#it never goes away truly but I really just like. lost all remaining sleepiness immediately

[lavenoon]

Hi, Luce!

This is in response to the most memorable scene that you sent me a while ago: I've been rereading it and keeping it treasured in my inbox, but I still just have to say how much I love your rotisserie chicken thoughts and that it includes both a future problem moment in CS and the final fight in Deep Dreams, I just have the biggest heart eyes and I'm kissing your sweet little forehead *mwah*

Alright, love you, take care, babe ♥

(also no need to answer publicly if you don't feel like it!)

Me with CS always:

With that Henry Emily tease you gave in that recent ask they've just started back up full throttle, I am SO hyped for the finale I swear - who's gonna be the one revealing the photo, F.E.I.'s involvement still needs to be revealed to Y/N, how did Emily even befriend that demon, and was that ever a real friendship - is Springtrap in the children's book not just running from the protector of children, or did the other demons maybe also not take kindly to someone who killed the human who was genuinely trying to understand them? It's 7AM and the thoughts sure rotate!

And, well, we know that Deep Dreams has gotten some renewed attention too <3 So many details I forgot, and now I stopped being shy and can comment along as I wish I had done the first time I read it!

You take care too, get some good sleep soon, and stretch those writing mittens!

[psychovigilantewrites]

Say My Name

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader, Dick Grayson/Reader

Genre: Porn With Plot

Word Count: 14,085 words haahahaha i’m so sorry for the length i lost track of how long it was

Summary:  Reader is heartbroken over Jason, so she goes to Dick for comfort. The two start a FWB relationship to distract reader from pining over the love of her life.

A/N: Hey guys! This is a special and different announcement. I just made a ko-fi account. If you'd like to support me and my coffee drinking habits please feel free to donate as much or as little as you want, or not at all! It's just a tipping service :) To anyone who does donate however, thank you so much, you have no idea how much it means to my broke ass lmao hope you enjoy this one. It's pretty long (again, I’m sorry, I really have no idea how it got so long)

Masterlist

Ao3

“Woah, what's wrong? Why are you crying?” Dick worried as soon as he opened the door. “Come in, sweetheart.”

You hiccuped and step inside his dark room, standing awkwardly and trying to wipe the tears from your eyes.

“Come here. Tell me what's wrong?” he pulled you into a warm hug. You buried your face in his chest, bunching your fists into his shirt.

You heard Dick sigh after getting no response from you.

“How can I help?” he offered.

You looked up at him, his sharp chiseled outline dimly illuminated by the moonlight coming in from his window. Even in the darkness you could make out how his eyebrows were knitted into a frown, his lips tight with caution.

You could feel his heat radiating, his heartbeat on your palms which were now flat against his chest. Through wet lashes, you tried to convey what you wanted with your eyes, only to have him look even more confused.

So you pulled him by the shirt and kissed him hard on the lips, forcing his to part, throwing your arms around his neck shamelessly.

“Mmmpf,” he let out a surprised cry. Yet, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer, responding to your kiss, until he finally realised what was happening.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he stopped you, “Not that I haven't thought about this since forever, but are you sure you're alright? Tell me what's wrong.”

“Please, Dick,” you sniffled, “Make me forget about him. Just for tonight.”

“Who?” he frowned.

You didn't answer.

“Who hurt you, sweetheart?” he asked gently, his hand went up to caress your cheek.

“He didn't do it on purpose,” you sighed sadly.

He didn't know that you've been in love with him for 6 years, he didn't know that he was the subject of all your daydreams and fantasies, he didn't know that having his hands all over another girl would hurt you.

“Just make me forget, please?” you begged the man whom you considered your best friend, your confidant, even an older brother.

“I don't want to take advantage of you when you're emotionally vulnerable,” he protested, despite his arms tightening around you.

“I want you tonight, Dick, please,” you tried, “I- I need you. Just for tonight.”

Dick looked at you intensely, his gaze piercing your eyes, making sure you're in the right mind. Your head was clear, it was just your heart that was crushed.

“Okay,” he tilted your head up, “I’ll make you forget.”

He bunched your hair in his fists and gently tugged your head back to expose your neck, and then started softly kissing your skin, nipping at your earlobe, licking at your pulse.

“I’ll make sure my name is the only one you're screaming tonight,” he whispered, hot breath leaving goosebumps on your skin.

His hands started to roam your body, squeezing your ass, going underneath your shirt to unclasp your bra and then tossing it away. His hands moved to cup your breasts, kneading them. He groaned into your mouth as you prodded his with your tongue, wanting to taste him.

The two of you were panting desperately, your body writhing against his, seeking friction to relieve the pressure you felt between your legs. You could feel his length grow harder and harder underneath the constraints of his boxers, rubbing against your lower tummy.

He pulled off your shirt, exposing your breasts, then slipped you out of your shorts smoothly. You tugged at his shirt as well, trying to rip it off him so you could finally feel his hard body against yours. He helped you take off his clothes, his boxers gone along with everything else.

Once you were both standing naked, grinding and twisting your bodies against each other, you pushed him back hard so he collapsed on his bed.

You immediately went to straddle him, his hands automatically flying to your waist, rubbing up and down your body. You started rubbing your pussy lips all over his long shaft.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, “You’re leaking all over my cock, baby.”

“That’s the idea. And you’d have to question your own sexual history if I wasn’t this wet,” you smirked at him, appreciating the way he looked beneath you. His eyes were hooded, his hair sticking to his forehead, his muscular body covered by a light sheen of sweat that reflected whatever light there was coming from outside.

“You usually this snarky when you’re going to fuck someone?” he grinned.

You raised your hips and guided his cock to your entrance before sinking down slowly, feeling him stretching you wide, feeling him rub against your walls, feeling him already touching your sweet spot.

The both of you moaned softly, careful not to make much noise.

“Only when I’m on top,” you breathed a reply. You started moving your hips, your mouth falling slack at the pleasure the friction brought you.

“Shit, you look so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, hands cupping your heaving breasts, “Your tits look so amazing. Wanted to see them for so long.”

“Really?” you managed to ask despite the ecstasy you were feeling.

“Yeah,” he hummed, “But I made you a promise.”

You slowed down, trying to remember what he said, tilting your head to one side in curiosity.

Suddenly, he grabbed you by the waist and then with strength, flipped you over so that he was now on top of you, without taking his cock out. You let out a small squeak at the surprise, which was muffled by a heated, wet kiss.

He rested his forehead against yours, and growled lowly, “I told you that my name will be the only one you’ll be screaming tonight.”

Then, he started pounding into you, whipping his hips with a force that kept on knocking the breath out of you again and again.

“Dick!” you moaned vulgarly, “Fuck, Dick, fuck!”

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, “Say my name.”

“Dick!” you repeated, his name like a mantra to keep you focused on reality. The fact that he was bent over on top of you, his broad shoulders engulfed you, his arms propping himself up was next to your head- you felt that you were truly consumed by Dick Grayson that night.

“You’re so wet and warm for me, sweetheart,” he continued, “You take my cock so well.”

You could only whine in response. You couldn’t believe that the Golden Boy Dick Grayson had such a filthy mouth.

“You like my cock, baby?” he asked, “Tell me you like my cock.”

“I like your cock, Dick!” you mewled, feeling your high coming onto you faster and faster.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred, “I can feel you clench around me. You wanna come, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” you sobbed, “Yes, Dick, please let me come!”

“Alright, come for me baby,” he choked as he chased his own high, “Come all over my cock like a good girl.”

“Dick,” you let out a long whine before you shut your eyes at the intense burning you felt, your vision white, gasping for air as you felt your pussy flutter, clenching at his shaft.

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” you heard Dick moan distantly as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

When you came down, Dick withdrew his cock and then spilled all over your body, strings of hot creamy liquid squirting on your breasts, catching on your nipple, pooling in your belly button.

“Shit,” he sighed against your lips, giving you another sweet kiss.

“Yeah,” you nodded in agreement.

He got off you and tried to reach for his shirt on the floor. He wiped you down with it, giving you an apologetic smile that you found endearing.

“Goddamn, you’re amazing,” he pulled you into his arms, spooning you from behind.

“Was it true what you said earlier?” you asked curiously, “Did you really think of me before this?”

“Of course,” he chuckled, “I’m sure all of us did at one point. But I never stopped thinking, you know? You’re kinda my guilty pleasure.”

“I’m your spank bank, is that it?” you giggled.

“You don’t know how sexy you look when you walk around the house in those booty shorts and tank tops,” he accused you. “Shit. I don’t think I’d be able to get you out of my head after this.”

“I wish I was the same,” you let out a sad sigh.

You felt Dick still behind you.

“I’m not going to ask…” he trailed off.

You shifted and turned around to face him.

“But you want to,” you pointed it out.

You were close again, lips just inches away from each other.

“Of course I want to,” he started caressing your cheek, “I want to know who hurt you.”

You felt your chest tighten again at the reminder.

You remained silent, just looking into his eyes. But after a few moments, you felt a wave of sleepiness crash over you. You shot up straight, attempting to leave.

“I should go now,” you climbed off the bed.

“No, don’t go,” Dick all but whined at you, “I like to cuddle after sex.”

“I can’t stay here, Dick,” you explained, “If someone saw me leave in the morning looking like this, they’d know we slept together.”

“So?” he said silently.

“So,” you started, “I… Don’t want anyone to know. I mean, we’re not together. It was just a one time thing.”

You started putting your clothes back on. Dick stood up, towering above you.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he suggested, “If- if you need me. I’m at your disposal.”

You bit your lip with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am, sweetheart,” he pulled you in, “I care about you. If doing this- coming to me- if it helps you, then I’d be happy to do it.”

You looked up at him, feeling the guilt creeping up to you. You knew now that Dick probably felt something for you, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way.

But you knew your heart still belonged to him.

And you knew that you’d just be using Dick.

“Thank you,” you whispered, tiptoeing to give him a peck on the lips, before leaving to your room.

***

There was this really annoying repetitive sound that woke you up from your dreamless sleep.

“You awake?” you heard Dick’s muffled voice behind your closed door. His incessant knocking must have roused you.

You groaned, blinking at the assault of the sunlight in your eyes. “I am now!”

You checked your phone. It was 15 minutes to 10 in the morning.

“Breakfast? Everyone’s already downstairs,” he announced.

“Yeah, yeah, give me ten minutes to get ready,” you told him. You saw the shadow underneath the door disappear. You stared at your ceiling, thinking whether it’d be awkward between you and Dick.

You were dreading breakfast already.

At the dining table, you saw your foster family already seated and eating the pancakes Alfred made. Bruce was reading the paper while sipping on his coffee. You sat down in between Tim and Bruce, directly opposite of Jason. Dick was next to him, and Damian next to Dick.

They looked normal, besides everyone being exceptionally good looking. Money does buy a lot of things, including beauty. No one would suspect that the five sitting down at the table, bickering with each other, were all vigilantes of various background.

You were taken in as Bruce’s ward 6 years ago, after your parents passed away in a car crash. Your father was Bruce’s best friend, and had named Bruce your godfather when you were born. You were still underaged when they died, and didn’t have any other family left. Your father left a will appointing Bruce your legal guardian if anything were to happen.

You’ve been an adult for a while now, but Bruce still wished to take care of you, even paying for your art degree. He looked at you as his own daughter, and you looked at him like a father. Being the odd one out, you never got into that vigilante life.

You knew of them from the very beginning, since you grew up with Dick. He kept no secrets from you, and Bruce trusted you like it was your own secret to keep.

“Good morning,” you yawned while reaching for the pancakes.

“Morning,” mumbled the rest.

Once you were digging happily into your breakfast, you noticed Jason frowning at you. He was wearing a white shirt crumpled from sleep. His hair was messy, his lower lip jutting out in a cute pout that made you want to suck on-

“Wha?” you asked with your mouth stuffed, used to the inappropriate thoughts you had about him.

“You left early last night,” he stated. You didn’t miss how Dick suddenly tuned into your conversation.

“Was sleepy and tired,” you shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

“You could have at least told me you were leaving,” Jason reprimanded you. His almost permanent frown knitted even more tightly together than usual.

“Well, I saw that you were occupied,” you finally looked directly into his eyes, and then smiled, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

He grit his jaw.

“Where were you guys?” Tim interrupted.

“A bar,” you casually answered, “I met Jason there after meeting with the gallery owner.”

“For your exhibition?” Damian asked.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, “They said they liked my art, but they’ll call me to confirm.”

“That’s great!” Tim applauded, “I hope you get some spots.”

“Thanks, me too,” you beamed.

“So the two of you met at a bar?” Dick interrogated.

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.

“What’s it to you?” Jason suddenly said aggressively.

“If you two planned to meet, why did she leave early?” Dick continued.

You exchanged a fleeting moment’s eye contact with Jason before turning to Dick, “I already said I was tired, Dick.”

“And what was Jason so occupied with that you didn’t tell him you were leaving?” he questioned.

An awkward silence filled the table. Jason was now picking at the leftovers on his plate. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Bruce’s very small, barely noticeable smirk. He was obviously amused by your exchange.

“He was with a girl,” you decided to answer.

You saw the gears in Dick’s head click, the way he frowned, how his eyes came to the realisation.

You thought he looked a bit frustrated, and sad.

He then turned to Jason. “You left her alone for a girl? After already planning to meet up?”

“In his defense, we had an argument,” you explained. You had said a few harsh words to Jason that made him leave. But you wouldn’t have had to say those things if he wasn’t being an asshole in the first place.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tim interjected, “Jason was with a girl?”

“I agree with Drake’s surprise,” Damian added, “That is a peculiar behavior for Todd’s standards.”

You felt a squeeze in your heart.

“It’s none of your business who I was with,” Jason growled.

“Jason,” Dick snarled. You were taken aback that he would get angry over this, but you weren’t particularly shocked that Dick could get that way.

He was the eldest, after all. He had some sort of unspoken authority, and everyone silently respected him. He could boss all the younger boys around, though he was usually met with resistance from Jason.

“Why would you leave her alone at a bar?” he demanded. Jason was still playing with his leftovers.

“It’s fine, Dick,” you tried to calm him down, “I got back okay. And I really was tired.”

“No, he’s right,” Jason conceded, now looking at you with his blue eyes, anger gone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I forgive you,” you hurriedly accepted, “There. Can we move on from this, please?”

“Yeah, like, did you go home with her?” Tim snickered.

You really didn’t want to know, but Jason’s lack of answer confirmed it.

“Holy shit, you did!” Tim exclaimed.

You catched Dick’s gaze.

Fuck, he was looking at you with pity.

“Nothing happened,” Jason huffed, “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“I agree, I do not wish to listen to Todd’s sexual habits,” Damian grimaced.

“Shut up, brat!” Jason shot at him.

“I was agreeing with you!” Damian argued back.

Bruce cleared his throat, stopping the aggressive verbal exchange before it could escalate, “All of you bring the dishes to the back so Alfred doesn’t have to.”

There was a chorus of mumbled agreement from the table. After breakfast, you decided to paint.

Your zone was in your room, near the window where the natural light could pour onto the canvas. You were seated on a stool in front of the easel. You put on your headphones, blocking out the outside world as you stared at the empty canvas.

Tchaikovsky always somehow made you paint with bright pretty colors, usually with smiling faces or fantastical scenery- but you found that happiness in art was boring, and you weren’t feeling particularly joyful that day, least of all the dainty embodiment of Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, especially after the steaming hot session with Dick the previous night.

So you opted for Debussy. Clair De Lune made you feel more solemn and sombre. You closed your eyes and thought back to the scene at the bar and focused on the guilt you felt when Jason clenched his jaw and glared at you before abruptly leaving you at the table and going to the bar, gritting “I need a drink.”

The shame, embarrassment, the lump that you felt obstructed your throat when you saw him wrap an arm around a girl’s waist as he leaned on to the bar, whispering to her.

How the sight made the blood rush to your ears, drowning out the sound of music and obnoxious drunken laughs with your heartbeat.

She had looked like you- sort of. She had the same color hair, though yours were shorter. She had the same body type- you were more toned while she was curvier. Your facial features were almost the same, except hers was more defined with her expert use of makeup. She was wearing stylish clothes that clung to her body tastefully and accentuated her assets, with perfectly manicured nails that was caressing the fabric of Jason’s leather jacket.

Your chest was tight, and tears were brimming your eyes when you left the bar.

You opened your eyes and chose your palette. An array of dark blues and purples, black, with many shades of gray, so you started painting.

You were lost in your own thoughts for a couple of hours, the sun outside was at its peak in the very rare hot Gotham afternoon.

You were going to make a long brush stroke when you felt something at the crook of your neck, making you jolt in surprise. You tore off your headphones.

“Did I scare you?” Dick’s warm breath fanned your skin. He was bent down, pressing light kisses on your neck, shoulders and back.

“What are you doing, Dick?” you sighed, exposing your neck to give him more access.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” he whispered.

“So are you at my disposal or is it the other way round now?” you smirked.

You felt him grin against your skin. He then straightened up and went to sit on the edge of your bed, facing you.

“So, Jason, huh?” he flopped down, bouncing on the mattress.

You put your brush and palette down to face him, rolling your eyes.

“I’m kind of… frustrated,” he told you.

“Why?” you asked, “You knew I liked someone.”

“The fact that it’s my brother- well,” he started, “It changes everything.”

You just stared at him, his piercing gaze unsettling you, unsure of what to say.

“So tell me what happened last night,” he broke the silence.

“You already have the gist of it,” you said hesitantly.

“I know, but I want to hear the whole story,” he insisted.

You chewed on your lips.

“Fine,” you conceded, “He called me and asked where I was. I said I was already leaving the gallery. He told me to meet him at this bar in Diamond District, since I was close by. So I said yes, and we reached the place at the same time. We met each other at the parking lot and then head inside, but as we were going in, I saw a friend come out.”

“Who?”

“Nick, I met him at an exhibition a couple of months before,” you explained, “So he greeted me, gave me a friendly hug and kiss-”

“A friendly kiss?” Dick interjected, smirking.

“He’s European,” you clarified, eyes narrowing at his insinuation, “It was just a peck on the cheek- friendly stuff. Anyway, that was that. We went in. Then Jason started to get all pissy. He was like ‘I didn’t know you were into snotty pricks like him’ - which was totally uncalled for! I told him that Nikolai was a nice guy and he shouldn’t judge people before getting to know them. But then he kept going on and on about my standards.”

“Standards?”

“Yeah, like,” you elaborated, “‘I didn’t think your standards were that low’.”

Dick let out a low whistle.

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “At that time we were already seated. And God, he wouldn’t shut up about my standards and my apparently bad taste in men, blahblahblah. So, I, uh, said something pretty harsh back.”

“Uh oh,” Dick widen his eyes, “I know how snarky you can be. What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Jason, you may think my standards are low, but it would never stoop so low that I’d go out with someone like you’,” you cringed at yourself.

“Yikes,” Dick chuckled, “You always had a sharp bite, huh?”

“I mean,” you tried to defend yourself, “He was asking for it.”

“He was,” Dick agreed, “But you know how he is. When you said ‘someone like you’, it must have triggered something along the lines of his usual ‘I’m not a good person, I’ve done bad things’ schtick.”

“I know,” you groaned, “I felt bad. The way he was glaring at me, holy shit, if only looks could kill.”

“So is that when he left?”

“Yeah, he said he needed a drink, so he went to the bar. Next thing I knew, he…” you took a deep breath, “He had a girl in his arms. A pretty girl. Flirting with her. He doesn’t usually do that, you know? Which was why it was relatively easy for me to keep it in all these years. But seeing him like that, well. It upset me.”

Dick digested your story. You waited for him to answer.

“Well, from what you told me,” he concluded, “It sounds like he was jealous.”

“Jealous?” you shrilled, “No way. He doesn’t like me. My guess was that he was being an overprotective little shit.”

“But people are usually overprotective over the people they like. Isn’t that a response to or a form of jealousy?” he suggested.

“Dick, you looked like you wanted to strangle him when you found out that he left me alone,” you reminded him, “Doesn’t mean you were jealous or in love with me.”

“Maybe,” Dick entertained, “But I still think he was jealous, so he acted out by flirting with another girl.”

“But why would he act out that way?” you argued. “He didn’t know that it would hurt me. He doesn’t know that I’ve been in love with him since forever.”

“You’re right, maybe he didn’t do it to hurt you,” he pondered, “Maybe he was just trying to distract himself, like how someone tried to do with me?”

“Oh, shut up, you liked it,” you grinned.

“I did,” he smirked, “A lot. Too much, in fact. I want to do it again. And again.”

His expression went darker, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Dick was hot, sexy, whatever you wanted to call it. You would be lying if you said that you never thought of Dick, your best friend, that way. Especially since the two of you practically grew up together, with your parents being Bruce’s best friend, and Dick being Bruce’s first.

You loved Dick, but ultimately, it was Jason who stole your heart.

“You’re just horny, Dick,” you laughed.

“And you’re not?” he asked back, “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy last night?”

“What happened last night?”

The both of you snapped your heads toward the door- which Dick had left open. Jason was standing there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Were you listening in?” you shrieked.

“No,” he frowned, “Was just passing by, going to my room. Heard you guys talking. What happened last night?”

“Nothing,” you answered a little too quickly, “Dick was asking if I enjoyed drinks last night, and I was just going to tell him I didn’t have any drinks last night.”

“I said I was sorry,” he pouted again.

Your expression softened. “I know. And I said it was fine.”

An awkward silence filled the room, as he just looked at you like he was figuring out what to say.

“So…” you slowly began, “Next time, could you, like, knock?”

He didn’t reply immediately, but just started to flicker his gaze between you and Dick. Then, with a scowl, he let out a mumbled “Whatever” and left.

You got up and closed the door, locking it behind you. You glared at Dick, your arms crossed.

“Whoops?” he grimaced.

“Forgetting to close the door is not a very Nightwing thing to do,” you scolded.

“Well, I’m not Nightwing right now,” he shrugged, giving you an annoyingly smug grin, “But I gotta say, I’m quite curious to see how he would react if he knew we slept together.”

“Don’t. You. Dare,” you growled.

“Relax, I’m not gonna say anything,” he raised his hands in surrender. “Mainly because you won’t sleep with me again if I did.”

He gave you his best puppy dog eyes.

“You’re such a horny bastard!” you laughed out loud and pounced at him to tickle his sides. He grabbed your arms before you could reach him, and then wrestled you down, pinning you against the bed with your hands over your head and his body weight ensuring you stay in place below him.

“Only for you, sweetheart,” he kissed the tip of your nose.

“That’s what a boyfriend would say,” you narrowed your eyes.

“But it is also what Dick Grayson would say to his super sexy best friend who rocked his night,” he countered, “I may not be your boyfriend, nor am I in love with you, but I still care, you know? I won’t hurt you. So as long as you’re still interested in our… arrangement, this cock-”

He paused to roll his hips against yours, eliciting a soft moan from you when you felt a flicker of heat between your legs.

“- is only yours.”

Your heart swelled at how thoughtful he was being. He wanted to make you feel as comfortable as possible with your new and unorthodox relationship. He didn’t owe you that kind of exclusivity, nor should he be obligated to offer it to you, yet there he was, doing the most Dick Grayson thing ever.

“Thank you, Dick,” you breathed.

“What are best friends for, right?” he winked.

“Oh, just get off me, you idiot,” you held back a smile, “It’s in the middle of the day.”

He climbed off you and collapsed onto his back next to you.

“Oh, so we’re limiting our steamy sessions to night time? I guess I can work with that,” he teased.

You shook your head, ignoring his jest.

“Do you think he heard us?” you worried.

“He didn’t,” Dick simply stated.

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” he scoffed, “Sweetheart, I’m the second best detective in this house!”

“Not Tim?” you prodded.

He gasped exaggeratedly. “I am so offended.”

“I feel like he can read my mind sometimes, you know?”

“I’m leaving,” he got up and dashed to the door, “I will not take any more of this insult!”

He slammed the door shut. In the distance, you heard him shout, “I will not!”

“Drama queen,” you muttered under your breath and went back to your easel.

***

To say that Dick was clingy would be an understatement.

You didn’t sleep with him again after the first time as his nights were busy with patrol and got back home too late each time.

But during the days, though he acted relatively the same way as he did before, he added more flirty winks, and subtle touches. It got to your nerves at one point because he would shamelessly do it even when everyone else was around.

Of course, he wasn’t being blatantly obvious, but being in a home full of well-trained vigilantes- it made you paranoid.

It was a Saturday evening, and you were sketching out a scene in your book when you heard a knock on your door.

“It’s open,” you announced before slamming your sketchbook shut, away from prying eyes.

“Hey,” you saw Jason peek in, “You busy?”

“No,” you replied, “What’s up?”

“Was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner before I go off for patrol tonight?” he asked, shifting his feet. “My treat.”

“Sure!” your face lit up, “Anything for free food.”

You heard him chuckle, your heart melting at the sound. Your relationship with him became a bit strained because of what happened the previous weekend.

He took you on his bike that night, and even though you’ve been the passenger on his motorcycle countless of times, the close contact still made your heart flutter.

You could feel the hardness of his body as you clutched onto his leather jacket for support. You could smell him- a musky cologne and a very faint smokey scent. You couldn’t see much of the road in front of you because his broad shoulders was blocking the view.

He took you on his bike to a small italian restaurant in Little Italy It was nothing fancy, but you preferred an authentic restaurant with a homemade feel, small tables, and warm lights. You sat at a small table for two, and ordered.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to eat that much right before patrol?” you raised an eyebrow.

He had taken off his jacket, and was wearing a simple black t-shirt with jeans. His hair was messy from the helmet, and his cheeks, nose and ears were slightly red from the cold ride there.

“I gotta have the energy to kick some ass, princess,” he grinned.

“You ordered a whole lasagna and a plate of pasta,” you giggled, “And I’m sure you’re gonna wanna get dessert as well.”

“Hey, I like my food, alright?” he huffed, crossing his arms.

“Well, I can’t really say much to that,” you admitted, “Is this a way to make up to me or something? ‘Coz getting to my heart through my stomach is clever. You know I’m as weak as you are when it comes to food.”

“And I kept that in mind,” he winked, making your stomach flip. His winks always got to you.

“You’re totally, wholeheartedly forgiven then,” you reassured.

“Good,” he nodded, “But, uh, yeah, like I said. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved in effort to keep the awkwardness away.

“But actually, I wanted to ask you something as well,” he started.

“Ask away,” you shrugged.

He paused, allowing the waitress to set your drinks down. You started slowly sipping on your coke.

“Are you and Dick together?”

You almost sprayed your drink everywhere.

“W-what?” you sputtered in a fit of hacking coughs.

“I dunno, he’s been acting weird around you lately,” he played with his straw, avoiding eye contact.

“No way in hell!” you denied. You took a deep breath to calm down before you explained. “Look, I can see why you think so. Lately, he’s been annoying, you know? Flirts more than usual. But that’s just how Dick is. He flirts without even realising it. He’s probably just bored whenever he does it.”

“So you’re not together?” he reconfirmed.

“No, Jay,” you insisted, “We’re best friends. That’s it.”

“I see,” he let out a sigh, “Good.”

“You seemed relieved,” you teased, “You jealous, Jay?”

You played with the idea in your head, but it was mostly wishful thinking.

“No,” he replied quickly, “I’m relieved because it’s weird, you know? The two of you. You guys were always there when I was growing up. It’d just be weird, alright? Like if my sister was dating my best friend or something.”

He leaned back onto his chair and looked away.

“So am I your best friend or your sister?” you jibed.

“Best friend,” he looked at you. And with a grin, he added, “Dick’s my sister.”

You laughed. On the bright side, at least he didn’t see you as a sister.

Your food arrived. You were smirking at the large portion Jason was devouring immediately.

“I miss talking to you, Jay,” you smiled, “I like this.”

“Me too, princess,” his eyes softened.

Dick called everyone sweetheart, or darling. But Jason? Jason only called you ‘Princess’. It was his thing that started so long ago, when he was still Robin.

Though you were closer to Dick because he was there first, you were the same age as Jason. Thus, you were in the same grade, watched the same shows, listened to the same music- though the latter was purely coincidental and did not have anything to do with your age. It was just easier for you to relate to him.

You were a rebellious teen back then. You snuck out of your parents’ house frequently to hang out with your friends in shady places. One night, at 15 years old, you were walking back to your house around two in the morning.

You only realised too late that you were being followed by 3 men when one of them grabbed you and pulled you into an alleyway.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out this late, you know?” one of them pushed you against the wall.

You had never wished so hard that you were like Dick, capable of defending yourself.

“I have money,” you had started to beg, “Please, I’ll give you anything. Just don’t hurt me.”

“We want more than just money, baby,” another guy said.

“Please, don’t,” you pleaded, tears spilling down from your eyes. You were shaking in fear, frozen to your spot, not knowing what to do.

“The more you beg, the more you turn me on,” one of them replied, coming closer to you. He gripped your hair painfully to keep your head in place as he leaned in to force a kiss on you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, expecting the worst that was yet to come. Suddenly, the pain disappeared. You opened your eyes and saw Robin smashing the head of the guy who was nearest to you against the wall.

He then proceeded to almost effortlessly knock out the other two.

He looked at you through his white lens.

“Jason?” you whispered.

“Are you okay?” he rushed to you.

You flung yourself into his arms, tears of relief now brimming your eyes instead of fear.

“I was so scared,” you sobbed into his armor covered chest.

“I know. It’s okay, I’m right here,” he patted your head, other arm wrapped around your waist and squeezing you tightly. “What are you doing out so late?”

“Being stupid,” you grimaced, before panicking. “Please don’t tell Dick! He’d kill me! Please, Jason, please.”

You stared at him now with wide eyes, seeing his expression softening and a small smile at his lips.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. This will be our little secret,” he assured you, “Just promise me you won’t go out this late again. At least, not alone. It’s dangerous. You know that.”

“I promise,” you sniffled, “Thank you, Jason. For saving me. You’re my knight in shining armor.”

“So that makes you my princess, right?” he grinned.

You giggled then, but your heart suddenly started beating faster, and not because of the fear or adrenaline. You hid your blushing face into his chest so he couldn’t see how flustered he made you.

From then on, he called you ‘Princess’. It was a term of endearment brought by a small little secret only the two of you shared.

You didn’t realise that you were already in love with him. Not until he died 6 months later, and you were left with a hole in your chest. To make things worse, your parents also died around the same time.

“You okay?” your current Jason broke you out of your daze and back to the present.

“Yeah,” you smiled at the memory, “Remember that time you saved me from those assholes? In that alley?”

“You were stupid to go out that late alone,” he grumbled.

“Yes, and I swear, since then I have been on my best behavior,” you rolled your eyes, “You never told Dick, right?”

“Of course not,” he scowled, “I promised you didn’t I?”

Fuck, he looked so cute pouting and grumbling the way he did- because he may looked upset, but he was still finishing up his lasagna.

“Yeah, you did,” you hummed, “Anyway, shouldn’t we be leaving soon? You have patrol.”

“I ain’t leavin’ without my damned dessert!”

***

That night, you decided to stay up late painting a piece. Your aim was to have your own solo exhibition by the end of the year, so you needed to work hard.

It was around four in the morning when you heard a soft knock on your door.

“It’s me,” you heard Dick’s muffled voice.

You set your brush down and unlocked the door for him.

He was still in his Nightwing uniform, sweaty and slightly dirty. He stepped in, and you made it a point to lock the door behind him.

“All of you just got back?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he stood in front of you, “Was going back to my room, but then I saw your lights were still on. Speaking of-”

He reached to the switch and turned off the lights.

“Dick- what-”

“At least they’d think you were asleep and wouldn’t come knocking,” he explained. The sudden shift to darkness blinded you. You slowly walked to your bedside table and switched on a night light. Now it was bright enough for you to make out Dick in the darkness, yet dark enough for people to think you were sleeping.

“Everyone got back okay? Anything interesting happen?” you sat on your bed, motioning Dick to join you.

“Nah,” he said, “Slow night. Just a couple of scrapes and bruises. Though, Jason got it pretty bad tonight.”

“What?” you panicked, “Is he okay? What happened?”

“Relax, nothing serious,” he chuckled, “The love of your life just started puking into a dumpster after grappling.”

And almost like they rehearsed it, you heard a couple of bickering voices outside your room.

“-can't believe you got puke in your helmet,” you heard Tim say.

“Shut the fuck up about it already,” Jason growled. “And quiet down, she’s gonna wake up.”

“She’d love to hear about this, though,” Tim whispered.

“Disgusting, Todd,” Damian commented, “Disgraceful to the Robin legacy. Utterly idiotic-”

“I said shut the fuck up!” he yelled. You heard a loud door slam.

“You're the one who said she'd wake up,” Tim chortled.

“... honestly… to think… low intelligence…”

“... can't wait… tell her…”

The voices faded away, and ended with the sound of doors being closed shut.

You looked at Dick and burst into giggles.

“I told him that eating so much wasn't a good idea,” you gasped in between laughter. “God, he's such an idiot.”

“How much did he eat?”

“A huge slice of lasagna, a plate of carbonara, and two scoops of ice cream,” you listed down, “All super creamy, super heavy.”

“He is an idiot,” Dick laughed, “Did you have a good time?”

“I did,” you smiled, “Oh, he asked if we were together.”

“You and me?”

“Yes, you and me,” you scolded “And it's all your fault, too. You were being way too obvious with the whole… You thing.”

“Me thing?” he smirked.

“Yeah, you thing,” you huffed, “I told him there was nothing going on between us.”

“Which is technically the truth,” he added.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Just ease up on the whole flirty stuff, will you?”

“I can’t help it,” he groaned, collapsing onto his back.

His blue and black uniform stuck to him like second skin, accentuating the contours of his muscles that was casting beautiful shadows onto his body due to the dim light. Your eyes trailed down from his face to his abs to his crotch, your tongue subconsciously darting out to wet your lips.

“Like what you see?” he snickered.

“Me and every other girl in Gotham,” you rolled your eyes.

In a flash, he had shot straight up and pounced on top of you, pinning you down on the bed with his body.

“You’ve fantasized about Nightwing?” he whispered against your lips.

“Of course I have,” you pouted, “I mean, it’s Nightwing. All girls do.”

“But you,” he set his arm on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles that you could feel through your thin tank top, “Must have fantasized more about Red Hood, right?”

“Jason was dead for two years,” you reminded him, “At that time, though I was still in love with him, Nightwing was the main attraction.”

“But what about now?” he started to kiss your neck.

“I guess now it’s mostly Red Hood,” you admitted.

He drew back to look at you in the eye, a cheeky grin playing onto his face, “I could steal his helmet if you like. Wash the puke out first, of course. A little roleplay to spice things up?”

“That’s so fucked up, Dick!” you laughed, “I can’t fuck you while pretending it’s your brother.”

“Hmm, why not?” he hummed and started nibbling at your ear lobe. “I could pretend to be him. What does he always call you, again?”

“Princess?”

“Ah, yes. You wanna play with me, princess?” he grazed your ear.

You gasped. Dick had impersonated Jason’s voice so well. He nailed Jason’s husky and low sound, and flawlessly imitated his subtle yet still noticeable Bowery accent down to the last syllable.

It made your pussy clench.

“That- that was-” you stuttered, that simple action made you a blushing sputtering mess.

“On point?” he grinned.

“That would be an understatement,” you praised, “Shit, I didn’t know you could do that so well.”

“Alfred would be pleased,” he chuckled lowly, “Though, I’m sure he’d disapprove of the skill being used in this context.”

“It’s fucked up, Dick,” you repeated, though you wanted it so badly.

“You want me to fuck you, princess?” he purred, “You want my cock?”

He slipped his hand between your legs to cup your covered sex.

“Dick,” you whined, “Stop it. It’s turning me on more than you think. I feel like he’s actually saying those things to me.”

“That’s the idea, sweetheart,” he teased, “I can make you feel so good, baby.”

You groaned when his hands slipped underneath your shorts, immediately running a finger up and down your wet folds, the odd yet pleasurable sensation of his textured gloved hands making you squirm. You spread your legs wider to give him more access.

“So wet and ready for me,” he drawled, “Close your eyes, sweetheart. Close your eyes and imagine him.”

“I- I shouldn’t,” you breathed, “I can’t do that to you.”

“I don’t mind,” he insisted, “I just want to get you off. I like seeing you like this. I like turning you on.”

He slipped a finger inside your opening and immediately curled it upwards, hitting your sweet spot, eliciting a desperate moan from you.

“Come on, princess. Play with me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he inserted a second finger easily, pumping in and out of you at a pace that made your breath hitch.

“Ja- Dick,” you caught yourself mid-moan.

“It’s okay to indulge, sweetheart,” you felt him whisper in your ear, his warm breath tickling you, “Go on. I want to hear you say my name.”

“Jason,” you dared a small whine, giving in to your fantasies.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his fingers now making squelching sounds.

You were really indulging yourself, that's for sure. You imagined that it was Jason who was panting in your ear, that it was Jason's thick fingers inside you and making you feel good, that it was Jason’s weight against your body, that it was Jason's erection you were gently massaging through the sturdy yet thin material of Nightwing’s suit- however unrealistic it was.

“Mmm, Jason,” you sighed louder, the heat you felt even more intense than you usually did.

“So fucking sexy, princess. Your pussy feels so good around my fingers.”

Hell, even you felt your walls tighten around him when he said that.

“So hot,” he groaned, “I want to see you come. You want me to make you come?”

“Yes, Jason, please,” you whined, your head thrashing about. Then, he curled his fingers upwards and started massaging your deep spot, making a new wave of sensation appear. He was relentless in his pace, almost forcing the orgasm from you.

You were a moaning mess, unsure of what was real and what wasn’t.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it, baby,” he purred, “Come for me right now, princess.”

The building heat you usually felt was absent that night. Instead, it was like an explosion. Barrages of white, hot, pleasure filled your entire being, that you weren’t aware how loud you were screaming.

“Fuck, fuck, JASON!”

You felt a hand clamp down on your mouth as you slowly came back to reality. You opened your eyes to see Dick’s wide stare. He was still slowly pumping in and out of you, grounding you after your intense orgasm.

You could hear your own breathing- loud and ragged.

“Shit,” Dick chuckled, “Wow, do I need to see you come like that again.”

He slid out his fingers from you carefully.

“Kiss me, Dick,” you sighed.

He reached for to cup your face, his lips mere inches away from yours until-

You heard frantic knocking on the door.

“Hey, you okay in there?” you heard Jason’s muffled yells.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath looking at Dick with panic, “Shit, shit, shit. Hide in my bathroom, quick!”

Dick dashed to your bathroom and you hurriedly put on a robe.

“Princess, you okay?” he continued, “I heard you shouting.”

“Just a second!” you yelled back, tripping over your chair in the process of getting to the door.

“Hey,” you opened, meeting a clean Jason with wet hair and a white t-shirt along with a worried look on his face.

“You okay?” he asked again, “I heard you calling for me. I thought you were in trouble.”

“I had a bad dream,” you lied, “I must have shouted your name. False alarm. Sorry.”

You weren’t really a good liar- especially since everyone else were good lie detectors. But you tried and sometimes you could get away with it.

Now you were praying to whatever deity was up there that it was one of those times.

“Oh,” Jason frowned, “Are you okay? You wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’m fine,” you smiled, “I’ll try to go back to bed after this.”

“Hey,” he reached out to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m here, okay? If you want me to hang around until you sleep, just say the word.”

You felt yourself start to blush furiously at his action, your stomach doing flips again.

“I-it’s okay,” you sputtered. “I’ll be fine. Really. But thank you, Jason.”

He pursed his lips, just staring at you for a moment. And then-

“Come here,” he mumbled and then pulled you into his arms, engulfing you with his warmth.

“I used to have nightmares too,” he whispered into your ear, “And during the rare times my mom was actually sober, she’d just hug me like this, and everything felt alright again.”

You were taken aback by his words. Jason hardly ever talked about his parents. Your guilt started eating at you when you realised that he only shared this with you because he thought you were scared, yet you couldn’t help but to lean into him, welcoming his contact.

You breathed in his scent- his shampoo and shower gel smelled like fresh tropical fruit. You could also smell a faint lingering minty scent of his toothpaste.

You just wanted to melt into him.

But then, he stepped away from you to end the hug.

“Just text me if you need anything, alright?” he looked at you intensely.

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Goodnight, princess,” he winked and turned around to go back to his room.

“Goodnight, Jay,” you sighed after him, wishing nothing more but to pull him back to you.

You watched him close the door to his room- which was down the hall to yours- before you closed your door and leaned against it with your eyes closed, trying to burn the memory into your brain.

“That was so cute,” a voice said.

You jumped ever so slightly and saw Dick smirking at you in front of your bathroom door. You had completely forgotten that he was still there.

“Shut up,” you scowled, walking towards him, “That was so fucking embarrassing.”

“Yet hot as fuck,” he chuckled, pulling you closer to him by the hips. “Now I’m definitely going to steal his helmet.”

“Don’t even,” you groaned, resting your arms on his shoulders, “So embarrassing.”

“It was hot, and cute,” he insisted, grinning. “I should head back.”

“But, uh, you haven’t, I mean I haven’t helped you, uh, you know,” you awkwardly implied.

“It’s okay,” he assured you, “That scare kinda ruined my boner. Plus, like I said, I enjoy just watching you.”

“You sure?” you pouted, “I don’t mind helping you out.”

“I’m sure,” he kissed you on the nose, “It’s getting late, too. You should sleep.”

“Okay, then,” you stepped away from him and watched him head towards the door. “Goodnight, Dick.”

“Goodnight, princess,” he grinned and ran silently to his room before you could even react to his teasing.

***

It had already been a month since you and Dick started sleeping together. It was fun, and you enjoyed it a lot, but you felt like the more you tried to distract yourself with Dick, the more you couldn’t get Jason out of your mind.

And every little thing that Jason did affected you more than it should. From the way he drank his bottled water, to the way his left eye twitched and his jaw clench whenever Damian said something insulting. Everything he did made you want him.

So you used Dick to distract yourself and the cycle continued.

Dick was also using you, because Dick was a horny bastard and he liked sleeping with you. A lot.

Every chance he got.

But then one day when Dick and you were lounging by the pool, Jason approached you.

“Hey, uh, you free tonight?” he asked you.

His eye contact was in a frenzy- avoiding yours- and he was ruffling the hair at the back of his head. He looked almost nervous.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, “Why?”

“Thought that we could spend some time together,” he shrugged, “Watch some thrillers or something. In your room? Or mine. I don’t care. Whichever you prefer.”

“Sure!” you agreed almost too happily.

“Yeah?” he grinned, “Okay, then. I gotta meet Roy now but I’ll be back by 8? I’ll get us some pizza.”

“Pepperoni, extra cheese, please,” you ordered.

“As if I don’t know,” he rolled his eyes and headed out.

You tried to contain your excitement in front of Dick, unsuccessfully.

“Well that just made your whole week, huh?” he chuckled, getting up from his pool chair to sit on the edge of yours.

“Shut up,” you jabbed him in the ribs.

“I guess this is it, then,” he suddenly sighed.

You frowned at his shifted mood.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, I’m guessing after this, our little arrangement would end.”

“Why?”

Dick looked at you with a sad smile, “Just a feeling.”

“You’re being weird,” you pointed out, “But you know, even if we decide to end this, we’re still best friends, right? No hard feelings?”

“Of course not,” he stated, “We’ll always be best friends. No matter what.”

“Good,” you breathed a sigh of relief.

Dick leaned closer to you, his hand cupping your face.

“I want one last kiss,” he pleaded with his puppy dog eyes.

“It wouldn’t be our last, Dick,” you rolled your eyes, still allowing him to come closer to you.

“I hope not,” he barely whispered, and then pressed his soft,.familiar lips against yours for a deep, slow kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it desperate. Neither of you were panting in lust and a need to take off each other’s clothes.

It simply was a sensual kiss between two friends.

You were the first to break it off.

“We’re out in the open,” you reminded him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, getting up and going back to his pool chair, “You don’t have to worry about that any more.”

You were going to say something about how stupid he was being, but decided against it. All you needed to do was let him see for himself that nothing was going to happen.

That evening, you were just hanging out in the living room with everyone while waiting for Jason to come back. Tim was telling you about how Jason went from trying to show off his new move- somersaulting down from a tall building to immediately grappling to a lower rise building and landing like a superhero- to retching out half his stomach contents into his helmet, hurriedly run to a dumpster in an alley in which he shoved a lone man aside just to hurl the rest of his food.

The man turned out to be a drug dealer. Jason’s violent push had made him drop 2 kilogrammes of cocaine from his jacket. Jason had called it a win.

“What’s so funny?”

All of you snapped your heads in the direction of the voice. Jason who had just arrived, had his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The coincidence made all of you start laughing again, right after trying hard to stop.

Once you regained your composure, you got up, while wiping your tears.

“Come on, Carbonaraticus Regurgitus,” you teased, taking the hot pizza boxes from him and leading the way to your room.

“I fucking told you guys not to tell her!” you heard him yell at the back.

You giggled to yourself and made your way to the room, leaving the door open for Jason who was probably attacking Tim before coming to you as planned.

You had already set up your laptop on the bed to a thriller on Netflix when Jason finally came in, red faced and pouting.

“He-”

“It wasn’t that bad, and I did not get puke in my helmet,” he stated before you could even get a word in.

You stifled a laugh. “Okay. I was going to say ‘Hey, is Seven okay?’. But if you insist on talking about that, I don’t mind.”

“Seven’s fine,” he grumbled before comically adding, “What’s in the booox?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he defended, taking off his jacket and hopping onto your bed to sit next to you, “Love me some Brad Pitt.”

The two of you ate your pizzas while watching the movie. The both of you were leaning back against a pile of pillows, legs stretched out. You balanced the laptop on your right thigh and Jason’s left, meaning that your right side was in close contact with his left.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling every time he accidentally said a line from the movie and apologizing after. Somewhere along the movie, he stretched out his left arm behind your head. Your mind was racing, and you couldn’t concentrate much on the movie.

Next thing you knew, the movie ended, and he suggested The Usual Suspects. Jason loved his thrillers, and loved rewatching the classics.

“Oh, but uh, before that,” he stopped you from clicking play. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What about?”

“Your art, actually,” he said.

“What about my art?”

“The ones in those black books, are those for the galleries?” he asked.

“Well, no. I mean, I have one sketchbook where I draw serious stuff. Portraits, illustrations, sceneries. That’s the one I submit to my professors,” you explained.

“Oh, but you have more than one?”

“Yeah, I always have three in total. One’s for school, one’s for practice, and one… is like my diary.”

“Your diary?” he looked at you in curiosity.

You were close, but not too close. It was only a comfortable and friendly distance, but you couldn’t stop yourself from occasionally looking at his lips before snapping your eyes back to his.

“Yeah. My art is usually a result of my emotions. The last book I have is filled with drawings when I’m feeling sad or happy, or whatever. But more personal, you know? Stuff I don’t share with the world,” you finished.

“I see,” he frowned, deep in thought, “You don’t usually show it the world, huh?”

“Nope. Completely private.”

“Then you shouldn’t be so careless about leaving it open on your desk,” he stated as a matter of factly.

“What?”

“I assume the book with the drawing of me at the bar with the girl is the diary one, right?” he brought up casually.

Your mind was blank. “What?” you repeated.

“I didn’t go through your stuff, or anything. I was just looking for you yesterday in your room, and I saw the book on your desk. It was already opened to that page…”

Shit.

Fuck.

You were so careless.

You had drawn the scene a couple of weeks ago, because you wanted to channel the sadness, anger, and jealousy into something.

“... were you jealous?”

“What?” you said for the third time. You had missed a portion of what he was saying.

“I mean, if you drew something like that,” he continued, “Is that why you left? Because I hurt you?”

You faced the laptop, tears burning your eyes at the thought of almost a decade of friendship being tossed into the drain because of your carelessness.

He was silent for a moment. And then-

“You made me jealous first, though,” he mumbled so softly, you barely caught it.

“What are you talking about?” you whispered.

“With that fucking Nikolai,” he huffed. You swore you could hear the pout.

“Nick- what?” you decided to look at him.

He was staring at the paused computer screen, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together, and of course- pouting.

“Yeah, him and his accent, and his stupid kiss, and his stupid hair,” he grumbled.

“Hair?” you smiled.

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Or what you thought was happening.

“All wavy and golden,” he continued, “It would have made anyone jealous. That’s why I said all those hurtful things to you. It doesn’t justify it, but it just triggered me, okay?”

“So does that mean,” you smiled wider, “That you have feelings for me?”

“Duh,” he rolled his eyes, still avoiding contact with yours.

“Really? You’re not just saying that out of pity?”

He then looked at you incredulously. “Pity? No! Fuck you, I’ve been in love with you since forever.”

“How long?” you questioned, your heart thumping at his confession.

“I don’t know,” he looked away again, “Since I got back? Before I died? I don’t know okay? I’ve just always been drawn to you or some shit.”

You didn’t know what to say.

You were just so unbelievably ecstatic, that you were speechless.

“What about you?” he asked, “You like me too, right? Coz if you don’t, it means I’ve made a complete fool outta myself, and I’ll just go and crawl back into my coffin.”

“I’ve been in love with you since you died,” you admitted, “Actually, since you saved me from those guys in the alley. But I just never knew that I truly loved you until you were gone.”

He looked at you now, all signs of nervousness finally gone. He uncrossed his arms and put his hand on yours.

“Really?” he croaked, emotion flooding into his hopeful voice of relief, “That long?”

“Yes, that long!” you complained.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Like I said, I only realised when you died.”

“But what about after? It’s been years since I came back,” he pointed out.

“I was afraid, okay?” you sighed exasperatedly, “I was afraid it would ruin whatever we have. I still am. Even if you like me back, what if it doesn’t work out? Then we’ll just end up awkward, and we lose this real great thing we already have.”

“Princess,” he said sternly, tilting your chin upwards to pierce your eyes with his gaze, “I would rather take the fucking crowbar again than lose you.”

You were taken aback by his words. You never thought that Jason was the romantic type who was a smooth talker, which made you believe how genuine he was.

You weren’t too close before, but somehow the two of you had naturally inched closer that his lips were now a hair’s breadth away from yours. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and feel this fucking pull that tugged at your chest.

You were ready.

Fuck, you were ready for his kiss that you’ve daydreamed and fantasized about for years.

“I didn’t say anything because I stupidly thought you were Dick’s,” he breathed.

The mention of Dick made you suck in a breath, and your eyes fluttered away in guilt.

“What?” he tilted his head.

“Nothing,” you shook yours, attempting to gain back the intimate moment, “I’ll tell you some other time. Can you kiss me now? I’ve been waiting for so long and I don’t think I can-”

“Is it about Dick?” he pulled back and frowned.

“Well, yes,” you admitted, “But I don’t want to talk about that now. I’ll tell you later.”

“If it’s about Dick I want to know,” he insisted, “Was I right? Were you his?”

“I’m nobody’s Jason, I’m not a thing,” you rolled your eyes.

“You know what I mean,” he growled.

You sighed.

“Fine,” you conceded, “We… slept together.”

Jason’s jaw clenched.

“We weren’t together,” you hurriedly clarified, “We were just having sex. For fun, or as a distraction. We’re still just best friends.”

“Best friends don’t sleep together,” he grit.

“Everyone’s relationship is different,” you argued, “But like I said, it was just casual sex. Nothing more.”

“Okay, okay,” he gave in, pinching the bridge of his nose, “This was all in the past, right?”

“Yes, technically,” you cringed.

“Past as in, years ago?” he narrowed his eyes at you.

“I wouldn’t say years...”

“When was the last time?” he demanded after noticing your expression.

“Does it matter, Jason? I mean, now that I know how you feel, I’m obviously not going to-”

“When. Was. The. Last. Time?” he hissed.

You were silent for a whole ten seconds before squeaking out a small, “Last night?”

You could see in his eyes that he snapped. The pure anger was unmistakable. Yet, he didn’t act out like you thought he would. No yelling, no wall punching.

Instead, he let out a calm but deadly “I’m going to murder him” and then got up from your bed.

“Jason, come on,” you tried to stop him, “Don’t tell me you expected me to wait for you when I didn’t even know how you felt. I didn’t just sleep with Dick in the past. I’ve had ex boyfriends as well!”

“It’s not about that!” he shouted before taking a deep breath to calm himself down, “It’s not about that. It’s about Dick. When it’s Dick, it becomes personal.”

“But why?” you demanded, “You were okay if it happened years ago. Why is the timing so important?”

He looked at you and blinked.

Then, he left the room with a speed you only saw when he was fighting.

“Jason!” you went after him. You saw him knocking furiously on Dick’s door opposite of his own.

“Grayson!” he shouted, “Open the fucking door you two faced scumbag!”

“Jason, calm down!” you hushed.

You heard the door unlock and open.

But before you could even see Dick’s face, Jason had forced his way in and punched him straight in the nose, causing him to stumble backwards.

“What the fuck?!” Dick exclaimed, holding his nose with one hand. You could see drops of blood trickle down his chin and stained his t-shirt. “You broke my nose!”

Dick made a move to retaliate, but Jason roared out first. “You knew! You fucking knew, and you went behind my back!”

You were going to come between Jason and Dick, but Jason’s words made you stop in your tracks.

“Wh- what the fuck are you talking about?” Dick glared daggers at Jason, yet didn’t move to fight back.

“You knew how I felt about her,” Jason’s voice broke, “And you knew how she felt about me. I understand if you wanted us to figure it out ourselves- but to fucking sleep with her?!”

“Jason,” Dick began, his eyes wide in realisation.

“You’re a fucking joke, Dick,” Jason sneered, “You go around acting like a fucking mother hen, spewing bullshit about how we’re family, but what kind of a brother does this?”

“I’m sorry,” Dick apologized, his eyes softening.

“Forget it,” Jason turned around, “You’re not my brother.”

He left.

You stood in silence, digesting what had happened. You looked at Dick, who was wiping the blood off his face with his shirt.

“You want to punch me, too?” he gave you a humorless chuckle.

“Is it true?” you asked softly.

“He didn’t tell me,” Dick explained, “But I knew.”

“How?”

“Sweetheart, I read people. It’s part of my job,” he stated.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you questioned, “Why did you agree to sleep with me?”

“I was selfish,” he simply said, “When you came to me that night, well. I just wanted you to myself, even if it was temporary.”

You looked at him with sadness and disappointment.

“I’m guessing you hate me now,” Dick assumed, “It’s understandable. This was going to happen sooner or later.”

“I could never hate you, Dick,” you smiled sadly, “You’re my best friend. Nothing will change that.”

“But?”

“But I’m just- I don’t know,” you struggled to find the words, “I mean I was the one who begged you for it, so I can’t fully blame you either. Yet, I’m still really angry at you for doing that to him. He’s right. That’s not what a brother would do.”

“I know,” Dick sighed, “I’m a shit brother.”

“You’re a dick, Dick,” you pointed out, “I’m going to look for Jason.”

“There’s no point,” he said, “He probably took off.”

“What?”

“That’s what he does when he’s angry,” Dick explained, “He goes on patrol and beats people up.”

“And Bruce is okay with that?”

“He stops before going too far,” Dick added.

“Fine then,” you groaned, “I’ll wait up for him downstairs. Let him know if you see him.”

“Seriously?” he laughed. “I’m the last person he wants to hear from now.”

“I’ll leave him a text,” you stated.

You went down to the living room and cuddled up on the sofa, flicking through the channels on the large flat screen TV before settling for a nature documentary.

You zoned out to the sounds of the deep ocean and David Attenborough’s voice in the background. Before you knew it, you fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

Something felt off.

You weren’t on the sofa anymore. You were against something hard and warm- and moving. You struggled to open your eyes, only to see the underside of Jason’s face.

“I can see your nose hair,” you giggled softly, wrapping your arms around his neck while he carried you bridal style up the stairs.

“I don’t have any nose hair,” he pouted.

“Everyone has nose hair, Jay,” you argued playfully.

“Not me. You can call me Hairless Nose Jason,” he smirked.

You noticed that he was still wearing his Red Hood outfit, sans leather jacket, helmet, and gloves. His messy hair was sticking to his forehead from sweat. He finally reached your room and you helped him with the door knob. He set you gently on the bed before turning to leave.

“Wait,” you reached for his arm, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah, I got your text,” he ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up even more, “We can talk tomorrow. You go to bed. It’s late.”

“No, I want to talk to you now,” you whined, “Come sit here.”

“I’m sweaty and dirty,” he reminded you, “I need a shower.”

“Shower later,” you dismissed, “Please?”

You gave him your best puppy dog eye you learned from Dick.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. He took off his boots and climbed into bed next to you, leaning against the pillows and stretching his legs, just like how he was hours ago when he was watching thrillers with you. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I just wanted to explain what happened,” you told him.

“Okay, then. Explain.”

“That night when we were at the bar, and I left early? You already know why, right?” you began, “I was just really heartbroken. I was crying all the way back in the car-”

“I’m sorry,” he cut you off, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“I know you didn’t,” you shook your head, “You couldn’t have known. But I did just feel so fucking horrible that night, and, well, I went to Dick.”

You glanced at him. He was looking into space in front, but you saw his jaw clench.

“I asked him- begged him more like- to sleep with me,” you continued, “I just needed to try to forget about you, so I asked Dick to distract me. That’s how it started. It was supposed to be a one time thing, but it became more than one occasion. I’m not defending him or anything, but I just wanted you to know that it’s not entirely his fault. He wanted to help me.”

He kept quiet, his eyebrows furrowed deep in thought. He didn’t look like he was going to say anything, so you decided to break the silence.

“I just thought that, if you wanted, maybe we could start over?” you tried, “I’ve been pining over you for so fucking long, Jason. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to not just jump your bones?”

You saw the corner of his lips twitch upward.

“Especially when you work out, gosh, I’d find any excuse to just sit there and watch, you know? And I’m there thinking to myself what your sweat would taste like.”

He was smiling now, a blush forming in his cheeks.

“Remember that one time I accidentally walked in on you changing into your trunks in the pool shed? That was spank bank material for like weeks-”

“Okay, okay” he laughed, “I get it. God, you’re so fucking lewd.”

He looked at you endearingly, coming closer.

“You know,” you went on, “Usually when two people confess their love for each other, they end up kissing. But we? We haven’t kissed yet. So could you do a girl a favour and- mmppf!”

He shut your ramblings up by suddenly crashing his lips against yours.

Finally.

You could finally feel his lips. Though they felt chapped and rough against your own, he was a good fucking kisser.

The depth of his kiss sent shooting heat to your belly, the way he massaged your lips and prodded his tongue to enter your mouth made you whimper.

But then he broke off the kiss.

“Wait, I just really needed to ask you something. That night when you said you had a nightmare and I came to your room, was Dick there?” he brought up.

“Yeah?” you answered sheepishly.

“So when I was at your door, he was…?”

“I made him hide in my bathroom,” you answered.

“Oh,” he frowned.

“Comere, Jay,” you pulled him by the neck for another kiss.

This time, it got heated. The two of you were fighting to taste each other, to memorize your mouths with your tongues. You climbed on top of him and straddled his lap without breaking it off.

But then, he broke off the kiss again.

“Wait a second,” he realised.

“Jason,” you whined, “Not now.”

“No, no, I’m pretty fucking sure I heard you shout my name the other night, which is why I came running to you. I thought you needed my help,” he recalled, “But why would you call out my name when you were with Dick?”

He looked up at you with his curious, bright blue eyes, searching for an answer. You felt yourself start to blush in embarrassment.

“I’ll tell you some other time,” you forced a smile.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Ugh, okay, fine!” you gave in, “Dick.. he does this really good voice impressions, okay? So he, uh, well, he did this really good one of you.”

“He impersonated my voice?” he said perplexed.

“Yeah, and it was really good. It sounded like you were actually talking to me. Down to the accent.”

“What accent?” he asked.

“Your accent, Jay,” you rolled your eyes.

“Shut up, I don’t have an accent,” he grumbled, “But what does that have to do with- oh.”

His eyes widen in realisation.

“Did Dick fucking roleplay as me?” he blurted.

“I wouldn’t call it roleplay,” you answered in a small voice.

“Then what was it?”

“He was just… fingering me while… talking to me in your voice…” you trailed off.

Jason simply blinked at you.

“He wanted to steal your helmet, too but I didn’t let him,” you added.

“So you came to Dick pretending to be me? You called out my name when you came?”

You nodded slowly, looking down at your thumbs.

“Holy shit,” he chuckled, “That’s kinda fucked up. I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t believe you made Dick pretend to be me.”

“I didn’t make him!” you huffed defensively, “He insisted!”

“It was Dick’s idea?” he gasped.

“Yeah, and I told him how wrong it was and how I couldn’t expect him to do something like that for me, but he just continued, and uh, I just indulged,” you finished.

You looked down at Jason then, seeing his expression slowly change from surprise to a darker, sinister smirk.

Without warning, he flipped you over so that he was on top of you, his body trapping yours against the bed, his arms pinning your wrists above your head, his knee between your thighs.

“Well then, princess, let me tell you something,” he purred, “You have the real thing right here, and everyone knows that the real thing is much better than some cheap knockoff.”

He then shoved his tongue into your slightly open mouth, deeply thrusting it back and forth while he grinded against your core with his knees according to the same rhythm. He took a hand from your wrist and dipped beneath your t-shirt, dragging it up your waist to your ribs, to push up your bra and squeeze your breast.

“Though,” he added, “I hate the fact that Dick has touched you this way.”

“Then you just need to overwrite it with your own touches, Jay,” you suggested.

“Hmm. Keep your hands up here,” he whispered and proceeded to take off your bra, revealing your tits to him beneath your shirt that was hiked up.

“Beautiful,” he commented before going down and suckling a nipple into his mouth.

“Jason,” you moaned at the sensation of his wet and warm mouth.

He stopped and took in your other nipple, then started trailing wet opened mouth kisses and licks and nips down your body, dipping his tongue in your navel, pausing above the waistband of your pyjama pants.

Oh, he was so good at teasing you.

He just rested his forehead on your pubic bone, panting hot breaths you could almost feel through the cloth while his hands rubbed up and down your thighs. He then hooked his hands below your knees and pushed them upwards.

Only then did he go lower and started mouthing at your centre through your pants.

“Jason, please,” you whispered.

“Please what, princess?” he teased before nipping at your covered clit with his canines.

“Fuck!” you gasped, “Please stop teasing me.”

He chuckled and straightened up, and then grabbed your waistband and pulled your pants off along with your panties in one swift motion.

Without even warning you, he spread your thighs once more by holding your legs up by the knees and dived in to start eating you out.

“Oh, holy shit!” you moaned at the feeling of his warm wet tongue licking long and hard stripes through your lips.

You wanted so much to run your hands into his hair and pull and tug, but you kept them where they were, like he asked you to.

He then attacked your clit with his tongue and lips, alternating with sucking and licking.

It hadn’t even been a couple of minutes and you already felt your orgasm coming soon from the assault of his mouth.

“Fuck, Jason, don’t stop, fuck!” you cried as he just licked you faster and faster.

You came in waves of heat, your thighs squeezing his head.

You looked down and saw him looking up at you with a boyish grin, the lower half of his face wet from your slick and his own saliva. He came up to rest his forehead against yours and kissed you. You could taste your own juices on his tongue, and hell did that turn you on even more.

“I want you,” he demanded, “And I want you to make noise tonight.”

He straightened up to take off his clothes. You stared in awe at his naked body above you, how he looked like he was a greek god cut from fucking marble.

Those statues had flaccid and smaller penises, though, which was the opposite of what Jason had.

What Jason had was a beast, and that time when you accidentally saw him changing into his trunks that fueled your fantasies of him was just a small portion of his true potential.

His hard and leaking cock looked like it would stretch you deliciously.

He positioned himself on top of you, his body hovering over you while his forearms that supported his weight were next to both your ears. He reached down to align himself at your opening, and then pushed in slowly.

Both of you groaned together in pleasure. You felt the stretch you anticipated, and the familiarity of being filled.

Though this wasn’t your first time, it felt like a whole different experience because it was with Jason. It was Jason’s hot breaths against your skin, it was Jason’s sweat dripping down from his forehead to yours, it was Jason’s cock inside you.

“Jay,” you swallowed hard, “Jason.”

He started moving his hips, thrusting in and out of you, constantly hitting your deep spot that made you see stars every time he bumped against it.

“Louder,” he growled as he quickened his pace, sounds of skin slapping skin now filling the room, “I want him to hear what I do to you.”

Fuck, he was possessive, and it made your pussy clench.

“Argh,” he groaned.

“Jay,” you moaned wantonly, “Oh, fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

Your cries were getting louder the faster and harder he went, and he wasn’t quiet either.

No, you found out that night that Jason was loud in bed, and you fucking loved how he didn’t hold back.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, “Say my name. Say who’s making you feel good tonight. I want to hear that sound ringing in my ears for days. Hell, I want him to hear that sound for days knowing he can’t have you no more.”

“Jason!” you cried out loud, “Jason, fuck!”

“Fuck yeah, your pussy feels so good,” he choked, “So fucking good for me, princess.”

You couldn’t respond with words, so you just kept on mewling and whining in response to his hard pounds.

“I want to come, baby, and I want to come all over you,” he whispered in your ear, “I want to rub my cum into your skin, wherever he touched you. You want that, princess?”

“Yes!” you sobbed, feeling the tightness in your belly getting closer and closer to springing.

“Tell me, baby,” he husked, “Tell me you want my cum.”

“I want your cum, Jason!” you cried.

“Where do you want it?”

“All over me!” you pleaded, “Please, I want it all over me! I want you to rub your cum into my skin, I need, Jason, please!”

You were dangling at the edge of your plateau then, and all it took was one last-

“Fuck!” Jason groaned, and snapped his hips against yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut and you came, waves and waves of pleasure and heat spread across your body, causing you to tense up and twitch and writhe beneath him.

You felt a burst of warm liquid spill across your belly, on your tits, and even on your face, some dripping to your lips.

You opened your eyes to see Jason had straightened up on his knees, staring intensely at you, his mouth open slightly to accommodate his heavy breaths.

“What?” you asked, fatigue leaking into your voice.

“You look so beautiful with my cum on your tits and face,” he smirked.

You smirked back and darted out your tongue to catch the cum left dripping on your lips while taking your hands and spreading whatever was left on your breasts, rubbing it in circles into your skin. You explored down to your abdomen and scooped up his cum, bringing your fingers to your mouth and licked them clean.

He tasted salty, and bitter, but still so fucking good.

“Holy shit, you have a cum fetish,” he stared in awe.

“Only trying to help you mark what’s yours, Jay,” you giggled.

He smiled and collapsed next to you, staring at the ceiling. “I want to have sex with you, like all the time.”

“No complaints here,” you laughed, “Fuck, I think I was really loud. Do you think they all heard us?”

“What, you didn’t hear Damian shouting and telling us to shut up?” he raised an eyebrow.

“What?!” you sat up in horror, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he looked at you smugly, “It was right before you told me you wanted my cum.”

“Oh, god, no,” you hid your face in your hands, “How am I going to face them tomorrow?”

“With fucking pride, princess,” he grinned.

You laid back down on the bed, feeling the mortifying embarrassment.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he scooted over to you and kissed you on the forehead, “It’s not like Damian doesn’t know about sex, and it’s not like Tim is so quiet either.”

“What?”

“You mean you’ve never heard Tim during his happy sessions?” he gasped, “Lucky you. Made me shudder, but I give him shit for it all the time. So it’s okay, see? Even Dick, he-”

Jason stopped his sentence midway at the mention of Dick.

“Anyway, everyone is going to make fun of us, but that’s because they’re jealous they’re not getting any,” he reassured you, “Except Damian, he’s still at that age where he hates girls.”

“If you say so,” you doubted.

“I’ll punch them if they make fun of you, okay?”

“Okay,” you giggled, and rolled over to face him, “I’m going to shower. I’m covered in your spunk.”

“Well, I needed a shower ever since I got back,” he propped himself up with his elbows, “Your shower open for service?”

He grinned at you.

You grinned back.

The two of you head to your bathroom.

[reverberatingechoesblog]

If Forever’s Not Within Our Grasp

The truth, Kuro thinks, is this: One day, his identity as Kuro and his time with Mahiru will become a mere bittersweet memory tucked into the edges of his heart.

The truth, Kuro thinks, is this: One day, when Mahiru is no longer by his side, Kuro will become Sleepy Ash once more, except this time, he will become the Sleepy Ash who experienced love and happiness but lost them to time in the end.

The truth, Kuro thinks, is this: Mahiru Shirota has easily become everything to him and Kuro isn't confident he can pick up the pieces after Mahiru is long gone.

Or,

Kuro thinks of a future without Mahiru by his side and finds it painfully lonely. Mahiru does his best to comfort him in his own way.

-

Ao3

Made with love for @orangescribbles. :3

-- Kuro holds moments like these close to his heart.   Mahiru is nestled beside him, head resting on Kuro’s shoulder and napping quietly. It’s not often that Mahiru allows himself to sleep the afternoon away, so Kuro decides to let his Eve use him as a makeshift pillow.

Studying the other’s features, Kuro can’t help but notice how exhausted Mahiru looks. In between attending classes, training with the other Eves and doing housework, Kuro briefly wonders where Mahiru finds time to rest, if he properly rests at all. (A part of Kuro wishes he could tell the other to pause and breathe for a bit, to not work himself too hard, but with how determined Mahiru is and with how serious the war is turning out to be, Kuro thinks that it’s safe to assume that his efforts will be in vain.

It doesn't mean Kuro won't worry, though.) “Learn to take a break, will you?” Kuro whispers to his sleeping companion, “you’re going to end up sending me to an early grave with how reckless you are sometimes. Doesn’t matter if I can’t die, you’ll probably end up killing me with how much you worry me, Mahiru.” Mahiru, predictably, only responds by snuggling closer. Kuro sighs and lies down on the sofa, adjusting Mahiru’s position so that the other is laying on top of his chest, legs tangled in his. Kuro drapes an arm over Mahiru’s back to make sure he doesn’t fall off. It’s a testament to Mahiru’s exhaustion that he doesn’t even stir at all.

Kuro gently runs his fingers through the other’s hair, smiling slightly when Mahiru makes a contented noise in his sleep.

Kuro holds moments like these close to his heart.

(It’s quiet moments like these that make Kuro believe that he’s truly, honestly happy.) His Eve is a reassuring weight on top of him, warm and solid and real and Kuro can’t help but think of the fact that happiness used to be such a farfetched dream to Sleepy Ash, to the Servamp of Sloth, but to Kuro-

But to Kuro, his happiness exists in the form of Mahiru Shirota. And to this day Kuro still wonders just how it is that Mahiru was the one who ended up picking him up that day, that Mahiru was the one who gave him a new name and a home-

That Mahiru ended up becoming the one person Kuro completely and willingly surrendered his heart to.

Kuro wonders about this and finds it equal parts fortunate and unfortunate. Fortunate because it is Mahiru Shirota and Kuro will never regret meeting him, never regret giving Mahiru his heart in full, never regret having this time with him.

Unfortunate because when all is said and done, Kuro will one day be left alone again. Unfortunate because Kuro is immortal and while being by Mahiru's side brings him the most happiness, it cannot change the fact that Kuro will outlive Mahiru by days, years, decades, centuries.

(Unfortunate because what waits for Kuro at the end is solitude and loneliness, heavier and infinitely more painful now that Kuro has been given the chance to experience genuine companionship with Mahiru. Unfortunate because Kuro has no doubt his heart and soul will continue to long for the other even after he's gone, has no doubt he'll see traces of his Eve no matter where he goes, has no doubt he'll chase after the phantom warmth Mahiru once radiated.)

The truth, Kuro thinks, is this: One day, his identity as Kuro and his time with Mahiru will become a mere bittersweet memory tucked into the edges of his heart.

The truth, Kuro thinks, is this: One day, when Mahiru is no longer by his side, Kuro will become Sleepy Ash once more, except this time, he will become the Sleepy Ash who experienced love and happiness but lost them to time, in the end.

The truth, Kuro thinks, is this: Mahiru Shirota has easily become everything to him and Kuro isn't confident he can pick up the pieces after Mahiru is gone.

Kuro's heart suddenly feels too heavy as he gazes at Mahiru's sleeping form.

(How am I supposed to live in a world without you? How am I supposed to live in a world where you don’t exist anymore?)

"Kuro?"

Kuro startles at the sound of Mahiru's sleepy voice and the sight of him slowly waking up. His Eve looks at him with mild confusion before his eyes widen in alarm.

"Kuro," Mahiru starts softly, any trace of sleepiness gone, "You're crying."

And-

Kuro hadn't noticed, not at all, but now that Mahiru's mentioned it, he's become all too aware of the warm tears running down his cheeks.

Mahiru sits up fully and moves to gently pull Kuro up with him and Kuro wants to feel bad because he hadn't meant to wake his Eve up, but he can't bring himself to stop crying either.

(Kuro's never really been one to cry so he surprises himself when his tears just continue falling.)

"Kuro," His Eve murmurs, reaching out to wipe his tears away. "Kuro, what's wrong?"

(How am I supposed to live in a world without you? How am I supposed to live in a world where you don’t exist anymore?)

Kuro tries to silence his intrusive thoughts as he closes his eyes and leans into the other's warm touch.

"Kuro," Mahiru repeats after a while, tone gentle, always gentle, "Can you tell me what's bothering you?"

(And isn’t that a frightening thought to consider? The aftermath of what he and Mahiru have. What comes after Mahiru leaves and Kuro is left all alone.

What happens then?)  

“It’s troublesome,” Kuro finally whispers.

He hears Mahiru exhale softly. “What is?” The other asks patiently.

That your time is limited. That mine has no end. That with everything the way it is, I can’t see a definite future for both of us, no matter how much I wish for it.

The truth, Kuro thinks again, is this: One day, his identity as Kuro and his time with Mahiru will become a mere bittersweet memory tucked into the edges of his heart.

The truth, Kuro thinks again, is this: One day, when Mahiru is no longer by his side, Kuro will become Sleepy Ash once more, except this time, he will become the Sleepy Ash who experienced love and happiness but lost them to time, in the end.

The truth, Kuro thinks again, is this: Mahiru Shirota has easily become everything to him and Kuro isn't confident he can pick up the pieces after Mahiru is gone.

“Mahiru,” Kuro begins quietly, “What should I do, when you’re gone?” Because Kuro has no answers and the heaviness in his heart only continues to grow with every passing moment. Because Kuro has no answers and the prospect of a life without Mahiru upsets him so much.

Because Kuro has no answers and he’s not certain he can find them by himself. 

   Mahiru doesn’t reply immediately. Kuro thinks he’s weighing the question in his mind, trying to understand what prompted Kuro to ask in the first place, trying to understand what Kuro means by the question.

His Eve doesn’t reply immediately, only pulls Kuro into his arms. In response, Kuro embraces him back tighter, as if doing so would extend the time they have together.

“Kuro,” Mahiru says and Kuro wants to always hear this name, his name, from Mahiru’s lips.

But that’s not possible with the way things are.

“Mahiru,” Kuro murmurs and his voice sounds broken, even to himself, “What should I do, when you’re gone?”

Mahiru runs his fingers through Kuro’s hair. “Why do you think I’ll leave you alone?” He asks carefully.

Kuro exhales shakily. “I’m immortal, Mahiru,” He answers quietly, “Because of that, I can’t die the way other people ordinarily would. Because I can’t die, I’ll still be here after you’re long gone. And if you’re gone, I-”

I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle living in a world that you’re no longer in.

He feels Mahiru shuffle and finds the other cupping his cheek and looking at him with sad but tender eyes.

“Mahiru, I’m scared.” Kuro whispers and he finds himself divulging all of the truths he’s kept close to his heart. “I’m scared because being by your side is what makes me the happiest. I’m scared because I don’t know what to do once you’re no longer by my side.”

Kuro keeps his eyes trained on Mahiru. “I’m scared,” Kuro says softly, “Because I love you and when I think of a world where you’re no longer by my side, it hurts so much.”

Mahiru’s eyes widen slightly upon hearing his words. He remains quiet.

Kuro slides his gaze away from Mahiru, wondering what the silence between them meant. That is, until he feels both of Mahiru’s hands on his cheeks. When Kuro looks at Mahiru again, he’s surprised to find his Eve close to crying.

“Mahiru?” Kuro asks softly. Mahiru lets go of his cheeks to wipe his own tears away.

“Kuro,” His Eve murmurs,“I’m sad that you’re hurting this much and I can’t do anything to take it away from you.”

Mahiru exhales softly. “I’m sad that you’re hurting this much and I can’t even promise you that everything will turn out alright in the end,” He continues, closing his eyes.

Kuro moves to draw Mahiru into his arms but before he can, his Eve opens his eyes and he sees determination and deep affection reflected in them.

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t try,” Mahiru declares with finality and he holds Kuro’s gaze. “I’m not giving up on a future with you, Kuro, not when I love you, too.”

Kuro’s breath catches in his throat at the other’s admission.

“Kuro, you make me so happy,” His Eve says, smiling tenderly at him, “I can’t bring myself to imagine what life without you would be like.”

And-

And hearing those words makes Kuro want to cry again. Mahiru draws him into his arms and Kuro presses his face against the other’s collarbones, his tears soaking his Eve’s shirt.

“I want you to be happy, Kuro,” Mahiru whispers and Kuro wants to say I am, I will be, as long as you’re here by my side, as long as you keep me by your side, I will never not be happy, I love you, I love you so much, but he can’t bring himself to say those words yet, let alone speak when he’s overcome by the intensity of his emotions.

Kuro breathes in and lifts his head. He sees Mahiru gaze at him with unbridled affection and warmth and Kuro’s heart feels full.

Kuro brings his face closer and gently kisses his Eve. Mahiru hums and returns the gesture tenderly.

When Kuro pulls away, Mahiru presses another kiss to his cheek and it catches him so off guard that Kuro feels heat rise to his cheeks. His Eve lets out a chuckle before grinning at him.

“Kuro,” Mahiru starts, voice soft, eyes softer, “I meant what I said about wanting a future together with you.”

“I want that, too,” Kuro replies just as softly, “I want it more than anything.”

Mahiru nods, smiling. “Then, simply thinking, we’ll just have to stay together,” He states easily and adds, “We’ll find a way to undo your immortality, Kuro. I’m not going to leave you alone.”

And-  

And Kuro, for the first time in a very long while, allows himself to hope.

“You really think we’ll be able to undo it?” Kuro asks quietly, but his heart is already full and hopeful and decided.

Kuro thinks maybe, maybe, a future with Mahiru is possible.

Kuro thinks, maybe, a future with Mahiru is something that can be set in stone.

Kuro thinks, if Mahiru is by his side, then, maybe things will work out, one way or the other, in the end.

Mahiru’s answering grin is bright and determined and so filled with love that it makes Kuro smile, too.

--

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 6 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: As ever, y’all continue to render me speechless with your kind words and messages of support and encouragement regarding this fic. There’s no end in sight; I have the next few chapters mapped out and will keep going as long as Duncan and Kenzie drag me along behind them, telling me their story. I still plan on continuing to make vague allusions to Michael and Mallory as the fic goes on, as I consider Duncan and Kenzie to be the parallel universe versions of them here; whether or not I’ll tie it into something bigger remains to be seen, the allusions/easter eggs might be just that and nothing more. I just had to use Billie’s nickname for her mother (Momby) here, I just love it so much and I wanted to nod again to the fact that I’ve modeled Madeline after Carrie Fisher entirely. I based her house, the Cape Cod-style on Fenwick Street, on a real house I found listed for sale in Arlington. Candice, Kenzie’s EIC, is the AU version of Cordelia. I may or may not add other AU versions of AHS characters, it depends on where the story goes. Kenzie’s ex Tyler is an AU version of Taylor Lautner, Billie’s ex in real life, and I made him a pediatrician as a nod to his SCREAM QUEENS character. He may show up again later, he may not. The gossip website I made up, buzzpopfeed.com (lol), will probably show up again as Duncan and Kenzie’s relationship gains attention and becomes more public. I made a masterpost for this fic where I’ll update chapters as I finish them; please use it as your main reference point for the complete work going forward. Shoutout to @nat-de-lioncourt who made the moodboard edit that’s featured on it, and she also made this gorgeous moodboard for Part 5, which I love so much I could cry; go give her some love. Shoutout to @impiorumrequies who coined the shorthand DUCKENZIE for Duncan/Mackenzie yesterday when she sent me a message. You’re encouraged to use it as a tag if you reblog the fic. My laptop insisted it was time to update right in the middle of my editing this part and I forgot I needed to save what I’d formatted so far as a draft on Tumblr, so it took a lot longer than it should have to get it up on the site because I had to start from scratch once my laptop rebooted; I appreciate every comment, like and reblog if you’re enjoying the fic. And as ever: THANK YOU, Millory fans. You are truly the greatest of all time. There’s so much more to come.

Mackenzie sighed herself awake, out of a vague dream (fire and candles blazing, an angry, powerful man in black with long hair...it slipped away from her). For the second morning in a row, she woke in Duncan Shepherd’s black-sheeted bed, but this time she was really in it, not just on top of it; her sleep-dizzy head was buried in one of Duncan’s black pillows of organic Egyptian cotton and duck feather, and she could feel pressing weight around the rise of her bare hip under the duvet, a stubbled cheek pressed into the space between her bare breasts, skin pressed into the space between her legs, the incline of his thigh, the pressure of his cock, stiff with daylight. She looked down a little, moving her hand into the brown, sun-kissed curls against her body, gazed, in no small wonder, at Duncan’s wildly beautiful face in his deep sleep, arm thrown around her, his breath soft and slow, turning his head a little in his dreamstate so his lips hovered close to her nipple. He calls me angel, but I think he’s like an angel, too. More of an angel than me, because he doesn’t seem real; Claire was right, it’s like he’s living in a different universe. She imagined a halo around his head, great wings extending from his back, his blue eyes gazing on her, laying her bare again and again, kissing her secrets from her lips. He seemed otherworldly to her; he seemed impossibly perfect, especially this way. She felt tears gather at the corner of her vision; the emotion deep inside her thoughts frightened her. The feeling that gathered in the core of her body when she looked at him this way made her ache terribly, an almost physical pain building up in her. She thought of the roses in the bath and his cries of euphoria, the way he’d pressed into her in the bed again later, blurring her vision with his fingers and his mouth. Duncan. Will you be mine? His words from last night, achingly sincere, echoed down from the back of her mind. Yes I will yes she whispered again in her heart, fingers threading his hair as he slept. Yes I’m yours yes.

With a searing moment of disappointment, she remembered: it was Monday. She would have to go to work eventually. She tried to turn her body away from him carefully, so as not to disturb him (god he’s too beautiful, I just want to let him sleep, I just want to look at him and thank my stars for how wonderful he is she thought deep within herself), but he moaned a little, his arm tightening around her waist and sliding up, his face turning up, his hair in the light over his bed, his eyes touched with sleep. God, I could look at him all day. His eyes opened; sapphire, shadow, sky.

“Baby,”  he murmured into her. “Baby. What time is it?”

She glanced over her shoulder, resigned to his waking. “7:46. I have to be at work in an hour. It’s Monday,” and she moved her hand through his curls and ached to go back to an hour ago, when they were asleep and in each other’s embrace, the world slipped away, moonlight on the bed.

“No, baby, no,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to the soft skin above her heart.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she smiled into him, hiding her own disappointment. He lifted his face, still half-awake, pressing his mouth into her chin, his hands reaching up to her nipples, his thigh pressing up into the space between her legs, questioning, hungry.

“Baby, I can’t…” she pulled away from him, full of regret.

Another little moan fell from his lips (those lips, on me always, oh my god, mine) and she whispered “I’m sorry,” and he pouted, and her heart shook, her body tingling. “I want you,” he said, looking up into her face, and she shook her head again, frowning, matching his discontent. She lifted herself away from him, sadly, resigned. He tried to come after her, reaching toward her, but she was good at skittering away; she had always had a talent for it, useful when she was young and shy and worried about everything, always running away. She slipped out of the bed, her naked back to him, shaking out her tangled hair. She didn’t look back at him, not right away; she felt determined to be bold after last night, cast in the haze of amazement and adoration as it all had been, determined to see the reality of everything clearly, determined to not be blindsided by his beauty yet again.

“Kenzie,” she heard him whisper from where he still lay in bed, staring at her.

“What,” and she turned, stretching, her hands lifting to the high ceiling, pressing the impulse to be shy about her nakedness away. Get used to it, Kenzie, she thought. Duncan Shepherd is your boyfriend now. Or, at least, he was last night.

“I meant everything I said last night.”

Duncan let the words hang in the air; he regarded her, and she thought in frustration that he was so blindly lovely she might never know what he really thought about anything; she’d be too distracted to decipher him, lost in his eyes.

“We’re together. That’s what I want. Is that what you want?”

She pressed her face into the incline of her shoulder; towards him.

“Yes. We’re together.”

“Okay.”

She looked at him again. He was still staring at her; eyes roving over her naked body, the fall of golden-brown hair down her back, the incline of her ass, the outline of her in the light streaming in.

“You are so beautiful.”

She smiled; she tried to hide the way her limbs shivered as his words fell over her. She blinked, turned her head, looked to the floor, disoriented, for her things.

“Fuck, I have to go. I have to change. I can’t wear that dress to work.”

“Okay.” The edge in his voice. Sadness. Longing.

She bit her lip. “What are your plans today?”

She heard the rustle of the sheets; heard his groan, his restlessness.

“Gardner Analytics press. Charity supplements for the Foundation. Dinner with mom tonight.”

“That’s...a lot.”

“It sure fucking is. Come back to bed.”

She blew air from her nose. “Duncan, I can’t.”

“I know. But it’s what I want.”

She lifted her head, glancing his way. He had come to a sitting position on the edge of his big bed, legs resting on the floor, hair tossed in sleep, a scant corner of sheet over his crotch; she could see the edge of his erection peeking from the corner of the fabric. She looked away, smiling. His eyes gazed and gazed and he bit his lip at her, blinking slowly, hunger shining out of their depth.

“Kenzie,” he said again.

“Yes?” She moved toward the bathroom, where she knew her dress lay in a heap.

“I want to tell my mother about you tonight.”

She turned to him, her heart in her mouth suddenly, sickness sinking into her guts.

“Duncan...are you sure?”

“I have this feeling, like...I want everyone to know. Especially her. But I don’t want you to worry. No matter what she says, or what she thinks, I’m with you. It’s what I want more than anything; to be with you. To know you.”

She had retrieved her dress; she slipped it over her shoulders, pulling her arms through the sleeves, pulling her hair free, easing it over her shoulder. She padded over to him on sleepy feet. “Zip me up,” she asked, softly, sitting there beside him, on the edge. He eagerly grasped her waist, turning to her, leaning his head to the incline of the nape of her neck, his fingers (oh, those hands) grasping the zipper, pulling it up with aching slowness as his mouth pressed into the soft skin along her spine, between her shoulder blades. She gasped a little, arching her back, the intensity of the act pushing a pool of warmth into her abdomen, her arms breaking out immediately into goosebumps. He moved his head slowly, achingly slow, lips lingering, trailing up to the nape of her neck where she felt his hot breath on the baby hairs there, and her whole body kindled a low fire, stoked by his mouth, his fingers. His hands reached the end of the zipper, one gently rising and seeking the incline of her neck, and she gasped a little again at the weight of his fingers there; they snaked softly around the dip below her ear and his index finger, long and languid and so obscenely beautiful, probed the corner of her mouth which ached open at the feeling of his touch, almost involuntary, sliding along her bottom lip, his other fingers at her throat. She felt the weight of his forehead press into the back of her hair, breathing deeply into it, as if it was the air; as if it was oxygen to him.

“Kenzie, is it okay? I want to tell her about you because--you are both so important to me. My mother was the most important person in my life, but now there’s you. There’s you. And I can’t keep it to myself. I need the people in my life to know...that you’re....” She could hear the whisper of his voice against her, the hand still playing at her neck and her little mouth, teasing her, aching for her.

“Your girlfriend?”

She bit the finger still playing softly at her bottom lip, and it pressed into the sharpness of her teeth, as if he liked the pain.

“Yes. My girlfriend.”

The One, she thought, and shivered. He hadn’t said that, why had she thought it? Why had it probed into her mind as though it came from him? That was odd, disorienting. Maybe I’m just imagining what I want him to say, she thought. We’ve known each other for two days, Kenzie, slow down. The feeling of his hand at her neck that way was wiping her mind of all coherency, bringing flashing memories bathed in gold light of him fucking her in the shower, his hand pressed there insistently, his eyes full of desirous abandon, storms. His eyes, a galaxy to lose herself in.

“Okay, baby,” she said. She turned to him, turned her head into his hand so it came to her cheek, clutching her, and gazed into those stormy eyes. “It’s okay.”

“Do you think you’ll tell Madeline?” He asked, his eyes clouding with concern, brow furrowing just a little, the sleep clearing from his features.

“I guess I have to.”

He was quiet at that, his hand falling down her arm, grasping her hand, tightly, as if to give her his strength, channel it through their bodies, into her heart. She felt as though it did somehow; somehow, he had given her some of his energy, and her body felt tingly, full of light.

“No matter what, we’re together. That’s what I want, Kenzie.”

“It’s what I want too.” And she knew it was true, she knew it was the only truth that mattered in this moment, the only one she could fathom. Now that he was here, now that her hand was clasped in his, the way it fit against his, as if it belonged there, the thought of being without him was like a knife in her belly. Life had changed. Everything was different. The colors of the world had burst into radiance; the glow of this reality was blinding.

“Two days ago I would not have believed any of this,” she said, sharing her thought with him. “If someone had told me I’d be dating Duncan Shepherd, I would have laughed in their face.”

He smiled (that smile, a dancing ray of sunlight on water, that smile), pulling her body into his naked one, pressing his face into her neck. “I can’t believe it either,” he whispered. “I feel...blessed. I feel like--everything has been building up to this. To you. Fortune is smiling on us. On me. And I’m so grateful.”

His words brought a lump of emotion into her throat, and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her little face into his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin, hovering on the edge of her tears, knowing that he was right. Fortune is smiling on us.

-------

Kenzie stepped through the glass door to the main floor of the Post building, eyeing her little desk in the south corner, biting her lip, her thoughts seeped in Duncan. She was still thinking about the way he’d looked, standing there in his black briefs, pulling the sleeves of a high-collared black Oxford shirt through his long arms, hands pulling sleepily through his hair (I love his hair, she thought), watching her pull on her boots as she sat on the edge of his bed, smiling at her with a dreamy expression, and she had thought I could die in that gaze, die and be happy to die. Her subconscious painted the word Prince onto him again, reminding her of her dreams when she was a little girl pining over her fairy tale books, and she didn’t realize it, but a smile fell over her face, her cheeks blushing. My very own Prince, he really is.

She made it to her desk, setting down her black satchel atop it, pulling out her Macbook and the little recorder she’d taken secretly to the party (the party that changed my fucking life). She’d taken a Lyft home, changed in a frenzy into the saddle-colored turtleneck dress she now wore, hem hitting at the bottom of her thigh (need to be more subtle about all the marks on my neck, she’d thought, achingly) and knee-high black thigh socks, slipping on one of several pairs of comfortable black kitten heels that she often wore to work (it was usually them or ballet flats), grabbing a stick of mascara and another of brow gel from her makeup bag and smearing on a rosy-nude lipstain (good enough, she thought, resigned) and thrown herself out the door, half-walking, half-running to the Dupont Circle Station platform, a black triple-moon pendant with a round obsidian stone in the center bumping and twisting against the space between her breasts, her hair floating around her face, strands falling into her eyes, pressing her earbuds in, lost in her thoughts. I had a dream of a ship that we sailed in the night, a soft masculine voice floated into her ears from her phone, and she thought of Duncan’s hair, his hands. Ooooh / the fortune said / flowers bloom with no regret and she thought of the roses woven together around the bath, the candles, the look in his eyes when he’d pushed the velvet dress from her body, the ache in his eyes. Surround me body and soul / pull me into your glow, make me blush and she blushed at the thought of his hands and his lips and his beautiful cock exploring every corner of her body, his ardent, insistent touch, the glowing sincerity in his eyes, unbound me, spin me in gold / as the story unfolds in your touch, she remembered staring in wonder at the gargantuan painting that spread along the wall of his study, how it had dazed her, shaken her, the feeling of his mouth pressed into her sex and her vision blurring, lost in him and in it, in the beauty of it all, how could life be so beautiful, suddenly, ooooh, who can breathe me into life? / just one more look at you, my heart has been hypnotized…

She came back to her desk, from the memory within the memory, as Candice’s sincere, lovely, earnest, and right now, concerned face appeared in front of her, her golden hair falling in waves around her shoulders, her pink lips giving Kenzie a friendly smile.

“Good morning, Mackenzie,” she said, hands coming together in front of her pastel, chrysanthemum-covered wrap dress. “So, how’d it go?”

“Morning, Candice.” Candice was her Editor-in-Chief, and everyone at the Post adored her; she’d worked long and hard for the position, for over fifteen years, and Kenzie’s mother, Madeline, had advocated for her ability. Madeline was now almost entirely retired, but she would use her leverage at the Post when she felt it would do some good; helping to get Candice in as the EIC was one of her proudest achievements in her later years. Many believed Candice was the best thing that had ever happened to the Post, as she had pushed to champion the voices of women and people of color on her staff, bringing them in consistently on breaking stories and important editorials. Mackenzie loved working for her, but she was consistently intimidated by Candice’s poise, and longed to prove herself to Candice; prove that she hadn’t been hired at the Post just because her mother was a veteran.

“I think I got what I was aiming for,” Kenzie went on, thumbing her recorder. “There was an open bar at that party and tongues were flowing freely, and of course, nobody paid tiny ol’ me in a little babydoll dress any mind unless they were trying to hit on me. Which also happened,” she included, making a face. Candice made a face in return, sympathetically. “I know I can always count on you to weather the shitty stuff,” Candice replied. “You remind me so much of your mother sometimes.” Kenzie smiled brightly at that; to be compared to her mother was always a source of pride for her.

Candice was quiet for a moment, eyeing her with a strange expression. “You look absolutely radiant today, Kenzie. Did something happen?” Kenzie balked; was it that obvious? She thought she’d been hiding the glow she felt inside carefully, but the smile seemed to have pushed it out of her, made it stark. Candice continued to gaze at her with that strange expression, as if she was probing into Kenzie’s mind, searching for the source of Kenzie’s smile, the truth behind it.

“Just thrilled I got the info I wanted,” she replied, looking down at her Macbook, pressing it open, anxious to escape from the observant eye of her boss.

“Uh huh,” Candice she, eyebrows raising, grinning at her suspiciously. “Good work, Kenz.”

Kenzie sat down, blowing out a quiet, relieved breath as Candice walked away. Safe for now. She opened her laptop, finding the word document she’d started for her article, which she’d last worked on hours before the party, anxiously hoping she’d be ballsy enough to go. I sure fucking was, she thought, ballsy enough to go, ballsy enough to talk to Duncan Shepherd, gazing at me like I was made of chocolate, ballsy enough to let him buy me a drink, ballsy enough to let him kiss me, god, what a kiss, ballsy enough to go home with him, ballsy enough to fuck him again and again, ballsy enough to think I’m girlfriend material for a guy who has a Black AmEx, a private car with a driver, a penthouse, and more money than I could hope to earn in my entire life. A shiver touched the back of her neck despite the turtleneck. She remembered Duncan’s words this morning; remembered she’d agreed that it was okay for him to tell his mother about her. His mother was Annette fucking Shepherd. Her stomach dropped again. How will that ever go over well, she thought, biting her lip, clacking on the smooth keyboard of her Macbook, sticking her earbuds into the aux jack of her recorder, playing back the tidbits of conversation she’d quietly been recording as she sidled up, unnoticed, next to prominent Republican Senators and Congressmen. They’d all assumed she was a call girl (there were other call girls there, indeed) and that was fine; that was what made her unnoticeable to men who were busy talking about something that wasn’t sex. She imagined Annette Shepherd’s head spinning on her shoulders a la The Exorcist at Duncan’s admission and a laugh snorted out of her nose. She glanced over at her phone, having noticed its screen light up from the corner of her eye; Clairebear.

Clairebear: Kenzie, details!!!!! TELL ME EVERYTHING

Kenzie paused in writing her article (sources tell the Post that Senator Howell did indeed receive PAC funding from private donors for two consecutive election cycles, despite his repeated insistence to the contrary--), snatching up her phone and typing quickly, holding her breath.

Clairebear, it was the most perfect night I’ve ever had. He’d booked a private room for dinner, he looked so gorgeous, he ordered a $250 bottle of wine, I ate the most delicious duck I’ve ever had, HE HAS A FUCKING BOUGUEREAU ORIGINAL IN HIS STUDY, he ate me out on his desk!!!!!!!!!!!!!, he had put all these roses around his clawfoot bathtub and these candles and it was like a DREAM and I am REELING and I can’t even believe it was all real. Clairebear, he wants me to be with him. Be his girlfriend. I said yes.

Clairebear: Whoaaaaa whoa whoa, you said yes???? Already??? It’s been two days, Kenzie!!!

Clairebear, he wants to tell his mother about me. I told him yes. He said he wants to tell her because she was the most important person in his life until he met me, and now we both are. He’s going to tell her tonight.

Clairebear: His mother, you mean ANNETTE FUCKING SHEPHERD KENZIEEEEEE

Claire!!!!!!!! I have to do this. I have never felt this way about anyone before. I was thinking about Tyler and I never felt this way with him. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone, honestly. This is different. You said you trusted me, please trust me.

Kenzie sat back, setting the phone down, lost in thought for a moment. She hadn’t really thought about Tyler until that moment, but now that she had, she felt what she’d said to Claire was the truth. She and Tyler had been together for three years until she had graduated from Georgetown, and he was her first love; she’d lost her virginity to him, had thought she would marry him. He was going to medical school to become a pediatrician, and she had thought, for awhile, that she could be happy with him. But then she’d been hired at the Post, and he’d started a Residency, and they saw each other less and less, and eventually she felt like she didn’t know anything about him anymore; didn’t know what he liked to eat or what he looked like when he slept, didn’t know what he’d done on any given day. He’d wanted kids, too; that made sense, since he was going to be a children’s doctor. But she didn’t. Kenzie didn’t want kids, and she knew that, she had decided that a long time ago; she wanted to be a writer, she wanted to be a good journalist, she wanted to help people, but she didn’t want to be a mother. And so, they’’d broken up. Tyler had been tall and tan, with a soft face and dark hair, and he had been sweet to her when they held each other at night, and she was sure that someday, someone would make him very happy. But it wouldn’t be her.

But Duncan. Duncan was different. Her affection for Tyler had always been warm, even when she knew, finally, that he wasn’t the man she’d grow old with. But that firey feeling Duncan ignited in the center of her soul; that feeling was new, and it thrilled her and terrified her. I said I loved him while we fucked, lost in him, but I think it was true. I think I’m in love with him. Already. I love him. I love him so much it fucking hurts.

Clairebear: Kenzie, you know I do. I just want you to be happy and safe. You know I’m here for you no matter what. I’m here to help you weather the storm. Be the brave bitch I know you are, and don’t let Annette Shepherd give you any shit. And WHEN DO I GET TO MEET HIM The end of Claire’s text was accompanied by three steam-angry face emojis.

I won’t. I’ll pretend to be as brave as you think I am. Kenzie added the smiling face with waving hands emoji and the emoji with a closed eyes and downwards, exasperated expression. And I promise, you’ll meet him soon.

She set the phone down, turning it over. She had to finish this article. She’d spent the whole weekend in a dream, a daze of ecstasy the likes of which she’d never imagined, but dammit, she needed to fucking write this fucking article. She certainly had no plans to give up her writing career to be Duncan Shepherd’s housewife, no fucking way. Anyone who really loves you will always nurture your hopes and dreams for yourself, her mother said into her ear.

Shit, I have to tell Momby, she thought. If Annette Shepherd finds out, it’s only fair that Mom knows too. Come what may. But this is going to suck. She turned back to her keyboard, took another deep breath, and got back to writing.

-------

Kenzie was sitting on one of the long stone steps of the John Barry statue in Franklin Square, a spot where she often ate her lunch. She had a salad with strips of chicken with some balsamic dressing on her lap, with a little container of vegan dumplings sitting beside her can of lemon La Croix on the step, all of which she’d gotten from one of the lunch shops nearby that she frequented when she forgot (or didn’t have time, too busy wrapped in Duncan’s arms, she thought, biting her lip) to pack a lunch herself. Her black Kate Spade Margaux satchel (a gift from her mother when she’d gotten her position at the Post) sat on the step above, her phone in its gold case next to it, its face blank for now. Duncan hadn’t texted her yet since she’d left his penthouse five hours ago, his lips kissing her again and again, clutching her as she half-heartedly tried to break away (she hadn’t wanted to), and she was determined to wait until he did, even though her fingers itched to send him a message. She tore at one of the dumplings with her little fingers, tossing morsels to a fat pigeon who cooed around her feet, lost in thoughts of Duncan again, apprehension at telling her mother or imagining the cold eyes of Annette Shepherd’s judgement, Duncan again, his bright blue jeweled eyes, his hands, his finger on her clit, his black Oxford shirts, his kisses, his voice in her ear, low and sweet. Her phone trumpeted.

Mom: That should work for me, sweets. Is spaghetti and meatballs okay? I’ve been craving it. Can’t wait to see your beautiful face. Is everything at work okay?

She’d texted Madeline in line at the corner store, after she’d made it to a break point regarding her article; Mom, can we have dinner tonight? I need to talk to you about something. Everything’s fine, but it’s important to me. I get off around 5, I could take the train to you.

You know I love your spaghetti, Momby, she typed, using the special nickname she’d called her mother since she was barely old enough to speak. Work is fine, it’s not about work. See you around 6ish.

She set her phone down again, reaching for her can of seltzer; but the familiar trumpety text sound rang out from it again, startling her. Must be Momby again, she thought. She stared at her phone, pushing a forkful of chicken into her mouth. Duncan.

She dropped her plastic fork, grabbing at her phone, holding it up to her face, breathless.

Hi baby. Hope your day is going okay. I’m nervous about tonight, but I know when Mom meets you she’ll love you. Everything will be okay.

A pause, and another text appeared behind the first. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, I can’t concentrate at all today, I fucked up my taped interview three times.

One more pause. Wish I could go back to last night, looking at you in the candlelight. Wish I could wake up again with you in my arms, over and over. Want you on my desk again, looking down at me that way with my mouth on your clit…

Kenzie swallowed, heat rising at the back of her neck, and she pressed a hand against her mouth, unknowingly. Fuck. Duncan. She typed back.

I’m nervous too, I’m going to see my mom on the train after work. But everything will be okay, because we have each other now. And we’ll have so many days to wake up together, baby. My day’s okay, I’m almost finished with my article.

She hit send, hesitated, and typed again. I can’t stop thinking about you either. Last night was perfect, like a beautiful dream. I can’t stand the thought of sleeping without you tonight.

Duncan: Baby. I can’t stand it either.

Mackenzie blood was singing. The way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her, his gentleness, his strong beautiful hands all over her. How would she ever think clearly again? How would she ever be able to concentrate on anything else again? She felt wildly high, like she’d smoked an entire bowl in a few minutes. The endorphins in her brain were coursing through her, filling her with a euphoric daze. Her appetite slid away, her body buzzing with too much nervous energy to eat anymore.

Duncan: No matter how these conversations go tonight, please promise me I can see you tomorrow? I don’t think I can wait longer than that. I want to leave this fucking meeting right now and come to where you are and kiss you until I can’t breathe. I want to make you writhe with pleasure. I wanna make you feel so fucking good, angel…

Mackenzie typed quickly, her breath hitching, her stomach in knots.

Yes, I promise, tomorrow. I get off around 5. Maybe you could come to my place this time. I want you so much, I miss your mouth all over me, I miss your hands on me…

With a grin she imagined Duncan’s pants growing tight around his length in the middle of a meeting, and she couldn’t stifle the giggle that rose out of her. She liked the idea of him getting bothered and distracted in a professional place like that; it thrilled her that he was thinking of her, thinking of fucking her, while he was supposed to be poised and reserved. She wanted to make him feel like that all the time; she wanted him to want her like crazy. And that was the thing; he did. It was too wonderful to be true, too intoxicating to be real. She still couldn’t believe any of it. She couldn’t believe he was hers.

Duncan: Fuck, baby, yes. All over you. I can’t wait to see you, fuck. I feel like I can’t breathe now that you’re not here.

She sent him three kissy face emojis. Just try to be patient, baby, I’ll be in your arms again soon.

Duncan: Tomorrow I wanna give you a card to use for things you need. It’ll be in my name, but it’s yours to use whenever you want. I want you to use it to get some things to leave at my place for when you stay with me. I already made room in my closet for you. Is that okay? Will you, please? I want you to feel safe and comfortable and at home there. Get whatever you want. Get some beautiful things so I can admire you in them. Please?

Her breath shuddered again. Oh my fucking god, she thought. “I already made room in my closet for you.” That gorgeous walk-in closet; he made room for her to put her clothes there. Kenzie gripped her phone tightly, fingers white and bloodless. “Fuck,” she said. “Oh my god. Fuck.”

Okay, baby, she typed. That sounds so wonderful. She felt wildly nervous at the idea of having a credit card from Duncan Shepherd that he wanted her to use, but she remembered what he’d said to her when she balked at the wine; Don’t be afraid. This is my life. The endorphins were still coursing through her and she felt positively faint with their intensity. Duncan wanted her to leave things at his penthouse. The reality of the fact that Duncan Shepherd was her fucking boyfriend now was starting to sink in and she felt absolutely drunk on the realization.

Duncan: Good. I’ll text you later after I talk with Mom. I can’t wait to see you. I’m aching for you, angel.

Good luck, baby. I’m aching for you, too. She sent a broken heart emoji with the red lipstick stain emoji beside it.

Kenzie stood up, brushing imaginary crumbs from the front of the saddle-colored dress and her knee-high stockings. She tucked her phone carefully back into her satchel, gathering the food items in the plastic bag the store clerk had given her, and walked back to the Post building, her nerves on fire with thoughts of the magick that was falling all around her, like rain made of gold, since two nights ago.

------

Kenzie had hopped on the Metro at 5:16, now wearing the oversized Brooks Brothers wool cardigan (Duncan’s cardigan) over her turtleneck dress, wisps of hair around her cheeks again from the wind that had pushed her down the stairs to the underground platform at Metro Center Station. She held the sleeve to her nose, breathing in, earbuds pushing sound into her as the Blue Line train traveled toward Arlington, where her mother now lived alone in a warm brick Cape Cod style house on Fenwick Street, a house that Kenzie thought looked like a bed-n-breakfast and had encouraged her mom to make into one several times, now that she was retired with time on her hands. Kenzie’s thoughts were hazy and drifting, thinking of Duncan’s hands and eyes and lips again, the smell of his woodsy cologne, the music pressing into her--all the roses in the garden fade to black, oooh / oooh--when that familiar trumpet-y sound emanated into her ears. Text message.

Clairebear: Kenzie, oh my god. Did you see this? Take a deep breath. It’s on like four other sites now.

A link accompanied Claire’s text; buzzpopfeed.com. Oh, fuck, Kenzie though, blood freezing. A gossip website.

She clicked the link, her stomach turning over. SHEPHERD UNLIMITED HEIR DUNCAN SHEPHERD SPOTTED AT HIP DC FRENCH BISTRO WITH MYSTERY BEAUTY, the headline read. OH, FUCK, Kenzie thought, heart ramming up into her throat, scrolling down rapidly to the photos, eyes wide. Oh fuck, fucking shit fuck oh no.

There were three photos; the first one was of the two of them walking through the closely-set tables of the main dining room of Le Diplomate, towards where their private room was tucked towards the back; in it, Kenzie looked at Duncan shyly and he looked back at her, his expression casual, at least, it appeared that way, and their hands were tightly clasped; her face was totally visible, as if someone had taken the photo from the back of the room while they walked forward--a photo from a phone, no doubt. The plunging neckline of her dress was clearly visible too; her waves of long hair over one shoulder. I look really nice, she thought, with strange, removed relief. I guess if I have to show up on a gossip site, it’s better if the pictures aren’t terrible. Duncan, of course, looked wonderful; wildly handsome, his hair tossed perfectly back, his blue eyes shining out of the photo strikingly, his velvet jacket falling just-so despite the candid nature of the shot. God, he’s so beautiful. She felt absurdly distant from the photo, as if there were some other girl in it with him; it was all still so surreal.

She scrolled down a little more; the second photo was clearly their backs to the camera, wherever it had come from, moving out the front door; obviously taken as they were leaving in a dizzy rush, wrapped up in each other. Duncan’s hand was visible along the bottom of Kenzie’s back in it, pressing against her long wavy hair, his face leaning down to her; her face was turned up to him, and her smile, though only partially visible, was radiant. I look so happy, she thought. I am happy. I’m in love.

The last photo made her gasp; in it, she and Duncan were clearly embracing, and his lips were pressed to the incline of her neck, her eyes closed, her face serene; she remembered the moment as clearly as if it was happening again now, despite the wine having settled into her by then; he’d grasped her to him as he’d opened the car door for her, and pressed a kiss, like the immediate passion of Klimt’s painting of the same name, into her. She couldn’t imagine any onlooker mistaking the kiss for one of platonic affection; there was an aching sensitivity to it, a passionate depth of feeling that was never present for the embraces of friendship. It was a Kiss; running over with emotion, gold and glittering and weaved of transparent desire. You only kiss someone like that if you want them terribly, she thought, and knew it was obvious; that it would be obvious to anyone who saw the photo, including their mothers. Looking at the photo filled her body with electricity; god, his kisses. Knowing they were all for her now was a dream too precious to fully grasp.

She blew air carefully from her nose, willing herself out of the dizziness that washed over her; at least you were about to tell your mother anyway, she reasoned with herself. But a stone settled into the pit of her stomach, one made of a heavy sourness, comprised of apprehension; I’m not sure I was ready for literally everyone else to know, too, that’s all.

Too late now, I guess.

She replied to Claire. No. I hadn’t seen that. I’m literally on the train to Arlington to tell my mother about him, though. I was already. Good timing, I guess.

Clairebear: Kenzie, you look BEAUTIFUL in these photos. Stunning. No wonder he asked you to be his girlfriend. At least now I know he isn’t an idiot, at least, not entirely. He better hire you a bodyguard now.

Kenzie bit her lip nervously, reading Claire’s message a few times. She glanced up, noticing they were a stop away from Arlington Cemetery. Momby, I’m about five minutes from the Station, she sent to her mother. Her mother replied almost right away with a thumbs-up emoji and “ok” emoji, which meant “on my way!” in Kenzie/Momby speak.

Thanks for letting me know, Clairebear. I love you. He’s telling his mom soon too, over dinner.

Clairebear: You know I gotchu, bb. God, I’d love to see the look on Annette Shepherd’s face tonight. He better have nerves of steel. I love you too.

Kenzie tucked her phone into the long pocket of Duncan’s wool cardigan as the train rolled to a stop at the Arlington Cemetery Station; she stepped out onto the platform, spotting her Momby’s old beat-up Jeep Cherokee, waving to her and smiling. Madeline waved back, her rectangular glasses glinting in the low evening light; the ones she wore tonight were black, but she had ten different pairs, all the same style but in different colors. Kenzie hitched the straps of her satchel over her shoulder, sighing. Here goes fucking nothing, please be understanding tonight, Momby.

She slid into the beat-up passenger’s seat of the Jeep, fingers immediately finding the place where the seam had ripped out along the side, pressing into it; she had worked her fingers there for years, and it was her fault the orange-y stuffing was poking out. Her mother’s warm scent, like clean sheets dried in sunny air and a vague sweetness (it always made Kenzie think of wine), enveloped Kenzie as it always did as she leaned over and kissed the crow’s-foot at the corner of her mother’s eye. “Hi Momby,” she said, settling back into her seat, hand grasping around her mother’s resting on the steering wheel for a moment before putting it back into her lap.

“Hi sweet pea,” he mother said, putting her foot on the gas gently, pulling out of the parking lot behind a few other cars; she wore plum-dark lipstick and a dark indigo sweater, a black scarf around her neck; she had on her little gold hoop earrings, the ones she wore most often these days. The Platters’ Only You drifted soothingly from the stereo as she pulled onto the road, towards home. “I made the meatballs with extra garlic; most recipes call for a clove of garlic, which I find unbelievable, you need at least five for any savory food to taste decent. And you need to ward off the vampires, of course.”

Kenzie grinned at her mother. “Of course.”

“So what’s with you, Kenzie Lou.” Her mother yanked on the stick shift, the old Jeep rumbling at her. She didn’t look at her daughter, keeping her eyes on the road, but Kenzie could tell by the edge in her voice she wasn’t going to let her daughter stall for long.

“Ummmmm.” Kenzie hummed for a moment, flicking imaginary dirt from under her nails. “The past few days have been...really overwhelming. I went to that party and it was awful, Momby, the men there were terrible, their conversations, ugh, just horrible. But I did manage to record some incriminating stuff. But--” She hesitated. Madeline glanced at her, pressing her lips together in that familiar way.

“But what, sweet pea. Spit it out.”

“I...Momby. I met someone there.”

Her mother didn’t say anything, eyes staying on the road for a few beats. She glanced over at her daughter, her eyes peering over her squarish glasses, and Kenzie saw her eyebrows fall; saw a shadow falling over her mother’s face.

“Okay.”

“Ummm.”

Now that the moment seemed to be here, Kenzie felt unable to continue. It was one thing to imagine telling her mother about Duncan; it was another thing entirely to stare her mother in the face in person and tell her she was Annette Shepherd’s son’s fucking girlfriend.

“Please promise you won’t get upset.”

“Mackenzie. What are you talking about? You met someone. What does that mean?” Her mother’s tone was even, but hid a gaining hint of annoyance that only the well-trained ear of her daughter could pick up on. Kenzie had grown up having conversations like this with her mother; matter-of-fact and even, but tinged with a complete lack of tolerance for falsehood. “Promise I won’t get upset? I don’t even understand what I’m theoretically supposed to be upset about. You met a Democrat there? What are the odds.” She laughed a little at her own joke.

“I met Duncan Shepherd there.”

Her mother said nothing. The air seemed to go thick with the heaviness of the silence that settled between them. Her mother was thinking.

“Okay. And?”

“Momby. Don’t be mad. I wanted to tell you because...it’s important to me.” She mirrored Duncan’s words without fully realizing it.

“Tell me what? He has six fingers? He has horns?” Her mother mirrored Duncan’s words now, and it unnerved her. A strong wave of deja vu washed over her; time falling in on itself.

“I--we went out together,” she said, lamely, fumbling for words.

“‘Went out together’?” Her mother’s tone was rising very slightly, the edge becoming more apparent. “Went out? To where, their fucking chemical plant?”

“Momby.”

“Mackenzie.” Her mother turned onto Fenwick Street with a jerk, pressed the foot more firmly onto the gas pedal, the Jeep stuttering forward, the warm light of the house visible down the block. Kenzie fumbled her hands together again, reaching down to her pocket, fingers closing around her phone, as if Duncan could send strength through it to her hand. She knew inherently her mother understood already what she was trying to say, but she also knew her mother was going to force her to say it outloud. Madeline Stone was like that. You said what you meant, or you fucked off.

Her mother turned into the slender driveway paved with red bricks along either side of a stretch of blacktop. She turned the Jeep’s ignition off, yanking the key out with a measured amount of anger. Mackenzie listened to her mother let out a colossal sigh, a sort of exasperated groan.

“Mackenzie Louise. Just spit it the fuck out.”

“We’re together. Momby. I’m dating him. I thought you should know.”

“Jesus, Mackenzie!” Her mother spit the words out, slapping a hand against the steering wheel. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

Her mother slapped the door of the Jeep open, stepped down, purse clutched tightly in her hand, and slammed it behind her, making the old car shudder. Kenzie winced. Her mother stormed into the house, the big wood door swinging shut with a slight crash.

Kenzie sucked air into her lungs, holding her breath in, puffing out her cheeks. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and stared down at it, noticing it was blank of messages, wondering if Duncan was having as great a time as she was so far (haha). She copied the link from the text from Claire and pasted it into the message box under Duncan’s name in her texting app. She pressed send, and typed after it: Just told my mom and she isn’t taking it very well so far. I’m going to try to talk to her somemore over dinner. In the meantime, my friend sent me this. I thought you should know. She chewed her lip, hit send again, lowered her phone into her lap, took a deep breath. Kenzie opened the car door, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and trudged into her mother’s warm brick house, determined to convince the notoriously stubborn Madeline Stone that Duncan Shepherd was indeed good enough for her daughter.

[ofgunsandlipstick]

@sovietsfist 

So I accidentally wrote you a thing. Merry Christmas???

It’s an unassuming house, when all is said and done- just roomy enough for a family to grow into. Only two bedrooms, but there is a small office that could be converted if they needed to, and there is a small yard for when Poppy is big enough to run. Just enough.

Peggy had never thought she’d find herself in one of the pre-fab neighborhoods outside the city, but that was before everything. Before Howard’s brush with treason, before Bucky had made his return to the SSR…

And now, curled up in the armchair, reading the latest Agatha Christie, Peggy wouldn’t have it any other way. Bucky will be home soon enough—the train to and from the city tends to run on schedule. She’s looking forward to seeing him; they don’t work the same shifts often, choosing to split so one of them is home with Poppy most times. Sylvie, the woman next door, will watch her in a pinch, but Peggy still hasn’t gotten over the worry enough to leave her while both her parents are in the city. And she’s fairly certain from the way that Bucky plucks her from the play pen every time he’s home and won’t let her down until she’s half asleep hours later, that he’d agree with her assessment.

She doesn’t like to think about the fact that they also have a fair amount of people who’d see them dead if they could help it.

So Peggy’s half a housewife. She’d find it intolerable if Bucky weren’t the other half. They split the housework, the chores, when they can. He’s a good man, a better husband, and truly a wonderful father. Never one to shy away from cleaning or diaper changes, and he’s a ready hand at warming formula these days. She doesn’t even have to remind him to put the toilet seat down.

They’re rare in their neighborhood; the couples around them are constantly throwing parties, barbeques. Peggy and Bucky go every once in awhile, but mostly they keep to themselves. It’s not that the others aren’t entertaining; it’s just that Peggy would rather spend their rather limited time together actually together. Just them and Poppy. She’s always enjoyed Bucky’s company more than most.

It’s getting dark outside; Peggy has to click on the lamp at her side. Her senses always heighten this time of night, eyes straining just a little harder, ears perked to hear the sound of the car coming to a stop in their driveway. She’s never been one to greet her husband at the door in heels and pearls, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t meet him with a kiss while wearing the bunny slippers he’d bought her as a joke after one too many cracks about doing everything he does backwards in heels. They’re the most comfortable footwear she owns.

A floorboard creaks upstairs. It’s quiet, not really anything to worry about. Could just be the house settling. But there’s a knot in her stomach and Peggy slowly rises. There’s another creak, more deliberate.

The bedrooms are upstairs. Poppy should be waking from her nap soon, but she can’t get out of the crib and she’s certainly not heavy enough to creak a new floorboard.

Peggy reaches over, rummaging quietly as she can manage through the discreet safe under the end table. Pistol in hand, she moves quickly, squashing every urge to run upstairs to her sleeping daughter; if there really is someone in her home, alerting them to her presence wouldn’t be ideal. She’s not sure what she’s walking into, after all, and surprise is a handy ally.

And if there’s no one there, well, at least Poppy will remain undisturbed.

Her heart is in her throat as she moves up the stairs, doing her best to remain out of sight if she can help it. There’s certainly rustling coming from Poppy’s room. Peggy clicks the safety off, leaning against the wall, using her compact to give her sightlines into the nursery. The window is open—the blasted trellis—she’ll tear it out herself tomorrow. There’s a man, masked and gloved, leaning over Poppy’s crib. The fear disappears, replaced by the calmest, coldest rage she’s ever felt.  Peggy’s never killed outside of the battlefield, but she knows with fierce certainty she’s willing to right now. In war, it was impersonal. This is her child.

He has a rag in his hand; in moments, it will be over Poppy’s button nose. She has to move fast.

She’s thankful not to be wearing her heels; they would click on the floorboards and make her presence known. Instead, she’s behind the man in moments, gun pressed to the base of his skull as he leans over her daughter. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she growls.

Her finger itches to pull the trigger, dying to end this. But she holds steady—for Poppy.

His hands are in the air. “Turn around,” Peggy orders, digging the gun in just a bit. “Slowly.”

One hand twitches and she knows in an instant he’s calculating an escape. She swing back, hits him with the butt of the gun so he’ll see stars. “Turn. Around. No funny business.” He yells out; Poppy stirs, eyes opening for a moment before she nods back off.

He staggers, but at least he’s away from Poppy. Peggy feels relief try to turn her limbs to jelly, but she keeps the gun trained on him. And she keeps it trained on him even as she’s secured his hands

“Peggy?”

Bucky’s voice is quiet, worried. She hadn’t heard the door downstairs open.

“Up here,” she calls back. “We’ve a bit of a visitor.”

He freezes in the doorway, eyes darting between the two of them. “Uh, Peg?”

Her eyes won’t leave the man tied on the floor. She won’t lower the gun. “I should kill you right now,” she informs the man on the ground.

“Peggy,” Bucky repeats. He’s starting to sound worried. Probably fair—she’s about ten seconds from pulling the trigger and leaving them a corpse to deal with.

Her hands shake, the gun trained still. “He was here for Poppy,” she says.

If she were to look away from the terrible man, she’d see Bucky’s eyes darken—she knows this because she feels the anger that’s rolling off of him.

“Clean up would be a bitch,” he comments mildly, but Peggy knows him, knows him like the back of her own hand, and she can sense the way he tenses up, even without looking over to see his hands clenched to his side. “But I’ll never tell.”

Maybe it’s the fact that he understands, or maybe it’s the fact that Poppy wakes up at that moment, wailing, but Peggy feels herself relax, just the slightest bit. She’s not about to put a bullet through a bound man’s skull in any case. It’s probably Poppy; she doesn’t want to do something so terrible, so ruthless, in front of her own daughter.

And she knows he’s more useful alive anyway.

Bucky moves around her, scooping up Poppy into his arms, and Peggy could weep. She’s safe, Poppy’s safe.

Poppy, for the record, looks entirely unimpressed by this entire turn of events and yanks at his hair.

“Call the police, then the SSR,” she instructs. Now that she’s thinking logically, not in danger of committing cold-blooded murder, the proper authorities need to be alerted.

Bucky approaches, presses a harsh kiss to the side of her head. “You did good, Peg,” he whispers and she’s sure nobody else has ever seen him looking so shaken. His arms band around her for a moment, hugging her tight. She sighs into his shoulder, relaxing for just a moment before they pull back and he goes to call the authorities, taking their little girl with him.

Part of her wants to start trying to extract information from her prisoner; the other part of her knows that she will likely end up doing something she regrets if she hears the man’s voice.

The police are quick—there’s not much in the way of police work in this sleepy suburb. It had been one of the draws to buying a house in such a quiet neighborhood. They shouldn’t have grown so complacent.

Bucky escorts the cop into the room, Poppy on his hip, and immediately starts chuckling. Peggy’s eyes grow wide with shock; what the hell could be so damn funny about this situation. “Explain,” she commands darkly once the man has been escorted down to the squad car.

“Sorry, it’s just…” He’s still laughing and she’s growing more and more annoyed. “It’s just… the bunny slippers.”

She looks down and true to his word, she is wearing those damn slippers. Her eyes narrow.

“I’ve never seen anybody look so completely terrifying while wearing pink bunny slippers. In fact, it might be the only time anybody’s ever looked so ready to kick ass in bunny slippers.”

His laughter pulls a small smile from her but then she remembers the reality of the situation. “Bucky, someone came after Poppy,” she says quietly. “I’m sure we’ll know why soon, but…”

Bucky’s face grows grim, hardening as he pulls her back into his arms and rests his head on hers. Peggy tucks her face into the crook of his neck and inhales; she thinks she feels him shaking slightly. “I’ll call about a security system tonight,” he says. “Or do you just… should we move?”

That makes her even more irrationally angry; this is their home. He carried over this threshold after their honeymoon. It’s the only house their daughter’s ever known. They’ve made the first mark of a growth chart on the door of the pantry. How dare someone come and try to take away that sense of security?

She shakes her head, partly to clear it, partly to disagree. “This is our home and if someone wants to target us, they’ll do it no matter where we live. And I’ll not be scared out it by some idiot with a poor plan.”

Poppy looks thoroughly unhappy with her parents’ distraction, beginning to climb her way up Bucky’s shoulders, yanking at his ears and hair. He just sighs and readjusts, grimacing slightly at tiny nails digging into his flesh. And then that one moment of discomfort is followed by a look of such perfect adoration that it knocks the wind out of her sails. They could have lost this completely.

There’s something deep within her that breaks; she bites her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. And, because they’ve been married long enough now, or because they’ve had each other’s backs since the war, or because he’s just that intuitive, Bucky hands her their daughter, letting her feel that comforting, solid weight as Poppy squirms, his hand resting on the small of Peggy’s back just light enough to be a question.

She tucks her face into his shoulder, trying—and failing—to hold back ugly, heaving sobs. Bucky wraps his arms around her, muscled arms banding around her to hold her more tightly and gently than she thought possible.  “It’s okay, Peg,” he whispers. “You did good. You did so good.”

Poppy is unhappy at being squashed between her parents, little arms flailing as she demands to be let go, but for the moment, Peggy needs her there, needs Bucky there, needs to feel her little family around her. It’s been years since she’s felt so shaken.

“I love you, Peg,” Bucky whispers into her hair.

And Peggy, for her part, just lets him hold her, safe in his embrace until she’s once again calm and ready to take on the day. He always did have that effect for her.

[quotable-ishtar]

Ryou has always been intrigued by Marik and wouldn't mind getting lost in his eyes. But something about them was…off. As though the life were missing from them. 

Here it is, folks! The one I was talking about earlier. It was actually a rewrite of an earlier drabble and I don’t know, I guess I just don’t want to do my paper. Anyways, enjoy!

Ryou has always been intrigued by Marik.

Ever since he first set foot on Domino, Marik Ishtar had stuck out like a sore thumb. After all, in a sea of monotonous black and white, Marik’s fair locks and tanned skin will truly draw ones eye. Considered an exotic sight in good, old Domino, he was treated as a shining beacon of excitement in the citizens’ mind-numbing routines. Fortunately for them, Marik rarely disappoints. Always causing a racket wherever he goes, Marik can be called the poster child of everything Ryou was raised against. Sleeping in class, loitering during periods, sassing the teachers- everything you can imagine a student may pull off after being branded a delinquent, Marik has probably done them all. Add this to his aforementioned good looks; the people of Domino are all crazy over him. The girls constantly vying for his attention, the boys regularly asking for his help, and the adults perpetually trying to mend his ways.

However, that’s not why Ryou found herself invested in this specific transfer student.

His eyes were the shade of the sky, the most brilliant blue. The sort of blue that you want to wake up to, to open your eyes and see them staring at you. The kind that can soothe your soul no matter how shattered and tormented it is. The type that can make you forget all your sorrows and promise you a better tomorrow. That’s what his eyes are like. Calm like the sleeping ocean and serene like the endless sky.

But something about them was… off.

In order to satiate her curiosity about these foreigners, Ryou began to watch them closely. She took note of their routines, of what they like, and of what they hate. She discovered where they live along with the fact that Ishizu likes to tend to their garden around three in the afternoon. She also found out that Marik actually owns his own vehicle, a flaming red motorcycle that he lovingly branded Lady Death. But most of all, she finally learns just what is it about Marik’s eyes that unnerves her. Unlike his sister, Ishizu, whose eyes shone with a certain calculating glint whenever a graceful smile lights up her usual stoic face, Marik’s eyes are as deep as the voids.

As though life itself was sucked out of them.

Ryou figured that it may be because he was just feeling miserable due to being forced to come here. She found out about this during one of her walks, where she witnessed the two Ishtars discussing the whys of their sudden relocation to Domino; however, Ryou still clings to a dim hope that Marik will soon grow to like Domino as much as he likes his old hometown. And maybe, just maybe, he can find it in himself to like someone from here too. Of course she means herself but--- Ryou will eternally deny such accusation. Nevertheless, as the seasons changed and the flowers she has planted that day she first laid her eyes on Marik had bloomed and wilted, Ryou noticed that no matter what happens,

Marik’s eyes remain as dead as ever.

No matter the occasion, be it a feast in his honor or a time of mourning for the entire city, Marik’s blue eyes can’t seem to let go of its perpetually vacant gaze. For days Ryou tried so hard to see even just a glimpse of the sentiments hidden within the dark void of Marik’s stare but no matter how hard she tried, they just can’t seem to feel anything. At first, worry filled her very being. What could have possibly happened to him to cause this? Figuring that no matter how much she paced her apartment’s already worn carpet, nothing can be done about it- or at least nothing she can do. But Ryou is a stubborn girl who always perseveres to help her friends. And thus, when a sudden stroke of genius overcame her, she immediately placed her plan into action.

Domino, despite being called a city by its residents, can be best likened to a sleepy rural town. The only redeeming feature of the city is the enormous Kaiba Tower located at its very heart and the park that is a ways away from the city proper. The park is located on top of Domino Hill where one can enjoy the panoramic view of the city. Unfortunately, most locals tend to shy away from the place due to the various rumors that surrounds it. Thus, the maintenance of the park was kept into a bare minimum; just enough to keep the place clean for its occasional visitors.

 ‘Right on time.’

There among the foliage comes out the elusive Marik Ishtar. One would have thought that with all the attention he gets from the locals, he would be milking it for all its worth. But, as Ryou grew to find out, Marik prefers to be alone and enjoy the world in all his solitude. It was pure luck that she managed to find out about Marik’s secret strolls here. It happened one autumn afternoon where the weather was just right for a walk. Instead of walking by her usual route, Ryou felt like getting lost for a while and followed the downtrodden road leading to the forgotten park.

That’s when she first saw him.

Marik Ishtar: the boy that everyone keeps on talking about. When she first heard the rumors, she envisioned him to be somewhat of a gangster. Someone who wears huge amount of leather and keeps their hair spiked up to the heavens while wearing thick lines of eyeliner. That’s why when she was him, she has to take a moment to do a double take and convince herself that it is the enigmatic transfer student of class 2 – C.

Clad in a simple mauve hoodie and faded black pants, Marik looks more like a model.

If anything, he looked like a simple teenager just like her. Only prettier. Even with his jewelry that shines when the sun’s fading rays hits them just right, Ryou still thinks that Marik isn’t so different from herself. Both considered outcasts by the people of Domino- Ryou’s heart leaped for the boy. Ever since that fated day, Ryou never missed a chance to walk a little farther from her house if it means getting a glimpse of him in the park. It was always on the same time; always 10 minutes before the sunset. It’s a constant that gives Ryou something to look forward to each day. A secret moment just for the two of them.

‘Hello, Marik…’

He sent her a quizzical look before frowning. Perhaps wondering where the pale girl came from all of the sudden. Regardless, he simply inclined his head a little before going back to staring at the horizon, desperately trying to shake off the awkward feeling he got the moment he noticed the girl. Unbeknownst to him, this made her smile a little and inched just a little closer and closer and closer until there’s barely any space between them. Whether he minded the sudden intrusion to his private space or not, Ryou wouldn’t know; she was too busy taking care of the boy’s unconscious body.

Ryou has always been fascinated by Marik.

Ever since he first set foot on Domino, Marik Ishtar had stuck out like a sore thumb. With his blond hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes, only a blind person can deny the boy’s allure. Add that to his natural charisma and you practically have a god in your hands. Surprisingly, or maybe not if you already know her, that is not what lured Ryou Bakura in into the enigma that is Marik Ishtar.

It was his eyes.

His eyes that were the color of the bottomless sea and the endless sky. His eyes that contain all the secrets the universe has to offer. His eyes that remains eternally dead to the world. It was because of them. They are what pulled her in. The reason she can never escape Marik’s gaze. It is the reason why she is losing sleep every single night, unable to think of anything else, and most all, driving herself mad. The moment she saw them she vowed that she’ll help him; that no matter what happens, they’ll get his emotions back his eyes. All so that he no longer has to stare vacantly into people and wonder just what it’s like to be them- to be human.

But sometimes, things have to be done a certain way to accomplish them.

Ryou didn’t mean to. Not really, no. She’s been brought up by her parents to be a law-abiding citizen who fears god. A person who can be considered a role model for all that is pure and holy. Of course, Ryou wouldn’t go as far as calling herself a saint, per se. No, she just wants to point out that she’s a good person. And really, she is. She’s doing all of this to help her--- friend. Sure, Marik may be trying to stop her now but he’ll see soon enough. People are like that anyway; they always want to get things their own way. They hate letting other people help them because it hurts their pride. But it’s alright, as soon as they’re done, Marik will see that she’s right all along and he’ll be thanking her for being such a great friend. Because that’s what they are,  

‘Friends…’

And now with a new found passion, she twists the knife into his eye and gleefully remarks to her struggling captive as an emotion finally seeps in. Who would have thought that a little bit of blood can cause such distress to a beautiful human being? A laugh bubbles up her throat as a strange euphoria fills Ryou while she straddles the thrashing Marik underneath her and sinks her knife deeper into his eyes, disregarding his muffled screams and oh so delicious cries and focusing more on receiving as much emotion from his eyes as possible.

‘It’s alright though, this is all worth it,’ she thought as she twists the knife even more so, causing blood to freely run down on his gorgeous face once more, all the while ignoring his hysterical screams. She’s always been fascinated by the occult anyway. ‘And besides,’ she continued with a dreamy sigh as she stared lovingly at his now abused eye.

 Purple has always been his color.