#My posture right now? Impeccable

[charonean]

Breaking news: doing things that are good for you are, in fact, good for you.

[funkervogt]

(Realizes that the most common transman experiences perfectly align with my life and feelings about myself and fascinations and who I want to be with) Ohhhh Okay i am fucked

[kiwriteswords]

Our Secret Moments in Crowded Rooms [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader] *

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 2.5k|| AN: Combined a little thirsty thursday smut with 5+1 weekend prompt for one of my last Ki2k fics! ||Requests are still open for Ki2k!!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, sexting, nudes, 5+1, mdni, smutty themes, sexual themes, bau!reader, lingerie, implied age gap

Summary: Five times you send Aaron Hotchner a dirty text message, and the one time he sends you one.

The first time you did it was in the bustling conference room, everyone’s attention had been squarely focused on Erin Strauss, who was remotely detailing the future financial directions for the BAU.

Hotch sat with his usual impeccable posture at the head of the table, a fortress of professionalism. 

The entire team--Rossi, Derek, Emily, JJ, Penelope, and Spencer--were present, occasionally exchanging weary glances or stifled yawns. The atmosphere was stifling with budget talk and strategic projections.

You, well aware of how mundane these meetings could be, decided to add a spark of excitement. 

From across the table, you could see Hotch’s phone next to his notepad, the screen innocently dark. Remembering the daring photo you had snapped the night before--just a little something in very revealing lingerie--you couldn’t resist.

Quietly, with a mischievous smile, you selected the photo and sent it to him, your heart thumping with a mix of nervousness and thrill.

The moment the phone buzzed, Hotch’s hand moved reflexively to check it, a motion masked by the table. His expression, typically unreadable, faltered for a split second as he viewed the message. His eyes widened imperceptibly, a flush creeping up his neck--an uncommon sight. He locked the phone quickly, placing it face down with more force than necessary, his fingers tensing around the edges.

Rossi, sitting beside him, noticed the subtle change. Leaning closer under the guise of discussing the budget, he whispered with a hint of amusement, "Rough numbers, Aaron?"

Hotch, catching himself, gave Rossi a small nod and a wry, controlled smile, "Something like that," before turning his attention back to Strauss.

From the corner, Derek watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as he murmured to Emily, "Seems like the budget's more interesting than we thought." Emily covered a chuckle with her hand, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Penelope, ever the sleuth for gossip, shot you a knowing look from across the table, her interest clearly piqued. Spencer, on the other hand, looked from one person to another, confused by the sudden shift in dynamics but deciding it was just another quirk of team interactions he'd yet to understand.

As the meeting wrapped up, Hotch stood, adjusting his suit jacket with a nervous energy. Passing by you, he murmured low enough for only you to hear, "Nice photo," a stern look on his face but his tone warm with appreciation.

The second time, with a sly smile, you observed Hotch through the glass window of his office, his face etched with stress as he furiously penned down reports. The deep lines on his forehead spoke volumes of the pressure he was under. Inspired to ease his burden and inject a spark of youthfulness into his day, you knew just the trick to divert his attention and perhaps elicit a more relaxed expression.

Pulling out your phone, you crafted a risqué text, teasing and bold: 

"If I were there right now, those reports wouldn't be the only thing spread out on your desk..." 

Your fingers hesitated only a moment before sending it, your heart fluttering with a mix of anticipation and mischief. You then fixed your gaze on him, watching as his intense focus on the reports was interrupted by the buzz of his phone.

Hotch paused, his hand reaching automatically for the device. He read your message, and for a moment, he seemed frozen; the pen halted mid-air. Then, slowly, a smile creased his usually stern face, and he shook his head in disbelief at your audacity. The stress lines seemed to smooth as his eyes lit up with a mix of amusement and something more intense, more fiery.

After a brief moment, his fingers began to move rapidly over the screen. You waited, curious and a bit nervous about what his reply might entail. The phone buzzed in your hand, and you glanced down to read his response. The words on the screen were shockingly bold and flirtatious: 

“Promise to handle me with more care than those reports? Because that’s an offer I’d hate to file away for later.” 

Hotch was playing along, stepping up to your challenge with a surprising flair.

Looking up, you caught his gaze through the window. He was watching you, a smug smirk replacing the usual stoic expression. His eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly pleased with the exchange. The atmosphere between you, charged with a playful yet palpable tension, promised more daring banter and perhaps some interesting developments once the workday ended.

The third time, the BAU team was scattered across hotel rooms, weary from a long day on a challenging case. With the set protocol firmly in place, you and Hotch had separate rooms to maintain professionalism while on duty. But knowing the kind of pressure Hotch was under, especially after the particularly tough day he'd had, you felt a compassionate urge to offer him a bit of a reprieve--even if it was a bold move given your agreement.

As you settled into the solitude of your room, you remembered Hotch’s tense expression earlier that evening; his jaw set firm, his eyes shadowed with the weight of the day. The image spurred a mischievous yet caring idea. 

With a quiet resolve, you decided to take a daring step to ease his stress. You took a moment to set the scene in your dimly lit room, ensuring the ambiance was just right, subtle yet inviting. Then, with a deep breath, you snapped a tasteful yet undeniably sexy nude photo of yourself, one that accentuated your curves and held an artistic flair.

You hesitated for a moment, considering the implications, but your desire to lighten his mood won out. You sent the photo to Hotch with a simple, flirty message attached: 

“Wish you were here...”

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last as you awaited his response. Finally, your phone buzzed. Hotch’s reply was succinct, yet it carried a depth of emotion that was rare for him to express in words: 

“Thank you, that means a lot right now. We *definitely* need to discuss vacation plans soon.”

Though brief, his message conveyed a warmth and appreciation that reassured you. It was clear your gesture had touched him, perhaps more because of the sentiment behind it than the photo itself. It was a small, intimate exchange, but it reinforced the deep connection between you, straddling the line between professional boundaries and personal support.

The fourth time, was after a fight. 

If you were asked what even started the fight, you’re not sure you could remember. It was that silly. 

As the tension from the silly argument lingered in the air of your shared apartment, you could feel the heaviness of Hotch's aggravation from the other room. Despite the trivial nature of the disagreement, his mood had soured, a rare occurrence that left the atmosphere charged with a silent stiffness. 

Knowing you had already moved past the disagreement and sensing that the prolonged silence was doing neither of you any favors, you decided it was time to lighten the mood and mend fences in a way that would catch him off-guard yet remind him of the deeper bond you shared.

With a playful resolution, you typed out a message from the comfort of the living room while he remained secluded in the study. Your fingers danced over the phone’s keyboard with a flirty intention: 

“Truce? I’m wearing the smile you gave me...and not much else. Come and make sure it stays on?”

You hit send, a small smile playing on your lips as you anticipated his reaction, hoping to dissolve the remnants of his frustration. 

It didn’t take long for the sound of shifting furniture to reach your ears, followed by the soft but rapid footsteps approaching. The door creaked open, and Hotch stood there, a slight smile breaking through his earlier demeanor. His eyes softened, humor mixed with affection warming his gaze as he took in your playful stance.

“I suppose that’s an offer too good to ignore,” he responded, the tension melting away as he stepped into the room, extending his hand in a peace offering and a promise of a heartfelt reconciliation.

The fifth time was a present of sorts--a prelude to the actual gift. 

For Hotch’s birthday, you had planned something extra special to end the day on a memorable note. Knowing he would be in the office later than usual due to a crucial meeting, you seized the opportunity to prepare a surprise that was sure to delight him. 

After slipping out of work a bit early, you ventured to a boutique and selected a stunning piece of lingerie, intricately designed and bold, perfect for the occasion.

Once home, you carefully arranged the lingerie, adorning yourself as if you were a gift needing unwrapping. The silky fabric felt luxurious against your skin, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of nerves and excitement at the thought of his reaction. 

However, as time ticked by and Hotch’s meeting dragged on longer than you expected, the initial thrill began to wane, replaced by impatient anticipation.

To regain the spark and signal to Hotch the evening awaiting him, you positioned yourself in front of the bedroom mirror. The reflection that stared back at you was enticing--a playful yet irresistible invitation. 

You snapped a suggestive photo, the angle and lighting accentuating the curves and contours hugged by the lace and silk. Attaching a flirty message, you sent it to him: 

“Hurry home...your birthday present is waiting to be unwrapped.”

 Moments later, your phone buzzed with his response, his words fueling your anticipation further: 

“That’s the best motivation to end this meeting early. Save me some wrapping to tear into when I get there.” 

His message, a perfect blend of tease and affection, reassured you that the evening would be as thrilling as you had envisioned. 

Now, all that was left was the waiting, each minute stretching out with the promise of the celebration to come.

Your fingers raced over the phone’s keyboard, your tone playful and a bit teasing. Deciding to cross the line even further, you hoped this would be good motivation to hurry up and get here: 

"I might start without you...Can’t promise I’ll be patient much longer."

You were surprised when you saw the next message come in just as soon as you sent yours, meaning he was watching and waiting for your next move. 

"Now, that would be a crime. Give me 20 minutes. I'm leaving now."

Now, this could be fun. You chuckled softly, the excitement tingling through you as you typed another message, hinting at the evening's impending delights.

"20 minutes? I guess I’ll just have to find some way to occupy myself...Maybe I’ll start with the ribbon."

Twenty minutes? You knew very well the apartment was more-like thirty minutes away and Mister-I-Don’t-Go-That-Much-Above-The-Speed-Limit wouldn’t test that tonight. 

"Hold off on that ribbon. I want the full experience of unwrapping my gift. Consider it an order from your unit chief."

The reply was quick, infused with affection and a hint of mischief. You toyed with the edge of the lingerie, truly wishing time travel was a thing right now. You took a deep, shuttering breath and decided to be patient. It was his birthday, after all. 

“Yes, sir! I’ll be here...waiting and ready for inspection."

Poking the buttons had seemed to become your specialty. You knew if you wanted him here quicker, you might as well stop texting, but this game was far too fun. 

"Stay just like that. I’m rushing home. And, just so you know, you’ve already made this the best birthday yet."

Although you had already made the unknowing promise to fulfill his birthday dreams tonight, you knew now to amp it up a little--following through with that best birthday ever.

And then there was the one time that Aaron Hotchner truly---yes, truly, surprised you. 

He always surprised you, to be fair. His intelligence, his thoughtfulness, his quick-wit...all of it. 

But his ability to adapt to sexting? At work?! Now, this was a surprise.

It was a slow afternoon at the office, and the BAU team had just wrapped up a case. You were busily organizing files at your desk when your phone vibrated subtly beside your keyboard. 

Expecting a mundane work-related message or perhaps a reminder, you were surprised to see Hotch's name lighting up the screen. Curiosity piqued, you swiped open the message, your eyebrows rising in surprise at the content.

"Thinking about last night...can't get it out of my mind. How do you manage to do that?"

Flashbacks of last night passed by in your brain. It was a great night, you can’t deny that. A day of tension that turned into some perfect stress relief--stress relief that went on for quite a long time, mind you. 

You glanced around to ensure no one was peering over your shoulder before replying:

"I could ask you the same. But I’m glad it's stuck with you. Keeps the day interesting, doesn't it?"

There was a short pause during which you continued your work, albeit with a slightly distracted air. Soon, your phone vibrated again. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes; he was truly sexting you. 

In the middle of the workday. 

In the middle of the BAU. 

"Very interesting...and speaking of interesting, what if I told you I’m looking forward to more? Might even have a surprise for you tonight."

The vague hint at something more made your heart skip a beat. The tension between your legs began to grow too, suddenly wanting--needing some friction. 

You tapped out a response, your fingers moving swiftly over the phone’s keypad:

“Now you’ve made me curious...and a little impatient. Should I be preparing anything?"

And horny. You wanted to reply. 

"Just yourself. Maybe wear that necklace I like--and nothing else."

Holy shit. You looked around and life was funny this way. The rest of the world continuing on as if you weren’t sitting here ready to run up and fuck Aaron Hotchner in the middle of the work day. You knew you couldn’t, but the idea...the idea kept crossing your mind. Just like you crossed your legs in hopes it would help with the sudden ache that sat there. 

"Consider it done. I’m counting the minutes until I can see what you’ve planned."

You could almost hear his deep, even tone through the text, serious yet playful. The conversation was uncharacteristically bold for Hotch, especially during work hours, showing a side of him that rarely came out in the open. This unexpected twist in your routine day made the hours seem to drag as anticipation built.

"Count faster. I’ll be home by seven."

You were sure that sexting with Hotch was by far your new favorite thing. 

[lamaery]

This time it is Rlain's turn to gaze. :D There's a reason mateform makes you unfocused. Here is Renarin looking back

ID: The first image features Renarin through Rlain's loving eyes. In all, Renarin glimmers with handsomespren. In none of them is Renarin looking back at us. They paint a beautiful vision of being in love with a man who prefers not to make a lot of eye contact. In the first drawing, Renarin looks out from a slightly ducked posture, his attention focused elsewhere and his expression privately delighted, as if he'd just thought of something wickedly clever that he hasn't yet shared. The light catches his features in an alluring way, and the viewer knows exactly what Rlain loves about his boyfriend's brilliant mind. In the second drawing, Renarin looks out into the middle distance, his expression serious and emotionally neutral, but somehow weighted with responsibility. His wide Blackthorn jaw seems slightly clenched, but unconsciously. His collar is tantalizingly open, allowing Rlain to enjoy the elegant length of his neck and that secret hollow of his throat. In the third sketch, Renarin is seen from above. He's leaning back in a chair, his head resting comfortably and uninhibitedly, supported by the chair's curved back. He's looking in the opposite direction from the viewer, but he smiles with teeth. His collar is wide open, and he looks so comfortable in his own skin. Like, he's so completely relaxed, so uninhibited, like sharing his personal space bubble and his body with Rlain is effortless. In the fourth sketch, Renarin stands across the room, about twenty feet away. His weight is subtly on his back foot to compensate as he holds up at an arm's length an impeccably pressed, regal knee-length Kholin jacket. In his other hand, he holds his shorter Bridge Four jacket, in a way that will keep the collar from being creased. He's wearing an undershirt that my heart knows was custom made for his measurements with a pair of pants with a line of coy, delicate little buttons down the split in his lower pants leg, from knee to lower calf. The split shows a tantalizing sliver of calf, and he doesn't even realize how handsome he is. His pants make his butt a little flat, but we all must cope with devastating trials in this mortal realm. He has elegantly boned feet and there's a slim musculature behind his leanness now, and isn't that all that really matters in this universe? Rlain thinks so. In the fifth drawing, Renarin leans over a few scribbled pages, one hand pointed outward as it presses flat against the table.  He seems deep in conversation with Glys, attention focused inward as he focused on the complexities of a mystery.  He's wearing a buttoned-down version of a fancier outfit: a tailored cross-body vest that emphasizes the slimness and sleekness of his build. and matching trousers.  Beneath that is a button-up shirt with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves, because Marie loves us and she wants us to be happy. The second image, at the top right, is a very cartoonishly minimalistic and humorously stylized illustration of mateform Rlain standing with absolutely zero chill, his arms crossed in a way he wants you to think is relaxed, but clearly isn't relaxed at all.  He's staring forward and sweating, the words "Trying very hard to concentrate." snaking around his head.  He's also wearing a very wide open collar in harmony with his stouter overall physique.  He also has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because everyone deserves to see their favorite forearm circumference represented in media. 3 and 4 are a trio of very quick and sketchy but also ADORABLE illustrations, Rlain grabs a surprised Renarin's vest front, which draws a deep blush and a very enthusiastic and eager little grin.  Surprises are not always great, but he's 100% down with this one!  They meet in a kiss, craning over the table between them, Rlain's hand still clutching a fistful of Renarin's vest and Renarin reciprocating with passion, cradling the back of Rlain's neck with one hand, one finger running up the bare skin where neck meets skull.  Passionspren fall thickly around them.

[cece693]

My Vampire

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader is a vampire, takes place after they fall off the cliff, nursing back to health, hannigram feel jealous, but everything is resolved, just something silly I came up with

You’d never planned on crossing paths with Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. In truth, you avoided humans whenever possible, preferring the deep shadows of the forest and the quiet hours of the night to any bustling crowds. But that unspoken, secret life you lead—sustained by blood and centuries of solitude—proved itself impossible to hide when you found the two men collapsed at the rocky bottom of a steep cliff.

In the silvery glow of the moon, you saw them: Hannibal, impeccably dressed even in disarray, and Will, painfully crumpled, a halo of curly hair matted with blood. They had fallen—or been driven—off the edge. Your acute hearing picked up the faint beating of two frantic hearts. Against your better judgment, you acted swiftly.

The moonlight guided you as you carried both unconscious men to the safety of your home, deep in the forest. Turning on the lights revealed modest furniture, shelves of ancient texts, and the paraphernalia you’d collected over centuries: strange artifacts, historical relics, a few odd trinkets you found comforting in your long life.

You prepared beds for them in separate rooms. First, you stabilized Hannibal—a fractured rib, sprained wrist, cuts along his temple. More concerning was Will: several bruises, probable concussion, shock. With careful touches, you cleaned and dressed their wounds. Under the same roof with two delicate, thrumming pulses—it took everything in you to keep a tight leash on your most primal instinct. But you did. You always did.

Their condition demanded something more than standard human medication. You whispered ancient incantations under your breath, letting the faint threads of supernatural energy flow from your fingertips to their broken bones. Even as your thirst roared, you continued your strange, secretive healing, pressing over bruises and fractures with hands that never seemed to warm.

Days passed. You listened to the soft stutter of Will’s pulse and the steady cadence of Hannibal’s. At first, they roused only in fleeting moments, eyes glassy, speech slurred. You offered them water and soups thick with herbs that carried subtle restorative properties. They ate without protest, too weak to question anything. Eventually, Hannibal’s eyes found yours in the dimness of his room.

“You saved us,” he murmured, voice quiet yet controlled. There was a ripple of curiosity beneath the gratitude. You simply gave a small bow of your head, your lips curving in a gentle, almost secretive smile. He studied you: your unnaturally still posture, the unearthly pallor of your skin that seemed to glow faintly in the low light. You turned away from his searching gaze, easing a blanket higher over his chest with a careful gesture. There were questions you expected, but for now, Hannibal simply closed his eyes, content to rest in your presence.

Will took longer to regain consciousness, drifting in and out of feverish dreams. When he finally startled awake, he looked around with wide blue eyes, instantly on edge. You carefully stepped forward so he could see you—a kind face, arms raised in a gesture of peace.

“It’s all right,” you soothed, voice soft and resonant. “You’re safe here.”

His gaze flickered around, searching. “Hannibal?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

“He’s here as well,” you reassured him, stepping aside so he could see the figure through the open doorway. “He’s recovering.”

Will’s tension ebbed, replaced by relief. He slumped back onto the bed, nodding to himself. Then, quietly: “You saved our lives.”

You nodded, pressing a cloth damp with cool water against his forehead. “I did what needed to be done.”

Over the next several days, you stayed close, quietly tending to their needs. You brought them more comforting meals, teas laced with your own subtle magic, and changed their bandages as their injuries healed at a pace slightly faster than normal humans—your clandestine influence, though you never openly acknowledged it. As Hannibal and Will grew stronger, the two men observed you in unspoken unison. They’d share glances from across a room, as though exchanging telepathic notes about you. Eventually, curiosity overcame them.

One afternoon, while preparing more of your herb-laced soup in the cabin’s small kitchen, you found yourself under Hannibal’s direct stare. The man approached with a measured step, Will close behind. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Hannibal started, voice like velvet, “but I must admit, your hospitality is extraordinary.”

You allowed a smile to cross your lips. “I live alone. I have the space to share, and you needed help.”

Will glanced around at the eclectic collections on the walls and shelves—maps older than any living memory, candelabras that looked straight out of an antique store from centuries past, and your library of old texts. “You’ve traveled a lot?” he guessed.

“I’ve wandered,” you answered enigmatically. The silence that followed was taut.

“We’re grateful,” Will said softly. “We want you to know that.” In return, you simply nodded. You didn’t expect anything from them beyond eventual departure. Yet something stirred in your chest—an unaccustomed warmth of companionship you hadn’t felt in decades.

The days slipped by like dusk over water. You found yourself engaging in quiet conversations with Will in the evenings, while Hannibal read through your old tomes. Sometimes, you’d glance up to catch both men looking at you with an intensity that made your long-dead heart flutter in a dangerously human way. One night, you were startled when you heard Hannibal and Will murmuring to each other by the fireplace:

“He’s different,” Will said. “I can feel it.”

Hannibal’s voice was thoughtful. “Yes, there’s a presence to him. A calm and hunger, perhaps. Subtle, but there.”

Hunger. You swallowed. The faint thirst you spent centuries controlling was, indeed, always present. They were so perceptive.

Soon, little signs around the cabin began to raise suspicions: the heavy, iron-bound chest in a dark corner that you never let them open, the wine bottles you kept in a locked cupboard (though the contents were not wine at all). Once, Hannibal caught sight of you striding silently across the moonlit porch late at night, eyes glinting, your form almost inhumanly poised. Then there was the evening Will found a solitary pale figure in the forest, sipping from a small deer’s wound. You vanished before he fully comprehended the sight.

But what truly fueled their jealousy—though it blossomed in them before they knew the truth—were the small hints of a partner. A second set of clothing in a trunk, a pair of shoes that didn’t quite match yours, an engraving on a ring hidden in a wooden box. They caught glimpses of these things and exchanged wary looks, uncertain if you belonged to someone else. And why did you keep such personal belongings locked away?

Neither man dared to confront you outright. Yet their longing to be near you, to share these stolen pockets of tenderness, was obvious in every word, every gesture. When you approached either of them—asking about their injuries, smoothing the hair from their faces, offering small, tender assurances—you could feel their hearts quicken.

It happened one late evening, on the porch overlooking the forest. The sky was clear, starlight bright. You stood beside Hannibal and Will, who were both healed enough to walk carefully outside. They sipped from porcelain cups of your herbal tea, scanning the tree line where the moon gilded every branch.

Hannibal spoke first, voice low and calm, “We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Will added gently. “We owe you so much. But we can’t keep burdening you.”

A pang flitted through you at the idea of them leaving. In them, you felt the pull of companionship, even desire. You’d seen the way their gazes lingered on you, felt the gentle brush of their hands when you passed something between them. They were drawn to you in ways neither had dared say.

“You don’t have to leave,” you murmured. “At least not until you’re fully recovered.” You paused, eyes searching the forest. “My home is safe if you need it.”

Hannibal watched you closely, seeing something in your eyes. “There’s more to you than kind hospitality, isn’t there?”

A fleeting grin tugged at your lips, an age-old secret behind your eyes. “I’m not like you,” you admitted softly. “I’m something else.”

Will shifted, the memory of seeing you in the woods late at night still burning in his mind. “I’ve seen glimpses,” he ventured. “But I—I don’t understand.” You inhaled, feeling your chest tighten with apprehension. Never, in all your years, had you willingly revealed your nature to humans. Yet these men—there was something about them that felt like an inevitability.

“I was born human once,” you started quietly, “but that was a long time ago.” You steeled yourself. “I’ve lived many lifetimes since. Surviving on blood, fighting the thirst, wandering from place to place.”

Hannibal’s expression was one of fascination rather than fear. “A vampire?” His tone lacked the disbelief you’d grown used to. Instead, it was curious, tinged with admiration.

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yes.”

Will set aside his cup, stepping closer, his eyes flicking over your face. The moonlight made him look almost otherworldly himself. “You saved us from that cliff. You healed us. And you never...took our blood?”

“I’m not a monster,” you whispered. “And I found your lives worth preserving.” You paused, swallowing the remnants of your fear. “The items you found—those things that made you think I had a partner—are old memories of someone I lost centuries ago. Not a current lover.”

Hannibal and Will exchanged glances, a faint bloom of relief apparent in both their eyes. Will exhaled a soft laugh, pushing a nervous hand through his curls. “We thought…We weren’t sure.”

Hannibal’s refined voice cut in, “We may have been jealous.” There was a wry, knowing smile curving his lips. “A foolish notion, given your generosity.”

Heat—or the memory of it—rose to your cheeks. “There’s no one else now,” you said quietly.

As the truth came to light, the shift in your relationship was palpable. Neither man showed fear or disgust. Instead, an unexpected acceptance lingered, twining you closer. Will still found you in the kitchen late at night, but now he’d quietly slide in beside you, leaning against the counter, eyes full of curiosity. He’d ask about your life in hushed tones: your travels, the centuries of knowledge you’d collected. You answered in half-truths or occasional full confessions, depending on what you felt ready to share.

Hannibal, too, found ways to join you in your quiet moments. He appreciated your old texts, marveled at the archaic languages you could read. Something in his own brilliant mind was stimulated by the very notion of a creature who had lived through so many eras. He’d ask you sophisticated questions with an almost reverent tone, and you’d see the faint glint of desire flicker across his features—desire, not just for your body, but your timelessness.

And between them, there was a synergy you’d never witnessed among humans. You caught it in how Will would pass Hannibal a knowing look or in how Hannibal’s fingers would gently skim the small of Will’s back. They were bound to each other, yet somehow, they extended that bond to include you.

After dinner one evening, the three of you lingered around the fireplace, sharing a bottle of fine wine Hannibal had found in your cellar (the real wine, not the blood you kept hidden). The conversation drifted, warmth glowed across your faces. Will was the first to break the comfortable silence. “We’ve been talking—Hannibal and I.”

“Oh?” you prompted, resting your forearms on your knees.

“We feel drawn to you,” Hannibal continued, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “When you saved us, nursed us, you offered an unspoken intimacy. We have begun to care for you in ways that aren’t entirely platonic.”

You set the wine glass aside, heart beating in a way you hadn’t felt in ages. “I care for you both as well,” you admitted, voice quiet. “I was prepared to let you go, if that was what you wanted.”

Hannibal’s hand slid across the small couch to cover yours. Even after all your time in the darkness, the tender heat of a human touch could still set your veins aflame. You felt the weight of both men’s gazes, their presence so near, so achingly real.

Hannibal’s voice was a low murmur, “We have no intention of running away from this…from you.”

Will’s shoulder brushed yours, and you turned to see him looking at you as if you were some delicate miracle. “Stay with us,” he whispered. “Let us stay with you.”

[lovehotelreservation]

chapter one: hi it's me you're all in danger summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: pg-13 (rating will increase across certain chapters) pairing: f!reader/task force 141 next chapter

as a longtime charli xcx fan, can't say i expected my brat autumn to be spent writing about the cod mfs 😭😭

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

10 AM. London. Shangri-La. Hotel bar.

Somehow, being surrounded by opulence, prestige, and elegance made particular four men currently seated in the back of the space feel a bit out of place.

But they were here on a mission.

Or rather, a job now.

The days of being out on the field in camo fatigues were of the past. Now they were all seated together in suits–black and white, jacket, tie, pants and polished shoes–gin and lemon water on the table.

There was a bit of restlessness in the air and it was starting to spill out in the conversations shared amongst the four.

“Simon, would it literally kill ya to show yer mouth, man? Dae ya want the lass to think yer sick as a first impression?”

“A bit of mystery could be fun, no?”

“Are ya Scooby fuckin’ Doo or somethin?!”

“Johnny, can you keep it down? Your mohawk’s already gotten us enough looks as it is.”

“And what’s so wrong with a lil’ business casual, Kyle?!”

“Can you muppets keep it down!?”

The harsh lash of Price’s tongue had postures straightened and lips hushed.

With a sigh, he brought his fingers to his temple, wondering how he managed to save the world over and over again with these three. Still, his eyes flickered to his watch as he checked the time, a conversation from a month ago coming to mind.

“Price.”

A hand was extended out to him. Fluorescent lights at the American embassy in Paris hung above. Murmurs of French and English lingered in the air as the day proceeded.

Price grinned, returning the exchange with a firm handshake. “Miller. Good to see you standing, old friend.”

Moments later the conversation was held at Miller’s office, a familiar place during the times Price had visited. What stood out to him most was the newly framed photo of Miller and his blushing bride, Priscilla.

A miraculous matrimony all things considered.

Miller, an American ambassador. Priscilla, an activist whose loud and mighty voice helped push for change within socio-political and environmental spaces.

It wasn’t as if it was absolutely impossible for the two to meet–rather, it was just the fact they met after being held hostage alongside other world leaders and activists during a goodwill gala held at Berlin. Terror wished to deliver a haunting message to all of the world, with similar sieges held at other massive events, but thankfully the work of 141 and other allies blocked the reception.

Price glanced down at Miller’s desk, where a few pictures of a glamorous woman were splayed across files: a pop star by the name of Dollface. Formerly part of beloved girl group 4EVA, now setting the music scene alight with impeccable music production, godly vocals, and captivating choreography.

Or so he’s heard.

Right beside her was a clipped out headline from a newspaper:

Glastonbury Saved! Tragedy Averted from Terrorist Threat!

A job well done–courtesy of a certain phantom soldier.

“–I know your days of military campaigns are over, but this has been tearing Priscilla apart,” Miller sighed morosely. “While I know this is the fault of no one and she understands that change in the world comes at a cost, the fact that terrorists would target her niece’s festival performance has been haunting her.”

“Revolution does not come easy, that’s for certain,” Price mused as he glanced over at his friend’s face with an affirming nod. “Even so, it’s something still worth fighting for.”

Miller sighed out in agreement. “Of course.”

“So then.” Adjusting his posture, Price then continued, his tone light, “What can I and a few recently retired soldiers do for you, mate?”

His shoulders relaxing, Miller then reached down for one of the photos of the pop star, pushing it over towards Price. “Watch her. Protect her, please. She’s been an anxious mess ever since Glastonbury.” Gazing down at the newspaper headline clipping, he continued, “Her career’s at such a critical point and her first solo world tour’s been delayed enough as it is. Pressure’s everywhere–label, fans, the media. I know she wants more than anything to finally move forward. But–”

Gingerly picking up the photo, Price took in every single detail of the woman.

Of you.

Turning his focus back to Miller, he grinned, brows raising. “A bit of Price Protection and Co. could do wonders, yeah?”

“You’d be doing miracles, friend” was the response received, along with a vigorous nod.

Price held out his hand.

“It’s a deal.”

And now, the gang was all here, even though the gang was currently driving Price up the wall. Still, if there was anyone who he trusted to get the job done on behalf of a dear old friend, it was Gaz, Ghost, and Soap.

Or rather, from here on out: Kyle, Simon and Johnny.

It didn’t hurt that the gig paid quite handsomely–your label desperately wanted you to get back on stage one way or another. Since the Glastonbury incident, you’ve since been spending your days in London, far too afraid to leave anywhere. The plan was to slowly draw you out of your shell by planning all promotional endeavors around the UK before you would travel the world as intended.

Before any of that however, the first key matter of business is for the five of you to meet together.

10:15 AM. London. Shangri-La. Hotel bar.

“What do you lot think? Full glam or lowkey?” Kyle spoke up, now peering over to look at Johnny’s phone, who had brought up one of your music videos.

Price glanced over, seeing slick skin, big curls, gyrating hips, rouge lips, white heels, and sparkling eyes.

Such visuals were definitely not on Miller’s desk when discussing the job.

“Like right now?” Johnny queried back.

“Lowkey without question.” Simon folded his arms across his chest, his eyes peeking at Johnny’s phone, his expression reflective.

A sudden tap on the back of Price's shoulder just a moment later soon caught his attention. 

“Mr. Price…?”

He immediately turned back, the others following suit.

Johnny’s eyes widened, immediately switching off his phone to shove into his pocket.

Lowkey was correct.

A cap, oversized t-shirt with shorts hidden beneath, hair down, tennis shoes, a pair of sunglasses that were soon slipped off.

The contrast between who they saw on screen to who they were seeing now couldn’t be any more apparent.

Still, even by the way you stood before him, posture shrunken back slightly, eyes a bit downcast, voice softer than the usual bubbly vocals of your music, there was this grace, this aura that you exuded–one that spoke of a true bonafide performer rather than a mere average person.

Smiling warmly, Price held his hand out towards you for you to shake. “That would be me, dear.”

“Uncle Miller’s told me lots about you.” You smiled, bringing your hand up to take his.

So much smaller than his, he noted to himself, chuckling as he responded with, “I hope they’re my finer moments.”

Giggling in response, you affirmed, “As he said, only the best unclassified stuff. I’m Doll–” You quickly stopped yourself, opting to give your first name instead.

“Face pretty like a doll’s still,” Johnny murmured over to Kyle, who nodded in agreement.

Simon didn’t say anything but instead allowed his arms to rest by his sides, continuing to quietly observe you.

A world-renowned pop star with four former soldiers tasked to serve as her bodyguards.

Should be an easy enough job.

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

thank you for reading !!! i know i tend to not really do multi-chapter pieces but idk the ghost of brat summer took over me after seeing a clip of soap and simon banter so i've been genuinely locked in with writing out this tale 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

subsequent chapters are going to be loosely tied together but i hope you enjoy my take on cod yumejo with this pop star otome 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

next chapter's up next friday !!! 🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️

[anachronismstellar]

I'm still in a weird mood, but at least I'm writing lol

This was supposed to be a fun/cute cumplane fic, but my brain got taken over by @mysteryteacup post about Airplane being a good writer he just couldn't afford the time to write.

Hope you guys enjoy it!

-----------

"Do you think we would have met before?"

The question came a bit out of nowhere, disrupting the soft mood of the bamboo house. The weather was warm, rain hitting the roof in a soothing pattern, the open doors bringing in the green hues inside the living room along with a gentle breeze.

Shen Yuan closed his book, setting Airplane's latest story aside. The plot was not so terrible now that they had stepped down as peak lords. Retirement had a good look on him, made his shoulders relaxed and his posture elegant, as if he had finally made himself comfortable with his body, fear a mask long forgotten.

"What do you mean?" Shen Yuan didn't pick up his fan as once he would, his own insecurities whispers from the past. Instead, he just turned his face at Airplane, both watching as smoke curled up from Airplane's long pipe.

Outside, thunder rolled over them like the Gods were dragging clouds heavy as stones.

"Before," Airplane waved at the scenery in general, and it didn't need much for Shen Yuan to catch what he meant. "I mean, I didn't participate in any of the big conventions they invited me, but..."

Shen Yuan hummed, head tilted to the side, imagining how would he react if he ever met Airplane under other circumstances. It would have been disastrous for sure, both of them struggling with the different challenges of a world without flying swords and demons. Would they even be friends? Probably not. Shen Yuan had spent so much of his time stuck on his own head, going from doctor after doctor, too bitter to enjoy nice things, dedicating his whole life on hating a poorly written book. And from other conversations, he knew that Airplane had been bitter as well, sacrificing his words and his world in the name of the next meal, the next rent.

"I don't see how," he reached for his cup of tea, heating up his cold hands against the warm porcelain. "Like you said, you never went to the conventions. I didn't either, to be honest. Too many people."

Shang Qinghua nodded slowly as he filled his lungs with smoke, letting it go through his nose. Shen Yuan waited for a bit longer, curious to see where Airplane wanted to get with his question. He was almost picking up the story again when-

"I was just..." He started as he put his pipe down to comb his hair with his fingers, putting the strands behind his ears. Another big change from when they had passed their mantle to the next generation: Airplane had started to wear his hair down, Northern braids adorning the sides of his head, silver beads glittering among chocolate brown. "Is the book good?"

The sudden change of topic made Shen Yuan blink. However, it wasn't as if he weren't used to Airplane's mind jumping around, so he just took it in stride, nodding slowly.

"I enjoyed how you developed the main character relationship with his old master, although I still think you should stop killing mothers left and right."

Airplane couldn't help but chuckle, his smile making his eyes curve into half moons.

"Leave some tropes for me to work with, bro, there's so much this poor writer can come up with!"

Shen Yuan could only roll his eyes at the other, picking up the book once more, touching the pages without actually reading it, just enjoying the feeling of paper on his hands.

"Well, it is an improvement. And as always your beasts are impeccable, I'll give you that."

And he regretted immediately the compliment when Airplane dramatically clutched his robes, pretending to faint. The little shit.

"Oh! Oh praised be the Heavens! A compliment from the immovable Peerless Cucumber! Oh my heart! My heaaart-"

Shen Yuan did his best to hold back his frustration and just throw his fan at the writer. Good thing that Airplane calmed down again, chin up so he could stare at the top of the bamboo trees outside. Only then Shen Yuan realized that the entire time Airplane hadn't looked at him.

He felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, heart squeezing tight.

"Are you going to tell me what is this about?"

Airplane took a long drag of his pipe, bending his head back a bit further to blow little circles in the air. He should be thankful that Shen Yuan had worked on his patience in the past decades, or he would have been hit with a fan already.

"I was thinking of your first review for Proud Immortal Demon Way," he said as he tapped the pipe on a little vase Shen Yuan had offered him earlier to use as ashtray. "You were so mean... I couldn't write for like two days."

They had commented about their forum fights before, they have even apologized for some things they had said to each other back then, but Airplane had never-

The thought of hurting him so bad to the point of making him give up on writing was-

"Huang Hua..." He whispered as he took the writer's hand close to him, brushing his thumb over the callous on his forefinger.

"Don't look at me like that, bro... Don't mind me, I'm just-" he cut himself off with a sigh, squeezing Shen Yuan's hand back. "I've been in a weird mood that's all."

Shen Yuan understood, he understood a bit too well. For all they enjoyed the benefits of magic and cultivation, they weren't meant for this immortal world, Huang Hua and him, human beings who had always had a clock ticking over their heads. He would get stuck on his own head, too, sometimes; making Binghe walk around him with soft steps and prepare his favorite foods.

He loved his husband food more than anything blessed be Airplane for deciding to make the main protagonist a good cook.

But Binghe couldn't prepare him a burger the size of his head with golden french fries.

"Well, I think the new book is going great. And to answer your question, well-" Then it was Shen Yuan's turn to pause, trying to imagine how their meeting in the real world would go. Poorly, for sure, but also... Shen Yuan was old enough, wise enough to admit that if he knew Airplane's struggles, he would probably have helped. He had been so rash in his comments because he had seen the potential, the grandeur of Airplane's mind, while describing the fauna and flora of Proud Immortal Demon Way.

"I don't know, I think if we had met, we wouldn't become friends," he admitted with a shrug, keeping his face towards the forest, feeling his cheeks burning. "I was... I was going through a lot and you had your own problems too. But depending on the day I might would have asked for an autograph." And what an embarrassing thing to admit. And while holding Airplane's hand nonetheless! Muscle memory made him take his fan and snap it open, the sound muffling Airplane's giggles.

"Well, I can't autograph your Binghe body pillow-"

"Shut up it was a collectable item!"

"- but I can autograph this copy if you want." and then he tapped the book on the table with his pipe, Shen Yuan's eyes going wide as plates.

"What?"

"I had to change a lot of things... Mostly the names and places, but-" Airplane nervously played with his hair, stealing glances at Shen Yuan's direction. "I thought, now that everything is kinda over, why not write it properly, right? Besides, the entire Proud Immortal Demon Way had never had a beta reader, although I thought about asking you sometimes way back but uh-"

"I've could have been your beta reader?!"

"Well, yes, in a way you kinda were- wait. Haven't you noticed?" Airplane let go of his hair to turn his entire body to Shen Yuan, surprise written all over his face. "Bro, you're the only person I answered more than once on the forums. Most of the time I couldn't take your ideas and use them, that would be insane and asking for a lawsuit, but when you gave me writing advice? Or when I needed to remember which wife was which or who had died? I used your comments to remember what had been happening in the last chapters."

Shen Yuan's hands got tingling all over, his face heating up to the point of boiling. He had always thought Airplane had despised him, and it was with reason. He knew he had been a hater, to the point of Airplane remembering his name after years, but he had never known that Airplane actually had paid attention, he had actually-

Wait, rewind, write what properly-

"Hold on, you're telling me that-" he picked the book again, scanning the first page and then the second, recognition downing upon him. It had felt familiar when he read it for the first time, but he had thought it was just him being used to Airplane's stories. But this...

"Proud Demon Immortal Way could have been this good?" He gasped as he turned to stare at the author, shaking the book on his hand. To which Airplane had the audacity to shrug, light pink dusting his cheeks.

"Told you many times, Bro. No time to edits, had to pay the bills."

"Airplane, how many drafts you wrote before posting that monstrosity?"

"Uh." He turned his face away again, scratching the back of his neck, then his cheek. "I mean I didn't have a draft. I wrote it down in one sitting most of the time-"

Shen Yuan was going to pass out. No wonder the story made no sense most of the times! And he still was able to follow some type of plot?!

During their lifes as cultivators, Shen Yuan faced many situations in which Airplane had his turn to shine. He might not be aware of it, oblivious writer that he was, but he could be insanely smart and think fast enough to avoid wars between tribes that any other person would fumble and make it worse. So he knew how intelligent and smart Airplane was, although he wouldn't straight up compliment him like that.

But this... Six thousand six hundred and sixty-six chapters with no draft or beta reader? This... Was insane.

"You better honor Shen Qingqiu's past this time," he heard himself say, mouth moving before his brain could catch up. And funny enough, he had mean it. "You better give him closure so I can at least glare at Yue Qingyuan without feeling guilty."

This time Airplane threw his head back and laughed, hand over his belly, the other tapping the table. Then he turned to look at Shen Yuan with his sly fox smile, forefinger moving side to side.

"Nonono, I'm sorry, bro. I'm not writing to make the readers happy this time," he said with a sharp nod, tapping his fingers against his temple. "There's a story to be told, and I'm not gonna mess up a second time."

And Shen Yuan felt as if he should be angry, he should shake Airplane by his shoulders and scream, but at the same time... He felt like Airplane had passed his test, one he wasn't aware he had set for the other.

He huffed, sliding the book over the table until it was closer to the author, opening the first page.

"You better think of a hell of dedicatory then," he said as he got up to pick writing materials, warmth spreading through his chest to the sound of Airplane's laughter.

--------

Shen Yuan is going to find out some things about Binghe and Mobei in the book lol

Again, thank you for giving it a read!

See you next time~

[pinkmoontaco]

It all started at a survival show||Boo Seungkwan Pt. 1

Pairing: Idol Seungkwan X Idol Reader Genre: Fluff, Idol romance Summary: Y/n, a reserved and confident idol, meets Seungkwan, SEVENTEEN's lively vocalist, on a survival show. Initially rivals, their playful competition evolves into mutual respect and a budding connection as they navigate challenges together. Despite their contrasting personalities, Seungkwan’s warmth and unintentional care for Y/n soften her aloofness, and their chemistry becomes undeniable. Author's Note: Hi everyone! I’ve been away for a while because of my exams, but now that they’re finally over, I’m back with a brand-new story for you all. I’m so excited to share it and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it. Please give it lots of love and support! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts and comments—they mean so much to me and help me improve. Your feedback and encouragement keep me motivated to keep writing. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Love you guys. And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other groups Pt.1 _ Pt.2

The bright studio lights flooded the room, reflecting off the polished floor and amplifying the excitement in the air. Rows of contestants sat in anticipation, their expressions a mix of nervousness and determination. The audience’s buzz filled the space, but it was the booming voice of the host that commanded attention.

“Welcome to Idol Championship: The Ultimate Showdown!” he declared, his energy palpable. “This is where the best idols battle it out in singing, dancing, and acting challenges to prove who truly reigns supreme!”

Seungkwan, seated comfortably among the contestants, couldn’t help but flash his signature grin. Confidence radiated from him as he leaned back slightly in his chair. He’d been through countless stages, grueling schedules, and high-pressure performances as SEVENTEEN’s powerhouse vocalist. This survival show? It was just another stage to conquer.

Until she walked in.

The studio doors opened, and Y/n stepped inside, the click of her heels punctuating the room’s sudden hush. Heads turned as her presence swept through the space. Dressed impeccably and exuding an air of effortless confidence, she moved as if the competition was already hers. Y/n, the soloist known for her flawless performances and laser-focused demeanor, was not one to be trifled with.

Seungkwan watched her with raised brows. Her reputation had preceded her: a perfectionist, fiercely competitive, and someone who left no room for mediocrity. As she took her seat, her gaze remained locked on the stage ahead, not even sparing a glance for her competitors.

Leaning toward a fellow contestant, Seungkwan whispered with a cheeky grin, “Guess we’re all playing for second place now.”

The group around him chuckled nervously, their laughter dying quickly as Y/n’s sharp eyes flicked toward him. She didn’t say a word but raised a single eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and challenge. The silent acknowledgment sent a clear message: Game on.

The host interrupted the tension, his voice cutting through the room. “Let’s dive right into the first challenge! A vocal duel to kick things off.” The announcement was met with a ripple of excitement and murmurs among the contestants.

As names were drawn, Seungkwan sat back with feigned indifference. But when his name was called, his smirk widened. He stood, giving an exaggerated bow to the audience, earning a mix of cheers and laughter.

“And his opponent…” The host paused for dramatic effect. “Y/n!”

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath as Y/n rose gracefully from her seat. Her calm expression didn’t waver, but the subtle shift in her posture spoke volumes. She was ready.

Seungkwan’s grin faltered for half a second before he leaned toward the contestant next to him. “Of course, it’s me,” he muttered with mock despair, earning a few chuckles. “Why wouldn’t it be me?”

Y/n made her way to the stage with the poise of someone who belonged there. Seungkwan followed, his usual bravado intact but his mind racing.

This was no ordinary competition. This was the beginning of something much bigger.

The stage was set, and the air was electric. Seungkwan and Y/n stood at opposite ends of the platform, their contrasting energies palpable. Seungkwan radiated confidence, his charming smile directed at the audience, while Y/n exuded an unshakable calm, her gaze fixed firmly ahead.

The host grinned, clearly relishing the tension. “For this vocal duel, our contestants will perform a classic ballad—Timeless. They’ll showcase their individual styles, and the judges will decide who captures the essence of the song best. Let’s give it up for Seungkwan and Y/n!”

The audience erupted into applause, and Seungkwan flashed his trademark grin. He turned to Y/n and offered a playful, mock bow. “Ladies first?” he quipped, earning a few chuckles from the crowd.

Y/n’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but her eyes stayed sharp. “Don’t worry, Boo. I’ll set the bar high for you.”

She stepped into the spotlight, the soft glow highlighting her poised figure. The opening notes of the ballad filled the studio, and as she began to sing, the room fell silent. Her voice was ethereal, perfectly controlled yet filled with emotion. Each note was deliberate, her delivery precise. She wasn’t just singing—she was telling a story, and everyone was captivated.

When the final note lingered in the air, the audience erupted into thunderous applause. Y/n gave a slight bow, her expression serene as she stepped back.

Seungkwan clapped along with the crowd, though his competitive spirit burned brighter. “Not bad,” he said, stepping forward. “Now let me show you how it’s really done.”

The music began again, and Seungkwan transformed. His voice carried raw emotion, drawing the audience in with every note. Where Y/n’s performance had been refined and polished, Seungkwan’s was dynamic and heartfelt. He poured his soul into the song, making each word resonate deeply.

By the time he finished, the audience was on their feet, cheering wildly. Seungkwan took an exaggerated bow, shooting Y/n a playful wink as he stepped back.

The judges deliberated, their faces serious as they whispered among themselves. Finally, the head judge stepped forward. “Both performances were exceptional,” he began. “Y/n’s technical precision and emotional depth were breathtaking, while Seungkwan’s heartfelt delivery brought a new dimension to the song. However, the winner of this round is… Y/n!”

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped, his expression exaggerated for effect. “Wait, what? Did we hear the same performance?” he exclaimed, earning laughter from the audience.

Y/n walked past him, her voice calm but laced with amusement. “Better luck next time, Boo.”

The audience roared with laughter as Seungkwan clutched his chest dramatically. “This isn’t over!” he called after her, his tone a mix of humor and determination.

The first clash had ended, but the rivalry was just beginning.

Backstage, Seungkwan was still nursing his defeat. He leaned against the snack table, nibbling on a rice cracker, his thoughts consumed by Y/n's flawless performance. The room was abuzz with chatter, contestants recounting their moments on stage, but his ears were tuned only to the faint sound of Y/n’s laugh from across the room.

“She’s good,” he muttered to himself. “Too good.”

“What’s that, Seungkwan?” a fellow contestant teased, sidling up to him. “Already feeling the pressure?”

Seungkwan scoffed, puffing out his chest. “Pressure? Please. This is just the warm-up round. I’m saving my best for later.” His words were confident, but his eyes betrayed the flicker of determination brewing within him. Losing to Y/n had ignited something he hadn’t felt in a while—a burning desire to prove himself.

On the other side of the room, Y/n was seated with her small circle of supporters, sipping tea and quietly listening to their chatter. She wasn’t one for gloating, but the faint smile tugging at her lips was enough to make her satisfaction known.

“Y/n, you were incredible out there,” one of the contestants said. “That high note? Unreal.”

Y/n nodded graciously. “Thank you. But it’s still early in the competition. There’s a lot more to come.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes flicked briefly toward Seungkwan, who was now animatedly recounting his “strategic loss” to another contestant.

The next day, the contestants gathered again in the brightly lit studio for the announcement of the second challenge. The host stood at the center of the stage, holding a gleaming envelope.

“Contestants, it’s time to reveal your next test. This challenge will push you out of your comfort zones and test your adaptability.” The crowd murmured in anticipation. “For this round, you’ll be performing duets! And the pairs have been carefully chosen by our producers.”

Seungkwan’s heart sank. The word “duet” sent a wave of unease through the room. Collaboration was not always easy, especially in a competitive setting.

The host began reading the pairings, and with each announcement, the tension grew. Finally, the words that would define the next chapter of the competition rang out:

“Y/n and Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped for the second time in as many days. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.

Y/n, meanwhile, remained as composed as ever, though a faint glimmer of surprise crossed her face. She met Seungkwan’s wide-eyed stare with a raised eyebrow.

“This should be… interesting,” she said, her tone measured.

“Interesting? That’s one way to put it,” Seungkwan shot back, attempting to mask his nervousness with humor. He extended a hand to her, his grin disarmingly boyish. “Let’s try not to kill each other, yeah?”

Y/n regarded his hand for a moment before taking it briefly. “We’ll see.”

The host clapped his hands together, bringing the room’s focus back. “For your duet, you’ll perform a reimagined version of Eclipse, a song known for its contrasting vocal styles and emotional depth. You’ll need to showcase both harmony and individuality. Good luck!”

As the contestants dispersed to begin rehearsals, Seungkwan and Y/n were left standing awkwardly together.

“So,” Seungkwan began, scratching the back of his neck, “how do you feel about this song?”

“It’s a challenge,” Y/n replied, her tone neutral. “But I think we can make it work.”

Seungkwan tilted his head. “You think we can make it work? Wow, I feel honored.”

Y/n shot him a sharp look but couldn’t hide the ghost of a smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

Their banter continued as they made their way to the rehearsal room, where the true test of their partnership awaited. The rivalry that had sparked on stage was now forced to evolve into something more cooperative—or combust entirely.

Rehearsals began early the next morning, and Seungkwan and Y/n found themselves locked in a small, soundproofed room, facing each other across a grand piano. The air was thick with anticipation, both of them unwilling to acknowledge the unspoken tension that lingered between them after their first showdown.

Seungkwan, ever the optimist, took a seat at the piano. He flashed Y/n a wide grin. “Alright, let’s make this duet the best thing this show’s ever seen. How about you take the high parts, and I’ll handle the fun ones?”

Y/n’s lips quirked upward for the briefest of moments, but she didn’t respond immediately. She studied him for a moment before speaking, her tone calm but pointed. “Seungkwan, this isn’t about playing to our strengths. It’s about balancing the song and complementing each other. That’s what the judges will look for.”

Seungkwan chuckled, the slight sting in her words not lost on him. “Got it. No more ‘fun’ parts. I’ll be the serious, refined Seungkwan from now on. Promise.”

Y/n’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second. She nodded. “Good. Let’s get to work.”

The first few minutes of rehearsal were anything but smooth. They each took turns singing their parts of Eclipse, but the two voices clashed rather than harmonized. Seungkwan’s bold, free-spirited delivery contrasted sharply with Y/n’s controlled, composed tone. It was clear that neither of them was quite sure how to adjust to the other’s style.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous,” Seungkwan muttered after several attempts to sync up their voices. He rubbed his temple, exasperated. “We’re never going to make this work if we keep fighting the music like this.”

Y/n tilted her head, her expression contemplative. “I agree. Maybe we need to focus on blending, rather than competing for the spotlight.”

Seungkwan shot her a sideways glance. “So, you’re saying I should tone down my charisma?”

Y/n didn’t flinch. “Not entirely. But you need to find the balance between emotion and technique. If you let the song guide you rather than forcing your style into it, we might just make it through.”

Seungkwan sighed dramatically, though he was beginning to see her point. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

Y/n’s gaze softened, but there was no mistaking the steely focus in her eyes. “I don’t want to just win. I want us both to shine.”

There was something in her words that caused a shift within Seungkwan. He looked at her not just as a competitor now but as a collaborator—someone who could actually help him be better, even if it wasn’t always easy to admit. The realization left him a bit disoriented, but it also sparked a renewed determination.

“Alright,” he said, cracking his knuckles for emphasis. “Let’s do this your way. Show me how it’s done, Y/n.”

She nodded, accepting his challenge without hesitation. They started over, this time with a new sense of focus. Y/n’s voice guided the pace, and Seungkwan began to soften his approach, matching her precision while still keeping his own vibrancy intact.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

As the days passed, the tension between them slowly began to ease. Their rehearsals were no longer just about competing; they were about learning from each other. Seungkwan was amazed at Y/n’s ability to remain calm under pressure, her voice effortlessly gliding through complex runs. Meanwhile, Y/n found herself quietly impressed by Seungkwan’s emotional depth. Where she had once seen him as too flamboyant, she now recognized the sincerity beneath his playful exterior.

One afternoon, as they took a break from rehearsing, Seungkwan sat on the floor, sipping water and tossing a small ball up and down. Y/n, perched on the piano bench, absentmindedly hummed a few notes of Eclipse, clearly lost in thought.

Seungkwan glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “You know, for someone who never seems to let her guard down, you hum a lot.”

Y/n didn’t look at him but simply shrugged, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s a way to center myself. Keeps my focus sharp.”

“Interesting,” Seungkwan mused, his gaze softening. He paused before continuing, the playful tone gone from his voice. “You don’t ever get nervous, do you? You just seem… unshakable.”

Y/n stopped humming and finally turned to face him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s because I’ve had to be. People expect a lot from me, and I can’t afford to show weakness. Not when it matters.”

Seungkwan tilted his head, intrigued. “You know, you’re not as cold as you seem. You’ve got layers, Y/n.”

She met his gaze for a long moment, then stood up, brushing off her pants. “Maybe. But I’m here to win this competition, not make friends.”

Seungkwan stood as well, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You might end up liking me more than you think.”

Y/n shot him a quick glance before turning back to the piano. “We’ll see about that.”

Despite her words, there was a subtle warmth in her expression, the faintest flicker of a smile. Seungkwan noticed it, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned against the wall, watching her with a newfound appreciation.

The rivalry that had started with sharp words and pointed glances had begun to shift into something more complicated. Trust was being built, and while neither of them would admit it out loud, they were starting to rely on each other in ways neither had expected.

As the final days of rehearsals approached, they were no longer just competitors—they were partners. And with every note they sang together, the bond between them grew stronger, setting the stage for what was to come next.

With their duet victory still fresh, the producers decided to lighten the mood by introducing a bonding activity for the contestants: a variety of fun, team-based games.

The stage was transformed into a playful arena with colorful props, oversized cushions, and a giant wheel of fortune to decide the challenges. The contestants, now divided into pairs from the duet round, were informed that the games wouldn’t affect the competition rankings. Instead, it was an opportunity to relax and build camaraderie.

Seungkwan, ever the social butterfly, was already buzzing with excitement. “Games? Oh, this is my specialty!” he declared, clapping his hands.

Y/n, on the other hand, looked less than thrilled. She crossed her arms, eyeing the obstacle course skeptically. “I don’t see how this is supposed to help us bond,” she muttered under her breath.

Seungkwan leaned closer, his grin infectious. “Come on, Y/n. Where’s your competitive spirit? This is going to be fun!”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t completely suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “Fine, Boo. But if we lose, it’s on you.”

The first challenge was a classic: tug of war. Each pair had to work together to pull a rope against another team. Seungkwan and Y/n were up against a duo known for their strength, but Seungkwan was undeterred.

As they took their positions, Y/n glanced at him. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Are you doubting me?” Seungkwan feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “I’ll have you know I’m stronger than I look!”

Y/n smirked. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.”

The whistle blew, and the game began. Seungkwan dug his heels in, pulling with all his might. Y/n matched his effort, her expression one of fierce determination. They moved in perfect sync, their teamwork surprising even themselves.

With one final pull, they sent the opposing team stumbling forward, securing their victory.

Seungkwan whooped, throwing his hands in the air. “I told you we’d win!”

Y/n, breathless but smiling, nodded. “Not bad, Boo. Not bad.”

The next game was a balance relay, where contestants had to carry a water-filled bowl across a wobbly beam without spilling it.

As Y/n prepared to go first, Seungkwan noticed her hesitating. “Nervous?” he teased gently.

She sighed, adjusting her grip on the bowl. “It’s not exactly my strong suit.”

“Don’t worry,” Seungkwan said, his tone softer now. “Take it slow. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Y/n shot him a glance, her cheeks warming despite herself. “I won’t fall.”

But as she stepped onto the beam, the wobbling made her falter. True to his word, Seungkwan was immediately by her side, steadying her with a firm hand on her arm.

“You’re doing great,” he said, his voice calm and encouraging.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at his closeness, and she quickly looked away. “Thanks,” she mumbled, focusing on the task.

With his support, she made it across the beam without spilling a drop.

The last game was a music trivia challenge where one partner had to hum a tune while the other guessed the song.

“Alright, Y/n,” Seungkwan said, bouncing on his heels. “I’m a music genius, so this should be easy.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.”

She hummed the opening notes of Very Nice, one of SEVENTEEN’s iconic songs. Seungkwan instantly lit up. “Oh, come on! You didn’t even try to make it hard. It’s Very Nice! Next!”

Y/n smirked, her competitive side kicking in. She hummed a more obscure ballad, and Seungkwan scratched his head, mumbling the melody to himself before snapping his fingers. “Beautiful Goodbye! Got it!”

As the game progressed, they found themselves laughing more and more, their banter light and natural. Y/n even caught herself smiling at his exaggerated frustration when he got a song wrong.

After the games, the contestants gathered for a brief break. Y/n, tired from the activities, leaned against a wall, closing her eyes for a moment.

Seungkwan appeared beside her, holding out a bottle of water. “You look like you could use this,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft.

Y/n opened her eyes, blinking in surprise. “Oh… thanks.” She accepted the bottle, their fingers brushing briefly.

“You okay?” Seungkwan asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m fine,” Y/n replied, though her voice was quieter than usual.

“Here.” Seungkwan grabbed a chair and placed it beside her. “Sit for a bit. You’ve been working hard.”

Y/n hesitated but eventually sat down. She watched as Seungkwan rummaged through a nearby snack table, returning with a small pack of crackers. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”

Y/n couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as she took the crackers from him. “You don’t have to fuss over me, you know.”

Seungkwan shrugged, his smile easy. “What can I say? I’m a caring guy.”

For the first time, Y/n felt her carefully constructed walls begin to crack. She glanced at him, her heart betraying her calm exterior with an unfamiliar warmth.

“Thank you, Seungkwan,” she said softly, her voice carrying a sincerity that surprised even herself.

Seungkwan grinned, leaning back against the wall beside her. “Don’t mention it. Partners take care of each other, right?”

Y/n looked away, hiding the small smile that crept onto her lips. For the first time in a long while, she felt something she hadn’t expected—something dangerously close to butterflies.

The games had ended, but the playful energy lingered in the air as the contestants were given the rest of the evening to relax. Y/n found herself walking to the outdoor terrace, seeking a moment of solitude to gather her thoughts. The cool evening breeze brushed against her skin, and the city lights twinkled in the distance.

She took a deep breath, the events of the day playing back in her mind. Seungkwan’s unwavering support during the games, his care when he noticed her fatigue—it wasn’t something she was used to.

“Figured you’d be out here.”

Y/n turned to see Seungkwan leaning against the doorway, his trademark grin softening into something more genuine.

“Didn’t think anyone would find me,” Y/n said, turning back to the view.

“Well, I have a sixth sense for finding people who are trying to hide,” he teased, stepping closer.

Y/n chuckled softly, surprising herself. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the city below filling the space.

“You were really good today,” Seungkwan said suddenly, his tone sincere.

Y/n glanced at him. “So were you. You’re always so… lively. It’s refreshing.”

Seungkwan laughed. “Lively? That’s one way to put it. Most people just call me loud.”

“Maybe,” Y/n admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. “But it works for you.”

Seungkwan looked at her, his usual humor replaced by something softer. “You know, you don’t have to keep your guard up all the time, Y/n.”

Her smile faltered, and she looked away. “I’m not…”

“You are,” Seungkwan interrupted gently. “And I get it. You’re used to being the best, to having to prove yourself over and over. But you don’t always have to be perfect. It’s okay to let people in sometimes.”

Y/n felt her chest tighten at his words. It wasn’t something she wanted to admit, but he wasn’t wrong. She had spent so much of her career striving for perfection that she had forgotten what it felt like to just… be.

She looked at him, her expression softer than before. “Why are you so nice to me, Boo?”

Seungkwan shrugged, his grin returning. “Maybe I just like a challenge. Or maybe I think there’s more to you than the icy perfection everyone sees.”

Y/n blinked, his words hitting closer to home than she expected. She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” Seungkwan said, spreading his arms dramatically.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and unguarded.

Later that evening, the contestants gathered in the common area, where someone had set up a few board games. The atmosphere was casual and relaxed, a rare break from the intensity of the competition.

“Alright, who’s up for a game of Jenga?” one contestant called out.

Seungkwan immediately jumped up. “Count me in! Y/n, you too.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow from her seat. “Why me?”

“Because I want to see if you’re as precise with Jenga blocks as you are with choreography,” Seungkwan said with a mischievous grin.

Reluctantly, Y/n joined the group. The game began, and as expected, Seungkwan’s antics quickly became the highlight.

“Careful, careful!” he exclaimed dramatically as Y/n pulled out a block with steady hands.

“Stop distracting me,” Y/n said, trying to hide her smirk.

“Distract you? Me? Never!” Seungkwan replied, placing a hand over his heart in mock innocence.

Despite herself, Y/n found that she was genuinely enjoying the game. When it was Seungkwan’s turn, his exaggerated expressions and nervous commentary had everyone laughing.

But then, as he carefully placed a block on top of the precarious tower, it wobbled and came crashing down.

“No!” Seungkwan cried, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Y/n laughed, a sound that made Seungkwan pause for a moment. Her laughter was rare, and seeing her genuinely enjoying herself made his defeat feel like a win.

As the night wore on, Y/n found herself reaching for her water bottle, only to realize it was empty. Before she could get up, Seungkwan appeared beside her, handing her a fresh bottle.

“Here,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Y/n stared at him, surprised. “How did you…?”

“I noticed yours was empty,” he said with a shrug. “Figured you’d want another.”

It was such a small gesture, but it sent her heart fluttering in a way she hadn’t felt before.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her fingers brushing his as she took the bottle.

Seungkwan grinned. “What are partners for?”

Y/n looked at him, her walls crumbling a little more. For the first time, she wondered if this rivalry wasn’t just about competition anymore—maybe, just maybe, it was becoming something much more.

The next morning, rehearsals for the duet resumed, and Seungkwan and Y/n found themselves alone in the practice room. The producers had given them creative freedom to reimagine the song, and the stakes were higher than ever.

Y/n sat on the edge of the piano bench, scribbling notes in her lyric book, while Seungkwan lay sprawled on the floor, humming the melody softly.

“So,” Seungkwan said, propping himself up on his elbows, “are we going for heartbreakingly emotional or ‘I can’t believe they’re rivals’ chemistry?”

Y/n looked up from her notebook, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘chemistry’?”

Seungkwan grinned. “You know, that undeniable spark we bring to the stage. The kind that has the audience rooting for us, not just as performers but…” He paused dramatically, “as soulmates.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a smile. “Let’s focus on making the song good first, Boo.”

“Fine, fine,” Seungkwan said, sitting up and reaching for his notebook. “But don’t be surprised if we end up stealing the show.”

The hours passed in a blur as they worked on harmonizing their vocals and perfecting the song’s emotional tone. Y/n, as always, was meticulous, stopping mid-line to tweak a note or adjust the phrasing.

“You’re like a human metronome,” Seungkwan teased after Y/n made them restart the chorus for the fifth time.

“And you’re like a walking hurricane,” Y/n shot back, though there was no bite in her words.

When they finally ran through the song without stopping, the result was breathtaking. Their voices blended seamlessly, creating a sound that was both powerful and intimate.

Seungkwan stood back, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. “We’re going to make the judges cry. I can feel it.”

Y/n chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Let’s just hope we don’t make them cry for the wrong reasons.”

Later that evening, Seungkwan noticed Y/n massaging her neck, her movements tense and stiff.

“You okay?” he asked, concern coloring his voice.

“It’s nothing,” Y/n replied, but her wince betrayed her.

“Come here,” Seungkwan said, motioning for her to sit down.

“What are you—”

“Just sit.”

Reluctantly, Y/n sat on the couch, and before she could protest, Seungkwan’s hands were on her shoulders, kneading the tension away.

“Seungkwan, what are you—”

“Shh,” he interrupted. “You’re always so focused on everything else. Let someone take care of you for a change.”

Y/n froze at his words, the warmth of his hands and the gentleness of his voice catching her off guard.

“There,” Seungkwan said after a few moments, stepping back with a satisfied smile. “Feeling better?”

Y/n turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly.

“I know,” Seungkwan replied, his grin softer this time. “But I wanted to.”

Y/n’s chest tightened. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from him, but this… this was different.

That night, Y/n found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling of her room. She replayed the day in her mind—Seungkwan’s teasing, his support during rehearsals, the way he had eased her tension without expecting anything in return.

Her hand unconsciously brushed over her shoulder, where his touch had lingered. She felt her cheeks warm, and she groaned, pulling the blanket over her head.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to herself.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t ridiculous at all.

It was the beginning of something she couldn’t quite put into words yet—something that scared her as much as it excited her.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/n allowed herself to smile at the thought of what might come next.

The next morning, the rehearsal room was quieter than usual. Y/n arrived first, settling into her usual seat by the piano, her lyric book open in front of her. She scribbled notes absently, her mind wandering to the events of the previous evening.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. She looked up to see Seungkwan, his bright energy a stark contrast to the calm atmosphere. He flashed her a grin as he walked in, carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

“For the perfectionist,” he said, placing one cup on the table in front of her. “Thought you might need some fuel for another round of ‘let’s rehearse until we drop.’”

Y/n raised an eyebrow but accepted the coffee. “What’s your ulterior motive?”

“Ulterior motive?” Seungkwan gasped, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Can’t a guy just bring his duet partner a coffee without being accused of scheming?”

Y/n shook her head, fighting back a smile. “Thank you, Boo.”

“Wow,” he teased. “Did Y/n just thank me? Is this my reward for putting up with your obsessive note adjustments?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the amused glint in them. “Keep talking, and I might make you run the chorus twenty more times today.”

Seungkwan laughed, plopping onto the seat beside her. “Fine, fine. Truce.”

As the day wore on, the duo rehearsed tirelessly. The song had taken on a life of its own, their contrasting styles blending in a way neither of them could have predicted.

“Alright, let’s take it from the bridge,” Y/n said, flipping through her notes.

Seungkwan groaned but stood, adjusting the microphone. “You’re lucky I like this song.”

They began again, their voices rising and intertwining in perfect harmony. The emotions they poured into the performance felt raw and real, and by the time they reached the final note, the room was silent.

Y/n turned to Seungkwan, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. “That was… good,” she admitted.

“Good?” Seungkwan said, his hands on his hips. “Y/n, that was amazing. Admit it—we’re kind of incredible together.”

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the sound of a chair tipping over behind her. Startled, Y/n stumbled, her ankle twisting awkwardly.

Before she could hit the ground, Seungkwan was there, catching her in his arms.

“Careful!” he exclaimed, steadying her.

“I’m fine,” Y/n said quickly, though her cheeks flushed as she tried to pull away.

“Fine? You almost face-planted,” Seungkwan said, his brow furrowed in concern. “Sit down for a second.”

Y/n didn’t protest this time, letting him guide her to the bench. He crouched down, examining her ankle with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“It’s not swollen,” he said after a moment, looking up at her. “But you should be careful. You’re not invincible, you know.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at his concern, the teasing edge in his voice softened by genuine care.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, her gaze meeting his.

“Anytime,” Seungkwan replied with a lopsided grin. “Can’t have my duet partner out of commission, can I?”

That evening, Y/n found herself lingering in the hallway outside the rehearsal room. She had left her notebook behind and was debating whether to retrieve it when she heard Seungkwan’s voice from inside.

“... she’s tough, you know?” he was saying, his tone softer than usual. “But there’s something about her. It’s like she’s carrying the weight of the world, and I just want her to know she doesn’t have to.”

Y/n froze, her heart pounding. Was he… talking about her?

“She doesn’t let people in easily,” Seungkwan continued, his voice tinged with a mix of admiration and frustration. “But when she does, it’s worth it. She’s worth it.”

Y/n stepped back quietly, her mind racing. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected him to see her in a way that no one else did.

As she walked back to her room, her thoughts were a jumble of emotions. But amidst the confusion, one feeling stood out: a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time, spreading through her chest.

Seungkwan wasn’t just her rival anymore. He was becoming something much more, and the realization both thrilled and terrified her.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

The Beast Wants to Tempt the Little Rabbit (Matias vs Clavis)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.

Clavis: "Haha, found you. So this is where you work."

Emma: "Prince Clavis!?"

After completing my duty as a belle, I returned to my peaceful life, but then Clavis appeared out of nowhere, causing me to drop the book I was reading on the counter.

Clavis: "That reaction. You missed me that much, huh? Then feel free to leap into my arms."

Emma: "I'll pass. Anyway, who's that gentleman next to you?"

Standing right behind Clavis was a man I didn't recognize. Despite his rugged appearance and equally imposing presence as Clavis, he had an impeccable posture and charisma that naturally drew attention.

Matias: "Pardon me. I'm Matias Asbrink, a friend of Clavis. Nice to meet you."

Emma: "Nice to meet you. I'm Emma."

Matias: "Are you also a friend of Clavis?"

Emma: "Um, no, we're just acquaintances."

Clavis: "How can you say that? You and I have been through so much together."

Matias: "Is that so?"

Emma: "You're right. We experienced all sorts of things together. You convinced me to be your partner in crime for all your mischief-making and even dragged me all over the palace."

Matias: "I see."

Emma: "So, why are you here, Prince Clavis?"

Having endured countless misadventures thanks to Clavis during my time at the palace, I couldn't help but be cautious.

Clavis: "That's because I've appointed you as our tour guide!"

Emma: “Tour guide?”

(What's that supposed to mean?)

Clavis smiled and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Clavis: “You see, Matias here is the prince of Acroite, the land of snow and law.”

Emma: “Prince!?”

Clavis: “It’s only natural to entertain the honored guest, so I thought of organizing a Rhodolite tour.”

Clavis: “Emma, you’ve been living in this city since you were born.”

Clavis: “That means you know more about this place than I do.”

(Well, I might have a bit of confidence in that.)

Clavis: “Therefore, I’d like you to assist with the tour.”

Clavis: “And having a woman around like Matias would add to the charm, don’t you think?”

Matias: “She seems to be a bookstore clerk. Aren't we bothering her?”

(He seems surprisingly reasonable for someone who’s Clavis’s friend.)

I know firsthand that nothing good comes from being involved with Clavis, but if I refuse now, it might inconvenience Prince Matias.

(Yeah, there’s no way I can just ignore it.)

Emma: “Owner! Did you hear our conversation?”

The owner peeked out from the back of the shop.

Akatsuki: “No problem. Be careful out there.”

Emma: “Thank you very much.”

Clavis: "Haha, I knew you'd definitely help."

Matias: "I'm sorry if it feels like we're forcing you, but thank you, Miss Emma."

Emma: "No, it’s fine. I'll do my best to make you enjoy Rhodolite."

(I need to keep a close eye on Clavis to make sure he doesn't go off the rails.)

Most of the time, the words peace and safety escaped me when I was with Clavis.

Unfortunately, this time, too, it seemed to have already escaped me.

Emma: "Um, Prince Clavis."

Clavis: "What's up? Are you impressed by my thoroughness?"

Emma: "No, I was just wondering why there's a white horse here."

As we exited the bookstore, I saw a quiet and wise-looking white horse tethered nearby.

While it wouldn't be unusual for a means of transportation to be there, the fact that there was only one raised some questions.

(It doesn't look like they rode together.) 

Matias: "It's a magnificent horse. Is it a warhorse?"

(Prince Matias seems surprised as well.)

Clavis: "Yes, he's Chevalier's partner. But today, he's your companion, Matias."

Matias: "What do you mean?"

Clavis: "You'll be riding this horse to get around from now on."

Matias: "And what about you and Miss Emma?"

Clavis: "We have important tasks to attend to."

Flashing his brightest smile, he signaled to Cyril, and he reluctantly brought over two baskets.

Upon seeing what was inside, I tilted my head in confusion.

Emma: "Rose petals?"

Clavis: "Yup, you'll be in charge of the rose petals with me."

Emma: "Prince Clavis, what the hell are you planning?"

Clavis: "I'm glad you asked."

With a lively expression, Clavis took out a red sash worn by princes during ceremonies.

Noticing the unusually placed sash before me, I couldn't help but groan.

Emma: "I understand."

Emma: "Prince Matias, let's run away."

Matias: "Are you suggesting that we elope?"

Emma: “Elope?”

(Why are his eyes so serious?)

Clavis: "Haha! Hold on a second, Emma. You seem to be misunderstanding something."

Emma: “I'm not misunderstanding anything. I've seen through all your plans.”

Emma: "You're going to put that sash that says 'today's star of the show' on Prince Matias and have him march through the streets on horseback, aren't you?"

Clavis: "My goodness."

Clavis: "I knew you were brilliant, but I never expected you to be this perceptive!"

Emma: "Let's run, Prince Matias!"

Matias: "And then, we'll find an eternal paradise where no one else can enter."

Emma: "Prince Matias?"

Matias: "Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought."

(Did I hear him say something weird just now, or am I imagining things?)

Clavis: "Matias, here, take this."

Emma: "Ah!"

We were unable to escape in time; Clavis had already handed him the sash.

Matias: “Rhodolite has an unusual way of sightseeing.”

Clavis: “You’re a special guest, so you need to be welcomed not only by me and Emma but by the town citizens as well.”

(Yeah, it’s over.)

Clavis: "People, behold! Make way for our distinguished guest!"

In the end, there was no way a girl like me could stop Clavis, so I reluctantly scattered the petals and followed along as Matias, riding on a white horse, moved forward.

Woman: "What is Prince Clavis up to this time?"

Man: "He's a distinguished guest, apparently. I'm not quite sure what's happening, but maybe we should just go along with it?"

Being used to Clavis' antics, the people of Rhodolite quickly adapted to the situation.

Every time Matias passed by, people applauded and cheered. Before we knew it, we had become the center of attention.

Matias: "This also requires a strong spirit."

Emma: "Prince Matias, if it's uncomfortable for you, I can stop..."

Matias: "No, it's fine. If this is Rhodolite's way of welcoming guests, then so be it."

Matias: "By the 62nd precept of the Asbrink family motto, let us proceed."

(What's with that motto? "Accept the kindness of others," or something like that?)

Making up his mind, Prince Matias waved to the cheering crowd and made the surroundings even livelier.

Woman: "He's quite charming, isn't he?"

Woman: "Yeah. But goodness, his overwhelming charisma is almost suffocating."

(It looks like Prince Matias is especially popular among women.)

(Well, I can understand why. He's so handsome and has tremendous sex appeal.)

Woman: "If only Prince Clavis would stay silent and just be a feast for the eyes."

Woman: "Yeah, he's handsome, but only on the surface."

(Clavis is getting quite the remarks.)

Clavis: "Hm."

Clavis: "This is rather unsatisfactory."

Part 2 ╎ Matias End ╎ Epilogue

[yan-lorkai]

Good Morning/afternoon/evening! Can I request a headcanon with a reader who comes back to Twst (after they have returned to their world) and finds yandere Idia made a robot (like Ortho) that looks like them and have the same personality as them? Thanks! ✨💖

Returning to Twisted Wonderland this time was a choice you made after thinking and rethinking the pros and cons, after remembering everything you would be leaving behind. But the pros were greater than the cons, at least you thought. And when you came back, you knew what you wanted to do, look for Idia.

It wasn't really difficult to imagine where he would be, even though a few months had passed you knew he wouldn't have changed that much. However, you should have known how wrong things were when you saw Ortho and he looked surprised, and fearful, trying to dissuade you from opening the door. Trying to keep you from seeing what his brother had done.

But his attempt was futile. You opened the door, received Idia's permission and entered. But nothing could have prepared you to find your own face staring back at you when you entered Idia's room, the emulated expression of surprise making everything more uncomfortable. You and Idia were paralyzed for different reasons, inert, not knowing how to react. However, you recovered faster while he were still processing the entire situation.

"What the fuck is this?" You curse as you look with a mix of admiration and apprehension at your copy. Every little detail was exactly perfect, the same as the original, the same skin tone, the same hair, even the gestures were the same. It wouldn't matter if Idia had a plausible explanation for this, it was clear that he had created a robot to take your place to fill the void in his chest when you left. And it made you feel a little sorry for him, just a little.

"W-well, you see..." Idia can only mutter and whisper gibberish, his hair turning completely pink at being caught with such a strange creation. All this while said creation continues to maintain an impeccable posture, erect and proud, observing you, analyzing.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Yuu." The robot introduces themselves, without knowing or noticing the tension around them. It's so strange. There is no life behind those eyes like there is in Ortho, it is empty and dull plastic. It's uncomfortable to look at. "I'm Idia's lover and we're planning our wedding for after we graduate. Should we invite them, honey?"

Silence. It's embarrassing, invasive and wrong, this all felt too much, should you feel betrayed? Sad? Happy? Or honored that Idia created yet another robot? You didn't know at that moment. All you knew was that you needed to get out of there and you needed it now. But the door was now closed and locked, and no matter how many times you open it or yell at Idia nothing works. He has you now, he doesn't want to let you leave again. He can take your fear, he can take even your hate but having you leave again, even if only for your old dorm? That he can't handle. He won't.

"Prototype Yuu, shut down." He announces, finally recovering from his shock. He acts nonchalantly but you know he feels really awkward and anxious. "Listen, we can talk about it. It's not what it looks like."

You scoff. "Lover? Marriage? Yeah, it's exactly what it looks like, Idia. You created a robot that looks like me, that sounds like me. Because you still don't know how to deal with loss and you need comfort in the only way you know how to receive it."

Touché. He looks like a wounded dog that you kicked. But you find that you don't care at all. "You didn't have to call me out like that, you know." He mumbles but doesn't deny how right you are. "Plus how I was supposed to live without you? I felt so empty, so cold. But I didn't want to stop you from going home because it would hurt you. I can always destroy this prototype if you want, just please don't leave me again!"

He grabs both of your hands, holding onto them as if they were his lifesavers that keep him above the water so he won't drown while he stare at you without blinking, tiny little tears starting to run down his face. Now, can you forgive him or not?

[mtchacffinz]

to be loved for you

prompt!!! Dan Heng never dealt with jealousy. He learns bitterly that sometimes, he can't deal with it rationally!

content!!! SFW, gn! reader, fluff, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, first kiss, clingy! Dan Heng

note!!! I love him too much. So far, all he's been getting from me is fluff 💔 frankly, i cant muster any freaky-freaky stuff with this man 🤔 got anything? my asks are open 🩷

To be someone who relied on relations by circumstance, you would always cherish each and every one of those who cross your path. May they be old and wise, or young and restless— Greeting them with the brightest smile, they'd always find themselves enamoured by your energy. Maybe this is why you attract so many people? Dan Heng was aware of that. He never spoke up about it, though. After all, he was one of the many who was caught bulls eye with each strum of his heart.

He knew you were capable of fending off threats yourself. He knew you were somebody who could defend someone from harms way.. and he especially knew just how gentle and kind you treat everybody.

Oh, what is he doing? Sulking all by himself in the archives. Dan Heng's thoughts ran rampant the past minutes. This happens when he's alone or sitting idly by. The poor man's thoughts catch up to him leaving him disgruntled. The thing is, you could always see it in his face.

You've been out and about for a while. He misses you, you know. Not that he would admit! Dan Heng's stubborn, just like that. He's definitely not mulling over how you're attention has been elsewhere, either. He doesn't mind. You have the freedom to do what you want! Just leave him sulking here in the archives unattended, it's okay.

The teal eyed prince clicks his tongue. That chatty, flirty, touchy writer. At first, Dan Heng thought that he was quite a man. The writer guy was nice and respectful with a golden gaze for things that were held high. That said, the Author quickly took interest in you.

He was never one to be possessive. Why should he? You're not even in a relationship. But sometimes, as soon as the guys hands find their way towards yours, intertwining in a clasp, something in him dims. Suddenly, his eyes can't leave your figure. It was your smile again, and Dan Heng's not at the receiving end of it.

You're not on the express today, either. A shame. Seriously, that guys been hogging you all week! What's up with that? Don't even get him started on "(Y/n), my muse. Accompany me today?" bullcrap! It's nothing but a sappy excuse to get into your pants so bad! Seriously, the absurdity. Dan Heng shakes off the thoughts before they continue. Did you know? Just by his gaze alone, someone could freeze in their place— like daggers against their back.

"Hmm? Mr. Ferr, are you okay?"

"It's nothing, my sweet, I strangely caught a shiver in my spine.." the author, Ferr, replied calmly.

"Okay. So about your first draft.."

Draft this, draft that, can't he got an editor instead?!

Irk marks basically float up his head just thinking about what they're talking about right now. Can you blame him? He's been neglected.

Dan Heng slaps himself, hard.

Woah. He's getting way ahead of himself. Him? Neglected? In what way? Again, it's not like you're both in a relationship. It's not like he's entitled to your affection in any way. Dan Heng really needs to calm down. Lately, all he's been doing is updating the archives. He's also learned of what you will be traveling for next, and added data with a note addressed to you as well. His calloused hands were flipping through various pages all day, pulling apart scrolls and wiping away holograms.

His thoughts become strangely quiet. His presence was like frost.. constant. A little chilly. He starts to fiddle with his fingers, his gloves, and his nails.

He really misses you a lot.

Can you come back soon?

Dan Heng sighs. He stands up with his impeccable posture as usual. Those arms held scrolls and books, and puts them back where he got them from. At this point, he's zoned out. He exits the Archives, strolling near the parlor car. Light footsteps echo throughout the space with Dan Heng taking in the air of tranquility within the express; It seemed like everyone had their own agenda today.

Well, except for one.

"Dan Heng," Himeko's sweet, gentle voice called out for him. The boy turned towards her, a little surprised. She smiles, and beckons him to sit with her. Her silky locks framing perfectly on her face, she put a stray strand behind her ear. "Come, I have coffee to share."

Dan Heng was indeed in dire need of indulgence. Without hesitation, he walked over to the red head and sat down. He forgot how comfortable the sofa was.. his nerves began to relax. Himeko starts to pour the hot beverages into elegant coffee cups, befitting if her style. It was comfortable silence, the stars glistened into glass windows— reflecting the beauty of life. Himeko seems to have noticed his aloof vibe, joining him to stare at the stars. Opening her lips, Himeko starts.

"You've been busy for a while."

"Being an archivist is a lot of work, huh?"

"I have."

"It's fine." The gentle lady can't help but chuckle. He's so dry. This only confirms her hypothesis. That daunting look on his figure may intimidate some, but not Miss Himeko. Never Miss Himeko. She doesn't want to expose her hidden agenda now, but she just can't wait to run her mouth. After all, Dan Heng's been down the weather and it's very obvious as to why.

"(Y/n) wanted me to prepare these for you. Enjoy them." She takes a sip. His expression softened. Dan Heng can't help but think bitterly. It'd be lovely if they were her to prepare these herself, but the teal eyed prince quickly take back the thought.

"I'm thankful.. but why? Is there an occasion? I don't seem to recall any." He speaks in a cautious manner. The woman only sighs, a palm on her cheek.

"Be honest with me, Dan Heng." Her tone quickly changed. Now her eyes are staring into his. Like it was rummaging through his soul. Dan Heng's feet were cold. He couldn't contest her gaze, so he averts his eyes. Himeko frowns at this, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"Your eyes betray you greatly."

He was a little taken aback. His eyes? He was never expressive. He was sure he'd been called at least poker faced and stoic before.. Dan Heng's brows narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

Himeko only chuckles, dismissing her last claim. "I'll tell you what. They'll be here soon.. and they're going to leave just as quickly." She adds the last statement with dramatic disdain before the elegant lady takes a sip once again. Dan Heng's stomach drop. Ah.. he's lost the appetite to even finish his mug. Himeko continues. "Ferr is taking them to a space station for one of his projects. Given the current circumstances, they have no reason to refuse."

His face scrunched in annoyance upon hearing the name again. Mr. Ferr this, Mr. Ferr that! He's getting sick of him. Taking (Y/n) on a space ship? How long will that take? Is it some sort of rendevous? A date?

..will you come back?

"i don't think that decision befalls to us. (Y/n) is capable of making decisions.."

"I don't want them to go."

"..on their own because— wait, what?"

Himeko chuckles dryly. "I don't want (Y/n) to go, you know? It's selfish thought, I know. But, it's good to be selfish once and a while now, right?"

That was a half baked lie. First of all, Himeko fully supports what (Y/n) wants. But Ferr.. isn't exactly known for his patience. Himeko knows full well as soon as (Y/n) steps in the spaceship— he'd pull something like a proposal! A profession, a deal! She's not stupid, Himeko is far from dense. The Scientist knows that the Author has a huge thing for you, and it shows. And knowing Dan Heng? He'd just nod along albeit against it. She can't just stand here and let them distance each other! Himeko's seen it.. that prying gaze of a distraught, pining lover.. the watchful eyes of a lovestruck persona. The only way to get a stubborn man to act, is through tremendous pressure!

Dan Heng's lips pursed.

"And you want me to.."

"You don't have to, really."

"But.. if it will benefit them, should we encourage it? After all, they're energetic and knows their way with words. There must be some sort of good reasoning behind his invitation."

"I don't know. Do you want them to go?"

"I.." Dan Heng couldn't finish his sentence. He couldn't form a response at all. Does he want you to go? If you would enjoy yourself, he'd love to allow it.. If you'd return with a smile on your face, tell him all about what happened, he'd love to receive you with utmost sincere..

Even if it took atleast a hundred years for you to return to him.

...Hundred years his ass! You will not spend a hundred years with that man!

"If (Y/n) wants to, I personally don't see why not." Dan Heng's thoughts actively contrasted his responses. A stubborn man.. Himeko sighs, an apologetic smile on her lips. Finally backing away, the lovely lady puts down her mug and sits straight.

"It's okay to be honest. After all, they.. wish for something."

Dan Heng replies quickly in a heart beat. "I will be honest, then. I want their wish fulfilled."

"Then you better greet them in tip-top shape." Himeko winks saying this, standing up to excuse herself. Dan Heng tilts his head in this, not quite sure if what the she's implying. Himeko only had that knowing smirk on her pristine face. The lady excuses herself promptly, leaving Dan Heng all by himself. The man is once again left alone with his thoughts, except this time, he has new material to work with.

"Great..." He huffs bitterly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just.. splendid." God, his head hurts. He's tired and he's drowsy. At this point, he doesn't find anything of urgency at the moment— only thinking about grasping that sudden warmth the sofa beneath him exerts. Dan Heng would like to find peace of mind at least once in a while. Both that in mind, his eyes find their way to the Parlor ceiling, half lidded and tired.

Slowly, his breathing calms down.. and slowly, his eyes drift closed, consciousness slipping away from his grasp.

Slowly.. the darkness embraced him, and his body rested in slumber.

You stand a little surprised.

After all, Dan Heng was casually sitting upright— his eyes closed. Is he napping? Is he okay? You're not sure, and you're concerned. Frankly, you were supposed to be here for him— feeling that he deserves at least an apology that you haven't been getting back to his messages in a while. But looking at the sight.. he looks like he's accompanied at the moment.

Such a hard working guard. The guard of the express, the unmatched Archivist of the Nameless.. the one who would always hold your heart gently. You swore if he blew air on your figure, you'd crumble immediately. The only one who'd sway your heart. That's how much power he holds, his whole fingers wrapped around your being with an invisible string keeping you binded to him.

You curb a grin. Strolling near your quarters, you pick up something warm. A blanket. You envelop his stature in a comfortable tuck, pausing for a moment to take in the melancholic state Dan Heng's exhibiting. The handsome prince's eyes fluttered closed, lips slightly apart. If he's sitting upright sleeping, then he must be atleast tired enough to sleep but still be on his feet.

But he doesn't know that, he doesn't need to.

"Ah.." was all Dan Heng could muster. You look back at him in a awe, but quickly recovered. You didn't remove his hands on your wrist, you held onto them instead. The archivists eyes softened, his brows relaxing. You attempt to give him a smile, defusing the tension.

Your sightseeing was cut short when Dan Heng started to stir, his eyes fluttering open. It was for a short moment, the first those greyish teal eyes found their way towards yours.. and the way they slightly widened upon meeting gazes with you, Dan Heng's slender, warm fingers slowly snuck their way toward your wrist; apprehending their movements further. Dan Heng held onto you like you were unreal, like you were unbelievable. Oh, he looks stricken. He looks.. almost as surprised as you. Dan Heng doesn't say anything yet, the blanket that was once on him fell off just a little while ago.

"Hey. Sorry. It looks like I woke you up.." You offer an apologetic smile. He quickly shakes his head at this, responding to you in haste.

"No.. no. Don't apologize."

"I have a lot of apologizing to do."

"No, you.." before he could finish, he cuts himself off. Why must he be so accepting? He keeps brushing his feelings aside, and before he knows it, he utters something he doesn't even mean. No, he's not okay. No, it's not fine. You upset him greatly. He couldn't focus on anything because you weren't answering his messages. Your phone was unreachable.

You had Dan Heng worried sick. What if something happened to you? You reckless, Trusting, thick skulled—

"Everything good?"

Your voice immediately snaps him out of his thoughts. Dan Heng let's out a small breath, his hands still clutching yours. He was still sitting down, and you were towering over him. God.. just by your gaze alone, he's already so full. If you could just stay with him a little longer, he feels like this churning in his stomach would go away soon. He wants you so bad, he needs you so bad.. he doesn't want you to let go anytime soon.

To your surprise, Dan Heng himself removed his hold on you. His movements were slow and languid, like a flow of water within the rivers. Moving in chorus, mellifluous.. elegantly. You can't take your eyes off him at all. Dan Heng clung to your waist. His warm body enveloped your lower half, nuzzling deep into your stomach. You let out a surprised yelp.

Suddenly, your face is hot. Your stomach was dancing with abundant butterflies, and you don't know where to put your hands. As if the archivist could read your mind, his hands led yours into his head, fingers entangling itself into those dark locks. They were so soft.. so warm and lovely. Your hands run through his hair gently— cherishing just how close he is to you at this moment. What's up with him? He seems to be a little more laid back.

Dan Heng shifts in his place. That's when he finally looks up at you. His arms around you, eyes looking directly at yours. You could see his expression.. eyes soft. Gentle. A slight pout— face flushed. It looks like he wants to say something, and it's still processing in that pretty head of his.

Dan Heng's hold on you tightens, you didn't fail to notice. He wants to be selfish for once. Let him be selfish for once. Just once. With a small breath and a soft tone, he finally utters.

"Don't go."

It was getting harder and harder to calm your heart down, and that didn't get any better.

Your heart immediately melts, and your knees almost gave out. What? Go where? Has the rumours already spread? Whatever it was, it's not happening. Especially if he asked you, it's already set in stone. "I won't. Not anywhere." You respond tenderly. Dan Heng's eyes lit up. You swore his fingers even twitched just a little bit. A little more after, his face suddenly scrunched. The archivists' frame was decorated with blazing hues of red. Whatever he's thinking seems to strain him so. Not even bothering to give you time to further analyze, he stands up from his seat, arms still around you. This time, you have no idea what'll he do. Dan Heng's eyes averted yours, hesitantly taking a step closer. My.. your palms are starting to sweat. This is the effect of anticipation.

When he pulled back from you, Dan Heng quickly analyzed your expression to see even a tinge of displeasure. Now you.. face decorated with the hue of peony, looked awe struck. Absolutely enchanted.. bewildered, blown. Gathering your nerves to work back up again, your eyes slowly trailed back to his nervous ones: awaiting your reaction.

"..You can hit me after this." Dan Heng suddenly says, making you tilt your head in confusion. So carefully, he cupped your cheeks. Whatever that was you were going to say was caught in your throat. There was a bubbling feeling in your chest, waiting to pop open; and as soon as his lips brushed past yours, it popped so beautifully vibrant it blinded your vision for but a moment. As your eyes fluttered closed and his eyes half lidded, he greedily drank the sight of you from his eyes.

Dan Heng's eyes widened once you grabbed his collar— smashing your lips back to his. The kiss you've given him burned with fervor, impatient, like you've been yearning for more. You were starved of his lips— like a lone hawk hunting for aeons.

Now that the opportunity presented itself, might as well make the most of it.

The archivist had a hard time keeping up with you, keeping the both of you straight by holding the small of your back. Your arms were in Dan Heng's chest— eagerly taking him in yours. By the time you both ran out of air, you were standing in amidst the parlor car— with the stars accompanying the moment being the sole witness. You could hear Dan Heng's heartbeat whilst you rest your head on his chest. Clutching his jacket, it was tempting to go for another one again.

There was silence. A lot of words hung out in the air. The first to cut through the already light air around you was you.

"For how long?"

Dan Heng breathed heavily, burying his nose into your hair. He thinks about it for a long time before finally answering.

"Quite a while."

i went a little overboard sorry! (⁠●⁠´⁠⌓⁠`⁠●⁠) edited it a lil bit

[okasuka]

Uhhhhh drabble stuff

Tw : mentions of self harm, light drug use.

First Day Back

The early September morning was crisp, the kind that teased of autumn but still held onto the warmth of summer. Gotham Academy’s imposing gates were buzzing with activity as students reunited, exchanging stories about vacations, internships, or simply surviving another year.

Standing just outside the gate, you adjusted the strap of your bag nervously. You glanced down at your reflection in a nearby car window, making sure your slightly messy brown hair—with its signature red streak—wasn’t too unruly. Not that you cared much about appearances, but first days had a way of bringing out old insecurities.

Your eyes darted through the sea of uniforms, searching for one face in particular. Then you saw him.

Damian Wayne strode toward the gates, his posture as impeccable as ever, his green eyes scanning the crowd with that calm yet calculating intensity you’d come to love. His uniform was perfectly pressed, his tie immaculate, and his dark hair neat and slicked back —practically screaming “perfectly put-together Wayne heir.” But then his eyes landed on you, and that trademark stoicism softened, just enough for a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Y/N,” he greeted as he approached, his voice steady but warmer than usual.

“Damian!” you called, your grin lighting up your face as you dropped your bag to the ground and rushed toward him. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

To anyone watching, Damian Wayne being hugged in public might have seemed like a scandal waiting to happen, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a barely audible sigh and placed his hands gently on your back, hugging you in return.

“It’s only been two weeks since we last saw each other,” he murmured, though you caught the hint of amusement in his tone.

“Two weeks is an eternity when you’re my best friend and my boyfriend,” you shot back, pulling away just enough to look up at him. “Did you miss me?”

His green eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “More than you’ll ever know,” he replied, and while his voice was quiet, you could tell he meant it.

You beamed at him before reaching up to ruffle his perfectly combed hair. “And here I thought you’d come back looking all stoic and business-like. Guess I haven’t lost my touch.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping back slightly to smooth his hair down. “And here I thought you’d be less insufferable after a few weeks apart.”

“Please, you’d miss me if I wasn’t,” you teased, leaning down to grab your bag.

As the two of you walked toward the main building, you noticed some of your classmates whispering and glancing your way. While Damian ignored them entirely, you rolled your eyes. “You’d think people would be over it by now. What, do they think I’m not good enough for the Damian Wayne or something?”

“They can think what they like,” Damian replied smoothly. “Their opinions are irrelevant. Besides…” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You’re more than good enough. You know that.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you quickly changed the subject to avoid getting too flustered. “So, what’s our schedule looking like? We still have most of our classes together, right?”

Damian pulled out his neatly folded timetable. “Mathematics, English, World History, and, unfortunately, Chemistry with Professor Clark. I presume you’ve heard about his… ‘enthusiastic’ teaching style.”

You groaned dramatically. “Great. Guess I’m going to need you to keep me from blowing up the lab this year.”

“If you pay attention and follow instructions, I won’t need to intervene,” Damian said with a smirk.

“Oh, like you’re not going to spend half the time criticizing my technique,” you quipped.

“Only if it’s necessary,” he replied coolly, but you could see the faintest glint of humor in his eyes.

As you entered the school and made your way to your lockers, you couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it all felt. The teasing, the banter, the unspoken understanding between the two of you. It was going to be a good year—you could feel it.

“I’ll walk you to first period,” Damian said, closing his locker and adjusting his bag strap.

You grinned. “What a gentleman. Lead the way, Mr. Wayne.”

And with that, the two of you headed down the hallway, side by side, ready to take on another year—together.

As you and Damian stepped into your first-period class, you were relieved to find most of the seats still empty. You scanned the room quickly, looking for two seats side by side.

“Do you see any—?” you started, but Damian was already ahead of you.

“There,” he said, nodding toward a pair of seats in the middle of the room.

But before you could move, a group of students rushed past, snagging the spots you were eyeing.

“Seriously?” you muttered, glancing around again. The only open seats left were scattered across the room, none close enough to sit together.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunate.”

You sighed. “It’s fine. We’ll survive one class apart. I’ll sit…” Your eyes landed on an empty seat next to a familiar face, a boy from your grade named Logan. He was nice enough—a little flirty sometimes, but harmless. “There.”

Damian’s gaze flicked to Logan and narrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything. “I’ll take the one near the window,” he said, his tone clipped.

You hesitated. “You sure?”

“I’ll be fine, Y/N,” he replied, already walking to his seat.

You shrugged and made your way over to Logan, who greeted you with a grin. “Hey, Y/N. Long time no see.”

“Hey, Logan,” you said, sliding into the chair next to him. “Ready for another year of torture?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he joked. “Especially if it means sitting next to you.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “Smooth.”

The teacher, Mr. Daniels, walked in and began droning on about classroom expectations, but it wasn’t long before you started to feel lost in the lecture. Chemistry wasn’t exactly your strong suit, and the formulas on the board looked like a foreign language.

You leaned over toward Logan. “Hey, do you get this?” you whispered, pointing to your notes.

Logan smirked, lowering his voice. “Not really, but I’ll pretend I do if it helps.”

You snorted softly. “Wow, so helpful.”

Before you could ask another question, Mr. Daniels cleared his throat loudly, his eyes narrowing on you. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice sharp. “Do you mind not flirting in my class and actually paying attention?”

Your jaw dropped. “I—what?”

The class chuckled, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you stammered, “I wasn’t flirting! I was asking for help!”

Logan, however, leaned back in his chair with a grin. “I don’t know, Y/N. Sounded like flirting to me.”

The room erupted in laughter, and you buried your face in your hands, groaning.

From his seat by the window, Damian’s eyes darkened. His jaw clenched tightly as he watched Logan bask in the attention. It wasn’t like you to flirt with anyone, but the way Logan played along—and how the teacher called it out—was enough to irritate him.

When the laughter finally died down, you muttered to Logan, “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wink.

Meanwhile, Damian’s grip on his pen tightened. He forced himself to focus on the board, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you and Logan. The way Logan looked at you, the way he leaned just a little too close—it was infuriating.

By the time the bell rang, Damian was already out of his seat, waiting for you by the door.

You approached him, still grumbling under your breath. “Can you believe Mr. Daniels? Flirting? Seriously?”

“Hardly,” Damian said, his tone sharper than usual.

You blinked, caught off guard by his demeanor. “Whoa. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said curtly, though his eyes betrayed his irritation. “But perhaps next time, you should direct your questions to someone more reliable.”

You raised an eyebrow, realizing what this was about. “Are you… jealous?”

Damian’s expression didn’t change, but his ears turned slightly red. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You smirked, leaning closer. “You are. Admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit,” he said, brushing past you. “Let’s go. We’ll be late for the next class.”

Laughing, you hurried to catch up. “You’re jealous,” you sang teasingly, and while Damian didn’t respond, the way his shoulders stiffened told you everything you needed to know.

As the second-period bell rang, you and Damian made your way to your next class—World History. The classroom was much smaller than the last one, and you were relieved to see an empty pair of desks near the middle of the room.

“Looks like we’re stuck together this time,” you teased as you slid into your seat.

Damian didn’t respond right away. Instead, he placed his bag down with practiced precision, his expression unusually stoic.

“Hey,” you said, nudging his arm lightly. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

“I’m simply focusing on the lesson ahead,” he replied curtly, not meeting your gaze as he pulled out his notebook.

You blinked at his tone, a flicker of irritation rising in your chest. “Right. Of course. Damian Wayne, ever the diligent student,” you muttered, opening your own notebook with a bit more force than necessary.

His eyes darted toward you briefly, but he said nothing.

The teacher started the lecture, droning on about ancient civilizations, but you couldn’t focus. Damian’s cold demeanor was grating on you, especially after how playful and sweet he’d been that morning.

About twenty minutes into the lesson, you turned to him, keeping your voice low. “Okay, what’s your deal? Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No,” he replied, not looking up from his notes. “Perhaps I’m simply preoccupied.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Preoccupied with what? Chemistry? Or the fact that I asked Logan for help?”

That got his attention. He glanced at you, his green eyes sharp. “If you’re aware of how inappropriate your behavior was, I fail to see why you’re asking me.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to process his words. “Are you serious right now? I wasn’t flirting, Damian. I was asking a question.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath, scribbling something in his notebook.

Your patience snapped. “Wow. Okay, so what, you don’t trust me now? Is that it?”

His pen froze mid-sentence, and he finally turned to look at you fully. “It’s not a matter of trust, Y/N. It’s—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to find the right words.

“It’s what?” you pressed, crossing your arms.

Damian hesitated, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s infuriating to watch someone else act so… familiar with you. Especially when they clearly enjoy pushing boundaries.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his tone. “Damian, Logan wasn’t pushing boundaries. He’s just a naturally flirty guy, and I don’t take him seriously. You know that, right?”

Damian’s gaze hardened. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t take him seriously. The fact remains that he’s disrespectful. And I don’t appreciate having to sit there while he makes a joke out of our relationship.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Damian, I can handle Logan. He’s harmless, and he doesn’t mean anything by it. But this?” You gestured between the two of you. “You snapping at me and acting all cold? It’s not fair.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching. “Perhaps it isn’t fair, but—”

“Exactly,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “It’s not fair. And it’s not me you should be upset with. If you have a problem with Logan, take it up with him, not me.”

Damian exhaled sharply, the tension in his posture barely easing. “You’re right,” he admitted, though his tone was reluctant. “But I can’t help it, Y/N. I… I don’t like sharing your attention.”

Your annoyance softened at his admission, and you gave him a small smile. “Damian, you’re my boyfriend. You already have my attention—more than anyone else. Logan’s just a friend. He doesn’t even come close to you.”

His gaze flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the usual confidence in his demeanor faltered. “I know that. Logically. But…”

“But emotions don’t always listen to logic,” you finished for him.

He nodded, his expression softening. “Precisely.”

You reached over and placed a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look, I get it. I’d probably feel the same way if someone was acting flirty with you. But you have to trust me, okay? If Logan ever crosses a line, I’ll shut it down. No one comes between us.”

Damian studied you for a moment, his green eyes searching yours before he finally relaxed. “I do trust you,” he said quietly. “I’m… sorry for being difficult.”

“Apology accepted,” you said with a teasing grin. “But you owe me for making me look like the bad guy in World History.”

He smirked faintly. “I’ll make it up to you. Perhaps a visit to the Gotham Art Museum after school?”

You raised an eyebrow. “As long as you’re not trying to bribe me into forgetting about this.”

“Of course not,” he replied smoothly. “It’s simply… a gesture of goodwill.”

You chuckled, the tension between you finally dissipating. “You’re impossible, Damian Wayne.”

“And yet, you still tolerate me,” he said, his voice lighter now.

“More than that,” you said, leaning closer. “I love you. Even when you’re being jealous and stubborn.”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “The feeling is mutual.”

With that, the two of you turned back to the lesson, the earlier tension replaced by the quiet comfort of understanding—and the promise of a much better day ahead.

After the school day ended, you and Damian walked to the car waiting to take you both to Wayne Manor. The ride was quiet but comfortable, the tension from earlier long forgotten. Damian had even let his hand rest lightly on yours during the drive, a subtle but sweet gesture that made your heart flutter.

As the car pulled into the circular driveway, the grand silhouette of Wayne Manor loomed above you. You grabbed your bag and followed Damian up the steps.

“Do you ever get tired of living in a castle?” you teased as he opened the massive front doors.

“It’s hardly a castle,” Damian replied with a faint smirk. “Though it does have its advantages.”

As you stepped inside, the warm interior of the manor greeted you. Alfred appeared almost immediately, as if he’d been expecting you both.

“Master Damian, Miss Y/N,” Alfred said with a polite nod. “Welcome back. I trust your first day of school went well?”

“Uneventful,” Damian said simply, shrugging off his bag and handing it to Alfred.

“Eventful,” you corrected, grinning. “But in a good way. Thanks for asking, Alfred.”

Alfred’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he turned to you. “I’m relieved to hear it, Miss Y/N. I’ve prepared some refreshments in the living room if you’d like to relax.”

“Thanks, Alfred!” you said before glancing at Damian. “Wanna go chill for a bit?”

Damian nodded, but before you could take a step, a deep voice interrupted.

“Y/N, good to see you,” Bruce said, walking into the foyer. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his usual air of authority surrounding him.

“Mr. Wayne!” you said, smiling brightly. You’d always been a bit in awe of Bruce Wayne, but he’d long since made you feel welcome in his home. “How’s everything going?”

“Busy, as always,” Bruce said, offering a faint smile. “And no need for the formalities, Y/N. You’re practically family.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the comment, but before you could respond, Bruce glanced at his watch, his expression turning serious. “I’d love to catch up more, but I have a meeting to attend. Damian, Y/N, enjoy yourselves.”

“Good luck with your meeting,” you said with a polite nod, watching as Bruce strode off toward his study.

Damian gestured toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go to the living room.”

You followed him, excited to finally relax after the day’s chaos. Alfred had set out an impressive spread of snacks, including your favorite cookies, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth, making the room feel cozy despite its size.

As you plopped down on the couch, Damian sat beside you but noticeably kept some distance. He seemed lost in thought, his brows slightly furrowed, and his usual composed energy felt off.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” you asked, tilting your head to get a better look at him.

Damian blinked, as though he hadn’t realized you were talking. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been… weird,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “Since school ended, you’ve been kind of quiet. Did something happen?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor. “No, nothing happened.”

You frowned. “Damian. Don’t do that thing where you bottle everything up, okay? I can tell something’s bothering you. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he said, a bit more firmly this time. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

His tone stung a little, and you leaned back, crossing your arms. “Right. Of course. Because heaven forbid I try to be a good girlfriend and care about you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, guilt flashing across his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” you pressed, though your voice softened. “I don’t want to push you, Damian, but I also don’t want to sit here and pretend like everything’s fine when it’s obviously not.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you,” you said, smiling faintly. “But I can handle complicated, remember?”

He hesitated again, clearly torn. Finally, he shook his head. “I just… I need some time to think.”

You nodded slowly, though a pang of disappointment hit you. “Okay. If that’s what you need, I’ll give you space.”

“Y/N, it’s not—”

“No, it’s fine,” you interrupted, standing up. “I get it. Sometimes you need time to sort things out on your own. Just… let me know when you’re ready to talk, okay?”

He looked up at you, his expression conflicted. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” you said, grabbing your bag. “I don’t want to hang around and make things awkward for you. Besides, I should probably get some homework done.”

“Y/N,” he said again, standing as if to stop you, but you shook your head.

“It’s okay, Damian,” you said softly. “Really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and made your way to the front door, nodding at Alfred on your way out. As the door closed behind you, you let out a quiet sigh.

You cared about Damian deeply, but sometimes, loving him meant giving him the space he needed—even if it hurt to walk away.

You walked out of the manor, each step heavier than the last. The cool evening air hit your face as you descended the grand steps, trying to shake the weight in your chest. You told yourself Damian just needed space—that this wasn’t about you. But the ache in your heart said otherwise.

The car Alfred had arranged was waiting at the end of the drive, but you hesitated. You didn’t want to leave angry or upset, not when there was clearly something Damian wasn’t telling you. Against your better judgment, you turned back, gripping the door handle and pushing it open quietly.

The sound of Damian’s voice drifted down the hall. You paused, peeking into the living room to see him pacing near the fireplace, phone pressed to his ear. His usual sharp posture was rigid, and his tone was sharper than you’d ever heard.

“I told you, I don’t need advice on how to handle my personal life,” Damian snapped, his back to you. “This isn’t about her. She’s just—” He stopped mid-sentence, exhaling harshly. “It’s not like that.”

Your heart sank at his words. He had to be talking about you.

You stepped into the doorway, your voice quiet but firm. “What’s not like that?”

Damian froze, his head whipping around to face you. His expression was unreadable for a moment, but then it shifted into something colder, something you hadn’t seen directed at you before.

“I’ll call you back,” he muttered into the phone before ending the call and slipping it into his pocket.

“Y/N,” he said flatly. “I thought you left.”

“I did,” you said, crossing your arms. “But I couldn’t just leave things like this. What’s going on, Damian? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I just heard you.”

He stared at you, his green eyes unreadable. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

The sharpness in his tone cut through you like a knife, but you pressed on. “Why? So you could keep avoiding me? Pretending nothing’s wrong?”

“Maybe it’s because nothing’s wrong, Y/N,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Maybe it’s just that I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“This? You mean us?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Don’t twist my words,” he said coldly. “I don’t need you analyzing everything I say.”

You took a step back, hurt flashing across your face. “I’m not trying to analyze anything, Damian. I just want to understand what’s going on. Why you’ve been acting so distant, so—so cold.”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t understand me as well as you think you do,” he said, his voice cutting like a blade.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “Damian… how can you say that?”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Look, Y/N. I care about you, but sometimes, it feels like being with you is—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening.

“Feels like what?” you demanded, your voice breaking. “Say it.”

“Like it’s suffocating,” he finally said, his tone low but firm.

The world seemed to tilt beneath your feet. You stared at him, unable to process what you’d just heard. “Suffocating?”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor. “You always want to talk, to fix things, to know every little thought in my head. Sometimes I just need space, Y/N. And you don’t give me that.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I only do that because I care, Damian. Because I love you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said, his voice colder than you’d ever heard it.

That was the final blow. Your chest tightened painfully, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. “I can’t believe you just said that,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I thought… I thought we were in this together.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice quiet but unwavering.

The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, searching for any hint of regret or hesitation in his expression, but there was none.

“Fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s how you feel, then maybe I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

Damian said nothing as you turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. This time, when you left Wayne Manor, you didn’t look back.

The door closed behind you with a finality that made your heart ache, but you refused to cry—not here, not now. You climbed into the waiting car, gripping your bag tightly as the driver pulled away.

Only then, as Gotham’s streets blurred past the windows, did the tears begin to fall.

The ride home felt endless, even though it was only a short drive. You stared out the window, the Gotham skyline blurred through tear-filled eyes. Every word Damian had said replayed in your head like a broken record. Suffocating. I didn’t ask you to. Maybe we shouldn’t be.

When the car pulled up to your house, you mumbled a quick thanks to the driver and stepped out, your legs feeling like lead. The house was dark and quiet as you unlocked the door and stepped inside. The emptiness greeted you like an old friend.

“Dad?” you called out half-heartedly, even though you already knew the answer.

No response.

The faint tick of the clock in the hallway was the only sound as you dropped your bag by the door. You leaned against the wall, staring into the void of your empty home, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

Tears spilled over as you slid down to the floor, burying your face in your hands. The silence amplified your thoughts, every doubt and insecurity creeping in like shadows.

Maybe Damian’s right. Maybe I am too much. Too needy. Too—

You choked on a sob, wrapping your arms around yourself. It felt like you were unraveling, like every part of you was splitting apart.

You stumbled to your room, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto your bed. The walls felt like they were closing in, the loneliness suffocating. You couldn’t stop crying, your body trembling with each sob.

And then, in your darkest moment, the familiar, dangerous thought surfaced. You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.

Your eyes darted to your desk drawer, where you knew you’d hidden a small, sharp blade months ago. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t need it again—that you were stronger now. But right now, you didn’t feel strong. You felt shattered.

Your hands trembled as you opened the drawer, pulling the blade out. The weight of it in your hand felt heavier than it should have. You stared at it for what felt like forever, your mind spinning with the whirlwind of emotions.

Maybe this will help. Maybe this will make it hurt less.

You pressed the blade against your skin, the sting sharp and immediate. A small line of red appeared, and for a brief moment, the emotional pain seemed to dull. But the relief was fleeting, replaced by guilt and self-loathing that hit you like a tidal wave. You stared at the mark you’d left on your arm, the faint sting a cruel reminder of how far you’d let yourself fall. Tears streamed down your face as you whispered to yourself, “What’s wrong with me?”

The room was suffocating now, the walls closing in on you as your breaths came quicker. You curled into yourself on the bed, clutching your knees to your chest, wishing for the pain to stop. The silence of the house only made it worse.

Why isn’t anyone here? you thought bitterly. But deep down, you knew the answer. Your dad was always at work, and the few friends you had didn’t know how to handle the pieces of you that you kept hidden.

And Damian? The person you trusted most? He’d made it painfully clear where he stood.

The night dragged on, every minute feeling like an eternity. You didn’t sleep, too caught up in your own thoughts, your body aching with exhaustion and despair. By the time morning came, the idea of going to school seemed impossible.

You sent a quick text to the school’s office, pretending to be your dad, saying you were sick. Then you turned your phone off completely, unwilling to face anyone—not even Damian.

Meanwhile, at Wayne Manor

Damian hadn’t slept either.

The moment you walked out the door, regret had started to claw at him. The image of your hurt expression wouldn’t leave his mind, and his words replayed in his head like a haunting echo.

He sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, his hands clenched into fists. He’d thought pushing you away would give him the space he needed to think—to sort through his own feelings—but all it had done was make him realize how much he hated the distance he’d created.

“Suffocating.” The word sounded so harsh now, so untrue. You weren’t suffocating him. You were grounding him, giving him something real in a world full of chaos and masks.

By the time morning arrived, Damian had resolved to apologize. To fix things. He hated admitting he was wrong, but for you, he’d do it. He couldn’t lose you.

When he got to school and didn’t see you by the gates like usual, unease crept in. By the time first period started and you still hadn’t shown up, his unease turned into worry.

He pulled out his phone under the desk and sent a quick text:

Damian: Where are you?

No response.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the screen as if willing your reply to appear. When the second period came and you were still absent, he finally left the classroom without asking for permission, heading straight to the hallway to make a call.

You didn’t answer.

Damian’s grip tightened on the phone, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

By lunchtime, he was already texting Alfred.

Damian: I need a car to Y/N’s house. Now.

Alfred’s reply came quickly, his usual calm demeanor evident even in text form.

Alfred: Understood, Master Damian. The car will be ready in five minutes.

Damian didn’t bother explaining himself to anyone as he left school, his thoughts consumed by you. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he’d pushed you too far. That his cruel words had broken something in you he didn’t know how to repair.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

The car ride to your house was a blur for Damian. His fingers tapped anxiously on the leather seat as he stared out the window, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He hadn’t heard from you since the previous night, and every second that passed without a response only made the knot in his chest tighter.

When the car pulled up to your house, Damian barely waited for it to stop before getting out. His hand went straight to the key you’d given him months ago, a small token of trust that now felt heavier than ever. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his ears, before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

The silence hit him first. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that made his stomach churn. He closed the door behind him and called out, his voice sharp and edged with worry.

“Y/N?”

No response.

Damian’s jaw clenched as he stepped further inside. The living room was empty, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound. He scanned the space quickly before heading toward your room, his heart hammering harder with each step.

When he opened your bedroom door, the sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

The room was a chaotic mess. Comics were scattered across the floor, their colorful covers torn and crumpled. A few bookshelves were toppled over, their contents spilling out in disarray. On the bed, torn photographs of the two of you lay in pieces, the edges jagged and angry.

But what made his blood run cold was the small, bloody blade lying on your desk.

Damian’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at it, his mind reeling. The faint smears of dried blood on the metal glinted under the soft light coming through the window.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, his chest tightening as he approached the desk. His hands trembled as he reached out, carefully picking up the blade. The sight of the blood sent a wave of nausea crashing over him.

He dropped it back onto the desk and turned, his sharp eyes scanning the room again. There were no signs of you anywhere—not even a note. His gaze fell on the ripped photos, and he crouched down to pick up a piece.

It was a picture of the two of you at the Gotham Art Museum. Your smile in the photo was radiant, your arm looped through his, while his usually stoic expression held the faintest trace of a smile—an expression you had drawn out of him so effortlessly back then. But now, the photo was torn cleanly in two, your half discarded on the ground while his was crumpled underfoot.

Damian swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. His mind raced with questions. Where were you? What had you done? What had he done?

He forced himself to look away from the torn photographs, scanning the rest of the room for clues. His eyes landed on your desk, where your school bag sat unzipped, papers spilling out of it. A few notebooks were scribbled over with angry marks, as if you’d taken a pen and let all your frustration out in jagged lines and furious scratches.

But what caught his attention most was a small notebook lying open on the desk. He hesitated before stepping closer, his hands shaking as he picked it up. The words scrawled across the page in your handwriting made his heart drop.

“I’m not enough.

I’ll never be enough.

Why does it hurt so much?

Maybe it would be better if I wasn’t here anymore.”

The edges of the page were smudged, as if tears had fallen on the ink. Damian’s hands tightened around the notebook as his breath quickened. His usually composed demeanor shattered, panic clawing at his chest.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “Y/N…”

He spun around, searching the room again, as if you might somehow appear if he looked hard enough. The mess around him was overwhelming, every detail screaming of your pain, your anger, your heartbreak. And it was all his fault.

Damian dropped to his knees, his head hanging low as he gripped the notebook tightly. His mind was a storm of regret and guilt, every cruel word he’d said to you echoing in his ears. I didn’t ask you to. Maybe we shouldn’t be.

The blade. The blood. The notebook. The torn photos. It all pointed to one unbearable truth: he had pushed you too far.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Damian felt helpless. He was always the one who had control, who had a plan. But now? Now he didn’t know what to do.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing your number again with trembling hands.

Damian sat on the floor of your room, phone pressed to his ear, waiting—hoping—for you to answer. The ringing dragged on for what felt like forever, each second stretching into eternity. And then, to his shock, the ringing stopped.

For a split second, hope sparked in his chest. But instead of your voice, the call disconnected.

He stared at the screen in disbelief, his heart pounding. You had declined the call.

“Y/N…” he whispered under his breath, panic threatening to overwhelm him.

He immediately stood, his training kicking in. He needed to find you, and fast. Scanning the room one last time, his eyes landed on a map of Gotham pinned to your corkboard. He spotted a circled area near the outskirts of the city—a dense, secluded forest.

He didn’t hesitate. Pulling out his phone, he called Alfred.

“Master Damian,” Alfred answered calmly, though the sharpness in Damian’s tone quickly changed his demeanor.

“I need the car back at Y/N’s house immediately,” Damian said, already moving toward the front door. “And alert Father. I might need backup.”

“Yes, sir. On my way.”

Deep in the Forest

You sat on the damp ground, surrounded by towering trees that blocked out most of the moonlight. The air was cold, biting at your skin through your thin jacket, but you barely noticed. Your hands trembled as you held the small bottle of pills, the weight of it feeling unbearable.

Your eyes were red and swollen from crying, the exhaustion making every thought feel heavier, more suffocating. You glanced down at the pills, your mind swimming with memories of Damian’s words.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Suffocating.”

A fresh wave of tears blurred your vision as you whispered to yourself, “I was trying. I really was.”

You tilted your head back, staring up at the dark canopy of trees above, your voice breaking as you continued. “I just wanted you to love me. But you gave up on me. On us.”

Your voice cracked, and a sob escaped you as you unscrewed the cap of the bottle, the pills rattling softly.

Damian Arrives

The car screeched to a halt near the edge of the forest, and Damian was out the door before Alfred could say a word. He sprinted into the woods, his heart racing as he followed the faint trail you’d left behind. Broken branches, footprints in the mud—signs he was on the right track.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the trees.

There was no response.

He pushed forward, his sharp eyes scanning the dark surroundings until he spotted you—a faint silhouette sitting on the forest floor. Relief flooded him for a moment, but then his heart sank as he saw the bottle of pills in your hand.

“Y/N!” he called again, louder this time.

You froze, your head snapping toward the sound of his voice. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched the bottle tighter, your body trembling.

“Stay back, Damian,” you said, your voice shaking but firm.

He slowed his approach, his hands raised slightly in surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you, Y/N. Please… just put the pills down.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “Why are you even here? You made it clear you don’t want me around. So why do you care now?”

“Because I was wrong,” Damian said, his voice cracking in a way that surprised even him. “I was so wrong, Y/N. About everything.”

You stared at him, your grip on the bottle loosening slightly. “You don’t mean that. You said I was suffocating you. That you didn’t need me.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, stepping closer. “I was angry, and I said things I didn’t mean. But I do need you, Y/N. More than I can put into words.”

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your face. “You don’t need me, Damian. You gave up on me. On us.”

He stopped a few feet away from you, his green eyes filled with a mix of desperation and regret. “I thought pushing you away would protect me. But all it’s done is hurt the one person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than just… a weapon.”

Your lip quivered as his words hit you. “Damian…”

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I can’t lose you. Not like this. Please, Y/N, put the pills down.”

You stared at him, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through the fog in your mind. Slowly, your grip on the bottle loosened, and it slipped from your hand, landing in the dirt.

Damian closed the distance between you in an instant, dropping to his knees and pulling you into his arms. You sobbed into his chest, your body trembling as he held you tightly, as if letting go would mean losing you forever.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your hair, his voice filled with guilt and pain. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll never give up on you again. I swear.”

You clung to him, the weight of his words finally breaking through the darkness that had consumed you. For the first time in hours, you felt a glimmer of hope—a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

The ride back to your house was quiet, the low hum of the engine filling the heavy silence between you and Damian. You sat in the passenger seat, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared out the window, your swollen eyes still red from crying. Damian was next to you, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. He glanced at you every few moments, as if afraid you’d vanish if he looked away for too long.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft and raw. “I didn’t mean to love you so much,” you whispered, barely audible.

Damian’s hands faltered for a moment on the wheel, his green eyes darting toward you.

“I’m sorry,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry for being too much. For… for making you feel like I was suffocating you.”

His chest tightened at your words, a pang of guilt twisting in his stomach. “Don’t apologize, Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice low. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I was the one who hurt you. I was the one who didn’t see how much you were trying. This… all of this… it’s my fault.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill again. “I just wanted to make you happy, Damian. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Damian’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly as he let out a shaky breath. “You do make me happy,” he said, his voice softer now. “More than anyone else ever has. I was too blind to see it before, but I’m not going to make that mistake again. I swear.”

Back at Your House

When you arrived, Damian followed you inside, his presence steady and grounding. The chaos of your room was still overwhelming, but this time, Damian didn’t hesitate.

“Let’s clean this up together,” he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nodded numbly, and the two of you worked side by side to pick up the mess. Damian carefully gathered the torn photographs, setting them aside, while you stacked the scattered comics and books. He didn’t rush you or push you to talk, letting the silence between you feel safe instead of suffocating.

Once the room was mostly back in order, Damian turned his attention to you. He gently took your hands in his, his eyes narrowing as he examined the cuts and bruises on your arms.

“These need to be treated,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

You tried to pull your hands back, but he held on gently, his touch steady and reassuring. “Please, Y/N. Let me take care of you.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Damian guided you to sit on the edge of your bed as he retrieved the first-aid kit you kept in the bathroom. He knelt in front of you, his movements careful and precise as he cleaned and bandaged each cut.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, I do,” Damian said, his eyes meeting yours. “I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

When he finished, he stayed kneeling in front of you for a moment, his hands resting gently on your knees. “You’re not alone, Y/N,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Later That Night

Damian stayed with you, refusing to leave your side. As the night wore on, the two of you ended up lying on your bed, the lights dimmed. You rested your head against his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around you.

Tears continued to fall silently down your cheeks, dampening the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, his presence steady and unwavering.

As exhaustion began to take over, your voice broke through the quiet. “Don’t… leave me, Damian,” you mumbled, your words slurred with sleep and raw emotion. “Please…”

His heart clenched, and he tightened his hold on you. “I won’t,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll never leave you, Y/N. I promise.”

Your breathing slowed as you finally drifted off to sleep, your tears subsiding. Even in your sleep, your fingers clung to his shirt, as if afraid he’d disappear.

Damian stayed awake for hours, watching over you, his heart heavy with guilt and determination. He’d nearly lost you once, and he vowed to himself that he would never let it happen again.

The next day at school, you felt yourself walking the fine line between pretending to be okay and actually feeling like you could survive another day. The previous night’s events still lingered in your mind, but the warmth of Damian’s presence gave you a sense of reassurance that you hadn’t felt in a while. With him by your side, maybe the world wasn’t so cold after all.

As you entered the school grounds, the familiar chatter of students surrounded you, but you felt like you were walking through a haze. You tried to smile when you saw Damian waiting by your locker, but your stomach still churned with nerves.

“Feeling okay?” Damian asked, his green eyes searching your face with concern.

You nodded, though the words felt hollow. “Yeah. I think I’m alright.”

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t true. You weren’t fine—not yet. But you didn’t want to burden Damian more.

You walked through the day, the hours dragging on as you tried to push through the heaviness on your heart. It wasn’t until lunch that things took a turn.

You had been sitting at a table in the cafeteria, quietly eating, when you felt the familiar, sharp gaze of a group of girls approach. They had always been the type to poke fun at you when they could—mocking your hair, your clothes, anything that set you apart. But today, they focused on something else.

One of the girls, a blonde with a condescending smile, leaned over the table and grabbed your sleeve, yanking it up to reveal the fresh bandages on your forearms.

“You really thought you could hide these?” she sneered. “What, did you think no one would notice the little ‘cry for help’ on your arms?”

The others giggled, their voices dripping with mockery. You tried to pull your sleeve down, your face flushed with humiliation, but the girl didn’t let go.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” she taunted. “Can’t handle the pressure of life? Are you really that fragile?”

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach as the laughter from the group rang in your ears. You felt small—vulnerable—and everything you’d been holding together from the day before seemed ready to fall apart. You wanted to fight back, to tell them off, but your voice caught in your throat.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t bear it any longer, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the laughter.

“Get your hands off her.”

You looked up to see Damian standing just behind the group, his posture tense, his jaw clenched with anger. The girls froze, the cocky smiles slipping from their faces as they turned to face him.

“Damian,” the blonde girl sneered, her expression turning defensive. “What, are you gonna protect her now?”

Without a word, Damian stepped forward, his green eyes locked onto hers with cold fury. He didn’t shout or raise his voice, but the threat in his tone was unmistakable.

“If you don’t let go of her sleeve, I’ll make sure you regret it,” he said, his voice low but laced with a warning.

The girl hesitated, her confidence wavering under the intensity of Damian’s gaze. The others behind her shuffled uncomfortably, unsure of what to do.

The blonde finally released your sleeve, sneering one last time before stepping back. “Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s not like she can even take care of herself anyway.”

Damian stood his ground, his eyes never leaving the group as they slowly retreated. His presence was a shield, protecting you from their cruelty in a way no one else had. When they were finally gone, he turned to face you, his expression softening as his gaze flickered to the bandages on your arms.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but full of concern.

You swallowed, blinking back the tears that threatened to rise. “Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.” But it didn’t feel fine. Your chest still felt tight from the encounter, and the words of those girls continued to echo in your mind.

Damian stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Y/N. I’m here. And I won’t let anyone hurt you, not even with words.”

You met his gaze, the weight of everything you’d been holding in your chest finally feeling a little lighter. “Thank you,” you whispered, a small tear escaping despite yourself. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Damian gave you a small, reassuring smile, though it was edged with the same underlying pain. “You’ll never have to find out,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed with him the rest of the lunch period, the both of you lost in the quiet comfort of each other’s company, as if the world outside your small bubble didn’t exist. For now, at least, you didn’t have to be strong alone.

The weeks passed, and slowly, but surely, you began to feel yourself healing. It wasn’t easy—some days, you felt as though you were taking one step forward and two steps back—but with Damian by your side, you were starting to find joy again.

You’d signed up for soccer, something you’d always wanted to try, but never had the courage to do. You weren’t exactly a star player right away, but it felt good to do something that was just for you. It was an outlet—a way to channel the frustration and hurt, to feel like you were building strength in every pass and every kick.

Damian noticed the change in you too. He saw the small spark return in your eyes, the way you laughed when you made a good play. So, without a second thought, he joined in. He wasn’t exactly a soccer player, but that didn’t stop him from running beside you on the field, working together to help you feel less out of place. He didn’t care that soccer wasn’t his thing; he cared that it was your thing, and he’d support you no matter what.

The next match was one of the biggest games of the season, and the whole school was buzzing with excitement. You were both nervous—especially you, with the memory of how the girls had taunted you still fresh in your mind. But this time, you felt different. This time, you weren’t alone.

As you and Damian stepped onto the field together, the opposing team was already on the sidelines, laughing and joking among themselves. A few of the popular boys—part of the group of arrogant athletes who had always looked down on you—shot you and Damian disdainful looks. One of them, a tall jock with dark hair, sneered at you from across the field.

“Hey, look, it’s the freak show and her bodyguard,” he jeered, his friends snickering. “Did you guys really think you could win?”

Damian’s posture immediately straightened, his usual calm replaced with a barely contained intensity. He stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the boys. His body was tense, ready to take action if needed, but you placed a hand on his arm, grounding him.

“Don’t let them get to you,” you murmured. “We’re here to play, not to fight.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but he nodded once, taking a deep breath.

The game began, and at first, it was clear that the other team was underestimating you. They were trash-talking, trying to get into your head, but you kept pushing forward, focusing on the ball, on the game. As the match continued, you felt stronger—faster—your confidence growing with every successful pass, every goal attempt. Damian was right there with you, supporting you every step of the way, offering encouragement with a smile that made your heart race.

It wasn’t until one of the boys from the opposing team kicked the ball into the net, mocking you with a grin, that the game took a more intense turn. You could feel the eyes on you, and the taunts growing louder, but you refused to back down. You and Damian worked together like a perfect team, passing and dribbling, until finally, with only a few minutes left in the game, you made a break for the goal.

The crowd held its breath as you charged forward, the ball at your feet, and with a single swift kick, you sent it into the net. The roar of your teammates and the audience around you was deafening. The scoreboard flashed in your favor: Your Team 3 - Opposing Team 2.

The other boys on the opposing team froze for a moment, shock written all over their faces.

And then, the one who had been the most vocal earlier, the tall jock, turned to look at you—really look at you—for the first time. His expression shifted from mockery to guilt as his eyes fell to the bandages on your arms, barely visible beneath your sleeves. His gaze flickered to Damian, whose unwavering, icy stare was enough to send the boy scrambling for an apology.

“Hey, uh…” the jock began, his voice faltering. “I’m… I’m sorry about what I said earlier. We were just messing around, but… I didn’t know about… well, what happened to you.” He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his friends. “We were just… told to act like that.”

Damian didn’t say anything, his presence enough to silence the boy with a simple look.

The jock’s eyes widened in realization, and he mumbled an apology to both of you before walking away, his pride clearly deflated.

The rest of the boys, seeing the awkwardness unfolding, followed suit, quickly backing off and offering half-hearted apologies. You didn’t say a word, but inside, you felt something shift—a weight lifting from your shoulders.

After the Game

The final whistle blew, and your team celebrated the hard-earned victory. You were exhilarated—your heart racing from the rush of the game, the adrenaline coursing through you as you high-fived your teammates. But as you looked at Damian, standing by the sidelines with a proud grin on his face, something deep inside of you swelled.

You walked over to him, breathless and smiling, and without thinking, you reached up and kissed him—softly, quickly, but with all the emotion you’d been holding inside.

Damian froze for a split second, clearly surprised, but then he melted into the kiss, his hand finding its way to the back of your neck, pulling you gently closer. When you finally pulled away, his eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, full of warmth and affection.

“You did great out there,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

You smiled, your heart soaring. “We did great,” you corrected. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Damian smiled, a small but genuine expression. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. And I’m always going to be here… by your side.”

And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed it.

As the cheers and celebrations of your team echoed around the field, you and Damian lingered in your own little bubble. The kiss had been spontaneous, but it felt like a long time coming. Even amidst the noise, the world seemed quiet as the two of you looked at each other, the connection between you stronger than ever.

“You’re full of surprises,” Damian murmured, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “What can I say? You bring it out of me.”

Before Damian could reply, your teammates called for you to join the group photo, their voices filled with excitement. You glanced at him hesitantly, unsure if you should leave his side, but he gave you a small nod.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”

You ran off to join your team, grinning as you posed with them, the victory still buzzing in your veins. Every now and then, you glanced back at Damian, who leaned casually against the fence, his eyes never leaving you.

The Walk Home

After the game, the two of you decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. The evening air was cool, and the city lights flickered against the darkening sky. Your cleats dangled over your shoulder, and Damian carried your bag without you even asking.

“So,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’d you think of my moves out there?”

“They were adequate,” Damian said with a teasing edge, though the small smile on his face gave away how proud he really was.

“Adequate?” you repeated, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “I think you mean phenomenal.”

Damian chuckled, his rare laugh warming you from the inside out. “Alright, fine. Phenomenal,” he admitted. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” You grinned, feeling lighter than you had in months.

The conversation flowed easily as you walked, but soon, the quiet returned, comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding. As you approached your house, you stopped just outside the door, turning to face Damian.

“Thanks for everything,” you said softly, your voice full of gratitude. “For joining soccer with me, for standing up for me, for… everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his voice steady. “You’re worth it, Y/N. And I’ll keep proving that to you, every day.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness—it was from the overwhelming warmth of knowing someone cared so deeply.

A Quiet Night Together

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes and flopped onto the couch, exhaustion from the game finally catching up to you. Damian followed, sitting beside you and stretching his legs out.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked after a moment.

“I could eat,” you admitted, laughing.

Damian smirked. “I’ll cook something. But only if you promise not to criticize my technique.”

“Deal,” you said with a grin.

He got up and made his way to the kitchen, and as you watched him move around the space, you couldn’t help but marvel at how much had changed in such a short time. Things weren’t perfect—you still had a long way to go—but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

Later, as the two of you sat together on the couch, eating and talking about anything and everything, you realized how far you’d come. Damian’s presence, his unwavering support, had made all the difference.

And as the night grew late and you rested your head on his shoulder, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn’t face them alone.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your curtains, and for once, it didn’t feel so harsh. It was Saturday—a break from the chaos of school—and Damian had insisted on spending the day with you. His reasoning was simple: to replace the comics you’d ripped up in your darkest moment.

You got ready, pulling on a comfortable hoodie and jeans, and when you opened the front door, Damian was already there, waiting. He was dressed casually, in a black jacket and sneakers, but he still carried himself with that same composed air.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his green eyes soft as they met yours.

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Thanks for doing this with me.”

The Comic Shop

The bell above the door jingled as the two of you stepped into the cozy little comic shop tucked away in one of Gotham’s quieter neighborhoods. The familiar smell of ink and paper greeted you, along with rows upon rows of colorful covers displayed on shelves and racks.

You felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you wandered through the aisles, memories of weekends spent here flashing in your mind. Damian followed close behind, his hands tucked into his pockets as he scanned the titles, occasionally picking one up to inspect the cover.

“I still can’t believe I destroyed some of these,” you said quietly, your fingers brushing over a stack of graphic novels.

Damian’s gaze shifted to you. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. “You were hurting. And now, you’re here. That’s what matters.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his understanding.

Finding Favorites

After some time, you spotted one of the comics you’d torn up—a special edition issue you’d loved. You picked it up, running your fingers over the glossy cover, and held it up to show Damian.

“This one was my favorite,” you said, your voice tinged with both sadness and excitement.

He took it from your hands, inspecting it. “Then we’re getting it,” he said matter-of-factly, tucking it under his arm before moving on.

“Damian, I can pay for it—”

“No.” He cut you off with a sharp look. “Consider it a gift. Besides, I’ve been meaning to expand my collection, and this way, I’ll know what to get for myself, too.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile as you followed him.

A Quiet Moment

After gathering a small stack of comics—some for you, some for Damian—you both headed to the small seating area in the back of the shop. It was cozy, with a few chairs and a coffee table surrounded by posters of superheroes and villains.

You sat down and flipped through one of the comics, the familiar feeling of the pages between your fingers bringing you a sense of calm. Damian sat beside you, his own book in hand, though you noticed he glanced at you more often than he read.

“Stop staring,” you teased without looking up.

“I wasn’t staring,” he replied smoothly, though his faint smirk betrayed him.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Sure, Wayne.”

For a while, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence, immersed in the colorful worlds of your comics. It felt normal—peaceful—even in a city like Gotham, where peace was often hard to come by.

Wrapping Up

When you finally got up to leave, you felt lighter than you had in weeks. Damian paid for the comics despite your protests, and as the two of you stepped back out into the crisp afternoon air, he handed you the bag.

“These are yours,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said softly, looking up at him. “For everything. Not just the comics.”

He gave you a small nod, his expression serious but full of care. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I told you—I’ll always be here for you.”

You smiled, and without thinking, you leaned up and kissed his cheek. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away—instead, a faint blush crept across his cheeks, making you grin.

“Come on,” you said, tugging his hand playfully. “Let’s go home. I need to read these properly.”

Damian let out a small chuckle.

The walk back to your house was filled with lighthearted chatter, the bag of comics swinging from your hand. By the time you got home, you were already buzzing with excitement to dive into the stories.

You kicked off your shoes, grabbed the bag, and plopped onto the couch with Damian following close behind. Pulling out the first comic, you settled into the cushions, fully prepared to lose yourself in the pages.

Damian, however, had other plans.

Instead of grabbing a comic for himself, he sat beside you, his arms crossed as he leaned back, watching you with an amused expression.

“You’re just going to stare at me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned a page.

“Maybe,” he replied smoothly. “It’s entertaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re weird, Wayne.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he quipped.

For the next few minutes, you tried your best to focus on the comic in your hands, but Damian’s unwavering gaze was impossible to ignore. Finally, you sighed and turned to face him.

“Alright, what is it?” you asked, exasperated but amused.

His lips curled into a smirk, and before you could react, he lunged forward, his fingers digging into your sides. A squeal escaped your lips as you flinched away, but Damian didn’t relent.

“Damian! Stop!” you shrieked, laughing uncontrollably as he continued his relentless assault.

“Not until you admit defeat,” he teased, his voice calm despite the chaos.

You tried to squirm away, but he was too quick, pinning you down against the cushions as his hands moved to your ribs. Tears of laughter streamed down your face as you kicked your legs, desperate for an escape.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” you gasped between fits of laughter.

Damian paused, his hands still resting on your sides as he hovered over you, a triumphant smirk on his face. “That’s more like it.”

You glared at him, still breathless. “You’re evil.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a shrug, his tone playful.

As you caught your breath, you realized just how close the two of you were. Damian was leaning over you, his arms braced on either side of your head, his face only inches from yours. His green eyes met yours, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere shifted into something softer.

Neither of you said a word, the air between you thick with unspoken emotions. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“Damian…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

But before you could say anything more, his smirk returned, breaking the tension. “You’ve got comic ink smudged on your face,” he said, reaching out to gently brush his thumb across your cheek.

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly pushed him off of you, sitting up and grabbing a pillow to hide your embarrassment.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the smile on your face betrayed your words.

Damian chuckled, sitting back and grabbing one of the comics from the bag. “Maybe. But you’re stuck with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but as you settled back into the couch, this time with Damian reading beside you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like this. Moments where the world felt lighter, and the weight of everything else faded away.

The rest of the day unfolded in quiet comfort, a kind of domesticity that felt warm and grounding. After finishing a few comics, you stretched out on the couch while Damian remained seated beside you, flipping through one of his own picks with his usual intensity.

“You know,” you said lazily, your head tilted to look at him, “you don’t have to read like you’re memorizing every panel.”

He glanced at you, one brow raised. “Attention to detail is important,” he replied. “You miss things otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Only you could turn reading comics into some kind of serious study.”

He didn’t respond, but the slight upward twitch of his lips gave him away.

Cooking Together

Eventually, your stomach growled loudly enough to interrupt the peace. Damian looked over, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Hunger finally catching up to you?” he teased.

“Maybe,” you admitted, sitting up and stretching. “Want to help me make something?”

“You mean, do all the work while you ‘supervise’?” he asked, standing up and offering you his hand.

You took it, grinning. “Exactly.”

In the kitchen, the two of you worked side by side, though Damian insisted on taking over whenever you looked even remotely clumsy. You pretended to be annoyed, but the truth was, you liked seeing him in this relaxed, everyday setting.

As he chopped vegetables with precision, you leaned against the counter, stirring a pot of pasta and stealing glances at him.

“You’re kind of good at this,” you said, feigning surprise.

“Did you think I’d be bad at it?” he asked, not looking up.

“Well, yeah,” you admitted with a smirk. “You’re so used to fine dining at the manor, I thought you’d be hopeless at normal food.”

He finally looked up, his expression deadpan. “You realize Alfred taught me, right?”

“Oh, so you’re cheating,” you said, laughing.

Cleaning Up

After dinner, which turned out surprisingly delicious, you both tackled the mess in the kitchen together. Damian washed while you dried, the two of you moving in sync like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“This is weirdly nice,” you said, holding up a clean plate for him to rinse.

He glanced at you, his sleeves rolled up and his hands wet from the soapy water. “What is?”

“Just… doing normal stuff. With you,” you admitted, your voice softer. “It makes everything else feel less… heavy.”

Damian didn’t reply immediately, but he handed you the next dish with a look that was equal parts understanding and affection. “You deserve moments like this,” he said finally.

Movie Night

With the kitchen clean and the dishes put away, you both collapsed onto the couch again, deciding to end the day with a movie. You scrolled through the options while Damian leaned back, his arm casually resting on the back of the couch.

“What about this one?” you asked, pausing on a cheesy superhero movie.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Really? That one’s notorious for being terrible.”

“Exactly,” you said, grinning. “It’ll be fun to make fun of it together.”

He sighed but didn’t protest, and you started the movie.

About halfway through, you found yourself leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder as you laughed at the absurdly bad dialogue on screen. Damian didn’t say anything, but you noticed the way his arm shifted slightly, wrapping around your shoulders to pull you closer. It was a subtle gesture, but it made your heart flutter nonetheless.

“See? This is fun,” you said, nudging him lightly as a particularly over-the-top action scene played out.

“If your definition of ‘fun’ is watching actors butcher every basic combat move, then yes,” he replied, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Perfectionist. Not everything has to be realistic,” you teased. “Sometimes you just need to enjoy the chaos.”

He gave a quiet hum, and you could feel the vibration through his chest. “Chaos isn’t something I usually associate with enjoyment.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me, so you better get used to it,” you said with a grin, leaning further into him.

Late-Night Calm

By the time the credits rolled, you were half-asleep, your head tucked against Damian’s shoulder. He glanced down at you, his expression softening as he noticed your slow, even breathing. Carefully, he reached for the remote to turn off the TV, trying not to disturb you.

“You’re hopeless,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no bite to his words.

He shifted slightly, adjusting you so that you were lying more comfortably against him. As he rested his head back against the couch, he found himself staying awake, watching over you as you slept.

Morning Routine

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of faint movement in the kitchen. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up on the couch, a blanket draped over you that you didn’t remember grabbing.

You followed the sounds to the kitchen, where Damian stood, already dressed, pouring two cups of coffee.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy.

He turned, offering you one of the mugs. “Morning,” he replied. “I figured you’d need this after staying up so late watching… whatever that movie was supposed to be.”

You chuckled, taking the mug and leaning against the counter. “Thanks. And for the record, I stand by my choice.”

“Of course you do,” he said, shaking his head lightly.

The two of you sat down at the small kitchen table, sipping your coffee in companionable silence. It was simple, ordinary, but it felt special—like a glimpse into a life you never thought you could have.

“What’s the plan for today?” Damian asked after a while, his green eyes meeting yours.

You thought for a moment, then smiled. “Maybe something boring. Like grocery shopping or reorganizing my bookshelves. Something normal.”

“Normal sounds good,” he said quietly, his lips curving into a small smile.

And so, the day unfolded in a series of small, domestic moments—sharing breakfast, tidying up, and simply enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t grand or dramatic, but it was enough. It was everything.

[prophecyofwinter]

Se Riña Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | IV

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | Slowburn, TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed, tags to be added

Prologue | Chapter III | Chapter V | Masterlist

Chapter IV | First Day of the Rest of your Life

“Pull yourself together and present yourself properly. This is my mother, the Queen. Do not make anyone regret allowing you here.”

His voice shocked you, the way he gripped your arm shocked you. Nothing like the way he caressed your hand and spoke low compliments into your ear less than half an hour before. You’ve done nothing to offend him and yet he’s holding you like a parent scolding a child. Looking at his expression all you can read is a slight annoyance, otherwise it’s a look of indifference.

Allowed? You were not ‘allowed’ you were asked, if anything you allowed yourself here.

“Release me! Is this how guests are treated in Westeros?” You say through clenched teeth roughly tugging yourself out of Aemonds grasp.

If this is how it shall be, so be it.

Aemond looked shocked by your sudden aggression, a momentary slip of his mask. His jaw tightened and let out a huff like a little boy.

“I am treating you far more kindly than what others will. Heed my advice.” Aemond ends the conversation there by knocking on the carriage door with the back of his hand, not breaking eye contact.

The door opens and Aemond moves to leave first, extending his hand to help you out of the carriage.

You take his hand hesitantly, there is no other choice for the sake of appearances.

You gaze up once you are standing on solid ground and without obstruction you see the Red Keep in all its glory. The red stone and towers that blocked the sun to the point where you were surprised the town didn’t spend most of the day in darkness.

Your mother told you many stories about her nefarious ‘activities’ she got up to while living here. Of course for most of these you spent covering your ears and begging her to stop.

Aemond linked his arm with yours, leading you forward across the dirt floor of the courtyard. You stopped your gawking in favor of looking towards the Queen. You haven’t seen many people with red hair before, it must be common here. She holds herself with impeccable posture, something your mother would imitate to mock Westerosi women for their piousness.

“Welcome to King’s Landing, Y/N, I hope the journey went without trouble. I know the sea can be moody this time of year. I’m glad Aemond got you from the port in one piece.” Alicent greeted you with a soft smile. You could see her eyes glancing over your clothes. It made you feel as though you were standing in front of her naked.

“Thank you Queen Alicent, I am grateful for the invitation. The sea has treated me well, as has Prince Aemond.” You gave a curtsy to her, gripping Aemonds bicep harder. You could feel every function in your body working at full speed, embarrassing yourself is your worst fear right now.

“Thank you, my Queen.” The armored man next to Alicent spoke up. He was clearly a guard of some kind, with black hair, facial hair, and a judging expression directed at you. “You live in Westeros now, she is your Queen.”

A silence fell over after the man’s words, both Alicent and Aemond gave him a short glance of confusion while you froze up.

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it I swear-“ You said trying to save yourself.

“Do not worry sweet girl, Ser Criston meant nothing by it. He is just bothered that Aemond is late to his training session. Why don’t I take you while Aemond trains?” Alicent steps forward to rub your upper arm and give a slight tug to signal you to let go of Aemond.

“That would be very lovely, my Queen.” You smile and relinquish your hold on Aemond in favor of standing closer to Alicent. She begins walking expecting you to follow, and you do. While walking you glance back and notice Aemond staring back at you while walking his own way.

—————

Alicent makes small talk with you about small things like foods from Essos, what Volantis is like, how your mother is fairing and so on.

The halls of the keep are long and filled with many trinkets along the way. You gaze out the windows when you pass by, you can see a rather large forest within the walls and out another you see the ocean with a garden with gazebos and walkways. The scent of fresh flowers passes through your nose making you feel relaxed.

“Excuse me my Queen. As much as I love this tour, I am rather tired from my voyage.” You say trying not to sound rude but you were feeling really tired. Alicent so far has been kind so you thought it would be alright to request to be shown your quarters.

“Of course you are. I don’t mean to keep you for much longer, but first we must get you checked by one of the Maesters.” Alicent said while leading you down a cobblestone staircase deeper into the bowels of the keep.

You hadn’t even realized how far down you were, surely this was the last level of the keep with windows. You knew exactly what she meant. Your face started to heat up and your heart was beating fast just by the premise.

“By getting me checked, do you mean…”

“Checking to make sure you’re still intact. Unless that is an issue…?” Alicent stopped at the bottom of the steps looking at you from the side, her demeanor unchanging.

“No of course not! It just sounds… uncomfortable.” You twiddle with your hands to ease your nerves. You can’t quite think of a word to describe how having an old man look at your most intimate area makes you feel. If there is even a good word to use.

Alicent, seemingly happy with your response, begins walking deeper down the stone hall and you walk fast to catch up.

“Maesters are men of the faith, they have no care for intimacy. They have seen hundreds of women. Our current Maester helped me birth all four of my children and will help you birth yours.” The way Alicent explains it makes sense but, men without desire? Every kind of man everywhere has visited a brothel at least once, no? You shake the thought from your head for your own comfort.

She stops at a wooden door and grabs the handle but doesn’t open the door.

“If it helps I will be in the room with you.” Alicent gives you a small smile and opens the door. You follow her in, trying your best to not let your gaze wander to the floor.

“Maester Mellos. I believe I informed you some time ago I would need you to make sure Aemonds betrothed is intact.”

You saw what you had expected to see, an old man dressed in bland clothing. The shelves lined with all kinds of medical devices and other things you couldn’t even guess the purpose of.

“Ah yes, I do remember. Have no worries I have been doing this for longer than you’ve been alive. I even saw your mother for a time.” The Maester went on for a little too long. You don’t think you needed to know that last part, everyone knows how that went.

You were guided to remove your lower small clothes and lay on the table, resting your head on a pillow. Alicent assured you it would only take a moment. Still, you laid there with your hands clasped together digging your nails into your skin. You began to count the pieces of stone on the ceiling to ignore whatever was happening on the other end of the table.

“All is well on this end, perfectly intact.” The Maester stood up and declared his final result. The second the words left his mouth you instantly got off the table and moved to put yourself back together.

“Fantastic news, thank you once again Maester, that’s all. Come Y/N.” Alicent states bluntly and once again begins to move without waiting. You rushed to finish putting your small clothes back on and chased to catch up.

————-

“Your chamber is fairly close to Aemonds, there should be no trouble navigating between rooms once you are wed. Two handmaidens have been assigned to you, they will wake you in the morning and make sure you’re dressed.” Alicent stood by the door while you wandered around your chambers, checking out every square inch.

“This is more than enough! I don’t even know how to thank you for your kindness, my Queen.” You walked up to Alicent with a big smile on your face. Everything was perfect, you could almost forget the hectic day you’ve had. There was even a wide balcony that looked over the gardens.

“It is just one of the many duties of being Queen. I fear I’ve kept you far too long, get some rest. I will send for you in the morning.” Alicent said before taking her leave, leaving you alone in your chambers.

You fell back first onto your bed and let out a big huff. You pray you made the right decision, who knows when or if you’ll go back to Volantis. You can’t expect to be liked instantly, being legitimized won’t change much if you don’t make the effort. You can already tell Prince Aemond and Queen Alicent aren’t too fond of your origins. Alicent is very good at hiding it which you can at least appreciate.

But, Mental crises can wait until tomorrow, you’re too tired to tackle that beast.

Simply too tired to put on any clothes to sleep in, you strip everything you are wearing and climb into bed. Rolling around in the new found comfort of such a big bed, it even had sheer curtains that made you feel even better. Sleep takes you quick, dreams of food and wine take root in your mind.

The first day of the rest of your life has come and gone.

——————

🏷️: @toodlesxcuddles @blackgirlmagicforever @yourwonkywriter

[hisui-dreamer]

wooden charms

Pairing: Floyd Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: His beloved Shrimpy has been avoiding him, oh what is an eel to do?

Tags: miscommunication, comfort, fluff, Floyd calls you shrimpy, jade leech is a good man<3, bot proofread

Word count: 1.3k+

Notes: floyd fluff! this eel has been occupying my mind since the camp event started hahaha

i don't love the language in this fic, so there might be changes made here and there every time i have an epiphany lol

Floyd sank into the worn-out couch, his lean figure spreading out lazily across the worn-out cushions. Dishevelled strands of teal hair cascaded untamed over his forehead, casting a shadow that mirrored the clouded thoughts in his brooding eyes. Beside him, Jade maintained an impeccable posture, emanating an aura of refined elegance.

The two settled into the plush seats of the Mostro Lounge's VIP room, their weary bodies finding respite in its luxurious embrace. It had been yet another day consumed by the relentless demands of work, leaving Floyd's nerves frayed and restless. The dim lighting cast an ethereal glow, but it did nothing to quell the tempest swirling within Floyd.

A heavy sigh escaped Floyd's lips, his voice tinged with a touch of melancholy. "Jade," he whined as he nudged his brother. "I dunno what's gotten into Shrimpy lately. I don't get it, they used to be all over me, like a little fishy clingin' to my side. But for a while now, they keep saying they’re busy and can’t spend time with me. But then I saw them hanging out with the Guppy! What's the deal?"

Jade, ever the diplomat, maintained his business-like facade, though his eyes hinted at a deeper understanding. "Floyd, relationships can be like that. It is rather odd that the prefect has been avoiding you, but I'm sure they're just extremely busy. It’s to be expected given they’re the headmaster’s errand runner…. And Epel is a first-year student, so it is likely they would study together. Just be patient, I'm sure they’ll come around."

But Floyd's eyebrows only furrowed more at Jade’s words. "But it feels like they’re ignorin' me completely! What in the world has got Shrimpy so preoccupied? It's drivin' me crazy..." he complained, absentmindedly running his hand through his messy hair. "I miss Shrimpy…," he murmured, his voice quivering with unspoken pain.

Jade's voice softened, trying to reassure Floyd. It wasn't often that he saw his brother so vulnerable. "Well, if you genuinely think something is wrong, I think you should confront them. Humans always stress that open communication is crucial in relationships," he suggested softly. "Ask them what's going on with them. Let them know how you feel. You won't change anything if you don't try to understand them. Perhaps there's a deeper reason behind their distant demeanour that you're unaware of."

Floyd sat still, absorbing Jade's words, his calm understanding offering a soothing balm to his troubled soul. He nodded slowly, the weight of their conversation sinking into him. "I guess you're right, Jade," he replied, his voice carrying a newfound determination. "I need to go talk to Shrimpy. I can't take this anymore."

The vibrant ambience of the restaurant clashed starkly with the sombre storm brewing within Floyd's soul. The cacophony of the customers' chatter and laughter grated against his raw nerves, an unwelcome intrusion on his troubled thoughts. Every incoming order felt like a burden that continued to weigh him down. With each passing moment of his arduous shift, he felt the urge to go and squeeze someone intensify.

He had desperately wanted to find you and have a heart-to-heart talk. However, Azul, ever the entrepreneurial mind, had devised yet another business venture to propel the Mostro Lounge's profits. And now, Floyd found himself trapped in a whirlwind of responsibilities, with hardly a moment to rest as he navigated managing a fresh batch of unfortunate souls who were just so useless as servers.

"Can you just hand me the damn plates already? I don't have time for this," Floyd muttered through gritted teeth, his words oozing with impatience and exasperation. The weight of his fatigue lent an edge to his voice, underscoring the strain he endured.

But then, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, you walked through the restaurant's entrance, piercing through the clouds of his irritation. Floyd's eyes widened, a wide grin stretching across his fatigued face, erasing all traces of weariness.

"Shrimpy!" Floyd exclaimed, his lazy drawl transformed into an exuberant melody. Ignoring the bustling crowd around him, he darted towards you with infectious enthusiasm. "You're here! Did you miss me?" He spoke eagerly, closing the distance between you.

In a surge of affection, Floyd enfolded you in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly, fearing you’d suddenly disappear. Soon, he sensed your tapping on his back, a gentle reminder that his hugs were too strong and you struggled to breathe. He reflexively released his hold, though he remained intimately close.

"Hahaha, I missed you too, Floyd," you laughed, unable to resist his endearing antics. The sound of your laughter erased any trace of the weariness that had burdened him moments before.

"I've missed you too, Shrimpy. I haven’t seen you in so long!" he giggled, before remembering what had troubled him and pulling back. "You kept hanging out with Guppy and ignoring me!" he accused, a hint of lingering frustration colouring his words.

"Oh, Floyd, I'm sorry," you murmured, reaching up to delicately cup his cheek. His face instinctively leaned into your touch, melting at your warm touch. "I had something to do, and I needed Epel's help, but I promise I can spend more time with you now." The warmth in your voice carried the reassurance he longed for, gradually easing the tension between you.

At your words, Floyd visibly lit up with a flicker of excitement and relief. "Really? That's great!" he exclaimed, a joyous sparkle igniting in his eyes. "Now I have Shrimpy all to myself again!" With a burst of enthusiasm, he grasped your hands and shook them.

But then, his attention was drawn to the peculiar texture beneath his touch. Floyd's gaze shifted to your hands, his eyes widening as he noticed the bandages delicately wrapped around your fingers. A flicker of anger kindled within him, fuelled by a potent blend of concern and protectiveness.

"What happened to your fingers, Shrimpy?" Floyd's voice trembled with a mixture of anger and worry, his brows furrowing.

You gathered the courage to explain, recognizing the need to calm his simmering anger before he took it out on someone. "It's nothing serious, really," you began, your voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "I just... I wasn't careful enough. I know it looks bad, but please, don't be angry. It was purely accidental."

Floyd's anger began to wane, replaced by a cautious curiosity as he leaned in, eager to understand the circumstances surrounding your injuries. His tone softened as he asked, "What were you doing that hurt you? Tell me, Shrimpy."

A sheepish smile graced your lips as you reached into your pocket, retrieving a meticulously crafted wooden shrimp charm, intricately carved with precision and love. "Well," you began, a touch of uncertainty in your words, "I wanted to make something special for us, something that would remind you of me when I’m not around. I thought maybe phone charms would be something you would always carry around, so I made this," you explained.

With a deft and fluid motion, your other hand retrieved your phone, revealing a dangling eel charm attached to it. "See?" you whispered, a hint of vulnerability lacing your voice. "I know it’s not the prettiest, but we can match, Floyd."

As Floyd's eyes took in the shrimp and eel charms, his features softened, his anger dissipating like a receding tide. A surge of affection and understanding washed over Floyd, and he reached out to carefully take the wooden shrimp charm, his fingertips brushing against yours as he did so.

"Shrimpy," Floyd spoke softly, his voice filled with newfound tenderness. "I had no idea... This is so cool! You made that for me?"

You smiled at his reaction. "Yeah, I don't really have enough money to buy fancy gifts, and handmade gifts are always more heartfelt, don't you think?"

He encircled you in his embrace once more, this time more delicate and loving. "Thank you, Shrimpy," he murmured, his voice carrying a depth of emotion. "I’ll keep your Shrimpy charm safe."

As he drew back slightly, you noticed a slight pout gracing his features. "But please don’t avoid me again, okay?" he whined, before mushing his cheek against the top of your head.

"It's unbearable without you," he murmured.

[cece693]

Secretary (Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Summary: Hannibal told Crawford that his secretary was 'pre-dispositioned by romantic whims' and traveled to the United Kingdom. However, it's rarely as simple as that.

tags: reader is Hannibal's ex-secretary, possible Stockholm syndrome, no established relationship, Hannibal being himself, kidnapping

You've been doing everything right—not disturbing Dr. Lecter unless absolutely necessary, keeping his records meticulously filed, and, with much reluctance, keeping Mr. Chilton occupied whenever he threatened to storm into Dr. Lecter’s current session to demand more of his time. Your job wasn’t easy, but you excelled at it, surpassing even Dr. Lecter’s expectations. Perhaps that should have been your cue to quit.

But you didn’t. And now, standing in the center of this impeccably furnished home—with its locked doors and an alarm system ready to blare at the slightest escape attempt—you understood the truth. Dr. Lecter would never truly let you go. He might grant you the illusion of freedom, but he would always keep tabs on you. Because, at the end of the day, he found you interesting. So much so that he didn’t kill you outright when you finally saw him for who he really was.

It had been an accident. You weren’t like the other secretaries who snooped and whispered about his peculiarities. You didn’t eavesdrop. You were just…there at the wrong moment. Gathering your belongings after a late evening at the office, you opened the door to leave, only to be greeted by Dr. Lecter standing outside. He was composed, as always. But then you noticed it—the splatter of blood decorating the bottom of his suit sleeve. Your eyes weren't quick enough to look away, and in that split second, you saw his expression change, just the barest flicker as he crossed his arms behind his back and straightened his posture.

"Ah," he had said, tilting his head slightly as if you were a particularly intriguing puzzle piece that had just fallen into place. "It appears I've caught you at an inopportune moment. I trust you’ll keep what you've seen to yourself?" His eyes were not asking. They were demanding. You swallowed hard, barely managing to nod.

"Yes, Dr. Lecter," you stammered. "Of course." He smiled then, a small curve of his lips that made your stomach drop.

"Good," he replied smoothly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "It's always refreshing to know who values their… position."

That had been the end of it. Or so you thought. Days turned into weeks, and you convinced yourself you had been imagining things, that perhaps you had misread the situation. But then came the gradual transition: the dinners you were "invited" to, the unspoken requirement to be available whenever Dr. Lecter saw fit. And finally, the inevitable—this place. His home.

Back to the present, you hear the front door click open, the soft thud of polished shoes on the wooden floor. Your heart jumps to your throat, but you force yourself to remain still as Dr. Lecter enters, his eyes immediately locking onto you with an unsettling intensity.

“There you are,” he greets, as if he were a husband returning to his spouse after a long day. “I trust you’ve been keeping yourself entertained?”

You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady. "Yes," you reply, clearing your throat. "I…tidied up."

"Wonderful." He removes his coat with precise movements, placing it on the coat rack before turning to you, his gaze predatory yet casual. "Today was most eventful," he begins conversationally, crossing the room toward you with a grace that should make you feel comforted, but instead sets every nerve on edge. "One of my patients had quite the breakthrough. It’s fascinating, really, how easily one can guide a mind to certain…realizations."

He pauses just in front of you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in an unsettlingly intimate gesture. "You’ve always had such a strong mind," he murmurs. "That’s why I like you. And why I believe our arrangement will work out perfectly. Don't you agree?"

You swallow, searching for words that will appease him without sealing your fate even tighter. "Of course." you say carefully, hoping the neutrality of your response will satisfy him. He smiles again, that chillingly serene smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

"Good," he purrs. "Now, why don't you join me in the kitchen? I believe a little conversation over dinner would do us both well. After all," he pauses, his gaze darkening, "what's a home without a bit of warmth and companionship?" With a gesture, he beckons you toward the hallway, and you follow, each step a reminder of the delicate balance you must now maintain in this life you never chose.

[fanfiction4sooya]

Loyal dog (Sub A! Seulgi x Dom O!Reader)

This was a request, but I think I lost it somewhere 😭 I hope y'all like it babies!! 💖💖💖💖

tw: abo dynamics, unprotected sex, edging, crying, reader is a little rude, jerking off, nipple play, cum swallowing, etc.

Last board meeting went hectic. You were the head of the meeting, conducting every single detail and discussion, very focused on finding the solutions the other shareholders needed. One of them was pushing for a sale you were reluctant to accept because you really didn't find any benefit on it. A stupid alpha that couldn't think ahead like you could.

"It's not up to you to deny anything" The alpha said, her eyes were cold and her demeanor was definitely disgusted; Many alphas didn't like omegas in position of power. You felt in the depths of your soul she really wanted to say Omegas had no say in anything.

"Well, Ms..." You looked down looking for a paper with her name. "Park, isn't it?"Lifting your head, you could see her eyebrows slightly lift in this contained anger. "Ms Park Sooyoung, I do in fact have a say in this since I'm the head of the board and my success rates are high. Higher than any of yours, I might say"

She tried to make you back down by staring at you, her pheromones strong as she tried to make you submit. That was so disrespectful and rude to do on a work setting that you felt your anger bubble inside you. When you were about to say something, a more sharp voice cut your phrase through, the sound reverberating around the meeting room.

"If you have any decorum, I advise you to stop this little attempt of strength play with your weak pheromones and leave this meeting" You looked straight at her, Kang Seulgi. Pretty, collected and overall avoiding of you. Your eyes quickly scanned her and you lightly scoffed.

Another brainless Alpha trying to assert dominance.

"I don't need a knight in a shiny armor, Ms Kang. I can handle insubordination myself" You said before the other Alpha could respond. She lowered her eyes, looking at her hands as she clenched her jaw. "But since you said it, it is against the company's policy to try making anyone to submit on the clock, specially in democratic meetings" You took a deep breath a little affected by Sooyoung, but your poker face was impeccable. "This meeting is over, for now" You said seeing red, dismissing all the others and going straight to your own office.

Anger seething, your blood boiling for so many reasons. You stood by your window trying to collect yourself, wanting nothing more than to jump onto Park's neck, end that little arrogant look. You fucking hated those types of alphas.

And Kang Seulgi? Oh she was so much worse with that condescending tone and those eyes, those fucking lowered eyes...

Next thing you knew you had already asked your secretary to call her to your office. You needed to see something by yourself.

"Did you ask to see me, boss?" She entered your office, closing the door behind her; perfect posture, secure of herself and her surroundings.

"Indeed" You said. Your glasses perched up on the tip of your nose, staring at her. You called your secretary, your voice ice cold as you spoke. "Ms Kim would you mind telling me if we hired any bodyguards for me, please?" You simply asked, still staring at her. You saw her avoid your eyes again, slightly looking down.

"There are no bodyguards on the record, boss. Why? Do you need one?" Yeri asked, a bit concerned.

"No, not at all" You said. "I was just checking, thank you" That anger was still there, mixed with a little bit of curiosity.

Narrowing your eyes, you tilted your head to the right.

"You do not get to speak for me" Poison dripping, you fixed your glasses on your face.

"It wasn't my intention, I was-" She looked anywhere but you, her posture tense now. "I didn't like the way she spoke with you and that stare... You don't deserved it" She cleared her throat. "It was unprofessional"

Now that she looked at you, you could see how she wasn't being condescending. It was something else and that was definitely something... good.

"Oh, I see..." You got up, going around your desk, crossing your arms under your breasts and leaning on it. "Maybe you don't want to be my bodyguard..." You said, eyeing her down. Her grey suit was perfect on her figure, but you could see the bulge forming inside her pants. "A loyal dog, maybe?"

You saw in first hand as a sharp exhale left her lips, her hands clenching by her sides.

"Oh, you would like to be my loyal dog" She finally returned your stare, her eyes pleading in an embarrassed, conflicted way. You got up to lock the door.

"I-" She gave a step towards you and you quickly shut her off.

"Stay" Was all you said and, much for your surprise and pleasure, she did stay; a tent on her pants as she looked down. "What an obedient dog..." Your tone changed to an alluring one. Standing in front of her, you smelled how aroused she was. "What a rare finding..." You traced her tie with one of your fingers and she whimpered. "Look at me" You commanded and she promptly did so, her eyes following how you licked your lower lip.

"I will do anything you want, boss" She finally said it, eyes locked into yours. You scoffed.

"Everyone does that already" Your cleavage fully on display made her dick pulse hard and she gulped. "What makes you different from everyone else, Ms Kang?" You got closer, heat emanating from her body to yours.

It felt so fucking good to be in full dominance mode with an Alpha like Kang Seulgi. It made you feel millions of times hotter. You always pushed away your omega nature, specially against some traditions the dynamics between Alphas, Betas and Omegas required.

"I can do whatever you ask me" She pleaded, her low voice was basically a whisper. "I am very good at obeying" You took a deep breath. Wet was an understatement, you were completely soaked and your lacy panties ruined.

You pondered, really thinking about it. Office sex wasn't something abnormal. If anything, office sex was the most normal thing in this situation.

"Sit down, hands on your sides" You told her, glancing at your leather couch and she did so. You unbuttoned your white button up just enough to pull your breasts out of your bra. Seulgi visibly shivered and you stood in front of her. "If you cum unauthorized I'll stop" You said, unbuckling her belt and pulling her dick out. "If you try to scent me I'll stop and kick your ass out of here" You have a good look to her cock.

It was was absolutely hung and veiny, throbbing on your hand as you pulled your pencil skirt up on your thighs and your panties to the side, sinking in next. Yes it was big and stretched you just fine, but you didn't express any type of reaction. She moaned, her eyes attentive on yours.

"If you manage to obey me until the end I'll be your dom" You told her, rolling your hips against her cock and she grabbed at the couch, whimpering. "If you want to stop you can just ask. Understood?" You said through gritted teeth.

"yes, b-boss" She stammered, her eyes rolling back a little.

You started riding her like there was no tomorrow, your cunt sinking deliciously on her cock and coating it with your slick. You tried to, but couldn't resist her pretty lips when she made all those sinful moans, kissing her roughly with your hand tangled on her beautiful wavy hair. You pulled it back, exposing her neck to lick and bite as you set an impossibly harder pace, your hips slamming against hers.

You moaned against each other's lips and she stopped kissing you to grab one of your boobs between her lips and you yelped, her tongue felt deliciously hot against your nipple. You stopped bouncing on her lap and started humping, your clit grazing against the fabric of her pants and a little bit of exposed skin. You were about to cum, clenching and unclenching on her big cock completely stretched.

"You want to cum inside me so much, I can feel it" You decided to play dirty as she sucked on your nipples very sloppily, coating your breasts with her saliva. "Aren't you an alpha after all?" You gather every ounce o strength you had not to moan while saying all that, but the woman was a rock. Holding herself in the most painful, delicious way.

In a last attempt to make her cum before you, you grabbed her neck while kissing her, squeezing it just right to a perfect chockehold. She shivered, her body shaking so hard it felt good under you.

You were still mounting here and absolutely losing the battle, cumming so hard on her cock you saw nothing but blank spots, body slumping forward on hers as she kept taking deep breaths with her eyes closed. You tried to catch your breath, swallowing hard when you managed to look at her face.

Absolutely beautiful and that little dumb look was pathetic but oh, so fucking hot. You kissed her roughly again, holding her neck.

"You did good, congratulations Ms. Kang" You said and she bit her lip, smiling. "I could've let you cum inside me..." You got off of her lap and she hissed, you felt your legs weak. "But I didn't told you to suck my breasts" You scoffed, sitting by her side.

"I am so sorry boss, I-" You shushed her, pulling her head to your lap, commanding her to lie down on the couch and she did, her dick standing proudly erect and furiously red from all the action and no cum.

"To show you I am no monster, I'll make you cum" You said, pulling her mouth to your nipple, your hand going to her cock. "Suck as hard as you can, but tell me when you get closer"

"Yes, boss" Her beautiful brown eyes glimmered and you bit your lip. "Thank you so much" She said, putting her mouth to work as you spat on your hand then started to pump her cock up and down, swirling your hand against the tip, your thumb rubbing at her slit.

She moaned against your breast, releasing a lot of precum as her body shook. It took less than a minute of you jerking her off, that's how needy she was.

"I'm close" She said, tensing and you completely stopped letting go of her cock. She whined, her mouth still sucking hard on your nipple and you whimpered.

She didn't protest, didn't even stop sucking. She held herself again, like a good girl. You caressed her hair, starting all over again that beautiful torture, jerking her even harder, her hips shaking as you stopped once again, feeling her hot tears on your lap. Fuck, she was so beautiful.

"Shh, it's okay" You cooed as she sobbed still sucking your breasts, her eyes locked into yours. Her nose was red and her eyes puffy. A masterpiece. "It's okay Ms Kang, this it the last time..." You said.

Going back to jerking her off, you could feel on the way she tossed against the couch how painful that was but she didn't complain once. You felt your pride grow, coaxing her into her climax. It hit her hard as your palm rubbed specially against the tip.

She came hard, ropes and ropes of her thick cum filling your hand and you kept swirling her tip. She was still crying, your breasts purple with how forceful her sucking was, but you didn't mind in the slightest.

You kept saying sweet nothings onto her ear, helping her to recollect herself and to come out of subspace, her sobs felt electrifying against your skin but you knew she couldn't take anything anymore.

You took your hand to her mouth and she licked it clean, sucking on every bit of her cum she could take from your hand as you caressed her hair, being careful not to scent her.

"Good girl... you were perfect Ms Kang" You whispered and she nodded, still sucking on your fingers. "Now you are my good loyal dog" You said, excitement taking over you when you realized how this finding was uncommon...