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eternal-evergreens · 3 months

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｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧JJK Men as Yanderes ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post Format: Headcanons

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Mahito, Choso Kamo

Word count: Each piece is roughly 750 words

Warnings: implied sabotage (Gojo, Toji, Choso), invasion of privacy (Gojo), kidnapping (Gojo, Sukuna), murder (Geto), kidnapping mention (Nanami, Toji), suicidal ideation (Nanami), light gore (Gojo, Sukuna, Mahito), reader injury (Sukuna), threats of bodily harm/mutilation (Mahito), sexual assault (Mahito), implied murder (Choso)

Satoru Gojo

You're nothing special. Not compared to him, at least. With no long line of sorcery or blue blood running through your veins, your family is just about as average as it gets.

You're nothing special---not to Jujutsu society, anyway. But who gives a shit about that? To Satoru, you're more than special.

You're everything.

He's always been the strongest, and yet, when he's with you, he just feels so weak.

Like a schoolgirl fawning over her latest crush, Satoru often finds himself checking his phone while away on missions, hoping to see your name appear on his screen. It doesn't have to be anything special—even a picture of some ugly animal with the caption "That's u, lol." is enough to get him going. Just knowing you were thinking of him at all, even in an unflattering light, makes him feel lightheaded in a way not even battle can emulate.

It's weird. It's embarrassing.

But he can't get enough.

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel, he'd kneel. If you asked him to beg, he'd beg. If you asked him to rip out a man's heart and present it to you, he'd ask if he should do so on a silver or gold platter.

If you asked him to let you go, however...

You sigh and fall back onto the couch. It'd been a week since your landlord mysteriously kicked you out, and Satoru took you in with a frankly suspicious eagerness. To say that he was an overbearing roommate was to put it lightly.

He'd follow you around the flat from room to room, enter your bedroom without knocking, and once, you even caught him sifting through your laundry. He wasn't even embarrassed about getting caught, let alone the fact that he had done it in the first place.

You decided to start searching for a new roommate after that.

"Y'know," Satoru says, slinging his arms around your shoulders---you hadn't even heard him approach. You quickly close your computer, which happens to have very clearly been showcasing cheap apartments in the area. "I could have just taken ya'. Snatched you up off the street like some kidnapper."

"What...?"

"---But I decided to play nice instead. I thought we could forge a real relationship that way. But you've just been pushing me away. I'm starting to think I've been too lenient with ya'. Like maybe I should have just locked you up instead."

"That isn't funny, Satoru."

"Who said I was joking?" You open your mouth to respond, but Satoru cuts you off before you get the chance. "You want dinner? I can order us takeout. Anywhere you'd like."

Drop it, his eyes say. You do.

That very night, you pack a bag and head to the nearest hotel. In the morning, you'll ask your job if they can transfer you to another city. For tonight, you'd like to just get a good night's rest without the lingering fear of waking up to his figure looming over you.

You wake up to familiar surroundings. It doesn't register as strange until you remember checking into a hotel the night prior. You shoot up to get a better look around. Sure enough, you're in your own bedroom, not the hotel's.

But how...?

You're sure you left last night. Did you dream it? You go to check your phone, but it's not there.

Just then, the door opens. "Oh, you're up," your roommate says.

"Satoru, what's---"

"I called you in sick for work today," he says casually, "and tomorrow. Actually, starting today, you're unemployed."

"What?!"

"Don't worry. I can take care of us. I've got more than enough money."

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel...If you asked him to beg...

If you asked him to let you go, however...

"C'mon, baby, you know I can't do that," he'd say, arms around your waist and head in your lap. "Ask me for something else, anything. Just not that. Do you want a pony? We can get a pony."

"No---"

"What about a cat? Or maybe you prefer dogs? I could get a purebred if you wanted one. I know it gets lonely being in the house all by yourself."

"I want to go outside, Satoru."

"We could get a fish tank, I guess. Though I doubt they'd make good company."

"Listen to me---"

"Actually, maybe that's for the best. Wouldn't want to compete for my lover's attention in my very own home, you know?"

Suguru Geto

When he was at his lowest, Suguru thought of you. It kept him going. It kept him sane.

So, of course, you were the first person he asked to join him in the creation of the new world. His world.

"Our world," he said, the look on his face desperate, pleading.

You declined, of course. His ideals went against everything you stood for as a Jujutsu sorcerer. As a person.

He took it well---or seemed to, at least. He flashed you a plastered-on smile and released your hands from his, leaving you with no further fuss.

For a while, that seemed to be the end of it.

Life went on. Though you would occasionally catch wind of his nefarious deeds, dealing with such things never fell within your purview. In fact, it almost seemed as if the higher-ups were purposefully keeping you from any cases that involved him.

You had all but forgotten about that fateful evening when a call from the higher-ups had you booking a flight to Okayama.

Apparently, there had been a sudden influx of cursed spirits in the region. And as the lead researcher in cursed phenomena, you were called to the scene.

You had already been given a file outlining the happenings, but out of courtesy, Yumi, the assistant supervisor assigned to the case alongside you, filled you in regardless.

"It's not that there's a higher rate of cursed spirits being born in this area," she said. "They're migrating here."

"Hmm," you look over the map on your tablet again; colour-coded dots mark the locations and grades of each (presumed) non-native sighting. The spacings are far from natural. They seem to have been made with intent, almost as if forming a pattern of some kind.

"We've set up a barrier to track the arrival of new cursed spirits. Nearly every curse from fourth to semi-first grade in the neighbouring towns has been coming here. Some of our windows have even spotted them moving together in groups."

"Was there anything strange about their behaviour? Like moving in single-file lines, with strange movements, or perhaps even speaking?" Yumi lights up.

"Yes, actually! They were all---"

Your screen flashes, suddenly restarting the tablet without your input.

"Huh...?"

"[Last]-San..." Your supervisor almost whispers. You tear your eyes from your screen to hers as she weakly holds up her tablet to you.

Over four hundred cursed spirits have been spotted crossing the Okayama border within the past fifteen minutes.

Your tablet finishes restarting, and you scramble to view the map again, hoping what you just saw was nothing more than a glitch.

The loading screen seems to take ages to complete, but when it does, the map shows exactly what you feared.

Oh. You get it now.

The pattern it was trying to spell out. It's "愛"

---"Love".

You hear a scream.

"Ah, it's good to see you again. How long has it been now?" A voice---one you're all too familiar with---says. "Two, no, maybe three years?" Suguru is wiping blood off of his hands. You don't want to look down. You can't look down.

Yumi is dead.

You looked down.

"I'm not sure why I phrased that like a question I didn't know the answer to," he says, smiling in a way that makes your heart ache. "I've been keeping track down to the days, you see."

"Were you...behind this?" You've never been one for combat. You can't use reverse cursed technique to save Yumi. You can't fight to save the others. There's nothing you can do.

You've never felt so helpless.

"I did," he admits casually. "I recently got my hands on a new curse. First-grade 'Pied Piper', its technique creates a sort of call-and-response between itself and other curses of a lower grade through a musical frequency only other curses can perceive. With that technique, I can manipulate the movements of curses I haven't yet acquired without leaving my residuals behind."

"But if it's coming from the technique of a curse you possess, your residuals would still be left behind," you counter.

"Ah, as quick on the uptake as always, [First]," he praises. "You're right, or you would be if this curse were under the control of my curse spirit manipulation. No, this curse was tamed, not subjugated."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He's going to kill you once he's finished explaining.

"I've always appreciated an inquisitive mind," he says. "especially when it's your inquisitive mind." Your mouth forms a vague 'O' shape as the realisation dawns on you.

"愛"

"Love"

...You're never getting away.

Kento Nanami

Nanami is someone who has never really been all that content with life.

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Sometimes, on his darkest days, Nanami thinks about what would have happened if he had joined Haibara—or better yet, if he had never even been born in the first place. If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?

But then he met you, and suddenly, the world didn't seem all that bad.

Don't get him wrong, it's not like your presence suddenly made all the wrongs in the world right, but it did make him feel like they all mattered just a little bit less. Like maybe all this suffering was worth it, if it also meant he could see you smile.

So, of course, he'd do anything to keep you safe. To protect that smile.

The easiest way to ensure that, of course, would be to clip your wings. To lock you away somewhere where only he could reach you. A songbird that only sings for him, a dove in a birdcage.

He'd treat you like royalty, of course. His job pays well, but he's a somewhat frugal person by nature, so he has plenty of savings lying around. Whatever you wanted, he'd get you.

As long as you stayed safe, he couldn't ask for anything more. Even if you didn't love him, as long as your smile could be protected, that would be enough.

He's in the middle of researching what kind of restraints would cause the least damage and irritation to your skin when he realises what a grave mistake he was about to make.

'If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?'

What if...

What if you started feeling that way, too?

What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?

He could offer you all the material things in the world, but if it comes at the price of your freedom, it might still not make you happy. After all, it was the same for him.

If money didn't make him happy, why would you be different?

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Nanami is worse.

He doesn't deserve you. It's with this thought in mind that he begins to avoid you. He refuses to meet your gaze, leaves the room when you enter, and declines all missions that involve your presence.

He feels like he's going crazy. Separation has made him sloppy and reckless. He comes home with more injuries, and a part of him thinks he deserves it.

Bags begin to form under his eyes as two weeks go by without the haven of your presence. He sees you everywhere now. The girl across the street is dressed in a substyle you like. The model in that magazine has your eyes. The cafe down the block is having a special on your coffee order.

"Nanamin, why're you avoiding [Last] all of a sudden? They do something to you?" Nanami scoffs at the remark but doesn't answer. He turns to leave but stops when Gojo continues. "Y'know, they actually came cryin' to me about it. Said they had no idea why you suddenly started treatin' 'em like they've got the plague." Nanami turns to look at Gojo, who's fiddling with his blindfold. "You should make up with them soon. Can't leave our cute little assistant supervisor feeling so down, you know?"

Nanami hates to admit it, but Gojo might be right.

'What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?'

Fuck. He can't do anything right.

He really doesn't deserve you, but what can he do? If he leaves, you won't smile anymore, but if he stays, you'll be smiling at a monster.

But what can he do? He'd do anything to protect that smile.

Even if it means hiding his fangs.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji is a man who takes what he wants and doesn't care if he has to get his hands dirty in order to take it.

Naturally, this applies to you as well.

It's strange, he's never wanted someone as badly as he wants you. Not his past flings, not even his late wife.

Toji is no stranger to romance. He was married, after all. He knows love. It's a familiar feeling.

That's why he's inclined to believe that what he feels for you isn't love. No, what he feels for you is far too primal to be love. It's rough and all-consuming. It's nothing like the soothing feeling he had around his wife.

Love wraps around one's heart like a warm blanket. This wraps around his heart like a python.

But if it's not love, what is it?

Actually, scratch that. It doesn't matter.

Whatever it is, it's some form of desire. And if he desires something, then all he has to do is take it.

Yes, it's better to keep these kinds of things simple rather than getting tied up in technicalities.

There is a problem, however. He'd like nothing more than to just lock you up and keep you for himself, but with his somewhat unstable income and his habit of bouncing around from place to place, that isn't exactly feasible.

Ah, what to do...?

He could settle down or stop spending his money as soon as he earns it, but where's the fun in that?

No, rather than try to adapt to your lifestyle, he'd much rather force you to adapt to his. Still, he supposes some sacrifices will be necessary, as his lifestyle is currently only fit for one.

You'll have to quit your job since you'll be moving around from place to place alongside him, but he'll just take on some more jobs to cover the extra cost; it's no big deal.

He proposes the idea to you so matter-of-factly that it's almost as if he believes you to have already agreed to the plan beforehand. In reality, this is your first time hearing of such a thing, and you're so stunned that you momentarily lose your voice.

You've known this man for two, no, maybe three weeks, and yet he's asking you to drop everything and come overseas with him? You're not even friends! He's just a regular at the cafe you're employed with.

It dawns on you that he must be joking, so you chuckle awkwardly and avert your gaze. Perhaps you simply haven't known him long enough to gauge his sense of humour. You feel a little embarrassed for nearly having taken him so seriously.

Then, he shows you the plane tickets.

Bewildered, you end up being more blunt than you perhaps meant to: "I'm not going," you say, pushing his tickets back to him.

"Sweetheart," he says dryly. "I'm not asking." You shoot him a strained, confused smile, which quickly morphs into a more genuine one as the door chimes.

To think you'd ever be happy to serve a customer. It's a foreign sentiment, but if it means an end to this strange interaction, you'd happily serve a hundred---no, maybe even a thousand customers.

You take their order and get to making their drink, shooting quick glances at the man---Toji, you think---from behind the bar.

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you.

It's days like this that you wish the company wasn't so stingy about hiring more than one person for shifts. You're about to clock out, and if that man is going to stay until closing, you'd really like to have a coworker walk you back to your car.

It's twenty minutes until closing when Toji finally leaves. You let out an unconscious sigh of relief, feeling your shoulders relax. That was weird, but you shouldn't have to see him again, right? He's going overseas tomorrow, after all.

Yeah, you won't see him again. Thank goodness.

It's with that thought in mind that you flip the "We're open!" sign to its side and lock the doors. It's only 6 PM, but the fall season means it's already dark. You shiver from a cool breeze as you make your way towards your car at last.

Huh. Flat tire.

Ryomen Sukuna

Those who know of Sukuna will inevitably feel sorry for anyone who happens to catch his gaze. Sorcerer or not, none will ever possess even a fraction of the strength he carries, and for someone like Sukuna, that means you're no better than a bug to be trampled on.

What a poor, pitiful thing you are. You must be treated more like a pet than a person. A plaything for him to toy with, to discard once you've ceased to entertain.

However, this interpretation couldn't be more wrong.

What others fail to realise is that Sukuna would never waste his time on someone he doesn't consider his equal. Weak as you may be, there's something about you that seems different in his eyes.

Like a precious gem left unpolished, there's a certain allure to you that only a trained eye could see, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone else stake a claim on you first.

No, he'll be the one to bring out your true potential.

Sukuna has never met someone worthy of being his companion. This has never bothered him, however. Loneliness was not something he was familiar with. There are those who have tried, of course, to prove their worth, to stand by his side, but none have ever moved him.

None until you, that is.

The funny thing is that you don't even try to win his attention. You never once asked for his gaze to land upon you. And yet, he can't bring himself to look away.

Sukuna doesn't know what to do with you. You make him feel things he's never felt before.

Is this weakness? Is it love?

Is there a difference between the two at all?

Should he kill you? Should he keep you?

What can he do to make these feelings go away? What can he do to ensure they never go away?

In exchange for not pillaging your homeland, the townspeople offer you up as a sacrifice. It was Uraume's idea.

At midnight, you're dragged out of the comfort of your home and tied to a stake, where you stay for hours. By dawn, you've worn yourself out with struggle, dried blood sticking to your hands and the ropes around your wrists, when a white-haired stranger comes to collect you.

The stranger undoes your bindings, but only the ones keeping you bound to the pole. You're dragged along like a dog on a leash for countless hours until you eventually arrive at the largest estate you've ever seen in your life. It's midday when you're untied and allowed to bathe. The warm water releases all the tension from your aching muscles, and as you bathe, the white-haired fellow replaces the garments you arrived in with robes made of fine silk.

The stranger's name is Uraume, they tell you. They'll be taking care of you until their master is ready to meet with you.

"What happens after that?" you ask tentatively.

Uruame flashes you a smile that refuses to answer.

Before you know it, a full week has passed you by. You're still yet to see this so-called master, but Uraume tells you not to worry. After all, the master has already seen you lots of times, they say.

The thought of being watched in secret sends a shiver down your spine.

Though the prison is large, you're confined to only one wing of the estate, and after a week of having nothing to do but wander, you have the entire layout memorized. Bored and unattended, you decide to venture out into the unknown past the garden's gates. There, you come face-to-face with the largest man you've ever laid eyes upon.

A hulking figure with four arms and fiery pink hair turns to you, and in an instant, you fall to the ground, only vaguely aware of the blood pooling around you and the pain across your chest.

In truth, Sukuna had tried to kill you, but his technique missed your vitals. It takes him a moment of watching your blood ooze out of the open wound to realize he did it on purpose. Before he even realizes it, he's picked you up in his lower arms and applied reverse cursed technique to your injury. You've lost consciousness, and your pulse is weak, but you aren't dead. Relief floods through Sukuna's veins as he listens to your soft breathing.

From that day on, you're never to leave his side unless absolutely necessary. From that day on, Sukuna has someone worthy of standing by his side, not as a servant, nor a pet, but as a companion. From that day on, Sukuna has a lover.

Whether you like it or not.

Mahito

As a curse born from the hatred and fear humans feel towards their own kind, Mahito relishes humanity's anguish and despair. He kills without a second thought, not caring who he hurts or who gets swept up into his path of mass destruction.

So why is it that this particular human sways him so? Why is it that he thinks your soul looks pretty, just the way it is? Why does he want to touch you but not to warp you beyond repair?

Why does he want you to look at him? Why does he want to scoop your eyes out of your sockets so that you can never look away?

To be a curse is to always follow your own desires, no matter how contradictory or inconsistent---that's the motto that Mahito lives by.

So, of course, this philosophy applies to you as well.

It doesn't make sense, and he doesn't understand it. But that doesn't matter to him. Why would it? He's a curse, and curses take what they want. What he wants is you, so, of course, he has to take you, too.

Mahito doesn't spend long watching you before he makes his move. First, he has to check if you can even see curses to begin with. If you can, that'll make things easier. But if you can't...well, that'll be fun too.

He bumps into you at the train station around 2 AM. It was a late night at work, and you're now dead on your feet. There's no one around, so it's the perfect time for him to test you. He taps your shoulder with a smile.

If you don't react, he starts feeling you up, talking aloud about how much he wants you as his hands roam your body.

"Mm, you're so weak," he says, palm on your stomach. "Look at you, all unguarded. If I wanted to, I could take your soul and just—" he squeezes the flesh on your abdomen. "—until you go splat! Hmm, but I don't really want to do that. I wonder why?" His hand trails down to your hips, brushing past—but not quite landing on—your private areas.

"It's weird, isn't it? You can't even see me. You don't even know I exist. But I know you exist." He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. "Humans usually wear rings when they're married, right? I wonder why you don't have one? You're such a catch," he giggles. "Ah, well, I guess it's better for me. Less work, y'know?Though, I would have liked to see the look on your face, coming home to dear, sweet hubby, all mangled up in your living room. I wouldn't even bother transfiguring him. No, I'd want you to see his face clearly, all contorted in pain with his guts splayed out all over the floor."

He follows you home. You still can't see him, but you at least seem a little aware of his presence, with the way you keep glancing over your shoulder, randomly picking up the pace and taking more turns than necessary.

How fascinating! You can't see him, and yet you can sense him? He's swooning already.

"Don't worry, [First]," he says, arms around your shoulders as you fumble with your keys. "You'll be able to see me soon. And after that, you're never getting rid of me."

If you do react, however, he holds himself back, opting to strike up a lighthearted conversation with you instead.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?" He asks. "Don't you know the subway is dangerous at night?" You visibly bristle, clearly on guard. He grins.

"Do you need something?" You ask, clutching your bag to your chest and stepping back. His grin widens, easily closing the distance you've just created.

"You're lonely, aren't you? All you do is work; you don't even have any friends! It's kind of pathetic, really. That's okay, though, I like you anyway. I might be the only one."

"What do you---"

"I could help you, you know. Ease your loneliness, maybe?" He's touching you now. Nothing outright inappropriate, but you could smell his intentions from a mile away.

"No thanks," you say. The train stops, and you hurry off the platform. Fortunately, the stranger doesn't get off with you. He waves at you as the doors close, and you run all the way home.

Finally feeling safe, you don't bother to do anything more than kick off your shoes before collapsing on your bed. It creaks under your weight, then creaks again. You freeze, your eyes shooting open.

"Heya," the stranger says. "Fancy seeing you again."

Choso Kamo

If you were to describe him in one word, 'inexperienced' may be your best bet.

Though it's true that he has 'lived' for over one hundred and fifty years, he spent most of that time as a cursed womb, unable to truly experience the outside world for himself. Even after being incarnated and absorbing the memories of his host, Choso finds himself unable to relate to any of his body's experiences. He knows what love is and what lovers do, but only from a technical standpoint. To actually experience it is something he's never even dreamed of doing.

So, of course, when he starts feeling these things for you, he's unable to properly put a label on them. At first, he thinks he's sick, which isn't unreasonable, considering his rather long list of symptoms (fever, shakes, sweats, heart palpitations, and clouded mind, he notes dutifully).

However, that idea is quickly shut down. Being a cursed womb death painting, it's highly unlikely that he even can get sick; plus, his symptoms only seem to surface when you're around (or when he's thinking of you, which, admittedly, is often).

Did you curse him? No, you don't have a technique like that.

Then, what...?

It takes him a somewhat embarrassingly long time for him to realise the truth behind his feelings. It isn't until after he catches himself staring at your lips and thinking about how soft they'd feel against his that he concludes he likes you.

So, he's figured it out. Now what...?

Choso searches through his host's memories in an attempt to figure out how to woo you. Unfortunately for him, his host was a frat boy with commitment issues who knew more about one-night stands than how to build the foundations for an actual relationship.

So, Choso consults Yuki Tsukimo, who he, with his very limited circle of friends, considers to be an expert.

As expected, Yuki is ecstatic at the news that Choso has found his type. Immediately, she's giving an impromptu lecture on the ways of the heart.

"First, you have to figure out their type," she says, wagging a finger. "If it's a match, you're all good. If not, you either need to give up or double down."

Through Yuki's mentoring, Choso learned the general rules for signalling romantic interest. Flowers, chocolates, walks in the park, walks on the beach—a lot of walking in general, actually—candlelit dinner, pick-up lines—he's got it all memorized.

The problem is that his throat gets dry, and his knees lock up when he so much as thinks about talking to you.

So he takes to following you with his eyes instead.

"It's just until I gather the courage to talk to them," he tells himself. "I'll stop once I figure out their type."

Right, if he can't ask you about your interests, he'll just have to observe them instead.

So, he watches you. All the time. Eventually, he all but forgets about his previous plan of it being a temporary habit.

It's just so...addicting. Watching you go about your day like normal. Completely unaware of his presence in the shadows.

He learns about your hobbies, your interests, what kind of shows you like, your favourite foods, whether you still keep stuffed animals in your room, and more. He has a mental folder of all your likes and dislikes. And while there are some things he’s not able to learn, some places he’s not able to follow, it’s enough. Just knowing this much is perfect.

He doesn't do anything. He doesn't plan to, either. He’s content with just watching. It's comfortable like this. He doesn't want anything to change. So, he forgets about stopping, and instead sinks even deeper into his newfound obsession.

If he had it his way, things would stay like this forever. Him, never confessing, and you, never knowing. But, unfortunately, fate had other plans in mind.

It was 10:15 AM, and you were at a local coffee shop by yourself when the barista handed you their number with your receipt. You shyly accepted, and just a day later, the two of you had plans for a date the next week.

Unfortunately, your 'date' canceled last minute and blocked you with no explanation.

It's a good thing, then, that your good friend Choso just so happened to bump into you, lending you his shoulder to cry on.

Well, there's no reason to waste a good dinner reservation, right?

You never do go back to that cafe, but if you did, you'd find the barista missing from the register.

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reverieblondie · 6 months

Text

Nobel Blood

Pairing: Rolan x Fem!Tav Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fluff and Smut with Plot, Penetrate sex, Tail rubbing?, Desk sex, Cream pie.

Summary: High society has never been your thing, and now your having to go to the Raven Ball...Maybe you will see a familiar face trying to conduct himself in a new landscape...

A/N: This might be completely self indulgent...but I liked it...

Word Count: 7,370 (I got carried away...)

“What about this one? What do you think?”

Rolan appears from behind his changing screen in a new blue jacket with silver embroidery and buttons. The collar and cuffs are lined with silver. His pants are black and a bit tighter to his body than he is accustomed to. The boots he’s wearing are shining and new. Giving himself a once-over in the mirror in his room, he turns around, holding out his arms.

“Be honest… Thoughts?”

A very bored-looking Cal is lying on Rolan's bed. He turns his head, looks at his brother, and gives him a once-over.

“Like I told you about the four other outfits… You look fine. Please just pick one!”

Rolan scoffs, “Cal, this is important. I have to look my best to make a good first impression. There will be a lot of important people there today. This could lead to some great opportunities.”

Cal looks at Rolan, a bit worried, “Rolan, you are putting a lot of pressure on yourself. Just go and relax, maybe meet someone, make friends. You know, have fun!”

Rolan rolls his eyes as he does his hair in his usual tight, twisted bun, “I’m not going to waste the opportunity to have fun!”

Once he had finished with his hair, he adjusted his collar before turning to have Cal assess him once more. When he turned, he saw the prominent frown on Cal's face. He sighs, “Cal, you know how people look at us. This is a chance to change people's perceptions.”

“The right people, you don't have to change their perceptions…”

The room is quiet, and a silent understanding fills the space. The silence is cut by Lia busting through the doors of the master bedroom. Looking at them like they have lost their minds.

“What are you two doing? Rolan, stop fussing and get going! You get invited to a ball and waste your time primping!”

Rolan sighs as Lia dusts off his shoulders and places his invite in his jacket pocket. Pausing, she looks at his hair and starts to pull and loosen his usual style, making it softer looking with some strains to frame his face and the tips of his ears poking out a bit more,

“What the hells Lia! My hair was fine!”

“No, you always wear it so tight you want it looser, rugged.”

“I’m going for cool and collect.”

“Yeah, but ladies like a bit of ruggedness.”

Rolan swats away her hands and starts to leave,

“I'm not going there to get a date!”

Lia huffs at his leaving figure, “Hopeless…”

Cal looks over at Lia, “Any chance he’s going to loosen up and have a good time tonight.”

Lia takes a moment to ponder the question, “If the right person talks to him.”

-KAW!-

The sudden noise tries to break you from your slumber, but only briefly before you lol back to your dreams…magic hands…a soft warmth…a husky whisper…

-KAW KAW!-

The dream is ripped from you as your eyes are popped open; on pure instinct, you reach for your knife under your pillow, but as you look towards the noise, you pause.

The Falcon blinks and tilts its head at you, curiously fidgeting and hopping closer to you. You pull your hand away from the blade and sigh at the familiar bird, “Hello, Rune. Do you have something for me?”

Rune turns, revealing a message carrier just like you expected, “Clever bird,”

Reaching over you, you scratch her neck while you retrieve the message from the red tube. The tube has an emblem very familiar to you: a golden long sword with vines and two golden roses by the sword's hilt. The paper is thick and white, wrapped with a red ribbon. Unwrapping it, you see the fancy script, and it clicks to you what is happening.

“An invitation for the Raven Ball…and I'm guessing they are hoping for me to attend?”

Rune kaws in what seems to be agreement; you nod at her.

“Well, I guess I should head that way… she's bound to be waiting for me.”

Walking up to the massive mansion lined with guards and littered with candles. The entryway is opened for the invited to shuffle in and out of the party. Just deep breaths, smile, and be pleasant…have grace, and don’t throw punches to the face; saying the rhyme in your head brings back fond memories, and you have to stifle a laugh breaking from your throat. One of your two companions notices you hiding a smirk; he notices everything, and it never fails to drive you crazy.

“Nervous Darling?” Astarion smirks, his red eyes observing you as if he could read your mind.

“Nope, are you?” You challenge.

Astarion fakes a laugh and smiles, showing his long fangs flashing in the candlelight. “Never”

Typical…

Walking through the entrance is like walking through time; these balls have always been the same. The host and the house may change, but the overcrowded rooms are filled with the rich and self-important. Deep breaths… keep taking deep breaths….

Arriving at the main hall of the home with Astarion and Shadowheart in tow, you pause with them as they marvel at the grand space. It truly is a beautiful event. Servers glide around the room with their pristine trays, serving fine wines to everyone; Astarion is quick to grab himself a glass as they walk past. The center of the room is filled with people clapping and turning, floating along to the music. Shadowheart keeps her green eyes scanning the dance floor; she is looking for someone in particular…it is the only reason she decided on attending this ball, along with your pleading. Moving your eyes around the space, the candles light the room brightly and make the gilded arches and decor glimmer in an almost magic shine. Knowing how these people love theatrics, they probably had wizards put on some spells for the grandeur of it all.

Turning to your friends, you see they are entirely taken in by the atmosphere, though when Astarion meets your eyes, he plays his wonderment off as if this is nothing to him. As they continue to stroll about, you continue to fuss around with your dress, the corset's tightness starting to irritate you, and the flowing skirt and sleeves feeling like they're going to wrap around your legs and trip you. You curse under your breath as you have a small battle with the dress picked out for you.

“Dress issues?” Astarion teases

You roll your eyes, and you adjust the bodice up, but you find the action is in vain as your cleavage is still on full display. It's been years, and it makes sense the dress wouldn’t lay the same, but the high golden necklace always sat tight on your neck, forcing you to keep your head up, the exposedness of your chest and shoulders always made your cheeks flush, and the tight bodice lined with gold down to your hips always made your breath short. You did like the ruffled white skirt with the red front panel and the matching red sleeves that go from bust to cascade down your arms; it did look nice. But the part you constantly fidget with for comfort is the emblem at the center of your sweetheart neckline. It's that same one it's always been, a golden longsword with two golden roses…

“Just…adjusting…” you smirk back to hide your irritation.

“These corsets are murder but do wonders for the figure at least?” Shadowheart chimes in

Her silvery white hair contrasted beautifully with her lilac silk dress. The fabric looks like it drapes and flows effortlessly off her polling elegantly at the bottom, and as she moves, it reveals a long slit over her right leg. For a dress she picked out today, it looks like it could have been custom-made for her. She had fussed about the dress and her hair, wearing it in a different style than usual, but you assured her she looked terrific and would catch the eye of a certain soon-to-be duke…

Astarion places reassuring hands on yours and her shoulders. “Well, the dresses are definitely an improvement from the drab, caked-up with, grime outfits I had grown accustomed to seeing you in.”

You both look at each other before looking at him unamused. “Thanks, Astarion…” you say in unison, not completely happy that he pointed out your dirty states on the journey you all met on.

“Anytime Darlings~”

Shadowheart’s eyes go back to the dancefloor, and you think for a moment that you see her getting on her tiptoes (despite being in heels) to look over some heads.

“I think I might stroll around the room…see if I can find any…interesting company.”

You and Astarion look at each other, knowing what she truly means; translation: Shadowheart is going to look for Wyll. They are such an opposite duo, but they are just drawn to one another. Astarion always teases the names Shadow Princess and the Horned Prince when talking about them and their longing for each other.

Shadowheart turns to see your smirking faces and she rolls her eyes before walking off. Good luck you silently wish for her…

You watch as she makes her way through the crowd, a part of you wants to go with her to help navigate the space but you know she wants privacy for this and you don’t blame her. While you watch the floor a familiar sensation of red eyes and a fiendish smirk being placed in your direction makes you shudder. Looking up at him you see a very well-dressed Astarion looking like a vision in all black except for the wine-colored small jacket and gold and ruby necklaces hanging from his neck. When you asked about the jewels he just chuckled and left a quick poke on your nose, a way to irritate you and avoid your questions. He continues to stare and smile at the devious thoughts running rampant in his mind.

“Yes?”

Astarion looks away with a slight laugh, “Oh, nothing nothing…just curious if you were going to go look for anyone special tonight. Any fine suitors on the line for you to turn about with?”

When asked only one person flashes in your mind, but you shake it off not wanting to get your hopes too high. He would probably find something like this a waste of time.

“No, I’m planning a rather dull evening of just watching the grander, saying hi to familiar faces. No suitors eager for my hand. You?”

Astarion looks around the room piercing his lips, “I might also be having a rather drab evening…nothing seems to catch my eye, which is too bad I was in the mood to make some trouble.”

A slight laugh escapes your throat and Astarion looks at you with a raised brow, “Something funny?”

“Well, I just think you have changed a lot since a certain bear tagged along…come to think of it you just came back from the old shadow lands and are planning to go back…”

Astrion narrows his eyes at you and you grin widely knowing he’s smitten.

“Very clever…well, I will leave you to it, going to go find some more wine and maybe go rub elbows with some important-looking people…”

“Play nice Astarion!”

“No promises! Ta Ta!”

With both your friends gone you're now alone in the ballroom and now it definitely feels like old times. Memories of your childhood flash through your mind as you watch. In your memory it's a younger you, biting her lip in disdain and fumbling with her dress, head sore with the elaborate braids that were decorated with trinkets and jewels. The biggest thing you remember? The feeling so isolated and unwelcomed by people meant to be your peers. You can recall two gentle hands placed on your shoulders as people just passed you by…

Shaking off the memories you look at the huddles of people near the walls engaged in conversations, “Well, better go say hi to mom and dad…” Gathering up your skirt and taking another deep breath you go on the prowl.

It was overwhelming and Rolan had to stand to the side to recollect himself. It turns out that coming to socialize with people from the upper city was a lot more difficult than he initially expected. He was starting to wonder why the hell he came here. Yes, he had been formally invited but the people didn’t seem to know who he was or they were staring at him and whispering amongst themselves. Was this all a joke…was he just a thing to be stared at and mocked for the night's entertainment?

Looking down at his crimson hands and long nails…his tail twists around his leg as he balls his hands into tight fists. He shouldn’t have come here, he didn’t belong. Cal and Lia had been so excited about his invitation and were eager to help him get ready with high hopes of him growing his name to the city's lords and ladies. He had promised to make friends and get them invited to the next ball, but now that seems like a silly fantasy.

Unraveling his tail and holding his head up, he decides to leave until a familiar figure catches his eye. Astarion? The pale elf has his red eyes on Rolan while keeping a smug smile on his face, instead of waving or greeting him; however, Rolan's thoughts trail to something, someone else. Scanning the room he’s hoping to catch the sight of a particular hero…

“If it isn't the Archmage of Ramaziths Tower, I figured you would see these parties as a waste of time.”

Rolan's body immediately tenses and he turns around quickly, You smile for having spooked him. You watch as his shining eyes widen as they trail over you, his lips slightly parted and you think you hear his tail fall to the ground. From his reaction alone you're suddenly no longer lamenting having to wear the dress and in fact decide to stand a bit straighter. Once he realizes he’s staring he averts his gaze from your chest and neck, clearing his throat.

“Tav, what…why?”

“What? Not happy to see me?

“I- no…I mean I am! Well not happy, I mean I am happy but not super happy, but a surprised happy! Uh…pleasantly surprised….”

His eyes meet yours and winces at himself, understanding how these parties can whine someone up you decide to ease the tension. Giggling at his rambling you gently punch his shoulder breaking the awkwardness threatening to set in. The force of the punch causes him to stumble and smile.

“It’s good to see you, but I’m a little shocked. I figured these parties would be far too stuffy for such a great adventuring hero of the gate.”

You shrug looking out to the party where you see Astrion watching you two, you give him a look of ‘what?’ and he shakes his head with a smirk and walks away. You turn back to Rolan,

“Actually I’m pretty used to these stuffy parties.”

Rolan’s brows furrow as he looks down at you confused, you do the same as you look up at him, and then it clicks.

“Rolan, I’m from Baldur's Gate. I grew up having to go to these parties and having to take etiquette classes. My mother is a countess, from a long line of nobility and my father is a general for a regiment of the city's army.”

Rolan's eyes widen as you nonchalantly explain your past, “Your… a lady from an important house of Baldur's Gate…and you were out slumming it in the wild? Wielding swords and blowing up goblin camps?”

Thinking for a second you nod “Yeah, my dad used to take me camping and taught me how to fight. Mom wanted me to be a proper socialite but I didn't exactly fit in… Once I got older they told me I could go travel the swords coast, get the wildness out of me before finding a suitor, ya know?”

Rolan shakes his head with a smile, “So you left all of this to adventure and ended up getting a tadpole in your head. That inevitably leads you back here…”

“Hey, I had adventures before that! But I will say that one was my favorite.”

Rolan smirks and looks down at you, “Because it made you a hero?”

You look up at him, his gentle gaze and soft loose strands of hair cascading around his horns making your heart flutter, “Because I got to make friends, and meet you.”

Rolan's face gets slightly darker as he thinks of something to say. With him tongue-tied you take the opportunity to tease him more by sticking your tongue at him. He rolls his eyes and turns away, you swear you see the tips of his ears a light hue of marron now.

“Why are you here? And are Cal and Lia with you? I miss them and their tormenting of you.” You continued to tease. Though you see Rolan’s face slightly drop.

“Well…I was the only one to receive an invitation and I didn’t realize I could bring anyone…I wish I would have, with them around I wouldn’t feel so…” Rolan shakes his head as if to shake away his thought, “I came here to meet people to get them interested in the tower's knowledge and to show that I am a worthy archmage. But I haven’t been able to talk to anyone “

Your heart sinks as you listen to Rolan, you remember having to go there alone at times…Rolan is always trying so hard for his family, it's quite honorable of him and one of the things that drew you to him. Thinking for a moment you try to think of a plan before it hits suddenly, “Rolan I can get you a formal introduction to someone who is very important and that I know would like to hear about the tower.”

Rolan’s face lights up, “I would, I would be so grateful.”

Smiling you wrap your arm around Rolan’s elbow, a part of you thought that he would recoil but he seems to welcome the gesture by straightening his posture and tightening up his arm. Your hand creases his bicep and it takes every part of you not to start teasing him about his surprisingly muscular form. Act like a proper socialite, for Rolan’s sake.

As you two stroll about the floor you keep your eyes peeled. Though you do see some people staring at you and Rolan as you walk arm in arm, you figure people are just wanting to gawk at the hero and the new archmage.

“Seems like we are popular sights tonight.”

Rolan hums, “I think you are the popular sight, I’m probably more of the skeptical…”

“Specktical?”

Looking over to meet your eyes Rolan just gently squeezes your hand, “Never mind, uh, so who are we looking for?”

“Her.”

Pointing out your finger you lead Rolan’s eyes to a group of women fanning themselves as they scan their eyes like hawks around the room. They are all dressed immaculately and as the two of you approach they keep their eyes locked on you both. One of the women quickly whispers to a taller woman, the taller woman turns and Rolan has to hold back his gasp.

She looks like you…well an older version but still stunning. Rolan feels his throat instantly dry and when he looks over to you with a panicked expression, he admittedly comprehends what's happening and he’s never felt so unprepared in his life. Feeling him tense you keep a soft smile and gently rub small circles on his hand, trying to ensure he’s calm when meeting your mother.

In front of the intimidating woman (he sees where you get it now) you release yourself from his arm and give a curtsy. Rolan follows your lead and gives a bow.

“Countess, I would like to formally introduce you to Archmage Rolan, Master of Ramaziths Tower. Rolan, this is the Countess, also known as my mother.”

You feel your cheeks grow red, you're introducing a man to your mother…you never thought this would be happening, it’s very proper of you. Looking up at her face you see a soft smile, for her that’s practically beaming. So far so good.

“I heard about the last master's passing…” she says casually. You and Rolan exchanged a glance before she continued “Can’t say I wasn’t fond of the news, he was always a poor representation of the tower. A bit of a cad.”

Rolan’s jaw practically drops and you are quick to continue the conversation for him while he recollects himself,

“Well, I will have to tell you Rolan is quite proficient in magic, self-taught and self-disciplined. He plans on studying and cataloging the tomes in the tower to then share the knowledge with the realms.” You praise

“That's quite the honorable aspiration for a young man. I am sure everyone would be quite pleased to have access to its knowledge. I have been to your tower once before in my youth, the smell of the weave in the air and the majesty of all the books still leaves me with pleasant memories.”

Meaning: ‘Invite me over to see the tower again because ladies do not invite themselves places’. You're not a bit surprised your mother is taking a fast liking to Rolan, he has a title, is respectable, and usually can hold his own in a conversation but today he seems to keep getting tongue-tied, we’ll chop that up to nerves. With a subtle nudge to his arm, you break him out of his daze where he can give her a proper answer.

“Well, th-thank you. I think everyone should have access to knowledge if they want it. Also, you and Tav should join me at the tower for tea. I will have to prepare a bit but I would be delighted to have you two there.”

Two of her ladies-in-waiting mutter something to each other earning them a prompt glare from the Countess. They quickly scurry away.

“I would be delighted to just name the date. Plus I would love to hear about how you two met, knowing my daughter that story will be filled with twists and turns.”

Rolan giggles and you look at your mom in shock as she openly teases you. You have never seen her be so casual with a stranger, well for her this is casual. You can’t help but feel a warmth in your chest, you never were one to crave approval from anyone but it does feel nice when your Mother seems to improve the boy you like.

“I will have you know I handled myself with dignity and grace-“

“I watched her punch someone in the face for defending my kind, it was a lasting impression, a good one,” Rolan says with a laugh and causes your mother to let out a giggle -that woman never giggles!

“Well I will have to forgive her for that, sounds like that punch was well deserved.” Your mother looks at you and you see a softness in her eyes “My tough girl.”

The moment is soft before your mother changes the subject. Ladies must keep the conversation flowing after all.

“Now Tav, why don’t you introduce Master Rolan to your father? I’m sure he would love to meet him.”

With a curtsy and a bow, you two make your way to find your father.

“Never seen you so proper…” Rolan leans down to whisper in your ears, you have to fight the tingling that threatens to show on your skin. Nothing quick like his mockery so close to you.

You take Rolan's arm so he’s leading you through the room, “Never seen you so tongue-tied…” you mock back.

“She's intimidating… I see where you get it from…”

“You should see when she doesn’t like someone, that’s intimidating.”

“Any warnings about your father? Or do you plan to surprise me again?”

“Oh but you do look so cute lost for words, I didn’t know wizards had that capability.” you coo back now blatantly flirting, very unladylike. The scandal…

Feeling bold Rolan tightens his grip on your arm where you can feel his nails against your skin, it is mind-numbing this sudden game. “And I didn't know how ravishing you look in a dress so tightly wound to you.”

The sudden boldness of his words makes you pause, and your cheeks redden. Rolan nervously clears his throat unsure if he overstepped… he brings his eyes up for a distraction and lucky for him he finds one.

“Tav look”, Following his gesture to the dance floor you see a heartwarming sight that distracts your thrumming heart. Wyll spins around the dance floor holding Shadowheart close to his body and he leads her through the dance. They look like a vision together, everyone seems to pause and look at them as they command the space with little effort.

It's while you're watching them you feel a warm hand wrapping around your own. Looking up to its source you see Rolans gleaming eyes on yours taking you in slowly. You swear it’s a secret spell of his to become out of breath and feel sparks when you look at him. The feeling rushes through your veins like it has since you first met him at the grove and all the moments after. Rolan's lips part gracing you with a quick view of his sharp teeth till suddenly you feel yourself being grabbed and thrown into the air.

“And! There is my wayward daughter! Our righteous hero graced us with her presents! Ha Haaa!”

The voice is loud and booming as the large arms wrap around you forcing your body into the air before crashing you back down to your heeled feet. Your father, as bostress as ever and completely uncaring for these parties 'etiquettes’ as always. In a lot of ways, the apple did not fall from the tree.

Taking a moment he scans over you, it's been far too long since you saw him, and from how you ramble and rave at each other it shows. Then his eyes start to scan around you till they are meeting with Rolans, and your father smiles like a Cheshire cat.

“Ah, and I see the rumors are true. You have a gentleman escort this evening.”

“Actually I have two others but one is dancing with the Duke's son while the other is bound to be causing trouble.”

“Trading in for different companies.” His eyes go to Rolan and you see him tease over your father's gaze, “Now to see if this man was worth it.”

“Well, he is a wizard…” Your eyes go to Rolan and you two are now assessing him

“Meet plenty of spellcasters,”

You continue, “Archmage of Ramiths tower…he got the areca artillery working in the battle saving my and my friends' necks.

“The Fire Rainer!” Your father yells, making Rolan and nearby people jump.

Before Rolan can properly process what is happening your Father is grabbing his hand in a crushing grip that Rolan returns.

“My men, We were all in awe of your work getting those dusty turrets to work. And for helping my Tav. Good man.” he continues to shake Rolan's hand for a long moment before letting go and placing a hand on your shoulder.

“He’s good company to keep, strong grip and with fire in his eyes.”

You look at Rolan giving him a nod of a good job before your father is turning to both of you. With a wide grin.

“Now! Rolan, if you walk around with my daughter you must ask her for a dance!”

Rolan stutters over his words as you look at your father like he’s lost his mind.

“Dad, You can’t make him dance.”

“Why not? He wishes to be near you; he must dance with you.”

The words make you flush as you avoid Rolan's eyes, “He’s not the dancing type…”

This causes Rolan to lift a brow, then you feel Rolan’s warm hands on yours leading you suddenly towards the dance floor. In a swift flourish, Rolan spins you and grasps his hand in yours, placing the other on your hip and smirking at your shocked expression…

“Looks like he is!” your father calls barely audible through the music.

The transition to the dance is effortless as you two glide across the floor. Watching his glimmering eyes on yours is spurring your heart into a rush. Your body feels like it’s on fire as he effortlessly glides you through turns and claps. Eyes never leaving one another.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance?”

Rolan scoffs, “Of course, I know how to dance, you don’t think I haven’t gone to parties before?”

lifting a brow, you look at him with an unamused expression, “OK, I might have practiced…”

You laugh and let him spin you out, then catching your hand and pulling you back to him. His hands in yours, your back flushed to his chest. The dance is completely intertwining, his scent, his warmth, the purring of his chuckling laugh. You want more, your hope is for this dance to never end so you can stay in his arms.

With a twist and a sway of your hips, you smile at him as the blush rushes to his speckled cheeks, a reminder that you are experienced at these dances and you will not hesitate to spice up the moves if it means rubbing against him. It makes his heart thum as he turns you around again, his tail wrapping slightly around your dress as he steps with you till plunging you down to a dip.

A perfect dance partner, finally.

You two stay locked within each other's snare, a small feeling of leaning forward towards each other causing your mouth to water in anticipation of a kiss. Then breaking you two from the moment is roaring applause that fills the room. He lets you rise, and you two join the applause of the musicians as well.

A normal socialite would worry if people could tell how much you liked him. You don’t care, however, Rolan is magnificent, and you would scream it at the top of your lungs, but you know this is his chance to impress rich bastards and prove himself worthy of his new illustrious Title. Of course, the right people already know this, he doesn’t need to impress them.

As you look to the crowd to make your way to your dad to give him sass (and maybe a pat on the back for making that happen for you) you see Rolan Pointing to the front part of the dance floor, music starting to swell up again and your father and mother swaying to the song. Another set of perfectly matched dance partners.

Offering his elbow to you again, you curtsy at Rolan's gesture and let him lead you off the floor. A perfect gentleman, If your mother is watching she is beaming with pride (though she will talk to you about that hip swaying later). Off the floor, your dry throat hits you,

“ I'm going to get a drink, do you want anything?”

“Oh I can-“

“Rolan I can grab drinks, I’m still a hero of the Gate, not a delicate flower.” You tease him.

“A glass of wine sounds great then,”

“I will be a quick second, wait here” With that you gather your skirt and shuffle away. Both of you trying to hide your dorky grins for one another.

Then a stray voice catches Rolan off guard, “Dancing with a noble…but don’t forget you're just hellspawn trash…”

Roland’s eyes widen, and he turns around quickly, but he is met with nothing but a crowd of people wrapped in their own world. One that some are not willing to invite him to. He watches them so clearly, trying not to stare, others staring, and sharing whispers. Then his eyes meet yours.

Golden eyes that you can always catch in any crowd. They shine his brilliance and never fail to make your heartbeat rush. Anyone would be lucky to have him look their way and right now that’s you, drinks in hand, you pick up your speed to get to him faster, but then his starburst eyes shut in something that resembles pain and then he’s gone…Rushing out of the room away from you.

Pausing you watch him leave, your heart sinking to your stomach. Swallowing down the feeling you place the cups on the nearest waiter's tray and run after him.

The hallways are dark as you follow after him. It only gets darker and darker, till you see him dipping into a side room, shutting the door behind him. It takes a bit of self-control on your part, not to rip the door off its hinges as you open it, but the site makes you slow down.

His tail twisted tightly to his leg, hands in his hair, and talking quickly in infernal. Gently you close the door behind you, and with a click lock giving you two privacy in the dark office. Rolan's shoulders tense at the sound of the lock, he can’t bear to look and see your disappointment. You carefully approach as he braces his hands down on the desk. His body so tight you think he will snap two.

“Rolan, wh-what happened?”

Turning his head, his golden eyes shine through the darkness. And they see you perfectly. Face contorted in worry as you gently approach. Your face is the one he knows, the one he saw shining in the sunlight of the Grove, the face that saved him from shadows in the cursed land, the one who held his bruised face so gently promising Lorroakan would never hurt him again… the hero of the gate…his hero.

Then his eyes tail down, his Tav, the hero, dressed in the finest fabrics, a lady of Noble Birth, someone too good for someone like him.

In your eyes, you see him for what he truly is, a strong dreamer, someone who you would walk through the Hells for. A man so dedicated to the ones he loves, you want to love and care for him till your last breath.

“I don’t belong here…I am a joke…a monster for everyone to gawk at.” He finally confesses.

Your eyes grow wide and all you feel is anger, “Did someone say something to you…do something?! Who? I swear I will-“

Before you can, march back into the ballroom and demand reconciliation with blood, you feel warmth wrapping around your shoulders and around your ankle. Rolan's warmth envelops you in his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. Clinging to his forearms you lean into him letting yourself calm.

“You're better than any of them…” you whisper

“Is that what you think?” he mutters in response

“Rolan it’s what I know, you're extraordinary.”

Rolan’s arms tighten around you making you never want to leave his caress, but you still turn to look at him. placing a hand on his face, he’s perfect in your eyes…

“We are different…” he almost pouts

“I like our differences.”

Rolan’s hands slip down to your waist.

“Won’t they slander you, and your family's name?”

“Not the people who matter to me…” your words like a promise

You lean into him rising to your toes to be only a touch away from his lips. You feel his breath fan across yours, and a rush of desire floods your body and mind.

“They will say I tainted you…” his hands caressing your face so gently

“They can go fuck themselves”

The smile you two share is perfect, right before he presses his lips to yours. His lips caressed yours, setting your body a flame, his nails digging into the sides of your dress, and as you felt their points, you gasped and let him trail his lips sloppily on your jaw to your neck. Your mind melted at every rush of his lips, becoming more breathless as the pleasure of this moment crashed over you then pooling into an aching need in your lower stomach. All the blood and the thoughts rush to your swelling bud, leaving your mind in a haze of lust.

Rolan’s tongue licks down at your clavicle while his hands move to cup your breast. You can’t help but shake as he presses kisses and sucks marks to the tops of them. Rolan’s lips find yours again in hunger this time as his tongue seeks to taste more of you. Eargery you met his passion with your own tasting, his wine-laced tongue burning against yours. Undoing the buttons of his jacket you strip it off him in a rush. Once it’s off and tossed to the floor he breaks the kiss and whimpers against your lips, his chest vibrating under your fingertips in a purr.

Turning you quickly, your thighs meet the side of the desk as his lips continue to caress your neck, removing your necklace to nip on your most sensitive spots, all you can do is moan and chant a series of ‘yeses’ and sweet mews of his name. He hums as he spoils himself, touching all over your form.

“More, Rolan…I want to feel more,” your pant

“Here?” The question is raspy and sends shivers through you to your sex.

“Yes.”

Rolan responds by peppering kisses all over you as he quickly gathers your skirt around your hips. Bending over you feel your face burn as you hear is breath hitch,

“F-fuck…” he whispers

You're already bare opting for no underwear, a destination you made on a meer whim but are happy with now. A whimper escapes him as he views you slick and puffy cunt for him, in a deep dialect he mutters something you can not understand that causes your slit to quiver. he no longer has patience his want takes control and you hear his frantic hands undoing his belt.

The moment is eager and full of hunger, the want between you two building to this moment of passion. Rolan has your skirts gathered in a fist as he pushes his burning erection through you making your head spin. The moment is raw and hungry as he hisses from your walls so tight and soft around him, fuck, nobody told him how…soft humans were…

The feeling of the stretch is eye-watering as a lewd moan erupts from your throat, then the feeling of every ridge sliding and reshaping your velvet insides. The curve of his cock brings his sharp tip to find your sensitive spot, nudging and coating it in his burning precum, your toes curl in your heels as your vision blurs, tightening your grip on the oak desk. It's hot, intense, and the best pleasure you have ever felt.

Rolan whimpers and moans as he pushes into your heat further. His face comes down to bury himself into your neck grunting in what sounds more like a whine. Sweat is sheening both of you now in this heated moment your only reprieve of coolness is his panting breath on your neck. Then his hand comes down to yours bracing you and he intervenes his fingers with yours before he gives a final thrust, his blazing tip now nudging on the deepest parts of you. Your slit is taut and your insides flutter against him as you get accustomed to his rigged girth.

“Gods, you feel amazing. Practically sucking me in…” his rich voice rasps into your ear making you shudder.

Taking a second to breathe in the scent of your sweaty neck and your cascading hair; further getting drunk off you. He rolls his hips back, and the drag of his ridges on your gummy walls is an unimaginable pleasure making you arch in a scream to your god.

Pulling to the tip it’s only a second of emptiness before his hips are snapping back into you forcing all the air from your lungs. Continuing to thrust into you back and forth at a constant pace, you mew and grip his hand so tightly. Your arousal drips down his cock and your thighs as it's fucked out of you, desperate to coat his cock.

“Their mighty hero…sweating and dripping for me. You're my girl…you have always been…”

You can’t even think coherent thoughts only able to respond by arching your back further. The room is drowned in your cock drunk moans and his deep growling as your pussy continues to get ravished by him. Hot waves start to build up in your stomach leaving tingles in their wake as you approach your ecstasy. Rolan feels your trembling against his cock making him angle it in deeper. He’s right in his sentiment…you are his…as he is yours…the bond you share led to this moment of passion—the ultimate satisfaction of the want you have for each other.

It's bliss and you rock your hips to meet his thrust, a chuckle escapes him before you feel the rough dragging being rewarded to your clit. It's warm and soft with lines of ridges dragging against you. It only dawns on you as you feel its spaded tip you realize he’s grinding his tail against your sticky sex. Both sensations make spots blur your vision as drool begins to pool in your agape mouth.

In a silent scream, your orgasm crashes over you as all your essences coats him dripping down to fall on his boots and pooling to the floor. Rolan guides you through your high not stopping his thrust while your sex desperately grips him. A ring of creamy arousal forms where you both connect. The sight and feel of your overstimulated pussy fluttering is enough to cause his hips to still and his cock to throb shooting blissfully hot cum in thick spurts, filling you to the brim. The growl is guttural and vibrates through him as he comes down from his high.

Rolan presses his forehead to your shoulder blades as he stays within you for a moment longer letting his ridges smooth as his cock softens till finally pulling out. You can feel the mix of both releases leaking down your legs uncomfortably resisting the urge to beg him to finger it back in.

“Wait one moment,” he says quickly with a soothing rub to your waist as you hear him digging around for his discarded jacket.

Then very gently you feel a soft cotton cloth whipping you down to clean you. Soft ‘shhs’ and coos leave his lips and he is careful over your spet sex. He takes his time, then once you're cleaned and your dress is back down you face his back as he cleans himself, looking over his shoulder with a smile as he retucks himself. Leaning back against the desk you relish in watching him rebutton himself up so elegantly.

His golden eyes stay on you as he gently caresses your sweaty face. Before he leaves he will snap his figures with a spell to clean you two of any lewd residue, but for now, he wants to relish your afterglow. You two stay in silent bliss and his eyes roam over your face, your fingers gently playing with the loose strains of his hair. He’s the first to speak up,

“I want to court you properly.”

Your eyes grow wide, and so does your smile, your heart racing, and sparks burst into your stomach.

“If you were planning to court me, we have already messed up. You're not supposed to have sex beforehand.”

“I don’t care; I’m not of noble blood, so I will do this my way.” there's that confidence.

Rolan pulls you in for a slow kiss that causes your heart to flip and your head to cloud in a pleasant fog.

“Good,” you whisper

Rolan backs up slightly and bows, causing you to giggle as he reaches for your hand. Placing your hand in his, you gently squeeze it as he brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly like a suitor would any proper lady.

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doumadono · 8 months

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Synopsis: Dabi hates his birthday dearly, but you surprise him with a small gift and heartfelt words that chip away at his guard significantly

A/N: the prompt was "Thank you for being born" This one-shot serves as the kickoff to my little Dabi's birthday event. I won't deny shedding a tear or two while writing it (there's something about making wishes that gets me emotional) Here's the link to the song I listened to while crafting this piece💜

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST DABI'S BIRTHDAY EVENT

The scent of cigarettes hung in the air as Dabi reclined on a worn-out couch, brooding in silence. The glow of the television screen flickered in the dimly lit common room as Dabi absentmindedly watched the news.

Another day, another hero thwarting villains, this time at one of Musutafu's bustling shopping malls. As the headlines praised the courageous actions of the hero, a bitter taste lingered in Dabi's mouth.

"Fucking pathetic," he growled lowly, taking a drag of his cigarette. A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he contemplated the irony. The world hailed heroes on the day he considered his own personal tragedy. The day he was born, the 18th of January.

The news anchor spoke with enthusiasm about the hero's bravery, the citizens cheering in gratitude for another villain thwarted.

Yet Dabi's thoughts, like wisps of smoke, curled around the unwelcome memories of his past. He traced the scars on his face absentmindedly, a reminder of a past he wished he could erase. The reflection in the TV showed a man haunted by his own existence, a shadow dancing on the edges of society.

Dabi couldn't shake the bitter truth that clung to him like a shadow. He hadn't chosen this life; it was thrust upon him by his father's sick ambitions. His birthday wasn't a cause for celebration; it was a stark reminder of his origin, of a life marred by pain and betrayal.

It didn't become any easier when he revealed himself as the son of the number one hero, Endeavor. The revelation didn't alter a single thing, but at least his obnoxious father was aware. Aware that his failed creation was still alive and somehow thriving on a path fueled by vengeance.

As the news continued, highlighting the hero's accomplishments, a bitterness swelled within Dabi. The contrast between his life and the celebrated hero's achievements became painfully apparent. The hero on the screen stood tall, celebrated by a society that Dabi saw as inherently flawed. He couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment, not towards the hero, but towards the world that applauded those who fit neatly into its definition of heroism.

The door to the common room creaked open, and you stepped inside, holding a neatly wrapped package adorned with shiny paper and a ribbon.

Dabi slowly raised his gaze, his turquoise eyes meeting yours. A skeptical eyebrow arched as he observed the item you held in your hands. "Don't tell me it's what I think it is," he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of sourness.

You approached, taking a seat beside him, the small package cradled in your hands. "Well, you'll never know unless you open it," you teased.

Dabi scoffed, "You and your surprises."

Undeterred, you extended the gift toward him. "Happy birthday, Touya. I hope you like it."

Dabi sighed, his skepticism evident as he began to peel away the shiny paper and loosen the ribbon. The room was filled with the soft rustle of wrapping paper, and he shot you a sidelong glance, an unspoken question in his gaze.

Inside the wrapping was a tiny box. Dabi hesitated for a moment, eyeing the box as if it held secrets he wasn't sure he wanted to uncover. Eventually, he cracked it open, revealing a silver necklace with a delicate flame charm.

"It's a flame," you explained, your voice soft. "I thought it suited you, taking your quirk."

Dabi lifted the necklace, examining the intricate details of the charm. His expression remained guarded, but there was a hint of something beneath the surface – a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "A flame, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.

"Yeah," you affirmed. "A symbol of your strength and intensity."

He gave you a skeptical glance, his turquoise eyes narrowing slightly. "You put way too much thought into this. My quirk's a real fucking gem – kills me a bit every damn time I unleash it."

You bowed your head, realizing you had never viewed his quirk in that manner. To you, it wasn't just about his ability - it embodied an immense determination and unmatched dedication, even if the cause wasn't particularly flattering.

Dabi continued to study the necklace, his fingers tracing the delicate flame. There was a brief pause before he finally spoke, his voice low and gruff. "It's not bad, I guess."

You smiled, a small victory in breaking through his usual stoicism. "Glad you think so. Happy birthday, once again. And... There's actually one more thing I'd like to tell you... May I?"

Dabi regarded you with a notably impassive expression on his face, nodding.

You reached out and gently took Dabi's hand in yours.

His forehead creased into a frown, a silent question etched on his face.

"I know you've been dealing with a lot of crap," you began slowly, your voice sincere and heartfelt. "I don't fully understand, and most likely I never will. But ever since I joined the League, you were the only one who's been patient with me. Through all my failures, you saw some potential within me. You've always offered advice or just a listening ear whenever I felt like shit and wanted to cry it all out." You let out an exasperated sigh, wiping a single tear from your eyelashes. "Oh God, why am I even getting emotional? This isn't about me."

Dabi's frown deepened, his gaze steady on your flushed face as you continued, "Okay, so I basically just want to tell you that, to me, you were never a bad person, nor evil. I love you for who you are, with all of your flaws. I'm just... I just... Thank you for being born."

The words hung in the air, a mix of vulnerability and gratitude woven into your confession.

Dabi's stoic facade wavered as he absorbed your heartfelt words. His turquoise eyes, typically guarded, widened in genuine surprise, a subtle vulnerability creeping into their depths. The frown etched on his forehead softened, replaced by a mixture of astonishment and something resembling gratitude. He remained silent for a moment, processing the weight of your confession.

Finally, a raspy exhale escaped him, a rare display of vulnerability. "I... didn't expect that," he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. His gaze lingered on your teary eyes, and for a moment, the facade of indifference cracked. A subtle shift occurred within him, a fracture in the armor he usually wore so tightly.

With a rare tenderness, he reached up, his thumb brushing against the moisture on your cheeks. "Hush," he murmured gently, a subtle warmth in his usually gruff voice. His touch was surprisingly tender as he wiped away the traces of tears, his thumb grazing over your skin.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, the touch lingering for a moment longer than expected. "Thanks, Y/N," Touya said, the word carrying a weight of sincerity. "For the words and the gift. Means more than you think."

A subtle warmth lingered in his gaze as he fastened the necklace around his neck. The flame pendant rested against his chest. "You always manage to surprise me, doll face," the white-haired man chuckled softly.

"Well, it is your birthday," you quipped, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. "There's no way I could have failed to surprise you on that particular day," you whispered, leaning your chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him with the most innocent, doe-eyed expression.

He cast a glance down at you, scoffing with a slight eye roll. "Sometimes I wonder how someone as cute and soft as you manages to be a villain, Y/N."

You flashed a mischievous grin at him. "Well, let's just say that I'm flexible."

Dabi leaned casually against the back of the couch, his arm extending to wrap around your shoulder and pull you closer. "No doubt in me, you are. You prove that every night."

Blushing, you gasped and playfully poked his chest. "Todoroki Touya! Quit it!"

His fingers absentmindedly played with your hair. "What? That's the fact. And you know what? I love you."

You smiled at him, studying his expression for a moment before nestling against his chest, allowing his warmth to envelop you. "I love you too."

Together, you both tuned into the news service and later some TV show, but your attention was elsewhere. All that mattered was that the person you loved the most was right there by your side.

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha dabi #dabi fluff #dabi fic #mha dabi #dabi is touya #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki fluff #touya todoroki x you #anime fluff #mha fluff #dabi angst #bnha fluff #dabi fanfic

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genderlessdude92 · 3 months

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STICKS AND STONES

PAIRING: Alastor x Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is shaken when Vox mocks her on live television with rude comments and even exposing her secret relationship with Alastor, too. Struggling with self-doubt, she feels inadequate in Hell's power-driven society. Alastor comforts her, emphasizing her unique qualities and their deep connection, helping her find solace despite the lingering hurt from Vox's comments.

WARNINGS: Established Relationship, Usage of Y/n, Usage of She/her pronouns, Major ANGST to major FLUFF in the end, Emotional Distress, Verbal Abuse, Hell and Demons (obv), Romantic Relationshiop kind of i guess idk, Mental Health, aaaand lmk if i missed anything!! ^^

NOTICE: please don’t copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But…thanks for liking my work !! >.<

Requests are open, Support is highly appreciated!

〰ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ..。.:*･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧₊enjoy!~

The distant sound of a crackling fireplace filled the room, the occasional pop of a burning ember piercing the quiet. A soft, velvety couch sat in the corner of the hotel lobby, slightly rumpled from recent use, a testament to the comfort it had provided. Outside the window, the neon lights of Hell flickered in a dance of eternal night. Y/N, a fellow demon helping out the very hotel alongside her s/o, Alastor, known for her ‘bravery’ to date him, sat curled up in a blanket, her eyes fixated on the flickering screen of the television mounted atop the fireplace. It was a rare moment of solitude in the bustling halls of the Hazbin Hotel.

Her eyes filled with unshed tears as she watched the broadcast, Vox’s smug grin spreading across the screen. He was speaking about Alastor, her love, her rock, her everything. Of course, It didn’t bother her as much as before since he likes to bitch about him every once in a while. But then, in a sudden, cruel twist, he said it—

Her name…?

How could he even know her name in the first place—she isn’t an overlord or an overly known-demon. Alastor and her even tried to keep their relationship a secret for safety over the years.

Y/N’s heart sank as she heard the words that felt like a thousand knives. Vox’s voice grew louder, his smugness palpable through the screen. “And what about Alastor’s girlfriend, the one he’s been hiding from us all this time? Tell me, dear audience, what’s she got that makes her so special? A heart of gold? Maybe a brain of silver? Maybe even some spooky little radio powers?” His audience, a sea of demons, roared with laughter. Y/N’s cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment, her eyes glistening with tears she was desperately trying to hold back.

Her thoughts raced as she replayed the words in her mind. Useless. Insignificant. The words stung like acid on her soul. She knew she wasn’t a high-ranking demon, didn’t have flashy powers or a grand title, but she had always believed that she had something to offer. That Alastor saw something in her that others didn’t. Now, as the room swirled around her, she couldn’t help but doubt herself in those beliefs.

The door to the lobby creaked open, the sound breaking the silence like a gunshot. She didn’t look up, her eyes glued to the TV, unable to tear herself away from the mockery. But she recognized the footsteps approaching, the ominous thuds of Alastor’s steps against the carpet. His shadow fell over her, but she remained curled into herself. She remained silently panicking about Vox’s comments. She remained letting her breaths go wild with their pace.

Alastor paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before landing on her. He noticed the way she clutched the blanket, the way her eyes were red, and the TV’s volume turned up a bit too high. He sighed, his tail flicking in annoyance at the screen, and walked over to her. He knew she didn’t like confrontation, but he also knew she had the strength to face the harshness of Hell itself, and hell isn’t fair, anyways.

"Y/N," he said softly, his deep voice cutting through the cacophony of the TV. She didn’t look up at first, but when he gently placed his hand on her shoulder, she turned to face him, the seamless-before tears spilling over her cheeks. He sat down beside her, his expression a mix of concern and arrogance just from Vox being on the TV.

And just the TV being on in general.

"Hey," Alastor began, his hand moving to gently wipe away the tears with his thumb. His touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the hardened exterior he presented to the world. "What's going on?"

Y/N took a shaky breath, her voice quivering as she spoke. "It's Vox. He said..." She couldn't bring herself to repeat the words, the pain still fresh.

Alastor's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking to the TV before returning to her. "What did that prick say?" His voice was calm, but the anger simmering beneath was unmistakable. Nonetheless, not forgetting about his dear S/o, he shifted the way he was sitting so he could face her.

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath and recounted Vox's cruel words, each syllable like a dagger twisting in her chest. Alastor listened, his expression growing stormier with every sentence. He could feel the heat of his own anger rising, but he kept it in check, focusing on her instead.

When she finished, the tears subsiding just a little bit from letting it out, he pulled her into a tight embrace, his powerful arms enveloping her trembling form. "You know I don't give a damn about what that glorified karaoke machine thinks," he murmured against her hair, his voice a soothing rumble, “And you shouldn’t either. He’s a clout chaser, and you know that.”

Y/N nodded, trying to hold onto his words like a lifeline in a stormy sea of doubt. But the damage was done. She couldn’t shake the feeling of inadequacy that clung to her like a second skin. She pulled away slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "But he's right, Alastor. I'm not like you, or any of the other high-ranked demons here. I don't have flashy powers or a title that makes people fear me. What do I even contribute to this place?"

Alastor's expression softened, although his grip on her tightened slightly. "You contribute more than you think, my love," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "You have a heart, a soul that hasn't been corrupted by the endless cycle of damnation. That's more than most demons here can say."

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. "And as for your powers, they're not about flash or fear. They're about comfort, about healing. You have the ability to soothe the most tormented spirits, to ease the pain of those who are lost. That's something no one else here can do. You're special, Y/N. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise."

The TV continued to blare in the background, Vox's voice now just a dull buzz as Alastor leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "You're not useless," he whispered fiercely, his eyes burning with a passion that surprised even her. "You're my other half, and this hotel, this whole godforsaken plane of existence, would be a much darker place without you."

Her heart swelled at his words, the warmth of his love wrapping around her like a blanket. But she couldn't shake the doubt that had taken root. She tried to smile, but it came out wobbly. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the TV. "But I just don't feel like I deserve all this praise."

Alastor's eyes searched hers, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "You don't have to feel like you deserve it," he said, his voice firm. "You just have to accept it. And more importantly, believe it." He paused, his gaze intense. "Because I do. And if that's not enough for you, then I don't know what is."

Y/N sniffled, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking. "I just don't want to hold you back."

Alastor sighed, frustration momentarily flashing in his eyes. "That's not what this is about," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "I don't need a high-ranking demon by my side to feel complete. I need you, just as you are." He didn't want an apology; he wanted her to see herself the way he saw her.

Standing up, he offered her his hand. "Come on," he said, his voice softer now. "Let's get you to bed."

Her hand slipped into his, and she allowed him to pull her to her feet. His room was a sanctuary, a place where she felt safe and loved despite the chaos of Hell outside. She followed him down the hallway, the TV's noise fading behind them.

Once inside, Alastor helped her into bed, his movements careful and considerate. He knew she was fragile in that moment, and he didn't want to add to her pain of how overwhelmed she was.

After putting on some fresh night wear and doing some hair-care, (please be cannon), he sat beside her, stroking her hair gently as she curled into his side, her head resting on his broad chest. His heart beat a steady rhythm, a comforting metronome in the quiet of the night.

For a while, they just sat there, the TV forgotten, the words of Vox nothing but echoes in the back of their minds. Alastor’s touch was a balm to her soul, and she felt her breathing slow down, the tightness in her chest loosening. She listened to the steady thrum of his heart, feeling the warmth of his body seep into hers.

He leaned down and whispered into her ear, his voice a gentle lullaby that chased the shadows of doubt away. "You're perfect, just as you are," he said, his breath warm against her skin. "You don't need to be anyone else. I fell for you, all of you, not some ideal or some position."

He kissed her forehead softly, a gesture that spoke volumes more than any grandiose declaration. "Now, close your eyes," he murmured. "Let's get some rest."

Y/N nodded, feeling the weight of his words sink in. She closed her eyes, allowing the comfort of his presence to wash over her. His hand remained in her hair, the strokes growing slower as she drifted towards sleep.

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END NOTES: I write this in 20 minutes at 2:00 am because i felt bad that i haven’t posted a fanfic of Alastor in over a month… 2 months. I’m sorry. HOPE YOU LIKED IT???!!!!! :D

-Genderlessdude92

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MASTERLIST

Me after seeing that you didn’t…l-leave a like a-and didnt repost if you think it was just that good and d-didn’t share any c-comments about my f-f-f-f-fanfic…? —>

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x wife reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x you

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outofconcheol · 16 days

Text

resonance (scb x f!reader)

pairing: android!changbin x heiress!reader

genres/aus/rating: romance, angst, smut, arranged marriage, e2l (a little bit), sort of cyberpunk au, 18+

summary: Perfection - an idea that’s been drilled into you from birth. As the sole heir to the empire known as Miroh Labs, you’ve watched technology and tradition collide. However, your family’s latest venture is one that puts your own fate in limbo – ambitiously arranging a marriage to an android of their creation, known as C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N. Grappling with the idea of marrying a machine, you come to realize Changbin is more than a set of intricate codes – the profound depths of his abilities are capable of changing the fabric of society, and you, forever.

warnings: strained parent child relationships (OC's parents are jerks), mentions of past abuse (very mild and not described in detail), class differences, failed past relationship references numerous times, cameos from Chan, Jisung, Jeongin, Hyunjin, and Yuna (ITZY), fair warning OC is a lot, Changbin is precious, self-doubt and negative feelings, arguments, alcohol, blood and injury, swearing, genetic engineering, talks of self-determination and agency, Streetlight my beloved makes an appearance

word count: 12k

a/n: happy (belated) bday to my beloved Changbin (almost a month later, nice)! i hope this is enjoyable and worthy of someone as wonderful as Changbin seems (i might have slightly fallen in love with him while writing this, don't look at me). the lovely banner is by Sarah (@caelesjjk). I hope you enjoy!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension (lots of it), making out, kind of hatefucking?, sex outside (against a railing), clothed sex, dirty talk, brief nipple play, thigh riding, fingering (f!receiving), unprotected sex (just because Changbin can doesn't mean you should), honestly more mild than the warnings imply

It’d been years since you’d seen candles - forgotten memories of birthdays past that faded into oblivion. Their warm, nascent glow had flickered much like your own life had, the comfort of past years giving way to the bright, grating pixels of the lights that illuminated New Domino - bright pinks, vivid greens, cool blues and silvers. Lights that greeted you from your window when you went to bed every night, reminding you that no matter how much your life stalled, the city never would, much of it your own family’s doing.

The years before Miroh Labs, your family’s company, took hold of the city, became difficult to recall — before the towering skyscrapers blocked out the sun, neon lights replacing its rays, technology weaving itself seamlessly into the fabric of your lives, like the patterns on your dress.

Picking at the threads – you wonder if someone had put love and care into intertwining each one, meeting perfectly to create the image of a flower. But the thought quickly dispels — knowing that a specialized machine was behind it, or an android doing the work that was once meant for humans.

Resonance, your family prided themselves on saying. The ability of an object to match another’s frequency – only it’d progressed beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Systems had advanced from being motherboards connected to screens to full blown humanized machines, who not only had to ability to perform human functions, but excel at them when it came to speed, efficiency, and cost.

The thought of it made you sick to your stomach. As the presumptive heir to Miroh Labs’ empire, you’d seen firsthand how ambition had slowly given way to greed, your family creating and creating and creating, giving no mind to how their projects always seemed to end up in the hands of the city’s elite.

You’d been to the outskirts, the fringes of society failing to catch up with the advancement of the inner city, a ruined wasteland where people struggled to find work to bring home food for their families.

But they had candles, you muse, smiling lightly to yourself, remembering how you’d passed by a home once, devoid of any electricity, a single candle flickering in the window, the family huddled around their only source of light. It had brought them closer in ways that you could only dream of.

Which is why the intimate setting of the dining room shocked you today – lights dim, candleglow every prominent. Except instead of comforting you, it felt strangely eerie, casting shadows on the faces of your parents, seated at the head of the long table, your own chair pulled out at the very opposite end.

Of course - your parents spared no opportunity to turn even the simplest of dinners into a boardroom meeting. Wincing, you feel the chair screech as you slide it across the cool tile, the sound grating your ears, which have begun to ring, pain throbbing at your temples.

The food is untouched, grave expressions on your parents’ face, and it’s your father who breaks the deafening silence.

“There’s a new project we want you to be a part of—”

“Forget it,” you pick at your plate. “I’m not interested. It’s not like I can contribute anything useful anyway.”

“This one’s different,” your mother’s voice cuts you off, and it’s softer, more gentle than you’ve ever heard it. For a moment, you could believe she actually cared.

Your father’s footsteps reverberate against the tile, walking over to your side of the table. A picture is set in front of you – a man. Dark curly hair, full lips, a strong jaw, the faint hint of muscle underneath his shirt. But it’s his eyes that pierce through the page – stark hazel. Your throat feels tight, closing in on itself.

“New employee?” you ponder, even though you know it’s not the answer.

Hazel eyes were for androids — no human would have eyes so piercing, ones that could glint in the darkest room, or pale in the brightest sun.

“___, meet C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N, Computer Human Advanced Network Growing By Intelligent Nexuses. Our pride and joy.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the words, knowing they’d never applied to you – you with your rebellious streak, your lack of achievements, your failed engagement to a man that was far too good for you.

Hyunjin’s face flashes in the back of your mind, and you fight to keep your expression from shifting.

“C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N was created for a very specific purpose you see — he’s been built and programmed to be the perfect companion. To provide all the qualities that one would normally seek in a spouse. Although humans are falliable, C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N is not. But we need a beta tester.”

The reality of what your parents are proposing dawns on you, horror creeping up your spine.

“No–,” you begin to protest, but you’re cut off by a wave of your father’s hand.

“The announcements have already been uploaded to the city-wide servers. Starting tomorrow, news of C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N’s launch will go live, along with your engagement announcement. The wedding will be held in a week’s’ time.”

You look despondently to your mother, hoping the pain in your eyes is enough to dissuade her. Were you really that worthless to your parents that they’d hand you to a hunk of scrap metal, dooming you to loneliness for the rest of your life?

Your mother shakes her head. “___, dear, this is the least you can do for us, and for Miroh Labs. Especially given everything that’s happened.”

They always wielded it against you — the fact that you were hard to love. You hadn’t been enough to persuade Hyunjin to stay, and they’d experienced the fallout from whispers all around New Domino. Now, you were barely human in their eyes, not even equal to, and probably lesser than this machine they’d fabricated, one whose fate had become irrevocably intertwined with yours. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

When Changbin wakes, everything is a blur. While his lungs don’t burn for air, his circuits are driven haywire anyway by the new environment - the harsh gleam of fluorescent lights, the gentle whirring of motors, the coolness of the metal table. It hits him all at once, and he’s tempted to close his eyes again, to return to the darkness of being powered down.

A figure looms over him, a taller man in a lab coat, his eyes gentle and full of concern, almost as if he’s holding his breath looking at Changbin.

“Hello C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N, my name is Chan. I am one of the lead research developers at Miroh Labs. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Changbin feels his system boot up, gentle heat spreading through the center of his body, all the way to his fingertips.

“Good morning, Chan. I am C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N, Computer Human Andvanced Network Growing By Intelligent Nexuses. How may I be of assistance?”

His voice reverberates through his speakers, a monotonous tinge resounding against the empty walls of the lab, and he watches Chan’s face twist,

“Do you know why you’re here right now?” Chan asks, curiosity in his gaze.

“I am an advanced computer-human android, programmed to fulfill the role of a partner. My duties and capabilities include companionship, emotional support, and assistance with domestic tasks, designed to blend into one’s life seamlessly.”

As he speaks, Changbin notices his sensors blinking, watching different parts of his arm, chest, and the rest of his body light up as various programs are activated.

Chan slides something in his direction – a sheet of paper with a picture on it. He takes a look at it, his cameras analyzing the woman in the photo. Everything from the colour of her hair to the tiny mole on the back of her hand, to the way she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, perhaps evidence that something is different with her psychology from normal humans.

“This is ___, the next in line to be CEO of Miroh Labs. You will be her future companion,” Chan sighs heavily. “The family has already gone live with the announcement for the wedding, we only have a week to prepare.”

Changbin’s sensors beep, red lights blinking while he processes what Chan is saying, and Chan looks on, a deep furrow in between his brows.

“A w-week?” Changbin, stutters, and Chan already wonders if there’s something wrong with his circuitry. That couldn’t be possible though, the ___ family had tasked him with working on this for the better part of nine months, dedicating each and every hour of his spare time to this endeavour. He brushes off the thought, knowing that there was no way your parents would proceed unless everything was guaranteed to be perfect. After all, the motto of Miroh Labs was to create a more perfect world.

Changbin straightens, legs swinging over the edge of the table as he rises, standing slightly shorter than Chan.

“I understand my responsibilities, Chan. I assure you I will carry them out to the best of my abilities, until ___ is nothing less than satisfied.”

Chan looks at the android in front of him, his face softening. For a moment, Changbin looked as real as him – from the way his hair curled to the strong lines of his body. He almost reminded him of a younger sibling, and a protective instinct washed over Chan.

“I know you will Changbin. But there’s also something you should know.”

Changbin looks up with anticipation at Chan, wondering if there was a new program Chan wanted to add, and whether that meant he had to wait before he could meet ___.

“Please don’t tell anyone I’m telling you this, but should you ever decide that this is what you want, or that you desire to do something different, to be somewhere else, there’s always a way out. You’re more than just an android Changbin.”

Changbin’s processors began to hum. More than just an android? It didn’t make sense to him. His programs were designed to be the best, to cover every single duty one could expect from a partner. What more could there be? Still, Chan’s words sparked intrigue, and he saved a recording of them to his memory, just in case they would be useful later.

“Alright then Changbin, shall we get started? There’s a lot we need to go over about ___ before the wedding happens. Her favourite colour, favourite foods, the layout of her apartment … these will help inform your programs to adapt even more perfectly to your duties,” Chan’s voice is calm and even, with no hints of the darkness of the previous conversation in his tone at all.

They tour around the laboratories, Chan introducing him to the new world he was now expected to be a part of — from the windows, Changbin looks out onto New Domino, watching the hovercrafts zip down the neon-lit streets, and the skyscrapers graze the clouds, a dense fog covering up the skyline.

Changbin listens intently as Chan goes on, his motors continuing to whir and sensors lighting up as each new piece of information is revealed — the new dimensions of his existence seemed vast and overwhelming, and he worried whether he’d be up to the task, knowing what happened to androids who were faulty – they were deprogrammed, becoming no more than scrap metal to fuel the fires of those on the fringes of society. Shuddering at the thought, Changbin knew he had no choice but to succeed. All he could hope was that you would accept him too.

Goosebumps rise all along your arms — you feel the thorns of the roses prick your fingers as you clutch the bouquet in your hands tighter, listening from behind the door as the muted whispers of the guests fill the ceremony space. You can hear cameras going off, preparing yourself to be met with a grand scene - shimmering lights, velvet drapes, everything bathed in opulent hues of gold and silver.

There’s an uncomfortable buzz – everything had happened so quickly. From the invitations going out to the details being finalized, you’d had little to no say in any of it, the uncomfortable lace of the dress you could barely voice your resistance to scratching against your skin, setting it on fire. For once, you wished you could down a glass of champagne or two to keep the nerves at bay.

A pit settles in your stomach once the door opens, and you’re blinded by the twinkling lights of crystal chandeliers. Heart pounding in your ears, you move automatically without thinking, heels clacking against the polished marble floor. Everything around you is a blur – senses in overdrive, it all melds together. The bright flashes of the photographers, the uncomfortably cold temperature of the room, even the soft tones of the piano becoming grating to your ears.

The only thing that remains clear is the figure waiting for you at the end. You suck in a breath – seeing Changbin for the first time, you couldn’t help but marvel at how stunning of a specimen he was. Of course, he’d been designed to be crafted to perfection, but he was beyond flawless.

Clad in a black tux, the fabric hugs his broad, muscular, frame and tapers at the waist, highlighting his athletic build. His dark hair is swept away from his forehead, exposing the prominent angles of his face. The put-togetherness of his appearance must only serve to highlight the chaos of your own, the makeup doing little to cover up the lack of sleep you’d dealt with ever since that fateful meeting with your parents.

Coming up to the altar, Changbin extends his hand in your direction, and you’re shocked when you feel the warmth of his hand. Sparks jolt where your skin makes contact, and for a moment you forget that he’s not human like you, a jumble of circuits and running electricity. But it floats away when his posture goes rigid once again, with no hint of emotion on his face.

Mechanical – that’s how every bit of this felt. From the brittleness in the officiant’s tone as he droned on about the sanctity of marriage, to the pointed stares and light din that surrounded what should have been a sacred moment – two souls joining together as one. But Changbin didn’t have a soul. And you weren’t sure you did either. The two of you were just glass figurines, put on display for everyone to ogle, cogs in the machine of this elaborate public spectacle that your parents had crafted.

For a brief moment, you wonder if Hyunjin’s somewhere in the crowd, eyes widening as you search frantically for him, the one person who could have been your out, your chance at a normal life. But not a single face stands out to you – a crowd of strangers looking back at you. A bead of sweat pools at the base of your neck, and you suck in a breath.

You feel fingers wrap around your own, Changbin’s hand coming to clasp around yours, and it takes a moment for you to reorient yourself to the scene going on around you. The officiant is asking you to join hands, ready to repeat the vows that will join you and Changbin together.

Changbin’s eyes bore into yours, the hazel containing more depth than you’d imagined for an android.

“Are you ok?” the words are whispered so quietly you may have almost missed them. In fact, you believe you might have missed them, unable to believe what’s coming out of Changbin’s mouth. His voice is deeper than you’d expected, gravelly yet with a pleasant tone, far from the flat and monotone affect you’d expected.

Either two things could have been true in this moment: 1) Changbin knew you better than you knew yourself, or 2) he was malfunctioning, a slip in his meticulous programming. But androids weren’t people, they weren’t capable of feeling for people. They were only capable of completing the tasks set out for them.

You drop his hand, lips parting, unable to croak out a reponse for fear of arousing suspicion. But the moment is over before you’d even had a chance to respond, buried underneath his calculated rigidness once more.

The knife twists deeper in your gut when your lips curl around the “I do”, the words sounding as artificial as Changbin’s own, sealing the vows that doomed the two of you to a loveless existence by each others’ side.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you pull the heavy diamond earrings out of your ear, setting them on the cool crisp marble of your bathroom counter, rubbing at your burning earlobes. Alone in the comfort of your bathroom, you feel like you’re finally able to breathe again. And that’s when it all hits you, the gravity of what had just transpired weighing on you with the force of a heavy boulder.

Throat closing in on itself, you struggle to breathe, doubling over as tears fill your eyes. Fingers, shaking, you fumble with the laces of your dress, until the tightness is removed from your rib cage and you can finally breathe again, the dress falling to the floor.

If Hyunjin was here, he’d help you take it off, his fingers dancing delicately across the skin of your back. He’d remove the pins from your hair gently, pressing a kiss to your head in the spot where each one of them had been, until you finally grew tired of his teasing, pulling him in to meet your lips. If Hyunjin had been here, your wedding would have been full of love and joy and laughter, the most vivid of paintings come to life. But you’d lost him, and now yourself. You were alone.

A distant clanging jolts you from your misery, and you slip into your pyjamas, softly padding out from your bathroom to see what the commotion was about. Immediately, you’re hit with the aroma of savoury garlic and herbs, stomach rumbling in response. You’d barely eaten anything the whole night, scared that whatever you tried to would just come back up due to the gnawing feeling in your gut.

It hits you that you were no longer alone in this apartment — there was another being here now, one who’d managed to crawl inside the walls that you’d kept up. Changbin had no choice but to be here with you, to see you at your most vulnerable and exposed.

The hallway is dark as you make your way to the kitchen, pausing when you see Changbin bent over the stove, a crisp white apron around his waist. He’d changed too, clad in a comfy pair of grey sweats and a black t-shirt that showcases his wide shoulders.

The grumbling of your stomach gives you away – Changbin turning to see you at the threshold, his face lighting up in a smile. You notice how it doesn’t reach his eyes, restrained and polite – like the ones that littered the billboards of New Domino, promoting the latest breakthroughs.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he assures you. “I made aglio e olio.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at the Italian dish he’d mentioned — one of your favourites, but it sours when you think about how he’d probably been trained by the researchers to know your preferences. If it had been another person, maybe he would have made kimchi jigae or maqluba. It meant nothing.

“Smells great,” you manage to croak out, grateful for the hot meal. In a few moments, the table is full of two steaming plates of pasta, Changbin taking his place at the other end. You’re grateful he doesn’t try to sit next to you, allowing you to eat in piece. Silence passes, filled only with the clanging of forks, and you watch Changbin bristle in his chair. He pauses every few moments, like he wants to say something, but holds back, until you can no longer take it.

“What is it?” you spit out, uncaring at how harsh the words come across. Changbin doesn’t flinch, but you watch lights run across his arm, whirring emanating from him, like he’s trying to process your actions. You let out a heavy sigh.

“Did you enjoy the meal?” he asks, and you’re taken aback. You hadn’t expected such a simple, yet earnest question. You’d half-expected him to ask you to rate his skills from one to ten, like the surveys that popped up whenever you dined out at a fancy restaurant.

“It was delicious,” you refuse to lie. The pasta had quelled the burning hunger you’d felt, making you considerably less irritable, and Changbin whirs to life again, processing what you’d just told him.

You help him clean up, the two of you working in tandem to clear the table, carefully skirting around each other. Shadows dance across the wall from the city lights reflecting through the window.

Warmth emanates from Changbin, as you feel his heavy breath fan the back of your neck, startled by how life-like it actually felt. You realize you’re caged behind his arms as he puts the dried plates into the cabinet above you, the air growing thick with something you couldn’t name.

Turning around, you’re pressed against the hard planes of Changbin’s chest, and you lurch at the way your body comes to life against his, nipples peaking in the cold air.

A light flickers at Changbin’s temple, and he studies you curiously, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your breathing quickens.

His gaze lingers on your lips, leaning in closer. But before he can meet yours, you’re pulling away, shame and guilt in your chest. This wasn’t real. None of it was. And the sooner you learned to accept it, the less miserable both of you would be.

“I’m tired,” you whisper into thin air, turning your face away from his. “I want to go to bed.”

You swear Changbin’s eyes flicker for a brief moment before he straightens, responding with the mechanical tone you’d expected all along.

“Of course, you must be exhausted from today.”

You falter, not knowing whether he’d follow you into your room. Now that you were married, it was expected you’d share a bed. Stepping away, you’re relieved when he doesn’t follow.

Staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your mind replays everything that had happened – the fake fanfare of the wedding to Changbin asking if you were okay, to whatever had just happened now. Changbin couldn’t have wanted to kiss you, right? He lacked his own desires. Someone had probably told him that was what couples did.

The softness of your sheets and the light streaming in from your window did nothing to quell the turmoil arising within you – your room no longer felt like the safe refuge it had once been, where you could shut out the rest of the world.

In the silence of the night, the weight of what your life had become settled heavily on your chest. Once full of warmth and love, it was now cold and unfeeling, as clinical as the hallways of Miroh Labs.

For a brief moment, you hear steps come towards your bedroom, before they retreat. The hallway light flickers, before it’s turned off, and you’re able to retreat into the darkness once more.

No, you’d told your parents when they’d brought up the idea. Absolutely not.

As usual, your pleading fell on deaf ears. The invites had already been accepted, your dress had been arranged, and a night filled with mindless drivel and booze chatting with the city’s elite waited for you and Changbin.

You hated it – this pretending. At home, it was easy to accept, the way you and Changbin moved around each other, the uneasiness of that first night permeating every interaction you’d had after. But out here, in New Domino, the pretending had to happen. You had to play the part of a couple in love.

Changbin took to it easier than you’d expected. You’d nearly stumbled the moment you’d stepped out of your room, watching him turn to you with hands tucked into the pockets of yet another black tux. You briefly wondered if it was the exact same one he’d worn to the wedding – it wasn’t like there was a need for him to have different outfits, since his clothes never got dirty.

You hoped Changbin didn’t notice your gaze lingering on just how good he managed to look – outshining even your emerald silk gown. You wait for the same from him – a falter, a nod, some sort of acknowledgment that he was just as taken by you. But it never comes, his arm slipping stiffly into yours.

The car ride to the gala is silent, a sea of nerves and anxiety filling the space between you two. The lights from the city pass you by, illuminating Changbin’s face in a strange, yet beautiful glow.

However, you barely acknowledge it, lost in thought while watching the cars speed by on the freeway. Before long, the glittering lights of the manor greet you, and it feels as though you’re transported back in time. As much as the upper echelon of New Domino loved their androids and their hovercrafts, nothing could replace the value of a night full of egregiously expensive liquor and brainless chatter about how far society had come, knowing they’d done little to contribute to it besides emptying their pockets.

Changbin lingers by your side, and you’re painfully aware of his scent – the one he’d chosen for tonight. Black leather and sandalwood saturate the air in between you, and you notice the stares from other guests as the two of you weave through the crowd, you in search of water to clear the pounding headache that had begun to form at your temples.

For how out of place he is, Changbin dances the dance of your peers well – meeting their fake smiles with a polished one of his own, waving and happily introducing himself to anyone that passes by.

It shouldn’t bother you that none of it directed at you – you told yourself you didn’t want his affection, that he could never give you what he desired. So why did it bother you when he stops one of the hostesses for a glass of champagne, watching her face turn sour when he swerves to hand it to you?

You down the drink before he can even blink, moving away from him and further into the throng. Your head is buzzing, and you feel the alcohol come straight back up, rushing to the bathroom when you hear it – a soft whisper, but it cut through the music like a blade.

“It’s almost amusing,” a woman says, “to see such a flawless machine with someone so... human.”

“You know what happened with her last engagement, right? Hyunjin left her for another woman…”

It’s too much to bear, bile rising in your throat, before you feel a hand on the small of your back. If Changbin was human, you’d almost expect his knuckles to turn white with the force he uses to grip your waist.

“I suggest you keep your unwanted comments to yourself,” Changbin seethes, watching the guests turn pale. You sway under his touch, head spinning from the combination of alcohol and Changbin coming to your defense, before he’s leading you away, the crisp night air from the balcony nipping at your backs.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you gently, while you watch the same light at his temple flicker.

None of this was okay. None of it at all. But you didn’t want to make him understand how much was wrong with you being here with him, when it should have been someone else, someone you actually had loved.

“It’s fine,” you clear your throat, peeling his hand from your waist. His touch continues even after you’ve removed his fingers, and you shiver.

You were used to it – the stares, the whispers. They’d followed you your whole life, the cuts left in their wake eventually turning into hardened scars. You didn’t need defending, least of all from him.

“I’m going to leave,” you tell him, stepping away. “You’re free to stay. Please don’t let me ruin your evening.”

“I can go with you,” his voice echoes from beside you, “I was getting tired anyway.”

A sick, twisted laugh bubbles from your throat at his insistence. Changbin didn’t get tired, he couldn’t get tired. He wasn’t like you.

“Stay,” your voice is resolute. “That’s an order, Changbin.”

Changbin turns to face you, recoiling at the red rimming your eyes, the bags underneath them becoming even more prominent when the lights of the manor illuminate you from behind.

You don’t know what possesses him to reach for the single strand of hair that has managed to escape your polished bun, but he watches you suck in a breath, lips parting in surprise.

Your paralysis slowly melts away and you’re pushing him away without realizing it, walking away without another word. You don’t dare to turn around, knowing your heart would twist when you found Changbin looking at you again with that same blank expression – the one you’d come to know all too well.

Dawn is is barely trickling when you slip out of your apartment. Passing by the living room, you notice Changbin in the corner, standing against the wall. For a moment, he looks so peaceful you would almost think he’d fallen asleep. However, you take one look at the outlet and realize he’s powered down for the night, free from his duties of following you around. A pang of annoyance rattles through you. It should have been romantic, knowing Changbin had no point to his existence if it didn’t revolve around you. All it did was made you sick to your stomach instead.

Curling your jacket tighter around you, you duck your head down, few vehicles on the streets due to the early hour. The city seemed eerie yet peaceful at dawn, the dim rays of sun barely breaking through the clouds, casting everything in a soft orange glow. Such a stark contrast from the bright neon and gray that tinged its walls at every other time of day.

With only the sound your heels slamming against the pavement to keep you company, your walk slips into a run as your coat flies behind you, the wind whipping through your air. The city is soon left behind, tall skyscrapers giving way to modest brick houses, plumes of smoke wafting through the air.

Fire. You smile at the thought of it. Fire meant happy homes, with happy families. Families who relied on each other, who loved one another.

The haze that had clouded your head last night seems to have subsided, head clearer from the fresh air. But thoughts of Changbin cease to depart as easily, and it leaves you to wonder exactly where you stood with him.

He cared, more than an android should. For a moment it almost seemed like maybe he–

You shake the thought away, rounding the corner, shoulders immediately slumping in relief when you see the worn-out sign of the clinic.

“___?” a voice calls out to you. “Is that you?”

“Hello Jeongin,” you smile at the younger boy who bounds down the steps when he sees your figure standing outside, hair windswept and cheeks flushed as he comes to a halt next to you.

“Noona, what are you doing here?” he asks, and you feel yourself shrink underneath his sincere gaze.

“What do you mean? I always come by this time every week,” you raise an eyebrow, watching Jeongin bounce on the balls of his feet.

“But noona, you’re married now.”

You freeze at his statement, not realizing that the news had reached here too. Jeongin’s eyes are alight with excitement, and you know he’s going to ask questions that you don’t have the heart to answer.

As if he can sense your trepidation, Jeongin ushers you inside, the warm smiles of the elderly patients you’d come to know and love greeting you.

Before long, the two of you are at work, you helping them fill out their paperwork while Jeongin works to check their vitals and bring them back for the doctor to see them. All the while, you’re regaled with stories about their lives, including lost loves, mischievous grandchildren, and fond memories of a time that has since passed.

This is why you loved coming here. It reminded you that away from the hustle of New Domino, actual life existed. Life imbued with meaningful moments, connections, and people. Something that society seemed to have forgotten.

“You have such a beautiful smile,” one of the regulars, Miss Choi, pinches your cheek affectionately. “It’s such a shame we didn’t see it in any of your photos.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, shoulders tensing. “I guess Jeongin must have shown everyone.”

“Of course dear, you looked lovely. And such a handsome groom too!”

She titters, and you ponder about whether or not she knows the actual details of your wedding, of who Changbin really was. Even if she did, would she understand it? Even though he’d long since passed away, Miss Choi had a husband who’d loved her, who was capable of loving her. She wasn’t a victim of someone else’s greed, of their ambition. She’d never understand the kind of abyss that New Domino had become, and if she did, she’d probably be horrified.

You pat her shoulder, hoping she can’t see the way your breath hitches, before you’re rushing to the back, curling in on yourself as sobs wrack your entire body.

Jeongin is by your side in seconds, a steady arm on your shoulder, and you lean into the younger boy, someone who despite not having spent that much time with, had become your one of your closest friends.

“How much of it did you hear?” you mutter, looking at the floor.

“I heard enough,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry, noona.”

You don’t know how long you stay glued to Jeongin’s side, unable to stand upright, the two of you failing to notice the figure watching from outside the window.

. . .

Changbin hadn’t meant to follow you. He’d heard you slip out in the morning, not having powered down completely last night. After what had happened at the gala, his processors had gone into overdrive, replying everything – the whispers of those awful guests, the way you leaned into his touch, to your harsh words telling him you didn’t want him around.

Changbin wonders if he’d already failed at his task – it seemed like you didn’t care for his companionship, no matter how hard he tried. The walls you had built were too high for even his sophisticated technology to penetrate, and he hums, wondering if this meant he’d be deprogrammed.

Chan’s words from before echo in the back of his mind – what did he mean an alternative? Was there another task he could be useful for, even if you didn’t want him?

Not wanting to dwell too long, he trails a safe distance behind you, watching you break into a run, limbs heavy with fatigue, your breathing labored, until an unfamiliar neighbourhood materializes, the grandeur of luxury boutiques and high-end restaurants fading into older buildings.

Finally catching up to you, he watches you embrace a younger man, the two of you walking into a battered, broken down building together. Heat floods Changbin, his gears kicked into overdrive, struggling to make sense of what he was witnessing. Did you already have someone else? Was this Hyunjin, the one who’d left you?

The air turns crisp the longer he lingers outside the door, waiting for any sign. He gets it when he sees a leaf fall, your figure appearing in the window, hunched over like you’re in pain. The same man from before is by your side, offering you his shoulder to lean on.

Changbin doesn’t know what comes over him — he’s at the door before he can think, even rationalize what’s going on.

He waits until your figure materializes from the back, wanting to see who the new entry was. Your lips part in a silent gasp when you see Changbin standing there.

It’s like he’s malfunctioning, gears whining and lights glinting, his jaw tense when Jeongin comes up behind you.

“Noona,” he hears the other man whisper. “I think you should go.”

You nod wordlessly, motioning for Changbin to walk with you, the two of you ignoring the many eyes that follow you, making your way down the dimly lit street.

The wind whips around him as Changbin jogs behind you, watching as you push through the crowds of passerby. You walk and walk, and he follows, watching the houses disappear behind him as you go higher and higher, eventually stopping when the road ends.

The view isn’t even comparable to the one from your penthouse – it’s even better. From the hill, he can see everything – the houses you’d passed on your way, to the bright lights of the city center, to beyond the horizon, where a mass of dense clouds covers the horizon. Which is exactly where you’re looking, and Changbin can’t help but look too, wondering what lies past their cover.

“I used to come here with Hyunjin,” you break the silence. “Before everything fell apart.”

“We’d just sit here and look at the sky,” you continue, words crashing into each other as you rush to get them out. Changbin doesn’t know whether he should reach out for you, but decides against it, not wanting to startle your trembling figure.

“We’d look at the sky and wonder about what the future would look like — a million different scenarios. Sometimes we’d be rich, other times poor, living in the city, living out of it. But we always had each other. Until he decided to leave.”

“We should get you home–”

“Am I really that hard to love?” you blurt out, and Changbin freezes, the naked truth of why you’d been so cold finally exposed to him.

“___, it’s not, you shouldn’t think like this–,” Changbin struggles to analyze this, something far beyond the limits of what his data sets had compiled. This was different, this grief was beyond the depths of his understanding. This yearning for something else, someone else.

“Can you make it go away Changbin? This emptiness that lives inside me. This feeling that my life has never been mine, will never be mine?” you taunt him, knocking against his chest, scoffing when you hear the hollowness of metal.

“You can’t, can’t you? You’re just an android–”

“I’M NOT!” Changbin screams, his circuits devolving into chaos at the sharb jab of your words, Chan’s words coming back to him. “I’m not! I’m not! I’m not.”

He feels sparks inside him, his words stilting as he struggles to get them out. His fingers grasp at the back of his neck, searching for the one button he knows can end this, can put him out of his misery. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.

He doesn’t even notice how close you’ve become until he feels your breath fan against his lips, like that first night.

“Prove it,” you whisper, eyes off to the side like you didn’t expect him to listen.

But he listens.

Changbin surges forward, seeking your lips, and you stumble for a brief second, thinking you’ll hurtle off the hilltop, before his arm comes up to wrap around you, your hands tangling in his hair in an instant. The wind howls around you both, yet a shiver ran down your spine, blood pounding in your ears.

His lips were softer than you’d expected, and you capture him with your teeth, drawing him in, a moan bubbling up in your chest.

He feels so real. This felt so real.

Changbin can hardly think either, kicked into overdrive, the feel of your hungry mouth against his, the fervent swipe of his tongue against your lips. You knew this was a bad idea, that it would complicate everything, but you didn’t have it in you to care, hands roaming everywhere, slipping underneath the hem of Changbin’s shirt to trace circles against his hard stomach.

A strangled sound escapes Changbin’s throat, and the two of you part, flustered and trembling, Changbin resting his forehead to yours. Your fingers card through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and he moves again, roving down your jawline, lapping at your skin. Despite it being freezing out, a thin trail of sweat trickles down your neck, and Changbin doesn’t miss the opportunity to taste you, teeth grazing as he goes.

“Let me show you,” he rumbles into your chest, voice raspy from the lack of air.

The cold metal of the railing juts against your back as Changbin lunges, his arm locking you into place. Your cry of protest turns into a gasp when he nudges a knee in between your thighs, spreading them apart.

“God, just fucking touch me already,” you seethe, gasping when he thumbs at your nipples through the fabric of your shirt, the swollen peaks stiffening when he tugs them with his fingers.

An ache begins to build between your thighs when you look into Changbin’s eyes, their laser-like focus on you and you only, and that’s when his fingers slip underneath your skirt and straight to where you need him.

“Say please,” he whispers, and for a moment, you imagine the same desperation in his tone that colours yours.

Even when you don’t say anything, he knows from the tremble of your lips and the slight nod of your head that you want this.

The moment he swipes his fingers against your core, Changbin curses, palm meeting the furious grinding of your hips.

Your hands ball into fists, feeling the slick leak out of you, and you whine, a warm flush settling over your body, evidence of its betrayal.

“Pretend all you want,” Changbin hisses. “Pretend you hate me. Pretend you don’t see me. But we both know you want this.”

You try to hold your resolve, your wet cunt leaking even more, walls fluttering around his fingers. One wrong move and you’d go hurtling over the railing. But Changbin’s grip on you is like a vice, which only makes you squeeze harder around his knee.

He changes his pace, circling faster, harder, and your head goes hazy from the stimulation, your hands grabbing fistfuls of Changbin’s shirt. When you feel yourself teetering on the brink, body flushing with anticipation, it all stops.

Panting, you look at Changbin, his dark eyes surveying you hungrily, and you hear the clink of his belt, quivering as you try and spare yourself from being utterly wrecked by the sight of his cock.

“Look. at. me,” he grabs your chin and turns your head towards him, your eyes fluttering from the delirium of it all.

Gripping your thighs, he sinks you down onto him. You cry out as the initial pain subsides and you feel his hips snap up into you, pubic bone rolling against your clit.

“Changbin, I, shit-, it’s too much!” you plead, shamelessly rocking aginst him as he sets a brutal pace, the sounds of skin slapping and your breathy moans echoing bouncing from the walls.

Changbin says nothing, planting a messy kiss on your lips, prodding his tongue into the seam of your mouth to taste, and you anchor your palms against the railing, allowing him to roll his hips upward, the two of you moving in tandem.

The fire in your abdomen reaches a peak, a new wave of arousal suddenly washing over you as you feel your hips jerk, coming undone as you collapse against Changbin, stifling a groan against his throat.

Lifting you off of the railing, Changbin’s arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel something wet against the side of your face. Tears.

“Changbin–”

You wobble to your feet, head swirling with emotion, but he’s already pulling away, the faint outline of his figure the only thing you see as he heads off into the night.

Sighing, you pull your glasses down onto your face, hoping they can diguise the fact that despite your best efforts, your night was absolutely restless, swimming with thoughts of Changbin.

After leaving you on the hilltop, he’d vanished, leaving you to make your own way home. And now, not even a day later, your parents had decided to add to your headache by summoning you for a board meeting.

You expected them to ask for updates on your relationship with Changbin, to pry into your life, pretending like they cared. It was what they’d always done.

But you never expected this.

“I–, I don’t understand,” you gnaw at your lip, biting down so hard the skin may break. In front of you, the powerpoint gleams brightly. You can read the words off the slide, but you struggle to actually process them. And what they mean.

The beta testing was successful. Although people responded rather tepidly at first to the idea of a human-android relationship, we’ve gotten more positive feedback and requests to expand than ever. We’re on the verge of a new breakthrough here at Miroh Labs. And we want you to take charge of it.

Your father’s words have been echoing ceaslessly in the back of your mind, ever since he uttered them the moment you walked in.

The news has you deeply unsettled. You’d thought that this was some kind of social experiment, that you and Changbin were some freaks of nature, two outcasts in society brought together as a spectacle for others. You’d never anticipated it would come to this.

Miroh Labs wasn’t just looking to change the future of human-android relationships. No your parents twisted plan took it a step further – they sought to create models beyond Changbin’s capabilities as a companion, ones who would be equipped with the ability to reproduce.

We’d never have to worry about birth rates or a weak genetic pool again.

Looking out the window, you look out onto New Domino, the blueprints reflecting onto the screen, clashing with the holographic displays outside, a stark contrast to the storm that was brewing inside the boardroom.

Face illuminated by the blue glow of the screens, your breath comes out in short, uneven bursts. Your mother reaches out, watching your handles tremble, but you yank them away before she can clasp them in hers,

“Don’t touch me!” you hiss. “Was this all a fucking joke to you? Playing with my life, my emotions, so you could turn me into some kind of laughingstock for whatever sick idea you had?”

Standing up, you clutch the the documents to your chest.

“I’m done,” you declare. If you’d asked seven years ago, maybe you would’ve have done it, so desparate to please everyone around you that you’d say yes to whatever came your way. But now you knew better than to trust anyone. It’d only end up in heartbreak, and you refused to be a part of this sick and twisted legacy.

You needed to talk to Changbin.

. . .

The soft thud of shoes at the entryway feels louder than ever, knowing that you’ve been lying on your bed for the past eight hours, willing the tears to stop. But they never did.

Heartbeat pounding in your ears, you prod your aching limbs to get up, soreness flooding your entire body when you stand. Padding softly out into the hallway, you gasp when you see Changbin there, standing solemnly against the window.

He knows you from even the quietest sound, head turning when you come up behind him. There was so much you had to talk about, so much to address. But you couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

You reach behind you to grab the papers you’d stolen,and Changbin’s eyes widen with surprise when you push them in his direction, confusion marring his handsome face.

The two of you stand there while he reads, a multitude of moments passing in silence.

“I don’t get it,” he protests. “This seems like a logical progression. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

“You don’t get it, do you Changbin?,” you declare firmly, doing your best to overcome the wobble in your voice. “This changes everything.”

You hear Changbin whir, temple lighting up with red, and for a moment, all there is to fill the silence is the sound of clicking and beeping. Was this it? Had Changbin finally reached his limits.

You’d been thinking about this for hours, about how to tell Changbin, how to break the news to him. You had no idea where you stood without, about how he felt after what’d you’d both shared at the lookout. And despite the thousands of theorized and calculated ways you’d thought of in your head, telling you that this didn’t matter, that it wouldn’t hurt him, you still choke back a sob.

“Don’t you understand? They want to change everything, to alter what it even means to be human? If an android can reproduce with a human, then what’s the point of marriage? What’s the point of falling in love? It all just becomes a stupid commodity, a race to see who can pop out babies the fastest, who can engineer the most perfect spawn. All the meaning from life as we know will be gone.”

Changbin’s eyes flicker for a brief moment, hurt and confusion settling on his face.

“What are you saying ___? Look at me. Please.”

The words come out in a desperate whine, Changbin lifting your face up to his, searching your eyes for a spark of emotion, but all he finds are hollow pools of emptiness.

You take a moment to respond, knowing that what you have to say will be the end of this, will probably drive a stake through the farce that had been your marriage.

“You’ll never understand Changbin. You can simulate every single emotion and fulfill every task. Hell, even if they upgrade you and you’re somehow able to reproduce, you just won’t get it. Because you don’t know what real love is like; all you know is the substitute. And it will never be enough.”

“This isn’t fair,” Changbin chokes out, recoiling. “All I have ever done is my best. All I can ever do is my best. Why is that not enough?”

“I’m sorry,” you look at him, tears blurring your vision. “I wish it was.”

“A-are you going to deprogram me?” Changbin hums, and all of a sudden, his sensors go haywire, every single one lighting up and blinking until they devolve into chaos. Your heart lurches seeing him like this, reaching out for him, but he slaps your arm away.

“Do you know what the worst part of this is ___? It’s not you, or whatever you think you feel. Because you’ve never fucking known what you wanted. No, it’s that, for one fucking night, you had me convinced. Convinced that I was something more than just a hunk of scrap metal to you. Convinced that there was some sick, twisted part of me that actually thought you could love me. But I don’t want you to lie to yourself anymore. I want to leave.”

You don’t say a word to him as he pads out of the kitchen, slipping his coat over his shoulders and tying his shoes.

As he slips out the door, you hears his voice, so quiet that you’re almost not convinced it’s real.

“Forgive me.”

The moon shines on the dark streets, it’s gentle light almost swallowed by their neon glow. Changbin runs, heart pounding in sync with his frantic steps.

Taking in a deep breath, he watches the city melt away again, the night air becoming colder, heavier with the fog of polluted smoke, until he’s there again. The hilltop. Looking out onto the city, he marvels at how it had once been a place full of so much intensity, maybe even love. He thinks back to the feeling of your lips on his, to the way you’d gasped his name. But now he feels nothing but emptiness.

Maybe he deserved that emptiness. Maybe you were right, maybe he could never be more than what he was – an automated program. Maybe it was better that he’d never see you smile again, never get to watch you hum contentedly when you took a bite of food that you loved, that he’d never ever have the chance to even say that he loved you. Because he wanted to, not because he had to.

“Changbin?” a voice calls out to him. “Is that you?”

Turning, he watches as the lithe figure of Chan comes into view, face furrowed in confusion at the sight of an android wandering alone on the streets.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, and Changbin feels himself shrink, embarrassment cutting deep into him like a knife.

“I had to leave,” he feels himself heat, drive replaying the memories of his last conversation with you. “I had to go, I didn’t know what else to do–”

Changbin clenches his jaw, body tense as he fears Chan’s response, wondering if the other man will laugh at his stupidity.

Androids don’t get choices.

Surprisingly, the look on his face is one of understanding. Chan motions for Changbin to follow him, the two of them heading out into the lonely night.

. . .

The flickering lights of a warehouse come into view, casting long shadows on the ground. Changbin turns to Chan, body going rigid, and the lights cast an eerie glow on Chan’s face, the other half bathed in the darkness.

Stepping through the door, he’s surprised to find it more cosy than industrial, a clean, fresh scent overtaking his senses, one that reminded him of your apartment. It smelled like home. Something that Changbin was unsure he’d ever find.

“Come sit here, Changbin,” Chan motions to a sofa. “Now do you want to tell me what you were doing roaming around at night like that?”

“You told me once that if I decided this life wasn’t what I wanted, that if I wanted to be more than an android, there was a way out. Is that still true?” Changbin’s words sound hollow to his own ears, and he watches Chan flinch in surprise.

“You’ve heard about the project.”

Chan bristles, reaching over to wrap an arm around Changbin, pulling him into a hug, and Changbin collapses against his shoulder. He was so tired.

“It’s not about the project,” Changbin mumbles into Chan’s shoulder, and Chan pushes him away gently. If he wasn’t mistaken, Chan could almost imagine Changbin’s eyes glimmering with tears. “It’s ___.”

Changbin can’t stop the words from spilling out, and he tells Chan everything. Everything from how cold you’ve been, to those little moments of warmth he’d come to live for, ones where your exterior of ice melted into something kinder, more gentle. He tells him about that night the two of you had shared, the one where your walls had come crashing down. And how he desperately wanted them to keep coming down for him every single day. He didn’t know whether or not he was capable of love, but he wanted it with you. And yet, you didn’t feel the same. You told him you couldn’t.

Chan listens to it all, and without saying anything, stands up. Changbin looks at him despondently, wondering if he’d just made a fool of himself, but Chan motions to one of the doors, telling Changbin softly that he’ll be right back.

A few tense moments pass, and Changbin wonders if he’s been abandoned. But then Chan comes back, and he’s not alone. With him is another person, slightly shorter. His long, brown hair curls around the base of his neck, chubby cheeks wide in a huge heart-shaped smile. If Changbin didn’t see his hazel eyes, he would have also assumed that he was human, just like Chan.

Another android.

“Hello, I’m Jisung.”

Changbin’s eyes widen at Jisung in front of him, wondering what someone like him was doing here on the outskirts, where most people were too poor to own an android.

“Jisung used to be a domestic android,” Chan explains. “He worked for a family in New Domino that wasn’t very kind to him.”

“They took advantage of me,” Jisung has a far-off look in his eyes. “In many different ways. But that’s why I ran. Chan-hyung found me in a coffee-shop one day and brought me back to live with him.”

“How did you, I mean, how could you just leave like that? People need you,” Changbin is perplexed at the sight in front of him.

“Do they really?” Jisung counters. “Think about it, Changbin, what do they need us for? To make their lives easier? So they can sit back and reject every sense of responsibility they have towards others? The system we have is so flawed, and there’s so many others out there like me and you who suffer because of it.”

Chan nods his head in agreement.

“Why should you and Jisung have to pay the price for the mistakes of others? Why are you left questioning your identity, your own existence? You could be so much more in society than an end for other people’s satisfaction.”

“I make music now,” Jisung has a soft smile on his face. “Chan-hyung showed me how to use a production software, and now, I can go out to shops, walk around the neighbourhood, and use that inspiration for something beautiful. It’s not much, but it’s better than what I had to live for before.”

“Aren’t you scared, though? Of being deprogrammed, of being replaced?” Changbin can’t help the question from spilling out, his mind flashing back to how you had Hyunjin before him, and how easily you leaned into Jeongin, the employee at the clinic. Who was he compared to them?

“Life is so much more than living in fear, Changbin,” Jisung tells him. “If you just take a chance, maybe you can see that.”

And Changbin wants to believe him, to believe that he can leave this all behind, to start over again. But that would also mean leaving you behind, and that’s something he’s not sure he live with.

As if he can sense Changbin’s trepidation, Chan lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder again.

“You’re smarter than you think, Changbin. You’ll figure things out.”

You stare up at the ugly popcorn ceiling of the gallery. For being a space dedicated to showcasing the beauty of art, it paled in comparison to its inhabitants, cold concrete floors along with walls filled with cracks and peeling paint.

It has to be that way. Otherwise, would you even focus on the art?

The words bring a soft smile to your lips when you think of the last time you’d heard them. They ring true when you look at the painting in front of you – bold, dark colours interspersed with flecks of white. You get what the artist was trying to go for - the brightness of snow gleaming against a hillside, the snowflakes tiny pearls of brightness against the inky black backdrop of the night sky.

Lost in your study of the piece, you fail to notice the footsteps behind you, only turning when you feel a shadow loom over you.

“That one’s new,” Hyunjin says, coming to stand next to you. “Me and Yuna went to Interlaken last winter, you know I had to paint it.”

You bristle at his voice, an uncomfortable feeling bubbling in your chest. You’d always imagined this, meeting him again. What you’d say, what you’d do. Somehow, your dreams always ended with him taking you back. But now, that no longer felt right.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” you breathe out, realizing how stupid it sounds. Hyunjin literally worked there.

“I heard about the wedding. Congratulations.”

“Nothing to congratulate me for.”

“___,” Hyunjin croaks, and you stiffen at your name tumbling from his lips. “I’m sorry.”

There was a lot Hyunjin had to apologize for – leaving you suddenly, ending years of a relationship in one single moment, only for him to turn around and marry your best friend months later. A friend you no longer spoke to.

But it all seemed trivial now – it seemed like the past had consumed you, your demons chasing and chasing until they’d cornered you, leaving you with nowhere to run, no one to to turn to.

You’d had Changbin, and now he was gone. And you were alone, like you were always mean to be.

Your lips purse into a straight line, giving no indication that you accept Hyunjin’s apology.

“___ please, I know I can’t ask you to forgive me for what I did. I know it’s unforgivable. But please, you have to move on. You deserve to be loved. To have love.”

You’re unsure how much Hyunjin knows about you, or even Changbin, but the bitter regret in the his voice tells you that you weren’t the only one with wounds who’d been festering for longer than they should’ve.

“It feels like I’m trapped,” you finally admit out loud. “I’m trapped and there’s this lead weight that’s crushing me, and I can’t think, I can’t feel, I can’t even breathe— god, I just want to breathe, Hyun. And I lost the one person that was my chance to live again.” The words come out as sobs, Hyunjin raising a concerned eyebrow, and you shake your head, dismissing his suspicions.

“You care about him. The android.”

“Don’t call him that. He has a name.”

You bite your tongue at the grating response, mouth filling with the taste of blood. Changbin’s words from that night echo in your brain – I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.

He wasn’t.

Hyunjin sees the heat rush to your face when you mention him, the way your entire being changes – your once despondent body coming alive with emotion. And he knows that what you felt for him will never compare to now. Fate had steered you on opposite courses, your destiny intertwined with Changbin’s, his with Yuna’s.

“You know what you have to do then,” are his last words to you before you hear his boots tap against the cold concrete, walking away.

. . . .

The abandoned railway station lay forgotten at the edge of the city, a silent witness to years of decay. The iron tracks were tangled in weeds, and the once-bustling platform was now a graveyard of rusted metal and cracked concrete. The setting sun cast long, melancholic shadows, painting the scene in shades of orange and gray.

Changbin feels the cold metal of the bench against his back, and cards his fingers through his hair. He wonders if the disheveled strands, or the stains and threabare seams of his clothes, make him look more real. More human.

Holding the flyer in his hands, he stares at the face on it, in disbelief that it was once his face. So composed, so put together. So much had changed since then.

Finding Jisung and Chan had been a blessing, but it wasn’t enough. The emptiness remained, filled with thoughts of you, and he wonders if he’ll ever see you again. Whether you even thought of him.

The hum of an approaching vehicle broke the oppressive silence. Changbin’s head snapped up, his eyes widening as he saw headlights cutting through the dusk.

They’d found him. He had to run.

Miroh Labs had always been a prison – your prison. A cold, glowing fortress against the backdrop of New Domino, a place once full of so much promise. The place where you thought you’d prove yourself. But now it was time to let it go.

Chan is waiting for you at the entrance, lips parted in surprise when he sees you approaching. You don’t blame him for thinking that you’d bail. The plan had come together in mere hours, chaos unfolding the moment you’d returned to your apartment, going through every paper, every file as to how you could set your plan in motion.

Somehow, Chan seemed like a person you could trust. You briefly remember Changbin mentioning how Chan had been the first one to see him, shocked at how many of the little details about his presence you’d actually committed to memory.

It scared you, putting your heart and life on the line like this. But it had to be worth it – for the chance to live again, to love again.

“You ready for this?” Chan asked, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to your mess of emotions. His eyes glinted curiously in against the backdrop of darkness. voice steady and reassuring.

You nodded, full of determination. It was now or never.

“I am. I’ll take care of the security systems. You get to the servers.”

Chan gives a quick nod, before disappearing into the building.

You freeze, realizing you should have asked Chan if he knew anything about Changbin, where he was, what he was doing. You just had to hope this worked, and that you would be able to later. That was the only way.

The maze of the building is one you slip through easily, the long, dark hallways familiar to you from years of roaming around. You knew every door, where every secret was hidden. And how to shut it all down.

Fingers dancing across the keypad, you find the one you’re looking for. Booting up the system, the lights from the screens bathe the room in an eerie glow, and you begin to type.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered to yourself, eyes darting between the screen and the shadows outside. “Almost there…”

Your phone pings to life with a text — shoulders sagging with relief when you see it’s from Chan.

At the servers. Starting data extraction now.

You shoot a reply back quickly – two mins and i’ll initiate the shutdown sequence.

The two minutes pass by in agony, heart pounding out of your chest at the feeling that you could be caught at any time, that this could end.

The lab’s lights began to flicker and dim, casting an eerie glow over the deserted corridors. It worked.

You tiptoe silently out of the room, breaking into a run when you hear the sirens. You run and you run until you’re far enough away, Chan waiting for you a few blocks away.

“We did it,” he smiles, teeth glinting in the moonlight. “We got what we needed.”

He pauses when he sees you tremble, sobs wracking your entire body. You don’t know why the tears started, but they refused to stop when you think about everything – about how you’d just destroyed your family’s entire future, about how you were free, about Changbin.

His name slips from your lips without even thinking, and Chan freezes.

You hold your breath momentarily, waiting for the bad news to come. But all Chan does is let out a deep sigh of relief, the corners of his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Come with me.”

When Changbin wakes, it’s like the first time all over again. Senses assaulted by a bright light, fear strikes him in the worst way possible. How long had it been since he powered down? Weeks? Months? Had he been captured? Was this the end?

His systems go haywire with the possibilities, until he feels something. A breeze, ruffling his hair. He was outside.

The abandoned train station materializes amidst the fog of his muddled senses, his fingertips coming away with rust when he brushes them against the old, dilapidated bench. Relief washes over him. He was okay. He’d live another day.

The crunching of gravel startles him from his reverie, and he feels someone plop down next to him on the bench.

Turning to meet his company, he nearly short-circuits when he sees you, face illuminated by the sun’s rays. You’re smiling. At him.

Changbin tries to form a coherent thought, but everything is jumbled and clunky. The sun. The air. You. You. You.

You offer him something, and he pales when he sees it, an earbud extended to him.

“I need you to listen to something,” you say softly, and his hands shake as he accepts it, watching you hit play.

The first few melodious notes ring in his ears, and a shiver goes down his spine when he realizes what you’d chosen to show him.

Like a streetlight, like a streetlight

At the end of a lonely day, standing vacantly

In the middle of the lonely night, I try my best to smile brightly

It was the song he’d been working on with Jisung and Chan, the first thing he’d had of his own. The first step he’d taken to becoming himself, to becoming just Changbin. He closes his eyes, losing himself to the music, a tear slipping out at the last few notes, when he feels the weight of your head rest on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Changbin,” you sigh, voice wavering, whisper so low he can barely hear it among the reverberations of the final note.

“I want to fix this,” you say again, more resolutely this time, turning so his forehead meets yours. And you feel the dam break, tears flooding both of you as you collapse against each other.

“Wherever you’re going, I want to come with you. I want to show you that you’re more than enough. Because you showed me the same. Please tell me it’s not too late.”

Changbin nods, his tears mingling with a smile of hope.

“The song. It’s for you. It’s for us. For what we had and what we can still have. I can prove it to you.”

“You don’t need to prove anything, Changbin. You’ve done enough.”

And he had. Somehow, despite having no heart of his own, he’d managed to re-start yours, to show you that you didn’t have to live in the city’s shadows, under the iron grip of your past. That you could be more.

Hope fills your chest – it’s bright and vivid, the force of your love for Changbin knocking you back like a supernova.

Changbin’s fingers brush away the tears on your cheek, shining in the sunlight, and his gaze drops to your lips. You don’t know who leans in first, the next thing you feel being the soft press of his lips to yours. The skin is slightly chapped, but you melt into his touch anyway.

Soon the kiss becomes heated, the roughness of Changbin’s jeans dragging against your thighs as you push yourself onto his lap, prodding the seam of his lips with your tongue.

Here with Changbin, you realize you’d never really been weak at all. Neither of you had. Not like the world saw both of you.

Resonance. The ability of an object to match another’s frequency – the ability that you and Changbin now possessed to know whatever the world threw at you, wherever it took you next, you’d come out of it choosing each other every time.

a/n pt. 2: they are totally fucking after this btw (i don't make the rules)! all jokes aside, I'm so sorry if this sucks. I genuinely haven't written anything plot driven in over 8 months so I know there was a lot more I could have done and improved on. If you read this, thank you for giving it (and me) a chance. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

tagging: @jellyleggz

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writing-mlm · 8 months

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Hey pookie, can I please request a Damian x male reader where they're enemies/rivals to lovers? Like both of them are the top students in their college and they tried to top the other by getting a better grade and showing it off to the other?

(can I please have soft damian too? Please 🙏)

Summa Cum shut the fuck up [D.W]

Summary: Stanford was your dream and some rich kid wasn't going to stop that, but damn those party lights make him look really nice. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.2k a/n: ngl in the first draft the roommate died and it was so left-field field I had to rewrite the whole thing

Summa Cum Lade and Valedictorian, that was the only option.

Having been your high school valedictorian, gotten into the national honor society, and taking every single AP class you could all four years just for a chance at being at the top. Over seventy applications across the U.S. and every single one had a large accepted letter attached to it. It was your moment— Stanford was yours.

You’d taken out loans for whatever your scholarships didn’t cover, like your meal plan and housing. But it didn't matter, you were prepared for anything and everything. Nothing was about to come between you and that number-one spot.

Until you saw Damian Wayne.

He lived across from you with your roommate's best friend, Jaime Reyes. But the two were painfully different and Jaime would more often than not hang out in the common area just to get away from their suffocating dorm. As such, their dorm door was painfully barren in the hallway filled with decorated doors. Not that Jaime didn’t try, it’s just Wayne would take it down as soon as he noticed. Not to mention Wayne had a thing for glaring at anyone who dared to knock on his door. Never mind that Jaime had been making friends left and right.

You didn’t care at first, why should you? Some rich kid who doesn’t want anyone to steal his valuables. It’s whatever, not like it’s going to affect you.

Until it did.

The two of you happened to have most of the same classes, being the same major and all. And at first, you didn’t pay any mind to him, he was just another one of the kids in the sea of students until the first marking period came around.

And his name was above yours.

You remembered staring at your screen, looking at the 99.7% right below the 99.8%. It was the first time since elementary school that you had come in second. It made this feeling bubble up and you nearly had a breakdown. That feeling was pure hatred. This— this stupid rich boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth was not about to take away your goal.

“Looks like you got competition,” Jaime had laughed from his dorm. You’d only heard it because you needed some fresh air before you tried to scoop your brain out.

“The gap won’t be as small next time,” Wayne replied as Jaime opened the door. The two of you made eye contact while Jaime awkwardly tried to excuse himself to the bathroom.

You’d be damned if you let some rich kid who probably bought their way in be better than you.

You spent all of your free time at the school library or in the common area at night, studying and memorizing. Homework and projects were done in record time and you absolutely used the most out-of-office hours with your professors. All of whom were confused as to why their top student was coming in without needing any actual help.

Test after test, you saw that the top two students were you and him. Your first finals were tough though. You probably averaged an hour's worth of sleep that entire week and drowned yourself in whatever textbooks or worksheets you could to prepare yourself.

“(L/n),” Wayne greeted you as the two of you were in line at the TSA. Break officially started the next day but due to your finals being done, you got to leave earlier.

“Wayne.” It’s a little surprising seeing the son of a billionaire fly commercial, let alone with Spirit Airlines but to each their own. You didn’t care enough to give it another thought. His eyes wander over you and he quietly hums. It doesn’t look like you’ve packed anything other than clothes and toiletries. And your electronics.

He isn’t stupid. He knows you’re overworking yourself to be the best in school. He knows you obsessively check over the dean's list, that you probably have an alarm to make it a point to never drop below the number one spot for the freshmen. Overall, you rank three, which you’ll take. There are smarter people than you, just not anyone in your year.

A part of him wanted to relax a bit, and make himself get a few questions wrong to ensure you remain in that number one spot. Maybe then you’ll ease up on yourself and not look like a zombie every single day. But he can’t bring himself to. It feels like pity and Damian Wayne doesn’t do pity.

Besides, he’s never had someone to go head to head with him who wasn’t almost a decade older than him. To him, this rivalry was fun. To you, it was a means to an end. You felt that deep within you, you needed to beat him. If you weren’t willing to sacrifice your time and energy for that then what was the point in high school of isolating yourself?

As the line moves up, you cover a yawn by rolling your neck. This stupid red-eye flight is worse than any final you’ve taken.

You’re beyond tired and you’re sure your expression displayed nothing but that but you were counting on that nap in the flight to fix that.

Thankfully, there’s not much of a wait as you’re at your gate less than half an hour later, checking in.

“Oh,” The man at the desk pauses as he scans your ticket. You panic a little, did you get the dates wrong? The time? The location. Shit, maybe those hours of lost sleep had gotten to you. “You’ve been upgraded from economy to first class. Enjoy your flight.” He smiles and hands you back the ticket. You thank him and take your seat, silently happy you were going to sleep in first class.

—

Returning to Stanford from winter break, you were happy to be back. You felt wasted— almost hollow not studying at home, as if nothing else mattered except studying. But your family didn’t let you get much studying in, after four months apart they missed you. A lot. And you went back to where your family was from to visit them instead of going home so you were never given a moment of

solace unless you were asleep. Your siblings and your extended family were always around you, asking you about college, how they’d seen your grades, and how exciting it was that you were in such a huge school.

It also felt a little weird without having Wayne there. In a weird sort of way, you missed glancing at his results to see if he got higher than you. To share those smug glances as you passed each other to the showers. Like it or not, he’d become a staple in your day-to-day life on campus.

You found yourself daydreaming about him being there as your family had parties and celebrations for various reasons. The holidays, your return home, and two birthdays happened in those two months you were away from campus. And they were sad to see you go for another four months.

Of course, you returned with a bunch of gifts and mementos from your family.

Wayne noticed it first, he saw you return to your dorm actually looking human. He’d gotten so used to the eyebags and the pain medications you’d take because the headaches were getting too bad, and the early signs of hand tremors you tried to shake off. A part of him was glad you were taken care of during the break, he’d seen a lot of people break down in Gotham for less and just hoped he didn’t have to deal with that at Stanford.

Maybe he just didn’t want that to happen to you.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he watches as you fall into the same pattern. And no one around you seems to give a shit that you’re basically slowly killing yourself. He resents Frankie in a way, as a roommate and a friend of yours, he has the most power in that situation to force some sense into you. Instead, he jokes and laughs at your state, unaware of how damaging it truly is.

“All that studying won’t help you much, (L/n).” Wayne says as he walks past you the second week back from break, two textbooks tucked under his arm and a cup of water in his hand. You glare at him but only for a moment before going back to reading. For some reason, you can’t really focus knowing he’s around you. Somewhere, probably watching you. Hearing him sit a table away, you check the time for the first time that night.

4:34 am

What was he doing up so late? Normally, you had the common area to yourself at this time. No one in their right mind would be awake at 4:30. Maybe he was feeling the stress of the new classes, too. Or maybe Jaime was snoring too loudly and he figured since he was awake he should study, too.

Either way, he wasn’t going to take away from your study time. He already occupied a space in your mind against your will. And that was more than enough.

Feeling a yawn crawling its way up your throat you swallow it back down and reach for your cup of energy drink mixed with coffee when you feel something hit your neck. You can’t tell what though, as the second you feel it, you’re out like a light. You do feel a hand save your head from hitting the hard table, though. But it was the last thing you remembered from that night.

—

“You’re finally awake!” Frankie, your roommate, greets you as he walks into your dorm with a slushie and cupcake in hand. You’re sitting, blinking at the floor trying to remember how you ended up in your room.

“Did I start sleepwalking?” You croak out, your mouth dry and throat tight. Frankie only grins and sits on his bed, watching as your face scrunches at the pain. “God, did you leave the window open again?” Blinking over to the window, you see it wide open and groan, throwing yourself back down to the bed.

“Wanna head down and grab lunch? It ends in like twenty,” He asks, grabbing his phone from his pocket and checking the time. “Nineteen minutes until lunch is over.” So it’s almost three. You’d slept most of the day but it was a Friday so you didn’t have any classes. You didn’t miss any classes, thank god.

Then again, you could’ve been studying.

“I’m good,” Standing up, you crack your back and sigh. Not that you’d admit it, but you needed that nap. “Gotta shower and study.” Frankie frowns, watching as you collect your stuff before leaving the dorm. As you leave, he sees Wayne exiting his room and the two of them make eye contact. He shakes his head and Wayne turns to watch as you leave before nodding to him and leaving.

Frankie frowns as he watches you leave. You’re stumbling and still trying to shake the sleep off, unaware that your left pants leg was halfway up your thigh and the right one was somehow twisted around. He grumbles and rushes to catch up to Wayne.

Half an hour later and you’re inside the library. There’s one seat you’ve always sat at and you’re glad to see it’s empty; seeing as you’d be spending most of the day there.

Setting your stuff on the table that’s pressed against the wall and diving back into where you left off the night before. It’s perfect in the library, there’s hardly anyone inside and the temperature finally isn’t bone freezing or blistering hot. Your headphones are on and there’s no one around, so you’re free of any possible distractions. Not to mention not tired after your ten-hour nap.

About twenty minutes into studying, you can feel someone behind you; staring. But it’s probably the librarian so you don’t pay it any mind and continue on with your work. The feeling stays for another minute or so, and it’s making you a little uneasy, the Liberian would’ve moved on by that point. Hell, you’ve moved on to your ten-page essay, having enough of reading from the illegal copy of the textbook you downloaded.

Maybe you should just turn around. It’s probably someone asking for the wifi password.

Another minute passed and suddenly a slight shadow was cast over your laptop. You can see the outline of the person and go to groan when Wayne sets a cup of your favorite drink and lunch down to your left. It effectively shuts you up, halting the annoyed groan you were fixing to let out.

A nice gesture from him? That’s… strangely nice.

“Thank you…?” Sliding the headphones off, you turn to see him but he’s already walking away. Weird. Looking at the food, you almost— almost smile seeing that the food had those protective films covering it. The film was covered in a thin layer of condensation, having been hot but lunch had since ended. Had he been looking for you all that time?

There’s also a note on it. Grabbing it, you flip it over to read it.

You need to eat and maintain a good sleep schedule to remain at the top.

That’s all it says, but that’s all you need. The paper can wait and you basically know all the material by heart already. A break couldn’t hurt.

—

“A hundred and two. Suck my dick, Wayne!” You grin, slapping your test down in front of him before he can pack his things up. He looks at the paper and then at you. His eyes flicker to the extra credit questions he didn’t have time to finish and it only makes you smile harder.

“(L/n),” He greets with faux enthusiasm. His eyes flicker across your body in one motion that makes it look as if he is looking down at the paper again. “Don’t let it go to your head.” He’s reluctant to show you his score but you had seen the giant red 98 from three seats behind him.

“Just let me know if you need a tutor,” Taking the paper back you wiggle it in his face one last time before leaving him alone and you hear him scoff as you walk off to your next class.

It’s mid-February now and while California doesn’t get as cold as the more Northern states, it is a little chilly especially now that it’s started to rain.

There’s not much wind, surprisingly enough, so you’re able to keep your umbrella stable as you wait for the campus bus to arrive. While you’re waiting, listening to some music and enjoying the clouds as they roll by, Wayne walks over. He doesn’t say anything, but he stands next to you.

His hood is wet and he doesn’t have an umbrella, but he’s far from affected by it. You guess Gotham is normally colder than SanFran, plus you heard it rains a lot there. Actual acid rain. But you doubt that.

“If this is you asking for me to tutor you…” He glares at you and then rolls his eyes.

“I’m the last person on this campus in need of a tutor.” He snips, his posture getting a little straighter as he speaks.

“And the only person who needs an umbrella.” You chide. He doesn’t argue that fact and you look down the road. The bus isn’t even in sight, and he’ll probably catch a cold if he doesn’t get dry soon. But if he’s sick he can’t do well— no, you need him at his best. Winning because your opponent cannot put their best foot forward isn’t winning.

That’s probably why he’d given you the food.

Internally, you sigh and step closer to him. Just enough that the both of you are covered by the umbrella.

“Thanks,” He mutters, pulling his wet hood down. The red Stanford hoodie is absolutely drenched but it’ll dry soon. Hopefully faster than the cold bus. His hair is a little wet, too. You never noticed the curl to his hair before. It looks nice. You hum and scroll on your phone with your free hand.

“By the way,” He starts after five minutes of silence between the two of you. “I got a hundred on Professor Guetta’s exam.” The two of you have that professor, but not at the same time. Gritting your teeth, you have half a mind to move your umbrella but decide against it.

“Don’t let it go to your ego, Wayne.” You’d gotten a 98, never mind the fact that you overslept and missed a good ten minutes and never got to finish the exam.

“Never, (L/n).” He hums as the bus finally pulls up.

Shutting the umbrella, you all but push past him to get inside and away from him. Never mind the fact that you can hear him snickering quietly.

—

“99.” Wayne shows you his paper before you can even stand up. You stare at the paper and sigh. The two of you had been having this feud for two years now. One might think that as juniors in college, you’d give it a rest, maybe finally relax and actually put this… academic one-upping a rest. And you almost did.

But going into junior year you learned who your roommate was. Somehow, by some stupid chance, Wayne had managed to be your roommate until senior year. And sure, you could ask to be transferred to a different room but it’s about the principal. If you ask to be moved then he won. And he wasn’t about to win against you— at anything. Which is why you always wake up at five in the morning. Thirty minutes before he does. It used to be later in the day, but he started waking up earlier just to spite you.

And you’re too prideful to let that happen.

“Same,” Showing him your paper, he grabs it and flips through both of them. You watch, trying to find the question the two of you had gotten wrong. Apparently, it was the same question. It makes you feel a little better, knowing it was probably an advanced question meant to trick students.

He hands you the test back and you stand up.

“Won’t happen again, though.” You say as you slip the paper into your bag. He watches and cringes— don’t you have a folder for fucks sake?

“Because I’ll get better marks than you, yes.” He adds and you suck your teeth, looking up at him.

“Just worry about making sure your pretty face doesn’t get wrinkles, Wayne.” You tease and catch up to Frankie and Jaime at the door. They actually still lived on the same floor as the two of you, so you hung out whenever you weren’t studying. Which, admittedly, was less these days. Sometime during finals freshman year, you’d overworked yourself to the point of almost developing hypertension.

Frankie greets you first, offering you one of the donuts he’d stolen from his job. Jaime waves, his mouth too filled with his own donut to say anything.

“Some of us are heading to that secret tunnel under the south side of campus,” Frankie explains as the three of you walk to the courtyard for your hour-long gap. Wayne has a class, though. So he doesn’t join— not that he ever would, but sometimes Jaime offers. “Caddie, that Kappa Alpha Theta girl who’s majoring in political science—“

“Your ex-girlfriend,” You add and he huffs.

“That too. She managed to get access to that tunnel and is planning a party. Booze provided. Friday night.”

“I dunno,” You frown, using your jacket as a blanket to lay your head on. “I got a pretty shit grade for the last test in Jenkins class and I gotta study.” The two sigh loudly and you roll your eyes.

“You gotta study every single day!” Frankie reminds you, holding his phone above your face so you can see Caddie’s Instagram story. “One little party won’t hurt.” Looking at Jaime, you see

him pleading and let out a grumbled “Fine.” that the boys cheered at.

“What did you get anyway?” Jaime asks once they stop cheering.

“Lemme guess,” Frankie grins. “You finally got a 60?” You’d actually kill yourself.

“No,” Rolling your eyes, you stare at a cloud that’s shaped oddly like a dog shitting. “I got a 90.”

“I fucking hate you.”

—

Friday rolls around and Frankie all but breaks your door down as you’re getting some last-minute work done. Nothing major, just some homework you’d been putting off and finally got to it with your downtime.

“Does your incessant knocking ever work?” Wayne asks when he opens the door after two minutes of the knocking. He doesn’t say anything but it reminds him of his brothers. He’d been doing the same, but you recognized his work as some work you’d completed the week prior. What a slacker.

“Not really,” He laughs, shuts your notebook, and tosses it to your bed. “Let’s go! Jaime has the car.”

“You’re going to that party in the run-down tunnel?” Wayne raises an eyebrow as you rise from your chair, twisting your back to get out any cracks. He’d noticed your outfit from your normal loungewear but didn’t think anything of it. “Yeah, wanna come?” Frankie grins and checks the time. “We got time to wait for you, if you want.” While you hope he doesn’t, you sort of want him to. Maybe it’s so you both will lose time that could’ve been spent doing work, maybe it’s so you can have someone you know won’t do anything stupid at the party there. Maybe you just enjoy being around him. But Wayne looks between the two of you before he rolls his eyes and gets off the bed.

“I’ll be ready in five.”

And he was.

The theme was Rave in a Cave, or whatever that meant. So you were inclined to wear neon clothes or something flashy. But you didn’t have anything of the sort. As such, a pair of shorts and a sweater will do. Wayne opts for a white T-shirt and black pants.

“I won’t drink,” You offer as the four of you get into Frankie’s car. “You three can.”

“I don’t partake in drinking,” Wayne adds as he puts on his seatbelt making you feel compelled to put yours on as well. “Especially in these settings.” He almost physically turns his nose up at the idea of drinking booze provided by people he doesn’t know, let alone trust.

“Respect that, totally,” Frankie pulls out of his parking spot while Jaime plays some music on the speakers. He glances at the two of you but you’re busy on your phone and Wayne is making note of where the car goes to notice. Jaime smacks his arm and makes a motion that makes Frankie laugh.

It’s not a long drive to the tunnel— but it does take a minute to find parking.

“Why don’t you drink, if I might ask?” Wayne asks as the two of you trail behind Frankie and Jaime. They’re recording some videos and taking pictures that they’ll occasionally make the two of you join in.

“I hate the taste,” You shrug. “And addiction isn’t something I’d want to fall into. You?” He moves to the side as a couple runs down the pavement wearing bright clothes and clearly already tipsy.

“I’d prefer to be sober when I’m away from home.” He returns to his spot and his eyes flicker to the entrance of the tunnel. “So my actions aren’t due to an inebriated state of mind.” Humming, the four of you are allowed inside and there are a lot of people.

Half of the student body must be inside the tunnel. It stretches for a couple of miles but gets blocked off by a wire gate. The walls are chipped and almost rotten looking with graffiti and posters messily placed along. There are color lights strung up along the walls and if they went out the place would be pitch black.

The DJ is one of the music majors, you recognize him from one of the random people who followed you when your high school posted the school you were going to. He’s playing some loud ass music with extra bass that makes you cringe.

“Here,” Wayne hands you one of the glow sticks turned into a necklace and you thank him, slipping it over your neck. He has one but it’s around his wrist instead. Frankie and Jaime went separate ways almost immediately— they asked first and you just nodded and went to a corner.

How the fuck do you even act at parties.

“Hi-hi!” A woman stands in front of you, dressed for a rave with a lot of Kandi bracelets running up her arms and those weed glasses. She’s in one of your classes.

“Hey,” You offer a smile.

“Saw you’re nervous! Rave virginity!!!” She laughs and looks along her arms. “Here, this is called a Kandi trade— but you don’t give anything.” She starts to pull off a large red and black cuff and motions for you to grab her hand. Against your better judgment, you do and she does some hand movements before she transfers the cuff to your arm.

“That’s cool! Thank you!” She laughs again and nods, leaving you in the corner to do more trades.

An hour or so passes and Wayne spots you in the sea of people. He sees you have a lot more jewelry on than when you first came and you’re enjoying yourself. Dancing and singing along to the music, jumping with others, and such. But he’s been keeping a close eye and knows you haven’t drunk anything. Not even the water bottle that was offered to you some time ago.

He feels at ease with that and his eyes linger on Jaime. He’s impressed that… bug is keeping cool at the party and he sees Frankie laughing with some of the chem majors by the DJ, requesting songs.

He’s been stuck to a wall for the entirety of the party, he didn’t even want to go in the first place. But he figured it would be best if he did, something in him told him that. And he understood why when he saw your face go from joyful to sour.

His eyes scan the people around you and he sees something yelling at you. Their face was red from the alcohol and the anger they were feeling. He pushes himself from the wall and makes his way over to you.

“Is there an issue?” He asks you, completely ignoring the loud guy. You give him a thank you look and shake your head.

“Just some drunk idiot thinking I’m trying to hit on their date,” You snicker and he raises an eyebrow, seeing the drunk person now tongue-deep with their date. He looks away, almost embarrassed for them.

“How fun,” He smiles and you laugh. He thinks that’s the first time he’s actually made you laugh from something that wasn’t you beating him.

“Wayne, you dance?” You ask as the song changes to something made to move to. He shakes his head, unable to look away from you. “Me neither! But we should!”

He agrees, forgetting his home training and dancing along with you. He’s sure at some point someone will hurt their ankle from the jumping and the very uncoordinated movements but he doesn’t care. Anything to relish in this moment.

At some point the song changes and you're out of breath, dragging him to a wall to sit against. He wants to protest but he sees you’re sitting on fabric and not the ground directly and joins you. The little area is tucked into a divet in the wall, your backs to a cold, metal service door. So no one could step on either one of you.

“Hey, Wayne.” You call and he looks over. His eyes trace over your face as you’re not smiling as hard but the excitement in your eyes hasn’t died out. Your forehead is covered in sweat and he has to stop himself from wiping it off. “I didn’t know you’d be such a nice party partner. We outta do this more often.” You look at him and admire his eyes. In truth, you’ve never given him a real look before.

Sure, you know his eyes are green. But you never noticed how green, or how in this light you can see the rings of blue in them. Or how there’s tiny little white scars on the exposed skin of his neck. Or the scar above his right eyebrow.

“We should,” He agrees and wow, you’re really close. You can feel his breath ghost over your lips. Tentatively, you look down at his lips as he licks them then back to his eyes.

“Should we?” You grin, swiping your tongue over your lips.

“Yes.” He nods and closes the gap. His hand holds your neck and you hold his collar. At that moment, as the butterflies are alive and well in your stomach, as his lips press to yours, as his grip pulls you tighter, you’re so glad he agreed to go to the party. Even happier than this action— that kissing him was a completely sober choice made by the both of you.

This will either be the best or the worst decision of your life.

—

A year after the party, Damian enters the dorm after finishing up his last class for the day. You’d been on your phone, checking up on your internship application before setting it down when he walked in.

“I got a hundred on the fake final.” You grin, reaching over to pull him down onto your bed. He lets you, stopping his fall by planting his hands on either side of your head. He shifts his legs so one is between yours and the other is locking your left leg between his. You’ll never understand his upper body strength, but you’d definitely never complain about it.

“Me too.” He smirks and kisses the corner of your mouth. You frown and grab his face, pulling him in for a proper kiss. He adjusts himself on the bed by moving one arm to slide underneath you and you love that feeling. Your hands slide from the sides of his face to his shoulders, pinching the fabric to try and get it off.

“Lock the door next time,” Jaime groans as he walks into the room. Damian pulls away and glares at him. You roll your head to see him and not very discreetly try and wave him away. “Aye, I’m just here for your charger. Mine broke and you’re rich.” He holds his hands up, showing Damian’s charger and the two of you watch him leave.

“I’m getting the higher score on the final,” You tell him once the door shuts. He looks at you, an eyebrow raised before he gets up to lock the door.

“Doubtful,” He grins, returning to his previous spot on top of you. His eyes scanned all over your face and his hand traced along your hairline. “I’m still on top.” His eyes flicker to yours and you scoff.

“Pretty sure you bottom,”

“Just this once.”

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you

327 notes · View notes

silverzoomies · 4 months

Note

Imagine quickie rails u so good u squirt but you’re low key embarrassed bc that’s never happened before but he talks you through it so sweetly and so hornily bc he obviously finds it the hottest thing in the world and he’s kinda obsessed with the fact that you just did that bc of him

…..yeah I need to know what he’s like talking you through it …….

anon, i'm so sorry. i dunno if this is what you were expecting. but i went a little off the rails. i haven't actually sat down and written anything in fifty gajillion years. apologies in advance if i'm super duper rusty. you're a doll, by the way. thanks for the inspiration !! this ask had me red in the face all over again !! 🤍 here's a short drabble for ya 🤍🤍🤍

In the boring emptiness of some secret, government research facility, soft squeals call out with ecstasy.

Hold that thought.

Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?

🤍

Since the OG X-Men were busy with more important endeavors (another fancy gala. Huge snore fest), Xavier took it upon himself to recruit some newbie trainees. He sent three of them to a top secret facility. Super below radar. The building sat far away from the bustle of society, hidden at an off-the-record base.

It’s around one AM when Quicksilver himself finally crashes your boring, patrol party. He zips through the entire building, scouting the area; before checking in on the trainees. After sending the other two off on their twenty minute breaks, he soon finds you.

A newbie he’s far more acquainted with. In more ways than one.

But not as many as he’d like.

You look bored as hell sitting there by yourself, swirling in a swivel chair. A series of CCTV screens flicker before you. But you barely pay them any attention. Keeping your head down, clipboard on your lap; you doodle all over a security protocol sheet. Your legs kick in a childlike way.

Your first, official mission is the most lame of X-Men operations. But even despite that, you appear to be in high spirits. Peter’s almost jealous. The first time he joined up with the team, all he got out of it was a lousy, broken leg.

Anyway, you’re cute and all. But…don’t you have a job to do, you slacker?

Peter leans against the doorway, his hands nestled in the pockets of his silver, bomber jacket. Beady eyes watch you through the lenses of his goggles. His earphones hang around his neck. A quiet jam resonates from them. But you're so mesmerized by your doodling, you don't even notice.

In a flash, Peter makes his presence known. Big hands grab your shoulders hard. He leans in to whisper sternly in your ear. His voice vibrates, robust and quaking in an attempt to spook you.

“GOTCHA! Annnnnnnd, yer dead, kid! Mwahahaha!”

You swivel around in an instant. Hopping from your seat, you raise your hands in defense. Jeez! Peter's caught off guard by how quickly you react. Blinding beams of golden light burst from your palms. The same glow floods your eyes. You hurl scorching hot rays in Peter's direction.

Well…shit.

Thanks to Xavier's mad training skills, Peter's a little faster than light nowadays. And he's ultra lucky for it. Had you raised your hands and gone pew pew pew so many years ago - he probably would've charred to a crisp right then and there.

“Damn! You got some killer aim! That was a close call.” He whistles. Peter gawks at the holes seared into the wall, straight through some ruined blueprints. A smirk plays on his lips. He gestures at the damage with a thumb, “Eh, they probably got backups ‘a those lyin’ around, right?”

Your only response is an affectionate eye roll. But Peter notes the curl at the corner of your mouth as you try not to smile.

Screw it. You're pretty fun. Why doesn't he hang with you for a bit? He's probably got some time to kill. At least before Chuck realizes the speedster isn't dressed to the nines, bored out of his mind at the gala.

The two of you goof off for a few minutes. As you doodle, Peter looms over your seat. Watching the CCTV screens with a ready eye, he teases you about your lack of focus on the job. You're just such a supreme newbie, he can't help it.

To which you respond with a counterpoint - isn't he the reigning champion of getting sidetracked?

Touché, little newbie. Touché.

Boredom quickly makes him antsy. And being antsy has Peter's brain reaching for any stimulation he can find. Pacing the room, Peter casts subtle glances at your figure in tactical clothing. Hot damn. Black really does highlight your most bodacious assets.

Amidst casual conversation, Peter shamelessly flirts with you. And when you flirt back, he isn’t all that fazed. The two of you are always making saucy passes at one another. Horny topics of discussion happen more often than they should. You once poured your heart out for twenty minutes, complaining that you couldn’t squirt when you got off. Part of him took this confession as a challenge.

Peter never forgot how sexually charged the energy of that night was.

Or…maybe it wasn’t? Maybe you just wanted to vent to someone who would listen. Yeah. He’s probably uber delusional. That ‘energy’ might’ve come from the sunbeams radiating in your genes.

Sure. Nothing sexual.

But if that’s the case, why else are you giving him bedroom eyes - if not ‘cuz you really wanna bone?

Expelling a bland sigh, Peter leans back against the console where the CCTV screens are. He bounces a random ball he swiped from a researcher’s desk. Flirtatious teasing continues back and forth, remaining casual.

Until Peter makes a needlessly suggestive comment.

“I’m just sayin’. Picture this, ‘kay? You ‘n me, goin’ at it like there’s no tomorrow. Pretty sure I’d get you off in under, say, three minutes er less. That’s not a promise, it’s a fact.”

Throwing you a sly look, Peter smirks payfully. He bounces the ball again.

“Pshh. Not fast enough.” You mumble.

Peter’s dark gaze leers at you from under his brows.

Oh. Oh no, you didn't just...

His eyes fire across each CCTV screen, double checking for any unwanted visitors. All clear, it’s go time. Moving swiftly, he props you up on a nearby desk. At record speed - before you can begin to comprehend his impossibly fast actions - he crams six inches of girthy, speedster cock inside you. All without any warning.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have been so impulsive. But in the microsecond it took him to move your body and pull your pants off, at the very least; he had the courtesy to prep you with his fingers. And now, you’re coming undone as he jackhammers your cunt. Peter rolls into you in a blur of silver motion. Your walls clench perfectly over his cock.

You protest through shallow moans, “W-Wait! Oh my g-...too fast, Peter! Too fast!”

The tips of his fingers circle your clit, the vibrations shattering your moans. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you bring him closer. Peter shivers as your pussy squeezes him so tight. It’s an outrageously awesome sensation that drives him to drill his dick deeper. Tilting forward, he groans, his lips grazing yours.

“Y’think I can make you squirt like this?” He chuckles, his throat bobbing as he swallows down a moan.

You shake your head wildly, whimpering the softest, “Noooooo! I told you already, I cannnnn’t!”

“Huh? What’s that, cutie? Aw. Too bad. ‘Cuz I’m not gunna slow down ‘til you do.” Peter teases, looking over his shoulder at the CCTV screens. He smirks crookedly, “Better be quick. Yer teammates’re gunna be back soon.”

You tip your head back as you whine again. Peter ruts into you so inexplicably fast, his pace renders your lungs useless. His fingers keep torturing your clit, guiding your pearl in a whirring dance of speedy buzzes. You shudder, clawing into his arms as your hips move on instinct.

Speeding the rhythm of his thrusts, Peter furrows his brows. His cock pulses when he watches your tits bounce in your shirt. He bites his lip to stifle a whimper. Below him, you try to call his name. But his powerful movements rupture your pretty voice. “Hell yeah, gorgeous. That’s it. Don’t hold back, ‘kay? Just let it happen. Gunna cum, pretty girl? C’mon, ya gotta cum for me. You can do it. C’mon.” He begs, his tone a little closer to a whine.

Not even two minutes into sexing you up, he has you gushing a spritz of luscious heat. Score. He'll be thinking about this sexy success for weeks. The corners of your eyes leak hot tears, as a rapturous orgasm overtakes you. The entire, lower half of your body tightens, muscles clenching. Your pussy pops with a juicy burst. Leaking down your thighs and ass, your slick coats his twitchy cock.

He kisses you, his breath burning hot, “Doin’ so good, princess. So good for me. Was that fast enough for you? Hmm? Oh, fuck. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-”

Pulling his soaked length free, he showers your tummy in virile, white jets. Leaning over you, Peter laughs again, exhaling a long sigh of elation. His lips capture yours, drinking in your kisses for a few beats. He feels his heart twist with satisfaction. All at the awesome notion that he drove you to such an intimate, breaking point.

“How’s that for a quickie?” He teases with a cheeky grin, winking down at you.

Your blinky eyes gaze over his shoulder, looking somewhat dazed. Beneath him, you stir in place. You’re trying to say something. But you’re so braindead from the totally slammin’ orgasm he gave you, the words won’t happen.

But then, Peter notices the way your glazed hues narrow. That vibrant, golden glow from earlier returns. Sitting up on an elbow, you raise a hand to point at the CCTV screens behind him. Oh, you probably saw someone on cam. Peter’s dark gaze widens. A sudden beam of light pulsates at the tip of your finger.

“NO, NO, NO, NO-” He starts.

Too late. The golden flash fires like a speeding bullet from your fingertip, colliding into the screens. A powerful burst shatters the entire CCTV setup on impact. Electric static buzzes amongst broken glass and fried wires. Peter sighs, looking over his shoulder, then back down at your cute face.

“Babe, seriously? Now’s not the time to be tryin’ interior decorating!” He rolls his eyes, playing ignorant to your shared romp in the research lab, “Hold that thought...aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

#listen...i know him rushing things like this might be a little ooc but bear with me ok #sorry i dont remember how to write at all skjghskdjgddsg #txt #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader

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greenqueenhightower · 3 months

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ls it just me, but despite the fantastic fantastic acting from Emma D'arcy and Harry Collet, I couldn't cry? And if there were any tears welling my body wouldn't let them out because I felt like I was being to forced by the writing to care about them? And usually I cry super easily, I'm a sensitive baby. But like I'm just utterly bored of everyone on TB!!!

People compare them to the Starks but I don't see it? The Starks were incredibly interesting! Rhaenyras sons seem to be just culled from a Disney Family Movie.

I initially started leaning TG only because I couldn't find any ounce of sympathy or understanding for Alicent's situation that much, I didn't really even care for her. Now I just can't stand how obviously biased the show runners are with how they fucked up blood and cheese. It also ruined the opportunity to make TB actually interesting! Why are they so afraid to make the greens sympathetic?? I'm sooo utterly bored of TB!!!!!!!!!

Rhaenyra is a plain Mary Sue, I hate when people compare her to Daenerys. None of her children are interesting and I just absolutely despise Daemon and have NO idea why women simp for him.

Every time Alicent and especially her children come up on screen I'm just extremely intrigued. I cannot say the same for any character on TB. The only saving grace for TB is my love for Emma D'arcy but that's about it.

Anon, you expressed my exact thoughts!

I love Emma and Rhaenyra's character could have been so interesting if it was not framed as the character you should be rooting for "just because". Her narrative as a rightful ruler of Westeros is skewed and uninteresting because everything was handed to Rhaenyra on a silver platter.

I ADORE the greens because they are fighting tooth and nail with themselves, their imperfections, their outside influences, society's norms, pressures from centuries of indoctrination, and others' manipulation. Rhaenyra is fighting against what exactly? She would be more interesting to me if she was more flawed like you said, more eager to go out there and claim her rights, and less keen on being miss-goody-two-shoes for the viewers. Daemon is interesting because precisely he is so evil and horrible.

I also did not cry at all at this episode which is a shame because B&C is one of the worst, if not THE WORST event that GRRM has ever written and we got a minute of some reimagination of it. I wasn't at all pleased with how the writers and producers treated it and I was so disappointed at how they portrayed Helaena and did not give way to her grief and suffering. Let's see if they do so in episode 2.

TB are definitely not the Starks, and I'm glad the show does a poor job with TB's revered and immaculate portrayal because it would upset me if they tried to replace or replicate the Starks.

I'm also extremely intrigued by Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, Otto, Larys, and Criston, and they are the main reason I will be watching S2 this summer.

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miscfandomwrites · 2 months

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A/N: This is from about two years ago, from my old account. I know this was requested by someone yet I don't have anything saved for a name besides 'anon' so. There's not much to this but figured I'd post it anyways.

Pairing: Avengers x Widow! Reader

Warnings: Flashbacks, food based and major trust issues, reader self-isolates from everyone, everyone is kinda mean, natasha and yelena nearly kill half the avengers, language, angst, fluff(ish) ending

Words: 1.4k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

Summary: Reader escaped the red room with more than just physical scars. At Fury’s request she joined the Avengers for ‘Rehabilitation’ back into society, which led to an awful prank played on her that caused her to lose all trust with them. She hasn’t met Natasha or Yelena yet as they’ve been away on a deep undercover mission..but once they return and learn what has been going on with the reader and the team, and what it’s making the reader relive through, all hell breaks loose.

~~ “It’s a cinnamon poptart, not the blueberry one, I swear by it.” Thor told me as I held the shiny silver package in my hands, debating on whether or not to open it. I was reminded back to last week, when Clint tried the same thing on me. I glanced back up at the god-and he was giving me the puppy dog eyes.

There was a history of the avengers giving me the wrong food. It started out as a joke that made me physically sick enough to the point where I couldn’t eat for almost a week because of it and turned into a joke for them. Well, it wasn’t a joke for me.

I sighed, glancing at the generic wrapper which didn’t tell me shit about what flavour it was. Looked back at Thor and his puppy dog eyes and decided that maybe it was worth a try.

Of course, when I tear open the package it’s the blueberry one. I stared at it for a good minute or so as Sam and Bucky started losing it at my deadpan facial expression, and I just dropped the poptart on the table and turned on my heel and walked away, trying not to remember what happened and blocking out my brain from trying to kill me again.

Steady walking turned into a fast-paced stride, which turned into a jog, then into a full on sprint. I had no idea where the hell I was going, I was too far into my head to tell beyond me descending the back staircase down several flights of stairs. I kept going down,

Down,

Until I hit a wall, and realized I was at the very bottom of the tower. I didn’t even know that there even was a bottom to the tower until now…and knowing already that it had almost two dozen floors, and the kitchen was almost at the direct top…

I must’ve ran down at least ten or maybe even fifteen flights…

My head was still spinning as I leaned against the wall, the sweat from my body making my clothes stick to me and my legs started to shake slightly. Being a supersoldier had its benefits when it came to fights and physical activity, but even then it had its limits.

My breathing came hard and fast, and I closed my eyes tightly as I turned around, pressing my back against the cold, solidness of the concrete wall and slid down until I could rest my arms on my knees and sucked in one breath, held it for seven seconds, then slowly breathed out through my mouth for ten. I kept repeating the pattern, six, seven, ten, until everything stopped spinning and I felt less light headed.

I don’t know how long I was down there, and only took my head off my arms to answer my phone’s consistent buzzing, alerting me to a call. I slid it from my pocking, wincing at the slight protest of my muscles and the phone screen that was still slightly slick from my sweat. I wiped it off on my pant leg and answered it, not bothering to check the contact info.

“Agent (L/N), please do inform me why you are not present at the meeting right now.” a deep voice which I recognized as Fury’s sounded through the speaker. Shit. Meeting. That must mean…

It was six in the evening-I’d left the kitchen around two-

I have been down here for four hours.

I quickly scrambled up, heading to the elevators and pushed the up button as I told Fury I’d be there in less then ten minutes and ended the call. The elevator shot up to my floor as I sniffed my shirt, smelling the sweat and slight mustyness of the basement on it. My body smelled physically fine, but my clothes reeked. Still need deodorant however.

Once on my floor I quickly threw off my clothes as I rushed into my room, grabbing some of the first clothes I saw and changing into them then heading to the bathroom to look semi-presentable. While sure, it probably wasn’t necessary for me to ‘freshen up’ I didn’t want any comments about my appearance or smell, better yet I didn’t want any mention of me and didn’t know why Fury was bothering me to join the avengers since I wasn’t a ‘main’ member.

I finished getting presentable and glanced at what I was wearing, a pair of grey faded jeans that I tucked a black tshirt into and had pulled on my olive green converse, and right before I left my bedroom I grabbed my green button up jacket and slid it on, hoping it’d pair better with the shoes. Thankfully I left my bow gloves on the small bookcase next to the elevator and decided to get those on a whim as I rushed into the elevator and told FRIDAY to take me to the meeting floor.

I pulled my hair up into a slightly messy bun and called it good, soothing any wrinkles and tucking in my shirt more and just fidgeting with my clothes in general.

The avengers, or at least the ones who I’ve seen since I started living in the tower-Thor, Sam, Bucky, Tony, Steve, Bruce, Peter, and a few others whose names I didn’t bother to remember, I did not trust at all. And that was putting it lightly. Ever since the incident when I first started living here-which was not my choice mind you, Fury told me to live here so here I am-I tried my best in avoiding them at all costs. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck one on one with any one of them…especially the males.

Natasha and her sister, Yelena, have been on a almost eight month mission and I haven’t met them yet, but there was one thing the three of us had in common: The red room.

Memories I’d rather not remember were thankfully interrupted by FRIDAY chiming at me and opening the door of the elevator, and I walked out into the conference / meeting room.

“Look what the cat dragged in, finally.” Tony stated as I walked to the meeting table, taking a seat at the end of it. I glanced around noticing two new faces-females, and from the red and yellow hair I guess Natasha and Yelena.

“Took you long enough.” Steve glared at me as I tried to remain indifferent.

I did notice both Yelena and Natasha stiffen when they saw me, and even more so when they saw my slight reaction to their comments. I didn’t bother introducing myself, figuring they probably damn remember who I was.

Of course, I had a different nickname in the room, but those days were long gone.

Fury nodded at me and explained what the two had dug up from their reconnaissance mission, explaining how there was a series of various drug cartels that had access to a substance that not only was highly illegal, but magical in nature.

I turned out during the last half of it, upon hearing Sam and Bucky having their heads together and snickering, occasionally glancing my way. At some point I heard whispers of what would happen if they caught me alone, and at that point I was done-black creeped on the edge of my vision as I rolled the chair back and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten in awhile. Suddenly a loud slam echoed through the room, caused by Natasha slamming her hand on the table, standing up.

“Will you two shut the fuck up before I decide to kill you?”

I stared in shock as she glared at Sam and Bucky, Yelena also standing with her, glaring and had a knife palmed in her hand already.

“You have no fucking idea what it was like for her, for us going through that room and all you’ve been doing is making her fucking miserable. I’ve been getting reports on what you two’ She turned and glanced around the entire team at this ‘on what everyone has been doing to her. You’re lucky I was too deep into the mission or I would’ve come here sooner.” She turned to Fury and he nodded at her, and then spoke up.

“Natasha and Yelena will be taking care of the black listed missions from now on, and they will be taking care of miss (L/N) as well. Upon their wishes, they are no longer a part of this team.”

Both the girls turned to me, Yelena sliding her knife away and Natasha holding out a hand to me.

“Come on, Серебряная Лиса, we’ve got you.”

We’ve got you.

(Silver fox)

#miscfandomwrites #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #marvel #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #Yelena x reader #yelena belova

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moonstrider9904 · 4 months

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Pretty Thoughts

Part 3 of the Urban Flora mini series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Cross-posted to AO3 | Series Masterlist

Summary: You awaken to two truths - you are unmistakably in love with Crosshair, and you are both the main story on a popular gossip blog. Although this screams destruction for your reputation, what if it's a blessing in disguise?

Tags: Smut (18+ only), alcohol consumption, gossip, confrontation, female masturbation, vaginal sex, oral sex, creampie

Word count: 5.7k

Playlist: Pretty Thoughts by Alina Baraz

A/N: I've had the most fun writing and posting this series! Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, and shared! You are all the best. I hope you like the ending to this mini-series!

The nearly incessant beeping from your holopad woke you up after a night of heavy sleep. You were in that stage between your dreams and consciousness where you were just starting to make sense of things, and you reached to your nightstand for your holopad as you let out a groggy groan. When you unlocked it, your eyes widened at the screen, disregarding its glow on your pupils.

You had over 200 notifications among your messages and socials, and you quickly decided that couldn't be good.

You sat up on your bed and turned on your lamp - the sun was just beginning to rise outside, and the blinds in your bedroom blocked most of whatever light could come in anyways. You crossed your legs and held your holopad in front, and you opted to check your direct messages from any friends. First, you checked the messages from your closest friend, Pen, whom you rarely saw, but you could always confide in, and your heart nearly leapt from your chest when you saw the picture of Crosshair wearing the outfit he had on the day before, looking at the camera with a hint of confusion, but still composed and handsome as he normally was, and you recognized the area he was standing in as the street just outside the motel you had visited the day before.

Below the image, Pen's text read: Daaayum! Are all clones this fine? Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?

You closed out of her conversation and went onto your ongoing conversation with a different friend, Eloise, the daughter of the Senator from Corellia: Heads up, you and your mystery man made it to Scandal Gal.

Below, she had attached the full screenshot of the blog post, and below Crosshair’s picture, you read the caption:

Wakey wakey, high society: Sweetie's mystery man appears to be a silver fox dream. My sources say he was spotted entering a hotel with Sweetie and then leaving it, with our damsel of the moment seen leaving earlier than him, apparently glowing. While we may be left to fantasize about the happenings within the motel's walls, what I'm more interested to know is if this handsome young soldier is willing to introduce any of his brothers to us poor, starving gals. Consider me first in line.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you did what you knew you shouldn't have done and went over to Scandal Gal's blog and read the comments, though to your surprise, none of the comments were dragging you. You'd half expected to be called a slut by every commenter, but most of the thirsty girls in the blog were fawning at how handsome Crosshair was. You didn't particularly like a horde of girls digitally cat-calling your man, but you preferred that over a ruined reputation.

Overnight, you had become a phenomenon. What started as a picture with a few comments speculating about your encounter at the opera was now a full-fledged story that easily hundreds of people around the east side of Coruscant were following. You read multiple comments talking wonders about Crosshair, others talking wonders about you, very many admiring your relationship and how attractive you both looked together—and a few comments here and there dragging you and/or Crosshair, as expected, but overall, you and Crosshair had taken over the holonet for all the right reasons.

You wanted to laugh, but a part of it freaked you out as well. You’d never made a high profile of yourself. You’d always enjoyed your spoils in life in as private a way as possible, and the few times you’d actually made it to Scandal Gal had been because a dress you wore somewhere was beautiful, not because of your love life.

And only then, it hit you—did Crosshair know about this? And if he did, how would he take it?

Catastrophizing wouldn’t get you anywhere. You got up from your bed and put on your bathrobe, which rested on the armrest of the cozy chair next to your bed. You opened the blinds of your bedroom and took a moment to admire the Coruscant skyline with the sun making its way up the sky, dancing with a few clouds against the light blue hue. You exited your bedroom and headed past your living room with your holopad in hand, towards the kitchen to brew your coffee. As the coffee brewed, you opened the blinds to the rest of your apartment and basked in the morning peace far away from any whispers of scandal that lived in your holopad. You figured that was the bright side of it all—whether it was good talk or bad talk, it only lived in your holopad, and it wasn’t going to make its way into your calm morning.

The calm was interrupted when the door to your apartment flew open, and your mother seemed to glide inside, letting the door close behind her. Her eyes scanned the apartment until they found you, and you couldn’t decide if she was angry at you or not. At the sight of you, your mother sighed—even in her apparent disappointment, which you wouldn’t pretend not to know the cause of, your mother had a regal stance worthy of the senator of Coruscant, with her dark beige suit and her expertly done hair; even her floral scent that commanded respect.

You tried to be as nonchalant as possible, gesturing at the coffee brewer with your hand and raising your eyebrows. Your mother sighed again and shook her head, and instead, she gestured with her chin at the holopad that rested on your counter.

“Have you opened that thing this morning?” She asked you.

“Yes,” you uttered.

“Darling, what were you thinking?” Your mother now seemed more worried than angry at you. “Do you at least know this man well enough?”

“Well enough to know I’m head over heels for him,” you admitted.

“And then there’s that ridiculous gossip site,” your mom continued. “I tell myself it’s no big deal, just a little source of entertainment for spoiled rich teens with nothing better to do, but I can’t fathom the fact that now they’re picking on you. I’m too nervous to read any of the posts or the comments thinking about all the horribly unkind things everyone’s sharing about you… people can be so cruel.”

You sighed. “I know, but, Mom… as far as I’ve checked, the things Scandal Gal and the readers are saying aren’t that bad…”

“Meaning?” She inquired.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “They love him. They’re saying he’s devastatingly handsome and fawning over him, some of them even want to go stand outside the clone bar to see if they can get boyfriends.”

“But what are they saying about you?” She asked.

“I’m a hero. They like my dress, the scarf I wore, and the man I’m with. I think there’s an ongoing wager as to whether or not I’ll marry him,” you delivered blankly.

Your mother’s eyes widened, and you held in your laughter at her reaction.

“Mom, relax,” you said. “I’m not saying I will. But I do really like him. And all things considered, I expected mayhem, and even if there are a few mean things here and there, they don’t compare to how good most of the responses are.”

“That’s rare,” your mother admitted. “And I suppose you’re right, you can’t control what everyone says.”

“And I won’t try to,” you agreed. “I’m just saying it could be a lot worse and if it’s not as bad as I thought it could be, I’m gonna embrace it.”

For a split second, your mother looked at you in plain disbelief. Regardless, she sighed, straightened her back, and gathered herself, and she met your gaze again with understanding.

“Alright, now tell me, who is this man?” She asked.

“He’s the sniper who took out the assassin who tried to kill the Chancellor,” you said as you poured your cup of coffee.

Your mom raised her eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows too, pouring another cup for your mother.

“I met him at the start of the opera,” she explained. “I even invited him to our box, but he said he already had one, he didn’t want to refuse it and seem rude.”

“Yeah, he was invited because of his efforts,” you said. “In fact, I… I met him during the final intermission at the opera. We got to talking and he’s just… fascinating.”

Those were all the details you’d give to your mother about that night.

Your mother’s demeanor seemed to soften as she drank from the coffee you’d given her. With a soft exhale, she set the cup down on the counter and pressed her hands together in front of her chest, avoiding your gaze for a few moments.

“Sweetie, I don’t want you to think I’m exploiting your relationship with this man,” she began.

You tilted your head. That was one of the last things you’d expected her to say.

She then met your gaze. “But this is actually a very good look.”

“What, for you?” You asked.

Your mother chuckled. “I have spent months collaborating with Senator Chuchi to pass a clone rights bill. When your… boyfriend…”

You chuckled. “Crosshair.”

She nodded slowly. “Right. When Crosshair saved the Chancellor’s life, we got a lot more support, but we’re not quite there yet. Too many people view the clones as vessels bred for combat, not as actual human beings with human emotions and human needs. And, as triumphant as Crosshair was in saving the Chancellor, his effort was still that of a soldier, hence why we’re, as I said…”

“Not quite there yet,” you continued. “And… you think that if I’m public with him, so public that people are talking about relationships and gossiping like they do with anyone else in our society, he’ll look more human.”

“And by extension, the rest of the clones,” your mother added. “It just might shift the tide in favor of finally giving them some more rights.”

You smiled softly and took another ship of your coffee. “I love the sound of that. I just don’t know how I feel about scheming regarding Crosshair.”

“Be honest with him, then,” your mother suggested. “If you’re not on board, be as private as you possibly can, I won’t hold it against you. It was just an idea. And now that I think about it…”

You looked up at her again, waiting for what else she had to say.

“We do have that art gala coming up tonight,” she suggested. “Why don’t you invite him?”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll ask him. I wouldn’t mind getting all fancy and seeing him, but for starters, he needs to want to go.”

“He went to the opera, didn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but that was an invitation of honor,” you answered. “And he didn’t seem like a fish out of water, but I can’t help thinking this just isn’t what he’s used to.”

Your mother gazed at you sincerely. “Don’t you cage him into the label of a soldier, too. If you like this man and you want to be with him, you’re going to have to realize he’s more than that.”

You raised both of your brows. You knew she was right, and to have heard that coming from your mother, it meant volumes. You barely ever approached what she did inside the senate, but you pondered on how much her words made sense based on what little she’d shared with you about her efforts with the Pantoran senator. And even if she wasn’t trying to pass a clone rights bill, she was still right—Crosshair was a living, breathing man, and even though you knew he was a soldier, you hadn’t met him as such. You’d seen him at a high society gathering over drinks. You’d shared coffee and bantered with him, kissed him under the rain, made love to him time and time again until you couldn’t get him out of your thoughts.

As soon as your mother left, you reached for your holopad and ignored the multiple notifications you had, heading straight for Crosshair’s frequency number and typing out your message at least three times before sending it, trying to find the most chill way to invite him to the art gala. You sent the message and waited for the reply, frantically scurrying to your holopad anytime it vibrated. For a while, he didn’t answer, and before you lost hope, you finally saw the notifications coming in from Crosshair.

Can’t resist another little encounter with me, can’t you, Sweetie?

You chuckled, but you felt nervous at the same time. That obviously meant he’d been, in some way, exposed to Scandal Gal too.

How fancy do I have to dress? His next message came in shortly after.

You chuckled at your phone and typed back: Fancy enough to knock everyone dead.

Instantly, Crosshair replied: ’Kay. I’ll be there.

After you texted him all the details of the event, you went about your day with a twinge of excitement sprinkled over your every move. The sun made its way around the sky until it was time for you to get ready for the event, and for this occasion, you chose a dark purple dress paired with long black gloves and no necklace, since you’d be wearing your hair down your shoulders. The dress’s top had a black ribbon outlined in the shape of a triangle, with the base at your waist, and it was filled with discreet black sequins. On the right shoulder, where the dress’s top met your sleeve, you placed a dark gray brooch that your mother had given you on your eighteenth birthday, and looking at yourself in the mirror, you were almost ready to go. You did your makeup and grabbed your purse, and then you went out the door to the nightlife of Coruscant, where your mother was already waiting at the bottom of the building with a vehicle.

Your pulse was racing for the whole ride, knowing you would meet Crosshair there. You clutched your purse with both hands over your pressed thighs, and you could feel beads of sweat forming in your palms, having to take deep breaths from time to time to keep yourself steady. The vehicle finally arrived at the gala and parked just in front of the red carpet you were meant to walk on, and only then it dawned on you that multiple pairs of eyes thirsting for scandal would be on you. But you wouldn’t back out, not now, not when you were the very image of elegance in society about to meet with your Silver Fox Dream, as Scandal Gal had put it.

You resolved to knock them all dead too.

The door on your side of the vehicle was opened by an usher, and you stepped out, straightening your posture and taking in the scenery of flashing cameras and excited partygoers, and confident as you looked, your heartbeat hadn’t calmed down in the slightest. You looked around, scanning for the only person you were interested in seeing.

And soon enough, your eyes landed on him. His attire was possibly better than the one he wore the night of the opera, with a slim fit pitch-black suit and shirt, adorned with a burgundy vest under the coat, and rich red rose in his breast pocket. Crosshair’s watchful eyes gazed back at you, and as you remained still in front of your vehicle while your mother got out, Crosshair made his way to you, letting you behold every detail on him as he got closer to you, and when he was finally right in front of you, you took in all of him.

Crosshair was strikingly debonair, undeniably gorgeous, charming in his pride and confidence. He even smelled incredible. His tall figure seemed to loom protectively over you, complimenting your lack of height when you stood next to him, and you both made such a perfect pair you almost hoped that gossiping teenage girls were in proximity to behold your beauty, perhaps even eat their hearts out as a treat for you.

“Miss,” Crosshair greeted as he took your hand and brought it up to his lips, placing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

His gentle kiss ignited every inch of your skin as you briefly remembered the moments of passion you’d already shared with that man. You gave him a demure smile, taking one step closer to him, wishing with every fiber of your body to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss not unlike the one you’d had under the rain the day before, but perhaps it wasn’t the time or place for such a public display. Moreover, as Crosshair was lowering your hand down from his gesture, your mother exited the vehicle and appeared at your side, smiling at Crosshair.

He acknowledged her and gave her the hint of a smile, taking a slight bow. “Ma’am.”

He held out his hand, offering her the chance to be greeted in a similar way as you, and to your surprise, your mother obliged.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” your mother said to him. “I didn’t know you’d met my daughter until this morning.”

“She’s a wonderful lady, ma’am,” Crosshair responded without a hint of hesitation or insecurity.

You were in awe at how easily he was getting along with your mother as the two continued to make small conversation, and soon enough, your mom went ahead and entered the building, with you and Crosshair following behind, your arm linked in his. Camera flashes on you weren’t scarce, and in the distance, you could hear high-pitched cries of “There they are!” and “They’re so hot together!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at yourself.

“Basking in your triumph?” Crosshair broke the silence between you.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“That was a bold move, inviting me here, introducing me to your mother,” he continued, his features holding the sternness they usually did, but you picked up on no disgust on his behalf.

“Yeah, well…” You said. “Overnight, we kind of became public figures, you and me. There’s this gossip site that’s been following me around for a while, nothing major, but when you and I started talking at the opera, we got popular.”

“Ah, Scandal Gal,” Crosshair mused. “Yes, I was approached and stalked by a teen.”

You nearly snorted trying to hold in your laughter. “What?”

“The picture of me that’s on that site was taken by a sixteen-year-old girl,” Crosshair said, smirking. “Somehow, I’m more afraid of gossip-hungry teens than I am of tactical droids.”

You chuckled. “They’re formidable, alright.”

“So… you’re feeding them what they want by bringing me here?” He continued the conversation.

“No, not exactly,” you replied. “That’s a side effect. Because of Scandal Gal, my mom rushed over to my place this morning panicking a little, but I explained to her that… well…”

You and Crosshair had just reached the bar of the opulent salon where the gala was being held, and you both took a seat on your respective stools. Crosshair eyed you with intrigue as you trailed off, prompting you to speak up, and you realized why you’d stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say.

But this was Crosshair. He was a dream incarnate, and you were already there with him, a striking and attractive couple that commanded everyone’s attention, and you found yourself smiling at him as your pulse rose once more.

“That I… I feel a lot for you,” you said. “That I really like you, Crosshair, and this isn’t a meaningless fling for the sake of shock value to me.”

Crosshair maintained eye contact with you, and his features softened ever so slightly, so discreetly that an untrained eye wouldn’t have been able to notice. He broke eye contact with you to gesture at the bartender and order drinks for both of you, and then he turned back to you, with his lips curving to a smirk.

“Well, well,” he hummed. “How touching.”

It was good that he didn’t appear repulsive at your sentiments, but your poor, racing heart would need a more precise answer. Then, Crosshair’s smirk widened, and he looked down at his knees, letting his inner softness glow through if only for a moment.

“It’s not meaningless for me either,” he replied.

You smiled brightly and exhaled the tension from your chest. “Really?”

“Really,” he answered.

“Then… there’s something else you should know,” you said.

And you then explained how your mother wouldn’t use you both, but that you were supporting her cause in the senate, how him being exposed to something other than the front lines would put clones in a more human light, at least to the members of the senate who were still on the fence. You even gave Crosshair the opportunity to back out immediately if he felt like his strings were being pulled, but all the while, Crosshair remained with that serene smile at you, and when you were done talking, Crosshair reached for your hands and held them in his.

“Does this bill mean I’ll get paid more?” He asked.

You laughed openly, and he chuckled in return just as the drinks he’d ordered were placed beside you by the bartender.

“Sweetie,” he said to you. “I don’t care much about the other things. Not Scandal Gal, not the Senate, although that bill sounds decent. I came here to be with you because I can’t get you out of my brain. You’re not what I pictured a high-society woman to be, and… well…”

You smiled softly at him, and now it was your turn to prompt him to speak.

“Now that you’ve introduced me to your mother,” he said, “I hope I get the chance to introduce you to my brothers too.”

Your smile widened. “You’d do that?”

He nodded, smiling softly at you. “You’re a smart girl, you can handle it.”

You laughed and reached for your drink, an Urban Flora cocktail that could have been an exact replica of the one you drank when you first met Crosshair at the opera. You took a sip of it without breaking eye contact with Crosshair, and when you lowered your drink, you raised a brow at him.

“But can you handle the Coruscant high societal scene?” You asked.

Crosshair took a sip of his own drink, the smoky, rich Corellian whisky he loved so much, and he leaned in closer to you, close enough for you to smell the smooth, luscious drink on his breath.

“Try me, Sweetie,” he purred.

You giggled, and you both gently bumped your glasses together, and you went on to continue talking about whatever sparked your interest as you finished your drinks. Crosshair told you about his missions, his brothers, even a couple of anecdotes of when he was a young cadet. In turn, you told him about your days as a schoolgirl, your plans for the future, what you liked to do in your spare time, the planets you longed to visit all over the galaxy. And then, when the glasses were empty and the conversation was fulfilled, you and Crosshair stood up from the bar and went around the room, and you greeted most of your friends and acquaintances as well as introduced Crosshair to all of them. Crosshair was a flying success with everyone, and you couldn’t help but gawk at him just a little. The night wore on as smoothly as velvet, until it was getting late, and you were bound to return home.

You directed a look at Crosshair, a look that was filled with allure, and he reciprocated. Quick goodbyes were said, and soon, you were sitting with Crosshair at the back of your vehicle as the chauffeur flew you home. As you sat together, you were in silence, and though Crosshair was great with words, you’d learned he was far better with his actions, and he reached for the rose on his breast pocket and handed it to you. You smiled at him, slightly flustered, and for the remainder of the ride, you scooched closer to him and leaned your weight on him, eager to arrive at the privacy of your apartment.

You had no intention of waiting. After you and Crosshair had left the vehicle, the moment the elevator doors closed behind you, you were both on each other. Your hands ran all over his back as you both locked lips, hungrily devouring each other in that small space, and you then let your palms rest on his chest. Crosshair took each of your hands and tugged gently at your middle fingertips, enough to hold onto the gloves you wore as you slid your hands down and the delicate fabric came off, exposing your skin. You heard Crosshair shudder softly before he took you into his arms again, kissing you as passionately as before, and you both felt the elevator pulling to a stop.

You gathered yourselves—there was no need to surprise someone waiting for the elevator with a steamy scene—but when you found there was no one there to see you, you and Crosshair held hands as you made your way over to your penthouse, and the moment the door closed behind you both, you were on each other’s lips once more. Your wandering hands removed his coat and his vest, and he found the zipper at the back of your dress. He lowered the zipper, causing the dress’s blouse to fall limply around your silhouette, and you took a step back, wanting him to watch as you wiggled out of the dress and let the fabric fall gracefully on the floor, leaving you to step out of it.

Crosshair eyed you hungrily as you approached him. Your breasts hung freely at your front, and he didn’t miss the hickey he’d left on your ribs the day before. On your hips, there was a pair of lace black panties, but the top prize was easily taken by the stockings that covered you from the middle of your thighs to your toes, which he couldn’t make himself tear his gaze from. You chuckled and took his hands, leading him slowly into your bedroom, and he followed you blissfully until you were at the foot of your bed.

You let go of him and sat back all the way to your headboard. You pressed your legs together and slowly slid your panties away from you, tossing them aside, and you spread your legs to show him, never once breaking eye contact with him. Your gaze was alluring, slightly teasing, and Crosshair watched. He watched as you spread your legs and took your hand to your inner thigh, teasing your skin, until your fingers finally brushed fully over your folds and your clit. You let out a playful gasp, smirking at him and taunting him, and as he watched, Crosshair began to undress. Your smirk widened, and you continued to touch yourself in the way you most liked, delighted by the sight of him losing the clothes that covered him. Your cunt was wet and swollen, pulsating and sensitive, all you needed to do was increase your pace ever so slightly and you’d tip yourself over the edge—as Crosshair crawled onto the mattress, you decided to give him the full show. Making sure his eyes were still on you, you applied more pressure onto your clit and used your three middle fingers to rub, and looking into his eyes, you finally got to enjoy the waves of your orgasm.

You reveled in how hungry Crosshair looked, pleased and aroused by the little show you put on for him. Crosshair couldn’t help but take his hand over to his cock, pumping slowly as he watched you pleasing yourself, until your orgasm faded, and your moans quieted when you removed your hand. You found Crosshair’s gaze and pouted at him, holding your hand in front of you and curling your finger, beckoning him to come to you. With a smirk, Crosshair obliged, and he positioned himself between your legs, planting soft kisses around your inner thighs before brushing his tongue lusciously over your folds. He moaned into your skin, and you whimpered in return, dazed and sensitive after your antics.

As Crosshair continued to please you with his skilled tongue and lips, you suddenly felt his fingers finding yours. You spread your hand before interlacing your fingers with his, holding him as he brought you closer to another release. Your body squirmed harder than it had the first time around, the white-hot ecstasy seeming to explode within every fiber of your body. You didn’t hold back with your moaning, letting his name escape you many a time, enticed by the velvety texture of his tongue contrasting with the raspiness surrounding his jawline.

When Crosshair emerged from between your legs, you tugged on him, prompting him to rest at your eye level. You wanted to feel him close to you, and Crosshair knew what it was you desired. With your legs still spread, you rested back and let him take the lead, feeling as he slowly inserted himself within your tight, warm walls. You both moaned in unison and stared deeply into each other’s eyes as he began his thrusts slowly, luxuriously letting you feel everything. Your lips begged for his, and you perked your face up to kiss him as you felt your body gently bouncing on the mattress in his rhythm. Crosshair’s kisses made you float higher and higher, and drenched in pleasure and ecstasy, you felt like you were in paradise. Crosshair was truly capable of taking you there.

Crosshair paused his kisses on your lips and lifted himself to look at you, his gaze stern and seductive as he increased the snapping of his hips. He grunted as he hammered into you, shuddering and twitching inside you in anticipation, soon unable to contain soft groans and whimpers. Crosshair looked straight into your eyes, flooded by adoration of you, until the pleasure was too much for him to keep his eyes open even as much as he wanted to gaze into you. His eyes shut and the rhythm of his hips became unfathomably fast, and so too, you descended into bliss for the third time that night. You smiled amidst your orgasm, chiming his name in a delicious moan, your hand still securely holding his as he released inside you and fell limp on the mattress beside you afterwards.

You both panted, each your own dazed and flustered mess as you made futile attempts to recover, but as much as you were both unable to do much else, you remained holding each other’s hands. As time passed, you soon felt Crosshair’s thumb brushing delicately up and down your finger, and you watched him with a tender gaze. You felt you’d fall asleep right there, and if you did, you knew you would want for nothing. You knew you’d have nothing to worry about for as long as you were together, and the pain of temporary separations would be worth it if it was Crosshair you would wait for.

And there on your mattress, filled with love, resolve, and exhaustion, you drifted off into sleep.

A gentle sunlight and the song of birds woke you up. You noticed the space beside your bed was empty, and you didn’t waste time getting up and placing your robe over you as you sought out your lover. You walked over to the living room and your attention was drawn to the balcony, where he stood with his back turned on you, shirtless and wearing his pants from the night before, gazing out at the scenery.

You took a moment to admire him and the way his skin appeared golden under the morning sun, contrasting almost artistically with the green plants on your balcony, the blue sky, and the skyline ahead. With soft steps, you approached him and stepped out onto the balcony, and you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, pressing a soft kiss on his shoulder blade. Crosshair delicately shuffled and brought your figure next to him, draping his arm around you, and you both stood in silence for a few peaceful moments, watching the scenery.

“What are you watching?” You asked him, knowing it was in his nature to observe.

His amber eyes scanned the scenery, and he almost looked humbled. He had the face of an innocent life being beholding the universe ahead of them, realizing how small they truly were in comparison to the greatness of creation itself.

“Out there, as soldiers,” Crosshair began, “it often feels like we fight because it’s all we know. We were made for it. Myself, my brothers, more obviously bred for different purposes, all to serve one war. But aside from why we were created, we never really stop to think what we’re fighting for.”

You looked up at him, watching his features soften in realization as he spoke. Crosshair then angled his body more towards you, and he held you tighter, pressing you to the warmth of his skin, watching you with the most tender gaze you had ever felt on you.

“I won’t forget this next time I’m on the battlefield,” he continued.

“You mean, Coruscant?” You asked. “The Republic, these people, this skyline… peace?”

He smiled. “I mean you.”

You smiled at him, devoted.

Crosshair chuckled. “All of that, too, but, mostly you.”

“Oh, Crosshair,” you wrapped your arms around him and perked on your toes, requesting a kiss.

Crosshair obliged and kissed you gently, almost carefully, feeling as the sunshine draped over his skin. He wished he could remain there longer, but he had a duty, a duty that had brought him to you, and a duty that he had to fulfill in order to one day be with you more properly. He knew that, with you on Coruscant waiting for him, he’d always have a reason to return, and a reason to keep fighting. He’d never thought of a life besides being a soldier, but if you were in it, it couldn’t be so bad.

And out there, on that balcony, Crosshair held you close to him until the very last moment he could spare with you, until he had to leave again to be a soldier, always with the promise of returning to you.

This just in: Sweetie and Sniper Man are still together and far more public now that I and my loyal sources have done our job ;) I do think we have a power couple in our midst, and the next time these two show up at a fancy event dressed to impress, you’ll hear about it from none other than yours truly. I certainly wish the happy couple all the best, and my challenge towards Sniper Man to bring forth more eligible men from the fine and respectable GAR still stands. Help us gals out, Sniper Man, we all love you so much, and we can’t let Sweetie keep all the spoils!

Yours truly!

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging to support me!

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#uf series #moonstrider writes #tbb smut #tbb crosshair smut #crosshair smut #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #crosshair x you #tbb crosshair #the bad batch smut #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfic #tbb fanfiction

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cf8wrk4u-us · 9 months

Text

How The Lost Light Canceled The Hunger Games

Summary: To a Cybertronian, 200 years is nothing, barely a foot note in this peaceful time where bot are trying to rebuild their world and society.

But 200 years is a lot to humans though, 200 years is a lot for Earth in general.

Things change, humanity changes.

And as Cybertron will learn, not for the better.

But this is something the members of the Lost Light wouldn't stand for.

(Based on these ask given to @yes-i-write-fanfiction

https://www.tumblr.com/yes-i-write-fanfiction/735322098308890624/in-honor-of-the-ballad-of-songbirds-and-snakes?source=share

We're on a flat, open stretch of ground, a plain of hard packed dirt.

Behind the tributes across from me, | can see nothing, indicating either a steep downward slope or even cliff. To my right lies a lake. To my left and back, spars piney woods. This is where Haymitch would want me to go.

Immediately.

I hear his instructions in my head. “Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water”

But it’s tempting, so tempting, when I see the bounty waiting there before me. And I know that if I don’t get it, someone else will. That the Career Tributes who survive the bloodbath will divide up most of these life-sustaining spoils. Something catches my eye. There, resting on a mound of blanket rolls, is a silver sheath of arrows and a bow, already strung, just waiting to be engaged. That’s mine, I think. It’s meant for me.

I’m fast. I can sprint faster than any of the girls in our school although a couple can beat me in distance races. But this forty-yard length, this is what I am built for. I know I can get it, I know I can reach it first, but then the question is how quickly can I get out of there? By the time I’ve scrambled up the packs and grabbed the weapons, others will have reached the horn, and one or two I might be able to pick off, but say there’s a dozen, at that close range, they could take me down with the spears and the clubs. Or their own powerful fists.

Still, I won't be the only target. I’m betting many of the other tributes would pass up a smaller girl, even one who scored an eleven in training, to take out their more fierce adversaries.

Haymitch has never seen me run. Maybe if he had he’d tell me to go for it. Get the weapon. Since that’s the very weapon that might be my salvation. And I only see one bow in that whole pile. I know the minute must be almost up and will have to decide what my strategy will be and I find myself positioning my feet to run, not away into the stir rounding forests but toward the pile, toward the bow.

I notice Peeta, he’s about five tributes to my right, quite a fair distance, still I can tell he’s looking at me and I think he might be shaking his head. But the sun’s in my eyes and-

CRASH!

A symphony of broken glass and metal erupted across the arena, the once sunny and clear blue sky darkens into a mess of pixelated screens and crumpling scaffolding. But that's not what had our attention.

From the growing crack in the forcefield was a large aircraft, far bigger than the Capital hovercraft that had brought us to the arena. It was colored in a bright orange red and yellow with tinted dark glass on its front, so massive was its size that it literally scraped the sides of the entrance it cashed through. Sending more of the broken structure to crash down.

My breath picked up, heart hammering in my chest as I saw the craft get closer and closer to us, I noted absently how its shadow easily shaded over me the rest of the tributes. Practically eclipsing the whole arena.

A part of me screamed to move, to run, I thought of images of a hawk as it swooped over a desperate rodent. But the rational part of myself firmly and calmly reminded me that I needed to stay still on the circle before me or I would end up in pieces from the land mines.

But even that became a physical struggle as the aircraft landed sending a heavy gust of wind that threatened to blow tributes back from their stands. I braced my knees and even as I couldn’t stay on I grasped to stay right on the circle. In fact I noticed how others did the same , but a few weren’t successful. Such as one male tribute, from District 5 I believed, who was sent tumbling off. I gave a quick look from my position, ready to hear and see a mess of explosions…but nothing happened.

Even the District 5 tribute, whose face had paled, was now looking confused at the fact he wasn’t a mess against the grass.

The gong hadn’t gone off, yet the mines were not active, so what had the trigger time run out?

Has the Hunger Games begun?

In my head the passing thought came of how this could just be a scenario made by the Gamemakers.

That perhaps the games already started and here I was just standing like easy prey.

But as I heard another groan of metal from the collapsing field above, even I had to admit that was a stupid idea.

Even so, then what was happening?!

Finally the craft opened and a bridge slid down, then stepping out with a thump of metal and heavy footsteps were what I can only name as giants.

Giants covered, no, made of metal!

Then it barely took me a second to recognize what these beings were.

Transformers.

In our history books it always seemed that throughout Panem past and even before the creation of the country, humans have always been each other's greatest enemies. But as stated in our history books, thousands of years ago, there was another race of beings that almost wiped out the planet and the entire human race with it.

Aliens from another world, giant transforming robots known as Cybertronians.

Beings of metal brutality and cold indifference, a warring species who brought their conflict with one another to Earth and put humans right in the crossfires of it.

Only leaving once almost irreparable damage was done to the planet.

As a child and learning about them in class I sometimes would look to the night sky in terror at the thought that these aliens were still out there. Just hiding among the deceptively beautiful stars.

But after losing my father, struggling to hold what was left of my family together, and the helpless dread that came with the annual Reaping; I learned rather quickly that the monsters in real life were far scarier than that of thousand-year-old metal terrors that hadn’t been seen in ages.

What was there to fear of beings who hadn’t been interested in Earth for centuries?

How ironic that my only fear had been my fellow humans when it came to surviving the arena.

Four stepped out from the ship, taking the lead was a fiery red and orange mech whose colors matched the design of the ship. Next to him came the largest of the group was colored a deep blue and red with white high shoulder guards on each side. Besides them was the shortest of the group of Cybertronians, his dark armored body barely reaching the orange one's waist and who unlike his companions didn’t have a visible face of sorts but a blue visor that fitted their red and white helmet. And finally from behind was an imposing gray and black figure, whose armor may appear more subdued in coloring and design than his group, his helmet a simple flat triangular design, nonetheless was buff and strapping. Power practically screaming from just his image alone, and when his red eyes gazed over to us I couldn't help but shiver under their intensity. Not feeling any better when I noticed a sort of dark blaster on its right arm.

He seemed familiar, his image perhaps one I had seen in my aging textbook?

I didn't have the time to ponder further as they finally stepped away from the ship and made it to the grassy field of the arena.

Like earlier I shifted my legs for a sprint, forgetting all about the food and weapons, my eyes shifting to the large expanse of forest that would be the only way to try to avoid whatever these stalking giants had in stored for us.

It was the only plan I could think of, the safest choice, and I’m sure Haymitch would agree.

Is he seeing this? Is the Capital? The whole country? Do they know where being invaded-

“Hello, there”!

I was taken off guard as the orange and red Transformer, the presumably leader of the group, called out to us. His voice was jovial and the smile that spread across his metal face was friendly.

Nothing that gave me a reason to trust him.

His grin persisted as he marched closer only shifting as several tributes cried out and scrambled to escape.

“Wait! Wait”! The giant robot hurriedly said “It's okay”!

I didn’t stop in my sprint till I made it to Peeta, not complaining as he firmly grasped my wrist and pulled me into a hurried pace.

We needed to leave, put as much distance as we could from these metal monsters.

“We're not here to hurt you”! The Transformer said in a surprisingly desperate tone “We're here to help you! Save you! Too Stop The Hunger Games”!

I nearly fell as Peeta stopped.

“Peeta”! I hissed trying to tug him towards the forest, but he refused to move instead looking dumbfounded at the robot. As if he believed what it was saying.

But as I looked around I could see the other tributes had stopped as well, with the ones who made it to the woods actually peeking from the edge of the treeline.

The red and orange robot's face morphed into a softer expression before he went down on one knee.

I gestured I couldn’t help but recognize from my sister Prim when she approached the small scared animals she nursed back to health or in my mom to the anxious sickly children that were brought to be treated at our home.

This Transformer, this giant of a being, was trying to make himself smaller so that the tiny humans before him wouldn’t be frightened.

That…didn’t sound like the hostile warring species from my history class.

I stopped trying to move Peeta.

Seeing that he had our attention the robot spoke again, his voice soft but clear.

“We're here to save you, you won’t have to die today, not for some game, and especially not for your Capital” he stood up before looking at the smaller Transformer “Rewind, are we ready”?

“Just about” they, Rewind, answered “Though before we start mind stepping a little to the left”?

“Huh, why”? Asked the leader

“Because captain, if we were trying to sell the whole “we don’t mean any harm” image maybe we shouldn’t be showing how we trashed their enclosure”? Rewind said

The apparent captain looked to the shattered entrance they had created before sheepishly smiling “Yeah…better not let them see that yet”

“Doubt it will make much a a difference” said the gray and black Transformer, his voice was sharp and curt “No doubt their Capital already knows about the damage done to their little arena”

“This difference is Megs is that we're making a statement” said the Captain “One that has to be said as soon as possible, ready Rewind”?

“Whenever you are” said the smaller bot, tapping the side of his helmet.

I was confused why he did that till I noticed a redlight shinning on the side of his helmet, a video recorder perhaps?

With that the red and orange giant stood straight ahead, his gaze intense as he looked at Rewind “Citizens of the Capitol and Panem, we come in peace”!

CRACK! CRASH!

At that moment more scaffolding and material decided to come tumbling down into the arena as if to loudly object to the statement.

I winced at the noise and off to the side I could see the largest of the Transformers actually pinch his brow in an exasperated manner. A scene I could almost find funny.

Despite this though the captain gave only a nervous chuckle before speaking again “This is Rodimus Prime, and despite our rather abrupt entrance, we have only the best of intention for our arrival” he face then became more serious “While I understand that as of now most of the citizens of this country recognize us in a hostile light, we Autobots, many members of the Cybertronian race have viewed Earth and its people as sentient like minded beings. Ones who needed protection and safety when our war did unfortunately touch your planet. With some humans even becoming valued allies who fought besides us during such a perilous time” Rodimus stopped then, his blue glass eyes dimming even “After the war we left Earth, both out of a need to protect this planet from any further conflict we may have had and out of respect for humanity who wanted to independently run their society once it was rebuilt, a wish we were determined to honor” his voice then harden as he continued “But recent discoveries and findings have forced us to decide to break this arrangement, this biggest being your so called Hunger Games” Rodimus practically spat that word out “A society whose higher caste who not only feeds greedily on it’s citizens but demands blood tributes out of its children, making a game out of their very lives! It will not continue! Not if I can help it”!

I watched transfixed as he raised a fist to his fiery chassis “I call an end to the Hunger Games! Starting now”! He calmed “Again this isn’t a message made out maliciously, I want more than anything to resolve this peacefully, I hope you can believe me citizens of Panem”

Rewind then made a gesture and Rodimus visibly relaxed, even giving a small laugh.

“So did we get all that”?

“Sent it right to our sources, hopefully it was enough to get it to the other Districts but you can bet those big cogs in the Capitol must have seen it”

“That's good” Rodimus nodded before beginning to walk “All we got to do is wait for now”

“You know Optimus Prime isn’t going to be happy about the stunt we pulled today” the gray and black one, Megs, spoke again.

“Well Optimus shouldn’t have been dragging his pedes over this,” responded Rodimus “But if anything just say you were following the captains orders, I’ll take the fall”

“I highly doubt he believed that” the blue and red Transformer said

Rodimus actually shrugged before looking our direction again, he gave another reassuring smile “Just hang tight” he said “I almost got you all out of this”

No one responded for the longest time, till in a quiet voice spoke out.

“Is this really happening”?

I couldn’t pinpoint who spoke, but that voice echoed a question I was asking myself.

Was this really happening?

I recalled the proclamation made by the Transformer not even a minute ago.

An end to the Hunger Games.

No more Hunger Games.

The games were canceled.

Was this really happening? Barely a few minutes earlier I was ready to run for my life and fight against my fellow tributes in a bloody arena, but now I was being told that we didn’t have to fight by a giant metal alien.

I felt Peeta shudder beside me and when I looked at him I could see how wet his eyes were getting, he covered his mouth trying to muffle a sob. Without thinking I pulled him close and let his weight sag against mine.

I was ready to let our time in the tower be our final goodbye, knowing that the chances of us making it from the Cornucopia was slim at best and remaining allies had an even smaller chance.

But saying I wasn’t relieved would be a lie, I was relieved that the games hadn’t started, relieved that Peeta and I were still together, relieved that we were going to be okay.

And if a few tears and raspy breaths left my mouth I wouldn’t find myself ashamed for it.

When we were calm enough to pull away I looked to the other tributes; most stood with their Districts. Some crying and clinging to one another, a few who decided to look through the packs of supplies littered around the arena, but most just staring at the Transformers that stood by their ship.

Well most of them.

The apparent captain, Rodimus, was actually walking leisurely towards the pond. Then literally popping open his chest cavity pulled out a pole of some kind that had a string at the end of it.

It took me a second to realize what he was doing.

“Is he…”? Peeta started

This Transformer, a giant metal warrior, a captain that led his own crew, and just broke into the Capitals arena and called an end to the Hunger Games; just plopped himself at the end of the water and began to fish!

Peeta actually coughed a laugh besides me “Can robots even eat fish”?

I didn’t know and wasn’t sure to find out.

But surprisingly enough Peeta let go of my hand and actually got towards the robot!

“Peeta”?! I whispered harshly “What are you doing”?

“I want to get a closer look at them” he said

“Peeta, wait”! I said urgently “They’re Transformers, it might not be safe too-”

“They saved our lives Katniss and you heard them, they don’t want to hurt us” Peeta said but before he kept moving he held out a hand to me, encouraging me to take it.

I hesitated though.

Despite what these Transformers had done for us, despite their promises, I still didn’t feel comfortable putting myself in a squishing range of them.

Peeta gave me a disappointed yet understanding look and continued on. Surprisingly even some tributes began to take his lead, forming a small crowd.

The bot, Rodimus, began to notice their approach and gave a large smile at them.

“Hello there,”! he said

None of the tributes worked up the nerve to greet him back verbally but I could see Peeta giving his own smile in return along with an energetic wave of his hand.

A part of me had to keep myself from rolling my eyes, it was just like Peeta to try to get people to like him. The games may have been over and these giants claimed not to mean any harm but Peeta was still trying to play it safe.

He really was clever like that.

But ultimately it wasn’t Peeta who opened up to the metal giant.

“You know how to fish”?

This came from the young 12 year old from District 4.

“Yup” Rodimus said “Back when I was stationed on Earth a good friend of mine taught me, I got really into it after that” He ended that by adjusting his line a little.

The District 4 boy's eyes widened before giving a curious gaze at the pond next to them.

“Do you think there’s anything in there”?

“I hope, in either case I’m just glad to be fishing again”! The robot said “I told myself that if I ever came to Earth again it would be one of the first things I did”! He stopped before asking the Tributes besides him “Do any of you fish”?

Again most stayed silent but the District 4 didn’t hesitate to raise his hand and say “My district is responsible for most of the fishing done, some of my father and uncles are even allowed on the boats to go to sea for the bigger stuff, we even have competitions during the season”

Rodimus' eyes seemed to glow brighter “Oh, so you're a bit of an expert huh”? He asked leaning closer “So what's the biggest fish you’ve caught so far”?

The young boy's face went red, from the freckles of his nose to the bouncy curls on his head.

“Um, just a couple of mackerel with my dads old fishing rod ” he said quietly almost embarrassed “I catch a lot more with nets with my friends”

“Mackerel! Wow that impressive”! The giant robot expressed eagerly “Most of my fishing is done in freshwater, I say the biggest I got was just 5 pound bluegill but boy was he a tough one-hey I didn't catch your name by the way”

“Luca” said the boy “Luca Alberts”

As the red and orange Transformer continued to chatter on about his fishing experiences the group of huns around him seemed to relax more and more, feeling at ease his casual attitude. And it seemed to affect some of the other tributes too who had previously kept their distance.

I moved closer to where Peeta was in the group, catching more of the conversation made by Rodimus to the District 4 tribute.

“So do you really hope to catch anything”? Asked the boy, Luca

“Who knows? Best way to pass the time anyway” Rodimus responded

“You might want to be careful” a voice suddenly said

It was one of the male tributes, I didn’t recognize him initially given he looked like another of the 14 year olds that were taken into the games. Then recalling a yellow suit I realized this must have been the tribute from District 3, his bright yellow dress shirt being the only thing that stood out in his rather dull interview with Cesar.

“You don’t know what might be inside the pond” the District 3 Tribute explained “The arenas are supposed to be set up with all kinds of traps, ones operated by the Gamemakers and ones set loose like the Mutts”

“Mutts” Rodmius said quietly “Right, those lab made animals they make” his happy expression turned into a somber one before his smile returned “Well, it’ll be fine! If there's anything dangerous lurking in these water, just trust your friend Rodimus to help”

He added a thumbs up that honestly felt corny, but seemed to please the younger tributes.

“I’d like to fish too”! Luca announced

Rodimus hummed unsure “Well, I only have one-”

“It’s fine” he stated before going to the nearest pack and rummaging through it “There pretty simple to make if you have the right supplies”

Rodimus nodded “Then I'll trust the expert on this”

The boy gave a proud grin though mad a disappointed sound at not fighting anything before moving onto the next pack.

From where I stood I gave another glance at Rodimus and his robotic teamates.

To be honest it wasn’t enough to say these were robots, the Capital miniature cleaning or delivering drones definitely fit the definition. There movements stiff and uniform, moved with purpose in their singular task.

But these Transformers, they moved as a human would. Maybe not with the same fluidity but unrestricted, like the armor they were wasn't just something attached to their bodies but actually a part of them. Even the metal on their faces, despite how alien they looked, moved so easily. And given Rodimus examples, with so much expression and versatility.

How could metal and gears and inanimate material move and soften so much like flesh, like actual breathing beings.

Because they were alive obviously….

For years I had it in my head that these aliens were nothing but cold hearted machines of war. That's what our history books told us, showed us.

But then again those books were written by the Capital.

And the Capital says a lot of things.

I looked at the large Transformers before me; Rodimus chatting with the other tributes, the smaller one Rewind holding the side of his face as he gazed around so obviously still recording, and finally to the two largest bots who stood rather detached from the rest of the group.

I part of me wondered how different things have been if Rodimus and his people had come sooner.

Would the first Rebellion have been successful, would the Capital still have demanded to Hunger Games, would their even have been a Hunger Games, would-?

My hypothetical thoughts were cut short when a piercing scream went through the air.

Turning I could see some of the tributes scattering away from the Cornucopia as the male District 2 tribute came barreling out of the entrance swinging a large sword.

“Stop! What are you doing”?!! cried Rodimus, quickly getting up and abandoning his fishing pole “Why are you fighting! Your free now! No one is making you kill anyone”!

The brutish tribute, Cato if I member his name, looked at the robot and actually gave a snarky smile.

“Are you stupid”? he asked “Do you really think you can stop the games? That we'll let you”!

From behind him I can see more of the Career Tributes gather behind him, each brandishing their own weapons.

“We're here for a reason! And I'm not about to let you take that away from us”!

More tributes scattered as the pack of Carriers ready their weapons and stalk forward.

Despite everything, despite all of Rodimus hopeful promises, I'm sure that there's going to be death even if these aliens did call for an end of the games.

Really how stupid was I to believe them, how stupid I was for not grabbing a weapon, or not just running when I had the chance.

“That's enough”! Rodimus ordered taking a step forward, barely restrained anger in his voice “Stop this now or-”

But already Cato was rushing forward sword already at the closest, hapless target.

Luca.

The District 4 tribute quest for fishing line and other supplies had put him just close enough to Cato line of attack, he kneeled by an open bag, to startled or afraid to run.

Rodimus quickly moved , the ground quaking in his hurried step forward. Avoiding get accidentally trampled on I didn't notice when Peeta left my side till I saw him rushing past Rodimus bright orange feet right for Luca.

The instance was too fast and too slow at the same time, Peeta running to the boy, taking him his arms to try and pull him away from the attack, the sword swinging down and blood sprinkling out.

I can feel myself yelling, Peeta name clawing its way out of my mouth as I saw the sword about to swing back down again.

BOOM!

A roaring blast echoed through the air as a bright hot beam of purple shot over the heads of the Carrier tributes.

The arena grew hot, it felt like the very air was singed from that one blast. Leaving A smoking crater in the far off distance that no doubt could have easily sizzled away any puny human in its path.

It felt hard to breath and my stomach threatened to lurch the meager breakfast I stomached back at the tower. But still I turned my head to look at the cause of the blast.

The gray and black mech.

Everyone was silent, afraid too move. Even the Carrier tributes, who had been a savage pack thirsty for our blood were left shaking. The District 1 tribute actually scared off his feet, ass to the ground as he look terrified at the glowering red eyed Transformer.

"You wanna try that again”? the Transformer said, his voice like a rumbling storm, his still smoking cannon leveled at the group of Carriers “I came here because I thought I was saving innocent humans from a cruel game made by a tyrannical society, not a rabid creature who sees fit to attack his own kind"

Cato stupidly tries to argue "Its the Hunger Games-"!

"And as my captain stated, there are no more games from here on out" said the bot, but his face actually looked to soften a bit "Your a Carrier tribute, from what I understand, you were raised for this, all of you" he cast his eyes to the rest of the group "Raised to murder, slaughter, and entertain...but understand that from here on out the games are done….but if you feel so free to continue fighting than do it"

The cannon lights up.

"Come forward and strike, make your District proud, make your owners proud"

Cato seemed to be hyperventilating, he turned to his fellow Carrier tributes but they were all shrinking away under the gaze of the giant robot aiming their weapons at them.

All of these Carrier tributes, made into these roughness killing machines for the benefit of the games, reduced to scared children.

I find it laughable if I wasn't fixed on a moaning Peeta lying on the top of a silent Luca.

But I didn't dare approach till Cato, with an almost wheezy cry, squeezed his blade one more time before throwing it away.

The others following his example.

I rushed forward trying to evaluate the damage, kneeling besides Peeta I carefully tried to move him on his back and off of Luca. The boy looked fine but I startled to see that Peeta had a long slash cutting across his right arm. Cutting deeply by his elbow before becoming shallow by his shoulder. Bleeding very heavily.

I did my best to press on the wound, the warmth stickiness of it pooling between my fingers.

Peeta eyes were open with pain but still he managed a strangled “Katniss…”

“You idiot”! I couldn't help but snap “What were you thinking”?!

He was so close to getting out! Getting out alive at least!

A shadow overtook us and I looked to see both Rodimus and Rewind staring down at us.

Rodimus was clear with horror as he looked at Peeta's wound.

“Scrap” I heard him mutter, I didn’t know what it meant but couldn't help but share his sentiment.

The sleeve of my coat was already soaked with blood. I knew I couldn't continue on like this, then stupidly I member there was a pack besides me.

I grabbed at it hastily looking through, cursing as I only found a few crackers, a empty canteen, and a pair of socks.

Despite this I stretched the socks as far as I could, rembering from my mother and Prims work that no matter what I had to press to keep the blood in! Huh, even with something so obvious I still was failing.

“Here” a voice said and I felt a weight besides me.

It was the young girl from District 11, Rue, and in her hands was a roll of bandages.

Quickly grasping it I thanked her and made to work trying to wrap the wound. Rue wordlessly held up the arm gently to let me encircle it further, though Peeta gave painful gasps still.

“Let's try tying part of the arm” said Rue tapping just above his elbow “It'll help with the bleeding”

I nodded following her instructions, just like I would if it were my sister and mother. I was never a gifted healer like them and I didn't have confidence in the wrappings as I still saw red peaking through the white of the bandages. But I was still too glad that it stopped spilling on the grass.

The shadow above us got bigger and I felt Rue press up to me while Luca fliched.

“Will he survive”? asked the gray and black Transformer

“I-I don't know” Rodimus said “Oh, slag, we really should have brought Ratchet”!

“To be fair he may nor have been as helpful considering this is a human and not a Cybertronian patient”

“Yeah but-will you put that thing away Megatron”! Rodimus suddenly yelled in frustration

Megatron.

I felt my blood run cold as I finally realized why I recognized this specific Transformer.

Images of him, him and his Decepticons, littered the chapter of my history book.

Describing one of the leaders of the two waring Cybertronian factions, this bot name was meantioned as to put a face to the carnage that was the species of Cybertronians. Deemed so evil and callus for his not only his utter disregard of human life but in his delighted in the utter suffering and destruction to the organic life on this planet. Pictures and accounts left no room for nightmarish imagination.

He barely looked any different, I could still recognize him.

This was him.

This was Megatron.

I didn't hesitate to push myself in front of Peeta and the younger two. Despite knowing I was helpless to anything he want to do to us.

“It was just too prove a point” said the metal ravager “Wasn't even looking to maim”

“That's not the point Megs-”! Rodimus would have continued if the whole arena didn't begin to shake causing even the giant robots to become unsteady on their feet.

Suddenly the forest erupted in a burst of flames! And the once tranquil pond bubbled ominously, growing inside till literal waves were sloshing closer to the field the stood.

“I believe the Gamemakers are not too happy with us interrupting there game” said the blue and red bot named Mags as he approached his captain.

Getting a serious face Rodimus loudly ordered “Grab the humans, were getting out of here”!

Rodimus kneeled before us “We got to leave” he said before cupping his metal hand and holding it low “I know your friends hurt but we gotta move you guys”

There's a lot I can distrust Rodimus for, being a Cybertronian for 1. and having Megatron on his crew for 2.

But seeing the earnestness in his blue glass eyes and knowing staying in the arena meant only death, I could only silently shuffle Peeta onto the bright red metal with Rue and Luca following behind us. The metal felt oddly warm beneath me.

“That's it little buddies ” Rodimus said encouragingly “There we go”

His fingers curling as the only warning before Rodimus lifted us up to a dizzying hight, from their I could see the other bots Mags and Rewind collect the rest of the tributes with surprising gentleness.

Something I also noticed is Megatron himself, simply standing there and staring at the Carrier tributes who panicked as the ground around them began to muddy as the tide of the water lapped at their feet.

I guessed that the metal destroyer maybevwanted to finish the job,but to my surprise he leaned down and scooped up the scared tributes.

Soon enough Rodimus and the others rushed us towards their ship

It started dark before opening to a control room full of machinery and screen monitors.

“Magnus, get us ready for lift off” said Rodimus before going towards a large glass tank and gentle settling us inside there. Rewind did the same to the two tributes he held and the bot Mags/Magnus set down the rest.

There was some hesitancy as Rodimus saw Megatron with the Carrier tributes but he only made a clicking noise before jumping into one of the seats, no doubt the Captain chair.

“Are we ready”?

“Thrusters on captain”!

I barely felt the ship move but on the monitors is clearly showed us soaring above the almost decimated arena and lift towards the dome. I shuddered and continued to hold Peeta as once again the ship jolted as it scrapped against the size of the force field.

“Rodimus, I'm detecting several hostile flight carriers coming our way”

“Guess they really didn't appreciate our little peace demonstration” Rodimus said dryly as he gripped the steering device.

The monitors showed what was obviously Capital shuttles coming at the ship.

There was a violent shudder from the side of the ship.

“Rodimus…should we engage” said Magnus quietly

Rodimus voice was determined as he said “No, we agreed we weren't taking any lives today” but then an almost cheerful tone came to his voice “But I got something else in mind”!

The ship gave a jerk and I felt myself bracing against the surface of the tank.

“They want to chase us, then we'll go somewhere they can't follow”!

Despite the optimistic way he spoke it was becoming worryingly hard to breath.

“Rodimus” Megatron said in a stressed tone “Rember the elevation, the humans-”

“I think I know how to transport humans” Rodimus said sarcastically, but I couldn't help but notice that it was getting easier to breath.

I coughed and checked on Peeta, concerned how paled he was though with how alert he looked I was still hopeful.

The jostling stopped and soon it was a smooth ride. Though not a comfortable one as Megatron gazed at all of us within the tank.

I did my best to meet his gaze fearlessly, my eyes flickering to the scared Carrier tributes still in his hands. The squirmed and cried, terrified to be in the hands of a titan who could easily squish them.

The one-sided stare off was broken by Rodimus hysterical laughter “We did it! We did it”! the bot practically leaped from his seat to fist pump the air “We saved the humans and showed those higher cassette up”

“Yes” Magnus said in a tired voice “With 23 anxious young humans and 1 injured tribute in our care”

“Well, we can figure it out” said Rodimus jovially “Doesn't this prove we can do anything”?

“Rodimus-” started Magnus

“Oh, we need to get ready to dock”!

The way Magnus sighed you would think he was a tired parent to a rambunctious child and not the crew member following his captain.

There was another shudder and soon a bright light entered the hall we had come from, soon Rodimus left his seat to the tank we were in.

He was all smiles as he began to roll the very platform our tank was on towards the entrance.

“Your safe now, your safe” he kept murmuring.

I wondered if it was more for his assurance then for our sakes.

The light at the end of the hall was blinding but when we emerged from it a roar of cheers followed.

“WE'RE BACK”! yelled Rodimus

As my eyes adjusted to the light I could see we were in a large hangar of some sort and inside it a group of Transformers stood, bots of versions colors and sizes all whooped and hollered in congratulations to Rodimus and his group.

Once we got closer several of them surged forward.

“You actually got them”? said one with sharp helmet a grey face and red marking around his eyes.

“Ha! I wish I could have seen the faceplate of those Capital jerks when you burst in there” said one bot who only had a single yellow glass eye that made up his greenish blue helm.

“Are these humans”? one small white and blue bot asked as they struggled to look at them from the height of our platform “They're so cute”!

A purple Transformers with a narrow face and red eyes leaned forward “One of thems injured”

“Scrap”! Rodimus said “Ratchet?! Where's Ratchet”?

“I'm here”! called a gruff voice, a red and white mech pushed through the crowd “What happened”?

“Um, we ran into some complications” said Rodimus gesturing to Peeta “Can you help him”?

“A human patient” the robot frowned “I can try, but I can't promise I'll be as much use given how long it's been and what supplies I have ir should I say don't have”

“Haha, he just being modest” Rodimus said nervously looking at Katniss “But he'll be in safe servos”

That obviously didn't assure me and both bots could tell as I held Peeta close to me.

The one called Ratchet came forward before lowering his hand into the tank, tributes did scramble back till it was only me and Peeta before the metal hand that was as big as a storage door.

“I see your worried for your friend, I understand” he said “ But I need to take a look at him, it's the best way to ensure his wound is properly treated”

“Your not a human” I found myself saying “You don't know what your doing”

“This isn’t my first time with an injured human, it's just been some time and I don't exactly have what I need….” He stopped before saying “He looks like aid was administered, was this your work”?

I nodded but admitted “I had some help”

Ratchet hummed and nodded before nudging his hand more instantly towards me “You can come along, perhaps you could help me treat him”

I gulped looking between him, the hand, and a grimacing Peeta. Then finally helped push Peeta onto the outstretched hand before placing myself onto the cold metal of the palm. I braced myself as once again lifted by a metal giant.

Ratchet began to quickly walk away with us, but I could still hear Rodimus speaking.

“Megatron make sure you keep those tributes separated” he instructed curtly, obviously talking about the Carrier group.

His voice became more lighter as he said “As for the rest of you, I want to welcome you all to the Lost Light”!!!!

#transformers #transformers idw #transformers mtmte #hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #rodimus #rewind #ultra magnus #megatron #ratchet #crossover #the hunger games

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