#i think i like him with black hair the best

[eu-nicola]

not yours part 1

summary: Rafe Cameron is the perfect boyfriend… but not yours, but Sofia’s. However, fate plays against you when you become the only person capable of understanding him in his darkest moments. What begins as a dangerous friendship soon becomes an attraction impossible to deny.

warnings: nothing for now

word counter: 9203

author’s note: english is not my first language

In the eyes of the Kooks, you were always a Pogue. You could have perfectly coiffed hair, impeccable clothes, and an air of confidence that many of them envied, but no matter how hard you tried, you were still one of “the others.” After all, you were born and raised on the other side of the island, where the houses were small, the streets dusty, and the rules of etiquette didn’t exist. 

But that never stopped you. You always wanted more, you wanted to stand out, to shine as if the invisible line that divided the island didn’t exist for you. You liked being the center of attention, being the girl who walked into a party and made everyone turn to look at you. It was part of who you were. It entertained you, it filled you with energy. And maybe, deep down, you enjoyed a little bit of the scandal that a Pogue caused trying to be more than that. 

The first time you met Sofia was at one of those parties that the Kooks organized on the beach. You arrived late, as usual, but perfect. The tight black dress you had chosen highlighted every curve. You made sure every hair was in place and that your makeup highlighted your eyes impeccably.

You saw her alone, sitting in a corner, with a half-finished drink in her hand. She didn't seem comfortable in that place, as if she was out of place. Maybe that was what caught your attention. Unlike other girls, Sofia didn't seem to desperately want to fit in. There was something authentic about her, something that intrigued you.

"What are you doing here alone?" you asked her as you sat down next to her. Your tone was casual, as if you had known her all your life.

Sofia looked up and smiled at you, shy but warm.

"I don't know... I think this isn't my place."

"Well, sometimes, what we think isn't our place ends up being the best place of all," you answered, and without waiting for an invitation, you stayed there.

From that night on, you and Sofia became inseparable. She was quieter, more reserved, but that worked. Your explosive energy was complemented by her calm, and soon you were doing everything together: from afternoons on the beach to nighttime escapades to places where the Kooks didn’t dare to go.

It was inevitable that Sofia began to integrate more into your world. But she also began to enter theirs. Maybe too much.

The first time she told you she was dating Rafe Cameron, you felt like the world stopped for a moment.

“Rafe Cameron?” you repeated in disbelief as you looked in the mirror, touching up your eyeliner.

You were in your room, getting ready for another party. The air smelled of perfume and freshly opened makeup. Sofia was sitting on your bed, nervously playing with the hem of her dress.

“Yeah… I know he’s not exactly the kind of guy you like.”

He wasn’t. He never was. Rafe Cameron was the perfect definition of everything you despised about the Kooks. Arrogant, controlling, with that air of superiority that drove you crazy. And although you didn't say it openly, you knew he looked at you with disdain every time you coincided somewhere. As if you were usurping a space that didn't belong to you.

You took a deep breath, adjusting the necklace that adorned your neck, and decided not to say what you really thought.

“If it makes you happy… then fine.”

Sofia looked at you with a mix of relief and gratitude. You knew how much your opinion mattered to her, and you weren’t going to be the one to take that happiness away from her, even though something inside you told you it wasn’t going to end well.

Later that night the party was at its highest point. Music was booming from the speakers, laughter and conversations mixed with the sound of the sea gently lapping against the shore. The dim lights and strategically placed torches gave an almost magical air to the private beach where the Kooks were celebrating once again. Everything was perfect, at least in appearance.

You were there, as always, impeccable. Every accessory was in its place, every strand of your hair perfectly arranged, and your smile was as dazzling as ever.

But from the moment you walked through the door, Sofia was glued to Rafe Cameron.

He was leaning against one of the makeshift bars, a bottle of beer in his hand and that cocky grin he never seemed to be able to erase. Sofia, beside him, looked different. More radiant, perhaps, but also more… restrained. As if he somehow controlled her every move.

It bothered you. You couldn’t help it. You had arrived expecting to spend the night together, like you used to before Rafe came into the equation. But there she was, practically glued to him, laughing at his comments, looking at him as if the rest of the party didn’t exist.

You sipped a glass of white wine and forced yourself to smile when a couple of acquaintances came over to say hello. You chatted, laughed, and pretended you didn’t care. Because at the end of the day, you understood. He was her boyfriend. If you had one, you’d probably do the same. If you had a Rafe Cameron who looked at you like you were the only important thing in the world, you wouldn’t leave him alone either.

Still, you couldn’t help the pang of discomfort that settled in your chest every time you saw them together. It was like Sofia was slowly disappearing into Rafe’s shadow.

Someone offered you a drink, and you accepted with a flirtatious smile, because that was what you did. You always knew how to have fun, how to attract glances, how to make sure no one noticed that something was bothering you.

But as the night progressed, you realized that your eyes kept returning to them. To Rafe, who had his arm around her as if to make it clear that she belonged to him. To Sofia, who didn’t seem to notice anyone else.

“Are you going to stay there all night, or are you going to dance?” a boy’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned around and recognized him by sight. A Kook, of course, one of those who always tried to get close to you when you were alone.

You smiled at him, playful.

“What if I tell you that I prefer to stay here?”

He laughed, but insisted.

“Come on, I promise you'll have fun.”

You hesitated for a second, your eyes looking back at Sofia. She was still glued to Rafe, oblivious to everything else.

“Okay” you finally agreed, putting your drink aside. “Let's see if it's true.”

You went out onto the dance floor and let yourself go. Because if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was enjoy the moment, at least in appearance. You danced, you laughed, you let the music envelop you. But every time you turned, every time you moved to the rhythm of the music, you could feel Rafe's gaze on you. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling.

For an instant, your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, cold, as if he were evaluating you. It wasn't the first time he did it. He always seemed to observe you that way, as if he wanted to remind you that you didn't belong in his world, that you were nothing more than an intruder.

But you didn't give him the pleasure of looking away. You held his gaze, defiant, with a smile on your lips, as if you didn't care in the least what he thought. Because at the end of the day, if you had learned anything, it was not to show weakness.

The music continued, the lights continued to flicker, and the night continued.

When the music began to slow down and tiredness settled in your body, you decided that it was enough for that night. You had danced, drank, and smiled enough to keep up appearances. You looked once more to where Sofia and Rafe were, still together, as if the rest of the party didn't exist.

You sighed, resigned. It wasn't your place to interrupt that moment. You knew that if you came closer, Sofia would want you to stay, but honestly, you had no energy left to keep pretending that everything was fine.

"See you tomorrow," you murmured to a couple of acquaintances as you left. No one stopped you, because they knew that when you decided to leave, there was nothing that would make you change your mind.

You took the path to your house, enjoying the fresh air that calmed the heat accumulated on your skin. The silence of the night welcomed you with open arms, and it didn't take long for you to slip under the sheets, leaving behind the noise, the lights, and the discomfort that had followed you throughout the evening.

The next morning, your phone rang earlier than expected. Sofia.

"Good morning," you said hoarsely, still half asleep.

"Good morning," she answered, with an energy that made you frown. "Are you awake?"

“Now yes. What's up?”

“I'm at Rafe's house. I thought you could come. There's a pool, some food... We could spend the day here.”

You bit your lower lip, hesitating for a second. The idea of ​​spending the day at Rafe's house wasn't exactly your ideal plan. The Cameron house had always seemed more like a display of power than a home. Every corner was designed to impress, to make it clear that they were the pinnacle of the Kooks. And although you knew how to move in that environment, it wasn't your favorite place.

“Sure, give me some time to get ready and I'll go.”

“Perfect. I'll wait for you.”

You hung up the phone and stood up slowly, stretching your arms over your head as you thought about what to wear.

You opted for a long, light white dress, which highlighted your tan and fell perfectly. You chose a white bikini as well, simple but elegant. You made sure your hair was styled to perfection, letting some soft waves fall to frame your face.

A touch of natural makeup, just enough to highlight your eyes and lips, but not over the top. You chose a small bag, where you kept the essentials: sunscreen, sunglasses, and your phone.

You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror, adjusting the dress and the necklace that discreetly glistened on your collarbone.

You grabbed your keys, placed your sunglasses on your head, and left the house.

When you arrived, Sofia ran out to greet you before you could knock on the door, her radiant smile lighting up her face.

“You’re here!” she said excitedly, extending her arms towards you.

“Of course I do!” you replied with an equally wide smile as you walked over to hug her.

The hug was warm and genuine. Sofia had always had that energy that made you feel welcome, like everything else disappeared when you were together. She pulled away slightly to look at you.

“You look amazing.”

“You do too,” you said sincerely, noticing how her face glowed despite the simplicity of her outfit. “You always look good when you’re happy, though.”

Sofia blushed a little and laughed softly. You knew exactly why she was so happy. You didn’t have to be an expert at reading gestures to figure it out: Rafe.

“Come on, we’re in the back,” she said, taking you by the arm and leading you to the pool.

They walked through the house until they reached the spacious backyard. The pool sparkled in the sun, surrounded by lounge chairs, umbrellas, and luxurious furniture. Everything was perfectly arranged, as if they had taken the scene from a magazine.

And there he was.

He was sitting by the pool, a beer in his hand, sunglasses covering his eyes. He looked carefree, like the whole world revolved around him. His hair perfectly combed, body relaxed but always in control.

Your eyes met his for a brief second as you crossed the garden. His gaze was cold, distant, as always.

“Hi, Rafe,” you said in a polite tone, keeping the smile light.

He barely raised his hand in a vague greeting, not even bothering to take off his glasses.

“Hey.”

Nothing more. A short, dry greeting, as if you were there out of mere courtesy. Then, he turned his attention back to the conversation he was having with one of his friends, as if your presence was insignificant.

You expected it. Rafe had never treated you with more than minimal courtesy, and that was when he felt like it.

You took a deep breath and turned to Sofia, who didn’t seem to notice her boyfriend’s coldness.

“Come on, I’ll show you where to put your stuff,” Sofia said excitedly, leading you to one of the lounge chairs. 

After you put all your stuff down, Sofia spoke to you again. 

“Come on, let’s go to the pool,” Sofia said, pulling you by the hand. “It’s hot, and the water is perfect.”

You nodded and took off your white dress, revealing the bikini you had chosen so carefully. 

The afternoon passed more peacefully than you had anticipated. The sun bathed the pool in a golden glow, and the soft music coming from the strategically placed speakers made everything seem like something out of a postcard. You and Sofia spent hours laughing, swimming, and enjoying the cold drinks you had brought. At times, the awkwardness that had accompanied you upon arrival seemed to fade away. 

Rafe and his friends were nearby, but they kept their distance, busy in their own bubble of conversations. 

At some point, Sofia stood up. 

“I’m going inside to get something to eat.” Do you want me to get you something?

“No, I’m fine,” you replied with a smile. You didn’t want to move. The sun, the water, and the atmosphere had relaxed you more than you expected. Sofia gave you a quick smile before disappearing through the sliding door into the house.

You were left alone, enjoying the moment. The cold glass in your hand, the soft murmur of the water in the pool, and the warmth of the sun on your skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the tranquility envelop you.

However, that calm was interrupted when you felt a slight tug on your hair. You frowned, opening your eyes. You had leaned against one of the umbrellas, and without realizing it, one of the fringes at the edge of the fabric had become entangled in your hair. You pulled gently, trying to free it, but it didn’t work. The lock of hair was still firmly caught.

You sighed, frustrated. Normally, Sofia would be there to help you in a second, but now she wasn't. You tried once more, this time with a little more force, but you only managed to get it more tangled.

"Perfect..." you murmured sarcastically, resigned to waiting for Sofia to return.

"Trouble?"

The male voice, low and slightly amused, startled you. Rafe.

He was a few steps away from you, with his hands in his pockets and that expression on his face that seemed to mix boredom with curiosity. He was watching you with those cold blue eyes that had always made you nervous, as if he was entertained by your little fight with the umbrella.

"Nothing I can't handle," you said quickly, trying to keep control. You didn't want to give him the pleasure of thinking you needed help. You gently tugged on the lock of hair again, but it still wouldn't come loose.

"Yeah, sure. You're handling it perfectly," he replied in a sarcastic tone, as he moved a little closer.

You looked at him, trying to keep your composure.

“Sofia will be here in a minute, don’t worry.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, stopping right in front of you. The proximity made your skin crawl slightly.

“Or I can help you.”

For a moment, you were tempted to turn him down again. The idea of ​​accepting Rafe Cameron’s help was… strange. He wasn’t exactly the kind of person to selflessly offer help. But the reality was that Sofia would probably take a little longer, and you didn’t want to be stuck there anymore, humiliating yourself in front of him.

You sighed, reluctantly giving in.

“Okay… but don’t make it worse.”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

That’s exactly what worries me, you thought. But you didn’t say anything.

Rafe moved behind you, and you felt his hands move closer to your hair. His fingers were surprisingly deft and precise, touching just enough to untangle the trapped lock of hair. You were surprised by how gently he worked, without tugging or causing pain. His closeness was undeniable, and for an instant, you were aware of the warmth of his body, the faint scent of mint, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Almost…” he murmured as his fingers slid through the last knot. Finally, the lock of hair came free.

You pulled away slightly, turning to face him.

“Thank you.”

He simply nodded, wearing that neutral expression he always seemed to carry with him. Before he could say anything else, you pointed towards one of the lounge chairs.

“Can you pass me the brooch I left there?”

Rafe calmly walked over to the lounge chair, picked up the small white brooch, and handed it to you. There were no snide comments or haughty looks this time. It was strange.

“Thanks again,” you said as you pinned your hair back, trying to ignore the slight nervousness the interaction had left you with.

“You’re welcome.”

And that was it. No more words, no lingering stares. Rafe returned to his spot by the pool, as if nothing had happened. You stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. There was something about his expression that didn’t fit with the image you had of him.

But you decided not to think about it too much.

Then the night came faster than you had expected. The party at the Camerons’ continued, but the atmosphere was much more relaxed. The pool lights created a soft glow over the water, reflecting the stars that were beginning to peek out in the night sky. You and Sofia retreated from the hustle and bustle of the party, looking for a respite.

“That was great, wasn’t it?” Sofia said, her voice filled with an energy that couldn’t be hidden.

You nodded as you walked over to one of the chairs near the pool, sitting down to enjoy the cool night air.

“Yeah, it was fun. Although, you know, always a little awkward with… some of the Kooks,” you replied, glancing sideways at Rafe, who was still talking to his friends in the distance.

Sofia laughed softly, as if those social tensions didn’t affect her as much as they did you. For her, being with Rafe was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re staying, right?” Sofia asked, with an eager look, as if she needed to hear the affirmative answer.

You didn’t know what Sofia had in mind for the next day, but her excitement was contagious. You looked at Rafe from a distance, and although you didn’t say it out loud, you knew that if Sofia asked you for something, you would do it.

“Sure, why not?” “I want you to come with us tomorrow,” you replied, though a small spark of doubt lit up inside you. What exactly were they going to do the next day?

“Perfect,” Sofia said with a satisfied smile, as if she had achieved what she wanted. She then leaned slightly towards you, lowering her voice. “I want you to come with us tomorrow. Rafe is going to go racing on his motorcycle. He said he has no problem with you staying the night, if that’s okay with you. Would you like to join us tomorrow?”

You sat there thoughtfully for a moment. The idea of ​​spending another day with Rafe, back in his world of privilege, seemed strange to you. But it was also hard for you to say no to Sofia, especially when you saw how excited she was.

“Okay. What does it matter?” you replied, resigned to the idea of ​​spending the day with them.

The next morning came quickly, and the sun was already rising high when you woke up. The Cameron house was quiet at that hour, with most people still sleeping after the party the night before. When you checked your bag, you realized you didn't have anything suitable for what Sofia had proposed. The shorts and the t-shirt with the embroidery seemed like a comfortable option, but nothing too dressed up.

Sofia walked into the room you had stayed in, seeing that you were still getting organized.

"Are you ready?" she asked with her usual enthusiasm.

"Almost. I just... don't have anything to wear," you mentioned, looking at the clothes you had brought, a little out of place for a motorcycle ride.

"Don't worry!" Sofia said with a mischievous smile. "I'll lend you something. Those shorts are fine, you just need a comfortable t-shirt, right?"

Before you could answer, Sofia turned around and pulled a white t-shirt out of her closet. It wasn't anything over the top, but the edge of the t-shirt was adorned with small floral embroidery. Which might look plain, but it looked incredibly nice.

"Here, this should fit you well," she said as she handed you the t-shirt.

You looked at her, grateful, as you put it on. The fabric was soft and cool, something you needed for the morning heat. Then, you pulled on your shorts, arranged your hair the best way you could, and looked at yourself in the mirror.

When you left the room, Sofia was already ready, her hair perfectly coiffed and her energy bubbling.

“Let’s go!” she said, running towards the door. There was no way you could cope with her enthusiasm.

The two of you headed to the beach, where Rafe was already there, next to his bike. It was a sight in itself. Rafe’s bike, shiny and almost imposing looking, contrasted with his relaxed stance, as if the bike was an extension of him.

Rafe glanced at you briefly when you arrived, his expression somewhat unreadable.

The race began with a roar, and the feeling of speed on Rafe’s bike was electrifying. The wind whipped through your face as the sound of the engine mixed with the adrenaline in the air. Rafe was incredibly focused, and Sofia was smiling non-stop. 

As you continued down the road, you realized how skilled Rafe was. Every turn was taken with astonishing precision, and his ability to maneuver the bike quickly was evident. You and Sofia shared excited glances, both shouting words of encouragement, though you knew the real show was watching him. 

Finally, when the finish line was in sight, Rafe hit the gas. The bike roared as it took the final turn, and it wasn't long before he crossed the finish line with an undisputed victory. 

You and Sofia burst into cheers, though it was clear that Rafe's victory was what really mattered to her. She looked proud, and with good reason. Rafe had won in impeccable fashion, and the feeling of excitement was palpable.

Sofia stepped forward to hug him, while you stayed a step behind, observing the moment. Rafe's face reflected satisfaction. He didn't seem surprised by the victory, as if it was something expected.

You stared at Rafe for a moment, observing his relaxed face as he talked to Sofia about the race, but you quickly decided to leave those thoughts behind. There was something in his attitude that didn't quite fit, and you knew it wasn't worth wasting time on things that didn't make sense. The excitement of the day had already reached its peak, and you preferred to enjoy the moment.

You turned around, looking at Sofia, who had already begun to plan what they would do next.

"Let's celebrate!" Sofia said enthusiastically, interrupting your brief moment of introspection.

It wasn't an invitation, but an affirmation, and before you could respond, she had already taken you by the hand, gently pulling you towards where the others were. The celebratory atmosphere was in full swing: loud music, laughter, and an air of satisfaction permeating everything around them. When they arrived, everyone was there, enjoying Rafe's triumph, and even though you weren't part of that inner circle, you couldn't help but be swept up in the energy emanating from them. 

You sat next to Sofia on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, watching as people gathered around Rafe to congratulate him. The way he accepted the congratulations, calm and almost distant, seemed so natural to you, as if he was already used to being the center of attention. But something in you told you it wasn't that simple. There was an invisible barrier between you and him, as if the distance wasn't just physical, but emotional as well. 

But that night, you decided to let it be. You sat there, enjoying Sofia's company, and without thinking too much about it, you began to soak in the atmosphere. 

People started moving towards the dance floor, the music was getting livelier, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Sofia, still full of energy, looked at you with a knowing smile.

“Shall we dance?” she asked, without waiting for an answer, already getting up from the lounger.

You stood up after her, feeling that, at least for that night, you should enjoy yourself without thinking too much about anything else. Somehow, by surrounding yourself with the happiness of Sofia and the others, the feeling of awkwardness began to fade.

The day continued with a festive atmosphere, the music vibrating in the air. You and Sofia had completely let loose, laughing and dancing without a care, until suddenly Rafe approached her. On his face was a subtle smile, one of those smiles that you only see when someone has a deep connection with another person.

“Dance?” he said to Sofia, and she was quick to smile, her eyes shining.

You watched them as they glided to the center of the dance floor, their bodies moving to the beat of the music as if they were one. Something inside you, a mix of admiration and envy, stirred. There was something about the way Rafe looked after Sofia that made you think you might have misjudged him. After all, not everyone was willing to show that kind of tenderness in public. Maybe Rafe wasn't as cold as you had initially thought. 

You stared for a moment, but you didn't let yourself get caught up in those emotions. You decided not to think about it too much. Instead of just standing there watching, you let yourself go with the energy of the party and joined one of Rafe's friends who was nearby. He was outgoing and not afraid to chat, so the conversation flowed naturally. 

You laughed, you enjoyed yourself, and everything kept moving forward without your mind stopping on the images of Sofia and Rafe. But when you looked at yourself, you noticed something that worried you: the way that, with each encounter, you began to see more clearly how attentive Rafe and Sofia could be to each other. It wasn’t just a physical attraction, but something deeper, a connection you hadn’t anticipated. There was an understanding between them, something that seemed to flow effortlessly. And that, somehow, bothered you more than you wanted to admit.

Days passed, and as time went on, you started to see yourself closer and closer to them. Outings became common, and although at first you were a kind of guest in their circle, little by little you began to feel like you were part of it. You saw yourself walking along the beach with them, sharing laughs while watching Rafe throw out a sarcastic joke that made you laugh like never before. The atmosphere between the group was relaxed, fun, and you seemed to fit in perfectly. Almost as well as if you were one of the Kooks, as if you had always been part of that life. 

But something kept nagging at your head, a small knot in your stomach that kept growing. You realized that every time Rafe and Sofia looked at each other or subtly touched each other, a pang of jealousy ran through your body. How had you not noticed that before? How had you not seen how happy it made Sofia just to have him by her side? It was like a spark always surrounded them, and you wanted to be a part of that, of that security and affection that was evident on the surface.

You thought to yourself that maybe, just maybe, you had misjudged him. Rafe wasn't just the arrogant boy you had met at the beginning. There was something about his attitude towards Sofia that made you question everything you thought about him. You could see how he cared for her, how he took his time to make sure she was comfortable, how his eyes always looked for her in the middle of the crowd.

One afternoon, when everyone was on a terrace, and Rafe had approached to offer you a drink, you realized how much your perception of him had changed. There was a softness in his gaze, one you hadn't noticed before, and although it was something that confused you, you also admired it. You felt foolish for having kept yourself distant all this time, and a little jealous too, because deep down you knew you wanted something like that for yourself.

However, you just smiled and thanked him for the drink, not saying anything about what you were really thinking. It was easy to look at everything from the outside, but much harder to deal with what you felt on the inside. You were surrounded by friends, but the small discomfort you felt in your chest never completely went away. You wondered if you could ever be as lucky as Sofia, if you would ever find something that made you feel as alive and safe. 

That same day at night, after several hours of laughter, music, and drinks, the atmosphere at Rafe’s house was still lively. Sofia, as always, was in her element, enjoying the company of the two of you, but you already felt the energy starting to drain away. You had drunk more than you thought, and although it wasn’t enough to lose control, you did start to feel fatigue building up in your body. 

“I’m going to sleep,” you said to Sofia, who looked at you with a cheerful smile. 

“Sure, honey. The room is ready for you. Get some rest” he answered, still smiling.

You walked towards the stairs as you entered the halls of the house. It was a large and luxurious space, and the room you used when you stayed there was decorated with sophisticated details.

But before you reached the room, suddenly, you ran into Rafe. He was coming down the stairs, with a glass in his hand, apparently in a good mood, without the arrogant air he used to have. He stopped when he saw you and, as if he hadn't seen you coming, both of you collided a little. It was a strange moment: your body brushed against his, almost as if you were going to trip, but you managed to keep your balance with difficulty. However, what really made you feel uncomfortable was the look you exchanged. The air between the two of you became heavy for a moment, as if something had happened unintentionally.

Rafe, with a knowing smile on his face, was quick to let out a small laugh, as if he found the situation funny, and that only increased your discomfort. Your face instantly flushed, and for a second you thought you had gotten yourself into one of those awkward situations you always try to avoid.

“Wow, I didn’t see you coming,” he said, still with that carefree smile. His tone wasn’t mocking, but somehow his laugh felt like mockery.

Your mind raced and you didn’t know how to react, you just muttered something that didn’t make much sense, like an “I’m sorry” or an “excuse me,” and without thinking much, you rushed to the bedroom. The door closed behind you, and you instantly felt the awkwardness take over you. You lay down on the bed, covering your face with your hands and thinking about how you had handled the situation.

For a moment, you stood there, trying to calm your breathing, but Rafe's laughter still echoed in your head. You knew it hadn't been anything serious, but still, something about his attitude made you feel like you'd made a mistake by being so close to him. Why did it have that effect on you? The thought of being so close, in such a strange situation, didn't leave you calm.

In the end, you just sank into the comfort of the bed, trying to drown out the uncomfortable thoughts.

The next morning you woke up at dawn, although the sun hadn't yet reached its highest point. You felt a little disoriented at first, the echo of the laughter from the night before still echoing in your head, mixed with the feeling of discomfort that the encounter with Rafe had left you with. But, in the end, you got up the courage to get up and made yourself comfortable a little. You changed into something more comfortable but decent: a simple t-shirt and some shorts. You wanted to dress casually, but you also knew that it wasn't the time to be disheveled.

You walked down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen. The house was quiet, as if everyone was still deep in their rest after the night. You decided to sit in one of the chairs, looking at the soft lights that filtered through the window, observing the garden that stretched outside. Everything was so quiet that it brought you peace.

You were waiting for Sofia, you knew that she would soon appear, probably with a dazzling smile and something interesting to tell, but time passed and it wasn't her who appeared. Instead of Sofia, it was Rafe who entered the kitchen. At first you didn't notice him at all, but when you looked up, your eyes met his. He was still wearing the shirt he had worn the night before. Rafe looked at you with a slight smile, as if nothing strange had happened the night before.

"Good morning," he said, his voice low and calm.

You felt a knot in your stomach, and without thinking about it too much, shame washed over you again. You remembered what had happened the night before: the laughter, the unexpected shock, how uncomfortable you had felt. You blushed and, with a sigh, decided to talk about it, as a way to let go of what was weighing you down.

“Hey, Rafe... I'm sorry about last night,” you said quickly, not knowing if it was really necessary, but you needed to get those words out. You felt stupid for having created such silly tension, but you couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort anymore.

Rafe raised his eyebrows for a moment, as if he didn't understand why you were apologizing, but his expression quickly softened.

“You don't have to apologize,” he replied, smiling calmly. His tone was so relaxed that it reassured you, almost as if the situation hadn't been as awkward as you thought. “It was nothing.”

That, in a way, relieved you, although you still felt a little embarrassed inside. But what really surprised you was how you kept talking to him, as if all of that had never happened. Despite the initial awkwardness, something about his presence made you feel calmer. You realized how easy it was to talk to him. The words flowed naturally, without the nerves you had felt before. They talked about trivial things at first: the house, his life, they had even talked about what you had thought of him when Sofia said they were dating. 

The conversation slowly relaxed, without tension. You found yourself smiling more than you had planned, enjoying the talk without the awkwardness from before having room to grow. Rafe wasn't pressuring, he didn't make awkward comments, he just spoke with an ease that made you feel at peace, as if there were no expectations. 

A few minutes passed, or maybe more, and you were surprised by how much you were enjoying talking to him. You had never imagined that you would have such a relaxed conversation with someone like him.

You were about to make one more comment when Sofia finally appeared. She entered the kitchen with a big smile, clearly full of energy, as always.

“Good morning!” she exclaimed, approaching the table and hugging you immediately. “How was your night? Did you rest well?”

She and Rafe looked at each other for a moment, exchanging a knowing smile that made it obvious how comfortable they were together.

“Yes, everything is fine,” you said to Sofia, smiling. “Just resting.”

Sofia looked at you curiously, as if she felt there was something more between you and Rafe, but she didn’t say anything. The feeling of being there with them, as part of the group, grew stronger. It was strange how the dynamics of that house absorbed you little by little, even when you weren’t completely sure where you fit in.

A few days had passed since that conversation in the kitchen, and although the calm between you and Rafe remained, something in you urged you to step away a little. You didn't have a specific reason, you just felt the need to disconnect from it all. You had your own business to attend to, things you had put aside while enjoying the company of Sofia and the others.

Rafe's house, the parties, all of that was left in the background as you immersed yourself in your own thoughts. The days passed without you going near Rafe's or Sofia's house, without you seeing them or even caring about how they were spending their time. You kept yourself busy, focused on other things: personal tasks, things you had had to put off because you were caught up in the flow of the Kooks' social life. You found yourself returning to your routines.

It had been a while since you disconnected a little from everything. The need to return to your own space had faded, and now, at the end of those days of silence, something was urging you to return. You thought about Sofia and how, even though you had been away, you knew she was still your friend. The idea of ​​her now living with Rafe, as quickly as she had, seemed a little strange to you, but in the end, it was her life, her decisions. You decided it was time to go back, to meet them, although you didn't know exactly what to expect. 

Arriving at Rafe's house, the stillness in the air made you feel that something wasn't right. The door was ajar, and inside, there was an unusual calm. Everything was silent. You assumed that Sofia wouldn't be home; she had probably gone out. 

But as you moved towards the living room, you came across a scene you hadn't expected. Rafe was there, alone, in the center of the room. His posture tense, his hands shaking slightly. The first hint of something strange was that the phone in his hand was still in the air, dangling in his hand. It looked like he had received a call that had left him shaken. You could clearly see his labored breathing, his eyes scanning the room as if he was looking for something or someone, but at the same time as if he couldn't find it. The atmosphere in the house felt heavy, laden with something dark that you couldn't quite place.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to interrupt, but you couldn't just leave either. You assumed the call he'd received had left him in that state, though you weren't sure what it had been. The silence between the two of you was awkward, and as you thought about what to do, you cautiously approached.

You called his name.

"Rafe..." you said softly, trying not to startle him any more than he already was.

He glanced at you quickly, and his gaze, far from the arrogance he usually had, was filled with anxiety and some anger. His face was marked by a concern you hadn't seen before, and for a moment, he didn't seem like the Rafe Cameron you knew.

The tension in the air increased, and when he opened his mouth to speak, his voice sounded raspy, almost desperate.

"Go away!" he shouted, his tone a little higher than expected. The sound of his voice, so full of anxiety, made you take a step back, although, despite the sudden fear, something in you told you that you shouldn't leave.

You stood there, motionless for a moment, feeling your heart beating faster than normal. Rafe's panic was palpable, and the last thing you wanted to do was push him further. But, at the same time, you knew you couldn't just leave him like that.

"Rafe," you said, this time with a calmness that you didn't feel, but that you knew you needed for him to calm down. "I'm not going to leave."

His expression changed for a second, and he stared at you, as if trying to process what you had just said. A couple of seconds of tension filled the space between the two of you, but you didn't let him speak, taking advantage of the moment to move a little closer to him.

"It's okay, I understand that you don't feel well," you added, almost in a protective tone, although you said it without really knowing why. You didn’t know him as well as Sofia, but somehow, you cared for him more than you thought.

He took a deep breath, still shaken, and for a moment you thought you wouldn’t make it. But then, something in his gaze changed. His body, which was so stiff and tense, relaxed just a little, as if he was letting the words you had said reach him.

You moved a little closer, this time without him asking you to.

“How can I help you?” you asked softly. You knew that, in those moments, sometimes all you need is someone to be there, without pushing too hard.

Rafe looked at you a little confused, as if he wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, and then lowered his head, with a grimace of frustration.

“I don’t know…” he murmured, his voice still deep. “It’s just that… I got a call…”

You could see on his face that whatever had happened on that call had really affected him. You didn't say anything else, just waited for him to gather his thoughts, for him to feel ready to talk.

A few minutes passed in which the silence stretched out, and in that time, you were simply there, in the same room, giving him space, but showing him that you weren't willing to abandon him. Finally, he looked up, and in a low voice, he said:

“Thank you…”

You looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, you could see Rafe without the layer of arrogance and superiority that he always showed. You realized that, in that moment, he wasn't the self-assured boy that he had always been. He was just a person, vulnerable, dealing with something that he couldn't handle on his own.

You stayed with him as long as he needed, making sure that he wasn't alone in that moment. You didn't know what had happened with the call, or what was going to happen next, but a part of you understood something new about Rafe.

After that moment, something changed between you and Rafe, something that neither of you had anticipated. From that night on, you became the only person capable of understanding him in his darkest moments, without the need for words, without the typical facade of security that he used to have. What happened between you was something silent, almost imperceptible, but enough to leave a mark on both of you. 

At first, Rafe didn't admit it out loud, he didn't even make it clear in his gestures, but there was something in his behavior that was beginning to change. The days passed, and while Sofia continued to be busy with her things, you began to see a side of Rafe that you had never imagined. He became quieter, more introspective, but instead of the usual practical jokes and air of arrogance, there were now moments when he looked simply lost, as if you were the only one in the world who understood what he was really feeling. And you, somehow, began to understand it too.

There was something about the way he looked at you when his thoughts seemed to be beyond his control, when the shadows of his past or his problems came back to haunt him. There was something that told you not to judge him, something that urged you to stay calm and empathetic, even when the situation seemed out of place. Whenever he seemed on the verge of losing control, you knew what to do, how to approach him without making him feel vulnerable or weak. You knew when to step back and when to offer him your company without needing to talk too much. 

One afternoon, several days after that first meeting when you calmed him down, Rafe came home late, more undone than usual. He had had a fight with some of Sofia’s friends, and although no one in the house mentioned anything, you knew. It was as if everything he was trying to hide was crudely on display for you. When you entered the living room, he found you staring at the floor, shoulders slumped, and that expression only he could put on: a mix of repressed rage and deep sadness.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, without pushing. You knew those words, though simple, could have more impact than you thought.

Rafe looked up, a little surprised by the calmness of your voice. Normally, he would have responded with a wry smile or a scathing comment, but instead, he looked at you and just said,

“I’m not.”

The tone was low, almost inaudible, as if he were revealing something he had never let slip before. You sat next to him without saying anything else, not forcing him to speak, but willing to stay there if he needed to vent. At that moment, you knew something had changed between the two of you.

The silence stretched out, but it wasn’t awkward. You knew Rafe didn’t need you to tell him what he should do or how he should feel. He just needed time, the space to be vulnerable without feeling judged, and in that space, you were the only one who could understand him. You didn’t need words to recognize the small gestures that betrayed him: the way his hand shook slightly or how his breathing quickened when something affected him too much. Those small details were what allowed you to see what others didn’t. 

As time went by, Rafe began to seek you out more often. Although he didn’t say it directly, you began to notice that there were times when he would simply approach you without a clear reason, without looking for a conversation, just so you would be close. On more than one occasion, he found you sitting on the couch, lost in your thoughts, and without saying anything, he sat next to you. No explanations were needed, because you both understood that just being together, without the need for words, was enough. 

There were days when he couldn’t hide what he felt, and without warning, the walls he had built around himself began to crumble. One day, after a particularly bad fight with Sofia, he came into the house, late at night. His face was tense, but there was something different about him. He didn’t yell, he didn’t hurl reproaches, but he just stood in the doorway, staring at you in silence, waiting for you to say something. And you did, you knew that what he needed was something that no one else gave him: reassurance.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” you asked calmly, as you always did.

Rafe took a deep breath, letting the weight of his thoughts surround him for a moment. Finally, he slumped down on the couch, eyes closed, not wanting to show what he felt. But you knew. You knew that, even if he didn’t say it, he was seeking comfort, not in words, but in the way you looked at him, in how your actions offered him respite.

“Sometimes…” he said, in a whisper, while looking straight ahead, not really seeing you. “I feel like I'm alone, even when I'm surrounded by people.”

You didn't need to say anything else. You knew that what he had revealed wasn't something he wanted to share with many, but with you, he felt safe. Sometimes, just knowing that someone understood him gave him the comfort he so desperately needed.

That was the dynamic between you: you didn't need to always talk, or understand everything. You just needed to be there, to be the only one who, in his darkest moments, could offer him a soft light, without pressure, just letting time and space do their work. And in that silent understanding, you became the only person capable of understanding Rafe in his entirety, in his most fragile and dark moments, when no one else dared to enter.

Despite everything you shared with Rafe, there was something inside you that you couldn't ignore. A desire, an attraction that, even though you tried to hide it, kept emerging with every gesture, with every word he said to you in those moments when his guard was down. You found yourself watching him more than you should have, noticing the little details that had previously gone unnoticed: how the light played in his hair, the way he laughed, or how his tone of voice changed when he was relaxed, when he felt like he didn’t have to be the same old Rafe, the one everyone admired or feared. 

At first, you tried to ignore it. You said it was just the closeness, the way things had developed between the three of you, and that it was a passing phase. But it wasn’t just that. Every time he smiled at you or looked at you in a warmer way, you felt a tug in your chest that you couldn’t control. There was something else in you that was building, something that terrified you. 

You thought about Sofia, how happy she was with him, how much she had supported you in everything, and it tormented you to feel what you felt for Rafe. You felt guilty, like you were betraying a friendship you had cared for for so long. She didn’t deserve that, you thought. Sofia had always been loyal, fun, and even though she could be impulsive and a little blind at times, you saw her happy, devoted to Rafe, trusting him in a way you never could.

There were times when, after talking to Rafe, you were left alone, with thoughts running wild in your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, about the way he made you feel special, about how his closeness disarmed you, how there was something in his fragility that attracted you, a side that no one else saw, but you did. You felt at a crossroads, trapped between what you felt and what you knew you couldn’t do.

It wasn’t just a physical attraction, it was something deeper. Something that made you want to hold him longer than a friend should. Something that asked you to be there for him in a way that went beyond friendship. It was the desire to be close to him, to take care of him, to become his refuge, and it terrified you how much you loved him without being able to control it. 

At first, you tried to suppress it. Every time you felt that need to be closer to him, to share more moments, you tried to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that it was because of the closeness of the last few months. But the more you denied it, the stronger that feeling became inside you, like it was an undercurrent that grew every time he looked at you with those dark, intense eyes. Those eyes that disarmed you, that seemed to see beyond your facade, beyond your friendship. 

Sometimes, you felt like you were walking on a tightrope. You knew that every moment you spent with Rafe, every conversation, every gesture, brought you closer to something you couldn't allow yourself. But you couldn't help it. The desire, the attraction, everything you felt for him, was growing inside you, and no matter how many times you told yourself it was a betrayal, that you should stay away, you couldn't stop thinking about what happened when he was around.

Every time Sofia left, every time Rafe was left alone with you, that feeling grew stronger, as if the air between the two of you became thick and charged with something neither of you dared to mention. It scared you, it made you uncomfortable, but you couldn't stop it.

[keeryhours]

wildflower chapter two - eddie munson

Eddie Munson x Henderson! female reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

Corroded Coffin performs their homecoming show in Hawkins, and mistakes are made.

Chapter Warnings:

Smut (18+), p in v, unprotected sex, drunk sex, underage drinking, secret baby

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N:

This next chapter was a long time coming, but I hope you guys enjoy!

—

The rest of the week was a blur. You hadn’t thought of Eddie this much in over a year, and having him thrown back into your consciousness was like opening an old wound. You tried your best to push it out of your mind and keep yourself busy with work and chasing after Asher, but it was fruitless.

Steve and Robin were at your apartment Thursday night, the usual hangout since the three of you shared the night off. Asher was fresh out of his bath, dressed in his pajamas and sitting on the floor showing off his toy trains to Robin, who, to her credit, showed equal enthusiasm even on the 50th time of seeing the same Thomas the Tank Engine.

Steve and Robin had come armed with movies - these weekly hangouts usually turned into movie nights, especially when something new came into Family Video that one of them snatched up. Not that you’d complain.

“Alright, Ash. Time for bed,” you said, although the nearly 2 year old paid you no mind as he picked up Percy, the green train.

“You heard her, buddy. Time for the trains to go back to the station,” Robin said, helping the toddler gather his toys.

Asher pouted, but he helped put the trains in his toy box anyway. Once the toys were cleaned up, you lifted him into your arms, heading into his bedroom. A fresh diaper and a kiss goodnight later, you turned the lights off and slowly closed the door behind you.

Back in the living room, you flopped down on the cheap couch with a deep sigh.

“What’s on your mind, Henderson?” Robin asked, still lounging on the carpet. “You’ve been in your head all week.”

Steve looked at her like she was dumb. “Corroded Coffin?”

Robin rolled her eyes at him. “Are you thinking about going?”

You sighed again, running a hand through your hair to push it out of your face. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Steve looked at you sympathetically. “You know…it might be good. You never got that closure. Even if you just want to go to throw a drink in his face.”

You bit back a grin at the idea. He deserved it, that was for sure. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do you think you’re going to wonder what if for the rest of your life if you don’t go?”

Steve’s sudden sage words caught you off guard. You hated to admit he was right. After these two years of wondering what you had done wrong to deserve his abandonment, there were definitely still wounds deep inside that never had the chance to heal.

Maybe you did need to see him.

—

Saturday night, with Ash at your mom’s house, you stared at yourself in the mirror. You couldn’t believe that you’d let yourself be talked into this. Dressed in a short black skirt, tight top with a leather jacket over top, you felt like you were looking at your high school self again. Like nothing had ever changed. Like Eddie was going to walk up behind you at any moment and wrap his arms around your waist with a wink and a “Looking good, baby.”

“Ready to go?” Steve asked as you walked back out into your living room. Steve and Robin wouldn’t be blending into the crowd at The Hideout as well as you would, and the idea nearly made you laugh a little.

“I guess so,” you said. “I’m ready for a drink.”

The Hideout really wasn’t much different than you remembered, besides the fact that it was absolutely packed full with a huge line out the door. It was surreal to see so many people wearing Corroded Coffin merch, the crowd absolutely buzzing with excitement.

Inside, you pushed your way through to the bar, Steve and Robin following close behind. You may still be a few months away from 21, but you knew that wouldn’t matter.

“Hey, Chris,” you greeted the bartender with a smile. He hadn’t changed a bit in the past two years.

“Well! Long time no see,” Chris greeted, his face lighting up. He pushed three beers across the bar without having to be asked. “I should have known you’d be here to see your boy play.”

Your boy. You resisted a wince as you passed bottles to Steve and Robin and opened your own, taking a big swig. “Yeah, of course.”

The crowd was intense. It had been a long time since you’d been in this scene - hell, it had been a long time since your nights had been more exciting than an episode of Sesame Street. Visually you fit in, but you still found yourself standing off to the side with your friends rather than joining the crowd of fans.

You downed your beer in no time and ordered another. You were already multiple beers in before the opening act even came on.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, eyeing you as you popped open your fourth beer. “We can leave if you don’t want to do this.”

You shook your head. You were already here, you were going to do this. “I’m good,” you assured him, waving him off. He still eyed you warily, but didn’t push it.

You barely paid any mind to the opening act. Sure, they were good, but you knew what you were waiting for. Your heart thundered wildly in your chest, although the nerves in your stomach were fading with every drink.

When the opening act left the stage, the change in atmosphere was palpable. The crowd began to chant and cheer, and then -

There they were.

Gareth walked out first, drumsticks in hand. You felt your breath catch in your throat - the memories came rushing back. The other guys followed behind, and then finally - Eddie.

Eddie sauntered out with a cocky grin and a hand up in a wave to the crowd, who were screaming so loud you thought your eardrums might burst. Your blood felt like ice, you didn’t think your heart could beat any harder without killing you. He looked like himself, but there was something obviously different. He wore a tight pair of ripped jeans on his long legs, a Metallica tee with the same leather jacket he always wore. You hated how familiar it felt. He carried himself with the confidence of a real rockstar. You supposed that’s what he was now.

He approached the microphone. “Hello, Hawkins,” he drawled, and the cheers somehow grew even louder. A bra flew from the crowd and landed at his feet, and he reached down and picked it up with a chuckle, hanging it on the mic stand. You rolled your eyes.

“It’s good to be back in our hometown,” he continued, that grin still on his face. “You guys made us what we are. We owe it all to you. We couldn’t imagine ending the tour anywhere else.”

The crowd ate up every word. And Eddie looked like he reveled in the attention. He looked so natural on stage. He was living his dream, after all.

As Gareth hit his drum sticks together and the band started their first song, Eddie scanned the crowd. You had felt sure you, Steve, and Robin were far enough into the shadows on the sides that you’d be unnoticeable, but with that magnetism you two had always shared - Eddie’s eyes locked on yours.

He froze. The cocky facade dropped and his mouth parted in shock as you stared at each other. You felt dizzy all of a sudden, like you might pass out. Ever observant, Robin noticed immediately, eyes darting between you and Eddie. He nearly missed the opening line of the song before he jolted back to awareness.

“I need another drink,” you mumbled, pushing through the crowd and back to the bar.

You didn’t slow down on the drinks as the show went on. Eddie was taking shots onstage, like he needed to feel numb just as bad as you did. By the end of their set, Eddie was drunk, yet he still managed to perform perfectly.

“Thank you, Hawkins,” he slurred into the mic as the show ended. “Next round’s on us for everyone!”

That set the crowd even wilder than they had been. The band exited the stage, and you pushed back through the crowd to the bar again, stumbling in your boots as the room tilted around you. You heard Steve calling your name from somewhere behind you, but you lost your friends in the crowd in your pursuit of yet another drink.

“One more on my tab, Chris,” you slurred once you reached the bar.

“Add her whole tab to mine,” an uncomfortably familiar voice came from behind you. “And another round of shots for me and the boys.” You felt chills across your skin as Chris nodded and pushed you another drink before he poured the alcohol into four shot glasses.

You saw his ringed hand reach forward and grab one of the glasses. You slowly turned to meet his eyes as he downed the shot, shooting you a smirk as he smacked it back down on the bar top.

“Well,” he slurred, his eyes just as glassy as your own. “Hello again, beautiful.”

You were so drunk that you didn’t even remember how he hurt you. How he abandoned you. You just saw Eddie, and your heart reached for him through your chest just like it always did.

“Eddie,” you whispered, as if there was nothing else to say.

He kept smirking at you, his large hand landing on your upper back and then sliding down to rest on your hip. His eyes roamed over your outfit, drinking you in hungrily.

You didn’t mind.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his hand squeezing your hip posessively and pulling you closer. Your head spun with the motion, and you weren’t sure if it was from the alcohol or from Eddie himself.

“I missed you too,” you admitted, both to him and to yourself.

“Want me to take you home?” he asked, leaning forward, his voice a purr in your ear. It sent goosebumps across your skin.

Even in your drunken haze, you knew you shouldn’t say yes. Eddie had done something truly shitty to you, and you had no intention of forgiving him that quickly, or maybe even at all. But he was just as intoxicating as the large amounts of alcohol in both of your systems, and you found yourself letting him lead you backstage and out the back door.

You were so drunk yourself that you hadn’t even thought about whether Eddie could even drive in his state, but he ushered you into the back of a car with a man already sitting in the driver’s seat before sliding in beside you. His hand rested on your thigh as you told the man the address of your apartment, rising higher and higher until it was teasing under the hem of your skirt.

He pulled you into him as the car started moving. Your lips found each other like they’d never been apart, and he kissed you hungrily, tasting like alcohol and cigarettes, but you didn’t care.

Neither you nor Eddie seemed to care a single bit that there was a stranger in the front seat as an audience to the two of you all over each other. Your apartment wasn’t far from the dive bar, and before you knew it you were stumbling out of the car hand in hand with Eddie, both of you giggling like it was 1985 again and you were just two kids in love.

It took you three attempts to unlock the front door of your apartment, your vision hazy and your brain even fuzzier from the feeling of Eddie’s hands all over you, pushing up your top right there in the hallway while he placed sloppy kisses against your neck and shoulders.

When the door finally opened, you barely had time to kick your boots off and drop your leather jacket before Eddie was pushing you up against the door, slamming it closed. You moaned against his lips as they devoured your own, his tongue exploring your mouth desperately. He pulled your top over your head and dropped it to the floor. Your lipstick was smeared across his face, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“Look so fucking sexy,” Eddie mumbled as he moved in to attach his mouth to your neck, sucking love bites all across the skin. “I’ve thought about you every day.”

You didn’t have the brain power at the moment to process those words. The drinks had already taken all concepts of critical thought, but every moment of Eddie’s mouth and tongue against your neck drowned out coherent thought itself.

His hands lowered from your hips to the back of your bare thighs and he squeezed. You worked in tandem just like old times as you jumped up for him and he gripped your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. You could feel how hard he was already through his jeans, pressed up against your core.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked breathlessly, moving back to your lips.

“Last door down the hall,” you mumbled back, and then you were pulled away from the door as he walked down the hall, carrying you like you weighed nothing. He was sloppy, still drunk and knocking into the table in the hall, sending a picture frame falling to the (thankfully carpeted) floor.

He pushed the door open to your bedroom, and seconds later you landed on your back on your soft mattress. Eddie’s eyes were completely glazed over with lust, locked on yours as he kicked his shoes off and started unbuckling his belt. You watched him with equal hunger as he undid his tight jeans and pushed them to the floor, his excitement obvious through the material of his boxers. He leaned over the bed and reached behind you to unzip your skirt, pulling it down your body and leaving you in your bra and panties.

You pushed the jacket off his shoulders and grabbed onto the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it. His body looked the way you remembered it, the familiar lines and curves coming back to you as you roamed your hands over his soft skin like second nature.

“Eddie,” you whined, pushing your hips up against his painfully hard erection. He hissed at the contact, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck and over your chest. He reached behind you and unclasped your bra, your nipples quickly pebbling in the cool air. His mouth moved to envelop one of your nipples, his hand attending to the other. He swirled his tongue around it, sucking on your tits as you arched beneath him.

It had been a while for you, honestly.

“Fuck, need you so bad,” he muttered. He sat up on his knees, eyes raking over your body for only a moment before he reached for the hem of your panties. He pulled them down your legs quickly, urgently pushing his boxers down. His hard cock sprang free, already leaking precum. He wrapped his hand around the base, squeezing, another hiss leaving his lips.

He grabbed the backs of your thighs again, spreading your legs and pushing them up towards your chest to take in the sight of your pussy, glistening and ready for him. He muttered another “Fuck,” under his breath.

He traced a finger through your folds, collecting your wetness on his finger and bringing it to his mouth. He moaned at the taste of you, just as sweet as he remembered.

He leaned back over your body, lining himself up at your entrance, not a single thought about protection going through either of your minds. He pushed in quickly, causing your back to arch and a gasp to fall from your lips, fingernails digging into Eddie’s shoulders as he stretched you intensely.

“Too big,” you managed to squeak out, which made Eddie chuckle against the skin of your neck.

“You can take it,” he assured you, starting up a slow pace, although it pained him to do so. “You always took it so well.”

It didn’t take long for your body to remember his. The pain faded into pure pleasure within the minute, and then you were moving your hips along with his thrusts. Eddie noticed and picked up the pace of his hips, giving up on being careful and fucking into you with reckless abandon.

High moans spilled from your lips, your eyes falling closed as the feeling of him enveloped you completely. You could think of nothing but the pleasure he was providing with every press of his cockhead against that bundle of nerves deep inside you. Even after all this time, he knew exactly how to fuck you.

Eddie’s own grunts and groans were unashamed as he rutted into you with no real rhythm, drunkenly chasing his own release inside you. Somehow through the drunk and lust filled haze, he had the thought to reach down and rub tight circles on your clit, building that tightening feeling in your belly faster and faster.

“G’na cum,” you whined, your pussy tightening around his cock enough to make him moan even louder as he started fucking you even faster.

“Yeah, princess, that’s it, cum on my cock, just like that,” he babbled encouragement, his own release approaching rapidly. “Fuck, yeah, all over my cock baby.”

Your orgasm crashed through you with the power of a fucking train, and your eyes rolled back, body trembling and pussy clenching around him over and over again as you chanted his name, sounding just like all his groupies at the concert.

That’s all Eddie needed to fall over the edge with a hissed “Shit, shit!” and a low groan against your neck as he spilled inside of you, filling you deeply with ropes of his cum.

Once you were both spent, Eddie pulled out of you, rolling off and collapsing on the bed next to you. You both caught your breath. You wondered if you should say something, but the pull of sleep in both of your drunken minds was too strong. It wasn’t long before you heard Eddie’s soft snores, before you were pulled under, too.

—

You were woken up by a pounding at your front door.

Still, your eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light filtering through your bedroom windows through the pounding headache already plaguing you. Your heart stopped in your chest when you saw Eddie’s naked form still sleeping next to you.

Fuck, what did you do?

You jumped out of bed and pulled on a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants before walking into the living room before whoever was pounding on the door woke up your entire apartment complex.

You swung open the door, irritated, to find a panicked looking Steve standing there.

“Jesus Christ,” he said when you opened the door. “You just disappeared last night. I thought you got abducted or something.”

The guilt and emotions hit you as the full reality of what you’d done fell on your chest. “Steve…” you started, unsure how to even explain yourself.

“How did you even get home? You just went to the bar and-“ Steve stopped cold, wide eyes trained at something over your shoulder.

Despite the dread in your stomach, you slowly turned, seeing Eddie standing in the hallway behind you, looking sheepish and dressed back in his jeans with no shirt.

“Uh, hey,” he said, a hand running through his curls.

Steve slowly looked back at you. “What the fuck.”

You didn’t even know what to say as you looked between the boys. Eddie looked down at the picture frame on the floor that had been knocked down last night.

“Oh, shit,” he said, almost to himself. He leaned down and picked it up. “I, uh, might have knocked this over-“

He froze. And the second you realized what photo he was looking at, you did, too.

It was Asher. A recent portrait, The toddler sporting a huge gap-toothed grin, his big brown eyes and wild head of curls mirroring the man currently standing in your hallway.

Eddie stared at the photo, completely unmoving. You didn’t even think you were breathing at this point. You could feel Steve’s presence behind you, everyone frozen waiting for someone to make a move.

He finally looked up slowly, eyes meeting yours with questions swirling inside that you didn’t want to answer and he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to.

Eddie said your name softly, fear lacing his voice. “What is this?”

tag list

three of you it wouldn’t let me tag, so if you requested to be on the list and you aren’t here that’s why! i’m sorry :(

@awkward00noodle @american-idiot-jpg @georgeweasleyslostearhq @fandom-princess-forevermore @emxxblog @hopesicle @hellv1ra @whimsiwitchy @avalon-wolf @kellsck @toomuchbucky @sashaphantomhive @losingmygrasponreality @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddiesgirl1944 @ashcal99

[aurynsia]

Like The Movies

Sirius Black x Bookworm!Reader

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Summary: You meet a mysterious man in a bookshop who falls for your sunshine personality…

Warnings: Nothing serious (pun intended), grumpy x sunshine dynamic, Marlene once again being the best wingman (it’s a tradition atp), reader is referred to as a girl with she/her pronouns, reader is oblivious to Sirius’ flirting.

Word count: 0.7K

Masterlist

A/N: I couldn’t get this meet cute idea out of my head so I had to write it! Basically all fluff and no plot, Sirius just thinks you’re adorable <3

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Ding!

The bell above the bookshop’s door rang in an echoing call as you stepped inside, a giddy smile spread across your face. You had finally finished your summer reading list, with a chilled breeze marking the end of your book-buying ban.

Preparing to hibernate in your cosy bedroom with a stack of classics, you skipped your way through the aisles to the counter of the store’s joint cafe.

Ordering a hot drink to keep off the chill of the midday breeze, you flashed a grateful grin at the blonde behind the counter as you rounded the aisles, making a beeline for the classic fiction.

You stumbled through the maze of novels, making mental notes of each book you had already read. You found yourself passing three aisles before you discovered a title you didn’t recognise.

Lifting the book to flick through the pages, your gaze intuitively lifted at the presence of someone further down the aisle.

That’s when you saw him.

A dark stroke of hair dropped down his shoulders, collecting in sweet spirals at his chest. His bright eyes held a dark splash of mischief in their depths as he towered over the shelves. His gaze was focused on the book in his hand, eyes flicking over the blurb on the back cover.

Peering over with curiosity, your eyes lit up at the title on the front as he flipped the book in his hands. “That’s my favourite! I’ve read it six times,” you blurted at the mystery man.

His gaze flicked to yours in an instant, a flash of surprise gracing his features before he relaxed into a soft smirk at the sight of you. “Would you recommend it, Dove?” He spoke with a lighthearted and teasing tone as he leisurely stepped closer to your ecstatic self.

“Absolutely! It’s a masterpiece, the author is so talented! You should totally read it,” you rambled, not catching the amusement mixed with adoration in the stranger’s eyes as he watched you.

His head tilted to the side like a curious puppy, listening intently as you gushed over the plot, the characters, the handsome romantic lead, and the optimistic heroine.

He slyly reached for a second copy of the same book on the shelf as you spoke, tucking it under the one already settled in his grasp. You were in your own world at this point, and the man couldn’t help but fluster at your adorable excitement over words on a page. What is this girl doing to me? he mentally asked himself.

She’s got me wrapped around her finger and she doesn’t even know it.

He was beginning to grow soft.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You eventually remembered to introduce yourself after a series of rambled facts about the book tumbled out of your mouth. The stranger found you to be the most endearing creature he’d ever met.

“I’m-“

“Sirius? Y’Iced latte’s ready!” He hurried over to the blonde behind the counter who finished his sentence, flashing you an apologetic smile over his shoulder with a slight blush to his cheeks.

Marlene’s gaze fell on the books held tightly in his hands with an arched eyebrow. “Sirius Black, reading a book? My, I thought I’d never see the day!” He laughed while motioning for her to keep her voice down, leaning in closer while you browsed.

“It seems I’ve taken a liking to the little bookworm over there, wriggled her way right into my heart,” he motioned towards you with a smirk as Marlene spots you curiously reading the blurbs of various classics. “Said this was her favourite,” he held up the books in his hands with an uncharacteristically bashful smile, brushing the gesture off nonchalantly. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her I was buying it for Moony’s birthday.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, passing him his drink along with a napkin and a pen. “You’re hopeless, Black, really,” she whispered, turning around to pick up another order.

His eyes lit up at the sight of the pen, “You really do know me well, Marls! And to think I only keep you around for the coffee,” he quipped, though his tone held no bite. He scribbled on the napkin before Marlene passed your drink into his grasp, sending her a final look of gratitude before turning back to you.

“Here you go, love. Now, what was that sequel about again? What happens next?” You glanced up as he handed you your drink with a sweet grin, oblivious to the napkin sitting on top with a phone number scrawled across it, waiting to be discovered as you launched into an explanation with a giggle.

“Wait- no! I can’t tell you, spoilers!”

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

[bloggerspam]

I'm a dummy and have fucked up the reblogs.

So I'm going to fix that and delete the incorrect posts so that the chapters are all in one place in the correct order. Please bear with me and I'm sorry for any confusion....

===

Gotham is unusually sunny, which works in Steph's favor by providing ample lighting.

Steph adjusts herself, posing just a little against a streetlight behind her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She smooths down her skirt, her favorite black denim pencil skirt that makes her legs look long, for the millionth time. Her oversized jean jacket and fitted purple turtleneck keep her warm as she waits impatiently beside an equally posed Jason.

He's decided to cross his arms and casually lean back against Danny's bike, wearing a tight black thermal henley that really doesn't do anything to hide his muscles. His jeans look painted on, and his leather jacket is tucked safely in her car, parked a little ways away.

They're both pretending they're not acting like peacocks.

It's mostly working.

She's entirely grateful that Sam decided to bail the two troublemakers out, rather than Jason and Steph having to beg. Sibling solidarity can go a long, long way when cute boys and girls are involved, but it's better to err on the safe side when your main antagonist is your pesky nosy cop of a brother.

…Not that Steph's a Wayne by any means, but still. It counts.

The sound of bickering, familiar voices cause their nerves of waiting to turn into the nerves of anticipation.

"Fenton I swear to Clockwork I will end you if this happens again!!" Val's smooth baritone rasp is threatening, and even though it's playful, it still brings shivers down Steph's spine.

"What makes you think it'll happen again?" Danny challenges, Jason perking up beside her like a puppy.

"Because I know you, you dolt." Val growls, both of them coming into view now, "I bet you've already got plans on a better version knocking around in that empty head of yours!"

And fuck. Val's wearing a loose yellow crop top and low rider jeans, and with the way she jostles about with Danny, Steph can see a little peak of her abs every time she reaches up. Steph licks her lips at the flash of the other woman's dark skin, wants to bite at the pouch she's got going on that Steph knows means she's packing practical muscle.

Steph really, really wants to get her mouth on that woman ASAP.

If only Val would actually use said god damn muscles and pick up on the damn hints Steph's been leaving, that would be phenomenal.

"Just because you're right doesn't mean—oh!" Danny pauses, causing Val to stutter stop with him reflexively.

"Bossman?" Val squints, before her eyes widen, "Steph? Is that…Danny's bike?"

Jason puffs up his chest, proud, looking especially pleased when Danny beams and rushes towards them to check over his baby. It puts Danny all up in Jason's business, who refuses to step away probably for that purpose. Damn him, but he's smooth.

"Did you guys bail out the bike for him?" Val asks, smile soft as she comes to stand next to Steph, "You really didn't have to, Danny's not worth all that trouble."

"Oh, it was no big." Steph shrugs, peering down at Val through her eyelashes as best she can, "Between you and met? It didn't cost a penny." She winks. "We heard from a little birdy Danny quite likes bad boys."

"Yeah?" Val smirks, and gods is it hot, "And you totally didn't go along with it to, oh, I don't know, egg him on?"

Steph giggles, giggles like a schoolgirl! Ugh. She can't with herself sometimes. "Hey, who says he didn't need my expert help? I'm a beast with a lock pick you know."

Wait. That's not a normal thing to brag about. Abort! Abort!!

"Nice. I'm no slouch either, but I can't imagine it was easy." Val chuckles, shaking her head. "Which of you managed to crack Danny's security system? Your lockpicking skills extend to hacking too?"

…Apparently, it is a normal thing to brag about. Proceed as planned!

"We had a little help." Steph smiles her most winning smile, leaning a little into Val's space. The other girl's eyes widen, licking her lips, and Steph almost says fuck it, almost leans closer, if only—

"So I was thinkin' we could watch that new horror movie playin' at the threatre," Jason's voice is low, Steph almost misses it, if Val immediately swing her head towards him, "Carnage for Christmas, y'know, 'tis the season and all…"

Pouting at her missed opportunity, she looks over herself to see what the fuss is.

Danny is smiling helplessly up at Jason, who has a hand on the bike and is leaning over him close. They look snug, Danny fiddling nervously and looking besotted whilst Jason is eyeing Danny like he wants to eat him up.

Steph refuses to get jealous. Jason's got a head start, but that doesn't mean—

"Danny hates Christmas," To her credit, Val looks like she very much does not want to interrupt whatever is going on over there, "Plus, he's scared of ghosts."

Which. What?

Jason, mirroring her confusion, sputters. "But—I thought?" Jason's eye flick back and forth between a sheepishly embarrassed Danny and a reluctantly cockblocking Val. He settles on the safest thing to say. "Isn't Amity Park 'The Most Haunted Town in America'?"

Both Amity Parkers nod with a grimace.

"Aren't your parents ghost hunters?" Steph asks, though she regrets it when both of them stare at her with hard eyes.

"We never told you my last name." Danny's voice quavers, and he backs up just a tiny bit. "…Did you look into me?" Jason's expression crumbles, just that tiny bit, reaching over only to stop and bring his hand back when Danny flinches.

You mean his bully and his stalker? Sam had said. Fuck.

Steph and Jason both try to say no, only—only they did. Thankfully, Val steps in.

"Danny, they're Waynes." Her voice is forcefully calm. "It would be weirder if they didn't look into you."

That, thank all the fucking gods, does the trick. Steph bites her lip from refuting her Wayne status, watching tensely as Danny starts to cautiously relax, no longer looking like he's ready to bolt at any minute.

"Right." Danny breathes, relaxing enough to lean back into Jason's personal bubble, "Right, of course."

Steph and Jason silently resolve to give Val an expensive gift and a raise, respectively.

"Where did you find out about his parents?" Val asks, still in that forceful calm, silently urging them to…what, give a good excuse?

"From us, guard dog. Breathe a little." Sam's voice sounds out from the police station. "Not that I blame you, but we promise Danny is safe."

It's an odd thing to say, a concerning thing. She can tell Jason's already made a mental note to figure that shit out pronto. Boy's definitely gotten attached.

"Long time no see!" Tucker grins, waving at the four of them, "Sorry we took so long, that brother of yours had a lotta questions and Sam was not having it."

"ACAB." Sam deadpans, rolling her eyes and startling laughter out of Steph and Jason.

"He's not even supposed to be here," Steph rolls his eyes, "He usually works over in Bludhaven."

"He gave us some bull about police officer exchanges," Jason adds on, "which neither of us bought."

Danny relaxes all the way now, darting up a glance as a softly smiling Jason (gag) and even daringly leaning a shoulder against him. Jason preens.

"Wait go back," Val squints suspicious eyes at Tucker, "What do you mean long time no see?"

"It was a joke," Tucker's smile goes sly, "We met yesterday, committed our first crime in Gotham together and everything."

"Even got ice cream to celebrate" Sam smirks, "Swapped stories."

Danny looks up at Jason, wide eyes sad and mouth pouty, "You committed crime and got ice cream without us?"

Steph watches as Jason try to placate Danny, who is clearly joking and not having it, and feels all kinds of jealous and happy for him.

It just reminds her that she's gotta get going, so she leans just that little bit closer to Val, who is focused on Sam.

"What kind of stories?" Val crosses her arms, which. Delicious. Steph wants to bite them. Maybe Steph has an oral fixation.

She's okay with that. Hopefully Val is too.

"Oh…you know," Tucker drawls out, taking his sweet time, "Like how Danny's parents are ghost hunters turned ecto-biologists, a little bit about the ghosts and our town heroes…"

"…maybe a little bit about the Phan Club," Sam adds, not so innocently, "And how you were obsessed with Martina William's buck teeth in Junior Year because you thought they made her so cute, like Bugs Bunny—"

That seems to be the last straw. Val lunges.

Sam and Val chase each other, another, less monkey'd version of how Danny and Val brawled together.

It gave Steph more opportunity to observe their fighting styles, do a little more guesswork on the mystery that was Amity Park.

Danny liked to throw things, reliant on his apparent strength. Not for the first time, Steph wondered if Danny was a meta, if this was further proof that maybe Danny was Phantom, the blurry, hazmatted hero of Amity Park.

Val liked to flip and trip people up, even now, she was hooking her feet and flipping over objects on the street. She's been filmed on all sorts of security cameras, but her background doesn't discount her as Red Huntress, the newer hero that seemed antagonistic towards Phantom. Steph's not sure though, there isn't a lot of overlap beyond that in their fighting styles, and maybe it's the suit but Huntress' body type looked more svelte.

Sam, apparently, liked to use the other's momentum against them, stepping out and pushing against already moving limbs to twist them all around, topsy turvy. When Val went low to sweep a foot under, Sam stepped back and kicked it, turning Val all the way around and giving Sam a wide opening to the other girl's back, easy pickings

Steph squinted. Red Huntress liked to use weapons, so it was harder to really cement a fighting style, but she's seen Huntress use that move in one of the clips Babs sent over. And Sam was a little more on the petite side...

…Was Sam Red Huntress?

"You guys really like to brawl, huh." Steph said absently, trying to see if she could make any other connections.

"Everyone in Amity Park knows at least a little somethin' about brawling." Tucker shrugs, "It'd be hard not to, Most of the older generations were really into self-protection of any kind, even before the ghosts came around."

"Mom's a 9th degree black belt and Dad does judo," Danny agrees, "Jazz, my sister, took to Krav Maga like a duck to water, but got Dad's terrible aim."

"What about you?" Jason asks, peering at Danny's arms, no doubt remembering Danny's ease in tossing Val clear across a room and probably drooling about it. "Judo?"

Danny blushed, but it was Tucker that answered. "Danny's a whiz with weapons." He grinned a sharp little grin, "And yeah, he knows a lil' somethin' about judo. He's stronger than he looks."

Danny scratched the back of his neck, bashfully, "Mom was a little disappointed about the Krav Maga, I just don't have the head for it, but she perked right up when she found out I was good at handlin' guns."

Jason's eyes flared, and he leaned in a little closer with a gleam to his eye, voice so low Steph could scoop it up from the god damn floor. "Yeah?"

Ugh. Someone gag her. This does put the Phantom thing a little on the grayer side, since the 'ghost' hero relied more on their punches.

Steph shakes her head to clear her thought, looking hopefully over at where Sam and Val were still at it. She sighed, but turned back with a smile anyway. "And Val?"

"Val's dad works in Security," Danny's ears are so very red from Jason's attentions, "She's got some history in Hapkido, or was it Taekwondo?"

"Explains all the kicks," Jason whistles, "And all of Amity Park's like that?"

"Nobody realized how weird it was to have PE just be a karate class until Sam came around." Tucker continues, gesturing to the girls, "She came to town later, but she's also kind of good at most physical things."

"She's kicked my butt too many times to count," Danny grumbles, "Aikido is tricky to handle."

"At least you can keep up." Tucker rolls his eyes. "Leave some talent for the rest of us."

"Says the resident tech genius." Danny scoffs, but wisely keeps it at that when tucker rolls his eyes. "Besides, you're passable at guns."

"Passable," Tucker mocks, "Gee thanks."

The more she hears about Danny, the more she thinks he's too good for Jason. But then again, he also seemed perfect for him, so Steph called it a wash.

"So about that movie?" Jason decided to change the subject, probably impatient to get loverboy to himself. "We could watch something else, if Christmas or scary movies aren't your thing."

"The new Venom is out," Danny perked right up, turning towards Tucker for some reason, "We've been meaning to see that, right?"

"Uh," Tucker hesitates, gaze wide and frantic as it darts between Danny and Jason, "Y-yeah, buddy but I think—"

"The Marvel movies are one of the few movie franchises we can all agree on," Danny explains, turning back to Jason and looking up brightly, "We usually wait to watch on stream or something, but…" Danny bites his lip shyly, voice quieting, "…maybe we can watch it theatre just this once?"

Jason looks like he's trying his damnedest to not look disappointed, which—Steph feels for him, really. She and Tucker share a look, trying to figure out how to delicately navigate out of this disaster.

"Actually, I was thinking of—" Steph tries, only to be interrupted by a loud boom!

All six of them stiffen, bracing themselves and looking for the source. Those stories about Amity Park being a less Gothic version of Gotham is starting to hold water.

"Hello, Gotham!" A familiar grating voice echoes, "Welcome to my funtime jamboree!"

"Which one is this guy?" Val asks, still looking for the rogue.

"It's Riddler," Steph and Jason say at the same time.

Val groans, Sam rolling her eyes as the boys for some reason cheer.

"There are several bombs hidden throughout Gotham," Riddler continues over the police speaker system, "And each of them require some…shall be say creative problem solving!"

Steph gets tugged by the arm, pulled away before can even think about a way to separate naturally and disappear with Jason.

"Val?" Next to her, Jason has being herded by Sam, as Danny and Tucker conspire together over what looks like an old, beat up PDA.

"Danny and Tucker love escape rooms," Val explains, face scrunched up cutey in distaste, "I've been dragged to too many to count—"

"Wait—Riddler is too dangerous for citizens to—" Jason starts, trying to turn around to grab Danny, but is pushed forward by a surprisingly strong Sam.

"Yes, yes," Sam rolls her eyes, "We know, civilians etcetera and all that. Don't worry."

Steph and Jason try to argue, but are summarily stuffed into Steph's car—when did Val pick pocket her keys? Why is that so hot?

Before either of them can comprehend, Steph's been buckled into the driver's seat, Jason in the passenger, with the car somehow running.

The doors slam, and when both of them look through the passenger window, Sam has Tucker and Val in a rental car with her, Danny on his ecto-bike, already driving off.

Towards the commotion.

Steph and Jason share a look.

"What the fuck just happened?" Steph asks, stupefied.

"I didn't get Danny's number." Jason answers, equally confused but still buckling up and putting in a comm, "And you didn't even get to flirt."

"Hey!" Steph defends, putting in her own comm, "I'm not the one whose date thought they were asking the whole group to the movies!"

"Just drive," Jason growls, but it's lost in the sound of Steph revving her engine and their comms bursting into life with Babs' commanding voice and Duke's cheery timbre.

Riddler first, then dates.

Hopefully.

Mechanic!Val AU, but make it gay and sapphic.

ya'll can thank the HH discord for this one. Specifically the menace known as @clockwayswrites (and @impyssadobsessions for the art that inspired the damn thing)

Dead on Main and with some future Val/Steph >)

also @belfry-ghost did a doodle for this AU and everyone should go love on his art. Val's so unf.

===

Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord.

She’s pretty sure he’s The Crime Lord, actually. She’s like, 98% sure she works for Red Hood now, and she’s low key mad about it. She squints at the man now, with his white streak and almost imperceptible green sheen to his eyes. 

The problem is that Val did perceive it. Because she used to date a guy whose baby blue eyes changed ever so slightly in the same way. Thinking about Danny makes her even madder.

To be clear, she’s not mad about Red Hood himself. 

She’s just mad that, of all the mechanic shops in all of Crime Alley, she just had to work for her ex-boyfriend’s third place Hall Pass pick. It also makes her miss her friends way more, and Val is hardly what one would call a well-adjusted woman, so she’s mad about it.

She huffs as she lifts the hood of the second car she’s working on today. Being a mechanic wasn’t really on the docket for Val’s life goals, nor was being in Gotham, but she got a full ticket ride on Wayne Foundation scholarships, and honestly? 

Gotham is Amity Park Lite: Gargoyles and Furries Edition. 

Between a full ride to Gotham U and being stuck at Elmerton Community College? The choice was easy. 

So here she is, working for the resident Crime Lord in his civvies. 

Jay pays good, teaches her what she needs to know, and bonus: he sometimes helps with her English Literature class. He’s flexible on hours, and she’s even got rudimentary insurance. 

All in All?  It could be worse—she could still be working for Vlad, after all. 

It's the little things.

[itsmrshamilton]

No Apologies (2)| LH44

summary: the aftermath of the fallout between Lewis and Y/n. Are they willing to apologise and make up?

a/n: sorry it took so long. please engage before you leave!

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

"Mummy?" Called Leo from the backseat. His black curls were a mess from playing with them. Something he did when he got really bored or annoyed.

"Yes, my sweets?" Y/n looked up to see him in the rearview mirror.

"Is Auntie Sofie going to have popcorn there?"

"Yes, my sweets."

"And rice cakes?"

"Yes."

"And ice lollies?"

"Yes, Leo."

"What about-"

"Leo, Sofie always has your favourite snacks can you drop it!"

Leo stared at her in the mirror before jutting his bottom lip out and turning to the window. The cutest pout she's ever seen but her frustration and guilt didn't allow her to let it stick around.

She sighed to herself. He was just trying to keep himself entertained. Unfortunately, she was too overwhelmed to do that right now. "I'm sorry. Leo. Leo, look at me. Mummy's sorry about that. We'll get to Auntie Sofie's place soon, then you can ask her if she's got everything. Okay?"

Parenting definitely isn't for the weak. He stayed silent for a minute, still pouting violently.

"Okay."

The rest of the drive there was quiet except for a few sniffles from Leo. He wouldn't meet her eye in the mirror and continued to stare out the window til he fell asleep. Sofie's house was 2 hours away, but it was the only place she could go in order to take some time to think. The sky had changed to a light orange by the time she got there.

One couldn't tell that the small house actually had three bedrooms inside as well as a large living area and a small garden at the back.

It was the kind of home Y/n grew up wanting for herself. She'd spoken to Sofie about it during many childhood sleepovers. 12 years ago, she could have been upset that Sofie got to buy it first if it weren't for the fact that she had met Lewis by that point and moved into his luxurious Monaco apartment.

The door to the yellow house opened and Sofie came rushing down the path to the car. There were rollers in her black hair and her oversized shirt flapped in her haste. Y/n knew she didn't care what her neighbours thought - she probably walked to the nearest shop like this often.

"How dare you interrupt my evening plans with your emergency call." She grinned when she came to a stop on the sidewalk.

"What evening plans? Curling up on your dirty old couch with one of your dirty old cats to binge murder documentaries?" Y/n teased in return. Her own smirk twitching in amusement.

"Yeah! Best part of my week!" They laughed at that and hugged tightly. Sofie was the first to pull away and placed her hands on her hips. "Need me to go there and kick him out?"

Y/n sighed loudly. "Yes, no, I don't know yet. I just need to think."

Sofie rolled her eyes. "That's all you ever do when it come to Lewis. Think, think, think. There's never any action - proper action to sit and communicate. Look what it's led to."

"I don't want this lecture outside, Sof. Grab something to make yourself useful." She turned to the car to open Leo's door.

"How about I grab my best boy and you can carry in the rest, yeah?" She unbuckled a sleeping Leo then scooped him up and carried him inside, cooing as she went. They loved each other greatly.

Y/n watched in slight annoyance before grabbing the bags, locking and heading inside. Staying with Sofie was always a treat because they didn't get to live together during childhood due to Sofie being a product of an affair between her mother, Devi, and Y/n's father long before Y/n was even born. Everything ended messily when Y/n's mum, Lee-Ann, found out and demanded he cut all contact. But it only got worse a couple of years later when Devi turned up at the house with a very young Sofie and demanded a paternity test. Lee-Ann was nearly 9 months pregnant.

"So, what happened?" Sofie interrupted Y/n's thoughts once they were inside and settled. She was carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Oh, uh, he came home at 1 this morning instead of last night. No messages, no call-"

"What an arse." Sof mumbled into her drink.

"We argued in the afternoon about him not being around, me wanting a different life and other dumb shit we've been over before."

"Y'know, I have never heard you say that you sat down and talked things over. It's always either him starting shit at the worst moments, or you." Sofie pointed out.

"Me?? I don't start arguments." Y/n sat up in surprise.

"Y/n." Sofie deadpanned.

"What? I don't!"

Sofie rolled her eyes at her sister's denial and took another sip before stretching out in search of comfort. "See, this is why you two won't work. Neither one of you wants to take the blame or understand that both of you are the problem!"

Y/n stayed silent as she stroked the cat on her lap. She wasn't a problem. If Lewis stopped doing things to annoy her, then she wouldn't get annoyed and argue with him.

"I never once saw mum and daddy argue. Did you know that? Their marriage was a mess, they didn't sleep in the same bed, they rarely did nice things for each other but they never argued in front of me. I grew up thinking my family was normal.

Lewis plans these grand dates involving yachts and passports, fucks me til my soul leaves my body and gets me flowers twice a week. Yet we manage to fight almost daily. How is my marriage worse than my parents?" Y/n was crying uglily by the end of her rant. Pathetically wiping at her wet cheeks and hiccupping to get the words out.

Sofie pulled her close and rubbed her back while the cat, now annoyed by the noise, scurried away.

"Oh, my sweet Y/n." Her heart ached for her little sister who spent all her life trying to please people.

"We try not to do it in front of Leo or raise our voices when he's in the house, but I think he knows. He knows something is wrong, and I don't want that. I don't want him to hate us, Sof." More sobbing and coughing. Sof grimaced slightly. Y/n had always been an ugly crier, but she still wasn't used to it.

"Y/n, Leo is a loving child who sees no wrong in anyone because you two raised him that way. He won't hate you for trying to hold things together for him if you have genuine intentions." Sofie sat Y/n up and held her by the shoulders. "But if you're really so worried about how it affects him, then maybe you should divorce."

Y/n sat straighter at this. While yes, she had kind of threatened Lewis with one, she didn't really think they would go through with it. She hoped a long break was what the relationship needed, and then she would go back and all would be fixed. But at the same time, she wanted things to end here as they were without seeing each other again.

Sofie watched her sister absorb her words and process. Her eyebrows met and temporarily hid the scar she'd gotten when Sof threw a toy at her in a fit of rage. Blood had dribbled down her small face, ruined her clothes while Sofie had burst into tears, and scrambled to get their dad. Lee-Ann had demanded Devi keep her away from the house for weeks, and the girls weren't allowed to play unsupervised again. Y/n forgave Sofie immediately with a gentle hug, but 30 years later, Lee-Ann hadn't.

Growing up with a single mother, a guilt-ridden father, and his spiteful wife wasn't easy, and Sofie ended up struggling with relationships in her teenagerhood and adulthood. Y/n was the only person she could rely on and give her all to. She hated watching her suffer, but more than that, she hated watching Leo grow up in the middle of this. No child deserved an unstable home. Therefore, Sofie refused to allow Y/n to do so when she had the resources and support to prevent it. Leo deserved a better life even if it came at the expense of her sister's marriage.

"Y/n? Did you hear me?"

"Hm? Yeah. I just-"

"Mummy?" Leo stood by the doorway rubbing his small eyes.

Y/n made her way to him and hoisted him into her arms. "Let's go have a bath, my sweets. Then we can have a yummy supper with Auntie Sofie, okay?"

"Okay." He replied hoarsely and lay his head on her shoulder.

Once he was bathed and moisturised, Leo sat on the bed and pulled his clothes on, struggling all the way after confidently claiming he could do it himself. Y/n watched in amusement as he moved onto his socks despite his pajama pants being on backward.

"Mummy?" He took a break from his exhausting task.

"Yes, my sweets?" She slipped on the final sock.

"When we wake up here at Auntie Sofie's, will daddy be here?" His brown eyes shone brightly with innocence.

Y/n did her best to think of an answer without showing her annoyance at the fact that her son was very used to going to bed without his father and knowing he'd be there in the morning. She did all the hard work throughout the day, taking tantrums and accidents as they came just for Lewis to be the one to be showered with kisses and praises the next morning when Leo awoke.

"We'll be staying at Aunt Sofie's for some time, my Leo. Just you and me." He looked down sadly, and Y/n could basically see the gears turning in his mind. His thinking face was exactly like Lewis' - eyes squint, lips pulled to one side, puffed out cheeks.

"So no daddy?" He whispered.

"No daddy for now, okay?" She placed a kiss on his forehead and helped him off the bed. Together they moved to the dining room.

Later that night she pulled the duvet over Leo and his toys in the queen size bed. Supper had gone down without a fuss from him and now he was buzzing with excitement to call his father. Y/n handed him her phone with the contact on screen and moved out of frame.

"Here you go, press call. Yes, that one." They video called Lewis often enough that Leo knew how to handle the device so his dad could see all of him and his toys therefore he could say goodnight to everyone.

The phone rang once before being answered. Y/n smiled sadly at her husband's eagerness.

"Daddy!" Greeted Leo. He gripped the phone with two small hands and a big grin that showed every tooth and gap.

"Hello, my boy! You look nice and cozy. Are all your teddies tucked in proper?" The two went on to talk about Leo's stuffed companions, his night with Nathan and his week at school. Lewis wasn't just catching up on the day but also the week he missed. Y/n could see how happy he was to listen to Leo stutter and ramble his way through the stories. His brown eyes were bright, framed beautifully by lashes and crow's feet. His smile was wide, spreading further to laugh at Leo's jokes. But Y/n could also see how much he was hurting during this experience. His beautiful lashes wet from crying earlier, his lips slightly chapped from lack of self-care and his throat moving constantly to swallow the lump that was no doubt sitting there. It hurt her too to see him pain but she pushed it down by thinking of the many times he couldn't see her pain because he was too far from home.

"Daddy, mummy said you won't be coming to Auntie Sofie's. Why won't you come? When will I see you?" Leo's voice trembled slightly, and Y/n froze. She didn't mean to phrase in such a way that Leo thought it was all Lewis' fault - well, technically it was, but she didn't want Leo blaming his father. Not at this age anyway. She watched as Lewis sat in baffled silence before attempting to answer his sweet son in a reassuring way. If Y/n wasn't mature enough not to talk shit about him in front of their son, then he would be the bigger person and go about this nicely, he thought.

"Champ, I promise I'll take you to school on Monday, okay? We can spend some time after school as well. How's that?" Leo smiled happily at that, and Lewis felt a light weight lift off his shoulders. "Okay, well, it's 8pm now. Time for bed, yeah?"

"Goodnight, daddy." Leo let his father bid him and each of his toys goodnight and then passed the phone on to his mum. She pressed kisses to his brown cheeks then stepped out to take a breath in an attempt to compose herself. She lifted the phone to talk to her husband. He opened his mouth, but she quickly cut him off.

"You can't take him on Monday." She said sternly. His face dropped.

"Y/n, come on. No. Y/n, you can't do that to me, please. Please. You just heard me promise him that." She watched him beg with a stern expression. He looked like he was on the verge of falling apart. In front of their child he had held it all together -put on the performance of the century. But here, in front of the woman he hurt, he sniffled and grasped for straws. She wasn't impressed.

"We're two hours away, Lewis. School won't work so I'm going to let Leo stay home for the week while I look for a local school to move him to."

Lewis was shocked to silence as a tear rolled down his face. "Why would you uproot his life this, Y/n!? This isn't fair!"

She furrowed her brows at the volume of his voice. She had a lot to say about things that were and weren't fair. But before she could list them, he began shouting some more. "I- I understand that you're upset and you have every right to be but Leo shouldn't suffer because of that. You can't punish him."

"I'm not punishing him." She grew more frustrated.

"So you're punishing me?" He asked angrily, more tears.

"I'm not punishing anyone! I'm trying to make the best decision for him while dealing with everything that went down. Your house is empty because of what you did. This is not punishment, this is the consequence of your actions so maybe you should have that about Leo suffering before you ruined our marriage!" She's trembling and she's sure everyone in the house heard everything she just yelled.

Lewis scoffed before ending the call.

Y/n spent the next hour crying in Sofie's arms on the couch. She hadn't gone back to Leo's room to check on him and soothe him just in case he was upset by the call. She couldn't handle seeing him cry for his father right now. She couldn't handle being the bad guy to him. Sofie's hand on her back made it all a little easier to deal with. The purring cat on her lap didn't hurt either. She stroked its soft back gently while she sniffled and tried to find her words.

"Y/n, I don't want to make the decision for you." Sofie started. Y/n looked up into her sister's golden eyes, slightly scrunched due to the sad smile on her face. "But Leo should not be caught in the crossfire. And I know you know that."

"But I can't stay with Lewis, Sof. I can't be like mum and force my marriage to work." Y/n whispered. The thought of living with Lewis again made her scared for many reasons.

Sofie shook her head and brushed aside the black strand that came loose. "Your mum didn't force her marriage in order to create a good life for you. She did it so she wouldn't look like a bad wife to others. She wanted our dad to be the only person who wrong and immoral in the relationship."

Y/n felt her eyes tear up once more from the memories of her childhood with her mum who did everything in her power to keep things normal. Eventually it all fell apart and Y/n didn't want that for herself. She didn't want that for Leo.

"You'll only hurt Leo if you try to make yourself blameless in this situation. I don't care if neither one of you apologises and you end up dragging each other's arses kicking and screaming to every court in this country, as long as you put that sweet little boy first."

Y/n heard the slight tremor in her sister's voice and finally realised how this all affected her. All this time she'd been thinking of herself and her hate for the man she married while ignoring the bigger pain this was causing her son and sister. Her loving sister who never blamed her for being the treasured daughter in their chaotic household. Her loving sister who sheltered her from her Lee-Ann's nasty behaviour towards herself and never spoke badly of Lee-Ann in front of Y/n. Her loving sister who soaked up every miniscule second she got with her father but also happily allowed for Y/n to spend those limited moments with them.

Y/n lunged forward to give Sofie the biggest hug ever. She'd take Sofie's advice and think things over. The cat in her lap meowed unhappily at its new position squashed between the two women. They pulled away giggling.

"I love you, Sof." Y/n smiled using her sleeve to wipe her tears

"I love you too so stop getting your snot on my furniture." Y/n giggled and sniffled. "If you're really interested in the local schools, I'll give you a list of the good private ones. Too many of them are run by cunts with tight g-strings."

"Sofie!"

"What?? It's true, they wear them to keep the sticks up their arse in place." She picked up her drink.

"You're so mean, oh my gosh." Y/n laughed.

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On Sunday evening, Lewis was in the kitchen using the island as a desk for all his stuff - files, folders and his laptop. He'd even brought the printer down from the study because he couldn't stand to be upstairs while the house was this empty.

He reached for document being printed- an email from his lawyer helping him gear up for the divorce. He'd been on a call earlier with his accountant to start discussions about what would need to be done once the divorce papers were written up. He didn't want to do any of this. After the call with Leo and Y/n, he had cried himself to sleep on the couch. He had woken up very early on Sunday morning to a horrid headache and a worse heartache. As the day went on, his sadness turned to anger as he thought about everything. He refused to let Y/n make him feel this way and to take his boy from him like this. He'd then called his father who arranged to meet with him for lunch on Monday but suggested Lewis talk to a lawyer in the mean time to see what his options were. Lewis was more than grateful for his dad's support. He cherished the bond they had and the work they had put in to make everything work in the end. Y/n was well offside for the shit she had said about them, he thought. She would pay for every word that came out her mouth.

As soon as the printing machine stopped, the front door opened. His heart hammered in his chest when he took tentative steps to investigate and then he stared in disbelief, not sure what to do now.

Y/n stood at the door with a sleeping Leo snoring into the crook of her neck. Her lips trembled as she took a shallow breath.

"I'm sorry."

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Welp, now what?? This is not the end. Part 3 out soon.

Thanks for reading this far! Please don't forget to engage before you leave. (Asking to be tagged is not encouraged)

I do not consent to my work being uploaded onto another site or being altered, translated, fed to AI sites or stolen!!

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 happy birthday

synopsis: it's a known fact that zoro can't stand his birthday... but when you finally discover the date, you can't help putting together something special

cw: nsfw (male & fem receiving), spanking, dirty talk, zoro's a little rough, some leather, some comfort, maybe a little ooc zoro but who gives a shit, reader + nami = trouble, usopp's a real og, reader can see visions, reader has black angel wings, both aren't really pertinent to the story but they're described, etc.

a/n: happy thanksgiving!

"Ladies, I need your assistance," you stated, plainly, approaching your two best friends—who were lounging on the deck chairs—and plopping yourself down next to them.

This was beyond urgent.

"Of course, (y/n)," Nami nodded, dropping her magazine in her lap and glancing up at you with an inviting smile. "What's up?"

"Is everything alright?" Robin asked, slightly concerned.

"Everything's... fine," you nodded, unconvincingly, actively trying to think up a way to explain. "I just... I did a thing... and learned something I probably shouldn't have... about Zoro."

'Huh?'

"About Zoro?" she raised a brow, now even more intrigued.

"Did he hurt you? Or say something stupid again?" Nami's gaze turned sharp, the woman sitting up rigidly in her seat, ready to go to war. "If he did, I swear, I'll wring his muscly-ass neck!"

"No, no! Not that," you quickly assured, shaking your head. "It's something from his past... from before he met me."

"What happened?" Robin asked, shutting her book, now fully invested. "From the start, if you don't mind."

You nodded, looking down at your lap and recalling the events of the last hour.

"I was doing my daily meditation on the roof of the crow's nest, y'know, like I always do, when I was suddenly hit with a vision," you started. "Now, it didn't come as harshly as the others typically do, so I assumed that it was going to be about something trivial. But that changed when a young Zoro suddenly came into view."

The women sat quietly, listening intently as they took in each word.

"He was training, super aggressively, mind you, when all of a sudden this group of kids comes running up to him asking when he was going to stop."

Crossing one leg over the other, you playfully rolled your eyes.

"Of course, Zoro being Zoro, said he wasn't gonna finish any time soon, but, and get this, the kids say But you're gonna miss your birthday party!"

Nami and Robin gasped, eyes widening slightly.

It was common knowledge that the swordsman wasn't very fond of birthdays—or rather his birthday, specifically.

Whenever asked about it, he often dodged the question, or just ignored it altogether, not bothering with Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper's chaotic antics in trying to get him to spill the beans.

Even you were unsuccessful, the man managing to smoothly redirect the conversation with the rough timbre of his voice, knowing it distracted you easily, along with other physical means.

Eventually, you gave up hope, seeing as you didn't even have a clue as to what season the day fell in.

But now... you had a date.

And it was today.

"I know he hates it, but I can't just sit on this," you whined, slumping in the chair. "Before, it wasn't like I could do anything because I didn't know when. But now that I do, I can't in clear conscience do nothing for his birthday..."

"I'm not sure," Robin sighed, quizzically. "There might be a reason why he doesn't celebrate. Maybe something bad happened and caused him to hate the day."

"Or maybe he's just being his typical, difficult self?" Nami scoffed, rolling her eyes before turning to you. "I think it's sweet that you wanna do something nice for him. And I know exactly what you need to do in order to make this the best day of his life!"

Confused, you watched as she leaned over, reaching under her chair and grabbing a book bound with rich, wine-colored leather, the image of a muscular man with extremely long hair and billowing shirt on the cover.

"A book?" you raised a brow. "Zoro's... not really a reader. Especially not something like this."

"No, silly. What's inside the book."

"Paper?"

"Romance."

With an exasperated sigh, she flipped through a couple pages, eyes lighting up when she found the page she was looking for.

"This novel is like a playbook on how to seduce a man," she happily handed it over, allowing you to skim over the text. "Follow that scene to the letter, and you'll have him counting down the minutes until his next birthday. I guarantee it."

"Are you sure?" your nose scrunched slightly at the cheesiness, confused as to why the author kept on mentioning the love interest's rippling pectorals. "This isn't really my style..."

"Trust me!" she grinned, giving you a soft pat on the back. "It's foolproof."

Glancing toward Robin for confirmation, she could only shrug, resting her hands in her lap.

"You know Zoro the best... Do what you think suits both you and him," she advised. "Even if that means trying something new."

Closing the book, your eyes found their way to the cover, your mouth fighting off the urge to stick out its tongue at the sight of the man's chiseled smolder.

He looked more like a girl than you...

"I'll take your word for it."

"(y/n)?" Zoro called, knocking on the door to the women's quarters before carefully pushing it open, slightly frustrated to find that you were, once again, not there.

Well, at least that eliminates the cabin...

Letting out a heavy sigh, he turned around, opting to shift his search toward the deck.

'Where the hell did she run off to?'

It was late, and the swordsman had been searching for the past twenty minutes, having already been through the kitchen, the dining room, the sick bay, the aquarium, the library, and the workrooms, with still no trace of you.

This, of course, was very odd considering you were usually within arms reach of him, the two of you seeming to just naturally float around each other, even as you did your daily routines.

Not only that, but also the fact that he hadn't seen you all day, seeing as Usopp dragged all the men along on a Boys Day Out.

Though, Zoro didn't understand why he felt the need to worry so much.

He knew a million times over that you were a strong and capable woman, and that if anything were to happen, you could more than adequately hold your own.

But for some odd reason, reminding himself of this fact wasn't subduing the concern spiking in his chest.

'Dammit...'

He had to find you and kill this feeling before he could think any deeper into it.

"(y/n)!" he called, looking around as he walked out on deck. "(y/n)!"

When he was no response, he simply tried again, not planning on stopping until you revealed yourself.

"Will you shut up?!" Nami groaned from her spot from one of the lounge chairs, brows furrowed as she looked up from her maps. "You sound like a lost little puppy."

Zoro rolled his eyes at her theatrics, turning to face her.

"Where's (y/n)?" he asked, curtly.

"She's in the crow's nest," the navigator stated, simply, turning her attention back to the papers strewn over her lap. "Said something about waiting for you... though I'm sure you're too busy ruining the peaceful atmosphere."

Sassily, she flipped one of the parchments over, lazily skimming over its contents.

"Mosshead..."

The man scoffed, expression turning sour at the obvious jab.

"If you'd told me where she was sooner, I wouldn't have shouted!"

"If you'd asked me where she was sooner, I would've told you!"

"Whatever!"

He turned away in a huff, walking over to the ladder and grabbing onto the cool metal.

"Good luck!" Nami called, cheekily, waving as he left. "You're gonna need it!"

"The hell?" he grumbled, starting his trek to the crow's nest, muttering to himself in confusion as he approached the top.

He would never understand her...

Hoisting himself up on the balcony, his brow quirked at the soft hum of music coming from the other side of the wall.

'Music?'

Confused, he listened closer, slowly beginning to make out the sound of a saxophone, which was playing over a smooth jazz background.

You never listened to music when you worked out, much less the sultry nonsense flowing through his ears.

And even though he could hear that, he had yet to hear you grunt out a rep, or rack a weight.

What the hell was going on with everyone today?

Curiosity piqued, he opened the door, eyes widening and heart dropping to his ass at the sight that met him on the other side.

Somehow, the crow's nest had been turned into some sort of makeshift love den, the lights dimmed and the mat area lined with lush pillows and fur blankets, candles illuminating the surrounding area and incense filling the room with a light haze, which smelled of sandalwood and jasmine.

And there, in the middle of it all, sat an angel...

Zoro's breath hitched, eyes widening slightly as he caught sight of your naked form.

You were laying on your side, delicious curves on display in the smallest, tightest leather corset he'd ever seen, your tits practically spilling out the top.

Your hair, freshly washed, cascaded beautifully down your side, framing your face and slightly shading your eyes in a way that gave his hand an itch to tug it.

Not to mention your newly-lotioned skin glowing in the soft candlelight, making you look so smooth and soft and primed for grabbing.

And your dark wings only added to the appeal.

The soft music seemed to be coming from a small transponder snail in the corner, its eyes turned toward the wall in hopes of protecting its innocence from the events to come.

"(y/n)..." he started, both confused and painfully aroused, as he shut the door behind himself, locking it. "What're you doing?"

You faltered, an awkward expression settling on your face.

"Being... sexy?"

Zoro paused a moment, waiting to see if you'd change your answer, before breaking into a small fit of chuckles.

Instantly, your face flushed, embarrassment beginning to sink in.

You knew this was stupid!

"Don't laugh, you ass! I was trying to surprise you!" you whined, abruptly sitting up, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You found out it was my birthday today, didn't you?" he cut to the chase, stalking forward. "And then Nami put you up to this?"

The dots were all connecting.

Usopp keeping him off the ship.

You going missing.

Nami's odd comment.

You were trying to seduce him as a birthday present.

Not that he was complaining...

Your lip jutted out in a slight pout, your eyes avoiding all contact with the man as he moved closer.

"I know you don't like celebrating your birthday, but Nami gave me some book that was supposed to explain exactly what men want... and I figured you still deserved something nice..." you limply explained, turning away from him. "But, in hindsight, it was stupid..."

Sitting down in front of you, his pointer and thumb came up to hold your chin, turning you to face him, where you were met with a soft kiss on your forehead.

"It was sweet," he corrected, thumb smoothing over the skin of your cheek. "Even if you look anything but sweet right now... I can tell you put a lot of effort into this."

You perked up at the last part, turning to him eagerly, eyes glinting with hope.

"Really?" you asked, sounding surprised, your expression downright adorable.

Suddenly, the music, the clothes, and the absolutely tantalizing scent of you began to work their magic on him.

All of his thoughts and reason faded into thin air as he stared at your gorgeous, doe eyes.

"Really," he confirmed, voice low and wanting.

And you could only let out a tiny gasp before he grabbed you by the back of the neck and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss wasn't soft or careful.

The kiss was rough; hungry; slow as he drew moans and gasps out of you.

He kissed you like he hadn't done so in ages, and you were starting to believe he hadn't.

His lips were soft, the taste of sake and mint on his tongue.

You let his hand move along your back and ass, roughly squeezing the flesh and making you moan.

Taking advantage over your open mouth, he slid his tongue alongside your bottom lip before slipping it inside in your mouth.

He grunted hungrily as your tongue began to swirl with his, swapping spit and exchanging breath.

The act made your pussy clench impatiently behind the leather, wanting to be touched and treated.

By him.

Zoro then pulled away enough to speak, eyes hooded and dark.

"Where'd you get this little number from?" he murmured hotly against your lips, calloused hands coming up to roughly knead your hips, feeling up the fabric under his fingertips. "Tell me."

One of his hands snuck down to squeeze your ass, and you let him, biting back a whimper in the process.

"W-Went into town," you softly stuttered. "Bought the outfit the girl was wearing in the book."

He started to line kisses all over your jaw, hungrily moving down to your neck; your collarbone; and your naked shoulders.

"Fuck," he growled into your skin. "Too damn good to be true."

His hands roamed up and down your sides, squeezing and fondling.

"Been wantin' your fine ass since I walked in here..."

"You like it—?" The rest of your question doesn't leave your lips as he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you toward him, so close that air couldn't even move between you.

Your bodies were pressed flushed against each other, so close that you can feel the painfully hard bulge in his robe.

He was turned on by you.

He was really turned on by you.

That fact made you delirious.

His lips pressed against yours again, kissing them so much that your mouth was beginning to turn raw.

He began to settle himself among the pillows and blankets, never breaking the kiss, before plopping down on the nearest, largest cushion.

Then, he gripped your hips and coaxed you onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him.

Instinctively, you ground down into his hardening member, enlisting a groan from deep within his throat.

The sound traveled straight to your core.

You wanted more.

"I want you, Zoro," you sultrily whispered in a sudden burst of confidence, manicured hands gliding over his strong shoulders. "Please... I don't think I can wait."

To show how serious you were, your hands came up to undo the laces on your back, freeing your chest for him to see.

The shock in his steel gray eyes is replaced with sheer hunger when he caught a full view of your perfect tits, sitting there just waiting to be touched.

"You little minx..." he chuckled, amused. "Lemme get a feel of you first."

You bit your lip as he leaned forward, laying you down against the brown, furry blanket before prying your legs open.

And there he got a good look of your sobbing wet pussy, the crotch of your leather suit having been cut out.

Eyes widening at the sight, he looked almost pained.

You were going to be the death of him.

"Christ, (y/n)..." he hissed, leaning down to get a better look, gaping at your sex. "You tryin' t'kill me?"

His eyes flicked up to yours, hands still on your thighs.

'Okay?' his eyes asked.

Wordlessly, you nodded, unable to speak.

But that wasn't gonna slide.

Slowly, he began to brush his fingers up and down your wet slit, paying close attention to your reaction.

"Words, pretty," he growled. "Gimme words."

"Yes!" you moaned, toes curling at the feeling of his fingers on your cunt. "Please, Zo'... please touch me."

He gave you a wolfish grin at your pitiful whines, but didn't keep you waiting.

Swooping down, he captured your clit in his mouth, suckling and eating your pussy like a starving man.

He was relentless with his tongue slashed, flicks and long licks up and down your slit.

And you loved it.

Your hips writhed and whined against his mouth, trying to get him closer.

Your pussy pushed past his soft lips, which drew mindless shapes and nonsense words across your needy core.

"You're so wet," he mumbled into your pussy. "Doin' all this in your little suit turns you on that much, pretty?"

You moaned in response, unable to form words, especially when he reached one hand up to play with your breast.

And it only got better when Zoro began to tease your entrance with his middle finger, dipping the tip in and out of your wet pussy.

"You want this?" he asked, voice nothing but a low growl.

You nodded vigorusly, pulling a laugh from the man's lips.

"So needy," he teased as he began to slowly slid his finger inside of you. "S'been a while since we fooled around... Have I not been takin' care of this pussy?"

"Y—!" you gasped, eyes blown wide as you felt your pussy stretch around three, thick fingers.

He aimed up to brush against your clit as he slid his fingers in and out of you, while also leaning down to suck on it, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

You could feel yourself quickly beginning to reach your peak.

'No! Not like this!'

"Wait, Zoro!" you whined, writhing against him. "Not yet!"

He immediately ceased his movement and pulled away from you, glaring confusingly.

"'Scuse me?" he asked, not sounding happy with your protest.

You nearly laughed at his reaction.

"It's your birthday," you explained. "I'm 'sposed to be the one making you feel good. So lay down."

Zoro still looked pissed he couldn't make you cum, but listened anyway.

He laid down, mouth and chin glistening from your juices, and you moved to sit on top of him.

Slowly, you began to kiss and suck your essence off of his mouth, earning low groans from him

Your hands slid down to his broad chest and you gripped his robe.

"Off please?" you asked, peering up at him through your lashes.

You don't have to ask twice.

In a flash, he tugged his arms out his sleeves, pushing his robe and haramaki down to leave him in just his boxers.

You took a moment to admire his beautiful body—so hard and defined with muscle and scars, his lower stomach sinewy with green hair.

He was so, so gorgeous.

Slowly, you glided your hands up and down his hard body, admiring his well-defined pecs and abs.

"You're perfect," you whispered before leaning in to peck his scars, running your lips softly over each.

The low moans and mmms Zoro let slide out his mouth were delicious to you.

They only heighten your arousal, along with the music still playing in the background.

You never pictured yourself getting off on a scene like this, but you supposed it took the right person to bring the freak out of you.

Smoothly, you began to kiss down his hardened stomach until you came down to his boxers, which were already hanging low on his hips.

"Fuck, baby," he hummed, watching you work.

His lips were parted and his eyes were hooded, completely entranced by you.

Finally ridding him of his underwear, you began to think you bit off more than you could chew—or suck, rather—when you get a look at his cock for the first time in weeks.

Lately, between your training schedules and antics with the crew, the two of you had barely had a moment to yourselves.

But you never thought you'd forget how well-endowed he was, dick thick and curved slightly to the left, green hair curling around his stomach and pubic area.

"Hasn't been that long, has it?" he chuckled, teasingly, raising a brow. "You havin' second thoughts?"

"No..." you scoffed, cheeks puffed.

Not wanting to disappoint him, you opened your mouth and slowly began to slide his dick against your tongue.

"There we go," he cooed, relaxing into the blanket. "Good girl... take it all in."

You followed his instruction, your jaw and mouth stretching to accommodate his size.

"Mmm-hmm," you hummed around his cock, he vibrations causing him to moan.

You relished the sounds, wanting more, so you began to move your head back and forth, taking his cock in and out your throat.

You gagged and spat all along his dick, causing saliva to drip down his balls and your chin, making your blowjob extra sloppy.

And Zoro was eating up every second.

He tossed his head back as his eyes rolled in the back of his head, giving you sight that you took a mental snapshot of for a rainy day.

He was so, so sexy.

And to be able to make him feel good gave you the motivation to fight against your aching jaw and burning throat as you continued to fuck him with your throat.

"Doin' so good, baby," he grunted, rolling his hips into your mouth. "So good for me..."

But to your surprise, he suddenly pulled his cock out your mouth.

"But if I'm gonna cum, it's either gonna be on that pretty ass or those pretty' tits ."

You smirked, sitting up and lacing your hand with his, "How about inside?" you purred.

You'd already gotten the hook-ups from Chopper, though embarrassing, and were stocked full of necessary precautions.

And, of course, that was all you needed to say to get Zoro to smash his lips hungrily against yours.

"This gift jus' keeps gettin' better and better," he cheekily growled against your mouth, flipping you both over and laying you down on the brown fur. "Now choose how I'm doin' you before I do it for you."

Not wasting any time, you laid down on your stomach, presenting your ass and dripping pussy for him as you moved a pillow under your hips.

You then looked back at him, only to find him sitting there and stroking himself to the sight of you.

"Like this," you whispered, breathlessly. "Fuck me just like this, Zo'."

Zoro was going fucking feral behind you, and it took everything in his being not to shove his entire length in side you as he began to move closer.

"God, look at you... stainin' the cushions," he sighed as he began to rub your pussy with his cock. "Sittin' nice and pretty just for me..."

Starting out, he went in slow, taking his sweet time to allow you to get used to him.

As soon as his tip entered you, your jaw dropped and your eyes blew wide from the stretch.

No one could ever compare to how warm and solid Zoro felt snuggled up in your pussy.

No one.

You were so glad you had the fur of the blanket to grip at he took a hold of your hips and bottomed out inside of you.

"F-Fuck, Zoro!" you whined, burying your face in the pillows.

He began to bump his hips against yours a little faster now, the sound of skin slapping filling the air as his heavy balls hit your clit.

"C'mon, now, pretty," he huffed. "Y'said you were my present, yeah? Be a good girl and take me then. Make me proud."

He moved to fuck you harder, taking a handful of your ass before giving it a harsh slap.

The feeling was just too much.

He was so deep.

Your eyes were seeing stars, ones that far surpassed the ones lining the night sky.

You had no chance to comprehend anything, too busy taking Zoro's fat cock as he fucked you into oblivion in your little leather, corset.

"Feels good, don't it?" he grunted in your ear.

One of his hands moved to smack your ass again, a wanton moan ripping from your throat.

"Bet you've dreamed about this," he growled at you. "Bet you couldn't wait until I got home tonight."

He leaned down toward you, his lips grazing your ear.

"Bet you've been waiting to get split on my dick for so long."

"Gods, Zoro, yes!" you screamed out to the heavens, fisting the blanket for dear life as he fucked you harder.

You'd never felt like this before; so gone.

Your eyes are closed and your mind is blank, only able to thing of the man towering above you, turned dumb by the waves of pleasure washing over you.

The pleasure was just too good, and you could feel it beginning to build in your core.

"M'gonna cum!" you practically sobbed, your head thrown back. "Zoro!"

The man let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, slightly hiking up his leg to get a better angle.

"Me, too," he grunted. "Want you to take it."

He pressed his lips to your ear, leaning down so his dick hit that spot that had you seeing the entire universe behind your eyes.

"Fuckin' cum for me, pretty," he demanded. "Let me know how good I'm makin' you feel."

And you do.

Moans and gasps leave your lips like a chorus as that coil in your stomach finally snapped.

You unraveled, cumming all over Zoro's dick.

"Oh, my Gods!" you screamed, voice reaching the high heavens.

Your eyes spilled tears of ecstasy as he talked you through it, telling you how good of a girl you were as he stroked your outer thighs.

"Gonna cum, too," he grunted, hips snapping aganist your ass again and again as he chased his high. "You gonna take all of it, baby, hm?"

"Y-Yes!" you choked out, tossing your ass back to meet his thrusts, wanting to make him feel good, too.

He gripped your hips for dear life and came deep inside you with husky, loud moan that made your stomach leap and your pussy clench around his pulsing cock.

You took every ounce he had to offer, not once pulling away.

You could feel it coating your walls, filling you up to the point where you curled your toes and gasped at the feeling coursing through your body.

Finally, Zoro's hips began to slow until he finally came to a stop, pulling out of you with a soft groan.

But he wasn't done.

Still hard, he slid his head over your lower back and ass, coating your skin in his cum.

"So you smell like me," he grunted. "No other man'll even try."

You let out a weak, spent moan as your hips finally dropped, Zoro finally releasing his hold on you as he flopped to your side.

Grabbing you, he pulled your body into him, allowing you to snuggle into his side as he grabbed the blanket, wrapping you both in its warmth.

With the adrenaline now wearing off, and you so limp in his grasp, he began to worry, glancing down at you with a hint of concern

"You alright?" he carefully asked, slightly nudging you. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You slowly shook your head, still in a daze.

"That was amazing," you sighed, pressing further into his warm side. "Best I ever had..."

A proud smile stretched across Zoro's face, chest puffing slightly at the praise.

"So... did this make your birthday a little better?" you nervously asked, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Grinning, he gave you two kisses on your cheek, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your jaw.

"It did," he hummed contently. "By a hell of a lot more than a little."

Yes!

Internally, you gave yourself a huge high five, insanely proud that Mission: Mosshead was a success.

And now, you believed you deserved some snuggles in return.

"Cuddle with me?" you cooed, looking up at him through your lashes.

Zoro chuckled, rolling his eyes at you.

"Such a baby," he teased, securely wrapping his muscled arms around you, squeezing. "You're lucky I like you."

"Just like?"

"You know what I mean."

"I think I wanna hear you say it."

"I think I wanna take a nap."

"Zoro..."

"(y/n)..."

"Happy birthday."

"I love you."

[bbyquokka]

nerd in love

– after a misunderstanding, jisung finally tells yn how he feels at his birthday party .ᐟ.ᐟ

pairing | han jisung x fem reader

genre | mutual pining , fluff , uni au – 18+ is strongly advised!

cw | she/her pronouns used ; mostly in jisung pov ; food and alcohol mentioned ; a lil suggestive at the end

words | 10.1k ~ ( 10,133 )

notes | well, here it is! i started this before my break (which is why its so late) but finished it during my break n i just wanted to post it bc im proud of this n i adore this version of jisung n the friendship dynamics !! :( don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — wips list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

your pen taps against the white, lined sheet of paper that has a few scribbles and doodles on. your cheek resting on your hand as you sigh a little in boredom. 

the professor has been groaning on and on about the same thing. you want to listen and take in the information as you know it's important, but your mind wanders and you start to daydream; making imaginary scenarios.

you'd imagine an alien suddenly abducting you because it heard your silent cries of boredom. you and the alien would become the best of friends, the alien showing you around it's space shuttle and inviting you to have some tea and cake before making friendship bracelets – because that's what humans do, right?

other times, you'd imagine a strong, buff greek god suddenly turning up in class. he'd walk to you and take your hand, claiming that you're his long lost bride, before carrying you bridal style and off into the sunset where you two would get married and have babies.

so caught up in your fake scenarios, you don't see that another student is now looking at you.

the student is sitting in front of you–his usual designated spot. black hair that's long and permed and covers his eyes. glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. dressed in a button up shirt and black jeans, paired with a few accessories and black doc marten boots.

“excuse me.” he whispers, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “you're making too much noise.” he frowns.

you snap out of your daydream and sit up straight, wiping the imaginary drool from your chin with the back of your hand.

“o-oh.. sorry jisung.” you laugh awkwardly. he tuts and rolls his eyes before facing the front. you scoff a little and sit back in your seat.

you don't have very many friends in university, a small handful but it's enough and you don't have very many enemies either, but since jisung started the same class as you, he's been cold towards you.

he's not like this with other people, just you–it's like he can't stand you.

but for some reason, his cold, mean demeanour just makes you want him and find him even more attractive.

it's not a kink of yours, to be spoken down to and degraded. in fact, you love having the attention on you and being treated kindly and gently so it's unknown to you why you find him so attractive.

“alright class! that's all for today. you're all dismissed.” the teacher says. you silently cheer, packing up your things in your backpack.

jisung rises to his feet and swings his bag onto his shoulder, letting it rest there before pulling out his phone. you both catch eye contact with each other.

“see you tomorrow?” you say politely and smile. jisung quickly looks away and mumbles something before walking out in a rush.

maybe you're still daydreaming, but you swore you could see the tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink. 

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“fuck, i’m so late!” you alternate between running and speed walking your way to your class. your alarm didn't go off this morning so when you finally awoke, it was up and out in a flash. “i'm so screwed!”

today is an important day. the teacher was going to go over a few things on a test that's due in a few weeks so you really needed to attend it to get an idea–but alas, here you are. hair disheveled, dried up drool on your chin and your socks mismatched with your backpack hanging off your shoulder.

you breathe a sigh of relief before stopping in front of the lecture hall doors. you take a deep breath and fix yourself up before reaching out to open the doors.

the doors suddenly swing open. the students exiting the hall. you stand in the middle of the students as they walk around you, engaging in conversations with their friends.

you frown in confusion, looking at the time on your phone. your eyes widen even more, bulging from the sockets.

“oh wow.. i really fucked up.” you were a lot later than you thought.

you look up to see jisung looking at his phone. today he's in a plain, black t-shirt and skinny jeans. a few chains hanging around his neck and converse.

“hey, ji!” you call out. he looks up at whoever is calling him before his face twists into disgust when he realises it's you. you ignore this, mainly because he rushes past you.

you frown and chase after him, trying to keep up with his speed–but he's too fast.

“hey! wait! i know you heard me, ji!!”

“don’t call me that. my name is jisung.” he mumbles.

“ok ok, sorry! just, i need help!” 

“find it elsewhere.” his tone of voice is cold towards you; like always. again, you ignore it.

“please, i’m desperate! my alarm didn't go off and i clearly missed class! i know it was super important too and–can you slow down and listen to me?!” you huff.

jisung lets out an irritated sigh and looks at you; phone in one hand, earphones in the other. he stops in the middle of the corridor and looks at you.

you bend down, hands on your knees to catch your breath. 

“you being late has nothing to do with me. it's your own fault for being late.” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“yeah, i know.”

“you fucked up and now you want my help? how could i possibly help you?”

“i need your notes.”

“my notes? fuck no.” 

“oh please, ji… sorry–jisung. i really, really need this.” you pout. jisung groans and rubs the back of his neck.

“ok, fine.” he sighs in defeat. you're taken aback by how easy it was for him to surrender his notes over to you; but you don't complain. he takes his notebook out of his bag and hands it to you. you cheer and open it up, looking at the notes.

his handwriting is beautiful. his notes are easy to follow, however, you've come to the realisation that looking at notes isn't going to be enough for you to get the information to stick in your mind.

“make sure to give it to me by the end of the day. i’m usually at the library.” he says as you flick through his notes. “if you can't find me, find minho. he's my roommate.” 

you don't respond due to the fact that so much information is causing your brain to go into information overload. jisung sighs again and, as he is about to walk away, you grab his arm.

“wait!” you make a quick mental note of how soft his skin is and how muscular he feels. jisung looks at your hand that's on him, feeling heat quickly rise to his cheeks and his heart to thumb erratically in his chest.

“your hand.” he whispers. you lean in close to get a better understanding of what he just said.

“pardon?”

“hand. your hand. please remove it.”

“oh!” you quickly remove your hand from him. jisung clears his throat and looks down, hoping that his long hair covers his face to hide the blush that's happily sitting on his cheeks.

you see it though and make a note of how adorable he looks. you feel your own heartbeat skipping beats and beating erratically but you put it down to you having to sprint to class.

“i don't think this will be enough.” you start. he looks up at you. “the notes.. i don't think it's going to be enough.”

“well, there's a library and also the internet. there’s this thing called google, so use that.”

“teach me.” his eyes widen in shock.

“t-teach you?! fuck no, yn!”

“please, jisung! just until the test is over! i really, really need this. i’m desperate and, although your notes are so perfect, it's going to take a lot more than notes for me to understand it!”

“then ask the tutor for a one-on-one! or ask your friend!!” he stutters in shock. his cheeks are now bright red.

“you know the tutor doesn't do one-on-ones and my friends don't even take this class! oh please, jisung. pleeeaseee. pretty pretty pleeease.” you pout, giving him puppy eyes.

“yn…”

“i’ll buy you your coffee everyday for a full month.”

“... just my coffee?”

“what sweet treat do you like?”

“...cheesecake.” he answers reluctantly.

“then coffee and cheesecake on me for a full month!” jisung runs his fingers through his hair slowly, a soft, defeated sigh leaving his lips as he contemplates.

“you really need this, huh.” you nod your head fast to the point of dizziness. “you drive a hard bargain, yn. but fine.”

you cheer and grin widely.

“on some conditions though.”

“what?”

“we study in the library, you don't be late and we only do this until the test is over! after that, i won't teach you anymore.”

“yes sir.” you salute. “oh, do you want my contact information? might make it easier to set up study dates.”

“study dates?” 

“yeah! i assume we have different schedules due to different classes, so it's better to text or call each other so we know when to meet up!”

“true.. ok, fine. give me.” you tell jisung your contact information. he phones you and you smile as you save his contact information.

“thank you so much, jisung! you're the best!” you say before sprinting off to find your friend leaving a flustered jisung bewildered in the middle of the corridor.

“study dates, huh.. i kinda like that.” 

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“dude, chill. you're just going to the library to study” jisung’s roommate laughs as he watches jisung scurrying around the place as he packs his bag. 

minho is relaxing on jisung’s bed, shirtless and in sweats with round glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose whilst eating an ice pop. him and jisung have been the best of friends since university started and he became jisung’s roommate.

since then, they've both been inseparable. many people speculate that something is going on between the two of them, indicating a relationship–minsung, they call them.

“i am chill.” jisung mumbles as he shoves in a few too many pens into his pencil case.

“yeah, suuuure.” minho laughs as he licks and sucks on his popsicle. “i’ve watched you run around the place like a headless chicken.”

“dude, please hush.” jisung looks at minho just as some sticky sweet ice drops onto minho's chest. he scoops it up with his fingers and eats it. jisungs sighs “do you have to eat that on my bed?”

“yeah. problem?” minho smirks

“yes. quite a few actually. you're going to get the sheets sticky!” jisung whines.

“not the first time i've heard that.” minho laughs at his own joke. jisung rolls his eyes but the corner of his lips turn upright into a smile as he holds back his laugh.

“you're disgusting.”

“yeah? and you're a mess right now, bro.” minho places the wooden popsicle stick on jisung's side table before swinging his legs around to plant his feet on the floor.

he stands and walks to jisung, ruffling his hair a few times.

“you're just going to study, that's all. it's not that big of a deal, bro. unless….” minho smirks and wiggles his brows at jisung.

“unless what? what are you implying, minho?” jisung says as he crosses his arms across his chest and raises his brow.

“unless you, oh i don't know, like her.” jisung's eyes widen a little and he clears his throat, turning his head to avoid eye contact with minho. “aha!! i knew it! you do like ‘em!”

“no, i don't. fuck off, minho.” jisung mumbles and rushes to his desk, messing and organizing a few things to ‘look busy.’

minho skips over to jisung with a smirk. “c’mon ji. we all know you've been smitten with yn since the very beginning. it's soooo obvious!”

“dude, please. i don't like her like that. and it's jisung–not ji!”

“ahuh. whatever you say, dude.” minho laughs. 

“plus, she probably doesn't like me in that way..” jisung mumbles before sighing softly.

“have you asked her that?”

“well… no but–”

“then how do you know?” 

“i just do, ok?! enough with the questions, minho. don't you have that media assignment to do or something?”

“nope.” minho says, popping the p in an obnoxious way. “all done, which means i am a free man.”

“no one is a ‘free man’ in university, minho.” jisung laughs. 

“ugh, you're right. even though one assignment is done, i still have a gazillion more.” minho runs his fingers through his long, shaggy hair. “speaking of which, i best start with at least one of them.”

“good luck, man. you'll do great.” jisung says sarcastically, paring it with a sarcastic grin.

“fuck you. good luck with yn, jisung.” minho turns around and walks out of jisung's bedroom. “hope you get laid!” he shouts.

“fuck you.” jisung laughs. minho sticks his middle finger up at jisung before laughing and closing his bedroom door.

with the last of his things packed, he zips up his back. he checks one last time in the mirror, fixing his hair and spraying his best perfume onto his neck. he puts his hand up to his mouth, huffing on it before sniffing. pulling a face, he grabs a mint and pops it into his mouth, sucking on it as he puts on his shoes and a leather jacket.

“it’s just a study thing. it's not that serious. calm down, jisung.” he mumbles as he laces up his shoes.

but he can't stop his heartbeat from thumping loudly against his ribcage and excitement to rush through his body. his excitement is so big, it makes him shake. 

“it’s not a big deal. she probably doesn't like you that way.” he continues to mumble in an attempt to calm himself down as he takes one last look in the mirror. a smile slowly creeps up onto his face and a small squeal escapes from the back of his throat.

“fuck! i’m so screwed.” 

minho hears this and laughs at his friend's excitement before putting on his headphones. if there's one thing minho loves, is seeing his best friend happy and over the moon. he just hopes he won't get hurt.

“cute.” minho says to himself before typing away at his keyboard. jisung leaves the bedroom and shouts a goodbye to minho before heading out to the library.

nervous doesn't describe how jisung is feeling. as he walks to the library, his legs start to feel like jelly and the urge to turn back strong the closer he gets to his destination. he hopes that you're not there first just so he has time to calm himself down.

he even tries to listen to music in hopes that it would calm him down somewhat. but the soothing sounds of violins and cellos do nothing (he even tried listen to a few seconds of whale noises but even that was useless)

“we’re just studying. nothing more.” he repeats under his breath as he walks inside the library.

the place is nicely decorated, modern with a hint of an historic touch. students at tables and little cubicles, headphones on and studying. some in groups, whispering as they do projects of various kinds. some making the most of how quiet it is to take a quick nap. the occasional rustling of snack packets paired with the occasional crunch breaks the silence every so often.

it's silent but it's lively.

jisung says a few hellos to some students he recognises (either from classes they take together or them being minho's friends) as he searches the area for you.

his heart thumping as he searches. he silently cheers when he can't see you because he has a chance to calm down, but, as he walks to an empty table at the very back of the room, his victory is cut short as he sees you sitting there; ready and waiting.

you have your back to him (and to everyone else) and you're hunched over your notebook. jacket resting on the back seat with your bag on the floor, by your side. jisung takes a quick, small peek over your shoulder to see what you're doing only to see small, quick doodles on the page from boredom.

his heart swells a little as it's another thing he's learnt about you. just when he thinks you couldn't get any more perfect.

“hey, yn.” he whispers only to realise that you won't hear him no matter how many times he calls for you due to the music that's blasting from your earphones. he makes a quick mental note of who you're listening to before trying to get your attention again.

“hey, yn.” he places his hand on your shoulder to which you jump at, causing jisung to jump at your reaction. you look behind you as you take out your earbuds, sighing in relief.

“jesus, jisung. you frightened me.” 

“sorry, yn. i didn't mean to.”

“no, it's ok. my music may have been a little too loud.” you laugh as you put them away and jisung sits next to you on one of the chairs.

“you know you'll get tinnitus if you keep doing that.” 

“yeah… i know. it's a bad habit but music sounds better loud, y‘know!” jisung nods in agreement before pulling out his notebook and pencil case.

you watch him lean down. you take the time to admire him. his hair soft and fluffy. you have to resist the urge to run your fingers through it. a faint smell of strawberries and flowers emits from his hair; a sickly sweet yet pleasant smell.

his skin is dewy and perfect; not a blemish in sight. a beauty mark sits close to his lips. it's a small mark so it's no wonder you never recognised it before.

you notice the way his biceps bulge and flex with every motion of his arms. the chains from his neck dangle a little and his aftershave wafts towards you and tickles your nose hairs.

“you smell so good.“ you mumble. jisung looks at you.

“excuse me?”

“you smell so fucking good.” you repeat and lean in close to him. your hair tickles his jawline and chin as you smell the skin of his neck. “what do you use?”

“...i–urm, i don't know. i just picked it up when i was shopping.” you hum and nod. jisungs soft cheeks slowly start to feel very hot. “personal space, yn. ever heard of it?”

“oh!! sorry. my bad. i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” you laugh awkwardly as a awkward silence falls upon you both.

jisung turns his head away from you so you can't see him but his cheeks are very red and hot as his heart beats fast. 

you were so close to him. so very, very close. he thought he was going to have a heart attack. he could smell you and to him, you smell so delicious and sweet; like vanilla cheesecake. 

“this is not good for my heart.” he mumbles to himself. 

“by the way” you begin. jisung looks at you. you slide a cold coffee and cheesecake in the middle of you both. “told you i’d stick to my end of the bargain.”

“i didn't expect you to do it so soon, yn. it's only the first session.”

you shrug. “a deals a deal.” jisung takes the cheesecake and coffee, sipping on it and humming softly as the bitter, cold taste coats his tastebuds and the caffeine enters his system.

“i didn't know what flavoured cheesecake you like so i hope it's ok.”

“what flavour is it?”

“strawberry”

“mhm, not bad.”

“you don't like strawberry?” you say with a small pout. he shrugs.

“it's fine. not the worst. but it's too sweet for me. i’m a vanilla kinda guy.”

“aah, ok. i’ll make a mental note of that.” you say as you tap your temple, laughing softly. jisung lets out a small puff of air from his nose. you see the corner of his lips curl into a small and that makes you feel like he's accepted you.

“now, enough chitchat. i actually want to be done in a decent time so, let's begin?”

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“sooooo” jisung looks up at minho, his chopsticks half hanging from his mouth, resting on his bottom lip.

the smell of spicy, instant ramen fills the air. minho cooked some food for the two of them as they have both been studying hard for upcoming tests and assignments. 

instant ramen with a slice of cheese on top. rice cakes, fish cakes and other yummy goodnesss swim in the broth. the kitchen looks a mess, pots and pans scattered everywhere–it contributes to the rest of the dorm with the various clothing and shoes scattered around.

“soooo…” jisung repeats, eyebrows raised. his bangs are tied back in a pink hair tie (your pink hair tie), a white vest top and sweats on his body. minho is also in sweats but with an anime print t-shirt and a sanrio clip to hold back his bangs and a pore strip on his nose; getting tighter and tighter by the second.

“have you asked her yet?”

“asked her what?” jisung takes some noodles and a fish cake, putting them on a small, separate plate before grabbing some kimchi.

“dude.” minho rolls his eyes and lets out a long, irritable groan. “for being smart, you sure are dumb.”

“you're just dumb through and through.” jisung smiles playfully as minho sticks his middle finger up at his best friend.

“fuck you.” minho takes a rice cake that's soaked in the ramen broth. he chews it, the sound of sticky, chewy rice cake emits from his mouth. “anyways! have you asked yn about the party?”

jisung lets out a slow grunt. “not this again, minho.” 

“what?!” minho says with a shrug as he continues to chew and talk.

“i already told you, and eeeeveryone else. i don't want a party or anything of the sort, minho. i just want it to be a nice, quiet day.” jisung’s eyes drift to the half chewed rice cake that's being tossed around in minho's mouth. he pulls a face in disgust. “and can you please not talk with your mouth full?”

“you're such a prude.” minho rolls his eyes but swallows his food regardless. “anyways, you know me, changbin and chan won't let you have a quiet birthday!”

“yeah, no shit.” jisung rolls his eyes as he slurps on his noodles. he wipes his mouth with a napkin before munching on some kimchi. “still don't understand why you all decided to plan a birthday party without my knowledge knowing full well i said no in the beginning.”

“dude, you're so boring.” minho jests. “it's your birthday!” he emphasise. “you're supposed to have a party, eat lots of cake and junk. drink beer, hang out with friends and maybe, get laid.”

he wiggles his eyebrows at jisung and laughs softly. with a heavy sigh, jisung puts his chopsticks down.

“no matter what, you're going to go through with this, aren't you?” 

“yup!” minho obnoxiously pops the P. “plus, things have already been ordered and organised for it. we already have a few people who confirmed they're attending.”

“who?”

“mhm–” minho puts down his chopsticks and thinks, looking at the ceiling as he does. “felix from fashion design. hyunjin from art. seungmin from business studies and jeongin who is also from fashion design.”

“how do you know all these people?”

“well, unlike some–” minho's eyes widen as he looks at jisung, indicating he's talking about him in particular “–some of us actually get out. plus, chan is like a social butterfly and changbin is charismatic. put them two together and well, people can't say no.”

“yeah, true. i remember when they begged me to work on a track or something for their music assignment.” 

“they both practically dragged you to do it.” minho laughs.

“only because you told them i said yes without me knowing about the situation!”

“because i knew you'd say no! you have a talent for this stuff, jisung. don't let it go to waste.”

“thanks.” he mumbles, hanging his head low in embarrassment and awkwardness.

“is that… is that a blush i see?!” minho smirks.

“me? blush? for you?! hell no!” jisung frowns. “the ramen is spicy, that's all.”

“dude… it's mild.”

“...fuck you.”

“so, are you going to ask yn or nah?”

“if it gets you and everyone else off my back, then sure”

“good. make sure you do!” jisung opens and closes his hand, mimicking minho's yapping.

“yeah yeah yeah. can we stop talking about this party and eat?”

“just looking out for ya, man. i know how much you like ‘em!” 

“i know. i appreciate it, minho.” minho nods and continues eating the ramen. jisung, on the other hand, is now lost in thought.

how the hell is he going to get the courage to ask you something like that?

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

the study sessions are slowly coming to end. you kept up with your end of the deal, providing jisung with an endless amount of coffees and cheesecakes whilst he has provided you with an endless amount of insights.

one thing you have learnt about him is that he is smart. he knows how to do things with just a quick glance. he's good at explaining things so it's not confusing. 

you've been stuck on a problem for some time and no amount of teachers advice and youtube videos helped you. all it took was five minutes of jisung explaining the solution and it clicked.

today, however, you are alone in the library. jisung messaged you to let you know that he wasn't going to make it. you felt sad and a little heartbroken–you’ve become so accustomed to jisung's presence that you feel a little cold and lonely right now.

you can't concentrate. the music you're blasting down your ears isn't helping either. the text in your book is slowly starting to merge into one big splooge of text. the information just isn't getting through to you and it's frustrating.

you sit back in your seat and sigh as you take your headphones off and throw them on the table. 

“this is pointless.” you mumble. “i can't concentrate. maybe i should just skip it.”

you take your phone and browse through social media before subconsciously opening up the food app. your mouth salivates as you look at the various burgers, fries, pizza and sweet treats–and then your stomach growls.

“maybe i’m just hungry. that's why i can't concentrate.” you pack your things and head to the university cafeteria. the menu looks dull so you settle on a simple sandwich and drink.

the cafeteria is packed. the atmosphere is buzzing with the endless chatter of students. you take your seat and pick up your sandwich.

it's a standard ham salad sandwich with some dressing on. the slices of ham and lettuce (too much lettuce for that matter), tomatoes and other salad stuff squished together by two slices of thick, white bread, smothered in dressing.

you take a few bites. it's ok. it's not bad but you've had better. the bread is a little dry for your liking but the dressing takes that away. you open the cap of your bottled drink and take a few swigs to help wash it down.

“what do we have here?” you turn your head in the direction of the voice–that thick aussie accent you know all too well.

“ew. go away chan. you're disturbing my peace.” 

“charming. don't think that's something you should say to someone you haven't seen in a while.” he says with a pout as he walks to your table and sits down. he's joined by another man, a friend of his, perhaps. he sits opposite you.

“and whose fault is that, huh? maybe if you answered my calls or texts every once in a while.”

“sorry, yn. i’m just a busy man, y’know.” chan grins as he leans back in his seat, brimming with confidence.

“yeah. too busy being the campus whore.”

“blah blah blah. least i’m getting some.” he elbows you in the side a few times. “what are you getting, huh?” he jests.

“a degree? y'know that thing i came here for in the first place.”

“oh ha ha. very funny, yn.” chan mocks, rolling his eyes at you before stealing your sandwich and taking a bite.

the male opposite you clears his throat as a way of telling you both “hi, i’m still here.”

“oh! yn, this is minho. minho, yn.” minho's eyes widen a little and his lips twitch into a small smile.

“so, you're yn. nice to put a face to the name.“ he grins.

“you know me?” you blink a few times in confusion.

“i’m jisung’s roommate.” you mentally slap yourself. of course!

“oh my god. i’m so sorry. i didn't realise! i’m so bad with names.” you whine. minho laughs and brushes it off.

“and how do you know jisung, yn?” chan says with a mouthful of food; your food to be exact. you glare at him, daggers darting out of your eyes and straight into chan as you snatch your sandwich back off him.

“jisung’s my private tutor as of right now.”

“oh.” chan nods before his eyes suddenly light up. he looks at minho for confirmation. “wait, hold up.”

minho nods and smirks. “nah. really?!” you watch the two men talk in code as they communicate by facial expressions and a stings of “ohs” and “yeahs”

“uh, hello. i’m still here!” minho laughs softly.

“sorry, yn.” you shrug it off and eat your sandwich. “how do you two know each other by the way. chan has never mentioned you before.”

“good. keep it that way.” you say coldly, mainly aiming it at chan. chan pouts and nuzzles into you, head on shoulder. he looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout.

“aww. don't be like that, bestie. you secretly love me.” you flick his forehead.

“me and chan are childhood friends. haven't been able to get rid of him since.” chan smiles at your sweet implication. “he's like a parasite. or a fruit fly in the summer.” his smile drops and now, it's your turn to give chan a big, sarcastic grin–teeth and all.

“rude.” he mumbles. you shrug and finish off your sandwich. 

“so, jisung is your tutor.” minho speaks. you nod.  “are you attending his party?” 

“party? what party?” you look at chan and minho. minho sighs a little and runs his fingers through his hair.

“i warned him.” he mumbles under his breath in irritation before looking at you and smiling softly. “me, chan and a few others are organising a birthday party for jisung.”

“his birthday is coming up?!” your eyes widen. “when? i should get him a gift”

“14th.”

“14th?! that's pretty soon.” you mumble.

“jisung told me he would invite you.” you shake your head no. minho rubs the back of his neck. “well, this is awkward.” 

“it’s ok. maybe he has his reasons as to why he didn't mention it to me. no biggie.” you say with a smile. minho nods before a few minutes of silence dawn upon the three of you.

“out of curiosity.” you break the silence. “how is jisung in general?” minho tilts his head to the side. “it's just he seems so….” you think for a second, thinking of the right (and nice) word to use “... cold towards me.”

“cold?” 

“mhm. he seems so bitter towards me and i don't know why. we barely even talked in class but when we did, he would always tell me i’m making too much noise and to hush.” you slowly start to feel slightly irritated. 

“jisung is fine with me.” he says with a. shrug. “he's pretty chill around me.” you huff.

“i know he can be friendly because whenever i see him in the corridors talking to someone, he smiles and is so friendly!”

“what’s he likes now, yn?”

“well, now that we've been spending more time with each other, he's… i don't know… avoiding me to some degree? he won't make eye contact with me. he doesn't like it when i touch him.”

chan raises his brow and looks at minho, both men thinking the same thing. chan puts you in a gentle headlock and ruffles your hair.

“hey!! get off me!!” you push chan a few times, using all your strength to make him release you.

“you're pretty naive, yn.” chan laughs, continuing to ruffle your hair. he ignores your screams and yells, minho laughing at the two of you.

finally, chan let's you go. you push him with all the strength you have left before fixing your hair and glaring at him. chan pouts and nuzzles into you once again.

“i’m sorry, yn. forgive me?” he puckers his lips and makes kissing noises, edging closer and closer to you. you hold him at arm's length.

“ok ok!! just quit doing that!!” chan laughs and pats your head gently.

as fast as he was in the cafeteria, jisung is soon out of it after seeing you and chan, with nothing but festering jealousy in his stomach.

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

you bounce through the library to your designated spot at the very back, coffee and cheesecake in each hand with your bag swinging on your shoulder.

jisung is there, punctual, as always. but something seems a little off. the air around him seems thick and suffocating–dark even. 

“hey!” your cheerful voice ringing in his ears, making his heart beat fast. you sit next to him and slide over the coffee and cheesecake.

today he's dressed in a yellow and orange flannel shirt and white tank-top. black jeans and boots to accommodate. a few of his nails are painted in black, chipping from wear and tear.

he gives you a cold nod of the head. you frown a little but choose to ignore it as you take your books and pens out of your bag.

“so, what's the plan for today?” jisung shrugs. “...ok, well how about we go over that question i was struggling with?”

“k” he reluctantly moves closer to you. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla wafts towards you and tickles your nostrils, making you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

“you smell good, jisung.”

“mhm, thanks.” you let out a silent sigh. something is wrong with him and you don't know why. is it something you've done? something you haven't done? 

jisung is being very dry and sour with you. his usual method of teaching you is that he would go into detail and repeat until you'd understand it, today, however, he's very short and sharp.

“i don't understand.” you say. jisung sighs, a long irritated sigh. you bite your lip, thinking that you've done something to hurt him in any possible way.

“what don't you get?”

“all of it…” he sighs again and rubs his face. his eyebrows furrow together in irritation. the jealousy he is feeling in his stomach is festering, becoming more and more intense.

every time he looks at you, he is reminded of the way you and chan were together. he hates that. how could you fall for someone like chan? he thought you were better than that. his head swimming with negative and harsh thoughts.

before he can stop himself, the words just spill without any control. “why don't you get chan to do it for you.”

you blink. “chan? what does he have to do with this?”

“i mean, you two are close are you not?”

“i mean.. well, yeah, i guess.” you shrug. “he does get on my nerves sometimes though. he is such a pain! but he's a good gu–”

“i thought you were better than that, yn.’ he spits.

“the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you feel the bubbling of rage in your stomach as you stare at jisung, who stares at you back. the jealousy has consumed his body and it's too late to back out now.

“as in, i thought you had standards. chan? of all people? he's a whore, yn. everyone knows that he sleeps around on campus and you chose him?!”

“i don't appreciate the way you're talking about him, jisung.”

“it’s the truth, yn! and you know it so why are you with him?! you can do sooo much better than him!!”

“oh yeah?” you challenge. “then who is good for me, mhm? please, enlighten me?” 

jisung freezes. he looks away and chews his bottom lip. you scoff and pack your things in a hurry.

“i don't have to listen to this bullshit. you've been in a shit mood with me this whole time, which is fine. everyone has bad days. what's not ok, however, is you taking it out on me and bad mouthing the people i care about.” you stand up, swinging your bag onto your shoulder. jisung stares at one spot of the desk, burning holes into it. “text me when you're in a better mood.”

you walk out, leaving jisung to think about what he has just done.

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“jisunggggg. sungieeee. knock, knock. let me innn!” the sound of minho's high-pitched, cheery voice irritates jisung to the bone. he lets out a slow and irritated groan, hot puffs of air slowly exhaling from his nostrils.

he pushes his glasses up his nose and runs his fingers through his unwashed hair. sitting at his desk in the same baggy band t-shirt and sweats from a few days ago, he checks his phone for the nth time, only to be disappointed.

he hasn't spoken to you nor seen you since that day. in class, it's worse. he's tried to catch your eye a few times, smiling when he does, only for you to turn away. he spent days loathing in his own self pity, locking himself up in his room and only coming out for food, bathroom breaks and class.

minho has had enough. not only is jisung's mood ruining the atmosphere, but minho has no idea as to what happened that day. he was home when jisung came back to the dorm, looking like he was on the verge of tears. 

when he asked, jisung always gave the same answer of “mind your own business.”–and he has; for several days now.

“let me in, jisung.” the repetitive sounds of minho's knuckles against the wood door cause jisung's stomach to bubble more intensely with anger–until he finally snaps.

he rushes to the door and swings it open, brows furrowed together. minho's smug grin makes him foam at the mouth.

“what part of leave me alone don't you understand, minho?” jisung's words dripping with poison. minho shrugs it off.

“all of it.” he pushes past jisung, making himself at home in his bedroom. jisung has no time to protest, all he can do is watch his best friend jump on his bed and rest on his back, arms behind his head.

with a heavy sigh, jisung walks back to his desk. he turns his back on him, hoping that if he ignores his friend, he will get bored and eventually leave. minho watches his friend pick up and put down his phone several times to the point where minho feels irritated by it.

“so?” minho starts

“so?” jisung repeats

“going to tell me what's happened? haven't seen you this down in a while.”

“nope. i'm good.”

“you can't keep moping around the place, jisung.”

“i can and i will.” minho groans and stands up, walking out of the bedroom. jisung mentally cheers only for it to be cut short when minho throws his jacket at jisung.

“put it on.” it's more of a demand than a sentence, but nonetheless, jisung obliges because if he doesn't, minho will force it on him.

“where are we going?”

“to the cafe.” minho puts on his shoes, jisung following suit.

“aah, dude.. i don't really fe–”

“shut up, we're going to the cafe whether you want to or not. a change of scenery might cheer your moody ass up because, to be quite honest, i’m tired of seeing your gloomy ass face.” he looks at jisung who is frowning at him. “in the nicest way possible, of course.”

jisung rolls his eyes before following minho to the local (and one of his favourite) cafes. 

it's a small, local café with an old fashioned sense of style to it. the tables and chairs are worn. cushions on the chairs losing their stuffing and the tables scratched and chipped. the décor is outdated, indicating that the café has been there for quite a few years; but it feels like home to some.

the bell above the door chimes as minho and jisung walk in. they walk to the counter and say their orders before taking their lunch and drinks and sitting at a table.

jisung takes a sip of the coffee. he feels the ice cold beverage trickling down his esophagus and into his empty stomach. minho munches on his chicken salad sandwich, watching his friend look in his drink and ponder.

“i fucked up.” jisung mumbles, lost in thought. the more he thinks about you, the more he can feel the tears threaten to spill down his cheeks. minho tilts his head to the side and as he is about to open his mouth and encourage his friend to continue, a familiar sound in the form of a laugh causes jisung's head to shoot up and look in that direction.

his eyes widen. he feels relief and happy to see a smile finally on your face; but then that same, the green monster in the form of jealousy parks itself on his shoulder and starts whispering in his ear.

minho watches jisung's jaw muscles clench. his facial expression goes from relief to jealousy. minho follows jisung's gaze and raises his brow at the sight of you and chan.

chan is being his usual, goofy self. he's telling you typical dad jokes and being a little grotest by telling you his latest hook-up details. you push him by the arm and roll your eyes, sipping your coffee in the process. chan continues to joke around with you, play fighting a little by wrapping his arm around the back of your neck loosely and rubbing the top of your head with his knuckles.

“i can't fucking stand this.” jisung mutters bitterly under his breath. minho turns and looks at his friend who is green with jealousy.

“stand what?”

“seeing someone as precious and innocent as yn be with someone like chan!” minho blinks a few times.

“what do you… jisung, what do you think yn and chans relationship is?”

“isnt it obvious? they're going out!” minho gives jisung a few blank stares and blinks before bursting out into laughter, choking on his own saliva in the process. “what?!” 

jisungs cheeks flush red with embarrassment but also with anger. his own friend laughing at his statement, finding amusement in his sorrows.

“are you serious? please tell me you're joking?” minho stutters through his giggles.

“dead serious.” jisung says, deadpan. “don't you see the way they are with each other? i saw you all the other day, in the cafeteria! chan's arm around yn and them being all…. lovey!!” 

“oh my god.” minho calms himself down. “you really are serious!”

“i told you! i even asked yn about it and well… it didn't go so well.”

“is that why you've been so moody and upset lately?” jisung nods his head slowly, feeling some type of guilt. minho sighs heavily, wondering how he can soften the blow of the news he's about to give his best friend.

“jisung…” minho starts. “yn and chan are not dating.” jisung's face drops.

“excuse me?”

“they're not dating. they're just childhood best friends. apparently they've known each other since they were kids. “

“so you're telling me.. that i got it all wrong when i saw you three in the cafeteria?“ minho slowly nods whilst giving a sympathetic smile. jisung sits back in his seat in disbelief. “why did chan never mention yn?! fuck, i fucked up… i really, really fucked up…” 

“oh, c’mon. it can't be that bad.” minho tries to lighten the situation.

“dude. i told her i thought she had standards! i called her best friend a whore!”

“i mean, chan is a whore. he knows he is and he doesn't hid–”

“dude, please.” jisung interrupts. “not right now.” minho shrugs and sips his coffee whilst jisung rubs his face whilst groaning. “what do i do?”

“well.” minho puts down his coffee. “you make it right. admit you were in the wrong. explain how you were a jealous lil guy because you like her and that you fucked up.”

“and how do i do that? she’s been avoiding me for weeks and it’s not like i can go up to her right now and be like oh hey yn, sorry i called your best friend a whore oh, by the way, i like you.” jisung mocks himself in a high pitched voice, his face turning red in frustration.

“you're so dramatic.” minho rolls his eyes with a soft, yet heavy sigh. “for a smart guy, you're pretty dumb too.”

“pft, am not!” jisung scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. “... only when it comes to stuff like this.” he mumbles. “i just… don't know what to do or how to fix it. i really, really like her, minho.”

“ok? and? what do you want me to do about it? there's no point telling me about your feelings for yn. i'm not the one that fucked up and then decided to hold myself up in my room to drown in my own self-pity.” minho says with a shrug.

to the outside world, minho's words sound harsh but to jisung, it's a reality check. 

he sighs softly for the nth time as he glances over at you. he watches you laugh and smile with chan, soaking in your beauty and the way you glow with happiness. 

“to make it easier for you.” minho breaks the few seconds of silence between the two, feeling a little responsible for his friend in need. “i may have mentioned your birthday party to yn.”

“what?! why?”

“bro, you weren't going to mention it! so i just.. did you a favour.” minho shrugs, a smug look on his face.

“... is she coming?”

minho shrugs. “dunno. she seemed interested at least but this was before you called her best friend a whore so–”

“that was an accident. i didn't mean to.. i just got too–”

“worked up? jealous perhaps?” minho says, or rather states, with a raised brow. jisung hums and nods his head slowly, teeth chewing on his bottom lip. 

minho chews on his straw as he watches his friend think. he can see the cogs turning in jisung's skull. jisung is inexperienced when it comes to relationships so seeing him like this, brings minho slight amusement.

“look, jisung. if she turns up, you approach her and apologise whilst also telling her how you feel.” minho holds his hand up to jisung who is just about to protest but is quick to close his mouth and listen. “if she doesn't turn up, you find her the next day, apologise and tell her how you feel. heck, text her if you have to!”

“dude… you know i can't do that!”

“ok. then you have the other option, which is to keep wallowing in your self pity and watch yn from the sidelines.” minho shrugs. “i don't know dude. be the main character for once. you clearly like her so take the chance.”

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

jisung's birthday rolled around. you haven't heard nor spoken to him since the argument so you didn't originally plan on turning up to his birthday party; but chan being chan is forcing you to go as his plus one.

“is this ok?” you smooth down your party outfit as you present yourself to chan. chan is sitting at your dressing table, dressed in blue, skinny jeans, a compression shirt that hugs and molds his muscles and combat boots. a silver chain around his neck, earrings in one ear and a few rings on his fingers.

he looks up from his phone and smirks playfully. he wolf whistles at you to which you scoff and roll your eyes at.

“looking good there, yn.”

“really? i threw this together at the last minute.’

“you look great, don't worry. you're gonna knock ‘em dead.” chan laughs.

“i really don't want to go, chan.” you groan.

“weeeell, too late. you're coming with me to this party, even if i have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you there.”

chan has heard about your little argument with jisung from minho. the two of them had a drink together during the week and chan listened to minho vent about jisung.

once minho mentioned the fight did it all come together. you've been feeling down and withdrawn, not knowing what to do or how to deal with your feelings. you've put on a fake smile and basically faked your way through the weeks–but chan has known you for years so he can see through you, he just didn't want to press you.

you'll come to him when the time is right; you always do.

“do i have to?” you ask for the nth time whilst putting on your shoes. chan laughs at your contradicting actions and shakes his head before standing up.

“yes, you do. it'll be fun and hopefully, it'll lift your spirits.” you pout.

“i have been a little moody lately, haven't i?” chan raises his brows and scoffs.

“a little!? pur-lease! i thought knives were going to spawn out of your eyes at one point.”

“mhm.. i’m sorry chan. it's just been a long couple of weeks with a lot of thinking.” you sigh softly. chan elbows your side gently.

“hey. let's not think about that right now. let's go to this party, have a couple of drinks and a dance, yeah?” you nod slowly.

“not like i have a say in this.”

“that's my girl. now.” chan grabs your hand gently and pulls you to the front door. “let's go have some fuuuun!!!”

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

it's loud. the bass of the music rings in your ears and shakes the ground beneath you.

it smells. the stench of stale cigarettes, sweat and alcohol tickles your nostrils and causes you to feel lightheaded and nauseous.

you've tried several times to turn away and head back but chan was always right there.

chan abandoned you to go chat up some girls so you're sat on the sofa, surrounded by people making out, drinking or passing out (if they haven't already)

you hold your red, plastic solo cup which is filled halfway with some punch. the smell is pungent and the taste is awful. it's too strong for your liking so you take small, delicate sips.

as the night rolls on, you have yet to see jisung. not that you want to but, it would help you feel some comfort and less suffocated to see a familiar face.

you glance at your phone screen. 11:20 pm. it's soon time for you to leave. you don't want to be here any longer than you have to and considering that chan has left you alone, you don't feel the need to be here any more.

you stand up from the couch to walk to the kitchen. you shimmy your way in and out of crowds of people who are dancing, talking or making out with someone that they won't remember tomorrow.

you pour your drink down the sink and throw away your empty cup. as you're about to turn and leave, a familiar voice is heard from behind.

“yn. hi.”

you turn on your heels and a sense of relief washes over you as you come face to face with a face you've been longing to see (even if you don't want to admit it)

you forget why you're so angry at him for a split second. his beauty never fails to make you feel star struck and silently go “wow.” but then you remember.

“hi.” you reply coldly.

“can i talk to you?” he shouts, hoping his voice isn't drowned out by the music.

“not right now. i was just about to leave.” you walk past him to leave. jisung grabs your arm gently to stop you. you look at him and he is quick to remove his hand.

“please? just… let me explain…” he chews his bottom lip, his brows scrunched together in the middle. you think for a second and sigh softly, nodding slowly.

“ok. fine. but make it quick.” you swear you see the corner of jisung's lips curl into a subtle smile, his eyes lighting up a little. he beckons you to follow him so you do.

you follow him outside. compared to inside, where it's hot and humid, the harsh, cold night air is refreshing and soothes your damp skin.

“look.” he starts as he stops walking to turn to you. “i know i was a complete asshole.” you scoff but don't say anything. “it's just… aah fuck, how do i say this.”

you watch jisung slowly become flustered. the tips of his ears turn red, his hands clammy as he shakes a little. he shuffles on his feet to shift his weight and avoids eye contact with you.

“fuck.. this is so hard… minho said it'd be easy once i get talking but fuck minho.” jisung rambles to himself. the anger you felt slowly disappears and is replaced with… joy? 

your stomach feels a little bubbly and tingly with excitement as you watch this nerd, whom you've grown so accustomed to, become easily flustered and shy because of you.

“just say what's on your mind, jisung.” you say with a shrug. his eyes flicker at you for a second before looking to the ground.

“ok.. well…” he takes a deep breath. ”i like you and i always have and the reason why i got so pissed and called chan a whore, who i later found out was your childhood best friend, was because i was jealous of how close he was to you and i saw red and i didn't mean it. in fact, i've been cooped up in my bedroom in my own self-pity because i'm a coward and i don't deserve someone as wonderful as you and i’m really sorry. can you forgive me for being a lil silly?”

you blink at him several times. jisung dared take a breath during his little speech so all the information that has suddenly been laid on you, isn't going through your head right now.

“ah fuck.. i fucked up again, haven't i?” jisung shakes, his voice wavering as it breaks the tension in the air. his nerves shaking his body as a shaky hand picks at the skin around his fingernails. “god i knew i shouldn't have said anything. why did i take minho's dumb advice.”

“i… i don't know what to say, jisung. it's all so much.” you say in pure shock.

“oh, that's ok! i’m not looking for an answer right now. please, take your time. i just wanted you to know my true feelings and why i acted out. the last thing i want is for you to feel forced.”

“so let me get this straight. the reason you acted out is because you got jealous of chan, thinking that we were dating?” you watch jisung slowly nod his head, his cheeks turning pink; whether that's from embarrassment or from the harsh cold air. “and that you.. like me?”

jisung nods again. “silly, right?” he laughs, trying to soothe himself of the raging anxiety that's heavy in his heart and stomach.

“no.. no! not at all. i think it's kinda… cute.” 

“cute?”

“yeah. i mean, well, being away from you has got me thinking about me, you and well.. us and how i feel.” jisung walks closer to you, closing the gap between you both.

“and how do you feel, yn?” you swallow a little. the atmosphere has suddenly shifted between you both. jisung is close to you, his body daring to press against you.

you can see every detail of his honey skin under the faint moonlight. the cold breeze sweeps between his hair strands. a faint hint of cinnamon and apple from his aftershave tickles and hugs your nose making you inhale deeply for more.

“at first, i was angry at you. i didn't understand why you were so angry. but i spoke to chan about it and during the conversation, he made me realise something.”

“what?” jisung encourages. he gingerly places his hands on your waist, unsure and testing the waters. his touch is as light as a feather and when you don't push him away, his grip becomes firm. 

“that maybe, i like you too and i have for the longest time. i just never realised it because i thought you hated me but, when we spent all that time together, i started to notice the smallest of things about you and i found them to be so cute. but they're cute because it's you.” 

you slowly run your hands up his chest to his shoulder. his breath hitches and body trembles from your touch. with more confidence, jisung pulls your body flush against his own, closing the gap completely.

“so, you like me too?” his voice dips to a whisper. you hum and nod slowly. “do you have any idea how happy that makes me?”

“why don't you show me.” you whisper against his lips, teasing him by brushing yours against his slowly and gently. they feel soft and plump, kissable even. 

“you're playing a dangerous game, yn. you have no idea how long i've wanted you.”

“show me.” you whisper again, furthering your teasing by ever so lightly licking his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue.

“fuck.” jisung groans. his lips crash against yours in a heated kiss that's filled with longing. your eyes widen a little but are quick to flutter close. you melt into the kiss, the both of you becoming synchronised instantly.

you tilt your head to the side a little to allow jisung to deepen the kiss. he licks your bottom lip and you part your lips slowly.

his tongue slides in to meet yours and you're in a battle of dominance that you lose. jisung's hot kisses make you melt and crave for more. you forget about your surroundings, forget where you are. everything is a buzz in your ears and you can only focus on you, jisung and how your body is tingling and twitching.

jisung is the first to pull away. he pants heavily, his own body trembling with excitement. 

“wow.” you hum in agreement. as soon as his lips are off yours, you want them back on you again; whether that's on your own lips or on your body, you don't care as long as you get to feel the softness again.

“is this real?” he asks.

“it's real.” you respond, giggling softly. “and i’m not drunk either so.”

“so, what does this make us?” jisung cautiously asks. he wants to have an idea of what you two are slowly becoming. he wants to make sure you're both on the same page.

“whatever you want us to be, jisung.”

“well, i want you to be mine. i want to show you off to the world, proudly. i want everyone to know that you belong to me. i want to spend every single second of the day with you and during the night, i want to spend every single second caressing your body from head to toe. i want to soak myself in every single bit of detail from your body. i want to drown you in pleasure and my love.” 

you swallow and let out a small, shaky breath at the implications behind his words. your body trembles with excitement and anticipation from where tonight is going to end and for the future with jisung.

“then.. shall we go ditch the party and go back to mine? because i want that too.” with a fast nod of the head, jisung holds your hand and is quick to make way to yours.

“let's go and let's be quick. i want to make you mine, in more ways than one.”

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 13)

summary: now that filming for deadpool & wolverine has finished, you and hugh go back home to new york and he asks you a very important question. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: smut (18+, mdni), hugh can't control himself, spooning (?) position, light choking, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 2.7k a/n: surprise! new chapter dropping a day early hehe. anyway, i've anticipated that this story will have a total of 19 parts (at least for what i have outlined!). we got a few chapters of some good ol' fluff and smut, so hope y'all enjoy! thank you all for reading! 💙💛 as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

You and the rest of the cast and crew are listening to Shawn make a brief speech about the movie, about all the hard work everyone’s put into creating this. It chokes you up, tears stinging your eyes as you do your best to take more photographs. This opportunity was once in a lifetime and now that you and Hugh will be heading home, you wonder if things will change. You had been by his side for the duration of filming and you can’t imagine going back to New York and not being able to sleep next to him, or even wake up with him by your side. 

You look up at Hugh for a moment, still in his Wolverine costume but a large black coat draped around him to keep him warm. You lean against him, his eyes gazing down at you as he leans down to kiss the side of your temple. After Shawn’s speech finishes, everyone claps and celebrates the end of filming. 

You pull away from Hugh to continue to capture moments, smiling to yourself. Some are smiling, some are crying – everyone who was part of this movie had given their all and you just can’t wait to see the finished product for it. You manage to sneak away from the crowd, deciding to walk around the set. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to get to do this again and certainly not with this group of people. It’s bittersweet actually – having to go back home and face reality. 

You stop walking for a moment and hear Hugh’s voice calling your name. You turn to face him, seeing him jog slowly over to you. He gently takes your hand and pulls you into him, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You snuck away,” he points out.

“Just wanted to get one last look,” you smile, moving your arms around him. “Can’t believe we’re gonna be home tomorrow.” 

“This project has been a dream,” Hugh admits. “And having you here made it even better.” 

You look up at him, linking your hands at his lower back. “Thank you,” you say softly. “For bringing me here with you.” 

“I’d miss you hell of a lot if you weren’t here,” Hugh chuckles. “Are you ready to be back in New York?” 

You shrug. “I’m gonna miss seeing everyone everyday. I’m gonna miss seeing you everyday.” 

Hugh smiles, bringing a hand up to tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Me too, baby. I’ve gotten used to you being next to me when I sleep and wake up. Hard to think that we won’t have that when we get back home…” he continues. 

“We’ll manage,” you smile. “I believe in us.” 

Hugh grins. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” he teases.

“That’s something I usually say to you,” you laugh, burying your face against his chest. 

Hugh chuckles and holds you close, shutting his eyes as he holds you in his arms. He isn’t sure how things will change when you both go back to New York, but he has been thinking of asking you a question for months now. When he pulls away, Hugh looks down at you and gently leans in to peck your lips. “Will you stay the week with me when we get back home?” 

“I’d like that.” 

“Good,” Hugh says quietly. “Because I don’t think I wanna let you go yet.” 

“Hm,” you whisper. “You must really love me.”

“More than you even know, baby.” 

—

Back in New York, Hugh finds that having you in his apartment is where you should be. You’re so comfortable in his space and he enjoys the ability to wake up and sleep next to you. It’s something he had gotten used to during filming. The question he’s been wanting to ask lingers over him – even now, when you’re sitting on his couch in a pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts with a book in your lap, he wants so badly to ask you the one question that’s been on his mind. 

He wonders if maybe he’s moving too fast, if maybe you’re not quite ready to take that next step in your relationship. Hugh slowly walks over to you, seeing you look up from your book and a smile immediately lines your lips. He feels his heart race at the sight – almost like he had fallen in love all over again. He watches you set your book on the coffee table and lean back against the couch, arms spread open for him.

Hugh crawls over you and settles himself between your legs, head resting against your chest as his arms wrap around you. He shuts his eyes, feeling your fingertips run through his hair as he lets out a contented sigh. “Hi, baby.” 

“Hey,” you whisper, smiling down at him. “How was the run?”

“Would rather have done cardio with you,” he teases and nuzzles his face further into you, pressing a soft kiss on your chest. 

“You’re insatiable,” you laugh quietly.

“Not true. I’m just addicted to you,” Hugh corrects, slowly opening his eyes to look up at you. 

You roll your eyes playfully, a small smile lining your lips as you feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “What’s gonna happen when I have to go home then?” 

Hugh bites his lower lip, chin resting against your chest as your fingers continue to run through his hair. “What if…” he whispers quietly. “What if you just stay here?” 

“I’ve been here for almost a week, Hugh.”

“I know, but I mean…” Hugh crawls further up your body, hand moving to prop himself up as he stares down at you. “What if you just move in?”

Your eyes slightly widen and you slowly begin to sit up, Hugh following your movements to sit next to you instead. His arm drapes over the back of the couch, a nervous expression written across his features. “You want me to move in? That’s– That’s a big step, Hugh. Are you sure?” 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he answers. “I want you here all the time, but if you still need time, still need space, then I understand. It’s just–” Hugh sighs. “I’ve been thinking about asking you to move in with me for months now.”

“Hugh…” 

He shakes his head, standing up from the couch. “Ah, it’s okay, baby. I don’t want to push you. We can reevaluate at another time.”

“Wait, hey,” you sigh, watching him walk towards the kitchen. You stand up and follow him, seeing him gather his cup and protein. He isn’t looking at you, focused on making his protein shake. “Hugh…” You walk around the counter and gently rest a hand over his forearm, urging him to look at you. When he does, you can see the distress in his features, the subtle embarrassment flickering in his expression. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he sighs. 

“Are you sure about me moving in?” you ask hesitantly. 

“Baby,” Hugh runs a hand over his face and lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sure, but if you’re not ready yet, that’s okay too.” 

“Ask me again,” you say.

“What?” 

“Ask me again,” you repeat. 

“Baby,” Hugh shakes his head. 

“Hugh, ask me again.” 

He bites his lower lip and turns to face his entire body at you. Hugh moves his hands to rest on your hips, clearing his throat anxiously. “Will you move in with me?” 

You move your hands to his cheeks, brushing your thumbs across his soft skin. “Yes, I’d love to move in with you, Hugh.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah, Hugh,” you smile. 

Slowly, a large grin lines his lips and he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you gently off your feet. “Oh, baby, I love you.” he leans in and presses his lips against yours, moving his hands under your legs to lift you onto the counter of his kitchen island. 

Pulling away, you move your hands to his shoulders as he stands between your legs. His hands move along your thighs, biting the inside of his cheek as he keeps his eyes focused on you. “So, I’m moving in.”

“Yeah, yeah you are.” 

—

The next couple of weeks were spent moving your things out of your apartment and into Hugh’s home. This last year with him doesn’t feel real – part of you feels like you’re going to wake up and realize it was all just a dream. You’ve been doing a lot better with your self-talk, with your confidence, and it helps having Hugh and your personal trainer to help you. Jack, on the other hand, hasn’t reached out to you since that night on location. You’re grateful though because you aren’t sure what would happen if he continued to be persistent. 

After all of your things have been moved to Hugh’s place, you look around and notice that your life is now blending in with Hugh’s. He had told his kids about you, even having had the chance to meet them in person. You had told your parents about Hugh, hesitant at first because of the age gap, but they were just glad to see you happy after Jack. 

Hugh comes home late one night after dinner with Shawn and Ryan, only to find you already lying in bed, back facing the door as you’re asleep on your side. The blanket doesn’t do a good job at covering your body because it’s tangled between your legs, exposing your legs and backside for him. He clears his throat at the sight of you, dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of black panties. Quietly, he undoes his jeans and lowers it down his legs, kicking them silently to the side. He grabs the end of his shirt and lifts it over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Now clad in a pair of boxer briefs with his manhood straining the fabric, Hugh slowly climbs into bed, snuggling you from behind. 

His hand moves to your hip, slowly brushing it down the side of your leg and back up to tease the waistband of your panties. Hugh feels you move back against him, your backside now flush with his growing erection. You let out a quiet whimper and unconsciously roll your hips back into him. Hugh leans in and presses soft and light kisses along the side of your neck, your whimpers and moans coming out quiet and breathless. 

He moves his hand lower and pushes your panties to the side, his fingertips brushing against your slit. Hugh sees your eyes flutter open, mouth slightly agape as you stare up at him with slightly sleepy eyes. 

“H– Hugh,” you moan. “You’re back.” 

“Sorry I came home late,” Hugh whispers into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe as he slowly slides one finger into your depths. He groans quietly, feeling your wetness soak his digit. “Been dreaming about me, baby? You’re already wet.”

“Always dream of you,” you whimper, tossing your head back against his shoulder. 

Hugh smirks against you and uses his free arm to wrap around your shoulders, cupping your neck as he applies slight pressure to your throat. He hears you gasp and he thrusts another digit into you, beginning to move his fingers in and out of your soaking heat. “Love coming home to you,” he whispers, teeth grazing your earlobe. 

“Hugh,” you whimper, moving your hand to wrap around his wrist that’s slowly thrusting his fingers in lazy strokes. 

“I can’t control myself when I’m around you,” Hugh admits, keeping his fingers deeply flushed into your heat as he slowly begins to curl them within your depths. You arch your back against him, the sensations of his fingers, his throbbing length against your backside, and his hand around your throat becomes overwhelming – this wasn’t what you expected to happen when he came home from dinner.

“Baby, please,” you moan. 

“Need you bad,” Hugh growls. He pulls his fingers from you and uses the same hand to push his briefs down his legs, kicking them off and away from the bed. He takes a hold of himself and uses your slickness from his fingers to lubricate himself. “Won’t last long,” he admits. 

“Just need you, please,” you whimper, feeling his tip brush against your opening. “Hugh, god, please!” 

Hugh chuckles lowly into your ear, tightening his grip around your throat just slightly as he pushes himself past your folds. He groans and moves his hand from the base of his member to grip your hip, pulling you back into him as he pushes his hips forward. “Fuck, baby,” he moans. “Always feel so good around me.”

He moves the top of your leg slightly forward, opening yourself even further to him as he slides inch by inch into your tight and wet heat. Hugh drops his hand from your throat to grasp your breast from over the shirt you’re wearing, your back flush against his chest. This position is new for the both of you – it’s intimate, slow. 

With his hand on your hip, he grips it tightly as he continues his slow and deep thrusts, eyes falling shut. Hugh’s sounds of pleasure – grunts, growls, and groans – echo in your ear and it only drives you closer to your high. You feel every inch of his throbbing manhood move in and out of you, but your eyes widen slightly when his hand moves from your hip to your front, beginning to rub your bundle of nerves over the fabric of your panties. “Hugh!” 

“Yeah, I know,” he whispers with a growl. “Gotta come for me, baby.”

You nod and push back against him, his fingers applying pressure to your clit as he rubs it in circles. His thrusts become a bit more quick, almost erratic and you know that he’s close too. 

“Feels so good,” you moan, your walls beginning to tighten with each thrust forward. You rest the back of your head against his shoulder, eyes shut tight. Suddenly, when he growls into your ear, your walls tighten around him and you push back into him, body trembling against his own. 

Hugh grins to himself, holding you close to him as he thrusts in and out of you, using your tightened walls to get him closer and closer to his own release. “Baby,” he groans. “Gonna come, oh fuck–” Hugh shuts his eyes tight as he releases into you, his hips coming to a slow stop. 

You feel his warmth fill you up and he’s panting into your ear. When he pulls back slowly, you whimper, feeling the emptiness that his girth and length has left but feeling his seed trickle out of you. 

“I’m so glad you moved in,” Hugh whispers, placing a soft kiss on the side of your neck. “Can have you whenever I want.” 

You smile and slowly move to lie on your back, readjusting your panties to cover yourself up as you stare up at him. You reach up and place a hand on his cheek as he leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss the inside of your wrist. “That was a nice thing to wake up to,” you admit.

“Yeah? You like that, huh?” Hugh winks. 

“Oh yeah,” you smile. “Guess I have to return the favor and wake you up in my own way now.” 

Hugh smirks and lies on his back, pulling you to his side. “Looking forward to it, baby.” 

“How was Ryan and Shawn?” 

“Good,” he answers. “Just planning for the press tour,” he says softly, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Wish you could come with me.”

“I’m all booked with shoots for the next three months, baby.”

“I know,” Hugh turns his head and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ll at least accompany me to the premiere of the movie right?”

“Like a red carpet premiere?” 

Hugh nods. “Yeah, I’d really love for you to be by my side that night.”

“It’ll be the first event since we got together…” 

“Is that okay?” 

You nod and lean up to peck his lips. “As long as I’ve got you, Hugh, that’s more than okay.”

Hugh grins. “And you’ve got me, baby. Always have, always will.”

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

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@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill - @khxna

@jules-and-gemss

[uhbambii]

A Satinalia to Remember

The Dellamorte villa had been transformed. What was once a stately, shadowed retreat of tall pillars, marble floors, and quiet menace now sparkled with golden light and festive color. Twinkling candles lined every windowsill, garlands draped the staircases, and ribbons in deep greens and reds cascaded from every imaginable surface. The air smelled of pine, cinnamon, and something sweet—likely the cookies Rook had insisted that Lucanis prepare earlier that day, all while she “taste tested” the batter.

Lucanis stood in the doorway of the parlor, one arm braced against the frame, a cup of black coffee in hand. His dark eyes scanned the room with a slow, practiced deliberation, but no amount of training could prepare him for this level of… festive assault.

His gaze finally landed on the culprit. Rook was curled up on the couch beneath a soft blanket, one leg tucked under her, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. She had decorated herself almost as much as the room—her hair tied loosely back, a soft sweater that hinted at curves he knew far too well, and the faintest dusting of powdered sugar on her cheek from earlier “taste testing.”

“You know,” he began, his voice a velvety mix of amusement and exasperation, “I’m starting to think the that the De Riva Crows sent you to drown me in garlands and twinkling lights.”

Rook glanced up, her eyes sparkling. “Is that your way of saying you like it?”

Lucanis crossed the room, his stride unhurried, predatory in its precision, before settling onto the couch beside her. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the top of the couch, his fingers idly brushing her shoulder. “Like is a strong word,” he teased, taking a slow sip of coffee. “I’m just wondering if I’ll ever be able to look at my villa again without seeing glitter in the shadows.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Rook replied, smirking as she leaned against him. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she sighed contentedly. “It’s Satinalia! You’re supposed to enjoy it, not sit there brooding like some tragic hero from a bard’s tale.”

“Tragic hero?” He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Tesoro mio, I am neither tragic nor a hero. If anything, I’m the shadow lurking behind the bard, waiting for the right moment to cut his strings.”

Rook rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “You can’t even let Satinalia soften you, can you? All this warmth, this beauty…” She gestured dramatically to the room.

“It’s my charm,” he replied smoothly, his dark eyes glittering as they met hers. “You seem to enjoy it well enough.”

“Hmm.” Rook took a slow sip of her hot chocolate, her lips quirking into a smirk over the rim of her mug. “I do enjoy it. But you know what I’d enjoy more?”

“Do tell,” Lucanis drawled, setting his coffee aside. He leaned closer, his arm tightening around her shoulders. “I’m dying to know what else I can do to make you happy, amore mio.”

She tilted her face up toward his, her eyes locked on his. “Well,” she began, her voice dropping just slightly, “I’d enjoy it if you stopped pretending you don’t love all of this.” Her free hand gestured to the tree, the garlands, the twinkling lights. “Admit it. You love it. You love me. And you love the idea of doing this every year—with our child.”

Lucanis froze for a fraction of a second, his sharp composure cracking just enough for her to notice. His fingers tightened slightly around his coffee cup before he set it down beside her mug, turning to face her fully.

"Our child?" he repeated, his voice low and smooth, though the faintest trace of surprise flickered in his dark eyes.

“Yes,” Rook said matter-of-factly, setting her mug down and turning to face him fully. “Our child. The one we’ll have someday, who will absolutely adore Satinalia because I’ll make sure they have all the best memories of it. And they’ll think their father is ridiculous for pretending to hate decorating.”

Lucanis chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve already planned their childhood, have you? Impressive. Tell me, have involved am I in this scheme of yours.”

“Oh, you’re very much a part of it.” She leaned in, her voice a playful whisper. “You’re going to be the one handing me the tinsel while I tell them stories about how their father tried to outlaw fun before I got here.”

“Outlaw fun?” he repeated, his tone mock-offended. “You make me sound like some kind of tyrant.”

“Maybe you are,” she teased, her fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw. “But I like tyrants. Especially handsome ones with dark eyes and even darker secrets.”

His grin widened, and he caught her wrist, bringing her hand to his lips to press a kiss against her palm. “Flattery will get you everywhere, tesoro.”

“Good,” Rook murmured, her voice softening as she leaned closer. “Because I have plans for you, Lucanis Dellamorte. Big plans. Decorating, parenting, maybe even teaching you how to smile without looking like you’re about to stab someone.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. “You mean you think I can be taught? I must be more charming than I thought.”

“You’re something,” she replied, her lips curving into a smirk.

Lucanis's smile softened as he tilted her chin up with a gentle touch, his dark eyes holding hers as if she were the only thing that existed. "You know, tesoro, you've turned this villa into something more than I ever imagined it could be," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek. "A place where I actually want to stay. A home. Our home."

Rook laughed softly, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "Don't worry, Lucanis. I'll keep your secret... mostly. Although I think I might enjoy people knowing just how soft you are when it comes to me."

His hand slid down to her waist, his touch lingering as he pulled her even closer. "Soft, am I?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his lips brushed along the curve of her jaw. "Careful, Rook, or I'll have to remind you just how dangerous I can be."

"Oh, I'm terrified," she teased back, her voice warm and full of laughter. But her breath hitched as his lips traveled lower, trailing a line of heat along her neck, his hands sliding over her curves with a possessive reverence.

Lucanis's smile deepened as he tilted her chin up with a touch that was both firm and tender, his dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "Do you have any idea what you've done to me, tesoro mio?" he murmured, his thumb brushing slowly along the curve of her jaw. "You've turned my life upside down-and somehow, I can't bring myself to care."

Before Rook could reply, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was far from gentle. It was deep and consuming, the kind of kiss that stole her breath and made her knees weak. His hand slid from her chin to cradle the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he tilted her head to deepen the angle. The pressure of his mouth against hers was unrelenting, as if he were determined to show her everything he couldn't quite put into words.

Rook's hands moved of their own accord, one curling around his neck while the other slid down his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his well-tailored shirt. The heat between them seemed to spark and grow with every touch, every brush of lips, until it felt like the air itself was charged with it.

When Lucanis finally pulled back, his breathing was uneven, his dark eyes burning as they locked onto hers. "You drive me mad," he murmured, his voice low and rough as his hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him. His lips traced a heated path down the side of her neck, lingering at the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Do you know that, Rook? I can't think straight when you're near me."

Rook's laugh was soft and breathless as her hands slid up his chest to cup his face, tilting his head back so she could meet his gaze. "Good," she teased, though her voice wavered with the warmth pooling in her chest. "I wouldn't want to be the only one losing my mind tonight."

Lucanis's smirk returned, but it was darker now, more dangerous. "You're playing with fire, amore mio," he murmured, his lips brushing hers with teasing softness before pulling away just enough to make her chase him. His hands roamed her curves with deliberate slowness, as if memorizing every inch of her. "But I don't mind getting burned."

Before she could reply, he captured her lips again, this time with even more intensity. His kiss was demanding, his hands sliding over her hips and up her sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He pulled her closer, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her blouse to skim the bare skin of her back. The sensation sent a shiver through her, and she pressed herself against him, her nails grazing the back of his neck.

Lucanis groaned softly against her lips, the sound vibrating through her as his hands moved to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as he stood. She let out a surprised laugh, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck as he carried her toward the bedroom with purpose in his stride.

"You could've warned me," she murmured, though the laughter in her voice betrayed her delight.

"And ruin the surprise?" he teased, his voice a low, velvety murmur. "I don't think so, tesoro."

When they reached the bedroom, Lucanis kicked the door shut behind them before lowering her onto the bed with a care that belied the hunger in his gaze. He hovered over her for a moment, his hands braced on either side of her as he studied her, his dark eyes tracing every feature of her face as if committing it to memory.

"You're dangerous," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made her heart race. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "You've wrapped me around your finger, Rook. And Maker help me, I don't ever want to break free."

Her breath hitched as he leaned down, his lips pressing against hers once more, slower this time, but no less passionate. His hand slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist before moving to her thigh, his touch firm and deliberate. The weight of him above her, the heat of his touch, the way his lips moved against hers-all of it left her breathless and wanting more.

Rook's hands found their way beneath his shirt, her fingers skimming the hard planes of his chest as she pulled him closer. Her lips parted against his, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss until it felt like nothing else in the world existed but them.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breathing ragged as he rested his forehead against hers. "Happy Satinalia, Rook," he murmured, his voice rough with affection and desire.

Rook smiled, her hands sliding up to cradle his face as she leaned into him. "Happy Satinalia, Lucanis."

—————————————————————————

So I read somewhere that Satinalia is their version of Christmas? Idk but it was inspo 😌

Eat up? I’m working with bread crumbs atp!

——————————————————————————

[sun-kissy]

saudade — chapter 1

★ series masterlist

sirius black x reader

Sirius runs his hands through your hair, nails drawing gentle lines down your scalp. He moves his fingers down to your face, tracing every curve and dip contouring your features with all the delicateness he can muster. The tip of his finger brushes over your eyelid, trails down your nose, and presses into the soft skin around your dimple.

He pinches your cheek; you giggle, swatting his hand away. If heaven were a place, he was sure it would be here, with you. These are the days he likes best, he thinks. When the war doesn’t feel so impending, like it’s lurking around the corner with its claws out. When he gets to love on you like he was born to.

He catches your hand in his, threads your fingers together. He can’t help but ponder how beautiful it is that your palm was made to fit his, the back of your hand moulded for him to press his lips to. So he does exactly that, kissing your hand with a soft murmur of, “I’m gonna miss you.”

You laugh softly. It’s a beautiful sound, like everything about you is. You tilt your head towards him slightly from where it rests on his lap, and flatten your palm against his cheek. “I’m gonna miss you too, babe. But I won’t be gone for long, you know?”

“But still —” Sirius mutters, unable to stop himself from curling your fingertips towards his lips to peck them again. “Three weeks —“ another kiss to your arm as he pulls you up and forces a surprised yelp out of you, “is a long time,” the last one to your lips, threading his fingers through the hair on the nape of your neck. His other arm snakes around your waist to hold you up.

You grin into his lips, besottedness palpable. He feels like he’s melting into you, your soft lips and saccharine smile enough to drive the sanest of the sane crazy. He wouldn’t have noticed if the kiss lasted a lifetime. That’s what soft love does to a hardened man.

You finally pull away, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. Sirius notes how lovely you look in that moment — swollen lips and strands of hair astray, moonlight from the window dappling your skin. You smile, he’s moonstruck. He commits the image of you in this moment to memory — the softness of your edges and the gentleness of your smile; and tucks it away in a corner of his heart for the nights alone to come.

“Three weeks isn’t that long,” you murmur, sighing indulgently as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Besides, I get to send you those crazy talking patronus things that Albus came up with.”

Sirius pouts, pulling you so your back is snug against his chest. “Even a day without you is long enough. And why can’t I go?”

“Because I’m much better at thinking before I act. That’s why the mission was assigned to me.”

“Yeah, sure,” he snorts, playfully flicking your temple before pecking the spot. “You just got lucky, sweetheart.”

You and Marlene were leaving the next day, with instructions to attempt to find the headquarters of the so-called ‘Death Eaters’. It would take at least three weeks, maybe longer. Dumbledore had mentioned finding the biggest lead yet; hoping it would amount to something. The Order had been coming up empty for weeks now. Voldemort and his army were always two steps ahead, such that every ambush resulted in the loss of your own members, every plan foiled before it could even begin. Fatalities were high, morale was low. This mission had to be a success — one way or another.

Sirius had been trying to hide it behind playful quips and whines of how much he was going to miss you, but he couldn’t deny how anxious he was.

He knew that you could handle yourself, and that Marlene was a damn good witch too. He just couldn’t shake off the fear that maybe the Death Eaters were better.

You notice the subtle dimming of his smile, and turn his face towards yours with a finger on his chin. “Hey,” you press your lips to the corner of his. “I’m gonna be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

He breathes out a heavy sigh, and forces a smile for you. “I know you’re gonna be okay. My girl is one of the brightest witches of her age, isn’t she?”

“Damn right she is,” you grin earnestly, giggling when he pulls you into another kiss. If you noticed his fake smile, you didn’t mention it.

Sirius lets himself get lost in the feeling of you, trying his best to ignore the growing sense of dread gnawing at his heart.

[javier-pena]

the duel

Pairing: knight!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Rating: Mature

Summary: When a grave injustice is done to you, there is only one man who will defend your honor.

Warnings: graphic violence | animal death (a horse gets killed) | death of a close family member | a hint of “who did this to you?” | a lot of historical inaccuracies | reader has long hair | a dash of self-loathing

Notes: I know I'm the slowest writer ever when it comes to working through my 10k follower celebration requests but we're getting there. A very sweet anon requested "Can you just look at me? Please?" with Din Djarin and my brain made that into a medieval AU somehow. Dear anon, I'm not entirely sure this is what you had in mind but I had THE most fun writing it, and I'm so so in love with knight!Din that it's going to be incredibly hard to let him go. As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who said this is the best fic I've written recently - it's amazing what I can achieve when there is no smut to overthink!

The air smells of smoke and horse manure and cold. It smells of blood and death too, but Din isn’t quite certain that he isn’t imagining that. No one has died here, at least not today, and if he keeps his cool, then the sun will set without him having taken yet another life. All he has to do is immobilize his opponent, make him surrender. If he can do that, he’ll win more than one victory today.

He bows, deeply, in front of Lord Marlowe and the assembled guests. To his left, Rhyswald the Crusader does the same, the insincerity evident in the way he inclines his head, moves his feet. Din has every reason to hate Lord Marlowe, every reason to wish the worst on the other man, but he wouldn’t dream of disrespecting him, least of all in his own house.

Rhyswald lifts his head, runs a gloved hand through his blond curls, and dons his heavy helmet. Din ignores the smirk on his face, the way he bares his teeth in something resembling a snarl. He can’t let these things get to him if he wants to walk away from this duel victorious, his hands clean. He lifts his own helmet, ready to hide his face behind the T-shaped visor, when he sees you stand and abandon your seat next to Lord Marlowe. You walk to the edge of the berfrois, your pale blue wool dress looking almost white in the soft light of the winter morning, your dark blue coat billowing behind you. You don’t wrap it around yourself, even though the cold morning air makes you gasp. Your eyes are fixed on Din’s, but he can hardly bear to look at you, his heart in his throat threatening to choke him.

You reach the edge of the berfrois and you seem so close that he thinks if he just extended his arm, he could touch you. And then you extend your arm and his hands begin to tremble. If he had to draw his sword right now, he wouldn’t be able to hold up the weapon. There is something in your hand, a piece of white silk, and you smile at him before letting it go, the cloth gently gliding down in the calm air, toward Din. He steps forward, his hand outstretched, and everything around him vanishes – the lists, the nobles, Lord Marlowe on his high-backed chair, even Rhyswald and his vile face. It’s just you and the token you’re bestowing on him that Din sees.

He secures the piece of silk around his left lower arm, gently pulling it tight with his teeth. By the time he is done, you have returned to your seat, regarding the spectacle before you with cold detachment. Like him, you can’t let this get to you. The world begins to come back with shouts and the sounds of stomping hooves and Rhyswald’s voice snarling some insult Din doesn’t quite catch. He walks over to his horse Razor, tied up at the edge of the lists. Razor is covered in Din’s colors, the dark blue of his father and the silver of his liege, its black fur shiny with sweat already. Din hoists himself up, takes his shield from a knave, and draws his long, heavy sword. With a deep breath, he turns Razor to face Rhsywald.

Din tastes blood on his tongue as he charges at his opponent, blood from where he has bitten the inside of his cheek. Rhyswald’s helmet is obscuring most of his face, but Din can imagine the smirk he is wearing beneath, sure of his victory. After all, didn’t he fight in the crusades? Didn’t he risk his life and soul for king and country? And where was Din while his fellow countrymen were risking their lives overseas? Where was he? Din raises his sword high above his head, channeling all his strength into his right arm, and a growl erupts from his chest, drowned out by Razor’s hooves hammering against the frozen ground.

Din manages to hit Rhyswald’s shield, but the steel glides of the leather reinforcements uselessly. Rhyswald misses Din’s shoulder because he twists out of the way in time but even before Din manages to turn Razor around, he’s there again with a second attack, splintering the top of Din’s shield with a forceful blow. Din changes direction, his back facing Rhyswald for a moment, but the bold move pays off. When he goes in for a second attack, the other man parries his blow with a surprised shout.

Beneath the horses’ hooves, the ground slowly breaks open and becomes uneven while the knights try to gain the upper hand. They are evenly matched, Din has to admit that, but whereas he fights for an advantage, Rhyswald fights to humiliate. When Din parries a blow, Rhyswald tries to hit him with his shield, when Din tries to free his sword, Rhyswald tries to punch his chin or scratch his unprotected lower arms. The longer the horses dance around each other, the harder it is for Din to keep the promise he made to himself.

“You should give up now,” Rhyswald suggests after a while, his voice coming out in strained pants, “because I will kill you if you don’t.”

Din doesn’t reply because there really isn’t anything he could say.

Rhyswald tries to grab Din’s arm but almost loses the grip on his sword and has to straighten his back. “Did no one teach you manners, boy? You answer your superiors.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Din presses out through gritted teeth, the blade of his sword coming down hard against the spaulder protecting Rhyswald’s shoulder but bouncing off it without leaving a mark.

Rhsywald pulls back his steed, disengaging, and Din drops his arm to relieve his straining muscles. “Why not? Did your little harlot forbid you to speak? Because she knows if you talk to me, it’ll only expose her lies?”

Din doesn’t mean to, but he can’t stop himself from charging at Rhyswald in a rash move and missing him when he swerves.

“Oh, so it’s true?” Rhyswald taunts, making his horse prance around Din’s. “Do you always do as she says?

“Shut up,” Din growls. Rhyswald’s grating voice is making his blood boil.

“Apparently not,” Rhsywald remarks, and Din can make out the smirk beneath his helmet. “So tell me, do you believe her little story? Or do you know she’s a liar?”

Din spurs on Razor, the pounding hooves quickening his heartbeat. He’s aiming the blade at Rhsywald’s head, but his opponent predicts the move long before Din can carry it out. Their blades clash and send out sparks. The force of the impact makes pain shoot up Din’s arm and he grunts. Rhyswald doesn’t let him catch his breath. He lands blow after blow, and Din can barely keep him in check while Razor nervously prances beneath him.

“That would explain why she picked you as her champion,” Rhyswald goes on while his blade comes down hard against Din’s shield. “Gullible Din Djarin who’d do anything for the taste of a ma–”

Din kicks, hard, and is surprised when his foot connects with Rhyswald’s middle. Rhyswald gives a shout of surprise, and Din knows his eyes are wide beneath that helmet. With a rattling crash, Rhyswald lands on the hard, trampled ground and his horse takes off with a whinny. Around them, the berfrois erupt with cheers.

Din closes his eyes and the sound changes. It now is the gentle rustling of newly grown leaves swaying in a warm spring breeze. When he opens his eyes, he’s back in Headdon Fort walking the corridors, climbing steep stairs. Outside the windows, the world is breaking out into colors, bright and fresh, while inside the mood is dampened by bad news recently received. As a knight passing through, no one has informed Din of the tragedy. 

Din doesn’t know what he is looking for, only that he is too restless to quietly sit in a chair yet too exhausted from his recent travels to spend his time training. The fort is almost empty since everyone is enjoying the spring sunshine, and Din, in turn, is enjoying the quiet. Until he hears a stifled sob, turns a corner, and finds you leaning against the damp stone wall. You’re crouching, face buried in your hands, a scroll of parchment lying at your feet, and your chest is heaving with violent sobs.

Din should walk away, spare you the embarrassment of being seen at such a vulnerable moment, but he can’t. It’s not his upbringing and training, the chivalry demanded of him. It’s the love he feels for you that makes him rush to your side instead of turning away from you.

You must hear his heavy footsteps despite your preoccupation, and you look up, eyes red, cheeks wet. “Din,” you breathe, your voice hoarse.

His chest tightens at the sound of his name coming from your lips in such a familiar manner. He steps in front of you, unsure whether he is allowed to approach, flexing the fingers on his right hand, still stiff from a recently sustained injury. “What do you need?” he asks.

You smile at him, gently, your grief momentarily forgotten. “It’s Eldrin,” you answer. “He … he died.”

Din’s chest grows tighter, a feeling no longer welcome. Out of your brothers, Eldrin was his favorite. Din had always looked up to the older man, and Eldrin had always treated him like an equal. “How?” he asks.

You shake your head as a new wave of grief rushes over you. Din can’t bear to see you like this. He drops down to his knees next to you, the floor uncomfortably cold through the fabric of his chausses. But he doesn’t care when you lean into him and bury your face against his shoulder. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything anymore except the warmth of your body against his and the way his heart flutters in his chest.

Steadied by Din’s presence, you finally answer. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Din echoes, slinging an arm around your shoulders. The bright spring sunshine seems to darken at your words, and despair settles over the both of you.

“He was trying to save a friend,” you go on, your words muffled against Din’s tunic. “Lord Raaf. He had gotten into a fight, and Eldrin was trying to help him. They were all drunk, it was a stupid, drunken fight.” You sob, and Din can’t help himself. He kisses the top of your head, and feels a stab of pride when you pull him closer.

“Raaf,” you go on after you have somewhat collected yourself, “he said Eldrin got stabbed in the back. I don’t know why.” You look up at him, your eyes impossibly bright with tears. “Why, Din?”

“I don’t know,” Din replies. He could talk about honor, call the murderer a coward, curse his name, but none of these things would help you. Instead, he asks, “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you reply, grabbing fistfuls of Din’s shirt. “He’s dead.”

“Does Raaf know who stabbed Eldrin?”

You nod. “A knight. He calls himself Rhyswald the Crusader.”

“There are witnesses,” Din goes on. “Lord Raaf. He saw it happen. Rhyswald will be brought to justice.”

You give him a tired smile. “I don’t want justice. I want Eldrin to be alive.”

Din’s stomach knots painfully, as if he had been stabbed himself.

It’s the same pain he feels now, back on the lists, watching the murderer push himself into a kneeling position, reaching for his sword. “Stay down,” Din whispers, but Rhyswald lets loose a deep growl and stands, picks up his mud-caked sword.

“You coward!” he shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I should have known that you won’t be able to win this fight without cheating.”

“Enough!” Din barks. “Do you surrender?”

There are whispers all around him as he waits for an answer.

Rhsywald spits, and it comes out red. “No.”

The whispers stop.

Din circles Rhyswald, Razor snorting beneath him. “Then you have made your choice,” he declares with a heavy heart, raising his sword.

Rhyswald charges. Razor, surprised by the sudden movement, rears up and then collapses, the front legs giving way, breaking with a sickening crack. Din hits the ground, hard, the impact pushing all the air from his lungs. One leg gets buried under Razor’s body, while the other twists at an odd angle, and he loses both his sword and shield. The crowd gasps, there are one or two shouts, but Din only hears the blood rushing in his ears, and the rattling sound of Razor’s dying breath.

Din’s vision darkens when Rhyswald casts his shadow down on him. He pulls his sword out of Razor’s chest with a sickening squelch and huffs. “There. Now we’re evenly matched.”

Din places a gloved hand on Razor’s back, the body warm and alive to the touch. He can’t allow himself to feel, can’t allow Rhyswald’s dishonesty to get to him. He pushes the horse off his leg and stands, ignoring the pain in his calf, the way his vision goes dark as blood pounds behind his eyes. He limps to where his sword lies half-buried in the mud, then to where his shield sticks out of a heap of soil. He picks up both weapons, his grip like iron, and turns to face Rhyswald.

They circle each other; every other step is agony to Din, but it doesn’t escape him that Rhyswald holds his elbow at an odd angle or that his helmet has shifted, obscuring his view. Din shakes his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears but it doesn’t help. He loosens the grip on his sword, then tightens it again, and before Rhyswald can take on a defensive stance, he rushes toward him, his only goal to inflict as much pain as possible. He can let himself have that, he decides, as long as it doesn’t cloud his judgement.

Steel meets steel, and Din’s ears are now ringing with the sweet sound of combat. Rhyswald manages to keep him at bay, but no matter how hard he tries to get a blow in, Din doesn’t let him. He forces Rhyswald to defend himself, forces him to back away from Razor’s dead body, forces him to fight for his life. Rhyswald is strong, his defenses are tough, but once in a while, there is a crack in them, and Din exploits it ruthlessly.

Rhyswald’s shield splinters in half after Din hits it repeatedly, and the two halves fall to the ground, useless. Din can’t help but smile a cruel smile, already tasting victory, but without the additional weight, his opponent is faster and finally gains the upper hand. He pushes back against Din’s assaults with vicious jabs, forcing Din to divide his attention between parrying Rhyswald’s blows with his shield and defending himself with his sword.

Din’s arms grow heavy, so heavy that every time he has to raise his sword it feels like a task impossible to accomplish. Rhyswald seems to tire too – his footfalls are heavy and he grunts every time he swings his sword at Din. But when the blade lands against Din’s right cuisse, he feels the blow in his entire body and his knee gives way, making him stumble. Rhyswald goes for Din’s standard next, and it’s only through sheer force of will that he manages to parry that blow. The audience gasps, groans, and then falls silent.

“Don’t you hear?” Rhyswald hisses, pushing his blade down against Din’s. Every muscle in Din’s arm is screaming for him to give in. “They hate you. They want to see you dead. Why don’t we give them what they want?”

He kicks Din in the chest, swirls around, and with the force of a final blow lets the blade of his sword rush toward Din. Din lets out a hoarse shout as his lower arm is sliced open and hot blood spurts out, drenching his tunic. Steam rises in the freezing air.

“You should give in now,” Rhyswald suggests. “It would spare you the pain and humiliation.” He reaches for Din’s injured arm, for the piece of silk tied around it; Din draws back with a hiss. Darkness settles over Rhyswald’s face. “Have it your way then.”

He raises his sword high above his head at the same time as Din raises his shield, and when blade hits wood, Din pushes himself up, flinging his cover at Rhyswald. He feels bile rise in his throat at the effort; instead of air, it feels like he is breathing in fire, but he stands, and Rhyswald struggles for a moment, caught off-guard by Din’s resistance. Still, Rhyswald has a point – it would be so easy to give in, to stop here and let fate take its course.

The glove on Din’s left hand is growing heavy with blood. He glances down to examine the damage and his eyes land on the piece of silk Rhyswald tried to touch, the token you gave him, convinced he would be victorious. He promised you, did he not? He offered his services to bring you justice, to right that terrible wrong that had been done to you. He can’t give up, no matter how much he wants to. Not when you are up there in the berfrois, all your hopes resting on him. Your hands are doubtlessly clenched in your lap, your eyes are wide with terror. You are praying, he is sure of that – not to a merciful God, but to him, begging him to keep going.

“You’re tougher than I had thought, I’ll give you that.” Rhyswald’s voice sounds tinny from beneath his helmet, and it lures Din out of his thoughts and back onto the lists. “But you still have to resort to tricks to gain the upper hand.”

Din is barely listening to the words. His eyes are roaming Rhyswald’s armor, looking for a weak spot, a small opening he could attack. There is nothing, not even a loosening rerebrace. But the way Rhyswald is holding his sword, his grip lax … if Din could disarm him, this fight would be over.

With an outcry, hoarse and violent, he storms at Rhyswald who is too late to raise his sword to defend himself. It flies out of his grip and lands somewhere to his right, halfway sinking into the mud. There is some careful applause coming from the berfrois, one or two cheers, as people are trying to figure out what just happened. Din feels a smile forming on his lips, one that is cold and calculating, as he allows himself this small indulgence because no one can see it.

Rhyswald looks at his useless sword, lets the implication of it no longer being in his hand sink in. Then he huffs and rolls his shoulders. Din steels himself for another insult, hopes for a swift surrender, but stiffens when Rhyswald loosens his heavy morning star from his belt.

“We’re just getting started,” he sneers.

Din rolls his neck, his shoulders, then flings his sword from him. There is one faint shout of, “No!” somewhere in the distance, and all he can hope is that it did not come from you. “Forgive me,” he whispers, pulling his pernach out of the loop on his belt.

When Rhyswald charges, morning star swinging at his side, Din is ready for him.

The air around him warms as the lists vanish and are replaced by a ground of dust, dry air being swirling up in the hot summer sun. Din takes a step to the side and twists his upper body, avoiding his opponent who rushes past him with a curse. Din turns and kicks him in the backside so he lands on the dry ground, face first. The other men clap and cheer, and Din runs the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat and dirt.

That is when he spots you rushing toward him, your hands balled into fists at your sides, your footfalls heavy with anger. Din hears the other knights snicker, one or two whistle, but he ignores them. His entire world has become you – there is no room for anything else.

“What happened?” he asks as soon as you are close enough to hear him.

You stop in front of him, your eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t know who else to talk to,” is all you say.

Din softly closes his hand around your elbow. “Come,” he says, “let’s go.”

There are some lewd comments, some more whistles, but you don’t seem to hear them. You let yourself be guided into the shadow of one of the trees in the enormous courtyard, where the heat is a little less punishing, and prying ears have a hard time overhearing your conversation.

Din takes in your appearance, your fine dress, your long hair, braided intricately, and his face heats with the realization of how he must look next to you, dirty and sweaty and half undressed, with his tunic hanging open and its sleeves rolled up, curls rumpled, hands brown with dust. You don’t seem to mind though.

“Rhyswald was acquitted.” Your voice is strained with anger and hatred; Din barely recognizes it. “The king has acquitted him.”

Din wishes he could offer you words of comfort. Instead, all he manages is a suppressed, “What?”

It should not be like this, was not supposed to go like this. You were convinced the king’s verdict would bring you justice, and Din was convinced of the righteousness of your cause. After all, Rhyswald had stabbed Eldrin in the back, in front of witnesses. Maybe you had misheard the king, misunderstood his verdict.

You lower your eyes at Din, and for a moment he thinks you’re redirecting your anger at him. “He didn’t believe Raaf, said Raaf was too drunk to know what he saw.”

“But there were others,” Din presses, unable to make sense of it all, “other witnesses. People who say Rhyswald …” He finds himself unable to finish the sentence.

You begin to pace beneath the shadow of the tree, your face shiny with sweat. “None of them confirmed Raaf’s story. They said it was too dark, they can’t be sure of what they saw, Rhyswald wasn’t drunk, they want to believe his story. The king said it wasn’t enough.”

Din watches you pace, rooted to the spot by his uselessness. He hears the clanging of swords, the shouts and cheers – the other knights must have resumed their training, already tired of poking fun at him. He hears the song of a bird high up in the tree above you, and the high laughter of a little girl somewhere close by. They all go on with their lives as if the world had not just ended.

“There must be something we can do,” Din finally says. “Maybe the king will reconsider if …”

“If what, Din?” you snarl. He flinches. You notice, and your face falls. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help but there is nothing we can do to change his mind. There is only …”

“You can’t give up,” Din interrupts you. “There has to be a way. We will find one.”

Your face softens as you gift him a smile. “There is one way. The only way. But it’s hopeless.”

“Tell me,” Din demands, taking both your hands in his.

You lower your gaze to where your hands are joined. “Trial by combat,” you answer. “If God’s verdict were to be in favor of my brother …”

Din tightens his hold on you. “Why would that be hopeless? Aren’t you convinced of Rhyswald’s guilt?”

You wind your way out of Din’s grip. “It’s not that. I don’t have a champion.”

Din blinks, trying to sort through his thoughts. “I’m sure your fiancé …”

“Lord Marlow accepts the king’s verdict,” you cut him off. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Din pulls you close. “Yes. There is.”

The sharp pain in his right arm brings Din back to the present. It has to be broken, judging by the way it uselessly hangs at his side. When the morning star hit the rerebrace, Din could hear the sickening crack it made. Rhyswald could too, and it put a cruel smile on his face, one Din could see all too clearly now that Rhyswald lost his helmet somewhere in the mud. Din tries to flex his fingers, tries to bend his right arm at the elbow, but the responding pain makes his vision darken and stars dance in front of his eyes.

Opposite him, Rhyswald looks how Din feels. His bottom lip is split, his teeth are red with blood. He spits and a tooth lands at his feet. Din inhales sharply and tries to straighten his back, but Rhyswald chooses this moment to charge at him, the morning star long forgotten, lost somewhere on the battlefield. Din glances longingly at his pernach, now too heavy for him to wield with his broken arm, then widens his stance, bracing for the impact.

Rhyswald is aiming for his shoulder, but Din takes a calculated step back and Rhyswald misses. He stumbles but immediately regains his balance, his eyes wild with rage. Din can’t help but smile.

Rhyswald reaches for Din’s left arm, which is still bleeding, and Din hisses when his hand closes around it, hard. He struggles against the grip, but can’t use his right hand to push Rhyswald off, and when he yanks back his arm, he only pulls his opponent toward him. Rhyswald closes his other hand around Din’s throat, but Din twists back his head, then brings his helmet down hard against Rhyswald’s temple. That does the trick.

Rhyswald stumbles back and Din falls forward, grunting in pain. He can make out the tears and dents in Rhyswald’s armor where he was able to do some damage with his pernach, cut so deeply he drew blood, but it wasn’t enough. Rhyswald still stands, still fights. And Din knows he cannot take much more of this.

Rhyswald kicks, aiming for Din’s legs, and when Din tries to evade him, his leg gives way and he folds, falling to his knees in front of Rhyswald. Then his head starts ringing, and he realizes Rhyswald is pommeling the helmet with his bare hands, trying everything to make Din surrender. And Din wants to. By God, he wants to! He’s so exhausted he can’t even tell if this fight is real or if he blacked out minutes ago and this is all a fever-induced vision.

Rhyswald lands a kick against Din’s chest, and Din crashes to the ground. It has begun to snow, and as he is lying there, looking up into the sky, he can see the flakes dancing around him. When Rhyswald straddles him, sinking to his knees on either side of Din’s torso, he can’t find the fight in him to oppose him. Instead, he lets Rhyswald punch him, his chest, his chin; his head rings every time Rhyswald’s fist connects with his helmet, but there is no point in fighting back when it’s so easy to lie here and watch the snow come down gently.

Rhyswald curses, trying to pull Din’s helmet off his head. But his gloves are slick with blood and mud, and he cannot find purchase against the smooth iron. Din shakes his hands off with a grunt and his head comes to rest on its side where he has a clear view of the berfrois. A clear view of you.

You are halfway out of your chair, your eyes wide with shock. His chest constricts, the pain unbearable, so much more violent than anything Rhyswald did to him today. If he doesn’t fight back, this will be the last thing he sees, his last conscious thought will be that he disappointed you. And maybe that’s what he deserves. He killed so many people, ruined so many lives – this is his punishment for all the hurt he brought into this world. What’s one more broken person? What’s one more ruined life? Of course, the only thing he can give you as his present on your wedding day is for you to watch him get butchered. He lived his life dishonorably, of course it has to end the same way.

Drained, he closes his eyes, waiting for the end to come.

When he opens them again, it’s you he sees. Your eyes are bright, and you try to hide a grin behind the back of your hand, but he gently takes your wrist and pulls it away from your face. He can’t remember the last time he saw you smile like this, and he wants to savor every second of it.

You kiss him again, and it’s as if he was forgotten how to breathe. All he feels is the gentle press of your lips against his, the way you’re still so unsure but so, so eager to have him like this. It makes his heart bloom like a meadow in springtime. He can’t help himself – he has to cup your cheek. You shudder against him in response.

“Let us stay here forever.” The words are out before he can stop them.

You glance up into his eyes, your face so unguarded it makes him want to fight for your affection. Makes him want to die for it too. “I wish we could.” You push him back against the hard stone wall of the alcove you’re hiding in. “Let’s not talk about it.”

The next time you kiss him, he can taste your grief on your lips. “There’s –,” he starts, but you shake your head.

“No.” You touch your finger to his lips, and he freezes, blood rushing downwards, tight between his legs. “Din … I’m so sorry.”

There is nothing for you to be sorry for, no choice he regrets making where you are concerned, but hearing you say those words makes a lump form in his throat. “Don’t.” He kisses you to hide the ache that has to be written all over his face. “It’s what you have to do. You have your duties, as I have mine.”

You lace your fingers with his, squeezing them hard. He presses his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling.

“I’ll always be yours, Din. Always.”

Din reaches for his dagger strapped to his thigh, gritting his teeth against the pain. Rhyswald’s triumphant grin is wiped off his face when Din knees him in the crotch before stabbing him between his ribs where his armor has shifted. Rhyswald lets out a pained grunt, his eyes falling shut, as he tries to grab Din’s wrist to pull the dagger back out. Din does it for him, relishing the wet sound it makes against Rhyswald’s flesh. Then he pushes Rhyswald off him and rolls onto his side, arm braced against the other man’s chest, pushing himself onto his knees. The pain that is everywhere in his body now is almost unbearable, makes him want to vomit and pass out, but the sight of Rhyswald’s eyes, widened in terror, keeps him going.

Din closes his left hand around Rhyswald’s throat and Rhyswald starts kicking his legs in panic, clawing at Din’s fingers and arm. But Din doesn’t let go, only pushes him deeper into the mud. This isn’t the first time he is taking a life, and he knows it won’t be the last, but he will never again enjoy killing someone this much. He tightens his hold on Rhyswald’s throat, watches as his eyes begin to bulge, and he feels a strange calm come over him. It’s easy to grab the dagger, even with his broken arm, so easy to press the blade against the skin of Rhyswald’s throat, and even easier still to cut, one smooth motion, followed by blood, so much blood. It seeps into Din’s gloves, hot in the freezing winter air, drenches his hands so all the world can see he has taken another life.

Din doesn’t let go until Rhyswald’s eyes cloud over and he stops twitching. He pushes himself away from the dead body, a pained growl passing his lips. He isn’t shaking – that will come later – but he isn’t feeling the satisfaction he thought he would feel. He raises his eyes and glances up at the berfrois, up to where you are sitting. It’s not as if he had expected you to jump out of your chair and cheer for him, but he had hoped for some acknowledgement of a job well done. Instead, he finds you staring at him, eyes wide with terror, and he looks down at his soiled gloves and the man next to him, his throat cut open like a red, angry maw.

You would look at Din like that. Not with relief or adoration, but with terror. After all, now that you have seen his uglier side, you recognized the kind of monster he truly is. And who could love a monster, even if that monster killed for you?

Din kneels in the cold mud, eyes fixed on his hands, his terrible hands that have done so much bad in this world. He should have surrendered, should have let Rhyswald kill him. But there are men carrying his corpse away, and Din has to go on living, knowing the only person he truly loves despises him. He wishes there were cheers or curses, people talking, getting ready to leave, discussing the duel, anything, but it’s so quiet and he is alone with his thoughts that are so loud. He’s even alone on the lists now, Rhyswald’s corpse having been carried off, and still, he can’t bring himself to get up and leave. He can’t even raise his head because looking at you again would kill him.

His world turns pale blue as you come to stand in front of him. You kneel, not caring about spoiling your wedding dress – you’re kneeling in the dirt and blood, and you say, “Can you just look at me? Please?” but Din can’t. He doesn’t want to face your hatred, even if that makes him a coward.

Your voice is so soft as you repeat that, “Please,” and it does something to him, reminds him that he can never refuse you. His broken arm twitches painfully as his heart picks up speed, and then he looks up.

You have a soft smile on your face, one he had thought he’d never see again. You raise your hands, lifting the helmet off his head, and then you press your forehead to his, just like he did with you before you told him you’ll always be his.

“I love you,” you whisper into the cold winter morning.

That’s all he needs from you.

If you enjoyed the fic, I’d love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime …

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[mangooes]

I successfully, seduced a Dragon?? (or not)

Note = This is a very not so long one shot (might make it a short series) But this is heavily inspired by dragon and donkey from shrek. Please someone get me LMAO anyways enjoy!

Deep in the village of Tarus city, (name) your ordinary villager, lives a normal simple life. Well that changed when she was forced to look for a hidden herb in the mountains. 

“You must leave, no buts..we don’t have any more space for you to live…!” The village chief said as he dragged (name) across the village with a stern look. 

“Ow ow ow okay okay you cowards, I’ll leave, happy???Just stop dragging me!” (name) shouts, “ouch” she says when she feels the floor underneath her after the chief practically throws her out of the village. 

“So, I've just gotten kicked out of my own house? touche.” (name) said as she taps on her farmer pants to whip the dust off her. She stands up, her legs practically dragging across the road as she makes her journey to the large forest before her. 

“It’s all or nothing i guess..” the girl sighed before accepting her fate of possibly getting killed in the forest instead of the mountain. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meet (name) your ordinary worker in Linkon city, well used to. That is until she fell asleep due to exhaustion, and woke up in a completely different setting. No longer the big high rise buildings, she was met with the surroundings of an old styled room, seemingly built from wood with a texture like some kind of elven age. When she opened the door she was greeted with a view of an old village. She thought  this was all a dream. Pinching herself, slapping herself to try and wake herself from this weird dream, all she gets is a bruised cheek and a red arm instead. 

‘Damn life, that sucks.’ (name) thinks when she first realized. But now she thinks… IT'S THE BEST THING TO HAPPEN TO HER LIFE!! No more office work, no more hunting, no more of the N109 zone, no more of a certain black crow always pestering her with its loud caws, no more of a certain white haired man who always seems to poke fun at her even tho he is undeniably hot- /slap 

What was she thinking?? Stop thinking about that white haired grandpa damn it! This is her new life. She's going to dream for real this time! Tired of her old repeat routine, Now she's going to live a slacker life with no attention as your typical normal NPC!...........

That's all a lie though.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's been 4 days since she departed from her village, having no intention of going back to her (disgusting) village, (name) decides to live as a traveller (basically homeless now LMAO). With no maps, or compass, or any sign of ways for her to go, she just walks to a random destination, trusting her so-called “hunter instinct or feelings  I guess”. 

‘Now that i think of it, I kinda missed him…his stupidly annoying handsome face, his warm hugs, teasing personality’ (name) spaces out as she blinks a couple of times before a sound of a slap echoes through the forest followed with a loud exaggerated gasp. “No way… no way no way no way no way!” (name) frantics as if cringing on herself. “Why am I thinking of that guy in a time like this..” she ponders “Maybe I kind of like, like like him… just a bit.” she admits, her voice a bit more shy..a blush erupts on her cheek before she shakes her head in disapproval and continues her track as her gaze falls downwards. “Should I try finding a way back home..? “

“What a bummer, life seems boring again……guess life is meaningless after all…” a sigh escaped from her lips as she kicked a random pebble on her way up the mountain. Only for the pebble to hit a large boulder… with a rock stuck underneath it. As the saying goes ”curiosity kills the cat” (name) decided to inspect the said rock, finding it suspicious. Her face lights up in mischief. 

“Woah did I just find a secret cave or something ??? so cool linkon city could never.” (name) gasps in admiration, laughing at her own joke (heh) as she kicks the rock a  few times before the said rock completely rolls over to the side due to the sudden force. 

As she stumbles forward through the hole she just discovered..a giant cave comes in view. Seemingly natural, though it looks well taken care of.. as if somebody is living inside- 

Realizing her situation right now (foolishly) she decides to explore more ignoring the exit of the cave that is openly wide right now! :DD yay congrats you just got a death wish (name)! 

Walking slowly, her footsteps quite from her experience as a hunter she creeps in, her back against the rough walls of the cave… nearing the end of the tunnel (aka cave entrance typa thing) she peeks over the cave walls to check in on the surroundings making sure if its clear or not. Except it's not. 

A man with a serpentine long….tail.?...black horns, armored clothing..?...clawed hands… and an exposed back… with abs.. WITH ABS?!?!?!/slap

‘Pull yourself together (name)!’ she thinks shaking her head for the 10th time today in disbelief. Can’t believe miss girl is hustling over abs instead of the weird claws, tails, and stuff that isn’t supposed to be in a HUMAN’S body. Huh..? white hair… that signature hairstyle too! It seems so familiar. Hmmmm… ‘I can’t seem to remember where I've seen this before…’

She watches as the said man seemingly..asleep…?? with its relaxed state. ‘Time to get a closer look i guess..’ (name) tip toes as she steady her breathing to avoid the target of her curiosity (and admiration/ you got good taste (name)/j) reaching in front of the sleeping man..?? Is he even a man in the first place? She takes a closer look at his features. ‘Those wrinkly eyebrows, sharp jawline, trained ABS??/slap- wait im sure ive seen a person with this same.. iconic features…no way WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SYLUS??’ her mouth hanging from her face in shock, as she instinctively puts her foot in an awkward angle, leaning against the rocky surface of a makeshift throne (?) as if kabedoning the man (unintentionally- ehm girl) to take a closer look of course not pounding this hot motherfu-. 

Before she could continue her HOLLY  thoughts, red blood eyes now stared at her in amusement and annoyance. Uh oh that can’t be good. 

“Your footsteps are noisy...” the man(?) no actual dragon said with a disappointed sigh “And you breathe heavily..” his deep signature baritone voice cuts through the air, as he looks at her in a teasing manner, smirking with his eyebrows tilted upwards as if saying ‘enjoying the view?’ Meanwhile our protagonist just stands there dumbfounded, processing everything, until a blush crept to her face.

 “Wait what no this is all a misunderstanding i swear!  in the name of mephisto’s gem collections..hOLLY-” before finishing her rambles as she stands backing away from the now awake dragon man. A rough textured tail with sharp edges snaked up to her waist pulling her closer to the said dragon. Oh how the tables have turned..now (name) is the one under the man… OH SHIT UNDER THE MAN DRAGON??

“Before you try to kill me, did you consider that it would end like this?” his voice mused, as he the sharp edgy (sexy) looking tail snakes up to her waist in an awkward angle.

‘Huh?’ the girl deadpans as if her whole world just came into ruins. “Sylus! Don’t you recognize me?!?!?!” she looks up towards him in an irritated manner.

“How do you know my name, human? I’m guessing you humans tell a tale or two about me hm?” Sylus looks down towards the girl with a raised brow. “You didn’t answer my question, My patience runs thin…i think you would make a great afternap breakfast for me-” he teased opening his mouth to bare out those dragon fangs-

“Huh…? WAIT WAIT! I swear i have no intention of killing such a…uhhh” (name) pauses thinking of her next word choice. ‘Think (name) you stupid! what to say what to say!’ in a panic she remembers a scene from her all time favourite movie. The shrek, bravo (name) you are a genius! As she thinks of an absurd idea in her head. SLAYY GO GIRL GIVE US NOTHING! Eh back to the scene-

(name) shakes her head as she faces the person holding her captive, “I mean ehm mighty…handsome dragon..” as she makes a (stupidly) smirking face wiggling her eyebrows up and down in an attempt on… flirting…

Now that she thinks of it, she's flirting with sylus right now, a different version of sylus. Her mind barfed at the idea, the sylus she knew would probably teased her endlessly, asking mephisto to save the recording of such an historical event. But now is not the time. Urgent matters and her life (for once) is in the hands of death! 

“Huh such a strange being..are you even human?” The dragoman sylus chuckle in amusement (that's kinda hot) . “Ouch, that's offensive you big grown lizard. I’m hurt.” (name) replied in a disappointing manner. “Tsk tsk what a shame..” she continued blinking her eyes purposely. Blink twice if you need help, blink thrice if you want to touch that stacked chest and put it in bed- /stop get some help touch some grass. 

“I see your overconfidence truly led you to believe I'd be merciful…” the man smirks, in mirth as if enjoying the revelation in front of him. “Humans tend to be scared of such little things, running away when they catch sight of a dragon. Here you are entering my territory without permission…what a brave little mouse you are.” 

“Mouse?? excuse you..?-” (name) retorts as she yelps, feeling the serpentine tail earlier wrapping tightly (wow sylus wow) on her waist. “Feel your heartbeat right now..” the man whispered on her neck as she could practically feel the hot breath glazing her skin, his eyes looking at hers seductively.

“Don't forget if I apply more pressure at this very spot your heart will never beat again..” he grins like a devil. Mischief could be seen in his face as if he's enjoying teasing her to death. 

“Wait wait is calling you handsome not enough!??! I swear-” (name) replies.

“Hush now mouse..hmm ah yes..you are certainly amusing hm?” a clawed finger brushed her lips as the dragon man seemingly deep in thought. 

The girl with a disgusted face jerks away from the clawed finger speaking in a more impatient tone..” Yeah yeah since I have no use for you, why not just let me go yeah? Big strong handsome dragon..” the girl said in a sing-song voice as she moved, in an attempt to break free from the strong grip of his muscled arms and strong tail. “Are you going to stay this weak forever?” The dragon laughs in return, a pause before continuing “No.. I'm keeping you here lil mouse.” He smirked. HE SMIRKED. “And dragons tend to get possessive. We don’t exactly let our prey go with nothing in return..”

‘Ah I’m fucked.’ (name) thinks as an irritated smile crept to her face. “Oh yeah? try me drago.” she challenges with the most annoying expression she could muster up. A deep chuckle vibrated as a clawed hand grazed her neck, removing her strands of hair delicately.. bingo dinner is served. (Is (name) cooked? or cooking?)  

“This will be the mark for the first time.” Sylus says as he licks his long draconic tongue in hunger. “Until this mark disappears, prove to me you can be stronger.” He continues. (name) only looks at him in disgust. “Huh wait don’t tell me you're going to do what i'm thinking-” the girl says as different kinds of scenarios popped up tiny little head. “Wait don’t-!”

 Before she could finish her sentence, a pair of draconic fangs sinks into her skin, creating a black and red ancient mark on her neck…wait her neck?? DID SHE JUST GOT BITTEN BY A DRAGON? no wait MARKED?!?! Registering the pain she just felt now and how her mind seems to go bozo. A scream erupts from the cave deep inside the mountains, as the abyssal dragon takes a bite of his newly prepared delicious meal. 

ouch, that must have hurt a ton…. do it again sylus that's kinda hot- /slap

(PS , IM SO CRAZY OVER SYLUS'S MYTH CARD AND LIKE ASKDJASNK HELP ME)

[rainforestakiie]

one more to go for the Adamsapple Harvest Month ! I am looking forward what you have been cooking for this, since it's a free choice day !

Love all your stories ! Sending Adamsapple vibes 💕💕

aww, thank you so much! your support throughout harvest meant so much for me! i didn't think i would have gotten so many of them done! i tried my very best to make each one different!

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Free Day~

Part 01 - Part 02

this took me so long to settle on. i had so many different ideas and thoughts. in the end, i tried to do something new and different. i hope you like this! i hope you all like this!

@adamsappleweek

The woman's scream tore through the silence of the night, a harrowing sound that pierced even the suffocating darkness. Above, the midnight sky roiled with thunder, as if the heavens themselves shuddered at her anguish. Inside the sprawling, dimly lit manor, the air was thick with murmurs. Maids in crisp black-and-white uniforms scrambled through the halls, their skirts swishing as their polished boots clattered against the wooden floors. They carried steaming bowls of water, towels, and freshly laundered sheets, their whispers weaving a tapestry of unease as they darted between the master bedroom and the washroom.

In the heart of the chaos, the lady of the house wailed, her cries echoing down the long, shadowy corridors. The flickering gaslights buzzed, their unstable glow casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. When the grandfather clock struck midnight, her screams abruptly ceased, leaving behind a dreadful silence that seeped into every corner of the house.

The servants moved like ghosts, their heads bowed, eyes averted as they passed the master of the house. He stood in the corridor, his face carved from stone, his hands clenched into trembling fists. The whispers rose around him, faint but persistent, carried like a curse through the air.

The young master is a monster, they said. The words slithered from one mouth to another, infecting every ear. The newborn is a freak.

The master clenched his jaw as his advisers urged him to dismiss the servants' gossip, but the words gnawed at him, relentless. Upstairs, his wife lay pale and weak in their grand four-poster bed. Her once-vivid curls were now limp, splayed across her pillow like wilted vines. The maids hovered around her, cleaning her, changing her gown and the blood-stained sheets. She opened her eyes only when her husband entered the room.

"Where is my baby?" she whispered, her voice trembling like the last note of a dying song.

The master said nothing at first. He knelt beside her, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Her breath hitched, her frail hand clutching at his. Her wide, red-rimmed eyes darted to the empty cradle beside the bed. The absence of her child was a gaping void, a silent accusation. When he tried to soothe her, stroking her hair, she turned away, her body shaking with silent sobs. The master rose, his chest tight, and left the room without another word. Behind him, her grief erupted, a raw sound that reverberated through the house.

Down the corridor, he stormed past servants who scurried out of his way, their whispers like the hiss of snakes. A monster, they said, a freak. Their words followed him to the nursery, where he threw the door open with such force that it banged against the wall.

The baby cried, a thin, fragile wail that pricked the air like needles. An elderly woman, seated beside the cradle, glared at him.

"I just got him to sleep," she snapped.

Ignoring her, the master approached the cradle, staring down at the bundle of blankets that obscured his son.

"This—this cannot be," he muttered, his voice thick with revulsion.

The old woman—his mother—sighed and began to rock the cradle gently. "He's a baby, not a monster. He just needs love, Nathaniel."

A scoff came from the corner. "Love?"

The adviser, a man with sharp features and a colder demeanour, leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "Love won’t hide what he is. The boy’s existence is a stain on your name, Nathaniel."

"Enough!" Nathaniel barked, his voice cracking through the room like a whip. He turned to the doctor, who stood by the rain-streaked window, twisting his hands nervously.

"How did this happen?" Nathaniel demanded. "You told us nothing was wrong!"

The doctor hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor.

"I—I did inform you," he stammered. "The condition is rare, but it happens. It's not genetic; it can occur in any family. Your son has... Phocomelia."

"Phocomelia?" Nathaniel repeated, the word foreign and bitter on his tongue.

The doctor nodded, explaining haltingly that the condition affected the baby's limbs, leaving them underdeveloped. He spoke of challenges, of a life that would be different but not devoid of meaning.

But Nathaniel’s face grew darker with every word. "This is not what I expected," he said coldly. "This is not my son."

"You haven’t even held him," his mother spat, rising from her chair. "You look at him as though he's some cursed thing, but he is your flesh and blood!"

The adviser sneered. "Flesh and blood? He’ll bring nothing but shame to this family."

"Do not speak of my grandson that way," the old woman snapped, her voice shaking with fury.

Nathaniel leaned over the cradle, peeling back the blankets with trembling hands. The sight of the baby—tiny, fragile, and undeniably different—seemed to drain the colour from his face.

"No," he whispered. "This... This cannot be my child."

"Then give him to me," his mother said, her voice thick with disgust. "If you cannot see him as your son, I will take him."

But Nathaniel ignored her. His hands shook as he picked up the baby, the child’s cries filling the room again. His mother screamed for him to stop as he stormed out, the baby clutched tightly in his arms. He ran through the rain-soaked streets, the icy drops drenching him as his mind raced with dark, unthinkable thoughts.

At the river’s edge, he stopped, staring at the dark, swirling water.

"You were supposed to be perfect," he murmured, his voice cracking. "Not... this."

But he couldn’t do it. Something inside him faltered, and instead, he turned and stumbled to a nearby bus stop. Placing the baby in a small wooden box, he wrapped the blankets around the child one last time. The baby whimpered, his tiny face crumpling, but Nathaniel couldn’t bear to look.

"Forgive me," he whispered, before walking away.

The rain fell harder as a woman, hurrying home, spotted the box. Her sharp intake of breath cut through the storm as she lifted the crying baby, her heart aching at the sight. She looked around the empty street, but no one was there.

Hugging the baby close, she whispered, "You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you."

The rain had soaked the small bundle through by the time the woman found him. Her trembling hands carefully lifted the wooden box, and she gasped softly at the sight of the newborn. The baby's cries were weak but insistent, his tiny face scrunched up against the cold. Pressing him close to her chest, she shielded him from the relentless downpour with her threadbare coat.

As she hurried home to her crumbling flat, her mind raced. Who could abandon such a fragile life? It wasn’t until she reached the safety of her dimly lit apartment and carefully unwrapped the blankets that she understood. Her heart clenched painfully as her eyes travelled over the tiny form: no arms, no legs—just the delicate torso of a child struggling to exist in a world that already seemed against him.

She wept then, not out of horror but out of heartbreak. How could anyone look at this innocent life and see only what he lacked? To her, the child was perfect, as if he had been entrusted to her for a reason.

"Adam," she whispered softly, cradling him close. "I’ll love you. I promise."

Life with Adam was not easy. The woman, whose name was Clara, worked tirelessly to care for him. Her rundown flat, with its peeling wallpaper and drafty windows, was barely a home, but she made it warm with her love. Adam grew, a curious and bright boy, but his care required more than Clara could often afford. Medical bills piled up alongside rent, utilities, and the cost of even the most basic groceries. Clara took on four jobs—cleaning houses, working nights at a diner, mending clothes for neighbours, and even scrubbing floors at the local church. She rarely slept, and exhaustion painted dark circles beneath her eyes, but she never once considered giving Adam up.

Her brother, Marcus, saw things differently. From the moment he laid eyes on Adam, he recoiled.

"You can’t do this, Clara," he told her during one of his visits. He avoided looking at Adam, even as the boy’s laughter echoed from his corner of the room, where he played with his few toys. "You don’t make enough to care for yourself, let alone a child like... that."

Clara’s jaw tightened, and she clenched her fists. "He’s not that, Marcus. He’s my son."

"He’s not your son," Marcus snapped, his voice sharp and unyielding. "And if you don’t face reality, you’re going to ruin yourself—and him."

As Adam grew older, the strain deepened. Clara found herself sacrificing meals to ensure Adam had what he needed. Every passing month brought more heated arguments with Marcus.

"You have to do something, Clara," he insisted, his frustration mounting. "You can’t keep this up. Look at you! You’re wasting away, and Adam—"

"Don’t you dare," she interrupted, her voice trembling but firm. "Don’t you dare say anything about Adam. He’s happy. He’s loved."

"Love doesn’t pay the bills!" Marcus slammed his hand on the table one evening, a newspaper clenched in his other hand.

"Look." He smoothed the page out and jabbed a finger at an advertisement. "He’ll fit in here."

Clara leaned forward, her stomach twisting as she read the bold black letters: Unique Acts Wanted! Join the Grand Circus!

"No." Her voice cracked, and tears blurred her vision. "I’m not giving up Adam. I can’t."

"He’s not yours, Clara," Marcus said harshly, leaning in closer. "He’s not your real son, and this—this circus will take care of him. They’re offering good money, Clara. You can finally breathe. You can get out of this hellhole."

Clara shook her head violently, her tears falling freely now. "I love him. He’s my son, Marcus! How can you even suggest this?"

"Because you’re drowning!" Marcus shouted. "Your bills have tripled, and I can’t keep bailing you out. Do you think I like this? Do you think I want this for you? For him? But you’ve left me no choice."

He slammed the newspaper shut. "The circus has already offered a pretty penny, Clara. They’ll be here in an hour."

The room fell silent. Clara stared at him, her chest heaving as the words sank in.

"You already made the deal," she whispered, her voice hollow. "You sold my son before even asking me."

Marcus didn’t flinch, though guilt flickered across his face. "You couldn’t keep him, Clara. You know that. It’s for the best."

When the circus master arrived, dressed in a shabby brown suit that reeked of damp wool and cheap cigars, Clara couldn’t bear to watch. She locked herself in her tiny bedroom, burying her face in her hands as Adam’s voice, bright and trusting, called out, "Mama? Mama!"

The sound broke her, and she sobbed into her hands, guilt and despair washing over her like a tidal wave. The door creaked open behind her, but she couldn’t look. She couldn’t face the moment when they would take her son from her.

Adam’s cries grew louder as they carried him away, his small voice calling for her one last time. "Mama! Don’t let them take me! Mama!"

The door slammed shut, and the apartment fell silent except for Clara’s muffled sobs. She couldn’t forgive herself—not now, not ever. Outside, the circus master handed Marcus a stack of bills, tipped his hat, and disappeared into the night with Adam.

Adam was only seven years old, and the last thing he saw as they bundled him into the wagon was the faint outline of the flat where his mama had hidden from him, her love buried beneath the weight of her guilt.

Fred saw Adam as nothing more than a grotesque goldmine. From the moment the boy entered the circus, Fred wasted no time in parading him onstage as the "Freak Child." Audiences gasped and whispered behind their hands as Adam was brought out, crawling clumsily across the stage. He would tumble and roll, his tiny, limbless body performing involuntary acts that Fred framed as entertainment. The crowd erupted in laughter, but it was a cruel, hollow sound that echoed like mockery through the circus tent.

Adam didn’t understand why they laughed or what they wanted from him. Fred told him, again and again, that if he worked hard enough, he could earn his way back to his mama. That promise was the tether to which Adam clung, the single thread of hope that kept him going. So, he smiled as best he could, dragged himself across the stage, and endured the taunts of strangers who saw him as nothing more than a curiosity. Fred counted the profits, pocketing thousands as word of Adam spread. People travelled from far and wide to see the "freak show child," and Fred’s pockets grew heavy with gold.

But as Adam grew older, the novelty wore off. The laughter faded, and the crowds thinned. Adam tried to do more, to sew costumes for himself or add flair to his appearances, but it wasn’t enough. Fred, once gloating and indulgent, became cruel. When Adam asked about returning home, Fred sneered and spat venomous words.

"Your mother doesn’t want you," he snarled. "Why do you think she sold you to me?"

The words shattered Adam’s fragile hope, leaving him trembling with disbelief.

"That’s not true," he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. "She loves me. She said so."

"Love?" Fred barked a bitter laugh. "If she loved you, she’d be here. Face it—you’re nothing but a disappointment."

When the audiences dwindled to nothing, Fred’s patience ran out entirely. He began locking Adam away between shows, confining him to trunks or cupboards like a discarded toy. The other performers, jealous of the attention Adam had once received, delighted in his misery. They stuffed insects into his hiding spots, laughing cruelly as Adam screamed and thrashed in fear.

The performers’ cruelty escalated. They told Adam that if he could learn real tricks—balancing on a ball, juggling—Fred would forgive him and send him back to his mama.

"You want to see her, don’t you?" they cooed mockingly.

Desperate, Adam begged them to teach him, clinging to the shred of hope they dangled before him. They agreed, but it was all a cruel prank. They had him perform ridiculous stunts, like spinning aimlessly or pretending to dance, things that only drew eye-rolls from the sparse audiences.

Their taunts grew sharper. "Look at you!" they sneered. "Even Fred doesn’t want you now."

Adam’s spirit crumbled under the weight of their ridicule. He became more isolated, barely able to move, spending his days crawling about like a shadow of the boy he once was.

Then came the prank that changed everything. One night, the performers drugged Adam, carrying him to a mechanic under the pretence of "fixing" him. They told the mechanic to give Adam what he needed to "truly perform." The mechanic, unburdened by ethics, created something monstrous: a spider-like lower body of sharp, mechanical legs and two grotesque, human-like arms grafted to Adam’s torso. When Adam awoke, he screamed, the pain of his transformation overwhelming him. He stared in horror at his new body, unable to comprehend what had been done to him.

When Adam stumbled back to the circus, the performers recoiled in terror. Screams filled the tent as Fred confronted him, his face twisted in rage.

"You can’t stay here," Fred growled. "You’re scaring the customers away."

Rocks flew through the air, one striking Adam’s face and drawing blood. Broken and defeated, Adam fled into the streets, his new legs clattering awkwardly beneath him.

The world was no kinder. Wherever Adam went, people screamed, throwing stones or kicking him when he stumbled. Groups of children tormented him, pushing him into the mud and calling him a monster. Adam learned to avoid the streets altogether, hiding in shadowy alleyways where the world couldn’t see him.

One bitterly cold winter evening, Adam caught sight of her. Clara, his mama, walked down the street bundled in a worn coat, her breath misting in the icy air. Adam’s heart leapt.

 "Mama!" he called out, his voice raw with emotion. He shuffled closer, the mechanical limbs hidden beneath his tattered cloak.

Clara turned, her eyes widening as she recognized the voice.

"Adam?" she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. She ran toward him, her arms outstretched. "Oh, Adam! My boy, I’ve missed you so much."

She cupped his face, her hands trembling. "I’m so sorry. I never should have let them take you."

Adam’s heart swelled with joy.

"Mama," he said softly. "You still love me?"

"Of course, I love you," she said, smiling through her tears. "Come home with me. Please."

Overwhelmed with relief, Adam stepped forward, his mechanical legs emerging from the shadows. Clara’s smile froze. Her eyes darted down, taking in the grotesque appendages, and her face twisted in horror. She stumbled back, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Stay away from me!" she screamed, her voice sharp and panicked. "You’re a monster!"

Adam’s chest tightened, his voice trembling. "Mama, it’s still me. I’m still Adam. Please—"

"No!" she cried, backing away. "My brother was right. You’re not my son anymore. You’re a freak!"

Her words stabbed into him like knives, and as she turned and ran, Adam collapsed onto the cold, wet pavement. He watched her retreating form disappear into the night, his green eyes overflowing with tears. For the first time, Adam truly believed the world’s cruellest lie: that he was a monster.

“Mama!” Adam cried out, his voice cracking in desperation as his mechanical limbs scraped against the cobblestones. Rainwater pooled beneath him, chilling his exposed skin as he dragged his new, unwieldy body forward.

“Mama, please! It’s me!”

His heavy, spider-like legs clattered awkwardly, the sharp edges catching on broken bricks and discarded trash. He pushed through the pain, his mind spinning in confusion. Why had she run away? Why had her warm embrace turned to horror? He kept calling, his voice hoarse and shaking.

 “Mama, don’t go! Why are you running? What’s wrong with me?”

But she was gone, her footsteps lost in the sound of the night’s cold wind. Adam came to a halt, his body trembling as exhaustion took hold. He panted, the weight of his altered body bearing down on him. For the first time, a terrible thought crept into his mind: Am I… terrifying?

He turned his head slowly, and his breath hitched in his throat. In the cracked and dirt-smeared windows of the alleyway, he caught his reflection—and froze. His pale, gaunt face, streaked with tears, looked back at him. But beneath it, his body was something out of a waking nightmare. The twisted mechanical legs writhed like the limbs of a spider, their movements unnatural and jagged. The human-like mechanical arms dangled stiffly at his sides, their sharp joints clicking with every tiny motion.

Adam’s lips parted, a small, broken sound escaping him before it grew into a guttural scream. His cry echoed down the alleyway, raw and filled with anguish. He stumbled backward, his mechanical limbs tangling and twisting around one another. The reflection seemed to sneer at him, its grotesque form mocking his existence.

“No! No, no, no, no!” Adam screamed, clawing at his face as though he could tear away the monster he’d become.

He backed into a pile of trash bins, the loud clatter startling him, but he couldn’t stop. He fell into the heap, his body writhing as he tried to escape his reflection. His vision blurred, the alley spinning as tears clouded his eyes.

And then, amidst the chaos in his mind, he heard it.

Laughter.

At first, it was faint, like an echo from the farthest corners of the night. Then it grew louder, twisting into cruel murmurs that seemed to fill the alleyway. Adam’s eyes darted around, searching for the source, but there was no one. Yet the voices came closer, surrounding him, suffocating him.

“Look at it,” a voice sneered, sharp and cold.

“Such a hideous thing,” another whispered, mocking and vile.

Among the voices, he swore he heard Clara’s. Her gentle tones, now laced with disgust, hissed through the darkness. “That’s not my son. That’s not my Adam. He’s just a monster.”

“No! No, Mama, it’s not true!” Adam cried, clawing at the ground as if he could pull himself out of the nightmare. But the laughter only grew louder, the whispers more venomous.

The last thing he saw before his body gave out was the faint reflection of the monster in the window, its twisted limbs still moving as if alive on their own. His vision darkened, the noises fading into a distant hum as he collapsed fully into the trash heap. For the first time in a long time, unconsciousness claimed him—a mercy, a reprieve from the endless torment.

Adam awoke to the dim, grey light of early morning. Frost clung to the edges of the alley, and his breath came in shallow, visible puffs. The cold seeped into his skin, aching deep in his bones. He blinked slowly, his vision clearing to reveal the broken remains of the trash bins around him. His body ached, bruises blooming across his torso where his mechanical arms and legs had dug into him during his frantic movements.

He tried to move, but pain shot through him, forcing him to stop and gasp. He lay there for a long moment, the memories of the night before swirling in fragments. Laughter, whispers, the reflection in the window… His heart clenched as he thought of Clara, her scream of horror and the words that had crushed him.

But there was a fog in his mind, a haze that blurred the worst of it. He couldn’t quite piece together what had happened after he’d seen himself. Perhaps it was a blessing. Perhaps it was the only kindness the universe would grant him: the chance not to remember.

As the sun rose higher, Adam slowly pushed himself upright, his mechanical limbs clanking beneath him. The alley was silent now, but the chill in the air matched the emptiness he felt inside. His green eyes, dulled with grief, stared blankly ahead. There was no one waiting for him. No home to return to. No warmth left in the world.

For the first time, Adam realized he was truly, utterly alone and in so much agony that he couldn’t see straight…

~#~

Adam’s blurry vision struggled to adjust as he awoke again, the dim, watery light of early dawn piercing through the cardboard boxes that formed his makeshift shelter. His body ached—burning, twisting pain radiated from where the mechanical spider limbs connected to his small, frail frame. His arms trembled, the muscles raw and overused, while the grinding of his prosthetic appendages sent jolts of agony up his spine. Every movement was a reminder of his existence as a patchwork creature, a monster forced into a form not his own.

As he shifted, the faint, cruel laughter from a distant group echoed through the alleyway. He stifled a whimper and pressed himself further into the shadows, pulling a torn olive shawl closer around his body. The fabric, stained with rust and streaked with dried and fresh blood, clung to him like a second skin, hiding most of the horrors beneath. Yet, no matter how much he tried to cover himself, the grotesque clicking and buzzing of his mechanical limbs always betrayed him.

This time, though, something was different.

A shadow fell across the alleyway, long and unnervingly human, but twisted at the edges as if it didn’t quite belong. Adam’s button-green eyes blinked, staring at the figure emerging from the fog—a man clad entirely in black. His form was lanky, almost skeletal, with an impossibly tall top hat that added to his already looming presence. A feather striped in lime green and maroon jutted jauntily from the hat, swaying as he moved. His cloak, lined with vibrant green accents, swirled like smoke around his legs, which were clad in leather pants tucked into knee-high boots that clicked softly against the wet stones.

Adam squinted through his haze of fear and exhaustion, trying to make sense of the figure’s face, but it was shadowed beneath the brim of the hat. Only a pair of eyes, unnervingly sharp and glowing a vibrant lime green, pierced the darkness, their gaze locked onto him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Well, well, well,” the man said, his voice warm yet unnervingly buoyant, as though every word teetered on the edge of a laugh. His accent was unfamiliar, an odd melody of lilting tones and sharp consonants that Adam couldn’t place.

“What have we here? The infamous spider monster of the alleyway. My, my… the stories didn’t do you justice.”

Adam froze, his limbs locking in place. The man’s gaze swept over him, lingering on his mechanical appendages. He whistled low and slow, crouching slightly to better inspect Adam’s hunched form. “Fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like this before. You’re a marvel, my boy—a true masterpiece of horror and ingenuity.”

Adam flinched, his shoulders hunching as he tried to shrink back further into the darkness. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice cracked, and the words died in his throat.

The man raised a hand, waving dismissively. “Ah, no need to speak! It’s fine, really. Don’t strain yourself. I’ll do the talking.”

His grin widened, teeth flashing unnaturally white in the gloom. “I’ve heard all about you, you know. The monster that lurks in the shadows, kidnaps children, and haunts the nightmares of this miserable little town. Quite the reputation, eh?”

Adam’s eyes widened, and he whined softly, shaking his head in protest. The man chuckled, the sound low and rich, like a cat purring after a cruel joke. “Oh, I know it’s all rubbish. A load of bollocks, isn’t it? People love their scary stories. Makes their mundane lives feel a little less dull.”

He tilted his head, his grin softening, though the glow of his lime-green eyes remained sharp. “But I couldn’t help myself. I had to see the ‘monster’ for myself. Imagine my surprise when I discovered… you.”

Adam stared at him in confusion, his button eyes reflecting the faint light.

The man straightened, clasping his hands together in exaggerated delight. “You’re Adam, aren’t you? The boy from Cowshuff Circus—the little crawler who used to scuttle across the stage for the crowd’s amusement? Oh, yes, I’ve heard the stories. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Adam recoiled slightly, a sharp cough escaping him as the man’s breath—strange and sickly sweet, like overripe fruit—wafted too close. His limbs clattered as he tried to pull away, but the man only laughed again, his voice tinged with childlike glee.

“I want you to join my circus,” the man declared suddenly, throwing his arms wide. “The Hazbin Circus! It’s going to be the most spectacular, shocking, dazzling show the world has ever seen, and you, my dear boy, will be its first star. The first Hazbin! How exciting is that?”

Adam said nothing, his silence more telling than words. He stared at the man with an expression that hovered between disbelief and exhaustion.

The man’s grin faltered slightly, and he crouched again, this time meeting Adam’s gaze on his level. His voice dropped; the cheerful tone replaced by something softer, almost tender.

“What do you want, Adam? Tell me. What is it you truly want?”

Adam blinked slowly; his button eyes glossy with unshed tears. He hesitated, his voice cracking as he finally whispered, “I… I want to go home. I want the pain to stop.”

The man tilted his head thoughtfully, his grin creeping back onto his face. “Ah, yes. The pain. Of course.”

He stood suddenly, clapping his hands together. “We can work something out. You perform for me—just one show, maybe two—and I’ll take away the pain. And as for going home… we’ll see about that. What do you say?”

Adam tilted his head, his mechanical limbs shifting uneasily beneath him.

“You… can make the pain stop?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Absolutely,” the man said, his grin splitting his face in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. “Trust me. Just come to my Hazbin Hotel—well, mansion, really—by dawn. It’s where all the magic happens.”

Before Adam could ask more, the man turned, sweeping his cloak around him as he strode to the alley’s exit.

“I am your new ringmaster, Zestial,” he called over his shoulder, tipping his hat. “It will be my pleasure to assist you.”

The building loomed before Adam like a sleeping giant, its spires piercing the ashen sky. He felt insignificant, an insect scuttling beneath its oppressive shadow. Towering and labyrinthine, the mansion seemed to shift as he stared, its silhouette flickering with an almost predatory stillness. Thousands of glassy windows stared back at him, cold and unblinking. On the left, the panes shimmered with vivid, kaleidoscopic colors, a cascade of stained glass depicting fragmented, unknowable scenes. The right wing was a stark contrast—its tall, arched windows shielded by intricate Victorian iron bars, as though guarding secrets too terrible to escape.

It was a house out of one of his mama’s storybooks, a fairytale palace draped in magic and menace. Six floors stretched upward, each crowned with mismatched tiled roofs, the central section morphing into a towering clock face that ticked solemnly, its hands crawling forward like prisoners of time. Above it, a thin bell tower rose into the mist, its enormous brass bell swinging with each deep, resonant chime that rippled through the gardens like a command. The sound didn’t just fill the air—it seemed to seep into Adam’s bones, vibrating against his mechanical limbs as if urging him closer.

Sprawling gardens encircled the mansion, like sirens beckoning him to explore. The front garden was a sea of ruby-red roses, their petals so vivid they seemed to bleed into the night. They were unnervingly perfect, not a single leaf out of place, their thorns glistening as though freshly sharpened. For a fleeting moment, Adam was captivated. He wanted to see more—the other gardens, the hidden corners of this enchanting, ominous estate—but the sharp tug of his mechanical prosthetics snapped him back to reality. The weight of the monstrous appendages dragged at his thin body, their grinding and clicking a constant reminder of the unnatural pain tethered to his every step.

Exhausted, Adam dragged himself toward the double doors. Each scrape of his spider-like limbs across the pale stone echoed unnaturally in the cold air, the sound a metallic scream that seemed swallowed by the mansion’s silence. His mechanical hands, jittering with every motion, reached for the ornate rose-carved handles. The glass within the doors shimmered faintly, its surface etched with thorny vines and blooming roses that almost seemed to shift under his touch.

He hesitated, staring up at the doors. His shawl, once a deep olive, was now a ragged patchwork of rust and bloodstains, draped over his battered form. Beneath it, layers of filthy, yellowed bandages clung to his limbs, wrapping him like a grotesque gift. They hid the worst of him—the jagged scars, the wounds that never seemed to heal—but they couldn’t hide the spools of white thread embedded in his back, tiny reminders of the puppet-like horror he had become. He didn’t dare look too closely at himself; even the faintest glimpse of his reflection sent a shiver of revulsion through his body.

The pain was always there, a cruel symphony of burning nerves and grinding joints that turned every breath into an effort. His insides churned, twisting as if they were being wrung dry by unseen hands, but Adam had learned to endure. What other choice did he have?

Summoning the last of his strength, he knocked on the rose-carved door. His mechanical hand struck the wood with a dull, rattling thud. Nothing. Silence greeted him, stretching longer than seemed natural. He lifted his hand again, only for the door to groan open on its own, the sound like a sigh from the house itself.

The air inside the mansion was cooler, heavier, as if the building was alive and breathing around him. Unlike the rose-themed exterior, the welcome lounge was a shrine to the moon. Deep purples and shimmering blues dominated the space, painting the room in a twilight haze. The walls were adorned with murals of night skies and crescent moons that seemed to shift when Adam wasn’t looking directly at them. Stars glittered faintly in the painted voids, their soft glow mirrored by the crystal chandeliers that hung precariously from above, dripping with silver and glass like frozen tears.

The floor was obsidian, polished to a mirror-like shine that reflected distorted fragments of Adam’s spider-like limbs as he hesitantly stepped forward. A grand staircase dominated the far side of the room, its banisters carved from ebony and inlaid with glowing lunar motifs that pulsed faintly as he approached. Velvet drapes framed the tall windows, their fabric swaying ever so slightly despite the air being still. It was beautiful, hauntingly so, but there was an unmistakable tension in the air, an invisible weight pressing down on Adam’s shoulders.

His mechanical appendages buzzed and whirred, their noise jarring against the stillness of the room. Each sound seemed louder, sharper here, as though the mansion amplified it to remind him of what he was. Adam froze, unsure if he should move further. The room felt like it was waiting—watching. He didn’t belong here, that much was certain, but Zestial had told him to come.

The man’s words echoed in his mind as he stepped cautiously into the lounge, the faint, unnatural hum of the mansion’s air pressing against his ears. Each step was delicate, his movements slow and deliberate, as though one wrong move might awaken something he couldn’t face. And yet, despite the unease that crawled over his skin, there was a strange pull to the place—a magic he couldn’t ignore, one that whispered promises too tempting to resist.

Adam wobbled further into the dimly lit lounge, the soft hum of his mechanical limbs a steady reminder of the unnatural state of his existence. Each step sent a jolt of pain radiating through his fragile frame, yet the beauty of the place urged him onward. The small corridor widened, its walls narrowing and then blooming into an expansive space that took his breath away.

At the centre of the room stood a round table carved from dark, polished wood, its surface gleaming faintly in the faint moonlight streaming through the high arched windows. On either side of the table, grand spiral staircases wound upward, their twisting forms like frozen whirlpools of dark iron and lacquered oak. The intricate railings above formed a fence of smooth wooden beams, each panel bearing carvings of the moon’s phases. Crescent, full, waning, waxing—their intricate designs seemed to shimmer with a faint glow. Adam imagined how moonlight or sunlight filtering through the upper windows might cast enchanting patterns across the room below, making it a shifting, celestial dance of shadows and light.

As Adam neared the table, the faint scent of flowers reached him, a soft, earthy contrast to the mechanical oil and rust he had grown used to. His green button eyes fell upon a delicate vase resting at the table's centre. It was slender and graceful, made of deep blue glass that caught and refracted the light like trapped starlight. Arranged within it were six flowers, each striking in its solitary beauty: a dahlia with layered, jewel-toned petals; a cheerful, golden sunflower; a marigold that burned like embers; a drooping bluebell, quiet yet captivating; a clematis vine with its elegant, twining stems; and the black bat flower—dark, unsettling, and impossibly alluring.

The flowers seemed placed with intention; their vibrant petals almost glowing against the dim surroundings. Adam stared at them in silent awe, a pang of something he couldn’t name tugging at him. They meant something. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it was certain. The colours, the arrangement—it was no random decoration. It whispered a story he couldn’t yet decipher.

One of his mechanical arms twitched and jerked as he reached out, the movement accompanied by a harsh clinking sound. He stopped abruptly, his eyes catching on a series of faintly scratched words along the base of the vase. Tilting his head, Adam squinted, his green button eyes narrowing as he struggled to read the inscription.

The dahlia is a dancer.

Adam’s gaze lingered on the dahlia’s layered petals, their vibrant colours fanning out like the skirts of a performer mid-twirl. It exuded elegance, artistry, and grace, a flower that could only belong to someone who danced with their soul.

The sunflower, a happy clown.

He traced the sunflower’s cheerful face with his gaze, its bright yellow petals bursting outward like a painted grin. It radiated joy, a beacon of laughter and light, reminding him of the clowns who once brought audiences to tears of mirth.

The bluebell, a sad clown.

Adam’s gaze fell to the drooping bluebell. Its soft, melancholy shape tugged at him, its quiet, understated beauty carrying a sorrowful weight. It spoke of hidden sadness, of smiles that masked pain.

Clematis, an acrobat.

The vine twisted and curved, its structure effortlessly elegant. It climbed and reached as though in defiance of gravity, much like the acrobats who once defied the odds, bending and contorting themselves in graceful displays of agility.

The marigold, a lion tamer.

The fiery marigold stood out, its bold hues suggesting a courage Adam had only ever seen in tamers who dared face the ferocity of beasts. Its brightness felt like a challenge to the dark, a fierce defiance.

Adam’s gaze faltered as he reached the final flower.

The black bat flower, a spider crawler.

His lips trembled as he read the words, biting down hard to silence a whimper. The strange, spidery petals of the black bat flower with its long, filaments resembled something out of a nightmare. Its dark, unsettling beauty spoke of creatures that lurked in shadows, creeping with unnatural grace. It was him. It was what he had become.

He froze, his breath caught in his throat as a heavy silence settled around him. The flowers were no accident. Each was a role, a story. They were meant to be here, just as he was, and yet they felt like a judgment—an accusation. His trembling arm retreated, the mechanical joints clinking loudly as he pulled it back.

He stared at the black bat flower, the shadow of its petals stretching like claws across the polished wood of the table. Something deep inside him stirred, a cold, inescapable truth. He was the monster of this story, the spider crawling at the edge of the stage. And no flower could mask that.

The round table was draped in a ghostly, netted fabric, its edges fraying like cobwebs in the dim light. Arranged upon it in a perfect half-moon arc were six keys, each adorned with a delicate flower charm. They gleamed faintly, like tiny fragments of secrets bound to the unnatural air of the mansion. Adam’s green button eyes zeroed in on the black bat flower key almost instantly. His breath hitched as a deep, hollow ache settled in his chest. He didn’t want it—he knew it was his. It was always meant to be his.

Adam’s mechanical arms jerked as he tried to reach for it, their grinding and clanking loud in the oppressive silence. He froze mid-motion, a sharp grunt escaping his lips as a surge of pain shot through his frail body. His face twisted into a grimace, tears stinging his eyes. His nerves felt like they were on fire, the pain relentless, an unending torment that made his very existence unbearable. He sniffled softly, his chest heaving, the urge to collapse into the darkened corners clawing at him.

“Zestial promised,” Adam thought desperately, clutching at the thin thread of hope. “He promised the pain would stop if I came here. If I performed in his circus... If I did what he wanted.”

Zestial had promised him something else, too—he would send Adam home. But the pain... The pain was still there, alive and writhing under his skin like a thousand needles.

His spider-like prosthetic legs trembled, buckling under him, until at last he crumpled to the cold, hard floor before the table. A strangled wail tore from his throat, echoing in the vast emptiness of the room. He bowed his head, his button eyes squeezed shut against the endless, gnawing agony.

Then something rolled off the table above him. It struck the crown of his head with a hollow thunk and bounced to the ground. Adam flinched and let out a pitiful whimper, his mechanical hand awkwardly rubbing the sore spot. He glanced down and froze.

A bottle.

It was large and heavy, its smooth surface split into stark halves of white and black. Strange, unreadable words spiralled around its surface, but Adam’s focus was immediately drawn to a single detail: a medical sticker plastered on the side. His name was printed there, bold and unmistakable.

Adam.

The sight of it made his blood run cold. His throat tightened as he picked the bottle up, turning it over and over in his hands. It was for him? How could it be for him? His spider-like limbs clinked and wobbled as he forced himself upright, his body trembling with the effort. On the table now, two pieces of paper caught his eye—one crisp and ornate, the other small and yellowed. Adam frowned, his gaze flickering between the bottle and the yellowed scrap of paper before his mechanical hand reached out to grasp it.

The note was short and simple, but the words sent an icy shiver down his spine.

‘Adam,

Take three pills in the morning and in the evening. It will take the pain away. You can take them with or without food or water.

Oh, and another thing Adam. Let’s keep the pills between just the two of us. We wouldn’t want anyone finding out about them.

Signed, Zestial.’

Adam stared at the note, his lips trembling. His hands shook as he folded the paper, sliding it into the hidden recesses of his tattered shawl. With hesitant fingers, he shook the bottle, the sound of rattling pills echoing like tiny bones in a crypt. The lid was stiff, refusing to yield at first, until his prosthetic hand managed to wrench it free. Three pills spilled onto his palm, their yellow colour sickly and unnatural. He brought them closer, sniffing cautiously, but they gave off no scent.

The constant, gnawing pain in his body left him with no room for doubt. What else did he have to lose? Slowly, almost ritualistically, Adam tipped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. The taste was nothing, the act mechanical. He waited.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

Nothing.

The pain still raged through him, as relentless as before. His body burned, his joints ached, and his veins felt like they were filled with shards of ice. Adam whimpered, clutching the bottle to his chest as though it might offer him solace. Zestial had said the pills would work. They had to. Maybe by tomorrow, he’d wake up without the pain. Maybe by morning, he would be whole again.

Shoving the bottle into one of the many hidden pockets in his shawl, Adam’s gaze fell back to the black bat flower key. He reached for it with trembling hands, the charm’s delicate petals stark against the crude, jagged edges of his prosthetics. The key itself was strange, its shape irregular and unsettling, as if it had been carved from something ancient and half-forgotten. He chewed his bottom lip nervously, the sharp taste of blood faint on his tongue.

A sudden wave of dizziness crashed over Adam, gripping him with an invisible force. His knees buckled slightly as he staggered sideways, one mechanical hand rising to clutch his head. His spider-like prosthetic legs scraped and skittered against the polished floor, struggling to anchor him upright. The mansion’s lounge twisted and spun around him, a disorienting kaleidoscope of deep purples, blues, and glinting moonlight patterns. He wobbled unsteadily, bumping into the left staircase with a sharp clang.

Adam let out a soft, pained whine, his green button eyes fluttering as he fought to steady his vision. For a moment, it felt as though the world might slip away entirely, dragging him down into an abyss he feared he would not escape. But slowly, the spinning ceased, the edges of his sight sharpened, and the looming sense of vertigo ebbed.

Breathing heavily, Adam sniffed, a flicker of relief breaking through his panic as he glanced around the room. Everything seemed to have returned to normal. Or so it seemed.

That fragile sense of relief shattered in an instant.

The string-like hairs on Adam’s patched and scarred skin prickled with sudden unease. The air in the room turned cold, and an eerie creak cut through the silence. His gaze snapped toward the double rose-themed doors just as they began to groan and shift, their intricate glass panes glowing faintly in the dim light.

They moved.

On their own.

Adam’s breath hitched, and a gasp escaped his lips. His mechanical limbs jerked into motion, dragging his weary frame toward the darkened space beneath the staircase. Desperation clawed at him as he pressed himself into the shadows, his heart hammering like a drumbeat against his ribcage. He huddled there, his stitched shawl brushing the floor, as the doors swung open with deliberate slowness, revealing...

A figure.

Slim and lithe, the figure stepped through the doorway with an air of quiet surprise. They paused, one hand resting on the rose-carved handle, tilting their head as they regarded the peculiar way the doors had opened.

“Huh,” the figure muttered softly, the sound rich and lilting, sending a shiver down Adam’s spine. They tested the handle, wiggling it experimentally. “I wonder what trick this is.”

Adam stared, his button eyes wide and unblinking.

The figure appeared to be a man, though his appearance was far from ordinary. His skin was smooth and pale, almost porcelain-like, with rosy cheeks that seemed to glow faintly under the cold light. His hair—stingy yet soft-looking—was a peculiar combination of pale blonde and coral streaks, slicked back into a ducktail hairstyle with one playful tuft rebelliously sticking out.

But it was his eyes that ensnared Adam. They were unlike anything he had ever seen: light yellow on the outer edges, but fading into a deep, burning red at their centers. The strange, fiery hues radiated an unearthly beauty that made Adam’s chest ache, though he could not say why.

The man’s mouth, however, was something out of a nightmare. His lips were stitched at the corners with white thread, the stitches pulling his mouth into a wide, almost mocking smile. Behind that unsettling grin, Adam caught a glimpse of sharp teeth, glinting like tiny daggers.

His clothing was no less strange—a jumpsuit adorned with chaotic diamonds in bold reds, yellows, blues, and blacks. Around his neck was a grand Elizabethan ruff, as white as freshly fallen snow, and his wrists were framed with frilly cuffs. A leather belt cinched his waist, a small pouch resting on one side. Something about him suggested danger, a trickster’s chaos barely contained beneath the flamboyant attire.

Yet, despite the eeriness of his stitched smile, his eyes held a flicker of something else curiosity, perhaps. Or mischief.

Adam swallowed hard, the noise audibles even to his own ears. He’d seen doll-like figures before, plastered on posters and advertisements. They had grinned from cracked television screens, promising thrills and wonders in the hazy neon glow of carnival lights. But this man—this doll person—was real. And he was here.

And Adam? Adam was nothing special. He wasn’t a doll, wasn’t a marvel of craftsmanship. He was a monster now—stitched together, broken, twisted into something barely human.

The figure’s yellow-red eyes flicked toward the staircase, scanning the shadows with a precision that sent Adam’s heart into his throat. It felt as though those eyes might pierce the darkness, find him cowering like a wounded animal, and drag him into the light.

“I know you’re there,” the man said softly, his voice a silken thread that wove through the air with unnatural ease.

Adam froze, every nerve in his body screaming at him to stay silent, stay hidden. But his mechanical limbs betrayed him, releasing a faint, telltale whir.

The doll man’s lips curled into a sharper smile, his stitches tugging slightly.

“Come now,” he coaxed, his tone a playful melody tinged with something darker. “Hiding doesn’t suit you. And besides—”

He crouched low, his sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “I don’t bite.”

He paused, then chuckled, the sound low and disarming. “Well, not unless you ask.”

Adam trembled, his spider limbs clicking nervously against the cold stone floor. He didn’t know whether to run or crawl forward. Every instinct in him screamed for flight, but something in the man’s tone... something in the way he spoke...

It felt as though the man were a part of this place, an extension of its strange, surreal beauty. And for reasons Adam couldn’t explain, a part of him wanted to know what would happen if he stepped into the light.

Adam drew in a shaky breath, the weight of inevitability settling over him like a damp shroud. There was no point in hiding now—the doll man had already spotted him, his strange, burning eyes scanning the shadows with unnerving precision. Resigned, Adam’s gaze fell to his own form, his patched-together frame a grotesque patchwork of scars, wires, and the mechanical limbs that whirred softly at his sides. A swell of dread churned in his chest. Would this man—no, this legend—be repulsed by him? Would he recoil, disgust etched into his too-perfect face?

Steeling himself, Adam’s spider-like limbs clicked against the floor as he began inching forward, his movements halting and unsteady. The mechanical joints released a faint hum with every step, a sound that seemed deafening in the vast, silent lounge. Slowly, he emerged from the shadows, his green button eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet the doll man’s gaze.

As he stepped into the light, a dreadful realization sank in, cold and heavy.

This wasn’t just anyone.

It was Lucifer Morningstar.

The name hit Adam like a slap, and for a moment, his legs threatened to give way beneath him. Lucifer Morningstar—star of the Hullabaloo Circus, a name spoken with reverence and awe across the circuit. He was a dazzling performer, famed for his silk-blond hair and infectious charm, a man whose blue button eyes had never betrayed an ounce of sorrow despite the horrors he’d survived. After the disaster that destroyed the Hullabaloo Circus, Lucifer had become a legend, a tragic figure whose sole purpose was to find the one responsible for the devastation of his home.

And now, he was standing here, in the Hazbin Circus.

Adam felt small. Worthless. He was no one, just a broken thing cobbled together by desperation and pain. Compared to Lucifer, he didn’t belong here. And yet, there was no turning back now.

Lucifer’s button eyes widened slightly as Adam stepped fully into view. There was no immediate revulsion on his face, but Adam kept his gaze firmly averted, unwilling to risk meeting the other man’s fiery stare.

“M-my name is Adam,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, strained and trembling with uncertainty. “I’ve heard a lot about you, M-Mister Morningstar, and, um...”

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. He shuffled one foot against the carpet, the faint scrapes an oddly human gesture from someone so otherworldly.

“Oh, Adam,” he murmured, as if tasting the name on his tongue. His voice was melodic, a strange mixture of curiosity and detached amusement. “What... what are you doing here?”

Adam hesitated, forcing himself to glance up at Lucifer’s face. The doll man’s expression wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t warm either. It was as if he was weighing something about Adam, a calculation hidden behind those bright, stitched features.

“Ah, um... I-I’m... flattered?” Adam muttered, fumbling for the words. “The host invited me to... uh...”

He trailed off, his nerves catching up to him. The reality of why he was here pressed down like a lead weight: he had to perform. To survive. To escape this pain that gnawed at him endlessly.

Lucifer arched a brow, his curiosity sharpening. “Honoured to perform, are we?”

Adam nodded quickly, his movements jerky. “Y-yes... that’s right. I was... invited to join the Hazbin Circus.”

His voice faltered, but he pressed on. “Um, this was left f-for us... this play for us. I haven’t had a chance to fully read it yet, but it—it’s on the table. M-maybe we could prepare together? I-I mean...”

Before Adam could finish, Lucifer turned sharply on his heel, striding toward the table with a grace that seemed almost theatrical. He snatched up the parchment and unfurled it, his mismatched button eyes scanning the inked words with an intensity that made Adam’s chest tighten.

“Five children go to the park,” Lucifer read aloud, his voice tinged with an edge of intrigue. “They arrive excited but leave with long faces.”

He lowered the parchment, glancing at Adam with a wry smile. “This is certainly... interesting. But, you see, it’s already quite late.”

Adam nodded automatically, his voice small. “Of course, of course... t-tomorrow, perhaps?”

Lucifer held the parchment out to him, his expression thoughtful. “Adam, this play needs at least five actors. There are only two of us here. We can’t hope to perform it alone.”

Adam’s hands trembled slightly as he took the parchment, his green button eyes skimming the cryptic words. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. “They’ll come. Someone will come. Why don’t we wait until everyone is here?”

Lucifer hummed softly, plucking a matchbox from the table. He struck a match with practiced ease, lighting the candles one by one. As the flickering flames illuminated the space, his gaze fell to the vase of flowers at the table’s centre. He pinched the clematis flower between his fingers, scoffing softly.

“Useless,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes before turning his attention back to the room. Picking up a freshly lit candle, he wandered past Adam, his curiosity piqued by the sprawling mansion.

“I plan to explore this place tomorrow,” Lucifer said, his tone lighter, almost playful. “We’ve never lived in such a grand place before, have we?”

“That’s true... M-Mister Morningstar,” Adam stammered, glancing at him nervously.

Lucifer turned back, fixing him with an amused smile.

“It’s Lucifer,” he corrected gently. “You can call me Lucifer.”

He gestured toward the parchment in Adam’s hands. “If you’re not interested in a tour, why not pick a role and practice? The last child... that one would suit you.”

Adam’s gaze dropped to the parchment again, the inked words swimming before his tired eyes. The final role did seem... easier. Less time in the spotlight. Less time for others to laugh at him.

Lucifer bowed slightly, his movements as graceful as a dancer’s. “Good night, Adam. It was nice to meet you.”

Adam’s heart clenched painfully.

“N-nice to meet you too,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as Lucifer turned and ascended the stairs.

Before disappearing from sight, Lucifer glanced back one last time, bowing fully with the flair of a true star.

“Good night, Adam,” he said softly, his voice lingering like the fading notes of a lullaby.

“G-good night, M-Mister Morningstar—uh, I mean... Lucifer,” Adam whispered, watching until the doll man vanished into the shadows above, leaving him alone once more in the cavernous lounge.

Adam waited in the heavy silence, his eyes fixed on the faint golden glow of Lucifer’s candle as it flickered out of sight. Only when the last glimmer disappeared did he let out a trembling breath, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. Every inch of his patched-together body ached, a dull, gnawing pain that never let him rest. He wanted nothing more than to lie down, to sink into unconsciousness and hope that, by morning, the relentless burn and throb would ease.

But instead, his gaze fell back to the parchment on the table. The script. Their script. Zestial’s instructions were clear—this was the play they were to perform. Adam reread the lines, his mechanical limbs softly humming as he leaned closer. The final child. That role was a mirror of his reality—a figure twisted by their reflection, monstrous and malformed. It was a role meant for someone like him, someone grotesque, someone who belonged in the shadows.

And yet...

Adam’s button eyes lingered on the description of the paired children. Childhood lovers, their bond unbroken even in the face of darkness. Something deep within him ached, an unspoken wish clawing to the surface. He wanted that. Not the ridicule, not the disgust, but the tender devotion those characters shared. It was a foolish hope—he was no romantic lead, no beloved figure worthy of affection.

He whimpered softly, lowering his head in shame. What was he even thinking? Dreams like that weren’t for creatures like him. The final child, the broken one—that was his fate. It always had been.

The sound of a voice startled him, soft and almost hesitant.

“Excuse me? Is anybody here?”

Adam’s whole body jerked, his mechanical legs clumsily skittering as he scrambled away from the table. His limbs caught on the carpet, and he nearly toppled over in his rush to hide. He glanced toward the rose-themed doors just as they closed with an ominous thud, revealing a slender figure standing in the entryway.

A doll.

She was breathtaking, her pale porcelain skin glowing faintly in the dim candlelight. Golden, thread-like hair cascaded down her back, braided neatly to her ankles. Her large button eyes, cross-stitched with fine black thread, glimmered with an eerie depth. Mascara streaked her cheeks like faint tears, and her lips, painted in a soft pink, curved in a delicate expression of surprise. She wore a rich purple-and-pink fur coat, a coral pink leotard with intricate golden details, and satin slippers laced with gold trim. Yet her beauty was marred, her left forearm and right leg torn to reveal cotton stuffing spilling from within.

The moment their eyes met, her button eyes widened in fright. She released a shaky breath and stepped back, her movements halting and uncertain.

Adam froze, panic clawing at his chest. He tried to retreat further, but his mechanical limbs betrayed him, bumping against the table and sending the vase of flowers tumbling to the floor. He let out a broken whine, fumbling desperately to gather them up. His trembling hands and erratic limbs made the task nearly impossible.

To his shock, the doll did not flee.

Instead, she stepped forward, crouching gracefully to help. Her movements were delicate, as though she feared breaking something fragile. She picked up the fallen flowers and gently placed them back into the vase.

“I know you,” she said softly, her voice like a faint melody as she stood. She adjusted the vase carefully before turning her gaze back to Adam. “We met once, at Cowshuff Circus.”

Adam blinked, his green button eyes widening as the memory stirred, faint but familiar. His voice was hesitant, barely audible. “L-Lilith?”

Her expression didn’t soften. There was no smile, no spark of warmth. Instead, she raised a slender hand and pointed at him with a slow, deliberate motion. “You scared me, Adam.”

Her gaze swept over his mechanical body, lingering on the awkward joints and exposed wires. She took a cautious step back.

Turning her attention to the table, her eyes landed on the flower keys arranged neatly across its surface. She picked up the dahlia key and held it delicately.

“Adam,” she said, her voice quiet yet steady, “Were you also invited to perform?”

Adam swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“Y-yes, I was. The h-host left this play for us to follow...” He held out the parchment with trembling hands.

Lilith—or was it still Lilith?—took the script carefully, holding it near one of the lit candles to read. “They want to ride the roller coaster, but there are only four seats...” she murmured, her stitched brows knitting together. “This is the play the host wants us to perform?”

Adam nodded again, his voice thin and anxious. “Y-yes... I think so. I was just trying to familiarize myself with the parts.”

A faint frown touched her lips. She tapped the edge of the parchment thoughtfully. “Hmm. It reads like a folk rhyme. For it to become a real play, we’ll need to adapt it... carefully.”

Adam’s breath hitched. “O-oh, it’s such an honour, Lilith.”

His mind flickered with fragmented memories from his time at Fred’s Circus—half-forgotten faces, endless ridicule, and the suffocating dark of the storage trunks where he was locked away. But he remembered her. Lilith. She and her partner had once visited Fred’s Circus. He’d never met her partner, but Lilith herself had been dazzling, kind even. When they left without joining, Fred had been in a foul rage, taking his anger out on Adam with brutal kicks and curses.

Lilith’s button eyes darted back to the table. “Has someone not arrived yet?”

Adam followed her gaze, his voice soft. “Um... y-yes. There’s still one more key, but... there are six flowers in the vase. I-I think two people might have arrived before me.”

She tilted her head, muttering something under her breath.

Adam blinked, leaning forward slightly. “Um, d-did you say something, Lilith?”

She shook her head, handing the parchment back to him. “It’s nothing. Just a thought. Let me consider how we can arrange all of this.”

Without another word, she turned and began climbing the staircase.

“G-good night, Lilith,” Adam called weakly.

She paused halfway up, glancing back over her shoulder. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Adam, by the way... I am now called Margara, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Adam’s mechanical legs shifted nervously. “Y-yes, Margara... W-what a beautiful name. Just as pretty as Lilith... G-good night.”

Margara nodded once before continuing up the stairs. Adam watched her until she disappeared into the shadowed landing, the faint sound of her steps fading into silence.

And he was alone again.

Adam was alone again. The silence of the lounge pressed in around him, cold and suffocating. Lucifer and Lilith—no, Margara—had been kind to him. At least, kinder than most. They hadn’t hit him. They hadn’t kicked him. But Adam wasn’t naive; he had seen it in their button eyes—the flickers of judgment, the hints of disgust, the undertones of fear. It always lingered, no matter how polite their words were.

He turned his gaze to the table where the final key still lay untouched, its glimmer a quiet reminder that someone else was meant to join them. Adam squirmed uneasily, his mechanical limbs clicking softly as they shifted. His green button eyes flicked to the staircases, looming and grand, and then down to the metal spider-like appendages attached to his frail, patchwork body.

There was no way.

The stairs were impossible for someone like him. His oversized, grotesque anatomy would never fit, let alone allow him to ascend. The thought of struggling halfway up, only to get stuck, made his chest tighten with dread. His buttons glistened as tears welled up, spilling over in hot, silent trails. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the hulking mass of metal fused to him, its polished, unyielding form so alien, so hideous.

Once, he had been small. Fragile, yes, but whole. Human. Now, he was a monstrous thing, stitched together with wires and screws. A mockery of what he used to be. His body, once his own, had become a cage.

A soft, broken whimper escaped his lips as he sniffled, dragging himself forward. The lounge was vast, its towering shadows swallowing him whole. He scuttled awkwardly, the mechanical legs clinking and scraping against the floor as he moved toward one of the massive doorframes. He peeked through, but it was pitch black beyond—a void.

Of course, he couldn’t see in the dark. His grotesque transformation hadn’t granted him any spider-like abilities. Not that he would have wanted that, anyway.

Adam twisted back, his gaze returning to the staircases. The left one caught his eye, its shadowy alcove revealing another door. Maybe... just maybe.

Dragging himself closer, he leaned his weight against the door, testing it with his shoulder. The wooden frame groaned but gave way, sliding open just enough to reveal a narrow, cramped storage cupboard. The faint smell of dust and old wood met his nose, and the shadows inside seemed less daunting than the abyss beyond the larger doors.

The space was small—just enough to hold a few boxes and scattered odds and ends. It would be tight, suffocating even, but it was better than risking the stairs. Better than being found stuck in the morning, humiliated and helpless.

Adam inhaled deeply, steadying himself, and began squeezing his bulk into the cupboard. The mechanical limbs scraped and folded awkwardly as he maneuverer himself inside. At last, he managed to turn around, lying down as best as he could. He crossed the sharp, mechanical arms over his chest and rested his head atop them, his shiny, tear-streaked green buttons reflecting the faint sliver of moonlight spilling through the small window above.

The moon was beautiful, shimmering like a beacon in the darkness. Adam stared at it, his thoughts drifting to another time, another place. He had grown used to sleeping in tight spaces—dumpsters, alleys, cardboard boxes—but this felt heavier somehow. The weight of the silence, of his monstrous body, pressed down on him like never before.

His throat tightened as he sniffled, a quiet sound that barely broke the stillness. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be this. The thought of home crept into his mind—his real home.

‘Mama... will you still love me?’

His voice trembled in his head as he fought back the sobs rising in his chest. Would she accept him? Would she still see the boy he used to be beneath the layers of metal and despair?

Adam’s eyes grew heavy, the overwhelming exhaustion finally overtaking him. As his mind began to slip into restless dreams, a single tear slid down his porcelain cheek, pooling where it fell. The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the moonlight, a fleeting comfort in the suffocating dark.

Whining softly, Adam stirred as a sliver of light streamed through the cupboard’s tiny window, landing on his face. His button eyes fluttered open, groggy and disoriented, but it wasn’t just the light that had roused him—it was the voices.

Raised voices.

Nearly arguing.

“See? I told you! Most people might miss this performance, but not our superstar, Lilith! Oh wait—sorry, it’s Margaretha now, isn’t it?” Lucifer’s mocking tone rang through the space, sharp as a blade.

Adam blinked, his curiosity piqued and his heart pounding. What was happening? His head lifted slightly, the dull ache in his mechanical limbs momentarily forgotten as he strained to hear.

“Running off again, Lilith?” Lucifer’s voice rose, dripping with accusation and scorn.

“That’s all over now, Morningstar!” snapped a sharp voice from above—the unmistakable edge of Lilith, though the anger in her tone made her sound almost unrecognizable. “Move on, like the rest of us! Stop clinging to the past!”

Lucifer released a sharp, humourless laugh, bitter and venomous.

“No. It won’t ever end, you shameful liars, deserters—” He paused, his voice a venomous hiss. “Murderers.”

The word struck like a thunderclap, reverberating in the silence that followed.

A door slammed upstairs, rattling the walls. Adam jumped at the sound, his mechanical legs clinking noisily against the wooden floor of the cupboard as he scrambled to steady himself. His breath hitched, his entire body stiffening with fear.

The tension in the air was suffocating. He dared not move, afraid to draw attention to his hiding place. What was Lucifer talking about? Liars, deserters, murderers. The words repeated in his mind, icy tendrils of unease wrapping around his thoughts. He’d always known something terrible had happened at Hullabaloo, but this? Could Margaretha—Lilith—have been part of that same catastrophe?

“Hmph,” Lucifer’s voice broke the silence again, colder now, almost distant. “Same as ever, Joker. Always lurking in the shadows, aren’t you?”

A soft hum came from across the lounge, and a voice Adam didn’t recognize—delicate, feminine—spoke hesitantly. “You... you shouldn’t speak to her like that. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Adam froze, his button eyes widening in curiosity. Who was that?

“Oh?” Lucifer’s tone twisted, laced with mocking incredulity. “And what should I call her then? A charlatan? A deserter? Or perhaps...”

“Don’t.”

The stranger’s voice cut him off, firm but low, trembling with restrained anger. “She’s none of those things. Don’t call her those names!”

Lucifer exhaled sharply, a sigh of frustration. “Joker—or should I say Eve? I understand she’s your friend, but—”

“She’s not just my friend!” Joker—Eve?—interjected fiercely, her voice trembling but resolute. “I wasn’t there, Lucifer! Steve sent me out that day for procurement. You knew that! It was Sentience Day—my presence wasn’t needed there. You can’t put this on me!”

Adam squinted through the crack in the cupboard door, his curiosity overtaking his fear. From the shadows, he could just make out the speaker: a petite female doll standing stiffly, her posture defensive.

She was unlike anyone Adam had seen before. Her pale skin bore scuffs and stitches, her tangled red curls spilling in chaotic waves. A single tear of black mascara streaked her cheek, her grey button eyes glinting faintly with sorrow and defiance. She wore a peculiar ensemble—part mime, part soldier—a black vest over a grey blouse, a red scarf with white polka dots draped loosely around her neck. Her right leg was entirely metal, a clinking prosthetic that glinted as she shifted her weight. A tiny black top hat sat askew on her head, a daisy poking cheerily from its ribbon, a stark contrast to the bitterness in her voice.

Adam’s gaze lingered on her in fascination. Joker? Or was she Eve? Lucifer had called her both, and neither name seemed to fit perfectly.

“None of us were innocent,” Lucifer’s voice softened, tinged with an edge of bitterness. “Not you, not her. Not me. But you can’t expect me to forget what happened. Not after—”

“Enough.” Joker’s voice quavered, but there was a finality to it. “Don’t pretend you’re the only one who lost something, Lucifer. I may not have been there, but do you think that spared me from what came after?”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging thick in the air. Adam’s heart thudded in his chest, confusion swirling with dread. He didn’t understand half of what they were talking about, but the pain in their voices was unmistakable.

Lucifer let out a sharp exhale, and his footsteps echoed as he moved toward the door. “Believe what you want, Joker. But don’t expect me to forgive her—or you. Not yet.”

Squeezing his button eyes shut, Adam braced himself, expecting the familiar burning agony to ignite through his veins as he moved. He stiffened, waiting for the pain—but instead, there was only a dull, throbbing ache. Hesitant, Adam cracked open his eyes, blinking in confusion.

He glanced down at his body, then craned his neck to inspect the mechanical spider limbs that bound him. Tentatively, he moved one of the spindly metal arms, touching its cool surface with his small hand. There was no fiery pain, no stabbing sensation that usually accompanied movement. Instead, just a strange, muted pressure.

A shaky breath escaped him. His mechanical hand flexed, fingers moving smoothly, almost easily. It shouldn’t feel like this, but somehow, it did. Adam blinked rapidly, rummaging through his shawl until his fingers found the familiar bottle of yellow pills.

His breath hitched as he stared at the bottle. These pills—could they really be responsible for this strange relief? Hope flickered, fragile as candlelight. He fumbled with the lid, his hands trembling.

Before he could pry it open, the front doors burst open with a thunderous crash, the icy wind howling through the lounge. Snow swirled inside, glittering in the faint light, the freezing air biting at Adam’s skin.

“Damn, it’s freezing out there,” came a deep, unfamiliar voice.

“Michael?” Lucifer’s gasp was one of pure surprise, his voice lifting in genuine delight. “Good heavens, it’s splendid to see you again!”

Lucifer’s tone was unrecognizable—warm, even joyful. Adam stiffened, his button eyes darting to the edge of his hiding spot as Lucifer’s words took on a buoyancy he had never heard before.

“Lucifer,” the stranger—Michael—replied, his voice softer now, touched with relief. “I’m happy to see you too. Did you receive an invitation as well?”

“Something like that,” Lucifer laughed, brushing snow from Michael’s shoulders. “Is the snow heavy out there?”

Michael nodded, his expression shadowed with concern. “It’s not letting up. We’d best stay here until it eases.”

“That might be... problematic,” Joker’s voice broke through, quiet but weighty. She stood apart, her hands folded tightly in front of her, eyes downcast. “I’ve checked the kitchen. There isn’t much food left.”

Michael turned toward her, his expression softening. “Steve? Wait—no, Eve. I barely recognized you—it’s been so long.”

Joker nodded briefly, her movements stiff and guarded. “It has been a while, Michael.”

Lucifer shifted, throwing a casual arm around Michael’s shoulders, though his gaze flicked uneasily toward Joker. “Don’t fret about supplies. We��ve been reunited, and that’s fortune enough.”

Michael’s face brightened with a smile, but his tone carried hesitation. “And how is everyone?”

Joker’s posture tightened, her shoulders drawing inward.

 “It’s nearly lunchtime,” she murmured, retreating a step. “I’ll prepare something in the kitchen. I was always good at cooking.”

“Wait, Eve—” Michael started, reaching toward her. But she was already slipping through the doors leading to the kitchen, vanishing without another word.

Michael turned to Lucifer, confusion clouding his button eyes. “Lucifer, what’s happened? Did I say something wrong? I’ve been gone for so long...”

Lucifer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as though the question weighed heavily on him. “It’s... complicated.”

Adam barely registered their conversation, his focus consumed by the pills in his hand. He wrestled the cap off, spilling three pills into his trembling palm. Without hesitation, he swallowed them, chasing the hope they offered, the promise of dulling the ache.

But as the pills dissolved, his vision began to blur at the edges. A strange haze settled over his mind, muffling everything like a thick, dreamlike fog. He reached into his shawl again, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment—the play he was supposed to study.

“Moon, River, Massacre,” he read aloud, his voice wobbling, a giggle slipping free. “That’s what they called it! The massacre! A lunatic slaughtered everyone!”

His laughter grew louder, uncontrollable. His mechanical legs twitched and jerked as he stumbled out of his hiding place, twirling clumsily into the open.

“Everyone, everyone!” Adam sang, his voice lilting with an eerie, childlike melody. “Oh, did I frighten you, Michael? I was frightened too! Wasn’t it convincing? My performance?”

Michael stared at him, bewildered, his expression flickering between concern and alarm. He glanced at Lucifer, who pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated.

“Adam,” Lucifer said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Enough.”

The command stopped Adam cold. His laughter died in his throat, and his green button eyes widened, glimmering with sudden hurt. He hunched over, his mechanical limbs retracting slightly as though trying to make himself smaller.

“A-alright,” Adam stammered, his voice trembling. “I’ll say no more. I’ll leave now... It’s dreadful, isn’t it? My performance... I’m sorry, Lucifer.”

His spider legs scraped softly against the floor as he backed away, folding in on himself. A laugh threatened to bubble up again, but he bit it down, his vision swimming with glittering pink and blue.

Michael’s jaw tightened as he looked at Lucifer. Without a word, he stepped forward and crouched beside Adam, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Adam,” Michael said softly, his voice steady and warm. “Don’t be frightened. Lucifer is just... unsettled. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

The warmth in his words broke through the fog clouding Adam’s mind. He nodded hesitantly, letting Michael’s touch guide him toward the kitchen. The doors creaked open as Michael led him through, but Adam didn’t look back. He couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever awaited in the kitchen, in Joker’s quiet sadness, held secrets far heavier than the snowstorm raging outside.

Michael lingered by the doorway, casting a long look at Lucifer. "I'm sorry, Luci. I didn’t know..." His voice was quiet, a tender apology weighted with years of distance.

Lucifer offered a faint, wistful smile. "It’s alright, Mike. Truly, I’m fine. You should check on them, though. After all..."

His gaze shifted, his expression softening. "No one here knows how to survive in these conditions like you."

Michael hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”

He patted Lucifer’s shoulder and turned, following Adam into the kitchen.

Adam was already marvelling at the towering cabinets and polished counters, his mechanical legs clicking softly against the tiled floor as he spun around. His button eyes gleamed, shimmering like wet glass under the warm kitchen light.

Joker was by the counter, her hands moving deftly as she tried to scrape together something edible from their meagre supplies. She glanced at Adam, her red hair a tangle of shadow and fire under the faint light. Her lips pressed into a thin line, wary of the excitable doll bounding toward her.

Michael, however, crouched slightly, his tone soft. "Adam? What do you think of the kitchen?"

Adam beamed, his lips curling into a wide smile as his spider-like limbs clattered behind him. “It’s so big! Bigger than me! And look! Look at all the pots!”

He pointed with one of the mechanical arms, which wobbled unsteadily. “Do you use them all at once? Are they magic pots? Ooh, do they sing songs?!"

Joker blinked, caught off guard by his childish enthusiasm. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Michael chuckled, stepping closer. “Not magic, Adam. Just regular old pots.”

Adam giggled, spinning on one heel, his shawl fluttering slightly. "Pots! Pots everywhere! Ooh, Joker, is that your name? Is it because you make jokes? Can I tell you one? What do you call a spider with no legs? A raisin!"

Michael stifled a laugh, but Joker’s lips twitched.

“That’s... an interesting one,” she murmured, her voice hesitant but not unkind.

Adam tilted his head, his green button eyes wide. "Do you like jokes? I bet you do, you have funny hair! It’s all red and wild, like fire! I like fire... but it hurts sometimes, doesn’t it?”

His voice trailed off into a whisper, and his gaze briefly clouded before brightening again.

Joker blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but Michael placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. She glanced at him, his warm smile encouraging her to relax.

“Adam,” Michael began, crouching to meet him at eye level, “Have you eaten today?”

Adam froze, his mechanical legs stilling as he hummed thoughtfully. “Eaten? Ohhh, that’s a funny word! Eaaaaten! Eee-eee-aten!”

He twirled in a quick circle, his giggles ringing like chimes. "Nope! Don’t think so. Or maybe? Hmm, I don’t remember!”

Michael’s smile faded, concern creeping into his expression. “You don’t remember?”

“Nope!” Adam chirped, stopping mid-spin to gaze up at Michael.

“But I’m not hungry, promise! I’m just... exploring!” His eyes sparkled with childish wonder as they darted around the kitchen.

Joker stepped forward cautiously, a plate of crackers in her hand. “Adam, maybe you could try just a little something?” Her voice was softer now, her walls lowering slightly.

Adam shook his head vigorously, his shawl slipping slightly. “No thank you! Not hungry!”

His tone was cheerful, but there was a nervous edge to his movements.

Michael frowned. “What about water? Have you had any?”

Adam blinked, tilting his head like a curious bird. “Water? Nope! Don’t need it! I have lots of energy! See?”

He darted across the kitchen, his limbs clicking erratically as he bounced from one end to the other.

Joker started to step forward again, but Michael stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. He shook his head silently, his expression one of quiet understanding. Joker hesitated, her lips parting in protest before she relented with a small nod, her gaze dropping to the floor.

“Alright,” Michael said, his voice steady. “But let us know if you need anything, okay?”

Adam nodded enthusiastically, already distracted by the gleaming counters and flickering light fixtures. “Okay, Michael! Bye-bye!”

Before either of them could stop him, Adam clattered out of the kitchen, humming a soft, tuneless melody as he wandered into the hallway.

The hallway was dim, but Adam’s vision blurred and sparkled, the edges of his sight tinged with pink and blue hues. He giggled to himself, his mechanical legs moving erratically as he explored.

His button eyes landed on a series of portraits lining the walls. He gasped, stepping closer. The faces were exquisite, painted with delicate strokes that made them seem almost alive. The colours swirled and shimmered in his drugged haze, each portrait a kaleidoscope of beauty.

“So pretty...” he whispered, reaching out with one of his mechanical arms. But the hand hovered awkwardly, far too large and unwieldy to touch anything without risk of damaging it.

Adam pouted, lowering the arm as his gaze shifted to a cluster of painted handprints further down the wall. Bright reds, blues, and yellows stood out against the pale surface. He placed one of his mechanical hands against the wall, comparing it to the prints.

They were so small, so delicate. His, by contrast, was monstrous—cold, sharp, and grotesque.

“I’m too big,” he murmured, his voice tinged with disappointment.

For a moment, the haze cleared, and sadness flickered in his green button eyes. But then the melody returned to his lips, and he spun away, his humming growing louder as he continued his aimless journey through the strange, endless house.

Adam wandered the corridors of the mansion, his mechanical legs clicking rhythmically against the ornate wooden floor. His vision sparkled, the edges of his sight tinged with candy-coloured hues. Everything felt magical, larger than life. He tilted his head, humming a soft, tuneless melody as he ran a mechanical hand lightly along the walls.

Paintings, vases, mirrors—each thing he passed captured his attention with its strange beauty. But as he turned a corner, his gaze fell on a grand window framing the gardens outside. His button eyes widened, green threads catching the faint light.

“Flowers!” he whispered, almost reverently. “So many flowers!”

He pressed his face close to the glass, his breath fogging it. The gardens sprawled out in a maze of colour, each bed bursting with blooms in pinks, yellows, blues, and reds. The sight tugged at something deep within him—a longing he couldn’t name.

Reaching for the latch and eager to step outside, when a noise from a nearby room pulled Adam’s attention. He turned, curiosity overriding his plans, and shuffled toward the slightly ajar door.

Inside, a figure stood with his back to Adam, the air around him humming faintly with an otherworldly energy. The man turned as Adam entered, revealing a sharp grin filled with rows of emerald-green teeth. His hair fell in messy, ink-black waves, and his piercing eyes seemed to glow faintly.

“Zestial!” Adam cried, his voice bright with excitement. He hurried toward the man, his mechanical limbs clicking erratically.

Zestial’s grin widened as he held out his hands. “Adam, my boy! Come here.”

Adam grabbed Zestial’s hands eagerly, his small, stitched fingers dwarfed by Zestial’s long, clawed ones.

“I’m so happy to see you!” Adam gushed. “You’re here! You’re really here!”

Zestial chuckled, his voice smooth and laced with mischief. “I am indeed. And look at you, all full of energy. How are you feeling? Any pain?”

Shaking his head vigorously, Adam’s green button eyes shining. “Nope! None at all! And it’s all thanks to you! You took it all away!”

Zestial’s grin grew wider, almost predatory. “Good, good. You’ve been taking your pills, haven’t you?”

Adam nodded. “Three in the morning, three in the evening, just like you said!”

Zestial leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Double promise?”

Adam giggled, crossing his heart with a stitched finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die!”

Zestial snorted in amusement, patting Adam’s head. “Careful with those words, little one. Now, tell me—do you like my mansion? Hazbin’s a special place, isn’t it?”

Nodding his head fervently, Adam held tightly to Zestial’s hands as they began to walk down the corridor. The faint glow of pink lights framed their path. “I love it! It’s so big and pretty! But, um...”

He hesitated, glancing up at Zestial. “I’m too big to go up to my room! My legs don’t fit on the stairs. But I found a hidey hole!”

Zestial chuckled, his grip firm yet oddly comforting. “A hidy hole, you say? Well, perhaps I’ll sort out a proper room for you on the ground floor. How does that sound?”

Adam’s face lit up. “Really? Oh, thank you, Zestial! You’re the best!”

Smirking, Zestial steered Adam along the hall. “Now, about the play. Have you picked a part yet?”

Shrugging, Adam’s mechanical legs clicking softly as they moved. “Everyone keeps saying I should be the last child. I don’t know why, but I’m just happy they’re letting me join! I want to do a good job so I can go home!”

Zestial’s grin softened, a shadow of something unreadable passing over his face. “And you will, Adam. Once the performance is done, I’ll make sure you get home to your mother.”

Adam beamed, his excitement bubbling over. “Really? Oh, thank you, Zestial!”

As they walked, Zestial’s tone grew contemplative. “Do you like the others? Lucifer, Lilith, Eve... Michael?”

Adam tilted his head, his voice dropping slightly. “I guess so. Lucifer yelled at me today, though. I think I made him mad...”

Chuckling darkly, Zestial patted Adam’s hand. “Ah, Lucifer. Always the temperamental one. And Lilith... she’s got her own demons to wrestle. But tell me, Adam, are you aware of the fifth member?”

Adam blinked up at him, confusion knitting his button brows. “Fifth member? Who?”

“Steve,” Zestial said, his grin returning. “Though some might say Steve looks an awful lot like Eve—or Joker, as you know her.”

Adam frowned, his mechanical hands twitching slightly. “Joker’s name is Eve, not Steve. Steve’s someone else!”

The grip on Adam’s hand tightened slightly, though Zestial’s tone remained light. “Perhaps. But wouldn’t you like to find out? Call her Steve next time, won’t you?”

Adam pouted, his childish frustration bubbling up. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

Ruffling Adam’s hair, Zestial laughed. “Because it’s more fun this way. You’ll do it, won’t you?”

Adam huffed but nodded reluctantly. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

 “That’s my boy.”

As they reached the end of the corridor, Zestial paused, gesturing to a set of glass doors that led outside. “Now, Adam, do you want to see the gardens?”

Adam’s face lit up with uncontainable joy. “Yes, yes! I really do!”

With a dramatic flourish, Zestial pushed the doors open. “Then go on. Explore. There are greenhouses, too, if you’d like.”

Gasping, Adam’s mechanical legs clicking erratically as he darted forward into the sprawling garden. The cold air was crisp against his fabric skin, and the colours of the flowers shimmered in his drugged haze like living rainbows.

“Zestial!” he called, turning back to share his excitement. But the doorway was empty.

“Zestial?” Adam called again, his voice quieter this time. He stepped closer, peering back into the mansion, but there was no sign of the man.

The wind rustled softly through the garden, carrying the faint scent of flowers. Adam hugged himself, his mechanical arms folding inwards as a faint, inexplicable unease settled over him.

“Zestial?” he whispered one last time, but the only answer was the rustling of leaves.

he heavy double doors to the garden creaked open, the sound slicing through the mansion's eerie stillness. Adam peeked out, his glowing eyes scanning the snow-blanketed world beyond. His heart raced with a longing that felt almost painful. He wanted to go outside—no, needed to. The flowers, the bare trees, the animals that might brave the cold—he yearned for the solace they promised. The chill in the air pricked his exposed skin, yet something was wrong. The world beyond the threshold was empty. Hollow.

"Zestial said it was fine for me to go outside," Adam whispered to himself, as if reassuring the nagging doubt in his mind.

The spider-like limbs of his prostheses hummed softly, the mechanical joints releasing faint clicks and buzzes as he stepped forward. One clawed hand gripped the doorframe, steadying him, when suddenly a voice, sharp and alarmed, shattered the quiet.

"Adam!"

He flinched violently, stumbling back as his glowing eyes darted around in panic. His movements were clumsy, spinning twice in search of the voice's source. Finally, he spotted Lucifer descending the winding staircase, his face twisted with urgency.

"Lucifer," Adam mumbled, barely audible over the quiet hum of his prosthetics. He hadn’t even noticed those steps when Zestial had led him to the back of the mansion earlier.

 Reaching towards him, Lucifer’s porcelain-like face contorted in a mixture of concern and frustration. His red and gold button eyes, glinting with an otherworldly light, focused intently on Adam.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and strained.

Adam pouted, his hand gesturing toward the open doors.

“Going outside,” he replied simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Lucifer’s brows furrowed deeply. His voice rose, the tension unmistakable. “What? Are you out of your mind? You can’t go outside, Adam!”

The reprimand stung, and Adam recoiled slightly. The earlier fight from this morning still lingered in his mind, and the hurt bubbled up in his chest. He squared his shoulders defiantly.

“I want to see the gardens!” he yelled back, his voice tinged with a childlike petulance.

Freezing for a moment, Lucifer’s jaw working soundlessly as if wrestling with words that wouldn’t come. His gaze flickered between the open doors and Adam, then hardened. Without another word, he strode to the threshold, slammed the doors shut with a thunderous echo, and stretched upward to lock them with a swift motion.

“You can’t go outside, Adam,” Lucifer snapped, turning back to face him, his frown deep and unyielding. “It’s snowing. Heavily.”

“Why not?!” Adam countered, his voice trembling with frustration.

Lucifer exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair as though searching for patience. “Adam, I don’t know exactly what your prostheses are made of, but they look mechanical to me. If you go out there in that storm, the cold will freeze them. They’ll ice over, and... and you could die. Don’t you understand how dangerous it is for you to be out there?”

Adam’s defiance faltered. He glanced down at his spindly mechanical limbs, their once gleaming surfaces dulled by time. Shame curled in his stomach as he mumbled, “Yes, yes, you’re right.”

Lucifer’s tense posture softened ever so slightly. A breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding escaped him. He crouched down in front of Adam, his sharp gaze scanning his face.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, his tone careful, almost gentle.

Blinking, Adam was taken aback by the question. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

Frowning, Lucifer clicked his tongue softly. “It’s just… you’re different from last night. The way you’re talking, acting—something feels off.”

Adam snorted dismissively. “I’m fine! Completely fine!”

“Alright, fine. You’re okay,” he muttered. Lucifer straightened, his expression sceptical but resigned. “Can’t blame a guy for being concerned.”

Expression darkened, and Adam muttered bitterly, “Like you care anyway.”

Lucifer froze, his button eyes narrowing. “Of course I care. I wouldn’t have stopped you if I didn’t.”

“You yelled at me,” Adam said, his voice cracking. “You hate me. You find me disgusting, like everyone else.”

Lucifer’s mouth fell open, genuine shock flashing across his face. “Adam…”

His voice softened. “I don’t even know you well enough to hate you. And I certainly don’t find you disgusting.”

“Everyone does,” Adam whispered, his voice barely audible now. His mechanical limbs creaked faintly as he drew them closer to his body.

For a long moment, there was silence between them, thick and heavy. Then Lucifer sat down on the cold floor, directly in front of Adam.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier. That was wrong of me.”

Lips quivering, but he didn’t speak. Adam’s stubborn, childlike demeanour began to crumble as Lucifer continued.

“I don’t hate you, Adam. Nor do I find you disgusting. Your prostheses… sure, they’re surprising, but that doesn’t make you any less than anyone else. You’re you, and that’s enough.”

Adam’s eyes, filled with a flicker of hope, met Lucifer’s.

“Really?” he asked, his voice fragile.

Nodding, the tension easing from Lucifer’s features. “Really.”

The snow outside howled against the windows, a haunting melody that seemed to echo Adam’s turmoil. Yet, in the quiet warmth of Lucifer’s gaze, there was an unexpected promise of something Adam hadn’t felt in a long time—acceptance.

Tilting his head thoughtfully, the tension from their earlier exchange dissipating as he observed Adam’s childlike pout. His mechanical limbs twitched faintly, betraying his nervous energy. Lucifer decided to try a softer approach, one that might coax Adam out of his shell without pressuring him.

"Hey," Lucifer began, his tone light. "Why don’t we play a game? Something fun."

Blinking, Adam’s luminous eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“A… game?” he asked hesitantly.

Lucifer grinned, sitting cross-legged on the floor as if to prove he wasn’t going anywhere. “Yeah. Ever played Twenty Questions?”

Adam tilted his head like a curious bird, the unfamiliar name sparking something in him. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s easy,” Lucifer explained. “We take turns asking each other questions—any questions we want—and we have to answer honestly. It’s a way to get to know each other better.”

Brow furrowing, Adam’s mechanical limbs twitching faintly as he considered this.

 “Nobody’s ever played games with me before,” he admitted softly, his voice tinged with an odd mix of sadness and wonder.

Lucifer’s chest tightened at the confession, but he smiled warmly. “Well, then, I guess it’s about time someone did. I’ll go first. What’s your favourite colour?”

Perking up at the simple question, Adam’s expression brightening. “Oh! I like yellow. It’s warm, like sunlight. What about you?”

Chuckling, Lucifer was pleased by the enthusiasm. “Hmm… I think I like red. It’s bold, like fire.”

Humming thoughtfully, as though committing this information to memory.

“Red suits you. You’re like fire. You’re warm too,” he said matter-of-factly.

Lucifer’s grin softened. “Your turn.”

Twiddling his fingers, Adam’s excitement bubbling over. “What did you do in your circus? Did you juggle? Did you do flips? Did people clap for you?”

Lucifer laughed at the barrage of questions, his button eyes glinting with fondness. “One at a time, Adam. Yes, I juggled. And yeah, people liked what I could do. They used to call me ‘The Cute Juggler,’ if you can believe that.”

Jaw dropping, Adam’s childlike awe shining through. “Cute? You?!”

He tilted his head dramatically, studying Lucifer as though trying to find the "cute" hidden in him.

“Hey!” Lucifer said with mock offense, playfully poking Adam’s arm. “I was pretty popular back in the day, you know.”

Adam giggled—a sweet, airy sound that made Lucifer’s chest ache in an oddly pleasant way. “What do they call you now?”

Hesitating, a shadow of uncertainty crossing Lucifer’s face. “I… don’t know, honestly. Haven’t thought about it.”

Adam’s face lit up with an idea, his tone brimming with pride as he declared, “Acrobat! You’re like an acrobat now, with all those moves you do.”

Lucifer chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Acrobat, huh? You’ve got a talent for naming things, Adam.”

Puffing out his chest proudly, clearly pleased with the compliment. Adam beamed cutely.

“What did you do in your circus?” Lucifer asked, his tone softer now. “What was your performance like?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I was with the Cowshuff Circus,” he muttered.

Eyes brightening up, Lucifer nodded thoughtfully. “That’s right. I remember. The ringmaster was Fred, wasn’t it?”

Adam seemed to shrink in on himself, his shoulders hunching. “That’s right… Fred.”

Leaning forward, and lowering his voice to a gentle whisper. Lucifer spoke. “Did Fred… kick you out of the Cowshuff?”

Adam didn’t answer, his gaze fixed firmly on the tiles beneath him. Lucifer hesitated before trying another approach. “The mechanical spider limbs you have now… were they his idea?”

“I don’t like to perform,” Adam blurted suddenly, his voice cracking with emotion.

Lucifer blinked, taken aback. “You… don’t like to perform? Then why—why did you accept the invitation to join the circus?”

Lowering his head, Adam’s expression heartbreakingly similar to a scolded child. He didn’t answer, and Lucifer bit his lip, uncertain how to proceed.

“I just… I figured you loved it,” Lucifer admitted quietly. “The way you’re acting now… I thought the stage was where you wanted to be.”

Adam’s glowing, pink-and-blue-tinged vision flickered as he stared at the floor. Something was off—Lucifer could feel it in the way Adam’s movements seemed sluggish, his responses disconnected. He tilted his head, trying to meet Adam’s eyes.

“You know,” Lucifer began softly, “I saw you perform once.”

Adam’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you did? You saw me?”

Grinning widely, a hint of nostalgia in Lucifer’s expression. “Sure did. I was just a kid at the time, but I remember thinking you were amazing. Cute, even.”

Adam recoiled as though the word had physically struck him.

“I was not cute!” he huffed, his voice rising with indignation.

Lucifer laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Oh, you absolutely were.”

Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Adam’s cheeks puffing out in a childish pout as he stood abruptly. He wandered past Lucifer, heading back toward the mansion.

“Hey, wait!” Lucifer called, scrambling to his feet. He hurried after Adam, his boots echoing against the cold tile. “Don’t just walk away!”

Adam didn’t respond, his mechanical limbs clicking faintly as he moved. Lucifer caught up to him, falling into step beside him. The unease from earlier returned, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Something wasn’t right with Adam, and Lucifer wasn’t about to let him retreat into solitude without finding out what.

The group entered the living room, the crackling of the fire casting a warm, golden glow across the space. Adam gasped, his mechanical limbs twitching as he hurried toward the fireplace, his glowing green button eyes fixated on the dancing flames. He lowered himself beside it, his spindly hands reaching out as though to touch the warmth without risking the frostbitten cold of his mechanical parts.

Michael stood near the fireplace, smiling warmly. “I thought this would make the room a bit cozier.”

Glancing toward the window where the snowstorm outside howled and roared. Michael sighed. “It seems the storm has only grown fiercer.”

Entering the room, Lucifer’s gaze sweeping briefly to Joker, who stood awkwardly by the wall, before landing on Adam. He exchanged a look with Michael—one of silent understanding—before leaning casually against the fireplace’s stone mantle.

Breaking the quiet, Joker cleared her throat and stepped forward hesitantly. “I’ve… I’ve been practicing my act…Would you like to see it?”

Adam perked up immediately, clapping his mechanical hands together with audible enthusiasm.

“Oh yes! I’d love to see it, Joker!” His excitement was contagious, his button eyes practically glowing as they darted between her and the others.

Smirking, Lucifer crossed his arms. “Sure. Let’s show each other what we’ve got and decide what to put on stage for the play.”

Michael clapped a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, his grin wide. “Brilliant idea! It’ll be good to see how we can work together.”

Adam beamed, fishing a crinkled parchment from the folds of his shawl.

“The play!” he exclaimed. “I can’t wait!”

As Joker began to perform, her movements graceful yet tentative, the atmosphere in the room shifted to one of focus and anticipation. Adam and Michael shared a smile, clapping their hands in time with the rhythm of her act. Adam’s expression was alight with joy, his attention locked onto Joker as she twirled and spun.

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he blurted out, “Oh, Steve! You’re so wonderful!”

The room froze. Joker stopped mid-spin, her hands lowering to her sides as she stared at Adam in shock. Lucifer pushed off the mantle, his button eyes narrowing.

 “Adam?” he said, his voice low but sharp. “What did you just call her?”

Blinking his bright green eyes wide with confusion. Adam clocked his head, his voice was small, uncertain, as his gaze darted between them. “Steve? Oh no, that’s not right, is it?”

Joker took a shaky step back, her expression wavering between surprise and discomfort. She turned slightly, her eyes catching movement near the door.

“L-Lilith?” she stammered. “It’s me… Joker.”

All eyes turned as Lilith, who had been quietly watching from the doorway, froze. Her large button eyes widened in fear as she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet and landing hard on the floor.

She threw up a trembling hand. “No! Stay back! Don’t come any closer, you… you monsters!”

“Lilith!” Michael exclaimed, rushing to her side. He gently helped her up, his voice calm and steady as he asked, “Are you alright? It’s okay, Lilith. Steve isn’t here. Adam just made a mistake. That’s all.”

Lilith’s breathing slowed, her wide eyes darting to Adam before glancing away.

“Y-yes,” she murmured, her voice distant. “Of course. It’s my fault…”

Shrinking back, Adam’s head bowing as guilt weighed him down. “I-I’m sorry, Lilith…It was just a mistake. I didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t do it again.”

Lilith barely looked at him, her hand clutching the edge of her dress tightly.

“It’s alright,” she whispered, though her tone remained detached. She turned to Michael, her voice soft and strained. “I… I’m tired. I missed lunch. Perhaps I’ll eat something in the kitchen and then retire to my room.”

Michael nodded kindly. “Of course, Lilith. You need to take care of yourself. Joker saved some food for you.”

Stepping forward, Joker offered a shy smile. “Yes, that’s right, Lilith. I cooked. There’s a plate waiting for you.”

Lilith managed a faint smile in return. “Thank you, Eve.”

She hesitated. Her gaze flicked back to Adam, her expression softening slightly. “I’m sorry, Adam. I’m just… a bit out of sorts. Let me eat and rest, and we’ll look at the performances later.”

Adam’s face lit up again, his earlier tension dissipating. He clapped his hands together. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Lilith! Thank you, thank you… Oh, um, I mean, Margarethe—”

Lilith shook her head, letting out a faint laugh. “Lilith is fine. I imagine it’s hard to keep track of all the names.”

Adam’s relief was clear as he nodded eagerly. “Thank you, Lilith.”

As the group began to leave the room, Adam’s short but lumpy form lumbered after them, his parchment slipping unnoticed from his shawl to the floor. Lucifer spotted it immediately, scooping it up with a swift motion before Adam could turn back. He glanced at the scrawled writing before slipping it into his pocket. When Adam turned, his head tilted in curiosity, Lucifer offered him a quick smile, one that Adam returned without question.

Lucifer’s fingers brushed the parchment in his pocket as they walked. Whatever Adam was carrying, it wasn’t just a script—it was something more. Something important. Something he needed to understand.

Adam’s mechanical legs clicked softly against the floor as he moved, his steps hesitant yet deliberate. The food he left behind sat untouched, smeared and rearranged to feign an attempt at eating. He couldn’t remember the last time eating felt natural. The spider suit’s unforgiving design made it a chore. Drinking was easier, but even then, his thirst was fleeting, almost non-existent. His button eyes blinked dimly as his vision sharpened, like breaking through a dense fog. Yet, clarity came with a price—pain, dull and creeping, spreading from his lower back into his limbs. The ache was a slow burn, a reminder that evening was drawing near.

And evening meant more pills.

He glanced back toward the others at the table. They were engrossed in conversation, voices rising and falling in a comfortable rhythm. They wouldn’t notice if he left, would they? They might assume he was wandering again—like he often did. Adam paused at the thought, his mechanical body stiffening. Why had he acted so irrationally earlier? His lips pressed into a thin line. It had to be the medication. Zestial hadn’t mentioned side effects, but…what else could explain it? Still, it was worth it. All of it was worth it. The pills dulled the agony that had once consumed him. Painlessness was worth any price.

Without a word, Adam turned from the table and headed toward the double doors. He noted the details as he moved—the pristine white tablecloth draped over the table, the ruby red runner cutting through its centre like a streak of blood. Golden candle holders lined the middle, their polished surfaces gleaming in the flickering light. Around the table were eight chairs with cushions, gilded and plush. One chair had been shifted to accommodate him—a gesture that should have made him feel included but only underscored his difference. Adam hadn’t sat in a proper chair since…since before.

As he pushed through the doors, the sound of his limbs creaking faded into the background. He didn’t notice Lucifer’s eyes following him, a flicker of concern crossing the juggler’s face. Lucifer leaned forward in his seat, his body tilting precariously as he tried to keep Adam in his line of sight. But when Adam disappeared through the doors, Lucifer’s balance gave out, and he tumbled unceremoniously to the floor.

Lilith snorted, barely hiding her amusement. “Still the same old Morningstar. Nothing ever changes.”

“Watch it,” Lucifer grumbled, glaring at her as he scrambled back into his seat. He smoothed his shirt with exaggerated nonchalance, ignoring the grin Michael shot him.

Meanwhile, Adam had reached the solitude of an empty hallway. His trembling mechanical hand fished the small bottle of pills from a hidden pocket, the lid clinking softly as he twisted it open. His fingers shook as he tried to tip the pills into his palm, and the bottle slipped. Time seemed to slow as it hit the floor, bouncing once, twice—then spilling its contents in a scattered mess of yellow.

“No,” Adam whispered, his voice tight with panic.

His button eyes filled with unshed tears as a hot, sharp pain flared up his spine, searing through him like molten fire. He clutched his side, his body shuddering as he lowered himself to the floor. His mechanical legs screeched faintly as they struggled to support him.

“No, no, no…”

One by one, he painstakingly picked up the pills, his trembling hands working against him. Each retrieval was an effort, his flushed face contorting with frustration and pain. He missed a single small pill that rolled beneath a nearby cabinet, unnoticed as he finished gathering the rest into the bottle.

With three pills left in his palm, Adam paused. His throat worked against a lump of pain and apprehension. He knew he needed them—needed the relief they promised. He tipped them into his mouth and swallowed them dry, wincing as they scratched his throat on the way down. His trembling subsided slightly, the promise of temporary reprieve easing his mind.

He sat there for a moment, his breathing uneven. A soft sound broke the silence—a shuffle of footsteps. Adam snapped his head up, button eyes wide and wary. From dining room doors, Lucifer emerged, his expression a mix of curiosity and worry.

“Adam?” Lucifer’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “What’s going on?”

Adam’s hands instinctively curled around the bottle, clutching it protectively.

“N-nothing,” he stammered, his voice a shaky echo of his usual childlike tone. “I just…dropped something.”

Lucifer took a cautious step closer, his button eyes narrowing as he studied Adam's hunched form.

“Do you…need help picking up whatever you dropped?” His voice carried a careful balance of concern and nonchalance, as though he didn’t want to spook Adam further.

Adam stiffened, his mechanical limbs clicking faintly as he turned slightly away, shielding himself from Lucifer’s probing gaze. He quickly shoved the small bottle back into his shawl, the fabric bunching awkwardly around the hidden object. His hands trembled, but he forced a weak smile to his lips.

“No, no. I’ve got it,” he said hastily, his voice high-pitched and almost sing-song.

Lucifer tilted his head, his arms crossing loosely over his chest as he leaned against the doorway.

“You sure? You seem…off,” he pressed, though his tone remained gentle. “You’ve been acting strange all day.”

“I said I’m fine,” Adam snapped suddenly, his voice cracking. He winced at his own tone, his button eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to reset himself.

“Sorry,” he muttered, softer this time. “I didn’t mean to… It’s just—I’m fine, Lucifer. Really.”

Lucifer hesitated, watching Adam’s trembling frame with growing unease. He knew Adam wasn’t telling the whole truth, but something about the doll’s fragility stopped him from pushing further. Instead, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Alright,” he said, his voice light but sceptical. “If you say so.”

Adam offered a quick nod and shuffled awkwardly on his mechanical legs, desperate to escape the weight of Lucifer’s concern.

“I’ll just…go rest for a bit,” he murmured, moving toward the hallway with jerky, uneven steps.

Lucifer stayed rooted in place, his eyes following Adam’s retreating figure. He didn’t believe him—not for a second. Adam’s behaviour wasn’t just strange; it was alarming. The tremors in his movements, the shadows that lingered behind his button eyes, and the way he clutched the shawl like a lifeline all painted a picture Lucifer couldn’t ignore.

As Adam disappeared into the dim corridor, Lucifer let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. His instincts screamed at him to intervene, but he knew better than to corner someone who was clearly unravelling.

“He’s hiding something,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers tapping against his arm in thought. “And it’s not just whatever he dropped.”

He straightened, his jaw tightening with determination. If Adam wouldn’t tell him, Lucifer would have to find out another way. For now, though, he would let the doll have his space—just enough rope to either find his footing or hang himself with his secrets.

With one last glance toward the corridor, Lucifer turned and headed back to the dining room, his mind already churning with plans. Whatever Adam was hiding, it was only a matter of time before the truth spilled out.

Adam darted toward the dim recess beneath the grand staircase, his mechanical legs clicking faintly against the worn floorboards. His little hiding spot—a sanctuary amidst the chaos—waited for him. Just as he crouched to slip inside, a cold realization prickled down his spine.

The script. It was gone.

His spindly fingers clawed at his frayed shawl, searching frantically, but the parchment wasn’t there. He must have dropped it somewhere—somewhere out in the sprawling, ominous corridors. Dread unfurled in his chest, a twisting serpent that coiled tighter with every second. The air around him seemed heavier, pressing in as a familiar haze of pink and blue swam across his vision. The pills—always the pills. Their effects crept in, disorienting him further.

“Oh dear… oh no…” Adam’s voice trembled as he whispered the words to himself, barely audible over the thrum of his own panic. “I’ve lost it. I’ve lost the play script.”

His mechanical hands rose to his button-eyed face in a dramatic gesture, the childlike movements betraying the maelstrom of anxiety within. “They’re going to be so mad at me!” His voice quavered, rising to a high-pitched whine.

The spider-like appendages sprouting from his back buzzed to life, their metallic joints clicking and clanking as Adam spun in a wild, frenetic circle. His button eyes darted left and right, scanning the dim corridor as he muttered feverishly, “It’s here. Somewhere. Somewhere around here! It has to be—must be!”

The empty hall offered no answers, only shadows that seemed to ripple and shift in the flickering lamplight.

From beyond the double doors at the end of the corridor, muffled voices seeped through. Familiar, grounding.

“...When the snow lets up, we should head into the woods,” Michael’s voice rumbled, calm and thoughtful. “Maybe we can find some food.”

Adam froze, his frantic movements halting. He hummed softly to himself, a giggle escaping his lips despite his panic. Michael. Admirable Michael. His voice was like a tether, pulling Adam from the brink of his spiraling fear.

“I’ll help chop firewood,” Joker chimed in, her voice gentle, tinged with warmth.

Adam tilted his head, wondering briefly if Eve truly knew how to wield an axe.

“That’s right,” Michael continued, his tone thoughtful. “Remember, back in the day, you, me, and Luci helped Zestial fix his tent? You were the only one who could figure out that blasted saw.”

At the mention of Zestial, Adam’s green button eyes widened. He glanced around the corridor as if expecting the man to appear from the shadows. Of course, no one came. But... they knew Zestial too?

Michael’s voice carried on, steady and measured. “We’ll need tools first. The trees here are thick—ancient. Joker, do you think you still remember how to use a saw?”

Peering through the ajar doors, Adam’s gaze darted to the group within. They sat around a long, weathered table, bathed in the flickering glow of candles. Michael, poised as ever, leaned forward slightly, his arms crossed in contemplation. Joker’s delicate smile lit her face, her hands resting in her lap.

Lilith, regal and otherworldly, sipped tea from a fine china cup, her movements unhurried and graceful. Adam’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, entranced by the eerie stillness of her doll-like features.

And then there was Lucifer. Slouched in his chair, one arm propped on the table, he gazed into the flickering flames with a distant, almost haunted expression.

“What’s wrong, Luci?” Michael asked gently, turning his attention to his silent companion.

Adam’s curiosity burned. He tilted his head, watching as Lucifer slowly stirred. His fingers brushed his face, as though wiping away an unseen weight, before he leaned back once more. Something about him was different tonight. His usual bravado seemed dulled; his movements sluggish. A shadow flickered across his face—an emotion Adam couldn’t quite name.

Adam pushed the door open just slightly, inching closer. He couldn’t stop himself. His fear of discovery was dwarfed by the magnetic pull of their conversation, the need to understand what lay behind those haunted eyes.

Adam burst into the room, his movements erratic and flustered, a picture of desperation. His voice trembled as he spoke, childlike and pleading. “This is just awful! Has anyone seen the playbill? I... I think I’ve lost it! I must have dropped it somewhere around here. Please, please don’t be mad at me!”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Lilith, seated primly in her chair, turned her porcelain face toward him, her lips curving into a crooked frown. Her lavender-scented aura lingered, soothing yet cold.

“Oh, Adam,” she said, her tone light but faintly tinged with pity. “We wouldn’t be mad at you for that.”

Adam gasped sharply, his head whipping toward her, button-green eyes wide with disbelief. “Really?”

Joker, her hands folded delicately on her lap, gave a soft, hesitant nod. “It’s alright, A-Adam. We’ll help you look for it. Right, Lilith?”

Lilith’s gaze lingered on Adam before she offered a faint nod of agreement.

Across the room, Lucifer lounged on a yellow-cushioned chair, his red and yellow button eyes gleaming like mismatched jewels in the dim light. With deliberate slowness, he leaned back, holding up the missing playbill between his fingers. His expression was unreadable, his gaze laced with an almost playful challenge.

Adam froze mid-spin, his mechanical hands clapping nervously against one another. The childlike exuberance that had fuelled his movements faltered, his body seeming more sluggish now. A flicker of relief crossed his face.

 “Oh, thank goodness! You found it!” he exclaimed, rushing toward Lucifer. “Thank you, Luci. Where did you find it? Perhaps we can—oh!”

As Adam reached for the script, Lucifer’s arm darted upward, yanking the parchment away and holding it just out of Adam’s reach. It dangled mockingly, too high for his spindly spider-like prostheses to grasp.

“I just borrowed it,” Lucifer said nonchalantly, tilting his head to meet Adam’s gaze. His voice was soft, but his words carried an edge that felt almost like a dare. “I was going to give it back, Adam. But look at this—it’s... weird.”

Lilith, with an elegant grace, rose from her chair. She glided across the room, her fingers brushing against the edge of the table as she circled it, her movements deliberate and measured. Reaching Lucifer, she plucked the script from his hand, examining it with a furrowed brow.

“What is this?” she murmured, her voice cool and thoughtful. “Another nursery rhyme? I think I’ve heard this before…”

Before she could finish her thought, Lucifer sprang to his feet with a burst of theatrical energy, his sudden movement jarring. His hand snatched the parchment from her grip, and he twirled dramatically, his arms thrown high above his head as though conducting an invisible audience.

“It is a nursery rhyme,” he declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mock reverence. “The same kind Steve used to adore.” His lips twisted into a wry smile.

“But this—” he tapped the parchment with a long finger, “—this must be a clue.”

Adam’s confusion deepened, his small frame retreating slightly, his mechanical spider limbs emitting a soft, whirring whine. “A clue?” he echoed, tilting his head. “A clue for what?”

Michael stepped forward then, his presence steady and grounding. He placed a warm, reassuring hand on Adam’s shoulder, sending a fleeting sense of comfort through him. Michael’s gaze shifted to Lucifer, his tone calm but probing.

“What type of clue are we talking about?”

Lucifer swayed slightly, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his angular features, deepening the tension that seemed to thrum in the room like a barely audible hum.

“Who was it,” Lucifer murmured, his voice low and sinister, “that killed everyone and then ran away?”

Lilith’s porcelain face twisted with frustration, her crimson-painted lips curling into a sharp glare.

“What are you talking about, Lucifer?” she hissed, her voice low and crackling with tension. “You’re not going to dredge up that old spiral of madness again, are you?”

Lucifer’s eyes rolled dramatically, the glow of his mismatched button eyes flashing with irritation. He exhaled a breathy, theatrical huff, spreading his hands wide. “Why are you even here, Lilith? What did the organizer promise you this time? Money? A leading role? Don’t tell me you actually think we’re here for a simple performance?”

Lilith let out a deep, weary sigh, her shoulders sagging as though under the weight of his accusations. “Lucifer, you need to let this go—”

He cut her off with a sharp, sardonic laugh that sent a chill rippling through the room. “Take a good, long look around, Lilith.”

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as he gestured toward the room with a flourish. “We were all invited here—every last one of us—to the Hazbin Circus. You don’t find it the least bit suspicious? All the survivors of the Hullabaloo massacre, gathered in one place?”

Lilith’s mouth opened as if to argue, but she hesitated, her jaw snapping shut. Her hands clenched into trembling fists at her sides.

“Adam wasn’t part of the Hullabaloo Circus, Lucifer,” she said through gritted teeth, her tone laced with forced calm.

Lucifer groaned, spinning away from her with a frustrated laugh that felt hollow and strained.

“Fine. You’re right. Adam’s the exception. I have no idea why he’s here. But you? Eve? Michael? Me? That is suspicious, don’t you think?”

Michael stepped forward, his hand outstretched as though attempting to calm a tempest.

“Luci,” he said softly, his voice warm yet firm. “You need to sit down and—”

Lucifer slapped Michael’s hand away with a sharp crack that echoed in the tense air.

“No! I need an answer!” His voice rose, filled with a trembling anger that bordered on hysteria. “The name of the one who destroyed our home! The playbill—”

He jabbed a finger at the crumpled script, “—it says the murderer who killed everyone is among those who ‘got away.’ Someone doesn’t want us to know the truth.”

Lilith’s fists tightened until her nails dug into her palms, her voice slicing through the air like a razor. “You’re mad, Lucifer Morningstar. You’ve always been mad.”

Her heels clicked against the floor as she turned to leave, but Lucifer darted in front of her, his movements unnervingly quick and fluid.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Not so fast, darling. Today, we all give our accounts of what really happened on that night.”

Lilith’s lips twitched, her expression flickering between rage and something more fragile.

“I’ve already told the investigators everything I know,” she said coldly, the tremor in her voice betraying her.

Lucifer shrugged, his hands lifting in a mocking gesture of surrender. “Ah, yes. The mysterious ‘man in black’ who slipped into the tent? Is it even possible to craft a leakier lie than that?”

Lilith’s sharp gasp filled the room, her hand rising instinctively to her chest. “So, you suspect me, do you?”

Her voice wavered, teetering on the edge of anger and despair. “Everyone knows I was preparing for the performance that night. I couldn’t possibly be the murderer. I have no reason to lie—not to the investigators, and certainly not to you.”

Lucifer’s grin faded, his expression hardening into something colder. “You hated that place, Lilith.”

“And we all did, Lucifer Morningstar!” Her words lashed out like a whip. “Every single one of us, except you!”

He flinched at her words, but Lilith pressed on, her voice rising with venomous intensity. “And no wonder why. Mister Popular! Zestial’s little golden boy!”

She shoved past him with enough force to send him stumbling a step. Without another word, she stormed from the room, her footsteps echoing like gunshots in the silence.

“Lilith!” Joker called, her voice filled with alarm as she rushed after her.

His mechanical limbs twitching as Adam processed the sharp exchange that had just erupted in the room. The tension crackled in the air like an electric storm, heavy and suffocating. His green button eyes flicked nervously between Lucifer, who still clutched the play script with a triumphant yet manic glint in his mismatched gaze, and the door through which Lilith and Joker had disappeared.

“Luci…” Michael’s voice was soft but firm, his towering presence exuding calm. “That was uncalled for. You’re pushing too hard.”

Lucifer turned to him with a sardonic grin, spreading his arms wide in mock innocence. “Uncalled for? Oh, forgive me, Michael. I didn’t realize seeking the truth about who destroyed everything we had was such a faux pas.”

Sighing heavily, Michael placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder, offering the trembling doll a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re scaring him,” he said pointedly.

Lucifer’s sharp gaze flickered to Adam. His grin faltered for a moment before he sighed, tossing the script onto the table like a discarded toy.

“I’m not trying to scare anyone,” he muttered, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I just want answers.”

“I…I don’t understand,” Adam murmured, his voice quivering. “What does the playbill have to do with…with what happened at Hullabaloo?”

Lucifer turned to him, crouching slightly to meet Adam’s wide, button-eyed stare.

“Everything, Adam,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s a piece of the puzzle. Don’t you see? We were all brought here for a reason, and it’s not just to put on some whimsical circus performance.”

Hands clutching his shawl tightly, Adam’s confusion deepening. “But why me? I wasn’t part of Hullabaloo. I don’t even know what happened there…”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Lucifer his gaze softening as he studied Adam’s earnest expression. “Why you?”

Michael, sensing the brewing storm, stepped between them. “That’s enough for tonight. We’re all tired, and this snowstorm isn’t helping anyone’s mood. Let’s regroup in the morning.”

“And you?” Lucifer asked, turning towards Michael. “What do you make of all this?”

“What? Did I hate that place too?” Michael repeated.

A laugh escaped Lucifer. “No…no, I mean the play. The script.”

“…” Michael shrugged.

Opening his mouth to argue but stopped himself, Lucifer’s gaze lingering on Adam’s trembling form. With a dramatic sigh, he waved a dismissive hand and turned toward the fire.

“Hey, Adam. I apologise for my rudeness earlier.” He spoke softly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you…”

“I-It’s okay.”

Adam lingered for a moment, his mechanical legs hesitating to move. He glanced at the script lying on the table, the mysterious rhyme still echoing in his mind. He didn’t understand what was happening, but the weight of it pressed down on him like a lead blanket.

As Michael gently guided him out of the room, Lucifer stared into the flickering flames, his mind a whirl of suspicion and fragmented memories. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the past was clawing its way back, and that Adam, innocent as he seemed, was somehow at the centre of it all.

Outside, Lilith stormed down the dimly lit corridor, her breath coming in sharp, angry bursts. Joker struggled to keep up, her small frame hurrying to match Lilith’s determined stride.

“Lilith, wait!” Joker called, her voice breathless and pleading. “He didn’t mean it—he’s just…”

“A madman,” Lilith hissed, her fists curling tightly at her sides as if she could crush the very thought of him in her grasp. Her button eyes glinted in the dim light, hard and unyielding. “He’s always been a madman, dragging us into his twisted delusions, and now he’s doing it again.”

Joker hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor as if the wooden boards might provide some answer.

“Maybe…” she said, her voice wavering like a delicate thread ready to snap. “Maybe he’s not entirely wrong. About the invitation, I mean. It’s strange that we’re all here, isn’t it?”

Lilith froze mid-step, spinning to face Joker with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

“Don’t you start with this nonsense, too,” she snapped, her tone trembling with both frustration and something deeper—fear. “We left Hullabaloo behind. That place is nothing but ash, and good riddance. Digging up its ghosts will only lead to more pain.”

“It’s just…” Joker faltered, biting her bottom lip as if trying to stop her words from escaping. Her button eyes flickered nervously; their vibrant hues dimmed by unease. “I’m worried…”

Lilith’s expression softened at once, the sharp edges of her anger melting away. She stepped closer, her movements deliberate and gentle, like approaching a frightened animal.

“What’s wrong, Eve?” she asked, her voice tender now, coaxing.

Joker stiffened at the sound of her real name, her breath hitching in her chest. Lilith reached out, her slim fingers curling around Joker’s hand with a reassuring squeeze.

“Tell me,” Lilith urged, her gaze locking with Joker’s. “What’s wrong?”

Joker raised her head slowly, meeting Lilith’s gaze. Her voice came out in a trembling whisper. “It’s just… the play.”

“The script?” Lilith asked, her string-threaded brow arching in curiosity.

Joker nodded, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “The nursery rhyme. It talks about five children… then four children because…”

“Because one wandered off and got eaten by the Big Bad Wolf,” Lilith finished, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think it means something?”

Joker swallowed, her grip on Lilith’s hand tightening. “I think it means one of us is meant to die,” she said quietly, her voice laced with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. “And… I’m scared it might be you. Out of you and Lucifer, you’ve always been the ones at the centre of everything. It would make sense, but…”

Her voice cracked, and her button eyes shimmered faintly. “I just… I don’t want it to be you.”

Lilith’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Joker’s voice. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and tightened her grip on Joker’s hand.

“Hey,” she murmured, stepping even closer. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Eve. Nothing bad is going to happen to any of us. I won’t let it.”

Joker hesitated, her lips trembling as though she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the strength. Finally, she gave a small nod, though her doubt lingered in the way she glanced at the floor.

“Tell you what,” Lilith said, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Why don’t you sleep in my room tonight? Just like old times.”

Joker blinked, taken aback. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” Lilith coaxed, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It’ll be fun. Like when we were younger. Remember all those sleepovers we had?”

Joker gave her a flat look, her brow raising slightly. “Before Steve, you mean.”

The mention of the name hit Lilith like a sudden gust of wind, her playful expression faltering. She flinched, her gaze dropping away as guilt clouded her features.

“I’m… sorry, Eve,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Really. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. I never wanted to…”

Joker sighed, her button eyes narrowing with regret. “No, no. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair of me to bring Steve up like that.”

Lilith glanced back up, her eyes shimmering faintly in the low light. She offered a small, hesitant smile. “We’ve both been through a lot. But we’ve got each other now, right?”

Joker hesitated before nodding. “Right.”

As they continued down the dim hallway, their hands still loosely clasped, neither noticed the shadow that had slithered silently from the corner. It lingered in the dark, its unseen eyes burning with a fierce intensity as it watched them. The faintest flicker of movement betrayed its presence before it disappeared, swallowed by the shadows once more.

The dim corridors of the mansion stretched endlessly, the faint glow of flickering lights casting eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. Michael walked with measured steps, his warm gaze shifting often to Adam, who shuffled beside him. Adam’s ghostly white skin almost seemed to glow in the dim light, his fragile, bulbous body moving awkwardly under the weight of his limbs. The soft click and scrape of his mechanical appendages echoed faintly, the sharp front blades dragging slightly on the uneven floor.

"Careful now," Michael said gently, his voice as steady and reassuring as the warmth of a hearth on a cold night. He reached out, his hand brushing against Adam’s shoulder to guide him around a splintered edge of a doorframe. “These old halls can be tricky.”

Adam nodded, his button eyes blinking with uncertainty. His spindly back limbs twitched, adjusting his balance with every step.

“I… I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice tremulous, barely louder than the scrape of his own limbs. “I’m slowing you down.”

Michael chuckled softly, the sound light and comforting. “You’re not slowing me down at all. We all need a steady hand sometimes.”

He paused, waiting for Adam to maneuverer past a particularly narrow section of the hall. “Lucifer wasn’t always like this, you know.”

Adam’s movements faltered; his curiosity piqued. He tilted his head, his button eyes glinting in the low light. “He… wasn’t? What was he like?”

Michael smiled wistfully, his gaze momentarily distant as though peering into a brighter time.

“Lucifer,” he began, his voice touched with a tinge of nostalgia, “was the golden boy. The star of the show. And not just because he was eye-catching—though, let’s be honest, he was.”

He chuckled, his tone softening further. “No, it was something more than that. He had this… magnetism about him. An allure you couldn’t quite put into words. He could light up the stage, draw the audience in with just a smile and a wink. He had this way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the world, even if just for a moment.”

Adam’s fractured frame leaned forward slightly, his interest palpable. “He sounds… amazing.”

Michael nodded, his expression tinged with both pride and sadness. “He was. And in some ways, he still is. But…”

His voice trailed off, his brows furrowing. “Well, life has a way of wearing people down. Sometimes, what’s left doesn’t look much like what used to be.”

Adam was quiet for a moment, his limbs twitching nervously.

 “I… I think I understand that,” he said softly, his voice almost inaudible. “Maybe too much.”

Michael slowed, turning to face Adam fully. His warm brown eyes studied the younger man, his expression softening further. “I’m sorry if Lucifer frightened you earlier,” he said gently. “He’s… not himself, but he means well. I promise.”

Adam hesitated, his button eyes lowering. “Is… Is he alright?”

Michael let out a soft hum, his hand resting lightly on Adam’s shoulder. “Trauma does frightening things to people, Adam. It twists memories, reshapes the way we see the world—and ourselves.”

Adam sniffled quietly, turning his button eyes away.

“I… I get that,” he murmured. His mechanical limbs creaked slightly as he shifted his weight. “Maybe… more than I should.”

Michael tilted his head, his curiosity flickering to life. He hesitated for a moment, his lips parting as if to ask a question, but then he stopped himself. His gaze flickered to the spider-like contraption enveloping Adam’s body, but he bit down on his tongue, forcing the words back.

Noticing the silence, Adam looked up, his button eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

“Michael?” he asked hesitantly.

Michael blinked, then smiled, ruffling Adam’s wiry hair gently. “Nothing, kiddo. I just remembered—my companion’s waiting for me outside. I should hurry to him.”

He paused, glancing down the dim corridor. “Will you be alright getting to your room from here?”

Adam nodded mutely, though his limbs twitched with a faint tremor. “I… I think so.”

Michael gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Good. Take care, alright?”

He stepped back, his smile lingering as he turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the hall.

Left alone, Adam stood still for a moment, his button eyes reflecting the dim light. The scrape of his limbs echoed as he finally turned toward his room, the soft, distant echoes of Michael’s voice still warm in his mind. But in the deep shadows behind him, something else stirred—a faint rustle, a whisper of movement, watching, waiting.

The mansion’s dim corridors gave way to a hollow silence as Adam crept toward his little hideaway beneath the grand staircase. His limbs, both natural and mechanical, clicked and whirred softly in the quiet, his hulking, fractured form stooping to avoid hitting the low arch. His hidey hole, a cramped nook stuffed with discarded blankets and broken furniture, was all he had managed to claim as his own. It wasn’t much, but it felt safe.

Adam was about to settle in when a peculiar sound broke the silence—a faint, almost imperceptible hum. He froze, his large button-green eyes blinking as he listened intently. The sound came again, distant and ethereal, like the tinkling of glass chimes carried on the wind. It seemed to come from the back of the mansion, toward the door leading to the gardens.

He hesitated, his spindly limbs twitching uncertainly. Lucifer’s furious words echoed in his mind from the first time he had tried to sneak outside.

“Don’t you dare! It’s dangerous out there, Adam! You’ll break yourself—or worse!”

Adam bit his lip, the green buttons of his eyes darting toward the staircase. He should stay. He knew he should stay. Yet something about the sound tugged at him, like an invisible thread drawing him closer. Before he could stop himself, his limbs moved, skittering softly against the floor as he made his way toward the back of the mansion.

The heavy door to the gardens loomed before him, frost curling at the edges of the glass panes. Snow piled high against the doorframe, the faint shimmer of moonlight reflecting off the drifts outside. Adam hesitated, one of his spider-like front appendages tapping nervously at the door. He glanced over his shoulder, his thoughts tangled between fear of upsetting Lucifer and the overwhelming urge to see what lay beyond.

Just as he was about to turn back, his eyes caught movement—a flicker of something outside in the snow. His curiosity sparked like a live wire, and before he could think better of it, he unlatched the door and pushed it open.

The icy air bit at his pale skin as he stepped out into the snow. The storm was quiet at first, snowflakes drifting lazily down to rest on his mechanical limbs. Adam’s button eyes shone with a childlike wonder as he took in the maze of garden gates ahead. Each gate seemed to lead to a hidden world of its own, shrouded in white and mystery. He longed to explore them all, to uncover their secrets.

But as he moved deeper into the snow, the chill began to gnaw at him. His emaciated artificial limbs stiffened, the joints freezing with each step. The spider suit let out faint pings and buzzing sounds, but Adam paid it little mind, too captivated by the allure of the gardens.

Until he couldn’t move.

A jarring creak brought him to a halt. Adam blinked in confusion, his front limbs jerking uselessly as he tried to move forward. The buzzing grew louder, a desperate sound of strain, as his joints locked tight. Panic flickered across his face as he struggled to understand. The freezing snow had begun to bite deeper, seizing his mechanical body in its icy grip.

A worried squeal escaped his lips as he fought against the immobility, his back limbs thrashing. The suit wouldn’t budge. Instead, a new kind of pain crept in, dull at first but growing sharper as his body began to succumb to the cold. Adam shivered violently, his ghostly skin flushing a faint bluish hue. His breath hitched in short gasps, the storm around him suddenly feeling like a living thing, suffocating and relentless.

“Help…” he croaked, his voice barely audible over the rising howl of the wind.

Snowflakes blurred his vision, and he squinted, trying to see through the storm. A dark figure loomed ahead, faint and distant. Relief surged in him.

“P-please…” Adam’s voice cracked as he tried to call out, but the words caught in his throat. The figure grew clearer, but instead of approaching to help, it lunged forward with terrifying speed.

Adam gasped, his body jerking back, but his frozen limbs couldn’t defend him. A sharp blow struck him, sending him sprawling into the snow. The spider suit cracked and splintered under the force, the long legs shattering at the joints. Adam crumpled, his fragile body slumping forward as the snow engulfed him. His vision blurred further as the dark figure walked past him without a second glance, vanishing into the storm.

Time seemed to stretch into an endless haze of cold and pain. Adam’s breathing was shallow, his body trembling uncontrollably. But then, a new presence appeared—a large brown boar, its fur patched and tangled with dry leaves, its button eyes wide with alarm. The creature let out a whine, rushing to Adam’s side and pressing its warm bulk against him.

The boar huddled close, its body shielding Adam from the worst of the storm. The snowstorm raged on, but the boar stayed firm, letting out soft, mournful sounds as it tried to keep the broken boy alive in the unforgiving cold.

The next morning, Lucifer woke with a knot of unease twisting in his stomach. He had expected Lilith to avoid him after their confrontation, but the absence of Adam was far more troubling. Adam hadn't even shown up for breakfast, something that, while not entirely uncommon, now felt ominous.

Lucifer paced the corridors of their shared space, eventually finding himself in the lounge. It was where Adam seemed to spend most of his time, nestled in his peculiar spider-like contraption, with its buzzing servos and faint clanks filling the air like an unsettling metronome. But today, the lounge was eerily silent. Lucifer frowned, the absence of those sounds feeling wrong. Adam never ventured far, and Lucifer couldn’t recall ever seeing him on the upper floors.

He sighed, making his way upstairs. Passing his own room, he stopped in front of the door adjacent to it—the one with Adam’s name etched delicately on a brass plate. Raising his hand, he rapped on the wood, his knuckles echoing softly in the corridor.

“Adam?” he called, voice low, almost hesitant. “It’s me, Lucifer. Uh… I’m coming in, okay?”

No response. Not even the faintest whir of mechanical limbs. Lucifer felt the unease grow heavier in his chest as he twisted the ornate black bat-flower handle and pushed the door open.

The room was small but inviting, its walls painted a warm shade of cream. A double bed was neatly tucked against the far wall, untouched and perfectly made. A simple desk stood beneath a large window, its surface spotless, as if no one had ever sat there to write or think. A modest fireplace directly opposite the door remained unlit, its hearth clean and free of ash. The room was pristine, utterly devoid of life, and cold in a way that wasn’t just temperature.

Lucifer’s eyebrows knit together as he scanned the space.

“No signs of life at all,” he muttered. It was as though Adam had never set foot in this room, let alone lived in it for weeks.

“Lucifer?”

The voice behind him startled him, and he turned sharply to see Michael peeking through the doorway, his expression one of mild confusion. “What are you doing in here? Is Adam with you?”

Lucifer shook his head, stepping aside so Michael could enter. “No, I was looking for him. Come in and—tell me what’s wrong with this picture.”

Michael stepped inside, his button-like eyes flickering around the room. A slight frown tugged at his stitched mouth.

“It’s… too cold,” he said after a moment, his tone soft but heavy with worry. “Too clean. It’s not lived in.”

Nodding grimly, Lucifer crossed his arms. “And Adam… he can’t even get up the staircase, can he?”

Michael’s head tilted, realization dawning. “Oh, no.”

Lucifer groaned, running a hand through his dark hair. “Of course, he can’t. How did I miss that? He’s probably been sleeping somewhere downstairs this whole time.”

“He’s always in the lounge. He must have found somewhere nearby.”

Determined now, they left the untouched room behind and descended the stairs in silence. Their search brought them to the cupboard beneath the staircase, a tiny space that felt more like a grave than a home. As they opened the door, the smell of dampness hit them, and their eyes took in the cramped quarters. Blankets, haphazardly folded, lined the floor, while a few small trinkets and personal items sat forlornly on a makeshift shelf. It was cold. Miserable.

Making a distressed sound, Michael paled. “Why didn’t he tell us he couldn’t go upstairs? We would have found him somewhere better than this.”

Lucifer didn’t answer. His chest ached as his gaze lingered on the sad little nook. He stood abruptly, eyes narrowing.

“Where is he, Michael? He’s not here. I thought he would be, but…”

Michael looked up at him, his worry reflecting back. “I don’t know, Luci. He’s not here.”

Lucifer clenched his fists. A wave of guilt and panic swept over him. The image of Adam, fragile and quiet, burdened with both his mechanical limbs and whatever internal scars he carried, weighed heavily in his mind. Where could he have gone? Why hadn’t they noticed sooner?

“Michael,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but taut with determination. “We need to find him. Now.”

The mansion felt suffocating as Lucifer and Michael tore through it, calling out Adam’s name in every hall and room. Each shadow, each creak of the old wood, sent their hopes rising only to dash them cruelly. The cold silence of the house pressed against their ears, and with every empty corner, Lucifer’s anxiety grew.

When they finally met in the grand foyer, their expressions were mirrors of each other—haunted and worried.

“Seen anything?” Lucifer asked, his voice tight. His eyes darted toward Michael, searching for any sign of hope.

Swallowing thickly, Michael’s button eyes dim with worry. “No sign of him.”

Lucifer bit his bottom lip, teeth catching the soft fabric nervously. “Where could he have gone?” His voice cracked, his hands twitching at his sides.

Michael reached out and patted his shoulder gently. “We’ll find him, Luci. I promise.”

Before Lucifer could respond, an icy gust swept through the foyer, making both of them shudder. The chill wasn’t just cold—it felt unnatural, piercing. They turned their heads in unison, their eyes widening in horror at the sight of the mansion’s back door hanging ajar. Snow and frost crept in through the frame, painting the stone floor in a slick, frigid glaze.

“You don’t think…” Michael’s breath hitched audibly.

Lucifer’s face drained of colour, and he staggered forward, his knees threatening to buckle.

“Adam!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation as he bolted toward the door.

Michael yelped and sprinted after him, struggling to keep pace. “Lucifer, wait!”

The pair burst into the blinding whiteness outside, snow swallowing their legs nearly to their knees. The storm had subsided, leaving a quiet, oppressive stillness in its wake. The entire estate was blanketed in a thick, unbroken layer of snow, turning the gardens into an alien, desolate expanse.

“Adam!” Lucifer shouted again, cupping his hands around his mouth as he pushed forward. His voice echoed, but no response came.

A sudden high-pitched whine broke the silence, followed by a jerky movement in the snow ahead.

“My companion!”

He dashed toward the source of the noise, Michael’s feet slipping and sliding in the deep snow. The small boar bounded toward him, its legs struggling against the icy terrain.

“Where were you last night?” Michael murmured, dropping to his knees as the boar nudged him frantically.

The boar let out another whine, bouncing in place and pawing at a patch of snow beside it. Michael tilted his head in confusion, then began brushing the snow away with trembling hands. His button eyes widened as his fingers touched something solid.

“Lucifer! Get over here!” Michael’s voice cracked with urgency.

Lucifer stumbled through the snow to his side, falling to his knees and helping Michael dig. Together, they uncovered the still, fragile form of Adam, his thin limbs curled against the cold. The shattered remains of his mechanical spider frame were half-buried beneath him, twisted and broken beyond recognition.

“I-Is he…” Lucifer’s voice faltered as he stared at Adam’s pale face, his lips faintly blue.

Pressing a finger beneath Adam’s nose and Michael exhaled in relief. “He’s alive. Barely.”

His hands trembled as he brushed snow from Adam’s face. “We need to get him inside. Now.”

Michael turned to his boar, patting its head firmly. “Good job, my friend. You found him and took care of him.”

The boar whined again, its expressive eyes darting between Michael and Adam.

It was a monumental effort to haul Adam’s frail body, along with the wreckage of the spider frame, back to the mansion. The snow clung to their legs and sapped their strength, but neither of them stopped. By the time they collapsed onto the mansion’s stone floor, their breaths were ragged, clouds of vapor puffing in the cold air.

Michael stumbled back, leaning against a nearby wall. “It’s too heavy. How in the world does Adam manage to move in that thing?”

Crouching beside Adam, Lucifer’s sharp eyes scanning the battered mechanical frame. The spider-like limbs were cracked and splintered, as though someone had tried to saw them off.

Adam stirred faintly, a weak murmur escaping his lips. “It… hurts,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Chest tightening, Lucifer inched closer, his fingers brushing Adam’s cold, damp hair from his face. “What hurts, Adam? What happened to you?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Shaking his head, Michael kneeled beside them. “He’s delirious. We need to get him somewhere warmer. Fast.”

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on the shattered contraption attached to Adam’s fragile body. His lips curled in frustration.

“This thing…” he growled through clenched teeth. “This thing is no help to him anymore.”

“What are you doing?” Michael’s voice was sharp with alarm as Lucifer reached for the shawl draped over the spider frame.

Hands moved deftly, ignoring Michael’s protests. “I’m taking him out of this,” Lucifer snapped. “It’s hurting him.”

Grabbing his wrist, Michael gasped out helplessly.  “Lucifer, stop! We don’t know how it’s connected to him! You could kill him—”

Lucifer froze, his hand hovering above the shawl. He glanced down at Adam’s face, contorted in pain even in unconsciousness.

“He can’t stay in this,” he whispered. “It’s killing him already.”

Hesitating, Michael’s grip slackened. His gaze fell to Adam’s trembling form, his small body visibly struggling against the mechanical frame.

“Fine,” Michael said at last, his voice trembling. “But we need to be careful. If we do this wrong…”

Lucifer nodded grimly. “We’ll be careful.”

His hands moved again; this time slower, more deliberate. “But I’m not letting him suffer like this.”

The room was silent except for the faint clinks and creaks of metal as Lucifer and Michael knelt beside Adam, their breaths tight with focus and worry. Adam lay limp, his ghostly white skin stark against the dark wood floor. The fractures tracing his bulbous body gleamed faintly in the dim light, and his sickly pale green limbs looked even more emaciated than usual, trembling slightly even in unconsciousness. The mechanical spider contraption wrapped around him loomed like a cruel cage, its rusty limbs and bladed appendages adding to the grotesque sight.

Lucifer’s hands hovered over the contraption, unsure where to begin. Michael fidgeted beside him before standing abruptly.

“Wait here—I’ll grab my toolbox.”

He dashed out of the room, returning moments later with a battered red box in hand. He set it down between them, popping it open and pulling out a screwdriver. Handing it to Lucifer, Michael admitted sheepishly, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Lucifer gave a weak, grim smile. “Neither do I.”

He took the screwdriver and rested a hand lightly on Adam’s side, careful not to press too hard. “But we don’t have much choice. Adam’s been suffering because of this blasted thing, and the best thing for him right now is to be free of it.”

Michael nodded, his button eyes wide and anxious. “You’re right. Let’s do this.”

Unscrewing what looked like bolts at the base of the metal frame, Lucifer’s movements slow and precise. Michael watched closely, holding his breath with every turn of the tool. The rusty screws resisted at first, but one by one, they began to come loose.

Just as Lucifer removed one of the larger screws at the back, he gasped sharply, his hand freezing in place.

“What? What’s wrong?” Michael leaned closer, panic flashing in his expression.

“He’s… bleeding. The screws—” Lucifer’s voice wavered. His throat tightened. “They were drilled into him.”

Michael’s button eyes widened in horror. “Oh no. Oh no. Wait! There’s a first aid kit around here—I saw it earlier!”

He scrambled to his feet, rushing to a nearby cabinet and flinging it open. Grabbing the kit, he hurried back and dropped to his knees beside Lucifer. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the latches.

Lucifer, his own hands shaking, carefully parted the fabric of Adam’s shirt, revealing the puncture wounds beneath. Bright red droplets beaded at each spot where the screws had dug into his fragile frame. Michael opened the kit and handed Lucifer gauze and antiseptic, his voice barely a whisper.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

Together, they worked in tense silence, their hands shaking as they cleaned and dressed the wounds. Adam stirred faintly, a weak whimper escaping his lips, but he didn’t wake.

“Maybe Lilith would know what to do,” Michael suggested, his voice strained.

Lucifer didn’t respond, his focus locked on the contraption. He couldn’t stop now, not when Adam was so close to freedom. Finally, the last piece of metal pressing against Adam’s body was loose. Lucifer set down the screwdriver and gently circled his arms around Adam’s middle.

Kneeling beside him, Michael’s voice was soft but firm. “Ready?”

Nodding, Lucifer button eyes large and filled with both determination and fear. Slowly, he began to pull Adam back. For a heart-stopping moment, he expected resistance, some hidden tether or mechanism that would stop him. But there was nothing. Adam slid free, limp and small in Lucifer’s arms.

Blinking in disbelief, Lucifer’s breath hitching as he stared down at Adam’s frail body. His legs buckled, and he sank back onto the floor, cradling Adam in his lap. The doll-man was far thinner and smaller than Lucifer had realized. His limbs, truncated and malformed, were even more fragile than they appeared within the spider frame.

“He has phocomelia,” Michael mumbled, his voice filled with quiet realization.

Lucifer barely heard him. He drew Adam closer, his thumb brushing tenderly over Adam’s forehead before pressing a soft kiss there. His breath shuddered, and his voice was barely audible as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Adam.”

Michael placed a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, his tone gentle but firm. “We need to get him upstairs. Clean his wounds properly. Put him to bed so he can rest.”

Wordlessly, Lucifer nodded. His movements slow and deliberate as he rose to his feet, Adam held securely in his arms. His legs wobbled, but he steadied himself, his grip on Adam unwavering. He held Adam bridal style, Adam’s head resting on his shoulder. He spared the frozen contraption one last burning look before Lucifer turned his back to it.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Let’s take him upstairs...”

Lilith and Eve were nestled together in Lilith's bed, their limbs tangled beneath the heavy quilts. The two had stayed up late, whispering and laughing like children sharing secrets. Lilith was the first to wake, her button eyes softening as she watched Eve sleep, a small, peaceful smile on her lips. She reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from Eve’s face when a sudden shout pierced the quiet.

"Joker! Lilith! Where are you guys?!" Lucifer’s voice echoed through the hallways, frantic and sharp.

Eve stirred, whining softly as she blinked up at Lilith through half-lidded eyes.

 “What’s going on?” she mumbled.

“I don’t know,” Lilith replied, her voice low but uneasy.

They slipped out of bed and padded into the hallway, the cold of the floor biting at their feet as they followed the sound of muffled voices. The unease in Lilith’s chest deepened when they entered Adam’s room. Her button eyes landed on the bed, and she gasped.

“Is that… Adam?” she whispered.

Standing at the bedside, Lucifer careful tucking another blanket around Adam’s fragile body. Michael hovered nearby, slipping a hot water bottle under the layers of quilts. Lucifer’s expression was grim as he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

Eve swallowed hard. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Lilith stepped forward hesitantly, her hand rising instinctively to touch Adam’s bandaged shoulder. Before she could, Lucifer’s hand shot out, slapping hers away. She flinched, her button eyes widening as she stared at him in shock.

“I just…” Lucifer stammered, his face flushing. “I just don’t want him to be hurt more than he already is. Sorry.”

Lilith nodded mutely, stepping back. Her button eyes flickered around the room, landing on Adam’s familiar shawl draped over the desk. Something about its presence unsettled her. She moved towards it, her hands trembling as she picked it up. It was icy cold, sending a chill up her arms.

“We don’t know what happened,” Michael explained, his voice quiet but strained. “My companion found him out in the middle of the gardens like this. If they hadn’t kept him warm…”

His voice broke off. “He might have died from hypothermia.”

Lilith tightened her grip on the shawl, her throat tightening. “What was he doing outside? That’s dangerous!”

Head snapping toward her, Lucifer’s glare sharp. “We don’t know. I told him not to go out there. I warned him the snow would damage… that contraption.”

Eve’s voice was barely audible as she murmured, “You took him out of it?”

“Yes,” Lucifer huffed, his expression hardening. “It was useless to him now. Only causing him more pain.”

Michael straightened after adding yet another blanket to the pile. His voice was grave. “His prosthetics… they looked like someone tried to saw them off.”

The words sent a gasp from Eve, her button eyes widening in horror. Lilith barely heard them, her focus drawn to the weight of something in the shawl’s pocket. Sliding a hand inside, her fingers brushed cold glass. She fished out a small bottle, and as she did, a yellow piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

Her gaze flicked between the bottle and the paper. The moment her button eyes landed on the label, she let out a sharp, startled sound.

Lucifer turned to her, his brows knitting together. “What is it?”

Holding the bottle aloft, Lilith’s voice trembling. “These…”

Michael stepped closer, taking the bottle from her hands. He examined it, his face growing grim. “Pain medication?”

“No.” Lilith shook her head violently. “These are strong. They can cause hallucinations, alter moods… they’re banned for a reason.”

Lucifer was at her side in an instant, snatching the bottle and popping the lid off. His jaw tightened as he stared at the small pills inside.

“Who would give these to Adam?” he growled, his voice thick with anger.

Lilith crouched down to retrieve the yellow paper, her hands shaking as she unfolded it. Her face went pale as she read its contents.

Michael noticed her sudden stillness. “Lilith? What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly, she held the paper out. Lucifer took it, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. His button eyes grew so wide they seemed ready to pop off his face.

“This is…” His voice trailed off, a rare tremor lacing his usually confident tone. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he finished, “...This is impossible.”

“…Zestial’s alive?”

[uhhhitsme]

24, 29 and 32 Curt?

-24- best memory

i think he would tell himself its the berlin mission in 1956. i haven't nailed down any of the details for what went on DURING the mission exactly, but it would entail owen doing something crazy stupid for curt, and the two of them emerging victorious and covered in blood and more in love than ever. it solidified to him the idea that together, they're unstoppable, and eased some of curt's anxiety about whether or not the ocean of feelings curt has for owen is matched.

but really, it was something from earlier in their relationship---june of 1954. owen had gotten himself decently hurt on a mission---not serious enough that curt was afraid for him, but serious enough that it couldn't be ignored. curt insisted on patching owen up, and unlike every other time curt has had to take care of him, owen let him do it without a fight. and there was this moment where curt looked up from his work, halfway through a passionate speech about why it was essential that he keep a bottle of whiskey and a bag of chips in his medkit, and caught owen looking at him with eyes full of light. and for a moment, he was overwhelmed with the knowledge that owen had trusted him with this. trusted curt to take care of him. let curt see him at his most vulnerable.

after, when they went to bed. owen kissed him in the gentle, comforting way that he typically reserved for when curt was hurt, or when thought curt was too out of it to notice. curt read him to sleep, and then stayed up for hours---heart bursting with an emotion so indescribable, so impossible it made his head spin. the kind of feeling you get falling.

-29- quirks and personal habits

curt paces a LOT. not just when he's stressed---literally whenever he feels too much about anything, happy or frustrated or thinking about owen. when he can't pace, he bounces his leg or clasps his hands together so tight you can see the tension running through his arms.

during the winter, he gets dry lips, and he never can stop himself from picking them. he refuses to use lip balm (partially because of toxic masculinity and partially because he hates how it feels).

he has really poor volume control and often doesn't realise when he's being too loud (which made stealth training hell for him when he first started out.) he also gets really really loud when he's excited/afraid.

he sings to himself to get earworms out of his head. depending on the song, it either drives owen bananas or is ridiculously endearing

he listens to a lot of radio, even if he doesn't particularly enjoy it.

he hates quiet, and avoids his apartment like the plague

he hasnt changed the hair product he uses since he was recommended it by a girlfriend in high school

-32- toxic traits

massive inferiority complex that results in him doing very inadvisable things for the sake of trying to prove his own worth

very easily jealous---falls under the whole inferiority complex thing a little, but he can get really bitter when he sees others praised, especially in areas he takes pride in (like spying)

he's constantly trying to present this sort of hypermasculine effortless suave persona, and as a result, can be a dismissive asshole when he thinks he's letting too much of his emotion show

on that note, he doesn't handle vulnerability well. like At All. which, tbf, neither does owen

oftentimes abrasive and just a little bit self-centered, sometimes gets way too caught up in his own shit to pay attention to others needs (although he tries really, really hard with owen)

i feel like theres a word for this, but that thing where you do things without fully conceptualizing the potential consequences of an action until they're staring you in the face. its gotten him into way too much trouble

has a very black and white worldview and........doesn't fully see a lot of his enemies as human, or feel empathy for them. he's very stubborn about what's right and wrong

HE'S LITERALLY A SPY FOR THE US GOVERNMENT WHAT ELSE DO I NEED TO SAY

mind you these are the biggest things off the top of my head. there's probably more. love this terrible freak <3

[snowysosturn]

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : WARNINGS WILL GIVE SPOILERS !!! MDNI, mentions of drugs, selling drugs, angst, cursing, mentions of death, guns, shooting

Chris’s POV

I didn’t wake up until 3pm, sunlight streaming through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. My body ached like I’d been hit by a truck, but the heaviness wasn’t just physical, it was mental too. The events from last night lingered in my mind like smoke, refusing to clear.

Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I saw a notification from Y/n, her name lighting up the screen. She’d replied to my late night text at 7am , like the early riser she was:

"Probably won’t be finished until 6, but I’d love to meet you after! Can’t wait. xx"

A grin spread across my face as I read her message. Y/n had quickly become the best part of my life, the one constant that kept me grounded in the midst of the chaos. Knowing she wanted to see me, even after last night when I’d left her house abruptly, made me feel.. normal. Like I was just a guy with a girlfriend, looking forward to dinner or a drive. Not a dealer. Not someone neck deep in this life.

But then my mind shifted, and I couldn’t help but think about Nate. He’d been heavy on my thoughts since the funeral, and not just because of Danny. After last night’s incident at the docks, I wondered if he knew what had happened. Did Vince fill him in? Did he know I’d gotten into a fight with an H Block, or was he still in the dark?

I sat up, tossing my phone on the bed and running my hands through my hair. I needed to see him. Nate wasn’t the type to reach out, even when things got tough, but I couldn’t let him spiral alone. The weight of Danny’s death was already crushing enough. Add in everything else going on with the cartel, and I knew he was probably close to his breaking point.

Grabbing my jacket, I slipped on my sneakers and headed out the door. Driving to Nate’s place, I tried to clear my mind, but the tension in my chest wouldn’t go away. I kept thinking about last night, the way I fucked up that H Block guy, the adrenaline that surged as Vince encouraged me to keep going. That’s what haunted me most. I’d crossed a line, one that was getting harder to ignore.

When I pulled up to Nate’s place, something felt.. off. I spotted a black sedan parked a couple of houses down, its windows tinted. It wasn’t a car I recognized, and that alone was enough to make me suspicious. Nate’s neighborhood wasn’t exactly known for flashy cars, most of the people here drove old Hondas or pickups.

I stayed in the car for a moment, watching. No movement. No one got in or out of the sedan. Maybe someone swung by to pay respects to Danny. Maybe it was a cop since Danny’s death was now a murder investigation, after all. Or maybe it was something worse, like someone from H Block scoping out Nate’s place.

Shaking my head, I grabbed my phone and sent Nate a quick text:

"I’m outside. Want to go for a ride?"

No reply. I waited a minute, then another, my fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Finally, the front door creaked open, and Nate stepped out. The sun was low on the horizon, casting the street in an orange glow as he walked toward the car. He looked rough, dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped like the weight of the world was crushing him.

I nodded at him, and he climbed into the passenger seat without a word.

“What’s up?” I asked as we pulled away from the curb.

He shrugged, staring out the window. “Not much.”

I glanced at him, trying to gauge his mood. “You look like shit, man.”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s been a shit week.”

“How you holding up?” I asked, trying to break the silence.

Nate shrugged, still not looking at me. “Same as you’d expect. Just tired of everything.”

I didn’t push him, giving him a moment to collect his thoughts. After a minute, I asked, “You figure out who it was that tried to make the hit at the funeral?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah. But no idea who he’s connected to. Guess he thought he’d make a name for himself, going after us at Danny’s funeral of all places.” He paused, clenching his fists. “But he’s gone now. Fled the city. No one can find him, but I’m not worried. He’ll show his face eventually. When he does, I’ll handle it.”

I didn’t doubt that. Nate wasn’t the kind of guy to let things go, not when it came to family.

“What about Danny?” I asked carefully, keeping my eyes on the road as I drove. “You guys got any leads on his murder? Pieced together what happened that night?”

Nate leaned back in his seat, running a hand over his face. “Not much, but Vince gave me some details. Danny was found outside the warehouse at the docks.” He turned to look at me, his face grim. “Vince was one of the first on the scene, but he couldn’t stay. He got some of the guys to move Danny’s body before the cops could get there and start poking around.”

My stomach twisted. “Why’d they move him?”

Nate scoffed, his tone bitter. “Why do you think? The warehouse is full of supplies. Cops start sniffing around there, and it’s game over for us. Vince didn’t have a choice. Told everyone to play it like Danny was shot somewhere else, that they drove him to the hospital but died on the way.”

I tightened my grip on the wheel, my knuckles going white. The thought of Danny’s body being dragged around like that made me sick.

Nate continued, his voice low and cold. “Hospital bought it. Cops bought it too, at least for now. They think he was killed in the middle of nowhere. But we know the truth.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating. My mind raced, piecing together the events. “Say it was one of those H Block fucks” I said, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. “What if someone from their crew was trying to break into the warehouse and Danny just happened to be there at the wrong time?”

Nate frowned, turning to me with suspicion. “What makes you say that?”

I hesitated, debating whether to tell him the truth. “Because I ran into one of them there last night” I admitted, my voice low. “Caught some guy trying to steal our supplies. Vince told me to handle it, so I did. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? If they’re getting bold enough to hit the funeral, they’d try the warehouse too.”

Nate’s jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened with anger. “You think it’s connected?”

“I don’t know” I admitted. “But it feels too close to ignore.”

Nate didn’t say anything for a while, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the sun dipped lower. “We’ll find out” he said finally, his voice hard. “One way or another, we’ll find out who did this. And when we do..”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. The fury in his voice said it all.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. The weight of what had happened was sinking in deeper, but I couldn’t let it consume me. Not now. Not when there was still so much left to unravel.

"Wait, the fuck were you doing at the docks last night? Thought you had a dinner to attend?" Nate says, raising an eyebrow as I pull into a gas station.

I sigh, pulling the car to a stop near the pump. "And I did attend that dinner" I reply, stepping out. "But Vince pulled me out early. Needed me for a run. Ended up partaking in a physical fight, too. Exactly how I wanted to spend my Thursday night."

Nate lets out a dry laugh, leaning back in his seat. "Makes two of us in physical fights last night. At least I didn’t get my lip split open." Nate smirks, grabbing at my face.

I smirk, rubbing my thumb over the slight sting still lingering on my lip. "I thought you said the guy fled town? Who the hell were you fighting?"

"Three H Block runners" Nate says nonchalantly. "Teenagers. Just needed to let some anger out. Came out without a scratch."

Typical Nate. I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head as I open the door and step out of the car. He doesn’t do things halfway. I start pumping gas, my mind replaying the fight from last night. As much as I wanted to forget it, the tension wouldn’t leave my body.

After filling up, I walk into the convenience store to pay. The fluorescent lights buzz above as I hand over a twenty and grab a bottle of water for the road. Stepping back outside, my eyes instinctively scan the lot.

That’s when I notice it. a black sedan parked by the pumps a few spaces away. It’s the same type I saw near Nate’s house earlier. My stomach twists.

Has to be a coincidence, I think to myself, trying to shake off the paranoia. Now that I’ve seen one, I’m probably just noticing them everywhere.

The thought lingers, though, as I slide back into the driver’s seat. I glance at the time. 5:30pm. Almost time to pick up Y/n.

"You need me to bring you anywhere before I drop you off?" I ask Nate casually, adjusting my rearview mirror.

"Where you headed?" he asks, cracking his window and lighting a cigarette.

"I'm picking my girlfriend up at six." I say, sliding it in with just the right amount of smugness.

Nate’s head snaps toward me so fast I almost laugh. "Girlfriend?!" he repeats, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You kept that quiet."

I grin, knowing exactly how surprised he must be. "Didn’t come up."

He shakes his head, a sly smirk creeping onto his face. "Man, you soft now, huh?” 

“Maybe” I chuckle. “But if any questions are ever asked about this, say you and I got into it okay?” I say pointing at my lip.

“Is that what you told her?” Nate raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah man, couldn’t tell her I had someone pull a knife on me. She’d flip. She doesn’t know about the whole incident at the funeral, fuck, she didn’t even know about the funeral. You love to carry a knife on you too, so it check out in my brain.” I say shaking my head.

“God you’re in this thing a couple weeks and couples therapy is already calling.” Nate laughs.

Y/n’s POV

The courtroom had been stifling all day, and I was practically counting the minutes until I could leave. My phone buzzed just as I was tucking my notes and books into my bag.

"I'm out front. Take your time x."

A smile broke across my face as I read Chris’s message. This day had dragged on relentlessly, and I couldn’t wait to see him. Just the thought of being in his company made everything feel lighter.

I made my way out of the courtroom and through the courthouse doors, the crisp evening air hitting me as I spotted Chris’s sleek Mercedes parked at the curb. He looked out through the passenger window and his face lit up when he saw me approaching.

As soon as I got in the passenger seat, I leaned over to kiss him, melting into his warmth.

“It’s so nice to see you” he said softly, his eyes holding mine for a moment longer than usual.

“It’s nice to see you too” I replied, buckling my seatbelt.

He started the car, the low hum of the engine filling the space. “Where do you want to get food from?” he asked, glancing at me.

I didn’t have to think long. “Honestly? I’m really feeling McDonald’s right now.”

Chris laughed, his expression a mix of amusement and fondness. “If McDonald’s is what my girl wants, McDonald’s is what my girl gets.”

I couldn’t help but grin. It wasn’t fancy, but I loved how he always made me feel like my choices mattered.

We headed to the nearest McDonald’s, sliding into the drive thru line. After some playful back and forth, we decided on a 20 piece chicken nugget meal with sweet and sour sauce, paired with two Pepsi’s.

When we reached the pickup window, the smell of fresh fries filled the car, making my stomach growl.

“You better not eat all the fries before we park” I teased, reaching for a couple as he handed me the bag.

“Hey, we both know fries have a lifespan of, like, five minutes” Chris shot back, smirking as he grabbed a few for himself.

We drove to Castle Island, the sky was now pitch black. Chris pulled into a quiet spot near the water, cutting the engine. The world felt still except for the occasional rustle of the trees and the distant sound of waves.

We opened the bag and dug in, alternating between nuggets and fries, laughing as we both reached for the sweet and sour sauce at the same time. It was simple, but moments like this with Chris always felt special.

“This is perfect” I said, leaning back against the seat, the salty tang of fries lingering on my tongue.

Chris glanced over at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “You make everything perfect.”

I felt my cheeks flush as I nudged him playfully. “You’re so cheesy.”

He chuckled, but his eyes softened. “Only for you.”

Chris smirked, tossing another nugget into his mouth as he turned to look at me. "I love having you as my passenger princess," he said, his tone light and teasing.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Passenger princess? Really?"

"Yup" he said with a grin. Then his expression shifted slightly, like he’d been meaning to bring something up. "Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, do you drive?"

I couldn’t help but laugh at the question. "Can I? Yes. Can I legally? No."

Chris raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Wait, what? Why not?"

"My driving test is coming up soon" I admitted. "I never really needed to know how to drive until we moved out of the city. So I only started learning recently. But honestly, the thought of the test freaks me out."

Chris chuckled, his smile softening. "That’s kinda cute. Don’t stress about it, though. And, for the record, I have no problem driving you around. I’d take you over Nate any day."

I grinned at his playful jab. "Speaking of Nate, have you talked to him since the whole argument?"

Chris nodded, his eyes flicking to the water outside the windshield before meeting mine again. "Uh yeah.. I was actually with him before I came to meet you. Everything’s cool now."

I nodded back, taking in his response. I hesitated for a moment, but curiosity got the better of me. There were questions I’d been holding back for a while, and now felt like the right time to ask. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course" he said, tilting his head slightly, his expression open.

"So.. in the gang or whatever you call it," I started cautiously, "is there anyone else like you and Nate in it?"

Chris paused, wiping his hands on a napkin before leaning back in his seat. "Age wise, you mean?"

I nodded, watching him closely as he mulled over the question.

He shrugged, his tone casual, but there was a faint edge to it. "Nah, not really. It’s just me and Nate in our 20’s. He’s the youngest, and I’m only a year older. Everyone else is in their thirties or forties or older."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Seriously? Just the two of you? That’s.. a little unexpected."

Chris considers this for a moment, looking out toward the horizon before turning back to me. "Yeah it can be weird sometimes. But Nate and I stick together. It’s not like the older guys treat us badly or anything, they just see us as the runners, not the ones calling the shots."

I nod again, chewing on his words, a tangle of thoughts forming in my mind. I decide to push some of the heavier ones aside, for now, focusing on enjoying this moment with him.

"You and Nate have always been close, though."

Chris smiled faintly, his eyes softening at the mention of his best friend. "Yeah, we are. He’s like a brother to me. Sometimes I just wish he’d get out of this life, you know? But I don’t think he’ll ever change his ways."

I wanted to tell him that he deserved better, that they both did, but I held back. Instead, I leaned into the moment, savoring the way he’s starting to open up to me.

"Well" I said softly, "I’m glad you two are okay now. And for what it’s worth, I like seeing this side of you, open, honest. It makes me feel closer to you."

Chris looked at me, his expression shifting to something tender and unguarded. "You’re the only person I feel like I can talk to like this" he admitted.

My heart swelled at his words, and I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his.

We sat there in the car, the last of the fries growing cold as the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. But deep down, I felt like something had shifted between us, a step closer to understanding each other’s worlds, even if they were still so far apart.

"Can we go back.. to yours?" I asked softly, trying to keep my voice light, not wanting to come across as invasive. "I mean, I want to make the effort with your family, like you have with mine."

There was a brief silence before Chris responded, his voice a little uncertain. "Uh.. yeah, sure."

His hesitation wasn’t lost on me, and I quickly added, "If it’s too much, it’s okay, I just thought I could get to know your world a little better."

I saw his lips tighten slightly, and he turned toward me with an almost apologetic look. "No, it’s fine. It’s just.. it’s nothing compared to what you live in. Your house is so pristine and presentable.. whereas Uncle Jerry’s place, well.." His voice trailed off, the words left unfinished, as if he didn’t want to insult his uncle’s place.

My heart tugged at the mention of his uncle. I knew Chris had a complicated relationship with his family. He’d told me before that after his own family cut him off, he’d been staying with Uncle Jerry. I reached over, placing my hand gently on his arm. "That doesn’t matter to me, Chris. I just want to be with you, wherever that is."

He looked at me, his eyes softening, and I could see a faint relief in his expression. But then, I felt the need to add something else, something I’d been thinking about for a while. "And besides, I was thinking, when you’re out of all this, maybe you could try reaching out to your family. Maybe try rebuilding those connections."

Chris’s face hardened for a second, and he seemed to retreat inward. I held my breath, not sure if I’d crossed a line, but then he exhaled slowly, looking out the window.

"I don’t know, Y/n" he said quietly. "I dont know if they’ll ever accept me back. Not after everything." His tone was guarded, but I could hear the underlying pain.

I squeezed his arm, my voice gentle. "You never know. People change, Chris. And you’ve changed, too. I just think, maybe.. they might not be so quick to turn their backs on you if they see that."

He didn’t answer right away, and the silence between us stretched for a few moments. I wasn’t sure what was going on in his head, but I didn’t press further. I could see he needed time to process it.

Instead, I smiled at him, trying to lighten the mood. "But hey, it’ll be an adventure, right? Going to Uncle Jerry’s place?"

Chris smirked, his eyes flicking toward me. "Yeah, if you call it that. You’re really sure you want to see where I grew up?"

I nodded, my expression sincere. "Absolutely. I want to know all of you, Chris."

A genuine smile spread across his face then, and he leaned over to kiss my forehead lightly. "Alright. Let’s go then."

We both settled into a comfortable silence as he started the car again, the city slipping away as we headed toward his uncle’s place. And though I didn’t know exactly what would happen when we arrived, I knew one thing for sure, I was ready to be there for him, just like he had been for me.

Chris’ POV

As we pulled up outside my uncle Jerry’s place on Medford Street, I couldn’t help but shake my head. The house didn’t exactly scream "homey" and in the low light, it looked even worse than usual. "It looks like a right trap house, doesn’t it?" I said, laughing under my breath, but my words carried that familiar bitterness.

Y/n, always the optimist, tried to reassure me. "It’s not that bad" she insisted, but I could tell by the look on her face that she was still taking in the sight of the place.

I just hoped Jerry wasn’t asleep on the couch. I wouldn't want to subject her to that, she didn’t need to see the way he lived. Shit, I barely could stand it myself. I’d hoped he’d be passed out in his room, preferably not stirring when we came in.

I reached over and unlocked the front door, the sound of the key turning in the lock echoing through the stillness of the night. The house was dark, which was perfect. The less Y/n saw of the chaos, the better. Exactly what I wanted, since you can’t see shit.

We stepped inside, the heavy smell of old furniture and stale air hitting me immediately. The house was quiet, too quiet. Jerry’s room was at the back, and the living room was to the left, with the usual mess of old magazines, fast food containers, and a busted-up couch. I wanted to get us to my room as quickly as possible, where things were.. more put together.

Since Jerry’s place was a bungalow, there wasn’t much to navigate. It was basically a long stretch with rooms off to the side. I led Y/n to the right, to the first door that opened to my room. I flicked the light switch, the soft glow illuminating the space, and I motioned for Y/n to come inside.

"This is where I crash" I said, trying to sound casual, but there was a tinge of pride in my voice. Compared to the rest of the house, my room was pristine and presentable. I kept it clean, I had to, if only to feel like I had something that was mine.

Y/n took a moment to look around, and I could see her eyes soften as she surveyed the room. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. A small bed, a desk neatly organised with books, and a few pictures hang on the wall. Nothing fancy, but it was a place where I could think, breathe, and for the first time in a while, I felt comfortable with her being there.

"Make yourself at home" I said, closing the door behind us. The place was quieter, calmer than the chaos outside, and it felt like a bit of peace.

I watched as Y/n moved around the room, touching a few things here and there, but not too much, respecting the space. I felt a sense of pride surge through me. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was a part of me, and in that moment, it was enough.

Y/n had sat down beside me on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked under her as she glanced around my small, dimly lit room. I could feel her eyes lingering on the few personal touches I had scattered around, nothing flashy, just things that made this place feel like mine. And for some reason, having her here with me felt different than anyone else ever had.

"You know" she said softly, breaking the silence. "I’ve been thinking a lot about the future lately."

I turned to look at her, my heart tightening at the way she spoke. "What do you mean?" I asked, leaning back slightly on the bed to face her more fully.

She shifted, pulling her knees to her chest as she glanced down, then back at me. "I mean.. us. What we’re doing. What it all looks like in the long run. You know, once this.. all this.. is behind you." She gestured vaguely, the weight of what I was involved in hanging heavy between us. "I can’t help but picture us, together, in the future. Somewhere.. where we can just breathe. You and me."

My chest tightened, a lump forming in my throat. I knew what she meant, and honestly, I’d never really let myself think about it, about a future, about a life with her outside of everything that dragged me down. But hearing her say it out loud made it feel real. It made it seem possible.

"I’d like that" I said softly, my voice hoarse, vulnerable. "I’d like to have a future with you. Somewhere.. just us. Away from all this shit."

Her eyes softened, and she moved closer, settling in beside me on the bed. There was a quiet kind of understanding between us, the unspoken bond growing stronger with each moment. She leaned into me, her head finding its place against my shoulder. "We’ll get there" she whispered. "We just have to take it one step at a time, right?"

I nodded, my hand finding its way to her back, pulling her a little closer, the warmth of her body grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed. My hand slid to her side, fingers gently tracing the curve of her waist as we sat in the comfortable silence.

Then, without even thinking about it, I turned to her. Her face was close, the soft curve of her lips tempting, and before I could stop myself, I leaned in, pressing my lips to hers. The kiss was slow, tentative at first, like we were both still figuring out what this was, what we meant to each other. But the longer it lasted, the deeper it became, until there was no space left between us.

I felt her hands move to my chest, pushing me gently backwards, and before I knew it, she was straddling me, her legs draped on either side, her breath coming out in soft, shallow gasps against my lips. I couldn’t help but feel a rush of heat flood through me, my heart racing as I looked up at her. There was a wildness to the moment, an urgency, but it felt right, like everything had led up to this. To us.

Her hands moved to my shoulders, then down to my chest, her touch sending electricity through me. My hands found their way to her hips, pulling her in closer, the warmth of her body against mine driving me crazy. But just as I was lost in the moment, just as everything felt like it was finally falling into place, the sudden beep of my phone broke through the haze.

I groaned, pulling away from her reluctantly as I reached for my phone. The alarm was a reminder—a notification for something I couldn’t ignore.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, silencing the alarm. My stomach tightens at the reminder.

“Shit” I mutter.

“Is everything okay?” Y/n asks, tilting her head slightly, her soft expression making me hesitate.

“Yeah.. it’s.. work” I answer, fumbling for the right words.

“Oh” she says, standing up from the bed. I can tell she’s disappointed, though she’s trying to hide it.

“What do you have to do?” she asks quietly, her voice almost reluctant.

I sigh. “I’ve got to deliver some weed. Just a fifty bag, so it’s not much. I can drop you home first, and then go do it. The dude knows me, so he won’t care if I’m a little late.”

“Yeah, that’s okay” she says with a small nod, but her shoulders sag just enough for me to notice. I hate this. Hate that I keep doing this to her.

We make our way out of my house and back to the car. I unlock it, and we both slide into our seats. The engine hums to life as I glance over at her. She’s staring out the window, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

“Have you made any attempts to try to leave yet?” she asks suddenly, her tone colder than before.

I grip the steering wheel tighter. “No.. not yet” I admit. “I said two weeks because.. because I have to figure out how to get out. It’s not as easy as just walking away.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her silence weighing heavy in the car. Finally, she speaks, her voice low.

“Where’s this going to?”

“Longwood” I reply. “Why?”

“You have to go through Longwood to get to my place,” she says, glancing over at me. “Just deliver this off, then drop me home. At least it gives me a bit more time with you.”

I hesitate. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like I’m just throwing you home, either.”

“I’m sure” she says firmly. “Put it this way, it’s probably one of the last runs you’ll ever do, right? I’m glad to be here, ending this part of your life with you.” She gives me a small, reassuring smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The drive to Longwood is quiet. Occasionally, Y/n hums softly to the radio, but I can tell her mind is elsewhere. Mine is too.

When we arrive, I park a little down the street, avoiding the house. No way am I letting anyone see her here. I text the dude to let him know I’m here, and he replies almost immediately, telling me to meet him around the side of his place. I glance at Y/n sitting in the car, her fingers absentmindedly drumming on her knee as she stares out the window. I glance at her. “I’ll be quick.”

She nods, giving me a faint smile, though the worry in her eyes is unmistakable.

I lock the car behind me as I step out, tucking the fifty bag into my jacket pocket. Walking down the street, I keep glancing over my shoulder, my eyes flickering back to where the car sits. I hate leaving her like this, even for a few minutes.

I round the corner of the guy’s house and stop, positioning myself at the edge where I can still see my car. It’s a habit, maybe paranoia, but with Y/n sitting inside, I can’t take any chances. I lean against the wall, trying to shake the nagging feeling in my chest. I shouldn’t have brought her with me.

The dude comes out from the back of the house, his hoodie pulled up over his head. He nods at me as he approaches.

“Yo” he greets casually, pulling a fifty dollar bill from his pocket and handing it to me.

I slip him the bag of weed in exchange. “All good?”

“Yeah, man. Easy.” he says with a grin before disappearing back into the shadows.

I turn to leave, relief washing over me. Simple. Quick. Just the way I wanted it.

As I step back onto the street, I hear the low rumble of a car creeping slowly toward me. My heart sinks.

A black sedan rolls up, its headlights off. It stops just a few feet from my car, parked awkwardly in the middle of the road.

A black sedan.

Again?

Something’s wrong.

I freeze, watching as the passenger window rolls down ever so slightly. My breath catches when I see it – a hand, pale against the dark, gripping the barrel of a gun.

“Fuck” I whisper, my eyes darting to the car where Y/n is sitting.

Before I can move, the first shot shatters the silence of the night, followed by the sound of breaking glass. My car’s back window explodes into shards, and I hear Y/n’s muffled scream from inside. The sedan’s tires screech as it takes off, leaving the street in chaos.

Fuck. Y/n.

a/n: BUCKLE THE FUCK UP BITCHES

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[venuslarkspur]

Teen Hero Shenanigans

Part 2

We Were Written In The Stars, Boyfriend Of Mine.

Summary: Your Damian’s Twin Sister, after arriving 3 years after your brother, you never excepted to take the Robin mantle, until your brother runs away and you volunteer to take his place. Damian eventually returns and you are discharged from the role, after bottling up your anger you decide to go solo by running away and stealing the Batgirl. But you’re not alone, your sort of boyfriend joins you. The main problem is the boyfriend in question is your brother’s best friend, Jon Kent.

Pairing: Jon Kent x Batsis!Reader on this one. Mentions of platonic batfam and reader.

Notes: Sorry this took so long and it’s shorts I have an exam in 2 days 😢 - ONLY HALF PROOF-READ IM SORRY. Just pure Jon and Reader today

Warnings: Mentions of past child abuse, vomiting, derogatory language, cuts and bruises. Reader has some childhood ptsd.

Words: 1.6k

This morning was significantly quiet, sitting on the windowsill of what was your new home you hadn’t heard a scream in the last 12 hours, no petty purse snatching in sight. There were some clouds in the sky, it was never this nice in Gotham, too much pollution. But the harsh breeze against your skin reminded you of what life was like in the mountains training with your grandfather, it really made you think of how ironic it was that you always got Damian’s sloppy seconds. First being heir of the league of assassins, then being Robin, but now you have something that’s yours; the sleeping boy in the bed across from you. Even though he was technically Damian’s first, he doesn’t get to see him this way.

You dabbed your wounds again and let out a disgruntled noise upon hitting a bruise, you grabbed some honey and dabbed it on the dried up cut. You had gotten into a confrontation last night and you weren’t expecting for the low level thug to have some backup. Long story short, he had a ridiculously big group of goons and Jon had to come and help. Let’s hope they all had health insurance for the beating you both gave them. But you couldn’t lie, without your father or siblings there you felt like a rogue, even when you were fighting crime with Jason you never felt this out of place. You felt like you would relapse at any moment and forget your new ways. You never took pleasure in killing, it’s just how your grandfather taught you. Nobody taught you about redemption, you were just explained the world in black and white.

Luckily, you had Jon if you ever nearly slip up. You hadn’t looked at your phone in 3 good days and you had been happy that way, you missed them, even your father to an extent but you also knew proving yourself was important. The highlight of all of this was Jon, sure breaking a few scum noses was nice too. But nothing beats the adrenaline of going on patrol together and the press wondering when you two became an item, you leave as quickly as possible though; you can’t risk your family coming to get you or Jon’s for that matter. It was a bit easier for Jon, his parents trusts him and loves him. Your family loves you too, but if Bruce trusted you then why fire you?

“Ouch.” You murmur after hitting a particularly sensitive bruise, deciding that’s enough and wanting to spend some more time with Jon before your patrol, you slip back next to him; ruffling his hair and trying to shuffle as close as humanely possible, the more you shuffled the more healed you felt by the moment, not just physically but mentally as well. There was so many things to tell him, about your overbearing mother? Or maybe almost being disowned by your grandfather? But you didn’t wanna tell him things he wouldn’t know what to do with. So you embrace him and he gets the message and pulls your waist around him, which made you hope the morning would never end.

————————

“I received a call from Clark this morning.” Bruce said sternly to almost all his children, they all sat on the couch, “Clark? has he found her?” Stephanie spoke up first, her eyes widened with hope as Barbara placed a hand on her shoulder. “Steph..” she said whilst rubbing her back to comfort her. “Well, what did he say?” Barbara asked, Bruce let out a sigh and faced his kids.

“You all remember Jon right?” They all nodded in unison and mutual confusion, “Well, recently Jon has gone off too, they think around the same time as your sister.”

“What are you saying?”

————————

“You okay?” Jon asked as you searched the knocked out drug dealer in front of you. “Absolutely nothing, no leads.” You replied, you’ve been trying to find the boss of a local drug cartel but you’ve had no luck. “Babe, I was asking about you.” He looked down at his shoes before moving over to you. His glowing features making you forget about the filthy, rat infested alley. “Ups and downs, some days I really miss my family.” You look down and don’t realise the thug under you has woken up and has now broken out of his restraints. “I’ll get you for this you slu-“ he lunges at you seething with anger; but you swiftly move out of the way and restrain his hands before Jon hastily pins him to the ground again, using his weight against him. “You brats..” you role your eyes and gesture Jon to walk away with you, and you nearly did until for the first time you lost sense of self.

“You fucking cunt! Look at me!” The thugs screams and you pull Jon along, nothing he can say to you can do anything, you’ve heard it all, well until he reopened some old wounds; emotional wounds. “You are nothing bitch!” You stop dead in your tracks, Jon looking at you with extreme concern and wondering what changed. Immediate memories flood in, Damian leaving, your grandfather working you to the bone after his disowned, former heir left. Harsh days that ended in you holding your stomach and trying to keep your breakfast from coming up, which didn’t always work and wasn’t always pleasant. Vomiting blood was the worst of it after you were hit a bit too hard and were left clenching onto your stomach for dear life.

“On your feet.” A grating voice that resembled your grandfather spoke, were you having a panic attack? All you knew is you were reliving you worst memories. Please I don’t want to remember! I won’t. “Do you want to be meaningless? Pick up your sword and face me, I won’t allow you to fail.” You wondered if your mother even cared, she would carefully ogle your hands at night, commenting on how your once porcelain, delicate, hands were now ruined. But she did nothing about it, you wanted to be the heir; but not like this. You risked being disowned too if you even asked about your father or brothers, so you didn’t. You just didn’t,

“Babe? Are you okay?” A familiar voice said, you were now acutely aware you were out of the alley and lifted into your boyfriend’s arms. “You were in a daze..I couldn’t wake you up I’m sorry.” He looked down whilst placing you guys atop a nearby building, “it’s okay, I’ve never had anything like that happen to me before.” Jon offered you and sympathetic look before taking one of your hands in his, “I wanted to show you something to make you feel better.” You tilted your head, wondering what he had planned.

“Come.” He said and slowly lifted his feet of the group flying upwards, you were also gently lifted off the ground; surprisingly, no strain, only his gorgeous features. “Only a little longer now.” He said as he went further up in the sky only a bit stray of the clouds, he quickly shifted you upwards into the bridal carry. “Sorry if this isn’t a comfortable position, I wanted you to be facing me; since you’re my equal and everything..” he spoke in a shy tone, without hiding the faint blush on his face. Your heart was melting, he might as well take it for himself. But you wouldn’t say that to him, could ruin the mood. “I’m plenty fine here.”

“Good we are here.” He took his fingers and lifted your chin upwards; you were met with a vast sea of glowing stars, because of the pollution in Gotham; you never saw this many. You had never felt so loved in your life, so validated, so cared for. You started shedding tears and hugging into his chest, “Shit-oh sorry I didn’t realise this would-I’m so sorry-“ Jon said scrambling to rub your back and pepper your forehead with kisses to repay you. “No, Jon, happy tears I promise.” You say softly and his calms and he places his chin on the top of your head, “This is why you’re the only person I’ve ever let into my heart in this sort of way..” You utter and Jon has to hold back some tears of his own, “Thank you.” You move in closer and grab his face to kiss him, and it seems like it lasts forever before you both pulled away gasping for breath.

“I think I-“ you scramble to get your words together, feeling everything so intensely, until your finally get it together. “I love you so much Jon Kent.”

“I love you.” You finish staring directly into his eyes, “I love you too.” He says, matching your gaze. “I love you so much more.”

“So much..”

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It wouldn’t let me tag a few people so please check your settings if you asked to be a tagged and weren’t! (Sorry for the inconvenience)

Thank you for all the lovely support <3 it’s definitely helped me finish this part off and it’s very appreciated. 💕

Next Part: Robin Vs Batgirl (yes it’s getting dramatic in this one.)