#ltli

[jks1uv]

𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ; jason todd

summary: a very fucking big small side effect of being baptized in the lazarus pit is retrograde amnesia. however, love is the dimension that transcends everything; even the loss of memories.

pairing: fiancée!reader x fiancé!jason todd.

trope: partial memory loss + both parties learning to falling in love with each other again + boy who thinks he’s unworthy of love x girl who loves him like it’s breathing + she fell first but he fell harder.

genre: fluff + angst + slow-burn & rekindling romance.

warnings‼️: crude language + mentions of his murder + mentions of violence + reader’s 24, jason’s 25 + jason’s a drug / crime lord + reader & jason are yearners.

word count: 9,624.

random disclaimerrr: it can take somewhere between days to years to recover from retrograde amnesia & gain your memories back. for fanfiction purposes, i’ve dramatized the recovery. italics = inner thoughts, bold italics = flashbacks. i love this song, i breathe this song. nobody fw this song like i do. canon states he was 15 when he died but i changed things up. i haven't read a single comic & all the lore ik is from google, tiktok & this app lol. pls lmk on how i can improve! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

Here you are; face to face with the man whose warmth you were sure could no longer feel in the dark of the cruel, lonely night. You were sure the thread of his love was no longer in the stitches of your heart.

The one man you’ve ever loved that much and hard, is limp and unconscious. It doesn’t need to be said how he’s also very much alive this time around.

He's weighing down on the shoulders of his beloved brother, in the way eldest sons gently cradle their brave-faced youngest brothers in times of need.

Dick looks at you and you see him. For the first time, you truly see who Richard Grayson-Wayne is.

The dutiful, eldest son, yes. But more than that, something he will always be no matter the consequence of life; a brother.

You recognize that bleeding, aching heart of his and understand that it was bleeding and aching with yours too.

He’s still a brother even if he lost his. That title doesn’t just go away, lost in the wind like the smell of freshly cut grass and 2015.

You step aside and Dick wordlessly carries his little brother into your house.

“I... we can't talk here.”

You can't stop staring at the larger body of muscle on your couch. You can't believe he's just lying there, on the couch.

Suddenly, you can't seem to remember the misery that left you incapacitated. You don't taste the grief in the salt of your tears on your tongue.

Those years seem so far away, it's disorienting.

“Y/n?”

You're broken out of your trance and you swiftly move your head towards the older brother.

He sympathizes with you. He takes you by the hand and leads you to your bed. You sit down and he follows suit right next to you.

It's silent for a few moments, he's trying to find the right words to explain what you see.

“We found him, Bruce and I.”

You look at him but he refuses to make eye contact. Instead, he finds feigns interest in the scratches on his knuckles.

“Have you heard of a the new drug and crime-lord in Gotham, recently?”

You nod. You'd about of him; the man in black who hides himself under a red hood. Ironically, that's also his name: the Red Hood.

“…He’s actually Jason.”

And with the way he says it so quietly, so softly; you'd almost think you imagined him saying those two words.

Almost.

But almost is never enough, especially not in this moment. You need more.

“What?” You whisper harshly.

He still refuses to look at you but you won't have that anymore.

“Dick, look at me.”

He reluctantly looks you in the eyes and you can tell he feels awful. He feels that way because this isn’t how life after Jason’s death was supposed to be.

He was indescribably euphoric as any loved one would be, but it all came crashing down just as fast and fleeting the feeling was.

He didn’t want it to be this way but alas, when life gives you lemons.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n.”

He can’t imagine how life was like for you but he knows it wasn’t pleasant.

You look at him with gratitude and squeeze his hand in thanks. He squeezes it back and you lay your head on his shoulder as he explains everything.

Jason grumbles and groans half in pain. The other half in disorientation.

Even though your curtains are closed, they don't block the sunlight from coloring in your once-dark living room.

Dick’s lying on his stomach and snoring away.

Jason carefully gets up and sees the older man not so gracefully splayed out across his air mattress (yes, he's one of those people) on the floor.

Jason's gaze follows the confines of your living room. He scopes out the unfamiliar space and he soon finds himself in front of the fridge.

He's staring at the notes and magnets among other things you have hung up. However, his eyes stop in front of a collage of pictures.

You made a photo strip out of the pictures you took with him at this specific photo booth.

There were 5 photos that consist of the strip, each from 5 different dates.

Jason can't figure out why he feels a strange, magnetic pull towards this woman.

She shouldn't mean anything to him but that doesn't sound right.

It's like deep down, he knows- feels like there's something missing. It’s weird; feeling something’s wrong but not knowing what could possibly give that inclination.

He studies the woman that he's sure is the sun. Jason's sure this woman's smile and joy are willing and radiant. In fact, he's so sure this woman is the quintessence of all he's been missing.

A home.

Jason feels a pit of emptiness open up in his stomach that fills up with dread just as quickly.

Jason couldn't remember much of his life before the Lazarus pit breathed it back into his mangled body. His painful rage and sadness were the only evidence tying him to a life beyond revenge and strife.

When and Dick and Bruce realized who the red hood truly was, they did everything in their power to convince the broken boy to come back with them, even if it was just for a little while.

Back at the Wayne manor, he discovered a few memories of what he presumed was a better life, but he also found some things that he didn't think was possible for a man like him.

On his dresser he found what appeared to be a golden wedding band, a Revlon hairbrush, and a key with Buttercup from The PowerPuff Girls printed on it.

He asked Stephanie Brown if those items belong to her or Cassandra Cain but she dismissed the notion. She told him who those items really belonged to but he couldn’t believe it.

A woman he’s romantically involved with? His fiancé?

Yeah, right.

There wasn’t much evidence to make her claim viable, until he found a couple of words engraved inside what he found to be his golden band.

Always — Y/n

“Y/n.” He whispered your name like it was a secret only for him to know.

He stared at the band for a bit, not believing he found something so delicate and pure. A love so strong, it made him want to get married.

Stephanie got to know her older brother through the retelling of memories. Memories that people seemed so fond of. Through them, she learned what he liked, disliked. How Bruce was going to break his rule, bend his code of ethics for him.

Jason talked to her, cared for her. But he never really opened up about himself and what goes on in his head. At the very least, he was there for his little sister when times were tough and that was enough.

He was immortalized by his grave but seeing him in the flesh— at this moment, made her overwhelmingly emotional.

She hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder and he looked at her.

“It was your idea.”

“…Really?”

His heart warms with an unfamiliar fondness.

Jason never thought of himself to be a romantic but this revelation forces him to look at this ring and himself in a different light.

Now as he stands in front of your fridge, Jason thinks this must be you. The woman in these photos, the woman whose name is engraved on the inside of his wedding band, the woman of his dreams. It must be you.

Jason turns around to wake Dick up and tell him about his epiphanies but here he is. Face to face with you, instead.

Your lips part to sharply exhale and you're about to say something but your mind betrays your tongue. You don't want to say what you want him to hear because of the way he's looking at you.

His eyes are wide in surprise. It's her he thinks.

Jason slowly stalks his way towards you like you’re a doe he doesn't want to scare you away.

There's a tremble in your bones. The kind that vibrates with a desperation to pull him into you and never let go.

You want to hug him, kiss him and stare into his once-blue eyes until you count the different flecks of green in them.

But you can't. You can't touch him yet, you can't talk to him like he's your soon-to-be husband yet. You can't softly sing him to sleep when he needs it yet.

So, you’ll settle on yearning for him. You’ll brave a smile when you're wistful and you'll hold on to the hope of him coming back to you.

You're determined to make him remember you no matter how long it takes.

He's in front of you now, there's an almost dazed look on his face.

His eyes are a a grayish-teal, making you question how much of him has truly changed.

“Hello.” Your voice is a bit shaky and breathy.

Jason half-blinks and tilts his chin to the side a bit. “Hi.” He murmurs.

“Why are you two acting like side characters in a high school romance anime?”

His name ain’t ‘Dick’ for nothing!

You've spent the entire afternoon cleaning the guest bed and bath room to make space for Jason.

In the meantime, Jason is trying to figure out how not to make a fool of himself.

“I dunno… what if she's changed her mind?”

Jason’s getting cold feet but he'd never blame you if you did.

“Dude.” Tim sighs. “You were literally the loss of her life all this time.”

And he’s right, Jason knows that.

He’s just really anxious and his insecurities are bubbling up. It's inevitable when it comes to the matters of the heart.

You're not just any girl— you're his fiancé.

In his heart, you’re an integral part of him but in his mind; you’re a woman who deserves so much better.

You can't possibly want to grow old with him.

“It must mean something if she's spent years of her life tolerating you.”

Always count on Damien Wayne to say the thing(s) nobody else will.

Dick quirks up an eyebrow at his baby brother's opinion but when he looks at Jason, they both know he means well.

Stephanie and Cassandra offer him words of advice and encouragement. Though, he's not sure how helpful they'll be as they don't personally know you but apparently, ‘that's besides the point’.

“Just remember what we said and you’ll be fine!”

Duke hands Jason a small lotus plant as he ‘shouldn't show up empty-handed’ if he wants a chance at a great first— well, second impression.

Jason appreciates the gesture as the lotus sends a message of a new beginning, something he’s longing for.

He secures the plant, puts on his helmet and drives his motorcycle back to your house.

“Okay, you got this. Just be cool.”

He rings the bell and you swing open the door without even looking through the blinds. You just knew it'd be him.

You're a little breathless but you suppose he just does that to you.

The two of you lock eyes for a moment until he clears his throat awkwardly.

“This is for you.” Jason smiles politely and you swoon over the baby pink plant.

“Oh, wow.” You beam. “You really didn't have to.”

He disagrees. “I did.”

Your lips split open with a grin, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Jason.”

He’s nonchalant when he nods, ignoring how nice it felt to see you smile because of him.

“Um,” You point at his shoes. “Could you place them on the rack next to you?”

“Oh! I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You say calmly.

You don’t want him to walk on eggshells around you so you won’t mind teaching him how to be familial.

He coughs, still slightly embarrassed at himself (and at how fast his nonchalant streak came to an end).

“This is your room, the bathroom is right over there and, uh, I moved your things in… I hope that's alright?”

You didn't want to overwhelm him but you also wanted him to know that he has a say in things, even though he’s living in a place that used to be a part of him.

He’s touched at your gesture but he feels… disappointed? He’s not quite sure where he wants to be but doesn’t know what the feeling of belonging is like, either.

It’s confusing, but he expresses his gratitude nonetheless.

“Yeah, that’s great. Thank you.”

You nod with pursed lips.

He looks around at the materialistic things that describe him. Posters, collectable figurines, books. He loved his books.

Jason runs his fingers along the spines of the books neatly organized on a shelf.

It's quiet, you almost leave as you deem it intimate; becoming familiar with yourself. Jason is making up for all the time he's lost, not just with you but a part of himself as well.

“I remember when I read Hamlet for the first time.” He says after a while.

You smile knowingly.

“Alfred and I would read and discuss Shakespeare together at our own little private book club.”

Jason picks the book up and randomly flips through the pages, he comes across written annotations on transparent sticky notes.

“What’s this?” He asks, curious.

“Oh,” you walk up to him and he gives the book to you. “These are my annotations from when I read it for the first time.”

You admire the book fondly.

“You’d told me all about the book club so I asked for book recommendations. That way you could talk about your favorite literature with me.”

You're still looking over your notes while Jason stares into your side profile.

He thinks it's endearing; that you care enough about him to indulge in conversation about his hobby.

You also intrigues him.

How could you just so casually think of something so kind and thoughtful? How could you want to spend your time reading and truly understanding every reference, point, plot and quote; just to understand a part of him?

Can someone really care about another person that much?

Jason doesn’t find his answers in his beloved books but something tells him he’ll find out soon enough, in you.

Jason is banned from going out on patrol for the time being.

He was actually supposed to quit altogether when he proposed to you but Joker just had to follow the instinct of his passion: inflicting misery.

Dick insisted that the rest of the members will take care of patrolling as all Jason should focus on is you.

Kinda hard to do that when you're so... well, you.

It’s been a couple of days and he still thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Your beauty shines through your smile and the way you care for him. He feels it under the long, jagged scar carved atop his chest.

He’s distracted when he's reading in the living room.

There you are; in a large t-shirt that drapes over your frame and the neckline is cut. It hangs over one side of your shoulder and the sight takes his breath away.

You're cooking something you know he likes, just because you know how much it comforts him. But he doesn’t realize this yet.

“Jason?”

He averts his gaze and pretends he wasn’t staring at you since you stepped foot into the kitchen, half an hour ago.

“Hm?” His voice cracks just a bit but he hope you don’t notice it.

You turn around at his hum and walk towards the couch.

“Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes, would you like to watch something while we eat?”

You and Jason used to watch movies and shows all the time together, courtesy of one of your love languages being quality time.

He bookmarks his page and sets his book down.

“Actually, I wanted to talk.”

You blink and show you’re listening intently.

His fingers rake through his hair nervously. “I was wondering if we could talk about stuff that would help jog my memory.”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod and smile at him.

He smiles back, albeit small but he does.

“Okay.” He claps his hands together and goes to the kitchen to wash his hands.

As you set the table, Jason watches you carefully. He wanted to know everything. Every chore, every part of your routine, every detail. He wanted to help with dinner but was nervous to be near you.

What if he made you uncomfortable? He’d thought about it; his size, his demeanor, the fact that he’s not the man you’ve been around.

Everything’s changed since his… rebirth.

Life’s been hard and Jason doesn’t understand how to cope with the new set of incongruous events.

He sits across from you, a knee bouncing up and down under the table as you sit down.

You look at him expecting to start eating but find he’s not.

“Do you not like it?”

Along with his physique and mental health, you were afraid the liking to his most favorable things had changed, too.

He blinks in confusion. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He quickly realizes how that sounds.

“Wait, that’s not—” His eyes are wide, head shaking a bit in refusal with his hands up. “I meant, no, as in… I haven’t tried it yet.”

You don’t want to laugh but you think it’s kind of funny watching him trip over his words.

The mannerism brings you back to a kinder time.

“Are you nervous?”

His smile is a bit lopsided when he picks up the fork.

“A little..?”

You can’t tell if it’s a question but you nod, trying to make him feel as welcome as possible.

“It’s alright.” You assure. “This is all very new for you so, please don’t feel as though you have to be polite to make me feel better.”

You offer him an encouraging smile before looking away, afraid you’ll burst into tears.

He stares at you for a moment, a bit stunned at your kind and refreshing candor.

Jason begins eating and has to hold himself back from emitting sounds of surprise and approval.

As he chews, he thinks about the flavor. He believes the taste of the spices blended with the taste to be familiar but is doubtful.

“Have I…”

You look up at the beginning of his line of questioning.

“I feel like I’ve had this before.”

You hum and nod in agreement. “You have.”

You think about quoting him back to himself, hoping that would be a good start.

“You used to say it was one of your-”

“Comfort foods.” He completes.

The relief that fills your being makes your heart speed up in excitement.

There’s a glint of excitement in your eyes. One that could easily be characterized as hope.

Jason feels it, too.

When he takes another bite and lets the flavors melt on his tongue, he lets himself feel the precise taste you so carefully measured with your mind.

Jason wanted to stop by the local farmer’s market so you decide to get some laundry done.

You’re folding your clothes and are deep in thought about him.

There’s potential, you think. A lot of potential to recover lost memories and make new ones along the way.

It’s the matter of whether or not he wants to do them with you that has you stuck.

The hopeful side of you believes he’s stayed this far, surely he feels the same.

The rational part of you doubts it.

You can never find the same person twice, not even in the same person.

You think about the lost look on his face you catch at times. You see it when he thinks he’s hidden it well beyond your gaze. You see it when he’s all alone and has his mind to himself.

You’re afraid to lose him. Again.

Your vision blurs with the unshed tears pooling in your eyes and you look down to blink them away. They plop to the ground and you quietly sniffle, not wanting to break just yet.

There's an ache in your left shoulder blade and an insistent ruckus of doubt swirling in your head.

You can't sleep soundly anymore, not that you ever did since his death.

His death, you think.

It still hasn't hit you, that he's alive. He's here, in the flesh and in your home. You're able to talk to him, see him.

You remember how you'd piece your heart back together the next morning after letting it break the night prior.

You bite your tongue when the emotions overwhelm you, when you feel as though you'll die if you don't speak. So you bury those words deep in your journal, where ink meets paper and stays far away from his eyes.

Your eyes quickly gather more tears than you can keep from shedding and soon, you’re crying silently to yourself. For the umpteenth time.

It hurts. Your heart hurts and your throat hurts. Hurt is the only other feeling you’ve come close to familiarizing yourself with other than hope.

You don’t hear Jason’s motorcycle engine when he’s outside. You don’t hear his heavy footsteps mark their way onto your floor once like how they used to.

He stands outside but doesn’t have the heart to see you. Hearing how wrecked you are was enough.

It hurts him, not being able to remember from the jump but he knows how patient you are. How understanding you are.

He figures the most kindest souls are the ones that hurt the most.

So, he leaves. He spends another hour and a half out and decides to get you your favorite things.

Walking through the aisles, the plastic bags of grapes catch his attention the most.

“She loves these.” He says as he picks up the biggest, juiciest batch.

The assurance in his words gives him a confidence that rivals your doubt.

A short flashback of you munching away on the grapes as you study enters his mind.

You’re sitting by a windowsill and you’re typing away, pausing every few minutes to snack on the round fruit.

He smiles to himself and grabs a bag along with some sliced pineapples and mangoes.

“Cherries… with salt.” He hums to himself.

Yes, you like to eat your washed cherries with some salt sprinkled on top.

Jason chuckles as the memory of you whipping up that treat comes to mind.

He picks up a bag of those round, tangy red rubies and goes to checkout.

He’s practically buzzing with excitement as he can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see how much he’s gaining you back.

He returns with the sight of laundry done and put away, the dishes are washed and your lotus plant watered for the week.

But no sight of you.

Where are you?

Jason debates calling your cell.

Would it be weird?

You’re not his, well, anything. But you used to be.

Your caller ID tempts his thumb but he ultimately clicks off his phone.

You’ll show up sooner or later, wherever you are… right?

You’re a grown woman, you can take care of yourself.

His breath staggers in his throat at the thought of you by yourself.

What if some asshole creeps up on you? What if you run into some kind of problem but your phone’s drained? What if you get lost?

He groans as if the noise will silence those nightmarish scenarios. Jason’s hands pull at his hair and he paces back and forth in thought.

“Fuck it.” He grumbles.

He throws his black leather jacket on, keys and helmet in hand. Tying the laces to his boots, he twists the knob and opens the door.

“Y/n?!”

His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his skull.

Your eyebrows jump at his sudden shout, clearly not expecting this welcome.

“Umm… expecting someone else?”

He shakes his head vigorously, depicting a relieved expression.

You chuckle at him and step inside. Jason never takes his eyes off of you, he locks the door with muscle memory.

“No, God, no. I was just worried— where were you?”

You feel the butterflies swarm your belly at his concern.

“I had to throw the trash out and it wasn't too far so I didn't take my car.” You point at the small bowl by the door and sure enough, your keys are in there.

He follows the beeline from your finger and can only say one thing.

“Oh.”

Oh? Oh?? You were losing your mind over some simple chore and all you can say is ‘Oh.’?

Jason feels stupid.

How could he not try to look for the one obvious thing you can’t go anywhere without? Just jumping to the worst conclusions without thinking straight.

He chuckles in disbelief, bringing a hand to cover the top half of his face in embarrassment.

“I’m so fucking—”

“Altruistic.”

You knew he was going to berate himself in humiliation and think of himself as stupid or some second thing so you brought it upon yourself to dismiss that notion.

Jason is floored by your ability to see things in a different light, one that makes others orientate their original position.

He never thought about it that way. Not once did it occur to him that he was being thoughtful, caring, considerate. Altruistic.

It's true that he's a vigilante. An anti-hero, if you will. Protecting others and being altruistic are synonymous.

However, to him; it's a foreign concept to be on the receiving end. He thinks it's suffocating to be looked after as if he were a child. Especially when people (his father) do things that they (bruce wayne) deem best for someone (him).

Well, he used to up until a week and a half ago. Until you came along.

“Altruistic.” He repeats, feeling the word roll off his tongue.

“You know, the term used to describe people who go out of their way to do something for someone?”

You're only joking, playing around with him.

He sees it, though. He knows you're trying to lighten the mood because of what you don't know.

Jason just nods, a short chuckle sounding as he responds to your dry wit.

“Right, right. Yeah. I think I've heard of that somewhere.”

You laugh. You laugh and it feels nice. Probably because it's the first time you've truly laughed in some time.

Jason wants to encase some of your laughter in a jar and shake it around when he feels down.

It’s a lovely sound, he notes. Like a satisfying tinkering that makes your mind just slow down for a bit. Relax and take a moment to just breathe.

Your short huffs of air dissipate. “You catch on pretty fast.”

“That I do.”

If only you knew. he thinks. He wants to tell you that it's okay to cry, to let the part of yourself break and piece back. He wants you to know that you don't have to pretend nothing's wrong and that the obvious elephant in the room can be addressed.

Instead, he doesn't do either of those things. Jason doesn't think he's earned the right to reassure you of things like that. He doesn't think it's his place but oh, the irony.

Jason Todd feels like a 16 year old boy again.

Not in the sense of being immature, stupid, and reckless. More to do with the matter of his growing body and the feelings that come with it.

He’s big, huge, even. He knows he takes up more space than he means to occupy so he does what he thinks is the least he can do.

For example, he eats more than the average man so he insists on helping with the groceries by paying for them sometimes.

You argue, and boy do you lock it down; but it’s in vain when he looks at you with those deep eyes and mutters a small, ‘just let me do this for you’.

For me.

You’re weak when he asserts himself against your judgement.

He feels 16 again when you look at him with nothing but unwavering care and respect.

He used to get those looks, he remembered. Once upon a time where he wasn’t undead.

It was from the boy he respects the most; his older brother.

Jason started getting dreams since the first night he slept in your apartment.

Usually, he can’t sleep and when he did; he’d get nightmares. But not this time around.

He dreams of a time in the past, one where he’s not beating on a lowly thug or vice-versa.

It’s oddly bright but not blinding, the daylight fills in color nicely.

You’re sitting on a bed— he believes it to be your old one— and you’re making something out of nothing.

“Whatcha doin’?” You say without breaking eye contact from the scissors cutting a heart shape into the cardboard paper.

Jason registers you’re talking to him but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Is this real?”

You snort and shake your head.

“No, Jace. You’re in a sleep-induced coma and I’m the light that’s come to finally take you away.”

A wide grin has slowly etched itself onto his lips, it lifts his cheeks and creases his eyes.

He sees your excellent timing for witty quips is still there. He also notes the way you carry yourself around his presence. You’re relaxed, calm.

You’re still the same you.

He sits at the edge down of the bed and you look at him with offense.

“Why’re you sitting so far away?” You pout

“But I’m right here.”

You lightly groan and reach out to pull him closer to you, his knees touch your thigh and only then are you satisfied.

“Better.” You express to him.

Jason takes this moment to get a good look at you.

He’s sure you’ve grown into your features now, time and style enhancing your appearance.

Everyone changes physically but he realizes it’s the inside he’s looking for.

“Jay?”

“Hm?”

“Wake up.”

That makes his heart drop out of his ass. He nervously blinks. “What?”

You look at him like you know. Like you know he doesn’t belong here, in the past.

“Wake up.”

You say once again but your lips aren’t moving. Why aren’t your lips moving?

“Hey, Jason. Wake up.”

He sharply gasps when he sits up, soft pants escape his throat and you’re here.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” You reassure.

Your hands are on his shoulder and you’re sitting on the bed.

There’s a small nightlight plugged in beside the door to the bathroom and it illuminates your figure.

He makes out your face in the dark and once he realizes, he winds down.

“I couldn’t breathe.”

You nod. “I know. I was getting some water when I heard you wheezing.”

You were scared. You were worried and he knows it. He hears it in your wavering voice.

“I’m okay now.”

Jason doesn’t know why he feels the need to comfort you but he does.

Your hands aren’t on his shoulders anymore but he feels the warmth your touch leaves behind.

“I’m fine.” He murmurs again.

You just nod and get up to leave when his hand darts out to wrap around your fingers.

“…I had a dream. Er, nightmare? I dunno… A mix of both, I guess.”

You sit down and he wonders why he’s telling you this but the need to tell you overshadows his want to keep it inside.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

You hope asking him won’t trigger anything because the last thing you want is to be nosy.

“We were in your room, I’m pretty sure. You were younger, though. Fifteen.”

You recall the moments Jason would sneak in from your bedroom window in your youth. He was 16 and you, 15.

Good times.

“You were making something… I don’t remember what, exactly.” He squints and moves his hands around, trying to recall the events leading up to the imagery. “I heard your voice telling me to ‘wake up’ but your lips weren’t moving.”

He looks at you, coming to an understanding. “Because you were telling me to wake me up in real time.”

You look at him and can’t help but feel sad.

“I'm sorry” You whisper, not trusting your voice.

Instantly, Jason cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the skin under your eyes tenderly.

“I’m not.” He assures. “If this is what has to happen to me to remember you then I'm good with it.”

You close your eyes and sigh, your palms full with the bunched up material of your shorts.

He tilts his head closer to you, as if the distance is what's keeping you from truly seeing what's in his eyes.

“Look at me.” He gently asks.

You comply and he almost crumbles with how much you've managed to hide from him.

His eyebrows raise a little and come together in ruth. “Don't hide from me. Don't hide how you really feel.”

Jason doesn't know how he's doing this— touching you and saying all the right things. The words are just spilling out and for once, he can't stop himself.

Maybe because it's almost 3am and that's when his tongue and spine meet; to relay all emotion without a hiccup. 3am is when he's unabashed in his feeling, unafraid of his truth.

You stare. Your big, beautiful eyes pick at the spare parts of his woeful soul and you see. You see the windows of his soul tainted with an unimaginable sorrow.

“I can't.” You choke out.

How can you not hide yourself from him? How can you look at him and not want to open up your heart and let him see what's growing inside?

You're grief-stricken, he's melancholic. That isn't going anywhere.

“Y/n.” He implores you to reason with him. To give him a chance at witnessing you.

You feel like you’re drowning. You can’t breathe, your chest hurts and you feel your lungs constrict.

You can’t tell him how you really feel. He already feels guilty as is so how are you supposed to just let him read your mind?

To know how much you long for someone who can’t remember what you mean to them, to see how badly the lack of their presence has affected you.

Jason has no idea what realizing those things does to a person, what impact it’ll have on him.

He’s not ready.

“I… Good night, Jason.” You heave.

He watches you walk away, cutting him deep and leaving him to bleed dry.

The next morning can only be described as awkward. Tense awkwardness, actually.

There’s been no sign of you leaving your room since last night and it’s currently half past 2.

Jason hasn’t slept since you left the room. He was up all night evaluating all the possible outcomes from that point on.

Should he leave?

He knows you won’t ask him to but he wouldn’t abide by the request, anyway. He’s become selfish.

Yes, Jason Todd has grown accustomed to you and this little life of peace but he can’t be blamed. This is what he signed up for when he put a ring on it.

The ring. Your ring.

Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s seen you wearing it 24/7. Your left wedding finger is always donning the engagement ring, not once do you take it off.

Even when washing the dishes.

It is at this moment he has an epiphany. You were so close to letting your walls come down but seeing how afraid he was, painted in a foreign frame; you backed down.

He’s suddenly conscious of how much anguish you’re willing to put up with if it means for him to experience a minimal amount.

You want him to remember you without accepting the consequences of mental strain. You don’t want him to push past his anxiety, to make him face his fear of the unknown; but you’ll face your tears on your own.

A deep anger simmers inside him.

The amount of selflessness you’ve shown is incredibly unfair.

Isn’t marriage a united proposition? Isn’t his duty as your husband to make your problems his, to support you through all things good and bad?

You just backed away without giving him a chance to fully comprehend you.

How could you do that? Why did you do that?

Jason’s made a visceral statement in your life and he must know. He has to remember.

With a newfound confidence, he vows to try harder. He vows to push himself past the brink of frustration to remember you. He vows to do whatever it takes and replace that vacant look in your eyes with all those years of love and care.

He swings the door open and strides towards your bedroom. He knocks, a gentle rhythm of rapping. “Y/n? Are you there?”

He waits about 30 seconds before knocking and calling out your name again.

Nothing. No response.

Jason thinks about trying the knob but the last thing he wants is to scare you away.

Invading your privacy is a hard pass but he has to get through to you. He feels as if he’s running out of time.

In a desperate attempt to get a hold of you, he twists the knob but finds the space empty without you.

He goes to the bowl by the door and finds no sight of your keys but a sticky note, instead. Be back soon it reads.

Jason walks back to your room, standing in the middle of the doorway; unsure.

There’s a magnet inside that’s poking him, coaxing him to come in.

He knows he shouldn’t but would he find clues to a past life?

He tentatively steps inside, his eyes wandering around the interior.

Your color theme is fitting. Very you.

The walls are painted a nice color in coordination to your queen sized bedding. There’s a small bedside table with a couple of drawers with the most unique lamp he’s ever seen— a white lily of the valley flower and the bulb is inside!

It’s so you. He huffs out air through his nose and smiles.

He spots a halfway closed journal with a pen inside, marking a spot atop the desk.

No. I can’t.

But he wants to. He wants to know so bad what you’re really like. Who you are when you’re not performing for anyone else.

Jason wants to read the thoughts you keep buried so deep inside yourself, the secrets your heart closets. The pains your soul harbors.

But he can’t break the only trust he’s so worked so hard to build.

Jason runs his fingers across the spine of the book, feeling the embroidered thread run along.

There’s a poster above the table, one of your favorite movies.

A flash of color and sound hits his senses all at once. It looks like a memory of the movie.

Laughter, soft gasps, theatrical music to invoke foreboding feeling; only to be met with an emotional resolution from the unfortunate scene.

Tears run down your face as the beloved character faces his untime demise.

You couldn’t believe this. After all this time, all that character development, and he just… dies?

Jason doesn’t seem as tore up about it as you are but he feels for the character.

“He doesn’t deserve this.” You sniffle.

Jason nods, his arm around makes you close you in on his side and he rubs your arm up and down in a soothing manner. “I know.”

Jason exhales harshly, like he’d been holding a breath for too long.

He moves around, trying to find more things to jog his memory.

A glass jewelry box filled with pearls, gold, silver and rose gold jewelry catch his attention.

Where have I seen this before?

It’s like déjà vu except he can feel some kind of attachment to the object.

A finger lifts the lid and he finds a gold pole with a miniature ballerina glued onto it, separating the box into four sections.

“Happy birthday, Y/n!”

You’re surprised, of course a “simple dinner” wasn’t so simple. Nothing with Jason is, and that’s the beauty of being with him.

“Open my gift first!” Stephanie exclaimed.

You chuckled at her excitement and tore off the wrapping paper, ignoring everyone’s eyes gauging your reaction.

You softly gasp as the gift becomes visible, the beautiful glass case exceeding your expectations of a perfect jewelry box.

“Thank you, Steph.” You envelop her in a tight embrace, feeling oddly emotional.

“Welcome to the family.” She warmly congratulates.

It wasn’t official, not yet; but to be loved is to be seen. Feeling so loved by people who love Jason is fulfilling.

He watches as the two most important women in his life warm up to one another and he thinks of how blessed he is.

He blinks and is transported back into the present.

It’s working.

A joyous laughter exits his lips, the air filling his once empty lungs with a newfound hope.

A picture frame of you and him lies on your dresser.

He’s carrying you in his arms bridal style while your head is tipped back; an expressive look of joy on your face. He’s looking directly at the camera, donning a proud smirk in front of the apartment.

You two are in color while the rest of the background is in black and white.

There’s a small note at the bottom left, written in cursive. Congrats to our fav couple! with a smiley face next to it.

It’s like salt on the wound, seeing this photo.

He can feel his heart growing hands, scratching at the scar on his chest to be let out. To be freed from this torment of feeling.

The photo depicts everything he used to wished for, everything he had and everything that’s faded right now.

Your diamond ring shines brightly, competing with your smile and his eyes.

His index finger traces an outline of you and him. “I’m coming back to you.” He whispers.

You've been gone for quite some time, a little over 3 hours but you needed the time. You needed the hours to take a long reflection of the current state of things.

You kept thinking he wasn't ready but you realized that it was you. You weren't ready. Aren't ready? You don't know.

How does one find a way to cope with severe loss only for the pain and yearning to be diminished overnight.

Literally, overnight for you.

Events of last night come washing over your brain like a montage of your top 10 most embarrassing moments. It easily takes the place for #1.

You sigh, curling your fingers into your hair and gently tugging on them to punish yourself.

He didn’t deserve that. Just because you’re frightened of the future doesn’t mean he has to be on the receiving end of your cowardice.

You have to talk to him, to make this right.

You come back home at a reasonable time; right before you should start preparing for dinner.

It’s kind of dark, like a gloomy gray shadow blankets your living room.

But you see him. He’s sitting on the sofa waiting for your arrival.

“Jason.” You say his name so softly, he almost doesn’t hear it.

Another side effect from being baptized by the forbidden vat of acid are his attuned senses.

“I was waiting for you.” His voice is louder and clearer compared to yours.

“I know.” You nod.

“We need to talk.” He stands slowly, not wanting to alarm you.

“We do.”

“Then why don’t we?”

The desperation seeps into his throat but he doesn’t care. He can’t help it.

You shuffle your feet, feeling lighter on your steps.

“I’m afraid.”

Your admission is out of fear, anxiety, all things quiet. But it’s brave, sound, and all things hopeful.

Your sober judgement brings him closer to you.

“I can’t lose you again, Jason.”

You’re teetering on the edge of holding back and letting go.

He sees that.

Jason slowly brings his hands up, stopping at the length of your elbow. He’s still hesitant, wanting to touch you but nervous of the contact.

“You won’t.” He’s sure of himself. “I’m right here.”

He takes a hold of your elbows and his thumb subconsciously rubs up and down the skin.

You look into his eyes and all you see is the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

He’s still in there.

“I’m trying. For you… for us.” He whispers the two-lettered word and it weighs heavy with the connotation.

“I just need you to throw me a bone.”

Despite the plea, he gives you a lopsided smile. One that shows he’s not annoyed or agitated with you.

And it makes you huff through your nose.

“Please?” He tries once more, a cute demeanor taking the place of his more serious tone.

You nod with pursed lips. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He whispers back.

You sit next to him on the sofa, sitting upright and where he can your side profile. Jason leans back in a small manspread.

“Where do you wanna start?” You ask.

Jason sits on this for a moment.

There’s so much he wants to know and at very different points in time. He thinks to tell you about his progress, the fleeting reels of the entire picture he envisioned.

Ultimately, he decides to have a go at the start.

“What was I like? To you, I mean.”

It shouldn’t surprise you that he asked one of the most obvious questions but it does. It surprises you because he hasn’t changed much.

You smile softly to yourself as time turns back. “You’re kind, gentle. Soft-spoken, loyal and so easy to talk to.”

He notices how you speak of him in present tense and not past like how he initially asked.

“You’re still the same.” You point.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

You tilt your head. “How do you mean?”

“I, uh.” He sighs deeply. “I don’t know how to go back to how things… were.”

It’s not an admission of guilt, so why does it feel like one?

“I don’t either.”

You bounce your knee, a subconscious habit.

Jason picks up on it though. Before he can control himself, it slips out.

“Stop that.”

You stop and meet his gaze.

He looks shocked at himself. “I- I’m sorry. I don’t know why... how—?”

“I do.” You say. “You used to say that when I’d get ahead of myself. In my thoughts.”

“In your thoughts?” He parrots.

You just nod enthusiastically, so happy with this sign of progress. “Yes! You could just tell what was going on with me.”

He nods, crossing one leg over the other.

“I didn’t mean to tell you to stop bouncing your leg.” He clarifies. “It just… it felt natural to say that.”

“It’s completely okay. I mean it.”

You titter and Jason thinks of wind chimes.

“What else?”

He hums in thought. “Our relationship.”

“I was fifteen and you, sixteen.”

Jason’s immediately reminded of his dream.

“Sorry to interrupt but was my dream real? Was that an actual memory?”

Your lips turn up at this attention to detail. “Yes. I was working on a project for my midterm and you came over to keep me company.”

“Woah.” He breathes. “We’ve known each other for that long.”

“Yeah, you asked me out a little after that and we’ve been together ever since.”

Jason thinks of his adoptive father. “Did Bruce know?”

You think of all the times you’d gone over to the mansion and acquainted yourself with its people.

“He said I was ‘probably the only good thing going’ in your life.” You quote his words and can’t help but feel a sadness for him.

You lost your lover, a piece of your heart. But he lost his son.

“Y/n?” Jason calls your name.

Your neutral expression shifts to that of being pulled from daydreaming.

“Yeah.” You blink.

Jason catches the swift switch up and wants to know if you’ll dodge him when he asks.

“Where’d you go just now?”

A lie sits on the tip of your tongue but you realize that you can’t keep him or yourself from the truth anymore. You can’t keep shielding yourselves from the inevitable reality.

“You made me think of Bruce.” You say honestly.

The man who’d gone to the ends of the Earth for vengeance. The man who was about to break his “no kill” rule.

Jason has yet to extend a helping hand in mending their fractured relationship. One person at a time he thinks.

“We got engaged young. I was nineteen.” You twist the ring around your finger.

“Was I romantic enough?”

His eyes are filled with mirth when your cheeks pull back and reveal your teeth.

Your smile is so beautiful. He takes a mental picture of it every time you show a variation.

The creases at the corners, the dimples, and lines all make your smile only that much better.

He wants to make you smile more. He’s so lost in the way your lips move that he forgets the original question.

“You proposed over a candlelit dinner at my favorite restaurant.”

He grows shy at the sentiment, hanging his head down and covering his face with a hand while his body shakes with mirth.

“Wow.” He muses.

You laugh at him, in the mood for some light teasing. “What, you getting shy Todd?”

His head snaps up at the fondness dripping from your tone at his last name. He’d never heard someone say his name like that before.

“No.”

He can deny it all he wants but the faint hue of red creeping up on his face says otherwise.

“You had the band play a song, too.”

You want to see if he can get this. It’s an incredibly important detail, one of which encompasses a very loving memory.

He racks his head around for this. A song. A song? There’s so many, which one could set the atmosphere for a promise of lifelong commitment?

Then, it’s like the whole room changes. An oil spill mirage of the restaurant paints the room.

You’re in a black dress, your hair’s done nice.

He closes his eyes and he can almost feel the air all those years ago.

The familiar melody of the tune rings in his ears and he knows he’s got it for sure.

Jason opens his eyes and is brought back to the present.

“The Flamingos.” He says.

It’s like he can still hear the song playing softly over conversation.

“I only have eyes…”

“For you.” You finish the lyric.

You two giggle, feeling silly and slightly awkward but it’s fulfilling. It’s like how it used to be.

He clicks his tongue, content with the shared experience.

“What about you?” He wonders.

“What about me?”

“Your life.”

Oh. Right.

Your eyelids flutter in a half-blink and suddenly the carpet is the most interesting thing in the world.

“My whole life fell apart. I didn’t know how to get through the day.”

I forgot how is left unsaid.

Jason eyes your mask slipping away.

“I was twenty when you were murdered.”

Murdered, he was murdered. That’s the truth.

The Joker was put away in jail for his crimes against humanity while Jason— your Jason— was lying the cold, hard ground. Barely breathing yet still alive

“I, uhh… quit college for a year. Couldn’t do it.” You pitifully chuckle at yourself.

You sharply inhale when your emotions come bubbling up to the surface again. “I eventually went back and finished my degree. Graduated cum laude at twenty-four.”

His eyes crease as his pride and joy defied the odds for her life. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” You shyly grin.

He drums his fingers along his knees.

It occurs to you that despite your life’s lost momentum, the momentum on Jason’s life picked up faster than it ever had.

“And you?”

He doesn’t expect to be interviewed. “What about me?”

“What were you doing for the past four and a half years?”

Sweat forms under his palms and he subconsciously rubs them along his pajama pant clad thighs. Jason feels his face turn warm, he prays the redness doesn’t bloom along his cheeks.

“…I’d rather not talk about that.”

You give him a knowing look. “Jason.”

He winces, an eye closing while he sucks in air from his teeth. “Why do you sound like an upset mother?”

An incredulous laugh bubbles in your throat. “I'm not upset, just don't want you pulling a me."

He relents. “Okay, okay, alright. Fine, you win.”

He deeply sighs, rubbing his eyes and you turn your body to fully face him. You're legs are crossed and you sit up straight.

“You know Talia al Ghul.”

You nod, Damien’s mother isn’t exactly a popular subject but he is.

“She resurrected me using the pit and brought me back to train under the League of Assassins and the All-Caste.”

He was training for all those years?

“Training… for what?”

A grim expression overtakes his features. “I wanted to kill Bruce because I thought he left me to die.”

Pity is the last thing he wants but you can’t help but feel bad for him. He was tortured for so long, in the worst ways possible only to be mislead like that in the end.

“And now?” You hope he’s changed his mind.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

You unknowingly smile. “Okay. Yeah, that’s good.”

“I spent the last six months focusing solely on being a vigilante.”

“A vigilante.” You repeat.

Yes, you know there's more than what he's letting on but you want to hear his story from him. Isn't that what people who care for the other do?

“Yeah, I took care of the bad guys and started a little side hustle of my own.” He says it like it's no big deal

“I wouldn't call being a drug slash crime lord a ‘little’ side hustle.”

Jason's face blanks, he pales as you reveal the overall tone behind his cryptic message.

“You know.”

“Dick told me after he showed up with you.”

His eyes seemed to look right through you.

For the first time, you couldn't tell what was going on with him. You could no longer discern the distinction between his feelings and thoughts.

“Don't be mad. Please.” Your bargain comes rushing out.

“I'm not mad,” He voices in a hushed manner. “...’m just thinking.”

“Tell me.” You hesitantly put a hand on his. "I want to know what you're thinking."

A deep breath is sucked into his lungs. “I'm thinking about how much I want you.”

You dart back and forth between his eyes. He watches as your irises move between his slightly changed ones but contunues.

“I'm thinking about how someone like you can be with someone like me.”

He shifts his body slightly in your direction, wanting to close this space.

“I’m thinking about how despite everything, I've changed in more ways than one and you've still remained the same.”

“That's not true.” You shake your slightly.

“But it is, Y/n. My senses are heightened, my body isn't the same. I-I’m constantly feeling like I’m missing something and yet you're still here.”

Why wouldn't you be?

“Why, Y/n? Why haven't you given up on me?”

The answer to his questions are simple because it's the same answer. Yet, you're finding it difficult to say it it this moment.

“Why did you stop me from shutting you out?” You ask instead.

He stares at you, contemplating blurting out the thoughts and feelings that have plagued him since epiphany.

“Because I...”

You lean into him. “Because you?”

Jason looks away and shuts his eyes, trying to contain his brain running on a hundred thoughts per second.

“I… care about you, okay? And I’m not the same man I was before but I care.”

Your hands slide on top of his and the coldness of his knuckles diminish as your warmth spreads. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Tears fill your eyes and he melts. His eyebrows furrow and forms a wrinkle.

“I hate it when you cry.” He says as his palm encompasses the back of your neck and he pushes you into his shoulder.

You hold his arms as you sniffle lightly into his bicep as his other hand rubs your back up and down.

“I know you’re different but he still lives inside you. I can see it.”

Jason thinks about that. Is it possible?

If you didn’t change so much then could it be that there’s a chance for him to connect to that version of himself?

It was never about going back. It was never about denying his existence now and stick who he was onto his back.

It’s always been about adapting to change. Learning to let go what doesn’t serve you and accepting that with time, you must change, too.

Jason may recover the lost pieces of who he used to be but he still has to learn who he is.

“We can make new memories.” Your watery voice croaks.

You sit back and look at him, really take your time to absorb this moment. Him. Us.

“It doesn’t matter how long it takes for everything to come back. We can still make the best of what we have now.”

He stares at you and knows you’re on the same plane as him. You always were.

He cups your face and tilts your head towards him, pressing a kiss to your head. You close your eyes at his touch.

“We will.”

[luxusdollhouse]

3 dabloons (LTLI art)

The first two … i redesigned ira and their mommy (Junebug) a bit . I like the idea of them identifying more as Creole and both of them being multiracial, so i edited their designs to reflect that better…. I think the racial ambiguity of junebug reads better but her hair throws me off a bit (it used to be curly but she bleached and straightened it to shit lol)

And then eden .!!!! I love her… she’s a little cranky

[impositioned]

5,17,23 :) for the fic asks!

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

i have a kendall/roman/mencken idea but I'm stupid as fuck, so.

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

nothing you learned in your research is useless. Even if it doesn't end up in writing --- maybe the reference didn't quite work, or the tone changed and you don't need that story about them slipping on ice anymore --- it still informs the character. Even if you're the only one who knows about it. I'd like to think of it as thrifting with your characters. Maybe they changed their mind about the coat. It will still be in their closet. They will think about it when it's cold.

there are no weird questions

23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)?

sometimes I end up writing the ending first so it's quite easy if that's the case. i only have one multi-chapter fic to show for and with ltli i'd like to think each chapter invokes a different tone or feeling so this kind of directed the narrative too. I don't know if this makes sense!

Thank you oomf :)

[luxusdollhouse]

It was a bit of both for the differences in the au’s! The canon compliant stuff was more like an off shoot au of how i perceive khux, but once i started talking and thinking about it more i was like, actually this needs to be its own separate thing . I didn’t originally plan to write a full fledged fic about it but again as I developed it more i was like “okay, i GOTTA write about this bc i know at least ONE other person will fuck with it” (and somehow that turned out to be you! Lmao i still am so surprised that you like my au as much as you do so thank you for reading 🫡)

Honestly i cant remember exactly how i originally wanted the au to play out because it was locked in art mode for a while . It kinda still? But in the way where i make art that’s supposed to emulate REAL tangible things like photographs and stuff (there is SO much extra media i wanna make for this au, i’m really inspired by the music artist Ethel Cain and how she created a lot of physical media for her album! One of my favorites is the yearbook spread she made for the album’s main character, i actually have a digital yearbook from the high school iraced would’ve went to from the year they would’ve graduated and i would love to make something like a yearbook spread. I want to make newspaper clippings like the one i mentioned in the microfilm chapter, or from the day luxu disappeared/was found, or when gloria was found. I’ve made a lot of photos, but i wanna make more!!!!! I just feel like I literally never have the time . Also i wanna write more written media like when we get into the later chapters theres a loooot of things i wanna write that aren’t chapters/other fics but like… documents and interviews… but that’s all i’ll say on that for now…. :))

And yeah its really funny because i’ve developed ira in a really weird way, i had them more closely resembling canonical Ira but as time went on i was like, nah theyre a really silly girl theyre just here to have fun and live their life however they wanna yknow . Also hysterically in the beginning I didn’t consciously write aced as autistic but the more i wrote the more i was like DAMN THIS MF AUTISTIC AS SHIT!!!! And then i hit him with the dyslexia beam too and yeah he’s awkward and weird but for ira its apart of his charm (and theyre also weird as fuck too theyre just better at hiding it)

OKAY. Sits in front of you . So no to me i dont think it veers to close into spoiler territory because it was SO different to what we have now so im okay with sharing :)

So originally this au was actually supposed to just be a personal art project bc when i first started having ideas for it i was having a lot of mento illness bc someone i knew was murdered + i was becoming interested in missing persons cases (kinda as a result? Not really) and i kept seeing all of these different cases where these kids just disappeared and were never seen again and to this day have never been found and it made me really sad like i wanted closure for their families so, as i do, i made a story about getting closure to cope with it

Something really funny about this au is that actually the very early stages of it were canon compliant, but somewhere along the line i changed it to be a mod au, then I changed it again to take place in the south in the 90s, but then i changed it to Missouri (my home state! I’m sure i’ve mentioned it before but Potosi is a real town in Missouri that i’ve visited multiple times and is an area i love, the creek that i mentioned luxu/gloria being dumped in is an actual creek called Breton Creek, here’s a photo of it! (Idk if i’ve mentioned it before, either, but Ira/Bia’s church is the Breton Creek Baptist Church, here’s their facebook page))

Another thing is that i originally didn’t have Ira doing all the silly bullshit that theyre doing now, i think i made an offhand joke about it to matt ONE time and i actually really liked the idea so i made it canon LMFAO, a lot of ira’s character came to me like that, i didnt think of them as being cajun until a bit in

Thats just SOME stuff about it but yeah i’ll bounce off you when you respond so i dont send like a 5+ paragraph essay about my au LMFAO (also the walmart iraced go to is real but i’ve never been to it sadly so thats an iraced landmark me and matt have to make the trek to)

I thought I remembered you saying something about the story originally be made to cope with things! Man, though, that sucks to have to go through; hopefully the story's helped with getting a little bit of closure, at least.

Oh, interesting that it used to be more canon-compliant! What were the original thoughts for how that'd play out? And were the ideas for the modern AU similar to what ended up actually being written or still pretty different?

Haha, characters...really are just like that sometimes. "Wait, that's what we're doing? ...Okay I guess that's what we're doing." Interesting that so much of Ira's character ended up being like that!

[gayerthanevertbh]

the start of everything - let the light in pt.1

navigations | wanda & natasha masterlist

pairings: married!natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff

summary: natasha is going through a difficult divorce, which is causing her to be stressed. that's when she decided to go to a strip club, where she met a young girl who piqued her interest. soon, feelings are involved, which the older woman fears.  

warnings: huge age difference (nat 39; wanda 19), smut, dirty talking, daddy kink, slight angst - 18+ MINORS DNI.

author’s note: this series will be in ao3 and wattpad, since i don’t know if the story here will blow up but hopefully you will enjoy the first chapter as soon as possible!

After a heated argument with her soon-to-be ex-wife, Maria, Natasha knew she needed to feel better. Following their altercation, the older woman drove away from their home and is now at the end of Broadway street. She clutched the steering wheel tightly, debating whether she should go inside the club or not. It might be useful, she reasoned, to try to brighten her situation. After some time, she got out of her Mercedes Benz and walked towards the front entrance.

Natasha had no reservations about entering the club, knowing she was of legal drinking age and had the necessary funds. She opened the door and entered the club's long corridor, which led her to dim fluorescent red lights and haunting music in the background. When she turned to her left, she saw a stage with two girls dancing on the pole, with men cheering for them to do more sinful things. She didn't want that; she wanted someone who could fuck.

There was a bar area on the right side of the corner, so she sat down on a stool and ordered a scotch. The redhead took a look around her surroundings. She didn't feel like she belonged here, and she didn't. Natasha was a devoted lover of Maria who spent years with her. But as their marriage crumbled, she began fantasizing about fucking another girl in her bed. Someone younger and sweeter. Perhaps innocent. Natasha didn't want to pick a girl off the street; she wanted something similar to there, where she knew her social standing. She didn't mind paying, but a quick conversation with the person she's fucking with seemed to help her case.

"What are you tryna find here?" asked the bartender, who was smirking at her.

"I want to fuck a girl." replied Natasha with a shrugged, taking a gulp from her scotch.

"It seems like it," he said, shaking a glass. "Why don't you go inside one of those VIP rooms? Maybe you'll find your girl there."

"After this drink, maybe."

He takes a good look at her before asking, "Are you new here?" she nodded in response. "It seems like it, why don't I introduce a girl to you? She's not your age, though. Unless you like them young."

"I do like them young," Natasha said emphatically, almost smirking to herself. She had previous relationships with girls who were a few years younger than her. But now that she is 38, she is looking for someone at least a decade younger than her. She felt like a predator, and she might have been. But being with someone who was young and wild felt better. "Where is she?"

He set the glass down on the counter before calling out her name, Wanda. Natasha liked the name and asked the man if she was Russian. He shrugged, unsure what she was saying. Perhaps she was Russian, she thought kindly and continued to drink from her glass. A minute later, the young girl showed up with a laced black bra resting on her chest, matching her underwear. Natasha looked at her for a while, noticing that she wasn't wearing anything that could protect her. Either way, she didn't mind. She needed to take her to a motel or something, she was the right girl for her.

"She's 19 and negative," the man whispered to Natasha from Wanda's side. Something to do with: go to her, and the young girl did as she was told. She approached Natasha with an expressionless face and extended her hand.

"Wanda Maximoff," the girl introduced herself. Natasha only nodded and shook her hand, her appendage suddenly aching in her pants. Wanda was stunning, with her brown hair falling over her shoulders and legs that seemed to go on forever. She was perfect enough to be her fucktoy. "You are?"

"Natasha Romanoff," Natasha introduced herself with a sly grin, shaking her hand. "You're awfully pretty."

"Not surprised by that at all, but thank you."

"You can take her somewhere," the bartender said as he returned to his job. Natasha only smiled briefly at him before standing up and watching Wanda take her coat and wrap it around her body. She knew it was bitterly cold in New York tonight, and she didn't want to shiver in her client's seat. "Go have fun, Ms. Romanoff! She's splendid."

They arrived at a motel that was a little out of the way from the main city. Natasha entered the room, taking Wanda's hand in hers, and closing the door behind them. She felt terrible about it, but was intrigued by the situation they were in.

Wanda sat quietly on the edge of the bed and slowly removed her coat before Natasha could ask, "Don't. Allow me to do that.""

"But–"

"Just be quiet for me tonight," the woman said, and the girl went completely silent. She turned to face her and smiled to herself, unsure whether she should smirk or not. She moves closer to the girl before rubbing her knuckles against her left cheek. She's so sweet. "Are you a virgin?"

Natasha was taken aback when the girl shook her head.

"I wish you were," Natasha sighed pitifully, continuing to tease her cheek. "You look so pretty like this."

The bed wasn't particularly comfortable, but it served its purpose. The ceiling lights were dimmed due to the age of the motel, but Natasha didn't mind. She was completely satisfied with the location she chose; at the very least, they were both far away from the city crowd. Wanda had no choice but to stare at her, so the older woman leans in close and kisses her on the lips, quietly moaning from how the young girl's lips feel against hers.

She pulled away, her mouth trembling from the kiss.

"You taste sweet," she said to herself as she continued to stroke Wanda's cheek. "Just like I expected you to be."

"C-Can I ask a question?" the girl whispered.

"Of course."

Wanda hesitated for a moment before asking, "What are we going to do tonight? So that I'm aware with the time you're with me."

Natasha sat down beside her and touched her inner left thigh, squeezing it. The young (Russian?) girl let out a breathy sigh, wanting to snap her legs closed. "Maybe for two hours," the woman replied, kissing her shoulder. "Depends how much I want to play with you."

"You sound desperate." said Wanda.

"I am," Natasha replied back, smirking to herself. "Aren't you desperate for me?"

"I think you're by far the prettiest client I've ever seen."

The woman chuckled, tucking a strand of her hair behind Wanda's ear. "Please, I'm at least two decades older than you."

"R-Really?" the older woman nodded. "D-Don't you have kids?"

Natasha sighed, surprised by the recollection of her conversation with Maria. They had always wanted children, it was just Natasha didn't want them at that age.

"No, I don't have kids."

"Do you have a wife?"

"I'm going through a divorce," she simply stated as she removed her white shirt. Wanda couldn't help but bite her own lip when she saw her bare torso, her cleavage exposed. "It's okay, no one has to know about us."

"Are you saying you'd want me back after this?"

"Mhm," Natasha hummed, smiling at the young girl.

Wanda went silent for a bit before saying, "Okay, what do you want me to do now?"

"I want to fuck you," Natasha said quietly as she kissed the young girl again. Their lips mended together as if they were designed to be together. In her mind, the woman wondered, How could someone so lovely be in my presence? How is she enthralled all over my head? "I want to fuck you hard and fast, until I'm done with your body."

"Oh," Wanda moaned as she felt the older woman's lips on her neck, then to her collarbone. "M-Mrs. Romanoff..."

Wanda's coat, which had been covering her bare body as she threw it across the room, was finally removed, revealing her chest right in front of her green eyes. Natasha unclasps her bra and lets it fall down to her arms. She looks down at her breasts, which were quite large. She raised both hands and kneaded her breasts, causing the younger girl to throw her head back.

"You like that?"

"Mhm..."

"Good," she stated, bringing her mouth close to her left nipple. She gives it a blow, her cock begging to be sprung out when she watches Wanda moaning in front of her. "You want this?"

"I-I do," she mewled. "Please do something–"

"I need you to be quiet and take off your panties," Wanda couldn't figure out why Natasha's voice had turned cold. They had only been kissing and touching each other when the woman became as cold as ice. "Once you're finished, I need your ass up in the air."

Wanda turned her back and got on her knees as soon as she was naked, feeling her buttocks were too exposed for the older woman. Natasha breathed hard through her nostrils as she removed her pants along with her boxers. The young girl was taken aback by Natasha's appendage, prompting the older woman to smirk.

"Is it too big for you?" Natasha teased the young girl, who was biting her lower lip. She strokes her cock slowly, her hand resting at the base of her penis. "I promise it'll fit."

Natasha's morality began to erode the moment she climbed into bed with the girl and positioned herself on her frail body. She spits onto her cunt hole while pushing Wanda's face against the mattress, watching it clench before her eyes. She inhaled deeply, becoming addicted to her scent. She'd never smelled anything good in her life until Wanda showed up. Somehow, she thought that if she fucked the girl, she'd completely have this infatuation with her. But she prayed that didn't happen; she didn't want to grow attached to someone who could ruin her life.

"Your pussy is so wet," Natasha murmured into the thick air. "You want this, don't you?"

Wanda nodded, whispering, "Please, fuck me."

"You want me to fuck you, sweet girl?" she teased, indicating foreplay. Natasha strokes her cock until it hardens completely before pressing the tip of her cock through her entrance.

"Do you have a condom?" the girl asks. "I-I'm not on the pill."

"I can pull out..." she said quietly, pleading silently with the young girl to let her fuck her without it. She craved the sensation of a young pussy clenching around her length, wondering how warm she could be. It genuinely excited her.

"Okay," Wanda said, clenching her fist against the sheets beneath her hand. If she had to be honest, she was aroused by the prospect of an older woman fucking her from behind. "Please do pull out."

"I promise I will, don't worry."

Natasha took a deep breath before slowly inserting her cock into the young girl's pussy, muttering to herself when she was met with such tight walls around her tip that she had to rest her forehead against the girl's back. She clung to her hips, almost gripping her skin, and pushed in without hesitation. Wanda moans lewdly to her ear, opening herself up to the woman, as if begging to be fucked hard. They both remained in this position for a minute or two before the older woman gently pulled out.

"You're so tight," Natasha gasped while pushing her penis back into her vagina, her pelvis meeting with Wanda's ass. "So fucking tight for me, little girl. You like this, don't you?"

Wanda nodded, not sure if she could even speak with this beholding sensation.

As she slowly ruts into the girl, the older woman brings her hands to her ribs, slightly pushing her against the bed. She throws her head back at the sight of her cock going in and out of her cunt, slick juices coating her penis. "F-Fuck me harder, please," Wanda begged. "I want this."

"Shh," she leans her mouth to her ear as she bites the earlobe, moaning each time their skin meets. "Be quiet, remember? Let Daddy feel good, let me fucking pound this pussy."

Natasha begins to rock into Wanda, their wet skin slapping against each other as she moves deeper into the girl, the sound filling the entire motel room with no care in the world. Wanda bites into the sheets, her eyes tightly shut as Natasha's thick cock pounding into her cunt, every vein rubbing against her walls. Natasha's slight pubic hair was irritating her skin, but she didn't mind. She held on for dear life before whining aloud, causing the older woman to growl above her.

"Shh," she said to the girl, sloppy kissing the back of her shoulder and clinging to her. "Fuck, you're taking my dick so well–you're so wet, baby. Aren't you a little slut for me?"

"I am," she admitted, her throat bobbing with a sob. "I'm such a slut for you, Daddy."

"That's right," she grumbled, quickening her pace, causing the bed to creak so loudly that their pounding could be heard from outside the motel. "I'm your Daddy, little girl. Daddy's here to protect you... Daddy is pounding your slutty pussy."

"Daddy–" she mewled. "P-Please, oh god–"

Natasha growls above her, pressing her hips hard against the mattress, rolling her hips faster as she continues to feel the spot that penetrates Wanda, moaning and grunting each time their skin comes into contact. She pushes some of her hair away from her back and bites into her skin, causing the young girl beneath her to scream, turning her on even more. She whispers harshly, "You want Daddy fucking you like this? Her lollipop deep inside of you? Yeah, you wanted this... Daddy knows you want this t-too."

Wanda noticed that Natasha loves to talk dirty, especially treating her as if she was a little girl – but not in a pedophilic way, but more on just talking. She wanted to ask if the older woman had age play, but she knew that wasn't the right time to ask that specific question.

"I love it D-Daddy," she moans quietly, rustling her head all over the mattress. "I love it so much."

"You're gonna make me cum so hard," Natasha panted hard onto her skin, slipping her other hand to her breast as she gave it a hard squeeze, making Wanda scream with a high pitch. "You want to be heard so badly, huh? You want those bad men to hurt me? Huh? Quiet now, baby. Daddy is having so much fun with you."

She pulls out completely, then pushes back in without hesitation, feeling the young girl's depth tightening and tightening, knowing she was about to come soon. She moves at a brisk pace, pushing so hard inside the girl that the bed shakes, filling the room with noise. Natasha was completely taken aback by both of their sexes. She hadn't expected to fuck the girl this hard, and she hadn't done it in a long time, so she was surprised.

"Daddy, please come," Wanda pleaded loudly. "Please come, I need your come all over my body, please..."

Natasha starts pulling out and flipping the girl over, exposing her breasts to her eyes as she jerks her cock tightly, her balls heavy with cum. She looks down at the girl and grabs one of her breasts while touching herself. Wanda bites her lip, teasing her at the slightest provocation - and it works.

"You want my cum?" Natasha panted hard, her cockhead turning red as it begged to be spurted with her milk. "You want Daddy's cum all over your body?"

"Please–"

"Ugh, here it comes baby–here comes Daddy–Shit..." Natasha closes her eyes tightly as she felt her dick spurting widly onto Wanda's stomach, thick white cum sprawling all over her skin as she continues to jerk her cock, wrapping her hand around the tip to complete her sensation. She looks down at Wanda with hooded eyes as her cock continues to release more load, coating her stomach but not entirely. Wanda giggled, her fingers spreading around her tummy. "Oh baby, you wanna lick that up?"

"Mhm," she teases, bringing her index finger to her lips as she sucks hard at it. "Taste so good, Daddy."

"Yeah," the older woman sighed, sitting down on the foot of the bed and turning away from Wanda.

Natasha perked up after a long period of silence: "I'll be leaving money on the table as I go, you can sleep here if you want. Tell your boss that I will be seeing you again, if that's alright."

Wanda felt neglected with her own affection, but she could never say that out loud – why would she?

"Oh," her voice deflates with sadness, but still nodded. "O-Okay, goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

Natasha stood up and changed back into her clothes as she left Wanda's motel room, pushing the emotions away from her body. She just couldn't become attached to the young girl. If she even looked at Wanda for a second, she knew she'd fall helplessly in love with her - and their relationship would be over. She wanted to continue their devious affair (when it shouldn't be an affair) and wanted to explore more with her, the older woman wanted everything with her.

So she got back into her car and drove quietly down the road, smiling to herself. She wanted to do more with Wanda, and she would be smug about it.

how was this?

[pearlypairings]

November Writing Goal :) 400 words/day

Day 14:

I was feeling v stuck today with my wips and barely putting a sentence together. Miss Losty (@1lostsoul0fishbowl) encouraged me to do a writing exercise instead and I used a prompt list made by schoolofplot from Instagram (schoolofplot.com) as inspo:

I picked day 16's prompt and went with a minor character in There is a Light that Never Goes Out and Let the Light In, Eric who works at The Hawk with Jonathan.

Wrote over 500 words and clearly unstuck myself (thank you all-knowing losty). Here's my unedited/not proof read snippet for the exercise:

There was one thing Eric knew better than anybody else at The Hawk: the one, the lonely, the cynic Jonathan Byers.

And he was proud of that seemingly impossible feat.

Jonathan moped and mopped, he mostly kept to himself as he worked diligently to whatever ends their manager requested. Which was total bullshit by the way. Everyone knows their first job as a teenager is supposed to be easy peasy ladies-please-me. His coworker worried him with how serious he took this menial job.

But after a year of working together, Eric had broken through the weird gothic books and all the melancholy music and ultra-focused facade into the real brick and mortar that made up Byers. He had seen him SMILE, laugh even!

There was a real dude underneath all that loner armor, because Eric had seen him flirting with Hawkins High’s It Girl, Chrissy Cunningham. At first, he thought maybe he was having a fever dream or maybe one too many shifts in a row. But no, sweet little cheerleader Chrissy was leaning over the concession counter for a hush conversation with his quiet friend.

That was certifiable per any popular kid’s understanding of the world, but Eric always believed Jonathan had it in him.

Though that mysterious conversation was months ago, Jonathan hadn’t offered much of an explanation except a few witty retorts and hints of more smiling (could he be more obvious?). Despite his best efforts, Jonathan was terrible at keeping secrets from him.

OH. He needed the theater to himself and an alibi? Sure, definitely nothing to do with the newly single most eligible seniorette.

Hmmm, he’s making eyes at the gaggle of cheerleaders and their popcorns. Totally a coincidence Chrissy is batting her eyelashes at him in morse code.

But today? Today Eric couldn’t pretend to ignore the very real affair Jonathan had been poorly hiding. It was too obvious—he was slacking off on his responsibilities. The broom sat in the corner untouched with the tile floor collecting popcorn like a magnet. His rag hung over the lips of the sliding door to the candy, bone-dry, while the counter screamed with a thick layer of syrupy pop overflow.

There was trouble in paradise if Jonathan Byers wasn’t on his way to being Employee of the Month for the 8000th time in a row. Eric sped through the ticket line post-haste for the sake of his friend (even mumbling through a sale for two of the hottest chicks in the junior class, a waste of an opportunity not to charm them). After the last two groups of ticket sales, there’d be a lull between movies and he could finally meander his way to Jonathan without any more demerits from their manager*. 

Jonathan handed over the last Coke and nachos like he was offering the customer his last kidney, his face sullen and barely recognizable from the more encouraging guy he’d seen the past few weeks. Closing the register, Byers looked totally checked out as he stared off at the ceiling.

Eric locked his register and cubby, before hopping over the booth counter toward his dearly depressed friend.

“Byers! What’s going on man?” he greeted him, tapping the counter. “You look like my grandma tried to kiss you.”

Humor. Humor was the key to all breakups, rejections, and screwups. Eric would know. He was no stranger to the last two.

[captaincrowe]

a quick meme update on that luminerik fic i've been working on. y'all this happens four times before they even reach octagonia 🤦

[touchingmadness]

Camp Nano Progress Update #1

The first week of Camp Nano is complete, and I'm actually really happy with my progress! I expected this month to be a little rough for me, since I'm usually pretty active in the (currently shut down for good reason) Nano forums and tend to use the energy of other writers to bolster me through the event. And yeah, I'm writing a lot less than I would be under those conditions. But I'm still writing, and I'm still enjoying what I'm writing, and that's what really matters to me.

Excerpt:

You spend the rest of the day loitering around a city that would be far more beautiful if it wasn’t smack dab in the middle of tourist season. Instead, the streets and beaches are teeming with well-off people getting away from their well-off lives and generally spoiling the atmosphere with their existence. You can’t help but feel bad for the people who live here, even if you’re sure they make a pretty penny off of these people. And so will you, it seems, when Soren nudges you with a smirk and proceeds to nick the coin purse right off of a wealthy man’s belt. It takes everything in you not to gape at him, but you do cast around your gaze discreetly. The menace is subtle and slick, good with his fingers and anything that requires him to be quiet and look innocent, but this is something entirely different than what you’re used to from him. Sure, he’ll pilfer anything left unattended for too long, but pickpocketing is a whole other game. You have no objections – these people could do with lighter pockets – but it’s not going to be good for either of you if he gets himself caught. “Watch yourself,” you sign as he shoves the pouch into his bag. He sticks his tongue out like a child, fingers flying. “Watch me yourself.”

Statistics and reflection under the cut.

Just the Numbers

I've added 6,302 words to Let the Light In in the past week, bringing the total count for the project up to 23,611 words. Most of these new words have been in Chapter 3, although a few were used to round out Chapter 2 at a healthy 7,942 words. I've written on 5 out of 8 days, with my highest wordcount day occurring on April 8th, with 2,132 words written.

Notable Scenes

Group cuddles. I cannot stress this enough. Group cuddles!!!

A thieving contest started by the savior of the universe. Hell yeah.

Lounging in the ropes on a boat. Showing off like a cat.

First kiss (angst edition). Not quite to first kiss (soft edition) yet.

Making Big Decisions

I've already stated that I'm quite happy with what I've written, and while that's true, I have had some decisions to make. There was one scene I got myself especially tripped up over. I wanted to use it to develop the dynamic between my POV character and a member of the party, but I recognized that the pretense under which I had them sit down for a conversation didn't ring true for either of them. I wrote a good chunk of it, and it's still in my draft, but I know for a fact that it's going to be scrapped. I'll replace it with something more naturalistic later.

Based on where I'm at in Chapter 3 and how much I have left to cover, this one's going to be a lengthy one. That being said, I'm standing by my decision to segment the first three chapters (which span over the first act of Dragon Quest XI) the way that I do. Narrative cohesiveness is more important to me than content balance, especially when I know that Chapter 4 is going to be an absolute baby chapter, since it only encapsulates a short story that happens in the game's interlude.

A decision I still need to make is where I'm going to start the narrative for Act II in Chapter 5. This is more about the logistics of the source material and the fact that the player character is not my POV character for this fic. Basically, at the beginning of Act II in DQXI, you have to regather your party members. If you follow the story, you regain my POV character fourth, but you can get him third if you decide to wander. I haven't decided how I'm handling this in the fic yet, because there are benefits and drawbacks to both, but I think I'm going to write it as though he's acquired third and remove/edit scenes later if I decide to go in the other direction. Final decision will likely come down to how good those scenes end up being and how well they integrate with the rest of the chapter.

Moving Forward

The rest of Chapter 3 is going to be mostly relationship development for the main pairing and the party as a whole, which I am so excited for! I have a lot of funny, goofy little ideas planned to really cement all these Fools™️ together, though the thieving contest scene and its aftermath will likely remain my favorite. It's nice to have this downtime with them before the plot and angst pick back up again. I don't anticipate finishing Chapter 3 this week, as there's some lengthier scenes I have planned, but I'm perfectly content to linger in these moments, especially since that's why I'm writing this.

I hope everyone else's writing journeys are going just as great! My inbox is open if you want to infodump or chat! 💖

[the-oblivious-writer]

After the Storm |1|

Tara Carpenter x Spider-Women!Reader

Chapter One: Mutant Lizards & Kisses

(idk how many chapters I'll do for this series but I'm just winging it for now)

Summary: After your fight with The Lizard, you climb back with quite a few injuries. Luckily, Tara's there to tend to them

Warning(s): Swearing, Police!Sam 🤭, mentions of fighting & injuries

Notes: Based off of this scene in TASM (gotta be one of my favorite scenes). Wrote this while taking a break from writing chp 6 of LTLI. Motivation for this kinda just came to me and I've always wanted to do a spider!reader thing

Masterlist|Next Part

You limped, nearly collapsing on the roof as you held your side.Your trap for Dr. Connors did not work out how you planned, and your recklessness to get more photos than you needed ended you up with none.

You painfully crawled down, making your way to the fire escape outside the window you recognized. You knocked on it three times with your head, ignoring your pounding headache. You kept your head resting on the window as you heard clicking from the other side. Tara looked over to you and smiled before saying, “Come in,” then turning back to the assignment she was working on.

You push the window up, sliding through the opening as you exhale tiredly. 

“You should maybe, uh, consider coming in through the main entrance,” Tara jokes and you huff a laugh. 

You struggle to lift yourself until finally hopping into her room

“Also, my sister is under the impression that you require psychiatric attention….” Tara finally turns to you when she hears you grunt and her eyes slightly widen.

“Y/N.” She stood up from her chair and rushed over to you. You’re now leaning against the wall, when Tara comes up to you. 

“What the hell happened?” She asked quickly.

“You should see the other guy,” you say in a husky voice; you can still see Tara fretting over your injuries.

She carefully walks you to her bed, gently laying you down, not wanting to cause you any further pain. You tilt your head back as you continue to speak through deep breaths, “the other guy, in this instance being a giant mutant lizard.”

“You’re all bruised up–”

“Tara, I’m fi–”

“You’re not fine,” Tara interrupted in a sharp tone.

“Tara–”

You both stopped your movement when you heard Sam’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Hey, Tara, I have to run to the station. Do you want me to pick up some ice cream from that place you like, on the way back?” You and Tara shared a look before she got up and you rolled to the floor. 

Tara opened the door just a few inches to greet her older sister. “No, Sam. I do not want ice cream. I can’t afford any distractions right now. I have a bunch of exams to prepare for,” Tara said, trying to fake an aggravated tone.

“Okay, I just remember somebody saying last week that her fantasy was to live in an ice cream house,” Sam reminded Tara. 

“Well that's impractical,” she said, shutting the door. “And fattening,” she added after opening the door, now shutting it again.

She turned around to see you peeking from behind the bed, giving her a dopey smile. “An ice cream house?” You questioned, still wearing the same expression.

Tara rolled her eyes, nodding, still not saying a word before turning back around to open the door once again. 

“Sorry…” Tara apologized to Sam. 

“It’s really good ice cream.”

“It’s just I can’t, um, I'm doing this um—paper and I’m really focused on it. Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay, I get it. How about I bring you a some for later?” 

“Okay, sounds good. Thanks Sammy,” Tara said with a smile before shutting the door one more time.

As soon as she walked back in the room, she gave you no room to talk. Already giving you directions to follow as she got her medkit from her nightstand’s bottom drawer. 

“Roll down your suit.”

You sigh but comply. “I’m fine, just a little banged up. I almost got him though—Dr. Connors. I can feel it, Tar. I’m gonna get him next time.”

“I swear, Y/N, if you get yourself killed I will make sure you regret it,” the younger Carpenter threatened.

“Why? Gonna miss me?” You teased, looking at the other girl as her attention was on the rubbing alcohol she was preparing. 

“In your dreams, Y/L/N,” Tara replied, but you saw the tiny smile she gave you before looking back at what she was doing. 

“Ah…” You softly groaned, feeling the sting as the rubbing alcohol made contact with your open wound.

Tara gave you an apologetic look, “It’ll be done soon.” 

“And when that's done?”

“What do you mean?” Tara asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“After this, how about we do something?”

She lightly shook her head with a smile before replying. “And Sam comes home to an empty apartment? Yeah, no.”

“I’ll get you home in time before Sam is,” you reassure her. 

“You’re forgetting Sam’s a police captain,” Tara’s body betrays her as she melts into your touch, feeling your hand gently sneak up her arm.

“Unless she can track my web-shooters, I think we’re good.”

 “I don’t know…” she looks down, averting her attention to one of your other cuts she’s tending too.

You left hand lifts her head, her chin resting on your knuckles.

“Come on…” 

Your foreheads meet and the towel in her hand is long forgotten. You brush your thumb against her bottom lip, you both slightly lean in until your lips are only centimeters apart. 

“Easy bug girl…” You heard her whisper.

“What’d you just call me?” You asked as you both lightly laugh, faces never pulling from each other. 

“Let's get out of here,” you said as you comedically shook your head around, causing Tara to giggle. “Just for a minute, come on.”

Your noses rubbed together as Tara leaned into you. 

“No..”

“Yeah..”

“Noo..”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Noooo…” She hated how much she wanted to say yes to you.

“Yesss,” your smile never falters through this yes and no battle. You looked at how Tara looked away for a moment before looking back at you with a smile she was visibly fighting and in that moment you knew you won.

“...I better be home before Sam is.” 

—

When you land back on Tara’s fire escape, she’s clinging onto you for dear life while her face's buried in your chest. You smile down at her as you tell her, “We’re back by the way,” resisting the urge to place a kiss on her head.

“Yeah—yeah I knew that,” she replied, slowly pulling away from you.

You can’t help but chuckle at her shooken state. “Oh, you think this is funny? We were so high up—a drop that high is deadly, Y/N.”

“You think I’d drop ya?” 

“No, cause’ then Sam would bury you alive.”

“Speaking of Sam,” you’re both fully in the room now as you look at her bedroom door and then back at Tara, “Looks like she’s not here…”

“Y/N…”

“Tara…”

“I already let you swing me around while a billion feet in the air; you’re still needy for my attention?” She teased, slightly tilting her head.

“What, you don’t wanna hang out with me?” You teased back.

You’re now directly in front of her, Tara’s legs hit the back of the bed and you can feel her breath on yours. Your hands end up on her hips and her left hand lightly cups your jaw.

In a husky voice you begin, “Tara, you have no idea–" 

Suddenly the front door can be heard opening, the various locks twisting and turning. You and Tara looked at each other before Tara shoved you under the bed. Footsteps came closer and closer until Sam opened the door to find her sister sitting at her desk, headphones in, and pen in hand.

Tara turned to look at the door, pulling out her headphones when she made eye contact with Sam. “Oh, hey Sam. I was just finishing up this paper,” Tara said innocently, giving the paper a single tap with her pen.

Sam slightly nodded, looking around—Tara noticed this. “Did you need something?” Tara asked the older Carpenter.

“Uh, no—no, I just thought I heard something. Anyways,” Sam slightly shook her head, “got you that ice cream. It’s in the freezer when you want it.”

“Thanks, Sam. Love you,” Tara responded. “Love you too,” Sam said back with a smile before leaving the room but not without taking one more scan of the room.

You waited another minute before crawling out from under her bed. 

“That was a close one, bug girl.”

“Is that gonna be a permanent nickname?”

“You bet it is, bug girl."

You playfully rolled your eyes, a smile grazing your face when you see her dimples show. "You're lucky you're cute," you tell her.

"Oh? Would you rather me call you my savior?" Tara jokingly batted her eyelashes at you.

You bit lip in thought. "It's got a ring to it..."

"Yeah, no. 'Think I'm sticking with bug girl for now."

"Worth a shot," you shrugged before walking over to her,"Now...where were we?"

"You were leaving–"

"Mmm, no. That' not what I recall."

Before Tara could respond, you began placing kisses that travled to her jaw then neck, making her knees grow weak as you slowly lead her to the bed until her back softly hit the mattress.

You hovered above her while she gratefully accepted your touch, holding onto your biceps while you continued to kiss her.

"Y/N, my sister's right outside. And if you've forgotten; she has a warrant out for your 'wall crawling vigilante ass'—her words, not mine," Tara said, breath hitching as you continued to kiss her neck.

You stopped mid kiss, looking around the room then slightly frowned, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked back at her. "Is she here in the room with us...? Cause I don't see her."

"Y/N..."

"Tara..."

Tara let out a light sigh, raising one of her hands to cup your jaw. "Five. Minutes." She told you, holding your jaw with a gentle yet firm grip.

"Yes ma'am."

-----------

A/N: R because she didn't pack extra web fluid like Tara told her to:

[rinayeas]

Final thoughts about writing my (recently finished) bloody suit fic ltli under the cut!! (You can read it here! If you've read it and you're feeling curious then keep reading)

So!!!!! Let the light in was my first published fic, although i've been writing for some years. And in english!!! Holy shit. The idea for the fic came from a very intense tf2 hyperfixation and also inspired by Lana del Rey's song of the same name and my own hcs for the characters.

Overall i think there's room for improvement. I have mixed feelings about the second chapter, i like the framing and i'm a sucker for characters working together and finally seeing eye to eye. But i think i got too caught up in the plot and it ended up having a *very* diff vibe than the other two chapters. It's a good chapter, but it doesn't fit in this story, i feel like.

I had a hard time writing chapter 3 because i wasn't happy with what i was writing so i took longer than usual because i kept restarting until i got something i'm satisfied with, but i feel like ch1 was my favorite bc it's just real fun to write them hating eachother lmaooo. I tried to keep the snarky vibe going but i'm a sappy bastard lol.

On a personal note, next month i'm turning 21 and i always felt like it was too late for me to start contributing to fandom spaces, but it's never late! If something makes you happy and helps you to hone in a skill, please pursue it. At least a person will care about it and that's enough i feel.

I learned a lot from this experience and i'll keep writing in the future, please look forward to it!!

Also there's a falsettos reference somewhere in ch 3 bc they're lowkey whizzvin coded (not really but i'm delusional!)

Thx 4 reading 💋

[dilfspitdrinker]

wip game ‼️

rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigued them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

hehe thank you for the tag <3 @toxic-seduction

LTLI ch 8

LTLI undetermined future ch

my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

invisible string

Peñaaa

Sniper

Joel hot springs

didn’t realize I had 7 things in the works tf 😭 np tags: @javiscigarette @morning-star-joy @jupiter-soups @lovers-liability @pr0ximamidnight @bastardmandennis @cool-iguana

[m1ss-myst1c]

eat it up every time

LTLI 🔛🔝

[luxusdollhouse]

Happy trans day of visibility, here’s ira who is my favorite fictional trans woman for all 5 of ira’s fans

[impositioned]

3 and 27 🫶🏻

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

up to date, let the light in is the only muti-chapter fic I have and I think it's my favorite so far! The experience of writing it - I didn't second guess myself and the words were all at the surface. It was fun and really nice.

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

I'm always anxious about everything, so I think every single one, even future ones probably lol. but such is life we will write and rage on.

Thank you for asking!

[luxusdollhouse]

Irt your tags: I definitely agree like i dont feel bored by researching shit for fics but sometimes i step back and realize how insane my search history becomes when im writing, especially right now . I actually ended up needing the revised version of the dsm-3 because that was the latest version of the dsm in the time context of the fic (fic takes place in 1993, DSM-III-r was released 1987) and was also the first dsm edition that had added a specific symptom to a specific disorder .

Cori i have done so much research on the history of medical terms that we know today that i feel insane. Please shoot me. /lh

What’s the craziest thing you’ve had to look up for a fanfic? Personally i just had to pull up SPECIFICALLY the third edition of the dsm for the new chapter of my fic im working on so i got curious,

I feel like most of the stuff I've had to research for fanfic is relatively boring, haha. That said, I did do a lot of research on sailing for On the Edge of Daybreak! I remember watching videos of people talking about how to sail and pausing every few seconds to take notes, haha.

[gayerthanevertbh]

let the light in masterlist.

navigations | wanda & natasha masterlist

pairings: married!natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff

summary: natasha is going through a difficult divorce, which is causing her to be stressed. that's when she decided to go to a strip club, where she met a young girl who piqued her interest. soon, feelings are involved, which the older woman fears.

warnings: huge age difference (natasha is 39; wanda is 19), g!p natasha, smut, angst, infidelity, cheating (sort of?), toxic!natasha at times, and slight talk about abuse - 18+ MINORS DNI.

author’s note: this series will be in ao3 and wattpad, since i don’t know if the story here will blow up but hopefully you will enjoy the first chapter as soon as possible! 

chapter one: the start of everything

chapter two: romanoff’s games

chapter three: gullible little maximoff

so on...