#my ceiling is definitely not trying to cave in

[1am-s0-veryt1red]

I feel like I'm going insane why is it so hard to get someone to FIX a problem the first time

[bueckets]

The Hit List | Part 1

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Genre: romance (eventually), slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, smut (eventually), cat n mouse

Description: When an overworked engineering student's late-night CAD project gets interrupted by a very drunk, very lost basketball star stumbling into the wrong dorm room, she learns that some defensive plays work better in love than on the court.

What starts as a case of mistaken identity turns into an unexpected game of cat and mouse when UConn's golden girl, Paige Bueckers, can't seem to take a hint– or maybe just doesn't want to. Armed with nothing but sarcasm, an overprotective stuffed bear named Mr. Gummy, and a borrowed team jacket that definitely isn't helping the situation, our engineering hero finds herself drawing up plays to defend her heart against college basketball's most persistent point guard.

They say offense wins games, but defense wins championships. When you're trying not to fall for a girl who treats the court like her kingdom and your personal space like a suggestion, maybe it's time to admit some battles aren't meant to be won.

WC: 11.2k

Authors Notes: i had first written this for jkxreader on my other blog (whoretan) however plot deviates heavily after the first encounter, um, kinda fuck girly paige, but kind of just a love drunk idiot too

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Guest

Your eyes burned as you stared at the CAD model rotating on your screen, the internal combustion engine you'd been working on for the past—what was it now, eight hours?—still refusing to cooperate.

The familiar workspace of SOLIDWORKS had become both your best friend and worst enemy over the past three years at UConn, but tonight it felt particularly vindictive. You'd been trying to get the timing belt assembly to properly mate with the crankshaft for what felt like an eternity, and your deadline was creeping closer by the minute.

"Did you hear?" Riven's voice cut through your concentration as she burst through the door, her designer backpack hitting her bed with enough force to make your desk lamp wobble.

"Hear what?" You didn't bother turning around, instead zooming in on the problematic area of your model. The project was due in six hours, and you were nowhere near having it stress-tested. Sleep was starting to feel like a distant memory from another life.

Riven paused in her tracks—you could practically hear her jaw dropping in that dramatic way she'd perfected since freshman year. "Paige Bueckers was talking about how Q’s jump shot is worse than a middle schooler's."

The absurdity of the statement finally forced you to tear your eyes away from the screen. Your neck cracked in protest as you turned to face your roommate, who stood there with her perfectly manicured hands on her hips, waiting for your reaction. Three years of living together had taught you that Riven wouldn't let you focus until you properly acknowledged whatever piece of gossip she'd brought home.

“That’s literally ridiculous.”

Riven tilted her head, eyes rolling toward the ceiling in that characteristic way of hers. Six seconds of contemplation later (you’d learned to count), she shrugged and pulled out her iPhone, probably to text the women's basketball group chat about the latest drama.

Your roommate, much like all the other Huskies superfans, didn't care whose reputation a particular player tarnished. She'd much rather get on their good side, damaged reputations or not. It was a dance you'd watched play out countless times since freshman year, when you'd first been assigned as roommates.

Back then, you'd thought the random housing assignment would be a disaster—the sports-obsessed sorority girl and the robotics team president seemed like a recipe for mutual hatred. But somehow, your differences had created a strange balance. She dragged you out of your engineering cave occasionally, and you reminded her that there was more to college than chasing after basketball stars.

"Caitlin bought Kate those new custom Nikes." Riven thrust her phone in your face, revealing a photo of Clark's teammate happily posing with pristine white sneakers. The caption read, 'Thanks for the gift bb, @CaitlinClark22'.

You squinted at the screen, trying not to think about how those shoes probably cost more than your entire semester's textbooks. The basketball elite weren't just known for their court skills—their NIL deals were equally legendary. Every starter came from successful programs, the kind that built training facilities and had courts named after their alumni.

"What a lucky bitch," Riven sighed, flopping onto her bed.

Apparently, your roommate wasn't the only one who didn't care for her reputation. Last week, she'd blown up your phone with about thirty—maybe sixty—texts about how her sorority sister had seen Caitlin making out with someone else at The Tavern. Looks like those custom Nikes must've been an apology.

You looked up at your starstruck roommate with pursed lips. Riven caught your expression and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, she's being messy. So what? Those shoes are like two thousand dollars with the custom work, that's my fucking meal plan right there."

"Remind me again how you're a neurology student?"

Riven clutched her chest with an open hand, gasping dramatically. "Wow. I see how it is." She threw herself backward onto her bed with the theatrical flair of a soap opera star.

You couldn't help but grin, even as your eyes darted back to your computer screen. The smile quickly died on your lips.

Oh fuck.

The CAD model still sat there, mocking you with its incomplete state. You'd managed to complete maybe forty percent of the assembly, and the entire thing needed to be fully rigged and stress-analyzed by nine AM.

This was the cost of your procrastination, another dinner sacrificed to the gods of engineering deadlines. At least you had a good excuse this time: you'd spent the weekend helping the robotics team prepare for their upcoming competition. Being vice president meant putting in the extra hours, even if it meant cramming your actual coursework into impossible timeframes.

"I have to finish this tonight. Do not bother me with any more basketball drama." You spun your chair back to face your screen, not bothering to check if Riven was sticking her tongue out at you. You could picture it anyway, she had the maturity of a twelve-year-old sometimes.

Five and a half hours later, you finally pressed the glorious 'Submit' button on Blackboard. You turned off your PC with such violence that the desktop nearly toppled over.

"Never doing that again," you groaned, slumping into your chair and letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your neck felt like it had been replaced with concrete somewhere around hour six.

"You literally say that every time," Riven quipped from her side of the room.

If you had any energy left, you would've gotten up and punched her in the ass. Luckily for her, your eyes had started doing that thing where they drooped shut every few seconds without your permission. You'd decided about thirty minutes ago that your chair was an acceptable substitute for a bed. The walk to your actual mattress seemed about as feasible as climbing Mount Everest right now.

"How do I look? Good enough for the party?"

Fucking hell. 

You summoned what little remained of your core strength and groaned as you forced your chair to swivel around. The sight that greeted you was, admittedly, impressive, even through your exhaustion-blurred vision.

Riven wore a black dress that hit just above her knees, with strategic cutouts along her ribs. The laced-up black heels she'd spent twenty minutes struggling with (while whining very fucking loudly) completed the look perfectly. She'd devoted the last hour of your project completion marathon to preparing for KK’s birthday celebration.

“Which party?” you croaked. “The one where everyone’s fighting or the one where they’re pretending nothing happened?”

Her nose wrinkled in that way it did when she was trying not to laugh. "You're so annoying."

Yeeeaaah, definitely the messy one.

You watched as Riven stumbled toward her drawer, rummaging through three compartments before pulling out a neon orange tiny bag. And when you say tiny, you mean tiny, it couldn't have been more than two inches across.

"Can you even fit anything in there?"

A wicked smile spread across her face as she opened the toy purse, pulling out her student ID and a tube of lipstick. Of-fucking-course. “Minimalist chic, baby. Besides, I don’t need much. Just the essentials. I'm serious. Tonight's gonna be fucking legendary."

“Legendary,” you deadpanned, swiveling your chair back to your desk. “Try not to end up on Barstool again.”

You swore she lunged forward, ready to attack you with her miniature weapon. But her phone rang, which happened to be a far more pressing matter. The assault could wait. Riven pressed the phone to her ear with a smile that would have made the Cheshire Cat proud.

"Are you here? Yeah, I'm ready. You have the Pink Whitney? Okay. Bye."

She turned back to you with that same manic grin. "I'll get you back for that later. Bye!"

And just like that, Riven leaped out of the room, her neon orange bag and its singular tube of lipstick disappearing with her into whatever chaos awaited at the UConn house.

The sudden silence in her wake felt almost oppressive. You sat there for a moment, contemplating your life choices. The clean lines and precise measurements of your engineering models never gave you this much drama. Maybe that's why you preferred spending your nights with SOLIDWORKS instead of at parties—machines were predictable, logical, and they never started drama about anyone's jump shot.

After nearly crawling your way across the room for what felt like thirty minutes (but was probably closer to five), you finally made it to your bed. Or rather, to the base of your bed. The problem now was getting on top of it. UConn, in its infinite wisdom, had given everyone the tallest fucking beds in existence.

Tall enough that all of your belongings fit underneath it so they could make the rooms ten times smaller by doing so. You sat on your ass, glaring at what felt like a sixteen-foot space between you and the mattress. You could, theoretically, just fucking get up and with one last surge of energy jump onto it. But the soft cotton of your fuzzy rug was suddenly hugging your back, tucking you in, cradling you like a loving parent.

Fuck it, the floor isn't even that bad. You've slept on much worse—like that one time freshman year when you passed out in the robotics lab after a forty-eight-hour building session. At least your rug didn't smell like motor oil and desperation.

Your head lay flat on the floor, the hardwood never felt softer. Riven had left hours ago, and you'd managed to successfully knock out on your chair for a bit. That was until you jolted awake, sweating out of every crevice of your body, and made eye contact with your actual bed. You'd said goodbye to the chair and began the voyage to your proper sleeping place. Clearly, that wasn't going as planned.

It was too late now to dwell on what could've been. Tomorrow, you'd start anew. Just like every time she partied, Riven wouldn't be back for two or three days. You'd have a full day to sleep on your actual bed without the mention of UConn and internal combustion engines.

You turned to your side, the fuzz tickling your chin as you nuzzled into it. Sleep was just starting to creep in when—

"Taylor! Tay baby, please open the door!"

The hairs on your arms rose and a fart you hadn't realized you'd been holding in released into the air. Some drunk player had the wrong door.

“Wrong room,” you called, hoping they’d get the hint. With a shaky breath, you nuzzled deeper into the carpet.

Not a second later, a bang erupted through your room. "Tay, please. I'm so sorry. I fucked up."

Your heart thrashed in your chest. Could you not have one night of peace? One night of tranquility to enjoy your own company? One night to enjoy sleeping on the hard floor?

"Taylor, for fuckssake." The asshole nearly knocked the fucking door off the hinges.

First, you're going to knock her the hell out. Then, you'll find out where Taylor lives and knock her out, too. Maybe you could work it into your next robotics project—a robot specifically designed to punch drunk athletes who can't read room numbers.

"Tay, please—"

You jolted upward and ran to the door so fast you probably broke several laws of physics. Swinging the wooden panel open like a madwoman, you yelled, "Listen asshole, I don't know who Taylor is and I don't give a damn. It's late as hell and some of us actually enjoy sleeping!"

Said asshole leaned against the door frame of your room, a Nike-covered foot tapping against the floor as she pressed a finger to your lips. "Shhhhh, baby, I said I'm sorry."

Your throat locked and you nearly laughed at the audacity. Did this fucker really not notice you weren't Taylor? Through your sleep-deprived haze, you managed to register a few details about the intruder: tall, athletic build that made your mouth go dry, honey-blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders, and wearing what looked like exclusive UConn team gear. Great. A drunk basketball star. 

Said basketball star happened to also push herself off the door frame and trudge past you, right into your room as if she'd been there a million times.

Much like you wanted to before your carpet trapped you, the stranger leaped onto your bed, stomach flopping onto the cushion of your mattress. She muttered something you couldn't hear as she grabbed your favorite pillow and brought it close to her chest. She was snuggling your Mr. Gummy.

You were going to go to jail for assaulting a Division I athlete. Yeah. This was the end of your girl boss engineering career. Goodbye feminist STEM icon. Hello convict. All those years of suffering to get into UConn just for you to catch a case over the Greek Goddess, Nike, herself. At least you'd submitted your project first, might as well get credit for that before you went to prison.

"Babe, I don't remember your bed smelling this good." She'd gone into a fetal position, kicking off her—yep, definitely team-exclusive Nikes. Maybe, just maybe, you'd knock her out and then sell her shoes on StockX. The proceeds could cover your legal defense.

You rubbed your forehead with the back of your palm, wiping away the stress sweat that had accumulated. You swung your head out of your door, looking left and right, then repeat. Empty. Fuck. Fuck, and fuck.

You paced back and forth a few times, biting on the edge of your hand. You can't pick this goddess off your bed. One, she's drunk as hell. Two, she's... You gazed back at the stranger, somewhere on her journey to your bed she'd tossed her UConn warmup jacket to your floor. Leaving her in a fitted tank top that left nothing to the imagination.

Who needs that many shoulder muscles? The definition in the arm that hugged Mr. Gummy was sculpted by years of perfect jump shots. Each shift of her body revealed new curves, like a living Nike ad designed specifically to torment sleep-deprived engineering students.

Holy hell. Get a fucking grip.

Okay, so you can't drag the basketball star off your bed.

Plan B it is.

You trudged into your room, taking one last look at the hallway. Should you close the door?

If someone did hypothetically walk past would they think you drugged her? She was slurring her words and hugging your favorite bear while you paced back and forth like you happened to "accidentally" slip something into her Gatorade.

You closed the door.

You needed to call Riven. You could care less that she was at the beginning of her three-day rager, you weren't going to wait till the next morning when Nike would wake up and start accusing you of kidnapping UConn's star point guard.

You slowly walked toward your desk, making sure to avoid the panels on the floor that creaked every time someone stepped on them. Empty. You pushed your chair back to see if it happened to fall earlier. Empty.

The air stilled, and you shook your head. No. No. She was laying on it.

You'd chucked your phone onto your bed after deciding to finally start your project. You had to call Riven. There was no other choice but to tell someone. And given the fact that your contact list included your parents and Riven, she was looking like the most optimal candidate.

As silently as you could, you tip-toed toward your bed and did a quick examination. Near her head? Nope. Mr. Gummy? Nope. Legs? Nope. Hip?

Yeah.

Maybe you would go to jail after all, for assault.

You better get an A on that fucking project.

You took a step forward, awkwardly climbing the edge of your bed to get closer to your phone. Which was nicely tucked right under the curve of her ass, your camera barely peeking out as if it was taunting you.

Shit. How are you going to pull it out?

Your face contorted as you inched closer to the basketball player, thumb and middle finger clutching the edges of your phone and lightly tugging backward. She huffed out a soft groan. Dear god.

It's not budging.

In and out. Breathe.

You tugged again.

Something thudded against the floor.

Your eyes left the phone and gazed to the floor where your Mr. Gummy lay sacrificed to the floor demons. Uh oh.

You turned back to retrieve your bear when your eyes locked with hers. Her very open eyes.

She was smiling.

"Baby I didn't know you were so handsy."

You stared. That's all you could manage to do—stare at the face of the beautiful drunk idiot in front of you. And holy shit was she beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made you question if UConn's recruitment standards included a mandatory photogenic quota for certain players.

The idiot had a playful smile playing across her stupidly perfect face. Taylor must be a lucky girl. Not lucky enough, though, considering her girlfriend was currently in a stranger's bed. How drunk did someone have to be to not recognize they had the wrong person?

"C'mere," she grabbed your arm, pulling you to your side as if you weighed nothing. A strong arm locked around your waist and began rubbing circles on your stomach. The motion sent shivers down your spine that you desperately tried to ignore.

"Missed you, n' I'm sorry baby," she slurred into your ear. Her voice was much softer now, a warm whisper that made your whole body tingle.

Taylor, I'm so sorry.

The words shot straight between your legs. You hadn't been touched in almost two years. Sue me. A gorgeous basketball star was rubbing your lower stomach while she told you—her girlfriend—she missed her. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. You spend three years avoiding athlete drama, and now the universe deposits one directly into your bed?

You needed your phone. Pronto.

"Listen— I—" You raised a clammy hand to lift her, attempting to wrap your fingers around her wrist to lift it. Your engineering brain was trying to calculate the exact force required to remove her arm without waking her up further, but all mathematical ability seemed to have short-circuited.

"You're so squirmy tonight," she intertwined your fingers.

What the fuck are you supposed to do? You inched your body further away in an attempt to shrug her off. A move that, in retrospect, was about as well-thought-out as trying to integrate calculus while drunk.

Nike thought otherwise. She pulled you closer until her front was pressed firmly against your back, her breath warm against your neck. You could feel the defined muscles of her stomach through her tank top, her body radiating heat that made your head spin.

FUCK.

You'll wake up with a gay panic and a warrant.

"I'm really tired," you squirmed against the death grip around your waist. For someone supposedly blackout drunk, she had the grip strength of someone who'd spent their life fighting through double teams.

Just pretend it's not there. You do not feel anything. Just toned arms and her—

"G'to bed baby. I'll make it up— make it up to you n' the morning." Nike lifted herself to place one last sleepy kiss against your cheek.

Two minutes later, Nike’s light snores vibrated against the back of your neck, warm breath caressing your skin. You wouldn't be able to move her off you. You had no clue where your phone was. Her hip could very well have fully consumed it at this point, creating some kind of phone-eating black hole that physics hadn't yet discovered.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, pretended there wasn't a Division I basketball star sleeping in your bed, and prayed that you wouldn't end up in some viral TikTok before noon. At least if you did become internet famous, you'd already submitted that goddamn CAD project.

Your last thought before drifting off was that Mr. Gummy better not tell anyone about this.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL!"

Are you being robbed? Is someone being murdered? You jolted upwards to see Riven staring at you with an open mouth, her perfectly applied makeup from last night now resembling a raccoon's Halloween costume.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of sleep. What's her problem?

She pointed to your bed and you turned your body to the side. Oh.

Oh.

Nike was rapidly blinking, those unfairly long eyelashes fluttering as she was most likely realizing you were not Taylor. The morning light streaming through your window illuminated her features in a way that should be illegal before coffee.

You laughed nervously, hands flailing in front of you like a malfunctioning windmill. "It's not what it looks like."

"Why is Paige Bueckers in your bed?"

Paige Bueckers? The same UConn Basketball Star Paige Bueckers? No fucking way.

This Paige had cuddled Mr. Gummy half of the night before opting to trap you in the bed with her. There was no chance that this was the same Paige Bueckers that had NIL deals with Nike and Gatorade and had laid waste to half the NCAA. 

Paige—definitely Paige—groaned beside you, hands rubbing her face. "Taylor's going to kill me," she mumbled underneath her breath.

"No, we— we didn't. We." You pointed between yourself and Paige, your brain short-circuiting like a poorly wired circuit board.

"Listen, sweetie, I'm sure it was the time of your life, but this was a one-time thing." Her voice had that practiced smoothness of someone who'd given this speech before, probably more times than the number of equations in your thermodynamics textbook.

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets. Was she serious? Did she think you two—? And she was okay with it? Now, this fits the description perfectly of the cocky superstar Paige Bueckers was known to be. 

Your face burned hotter than an overclocked processor. "We did not have sex. You came in here drunk off your ass screaming about your girlfriend."

By the time the word girlfriend left your mouth, Paige Bueckers had already jumped off your bed with the agility of someone who definitely wasn't as hungover as she should be. She snatched up her UConn warmup jacket from your floor and was halfway down the hallway before you could blink.

What an arrogant little asshole. Your muscles quivered with the urge to strangle her. That is if you ever saw her again. Which, given your luck and UConn’s campus, was probably inevitable.

"How long have you and Paige been seeing each other?" The empty spot beside you filled with Riven's weight. "Is that why you never wanted to come to the games with me?"

"Riven, you have five seconds to get off of my bed before I strangle you."

"You can't avoid this conversation forever!" she called out as you stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you tried to process the reality that you'd just spent the night cuddled up with Paige fucking Bueckers. The same player whose name had been carved into the unofficial NCAA hierarchy since before orientation. 

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the memory of how her arms had felt around you, how her breath had tickled your neck, how her—

No. Absolutely not. You were not going to join the ranks of college students who'd lost their minds over a basketball star. You had bigger things to worry about. Like whether your CAD project had uploaded properly. Or if you could ever look at Mr. Gummy the same way again.

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, labs, and actively avoiding any location where you might run into Paige. You'd even skipped Tuesday's Engineering Club meeting, sending your vice president a detailed email about needing to catch up on work. It wasn't entirely a lie—you did have work to catch up on, considering you'd spent half your study time calculating alternate routes to class that avoided the usual athlete hangouts.

But by Thursday afternoon, your luck ran out. The library was supposed to be safe—the one place on campus where the basketball players rarely ventured. They had their own private study rooms in the athletic center, after all. Which is why you'd let your guard down, settling into your favorite spot near the engineering section to catch up on your reading.

The peaceful atmosphere was shattered by two girls settling at the table across from you, their whispered conversation carrying clearly in the quiet space.

"So yeah, I like totally made out with Paige in the team room. We almost knocked over Coach's whiteboard, isn't that hilarious?" The prettier of the two said as she placed her MacBook on the wooden table, her voice carrying that forced casualness of someone trying very hard to seem unbothered.

Her friend laughed and took a sip of her Starbucks, a lemonade, probably sugar-free, because of course it was. "So how was it?"

Paige's latest conquest giggled and opened her laptop, trying to seem as uninterested in the conversation as possible. You'd seen this play before, the carefully crafted nonchalance that masked the inevitable disappointment when Paige moved on to her next target. You'd bet your entire scholarship that she'd gone home crying after being ghosted, only to watch Paige pretend she didn't exist the next day.

By this point, you'd given up all pretense of studying chemical processes and electron movement. You'd reread the same paragraph in your textbook sixteen times, your brain more interested in this glimpse into the life of your unexpected bedmate. So what if you're being nosy? Everyone is nosy, and besides, you'd mentally checked out the moment these two sat down.

"She's such a good kisser.” Her friend's mouth dropped open as she placed her half-empty cup onto the table, grabbing her friend's shoulder with one hand. The former nodded, still giggling, "Sarah, I know. She like totally picked me up against the whiteboard."

Are they not aware that people can hear them? That they're in a public space? You glanced around the library, which was half-empty as usual. So maybe you were the only one eavesdropping. Still, you wouldn't go around a library of all places announcing your hookups to the world.

"Hey buttercup," an eerily familiar voice purred in your ear.

You jolted, arms flailing like a malfunctioning robot, inevitably colliding with your pencil case and sending its contents scattering across the floor. Various writing implements rolled under nearby tables like they were making a break for freedom.

You turned to lock eyes with a very, very familiar pair of hazel eyes. Shit.

"Do I know you?" You asked through gritted teeth, trying to ignore how good she looked in her fitted Nike training gear. The amount of exclusive team merchandise on her body probably equaled your entire semester's expenses.

Why would Paige, of all people, be looking for you? If you remembered correctly, she was the one to so diligently inform you that whatever happened was a one-time thing—even though nothing had actually happened.

Paige's eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips tugged upward into that infamous smirk. She leaned forward, resting one hand on the edge of the table, the other on the back of your chair, effectively caging you in. "Don't play dumb."

She was in your bubble. Way too close for comfort, especially since you'd been planning on never having to interact with her again. You groaned and leaned backward, roughly pushing your chair back to give yourself space to lean over and pick up your scattered pens. The move was partly practical and partly designed to annoy her.

"Listen, if it was up to me, I wouldn't be here either." Paige grabbed the chair to your left and pushed it closer to you, dropping into it with that natural athlete's grace. "I've been to your room every day since Sunday and you haven't been there once."

Welp. Why the hell would she be looking for you?

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I was supposed to be waiting in my room for you." You shoved the pens back into your pencil case, gripping the zipper and tugging it closed with perhaps more force than necessary. Looks like the library was no longer a safe haven.

"I lost my phone and you're the only person I remember being with that night," Paige groaned, turning her head.

Does she truly remember that night? Remember that you two didn't actually hook up but instead cuddled? You wanted to convulse at the memory of how safe and warm you'd felt in her arms. How right it had—no. Absolutely not.

"Oh fuck," she mumbled, her expression shifting from annoyed to something closer to panic.

Your eyes followed her gaze to see what had caused this reaction.

Ha. Ha. Ha. In your face, superstar. You couldn't help but grin as you realized the two girls were still very much present. Not only present but staring at you and Paige with expressions that suggested their jaws might actually detach and hit the table.

Paige leaned back in her chair, sending them a small wave and a—was that a wink? Your eyes nearly rolled directly out of their sockets. How much more predictable could she get?

You didn't bother to look back at the two girls to see their reaction. You could guess it anyway—probably swooning in their chairs, maybe even planning their own strategic "accidental" encounters with her. You wouldn't be surprised if they were already planning to show up at her next practice session.

"Anyways," Paige turned back to you, her voice dropping to that low register that definitely didn't do things to your insides, "Have you seen it?"

You shook your head, closing your textbook. Time to get the hell out of here. "No, I haven't. Sorry."

"Are you mad about what I said? Is that why you're holding my precious phone hostage?" Paige's hand shot out to land on top of your textbook, preventing you from shoving it in your bag—or directly at her stupid, perfect face.

"Mad about what exactly?" You grabbed her hand and tried to shove it off the textbook. She didn't budge. Of course she didn't, you'd seen her arms during all those ESPN highlights Riven forced you to watch. "I do not have your phone."

Within seconds, Paige's hand slid off the textbook only to trap your hand against it instead. She moved to the edge of her chair and leaned forward until her lips were at the shell of your ear. Her warm breath hit your skin and you had to resist the urge to squirm. "About what I said in front of your roommate, sweetie."

Your blood ran cold. Does she think you give two shits about what she said in front of Riven? That she made your roommate think you two were secretly hooking up and that she would undoubtedly eventually let it slip to her sorority sisters? Who will tell the rest of campus? No. Not. At. All.

Asshole. She's a no-good little asshole with too many NIL deals and too little accountability.

You turned your head to face her, ignoring the fact that you were now inches apart. If you weren't so pissed you might've paused to appreciate how her eyes looked up close, how they seemed to hold more mischief than all the troublemakers in Cambridge combined. But now wasn't the time for character studies.

You held her gaze, noting the slight knit in her brow that suggested she wasn't as confident as she was pretending to be. "Listen here Bueckers, whether or not you want to keep pretending like we hooked up or not is none of my business. I do not have your fucking phone, and if I did I would've thrown that shit into the Charles River by now."

You yanked your hand away from her grasp and turned back to your desk. You managed to successfully toss your textbook into your bag and rise from your chair without another word from her.

Before making your very dramatic exit, you turned to face her one last time. Might as well make it grand.

Paige hadn't moved an inch since you'd stood up. She stared at you with a raised brow and that infuriating smirk tugging at her lips. She found this amusing? Found humiliating you in the library a good pastime?

You bent over your chair, placing one hand on her shoulder and leaning in until you were at the shell of her ear. She stiffened under your touch, and you felt a small thrill of satisfaction. What the fuck are you doing?

You leaned in further, so close that your chest pressed flat against your arm and her body. So close that your lips actually grazed her ear as you whispered, with all the venom you could muster, “This might work on your little groupies, but, I’m not interested.” 

The last thing you saw as you straightened up and walked away was the shocked expression on her face, like she couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Good. Let her be confused for once.

You managed to make it all the way to the library exit before your hands started shaking. What the hell had gotten into you? You'd just essentially declared war on one of the most prominent athletes at UConn. The star player who could probably get you banned from every sports event without blinking.

But as you pushed through the heavy doors into the crisp fall air, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Maybe it was time someone stood up to the mighty Paige Bueckers. Someone who didn't want anything from her except for her to leave them alone.

Your muscles were still tense from your library encounter as you trudged up the stairs to your dorm room. The familiar hallway felt longer than usual, probably because every step reminded you of how spectacularly you'd just antagonized UConn's star player. At least you'd managed to get through your thermodynamics lab without dwelling too much on the way Paige's face had dropped when you'd—

No. Stop fucking thinking about it.

You fumbled with your key card, missing the reader twice before finally getting the door open. The first thing you noticed was an envelope on the floor, likely slipped under your door while you were in class. You bent down to pick it up, ready to toss it in the recycling with all the other campus spam, when Riven's voice cut through the room.

"What's that?"

You jumped, nearly dropping the envelope. Your roommate was sprawled across her bed, still in her scrubs from her hospital rotation. She must have gotten back early.

"Nothing," you muttered, but it was too late. Riven had already launched herself off her bed with surprising agility for someone who'd just finished a twelve-hour shift.

"Oh my god," she squealed, snatching the envelope from your hands before you could protest. "These are courtside tickets to Saturday's game!"

Your stomach dropped. Sure enough, two tickets peeked out of the torn envelope in Riven's hands. But what caught your eye was the note attached.

Found my phone in the team room. Who would’ve thought, right? Peace? - PB

"We're going," Riven declared, already pulling out her phone. "I'm texting the group chat right now. Do you know how impossible these tickets are to get?"

You reached for the tickets, but Riven danced away, holding them above her head like a prized trophy. "We are not going."

"Oh yes we are," she grinned, typing furiously with one hand while keeping the tickets out of your reach with the other. "Everyone's going to be so jealous. How did you even get these?"

"I didn't—" you started, then stopped. How exactly do you explain to your basketball-obsessed roommate that these tickets were some kind of weird peace offering from Paige Bueckers? A peace offering that felt more like a challenge, especially given that note.

"Earth to engineering nerd," Riven waved her hand in front of your face. "You're coming to this game. No excuses. I've already told everyone you're finally embracing the Husky spirit."

You groaned, falling face-first onto your bed. Mr. Gummy stared at you judgmentally from his spot against your pillow. Even he seemed to be saying you should have thrown those tickets away the moment you saw them.

"I have to study," you mumbled into your comforter.

"You always have to study," Riven countered. "But how often do you get courtside tickets from Paige Bueckers?"

Your head shot up. "How did you—"

"PB?" Riven held up the note, smirking. "Please. I may be pre-med, but I'm not stupid. Also, her signature is literally on every piece of UConn merch in the campus store."

Great. Just great. Now you had no choice but to go to the game. If you didn't, Riven would never let you hear the end of it. She'd probably drag you there anyway, study plans be damned.

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer some escape route from this situation. Instead, all you could think about was how you'd have to sit courtside—courtside—and watch Paige play. Watch her make those impossible passes, sink those perfect three-pointers, command the court like she was born to do it.

And she'd know you were there. That was the worst part. This wasn't just a peace offering—it was a power play. She was making sure you couldn't ignore her anymore.

"Fine," you sighed, already regretting the word as it left your mouth. "But I'm bringing my thermodynamics textbook."

Riven's squeal of delight was probably heard all the way in the engineering building.

You grabbed Mr. Gummy and hugged him to your chest, wondering how exactly you'd gone from successfully telling Paige Bueckers to fuck off to having courtside seats to watch her play. The bear offered no answers, but you could have sworn he looked a little smug about the whole situation.

The next two days were a special kind of torture. Riven had taken it upon herself to become your personal "game day preparation coordinator," which apparently meant forcing you to sit through endless highlight reels of UConn's recent victories. By Friday afternoon, you could probably recite Paige's stat line from memory—not that you'd ever admit that to anyone.

"You can't wear that," Riven declared as you pulled out your standard comfort outfit: UConn Engineering hoodie and black leggings.

You glanced down at your clothes, then back at your roommate. "Why not?"

"Because we're sitting courtside," she emphasized the word like you were a particularly slow child. "People are going to see us. The cameras might even pan to us during timeouts!"

The mere thought made your stomach churn. "That's exactly why I should wear this. I don't want to draw any attention."

Riven was already shaking her head, diving into her closet with the determination of someone on a mission. "No way. If Paige Bueckers gives you courtside tickets, you dress for the occasion."

"She didn't give them to me," you protested, even though technically she had. "They were just left under our door."

"Right," Riven emerged with an armful of clothes. "Just like she just happened to end up in your bed that night?"

You threw Mr. Gummy at her head. She dodged, laughing as the bear bounced harmlessly off your desk lamp. "We are not talking about that again."

An hour and approximately seventeen outfit changes later, you finally escaped. Your excuse about needing to pick up materials from the engineering lab wasn't entirely a lie—you did have a project due next week. The fact that the engineering building was on the opposite side of campus from the athletic facilities was just a bonus.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice the person exiting the coffee shop until it was too late. Hot liquid splashed across your chest as you collided with what felt like a brick wall of muscle.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!" A voice that definitely wasn't Paige's (thank god) exclaimed.

You looked up—and up—into the concerned face of one of UConn's basketball players. The Croatian accent and defensive intensity were legendary enough that even you, perpetually sports-oblivious, recognized her from Riven's endless team discussions.

"It's fine," you managed, trying to ignore how the hot coffee was currently seeping through your shirt. At least it wasn't your engineering hoodie—Riven would've killed you if you'd ruined her carefully planned outfit for tomorrow.

She was already pulling napkins from her pocket, dabbing at your shirt with a look of genuine distress. "Let me buy you a new coffee. And shirt," she added, eyeing the growing stain.

"Really, it's fine." You stepped back, ready to bolt. The last thing you needed was another interaction with a basketball player.

But she wasn't letting you off that easy. She grabbed your wrist with surprising gentleness for someone known for her aggressive defense. “Nah, I insist. I'm Nika, by the way. And I really do feel terrible about this."

Before you could protest further, she was steering you back into the coffee shop. The barista's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Nika—clearly a regular customer—but otherwise maintained their professional composure.

"The usual for me," Nika called out, "and whatever she wants." She turned to you expectantly.

You mumbled your name and order—"Just a black coffee"—trying to shrink into yourself. Several students were openly staring now, probably wondering why Nika Mühl was buying coffee for some random engineering student.

"And a chocolate croissant," Nika added, ignoring your attempt to protest. "Trust me, they're amazing here."

You shifted uncomfortably as she paid, very aware of the wet fabric clinging to your skin. Nika seemed to notice your discomfort because she shrugged off her UConn warmup jacket and held it out to you.

"Here, you can't stay in that wet shirt."

You stared at the jacket like it might bite you. The same style jacket Paige had left on your floor that night. The one that probably cost more than your textbooks.

"I can't—"

"You can and you will," Nika insisted, pushing the jacket into your hands. "There's a bathroom right there. Go change before you catch a cold."

Something in her tone brooked no argument. You found yourself in the bathroom before you could really process what was happening, staring at your reflection as you zipped up the warmup jacket. It was slightly too big, making you look like a kid playing dress-up in their older sibling's clothes.

When you emerged, Nika had already claimed a table in the corner, your drinks and the promised chocolate croissant waiting. She waved you over with a smile that somehow managed to be both friendly and slightly intimidating.

"So," she said as you slid into the seat across from her, "what's your major?"

"Engineering. Mechanical." You picked at the croissant, wondering how quickly you could eat it and escape.

Nika's eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Engineering— wait." Her eyes widened with recognition. "Holy shit, are you that girl?"

You froze mid-bite. "What girl?"

"The one from the library! The one who told Paige—what was it?  ‘That you’re not one of her groupies’?” Nika's grin spread across her face like wildfire. "No wonder she's been such a mess lately."

You choked on your croissant. "What?"

"Oh my god, this is perfect. You're also the one she—" Nika cut herself off, studying your increasingly red face with growing delight. "The one whose room she crashed in after KK’s party?"

Your face burned hotter than the coffee you'd been wearing moments ago. "How did you—"

"Paige tells me everything," Nika leaned back in her chair, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Well, eventually. Had to drag this one out of her after she spent three days moping around practice like someone had stolen her favorite pair of Jordan’s.”

"I didn't steal anything," you protested automatically. "Not her phone, not her—"

"Oh, she knows that now," Nika waved dismissively. "Found it in the team room yesterday morning. Right where those girls said it would be." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Though I have to say, watching her spiral about it was pretty entertaining. She's not used to people calling her out like that."

The implication hung heavy in the air. You remembered the library girls' story about making out with Paige against the whiteboard. Something must have shown on your face because Nika's expression softened slightly.

"Look, Paige is complicated. She's not used to people seeing through her bullshit." She took a sip of her drink, considering her next words carefully. "Those tickets? That's her way of saying she fucked up."

"By accusing me of stealing her phone?"

"By letting you think she didn't remember that night."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "What?"

Nika's phone buzzed before she could answer. She glanced at it and grimaced. "Speaking of her royal highness, I'm late for film." She stood, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "Keep the jacket. Consider it compensation for the coffee attack."

You watched her head toward the door, your mind spinning with questions. Just before she left, she turned back with a knowing smirk.

"See you tomorrow at the game. Front row, right?"

The door chimed as she left, leaving you alone with a half-eaten croissant and more questions than answers. You looked down at the jacket, at the way the UConn logo seemed to mock you with its pristine embroidery.

Somehow, in trying to avoid Paige Bueckers, you'd managed to get tangled up in her world anyway. And tomorrow, you'd have to sit courtside and watch her in her element, all while wearing her best friend's jacket.

Mr. Gummy was definitely going to judge you for this.

"No." You glared at the suspicious red cup Riven was waving in front of your face. "Absolutely not."

"Come on! It's tradition!" She pushed the cup closer, its contents sloshing dangerously near the rim. The sharp smell of cheap vodka mixed with what you assumed was cranberry juice wafted toward you. "You can't go to your first real game sober."

You turned back to your mirror, adjusting Nika's warmup jacket for the hundredth time. The number 10 stared back at you, a constant reminder of yesterday's coffee shop encounter. You'd tried to talk yourself out of wearing it, but everything else felt too casual for courtside seats (according to Riven) or too formal (also according to Riven).

"I'm not pregaming a basketball game at three in the afternoon."

"It's four," Riven corrected, checking her phone. "And yes, you are. The team's already been at Gampel for hours, and we need to leave in thirty minutes if we want good spots for warm-ups. I refuse to let you sit there reading thermodynamics while history happens right in front of us."

You spun around, hands on your hips. "History?"

"Yes! We're playing Notre Dame. It's huge." She thrust the cup into your hands with such force that some of it splashed onto your fingers. "And you're wearing Nika Mühl's personal jacket. Do you know how many people would kill for that?"

"I got it because she spilled coffee on me," you muttered, but took a small sip anyway. Just to shut her up. The drink was surprisingly not terrible— mostly juice with just enough vodka to warm your chest.

"Right. Just like Paige 'accidentally' ended up in your bed." Riven made air quotes with her fingers, nearly spilling her own drink in the process. "And then 'accidentally' gave us courtside tickets."

"Can we not talk about that?" You took another sip, larger this time. The warmth spread through your limbs, making everything feel slightly softer around the edges. Maybe Riven had a point about the drinking thing.

"Oh, we're definitely talking about it." She flopped onto your bed, somehow not spilling a drop. "You're wearing her best friend's jacket to watch her play. This is like, next level psychological warfare."

You choked on your drink. "It's not warfare! I just didn't have anything else to wear."

"Mhmm." Riven's knowing smirk made you want to throw Mr. Gummy at her again. "That's why you spent twenty minutes adjusting it in the mirror."

"I did not—"

"You did! You were all,” She stood up, mimicking your earlier movements with exaggerated precision. "'Oh, should I zip it up all the way? Maybe halfway? What if I push up the sleeves?'"

You drained your cup in one go, grimacing at the burn. "I hate you."

"You love me." She was already mixing another drink, this one slightly stronger than the last. "And you're going to thank me when Paige sees you in that jacket and loses her mind."

"She's not going to lose her mind," you protested, but accepted the fresh drink anyway. "She probably won't even notice."

Riven's laugh echoed off the walls. "Oh honey. Paige notices everything. Why do you think she's the best point guard in the country?"

The walk to Gampel Pavilion was a blur of Riven's excited chatter and your growing anxiety. The drinks had taken the edge off, but your heart still raced as you approached the arena. Students were already lining up outside, many wearing jerseys and carrying signs. Your hand instinctively went to the zipper of Nika's jacket, suddenly very aware of what you were wearing.

"Stop fidgeting," Riven hissed, pulling you toward a separate entrance. "You look hot. Own it."

The security guard barely glanced at your tickets before waving you through. The arena was already humming with energy— staff rushing around with equipment, the band setting up in their section, early arrivals claiming their seats. 

Your courtside seats were exactly where you'd dreaded they'd be: directly behind the UConn bench. Close enough to hear every word, see every expression, feel every moment of tension.

"This is insane," you muttered, sinking into your seat. The court stretched out before you like a stage, the overhead lights making everything feel surreal.

"Look." Riven nudged you, pointing toward the tunnel. "They're coming out for warm-ups."

Your heart jumped into your throat as the team emerged, led by the coaching staff. Players filed onto the court in perfect formation, their practice jerseys a sea of navy and white. You spotted Nika first— impossible to miss with her distinctive playing style, already intense even in warm-ups.

And then there she was.

Paige moved with that effortless grace that made everything look easy, her ponytail swinging as she dribbled two balls simultaneously. She hadn't looked toward the crowd yet, locked in that pre-game focus that elite athletes got.

"Here we go," Riven whispered, her phone already out and recording.

You watched as Paige went through her warm-up routine, each movement precise and practiced. She worked her way around the three-point line, barely seeming to notice as shot after shot swished through the net.

Then she turned to grab a rebound, and her eyes swept across the courtside seats.

You saw the exact moment she registered you. Her hands froze mid-dribble, the ball bouncing away forgotten. Her gaze locked onto the number 10 across your chest, then slowly traveled up to meet your eyes.

The intensity in her stare made your whole body flush hot. You watched as her jaw clenched, that familiar muscle ticking in a way that sent heat straight to your core. Her eyes darkened with something that looked dangerously close to possession.

Nika appeared beside her, saying something that made Paige snap back to attention. But not before you caught the way her gaze lingered on how her best friend's jacket fit your frame.

"Holy shit," Riven breathed, still recording. "I think you broke her."

You slumped lower in your seat, already regretting letting the vodka convince you this was a good idea. "Shut up."

"No way. This is better than any reality show." She zoomed in as Paige missed her next three shots in a row. "Look what you did to her."

"I didn't do anything," you protested weakly, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from Paige's form. The way her practice jersey clung to her shoulders, how her muscles flexed with each movement, the intense focus that had returned to her features – though you swore you caught her glancing in your direction between plays.

This was going to be a very long game.

The game started exactly as you'd expected— with Paige absolutely demolishing Notre Dame's defense while you tried very hard to look anywhere else. It wasn't working.

"Did you see that pass?" Riven screamed in your ear for approximately the eighteenth time. "She didn't even look!"

No, you hadn't seen the pass, because you were very deliberately studying the fascinating architecture of Gampel's ceiling. The vodka buzz had worn off about twenty minutes ago, leaving you hyperaware of every move, every sound, every time Paige jogged past your seats during transitions.

The worst part? Nika kept sending you these knowing looks from the bench, like she was watching her favorite rom-com play out in real time. You were starting to regret not bringing your thermodynamics textbook after all. At least differential equations made sense. They didn't smirk at you or have perfectly defined arm muscles or—

"Time out, Huskies!"

The players jogged toward the bench, and suddenly your personal space was invaded by very tall, very sweaty athletes. You tried to shrink further into your seat, but there was nowhere to go. Especially not when Paige dropped into a crouch right in front of you, ostensibly to grab her water bottle.

"Nice jacket," she said quietly, just loud enough for you to hear over the timeout huddle. Her eyes traveled down your body in a way that made you feel like you were wearing significantly less than a full warmup jacket and jeans.

You opened your mouth to respond with something witty, something that would put her in her place like you had in the library. Instead, what came out was: "Your friend has good taste."

Paige's eyes darkened, that same possessive look from warm-ups returning with intensity. "Does she?"

Before you could dig yourself into an even deeper hole, Coach Auriemma's voice cut through the tension. "Bueckers! Get your ass over here!"

You watched as she jogged back to the huddle, trying to ignore how your skin felt electric where her gaze had lingered. Beside you, Riven was practically vibrating with excitement.

"I got all of that on video," she whispered, waving her phone in your face. "This is going in the group chat."

"If you send that anywhere, I will reprogram your phone to only play the Barney theme song."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The timeout ended, and the players returned to the court. You noticed Paige was playing with even more intensity now, if that was possible. Her crossovers were sharper, her passes more precise, like she had something to prove.

"Twenty bucks says she's showing off for you," Riven muttered.

"Thirty says you're delusional."

But as you watched Paige sink another impossible three-pointer and turn slightly— just slightly - in your direction before jogging back on defense, you had to admit that maybe, just maybe, Riven had a point.

The game continued in a blur of strategic timeouts (during which Paige found increasingly creative ways to end up near your seat), incredible plays (that you definitely weren't watching just to see the way her muscles moved), and Riven's running commentary (which was getting progressively less about basketball and more about the "tension that could be cut with a knife").

By the fourth quarter, UConn had built a comfortable lead, and you'd developed a concerning familiarity with exactly how Paige's practice jersey clung to her shoulders when she was sweating. This was not information you needed in your life. You had CAD models to build, robots to program, a future in engineering to secure. You did not have time to notice how her hair had started falling out of its ponytail in these impossibly attractive wisps, or how—

"Game! Huskies win!"

The final buzzer snapped you out of your completely professional analysis of athletic biomechanics. The crowd erupted as players from both teams exchanged handshakes and hugs. You stood, ready to make your escape before—

"Leaving so soon?"

You turned to find Paige standing right there, still slightly breathless from the game, her presence filling your entire field of vision. Up close, you could see the flush of exertion on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the slight curl of her lips that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

"I have studying to do," you managed, proud that your voice came out steady.

"On a Saturday night?" She stepped closer, and you caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with sweat. It should not have been as attractive as it was. "After watching me put up thirty points?"

"Thirty-two," you corrected automatically, then immediately wanted to die. Beside you, Riven made a sound that might have been a squeal or a laugh.

Paige's smirk grew wider. "So you were watching."

"It was kind of hard to miss, considering where we're sitting." You gestured to the courtside seats that had started this whole mess.

"About that," she ran a hand through her hair, and those loose strands fell perfectly around her face in a way that had to be practiced. "I was thinking maybe we could—"

"Paige!" Nika's voice cut through whatever she'd been about to say. "Media's waiting!"

You'd never been so grateful for press obligations in your life.

Paige's jaw clenched in frustration, but she recovered quickly. "This isn't over," she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. Then she was gone, jogging toward the media section with that natural athletic grace that made everything look effortless.

You stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Your skin still tingled where she'd been standing close enough to touch.

"So," Riven's voice broke through your daze. "Still think she hasn't noticed you?"

"We're going out," Riven declared, already rummaging through your closet without permission. "No arguments."

You looked up from your laptop, where you'd been desperately trying to focus on anything other than replaying the game in your head for the past two hours. "I have to—"

"If you say 'study' I will literally scream." She emerged with your one decent going-out top, the black one with the low back that you'd bought on impulse and worn exactly once. "You just watched UConn destroy Notre Dame from courtside seats while Paige Bueckers eye-fucked you in front of the entire student section. We're celebrating."

"She wasn't—" You cut yourself off, heat creeping up your neck. "And anyway, shouldn't she be celebrating with her girlfriend?"

The words tasted bitter in your mouth. You'd been trying very hard not to think about Taylor, about how Paige had crashed into your room calling out her name, about how clearly serious it must be if she was that desperate to apologize. The fact that she'd spent the entire game looking at you like... that... well, it just proved what everyone said about her, didn't it?

"Oh my god," Riven threw the shirt at your head. "Put this on. We're getting drunk and you're going to tell me everything you're overthinking about right now."

An hour later, you found yourself at The Tavern, nursing your second Moscow Mule while Riven recounted the game to anyone who would listen. The bar was packed with students celebrating the win, most still wearing their UConn gear and riding the high of victory.

"I just don't get it," you said, mostly to your drink. "Why is she suddenly so interested? I'm literally nobody. I spend my Friday nights debugging Python scripts and building robots that occasionally catch fire."

"Maybe that's exactly why," Riven waggled her eyebrows. "You're different. You don't worship the ground she walks on."

You snorted. "Right. Because what Paige Bueckers really wants is someone who told her to fuck off in the library."

The doors to The Tavern burst open, and suddenly the energy in the room shifted. A new wave of celebration swept through as the team arrived, fresh from their post-game duties. Your stomach did a complicated flip as you spotted Paige among them, now changed into fitted black jeans and a white button-down that should be illegal. Her hair was down, falling in waves that your fingers definitely didn't itch to touch.

"Speak of the devil," Riven smirked. "Want to test that theory?"

"Don't you dare—" But Riven was already waving enthusiastically, catching Nika's attention. The Croatian player's face lit up with unholy glee when she spotted you.

"Engineering girl!" Nika bounded over, dragging a very amused-looking Paige with her. "Still wearing my jacket, I see."

You started to unzip it, but she waved you off. "Keep it. It looks better on you anyway." She shot Paige a meaningful look that made your cheeks burn.

"I need another drink," Riven announced suddenly, grabbing Nika's arm. "Come show me where the team keeps their secret stash."

"We don't have a—" Nika caught on quickly, grinning. "Oh, right. That secret stash. This way."

And just like that, you were alone with Paige at the crowded bar, your body humming with awareness of how close she was standing.

"Subtle, aren't they?" Paige smiled, and for once it wasn't that practiced smirk. It was something softer, more genuine. She signaled the bartender, who materialized instantly. Must be nice being a campus celebrity.

"The usual?" The bartender asked Paige, already reaching for a bottle.

"And whatever she's having," Paige nodded toward your nearly empty Moscow Mule.

"I can buy my own drinks," you said quickly, reaching for your wallet.

Paige's lips twitched. "I know you can. But consider it part of my ongoing apology for the whole bed situation."

You raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep your voice steady. "You always apologize to your drunken mistakes with expensive drinks?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to snatch them back. But instead of looking offended, Paige just studied you with those impossibly intense eyes.

"Only the ones who let me cuddle their stuffed bears."

"Mr. Gummy," you corrected automatically, then immediately wanted to die. Again.

The bartender returned with your drinks, and you grabbed yours perhaps a bit too quickly, needing something to do with your hands. The Moscow Mule was perfect – strong enough to blame your burning cheeks on the alcohol.

"So," Paige said after a moment, looking far too comfortable for someone who'd just been called out on their drunken mistakes. "Engineering, huh?"

You nearly choked on your drink. "Are we really doing small talk right now?"

"Would you prefer I go back to staring at you from across the court?"

"I prefer knowing where I stand," you shot back, the alcohol making you braver than usual. "Because last I checked, you had a girlfriend you were pretty desperate to apologize to."

Something flashed across her face – regret? Embarrassment? "Taylor and I it's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" You couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of your voice. You'd heard enough stories about Paige's "complicated" situations to fill a textbook.

She turned to face you fully, and your breath caught at the unexpected vulnerability in her expression. "Look, I know what people say about me. Some of it's probably true. But Taylor and I have been over for months. That night... I was drunk and stupid because she'd started seeing someone new, and I handled it badly."

"By trying to crawl into her bed?"

"By accidentally crawling into yours." Her voice dropped lower, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. "Which, in retrospect, might have been the universe doing me a favor."

You forced yourself to meet her gaze, ignoring how your heart raced at the way she was looking at you. "Does that line usually work?"

"I don't know," she smiled, and it wasn't her usual cocky smirk. It was something smaller, almost shy. "I've never used it before."

Before you could process that, a commotion erupted near the pool tables. You both turned to see Riven attempting to teach one of the team's shooting guards proper form, which seemed to involve a lot of unnecessary physical contact.

"Ten bucks says they end up making out in the bathroom," Paige said, amusement coloring her tone.

"Twenty says Riven chickens out and spends the next week telling me about all the signals she thinks she missed."

Paige laughed, and the sound did something dangerous to your insides. "You know your roommate well."

"Well enough to know she's going to interrogate me about this conversation later."

"This conversation?" Paige shifted slightly closer, and you caught that intoxicating mix of her perfume and something uniquely her. "What's there to interrogate about?"

You gestured vaguely between you. "This whole... whatever this is. Where you're suddenly interested in small talk about my major and making jokes about the universe doing you favors."

"Maybe I just want to know more about the girl who told me to fuck off in the library." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "While wearing my best friend's jacket, no less."

"That was an accident—"

"Was it?" She was definitely closer now, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. "Because from where I was standing, it looked a lot like a challenge."

Your grip tightened on your drink. "Not everything is about you, Bueckers."

"No," she agreed, her voice soft but intense. "But the way you've been looking at me all night? That might be."

The air between you crackled with tension. You should step back. You should remember all the stories, all the warnings, all the reasons this was a terrible idea. You should—

"There you are!" Nika's voice cut through the moment like a bucket of cold water. "Coach just texted. Team meeting tomorrow morning got moved up."

Paige's jaw clenched in frustration, but she recovered quickly. "What time?"

"Eight AM." Nika's eyes darted between you and Paige, her expression far too knowing. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You weren't," you said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly judging by Nika's raised eyebrow.

Paige turned back to you, and the intensity in her gaze made your breath catch. "We'll finish this conversation later."

It wasn't a question.

You watched her walk away, trying to ignore how your body still hummed from her proximity. Nika lingered behind, grinning like she'd just won a bet with herself.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I've never seen her work this hard for someone's attention before."

"I'm not—" you started, but Nika was already following Paige, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a half-empty Moscow Mule.

Riven materialized beside you moments later, her eyes wide. "Okay, what the hell was that?"

"Nothing," you mumbled into your drink. "Just Paige Bueckers being Paige Bueckers."

But as you watched her gather her team to leave, she turned back just for a moment, catching your eye across the bar. The look she gave you was pure heat, a promise of more conversations to come.

You were so beyond utterly fucked.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Outgoing Call

A Jason Todd x reader story. It's funny, until it's not. Then it's angsty.

MDNI, NSFW, not smut but mature language. Excessive swearing, sexual situations, you know the drill. use of a slur, but in jest. content warnings for addiction.

I have no idea how long this is.

---

Jason doesn't want to be here. The stupid fucking pageantry of the Batcave gets on his nerves and sets his teeth on edge, always has. A whole-ass cave is fucking unnecessary, Jason makes do with a handful of safe houses—apartments really—and a storage unit. Bruce, sitting stoic at the computer in his full Batman getup and looking right at home among the exposed rock and towering ceilings that end in darkness, never seemed to know when to stop. It irritates Jason to no end.

Dick and Tim's blind chirping chatters angrily in his ears, and Jason considers putting on the helmet to block them out before he remembers he left it at his place. Damn. He’s going to have to experience this stupid meeting unfiltered.

Jason only realizes they're trying to get his attention when Dick taps him on the shoulder.

"You okay there, Little Wing?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and nudging an elbow into his gut. It's enough to make a swell of vomit claw its way up his throat. Jason swallows down with a grimace. "Yes, dickface," he snaps. "Just wondering when we're going to get this fucking show on the road."

Dick shrugs, and Jason's secretly glad he's not offended. He probably wouldn't be acting so much of a shit if he didn't go and overdo it at some unknown dive bar last night. It's possible Jason is mixing up his eager disgust with Batman and Co. and alcohol poisoning.

Like he isn't part of Batman and Co. Bruce grunts, and Dick and Tim refocus, alert. Jason does the same, then forces himself to relax. He ildly imagines shooting himself in the face.

"You know why you’re here," Bruce starts. Actually, Jason doesn't. He didn't read the report Bruce sent him, but whatever. He can figure it out with context clues.

"Oracle has a new lead on the cyber-crime case. She managed to override the suspect's phone and took control, creating an essential bug. It goes live in one minute."

Right. The hits on Gotham National Bank, GCPD, and the mayor’s office. Plus an attempt on Oracle's highly protected Batman case files. Jason doesn't know why he's here, he doesn't give a shit about this case. If the hacker manages to get into Bruce's stuff, he'll take them out to dinner himself.

"Do we have a name?" Tim asks.

"No, and no location either. The security on the phone is too tight, Oracle could only get outgoing calls. She'll silently trigger a call to a secure line. Our side is muted. We only have until the suspect realizes the call is ongoing."

Jason sighs, tries to settle in for the next few hours. He reluctantly takes a seat in front of the computer, furthest away from Bruce. Tim, teacher’s pet that he is, pulls out a notebook and pen. Bored, Jason thinks about what he's going to do when Bruce finally lets him off the leash. His thoughts go to your apartment, your bedroom, before he remembers that after last night, he's definitely not welcome there.

He slumps down in his seat. Oh well. It's for the best.

"Call goes live in three, two, one."

The cave is silent. There are a few gentle beeps as the call connects. Quiet, then, a subtle clacking of computer keys.

He catches Tim shoot Dick a look. Well, they're in.

The clacking continues uninterrupted for a few minutes. "Location still unknown," Dick murmurs. Suddenly, there is the sound of shifting fabric. The phone is in the perp's pocket, Jason thinks.

"You done in there?" someone calls. "I just cleaned my shower, don't get it all gross. You'd better not be shaving in there."

Location known. Perp's apartment. Tim all but flies to the computer. "Searching for voice recognition," he explains. Bruce nods.

"What? I can't hear you." The audio crackles, and then there's the sound of footsteps, the rain of a shower.

"I said, relax, I'm not shaving my pubes in your apartment, you asshole."

What the fuck? Jason stiffens, then internally recoils, trying not to sit at obvious rapt attention. He quickly surveys the room to see if he got away with it. Dick seems like he's trying not to laugh, and Tim looks mortified. He feels rather than sees Bruce shift minutely in his direction. Fuck. Fuck. He may have been made.

“Unknown person. Accomplice?” Tim mutters under his breath. “Attempting voice recognition.” As if Jason needs Tim’s tricks to recognize who's on the other end of the line.

"Good, I don't what that shit clogging my drain."

"It's just pubes, moron." Jason knows that voice, knows that tone, even on the phone, where he's been a million times over the past four months. He can imagine you rolling your eyes to match. "You have them too, you know, it's not just women.”

What the fuck are you doing in their perp's shower?

"Girl pubes are gross. I'll stick to men's, thanks."

Bruce's fingers move over the keys, gently moving Tim to the side. He's definitely writing out "homosexual" in the perp's file. If Jason had anything left to spare, he'd laugh out loud. But he's too busy furiously trying to figure out what you're doing there (and if you're in danger, and if he should be jealous) while keeping his reactions to himself. He doesn't need anybody knowing about his girlfriend.

Well. Ex-girlfriend, or at least soon to be.

"Speaking of men's pubes," the perp, starts, "how's Jason?"

Oh. Fuck. Jason's tongue shoots to the roof of his mouth. He doesn't think anybody noticed. Except Bruce. Maybe. He still might be in the clear. There are a lot of Jasons, but if you keep talking about him eventually Gotham's greatest detective is going to put two and two together.

He can almost taste vomit again as the thought crosses his mind. That would actually be really, really bad. Bruce wouldn't hesitate to use Jason's connection to you as a way to move forward on the case, Jason’s feelings be damned.

"He's okay. I mean, I think. I haven't seen him in a few days."

"Really? Is that weird, does he do that often?"

"Nah. Well, nah, yeah, he does it often," you say with a laugh. "It's fine, he always resurfaces." The trust evident in your voice grates against his skin, then settles warmly in his heart, then drops to his stomach. That was one of the things he liked most about you, that you didn't question his weird schedule or habits. Though he never allowed himself to think about what that might mean, how that meant you felt about him. It hurts more than he expected to hear it now, to have you connect the dots so clearly in front of him.

"What does Jason even look like? You've never actually told me." Shit.

"I dunno," you muse. "He's tall. Blue eyes, black hair.”

Jason hears Tim shift in his seat, feels Dick's eyes on him. Shit. Shit.

"You're bad at descriptions," the perp sniffs. "Here, let me find him. What's his last name?"

Your sheepish chuckle echoes through the cave. "Uh, I actually don't know."

The perp snorts. "Well, you're a goddamn idiot."

"Thanks, dipshit. His profile said Jason T."

Jason swears, swears, he doesn't react, but it doesn't matter. They know him too well. They have him. "Holy shit," Tim whispers. Dick lets out a low chuckle. "Putting yourself out there, Little Wing?"

Bruce clears his throat. "Name?" he asks Jason. Of course that's the only thing on his mind right now.

Jason shakes his head. "No fucking way," he snarls.

"Good enough," the perp answers. The sound of the shower fades as he walks back to the computer in what must be another room.

Soon the clack of computer keys crackles across the line. Jason braces himself. Let's see how dangerous this hacker really is.

Another comm line buzzes to life. "This is Oracle," Barbara announces. "Someone's putting out a search for Jason T, dipping into some private data. I swept everything out with your face and name."

At almost the same time-- "What the fuck kind of website are you on now?" you call from the shower.

"CCTV footage. GCPD and private contracts."

"Oracle," Bruce barks. "Any CCTV footage?" Jason wishes he were anywhere else. Surely, surely, he doesn't need to be here for this nightmare.

"GCPD footage is protected," she answers quickly. "Checking now. Wait--"

"Got it!" the perp sings. "Data breach," Oracle reports. "They got you, Hood."

"Noted," Bruce grunts. "Any connection between Jason and Red Hood?"

"Negative. Shutting them out now." Barbara's fingers fly over the keys.

If anything, the perp's are even faster. "Fuck, he's so hot. Holy shit. You didn't mention he's ripped. " Dick bumps Jason's shoulder, then easily dodges Jason's punch. "Red Hood," Bruce intones.

"Don't start," Jason threatens.

"Someone's trying to kick me out," perp calls to you. "I've got, maybe, fifteen seconds. Just enough time to zoom in on his ass."

The sound of the shower stops, plastic rustling as you pull back the curtain. "Yeah, zoom in on his ass."

"Wow. I hope you're fucking that shit up," the perp says. This is officially too much for Jason. He feels himself start to turn red.

There's the sound of footsteps again. Maybe it's in his head, but Jason feels like he recognizes it, the pad of your bare feet across the floor. "Don't worry. I'm eating that shit out every day of the week and twice on Sundays." Jason almost shits his pants as Tim sputters and Dick cackles.

"Quiet," Bruce commands. Jason wants to punch him.

"--disgusting," the perp is saying. "I can't believe you do that."

"I can't believe you don't," you shoot back. "Aren't fags supposed to love that?"

"Watch it," the perp warns. For a flash of a moment, Jason wonders if he's going to get angry at you, if you're in any danger. If he should rush in and save the day, if he has an excuse to see you again.

"Do you have to specify that in your Grindr profile?" you press on, delighted.

"Everyone's different, you cunt." The perp's voice is fond, and Jason relaxes slightly. "Speaking of which--" the line muffles and shakes for a moment. "I got a message I need to look at."

Grindr profile, Jason mentally notes. The sound is clearer now, the perp must have taken the phone out of his pocket. "Hm. I think this man needs a dick pic," the perp says thoughtfully. There's the metallic sound of fingers fumbling with a belt buckle.

"Christ, are you taking one now?" For the first time, Jason stops to wonder what your relationship is with this guy. Are you friends? Did you used to hook up? He tries to ignore the jealousy rising in his blood.

"Yeah," the perp sounds unconcerned. "Hurry up and get dressed, I can't get it up with a naked woman in the room."

Jason winces. He looks over at the others. Tim looks almost green in the face, and Dick is grimacing. This is quickly turning into porn audio, not exactly something he wants to listen to with Dick and Tim, much less Bruce. There's the sound of the phone being set down. Jason prays it's far enough away that it doesn't pick up what the perp is doing now.

"Do you want help?" you say after a moment. Tim gasps and whips his head toward Jason. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason grits his teeth. He doesn't know what he did to deserve listening to you jerk someone off with his whole fucking family next to him.

Thankfully, thankfully, the perp snorts. "No!" he sneers as you cackle in the background. "I don't want your gross women hands anywhere near my dick." No past hook ups, then.

"You are so close to misogyny that if you're not careful it's going to smack you in the face."

"That's not what I want smacking me in the face," the perp sighs. "Hence, the dick pic."

"Well, you've got your work cut out for you,” you say. “You have the most hideous flaccid penis I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Shut up,” the perp snaps. “It’s normal!”

“Hit a nerve did I?” You’re clearly amused. It makes Jason miss you enough to shake his head. Ugh. Apparently the alcohol didn’t flush the sad out of him.

“C’mon, help me out here,” the perp says, ignoring you. “What do you think of when you want to flick your bean?”

“Jason,” you say instantly. It makes him grow warm, then sick.

“Wow, she’s got it bad for you,” Dick murmurs. Not for long. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

“I’m happy for you,” Tim pipes up. Jason scrubs a hand over his face. He can’t take much more of this.

“Yeah, I can see why. Can I think about him?”

“No!” you snap as the perp laughs. “Fine, I’ll just think about Nightwing’s sweet, sweet ass.”

Jason’s out of the hot seat. Finally. He looks at Dick, ready to give as good as he got. Unfortunately, Dick doesn’t look offended. He’s grinning, the arrogant ass.

“Okay, I’m good.” They hear the artificial sound of camera. “God, that took forever. Send.”

Dick’s phone pings, Grindr notification echoing through the cave.

“Holy shit,” Tim mutters. “This is the best and also worst day of my life. Can’t you two keep it in your pants?”

Dick shrugs, but he looks embarrassed. “Would you believe me if I told you it’s not for the case?”

Your voice on the line cuts across anyone who would answer. “An unsolicited dick pic?”

“Nah, he sent me one earlier. Wanna see?”

Tim sounds like he’s choking. Bruce’s jaw is working, but thank god he’s quiet. “Nah, dude. I’ll leave that for you,” you answer.

“Dick,” Bruce says lowly. Dick can’t meet his eyes. “You may have to cut off communication.”

“What? Why?” Dick protests. Bruce opens his mouth to answer, but you do it for him.

“Couldn’t you hack his phone from that? Have you ever done that before?” you wonder.

“No.” The perp is quick to answer. “That’s a line I won’t cross.”

“See? It’s fine!” Dick insists. Bruce grimaces, but doesn’t say anything. The sound of a phone going off saves Dick from further embarrassment. Jason wishes he could have caught their attention for longer. He needed a break.

“That’s you,” the perp says. “Can you see what it is?” you ask. “I’m still getting dressed.”

“Sure,” the perp says, floor creaking as he crosses the room. “It’s your mom. Want me to answer?”

“Yeah, what did she say?”

“She’s asking if she can call tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You can let her know.”

Jason hears rustling, the sound of you pulling your clothes on. He connects it to the sound of him doing the opposite, of tugging your clothes off and tossing them to the floor.

Damn. This is harder than he thought.

“You also have a text from Jason,” the perp offers.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I’ll read it later.”

Wait? You haven’t read it yet? Jason feels rooted to the floor. No wonder you said so many nice things about him.

Shit. Shit. He shuts his eyes. He knows what’s coming next.

“Dude,” the perp says. “Dude. I think he broke up with you.”

The cave is dead silent.

“What.” Your voice is flat. “What.”

Jason rests his forearms on his hands, head hanging down between his knees. When he sent you the breakup text, he didn’t think he would have to hear you react to it.

Maybe it’s what he deserves.

“He broke up with me over text?”

“Yeah.” The perp’s voice is gentle. “Yeah. Yeah, it looks like it.” The perp pauses. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” At least you have a good friend, even if he is a wanted criminal. Not like Jason isn't, too.

“What the fuck. What the fuck.” Jason’s never heard your voice sound like that. He feels familiar bile rise in his throat. “What did he say?”

“You want me to read it to you?” Dick shoots Jason an alarmed glance. Whatever. It’s not like he has any privacy left anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, read it to me. Actually, wait. How long is it? How many lines?”

There’s silence as the perp counts. “Four.”

“Four?!” you shriek. “Four?! That dumb motherfucker ended a four month relationship in four lines of text?”

“Jesus, Jason.” Tim mutters. Jason can’t even blame him.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Oh my god.” You’re seething. “Oh my god. I’m going to kill him.”

That’s fair.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to take the gun he thinks I don’t know he has taped under his mattress, and I’m going to shoot him in the penis!”

Dick bursts out laughing, but Jason has bigger problems. You found the gun?

“He’s got a gun taped under his mattress?” The perp asks, before Bruce adds “Jason, what does she know?”

“Nothing!” he yelps. “Nothing, I didn’t…” he trails off as your voice picks up again.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s some common criminal or something. His apartment’s definitely a safe house, there’s like, nothing in it and only non perishable foods. Whatever.”

“Dude, I think it’s more than whatever.” Jason agrees with the perp. You shouldn’t be with some common criminal. You shouldn’t even be with him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now! Because he dumped me! Over text!” Your shout rings hard in Jason's ears. “Read the text to me. Read the fucking text.”

Ugh. This fucking rips. Jason would brace himself, if he had anything left to brace.

“‘I’m sorry babe. We have to end it here. It’s not you, it’s me. Hope you had fun.’” It sounded worse read aloud.

“Damn, Jay. That’s low,” Tim comments.

"'It's not you, it's me?'' Dick says incredulously. "Seriously, Little Wing?"

Shockingly, Bruce clears his throat. "Jason--"

"Nope. No. You shut the fuck up right now." Jason's anger is so quick, and blissfully distracting. "You don't get to lecture me about anything, especially this shit."

It seems like, on the line, you're matching his energy, bar for bar. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’? Is he fucking serious?”

“As a heart attack, apparently.”

You let out a small scream. Honestly, Jason didn’t know you had it in you. “Holy shit. I’m so fucking angry.”

“I can see that,” the perp says carefully. “Do you need anything?”

You seem to ignore him. “Oh my god, I am going to read this man for filth. This dumb motherfucker thinks he’s Holden Caulfield.”

Jason opens his mouth, slack-jawed, dumbfounded, as the perp lets out a sharp laugh and Dick sniggers. “Okay, yeah. Let it out, babe.”

“This dumb motherfucker watches Fight Club and thinks it doesn’t apply to him.” You’re on a roll. “This dumb motherfucker holds up any spherical object, says ‘alas, poor yorick,’ and creams his fucking pants.”

Dick and Tim are practically rolling on the floor. Jason swears he sees Bruce crack a small smile.

"This dumb motherfucker is one homoerotic experience away from a Richard Siken poem."

"I like Siken," the perp says defensively. "Come on," you sneer. "'You're in the car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you he loves you, but he loves you,'? What the fuck does that mean? He won't tell you he loves you but he does? Screw that!"

You pause, heavy breathing echoing across the line. "'He won't tell you he loves you. Why couldn't Ja--" you cut yourself off quickly. "Fuck. Fuck."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, fingernails gripping his forearm with enough force to draw blood. He didn't realize this would upset you so much. He's done the in and out, three-month fling so many times it's hard to count. He gets close enough that the sex gets really good but not close enough that it gets messy. It's not supposed to be like this. Sure, he'd made an exception in your case, but he didn't think it would get so bad. He just couldn't help himself. You were too cute, and funny, and easy to be around. You had slid into his life like a hot knife through butter. The parts he was willing to show you, at least. Or maybe, the other parts too, he thinks, remembering your threat to shoot him with his own gun. You definitely don't have anything to do with the criminal underworld, and Jason would prefer to keep you on the surface of that. But maybe there was more than you could handle. You thought he was a common criminal, but you had stayed anyway.

And Jason's not a common criminal. Not that that's anything to take pride in, but still. He has finesse. And he's been playing by the rules enough lately that Bruce invited him back to his lair. That probably counts for something, somewhere.

And you clearly didn't mind criminals, if you were friendly enough with their perp to shower at his house and let him go through your phone. You definitely knew he was a hacker, you'd mentioned it enough times. Maybe--

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Fuck off, Jess," you snarl.

"Yes ma'am," the perp (Jess. Name acquired) says. "I'm sorry you're upset," he adds carefully.

Right. It doesn't matter what Jason learns about you now. He ended it, and the past is the past. It might take him a bit longer than usual, but he'll get over it. He hopes you do, too.

"Ahh!" You let out a shout, then go quiet. "I know. Thanks, Jess."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." The two of you stay quiet for several minutes. Jason wonders if he's going to have to endure hearing you cry over the phone.

"He doesn't seem like he was good for you," Jess offers.

"Fuck off." Beat. "I know. But why does everything have to be good for me? Why do I--ha." You let out an acidic laugh. "'You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting."

"'You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves,'" you and Jess recite together. "Point taken," Jess adds. Jason knows Mary Oliver's Wild Geese. He just didn't know you knew it, too.

A beat. "I don't think you get to make fun of him liking Shakespeare after that," Jess observes.

You laugh humorlessly. "I know. I know. I'm acting like I'm not a fucking dork over here, too." Dick is looking at Jason very cautiously. So is Bruce.

"What are you going to do?" Jess asks after several beats of silence.

"I'm going to pick up a drug habit, that's what I'm going to do. Now seems like a great time to become an alcoholic."

"Don't," Jess says fiercely. "Don't even joke about that. You can't go back there."

"I know," you say softly. "I know."

Jesus. Jason didn't even know you'd had issues with addiction in the past. If he did, maybe he would have...done things a little differently. He can't even look at his family, can't meet their eyes. Not when he knows he may have inadvertently sent you over the edge. Holy shit. He feels sick with himself. How could he have missed that you were a little bit fucked up, just like he was?

Jason is suddenly grateful you didn't read his stupid text last night, when he had first sent it. Thank fuck you were with Jess right now.

As if to echo Jason's thoughts, Jess snarls "No. No way am I going to let this insensitive, fucking prick set you back. Not when you've come so far. You can't let him ruin you. He's not worth it."

Jason agrees.

"But what if..." you say quietly. "What if he could tell, and that's why he ended it. That there's something...awful inside of me."

"No!" Jess shouts. "No! How could you say that? There's nothing--"

You let out a choked sob, cutting Jess off. "Fuck, I'm sorry," you say desperately, voice cracking. "I just--" Shit. Shit. You sound so...broken, Jason wants to take you in his arms, tell you he didn't mean it, tell you he's got his own shit and then some, but you're perfect, and maybe you'd even understand some of it. Maybe you had more in common than he'd thought.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jason hears footsteps, hopefully Jess was going to put you in his arms, like Jason wants to but can't.

"It just feels like...like I always have to try twice as hard. Like I have to keep myself under surveillance, like I have to be so careful. Because if I slip, it's...it's all over. And it makes me feel like I'm not good enough."

Jason knows what that one feels like.

"Listen to me. Listen," Jess implores you. "You don't have to be perfect. It's okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone slips. Recovery is not a straight line. It's okay."

"I know," you say, voice resigned. "I know."

"And you're doing so well. Two years without touching anything! Even when you lost your job, and your sister got sick. You're so strong, sweetheart."

"Thanks," you say quietly.

The two of you stay silent for several minutes. It gives Jason more than enough time to consider his next move. Should he text you an apology? Is it too late for that? Does he still want to be with you? Yeah, no shit. His hangover is proof enough that he won't be able to get you out of his mind. And it sounds like you're more alike than either of you realized.

Suddenly, Jess's computer dings with an alert, disrupting the silence. There's a shift as Jess walks over. "Oh, shit," he murmurs. "I got in."

The tension in the cave ticks up even higher. "Oracle," Bruce says evenly, "brace for an attack."

"What happened?" you ask, voice still raw.

"I got into the GCPD protected records." Jess breathes. "Fuck yes. I'm going to dox the shit out of those crooked cops and the politicians Black Mask has in his pocket."

"He's out for blood," you comment with a shaky laugh.

"That motherfucker has it coming, after what he did to my father. If I can't get at Sionis directly, I'll chip away at his stupid empire until he's left with nothing." The floorboards creak as Jess settles himself at the computer. "Are you okay?" he offers distractedly. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I need to tune out, I have to--" he trails off, as the clicks of a keyboard start coming through across the line.

"Don't worry about it," you say, but Jason thinks, worries, you might be putting on a brave face.

"Okay. Okay. I'm going to put in headphones. I'm sorry sweetheart," Jess says again, "but this is the chance I've been waiting for."

"Don't worry," you say. "I get it. Do your thing."

Jess must put in headphones with the music blasting, because they can hear it faintly through the call line. The cave is alive as Bruce barks orders at Oracle while Tim all but shoves him out of the way, flinging himself down at the keyboard and getting to work blocking Jess out.

Whatever. Jason doesn't care, if anything, he cares less than he did before. He's all for getting rid of crooked cops, any hit to Black Mask is a win in his book. He's only still here because you're still on the line.

The call is silent, save for Jess clacking away. Finally, Jess' phone picks up your voice again.

"Fuck. Fuck. I can't fucking do this. I need a drink. I need a fucking drink," you mutter.

Jason rises to his feet, just as Dick says "I think you gotta go, Jaybird."

He knows that. His feet are already leading him towards his motorcycle. But where--?

"I've got a location," Tim whispers. Jason turns to him eagerly, but he's not even looking at him. He's looking at Bruce.

Jason's seething. If that asshole thinks he's going to beg and plead for this--

"Go ahead, Jay," Bruce says gently, seemingly without thinking twice. "We can handle him from here."

Gratitude flooding through him, Jason turns on his heel and moves. He's on his bike in what feels like seconds, speeding towards the location Tim had sent into the bike's GPS.

He just hopes he makes it to you before you're too far gone.

[anzulvr]

korosensei does this haunted house thing and makes class e go in it, the reader is really unamused so reader and karma work together to scare the crap out of korosensei

i've seen videos where people hide and reverse the roles in a haunted house instead of being a victim, i think it would be hilarious to see that with a stoic-ish reader and karma

Haunted - Karma x Reader // THIS THING DELETED TWICEE //

- End class had been completely transformed back into an abandoned looking building, much like its original state but with more of a horror factor. Korosensei went all out with Halloween decorations. He'd tried to set a few students up during the last school trip at the abandoned caves he called the "test of courage". It didn't work out, but second times a charm? He'd at least get one couple together this time.

The goal of today's "lecture" was to find a way out of the end class building without breaking any windows. Korosensei mentioned it would test everyone's problem solving abilities as assassins in training. First pair to successfully find the exit through a series of side quests, riddles and puzzles each got two free strikes at Korosensei's tentacles.

The catch? Everyone had a a rope tied around their wrist to a partner. Every move made meant your partner would be right beside you. You got stuck with Karma. You suspected it was not likely by coincidence.

Karma is very cute, but he's also the second worst classmate to be tied to. (First goes to Okajima)

“Karma will you stay still for one minute? You’re bruising my wrist!”

"I'm trying to reach the envelope on the ceiling, will you jump at the right time?"

"There's an easier way to do that."

You yanked the rope on him making him stumble over to you, you brought out a desk together and he was able to use it as a stool.

He opened the envelope and read it to you, "If you found this note go to teachers lounge to look for your next assignment.”

Hint: Keep your eyes out for something four-legged that cannot walk and has a back but no front.

You and Karma headed over to the designated location when you bumped into Rio and Okajima who looked like they wanted to kill one another.

Rios eyes softened when she looked at you. "[Name]! How's your search going?"

"Well we found a-"

Karma put his hand over your mouth before you could tell them about the note. He's not risking his win. "It's going boring, but we do need this room to ourselves, ya mind leaving?"

"Oh you want to be aloneee? Okajima get moving!"

Rio pushed him out the door. "Why couldn't I get stuck with Kanzaki..." "IM THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE COMPLAINING YOU..." Their argument got quieter as they left the area.

You looked back at Karma, "She definitely got the wrong idea."

"Yeah I wouldn't kiss you in this room."

You glared at him, "Solve the riddle before I choke you with the same rope we're tied to."

He mocking stuck his tongue out "Four legs, doesn't walk, it's obviously a chair [Name]! This is too easy."

He turned to get the envelope stuck under one of the chairs.

"Let's read it in the hall, the lights in this room are acting up."

You turned the handle but the door wouldn't budge. You started shaking the door harder hoping it would open. Karma chuckled, then he tried to open it himself and it wasn't so funny anymore.

"Do you think this is apart of the test or are we stuck?" You ask Karma.

He grinned "Change of plans, If Korosensei comes in here I'm going to need you to act possessed."

"I agree we've got to teach him a lesson on not playing Cupid or whatever but how do I do that?"

"Act crazy? Like you normally are but with more enthusiasm and growling."

You snatched the letter from him, "I'll read it."

Instructions: Close the blinds, then hold your partner's hands, chant your names in unison three times... the spirit you summon will lead you to the next step.

Holding Karmas hand while a spirit, Korosensei came to scare you two? It was clear He was trying to get you to cling onto the guy, you could only wonder how many classmates fell for one of his cheap tricks already?

Your question was quickly answered when you heard a girlish scream that sounded eerily like Maehara. Atleast one!

You chanted your names with your hands knitting together the lights completely went off in the room, you braced yourself for what would come.

Korosensei flew into the room and busted the door, you noticed his weird costume as he stood right in-front of you reciting cliche warrior dialogue you could've swore you heard in some movie Karma made you watch a week ago, Sonic Ninja something.

Without missing a beat you twisted your back and hands and started charging backwards towards your teacher, Karma had to crouch weirdly and run at the same time to not drag you down.

Korosensei sped out of the room yelling, about ten seconds later he was back with a set of candles and who knows what else to try to exorcise you.

By that time you and Karma were laughing trying to pick each other back up after you hit yourself on the ground because he stopped running and accidentally yanked you back.

Karma pointed down at Korosensei's wig which fell off when he flew out the class "Was he wearing a powdered wig?!"

Neither of you had noticed Korosensei made it back because of how much you were laughing. Karma ran his one free hand through your hair and face as if to check if you were hurt. It was weirdly gentle for how he usually is. He was casual about it, his confidence made moments like these feel completely natural and comfortable no matter how rare they were.

Maybe the haunted house didn't go exactly how Korosensei intended it to, but this was a sweet enough outcome.

"Nufufufu…"

"Korosenseiii, you ruined the moment!"

Karma laughed softly "That was a moment?"

You headed straight for the door.

"[Name] I'm still tied to you slow down!"

When you refused to listen he tugged back on the rope and wrapped his arms around you.

“Alright, I concede it was a little bit of a moment.”

[elletheactualmenace]

Was it Worth it?

Pairing: Bruce Wayne(battinson) x fem!reader

Summary: Bruce did something and he is afraid you won’t ever look at him the same.

Warnings: Unfaithfulness, betrayal, harsh words, angst

Word Count: 3.7k

a/n: probably definitely my favorite of the ones I’ve been working on. I kinda wish I made the ending a little different, but I still like it. Should I make another part? Idk, anyways enjoy.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

There is a gentle humming vibration radiating from the floor of Bruce's bat cave. His music is the only thing keeping the room from being dead silent. He's hunched over the table not even sitting in the chair. He looks exhausted, because he is. The tension in the air almost hurts as much as the situation itself. Your chest squeezes in pain and your stomach is dropped farther than you think possible. Bruce, doesn't move. He won't move. He can't look at the mess he made. The mess he got both of you in.

You stand in the middle of the icy cold room. A shiver runs down your spine. Your eyes are wet and puffy. No tears have fallen, and you are going to make sure you keep it that way. At least until you are alone. You won't give him that. Your tears. They're yours, and he no longer has the right to see you in that kind of vulnerability.

Your gaze wanders over the room. It's big. And has a lot of technology. It's dark and it's lonely in a way that reminds you of Bruce. You've been in here before, many times before, but the aura is different, and it's chilling. You can't tell if you're glad or angry. And if you are being honest, if the opportunity to go back and change everything appears, you aren't sure if you would take it or leave it.

"Well," You exhale a regrettable shaky breath. You straighten out your stance. You clear your throat and sniffle in your sadness and disappointment. "I'm going to bed." You turn on your heel towards the elevator.

Your steps are loud involuntarily, and they make Bruce's chest tighten with guilt and an overwhelming sense of self-hatred. His eyes sting from fatigue and emotional pain. His tongue glides over his lip, thinking of how he should approach this, or if he should at all. But he hears your scolding voice in his head. ’Bruce, you need to do something. You have to.’

The echo of your shoes against the concrete ground ends abruptly. You tilt your head up, looking at the ceiling trying to stop the sobs and shaking from taking over. You squeeze your eyes shut, taking in a long breath.

"Bruce," You start while pressing the elevator button. You hear it descending from the floors above. The sound is audibly shaky because of the quiet unspoken tension in the air. Bruce's head turns slightly at the soft sound of your voice.

"Was it worth it?" You're curious, but there is an undertone giving away the true intent of your question. You want him to feel the guilt and feel the same amount of pain and hurt you do.

"No." He whispers the ache in his heart evident in his voice.

“Was she worth it?” Your words are like venom. The elevator door slides open with a ding.

“No. Never. Why would you think that?” Bruce grumbles out, almost insulted. Your jaw tightens at his tone. Why the hell was he insulted? You should be screaming and crying, but you keep your cool for the sake of everyone. For the sake of your marriage. The clashing of your teeth is loud in your head. 

“I'm sorry, what?” Your fist tightens at your side. Now you're not just sad, you're pissed. How the fuck is he fixing this but trying to play the victim? He is not allowed to feel insulted, he doesn’t have that privilege.

Bruce doesn’t say anything, realizing the sound of his voice makes you mad. He stinks in on himself, feeling the guilt and the wrongfulness crawling from the pit of his stomach into every fiber of his being. He wants to undo everything, he wants to fall on his knees and beg for your forgiveness. But you need space. And begging will do as much as fucking Selina again. He needs to do something that proves to you he’s sorry and that it won’t happen again. But he’s not even sure he can prove it to you or that it won't happen again. He prays to everything that it won’t.

“Why would I think that?” You mumble to yourself in disbelief. You questionably hum, loudly, comically, mocking him. You laugh bitterly.

Suddenly it hits you. Why were you giving him so much as a thought right now? He doesn’t deserve your patience. He doesn’t deserve every night you waited for him to come home. He doesn’t deserve your constant ‘it’s fine’ even when it wasn’t. He doesn’t deserve the fact that you hadn’t done something drastic yet. But at the same time you knew his heart was good, and he deserves the world. You don’t know anymore. Fuck your indecisiveness. 

“I’m too tired to deal with all of this right now. Goodnight Bruce.” You step into the elevator, back to the cave. You push the button without a sound and are off.

The second the doors open again you’re met face to face with Alfred. When he sees your sad and pained expression he is immediately by your side. 

“Mrs. Wayne? Are you alright ma’am?” His face is full of concern. And you have to remind yourself to keep it together.

“I’m fine Alfred thank you. I think I’m ready for bed.” You curse how shaky your voice is, because Alfred notices too.

“Of course ma’am. Do you need anything before then?” Alfred is and always has been thoughtful and respectful of others, it was his job of course. 

“No. I’m-, I’ll be alright. Thank you, Alfred. You are too good for this world.” He smiles at your compliment and gives a small thank you. Your unsteady breathing makes him worried, but he lets you be. If you needed to talk you would have. So he lets you travel up the stairs and into the master bedroom.

——

Alfred is furious. What has Master Bruce done this time? Alfred practically stomps down to the bat cave. He storms in with fire in his eyes. 

Alfred loves you. As if you are his own. You are kind, witty, and an absolute pleasure to have around. You also care about Bruce, and he knew from the second he met you that you were going to stick around even if Master Bruce would be stubborn about it for a while.

When Bruce hears the loud steps, he perks up, hoping it’s you and that he can at least try to apologize. When he hears Alfred’s angry voice roaring throughout the cave his shoulders slump.

“Mater Bruce.” The volume of Alfred’s voice surprises him.

Bruce stays quiet. What did you say? No, he thought, she didn’t say anything. That’s not like her.

“Why have you sent your wife away in such a state? What did you say? What did you do?” Alfred never raises his voice much, but now is one of those rare occasions.

“I didn’t send her off. She left voluntarily,” Bruce responds in a gruff voice.

There is a beat of silence as Alfred gathers his thoughts and anger. Obviously you had left voluntarily. Bruce would never throw you out. Never. So, what had he done to hurt you?

“What did you do?” Alfred repeated in a firm voice. Bruce’s shoulders tighten even more than they already are. Bruce breathes out slowly, trying not to show his emotions, like always.

“I-“ Bruce starts, but his breathing gets shaky, and he stops. It feels like it hurts him just as much, if not more than you. But he would never dare say that out loud, he won’t ever try to make you think your feelings are inferior to his.

“I did something,” Bruce pauses, “And I-,” he pauses again. Alfred is so use to Bruce not sharing that the waiting doesn’t bother him anymore. Alfred lets him think about how to word it.

“I don’t think she will ever look at me the same. I don’t think she will ever forgive me.” Alfred can hear the pain in his words. He feels horrible. He wants to know what he did that was so bad.

“What did you do-“ Alfred cuts himself off when he sees Bruce switch on a screen. It’s one of the recordings he takes when goes out through his contacts. Alfred lets out an audible gasp when he sees her. Selina Kyle.

“You didn’t-“ 

“I did.” Bruce says bluntly, angry at himself. His eyes wander in a misty haze. Glazed over with regret.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred starts, but he stops mouth agape. As if he can’t put together what he wants to say. Like he doesn’t know himself. 

He loves you and he loves Bruce. And Bruce messed up big time. It’s going to be way more, incredibly difficult than usual for Bruce to fix this.

Alfred let Bruce be alone in his thoughts, but when he realizes it will take hours for him to truly have his thoughts straight, he marches down to the cave and demands he go and fix this.

“Go.” Alfred has a serious look on his face. “You can’t just leave her there to cry, Master Bruce.”

“I- I need to think,” Bruce argues but Alfred isn’t having it.

“I will let you know you’ve been ‘thinking’ for almost two hours. You’re done thinking. You need to go and confront the situation head on.” Alfred says sternly.

“No, I can’t,” Bruce says arrogantly.

“I don’t see why you are having such trouble. Facing things head on is the bat's job after all.” Alfred retorts and Bruce stays quiet.

“Now,” Alfred starts, “Go, before I burn your suit and have all the entrance to here,” He gestures to the batcave. “Sealed.”

Bruce narrows his eyes. He knows not to mess with Alfred when he threatens, even if it seems so casually, he is dead serious. Bruce has experienced it firsthand before.

“Get moving Master Bruce, before I drag you up there myself. Don’t forget you taught you everything you know.” Alfred says with a pointed look, before turning on his heel to exit. 

—-

You don’t remember a time that you have hurt as much as you do now. After brushing off Alfred successfully, at least for a bit, you moped up to the bedroom, your and Bruce’s bedroom.

After getting inside and shutting the absurdly large doors, you turn your back against the doors. Leaning all of your weight on them. Using them as a source of support. Now, finally, you let go. You let everything you have been hiding behind fall. The strong attitude to face your cheating husband. The tears pour in choked sobs. You slide down to the floor, back still against the big doors.

After a long while of sitting there you got up and got changed. If your life is falling apart your figure you might as well be comfortable. 

The tears never really stop, not really. They only slow every once in a while then come back even stronger than before. It’s getting hard to breathe. You can’t even sit on the bed, it smells like him. So you sit on the windowsill, looking out at the streets of Gathom.

You don’t know what to do. It’s not really something they make books, or guides for. Screaming at his face seems like a very appealing opinion right now. Or you could run, just for a bit, take the car you had before you moved in, and he, annoyingly at the time, felt the need to buy you a new car as one of the many welcome gifts. You had told him that you didn’t need anything, but he insisted, he always does. He’s thoughtful in that way. Always giving you things. You love him, and always will love- 

Wait. What the fuck? Why the hell are you doing? That loving husband you ‘will always love’ cheated on you. And proceeded to not tell you for almost five months. And you have only been married for a little less than a year. And what happened to taking the car and running? That thought just seemed to slip away.

You want to forgive him but at the same time you want to cry and scream at him for being a dick and hurting you. For all the time you have known Bruce he would never do something like this purposely, at least not from what you’ve seen. If someone asked you yesterday if you trust him and believe him, the answer would be an immediate yes, no questions asked. But now you aren’t sure. He has probably done so many things you don’t know about, and he has just never told you. 

The tears start to lessen, but the pain in your chest is still present. You had asked Bruce to put in a cushion on the window seat, and of course, he did. It was soft, sure, but it was always cold and isolated. You sat here when you waited for Bruce to come home from his nightly work. So the seat always reminds you of that lonely feeling. And right now the feeling is amplified.

You just want him to know what you did wrong. What is so bad about you that he has to go find someone else to be intimate with. All you can think about are the thousands of things you could have done wrong.

A soft knock sounds from the door. You can’t tell if you with its Bruce or Alfred. But either way you get up and walk over to the doors of the master bedroom.

You pull the doors open, head hung low towards the ground. You spot black dirty boots standing in front of you. It's Bruce. And somehow the sadness in the pit of your stomach enhances at the sight of the boots.

You squeeze your eyes shut, then push the door close. But something stops the satisfying sound of the door clicking closed. A boot specifically.

A growl grows from deep in your throat. 

“Go away,” The boot remains wedged in between the door frame and the door.

“Please?” It's more of a rude demand than a question. But instead of following your request a hand on the other side of the door pushes it open.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk but-“ You cut him off.

“No, I definitely don’t want to talk. That's why I came up here.” You finally look up into his hooded eyes. They’re bloodshot red, but you can’t tell if it's because he was crying or because he is sleep deprived. It's most likely the latter.

Bruce sighs sadly, he hates that he hurt you. He hates how your red puffy eyes and stuffy nose are because of him, because of what he did. He hates himself for letting Selina get to him. He knows it is and always will be his fault, but putting some blame on Selina, which she deserves, takes off some of the weight.

“Can I come in?” He asks, and you reluctantly let him in. Your body is heavy with dread. You don’t know how this will end, and thinking about leaving this room a single woman is horrifying.

Bruce walks to the windowsill you follow close behind, but keeping your distance. “What do you want to talk about?” You ask genuinely. “Are you here to tell me you had an affair with someone else? Someone other than Selina?” It comes out before you can stop it. And your breath hitches. You almost cover your mouth with your hand but stop yourself. After thinking about it alone, you realized that with Bruce, you need to let him speak before you start yelling. It never ends well when you just yell and don’t listen too.

Bruce looks hurt as he looks down at you with a frown. You sigh feeling ashamed for accusing him before he even got to speak.

“Sorry,” You mumble. “You can talk now.”

“Well, I-“ He pauses and sighs, finding it hard to put his thoughts and feelings into words. “Im sorry, and I- I know that most likely means nothing at all, and does nothing. But I just- I need you to know. Im so sorry.” His shoulders fall along with the walls that were previously up when you were down in the cave. 

You don’t say anything, you can’t. You can’t say it's okay, because it's not. So you let him continue.

“The night it happened, I wasn't in my right mind.” You scoff, and he understands that it sounds like absolute bull shit. So he re-words it. “I mean, I wasn’t focused, I was stuck somewhere else.” Your sniffle rips at his heart. That sounds stupid too.

“Fuck, I was missing you. And I needed you, but you weren’t there. She was. I regret it and always will.” It still sounds stupid and like bullshit, but he doesn’t care, it’s the truth.

“I wanted to come home early, and I was going to. I was. I was going to come home to you, but Selina- she,” He pauses, his breathing goes ragged. “She stopped me and I didn’t make it home.”

The room is quiet. You're thinking and Bruce is waiting for you to say something, anything. You breathe in slowly.

“So,” You start, “I didn’t do anything wrong?” Your voice cracks as your shoulders fall and you crumble into a million broken pieces.

“What?” He’s genuinely confused, in a soft voice. Why would you think you did something wrong? Bruce can’t figure it out. “Why would you think that?” Tears well up in his eyes as he watches your brave face fall right in front of him.

You laugh as tears roll down your checks. “I- I mean you’ve been distant lately, more than normal. And I guess the only explanation is that- I did something, or I didn’t do something,”

Bruce breathes out a shaky breath, trying to stop his own tears from spilling. “Y/n, you could never do anything wrong. I did the wrong thing. I’ve been distant because of this.” His words come out slowly, more than normal, like he is really trying to make a point. “And I can never make up for what I’ve done, but I need you to know that you’ve never done anything wrong.”

You look down with furrowed brows and tears running down your pink checks. It isn’t your fault. He was just being an insensitive prick, but he said he was thinking about you before it happened. You're stuck. You want to slap him and hug him at the same time. You don’t know what to say or do with what you were just given. Bruce is your husband and the love of your life, but he cheated on you, that’s something intolerable and horrible. You don’t want to walk out of his life, or make him leave yours.

You stand with him like this for what seems like an eternity. Both of you are thinking about what will happen next. Bruce thinks you will up and leave him, he knows you have the right to, but that doesn’t mean it's what he wants, he has to remind himself that this isn’t about him, it's about what he did.

You sharply look up at him and Bruce blinks in surprise at your sudden movements. You huff out an angry breath. Bruce waits for the four treacherous words to fall from your lips. He waits holding his breath.

“I want…”

A divorce. Bruce thinks as his shoulders slump and a tear slips down his check.

“I want a bit of space.” Bruce freezes. What does that mean? “I don’t want a divorce. But I need time to heal, and to gain back everything that you’ve-, ruin-” you pause not want to be straight out rude. But inevitably you decided against being nice. “messed up.” You say in a somewhat steady voice, your arms wrapping around your body to try and comfort you. Bruce knows you were going to say ruined, but he's glad you don’t, it shows that you are willing to help him mend your marriage, it gives him hope.

“Thank you,” he says with a sob almost falling over. “I- Im so sorry, I don’t deserve you. I never have.” He sobs out, finally letting the weight of his screw up show.

“You're right, you don’t.” Bruce's eyes fall to the ground in shame. He tries to compose himself. “But in time, hopefully you will again.” You state bluntly as you try to keep your voice steady and strong, while also keeping more tears from falling in a downpour.

“And I- I need you to just hold me.” You say softly grabbing his hand and leading him to your king bed. You’re still angry, but you need him to be here for you right now. 

He follows you to the edge of the bed and pulls off his boots as you slide under the comforter. You still look so hurt, because you are. Bruce knows this isn’t you forgiving him, this is you giving him his first chance to mend what was broken.

Bruce climbs in much less gracefully under the blanket, he waits for you to come to him. And you do. You wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest. His shirt smells like him and it makes you much more tired than you were five minutes ago. 

“I will always be here to hold you.” He whispers into your ear as he kisses the top of your head. He feels a wet spot forming on his shirt and guilt overtakes him for the millionth time in weeks. But Bruce just shuts his eyes tight and pulls you into him even closer. Silently letting you know that you can cry for as long as you need.

Your cries turn to sobs as you grip his black shirt tightly in your fists. After a long time of on and off sobs your tears turn into whimpers and sniffles. Bruce rubs your back in soothing circles, it's what he does when he wants you to sleep. You do just that. You drift off in his arms, and without any more words he knows, as he holds you in his arms that he will have to make it up to you and gain back your trust. And he will. Starting now, he will do anything and everything in his power to repair, patch up, restore, and piece back together what he ruptured.

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, pt 3

part 1 | s'mores s'mores part 2 | purple purple

👗 zippers

“Kara?”

“Yep?” Kara called over her shoulder, one hand placing the kettle in its cradle and the other fiddling with the top button of her shirt. It was late. Far too late to still be dressed in formal wear but that didn’t stop Kara from accepting Lena’s post-gala offer of tea, blankets, and a documentary. 

Plus Lena promised snacks.

“Can you come here?”

And, really, Kara should have known.

Because Lena’s voice was coming from the bedroom.

Strike that. Because Lena’s voice was coming from the closet of the bedroom. 

So, really, she should have been prepared to turn the corner and come face-to-face with the exposed patch of alabaster skin where a plum evening gown had been sitting snugly over shoulders and back moments before.

And Kara had never before loved the spectrum of purples as much as she did seeing it hang off Lena in that moment (and that included the burgundy-clad legs she’d felt wrapped around her a few short days earlier). She loved it so much her mouth fell ajar, eyes expanded to the size of small planets, and heart jumped straight into her throat.

“I think it’s stuck. Would you-?”

And because Kara’s brain was having a brown out, it took Lena yanking at the half-drawn zipper for Kara to register the very simple request.

Because it was, fundamentally, a very - very - simple request.

Because of course Kara could unstick a tiny little zipper. She was Supergirl, after all. And Supergirl could definitely - definitely - handle this itty bitty tiny late-night conundrum. 

Definitely.

Except Kara’s nod came out strained and legs stumbled all leaden-like and when she tried to swallow it felt like a desert and then she wondered if maybe they should have a cup of tea first because if she was parched then Lena might definitely be thirsty but Lena was looking at her reflection in the mirror with an expression that might as well have been kryptonite because only that could explain the tremble of her own fingers trying desperately to maneuver their grip onto the world’s tiniest pull tab without intentionally - accidentally - brushing the porcelain skin that Kara so desperately - respectfully - wanted to touch and maybe that’s why the sharp whistle from the kettle made her jump and fingers pull, and the tear that followed sent Kara blushing and rambling apologies in broken english and kryptonese because wow now there was like, just so much skin.

“Well, that’s definitely one solution,” Lena laughed, her rosy cheeks a pale challenge to the flush red that engulfed Kara.

“Oh, oh zhao, uh, uhm, R-Rao I mean, oh I’m so sorry-” Kara rambled, stumbling backwards and running into a rack of Lena’s business suits which, timely as they were, all came tumbling down on top of Kara. “Oh golly-”

“It’s really no problem,” Lena laughed, taking the whole catastrophe in stride because of course she would and of course Kara would make it a mess and turn blubbering and foolish and-

“But it was so nice,” Kara continued from beneath an avalanche of clothes. “and you looked so nice and pretty and now-”

“Darling, watch out for the-

“-now it’s all, oh, oh shoot,” because another rod of clothes caved to Kara’s desperate floundering and efforts to avert her gaze from glimpsing - gawking - at the porcelain surface that surely - surely - belonged captured in marble and displayed for all galaxies to see.

And then there was Lena’s hand gripping Kara’s arm and guiding her out of the mountain of pretty clothes Lena wore while a mountain of apologies sat on Kara’s tongue. 

“And your dress,” Kara said again, face the shade of embarrassment and eyes staring firmly at the fixture hanging from Lena’s ceiling. Were those real crystals?

“What about my dress.” A statement, not a question. A challenge, not an accusation.

“It’s… it’s ruined,” Kara continued, hand gesturing blindly toward the tattered fabric she couldn’t see because boundaries. 

“Well, that’s the thing about dresses,” Lena continued, hands climbing to adjust Kara’s collar.

“The… the thing-?” Kara asked, eyes breaking from her safe spot to meet Lena’s gaze.

“They’re meant to be taken off,” Lena winked and smirked and said with a voice that was far too husky and far too effective at turning Kara’s brain to mush.

“Taken...?"

"Off.” 

And, really, Kara should have known. 

Because whatever brown out occurred moments earlier had nothing on the full black out that followed.

- - - - - - part 4 | frosting

[rs-hawk]

I feel like FtM monsters are pretty rare, even in the admitely niche context of trans monsters

I love FtM monsters. My favorite FtM piece I’ve done is this piece about an Orc Husband! I’ve only done a handful here but I’ll definitely be doing more, including this post.

Átahsaiais

You had grown up hearing the stories about the cannibalistic demon who lived in the mountains. A giant as tall as three men, with the strength of ten. He would snatch you up and eat you, cooking you into a stew and using your bones as tooth picks. The stories made you shudder, but they never stopped you from exploring.

You decided to go hiking in those mountains, and a long hike turned into an overnight camping trip, where you took refuge in a cave. You giggled to yourself as you thought about how the stories talked about a young woman getting trapped in a cave and having to rely on a God to save her from Átahsaiais. As the memories of the way the stories sounded coming from your grandmother’s lips filled your head, you drifted off to sleep.

When you were woken up, it was still dark out, but there was a sort of pounding sound coming from outside. It sounded like foot steps. Suddenly, you were glad you had forgotten a flashlight. Crawling on your belly, trying to be quiet and remain out of sight, you approached the mouth of the cave. Just outside, you saw a monstrous sight.

A creature that was so tall that it was blocking much of the moonlight. Gray, stringy hair that fell in thick ropes down his knobby and cracked skin. You swallowed back a stunned cry as his head turned, catching you in his line of vision.

You were frozen in place, and while you knew if you scooted back you would be out of his reach, you couldn’t move. Átahsaiais. A true monster amongst monsters.

With a large hand, he swiftly pulled you out of the cave, his breath making you cringe and he brought you up to his face. “Human,” he said in a growl that send shivers down your spine. “Woman. Why are you here?”

You swallowed hard before babbling about your hike. How you stayed out too late. Started it too late in the day. You just wanted to get some sleep before going home. Fat tears rolled down your face as you choke back sobs and he just… laughed. He set you down, your knees trembling so badly you almost fall.

“You will be caught by much worse than me if you stay out here,” he said, his voice rough like the way boulders sound when they start to fall.

You were unsure, but the sound of a howl ripping through the air made you jump closer to him. He chuckled as he curled a large hand, nearly the size of your entire body, around your torso to guide you. Soon enough you’re in his home, now a warm and well lived in cottage. You expected something more… terrifying.

He sat you down, pushing a cup of hot water into your hands before he disappeared behind a curtain of beads, seashells, and gemstones. He grumbled out a good night and told you to sleep wherever you like out there as the swinging curtain slowed. You felt relieved but also oddly disappointed. He was supposed to be a man eating monster and, what? He saved you from wolves, brought you to his home, and then decided to go to bed and offered you to sleep as well?

After a little while, with the fire dying down, you decided to at least sneak a peek at what his room is like. You imagined it being decorated with the bones of his victims and enemies, but it wasn’t. Instead, where you expected skulls and bones, there were vines that hung from the ceiling, with blooming flowers. A small hole in the wall, functioning as a window, had a bird’s nest tucked away in it.

You couldn’t decide how you felt as you slipped deeper into the room. The sounds you heard as you did you attributed to the small hole once you saw it, until you saw Átahsaiais on his bed. Two of his large, rough fingers were pushing in and out of his dripping cunt as his other hand teased and played with his t-dick.

Your mouth watered as you watched the way his chest heaved, his thick, gray, porcupine quill like hair splayed around his head- his eyes clenched shut with his mouth slightly open. Of their own accord, your feet took you to his bed. That was when you hesitated, but a sharp intake of breath from him told you he was close, and you wanted to help so badly that you couldn’t explain it.

You crawled between his legs, finally admitting your presence to him. His fingers and hand faltered for a moment before you fixed your mouth around the tip of his t-dick, struggling a bit with how much thicker it is than a regular human cock.

“Little Human,” he grunted slightly, his hand twitching at the base of his t-dick before he slid it to the back of your head, encouraging you to take more of it down your throat.

When he came, you couldn’t help but moan in excitement. It felt so good to know you’d helped him. A wet spot had formed between your own legs, which clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. In seconds, he had you pinned to his bed made of feathers and animal hides, his hands easily ripping off your pants before his fat tongue eases inside of you.

You see stars. His tongue itself was bigger a than a human’s cock, and the way he coaxed orgasm out of orgasm out of you made you realize why he was called a man eater.

[marblemoovt]

Fever - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, Dad!Price

Summary:

John pounds on your door at an ungodly hour in the morning. You've never seen him so distraught.

------

“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself.

Note:

Hello! It's been a while since my last Price fic. If I'm honest I'm sorely tempted to keep writing this universe as a series of oneshots (because I'm terrible at commitment). So expect to see more Rose and Price at some point. I've already come up with a series title lmao..

I have a few dividers I want to try out and see which one I like best. So far I like this one better than the previous one.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Bam. Bam. Bam

You bolt upright in bed, squinting around your room until you locate the alarm clock on your bedside table. You glance out the window and notice the sky is still dark, and the sun is nowhere to be seen. Not even a sliver of pink or orange to creep over the horizon. Hm. Definitely not your alarm.

BamBamBam.

The noise grows louder, and the pause between hits becomes nonexistent. Your brain refuses to process the source as you sweep your eyes across your room. The early haze that fogs over your mind when you wake up clouds your ability to think.

Until you hear John shout your name. 

Snatching a coat hanging off a chair, you fly out of the room. The floorboards squeak beneath your weight as you weave between your furniture. Sliding to a stop in front of the door, your fingers fumble with the lock before you wretch it open.

“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself. 

A small groan comes from the blankets. “Daddy, you’re squishing me.” 

Your shoulders sag as the tension leaves your body. The weight resting on your lungs eases. You glance up at the ceiling and say a silent prayer of thanks before beckoning the pair inside.

Heading to the kitchen, you prepare some tea to keep yourself busy. No caffeine, though. You were anxious enough as is; you didn’t need to worry faster. Fishing out the chamomile from your cupboards with three cups and saucers, you turn the kettle on to boil. While the tea steeps, you take out the honey and add a drizzle to each cup. 

“Daddy, I’m cold.” Rose’s voice breaks the still silence. You run through a mental list of all the possible things that could be wrong. It can’t be life-threatening if John knocked on your door instead of taking her to the hospital. But you can’t help but think of the worst possible scenarios. The kettle whistles, pulling you out of your thoughts. You’ll ask after you bring the tea. 

A quick glance reveals that John is still cradling her in his arms. The lighting unveils the redness of his eyes and the thin, tight line of his lips. “I know, my little flower. We’ll fix you up, and you’ll be as right as rain,” he says, stroking her head.

You walk over and set the drinks on the table. “Tea? It’s chamomile,” you say, sipping from your cup. The warm liquid soothes your nerves, pooling comforting heat in your stomach. John’s lips quirk up, but they fall just as quickly. He makes no move for the tea. Your cup rattles on the saucer as you place it down. “John, you look like shit,” you state. No response other than a slight flinch. You sit down beside him and hold out your arms. “Drink, you’ll feel better. I can hold Rose for you.”

John studies your face. His eyes are staring past you. It makes you wonder what he’s seeing to make that solemn expression. The movement of you tilting your head brings him back to the present. His gaze flickers between you and Rose. “Ok,” he whispers, carefully placing her in your waiting arms. 

“Hi, Rosy,” you greet her, checking to see if John is drinking his tea. His shoulders aren’t as tense as he sips the drink, but his knee begins to bounce. 

Rose cracks an eye open and smiles widely at you. “Hullo,” she rasps.

You observe her flushed complexion and the hair clinging to her face. “How are you doing, little one?” you ask.

She licks her chapped lips and says, “M’ sick.”

“That sounds like no fun,” you say, exaggerating the frown on your face.

Rose smiles wide and shakes her head slowly. “But Daddy says I don’t have to go to school.” Her eyes glitter at the prospect of staying home, a fantasy most children have at least once during their school years. You can imagine the chaos she could cause if she wasn’t so sick.

You mirror her grin and brush her damp hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “That’s true. You get to stay home and sleep in,” you say, and her smile nearly blinds you.

“And watch cartoons!” she adds. Ah, the quintessential stay-at-home activity for the sick. She starts squirming in your arms. “I get to watch all the shows I miss because of school.” Her lips curl into a feline-like smile, reminiscent of a cat that stole a big, juicy fish. 

You laugh and nod. “That sounds amazing!”

Rose giggles, “That’s because it is!!” If she wasn’t sick, you would be squeezing her in a bear hug. 

You press the back of your hand against her forehead. It’s warm. “Did your dad take your temperature?” you ask.

Rose shrugs and says, “He put a stick in my mouth and told me to hold it there.” She mimics the motion of placing a thermometer in between her lips and closing them. Your cheeks start to hurt; how can such a tiny being be so precious? She must get it from her father. 

You eye the cabinet in the kitchen where you keep all your medical supplies. “Can I check again?” You trust John, but you just want to make sure. 

“Why?” she asks.

“To see how warm you are,” you answer, booping her nose, which scrunches up in response. 

Rose looks at you with her big blue eyes. “Why?” she asks again. You’re glad to see the fever hasn’t affected her curiosity. 

You smooth down her hair, doing your best to flatten the stray cowlicks. “Because it’s dangerous if you’re too hot. You would need to go to the hospital,” you say. 

Rose furrows her brows and utters an “Oh.”

You rise from your seat and head for the kitchen. “Are you comfortable?” you ask. To free up your hands, you shifted her upright, and she’s now clinging to you like a koala.

“Mm,” she mumbles a confirmation into the crook of your neck. You grab the thermometer and turn it on to see if the batteries are still working. On your way back, you fill up a mug of water to keep Rose hydrated. Once seated back on the couch, you bring the thermometer to her mouth, and she lets you take her temperature without a fuss. 

You wait a few minutes until the device beeps to signal it’s finished. “38.8. Not a low fever, but you should be fine with some rest,” you say. Next, you take the mug and hand it to Rose. “Can you drink this water for me?” She drinks every last drop, smacking her dry lips together. “Wonderful! For being such a good patient, the doctor has decided to give you a little treat.” Fishing around your pocket, you pull out her reward. 

Rose stares in awe at the shiny wrapper in your hand. She gently plucks it up and marvels at the strawberries dotting the colourful material. She glances at her dad, but you bring a finger to your lips when she looks back at you. Rose smiles and nods her head, clutching the candy in her fist.

“I’m sleepy,” Rose announces. You look at John and notice that he’s sunk back into the couch, staring into his empty cup.

“There’s a bed in the guest room. I can put on some cartoons for you to fall asleep to,” you suggest.

She nods her head. “Ok.”  

On your way to the guest room, you fill another glass of water to leave on the bedside table. You lay down Rose on the bed, rummaging in the closet for a thin blanket. As you tuck her in, you feel her forehead with your hand. “Do you feel uncomfortable? Do you want to take any medication?” you ask, making a note to grab a damp cloth before you leave.

“You’re like Daddy. Especially when he looks like this.” Rose brings a finger up to each eyebrow and pushes them down, grimacing in a familiar fashion. She bursts into a fit of giggles, and you join in, unable to resist her charming antics. “Daddy already gave me some medicine. It tasted like bubblegum,” she remarks, sticking her tongue out as the rest of her face scrunches up. 

Amusement twists your lips into a smile. “You don’t like bubblegum?” you ask.

Rose shakes her head. “Bubblegum should not be medicine,” she says with a grave tone; it’s the most serious you’ve seen her since she arrived. You head to the adjoining bathroom and run a clean cloth under room temperature water. Wringing the excess moisture, you return to her side and wipe her sweaty skin.

Rose’s eyelids droop; you take this as your cue to leave. “Alright. Your dad and I will be in the living room or in the room across if you need us.” She nods, and you go to turn on the TV, switching to a channel she likes and lowering the volume and brightness.

You tiptoe out of the room, closing the door slowly but leaving a small gap in case she calls out for anyone. When you return to the living room, John is still in the same position. Except now he’s wringing his hands as his cup sits abandoned on the table.

“John?” you call out his name softly, not wanting to startle him. He doesn’t look up at you, and you wonder if he even heard anything. You remain at a distance, observing every flex of his muscles as he fidgets.

“Is she asleep?” he asks in a whisper. His eyes dart to your figure before landing on his lap again. You walk up and gingerly take a seat beside him. John shifts some of his weight onto you, head resting against yours. You can feel the exhaustion emanating from him in waves. He looks like he could fall asleep any minute himself. 

“Nearly. Rose could barely keep her eyes open when I laid her on the bed,” you say. Warmth envelopes your waist as John snakes an arm around you, pressing you closer to his side.

He kisses the side of your temple, murmuring into your hair, “I’m sorry for troubling you like this. I just… didn’t know what to do.” It’s not often you hear his words catch in his throat. You frown at the wobble in his tone and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp in the way you know always has him purring. He hums appreciatively and leans into your touch, eyes closed in momentary bliss. 

“You’re not troubling me at all. Is this the first time she’s gotten this sick?” you ask.

John mulls over your question, his brows furrowed with thought. “First time while I wasn’t deployed,” he answers. John sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “I’m a terrible father,” and his chuckle leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You pick up the untouched third tea and use it to warm your hands. “What makes you think that?” you ask, fingertips tapping against the ceramic sides of the cup. 

His answer is almost immediate, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “Because I panicked.” As if that single sentence encompassed everything he did wrong tonight. 

You frown and set the cup back down, not wanting to break it in a fit of emotions. There’s a strange disconnect between John’s confidence at work and at home. “So? Does being a good father mean knowing everything about parenting? Because in that case, there’s not a single good father in the world,” you say. But your attempts at comfort only cause him to sigh. “Panicking doesn’t always equal death.”

“You know what I mean,” he says. 

You shake your head. “No. No, I don’t, John. I can’t read minds. What I can tell, though, is that you did your best to handle the situation.” If only you could extract your memories and play them for him to watch. Then maybe he would finally see what a good father he really is. 

“It wasn’t enough,” he deflects.

You place a hand on his shoulder and say, “Yes, it was. Rose is sleeping peacefully down the hall. She’s fine.” You emphasize ‘fine,’ but John shakes his head. Doubt swims in his eyes, churning the blue depths into sheets of glistening glass. 

“What about the next time something like this happens?” he counters. You can feel the damped vibrations through the sofa cushions, and you place a hand on John’s knee. 

“Then you use what you learned from the previous times and do better,” you reply in an even tone. The two of you stare in silence. You refuse to look away. John wavers underneath your gaze. His lips remain in a thin line, stretched taut like a rubber band. And what eventually happens when you put too much strain on a rubber band?

It snaps.  

“Can you hold me?” he whispers, and your heart clenches. You want nothing more than to pick up and carry him to your bed for some well-needed cuddles. But John’s a big man. You’re not sure you could do any of that without struggling.

You shuffle onto his lap and open your arms wide. “Come here.”

John buries himself in your embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he mumbles. His beard grazes your skin, and a giggle bubbles from your throat. The sound causes John to tighten his arms around you. Is this what stress balls feel like when they’re about to explode?

“No problem. I’ll hold you for as long as you want me to,” you say, patting his back. It’s faint, but the scent of his cologne wafts in the air. Notes of bourbon and the smoke from his favourite cigar brand. You breathe it in, wishing you could bottle it up to use when he’s away.

He chuckles, and the resulting vibrations raise the goosebumps on your arms. “I’m afraid you’ll have to surgically remove me from yourself,” he says, burrowing into you.

“Well, that doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world,” you wheeze, rubbing the burning tips of his ears between your forefinger and thumb. 

His voice is small, but it reaches your ears in the serene evening. “You still want to stay?” he asks. 

Your lips twist into an amused smile. “Did I ever say I wouldn’t?” You brush your fingers through his hair, fiddling with the grey streaks you find.

“I’m a mess,” he says. 

You nod. “Yeah, a hot one.”

“Darling….” he drawls. 

“Yes, John?” you say, batting your eyelashes, looking like the epitome of innocence. A sudden attack is launched on your vulnerable sides. “Hey!” you screech as John digs his fingers mercilessly into your waist. You attempt to squirm out of his grasp. If you don’t get away in time, your fight instincts might take over from your flight, and John will learn the hard way not to tickle you.

Although you doubt his reflexes will allow anything to happen. The cheeky bastard’s nearly impossible to catch by surprise since he reacts instantly to any objects hurtling towards him.

“I like hearing you laugh,” John admits, the lines on his face relaxing. The warmth in his eyes stirs that familiar fluttering in your chest. A shudder wracks your body when he absentmindedly rubs circles into your hips.

You peck his nose and lean your forehead on his. “Gets the happy chemicals flowing?” you ask.

John hums, “Mmm.” He teases you again with a quick skim of his fingertips, and you bite your lips to keep quiet. Rose is still sleeping, but a small laugh punches through your teeth. John relents his assault, satisfied for now. 

He continues to cling to you like a koala. You think back to what you’ve learned about John since that fateful encounter at the grocery store. “John? Why do you get so insecure when the topic of parenting surfaces?” you ask.

“...Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. You mentally scold yourself for bringing up a sore subject.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to,” you say.

“What?” John looks at you with wide eyes.

You grin and gently close his jaw before it can reach the ground. “I won’t force you to talk about something you don’t want to,” you say with a shrug. 

“Thanks.” The room falls silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock and the unintelligible murmurs of the TV.

“John, you’re really not that bad.” You trace the bags underneath his eyes, frowning at how puffy they are. 

“Well, I can’t be a bad father if I’m never around,” he chuckles dryly.

You hesitate before asking, “...Is that what this is about?”

“....”

“I know your job takes you away from home often.” You pause and wrack your brain for the right words to convey what you want to say. “But I wish you could see how Rose smiles when I tell her you’ll return in a few days. Or how she hugs her teddy bear—that you gave her—close every night.” Rose’s enthusiasm for her father’s return never wavers, never changes. You’ve babysitted Rose on and off for months now, and every evening, without fail, you hear the recording in the bear play from her room. “Would we like to see more of you? Of course. But I understand, and I think Rose does to a certain degree, that you have responsibilities and duties to fulfill.”

The right side of John’s lips slant up. “Don’t you ever get tired of cheering me up?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ You stand up and hold a hand out to him. “Now let’s get you to bed, my sad little man.”

“Little?” John chuckles, placing his hand in yours.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re just a sad little guy,” you say.

John blinks slowly and raises his brows. But his expression is soon replaced with amusement. “Is this some kind of internet lingo I’m unaware of?”

“....”

John clicks his tongue. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

You huff and feel like a cat with its hackles raised. “Don’t judge me for how I spend my free time,” you say.

John nods. “Ah yes, reading literature. What were they called again? Fan books?”

“Fanfics,” you correct, tugging him from his seat. “To bed. Now.”

John's eyes crinkle at the corners, and his quiet laughter fills the room. “You don’t need to be ashamed, darling. It could be worse. You could be reading those raunchy romance novels they sell at the grocery store.” You don’t humour him with a response, too busy trying to mask your face with a neutral expression. God forbid John learns about the kinds of things you read in your sacred corner of the internet. “You read the equivalent online, don’t you?” The apples of your cheeks tingle, and your mouth dries.

You clear your throat and begin stacking the cups and saucers. “It’s still late. We need to get some more rest,” you say, setting off at a brisk pace to the kitchen sink. The thud of footsteps follows right behind you. You don’t have to turn around to see how his lips curl into a grin.

“You read those books when you have me?” he asks, mock hurt lacing his tone.

You roll your eyes and set the dishes in the sink; a problem for future you. Turning around, you cross your arms and steel your gaze. “In my defence, some of them actually have a good plot,” you say. John raises a brow, and he does a poor job covering his laugh up with a cough. “Don’t give me that look! Some of them do!” you insist. Literal masterpieces exist on the internet. And they’re free??? Clearly, John’s never binged a fanfic until three in the morning and had an epiphany, only to be left desolate and distraught now that there are no more chapters to be read.

During your internal debate to justify your reading habits, John hoists you over his shoulder and heads to your bedroom. 

“Why don’t you recount your favourite one, and we can reenact it, hm?” he suggests, landing a playful smack on your bottom. You flail your limbs to no avail. The heat on your face could burn through the clothes on his back. John glances over at you with a smirk. “You can be quiet, can’t you, love? You did so well last time.” He caresses the back of your thighs, closing the door behind him with his foot.

At least you get a glorious view of his ass from this angle.

End Note:

Listen, don't ask me why I always end up writing some angst when it comes to Dad!Price. I can't help it, it's just ingrained in his DNA. I do have some ideas as to what happened with Rose's mom, and I do want to eventually write Price coming to terms with his grief. But as always, who knows when I'll get to that.

I did think about dragging this out longer. Originally, Price was also supposed to fall sick the next few days and Reader would be nursing him with the help of Rose. But that would have doubled the length and I just wanted this done so I could move on to the next fic 😅

Now it's on to the next fandom on my list! Alas, I am cursed with too many ideas and not enough willpower to write all of them at once.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Taglist: @mipitt141, @lovecats123451

[mandos-mind-trick]

Inside

Summary: A mission on a seemingly uninhabited planet goes wrong for Clone Force 99’s civilian member. The Bad Batch find themselves having to make a tough decision as they face an unthinkable situation. 

Pairing: None, but hinted at Hunter x reader flirting

Warnings: Body horror, alien species, injuries, vomiting, surgery, very graphic medical stuff, needles.

A/N: Taking a break from the horny to deliver my second horror fic for Halloween. This one is inspired by the Alien series. One of my favorite horror series. Please do heed the warnings, this one is rather graphic.

MASTERLIST

You wake with a pained groan. You're face down on something hard and uneven. There's water dripping somewhere, the sound echoing around you. Your mouth feels dry and your tongue swollen as you attempt to swallow. Your throat aches, not unlike when you would get sick as a child. 

You try to move, but pain erupts all across your body. You take a deep breath, your stomach aching in protest. You crack your eyes open, but you're in pitch black darkness. 

You push past the aching in your body, reaching a hand down to your belt. You fumble until you find the pocket with your torch, pulling it out. You turn it on, shining it around you. 

You're laying on a rocky surface in what looks like a cave. Memories come back to you as you lay there, your brain finally catching up. 

Your squad had been sent to an uninhabited planet to search for an emergency beacon that had been set off. There were no records of any personnel in this area, but with war waging across the galaxy, it wasn't uncommon to get distress signals from the most unlikely places. 

The planet was host to non-stop high winds and storms, and the beacon led you into a cavern in a hillside. You remember entering the cavern and searching, and you remember the ground giving way under your feet. 

That was how you got here. 

You slowly push yourself onto your side, gritting your teeth against the agony burning through your very bones and the deep cramping in your stomach. You shine your torch at the ceiling, but it's too high to see where you fell through, or how far you'd fallen. 

You push the button on your comms, calling out for anyone, but you get no reply. Comms had been spotty on the planet's surface. Just your luck they won't work at all down here. 

They know you're missing. Hunter had called out to you as you'd fallen. You're not sure how long you've been down here, how long you were unconscious. Could have been mere minutes. Could have been hours. You don't think they'd leave you down here for hours. 

You try the comms again, getting nothing but a garbled static sound in return. It was something, but not nearly enough. You can't just lay here, but you're not sure what else to do. 

You slowly work on turning yourself onto your back, your stomach spasming painfully with every small movement. You're definitely injured, no doubt about that. You just hope they can get to you before it gets worse. The ache in your throat has subsided, as well as the dryness in your mouth. You'd kill for some water, and the dripping off in the distance is doing nothing to help that. 

You shine your torch at the ceiling as the sound of rocks falling reaches your ears. Fear spikes through you as it gets louder. You can't be sure you're alone in the cave. You don't feel like there's anything else inside, but then again, you'd have no way of knowing. There were obvious weak spots in the cavern above too, which could give way and bury you under rubble. 

More debris falls into the cavern before lights appear a few feet away. Two figures drop from the ceiling, their headlamps lighting the cave. You breathe a sigh of relief, resting your head back against the ground as they approach you. 

"You alright?" Hunter asks as he kneels down next to you. 

You squint in the bright light of his headlamp. "All things considered, I think I'm alright." 

"No life threatening injures that I can see." Tech says, scanning your body. "Where is your pain located?"

"My stomach." You say, wincing as you press against the tender area. 

"How did you land when you fell?" Tech asks.

"On my stomach, I think. I woke up face down." You say. 

Tech hums, injecting something into your neck. "Likely a blunt force wound. No signs of internal bleeding or damage."

The pain begins to ebb, the fog in your brain clearing as the stim shot kicks in. 

"The whole cavern floor could be unstable." Tech says as the sound of more debris falling reaches your ears. 

"Let's get out of here." Hunter says, looping your arm around his shoulders. 

Tech takes the other side and they lift you to your feet. You curse, trying to fold in on yourself as your stomach screams in protest. 

"Come on, let's get you back up to the surface." Hunter says, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Then we can get a better look."

You lean against him as they guide you to where they'd entered the cave. Hunter maneuvers you so you're chest to chest, securing both of you with a rope. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your head on your shoulder as he sinches you tighter together. 

"You know if you wanted to get me in this position, you could have just asked." You murmur, and you can practically hear Hunter's eyes rolling. 

"Bring us up." Hunter says, tugging on the rope.

He wraps one arm around you as you're lifted off the ground, holding you securely as he works his way back up into the cavern. It's a long way, further than you expected. 

No wonder your body was aching so much. 

You breathe a sigh of relief as you're lifted back into the cavern, Wrecker waiting to pull you up. He sets you gently on the ground, the pain starting to disappear as the stim shot continues to work. 

"Let's get out of here." Hunter says, pulling himself up over the lip of the hole. "Before something else happens."

You lean against Hunter as the squad makes their way from the cavern and back into the perpetual storm. He guides you, keeping you steady as the wind whips around you. 

You're ready to get off this planet. It's not the worst place you've visited, but you're certainly not going to consider coming back. 

***

"There's bruising developing." Tech says, fingers pushing against the sore spot on your stomach. "Likely the cause of your discomfort." 

He jabs a bacta needle into the center of the bruise, making you hiss. 

"Ow." You grit out, but you can already feel the ache easing just a bit. 

"You'll be fine in a few hours." Tech says, clinical as usual. 

"Get some rest." Hunter says as you fix your blacks. "I don't doubt we'll be getting new orders soon."

You hum, rubbing your eyes. You do feel tired, more so than you usually do after a mission like this. It's more akin to how you feel after a fight. You don't argue any, pulling down one of the bunks before practically collapsing on it. 

You don't get much rest, though. You feel strange, beyond the fact that you fell a few hundred feet into a cave. There's a strange pressure in your chest, like something is pushing up against your organs. 

Tech had reassured you that nothing was injured, that everything looked normal internally. Your armor had done its job and protected you against any major damage that could have been caused, and it was a miracle you didn't hit your head very hard. 

You drift off into an uneasy, restless sleep. Despite your exhaustion you don’t sleep well, the nagging feeling of something being wrong not easing any.

You’re not sure how long you float in and out of sleep. They let you rest, setting themselves up in various places around the ship to rest as well. Downtime is rare, so the squad always takes advantage of any time available to rest and recuperate. It always seems to take you longer to recover, likely something to do with their enhancements. 

You rise after a while, tired of tossing and turning. Your stomach churns a bit as you move, the pressure still evident in your chest but you brush it off. Likely just some residual side effects from falling as far as you did. You make your way towards the cockpit, slipping past Hunter and Wrecker sleeping in the computer seats. 

You pause as the pressure increases in your chest. Your stomach feels like it’s squirming and you barely make it to the fresher before you’re vomiting up what little you had eaten before the mission into the toilet. The squirming feeling continues until you're dry-heaving, nothing left to come up. 

You fall back against the wall of the tiny fresher, taking in gasping breaths. Tears blur your vision as you try to control your stomach. You run cold water in the small sink, splashing some on your face. 

Your stomach still feels like it's squirming as you step out of the fresher, still shaking a little. You don’t feel good, but you try to write it off as just being the exhaustion coupled with the events of the day, coupled with you hitting your head. 

Hunter and Wrecker are awake, both of them staring at you. Tears continue to burn your eyes. You feel bad for likely waking them. 

“You okay?” Wrecker asks, ever the sweetheart. 

You nod, wiping the sweat from your brow. “Yeah. D-Don’t feel so good.” Your stomach still feels as if it's squirming, the pressure increasing in your chest. 

Hunter says your name, his eyes focused as he stares at you. You turn to him, frowning in confusion. “Don’t move.” 

You hold your breath, your heart starting to thump with fear as he kneels in front of you, one hand pressing against your stomach. Your insides squirm, but not in a good way as he presses lightly against your abdomen. 

“There’s something inside you.” He says, pulling his hand back. 

Your stomach drops, your body going numb with fear. “W-What.” 

“I can hear it moving.” He says, standing back up. “Tech, do another scan.” 

Tech holds his datapad in front of your stomach and you stay as still as possible, despite the fear making you want to drop. Something inside you? Was the squirming in your stomach not your own body’s doing? Or the pressure in your chest? Was something moving in there, causing you to feel this way? 

“There.” Tech says, holding up his datapad. 

It looks like a worm. A large, alien worm just under a foot long nestled right under your ribs. 

“H-How?” You gasp out, unable to tear your eyes away from the image. 

“It’s possible it entered your body while you were unconscious.” Tech says. 

“But wouldn’t it have shown up on the scan?” Hunter asks. 

“It’s possible it was too small to be picked up on the initial scans.” Tech explains. “Which would mean it’s growing quickly.” 

“The bodies.” Echo says, having appeared as well as Crosshair, a tense silence settling in the hull. 

“Wh-What bodies?” You ask, shaking in fear. 

“Right when you fell, we found the beacon. There was nothing but bodies left. They’d been there for a while.” Hunter explains, his voice low and calm. “Their injuries...something had...forced its way through their chests. Like they tore right through from inside.” 

You’re hyperventilating. Your fingers and toes are tingling. The interior of the Marauder is swimming. You’re on the floor, Hunter’s hand on your back as you sob. 

“Get it out of me.” You gasp, clinging to his wrist. “You have to get it out of me.” 

“Reroute us to the nearest medical facility.” Hunter says. 

Echo heads to the cockpit, Tech still staring at the datapad. “We may not have that kind of time.” He says. “It’s impossible to guess the length of the gestational period. It could attempt to free itself any moment now.” 

Hunter gives him a look as you sob harder, the squirming and pressure in your chest becoming more prominent now that you know something is inside you. Something is causing it to happen. 

“We’re six hours away from the nearest medical center.” Crosshair says, coming back into the hull. 

“She doesn’t have that kind of time.” Hunter says.

“Get it out of me.” You cry. “I don’t care what you do, just get it out!” 

Hunter looks at Tech as he adjusts his goggles. “We could attempt to remove it before it reaches the end of its gestational cycle. That would cause the least amount of damage, though this is hardly a sterile environment for something so invasive.” 

“If you don’t do something I’m going to cut it out myself.” You say, reaching for Hunter’s knife. 

He pulls his arm away before you can grab it. “We have to try. She could die if we don’t do anything.” 

***

The metal bunk is cold against your bare back. You’re in nothing but your breastband and pants, your shirt tucked into your mouth to give you something to bite down on. Tech is standing over you, situating the scanner at just the right spot. Hunter is hovering over your head, Wrecker sitting at your feet. 

“We will have to be quick.” Tech says, looking over the tools on the crate next to him. “Try not to let her move too much.” 

“Why can’t she be sedated?” Hunter asks, his breath fanning the top of your head. 

“Forced sedation may cause the creature to prematurely attempt an escape. If it is feeding off her in any way, we don’t want to risk disrupting the environment in a way we are not prepared for.” Tech says, grabbing a scalpel. 

The beeping of the monitor on your arm increases, your body tensing in preparation for what’s about to happen. Hunter wraps his arm across your chest, leaning in close to your ear. You wrap your hands around his arm, holding on as Tech presses the scalpel against your skin. 

“Oh I can’t watch.” Wrecker says, turning his face away. 

You let out a whimper, your body tensing as he slices through the skin. Your teeth sink into your shirt as your face contorts with pain. Your very nerves are on fire as he opens the wound, just enough to find the creature inside you. 

Hunter presses his arm against your chest to hold you still as you attempt to jerk away from the pain, Wrecker holding onto your legs. 

“You’re alright.” Hunter whispers in your ear. “It’s almost over.” 

Your chest pushes against his arm as you sob, able to feel the alien worm inside you moving as Tech attempts to extract it. Your hands are gripping Hunter’s arm so tightly it has to hurt. 

Your whole body jerks, a muffled scream tearing from your throat as sharp pain erupts inside you. You’re hyperventilating, the monitor on your arm beeping rapidly. 

“Tech?” Hunter asks, the desperation noticeable in his voice. 

“I have a hold of it, but it’s attempting to attach itself to her.” Tech says, reaching for a long needle.

Your eyes roll back, darkness filling your vision as Tech lifts the creature from your stomach, a high pitched cry sounding from it before you slip into unconsciousness. 

***

It’s bright when you wake. For a moment you think you might have died, but the sound of beeping tells you otherwise. 

You squint against the bright lights of the medical center, lifting a hand to try and shield the bright lights. Someone says your name, pulling you out of the fog. You turn your head, staring up at the blurry figure beside you. 

“Hunter?” You rasp out, rubbing your eyes. 

“Good to have you back, cyare.” He says.

“You’re very lucky.” Another voice says and you tilt your head to stare up at a doctor standing over you. “You’ve made a full recovery, thanks to the interventions of your squad.” 

“I am pretty lucky.” You say, looking around the cot at the five members of your squad. 

“One last round of tests,” The doctor says. “Then you’ll be free to go.” 

You look back at Hunter as the doctor steps away. “Thank you.” You say. 

His brow furrows a little. “For what?”

“We wouldn’t have even known if it wasn’t for your senses. And I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Tech’s skills.” You say, turning to look at Tech. 

“It was a very simple procedure.” He says, adjusting his goggles. “And the little I got to study the creature before it was confiscated rendered some fascinating discoveries. I am looking forward to reading the full report once the Republic has finished its own studies.” 

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm despite everything. You slip your hand into Hunter’s as Tech continues to babble on about the creature, squeezing it gently. 

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[starlahuskyz]

Chances - Chapter 20

Summary: The boys take Jordan to properly meet their sire, however one thing leads to another and an old face rears their ugly head once again.

It's been a while, but I'm just in time for my oc x canon's anniversary! Things are picking up finally, so the end is near.

Chapter 19 <<< >>> Chapter 21

TW// Stalking, Sexual Themes, Implied Smut

------------------------------------------------

Jordan had been sleeping peacefully with Marko that night, that is until she found herself in a dark room only lit by the moonlight casted through the windows. Marko was nowhere to be found, and she heard nothing but the deafening silence accompanying her. She scanned the darkness around her and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her, she started recognizing where she was. The Looff Carousel on the boardwalk, she’d visited this ride plenty of times while living in Santa Carla. She walked along the platform and grazed her hands along each horse that sat along the ride.

Without much of a warning, she heard the sound of mechanical whirring starting up and the whole attraction came to life, the tune “To the Shock of Miss Louise” started blaring on the speakers surrounding the ride. Jordan was perplexed and she grabbed a hold of the many poles circling the rotating platform. Said platform started to move and each horse moved up and down, Jordan carefully walked in between each horse trying to find any potential souls besides her own.

It didn’t take her long before she started feeling uncomfortable, she once again felt the sensation of being watched again. Her hair stood up on its ends and she grew anxious wondering who was with her. She thought back to the one person she saw who sported a clown mask similar to the clown face seen on the walls of the carousel. She jumped to the conclusion that it must’ve been the same person and immediately started scanning the room around her, she then only realized something.

Every single horse within her view had their eyes on her, and as she walked through the ride they only stared at her. The feeling of anxiety grew to an all time high, the ground beneath her started to disappear before her and she soon fell down with it. She only remembered one thing as she fell, the voice of someone saying,

“I’m still here…”

---------------------

With a nasty fright, Jordan woke up and found herself on the ceiling above her bed. She rolled over and saw Marko still lying peacefully on the bed with Bixby, not even realizing Jordan wasn’t with him. Mildly panicked as she struggled to get herself down, she called for Marko.

“Marko! Are you awake?”

No movement, she opted to get Bixby’s attention.

“Bixby! Wake him up!”

The little black feline lifted its head begrudgingly growling lightly until seeing the predicament his owner was in. The cat stalked over to Marko’s face and meowed and swiped at him, waking him up.

“Dammit cat, leave me alone! What?” Marko looked at Bixby angrily until realizing Jordan was gone and upon looking up he saw her still trying to free herself from the ceiling.

“What the hell happened?”

“Like hell I know, now help me down please!”

Marko grabbed Jordan’s leg pulling her down to the bed where she finished her little flying session. 

“Did you have a bad dream or something?” Marko rubbed her shoulder reassuringly.

“How did you know?”

“Vampires tend to fly in their sleep when in distress and not holding onto anything. Like one time, Paul took a nap and started to fly around the cave.” He recounted how confused Paul was after that experience.

“It was definitely a bad dream, but I’d rather not think about it too hard right now.” 

Jordan laid back onto the bed petting Bixby on his head as he sat in a loaf position on the bed. Marko did the same and nuzzled himself into her neck purring loudly. Taking a glance at her clock she saw it was 5pm, still another two hours before the sun properly sets.

“We should rest a bit more, it still isn’t sundown yet.” Marko suggested.

“I really don’t wanna go back to sleep after that.” Jordan responded exasperatedly.

Marko rolled onto his back and clicked his tongue thinking about what they could do to wait out the time. He reached a hand onto Jordan’s thigh and squeezed it, she only looked at him confused.

“The hell are you doing?” 

“I know what we could do to pass the time.” Marko winked at her and she tensed up and sat up.

“Are you out of your mind? Why now?”

“I know it’s a bit sudden but, hearing about your ex made me kinda mad. I wanna prove that I can treat you better than he did,I could rock your world babe.”

“And you’re gonna prove that by having the dirtiest sex imaginable?”

“Well…if that’s what you want then-”

“No. Don’t even, you have to earn that from me.” She stood up and turned her TV on to see what shows were on, Marko stayed in the bed watching her. His face was thoughtful.

“Earn it…what do I gotta do?” 

“You sure are desperate aren’t you?” Jordan moved away from the TV to look at him after settling on a show.

“I’m just asking, can a guy not ask a question?” Marko grabbed her hands and pulled her into his lap, without contest from Jordan.

“Listen, it’s just been a while since I’ve done anything like this and to be honest, the night Viktor turned me was my first time being intimate with anyone. And I don’t really even remember it. I don't want to rush into this and end up regretting it.” 

Jordan thought back to that night and how after she drank the blood, everything afterwards became nothing but flashes of distant memories and singular moments in time.

“Well, I can say this much, you definitely won’t forget or regret any of the action I'd give. I’d make all your worries melt away, you deserve everything. I want you to forget all about that scumbag and pretend like I’m your first…only if you're okay with it.”

Marko shoved his face into Jordan’s neck and nipped at her skin relishing in her scent and taste. She ran her fingers through his golden locks as he did so, she pulled his chin up and looked him in the eyes. She gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead making him grumble happily.

“Can I trust you?”

“May god strike me down where I sit.”

---------------------

8:30pm

Marko and Jordan laid together watching the TV quietly play a random show they'd both never seen before. However, neither of them paid any attention to what was being said. Jordan traced shapes onto Marko's tummy while he played with Jordan's raven hair, they both purred happily as they enjoyed each other's company.

They were pulled out of their comfortable silence though when they heard a loud knocking sound on the basement doors outside. Jordan begrudgingly sat up.

“Who is it?”

“It’s the pizza man! Open up, Jordan!”

Marko sat up as well and wrapped his arms around Jordan, purring.

“Did you bring us a spicy sausage pizza?” Marko asked, making Jordan swipe at him in embarrassment.

“Hell yeah! How do we open the door though?”

“There should be a key to open the lock inside a potted plant next to the door.”

After that, she heard some footsteps and shuffling leave and come back she then heard a sudden bang come from someone busting the lock open. Paul sauntered in

and Dwayne followed through holding a busted lock in his hands. 

“Couldn’t find the key, so we took advice from what you did-” Paul’s words quieted after he noticed a rather jarring change with Jordan’s outfit…or rather lack thereof. “Looks like someone got lucky last night.”

It was only then that Jordan had noticed she was completely underdressed for the occasion and Paul had been staring at her bare chest. She quickly pulled her blanket up to cover her up.

“Maybe I did, but that doesn’t give you the right to stare at my chest you asshole. Dwayne, can you toss me my clothes?”

Dwayne wordlessly handed her something to wear and Marko simply got up to get his clothes while completely naked.

“And you don’t look half bad yourself.” Paul purred at Marko who in turn cuffed the side of his head.

After Jordan finally put something on and looked more presentable she turned the TV off. “Why are you guys even here?”

“David wanted us to come and get you guys.” Dwayne explained.

“Dad wants to talk to us over dinner about Marko’s new girlfriend.” Paul chucked one of Jordan’s stuffed animals at Marko as he put his pants on making him trip over himself.

“You guys have a dad?” Jordan asked, Paul pulled her out of bed and threw an arm over her shoulders.

“Don’t worry about that right now, you need a nice outfit for tonight.”

----------------

Within the hour, the boys had taken Jordan to a pleasant looking house. They had given little to zero information about who they were visiting on the way over. And now they were standing on the porch awaiting an answer from the person inside and Jordan was beyond nervous. David stood at the front of the group obnoxiously ringing the doorbell while the others just snickered quietly. Marko stood in the back with Jordan and wordlessly grabbed her hand to help relieve her anxiety.

Eventually the door opened up, and much to Jordan’s dismay, it was the owner of the video store on the pier of the boardwalk. She never liked him before and now she realizes why. The man had a look of annoyance in his face as he stared down the platinum blonde.

“Feeling a bit daring, don’t we David?”

“Just playing around, we brought Jordan like you asked.” David moved aside to let Marko bring Jordan up to become acquainted with their sire.

Marko gently nudged Jordan forward while she just stared at the vampire warily.

“Glad we can finally be properly acquainted, I’m Max.”

“I know, you own the video store on the pier.”

Max chuckled at her somewhat snappy nature. “You have a fiery spirit, it doesn't surprise me that Marko pounced on you once he finally had the opportunity.”

The others snickered at Marko while he quietly growled back at them. “Lay off Max, can we just come inside now?”

Max moves aside leaving access for the group “You’re invited…”

------------------

Everyone sat around a dining table eating a quaint little dinner together, having small conversations together to break the ice between them. Jordan took note of how the boys were acting somewhat well behaved, they still occasionally made jabs at Max or each other but they didn’t do anything all too out of line. Eventually, Max began to start talking with the newest member of the family trying to learn more.

“So Jordan, I hope Marko has been treating you well, same thing with all my boys.”

“Marko has definitely been behaving well, can’t say the same about the others though.” Jordan eyed the others as they quietly chuckled. “I don’t care too much though, I mean, I’m happy now so yeah.” She shrugged her shoulders unsure of what else to say.

“I noticed you seemed to deny Marko’s love before all…this. What made you come around?” He folded his hands ready to listen in.

“I don’t know, it happened the day they all found out I was a vampire. We talked for a bit and I guess I liked his style, we made plans to hang out and now we’re here.”

“That’s wonderful, but now I wanna know what kept you from saying yes from the very first encounter with him?”

Jordan hesitated, telling Max means she’s going to have to tell her story once again. Before she could answer, Paul answered for her.

“She played hard to get, all because she had a shitty ex.”

“Paul shut up!” Jordan snapped at him.

“It’s true, you told us all about it last night. Now you don’t wanna talk about it?”

Max tilted his head curiously “I’m assuming it’s a long story?”

“Yeah, but to give you the cliff notes, I moved here, met a guy who turned out to be a vampire. We dated for a while and he ended up turning me into a vampire without my permission, and I may or may not have killed my whole coven and now I live in my parents basement.”

Max leaned back in his chair, his face was thoughtful. “I see.”

“There was a lot more stuff in between, but the point is that I was left with horrible trust issues for the past year and that’s why I rejected Marko at first.”

Max still looked thoughtful as Jordan spoke and the boys took notice of it pretty quickly.

“Cat got your tongue?” David asked.

“No…Marko do you mind if we talk in private real quick. The rest of you I want in the living room.”

--------------

The boys and Jordan minus Marko all waited in the living room while Max talked to Marko. It was a sudden change and everyone had been caught off guard about it. Jordan was especially anxious about it.

“Do you think it was something I said?” Jordan turned to the others looking for reassurance.

“Who knows, I wouldn’t worry too much. Probably just chewing out Marko to make sure he treats you like a queen.” Paul sprawled out on the couch with his head on Dwayne’s lap as he spoke to Jordan.

“But what if he comes out saying it’s something about me and I might be causing problems.”

The boys all groaned quietly, then Dwayne shoved Paul off of him and asked “If I eavesdrop will you stop worrying?”

Jordan thought for a moment “Sure, just make sure they don’t notice you.”

Dwayne stood up and quietly moved towards the kitchen to listen in, he caught on to the middle of their convo.

----------------

“You know the rules Marko.”

“Bullshit, she said she killed him. How do you know for a fact he’s still alive, I’m sure I would’ve noticed.”

“She just has a presence on her, it’s unmistakable, I know the feeling of a sire when I feel it.”

Marko huffed in frustration, “The hell am I supposed to tell her? That her ex is still alive and is watching her? She’d probably drop dead.”

Max laid a heavy hand on his shoulder “Listen, I understand this is hard, but even if you wanted to be with her, her sire will try to fight you for her. I don’t want to have to come and save you.”

Marko shook his shoulder to remove his sire’s hand “I don’t need your help, I’ll find him myself and fuck him up.”

----------------

Dwayne perked up at the convo and returned back to the living room, as soon as he’s back Jordan stood up and approached him.

“What did you hear?”

Dwayne reached a hand up to scratch the back of his neck not saying a word.

“Please don’t tell me it was bad…”

“Listen, I wanna ask you something first. When you killed your ex, are you absolutely sure he was dead?”

“Of course! A stake to the heart instantly kills a vampire right?”

No one says a word for a moment.

“Well not if he’s your sire, a fledgling can’t kill their own sire in the typical vampire slaying way.”

Jordan’s face pales “You’re kidding, right?”

Dwayne then speaks again “Shit, then it might be possible.”

Jordan doesn’t say another word, and makes a beeline for the door and runs out into the woods surrounding Max’s house. The others don’t even have the chance to stop her and just stand by the open door.

“You guys stay here, I’ll go get her.” David quickly follows after Jordan.

----------------

She didn’t know how long she’d been running for, a part of her didn’t even know why she was running. She just knew she wanted to get away, she couldn’t even fathom the idea of her ex still being alive. It just couldn’t be, she found herself in the heart of the forest she ran into and stopped for a minute to ponder what was happening. 

Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts a second, she wasn’t sure who to believe. Was she right? Did she think too confidently about whether or not she finished the job?

Before she could come to a conclusion, she heard a voice from behind her.

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

Swiftly turning around, Jordan felt her heart drop into her stomach upon seeing who it was.

“Viktor…”

“Jordan, you look just as beautiful as the day you left me. In fact, you may look even better.” He slowly approached her, he looked practically the same from when she originally saw him from the first time.

Jordan didn’t speak, at a loss for words. Viktor approached her until he was at least one foot in front of her.

“Too stunned to speak?”

“...How? I staked you.” She stared up at him, feeling all alarms going off in her head.

“Well, didn’t your friend already tell you? With me being your sire, you couldn’t kill me by staking me. It’s silly, isn’t it?” He lifted a finger to twirl it around her dark locks of hair.

“Silly isn’t the word for it, infuriating is more appropriate.” She stepped away from him, breaking contact.

“Oh, Jordan you’re breaking my heart. It’s been almost two years, are you ever going to let go of my mistake?”

“Mistake? You’re full of shit Viktor! You planned to turn me without my permission, that was no goddamn mistake!”

“True, but I truly never meant to hurt you. I just want you back, you’re all I have now.” 

“Bullshit, you should’ve thought better before you pulled that crap on me. I’d rather let a train run me over a thousand times over before I ever think about going back to you!”

Viktor sighed, then laughed.

“You’re stubborn, you really don’t believe me? I’ve kept an eye on you ever since you decided to go on your own. I’ve been watching you every day making sure you would be okay, if I truly wanted to do anything harmful to you I wouldn’t have already done it?”

Jordan thought back to those feelings of being watched she’d experience. It made so much sense now.

“Of course it was you…I should’ve known. You know if you truly loved me, you wouldn’t breach my damn privacy and watch me for every moment of my damn life.”

“I just wanted to keep up with what you were up to, especially after that new boy came into your life. I can smell him on you, and to be frank…it makes me sick.”

Jordan grew more defensive. “If you even try to touch Marko I swear to god you’ll have the devil to pay god dammit.”

He laughed coldly, “Cute, you love him don’t you?”

“Yes, he’s not perfect but I’ll take someone honest over a lying asshole like you. If you want me back, you’ll have to fight me for that.”

Viktor’s face was thoughtful for a moment, the wind started to pick up around them as leaves flew past them and trees swayed back and forth.

“Let’s make a wager on that, how about in a week from now, I will come visit your home. We’ll confront each other and see what happens, and just to be fair, I’ll leave you be for the week so you can get your affairs in order.”

“Fine, I’ll rip your ass to pieces, you just wait.”

He smiled, “I’m looking forward to it, by the way, don’t even think about bringing any of the clowns with you. This is between me and you only, please don’t disappoint me.”

As Viktor finished speaking, a new presence made themself known.

David stood in the same opening “Get away from her you prick.”

“I was already on my way out.” Viktor quickly left not before giving Jordan a quick peck on her cheek. She couldn’t even say anything due to how sudden it was, she only watched him leave swiftly into the woods behind her.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” David approached her watching her.

“Not physically.” She turned back to face David.

“Don’t let him get to you, we’ll put his dick in the dirt before he even has the chance to take you away from us.”

David moved to leave before Jordan ran in front of him, cutting him off. 

“NO!” He raised an eyebrow at her sudden outburst, “I mean, no. Don’t bother.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for that bastard.”

“Of course not! I mean you can’t tell anyone about this, because I told Viktor that I’d confront him on my own. He doesn’t want anyone else with me, me bringing you guys along means I’m admitting defeat!”

“Who gives a shit! What makes you think you’ll be able to take him on by yourself when you couldn’t even take me on.”

“I’ve gotten stronger!”

“Bullshit.”

Jordan moved to attack David, but with a quick reaction he grabbed her wrist and crushed it under his vampiric strength making her falter. He let go and watched as Jordan fell to her knees in defeat.

“You going to fight him on your own is a death sentence, I understand what you’re trying to do. But I refuse to let one of our members get themselves killed because of their own stupidity. Imagine how Marko would feel if you were killed.”

Jordan stared up at David in disbelief, but she realized that he was being genuine. He stared her down making her know her place in their coven, Jordan stood up slowly.

“That’s a good point, but I will never truly be Marko’s mate if I never get rid of Viktor for good. I appreciate your care, but I need you to keep this between you and me. If I need you guys to help me, I’ll let you know. Just give me a chance to at least try, I’m tired of running.”

David said nothing, he sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine…but if Marko finds out, it’s your problem.”

“Fine by me.”

---------------------------------------------

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[sweetaliencheeks]

THE ONE WHERE HE KNOCKS

“Who is it?” I threw my cardigan over my shoulders as I approached the door, barely missing to trip over the corner of the rug. It was late at night, and I had taken my shower, swiped my make up off, and sat down in front of some stupid reality show with a hot tea. I had been enjoying the relaxing scent of dried leaves and honey, and the comfort of a warm blanket over my legs when someone knocked on my door. I was most definitely not expecting guests, so my first thought had been a neighbour in trouble or in need of sugar or flour, my second thought had been a scam to have me robbed. Either way I had gotten up and walked towards the entry.

“It’s me” nothing could have prepared me for the voice that echoed in the hall on the other side of the door. It was like hearing a stranger, only I knew him by heart, like the palm of my hand. I took a deep breath, wondering if I really should open the door, if it was a good idea to let him in again both literally and figuratively. I exhaled slowly, almost disappointed that I wasn’t a robbery and that I was about to be put face to face with heartbreak.

“Hey” the door swung open and my eyes locked on his, my breath hitched in my throat “What are you doing on Earth?”

“Visiting a friend, thought I’d come by” he replied calmly. He seemed bothered, almost uncomfortable. Maybe by the sheer fact that he was standing in front of me covered in guilt and the lies he had told me, or maybe by the way my question might have made him feel like he wasn’t welcome.

“How did you find me?” his eyes darted from left to right, before landing on the printed carpet of the building’s hallway. It was terribly ugly, a faded deep red with yellow lys flowers printed on it. Nothing that deserved the attention he was granting it “Nevermind” it was an effort to make him feel less pressured to answer, not that I actually wanted to hear said answer. All that I wanted to hear was an explanation. After a few seconds of silence, fearing that I might have come across cold, I finally spoke “I’m sorry, I’m just surprised to see you”

“Yeah, thought you’d be. That’s why I decided to knock instead of coming in through the window” he nodded towards the kitchen window right behind me “I saw it was open, that’s uh, kinda dangerous”

“I know” my voice sounded like a child who had just been yelled at, I was almost embarrassed and looking for a way to make myself sound like a big person who could live alone safely. I sniffled and looked over my shoulder at the small window just over the fire escape that he would climb to come and visit me during the time period of the blip “It’s been open ever since you left, guess I’ve always hoped you’d come back” a dry chuckle echoed in my chest, not knowing what else to say “Maybe that’s why I was so surprised” I had initially gone for a shrug, but the way my shoulders dropped in absolute defeat, made me go for a self hug, arms crossed tightly over my cardigan and around my body “Because you knocked”

“Yeah” he forced out a chuckle, and we resumed looking at the floor.

“Shit, sorry” after a few minutes of looking in between one another, the floor and the ceiling, I finally caved in and stepped aside. Letting him come into my home again was only one step away from letting him back in my life and into my heart “Come in. Do you want a drink, or something? I’ve got like whisky, I think? I don’t drink much anymore” I began frantically roaming through the cupboards, trying to find something that he could have enjoyed. I was afraid that if I took too long, he might change his mind and leave.

“What are you drinking?” I looked down at my cup, which was still sitting on the coffee table where I had left it. I scrunched up my nose thinking about how cold it must have been by then “I’ll have that” he nodded towards it, sounding both very confident and completely terrified of trying something such as a Terran stupid calming drink.

“You drink tea?” I half chuckled.

“I do now” something about him drinking tea made me smile. He wasn’t a tea kind of guy when I met him, I wasn’t even sure he was a water kind of guy when I met. But the idea of him holding and drinking a calming, sweet, comforting cup of tea was absolutely precious to me.

“So… how’s life?” I asked over my shoulder as I made my way to the kitchen. He seemed to have found a comfortable enough spot on the sofa, although he still seemed quite awkward and stiff. The silence was heavy, and it would have been deafening if it hadn’t been for the water boiling in the pot. I added the teabag and some honey in the bright pink mug and walked over to him “I’m bad with small talk”

“Look, I’m sorry I left” I was taken aback by how quickly and harshly it came out. He probably thought I was still angry at him, but I could tell there was regret in his words by the way his voice trembled.

“It’s ok, I understand” I handed him his cup, and proceeded to pick up mine from the table before plopping down next to him “I mean, you got your family back and a whole galaxy to save. You had no time to waste with a human” I had always known that I was never a priority in his life. How could I be? He was a modified literal space genius whom, on multiple occasions, had had the fate of the entire galaxy between his tiny little hands. And I was nothing but ordinary. So when he left, I didn’t try to find a reason, or which one of us was to blame. It felt like it was just the way it was meant to be.

“Still shouldn’t have left like that” his reaction to his first sip of tea was somewhere between expected disgust and happy surprise. I smiled and watched him go for a second one, with a giddy shimmy of his shoulders this time.

“You shouldn’t have… but apology accepted” the tv remote was right next to me and I had to fight the urge to turn it on. I couldn’t take any more of the silence and the terrible dread that it was to sit in face of someone I cared about so deeply, with whom I had shared intimate moments and secret thoughts, and feel like he was nothing more than an acquaintance that I was smiling at out of politeness. He had changed, that was a fact. But he was still himself, only a better version than the one who left in the middle of the night a few years back. So although I wanted to blame my distancing on him, I couldn’t. He was being nothing but nice and sweet towards me, I was the one to blame. I had been alone with myself for so long, that the reflection on the mirror had somehow convinced me that I was over him, that I was no longer sad, that a nonchalant approach was a far more appropriate way to deal with things than to drown in alcohol and hold a grudge forever. I was the one who was angry and bitter and revengeful, I was the one who wanted to hurt him for the hell he had put me through, but he seemed to have worked so hard to fix himself, that it didn’t seem fair to punish someone who no longer existed ��I forgive you, as long as you let me know when you leave this time”

“I will” a small smile tugged at the corner of my lip at his answer, maybe because it would stop me from crying, maybe because I just wanted him to feel like I would believe it this time “I, uh… I wanted to ask you something”

“Sure, I’m listening” I had to fight a scoff, but couldn’t help my eyebrows from raising in astonishment. I clenched my jaw, teeth grinding against each other and a ball of rage building up in my chest.

“Are ya still good with animals?” my eyebrows twitched before falling into a frown. But the situation was so preposterous, that I laughed.

“Yeah, why? Need your shots?” I nodded towards him in a taunting way, as angry as I could have been at him, I would have done anything to catch a smile on his face.

“Very funny. No, I need you to look after someone” without any further explanation, he reached behind his back and handed me something. I wanted to ask if that was the reason why he had been sitting strangely from the beginning but I didn’t have to, since he instantly leaned back on the pillows.

“Oh! Oh, my God! It’s… Is it…?” I reached out for him too, and grabbed what he gave me. The little raccoon instantly began sniffing my hands, small whiskers tickling my wrists and tiny claws scratching into my palms. It was so small and so soft and fragile, the fact that Rocket had been like this once before he was pulled apart and put together was heart wrenching. It made me sick.

“It ain’t mine” Rocket scoffed “I’m just looking after him”

“He’s so cute, look at those little hands” I brought my face closer to the little creature and cooed “Hi, baby”

“So, will ya help me look after him?” I looked between the little puppy and the pleading eyes behind him. I was about to make a mistake and I knew it, but saying no to those two sets of eyes was impossible.

“Coparenting sounds like a lot of fun, but what? Do I send him on train to Knowhere on the weekends?” joking had always been my go to coping mechanism and an easy way out of tough situations, and this one was particularly complicated.

“No, you uh, you come with us” he avoided my face, he didn’t look at me, not even a glance. It was a mix of frustration and anger that tightened the grip around my cup until I could see my knuckles begin to turn white.

“To fucking space?” honestly, I couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a growl that passed trough my teeth.

“To fricking space” Rocket pointed at the baby with a quick motion, arm extended and palm turned towards the ceiling. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that, as a regular raccoon, this little guy wouldn’t be able to swear either he heard the words or not. I set the small baby on my lap, and kept petting him, focusing on his soft breathing was helping me keep myself together.

“I don’t know… you do realise that I can’t just go and move to space?” thinking that it would have been obvious enough for the space genius was a mistake. Given the expression on his face, it seemed like all I had to do was throw my toothbrush and a pair of fresh underwear into my handbag and fly away into the stars “And did you seriously come all the way here to ask me to babysit?”

“I came here because I missed ya” his voice changed in a split of a second, and all I could do was bury my face into my hands, elbows set on my knees. I didn’t know what to say. I missed you, too. Why did you leave? Do you love me? Have you ever? I would go anywhere with you, the galaxy, the sea, the edge of the world. Did you think of me as your spaceship took off? When you looked up at the sky? Because I did. All the damn time.

“I’d have to sell my appartement, and my car… Quit my job, say goodbye to everyone” and that was only to list a few of the things I had thought about saying instead of what I really wanted to say “It’s really not that easy…”

“You don’t have to answer now” his eyes were glossy when they finally met mine and it hit me so hard that I had to look away. Too many memories were brought up in that second and it was like finding a piece of my past that I wasn’t ready too deal with. Not again. Not yet.

“Yeah” it was a whisper, nothing more, and a trembling lip that quickly turned into a sniffle and an awkward change of sitting position as I tucked my legs under my body, ready to change the subject “Where did you find the emotional bribe?”

“Some lab was gonna test on him. Had a whole bunch of them, found them homes” he replied plainly, as if it was nothing and as if he hadn’t mentioned having been on that same terrible situation when he was just a puppy himself. I wasn’t about to bring it up, or to ask questions or to push him to tell me more. He never shared much anyway, and I was trying too hard not to cry to throw myself into a subject that could so easily be the last straw. I have to admit that the idea of going to space to look after this small loving creature and help him look after an even smaller and just as lovely creature, was beginning to sound more and more like a future. But I knew I couldn’t and now I had to give Rocket my answer. But as I was about to open my mouth, he grabbed the baby from my lap and lifted him up to his eye level “But this one was different”

“You’re different” I blurted out. This loving, kind, nurturing side of him wasn’t new, he had many times spoken about Groot and how he had raised him like his own. But witnessing it first hand and drunk on nothing but tea and nostalgia, was making me fall for it. The love in his eyes and in his voice and in his touch, made me realise that maybe I had never fallen out of it in the first place. He lifted an eyebrow and put his cup down on the table, right next to mine.

“What?” he chuckled, and that’s when I saw him. I saw that mischievous grin and challenging gaze. I saw that one twitch on a certain point of his muzzle. And just like that, I knew I had lost a battle I hadn’t even signed up for, amidst a war I had surrendered long ago. I had fought my feelings for way too long, choosing to ignore them and finding ways to tell myself that it was better that way, that things had always been meant to be like that, that it was cosmic will or fate or anything else out of my reach. That it was anyone’s fault but mine. And at the same time, I often found myself lying awake in a state of haze wishing I had made him stay, knowing it wasn’t someone else’s fault.

“You’re different. You’re healing” tears started to pool in my eyes as a wave of realisation and relief slowly took over me. He was broken and torn and painfully tormented when we met, he was like a ticking time bomb, that could have blown up at any moment. And I worried for him, I worried every day that he was around and even more everyday that he wasn’t. Even through tears and a broken heart, I wished him peace and now, looking at him on my sofa holding a tiny little part of what he once was, I saw it. I saw peace. And I saw hope and love and joy, and so many other things he had never let me see before. My hands travelled up to the sides of his face and I brushed my thumb across his cheek “You’re softer, stay soft” I whispered, a tear now running hot down my cheek. As his hands went up to hold mine where they were, I looked him in the eyes. And in that deep dark brown, I found hope, too. And I found the love he had taken from me all those years ago, and accepted that he was willing to give it back if I only gave him the chance and the time. And just like that, I found myself wondering where I had put my suitcase “It looks so good you”

This is so long and I’m sorry, but I haven’t written in so long and gotg3 really put me in my feels. Hope you enjoy it! Also want to say thank you to all of the love you guys have been showing to my old stuff, it means the world to me x

Love,

Your local Rocket Raccoon fanfic dealer <3

[thegreatsolaris]

✨Short TSP Drabble✨

I wanted to write Stanley and Narrators first real interaction so I quickly typed this up. I don’t think I’ll write more of this soon so I wanted to get it out.

I’ll post it to Ao3 eventually but for now

I hope you like this!!

————————————————

Those beautiful blue skies stretched far into the distance.

Stanley used to feel like anything was possible looking out into this world, but as the same script rambled on above him, he couldn’t help but tire of it all. He wanted something new and exciting. That’s all he really needed! Just a good change of pace.

Stanley tried to will his hands to move.

“And Stanley was…”

Stanley pointed towards his nose twisting his hand then flicked his hand away in a lazy manner.

“EXCUSE ME???”

Stanley jumped.

This was the first time the narrator had actually responded to anything he’d done. Of course, the script could fool him sometimes into thinking that someone was actually speaking to him, but when it’s the same every time… it’s hard to believe it’s not a bizarre recording.

This was not a part of the script here? What is this?

Stanley stared at the blue sky wondering if this was all a hallucination. Again.

“Oh? Nothing to say for yourself, you ingrate?” He swore he could almost feel the building around him get tenser. The metal creaked beneath his feet. He desperately tried not to faint.

Stanley hesitantly raised both his hands pointing back and forth between himself and the sky (where he assumed the voice was coming from).

“Yes, I’m talking to You, Stanley,” the voice huffed.

[Stanley couldn’t think of what to say. Thankfully the Narrator was voicing his thoughts for him. Part of him assumed that the voice was a recording at some point. Stanley wondered if he should be freaking out more, but he was just surprised! Why the voice hadn’t spoken to him before? Could he alway do this? Surely he’s done way worse than offhandedly saying he was bored…]

“Irritable, sure, you always are, but you have never voiced any of this directly at me. I’m not the one here guilty of not trying to communicate! You never say anything to me!”

That… is probably true… Stanley shrugged.

“I CANT BELIEVE- Hold on, I-“ some papers shuffled and the voice got a little farther away as a chair rolled, “This conversation isn’t over.”

Stanley furrowed his brow waiting for-

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE EN

Stanley blinked back to reality to see he was sitting in his office once more.

“Okayyy,” the Narrator’s chair sounded like it rolled back over to him, “Now let’s have a chat. You and I. We’ve been working well together for a long time now, despite your issues… Is there something wrong with my story, Stanley? Is there a reason you’re so bored with my life’s work!? I’ll have you know I’ve been working very hard- WILL YOU LISTEN?!”

Stanley stopped pressing buttons on the keyboard to look up.

“I’m really trying to have a serious conversation with you here, Stanley! Face to face!” The lights flickered briefly.

[ He rolled his eyes at the ceiling all smug, “What face?” Stanley laughed to himself. ]

“You’re very funny, Stanley… Is this about you having a default model or nothing at all when it’s Not. Even. Necessary?” The walls shook slightly in irritation.

[“It wasn’t but it definitely is now.” Stanley mused. It was more intended to poke fun at his Narrator for being so elusive for all these years. It’s hard to take a disembodied voice seriously. Although….. Now that he thinks of it, his hands and body do randomly disappear…]

“You’re bothered by my lack of a face?! Seriously?!” The building made a noise like it was about to cave in, “I don’t need one! I’m not even an actual character in the story! I’m the Narrator! I read the script! As a matter of fact, you don’t even need a body or face! It’s not important! This is a first person game with no other players!”

[ “You asked,” Stanley would cross his arms if he felt like he had any right now, “What kind of a writer can’t even take a little bit of constructive criticism?”]

“Fine! Fine! No, I really see how it is! Sure!”

Stanley waited for more. The Narrator loved to talk after all, but he was scarily quiet.

There was a slight ambient noise when Stanley strained his hearing.

Frantic typing. Mouse clicks. Scratching of pens and pencils on paper. Occasionally a mutter or deep breath from the Narrator.

Stanley stared a the ceiling listening to the sounds of him working. It was odd. And yet… Something felt different. He couldn’t explain it but it did. He felt more… there. More present…

“Are you ready to talk, Stanley?” Narrator sounded like it was right above him. Not like the general sense, but literally right above his head. He had a bad feeling.

Then the walls started creaking loudly. Cracks splintered along the ceiling as bright yellow fingers pushed their way in.

He fell off his chair in shock, trying to get away.

The top of his office was easily pulled away like the lid on a can to reveal a big smiling face in a black void.

Stanley’s first thought was that he looked like a giant mouse cursor.

Greying hair swept to the side with a yellow arrow streaked through his hair twisting up like a smile. His skin looked grey as well. His eyes were almost hidden behind a square pair of yellow tinted glasses. A smile stretched across his face. The phrase “tombstone teeth” sprung the Stanley’s mind. He wore a black suit with a highlighter yellow tie that was currently jabbing him in the chest.

Honestly, he looked like an odd abstraction of an older businessman.

“Is this better for you?” This is the most self assured man Stanley had even seen in his life, “As a skilled writer, director, producer, developer, actor, I could go on, I obviously can take some criticism.”

Stanley was pretty sure he had a 50/50 shot of getting killed if he criticized anything right now.

“Obviously, you seem to have… critiques,” Narrator ground his teeth and the arrow in his hair spiked downwards, “Perhaps, it’s time I get back to work… In the meantime, you can do what you like. I’ll take and comments into… consideration…”

Stanley stared at the arrow stabbing into his chest. It didn’t go away. His body felt more permanent.

He smiled up at his bizarre new companion. Well, not new per say but…

Stanley pointed at the abstract man with a smile then cupped his ear.

“I- uh“ he stuttered while turning pink. His tie pulled back to wrap around the Narrator, “Of course I was listening to you, Stanley. I want you to like my game. Besides, it only makes sense to have a proper model for my main character!”

[Stanley could get used to the company. He could feel the smile on his face, “Especially with company as cute as this.”]

“AH! THATS IT!”

The Narrator covered his face, “I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk to me! I’m working! I can’t see you!” He pulled up a stack of papers from somewhere (?) and started to write.

Stanley sat back in his chair.

What a nice change of pace.

[justalittleobsessed]

Camp May Be Over, but Twin-In-Laws Are Forever

The @tmnt-fandom-family-reunion is coming to an end, and it's time for Mikey and Mike to say goodbye... which will not be hard at all, they assure you.

Ft. @justalittleobsessed's Mikey from Cabin 15 and @languajix's Mike from Cabin 14

As the last full day of the TMNT Family Reunion slips solemnly over to the last night, Mikey is wide awake, thinking of all the people he’s been missing from back home while he’s been here, and all the people he’s going to miss from here when he finally does get back home, and how topsy-turvy it all feels, when the window beside him rattles just the tiniest bit, like a fingernail gently tapping on it, trying to get his attention without making it obvious to the rest of the cabin. 

Mike.

From the shadowy realm beyond the glass, Mike shoots him a lopsided grin, turning just a little to show off a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He flips the top and pulls out a spray can, wiggling his brows.

‘One last prank?’ He mouths, shaking the can demonstratively.

Mikey grins.

— 

“A little to the left!” Mikey demands, and Mike shifts a little to the left.

“No, my left!”

“Mikey, I love you, bro, but we’re facing the same direction, my left is your left,” Mike says. He moves right, in any case. On his shoulders, Mikey finishes the last curve with a flourish and a hiss of compressed air.

Mikey shifts the can to his opposite hand, pressing his other hand against the top of his twin’s head for leverage as he swings his foot around and slides to the ground.

Both turtles stare at their final prank. Their final work together. Their masterpiece. Mikey holds the orange spray paint can loosely in his fingers, looking at their tag. "So. That...This is it." Mike shifts next to him, also staring at their tag.

"Yep." Mikey agrees, definitely not looking anywhere else. Definitely not looking at his twin, standing next to him, who will be leaving soon.

Mike straightens, shifting uncomfortably. "I won't cry if you don't cry." 

"You think I'm gonna cry?” Mikey snorts, gripping the can of spray paint a little tighter. “No way." 

His older twin finally looks at him, and Mikey looks back, trying to get his face stoic. Serious. No crying, Mikey. "Fun... fun last prank to have together, huh?" Mike tries for a smile, but it comes out a little wobbly.

"...yeah.” He agrees, refusing to notice how his smile matches the other turtle’s. “We'll always be remembered here now. Because we're leaving. Because camp is ending."

"Um. Right. Yeah. 'Cause camp is ending."

They both fall into an uneasy silence. And… Mikey’s eyes aren’t watering, okay? They’re not. There’s just something in the air. Mikey blinks rapidly, trying to clear the obvious dust in his eye (because what else could it be?). Mike must be getting some in his eyes too, because he starts blinking like Mikey, rubbing at his eyes to try and get it out.

Mikey tries the same, slightly upset when it doesn’t work. It’s obviously dust. Mikey won’t… he’s not gonna cry. Mike isn’t gonna cry.

Him and his twin are strong. 

“Um.” Mikey rubs at his eyes again, looking back at the can of spray paint in his hand. “Do you– um. Prank tips?”

Mike looks up at the ceiling of the gigantic cave, maybe trying a different strategy for getting the dust out of his eyes. “Yeah sure. Prank tips sound good.” He pretends not to notice the way Mike chokes on his words a little.

“Always um. Always have caches of prank gear hid– hidden around. So… so you’re always prepared.”

The older turtle nods jerkily, movement slightly uncoordinated. “You can. You can always switch the… the salt and sugar con– containers as long as– you remember that. That you switched… switched them when you– when you cook.” 

Mikey nods jerkily back. The dust is really bad over here. “If you do a glitter prank. Just um. Make sure you don’t leave any– any evidence that the glitter is… is there. Like the– like a ceiling fan or something.”

His twin hums. “And… and just,” Mike sniffs, “Just remember that- that when you… when you water balloon someone, to- to-” he wipes at his eyes, and his voice gets a little rough and watery. “-fill it up slowly so you can get more water in- in the balloon, okay? The s-slower you go…”

“Mhm, mhm,” Mikey nods, blinking hard. “And- and, hey, h-have you tried the tape-a-harmonica-to-the-bottom-of-the-t-turtle-tank trick?” His voice gets shakier and quieter the further he goes on, no matter how hard he struggles to keep it steady. “I used some special tape, D-Donnie needed a crowbar to get it off, I can, can show-”

Oh yeah.

He can’t show Mike the place he got it from, can he?

They’re gonna be in different worlds.

His bottom lip wobbles.

Mike sees it and pales, but valiantly continues on. “When, when you pull it off. Whatever it is. And they’re looking at you. If- if you curl your toes, or bite your tongue, okay, it helps you k-keep a s-s-straight face…” 

Mikey glances down. Mike is curling his toes.

Mikey curls his toes too. Just for practice for future pranks and nothing else. It’s just for practice, that’s why he’s curling his toes and trying to keep a straight face. The only reason.

He looks at Mike again. Mike looks back at him. His lip wobbles dangerously. Mike’s appears to do the same. He looks at Mike again. Takes in his twin. Takes in his twin-in-law. This is it. This is totally it.

His resolve breaks. “I can’t do it!” He cries, throwing his hands up in the air. “I tried being strong but I can’t! It’s too hard!”

That seems to make Mike break too, who starts crying just as much as Mikey. “I can’t believe this is it!” Mike sobs harder. Mikey follows.

“Do… do you want a hug?” Mike nods. Mikey nods back.

He drops the spray paint can at his feet and crosses the last few feet between them, enveloping his twin in a big hug.

They sob even harder, then, big wails from the bottom of their lungs. Caterwauling that carries over the darkened campground.

Mikey squeezes Mike one more time, and he squeezes back. They pull away, sniffling loudly in sync and wiping their eyes with the back of their arms. Their masks are so damp, oh man, Mikey is gonna have to wash his later.

“Guess this is it,” Mike says, quietly. Again. 

Mikey nods.

He holds out his hand in an offer for a shaky fistbump. “It’s been an honor, twinnie.”

“Same, twinnie,” Mike grins back, and if it looks more like a grimace, Mikey knows what he means. Their cats got married; they’re family now. That kind of bond will never fade.

When they each split to go back to their own cabins, sending each other sad, regretful looks backwards the entire way, they leave behind the tag, scrawled across the mess hall front wall in a fluorescent, eye-searing, glow-in-the-dark, permanent orange.

‘THE TWINZ WERE HERE.’

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Little bit of sweetness today! Got a prompt for a 1k fic over on ao3 about Ed worrying he's unlovable and Stede leaving him notes to reassure him. <3

If you have a prompt idea for a 1k word fic, you can send me an ask or leave a comment on the ao3 compilation!

--

It had been a rough day.

They’d had heavy rain and driving wind all day, which had sent a big chunk of the patched roof caving in. The weather had fucked with the repair job Ed had been doing with the windows, and some of the planters Stede was trying to grow flowers in on their front porch had blown away. 

It had been the definition of a rough day.

And Ed just hadn’t been able to catch a fucking break. He’d nicked himself while shaving that morning, accidentally tore the sleeve of the nice new shirt Stede had bought him when he caught it on a nail, and burned dinner all to shit when he’d gotten distracted watching Stede balance on a ladder as he tried to fix the damage to the roof.

And Ed knew he was an emotional guy. He could feel things strongly, but he was pretty good at breathing through it when he was frustrated. He’d thought he was doing okay keeping the lid on, but when he finally caught the scent of the fish burning, in his haste, he didn’t wrap a towel properly around his hand. The combined pain from burning his hand and the sight of the meal he’d worked so hard on burnt well beyond any saving…that was the final straw.

Ed tossed the tray to the floor, trying to muster up some anger to feel a bit better about how pathetic he felt, but he was crying his eyes out by the time Stede rushed in to see what was wrong anyway.

He pretended he was fine, lied and said he’d just thrown the tray on instinct after he burnt his hand.

He watched sullenly as Stede fussed over him, cooing sympathetically at the burn across his fingers before soothing it with cool water and getting it wrapped up. 

Stede was worried, he knew - they could read each other too damn well, sometimes, and Stede knew it wasn’t a minor burn on his fingers that was turning Ed all quiet.

But Stede’s kindness, the patient way he held him and told him he loved him…it almost hurt, sometimes.

“I don’t know what you see in me, man,” Ed whispered that night, looking up at the ceiling.

“Ed!” Stede gasped, reaching out to hold Ed’s hands.

Ed turned on his side, his back to Stede. “I’m fucking pathetic, and stupid - can’t fix a roof, can’t fix a fish-”

“I don’t love you because of things you can do,” Stede started.

“Can we let it go? ‘M tired.”

“Okay,” Stede whispered.

Ed clenched his eyes shut. He knew Stede loved him, but he didn’t get it.

Eventually, Ed managed to cry himself to sleep, trying to keep himself still and quiet so Stede wouldn’t notice, and when he woke up the bed was empty..

Served him right, Ed thought bitterly, reaching on instinct anyway for warmth he knew he wasn’t going to find. Maybe Stede had wised up and-

There was a note sitting on Stede’s pillow.

Frowning, Ed sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Good morning, Ed! You’re so beautiful when you’re asleep. I love how you like to hold my hand while you sleep! I should be in the kitchen with breakfast when you wake up. xo

Despite his sour mood, that brought a smile to Ed’s face. He didn’t know he held Stede’s hand in his sleep, but knowing he did almost endeared him to himself, a bit.

Ed went to pull on his favorite soft velvet robe, and there was another note laying on top of it.

I love talking to you, Ed! You’re so smart, and you have such creative ideas. And you always make me laugh! I love spending time with you.

Ed tucked the notes into the pocket of his robe.

“Good morning, Ed!” Stede called happily from the kitchen. “Made your favorite.”

Toast with marmalade, eggs with maple syrup. “Fuck, yeah,” Ed groaned, sliding gratefully into his seat and reaching automatically for Stede’s hand. “What’s with the notes?”

Stede grinned. “You did ask what I see in you.”

“I’m sorry for being so grumpy yesterday,” Ed said, squeezing Stede’s fingers.

“Not your fault,” Stede promised. “We all have bad days.”

Not his fault.

The notes just kept fucking coming, all through the day.

On top of his toolbox:

You’re so sweet! I love how you get all shy when I compliment you, it’s adorable.

Rolled up inside his boot:

Ed, I lose time thinking about how gorgeous your hair is! I love thinking about the next time you’ll let me wash it for you.

Pinned to the front door:

It’s incredible how you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, and that’s still the least interesting thing about you! I love how curious and inquisitive you are. You have such a brilliant mind.

Beside the flower pots:

You have such a big, generous heart! I love how you always keep us stocked on birdseed so we can feed the ducks.

Speared with a fishing hook:

I think it’s adorable how you hold your tongue between your teeth when you concentrate on something.

Tied to his fishing net:

You’re so talented! There’s nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it.

Inside the breadbox:

I love seeing you happy. You’re so cute, Ed! I could live in the sound of your giggles, and I love how you wiggle your shoulders when you’re excited.

By the end of the day, Ed’s pockets were full of them. They were both laughing that night as Ed piled them all out on the kitchen table.

“Do you get it?” Stede held Ed from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “Loving you is so easy.”

Ed didn’t get it, not yet, not fully.

But he was starting to. If Stede could find that many things to say, that many reasons to love him…

Maybe Ed wasn’t unlovable after all.

[jasntodds]

Caving In [14]

Pairing: Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader, Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 7,539

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, depression (canon, Jason), the roof scene is in this chapter and reader is the one who finds him so, the Titans being assholes, mentions of a burn

Summary: ❝Tell me Atlas: What is heavier, The world or its people’s hearts?❞ You never expected your life to end up this way, turned upside down by an infamous Gotham villain. It’s been a living hell, every single day, until Dick Grayson brings you to Titans tower where you meet Gar Logan and Jason Todd.

A/N: So, I finished writing the rest of this book and have started the next one which I also have had almost entirely plotted out this whole time and I’m excited lol I am easily motivated to post more often when I get feedback 😂 You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary​ and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

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As the morning goes by, you and Gar spend most of it in the living room. You ate your breakfast together, far earlier than ever intended but it was kind of nice because it was just the two of you. The rest of the Titans were still asleep and Jason only came by to pluck a pancake off of your plate before going back to his room. You and Gar do spend enough time alone but not having anyone else up, besides Jason, is really nice. You just get to be around each other without knowing that someone is going to interrupt or you'll have some type of training session to get to. It's nice and comforting.

One by one, the Titans get up, Dick being the first one and he's surprised to see the two of you awake and in the living room so early, especially you. You’re not an early riser. He doesn't ask questions though and hopes it's because you had trouble sleeping and not because you and/or Jason were up to something that Gar had to talk you out of. He just lets you be while you and Gar have a rewatch of The Walking Dead.

"I'd totally survive the apocalypse." You let out a sigh as you turn on the fifth episode.

Gar lets out a laugh beside you. "You could survive anything at this point."

"Right? Probably don't even have to try." You turn to face Gar. "Okay, if the apocalypse happens," You start and Gar raises his brows at you, intrigued where this is going. "Do you think it'll be like Walking Dead, Zombieland, The Last Of Us, or Love and Monsters?"

Gar lets out a breath, looking to the ceiling before looking back to you. He's definitely thought about this. "Walking Dead or The Last Of Us, both of those seem realistic."

You let out a booming laugh. "True! That would be the most likely scenario, even in a world with metahumans."

"It's also better than Zombieland zombies that can run."

"I know! That makes the whole thing a bit more terrifying." You shake your head. "But, I hope we end up with Love and Monsters because I mean, giant animals."

"That would be ideal." Gar gestures towards himself.

"A green tiger would be very normal."

"Exactly!"

Your laughter subsides and you fall into a comfortable silence. Gar resituates and guilt eats away at your bones. He winces when he moves and you figure it's because his side hurts. You swear you'll be apologizing for it every single day until you both die. You’re very grateful for him though because he is very understanding of it. You think most people would have dropped you, wanted nothing to do with you, and wouldn't trust you anymore. But, not Gar. You’ve already apologized several times since it happened and Gar has been telling you that it's okay and he's okay with a kind smile. You’ve said it before and you'll probably always think it, Gar is unfathomably kind.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, guilt coating your words.

"I'm positive." Gar chuckles softly. "I'm fine."

You nod softly. "I'm still really fucking sorry."

"It's okay." Gar urges you before taking a drink of the Gatorade. "It was an accident."

"I know." You let out a sigh. "But, I'll probably be trying to make it up to you for...the rest of our lives." You laugh softly.

"You don't have to. Rachel nearly took my hand off and I'm fine."

"She...what?" You pause.

Rachel even accidentally attacking Jason makes sense. Jason pushes her buttons more than anyone so if she were going to snap, it would be on Jason. But Gar? What could Gar have possibly done?

"Yeah, I woke her up when you guys got kidnapped. Her cloud of razor blades attacked me."

"Okay, that's not fair. How are you the one getting hurt by us?" You groan. "I'm really sorry and I'm sorry I didn't know."

You were a little preoccupied with being kidnapped and tortured and then nearly dying and nearly losing Jason. You not noticing is excusable but that doesn’t stop you from feeling guilty about it. Gar was still hurt and you should have noticed. Gar would have noticed if the roles were reversed.

"You were kidnapped and then dropped from a skyscraper. I think not knowing is acceptable." Gar chuckles.

"Yeah, that's true." You shrug a shoulder. "Still, I'm sorry." You scrunch your nose. "So, whatever you need, let me know and I will get the thing." You declare, your voice confident.

"You're not gonna budge on that, are you?"

"Nope." You let out a laugh.

Your conversation gets interrupted by an alert coming from the intercom system. The two of you look at each other with confused expressions before getting up to see who's at the door. Everyone you both know is already at the tower, besides Dick, he left out of nowhere, but he doesn't need the intercom system to come up.

When Gar hits the button for the video and sound feeds on the intercom, you both see a woman with strawberry blonde hair looking a little panicked.

“My name is Eve Watson and I’m looking for someone who I think might be here.” She says, voice panicky and rushed.

You give Gar a shrug as he looks to you.

“Maybe you should go get Kory.” Gar whispers and you nod before running off to get Kory.

Someone showing up, in general, seems a little weird. You’ve been at the tower for three months and no one besides Uber Eats drivers ever show up at the tower. But, somehow this random woman knew you had weird flying guy? That seems a little off.

You find Kory in the room with the mystery guy, talking with him while he’s still unconscious.

“Uh…Kory?”

“Hmm?” Kory looks over to you. “What’s going on?”

“There’s some woman here?” You question. “Gar is talking to her through the intercom. She says her name is Eve Watson and she thinks she’s looking for someone here.” You look from Kory to the mystery guy before looking back to Kory.

“Okay.” Kory nods carefully as she gets up. “Let’s go then.”

Kory and you make your way back down the hall and back to Gar.

“Is there someone named Conner there?” You and Kory hear Eve say through the intercom just as you approach.

“Let her up.” Kory says and Gar takes a second look at Kory, almost to be unsure about it but he does as told.

The woman comes up through the elevator, Gar, you, and Kory waiting for her to come up. When she does, she has a white dog with pointy ears walking beside her. It’s in that moment, you trust her.

You’ve always wanted a dog but your mom would never let you get one. They’re a big responsibility and you didn’t have a lot of money. With your mom being a vet, it always seemed strange you didn’t have a pet. You understood the reasoning but it did not stop you from asking every birthday for a dog. But, now, there is a dog right in front of you and you haven’t been able to pet a dog since you were uprooted from Gotham. This is the best thing that’s happened in two weeks.

“She has a dog.” You whisper to Gar.

Gar chuckles softly. “She said the dog lead her here?”

“Oh, so a smart dog.” You smile almost visibility vibrating next to him.

“Are you okay?”

“Love dogs.”

“You think we have Conner?” Kory asks.

“It sounds crazy, but the dog led me here.” Eve explains. “Tall, dark hair, looks like Superman.” Even lets out a sigh.

“Come with me.” Kory jerks her head towards the hallway.

Your smile falls as you watch the dog follow the women down the hallway and Gar lets out a laugh.

“Why don’t you go with them? I was gonna take a nap anyway.” 

“Are you sure? We could finish--”

“Go see if you can pet the dog.” Gar continues to laugh. “I’ll catch up later, wake me up before they leave though. I also want to meet the dog.” Gar beams and you laughs, nodding quickly before darting down the hallway.

You follow the women to Conner’s room, Kory noticing you. Kory doesn’t say anything though, figuring maybe you want to offer some help. After what happened with Deathstroke, Kory is willing to let you hang around for right now if you want to help. While Kory agrees that allowing any of the new Titans to go after Dr. Light would have been a bad idea, you sympathizes with you and Jason.

You reach the room and Eve sits down on the bed beside the mystery guy who’s still unconscious. The dog sits on the floor beside Eve and while the women talk, you stick your hand out for the dog to sniff you. The dog doesn’t seem bothered so you sit on the floor and cautiously pet his head. A giant smile plasters itself across your face as you pet the dog, now listening to the women talk about how Eve created Conner and how he ended up here. She goes on about how he’s going to die unless they can bring the sun directly to Conner. But, this is Kory. So, she has an idea and goes off to grab Rachel.

“So, you like….created him?” You ask, still petting the dog.

“Yeah.” Eve lets out a sigh.

“That’s pretty cool.” You state.

“It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah,” You sigh. “Having powers in a world like this seems to be. But, like, he’s half Superman and Kory will fix him so…pretty cool.” You nod your head. “What’s his name?”

“The dog?” Eve asks and you nods excitedly. “Krypto.”

“Krypto.” You smile looking at the dog. “I love dogs. Is it okay that I’m petting him? He didn’t seem to mind and you were talking.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Eve laughs softly.

“Hey, uh, you know, Conner saved my best friend.” You explain.

“He did? How?”

You shrug. “Dunno, exactly, I was dangling for my life but from what I’ve heard firsthand and what everyone else said, my friend was falling from a fifteen-story skyscraper and Conner came out of nowhere, jumped on a car and caught him mid-air.” Eve watches you carefully. “Look, I’m just saying you feel guilty and shit but had you found him earlier, it’s possible my friend would have died so I don’t think you should feel guilty about it.”

“He could die and that’s my fault. I created him and didn’t help enough.”

“No, you said that you helped him escape. They were gonna use him as a weapon, probably. You helped him and Kory is gonna save him. She’s a badass, trust me. So, you did good.” You offer her a kind smile.

“Thank you.” Eve says softly before looking back to Conner.

After a few minutes, Kory comes back with Rachel and she directs you, Eve, and Krypto to wait outside of the room. You sit right back down with Krypto, petting him while Kory gets Conner out of the bed and holds him up. She warns you it might get a little bit warm before asking Rachel if she’s ready. Rachel is a little uncertain and so are you.

Rachel has a hard time controlling her powers and you don’t really know why Kory trusts her so much to keep them in check right now. But, you trust Kory so there has to be a reason. Rachel uses her powers and her black and purple smoke surrounds Kory and Conner while Kory turns into a ball of fire. Your jaw nearly hits the floor as you watch.

“What…the…fuck.” You mutter and Eve has the same expression. “Sick.” You’re awestruck look turns into one of amazement and a giant smile comes to your face.

When Rachel brings her power back in, Kory stops and Conner is awake again. This definitely goes down in one of the coolest things you’ve ever witnessed and you find yourself having a little more respect for Rachel. Rachel always spoke so highly of Kory and maybe this is one of the reasons. Kory believes in Rachel enough to trust her to use her powers and not kill her. Not that you think Rachel could but it’s the trust that’s there and maybe that’s the whole issue with the tower right now. You, Gar, and Jason trust each other. But, Jason and you don’t trust Dick very much. Rachel doesn’t trust Jason and you think she doesn’t trust you very much because of your close proximity to Jason. The only person everyone collectively trusts is Gar but that doesn’t make for a very good team and you wonders if the Titans will ever work because of that.

Kory, Rachel, and you leave Eve, Conner, and Krypto to themselves, going your separate ways so they can talk. You head towards Gar’s room to tell him what just happened but his door is still shut and you know if he were awake, the door would be open. After last night, you do not want to wake him up so, you head two doors down to Jason’s room. You knock but then open the door, finding Jason standing in front of his windows, just looking out.

“Jay?” You call but he doesn’t even move. You walk beside him, looking from his eyes to the windows and then back to him. “Jason?” You wave your hand in front of his face and that seems to break him out f his trance.

“Fuck, yeah?” Jason jumps, spinning to you.

“You alright?” You ask, brows furrowed and the excitement you just felt vanishes and you worry about your best friend again.

“Yeah, what?” Jason snips and you narrows your eyes.

“You were just standing here…looking at the window?”

“You got a problem with that or something?” Jason snips again.

“Oh, snippy today.” You roll your eyes and walk over to one of his chairs, Jason shaking his head in confusion.

“Sure, make yourself comfortable.”

“I usually do.” You chortle. “Wanna know what just happened?” You ask, dropping the conversation about him because he doesn’t want to talk about it and you’re not gonna push him. Not today because maybe you owe him that much for last night.

Jason sighs and turns to face you. “Sure?”

“So, some woman shows up because of the guy that saved you and turns out, dude is named Conner and he is half fucking Superman and Lex Luther.” Your eyes nearly bug out of your head and Jason’s eyes widen.

“You’re fucking lying.”

“I could not make this shit up!” You exclaim. “So, she shows up and she’s got this dog with her who’s really cute. I got to pet him.” You beam and Jason finds it cute that you got sidetracked by the dog not the whole Superman and Lex Luthor thing. “So, in order to wake up Conner, Kory grabbed Rachel and turned into a ball of fire while holding Conner and Rachel used her powers to like keep it contained.” You ramble. “I know you don’t like Rachel or her powers but dude, it was the coolest shit I have ever seen.” You beam. “And Conner’s awake. Like, it worked.”

“He’s awake? From that?”

“Yeah, I guess it was something with kryptonite, that’s what he was shot with.” You explain.

“That’s…”

“Sick, right?” You ask.

“Yeah, that’s fucking sick. So, a ball of fire just wakes him up from a coma?”

“Guess so.” You laugh. “And there’s a dog.”

“You said that.” Jason chortles. “Didn’t realize you were a dog person?”

“Do I seem like a cat person to you?” You quip.

Jason laughs. “You're into Gar who turns into a fucking tiger.”

You pause before narrowing your eyes. "Yeah, but that's different. Tigers are not house cats." You hold your up and Jason shake his head at you. “So, it was super cool and I had to tell someone about it.”

“Gar not wanting to listen?” Jason quips.

“He’s napping, after last night I figured I’d let him nap.” You explain.

Jason nods just once. “How’d it go? After I left my own fucking room for you guys.”

Jason mostly asks because he wants to know if you both actually talked about your feelings or if you backed out of it. He figured Gar wouldn’t but he thought maybe you would. You didn’t seem too confident in your answer to Jason last night. You back out of a lot of the games you two play so he thought maybe you’d back out of telling Gar. He doesn’t hope for that though.

“Uh..." You furrow your brows. "It went, I guess. He's not mad at me or anything. He's being understanding, ya know?” You smile shyly.

"Did you tell him?" Jason asks, more or less digging for answers.

You pause for just a second, thinking about playing the game. But, then you think about how that would be unfair. You both made your decisions.

"No..." You let out a scoff. "It did not seem like the right time and..." You shrug, hiding more of the reason because you’d not about to tell Jason the reason you didn't tell Gar is because you like him. "I don't want him to feel obligated to tell me the same thing because I said it. I'll tell him eventually." You shrug it off and turn the question back to him. “You’ve been hanging out with Rose a lot…?” You question.

Jason gains a goofy grin. “She kissed me last night.” Jason announces.

“She what?” You nearly yell and you can feel the burning start in the very pit of your stomach. Definitely not jealousy.

Jason shrugs. “Yeah,” He has this cocky smile as he licks his lips.

You don’t need to know that Rose kissed him and then Jason put a stop to it like how he did with you last week. You don’t need to know that little bit of information.

“You really like her?” You ask, the slightest bit of snark in your voice that Jason absolutely catches.

Jason shrugs again. “Think so.” Jason laughs softly because he can’t have you. But, he likes Rose enough. He could like her more if he gave her a fair shot. Rose is different. Jason can’t break or hurt her. Deathstroke took care of that. And Gar isn’t into Rose.

“Good, I hope she makes you happy. She’s pretty cool.” Your words taste sour on your tongue but you swallow your pride anyway. You do want him to be happy. Jason deserves to be happy.

“Yeah, thanks.” Jason chuckles softly. “She got mad though, like right after.”

“What, why? You’re not that bad of a kisser.” You tease him, trying your best to brush it off.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jason groans, but there's still a hint of his cocky grin pulling at his lips. “I borrowed Dick’s records, he had one with her brother’s name on it. She freaked out on me.” The smirk falls as he shakes his head, brows knitted together.

“That’s weird.” Your brows furrow. “Have you talked to her about it?”

“Told her I didn’t know about it, think we’re alright now. But I didn’t even know she had a brother.”

“Seems getting information out of her is like getting information out you. Pulling teeth.” You chuckle softly. “I don’t know that is weird though.”

“Yeah.” Jason lets out a sigh but before either of you can continue the conversation, Rachel comes barging in.

Rachel storms right up to Jason and starts yelling. “How fucked up are you?” She yells, your eyes widen. “All you do is give people a reason to hate you!”

Jason just stares at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The crosses on my mirror!”

“Still don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Jason’s voice is flat but Rachel doesn’t believe him.

Her eyes turn red as she shoves his shoulder. “Don’t fucking lie to me!” Her voice is lower and freaky with the shove.

“What the fuck?” You jump up from your seat on his chair, moving to stand in between them. "Leave him alone." You grit your teeth and you don't want to do this today. Why is she even blaming Jason?

Jason pauses for a second. He's not going to stand here and be blamed for something he didn't even do. He's been in his room since he got done training two hours ago. “I’m sick of this shit.” Jason mutters, grabbing his jacket and storming out of the room.

“Literally, what the fuck, Rachel?” You stare at her, fists balled at your sides but just for a second before you follow Jason, Rachel right behind you.

You’re questioning the universe right about now. You desperately want to know why either of you can’t seem to catch a fucking break. Seriously, what could either of you have possibly done to piss the universe off so badly? Especially Jason. He actually hasn’t done a single thing and yet he keeps getting dealt these hands and now Rachel is jumping down his throat. It’s ridiculous.

You and Rachel follow Jason into the living area where Dawn, Hank, and Kory are.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me!” Rachel screams past you.

“SHUT UP!” You scream, trying to catch up to Jason.

“Woah, hey, what’s happening?” Dawn asks from her seat at the snack bar.

“Jason drew crucifixes all over my mirror!” Rachel points her finger at Jason standing ten feet away from him while you’re smack in the middle as you all come to a halt.

“Bullshit!” Jason looks at Rachel.

“Jason, it’s okay if you’re angry.” Dawn says as she approaches the three of you.

“I didn’t do shit, okay?” Jason’s voice sounds desperate this time. “Look, don’t blame me for her voodoo issues.” Jason says as Donna walks in from behind him.

“What’s up with all the drama?” Donna asks as she stands next to Dawn.

“Someone drew crosses on Rachel’s mirror and she thinks Jason did it.” Dawn explains keeping her voice kind and calm as usual.

“I know he did it.” Rachel declares.

“No, he didn’t, Rachel!” You interject. “You’ve just got fucking problems with him so you’re first fucking response is to blame him.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms.

“Cute idea with the Bourbon bottle.” Hank starts, making his way towards the older women. “Not my type though. I’m more of a Sour Mash guy.” Hanks says, this time Jason and you looking at him with confusion having no idea what he’s even talking about. “You ever go into my room and pull that shit again, I’ll forget what team you’re on.”

“Why Jason?” Donna asks.

You let out a huff. You can’t believe you’re listening to them blame him for absolutely no reason. And when you look to Jason, he looks completely heartbroken and devastated. He has no idea what they’re even talking about. You don't think you'll forgive any of them for the look on Jason's face right now. And the fact none of them even see it, makes the whole thing that much worse.

“I don’t know what happened, guys but I-I didn’t do it.” Jason says, his voice defeated. You’ve never heard him stutter before.

“What about the picture of Elis?” Dawn asks.

“The orange soda bottle?” Donna asks, everyone pointing fingers at Jason.

“He did it to you guys, too?” Rachel asks.

“Fuck this.” Jason huffs, ready to leave the conversation.

“Hey,” Hank yells. “We’re not done here, kid.”

“You people are insane!” Jason yells, his eyes turning glossy. “I’d rather be with Deathstroke than you assholes.” Jason pauses and you can see his heart literally breaking. “You guys think everything is my fault.”

There it is. He can’t do it anymore. Even though he didn’t do anything, it’s still somehow his fault. He didn’t mean for the Deathstroke thing to happen. It was an accident and he’s the one that suffering the consequences but they’re all blaming him. They’re blaming him for this stuff he doesn’t even understand. What would an orange pop have to do with anything? The Titans have been on edge this whole time and Jason’s beginning to think it’s him. Maybe if he weren’t around, the Titans would be fine. Maybe they would all get along. They definitely would not be having this argument right now. All of this is his fault and he can’t do it anymore.

“Why is that?” You snap your attention to the older Titans and position yourself to be standing with your back towards Jason, drawing your own line in the sand. “He clearly didn’t fucking do it and none of you even suspected him until Rachel decided to fucking lose it.”

“Because I know he did it!” Rachel screams.

“Why would he do it, Rachel?” You screams over her. You’re going to lose your mind, you can feel it.

“He hates me, Y/n! Unless you’re too blind to see that!”

“You almost fucking killed him! Of course, he hates you!” You fight back, catching Rachel off guard. You will throw her under the bus. She’s gonna throw Jason under the bus, you’ll the same to her.

“You did what?” Kory asks.

“Yeah? In training, she lost fucking control and almost fucking killed him. Lifted him ten feet into the air, aimed a bunch of swords at him.”

“He hit me when I was down!”

“We were all blindfolded for fuck's sake! He didn't even hit you that hard!” It's in this moment, you’re positive Jason has always been right about Rachel because this is actual insanity.

Gar comes from one of the hallways looking exhausted. “Can’t a guy get some sleep?” His voice is drowsy and you glance to him.

“No, because everyone in the tower has literally lost their damn minds! They’re blaming Jason for some fucking bullshit!” You throw your arm out towards the older Titans.

“You’re always on his side!” Rachel screams.

“Someone has to be, Rachel! Clearly, none of you are gonna actually ask him if he did it. You’re all just pointing fucking fingers like a bunch of children.” You look at the supposed adults surrounding you. “Hey, uh, right, so how did Jason do it when I was like….with him? Do you think he ran out of his room the second Kory came to get you just do that? That's fucking stupid!"

“He's the only one that would have done it!" Rachel argues.

You laugh. How can anyone be taking this seriously right now? “But he wouldn't even do it! I know he didn't do it! He was barely fucking awake when I walked into his room! How would he have done it?!” You tell a little bit of lie. It's not that he was asleep but he was kind of in a trance when you walked in. Regardless, you know it wasn't Jason. He wouldn't mess with Rachel like that and the more you think about it, the more you’re realizing that almost every single one of their fights has been caused by Rachel.

“We aren’t pointing our fingers at him.” Dawn says calmly.

“Hank is! Rachel is! You asked him about the picture of Elis and you,” You face Donna. “Asked about a pop? How the fuck would he know any of that!? Jason’s right, you’re all fucking insane! You all take down these shitty fucking people with evidence but when it comes to your own, you don’t need evidence to point the finger! What the hell is that about!?”

“Jason is an asshole!” Rachel yells.

“He is! But he isn’t a mind games kind of asshole! And being an asshole doesn't justify being blamed for some bullshit he very clearly did not do! He’s got more of a fucking problem with Dick and Dick is the only one not experiencing this weird shit, isn’t that weird? What the hell is wrong with you guys?” You scoff.

The anger bubbles through your entire body. Every inch of you feels like it's on fire. It's disgusting and appalling that these supposed heroes can blame Jason for this. How do they not see that he's struggling? How have they not noticed he's all but sleeping in the training room and skipping dinner? You know you cannot be the only to have noticed. Gar has. They should notice. They're supposed to be looking out for you four, not making false accusations with no proof or even a motive. It's not right and it's not fair. Jason deserves better than all of them.

“Y/n.” Gar warns softly as your hands start to glow.

“No! Fuck that! Are you all fucking blind? Are Gar and me the only fucking people noticing that he is really fucking struggling right now? And all of you are going to be making it worse! He is practically living in the training room, he’s barely eating, and he’s not sleeping. I know you guys are self-absorbed and for heroes, that’s weird, too but you guys have had to have noticed right?”

The room goes silent. The only one who has noticed is Kory and she isn’t accusing Jason of anything. You can feel the burning start behind your eyes with the silence of the room. This is the most unbelievable thing you’ve ever witnessed and been a part of. How have they not noticed? It's so blatantly obvious and none of them even care. It's cruel.

“Wow.” You nod your head with a scoff. “Good work, team. Good work looking after your own.” You grit your teeth and you can’t believe these people consider themselves heroes. “You know, you get kidnapped, tortured, and then dropped from a skyscraper and let me know how that treats your psyche. He didn’t fucking do it and it’s disgusting you all even think he did.”

“Who else did it then, kid?” Hank questions, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know but it wasn’t him. I know him better than all of you. It wasn’t him, Hank.” You’re nearly whining, practically pleading with them to believe you.

“He drew the crosses on my mirror, no one else hats me.” Rachel declares.

“Okay, let me break this down because you're clearly not using your brain. Mental manipulation works best when the person doing it, lets you believe you’re on the same side. If you were on opposing sides, it’s easier to see through the bullshit. Jason and you are not on the same side, ever. So, why would it be him? Again, he isn’t the mental manipulation type. The closest he gets to it is just talking and talking and talking until you get annoyed.”

“We know it wasn’t Rachel.” Donna states. “Or Gar.”

“It wasn’t Dick.” Dawn chimes in.

“How do you know!? He’s been acting fucking weird as shit lately, too!”

Dick's been kind of down and out lately. He's been checking around the tower and you swear you overheard him talking to himself the other night. Dick seems like he's also losing it. But, again, apparently, the only people who notice are you and Gar. For people who are supposed to be observant, they all suck at it.

“Dick wouldn’t do that.” Hank defends.

“Right, so I should believe Dick wouldn’t do it because you say so but you won’t believe that Jason didn’t do it because I say so. Great reasoning there, Hank.” You gives Hank a sarcastic thumbs-up.

“Hey, watch who you’re talking to.”

“Yeah? The fuck you gonna do about it? I’ve been held captive twice and once was with Deathstroke, I’m not fucking afraid of you.” You scoff at him. “Gonna forget what team I’m on, too?”

“Y/n, come on.” Gar pleads with you.

“This is fucking bullshit and I know you know it.” You look over at him before looking back to the older Titans. “What did he do that is so bad that you guys hate him that much?” Your voice breaks with the question because you can’t imagine him doing anything. You can’t figure out why no one sees him the way you do. Or why none of them want to.

Just as Rachel is about to fight you, the elevator opens and all of you look over, seeing Dick look a little spazzed out.

“He’s here.” Dick whispers as if he’s just cracked some sort of code. “In the tower. Deathstroke’s here in the tower.” Dick explains. “He took pictures of all of us.”

You would very much, also, like to be back with Deathstroke. At least the guy was a little more straightforward than these people. Deathstroke had a reason for the madness. It wasn't a good reason but it was a reason. Meanwhile, the Titans have nothing and Dick had officially lost his mind.

“Dick…talk to me, what’s with the gun?” Hank asks, pulling everyone’s attention to the gun in Dick’s hand.

It’s this moment that confirms to you that everyone in the tower has lost their minds. Deathstroke is also completely insane but you and Jason were tortured by him and even you two aren’t that out of your minds. You aren’t sure what’s up with the Titans, but at this point, you don’t even wanna know. Instead, you figure you’ll use this time to grab Jason and try to avoid the other Titans. But, you look around and he’s gone.

“Fuck.” You let out an exasperated sigh, actively pulling attention back on you. “Shit.” Your eyes widen and the panic sets in. Jason isn’t doing well mentally and now you’re scared for what he’s going to do. Everyone blames him. Everyone hates him. He wants to be with Deathstroke over these people.

“Y/n?” Gar asks, seeing the panic written across your entire body as you approach him.

“Check the training room for Jason.” You rush as you dart the other way and everyone is left confused as to what you could be in a hurry for.

You head to his room first and he isn't there. You don't think he would go to the training room, it's too exposed. But, Jason keeps falling in his dreams and he has a thing for suffering. If it were you, you'd go to the roof so that's where you go. If Jason would rather be with Deathstroke, the answer would be the roof. He’s terrified and you can see it. He has nightmares about falling so of course, that would be his way out. To him, it’s going to be easy and accessible and no one even noticed he was gone.

You run towards the roof door, barging through it and the door flies open. Your heart sinks as you sees Jason standing on the ledge, looking straight ahead. Your feet come to a complete stop and you swear you never thought you’d have to talk someone down from this. And you hate that he even feels this way. He deserves so much better. But, you have to swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat and walk over to him.

“Jay?” You call quietly, walking carefully as if the roof is a lake covered in thin ice. Any wrong step would send you both into freezing waters.

“They all hate me.” Jason’s voice is so small and it breaks a part of you.

“They fucking suck, Jason.” You state, trying to make your voice sound like it’s not about to crack.

“It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.” You hold your voice steady as you close the distance toward the ledge. “None of this is your fault.” You state strongly. “Cam you please get down?”

“Rachel blamed me first. Maybe if I didn’t tell her to get checked by a priest.” Jason lets out a breath, ignoring the request. He swears everyone’s lives would be better if he wasn’t a part it anymore.

You take a step close to the ledge, looking over it and you feel yourself grow nauseous. You’re sick and tired of these heights but this is Jason. You look up to him and with shaky hands, you put your hands on the ledge and lift yourself up. You take a seat, letting your legs dangle as you have a death grip on the ledge. Jason glances to you with just his eyes, daring to not move his head. You’re never going to let Jason be alone in any of this. If he’s going to stand on the edge, you’re gonna be right there with him. He will never be alone if you have anything to say about it.

“Her dad possessed you, traumatized you. That wasn’t her fault, but it was her responsibility to apologize for it and listen to you about it. That’s not on you, Jay.”

“I just keep fucking up.” His voice quivers as he moves his foot forward and you nearly break.

“Jason,” You rush his name. “I am begging you not to walk off this roof.” You keep your attention on Jason and that’s all you can focus on. You can’t fucking lose him. “It’s not your fault. You’re not fucking it up. Okay? This is on them. You’re just trying to help.”

“I keep falling.” Jason’s voice quivers again. “It won’t stop.” Jason sucks in a breath and now you know why he keeps standing at his windows like that. He’s just reliving it over and over and over.

“Jason, it’s gonna be okay.” You keep your voice soft and gentle as you keep your stare forward.

Jason doesn’t know how you can even say that. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to be okay. It’s been a week and it feels like it happened yesterday. It still feels like he’s on the window washing crane. The Titans hate him for no reason. He’s never done anything to make them hate him. That’s not going to be okay and it’s not going to get better. They’re always going to hate and they’re always going to blame him for anything they can. And it’s his fault.

This always happens. Jason pushes and pushes until people break and pull away. He doesn’t even know exactly why he does it but he does. People try to help him and it all fails. He’s a mess and maybe he’s too big of a mess to ever be fixed. He’s tired of it and he’s tired of feeling like this.

“Bruce wasn’t the first one, ya know?” Jason states. “Who tried to help me. I can make a list. Relatives, teachers, cops, Dick. Nobody's been up to the task.”

You pause and you already knew that all Jason has ever wanted is feel good enough. He sabotages. You get it because you do it, too just in different ways. But, Jason is not all bad. Jason is hard-headed and stubborn and cocky. He can be a little shit and he’s a little too snippy and sarcastic sometimes. But, if anyone bothered to get to know him, they’d know him how you know him. Which is that he’s a good friend. He’ll sacrifice his own feelings for his friends, he’s self-sacrificing, and kind, and funny. He’s charming and a geek in his own way. He’s a nerd and he deserves to be cared for. Everyone gave up way too soon.

“I am.” Your voice is quiet and you peak up at him with just your eyes, keeping your head steady and your words catch Jason off-guard. “I mean it. You know I don’t lie to you. Put that shit on me, remember? You’re not a fuck up. You deserve for people not to give up on you.”

Jason lets out a scoff because he doesn’t want to believe you. “I’ve got a poison in me.” Jason lets out a huff. “Shit spreads. It can affect even the healthiest people.”

“You don’t have a poison, Jay.” You state. “You don’t.”

“Look at what happened to you!” Jason’s eyes water further, blurring his vision slightly as his voice cracks.

“What? Deathstroke?” You scoff. “I was fucked up long before Dick brought me here, alright? Gotham, death, torture, held captive, almost murdered. Almost murdered Jerry. That’s all me, that has nothing to do with you. Deathstroke was gonna happen. If it wasn’t you coming up with the idea, it would have been me, let’s be honest.” 

Jason bounces to something else. He’s finding every reason he can to keep standing here. He wants it all to be over, for the pain and the shame and the guilt to just stop. But, he doesn’t want to give up either. There are two sides of his brain playing tug of war. One of them is screaming and crying, pleading to hold a little longer while the other side is cackling and chanting to jump because everyone’s lives would be better without him in it. 

“It’s happened before.” Jason starts. “I once spent two nights in juvie and four fucking people died. It follows me like a curse.”

Your brows furrow and you hate that he feels this way about himself. No one should ever feel like that. You want to get off of this roof and hunt down every single person who’s ever made Jason Todd feel like he’s a poison and he’s not good enough. You’ll fight the entire world for him.

“Were you Robin?” You ask.

Jason pauses. “Yeah.”

“Then it’s not your fault.” You let out a scoff and you really do have something again Bruce and Dick. “That’s on Bruce. He’s been Batman our entire lives. He shouldn't need a Robin. He should have been a better Batman. It’s not your fault those people died, do you hear me?”

“I just want it to stop.” Jason’s voice finally breaks and you want to break with him but you can’t.

You want to drag him off of this roof and grab him by the face, scream at him that it’s all going to be okay and that he’s good enough. That he deserves everything good to happen because he is good. There is nothing wrong with him. He is worth the effort. But, you’re so scared that if you make any move towards him, he’ll lose it entirely. You would do anything to get his pain to stop.

“It’s not just you, Jay.” Your voice is soft. “Look, you know I have nightmares, too about all of it. It’s not just you and as long as I’m alive, it’ll never be just you. As long as I’m alive, you will never be alone in this shit.”

“What?”

“If I’m alive, you will never be alone. You won’t go through that shit alone because I’d follow you into the dark if you asked me to. You’re my best friend in the whole world and...I care more about you than I do about almost anyone I have ever met. I’d do anything in the world if you asked me to. You and me. Always.” You pause, looking behind you to see Dick standing a few feet away. “I mean it. You’re not a fuck up and you are not alone. Ever. Fuck, everyone else, okay? I am batshit terrified right now but I’m here with you because I care about you and I’d lose my fucking mind if I lost you. My life would be so much fucking worse without you in it.” Your words more intense and stern with every second. "Fuck them because you're not a fucking poison and you're not fucking cursed. And someone should have fucking been there for you. So, I will be. Now, get the fuck off this ledge.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Put it on me.” Your voice is so gentle, it nearly shatters Jason. "I will never give up on you. I will never let you do any of this alone, Jay. Please." You finally look at him with the final plea. Your eyes lock with Jason's and he make the decision. He takes a step back, stepping down from the ledge.

You follow his lead quickly, relieved over the whole situation and you feel like you can breathe again. You close the distance between you and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you. Jason buries his face into your shoulder, his arms hugging you tightly. Everything is so heavy for him. The weight of the world is drowning him and you are his life jacket.

And Dick sees the two of you and that’s when he gets it. When he gets what it means it has someone who is literally a ride or die. Dick worried about you together after Jerry. As friends, as more than friends, just being around each other. Something told Dick that would just be the beginning and the Deathstroke happened and Dick was certain he was right. But, now, he’s not sure if you’re the cause for each other’s destructive behavior.

You’re both just like that but you both get it. You understand exactly what the other is going through and how to handle it. It’s not about you causing each other to do something stupid, it’s that you both have someone who is there when you do it so you can pick up those pieces. He gets it now and he understands why he should have told the Titans about Jericho from the beginning. None of this would have happened. Jason would not have wanted to walk off this roof had he been honest. Maybe the Titans wouldn’t have disbanded. This is on him, not the two of you in front of him.

“This is my fault.” Dick speaks up, you and Jason pulling away from each other.

“Okay?” You question him, not even wanting to deal with him. This is also his fault, Jason and everything. This is on Dick. 

“Deathstroke, all of this is my fault.” Dick admits.

“Yeah, I said that.” You nod your head. You’re not dealing with this. You got Jason off the ledge and would like to bring him inside and shield him from the Titans. “I’ll get Rachel or Dawn or Donna to talk you down though if you need it.” Jason looks at you, a bit surprised by the venom in your voice.

“No,” Dick shakes his head. “I owe everyone an explanation.” Dick sucks in a breath, you and Jason waiting to hear where this could possibly be going right now, of all times. “I killed Deathstroke’s son.” Dick admits.

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[kisskissbanggang]

Disavowed - pt. 7 - The Finale

[5.1k Words/19min. Read - Reverend!Jisung x Reader - NSFW/Smut - Church, Second Tries, Deja Vu, Are You Seeing Things?, Seduction, Temptation, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Church Sex, Divine Punishment, The Journey Down isn't So Much Long as it is Confusing, Mind Reading, True Callings, Destiny, Implied Toxic/Unsavory Relationships (Not Main Characters), Manipulative Behavior, Arson, Implied Character Harm/Death (Not Main Character)]

[a/n #1: we’re in the intense/frightening parts of our halloween series! this is quite honestly a supernatural horror with religious themes dealing with transformation, desire, and sacrifice. please pay attention to the tags above, especially the ones in bold pink so you can do what’s right for you 💗]

[a/n #2: ty to @therhythmafterthesummer and @magicficwriting for beta reading and previewing this series💗]

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Come Say Hi!]]

Maybe it was the backlog of sleep you’d never be able to make up, but your recurring dream about the tower had somewhat shifted. During your fitful night of sleep on Sunday night, you would either be at the top of the tower like before, or–in a new setting–inside of a cave, being ravaged by the sea. Both scenes were bizarrely detailed. The large stone blocks comprising the tower were textured. When your shoes slid across the surface, trying not to fall off, you could hear the crags and crevices of the rough ground you were standing on. There was wind on your face. And in the cave, you could hear droplets of water fall from the ceiling, the wet climbing into the fabric of your clothes. The sky outside was overcast, but that meant you could see the definition of each wave that lapped at the mouth of the cave. That same pair of arms from the tower were there, too, but this time they were trying to pull you further into the cave, away from the entrance. When you woke up, you were exhausted. 

The dreams felt important, in some arcane way.

Working through Monday felt like a slog. It was your first day, but it felt like you’d been at Pinewood Prep for ages. Maybe it was your lack of sleep.

Maybe, you were humoring, it was making such pointed eye contact with Reverend Jisung at mass the previous day. What was that about, anyway? There was something about him, about the way he looked at you, and it was almost driving you to obsession. 

It didn’t help that you were pushing yourself through busy work.

Jacqueline’s desk was empty when you arrived that morning. A queasy sensation settled in your stomach when you remembered catching the end of her encounter with Father James the other day. Now, in an attempt to not let the front office fall into disarray, you took it upon yourself to look through her pile of filing that she’d left behind. It only felt fair. She didn’t deserve anyone thinking she’d been bad at her job just because there was work left to do. 

“Shame about Jacqueline,” Sister Judith tutted when she exited her office, holding a duster. Jacqueline’s desk sat just inside the door, abandoned. “She did always know how to keep my shelves spotless. And I suppose she closed the age gap in the staff. Now it’s just you and the reverend, I believe.”

You liked Sister Judith well enough. She was terrifying, sure, but you imagined that she was beleaguered trying to keep masses of teenagers behaved and devout. Not like Father James, who made you uneasy for more reasons than just what you could infer was going on between him and the sister’s former assistant. As it turned out, Jacqueline would typically bring the sister and father their mail, so you had felt a need to volunteer for this earlier that morning as well. 

Father James’ office was back out at the chapel, and that isolation made everything even more awkward for you. It’s not like you were looking for reasons to not like this man, but he wasn’t helping any. He’d stared at you, stopping you in your tracks at the door as he sat at his desk. You’d held up his mail in your hand and he nodded his permission for you to enter, almost begrudgingly after he’d managed an ingratiating smile.

“Oh, hold on, lamb. Before you go,” he’d said, stopping you again. Father James had taken your hand then and dropped something into it. “See if the sister would like this, would you? Tell her I found it after mass last week. No one’s come looking for it.”

When you’d left, you immediately peeked into your closed fist. On your palm sat a golden letter J on a dainty chain.

But that wasn’t what had necessarily put you off so badly. Maybe the lighting in the Father’s office was terrible, but you didn’t enjoy a creepy interaction taking place in a creepily dark room. The lighting might’ve actually only been bad closer to his desk, really. Like a bulb had gone out or something. Come to think of it, something was weird about the lighting in the front office as well. Sister Judith had looked particularly rosy, different from the other day.

This realization brought you back to something the sister had said, though.

“Sister,” you called over. She turned back around from the records she was flicking through. “What exactly did you say about the age gap in the staff?”

“Oh,” she waved you off with her persistent frown. “You and the reverend are the youngest, that’s all. Speaking of which, you’ve been so proactive today that it’s given me an idea. Bring these records over to him, the reverend. Jacqueline was running the after school study group in the library, so it only makes sense that he take it on now. I’m not sure what a librarian does all day but I assume he has time.”

Your observation remained true, though. The lighting could’ve been weird, or Sister Judith looked almost rouged, even her auburn fringe looking more red from where it was peeking out of her habit. 

Or you could’ve simply been going crazy. You already couldn’t sleep. The thought amused you on your walk down the hall to the library, records in hand. When you entered, you found the main room to be empty, including the information desk that you assumed the reverend typically sat at. You warily took a look down each aisle, not wanting to startle anyone.

Finally, you spotted him. The deacon stood tall, reshelving books from his cart.

But it wasn’t just that. There was a distinct hue surrounding the reverend, too, his being the sweetest shade of blush pink. The word aura came to mind but the word aura also sounded insane. You’d originally considered it when you were in Father James’ office, and you thought about it again when you were speaking with Sister Judith, and you tried to ignore it when you saw the students in the hall during passing period, all of them haloed in nice shades of white and cloudy gray.

You needed some fucking sleep.

During your manic little internal monologue, the deacon had a chance to see you before you could greet him first. His eyes widened in recognition again, but his excitement managed to lift your mood a little.

“New girl!” he chipperly greeted while he approached to shake your hand. “You’re in the front office, right? Are you the new Jacqueline? I swear I saw you at mass yesterday.”

“Yes, you saw me,” you answered, attempting to take on one question at a time. “And yes, I’m in the front office, but I’m not the new Jacqueline. I’m the new office manager. Speaking of Jacqueline, though, Sister Judith wants you to take on the study group after school.”

The deacon was a deer in headlights when you handed him the records the sister wanted you to pass along. “No problem,” he chuckled sardonically, “I definitely have time and that’s absolutely not outside of my contract hours.”

“I work hourly if you need any help,” you gently offered. “It was nice to meet you, Reverend–”

“Just Jisung is fine,” he interrupted. “And–I’m sorry–have we met? I swear we have. Did we study at Cypress Springs together?”

“No, sorry,” you laughed apologetically. “Were you hoping we did?”

Jisung blushed at your response, adorably matching the shade of pink surrounding him that you were trying very hard to ignore. “Come on,” he pretended to whine, “help me out here. I know we met.”

“Maybe in a dream,” you teased, getting the shade of his cheeks to deepen, spreading to his ears now. It felt reckless to be flirty with a man of the cloth, but you simply didn’t want to stop. By now, you almost wanted him to try asking you for some time alone together–

Which was a wild thought, come to think of it. There was no way Deacons were allowed to do that, right? 

But it still sounded fun. It wasn’t your fault he was handsome, or that he was dying to know how you supposedly knew each other. You were just admiring, really.

Even though you were admittedly curious about the same thing. 

“I should get going, Jisung,” you grinned, “but let me know if you want help with the study group.”

You turned to leave, but a hand on your sleeve stopped you. Jisung quickly relinquished you.

“Would you want to go grab a drink some time?”

You tried to maintain your composure. “As friends? Not as a date?” you ribbed.

Jisung shook his head in agreement. “Of course. Never as a date. With Jacqueline gone, you and I are the two youngest staff members. There are reasons, you know, for us to get to know each other. As friends.”

“You could pick me up tonight,” you suggested, folding your arms across your chest but also pretending to stroke your chin in consideration. “You know, as friends. I know a place out in Briar Bay.”

“Briar Bay?” Jisung asked. “Why out there?”

“Because,” you explained matter-of-factly, “that way no one can make any assumptions that you and I aren’t just friends.”

A cute grin spread across Jisung’s lips. “Just friends. That sounds great.”

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

Your fellow boarders tried to tease you by peeking out the window when Jisung came to pick you up, but he beat any allegations by coming to the door and introducing himself.

You know, as your new friend.

He was dressed handsomely casual in a sweater and jeans, with a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. Why he looked even more familiar now was beyond you, but you were accepting that to be an irrefutable aspect of your situationship by this point. You’d considered another turtleneck for yourself since the weird mark between your breasts was still not gone, but you decided instead on a sweet dress with flirty straps at the shoulders underneath a cute cardigan. Nothing flashy, nothing too enticing, nothing intimidating.

As if that had ever been a concern of yours.

And the night was nice. According to the sign outside, the bar was called the Trawler. The jukebox provided plenty of privacy by way of ambient noise mixed with off-duty fishermen loudly griping to each other. After your first drink together, Jisung slipped off his ball cap, brushing his fingers back through his hair. He complimented your perfume and you told him you liked his aftershave. Your feet brushed against his under your table in the corner of the dank bar and he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

You leaned forward, propping up your elbows on the table and resting your chin on your clasped hands. “What’d you study at–what was it again–Cypress Springs?”

Jisung blushed into his drink. “I tried normal things like interpretation theory, but those were always hard for me. I like soteriology. Do you know what that is?” The blush in his cheeks tripled with your clueless shrug. “It’s like the study of salvation and stuff, that sort of thing. Do you want to dance with me?”

You both paused, and Jisung looked like he had no idea if he stepped over the line or not. On the jukebox, a cheesy love song was making the fishermen quit their complaining and pull their partners out to the floor for a slow dance. 

“As friends,” he bashfully clarified. “You can say no.”

You smiled sweetly. “No, I’d love to.”

Jisung humbly grinned and offered you a hand away from the table. He let you reach first, leading his hands to wrap around your waist before you wrapped yours around his neck.

“What about outside of college?” you asked. “What did you like?”

The thick pause Jisung took told you he had a different answer off the bat, but kept it to himself. “It’s nerdy,” he laughed, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, “but my mentor loved the occult. Not even in a condemning way but, like, how the church could’ve done a better job identifying threats and dealing with them. It was nice, just geeking out about this stuff together when I wasn’t studying.”

This set off your fight or flight reflex for an unforeseen reason, but you chose to rationalize it instead. Of course there were guys in seminary that were obsessed with the occult. You, on the other hand, had no interest in the occult or any mysticism for that matter (or even church for that matter, if you were being honest), so there was literally no reason for you to freak out about this information.

Right?

But still, it’d been too long since you made Jisung blush, perhaps getting too comfy, and you were craving that little adrenaline rush.

“You want to take me home?” you asked suddenly. Jisung’s eyes comically widened and you laughed out loud. “Not like that!” you giggled. “It’s a school night. Want to give me a ride back to the boarding house?”

Jisung sighed in full relief. “Yeah, of course.”

Back in his beat-up little shitbox sedan, you watched as he drove. Not just because he was handsome and charming and sweet–

But because you thought you could hear something. When you focused, easier to do now without the commotion of the bar, it was easier to make out over the sound of the car on the road.

This is fucking crazy.

Was that–?

Just friends. That’s rich. I look like such a creep. This looks so bad.

Jisung. You were hearing Jisung’s thoughts.

You didn’t need a good night’s sleep; you needed a psychiatrist. But regardless, you tested this.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight,” you coolly mentioned. “It was pretty brave of you, honestly. This sort of thing could look bad to the wrong person.”

Jisung transparently side-eyed you from the driver’s seat. “Yeah,” he breathlessly attempted to laugh it off, “I’m glad you understood what I was looking for.”

The rest of the ride was dead silent, but only because you were intently listening to Jisung internally berate himself all the way back to Pinewood Falls. However, as luck would have it, that was when you had your next amazing idea.

“You know,” you piped up. “You don’t have to drive me home if that feels weird. I can walk from school.”

“You can?” Jisung asked eagerly. He immediately took the turn for the parking lot behind the gym, almost too excited to stop making this look bad. A truck was parked closer to the rear entrance of the church, so he veered out of sight by the vestibule, inadvertently doubling your walking distance to the school.

You demurely smiled and got out of the car when Jisung parked. From where he was sitting, you could hear his sigh of relief, but he almost jumped out of his skin when you ducked back down. “Hey,” you pouted, “I just remembered I forgot my phone charger in my desk. I can grab it while I’m here, but I’m scared to go alone. Can you come with me?”

Jisung paled at your request. 

Fucking liar, he panicked. He was right, but you were mostly just curious to see how much you could push his buttons. The reverend loved your fake date so much, how far would he go to simply have a good time?

“Yeah,” he finally nodded. “Of course I’ll go with you. Wouldn’t want you to be scared.”

You walked a respectable distance ahead so as to silently reassure him that you weren’t trying to jump his bones, but this also gave you a good, hard minute to think about what the hell you were doing. Why were you being so brash? Why were you being so forward?! It was like every single impulse you’d ever had, you were suddenly acting on them, and the thought was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Something about it made you feel good. Something about it made you feel unstoppable. It was familiar and new all at once and now that you experienced it, you never wanted it to stop.

Jisung paused, noticing something out of the corner of his eye and doing a double take, and it made you do the same. The door at the back entrance of the chapel was propped open.

That’s weird, the reverend thought. A gleeful little thought took hold in your mind.

“Hey,” you noticed out loud, “you think someone is still here this late?”

God I hope not, Jisung said. 

“I’m sure it’s the night custodian,” he shrugged, trying to rush you along. 

“Then we should let him know he left the door open!” you teased while you grabbed his sweater sleeve and pulled him along. “An open door this late at night could let all sorts of things in.”

Like us, Jisung moaned, but he followed you nonetheless.

You peered into the heavy rear entrance of the church before stepping inside the dark hallway. The reverend looked over his shoulder before letting the door close behind him, the doorstop shoved into the jamb thunking ominously when you both entered the eerily still space. You grabbed his arm, the comfort not unwelcomed in the moment, and Jisung felt along the wall to pull you into the doorway leading to the altar at the front of the church. He flipped a light switch, which only illuminated the front half where you were standing. 

“Well,” Jisung began, clasping his hands together, “I should go check the vestibule.”

He jogged away before you could stop him. Apparently, Jisung really didn't want to be left alone with you, which was a funny thought in and of itself. You would think taking his vows meant he’d have better self-control, but no. Just being around you was getting him wound up. 

You loved that, in a way. 

Maybe every way. 

You strolled around the altar, enjoying this alternate perspective, away from the restricting social graces of mass. The worn and faded carpet, the heavy oak altar standing bare because it wasn’t in service. The chair Father James sat in during church, and the one beside him for Jisung. Overhead, the large, formidable cross loomed, anchored firmly to the wall over the respective cabinets for the sacraments and the holy oils by the door to the robe room.

Tabernacle. Ambry.

The words weren’t in Jisung’s voice; they were in your own. You just knew them all of a sudden. 

Ridiculous, you thought to yourself. You’d heard them before, obviously. 

Shaking off that weird feeling of not quite knowing how you knew this, you hopped up to sit on the altar, a little gesture to maintain the status quo and cool your nerves, but doing this made another odd sensation of familiarity wash over you.

Jisung walked up the aisle to you, shooing you off the altar while you simply sat and kicked your feet.

“Would you get down from there?” he helplessly scolded.

“Sure, if you help me,” you teased.

Jisung sighed and approached the steps to the altar. He hesitated for a solid beat before putting his hands on your waist to help you down. His doe eyes were sweet when you made eye contact.

“You’re really sure?” he asked. “We never met before?”

You smirked in response. “I thought we did, remember?”

The reverend blushed. His aura was persistent even in the dim church. “Right,” he sarcastically nodded, “in a dream.”

“Did we go on a friend date in your dream, too?” you grinned. “Or was it a real one, the kind where you drive me all the way home?”

Jisung looked down at you, his hands still on your waist. His breathing was the smallest hint of ragged.

“Why are you doing this?”

He asked it quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask at all, but you considered it all the same. Ever since you saw him the previous morning, you wanted to snatch him up like a helpless little animal. This wasn’t like you.

Well, it wasn’t like how you were used to being. But this felt incredible.

“Why am I doing this?” you repeated. Jisung nodded. You cupped his face in your hands. “Because I want to,” you answered. When you kissed him, he didn’t deny you. In fact, Jisung fell right into you, all while silently wishing he would come to his senses and stop. Nonetheless, his arms wrapped around you and he kissed you harder, almost too sloppily while his eager tongue explored your mouth.

“Maybe I should drive you home after all,” Jisung murmured against your lips. His sigh was almost a whine when you pulled away, and he watched as you slipped off your cardigan and sauntered over to Father James’ grand chair.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he cursed in quick succession, clearly at odds with himself before you seated yourself on the edge of the lavish chair and beckoned him over. Jisung complied almost instantaneously, practically sweating when he fell to his knees, his lips caressing your neck while he gingerly parted your knees.

“Be patient with me,” he sheepishly, lightly joked, “it’s been a long time.”

“A long time like ever?” you cooed.

Jisung’s pretty aura pulsed a deeper pink when his cheeks rouged. He hid his bashful face in the crook of your neck, kissing you wherever he could find untouched skin while he eased you open under your dress and panties with his fingers. The headrush was incredible. Jisung folded and all you had to do was give him the chance to do it. 

“Nervous?” you asked.

Fucking terrified, he answered.

“No,” he lied. “Why should I be nervous?”

You kissed him again, ushering him deeper into blatant sacrilege when you felt him unzip his jeans. So far, all you really had to do was kiss him in the first place. After that, he was a goner. Jisung kissed you harder, his length prodding into you when he stopped.

Goddamn, he refused, I can’t–

“Jisung,” you sighed cutely, getting his focus back. His eyes watched, rapt, when you pulled the dainty straps of your dress off your shoulders, the neckline sliding over and under your breasts. The mysterious scar between your cleavage was a concerning shade of maroon, but you didn’t let yourself become distracted. “Doesn’t it feel so good to let yourself have what you want?”

The reverend nodded, almost dazed when he leaned down to kiss you again. His deliciously hard member teased deeper into you and you gasped–

D̷̠̭̫̻͇͙͙̈́̋͘o̸̡̢̧͈͚͕͇̣̬̯̩̳̺͔͚̪̱̞̍͆̆̌̂͛̍́͛̂͆̇̌̎̋̉̄̈͜͜͜͝ ̵̨̡̦̘͔͎͚̝̮̯͈͓̹̮̰̹̠͉̞͐͐̊͊̾̋͗̅̓͛̚͝͝͝ͅÿ̸̳̩̗͉͈̺́̈́͊͐̀̋̌̒̽͝o̶̼̘̭͔͍̫͓͈̱̰̮̠̠̻̺̺̐̅̍́͌ų̴̡̛̹̙̲͙͈̦̝͇̝̖̰͙͕̱͇̍͒̃̇͒̓͋͒̐͛̾̈́̍̎͋̂̀͊̚͜͝͝͝ ̴͈͎͈̰̩͖̿̅͋͒̓͐̉̒̀̓́̐̓͋̎͜ṛ̵̱̆̎̾̑̅̑͐͆͛̅̓̋̀̃̅̋͘̚̚̕͝ȅ̸̢̤̯́̑̋͛̌̅̑̀̇͒̈́͠m̶̡͔̩̙̹͖̗̻̰̹̺̫̳͉̰͓̩̠͈͈̂̅͋͛́͆̽̕͘͝͠ȩ̶̨̡̧̗͚̗͙̱̘̦̳͓̭̤͙̹͉̖̟͛͛̇̌̐̔̀̇̏͆̿̇̈́͊̎̐̉͊͛̅́͜ͅͅͅṁ̵̛͓͔̹̠̦̠͓̖̦̼̥̳̪̮̱̮͍̱̮̗͗͗͆͑͋̾̈̓̔̄͐̀̉̽͝͝͝b̴̼͇͙͚͉̻̪̮͈̋͜ę̴̨͍͓̭̫͊͊́̑̈́͆̉̎̈̏̍͑͌̓͑͘͠ŗ̸̞̦̥̳̮͈̮͎̗̩̬͇͍̦̂͐͘ ̸̛͓͔̜̠̬͍̱̤̠͗̂̊̑̎̇̿̃̔̉̌̋n̶͇̈́̓͗͋̾́̕ơ̷̧̨̪̰̟̟̤͉̭̌̓̓͗̍̇̒̍̎̓͗̒͂͂̈̎̔̃́̀̄̕͜͜w̷̘̖͕̭̃̾̀̽̔̊̑̏̽̇͊̉̾̈̐̆̈́́̊̃̑̅͘̕ͅ,̷͍̐͋̒̿́̂̀̀̈́̋̓͂̆̓̅͝ ̵̢̦̫͙͈̳͕̻̝͊́̀͒̎̾̅̆̒̀̉̓̕̕̕̕b̴̡͍̱̥̣̤̲͖̱͓͚̹͍͕̤͗̓́̉̂̃͒̾̍̔̓͝ę̸̠̪̮͚̙̹̞̙͍͓̱͔̖͖͂͗͋͂̐̉͆̑́̄́̌ͅļ̸͔̈́͆̍̈́̿̏̋̏́̑̓̓͘͘͠ơ̶̖̹̙̜̫̒͆͐v̵̛̯̱̣̻̖͙̦̺̐̔́͆̊̋̂̇̉̇̎̿̑̿͆̕͠͝͝͝͝e̶̻͑̾̄́̽̀̈́̿̓̽̈̐́̀̈́͌͗̚̚d̸̲̳̀̇͌͜?̷̧̡̨̢̻̪̥̙̩̯̭̜͈͖̟̮͕̗͙̳́̏̅̽̈

My mind flashes white again and it’s almost like I’ve been dunked underwater. I feel like I’m falling through the fucking chair. The air is sucked out of my chest again, full panic, and all I can think about is the fact that I’m fucking Jisung again. 

This isn’t right. Where is Chris? That fucking coward. He abandoned me again, and for what? So that I can find him again after I fall? I don’t even know how this happened, because why the hell would I fuck Jisung again? He tried to get me goddamn exorcized, that son of a bitch, he’s lucky I don’t strangle him right here and now–

Y̸̘̭̜̣̭̗͙̯͉̗͖̭̜̱̱̜͉͈̬͚̣͌͜͜ơ̷̢̨̯̙̭̭̘̮̼̦̣̻͍̹̯̮͗͋̒͌̆͛̈́͑̅͌́̇̀̆͘͜͝͠ͅͅứ̶̞̐͒̾̂̾͑̓̿̅͛͋̀̓̅̕̕͝͝'̴̡̡̡̛̭̟̮͈͎̬̯̟͖̞̙̳̤͋́͛̌̔̀̂̿̊̚̕͘ṛ̷̢̡̢̧̢͓͎͚͉̻̞̱͉̠͕͇̺̮̳̩̗̉̑̔̾̌̔̑͒̀͋̕͜ͅ��̵̘͓̈́ͅ ̸͍͖̣͇̻͈͎̫͔͎͎̥͗̈́́̊̔̌á̵̳̼̫́͛̐͐̀́̃̓̈́̉̉͠ļ̴̖͕̘͚̤̻̥̺̟͆́m̵̢̡̧̛͎̲̻͖̰͔͓͖̲̺͇̦̼̟͍̮̥̤̬̱̅̍̄̄̂̽̓̅͗̅́̂̂͑̊̋͒̄͒̀͘͜͝ö̸̭́̆̈̿͆̎̋̿̌̎͐̐s̸̭̠̲͈͚̰̘͍̝̙̘̭̘̋͗ͅt̷̡̛̖̯̹̩͚̠͙̘̖͇̥̪̖̞͎̫͆̀͌͆̊̓̎̃́̈́̒̑̄̑͋̀̆̂͛̕͝ ̶̡̞̞̮̝͒̏̍t̶̨̨̢̖̩͇̣̱̲͖͇͇̩͈͉͙͇̺̓̂̍̒͂̀̂̑͑̎͋́͒͜ḣ̸̨̩̤̼̖͖̱̜͎̱̺͈̺͉͂̉̀è̵̡̝̘̩͚͎͍̥̘͈̩̦̯̇̿̚r̴̢̜̥͕̘̣̝̭̼͕̥̃̀ę̵̳̳̫͇͓͉̩͍͕̩̯̝͆͆̉͐̾̔̂̈̒͆.̵̡͓̻̤̆̇͊̏̔͒̓̓̅͂̆̊̒̈́͋̓̽̌̾̆ ̵̢̡͉͔͙͖͇̲̪̰͓̦̜͔̳̌͂̍͗̕̚͠Y̷͍̘̗̳̲͆̐́̈́̚ǫ̵̰͕̟͍̻͉̼̺̯͙̠̇̊̚͜ͅư̶̧̡̡̺͎̤͍͙̪̠̘̤͇̥̺̬͋͜͝'̸̡͈̙͋̈́́́͋͐̈́́̓̕r̷̢̞͖̱͚͓̫̝̯̻͍̖͓̩̯̆̎̋͆̀̀̔͆̒ͅͅe̶̳̼̹͖͚͔̭̼̺̳̗͖̦̟̗̿̈́͗̈́̚̚ ̶̡͕̤̲̺͖̞̼̭̳͉̞̖̇͊͌̄̂͜ͅs̷̼̲̟͆̑͂̂͋͋̏̓͑́̉̈́̈́͘̚͝o̶̧̡̟̱̞̝̟͒͛̇̚ ̷̧̢̤͖̘̜̩͈͇̲̙̋͒̿͑̾̓̂̑͊̉̀̌̍̚p̶̪̝̎̇̀̇̐͌͋̾̍̾̍̿̉͌̏͘͠͝ȩ̵̧̤͓̖̬̲͂͆̒̍̐̋͐̏͆̓̇̈́̋̌̈̈̓͘͜͝ŗ̵̧̛͔̠͖̙̺͇͎͖̱̈́̌̂́̈́́̾͌̽̓̕f̶̱̣̘̖͔͙̤̣̯͎̙̼̰͈̱̩̬̠̙͉̙̏̎͊͐̽͠e̷̳̠̯̻̱̯̭̺̦̤̗̘̹̟̝͈̭̣͍͂̄̀͋̾̈́̉̓̈́̕̕̚̚͜͠c̴̢̛̙̭̥̬̹̤̞̠̎t̶͚͕̤̜̂̉̏̐̆̒̋͜͝.̸̡̻͇̥̭̖́͐̈́̈́̀̆̉̋͗͐̀̂́͒̈́͘͠͝͠ ̵̨̡̧̖̦̬̖͙͕̭̜̜̝̯̹̠̦̪̮̻̙̈́̽̉͊͌̈́̇̿̔́̂̀̈́̓͋́̽̂̌̈̕̚͠͝J̶̹̩̦̗̟̯̣̰͐̆̓̎̈́̍̑̀͂̽̈́͆̂͗̏̈́̈́̃͘͘͝u̷̢̡̝̦̦͇̹̳̮̖̦̹̓͛̀͊̓͑́s̷̲̙͈̲̤̦͎̺͍̻͌̔̿̈͊̀̂̋̿͋͌̓̈̍̔̓̌̕͝͠ͅt̶̙̣̰̥̙̪͐͌̅̇͒̔̚͘͜ ̷̨̮̲͙̟̤̼̤̮̥͚͓̱̜͖͈͚͍̿̀͛̇͒̎͂͌̐͜͜à̶̢̧̢̛͔͕̞̟̖̰̙̬͕̱͈̘̖̦̪̟̳̝̅̏͂̾̃́͌͑͌̀̈́̎̊͂̂̌̄͊̄̚͜͝͝ͅͅ ̷̨͉̘̭̗͚͙͖͓̙̞̝͈͖̜͈͖͚͖̮̙̂̌̓̅̒̓͛́̃̕̕̚͝͠ļ̸̯͈̱̳̫͓̺̰͋̆̈́̓͐̐̊̓̈̅̆͌͐̈́̊̈́͘͠ͅi̶̛̛̛̳͕̰͌̏̓̌̒̍͂̀̅̅̅̔̚͘t̴̫̪̘̰̫͈̩̰̫̺͕̞̖̲͓̯̝̟̲̑̍͌̇́̎̀͌͒̕͜͜͠ͅẗ̶̮̠̜̟̦̩̠̹̰͔̜̥̳̤͖́͊̋l̷̡̯̖̦͂̒̉̐́̾̒̿̈́͛̊̔́̉ë̸̢̘͉͕̱̩̣̱̖̳̦̻̰̲͓͈̺̪͔̐͌̆̔̍̽͊͗̊̀̓̍͘͘̚̕͜͝͝͠ ̶̹̮̓̍͗̂̍́̒̉̽̅̊̌̐̄̍̓̈́͝f̴̡̤͇͓̬̊̏̂̌̑̎̎͗̉ą̶̟͈̙̞̞͖̪͔̬̤̙̟͔͖̹͇̝̘̣̒̋̂͒͒͒͆͒̏̑̌̋͋̍́̅̏̀̔͂̕͜ŗ̵͍͚̫̮̠͚̭̺͐̋̄̑͐̐̔͑͘͜͝ͅt̶̡̛̞͉̱̭̠̺͙͎̣̗͓̆͗͆͋̿͌̽̃̌̐̿̓́̎̈́̔̚͘͝͝͠͠h̷̖͗͐̃̄̀̽͒̀͌̃̊̈̀̑̏͠ę̵̞̻̲̭̃͗̄͋̀̑̍͛̌̐̕r̸̛͖̼̩̝͒͑̊͒͒̀̍̏͊̃̂̐̉̚ ̵̢̖̞̹̪̱̦͓̫̥̄̉̌̊͠ͅď̷̢̧̧̢͓͙̪̣̹̮̺̗̤̰̰̗̪̖͇̞̠͇͔̻̀̈́̏͛͊̈͋́̐͑̎͘̚͘͝͝ǫ̵̡̱͉̖̫͈̩̬̟͇͎̟͓̳̜͗̂̾̒͋͑͂́w̷̨̨̠͎̬̥̥̞͙͚͎͈̎̾̋͐͐̉͛͂̆̔͊̊̈́̈́̚n̴̢̙̬̰̜̋.̶̡̛̲̹͙͍͖̮̀̃̍̃̑̄̅͒̐̈̉̎̕͝

The main lights of the church flipped on, and although the fright almost made you jump out of your skin, you were still set on edge and bewildered by the sudden influx of memory. This wasn’t the first time you fucked the reverend, nor was it the first time you ever enjoyed feeling this powerful. But still, there were bewildered tears irritating the corners of your eyes.

Chris, that asshole. You were going through this alone and all you could think about was how you wished you could see him again. Meanwhile, Jisung’s aura burned a lovely shade of wine red while he thrust inside you. 

You had to hand it to him–he was much sweeter this time around. This felt too good to stop, really, and you knew Jisung felt the same. He wanted this from the beginning, and all you had to do was let him have it.

But you wanted Chris, that bastard. Whatever he was, if he was some being like you thought you might be, then you were disgustingly proud of yourself for being able to crumble him. With Jisung’s gorgeous aura radiating off of him, all you could think about was that nighttime walk in Briar Bay with Chris.

“You glow, you know.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I like the way you glow in the moonlight.”

You were infatuated enough at the time to think he meant it romantically, but knowing he meant it literally was somehow–annoyingly–even sweeter.

“Reverend? What on Earth are you doing?” 

The pleasant buzz of your sordid encounter wore off fast when you looked over Jisung’s shoulder.

Father James.

Jisung looked, too, and almost pulled out of you before he fell right back into you. Much to your amusement, he was conflicted. “Oh, fuck,” he whined under his breath.

The old man had an aura, too. You knew something looked weird in his office this time around. A void of inky black whirled around him. 

Fitting.

“Jisung,” you taunted again, grabbing onto the collar of his sweater.

He put a hand on yours, meagerly attempting to peel you off but holding on regardless. “We–I–we can’t–”

“But you want it, don’t you?” you pouted before grinning, almost triumphantly. “Fuck me, Reverend.”

“Oh, God–!” Jisung repeated with a whimper as he was rocked by his climax, shocked as he was by your use of his title that he’d worked so hard for, vowed for, and now fully betrayed. He collapsed more fully to his knees, spent and dazed now that the clarity was starting to seep in. “Fuck,” he wheezed, “I can’t believe I just–”

You cupped Jisung’s face again before noticing Father James furiously approaching the altar. Thinking fast, you stopped him in his tracks. 

“Please wait, Father,” you ordered. As it turned out, you were furious, too. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Astounded and simmering in rage, Father James was successfully frozen in place.

Jisung seemed on the brink of shock. He really let himself get lost in it, it would seem. His glazed eyes began to water. “I can’t believe I–”

“Shh,” you comforted him, kissing his forehead. “It’s okay. It’s just what you wanted, that’s all. I think we both used each other for something. It’s alright, Jisung. Go to sleep.”

The reverend, his aura still a fiery red, nodded feebly before his eyes rolled up to close. And just as you thought, having never tried this before, Jisung simply faded from sight, presumably back to where you wanted, at home in his bed. Father James’ eyes boggled as he watched the reverend disappear. You arose from the old man’s chair, smiling coyly and bringing him to his knees in front of the altar steps. It was fun, watching him try to resist you. 

When you were standing in front of him on the steps, he couldn’t help but look at your exposed chest, your dress still draped down off your shoulders. The smell of smoke wrinkled your nose, and the mark that Chris bit into you was still there, smoldering like a cinder.

“Enjoying God’s gifts, Father?” you smiled sarcastically. 

It was almost amusing, the way it looked like the old man had to fight against an unseen force to even talk. This was your first time ever really trying this. Something dark in you wondered if Chris ever did this. You imagined he must’ve at some point. The thought of it electrified you. You lifted your dress straps back up over your shoulders.

“I don’t–I don’t understand,” Father James gritted out.

You picked up your cardigan off the floor and slipped something out of the pocket before dropping the garment again. The priest’s eyes locked on the golden charm you dangled from your hand. 

“I didn’t know about her on the first go-around,” you disappointedly shook your head, like a parent lecturing a child. “You’ve been doing this a long time, but how long were you doing this? How many other women were there, Father?”

You didn’t force him to answer, and he didn’t. Instead, he kept his lips tightly pursed. For a moment, you considered doing this just like you had last time. 

But you decided against it.

Last time, you were terrified, scared, not understanding what was happening to you or why. You’d convinced yourself in the moment that you were only enraged, but within you, you knew you were horrified. This time? You knew even more. You hated all of this even more. You understood yourself even more.

And besides, you wanted this even more.

Father James’ joints creaked, showing his age as he got up against his will. Unlike last time, he walked into the robe room, where the rest of the supplies for mass were kept. He emerged with a hefty jug of liquid paraffin, used for refilling the large pillar candles on either side of the altar. When he stood in front of you again, he reached into his breast pocket and brought out his pack of cigarettes with his lighter tucked inside. He handed you the pack, and watched as you tipped the contents into your hand and only returned the lighter.

“Why are you doing this?” he somberly asked. His eyes softly closed when you cupped his scratchy cheek, the skin worn and roughed over time.

“You know why, lamb,” you answered. “You let yourself have what you wanted. Everything is bought, everything comes with a price. Maybe you don’t pay for it at the time, but you do pay.”

Father James stoically accepted this.

“Or don’t,” you shrugged. “Pay later. You don’t have to stay. But I know how I felt. Who knows how the rest of them felt.”

Just like last time, Father James did not argue. He did not beg or plead as you walked down the aisle, away from the altar. The night air was nipping your nose when you emerged from the church, and you spied Jisung’s car. Wanting to test this out as well, you desired it back at the reverend’s place. Sure enough, the car vanished, too.

You walked, taking your time encircling the church until you found Father James’ truck. As you predicted, the old man kept the keys in the visor, a wild assumption of safety in his quiet, little town. You smelled smoke again, but this time it was the church. You got out of the truck cab and opened the tailgate so you could sit on it and watch as the smoke slowly turned into flames.

Something felt grounded inside you, and you smiled contentedly.

Maybe now you’d find Chris.

Or maybe you didn’t want to yet.

T̶̡͎̤͇͈̪̯̿͋h̴͉̟͚͇̯̖̹̗̒̉͆͛͂͆̅̇̂̄̾͜ḙ̷̢̧͚̞̹͈̞͖̲͛̃͒́̌̍̇͑̂͊̓͜ ̶̨̡̡̮͎̲͖̲̖̱̺͚̬͈̆͒̈̅̄̉̈́̿͆́͘w̴͔̥͛̓͌̏̽͒̄̒̚̚͝ā̴̡̢̨͉͚̩̗͓̥̤̼̤͊͂̈́͘ÿ̶̡̧͈̹̗̇̿͒̅́ ̵̨̲͎͕̖͓͓̺̬̬͚͋̆̇͋̋̉̒̈́̆̇̄͑̓͜͝ỵ̴̞̣̖͓̲͎͙͍͔͈̜̄̎̇̈́̂̋̈́͆́͊͝ͅō̵̝̰̲͋̍̅ụ̴͍̻̍͂́̉̀͋͐̚̕͝ ̷͚͓͚̫̦͒͒̌̏̍͝f̴̙̎̑̊̈́̂̈́̿̔̓͂͒̉̕ę̷͖͓̰͇͎̰̰̳̅̈́͋̍͌̐͘l̵̨̨̡͖̞̞̮̲͕̳̩̱̜̟͌͑̈̓̓̀͐̾͆̔̓̆̕͝͝l̶̜̮̱̹̾͒́͂͒̅̽̒̚͠͠ ̶̛̩̱̘͇̘̭̱̈́͗̂͂͜l̷̢̛̳̳̭̪̔̾͑̒̾̇̍͐̔͗̀̉͋͝e̶̼̬͇̍̄̒͑͌͠t̷̨̧̙͓͉̤̩̣̃̈̒͑͂̈́ ̸̳̬̣̫͓̫̄m̶̖̮͖̺͛̆̒̋̂ę̷̛̜̳̘͈͔̗̺̜̲̰̳̞͊̃̆̾͑̆̑̏̌̒̚͜ ̵̰̈͑̀͘c̴̨̜̫̘̪̹̘̖̭͖͊͋̉͐̐̌͊͆̋̏ͅa̷͙͗͋̍͊̑̀̈́̀̀̓̈́̚t̵̡̺̭͙̭͈̘͕͈̯͎̐̍̈̇̌́c̷̡̛̛̰̹̗͖̲̟͙̝̑̈́̓́̈́̃̇͋̂̽͑̚͜͜͠ḥ̸̮̖̺̞̐̃̈́̊͐̽͛ͅ ̵̦̠͓̝̭͖̜͙̤͎̩̈̓̊͊̊̊́͘ŷ̵̖̣̫̫̱̱̭̹̺͍̑͆̚ò̵̯̩̤̰̤̭̫͍̩͂̀̉͒͆̀̒̄̇̚ų̴̖̥̙̎͋̓̿̍͒̔ ̶̛͉̉̈́̇̓̓̕l̶̨͙̝̜͍̜̦͕̦͍̖̬̈́͐̀͑̇̑̍̄i̷͓̰͖̲͔̯͌̒̊ḵ̸̤͍͝e̶̮̲̱͔̭̕ ̶̧̩̻̳̼͍̩̰͖͝ą̵̟̹̜̝̜̳̘̬̥͌ͅń̵̢̢̧̙̳̜̟̜͙͖̞͚̹̆̏̊̈́̎̚͜͜ ̶͙̯̹̯͚͎̇̐̐̽͒̒e̷̼̮̼͎̻̟̘̯̊͊̇̑̄̈̎͐̂̓̓̚͝m̶̛̫̳̈́̉̏̒̽̏̿̅̃̎̐̏̾͠b̸̜̥̭̯̲̜͙͍̺̭̣͎͚́͜r̷̡̗͙̱͖̼̹̺͉̝͍͔͗͋̆̇͒̓ͅa̶̖̿̑̿̎̿̔̏̋͠c̸̛͍̘͚̞̗̳͙͔̪̳̭̝͓̲̉͑͜e̸̦̗̯̫͓̣̥̲͔͇̋̈́̅̋̐̒.̶̙̩̖̦̭͎̳̺̹͙͍̟͌͜ ̵̧̡̠̬̹̞̣̳̼͒̔͒̀͛̉̂͌͐͌̀̕͠͝Y̵̨̢̫͈̬͇͉͈̠̝͋̋͠ǫ̸͇̰̩͂ũ̴̧͕̺͙̜̲̭̃̆̉͂̓̈́͐̽̌͆̿̕͜͝ͅ ̶͕̘̪̼͈͙̼̮̍̈́́̌̓̆̾̚͝á̶̧̫̯͎̦́̿̔̃̇̈́͒̑̃͘r̸̨̞̾͂̀̀͘̚ȩ̵͍͙͖̱̰̗̤̱̮͔̐̈̔́́̀̈̀̚͜ ̵͚̝̻̬̜͚̦̥͉̇͛̒̆͐̾͊̔̚h̷̪̱͙̭̣̩̮̞͖̖̱͑̇̕ǫ̶̳͉̥̩̯̼̱͙̤̣̅̋̉͂́̿̓͛̑̀̄̕͝͠ͅͅm̴̞̺̯̗̙͎͖͍͉͓͛͐̾̐̇͆̀͌̓̍̍́̚ȩ̷͖̘͚͓͔̌̈̿͆̑̌̉̔́̍̀̓̾̕.̷̗̼̗̦̹͓̆̓͒͆̂͠ ̷̨͆͝Y̸̹͉͍̖͉̤̻̮̫͆̊͆͛̉̓̽̀͒̆͊̇̕̕ô̶̡̡̥̤̝̺̪̭͇̜̫̥̦̲̯̈́̉̕ų̵͉̖͕̯͔̇͑̀͛̂̓̓̍͝ͅ ̷̲͖̱̭͈̗͑̈͛̾̈́̉̃̂͝͠a̷̛̦̰͇̮̣͂̎́̈̕͝͝r̸̻̥̉́̂̈͒̏͆͆̏̋͂͐̕͝ë̷̢̛̫͉̯̩̠̣͈͙̬͖̜́̐͒͌̒͐͛̚ ̶̧̧̘̪̖͇̼͕̙̼̯̻̓̽p̷̢̢̫̰̻̼̞̕é̷̘͔̮͎̞͉̘̮͈̳̮̯͖̜̋̾̇̏̄̇̈́͋̌̾ŕ̸̢̺̟̤̳̲̜͕̞̰̜̀́͆͐̓͊̽̾̒͋͐f̶̩̭̬̽e̷̗̻̠̍͐͛̾͌̊͒́̿͌͊͐̉̚c̵̞̠͉̉̈́͊́͝͠t̵̡͔͓̠̣̹̦̝̜̫̮̮͆́̿̐̈́̾̒̑̚͜͝͝.̷̨̡̛̪̗͙̦̥͔͐̑̅͛͐̿̽̔̄́̓��̚ͅ