#i feel like i’m bleeding out. i can’t do this

[hoshifighting]

Hiiii !! First of all tysm for all the fics you’ve put out! I honestly don’t know how you write them so fast 😭 secondly, I’ve been thinking about this so much so when I saw your requests were open again I got so excited to see if you had any opinions! How do you think the Svt members would react if you told them to say “please”/ ask nicely before they could cum?

I know you have so many requests coming in so I hope you’re taking care of yourself and having fun writing these!

svt reaction to you telling them to say “please”/ask nicely before they could cum

WARNINGS: smut, begging, svt desperate to cum ❤️🩹🗣

seungcheol: his pride is imediatelly gone and its almost funny. he’s groaning “please, please, I’ll do anything, baby, just let me cum.” gripping the sheets, thrusting up into your hand, so fucking close that he’s almost whining. if you tease him a little more, he’ll actually beg louder “fuck, I’m begging you—please let me.”

jeonghan: at first, he’s trying to smirk through it, pretending he’s unaffected: “oh, you think I’ll beg for you?” (he will). the minute you slow down or stop, he’s groaning and grinding against you like, “fine, fuck, please—please let me cum, baby.”

joshua: he wants to keep his composure, but his body’s backstabbing him. he’s thrusting into your hand, breathing hard through his nose, trying to hold back, until he’s finally gasping “fine, fine, please, I’ll beg if that’s what you want—just let me cum.”

jun: he’s squirming like crazy, trying to resist. but you can see the moment he breaks—his whole body’s trembling, and he finally whispers “please, baby, I need it—please.”

hoshi: instant panic. he’s gasping out, “please, I’ll be so good, I’ll do anything you want—just let me.” he’s holding onto you for dear life, all wide-eyed and desperate. if you don’t let him right away, he’ll legit cry, moaning your name in between pleases like he’s praying to you.

wonwoo: the silent sufferer. he’s biting his lip so hard it might bleed, glaring at you like he’s daring you to make him beg. but when you edge him for the third time, his voice cracks “fuck, please—please just let me finish.”

woozi: this man is STUBBORN. at first, he’s glaring at you, biting his lip like he can hold out forever. but when you keep teasing him, he’s growling under his breath “haah—! fuck, okay—please, just let me finish, I can’t take it anymore.”

minghao: you’re testing his patience, and he hates losing. he’s shaking his head at first, lips tight, but when you keep teasing him, he’s hissing “you’re so cruel. fine—please, just let me cum.”

soekmin: likes it when you’re mean to him. he’s smiling through his whines, “please, baby, I know you wanna hear me beg—just let me cum, I’ll be so good for you.” if you keep teasing him, he’s GIGGLING because he lowkey loves it.

mingyu: he’s too whipped for you to pretend he wouldn’t enjoy being edged and begging for permission. he’d say please a hundred times if it meant you’d let him finish.

seungkwan: this man can talk, and it’s all spilling out at once. “please, I’m begging, I’ll be so good—fuck, I’ll never do anything to piss you off again, I promise, just let me cum, PLEASE.” he’s pulling out all the stops, saying whatever he thinks will convince you. 10/10, most affected.

vernon: he’s so conflicted. you can see the internal battle written all over his face. he starts off quiet, breathing hard, refusing to speak—until you slow down and he panics “wait, wait, okay—please, I’ll say whatever you want, just don’t stop.”

chan: his pride lasts for like… ten seconds. he’s trying to play it cool, but when he feels you tighten or slow down, he’s crying. bonus: if you’re extra mean, he’ll choke out an apology for being so stubborn.

[wendichester]

Can I request cute Dean fluff of him realising he’s in love with you when you take care or save Sam from something bc we all know that man would know he’s found the one when she cares just as much for Sam as he does

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ 🩹｡˚ aftercare,

summary. taking care of sam is also taking care of dean ‹𝟹

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 782

notes. the softest boy sigh

You’re kneeling next to Sam, your hands moving quickly as you press a clean rag against the gash on his arm. The hunt had gone sideways—too many moving parts, too many variables—but you’d managed to keep it from going completely off the rails. Now, the three of you are holed up in a shabby motel room, the faint smell of antiseptic mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Dean stands a few feet away, his hands gripping the back of a chair, watching as you work. He should be helping, should be doing something, but all he can do is stare. There’s a look of determination on your face, tempered by the kind of gentle care that makes his chest ache.

“Hold still, Sam,” you murmur, your voice soft but firm. “I know it hurts, but this needs to be cleaned.”

Sam winces but doesn’t argue. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”

You glance up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because you’re bleeding all over my jeans.”

Sam chuckles weakly, the sound turning into a hiss of pain as you dab at the wound. “Okay, maybe it’s a little bad.”

Dean’s lips twitch at the corners, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy trying to process the strange, overwhelming warmth blooming in his chest. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you take care of someone before—you’ve patched him up more times than he can count—but this feels different. Watching you with Sam, seeing the way you’re willing to get your hands dirty to keep his brother safe... it does something to him.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” you say, your tone matter-of-fact as you reach for the first aid kit. “Dean, can you grab me the thread and needle?”

He snaps out of his daze, nodding quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” He rummages through the kit, pulling out the supplies and handing them to you. His fingers brush yours, and for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

You don’t notice—or maybe you do, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you focus on threading the needle, your hands steady despite the tension in the room. “This is gonna sting,” you warn Sam, your voice gentle.

“Just do it,” Sam mutters, bracing himself.

Dean watches as you work, your movements precise but careful. You talk to Sam the whole time, distracting him with small jokes and reassurances, and Dean can see the way his brother relaxes under your touch. It’s like you’ve got this magic about you, this ability to make even the worst situations feel manageable.

When you finally finish, tying off the last stitch, you sit back on your heels and let out a sigh. “There. You’re all patched up. Try not to rip it open again, okay?”

Sam gives you a small smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do all that.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course I did. What kind of person would I be if I let you bleed out in a crappy motel room?”

Dean’s heart stumbles in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone cared about Sam like that—someone who wasn’t him. And it’s not just the act of taking care of him; it’s the way you do it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like Sam’s life is just as important to you as it is to him.

You stand up, brushing off your hands, and glance at Dean. “He’ll be fine, but he needs rest. And food. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten since this morning?”

Dean blinks, caught off guard. “Uh... no. Not really.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Alright, I’ll order something. You two sit tight.”

As you step into the adjoining room to make the call, Dean looks over at Sam. His brother’s eyes are already closing, exhaustion pulling him under, but there’s a faint smile on his face.

When you come back, carrying your phone and rattling off a list of takeout options, Dean feels it hit him like a freight train. This is it. This is love. It’s not just about how he feels when you’re around—it’s about how you make everything better. How you make him better. How you’d do anything for Sam, the way he would.

You catch him staring and raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Dean shakes his head, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “Nothing,” he says, his voice warm. “Just... thanks. For everything.”

Your expression softens, and you give him a small smile in return. “Always.”

Dean watches you for a moment longer, the realization settling deep in his bones. He’s in love with you. And if he’s honest, he doesn’t think he ever stood a chance.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas

[mandarinmoons]

Hi! I’ve been following you for a little while now and I just adore your writing! And I’m feeling brave to finally request a thing ☺️ could I please request an angst/ hurt comfort thing where the unsub kidnaps/ tortures reader. Maybe he and reader are in a secret relationship? And I don’t know I just have this image of Spencer getting frustrated that he can’t find reader and he’s all “BECAUSE I LOVE HER” I don’t know I’m kinda babbling and you can do whatever you want with the request bc your writing is amazing!!

“Spencer! Spencer, help me!”

Those were the last words Spencer heard before you were pushed to the back of a van and taken off into the night.

Spencer was frozen for a moment before the adrenaline kicked in and he ran after you, but he was too late. The car drove off so fast that he never stood a chance. His heart broke when reality set in, where were you being taken? Were you going to be okay? Was he ever going to see you again?

Those were the questions that played over again in his mind as he paced in an office at The BAU. After being treated for some cuts and bruises, Spencer was quick to get back to the line of duty to try and find you. Hotch, however, stopped Spencer from taking another step out the door.

“You need to rest. It’ll do you no good to be out there right now.”

Spencer wanted to fight, he knew you better than anyone else on the team, but with his leg aching he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the search, so he had to stay back.

He felt the taste of blood in his mouth as he was biting his chapped lips so hard they started to bleed. He remembered how you always reminded him to try and quit the habit, a light chuckle left his lips at the memory and he stopped the gnawing so you wouldn’t be too stern with him once you were back.

Or if you were back. No, you had to come back, you just had to, he couldn’t lose you. His anxiety spiked again and he started pacing through the room again, this time with his breathing more irregular.

Penelope noticed Spencer’s actions and quickly moved to try and calm her friend down. She walked to the room and tried to take a hold of Spencer’s arm to try and get him to stop pacing, her fingers caressing his forearms as she tried to get him to take deep breaths.

“Spence, it's okay, we will find her.”

“How? I can’t do anything from here and it’s driving me insane.”

“We’ve found her before and we will do it again just like all the other times.”

“This isn’t like the other times.”

“How?”

“Because I love her!”

Penelope blinked a few times and took in the words Spencer had said. She had her suspicions, which now turned out to be true, but she wished this would’ve been revealed during different circumstances.

You and Spencer had been dating for the past 4 months. With both of you being pretty private individuals you decided to keep the relationship under wraps for the time being, keeping it professional at work and would only attend to more intimate things behind closed doors of each other’s homes.

It was hard at times. There were days when a case was so stressful that both of you needed a break to hold each other, sometimes you’d maybe catch a break when you were in an office by yourselves and you’d press a quick kiss to each other’s lips. It was hard to hide the blush on your cheeks afterwards though and it would’ve been revealed soon enough, namely by Penelope who had gossiped with JJ about her hunch and they were betting to see how long it would take for the secret love birds to announce their feelings.

Apologizing at his outburst, Penelope paid no mind to Spencer’s reaction and pulled him in for a hug, letting him know that she was here for him, the whole team was, and that you would be returned home one way or another.

Hours later, Spencer managed to calm down enough to close his eyes to rest a bit, the only thing keeping him calm was holding onto your sweater. Your scent filled his nose and brought tears to his eyes, when would he be able to hold you again? It was already agony enough that he wasn’t able to have you in his arms during work hours, but now not knowing where you were made his brain work overtime.

His eyes fluttered open when he heard voices coming from outside the office, ecstatic ones it seemed.

Hoping for a miracle, Spencer scrambled to his feet and rushed out the door, his eyes searching for the reason he heard all of the glee. And then he saw it, you.

“Y/N,” Spencer practically ran to you, his arms scooping you into his embrace and holding onto you so tight so he knew he wasn’t hallucinating and that you were really here safe and sound.

“I’m okay Spence.”

Taking your face into his hands, Spencer’s thumbs brushed over the light cuts and bruises on your skin, trying his best not to exacerbate the pain.

“Thank God you’re okay.”

“I thought about you the entire time. You kept me going.”

With teary eyes and a chuckle leaving his lips, Spencer pressed his lips to your forehead in the most gentle way he could. Your arms wrapped around him as you tried to fight off the shaking, resting your head on his shoulder and taking in the warmth of his embrace.

You were safe again, in the arms of the man that meant to you the most.

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Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[yall-batman-fanfic]

What if reader and the bat family meets the original bat family that doesn’t have us in the family? I’m curious how it would go down

In Another Life | Bruce Wayne/Batman x Reader!Magician

Synopsis: When facing an enemy who shows powers that can open portals to cross worlds, Bruce, Vivian, and the rest of the Batman Family are tossed into a portal and find themselves separated from each other and in a reality that is not their own. 

“BATMAN!” Vivian grabbed his hand just as he passed by her, tumbling on the ground, the vortex sucking them in. Their mission did not go as planned, from an isolated case that was supposed to be a simple recon with Vivian to consult what this new villain was planning with all the artifacts he was collecting turned to a trap that had them battling a being that is close to the power-levels of their own magic user present. 

Now, they found themselves being sucked into a portal to who knows where. Vivian had ensured that the Robins were safe by conjuring a net to catch them before they were sucked in, but as she did this villain knocked her out of the pillar she used as an anchor and was now holding onto anything she can grab to stop herself from being taken to the other side of that thing.  Batman’s grappling finally gave in and if it weren’t for Vivian taking his hand he would have been lost too. 

“Viv,” Batman could feel their hold slipping. The gravitational pull of the vortex was too powerful, it’s either he slips in or his weight would pull them both as Vivian too was struggling with her grip on the pillar. Her hands are already bleeding.

Looking at her slipping hold on the rough concrete, then to Bruce she saw the look on his face that says it all. 

“No,” She told him, her grip on his arm tightening. 

“You can’t hold us both!”

“THEN WE GO IN TOGETHER!” 

Despite their current situation, Batman found it amusing and heartwarming, and he smiled. “You stubborn, woman!”

“You know what you were marrying into!” Vivian laughed, but tears fell from her eyes. “I’m not letting you go, Bruce.”

“I know.”

Turning to the Robins who found an anchor behind the pillars, Vivian said to them, “We’ll be back! Don’t fight!”

“MOM!” Damian called out.

Vivian let go, letting them be sucked into the vortex without knowing what was at the other side. Bruce pulled her to his arms, hid her under his cape, and held her tight as they disappeared. 

~ * ~

Vivian landed on the cold and wet pavement with a hard thud. She expected an endless space where their heads would explode due to whatever space had, but instead she found herself on the dirty ground where she saw a cigarette bud still lit by her face, and a crushed soda can that had the brand that she was sure had not appeared on their shelves. Was she in Europe or something?

“What the fuck are you doing there kissing the street? Are you high or somethin’?”

No, she was in America. Specifically, with that accent, New Jersey. Which means she might still be in Gotham. Getting up, Vivian winced when her injured hands came into contact with the rough ground. God, she hoped that was just rain water and not sewage or dog piss or human piss. 

“When am I?” Vivian asked.

“You mean where are ya?” the man said. “In Gotham City.”

“I know, but where in Gotham?” She finally stood up —

Vivian froze when she saw the person talking to her. The man dragged his limp towards her with his fancy-looking suit, the monocle, and that umbrella. 

“Geez,” the Penguin approached her, finally coming into the light. Where the hell did he get that scar? She doesn’t recall the Penguin having that scar. “Listen, sweetheart, do you need a ride?”

This was not the Penguin she remembered. 

“No, I-I’m good,” Vivian tried to walk away but the Penguin blocked her path with his umbrella. 

“You sure? Because you look like you just got out of a bender of somethin’, you know,” he laughed.

“I’m fine. I must have had too much to drink.”

“The thing, sweetheart,” she felt a pistol on her back. “No random junkie would find this place even if they have the best shit… and seeing that pretty little face of yours, you ain’t no junkie. So, how the fuck did you get in my backyard?”

Silence.

“Alright,” the pistol disappeared from her back –

BANG!

The Penguin fired at the sky. 

A warning shot.

The gun was back, but this time it was at the back of her head. 

“Wanna talk now?”

Calm down, Vivian told herself. Calm down and…

“Peels, niugne–”

“SHIT!” Penguin shrieked in pain. When she heard the gun fall to the ground, Vivian had the guts to move and see what happened, then she saw it. A batarang. A sense of relief came to her as she realized who had come to save her. 

“THE BAT’S HERE!” Penguin called out. “GET HIM!”

His men, who appeared behind the crates and were there the entire time, pulled out their AK-47s and pointed it at the shadow atop the catwalk. No, they weren’t taking him with that. Grabbing Penguin by his face, she placed the spell to put him to sleep, then, as their bullets rained at her and Batman, she held out her hand stopping them in mid-air. Penguin’s goons were shocked and confused when they saw their bullets in midair and then fall to the ground.

“The fuck?!” One of the cried out.

“Worht ruoy snug!” Vivian commanded with her magic. The goons threw their guns to the ground. “Teg no dnuorg!” They got down on the ground. “Peels!”

When they heard the snoring of the men, Batman jumped down from the cat-walk and approached her. 

“Bruce!” Vivian met him halfway. He stopped in his tracks but she didn’t. She was too happy to see him okay that she didn’t notice the retreating step he took, and the flinch he had when she threw her arms around him and brought him to a kiss. “I was so worried — where did you go? Where did that vortex drop you… Bruce?”

“What vortex?” Batman spoke in his deep voice.

Then it hit her. “You’re not my husband,” she whispered, and before she could run or say anything more, Batman knocked her out with a simple move then caught her in his arms to get a closer look. 

Professor Vivian Pryor. He remembers her from her books and her works in academia. If memory serves him correctly, he was at her book launch when she donated half her revenue to the Wayne Foundation, and as Batman, he helped solve the case where a cult was after her. 

So, what was a renowned professor doing at Penguin’s backyard where the man keeps his products. 

And why did she kiss him? 

But what worried him more was how did she know Bruce Wayne was Batman?

~ * ~

Vivian woke up, the second time that day, with a headache, and instead of a dirty ground she was on a hospital bed and her hands bandaged up. But this wasn’t a hospital. She was in a dark place, one that she knew all too well, yet the Cave was different from what she remembered it to be.

“Ah, you’re awake,” an elderly man came down the stairs with a tray of food and drinks. 

“Alfred,” Vivian identified him.

“Professor Vivian Pryor, I do hope you are alright.”

“Alfred, where is he?” Vivian asked him. She was about to get out of bed when the butler blocked her path. 

“I advise that you stay put, Professor,” said Alfred.

She frowned at the man. “Am I a prisoner here then?”

“Not the slightest.”

Then a voice joined them, one that was familiar yet different at the same time, “But if you resist, we will be forced to do so.”

Batman appeared from the darkness, with his cowl and cape. His calculating gaze fixed on Vivian as he approached her bed. Before she could speak, he pulled out a tablet and showed her the data on the screen. It had charts, a DNA strand, and an image of a globe that had a serial number, Earth-27, then information she couldn’t understand. 

Bruce would always tell her the things she didn’t understand in his many graphs and charts, and anything that appeared on the Bat-Computer or Bat-Tablet that she had no expertise on. If not him then the Robins. 

Seeing her lost in the information he was showing, Batman explained to her. “I took a blood sample from you to conduct a scan,” he told her, it was only then Vivian saw the bandaid on her inner elbow when Batman pointed it at her. 

Okay, so some things don’t change.

Batman continued, “You’re not from this dimension. This Earth. Which explains many things — how you suddenly appeared in Penguin’s warehouse without any memory of getting in, how Professor Vivian Pryor got tangled in the wrong place, and the fact you know Batman’s identity –”

“And there was an anomaly in the energy levels in Gotham,” another voice piped in. And from the shadows, two figures appeared as well. One was a tall young man wearing his black and blue suit, then the younger one was shorter and wore the iconic red and yellow.

Nightwing and Robin.

“Hi,” Nightwing greeted her with a smile. Robin, on the other hand, remained frowning. Glaring at her even.

Great, she’d have to start all over again with Damian.

“You’re not Professor Vivian Pryor, not in this world anyway,” said Damian. “When Father brought you here, I went to check the real one. So, who are you, imposter?” He pointed his sword at her.

Vivian, frowning, moved the blade away from her face and said, “Like Batman said, I’m not the Vivian Pryor of this Earth. But my name is Vivian Pryor, from,” she took the Bat-tablet from Batman, startling him, “this place — listen, back in my Earth, my husband and I, and the Robins were battling this sorcerer who was using magical runes to open a vortex, we didn’t know it was a portal until we got sucked in! Bruce! God,” Vivian jumped out of bed and started pacing. “Oh my, god! Where is Bruce?”

“He’s right here?” Nightwing pointed at Batman.

“No! Not hi–I mean, yes, him, but not him—my Bruce. The one from my world. My husband!”

The new information startled the Robins and Alfred, and if Batman was also in shock, he didn’t show. 

“The both of us were sucked into that thing and, I don’t know where he is,” forgetting that the Nightwing here wasn’t the one that came from her world, Vivian held him by his arms and asked him, “Was there any other anomaly in the area? Or anywhere else? I need to find my husband!”

“Sorry, there wasn’t. It was just you.”

“No, no,” Vivian ran her hand through her hair, worried about getting to her. She was about to start biting her nails when Batman pulled down her wrist. 

“We’ll keep watch on any changes,” he told her, then he turned to Dick, “Focus one of the satellites to monitor the same energy signature that brought Professor Vivian Pryor. We have to contain this and find a way to return them back to their worlds.”

“You got it,” Dick said went to the computer.

“And while you wait, it’s best if you stay here,” Batman told Vivian. 

“I can help with the search.”

“Non-negotiable,” Batman said, firmly. “We cannot have you running into your version of this world. So you’re staying here… considering you mentioned being married to your world’s Bruce Wayne, you know the layout of the manor.” She could sense a bitterness in this Batman’s voice as he said the latter part. “Alfred, if you please help Professor Pryor settle in the manor… she can take one of the guest rooms. And we can find her some clothes to change into.”

“Of course, right this way, Ma’am,” said Alfred.

~ * ~

Staying at the manor felt like she was held in a cage. She knew everything that goes on in it yet not at the same time. This Earth's version of the Wayne Manor was empty and cold. Her home at Earth-27 had the warmth that she misses; every wall and corner there had memorabilias of their family, like family photos and portraits, the boys’ graduation photos of every stage, science fairs, school projects, performances, travel souvenirs, and scrapbook clippings on whenever either of the Waynes were mentioned on magazines and newspapers. 

This Earth's manor was just empty. Sure there were the original pieces that were already there the time Thomas and Martha Wayne were alive but that's just it. That was all there was. But she will give credit to the family portrait of the Wayne men and boys with Bruce sitting on the leather seat and then Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian, and Alfred standing either beside him or behind him. In her Earth's Wayne Manor, that portrait was of their family. 

When their portrait was taken, the photographer had Bruce sit at the chair, instead, her husband had her sit. He insisted on it as well, telling her and the photographer that she was the Mistress of Wayne Manor, this was her house, and these were her boys. Bruce gave them a new life, a home, and brought them all together, but it was Vivian who raised them to be more than just Batman's Robin. She guided them in every step they took. She was their anchor, he told the photographer, so it was only right she took the seat. 

“Is there something wrong, Professor Pryor?” Alfred asked her.

“No---actually,” Vivian faced the man. “May I use the library? There’s something I need to do.”

“Which is?”

“It's been days, Alfred, and there's still no news about my husband and I'm sitting ducks here. I can help, I’m not as useless as I look.”

Alfred thought for a moment, probably hesitant, then said, “Master Bruce has give you access in the Manor's resources. You may use the library if you wish. For the access on the Batcave, that is up for debate if you can enter there without Master Bruce or Master Damian at least, or me.”

“You're not letting me in there, aren't you?”

“While you show no threat, Professor, there are still many things that we do not know about you. Shall we?”

Alfred led Vivian to the study where, as she expected, was filled with books. After telling her about lunch and if she would prefer to have it there instead, the man left to resume his duties, leaving Vivian to get to work. She went straight to the section she knew that held records of those old runes that were used by the sorcerer, she laid all of them on the floor, along with the charts and notes she’s made on how to use the portal that the sorcerer made. When Alfred came to the library to tell her that lunch is served, he decided to just bring it there as the woman was focused on her research.

“This reminds me of the time when Master Bruce has yet to create the Cave. The entire floor would be a crime scene,” Alfred commented then.

Finished with her research about the portal, Vivian then began her work on a spell to find Bruce. There was a possibility that he was stuck in that vortex's stream or somewhere in this earth, so she used a spell to find his soul but nothing. He hasn't shown up on that Earth and it worried her.

“Professor Vivian,” Alfred entered the library. “It's late, I highly suggest you get some rest.”

“No, I can't stop until I find him,” Vivian muttered as she struggled to focus on the magical globe she's made that was looking for Bruce. The bags under her eyes were getting deeper, and, while she won't admit it, she was getting tired. Weaker. Magic still takes a toll when used, and she has been using it nonstop since that morning. 

“Professor Vivian,” Alfred placed a hand on her shoulder. “I assure you, Master Bruce, Master Dick, and Master Damian are on this case. A good night's rest won't harm you nor your husband.”

Turning to the butler, Vivian gave in and followed him out of the library. Alfred didn't walk her to her room and guarded the library door, to ensure she won't try to return there before she had her eight-hours of sleep. 

Walking through the Manor, Vivian followed the familiar path that she would always take whenever she was tired and in need of sleep. But this wasn't her home, so when she opened the door to the bedroom, Vivian was woken up from her sleepy state when she saw the man who was this version of her husband standing there with only a towel around his waist, about to get changed.

“I'm sorry!” Vivian looked away. “I forgot, this isn't really my home. I'll head to the guest room--”

“Alfred told me you’ve been working at the library all day,” Batman spoke as he put on his clothes for patrol. “You also weren't there for dinner.”

“I've been studying a spell to look for my husband and a way for us to get back to our Earth.”

“Was it fruitful?”

“The portal to get us back? Yes. Finding him? It's a lot harder than I thought…”

She only realized Batman approached her when she felt his hand on her shoulder. Turning to him, Vivian saw his hard face and a pang of sadness in his eyes as he looked at her. Unlike her Bruce who, despite his hard exterior, would always have the look of warmth in him whenever he was with her and their family. 

What happened to this Batman?

“You were married to your world's Bruce Wayne,” Batman began.

“I still am. He's not dead,” she said firmly.

He did not say anything that agrees with that. “You both sleep in this room?”

“We do.”

“Why not move to the master bedroom? The one used by my--his parents?”

“We decided not to. I moved in at the manor before we got married and we just got settled in his room. There are so many rooms in the manor, closing off one won't harm anyone. Besides, I liked that room, it holds many memories,” she smiled at the many nights they slept there, from her first night at Wayne Manor to the latest one where she and Bruce just laid in bed and talked about anything they could think of.

“Did he ever think he was putting you in danger?”

“He always does.”

“Then why stay with you?”

“Because he knows I can handle it. Because he knows that he also deserves to be happy, that he can be Batman and still be happy…” he frowned. “What about you?” a sincere question. “What happened to you and your world's Vivian?”

Batman turned away from her. “You can sleep here if you want. I rarely stay in anyway. I'll ask Alfred to bring you some change of clothes, I'm sure there are some of Mother's old clothes you can wear.”

He was avoiding the question.

Just like her Bruce.

“I can go back to my room,” she told him.

“No. Stay here, I think you'll be more comfortable here,” Batman then maneuvered around her and left for the Cave. 

~ * ~

The next time she was found wandering around the manor, it was Nightwing who approached her. Nightwing and Robin, to be precise. She was in the kitchen then, looking for something to eat when Robin found her.

“You're supposed to be in your room,” Robin told her.

“Damian, she's not a prisoner,” said Nightwing. “And she hasn't done anything to be in house-arrest.”

“But I am in house-arrest,” Vivian reminded them. “I can't leave this place, can't I?”

“True,” Nightwing handed her the cookie jar that Alfred hides. “I know you were looking for this. Everyone does.”

Chuckling, Vivian accepted the jar. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Where's your Jason and Tim?”

Nightwing took a moment before answering. “Tim's handling some Titan business. Jason… he's somewhere with Roy. Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“You married the Bruce in your world, and from the looks of it, we're also there – all four of us – how does that work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are we the same?”

Vivian frowned. “Yes and no. There are things that you are similar with them but there are a lot that you're not.”

“Like what?”

“Well, first off, Damian's and I have graduated from all this,” Vivian gestured to Robin who was glaring at her. “And… everything seems to be lighter. I only realized how colorful and bright the manor was at home until I saw this.”

“How so?” Nightwing sat on the counter. 

“Did he… was he there at your graduation?”

Nightwing scoffed. 

It was a no.

“What about for any school events? PTAs?”

“Father has no time for that,” Damian told her. “He's far too busy on far more important things.”

“Does your Bruce go to those things?” Nightwing ignored his brother and asked her.

“He does… It took some time but he got used to it. I made him agree that there would be nights he takes a break from the patrols and let our Nightwing be in charge. It's easier that way. He's not just Batman, he's not just a symbol. He's also a man, one who is married and has family. The same goes for all of you.”

She wasn't sure if that look on Nightwing's face was of solace but he was silent. Whenever Dick was silent means he was getting serious. 

“I'm sorry if…” 

“No, it's fine. I asked,” Nightwing jumped down the counter. “We should head back downstairs and see if we've found your Bruce…” before he and Robin disappeared, she heard him say, “Thank you. It's nice to know that he's not a complete asshole in every universe.”

~ * ~

Later that night, Batman found her in his room again, going through the books she brought along from the library, and the notes she gathered in the notebook she asked if she could use. It's been a while since he came to his room, ever since he let her stay there, he asked Alfred to get some of his clothes moved to the guest room she used, and that's where he's been staying. But tonight he needed something from his room.

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” he said, entering the place. 

“Don't be. I'm the one who invaded your space,” she said, getting up from the bed. “Is there something you need?”

He walked straight to the dresser to retrieve something of his for patrol. “Have you found him?”

“No…”

“We haven't either. But we'll keep looking–”

“What happened between you and this world's Vivian Pryor?” Vivian asked. “I can see that something happened but I don't know where it went wrong.”

Frowning, Batman recalled the last time he saw Vivian Pryor. It was her wedding to her current husband, a good man who works at Wayne Enterprises too. He had children in his first marriage but Vivian Pryor accepted them as her own. 

“If you're wondering if I pursued her, I did,” Batman began. “And it was the happiest days of my life.”

“But what happened?”

“She knew who I was and I left her. I left and I never looked back.”

Vivian frowned. “Why?”

“Because I knew if it came to saving her and my code, I would lose everything to save her. If the Joker got to you, I don't know what I would do. I would watch them all burn if it meant keeping you safe. Then everything that Batman fought for, what Batman stands for would be tossed out like garbage. I would be just like the rest of them.”

Vivian took a step back as Batman towered over her. “She would have understood.”

“I know, but it wasn't worth risking your life.”

“She could take care of herself…”

“Tell me, how many times have you been in the line of fire because of Batman?”

Vivian's back was now pressed to the wall. She was trapped. 

“I was in the line of fire because I wanted to help him, because Gotham’s criminals is so fucked up, not because of Batman. I lost my baby because of those criminals, not because of Batman.”

Baby? Batman thought. She and Bruce Wayne had a child?

“How?” He asked.

“Two-Face.”

He wasn't the father, Batman kept reminding himself that, but he couldn't help but feel the rage setting in. Just imagining the pain she went through all because of Two-Face, all because of Gotham. 

He shouldn't have done it, but Batman reached out and caressed her side, and for a moment he imagined that his Vivian was there. His Vivian was there and they were expecting. After that first date, he imagined a life he could have had with her. But that was a fool's ideal. To be with him means they will be subjected to pain and neglect. He cannot let anything distract him from his mission. 

He was inching closer and closer, his breath fanning her cheek and his lips –

“Stop,” Vivian’s voice pulled him out of the trance. She always had a way of doing that to him. “I'm married.”

“I know.”

“You may look like him but you are not my husband,” she whispered. “You are not my Bruce.”

Of course.

Taking a step back, Batman apologized to her.

“Batman!” Nightwing's voice came to their comms. 

“Dick,” Batman answered immediately. “What is it?”

“We got the same energy signatures as the one that brought Professor Pryor here,” he replied. “I think it's her Batman.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because we're currently watching him being taken in by an ambulance after getting stabbed.”

Vivian gasped after hearing the state they found Bruce.

“Send an extraction team, we need to get him before they can remove his cowl,” Batman ordered.

“His cowl is protected, they can't remove it,” Vivian told him. 

“We still need to isolate him here,” Batman left the room. “We’ll get your husband. Prepare what you need to return to your world.”

Batman left after that.

~ * ~

He came eleven days later than Vivian for reasons he does not know. The moment he landed into this Earth’s Gotham, on his feet rather than crashing to the ground like his wife, Bruce knew he wasn’t in his Gotham. Not in any timeline. This was a different world. A different Earth. Yet when he saw her walking the street at the opening of that alleyway he stood, Bruce went running after her.

“Vivian!” Bruce made himself known, a mistake he soon realized as she wasn’t alone.

Vivian Pryor looked at him in shock, the people with her were the same until one of the young boys recognized him and said, “Wow, Viv! You know Batman?”

“That’s so cool, Mom!” the other said.

Mom?

Looking at the boys, Bruce studied them and a sense of relief washed over him to see that neither of them looked anything alike to Vivian. They resembled their father, the man who was with their group, looking at him with a cross of admiration and suspicion.

“Is everything alright, honey?” The man asked.

“Yeah,” Vivian snapped out of her trance. “Excuse us for a moment.”

“Mom, why didn’t you tell us you knew Batman?” The youngest of the boys said.

“He saved my life, remember?” Vivian told them, then she turned to him, begging him to say something. 

“A word, Professor,” Bruce forced himself to say. “Alone.”

After telling her family to wait somewhere, Vivian followed him into the alleyway to talk. 

“What is it?” She snapped at him. “The last we spoke to each other was, I don’t know, years ago… you left me in my apartment because I spooked you and you never returned my calls.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce turned to her.

She scoffed. “Don’t act as if you don’t know, Bruce.”

Then it hit him. That night, when Vivian slipped in knowing his identity, he left and didn’t call her for weeks but he went back to her. He begged her to let him come back to her, that’s how they were married. But in this timeline…

“What’s his name?” He asked sincerely.

“Does it matter?” When he remained silent, she answered, “Adrian.”

“Are you both married?”

“Yes, for a while now.”

“And the boys?”

“His wife died when the boys were young.”

No hesitation in answering, it means they never really got in contact with each other for all these years, so Batman doesn’t know this on a personal level. Just the thought of it brought a wave of sadness and jealousy in Bruce, but it shouldn’t because this wasn’t his Vivian, and for a time he did think of never returning to her that time. He was glad he did. 

But a part of him hoped that in all universes, Bruce Wayne got the happy life has with Vivian Pryor. 

It seems that is not the case. 

“Are you happy with him?” He asked.

She looked at him for a moment. “I am,” a whisper. 

“You shouldn’t be with someone that doesn’t make you happy.”

“He does,” she said firmly. “And so do the boys.”

She always wanted to have a family of her own. One that wasn’t broken and grieving. 

“MOM!” The cries of the little boy had Vivian and Batman running out of the alleyway, where they found Adrian on the ground with a stab wound, the kids surrounding their father, and the criminal who did it on the run. “MOM! DAD’S HURT!”

Vivian skidded on the ground and went to her husband’s side. 

“Get him,” Vivian told him. “Get the asshole.”

She can handle Adrian.

So he did, Bruce chased after the man who did the deed and ran after him. The chase led him through the maze of Gotham until he realized this wasn’t the Gotham that he knew because after jumping off the edge, Bruce expected the low-rise apartment complex below, instead there was the dumpster and fell into it.

Bruce grunted in pain when he felt a shard pierced through his suit and the harsh landing of his body on the trash below. Not all trash bags had loose trash that can cushion his fall, the others were hard furniture that were thrown away.

The next he knew, he was being taken by the ambulance and at the roof he saw the familiar sight of the hero wearing black and blue.

~ * ~

Retrieving the other Batman from the ambulance was tricky. They can’t use force but they also need to use it to get the hulking man out of there and into the Bat-mobile. But once the tricky part was done, the hardest one came. Treating the wound while the vehicle is being driven like a madman by their Batman.

“Dick?” Bruce said in his haze.

“Not your Dick,” Nightwing said. “Literally and what you said, but yeah.”

“Dick,” Batman warned him.

“I’m working on it,” Nightwing sighed.

“We’re almost to the cave.”

“Vivian,” Bruce grabbed Nightwing’s arm. “I… left them at…”

“Batwoman’s taking care of it, Bruce. You don’t have to worry about Professor Pryor, they’re in good hands… you’ll be glad when we reach the cave. Now hold still, this is gonna sting.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, both physically, mentally, and emotionally that knocked him out the moment Nightwing injected him with something. Seeing this Vivian with another man felt like a punch at the gut by Superman, everything seems to fall apart, especially when she said that she was happy with the family she has.

He was asleep for a long time, he felt like it was, he hoped what he saw and been through was just a horrible dream and he thought it were the case because he saw the familiar red hair of his wife on the hospital bed beside him. Her head resting on her folded arms.

“Viv,” he reached to caress her hair.

“She refuses to leave your side.”

So, it wasn’t a dream. 

Coming out of the shadows was another version of himself in his cowl and cape.

“You,” Bruce said. “How is…”

“Professor Vivian Pryor is currently with her family at Sacred Heart. Her husband has been treated, he will be discharged tomorrow.”

Good, he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, not because she was Vivian Pryor but because she was an innocent person. 

“She arrived here eleven days prior to you,” said Batman. “In Penguin’s yard. She’s been trying to find a way to get back to your world and to find you.”

Turning to his wife, Bruce reached to hold her hand and in that simple gesture she stirred in her sleep and finally woke. A smile etched on his face, one that Batman haven’t seen for a while, as she slowly came to and her vision adjusting see him clearly.

“Hello, my love,” he greeted, teasingly.

“Bruce!” Vivian brought him to an embrace and kissed his temple. “I was so worried about you.”

“So was I with you…” Bruce held her tight and enjoyed being with his wife again, and to know that he has his Vivian.  He made her look at him so he could see her face, one that didn’t hold resentment and sadness when she looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” She laughed.

“Everything.”

“Don’t,” she kissed his palm. “I love our life, no matter how bumpy it gets and how fucked up with all these villains causing trouble and throwing us around the cosmos. Bruce, what’s wrong?”

The image of the Vivian he saw earlier flashed in his mind. How she went for a different man, how two younger boys called her “mom”, and it wasn’t their boys doing it. 

“Kiss me,” he requested.

“Bruce,” she glanced at Batman’s way, who still stood there watching them. She felt bad to be doing this with her Bruce when this Batman still hasn’t moved on from his Vivian. After that night when he almost kissed her and her with him when she forgot that that wasn’t her husband, she knew he still felt something for his Vivian and he never got the closure he needed.

Seeing that they needed a moment, Batman turned away, disappearing at the other side of the divider, and probably left the Cave to give them their time together.

“Please,” Bruce told her.

Leaning down, Vivian kissed her husband long and hard until she needed air, as always whenever she would pull away, Bruce would chase her lips to kiss her still, making her laugh. “My love, please,” she giggled as he moved to kiss the side of her lips, her cheek, and then her lips again. 

“We need to get home,” he sighed.

“Is it because we need to or because of the thing poking my side right now?” she joked.

“Both.”

Laughing, Vivian kissed him again and laid in his arms. “We will, I have what we need. But for now let’s stay like this… I want to be with my husband. I missed you.”

Bruce wrapped his arms around his wife and held her tight, not wanting to let the feeling of her letting go or being gone from his side. This world was a living nightmare to him, he was just glad that his Vivian was still his. 

~ * ~

They shouldn’t have jumped in, but when Vivian let go of the pillar, Robin jumped after them, and with Robin jumping in, Nightwing did as well, then Red Robin, and Red Hood followed. Unlike Batman and Vivian, who found themselves separated, the Robins landed at the same place and the very same coordinates too. They made, as Vivian would have called it, a Robin sandwich with Jason at the very bottom and catching Red Robin, Nightwing, and Robin on his body.

“God, you’re all heavy!” Red Hood groaned.

“Jason!” Tim called out. “Do not move!”

“Why?!”

“DO NOT MOVE!”

“Okay, okay! Not moving!” Dick told him. “Again, why?”

“Because I can feel everyone.”

“Oh,” Jason and Dick said. 

“Exactly. We are going to do this methodologically, okay? So we don’t –”

“We know!”

Damian clicked his tongue and jumped off of Dick. “Idiots,” he muttered. “Grayson, Todd, Drake, get up we need to find Mom and Father.”

One by one, following Tim’s instructions, the three Robins got off of each other and were standing in whatever reality this was. Sighing, Jason looked around and identified the world instantly and said, “We’re still in Gotham.”

“But not quite our Gotham,” said Tim as he used his gauntlet’s system to scan the area. 

“We kind of got that, Tim,” said Dick. 

“Hey, me!” A voice that sounded like Dick spoke. Following the direction, the Robins saw the carbon copy of their Nightwing and Robin sitting on top of the fence with a teasing smile on his face. “Welcome to Gotham!”

Robin, this world’s Robin, glared at them and said, “Father is expecting you.”

~ * ~

“What were you thinking?!” Vivian scolded them like children, all of her boys lined up on the stools avoiding her glare. “I told you we would be back!”

After Nightwing had brought them to the cave, Damian and Jason were the first to call out Vivian, and while she was glad to see her boys and hug them, realization hit her and she had them all sitting on the stool which was where they were now.

“I wasn’t going to let you go in there alone!” Damian told her.

“We,” Tim corrected him. “We weren’t going to let go in there alone. But, he jumped first and we followed.”

“Oh, so if one of you decides to jump off a building all of you would do it – I swear, if you say something Dick,” Vivian pointed at him before he could utter a word. 

As Vivian scolded her boys with Bruce only there as a backup, Batman, Nightwing, Robin, and Alfred watched in both amusement and shock to see the big Batfamily bowing their heads and getting the slap on the wrist from Professor Pryor. What shocked them even more was the sight of their Damian and Jason running to Vivian and tackling her to an embrace.  Nightwing even joked about it saying, “Mind if we switched Robins? You can have ours.”

Robin didn’t take that lightly.

But as Batman watched this family, not just a team but a family, act as one, be as one, he couldn’t help but wonder if they could have had it too if he just went back to Vivian all those years ago.

“So, how do we get out of this place?” Jason asked them all.

Batman spoke before Bruce did, saying, “Professor Pryor has done her research by studying the runes used by the sorcerer to open a portal. Opening the portal is easy, it’s navigating through it and getting you back to your right time that’s tricky.”

Dick and the others glanced at each other at the sudden insertion of the Batman into the conversation, overpowering their Bruce. 

“I can handle the navigation,” said Vivian.

“How?” Asked Bruce.

“Each universe has a energy signature, so if you look at Dick and Nightwing,” she called for the two men to stand before her, then grabbed the Bat-tablet from Robin (“Hey!” Robin glared at her, which earned a glare from Damian) and pointed the direction of the camera at them, “See? Different energy signatures. All I need is to follow the one we have and it would lead us straight to our Earth.”

“How can we be sure that we won’t arrive at different times?” Tim asked.

“That’s where the Runes come in,” she reached for her notebook and showed to everyone her research. “Each one of this translates to an act and element. Time and space being the main elements. I need to synchronize us all into one timestream path that would lead us here.”

“Again, how do you do that?” Nightwing asked.

“Magic and a little math.”

Nightwing and Dick winced. “Not really your strongest.”

“I can do math! Besides, magic-math isn’t the same with all the maths you do on a daily basis!”

At that Bruce and Batman smiled and it caught the attention of the Robins – of this world and the other. 

“How do we find these runes then?” Bruce asked her.

“I can make them. I just need stones and some carving tools to do it.”

“Alfred can help you with the resources you need,” said Batman. “How long will it take you?”

“Not too long, I can get started now so we can be out of your hair faster.”

“We can help with the carving,” said Damian.

“No, it has to be done by me. While carving it I need to put my magic in it and place the map on how we get back. We’ll be wearing those Runes while we travel back.”

“If that’s the case, the shed is yours to use,” said Batman. “While you all have access to the manor, none of you are allowed to leave it.”

Damian glared at him. “Are we your prisoners then?”

“See it as quarantine,” Nightwing shrugged. “We can’t have two blood-thirsty Robins running around Gotham. That would be a mess.”

“Agreed,” Dick added. “We’ll stay here and do what we can to help.”

“Help your mother with what she needs, we’ll be fine on our own,” Batman said. “Alfred, show them to their rooms.” Then he left.

~ * ~

Vivian made the shed in Wayne Manor as some sort of place of ritual as she began the work with the runes, drawing each symbol on the stones she and her boys gathered around the estate and tying them with each of the ropes that ties to each of the runes together. Bruce would come to see her and stay at her side for most of the time, but when need be he would leave to see his boys and when the Batman of this world needed to speak with him.

It was odd to be around this version of him, especially when he could see that this Batman has not moved on from his Vivian Pryor. He planned to ask him about the Vivian of this world and what drove him to leave without a word but Batman would avoid him as much as he could. 

While Bruce wasn't exactly enjoying his stay, his boys weren't feeling the same thing. After a while, Red Robin returned from his mission with the Titans and was surprised to see a copy of himself in the cave and two Dicks. Yes, Nightwing and Dick said that, “two Dicks” they were getting along well than Robin and Damian were. 

Tim got to talk with this world's Red Robin and the two minds got along well.

When this world's Red Hood came back, he was surprised to find a woman he's never seen nor met in the kitchen. He was about to make a comment about playboy-Bruce Wayne was back but then Jason Todd appeared and both pulled out their guns at each other.

Before they could fire, Vivian snapped her fingers and their guns turned to water guns.

“Ma!” Jason exclaimed.

“Ma?!” Red Hood said.

Alfred appeared in the kitchen, greeted him as usual with a “welcome back, Master Jason”, then explained to him all that was happening for the past few days. It was weird for Red Hood to see a woman take care of someone who was him but from another dimension and call her “Ma!” Looking at her closely, Red Hood realized that this woman was the very same, but older, from the author's biography he ripped from the back of the book and imagined to be his mother. His father did say his mother had red hair, and that was all that he got.

Was he jealous that this Jason got the woman he would imagine was his mother? What happened to the Vivian Pryor of this world? Why wasn't she with them?

The Robins of this world learned from the ones of the other world that their lives were far from how they are from this one. What struck them the most was how different their Bruce was. While still a serious man with a hard exterior, their Bruce Wayne has some sort of switch, distinguishing Batman from being their father. 

They still have their fallouts, Dick mentioned, and Bruce wasn't really winning Father of the Year, but he got better from when he was still starting out a Robin, especially after Vivian slapped him for it.

Yes. Vivian Pryor slapped Bruce Wayne because he was acting like a total asshole. Since then Bruce has been trying to be a better father for the boys he's taken in, and everyone in the Bat Family. 

It seems in their world, the Bat Family was more than just a team but a functional family too. One that got to go on vacations, patrol schedules, and magic. What impressed Tim more was the incorporation of magic to their system. Their Vivian Pryor was their very own magic-consultant, and it was during a case with a sorcerer that brought them to this Earth and interacting with that Bat Family.

In one of those nights, when the Bat Family got home from their patrol, they were surprised to be greeted with breakfast that was made by Alfred and Vivian. The woman wanted to make them something as a thank you for letting them go around the manor and work on how to get home. 

It was nice, for every member of the Bat Family--especially Batman--to have this kind of thing welcoming them back home. Not on a daily basis, but even one that would be there to say, “Welcome back,” that wasn't Alfred warmed this cold and empty place. 

~ * ~

“What are you going to do with Vivian Pryor?” Bruce asked Batman as the two men worked on the Bat-Computer.

“What about her?” Asked Batman.

“Your patrol patterns are monitored by the Computer,” Bruce said. “For these past nights you would be seen rerouting to this address,” Bruce pressed a button and showed the map's specific address. “When I checked on your records, I learned that was where Professor Vivian Pryor-Leroy lives.”

“You've been snooping.”

“You gave us access to all resources of the manor and the Cave… why didn't you go back for her?” Bruce adjusted himself on the place he was leaning on.

“It was safer if she was far from me,” Batman answered.

“I thought the same thing.”

“Then why go back if you knew the danger?” Batman stopped in his work and faced him, glaring at the man. He wasn't even sure why he was glaring at him. Maybe because he snooped in his Computer? Because he was found out? But what can he expect from himself, no matter what universe. Or was it because he that this was the Bruce who got Vivian Pryor? Who chose to be with her, who had the guts to take the chance… who decided to put her in danger.

“She was worth it,” said Bruce.

“And the baby you both lost? I know about it.”

Bruce frowned. “A tragedy, and I'll admit that I blame myself for it too, and there are nights that I still do. If I had just done better as Batman then our Helena would be here with us… but it wasn't my fault nor hers, nor Harvey's. It was Two-Face. It was crime in Gotham. We never knew that was going to happen.”

“If you hadn't then she would be happy and she wouldn't have to suffer that loss,” Batman pressed on.

“Life is a choice and we live by that choice everyday. I choose to be with her and I choose to be Batman… when I begged her to take me back she told me that I also deserve to be happy, and since then I regretted nothing. You underestimated her too much, Wayne,” Bruce got up to join his wife at the shed and see her. “Vivian may look like a fragile doll but she's hard as steel. I know because I've seen it myself… rusty but she can take on anything you throw at her.”

~ * ~

It was right before their patrol when Vivian told everyone that she's finished with the runes. Her hard work has paid off when they saw the runes carved on each stone and tied with soft ropes to keep them in place. When she handed them to her boys and to Bruce they saw the many scars and bandages on her hands and fingers. How many times have she cut herself to do all of this? They thought.

Probably the many times she cursed under her breath when she thought they were asleep in the shed while she worked.

“So, this is it then,” Nightwing shook hands with Dick. “It was nice to see another versions of us.”

“Same,” Dick said. “Come on, Damian, say goodbye to yourself.”

Damian and Robin rolled their eyes and were forced to shake hands by Dick and Nightwing. 

Tim and Red Robin were civil in their goodbyes, while Jason and Red Hood only looked at each other. Jason didn't really like the time he spent with this world’s Red Hood since he had a feeling that this Red Hood was trying to get Vivian's attention too much. 

“Thank for helping us out,” Vivian hugged Alfred but when it was Batman's turn she only shook his hand. 

“Not a problem, Professor Pryor, I do hope this time you all return at the same time,” said Alfred.

“This time we will,” she raised the runes that were tied to her arm like armor.  Turning to Batman, she took his hand again and said, “I know that things didn't work with you and Vivian Pryor in this world but I do hope you can still find happiness here as well. You deserve to be happy too. Batman deserves to be happy.”

Batman nodded stiffly.

After Vivian, Bruce approached Batman and shook his hand. No words were exchanged, Vivian already said it all. 

“Alright, I wanna go home!” Tim said.

“I wanna sleep in my own bed,” said Jason.

“I think the pizza in my living room has mold on it now,” Dick added.

“You're a pig, Grayson,” said Damian.

“Don't worry, no moldy pizzas are waiting for you there, kiddo,” Vivian laughed. “We're going back the same day we disappeared. A few minutes right after you four jumped in after us.”

“Take us home, Viv,” Bruce smiled.

Opening her palms, Vivian began the spell. Her voice layered with many voices as she cast the incantation. The runes from the stones glowed and from that glow they appeared like holograms rings that were around them that Vivian moved around like a computer or an abacus, in Tim and Red Robins’ mind, until she got the right pattern. A flash of light appeared, taking the family of six and then they were gone. 

It was as if they were never there.

~ * ~

The Sorcerer was just celebrating his victory when a punch that felt like a sledgehammer hit him across the face. Rolling down on the ground, he groaned in pain and cursed whoever it was that did it but before he could do any type of retaliation he was bound by magic.

“Nu-uh,” Vivian smirked holding him with her gold whips. “I don't think so.”

“How did you---”

“Magic and math.”

Batman walked to him and grabbed him by his collar then headbutted him, knocking out the guy. 

“Ooff!” Nightwing winced. “That's gotta hurt.”

“I heard his nose break,” Red Robin added.

“I’ll take him to the Justice League for further questions on what he wanted with these runes,” Batman hauled him over his shoulder.

“Need a door for that?” Vivian asked.

“That would be appreciated.”

Vivian opened her palm into the open space and a portal appeared that leads to the Watchtower. 

“You better get back before breakfast, Batman,” she got on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

Batman smiled and kissed her lips, earning displeasing groans from their boys, “Yes, Ma'am.”

Then he was off, disappearing into the portal and what was left were her and the Robins at the abandoned mansion in Gotham. 

“So,” Vivian began. “What do you want for breakfast?” she got an arm around Damian and Tim.

“Waffles!” Damian said.

“I'm kind of craving for pizza, the pizza from that world tasted different,” said Tim.

“Same, I want wings too,” Jason added.

“Huh, one of the few things you both agree on,” mused Dick.

“Okay, just for today because we went through a lot in that place. We'll have pizza and wings, from our usual place, then Alfred and I can whip up some waffles, and what about you, kiddo, what do you want?”

“Bacon.”

“Alfred is going to kill us… come on, let's go to the Batmobile so we can head to that pizza place and get our food before your Father gets home.”

~ Back at the Other Earth ~

He heard her voice behind the doors so Bruce Wayne got up from his seat and told his secretary to let Professor Vivian Pryor in his office so she can talk to him privately. 

“Professor Pryor--”

“Don’t,” she spat at him. “Don't act as if you didn't do anything! I know it was you!” She shoved the documents into his chest. He didn't’ need to see what they were to know what she was referring to. “You made this transfer! You knew Adrian was working in Wayne Tech here in Gotham and now you're transferring him to Metropolis?”

“A promotion.”

“We both know what's really behind that promotion, Bruce!” Vivian sneered. 

“Aren't you happy about this?”

“You know how much I love this job — he had no plans to move to Metropolis because he knew this jobs meant so much to me! How Gotham means to me!”

She can handle it, the other Bruce's voice echoed in his mind.

He kept his hard exterior and said, “Metropolis has top universities that have been trying to poach you to join their faculty and research team, Vivian. You'd know better to take those offers now with your husband's relocation and promotion.”

“And what about the boys? Their lives are there---their friends, their mother!”

“I've added to that offer a spot at Metropolis’ best private school, Wayne Enterprises will be paying for the first semester of their schooling to help the family get on their feet. The boys will adjust to their new environment, Vivian,” he held her by her arms when she refused to look at him. “This is good for you and your family Vivian. Metropolis is safe. Safer than Gotham. Maybe there you can finally have children of your own.”

“I hate you,” she whispered. “You don't have to do this… you left me, remember? You should have stopped at that. So, why are you suddenly doing this to me? Why are you suddenly telling me what I should with my life?”

When he didn't answer, Vivian finally took the chance to look at him and saw. 

“No,” she shook her head. “No, you can't be serious. You left me, Bruce. I tried calling you but you never answered. Do you really expect that I stay and wait for you?”

I begged her to take me back.

“No. You’re a beautiful woman, Viv, you can have anyone you want.”

“Then why are you still meddling in my life?” she whispered.

It was wrong but to answer her question, all Bruce knew what to do was to hold her tight and kiss her. He kissed her deeply just like when they were together, just like at their first date. Just as he was going to pull away for her lack of response, Vivian wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. 

“I hate you,” she whispered in their kiss.

“I know,” he kissed her again and again.

“Mr. Wayne,” he heard the phone that was connected to his secretary. “Mr. Fox is here for your three o'clock, Sir.”

Pressing the button, he took a break from Vivian's kiss and said to her, “Tell Lucius I apologize for the last minute update but we have to reschedule. I have something urgent going on.”

“If you say so, Mr. Wayne.”

The call was cut-off and Bruce resumed in kissing Vivian, and bringing her to sit on his desk. This was wrong. She was married and he… he wasn't supposed to be with her. He gave Adrian that promotion and relocation so she cane be far away from him and Gotham. So she can be safe.

But seeing her again, hearing her voice again had him forget about it all. Kissing her again made him remember the times they were together, how much he missed her. God, he missed her. He missed holding her, tasting her, feeling her. So he did all of that behind his locked office door, being as quiet as they could, damning the consequences. 

They only thought of themselves then.

It was after everything that the shame came. As Vivian picked up her clothes and underwear and put them on she said, “This was wrong.”

“I know,” Bruce said as he put his slacks and underwear.

“If this was your way of making me agree to move to Metropolis, then it worked,” Vivian whispered, tears falling down her cheeks. “I'll be informing the Dean tomorrow about this. He won't be happy about it being so sudden.”

“I'm sorry for the short timeframe,” Bruce muttered. But it was for the better she made a good distance from Gotham and from him. “But you'll be safe there.”

“Why? Because Superman's there flying around the city?” She cynically laughed.

Yes.

Dressed, Vivian waited for him to look presentable again before taking the papers she threw at him earlier, then faced him. 

“This is it, I guess,” she muttered. “After this will we finally close this part of our lives?”

He nodded.

“Goodbye, Bruce,” Vivian turned away from him and left the office.

Sighing, Bruce sat back in his seat and told himself repeatedly: this is for the best. If she's happy, he'll be happy too. Even if it wasn't him that was making her happy.

Many weeks later, just as they got to their new home at Metropolis, Vivian snuck to a local pharmacy and locked her bathroom door. Alone, she took the test and cursed when she saw the result. 

Shit.

It was positive.

[the-wreck-of-1852]

gd i just watched black sails xiii…. i need to be taken out back like a dog. i can’t do this. feeling like a chew toy that’s been violently shaken and hurled against the wall.

THAT VOICE IN YOUR HEAD THAT TELLS YOU TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF FOR HAVING LOVED HIM….!!!!!!

[puppppppppy]

its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously

[livvyofthelake]

woman experiences transcendental joy after clocking out of work for the day

[ironhusband]

Thinking about Erik snapping at Charles with “well maybe you should have fought harder for them” and the pain in his eyes when Charles told him they didn’t want the same things.

[mycomori]

just came to the realization that i am waking distance from a frozen winter ocean shore. like i could very easily live my dream death right here and now. i could lay down and freeze to death in the winter waters of the atlantic ocean. what’s stopping me?

[inthe-field]

Sigh

[celestialmancer]

⛈️ ❌ ❌ ❌ // 2:09 am, tbd ;

[javierduffy]

@galacta-phantasma now why would you say that to me .

replaying this game after the second game is making me honest to god so beyond miserable … javier looks so absolutely defeated here. it’s genuinely breaking my heart. please don’t make me think about the thoughts he’s having now- perhaps ones of regrets, or flashes of laughter and singing around the campfire, of clanking beer bottles together and sharing stories, of looking at the shine in dutch’s eyes during a speech and how he felt, somehow, the warmth of the mexican sun. and how that sun never felt the same when he got home again. and how the only time in the past eight years that he ever felt warm was when john’s hands wrapped the rope around his hands and legs. when john’s rope was the noose around his neck, and he finally, finally could stop running. guilt, fear, regret … relief. please kill me im so sad

[hypocritic-trash-baby]

If somehow you haven’t seen by now, while the Super Bowl is being aired, Israel is striking Rafah.

The people of Palestine had been told to go there, they were promised it was safe.

And while this is happening, even though earlier several tags on Palestine were trending, only one or two are now.

I haven’t written any posts personally on Palestine myself. I didn’t feel I had anything to add here aside from reblogging and boosting whatever I can but please. We can’t forget Palestine or its people especially now.

This has gone on too long and gone much much too far MANY times and now is when we need to push harder.

Many of the heads of Western countries are either beating around the bush and wasting time, or outright denying the things the Palestinian people don’t have the privilege to ignore. They don’t have the choice to look away from their pain, or the pain of friends, family, neighbors, their country. And even through all of this they’re still trying their damn hardest just to live. And we all need to listen.

So now, especially if you live in a western country like I do, now we step it up a notch. Now is the time if you haven’t already to read up on Palestinian history. Listen to what the people of Palestine are saying. Hold firm on the boycott like never before. Any and every way you can donate, do it. eSIMs, aid, anything that will reach. Save as much evidence as you can. Videos, articles. Don’t let Zionists pretend all of this never happened.

Even if you think there’s nothing you can do, I’m telling you, keep going. Even if you feel you can only give a little, if we all give a little together it becomes much more.

Hit imperialism where it hurts. In the wallet. Follow the BDS instructions, find protests in your area if you can, boost as much information about Palestine as you can find, call your reps, and do not lose hope. The people of Palestine are not dead. They are holding on even through all this and we all owe it to them to do the same.

A Free Palestine will happen in our lifetimes. But it will be hard fought. So go out there and fight hard! The governments can’t hide from their own people forever. The companies can’t bleed cash forever. The people will win. So push until we do. Do not look away. Free Palestine

[wokeleftistmob]

I can recite the entire fire scene from memory

And by that, I mean I literally recite it out loud as I drive to school

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[heeliopheelia]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

word count: 4.3k

warnings: cursing, crying, neglect, tiny mention of bleeding

a/n: i think i win the contest of overusing commas with this one 🤍 tbh this fic is just yapping so pls deal with me... it's good to write some proper angst again tho, i missed it :(( hope you guys like it and don't find them too repetetive!!

masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG

It's been two weeks since you got the opportunity to take a proper look at Heeseung. And now as you do, you find it hard to recognize your fiancé who looks like he's about to collapse from exhaustion, to say the least. 

“I never asked you to mother me or worry about me so much. Stop getting into my business so much. I’m not a child, YN.”

It’s like he was blind to how hurt his words and actions were making you feel. It’s so unusual for him, so out of character and unfamiliar to you, that you can’t help but think that maybe it really is your fault for riling him up this much.

“I worry about you because I’m your fiancé and I love you, you jerk!” You scoff at his careless words and take a step back, the aching in your heart only increasing. “I only want to look after you because you clearly don't know how to do it yourself. I mean, look at yourself! You look as if you haven’t slept in a week and I know you haven’t been eating either. How can I not worry about you when all you do is neglect yourself?”

“Dunno, maybe find yourself something to keep you busy enough. You stay at home all day, do as much as nothing, no wonder you’re so damn nosy. I would be too with this much time on my hands.”

He’s so indifferent to everything you say, you try to recall where it all started going so wrong. All you did was ask whether he’s eaten at work or not, and now the two of you are snapping at each other as if you weren’t lovers, and trying not to hurt each other was a long forgotten thought by now. 

“If you’re so unhappy with our relationship – with me, maybe it’s best we take a break,” you say as you feel your throat tighten painfully. 

“Agreed. I never even wanted this marriage in the first place,” he scowls, silencing you, words rolling out of his mouth way quicker than his brain is able to process it. 

He bites his words back quickly when he watches your face dropping along with your shoulders, and fuck, you look as if you’ve given up on him right then and there. 

You walk away then, tears streaming down your face, muttering something about how ungrateful he was being, and all Heeseung could do was stand still as if plastered to the floor, in utter disbelief of his own, untrue, words.

After his cruel statement echoes through his head for the fourth time, he finally snaps out of the self pity and rushes after you to the kitchen where you’re leaned over the counter, head buried in your hands as you cry.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly. He walks up from behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his forehead on your shoulder blade. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry for everything I said, sweetheart.”

He turns you around gently and feels his chest tighten at how fucking sad you look. He never wants to see you like this. He never wants to be the cause of this ever again.

And when he looks to the side, his throat closes and dries completely at the sight of your engagement ring laying on the counter right behind you. 

“Are you sure you didn’t mean it?” You ask, wiping the tears away with your hand pointlessly as another stream follows right after. “Things like that don’t come out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t, love, I swear I didn’t. I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him by your neck again. 

Never again. Never fucking again. He keeps telling himself in his head as he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, just where your ring was supposed to be sitting snugly. Then he lowers it and places your palm against his chest, right above his heart, and covers your smaller hand with his.

That was too close to losing you, and himself, for that matter. Because he would never recover if you were gone from his life and all because of him. 

“Then why did you even say it?” You sob pitifully as you feel the warm tears dripping down the tip of your nose.

“I don’t know,” he shushes you gently, trying his best to not break you any further. 

You pull away once you feel calm enough, hands clutching his t-shirt. “It's not too late to call off the wedding, Seung,” you manage out breathily, raising your palm to cup his cheek. “I'd rather not take the step further than have you unhappy.”

“Darling, no.” Heeseung bends down to minimize the distance between the two of you and peppers your face with loving, warm kisses. He just wants to erase those atrocious thoughts out of your mind as quickly as possible. “Please, there's nothing I'd ever want more than to make you my wife. That was stupid of me to say. I'll never be happy if I'm not with you, my love.”

“I just don’t want to force this marriage on you. You need to want it as much as I do, otherwise it’s pointless.”

Heeseung almost chokes on air when he rushes out his answer even before you can properly finish your sentence. “I do want it. Please, you have to believe me.” 

“Really?”

Heeseung smiles at you softly as he wipes your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Really. Scout’s honour.”

You breathe out, feeling relief, and look up at him with squinted, puffy eyes. “Sometimes I just wanna strangle you to death, Lee Heeseung.”

He chuckles lightly before pressing one last kiss to your cheek. “Aren't you just so adorable? You should add this to your wedding vows.”

“Maybe I’ll add this to your eulogy instead if you pull shit like that again.”

Heeseung clicks his tongue with a grin pulling on his lips. “Touché.”

PARK JAY

The atmosphere in the living room is so heavy that your chest starts to hurt. You’re standing barely two steps away from the man you love the most, yet you’ve never felt more far away from him than in this moment. 

His eyes – cold but still undoubtedly full of love, drill holes in the side of your head as you turn your face away from him to try and gather your thoughts.

Arguments with Jay were rare. You always tried to work things out immediately, keeping your heads cool. But something has broken over the last month and you can’t see each other eye to eye anymore. At the very beginning of your relationship you made a promise to never go to bed angry. To never leave things unresolved. Yet now Jay’s been sleeping on the couch for the past week, and you fail to understand what the fuck has happened to the two of you. 

And you can’t help but think that, maybe, sometimes love is just not enough. 

“You’re not even trying to find the middle ground anymore. All you do is snap at me the second I come home. I’m fucking tired of it! Would it hurt to give it a rest for a day?” 

The tension is almost palpable. You hate how you can’t seem to back away from any argument but only keep hurting him instead. 

“Put effort into our relationship first, then we’ll talk,” you spit out instead, against your better judgment.

“It’s funny coming from you who’s done nothing but put a fucking distance between us!”

“This doesn’t make any sense anymore, Jay. We need some time apart,” you finally speak into the dull silence, eyes casted downwards at the floor as your hand keeps twitching, only to finally grab for your ring finger and slip the silver band off of it. You didn’t think much of your action, hell, you didn’t even process it properly. 

Well, not until you hear the shaky exhale leave Jay’s lips. 

Silently, he presses his lips together and nods his head before turning on his heel and leaving the room. You listen intently to the shuffling, then ringing of the keys and eventually the door being shut. 

A moment of silence turns into minutes of you staring at the ring on your palm with tears burning your eyes mercilessly. 

With your heart falling low to your stomach, you drop down on the couch and tug on your hair slightly, cursing yourself for acting so mindlessly. 

You wallow in self pity in the dead quiet room. The shiny ring feels so heavy and burning in your clenched fist. You take in a deep breath, then quickly slide the band back onto your finger, feeling instantly shielded with it being on its righteous place again.

And just like that, you spend the next three hours on the verge of losing your sanity. With no word from Jay. He’s left your messages unread. He’s left your calls unanswered. 

You don’t know whether he’s okay or hurt or simply gone. All that combined is enough to leave you panicked and terrified, unable to have a second of peace. 

You never meant to take it this far. This – your words and rapid actions, that will forever remain as one of your biggest regrets. You don’t like the idea that you made your other half feel like you’ve taken him for granted. Or for what’s worse, like a person that you can use for unloading your frustration on. 

There’s this throbbing pain in your chest as you realize that maybe he’s not coming back because why would he if you can’t even love him properly?

Your fingers are bleeding from how hard you’ve been picking on your cuticles. 

And then you hear the jingle of keys and soon the front door opens quietly. You know that even after all of this he’s still being careful to not wake you up. It’s killing you how he thinks you’d ever be able to get a wink of sleep without knowing he’s safe. 

You’re quick to drop your phone on the couch and shoot up on your legs, rushing over to the door and throwing yourself on Jay’s neck. 

“I was so worried about you!” You gasp out, clinging onto your fiancé desperately as tears unknowingly make their way down your cheeks. “Please, don’t ever do that again!”

“Sorry, my phone died,” he replies after a second or two, bringing his arm up to wrap around your waist and keep you close to him. 

He’s still upset but he understands where you’re coming from, knowing well that if it was you instead of him he’d probably go insane from worry. 

He can feel your heart hammering against his chest, so he lifts his hand and strokes your hair to help you calm down. But then you start crying, feeling his gentle touch even after everything you said, that was enough to push you over the edge. You clench your trembling hands on his sweater as you burst out with choked sobs, slouching against his warm and comforting body. 

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” you weep into his chest like a mantra and Jay can quite literally feel his heart cracking at your miserable state. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, hot air hitting your ear before he presses a soft kiss to its tip. “Don’t cry anymore, honey. We’re okay.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you,” you whimper quietly. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“Don’t say that,” he scolds you with a frown. Your whimpers twist his guts even more than your harsh words from before. “It’s not the first nor the last time we’ll have an argument. It’s not worth losing your pretty head over it, okay?” 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat one last time. “I promise I'll never take it off again. I’ll never lash out on you like that ever again too.”

Jay grabs your hand and runs his thumb over the thin silver band, the same one he was picking so carefully for weeks, and a small smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. He hates how shameful you sound. 

He’ll never tell you how the sight of you pulling your ring off your finger made him physically sick to his stomach. He can't have you feeling even worse than you already do. So instead he brings you close to him and rests his forehead on yours. 

“I’m so stupid,” you whisper quietly as you close your eyes, your heavy eyelashes letting go of another few droplets of crystal tears which Jay’s lips soak up instantly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you actually left.”

“You know me better than to think I’d let us break it off over such a petty fight.” And, yes, you do. But your lip wobbles with silent agony at the sole thought of that. “Hey,” he tries again as he presses a loving kiss to your red nose. “I’m not leaving, okay? How could I ever?” 

“I love you.”

With his thumb caressing your burning cheek so tenderly, you feel at peace again.

“I love you too,” he replies without skipping a beat. “No one can handle you as well as I do. And no one sees me for me like you do. We complete each other. We belong together.”

He kisses you silly then, until there’s no more tears left in your body and you’re barely able to breathe anymore. He kisses you until your legs give in and he swoops you up to carry you into your shared bed for the first time in what seems like forever.

He kisses you until it engraves in your mind that there’s no other person for him in this world but you.

SIM JAKE

“Baby, I already apologized.” A groan lingers at the back of his throat but for his own sake he stifles it inside. “I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

You sit on the edge of your shared bed and clench your fingers on the silky duvet. “How about you start showing up to things we both agreed on attending to?”

He runs his hand down his face. “I know. It just slipped my mind, that’s all. You know how busy I’ve been this week.”

“This shouldn’t be my business only, though. I mean, for christ’s sake, it’s our wedding! I would really appreciate it if you participated in something for once!”

Flowers and cake. That’s literally all you’ve asked of him to go and pick with you for the wedding reception. Knowing his tight schedule, you picked the date carefully so that it wouldn’t meddle with his work and you could even go grab some dinner afterwards. But your plans all went out the window when he didn’t even bother showing up or giving you a heads up text, standing you up yet another time when it comes to your wedding preparations.

You’re honestly getting tired of it.

“I’ll be there next time,” he assures you quickly as he nervously taps his fingers on the doorway of your bedroom. 

“You said you wouldn’t do that,” your voice wavers as your shoulders drop with resignation. With the back of your hand, you wipe off the tears that made their way down your cheeks. “You promised to help, Jake. But you left me alone with everything, as usual.”

“It’s not even that big of a deal. This can be rescheduled any time. Baby, stop stressin’ so much.”

“But it is a big deal to me!” You cry out, palm reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You breathe out heavily. “I don’t want to do everything by myself! We’re supposed to be in this together! If getting married means that I’m gonna be alone with all the responsibilities that you don’t consider important enough, I’m not even sure I still want it.”

To back up your words, your hand moves half-consciously to your ring finger and you twist the cool piece of jewelry in between your fingers. 

“No, no, no, no.” Jake moves quickly, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes towards you to desperately clasp your hand in his two and stop you from whatever the hell you were about to do. He drops to his knees in front of the bed, right at your feet. “Baby, you promised you’d never take it off.”

You’re at a loss of words as you look into his wide eyes, the seriousness of your actions only catching up to you now. You gasp quietly, eyes watering just like his, quickly relaxing your tensed hand in his and letting him slide the ring back down your finger, just where it belongs.

Silence envelopes the two of you, besides the sound of your sniffles. 

You feel awful. 

Jake feels even worse. 

Leaning forward, you press your face to his shoulder and melt instantly when he brings a hand to caress your hair. 

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, clenching your hand to feel the cool ring against your skin. “I don't know why I did that. I didn't mean to.”

“I know,” he soothes you just as softly. He stands up from the floor and carefully maneuvers the two of you so that you’re placed on his lap as he sits with his back against the headboard. “It's my fault. I'm sorry. I never meant to disregard your feelings like that.”

At the end of the day, both of you would rather set themselves ablaze than watch the other one hurting. 

You nod silently, heart pounding in your chest before you bring your arms up and throw them over his neck.

“I’m sorry I was so impulsive.”

“No. You did nothing wrong.” His soothing voice carries over the room, enveloping you with warmth. “I promise I'll be here whenever you want me to from now on. I don’t want you to feel neglected by me, especially now when you’re this stressed over the wedding. I won’t let you down, again.” 

“I just need a little help, that’s all,” you mumble tiredly into his skin.

“I know.” His warm lips press to your forehead lovingly. “I’m sorry for being an insensitive douche. It won’t happen again. I’ll take some days off next week, hm?”

The tears on your face dry slowly as your hold on him tightens. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s done. I'll be all yours and you’ll be all mine then,” he hums and noses at your cheek, finally bringing out a small giggle out of you. After all these years, he still melts at the sound. “I won’t let things get this out of hand again, YN. I promise.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Tilting your head up and bringing his down towards you, you join your lips in a kiss that you’ve been longing for for days. His movements are slow and careful as he tries to soak up as much of the moment as possible. 

His kisses slowly put your broken pieces back together. He never knew how much seeing you cry like this would hurt him. And he’ll make damn sure he won’t ever have to experience that again for as long as you're with him.

“If I have a life to spend, it'll only be with you, sweetheart,” he lowers his voice to match yours, cradling your cheek in the palm of his hand. “You're it for me. I'll never give you a chance to doubt that ever again.”

PARK SUNGHOON

“You’re never home! There’s always a hundred things more important to you than spending an hour of your time with me. Your fucking fiance! Are we really about to get married when you’re clearly so tired of me already?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you finally voice out everything that’s been sitting on your chest for the past month. Things have not been working out well with the two of you, much to your despair. He’s been neglectful, always too busy to help you with anything – even the wedding related things that you should’ve gotten done weeks ago. 

And you know that he’s swamped with work and it's not his fault. You understand everything. But to ask him to spare you an hour or two of his day shouldn’t be too much. It shouldn’t make him snap at you unlike what he just did the second he came back home. You slowly begin to lose your hope.

“God, have you always been this needy? Why can’t you accept that I can’t always put you first? No matter how much I’d want to, sometimes I just can’t! Deal with this!”

“Fucking- Fine.”

Your hand moves quicker than your brain, and the next thing you know, your shiny ring is being pulled off your finger and resting in the palm of your other hand. 

You can see the disbelief flashing through his face briefly before it completely morphs into a scowl. 

“You really think that this will solve the problem?” He asks, eyebrows narrowed as he glowers at you from across the room. “Really? Does that ring mean so little to you that you go and throw it away with any minor inconvenience?” 

You try to blink away the frustrated tears, hand raking up to brush your hair away from your face. “No, fuck, I just- I don’t know what to do anymore, Sunghoon. I feel like I’m the only one in this relationship. I need you to give me something more because whatever you’re doing now is not enough for me.”

“Well, I’m putting out everything I have, YN! I love you! If that’s still not good enough for you, then maybe it’s not meant to be.”

The silence that falls in the room doesn’t last long as your sudden sob pierces Sunghoon’s ears quickly, making his stomach drop to the soles of his feet. His heart wrenches and twists as the anger simmers down and evaporates from his body within a second, and he’s quickly coming back to his senses at the sight of you breaking down right in front of him. 

“Can’t you just try?” You cry into your hands, shielding your face away from your fiance. “That’s all I’m asking of you. Is it really so hard to try?”

No, it’s not. Sunghoon knows it without a second of thinking. It’s not too hard to try, never if it’s for you. And his throat dries so quickly when he basks in the weight of his words that finally made you break as well. 

“You don’t know how much it hurts to feel like you’re too much for your partner,” you wail with a small voice, shoulders trembling and hands quickly getting damp with tears. “You’ll never know how it is to feel unwanted, because you’ll never have to when you're with me. Because I love you, asshole, but now I’m doubting if you’re saying it back just for the sake of it.”

With air getting stuck in his throat, Sunghoon looks at you wide-eyed before quickly crossing the living room and enveloping you in his arms. His warmth wraps around you in what you've always considered to be safety, but now it just makes you cry more. 

He finds it hard to breathe. The hesitation in your eyes feels like a stab to his chest.

“Of course I still love you,” he says, voice muffled by your hair. 

He hates how he made you feel the opposite. He hates how you’re right and he never had to worry about any reassurement of such kind from your side because you’re just that good to him. And his heart breaks with the realization of how much of a lousy partner he’s been to you when all you ever were was nothing less than perfect.

So he places his hand on the back of your head and presses you even closer to his shoulder as you cry, his own eyes burning with tears at the sound of your sobs and sniffles. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling,” he apologizes with a heavy heart, fearful of what’s about to come next. “I didn’t mean to neglect you this much. I could say that I’m tired and the work has been a lot lately, but I know these excuses are not enough to make up for my actions.”

You’re mad and hurt, but you love him and would never want to give up on him, so you wrap your arms around his middle and hold him almost as tight as he holds you, burying your wet face in his chest. 

“I love you more than anything, YN.” He pulls away from you only to cup your face and make you look at him. His long fingers wipe away the tears with gentle touch, soothing your stinging skin instantly. “You could never be too much for me. I want all of you. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll love you better.”

And when you’re looking up at him with these shiny eyes of yours, he closes the distance and presses a loving kiss to your swollen lips, hoping to take at least some of the pain away. He doesn’t think he can hold you any tighter. He can’t love you any stronger than right now, and it messes with his head how easily he could’ve had it all ruined only minutes ago. 

He’ll never take your love for granted ever again. Because if he did, he’d never be able to pick up the parts of whatever was left of him, and put himself back together ever again. 

You can feel his warm hand opening your closed palm before he takes the ring you've been clutching so tightly and holds it in between his fingers. 

“Can I put it back on, baby? Please.”

You nod wordlessly while you try to tame your tears. You hold your slightly trembling hand up to him. He takes it, gently, and watches as your bottom lip wobbles while he slides the ring on your finger just like he did months ago. 

“I'll never screw up like that again. You have my word for it.”

You sniffle quietly when he kisses you right on the cool band adorning your skin. “You better not, Park Sunghoon.”

His long fingers caress your cheek, wiping the remains of the tears away. “Can you forgive me, darling?”

You don't need to think long of an answer. “You know I can never stay mad at you. Even if you're a idiot, I'll never stop loving you. You have my whole heart, Hoon. Please, don't ever make me regret trusting you with it.”

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