#heatbreak

[supernaturalfreakout]

— I love you, I'm sorry (Sam x fem!reader)

Summary: Sam regrets ever letting you slip away. Based on the song "I love you, I'm sorry" by Gracie Abrams. Notes: This was a request, and again, something that never would have existed if it wasn't requested. When I first received this ask, I have to admit my immediate thought was, No. I looked at the lyrics and had no idea how I would make it fit the kind of stories I like to tell. But then I had an idea, and just ran with it. Featuring Sam's POV again, and his incredibly messed up feelings. Thanks @mehartoor for the challenge ✨ PS. I've never written a songfic before this, so any feedback is welcome! CWs: Angst and regret, heartbreak, ?second chance romance, intentionally ambiguous.

Apologies have always come naturally to Sam, “I’m sorry” slipping from his lips as inevitably as dying leaves abandoning their branches in the fall—or is the tree the one that lets go? All his life he’s had something to regret, whether by the actions of his own hands or that of the universe, so he’s had plenty of practice, and this is nothing new. Regardless of how often he whispers those two, savage words, however, they never get any easier. And it's never been harder than the day he’d had to say those words to you …

Late Kansan summer. Lazy day by the lake celebrating your two-year anniversary. Sam remembers that day as clear as his conscience had been when you’d lain under the sun that afternoon: golden rays on your back, hands entwined in constant companion. Drinking champagne neither of you could afford from a flask to keep it cool. Feeding each other strawberries, juice dripping down lips and over chins. Backtracked by the distant splash of water and the laughter of families making the most of their summer vacations. Overseen by the clouds: stoned, and drifting fluffy and hypnotic in a crystal-blue sky.

By sunset, you were both sunburnt and tipsy, heads muzzy in their collective daze from the bubbles and humidity, and the constant buzzing of the lake flies that left a dizzying static in your ears, and that made Sam feel he was observing someone else’s life rather than his own. But that didn’t stop either of you from making the most of the night.

Pictures flash in Sam’s memory. Movie-reels in faded sepia. Haunting melancholies encoded in his skin. Images of you on your knees, grass-stains that persisted until morning. Pleasure coursing through his veins. The feel of your hair in his hands as he plastered his lips shut and prayed no one was exploring near where you had set up camp for the night. Luminescent bellies of fireflies that emerged at dusk and swept his mind to a distant shore.

Then you on your back, his head between your legs. The salt on your skin as he sucked on your thighs, leaving mottled red patches in his wake, and the itchy mosquito bites on your calves that he later soothed with lotion—because Sam always packed lotion (that was one of many things you’d loved to tease him about).

The softness of your stomach against his as he entered you softly, and the scent of your tears as you made love in the muggy, august air. The sweat you’d shared, bodies dewy and glistening in the moonlight. And, later on, the sparkle in your wet eyes when, tangled under the stars in your love-drunk state, you’d promised him “forever.”

A sharp pang shoots through Sam’s chest whenever he thinks about that. A rod lodging its way in his windpipe. The fear that overtook him that night led to him saying some truths the following morning that he probably should have kept to himself. Stupid things he didn’t mean. Things he wishes he could take back.

But he can’t. And he couldn’t then.

It was too late the moment he said them, his words too hurtful—too honest—and you had left. 

You had left, and for what?

To confirm his suspicions that he was never destined for happiness?

That everything he touches eventually turns to ash?

That he is doomed to end up loveless and alone?

Sam shakes his head, the memories too painful to bare, the ‘what ifs’ too hopeful to fathom.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt you, but Sam knew better than to promise forever. Because forever wasn’t his to claim. For what does forever even mean? Until the end of the world? No. He’s lived through several. Til the end of his days? That might not be that far away. Until the end of yours…? Sam didn’t want to even contemplate that. Because forever wasn’t real; it was a cruel joke people told themselves to make the fall hurt less.

And then he’d found himself panicking, ruminating about how he’d be condemning you—that he already was—just by existing.

He knew then that he had to let you go, because he loved you too much to watch you die slowly in his arms. Because that’s what would happen if you’d stayed, lest you burn up in a blaze of agony like everyone else he’s ever loved. He couldn’t chain you to him; you had a future ahead of you, one that promised wealth and happiness and connections. A Mercedes Benz. First-class flights. Shit neither of you cared about but had let infiltrate your dreams nonetheless.

Sam could see it now: you, years from now, laughing in a sunlit kitchen, someone else’s arms around your waist, another man's child in your belly. It made bile rise to his throat, thinking of anyone else being with you like that, and touching you as he does. He wanted to scream that he'd loved you first, that it should have been him there with you. But he also couldn’t deny that it was the safest option: a life without him, free from darkness.

A life you deserved. A future you’d trained and charmed for. One that promised status and would satisfy your parents’ shallow sense of self-worth, something Sam himself would never be able to satiate. One that offered opportunity and adventure, without the constant threat of damnation. He had to slam the door closed before it knocked both of you out. It was inevitable, after all. That’s just the way life goes.

So he’d been a dick; he needed you to hate him, and had pushed you away. It was the easiest way.

Two years down the road, thinking enough time had passed to anesthetize the pain, Sam tries to make amends, which results in you exchanging several messages. Surprisingly, you seem cool about it, and Sam doesn’t know how to take it. He thought he would be able to deal with it, that he was over what had happened, and that it would put his mind at rest. But he is wrong again, and it only brings up unresolved feelings. This shit never ends.

Joyriding on the back of those memories, Sam realizes that loving you is his greatest regret; you are simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. Because there’s no way in hell or on earth that he will ever get over you.

It's a car crash, yet he still can’t look away. So he sighs, fumbles in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and types out a message, because one last text can’t hurt, can it? As his fingers hover over ‘send,’ he looks up at the sky, and wonders whether you are up there, in that plane passing by.

His belly lights up with hope, fireflies flickering inside him, battering him from the inside out. A self-destructive habit, an age-old curse that will surely kill him one day if you don’t send someone to do it instead.

His fingers fly back over the screen, messages spilling from his gut, bursting forth in staccato rhythm.

He presses send again. And again. And holds his breath as his words float into the abyss. The feelings they contain no longer obscured by blurry nostalgia, but the painful, hopeful reality of the present.

“I love you,” the first one reads, in crisp, clear letters. But that’s not all.

“I love you,” the second repeats, because one statement is not enough; Sam always has to twist the knife deeper.

“I love you,” comes the third.

And the fourth.

The fifth …

"I love you

   I love you

     I love you

       I love you

         I love you

           I can’t stop

             I’ve always loved you and I always will

             I was wrong

           So, so wrong

         And I’m sorry

       So deeply sorry

     About what I said

   About that night

For everything.”

There’s not enough oxygen in the universe to supply Sam’s lungs as he waits for your reply. And when he sees the read receipt, followed by three little dots appearing and disappearing repeatedly at the bottom of his screen, that tumultuous swarm of hope threatens to choke him.

In his mind, he is already back beside that lake, tangled beneath the stars. He is dirty, and dishonest, but he is happy, and so are you.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate, or laugh, or brush of your remark with some snide and self-destructive statement about how the future doesn’t exist.

This time, he is ready and willing to give up forever, whatever that means.

[ourinternallandscapetarot]

"The heart will break, but broken live on."

– Lord Byron

[caffeine-cravings]

[ratlombot2]

Two Ex's In the Rain

[retro-cryptid-kitty]

ME!ME!ME!

[kradziejusto]

Divine fuckup: E V I L G A N G 😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

[skibidiahaajarkin]

guys i have a confession i do infact drink soda and enjoy it. i am not really theo water collins

[kidsomeday]

I absolutely love that Geto and Gojo broke up fought in front of a KFC and then each coped by immediately adopting two children. They’re perfect for each other. What complete disasters.

[galedekarios]

emmrich & regret

emmrich: rook? darling? i wanted to say... rook: yeah, about that argument... emmrich: (sighs) it's no time to apologise, is it? rook: we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise.

currently thinking about the fact that this is the last thing that emmrich and rook truly talk about before everything falls apart on tearstone island and they can't even do it in private, because the one chance they had, their moment to do so turned into an argument.

and not only did one friend die.

and not only is another friend missing, presumably also dead.

no, on top of all that tragedy -- that affects them all because the companions do care about each other. no matter who you picked, it's tragic: emmrich's picknick with harding and the long talks about their pasts, his discussions and warmth with bellara, his respect for neve and the little ways she cares so much, his friendship with davrin and the way both learn from each other in how to care for those in their care -- rook is gone, too. vanished.

and the last private moment they had ended in a heated argument.

i am willing to bet that "we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." is something that haunts emmrich during those long, long weeks that rook is trapped.

"we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." - not only is the use of 'home' very poignant and loaded and heatbreaking, but... they never do get to talk. then they never do get home. it's only he who does.

it's a promise broken.

it's a huge regret.

it's one of those little things that seem overwhelming in the face of loss and grief. the little things that you never got to do. the little things that you never get to make right. the little things that you never get so say. the way should have, could have, would have makes you spiral.

and emmrich would know, does have experience with it after losing his parents so abruptly, as well as within his professional duty's as a watcher, yet i think that would weigh heavily on him.

he's not prepared to lose rook. we see that time and time again in his human path and in his lich path as well:

emmrich: i will lose you to time, rook. what if i can’t bear that for eternity? - emmrich: i’m afraid i’ll mourn you forever.

i think it also explains very well why he insists on the visit to the necropolis, despite what's looming over the group. at first i thought it's a bit frivolous at this point in the game, until i realised why. he does it to be truly absolutely sure that all traces of whatever solas did to rook are gone:

emmrich: rook, dearest, please trust me. i must take you to the necropolis before we confront elgar'nan. - rook: did we have to risk visiting the necropolis? emmrich: i needed its subtler enchanments to detect what we must know. emmrich: there's no mark of the curse solas left on you. emmrich: darling, i thought i'd lost you forever in the fade. rook: if you and the others hadn't pulled me out...

emmrich doesn't want to repeat his (perceived) mistake. he doesn't want to lose them again, to leave things unfinished and to regret again.

and while i did wish we had an additional scene where we actually do have a chance to both address the argument rook and emmrich had in a meaningful way, addressing what happened after as well as emmrich's fears, it makes this final line in the romance scene all the sweeter:

emmrich: whatever is in store for us - together, my darling. that's how we'll face it. rook: i know.

[celestialgloaming]

Okay like I completely forgot this way more appropriate one piece scene happened lmao

[kradziejusto]

Somewhere at the end of time

[goodlucktai]

WAIT WAIT WAIT ok im sorry you can ignore this ask and the other ask too BUT I've been on a baby casey & f!leo fatherson kick brainrot lately and I just think prompt 27 would be heatbreaking and wonderful all at once, ok but fr love you big fan 💕🫂

dialogue prompts

27. “Breathe... breathe. Look at the stars, kid.”

it's @soldrawss birthday and i JUST found out because apparently i am a huge joke to her /j

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOL i hope your day was lovely and that you enjoy this small offering

x

They’re barely home for an hour when Casey’s breath catches in his throat. 

It’s sudden enough that he chokes mid-word and starts to cough, his body trying to clear its airway except that there isn’t any blockage there to dislodge. When he finally manages to suck in a breath that fills his lungs halfway, it rattles in with an audible reedy wheeze. 

Maybe no one noticed, he thinks hysterically, and lifts his eyes to find his entire not-family staring at him from their various positions around the room. 

“You good?” Mikey says, wrapped hands already up like he was ready to make the save if Casey keeled over. 

“Fine,” he says, or tries to. It comes out sounding so hoarse that he might as well have just opened his mouth and croaked at him like a mutant bullfrog. 

Mikey’s brow furrows beneath his dirtied orange mask and he whips around to look to his big brothers for guidance, the way he never really grew out of doing, even after the end of the world. 

Leo is already moving, pushing himself upright off the cot that Raph just set him down on. He waves the instant chorus of “Leo, I swear to god”s away and limps over to where Casey had stationed himself by the handwash sink. He starts to limp over, anyway, and one of his legs folds beneath him immediately, and he would have eaten concrete if it weren’t for all the hands that shot out from all sides to catch him. 

There are still hands to catch him here. It’s nice. 

The tightness in Casey’s chest is unbearable now that he’s given it a second of attention. What he mistook for anxiety and adrenaline was maybe not entirely that, after all. He’s usually better about catching the warning signs—if he’d run the system update that’s been haunting the corner of his HUD for the last week like he should have done, the program designed specifically to monitor his asthma symptoms would have thrown up its own red flag by now. Multiple flags in multiple colors, even, impossible to ignore and more annoying by the second until Casey admitted defeat and took himself to the medbay. 

As long as the update is queued, taking up memory, there’s a ghost in the CPU. As long as there’s a ghost, his family still exists somewhere. They’re not gone, they came here with him. They’re alive and the world didn’t end and Casey can breathe. 

Later, he’ll feel really stupid about this. Later, he’ll hate the way he snatched up Leo’s hands the second they moved into his line of sight and clung to him like a scared little kid. 

But right now he is that scared little kid. 

“Hey, Space-Case,” not-sensei says with sensei’s crooked smile. He almost definitely has a broken cheekbone, and two black eyes, and he’s smiling like he doesn’t feel any of it. “Sounds like you’ve been holding out on us. Slow and steady, life’s not a race unless you make it one.” 

Casey knows what it sounds like when Leo is worried, can hear the upset under the polished glass surface of calm. It shouldn't be comforting to know that, but it’s comforting to know him. He ekes in a breath, it scratches all the way down and it doesn’t feel like it makes a difference, but the success emboldens him to suck down another. 

“You were breathy on the ride home, I thought it must have been from all the smoke,” Leo goes on. “But I guess that was a trigger. Do you have an inhaler?”

“Y–” Casey starts to say, and coughs again, and Leo’s fingers tighten around his before he can panic. “Belt,” he gasps. 

“Okay, that’s enough from you,” Leo says a little shortly. Which isn’t very fair, Casey was just answering his question. Then he realizes Leo’s clipped tone is probably because Casey’s dizziness is overpowering his ability to stand upright.

“Going down,” Leo says to someone else, and instantly, Casey’s controlled fall is arrested halfway to the floor. 

The last time Uncle Rapha held him, he was much smaller and Raph was much bigger, but somehow it feels the same. He leans back in Raph’s lap, the solid plastron behind him bracing him upright, and clumsily tries to help Leo paw through the pouches on his belt. The third time Leo bats Casey’s hands away, Raph reaches around and holds them still. 

“Let’s let the boss work,” Raph rumbles softly. It’s a miracle that he has any softness to spare for Casey, of all people, who closed the door and left his brother behind it. Left his brother in the dark where the monsters live. “We’re still breathing, right, big man?”

“R—Right,” Casey says, but it’s barely got enough air behind it to count. 

“No inhaler,” Leo announces, already turning to address someone else in the room. “Donnie, metal cabinet by the door, third drawer down, should be one in there.” Turning back, he leans in and pins Casey to the spot with a look. “Keep breathing, Case,” he says. “That’s your only job. Don’t slack off now.”

“Why do we have one?” Mikey asks in a voice that shakes. Casey manages to split enough of his attention to regret scaring him. 

“Red used to have asthma when you were all just little turtles,” Splinter says quietly. “He outgrew it, but Blue always says—”

“It’s chronic, not curable,” Leo says in a falsely bright tone, the cadence of an ancient argument. He catches the box his twin throws over and wastes no time ripping it open and shaking the inhaler into his palm. Within seconds, it’s primed, and Leo is curling one hand behind Casey’s head and bringing the mouthpiece to his lips and ordering, “Deep breath.” 

He obeys, feeling the medicine go to work, and holds without exhaling for as long as he can. It’s not long, barely five seconds. Leo shakes the canister and has it ready for him again when he’s ready to suck in another desperate puff. 

“Okay,” Leo says, studying his face with back and forth flicks of bright gold eyes. “You’re okay, Casey. Breathe.” 

“Breathe… breathe,” sensei says, large fingers combing Casey’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. His hand is calloused from the hilt of his sword, rough with scars that didn’t heal well, and gentle. 

“Look at the stars, kid,” he adds, their family’s little joke. There hadn’t been a clear night since the war started, the skies overcast with smoke and ash and pollution from the Technodromes, but every single room Casey had ever lived in had glow-in-the-dark constellations on the ceiling. 

“Look at the stars,” sensei says. 

There aren’t any, Casey wants to cry, maybe would if he had the breath to. There aren’t any anymore. 

Instead he inhales and exhales, carefully, counting each second in his head. The tension seeps out of the room like water through a sieve. Splinter is talking about hot drinks, April is talking about calling her mom. Four bright lights stay sat, a constellation that Casey is somehow in the middle of. 

“I haven’t had an attack in years,” Raph murmurs. He’s rocking Casey very slowly and doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it. “Since I was—six or seven, maybe. You kept one this whole time?”

“Correction, the medication expires, so he has consistently replaced one this whole time,” Donnie says, and sways disinterestedly with the force behind Leo’s disgruntled shove of his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Raph says. “But why?” he asks a moment later. 

“So I could say I told you so when you ended up needing it,” Leo replies disingenuously. 

Casey could say that sensei carried an inhaler in his kit every time he went into the field. Even after Uncle Raph died, he stayed in the habit. It saved Casey’s life once, the day they discovered he had asthma in the worst possible way. Sensei didn’t say I told you so to anyone. That was never the point.

“He loves you,” Casey says. “That’s why.”

For a moment, none of them speak. Then Mikey’s smile fills the room like stubborn sunshine finally breaking through rain clouds. Donnie says, “Intelligent beyond your years. I understand now why Future Me kept you around.” Leo seems to be considering the pros and cons of sinking into his shell and never coming out again, hunched small and embarrassed beside his big brother.

Casey can’t see Raph’s expression, but he can imagine what it looks like. He knows the feeling.

Casey was loved by Leo once, too.

[circethefirstwitch]

Circe Invidiosa - John William Waterhouse

Another Painting of my favorite goddess; Circe!

Titled 'Circe Invidiosa', John William Waterhouse, 1892

This beautiful oil painting is a classical portrayal of the goddess Circe. It is Waterhouse's second depiction of the goddess, after Circe Offering the Cup to Ulysses (1891). The painting is based on Ovid's Metamorphosis, in which Circe turns the sea nymph Scylla into a hideous sea monster after she attracts the eye of Glaucus, Circe's lover. Jealous of Glaucus' affection for Scylla, Circe poisons the water where Scylla regularly bathes, turning her from nymph to serpent.

Waterhouse shows Circe standing on the back of what I believe to be Scylla mid-transformation, an expression of heatbreak and fury on her face as she pours the transformation potion into the pool. The painting emphasizes the bright green-blue coloration of the water in the pool and in Circe's potion, adding tension around Circe as she poisons the water. Her posture is taught and proud, her back arched over the bowl as if in determination. I particularly like how Waterhouse paints Circe's expression, her face is so detailed and her anger is so audible when looking at the canvas.

Extra!

Epic: The Musical fans will recognize both Circe and Scylla from their individual sagas!

[biggreenhouse]

Tophat. After Alice. After Stevie. Before Slash.

Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers performing on stage on June 24th 1978 in Knebworth, UK, photographed by Gus Stewart

[obsidian-pages777]

MasterList

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[igotanidea]

(4) Cheater: Dick Grayson x reader

part 1

part 2

part 3

Warnings: heavy angsts, heatbreak, crush and burn, girl fighting.

***

“Shit” was a light description of the situation they were currently in.

Enraged Sienna looking at terrified Y/N and Dick in between them.

There was no denying that those two women were more than ready to fight tooth and nail for the man they both wanted in their lives and – if need arise – draw blood.

In any other circumstances, and perhaps a couple years earlier, his ego would be over the roof from the fact that two beautiful girls were displaying their jealousy over him, but he was not that playboy-attitude-like guy anymore.

He fucked up hard and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Taking Y/N and going all the way with her was not a mistake and he was not going to apologize or leave her now.     

Now, he ended up torn between the need to protect Y/N and keeping with the mission that was in fact supposed to protect Y/N while simultaneously putting her in harm’s way.

Impossible situation.

“Sienna-“ he tried to say while still holding Y/N tight, covering her naked form from the other girl’s eyes.

“YOU BITCH!!” Sienna yelled and without thinking, in a blink of an eye threw herself at Y/N, who squealed in surprise and fleeing Dick’s embrace grabbed the first piece of clothing from the floor to cover herself and started running away.

That “first piece of clothing” was Dick’s shirt. And as you may suspect, it did nothing to ease things up.

A man can really do nothing when two women are fighting. So despite all his skills and abilities, all his attitude and way with words Dick was rooted to the floor, watching the fight unravel before his eyes.

“Girls can we just – “

“STAY OUT OF THIS!” both Y/N and sienna yelled at him, showing a surprising amount of solidarity.

“Stop it!” not giving a shit about their opinion he joined the fight.

If someone were to watch this situation from outside perspective it would be hilarious. Straight out of comedy.

A girl with messed hair in a guy’s stolen  shirt, jumping and ducking on the furniture.

Another girl with a fury in her eyes, throwing said furniture out of her way with a surprising amount of strength.

And a bare chested guy, miraculously and swiftly escaping everything flying his direction, relegated to the background, dealing with the aftermath of his own behavior.

There was no denying that most of this was on him. He seduced Y/N purposefully. And now she was paying for this, forced to repel attack of his ex-girlfriend.

Y/N might have been fast and agile, but Sienna was strong and driven by fury. So when it started to look like the escape was just withing reach, and the first girl reached the entrance door, almost, almost getting to safety (cause the chances of getting attacked in public, on the street were fortunately lower)—

“Oh hell no!”

Y/N’s fingers slipped on the handle and she felt herself being yanked back and on the floor. 

And from then the things started going downhill in an accelerated speed.

“You slept with him you bitch!?” Sienna slapped y/n’s face

“He slept with me!” Y/n did not pull her punches, doing the same thing to Sienna, emphasizing the fact that it was all a conscious choice.

“He has a girlfriend! Me!!!���

“Clearly not anymore!”

“Slut!”

“Witch!”

“You were just an entertainment for him!”

“He choose me over you!”

“Because I was gone!”

“Because he doesn’t love you!”

“You piece of shit!”

Sienna straddled Y/N and started hitting her face, stomach and everywhere else she could reach, causing little groans and squeals to escape the attacked girl’s mouth.

“Stop it!” Dick yelled rushing to help his love, who was in an immeasurably worse situation.

“Get the hell off me!”

In a blink of an eye the things changed and now it was Sienna with her back pinned to the floor with Y/N on top, both girls going head on each other, focused on defeating the opponent.

“He’s mine!”

“Fuck you!”

“If he didn’t pay you for the service I’ll be more than happy to do so just to get you out of our hair” Sienna hissed vindictively with a smirk, throwing Y/N off her game.

“Did you just call me-?”

“A prostitute, yes.”

“AH!”

The hit, aimed at the nose reached its destination perfectly and blood started running down.

“Did you just-?”

“You can shove your money up your ass!”

“You’re a journalist, you clearly need them more than me.”

“Are you after man’s money Sienna?”

“Huh. Me? You resort to certain measures of getting paid by genteman!”

“At least I’m good at it!”

“Is that what he told you?” Sienna smirked again

“He might have mentioned how good I feel and taste.” Y/N retorted with a viciousness in her eyes.

Now the clash between girls were getting more verbal than physical.

“I already told – it’s because I was gone. You were a substitute.”

“Or maybe I was simply the only choice from the beginning?”

“The hell you talking about?”

At this point, Y/N could hardly recognize herself. The girl who was so insistent of sticking to her own moral rules about not going behind another’s girl back was gone. Just because Dick touched her and made love to her.

Fucking hypocrite, but all that was left was a woman filled with lust, desire and deeply rooted love for a man, and there was no way she was letting go easily. Even if that meant throwing a bucket of slop on another person. Even if that meant living in self-hatred till the end of days.

Dick was hers.

“We were together long before he started going out with you.” She hissed, feeling a surge of power in her veins upon seeing the pain in Sienna’s eyes.

“Wha-what?”

“Y/N! Don’t do this!” Dick finally got his tongue back, but choosing the worst moment to speak up.

 “And why shouldn’t I?” the girl spun towards him with fire in her eyes “you said it yourself, you want me, you love me…” she mocked theatrically “so now It’s your chance to prove it. Show me those wasn’t just words Dick. Aver that you want to be with me. Choose.”

“Dick…?” Sienna stuttered, the role switching, leaving her in the position of victim while Y/N turned into the oppressor. “Is- is it true?”

“Yeah, come on Dick, tell her. Tell her how we were touching and kissing at that Wayne gala while she was oblivious to our dirty games too occupied by Jason.”

“Y/N…”

“Coward.” She hissed to cover up for the way her heart started to hurt and tears wanted to brim in her eyes.

“Please don’t -“ he took a step closer to her but she moved away from his reach.

Seemed like Nightwing was winning against Dick Grayson.

And it gave Sienna back her power.

“See?” she grinned with a self-complacency. “you were just a distraction. A plaything to fill in for me. Cause this is who he wants. Me. Not you.” She stepped closer to Dick, wrapping arms on his side and snuggling into his chest.

Legitimate girlfriend

“But—”

“You can go now, little girl.” Sienna laughed “oh, and this-“ she reached to her pocket and retrieved a one dollar bank note “that’s for your trouble and the great performance. For a moment I almost believed it was all real for you.”

“Dick—” Y/N stuttered, her bottom lip trembling.

She felt betrayed, used, fooled, but deep inside – hoping, wishing and praying for him to do something.

But while she broke all her rules for him, he seemed to not care, standing there without a single word, with her arm wrapped over Sienna waist. Not a hint of self-reflection in his entire posture.

Mission comes first.

“ I think you should-“

“Fuck you both. Have a happy life together. Liar and gold-digger.” She hissed grabbing her pants and coat and shutting the door on her way out, before any of them could see how broken she was.

Left with nothing, including her dignity and integrity.

Poor naïve, gullible little girl.

If only she looked into his eyes.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

@miraculous-panic @fullbelieverheart @xlatinaaxx @ietss @arfrona