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reignpage · 18 days ago

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Vice President!Sukuna

Pétain: losing it all pt 1

Word count: 4.4k Contents: 18+ mdni, cursing, smut, reading this is not compulsory, part 2 will explain The Night, so please read the warnings before reading, I will seriously block minors and ageless blogs Warnings: noncon, cnc, dub-con, primal play, threat of violence and act of violence, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, exhibitionism, slight blood play After much deliberation, I've decided to add noncon in the warnings, again proceed with caution

“Is that the Vice President?” Someone whispers.

Another girl whispers back, “No, he’s the President now.”

You ignore everyone and continue your way to the field, carrying two buckets of soil, ready to plant the seeds in your pocket. Being a member of the Green Thumb Society meant being at one with nature, giving back to the Earth so that we can maintain an equilibrium, ensuring that the future generations will have something to inherit.

Or whatever.

Truthfully, you haven’t been listening, simply itching to get your hands dirty so you can distract your mind. Not being the president means having lots of free time, but not having any friends means you don’t have anything to do in those times. At first, you were overjoyed because then you can focus on the mountain of work you have, however, once you sat yourself down to finish up all the readings and applications you had, you realised you didn’t actually have that much work to begin with.

So now, you’re digging in the dirt, right at the edge of the forest at the back of the Lawn, pretending you can’t feel searing eyes on your back. The ground is hard, and you’re not even sure this is the right season to start planting anything, but what do you know?

Because it’s almost winter, the sky is darkening much faster than anyone would like, and you’re starting to feel more and more anxious as the clouds turn orange in the horizon. Coupled with the fact that you can feel a presence looming behind you, making the hairs on your arms stand, your fight or flight has been activated.

“We need to talk.”

“No,” you say without missing a beat.

A hand comes out and grabs the back of your sweater, hauling you up, shovel falling to the ground. You’re being spun around to face a frustratingly handsome face and he’s giving you a deadpan look, unimpressed by your stubbornness. Standing on your tiptoes, you have to cling onto his jacket to keep steady.

“I wasn’t asking, prez,” he drawls.

Scowling, you smack his chest once and then again when he didn’t even flinch. “That’s the problem; you never ask.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, arm dropping so you can stand on your own, but he doesn’t let go. Probably thinks you’ll run again. Though, you’re not sure why he thinks you would; you’re not drunk. And you certainly don’t want a repeat of last time, people still come up to you to recite your speech.

“Let’s get outta here,” he pulls you with him.

You dig your heels onto the ground, slapping his arm to let you go. There’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere with him, being alone with Sukuna doesn’t work out well for you, it only forces you deeper and deeper into a hole you don’t want to be in and have been trying to get out for years now. Plus, you’d hate to give him the satisfaction.

“Stop being a pain in the ass,” he growls, dragging you with him regardless. Your futile attempts at escape are only irritating him more. “You’re gonna talk whether you like it or not.”

People are staring and you’re gritting your teeth, the embarrassment making your face heat up and you pull away harder. “Sukuna, stop, people are gonna talk.”

He gives you a look that screams, who the fuck cares.

“No, stop it, I’m serious,” people are whispering and pointing. “Please, Sukuna.”

Halting suddenly, your face hits his back. His back hurts, Jesus.

One glance at you makes him roll his eyes and then he’s dragging you the opposite direction, into the forest. It’s darkening and the thick lines of trees makes your heartbeat faster and, once again, you’re trying to wrangle yourself out of his grip. This is the kind of place young girls go to die.

“Not there, either!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses.

Eventually, the Green Thumbers disappear from you and all you can see for miles are trees. And a pissed off pink-haired, varsity jacket wearing pain in the ass, tapping his foot on the mud. You simply cannot catch a fucking break. Because apparently you committed some atrocities in your past life and now you must be punished. Again, and again and again.

“Talk me through what the fuck is happening. Why did you let that old fucker push you out of your position and why the fuck aren't you fighting to get it back?”

You lean against a tree, the bark scratching you even through your sweater. Guess this is happening. With a sigh, you explain, “There wasn’t anything I could have done, Sukuna. He said, I was giving the school a bad rep. That the trustees don’t think I’ve been a doing a good enough job, what with Cursed Womb still running amok, the gossip column spreading the students’, and the staff’s, dirty secrets across campus and even across the city. Not to mention all those times I’ve been late to meetings, files going missing, and presentations being inaccurate. Thank to you.”

Sukuna huffs, leaning against a tree too, hands stuffed into his pocket. At first glance, he doesn’t even look like he’s listening to a thing you’re saying, but you know him better than that, unfortunately. Because when he flexes his jaw, you know he’s annoyed.

“Alright, my bad.”

Your eye twitches. “Your bad? Your bad? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

You walk away.

With no idea where to go, you’re just marching away, kicking away leaves and pushing branches away from your face. Muttering curses under your breath, you grow weary of the darkening of the night, you start to regret letting him drag you away at all. Why do you always get swept up in his bullshit?

When you almost trip over a log, you screech. The ground nears but just as you’re about to fall, you’re being yanked back into a hard chest.

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he growls.

“Why are you such a fucking prick?” You scream. “You’re everywhere. Seriously! Fuck off! Why do you want to ruin my life? It isn’t enough that you forced me out of the position so you can have it for yourself, but now you want to make me miserable by not letting me do anything fun?”

Your hands are flying, half waving in the air and half smacking into him, hitting whatever you can reach and you’re stomping your feet. This is all ridiculous — he hated you, and then he has these stupid, ridiculous moments where he makes your heart clench, where he looks at you like you’re somebody, like you’re special, and it always left you reeling, unable to sleep at night.

“Calm the fuck down!” He yells back. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“CRAZY! I’m acting crazy. Ohhhhh, you’re such a fucking dick. I hate you I hate you I hate you!”

He’s grabbing your wrists, trying to restrain you so you’d shut up, but you’re done being silenced. Done with his horrible attitude and personality and his stupid face. Everything went to shit because of him, he ruined your first year, and now he’s ruined your third year, but apparently that isn’t enough because he’s trying to ruin every day of the rest of your life.

Sukuna’s trying to get a word in, but you’re rambling, screeching and hollering about anything and everything, somethings he’s willing to admit was his fault, but other things were just plain ridiculous.

“I dropped my bagel this morning and it was because of you! I can’t prove it but I know you had something to do with it. Your stupid malevolent energy reached me from whatever depths of hell you crawled out of, and you ruined my breakfast! That cost me £7! £7, Sukuna!”

“Shut the fuck up for just a second, y/n.”

“A-and when I slipped in the shower, I’m sure your evil spirit pushed me— “

“How could that possibly— “

“And now I have a bruise!”

“Have been my fault?”

SMACK!

In the midst of complaining and rambling, your arm had flung over, and your hand slipped. Right onto his cheek.

You slapped Sukuna.

And the clenching of his fists, his heavy breaths, tensing shoulders, and flexing of his jaw all scream you’ve fucked up. You’re inching away, hands coming in between you two, shielding yourself from him. The burning of your hand is urging you back and back, eyes firmly fixed on the raging bull in your china shop.

Oh shit.

In all the two years and a bit you’ve known Sukuna, have kept an eye out for him, you’ve never seen him look this angry. And though you once thought he’d never raise a hand against a woman, against you, you’re suddenly very very unsure.

His red eyes raise to meet yours and the tick at the corner of his mouth makes your heart drop. He says one word. And you turn away, silent screams escaping you.

“Run.”

Your legs pump, frigid air biting cheeks, stabbing every exposed inch of skin as you disappeared further and further into a forest, weaving around thick trees and hurdling over logs and rocks. You’re practically galloping, pushing your body to its limits as you twist and turn, shuddering breath misting in front of you as your heart skips a beat.

If he catches you, you’re dead.

“Fuck!” You cry out. Sprinting, you ignore the growing ache in your legs and the pain in your ankles; you’ve never run like this before. Although, to be fair, you’ve never been chased by a livid Ryomen. Not sure anyone has ever lived to tell the tale.

Leaves crunch under your shoes as you pushed through, unsure of where to go, where is safe. He's stronger, bigger and faster than you. You both know it. There isn't anywhere you could go where he wouldn't find you. It's as if you've entered a labyrinth of shadows, your vision obscured by the thickening blanket of night and every snap of a twig all around you threaten to make tears spill.

"Oh, prez, where are you?" His voice has taken a mocking, singsong tone, and it's scariest thing you've ever heard. It sends shivers down your spine, a promise of the damage that he could do, that despite the saccharine sweet words, he is nothing but nice. You fight the urge to scream.

"Leave me alone!"

Foot catching on something, you tumbled forward, palms reaching out and scraping against the rough earth. The sharp sting barely registered through the adrenaline coursing through your veins but you know it'll leaves marks. You scrambled to your feet, dirt sticking to your clothes, a sob catching in your throat, your eyes darting around the endless sea of trees.

"You know I can't do that."

"Why?" You yell back.

When you whirl your head back, scanning the area for any sign of pink hair or a purple jacket, you find nothing but shadows shaped like trees, their silhouette sharp and bony. You’re panting, chest heaving as you try to gulp air desperately.The trees look like his allies, obscuring him from your view, harbouring a criminal.

His voice is a low breeze and you can't pinpoint where it's coming from when he laughs sardonically, "You already know why, prez."

He could be anywhere, and you’re pressing yourself against a tree, nails digging into the bark as you looked around frantically. It’s dark. The only source of light being the moon and when you fumble for your phone in your jean pocket, you can’t find it. You must have dropped it.

“This isn’t fair!”

You’re sobbing, tearing out your hair. Seconds pass. Maybe even minutes and there aren't any signs of Sukuna, of anyone being here apart from you. He could have left already. You laugh hysterically.

“I did everything right! I worked hard, I never complained, never broke a rule. Why am I being punished?” You punch the tree and cry even harder when it hurt. Your fist throbs. “OW! Fuck! What did I do that was so fucking wrong?”

There were rumours once of a girl who had died in the woods, right at the very centre of the forest. She had a fight with her boyfriend about something or the other, and they fought here, all night. But when morning came, only one emerged. No one could verify this gossip, no news article, nothing concrete, but the students who passed through Eden spoke of it as if it was as true as the sun is blinding. You're trying to wrack your brain for any more information, your brain desperate to distract you from the mania creeping through veins.

She was a law student.

"I don't want to die," you cry. "I've barely lived. I still haven't gone skydiving, haven't driven on the motorway 'cause that shit's fucking scary. A-and I need to say 'I love you' to my mother, and well fuck my father. But I want to say goodbye to Mr. Teddy and Mrs. Kitty Cat. They'll be so fucking sad."

“Talking to yourself, prez?”

You scream.

Sukuna’s leaning against a tree a couple metre behind you. You hadn’t heard him. Not even a snap of a branch or the rustling of leaves. He has his jacket off and thrown over his shoulder, his shirt riding up as he brushes his hair back, a seething sneer on his face.

When he makes a step forward, you stumble back, another scream lodged in your throat. “Stay back! I swear, don’t come near me.”

A sharp smile climbs up his face, a glint in his eyes, and his jacket is being dragged behind him as he stalks over to you, completely disregarding your warning, his long legs taking him closer. You have goosebumps on your arms and you’re so close to pissing yourself.

“So you can use a little violence, but I can’t?” He cocks his head at you. “That’s not very fair, is it, my adorable little president?”

“I’m not yours!”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being pinned to the forest floor. You fall with a thump, screech muted by a hand over your mouth. His hip is between your legs, thighs spread and stretching to accommodate his body which holds you down, unable to wiggle or crawl away. Your hands claw at the leaves and mud, dirt caking your nails, and you’re trying to ignore the smirk on his face.

Tutting, he snapped, "This has been a long time coming, prezzy."

He looks murderous. Like a serial killer who’s just found the perfect next victim. And before you can complain, his mouth is crashing down on yours. It’s a clash of teeth, his tongue penetrating your mouth when you gasp, fighting yours as you push at his shoulders, bucking your hips to throw him off.

When your clothed core grinds against his hard length, you moan. “Let me go!”

Sukuna nips your bottom lip, the taste of iron filling your mouth and you’re lightheaded. With a growl, he promises, “Never.”

Bare hands clutching your sweater, he rips it off you, the fabric snapping and disappearing over his shoulder. The cool air pricks your skin, pebbling your nipples and he’s covering your tits with his huge hands, groping and kneading like they’re his worst enemies.

“No bra, prez?” He snarls into your ear before licking a strip up your neck. “You’re just walking temptation, aren’t you?”

His hips are grinding on yours, a punishing pace that sets your skin ablaze and you’re gasping with every roll of your nipples between his fingers and whimpering when he pinches and pulls. Like you’re being controlled by someone else, you grind back, legs crossing over his legs.

“Let me go!” You cry out again. “Stop it, Sukuna!”

He bites your neck, and you arch into him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. When you pull at his hair, he only huffs a laugh before he’s creeping a hand into your jeans, somehow having unbuttoned and unzipped it. His fingers press against your panties, and you hide your face into his neck, nipping him back.

“You tell me to stop but you’re soaked,” he laughs.

His hand weaves inside your panties, rubbing your clit at a merciless pace; hard and fast from the get-go, your eyes are shutting, and you cry out when he dips inside, soaking himself with your wetness. He curls them, prodding and pummelling that spot inside of you that has you digging your nails into his back, threatening to rip up his shirt.

With a broken moan, you smack his back, “No more!”

“More? This not enough for you,” his voice is mocking. “Don’t wanna cum from my fingers, is that it, you frustratingly beautiful piece of work?”

Before you could argue back, could push him away, or kick your legs, he’s pulling your jeans halfway off, and then he’s spinning you around, face down and ass up. The cold air brushes against your sloppy pussy, clit swollen from having been rubbed and petted by his hostile hand, longer fingers stretching you out.

And then something equally hot and wet touches your slit. He's lapping up your wetness, fingers still curled inside of you as he rubs your walls whilst he sucks at your clit. You're moaning, fingers digging into the dirt as you try to crawl away, but his spare hand is holding you down, forcing you to arch more painfully so he can suck and lick to his heart's content. He scissors his long fingers, forcing you to stretch.

"Stop! Stop it!" You sob. He isn't listening, he's taking what he wants from you, extracting a strained orgasm that makes you tear up, pussy clenching around his fingers. "No! No, I don't want this!"

"I don't care," is all he says. Through the fog of pain and pleasure, you hear a ziiiip, and you’re panicking, hands clawing even more. You have to get out of here, have to escape. If anyone's emerging, it's you. It has to be you.

But when he lines his cock up, you realise your face isn’t buried in leaves and mud, but rather something soft. It’s his jacket. He slams inside you in one thrust.

“FUCK!”

He’s thrusting inside, hard, and with a bruising grip on your hips, simultaneously keeping you still so he can drill his fat cock inside your clenching pussy and pulling you to meet his hips. The forest is quiet, apart from the choked moans and groans coming from you, and the sound of skin slapping against each other.

“Been keeping this tight pussy from me?” He thrusts harder, cock head rubbing against that spot inside you and it steals your breath. “Fucking selfish!”

You’re trying to argue back but it all just comes out garbled, drool pooling under your chin. There’s nothing you can do but maul his hands, trying to pry them off you. He doesn’t let up, only thrusts harder, like he’s punishing you for all his frustrations.

“I hate you!” You manage to push out.

Sukuna leans forward, heavy body pinning you to the floor even more so he can nip your ear, licking away the blood and growling at the taste. “You may hate me, but this cunt doesn’t.”

And to prove his point, he shuts up, grinding inside of you so you can hear the squelching of your pussy and the way it’s squeezing him for more, desperate to milk him so it can be coated in his cum. You twist, hand pushing against his chest whilst you cry, tears streaming down your face from the sheer stretch.

“Tell me what happened. Tell me what I did,” he orders.

You shake your head, groaning with every thrust, and when he rubs your clit with one hand, whilst the other gropes your bare tit, you can only cry out louder. “You ruined everything! Ngh! I had it all and you -ha- took it from me.”

Clinking of metal and rustling of paper catches your eye. He’s dropped money on the floor. Sukuna’s emptied his wallet in front of you, even his cards fall out, including a shiny black one. They all clink and clatter right by your head.

“Take it all as compensation for your fucking bagel, you damn brat.”

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE BAGEL,” you screech.

His hips don’t stutter, not even for a second, insistent on plunging his cock again and again so your pussy will never forget the shape of it. You can feel him in your stomach, can feel every ridge, every vein, and you think you might just pass out from the stretch.

Years of pressure, of tension, of hatred, of bitterness and resentment build up inside of you, tearing you apart. You think about the tears, the nightmares, the loneliness in your first year. The numbness in your second and the anger, the pain, the pleasure in your third.

“Keep crying, baby. Only —ha— makes me want to fuck you harder till you can’t cry anymore.”

It’s a tsunami approaching land, you can feel the painful orgasm creeping up, threatening to drown you. And when his left hand falls beside your head, steadying himself so he can angle his cock deeper, kissing your cervix with every thrust now, you see something that looks so familiar you missed it every time you saw it on his wrist.

He’s wearing your hair tie.

You cum all over him, drenching his abs with your wetness, and you’re tensing up, still being used as practically a sex doll, all limp and pliant for his pleasure. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve never had before, the one you’ve chased with boys who didn’t know what they were doing, couldn’t tell your thigh from your clit, and have only ever left you unsatisfied and full of regret.

“Fuck! S’kuna!”

“That’s right, prez, cum all over my cock. Take what you want, baby.” He soothes your ass, watching the way it’s bouncing on his length to elongate your high, before he meets you in the middle.

And with one last moan, you fall, your ass kept up high by his hands only. Then, he cums with a growl, right in your ear, the vibrations piercing your body and lighting your soul with a warmth you can’t bear to think about.

“So fucking good,” he snarls. “Perfect. Fucking made just for me, yeah?”

He wasn't talking to you, was only groaning to himself, but you mutter agreements, everything you can to make him spurt out all of his hatred for you. And he does. You feel it spilling out.

When you both calm down, lying on the ground — you on his jacket and him on the floor — you feel something has changed between you. An acceptance of whatever the fuck is wrong with both of you. Of that strange, fucked up string connecting you both. You won’t fight it anymore.

Can’t fight it anymore.

You're a mess. Tears and drool drying on your face, your juice and his cum coating your inner thighs, dirt and blood caking your body. You've never felt more cleansed.

Feeling an urge to cry but having used up all your tears, you scoot over to him, lying on his chest and his arms wrap around you like it’s second nature, a hand rubbing your back whilst the other threads through your hair, pulling out leaves from the tangles.

“I’m bored,” you admit, tracing abstract patters on his chest. His shirt is sticking to him, slightly damp from the exertion. You’re completely naked, jeans discarded somewhere. There should be a fear of being caught, of being seen in such a vulnerable position, but for some reason you don’t care. Maybe it’s because you know Sukuna wouldn’t let that happen. Or maybe he would, and you just don’t care anymore.

He sighs. “I know.”

“I really liked being the president,” you mumble.

“I know.”

“But the Dean ruined everything. No, Mahito did. No, you did.”

He sighs again. “I know. I’ll fix it.”

You raise your head, chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. “How are you gonna do that?”

Brushing errant hairs from your face, he promises, “EdenU relies heavily on funding from my family. I’ll force the Dean’s hand, make him reinstate you.”

Unable to resist the urge, you bite his chin, feeling an aggressive desire to make him hurt. He smacks your ass in retaliation.

“But what about you? Didn’t you want to be president? Isn’t that what this whole thing’s even about?” It’s odd to be so casual, so conversational after that mind-numbing sex and the fact that there’s so much to be said, to be discussed between you two, but that’s just how it is with you and him. You aren’t normal. And certainly, aren’t healthy.

“Nah,” he scoffs, “been president for like a week and that shit was tiring. Dunno how you did it.”

You giggle. “It’s not for the weak, that’s for sure.”

Sukuna slaps your ass for his own pleasure, a grin growing on his face. matching yours. But then it drops as he looks over your face, like he’s just remembered what the whole thing’s been about. Your smile drops too.

“Do we have to?” You ask, but the grim look on his face is all the answer you need.

He cradles your cheek in one hand, uncharacteristically soft, and then he pecks your lips, once, twice. “Tell me what I did to you. Tell me what I put you through.”

You try to pull away but he’s holding you tighter. Your lip trembles and with a hiccup, you hiss, “What does it matter? Will you even apologise?”

“Yes,” he insists. “I’ll do it. For you. I’ll do it now.”

Sitting up, you try to find your clothes, fumbling in the dark. You find your panties and jeans, miraculously, and put them on. Unfortunately, your sweater is ripped up, but he drapes his jacket on you, and you both know it’ll stay with you from now on, like he had always intended.

“If I tell you, we’ll have to start over again.”

His mouth is teasing and tasting wherever it can reach, exploring your neck, brushing your cheek and your hair, as if he’s promising your body his sincerity when he says, “Whatever it takes, I’ll win you back. Even if it takes forever.”

You’re willing to test that out.

So, leaning back on his chest, you recount the night you set out to lose one thing and ended up losing everything.

#jjk x reader #jjk sukuna ryomen #jjk angst #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #jjk drabble #jjk fic #jjk smut #sukuna smut

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thewanderingconstellation · 7 months ago

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Dimensional traveling Prince!Danny Fenton & Obsessed but still somewhat sane and logical! Damian Wayne

Just a random DeadSerious prompt I thought of at like 2am :>

Clockwork stumbled upon a peculiar universe where a group of humans had been engaging in bizarre activities. Recognizing the need for investigation, Clockwork assigned the newly announced Prince Phantom, a 14-year-old named Danny Fenton, to venture into this realm. It was a training opportunity for Danny, preparing him for his future role as King. Through a portal, Danny found himself suspended above the Lazarus pit, with Ra's al Ghul standing below him. Fortunately, Danny was dressed in his regal attire, which inexplicably aged him to 18 years old, sparing him from too much embarrassment. Ra's began questioning him, leading to a discussion about the potential dangers of the pit.

During his stay, Danny crossed paths with Damian, who was in the midst of his training. The 8-year-old assassin-in-training wasted no time in challenging Danny to a duel. As expected, Danny emerged victorious, leaving a lasting impact on Damian. Danny revealed that he too was an heir to a throne, possessing strength, power, and a tolerable personality, as Damian had previously remarked. These qualities managed to thaw Damian's cold and unyielding heart, finding a special place within it. From that moment on, Damian began courting Danny using the rituals he had learned from secret books in the league's library. He showered Danny with small gifts, heartfelt letters, acts of service, and even presented him with his second favorite knife.

In the meantime, Danny had been well aware of the situation right from the beginning, and he wasted no time in creating distance between himself and the child. Forget about it! Sure, he might be clueless at times, but he's not foolish! When a child hands you a thornless Rose and affectionately calls you 'Habibi', 'Rohi', 'Hayati', 'Albi', and/or 'Ya Amar'—even though he may not fully understand the meanings behind those words, he definitely knows what 'Habibi' means—you can't help but have doubts, you know?! So Danny tried his best to keep the kid at arm's length, not wanting to give him false hope. After all, the kid was only 8 years old for crying out loud! But you have to give it to the kid, he was incredibly stubborn and persistent.

As time went on, two whole months flew by, and Clockwork finally informed Danny that there was no longer any need for him to investigate or keep an eye on the pit. When Danny asked for an explanation, the old man, true to his cryptic nature, simply delivered a mysterious message and left, much to Danny's annoyance. All he could do was leave a letter of explanation for Damian. Damian's heart shattered into a million pieces when he read the letter, realizing that he would never be able to see or even meet Danny again, as they belonged to different dimensions.

Time flew by and it was finally the moment to reveal his secret identity to his parents as Phantom. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned and he ended up being captured by the GIW, strapped to a surgical table for three days. After escaping, he made a quick exit from home, promising his friends and sisters that he would keep in touch. Clockwork then whisked Danny away to another dimension, sensing that he needed a change of scenery. Dropping him off in a crime-ridden city with just a backpack of essentials, including a dagger from Damian. As he transformed back to his human form in Gotham, he pondered his next move. Suddenly, a young vigilante? Hero? appeared and whisked him away through the city with a grappling hook. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse!

Damian, now taking on the role of the vigilante Robin, was out patrolling alone. His father wanted him to gain more experience on his own. As he made his way through the city, he noticed a faint but distinct bright light coming from one of the nearby alleys. Curiosity piqued, he decided to investigate.

To his surprise, he saw his beloved from years ago emerging from a strange green portal. Gone was the royal attire Damian was accustomed to seeing him in. Instead, he was clad in a black and white HAZMAT suit, with a symbol in the center. And astonishingly, he even held the second favorite knife that Damian had given him all those years ago.

In a matter of seconds, his beloved transformed into what Damian believed to be a Wayne adoption bait. Without hesitation, he sprinted towards them, landing in front of them and carefully assessing the situation. In one swift motion, he slung his beloved over his shoulder and shot his grappling hook, swiftly taking off with them.

Damian wasn't sure what he would do next, but one thing was certain - he would never let his beloved out of his sight again. He had lost him once, and he refused to lose him again. His possessiveness over the things and people he considered his had grown stronger.

Perhaps he would find a way for them to sign marriage papers, or at least become engaged, despite their young age. Of course, it would only happen if his beloved, Danny, agreed to it. Consent and trust were crucial in any relationship, after all. If Danny disagreed, Damian would resort to the courting rituals his mother had taught him. The conventional methods from books hadn't worked, so he would try his mother's unique approach. Granted, he was technically kidnapping him, but it was only a few steps ahead. Damian was determined to win his beloved's heart, no matter what it took.

#damianwayne #damian #damian al ghul #damian wayne #danny phantom #dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dead serious #deadserious #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #dimensional time traveling prince au

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greg-montgomery · 8 months ago

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the latest hotch x sunshine reader fic?

u think u ate with that?

no.

U DEVOUREDDDDDD. GRRRRRRRRRRR

part 2 now mama i love u so much

bestieee thank you omg!!!! <3 i hope you like part 2!!

part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Spencer took a deep breath staring at his desk. On any other day it would be due to the amount of paperwork waiting for him, but this time it was a cup of his favorite coffee order, a muffin, and a chocolate croissant, all sitting right on top of the report he was working on.

He wasn’t ungrateful for the treats, but he would rather enjoy them if they weren’t accompanied by three pairs of wide eyes looking at him, while searching for answers in return.

Emily threw her head back dramatically. “Come on, give us something.”

“They’re on a date right now, aren’t they? That’s why he left early. I know you know,” Penelope said. “I know you do. Rossi knows too, but he won’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “Every time we ask he says nothing and just…smirks at us.”

“Please, you’re our last hope.”

Spencer took a bite of his muffin and smirked.

“You’re even worse than him,” Emily said and pointed at him.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go hack Hotch’s phone.”

“No, wait!”

Was it silly to start planning your wedding on a first date?

Maybe it was; you didn’t care. Because there was no way Aaron was not your future husband.

He did everything perfectly: he picked you up from your house, got you flowers, did not let you touch a door handle, paid for your dinner date, and let you play your music during the car ride.

Aaron also smiled a lot and the sight of it made you melt into your seat. It wasn’t often that a man gave you butterflies by just one look or with the sound of his laughter.

“What are you in the mood for now?”

The last thing you wanted was for the date to end, so instead of suggesting you walk back to his car you made a different offer.

“Let’s get ice cream!”

He chuckled, but you could already tell he would not say no to you. “Okay.”

You were walking side by side and even though you were already falling in love with his warm voice it was hard to pay attention to his words. Your mind was too occupied thinking about his arm swinging next to yours and how bad you wanted to hold hands with him.

Did he want it too? Would he think it’s childish to hold hands?

What if you just…did it?

Life’s too short, you thought and grabbed his hand.

Yes, you had not been paying attention to what he'd been saying but you did notice how he stopped mid-sentence when your hands touched. Was he mad?

Your heart was jumping against your chest, afraid you did something stupid. Aaron was quick to ease your anxiety, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently your hand.

He wanted this too.

He cleared his throat. “So it’s um…a good chance to…”

With the side of your eye, you caught him turning his head to stare at you. You hadn’t wiped the grin off your face from the sudden hand holding yet, and he saw it.

His dimples made an appearance, and as your grin got bigger you noticed he blushed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you giggled.

The sound of Aaron’s phone ringing interrupted your moment.

“Sorry, I have to get this,” he said.

You, of course, didn’t mind. Even though he hadn’t said so himself, you knew he had left right on time – early in Hotch’s terms - from work just for your date. Perks of being best friends with your date’s subordinate was getting to have this kind of inside information.

“Hotchner,” he said sternly.

You stayed quiet.

“What? I didn’t authorize this.”

Oh.

“No. And I trust this won’t happen again.”

Oh…Maybe you liked this side of him a little bit more than you should.

“Thanks,” he said, and hung up. “I’m sorry about that.”

I’m not.

“No, it’s okay! It’s fascinating observing you being a boss.”

“You like observing people?”

“Why, are you interested in hiring me?” you teased.

“Oh, I would never.”

“Why not?” you asked, acting offended.

“I would not be able to focus on a case with you around.”

You took advantage of the fact you were on a sidewalk and stopped walking, turning your body to face him. “And why is that?”

Aaron moved closer and dropped your hand only to cup the side of your head. His thumb moved back and forth on your cheek and his eyes on yours made you feel dizzy.

“Because you take my breath away.”

And with his next move he took yours. Maybe you’d actually faint if he didn’t pull you in and place his lips on yours.

Your hands moved to his tie with the intention of pulling him even closer to your body. His kiss was heavenly and you really wouldn’t mind if you were to stay like that forever.

Yeah…there was no way Aaron Hotchner was not your future husband.

#writing hotch fluff to deal with life!!#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #ask #hotch 🪐

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fancyfeathers · 2 months ago

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Love the mother daughter pair, but not gonna lie, fascinated by the thought of bruce blackmailing reader, and then having to properly try and woo her back essentially. If he really wants a seemingly loving family, he has to know he needs to coax his wife and the mother of his daughter into a better mood and viewpoint. No matter how much blackmail he has, she can start gaining just as much now that she's in his life, and I doubt the daughter will start trusting him properly with the tension between him and her mother. How would bruce coax the mother back? And would Talia actually have an easier time establishing a connection? Could see Bruce feeling jealous of Talia if that was the case. Idk just the tangent my mind ran on, even if that's not the case still love the work

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

The blackmail is practically all there is he does that truly hurts him, and that’s only if she does not agree to his proposal when states his intent of gaining custody of their daughter. But after that comes to pass everything would be perfect for a normal couple, news about their engagement spreads like fire, and the wedding will probably be the social event of the century given how they were engaged once before and now it’s back on. The most perfect white wedding and Bruce treating his darling like the perfect husband.

Their daughter does not know the details of what happened, one moment it’s her and her mama having a perfect life together, traveling the world and being each other’s best friend, and then the next all of that is over, her father is back in her mother’s life and now she has siblings and none of them feel like the family she had with her mama, it feels suffocating and her mama doesn’t seem as bright as she once did.She clings to her mama every single day and is only separated when her attention is dragged away forcefully from her daughter and one of her brothers of father comes right to the littlest one’s side.

His wife does not push any of them away, she lets her husband hold her in the morning hours when they have just woken up and press kisses onto her face, she lets Dick call her mom as he runs up to hug her, she lets Jason help her daughter with her homework even though she asked her for help, she lets Tim take her daughter out to the park even if it’s their mother-daughter day they have, or used to have, every week, she lets Damian sit down by her and lay against her while she reads to her daughter. She will never be happy but she will fake it, she does not want to make a scene and have her daughter see and realize something is wrong and do something herself. She wants her daughter to be happy and have a future, go to university, leave Gotham and go back to what is left of the life they had, parents make sacrifices for their children and she is willing to do everything for her. She plays the game of pretend, acts like the perfect wife and mother and stepmother, stays calm and bites back all the internal rage she has building up inside her.

Honestly it is after every she has been through just for her daughter’s sake is when Talia starts to think a bit more highly of her, she understands the strength it takes to make sacrifices for one’s child. She also knows how possessive and protective they all are of her and her daughter, so meeting her discreetly is the best option. Like at a charity gala and someone accidentally spills something on her dress and has to go to the bathroom to clean up and-

“Hello again.”

She nearly screamed when she turned on the bathroom light and saw Talia’s reflection in the mirror. Talia helps her clean up and change into a new dress all while talking to her about what she has found out. She went from viewing her as Bruce’s house pet, because it was clear their marriage was not equal, to seeing a mother who is willing to sacrifice and do whatever it takes to take care of her daughter.

But it is during this the question arises and the answer is terrifying…

“What are you going to do if your daughter is just as trapped as you are? What if all you did for her was in vein?”

“I-I….”

“You are far too soft, you will never get what you desire for your daughter while you stay docile, playing the role of a perfect housewife, a house pet…”

“Talia…”

“I should be off now, but do take care of my Damian, he adores you as his stepmother.”

She leaves her alone in the bathroom and she just cries, feeling like a failure of a mother and she she can barely look her daughter in the eye again.

She just lays awake at night with the thoughts of the life she grew up with, she had a golden childhood and all she wanted was that happiness for her own daughter.

After that there is no chance of anyone winning her over, but she will not act out either, she just feels dead inside, like a complete failure of a mother. Her daughter clearly notices something is wrong and while her mother will stay perfectly compliant, her daughter is a completely different story.

The moment she sees her mom loose that shine in her eyes like she had when raising her on her own she knows this is all of their faults, they took her and her mom away from their life they loved and now there is nothing left of the mother who used to teach her to dance at parties, or attend her piano recitals and sat in the front row to applaud the loudest and despite the busy schedule of meetings she had she never missed one, or when her mom who could not help but boast about her daughter’s latest achievements…

Remember she is still her father’s daughter and has a level of determination that should not be tired under pressure.

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iris-qt · 15 days ago

Text

𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎 / 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔

ꜱʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ ʙᴏʏꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛ

I. Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo freezes mid-bite of his chocolate frog, giving you the kind of look someone reserves for a talking cat. "You can’t pay the what now?" he says, mouth still half-full.

When you repeat it, his eyebrows shoot up so high they practically disappear into his curls. "Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve been paying the rent this whole time? Babe, what rent? Where are you sending this money? Do I need to send the lads to go 'talk' to someone?"

You insist you’re serious, and he bursts into laughter so loud it echoes around the room. He’s clutching his stomach, tears forming in his eyes. "Oh, this is rich! Next, you’ll tell me you’ve been working overtime at Flourish and Blotts to afford my ‘extravagant lifestyle.’ What’s next, huh? Selling cauldron cakes on the side?"

When you try to keep a straight face, he leans forward, his expression deadpan now but his voice dripping with sarcasm. "No, seriously, though. Should I sell my broom? Start knitting scarves for a Galleon a pop? Maybe I can busk on Diagon Alley…play the ukulele or some crap. People love that."

By now, you’re wheezing with laughter, and he just shakes his head, smirking. "Merlin, Y/N, if your acting career doesn’t work out, at least we know you’ve got a future in comedy. But seriously…rent? That’s cute.”

By now, you’re gasping for air, struggling to hold it together, and Mattheo’s smirk only grows wider as he watches you. He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing tone. "You know," he says with a glint in his eye, "If you really need help with the rent... maybe I could offer you a private lesson in how to make some extra Galleons."

II. Theodore Nott

Theo looks up from the chessboard he’s been meticulously studying for the last half hour, an eyebrow raised in mild confusion. "What do you mean you can’t pay the rent?" he asks, his tone calm but with a dangerous edge of skepticism.

You repeat it, adding a dramatic sigh for effect.

He blinks slowly, as if trying to process whether you’ve gone mad or if he missed some critical detail in your relationship. "You’ve... been paying the rent? Since when? Because I distinctly recall handling all of that."

When you insist, he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers like he’s analyzing a particularly tricky potion. "Alright, either you’ve been scammed by an exceptionally creative con artist, or this is your latest attempt to distract me from beating you at chess."

You pout, staying in character, and he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N, do you even know where the rent money comes from? Because I can assure you, it’s not your side gig selling those questionable potions on Etsy.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights a grin. Finally, when you can’t hold back your laughter anymore, he rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Honestly, I need to start charging you rent for all this nonsense. At least make it worth my while.”

As you finally break into laughter, Theo sets his chess pieces down with a dramatic sigh, his eyes softening just a bit. He leans in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. "You’re impossible," he mutters, his voice a little quieter now, though there’s still a teasing glint in his eyes. "But you know, I wouldn’t have it any other way."

He gives you a small, almost shy smile, then leans back in his chair, his usual cool demeanor returning. "Now, let’s see if you can distract me enough to win this game."

III. Draco Malfoy

He would look at you like you’ve gone MENTAL

“Haha funny joke, y/n,” he rolls his eyes, going right back to reading his book and munching on his green apple.

When you reiterate it, Draco squints at you, lowering his book slightly, the crunch of his apple freezing mid-chew. "Excuse me? You what?" he says, a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice.

When you repeat it again, this time with extra drama, he sits bolt upright, his apple rolling forgotten onto the table. "Wait, wait, wait…you pay the mortgage? Since when? Did I suddenly get amnesia and forget we’re Muggles now? Because last I checked, the Manor doesn’t even have a mortgage!”

He grabs his wand, waving it theatrically. "Accio sense, because clearly you’ve lost yours!”

You keep the act going, insisting you’re serious, and he just gapes at you like you’ve declared you’ve taken up dragon wrestling as a hobby. Finally, he narrows his eyes.

“Y/N, love, if this is about that handbag you wanted last week, just say so. No need to concoct elaborate tales about rent payments. Merlin’s beard, you're ridiculous.”

When you burst into laughter, he leans back in his chair, scowling but unable to hide the faintest smirk. "I’m marrying a lunatic," he mutters, reaching for his apple again. "At least the lunatic has good taste in handbags."

IV. Blaise Zabini

Blaise looks up from his cup of espresso, one perfectly arched brow lifting as he tilts his head at you. "I’m sorry, darling. Did I hear that correctly? You can’t pay the rent? You mean the rent that I, Blaise Zabini, the man with seven vaults at Gringotts, didn’t even let you look at, let alone contribute to?"

You double down, trying to sell your story, and he exhales slowly, setting his glass down with the exaggerated care of a man trying to keep his composure. "This is new. Tragic, even. Shall I sell the antique Italian sofa to keep us afloat? Or, Merlin forbid, cut back on the imported silk sheets?"

When you keep insisting, he leans back, crossing his arms and giving you a slow once-over, his lips twitching with amusement. "You know what? You’re right. It’s all gone. We’re destitute. Better start knitting socks and selling them on Knockturn Alley. Maybe I’ll start charging Draco for advice. He’s overdue for paying his mate tax.”

Finally, when you burst into laughter, Blaise smirks, shaking his head and snaking an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "You’re lucky you’re cute, Y/N. If anyone else tried this nonsense, I’d have them banned from my flat and my life. But you? You get away with everything.”

V. Regulus Black

Regulus doesn’t even look up from his book, clearly too absorbed to even register your words at first. But when you repeat it, his eyes flicker briefly to you, a quizzical expression crossing his face. "Wait, what do you mean you can’t pay the rent?"

You try to explain, going for maximum drama, and he sighs, setting his book down with a soft thud. "Y/N, darling, I pay the rent. I handle everything. You’re telling me you’ve been struggling to pay it all this time?" His tone is flat, not even slightly concerned, just bemused. "I’ve already transferred the payment for the month. Did you forget?"

You continue the joke, and Regulus glances at you again, narrowing his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to convince me that you…you…have been paying the rent? Did you somehow think I’d believe that, or did you just want an excuse to create drama?"

He picks up his book again, unfazed. "You’re lucky you’re charming, because if anyone else tried this, I’d seriously reconsider their grip on reality." He sighs with exaggerated patience, "Don’t you remember? I’m the one who handles the bills. The whole thing is already sorted. No need to panic, love."

When you can’t keep it going anymore and laugh, he glances up once more with a slight smirk, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Y/N, your attempts at theatrics are as bad as your cooking. At least make the drama more believable next time.”

As you laugh, Regulus's serious expression softens just a touch, and he leans over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re impossible, you know that?" he mutters, but there's a warmth in his voice. "If you ever do run into a problem, though... just tell me."

You smile, and he sighs, shaking his head with a hint of affection. "I swear, you’ll be the death of me." But there’s a small, barely noticeable smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the kind he only gives when he’s not trying to be all stoic and mysterious.

VI. Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle doesn’t even flinch when you announce that you can’t pay the rent, simply pausing for a moment before his sharp, calculating gaze turns to you. "What are you on about?" he asks, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of annoyance. "You’ve been paying the rent? Since when did you even have the opportunity to pay it?"

When you repeat it with exaggerated seriousness, he leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, clearly trying to make sense of it. "I’ll admit, you’re certainly creative...but no. I’ve always taken care of the bills. I don’t recall a single instance where you were involved in such matters."

You continue the joke, and he chuckles darkly, though it’s clear he doesn’t fully buy it. "If this is your attempt at gaining attention, it's a poor one, darling. Do you think I’m so easily fooled?" His tone softens just slightly, a flash of something that could almost be affection in his eyes.

He stands and steps toward you, leaning in just close enough to make you feel his presence, but not too close to be truly comforting. "Next time you need a distraction, don’t go around pretending to pay rent," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear ever so slightly. "It’s beneath you. If you need something, ask. But don’t insult my intelligence."

When you finally start laughing, Tom smirks, his eyes glimmering with something softer, though it’s well hidden behind his usual cold demeanor. "You’re insufferable, Y/N. And that’s probably why I... let you get away with it."

A/N: Thank you to @fanfics4ever for this idea ♡

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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months ago

Note

PLS PLS DO THIS WITH KOOK!READER X RAFE AND THEYRE MARRIED AND THEYRE JUST THE HOTTEST COUPLE https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSjHYPTHf/

Low life || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

GIF by @tetragonia

A/n: shut up I’ve seen that tiktok before and he was sooooooooooooo giving buzz cut Drew but with a mo. This is the tiktok btw

Warnings: nothinggg

Word count: 862

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

“Let me see it again!” Sarah’s voice rings out with excitement as she reaches for your hand, practically bouncing in place. You laugh softly, extending your fingers toward her, the diamond catching the light in a dazzling display. Her eyes widen dramatically as she gasps, clutching your hand closer.

“Holy fuck, did it grow overnight? I swear it wasn’t this big the last time I saw it!” She twists your hand slightly, examining every angle of the ring as though it’s a rare treasure. “It’s still the same size, Sarah,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head at her theatrics.

Rafe, standing just behind you, smirks at her reaction before slipping his arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his side. “She just can’t believe her brother has good taste for once,” he teases, earning an eye roll from Sarah. “You’re not wrong,” Sarah quips, still transfixed by the enormous diamond sparkling on your finger.

“But seriously, this thing is insane. Did you blind someone to pay for it, or…?” Rafe chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “I just know what she deserves,” he says smoothly, his voice low and affectionate. You tilt your head back to look at him, a warmth blooming in your chest as his smirk softens into something more genuine.

Sarah, ever the romantic, places a hand over her heart. “God, you two make me sick. But that ring? That makes me jealous.”

A gasp escapes Sarah as she sits across from you and Rafe at the patio table, her expression somewhere between shock and amusement. “What now?” you ask, pausing mid-motion on Rafe’s lap as you toy with the collar of his polo shirt.

“You need to do this TikTok with Rafe,” she announces, eyes lighting up mischievously. “I’ll send it to you—it’s perfect.” A laugh bubbles out of you as you unlock your phone, curiosity piqued. “Another TikTok?” Rafe groans dramatically, throwing his head back with exaggerated exasperation.

“Oh, don’t even start, babe,” you tease, shooting him a knowing look. “Don’t act like you don’t love it. You’re always asking me how many views we’ve gotten, and let’s not forget—you’ve gone viral countless times.” A smirk tugs at the corner of Rafe’s mouth despite his attempt to keep up his act of disinterest.

“I don’t ask—I just overhear you bragging about it.” “Sure, sure,” you say with a grin, nudging his shoulder. “Don’t let that ego of yours fool anyone. You love the attention.” Sarah snickers, scrolling on her phone. “She’s not wrong. You’re basically the face of TikTok Kook couples now.”

Rafe groans again, this time quieter, as he leans back in his chair, muttering, “What did I sign up for?” But the way his hand says squeezes your thigh and his arm pulls you closer to him says it all—he doesn’t actually mind. You watch the TikTok, the beat of Low Life already stuck in your head as the trend plays out.

A grin spreads across your face as you glance between Sarah and Rafe. “This is perfect,” you say, excitement bubbling in your voice as you immediately click on the audio to start recording. Rafe, lounging back in his seat, gives you a skeptical look. “Alright, what am I doing this time?”

“You’re doing what this guy is doing,” you explain, holding your phone up to show him the video. “When it says ‘sniper,’ you show your ring, and when it says ‘wifey,’ I show mine. Easy.” Rafe leans back, smirking as he looks at the video. “Oh, that’s what this is about? You just want another excuse to show off the ring I gave you.”

“Damn right I do,” you reply with a grin, repositioning your phone to get the angle just right. “Now stop stalling. We’re doing this.” You hit record, aiming the phone at Rafe as the music starts. He rolls his eyes playfully but immediately begins to lip-sync, leaning into his role. He raises his hand, casually flashing the sleek band on his finger, his lips curling into a smirk as he lip-syncs, “Sniper, sniper, sniper, sniper, sniper.”

His eyes gleaming with confidence. You then move your phone to you, seated confidently on his lap, your diamond ring sparkling in the sunlight as you raise your hand and mouth, “Wifey, wifey, wifey, wifey, wifey.” Your gaze is playful yet proud, Rafe watching you intensely on your phone.

The video ends as the beat fades, and you immediately hit stop, glancing up at Rafe with a satisfied grin. He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re too good at convincing me to do these things.” Sarah claps her hands together, already reaching for your phone. “You two are ridiculous,” she says, grinning. “But also ridiculously good at this. TikTok is going to eat this up.”

You laugh, leaning into Rafe as you start trimming the video to perfection. “They’d better,” you reply, your voice teasing. “We’re setting the standard for Kook couples, officially the blueprint now.” Rafe hums, his arm sliding around your waist. “Anything for you, wifey,” he murmurs, low enough for only you to hear, making your cheeks flush despite yourself.

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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

Text

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT3 | FC43

part one | part two |

an: this is the most requested part three. i fell asleep so many times writing this but i’m waiting for tate’s new song so it gave me something to do. not proof read.

wc: 8.3k

It was nearly dawn when Franco turned off the engine, but the silence felt hollow. He sat motionless in the cockpit of his car, his hands still gripping the wheel even though he had finished his lap over an hour ago. The empty track stretched before him, a stark grey line splitting the waking sky, and for a fleeting moment, he considered taking off down it one more time, just for the noise.

That had been the only reason he'd even bothered coming out this morning. Noise. Anything loud enough to cut through the thick numbness that had settled over his life the last two years. Even racing—his childhood dream, his only real thrill—felt distant, just another repetition in an endless loop of things he used to care about.

He let go of the wheel, his fingers stiff and aching, and slumped back into his seat. The inside of the car still smelled new, though he’d driven this car all season. But everything in his life felt new in the wrong way, like he was breaking in someone else's skin.

Franco closed his eyes, but there was no escape there either. As much as he tried to avoid it, the image still came easily: two years ago, his wedding day. The hushed gasp of the guests as he had walked back down the aisle alone, the weight of his father-in-law’s hand on his shoulder. And her eyes—his childhood best friend, his first love, his confession to her still raw in his throat. He'd bared his heart, thought he was finally doing the right thing, only to watch her turn him down, her gaze steady and unwavering.

It was strange how clearly he could remember it. She had moved on. He was too late.

And yet here he was, two years later, sitting in the emptiness his choices had carved out. His marriage was the result of the aftermath—inevitable, unstoppable, once her father had coerced him into making it right. He’d been a fool to think he could live with it, that he could somehow build a life out of that hollowed-out choice. But every day he woke up, and every day it was the same. A stranger beside him, a public charade. He was trapped in a marriage more binding than he had ever imagined, one that had closed off any other life he might have had.

A tap on the side of the car startled him out of his thoughts. His agent, Eddie, looked at him expectantly, his face creased with concern. Franco forced himself to meet his gaze, pulling on a blank expression he’d perfected over the last two years.

"You good, man?" Eddie's voice sounded so distant for some reason.

Franco forced a nod. “Just getting in some practice.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "You finished over an hour ago."

Franco shrugged, not offering any other excuse. What could he say? That he no longer felt the rush, that even the raw thrill of racing at 200 miles per hour left him feeling nothing? It would be admitting too much. He wasn’t sure he could handle what Eddie would say if he knew.

As he finally climbed out of the car, his gaze drifted toward the track, that endless stretch of asphalt, and for just a second, he felt a flicker of what it used to mean to him. Freedom, purpose, maybe even love. But that had been before her—before he had thrown it all away, thinking he could have her back. And now all he was left with was this: the shadow of a life he hadn’t chosen, the memory of a love that had been real once, and a future he couldn’t bring himself to face.

Franco shook his head, stuffing the thought away. "Let’s just get through today" he muttered to himself, the words a quiet vow.

Tomorrow, he’d put on the act again.

The house was silent when Franco walked in. He closed the door softly, slipping off his shoes out of habit rather than any real desire to keep the peace. She was there, sitting in the dimly lit living room, curled on one end of the couch with her legs tucked under her. A book lay open on her lap, though her eyes weren’t moving over the words.

They hadn’t spoken much in days, maybe even weeks, except for the occasional small-talk exchange over morning coffee or at some public event. When they were alone, it was as if they were two strangers who’d agreed on a routine. She looked up as he walked in, and he wondered if she was waiting for him to speak first.

But he didn’t. He simply nodded, moving past her as if it were just another evening in this quiet, loveless house. He heard her shift, a quick intake of breath, and he paused, feeling her eyes on his back.

“I cheated,” she said, her voice flat, almost as if it were a statement she’d practised a thousand times, something she needed to let out before it grew stale.

Franco slowly turned to face her, letting the words settle, though he didn’t feel anything sharp or raw. Instead, there was just the dull, familiar weight of something like resignation. He studied her face, waiting for the anger or betrayal to come, but there was nothing. Just the same emptiness that had been there for two years.

“Okay,” he said, his voice calm, resigned.

She blinked, her expression faltering. “Okay?” she repeated, as if she hadn’t expected that response. Her brow furrowed, and she set her book aside, sitting up straighter. “That’s it? Just… okay?”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What do you want me to do about it? You’ve already done it.”

She searched his face, a flicker of frustration and hurt sparking in her eyes. “Why aren’t you angry, Franco?” Her voice was louder now, cracking slightly. “Why don’t you care? Why don’t you… love me? What did I do wrong?”

For the first time that evening, he felt something stir. Not anger, exactly, but a kind of distant ache. He looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the exhaustion in her face, the years of pretending, of building a life on a foundation that had never been real. And he knew, somehow, that she felt as trapped as he did.

“This isn’t about what you did wrong,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t have it in me to love you, not in the way you want.”

She shook her head, her eyes brimming with frustration. “But we were supposed to be in this together. My father… Your team. The whole world expects it. I have tried, Franco. I’ve done everything I could to make this work. I just wanted you to see me, to try…”

He sighed, looking away. “We’ve been pretending for two years. It’s not that I haven’t seen you—I just don’t think we were ever meant to see each other this way.”

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She stared at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “So what now? We just keep living like this, sharing the same house, putting on a show for everyone?”

Franco didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t know what they were supposed to do, what the next step would even look like. They were bound together by more than their vows—by the expectations, the pressure, the image of a life neither of them had chosen. He knew she deserved better than this emptiness, the hollow echo of what might have been.

After a moment, he sat down across from her, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

She looked away, biting her lip, and for the first time he saw the loneliness in her eyes. "I don’t know," she murmured, her voice quiet. "I don’t know if I ever knew."

She looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, and then let out a long, quiet breath. "I’ll speak to my father," she said, her voice steady. “We’ll break it off. There’s… someone else. For me, I mean.”

Franco nodded, feeling only a strange sort of relief. “Okay.”

She gave a small, sad smile, as if she’d expected more—anger, maybe, or regret. “I’ll make sure he keeps the sponsors on your team,” she added, her voice softening. “It’s the least I can do.”

Franco shook his head. “He doesn’t have to. I don’t want you worrying about that.”

For a moment, she looked at him with something almost like sympathy. “Franco… it’s not your fault,” she said.

He frowned slightly, unsure what she meant. “What isn’t?”

She looked away, gathering her thoughts, and then back at him, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not your fault you still love her after all these years. Some things… they just don’t go away.”

His throat tightened, and he couldn’t find the words to respond. Her words hung between them, exposing something he’d tried to bury, something he hadn’t even admitted to himself. His silence was answer enough.

“She was a very lovely woman when I met her,” she continued, her voice softer, almost wistful. “I’m sure she hasn’t changed. I’m sure you two would be perfect together.”

He looked down, swallowing the ache in his chest. For all their distance, she’d seen more of him than he’d realised, even if they had never truly belonged to each other. Maybe she’d known all along. Maybe that’s why they’d been drifting from the beginning, like two people playing their parts, waiting for the script to finally run out.

He stood up, running a hand over the back of his neck, his voice low. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

She nodded, her eyes full of an understanding that somehow made this harder. “Okay. Goodnight, Franco.”

He gave her a brief nod, then turned and headed down the hall, his footsteps soft against the hardwood. The walls of the house felt like a cage, closing in with every step, but he knew that maybe, for the first time, there was a way out—for both of them.

Franco closed the door to the guest room, feeling the weight of everything settling over him. He felt like a visitor in his own life, just as he had every day for the past two years. He slipped off his watch, set it on the nightstand, and reached for his phone to set an alarm.

Just as he did, his mother’s name lit up the screen. She called him every night, their routine barely wavering since he’d left home all those years ago to chase his dream. He answered, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Oh, finally, you picked up! I thought I’d missed you tonight, hijo.” she said, her voice bright and warm, filling the room with a bit of comfort he hadn’t known he needed.

“Sorry. It’s been… a long day,” he replied, not sure where to start even if he’d wanted to.

“Oh, mi amor, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sympathy lacing her voice. She paused, her tone shifting to something lighter. “Well, you’ll never guess who I ran into today.”

He smiled slightly, settling back against the pillows. “Knowing you, mama, it could be anyone.”

“You flatter me,” she laughed. “But no, this one you’ll want to hear. I ran into your chiquita's mama at the market this morning.”

At the mention of his childhood best friend, Franco’s heart gave a small, involuntary jolt. He kept his voice casual, though he could feel his pulse quicken. “Oh yeah?”

“Guess who’s moving back home?” she said, her voice bright with excitement. “She’s coming back without that boyfriend of hers—what was his name, Angelo or something? Anyway, I don’t know what happened there, but her mama didn’t say much, just that she’ll be moving back in soon.”

Franco fell silent, her words sinking in. She was moving back. Back to the same town, back to where they’d both grown up. It was strange hearing it now, after all this time—especially tonight. He tried to imagine her there, close by, after years of being nothing more than a memory, a lingering ache. She hadn’t been in touch since his wedding. They hadn’t spoken, not really, since that day he’d confessed everything.

“Franco?” his mother asked, her voice pulling him back. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I’m here. Just… surprised, I guess.”

“Well, I thought you’d be pleased to know,” she said gently. “I don’t know why she’s moving back, and I suppose it’s none of my business, but I hope she’s doing alright. I always liked that girl.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He wondered what could have happened to bring her back. She’d seemed happy, at least in the few times he’d seen her in the public eye over the last two years—smiling, vibrant, that spark still in her. Whatever had drawn her back, he doubted it was anything good.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you,” his mother went on, a hint of cheer in her voice. “I’m sure you’ll see her around when she’s back. Goodness knows you two could catch up. I’ll let you get some sleep, though. You sound tired, love.”

“I am,” he said honestly. “Thanks, mama.”

“Goodnight, mi amor,” she said softly. “Try not to worry so much. Things have a way of working out.”

He hung up, setting the phone down on the nightstand, but his mind kept circling back to her, the unanswered questions piling up. Why was she moving home? Why now, after everything?

He lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the quiet gnaw at him. For the first time in a long while, he felt something stirring beneath the emptiness—something that he hadn’t let himself feel since that day two years ago. A flicker of hope, of curiosity. And maybe, just maybe, the faintest hint of longing.

Franco woke up to an unsettling silence the following morning. The kind that felt thick, heavy, and somehow different from the usual quiet he’d grown accustomed to in this house. He rubbed his eyes, groggy, his mind still tangled in the remnants of last night’s conversation with his mother. She was moving back home. The thought had settled somewhere deep, like a stone sinking to the bottom of his chest, and he hadn’t stopped wondering why she’d come back.

He rose slowly, crossing the hall toward the master bedroom to grab his things, but as he reached the door, he noticed it was open just a crack. There was an odd stillness inside, an emptiness. Pushing the door open fully, he froze.

The wardrobes were wide open, their shelves bare, nothing left but empty hangers. He scanned the room, taking in the strange absence of her things: the jewellery stand, her perfumes, even the photos from the dresser—all gone.

On the bed, her wedding band glinted in the morning light, sitting atop a folded sheet of paper. Heart pounding, Franco walked over and picked up the note, her familiar handwriting scrawled across the page in clean, deliberate strokes.

"Go live a life you’ll enjoy. Go get the girl."

He read the words over and over, the reality slowly sinking in. She had really left. It was over, finally—no more strained conversations, no more pretences, no more empty rooms they shared out of duty. She had made the choice for both of them, letting him go in a way neither of them had been able to until now.

He let out a slow, deep breath, feeling a strange mixture of relief and regret. She had given him a way out, but he felt a twinge of sadness for the life they’d tried and failed to build, and for the woman who’d known him well enough to let him go.

After a moment, he picked up his phone and scrolled to his agent’s number. It rang twice before Eddie answered, his voice thick with sleep.

“Franco? It’s barely morning. You okay?”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, still processing everything. “Yeah. Listen, Eddie, I need you to book me a flight.”

“A flight? Where are you going?”

“Home. To Argentina.” He paused, and for the first time in two years, the words felt right. “I just need to go home.”

Eddie hesitated on the other end. “You sure about this?”

“Yes. I’ll figure everything out when I get there,” Franco replied, feeling a resolve he hadn’t felt in years.

Eddie sighed, but there was something like approval in his voice. “Alright, I’ll get it sorted. You’ll be on a plane by tonight.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” Franco hung up, glancing around the room one last time. He pocketed her note, her words still echoing in his mind.

True to Eddie's word, Franco was on a flight six hours later. The journey was a blur of cramped seats, stale air, and the faint taste of regret that clung to the back of his throat. The turbulence was relentless, like some cosmic joke, as if the universe itself wanted to remind him that nothing had ever been easy. He tried to sleep, but the aching pull of everything he’d left behind in that house—his marriage, his choices, his dreams—kept him awake, staring out at the dark sky, thinking of all the roads that had led him here.

By the time he landed in Buenos Aires and caught a car for the long drive north to his family's old village, the exhaustion had crept under his skin, weighing him down like a thousand unspoken words. But the quiet beauty of the countryside—the sun setting over fields that stretched on forever—started to soothe him, even if just a little.

The car ride seemed endless, every minute dragging with the weight of his thoughts. But when the familiar sight of his family’s village finally came into view—cobblestone streets, thatched roofs, the scent of freshly baked bread hanging in the air—something inside Franco began to shift. The city felt miles away, the noise, the crowds, the weight of his past life all falling away as he crossed into the place that had always felt like home.

The moment he stepped through the door of his childhood house, all of that exhaustion seemed to vanish. The house was exactly as he remembered it—warm, full of life, and alive with the kind of energy he hadn't felt in so long. His mother’s soft humming from the kitchen filled the air, the scent of her cooking familiar and comforting in a way nothing else ever had been.

“Mama?” he called, stepping into the kitchen.

She looked up from the stove, a warm smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of him. It was like the years had slipped away in an instant, and before he could even move, she was across the room, enveloping him in her arms.

“Oh, hijo,” she said, pulling him in tight. “You’re home. You’re really home.”

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the comforting smells of garlic and simmering stew. It was the same as it had always been. His mother’s embrace felt like a balm, her steady, familiar presence filling up the spaces in his chest that had been empty for so long. He let himself relax into the hug, feeling like he could finally breathe again.

“Yeah, mama,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m home.”

She pulled back, looking at him with concern now, her gaze soft but knowing. “You look like you’ve been through a storm. What happened, Franco?”

He shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… been a hot minute.”

She stepped back, eyes still lingering on him as she turned toward the counter, gesturing for him to sit. "Come, sit. You must be starving."

As he slid into the chair at the table, his mother’s eyes flickered to his left hand, where the ring had once sat. The absence of it didn’t go unnoticed.

"Franco," she said softly, her voice delicate but insistent, “Where’s your wedding ring?”

He froze, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the spot where the band had once been. The question hit him harder than he expected, like a weight on his chest.

He took a deep breath, his words coming out slow, almost reluctant. "I… I never loved her, Mama. Not like I should’ve. Not like I should’ve loved the person I married."

His mother didn’t flinch, didn’t offer a shocked look or try to comfort him with false reassurances. Instead, she simply nodded, as if she had known all along. The silence between them was calm, understanding.

"I knew," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I knew from the start, Franco. I could see it. You were never... you were never right with her."

He exhaled, a small weight lifting from his chest. His mother didn’t judge him. She hadn’t expected him to make some fairy tale of a marriage. She had always known him better than anyone.

"Why didn’t you say something?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

She smiled softly, her hand brushing his cheek. "You had to learn it on your own, cariño. I couldn’t take that from you."

He sat back in his chair, letting her words sink in. This was home. The quiet understanding, the unconditional love. The very things he had been running from for so long. And now, in this moment, he felt like he was finally allowed to come back to it.

His mother leaned in, brushing the hair from his forehead as if he were still that little boy who had left for the big city years ago. "You’ll be alright, Franco. I know you will. You always find your way back."

He smiled, his heart full, and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "Thanks, Mama," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think I’m ready to find it now."

His mother studied him for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. The comfortable silence stretched between them before she finally spoke, her voice casual, but with a slight undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite place.

“You know, she moved back this morning,” she said, a soft note of curiosity in her tone.

Franco looked up sharply, his stomach tightening at the mention of her. “She did?”

His mother nodded, stirring a pot on the stove. He shifted in his seat, trying to steady the flutter of emotions that were beginning to rise in his chest. She was back. The thought of her living just next door made his heart ache in ways he wasn’t prepared for, especially after everything that had happened. It felt like a sign, but it also felt like a question—one he didn’t know if he was ready to answer.

“I don’t know what’s happened,” he said, the words coming out quieter than he intended. “But I’m sure it’s for the best. She’s probably just trying to figure things out.”

His mother gave him a thoughtful look before turning back to the stove. "It’s not easy, you know. Coming back here after all those years. Maybe she just needs some time. Things haven't been easy for her, either."

Franco nodded absently, his mind already racing, a thousand thoughts flooding his mind. He’d always wondered what it would be like if they were close again—if the years between them could just vanish, and they could pick up where they left off. But that was before everything had changed.

Before he’d made a mess of everything.

“I’ll give her space,” he said after a long pause. “She clearly needs it if she’s come back home. I don’t want to crowd her, not like this.”

His mother looked at him for a long moment, her gaze soft and full of the kind of love only a mother could offer. She didn’t press, but Franco could tell she was seeing more in him than he was letting on. She always had that way of reading him, even when he didn’t want to be read.

“I think that’s wise, Franco,” she said quietly. “But don’t wait too long. Sometimes, the right things—people—can slip away if we don’t take the chance when we can.” She gave him a small smile, her eyes gentle but full of a mother’s wisdom. “Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. The right things... people. Was she talking about her?

He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he had already lost so much—lost the girl he had once called his best friend. His true love. That much was clear.

But he couldn’t make the same mistake again. Not with her. Not now.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I won’t. I’ll give her the time she needs… and then, I’ll figure out what comes next.” He forced a small smile, looking back up at her. “But first, I think I need to settle in here, Mama. Just for a bit.”

She smiled warmly at him, nodding as she moved to set the table. “Take your time, cariño. You’ve earned it.” Then she added softly, almost to herself, “And when you’re ready, you know where she is.”

Franco nodded, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a promise he wasn’t sure he was ready to make. He had to sort through the years of distance, the pain, the confusion, and the mess he had made before he could even think of approaching her again.

That night the house was quiet as Franco prepared for bed, the kind of quiet that settled deep into the bones. The weight of the day’s emotions, of the journey—of everything—pressed on him like a physical force, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was still missing.

He stood in front of the mirror, his eyes scanning the reflection—a man who hadn’t truly looked at himself in a long time. His face was a little more worn, the years of racing and the strain of the past two had carved lines into his features. And yet, there was a boy in those eyes too—the one who used to laugh freely, who used to dream of more than just what life had given him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the quiet ache of the past two years swirling in his chest again. Where did it all go wrong? He’d asked himself this so many times, but the answer had never been clear. His life had seemed like it was on track, until it suddenly wasn’t. Until it all came crashing down, leaving him here, in his childhood home, looking at a version of himself he didn’t recognise.

Where did it all go to shit?

He turned away from the mirror, needing a moment of peace, a change of scenery. The night air felt crisp as he stepped out onto the balcony, the soft night breeze brushing against his skin. The village was quiet, the distant sound of crickets filling the silence. The stars above him were impossibly bright, as if they had been waiting for him to step out into this space to show themselves.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in. The vast sky, the deep silence, the comfort of being home, of being away from all the chaos of the life he’d left behind. He closed his eyes for a beat, letting himself breathe.

Then, he froze.

From across the yard, on the roof of the house next door, a figure was sitting—her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the stars.

Franco didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. The sight of her—after all these years—was like a jolt to the chest, a flood of old memories and emotions crashing over him.

At first, he considered turning back into the house, pretending he hadn’t seen her, pretending the universe wasn’t trying to push him into a conversation he wasn’t ready for. But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, his eyes locked on her figure, so familiar, so her. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight, especially not like this. Not sitting on the roof, in the same place they used to sit together as kids, watching the stars and talking about everything and nothing.

He had no idea how to approach her.

Before he could make up his mind, she spoke, her voice drifting through the night air, quiet but unmistakable. “Staring’s rude, you know.”

Franco’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening at the sound of her voice. It had been so long since he’d heard it, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all.

He stayed where he was, still unsure, a little frozen by the way his heart was racing. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he finally said, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

She tilted her head slightly, but didn’t look directly at him. “I always notice,” she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips, though her tone was more playful than anything else.

He let out a small laugh, a bit surprised by her nonchalance. It was just like her to act so casual, even in the middle of something heavy.

“I wasn’t planning to interrupt,” he added, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Just thought I'd leave you to it."

She didn’t respond right away, but he could see the way her gaze flickered toward him, though she didn’t move. After a beat, she spoke again, her voice quieter now. “You came home.”

“I did,” he said, his heart racing as he stood there, not knowing where to go from here. “Took me a while, but I’m here.”

She nodded, the soft rustle of her hair catching the starlight. "Good. I didn’t think you would."

Franco swallowed, the weight of the unspoken words hanging thick between them. "I... didn’t think I would either."

There was another pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... heavy, in a way that felt like they were both waiting for something. Waiting for the moment when they could go back to being what they once were. But Franco knew, deep down, that it wasn’t going to be that simple. Too much had happened between them, too many years spent apart.

Her voice broke the quiet, her words soft but inviting. “There’s space next to me. You should come up here.”

Franco hesitated for a second longer, unsure, but something in her tone, a subtle pull, urged him forward. He glanced around briefly before deciding to take a chance.

Carefully, he climbed over the small stone wall dividing their balconies, his fingers finding familiar purchase as he pulled himself over. The moment his feet hit the roof, the memories of their childhood came rushing back—sitting on the very same roof, talking about everything and nothing, watching the stars as if they were the only two people in the world.

It felt surreal, like no time had passed at all, even though everything between them had changed.

She was already sitting cross-legged, her back turned slightly toward him, but she patted the spot next to her, silently urging him to join her. He moved toward her, then sat down, the cool roof beneath him grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

When he finally reached the top, she shifted to make room, and before he even fully settled beside her, she was resting her head on his shoulder. It was as natural as breathing, a comfort he hadn’t realised he’d been starved for.

The night seemed to stretch on forever as they sat together, not speaking, just sharing the same space, the same memories that lingered between them like a soft, delicate thread. It was as though the silence held all the things they couldn’t say out loud.

Finally, it was her who broke the quiet, her voice low and tinged with regret. “Sorry I never replied to your letter.”

Franco’s heart stuttered in his chest at the mention of the letter. He hadn’t expected her to bring it up, not after everything that had happened. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, his voice barely a whisper. “You... you received it?”

She nodded slowly, lifting her head from his shoulder but not fully pulling away. She stared up at the stars, her fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes in the air. “Four days ago,” she said, her voice soft and distant, as though the words were hard to say.

Four days ago.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The letter. The letter he’d written years ago, before everything spiralled out of control, before the wedding, before he called it all off. The letter where he had laid bare his feelings for her—telling her everything he’d never had the courage to say before. Telling her that he loved her. That he’d leave his fiancé for her. That he wanted to be with her.

The letter had been the final step, the desperate confession that he couldn’t hold inside any longer.

“I… I didn’t know,” Franco muttered, his throat tight. “I sent it because I thought you needed to know. I thought you needed to hear it.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t expect you to just—ignore it.”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she looked over at him, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him ache. “I didn’t ignore it,” she said softly. “I didn’t know about it. Angelo hid it from me.”

Franco froze. Angelo. The same guy she’d been with all those years, the one who had kept the letter from her. The weight of it hit him hard, a cold knot in his stomach. “He hid it?” His voice barely came out above a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his. “I only found it four days ago when I was packing.” She paused, as though weighing whether or not to say more, then sighed. “He kept it from me, Franco. Told me it was nothing, just some silly thing from the past. But it wasn’t nothing. It was you. It was everything you were trying to say. And I didn’t even know until hours before your wedding.”

Franco could feel his chest tighten, the words he had written, the words that had been locked inside of him for so long, echoing in the space between them. He had no idea she’d never received it. No idea she had been living in that oblivion, thinking that nothing had changed when, in reality, everything had been laid out for her years ago.

Franco closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling over him. His entire life had been built around the lies he’d told himself, and in the end, he had only hurt the one person who had always been there for him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the sky, the stars so far away. “I never stopped loving you,” he said quietly, the confession falling from his lips before he could stop it. “I never stopped thinking about you, even when I thought I should. Even when I tried to move on, I always... always thought about you. About Monza.”

Her voice was soft but steady, a quiet confession in the night air. “I shouldn’t have come to that wedding,” she said, her words hanging in the space between them like a breath held too long.

Franco blinked, his heart stuttering slightly in his chest as he turned to look at her. “Why?”

She sighed, her eyes focused on the distant horizon, her expression unreadable in the soft glow of the moon. “Because I thought I was over you, Franco. I really did. I thought that seeing you get married to someone else, someone who wasn’t me, would help me move on. But when I watched you declare your love for me in front of everyone... it hit me all at once. I felt like I was coasting through a lie with Angelo for two years.”

Franco’s chest tightened at the mention of Angelo again, but he didn’t interrupt. He knew this was something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a long time, something they had never really spoken about. She took a slow breath, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt as she spoke again.

“I couldn’t give him all of me,” she continued, her voice wavering for the first time, just the slightest crack in her calm demeanour. “When you still had half my heart.”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat at her words. She still loved him. Despite everything, despite the time apart, despite the man she had been with, a part of her had never truly moved on.

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the right words to express the swirl of emotions inside him. The guilt, the confusion, the longing. All he could do was listen, his heart aching with each word she spoke.

“Amor…” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, trying to find his grounding. “She cheated on me. My wife.” He added as though she needed clarification.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise, but she said nothing. She waited for him to continue, her breath catching in her throat.

Franco stared out at the stars, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t feel much at first. I think I expected it. In some way, I always did. I’d been living in a marriage where I wasn’t really present for a long time.” He paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the feeling of his world unravelling. “But... when I found out, I couldn’t feel anything. It was like I had already shut myself off from it all.”

She studied him, her gaze soft but piercing. “Really? You didn’t feel... anything?”

Franco’s heart twisted, “I felt guilty,” he admitted, his voice low. "I didn’t feel hurt or anger. I just felt... guilty."

She frowned, the confusion and concern evident in her eyes. “Guilty? Why? You didn’t cheat. You weren’t the one betraying her.”

Franco chuckled bitterly, a hollow sound that felt foreign to him. “No, I didn’t cheat. But I’ve been mentally cheating on her for years now.” His voice cracked slightly, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. “With you. I’ve been thinking about you. Wanting you. Wondering... what could have been.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his confession hanging between them like an invisible force. The air was thick, heavy with the things they hadn’t said, the things they had both buried for too long.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant rustle of the trees, the wind whispering through the leaves. Then, she shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against his, tentative, like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to reach out. But Franco didn’t pull away. He let her fingers weave through his, and for a moment, they were back to the way they used to be—close, without words, just a connection that had never truly faded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking the silence again. “I didn’t mean to make things more complicated for you. I never wanted you to feel guilty.”

Franco shook his head, his fingers tightening around hers. “You didn’t. It’s my fault. I should’ve been honest with myself. With you. With everyone.”

Her hand found his, her grip soft but reassuring. “We can’t undo the past, Franco. But maybe... maybe we can stop running from it.” She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something—maybe a sign that they were on the same page, that this wasn’t just a momentary lapse, but the beginning of something else.

Franco’s heart skipped a beat. The ache inside him—this pull, this longing—felt more real now than it ever had before. But he couldn’t let himself get lost in it. Not yet. Not before he figured out what came next.

“Maybe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Maybe we can.”

But for now, they stayed there, hand in hand, watching the stars as the night stretched on—together, but not quite ready to bridge the distance between them. The future was uncertain, but in that moment, with her close to him again, it felt like the possibility of a new beginning was still there.

And maybe that was enough.

She shifted slightly, pulling her knees closer to her chest as she stared up at the night sky, the stars scattered above them like little pieces of a puzzle they couldn’t quite put together. Her voice broke the quiet again, this time more introspective, tinged with a kind of sadness that Franco couldn’t shake. “Why are we like this?” she asked softly, the question hanging in the air between them. “Why can’t we ever get it right? Why does it feel like we keep missing each other?”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat as he turned his head to look at her. He had no answer. No easy explanation for the years of missed opportunities, the broken promises, the things left unsaid. All he could do was let the silence stretch for a moment before he spoke, his voice thick with regret.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his words barely audible, but full of the weight of everything he had kept buried for so long.

Her hand tightened around his, her fingers warm and steady against his skin. She didn’t look at him immediately. She just stared at the stars, letting the night take them both in. But when she did speak, her voice was clear, almost a little too sharp, as if she were trying to distance herself from the ache inside.

“I know,” she said, her words simple, yet filled with the unspoken truth between them.

Franco exhaled slowly, his chest tight with the unrelenting guilt that seemed to follow him wherever he went. “I really don’t,” he added, his tone heavier this time, the words more raw, like they were scraping against his very soul.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes soft but steady as she met his gaze. “But you’ll always have me anyway,” she said, her voice gentle, almost a whisper, but strong in its promise. “All of me. Even if you think you don’t deserve it, even if you feel like you’ve lost me, I’m still here. I always will be.”

Franco closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to reach out and pull her into him, to hold on to the promise she was offering, but he knew that he had to fix everything first. He had to prove to himself, to her, that he was worthy.

After a long moment, his mind shifted, a question bubbling up to the surface, something that had been nagging at him for a while now. “What happened to Angelo?” he asked, his voice quiet, but urgent with curiosity.

Her gaze flickered away, her expression becoming unreadable for a brief second. She didn’t speak at first, but then, she sighed, her voice small as she turned her head back toward the night sky.

“He proposed,” she said softly, her words hitting Franco like a punch to the gut. “He got down on one knee, right there in the middle of a restaurant, and asked me to marry him.”

Franco’s heart sank. He had imagined the two of them together, but hearing her speak those words, hearing the finality in her tone, made something inside him shift. His breath caught in his throat.

“And you didn’t say yes,” he whispered, the realisation washing over him slowly, painfully.

She shook her head, her fingers grazing the edge of her sleeve as she gathered her thoughts. “I couldn’t bring myself to say yes,” she murmured, her voice distant, like the memory still held weight over her. “I couldn’t lie to him, and I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Not after everything. I just... I couldn’t. And when I looked at him, I knew something wasn’t right. I knew that the whole time, I had been lying to both of us, pretending that he was enough when I wasn’t even sure of myself.”

Franco felt his chest tighten, his heart aching with understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure if he was apologising for Angelo, for her, or for himself, but it felt like the right thing to say. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She didn’t respond right away. She just sat there beside him, her head back on his shoulder, her fingers still twined with his. The night stretched on, both of them lost in their own thoughts, but there was something in the air that felt different now. It wasn’t just the weight of their shared history or the unsaid words that hovered between them. There was something else.

Something that, for the first time, felt like the beginning of something new.

After a while, she spoke again, her voice barely audible. “I never wanted to hurt him. But I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not when you’re still here, not when you’ve always been here, Franco.”

Franco closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the curve of her hand. “I understand,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he did. He wasn’t sure of anything right now except that he needed to make it right—whatever that looked like.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the quiet stretching between them, neither of them in a rush to break the stillness. The night air was cool against their skin, and the stars above seemed to twinkle with the same quiet understanding that hung in the air. For the first time in years, it felt like they were both exactly where they were meant to be—together.

But slowly, the rhythm of her breathing changed, softening, slowing. Franco felt it before he saw it, the gentle shift in the weight on his shoulder. He glanced down, his heart softening at the sight of her—her lashes fluttering closed, her face serene and peaceful in sleep. She was completely relaxed, as if the weight of everything had been lifted, even if just for a moment.

He didn’t move, didn’t want to disturb the quiet that had settled between them. But as minutes ticked by, he knew it was time to move her. Carefully, he slipped his arm beneath her, lifting her gently, cradling her close. Her head rested on his chest as he stood, her body instinctively curling against him. She felt weightless in his arms, and for a second, he couldn’t believe how natural it all felt.

As he carried her through the door to her room, the familiar smell of her childhood home wrapped around him—the scent of lavender and old wood, a place both foreign and intimately familiar. The room was just as he remembered, simple and cosy, with little traces of her scattered throughout. He looked down at the floor he used to sleep on when they were young The soft, pale light of the moon filtered through the window, casting everything in a gentle glow.

He placed her gently in the bed, tucking the covers around her small frame. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her, his chest heavy with emotion. Everything about this felt so right, so painfully wrong at the same time. He should have been here years ago. He should have never let things get so far. But now, he was here. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

He leaned down, brushing a strand of hair away from her face before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered there for a second longer than he meant to, his heart aching with all the things he never said.

Just as he turned to leave, to head back to his own house, her voice stopped him.

“Don’t.”

Franco froze. His hand rested on the window frame , his heart stalling in his chest. He turned slowly, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

“What?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure.

She looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something in her gaze—vulnerable, raw, but full of longing. “Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t watch you walk away again. Please don’t.”

For a moment, Franco stood there, his chest tight as he processed her words. Don’t go. It was all he needed to hear. She didn’t want him to leave. After everything that had happened, after all the distance between them, she still wanted him here.

He walked back toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t need to say anything; the weight of the moment, the look in her eyes, said it all. He carefully slid under the covers, settling beside her, the warmth of her body so familiar yet so new.

Without a word, she shifted, curling into him, her head finding its place on his chest, her hand resting gently against his side. Franco wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. It wasn’t a perfect moment, but it was real. And it was theirs.

They stayed there, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing, the quiet of the night wrapping around them. No more words were needed. No more distance. Just the two of them, together, holding on to each other like they were afraid to let go.

And as they drifted off to sleep, tangled together beneath the covers, Franco realised that this moment—this feeling of being home—was everything he had been searching for.

Home.

Her.

It was all synonymous.

She was his home.

the end.

taglist: @sp1rl @yennasaurusrex @ellen3101 @firefirevampire @directioner5life @littlegrapejuice @obxstiles @scopeiguess @newlifeforus @justsisse @zestytimbit @taygrls @charlosvibesonly @sparkleofpizza

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kingconia · 1 year ago

Text

TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS WITH A READER, WHO IS INSPIRED BY THE PROTAGONIST FROM THEIR STORIES

A/N: I didn't add Kalim or Jamil, because I feel their storyline is too much Aladdin & Jafar inspired already to do anything else with them.

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— That was definitely a dislike from the first sight. He predicted you to be his future reason of headache as soon as the mirror sent you to the Heartslabyul;

— Riddle sees you as an air-headed fool, who only asks too many unnecessary things, daring to question the wishes of the Red Queen, instead of serving to your dorm as a proper student would do;

— You, from the other side, struggle with understanding what makes Riddle hate you so much. You were nothing but kind towards him, always suggesting to eat some sweets together, and trying to ask him to take a break from his studies to hang out with you or others;

— When he overhears that your signature spell makes you others to tell you the truth, Riddle is... Intimidated. He is afraid that you will use is against him, and so, he starts ignoring you more often.

•

”Housewarden acts like an asshole towards you, though.”

Riddle doesn't even need to think twice to recognise a loud voice of Ace Trappola, another troublemaker in his form. He knows that he should just give him a punishment and leave for a lesson, but instead, he hides in the nearest bush, waiting to hear the rest of the conversation.

”Oh, Ace. You are being rude,” you mutter softly, sighing at your classmate. ”Perhaps, a housewarden doesn't like me, but this feeling is not necessarily mutual.”

Riddle raises his brows in surprise. Why, though? He is aware that his attitude is nothing but awful when it comes to you. He doesn't have a proper reason for that, either.

”You should, really,” Ace rolls his eyes. ”Dude has a problem with you liking white. And what else? Being nice?”

That isn't true. He is fine with you liking white—though, he admittedly got frustrated when you asked him on your first day why painting roses red, if they are prettier when they are white—and being nice. He just considers you too naive for this world.

”I think, you are... Misjudging him.”

That is right, Riddle mutters mentally. Tell him, Y/n.

”I think, the reason why housewarden is so... Let's say, annoyed by me, it is because I am everything he grew up hating and being restricted with. And it is harder, when something you should never be interested in, is nice and interesting. I think, housewarden is just confused.”

He feels his cheeks blushing furiously.

What did you say—

”And I think you are just being delusional,” Ace chuckles, patting your shoulder softly. ”Now, please, let's get out of here. I want to find Deuce.”

Riddle listens to the sound of your rushing steps, but he can't care less about it now. All he can do, is to recite your words, again and again.

Does he really think you as a nice and interesting?

Yes.

Does it make him hate you even more?

No, but he wishes it could work this way.

Until now, though, he merely returns to his studies. Maybe, you can be honest with yourself and everyone, but this kind of thing is not for him at all.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Leona didn't notice you at first. Honestly, never planned too, until you started to cling to him in some idiotic attempts to be... What? Friends?;

— You remind him so much of Cheka, but he actually likes his nephew deep inside. And your presence is absolutely insufferable;

— You are too childish and annoying, and all you do is sway your tail as you try to befriend him, while pretending that you actually like him. Leona knows you have ulterior motives. Stop lying to him!

— He finds it stupid how someone so moronic as you managed to pull out such an interesting signature spell. Manipulating dreams of others? How cruel.

•

”Stop doing that,” Leona hisses, digging in your wrist as you try to touch his hair. ”I am seriously going to kill you, if you keep doing this. Do you hear that?!

A few weeks ago—approximately since you figured out your magic—Leona started saw dreams. Very colourful ones, cheerful even. And each, with the same meaning: he becomes the king, and his family and people adores him.

He hates it.

And he hates you for doing that.

Because, of course, he doesn't need your fucking pity. Your condescension. Your gifts. He doesn't need to be mocked!

”Ah? Leona-sama, what is it?” You blink, confused.

”What is your problem, huh?” He hastily jumps on his legs, towering on you. ”Don't you have anything to do? Go and mind your business, brat!”

Your lostness shifts in sadness. You are not scared of him, you are never are—another proof that you don't take him seriously—but you dare to look at him like that. As a kicked puppy.

”What did I do?”

”Stop sending me these stupid dreams! I don't need your pity, do you hear me?!” He yells, still gripping your wrist tightly. ”Go and dream of your family or something, instead, would you?”

”I... I am sorry,” you mumble, and your eyes dart on the floor.

Leona closes his mouth, when realisation dawns on him. You don't have a family to dream about; you are an orphan. Yours, the previous crown family, were killed by his great predecessors.

He doesn't know why he feels bad, when you picked the fight first.

”I will never bother you again, Leona-sama. I apologise.“ You repeat, and your voice suddenly sounds numb.

That is not the sight of you he, or anyone else, was used to. Not a single emotion on your face. You just snatch your wrist from his hold, before leaving him alone as he asked to.

”You are such a jerk,” Ruggie whistles from behind, appearing almost from nowhere.

”Shut up.”

”You know that they can't send any control dreams, right?” He continues, hands on his hips.

”What?” Leona unwillingly turns head on his vice.

”Dunno, but they only can adjust if it is going to be nightmare or a good dream,” Ruggie yawns. ”They are just a first-year, so... It is your brain that decides where is where for now.”

Fuck.

Leona hisses furiously.

He is so fucked up.

Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵

— Oh, so this is love? He notices you in the crowd of other students, as you flinch from loud voices from dynamics, clearly knowing very little of this world, and he is amused. Someone is clearly more social awkward than he is;

— Azul thinks you don't like him that much, though, because you only wave at him, and when he once tried to speak, you merely nodded and smile all the time without answering him properly;

— It is until twins tell him that you don't have a voice. You were brought to this world completely mute, because of the family curse, and though you hear everything, your only way to communicate with others is writing. Or a sign language;

— But if anything gods blessed you is your magic. Everything you touch turns to gold, and that is actually the main reason why you were kept isolated over years. Azul is over heels for you now...

•

”I am glad that you took time to accept my invitation, Y/n.”

Azul locks his hands together, looking at you with unhidden excitement. He is always too nervous in your company—luckily, you can't read a room—but today is a special day.

You smile at him, instead of answering.

”The reason why I asked you to came here, it is because I have a deal for you,” he continues carefully, weighing his every word. ”Do you see that?”

He points with his finger at the middle of the table. There is very beautiful necklace with pearls and a little seashell, looking quite normal and mundane. You nod again.

”That is something that could break your curse,” he explains, enjoying the way your eyes widen in the poor shock. ”Yes, yes, you heard me right. With that, you could speak easily.”

Azul can't help but soften as you tear up instantly. There is a whole minute, when he fights an urge to give it to you for free, but... He built his reputation too long to break it so easily.

”But, of course, I will need something from you in return.”

You tilt your head in question.

”I...”

I need you to love me.

”...I need you to use your power for my business when it will be required.”

And with that, Azul quickly shoves another contract to you. You blink a few times, but there is no back thoughts in your head. Quickly, as if afraid that he will change his mind, you took the pen, and leave your signature on all places, where it was needed.

Ah... Angelwish, why are you so naive! It kills him! What if he tried to use you? You didn't even read a contract! You really should be glad that Azul loves you so much.

Before he realises that, you are already putting a necklace on yourself.

One second, two. Three.

You are staring at him.

”Well?” He asks, anxiously.

”A... Azul?”

His heart drops.

Your voice is amazing. And hearing you saying his name is even better than he expected. He blushes.

”Azul... Thank you?”

”S-sure.”

Seems, like it is his turn to be speechless...

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— He originally had nothing against you... Until other students didn't start to call you the most beautiful person in the world, following you everywhere obsessively, and suggesting you to become the next housewarden;

— Vil now officially hates you. Each time you come to him ends up with short anger impulses that he hardly hides from you, and he wishes you could just disappear;

— He is quite... Cruel with you. He wants you to change your dorm, actually, so he desperately pushes you to the edge by giving you impossible tasks to fullfil, and turning others against you;

— And he thinks your signature spell, speaking and controlling animals is another proof that you should leave Pomefiore for Savanaclaw.

•

“I don't think you are stupid, un petit entraîneur.”

Vil narrows his eyes, leaning slightly forward from his balcony. The sight of his vice speaking with you—hunter's interest in you was his another concern—annoys him instantly.

”What do you mean, Rook?” There is a big cat in your lap, clearly another of your minions.

”You know that our dear housewarden wants you out of here,” he murmurs, moving closer to you. ”A fair exchange with Savanaclaw, I would say. He doesn't like you here.”

You sigh.

”I figured it out, trust me. He made it very clear by always putting me in dangerous situations and giving me outdated products for skin, making me look like a fool in front of others.”

You don't mention how he makes you clean dark and messy rooms of other students.

”Yet, you are not willing to give up?” Rook touches the strand of your hair curiously.

”You know, I actually liked him a lot,” you admit suddenly, patting the cat behind its ear. ”Vil was the world for me. I was so amazed by him. By how collected he was, how hard he worked. I was excited to become his student... I wished to show him what he is worthy of. That others see his hard work.”

Vil's breath hitches. He remembers you mentioning that you were his fan, but he punished you for this remark; he didn't need to be so violently degraded. But... Was it a truth, then?

”...It is in the past now. I witnessed his true colours, and I will not tolerate it,” your smile twists in something more vicious, a ghostly fondness leaving your pretty face. ”He doesn't need to be scared of me being better anymore. Because I am going to be so much worse.”

He shudders as he hears that, your voice cold, and eyes gleaming dangerously. And as if Rook addresses him, he sighs suddenly, with the strange excitement in his voice:

”Oh, mon doux karma. What had you done?”

Idia Shroud. 💙

— From the minute you open your mouth in his presence , Idia knows he will hate you desperately... It is not serious, though;

— You are unbelievably loud, and too cheerful, and too proud, and you are so self-centred? Also, a fucking bimbo. Idia has no idea why everyone so into you, and what you are even doing in Ignihyde! Go away!

— You annoy him so much, and he actually hates the way you try to befriend him and make him more normie! Stop be like that! You are not welcome!

— Idia is absolutely not impressed that your signature spell is an instant tactics creation. Fuck you, by the way.

•

“You do know, that doors exist, right?” Idia hisses, not even stopping his game to spare you some attention.

”I do!” You say, climbing through the window with a loud thud.

”Then, why don't you use them, idiot?!”

Idia has no the slightest idea why anyone, let alone you of all people—he means, since you genuinely think that it is healthy to spend all your time outside of the room—would want to become his friend. But here you are. Trying to befriend him for a month already.

”Because you never open the door, Idia-sama,” you shrug easily.

”Take a hint, maybe.”

You close the window behind yourself, taking place behind his chair. Putting elbows on it, you hum thoughtfully, glancing from Idia to the screen of the computer, where the game flashes on. Another few minutes, and familiar yelps fill the room:

”Shit!”

Game over.

”Idia-sama,” you frown, ”maybe, I can help you?”

Idia snickers, rubbing his tired eyes. As if.

”Have you ever played this game, even?”

”No,” you murmur shyly, scratching the back of your neck. ”But I am good at tactics. And it is combat game, correct?”

Idia ponders for a while. That is surprising, because... You are actually absolutely correct. For once.

”Sit down, first year,” Idia exclaims, suddenly excited. ”I am going to teach you how to play this game.”

You smile widely, doing as it was told.

Finally, you cracked the code! And they said you weren't for this dorm...

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— Of course, he missed you as the new student at first, since he forgot to arrive at the orientation day. But it is not that long as he starts hearing others praising you, Lilia especially;

— You are quickly becoming the part of the school life as everyone loves you, and calling you ’the heart of the school’. And while Malleus wants to befriend you, too... He also can't help but feel envious of how easy it is for you. The socialization;

— You are quick to fall asleep everywhere, much like Silver. And since Malleus can't find courage to speak to you, he wanders around, when you are asleep at the strangest places, instead;

— When the first overblot incident happens, your signature spell kicks in. To everyone's horror, it is absolutely terrifying. Your magic is about thorns. Thorns, that wrap around Riddle's weakened body, when he touches you. He almost dies. And the same thing happens with Ace, who accidentally brushes your skin. Now... Everyone shun you away.

•

”Hello, Malleus-sama,” you mutter, eyes sleepy as you look around. ”I apologise.”

Malleus doesn't quite mind you falling asleep in the class, where his gargoyle's researches are going currently. He is the only member, anyway. But he nods.

”I had never seen you here before,” he notices in a poor attempt of the small talk.

You shrug.

”There is no other students here. And it is better for me not to show up around them.”

What a familiar thinking process... Somehow, he finds it easier: to approach you know, when you are not everyone's favourite anymore.

”I see. You can stay, then. I am not welcomed by them either, so no one is going to enter this classroom.”

You offer him a smile. It is short, strained at the edges, but still sweet. Malleus thinks he understands how you so easily charmed others in the last months; you are much like sunshine, when you are happy. It is a shame you are not, anymore.

”You know, Malleus-sama, I always wanted to become your friend,” you admit suddenly, making him open his eyes in surprise. ”And, I think, you wanted to be mine friend, too.”

You? Why would someone like you want to have him as your friend?

”And why would you think that?”

You fold arms on your chest slowly.

”You are always here, when I am sleeping,” Malleus feels blush touching the tips of his pointy ears. You elaborate. ”I am not sure people realise, but I sleep too much not only because I am lazy, but also because I feel surroundings better like this. I remember everything I hear in my sleep, and I do feel if someone is around.”

Ah. So, that is the secret of yours. And he wondered how you master in all your classes, when you sleep all the time...

”...I see,” Malleus mutters, ashamed. ”I apologise, then.”

He reminiscences of how often he whispered you some nonsense when you slept—childish complaints about how he hates you for being so easily loved by others, random poems that came to his mind as he sat down by your side, stories from his childhood—and feels like disappearing in the shame wouldn't be that bad.

”You know, Malleus-sama, you and I... We are not so different. We both do what we have to do to keep our loved ones to ourselves,” you sit down on the couch beside him slowly. ”But it leads only to one thing.”

Malleus gazes at you curiously as you suddenly curl on his lap, much like a cat. Your eyes met as he helps you to settle more comfortably.

”To destiny?” He asks aloud, tilting his head.

”To pain.”

There is a beat of silence in which your smile suddenly appears to be more bitter, less serene. Malleus doesn't know what happened with you in details, and how awfully these changes in your reputation affected on you, but he can say that it was hard.

”Now, if you don't mind, and I believe, you don't, Malleus-sama, I would like to dream a little bit.” You warn him, already closing your eyes, not really waiting for the answer.

Still, Malleus nods. Though that is not something you can see.

”Sleep, then... Beastie,” he sighs, patting your hair gently.

You snicker, before your breath slows down, alarming that you completely drifted off.

Malleus stares at you openly now.

Ah, who would've thought? He had finally made a friend.

Part two with Leona & Vil is here.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #leona kingscholar #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar x reader #malleus x reader #vil schoenheit #riddle rosehearts #azul ashengrotto #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #malleus draconia x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader

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bloggerspam · 14 days ago

Text

A Christmas Carol AU

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums, pointing at Dani. "Past."

He points at himself, "Present."

He points at Dan, "Future."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sound familiar?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of all, he thinks about Dan.

He thinks about regrets and one bad day away.

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

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

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

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

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lilacgaby · 3 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋdon't ask what are we, i like it baby.𖤐

pairing: situationship!gojo x reader

synopsisꨄ. the affection shared between you not only in public but private made everyone think you were together, but the one time they were right about your 'relationship', it made satoru upset. maybe he should make you official.

you honestly couldn't pick out when this started with satoru.

the gravitational pull towards each other, fleeting touches of the hand and the fluttering of eyelashes. the hand holding and kisses, laughing at his jokes even though they weren't always that funny.

finding comfort in each other, even though you really shouldn't grant him your presence. you always did though, open arms or a lap for him to lay on, a person for him to confide in. but even as he kissed you, tucking your hair behind your ear as words were lost to the pumping of your heart in your ears, it'd never progressed further.

no dates were in your future, no promise ring or flowers, no way you'd ever be able to call the satoru gojo yours in the near future.

but that didn't mean he didn't act like you were already his. like he wasn't entitled to your affection and love. as you scrolled on your phone mindlessly in the hallways, he wrapped his arms around you shamelessly. making people raise their eyebrows in confusion as he spoke directly into your ear, asking you what you were doing, where you were going, if you wanted to do things with him.

how he'd walk you to the dorms everyday, walk in like he owned the place as he laid down right smack middle of your bed. patting the side next to him as if it was only natural for you to be beside him so intimately.

how he'd skip out on hang outs with his friends just to come bother you at night, knocking on your door with sweets in hand, smiling at your half asleep self. “got room for one more?” he leant against the doorframe, he knew you'd let him in.

“weren't you hanging out with geto and shoko?” you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, as he responded while walking in and closing the door behind him. “yeah, wanted to be next to you though.” his face leaned close to yours, you could smell his expensive perfume as he laid his head in your shoulder.

he didn't leave that night.

how he spoke to you so sweetly, so deeply intrigued with you. as he stared as your face, eyes not leaving it as you spoke. “and.. um– what happened was…” he'd moved closer and tilt your head up with his hand. “go on, i was listening.”

the late night talks that always lead to more, your lipstick smudged and smeared against his lips as you grew obsessed with each other.

conversations would take place in the car, his eyes would hyper focus on your lips, you were just trying to speak but it always ended with you two breathless, conversations forgotten.

he didn't feel okay if you weren't right by his side, or if he didn't know your whereabouts. it was like having a clingy boyfriend who texted you every hour, asking where you'd be and if you were okay. though, despite this it wasn't anything more than a friendship.

he always felt truly happy around you. more than a weapon, more than the strongest sorcerer you saw him as him and nothing more. you held him as if you were just two normal people in love, he'd hold back as if your love was fleeting, not timeless but limited. he'd hold on for as long as you'd let him, which usually was until morning.

any conversations you tried to have about your relationship, asking if this was serious or not was quickly played or brushed off, your heart cracking slightly everytime he ignored you. the times you did manage to get a response out of him were full of, “what we have now is perfect, why ruin it?” and “labels are no fun anyways, you're fine aren't you?” you'd kick him out of your dorm, or leave where ever you were at when he said that. but you always ended up back with him again, running his hands through your hair the next day. he'd text you throughout the night, spouting apologies and promises mixed in with stupid emojis. you'd resist the urge to respond for a while, but you gave in. you always did for him.

he who held your heart in his hands, who chose to love and neglect it all within the same hour even, who you'd let continue being in control. honestly, you didn't know why yourself.

your relationship, or whatever you had going on, had just become so obvious to everyone around. people had started questioning you about it, shoko being the first to ask you so directly though. during a random hangout of yours, lazing around as you mindlessly scrolled on your phone, attention drawn elsewhere, she just came out with it. “so, are you two dating or something?” it was obvious who she was referring to, there was no one else who was so outwardly forward with you. but you rushed to correct her, even though it was something you thought about often yourself. “what? me and satoru are just friends, that's all.”

a moment passes over, her eyes locking into yours. “but you want more don't you? it's kind of cruel of him to be doing that to you actually.”

“you have no idea.”

little did you know, gojo was undergoing a similar conversation with geto, who eyed him and shot a knowingly look at him. “so, you and [name] aren't dating right?”

satoru was caught off guard by the comment as well, but he quickly recovered and went to make a joke about it. “what? no way. we're just friends.”

a thoughtful look came over geto’s face as he looked over gojo again. “then, you have no problem with me asking her out, right?”

the look that came over satoru was almost laughable, how his eyes widened and lips snarled into a scowl. how his fists balled up and his finger pressed against geto’s chest as he let out an angry, “no.”

“why not?” a dumb smile came over geto’s face. now mirroring his previous actions to shove a finger against his chest. “you know why.” satoru grabbed his hand and yanked it away from him, then walked off angrily, a puff of smoke almost being visible above his head.

geto could only laugh at how hopeless he was, and he'd be right.

you were still hanging around with shoko, outside and picking apart the clouds in the sky. though, you were cut off by a slightly annoyed satoru gently grabbing your hand. “come with me.” was all he said before he pulled you up with him, you waving bye frantically to shoko as he basically pulled you along, his longer strides being hard to keep up with.

he took you further outside than you were, surrounded by trees as he looked you up and down. you were just so pretty, so understanding, his voice was getting caught in his chest.

“satoru?” your voice snapped him out of his lovesick trance, his hands found yours and gripped them tightly, entangling the fingers within yours. he took a steady, deep breath, his hair was being blown back by the wind as his blue eyes finally landed onto yours again.

“[name].” he started, his heart already racing at the fact that your attention was all on him. “i– i should've done this a long time ago.”

your head tilted to the side, pulse quickening to match his, you bit your lip as you pondered over exactly what he meant, but he continued. “you– you're special to me. the things i do– we do- are special to me. the thought of you kissing, or being with anyone else,” his grip on your hands tightened impossibly, “it.. it upsets me.”

“i know it was wrong, wrong of me to expect you to wait around. to expect you to just be available for me whenever i wanted. but.. i– i just couldn't voice my feelings for you. you're like a safe place for me, a safe haven i could go to.”

he took another deep breath, having to look away from you for a moment. “i want to be that for you. i don't want someone else to come and take you away, i want to be as special to you as you are to me. no matter how selfish that makes me.”

he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if awaiting rejection. “so, be mine. and i'll be yours. please.” his hands shook in your wake as he waited, hearing the gasp you let out from under your lips. he wasn't sure if it was from his proximity, from his question, or from something else but all he knew is that you let go of his hands.

his heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach, eyes widened and teary as he looked at you, but his words were cut off by the feeling of your hands on his face. of the sight of your teary eyes that matched him. “of course, dummy.” with a kiss that felt as if it was your first, you sealed your promise. he couldn't help the smile that played over his mouth as he kissed you, couldn't help himself from falling back into your embrace.

he couldn't help but realize that you held his heart in your hand, how you cared for it and made him feel alive. that scared him, scared him so bad that he'd willingly played with your heart in the process.

but as you two laid on the grass, pointing out shapes in the sky together as usual, seeing you in the sun as a heart-shaped cloud came out at the perfect time,

he knew he did right by you, finally.

he kissed you again, bound by his love for you. bound by the fact that he wouldn't need to worry about this, not if he dedicate himself to you as much as you did him.

as much as you deserved.

#i miss him #this is NOT me if i was in a situationship i'd never recover #lilac's late night talks ✧#gojo drabbles #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #gojo fluff #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru drabbles #satoru x you #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles

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