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jensthwa · 2 months ago

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mountebank chem pt. one (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 9,7k.

WARNINGS: eventual SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, crying, mentions of drinking and drug usage, mature language, petty behavior, insults, yunho and reader really hate each other i fear, pet names (princess), negative mentions of body image, panic attacks/panic disorder, negative??? (or so they think) tension. no smut on this part, it's an introduction to these two characters, their families and the chaos they bring to poor yunho's and readers life.

NOTES: hi everyone! i know i posted the hwa fic ten days ago or so, but i wanted to get started with this mini series that is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH / SHOW & TELL UNIVERSE. there's mentions of the last installment plot so, if you're new around here, you can always find the rest of the stories on my masterist! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: september 14th 2024.

permanent taglist: @hotteokkay, @potatomountain, @fairylover68, @e3ellie, @alsomimi

masterlist. - part two - part three.

A trembling finger is all you can see in the still dim light of the room.

It's quiet, very quiet. You haven't heard anything but your thoughts all night. It grosses you out, so you wait for the clock to turn to six and press the button you've been hovering on for, at least, half an hour.

Park Seonghwa is your only hope right now.

The conversation doesn't go as planned.

“No, I will not go to the party with you and no, I will not pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Not even your great pitch could've turned him around to help you. Sighing, you replay the conversation in your pounding head.

“This is very inconvenient for me but I hope you and the cool girl I saw yesterday are happy together… Even if it ruins my happiness forever!”

Your happiness was probably ruined the day you were born. Sighing again, you turn to the window.

It’s raining.

You didn’t notice until you ended the call that was, if you’re being honest with yourself, your last resource.

Brain rotting away the entire night, wine drunk and edible high, you didn’t even notice the rain accompanied you through your misery.

The sound of the droplets hitting your studio window and the sun trying to break through the gloomy clouds adds insult to injury: You’re running out of time.

Any time now, your mother is going to call you up to let you know you’re possibly getting promised tonight. Not engaged, but promised and presented.

Like you’re some sort of property your parents can give away.

Nails connecting with your glass desk, the noise syncs up with the rain pattering on your window sill and, to your tired mind, it also mimics the tic-tacking an old clock would make.

You figured, if you show up with someone on your arm tonight, they might finally leave you alone.

And not marry you off to Jeong Yunho.

There’s not enough hours in the day to plan a perfect escape, there’s not enough will left inside you to reach out to someone else and make everything seem genuine, organic, like you’ve known each other for years and kept it a secret all this time.

There's not enough time to save yourself.

Because there's this… unspoken agreement you’ve known about since you were eight.

Your parents and Yunho’s parents are friends. Your mom went to school with his mom and your dad met his dad when they were teenagers and they all got married off respectively because it was what worked for their families at the time so, after hearing the superficial love story at the age of seven, you knew you were going to meet the same fate eventually.

And the next year, you met Yunho.

He was an hyperactive little kid with a lot of energy and facts about the earth you didn’t care to listen to because the second you started playing with him in his huge backyard and turned to check if your mother was watching you, you realized that was not a casual playdate.

Smiling ear to ear, both your mother and his, it signaled to you that it has started.

Your planned love story with Jeong Yunho had sailed smoothly in their eyes and there was nothing you could do about it.

Naturally, you have hated him since then. But you were taught etiquette and were media trained since you turned three and could form complete sentences, so your hatred only really showed when you two were alone.

Turns out, he didn’t really care if you liked him or not.

He’s always been good at pretending as well.

That chirpy personality, kindness and humbleness he exudes in front of everyone else? An act.

And you were proud of yourself when you saw right through his bullshit when you were both eleven and left alone so he could show you around their new, bigger house.

Gone too soon was that child who wanted to teach you about worms in his backyard and in its place there was this distant tween who’s smile disappeared as soon as your mothers were out of sight.

“Listen, I don’t know why we’re being forced to hang out but I don’t like you.”

Dumb kid.

“Good, because I don't like you either but they can’t find that out.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms and frowning at you “I’m planning on telling mommy that you… chased me around with a knife or something, so she can see how psycho you actually are and stop forcing me to be around you!”

Eyes lighting up, that was the first time you saw a possible escape from all of this “You think that would actually work?”

Annoyed and a little freaked out, Yunho pointed at the smirk on your lips “See? That’s exactly what I mean: Psycho.”

And you both only grew hostile at each other since then. Sure, saving face in front of your parents and older siblings was necessary to not get scolded and revoked of your privileges (and you actually liked to be alone with him, only if it meant you could take a break from your mother and her judging gaze), but pretending to like Yunho proved to be more difficult than what you had imagined.

Especially when you both outgrew the phase where you tried anything and everything under the sun to piss the other off. Not so harmless pranks were pulled and the petty behavior got you both in trouble with your oldest brothers a couple of times but, no matter how hard you tried, it never “accidentally” got to your mother. Or his, for that matter.

So when you two stopped trying to get your point across and grew cold towards one another, that's when it got really ugly. Vile words cut through both of your egos harshly, family vacations that include his were uncomfortable and holidays were your personal hell.

December thirty-first and January first have always felt like purgatory. Christmas was always spared because you have family living on the other side of the world who you travel to see every year but it's never truly enjoyable when you know that, in the next couple of days after that, you'll see his dumb face.

But you have always smiled brightly at him and hugged him when he comes in with his unnecessary luggage at your home. You hold his arm and bat your eyelashes when you know your mom is watching from a distance and it all but confuses him every single time.

Remembering the time you both were thirteen and you went through very sudden puberty makes you smile. The look on his face when your kitty heels helped show how tall you got over the summer was fantastic.

“Look at what the cat brought in!” Scrunching your nose and squeezing his cheeks in fake affection, you noticed it took a lot for him to not swat your hands away.

But you also remember noticing that he was blushing when you pulled away.

“You look like a very ugly gigant,” he whispered with a smile, matter of factly and all “It doesn't really suit you.”

He was a pain in the ass. A manageable pain in the ass, but a pain nonetheless.

It all took a wrong turn when he caught up on your mothers plans by age fifteen. By that age, you've known for a while and the mercy you had on him, on explaining everything you believed to be true, was simply a way of keeping everything at arm's length from you.

The second he put two and two together, your guesses had automatically turned into a possible reality you couldn't cope with.

A reality that's about to hit you in the face and leave a bruise that doesn't really go with your polished image.

The rain picks up and you close your eyes in hopes of coming up with a new idea.

It only makes your headache worse.

You really should get going with your day.

There's appointments you need to get to, meetings you have to fill the space in because your brother is going to fail to show up as usual and you have to get your hair and make-up done for tonight.

You really shouldn't be crying right now.

Are you even allowed to cry?

Your fate was probably decided the day you were born, five months and a few days after Yunho.

“Shit.”

Sobbing is useless, so you get in the shower. You do your skincare routine and plan the outfit you're going to wear to the office while you cover your eyebags and try to make it look seamless, natural even.

If the struggle shows up in your face, you're going to get yelled at downstairs.

Living with your parents might be a bigger nightmare than getting presented with Yunho tonight but there's really nothing you can do about that, either.

Working in their company, gaining connections through them and being praised by simply having your last name attached to your first makes you completely useless when faced with a situation where you simply want to tell your mom to fuck off.

“Y/N, I hope you already weighed down the options for the dress you're wearing tonight,” is what greets you when you enter the dining room, breakfast laid out perfectly across the table both your parents sit at. She's glancing at you in warning “And I hope you know that the navy blue dress is the best option. It's on theme and it's classy, it shows your figure too.”

Fuck off.

You might've been taught a bunch of things while growing up in this tinsel bubble but never ever were you taught how to stand up for yourself.

It shows in the way you nod and smile and sit down on your designated spot next to your dad and in front of your mom.

“Navy dress it is, ma'am.”

The nod she gives in approval makes you nauseous. At least she's not saying anything about Yunho.

“Excellent choice, dear.”

You swallow the food on your pre-portioned plate with a tight throat and, after sipping your black coffee, you turn to your dad.

Feeling a little delirious on lack of sleep and a little bold, especially when it comes to work related matters, you take the opportunity to press on the other thing that kept bothering you the entire night.

“Father—”

He sees right through you.

“No, Y/N. It's not an open discussion, the deal is signed and sealed.”

“It's not a smart choice.”

“Kim Y/N!” slamming her utensils down on the table and making everything shake in the process, you barely flinch at your mothers warning “Are you calling your father dumb?”

“No, of course I'm not,” you defend yourself immediately, the softness in your voice hanging by a thread because all you want to do is scream at her to stop putting words in your mouth “All I'm saying is that he's too generous. That company is not profitable and he gave them half a floor in the building and an initial investment that's going to backfire,” you calmly explain to her what you told him the day before “There’s not really a market for physical media anymore.”

“And they're trying to bring it back,” your father returns, his eyes never straining from his food “I think it's a great idea. You said a couple of months ago that eighties and nineties style is coming back.”

“As a trend,” you remind him with a tight smile “And trends tend to die down rather quickly.”

“Soohyun approved it,” he finally looks up and his next words have you biting your tongue bitterly “You don't have a say on the final decision and you know it.”

Damn right you fucking know it.

“Are we clear on that?”

Glancing at your mother, you notice how she's picking on her food to try and avoid sticking up for you. Not that she normally would but you think, as the years pass, the mistreatment must give her some sort of guilty feeling she can only escape if she avoids your eyes.

Straightening your spine, you fix your face and smile with fake acceptance “Yes, sir.”

The tinsel bubble brings in unnecessary amounts of money and privilege, but it doesn't really save you from tradition and misogyny.

Soohyun is the firstborn, after all.

He's also a complete fucking idiot.

You love him a lot, but he's completely useless when it comes to this business.

Although trained separately and for completely different positions, you always paid close attention to the company.

You studied hard, you graduated early at the top of your class and went to business school as soon as you were able to. You even got to be valedictorian last year at your graduation and even then you knew you weren't getting your father's role once he took a step back from being the face of the company.

But you couldn't help but wish.

Wishing and imagining was your way of coping with it. What if you were born a boy instead? You surely wouldn't be in this predicament.

What if your brother wasn't pampered the way he was growing up? You surely didn't have to step in to save apparences with your employees.

Your day to day would probably flow so much smoothly if he actually wanted to do his job like he should.

Heels clacking on the marble floor, you strut the hallway into his office to aggravate your headache just a bit more: The space is a mess and when you glance at the tree you started to paint on his wall when he asked you to help him quietly turn the space around but never got to finish it brings your mind to the man who declined your offer this morning.

And the clock in your mind starts ticking again, faster and louder this time.

Soohyun’s voice comes out of a corner in the big office, behind some piled up boxes “Well that's not good.”

Snapping out of it and turning to him, you cock your head to the side “What is it?”

“You,” he comes out of his hiding spot, suit barely ironed and hair a little messy which makes you cringe “Usually, you complain as soon as you close that door,” he points at it with a tiny and concerned smile “So now I'm worried they cloned and replaced you, sis.”

“Well, you made a mistake yesterday and there's nothing I can do now to cover it up so,” raising your arms before tossing your purse on the free loveseat that serves as his lounging area, you sigh “Nothing to complaint about today, except—” you squint your eyes, making a show of pretending to be thinking about it “Oh! I'm probably getting married off tonight.”

The fake happiness laced in your tone makes your brother scoff. He walks to his desk, sitting down on his chair and shaking his head in disapproval.

“It's not an engagement, Y/N. It's more of a… Public relations matter.”

“Oh, so you agree with it?” Blood pressure skyrocketing, you quickly make your way across the space until you stand in front of him “You're fine with it?!”

“Don't act like you didn't already know this was going to happen eventually,” leaning back, he gives you an apologetic look. That's how you know there's nothing he can do about it either “Jeong Tech is the largest investor, or primary partner and basically the first big successful business we helped to launch here.”

The explanation is unnecessary. You know. You know he knows you know.

“And after the stocks falling over that little… Hiccup they had last year—”

“The selling clients information hiccup.” You recall with a tight smile.

Soohyun gulps.

“Yes, that, they need to rekindle their image with the press and, in the process, we gain a few reputation points in the market by association. You know how this works,” looking away for a moment, he bites the inside of his cheek before pressing on “And you two are loved and shipped by everyone online already. Grandmas swoon at the potential TVN drama they could make about your love story.”

What fucking love story?

It's more like a gruesome, slashy horror movie to you.

“Okay, is that why they don't marry me to Gunho instead?”

“No, Y/N, they don't marry you off to Gunho because he's in love and soon to be engaged to a complete nobody,” he responds right away with a shrug “Besides, you and Yunho—”

“We hate each other. We—”

“Now, I wouldn't say that—”

“—Completely and utterly despise one another. He's the unwanted dirt under my Louis Vuitton heel, he's the bee I want to kill but can't because they are needed for the environment,” you continue without taking a breath “He's somehow needed to this environment,” meaning the company “Although he's attending a public university and detaches himself from his responsibilities because he already has a brother who actually takes care of it all, unlike me!”

Soohyun doesn't seem hurt at that and you're annoyed he's not. That he knows you well enough to know you're trying to sink your claws into his pride because yours is flat lining as the minutes pass.

That does nothing but fuel your anger.

“Unlike me,” you repeat “Who has to take care of your responsibilities because you are too busy playing renovation simulator in your stupid office to attend your meetings! Because if you did attend them you would know yesterday’s decision was a mistake and—”

“There it is!”

“—You're going to cost us millions of won for nothing.”

Soohyun sighs and the way the scowls at the scattered papers on his desk lets you know he's not about to entertain this conversation any longer.

For the third time today, you are about to lose. And you're a sore loser.

“You're not getting engaged,” he reminds you, standing up and fixing his hair with his hand, his expression kind and sweet like you didn't just yell at him “You don't have to marry Yunho.”

You scoff “For now.”

“Or never, if you don't want to,” rounding his desk, Soohyun pats your head softly like you're a child “Just pretend for a bit and then let him break your heart publicly so that the media doesn't treat you like a stoned hearted bitch.”

“I am a stoned hearted bitch.”

He shakes his head “You're not but even if you were no one has the right to call you that,” your expression softens and you kind of want to cry at that, but you don't “Except me. Now, we have a meeting to go to, don't we?”

Duty calls, like it always does. Your brother steps away and rushes to the door.

Grabbing your purse and following him out, you fix your own hair in the reflection of the glass separating the cubicles from the hall “Do you even know what it is about?”

He smiles back at you “Nope but you're going to tell me on the way there anyway.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

The call comes after the meeting, when the sun is finally breaking fully through the clouds and your headache is starting to go away.

Only to come back in full force once you see Yunho’s face as soon as you make your way to your own living room.

Wearing a formal black blazer with matching trousers and a white shirt, the asshole doesn't even spare a glance at you even when you're sure he knows you just walked in.

The room started to fill with negative energy. He must have felt it, right? But he doesn't show it.

He's on the phone, eyebrows almost melting together as he pays attention to what the person on the line is saying.

“What do you mean he met this girl two days ago?”

Oh, he's gossiping. Your eyes almost meet the back of your skull when you roll them and, with a sigh, you throw your purse at him.

He catches it without making that much of an effort.

Asshole.

“End the call.”

“Wait, wait,” he covers the microphone with his hand and frowns at you instead “Shut it up, princess, this is an important call.”

“Princess? Who are you calling princess?” It's not hard to hear the person on the other line, a poor confused guy, talking back.

“My mother's friend’s daughter,” he shoots back and gives you a tired look, putting the phone to his ear again and signaling you to close your mouth “Anyways, is Seonghwa sure he wants to introduce us to her? Isn't it too soon?”

At the name, you perk up. Gears turn in your head, one by one because you're tired and your machinery probably needs another coffee to oil everything up there, but then it hits you.

That's where you knew Park Seonghwa from.

You were not proud of yourself for letting curiosity tickle you enough to check Yunho’s instagram page merely six months ago. On your burner account, of course, the one with a fake name and fake pictures so that people don't know you stalk them when you're bored.

There's this picture on his finsta where they're all sitting around a bonfire. It looked cozy, like they actually love each other which is a crazy concept for you.

All your friends are fake. Also, the concept of a bonfire is insane. Bugs? Acoustic guitars and careless laughter?

Insane.

But it seemed genuine the first time you saw it and it made you burn with jealousy of a life you could never have.

And in that picture, Yunho was hugging Park Seonghwa.

Huh. You wonder what would've happened if he accepted your proposal earlier today.

“Well, okay, uhm… I probably can't tonight. I know I said— Yes, Wooyoung, I know,” he sighs deeply as you sit down right in front of him, one leg over the other with rehearsed poise “I’ll see you all at Hongjoong's gig this weekend, yeah? Okay, bye… I love you too, oh my god,” he giggles and you frown, disgusted “Bye.”

You immediately go for it.

“Your boyfriend?”

“My husband,” his smile is fake and tight and it makes you want to punch him in the face “That's what I'm telling our mothers in fifteen minutes, by the way.”

Rolling your eyes again, you let out a tired breath “As if that would ever stop them.”

“So I reckon you know what's going on?”

“You don't?” eyebrow rising inquisitively and expression turning into a pitiful one, you wonder if that's why he seems so laid back at the moment “Please, indulge me and tell me you do.”

“Of course I know what's going to happen,” scoffing, he crosses his arms and looks at the living room double doors “Just trying to figure out if you're out of the loop so I can put you up to speed on our escape.”

“Oh, please,” you huff out a bitter laugh “If you really wanted to escape you would have been out of the country by now. Don't pretend you're not a people pleaser, Yunho,” looking back at you, that familiar wrath burns in his brown eyes and it makes you smirk “Passing the opportunity to hang out with Park Seonghwa and the rest of your public university crew is not usually what you do. You were probably given an ultimatum by your mother and that's why you're here, isn't it?”

Watching his expression shift from annoyance to confusion to anger in the span of seconds gives you the satisfaction your lost fights of the day took away from you.

“She's really pretty, by the way. His new girlfriend, the mechanic,” you smile, moving your eyes to the ceiling like you're trying to remember something “Didn't catch her name, though. Tell her I say hi when you see her. Oh, and tell Mr. Park I say hi as well. You don't really have to explain to anyone how you know me after tonight anyway.”

“How the hell do you know them?” he's full on frowning now and the corners of your lips twitch in amusement “Are you stalking me, Y/N?”

“Wouldn't you like that, hm?” clicking your tongue in disappointment of his guess, you rest your arms over your knees and lean your weight on them, like you're about to share your secret “I always know everything, Yunho. It's my superpower.”

He imitates your movements, jaw clenched and chest heaving “And here I thought it was being spoiled and annoying.”

Shaking your head, you lean a little further now “You're so silly, Yun, you know that's yours… When will you stop projecting your shit on me?”

“When you stop ruining my fucking life.”

Oh, he's so easy to mess with.

“Glad to know you think I have that much power over you,” you bite the inside of your cheek for a second and then sigh loudly and dramatically “Sadly, I can't control what my parents want me to do. Or do you really think I would choose you, the hypocrite who pretends to run away from his responsibilities, out of all the men in the industry?”

That cuts deep. His face lets you know it does, you also know it's hypocritical on your side to criticize him for getting the treatment you wanted to get to begin with.

He leans in a bit more “As if I would ever choose you, the most cold hearted snake out of the elite.”

Fuck him.

You lean in more, chin up “Mama’s boy.”

Doing the same, he griths out: “Spoiled brat.”

“Rakehell.”

“Psychopath.”

Laughing, you dismiss the fact that your noses are almost touching to shoot back “I hope you enjoy the way the media is going to tear you apart when it comes out that you cheated on me, asshole.”

“And I hope you enjoy when Dispatch digs up what you did at that party four years ago, princess. Falling off a table for mixing your drinks and your drugs and yelling at the staff as they tried to helped you out is quite embarrassing, isn't it?” he returns immediately and it fails to intimidate you but the fact that he knows about that angers you and it sparks in your eyes, so he smirks “Not that I would ever leak that information, of course.”

“You stupid fucking—”

“Ah, good! You're both here already.”

Pulling apart and standing up, you both try to regulate your breathing and conceal your flustered state as your mom and his walk straight towards you.

They're here early, you think. You couldn't possibly have argued with Yunho for fifteen minutes straight.

“I beg you save the public displays of affection for later, though,” his mom says and with a hand on your back she directs you to sit on the sofa Yunho was occupying before. You sit and he does too and you both make sure to leave enough space for the holy spirit and all deities in between you “We're going to need them for the cameras.”

Uncomfortable, you fidget on your seat until the warning look from your mother forces you to stop. Yunho gulps beside you, probably just as uncomfortable as you.

Both women smile brightly like they're not about to lay on you the saddest news of your life.

“As you both know, tonight's gala is a celebration of the twenty years Jeong Tech and Kim’s Innovation have joined creative forces and built the empire we have the pleasure to see unfold today…”

Is your mother reciting your dads speech? It sounds robotic, rehearsed, fake and forced and it's not something new from her but you hate it either way.

“And in celebration of our families friendship, loyalty and alliance,” Yunho’s mom continues and you take in a breath “We're finally making your relationship public!”

Finally?

“Finally?” Yunho asks and you lick your lips “Mom, Auntie… We don't have a relationship.” He tells them plain and simple and you don't look at him when you nod in compliance with the statement.

“Oh, you two have been in love since forever!” His mother dismisses what she just heard “It's only fair to finally let everyone confirm it. This way, you can actually be seen together without our public relations team having to rush to cover everything up.”

That has never happened. You prefer to stay as far away from Yunho as possible when your free will is actually yours to live with.

“Mom, we—”

“We are friends, obviously,” you interrupt Yunho before he dives head first into the depths of hell and his head snaps to you, eyebrows creasing a bit “But it's very much platonic. I don't feel—”

“Yes you do,” your mother interferes, tone stern and fake smile falling for a second as a result before she composes herself “You have loved him since you both were kids and he saved you from falling in the pool at you tenth birthday,” that never happened and slowly but surely you realize they have a whole story planned out for you “And you, Yunho, realized you loved her when she stayed by your side when you had the flu at age thirteen. When she cried over your high fever and came over everyday until you got better. Right?”

The question floats in the air for what feels like eons and she has successfully shut you up for good.

You knew, when you first met Jeong Yunho, there was no way of escaping this.

And he, ever so hopeful and foolish, can't seem to accept it the way you do.

Standing up, he looks at his mother with so much hurt you wonder if you still have that amount of delusion inside of you “You can't do this to us!”

“Dear, do not raise your voice at me—”

“This is the stupidest idea you had yet! I don't care how many years you've been planning this, it's not fair!” He paces around the space and you sigh, looking down at your lap. His voice echoes around the living room and you can practically feel your mom scowl with annoyance at the recklessness “You can't marry me off to someone like it's the eighteenth century! This is ridiculous, I—”

“You'll do it,” his mother stands up as well, voice firmer than you have ever heard. She's a soft spoken woman, a sweet woman even. She's never raised her voice in your presence and you don't let it show how by surprise it takes you “And you know what happens if you don't.”

You don't know why you relate to the pained expression on his face. You really shouldn't because you two are, clearly, on two different ends when it comes to pleasing your family.

His family seems loving, the way his mother treated him growing up felt so genuine you always wished you could switch places with him. Even at times where they thought they were alone in the room and you hid to witness the cracks on the foundation of their love, it never happened.

Until now, when he storms off and she seems rather unaffected by his pain. What she gives off is annoyance, just like your mother, she's annoyed that this didn't go as smoothly as imagined. She moves to follow him.

“Jeong Yunho!”

After she leaves the room, there's screaming in the distance, probably at the end of the long hallway. And then, there's silence until your mother breaks it.

“Well that was an unfortunate mess.”

Your throat feels like it's closing up but you push through it, standing up when your mother does too.

“Mother, I don't really think this is the best way to—”

She frowns at you.

“What are you wearing? A suit?”

“W-what?”

Dumbfounded, you look down at your choice of outfit that she saw this morning and then back up at her.

“I understand there's really nothing that can be done about your body shape but wearing silhouettes like these makes you look very masculine, Y/N.”

She's doing that thing where she belittles you into submission. Vulnerable because of what you just lived and what you just witnessed, you stand there and take it.

“And are you wearing makeup? Your eyebags, darling… I can't believe you let Yunho see you in this state.”

If only she knew you stayed awake the entire night trying to sabotage her plans.

This triggers you beyond belief. It starts with your heartbeat picking up, with your inner child begging you to stand up for yourself and banging at the walls of the safe you locked her up so many years ago.

When you both hear footsteps coming down the hallway, she looks down at her watch and your chest starts heaving.

“You need to get your hair and makeup done in an hour and a half. No need to go to the salon, I arranged things and they're coming over,” she informs you camly, putting on her fake smile when Yunho’s mom sighs at the doorway and when she turns away from you to get to her and loop her arm around hers, you catch his eye as he makes his way to you “Now, how about I show you what they did with the garden, dear.”

They walk away from the wreckage with a giggle that only raises your panic.

The fire of it burns your pride, your self image and your capability of keeping it together in front of your sworn enemy.

It doesn't help that he comes in with full vengeance, ready to take out on you what he obviously couldn't take out on his mom.

“Why didn't you say anything?!” his voice fills the room once again and you physically recoil, which makes him reconsider. He looks you over once and then takes a deep breath before pressing “Why did you tell them that we're friends? We're not friends, Y/N! You should've… You should've told them that you hated me, that y-you were in love with somebody else, anything!”

Tears cloud your vision and you can only reply in a faint whisper that sounds far away “Yunho, shut up.”

“Are you seriously letting them get away with this?” his index points at the door and he looks at you like he doesn't know you. He doesn't but he does know what your family is like, so you don't know why it surprises him “Are you seriously going along with this stupid charade?!”

Air leaves you. You can't breath but you try to and you faintly hear him say something else but it sounds bottled up, like you're underwater.

“I c-cant.” You try again but it barely comes out.

Breathing in with your mouth, you close your eyes and focus on the way your head pulses. Migraine in full force, it only aggravates the feeling of complete loss of control over your body. But your feet move before you can think, to the couch, to look through your purse because damn it if he finds out.

He follows you.

“Is this some sort of sick revenge against me or—”

They're not there. Why didn't you bring them with you today of all days?

God damn it. Yunho is, somehow, still talking.

“Because if we don't go out there and let them know that—”

“Yunho, shut the fuck up! Stop it!”

Turning around with tears streaming down your face and hyperventilating seems to shut him up for good.

“What's wrong?”

He stops, breathing hard with a confused look on his face and his eyes follow you when you quickly move around him to get out of the room.

“Y/N, wait—”

You don't wait to see if he's following you upstairs. You only know he is because when you trip midway, his hands are there to catch you.

Physical contact with him is so strange and unfamiliar that you have to push his helping hands away and, quickly and still hardly breathing, you make your way to your room.

Neatly done by the staff assigned to ready it up everyday before you get home, the order gets destroyed by your panicked state. You look through your vanity drawers messily, full on sobbing and mumbling incoherently as you do and you slam your fist down on the thing when you fail to find your pills.

“Where the fuck is it?!” You sob out, hand hurting and shaking until you fall to the ground.

You try to recenter, pressing your shaky palms into the soft material of the carpet and sinking your nails hard in it until it starts bunching up beneath your fingers. Eyes closed, you can't see when Yunho knees down next to you but you do jump in fear when his hand touches your arm.

Looking at him, you see when he removes his hand until, hesitantly, he places it firmly on your shoulder “I need you to breathe with me, Y/N,” he starts demonstrating, breathing in once, holding it in for a few seconds and letting the air go next. You choke out a sob “Breathe with me so you can tell me what I can get you.”

You want to scream at him to stop pretending to care and get out but you can't.

Instead, you listen to him. You breathe in when he does, hold the air a second longer than him and let it out afterwards. You do a few rounds of this, just staring at him with tears still falling down your cheeks until the fog in your brain starts clearing.

It's agonizingly slow and it pains you to let yourself be seen in these circumstances, especially by him.

“Now, what were you looking for?”

Coughing uncomfortably, you attempt to get up the floor but he stops you from doing so “You can leave, Yunho, I can get it myself.”

“You're shaking, Y/N,” it takes for him so say it to look down at your hands, which are barely grasping the carpet now and just hovering above it as they tremble “What do you need?”

“My pills,” you tell him in a murmur after a few seconds, closing your eyes because, to you, this whole thing is very embarrassing “I don't remember where I put them, m-maybe in my nightstand?”

“Drugs?” he asks with a frown and you shake your head, too panicky to get offended at the insinuation “Ah, actual pills, I see, um…” He gets up and you open your eyes to him walking over to your bed, sitting down to open up the drawer of your nightstand “You have a lot of shit here. What do they look like?”

“Prescription bottle, not a blister. Translucent, white cap.” You're taking control over your own body now, breathing starting to normalize and mind syncing up with the situation again.

Your head hurts still, but it's better than five minutes ago.

“Here it is,” you hear him say and he's on his knees next to you a second later. You take the bottle from his hand, unscrew the cap as fast as you can and shake it to get a pill out of it “It was behind a bunch of stuff. I'll get you some—” putting the pill on your mouth, you crane your head back and force yourself to swallow it “Water.” He finishes in a whisper.

When you look back at him, he looks a little freaked out.

“What?”

“N-nothing… Do you still need some—”

“No. Thank you for getting me these, you can leave now.”

Your tone is cold. The memory of him yelling at you downstairs returns so now you're pissed off and still very, very vulnerable. He's not allow to see you this way or any way for that matter.

But he just did.

He stays still and you're about to ask him if he didn't hear you or what but then you follow his eyes and notice he's staring at the way you hands still shake a little while trying to get the cap on the bottle again. You presume he's trying to read the label on it, too.

“How long have you had them?”

“The pills? This is a new prescription, so like… A month or so.”

He sighs, closing his eyes and sitting fully on the floor next to you “You know what I'm talking about, Y/N.”

Looking away, you hate that the cat is out of the bag. If only your mother didn't comment on your appearance maybe, just maybe, you could've keep the secret to yourself and take it to the grave with you.

You hate that Yunho, out of all people, found out.

But he helped you, so you decide to please him with an answer.

“I started getting them when I was ten, I think. I didn't know what was happening for a while and then at fourteen I learned what a panic attack was,” you recall, tone sounding breathy and tired and a little annoyed. He nods “And then I got officially diagnosed with panic disorder at twenty, so not that long ago.”

Eyes back at him, you see him frown and then nod again as if the information you just gave him is hard to digest. It's not, it's actually extremely normal for someone like you.

It makes you wonder if he has ever felt the same.

Taking another calming breath, you speak again “I would appreciate if you keep this in between us. Not tell your brother or anything,” you clarify before he can respond “Because your brother is going to tell my brother who is going to tell my mom and that's a whole disaster I don't really want to deal with.”

“They don't know?”

“Of course they don't know,” a bitter laugh makes it past your lips “If they knew, don't you think I would be the image of a visibility campaign against anxiety or something like that?”

“They're your family, though.”

“Blood is thicker than water but I'm allowed to have my secrets,” it's pathetic, the way your vision clouds once more and tears trail their path down your face once nor3 “And you of all people know how exploitative they are, so don't tell them.”

What happens next takes your breath away again. Not for the reason you expect but it does and, for the first time in your life, Jeong Yunho is able to make your brain malfunction.

You don't really think he realizes his hand is on your cheek, thumb whipping away your tears so softly it turns to you to a puddle right away

The last time someone handled you with that much care was…

Never?

Unable to look away, you catch the second he notices what he's doing and, by the time he does, he already leaned in a fraction into your space.

Snapping out the weird, dizzy moment you two just had, he lowers his hand and you clear your throat to try and shake your feelings, all of them, off.

Off. Away. You need to get your shit together and work on depuffing your face before the makeup artist and hair stylist arrive.

“Listen, if you want to mysteriously disappear tonight and miss the gala you can totally do it and I'll cover up for you. I wouldn't blame you and I don't really care if our parents take it out on me,” your words are fast and your tone lighthearted. Like you're making a joke but, also, you're totally not “In return for you to keep your mouth shut about this,” you shake the pill bottle “I wouldn't do it out of kindness, of course, after all I am the most cold hearted snake of the elite.”

Scoffing, he closes his eyes and lets his head hang low for a few seconds “You’re so—”

“Beautiful? Smart? Outstanding?” You offer.

He looks back at you again “Insufferable.”

You squint your eyes at him before your lips turn upwards in a sardonic smile.

Yunho lets out a heavy sigh “I'll do it.”

“Run away to Timbuktu and change your identity?”

“Be there,” he corrects, clearly tired of your antics “I’ll be there tonight. We are up to our necks in this bullshit, both of us,” he reminds your “And I'm sure my mother wouldn't let me get far if I did try to run away.”

The ghost of a genuine smile curls in your lips “Pussy.”

He rolls his eyes.

“See? Annoying as fuck.”

Your smile fully widens at that. Finally, some sense of normalcy after whatever the hell happened a few minutes ago.

“What dirt does she have on you to make you bend to her will all of the sudden?”

“She—”

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” both looking up at your door way, you try your best to hide the pills under your thighs as you eye the staff member suspiciously at his interrupt “But misses Jeong is calling for Yunho downstairs. She says that you have to leave to get ready and misses Kim urges you, miss Kim, to get a shower.”

“Yeah, she smells kinda bad, doesn't she?” Yunho jokes but the staff member doesn't laugh at his quip. Instead, he earns a push from you before getting up “I'll get going then.”

The guy bows and disappears at that.

“Finally.”

You feel like you have to thank him again for what he did. With words, not actions. But he doesn't look like he's expecting it and the words hang on your tongue without making it past your lips because it's against your morals to thank Jeong Yunho for absolutely anything.

“See you tonight, Y/N,” he says and you make a face that makes him smile for some reason. He moves to the door but stalls and, as you get up, you see him turn to you one more time “Bring them with you,” he points at the bottle on your hand “Just in case.”

You huff and close the drawers of your vanity, stashing the pills in one of them “Don't tell me what to do.”

“I wouldn't dare,” mimicking the staff member, he bows dramatically and you groan “Goodbye, princess.”

You close the last drawer with a little more force than you intend to as soon as he's out of eyesight and then whisper and amused: “Asshole.”

Now that's a couple of hours later and your head allows you to lock back in, to focus on the matter at task and prepare for what's to come.

Sitting in the car, your chauffeur takes the hill up to the Jeong’s so you can pick up Yunho and show up together to the event.

Hair beautifully done and makeup beat to the gods, it irks you that your mothers have everything so planned out down to the last details. There's a tablet on your lap and you're rehearsing the backstory they put together for this made up relationship.

As they told you earlier, you have to pretend you two have been in love since childhood. There's some paragraphs narrating how you supposedly felt like you owe him your life after he “saved you” from failing into the deepest part of the pool when you didn't know how to swim.

Which is true, you didn't know how to swim at that age but Yunho never saved you from anything.

Except maybe today, only after aggravating the situation to the point you couldn't help but break down in front of him.

Pressing a finger down on your temple, you close your eyes and try to wipe the image of him helping you away. Instead, the way the washed your tears away pops into it and you groan, earning a curious look from your driver.

“Is this hill endless?” you ask in a way to cover up your true grieving and he laughs a little, which makes you smile before complaining again, as a joke. Kind of “That's why they usually come to our house, it takes a whole business day to get here.”

That seizes your driver's curiosity and you look out the window when their mansion comes in full view. It's majestic, it's modern and it looks really pretty from your balcony at night, when it's all lit up even when you know the probability of someone actually being there is scarce.

His dad and brother are always at the office, his mom is always at a meditation class or the gym or the mall with your mom and Yunho, well, you can only assume he's never actually there. He seems to have a very active social life and you don't think his mom would necessarily approve of his public university friends being there.

When the car comes to a stop in his driveway, you look back down and scroll to that part of the document: You're supposed to be supportive on his choice of avoiding a private education, call him humble and down to earth if the question gets asked but not praise the public education system because your dad endorses a really expensive school, the one he and your fake father in law graduated at.

The one you graduated at.

It was so freeing not looking at his face in the halls when you started uni and you, quite frankly, don't think about him often enough to wonder why he was allowed to attend the university of his liking and study what he pleases.

Now you're curious but, as you see him descend the stairs that lead to his massive front door, you're not sure you want to talk to him outside of business for too long.

He's all dolled up in a navy three-piece, color matching your dress and all. Hair done and out of his forehead, you hate to say it does more for him than the usual style he wears it in. You don't remember the last time his bangs didn't cover his eyebrows and now you're wondering if you pushed all the times you did to the back of your mind.

It'll be hard to pretend you don't think he looks good because he does and you don't want it to show in your face, so you stay focused on the tablet as he makes his way to the car.

The driver gets out and attempts to open the door for him but you hear Yunho telling him it's okay.

“I'll do it, thank you, thank you,” he opens the door and so you hear him more clearly now and he slides on the seat next to yours with ease, a disappointed look on his face when he notices you “Ah, you're here.”

“They didn't tell you?” sounding boring as hell, you scroll to the bottom of the document and pass the tablet to him, avoiding to look at him again “We're supposed to arrive together so the photographers waiting outside can start speculating and reporting to the media outlets that something might be going on.”

He grabs the tablet, looks at the document for five seconds in total and then hands it back to you “Oh, yeah, I didn't read that.”

Your driver gets in his seat and starts the car, maneuvering out of the driveway in seconds and so you have to brace yourself on the seat to avoid sliding down on it as you're driven down the hill.

“You didn't read it?” your head snaps back at him and he shrugs “Yunho, we're supposed to pretend we're madly in love with each other and you didn't study?!”

“We've been pretending to get along in front of our moms for over a decade, Y/N,” he deadpans “We're doing the same tonight, only at a bigger scale. It's not that complicated,” shrugging again, he looks out at the street for a second before looking at you again, a disgusted expression on his face “I hope you're not expecting me to be all over you because now that I can't fake.”

“Because you're never felt the touch of a girl in your entire life? I know that, loser,” he's about to retaliate but you stop him with your index finger “You've been away from the spotlight for way too long. You don't know how ruthless and scrutinizing the people attending are, I do. So sit pretty and study this.”

You shove the tablet back and he groans, looking through the document briefly again.

“And how do you know who's attending?”

“Page ten through twenty five. There's a detailed list with names, occupations and hobbies so you can have possible topics of conversation. I also took the time to highlight in pink the ones I want to avoid,” you point out and he moves his finger on the screen until he gets to the list, scoffing in amusement a second later “You should avoid them too. Especially the Hwang’s,” he gives you a look, asking for an explanation “They gossip too much, their friend groups are filled with snakes who can't take an NDA seriously and the girl is a little in love with you, so she'll flirt with you the entire night.”

“I don't even know her.”

“You don't have to, she's in love with the idea of you and your family's influence. Seriously, Yunho,” you let out an annoyed noise, crossing your arms over your chest “It's like amateur hour with you. You should know this.”

“I live a normal life, princess, I don't know any of this because it's not important to me,” he states as simple as that and you shake your head in disapproval “It shouldn't be important to you or to anyone, really.”

“Oh, but it is,” you return and when you look at him he's looking back. There's this electricity passing in the space in between you, something dangerous that's the tail tale of how different you both are and you start asking yourself how are you going to pull this whole thing off “And now, it is to you. You're about to enter a ballroom filled with people who admire you for simply being a Jeong, people who want to be you. It's hard and it’s pressuring but you declined my offer to not show up earlier today, so fucking own it.”

There's a pause where you see his jaw clenching, you see him shift uncomfortably and adjust his tie before presumably telling himself to relax.

“And study as much as you can, I'm not covering up your mistakes.”

The rest of the ride to the venue is silent and, when you get there, you exchange a look with your driver that's both apologetic and a request for discretion. You know your staff is discreet but you thank them every time you can because it's a lot of shit to handle.

“Here you go, honey.” The pet name almost makes you gag but you take the electronic from his hand, lock it and give it to the driver to safekeep.

“I prefer Y/N,” or even princess, because you're used to it “Don't try that inside.”

Rolling his eyes, he sarcastically lets out “Anything else your highness wants from me before we get off?”

“Yeah, for you to shut up and leave me alone forever after tonight but that's not really going to happen, hm?” You can see through the tinted windows how people gather outside to try and see who's inside the car and so you fix your hair with your fingers and then turn to fix Yunho’s tie. He makes a noise of disagreement but you shush him “Oh and for you to open the door for me?”

He levels you with his stare “Can't do it yourself?”

“Fucking do it and stop asking questions, Yunho.” You say under your breath and he smiles a little, triumphant like he just won something only for pissing you off.

Neither one of you want to lose the staring contest you suddenly have going on and it's, once again, electric. The tension is palpable and not in a positive way but you have to act quick when his brown eyes scan your face and linger where they don't need to. Hand still on his tie, it's tempting to try and choke him with it so instead you just tighten it a little more and it serves as a

“Now, Yunho.”

When he gets out of the car, you hear people gasp. He's not usually at these types of events because his mother must indulge him a lot. But also, he's usually seen with a frown whenever he does attend, so it must come to a shock to everyone he actually showed up.

It came with a shock for you too, you're not going to lie. You fully expected him to back out on his word and leave you hanging to deal with the shitshow yourself, no matter what he said this afternoon.

Rounding the car, he doesn't make the dramatic pause you were hoping for before opening the door and offering his hand to you. The gasps intensify once you elegantly get out, flashes going off and blinding you for a second before you take your surroundings in and loop your arm around Yunho’s.

There's people screaming both your names, asking questions that you don't get to answer because it's not the time for that and this is not a red carpet you have to walk through.

You wave your hand at the cameras, bow to the photographers and smile brightly when a girl behind an iphone tells you how pretty you look.

That would be the first person to compliment you today.

You don't turn to see what Yunho is doing, probably handling the attention in his own weird, detached way like he normally does and when someone signals you both to get going inside, you follow the person until the doors of the venue closing behind you drown out the paparazzi noise.

In the solitude of the initial hall, you see how Yunho lets his posture fall and lets out a breath “Well, I hated that.”

Condescendingly, you smile at him “Poor baby,” you lean in a bit into him “We’re only getting started.”

The horror on his face as he stares back brings out a nervous feeling inside you, but soon you're dragging him by his arm and following the staff member down the hall.

And when she opens the door into the ballroom, you let the feeling overcome you for a second and you gulp because of it.

Only getting started indeed.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. This is part one of three (possibly more if the story extends that far). Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

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the-boy-meets-evil · 11 months ago

Text

right where you left me | ksy & jww

(where you're in an open relationship with soonyoung, who doesn't want to come on your family christmas vacation. it's okay. you run into your ex at the resort anyway.)

pairing: soonyoung (hoshi) x f.reader, ex!wonwoo x f.reader genre: est. relationships, exes to lovers to ??, love triangles | smut, angst??, fluff word count: ~8.6k (yeah, idk either) warnings: open relationship (implied, not explicitly discussed), wonwoo and soonyoung both know about each other (but never actually interact), reader goes away with family for the holidays, mentions of christmas (including christmas dinner), mentions of drinking, soonyoung is soft for reader, wonwoo just wants a second chance, one (1) holy spirit joke, reader does make a choice at the end, smut warnings under the cut

a/n: this is for the amazing and wonderful @beomcoups from your secret santa, blitzen, for @kpopsecretsanta 💕 summer, i already knew you were actually the best. so, it's been really fun getting to send you asks and come up with something for you. i hope you like it (and i'm so sorry it got this long). this is honestly not where i meant for this to go. ily and merry (belated) christmas! thank you to @wooahaeproductions (once again) for giving me a title and to my bby @wongyuseokie for the beautiful banner so last minute.

a/n 2: i'm for real taking a writing break now because december has been busy 😂

tagging: @aaniag, @gyuminusone, @horanghater

smut warnings: multiple smut scenes, lots of kissing, so many orgasms, so much cum (i'm sorry), dirty talk, spit as lube (just for handjobs), handjobs, blowjobs, implied edging, vaginal fingering, protected sex (yay!), implied/referenced phone sex, kind of dom!wonwoo, kind of switch!reader, wonwoo is bossy, oral sex (f. receiving), begging, slight hair pulling, slight nipple play, choking, unprotected sex (don't do this), fucking from behind, pulling out, cum on the back/ass, referenced marking, referenced restraints, pet names (doll, sweetheart, babydoll, baby), probably teasing somewhere, i think that's it (i swear there's plot in there too)

“Are you all packed?”

Soonyoung is stretched out on your bed, watching you search through your closet. You sigh when you can’t find the one sweater you’re looking for.

“Almost,” you say.

“It’s on the drying rack in your spare bedroom,” he says.

You spin around to look at him, eyebrow raised. “What?”

“That sweater you love? The one you pull out the second it’s cool enough?” Soonyoung prompts.

You give him a look, but don’t say anything. Instead, you walk into the other room and find he’s right. The last thing you want to throw into your suitcase is actually exactly where he said. You check that it’s dry before retrieving it to fold and tuck away.

“How?” you ask when you reenter the room.

He just shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess I know you pretty well.”

That tugs at your heartstrings a little, especially this time of year. Because it’s true. Hardly anyone knows you as well as the beautiful man sprawled on your bed, scrolling through his phone. Yet, he’s also the one that seems to hurt you the most. Always exactly where you need him to be, but never quite within reach. This kind, wonderful human that surprises you with things that remind him of you, but can’t (or won’t) come with you for the holidays to a beautiful, snow-covered resort. It’s not worth bringing up again…

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” you ask.

…but you do anyway. Like the sucker for pain you are. Like somehow the answer is going to change from the last time you asked.

This does make him look up, at least. It’s hard to see the look he gives you. It’s a little comforting that he does look sorry. Not quite enough to ease the ache in your heart. That’s neither here nor there, though.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” he answers.

“I know,” you sigh.

And you do know. Your relationship with Soonyoung happened out of nowhere. When you were trying desperately to heal over the worst heartbreak you could imagine and he happened to be there. Maybe that’s why you feel this inexplicable draw to him, even now. Because he was the one to help you put the pieces back together, the one to let you know that you weren’t asking for something unreasonable from your ex, that it was okay to make whatever type of life you wanted for yourself. Over time, you felt yourself getting more attached and let it happen, even knowing it was the wrong choice. Not because Soonyoung is wrong or anything short of great. It’s just, well, he’s always been honest, sometimes painfully so, about exactly who he is and what he wants. He’s just not sure, at least right now, that a closed relationship where he meets the parents is what he wants.

An open relationship hadn’t been something you considered. It still wasn’t a consideration when you first started sleeping with Soonyoung. It wasn’t until you realized you wanted more of him that you had to have the conversation. Which is how you’re here, now. Going to see your parents and the rest of your family for a beautiful vacation alone despite being in a relationship. Despite him having met some of your family, like your cousins, and the number of dates you go on. Sometimes it really is enough. Not because you’re telling yourself it is. It just is. He comes up with the most thoughtful dates. Surprises you with little things just because. He’s so insanely thoughtful. So, maybe it’s enough that he doesn’t want to come meet your parents.

“Come here,” he requests, opening his arms for you.

You sigh before giving in and snuggling into him on the bed. He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head first, then your temple. You settle against his chest, timing your own breathing with the rise and fall of his chest. There’s something so comforting about lying like this. Something that makes it easier to be honest when you’re not looking into his incredibly soft eyes.

“I do get it, Soonie,” you repeat softly. “This makes sense for us and I don’t want that to change. I don’t need my parents getting involved.”

“Maybe next year,” he says and that pulls you up short. He’s never said that before. You can’t really help it, you pull away to look into his eyes. “I like being around you and neither of us has been seeing many other people lately. So maybe it’s something we can talk about in the new year.”

“I don’t want it to be anything that you feel…” you start and he presses a kiss to your lips.

“I don’t,” he assures you. “And you’re still free to do whatever you want, obviously. I don’t even know what it might look like. Just, I don’t know, I figure maybe after the holidays we can figure out if anything changes here.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you agree.

“But for today…” he says, drifting off as his eyes roam over your body.

“You’re exhausting,” you complain.

“You tried on Christmas dresses in front of me! I’ve been here suffering thinking that I won’t get to slide that material off your soft skin,” he says and kisses your shoulder. “Sitting here neglected as I watched you pack away skirts and those pants that make your ass look amazing.”

“You’re not neglected,” you tease as he presses a long kiss to your neck.

“I’m wasting away from the lack of attention,” he whines.

“Hm, is that right?” you ask.

“It is,” he concludes.

“Well, we can’t have that,” you say low, running your hand down his stomach.

“Don’t you have to leave soon?” he asks, stuttering when your hand runs over his cock through his pants. You rub him ever so gently, delighting in the way he reacts.

“I can stop if you want,” you suggest.

“You know I don’t want you to, but…” he starts and trails off when you move your hand towards his waistband.

“I’m driving, Soon, I can be a little late. I’ll just blame traffic,” you say.

“Fuck it,” he curses.

You drag his pants and briefs down in one motion, freeing his cock. You remember the first time you fucked him, when he was nervous that you were going to be somehow disappointed. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Not only is he the perfect size, but he has a way of moving his hips while fucking you that’s always drives you crazy.

There isn’t time for you to be walking down memory lane, though. You spit into your hand so that you can start stroking him, delight in how he’s already a little hard. Maybe he wasn’t lying about the torture of watching you try on clothes. After all, you did catch him adjusting on the bed a time or two. It’s not enough for you, just stroking him and listening to all the beautiful sounds that he makes. Before he even realizes what’s happening, you’re taking him into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the tip and carefully massaging his balls with your free hand. You hollow your cheeks when you take as much of him into your mouth as you can. Carefully sucking while you bob your head on his cock, running a hand up and down the base as you continue to work on him.

“Fuck, that mouth is so good,” he whines. “Oh my god! Ugh, yes!”

One of the things you like about Soonyoung is times like this, where he doesn’t need to be in control. Where he just lets you take care of him. Lets you make him feel good. Just completely turns to putty in your hands. He’s muttering obscenities about how much he loves your mouth, how you know just what to do, how you’re cruel for bringing him to the edge and then backing off. You may not have enough time, but you also can’t really stop yourself.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up,” Soonyoung warns.

You pull up off him just for a second to fix him with a look. “Kinda the point, isn’t it?”

“Not if it means I don’t get to fuck you,” he answers and pulls off his shirt.

Okay, you can take the hint. You quickly strip off all your clothes and move up to lie on your side facing him. He captures your lips in a kiss and quickly puts a hand between your legs. No time to waste. He runs his fingers along your entrance, collecting the wetness there and groaning, probably at how you’re wet just from blowing him. When he slides a finger inside your cunt, you want to pull away from the kiss. Instead, you just moan into his mouth, spurring him to pump his finger into you faster. Another moan and he presses a second finger in.

When you first started fucking Soonyoung, you were a little embarrased about several things when it came to sex. One had been how wet you get. He had been so quick with the praise, so quick to assure you that it was a good thing, so quick to make you comfortable. Now, you barely even think about it. Everything with him is effortless, comfortable. It’s entirely too fast when you feel like you’re already starting to come undone.

“God, I love watching that pussy suck my fingers in,” he says. “So good for me, so greedy.”

“Fuck, Soon, hang on,” you pant out.

“Feeling good?” he asks.

“Yeah but you’re gonna make me come,” you whine.

“Isn’t that the point?” he parrots back.

“Thought you wanted to fuck me,” you remind him.

He removes his fingers from your cunt entirely too quickly so he can roll over to reach the drawer. With surprising speed, he pulls a condom out and has it on in a matter of seconds. You’re about to ask how he wants you when he rolls back over and hikes one of your legs up. This is a new position for the two of you, surprising with how many you’ve tried. There’s something a little intimate, facing each other like this with your leg up over his arm. His brows furrow a little as he lines himself up.

“Oh god,” you moan out when he presses all the way in, right off the bat. Even with the prepping, it’s more of a stretch than you were expecting so fast.

“You okay?” he asks. Even though he wants it to be fast, he’s still so considerate.

“Yes, just fucking move, please,” you whine.

“So needy,” he says, but he still moves.

It’s fast and a little desperate and the angle has him hitting you just where you want him. It doesn’t feel awkward in this position, either, which crossed your mind for a second. You’re clinging to any part of him that you can, moaning incoherently, about to come undone in a stupidly short time. But, he’s babbling too, uttering praises for how good he feels, reminding you how amazing you are. He’s so vocal and it’s what sends you over the edge. He follows right behind you.

You lay on your back and take a few moments to catch your breath. Watch him as he gets up to dispose of the condom. Smile when he comes back and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. He’s so pretty like this, glowing and smiley and perfectly content. So are you, apparently, as he tells you constantly.

“You have to go because I have to shower and I don’t want to have to shower again after that,” you say when you get up.

“But, what if I want round two?” he asks, drawing you in against his body.

You lean your head to press a kiss to his lips and carefully pull away. “Then, you’ll just have to wait til I’m back.”

“Thought you didn’t mind being late,” he presses.

“A little late,” you say and laugh at the pout. “You’re cute, Soonie, but I still have to go.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “You’ll be back before New Year’s?”

“Yeah, for the party,” you confirm.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers into your hair. The kiss he presses to the top of your head nearly has your knees weak. Instead, you just smile as he leaves and rush off to the shower before you get in the car.

The resort your parents picked this year for the holidays is beautiful. There’s a main resort and also a bunch of smaller buildings with rooms that are more like condos. Your parents are staying in a particularly roomy one, because they love to host, so you don’t feel too stuck by staying with them. It’s also nice because the resort is attached to a ski lodge. You can actually ski straight from the rooms onto one of the trails. It’s all beautiful and you feel incredibly at peace.

(You also appreciate how there are plenty of things to do for people that don’t like to ski or snowboard. Not that you don’t, you’re just sometimes a little worried you’ll fall.)

The first night was just for relaxing after the ride up. The four hour drive ended up going a lot faster with your cousin in the passenger seat, thankful you hadn’t actually left yet because her car broke down. Even though you don’t live far apart, you feel like you don’t see her nearly often enough. So the car ride is a nice way to catch up.

Now that it’s the first full day, you’re ready to explore a little bit. Your parents mentioned a little cafe in the lodge that sounds like the perfect place to get a cup of coffee. Of course, you could make it in the room, but it probably wouldn’t taste as good. Bundled up, you head down to the lodge and look out for the cafe. It ends up being pretty easy to find. And it’s not the only thing.

It’s like a pull that you can’t explain, the way your eyes fall on someone sitting in an armchair just to the side of the cafe. His dark hair has that slightly tousled look, probably from being outside, and his glasses keep sliding down his nose. As you watch, he absently pushes them back up, eyes glued on the book in his lap. There is no world where it makes sense that he’s here and also no world where he could be anyone else. You’re debating whether or not to approach him when he looks up. The smile he sends your way has you feeling things that you know you shouldn’t.

Your feet carry you towards him without permission and he rises to meet you part way. “Hey, what are you…”

At the same time, he starts to say, “wow, small world.”

It’s a little awkward (read: a lot) and neither of you really know what to say. It’s been two years since you last saw each other, two years since you last spoke, two years since the break up that nearly tore you apart. Even though it’s been long enough that you feel better about it, it’s still awkward. He probably feels it too, the uncertainty of running into each other someplace so unexpected. The question of how to move forward.

“So, um, this is…” Wonwoo starts.

“Awkward? Weird? Unexpected?” you offer through a forced laugh.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“My family is here for Christmas,” you answer. “Yours too?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Right,” you say. “Well, I was just going to get…”

“Can we talk? Maybe over lunch or something?” he asks just as you’re ready to turn around.

You’re rooted to the spot, unable to answer him right away. Can you? Yes, you definitely have that capability. Should you? That’s a bit harder to answer. Your brain is full of images of your past relationship - the good, the bad, the ugly - and your current situation. Maybe Wonwoo still does know you, at least well enough to read your face, because he speaks up again.

“Never mind, that was silly to ask,” he says.

“No, it wasn’t. I’m sorry. I’m just, I don’t know, a little overwhelmed, I guess,” you admit.

“Me too, if it helps,” he says.

You look down at your watch. It’s a little earlier than you usually eat lunch, but maybe that’ll be a good thing. “Do you wanna get something now?”

“What about your coffee?” Wonwoo asks.

“I’m sure the restaurant has some,” you say before you lose the courage.

Lunch is actually surprisingly easy. Well, after you get some of the awkwardness out of the way. But, it gives you a chance to say a lot of things you both kept to yourselves. Back when you were dating Wonwoo, it got harder until it was too much. He was always soft spoken, always afraid to burden anyone else with his problems. Even when you reminded him that’s what partners were for, he just kept most of it to himself. Which wasn’t healthy for either of you. You wanted things out in the open so you could talk about them, he kept them to himself. Something tiny could fester into something much bigger and then become a real issue. Even when it came to issues at work or with other friends, he was hesitant to mention it. By not wanting to be a burden, he ended up driving a massive wedge between you. And he’s able to share things with you, too. Like how it wasn’t always easy to want to share when he felt pressured. He knows you only cared, but sometimes he wasn’t ready. Sometimes he couldn’t talk about it in the moment and just needed a day to process. Something he knows that he should have shared with you, as well.

It turns into a much longer meal than either of you expect. After talking about your relationship, you fill in the last two years. He talks about work and friends and reluctantly admits that he hasn’t dated anyone seriously since you. When it’s your turn, you stumble over explaining Soonyoung, ending up opting for full transparency. If he’s surprised, he hides it well. Seems to understand that trying something a little different can be exactly what you need. When you finally check your phone to see you’re running late to meet your cousins, you say goodbye with a promise to hang out again. And an assurance that you haven’t changed your number and he isn’t blocked.

You spend most of the afternoon playing games with your cousins and sharing what you’ve been up to. The cousin that rode with you, and knows Wonwoo the best, is nearly on the floor when you tell her that he’s here somehow. Especially because she also knows Soonyoung and likes him, but thinks he’s not the long term plan for you. She’s a little surprised, given how much you smiled about seeing Wonwoo, at how fiercely you defend Soonyoung. It’s just, well, he’s been a lot for you in so many ways. Yes, some of it has been painful and some of it has involved learning things you’re not sure you needed to. But, it’s also been safe and protected. It’s allowed you to grow in ways you never expected.

An afternoon of gaming turns into a night of dinner in the suite, more games, and drinking. Your cousin takes your phone and texts Wonwoo from it. Invites him over to the room to pick you up. Of course, she doesn’t tell you any of that. But, when you answer the door and see your ex on the other side, he suggests you check your phone. You shoot your cousin a look and grab your coat. He’s here, so you might as well go with him. When he holds out his hand for you, you take it and follow him into the night.

The next days pass in a kind of haze. It’s so pretty to be at the resort, watching the way snow seems to fall more often than not, even if it’s just a light flurry for 20 minutes. There’s a beautiful, tucked away corner of the lodge where you can sit in rocking chairs by floor to ceiling windows. It gives you a perfect vantage point to watch the snow, or watch people coming down trails, watch anything. You’re with Wonwoo more than your own family, a fact that nobody seems to talk about. Maybe because everyone liked Wonwoo and nobody really understood why it ended. You hadn’t wanted to talk about it. And now it doesn’t seem to matter. The man before you isn’t the same boy that you walked away from two years ago. You’re not the same either. Both of you get a lot of time nestled away in the cocoon of the holiday vacation to talk about that. To talk about who you are now and where you want to be. About if things would turn out differently now.

It’s all kind of a practiced dance, though, because Wonwoo knows that Soonyoung exists. He knows that there’s someone you’re not really ready to let go that may be waiting for you to get back to have an important conversation. (He is waiting for you, but you don’t tell Wonwoo that. Because it may not be in the way you wish he was waiting for you. What you do know is that he’s been sending you a lot of messages. There are a lot of things that seem to remind him of you. So, he’s constantly on your mind.) And there are some things that haven’t changed about Wonwoo, too. One of those things is that he doesn’t really find the idea of sharing a partner appealing. Even though he’s one of the most secure people you know, you can also tell what he thinks about the complication of your current situation. There’s no judgment, only more hurdles. It’s like he wants you to consider giving him another shot, but he doesn’t really know where to start.

Since Christmas Eve and Christmas morning are for family, you get a much needed break from having Wonwoo around constantly. Not that you mind, it’s just that your head needs a little space. You need to figure out what exactly you want. Which isn’t really any easier when you’re separated from your ex, sadly. Both he and Soonyoung are still fighting for space. Your thoughts are kind of a jumbled mess.

(It doesn’t help that Soonyoung calls you on Christmas Eve. Or that the call turns into FaceTime and that turns into the two of you getting off. Phone sex wasn’t ever really something you were into before him. You didn’t really get the appeal of it. But, you’ve seen the positives of it with him. Still can’t really believe how easy it is for him to push you over the edge when he’s not even with you. And you kind of like knowing you do the same to him, seeing his cum paint his stomach after he finishes. He gets a little sappy after he comes, too. When you’re both cleaned up, he’s still there. Telling you that he misses you and that the city feels a little lonely without you there. It’s not like you haven’t left before, but this just feels different to him. He says it all without seeming to think much about it and you’re not really sure how to take it. Is it honest? Or is it the post orgasm haze?)

But, after Christmas dinner, you’re on your own to do whatever you want. And you know what you don’t need to do. You know that you don’t need to make this whole mess inside your head more complicated than it already is. You do really miss Soonyoung and all his energy. There’s something infectious about him. But, you also know that he’s been very clear on his wants and needs, even if he says you need to talk when you’re back about what’s going on. Then, there’s all your returning feelings for Wonwoo after all the time you’ve spent with him the past several days. Soonyoung seemed to skate over you mentioning running into your ex like it didn’t matter. Or that he trusts you and that the relationship is open, which is the more likely answer. All of that leads to sitting on the couch of Wonwoo’s suite, sipping a glass of wine.

“What’s going on here?” you ask, interrupting the formerly comfortable silence.

“We’re drinking wine on Christmas?” Wonwoo suggests.

You turn your head to look at him and find he’s a little confused. “I don’t mean that. I mean,” you gesture between the two of you, “here.”

“Ah,” Wonwoo says and takes a sip.

“Yeah,” you say.

“I don’t know, honestly. I know I missed you and that I feel like things are different now. I think we could have actually worked through our issues if we were these people,” Wonwoo says.

“But?” you prompt. Because there’s so clearly a but coming to what he said.

“You’re in a relationship,” he finishes.

“An open one,” you remind him.

“That you’re not really sure how to define,” he presses back.

“We aren’t even sure if we’d work together again and you’re already worried about what’s going on with Soonyoung,” you sigh.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“We’ve got history and it’s been so nice to be around you. But, if we were to try something out again, we’re not just going to jump back into it being serious right away,” you tell him.

“No, I wouldn’t expect it to,” Wonwoo agrees.

“So does it really matter if I’m seeing someone else? Does anyone outside of us really matter while we’re figuring things out?” you ask.

This is a definite crossroads for Wonwoo. He’s always been very logical and impossibly smart. In all the time you knew him, he was one to weigh things out and go with what made the most sense. It wasn’t like him to be overly emotional about things. Except, apparently, when it came to you. So, this is a big ask. For him to just set aside personal feelings for you and consider the logic behind what you’re saying. It’s a crossroads for you, too. Because you do know it makes sense to consider exploring whatever’s been happening between the two of you. To not have any what-ifs or questions when you go back to the city. To actually explore another genuine connection so you can better understand what you do or don’t feel for Soonyoung.

Wonwoo sighs and nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Focusing on this and figuring it out doesn’t involve anyone else but us.”

“So that last little line of defense stops now?” you ask, hopeful.

“Last line of defense?” he asks.

You gesture at the space between you. “Ever since I ran into you, there’s always space for the Holy Spirit between us.”

Both of you laugh at that when Wonwoo’s face cracks into a smile. It erases the last little bit of tension left between the two of you. It’s clear that he means he’s going to give it a real shot to figure out what’s going on without worrying about anyone else. Wonwoo shifts closer to you, rests his arm on the back of the couch behind you, and presses his thigh into yours.

“Do you still think there’s space for the Holy Spirit?” he asks.

“No,” you say with a light laugh.

“I’ve missed you, doll,” he admits and presses a kiss against your temple.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you say. You turn your body so your back is against the arm of the couch and drape your legs over his lap. It’s a little more comfortable and it lets you look at him easier.

“It’s so weird to me, running into you here,” he says and you laugh.

“I’d say it’s some kind of fate, but I know you don’t believe in that kinda shit,” you offer.

“I don’t know that I do, but having you around has given me a break from my family,” he shares.

“Your family is great,” you disagree.

“They are, but it’s a lot of people time,” he says with a sigh.

Which is why you suggest that you just sit back and watch a movie, something a little scary because you know that’s what he prefers. It doesn’t have to be some Christmas movie, you’ve gotten enough of that with your cousins in the lead up to the holiday. So, you let him pick something and settle back, appreciating the closeness.

The movie is good, but you’re kind of a fidgeter. You make it through the first half easily, but in the second half, you start getting a little sick of sitting still. Just little things. Adjusting how you’re sitting. Moving your legs slightly. Reaching out for one of Wonwoo’s hands. Something to trick your body into thinking it’s moving. Until it’s a little more than just a movement. Without even thinking, you pull one of your legs towards you, let your knee bend for a second, because it’s a little stiff, and slide it back. It isn’t until Wonwoo sucks in a breath and clenches his jaw that you realize your foot slid right over his dick.

“Wonwoo, I’m sorry, I didn’t - “ you start, but he’s moving your legs.

“Let’s go,” he says as he stands up.

“What?” you ask. “Go where?”

“Come on, sweetheart, I’m not gonna play these fucking games,” he says and pulls you up off the couch.

You’re really caught off guard, because it had been an accident, but your body remembers this. He’s guiding you in front of him to one of the bedrooms and pressing you inside. As soon as you’re both through, he closes and locks the door. Then, he presses you back into it and kisses you hard. Crowds your space so you can’t move an inch. You gasp when he nips at your lip. This has always been the thing about Wonwoo. He’s so quiet and soft spoken and unassuming around everyone else. Just the smart boy who likes to read and play video games. Until he gets you behind closed doors and a switch flips.

“Fuck, Nu, I swear it was an accident,” you groan as he kisses down your neck.

“So, you don’t wanna get fucked into the mattress? Don’t want me to show you I still know exactly what you like?” he asks.

You’re not the same person you were two years ago, though. “Maybe I like different things now.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says.

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again. Hard and needy and like there isn’t a tomorrow. Maybe there isn’t for the two of you. It’s not like you’ve managed to clear anything up.

Wonwoo presses his hips into you. Places his hands on either side of your head against the door behind you. It’s so easy to fall into old patterns with him, where you give up your control. Your hands run along his back, underneath his shirt, and he shivers at the touch. It makes him thrust his hips into you again. It makes him grab your hands and pin them in one of his above your head. His lips are demanding when they return to yours, like he’s taking what you owe him.

There’s no point in begging for more. It would only make him go slower. So, you accept his tongue into your mouth when he keeps kissing you. You let your hands stay pinned above your head. You even chase his lips when he pulls away. It’s hard to suppress the shudder when his lips brush against your ear.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispers. “I want to press your pretty face into the mattress and get your ass in the air. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” you whimper out.

Wonwoo pulls away from you and starts to undress. It’s hard to take your eyes off of him because he’s so beautiful. The broadness of his shoulder and his slender waist. The muscles that he hides behind all the layers flex as he pulls off his shirt and steps out of his pants. But, then he’s looking at you expectantly. Likely wondering why you’re fully dressed. You make quick work of getting out of your clothing before turning back to him.

“Sit on the edge of the bed, babydoll,” he instructs. You hasten to listen to what he asks and he smiles. Not a soft smile. “Open your legs.”

You do that as well. With your hands on the bed behind you, you lean backwards. Wonwoo kneels down between your legs and runs a hand up your calf. He nips softly at your thighs, sharp enough to make you gasp but not hard enough to leave a mark. As he moves to your other thigh, he spreads your legs further. Only places a light kiss on your other thigh before his hand returns to your pussy. His fingers spread you open and he blows gently. The sensation makes you shiver. It makes you want to beg for him. Instead, you just grip the sheets tighter. Wonwoo chuckles, probably at your attempt to hold back, and licks a stripe up your center. Flattens his tongue against you and runs it slowly through your folds.

“Oh god,” you moan. You don’t need to look down to see that it makes Wonwoo smile, but you do anyway.

He continues to work you with his tongue, alternating the pace so that you never really know what to expect. His thumb rubs circles over your clit. Maybe he does still know how to get you going. Or maybe your body just remembers him. Either way, he feels so good. You’re entirely more pent up than you feel like you should be. It would be embarrassing if it was with someone you weren’t comfortable with.

“Fuck, please, baby, I need your fingers,” you beg.

“You getting close?” he asks.

“Yes, fuck, please,” you cry out.

“Do you think you deserve to come?” he asks. It’s only his thumb on your clit that keeps you going.

“Please,” you beg and hope it’s enough.

It must work because his tongue returns to your cunt and he slides one of his perfect fingers inside as well. The second is in before you realize it and your moans are more sounds than anything intelligible. It’s an unsurprisingly short time before you make a mess of his face and fingers. After he guides you through your orgasm, he stands up and leans over you. Pulls you in for a kiss so that you can taste yourself on his lips. It’s enough to make you a little dizzy. Entirely too soon, he’s breaking the kiss. He runs his hand over his dick and looks at you.

“Spit in your hand,” he directs and you do it without thinking. The post-orgasm haze still has hold of you.

You don’t need him to tell you what to do next. Before he can say anything, you take over and run your hand down his shaft. Slide your thumb carefully over his tip. Wonwoo clenches his jaw like he’s trying not to let you know just how good it feels. Because you still know him too. You continue to stroke him and take his cock into your mouth. Just the tip, at first. When you look up at him under your lashes, you know that he’s going to lose the battle.

“Fuck, babydoll, that mouth is better than I remember,” he groans out. His hands wind into your hair, but he doesn’t fuck into your face. You’re a little surprised he can hold back. Especially when you swirl your tongue around his tip. “Okay enough of this.”

Wonwoo, with surprising gentleness, pulls you off of his dick. You have just enough time to look at him triumphantly before he’s moving you back into the bed. He gets you on your hands and knees, presses your back down so that your ass is in the air and your face presses into the pillow in front of you. You arch your back deeper so that he has the best angle. The bed shifts under you and you assume that he’s lining up behind you. He presses a finger into your pussy again and you squirm for a second. When he removes it, you want to complain. But, he’s quick to line himself up and press his cock into you. The pillow muffles your moan as he presses all the way in. His hands find purchase on your hips as he sets a slow rhythm.

It doesn’t seem like it’s enough, though. His hand finds it’s way into your hair and he pulls back, more gently than he used to. “Is this still okay?”

His voice is hoarse in your ear. “Fuck, Nu, yes. Be rough with me.”

It’s all the permission he needs. His hand slides up your body to take your nipple between too skilled fingers. The first twist has you screaming out for him, wanting him to continue. And he does, all while picking up the pace that he fucks into you. He keeps you pressed against his chest. The snap of his hips and the skin slapping together isn’t enough to cover your stream of profanities. Wonwoo places a hand lightly over your throat, using it to anchor you to him. Your loud moan and reassurance of permission makes him squeeze a little tighter. It’s that perfect sensory deprivation to make it all the more intense. Between that and your earlier orgasm, you’re a bit on overload. It’s a kind of mind blankness that you haven’t felt in awhile. Nothing else exists but the pursuit of pleasure. Your mind is totally empty.

Eventually, his movements start to stutter and he releases your throat. Directs you to rub your clit. You hardly need to touch yourself before you feel your second orgasm rip through you, coming all over his dick. He snaps a few more times before pulling out of you. His cum paints over your ass and your back. Wonwoo collapses next to you and you lower yourself down onto your stomach, trying not to make too much of a mess.

After a moment, Wonwoo presses a kiss to your shoulder. “What do you, babydoll, do I still know you?”

“It’s like nothing ever changes,” you admit.

The two days after Christmas seem to pass just as quickly as the days before Christmas. Something feels like it’s shifted with you and Wonwoo, but maybe not in the way you expect. You’re still spending a decent amount of time with him, still being pretty affectionate, but you don’t end up naked in his bed again. It could just be you, though it feels like a joint decision. It feels like it’s some unspoken agreement.

Everything with Wonwoo has been amazing, like a little break from reality. It’s been so nice to get to see him again, to get to talk about your relationship and everything it meant. Even though you’ve both changed a lot, it’s nice to realize how well he still knows you. And he seems to accept all the ways you’ve changed in stride, which surprises you a little. Change had never been his favorite thing. There’s also just a general sense of nostalgia to your interactions with him. He’s safe in the way someone says that you can always go home. It feels like falling into old patterns.

But, that’s not what life is supposed to be, is it? Life is about taking chances and risks and pushing yourself out of your comfort zone. Falling back into step with Wonwoo would be so easy. It’s obvious that he still loves you, or maybe loves you again. It’s so easy to picture what your life with him looks like because you remember. You remember all the plans the two of you made. It just feels kind of stagnant, though. You know the kind of love you’re getting back into. It’s not even about not trusting him or worrying it would end up in another break-up. Things are different enough with your communication that you trust it would be different on that front.

It’s just, if you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t get Soonyoung off your mind. Even when you’ve been with Wonwoo, there’s that small voice in the back of your mind whispering Soonyoung’s name. It’s also really hard to stop thinking about what he said before you left. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything changes. Maybe it only means that you define the relationship a little more clearly and it’s still open. But, if you move forward with Wonwoo, you know what that means for Soonyoung. You know it means you’re going to be saying goodbye to the person who’s challenged you, who’s pushed you, who’s forced you out of your comfort zone. You’re just not sure you can do that.

By the time the last night comes around, you know that you need to have an actual conversation with Wonwoo before leaving. Life doesn’t always give you the chance for closure, so you know to take it when it comes around.

“This is it for us, isn’t it?” Wonwoo asks.

“Yeah, I think it is,” you say.

“I hope he knows what he’s got,” Wonwoo says with a sigh. “By the time I figured it out, it was too late.”

“I hope you know that everything I felt for you was so real, that it’s still real now. It’s just…” you start.

“Not enough?” he finishes and you frown. “It’s okay, I’m not upset. I knew from the start that this was a long shot.”

“Why did you do it, then?” you ask.

“Because I would have regretted it if I left something unsaid or undone,” he says simply.

“I’m so sorry, Wonwoo,” you say.

“I’m not. I’m thankful we got this chance. Now, I have the closure I needed to actually move on,” he says.

You’re not sure what else to do, so you just wrap your arms around him. His arms wrap around you without missing a beat and he places a kiss on the top of your head. The two of you stand like that for a few minutes, letting all the feelings wash over you. It’s the next part that’s going to be the scariest.

You haven’t properly talked to Soonyoung since the two of you had phone sex on Christmas Eve. Which is actually on you, at least this time, because he’s been keeping up a relatively steady stream of texts. Asking how the vacation was, how it was to be around your family, even how it was to see your ex. And you haven’t done anything wrong, you know you haven’t, but it still feels like too much to text. It feels like the kind of thing you need to tell him when you’re back in your apartment. Thankfully, you don’t even have to ask if he wants to come by. He knows your schedule, knows how long the drive is, and even assumes you’re tired. Despite that, he asks if he’s okay to come over anyway. He even insists that he just wants to see you, sex can be off the table. (Unless you want to fuck on the kitchen table, because that might be hot, he says.)

He’s at your door in what feels like record time, puffy jacket and beanie covering most of his head and upper body. His arms wrap around you before he even gets through the door or takes off his layers. It feels like he smells your hair when he buries his face there, but you can’t be sure. It’s almost a project to get him to unlatch himself long enough to take off his outer layers and remove his shoes before joining you on the couch. Where he clings to you like the idea of personal space is foreign. It’s more comforting than you’d like to admit. You’re at ease, but your heart is also beating entirely too fast.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I missed you, too,” you say back.

“No, I really missed you. My sister kept asking me the whole time I was there if I was okay,” he admits. He separates a little, but keeps hold of one of your hands.

You’re not really used to this side of him, haven’t seen him this soft in all the time you’ve known him. “Were you not? You seemed okay in your messages.”

“I -,” he starts, frowns, and then opens his mouth again. “I was okay, when we were texting. Mostly. But, I guess, I’m just used to you being around. I’m used to sending you something, like something that makes me think of you, and having you answer right away.”

“You were sending a lot,” you tease lightly.

“I kept wondering,” he starts and shakes his head.

“Wondering what, Soon?” you ask.

“Do you remember before you left that I said I wanted to talk after the holidays?” he asks and you nod.

“Of course, I thought about it a lot,” you admit.

“You did?” The surprise is evident on his face and you’re not sure what it means.

“Yeah, there were a lot of times I couldn’t really get it off my mind, honestly,” you share.

“I figured…well with your ex there and you spending so much time with him,” Soonyoung says.

Your stomach drops a little. “Listen, about that…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says, trying to cut you off. It’s your turn to grab his hands, though.

“I do, though. Which is selfish, probably, but I need to tell you for me,” you say.

“You’re getting back together with him,” Soonyoung guesses and his whole body seems to slump. You’re not sure what to make of him caring so much and don’t really want to get your own hopes up.

“No,” you assure him. “No, I think that chapter of my life is over. Seeing him just brought up a lot of unfinished shit. And then with the holidays and the resort. I did…well, we did have sex. Just once, on Christmas.”

Soonyoung nods, but doesn’t seem relieved. “I figured you would, I did basically push you to try other things out. Are you going to see him again now that you’re back here?”

“No,” you say again. “But, I think I want to hear what you were going to say.”

“I’m not sure now is…” he starts and nearly melts at the look you give him.

“Please,” you say so softly it’s barely audible.

“I should’ve gone with you when you asked,” he says and that brings you up short. You never dared to hope for that much. “I knew it as soon as you were gone. But, I figured it’d be fine. I’d be right where you left me when you got back. Then, you ran into your ex and you seemed happy for the chance. I thought I’d fucked up and that you’d fall for him again. I considered just showing up. I chickened out, though. I figured if it was supposed to work out, then it would. Part of me even hoped you might fuck him and that you’d realize what it took me just a little too long to realize.”

“And what’s that?” you prompt.

“That I’m ready to give actual commitment a try. That I don’t want to think about sharing you with anyone else,” he says and his voice drops to a whisper. “That I love you.”

“What did you just say?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath and meets your eyes. “That I love you. And I’m sorry.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he wipes a tear from your cheek. “I love you, too, you giant idiot. It’s always been you for me. It wasn’t ever going to be my ex. I’m not sorry, though. Everything that we’ve experienced, it’s been exactly what I needed.”

“You know what this means though, right?” he asks and you shake your head. “No more fucking anyone that’s not me.”

“We don’t have to…” you start. You don’t want to change him, never have. He’s always been perfect exactly the way he is.

“I know, but I want to. It’s only you. I think it always has been and you just knew it a lot before I did,” he says.

“Can you just kiss me now?” you ask through your tears.

When your lips meet, it’s so slow and tender. So full of affection and joy and everything left unsaid. For now, at least. If there’s anything you know about Soonyoung, it’s that he doesn’t like to keep much to himself. It’s been so much, so overwhelming. Even though the kisses are languid, you feel the heat building between the two of you. Feel the desire getting stronger. That’s when he breaks the kiss. Your face must look confused or disappointed because he smiles, so full of genuine affection, and stands up. He holds a hand out to you.

“I don’t want the first time after telling you that I love you to be on your couch,” he says.

Your smile matches his when you take his hand and interlace your fingers. He brings your hands up to his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles. Doesn’t let go of your hand even when you’re in your bedroom. He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls you between his legs. It makes you lean down to kiss him, but it’s kind of nice. He finally lets go of your hand so that he can wrap his arms around you instead. When Soonyoung looks up at you, eyes full of affection, it’s just more than you can handle.

“Please, Soonie,” you whisper.

“What?” he asks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you request.

“Like what?” he asks.

“Like I’m the only person in the entire world,” you say.

He only smiles at first. “I had a lot of time to think when you were away. I’m just appreciating you now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assure him.

“I wouldn’t let you.”

Finally, he pulls you into bed and it’s the most perfect night you’ve ever spent with him. And you’ve had a lot of great nights. He always takes his time with you, always makes sure you’re well taken care of. It’s different now. His lips are everywhere and his hands seem to need to find whatever part of you they can. You’ve never felt so loved and so safe, even with him. Even though he always makes it comfortable. You know that you made the right choice.

(You’re sure when he’s got you seeing stars from his mouth between your legs. You’re sure when he’s sucking marks into your skin where only he can see them. You’re sure when he asks you to tie his hands to the bed. You’re sure when he asks you to untie him so he can fuck you into the mattress. You’re especially sure when he wraps himself around you to fall asleep. It’s everything you’ve wanted, but only because it’s him. It wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.)

Morning comes and everything looks even better in the soft light of a winter’s morning. You’re not sure you’re ever going to get Soonyoung out of your bed (or your apartment) and you’re not really sure you want to. The new year is right around the corner and you can’t wait to see what it brings the both of you.

thanks for coming on this ride with me 💕 please reblog or let me know your thoughts if you liked it!

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fayes-fics · 10 months ago

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 3 - C’est Un Gars

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none... just some instant attraction and flirting ;)

Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is when reader and Benedict finally meet. Yep, that's the whole chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Benedict doesn't turn up the next day. Or the day after that. Some snag with travel arrangements that Eloise doesn't explain, and you don't pry. You suspect she championed any excuse for him to delay his trip. But it does mean his arrival is not particularly front of your mind as the days slip by.

It's a week later - after an exhausting workday in uncomfortable shoes - when you get home and notice the door is unlocked. Assuming it's Eloise, you enter the apartment distractedly, reading a flyer you picked up on your journey home.

“El, did you see this?” you call out without looking up, dropping your bag as you unbuckle your T-strap heel, the relief to your foot palpable, flinging the first aside. “There is a new jazz night in Montmartre… I think we should go, seeing as your troublesome brother is never turning up…”

“He is actually…” a refined, resonant voice calls out from across the room with a wry tone. There, silhouetted by the bright window, is the outline of a tall man.

You stumble in shock, twisting your ankle quite heavily as you remove the last shoe, and he rushes forward to your aid, large hands grasping your waist, stopping you from falling down and righting your stance. His hold is gone as soon as you are stable.

Discombobulated and embarrassed, you find yourself staring up into the most handsome face you have ever seen in your twenty-two years on earth, tongue-tied and awkwardly holding your right shoe. Not the introduction you would want with anyone.

“Benedict?” you squeak, mouth rapidly running dry.

“The very same,” his acknowledging smile is crooked, and something gallops hard through your chest. “Y/n, I presume?”

All you can do is nod. You can see the family resemblance - chestnut hair, blue eyes, a proud jaw - but damn if this is not the most fetching male version of Eloise’s prettiness. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looks very dashing in a royal blue three-piece suit with a crisp white shirt and burgundy and gold striped tie.

“Are you alright?” his forehead creases in concern as he nods to your ankle.

“I… I think so?” you stutter. There is a slight throb there, but it's almost background to the riot in the rest of your body at the very sight of this man.

Oh god, Eloise is going to disown me…

Her warning from last week is ringing in your ears as you attempt a step but can't hide the wince at the bloom of pain as your weight transfers.

“Hmmm, I think that's a no,” he hums. “Come, take my arm, let's get you seated and this foot raised…..”

And so you find yourself clinging to the arm he offers, feeling the latent power under the layers of fabric as he provides a solid brace to lean on. Still a touch mortified, you drop onto the sofa as elegantly as you can, raising your ankle onto the coffee table and sighing with relief. You don't miss how his eyes linger briefly on your stockinged leg before he bustles over to your refrigerator and grabs a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

“Here, this should help,” he explains as he walks back.

“Drink until it doesn’t hurt anymore?” you guess drolly.

His responding laugh is warm and crinkles his eyes so beguilingly. “Stop the swelling,” he explains as he slides to sit on the coffee table next to your leg and presses the bottle against your ankle.

You hiss gently behind your teeth, the coolness seeping through your stocking. Your eyes meet, and you swear his dilate a fraction, the hand not holding the bottle wrapping around the inside of your ankle to align your foot better, long elegant fingers cupping your arch. Just that simple touch is enough to make your pulse race. Something about this man feels electric. Like standing beside a humming pylon, an energy coursing through you.

“It’s nice to finally meet the artist,” you murmur, gesturing to the artwork you know so well now.

His eyes track to the painting, and his face lights up. “You like it?” his tone so hopeful.

“It's beautiful,” you confess, a tingle where you can feel the warmth of his fingers flexing around your foot, contrasting to the cold of the bottle.

“Thank you,” he demures, bowing his head and looking up at you through his lashes, a dot of colour high on his cheekbones.

“What the….”

You both twist to see Eloise standing in the doorway, mouth agape. Benedict’s hand flinches away from your foot, and you realise it must look more incriminating from her angle, unable to see the cold compress. All she sees is him sitting on the coffee table, grasping your leg as you talk softly to each other….

“El! Hi!” you call, attempting a breezy tone, “I tripped on my way in, and Benedict here was just helping me. I’m okay,” you add preemptively.

He jumps up from the coffee table and indeed indicates your injury. Eloise nods to acknowledge it, then narrows her eyes at him before walking over and giving him a quick embrace, kissing his cheek.

“Hello, brother. I was hoping you would never show up,” she greets sardonically.

“Hello, little sister, always such a warm welcome…” he drawls.

You can’t help but giggle at their exchange, and both seem pleased to have entertained you, twinkles in their similar eyes.

“Well, this rather scuppers tonight’s dancing plans…” Eloise motions at your ankle.

“You and Solene go without me. Why not take Benedict, too?!”

“I’ve had a full day of travel. I’d rather not…” he confesses when Eloise looks at him expectantly.

“Spoilsport,” she rolls her eyes. “Where are you staying?”

“I haven’t booked anywhere...” he confesses, looking a touch sheepish. as you clock a suitcase against the wall.

“Well then, your choices are to find a hotel now or sleep on our sofa,” she shrugs.

“If it means it will get you packed quicker, I’ll stay right here,” he answered pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“Brother, have you ever been to Paris before?” You can tell Eloise is winding up for one of her persuasions with that opening gambit, so you chuckle and relax back into the sofa, crossing your arms, about to enjoy the show.

“Is this going to be a two-minute or a ten-minute Eloise soliloquy?” he misdirects dryly, catching your eye and winking, which makes your heart skip.

Undeterred by both of your reactions, Eloise launches into her argument. “I know for a fact you haven’t, so let me say this. You are an artist. This is the art capital of the world. It would literally be irresponsible for you not to stay a while. Enjoy the galleries. Soak up the atmosphere. Get inspired. Hell, y/n here works in a gallery and has quite the encyclopedic knowledge of all the artists on display in the city - a literal font of knowledge…” As she extols your virtues, his eyes cut to you, an admiration and curiosity in them that makes your lungs feel tight, “…I would personally judge you for not staying. At least a week? Maybe two…”

“Delay tactics, El,” he sighs, but even you can see him wavering.

“Paris may not always be here, at least not as it is now,” you append, unwilling to look at him as you say it, looking out across the rooftops wistfully. “The art truly is spectacular, and if war comes to its doorstep in the next few months, who knows what could happen? You may regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t experience at least some of it.” Your focus back in the room as you look upon his art again. “Someone who paints something that beautiful deserves to see the old European masters up close…” you end on a shrug.

His gaze feels heavy like a cloak as Eloise waves her hands towards you. “Yeah… THAT,” she adds with finality.

Benedict sighs and tips his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows heavily.

“Fine. Three days,” he capitulates. “But, Eloise, you must be packed and ready to leave by then. I mean it. I don’t need Mother’s wrath about this…” his warning avuncular.

“Promise,” she smirks, before grinning and whooping in victory, doing a little jig as he shakes his head with exasperated affection.

“Prêt à partir?” Solene's face appears around the doorframe, her face made up for a night out.

“Not for me,” you pout as she opens the door fully. “ I twisted my ankle. But I’m pretty sure Eloise wants a bit more victory dance time,” you smile as Eloise nods furiously, still swaying.

They all offer to help you to your room, but you steadfastly refuse, confident you can hobble to bed when the time comes. Wishing them all well, you’re looking forward to some quiet alone time after an eventful day.

—

Half an hour later, you are reading a book and feasting on brie and crackers when there is a soft knock at the door.

“Come in?” your call is tentative, unsure who might be knocking this late.

You frown as a key jangles in the door, then a warm flush down your spine as Benedict appears in the doorway, suitcase in hand.

“Eloise gave me a spare key. The hotel is fully booked for tonight,” he grimaces apologetically.

“Sofa it is?”

“Appears so…”

“So there’s only one hotel in the whole of Paris, then?” you tease softly as he removes his hat and drops his case.

“Only one in close enough proximity to ensure Eloise doesn’t have time to pack and up and abscond to god know where before I can intervene, yes…” that crooked grin reappearing.

“I’d never let her do that!” you gasp in mock outrage. “At least not without taking me too….”

He laughs heartily and moves to the counter to grab two wine glasses and a bottle opener, asking silently with an eyebrow raise if you want to join in, which you enthusiastically agree to.

“What will you do? When we leave?” He asks over the glugging sound of the glasses being filled.

“My family has told me to move up my return sailing to as soon as possible…” you can’t hide the disappointment in your tone. “I know I should do it… I just…”

“…Don’t want to give up on something before you even know how much you need it?” He guesses as he hands you a glass.

You are momentarily floored by how accurately he has pinpointed your feelings.

“Yes,” your reply is quiet but emphatic, a jolt to your being as your fingers brush while taking the drink, “that’s exactly it!”

“I understand…” and there is a world of empathy in his tone, raising his glass in silent toast, which you mirror. “But time isn’t on your side…” he reminds after a sip, “a few weeks, months if we are lucky, and Paris may well be invaded.”

“England too…”

“Perhaps, indeed. So you should go. Be safe. Back home to America…”

“What if that’s the very last thing I want?” your whisper is more fervent than you intended.

“That sounds more like a reason you don’t want to go than a reason you want to stay,” he surmises, again frighteningly on target with his assessment of your feelings, almost as if he’s in tune with them somehow. “But yet… Eloise said you’re engaged?” he aims for nonchalant, but you could swear there is dejection too.

“Sort of…” a wave of guilt crashing into you as your thoughts slide to Stanley. Good, reliable, comfortable, safe Stanley.

“How does one become ‘sort of’ engaged?” he frowns bemused, using air quotes.

“Growing up down the street from someone your age whose father happens to be your own father's best friend and business partner?”

“Oh…” there’s a pause, “you’re not being pressured, are you?” his query filled with concern. It makes your ribs glow that he might even care.

“No… just… a life plotted out,” you echo the words Eloise threw at you on your first night here.

“And it’s not the life you want…?”

“I used to think so…,” you sigh, eyes cutting to the side as you feel a swell of a tear forming.

“You have the right to change your mind,” Benedict attests softly as you twirl your glass between your fingers. “You don’t owe anyone else your happiness.”

You want to climb into his lap, grab his jaw and kiss him senseless. The impulse so strong you can feel a tingle where his stubble would abrade your lips if you did so. Suddenly worried you'll act recklessly if you stay any longer, you rise to your feet, make your excuses and limp mildly to your room… laying in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time before sleep claims you.

–

It's the middle of the night when you awaken thirsty and decide to get a glass of water, your ankle much better from the laydown. Half-asleep, you wander out of your room, fumbling towards the kitchen area, when you almost trip for an entirely different reason. Well, perhaps the same reason you tripped in the first place.

There on the sofa, in a shaft of moonlight, is Benedict, fast asleep; his face is so peaceful in repose. But that is not where your eye lingers. He is topless, a blanket pooled around his waist, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. And you cannot look away. He is all smooth planes of skin peppered with occasional moles that your fingertips itch to trace patterns between. His shoulders are indeed broad without a suit, and it's obvious he is somewhat of an athlete; the play of muscle and ribcage as he breathes deep utterly entrancing. It's so completely different to how Stanley looks - hairy and stout - that you drift closer without realising it, drawn to the sight. It's the closest you’ve seen to a breathing Statue of David, a shape you didn't think real humans came in…. until now.

So much so you don't even realise when his eyes flutter open, just transfixed by how his breathing pattern appears to change the flex of his abdominals.

“Are you alright?” his voice is a rough whisper and you startle. His eyes seem to focus, and you notice they flit down your body before he seems to stop himself.

“Sorry,” you stumble in apology, feeling your face flushing violently as your eyes fly to his face, then look away, embarrassed to be caught ogling so obviously.

“Do you need anything?”

Yes, to run my tongue over that divot right there… your mind screams.

“No, no... I just came out to get some water and worried you might be cold uncovered,” you bluster. “I was going to cover you up, but you awoke before I could….”

You are mildly impressed you can come up with an excuse as your heart pounds in your ears. Benedict’s face morphs into an intriguing mix of knowing, lopsided smile and bashfulness, pointedly pulling up the covers until they are tucked under his chin.

“Better?” he rumbles, and you could swear it is with a teasing lilt.

“Much…” you nod before awkwardly turning away.

“Y/n…” he calls softly, and you look at him over your shoulder, a flutter in your belly as you catch him glancing at your bottom.

“What…?”

“I'm glad your ankle seems better,” he offers softly.

“It is, thanks to you…”

“De rien…” his response, low and deep, in a flawless French accent, makes goosebumps break out over your arms.

Damn you, Benedict Bridgerton.

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

genre: smut, office romance

word count: 5k

summary: a week after walking in on your boyfriend fucking someone else, Max gives you the day off. You leave, unaware that you dropped your watch. Much to your surprise, he brings it to you. Your relationship with him escalates in the following days.

warnings: office sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, use of 'sir' & 'good girl', piv, dom/sub dynamics, very mild degradation (he calls you his cocksleeve like once), dumbification if you squint, soft!max at times

a/n: I drafted this months ago and only now I finally finished the fic, I have no idea why I waited this long especially since I'd written most of it back then but other wips got in the way--sorry Max lmaodvdf this is my first time writing for you and I hope I did you justice 🖤 I rewatched his scenes and I'm still so horny for this man it's making me look stupid

Max’s office is the nicest one of everyone who works in this building, albeit a bit darker. There’s a succulent on his desk that reminds you of a translucent star and you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from it. His voice is smooth and melodic but you aren’t really listening. Your hand moves over to your watch, feeling the coolness of metal underneath your fingertips. It’s nice.

It’s safe to say that you’re not really paying attention to anything.

Your eyes are wet still, a sting every time you dare to blink. It’s been a week since you found your boyfriend screwing someone else on the couch in the living room. The image still lingers in your head, taunting you.

While you stared, unblinking as they scrambled for their clothes, all you could think of how happy you were that they didn’t use the bedroom.

Now that the relationship is over it’s easier to see the red flags. The way he belittled you, your passions, the things that you enjoyed. Your body, your cooking, anything you did was never enough for him. It was an open invitation to mock you for who you were. And that was the least of it, he never touched you, and you had to beg him for sex— not in the fun kind if you might add. You feel so fucking stupid for trying to make him happy.

“You’re not listening are you?”

You flinch upon hearing the question, eyes finally snapping away from the succulent and turning to Max. You didn’t mean to be so obvious about it. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. . . Great, another person you couldn’t make happy no matter what you did.

“You’ve been like this all week. Is there something going on? You can take leave if you need to, you’re not really much use like this anyway”

His words sting but you can’t really blame him for it. Though you did find it funny that as an immortal he was so pressed for time.

“Sorry,” you say and he looks at you, really looks at you. Brown eyes move from your eyes to your lips, his own tongue darting out to wet his own. “I’ll do better just some... personal stuff going on,”

“Family?”

“Shitty breakup.”

“Oh.”

Max appreciates bluntness. You figured that one out on your first day here. He isn’t a fan of keeping anything that might affect your work bottled up. He doesn't like the guessing game either. If there’s something wrong he wants to know and if he can he’ll fix it. Not that he can really fix a broken heart.

He suddenly stands up, making his way around the desk. He lends against the edge, hands on his lap. Instictecly you curl your fingers around the armrests. Max is pretty docile for the most part, unless he’s hungry. But the way he’s looking down at you, brows relaxed and a faint smile tugging at his lips, it makes your heart drop. He’s a walking corpse but his eyes are more alive compared to most people you’ve met.

“I’m sure you’ll be happier without commitment wearing you down,” he says, voice dropping, barely above a whisper. You shudder and fail to see the way his fingers twitch. “Don’t think about it, relax, sweetheart.”

And you do. It’s like warm water dancing over your skin. Your shoulders slump, your body limply sinking into the chair. A lazy smile spreads across your lips and he smiles back, teeth winking at you between his plush lips. “That’s it. You’re not feeling anything now, are you?”

You giggle, shaking your head. Even your heartbeat slows, the tips of your fingers tingling with pleasure—

You blink, pinching your brows, you slowly roll your shoulders and hear your bones crack. Max is gazing at you with utmost curiosity, thumbs drumming silently.

Then it hits you. The fucker is using his powers. Fucking vampires.

“Stop it,” you hiss, your body relaxed but mind racing. He rolls his eyes and waves his hand as a sign of dismissal. The tension that had disappeared from your muscles return at full force, and you jolt. “You shouldn’t do that,”

“I was trying to help,” he answers without a care in his tone. He buttons his vest and gestures with his head to the door. “Take the rest of the day off. Sort yourself. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“But—”

“Just go. It’s fine,” when you fail to look convinced, he pouts and draws a cross over his chest. Ironic. “I swear. Now go, take the day off, collect your thoughts or whatever you need to do,”

You leave without pointing out the irony of him making a cross over his non-beating heart. You’ve worked long enough to know that if the boss wants you to take the time off, you take the time off.

Max drags his palm over his face, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he hops off the desk and turns to look at the empty seat you left behind. He’s not sure if he should be condoning this kind of behavior. He doesn’t want people barging in here asking to leave with the most minuscule of problems. But it isn’t typical of you to be distracted so he decided that you earned it.

He’s curious about what kind of man would be stupid enough to leave you, let alone make you look that sad. Not that it’s any of his business.

Max is amidst turning on his heel when he sees it. A small sparkle on the carpeted floor. Cocking an eyebrow, he leans over with his hands in his pockets. A watch?

That’s right you had a watch when you came in, you were playing with it while he was going over the weekly sales. You must’ve dropped it. Looking almost bored, he scoops it off the floor and stares at it. He sees your initials written on the back, a pretty, delicate little accessory.

Surely you would miss it. He knows your address due to dragging your drunk self back home after an office party— so maybe he should bring it to you. Max sighs and flips the watch over. He has time to make a quick stop.

He leaves the office with the watch snug in his pocket. It really isn’t his style to be nice, or remorseful, but he does feel a tad guilty using his powers on you. He genuinely did think he was doing some good. It did look like you were feeling better until you broke out of the trance.

Max steps into the elevator. The tedious music loud and scratching his ears as always.

Taking a day off isn’t going as smoothly as you had hoped.

Initially, you thought you would binge your favorite shows and eat a bucket of ice cream. Instead, you ended up staring blankly at the ceiling, arm dangling out from the side of the bed. It’s a shitty feeling. Your heart feels heavy and uncomfortable. Maybe Max taking away the pain wasn’t so bad after all?

There’s a loud knock on the door and you jump. Every bone in your body aches, your heart beating fast as you head to the living room. You’re praying to every god you know that it’s not your ex. You don’t want to deal with him. Especially not today.

You take a deep, calming, breath. It’s okay. He wouldn’t just show up now, would he? Stupidly enough you don’t look through the peephole before yanking the door open, the person that lurks on the other side takes you by surprise completely.

It’s Max.

What the hell?

“Hiii,” he says with a smug grin. He lifts something to your line of vision and it takes you a moment to recognize your watch. “Found this, thought you might miss it.”

Blinking, you open your palms and he drops it. It feels like a dream. “Uh…thanks,”

“You’re welcome,” he peers over your shoulder, looking into the dimly lit apartment. “So how’s your day off going?”

“Not as fun as I hoped,” you give him a bittersweet smile. His eyes meet yours, and you see your reflection in them, so bright. “Do you want to come inside?”

A shudder climbs your spine when something dark crosses his face, eyes becoming sharper. Your stomach churns and you swallow, fingers tightening around the watch.

“Would love to” he chirps, practically jumping over the threshold. “Thank you for the invite, much obliged.”

“You really can’t come in without being invited?” you ask, closing the door with a push of your heel.

“Nope,” he answers, emphasizing on the p. “Why do you think I left you at the door after the party? You were too drunk to say ‘come in’ I basically had to push you through the door just so you could crawl the rest of the way to your bedroom,”

“I honestly thought you were just being an asshole,”

He scoffs, “I am an asshole. Just not to the people I like,”

He drops down to the couch, which in return makes your stomach sink. You really need to burn it, you don’t think you can have it in your apartment anymore. You sit across from him, placing the watch neatly on top of the coffee table. “I wasn’t aware you liked me,”

“Let’s say tolerate. I like your work ethic.”

“Thank you?” you answer, unsure.

“You’re very much welcome.”

You’re not sure why you invited him inside. He doesn’t drink coffee unless it’s morning, and he doesn’t really like to eat as far as you could tell. The silence is deafening and uncomfortable. You part your lips to ask if he would like tea or anything else but he beats you to it, gaze fixated on you.

“So, how did it happen?”

Your throat goes dry, “What?”

“The break-up,” he shrugs and leans back into the couch, you internally cringe. “Do you want me to break his neck or something?”

“What—No!” you’re horrified but can’t ignore the way warmth blossoms in your chest. You’re highly aware that he’s joking, however, it’s still a nice thought that someone actually cares enough to get pissed about it. “Where did that even come from?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure I like seeing you so sad. It’s unnerving.”

“Sorry that my misfortune is bothering you,” you answer, crossing your arms. “He cheated on me, and I’m only now realizing how shitty he was.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,”

“So I do need to break his neck then?”

You laugh.

You aren’t expecting it, but here you are rubbing tears from your eyes as you laugh with your whole body. There’s just something about the way he said it; as if it was the most normal thing to do. He seems to enjoy the way you laugh. Smiling wide and bright, watching you with fond eyes.

After minutes, your laughter starts to die down, softening into breathless giggles. You’re surprised to find that Max is still smiling at you, no smugness, no cockiness, just an earnest smile.

“Thank I really needed that,” you say, heat building at the base of your spine. “Sorry if I worried you. It’s been a bit rough lately.”

“We can’t all be perfect every second,” he grins, he flattens his palms over his thighs, moving them up and down. Your breath hitches, eyes involuntarily dropping to his crotch. You’re flustered all of a sudden. He tilts his head, tongue poking out of his cheek as he gives you an open-mouthed smirk. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

Your eyes snap to his face, cheeks burning, “Nope. Not—Not at all,”

He leans forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. There’s a table in between but you feel as if he’s a breath away. You swallow, goosebumps rousing over your skin.

“You know I can smell it right?” he purrs. “I can smell the arousal gathering between your legs. I can hear the way your heart is beating… That asshole had no idea how to fuck you properly did he?”

Your pussy bottoms out at his words. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’s right, you don’t want him to know how badly you want him inside. For him to whisper praises into your ear as you squirm around his cock. You lick your lips. He’s not using his powers, you can tell. Yet you still want to blame it on the fact that he’s doing something to make you feel so hot and bothered. But it’s not him, just you.

You’re not sure when you started to have the hots for your boss, but clearly, there was something there. Lurking in the darkness of your mind.

“Look at you,” he coos, eyes raking over your body. “So sweet and afraid. Let me be the first one to say that he didn’t deserve you. Not in the slightest,”

“Max…” you warn.

“Yeah…?” he mimics your tone, smile somehow wider. “Would you want to get coffee before work tomorrow morning?”

The question catches you by surprise. You observe him for a brief moment, he seems dead serious—at least the amount of serious Max Phillips can be.

You nod.

Your first early morning coffee date with Max goes exactly how you expect it to go. You pay for both coffees as a thank you. He found it unnecessary but grumbled a thanks anyway. He talks a lot about work; about sales, about his time in Romania. But mostly work. You do appreciate the distraction though so you don’t complain. You pitch in, telling him ways the company could improve but also adding that you want to quit one day and do something better with your life.

The following mornings follow the same pattern. Mostly conversations about work, and sipping coffee. That is until Tuesday rolls around. It’s an especially cold morning and you find yourself huddling closer to him as the two of you sat on the bench. He doesn’t really seem bothered by the cold, which makes sense since he’s cold-blooded.

Max’s eyes drop to your trembling fingers that were curled helplessly around the coffee cup. You notice his frown, his gaze lifts back up to meet your eyes. “Do you want to go inside?”

“No, I’m good. Besides it’s too early to start working.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “We do get here early don’t we.”

“I mean…we don’t have to. But I have been enjoying our mornings.”

“So have I,” he chews on his bottom lip, instinctively moving closer to you when he feels a shudder crawling up your spine. “It sucks that I can’t really warm you up—being undead and all— This would be the perfect moment to hold your hands.”

Funnily enough, he does manage to warm you up. You look down at your hands, the cup only half full, you place it to the side. Max truly had been a balm to your broken heart these past couple of days. He never got overly flirtatious again as he did in your apartment, some part of you is disappointed that he didn’t.

“You can—” you lick your lips, the wetness furthering the chill. “You can still do that. If you want to.”

“Yeah?” he moves his jaw, eyes dropping to your lips. “You’ll be colder.”

“I think it might be worth the risk.”

Max brings your hands to his lips, brushing your knuckles and kissing each finger individually. You shudder. He wasn’t wrong, he was awfully cold. But you weren’t wrong either, it’s worth it. Hundred percent. His mouth moves over the back of your hand in the shape of waves, the pit in your stomach rolling, and butterflies fluttering in your chest. His eyes meet yours and you’re mesmerized by him. His eyebrows raise, lips kissing the curve of your wrist, laying a path to the inside, he drags his teeth over the skin right above the vein.

A sudden fear spikes from your feet to your neck. He wouldn’t, would he?

“Are you afraid of me?” the question is whispered with a breath into your skin. Everywhere except the tip of your nose is warm. He looks at you with heavy eyelids, lashes kissing his cheeks every time he blinks.

You don’t have an answer, but you know what he needs to hear.

“I’m not.”

Before you can blink his lips mold into yours. He traces the seam of your mouth with his tongue eagerly, and you part your lips, allowing him to taste and dominate. With both hands he holds your wrists firmly, pulling you close until you’re basically flush against him. Max inhales as he presses deeper, licking the inside of your mouth and swallowing your whines.

He breaks away from you with a smile, you see the flash of fangs.

You gently knock on the already open door. Max is positively exhausted. His eyes snap from his computer to you, he sighs and signals you to enter with two fingers. You close the door when you enter.

“Are we still good for dinner?” you ask, feeling slightly foolish now that you were standing in the middle of his office.

“Sorry baby, not today. These assholes managed to mix everything up, need to fix all that so I’m going to be here late,”

You try very hard not to look disappointed. You already know you failed when you feel your bottom lip starting to quiver. You ball your hands into weak fists, pushing your nails into your skin. He notices, a moment of worry crosses his face.

Tonight wasn’t really a date, or anything important. It was just dinner.

Then why are you so upset?

You neither move away nor lean in as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, and you exhale at the way you can feel his chest move underneath you.

“Nothing, just—Don’t worry about it. I’m just being clingy. I know you’re busy,”

“Clingy? Oh, sweetheart,” he rolls his chair back and slaps his thigh. “Come, sit on my lap.”

“Uh…” your eyes flit between his spread legs and his face. “Excuse me?”

“Just get your gorgeous self over here.”

Swallowing, your legs move on their own. Your heart does somersaults in your chest. His smile never falters as you slowly lower yourself down, feeling his frame under you. Your insides clench. Your arms shake. You feel his breath on your neck when he guides your arms around his neck. He presses his lips where your neck and chest meet, heat coils in your stomach.

“Max…”

“You could never be too clingy,” he murmurs. “And even if you were I would love it. I’m actually really happy you came over, I was starting to think this thing between us was going nowhere.”

“You want it…to go somewhere?”

“Of course, I fucking do,” he snaps, looking up, glaring at you. “Do you think I come here that early just to drink coffee—I like spending time with you.”

You feel yourself start to tremble as his hands move up your thighs and cup your ass. He squeezes gently and you gasp, your skin prickling under his touch. His lips move away from your neck, pressing soft kisses up your jaw until he reaches your ear.

"I want to take this further," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to fuck you, sweetheart. Bend you over this table and make you scream my name because I’m sure haven’t been screaming anything for a while."

His hands move around your body, tracing the line of your spine and the curves of your hips. His touch is gentle and yet rough at the same time, your heart beats faster with each passing second. You melt into him, wanting more, wanting him.

“I want to feel your wet cunt around my cock,” he groans, dragging his teeth down the column of your neck. His voice drops an octave. “Let me fuck you sweet thing.”

You pause for a moment, and then you nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes," you whisper. "Yes, I want this too."

Max smiles, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and he pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. He nips at your bottom lip before pulling it and slipping his tongue into your mouth. Pulling you closer—inhaling you—he cups your head from both sides, and groans into your mouth. You feel the growing wetness between your legs, your body having a mind of its own, you grind down on him, shuddering as you feel the hard length under his pants.

“Needy,” he tuts, gripping you by the neck. You hiss when he yanks you back, the rest of your body falling still. “You’ll take what I give you. Is that clear?”

“Yes—” you bite the inside of your cheek. “Yes, sir.”

Your cheeks burn as his eyes widen momentarily. Then he closes them, taking a steady breath, he cocks his head to the side. A soft hum echoes in his throat.

“I like that,” he purrs, opening his eyes. “Say that again.”

“Please, sir.” you choke out.

Max's grip tightens as he bends you over the office table. You gasp, your skin hot as he shoves your pants down to your knees. While you kick them off, you hear a zipper, feel the weight of his cock on the top of your ass. Your face is directly staring at the door— If someone were to waltz in, the first sight to greet them would see you taking your boss’s cock. However, you can hardly care when his warm breath fans your neck, his breathing uneven and rushed.

He slips his hands down and cups your ass, kneading and squeezing as he shoves you further against the cold desk.

"You look so sexy like this," he growls, his cock pushing against your ass as he presses himself against you. His hands move up your body, and he starts tugging at the buttons of your shirt, loosening them one by one. His lips brush against your ear and you shiver in anticipation as his hot breath tickles your skin.

"Say. It."

It’s a threat and some wicked part of you is tempted to exhaust his patience. His hands move down your body, and his fingers start to tease your nipples as he traces circles around them. Then, when you don’t answer, he pinches them harshly.

Your body jerks at the sharp pain, an acute moan rips from your throat.

“Fuck me, sir. Please.”

“You sound so good like this, begging for my cock,” he purrs. “I’m going to go easy on you today sweetheart, but don’t expect me to always be so nice.”

He slides his hands lower, and his fingers slip between your legs, teasing and caressing your wetness. Your eyes roll back as his fingers start to penetrate you, and you grind downs in search of more. Wanting him deeper, wanting more of him.

“So fucking wet,” he coos, he pulls out his fingers, smearing wet streaks across your hips. He nudges his cock between your folds and rocks his hips, the catches against your clit and a loud moan rips from your throat. “That’s my girl, and you thought I didn’t want this. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want this pretty cunt? Hmm?”

“Max, please. . .”

You hear the growl that rattles his chest. Closing his eyes, he cocks his head to the side, tongue tracing the edges of his fangs. “I really love hearing you beg,” he groans. “And the blood rush in your veins.”

Your breath catches in your throat—and in one smooth thrust, he slips inside of you. You clutch the edges of the desk, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Suddenly the rest of the world blurs and it’s just you and him. He stretches you perfectly, his length deep enough to hit all the right spots. His hands smooth a path up your spine. You practically purr at the feeling. You whimper, and when you do, his lips are on your neck in an instant. His body a cool, yet comfortable, blanket on top of you.

“Good girl. Look at you, being so obedient,” he licks the salt off your skin. “You feel so good, baby. The perfect cocksleeve for the boss.”

“Oh god—” you choke out. You have no idea how to respond to that, but your body sure does. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him tight. His breath hitches. You feel him straighten behind you, his hands press you down from the waist and you can’t help the small squeal that parts your lips.

He’s restraining himself. You can tell by the way his hips twitches, eager to bury more of himself into you. His nails bite into your skin and instinctively you raise your hips. “Maaax,” you moan. “Fuck me, please. I can take it.”

“You can, can’t you?” he mutters, sounding almost impressed. “My perfect girl. You’ll take everything I’ll give you?”

You breathe out, “Yes—”

And he gives you everything.

Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs. Somewhere on the desk your arm hits a stack of papers and they fly everywhere, making a mess on the floor. Max doesn’t stop. He jackhammers into you, splitting you into two. It never felt this intense before. Never. You struggle to breathe and with every snap of his hips, you feel slick dripping down your thighs. Max groans as he wraps his fingers around your neck, pulling you up. Your breasts sway with every stroke, your nipples aching from how hard they are. His one hand remains on your throat as the other moves to your chest, kneading the soft mound in his palm.

“Wouldn’t be fun if someone walked in right now?” he teases, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Seeing you getting absolutely railed—kinda wish I had a mirror so I could see how cock drunk you look, sweetheart.”

Fuck, is all you can think and you desperately want to voice it out, tell him how good it feels. His voice, his breath, his teeth, his cock— But all you can do is whimper helplessly, hoping that the sound is enough to convey how much you’re enjoying this.

“So stupid for me, I love it. You want me to make you come?”

Another whimper. You nod helplessly, forcing yourself back to meet the movement of his hips. He hums as his hand slides between your legs, he draws wet circles around your clit, and your entire body clenches. You can barely hear him from the blood rush in your ears but you think he mumbles ‘oh shit’. Max continues to play with the sensitive bundle of nerves, with fast strokes he mumbles profanities against your skin.

You come with his name on your lips. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and unclenching over and over as you gush all around his cock. It feels never-ending. He grinds his hips, burying himself deeper, throbbing inside. You hiss as your second orgasm washes over you, fluttering and twitching, your body goes limp. You're fairly certain if Max wasn’t holding you up, you’d collapse.

Much to your surprise, Max slowly lays you on top of the desk and the office ceiling comes into view. He’s still pulsing between your legs. He smiles down at you, slides his fingers between your lips—the same fingers he made you come with—and leans in to shove his tongue alongside them. You part your lips wide, the taste of yourself and him making your head spin. You moan around his tongue and fingers. He pulls back with a smile.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks, cupping your face with the same hand.

“You can come inside,” you answer in a daze, then quickly add. “You can’t get me pregnant right?”

He shakes his head and you smile, “Go ahead then.”

It doesn’t take him long. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes deep inhales of your scent as he spills inside of you. You thread your fingers through his soft locks and gently tug on them. He groans.

“That’s nice,” he hums, pressing his lips over your clavicle. “I wanna spend an eternity between your legs.”

“Should I be scared that you actually can do that?” you say with a soft chuckle, he looks down at you, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He wiggles his brows.

“Maybe.”

Max slowly pulls out, and when he stands, he watches the mess pour between your legs. His pupils eat away the color of his eyes and you shudder at how hungry he looks.

Suddenly shy, you avert your gaze as you try to collect yourself, “Sorry about messing up your schedule. I’ll see you later.”

“And where do you think you’re going?”

He grabs your wrists and pulls you into an embrace. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until you feel yourself melting into him.

“Fuck work,” he says, his hand resting over the small of your back. “I’ll get it done later. Let’s go home so I can at least spend tonight between your legs.”

You grin into his chest, happy that he can’t see how ecstatic you look. He probably knows how excited you are anyway.

“Sounds like a plan.”

#max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x fem!reader #bloodsucking bastards #bloodsucking bastards fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

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starry-bi-sky · 11 months ago

Text

sO i got to part two of the daniel jason todd fenton au :)

>:) word count 8k+

So, first, taglist for folks who asked for it: @blep-23 @mikyapixie @isnt-that-grape @randomenglishmajor @illryiannightmare @the-navistar-carol

SECOND: this part needs a trigger/content warning list: - CW Mild Swearing - CW Slight Psychological Horror - ^ CW mild depictions of being haunted by your own ghost/death flag and not realizing it (other people do though) - CW Brief Emetophobia (Danny throws up during a second nightmare) - CW Danny has nightmares of dying - except its of Jason Todd's warehouse death. It's not explicit but it's implied - TW Mild mentions of perceived Blood - TW Depictions of Corpses (first is non-descript, and then second one is slightly more descript but its not anything uh, super descriptive) - TW Mild description of burns (the descriptive part above) - TW Depictions of Panic Attacks (Danny's nightmares)

I mentioned that this au was inspired by a song lyric from Jann's 'Gladiator' here is that line:

I know your addiction's attention, Let's start a show Is it everything and more than you were hoping for? Show us something we ain't never seen before

The day after Danny meets himself, he's downstairs having breakfast in the dining room with the rest of the family, listening idly in on their conversations. Tim Drake is talking about something about Wayne Industries with Mr. Wayne - and wasn't that a startling surprise to learn the first time? - and Damian was slyly trying to feed Ace under the table. Duke Thomas was mid conversation with Cass, much of it audibly one-sided as Cass swaps between ASL and verbal speech.

(Danny comes across her a fair few amount of times in Wayne Manor. The first time was in the library. She hands him a book about planets, smiles, and walks away.)

(He hasn't talked much to Duke Thomas yet, but he plans to - he seems cool. They just haven't had the time to run into each other yet. Danny might just have to corner him, he thinks.)

And finally Dick Grayson on his left, his Dick Grayson, was talking away with the other Dick Grayson - who had stopped by from Bludhaven for the morning for his day off. He was a cop, ew. They were comparing lives, specifically college lives. There wasn’t much to talk about in their childhood, it seems. Danny was quietly listening in.

(They both gave their Bruces headaches as children, apparently. Climbing the chandeliers and sliding down the staircase banisters. Flips and tricks only a child raised by the circus could do.)

All-in-all, a very quiet morning, Danny thinks. That is, until the other Dick Grayson turns to him and goes; "I'm sure you've been asked already, but what do your parents do, Mini Jay?"

Danny squints at him, and releases his grip on his spoon to raise a pointed finger. "First off: only my Dick Grayson can call me Jay, you have your own." He says, slightly playful and nodding to Dick - oh that was going to get confusing, fast. He should come up with a nickname for one of them, probably - "And second: you're the second person to ask me that, actually. Jason - er, myself? - asked me yesterday. My parents are ectologists."

Apparently, mentioning that he met himself is a set of magic words, because the whole table stops what they're doing, and Danny's half-sinking back into his chair when all eyes turn to him in varying degrees of surprise. Dick - Richard, he’s going to call him Richard - looks at him with wide eyes and furrowed, confused brows. "You saw Jason?"

(Danny sends Bruce a confused look, but he's not paying attention - looking at everyone else with threaded eyebrows and a faint frown. Well, at least Danny isn't the only one confused by the reaction.)

(What a comfort.)

"I guess that nickname is a dimensional constant." He mutters under his breath, and straightens up, eyeing the room warily. It... doesn't bode well to him that the Waynes were surprised by his other self's appearance -- was hisself estranged from the family?

...He hopes that doesn't happen in his world. Dick and Bruce may not be his adoptive family, but he likes them quite a lot. He wants to stay in contact with them when they get home.

"Yeah, he was in the library." He says, frowning at Richard Grayson. "He was sitting in my armchair." He supposes it was Jason's armchair first -- god, that was so weird to refer to himself in third person. "We talked for a little bit, and he asked me what my parents did. They're ectologists, by the way."

He turns to Mister Wayne and tilts his head, "Did you really not know that he was here?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. He wouldn't expect Richard to know, he doesn't live here. But Mister Wayne looks just as surprised, perhaps even a little remorseful.

(There’s a pit in his stomach that’s growing bigger.)

(His neck burns with a new pair of eyes, ones that he can’t see.)

Mr. Wayne looks thoughtful for a moment, and then carefully, he goes; "Jason is rather... independent. He comes and goes from the manor when he feels like it." And the way he speaks sounds like he was choosing his words carefully. Danny suppresses the shiver of unease.

Something was not well in this house. Something unspoken was haunting the air.

(Jason would know about hauntings, wouldn’t he?)

He hopes history won't repeat itself, he likes Bruce quite a lot.

"...Alright," he says after a moment of silence, not hiding his wariness as he slowly turns back to Richard. His eyes flick towards Bruce, and then to Ricard. "Anyway, my parents are ectologists, as I've said for the third time now."

Richard, for his effort, takes the topic change easily, and his surprise shifts into one of curiosity - as does everyone else. (Did Danny really not mention what his parents did? Even Dick and Bruce look intrigued.) "That's... new." Richard says lightly, Danny commends him for the way he sounds non-judgmental. "What are ectologists?"

Danny quirks a dry half-smile, and deadpans; "Studiers of all things dead and afterlife."

...And there is that reaction again. A ripple of surprise and intrigue that spreads throughout the room as everyone looks at him, like a bunch of cats perking up their ears.

On the other side of the table, Damian scoffs quietly, a sound much like the one Jason - the other one - did when Danny told him. Danny's eyes snap over to him in an instant, he stares at him, trying to study him. Why that reaction - again?

He lets himself frown, briefly, before addressing Richard again. "Everyone just calls them ghost hunters, but the 'official' term is ectologists." He drawls, air-quoting the word 'official' with his fingers as he rolls his eyes. "They've been obsessed with ghosts since college. We even have a lab in the basement, and they keep liquid ectoplasm samples in the fridge."

Danny's been in the lab a handful of times, he and Jazz both have, either to clean it as part of their chores, or to listen to a lecture from their parents for their newest invention. The lab is cool, kinda, but Danny thinks it wouldn't look out of place in any evil lair of a Rogue with a doctorate.

…He’s glad that the Fentons weren’t stationed in Gotham. They would have blown up a street. He’s surprised they haven’t already.

"Ectoplasm?" Dick asks, leaning over to catch Danny's eye. Almost by instinct now Danny smiles at him, and then nods.

"Mom and dad say it's the stuff that makes ghosts." He explains, leaning back against his seat, his arms crossing. "It's invisible in its natural state, and it makes up everything. Kinda like the Force from Star Wars, or just, matter in general."

That cracks a few quiet, laugh-like sounds through the dining room. Danny halves a smile again, a swelling of pride in his chest that lingers for a moment. "My parents say that when ectoplasm condenses enough in one area, it can start taking on visible properties," he continues, "they say that ghosts are just the memories and emotions of a dying person or animal being imprinted on a concentration of ectoplasm, and that the ghost itself isn't actually the person or animal, just matter trying to mimic it."

Which Danny guesses makes sense, even if the way they talk about ghosts made him really uncomfortable. His parents insisted that ghosts weren't actually people, but he just couldn't shake the idea that they were. How close to ‘human’ does something get before they actually are?

Well, no, that wasn’t fair. Superman wasn’t human, and yet everyone treated him like he was. Let him rephrase himself:

How human-like must something get before they are considered as such? Before they’re considered sapient and sentient, and real?

"That's... quite interesting." Someone says, and Danny turns to see Bruce leaning his elbows against the table and putting his chin on threaded fingers. He looks genuinely engrossed in what Danny's said, and pride once again leaks into his heart. "You mentioned they kept ectoplasm in a liquified state in their... fridge?"

"Oh yeah," Danny says, putting his full attention to Bruce, "it's crazy. They keep little test tube racks in the freezer full of liquid ectoplasm, and it's this - uh - glowing, bright green stuff. It used to be the weirdest thing in the house."

(From his peripherals, Danny notices the room tense up again at his description — and he bites back the urge to slow his talking down and narrow his eyes. Suspicious. Suspicious. The Waynes weren’t scientists - why do they react to something like they are?)

(Nobody knows what ectoplasm is. To the scientific world, it's an unconfirmed theory of a state of matter. Why do the Waynes act like they know what it is?)

(Danny is not stupid. Even if his scientific family makes him feel like it, sometimes.)

Bruce gives him this half-tilted, confused smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Used to be?"

Danny opens his mouth, the answer already on the tip of his tongue -- and then he freezes. His jaw clicks shut as he frowns. Should he say what his parents' latest pet project was? Surely, surely, it would be fine? Their inventions never work - and a life-sized portal is just another thing on his parents' crazy ideas list.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, chewing on the skin as he rolls the answer over in his head. ...Surely, it would be fine. His face turns in hesitance, and his shoulders scrunch and twist to his ears, like he's about to admit something that could get him grounded by his parents.

"They... may, or may not, be building an inter-dimensional portal in the basement?" His voice steadily pitches upward nervously the longer he speaks. By the time he finishes, his voice is close to a squeaky pitch.

There is a horrified silence that follows him, sitting in the air so still-like that Danny could hear the whoosh of a pin drop. He should have expected that, nervously surveying the ranging horrified expressions on the Wayne family's faces. "...I promise they're harmless... to the living." He hesitates, "Mostly."

Bruce stares at him for a long moment. "Mostly?" He repeats, his brows arched high and pinched together. Danny cringes back a little.

"Dad's a little clumsy, that's all." He says, shrugging with a helpless smile. It doesn't help, he thinks, and the silence is strangling. Sitting up, he's a little frantic to add; "I really, really, doubt it's going to work, Bruce. Their inventions never do. Mom and dad built a mini portal in college and it didn't work either!" There's a moment of silence following him, before he quietly adds, wincing, "It- it did hospitalize the guy who was helping them, though."

He only heard about that when he asked his parents about the portal - it was still in production when they picked him up. Jack Fenton claimed it was safe as safe could be - they’d make sure that the ‘college’ instance never happened again.

Bruce - both Bruces actually - looked vaguely ill at the thought. Mister Wayne’s face was blank, his face sunk into his folded hands, and Bruce’s stare burned into Danny, intense like concentrated fire.

Danny for some reason - either through his panicked urge to make things better, or through temporary insanity - laughs forcibly. "The worst thing that could happen is that the portal could explode, but that never happens."

Next to him, Dick makes a stressed sound. "That's not better, Jay." He forces out. He looks even more horrified.

Danny sucks on his bottom lip for a long beat. Then lets out a breath.

"Yeah, I know." Danny sighs, deep and long while his shoulders slump. He watches the room for a moment, with their various stony-like expressions, and looks back at the very concerned-looking Bruce. "But Bruce, I swear it's fine. Nothing's gonna happen, please don't call the Justice League on my parents. They really are harmless."

Bruce looks conflicted.

"I was being dramatic when I said the portal could explode, it won't." He continues, giving Bruce what Jazz has called his 'cheating puppy eyes'. "My parents are eccentric about their line of work, but they understand lab safety. They'd never do anything to put me and Jazz in danger."

...Actively or on purpose, that is.

He and Bruce stare each other down. One second, two seconds; what feels like thirty seconds pass in silence before Bruce relents, sighing deeply and uncannily dad-like. He drags a hand down his face, and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "When we get back to our universe, you are giving me your phone number so you can contact me if anything happens."

Danny beams, nodding hurriedly. "Thank you, Buzz."

Bruce isn't able to hide his smile - small as it was - quickly enough. "You're welcome, Danny."

—-----

Danny has a nightmare that night. He doesn't remember most of it. There's a ticking sound, and high laughter, and there is a thumping heartbeat in his ears. Everything is dark and he is in agonizing pain.

He wakes up in paralyzing terror, a scream lodged in the back of his throat. His head pounds like a concussion and there is a shallowing ache in his ribs, like someone's kicked him, and kicked him, and kicked him until all air has been knocked from his lungs. He can't breathe.

Danny's hands scrabble for his throat, and even though he can hear himself gasping for air, it doesn't feel like he's taking any of it in. There is no relief in the action, no reassurance, and everything is so hot. He kicks at his blankets, his panic growing higher as they tangle around his legs.

He needs-

He needs--

He needs to move. He needs to get up. He needs to free himself. He needs to prove that he's not dying. He feels like he's dying. He feels like he's burning. There are tears swelling in his eyes as he finally gets the blankets off his feet, and he rolls - quite literally - out of bed.

He tries to catch himself, he does. But he doesn't. He hits the floor with a heavy thud and can hardly bring himself to care -- he catches himself on his elbows, and the sting it causes makes him feel worse. The air is knocked out of his chest again.

The ground is cold though, blessedly cold. And before Danny can realize this, he lifts his head and, disoriented, looks for the door. It's too dark, it's too dark. His head swivels blindly in search of it. He needs to get out, he needs to escape.

"Bruce." He croaks, still trying to force air down into his lungs. His call comes out raspy, weak, and hot tears blur his vision.

"Dick." He tries instead when a minute passes and no one comes, and he thinks he can finally start breathing. No one comes to find him - his voice is too quiet to wake anyone up. The tears in his eyes bubble and pop, and stream down his face.

He makes a distressed noise. "Jazz?" He whispers, his voice shaky and uneven with an encompassing want for his sister. It's nearly been a month since they got here. He wants Jazz.

No one hears him. He's alone.

God, he doesn't want to be alone. Please don't make him be alone.

Danny eventually gets himself calmed down. But he is curled up on the floor, trembling with the lingering traces of fear from whatever dream had woken up. His fingers dig painfully into his arms, leaving crescent-moon indents by his nails. The contents of the nightmare are already fading further into his mind, slipping out of his hands like water. Like ash.

He feels no need to chase after it.

The back of his shirt is damp with sweat, and in between the trembling he is also shivering, goosebumps lacing up his arms. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he stares with wide, crying eyes at the side of his bed. His breath comes out in short, shaky pants.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, trying to comprehend what happened as his mind still hangs onto the edge of the dreamworld. It feels like there is something in the room with him, crawling along the walls.

Danny forces himself to get up, and the sudden standing makes his vision blacken and swim as blood rushes to his head. He stumbles, slightly, and lurches halfway across the room for the light switch.

He squints as the room is drenched in light, chasing away the lingering paranoia in the back of his brain. He is still shaking. His head still hurts. He still looks, wide eyed, around the room for anything out of place.

There is none.

But he still feels unsafe. He needs- he needs to find someone, or go somewhere else. He grabs a firm pillow off the bed, and leaves.

(He ends up in the library alone. He turns on the lights and grabs a book Dick recommended to him, and he curls up tight in his armchair. He ends up falling asleep just as the sun is rising.)

(He doesn't tell anyone about the nightmare.)

Progress in getting the three of them back to their home dimension is slow. Dimension Hopping is a rare experience, and what update Bruce gets he relays back to Danny and Dick: they're trying to figure out a way to send them back safely, from the exact time they disappeared, and to find what dimension they're from. It's complicated magic.

It's been three weeks.

Danny, for one, is getting homesick. He misses Jazz, Sam, and Tucker terribly, and his parents. Bruce and Dick are great, really, and Danny kinda wants to keep in touch with them after they return to their own world, but they aren't replacements of his sister and friends.

His nightmare from a few days ago still haunt his steps. He closes eyes, and that high-pitched laughter and blood-rushed pounding burns itself his ears and fills a level of unseen terror into his heart. Danny thinks that if he was hit with Scarecrow's fear gas, this is what it would feel like.

He tries to avoid falling asleep by reading in his room, by stargazing, but the place sets him on edge; an unsettling reminder of that nightmare. So he goes to the library when it gets too much, he's run into Bruce twice now doing it, and they both do reading.

Danny thinks Bruce can suspect something is up with him, but he doesn't want to tell him about that nightmare. Dick either, for that matter. He just wants to forget it.

They spend afternoons in the gym, they have it mostly to themselves - Tim Drake is at Wayne Industries, Damian Wayne is at school, so is Duke Thompson, and Cassandra Cain is... doing whatever she does during the day. Danny's not totally sure.

Dick in that time, tries showing Danny how to be more flexible. He says he's a fast learner, but Danny knows he's been slacking lately with his lack of sleep.

There isn't much they can do outside of the manor - Bruce and Dick can't go outside because they'll catch the attention of the paparazzi, and they are both significantly younger than their counterparts, and Danny isn't allowed out without a chaperone.

Which has its own unique set of problems because rumors could rapidly start if he's seen with any of the Waynes multiple times. The paparazzi aren’t dumb enough… okay, most — some — of them aren’t dumb enough to make a tabloid claiming there’s a new Wayne kid just because they see the Waynes interacting with one kid, one time. Multiple times however? That’s another story. And, he has the same issue as Bruce and Dick - he's a baby-faced Jason Todd. Who is Bruce Wayne's adoptive son in this world. He could be recognized.

And how do you explain a tiny Jason Todd to a world where Jason Todd is a full grown man?

So all three of them are... stuck inside, so to speak. And making do with what they can. Danny spends most of his morning and early noon with Dick, and then they both separate after to have time to themselves before dinner.

Bruce is in one of the studies, doing... something. Danny's not sure and he keeps forgetting to ask.

Dick likes Danny - Jason? - Jay. Danny said that he can call him Jason, and he doesn't protest to being called Jay.

Point is: he likes Jay. He's a delightful kid to be around; he's funny, and clever, even if he doesn't realize it himself. And Dick's a little upset that Jay isn't his brother in his world, he would've loved to have him around the manor. He probably would have visited more if he was around.

Something that he and Bruce were still slowly trying to fix...

He likes spending time with him - getting to teach him his acrobatic tricks was not something he expected, but he loves showing Jay how to do them. He thinks this is probably how Bruce felt when he was training Dick how to be Robin, all those years ago.

Speaking of which, Dick was still not over the Robin jacket that Jay wore. The origins of it weren't the best - Jay started wearing it to take back the insult the other kids at his school were throwing at him - but isn't that what part of what being Robin was about?

Cheesy, he knows. But his point still stands.

He thinks that if he had to pass the Robin title down to anyone, it would be Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton. Or perhaps just Jason Fenton-Todd? Jay doesn’t seem all that attached to the name Danny.

(“Mom and dad just started calling me it when they picked me up.” Danny — Jay shrugged when Dick asked him about it, the two of them swinging from bar to bar. “I wasn’t tellin’ ‘em my name at the time, so they gave me a new one.”)

If he had met Jason before the Fentons had, Dick thinks maybe he would have adopted him instead. And what would that future look like? Would he have been able to, when he had to go to college and classes? Would he have been able to keep going out at night, and keep that secret to himself?

He’ll never know, he supposes.

“I think that’s it for today.” Dick says, swinging off the jungle gym and landing on the mats with a cat-like thump. Behind him, Jay groans, and drops with a less graceful thud as Dick stretches out his spine. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop of his back as he leans back.

He turns, and sees Jay going for his water bottle. He looks tired — from what, Dick doesn’t know. But there are dark bags under his eyes and a sleep-distracted look on his face. He’s been distracted, and their lessons have been suffering from it.

Dick wants to know what’s bothering him, but Jay hasn’t said anything, and Dick doesn’t know what he could say to make it better.

“I can still keep going.” Jason insists, but he tiredly slumps over to grab his water, and straightens up sluggishly. It’s probably not a lie, but anything Dick shows him he doubts that Jay will retain it. “You don’t have to stop.”

“Oh but I want to.” Dick says, walking over to grab his own water. “I’m human too you know—” and Jay snorts at him with a grumbled ‘doubt it’. “—so I also need my breaks.”

“With the way you can bend I really don’t think so.” Jason mutters, eyeing him up and down. Dick laughs quietly and takes a long sip of his water. “Seriously, circus boy, what do they feed you? Actually - what did they feed myself?”

Dick’s laughter doubles as Jay’s eyes grow wide and wild, his head shaking with spasming arms. “No, seriously! I don’t know if you’ve seen the other me yet, Dick, but he- he’s fucking huge!” He exclaims, and jumps as high as he can as his arms try to make a silhouette above his head. “I- I’m almost as big as Jack Fenton, and we’re not even biologically related! I don’t know where he got that much height to him, ‘cause- ‘cause Willis, that drunk bastard, was never that big!”

Dick hasn’t seen the elusive other Jason Todd, and he’s been so curious about him. Both he and Bruce have — especially considering that everyone else doesn’t seem to want to tell them about him. He tried stopping his other self to ask about Jason Todd of his world, and his other self just said that he was his little brother and the second robin, and that he did a lot of his own stuff.

It was a whole bunch of fucking nothing. And he and Bruce were growing suspicious about it. They hadn’t thought of it before because, well, they were busy adjusting to being in a new world and trying to figure out a way back. And then Jason was never really brought up, but neither was Dick Grayson unless Dick asked about it, and he didn’t think to ask about Jason Todd before.

It was all just strange.

But Jay’s exclamation over the size of himself distracts Dick long enough that he forces himself to put the mystery of Jason Todd on the backburner for now. “I’ll- I’ll have to see him for myself, Jaybird.” He says when his laughter subsides, and he straightens up.

“Seriously,” Jay stresses, and he starts to make his way towards the gym door. “He’s fucking massive, Dick. Built like a brick shithouse.”

Dick almost starts laughing again, “Where did you even learn that phrase?”

Jay rolls his shoulders back and grins at him slyly, “I read.” He says, and it’s so clearly not how he learned that word that Dick barks out a laugh.

They reach the door, and Jay holds the door open as Dick reaches for the light switch. He looks behind him, surveying the room quickly to make sure that there’s nothing they could have left on the floor, before turning off the lights.

Bright green eyes stare at him from the mirror. Right where Jay is standing.

In an instant, the lights are back on. Dick’s heart has been kickstarted into fifth gear, suddenly and loudly racing in his chest as he darts his head around the room. It was only two seconds, perhaps only even one, but fear has been shot like an adrenaline needle into Dick’s veins. An inhuman, skyrocketing fear alike to Scarecrow’s fear gas.

What was that?

WHAT WAS THAT?

But there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There is only Jason where the eyes were.

From the mirror’s reflection, Jason turns his head — he hadn’t been looking at Dick, he hadn’t been looking at Dick — and stares up at him. There is confusion written on his face as he glances up at Dick, and then at the mirror. He meets his eyes - Jason’s blue, blue, not green, eyes — and Dick forces himself to look away from the mirror and down at Jay.

“What was that for?” Jay asks him, perfectly normal and perfectly confused.

Dick feels like he just ran a marathon. He’s panting, he doesn’t know why, and he forces himself to sound like he wasn’t as he wets his lips and furrows his brows. “I thought I saw something.” He says, frowning.

He didn’t think. He did. He did.

What did he see?

It was standing where Jay was. Those eyes. Those green-green eyes. It was where Jay was. He forces himself to shake his head, his frown deepening, unsettled. Jason peers around him as if to see what he had, and Dick puts a hand on his chest, stopping him. “It was nothing, let's go.”

He turns Jay around, and ignores his bewildered look. That lighthearted mood he had earlier has plummeted, replaced with an eerie paranoia as he takes the door from Jason’s hand and flicks the lights back off.

When he looks over his shoulder at the mirror, there’s nothing there.

—------------

Danny has another nightmare. It’s the same one. It’s dark again. That high pitched laughter fills his ears. The ticking is louder, louder, louder. It’s counting down, but to what - he can’t see — he can’t see what it’s counting down to.

There is still so much pain. His head hurts, his body hurts. He has a body now, he can remember he has a body. He’s in so much pain. He looks down at his hands and pooling around his knees is a bloody yellow cape, it’s torn and bloody and his hands are bloody and torn and he’s wearing green gloves.

He wakes up just before the ticking stops. He doesn’t know how he knows that the ticking stops.

Danny rolls over and hangs himself sideways off the bed, gasping for air that doesn’t come. He wants to scream again, to shriek with such terror that it sends everyone in the manor running into his room. He doesn’t, he can’t, he has no mouth and he must scream.

Danny gasps for air instead, and then dry heaves until he throws up onto the floor. His head is spinning with the fadings of a dream-made concussion, again. His chest hurts deeper, more, it’s no longer shallow and as if someone was sitting on his chest, like someone had beat him in the stomach and chest and head.

He feels like he’s choking. He is, he’s choking on what bile he can’t get out of his throat, and he forces himself to swallow it back down. He’s crying, he realizes, and dragging in air down into his lungs to the point it hurts.

What is going on? He thinks through the haze in his mind. With what lucidity he has he brings a hand to his head to make sure he’s not bleeding. His palm swipes against sticky skin, and all that comes back is sweat. He’s not bleeding. He feels like he is.

Make it stop. His inner mind wails as he finally, finally, starts to calm down again. He’s still crying. The tears burn down his cheeks, and he absently sticks out his tongue and licks the ones that gather at his lips away. He wipes at his face again, and when he looks at his hands, all he sees is skin.

He’s not wearing gloves.

His hands reach for his back, and grasp his sweat-soaked shirt instead. He’s not wearing a cape. It soothes him, just a little bit. But not enough to keep him feeling safe.

Danny peers over the side of the bed, and through his dark-adjusted eyes he sees the sitting puddle of throw-up on the floor. He cringes, sniffling. He can’t keep that there. He needs to — he needs to clean that up.

Alfred must be sleeping by now — what time is it? He doesn’t know. He can’t wake him up. Where does Alfred keep the cleaning supplies?

Danny throws his legs over the side — they’re not broken, he thinks dazedly — why would he think they’re broken? — and he stumbles to the door. He avoids, somehow, the sick.

(He passes by a mirrored vanity on his way to the door. He doesn’t see his reflection staring at him with green-green eyes. He doesn’t see those eyes following him.)

He runs into Bruce in the hallway. He should have guessed it so. Danny freezes in his tracks, fear shooting up into his throat as Bruce turns towards him, already a smile pulling on the older man’s face.

It drops immediately when he sees him. It twists down, and his face burrows into concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, and Bruce is kneeling before him before Danny can blink. He looks worried. Danny must look awful then.

(He does. He looks pale as a ghost, and his face is splotchy red and shiny with tears.)

Danny blinks at him numbly, trying to get his thoughts in order. Bruce’s hands are on his shoulders, Danny throws his hands over them, squeezing the knuckles and blinking widely. “I had-” he licks his lips, “a- uh, nightmare. And then I threw up.”

Fuck, he feels like a toddler. His eyes burn with embarrassed tears. He’s fucking thirteen. He’s not a baby. But he feels like a little kid going to their parent’s room. Bruce isn’t even his dad. He shouldn’t feel this way.

But Bruce doesn’t make fun of him, or scold him, and Danny didn’t really expect him to, but the concern that melts over his face as his eyes soften makes him feel all warm and fuzzy anyways. “Okay,” Bruce says, expression softened but no less worried, and stands up. “Okay, we can go find Alfred then.”

Danny’s lips press together, uneven and wobbling. “Please don’t.” He says before he can stop himself, and his voice cracks. He feels like such a baby. “I can clean it myself. We don’t have to wake him up.”

“Do you even know where the cleaning supplies are, chum?” Bruce asks, and in the dark hallway he can see him raise an eyebrow. Danny’s lips press tighter together. He doesn’t. But he can find it.

They wake up Alfred. Dany feels like shit the entire time.

“I’m sorry.” He croaks as he follows Alfred and Bruce down the hallway with a mop and a bucket. He’s so embarrassed. He’s going to cry again, and he hates it. “I can do it, Mister Pennyworth. Please.”

“You sound,” Mister Pennyworth starts, his voice soft, “just like young Master Jason when he started living here.” He turns to throw Danny an endeared smile, and Danny thinks it’s supposed to make him feel better. It does, a little bit, and it also makes him feel worse.

“I am Jason.” He says, and tears spill down his face again. He is Jason. That’s his name. It’s not Danny, it never has been. The time he’s been here has slowly been pointing that out to him. He may be Fenton, but he’s not Danny.

Alfred gets it all cleaned up, and Bruce sticks with him after he leaves. Danny’s grateful and resentful of it — hasn’t he embarrassed himself enough tonight?

Bruce leads him to the library, a funny parallel to the first time. “We can ask Mister Wayne —” Bruce’s face scrunches up slightly, and Danny laughs under his breath. At least he’s not the only one still weirded out by it. “— about getting you a new room tomorrow.”

Danny sniffs dryly, “How’d you know?” He didn’t think it was obvious that he didn’t want to go to sleep in his room. Bruce smiles knowingly at him, sadly, and they both sit down in the lounge chair next to the fireplace. It sits across from Danny’s armchair.

“I know a thing or two about nightmares.” He says softly.

Oh.

Yeah.

That’s right. His parents.

He probably had nightmares about that.

Danny looks away from him, his eyes drop to his hands. His bare, non-bloody hands. He leans into Bruce’s side. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbles. He doesn’t want to talk about dying. Or what he thought was dying.

“And you don’t have to.” Bruce says, slinging one arm around him and slumping against the curve of the chair. Danny reluctantly follows his falling, and finds himself trapped between the back of the chair and Bruce’s side. His ear is pressed to Bruce’s heartbeat. “We can just sit here, and talk about something else.”

Danny blinks at the empty fireplace. “Okay. Tell me about films again.”

Bruce’s fingers dig gently into his hair, and scratch slowly against his scalp. “Okay, Danny.”

Danny frowns. “And don’t call me Danny. It’s Jason.”

He doesn’t look up to see Bruce’s smile, but he can hear it as the man thumbs over the shell of his ear. “Okay, Jason.”

(Danny falls asleep halfway through Bruce’s telling of the history of the Grey Ghost. Bruce knows by the way his breathing slows into a steady rhythm and his eyes don’t open.)

(He smiles for mite a moment, before it drops and his eyes turn to the bookshelf in the corner. Standing there is a small black figure, with two burning green eyes.)

(They stare at each other for a long, long minute, Bruce’s heart rising slowly. The figure tilts its head, and disappears. Bruce doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.)

—-------

Danny stares down Bruce. Bruce stares him down back. It’s morning. It’s breakfast. Everyone is at the table eating, and he and Bruce are having a silent staring contest. Danny has to ask Mister Wayne about moving to a new room, he thought he would be able to do so after breakfast.

(Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to ask at all - why bother Mister Wayne about something he can get over?)

(Bruce, apparently, wasn’t having it. With that stupid knowing look on his face.)

But Bruce wants it to be now. Danny narrows his eyes at him, and Bruce raises an eyebrow back. Dick Grayson, his world, was going to notice soon. He was sitting next to Bruce this morning. That traitor.

If you don’t do it, I will. Bruce’s face says. Bastard. Danny was going to take away his Jason rights.

Danny’s the first to relent, pressing his lips together into an annoyed, thin line, before he lets out a silent sigh and turns to Mister Wayne. “Mister Wayne?” He says, cringing slightly when Mister Wayne looks up at him - as with most of the room.

“Yes, Danny?”

He spares one last look at Bruce, who nods curtly at him, and Danny throws him one last annoyed look before turning back to Mister Wayne. “Would it, uh, be fine if I changed rooms?” He asks.

Mister Wayne tilts his head, slightly, to the side with a look of interest. “You can, but what brought this up? Is everything okay?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Danny was expecting that question. He glares at Bruce from the corner of his eye. And then smiles shakily at Mister Wayne. “Um, uh, yeah. Everything’s fine— it’s just, it’s stupid. Some, some stupid nightmares keeping me up.”

Mister Wayne’s brows furrow, and Dick looks concerned from Danny’s peripherals. “It’s not stupid, you can change your room. I’m sorry you’ve been having nightmares.”

He doesn’t even ask what they’re about. Bruce didn’t either — he thinks he would’ve, maybe — but fuck, jeez. Danny laughs uncomfortably, scratching his jaw. “Yeah- um, thanks. It sucks.” He just barely stops himself from blurting out that he was dreaming that he was dying.

That was not a can he wanted to open. They would have questions, he knows they would, and he doesn’t want to think about it. The image of his bloody, torn hands are already seared into his mind.

Everyone goes back to eating.

(Dick keeps looking up at him with a shadow of a frown on his face, like he’s keeping an eye on him. Quick enough that Danny doesn’t notice it. Bruce does, and watches his son from the corner of his eye.)

(Danny doesn’t see it, but his reflection turns its head. And peers around the back of its chair. Its eye burns green and it stares at Dick. The next time Dick looks up, it catches his eye.)

(He doesn’t straighten up, he forces himself not to react. He just keeps staring at it, his breath locked in his lungs, his limbs filling with a low, buzzing static. He doesn’t know what it is. It’s terrifying him.)

(The reflection doesn’t react to him, but its eyes seem to… glitch. And an eye appears next to it, and another one appears in a line. The pupils slowly turn to look… at Danny.)

(The window begins to crack.)

“JaSON!” Dick suddenly yells, standing up so abruptly that his chair falls back and slams against the ground with an echoing bang. Danny jerks back in surprise, and stares at Dick, who looks at him with equally wide eyes.

Dick looks like he’s seen a ghost, his face pale as a sheet. He looks ill. He’s panting, there’s a sheen going over his forehead, like he’s just run a mile. But he’s gripping the table like he may just vault over it.

And everyone is looking at them both once again. Bruce looks incredibly concerned.

“I— what?” Danny says, pushing his back into the chair as far as he could go.

Dick blinks, and heaves a breath. Like whatever trance he was in was just… snapped out of. His brows furrow, and he moves, suddenly, peering over Danny like he’s trying to look around him. Left, right, and over, and then back again.

“You—” he pauses, breathing in, “you looked like you were about to disappear.”

Danny stares at him in disbelief. And he looks behind him, laughing nervously. There’s nothing there but his own reflection in the smooth glass window. “What- what kind of fucking—” he turns back around to look at Dick. “Why would you say that?”

“There was something in the window.” Dick says immediately, and Danny is immediately rising to his feet and rushing around the table. Nope - nope, nope, fuck that. He’s by him and Bruce in an instant, as the other Waynes stand up and turn to the window as well.

Dick’s arms are around him the moment he’s within reach, tugging him into his side as one hand presses down against his chest, keeping him close. Dick hasn’t taken his eyes off the window, brows furrowed and serious.

Everyone looks so serious. It’s freaking him out a little bit.

“What was your nightmare about, Jay?” Dick asks when he finally tears his eyes away from the window and looks down at him. He’s got a protective hold on him, something so similar to Jazz whenever their parents set something on fire upstairs.

Danny swallows dryly — does he have to say it? Saying it might bring him back to it, and he doesn’t want to go back to it. Twice was enough for him. “I was dying.” He admits anyways, and regrets it immediately when half a dozen heads all snap to look at him.

In a panic, his mouth runs. “I was- I don’t remember anything- I just, it was dark and I was in pain and-” He presses his lips together, “I— I was in so much pain. There was this laughter—” Laughter. Familiar laughter now that he thinks about it. From the news. Danny’s lips curl downwards, and he whispers to himself, “Joker?”

“Joker?” Dick repeats, his voice hard. When Danny looks up, his face is unrecognizably stern. “You had a dream that the Joker was killing you?”

“I— no— yes?” Frustration bleeds into his chest, fear pooling up his throat as the nightmare pulls on the edge of his memory. “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t see anything, all I heard was ticking and that stupid laughter. And I was bleeding, and I was wearing this yellow fucking cape, and- and I was dying.”

He pulls himself away from Dick, his breathing picking up. “I just- I was— there was this ticking sound and I woke up before it stopped, and I- I don’t know why I knew it was about to stop — but I know that when the ticking stops something bad was going to happen— and it was just a nightmare.”

Danny grits his teeth, and looks back up at Dick, forcing himself to calm down before he works himself into a panic. “It was just a fucking nightmare, Dick.” He says forcibly, and then he marches out of the room to the library.

His appetite’s been ruined.

—---------

Danny’s — Jason’s — asleep next to him. Bruce would think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that Jason’s been having nightmares about dying of all things. Nightmares that weren’t, he suspects, completely unfounded.

His other self looked ill in the face as Jason marched out of the room that morning after Dick’s outburst. Outburst. That’s all he can think to call it even if it sounds juvenile. Like it was unfounded as Jason’s nightmare.

His other self has been hiding something from him. Something about Jason Todd of this world, who he hasn’t seen at all since they arrived, but Danny — Jason — has. He would’ve thought the other Todd was a ghost if his other world’s… children… hadn’t confirmed seeing and knowing him recently.

(That was something he still hasn’t fully comprehended. Children, plural? He adopts more after Dick? He has a biological son?)

He’d be interrogating his other self on this if Jason wasn’t asleep next to him. It would be remarkably easy, as they were all sitting in the living room for the afternoon. All his other children were vigilantes, he wouldn’t need to keep pretenses.

But Jason is asleep next to him, and he doesn’t know. So he resolves to staring holes into his other self’s head, who was going through documents. A case, he bets. His other self doesn’t pay him any mind, but Bruce knows he knows that he’s staring at him.

(“What have you been keeping from me?” He growls the moment Jason is out of the dining room, rising to his feet. The look on his other self meant that he knew something about those nightmares that Bruce didn’t.

His other self looks at him, “Nothing that concerns your world.” He says, all of the kids looked tense as well, but now they were staring between the both of them like a fight would break out.

“Bullshit.” Dick snaps before Bruce can speak, he walks around him and points an accusing finger at his other self. “You looked like you saw a ghost when Jaybird said he was dreaming of the Joker killing him. You know something.”

He did not tell them anything.)

Whatever it was that his other self was hiding, Bruce would find out before they went back to their world. This concerned him, and it concerned Jason’s safety. If he wasn’t safe and his other self knew something about it, Bruce would be furious.

Jason’s ragged gasp cut through the air like a knife, and Bruce’s gaze snapped down to his face as the boy’s eyes flew open and he jerked sharply. Jason’s hands were latched onto his shirt before Bruce could react, his nails dragging into his skin like he was trying to claw himself up.

It was another nightmare. Jason was clawing at him, trying to sit himself up while jagged, awful sounding gasps filled the air. He wasn’t looking at Bruce, he wasn’t looking at anything, his eyes glazed over like he was still trapped in the nightmare.

Bruce wrapped his arms around the small boy and pulled them both down onto the ground, ignoring his other children standing up and looking at them until he had Jay in a cradle.

The boy was still gasping for air, hyperventilating. His hands drop from Bruce’s shirt and scratch at his throat, his arms forming an ‘x’ while he tilts his head back and desperately tries to draw in oxygen. Bruce tilts his head back up with his hand, and leans him against his shoulder.

“Breathe.” He murmurs, pushing damp black curls out of Jay’s face. It was a poor command - Jason’s eyes were squeezed shut and his face scrunched in pain, Bruce doesn’t think he can even hear him. “You’re safe.”

“Bruce.” Dick hisses into his ear, and Bruce doesn’t look at him. He grunts to let his son know he heard him. “The mirror.”

Bruce’s eyes fly up.

There was a floor length mirror sitting in front of the couch. A mirror that Bruce was conveniently, coincidentally, sitting in front of. A mirror that should have been working as all mirrors do.

A mirror that, instead of showing Bruce his reflection back as he was, showed him in his Batman suit. Jason was in his arms, but in a torn, bloody uniform. A uniform that looked like a Robin suit. Jason - his Jason - wasn’t a Robin. But here he was, dressed as one, his black-yellow cape pooling beneath him and covered in blood.

The Jason in the mirror, the Robin, wasn’t breathing. His head lolled over Bruce’s arm lifelessly.

Bruce’s heart skids to a stop, and he looks back down. Jason was still breathing, his hyperventilating was beginning to slow, but he was breathing. The pained crease of his face was softening, even as his brows were still furrowed.

When Bruce looks back up at the mirror, the reflection has changed. It wasn’t back to normal, Jason was just in a different suit. He was wearing a white hazmat suit now, and he was burned, horribly. The suit was melted to his skin in patches around his body in black, charred splotches, what wasn’t burned was torn, and the skin he could see was cauterized. The only part of him that was bleeding was his head, and it soaked his black hair red. What of his face he could see, there were bright green lightning figures going up his neck, burning the skin around where it glows.

The mirror cracks down the middle, severing Jason from Bruce.

He forces himself to look down, terrified to see the reflection a reality right in front of him. But Jason was alive, uninjured, and breathing quietly. Bruce presses two fingers to his throat, and feels a steady pulsepoint thumping against the pads of his fingers.

Jason’s eyes open and blue stares up at him.

When Bruce looks up at the mirror, the reflection is back to normal.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc au #dp x dc au #dpxdc au #dpdc #dpdc crossover #Danny is Jason Todd au #i didn't think of anything beyond the ending point howEVER #this post is totally open for additions if anyone is interested #i love seeing add-ons to posts #anyways EVIL LAUGHTER #THIS IS THE PART I WANTED TO GET TO. PYSCHOLOGICAL HORROR #ANGST #if this was a fic i would have ramped up the horror more #alas tis a ficlet #starry terrorizes the waynes with the fact that jason is going to die in his world and there's nothing they can do about it.#he doesnt know he's going to die. but they do :)#fun fact jazz was going to be here and she was going to be the one to see the ghost #if this was a fic that ending scene would've occurred after more build up of dick and bruce and co seeing the figure following danny around #in the original variant au the waynes dont meet danny until he's already died and is a ghost #and i was gonna have one more jason appearance but couldnt fit one in #merry belated christmas folks #have some angst after two consecutive clone^2 posts of fluff #i tried to picture what danny's body would have looked like before being ghosted and #extremely burned was the first thing that came to mind. his suit is also almost entirely melted. something to kinda resemble his ghost half #but also i couldn't stomach making him completely unrecognizable because he WOULD have been #genuinely think danny's body would have been like. half melted at least

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stargazedwinchester · 8 months ago

Text

Too Soon? | Sam

Summary: Charlie teams you both up with the Winchester brothers for a case. After a very long road trip toward a hunt, someone's caught feelings for you.

Word count: 1,113

Let me know if you want a part 2!

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Charlie's excited grin means two things; there's a new World of Warcraft DLC, or she really wants you to do something with her. You huff, loosening your grip from her hands. "Char, I honestly really don't want to. I love you, I do, but..."

"Why, Y/N? It'll be so fun. Sam and Dean are so fun and so cool, you'll really like them. Even if it's a shitty boring hunt, at least you'll have me." She bounces up and down on the spot. "Please? Pretty please?" She begs, her ruby hair shining from the daylight coming through the window behind her. She looks at you in your eyes, pleading for you to once just say 'yes'.

You had been childhood best friends with Charlie ever since you both were bullied at school for playing video games during lunch breaks and recess. Both of you were the very few girls who would actually spend time around nerdy guys and weren't put off by them. Not that anyone gave them a chance, though.

"Okay, fine. I'll go with you. Just this once, though, you owe me." You give in, a smile creeping onto your face. What's the worst that could happen?

After Charlie's parents passed in a horrible accident when she was 14, she had been adopted by your father as both families were extremely close, good friends. It was almost like a dream come true for both of you at the time, being able to actually have a sister who's also your best friend? That's the best thing to ever happen to a child.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

You exit Charlie's beetle to a place that doesn't remotely resemble a home. "We're here?" You ask, squinting your eyes from the mid-summer sun blaring into your pupils. "Yep. They said to meet here." She says, checking her phone for any text messages. While glancing over at Charlie's phone, you notice two huge men walking toward you. "They're here!" She announces whilst the shorter man opens up his arms for her.

"Charlie!" He laughs gleefully, and she gives him a massive hug. You stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. "Hey, I'm Y/N." You greet the taller one, he runs his hand through his hair, before shaking yours. "Hi Y'N. I'm Sam. Nice to meet you." You look up at him flashing him a quick smile. "I assume the other guy is Dean?" You question, and Charlie pulls your arm towards her. "Y/N! This is Dean, he's my favourite. No offence, Sam." She chuckles, and Sam grunts. "None taken." He says. "Hi, Dean. Nice to meet you." You hold out your hand for him to shake it, and he takes it. "Nice to meet you. We've heard lots about you." He shows you a warm smile, his eyes a lovely shade of green that you haven't seen before.

"The gangs back together!" Charlie exclaims, you furrow your brows. "Back together? I've never met these guys in my life."

"You get what I mean."

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

After lots of arguing about who gets shotgun, Charlie sits in the front with Dean, and you're sat in the back with Sam. Charlie passes you snacks every so often so you don't feel left out.

"So, YN," Sam starts, taking his gaze off of the trees speeding past the car. "How long have you known Charlie?" He asks, his hazel eyes meeting yours. "My whole life. She's my sister." You trail your sentence, not understanding why Sam would ask this. Dean chuckles. "Sammy, you didn't know that?" He and Charlie start laughing before she reaches over the seat to face you both. "I never told him this. Sorry, Sam." She pops another snack in her mouth, and Sam rolls his eyes. "Perks of being the least favourite, I guess. I'm out of the loop, guys." He throws his hands up in the air, a grin on his face. "It's okay. I'll tell you everything you need to know." You turn yourself round to face him, starting with the story of how you met her, where you grew up and everything that happened with Charlies' parents and your own.

The sun is setting pretty quick, the clouds turning salmon and the sky a denim shade. Dean smoothly parked the Impala outside of a small '70s diner, you all climb out and walk inside to find a free table. Luckily, the place seems busy so you assume it's got good food. You're starving at this point so to be honest, you'd eat anything at this point. You sit opposite Sam, but next to Charlie who's already looking at a menu. Scanning the table, there are only two menus. Dean and Charlie are so lost in their own world that they wouldn't even think about sharing a menu. You snatch the menu out of Charlie's hand and usher her to share with Dean while yourself and Sam work something out between you both.

You stretch your legs out and accidentally hit something long in front of you, assuming it's the table leg, you stretch out further. "That's my leg." Sam says, catching your eyes, then quickly looking away. "Sorry," you mumbled, seeing him act so awkward was somewhat charming to you, how his good looks could so easily get him so many women, yet he seems so reserved and polite. There really aren't that many men in the world like this, at all.

His golden eyes meet yours again, but you're already staring back at him. Your eyes widened in surprise, you didn't even think that he'd look at you again. "What?" He huffs, a smirk appearing. Oh, he knows he's hot. A dimple forms and suddenly, you're really attracted. "Me? Nothing. I was daydreaming." You lie.

The waitress comes over and takes everyones orders, and Dean turns around to allow you both to order. He notices how flushed your cheeks are and Sam's sly grin, and he puts two and two together. He nudges Charlie, and they both glance at you, then Sam, then back at each other with a huge smile on each of their faces. "Look at you two love birds," Dean starts, and you roll your eyes. "Please, don't start." You can't stop a simper from taking shape on your face, Charlie slaps your arm. "You two would be so cute together!" She scoffs, you've never seen her this happy about something before, it's almost scary.

"No, it's far too soon to say anything like that, Char!" You hide your face in embarrassment. "Am I not allowed to make friends?" You say, hoping Sam would have something to add.

"Is it too soon?" Sam says, grinning from ear to ear.

#supernatural #spn #spn imagines #supernatural imagines #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #dean x reader #sam x reader #spn x reader #charlie bradbury

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illubean · 6 months ago

Note

Howdy 🤠

So my birthday is this Friday (btw this is a no pressure thing not like that's the deadline 😅) and I was just wondering how the phantom troupe would feel about that [simple HC are fine I know it would be a lot to ask for otherwise]. If that's too much than just these characters are cool

-Uvo, nobu, phinks, shizuku and maybe kalluto-

Order of importance ←⁠_⁠← too →⁠_⁠→

Oh and if reader can be in the troupe but still like "new" so first bday of hers with them yk ┐⁠(⁠‘_`⁠;⁠)⁠┌, HMU if you don't or need anything else.

Have a fantabulous rest of your (__fitb__) ♥⁠╣⁠[⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠]⁠╠⁠♥

Celebrating Your Birthday

Characters: Uvogin, Nobunaga Hazama, Phinks Magkub, Shizuku Murasaki Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

hhhhAAAAAAPPPYYY BIRRRTHHHHHDAYYYY TO YOUU- tumblr needs to bring back the yellow font I NEED MORE VARIETY

Warnings: none

Uvogin

he's probably the most enthusiastic about celebrating your birthday

bro would sneak into your window at like 6 in the morning just to jump on you and wake you up with a loud "HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

pls explain to your neighbors that the large, burly man breaking into your home was in fact just your friend (who also happens to be a wanted criminal but you can leave that part out...)

even if you are fairly new to the troupe Uvogin likes all of you guys equally

new or not you are part of the family

his way of celebrating is...not your average celebration I guess?

in his words, he want's to take you to "get drunk and fuck shit up"

and by fuck shit up he probably means steal or sneak into some sort of underground gambling hall and beat up some lowly thugs

even if you're not into that sort of thing he's dragging you with him and doing it anyways 😭

he wants you to have a good time on your birthday, especially since much of the troupe doesn't know their own!! its just his definition of a good time is much different than your average guy...

Nobunaga Hazama

despite his appearance Nobunaga is actually one of the nicer members of the troupe

so if you mention your birthday around him he will store it in his brain for later

he's not as over the top crazy like his friend Uvogin

but he does make an effort to greet you on your birthday

it might be difficult if the troupe doesn't have a scheduled meeting that day

but if he doesn't see you he'll be sure to greet you later when he does

he might gift you something small, like a candy bar or a candle

he wouldn't initiate going out anywhere but if you asked him to come celebrate with you he would

Phinks Magkub

since your new I lwky don't think he would care all that much about your birthday...

he hasn't had enough time to get to know you and you're naturally the troupe member he has the weakest bond with

he does have a kind heart but to be fair he probably doesn't even know your birthday

but if you tell him day of he's like oh hbd

and leaves it at that

you guys aren't close enough yet for him to want to celebrate with you or get you a gift >.<

Shizuku Murasaki

poor baby

she tries so hard to remember your birthday, even if she comes off as nonchalant at times

she has it written on every calendar possible and even put it in big bold letters on her arm the day of

but she still forgot because she wears long sleeves most of the time 😭

it already took her like a week or 2 to even remember your name

but she really is trying :(

she's a sweet girl who values having bonds with each troupe member

she might try and go out to get you a gift but then forgot what she was at the market for

but when she see's the date again for like the 3rd time that day she will go get another troupe member to come find something for you together so they can remind her

she has no clue what to get you so she probably decides on a pastry or slice of cake that she actually ends up paying for

the money was probably stolen but oh well...it's the thought that counts

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bvbygrl-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Good Luck, Babe!

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary:

A/N: My new laptop is here! Happy Pride (from one queer to another)! I've had this idea since I heard this song and I love Pansy BADD. Based off the song Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan.

Warnings: Angst, Smut if you squint realllly hard, comphet, doesn't follow the canon story line bc I didn't include the war

(y/n)= your name

(l/n)= last name

(e/c)= eye color

(h/c)= hair color

(y/h/h)= your hogwarts house

It's fine, it's cool

You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth

And guess I'm the fool

With her arms out like an angel through the car sunroof

Pansy nodded along absentmindedly to whatever the bloke she was currently sitting next to was saying. She was thankful of how loud the music was as it almost tuned out the ear piercing sounds of him drunkenly blabbing on about something she personally didn’t give two fucks about. No, she was far more focused on finding the girl she held dear and close to her heart. Even in a crowded room like this one, she was always able to spot her (h/c) hair, styled to perfection. She watched as her lover took another large swig from a bottle on the table of drinks. And as if she could feel the slytherin’s eyes on her, she turned to look at her. Her usually shimmering (e/c) eyes were dull and tired. Pansy offered her a half smile and there was an unbearable gripe in her chest as the girl turned away, disguising herself in the sea of people on the dance floor.

Her drink sloshed out of the red cup in her hands as the boy wrapped his arm around her from the back of the couch, pulling her into his side. She grimaced at the smell of him, a mix of sweat and tobacco. She couldn’t help but wish it was that familiar scent of warm vanilla sugar cookie that she had grown quite fond of over the years. It hurt Pansy far more than her girlfriend could ever imagine to pretend they were strangers. But, she had a reputation to uphold. Her family expected her to marry a pureblooded man from a lineage much like her own and with how much Draco and his minions hung around, any sign that she planned to do otherwise would be reported back to her parents in no time.

Plus, this was all so new for her. Pansy had never had feelings for anyone, let alone a girl. She had never allowed herself to show emotion so freely, to let her walls down for anyone let alone someone like (Y/n). She was a breath of fresh air compared to all the people she was forced to be around. (Y/n) was gentle, kind, and always true to herself. She didn’t care who was around or watching her because she knew who she was and was proud of it.

I don't wanna call it off

But you don't wanna call it love

You only wanna be the one that I call baby

Pansy let out a fake chuckle as the guy spewed lines that he most likely thought were erotic. He leaned in close, his hand caressing up and down her side. Even all the alcohol she had downed wasn’t enough to stop her from feeling disgusted from even his mere presence but there was far too much on the line. She closed her eyes, zoning out as he began to kiss down her neck, pulling her shirt to the side to suck at the bones of her collar. However, her eyes shot up as a breeze passed the left side of her body along with that scent she knew all too well. Her head jerked to the side as a familiar frame began to briskly walk further and further away from the party. Pushing the guy off, she ran down the corridor grabbing (Y/n)’s wrist.

“Where are you off to? I’ve never known you to leave a party so early.” she teased. She looked around the empty corridor, carefully searching to make sure no one was around before pulling the girl close to her but as she went to place a kiss on the top of her head, the (y/h/h) girl pushed her back giving the slytherin a good view of her face. Her heart just about shattered at the tears and runny mascara messing up her pretty face. “(L/n)?”

(Y/n) let out a breathless laugh, sniffling as she whipped at her teary eyes. “You’d think after years of this I’d be used to this but…it never gets easier. I love you, Pansy. I really do, baby, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” she admitted. Her (e/c) eyes looked into her lover’s, full of sadness but the love she held for her still remained.

“What’re you saying? Do you wanna…” She couldn’t even bring herself to utter the words. The thought of it alone was enough to bring her world crumbling. “Break up?” she finished, her voice crackling.

It took everything for (Y/n) to not reach out and hold her face, to nuzzle her nose into the side of her neck how she knew she loved. “I don’t wanna call it off but you have to realize how unfair this is to me, Pans. We’ve been together for what, two years? And during that whole time, you’ve never once even called me anything but my name out of fear of your friends hearing. Not one honey, baby, dear. D-do you know what kind of effect that’s had on me mentally?” she said, her voice breaking as she began to cry once more. She had told herself she’d remain strong but it was no use. She was a sensitive girl and when she felt things, she needed to let them out. Her body jumped a bit as she was brought out of her stormy mind at the feeling of a calloused finger swiping her tears away. She leaned into the girl’s touch as she wrapped her free hand around her waist, pulling her closer. The hand on her cheek trailed down to her chin before tilting it upwards.

“What do I need to do to prove to you how much I care? How much I need you in my life?” Pansy pleaded desperately.

“Tell me you love me.” (Y/n) whispered. Pansy drew her gaze down to the floor, her heart thumping wildly. She knew it was a simple request and she knew saying it wouldn’t be a lie. She did love the girl with every inch of her heart. She’d take a curse for her if she had to. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was too risky. It was already a lot for her to be holding her like this outside of (Y/n)’s dorm, even if there was no one around to witness it.

(Y/n) scoffed, shaking her head. In all Pansy’s years of knowing the girl, never once had she seen her grow angry. It made her blood grow cold. All she could do, even as the girl backed away from her, was stand there frozen. She stood there until the girl’s figure was nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Her fist clenched, nails digging crescent moon shapes into the palms of her hands. The searing pain didn’t even hold a candle to the emotional pain she felt. Hot tears sprung in the corners of her eyes, the only thing that seemed to move as she was still frozen in time.

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars

Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling

You can say it's just the way you are

Make a new excuse, another stupid reason

Good luck, babe (Well, good luck)

Well, good luck, babe (Well, good luck)

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

Good luck, babe (Well, good luck)

Well, good luck, babe (Well, good luck)

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

The music blended into the background as she took another shot. The burning that usually came after had stopped long ago. She was convinced if she drank enough, the conversation that had taken place a few hours ago would begin to feel like a distant memory. But instead, it was as if she had become trapped in her own mind. The conversation played like a movie on a big screen and she was the only one in the theater with front row tickets to watch.

Her lips moved drunkenly against guy number three of the night. She had managed to find something wrong with the other two. One smelled bad and the other one smiled far too much for her liking. But this one was quiet. He didn’t question when she grabbed him by his collar, crashing her mouth against his roughly. It was nothing like the passionate kisses her and dearest had held. It lacked love, depth, and any real emotion and her on end, it lacked lust as well. But no matter how intense the kiss grew, how hard his grip was on her waist, all she could think of was her. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she slipped her tongue into his mouth.

I'm cliché, who cares?

It's a sexually explicit kind of love affair

And I cry, it's not fair

I just need a little lovin', I just need a little air

A soft whimper fell from (Y/n)’s lips, her fingers tightening their grip in Pansy’s hair. Her thighs began to shake around her head, back arching from the soft mattress. She couldn’t help it.

When Pansy came knocking on her dorm door at five in the morning, she looked like a wreck. Her hair was messy, bags under her eyes, lips swollen and bruised. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what she had been doing. She was conflicted. She knew how important it was for her to keep up appearances, but at what cost? She was torturing herself and by proxy, torturing her as well. Pansy had drunkenly apologized to her, howling loudly for her to forgive her and just to get her to quiet down, she did. They had fallen asleep after (Y/n) got her cleaned up and changed into something more comfortable. It was nice, falling asleep in Pansy’s strong and womanly embrace. And in the afternoon when they awoke it was even better. The slytherin girl had worshiped her, placing delicate kisses down her body. And from there, things had escalated quickly.

“Shhh, it’s okay. Let it all out for me.” Pansy muttered against her clit, sending an exhilarating feeling through her spine. Hot tears fell down the girl’s face, her chest falling and rising quickly. A large gasp fell from her lips, eyes rolling back as Pansy’s fingers prodded deep within her against her spot. Her pussy began to gush, spraying the girl’s face with her release. Her body convulsed and jolted as she rode out her high before collapsing against the mattress, trying to catch her breath. (E/c), half lidded eyes watched as Pansy crawled up, pulling the girl on top of her.

“I love you.” (Y/n) whispered but of course, Pansy said nothing. She just shushed her, gently combing her fingers through the girl’s hair. She placed soft kisses on her eyelids, lulling her to sleep.

Think I'm gonna call it off

Even if you call it love

I just wanna love someone who calls me baby

Pansy flipped through the pages of her book, relaxing on the sill of the window. Most of the students in her year had left the castle, deciding to celebrate their last and final day at Hogwarts before it was time to head home for the very last time. Her eyes flickered up to the clock on the wall, half past five. She had agreed that she and (Y/n) could spend some time together in the library since there was a low chance anyone would see them together. Two sneaker clad feet stopped in front of her causing her to look up. A smile graced her face before departing once more at the sullen expression on the girl’s face.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, love. But this, us, has no future. I waited, three years now I waited. I thought to myself ‘hey maybe she’ll come around, maybe she’ll fight for us harder’ but you never did.” (Y/n) sighed, looking down at the ground as she rocked back and forth on her feet. “I thought if I loved you hard enough it’d give you the courage to be proud of us. But we’re still at square one. Sneaking around to one another’s dorms, letting your stupid friends tease me. We’ve never even been on a real date.”

“That’s not true! What about the summer we spent in Brighton?” Pansy argued, grabbing the girl’s hand. (Y/n) removed her hand from hers gently, scoffing.

“Right, the summer we spent in muggle Brighton because you were too scared of anyone seeing us? We’ve never had a real date in the wizarding world, Pansy because you’re too scared of disappointing your parents. I thought you were different from the rest of the snobby prats you hang around and, in some ways, you are. But…I want to get married one day, Pansy. I want to bring my girlfriend to my family farm, to link hands when we walk down the streets.” Tears fell from Pansy’s eyes like raindrops onto the page. Her stomach tossed and turned and it took everything for her to not jump up and run, just to avoid hearing where this was going. “You won’t even call me names of affection.”

“B-but (Y/n), I care for you! I adore you. I lo-”

“Don’t even finish, it’ll only make things harder for the both of us!” she exclaimed, causing the slytherin’s eyes to widen. “It’s too late for that now. I just hope you realize, you’re never going to be able to push that side of you away. It’s who you are. You need to realize that before it’s too late. Good luck, babe.” (Y/n) choked out before running out the library.

Pansy ruminated on her words. She couldn’t help the broken sobs that wracked her body. She let out a long string of swears, slapping herself on the forehead. Why couldn’t she be born a man? At least then her parents would let her marry a woman.

She sniffled trying to compose herself as she felt a tap on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw the librarian with a cloth tissue in her hand. She snatched it from her, dabbing her eyes before standing up to storm off, ignoring the loud ‘shh’ from the woman as she did so.

When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night

With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife

And when you think about me, all of those years ago

You're standing face to face with "I told you so"

You know I hate to say it, I told you so

You know I hate to say, but I told you so

Rolling onto her back, she sighed, glaring angrily at the man next to her. For a man of such high social status and background, he had a disgustingly loud snore. Sometimes Pansy regretted telling her parents to just choose one for her. It’s not like it mattered much anyways. She knew no matter how handsome, how talented, or how wealthy of a man she had married, it never would feel right because they’d never be…her. She rubbed her hands over her face tiredly, staring at the intricate paintings on the gaudy ceiling.They were the only interesting thing in their bedroom.

Throwing back the thick duvet, she rose from bed, shuffling to the bedroom door. Shutting it behind her, she made her way down the hall to her potion’s room. It was the one room in the house her husband had no interest in. Opening the door, she searched the shelves before grabbing a basic sleeping potion. She carelessly took a few gulps from it. She tossed it back on the shelf before opening one of the drawers, pulling out a wooden box with a lock on it.

“Alohomora.” she whispered, pointing her wand at it. The lock clicked open, the wooden box slowly popping open. She dumped the contents onto the table next to her, a bittersweet smile on her face.

There were dozens of photographs of her and (Y/n) from their trip to Brighton. She watched as one of the images moved. In it Pansy leaned over to kiss the girl on the lips and (Y/n) smiled, kissing her back. In another, (Y/n) was licking whipped cream off the top of her lip and smiling. Her smile warmed her heart, as it always did when Pansy would reminisce. Even though these images were taken nearly six years ago, it still felt like just yesterday. And as soon as Pansy would get wrapped up in her memories, she was just as quickly pulled back. This was her life now. She had everything anyone could ever want, but not the one and only thing she wanted.

“I hate to say, but you told me so.”

#harry potter imagine #pansy parkinson #pansy x reader #pansy parkinson x reader #pansy parkinson x you #hp x reader #wlw x reader #lesbian x reader

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stell404 · 2 years ago

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𝗜𝗜𝗜. 𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗬 𝗝𝗘𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗦

𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗙𝗟𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗥𝗔'𝗦 𝗕𝗢𝗫

🎧

Family jewels masterlist | back to navigation Parings: Sully family x reader, jake sully x daughter!reader Word count: 900 Notes: Hope ya'll like this, next chapter wont be out for a while because I'm gonna be very very busy, so so sorry. And to explain the title: "Out come flying all the secrets of Pandora's box" means that their secrets are out, the people know they are not the perfect family they always show. Taglist: @lorre-verie @eywas-heir @damiiworld @arianapjs @arminsgfloll @buterccup @ifuckinghatemathrahhhhhh @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @inluvwithneteyam @il0vejj @neteyamforlife @ducks118 @ssc7514@liyahsocorro @saltedcoffeescotch @im-in-a-pansexual-panik WARNINGS: Mentions de@th, scuic!de

🎧

Weeks have passed since their escapade and things have cooled down, they are still not back to normal but hey, this is something I guess.

[Name] finally, after nights and nights of debates with the little voices in her head, went on with her plan—her plan to tell her father about her dream to do her Iknimaya.

The night was calm, leaves and the hanging vines from the hallelujah mountains swayed softly with the wind. Calm chirping noise can be heard lightly. The clan was putting things away for the night, hunters and warriors finally resting, healers making their way out of the healer's tent. It is strange for the Omaticaya to have calm nights like this, hopefully it will last long.

[Name] walked around High camp looking for her father, she noticed how things were calm hoping not to ruin it with what she's gonna do. She quickly found her father sitting down and a stump of rock, sharpening his hunting knife.

[Name] stood in front of her dad, clearing her throat to get her fathers attention.

"What do you need?" Jake asked with an un-enthusiastic tone, dropping the knife he was sharpening.

"I was just wondering, you know, I mean—I'm kinda getting old now and like, don't you think, I mean I don't know but..." she rambled, trailing off and mumbling at the end.

"[Name]," he sighed, "get to the point."

"I want to do my Iknimaya, as soon as possible." she said, hoping her father would agree.

Silence. Silence filled the space between them.

A beat passed.

And then another one.

"No." Jake said, breaking the silence.

"Why?" There it was. Always, why? why? why?

"Because," he paused. He himself does not know the answer, was it because he is worried, because he wants to shield her from everything bad? Or was it because he doesn't trust her? Why?

"Because you are not mature enough." he said, finally finding the "right" words.

"Lo'ak is younger than me and much more immature and still he got his Iknimaya first."

"Your brother is ready, he is strong."

"And I'm not? Please, I am on top of my training. I've beaten the strongest of warriors so tell me, is that not good enough?"

"See! This is the reason, you are being immature right now!" Jake shouted, anger tainted his voice, attracting the attention of the people as they heard their Olo'eyktan and his first daughter fighting.

Neytiri heard their quarrel from afar, she ran straight to them to try and stop them.

"[Name], stop it." her mother warned, holding her wrist.

"And to answer your question, no, that is not good enough." Jake added, gasps can be heard from the crowd that formed around them. [Name] felt her heart break at this.

"Nothing I do is never good enough." she mumbled.

Jake didn't know what happened but he snapped, he didn't know why but he did, "Get out, get out! I do not want to see you right now!" he shouted.

"Do you ever want to see me, dad—oh sorry, I mean—sir?" she said in a mocking tone.

"You think you're so wise, huh?" he chuckled.

"Well if you're such an amazing mighty warrior, go do it, go! Complete your Iknimaya." he shouted, voice laced with venom. "Kill yourself for all I care!"

[Name] was stunned, "Sir, please—" she spoke with a shaky voice, She was scared, scared of her father. The one who was supposed to shield her from men who treated her like this. The one who was supposed to love her more than anything.

"No, no, no. Don't 'Sir' Me. You do what you want right? You're responsible right? You're smart. You're strong, oh so STRONG!" he laughed.

"Jake! It is the middle of the night, are you crazy? She might die, she will die." her mother hissed.

"Then let her die. She believes she is so strong, she believes she can do it, she wants to do it, so why stop her?" Jake chuckled once more, this time his voice was filled with venom. She did want this, hell, she wants it more than anything, but she didn't want it to be like...this.

[Name] couldn't process what was happening, she knew her father hates her, she knew that she was one of her fathers greatest regrets, but to let her die? She felt like a thousand bullets were shot straight to her heart.

"I hate you!" she screeched. She did not mean it, of course she didn't, she loves her dad, more than she will ever love herself.

But does he love her? "Yeah? Then go! Go and never come back!" he shouted back.

"Jake!" Neytiri hissed, the grip she has on her daughter's wrist loosens. [Name] noticed this, taking advantage of it and pushing her mother aside so she could run.

"[Name]! [Name]! come back!" she heard her siblings shout out to her, voices quivering; but she did not care, she just wanted to get away.

She ran and ran, as fast as she could, with no particular location in mind. Just running through the woods, the tall grass, the bioluminescent plants of the Pandorian Forest.

She found herself laying on the soft grass. Her eyes were blurry, tears running down her face, letting out whimpers and sobs ever so slightly.

She cried and cried until there were no more tears left in her.

#jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #dad!jake sully #jake sully x daughter #neytiri x daughter!reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neteyam x reader #loak x reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #lo'ak x reader #kiri x reader #kiri x sister!reader #avatar x reader #avatar: way of water #atwow #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #DearStell

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helpami-flaffy · 13 days ago

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EPIC THE MUSICAL OPINIONS, VERY OPINIONS, VERY MINE.

IF YOU DON'T WANT SOME NEGATIVITY DON'T READ. THIS IS NOT PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE I SWEAR.

MOSTLY COMPILED AT NIGHT, SOME REVISION.

PLEASE DO NOT COME AT ME.

.....................

After this saga I'm left kind of perplexed about epic.

What is epic trying to say here? What's the musical's stance on ruthlessness?

Because it isn't very clear to me anymore.

Is it bad? Is it good and just? Is it a necessary evil? Is it worth becoming something monstrous just to achieve your goals?

The thing I'm trying to say is:

Is epic a tragedy or a triumph?

Until the vengeance saga I thought it was the former, but now I'm not so sure.

Throughout the story Odysseus takes desicions that either side with what I'll call the 'open arm mentality' or the 'ruthless' mentality.

He gets punished for both a number of times.

He kills Astianax so he doesn't have to fear his future vengeance.

He spares Polyphemus and that leads to 558 men dying.

He appeals to Circe's humanity and that leads her to freeing his men and helping him get to the underworld.

He sacrificed 6 men to Scylla and that leads to 'mutiny' and 'thunder bringer' where the rest of his crew dies and he ends up in calypso's island where she imprisoned him for 7 years.

First act of ruthlessness= good outcome

First act of open arms= bad outcome

Second act of open arms= good outcome

Second act of ruthlessness= bad outcome

(I forgot to add the sirens, that encounter is kinda strange tho. Ody kills all of them but I wouldn't call that ruthlessness. Ruthlessness is doing whatever needs doing to get what you want. He needed to know how to get home, and killing the sirens after doesn't matter in that context. I guess it's good for future sailors? I'll count this as an altruistic positive I guess)

This breakdown isn't perfect, lots of other things happen and some things Ody does can't really be neatly categorized by this simple metric imo, but I'll continue anyway as it feels to me the story breaks down his actions in a sort of similar dichotomy.

All in all the 'good to bad' ratio seems pretty balanced, right? It's not always ruthlessness that wins the day, and 'open arms' solutions don't always work out.

So why does it feel like we're supposed to root for ruthless Odysseus? Why does it feel like the story wants us to believe that being the monster is a good if 'somewhat sad' outcome?

Why am I saying this? Well, it's 600 strikes.

Actually just- all the vengeance saga.

Why is what Ody does here supposed to be cool and awesome? Because, like, that is absolutely the angle here.

Complete with a, honestly absurd, anime power up and fighting-god-one-on-one moment.

Why does the story break down it's logic, breaks suspension of disbelief (at least for me), to get Odysseus into a position were he can torture Poseidon into letting him go?

Wich?? Btw should not work??

Why is this how he wins?

Why are the ghosts of his friends and family no longer spectres of regrets for but terrifying promises of death?

What does this say? Was Odysseus wrong about their sacrifice? Was regret ever only a noose around his neck? I'm looking too deeply into this one lol.

In 'get in the water' we even get the obligatory appeal to Poseidon's mercy just to hammer down once again that 'open arms' doesn't work, even tho it's Athena's appeal to her father's mercy that set Odysseus free in the first place.

The saga ends with Poseidon asking Odysseus how he'll sleep at night after all of this and Ody, in admittedly the coldest line ever written on paper, says:

"Next to my wife"

...

This is cool.

Extremely cool even.

But that's kind of the problem I have with it.

The song ends in a badass way. This is meant to be the final zing to seal Odysseus' cool ass victory.

And in all of this, not once, does the story seem to recognize that...well...

Poseidon won.

Hell not even Poseidon recognized it!

I'm not even saying "OoOh if it was realistic Poseidon would have have won!" (Tho yeah, ask me about that, lol)

In the great ideological battle that's at the center of Epic: the musical, Poseidon was the ultimate victor.

Ruthless is what wins at the end, it's what gets Odysseus home. Odysseus might be a monster but he's a victorious one.

I feel people and the musical both don't really acknowledge that.

That even if Poseidon lost the battle he ultimately won the war.

Were is the irony? Where's the bitterness and sorrow? We're Poseidon's bloodied, mocking smirk revelling in his victory?

Is Epic a tragedy or a power fantasy?

#epic the musical #epic the vengeance saga #negativity tw #i guess #Yes i think Poseidon should have had the last laugh #i have many thoughts #i dunno maan #yell #anyway the music slapped hard as hell as was expected #Steven Rodriguez i love you #critical

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kasagia · 1 year ago

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Devoted

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x fem! shadow summoner! reader Summary: Aleksander and Baghra have been your family since you left the house of your father, who blamed you for your mother's death in childbirth. You and Sasha became more; he was your epic love interest and mentor. You wanted to be just like him... until one event radically changed your beliefs and led you to doubt your great purpose. Nonsense from me: This is a request from @justmasblack I hope that you like it! 💙🖤 P.S. I'm so sorry it took me so long. 😅 (Inspired by Vampire - Olivia Rodrigo) Warning(s): angst, mentions of death, blood, violence, the reader and Aleksander are lost, the reader can't go on like this any longer Word count: 6,7k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @morrigan-crowmwell

Hate to give the satisfaction, asking how you're doing now How's the castle built off people you pretend to care about? Just what you wanted Look at you, cool guy, you got it

"How do you feel?" you ask, standing in the doorway to his chamber.

It's the first time since you've seen him after… the fold. He has his face down on the ground and looks at his hands. In one of them, he holds a handkerchief… soaked in his black blood.

He doesn't even look up at you.

"Good. How was your mission?" you sigh at his question and move deeper into the room, glancing briefly at the nichevo'yas present in the room.

"They have to be here even when you're talking to me?" you ask mockingly, but instead of immediately responding to your irritable provocation, he tenses up. Something is wrong. He tries to mask it with a fake, mocking smile.

"Are you afraid of them?" he asks, challenging you, looking at the remains of Morozova's stag in his hand.

"I fear nothing but myself." you respond to him with one of the rules you learned from living by his side. He nods his head in appreciation.

"Properly. Do you have what I wanted?" he asks and gets up from his chair, still with his back to you, and walks over to his desk, where his unfinished glass of whisky and bottle are.

"Have I ever let you down?" you ask and walk over to him, putting down all the important and needed notes and books he left in the Little Palace.

"Never. Not you." he replies thoughtfully, swirling the glass and drinking the rest of the alcohol in one gulp. "That's why I have another mission for you."

"You won't even ask about the freed Grishas? About how I managed to steal them from the palace and bring them here?"

"Since you're here, I'm guessing it went smoothly. Besides, I heard horses pounding in the courtyard. Everyone made it, didn't they?" he asks confidently, sorting through the things you brought him. You smile involuntarily. Always confident.

"Good to know the volcra didn't yank your arrogance out of you, but if you're going to mock me, at least look at my face, Aleksander." you challenge him, staring at his back defiantly, knowing full well that he feels your gaze.

"Only you can make fun of a volcra attack with such cruelty. Now I see why people hated you for that." he says, finally turning to face you.

You think he looks at you with more intensity than you do. Always judging, anticipating, and analysing his next move. Oddly enough, his behaviour interests you more than the black scars on his face.

You take a few steps towards him and stop, leaving a meagre, short distance between you two. One small step forward, and you could kiss him.

You hold back, though, and put your hand over his cheek. His rough beard gently tickles you as you run your thumb over the scar on his cheek. He is watching you intently, closing his eyes for a moment as he feels your fingertips on one of his black scars.

"Do you want me to kiss it better?" you ask him, leaning closer to him.

"150 years by my side and I still don't know when you're joking and when you're serious." he says in wonder, staring at you expectantly.

You are smiling. You stand on tiptoe and plant a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, feeling the furrow from his scar on your lips.

He shivers, his eyes closed, as his arms slowly slide around you and wrap around your waist. He holds you close to him, as if afraid that you will run away from him at any moment.

"Aren't you disgusted? Are you not afraid?" he asks, opening his eyes and drilling into yours. His shadows and dark creatures circle you both as he lets his guard down for a moment.

"Your darkness is mine." you whisper before you pull him into a passionate, needing kiss. You let your power flow with his. The room is completely dark as your shadows move to play with his when both of you lose yourself in each other again.

I see the parties and the diamonds sometimes when I close my eyes Six months of torture you sold as some forbidden paradise

"Are you enjoying yourself, General?" you ask teasingly as you approach him at another winter fest.

"Quite. How about you, Colonel?" he asks, the annoyed look on his face after talking to the king softening as he looks at you.

You've been by his side for almost a hundred years. And he always admired the way you looked in black kefta. Something only you and he could wear. Your colours. A clear sign of your belonging to him.

"You look lovely, by the way." he adds casually after looking carefully around to see if anyone is interested in your conversation.

" Lovely enough to catch the eye of some worthy suitor? What do you think about it, brother?" you ask teasingly, making sure the last word comes out as sweetly and mockingly as possible from your lips. You smile at his irritated look.

"This is the last time I let you invent new identities for us." He sighs in annoyance. You laugh genuinely.

"You said yourself that last time I distracted you too much as your wife." you remind him, sipping champagne from a nearby table.

"And now you're doing it as my pseudo-sister when I can't kiss and hold you the way I want. That's why you will be my mistress next time." you sigh, feigning shock, and place your hand on your chest.

"Mistress? You want to make a poor, innocent girl your bed warmer? Aren't you ashamed to pervert me like this?"

"You are already perverted, my little shadow. Maybe you need a reminder? About who do you really belong to?"

"I belong to myself." he licks his lips, giving you a hungry, dark look that would make anyone flinch… anyone except you. You wanted nothing more than to succumb to his aura.

You lean in gently. Enough that anyone who happened to be watching you would assume that you were leaning over to the table for something. But you do all of this only to leave a hickey on his neck. He sighs, not expecting you to be this brave (or stupid) to do such a thing right here and now.

"You're lucky we're in public, my little shadow."

"Oh, come on. You love it when I torture you like this." you tease him, watching him carefully. You envied his ability to hide the emotions on his face, but his eyes... his eyes betrayed his every emotion to you. At least that's what you wanted to think.

"And I like reminding you even more of who's really in charge here."

"Be careful with that… your mother says I'm getting more powerful every day… maybe even more than you."

He laughs, mocking the thought that you could ever be his match, let alone be stronger than him.

"Baghra would say anything to put me down. I wouldn't trust her words so blindly if I were you. No matter how flattering they are."

"Yes? Then why don't you want to prove yourself right and take on me?" you say, pointing out to him your insistent requests to have a real duel with him. Not just the training sessions he personally walked you through when you and Baghra argued so much that neither wanted to see the other.

"For one simple reason, my beautiful, naive, defiant little shadow… I have completely different plans for you than to consume you in my darkness."

"Who said you wouldn't be the one consumed by my darkness?" you ask, staring into his dark brown eyes.

He laughs, not believing that you - the girl he took in less than a hundred years ago - could beat him. "Keep on dreaming, my little shadow. Now, won't you dance with me?"

You took his hand and let him lead you.

Continuing to be his amusement and plaything.

I loved you truly Gotta laugh at the stupidity

"Did you mourn over me?" he asked you, stroking your hair as you two were lying in his bed, taking deep breaths after what you were doing.

"Where did you get that question from?" you ask, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. The hand that was combing through your hair lands on your back, stroking your bare skin with his fingertips. You shiver at his familiar, soft touch.

"Answer... Did you cry for me? You cursed my name? Maybe you were tempted to create an altar for me?" you've never felt more watched than under the gaze of his dark brown eyes.

"I was so scared... when you didn't come back from the fold... I felt like part of me died there with you. I can't live without you, Aleksander. Please... don't do such a thing ever again. You are my only shelter and the only thing I care about in this bloody world. There is no me without you." you think, but you know better to say it out loud. To admit how much power he has over you, how much you've become addicted to him.

"I've been waiting for you to come haunt me as a ghost to tell you that I told you so, and that is all your fault. Maybe I would use your cult and the people who trusted you to take over Ravka and rule by myself." you say and he laughs, turning on his side to look at you.

"My cruel little shadow didn't shed a single drop of a tear for me? What a pity." he says teasingly with a smirk as he wraps a strand of your hair around his finger.

"I was planning a bloody revenge and include a mention of you in my first speech as Ravka's Queen of Kings when I'm done. You should be happy or at least show some appreciation."

"No king by your side?" he asks curiously, raising an eyebrow at you.

"No. You are my only equal. If you were dead, I wouldn't need anyone by my side."

"So you need me after all, cruel queen of vengeance?" he asks, amused, raising an eyebrow at you with a smirk on his face.

"Amazingly, you're a good thing to scare people. The mere mention of your name makes everyone tremble."

He laughs and leans in to kiss you passionately. He holds you tightly in his arms, as if making sure you won't run away from him, that you'll stay with him even when his shadows and nichevo'ya watch over the two of you. Making sure you're as drunk on power as he is.

"I will always be here. Together, we will destroy others with our sahdows. Everyone will bow to us, moya tsaritsa." he whisper in your lips, between the kisses.

"Moi tsar." you mumble as you feel your shadows release, forming a ball around you that completely obscures both of you.

"I have a task for you." he says, stroking your sides teasingly as he smiles and watches you squirm under his touch.

"Good. But I want one thing in return."

"Name it."

He agrees, his dark eyes completely engrossed in the sight of your beautiful face, desperate for him. He chuckles darkly as you straddle him impatiently. He keeps his hands on your hips as you lean in and whisper in his ear.

"You will show me how you create your nichevo'yas." you kiss him passionately, bringing him closer and stroking his black scars on his back.

He moans into the kiss, knowing full well that he will do as you wish. He will enjoy watching you try to create what he did, how you try to match him in his darkness.

'Cause I've made some real big mistakes But you make the worst one look fine I should've known it was strange You only come out at night

It was supposed to be an ordinary mission.

Track down the deserters, kill them, and teach the others a lesson so they don't even think about escaping or leaving the Second Army.

And everything went on as usual… at least up to a point.

Of course you tracked them down with Ivan by your side. Thanks to him, you knew which direction to go, and when you both managed to stop in their place, your favourite part was about to begin.

Screams and pleas for mercy, mournful cries, last prayers, and their words before dying gave you a sense of power. Every drop of blood shed through your cut was like a drug to you. It proved that you were in charge of life and death and that you were too powerful to be stopped by anyone.

"Where is your saintly little sun summoner now?" you ask mockingly, and as your shadows cover them all, the sunlight disappears. All they'll see before they die are you and your shadows.

Everyone is too scared to say anything. They know you. The deputy general. His lover, his little shadow. Shadow Summoner. More cruel and bloodthirsty than the Darkling himself. They'd be lucky if you ended their lives with just a cut.

"You betrayed the Second Army. Your General, a future tsar and all the Grishas. And now you will pay for it."

You form a cut by being merciful enough to quickly end their lives. And then you see it…

Little child in the crowd. Girl. Maybe she was 8 years old. You reluctantly remember yourself at her age. A girl abandoned by her father who wandered around the world until she found other shadow summoners like her. The terror in the baby's eyes, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and the way she trembles in fear stir something in you.

You've never hurt a child before. That was your only moral boundary. And now you were about to cross it against yourself. For the Second Army. For Aleksander…

You close your eyes and make a cut in the crowd.

After a while, it's quiet again. No screaming and crying. Just you, your shadows, and Ivan faithfully waiting by the horses. You take one last look at the girl's body before returning to your companion and horses.

Deep down, you know this sight will haunt you longer than you think. And you can't quite understand what caused such a change...

Or you pretend, shaking your head as you remember the scared look in her eyes… exactly the same as you had when you were an abandoned child who had to survive on her own.

I used to think I was smart But you made me look so naive The way you sold me for parts As you sunk your teeth into me, oh Bloodsucker, famefucker Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire

"So you're still here." these are Baghra's first words to you. She doesn't even look in your direction.

She stares out the window as if the view beyond him will change at any moment. Aleksander made sure you settled down with the Grishas, who were loyal to him, in a remote place. Nobody could find you here... at least not yet.

"So he finally locked you in a cage. To be honest, I felt you were going to cross the line soon, but to betray him? Your own son? I've never felt more disgusted by you." the woman just smiles mockingly. She shifts her gaze towards you for a moment.

"In a few days, maybe months, maybe years, even centuries, you will be in my place and do the same as me. As soon as you open your eyes and see that he's manipulating you."

"He loves me." you start, but you're not sure if what you're saying is entirely true. After all, he never said that.

"He loves your power. You'll see it one day." she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"It doesn't matter. We shall rule together, side by side."

"Once, you wanted to be a protector. A hero. To ensure Grishas' safe future without war or battles. You didn't chase your own people. Look how you have fallen so low. The girl I met would never let her be a plaything in anyone's hands."

"I'm nobody's toy! I am a shadow summoner, more powerful than you or Aleksander. I am his equal, the future queen of Ravka. And I will achieve all this so that no Grisha has to go through what we have. No Grisha will ever suffer again for who he is."

"Then why are you chasing your people? Why do you cut them in half in cold blood? Because they ran away? Because they feared for their lives? What's the difference between you and Otkazat'sya or Drüskelle?" you clench your fists. You don't give in to her. Baghra won't get on your nerves. You're over it.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. Neither you nor Alina can understand our actions." you say, taunting her as you look at her in disgust. She betrayed you and Aleksander the moment she decided to help that little saint-bitch.

"Actions of you both or HIS?" she says, raising an eyebrow at you, not caring about your appalling attitude. She knows you. Just as good as her son. "Haven't you become that? A faithful servant who obeys his orders? Who kills the innocent at his command? Who gets his hands dirty for him?"

You sneer, but deep down, you're considering her question. The eyes of that puppy you cut in half with your cut cross your mind again. And a look full of fear—pure fear and tears in her eyes does not bring you the same satisfaction and sense of power as before. You wanted to be a hero once. Now you were the darkness. The evil parents used to scare their children at bedtime... and strangely enough, you felt like the weakest person in the world.

"At least I'm not rotting in this cage." you say as you walk towards the exit. "Oh! I forgot to tell you the most important thing. We're getting married. He gave me an engagement ring made of your bones as an amplifier, great, right, mom? We will finally be a family."

You walk out of the room with a cruel smile, not feeling as powerful and confident as before you walked in. And that little kid's cursed eyes full of fear will haunt you for the rest of the day.

And every girl I ever talked to told me you were bad, bad news You called them crazy, God, I hate the way I called them crazy too

You enter Aleksander's tent, furious. Your shadows circle around you as you walk to the mirror and undo the intricate hairdo Genya did for you.

"What has bitten you?" he asks, keeping his eyes on the map as he considers his plan one last time. Morozova's stag bone in his hand only fuels your anger.

"Your precious Alinoshka." you snort furiously, trying to let your damn hair out of your bun.

Aleksander chuckles and approaches you from behind. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, his lips against your neck.

"She's definitely not mine... well, only her powers are. Unlike you, my little angry shadow." he says as he kisses your neck. For a second, you think he wants to give you a hickey, but he stops himself. He rests his chin on your shoulder and looks at you in the mirror. "You are all mine, and you look lovely in my coat."

"The idiots lost my clothes chest. I have to steal from you, you don't mind, do you?"

He purrs against your neck, shaking his head. With one hand, he unhooks his coat from you and lets it fall to the floor, leaving you standing in his black kefta that's only held on by a belt.

"How could I when it makes you look so gorgeously mine?" you snort with laughter as he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck. "What has our sun summoner done to make my beautiful little shadow angry?"

"I went to her tent to convince her of our cause… she of course, started to argue. We shouted at each other a bit, like girl to girl. She called me a stupid, cruel bitch and said you manipulated me as much as you manipulated her."

"You threatened her with your shadows and almost killed her, didn't you?"

"Of course not… we need her, I was being completely careful. I didn't even get her close to agony."

"My good little doom." he praises you, stroking your cheek tenderly as he stares at you with a dark smile. "Once we've expanded the fold, you can do whatever you want with her. Even if you killed her, I wouldn't particularly care."

"Thank you." you say, turning to kiss him passionately. Your tongues intertwine, and your shadows merge, dancing in a familiar dance as you both feel the other's power and the empowering abilities that his touch brings. you are addicted. From him and his taste, the feeling of power that he gives you. You don't want to be anywhere else. Only by his side. "You know what… I think I know how you can help me forget about this crazy bitch."

"I will be more than happy." he says, pushing you onto the bed.

You're so convincing How do you lie without flinching? (How do you lie, how do you lie, how do you lie?)

"You lied to them without flinching. I'm impressed." you say when he returns from meeting the royal family. You took on a new identity. A Darkling's son and his wife (a distant relative) who both can summon shadows.

"A matter of habit. In a few centuries, you will be able to do it too." he assures you as he leads you to his chambers.

You snort when he puts his hand on your back. "I'm offended that you think I don't have that skill yet, husband." you say, teasing him. You didn't get married. However, that didn't stop the two of you from pretending otherwise. Maybe someday…

"I know when you're lying, wife." he says, also teasing you. Your black kefta billows behind you as you walk to the Little Palace.

"Because you know me well. If you lied to me, I'd know you did too." he laughs, incredulous at your ability to spot his lie.

He leads you through the familiar corridors of the Little Palace. You just hope they assigned him the same chambers. You loved going out on the balcony in the evening.

"Let's try." he stands in the middle of the corridor. "Baghra contacted me. She wants to meet. Am I lying or not?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

"Partly. Baghra wrote to you, but not about the meeting. It was about something else."

The amused smirk disappears from his face. He looks at you with a twinkle in his eye, surprised and a little excited at the same time.

"How did you know?"

You take his hand and pull him to you. You kiss him, enjoying the feel of his lips on yours. "Your eyes tell me everything." you say, making sure he doesn't look at you.

Actually, it was completely the opposite. He was the one who could easily read from your eyes. That's why you're not going to tell him you know what he lied about just because you read the letter. You won't give him the satisfaction of not really knowing when he's lying.

Ooh, what a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked-up little thrill Can't figure out just how you do it, and God knows I never will

You loved the thrill of power when you used your shadow. Now all you could think of was those damn scared eyes every time you summoned your shadows.

That's why when you and Aleksander went to destroy Karemzin with his men, you "allowed him" to do the honours. Using your shadows has become traumatic for you.

You hoped it would pass. That Baghra's words, that fucking terrified look from the girl, and the growing doubts inside of you kept you awake in the night.

Fortunately, Aleksander didn't notice any change in you. Maybe he didn't want to, maybe he didn't care, or maybe his own problems were too big to notice yours.

Anyway, when you told him to destroy the town, he was at least... surprised. You always fought him to show off your powers, to show how powerful you are. Now you were standing back, watching him. His thoughts wandered towards you as he sent his shadows directly at unsuspecting people.

You, on the other hand, watched silently as the town collapsed under his shadows and listened to the screams of the people as they quickly came and disappeared. There was complete silence. And you trembled. Not the excitement or the wonderful thrill of seeing how terrifying and ruthless your Aleksander is. You trembled in fear. Aleksander blamed this on the exceptionally cold weather.

"We're setting up camp here." he announced to his men, and he walked over to you. Seeing this, you shifted your gaze from where Karemzin used to be to him and gave him a small smile.

"Nice show. I almost forgot you could still do that." you say, remembering the countless times you've destroyed villages for each other to save each other from discovering your little secret of immortality.

"Thank you, are you sure you're okay? You look pale."

"Maybe I need tea… and your arms around me in our tent." he giggles and immediately hugs you.

His coat and arms surround you, creating a safe bubble of warmth. However, all you can do is hear the screams of those people from a moment ago… and see behind your closed eyes blue, innocent irises looking at you in fear.

"Do you want me to show you how I create nichevo'ya?" he asks, pulling back to look at you intently. You pretend you're okay and smile back with a quick and excited nod of your head.

You hope this will bring back your power-hungry nature. That old Y/N would finally get out and play with her shadows again. That Aleksander will help you overcome this growing guilt within you and take away from you the burden of the sins you have committed in his name and out of fun.

However, when you manage to create your own nichevo'ya, to your and Aleksander's shock, you don't feel that relief and excitement. Guilt grows inside you, and your throat tightens as the nichevo'ya follows your every command.

Aleksander is speechless. Enough that he can only whisper: "My talented little darkness." before he pulls you in for a hungry kiss.

A little shadow turned into a little darkness. And instead of feeling overwhelmingly happy that he's finally seen your potential, you start to fear your power and about what he wants to do with it.

Went for me, and not her 'Cause girls your age know better

You used to mock Aleksander for how initially he was fascinated by Alina's light and what she could do as a sun summoner.

You also didn't know why he was so concerned about losing his connection to her through Morozova's stag bones. You knew how inconvenient this had become for your plans, but you couldn't understand why he was so easily engulfed by her light and worried about losing the ability to summon it.

You changed your mind when you faced her. As you watched her light scatter your shadows. For a moment, a small, fleeting moment, the sinner in you wanted to pray to Sankta Alina for forgiveness and help. For her to get you out of your darkness.

But then she attacked Aleksander. And you didn't hesitate for a moment to send a shadow barrier at him and create nichevo'ya to attack Alina.

And again, you saw the same terror in her eyes as in that little girl's eyes. And you came back to that clearing for a moment—to that moment when you sent a cut at them... when you closed your eyes in shame, not wanting to see what you had done.

You froze so much that Aleksander managed to save you from Alina's attack at the last moment. The roof above you collapsed, leaving you and Aleksander alone on one side of the corridor. You both ran outside.

"What were you thinking? What happened to you there?" he asks furiously, looking at you. This was your chance to grab her. You knew he would be furious with you. But instead of blaming you, he walks over and locks you in a tight, almost painful hug. "You are mine. I can't lose you, my little darkness."

And the worst part is, you don't know if he's holding you and clinging to you because he's hurt at the thought of losing the only person he cares about or if he just can't afford to lose your powers as well.

One thing is certain.

You can't go on like that anymore.

And in his arms, as you both cling to each other, you promise yourself that this will be the last time. You don't want power. You don't want the throne. You don't want everything you've wanted so badly... you don't want to be like Aleksander. You just want to finally feel at peace... just this once.

I've made some real big mistakes But you make the worst one look fine I should've known it was strange You only come out at night I used to think I was smart But you've made me look so naive The way you sold me for parts As you sunk your teeth into me, oh Bloodsucker, famefucker Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire

You remembered that day, like today. How you left your own house without looking back. When, after discovering that you were a shadow summoner, you decided that you could handle yourself. That you no longer have to live at home with a cruel father who blamed you for your mother's death in childbirth.

Luckily, you weren't alone for long. One day, you met them. Two people just like you, who welcomed you with open arms and welcomed you as one of their own (after a long time of both gaining each other's trust. Fate hurts both you and them.) But now you have your own little family.

You weren't Y/N Y/L/N, you were Y/N Morozova.

And that night, you were supposed to erase all traces of your past once and for all.

You told Aleksander and Baghra that you were going to visit your relatives. It was partly true. You think as you enter your father's house.

You don't tell him anything. You don't have to. From the determined, stern look in your eyes, a man knows why you're here. Aleksander taught you how to form the cut on objects. You decided a long time ago who would be your first living victim.

It's different than you imagined. When your shadows cut it in half... nothing happens. You don't feel regret, anger, or sadness. The blood on the wall and the blood that forms under it does not arouse any emotions in you. You just feel your shadows buzz inside you, wanting to get out, wanting to destroy everything around you, the last evidence of your old life and who you used to be.

But now you were Grisha. Shadow Summoner. Morozova's powerful ancestor.

And you had a goal. Destroy those who wish evil on you and your people. Anyone who dared hurt Grishas. And you started with your father.

You're leaving the house. You walk backward, watching your shadows crush the building to the ground. You feel a strange feeling of power rising in your veins.

And then you bump into someone's chest.

You don't scream. You don't attack.

You know this smell, especially the feeling of those strong arms around you. Only one person could just hold you to his chest in a situation like this.

"How are you feeling, little shadow?" he whispers in your ear. You don't know how he knew he'd find you here, how he tracked you down, or if he followed you from the beginning.

But it's good to feel his arms around you. They surround you almost like his shadows.

"Good. Free." Powerful. Invincible. Almighty.

You're not going to tell him. Not now. Not when you don't know how he'll react to it. But when he turns you around in his arms to look at him, you know you both share this thirst for power.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. His gaze penetrates your eyes deeply, making you shiver. You feel that he can reach into your deepest, most secret dreams. And that he finds there a reflection of his own desires.

So you stand on your tiptoes and lean forward to kiss him.

And when you feel his lips on yours, his hands wrapped around your waist to pull you as close as possible to him, and the way he amplifies the shadows inside of you that are already buzzing with excitement, you feel like you can do anything by his side. And you both know this is just the beginning.

You and he were going to change the world.

You said it was true love, but wouldn't that be hard? You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart I tried you help you out, now I know that I can't 'Cause how you think's the kind of thing I'll never understand

"Aleksander?" you ask him when you enter your chamber and see him engrossed in books and maps.

"Come here, Y/N! I need to show you something." He says excitedly, and the fact that he's called you by name only proves that how important it is.

You sit on his lap and study the maps he has spread out. There are red crosses in some places.

"The places of the amplifiers. We are so close to everything we have planned. I can't wait to see you in the crown by my side, my little darkness. They will worship us. The new saints and rulers of Ravka. Saviours of all Grishas." he continues excitedly as he holds you in his lap and looks at all the papers on the desk.

"What about Alina? Her tracker? The Grishas who followed her… your mother?" you ask. He stops stroking your hair and shifts his gaze towards you.

"You don't know? They will kneel before us. Traitors will be punished accordingly. I promise you, my little darkness. No one dares to oppose us. No one will be brave enough to fight our darkness." he places a tender kiss on your forehead. "We're both in it. We don't need anyone else, my little faithful, pretty darkness."

He glances back at his maps and plans. He doesn't notice your nervous look or swallow. And you realise more than before that you don't want it. You don't want to be queen through fear and violence… you don't want to see again, in dreams, behind closed eyes, and on the faces of others, that frightened look of the little girl you cut in half with your shadows.

You do not want to be like Aleksander.

You spent 150 years striving to be where you are now. By his side. His equal. Just like him. His matching darkness.

And now you would do anything to go back those 150 years… not to commit so many sins in the name of power and love for a man who can't love anyone because his heart died ages ago before he even met you.

"You and I will finally change this world, Y/N. We're so close, my little darkness." he says, pulling you closer to him.

You shudder at the nickname, which has become a sweet curse, uttered by him with tenderness. A curse that was another thing to remind you of your wickedness… that you had become a monster.

Aleksander frowns for the first time since you entered his tent, noticing that there is something wrong with you. That you don't have that excited twinkle in your eyes when he talks about his plans. That you don't have that dark smirk on your face that drove both of you to action.

"What is this? What's in your mind?" he asks, caressing your cheek tenderly.

You lean in and kiss him. Aleksander does not realise the importance of this kiss. He doesn't realise that this is your last attempt to get back at him. One last attempt to hold on to him with the last of his strength. Last try before you put your own plan into action. Before you make a final and irreversible decision about both of you.

You kiss him with everything you have. With all the passion, love and affection that he has instilled in you over the last 150 years.

Your mentor. Your saviour. Your great, epic love. Your sweet villain. Your worst doom and greatest happiness.

Your Aleksander.

You pull away from the kiss and rest your forehead against his. He notices your tears, but he thinks they are tears of joy, that you, just like him, are glad that your long journey is coming to an end.

"I love you, Aleksander." you whisper with tears in your eyes, silently begging him to say back those three words you've been missing for ages. To prove that he cares about you, that he's not completely consumed in his darkness.

But he smiles only and kisses you on the forehead again, stroking your hair as he whispers softly: "I know."

You kiss him again. You don't want to show him that you're broken. That with his answer, he sealed your fate… that you had completely lost all hope of saving yourself and him. Because there was no you without Aleksander. And you couldn't go on like that anymore.

I've made some real big mistakes But you make the worst one look fine I should've known it was strange You only come out at night I used to think I was smart But you made me look so naive The way you sold me for parts As you sunk your teeth into me, oh Bloodsucker, famefucker Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire

He was preparing for his… your quest for the amplifier. His men were assembling the camp; his tent was just your suitcases and a few key reports and plans he had yet to go through.

He planned everything perfectly. It's a shame you were about to ruin it all.

"Aleksander. We have to talk." you say, hiding the tremble in your voice.

"Now? We're about to leave, can't it wait a while? We'll talk on the way." he says without taking his eyes off the papers in his hands. Saints, if only he knew how hard it is for you to do what you have to do right now.

"I have a feeling that I wouldn't be by your side to witness your victory, Aleksander." you say to him, playing with the sleeve of your black kefta. A ring made of Baghra's bone has never weighed on you more as you let your shadows step out for a moment and roam the tent.

"Where would you be then?" he asks, finally interested in you as he looks up at you with a surprised and panicked look.

You just smile. Aleksander is trembling. It's not that smile that warms his dead heart, it's not that dark smile that makes him shiver, his shadows are eager to play with yours.

Your smile is empty, without hope, sad and as if… resigned. Tears form in your eyes. Aleksander takes a hesitant step towards you.

"Y/N..." he whispers, watching your emotions finally surface.

"I love you, Aleksander. I always did. You were my epic love. My shelter. My mentor. Everything I've ever known. The only constant in my life. I've always wanted to impress you, to match you. Stop being just your little shadow… I'm sorry I didn't love you properly. Not enough. Maybe it would be better if you ended up with Alina. She is… the light. And we are only darkness. Maybe it's my fault… that I went deeper into this darkness with you, that I pushed you into it myself and enjoyed it more than anything…" you say, no longer holding back tears. This is the first time Aleksander has seen you in such a… vulnerable state. And he's terrified.

"Y/N, what are you talking about?"

"I'm so sorry, Sasha... but I can't do this anymore." you whisper with tears in your eyes and start to form the cut.

"Stop. No, please stop! No! Stop!" he screams, terrified. He runs to you to stop you, but his nichevo'ya holds him in place. He can only watch, screaming in horror and great grief, as one of his shadow monsters crushes your neck before his eyes.

He screams louder than ever. And you close your eyes, unable to see the terror in his dark brown eyes.

When his nichevo'ya finally releases him, he runs over to you. He takes you in his arms, holding you close to him on his lap.

"I... I never meant for this... I-I swear." he cries, cradling you close to his chest in his arms. He knows there's nothing he can do anymore. He has a few moments left with you. And you realise that, unlike you, he can't control them. It's his shadows that control him.

"Sh... sh... I know... I love you, Sasha."

"Please… no… I love you, I love you so much, Y/N. Please..." he cries as he leans his forehead on yours. "I can't do it without you… I can't live without you. You are... my everything. Please... don't leave me..."

You taste his tears as he kisses you one last time, as if trying to keep you by his side. With the last of your strength, you take advantage of the connection between you and give him your power. So he will no longer be controlled by his shadows.

"I'm so sorry, Aleksander." you whisper into his lips, and you feel all your strength starting to leave you. Only loud screams and Aleksander's tight, aching embrace keep you in this world.

After a while, you feel nothing. It's just you and blissful emptiness.

You feel at peace.

And deep down, you feel that you and Aleksander will meet again on the other side… this time, maybe you'll both enjoy the light.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

Innata Malevolentia - Part One

Summary: there is something unsettling about Ettore that she can't quite put her finger on, and perhaps something deeper and more sinister about her check-ups with Dibs | Word Count: 3.2k ~ | warnings below the cut!

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Ettore Taglist

warnings: mentions of past non-con crimes (but vague), masturbation (f), intimate examinations, Ettore being creepy

Why do they put windows in here?

That's the constant thought that rattles around her brain, demanding an answer, but unable to find one.

She stands, by herself, arms crossed and neck craned to look up at the skylight. A box of light and cosmic colour, carved into the pitch black darkness, bathing her face in a cool, extraterrestrial glow.

It doesn't feel warm, like the sun would.

In fact it's freezing, like being dunked under a cold shower. Like that feeling when you're just about to fall from an extreme height, but your feet stay planted, arms stretched out for balance, but your weight wants to pull you down without the real force to do it.

Heart going fast, breath burning in your lungs and blood pumping around your body at such speed, it makes you feel weightless.

That's how looking at the stars and the endless abyss of the universe makes her feel.

Uneasy.

Getting closer but also further away at the same time.

If she looks at it too long she feels a bit sick, like the loops on a rollercoaster, her stomach feeling airborne for a moment.

The air conditioning nips at her arms, every little hair standing right on end. They don't even have the decency in this hellish place to pretend it's a warm, safe place to be.

How safe is she, surrounded by the most dangerous criminals, all free to roam the ship at their leisure?

Criminals including her.

There are a few people she knows she should be afraid of, and a few who are largely harmless until pushed that little bit too far, but they all have their tells.

Only Dibs has access to their records.

Only she knows what they've all done to deserve being here.

That smug-faced, cocky witch, knows everything, and says nothing about it, but carries herself as if she is any better herself. Her chin tilted up, putting on her professional facade that everyone seems to have seen through already.

The look, as if she was judging them.

But she was sick of being judged. Many had already judged her before, and doomed her to a lifetime of imprisonment because of it.

They're all monsters here.

Convicted to die on this ship, years away from Earth, from all she knows.

Not like it assisted her in any way, being on Earth. Her life had been riddled with constant failures at different points in her life, some her fault, some not.

But that's life, she muses constantly, to try and apply some reason to her existence.

Here, there's a level of freedom. No chains or bars on her cells at least. No guards to shout in her face or threaten with batons.

And yet, that feeling of being confined to a room is eclipsed by the feeling of being confined by nothingness.

She often wondered, what were her family doing right now? The little family she had left.

What was anyone back on Earth doing right now?

Had much changed?

She knew she only thought of these things because of how uneventful the ship always was. A routine set in stone, like commandments.

Wake up. Eat. Exercise. Eat. Whatever duty they were assigned. Eat. Shower. Sleep.

A monotonous, tiresome regime.

Designed to make life here as dull and boring as possible.

She's not stupid. She knows some of the crimes worthy of a death sentence.

Murder. Rape. In some cases, fraud. Which, in the same breath, seemed so tame, it could hardly be compared.

But she guessed most of them were here for murder.

It was too dangerous to think they were here for anything else. She didn't want the idea anywhere near her.

People like Monte, Tchemy, Mink. She could see those kind of people just snapping. Doing something they would later regret for the rest of their lives, and are currently paying the punishment for.

Boyse, Dibs and Nansen seemed different.

If they did murder, it would have been planned in a moment of madness.

But these were all just guesses.

One she couldn't guess for the life of her, was him.

Ettore.

An all-round weird guy. There was no other word she could think of to describe him.

Perhaps, unsettling?

In such small proximity, she sees him mostly everyday. And everytime she does, a chill prickles at her skin as she feels his eyes on her.. When she dares to look back at him, to see if he will look away, embarrassed at being caught, the pit in her stomach gets heavier when she sees he doesn't.

His blue eyes unapologetically stuck on hers, before wanding in a waving pattern all over her body, pausing at the places she might expect a man to.

His gaze would linger, but he never would.

He was like a whisper. Gone before you could even hear him approach.

In a way, that's what scared her the most. That she might be walking anywhere, in the supposed 'safety' of the artificial day or the darkness of the evening, and he might be following.

Silently.

And watching alongside it.

For what? She wasn't sure.

Was he trying to map out her movements, trying to find a set routine in her everyday life? To find ways of getting her alone to do god knows what?

Based on what she assumed about him, she made sure she was never truly by herself. Never vulnerable.

He looked like the kind to prey on vulnerability.

And therefore, women.

As he perceived them weaker, smaller, less able than him.

Not able to fight him off. Even if they tried.

Out of all the women, Mink was the easiest to talk to. To cling to.

She wasn’t even really sure how they filled their time. For what could they even talk about? Nobody wanted to talk about their crimes, or their life back on Earth. A life where everything seemed easier. Where one day they’d be told that today was their last day, and justice would be coming for them the next.

Death seemed a mercy compared to this.

Mid-spoonful of an undoubtedly terrible meal in the mess hall, Mink winces, one hand at her lower stomach.

“Period?” she asks.

Mink scoffs, shoving whatever beige looking meaty substance into her mouth, trying to act as if the pain didn’t bother her. But she just shakes her head, “I wish. Dibs’ latest checkup wasn’t the nicest”

Everything seemed to circle back to that old hag, who had shouldered control over the ship like some kind of cosmic dictator after the official captain, Chandra, died. Though she is no better than any of them, she certainly pretends to be, assuming herself to be the next kind of authority, when really, if everyone was smart enough to band together, each of them could easily do away with her.

But she was the only doctor.

And that was precious.

But why Dibs feels the need to inspect each of the women so intimately, on such a regular basis, makes a chill rattle through her body. The idea that Dibs has some kind of idea, some agenda, but isn’t telling them, is as terrifying as the endless darkness to some degree.

“What did she want this time?” she asks, pushing the inedible sludge around her plate. Though hungry, she feels little desire to actually eat anything.

Mink shrugs, “The usual I suspect. Just ‘checking on our normal bodily functions’” she replies as if quoting from the woman herself, scoffing like she doesn’t believe a word of that nonsense.

“I think she’s doing something fucking weird to us” Mink muses.

Curiosity nips at her ears as she raises her head to her fellow inmate, “Like what?”

Mink scans her periphery, checking if any of the other inmates are listening, too preoccupied with their own meals to care.

“I felt her put something inside me”

A chill settles at the back of her neck, where all her baby hairs stand on end.

Mink continues, “Boyse got a good look at what was going on. Says she thinks Dibs is trying to get us pregnant, for her psycho experiments”

Her eyes scan the table, as if trying to find answers where there are none, “She can’t do that, surely-”

“Oh yeah and who’s gonna stick up for us?” Mink interrupts, her face flat, expression cold. What she says is so unapologetically laced with the truth, but does little to take the prodding sting of panic from her.

“The people on Earth?” Mink scoffs, shoving yet another mouthful of food past her lips, “we are literally the worst of the worst. We waived the right to defense a long time ago”

Again. It’s true.

But it still does nothing to quell her nerves.

“All we have is ourselves” she adds, “and sometimes I don’t know if we can even trust that”

Having had enough, Mink leaves, carrying her tray back.

A kind of aching dread settles in the back of her mind.

For what reason would Dibs want any of them to get pregnant?

This was no place for a child, and certainly not equipped to deal with childbirth. And on top of that, who the fuck does Dibs think she is?

If she’s trying to get the women pregnant, surely, she must be getting the sperm from somewhere.

Monte was very vocal and proud of the fact he would never even touch another woman. For some inexplicable reason.

Maybe Dibs was forcing the men to do it. As she was the women and the examinations.

When her eyes scan the room, she sees him in her periphery first, his eyes like when you shine a torch in the darkness and see those two blinking amber orbs, staring right back at you. Unmoving. Like they are watching you in still and silence, as you are doing the same to them.

Even though she looks away as soon as they lock eyes, taken completely off guard that he had been staring in her direction to begin with, she still feels the way her skin prickles, feeling as if lots of gentle needles are prodding at the surface of her flesh, but not pressing hard enough to puncture.

It is like trying to hide, knowing there is nowhere to hide. Like wanting to disappear, in a place where there is only this harsh, blue light.

As she stares at her plate, the handle of her fork slovenly sliding into the beige mush, making her want to gag, she still feels it. The intensity of his gaze.

Nothing about it is warm.

He doesn’t even break as he spoons more food into his mouth, as if on auto-pilot, and completely infatuated. Like when you watch a movie and feel like you can’t blink, otherwise you’ll miss something.

It’s as if darkness seeps out of him, like a disease or a virus, flooding every inch of clear air he invades, swallowing the oxygen in the room. She often wonders about him, curiously.

How such a person, a mere man, can have that kind of effect.

Her watch beeps. Dibs wants her again.

But at least it's an excuse to leave.

And yet, she feels the intensity of his stare burning the back of her head as she does.

"Deep breath for me"

As if taking a deep breath will take away the sting of shoving that metal speculum inside her, lube or not.

She winces slightly at the discomfort, her hands forming fists where they're laying on her stomach. Staring up at the ceiling, she tries to loosen the muscles that are so tense and tight, she imagines it's not doing her any favours.

"Oh stop. It isn't that bad" Dibs says. She talks to her as if she's speaking to a child, presenting with a scraped knee, complaining that they're afraid the leg might fall off.

It only makes her want to punch her square in the face.

"What's the point of this again?" She asks, annoyance colouring her tone.

Dibs sighs, clamping the instrument open inside her, stretching her in a new place that feels like a dull ache.

"I am checking your reproductive health"

She could almost laugh at the vague response.

"So what? We can be your guinea pigs for your fertility experiments?" She adds, scoffing as she feels a swab poke at her cervix.

Dibs doesn't even have the decency to really deny it.

"I am devoted to reproduction" she explains, "the human body is an extraordinary thing. It can withstand an incredible amount of stress"

Ah, so that's why.

She wants to see if a baby can survive in these conditions.

She can't help but think that's just a bit sick.

"You are scum. All of you. This may give you some purpose in life, if you let it"

She laughs through her nose at that.

"And what does that make you?" She says, "playing god with dangerous criminals, being no better yourself"

"I did not say I was better" Dibs argues, still between her legs, with a light illuminating her work.

"And yet you feel like it's completely justified to try and get us pregnant against our will" she replies, shaking her head slightly, "you're no better than us. You're worse"

"Keep saying it and it does not change anything" Dibs sits up, reaching over to grab a clear tub. She doesn't see exactly what it is, but has an idea when she feels another instrument at her most intimate areas, pushing something inside.

Mink wasn't lying.

She was trying to artificially inseminate them. With the other prisoner's sperm.

It almost made her gag a little.

"You are a fine specimen" Dibs says, pulling the instruments she'd used out to sterilise later, "there is no reason why you cannot become pregnant in my view"

She can't help but laugh, "my body obeys me. Won't happen"

But Dibs just laughs back.

"We will see about that" she muses, "get dressed"

There's only one saving grace from being here. Away from him.

The Box.

As terrible as it sounded, it was her haven in this horrendous place.

Nobody was more shocked when Dibs announced it.

"You are not permitted to fraternise with the other prisoners. You may use the on-site masturbatory aid, The Box, should you feel the desire"

It seemed a strange thing to her, to include such a thing on a ship. For people who barely deserved to live, they deserved to at least have the privacy to get themselves off?

It was very weird.

But she didn't complain. Beats touching yourself in a cell you share with two other people.

She was only grateful she didn't have the bunk bed.

The Box could generally have a few people waiting to use it. And whenever she saw a queue for it, she grimaced and turned away, like she never intended to use it in the first place.

She knew other people had their way in it, but for some reason seeing them lined up outside waiting to have a fiddle, made her recoil back into herself.

It was almost sad that people had to wait for the supposed enjoyable experience. And having to watch them wait their turn.

Tonight though, she simply entered The Box as Boyse came out, not sparing a glance at each other when they crossed.

Not because they didn't get on. But because it offered some sense of privacy, to not acknowledge what they were here for.

Without embarrassment.

Everyone had urges after all.

It had been so long since she'd been with anyone. A long time before they even left Earth, as they certainly didn't let them fraternise with anyone within their earthly prison. Male or female alike.

At the beginning, it took her a while to get into the groove of using the Box. But now it had become second nature.

Once the door was shut, she did her business, bringing herself to peak on her fingers. Not being able to find it within herself to use the phallus on the table. It was just too weird.

Luckily for her, time passed slowly at least when she pleasured herself. Pressing her lips together to prevent any sounds from coming out. Apart from the whiny, hurried breaths that spilled from her with her orgasm, rolling in waves numbly through her limbs.

Feeling her heartbeat through her bud and a pulsing in her blood, she pulls her sweatpants back over her hips, sighing and smoothing her hair down. Pressing the button to exit, there's a lull in her horrendous situation. A brief, fleeting moment where it's just her, her feet shuffling in front of one another, her body heavy with pleasure, but light at the same time.

That is until the creaking of metal, of footsteps making their way down the ladder, bounces off the walls.

The hallway suddenly seems so much narrower, darker, with his presence.

She doesn't quite realise when he's sat down or stood far away, but now, almost right before her, she's struck by his sheer size. How tall and broad he seems in comparison. It sends a nervous chill over her bare arms, the skin beneath the short sleeves rippling up with goosebumps.

She swallows as they briefly make eye contact.

In the time she's known of him, he emotes very little. But here, seeing the faint flush on her face from the efforts of her time in the Box, one side of his lips curl up almost unnoticeably. His arms swing barely as he walks past her, his arm brushing against her shoulder, like he intended to do it.

Just the faintest touch, seems to give him something.

But it only makes her feel ill.

She dare not imagine what he could be thinking. Plotting.

She hears him murmur something deeply, a breathy laugh accompanying it.

Pivoting on her foot, her eyes find him down the hallway, where she just was, at the entrance to the Box.

"What?"

Half in, half out, his face turns over his shoulder, a faint smirk on his features as he steps backwards into the chamber.

With his messy blonde hair, once overgrown and cut himself, striking blue eyes, he would be attractive. If she didn't know him.

"Fucking cocktease" he muses, "playing hard to get, are we?"

The blood that rushed to her face before, suddenly drains.

His voice is like the purr of a cat. Calculated. A whisper, but not at the same time.

It frightens her. In a way only a man can frighten a woman with his words.

She's about to open her mouth to retort when he says.

"It's alright, I like a little struggle"

When he disappears behind the door, her blood has a chill to it.

She thinks of returning to her cell. Thinks about the fact that, since Boyse lashed out on Dibs and tried to conjure up a makeshift douche one evening, the women had been reduced to being tied down by their wrists as they slept.

The men don't.

She knows sleep won't come to her that night.

That she'll be sat awake, her wrists tied at her sides, hoping and praying that Ettore isn't fucked up enough to pay her a visit in this vulnerable state.

Perhaps, by staying awake, he won't.

She watches the doorway, hearing the faint click of skin walking on the linoleum floor in slow, careful movements. Her heart goes fast, blood pumped with pure adrenaline.

She sees his form, lit by blue, lithe, broad and littered with wiry muscle. His eyes, glimmering at her, seeing she's awake. His lips as they quirk up at the sides, like he's amused by what he sees.

Even as he carries on, walking out of view, she knows…

…that it's only a matter of time, until he has the courage to not just watch her.

And that here, she cannot escape him.

Ettore Taglist: @bellaisasleep | @iamavailablesstuff | @the-common-cowgirl | @theroyaldixon | @ultraintrovertedgryffindor

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