressure in that for him to prove himself. Tim is generally someone who can focus on things that are important and serious, but this is different. It is his life. It's the life of innocent people. He's having fun, sure, but he's taking it even more seriously than Jason and Dick ever did. It doesn't help he's trying to fill their shoes, something Jason does understand.

After hours of looking and patrolling, you don't turn anything up and head back to Jason's. Tim is incredibly disappointed by his inability to find anything out but you and you assure him that if Venta were in town or if anyone knew anything, they would have spilled with the two of you being around anyway. Between the three of you, someone would have told you some sort of information. You both remind him how easy it was to get information from the people you did question about other cases. Some people are harder but getting intel on one person rarely ever results in no answers. The reassurance does make Tim feel a little bit better about it.

While Tim is feeling a bit better and you're confident in his abilities, feeling pretty good actually, the case is not the same for Jason. Some days are just better than others and today is not one of those days. Waking up with you was refreshing but he's finding that to be the best part of his day because Tim put on the Robin suit. Jason isn't mad or bitter about it. It has nothing to do with it but something about it is causing him anxiety. Something about seeing Tim in the suit, or maybe just another rendition of the suit, makes him want to explode and run and cry and scream. He's been biting it down all day because it's his problem not Tim's. He hates it but something about it is pulling him back to Amusement Mile. Something about it is pulling him back to the anti-fear drug and Cran'e reign. Something about it is making him feel so small and useless. He thought he was making progress but you're back at his home and he's never felt so disconnected from everything. He thinks it's so dumb to feel upset and panicky over this.

He swears it's fine.

"I'm gonna shower." Jason clears his throat before excusing himself to head off to his bedroom as quickly as he can, trying not to raise any alarms.

Your eyes linger on the doorway. Jason might as well have run out of the door with how quickly he excused himself. You heard a slight tremble in his voice. It was sharper than usual and his steps weren't as light as they usually are.

"Is he okay?" Tim asks as he walks over to grab the suitcase for his suit.

You look back at Tim and nod once. During your patrol, you could tell something switched. Jason's been in a good mood and pretty casual about everything, generally speaking. Being in a good mood and things going well always seemed to poke a hole into his head a bit. And today, out there doing your thing, he was quieter, more focused. He's always focused but this was laserlike almost and you're supposed to be helping Tim. You'd make some sort of quip and all you'd get is a disguised chuckle from behind his helmet. If you know anything, it's knowing Jason Todd is in fact, not fine.

"Yeah, no I'm sure he's fine." You brush it off, figuring you'll check on him in a few minutes. "I kept him up pretty late so he's just tired, probably." You nod again, Tim not buying any of it.

"He was up before you were." Tim states as he walks back over to you with his case. "It's not my business, just..." Tim shrugs dramatically, showing genuine concern for Jason's well-being.

Your eyes go to your boots and then back to him. "Yeah, uh...yeah." You nod your head. "I'll check on him in a few minutes. I'm sure he's fine, Tim." You offer him a fake smile.

Jason's head is spinning while his arms are practically vibrating themselves from his body. His muscles are going so weak he can barely turn the water on for a shower. The air is thick and stale through his lungs, burning with every breath. His stomach twists and his eyes start to water despite his best efforts to stop it. The world around him starts to feel like it's closing in and suffocating the life from his lungs. The shower pelts the porcelain flooring, he swears he can hear you and Tim talking and walking from down the hall. His heartbeat is radiating through his ear canals and the passing cars sound like they might drive right through his new home. Everything is growing louder and louder and the thoughts start to kick in. They take a battering ram to the walls and that's when he can't even bear to stand anymore.

Jason carries the heartbreak of death on his shoulders and it is crushing every part of him.

Tim leaves you to go change and you follow his lead, heading for a bathroom. You take your time, giving Jason enough time to gather himself if he needs to before you go to check on him. And for a second, you almost even second-guess it. You haven't spoken in a month and a half, you're just now trying this whole friend thing, is it really your place? When Tim leaves, will you just go back to not talking with no obligation in the middle of you? What if you're wrong anyway? Maybe Jason has changed a little bit in this time and maybe he was just more focused because a roof fell on all of you yesterday. You run yourself in circles, not wanting to overstep and mind his space. Jason always liked his personal space, maybe a little too much but you don't want to intrude. You always felt like you were just intruding in people's lives, a mismatched puzzle piece trying to make yourself fit. It's not what you want to do to him.

Being around him was one of the only places you felt like you belonged. And Jason was the one that always made you feel that way.

You make your way to Jason's room once you're in your regular clothes because you can't bear not to check on him. He would do it for you and you know him. Despite it all, you're certain you always know when something isn't quite right with him. So, you make your way to his room and let yourself inside, shutting the door behind you.

You can hear the shower echoing from the en suite bathroom. The door is closed but you're relieved that he's in the shower and not losing his entire mind in his bed. You look around his room some more and you wonder what else he plans to do with it. You think it must feel more like a home than the manor did. Back at the Tower, he had some stuff on the walls that he picked up because the room was his. He graffitied the walls. It was his and it felt like his. But, the room in the manor still had a poster of the Flying Graysons. Jason didn't decorate the walls, something that always made you sad because it should have felt like a home to him. You never asked but you wondered why it didn't. It couldn't have just been Bruce because of how Jason views him. So, you wonder if it was because maybe he didn't think he deserved the manor or maybe it was that he felt like a replacement and someone else would come in to replace him anyway. Maybe it was a safety precaution for his own feelings of being left behind. You aren't sure but you hope this place feels like a home and he gets to decorate his walls.

The shower is still echoing through the door but you can hear the water clearly, no disturbance or movement. Your brows pull together as you make your way to the bathroom and knock softly. You don't get any answer and you don't hear any movement behind the door.

"Jay?" You ask as you knock louder this time. A lump forms in your throat while your heartbeat starts to spike. Your stomach burns and your teeth grit together. You remember the day on the roof. "Jason, are you okay?" You call again and don't get anything in response.

Your hand goes to the door handle and you pause for a second. And it's just a second before you open the door slowly. You carefully peek your head around the door, your eyes landing on the walk-in shower. The frosted glass door is open while water ricochets onto the white tile floor. And then there's Jason. He's seated, fully clothed in the shower, his knees are tugged to his chest while his arms are wrapped entirely around his shins. His head is buried in his knees and all you can do is shake your head in devastation.

You walk inside and close the distance between you. You keep your stance from outside of the shower, trying to mind his personal space.

"Jay?" You try again and you get nothing from him. It's as if he doesn't even register you in the room which might be one of the biggest red flags when it comes to Jason Todd. He is nothing but on guard.

You walk back to the door and shut it, just in case. Then you kick off your shoes and tug your hoodie off your head before you close the distance between you again. This time, you enter the shower, immediately getting pelted by warm water as you kneel down right in front of him.

"Jay, hey." You call his name again but this time, your hands are delicate and careful as you put them on his cheeks. He jumps immediately, head hooting up with eyes terrified and red. He looks panicked for just a few seconds until his brain catches up with what he's seeing. Your teeth grind together seeing the look of pain across his face. It's written in every line and feature you'd fallen so in love with over the last year. Your hands come to his cheeks again, just as tender as they were before and he doesn't even flinch this time. "What's going on?" You ask softly. Jason shakes his head against your hands and his eyes dodge yours and he feels embarrassed and exposed. Of course, you'd find him.

You always find him.

You always see him.

"It's you and me." Your voice is careful as your thumbs run over his skin. "I'm worried about you. What happened?" You brush the white streak of hair from his face.

"Loud." Jason's voice comes out hoarse and small and his bottom lip trembles. It takes every muscle in his body not to let out a sob.

"Okay." You nod your head once, the look of worry almost permanently etched into your features. If Jason had the strength, he'd push you away just to get you to stop worrying so much. He doesn't deserve it. You don't deserve it. "What happened?" You ask quietly, the water now completely soaking your hair.

Jason offers the weakest shrug you have ever seen. "Don't know." Why do you want to help him? Can't you see the monster he's become? His lip starts to tremble again as he tries to get a breath in but the tears are coming back and he can't breathe out of his nose. The water is dripping into his mouth and he almost thinks it'd be easier to just drown right here.

Not a day goes by that you aren't worried about him. It doesn't matter if you haven't spoken. It wouldn't matter if you hated him, as if that were even possible. You'd worry about him because Jason Todd has done everything to be enough. He has done everything to be happy and somehow, he's still the one sitting in a shower in tears because the world around him is suffocating. Yes, the whole Robin thing was worrisome. The whole Red Hood thing is worrisome. He gets shot out for fun. He taunts people because he thinks it's fun. Someone else is going to kill him one day, that much is certain. And while that is worrisome, you've also seen the damage people he loves have caused him. It doesn't have to be physical damage because Jason's own brain wants to torture him and it uses everyone else's words as some sort of infinite ammo. The vigilante thing is worrisome, but where Jason's head is, that's the real thing that's worrying.

It wouldn't matter if you hated each other, you would rip every false and cruel thought that ever crosses his mind.

You let go of his face and move your hands to his. You're careful, lightly pulling his hands apart and away from his legs. Once his legs are free, you move to the side and lightly press on his knees until his legs are stretched out in front of him. The whole thing is making Jason watch you with careful eyes and it's almost a distraction and then you climb on top of him. You straddle his lap, Jason's eyes never leaving you and it almost causes him more panicky. He might know you better than he knows himself, but he very rarely knows what you'll do in moments like these. But then, you don't say anything. All you do is wrap your arms around his neck and pull him for a hug.

Jason tenses up just as he's done before but after a few seconds, a part of him relaxes against you. He gathers a full breath into his lungs and it's as if he's giving his body permission to lose it all again, in the comfort of you. His arms wrap around your middle and his grip is so tight as he lets out a sob, you can't breathe. You think you'd suffocate if it allowed him any type of relief.

It is all just too much. The weight on his chest is too heavy and he doesn't think he can carry it. He goes out and he murders people. They may be very bad people but it's what he does and he thinks about how Bruce is so mad about it. He tries to be understanding but they will never come to an understanding over it. It will be a matter of time before Jason ends up an enemy to Batman and by default, an enemy to Bruce. What makes what Jason is doing different than what the Joker did to him? To Jason, Batman and Robin were the Joker's enemies, right? And he took care of a problem, the same way Jason is taking care of problems. Jason might not be the instigator in it, but he's doing the same crime. Was Bruce right about it? Is he any different than the Joker?

Most days, it is a thing that he lives with. It's for the greater good and his soul is already damaged, it's already the property of something that isn't quite him anymore. It's always just waiting in an in-between for his second round at death. He does it so other people won't have to. He does it so other people won't feel like him or you or Bruce or Dick or Molly or any of them. He does it to help because people get forgotten. That's what he tells himself but right now, he can't quite figure out if that's really the right thing. He doesn't know what else he's supposed to do. If this isn't supposed to be the answer, then what is? What if it isn't and he can't come back from it anyway? His hands are already stained with so much blood.

And because of that, he falls back into his routine way of thinking. He is damaged. He is broken and scarred, physically and mentally now. Everything around him crumbles at his feet. He tries so fucking hard to be something that's easy to swallow and digest but he fucks that up, too because no one really expects him to be like that. He breaks everyone around him and all he does is hurt people. They try to offer him love and kindness and he bites through it like a rabid coyote. He is undeserving. Someone who is deserving doesn't push and they don't hurt people for being kind. They don't destroy people. That's all he has ever done.

And then he fucking died. It might have been scary and traumatizing but there was a moment, right before everything went dark where he accepted his fate. That would be it. No one else would have to suffer for his mistakes. He was going to die and some people might be sad for a little bit, but they would move on. And he wouldn't fuck up their lives anymore. And he wouldn't suffer anymore.

The ache in his bones would be gone and the voice would be quiet. All of the pain he's dealt with would just be...gone. He would take his last breath, and that would be it. He has hurt for so long that there was a moment where he accepted his fate, that it might just be better and easier this way. He did not want to die and he wishes he were able to have put up a fight but in that single second, he accepted it.

That feeling lingers with him today. He accepted it and as brought back. The reaper won't leave him alone, tugging at his lungs and his bones. It's not forceful, just a casual reminder of what's waiting for him one day. It's a feeling in his stomach that feels like the start of an ulcer. Just there, waiting for the right moment. And he saw the look Dick gave him when he saw Red Hood was Jaosn. He did not seem happy. You were at first pissed about it. No one really seemed too happy at first when he came back. He interrupted your grieving process and then interrupted everything else. He dies with the ache in his bones and the guilt because he has no choice but he swears he won't do this again.

He put a bomb in his helmet as a failsafe.

You pull his thoughts back to you as you press a kiss to his temple. "You're gonna be okay, Jay."

"I'm not!" Jason yells through a whine as he pulls away, his eyes on you. His chest is heaving as he pants for some sort of air. "I'm never gonna be fucking fine."

Why does the world treat him so cruelly? Can't it see that he is good? Can't it see that he has always been enough? Can't it see that Jason Todd has been through enough? He has suffered enough. You would fight the universe with your bare fucking hands if that's what it took for it to understand that he is done suffering.

"You will be." You nod your head at him as your hands come to the side of his neck. Your thumbs trace his jawline. "And you don't have to do this shit alone." You urge. "I told you, if I'm alive then you are never alone and I mean it. I don't care." You shrug harshly. "It's gonna be okay." You want to kiss him until he believes you. You want to kiss all of his hurt away, scare it away so far away that it never comes back. You want to kiss him as hard as you can so maybe he'll believe, once more, that he is worthy and he's gonna be okay and he is never fucking alone if you're breathing.

"I-I just want to stop." His voice has never sounded so defeated as he rests his head against your chest.

"I know." You whisper, your hand moving to the back of his head as you run your hand through the wet strands of black hair. "It will, you just gotta give it some time, Jay." Your voice is steady and calm, disguising the pain in your chest. "You've been through a lot."

Jason picks his head up, his green eyes are dark and miserable. Completely broken. "I died." Jason chokes out.

"Yeah." You nod once as Jason watches something devastating rip through your eyes. "Someone should have been there to protect you." You wish it would have been you. It should have been you to protect him.

Jason shakes his head and he lets out this chuckle that almost falls into another sob. "Maybe I was better off dead." He says it in one breath, all flat and sincere. "Look what I've become."

"No." You say sternly because he doesn't get to do this to himself again. He has prevented you from this exact spiral more times than you can count and he doesn't even know it. It's your job to make sure you repay the favor that was never really a favor. "You deserve to be alive." Jason catches a subtle break in your tone. "You became something that everyone was too fucking cowardly to become. You save people." You nod firmly. "Do you know how many people you've saved as Red Hood?" You ask.

"Not fucking many." Jason lets out a huff.

"Three hundred and two." You answer right back.

Jason's eyes widen and he is so certain you're making that up. "What?"

"Three hundred and two." You repeat. "There was a domino effect, too. I didn't actually count that because it would be like... impossible but I did account for some of them. A guy was gonna blow blow up the museum but you stopped him the day before he had a chance. So, you saved every person that would have been there. You've stolen how many guns from Black Mask? I mean just think of how many people you saved because you took those guns? Domino effect. Of course, there was the apartment fire last week which I don't know, Jay. You're not a firefighter but you still went into it and saved a whole family then went back and saved their cat."

Jason's eyes burn and sting as he stares at you in disbelief and confusion. The water pelts him and it's the first time he realizes it's going a little cold. Why the fuck do you know that? Why are you keeping track? Jason doesn't even believe you. You have no reason to keep track of how many people he's saving. It's his doing and it has nothing to do with you. There is no reason for it. You're just telling him this shit to make him feel better even if that's never been something you've done.

You don't lie to him.

Jason didn't think you'd start so soon and he did do those things. The Gazette wrote a few articles about it though and Molly knew. Maybe that's how you knew but your eyes are soft and your fingers are idly playing with the wet strands at the base of his neck. Why are you keeping tabs on him when you never called?

"W-why the fuck do you know that?" Jason finally gets the words out and you can't tell if he's actually mad about it or concerned.

You hope he's just concerned.

You shrug and offer him a small but cheeky smile. "Cause I do." You suck in a breath. "Have my ways."

The very corner of Jason's mouth tugs upwards just barely at the thought that you're really keeping tabs on him, outside of hearing from your friends. If it were anyone else, he'd be pissed. He can take care of himself despite what this situation might look like to an outsider. He can take care of himself and he doesn't need people worrying about him and keeping tabs just to be disappointed or mad. Jason Todd has never needed anyone but you keeping tabs on him both as Jason Todd and Red Hood is different because you only do it for people you care about. You weren't talking and you still kept up with what he was doing. It makes him wonder why because you could have called. You could have asked yourself and maybe that makes the tiniest smile fall.

Jason didn't call either.

"Keeping tabs on me?" Jason asks with a rough but quiet voice, his brows pulling together.

Not keeping up with him feels impossible. As much as you're beating yourself up for everything and as much as a part of you doesn't think you deserve anything with him at all, there was always a part of you that knew you needed to keep up. Molly and Gar might know what he's doing as himself but Jason's going to keep them away from Red Hood as much as he can. Somewhere inside your stomach, you knew you'd find your way back into each other's lives one way or another. You just wanted to know what he was doing and if he were okay. The only thing you want is for him to be okay and killing people is not the easiest thing in the world, despite what it might look like sometimes. So, you've been keeping up with him just in case.

He's important to you, of course you keep tabs on him.

"I know you're keeping tabs on me, too." You whisper back to him, the cheeky smile completely gone from your lips.

Sometimes Molly will ask an odd question, something she either shouldn't know about or something off-handed. All of the Titans would just ask you which means the only person in Molly's ear is Jason. And you know damn well Molly is smart enough to know you'd figure it out. You just don't say anything. You give Molly the answer and Molly updates you on Jason's things. Okay, so she's a little in the middle of you and Jason but Molly knows you're both mostly asking about each other because you're worried. It is so stupid and you're so emotionally stunted, but it'd drive you both crazy not to know.

Jason just needs to know you're okay.

"Maybe." Jason finally gets a grin onto his lips because you knowing without saying anything until now makes his heart swell. Even apart, you just can't help yourselves.

"Exactly." You let out a soft laugh.

Jason nods a few times, his smile turning gentle. "Why, uh, why do you know that though? How many people?" Jason asks and he finds himself resting his hands on your hips as if on instinct.

"Helps." You answer casually. "Keeping track of everyone you kill and everyone you save by killing, it helps. Keep track of mine, too so...I kept track of yours...just in case." You clear your throat, dodging his eyes. "Know how you are and stuff so...uh, yeah, just...knowing it does help...helps on days where it feels like this might be worse." You explain softly. "It's not...by the way." You clarify. "Greater good but yeah...uh, yeah, you know sometimes it's a lot to carry."

The way you word it makes Jason's heart burn. His hands grip your hips a little tighter and he remembers the night outside of Jerry's. You nearly beat him to death and everything was still heavy. It was still a lot to carry and Jason told you to put it on him. When it gets too hard to carry, put it on him because he can carry the weight of it for you. You swore you'd do the same for him and Jason wonders when you seemed to lose that.

He knows. Deep down he knows because it haunts him in his sleep. That night outside of Excellent Gotham when you were finally done absolutely destroyed him. He knows that was the night you both lost everything. That he lost everything. He had almost gotten you, Tim, and Mr. Drake killed and you couldn't do it anymore. Jason still doesn't blame you even if it makes him want to lose his mind to guilt and regret all over again. It hurts because he always felt so secure with you but then that happened and it was like everything he ever had finally collapsed at his feet. An earthquake disguised in the words of "you win. I can't do it anymore. I'm done." crumbled his foundation. Your love had been wilting away ever since he came back and that was the day it all finally fell apart.

He wishes he could take it back. He wants what you had back.

"Still will carry some of the weight for you, Jay." You suck in a breath.

Can the wilting process be reversed? Can it be rebuilt? Or is it tarnished forever? Or can you rebuild something better? If Jason committed now again, would it be better? Could you get a fair fucking chance at this time?

Jason grinds his teeth thinking that he wants you. After all of this and you are still willing to be soaking wet in your clothes in a shower with him and carry the weight of devestation for him when it's too much for him. He is endlessly and hopelessly in love with you. He wants you. He wants what you had before and he wants to rebuild it. Somehow, some way, that is what he wants and fuck if he thinks he deserves it or not because you wouldn't be here if you didn't feel the same way.

Jason leans his forehead against yours. "You can still put it on me." Jason whispers softly and you gain a soft and subtle smile.

You don't know it, but Jason is entirely committed to you. Maybe you won't want to try again and Jason can't even blame you. It was a fucking shitshow and he died and you almost died. It was a fucking disaster. Maybe you weren't, but your worlds burned around the both of you and charred you both in the process. Maybe you won't want to and that's fine. But, Jason wants to try it all one more time, banter and games and then falling into something. It might not have worked the first time, but it'll be different this time. He's so sure of it and he is so sure of you. He just wants to find his footing and allow you to find yours first and then, even if it makes him want to throw himself through a window, he'll start the conversation.

You pull away, resting your hands on his cheeks. "Why don't we get up, get dry, and I can stay if you want me to?"

He always wants you to stay.

"Ya don't have to if you don't want to." Jason offers even though he knows you will anyway.

"I know." You smile softly at him before you scrunch your nose at him. "Guess you're just stuck with me."

Jason lets himself laugh. There's no such thing as being stuck with you. You don't get stuck to people and you make sure people don't get stuck to you. He is not stuck, it is always a pleasure to have you around. Even when it's hard.

Sorting yourselves out is for the best. It hurts the both of you more than words could possibly describe and a part of that does not feel it's for the best. It feels, somehow, more complicated now than it did before. It's as if you've both forgotten how to walk around each other and that part feels wrong. You both strolled right into each other's lives before and made yourselves right at home as if it were always meant to be that way. Being a part and sorting yourselves has left this gap between you that you're not sure how to build a bridge back. But it's for the best because you can't be together and offer each other the care you deserve if you're too busy dealing with your own traumas while trying to help the other one. It's a little too much to throw in a romance. It sucks and Jason knows it.

"Thanks."

"Of course." You get up, leaning over and turning the shower off finally.

You offer your hands to Jason and help him to his feet. The both of you are completely drenched and it makes Jason laugh. Your hair is soaked, the small bit of eyeliner is running down your cheeks and your t-shirt sags pathetically over you. You stick your tongue out at him and then laugh with him. He doesn't look much better than you do so you laugh, heartily and loud, the booms bouncing off of the tile surrounding you. It's all a little ridiculous.

"Why are you laughing?" You ask as you gasp for a breath.

"You look like a drowned rat." Jason bellows before he grabs the two towels from the towel bars.

"Fuck you!" You yell before sucking in a laugh and catching the towel from Jason. "So do you!"

"I know!" Jason agrees with you which only makes you laugh more and he thinks you're still the prettiest person he's ever met.

His laughing subsides first and turns into something soft and tender while you just smile at him before rolling your eyes. Jason wides his eyes to mock you and then he turns around. He rests his towel on the counter beside him before stripping down to his boxers and you can't help but watch. You're starting to feel goosebumps erupt over your skin as you grow colder but the sight of Jason Todd stripping down? That is not a sight to be missed.

He's somehow more toned now than he was before. The muscles of his back flex with every movement as he dries himself off. The Lazarus pit healed his face and the other injuries he sustained from the Joker but it didn't get rid of his previous scars. The one from his dad is still there and the other one from a fight on the streets. You still like how they look on him. Proof that he is alive. And the only thing you want to do is wrap your arms around him and kiss up his shoulder blades.

You almost do it.

Your feet almost move and you can almost feel how his skin will be warm against yours. He'll straighten his stance at first and then he'll relax. His hands will come up to your arms and a chuckle will fall from his lips the second you place the first kiss between his shoulder blades. You both would be happy.

You almost move.

But it's not your place anymore.

So, you will yourself to turn around and strip down just as he did, leaving you in just your bra and underwear to get as dry as you can. Jason peaks over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of your back to him. He could feel you practically boring into his back and he's relieved you turned around. It wouldn't normally bother him but he'd have to turn around eventually and he wasn't in for that conversation at the moment. But, he offers a glance, catching the raised lines of scars through your back, something that still boils Jason's blood.

Your scars never bothered him. Proof that you fight like hell to make it out alive. But, it pisses him off because what the fuck did you ever do to deserve the mistreatment? Nothing in this world justifies the horrors you went through and the fact you have to bear the scars for the rest of your life as if the haunting memories weren't enough. Jason gets it more than anyone, especially now. And all he wants to do is pull you into him, litter kisses across your face until you burst at the seams with laughter because you're happy. At least if you're laughing you're happy and that's what you deserve. To be happy.

Jason shakes his head and says he'll be back with some dry clothes before he darts out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He takes a few minutes to get some dry clothes on himself, making sure he's covered with a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. His body starts to warm up almost immediately from the clothes and then he rummages through his things looking for something for you to wear. He grabs a pair of boxers for you, sweatpants that he only kept because they fit you better, and a red t-shirt.

When Jason gets back to the bathroom, you're seated on the toilet seat with the towel wrapped around you, cutting off just above your breasts. Jason offers you a smirk because who are the both of you if you aren't going to do this whole banter thing?

"Wanna give me a show?" Jason quips.

You snap your attention to him, seeing a pile of clothes in his hands and him now fully clothed. "No, fuck you." You chortle back as you get to your feet.

"But I'm sad." Jason gives you the fakest pout you've ever seen.

"You're still obnoxious." You quip, gesturing with one hand to get the clothes from Jason.

Jason keeps his smirk. "Better than shithead."

"Shithead." You beam up at him, still waiting for him to hand over the clothes.

"Babe." Jason laughs before handing over the clothes.

You smile back at him with the roll of your eyes. "Maybe I'd have given you one if you gave me one." You blink up at him and Jason knows damn well this is a trap.

"In your dreams." Jason holds his confidence.

You shrug, deciding to play the game. It is always the most fun that way. "Those are my best dreams."

Jason feels his cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. "Don't have just be dreams, babe."

"You fucking wish."

"If I did?" Jason quips without missing a fucking beat.

"I know you do." You roll your eyes and he knows he's won. "Turn the fuck around or get out."

Jason lets out a laugh before he leaves you to get changed, closing the door behind him. "I'm right out here if you change your mind about the show."

"Fuck you!" You yell before Jason hears you laugh behind the door.

Jason leans against his dresser, tugging out his phone to see what he's missed. He has a few texts from Gar, mostly just TikToks and one asking how things are going. Jason decides he'll respond later, not in the mood much for explaining that one. There's a text from Dick asking how Tim is doing and Jason replies that it's going fine, not offering any further explanation. He knows damn well Dick sent the same text to you and you'll elaborate more. There isn't much else on his phone so he goes to his gallery, a habit he can't quite break.

He hasn't deleted a single photo of him and you from his phone. It's an endless and helpless bit of hope that it'll be you and him at the end of this. And these are pictures from a better time because even when he was dealing with the shit from Deathstroke, at least you were both happy. Everything still seemed so simple compared to how it feels today. It feels like years have passed since you were in your bed changing your lock screens to matching pictures. It's as if you've lost your last bit of innocence in those few weeks of terror and agony. Jason figures that's just a consequence of endless trauma. He grieves for the kids you should have been allowed to be. Innocent and dumb and stubborn and carefree. He grieves for the people you both were in the pictures on his phone.

The door opens, tugging Jason's attention up and away from his phone before he pockets it. A tender smile pulls at his lips as you walk out in his clothes, he swore they always look better on you anyway. You have a pile of clothes in your hand, topped with the black towel. You walk right up to him, standing just a few inches from him and beam up at him before you offer the stack to him.

Jason tilts his head back with a laugh before he pushes off the dresser. "Am I your fucking maid now?" He quirks his brows at you.

"I don't think you want me to answer that." You laugh right back and it's something airy and warm.

Jason shakes his head. "Fuck you."

"If you ask nicely." You fire right back and you watch the subtle tint of surprise fade over his face. You let out a snicker before Jason deadpans. "It is still so much fun to fuck with you, Jay."

Jason isn't the only one chasing the innocence of a few months ago. You can feel it, too. It's dark now. Something heavy is lingering in the air everywhere you go. You hate how it feels and ignoring it doesn't do you any good but what else is there to do? At the very least, the way Jason laughs still makes you smile. At the very least, the way he laughs makes the air not feel so heavy anymore. The banter makes things feel a little bit better because at least you're talking, at least you're still on the same page. At least it's still him and you.

"Give me your damn shit." Jason grumbles through a smile while you do as told through a laugh. "Just...wait here." Jason stutters for a second before he darts out of the room.

You make your way to his bed and sit down, your hand landing on his pillow. There's something hard under it and while it isn't your business, you pick up the pillow anyway. Jason keeps a gun under his pillow and the smile evaporates in a second. You know why he does it but...it's the reality of it. The heaviness of always having a weapon at the ready even when it dangers your own life. To live in fear. To live always on guard. It's not fair.

Your heart aches for him. Even after everything, he deserves better. He has always deserved better but now he's stuck here dealing with the monstrosities he was manipulated into doing and dealing with dying. It's all not fair and you wish you knew what you could do to make it better.

You carefully grab the gun, checking the safety and you're relieved he's at least keeping the safety on. You rest it beside you before you look on the other side of the bed, not seeing any other weapons. You'd hope you would have noticed last night or this morning if he had anything out in the open. But, Jason wouldn't which makes you wonder where else he's hiding his weapons.

"What're you doing?" Jason's voice brings your attention back to him.

"Why, uh, w-why do you keep a gun under your pillow?" You ask.

Jason's teeth grind against each other, knowing he can't lie about it. He moved it last night when you weren't paying attention. He'd never have you sleep in a bed when it could go off. But, by the way you asked, that's not why you're asking. You don't even sound mad but Jason is embarrassed anyway. Exposed again, twice in one night because of course he keeps weapons at the ready. He needs to be prepared for anything. Joker took care of the job once already and Jason has been doing a great job in making more enemies than friends these days. He keeps his guard up at all times so he doesn't get beaten to death again.

"I put it there." Jason states, stuffing his hands into his pockets, practically gluing his feet to the floor. Maybe if he doesn't move, you won't ask any more questions.

You blink at him a few times. "Yeah...I-I knew that?" You question him. "That's fucking stupid, you know that?" You ask with the nod of your head. "You might have the safety on but what if it goes off?"

"Look, it's not a fucking thing. You don't have to make it one." Jason shakes his head, gesturing a leisured hand towards you, trying to brush it off as much as he can.

You roll your eyes before you get up, gun in hand with the barrel facing the floor. "I'm not judging you for it. I get it." You shrug your shoulder as you hand the weapon to him.

Jason holds it in his hand, grip tight while he watches you go to your bag. His brows furrow as you start digging into your backpack. You pull out a switchblade, metallic blue shining against the low light of his room. You walk back over to his bed and put the knife under his pillow.

"It's locked so it shouldn't open on you while you're asleep. Just don't lose that one, I like that one." You roll your shoulders, eyes locked on his. "I got those from Bruce so they're good for throwing." You explain as you swallow thickly and you can see Jason wanting to fight you on it, defend himself but he doesn't need to. Jason Todd never needs to defend himself against you. "I have one under my pillow, too." You say quietly while you watch Jason's face soften and his shoulders relax.

Being with you was always the place he never felt judged for anything, even the blood staining his hands.

"Thank you." Jason takes a few steps forward, finally unsticking his feet from the wooden floorboards. "Don't have to look after me, though." Jason says it simply, a hint of hurt in his voice. He takes a seat beside you. "Not your job anymore." Jason's eyes are dark and sad, something tugging his thoughts back to a place they shouldn't be.

"I know." You say quietly. "It was never a job in the first place." Your eyes go to your hands and Jason can feel the lump in his throat growing again but this time, for the love he thinks he lost from you. Or the love he thought he lost. "You're still my favorite person." You whisper back to him and you don't know why you say it. You only know that it's true and it's always been true. Maybe he just needs to know it's still you and him.

"Still?" Jason asks, his eyes searching over your face for any indication that you're going to throw out some quip.

"Mhm." You hum with a subtle nod.

Jason looks to his hands in his lap and he misses you more than words could possibly describe. He misses your honesty and your care and your quips and the snark. He misses every aspect of you and he is so in love with you. He thought, for just a second, maybe that feeling would fade. Time would pass and it would fade, especially lately. You'd meet again and maybe it would be so different that he wouldn't feel like his heart would burst from his ribcage at the sight of you. You always deserved better than him anyway. After everything he put you through, you deserve better than that but he can tell by how you stutter and tug at your sleeves, the way your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes after the last bit of banter, you aren't entirely happy. Being with him, for some reason he'll never understand, made you happy. And being with you always made him happy. You're sitting here and it's as if his very heart is trying to climb through his chest to get to yours. He is still so endlessly in love with you.

"I miss you." He says it quietly, looking back to you and he wishes he could tell you the other eight letters but..that all seems a little too honest and a little unfair. He doesn't expect you to say it back.

Every day you wake up and you love him. Every day you wake up and you miss him. Today was the first day in two months, you didn't miss him. You didn't miss him because he was down the hall. You didn't miss him because he was here and so were you. Today was the first day in two months, your chest didn't ache with the thought of him. You miss him, too and you miss his smile and his laugh and the new addition of the white streak of hair. You miss his sarcasm and his ability to turn anything into some sort of joke. You always miss him. And you are endlessly in love with him.

"I miss you, too." You whisper back, eyes locking on his.

The haunted words of 'I love you' scrape down your throat, knowing it's not your place to say them. It's too honest, too vulnerable, too exposed. It's too much for both of you and it's not fair to put that on him. It's not fair to put it on him because you aren't sure what you'd do if he knew. It's agonizing swallowing the words. You have felt more at home today than you have in two months. Jason deserves to know you still love him despite it all but you can't say it.

The room falls silent, the air between you growing humid and thick. Tonight was a bad night. They happen sometimes. Sometimes the weight of it all drags Jason down and he can't pick himself up. But you walk right in and don't even hesitate. You always know what to do and you never even question it. Tonight was a bad night but you were here and he is thankful for you. He's coming into himself as Red Hood, knowing, most nights, that what he's doing is for the greater good. He's getting along with Bruce and they're actually trying for once. He sees Leslie once a week. He is trying, making a solid effort to move past everything that's ever made him feel like a burden. It's the forgiving himself for what happened that drags him down.

Everyone was right. It was his choice to go to Crane. He didn't have to. Sure, maybe it wasn't really him while he was high, but it was. It was him making that choice to keep taking it, it was his choice to ignore every single offer you ever made to bring him back just because he was pissed and stubborn and he felt abandoned. So many people have suffered because of what he did under Crane's control. It may not have been the real him but he still did it. And that's a very difficult thing to forgive himself for. And it only ever gets worse when you're involved because you were the one person who never even thought about giving up on him until you were given no other choice. It's a very hard thing to forgive himself for but he is trying.

Leslie says he needs to learn to forgive himself, everyone else has forgiven him and that should mean something.

He's trying.

He's trying to forgive himself and be better. He is trying to accept the care and kindness of others without second guessing their motives or when they'll up and leave.

He's trying not to push.

"I..." Jason stutters. "I really miss you." Jason says again, hoping you get it because he can't stand to not have you in his life anymore.

Your face softens as your heart shatters through your chest. You forgave him for everything the second it all happened. Sometimes, you can feel yourself upset about some of it but it's just the grief kicking in again. The grief of everything you both lost the second he made the decision to go to Crane. It is the one decision he has made that you don't understand but you aren't Jason. You weren't Robin. You weren't stripped of the most important thing to you, of your identity. Not like Jason was. And you forgive him anyway because Jason doesn't like to hurt people. Especially people he cares about. Pushing has always been a way to hurt himself, not other people. You forgive him for everything even if he doesn't know it.

You wish it were different so you wouldn't be suffering through the pain of missing each other. It doesn't seem very fair, especially tonight.

You know what he means.

"I really miss you, too." Your voice is honest and Jason thinks you even sound scared, a reminder of how he sounded the first time things got a little too real with your feelings. Those words hold the same meaning that they do for Jason. Everything you're both too scared to say tonight.

You lean forward, resting your forehead on his shoulder and you know your heart will only ever belong to him. It'll always be safe with him. Jason's eyes soften as he looks down at you and instead of making some quip or joke, he lets you sit in the moment. He rests his cheek against your head and all he wants to do is kiss you. This isn't easy for you either.

You lift your head and Jason's eyes are big and green, the prettiest shade of green you've ever seen. He is still the only thing you have ever wanted. He will always be the only thing you'll ever want. And Jason can feel it, too, like an invisible string tugging you together in every universe, in every timeline. You are the only thing he has ever wanted. You are the only thing he will ever want.

Jason hopes you know he feels it, too so he rests his forehead against yours first this time. Your eyes close as your shoulders relax and Jason finally lets out a breath before his eyes close. He'll never ask because that's too soon into whatever this friendship is going to be but he's hoping you stay awhile. Stays past morning tomorrow and into the night. You don't have to talk about any of it, he just wants you to stay and he wants to stay just like this because it's the safest he's felt in two months. And it's like a reflex, embedded deep into his DNA, he brushes his nose against yours as he feels your breath fan over his lips.

You match him but instead, you brush your lips against his. You haven't kissed him in a month and a half yet it feels like it's been an entire century. Kissing him has always washed away every doubt and ounce of sadness you've ever had. Him kissing you has always made you feel wanted, the two of you against the world. That's how it should have been and that's how it should be now. You want to kiss him so badly you think you might burst into tears. Life was always better with him in it. You want to kiss him to show him that even if you can't be together, you still love him with every ounce of your existence.

Jason's head starts to spin and he holds his breath. He's thrown right back to that time in the manor when you told him to prove it. You said it and he never put in a single thought after that. He took the leap and he thinks it was one of the best decisions he's ever made. That kiss sealed your fate together, even for just that short time. It brought you to him in a way he didn't think he'd ever be lucky enough to have. Being with you made him feel lucky for the first time in a very long time.

Maybe you can do this again. Maybe the way for you to do anything is to tiptoe into it. It didn't work last time but it wasn't for lack of trying. It was Jason who fucked it up but it had nothing to do with you and him. Maybe falling back into each other is how it's supposed to be. Maybe you could fix it all. It's just lonely without you. He's terrified but your lips brush over his again and you're making the first move this time. You can still quiet every horrible thought he's ever had. He loves you with every ounce of his very existence.

Jason brings his hand to your cheek, running his thumb over your cheek. Your skin is always soft under his callused fingers. He thought maybe you'd back out because you do that. You run from everything, you back out, it's all a joke and that's that. It would be incredibly painful but...you don't. You lean into him instead. So, Jason finally closes the bit of distance between you and brings his lips to yours.

You smile against him and Jason can breathe again. He can breathe again as you kiss him back and your mouth moves with his. This might be a one-time thing but that's okay because even if it's just for this moment, you choose him. And he chooses you. You will always choose each other. In the chaos of your lives, somehow, you find your way back right here with your hands pulling the collar of his shirt closer to you and his hands on your cheeks. You choose each other anyway. Despite the pain and heartbreak and chaos and all of the terrible, horrible, thoughts, you choose each other. Even if it is just for a moment, Jason decides to take the second leap and he wants this moment to last as long as you will let it. If you'll have him.

Jason moves his hands to your hips, giving them a squeeze before he tugs you closer to him. You get the hint and without breaking the kiss, you move to straddle his lap, Jason guiding you down. His hands squeeze your hips and he tugs you as close to him as possible while your hands find their way to his shoulders and then the back of his neck. Your fingers tangle in the damp hair at the base of his neck. The kiss grows sloppy and desperate, teeth clanking against each other and it is the most cathartic feeling the both of you have had in a long time.

It is healing parts of you both you didn't think possible. Normally, it's Jason questioning your feelings because why would you ever love him after all the damage he's done? But, it's you questioning that as you kiss him with everything in you. You're just like everyone else, why would he forgive you for that? Why would he kiss you like he's still hopelessly in love with you? You broke a promise to him and he's still here and you have no idea why. But, tonight, you're going to allow yourself to be thankful. All that matters right now is that you're here, together, just him and you.

Jason swears you have left a permanent make spelling out your name across his heart and Jason wouldn't have any other name in your place. And a part of him thinks you know, too. It's as if it glows and heats up the center of his chest whenever you're around. It's like his heart becomes a beacon of light on the top of a lighthouse the second you kiss him. You make him feel alive again and he doesn't have to feel so alone when you're here.

You feel so at home with him. Every piece of paranoia that's been coursing through you fades away and you know, without a shadow of a doubt, with Jason you're safe. After everything, he will always protect you. You will always protect him. You're tied together even if you don't want to admit it to each other. You've ruined each other for anyone that would ever come after and the both of you have never been so thankful.

Jason pulls away, his chest heaving as his eyes open slowly. Your eyes meet his slowly, pupils lust-blown and you have a loving and lazy smile spread across your lips. He thinks he could do this all night long.

He gains his signature smirk. "Did I win that time?" Jason's eyes glance to your lips.

You deadpan and shake your head. You expect absolutely nothing less from him. "Shut the fuck up."

Jason lets out the warmest chortle you've ever heard. "That's a yes."

"Just shut up and kiss me." You groan before colliding your lips with his.

You can feel him grin wildly against your lips before he falls right back into rhythm with you.

prev. chapter | next chapter

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Tag List: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai //

@makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @im-done-with-this-im-out //

@velvetskies // @lilylovelyxo // @cryinghotmesss // @yesimwriting // @vivian-555 //

@stainedstardom // @baebeepeach // @legend-o-zelda // @harleycao // @somehow-lovable-trash //

@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased //

@scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000 // @ginger24880 // @urmomsgayforme5 //

@septixtrash // @kplatzman // @killxz // @lovefks // @laurelthesimp //

@strawberryforks // @mxtokko // @kolpvii // @adorabluesposts // @jasontoddthings //

@bbiaa420 // @todorokiskitten // @krishavania

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #penance

84 notes · View notes