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taexual · 1 year ago

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sleepwalking ● 1 | jjk

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers / fluff / angst / smut (in later chapters)

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 7.5k

chapter 1 ► when i open my eyes to the future, i can hear you say my name

There was virtually not a single person left on the entire fourth floor of the company building, despite it being a Monday afternoon. Normally, two other managers worked in offices adjacent to yours, so the noise in the hallways never settled below a pleasant hum: producers, promoters, and publicists – the three cursed Ps – shuffled in and out, heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.

This funeral silence was unusual, but you knew it was only a calm before the storm.

Rated Riot were going on their first-ever European tour in two days to promote their sophomore album – named aptly, “ready, set, RIOT” – and today was the final day of meetings. Evidently, the executives at Jett Records assumed that the band deserved to have a whole floor to themselves, so everyone else got a half-day, leaving you and the Floor Administrator, Rue, all by yourselves until the band got here.

This unsettling silence was exactly why you heard them arrive as soon as the door of the building opened four floors below. Rated Riot lived up to their name by making themselves heard before they were seen.

As soon as the sharp ding! of the elevator reached you in your office—your door was always open on meeting days, because the four members of one of the most promising rock bands in the world at the moment lacked any sense of direction—you could immediately feel the atmosphere lighten, the previous silence long gone.

“Rue! The apple of my eye!” Hoseok, the drummer and the de facto mood setter of Rated Riot, exclaimed as you listened to the familiar sounds of the band as they exited the elevator and, based on the repeated clicking of shoes in the lobby, momentarily got disoriented.

“Always looking good, Rue!” Jungkook, the vocalist, as well as the new Golden Boy of Jett Records followed after.

“Good to see you again,” Taehyung, the always well-mannered bassist, said. Silence followed and you assumed he shook Rue’s hand.

“Hello,” Yoongi, who was, technically, the guitarist of the band, but, really, played any instrument he could get his hands on, was the last to speak. He’d always been very well-spoken in songwriting, but quieter and more careful in most everyday conversations.

“Welcome, guys,” Rue greeted them. You couldn’t see any of them from where your office was located, but you’ve been in a similar situation countless times before and you could imagine what was happening without needing to witness it first-hand.

Rue would stand up from her seat and point her right hand down the hallway, reminding them—yet again—that they needed to walk down the hall and take a right turn. The members of Rated Riot, in turn, would walk down the hall. At least one of the four of them would turn left instead, causing a pause as the group gathered back together, exchanging confused glances. Then, they would turn back to Rue—who would still be standing there, her right hand extended like a helpful Statue of Liberty. They’d laugh at themselves, nod at Rue, and take the correct turn.

If things were going well, they’d find your office on first try—they’d just need to find the open door and peer inside; your desk was right in front. More often than not, however, they stumbled around, knocking and chuckling to themselves as they continuously interrupted the offices of everyone else, but you.

They were special. Not just because they looked like loose ducklings, separated from the Mother Duck, whenever they entered the company building, but also because, in spite of their own lack of coordination, they still managed to get things done.

And they brightened the day of everyone they came across. Which was almost ironic—as you realised by watching the four of them enter your office—considering the effortless rockstar aura that surrounded them.

Jungkook walked in first. That was typical because he usually did: sometimes because he was the only one who remembered where your office was, but usually because the other members offered him as a sacrificial lamb when they went knocking around every office on the floor in search of yours.

He was dressed in all-black—always—adorned with silver chains and necklaces that often gave you a start when you looked up, because he had a very specific way of entering the room: he seemed to make sure to position himself in just a way that the light, coming in from the window behind you, always reflected off his jewellery and momentarily blinded you.

Sure enough, you blinked, cringing into yourself as the brightness hit your eyes, and when you opened them again, he was already grinning.

“Hi,” he said and the rest of the members followed in after him—a brighter palette of colours.

Even Yoongi, who was the only one who could have given Jungkook a run for his money if you had to count which one had more black items of clothing in their closet, was wearing a beige, loosely buttoned shirt.

Despite that, however, you could tell they were rock artists as soon as you looked at them—all tattoos, piercings, intense eye make-up behind sunglasses, and old band tees—and you stood up, excited to let them know that, finally, every last loose thread had been found and tightened. They’d get to introduce their artistry on a different continent, and you’d make sure it’d go smoothly.

“We’re leaving for Prague tomorrow morning,” you told them once the five of you settled down at the round table in the back of your office. “So, if you were planning a going away party, I strongly advise against it.”

“We weren’t,” Yoongi said, lifting his glass of lemon water—there was a jug on the table—and giving you a reassuring look. “This is the strongest drink I’m having tonight.”

“Thanks,” you said paradoxically enough, but being grateful when the members of the band you managed didn’t get drunk before an important day was part of the job. “I’d also appreciate it if—”

“Hold on a second, though,” Jungkook interrupted—you’d been anticipating it. “I’m going to a gig tonight, Reconnaissance are in town again. And there’s obviously an after-party—”

Despite Reconnaissance being, arguably, one of the most popular rock bands in the world right now, you were definite when you cut him off, “No.”

“—so, I—wait. No?” he paused. “I never miss their shows, you know that. And I don’t get drunk easily. You know that, too.”

“That’s why you drink so much,” you rebutted. The rest of the band members got their phones out, knowing well enough at this point that this would take a while. “And then I have to come get you out of trouble.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” Jungkook insisted. “We’ve been through this.”

“Have we?” you argued. “Because I keep telling you it’s my job to keep you from passing out in a dirty bar bathroom, but you don’t care enough to hear me.”

“Well, you’re not very convincing. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll wake up again.”

You were used to having this conversation with him—you’ve argued about this way before he became a singer and you ended up as his manager. And yet, the lax way he said this made you clench your fists.

Despite being mostly introverted, Jungkook did enjoy getting drinks with friends: even if said friends enjoyed his celebrity status more than they enjoyed the drinks.

“And if you don’t?” you threatened. “Rated Riot’s vocalist gets his stomach pumped. A catchy headline.”

“Yeah, man,” Hoseok interjected, putting his phone screen down on the table and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t go well with the vibe we’re going for. Don’t get your stomach pumped.”

“Fine, I—”

“What he meant was, don’t drink so much that you’d need your stomach pumped,” you clarified because Jungkook moonlighted as a Loophole Finder.

“I never have!” he insisted. “Seriously, you treat me like I’m still nineteen. Have some faith.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other members of the group look up from their phones. The band had only formed a few years ago, so you were the only person in this room who knew what Jungkook was like when he was nineteen. You never spoke about it – that was likely why everyone was so curious.

In any case, Jungkook was wrong. You did have faith—that’s why you spent so many of your off-duty nights driving down deserted streets to pick him up after his asshole friends convinced him it was a good idea to try the biker bar on the outskirts of town, and he’d gotten in an altercation with a burly redneck that was twice his size.

There was no time for that now, not when he was supposed to be on stage in Prague in three days.

“Well,” Taehyung spoke up. “I was thinking of going to the show as well. Not so much the after-party, I have better plans. But, uh, I could come, after all.”

You appreciated the offer, but you knew that these better plans involved him spending time with his girlfriend, Luna, who was going to join him for a few weeks of the European tour, but after that, the two of them were going to be apart for several months.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, not trying very much to hide the hopeful undertones in your voice. Jungkook’s friends felt intimidated by all the members of Rated Riot; they’d be on their best behaviour if Taehyung was there.

“No, I think it might be fun,” Taehyung said. You exhaled quietly and he could sense your gratitude without words. He turned to his younger bandmate. “Should we go together?”

Jungkook groaned and mumbled under his breath, “not if I have to third-wheel again.”

“When have you ever third-wheeled anyone?” you asked rhetorically, but he was already opening his mouth to reply. Quickly, you added, “be careful, is what I’m saying, okay? I am complaining about having to pick you up from all kinds of holes, but if you need me to bring NDAs, I will bring them. So, ask.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but chose to stay quiet. He knew better now – the one time he did not make anyone sign a non-disclosure agreement after an impromptu, drunken busking session in New York, pictures of him, half-dressed and giving a lap dance to a random, equally as drunk, groupie, were on every rock page on Instagram. Accompanied with detailed retellings of how it came to happen, of course; all of them more ridiculous than the next. Your personal favourite story was that he was recruiting members for a sex cult.

“We’ll call you,” Taehyung gave you a nod, “if we have to.”

“Perfect,” you said, glancing at Jungkook again, even though expecting him to confirm that he, too, would call you if he had to, was wishful thinking.

Every time you reminded him how he needed to start going out with a less destructive crowd, he’d treat his phone like a poisonous snake – and he’d been doing that even before you became his manager. His friends seemed to get their pleasure fix from watching you arrive and rip him a new one, so they were the ones who called you most of the time, always laughing into their phones like true accomplices.

It was funny how Jungkook was the only one who passed out or got so wasted, he ended up on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. His friends always walked away unscathed and, usually, only called you by the time they were back in their bedrooms – “when we left, he was ordering mint and honey daiquiris, you should probably go over there and check up on him.”

It was like they loved pushing him into danger and purposefully bringing the two of you together again, and Jungkook either didn’t realise or didn’t care anymore. It’s been a while, after all.

You and Jungkook had been broken up for almost two years when you got the unbelievable offer to manage an up-and-coming rock band. This was over two years ago now and you were only twenty-four back then. Up until that point, you had worked as an assistant manager for various indie artists, so that offer was massive.

You figured the downside that your ex-boyfriend happened to be in this particular band was worth it, considering the huge leap in your career you’d make by accepting this job.

And, for the most part (excluding the first two months that were pure chaos of repressed feelings), you and Jungkook both made this work, drawing a strict line between your relationship before Rated Riot (back when he still had your phone number saved as “❌”) and after he met you again as Rated Riot’s new manager (ironically, now your name on his phone was “❌❌❌”).

You’ve managed Rated Riot for almost exactly two years now, and if you’d asked the band – which you wouldn’t, partially out of humbleness, but also because you were scared – you’d know that they loved working with you as much as you loved working with them. So, in the end, it all really had been worth it.

“Check your emails for the descriptive itineraries,” you continued smoothly enough. The guys at the table put their phones down and returned their attention to you. “Now, who else is coming with us?”

Technically, the band wasn’t supposed to bring anyone – the label was explicitly clear about that. They wanted the first European tour to go “without a hitch” (meaning, without distractions), but you held a more liberal view here.

You didn’t think loved ones coming on the road were a distraction; if anything, they were a firm support mechanism that made touring easier for the artists.

“I know Luna’s staying until the Barcelona show, yeah?” you asked, double-checking the notes on your laptop.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile on his lips at the mention of the girl. “She flies out the next day, yeah.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Well, Sid and Jude are coming,” Jungkook spoke up and, after seeing your eyes roll back, added, quieter, “and Minjun isn’t sure.”

The three musketeer-wannabes – Sid, Jude, and Minjun – were on speed dial on your work and personal phones, because if Rated Riot had a performance and the vocalist wasn’t there, it was likely those three who were to blame. They were the only ones who knew Jungkook longer than you did, and they seemed to take pride in the fact that they had successfully been causing you headaches for seven years now.

“Sid and Jude,” you repeated, “aren’t worried they’ll lose their jobs if they travel to Europe abruptly?”

“No, they’re cool,” Jungkook shrugged, not catching the mockery in your voice—both Sid and Jude worked for their families, which really meant that they got paid to occasionally show up at the shareholders’ meetings on behalf of their parents. “I’ll text Minjun right now. Maybe he’ll come when we’re in Poland…”

“I needed confirmation by last week,” you reminded him. “At the latest.”

He glanced at you from his phone and then went back to texting. “So, why’d you ask now?”

“To double-check,” you said. “They’re going to have to book the hotels themselves. Or sleep on the street. Honestly, I don’t really—”

“So, uh,” Yoongi interrupted before another argument could begin, “how many hotels this time?”

“Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris. And some nights in London, depending on our flight time,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Bring your favourite blankets. We’re living on buses for the next three months.”

None of them minded – if anything, you could see a little glitter in their eyes as they listened to you. Being on the road and having to sleep on the tour bus every night was an experience they’d missed. They hadn’t gone on an actual tour in almost a year – as someone who thrived on live performances, they had obviously missed this.

Really, you’ve missed it, too. Rated Riot may have been a riot to look after as their manager – pun fully intended – especially on tour, but they were your riot to deal with.

You liked your job and the challenges that came with it, because, in the end, you overcame most of them: starting with your previous relationship with Jungkook (no one in the band had a problem with it, and the label miraculously seemed not to know about it) and ending with your relatively young age (Jungkook was the only one who had a problem with you being his age, but he had a problem with almost everything).

Hopefully, one day you’d manage to overcome the challenge that was getting Jungkook to open his eyes and realise that the people he surrounded himself with were more groupies than his friends. But all in due time.

“If you have questions,” you said as the meeting approached its’ conclusion, “go right ahead.”

“Wake-up calls,” Yoongi said. “Any possibility of arranging those?”

You smiled – this had been traditional practice ever since you started to work with them.

“I’ll call,” you said and then remembered a particularly frustrating way in which this had backfired. You added, “and keep you on the phone until you’re out of bed.”

Back when you were an assistant manager to a different band, this had been your main task. And, you supposed, if Rated Riot had assistant managers, they’d be the ones making wake-up calls, too – however, the band had only started to live up to their potential now. Before you booked the European tour for them, Jett Records thought they barely needed one manager to begin with.

You’ve made it this far. If the tour went well, maybe you’d get to expand your team as the band gained popularity.

Jungkook felt giddy the whole night. The Reconnaissance show with Taehyung and Luna was a lot of fun, as expected—he’d seen the band five times before tonight, and they never failed to let him down.

When he arrived at the after-party, he was nearly vibrating with excitement—on top of everything, he was going on tour tomorrow and he knew he might lose his mind over it—and this was usually the time when he tended to get reckless.

He did drink a little too much to retain a completely sober mind, but he stayed true to his word and did not wander anywhere or caused any—serious—trouble. You would have said that’s because Sid and Jude weren’t with him, but Jungkook was convinced it was because he simply had great self-control when he put his mind to it.

The only place he went to after the party was his family’s house, so he could say goodbye to his grandma. She probably wouldn’t even hear him—and if she would, then she probably wouldn’t recognise him—but he couldn’t leave to Europe without saying goodbye to her.

He thought he’d take his Katana to the house, but then remembered immediately the last time he got on his motorcycle drunk – his grandma had, literally, smacked him on the back with a rolling pin, yelling about how careless he was. She didn’t say that she hit him out of concern for his safety—that was obvious—and, instead, she focused on how hard he’d worked on restoring the bike after he’d bought it; his first purchase with the money that he made off Rated Riot’s music.

“Don’t you want it to last?” she had said then. She’d been the only person who believed he could bring the bike to life, despite it not having a single properly functioning part, least of all the engine. “You worked so hard on it. Do you want to wreck it in one night?”

Tonight, however, everyone in the house was asleep when he arrived. It was quiet, so he tried to be silent as he went up the stairs to her room—and then knocked over a picture frame after his feet fumbled on the carpet in the hallway. But no one went out to check who was making the noise—which was dangerous, he realised for a brief, semi-sober second; but the house had security, so he figured they were safe from outsiders—and he gently lowered the handle on his grandma’s door, peering inside.

The room was painted in blue hues from the night light next to the bed where his grandma was sleeping. He approached—really trying to be quiet this time—and carefully pulled her comforter up, so she wouldn’t get cold, even though the room felt warm.

It was always warm here and Jungkook had to bite his lip when he realised how much he missed sitting here as a child while dozens of his cousins ran around the house and wreaked loud, childish havoc. How much he missed his grandma reading him books—never children’s stories, he always insisted she read him the thickest, most boring books he could find on her shelves, just so he could stay in her room longer, listening to her soothing voice and feeling her comforting warmth.

Sniffling quietly, he leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of white hair from her face, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, unaware of his presence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She didn’t wake. “We will talk again then.”

He knew he’d keep this promise even if she didn’t hear it, even if she didn’t remember. But leaving her room felt painful and he was far less excited now. The alcohol had begun to wear off and heaviness settled in his chest instead. This happened sometimes when he was left alone with his thoughts, especially after he visited his grandma.

He'd come back, he knew he would. But as he glanced at his grandma’s sleeping frame one more time—remembering how she hadn’t called him by his name in months; not one glint of recognition in her eyes when she’d see him—he wondered if he’d have anyone to come back to.

Surprising exactly no one, Jungkook was the only one who did not answer your wake-up call the next morning. Having foreseen this, you’d already called Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung – in that order, because the first two took the longest to wake up, and by that time, Taehyung was already awake on his own – and only then attempted to reach the one remaining member.

Fifteen minutes later, you were already dressed and ready to drive over to his house and personally wake him up with an icy bath in bed. And just then, your phone rang – his name as the caller’s ID.

“Look who—”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook’s groggy voice cut you off before you could greet him with the appropriate sarcastic remark. “I’m awake. Halfway in the shower.”

“I don’t hear running water.”

He responded with a groan first, then shuffling. You waited patiently, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Finally, you could hear the water start running on the other end of the call.

“Happy?” Jungkook asked, always the brightest of all rays of sunshine in the morning.

“Ecstatic,” you replied, equally as enthusiastically. “Sending a car to pick you up in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I can drive myself—”

“No driving when you’re hungover,” you said, not for the first time. “In fact, don’t even go near your Katana.”

He considered several ways to respond to you; first and foremost, defending his beloved, navy-coloured Suzuki Katana with a matte coating, custom-made leather seat covers, golden rims, purring engine, and—anyway. He ended up choosing to respond with a question, “how do you know I’m hungover?”

“I’ve known you for almost ten years,” you replied. “If you go out drinking the night before, you’ll wake up hungover.”

“Well, how do you know I drank that much last ni—?”

“Listen,” you cut him off, hoisting your suitcases over the threshold of your front door. You fixed your phone against your cheek and continued, “how about you take that shower, and we’ll resume this nice little Q&A at the airport?”

“No,” he replied and, in a purposefully exaggerated breathy voice said, “I simply can’t stop talking to you.”

“Hanging up now.”

Jungkook laughed as he listened to the beep, indicating the end of the call. Putting his phone on the side of the sink, he took his shirt off and was about to continue undressing when his phone vibrated and nearly fell off the sink.

Scrambling to catch it, he smacked it against the cupboard and exhaled in relief when he saw that the screen hadn’t cracked. He was expecting a text from you – a threat, in case he’d go back to bed – but it was actually Sid, asking for the time of his flight.

His friends were taking a separate flight out to Prague – they weren’t happy about it and neither was he, but at least they’d get to hang out in Europe eventually – and, obviously, they wanted to know what time they’d meet up and where.

He double-checked the itinerary you’d emailed him, got confused about the time zone difference and texted Sid back.

“Gonna be there the day before the show,” his text said, “jetlag. Sleep. Maybe beer? Catch u there.”

Sid was, of course, delighted to hear the mention of beer and Jungkook snickered to himself before he resumed undressing for his shower—knowing from experience that you wouldn’t be above shipping him to Prague in the cargo section on the plane if he was late to the airport.

As it turned out, for the first time in his life, Jungkook was so terribly jet-lagged, that he did not feel like doing anything – not even drinking with friends – but sleeping.

He slept through the whole layover in Paris – and, consequently, through Taehyung and Luna’s stories about the 5 minutes they got to spend in front of the Eiffel Tower before rushing back to the airport (never mind that it was about 2 AM) – as well as the flight to Prague.

He only woke up on the bus ride to the hotel when he felt something nudging his lips and opened his eyes to find an open bottle of Coca-Cola in your hands as you held it by his face.

“Did you just—” he started to say, but his voice sounded brittle, more a croak than a voice, really. He cleared his throat and tried again, “did you just wake me up by making me sniff soda?”

“It worked,” you replied, nudging the bottle at him again. “Drink. You need sugar. You didn’t eat anything on the plane here.”

“I had that bagel on the flight to Paris,” he mumbled, but sat up properly and took the bottle from you.

“That was a croissant,” you clarified. It was almost cute to see him barely awake. “And I warned you about flying with a hangover. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he replied after taking a big gulp of coke. “Not sure which day it is, but other than that, I’m perfect. Do you have anything for headaches?”

Snickering, you nodded. “Yeah, give me a second.”

You went to fetch your carry-on bag and returned with ibuprofen, which allowed him to go back to sleep until you arrived at the hotel. The other members were also in and out of slumber, but that was their own fault. You and the other girls on this tour, which, really, only meant Luna— Taehyung’s girlfriend—and Maggie—the tour photographer—had planned ahead and taken sleeping pills as soon as the plane took off. Meanwhile, every man on this trip thought too much of himself.

By the time you arrived to the hotel and checked in, it was already lunchtime. If this had been your first time travelling with Rated Riot, you would have been beyond surprised to see what effect food had on them: they looked like they'd just returned from the most refreshing vacation in the Caribbean. Lively conversation and cheerful laughter echoed around the table – no one would have guessed that they’d just spent over 13 hours on airplanes. Their recovery was nearly always miraculous.

And, naturally, since they were feeling better, they wanted to do something as soon as the first rehearsal was over. You had far too many things to do before the show tomorrow, so you couldn’t babysit them – again, an assistant manager would have been life-saving – but you knew you’d still have to keep an eye on them.

Taehyung and Luna went sightseeing, but they were the sort who kept you updated on their adventures through pictures, which you were endlessly grateful for. There was never a reason to worry here; if you were a teacher who had to pretend not to have a favourite student, Taehyung would be the student you were pretending about.

Yoongi and Hoseok, initially, went to a record store together, but then split up – one of them returned to the hotel for a nap, and the other one went café-hopping. Those two were also fine – they usually took some members of the crew with them anyway, so you knew that in the worst-case scenario, you’d still have several people you could call to reach them.

Now Jungkook was going to meet up with Sid and Jude, both of whom had, most unfortunately, successfully landed in Prague. The Diabolical Duo would take him out drinking, you had no doubt about it – and this was where you’d have to step in with another warning. You weren’t the angry mother, dragging her children by their ears, but you felt it necessary to remind Jungkook of what was at stake if he allowed his friends to be their usual, obnoxious selves tonight.

However, you didn’t want to ask, so you had to figure out where to find them yourself. You didn’t even have to use the seven years that you’ve known them to deduce two logical, universal-for-all-assholes things: one, Jungkook’s friends wouldn’t be nearly tired enough not to want to drink. Two, they’d be too jet-lagged to look for their usual hole-in-the-wall spot that sold drinks. Therefore, they’d have to settle for the bar of the hotel.

And when you exited the elevator on the ground floor later that night, your assumption was confirmed – you could hear their laughter from where you were standing in the lobby.

You’d texted Jungkook as you arrived, hoping he’d leave his friends and come see you at the back of the bar for a minute, but unfortunately, Sid and Jude noticed you and waved you over with loud cheers.

Embarrassed as the people in booths around you began to turn to look, you swallowed and walked towards the front where Jungkook and his friends were sitting by the bar.

“Wow, it’s been so long!” Jude exclaimed as you approached. In your opinion, it wasn’t nearly long enough, but you only lifted the corners of your lips and did not comment.

“Jungkook, a moment?” you said instead.

“Let’s get you a drink!” Sid suggested as though you hadn’t spoken and extended a hand, clicking his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Can we get some Margaritas here?”

You cringed watching this, but, again, restrained yourself. They could behave like pricks all they wanted; it wasn’t their reputation that you had to protect. Someone else would, hopefully, teach them a lesson.

“Sure,” Jungkook said to you, sliding off the stool. He seemed sober enough to walk without any sort of waddling or stand without swaying, but you could tell by the relaxation behind his eyes, that he was already tipsy.

His friends patted him on the back and whistled as he followed you to a quieter spot in the back of the bar. He shook his head at them—but had a grin on his face, and for that alone you wanted to punch him.

“Can I count on you to take it easy?” you asked, once the two of you were out of earshot. “Not because you’ll make my job much harder if you don’t, but because you have a rehearsal tomorrow at eight, and that’s hard with the jet lag alone, but add a hangover into the mix, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, but you’ve heard this song many times before. It was one of his top hits. “I’m actually tired, so I might have a few and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing to believe him, because that was easier than making him sign a contract, swearing not to wake up in a dumpster. “Can you text me when you’re back in your room? So I know you’re not lost somewhere in Prague with Dumb and Dumber.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile at the nickname, but he resisted – a loyal friend, even if they didn’t deserve it – and gave you a nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll text you. And I won’t get lost.”

“Okay—” you started to say and then squinted your eyes at him, realizing. “I meant don’t go wandering the city streets while drunk.”

He snorted and placed a hand on your left shoulder. Gazing into your eyes, he enunciated very dramatically, “I will not get into trouble. Promise.”

You pursed your lips. “You’d better not.”

“I realise what that would mean, believe it or not,” he said, straightening. “Tomorrow is an important day. I’d never do anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” you said. “I trust you to make smart choices. I don’t trust them.”

You pointed at the twosome by the bar – both of them watching you like you were the entertainment of the night – and Jungkook turned to look. Sid and Jude both immediately waved at him. Jungkook waved back and, when he looked at you again, he was smiling softly.

Clearly, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with those two. You’d never believe that there was anything about them that was bearable—let alone enjoyable—so Jungkook’s weird attachment to them had to come from some sort of weird destructive force inside of him.

“I’ll keep them in check,” he said and then, possibly prompted by the skeptical frown on your face, he felt the need to explain, “they help me relax. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be shaking from anxiety all the time. Kind of like you are.”

He winked as he said that last part, grinning at his own wit, but you rolled your eyes in response.

“Goodnight,” you said then. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“Are you going to stay up late waiting for my text?” his tone was humorous and it stopped you from leaving.

“Hopefully not,” you said, ignoring the flirty comment that was obviously meant to rattle your composure. “But it’d do you well to remember that I can make life very difficult for you if you disobey me.”

He lifted his eyebrows at this, but did not lose the grin. “Oh? Will I get punished if I—”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you said again—louder—and turned away.

You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the archway leading to the lobby and caught him watching you leave—he was still beaming, but he composed himself and nodded when he caught your eye. You nodded back.

Maybe he really would be fine tonight.

And, truly, Jungkook had meant what he’d said – he couldn’t wait for tomorrow and there was nothing he’d do to ruin that. Not even if the smirking faces of his friends prompted him to laugh as soon as he returned to his seat by the bar.

“What do you want, assholes?” he asked, punching Jude on the shoulder as he walked past his friends. As soon as he sat down, leaving Sid in the middle, he took a big gulp of the beer he’d left waiting; only his third one tonight.

“We don’t want anything,” Jude said, still smirking. “What did she want? Another moral how you’re not being a good boy?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “No—”

“I was always curious,” Sid interrupted. “Was she like that when you dated, too? You know, always in charge?”

Even before you and Jungkook had settled into a steady enough rhythm of working with each other, neither of you spoke to others about your relationship. Not while you were dating, and not after you broke up. So, all your friends—real friends and whoever the hell Sid and Jude were—essentially knew nothing of your relationship.

And there was nothing he’d tell them now.

It’s been four years since you broke up—plenty of time to move on. Not to mention, you were both (trying to be) professionals. There was no point to bring back the past; there never had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungkook teased, managing to keep the banter going without revealing how the question irked something inside him.

“I would. That’s why I asked,” Sid replied, laughing haughtily. A few heads turned his way. Sid sounded very much like an entitled heir—or an elephant high on helium—when he laughed, especially when there was nothing funny going on. “I mean, you never talked about her to us. Was it getting rid of her that made you who you are today?”

Jude snorted, slapping Sid on the back in a half-supportive, half-warning manner. Jungkook knew that the level of your patience for his friends ranged from Sid (no patience) to Jude (case-by-case), to Minjun (bearable)—and he could see why.

“I didn’t get rid of her,” he said, an edge to his voice. “We broke up and moved on. Did you hear from Minjun?”

Sid laughed again—even louder than before; the glasses behind the bar seemed to clatter.

“Look at him, trying to change the topic!” he wheezed, looking at Jude over his shoulder.

“Leave him be, man,” Jude said and nodded at Jungkook. “So many girls around us and this dumbass is still hung up on your ex, huh?”

Jungkook finished his beer and held the liquid behind his cheeks for a second before swallowing. He caught the bartender’s eye and lifted his empty glass, indicating a refill.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s hung up,” Sid said with a very knowing look in his eye.

Jungkook looked at him and raised his eyebrows—surprised and momentarily distracted from his drink. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you come to her as soon as she calls, like a puppy,” Sid replied. “So, you tell me.”

“I have to come when she calls,” Jungkook defended. “She’s my manager.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Jude said, slapping Sid on the back of the head this time. “She’s his manager.”

Jungkook suddenly found himself smiling when he realised that you’d probably consider this the reason why Sid acted the way he did sometimes – permanent brain damage from Jude’s incessant slaps.

“Well, then someone,” Sid said, angrily accentuating the word—the anger was clearly directed at Jude, but the pronoun at Jungkook, “has a fucking crush on their manager.”

“I don’t have a crush—”

Sid spoke over him, “I bet you could never get her to go out with you again.”

Jungkook saw the bartender approach to pour him a drink and he heard Jude scoffing, but he could only blink, taken aback by what sounded like an accusation. “Why—why would I even—why—”

“Oh, see, see?!” Sid screeched, turning to Jude with a triumphant expression. Jude gave him a pitiful look—and looked about ready to give him a black eye, too. “He knows I’m right, it’s why he’s stuttering!”

“Dude,” Jude said slowly. “You are yelling.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, nodding at the bartender as a thank-you and then bringing his refilled glass to his lips. “And I’m not stuttering.”

“You so are, my man,” Sid taunted, patting Jungkook on the shoulder with so much force, the beer nearly spilled from the glass and from his mouth. “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

Suddenly hyper-aware that there were several producers on tour with them right now, Jungkook put his drink down and straightened in his seat.

“I’m not fucking singing at weddings,” he said.

“Not yet,” Sid pointed out, grinning. He knew he'd gotten under his skin.

“Okay, come on now,” Jude interjected, leaning back in his seat to be able to see Jungkook. “You promised you’d sing at my wedding.”

“As if anyone would ever marry you,” came Sid’s snide.

“You shut the fuck up,” Jude snarled, but there was no malice behind his bark. “I have more chances of marrying someone than he has of marrying his manager.”

“He—oh, fuck!” Sid was about to argue, but then burst into laughter—so loud and thunderous again, that the bartender was forced to glance over at the security guards by the entrance to the bar. “That’s good! You’re so right!”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Jungkook spoke. The edges of his vision were red. “I could get her to go out with me again if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Sid nodded, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “Big talk.”

“Jungkook, no offense, my dude,” Jude said, leaning forwards this time. “Let him have this one. Sid may be dumber than box of rocks, but he’s got a point here. Forget about her.”

Another insinuation that had Jungkook throwing his head back in frustration.

“There’s nothing to forget!” he groaned. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I just fucking told you I moved on.”

“So why are you getting all riled up, then?” Sid smirked, more and more satisfied with each curse that he provoked out of him.

Jungkook felt even angrier, because he was getting riled up, but he had a good reason for it. He enjoyed banter as much as the next person, but he did not enjoy mockery at his own expense—especially not the kind that involved you.

He snapped back, “because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

His friends snickered at this – convinced that his irritation only proved the point they were both making – and Jungkook clenched his jaw, annoyed.

“If anything,” he added sharply as he picked his beer up—as if that could somehow distance him from this conversation, “it’s her who’s still hung up on me.”

That was a cheap, childish defence, and everyone by the bar knew it.

“Yeah, right!” Sid cried out, but resisted from laughing again. “We’ve heard her yell at you more times than we can count. You fucking wish she was still hung up on you.”

“Okay, to be fair, Sid can probably only count to five,” Jude added—Sid finally punched him on the shoulder—as he toyed with the paper umbrella on his fourth cocktail; the Margaritas they’d ordered were long gone. “But he’s right, you know? You’d never get her to go out with you again.”

There was pity in Jude’s voice—as if he felt sorry that Jungkook lived in denial, chasing after you and convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before you’d come back to him.

This made Jungkook’s temper vile, his face red, hot, and angry. He slammed his beer back on the table, forcing some of it to spill. “Yes, I fucking would!”

Sid was hiccupping as he laughed.

“Okay, okay, listen—let’s make a proper bet,” he managed. He picked up a napkin from the bar top, then looked around for something to write on it with—not finding anything, he stood up from his seat and leaned over the bar, grabbing a pen before the bartender could notice. “$1000 says you can’t get her to go on a date with you again.”

He glanced at Jude for approval—Jude shrugged.

“I’d suggest $500,” he said. “We don’t want to rob him blind.”

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, prideful.

“Fine with me. But you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into,” he bit.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s been awfully cocky about the whole thing, hasn’t he?” Sid spoke, addressing his rhetorical question at the bar. He wrote something on the napkin and then lifted it to show the number “4000” to Jungkook. “How about this: Jude and I each pay you $2000 if you win. But if you lose, you give us your Katana.”

Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, the sudden mention of his bike catching him off-guard. Sid came from old money, he could afford fifteen brand-new motorcycles with the change he found in his suitcase, probably.

“How is that fair?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a Suzuki costs these days? It’s not $4000, I can tell you that much.”

“Why should you care?” Sid asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You were so confident about winning the bet just a second ago. Scared you’ll lose after all?”

In his defence, Jungkook did hesitate for half a moment. But there was a shit-eating grin on Sid’s mouth that he wanted to wipe off more than anything else, and he downed the rest of his beer in one big gulp—a showcase of his determination.

“Not at all,” he said then. He wasn’t sure if he was lying as he said this, but he had no time to figure that out. He extended his hand at Sid. “Get your money ready.”

Here, he was putting up a front – this wasn’t about the money at all. It was more a thing of pride; they were teasing him, purposefully making fun of him—and he wanted to prove them wrong, regardless if they were actually wrong.

Smirking, Sid shook his hand—cementing the bet between all three of them, as Jude was busy finishing off his cocktail—and was about to say something when Jungkook jumped off his stool.

“Have to go now,” he said, always a show-off with his overly creative comebacks when he was tipsy. “My horoscope predicts a date and a big fortune in my near future. Got to prepare.”

chapter title credits: sleep token, “rain”

special shout-out & thank you to @eleni-cherie who delivered the much-appreciated kicks in the ass, so that i would keep writing. the odds were really against me, so if it weren't for you & our in-depth fanfic discussions, i definitely wouldn't even be writing this note right now, let alone finally starting this story 💜

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts rockstar au #bts scenarios #jungkook rockstar au #jungkook reaction #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic

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sanguineterrain · 5 months ago

Text

angel of small death | jason todd

Summary: You can't remember what it was like to be human. Until Jason returns. Now, he's the only thing tethering you to this world. And you won't let anything happen to him.

Pairing: Jason Todd x shadow monster!gn!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings/tags: monster!reader, canon-typical violence, codependency, reader attacks Batman, reader accidentally hurts Jason, stalking, suicidal thoughts, crying, hurt/comfort, somewhat happy ending.

A/N: I wrote this in a day so if there are any grammar mistakes please feel free to lmk!

the divider

You feel it when Jason returns.

No one else seems to. The Bat (his… family?) doesn’t sense anything is different, but you do.

And just as quickly as you feel him, he’s lost. His grave is empty. You scour Gotham for him, his body, anything. But he’s gone. Stolen.

If you were more powerful, free from this wretched body, you would find him. Hunt down whoever took him, then bring him back to Gotham, so he might rest.

For a short day, your limbs had felt like flesh. The void that is your mouth had smiled. You were human again.

Jason is lost. You scream in mourning.

He’s back.

You’re awake.

“Go through the side!”

Hood’s men scramble to obey, armed and ready. They’ve planned this ambush for three and a half weeks. Black Mask made himself scarce after Hood made it clear he wouldn’t leave him alone. You watched in pride and worry as Jason threw himself into his revenge.

He’s stronger than in your memory. He’s big, bigger than most opponents. Bigger than the Bat. He’s good with a weapon. Good in combat. Scarred all over. Brutal.

But he’s angry and hurt, and he’s human. He may have the Pit inside of him, but he is no monster. You would know.

The Bat is hunting him. You will tear him apart, if necessary. You will tear apart anyone who hurts Jason.

You slip through the shadows, letting your limbs stretch as long as they can. They make awful shrieking noises when you stretch too far, and it makes the men below nervous.

One of Jason’s men looks right at you. You look back. He gasps and runs back to the van.

These men are loyal but they’re nowhere near strong enough to protect Jason. You’d prefer to eat them all, but Jason seems to trust them. So you gut a lackey in a clown mask and silently remain on the highest balcony across the street from Black Mask’s lair.

Once, you permitted yourself to watch Jason in his apartment, in his bed, while he slept. He cried through a nightmare. You tried to chase the nightmare away, but you’d only made it worse. He awakened, sweating and gasping, and screamed as soon as he saw you.

You haven’t revealed yourself since.

You are lonely. You want to die. You’ve wanted to die for a long time.

But you won’t. Not before you see Jason home safe.

Automatic gunfire echoes from the lair. You rush to the unlit side of the building. You peer in through the window.

It’s mostly Black Mask’s men on the floor, bleeding. You slip inside to eat the death.

“The fuck is that?!”

You look up just as three bullets pass through you. You scowl at the offending gunman, who drops his gun and runs. Rude.

You wouldn’t normally enter like this, make your presence so obvious. If someone were looking for you, they could easily track you after tonight.

But nothing matters except Jason.

There’s shouting outside. You soar to the ceiling and through the skylight.

“Shit, shit, fuck! Boss! Boss, you alright?”

“Shut the fuck up, Garett,” Jason says, helmeted head lolling against the brick. Three of his men crowd him.

You speed to the shadow, carefully avoiding the light casted by the overhead streetlight. You’ve stepped in one before and the fluorescent lights sting.

Jason is bleeding from his gut, where his armor separates to allow movement.

You creep closer. If you still had a heart, it would beat fast. You remember how it felt. You don’t feel fear often these days, but now you know for sure that it was never gone.

You scream.

The streetlight shatters. Jason and his men cover their ears, shouting in pain. His men start to bleed from their ears. It doesn’t take much for you to strike them down, knock them into a fitful slumber.

“Who’s there?”

Jason immediately pulls out his gun, despite his injury. You try to stay on his side, so he won’t have to see your yellow, bottomless eyes. You’d close your eyes if you weren’t so afraid of hurting Jason further.

“I ain’t scared of you!” he says, and you’d be inclined to believe him if your teeth weren’t peeking out at the scent of his fear.

You swallow and focus on his injury. You stretch your fingers to two thin points. Then you reach into his stomach and pull out the bullet.

Jason yells in pain and fires. You ignore it and keep going.

“Sssssss-sssor–ry,” you rasp.

Jason turns his head and looks right at you. He panics, trying to squirm away. You quickly hold him down so your fingers won’t rip through his intestine.

“Let go a’me! Let go!”

He fires until the cartridge is empty. You are crying.

“Sss-sssor-sssorry.” Then you sear Jason’s wound closed.

That’s when he passes out, the pain overwhelming him. Black tears run down your face and join the dark.

As soon as the wound is cauterized, you slink to the darkest corner of the city, inside an abandoned warehouse.

You let yourself grow into your full form, showing your claws and exposed tendons and the hole in your chest.

Then you cry, cry, cry. The windows explode, the bricks become dust, and still, you cry into the rubble. You cry until morning.

You can’t stop.

You should. You’re fearsome and ugly and Jason is already entrenched in grief. You’ll only make him worse.

But after the ambush, you can’t rest. You have tried to return to the dirt, to where you had lain for so long. You swim to the bottom of the ocean and try to sleep with the creatures there. That doesn’t work either.

So you follow Jason instead. You follow him every night on patrol. You snipe anyone who gets too close, intending to harm. Jason returns home with a full magazine, most nights. You know he should take care of his adversaries on his own to keep in practice, but you throw up iridescent black oil when you try to let go and not protect him.

“I know you’re there.”

You’re crouched on an apartment’s fire escape two stories above. Jason has stopped. He’s been frozen for several minutes.

You look around, trying to find who Jason sees. But the alley is empty.

“I know…” Jason takes a shaky breath. “I know you’re there. I feel ya watchin’ me.”

Then he takes off his helmet and tosses it aside. He takes off his holsters and removes his knives and tasers and drops those next to his helmet.

You crawl on all fours down the apartment building, claws scraping the brick. You can smell his fear from here.

You rattle a loose screw at the end of your climb. Jason turns in your direction. He gasps, eyes wide.

You freeze. Neither of you move for a long minute.

“You’ve been followin’ me,” he says.

You nod. You’re not sure if he can see you in the dark.

“Who—what are you?”

You crawl closer. Jason wants to move away, you can tell, but he doesn’t.

On your hands, you come up to his head. You wish you could make yourself smaller.

Jason swallows hard, chest rising and falling quickly.

You’re not good at speaking. You used to be. Used to have all the words. Now they’re gone. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

“I feel… shit, I feel like I know ya,” he says. “You know me?”

“Rrrrrrrob–rrobiiii—robiiiiin.”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah. You knew me then?”

You reach for him. Careful. So careful. You use the blunt side of your claw to touch Jason’s scarred cheek. He’s so warm. So full of light.

He steps back. Your hand falls.

You start to cry. You can’t help it.

Your claws dig into the pavement, tearing through asphalt.

“Waaaan–wantttttt. Tttt. Jaaaayy. WAN—TTTT. WA—JAY. WANNN—”

You try to speak softly, but it comes out like a shriek. Jason grunts in pain, covering his ears. Red seeps through his fingers.

You stumble backwards at the sight. You must go. You must try again and see if the ocean will take you.

“Wait! Wait, wait!”

Jason runs around, holding up his hands in front of you. You stop, black tears pooling into a puddle at his feet.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. I know you.”

You want to speak but you’ll hurt him if you do. So you cry in silence. Jason waits.

“‘S okay,” he says again. “You didn’t do it on purpose. Shh, shh. Don’t cry.”

His fear is lessened. Not gone, but not grown.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, honey.”

The tears keep falling. Jason keeps waiting.

“‘Course I remember ya,” he says, and pets you where your cheek should be. “How could I forget you?”

You moan quietly. It doesn’t hurt Jason this time.

The night that the Bat finds Jason brings a thunderstorm with it.

You’ve followed Jason for weeks now. He’s no longer afraid when he catches glimpses of your endless mouth and shapeless eyes. Sometimes, on patrol, you get nervous. When you’re too close to people, to noise, you get restless. You want to run, but you can’t, because Jason will be alone. And so will you.

Jason has begun to hum when you get nervous. You get closer when he does, looming over him, but he no longer smells like fear.

“Y’smell like peaches, y’know that?” he’d said a few weeks ago.

You’d just pitched your head lower to show you were listening.

“Yeah,” Jason had said. “Like peach pie. I was so confused the night you removed the bullet. Craved peach pie for days. Ain’t that the weirdest shit you’ve ever heard?”

Honestly, yes. After everything, that is definitely the weird part.

“Gooo—g-g…” You’d swallowed, frustrated. Jason had hummed.

“‘S okay,” he’d said. “‘M listening. Take your time.”

So you’d tried again. “G-good?”

“Yeah, honey. Oh, yeah. So good. You’re so good.”

That hadn’t been what you meant. But you’d gotten the feeling Jason knew what you were asking and decided to answer another question anyway.

It’s pouring tonight. The rain doesn’t bother you, but if lightning starts, you may have to retire for tonight.

That’s only in an extreme circumstance, however. For now, you’re right there with Jason.

“Shit, ‘s really comin’ down, huh!” Jason shouts over the rain.

He swings to a rooftop and almost slips on water. You rush to him, but he holds up a hand, laughing.

“‘M fine, ‘m fine. I gotta finish the southside. You can dip if you want.”

You don’t respond. Jason sighs.

“Alright, fine. C’mon.”

You’re two blocks into the southside when a dark blob lands in front of Jason. You stay hidden, eyes sharp.

The blob is a man. The Bat.

“Jason,” Batman says. Jason stiffens.

You feel a screech working its way out, but you stop it for Jason’s sake. You will intervene if he needs help.

Both of their fear levels have shot up.

The Bat steps forward. “You lied to me, Jason. I can’t believe it’s you going around Gotham killing—”

“Oh, you can’t?” Jason spits. “You can’t believe your little bird that’s back from the dead is angry that no one fuckin’ cleaned up this city? The clown is still alive, Bruce!”

Thunder cracks the sky. You stay silent, keeping your grip on the side of the building light. You’d offered to kill the Joker for Jason. Ki–lllll clo–own? K–ill?

But Jason had told you no. Had said that it wasn’t your responsibility. So you’d refrained.

The Bat is quiet for a moment. Then, “I’m sorry, Jason. I know you’re upset, but—”

“Fuck you. I don’t wanna hear your attempts at peacemaking. I’m not gonna stop no matter what you say.”

“Jason,” the Bat says. “You have to stop killing.”

“The only way I’m gonna stop is if you kill me.”

You scramble down as soon as you hear armor clash. A batarang strikes Jason’s chestplate. Jason’s increasingly aggressive, forcing the Bat to defend himself harder.

Thunder strikes again. Jason knows all of the Bat’s weak points. And while the Bat is distracted, it doesn’t stop him from fighting well.

The moment the Bat draws blood, you stalk out of hiding and howl.

Three streetlights explode as you grow to your full, terrifying size. Both the Bat and Jason cover their ears. You slam the Bat down on the ground, claws shredding his cape and suit. You’re furious. You will kill.

One of your claws punctures the Bat’s thigh. He shouts in pain. You’ll tear him apart for making Jason bleed.

Rain beats down on you. You heave over the Bat, shaking with fury.

“Stop! Fuck, fuck. Stop it!”

Jason pulls at your arm, which is nearly the size of his entire body. His helmet is cracked, his exposed eye bloodshot. That rekindles your anger, but Jason quickly intercepts.

“Stop, please. It’s okay. I’m okay. Don’t kill him, please. Don’t kill.”

“Miiiiii—m—miiii-ine. Mine.”

Jason nods. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it.

“Yeah, yeah, I am. I’m yours. He’s not gonna take me away from ya. He wouldn’t kill me.”

The Bat coughs, spitting blood. “N-never.”

"Mine," you say, tremulous, blood under your claws. "My Robin."

Jason shakes you. "Yours. I'm yours. C’mon, peach. C’mon, love.”

It would be so easy to end it now. End you and the Bat. And you would do it if you didn’t think it would end Jason too.

His fear is high. You pull your claw out of the Bat, who groans. You let Jason lead you away. He holds your darkness.

“Scaaaar—sc-ared. Scare-d?”

“Yeah,” Jason admits. “Little bit.”

You close your eyes. “Ba-ad.”

“No, honey. You’re not bad. You’re scared.”

You dig your claws into the roof, cracking the concrete. You let yourself shrink, so Jason can wrap his arms around your neck. You don’t trust yourself enough to touch him back.

He’s crying. Jason is crying.

You pull back a little, so you can see his face.

“Cr-y,” you say, feeling like weeping yourself. “Cry cr-y c-ry.”

You want to say so much more, but you can’t. Your words are gone. You know Jason doesn’t judge you for that, but you need to tell him. Tell him how you feel.

You lick Jason’s cheeks. They taste like salt and rainwater. You lick more. Lick until he stops crying.

“Son,” the Bat says behind you.

“‘S okay, B,” Jason says.

Rain drips down his face and suit. He’s beginning to shiver. You try to shield him as best as you can.

“We’re okay,” Jason says, this time just to you.

“Sc-scaare—”

“No, no. Hey, peach. ‘M not scared. Y’hear me?”

You slowly drape your arms over Jason’s back. He strokes your wrist that droops and stretches unnaturally.

“Yeah. You know me. I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #jason todd imagine #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #shadow monster #shadow monster reader #monster reader #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dc x you #jason todd x gender neutral reader

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imaginaryf1shots · 6 months ago

Text

Shattered | Lewis Hamilton

WC: 7K

Lewis x reader

Summery:(REQUESTED) You and Lewis have been in a long term relationship, he's on a triple header and you decide to surprise him only to walk in on him in bed with your childhood friend, more over you're pregnant with his baby.

Warning: cheating, cursing, pregnancy, miscarriage, blood, Sexual Asult, drugs, Sorry to all Carlas out there, but I just generated a name

A.N: This is longer that I was anticipating but it needed to be long.

Masterlist

Lewis Masterlist

You have been with Lewis for years, five years to be exact. Enough time for him to be integrated into your friend group. You usually try to travel with him as much as you can, but sometimes due to work commitments it’s hard for you to follow him. Saving your days off for the important races and his days off so you could relax together. One of your friends, Carla, was in between jobs at one point but wasn’t able to find anything. So Lewis being the man he is, offered her a spot in his team, and so Carla has been travelling with him a lot since then.

So she was the person you went to when you wanted to surprise Lewis, he was not expecting you this weekend at all, and you managed to get time off to see him. It’s been 2 weeks since you saw each other and you were itching to go see him.

Your heart fluttered with excitement and anticipation as you approached the hotel door, after 2 weeks of separation, you couldn’t wait to be in Lewis’s arms again. You smile to yourself, relishing the surprise you planned for him. Slipping the keycard into the lock, you push the door open, your anticipation building with each passing second.

The last thing you thought would happen, happened. The sight that greeted you inside shattered all your hopes and dreams in an instant. The smile wiped from your face, just like that.

There, on the bed, lay Lewis,your partner of five years, his eyes unfocused and distant. And straddling him, with a look of brazen disregard, was Carla, your childhood friend, her confidante, her sister in all but blood. But there was nothing familiar about the way she straddled Lewis, her movements possessive and predatory.

Your mind reeled, unable to process the surreal things unfolding before you. You watched in stunned disbelief as Carla leaned in close to Lewis, her lips brushing against his ear in whispered intimacy. But there was no warmth in the embrace, no tenderness in the caress. Lewis seemed so drunk he showed no reaction to what’s happening around him. The shock was like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs and leaving you reeling in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Not to you. Not with the two people you trusted most in the world.

"Carla- Lewis." The words caught in your throat, your voice a mere whisper against the oppressive silence of the room.

"y/n..." Carla's voice cut through the suffocating silence, but there was no remorse in her tone, only a chilling indifference. "I didn't expect you so soon."

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of the betrayal unfolding in front of you. Lewis wouldn't do this to you, and neither would Carla. But as you looked into their eyes, Lewis's vacant and Carla's calculating ones, you knew the truth. They had betrayed you, and they had done it knowingly.

A surge of anger and hurt threatened to overwhelm you.

“C-Carla, why are you- on t-top of Lewis like that?” You asked, voice trembling with anger and betrayal but most of all hurt.

“It's not what you think, y-y/n. Lewis wasn't feeling well, so I was just... helping him.” Carla tried to reason, she’s no longer on top of Lewis, she picked up his shirt that you bought for him and slipped it on.

“Helping him?” You scoffed, your eyes flashing with fury. “Cut the crap! Lewis, what the hell are you doing with her?”

“y/n, please, let me explain.” Carla pleaded with you and you shook your head.

“Explain? Explain what, Carla? That you're on top of my boyfriend?” This is all too much, even with her words, and her pleading with you, it all sounded fake. She’s not sorry and there’s no explanation to this, she knew what she was doing.

“Y/n? B-baby? What are you doing h-here?” Lewis sounded so out of it, shit drunk for sure. Lewis isn’t the type to drink a lot. You can remember all the times he was so drunk he was out of it, it’s so not like him. But it’s also not like Carla to be naked on top of your naked boyfriend.

“Fucking herll, I trusted you, i trusted you both.” Tears of betrayal well up in your eyes. “The girl I considered my sister and the man I love more than anything in my life, how could you? Honestly, how could you?”

Carla stutters and Lewis tried to move but he couldn’t even support his own weight, leaving you to scoff, and strom out of the room, as you fled down the hallway, tears stream down your face, your heart shattering into a million irreparable pieces by the two people you trusted most.

“y/n!” A familiar voice calls your name, on instinct you stop and turn, only to see Sebastian there, you have no idea what the former F1 driver is doing here but seeing him made you cry more. Seb was there when your relationship started with Lewis, he’s seen it all. “What happened? Do you want me to find Lewis for you?”

“No, I don’t want to see that asshole again in my life.” You spit out, Seb frowns at your words, but he says nothing. He just pulls you in his arms and hugs you.

“It’s okay, darling, it’s okay.” Seb tries to comfort you, but you shake your head no.

“It’s not okay, Seb, and it never will be.” You pull back, wiping your tears away. “You should go check on him, so he wouldn’t choke on his spit… or leave him, what do I care.”

“Are you sure?” Sebastian wasn’t sure about leaving you in this state, he’ll have a word with Lewis about whatever he’s done to leave you like that. He’s never seen you like this.

“Yes, I’m catching the next flight home.” You tell him and manage the smallest smile known to mankind, before you turn and leave. This time keeping your head down so you wouldn’t be seen or stopped again.

You take a taxi to the airport, your crying started once you were in the back of the car, feeling as your body went through the heartbreak, your world felt like it was collapsing around you. The weather seats of the car felt cold against your trembling body, and each bump in the road sent jolts of pain shooting through your already shattered heart.

The city passed by in a blur outside the window, the lights and sounds of the streets blending together into an indistinct haze. But inside the taxi, you were enveloped in a suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle as tears streamed down your cheeks.

Your emotional pain had morphed into something physical, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Every breath felt like a struggle, as if the air itself had turned thick and heavy with your sorrow.

The ache in your chest radiated outwards, spreading through your body like wildfire. It felt as though your heart had been torn from your chest, leaving behind a raw, gaping wound that throbbed with every beat.

You hugged your arms tightly around yourself, as if trying to hold the pieces of your shattered heart together. But no amount of physical embrace could ease the agony that consumed you from within.

Unbeknownst to you, your body harbored another source of pain. A life growing within you, fragile and unsuspected until now.

The physical toll of your distress began to manifest, a dull ache in your abdomen gradually intensifying into sharp, stabbing pains. Clutching your stomach, you doubled over, gasping for breath as waves of agony washed over you.

The taxi driver who was aware of your tears noticed the change in you, he noticed your distress, concern etched on his face as he glanced back at you through the rearview mirror.

"Ma'am, are you okay? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

Your head spun with a whirlwind of emotions, confusion mingling with the searing pain radiating from your abdomen.

“P-Please… the hospital.” You manage to say through the haze and agony, your voice barely a whisper.

With a sense of urgency, the taxi driver changed course, steering the vehicle towards the nearest hospital. You clung to consciousness by a thread, your breaths shallow and ragged, each movement sending fresh waves of pain coursing through your body.

As the taxi screeched to a halt in front of the hospital's emergency entrance, you were helped out of the car by the concerned driver. Every step you took felt like an eternity, the pain in your abdomen intensifying with each passing moment.

Inside the hospital, you were rushed to the emergency room, where doctors and nurses worked quickly to assess your condition.

The fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare over the stark white walls. Nurses bustled around you, hooking you up to monitors and taking your vital signs, their movements a blur in your pain-addled mind.

You lay on the hospital bed, your body wracked with waves of agony that seemed to consume your whole being. You clutched your abdomen, the source of your torment, with trembling hands, each heartbeat sending fresh spikes of pain coursing through you.

A doctor entered the room, his expression grave as he approached your bedside. His voice was calm but tinged with concern as he addressed you.

"Miss, I'm Dr. Patel. We've run some tests, and I'm afraid I have some news for you."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you looked up at the doctor, your eyes filled with fear and apprehension.

"What is it, doctor? What's wrong with me?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the sounds of the hospital.

Dr. Patel hesitated for a moment, his gaze sympathetic as he delivered the news that would shatter your world once more, you thought that what happened earlier is the worst thing that could ever happen to you. And you’re about to be proven wrong. You haven’t reached reached your lowest point yet.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, Miss, but it appears that you were pregnant. Unfortunately, it seems you are experiencing a miscarriage."

Your world spun out of control at the doctor’s words, your mind reeling with shock and disbelief. Pregnant? Miscarraige? You couldn't wrap your head around the enormity of what the doctor was telling you.

“I-I I was pregnant?” You whispered, your voice choking with emotion. Dr. Patel nodded solemnly.

"Yes, it seems that way. I'm truly sorry for your loss."

Tears streamed sown your face as the weight of the doctor’s words settled over you like a suffocating blanket. You had been carrying a life with you, unaware until now, unaware until it was all too late, until it was taken from you.

Alone in the hospital room, with only the sterile walls for company, you grieved for the child you had never known, your heart breaking with a pain that transcended words. And as you lay there, lost in her anguish, you knew that your life would never be the same again.

Seb's heart pounded with a mixture of anger and concern as he stormed down the hotel corridor towards Lewis's room. The state he saw in you fuelled his determination to confront his friend.

Reaching the door, Seb banged on it with force, the sound reverberating through the hallway. He heard shuffling inside before the door swung open to reveal a dishevelled Lewis and a startled Carla.

"What the hell is going on here?" Seb's voice thundered, his anger barely contained.

Carla stumbled over her words, attempting to offer an explanation, but Seb silenced her with a stern glare. His attention shifted to Lewis, disappointment etched deeply into his features.

"Lewis, how could you?" Seb's voice cracked with emotion, his disbelief palpable. "With Carla, of all people?"

Lewis blinked, his expression a mixture of confusion and alarm. "Seb, I- I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

“Don’t play dumb, Lewis, I just saw y/n.” Seb's frustration surged as he realised Lewis's confusion. “She was in tears over you.”

Carla, sensing the escalating tension, made a hasty exit, leaving Seb alone with Lewis. The weight of disappointment hung heavy in the air as Seb struggled to comprehend what had happened.

"Lewis, something's not right here," Seb said, his voice softening slightly as he studied his friend's bewildered expression. "You seem... out of it."

Lewis shook his head, his memory foggy and fragmented. "I don't know what's happening, Seb. Everything's a blur."

Seb's concern deepened as he realised the severity of the situation. With a sense of urgency, he dialled the only number he had of Lewis’s team, relaying the state he’s in. Even though he’s more coherent now from when you were here, he was still out of it. Stumbling a little, his pupils blown wide, his words sluggish and he’s stuttering.

Minutes later, a medical team arrived at the hotel room, their professional demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos within. They quickly assessed Lewis's condition, taking blood samples and running tests while Seb watched on, his worry mounting with each passing moment. They have to make sure he’s okay to race the next day.

As Lewis began to regain consciousness, the pieces of the puzzle slowly started to fall into place. Seb breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that his friend was going to be okay.

"What... what happened?" Lewis mumbled, his gaze darting around the room in confusion.

Seb sighed, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on his shoulders. "We'll figure it out, Lewis. But for now, let's focus on getting you the help you need."

Sebastian had a theory but until it’s confirmed he’ll just keep it to himself.

Lewis trudged up the familiar path to your shared home, his heart heavy with a sense of dread. The events of the past few days had left him reeling, his mind still struggling to make sense of the chaos that had engulfed his life.

As he reached the front door, he hesitated for a moment, steeling himself for what lay beyond. With a shaky hand, he inserted the key and turned the lock, the door swinging open with a creak that echoed through the empty hallway.

The emptiness of the house hit Lewis like a physical blow, the silence oppressive and suffocating. He stepped inside, the weight of his solitude bearing down on him with each echoing footstep.

The living room was barren, devoid of the warmth and familiarity that once filled the space. Lewis's gaze swept over the room, searching for any trace of the life he had known, but found only echoes of the past.

His heart sank as he realised that your belongings were gone, your absence a gaping void in your once shared home. The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut, the ache of loss settling deep in his chest.

With trembling hands, Lewis reached for his phone, his fingers fumbling as he scrolled through his contacts. But when he tried to call you, he was met with nothing but silence, just like it has been since that day, the realisation crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

You had blocked him on everything.

The weight of your absence pressed down on Lewis with crushing force, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He felt lost, adrift in a sea of loneliness and regret.

How had it all gone so wrong? How had he allowed himself to stray so far from the love that had once anchored him?

With a heavy heart, Lewis sank onto the couch, his head in his hands as he surrendered to the overwhelming tide of despair. In the silence of their empty home, he grappled with the harsh reality of his mistakes, the mistakes he has no memory of, mistakes that he’d never do, longing for a chance to make things right, even as he feared it might already be too late.

Lewis sat alone in your once vibrant home, the air heavy with an oppressive silence that mirrored the emptiness in his heart. He had spent days in a haze of despair. His attempts to reach out to you were met with a resounding silence, leaving him to grapple with his own sense of remorse and longing.

As he sat listlessly on the couch, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the quietude of the room. With a heavy sigh, Lewis reached for the device, his fingers trembling as he answered the call.

"Hello?" His voice was hoarse with exhaustion, his eyes fixed on a distant point in the room.

The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, belonging to a friend of yours, someone Lewis hadn't spoken to in months. The words that followed pierced through the heavy fog of his mind, jolting him into stark awareness.

"Lewis." the voice began, its tone laced with sorrow. “I hate to be the one telling you this, and y/n would hate me for telling you.”

“What’s wrong?” Lewis is instantly filled with a sense of dread and fear as his mind realed trying to come up with reasons why your friend was calling him.

"I'm so sorry to have to tell you this on the phone, but y/n, she was pregnant.”

Lewis’s mind only heard and registered pregnant at first. “Pregnant?” And then he realsied the tense your friend was using. “Was? What do you mean was?”

Silence.

“She lost the baby."

Lewis felt as though the ground had fallen out from beneath him, his heart plummeting into despair. The weight of the revelation crushed him, leaving him gasping for breath as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of the loss.

A baby. Their baby. The child you had never known, taken from you before you even had a chance to hold it in your arms. The realisation sent shockwaves of grief coursing through Lewis's veins, his mind reeling with a cacophony of emotions.

"Why... why didn't she tell me?" Lewis's voice wavered with anguish, his heart splintering into a million fractured pieces. "How could she go through something like this alone?"

The friend on the other end of the line offered what comfort they could, their own voice trembling with empathy. “After everything that happened, she’s entitled to being alone Lewis, I just thought it’s best you know.”

In that moment of searing clarity, Lewis knew what he had to do.

He needed to see you. He needed to hold you in his arms and share in your grief, to let you know that you weren’t alone in your pain. He needed to face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be.

With a heavy heart and a newfound sense of purpose, Lewis rose from his seat and made his way to the bedroom, his phone out already as he called for his jet to be ready in Nice. He’s going to find you, no matter what it took.

Lewis stood on your doorstep, his heart heavy with a mixture of apprehension and determination. He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could make contact with the wood, the door swung open, revealing his tired and worn-down ex-girlfriend.

Your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Lewis standing before you. The lines of exhaustion etched deep into your features softened briefly before hardening into a mask of cold indifference.

"Lewis." You said, your voice devoid of its usual warmth. "What are you doing here?"

Lewis swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him as he met your gaze. "Love, we need to talk."

A flicker of anger flashed in your eyes, but you remained silent, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if to shield yourself from his presence. This leaves him doubting this more than ever.

"I know I messed up, but I need to make things right." Lewis said, his voice trembling with emotion. Your expression remained impassive, but Lewis could see the pain lurking beneath the surface, a reflection of his own turmoil.

"I'm tired of talking, Lewis." You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "You don't get to waltz back into my life after everything you’ve done."

Lewis felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest at your words, the weight of his actions bearing down on him with crushing force. He had hoped for a chance to make amends, but your cold indifference left him doubting whether reconciliation was even possible, and rightfully so.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness." He replied, his voice tinged with desperation. "I just want to understand. About... about what happened."

Your eyes flashed with a mixture of grief and anger at the mention of the past, the pain etched plainly across your face. Lewis felt his heart ache at the sight of your suffering, knowing that he was the cause of it.

"Don't you dare talk to me about what happened." You spat, your voice trembling with emotion. "You don't get to pretend like you care after what you did."

Lewis recoiled as if struck, the force of your words driving the breath from his lungs. He felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of his mistakes threatening to suffocate him.

"I made a mistake, love, and I remember nothing, I was so out of it." He whispered, his voice thick with remorse. "But I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, and I'm sorry."

For a moment, the anger in your eyes softened, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. But it was fleeting, overshadowed once again by a steely resolve.

"I can't do this, Lewis," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Lewis's voice wavered with uncertainty as he broached the topic that weighed heavily on his mind. "Did you... Did you know about the child before it happened?"

Your eyes flickered with a mixture of pain and disbelief at his question, the raw emotions swirling beneath the surface like a tempest.

"Does it even matter now?" You retorted, your voice tinged with bitterness. "Knowing or not wouldn't change what happened."

Lewis's heart sank at your response, the weight of his own ignorance pressing down on him with suffocating force. He had hoped for some shred of understanding.

"I just... I want to be there for you." He pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion. "I want to help you through this, if you'll let me."

Your expression softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the facade of cold indifference. But it was fleeting, replaced once again by a steely resolve.

"I can't do this, Lewis." You said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Not with you."

With a heavy heart, Lewis watched as you closed the door in his face, shutting him out from your life once again. He stood there for a moment, the weight of your rejection crushing him under its unbearable burden.

As he turned and walked away, the echoes of your shattered love lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of what could have been.

Lewis returned to your doorstep every day since, with you refusing to open the door and speak to him. His nights are long and sleepless, as he tries to deal with the turmoil inside of him, he lost you and he lost his child all in one day. It all happened when he was drunk, when he was so out of it he can’t even remember it right now. He knew that he had to try, to lay bare his soul and beg for the forgiveness he so desperately wanted. Needed.

And so once more and with a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock, his knuckles rapping softly against the wood. Finally, after six days of trying the door opened, Lewis was met with your tired gaze, your eyes betraying a mixture of weariness and guarded apprehension. He felt his resolve waver for a moment, the weight of your silent scrutiny pressing down on him like a leaden weight.

"y/n." He began, his voice trembling with emotion. "Please, I need to talk to you."

You regarded him with a wary expression, but remained silent, and so he continued. "I know I've made mistakes, love, believe me I do." Lewis confessed, his voice raw with emotion. "I've hurt you in ways I never intended, and I can't even begin to express how sorry I am for that."

Your eyes softened slightly at his words, a flicker of vulnerability shining through the mask of indifference. But before you could respond, Lewis pressed on, his desperation driving him forward.

"I can't change the past." He admitted, his voice thick with regret. "But I can promise you this, I'll do whatever it takes to make things right. I'll be there for you, through every moment of pain and loss. Please, just give me a chance to prove myself to you."

Tears welled in your eyes at his heartfelt plea, his words striking a chord deep within your wounded heart. Part of you yearned to forgive him, to let him back into your life and embrace the hope of a second chance. But the scars he had left behind were still tender, the pain still fresh and raw.

"I don't know if I can." You whispered.

Lewis felt a pang of despair grip his heart at your words, the fear of losing you forever threatening to overwhelm him. But he refused to give up, his love for you driving him to keep fighting. He’s never given up when it came to racing, and he’s certainly not going to give up now.

"I understand," he said, his voice filled with determination. "But please, just think about it. I'll be waiting for you, for as long as it takes."

With one final pleading look, Lewis turned and walked away.

After weeks of silence and contemplation, you finally made the decision to unblock Lewis and reach out to him. You’ve seen the races, you’ve seen the interviews, Lewis is a man broken, under his eyes have grown darker, he no longer smiles or jokes around. For the first time in his career, racing has become just a job for him.

And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of trepidation, you sent him a text, informing him of your upcoming visit to Monaco and your intention to meet and talk things through. You had some business there you had to take care of, and that was the final push, that maybe you should sit down and talk everything through, not to get back together but maybe to just start moving on, maybe and just maybe become friends and nothing more. You lived with the motion that once a cheater, always a cheater.

You ring the bell to your-Lewis’s house and wait for him to open the door, even though your keychain holds the key that will let you in. This place you once called home. Memories flood your mind as you stand at the front door, a mixture of nostalgia and pain gripping your heart. You take a deep breath and knock. Moments later, the door opens to reveal Lewis, looking worn out and deeply regretful. His eyes soften at the sight of you and there’s hope in them. You’re about to crush that hope and despite everything you hate that you will, and you hate yourself even more for still caring about him even for a bit.

“Come in.” He says quietly, stepping aside to let you pass.

You walk inside, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the faint aroma of the diffuser you always had dotted around the house. The house is tidy, but there’s an unmistakable air of emptiness, it's void of all your little things that you took with you when you left. You sit down on the couch, feeling a strange mix of comfort and tension.

Lewis sits across from you, his hands clasped together, knuckles white. The silence between you is heavy, each second feeling like an eternity.

“You wanted to talk.” You begin, your voice trembling slightly.

He nods, swallowing hard. “I’m so sorry for everything. I... I didn’t know how to reach you, how to make things right.”

“I don't know if you ever could.” Tears well up in your eyes as you look at him. “Seeing you with her... it broke me, Lewis. I trusted both of you. And then... losing the baby...” Your voice breaks, and you cover your mouth, trying to stifle a sob. Lewis’s eyes fill with tears as he reaches out but stops himself, unsure if his touch would be welcome.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t know what was happening. I don't even remember drinking, but my mind went blank, I would never...”

You nod, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions. “I believe you. But it doesn’t make the pain any less real.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.” He leans forward, his eyes pleading. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve been through.”

“You don’t have to imagine.” You reply, your voice tinged with bitterness. “It’s real, and it’s here. Every single day.”

Lewis looks down, shame and regret etched into his features. “If I could take it all back, I would. I’d do anything to make this right.”

“I know. And I’m trying to understand, to forgive, the 5 years we spent together aren't so easy to flush down the drain.” You sigh, feeling the weight of his words. “But it’s so hard, Lewis. Losing our baby... it feels like the universe is p-punishing me.”

“It’s not your fault.” He says softly, his eyes filling with tears. “None of this is your fault. I was careless, I let my guard down. I should have protected you, protected us.” Lewis wipes away a tear, his voice trembling, seeing the man you loved for so long cry, made your own eyes fill with tears. He betrayed you but you still both lost your child before you even knew they existed. “I miss you. I miss us. I want to be there for you, to help you heal. If you’ll let me, just af friends .”

Instinctively, you both move closer, seeking solace in each other’s presence. Lewis reaches out and gently takes your hand, his touch tentative yet filled with a desperate need to comfort you.

“I don’t know if I can ever forget what happened.” You admit, your voice barely a whisper.

“You don’t have to.” He replies, his grip on your hand tightening. “But we can try to move forward, we can try to start coping. Together.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the depth of his sorrow and love. In that moment, you realise that despite everything, the bond between you is still there, it has weakened but it's still there.

“Do you really think we can get through this?” You ask, a hint of hope in your voice.

“I do.” Lewis says earnestly. “It won’t be easy, but I believe in us. I believe in you.”

Tears stream down your face as you lean into each other, your foreheads touching. The hug is a mix of comfort, sorrow, and the lingering love you still feel. You hold each other tightly, finding a fragile sense of solace in your shared grief and determination to heal. The journey ahead is uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, you feel a glimmer of hope.

Someone knocks on the front door, you break apart and Lewis goes to answer the door while you wipe your tears away.

”What are you doing here?” You hear Lewis say, and just as you stood up to go see who it is, Carla comes into the living room. You weren’t expecting her at all, unlike Lewis Carla hasn’t tried to reach out to you in any way. She has even spread some false information about you in your friend group. Carla storms in, her face twisted with anger and jealousy.

“What the hell is this?” she shouts, her eyes wild. “How can you forgive him after everything?”

“Carla, what are you doing here?”

”Me? What are you doing here? You’re just going to forgive him?” She ignores your question, her anger escalating.

“What happens between us is none of your business.” You tell her getting angry yourself, you weren��t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that you haven’t forgiven Lewis and you were merely trying to deal with the grief of losing your child.

“After everything I’ve done to break you two up, I could go to jail!” Her words hang in the air, a shocking revelation that leaves you both speechless. Realising what she’s just admitted, Carla’s face pales, and she tries to backtrack. “I didn’t mean that,” she stammers, but it’s too late. The truth is out.

“What did you just say?” Lewis asks, his eyes narrowing.

Carla’s eyes dart around the room, desperate for an escape. “You heard me wrong. I was just angry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Did you plan everything? Did you mean to break us up? Is that it?” Your anger is boiling over.

“He was supposed to be mine! You were always in the way! You don’t deserve him!” Carla’s face contorted with rage.

Lewis steps between you and Carla, his voice steady but filled with fury. “Get out of my house, Carla. Now.”

“You’re just going to throw me out? After everything I did for you?” Carla’s eyes flash with defiance.

“Everything you did for me?” Lewis scoffs. “You tried to destroy my life, my relationship. You’re the reason we lost our baby!”

“I... I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Carla takes a step back, realising the gravity of her actions. She may have wanted to break you up, but she didn’t know about your baby’s, and she didn’t want you to lose them anyways.

“You need to leave,” you say, your voice shaking with emotion. “You’ve done enough damage.”

Carla glares at you one last time before turning and storming out, slamming the door behind her. The house is silent for a moment, as you try to process everything that just happened.

”What did she mean after everything I’ve done and the jail thing?” You ask Lewis hoping he had any clue on what Carla was talking about.

”I-I’m not sure.”

”Did anything happen before or after…that night?” You ask him, hugging yourself, Lewis once more stops himself from pulling you closer into his arms.

”I don’t know, I was sick the whole night, almost didn’t race the next day.” Lewis remembers the weird sickness he had, it came out of nowhere. “Wait, Sebastian was there.”

”Seb? He actually went to your room?” You asked, knowing Seb of course he did what you said.

”Yeah, I’ll give him a call.” Lewis grabs his phone and calls Seb, recounting Carla’s outburst. Seb who was already suspicious, reinforces the need to follow up on the blood tests.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this.” Seb assures. “Hang tight, and I’ll push the lab to rush the results.”

Apparently since Lewis was alright the day after, they haven’t paid his lap results any mind, but once Seb called them they rushed in sending the results.

“Lewis, I-I have the results,” Seb says, his voice grave. You already have a feeling about what he will say.

“What did they find?” he asks, his heart pounding.

“There were traces of a sedative in your blood. It’s a strong one, often used in cases of severe anxiety or insomnia, but in high doses, it can knock someone out cold,” Seb explains.

A wave of relief and anger washes over you simultaneously. “So, it’s true,” you say, your voice trembling. “Carla really did drug you.”

”I’m afraid so.” Seb said and there was a moment of silence. “I’ll let you guys absorb this, and I’ll call you later.”

”Alright, thank you Seb.”

The confirmation that Lewis was drugged shifts the dynamics entirely. You and Lewis sit in silence, absorbing the magnitude of what has just happened.

Lewis leans back, closing his eyes as he processes the information. “I can’t believe she would do something like this. I trusted her. We both did.”

“She manipulated the situation. But now we know the truth.” You reach out, taking his hand.

“I feel so violated, so helpless. I hate that she did this to us, to you.” He squeezes your hand, tears welling up in his eyes. He wasn’t just drugged and taken advantage of, his relationship was ruined and he lost his child in the process.

“I hate it too.” you admit, your voice cracking. “But at least we have proof now. We can start to heal.”

Lewis pulls you into a tight embrace, his body shaking with emotion. “I’m so sorry for everything. I should have seen the signs. I should have protected you.”

“We couldn’t have known. She was our friend, or at least we thought she was. But we’re still here, and we can get through this together.” You hold him close, your own tears mingling with his.

The emotional weight of the past weeks begins to lift as you find solace in each other’s arms. There’s a renewed sense of unity and strength, knowing that the truth is out and that you can begin to move forward. Knowing that Lewis didn’t cheat left you with a sense of relief, you’re not alone.

“We need to press charges.” You say once you both have calmed down. “She can’t get away with this.”

“You’re right. She can’t get away with this.” Lewis nods, his face set with determination. And he does call his lawyers and told them what happened, they have told him what to do next. A call to the police was made and that set everything in motion, Carla wasn’t getting away with it.

It's been a few weeks since the confrontation with Carla and the revelation that Lewis was drugged. The legal process against her is ongoing, and while justice is on the horizon, the emotional scars remain. You and Lewis have reconciled, but the path to healing is long and filled with pain. The loss of your child is something that still haunt you and will continue to do for a very long time.

You wake up in Lewis's arms, the morning light filtering through the curtains. It's a Saturday, and for the first time in a while, there's no pressing urgency—no lawyers to meet, no police interviews to give, no races to go to, no meetings and no work. Just the two of you, trying to find some semblance of normalcy.

Lewis stirs and looks at you, his eyes soft but weary. "Good morning," he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Morning," you reply, managing a small smile. The simple act of waking up together feels both comforting and bittersweet.

The day unfolds slowly. You make breakfast together, an unspoken effort to reclaim a sense of routine. The kitchen fills with the aroma of coffee and pancakes, a small comfort amid the lingering sadness.

As you sit down to eat, an awkward silence settles between you. Finally, Lewis breaks it. "How are you feeling today?"

You take a deep breath, contemplating your words. "Some days are better than others. Today... I'm not sure yet."

"I miss the baby too. We may have not known them but I miss them so much." He nods, understanding, he says softly, his voice tinged with unexplainable pain. "Every day."

Tears well up in your eyes, and you reach across the table to take his hand. "I know. It's hard to move on, to find a way forward."

"We don't have to rush," Lewis reassures you. "We can take it one day at a time."

After that you found yourselves, both seeking solace in small, intimate moments. Taking long walks in the park, sitting quietly on the couch reading, holding each other during sleepless nights. These moments become the fragile threads that begin to weave your relationship back together. One evening, as you sit together watching the sunset, Lewis turns to you, his expression serious.

"I've been thinking... maybe we should see a therapist. Together. To help us process everything."

"I think that's a good idea. We need to talk about the baby, and about us, and just everything we’ve been through." You consider his suggestion.

And so you start attending therapy sessions together. The first few sessions are difficult, filled with raw emotion and unspoken fears. But slowly, you begin to open up, sharing your deepest pain and hopes for the future.

"Grieving the loss of a child is incredibly personal and complex." The therapist explains. "It's important to allow yourselves to feel the pain, but also to support each other through it."

It took time, and you’re still not back to how it was before. Perhaps you never will, but you’re learning to communicate more openly, to lean on each other in moments of weakness. The road is still long, but each step forward feels like a small victory.

One night, as you lie in bed, Lewis holds you close. "We'll get through this," he murmurs. "I believe in us."

You nod, feeling a glimmer of hope. "I believe in us too. We just have to keep moving forward, one step at a time."

Months pass, and while the pain of losing your child never fully fades, you begin to find new ways to honour their memory. You plant a small garden in the backyard of your home in the UK, a place of peace and reflection.

Your relationship with Lewis continues to strengthen, built on a foundation of shared grief and newfound resilience. There are still difficult days, but you face them together, hand in hand.

You find yourselves always there, whenever you’re in the UK and one sunny afternoon, as you sit in the garden, Lewis takes your hand and looks into your eyes. "I know we'll never forget our baby, but I want us to keep dreaming, to keep hoping. Maybe one day... we can try again."

Tears fill your eyes, but this time they're a mix of sadness and hope. "I want that too," you say, squeezing his hand. "I want us to keep moving forward, to find happiness again."

As you sit together, surrounded by the blossoming flowers, you realise that while the road to healing is long, you're not walking it alone. Together, you're finding a way forward, one step at a time, building a new future from the ashes of the past.

A.N: i don't write cheating, but I felt i can write the request and add ny spin on it

Maintaglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3

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strangererotica · 6 months ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Steve Harrington x Reader • Includes breeding kink, semi-public sex • this one is short & sweet, but spicy too 😉 enjoy!

Steve’s hand reaches for you under the table, his fingers slipping beneath your skirt. You glance at him sitting beside you, as he continues to smile and chat with your guests while his index finger strokes your thigh.

You know what Steve’s up to, the message he’s silently conveying. A glance at his wristwatch confirms your suspicions; 2 PM. Steve’s right on schedule. It’s time for him to breed you.

Because you planned to have friends over today, you assumed Steve would put aside the ‘routine,’ you’d both become accustomed to. Every day at 2PM, and every evening before bed (usually around 10 or 11 PM) Steve makes love to you. His goal, and yours, is to have you pregnant as soon as possible.

When you’d first told him your desire for children a few months ago, Steve had been absolutely insatiable. He’d ask you for sex several times a day, occasionally fucking you up to five separate instances in one twenty-four hour period. That first week was absolutely exhausting; you loved Steve’s enthusiasm, how totally onboard he was with the idea of having a child. But the amount of sex Steve requested was unrealistic in terms of the toll it took on your body.

By the end of that first week, you’d been fucked so often you could hardly walk. Steve was a gentle, considerate lover; but with a cock as big as his, and the way he threw everything he had into the task of fucking a baby into you, the impact on your body was too much. You both settled on a routine that cut the amount of sex in half, so your body could recover in between.

With guests over today, you assumed Steve would forgo the usual routine. But here he is, slipping his hand between your thighs…all while conversing with your guests as if nothing is happening beneath the table…

Steve chuckles at a funny joke told by a friend seated across from you, as his index finger slides under the waist of your panties. You shift in your chair, forcing yourself not to whimper as Steve gently massages your clit. How can he act so normal? you wonder, as if he isn’t playing with your pussy mere inches away from your group of friends?

Steve’s boldness, the dirtiness of what he’s doing, has your clit plumping to meet his touch. It somehow feels dangerous…and you don’t want him to stop.

You twist and turn in your seat, trying to keep the pleasure between your legs from reaching your face. You nod politely at your guests, biting your lower lip as needed to keep from moaning.

The pressure inside you builds and builds as Steve’s fingers rub mercilessly over your clit. You’re sure that if he keeps going any longer, you’re going to orgasm right there at the table, in front of everyone. But Steve senses how close you are, and removes his hand from your panties, leaving you throbbing and frustrated.

“Excuse me for a minute, will you?” he smiles at your guests. As Steve rises to leave, he turns so his crotch is hidden behind your chair. “I need to see you about something,” he whispers at your ear, and walks out of the room.

You excuse yourself as well, and follow behind Steve like a lovesick puppy. As soon as he gets you into the hallway, Steve takes your hand and pulls you with him into the bathroom. You can hear your friends talking beyond the door as Steve closes it behind him and turns the lock. His hand closes over the back of your neck. Steve bends you forward over the sink, working his belt and pants undone as you hurriedly tug up your skirt.

He kneels down and kisses your ass. Steve’s teeth nip your flesh just slightly, making you shiver. He raises up and uses one hand to yank your drenched panties to the side, and guides his cock between your lips in one abrupt thrust.

Steve grunts into your hair as he aggressively humps you, his hand sliding around your throat to hold you in place. The moan that leaves your lips is loud and wanton; Steve slides his hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. You cling to the edge of the sink, your belly pressed against the cold ceramic. Steve’s free hand closes over your breast, groping you tenderly, your nipple perking against his palm.

Your climax ripples through you in powerful waves. You come moaning Steve’s name into his hand as it stays clamped over your mouth, your pussy sucking and milking his cock. Steve slams his hips forward, emptying his seed against your cervix with a low groan of relief.

He carefully pulls out of you, smiling at your reflection in the mirror. Steve fixes your panties, and his hair, then unlocks the door with a wink in your direction. “Run along now and be a good host,” he tells you, cheekily smacking your ass. “Our guests are waiting...”

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inmymindiseethings · 21 days ago

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One Night Only

I'm not putting warnings because fuck that. 4,901 words. I could definitely write a part 2 one day but only if @miyuhpapayuh or @kindofaintrovert ask me to because I fuck with them heavy and they always encouraged me, even when some of y’all were plagiarizing my work.

“Do you pick up strange men often?” I laugh at him and shrug one of my shoulders. His eyes are even more captivating up close. He was wreaking havoc on my senses.

“Am I picking you up? You were on me as soon as I walked through the door. Thirsty much?” He laughs, gorgeous eyes crinkling. God, he really was fine. I was definitely going to fuck him. I wanted him to turn me every which way but loose.

“When I see something I like, I go for it. It’s the Gemini in me, I suppose.” His voice practically rumbles. It's doing something to me, and he senses it. Moving closer to me, he bends down to catch my eye. His scent floods my nostrils and I fight the urge to lean into him. Even in heels he towers over me, his bigness is attractive and I want to rub myself all over him like I’m in heat. He places a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. The eye contact is prolonged and intense. The hair on my neck raises and I swear I feel my nipples tighten. It feels electric.

“Tell me you need a ride home, YN. Say ‘Aaron, I need a ride home. Will you take me?’ But know if you say that, I will take you. In every way we can manage it on every surface that will hold us.” I nod, swallowing quickly. “So what do you say?” I inhale deeply as his finger under my chin trails down my throat, then up again until his thumb caresses my jaw. I take a small step back, putting my hand on his chest, and to my surprise he moves with me until I am backed up against the wall. There’s nowhere for me to go, the hardness of the brick against my back amplifying the deliciousness of the trap. I angle my head up as he brings his face closer to mine, his plump pink lips ghosting over my own, gentle warm breath slipping inside my slightly parted lips. I lean up on my toes, pushing into empty airspace, inhaling his exhales. My hand slides up his chest, fingertips interpreting his solid strength like Braille. He was going to put me through the mattress and it was exactly what I needed. I was no fool, so I knew what was necessary.

“Aaron, I need a ride home. Will you take me?”

Sex with strangers ain’t really my thang. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done it before but I typically don’t make it a habit. So me taking this fine ass man home to fuck was definitely an anomaly in the trajectory of my sexual behavior. I wanted to see what this would be like, hell, I wanted to see what he would be like. Aaron helped me into the suv then walked around to get in himself. The ride was silent. I was hyper-aware of the chauffeur and I didn’t want to seem like a hoe. I didn’t know if this was his regular driver, if this guy was used to this man putting the moves on unsuspecting yet willing women, like myself. I felt my nerves building, the optics of the situation talking me out of dick that already wanted me, even if it was just for the night. I tapped my acrylics on my knees, attempting to pull my hemline down, as if I could suddenly invent more fabric. Aaron reaches over and takes my hand, bringing it to his lips.

“Don’t be nervous.” I cut my eye at him then rolled them forward, indicating the driver’s presence. Aaron nods and pushes a button, the partition materializing and rolling up towards the ceiling, separating us from him. He then opens his arms and beckons me close to him and I slide toward him, watching his eyes watch my dress slide upwards with my movement, more thick brown thigh exposed to his gaze. When I finally get close he wraps his arm around me, the other hand landing on my exposed thigh. I make the mistake of looking up at him and he’s already waiting to hold my gaze, his face coming closer until he finally presses his lips against mine. What begins as a chaste peck, sparks warmth and intention. I am acutely aware of his hand on my thigh and wonder what it will take to make him want to explore more. I’m wrapped in him and I forget all about the driver or even the fact that we are still in the vehicle. His kisses are stealing my breath and when I gasp he takes full advantage of me being at his mercy, giving me tongue, which I quickly greet with my own. His lips are perfect and I can’t wait to feel them everywhere else. I hope he wasn’t the type of man that didn’t believe in eating pussy because his lips and tongue were made to make a kitty cry and mine wanted to spill all over him. I guess I was wrapped up more than I thought I was because we had arrived at my place and Aaron was sliding his hand down my thigh towards my knee and pulling away from me. I look up into his eyes, confused and he smiles, pecking my lips again.

“Darling, we’re here.”

******

You aren’t prepared for this, I thought as I lay on my back in my bed watching him. He had navigated his way through my home as if he was a regular in my house of love. I was barely a regular in this bitch these days. My dry spell had turned into a seasonal drought, which had turned into a permanent pause. I was rusty in seduction and he was about to give me a refresher course that would likely put me on the sick and shut in list. I haven’t lifted a finger since I put my key in the door. A man imbued with innate leadership skills, I found myself looking to him for what to do next like I didn’t pay the bills in this bitch. He took over, turning my key in the door and letting me in, slipping my coat from my shoulders and hanging it on the stand by the door, with his own. He then surprises me by kneeling at my feet, a sight that did more to my arousal than the makeout in the car. He wraps his large hand around my ankle and lifts my stiletto-clad foot off of the floor, removing my heel. I balance myself by holding on to his shoulders and he rests his forehead on my stomach. Even kneeling, his bigness is a force to be reckoned with. He places a small kiss on my stomach through my clothing and my center clutches. He makes quick work of my other shoe and slowly slides his hands up the back of my calves, grazing the back of my knees, up my thighs, until he slides his thumbs against the edge of my black lace thong on my hips.

“Your skin feels so good. Your body is soft. I can’t wait to feel all of you.” I suck in a deep breath because suddenly my heart is racing. I caress his cheek. Aaron tightens his grip on my thighs and stands up, wrapping my legs around him and burying his face in the crook of my neck. I squeal and wrap my arms around his neck and he walks us back towards the hallway where my bedroom is, never once ceasing to ply that delicate skin with the sweetest of damp kisses, eventually openly sucking my skin into his mouth. I trail my acrylic nails down the back of his neck and he groans so deeply into my skin, I can feel the broad, firm, contours of his chest vibrate against my breasts. I unwrap one of my arms from around him, working my hand between us so that I can undo the buttons of his tuxedo shirt. I undo his bowtie and pull it from around his neck as we cross the threshold of my boudoir. He walks me to my dramatic ass gold canopy bed and places me in the center of it, standing up tall, looking at me with those eyes that had shifted to a seagreen found only in the Caribbean Sea. He reaches towards me, slowly pulling his unspooled bowtie from my hand, drawing his fingers through my palm before releasing me.

“Hm. I like your bed. I’ll be back with wine. Stay put. I’ll undress you when I come back.” He turns walking back down the hallway and as soon as he is out of sight I leap out of my bed. I scramble over to my shelf to light a few candles, moving two of them to each nightstand. I then insert a few cones of slow-burning lotus-scented incense, which would balance nicely with the subtle amber vanilla candles. I then dash to my ipad, scrolling on Spotify until I found my aptly-titled playlist In The Mood, a blend of soul, RnB, Roots Reggae, and Neo-soul, all specifically selected to leave a lady with a wet and willing center. I look into the large, gold, full-length mirror at myself. My makeup has largely held up, but I grab a q-tip off of my vanity and use it to fix my eyeliner. My lips are slightly flushed and bare, as evidenced by the intense kissing Aaron and I shared. I stare at my reflection, getting lost in my own eyes, a slight change of pace for the night.

“You’re absolutely stunning. And you don’t listen.” Aaron stood in my bedroom doorway, watching me watch myself. I turn to him, meeting his eyes and give him a half-smile.

“I wanted to make it nice for you. Set the mood, you know.”

“The mood was set the moment our eyes met. I knew I wanted you more than anyone in the entire place.”

“Including the woman you arrived with.” I smirk at him, and shamelessly he nods. Men like him never play fair.

“Especially her. I made sure she made it home safely, but honestly, I barely remember her name. I can only think of you.” It is everything a woman wants to hear, but the wrapping is too perfect on the box it came in.

“We’ll see.”

“We shall,” Aaron says, pushing himself away from the door jamb and walking towards me, putting his large hand on my waist and walking me backward until he’s once again assisting me onto the bed. His other hand holds an uncorked and chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two of my favorite wine glasses. He puts the glasses and bottle on one of the nightstands and pours two glasses, handing me one.

“To us, and everything we do with each other,” he toasts, and extends his wine glass to clink my own. We both take a deep sip, holding eye contact, before he sets his glass back on the nightstand and takes a step to the end of the bed again.

He removes his tuxedo jacket, laying it across the ottoman at the foot of my bed, and reveals suspenders and a cummerbund. He puts his hand into his pocket, removing the untied bowtie, which he drapes on the edge of the bed, watching me as I slowly rub my legs together in anticipation. He then takes his suspenders off, one broad shoulder at a time, and I am truly delighted to see his muscles flex beneath the pristine shirt. He unclips his suspenders from his waistband and lays them individually with his bowtie and cummerbund. I’m hoping the meticulous way he handles these items is revealing the care and focus he will use to make me have multiple orgasms.

“You know, I watched you most of the evening. You seemed bored with the event but watching you was so stimulating. You are pure temptation. Even watching you chew your food made my dick hard.”

“What a crazy thing to say,” I lean back on my shoulders to enjoy this unassuming striptease.

“Is it? I wondered if you would be as neat of an eater if it was me in your mouth. You would never have to show that kind of restraint with me,” He starts at the top button, the collar rising high on his neck, hands moving lower with each undone button.

“You want to be in my mouth Aaron?”

“Yes. I want to explore every part of you. I want to have you in any way I can. I want a long, long night with you. For you.”

“Well it seems like you’ll have it. It’s not even ten pm yet.” His crispy white shirt hangs from his shoulders and a strip of his chest is visible. He begins with his cuffs, undoing the gold cufflinks one by one, placing them with the suspenders, cummerbund, and bow tie.

“I plan to make the most of it. Take off your panties for me, please. I look at him briefly stunned and he raises one of those perfectly-shaped brows. I was clearly taking too long to follow his instructions.

“You struggle with compliance. Typical of women who have been forced to be in charge because the men around them are inadequate. I plan to fix your compliance issues before I leave your home.” It's my turn to raise a brow, because I pay the bills in this bitch. He chuckles at my expression.

“I’m not in the business of letting men think they run me, Aaron. You fine, but you ain’t that fine.”

He nods and walks closer to me, pulling me to my knees in the center of the bed, then reaching behind me to unzip my dress, which I couldn’t wear a bra with, due to the design. I am suddenly naked, save for the pasties covering my nipples. My nakedness feels extreme in comparison to him but his response puts me at ease as his eyes morph, pupils dilating, irises turning darker with lust.

“You are fine enough for both of us. I am just happy to be a man in your service tonight. This is your world.” He’s been saying all the right things and I feel my body responding to him. He’s a communicator, in all the ways, and his desire for me is evident.

I make a move to touch him, the desire to stroke the planes of his defined chest that peek through his unbuttoned shirt. I trail my hands down, down, down, my fingertips learning the terrain until I reach his waistband, where his tuxedo trousers sit over that perfect butt. I tuck my finger into his pants and pull him closer still, reaching up to push his shirt off of his shoulder with my free hand. I telegraph my desire to get him naked and he lets me undress him while re-acquainted with my decolletage, his lips and tongue weakening me, matching my growing desperation. I undo the button on his trousers and before I can pull his zipper down, he grabs both of my hands in one of his, stilling my movements, all the while worshiping my skin. His kisses move lower until he meets the swell of my right breast which he continues to kiss lovingly, finally peeling my pasty from my nipple with his teeth only to then wrap his tongue around it. I whine, I tremble. I want more and I arch my breast into his mouth and he gladly sucks more of me in, before pulling away. I moan at the loss, my nipple hardening more now that it is wet and exposed to air.

“I had a feeling you would be nothing but a distraction from my plans. I have a solution for your impatience” He reaches down to the end of the bed and grabs his cummerbund and bowtie from his orderly pile and I look at him as he encourages me to lay back, my chest rising and falling with the increasing lust of the moment. He pulls my right arm, towards the right golden post of my canopy bed and makes short work of tying my wrist to the post. He then walks around the bed and ties my left wrist with his bowtie. He proceeds to use his suspenders to tie my ankles to remaining posts, making sure that the elastic was enough to reposition my legs for wherever his nasty mind takes him.

Only the gold cufflinks remain.

He watches me in the flickering candlelight, the playlist deciding that Tyrone Davis himself needed to tell me that this man was in the mood. That long thick dick he’s been hiding from me is spilling all the tea necessary.

Still at the edge of my bed, he grabs the cufflinks, shaking them in his hand like dice. He runs his fingertips up my right leg, and a row of goosebumps appear on my skin, which he then traces. His fingers move up my thigh, past my wet mound, up my belly until he reaches my nipple again, and he circles it with index finger before bending to suck it into his mouth with gentle nibbles. I arch back into him, happy to have his hands on me again.

“These cufflinks are special. They tighten with a screw and are made to be adjustable. They are going to look real pretty squeezing your tasty chocolate drop nipples.”

I swear my pussy audibly gushes at his words. I can be a kinky bitch and I own a few sets of nipple clamps my damn self, but the fact that this man has restrained me with parts of his tuxedo and has plans to use his cufflinks as nipple clamps is pushing me to another state of arousal. I love sex toys and I love accessories, but there’s something too fucking sexy about this god of a man going MacGyver for my pleasure. My breath becomes shallow.

“Talk to me, beautiful. How are you feeling?” I nod my head and he brings my wine glass to me, lifting it to my lips so I can sip.

“Empty,” I responded to his question. He sits my wine glass down and peels off my left pasty and sucks my nipple into his mouth, running his finger over my cuffed nipple, which tightens against the metal. My pussy is clutching itself, squeezing my nectar from me. He lifts up, making quick work of my nipple with the remaining cuff before lifting off of the bed, finally dropping his trousers. The way he looks in his black boxer briefs stops time and I gasp before I can stop myself, biting my lip in anticipation. The dick print is exceptional and I can’t wait for the next reveal.

“Empty, huh? Well, I plan to fill you to the brim, YN. You need a moment to consider exactly what that means so I will be back in a bit.” Before leaving my room completely, he looks back at me, tied to bed naked, nipples clamped by his gold cufflinks, hickeys starting to bloom on my chest. I see him inhale deeply, like he’s pacing himself, then he leaves the room completely, leaving me to contemplate all the ways he plans to fill me up, to the brim, as he so eloquently described it.

He returns with a glass of ice water and he’s chewing something—grapes, I confirm when he kisses me again. Without preamble, Aaron walks over to the tablet and increases the volume, then settles between my legs. He reaches into the glass, takes out an ice cube and rubs it across my chest, over the newly forming hickey, and finally over both of my nipples, making me moan out. He rubs the ice cube over my heated skin down my stomach, sucking up the water trail left behind. As the ice cube gets smaller, he rubs it on my exposed clit before finally pushing it inside of my pussy. He does this again and again, each time pushing the ice inside of me. It the most exquisite torture. He’s filling me up sure, but the intense coldness paired with the sensation of rapid melting is making me wetter, more and more gushy. He lowers himself between my spread legs, winking at me before blowing hot air on my cold clit.

“Aaarooonnnn…please.” I moan out in pure desperation.

“What’s wrong, beautiful? You said you were empty and I told you that I planned to fill you up. I just didn’t tell you how.”

He smirks, finally lowering his head to my promised land, licking me from the rooter to the tooter, and back again. We groan simultaneously, as Aaron finally puts us both out of our misery. I can still feel the remaining ice cubes, and he licks the melting water at my entrance before chasing the ice cubes with his tongue, one at a time. He spends an indescribable amount of time giving a new meaning to waterworks, before he finally removes the last remaining ice cube from me with his talented tongue, kissing up my body to deposit the flavored cube in my mouth, kissing my lips and chasing the cube in my mouth with that golden tongue. He sucks my clit back between his pillowy lips, running his tongue along the underside of it and I buck my hips into his face. He doesn’t hold me at all and insteads allows me to hump his face the best I can from my restrained position, chasing an orgasm that already has my thigh muscles twitching.

“Aaron! Yes! YES! Oh my god!”

My words babble out of my mouth and I can feel him smile in my pussy as I send a small wave to crash over his top lip. He groans, finally grabbing me in both hands, lifting my pussy to his hungry lips. I splash on him and he eats me up, his beautiful eyes taking in my body’s reaction with rapt attention. I feel another orgasm coming behind the first one and before I can grab it, he grabs it for me, pushing two of his fingers into me, where they settle firmly against that special spot that unravels me and I sob, my body shaking with the force of his introduction to my g-spot. My walls tighten on his fingers immediately and I look down at him as he rises up, propping himself up to look into my eyes as his fingers fuck into me, stoking my walls, playing in my wetness in a way that is so disrespectful.

“I’m not that fine, but I can make that pum pum sing a song just for me, huh? You ready to eat those slick words, Beautiful? You had so much to say earlier. What do you have to say now?” The come hither finger movements make me want to scream, and before I can he puts his tongue into my mouth, eating my words for me.

“Beautiful, remember what I said earlier about compliance?” I can barely nod, too caught up in the sensations he’s forcing my body through.

“Use! Your! Words” Every word is accompanied by a thrust and the last one pushes me over the edge and my walls squeeze his fingers in an iron and wet grip as I come once again for him.

“I will be compliant, I promise!” I say trying to catch my breath. I have been pulling at my bindings, but I can’t get free. He rubs my skin and my reddening chest, getting me to calm down, and my pussy releases his fingers enough for him to pull out of me. He quickly puts his wet fingers into his mouth and sucks off my essence, moaning at the flavor. He rises from the bed and I can see the strain his boxer briefs are under as well as the shiny dark wet spot blooming from where he’s been leaking.

“I gotta eat that pussy again before the night is over,” Aaron says to himself quietly, shaking his head as if he can’t believe the turn of events.

“She’s here when you want her, I am currently in no position to stop you,” I say from my restraints. Aaron licks the last remnants of me from his fingers before reaching into his boxer briefs to stroke his dick, his beautiful eyes roving my frame the entire time. He swipes his fingers between my nether lips, gathering wetness to rub on the head of his dick, slowly stroking himself but still not letting me see that monster in all its glory.

“I’m not supposed to want her again. This is supposed to be one night only.I was supposed to give you a ride home and give you this dick, that’s it. But you got me thinking about the next time I’m gon have this pussy while I’m in the middle of having this pussy, and that can’t be. I got things to do besides run after a bitch with good pussy.”

With those words, he finally drops his draws, that glorious dick bouncing out, so hard it is standing tall, precum leaking down the pretty circumcised mushroom head. I take a long, good look at it. Aaron possesses both length and girth and the musculature of his body tells you that he fucks good. You aren’t prepared for this.

I expected him to put that big dick in my mouth but instead he climbs back between my restrained legs, using the elastic of the suspenders to his advantage as he lifts my right leg over his hip, rubbing the head of himself in my gushy folds. He briefly closes his eyes, centering himself before he pushes inside of me. It’s quiet, intense, and beyond description. He pulls out before pushing in again, getting more of himself wet. My heart rate increases as he pulls out again and plunges inside of me a final time, giving me the entire length and holding himself there, groaning deeply in his chest, his head buried between my neck and shoulder.

“Fuck, I need your hands on me. I’m sorry baby, this round might end faster than I want it to, but I promise I will fuck you all night if thats what you want me to do,” Aaron says as he reaches up with his left hand to untie the bowtie that bound my left wrist to the post, then does the same with my right, untying the cummerbund.

“Baby touch me, please. I need to feel your hands on me.” He grunts when I touch him and I dig my nails into his shoulders as he begins to pull out of me slowly. I catch myself and pull away but he shakes his head at me.

“Nails, lips, teeth, I don’t care just touch me, please,” he groans out and I wrap my arms around him again.

“You're so deep, Aaron. So fucking deep! Fuck!!” I yell as he increases the pace of his thrusts, stretching me out. My eyes roll back in my head and I stroke his muscular back while he strokes me.

“Good ass pussy. Fuck! You got some good pussy, baby. I can’t not give you this dick as deep as I can. You should be fucked well. And often.” He continues giving me these strokes placing kisses on my neck. His other hand plays with one of my nipples caught in the cufflinks.

“So pretty, baby. You like this, huh?” I nod, my eyes closed taking in the sensations.

“Open your eyes, pretty. I want you to know who is taking care of you like this.” He begins to pound into me, long stroking me to breathlessness and my pussy clamps down on him, gripping with a wet gush that has him fighting for his life to pull out, spilling his pleasure all over my stomach and I can barely respond, caught up in the force of his dick knocking my gspot into my throat, making me cum before I was ready. He rolls off of me, catching his breath before getting up to walk into my ensuite bathroom for something to clean me up. I look down at the evidence on my stomach and it's a lot. He cums big, just like he does everything else. I lay back down and try to catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my brow. He walks out of the bathroom and unties my legs from the suspenders before wiping himself off of my skin. I can’t move, so he hands me the glass of water and I take a sip before handing the rest to him to finish, enjoying the sight of his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat while he drinks. He climbs back into bed, pulling me into his chest and kisses my shoulders and neck. I look over at the clock. It is only 12:17 am and I can tell we’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Ready to go again, Beautiful?” Aaron nibbles along my shoulders, gripping one of my breasts, while my nipples remains pinched in his cufflinks. Arousal, lust, and desire firmly reseat themselves in my belly and I look up at him with adoring eyes.

Fuck me all night, indeed.

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #aaron pierre fanfiction

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idleoblivion · 3 months ago

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"Good Puppy" Crewel x GN Reader

Synopsis: You're finally at the professor's house, and he gives you one last gift for the night. Part 1 Part 2

Word Count: ~2k A/N: I started writing this when his card came out and then abandoned it lol but I'm so glad to have it done now, ngl I like how this one came out.

Warnings: Teacher/student relationship, gn reader, shy/nervous reader, dirty talk, praise kink, mild spanking, oral sex, sex toys, overstimulation, unprotected sex, overuse of the word 'puppy'

The drive to his house after dinner was nerve wracking to say the least. You both rode in silence, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and nervous feelings. Not that you weren’t excited as well, the lingering arousal from your earlier activities still very present in your mind and body. But you couldn’t help the anxiety you felt building, unsure of what exactly he was going to do once you arrived.

You're pulled from your thoughts by a strong hand placing itself on your thigh. You look over to the professor, and catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Something on your mind, puppy?” He asks with a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I’m just…thinking.” You can’t think of any other excuse to offer, and he clearly sees right through it. He grants you some mercy though, not pressing you any further for now. He returns his eyes to the road, but his hand doesn’t leave its place in your leg for the rest of the ride.

————

You finally arrive at a grand, luxurious house, and after pulling up the long driveway he gets out to open the door for you again. You follow closely behind him as he leads you to the door and unlocks it.

You’re immediately greeted by three large energetic dogs, wagging their tails and coming up to sniff you. While they are very eager to investigate you, they appear very well behaved, not jumping on you or barking at you either. With all the talk he does about training and disciplining you and your classmates in school, it makes sense to you he would be the same with his dogs.

After a brief moment of petting them as they surround you, you look up to find the Crewel hanging up his coat before turning back to you.

“I’ll assume you’re not hungry after dinner, but did you want something to drink before we get started?” He heads into his kitchen as he asks you.

“No, thank you though.” Your answer comes out shy, as you mentally try to prepare yourself for whatever he has in store for you.

He returns with two water bottles anyways. “We’ll just keep these around for after, then.” He smiles as he sees the anxiety practically radiating off of you.

He steps forward until there’s very little space separating the two of you. He seems to admire you for a second, like he likes how nervous he can get you while hardly doing anything.

“You’re ready then, puppy?” You nod, and he starts towards his stairwell. “Follow me upstairs then.”

———

You enter his room and he closes the door behind you. You hardly have time to even look around before his hands are on your waist, holding you close to him.

“Forgive me if I seem too eager. You have no idea how long the night has felt while waiting to get you here.” He presses his lips to yours, and his hands start sliding up your shirt before beginning to pull it off of you. You lift your arms to allow him to, and he motions to your pants as well as he starts undressing himself.

Before long he has you sitting on the edge of his bed, awaiting the next order from him.

“You remember when I said I had more gifts to give you tonight, puppy?”

You try to nod, but a sharp eyebrow raised reminds you of his demands. “Yes, professor.”

“Good.” He walks over to his dresser and pulls out a black box from a drawer, then heads back to where you sit. “I have it in here for you. You’ll be using it tonight.”

You cautiously open it, and your eyes widen when you see what’s inside.

“A vibrator, for you puppy. I’m sure you know how that works, right?” His eyes are dark and lustful at how shy you’ve gotten.

“Y-yes, professor.” You almost whisper.

“Perfect. You’ll be making proper use of that tonight, but first…” He gently pushes you to lay down on his soft sheets, “I think it’s about time I get a taste of you.” He spreads your legs and puts them over his shoulders, keeping you right at the edge of the bed. You cover your face in embarrassment and how obvious your arousal already is.

“Show me your face puppy, no hiding or I’ll have to punish you.” He doesn’t stop looking at your face as he finally goes to taste you.

The first touch of his tongue makes you squirm and whine, but his hands hold you still for him. You want to suppress your voice but he is clearly experienced with his mouth, teasing you in all the right ways to have you moaning for him. Your hands grip the sheets beneath you to ground yourself.

He pulls his mouth away for a second, and before you can question him you feel his finger slowly breaching your entrance. He pumps it into you until he can fit a second, making you keen. He laughs at that, absolutely loving watching you lose yourself.

“That’s it, puppy. You don’t have to be shy, just keep being good for me and enjoy it.”

He finds a spot that has you arching and presses hard. He groans in response to the wail you give, before pulling his fingers back out.

“Good, such a good puppy. I think you’re ready for my cock now, hm?”

“Yes please, professor.” You were practically aching with anticipation, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside you again.

He sits down too and beckons for you to come to him. You obey and place yourself on his lap, facing him. Grabbing your hips again, he pulls you up until the head of his cock teases your hole. He smirks at you, before letting go.

“Sit.”

So you do. You hold onto his shoulders as you slowly work your way onto his cock. It’s not uncomfortable, but this angle has him reaching deeper than before, making you tremble some as you manage to take all of him in.

“Good fucking pup.” He groans, tilting his head back some. If you weren’t busy adjusting to him you might’ve smiled at that, happy that you have a strong effect on him as well.

“Can I move please, professor?” You ask, the heat inside of you outweighing any shyness you feel. “Please, wanna move…” You rock yourself a little on him, only to receive a harsh slap on your ass.

“I didn’t say you could, puppy. Sit still.”

Then he reaches on the bed next to him to grab the vibrator again. His expression looks especially dangerous as he takes your hand to place the toy in it.

“Turn it on and use it on yourself.”

Your face must show the shock you feel at that request, because he lets out a sharp laugh before smirking again. “I said that you would be using it, not me, remember? You’re gonna keep my cock warm while you use your new toy.”

You look at it in your hand hesitantly, completely embarrassed at the idea. Another slap to your ass makes you look at him again.

“I won’t tell you again, puppy. Turn it on.”

You finally comply, turning the vibrator on. It has multiple settings, and you leave it at the lowest one. You catch another glimpse of his impatient look before pressing the toy against you.

Your hips buck a little at the sudden stimulation, and you immediately hold onto him again with your free hand to keep steady. You bite your lip hard to stifle your voice.

“Aw, is it a lot, puppy? Feels really good?”

“Ah! Y-yes, professor!” You manage between gasps.

“Turn it up.”

You look at him pleadingly, but he only smiles in return. You press the button again and the toy vibrates faster. This time you can’t hold yourself still, hips stuttering in his lap from the added stimulation.

“So sensitive, aren’t you? Why don’t you try turning it up again?”

“C-can’t, I’m already- ah!” You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, and you were now shamelessly grinding against him as you held the toy against you.

That earns you another spank. “I’m telling you that you can, and you will. Turn it up again.”

You press it again, turning it to the highest setting. The vibration feels so strong against you that collapse into his chest, gasping and moaning that it’s too much while he only watches on.

“C-cumming, professor I’m-“

“Yes, that’s it, good puppy, cum on my cock just like that.”

As if his words compelled you, you cum hard around his cock, seeing stars behind your eyes. You pull the toy away from the overstimulation, only for him to take it from your hands.

“Now it’s my turn, pup. You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

You’re given no chance to respond before he starts thrusting up into you unannounced. You whimper and grasp onto him, your mind starting to go numb from the pleasure. He’s ruthless with his pace, giving you no chance to recover and taking advantage of your sensitivity. You’re so out of it and focused on him that you don’t even register the sound of the vibrator starting up again.

You definitely feel it once he’s holding it against you again, not slowing his pace at all. Tears are streaming down your face, it’s too much but it’s so good you can’t help but try to meet his thrusts, feeling another orgasm building quickly.

“Greedy pup, already about to cum again.” He’s still acting like his cocky self, but you can tell by his voice he’s close himself. “You wanna cum again? Do you?”

“Yes, yes I do-fuck! I wanna cum, professor please-“

“Then cum for me.” The force of your orgasm has you nearly screaming his name, nails clawing into his back while your eyes roll back. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release and mumbling incoherent praises in your ear while you wail. He never takes his eyes off your teary, fucked-out face as he finally cums inside you.

By the time both of you have caught your breath, you’re still trembling in his lap, feeling his release start to seep out of you as pulls out. He lays you on the bed tenderly, aware that he’s put your body through a lot.

“Very good, you did so good puppy. Always so good for me…” He trails off before placing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“I’ll get a washcloth for you, and then you should rest, pup. You’ll need time to recover before tomorrow.” “...What are we doing tomorrow?” Crewel chuckles lightly to himself. “Take a wild guess, puppy. We have all weekend together, and I don’t intend to waste it.”

Then he leaves you, legs still twitching and hair stuck to your forehead with sweat. The exhaustion catches up to you, and you have a hard time holding your eyes open while you wait for him. Entering the room with a cloth like he promised, he quickly cleans you and makes you drink some water before you get under his covers. He cuddles you from behind, and his lips pressed against the back of your neck is the last thing you register before you succumb to sleep entirely.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x gn reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #divus crewel #twst divus #twst crewel #twst smut

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ghostboybrainrot · 2 years ago

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DPxDC Ghost Zone Amity AU Part 2

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 AO3

Edit: I finally got around to adding this to AO3, link above.

Wow! I am completely blown away by the reaction the first part! It’s the first fic idea I ever posted. Thank you so much for all the likes and messages. I have a lot of ideas for this AU but I‘m new to writing so please be patient. I also would love to hear anyone’s ideas.

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Batman wanted to see the portal himself. Because of course he did. Nosy idiot couldn't let them handle it. And John Constantine just knew the bat was gonna make things harder on him.

"Can you disable it?" Gotham's knight asked.

"Of course not! This is some sci-fi bullshit and I don't do sci-fi. I do Magic, thank you very much.”

"You said you could sense death coming from it."

Constantine ran his hand through his hair, frustrated.

"Yeah but that doesn't mean I know how! This shouldn't be possible. And it radiates Death, capital D. This isn't just a device that has been exposed to death. It's owned by the Dead.

A grunt was all Constantine got as a reply, as the knight continued to examine the machine.

"Do you know where it goes?"

"To the DEAD! Haven't you been listening?! You know the Underworld? Hereafter? Netherworld? Hell with two L's? Hel with one L? Purgatory? Pandemonium? Hades? Tartarus? Any of these ringing a bell?"

Batman does not dignify the outburst with a response but he turns toward Constantine for the first time since they entered the building, narrowing his eyes.

"Which one?"

Constantine waved his hands noncommittally, "Eh, could be any of them. Could be ALL of them. They aren't completely separate. Like different branches of the same company. Different regional managers but all equally shitty.

Batman grunts again, turning back to the swirling mass. After a moment, he starts to fiddle with something on his belt. Constantine couldn't see what he was doing but he already didn't like it. Every time the bat investigated something that Constantine thought was better off left alone, his day would inevitably get MUCH worse. For the millionth time, he wonders why he bothers to associate with these idiots.

Batman pulls what he was messing with from beneath his cloak. His grapple gun? Constantine took several steps back. Nope. Nope, he definitely isn't gonna like this.

Instead of firing the gun, Batman slowly pulled at the hook loosening the wire until he had roughly 10 ft of it coiled in his hand. Then without any hesitation, he approached the swirling green, tossing the hook inside. It promptly disappeared, quietly, as though it had simply sunk into murky water.

They both waited. No sound could be heard except the ambient buzzing of electronics coming from the large machine. Batman stood a few feet from the portal, watching the line intensely. He had braced himself as though he expected the line to snap taut at any moment and pull him in. After roughly a minute and no such thing happened, Batman slowly reeled in the line feeding it back into the gun.

The hook came into view, no worse for wear. None of the green substance lingered on it. After briefly examining it, Batman clipped it back to his belt. Constantine was slightly disappointed that it hadn't come back ablaze or melting, only because it would help him narrow it down. Having it come back unscathed didn't really tell him where it led. Then again the fact that it wasn’t instantly destroyed from coming in contact with the portal was probably a good thing.

"I think you gotta put worms on the end if you wanna catch something Bats." Constantine joked. He knew the man wouldn't react but couldn't help it.

To his surprise, John heard a chuckle from directly behind him. It startled him but he did his best to not show it. He knew who it was and didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Boston Brand, Deadman, slowly floated into view in front of the magician. He was watching Batman but directed his comment toward John.

"I was expecting the Bat to get dragged in! A little disappointed if I'm bein' honest." Deadman laughed.

"I'd be lying if I didn't feel somewhat similar. When'd you get in?"

"Not too long ago," the ghost said conversationally, "I did a quick lap around the crater. Phew! That thing is huge!"

"No kidding? I hadn't noticed." The magician snarked, pulling a cigarette out and placing it between his lips. He wouldn't light up in here. He wouldn't want to piss off the Bat but the familiar feel on his lips brought him a small amount of comfort.

Batman seemed to have noticed Constantine's one sided conversation. He turned to stare at the occultist, his eyes narrowing again.

"Boston?"

"Who else?" Constantine grumbled.

Suddenly, without warning, he felt a cold wave rush over him as the ghost phased into his body. He felt his mouth open, his cigarette fell to the ground, and a voice that wasn't quite his own spoke.

"Hiya Batman! Long time no see! I heard you guys could use a little help?" John's face grinned without his approval. The voice coming from John had a Brooklyn accent and was entirely too cheerful for his liking.

Batman nodded, unsurprised by the English man’s sudden accent and demeanor change. He gestured over his shoulder toward the machine.

"What can you tell me about this device?"

"Umm..." John's legs brought him a little closer and his hand came up to his chin as though he was thinking hard. "I mean it's definitely spooky, I get kindof a weird vibe from it but other than that. Meh." He shrugged. "Not really my area, Bats."

"Does it seem dangerous?"

"Honestly? I don't think so. Like Constantine said it definitely radiates Death but not like in like in a scary way. Hard to describe. Feels kinda like a nap after a long day, ya know?"

Batman didn't respond. There was a good chance he didn’t know. Constantine had never know the man to take a break. Did he even know what a nap was?

"Would you be willing to investigate?"

"Ya mean like go in? I suppose. Not like I'm getting any deader. Ha!"

As quickly as it appeared, the cold sensation that gripped him vanished and John Constantine's body was his own again.

"Bloody ghost! You made me drop my cig." He bent down to retrieve the cigarette, brushed it off, and put it back in his mouth. John hated when Deadman did that. Which was probably the reason he did it. He could have just asked John to translate. Or better yet ask him to magic Batman's eyes so he could see the ghost! But Boston loved to see John frazzled. As annoying as it was to be on the receiving end, John couldn’t begrudge the ghost his fun. He knew how lonely it could be being dead in the land of the living. No one even knowing he was there. Constantine may not be dead but he’d been around it enough to know how isolating it could be.

"Sorry John!" The ghost called back goodnaturedly, already heading toward the portal. "Wish me luck!"

The ghost flew through the portal and the room was quiet once again. Batman couldn't see the ghost had disappeared but he followed John's gaze toward the machine and waited. Accurately guessing he had already passed through.

After a short moment, Constantine wondered if he had enough time to go outside for a quick smoke. But before he could decide, Deadman's head poked back through the swirl of green. The rest of him followed close behind, looking exactly the same as when he left.

"Well?" John asked impatiently.

"Seems safe enough. It leads to another portal on the other side. No monsters or anything."

Batman spoke up, "What's he saying?"

Constantine, taking a page out of Batman's book, ignored the knight continuing to address the ghost. "And? Where does it come out?"

"That's the weird thing. I think it's just a garage."

-------

That’s all I have for now! Let me know how i did and what you think should happen next.

I have a lot of ideas on what happens to GZ Amity, and coincidentally humanity as a whole, as a result of it getting stuck. I like to think that over time this creates a whole subspecies of liminal humans and GZ Amity ends up giving a solar(ecto?) punk vibe.

Jack and Maddie are LOVING living in the ghost zone. After the initial shock, and a short adjustment period, they throw themselves into their research just as hard as before but instead of focusing on weapons they focus on researching the properties of the ghost zone. They use what they learn to better the lives of the residents of the town.

Amity Parkers don’t leave when they die. Old Evelyn Baker is still there like 300 years in the future. And because no one leaves, the town expands.

Blob ghosts wander around the city like stray cats. People treat them like pets. The Fentons create a blob collar especially for ecto-pets that is designed to stay on despite their semi-intangible nature. Using that design they are able to make equipment that will automatically phase WITH the user without having to dedicate extra energy to it.

I like the idea of Vlad coming around eventually. I think it would be funny for liminal!Amity Parkers gaining a resistance to overshadowing. And because Amity isn’t really part of the US anymore, his vast wealth doesn’t really do him any good. So here he is sad and alone. All his plans have failed and his power is rendered almost entirely useless. He can still overshadow people in the living world and the US is still a capitalist hellscape so his money is good there. But without any sort of end goal it loses its appeal. Eventually, he’ll come crawling back to Amity.

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Tags:

@seraphinedemort @bookreaderman @ronocnogard19 @apointlessbox @d4ydr34min9 @fylylowo @takingspagetts @vythika96 @catmaraudersfan @coruscateselene @gin2212 @running-batty @amercurio @victoria-has-no-secret @clarinetily @imsociallyanxiousgetoverit @ironicvixen @toomanyartsuppliesnotenoughtime @thewondersoflebanon @booklover4177 @malice-of-the-sunrise @thegatorsgoose @theamazingfox @xye-chan @farmercale @dontfightmecauseillcry @alcorbearson

#dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #GZ Amity Park #Weird Amity Park #Danny Phantom #Batman #constantine #deadman #Boston Brand #justice league #amity park #liminal amity park #my fics

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bywandandsword · 6 months ago

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So I was just told something interesting

You know how a lot of these big Victorian houses have seemingly useless railings around windows that are clearly not balconies? Come to find out these sorts of houses were built so that you could close off parts of the house from each other, like if you had guests or were hosting a party or something. But staff still needed to be able to get around so these windows would be large enough that staff could go out one window from one closed off section of the house to the other. It also gave the effect that guests rarely actually saw staff moving around doing day-to-day tasks. And apparently, a lot of these windows had hidden panels that swung out and make it look like the window wasn't there from inside the room When I heard that, I immediately thought about a lot of modern criticism of older novels books that feature wealthier protagonists, who talk about their isolation and loneliness. I've heard people discussing these protagonists say things like "How can you be lonely when you're surrounded by staff? It must be their sense of class that prevents them from seeing the staff as people who they can socialize with". That is absolutely at play, don't get me wrong. But with the windows in mind and the knowledge that one of the marks of a good staff at the time was to be as unseen as possible, I think it's completely possible that these protagonists, and the real people they represented, really DID feel that they were completely alone in their houses. Not only were all these social structures in place to keep them separate from everyone else in the house, but also these physical structures that further limited interaction. Because we no longer build houses like this and a lot of older surviving houses no longer have this feature, it's a bit of context that modern readers aren't aware of

I think it's really interesting, cause it gives a whole new context to these stories and social life in the period, and also makes me wonder about what other context that we're not aware of when looking at history or fiction from previous time periods that would re-frame our understandings of the event of those times

#Sword speaks #I love this shit I love it so much #it's like getting a new puzzle piece and seeing all the other places it could fit #to build out my understanding of the world #or like getting to glimpse the world through a different pair of eyes #and this is why I'm a social scientist because there are millions of different eyes to view life from #and every new perspective is fascinating and deepens my understanding of the world #and we live in such an interesting and beautiful world #idk I just *flails in anthropology*

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helpallthenamesaretaken · 7 months ago

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The Judo Flip Scene; The Scene that Divided the Percy Jackson Fandom: What Went Wrong?

Annabeth grabbed his wrist and flipped him over her shoulder. He slammed into the stone pavement. Romans cried out. Some surged forward, but Reyna shouted, “Hold! Stand down!”

Annabeth put her knee on Percy’s chest. She pushed her forearm against his throat. She didn’t care what the Romans thought. A white-hot lump of anger expanded in her chest—a tumor of worry and bitterness that she’d been carrying around since last autumn.

“If you ever leave me again,” she said, her eyes stinging, “I swear to all the gods—”

Percy had the nerve to laugh. Suddenly the lump of heated emotions melted inside Annabeth.

“Consider me warned,” Percy said. “I missed you, too.

-Mark of Athena

This scene is one of the, if not most, controversial scenes in the entirety of Rick Riordan's books. It has caused many fans to go deep into the morality of the scene--into the question of boundaries, whether it is just a good boundaries into Percy and Annabeth's relationships or just abusive behaviour. In this post, I will talk about my opinion on, 'What went wrong?'

First, let us dissect this scene, shall we? We have Annabeth, who has lost her only proof of permanence for six months. The guy she was dreading would die for five years before she thought they had their happy ending was suddenly snatched in a time where she thought life couldn't get any better. During this time;

she saw jason falling in love with piper and was stressed that percy would be doing the same without her

she was stressed percy would never even remember her.

she canonically spent hundreds and thousands of drachmas (and probably time too) on iris messaging every monster and god she could just so that she could find him

she spent a WHOLE lot of energy on this.

she was probably advised by people in camp to find another guy, probably got these comments regularly

she was also troubled by athena's roman form to find athena parthenos statue and ditch finding percy, which must have been hard to handle

she was in charge of helping build a WHOLE WAR SHIP

she was also in charge of rebuilding the home of the gods

And you know what? It makes sense that she would have all of these emotions buried inside her. It makes sense that she would be angry, stressed, and depressed and that she would bury all of this inside. "During their separation, something had happened to Annabeth’s feelings. They’d grown painfully intense—like she’d been forced to withdraw from a life-saving medication. Now she wasn’t sure which was more excruciating—living with that horrible absence, or being with him again" Yep, homegirl was going through some stuff.

Though we don't know what his thoughts were on his point of view, from the fact that he laughs and never brings it up later, we can conclude that Rick wanted us to know that he didn't care, and that these interactions are common between both of them, though one could argue that isn't really reliable.

So; Annabeth having an outburst of emotions is a completely normal reaction, judging the amount of things she has gone through, even though it isn't the right way to express her feelings. But, why is the judo flip scene actually bad? Why did it give even percabeth shippers the ick?

The Way Rick Wrote It: Rick treated the scene as if it was funny, Annabeth was such a girly girlboss who did it to keep Percy in his place. "I only judoflip my boyfriend". And people were mad. Mad that girls are portrayed to be girlbosses by making them violent. Mad that this violence was against a guy who was implied to be abused in his childhood.

My Argument: This scene was written in a time where media with violent comedy was popular among kids (tom and jerry, oggy and the cockroaches, i see you), and that it aged badly. Another important thing: a lot of the fandom also thought of it as percabeth's most romantic moments, and hyped it up so much, which contributes towards the whole ick of the scene.

My Argument: One thing to take into account was that the romans were really on guard when the greeks arrived. they were scared it was going to be an ambush. so when annabeth judoflips percy, their nerves took over. i fully believe the humor of 'i only judoflip my bf' was just their way of diffusing a potentially dangerous situation of misunderstanding.

But in the end I do agree, the way this was written was a major disservice to the feelings that Annabeth was experiencing that time. Rick failed to portray that scene as an exhausted traumatised teenager having an unhealthy outburst of emotions, which is what it really was. Instead, he tried to make it a funny type of scene, and the fandom carried it forward by hyping the scene up as if it was one of percabeth's most romantic moments, and even though the intentions were good, he failed to convey the meaning behind what they said properly.

So now that we've answered the question this post was made for, I'd like to end this post with a positive note. I'd like to point out that in cotg, there is no moment that annabeth physically hurted (hurted is too much of an overstatement) percy if you think about it, which shows that she has improved. If you want proof, I searched any time where Annabeth teased percy physically when he said something 'stupid' and what I found was 'nudged me with her toe' and 'lightly pinched me'. So, even though Rick messed up in writing that one scene more than ten years ago, it's safe to say he has improved.

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 months ago

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In Love and War (7)

Summary: Truths are revealed and Reader has to decide what that means for her revenge plans.

Content Warnings: Talks of Past Character Deaths, Blood and Violence

Author's Note: Really building up for more and more angst here, aren't I?

Chapter 6/Masterlist

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Rhysand is gone when I wake up in the morning, the mat beside me cold, the fur not enough to fully keep the chill out. There’s some dried meat and bread laid out beside the mat for me, but he’d tied the tent flap closed whenever he’d left. I pack the food back up and start the familiar process of rolling up the fur and blankets. I have no appetite, and the more monotonous the task, the less I have to think about last night. There was no time to finish the conversation, not with the men scrambling to ensure we had no more surprises. Rhysand hadn’t come back to the tent until long after exhaustion had pulled me under. I was only coherent enough to register the warmth of his body beside mine before I’d fallen back asleep.

I wait until everything is packed, save the tent itself, to slide back into my chest piece. The leather feels heavier today. Everything does, really. I toss my quiver over my head and strap it in place, the silence making the heaviness worse. There are too many thoughts to be had inside this little tent. Too many emotions I don’t want to touch. I sigh as I untie the tent flap and step out into the early morning light. Cassian should have checked in by now, the fact that all the men are still here is a good sign.

A few of the men are already taking down their tents, the small amount of personal supplies piling up near where most of their horses graze. It won't take long for them to be saddled up and on the move again. This is a process that feels as familiar as breathing; I tear down the tent without waiting for Rhysand to come back from wherever it is he and Azriel have wandered off to--their mounts are the only ones missing from the herd but I can't see them over the rocky incline we're perched on.

Perhaps that is for the best. I think if I saw Rhys now I’d throw up. I need the answers, but I don’t know how to face them. I don’t know that I want to believe him.

I tear down the tent and get it all nice and packed away before I remember that Andras was still alive when I’d fallen asleep last night. A quick glance to where he’d been tied up shows me nothing but a blood stain and all the tears I’d tried to keep at bay last night come flooding to the surface.

I’m so tired of the bloodshed. Why does it always end this way? Is that all we are? Just brutes that kill and maim until we share the same fate? Is that all life is supposed to be?

I’m spiraling deeper and deeper by the time I hear their horses return and I am grateful I don’t have powers to advertise it to everyone the way their shadows had last night. I make myself busy, hands shaking, as I hear their boots hit the earth as they dismount. Rhys’s eyes are on my back as I tie the rolled up tent, I can feel them like a brand.

What have I done?

He and Azriel separate, one set of footfalls falling away, down the path to confer with the scouts, the other coming my way. It would be weird that I knew him by the sound of his gate if I hadn’t learned early on in life that the best way to stay safe was to mesmerize the sound of everyone’s footsteps. Can’t be underprepared for a fight if you know who’s coming your way.

Except this time, there’s nowhere to run. All the supplies are packed and they go on his horse. I might as well be chained to the beast.

“Did you eat?” He sounds as tired as he had looked last night and my chest feels like it’s going to cave in on me.

“Wasn’t hungry,” I mutter as I brush my hands over my pants and turn to face him. I should just rip the bandaid off, right? I

The jasmine and citrus scent of him is overwhelming, invading my senses; I hadn’t realized just how close he was until I’d turned, nearly into his chest. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes--something I really shouldn’t be doing, but he doesn’t have the cowl on today. I must be a sucker for pain, because I want to be able to see his face.

“Are you ok?” The same shadows that had circled his eyes last night still remain. I’m not sure he slept at all. At least we both feel miserable. Yesterday I might have been happy about it; today I just feel like an asshole.

“I’m-” Cauldron what am I? Certainly not fine, and truth be told, I don’t feel like lying about it. Not to him. Not after all the lies I’ve already spun.

“If this is about last night…” he pauses, frowning, and gives himself a little shake. “If you’ve changed your mind-”

No, no, no, we definitely cannot be talking about my loyalties! Just because I feel guilty for doing it, doesn’t mean I have to admit to it, right?

“Did you kill Andras?” I blurt instead. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, because looking at him for too long is too damn hard and I keep looking at the blood stain on that tree. And, well I am curious about that. I do want him to tell me no. I want someone, in all of this, to be less of a monster than I thought.

“Yes,” he says.

My heart plummets into my stomach.

“He slit Avos’s throat and left his body in a ditch, there were already animals feeding on him by the time we located him.”

I visibly shudder and he cups my cheek in response. “I meant what I said about not liking violence, but there are things I cannot let go unpunished.”

These are his people, those are his fighting men, it is his job as their warlord to protect them, and if he cannot, it’s his duty to avenge them. I know this. I was raised on that belief. But yet I still feel responsible. If I’d never given Tamlin a reason to throw me out, I never would have ended up here, and Lucien never would have had to bring anyone out to try and rescue me. I would have been blind to the truth of my own people, but at least no one would be dead because of me. At least my heart wouldn’t feel like it was trying to rip itself from my chest to avoid all these terrible things that keep happening.

“Come on,” he gently nudges me towards where his horse is waiting, munching on some grass, when I don’t respond. I don’t miss the hurt that flashes across his features at my silence either. “We have to get moving and we have things to discuss.”

I don’t argue as he helps me into the saddle. He settles in behind me, firm and steady and I have never felt so many conflicting feelings towards a person in my life. I don’t want him to touch me until I know the truth of the matter; I need him to hold me and distract me from the reality of the situation. I want to be far away and I never want to leave all the same.

He calls for his men to get moving and in the span of five minutes, all supplies are packed and stowed and we’re once again moving along the lip of the mountain, a glittering trail of starlight trailing from his hand as he stitches the wards. The pull of his magic is stronger today, I see the ward more clearly, but more than anything I feel it. It makes the hair on my arms stand on end and that thing in my chest stirs again at its response.

It’s a long while before he speaks again. “What did Tamlin tell you about that night?” His voice is subdued, I don’t know if it’s hesitation or the strain or doing this while warding.

I shiver as I run my fingers absently through the horse’s mane. I don’t even know the animal’s name. I don’t know anything at all, not because no one told me, but because I hadn’t cared enough to ask. “He said you rode in, attacked my parents while they slept…”

A growl rumbles through his chest at that.

“He said they were dead by the time he got there and that he managed to fight you off long enough for our men to assemble and they scared the rest of you off.” I run a hand over the scar above my ear.

“Why?”

I twist in the saddle to look at him, nose brushing along the underside of his jaw. He has a scar there I hadn’t noticed, just a little nick like he’d been caught by the tip of a blade just beneath his chin. “Why what?”

“Why did he say I did it?”

“Because you could,” I whisper. “Because you wanted to put us in our place.”

He stiffens. “And you believed him?”

“I-” The truth hovers on the tip of my tongue, too much of it and he’ll see me for what I really am. “Why were you there?”

“I had a sister,” Rhysand whispers. “She was a little younger than you, I think.”

Had. My stomach flips.

“Our people had been meeting to discuss alliances against Amarantha. It was suggested that Tamlin and my sister marry, to unite us.”

I’d never even heard an alliance mentioned. My father hated the Illyrians, even in all my earliest memories. I would have been old enough to be told this was happening, my mother never so much as whispered a possibility that Tam was to marry.

“I never knew,” the words slip out as that stirring in my chest turns into a cavernous ache that might just split me right down the middle. I never knew any of this. Everyone, my father, my mother, Tamlin, hell even Lucien, lied to me.

“If I had known about you then, I would have suggested us as an alternative. She was never keen on the idea of marriage, but you were one of your father’s well kept secrets.”

Marriage? I sleep with the guy one time and he’s thinking about how he could have married me? I can’t be that good in bed. I think this idea of a mating bond is going to his head.

“It is tradition for mothers and daughters to stay a few nights with a betrothed family to ensure that they are a good fit. I was supposed to go with the convoy to make sure they arrived safely, but I got called out here to help fix a broken ward at the last minute.”

His magic stutters for a moment, as if remembering.

My stomach feels like it’s in my throat.

“As I was returning to camp, so was their convoy, or what was left of it. We got their heads in boxes.”

Tears drip down my cheeks and those illusive fangs tear right through my gums as what little magic I have flares.

“We thought it was Amarantha at first. My sister was unmarked so she could be married to someone outside of our clan and my mother…” he clears his throat. “You’ve seen our different crests. The Dark Bringers are what is left of the Night Court’s nobility. Even though they merged with the Illyrians decades ago, they always considered them lesser. They held council and refused my father’s request to mark my mother because of her lowborn status, and insisted he marry another to continue the bloodline. So neither of them bore the protection of the clan and it is Amarantha’s style to attack any unmarked for the fun of it.”

That’s why he was so insistent about me taking his mark in the beginning.

“We were halfway to the Middle, prepared to invade the Imperial City, when one of our spies sent word that there were two sets of Illyrian wings being carted around the Grasslands as trophies.”

There had been a lot of commotion that day, but I’d never seen anything, I’d been inside, dealing with one of my Mother’s episodes before that fight with Tam. I’d conveniently missed every single one of the details I’d needed to see the truth, and I can’t tell for the life of me if it was intentional on either of their parts. This could be a tactic to turn me against Tamlin, couldn’t it? I’d used my own sob story to get inside the camp. But why would he lie now? I’ve already taken his mark, I’ve already slept with him, what would he gain?

“My father intended to kill everyone when we got into camp,” he continues. “He ordered the men to kill everything that moved and burn the rest. I wanted vengeance as much as he did, I will not deny that, but I did talk him down from harming the women and children. Enough innocent blood had been shed. We agreed on that by the time we rode in, but… he was ahead of me and I had gone looking for Tamlin.”

How the hell was Tam even alive after something like this?

“In retribution, my father killed your mother first,” he swallows hard, remembering that detail, and I feel the tears fall anew down my cheeks. “I don’t know why he changed his mind or if he only said he wouldn’t so I wouldn’t stick so close to him. We never really saw eye to eye and there isn’t a day I don’t wish that I had stuck with him when we rode through camp. I could have stopped him. I could have…”

He could have saved her.

“I’m sorry,” his breath is warm on my face as he whispers in my ear. “I’m so sorry.”

“I gave up trying to find Tamlin in the chaos when I heard her scream, but I was too late. By the time I got there, your father had managed to run my father through, but not fast enough to keep his own head from rolling off his shoulders. They died together.”

“And Tamlin?” I ask softly.

“It is tradition to bury a warlord with his sword. I took my father’s sword and I left him there. He had dishonored our traditions in killing your mother, and the Illyrians would see it as a weakness that he died alongside his enemy. So I took his sword and decided that my first act as warlord would be kill Tamlin and merge what was left of your people with mine. I would not abandon the women and children, they could come live in the valley if they took my mark and swore fealty. Except I found Tamlin and Lucien, not fighting, but trying to burn what was left of my mother’s wings.”

How could they have done this? Tam could be cold and cruel but this was… horrific! And Lucien? Lucien who had always said that he and Tam would have made better poets than warriors? Lucien who had often joked that the three of us should run away and start a traveling music group?

“I nearly killed Lucien,” he continues. “Truth be told, I thought I had.”

That was one of the few things I did know. He’d been in a coma for a week.

“And I had Tamlin by the throat, but…” his hand tightens around my waist. “I heard someone calling for him, and for a moment, it sounded like when my sister would call for me. I think it might have been you, now that I’ve gotten to hear your voice. But I never saw you. I just… I realized that if I killed him, I would leave someone alone, as I had become. And I didn’t want to start out my time as Warlord by doing that. So I offered him a truce.”

Gods, I’d saved Tam by pure accident, by being so distraught that I’d done exactly what I’d always been told not to do and had yelled for him in the chaos. Worse, Tam was alive because Rhys had been the better male and in response to that mercy, he’d made Rhys out to be the monster to hide what he had done.

“We wouldn’t kill each other that night, or otherwise, and we would go our separate ways. As long as neither of us raised a hand to the other, our clans would leave each other alone.”

I don’t want to believe that Tam is capable of such atrocities, but the longer I am away from him, the more I realize just how scared of him I have been my entire life. It is not that he has done terrible things, but that deep down I was always scared he was capable of them. I walked on eggshells around him to avoid his anger. He’d lash out and throw things, push me around, belittle me, but he’d never scarred me like my father, and yet, deep down I knew there was a chance he could be pushed to those extremes, I’d just, never dared acknowledge it. Somehow, I’d always rationalized his outbursts as my fault. I pushed him. I gave him too hard a time. I was being too demanding or making too much work for him. I had not let myself consider that maybe I was not the problem in our relationship.

“Maybe I made a mistake in letting him live,” he says. “I just… I didn’t want to turn out like my father. I wanted to be better.”

What have I done? I wish the ground would open up and swallow me. Despite every reason to be the monster everyone always made him out to be, he was a good male. And I turned out to be my father’s daughter.

I slide my hand over his, intertwining our fingers. “You are the better male, Rhys.”

He squeezes my hand in return as his chin drops onto my shoulder. He has to be exhausted from warding and Lucien and keeping watch over the camp last night. The burden of carrying it alone must be astronomical.

“I’m sorry for all of it, I truly didn’t know any of it,” I say.

“Can I ask you something?”

Please no!

“Yes.”

We reach a creek that flows down from the mountain peak. In winter it might be little more than an ice bed, but for now, it is just warm enough for the water to still flow down into the grassy plains beyond.

We stop to let the horses drink, Rhysand helping me off the horse to stretch my legs, his great wings flaring out behind him, as he asks, “Why did you stay, if you thought I had killed them?”

I debate on if the creek is deep enough to drown myself in for a moment. Probably wouldn’t get very far. Especially since he’s standing chest to chest with me.

“I-” I can’t tell him the truth now. If he were to find out what I had planned to do, he’d throw me out! I’d be on my own all over again. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, go back to Tam, not after this. But now that I know the truth, I truly have nowhere to go. If he were to throw me out, I’d be on my own in the Wastes forever. No family. No shelter. No one.

I don’t know who I’m supposed to be or what I’m supposed to do, but I can’t be alone again. I won’t survive out there!

The guilt may very well eat me alive, but he can’t ever know. “I wanted to see for myself what kind of male you are.”

He cups my cheek, “And what have you decided?”

There is one truth I can give him. “That there’s a lot more to you than I was told, and I’d like to know you better.”

He grins and my heart drops into my stomach. When he kisses me, I kiss him back, hands threading through his thick hair. I won’t ruin his life, he deserves to have something good and happy after all the pain my family has brought to him; I just have to lie to give it to him. I’m already in this deep, is there really any going back now?

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