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hypnobeauty · 16 days ago

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a chance encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 14?)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. masterlist cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, fluff, reflections, my rusty writing. a/n: hi…. is anyone here? *blows dust off blog* i’m back, i guess! sorry for taking so long. this is not an actual update, just a little snippet—future in thailand, more reader focused! honestly, i’m not happy with the way the “official” story went lol so these past months i’ve been writing on and off, random things; planning on posting them. i hope you enjoy it! this piece was slightly based on me: the stray cat, the moving countries, the kettle left by the previous renter owner. as usual, comments are always welcome xx love, lika taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia @antisocial-aina @googie-jeon @christinamadsen @deernat @vvlwvvy @psychobitchsthings @dikeu-yoiz (are u still interested? lemme know!)

part 14. stamped and sealed

the air was thick with the kind of warmth that settled in your skin and stayed there, fragrant with lemongrass and sun-warmed dust, a familiar welcome you’d come to expect each morning. a breeze moved lazily through the still air, carrying the sharp, peppery scent of grilled skewers and roasted chili from the street vendors three blocks down, who had already begun firing up their stalls in preparation for the dinner crowd. you stood barefoot on the porch, sipping iced tea from a glass that sweat in the heat, condensation trickling slowly down your fingers.

the stray cat with the stubby tail—now semi-adopted, unofficially christened meatball—padded through the garden with a sense of haughty ownership. she sniffed the bougainvillea blooms, then went in your direction, weaving through your legs with a lazy meow. you had tried to move her in completely, but she scratched the door the whole night until you gave in and opened it at 3 am. meatball is perfectly content in existing around you two, asking for food or chin scritches, and napping on the sofa during the afternoon, but refusing to let go of her freedom and right to come and go as she pleases. you often wondered if it could be a metaphor for something.

all of it was. this house, with its stained concrete, and one light switch that always sparked if you flicked it too fast. it wasn’t love at first sight. at least, not for hyun‑ju. you’d seen the house online first, in a grainy listing photo that made her scoff. “it looks like a ghost lives there,” she had said.

still, when you’d arrived for the showing—her trailing behind with her arms crossed and a skeptical scowl—you’d pushed open the metal gate, walked up the overgrown path, and something about it had clicked into place. as if it had been waiting for you. as if you had been waiting for it.

the house sat halfway down a sleepy residential street in lat phrao, flanked by a gleaming white villa boasting a koi pond and a stately two‑story residence with ornate columns and a marble mailbox. and then there was this—your potential forever home. it looked like it had been abandoned for decades or forgotten by time as a deliberate act of defiance.

you stepped onto cracked porch tiles; each footfall stirred up dust motes that danced in the afternoon sun. the yard was a jungle of overgrown grass and defiant weeds. the paint on the façade had surrendered years ago, flaking in tired strips. half the floor tiles in the entryway were either cracked or missing entirely, and the roof…

“skylight?” you said, pointing at the bizarre sheet of cloudy plastic covering the ceiling, one hand on your hip, the other waving dramatically.

hyun‑ju’s eyes widened in disbelief. “that’s a tarp, babe. a tarp glued to the ceiling.”

the owner, an old woman with a bent back and warm, crinkling eyes, came forward with surprising grace. she rubbed her hands together and smiled at you both. “my son bought me a nice condo close by, and this old thing… well, i’m too old to take care of it now. it needs someone strong. someone young. someone who can make it happy again.”

her voice was gentle, her affection tangible—a mixture of joy and longing, and suddenly you missed your mom so much. that unexpected tenderness softened the moment. hyun‑ju’s brow furrowed as she watched the way the woman traced her hand over cracked wood and you noticed her jaw soften by the slightest millimeter.

back in your bangkok rental—a shoebox of an apartment wedged between a laundromat and a perpetually closed café—you both had to shuffle sideways to move past one another. the walls were thin, the fan made a noise like a dying blender, and your bed was only a mattress on the floor, pressed up against a window that didn’t close all the way. still, it was home for the moment. the kind of home that madehyun-ju long for something a little more permanent… but also made her break out in hives every time she thought about the financials.

you sat cross-legged on the laminate floor, legs brushing hers, while she opened her laptop like it was a vault of secrets. her expression was all business, pencil already wedged between her teeth like a cigarette. “okay,” she muttered under her breath, flipping open the calculator and opening three different tabs simultaneously. “roofing first. that tarp is not a long-term solution unless you want a waterfall feature in the bathroom.”

“it’s basically a spa experience already,” you offered with a toothy smile.

she didn’t look up. “no.”

“fair.”

she began listing line items aloud as she punched in numbers. “roof — professional job, has to be. i’m guessing 50,000 baht minimum. plumbing... looks okay. pressure’s decent, no obvious leaks. electrical? might be old, but no shorts, no sparks. so far, not terrible. cosmetic stuff we can do ourselves if we plan it out right.”

you peeked over her shoulder. “see? that’s not so bad.”

she side-eyed you, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

you giggled and leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “that’s what i’m banking on.”

still, she soldiered on. for over an hour, she ran different combinations—worst-case costs, best-case budgets, everything in between. she triple-checked estimated contractor fees and local supply prices, even converted it all to won just to see the damage in your own currency. “it’s still cheaper than anything else we’ve seen,” she admitted at last, voice softer now, more measured. “and at least we’d have space to breathe. i’m so sick of tripping over our laundry basket every time i turn around.”

you sat up, blinking at her. “so… is that a yes?”

she narrowed her eyes, but her tone had already turned. “you’ll help with the renovations?”

“i’ll lead them.”

she rolled her eyes in fake annoyance. “you’re impossible.”

you clasped your hands together like a cartoon character. “and yet so lovable!”

hyunju took a long sip of water and finally—finally—gave you the smallest nod.

“alright. fine. but i swear, if a raccoon falls through that tarp ‘skylight,’ i’m divorcing you before we’re even married.” you didn’t need more than that.

you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around her and tackling her gently to the ground, peppering her face with kisses. “you won’t regret it! you won’t! this is going to be our house! our home!”

she laughed beneath you, heartily this time, not the soft chuckle of skepticism but the real thing. her eyes crinkled at the corners as she pushed your hair out of your face.

“yeah,” she murmured, smiling. “ours.”

you bought it that same week. the old woman had insisted you take the kettle she kept on the stove. “for luck,” she said in thai, smiling as she patted your hand. you still used it, it whistled a little off-key when it boiled, like it was trying to sing.

after you left the games that november, bank accounts heavy and heart heavier, you and hyunju had counted every won like it was prayer. the money had never felt real—not when you received the non-descriptive cards with your names on it, or when you stacked it in front of you. but the moment you paid off the debt collectors, the hospital bills, the loans, and the tiny balances that haunted both of your inboxes like ghosts, the sum that remained—₩152 million—finally took on shape.

it wasn’t life-changing in seoul. not anymore, not in a city that churned ambition for breakfast and swallowed dreams by dinner. there, it would’ve barely gotten you a studio apartment in a decent neighborhood, it would’ve dried up before you had time to exhale.

but in bangkok?

in bangkok, it was a door cracked open.

it was enough to buy the house, outright—decrepit as it was. enough to pay for visa work, for paperwork translations, for the endless bureaucratic loops you had to leap through in a country that wasn’t yet yours but was slowly becoming home. it was enough to exhale, for once. to put down your bags without preparing to pick them up again.

and that was what you wanted now; not the sleek life, not the sterile shine of high-rise condos with fingerprint locks and white-leather everything, not the rooftop bars or instagram dinners or stilettos worn to impress. you had chased that version of adulthood once—when success looked like gloss and your worth was measured in how many nights you worked overtime without crying. you didn’t want it anymore.

you wanted the slow.

you wanted mornings that began with birdcalls and sunlight slicing through broken blinds. you wanted afternoons sticky with heat and iced tea sweating in your hand. you wanted cicadas in the trees, rain drumming soft on metal, the smell of fish sauce wafting from the neighbor’s open kitchen window. you wanted to sit on cracked tiles and argue over paint swatches, to fall asleep with the ceiling fan humming above you and her leg tangled with yours.

you wanted to hear hyunju’s laughter ring out in echoing, empty rooms, you wanted to fill them together.

even if the walls needed mending, even if the plumbing groaned and the roof still leaked when it rained too hard, it didn’t matter.

because you wanted her.

that had always been the constant. from the moment she pressed a drink into your hand at the edge of some party neither of you belonged to. from the first time she rolled her eyes and called you dramatic while secretly tucking your hair behind your ear. from every night she pulled you in closer instead of away.

you wanted her in every version of your life: the old ones, the ones you left behind, the ones you were building now.

and everything else—the ghosts, the names you still couldn’t speak aloud, the final click of the game’s vote on november 24th, the gunshots that still made your shoulder flinch in your sleep—all of it slowly began to dissolve in the soft hum of your days together.

there were hard nights, sure. there were moments when the silence felt too wide, when one of you would wake up gasping from a dream neither could explain, when you remembered young-mi. but you held each other through those, too. you learned to live in spite of the memory. maybe even because of it.

because of cho hyun-ju.

because of the way she always handed you the second-to-last bite of her food, saving the last one for herself like a secret. because she left you little notes on the fridge when she left early—terrible drawings of cartoon animals or scribbled reminders to eat the food she made. because she reached for your hand under the table when in a room full of strangers, and never once let go until you told her you were okay.

because of her, your life had become something warmer, gentler.

because of hyunju, you had a partner who stood beside you, not in front, not behind. someone who built with you, laughed with you, argued and cried and tried with you. she made the ordinary feel like magic. and you loved her in the quietest ways—through laundry folded without being asked, tea poured before you even reached the kitchen, a towel warmed and waiting after every shower.

and she loved you right back. fiercely, patiently, like you were worth everything she had. your name wasn’t next to hers on any official document—not yet. but it was written into her habits, her language, the way she said "we" when planning anything. it was in the way she said "you first" and meant it.

the tea was growing warm in your hand when you heard the gate rattle: the metal screeched and the lock gave its familiar clunk. you turned, smiling already, heart rising with the familiar sound of her gait.

not because of where you were, or what the house looked like. but because she was here and with hyunju, even a half-finished house felt like a whole world.

#player 120 x reader #cho hyunju #player 120 #cho hyunju x reader #player 120 x you #player 120 x y/n #cho hyunju x you #cho hyunju x y/n #squid game #round 6 #squid game season 2 #squid game 2 #squid game netflix #squid game s2 #hyunju #park sung hoon #hyun ju #hyun ju x reader #hyun ju squid game

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confusedgato · 24 days ago

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Redesigning mah other trans boi Juno/Ka'an :D

The old art on the right was back on October 11, 2024. He was the second yautja oc that I made (which was way back when I was 15) and his design and concept are inspired by Godzilla

Lore drop below if you're interested 👁u👁

Juno's clan:

The clan resides within a radioactive valley, therefore they have adapted to suit that environment by absorbing the radiation within the spikes in their bodies. This allows them to cast radiation from their paw pads in limited amounts because overdoing it will result in them passing out. These yautjas rely on radiation for energy and need to constantly replenish it if they use it too often in activities such as combat and showing off.

They have paw pads for radiation storage and to have a way to release them apart from blasting beams from their mouths like Godzilla. This is one of the few clans that have retractable claws in which they use mainly for gripping when climbing.

Juno's backstory:

Juno used to be called Jade before he transitioned to male. It was an awkward part of his life where he couldn't pinpoint his discomfort until Alissa gave him a lesson about the LGBTQ community. (This stuff is loosely based on my own experience)

He was raised by humans who had him declawed to avoid getting scratched. This in turn made him lose the ability to climb as he needed the claws to grip onto things (if he does try, it hurts to do so). His human parents also tried to put him to school which did not end well but at least he met Alissa who later became his best friend.

Life on Earth turned him into a crazy internet potato but thankfully, he was able to get back to Yautja Prime after his biological parents found him. He was then reintegrated into their society where his name was changed to Ka'an. He had to leave poor Alissa without telling her though which is an ass take on his part.

In present times, He is now a clan leader with an equally insane mate, a male by the name of Nahtaal. They are lifelong partners.

If @althefox revives herself, she will post some stuff regarding Juno and his crusty human bestie, Alissa. Cuz writing is my weak point :')

#digital art #original character #yautja oc #predator oc #predator franchise #yautja #redesign #art #my art #art improvement #left out some stuff but I'll drop more lore soon #I forgot it was June 😭#transgender #happy pride month 🥳

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eddiessluttywaist · 1 year ago

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the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: romantic night at the trailer, based off of this prompt!

pairing: bf!eddie x gf!reader

word count: 1, 944 words

content/warnings: MDNI, fluff, kissing, lots of touchy feels, a lil smutty?

a/n: creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage! also would like to credit @carolmunson for this prompt and @mrsjellymunson for tagging me! I haven’t written for eddie in so long, and this was a great way to get back into it <3 thank you! hope you enjoy my contribution <3

You basked in the scent of Eddie’s bedding, how he was ingrained into each and every fiber. Every motion, every shift of the sheets, you could smell him. He had foolishly left you to your own devices in his bedroom (which was surprising since the last time he did that, you almost dared touch his Sweetheart) so you indulged.

You curled up in the sprawling mess of blankets and sheets then grabbed the small throw pillow you had embroidered for him and buried your face in it. It was a delicate, pretty, little thing that stood out in his room even with its DnD theme, but he loved it. He loved that you made it, that you put so much effort into it just for him, so he slept with it every night. Unfamiliar with the concept of purely decorative pillows, he didn’t realize most people tucked such things off to the side before getting into bed each night. So, it smelled like cigarettes, convenience store aftershave, and his shampoo. The scent filled you with dizzying affection, only pulling it away from your face to then hug it to your chest as he walked back into his room.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups. This okay?” he asked as he blew into one of the mugs and then used the bottom of his shirt to wipe it down. He was planning on cleaning those cartoon-themed cups properly for some absurdly fancy hot chocolate you had brought back from your family vacation. He was even planning on making another case for not wasting it on him, but, of course, his attention strayed easily when you were in his bed.

When his gaze finally fell on you, a lazy smile quirked up one side of his mouth. The handles of the mugs hung off the curl of his fingers which rested against his hips now as he took in the sight of you. He tilted his head to put it at the same angle as yours, his favorite pillow in your arms. You were an unbelievably endearing sight. The love that filled him was fluttery and overwhelming.

“And who said you could hold my favorite pillow?” He teased, sauntering over to the bed.

“I made it,” you scoffed with a smile.

He hums lazily in response, that crooked grin still hanging around as he shoved at the clutter on his bedside table. He picked up a small notebook, brow furrowed as he observed it only to haphazardly toss it towards his dresser to make more room. It was that or your tub of Betty Crocker, and he knew better.

You stared at his forearms, drinking in the movement of the musculature underneath. The warmth of his bedside lamp made it even better to watch the lines and curves of his tattoos beneath its comforting, golden light. How could something so simple be so beautiful? Your focus then trailed to the perfect structure of his hands as the mugs slid down his fingers. The ceramic cups clinked against the surface of the old table.

“I think as the creator, I have some right to hold it too,” you continued to make your case while he crawled into bed with you, giving you that subtle mischievous look he always got when he was toying with you.

His strong arms wrapped around you to secure you closer to him.

“I worked very hard on it, y’know.”

Eddie let out an “Is that right?” kind of sound, the texture of his jeans scratching against the bedding. He pulled you into him with such a desperate need to squish you as close as possible as if he thought you might be leaving soon. Those brown curls tickled your jaw while he nuzzled the side of your neck, audibly breathing you in.

“And it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to embroider all that Dungeons and—”

He finally pulled back to cut you off, smushing his face against yours in a way that made you giggle. Eddie’s kisses were always lazy and sloppy this late at night, but you loved them that way. His lips were warm albeit a bit rough from all the anxious biting that he abused them with. A pleased hum left him and vibrated deep in his throat, his large hands encasing the sides of your face and his fingers tangling in your hair. His rings would probably tug a strand or two when he pulled them away, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

The way your body relaxed reassured him, and he slid his arms down to pull you in again so your stomach could be flat against his own. Then, he let out a small chuckle when he had to separate from you to pluck the throw pillow out from between you. Eddie placed it elsewhere with emphasized tenderness while you stared at those ruddy lips that you missed already.

“Pillow was in the way,” he murmured in a low tone, kissing you back as you pulled him in for a few more pecks.

“And here I was thinking you were starting to love it more than me.”

“Aw, now don’t be like that. You know that’s not true,” Eddie drawled, grinning over that unconvincing little pout you gave him.

He sat back on his legs to move the bedding out of his way, then pulled you forward by your thighs which he readily settled in between. There was nothing he wanted more than to be thoroughly pressed against you. It wasn’t even about sex, at least not always. He just loved the feeling of you being so close to him. The softness of your stomach against his taut abdomen. The plushness of your chest pressed against the flat planes of his own. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way your bodies fit together too, but he’d melt into you if he could.

Eddie was the type to lean into you while you were walking together, ending up so close that his wallet chain would keep bumping against you. He always sought out your hand to hold or your shoulders for him to drape his arm across (which of course always ended up with him folding you into him so your face would press against a Hellfire symbol or band name, and he could settle his chin on the top of your head).

“I don’t think I believe you.”

You crossed your arms, failing to keep up with your façade, especially with that smile and those dimples.

“Well then, my dramatic lil lady,” He spoke with that same theatrical cadence that he used during campaigns, his brow furrowed with determination. You groaned over the incoming mawkishness, rolling your gaze up to the ceiling and smiling to the point that the apples of your cheeks ached.

“I suppose I must convince you.”

His hand settled on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the center of your throat as he dipped down for another kiss.

“You’re so corny,” you laughed against his lips.

“And you… taste like vanilla,” he sighed, laughing with you after.

“Mm, well, that is the work of Ms. Betty Crocker,” you smiled up at him, gently tapping his nose. “Speaking of…”

Eddie groaned, mentally cursing himself for even bringing it up as you squirmed out from underneath him to grab the container from behind the abandoned mugs. He watched you intently while you sucked a scoop of frosting off your finger. When you met his gaze, he gave you a cheeky grin that he failed to conceal by biting his lip and then wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“You’re a child,” you snorted, reaching out to tap some frosting onto the tip of his nose.

“And you’re devastating,” he countered in a voice so sickeningly saccharine with love that you wiped the frosting right back off. He caught your hand and sucked the sugar from the pad of your thumb before you could fully pull back.

“Who knew the local bad boy could be such a softie,” you teased softly, scooping some more frosting to feed it to him. Eddie playfully bit down just enough to make you laugh.

“I believe you mean ‘the local freak.’”

“Mm, tomato, tomahto,” you shrugged, lapping up some more frosting off your finger. His rich umber eyes seemed to glitter in the dull lighting, his pupils dilating. You looked up at him through your lashes when you felt his stare.

“We’re gonna have a problem if you keep doing that,” Eddie’s voice was rough even as he smiled over you.

“What?” you laughed, full of faux innocence. He just smirked. “No, what?”

“You know what.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you shrug, going to scoop some more frosting out when he snags the tub from you.

“Wh— hey!”

You already missed his warmth when he sank back onto folded legs, dipping his forefinger into the tub.

“You’re gonna get your rings all sticky,”

You blushed when that made him cackle, but you at least got the comfort of his body again as he hunched over you. His smile was tangible against the side of your neck, his hair tickling you again.

“Not the only thing that—”

“Eddie, shu-u-ush,” you laughed, and he flattened himself on top of you again, leaving tacky, sugary kisses on your neck while you pried the vanilla frosting from his hand. He gave up on keeping it from you, happy to have a free hand again to seek out your waist with.

Holding the container with one hand, you arched your other arm over him to scoop just one more—you swore just one more! —fingertip of frosting, but he was pulling back before you could even dip into it.

“Gimme that—”

“So rude taking things from me today,” you tutted, watching with a pout as he fed himself some of your treat.

“Have to have you all to myself,” he mimicked some toxic-alpha-dude-type bravado, but he couldn’t even get through it without chuckling at the end.

Eddie prodded at the dwindling supply of Betty Crocker’s then tossed the container back onto his bedside table. But you reached out to catch his wrist and brought his index finger to your mouth before he could bring it to his own.

He groaned, leaning onto one elbow while he gawked at you. His full lips parted at the sight of you, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you sucked on his finger. Damn.

“You never play fair.”

“And you like that,” you stated proudly once he slid his finger back out of your mouth.

“Course I do,” he grunted, sliding the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. “May have taken a few attempts to graduate, but I’m not that dumb.”

Your following giggle was breathy and fleeting as you sunk into the tension filling the room. You took in the growing heat in his gaze that tracked his thumb while it hooked your bottom lip. He mimicked opening his own mouth as you did so without even being asked, making him smile and drag his tongue over his lip. He slid his pointer finger down your tongue again, letting it trail down until he was holding your chin between his curled finger and thumb. Keeping your chin down and lips parted, he leaned in. The kiss was firmer—more determined—and desperate. He was putting every ounce of his desire into you, and this time you were the one melting. You felt like you were sinking deeper into that old mattress, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him with you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddiemunson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson ficlet #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #bf!eddie munson #the boy is mine eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson smut

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bumblesimagines · 4 months ago

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so… what are we?

i had a ring and everything.

i wish i could take it all back.

(post timeskip) Betty Cooper

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Sexual content

(Y/N) wanted to hate himself.

He knew better than to answer Archie Andrew's call. He knew better than to take days off work at the local university to visit Riverdale. He knew better than letting Betty sit beside him in the booth at Pop's and speaking more than a few sentences to her. He knew better than to agree to drive her home.

He made a promise to himself two birthdays back that he'd forgo anything and everything that reminded him of Elizabeth Cooper. It was for his own good, for the sake of himself and any stable future relationships.

She chose work over him, over every single aspect of her social life, and he simply couldn't stand to continue living like a toy forgotten in the attic. It was for the best, he convinced himself repeatedly throughout the following years, each time his friends forgot about 'she-who-will-not-be-named'.

But it was hard to say no to so much history, and he was a sucker for familiarity.

He knew Betty well, probably knew her better than she knew herself. He knew what made her tick, what amused her, what made her coo and awe, what made her blush, what made her gasp and moan. It annoyed him how pleasantly surprised he'd been to discover little to nothing had changed about her in the two years since they last saw each other.

Betty's blunt nails dug into his skin from the hand firmly planted on his chest, her other hand tightly gripping the armrest his head was leaning on. She rocked back and forth on his lap feverishly, her movements growing clumsy whenever he squeezed her ass with a lift only to push her back down. Her wavy blonde hair swayed and bounced, draped over her shoulders and cascading down her back. She'd grown it out since he last saw her.

His hand slipped to grip her thigh and squeeze it, briefly amused by the sight of her underwear hanging limply from her knee. He leaned forward, his hand lifting to palm the back of her hair and bringing her in for a kiss. She cupped his face, her palms lightly pressing into his jawline, and breathily moaned into the kiss.

She pressed her body as close as humanely possible to his, her bra scratching against his chest in the progress. Betty was beautiful when she unraveled. There was a frothy ring at the base of his length and his lap was already a mess, a mess that covered her inner thighs with evidence that they weren't fully done with each other yet.

He was almost twenty-eight; he was well-aquatinted with the half-truths others spewed to appear innocent while plotting otherwise, especially when it was Betty.

She claimed she wanted to see his old childhood again after the years since he was staying there for the time being, he drove her there. She asked to see the inside again to jog her memory, he opened the door for her and pointed out things still there from their teen years. She asked for a drink, he poured a cup of wine for her.

Within a few minutes and some jogs down memory lane, her mouth was on his and his hand was slipping past the waistband of her underwear. It was a tale as old as time.

Betty squeezed around him and her toes curled, her head tilting back and chest stuttering with a deep inhale of air that was released in cut-off exhales afterward. She spasmed in his lap a moment after, her hips jerking and hands digging into the muscle of his shoulders while her high washed over her. Betty panted and slumped in his arms with tired kisses pressed to the nape of his neck.

"So…" Betty tucked some locks behind her ear and tucked her head further into his neck. He leaned back into the armrest again, his arms loosely wrapped around her and eyes focused on the white ceiling. "What are we?"

"Exes, Betty. This was just.. a lapse of judgment."

Her hands pushed against his chest when she lifted herself to look down at him, her brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Betty," He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We broke up, remember? Three years down the drain because you were more committed to being an agent than being an actual human being. I had a ring and everything. I was going to propose the night of our anniversary and you couldn't even show up for dinner!"

Betty's breath hitched in her throat and her pale green eyes flickered wildly between his. Her features softened. "You were going to propose?" She asked softly, the rising and falling of her chest quickening. "I didn't know. I.. I wish I could take it all back. If I'd known, I-"

"Nothing would've been different." He breathed soberly and reached back toward the side table beside the armrest to retrieve the box of tissues his mother often kept tucked inside. Betty grimaced. "You would've been married to your work instead of me."

"Being an agent-"

"Almost got you killed." (Y/N) swallowed harshly and shook his head, averting his eyes to avoid looking at her saddened face. "It's in the past- we're in the past. I'm not doing this again, Betty. Not with you, not with anyone. I deserve better than that."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #riverdale #riverdale x reader #riverdale x male reader #riverdale x you #riverdale x y/n #betty cooper #betty cooper x reader #betty cooper x male reader #betty cooper x you #betty cooper x y/n #elizabeth cooper

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idreamofcrackinglocks · 26 days ago

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Young Royals Textfics and SMAU's

I have had this sat in my drafts for ages and thought I might as well publish it and I can just update it as I find/read more. There is something about SMAU's that scratch my silly little millennial brain so below is a few I have enjoyed/currently reading. I don't use twitter but have an account just to read these - some of the links may not work if you don't have a twitter account. And if anyone has any multimedia fics they have really enjoyed please send them my way and I may add them!

Fanfics

Call me up late - the best of the best of text fics and one of the first things I read when I joined the fandom!

and it's steamy sequel "mi cotufita" started sharing their screen

Completed SMAU's

pukemon - simon and wille are going to the same uni as they rest of the gang, Simon and wille had one bad interaction and they hate each other's gut because they're 5 years old (gonna get to the reason). - this is a great place to start!! sooo good!

We'll start over again now - canon Wilmon SMAU starting in S3 then running past canon

Truth or Dare - Wille and Simon have never gotten along. Not at Hillerska, not after they graduate, not as young adults. Their lives diverge, heading in different directions. They meet again, against their will, one night at a birthday party, & their stubbornness is their undoing. - When I tell you i was OBSESSED when this was being updated, I will be rereading

Royally Gone - Simon Eriksson, popstar on the rise, always had a little (fat) crush on a certain spare prince. A crush so fat he still uses a stan account he set up when he was 16 after a dare. One day, he messes up... - I need to catch up on this one but I have it bookmarked so assuming its good

WIP SMAU's

Your the risk I want to take based of the incredible original fic on AO3

Royal Retweet - Prince Wilhelm has spent months admiring Simon Eriksson from afar, hidden behind a secret fan account. But one accident changes everything. The internet is spiralling, Simon is questioning everything, and the royal palace is in full damage control mode...

I deserve a great love story - Simon is a music student at Hillerska University, and has a pretty normal life between school and shifts at a library-café. Until one day, a post is made just for him, and he starts a hunt to find out who loves him so much - Currently obsessed with this one the TWIST

Take your Mark by @princequeerik- After he and his sister move schools, Simon finds himself joining the swim team - the only place he found for himself at his old school. Meanwhile, Wilhelm is the best distance swimmer on the team. - this one is on Tumblr yay

If any of the authors above are on Tumblr and want to be tagged then please ping me a message!

#yr fanfic #young royals #wilmon #yr textfic #yr smau #smau #young royals smau #young royals textfic #wilmon fanfic #wilmon fic

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kaleldobrev · 10 months ago

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Getting Back into the Swing of Things (1) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Unnamed Hunter Boyfriend (OC)

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 2.2k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (4x), Age Gap (15 years) & Minor controlling behavior

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | Don't worry, as Dean and reader meet in the next chapter! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⇠ Go Back & Read the Prologue

Dean tossed and turned, still unable to fall asleep despite what seemed like hours trying. He smelled blood in his nose, felt it on his lips and tongue; smiling with pure bliss. He could feel his hand gripping the First Blade, and he could hear the heart beats of people fading fast as he looked into their eyes. His throat felt dry all of a sudden. “Fuck,” he mumbled to himself.

Removing the covers from himself, he swung his body, his feet flat on the floor as he rubbed his face. Letting out a huge sigh of frustration, he got up from his bed and made his way to his bedroom door; deciding that maybe a few drinks could make him get a bit sleepy. But he knew deep down that wasn’t going to work — he just needed an excuse to get up and walk around.

As Dean started making his way toward the kitchen, he noticed that Sammy’s door was open halfway, the light of the room still on. A puzzled look appeared on Dean’s face, surprised that Sam was still up. He figured after curing him, he would be knocked out for the next couple of days, or at least taking it easy.

He heard drawers opening and closing, not remotely quietly. Standing in the doorway, he saw Sam packing some clothes into a duffel bag, slightly struggling as he did so, as he was down an arm. “Heading out somewhere?” Dean asked, after knocking on the doorway.

Sam looked up, barely smiling. He looked almost half asleep. “Uh yeah. A hunter friend of mine asked me to help her with a poltergeist case. Should be only a few days.”

“A poltergeist case uh?” Dean questioned, intrigued. “Where at?” He scratched the back of his head as he walked into Sam’s bedroom, trying his best not to sound too excited about the case.

“Tulsa. It’s about a five and a half hour drive from here, and I promised Y/N I’d meet her at the motel in town,” Sam said, zippering up his duffel.

“You sure you’re good to go Sammy? I mean, your arm is still broken,” Dean said, pointing at his arm. “Why don’t I go instead? I could use a nice and easy case to get my sea legs back.”

Sam looked at his brother with a bit of hesitancy. “I don’t know Dean…” his voice trailed off. Even though Sam had talked to you about Dean, he wasn’t sure how you would react to Dean showing up instead of him. Based on the short amount of time he had known you, he feels that you and Dean would get along really well as your hunting styles were scarily similar at times, and your personalities rivaled each other. But yet, you didn’t know Dean, and he knew you’d rather hunt alone than hunt with someone you didn’t know.

“Sammy, your arm is broken. No offense, but how much help are you really going to be to her? She might as well just do it by herself,” Dean said, and Sam knew that his brother had a point. He was right, as much as he hated to admit it.

Sam sighed, almost defeated. “Alright, alright. You’re…you’re right,” he said, slightly swinging his casted arm. “Just let me give her a heads up first okay?”

You looked out straight in front of you as only darkness could be seen for miles and miles. Your hands had a tight grip on the wheel to the point that your knuckles were almost pale and white. The loudness of your windshield wipers drowned out what you were currently listening to — The Clash.

There was no traffic, no cars— just you, the rain, and the complete darkness except for your headlights. You sighed, thinking about your boyfriend, how conflicted you felt about the whole thing. On one end, you were tired of the bullshit and were ready to call it quits with him. Why be with someone who makes you miserable? You heard your mom’s words echoing in your brain, so loud as if she was sitting right next to you. On the other end, you wanted to give him another chance as people who understood the hunting life was few and far between.

You didn’t necessarily want to be alone, but it was something that started to look more and more appealing. You were 22, still young and had time to find someone. But who? Another hunter? A civilian maybe? No, no civilians, you thought. Too risky. You needed someone that knew the life.

As if snapping you out of your current thought, your phone started ringing, the buzz of it slightly vibrating your seat. Since there were no cars on the road, you pulled off to the side, and answered the phone. "Hey Sammy," you said, "where are you?"

"Hey Y/N, I'm uh...still back at the Bunker," his voice sounded so tired and defeated.

You raised a brow in confusion. "What do you mean you're still back at the Bunker? You're not coming to help me?" You would be lying if you weren't disappointed. Although you had only known Sam for a short amount of time, he was someone that you genuinely enjoyed hunting with; not only because he was a legendary Winchester, but because he treated you like his equal, despite your age.

"Remember when Cas helped me on a case a while back and I ended up breaking my arm?" He said, and you nodded, even though you knew he wasn't able to hear you. But he took your lack of an answer to continue speaking. "Well, it's still broken. And I didn't want to say no when you called for help because you were such a big help to Cas and me, especially me, when Dean were gone."

You didn't want to give the impression that you were disappointed, even though you were. But you understood where Sam was coming from; and the last thing you wanted to do was force him to drive all the way to Tulsa just to sit in the motel room. "I really appreciate you saying yes, even though you're kind of out of commission. It...it really means a lot."

"Listen, I know you can pretty much solve this case in your sleep but..." he paused, sighing, almost as if he was afraid to say the next few words. "Dean offered to help you."

You were completely silent, which was a rarity for you. It wasn't like you didn't appreciate the help, but you were iffy about it as you didn't really like working with people that you weren't really familiar with. Yes, you've heard countless stories from Sam about his brother, and knew he was a good hunter; but the thing that scared you was, when it came down to it, would he just leave you for dead to save himself?

"I know you don't usually work with people you aren't really familiar with but," he sighed again, and you knew if he was in front of you right now, the puppy dog eyes would be in full force. "He's a great hunter, Y/N, and he wouldn't let anything happen to you. If something bad happened to you, he would never be able to forgive himself."

How could you possibly say no when Sam was practically telling you how good of a person his brother was? "Sam —"

"You'd be doing me a big favor, Y/N. I think this case would really help him get back into the swing of things," Sam said. Now you definitely couldn't say no.

You took a deep breath, sighing. "Okay," you said simply, giving in to Sam’s plead.

"Thanks Y/N, seriously," his tone sounding a bit happier now that you agreed. "I already gave him the address to the motel we agreed to meet at. He should hopefully be there right around the same time as you are."

"But you guys are almost six hours away," you stated with a raised brow. "Is he teleporting there?"

Sam chuckled at your comment. "No, no. He uh...he's a bit of a speed demon," Kind of like you, he wanted to add.

"Ah, so like me," you said. Sam couldn't help but smile at the comment, finding it funny that you had thought the exact same thing as he had. "Alright. Um, does he need my phone number or?"

"I kind of...already...gave it to him...sorry..." his words trailed off, almost embarrassed, like you had caught him red handed. You sighed, slightly annoyed. You didn't like when others gave out your phone number without asking you first, but then again, your boyfriend — which was soon to be your ex — was something he did quite often behind your back.

"He still driving the impala?" You asked, but before Sam could answer you, you continued with your thought, answering your own question. "Never mind, that was a stupid question," you slightly chuckled to yourself. "Of course he's still driving the impala."

Dean held the steering wheel tightly in his hands, loving the feeling of the leather at his fingertips. It had been far too long since he'd driven Baby, and it was one of the things that he truly missed while he was gone. "It's just a car Sam," his words rang out; and those words gutted him, because Baby wasn't just a car: she was home.

As he drove, his music was low, not loud like he usually preferred it, as he was currently admiring the simplicity of his surroundings. The rain hitting the windshield and being quickly wiped away, the darkness of the road that was only lit up by Baby's headlights. He felt comfortable and at ease; something driving always helped him to feel. He felt at home right now.

You didn't really know what to feel right now as you were debating back and forth on how your first meeting with the infamous Dean Winchester was going to go. According to Sam, the two of you would get along great, as he's made comments along the lines of, "You sometimes scarily remind me of Dean," which you weren't sure if you should take as a compliment or not.

Some of the stories Sam had told you about Dean impressed you, but then there were some where you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the stupidity. With some stories, you wondered how he wasn't dead already, then again, both Winchester's have died and came back countless times as death didn't seem to stick. You couldn't help but wonder what made them so special. Maybe they are God's favorites, you thought; and you couldn't help but chuckle.

Pulling into the motel parking lot, you let out a small laugh, seeing Dean's impala already in the parking lot. He really is a speed demon, you thought. Wonder what time he got here? You wondered.

As soon as you parked your vehicle, your phone began buzzing, and you looked at the name on the caller ID. Your blood started boiling seeing your boyfriend's name. "You have to be fucking kidding me," you mumbled to yourself.

At first, you were going to ignore the call, as maybe he would think you were still driving. But there was no way you would be able to give that illusion as there was no traffic on the road when you left because of the time. With gritted teeth, you answered the call, trying your absolute best to remain calm. "Hey," was all you said.

"You get to the motel yet?" He asked, his tone implying that he already had that knowledge somehow.

"I just pulled in," your answers were short, as you were still mad at him from before. Although driving was one of the things that calmed you down and made you feel at peace, for some reason, this argument in particular really made you angry.

"You said you would call me when you got to the motel," he sounded mildly annoyed, but disappointed at the same time.

You rolled your eyes. "Fucking hell," you mouthed. "I just pulled in. You didn't give me enough time to even call or text you." You took a deep breath, feeling yourself getting ready to boil over. "This is me telling you that I have reached the motel and may not be able to talk to you over the next couple of days, okay?" You weren't asking him; you were telling him; trying to make it clear that you couldn't talk to him. Of course you would be able to, but you didn't want to, as this case was a way for you to get the edge off. It was a way to kill something without killing him.

"I love you," he said, and for some reason him saying those three little words surprised you. He rarely said them to you, even though it was something that you had said to him regularly. The only times he ever seemed to say those three little words to you was during or after sex, or when the two of you had gotten into a rather nasty argument.

You didn't want to say it back to him, as love was the very last thing you felt for him in this moment. But you almost felt like you needed to, so he wouldn't feel like anything was wrong between the two of you. Then again, you didn't want to gaslight him the same way he always seemed to gaslight you. "I'll see you in a few days," was how you decided to answer, as those were the most genuine words you felt you could say to him.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 2

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #dean x you #dean x reader #reader insert #female reader #the 15 year problem

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sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

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Emergency Contact

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

You choke on your words, but you swallow them faster.

Just want you to be my Emergency Contact.

Summary:

After Jason miraculously comes home from his brush with Deathstroke, you’re both feeling it in very different ways. You have an unexpected physical wound from the battle, and he has many (very expected) emotional wounds. You help each other heal. Even if it’s very stubborn on both your parts.

Jason Todd x GN!Powered!Reader. Enemies/FWB to Lovers. Angst and Hurt/Comfort. (Slight Smut). Set during Season 2, Episode 5.

Word Count: 10,400

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

...

Warnings: general emotional angst, Jason has a self deprecating inner dialogue, (kind of) enemies to lovers - more like annoyances to fuck buddies to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, the reader and Jason have a bantering/argumentative nature to their relationship, the reader is meant to be 100% gender neutral (the reader is never referred to in the third person, so there is no need to use they/them pronouns, but the reader is not called she/her or he/him), Jason calls the reader ‘babe’ (imo, a completely gender neutral term and he would call anybody that), mentions of alcohol (Jason drinking a beer), the reader character has ice powers (not entirely relevant to the plot but I couldn’t help myself lmao).

sexual themes throughout, mentions of sexting (no detailed descriptions), mentions of sexting in public, mentions of the reader character sending nudes to Jason (no detailed descriptions of the photos), one scene with detailed smut (but it is not the primary focus of the fic), the reader’s genitals are not described in any specific way, some dirty talk, Jason is more dominant and the reader is more submissive, penetrative sex, Jason is annoying even during sex, Jason has a pain kink (even when he’s a dom, he’s a painslut, I don’t make the rules), scratching/marking (Jason receiving), slight humiliation kink.

mentions of canon level violence, mentions of kidnapping (in alignment with canon), mentions of Jason being beaten by Deathstroke, mentions of Jason’s near-death experience (being dropped off the building), gun violence, the reader is injured - has a bullet wound/bullet fragment in their stomach, mentions of blood, descriptions of first-aid, mentions of puss from an infected wound (theoretically, not something that happens in the fic). That should be everything.

A/N: The title for the fic comes from a song by Pierce the Veil of the same name. It’s a newer song, and it’s one that I absolutely went to when looking for a title for this fic. The concept of becoming someone’s emergency contact is about upgrading the relationship from casual to much more serious, and just the whole song, and specific lyrics in it suit this fic so well. I highly recommend listening to it paired with this fic.

This was based on a request from my old blog, but obvi I don’t have that ask anymore - the request was about Jason getting shot and having his wound attended to by the reader, but I changed it to the reader getting shot cause I thought that was more interesting and less common. If the person who made that request sees this and finds my new blog, I hope you enjoy it! And in general, I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it.

This is another re-post from my old blog, and I do have a sequel for it in my drafts, which I am not actively working on. And before I post the sequel, I do plan on tweaking this and revamping it a little, but I figured I would repost this for now just to have the masterlist complete on this blog.

...

If asked, you would be hard pressed to explain your relationship with Jason Todd.

The best way you could describe it would probably be - friends with benefits?

But most of the time, the two of you weren’t even friends. You weren’t the type to hang out casually, or spend time alone together if it didn’t involve ripping each other’s clothes off.

If you ever exchanged secrets or those precious bits of your most raw selves, it was by mistake. It was through sarcasm, or coming off the tired lips of someone who had just been exhausted by a few orgasms. The two of you knew each other well, quite literally inside and out. But you always made a deep, concerted effort to hold each other at arm’s length. And maybe that’s part of what all the snark and harsh words were for.

It wasn’t all arguing. You were friendly. You could be civil, at the very least.

Right from the moment you had first met Jason, you had found him to be so damn annoying, a shitstain on the earth - yet, someone you couldn’t stay away from. The line between flirtatious banter and a truly grinding argument was always so thin with the two of you.

…

You hadn’t expected that your life would be truly changed when you walked into that safehouse in Chicago that day. You truly thought nothing of him when his eyes landed on you - in those moments, a completely anonymous stranger, raking his eyes over you like you were a piece of meat. It was a gaze that immediately made you feel naked, something that made you want to smack him. You told yourself it was because he was being a pervert, not because of the heat that curled in your gut at feeling so intensely desired by him.

He had been sitting on the couch sipping a beer like he owned the place, his thighs spread wide in a way you immediately decided was arrogant and annoying rather than hot - showing off his muscle tone as if it was trying to break through his jeans. Definitely annoying. Definitely the stance of a fuckboy trying to look bigger and badder than he was. He definitely was not attractive.

When Dick led you, Rachel, Gar, and Kory further into the condo that seemed far too conspicuous to be a safehouse, the stranger you would later come to know as Jason quickly spoke up.

“Who are your friends?” He asked.

As he rose from the couch, his eyes lingered on you. Though his words seemed more out of curiosity, you couldn’t help but feel that bite of something more salacious lingering in his voice.

It caused you to scoff and roll your eyes.

“Not important.” Dick declared, his voice snippy. He was clearly annoyed with this new guy, and you could tell that your perceptions of him were definitely not ill-informed.

“Who’s he?” Kory asked, going for the obvious question.

“Not important.” Dick parroted out the words again, sounding much shorter with his patience.

“Anybody want a brew?” Jason asked, motioning with the beer bottle in his hand.

“Brew?” You twisted your eyebrows with disgust, staring him down as you commented on his odd choice of slang.

He didn’t get to reply, as you were trampled over by Gar’s enthusiastic voice in your ear.

“I do!” He said, raising his hand with excitement.

“No, you don’t.” You quickly told him, reaching out to grab his hand and put it back down. “It’s disgusting.”

You had a grand suspicion that Gar had never drank beer before, and he had no idea what he was truly asking for. Rather, he was simply taking advantage of trying new things because Dick and Kory were incredibly slack parental figures and he was away from home for the first time.

“No, no one wants a brew.” Dick sighed, shaking his head. He threw Jason a small glare and you resisted the urge to laugh.

“That can’t be Adamson.” Kory said, motioning toward Jason.

This left you confused. But you didn’t question it.

“He’s not Adamson. Adamson’s in the bathroom. Unconscious.” Dick explained.

“Hi, I’m Rachel.” Rachel told Jason, offering him a sweet smile - being her usual sweet self.

“Jason.” He introduced himself, in that moment, finally giving you a name to that obnoxious face.

“I’m Gar!” Gar said with a grin, to which Jason nodded.

Jason caught you glaring at him, and looked you up and down again, as if trying to willfully tear off your clothes with his eyes. It made your skin itch with heat and you would forever deny that it was a feeling you liked.

“What can I call you, babe?” He asked, his voice entirely slimy, the kind of tone he would have used to recite cheesy lines to Tinder dates, you were entirely sure of.

Before you could come up with some clever reply, Dick sighed in frustration and started balking again.

“Okay, who we all are doesn’t matter right now.” He pressed, his neck so entirely tense that veins began to pop from the skin. “Can we just chill out, relax, sit on the couch and watch TV or something?”

It seemed that he wouldn’t get his wish.

Gar quickly charged around the table, finding something else to get strung up about.

“Yo, when did you get another one?” He asked, putting his hands on both of the expensive cases on the long dining table - a copy identical to the one you knew to be containing Dick’s Robin outfit.

It made you curious, and the answer that followed certainly surprised you.

“That one’s mine.” Jason said, his chest literally puffing out with pride as he stated the fact.

“No way.” You scoffed.

“Yes way.” He quickly argued back, the whole exchange sounding entirely juvenile.

“This one’s yours? Wait, you’re Robin too?” Gar quickly put the pieces together.

“I thought you were Robin?” Rachel commented, tilting her head toward Dick with curiosity.

“I am.” Dick said firmly.

“He was.” Jason corrected, a cocky smirk forming across his lips.

“Batman really lowered the height requirement, huh.” You said.

The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them, seeing as it was likely the only thing you could nitpick about Jason’s appearance. Between his stunning sharp jaw, his piercing blue eyes, his oddly appealing wild hair, his muscle tone being somehow visible beneath his baggy clothing - all of it made you equally frustrated and annoyed with him, and your baser urges couldn’t resist the low-hanging fruit.

You felt victory and a slight pang of guilt when Jason deflated because of your comment, shrinking back into himself at your words.

He didn’t have anything to say in return, he simply sipped his beer.

“Wait, how many Robins are there?” Gar said, beginning to excitedly ramble at the thought. “Are there a lot? Cause I would love to-”

“Okay, quiet.” Kory cut him off, clearly becoming annoyed with all of this dancing around the point as much as Dick was. “Sit.”

Her words were firm, and you couldn’t help but to listen. You found yourself collapsing to sit on the couch while Rachel and Gar took seats at the dining table. Jason continued to linger in the middle of the room, staring at Kory and Dick as their frustration filled the air.

“Bathroom.” Kory told Dick, and then they left to deal with whoever - or whatever - Adamson was.

Jason sighed and took a seat beside you. When his eyes fell on you, you set your jaw and glared at him. You didn’t give away a single ounce of the heat you were feeling as his eyes locked with yours.

“Even if I am the shorter Robin, I can assure you that everything else about me is… very long.” He lowered his voice and whispered those last words, crowding into your personal space as he did so.

It sent shivers down your spine, his silken voice making the words sound too tempting. Even if you twisted your face and said ‘gross!’ causing him to dissolve into laughter, you didn’t make an effort to move away from him or put any space between your two bodies on the very large couch. You told yourself it was because you were tired from a very long day of travel, not because you were enjoying the smell of his strangely expensive cologne from this close by.

His grin was still entirely smug, and you couldn’t stand it.

When he raised the beer bottle up to his mouth again, you reached over and put a hand on his forearm, forcefully dragging his arm down as you made a snide comment.

“That shit is disgusting, why the hell do you drink it?” You asked.

You found your face drifting toward his again and if asked, you would say it was a form of intimidation - not that you were being drawn in by an unconscious attraction to him.

“Because I can.” He replied, just as snide as he slipped your grip and sipped on the drink.

You mocked his words in an entirely childish voice, and then you raised a single finger up to it and skimmed along the neck of the bottle. It took only a single moment of concentration with your skilled powers to freeze the beer inside solid. He thought he felt an extra chill coming off his hand, but convinced himself that he imagined it. But when he kept it tilted and nothing came out to meet his lips, he shook it and then stuck an inquiring eye inside the bottle.

When he saw that it was completely frozen, he looked over and saw you grinning, and little did you know - that was the moment he became completely taken with you. You were one of the most annoying people he had ever met, and he found himself so intensely attracted to you.

Even if it was getting under your skin by arguing with you or fucking your brains out, he knew in that moment - he had to get inside you and drive you insane the same way that he knew you would for him.

…

When Dick left to go check on his old circus friend Clay, Jason winked at you and said ‘don’t miss me too much’. You made a show of putting a finger near your mouth and audibly gagging.

Later that night, when Jason didn’t return, you hated the curl of disappointment that panged in your stomach. You wanted to hit yourself for staring at the door, waiting for the second Robin to come in behind Dick.

You hated yourself even more for replying to Jason’s texts.

Apparently he had taken your phone out of your jacket pocket when you went to the bathroom (not to see Adamson - a different bathroom, to pee). And he had put himself in your contacts as ‘Hot Guy’. He had also sent himself a text from your phone that read ‘omg Jason you’re so hot, will you fuck me?’. And then replied to it from his own phone with a picture of his cock.

Unfortunately, the only thing you could mock about the picture was poor lighting.

When you told him as much, he quickly remedied that with several more pictures - ones with better lighting. He sent a video with very distinct audio. You would deny that you rushed to put your headphones in to listen to it while you sat on the train with Kory and Gar. You would deny that it drove a hard, hot pain between your thighs.

You dug through a folder and sent some pictures of your own. You told yourself it was to prove to him that you were too good for him - to show off something he could never actually have. To tease him.

You would deny that you loved the compliments he gave you, that you ate up the affection like a plant lovingly soaking up the sun.

When you were sexting him, you had no clue that you were ever going to see him again. It was almost mindless, something for a dopamine hit to distract yourself from all the chaos going on around you. You weren’t doing it because you actually liked Jason. You didn’t have any real attractions toward him, or any real plans to carry out all of the bold things you said in those messages.

You had no clue that you’d end up living together.

When you did find out that Dick would be taking Jason into the newly reopened Titans Tower along with you, Gar, and Rachel, you didn’t make a big deal of it in your mind. When Jason made flirtatious remarks toward you in person, you brushed him off. You put up a wall.

You told yourself that he was nothing more than a cocky, shallow guy who would use you for sex and then throw you away - something you could never actually build a proper relationship with. And if you were supposed to live together, be some kind of team like Dick expected you to be, then you couldn’t be messy. You couldn’t get emotional.

You had no clue that on one of those first nights living together, your self assured discipline not to give into your lust for him would break like a wafer cookie, and you would be in his bed faster than a sea turtle running into ocean.

…

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good on my cock.” Jason grunted, his face buried in your neck as he thrusted deep inside of you. The loud squelch of artificial wetness coming from between your thighs as he worked his hips, working you open with a needy, demanding pace. “Bet you love this cock, huh? Tell me how fuckin’ much you love it.”

“Shut up.”

The words came from your throat as a weak whimper, much less powerful than you had intended.

You didn’t want to give him any more power than he already held over you - he had you weak and willing on his cock, something you would have never admitted could be true until it was happening in these moments.

Though you would never admit it aloud, you loved the way he handled you. Having you pinned against the bed with his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, having you breathless and moaning as he fucked into you with fast, obviously skilled strokes. Your nails cut into the flesh of his back, and he let out a low rumble from his gut as the sharp sting sent a wave of pleasure through him.

You hated the twinge of lustful embarrassment that curled in your gut when he chuckled at your words.

“Oh, you want me to shut up?” He asked, slightly breathless from the act himself, moving one hand beside your head to raise himself up slightly to look in your eyes.

He was sweaty, disheveled, his hair a mess, his muscles taught with the effort as he continued to pound into you. You hated that you had imagined him much like this before, and that this outlived all of your fantasies.

“Yes.” You fired back. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

He bit his lip - something you didn’t know was him trying to hold back his orgasm, so utterly turned on by your bratty defiance, the twinge of a whimper in your voice as you said those words.

“You weren’t tellin’ me to shut up when I was texting you.”

He said, all hot breath fanning across your chin, his hips spearing forward in sharp, hard hits that made your skin smack loudly together. It made you work hard to suppress moans deep in your chest in a way that was painful, like venom inside your lungs. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your sounds, of knowing just how good he was fucking you - even if he could see it written all over your pleasure twisted face.

“You only begged for more when I was tellin’ you how I was gonna lay you on my bed. Take you apart… make you scream my name.”

He reached his other hand from your hip to the point where you were joined. He began touching that tender place, making sharp, vicious strokes that were almost vengeful. Tears easily gathered in your eyes and he let out another chuckle when you choked on a deep, pleasurable wail.

“Tell me, how many times did you touch yourself reading what I wrote?”

He asked, leaning down to whisper the words right in your ear.

“How many times did you cum thinking about me?”

“I didn’t.” You choked out, digging your nails deeper into the skin of his back, causing him to grunt as the pain mixed with the pleasure flowing through him.

“Sure, babe.” He smirked down at you, turning that look into something absolutely pavlovian that would forever make you feel his cock deep inside of you when you saw it, rather than feeling annoyed.

Maybe from that point on, it was a bit of both.

In an effort to shut him up, you reached up and claimed his lips. It was supposed to be a kiss, but it was mostly teeth. When you bit down on his bottom lip, snarling, he tasted blood and the way he moaned at the pain was absolutely unmistakable. It was something you remembered and used against him many times after that.

…

You wouldn’t allow yourself any room for self hatred when it came to that break in your self control. When it became an ongoing thing, you spun it as positive in your mind.

It was just sexual release. You and Jason both needed it. It paired well with intense training and the heavy studying that Dick made you do. It lowered your stress levels a lot, and it helped you get through the day.

The more time you spent around Jason, the more you got to know him, and the more you came to realize that he was nowhere near shallow. You easily saw that he was caring, deep, complex, troubled. The more time passed, you found yourself falling for him and the more you deeply denied it. Because it was just sex.

Things were good between the two of you, and you knew that if you added anything else to the mix - any complicated, mushy feelings - you would fuck it up.

You were especially reminded of this - how important it was not to fuck things up - just a day or so before every other force aside from you railed Titans Tower and began royally fucking things up.

…

It was a morning just like any other at Titans Tower. It was delightfully quiet - even though Dick demanded that everyone get up at ungodly early hours to begin training, you had somehow managed to wake up before everyone else and you were enjoying the peace it brought you.

When you got up to see that Jason was already in the kitchen, standing at the counter as he munched on a bowl of cereal, you wanted to scorn the idea that your peace would be interrupted. But instead, you found yourself willfully suppressing a smile.

You yawned and walked over to the counter, grabbing a bowl from one of the cupboards, thinking that cereal was just the right idea on his part. A deep frown cut through your face when you poured out the rest of the cereal box he had left on the counter, and a very measly amount fell into your bowl.

“What kind of asshole only leaves three fucking cornflakes in the bottom of the box?” You scoffed, causing him to chuckle.

“Learn to count, babe.” He told you, speaking with his mouth half-full. “That’s more than three.”

You rolled your eyes. You were likely exaggerating - but still, it seemed rude to you to leave such a small portion, barely a handful, in the bottom of the box.

“Or did I make you cum so hard last night that I knocked the common sense out of your head?” He added on, throwing you that signature smirk that made heat bloom between your thighs.

You let out a sarcastic snort, giving him a purposefully disgusted grimace as you lifted the bowl up and dumped the remaining cereal into his portion instead.

“You might as well take these.” You told him. “And don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that good.”

You moved behind them, distracting yourself from the conversation by making a cup of coffee.

“Oh really?” He perked up, rising to his full height, pure mischief in his voice. “It didn’t sound like it last night.”

Much to your horror, he then began imitating your moans.

“‘Oh, Jason! Oh, fuck me! More!’”

It was a cartoonish, pornographic imitation, something he likely wouldn’t have done if the others were anywhere within earshot. Oddly enough, even though your relationship was casual, you still kept it guarded and private, as though it were some precious secret that needed to be kept from the others.

“‘Jason, please, your dick is the best! Oh, make me cum!’”

But that was the farthest thing from your mind as embarrassment curled in your stomach, the reaction he likely wanted to draw out of you. You hated that you didn’t truly know if it was accurate or not, because sometimes - yes, he did fuck your brains out and make you completely mindless on his cock.

But you would never admit that he was right.

“Shut up.” You sighed, causing him to dissolve into laughter, feeling as though he had won.

But you wouldn’t simply leave it at that.

Instead, as you pushed the button on the machine and your coffee began to drip, you turned around and gently placed your fingers on the side of his cereal bowl. You froze all the milk inside of it solid, making it into one large frozen chunk with the spoon stuck inside when he wasn’t looking - distracted, staring at your face, looking for any trace of the reaction that he had drawn out of you.

You just glared, and he smirked once more.

When he picked up the spoon again and went to take another bite, the entire bowl came with it. He sighed in defeat when he realized what you had done.

“You know, it’s so damn annoying when you do that.” He sighed.

“I know.” You grinned at him.

He couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach at this. He resisted the urge to grab you by the sides of your head and steal the grin of your mouth with his own. He told you that it was out of annoyance, and not affection. He told himself those lines were most definitely not blurred when it came to you.

…

Confessing your feelings to Jason would not have been your choice.

Given the choice, you would have let your feelings quietly live and die inside of you. You would have just kept Jason as a friend. You would have even dropped the amazing sex if it meant staying on good terms with him.

But the stakes rose pretty quickly, and things were taken out of your hands. The choice was stolen from you and Jason entirely against your will.

When you found out he was missing, supposedly kidnapped by Doctor Light on the heels of some misguided plan - something inside of you shattered. Up until that moment, if you thought it was just a stupid crush, or an infatuation inside of you that would easily fade with time - you quickly found out that you were wrong.

You went through the stages of grief like a rocket.

Denial. Staring at the door, waiting for him to walk inside at any moment. Just like you had back at the safehouse.

Anger. Being so pissed at Dick at the other older Titans that you could barely breathe. How had they let this happen to him? How could they make him feel so inadequate that he felt the need to go out on his own, half-cocked, clearly doing something in the name of looking for their approval?

Bargaining. You would have traded places with him. You would have been the one, alone and scared and stranded if it meant that he got to be at home safe. You would have gone with him to carry out the stupid plan if he had only asked. Why hadn’t he asked you?

Depression. You wept in your room, hands clasped over your face, letting out chest-shaking sobs as you thought of the possibility of him never returning home again. You realized the possibility of him dying was very real and it made your lungs burn.

And then finally - Acceptance. You finally accepted that your feelings for him were something bigger, and if it meant that you were the only person in the Tower who truly cared about him (probably aside from Gar) - the only person who didn’t just see him as a pawn to be used against Deathstroke - then you had to do something about it.

So you laid out your love for Jason. You put it all on the line for him. You accidentally confessed to him, showed your feelings in a gesture so quiet it screamed.

You knew that for someone who stepped up to become Robin, someone who scorned cops for pummeling down on the innocent when they were supposed to be protectors - stepping up to try and save his life meant a love bigger than anything else you could have done.

And he was terrified of it. There was a big justice in your love for him. And to him, there was an even bigger justice in giving you an out to escape it - to escape loving him.

…

Hectic.

That was easily how you would describe the last few days at Titans Tower.

Between the unexpected arrival of Rose - Dick taking on another stray because, like Rachel said, he couldn’t resist a bird with a broken wing. Finding out that she was related to one of the deadliest men on earth that the Titans apparently had previous history with. And then Jason going off on his own without telling you, some botched hostage trade, and the group picking up yet another stray - a strange boy who had saved Jason’s life. It was all a blur of hectic chaos that had you snapping your neck to keep up.

Sleep was scarce and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a proper meal.

But you weren’t truly worried about any of that.

Dust had been kicked up around your life, and you couldn’t wait for it to settle before you made your next important decision.

Even though the wounds were still tender, you knew that things were safe for now, and your number one concern was Jason.

The minute he had gotten in the door, even though he was slightly hobbled and clearly sore from whatever Deathstroke had done to him, he rushed out of your sight. He was clearly eager to get away from everyone like a wounded animal sulking away to lick his wounds in peace. And when you had chased him, ignoring a nagging pain in your own side from the fight, he had slammed his bedroom door in your face, entirely uncaring of the fact that you called out his name, concerned for him.

The rest of the group was distracted with Conner - not knowing what he had been shot with or how to fix it. You hated it, but in the eyes of the group, yet again, Jason and any of his problems fell to the back burner.

After you had taken a short shower and changed your clothes, you found yourself here. Standing in front of Jason’s closed bedroom door, hoping not to face another cold rejection.

You wondered if he would be sleeping, wondered if you should interrupt his peace. But you knew that sleep was unlikely after everything that had happened.

So you took the leap.

You raised a fist, once again pushing down that stinging pain coming from the right side of your stomach. You reasoned that it was probably nothing more than a bruise forming there. And you knocked on the door.

A few moments later, the door was jerked open, and Jason glared at you.

His eyes were dull and tired, and there was a large bruise forming on the side of his mouth. Probably one of many others that you couldn’t see, from the way he had been walking earlier. He likely hadn’t been sleeping, but you had disturbed him.

“What the hell do you want?” He grumbled out, his voice dull, lacking any true fight.

“I wanted to check on you.” You told him, entirely honest. “I know it might seem stupid, but I wanna see how you’re doing.”

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes.

He wanted to agree that - yes, it was stupid. It should have been obvious how he was doing after being kidnapped, beaten, and dropped off a building. But he was an idiot who had gotten himself thrown headfirst into that mess, thinking he could handle it. And he didn’t need to go crying to you about how badly he had fucked up. He had made a poor choice and he deserved all of the consequences. It was a simple fact of life.

“I’m doing just fine, thanks.” Jason said, entirely snide and sarcastic. “Look, I don’t need your help, okay? So fuck off.”

It was a set of harsh, cutting words. But he thought getting distance from you would be best. This whole thing had woken him up from the sweet little fantasy the two of you had been participating in. He was a natural born fuck-up. And sure, he could have you for a while, play around a bit - but he could never truly make you happy. Eventually, he would fuck you up too. He was a harsh poison and it would be better if he got out of your life before you felt the full effects.

He moved to shove the door closed and upon instinct, you reached up and fought him on it. Unconsciously, you winced as a sharp pain came from the injury in your stomach, reaching for it with your free hand as you held the door open with the other. It should have been no big deal. With your meta abilities, you usually healed quicker. You weren’t even used to feeling it when you got hurt. You were probably just feeling it worse because you were tired.

You tried to ignore the pain. But in a moment, Jason’s eyes went wide with worry as his gaze darted from your face, knit with pain, to where your hand was nursing the injury. Any sense of smarmy discontent dropped from his features, immediately being replaced with a softness and worry for you.

“You’re hurt.” He said quietly.

He let the door fall open again, reaching for your hand to inspect the injury himself.

“I’m fine.” You played the card this time, exchanging his lie for your own.

It was an odd play. He had lied about not being so torn up inside, emotionally devastated as he was, and now you were lying about not being physically injured from the fight. The two of you made an odd, but perfectly matched pair.

Jason barreled right past your words, and you were easily pliant to his touch as he removed your hand from the injury. You certainly were not expecting for him to find anything incriminating under your hand. But he glared at you when he found bright red spread across your palm, a glossy wetness leaking through your shirt.

“You’re bleeding.” He grunted at you.

Clearly, he was disappointed in the fact that you had neglected to bring this injury to the group’s attention. Pissed off at the fact that you weren’t in the medbay with Conner receiving some treatment right now.

Maybe you could blame it on the chaos. Maybe you could blame it on the fact that with everyone so emotionally distraught, you didn’t want to be just another problem for everyone to fuss over.

“Whoops.” You breathed out sarcastically. “I didn’t even notice.”

That last part was honest. In all the adrenaline, all your worrying over whether or not Jason was going to live as you watched him dangle so high off the ground - you truly hadn’t paid any mind to the injury.

“You didn’t-?” Jason huffed out in anger, but didn’t bother finishing the sentence.

Perhaps he partially understood himself, knowing how the adrenaline from a fight could stamp out pain. Or perhaps he knew how truly stubborn you were and he didn’t want to waste his energy arguing with you.

“You need this treated.” He added on.

No matter how fucked in the head he was, he never wanted to see you hurt. That was something he would definitely waste his energy on - wearing down your stubbornness until you let him or someone else in the house take care of the injury properly.

“Conner is worse off than I am.” You shrugged. “He needs the attention more.”

“Then let me help you.” He said, an impatient nagging rising up in his throat. “Bruce gave me some first aid training. One thing that means I’m not totally useless.”

The words made your chest ache for him, a pain that easily competed with the bleeding wound.

“Jason-”

You wanted to argue with him. You wanted to tell him he had infinite worth to you.

But of course, he cut you off.

“Just go sit on the bed.” He told you, quiet, but a firm command that you couldn’t ignore.

He gently pushed past you, on a quest for some supplies to patch you up with. You then found yourself drifting into his room almost mindlessly, your hand clutching the wound again upon instinct. It was a place that you felt oddly at home. The nights you had spent in that bed since coming to Titans Tower, your head delightfully empty as he had fucked you hard and fast - they were by far your favourites.

You would say it was because of the sex, and not just because you got to be wrapped up in Jason’s arms. Maybe everything had changed. Maybe your answers were different now. Maybe you were raw and tender and Jason wasn’t prepared to chase you in that devotion.

But that was just the thing. With you and Jason, there was never any sense of devotion. You and Jason were always hard and fast. Teasing each other, verging on the edge of vengeful. It was a flame that burned intensely hot - but it was never anything soft. It was never anything that prompted you to knock on his door so late, wanting to check on his well being. It was nothing that prompted you to make chase to put your life on the line for him.

Even just knowing that he had the intent to attend to your injury, called himself useful because of it - the thought cradled you like a warm blanket. It had you balancing on the edge of a dam holding back a barrage of feelings that you had been quelling down since the moment you had first put your lips on his.

“I told you to sit.” Jason’s voice came from behind you.

He had raided the infirmary and now had a handful of supplies - luckily without anyone seeing him or questioning why. When you turned to him, he was closing the bedroom door behind him, sealing you both in with this newfound soft intensity, the tired lull of two people unwilling to hold back that softness anymore. It was entirely dangerous, and entirely life-saving at the same time; and neither of you realized it.

“Since when do you get to boss me around?” You told him, your voice low and lacking any true spirit or sarcasm.

It was in the same vein as the banter the two of you usually threw around - bickering about who was a bigger asshole, who was more stubborn, who was better in bed.

You expected some kind of sexual comment in return. You could almost hear it now - he was the boss of you because he made you melt on his cock, made you mindless and dumb with it.

But, no dice.

The longer you stared at him, catching bits of the fresh pain swimming through those gorgeous blue eyes, you wished so badly for the mischief and sarcasm and light to come back and bite you the way that it used to.

It only made your stomach churn harder at the whole situation. Things had officially changed between you and Jason. You had yet to find out if it was for the better, or for the painstakingly worse.

Jason sighed through his nose.

“You can be such an asshole sometimes.” He told you. Coming from him, and given the nature of your relationship, you knew it was almost a compliment. “Will you just sit down and let me help you?”

Even though you were utterly terrified of the swelling of emotions you felt, bound to come to a head - you did.

You sat on the edge of the bed and he placed the supplies beside you.

When he mumbled out a quiet ‘lay back’, and you did, his cool fingertips at the hem of your shirt pulling it upward felt strangely more intimate than any other time you had been in this same position. It wasn’t heady, you weren’t granted the distraction of his mouth on yours and his tongue shoved between your lips while a harsh throbbing nagged between your legs.

This was quiet, and calm, and gentle.

When you caught his eye above you as he wiped away the blood with some clean gauze, you saw nothing but pity and worry and sparkling affection for you. You almost dared to call it something as epic and dangerous as love, buried deep in his eyes. He worked with the most delicate touch, almost as if he was afraid to break you, before he glanced down and inspected the wound.

His brow furrowed with even more intense worry, guilt nipping at his insides when he got a good look at it.

“I think I see a bullet in here.” He told you, and then he moved around the bed and grabbed his phone, turning on the flashlight to have a better light to inspect it. You felt intensely naked, intensely caught when he began shining the light on your stomach with a harshly inquisitive look across his face. “Definitely something shiny. You got shot and you didn’t fucking tell anyone?”

It was only then that you realized when you had gotten the wound - the exact moment clicking into place in your mind.

“It was only a ricochet.” You argued quietly. “It’s not that bad.”

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes, and began sorting out his supplies, preparing to pull out whatever was lodged inside of you.

…

Dick explicitly told you to stay put.

They only wanted the more experienced Titans, the Varsity squad on the case when dealing with Deathstroke. He blamed young naive incompetence as the reason Jason had gotten captured in the first place. You blamed him and Bruce pushing Jason out, making him feel like he needed so desperately to prove himself. But it was something Dick wasn’t ready to hear - an argument you weren’t going to have with the very stubborn team leader.

Instead, you went for the silent route. You trailed the rest of them out of Tower, and when Dick strayed away from the rest of the group, his head on a swivel as he glanced back and forth, seemingly wanting to assure that none of the others were following him - you followed your gut instincts and went after him.

You hid in the shadows and the moment that Deathstroke hit the button and those panels scrolled up, revealing Jason stranded on that scaffolding - you couldn’t help yourself.

“Jason!”

You screamed out his name, you leapt forward.

Dick didn’t have time to scold you, not before the gunfire started.

Kory came out of nowhere - seemingly, she had the same idea as you. Putting her life on the line for an emotionally repressed man that she hadn’t admitted her feelings for. But she was there because she was in love with the other Robin. (Or rather, a man who claimed over and over again that he wasn’t Robin.)

Things quickly became a blur - flashes of flame as Kory fought, battling with the muzzle flashes from Deathstroke’s guns, limbs flying as they fought each other. You didn’t see it, but Deathstroke raised and aimed at you as you rushed toward the window, blindly going after Jason. In response, Dick charged forward, redirecting the gun as he pulled the trigger. You heard the sharp ‘ping’ sound of metal on metal - what you couldn’t see was the bullet hitting one of the metal beams in the ceiling. But you certainly felt it when it sliced into your side.

At the time, it was nothing compared to the fear you felt for Jason.

His eyes were wide with terror, and you could only focus on getting him to safety. You had no idea that a large part of his panic came from seeing you in the building. He had hoped that Dick would keep you away from all of this. But there you were, standing a few feet away from a man with a gun who was shooting around wildly. Jason would have delighted in being dropped off the building to his death if he had to see you get fatally shot when he could do nothing but squirm on the other side of the glass.

You put two hands on the glass, banging on it - of course, it was no use. It was inches thick, meant to keep people from going through it at this height. Working entirely on instinct, you put your palms flat across it and began forming ice crystals over it, hoping to make it rigid and breakable if it was frozen.

Once there was enough ice, you quickly looked around and spotted a metal pipe there for the in-progress construction of the building, so you grabbed it and rushed to smash the glass with it. You felt victorious as it shattered, and Jason flinched away from the shards, putting you one step closer to freeing him.

Though the moment the glass was cleared, leaving the wind whipping around you, his first words of greeting to you were not celebratory.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He barked at you, clearly angry with you.

You felt a dull ache in your chest at this. You thought he might be relieved, happy, pleased. At the time, you couldn’t interpret his harsh reaction as worry for you possibly getting hurt.

Nonetheless, you ignored his harshness. You would save him, whether he wanted to be saved or not. You draped your body through the window, reaching out to him. You made an effort to keep most of your weight planted on the floor of the building, in case the scaffolding wasn’t stable enough to hold two people at once.

“What do you think?” You replied, pure sarcasm dripping through your voice as you reached behind Jason and began fiddling with the rope around his wrists.

The position put the two of you in intensely close proximity. Jason caught a whiff of your unique scent, the shower gel you used that mingled with your body’s natural oils; and he felt so painfully at home. For the first time that night, he held back tears. He couldn’t help but to lean his forehead on your shoulder, taking comfort in having you so near after being on edge and terrified for so many hours. You resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, to cradle him and give him further comfort. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand - getting him to safety.

Behind you, at the very back of the room, Dick and Deathstroke wrestled with the remote for the explosives attached to the scaffolding.

Just as you managed to get Jason’s wrists freed, Deathstroke hit the switch, and the bombs went off.

…

You winced loudly as Jason dabbed at the wound with disinfectant.

“I would say sorry… but, you’ll thank me later when this isn’t swollen and leaking puss.” He told you, throwing you a small smirk.

It was smug. It was the usual kind of humor that he gave you.

It was comforting to know that every trace of the Jason you knew hadn’t been stolen by Deathstroke.

You held your breath as he pressed down with the medicine-covered gauze again, drawing much less of a reaction out of you this time.

“Great mental image, Jay.” You replied, your voice dull. It lacked any of the true bite you wanted to deliver in response to him. “I’m sure it’s such a turn-on thinking about my puss.”

It was meant to be a joke. But even unconsciously, it was an acknowledgement of that dangerous line - the line between truly caring and just using someone for sex. The line between having someone in your life as a body to get off with, and being so… homely with them.

You and Jason were towing that line dangerously. It was a thread that you were balancing on, and it would either break, or you would cross to the other side and be forever bonded to him.

Jason shrugged. “Maybe I don’t have to be turned on by you all the time.”

There was more stuck in his throat. Another dangerous acknowledgement of that line.

‘Maybe I just have to care.’

Both of you lulled into silence because neither of you dared to say it.

After a few moments, Jason put down the gauze and hesitated to reach for the tweezers. He knew that pulling the bullet out would be painful, but inevitable. It was a lot like the state of your relationship with him. Break it off, and find happiness elsewhere, or acknowledge this big thing swelling to fruition between the two of you. Have Jason fuck it up eventually. Painful, but inevitable.

“You shouldn’t have to be hurt like this.” Jason said quietly. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt for my sake.”

There it was again - words with a dangerous double meaning.

You looked up at him, pure pain knit across his face, and for a moment he looked from the tweezers to you and he could hardly stand holding your gaze.

‘It’s worth it.’ You wanted to say. ‘For you, I’d bear any pain.’

The words lived and died behind your eyes, and your tongue decided on something else entirely.

“It’s nothing.” You told him.

You downplayed the pain, pretending that the injury was only a minor inconvenience for you. And in the grand scheme of life, it was. With time, it would heal. Losing Jason would be something you’d never heal from.

Jason shook his head at this statement.

He forced himself to reach for the tweezers then. He handed you his phone, a silent agreement that you would hold the light as steady as you could. He knew you well, too well, and he knew that you needed something else to focus on to push away the pain. He put his free hand on the plush of your stomach, pulling back slightly to hold the wound open while you held the light on it.

When the sharp metal of the tweezers breached your wound, you wanted to swear. You wanted to call him an asshole as the pain shot through you. You wanted to scold him for leaving the Tower and being kidnapped in the first place. But you knew that even if it was playful or sarcastic, fueled by the bite of your pain, it was not what he needed to hear right now. So instead, you held your breath, and gripped his phone hard, keeping the light steady as you bared the sharp shocks of pain.

After a moment of digging around that felt like an eternity, he pulled out the fragment and held it up to show you as you collapsed back against the bed, panting with tears stinging the edges of your eyes.

“It’s not nothing.” He declared sharply.

You couldn’t conjure a response. You knew he was right. And you didn’t want to be forced to admit it.

Instead, you turned off the light from his phone and relaxed into the bed, closing your eyes as he walked around to the trashcan and threw out the bullet fragment. It fell into the bottom of the plastic wastebasket with a very small ‘ping’ - making you wonder how something so small could cause so much trouble.

Jason quickly returned to you, dabbing more disinfectant into the wound in a way that made you groan and flex away from the touch. Once again, he did not apologize.

There were a few moments of muddy silence with nothing but your slightly labored breathing, trying to contain your sounds of pain so as to not make him feel any further guilt about the whole incident.

Your mind churned, and you couldn’t help the next words that came from your mouth.

“I meant what I said.” You told him.

At the sound of this, his hands immediately stilled. You felt his eyes on you, and you forced yourself to open your own and look up at him once again. He stared you down with intense examination. He looked for any ounce of falsity, any sign that you were lying, even posturing to make him feel better after everything that had happened.

He didn’t find any.

You thought he might acknowledge you, that he might say something back to return your mighty words. Instead, he simply reached for more gauze, and began putting a final bandage on your wound.

…

The explosion caused a sharp rattle through your ears. It shocked you and made you dizzy and put the whole world off-kilter. The only thing you could perceive past the mind-numbing hum in your brain was the feeling of Jason’s rough glove gripping tightly onto your wrist, so you gripped back as hard as you could.

When you blinked open your eyes, you were half-hanging out of the open window, the edge of the floor cutting into your waist as you held onto Jason by nothing but his wrist. His whole body weight created a harsh burn, straining on the muscles in your shoulder as you watched him dangle hundreds of feet above the street.

Panic flooded you.

You scrambled to reach out with your other hand, and the moment you moved, your shirt slipped against the sleek, polished material of the floor and you began sliding out the window. You gasped and Jason stilled his panicked flailing immediately.

“Don’t move!” He shouted.

“Give me your other hand so I can pull you up!” You shouted back.

Beyond the unpleasant hum of your eardrums rattling, you still heard chaos behind you. Gunshots, the grunts of fighting, Kory and Dick’s voices yelling. They were busy with Deathstroke, they couldn’t help you or Jason.

Jason looked up at you with glassy eyes.

He knew that with all his gear weighing him down, even with the training you had been doing, you wouldn’t be able to pull him up. Not by yourself. And if you weren’t careful, his body weight would just pull you out of the window and cause you to go tumbling down to your death along with him.

When you saw that frown etch across his lips, that filthy look of dawning - you glared at him.

“Give me your other hand!” You screamed, your voice raking across your throat like hot coals. A hot boiling rage at the fact that he seemed almost determined to die.

There was one thing he was determined about. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to take you down with him.

His gloved wrist started to slip from your nervous, sweaty palm, and you tried hard to hold on tight. You formed large shards of ice, hoping you could create some kind of bond there by freezing your hand to his. But it would only be temporary with gravity trying to tear the two of you apart.

“You have to drop me, Y/N.” He said, nothing but pure mourning on his lips. “I’m dead weight.”

You both knew it was a horrendous double meaning.

He thought he was a dead weight to your life.

“No!” You immediately defied this thought, that feral rage ripping at your throat once again. “I’m gonna pull you up. I’m gonna pull you up!”

You reached your other hand down and tightly wrapped both of your hands around his wrist, yanking upward. The harsh movement caused you to slide even further out the window. You were now dangling dangerously over San Francisco with only the thickness of your thighs giving you any real stability on the intensely high up floor. It made you dizzy, and the only thing you had to focus on were the wet wells of Jason’s eyes staring up at you.

“It’s no use!” Jason said tearfully.

You ignored him.

You cast your chin over your shoulder, and began shouting.

“Help me!” You screamed, trying desperately to get the attention of Dick or Kory. “Help me! Fuck!”

“You have to let go.”

Jason’s words immediately shifted your focus back to him.

But of course, you refused.

“I’m not letting go of you!” You declared sharply. “Not that easily.”

As he stared up at your tearful eyes, he knew that you meant it as more.

Unfortunately, it was the one thing he was terrified of.

He thought that you saw him as some shiny perfect thing, something good and worth having in your life. He thought that you were incapable of seeing the poison, the true fuck-up that he was. If you didn’t let go of him, sooner or later, just like everyone else in his life, you were going to get burned.

So Jason did what he had to do.

He began prying your fingers off his wrist, trying his best to keep you stable while he forced himself from your grip.

“No!” You shrieked. “No, no, no-”

You didn’t have much room to fight him about it without falling out of the window yourself.

You made a move to readjust, to get a tighter grip on him - and it was the one deadly move that caused him to slip out of your touch completely.

You were forced to watch on in chest clenching horror, blinking through heavy tears as he began hurtling toward the ground.

…

If not for Conner - a literal miracle - swooping in and saving Jason at the last second, then you would have spent the rest of your life regretting those moments, wondering what you could have done differently to save him.

When Jason finished taping down the bandages, making sure the wound was clean and secure, he laid his palm flat on top of it. It was a kind of ‘kissing it better’ that instantly spread warmth curling through your gut. It was a touch so incredibly tender - especially compared to the heated, aggressive groping you were used to from him - that it caused a whimper from the back of your throat.

You knew it was unlikely, but you hoped that he hadn’t heard it.

“All done.” He said quietly.

You instantly felt regret when he took his hand away and began tidying up the medical supplies. But you forced yourself to sit upright, now feeling only muscle soreness and a much duller pain coming from the area. You felt intensely thankful for his care as you pulled your shirt back down, righting your clothes back into place.

“You’re free to go now.” Jason told you, his voice still low, as though a single decibel would shatter the delicate peace between the two of you.

You felt your heart sink.

In an instant, you understood what it was - he was concerned about your physical wellbeing, but he didn’t actually want to have you around. Just like his reaction to you showing up at the hostage exchange - he didn’t want your presence there.

You heaved a sigh and got off the bed as Jason busied himself with gathering up the used gauze to throw it away. As you put your hand on the doorknob, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to leave.

It was something else.

It had to be something else.

Jason hadn’t let himself drop off a building in some desperate ploy just to get away from you. He had been trying to save you.

He was so utterly willing to give his life for yours.

And now he was trying to back down from that.

You turned and faced him, leaving the door closed. When he turned from ditching things in the wastebasket, he froze. He was entirely surprised that you were still there.

The two of you locked eyes, both staying still - like a predator and prey locked in a stalemate, wondering who would run first.

In this situation, you weren’t sure who was the prey.

You were both so vulnerable.

Jason thought it would be selfish to get caught up in all of this, to finally admit those dangerous feelings he had for you. When he cared for things, he usually ended up breaking them. Of course, it was never on purpose - he was an idiot. Everything he touched, he fucked up. He had made that more than evident with his last braindead plan, the outing to prove that he was worthy of being Robin. Something that had gotten you shot, probably could have gotten you killed.

If you stuck with him any longer, you probably would end up being killed. And he would never forgive himself for that.

He would be better off ripping himself from your hold, as much as it hurt. Giving you a dose of that heartbreak now so that you could get over him and go after better things.

As you stared at Jason, you could see all the pain boiling underneath his surface. You wondered what he was thinking, what the hell he was churning over in that intense brain of his - but you didn’t dare to ask.

You knew that he needed to be held right now - in every sense of the word. You knew that he needed to be cared for the way he had cared for your wound, pushing past the pain in order to heal. You wondered if he would lay down and bear it or if he would continue to fight you.

You were the one to bravely step forward. Though Jason was tempted to ask you to leave, that thing inside of him yearning to marinate in his isolation because he deserved it, he pushed it down. He let his hands naturally come to sit on the plush comfort of your waist as you put a gentle touch on both his shoulders, leaning into his body ever so slightly.

You laid your forehead on his cheek, right next to that ugly bruise that had been left on him, and he let out a contented sigh as he felt your warmth envelope him. For the first time since his feet had touched the ground, he felt calm. He felt safe.

You smoothed a hand across his shoulder, and raised your head, using your touch to gently tip his face toward yours. He quickly realized that your intention was to kiss him. And something ached in his heart - something painful and longing. He knew that it would not be needy and haste with the intention of pile-driving toward sex like your other kisses had been. He knew that it would be the metamorphosis of your relationship that he was not prepared to go through.

He nuzzled along your forehead, gently stopping you.

“Please don’t do this.” He murmured quietly into your skin.

He knew that it would break him.

He knew that this was the moment - like Gatsby reaching up toward the stars - this would be the moment that he was tied to you forever, damned by his love for you. Only, much different than Gatsby, he wasn’t destined for some grant fate if he didn’t have you. He was on a one way path to a messy death, and he was determined not to take you down with him.

Tears pricked the edges of his eyes at the thought.

You pulled back, just enough to properly look him in the eyes, and your own tears formed when you saw that pathetic puppy dog looking back at you.

“Why not?” You demanded, much sharper than you intended. You knew he was fragile and you didn’t want to upset him any further than he already was.

“You know why.” He replied, his voice barely scraping above a whisper as the emotion clutched at his throat.

Jason wanted to hold onto you forever, but he was also a realistic person. He expected that any minute now, you would rip away from his arms and charge out the door, entirely angry with him, and this would finally be over. You would finally be safe from him - safe from any nasty fate his life could conjure up for you.

You hated what he was asking of you - asking you not to care for him anymore. As if you could somehow switch it off. Impossible.

“I meant what I said.” You repeated yourself, still entirely firm in this conviction. “I’m not gonna let you go that easily.”

You leaned in, planting your lips on his in a light kiss. A pained sigh ripped through you when he didn’t make any moves to kiss you back.

“Jason, please.” You whimpered out desperately. “If you get to bandage my bullet wound, then I get to do this.”

Jason wanted to spell it all out for you, plain and dirty. He wanted to get angry, he wanted to scream. He wanted to rush along the inevitable. He wanted to tell you what a poison he was to the world, that he deserved to die and you deserved better things. But he had the utmost feeling that you wouldn’t listen.

“Please, stop pushing me away.” You whispered against his lips.

Instead, he listened to your plea. He let himself indulge in this selfish softness for once.

He reached up and grabbed your jaw, pulling you into a firmer kiss, declaring every ounce of passion and terror that he was feeling in those moments. You answered it all right back - digging your fingers into the shoulders of his shirt, letting out a hot huff against his cheek as you leaned into his body.

He would never be perfect - but he was yours.

...

The sequel to this fic is now posted, but I do highly encourage you to leave a comment on this fic telling me what you enjoyed about it before you continue on reading.

Keep Reading Here: The Jaws of Life - Jason Todd x GN!Reader

#sundrop writes #dc titans #titans fanfiction #titans x reader #dc titans fanfiction #jason todd #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut

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pokemonblack3white3 · 3 months ago

Note

feed us your gen 4 headcanons

Dawn is the protagonist of Plantinum. By the time he becomes the protagonist of Legends Arceus he's started his female to male transition and is going by Rei.

Rei's ace in Sinnoh is a bibarel, the first pokemon he ever caught. Barry told Rei that bidoof are kind of lame and Rei became dead set on proving them wrong. Rei's ace in Hisui is the alpha kricketune that was bothering Lord Wyrdeer, who Rei began training to prove that pokemon aren't so scary.

Barry is nonbinary and uses she/they/fae pronouns.

Rei has clinical depression but unlike some people he never tried to destroy the world over it.

Lord Avalugg was the original hero's companion and is still alive in modern Sinnoh, slumbering under Snowpoint City.

Rei died in 1942 at 85 years old of natural causes.

Cynthia is a direct descendant of Rei via an orphaned Celestic child he adopted.

Cynthia's spiritomb is Vessa, who has stayed close to the family since Rei helped her. The Azure Flute is also a family heirloom.

Cynthia lost her eye to an infection after her garchomp scratched it as a gible. She has a prosthetic eye under her bangs and likes to tell people her garchomp once clawed a person's eye out.

After Rei dissappeared, Cynthia was reinstated as Sinnoh champion and hasn't been beaten since.

Giratina thinks they can fix Cyrus let's see how that goes for them.

Giratina was Rei's pokemon (he called them Tina), and since his dissappearence has been a companion of Cynthia.

Cyrus is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns.

Cyrus had an interest in pokemon contests until a bad experience led them to dropping them.

Mars studied history once but it led to her to have a very pessimistic view of the world.

Lucas is dyslexic.

Professor Rowan has a pretty severe allergy to feline pokemon.

Professor Rowan wants to strangle Professor Oak with a coat hanger, a sentiment he is completely oblivious to.

Barry eventually starts working at the Battle Tower with his dad.

Maylene, Candice, and Cyrus are no contact with their families.

Candice and Maylene like to hike together.

Fantina's father is from Kalos but she has never actually been there herself.

Crasher Wake is Fantina's pokemon contest rival.

Some time after Rei disappears, Johanna goes back to doing pokemon contests full time. She's close with Fantina and Crasher Wake.

It's tradition for Roark and Byron to spend the day together in the Sinnoh underground on Roark's birthday.

Gardenia is a secret base master.

Roark and Gardenia have made a game of hunting down each others' secret bases and setting up traps for each other.

Bertha and Aaron are actually really good friends, which everybody is surprised to learn. They often walk along Victory Road together and talk.

Lucian is schizophrenic.

Of the elite four, Lucian was the closest with Rei.

Ingo is Flint's great-something grandmother.

Shortly post-Plantinum Volkner and Flint got engaged.

Barry and Rei were dating before he disappeared.

Barry and Nate are exes.

Cynthia and Cyrus are both aroace and completely uninterested in romantic or sexual relationships of any kind.

Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina all have at least some resentment over Arceus they've been stewing over for at least a couple thousand years. These eldritch dragons have daddy issues. Giratina especially has not forgiven Arceus for what it did to Rei, but has given up on revenge.

After Cogita was released from her curse and eventually died, Enamorus went to Galar with Professor Laventon where she cycles through human disguises. She's currently living as Opal.

Uxie periodically erases Darkrai's memories at their request, despite Cresselia's protests.

Yeah idk what to say Darkrai and Cresselia are kind of doomed yuri coded.... 🤔

Regigigas' true form is a lot bigger than their pokedex entry states, the body they appear in is something they crafted to better work on new creations.

When phione and manphy migrate by Sinnoh waters, they create a beautiful lightshow underwater that people travel from all over to watch.

Shaymin migration is also an incredible spectacle. Sinnoh is one of the only regions where so many mythical pokemon can be so freely observed.

The lake trio are carnivorous and love eating fish. Their fangs are razor sharp.

Heatran is there. I guess.

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maryholdenofthevalley · 2 months ago

Text

I made a District 12 Family Tree + Age

because I was starting to get confused over who is whose so this is my attempt at clearing them up

Warning: Sunrise on the Reaping Huge Spoiler

Some notes:

- Grey color means they died / assumed dead / missing / no information after Mockingjay book.

- The Baird female cousins were three in total, from oldest to youngest:

Azure Barb: no gravestone at the Covey cemetery, assumed alive

Lucy Gray: disappeared, her gravestone appears the oldest (mossy slab of plate)

Maude Ivory: died, her gravestone seems new (creamy white stone)

Lucy's grave could just be a symbolic one without a body, since we'll assume she never comeback, just like the ghost in her ballad. If she came back and had a life with grandchildren (we'll talk about that later), it shouldn't be that old and mossy compare to Maude's, who, if we think Lenore's mother who died at her birth and gave her child to two extremely doting Covey uncles was Maude, died 16 years ago. 16 years should be a long time for a stone to turn old, but if she still has a daughter who runs around in the meadow all days and cleans the stone occasionally, then it should check out. (But why didn't anyone clean Lucy's? Well it's at least 25 years old when Lenore got old enough, and the others may not forgive her much for leaving them).

Azure got no mention in the new book, but because there is no grave of her, it's safe to assume she's alive. And the fact that Burdock is Covey related from his mother's side, with Lucy gone and Maude being Lenore's (possible) mom, it's possible that Azure married to an Everdeen seam boy and gave birth to Burdock. If she already dead at that point, she might got buried in her husband family's plot, therefore no grave for her at the Covey place. Although Haymitch made no mention of Burdock's mom was dead, and actually mentioned they making dough clay together at some point.

- I think this might already got debunked, but I still don't think Lucy Gray is Maysilee's grandma. It just doesn't make sense that she would go back, married a rich merchant (because you don't escape your sweetshop / you don't start-up from scratch in District 12) without anyone knowing and no one even remember her as the Victor anymore. Plus, she was still alive when Maysilee was young, that means she should died after Maude Ivory, and her grave shouldn't be that old then. Or she would be buried in the Donner family's bury land.

People think the grandma is Lucy because she quoted a lyrics from Lucy's song, but 1) that song was popular, Lucy sang it at her Reaping and even sang it in Covey shows later, anyone at the Reaping (which is everyone) and anyone went to the show would know the song, and 2) if the grandma was Lucy she would sing the song and every songs, not just quoting it normally that even her grandkid doesn't know it's a song, do you think you can stop Lucy Gray from singing? Even Burdock and Katniss couldn't escape the Covey singing life!

- We still don't know who Lenore's father is, so I will go with the post popular guess which is a random Chance boy. Btw, Maude Ivory's ballad was ‘Maude Claire’ and in that ballad, Maude Claire was left alone after her lover betrayed her to married a different woman (or so I have heard). We also know Maude Ivory died giving birth without anyone disclosing the father's identity. If the father is a Chance and that man had another wife after or before she's pregnant, I can understand why no one in the Covey want to point out who's the father if they want to live in peace, or keep Lenore.

(I made this connection - just a guess really - based on Tam Amber's reaction when Lenore died, mumbled, “Not again. Oh, not again.” It could mean "another Covey girl die again", but if you think about it, Lucy disappeared like a ghost, Maude died away from an ex-lover, and Lenore died leaving her lover Haymitch heartbroken by her side, just like her ballad “Nevermore” of a man suffering because his girl died. It's... eerie. Maybe I'm just thinking too much.)

#sunrise on the reaping #sotr spoilers #thg sotr #lucy gray baird #azure barb #maude ivory #maysilee donner #ive done it again

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wintrcaptn · 29 days ago

Text

Apples and Butterflies Part 5

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary : You caught your bf in bed with another girl two months before winter break. Now with no where to go for the next few weeks, your roommate invites you to her hometown so you don't spend the holidays alone.

But you never expected her dad to be the guy who pretended to be your date so you didn't look pathetic in front of your ex. The same guy you can't stop thinking about...Joel miller.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

A/N: I already have 15 chapters for this. But idk if I’ll post it all. I just really love a slow burn with Joel so much!! 😭

The sky had faded into a soft indigo, the last hints of daylight caught in streaks of lavender and gold across the horizon.

If a postcard came to life, it'd be this place.

The Christmas tree farm was glowing under a blanket of string lights, each row of pine trees lit from beneath like they were part of some quiet fairytale. The air smelled like fresh-cut fir, spiced cider, and wood smoke. Every direction I looked, there were families bundled in scarves and beanies, holding hands, carrying trees, laughing. There was a merry-go-round, a tiny ice rink, reindeer rides, and even an old Ferris wheel turning slowly near the back, like something out of a vintage movie.

Sarah bumped my shoulder. "Told you. This place is like Stars Hollow threw up."

"It really is," I grinned, taking it all in.

Joel trailed behind us quietly, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, boots crunching along the gravel path.

We spent the first part of the evening looking for a tree, Sarah elbowing Joel every time he passed on a perfectly decent one.

"You're impossible," she said, laughing. "We are not building the Rockefeller tree in our living room, Dad."

"Just pick one that ain't got holes in it," he muttered.

Eventually, we did. A big Douglas Fir that smelled like Christmas itself.

"Atta girl," he said, tossing Sarah the saw. "Your turn this year."

She groaned dramatically but got on her knees and started sawing at the trunk, grunting, while I filmed her struggling, laughing and cursing the tree under her breath.

And Joel? He just held the trunk steady, one boot planted at the base, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Watching him made my heart ache a little. Not in a sad way—more like the way you ache after a song that hits too close to home.

Later, Sarah and I hit the ice rink. I hadn't skated in years, and my legs wobbled beneath me like Bambi learning to walk, but I laughed so hard I didn't care. Joel stayed at the edge, leaning on the railing. His dark eyes following our every move like he was waiting to catch me if I fell, without ever stepping onto the ice.

He was always right there, but never too close. Close enough to feel, never enough to touch.

We grabbed some hot cocoa after that; warming my frozen hands against the paper cup, smiling at the marshmallows floating on top.

Sarah led me through the rest of the farm, pointing out people she knew; old neighbors, old teachers, even someone who'd once babysat her. She glowed like she belonged to this place. And maybe she did.

Then came the moment that shifted everything.

"Mason?" Sarah stopped mid-step, blinking at the tall guy in a flannel and Carhartt beanie standing near the Ferris wheel line.

"Holy shit. Sarah Miller?" He grinned. "I thought that was you."

"Mason!" she laughed, stepping in for a quick hug. "God, how long has it been?"

"Since our grad night," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "You look great."

Joel, just behind them, visibly stiffened at the way the guy's eyes lingered a little too long on his daughter.

They caught up briefly, light banter, a few inside jokes. I noticed the way Sarah's eyes glistened, lighting up every time she looked at him. It was so obvious she liked him, but she kept her cool. Then Mason nodded toward the Ferris wheel. "You remember when we used to ride that thing like five times in a row? Just to get the top seat?"

Sarah laughed, a little awkward. "Yeah. I remember."

"Wanna go again? For old time's sake?"

She hesitated, then glanced over to me. "I probably shouldn't—"

"Go," I smiled.

Sarah raised a brow. "You sure?"

"I'll be fine," I said, waving her off. "Go relive your teenage glory."

Sarah rolled her eyes but grinned and gave Joel a quick look before heading off with Mason toward the line.

I stood there awkwardly for a moment, watching the lights of the Ferris wheel spin in slow circles. He stood beside me, quiet, still, like always.

"You havin' fun?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

I looked up at him. Surprised that he initiated the conversation first. "Yeah. It's beautiful here."

He nodded once. "Sarah lives for this. Always has. Christmas season... it's her favorite."

"She lights up when she talks about it," I said softly. "It's sweet."

Something shifted in his expression then. Just a flicker.

"You don't talk much about your folks."

My smile faded. I wasn't expecting that. Most people didn't ask. Or if they did, they didn't really care to know. But Joel wasn't like most people.

Talking about my mom hasn't been my strong suit since...

"There's not a whole lot to talk about."

He shifted just slightly, his gaze locked onto me as he crossed his arms over his chest. Usually I'd drop it here, change the subject. Anything then bringing up my family. But for some reason, I felt like I could talk to him about anything.

"It was just me and my mom," I said quietly, after a long beat. My breath clouded in front of me in the cool air, soft and slow. "Always. My whole life."

Joel's eyes stayed steady on mine as he gave a slow nod. "And... she okay with you skipping out on the holidays this year?"

I looked down at my cocoa. The whipped cream had already started to melt. "She passed away. Four years ago."

I said it flat, the way you rip off a bandage—fast and without looking. There's never a right time to say something like that. Never a comfortable way to bring it up. I hated how it always changed the air, how it always made people go quiet or look at me like I was breakable. But it was the truth. She was gone. And no amount of pretending otherwise would ever change that.

"Breast cancer," I added, barely above a whisper. My fingers tightened around the cup, chasing the fading warmth. I blinked down, fighting the familiar sting in the back of my eyes.

Joel leaned on the railing beside me, his shoulder close to mine, but he didn't say anything yet. Didn't rush to fill the silence or tell me he was sorry. I was grateful for that.

"Were you two close?" he finally asked, voice low and rough like gravel, but gentle.

I swallowed hard. My throat tightened before I managed to get the words out. "She was... everything."

The breath caught in my chest before I forced it down and kept going. "She was my best friend. My safe place. We did everything together. She taught me how to ride a bike, helped me study for every test, stayed up watching movies with me when I couldn't sleep. But her favorite thing—our favorite thing—was baking."

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips. Not a big one, just enough to warm the ache.

"Cookies, muffins... but her apple pie?" I let out a small laugh. "One bite and you'd swear it could solve world peace."

I didn't say how I still kept her recipe in a little stained index card tucked in my journal. I didn't say how I still made that pie every year, even if I didn't eat it.

Joel didn't speak right away. His gaze drifted toward the Ferris wheel, lights blinking in soft reds and golds against the darkening sky.

"You scared of heights?" he asked suddenly, nodding toward it.

The question pulled me back, sharp and unexpected. I followed his gaze, heart still aching, but a little lighter somehow.

I tilted my head. "Nope. Are you?"

He glanced down at me, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth; barely there but real. His expression was unreadable, as always, but something in his eyes flickered, amused. Or curious.

"Nope," he said again, echoing my tone, and held my gaze a second longer than necessary.

Then he reached out; rough, warm fingers curling around mine. The world stopped around us and we were the only ones alive. My breath caught in the back of my throat. His hand was calloused and firm, the kind of grip that made you feel anchored. I didn't even realize I'd gone still until he gave the tiniest tug.

"Come on."

He led the way, weaving us through the small crowd. And I let him. I couldn't stop the flutter in my chest, or the warmth crawling up my neck. I didn't want to.

He handed over two tickets without even looking at me, then motioned for me to go first.

I stepped onto the ride, heartbeat in my throat, and slid into the seat. Joel followed, slipping in beside me and suddenly we were shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed against one another, the cold seat doing nothing to cool the heat between us.

The bar lowered. The ride jolted forward.

And I didn't know what scared me more. How high we were climbing...

Or how much I didn't want to pull away from him.

The cart rocked gently as we settled in, cold metal against my legs even through my jeans. The night air bit at my cheeks, but the cold was sharp in a way that made everything feel a little more alive.

The lights below shimmered like a sea of fireflies—twinkling booths, the blue glow of the ice rink, shadows skating in circles, kids darting through rows of trees with cups of cocoa in mittened hands. From up here, the whole farm looked unreal, like something you could fold up and tuck into your coat pocket.it was beautiful.

But all I could feel was the warmth of Joel beside me—solid, quiet, and taking up way too much space for someone trying not to be noticed.

I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't said much since we sat down, which honestly wasn't surprising.

"So..." I drew the word out, turning toward him. "What do you do when Sarah's away at school? Besides read newspapers and brood?"

His lips tugged just slightly at the corner—almost a smile. Almost. "I work."

"Clearly." I nodded, grinning. "But doing what?"

"Construction," he said simply. "I run a company with my younger brother. Tommy. We mostly do pretty much anything; custom builds, remodels, that sort of thing. It's not much, but it keeps the lights on."

Something about the way he said it made my heart tug a little. Like he didn't think it was worth much. But also... it felt steady.

I smirked. "Of course you do. I should've guessed."

Joel raised a brow, suspicious. "Should've guessed what?"

"You're such a grumpy old blue-collar type. I bet you drink your coffee black, fix things without ever reading instructions, and complain about 'kids these days' on a regular basis."

That earned me a look; but this time, the smile actually broke through. Small. Real.

"Shut up," he muttered.

I gasped. "Oh my God, was that a smile? Did I just witness an actual Joel Miller smile?"

"It was not a smile."

"Holy crap, you do have more emotions than just broody!" I said, eyes wide, hand to my heart in mock shock.

He huffed a small laugh under his breath, shaking his head. "You're real mouthy for someone stuck on a ride with no exit."

"You love it," I teased, shrugging my shoulders.

Joel didn't respond right away, but the corner of his mouth still curved up like he couldn't quite fight it.

"And what about you? I bet I can guess what you're majoring in." he said, turning the tables

I narrowed my eyes. "Oh, this'll be good."

"You like books. I saw a few books in your bag. You overthink everything. Noticed that at the cafe when you were hiding from—what was his name again?"

"Dylan." I said with a smirk.

"Yeah that asshat. You like to talk a lot. So... psych major?"

I laughed—like, really laughed. "That's... honestly not a bad guess."

"But wrong?"

"Wrong," I confirmed. "English literature."

He nodded slowly, like it made sense. "Should've known."

"What gave it away? My over thinking or my inability to shut up?"

His mouth twitched again. "Both."

I beamed. "You're not bad at this, Miller. If the whole construction thing goes under, you could be a therapist for emotionally repressed men who only communicate through silence and beer."

Joel gave a quiet chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind."

The conversation rolled so easily after that, like we'd somehow slipped into a rhythm that was just... ours. Laughter. Teasing. The kind of warmth that crept in slow but deep, settling under your skin before you even noticed.

But as we neared the end of the ride, I felt him pull back. Not physically, but the quiet returned. The tension. Like he'd suddenly remembered himself.

I glanced up at him, trying not to feel the cold where the warmth had been just moments ago.

When we stepped off, I looked at him one last time, heart thudding for reasons I didn't really want to name.

"I really like talking to you," I said softly, more vulnerable than I meant to be. "Even if you barely talk."

Joel opened his mouth, like he might say something back—but then—

"Y/N!" Sarah's voice rang out, cutting through the air.

She bounded toward us, grabbing my arm with a grin. "Sorry for ditching you."

And just like that, I was pulled away—leaving Joel standing there under the lights, silent again.

But I swore, just before I turned around...

He was still watching me.

Sarah looped her arm through mine and practically skipped us over to the reindeer ride. Everything was glowing now; twinkle lights draped along fences, lampposts wrapped like candy canes, the faint sound of sleigh bells in the distance. The scent of pine and cinnamon hung sweet and heavy in the air.

"I can't believe Mason was here," Sarah said, beaming. "That was so random. I haven't seen him since high school."

I raised a brow. "He looked happy to see you."

She blushed, eyes flicking to the ground like it might hide the grin she couldn't suppress. "Yeah... I always had the biggest crush on him back then. Like huge. But I was a total chicken. He dated older girls, and I was awkward and always had dirt on my face from softball."

I snorted. "You? Awkward? No way."

"Oh, I was a mess," she said with a dramatic sigh. "By the time I was brave enough to maybe say something, he graduated. I figured that was it. End of story."

I leaned into her a little. "But maybe not. He asked how long you were in town..."

Her smile softened. "Yeah. He said maybe we could hang out before I go back. Just catch up or whatever."

"Sarah," I said, tugging her to a stop. "You have to do it."

She blinked. "Do what?"

"Go. See him. Hang out. Flirt. Do whatever feels right. I mean, what are the odds? You run into him after years. Fate has a funny way of giving second chances when you least expect it."

She was quiet for a beat, then her voice came out soft. "I don't know..." she drawled out. "What if I make a fool out of myself or he doesn't feel the same way or—"

"Or what if he does?" I cut her off before she spiraled into her own negative thoughts. "You'll never know unless you try."

Sarah pondered her thoughts for just a moment. Her expression almost mirrored the way Joel's did whenever he thought to himself. It was uncanny.

"Fine. I'll do it if you promise to give this place a real shot. No Dylan. No school. Just be in this moment. With me."

I wasn't sure if being in the moment would be a good idea. Now that whatever I was feeling for Joel was now growing more and more...

No. I'm not having feelings for my best friends dad. I'm not.

I met her gaze and forced a smile. "Promise."

She let out a sigh and squeezed my arm just slightly as she continued to walk toward the truck. "Sorry for ditching you with my dad. That was a little shitty of me."

I waved her off, pretending my heart hadn't nearly beat out of my chest the entire ride. "It's fine. We talked. A little."

"I know he can come off kind of... cold," she said with a laugh. "And a little bit of a dick. But he's not. He's just quiet. Doesn't like small talk or people in general, but he's solid, ya know? Like once you're in with him, you're in."

I wanted to ask her so many questions. Questions like if he were seeing anyone? Has he seen anyone? What are his interests? Etc., but I didn't. I couldn't.

I need to push whatever I was feeling aside because nothing could ever come of this. Of us. I couldn't do that to Sarah. Or to Joel.

—————

By the time we got home, it was late. The moon was high, the night cold enough to bite through our coats. Joel hauled the tree from the back of his truck, thick gloves on his hands, flannel rolled up just enough to show strong forearms that made it very difficult not to stare.

Sarah and I headed into the garage to dig through the shelves for the bins marked Christmas.

"I swear," she muttered, yanking down a dusty red tub, "he keeps everything like it's a museum in here."

The minute we walked back in, Sarah lit the fireplace, throwing the whole room into a golden glow, and queued up a playlist on her phone. The first notes of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree filled the living room, and something inside me fluttered like I was ten years old again, decorating with my mom. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

We opened bins and pulled out old ornaments, twinkling lights, garland, a crocheted stocking with Sarah's name stitched in red thread.

The scent of pine filled the house as he anchored the tree into its stand and stepped back, hands on his hips.

"Not crooked," he muttered.

"A Christmas miracle," Sarah teased.

He rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

The three of us moved in a quiet rhythm after that. Sarah humming along to the music, Joel sorting through the tangled lights, me fluffing branches. The tension between Joel and me was subtle but pulsing—charged. Every time I turned, I felt his eyes on me. Every time I laughed, he lingered a little closer.

We reached for the same branch at one point, hands brushing, fingertips grazing.

I froze.

He didn't move away.

It was just a second; a flicker, but something warm bloomed between us like heat from the fire.

"Hey!" Sarah said suddenly, pulling out a sad-looking ornament made of macaroni and glitter. "Remember this?"

Joel smirked. "You were six. Ate half the glue."

Sarah cracked up. "I did not!"

He raised a brow. "You cried when it didn't taste like marshmallow."

Their laughter bounced through the room and I watched him; really watched him. Joel Miller, the man who barely spoke above a grunt, was relaxed and smiling, eyes soft as he looked at his daughter.

God, he loved her. It radiated off of him.

"I'm gonna grab the star," Sarah said, darting toward the garage. "It's in the green bin we missed!"

And just like that, it was quiet again. Just Joel and me.

The only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and the rustle of pine branches as I adjusted an ornament near the top of the tree.

Joel stood across from me, winding a strand of gold garland in slow, thoughtful loops around the lower branches.

I hummed under my breath, a Christmas tune Sarah had been playing earlier that got stuck in my head. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I caught him watching me.

I turned slowly, raising a brow. "I can feel you staring."

He cleared his throat and looked away too quickly, like he'd been caught red-handed. "Just admiring the tree," he said, a little too casually. "It's not bad."

I stepped back to scan the tree myself, arms crossed, eyes flicking over the soft lights and scattered ornaments. "So," I said, "do you guys have any other Christmas traditions?"

Joel reached for the last of the garland and shrugged. "We do what most folks do, I guess. Cookies. Movie marathons. We used to try carolin' once, years ago, but Sarah was tone deaf at five and insisted on singing every verse of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas.'"

I laughed. "So that got retired quick, huh?"

"Let's just say the neighbors begged us to stop."

I grinned and leaned slightly against the couch arm. "Any other small-town traditions I should know about? Hidden secret snow rituals? Sacrifices to the Santa gods?"

He gave me a sideways look like I'd lost my mind but shook his head with a faint smile. "We ain't that kind of town."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Bummer."

"We do have a holiday ball. Two nights before Christmas every year. Local community center hosts it."

My eyebrows lifted. "A ball? Like, actual dancing and everything?"

He nodded. "Pretty big deal around here. Music, food, everyone shows up. Been goin' on since I was a kid."

"People dance?"

"Yeah."

I tilted my head, eyeing him playfully. "Do you dance?"

"No."

"Not even a little sway here and there?"

He didn't even blink. "No."

I let out a dramatic sigh and pressed a hand over my chest. "Damn. And here I was hoping you'd save a dance for me."

He looked at me then, really looked, and for a second, I couldn't breathe.

His eyes didn't hold any obvious answer, but they lingered a little longer than they should've. Just long enough to send that flutter through my stomach again.

Then the door flew open and Sarah reappeared, holding a large storage box in her arms. "Finally found the star," she huffed. "You really need to downsize on the crap you save, I swear. There's, like, five green bins in there labeled 'miscellaneous.'"

Joel glanced away from me, clearing his throat again, as if nothing had passed between us. As if my pulse hadn't just stuttered from a single look.

But I felt it.

——————

Part six here

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