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luv-lock · 6 months ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤBELOVEDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Damian Wayne x Fem Reader Part 1

☆⁠ HEADCANON : What If He Become Obsessed With Dick's Girlfriend?

☆⁠ NOTES : It's just a cute and funny headcanon and should not be taken seriously. Y/n obviously have no feeling for him and see him as a little brother. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You’ve been dating Dick for a while, and naturally, this means you’re in Wayne Manor a lot. It’s not that you mind, but being around the Batfamily is like trying to survive a sitcom where every character is armed.

And then there’s Damien.

Oh, sweet, little, stabby Damien.

At first, he’s a little terror. He’s always scowling at you, calling you things like “Richard’s latest concubine” or “another unnecessary attachment.”

It’s fine. You ignore him. He’s a kid. A weird kid with ninja skills and a superiority complex, but a kid nonetheless.

But then something shifts.

You don’t know when it started—maybe it was the first time you helped Damian with his homework (because, let's face it, the kid can’t count past ten without losing his temper), or maybe it was the first time you accidentally brushed his hair aside while he was brooding on the roof. Either way, the moment you paid him just a little bit of attention, you sealed your fate.

Now Damien was everywhere. Not in an obvious “he’s following you” way—no, he was stealthier than that. He would conveniently show up whenever you visited the Wayne Manor, leaning against a doorframe, pretending he hadn’t been waiting there for 45 minutes.

“Oh, it’s you again. Why are you always lurking like a feral cat, Damien?” you’d tease, and he’d scowl, muttering about how you wouldn’t understand his “intellectual pursuits.”

He starts showing up wherever you are, uninvited. Oh, you’re in the kitchen trying to make breakfast? Guess who just landed behind you, silently hovering like a tiny, murderous shadow? "I see you're using the wrong knife to cut that," he says, smugly eyeing the blade, “and you should be cutting it at a 45-degree angle. Let me handle it.”

You look over, blink a few times, and try to avoid an aneurysm. "Damian, what—"

"I’m simply trying to prevent you from making mistakes," he interrupts, already taking the knife from your hand with the confidence of someone who’s never been told ‘no’ in their entire life. Yes, he did just steal your kitchen knife.

He goes from glaring at you across the dinner table to…well, staring at you.

It’s subtle at first, but you notice. You’ll catch his eyes lingering a little too long when you’re laughing with Dick, or feel him trailing after you when you wander the manor.

You think it’s cute. Like a kid with a crush on their babysitter.

When he insists on showing you his katana skills? You humor him. “Wow, Damien, you’re so talented!” you gush. Dick thinks you’re being nice. Damien thinks you’re in love.

When he critiques your relationship with Dick? “Grayson isn’t good enough for you. He’s reckless, emotionally stunted, and too busy pretending to be a circus clown to prioritize your needs.”

You laugh it off. “I’ll keep that in mind, Damien.”

Mistake #1. He interprets this as you agreeing with him.

When he starts bringing you tea? Complimenting your outfit choices? Sitting way too close to you during movie night?

“Aww, he’s opening up to me!” you think.

Damien is so dramatic about it. Every time Dick kisses you, hugs you, or just breathes in your direction, Damien is in the background like a Shakespearean villain.

He walks into the room, sees you cuddling with Dick, and immediately storms out with a loud, "Tt. Disgusting."

Alfred offers him cookies to calm him down. Damien refuses because he’s too furious to snack.

Mistake #2. You’re feeding the monster.

Damien moves from “weirdly attached” to “what the hell is happening” alarmingly fast.

He wasn’t subtle. He decided to prove his superiority over Dick by painting your portrait. At midnight.

“Damien,” you said when you caught him, holding a brush like he was Da Vinci reincarnated, “why are you painting me?”

“Because no one else can capture your essence,” he replied, dead serious.

You left before he could explain that he was also building a shrine in his closet.

He doesn’t interrupt your date... at first, not directly. He doesn’t need to. Damian’s signature passive-aggressive commentary will follow you home, like a ghost. "I saw you let Dick drive. You know his driving skills are subpar at best, right? I wouldn’t trust him with a paper airplane." You’re not even sure how he knew you two were driving, but the comment lands, and it cuts like a knife.

You try to confront him. “Damian, stop following me around like a puppy! You’re a child. A literal child. Go play with toys or something.”

Damian’s face twists with a mix of indignation and disgust. “I do not play with toys, Y/N. I train. Unlike some people.”

And the best part? Damian doesn't even hide his feelings for you. One night, after you and Dick have spent a quiet evening watching movies, Damian barges in, wearing his usual scowl, and just points at you. "I’ve decided," he declares dramatically. "You’re mine now."

You almost choke on your popcorn. "Excuse me??"

"That’s right. You’ve been chosen." He’s so serious, like this is some ancient prophecy he’s about to fulfill.

He starts referring to you as his beloved in casual conversation.

“Father, inform Grayson he’s no longer allowed to monopolize my beloved’s time.”

“Your what?!” Dick is confused.

At first, you thought it was a joke. “That’s cute, Damien, but I’m pretty sure you learned that from a Victorian novel.”

But he wasn’t joking. He never joked. He’d say it with all the seriousness of someone discussing global diplomacy. “One day, you’ll understand why I call you that, Beloved.”

One day, you accidentally called him a kid in front of everyone. “Relax, kiddo.”

You’d barely finished the sentence before he stormed off, muttering about how ungrateful you were for his “protection.”

Later, Alfred informed you that Damien spent the evening sulking on the roof. “It’s not sulking, Pennyworth. It’s strategizing.”

The moment Damien saw how you look at Dick, something inside him snapped. Why does Grayson get everything? he thought bitterly, watching from the shadows like a gremlin.

From then on, he started… intervening.

He’d interrupt your dates by calling Dick with “emergencies.” (“Richard, Gotham is on fire. I require your assistance.”)

Or other ways.

Dick: “Sorry I’m late. My motorcycle suddenly lost all its tires.”

You: “Wow, weird coincidence. Damien’s been in the garage all day.”

Damien innocently: “You should’ve asked me for a ride, beloved.”

He’d conveniently sit between you on the couch during movie nights, arms crossed, glaring at the screen like he wanted to kill the romantic lead just for existing.

Once, when Dick brought you flowers, Damien helpfully reminded you that roses often carried pests. You gave him a side-eye but thanked him for the warning.

One time, you catch him trying to slip his number into your phone.

“Damien, what are you doing?”

“Ensuring you can contact someone competent in emergencies.”

“That’s what Dick is for?”

“Grayson couldn’t competently fold a bedsheet.”

It all comes to a head when you find Damien casually trying to poison Dick.

You walk into the kitchen and there he is, sprinkling something suspicious into a smoothie.

“Damien, what the hell?”

He doesn’t even flinch. “It’s non-lethal. He’ll just feel weak enough to stay in bed for a few days. That way, we can spend quality time together.”

“QUALITY TIME?!”

He tilts his head, genuinely confused. “Don’t you want that?”

One day, you accidentally brought up his height. “Wow, Damien, have you grown an inch?”

That was it. That was the moment he vowed to become taller than Dick at any cost. He spent weeks researching growth supplements, adjusting his diet, and hanging upside down from the training bars in the Batcave.

Mistake #3. You don’t run immediately.

He “accidentally” breaks the bracelet Dick gave you (oops, it was an inferior material anyway).

Your favorite coffee cup disappears, and suddenly Damien has one just like it. "Strange coincidence, isn’t it?"

Damien starts “correcting” everything Dick tells you, from battle tactics to what kind of wine pairs best with dinner.

He trains Titus to growl whenever Dick comes near you. "Good boy, Titus. Show him who’s unworthy."

He steals your phone to block Dick’s number. "We should eliminate distractions."

You once made the mistake of jokingly calling him "cute," and now he’s convinced you’re secretly in love with him.

Dick, bless his heart, is completely oblivious.

“I think it’s great how well you and Damien are getting along,” he says, grinning like a golden retriever. Meanwhile, Damien is plotting your future wedding.

"I’m humoring her for your sake," Damien lies through his teeth while handing you a handmade sword engraved with your initials.

Damien constantly tries to prove he’s a better option than Dick:

“Richard is reckless. I, however, would never put you in harm’s way.” (Meanwhile, Damien drags you into an actual rooftop stakeout just so he can show off.)

“He can’t even cook. Did you know I can make authentic Middle Eastern cuisine?”

“You deserve someone who values you.”

You find a locked box in your room one day. Inside is a collection of…disturbingly Damien things.

A pressed flower you don’t remember receiving.

A strand of your hair.

A list titled “Reasons Why I’m Better Than Richard” (it’s very thorough).

A draft of a love letter in calligraphy that starts with “Dearest light of my tortured soul…”

You finally sit him down for a talk.

“Damien, you’re like a little brother to me.”

His expression doesn’t change. “I’m not your brother. Nor will I ever be.”

“Damien, you’re sweet, but—”

“I’m not sweet.”

“Okay, you’re terrifying, but you’re also 13.”

He stared at you, eyes narrowing. “I’ll wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For you to realize that I’m the only one worthy of your affection.”

“Damien…”

“The age gap will be irrelevant in five years.”

“And when that day comes, I’ll be ready.”

When you reject him (because obviously), he tries to play it cool but fails miserably.

“Tt. I wasn’t serious anyway. Your taste is terrible.”

Proceeds to storm off, but not before stealing your scarf.

You find it later in his room draped over a practice dummy he definitely punched several times while muttering Dick’s name.

Bruce gets involved after Damien “accidentally” pushes Dick off a rooftop.

“You need therapy,” Bruce says bluntly.

“You’re just upset I succeeded where you failed,” Damien snaps back.

He does go to therapy but somehow convinces his therapist he’s completely normal. (Because of course he does.)

Alfred is the real MVP.

“Perhaps you’d like to consider not obsessing over your brother’s partner, Master Damien.”

“You don’t understand, Pennyworth. She needs to be protected.”

“From what, sir? A happy relationship?”

Everything become worse when Damien starts sparring with Dick for no reason other than to “test his worthiness.” You have to physically drag him away while Dick just stands there, confused and bleeding.

“He’s weak,” Damien hisses as you shove him into a chair.

“He’s your brother!”

“And yet, he’s undeserving.”

In the end, Damien doesn’t give up. He’s stubborn like that.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 2 Part 3

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

3K notes · View notes

jjklvr9 · 11 months ago

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ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ (ᴘ.ꜱʜ) ᯓ★

18+ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 .ᐟ

𐙚 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 : 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝖲𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𐙚 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ⇢ 𝖨𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗋.

𐙚 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 : smut- 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈n ... 𝖽𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀!

𐙚 𝗐.𝖼 : 10.8𝗄

𝖺/𝗇: 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗅…𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗒𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀…𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌! :)

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ♡

⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍

The pitter-patter of the rain befalls your roof, the sound echoing in your ears as you stare out the window of your room. Greying clouds shrouded the sky, covering what little left of the sun was visible in the storm brewing on what was supposed to be a lovely sunny Sunday afternoon. Well, it still is lovely.

Usually on days like these, the floor of your room would be cold to the touch of your feet and the only thing offering you comfort would be the covers you would hide under your bed; which you were in as of now with some extra warmth beside your lying body. You turn your head to the side to face the sleeping figure next to you, his arms wrapped around your waist securely like it was held on by a lock. The dark strands of hair fall on his face perfectly, covering his closed lids so gently it barely poked his skin. You make use of the time to study his features, his sharply curved nose, his inviting plump-coloured lips to counting all the spotted moles perfectly decorating his soft skin.

He looked perfect in this state of his yet there was a heaviness pulling the back of your throat, the palpitations of your heartbeat increasing the more you tried to hold in from bursting into tears. It was exhausting, having to rationalize yourself and bury the feelings that arise when looking at him like that. It felt so right and wrong all at the same time, you blame nobody but yourself for the demise brought to your own heart.

His chest was moving up and down pace fully as his breath softly contacted your face, the tip of his nose inches away from brushing yours; ever so gentle and vulnerable like that next to you, holding you as he continued to slumber like the world outside never grew dark. It was really, a lovely Sunday afternoon. Well, that was until you heard the sound of your younger brother’s loud chatter and footsteps covering up the walls of your house, sounding closer each second as he made his way up the stairs to his room next to yours.

Immediately snapping yourself out of your daze from the loud bang of his door closing shut, your eyes widen in horror as they are still locked onto the boy’s face next to yours. This was not good. You had to wake him up quickly before anyone finds out he was ever here, in your bed; before your brother finds out his best friend was lying next to you. “Sunghoon! Wake up!” you hiss under your breath as you shake his arm, trying your hardest to be gentle with your touch yet making it known how urgently he needs to act. “Hmm? What?” the boy groans, eyes still fully closed and no attempt of waking up was made with the arm around your waist instead tightening and pulling you closer to him. “No, wake up! Jungwon is home.” You try to pry yourself off his hold and hope he gets up this time with the mention of your brother, his best friend. And how this was not a situation any of you wanted to deal with right now.

“Oh.” Finally, Sunghoon opens his eyes and unlike your panicked ones, they are tired. Maybe even sad? Who knows, but you did feel your heartstrings pull a little bit at the sight of his locked gaze, feeling all sorts of bad at how you ruined his peaceful sleep to have to go running out in the rain that probably caused him to feel what you assumed was sad. You stop your movements of trying to get his grip off your waist once your eyes stay on each other’s for a few beats too long, not entirely sure why he was still in place. The longer the silence and the sound of only your breaths and rain outside took over the moment, the warmer you felt your cheeks turning. Seeing him like this felt like a new angle into things when he is awake and staring right into the window of your soul.

For some reason, what were mere minutes felt like an eternity that you seemed to find yourself lost in his captivation, searching for meaning behind every glint that shone in the pupils of his dark brown orbs. You could see yourself in them staring right back at you and you wonder if he sees the same thing as you.

“Right, I better go then.” He snaps you back to the reality of the moment, the reality of the situation you need to get out of. The warmth of his skin disappears as fast as he pulls himself away from you, rolling over and getting up from your bed in search of his scattered clothing on the floor. It seems he does not waste any time in getting ready to leave, putting himself back into one piece presentable enough like whatever happened before the sun rose never did. You did not take any offense to it though, knowing how it goes. He is your brother’s best friend. It was never meant to happen, ever.

Sunghoon walks over to your table and bends a little as he fixes his hair a few more times in front of your vanity mirror, glancing at the reflection of you sitting on the bed watching as he does so. You had the covers wrapped around yourself now, holding it tightly together as the cold of the air finally catches up with you. The boy clears his throat and stands straight again, turning around to face you with his hands resting in the pockets of his jacket, a smile playing on the corner of his lips. “I’ll text you.”

You look up to him with a similar sentiment you fake with a smile, nodding slightly at his words. “Be careful, it’s raining.” And with that, he makes his way out of your room in stealth and much experience with this already, not without first planting a swift peck on your cheek and escaping out of your house successfully into the wet steps outside. To his car parked a few jogs away from your house behind the yellowing trees where Jungwon would not notice. Just like every other time for the past two months.

Two months of sneaking around in sealed secrecy, spending most of your time together intertwined in each other’s beds. You don’t remember how exactly it all started, damn sure alcohol was the cause of it though. How drunk you both must’ve been that fateful night at whoever’s turn it was to host the house party of the week. But you do remember the first touch of how his big hands cupped your face. The first mesh of your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Thus, spiralling down the road of not being able to keep your hands off each other no matter how hard you both tried to (not hard enough). He was intoxicating you with the taste of his lips, his cock, and offering you the pleasures of vulnerability like you never had before. In simple terms, he was the best fuck you ever had and kept having. See how you’re stuck in a predicament?

You do wonder if there was ever more he felt with you, even for just a second but you never dared venture into those territories of asking questions. This whole thing was a problem in itself and maybe you just didn’t want to face the reality by talking about it more. Sunghoon and you had your share of moments, exchanging stories, getting to know each other bit by bit and sharing intimate touches that never carried any sexual nature. But at the end of the day, you know he only sees this as a hook-up, an agreement you’ve found yourselves in to give and take from one another. That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with though, having to suppress how fond you’ve grown of him and ignoring the growing sentiment but you let the guilt gnaw you freely, losing the light sparkling in you in his company only to be reignited on the next meeting.

It was a miracle Jungwon never realised, not having even the slightest clue about what was going on inside his own house with the two people he was the closest to. There were times you’d both almost slip up, Sunghoon having come out of your room a mere second too early or too late before your brother disappears; or when he’d eye fuck you in front of a group of people be it at a party or even under your own roof with Jungwon standing right next to him. If he did notice, he never brings it up and sometimes that gets your hopes up of maybe, just maybe he doesn’t care. But seeing from time to time how he’d bring up girls’ names to Sunghoon and talk freely as boys do when you’re around, you prefer to assume he was absolutely clueless.

You lie back down on your bed, exhaling a sigh when your head hits the softness of your pillow. You fish your phone out from under it and squint at just how bright the screen is, finding your brother’s contact to call him. “Are you home?” you ask feigning a sleepy voice when he picks up, glancing out the window as you wonder if Sunghoon had reached home safely in the heavy-paced rain. “Yeah, like for a while now. Practice ran short cause of the rain and Sunghoon never showed up, again. Did you just wake up?” you could hear the tinge of annoyance in your brother’s voice as he mentioned his best friend’s name on the phone.

Your brother and Sunghoon were in the college football team, having their semis of the season coming up soon; and with how serious the team was set on victory, they would have practice even on Sunday mornings sometimes. Sunghoon was one of their best players and with how much he has been missing weekend practice lately for ‘family emergencies’, it is validated that your brother who happens to be the captain of said team put his annoyance on said boy.

“Y/n?” the knock on your door and Jungwon’s voice calling you out from behind it startles you, not realizing he ended the call when you failed to respond to him. You put your phone away and get up from your bed, putting on a hoodie over the thin fabric of your shirt before opening the door to your brother, who had one ear pressed against your wooden door almost falling head-first into your room.

“What are you doing?” You watch him stumble on his feet as he tries to stand back up straight, arms crossed resting against your chest. “I thought you died.” The younger just shrugs as if that was a reasonable enough answer, walking away from you and down the steps of the stairs. “Come down, I’m gonna heat the pizza.” Rolling your eyes, you chuckle a little to yourself at his antics, closing the door of your room before hurrying down the stairs.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Again?” You sigh to yourself at the sight in front of you at the doorstep. Another Friday night, another drunk Jungwon was to be let in and carried to bed. Lucky for you, his best friend was the one who brought him home, supporting one side of Jungwon’s weight on his shoulder. “Yeap, I tried to stop him but you know how stubborn he gets.” Sunghoon offers an apologetic smile as he practically drags the boy by his shoulder into the warmth of your house.

“Just leave him on the couch.” Plopping him down onto the couch of the living room, you drape the throw blanket over him, watching as he slept through with a snore. You watch him for a bit more, bending down to brush a little of his bangs away from his face before making your way back to where the kitchen was, opening the fridge in search of some cold bottled water. You hear the footsteps following you and finally stopping right behind you, you can feel his breath prickling the skin of your neck. Clearing your throat, you try your hardest to ignore the reddening of your cheeks. You had to keep your cool.

“May I help you?” you don’t bother turning around, pretending to look for more things in the fridge as you keep your focus on it longer before picking up two bottles from the side. “Yeah, you could. I deserve a thank you, don’t you think?” pushing the fridge close, Sunghoon encases both of his arms around your waist and pulls your back to land on his chest, chin resting on top of your head so easily. Damn him for being so tall. Letting out a deep exhale, you dismiss his hold off you easily before turning on your heels to face him this time, having to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“Thank you.” You say with a short smile enough to come off genuine on your lips, pushing one bottle of the water in your hand to his chest, forming some distance between the two of you. It’s bad enough he had your shorts riding up a little from his back hug before, it was getting tougher by the day to act nonchalant as if he doesn’t make your heartstrings tug at the sight of his teeth showing when he smiles ever so innocently to you.

Knowing you'd go around in circles trying to put a stop to your 'relationship' only to go back to him again, you had to control yourself. Glancing to the couch in the living room where your brother sleeps, you remind yourself why it is important you do this. Sliding away from the compromising position Sunghoon has put you in, he watches with confusion forming on his face at how you walk off to lean on the kitchen counter facing him but avoiding his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks, brows furrowed deep you'd think they were connected by now. His asking that question makes you scoff in disbelief at how oblivious he was trying to play as if everything was just alright. "What's wrong? This. This is wrong. We can’t keep doing this, Sunghoon.” you softly answer, not wanting even the walls of your kitchen to hear what you'd have to open up about tonight, let alone Jungwon in the next room. The boy rolls his eyes at your words, having expected to hear of the same thing you've been repeating for the past two months of your 'relationship'. He knows why you feel the way you do and he knows why you think what you have to do is right but he decides to stick in denial of the fact that everything in front of him could crumble in an instant.

Sunghoon walks over to you and holds you firm by the waist this time, slotting one knee in between your thighs as he leans himself closer to your body. You gasp at the sudden movement, not being able to move out in time before he takes one grip off your waist and pinches your chin with his thumb and index finger to face up at him. "Are you sure?" he whispers under his hot breath trickling your lips, your eyes engrossed in his like chains pulling you in. Causing you to abide, yet again.

One heartbeat ticks before Sunghoon leans in and crashes his lips onto yours which you immediately return with haste. One minute it was slow, the next messy with your hands roaming around each other and tongues slipping past lips to connect with saliva dripping down your chins. His knee under your covered core settles in quickly and so do you sitting on it, grinding your way through the heat engulfing you whole with lids barely open but you do not close them completely, reality setting in like a switch in your brain. Your fingers gripping his hair to pull him closer before are now pulling it away in one swift motion, lips left bare and connected only by the air you struggle to catch.

"No, we can't. I'm serious.” Your change in demeanour to his usual flirtatious ways confused him. It wasn’t shocking, not the first time this ‘routine’ of yours came before giving in to him anyway but this time, it felt different. Like you’ve made your mind up and are choosing to take a stand on the choice he so much despises to believe. Sunghoon furrows his brows deeper now lines were forming on his forehead, hand reaching out to hold yours that seemed much farther than it used to be as you push him off of you.

“Please, I’ve told you again and again that everything is going to be fine, Y/n and-“

“What if it’s not going to be fine, huh? What if everything goes to shit and Jungwon, you, me- everything just falls apart? I-I don’t want anything to change.” You whisper-shout and pull your hand away from his grip once again, folding your arms and tucking your fingers away out of his reach if he ever tries to hold you again. It would make everything much, much harder to handle. Turning away from him, you sigh to yourself and walk towards the couch trying to clear your head of all the jumbled thoughts making you not see straight.

It was the right thing to do and you assured yourself a million times in your heart, knowing you weren’t one to take risks of even the smallest things that could change the trajectory of your family relations. Or get caught up in the downfall of their friendship? Hard pass. Yes, you knew it was wrong from the moment your eyes laid on Sunghoon that night and for two months consecutive; the notion to put a stop to it only came now. Who could blame you, really?

Sunghoon follows behind you and stops a few steps away, one hand ruffling his hair messily in frustration. If only he had the right words to say to convince that persistent head of yours to stay. “I get it, I do. Listen to me, I-“

“I think you should leave. It’s late, thanks for bringing Jungwon home.” You cut him off immediately before he could continue whatever he’s come up with to sway your decision, deciding to look up and face him dead in the eye. His arms fall limp to the side with eyes staring right back at you, pupils moving around endlessly trying to find just anything, any reasoning he could use in your eyes; yet all he witnessed were the trembling of your lips. With a heavy sigh, he says what he always does before leaving. “I’ll text you.”

Sunghoon picks his feet up and starts walking towards the front door and opens it, walking out with one last look at your face though you’re not focused on him anymore. He gazes at you crouched down beside your brother one last time before shutting the door taking all of himself that he gave to you with him. Hearing the soft thud of the lock was when the tears you’ve bit your tongue holding it in started falling down your cheeks.

And he does text you that night and all the nights following, but you always leave them unopened.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The gust of wind blows in signal of fall passing through, messing up the bangs on the side of your face to much dismay. It was reaching 4 pm now as you sat on one of the picnic benches outside the library alone, hoping to catch up with some of your notes from class while waiting for Jungwon to finish up with football practice. Not for another hour though.

So you sit there, studying; well trying to at least, constantly being distracted with thoughts floating around in your mind. Some were about school, some were about trivial matters you won’t even remember by the end of the night. And some were about Park Sunghoon, the boy you swore to yourself not to contact anymore. It was impossible though, unlocking your phone now to read another one of his text messages in your notification bar from last night that you left unopened for reasons you deemed would help in your ‘journey’. Wasn’t this what no contact was all about?

“Can we talk, please?”

You sigh at the words slowly ingraining in your brain the longer you stare at it, not realizing the figure planting himself to the seat opposite you. “Whatcha doing?” you blink in surprise at the sudden intrusion, eyes wide slightly as you look up from your phone to Jake’s face smiling at you with his hands clasped together resting on the table separating you. He wasn’t a stranger but you didn’t know him well enough to say he was a close friend; more of an acquaintance? Classmate. Sure. Jake Sim was in your sociology class, always kept himself engaged in lectures and was pretty well known around your major mates. You’ve been in group projects with him several times but the exchange between you two never exceeded the academic level of interest before.

“Waiting for my brother.” You say with a smile, locking and tucking your phone back into the pocket of your jacket. “Jungwon, right?” Jake tilts his head to the side when he questions, the smile never leaving his lips but he looks so innocent it almost made you want to pinch his cheeks. “You know my brother?” “Everyone knows your brother, Y/n.” a small chuckle leaves his lips now, and you can’t help but do the same. He was right. Everyone did know your brother, the captain of the football team. How could you forget for the slightest how popular your brother actually is? How popular him and his friends were?

It grows quiet for a few seconds, not sure if you were meant to wait for Jake or you to say something else or anything at all to continue the conversation, which didn’t seem like one that bore any importance as of now. Jake still had his hands held together on the table, smile evidently growing wider as he kept his eyes on you like he was studying you. Your eyes carelessly did the same; seeing him up close under the warm sunrays shining through the cracks of leaves that tower over you both. Undeniably he was good-looking looking with a tinge of innocence playing in his expression. He seemed benign, genuinely pleasant and confident that you don’t care to wonder why he was well-liked among your peers.

You open your mouth slightly but before any words built up in your mind could come out, Jake softly taps the table and stands. “Well, I’d like to keep you company longer but I need to get home now.” It wasn’t expected of him to stay with you after that little exchange anyway but somehow a speck of disappointment fills you.

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” Jake rubs the back of his nape sheepishly with a wide grin, not able to keep his eyes on you so confidently this time around. And to think he was incapable of being shy around you. “Y-yeah, sure. Okay.” You weren’t any better than him though, the tip of your ears heating up at the sudden invitation. “Great. I’ll text you!” with that he walks away, turning around after a few steps to wave you goodbye accompanied by a smile. For some reason, your ears grow hotter as you wave back at him, not entirely opposed to this newfound excitement starting to bubble in the pits of your stomach. You watch him a little longer as his silhouette grows small and disappears into the distance, smiling to nobody but yourself now.

You glance off towards the other side where you can hear the football players yelling in the distance from the field, holding your breath momentarily when you meet Sunghoon’s eyes. Standing at the side of the field, staring at you as he wipes off the sweat dripping down the tips of his hair. Being quite far away, you couldn’t make out clearly the way his face expressed dissatisfaction but with those thick brows of his, anyone could see the way they quirked up from a mile away. He’s been trying to contact you for the last week and this was what he had to see after you not responding last night? Who was that guy anyway? Sunghoon tongues the inside of his cheek in annoyance, scoffing when he catches you looking away and pretending like he didn’t exist.

No matter how much he tried to text, call, or anything- he kept himself behaved and respectful every time he was in near proximity of you much thanks to Jungwon. The boy was desperate but he wasn’t about to let another drama unfold in the midst of him trying to get a grip of present matters. He doesn’t know how long more he could stand watching you from afar, not being able to hold you close like before- he didn’t know how to handle being rejected. It was close to torture-no, it was absolute torture having to watch you greet him when he came over to hang out with Jungwon, only to scurry off in your little shorts back to your room and lock yourself in there till he was out of sight.

It was a mental battle for him, knowing at some point you were right about not wanting to hurt Jungwon in the long run of continuing whatever you had between the two of you. He knew that, he understood that. But what about him? What about the true feelings that he realized was a little too late to admit he had for you all this time of just ‘messing around’? He sighs to himself and tries to brush off his thoughts, tossing the towel to the ground before running back to his teammates huddled up in a circle. Letting go of you just seemed impossible in his books.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The next day, you were surprised to find Jake standing out the hallway of your lecture hall with a cup of coffee in each hand. His eyes travelled around the sea of students exiting the hall after your morning class, grinning ear to ear when he spotted you walking over. “Good morning, this is for you but it’s hot, so be careful.” You stop to stand right in front of him, biting down your lips to stop from smiling too widely in hopes he doesn’t get how embarrassingly happy you were of this surprise. How does he know you even had class this morning right here? Maybe because he had classes next door, idiot. How does he know what coffee you’d even like? Why was he being so friendly with you? You take the cup from his hand and notice the way his cheeks turn a little hue of pink when your finger brushes against his. “Thank you, Jake. That’s so sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome, and before you think I’m a creep for knowing your schedule- I just happen to have classes next door at the same time as you do here every week. So I’ve seen you walk by a few times.” What, he's a mind reader now? Taking a small sip of the drink, you hum in approval as the taste of hot coffee washes over you and smile up at Jake’s intrigued face. “This is really yummy! Thanks again, Jake.” “I’m glad you like it.” He nods with satisfaction painted over his face, glancing around the hallway momentarily to concede the decreasing amount of students present now.

“So, are you free right now? Want to go to the library and study?” Jake asks with a tilted head, taking a longer sip of his coffee as if trying to hide half of his face. You take a look at the watch on your wrist and damn, you were hoping to fill your empty stomach up before your next class. “Um, actually- could we get something to eat? I haven’t had breakfast so..” trailing off your words, you glance down to your feet before meeting his eyes apologetically. Maybe he really wanted to study and here you were, asking to go eat instead. What if he really just wanted a study buddy for the semester and he thought you were trying to hang out with him? It is almost noon so that’s perfect for lunch so why would he even ask to study right now but what if- damn you and your overthinking.

Instead, Jake looks at you with slightly widened eyes and you were hoping that didn’t mean anything bad. “Yes, of course! I’m sorry, I should’ve asked to go to lunch instead. We can go to the library after if you’re still up for it.” Not sure why you found his reaction endearing, you lightly chuckle and nod along to his words as he leads the both of you out of the building and to the cafeteria of the campus. It wasn’t a long walk from where you were so not much awkwardness was present in your conversation, but that was thanks to how easygoing Jake was as a person.

He’d ask every little thing in that head of his about you and he never seemed to run out of questions or hold back from them, despite evidently feeling shy prior. You notice the way he had this captivated look on his face whenever you answered and sometimes they were pretty long answers but he didn’t seem to mind one bit that you were spouting all sorts of trivial matters at this point. You liked that about him and don’t question anymore his intentions of getting all friendly with you, easing up to him quicker than you’d expect. From then on, you’ve shared most of your meals on campus together, studying together when you could find the time and there were times he’d just ask you to hang out with him, doing nothing but talk. It felt refreshing, a (not so) new face taking your time up you almost, almost (not at all) forget the face that hangs around in the background of your life.

Sunghoon was definitely aware of your newfound friend; watching, glaring, judging every little interaction you had with Jake every time he’d see you. Always, always with Jake. Smiling, talking, laughing. Was he that funny that had you giggling your way all through lunch? Anyone with eyes could see that Jake was being flirtatious with you, or maybe that’s just what the younger boy wanted to believe to justify his feelings of envy. Have you forgotten about him and all those moments you’d laugh at his jokes? Sunghoon catches himself smiling whenever he remembers them and sighs in defeat when he realizes it would never be a sight he’d see again.

Unless he decides to finally take matters into his own hands. He was not going to let you go just like that, despite your bullshit reasoning about caring for Jungwon’s feelings or whatever you’ve been saying. It just felt unfair knowing how you really felt about the ‘relationship’ but choosing to end it anyway. It felt selfish and Sunghoon wanted to at least, make you listen and be selfish of his feelings for once- pushing back the regret slowly creeping in before it’s too late to have done something.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Two weeks pass by and spending time with Jake has added productivity into your routine; being that it used to be only studying and occasional social life activities with your friends; and hooking up with your brother’s best friend. It was good to distract yourself with Jake, though you hated how you thought of him that way. It wasn’t your fault Sunghoon was still intruding on your life when he saw an opportunity, making it impossible for you to dismiss him or even get over him completely these past weeks.

He was with Jungwon more often than not these days, always coming over to your house for hours on end it felt intentional to mess with you at this point. He wasn’t even keeping to himself like he used to around you in public, making small talk last longer and teasing you as if you’re the one he’s best friends with and there was no reason you could justify giving him the cold shoulder in front of your brother. Jungwon never found it odd or out of character though, deeming it as if your relationship had always been this way.

You hate the way he still looks at you the same way he used to; with so much fondness and attachment no matter how menacing his words try to sound when he satirises you. You hate the way his scent fills up the air around your house now, taking you back to all those times he spent being so close to you. You certainly hate the way he lingers his touches on your skin, letting his hand brush softly on yours when he passes you things or placing his hand on the arch of your back when he wants to walk by you. It seems like anything you tried to do to put it all in the past crumbles down and pulls you back in like everything was still in the present.

Mostly you hated yourself, for letting your thoughts wander on and on about him on sleepless nights, for even letting him still make your heart skip a beat with that smile of his. It seemingly gets more difficult when you can hear his voice in Jungwon’s room, both of them yelling or arguing about whatever game they were playing that Friday evening before heading out to some party happening the same night.

Jake was coming over to work on a paired project you had for Sociology and it being the first time stepping foot into the home you share with Jungwon, you hoped it’d be some sort of an ideal comfortable place to get school work done. Definitely underestimated your brother’s loud voice and your household. You make your way to his door and rap a couple of hard knocks on it to send a hint that maybe, you weren’t in the greatest of moods right now. Jungwon opens the door with a quirked-up brow and you try your best to not glance away from his face to the one behind him. “What? I’m busy.”

“Jake is coming over to study so keep it down a little okay? I really-“

“Jake? Jake Sim?” Sunghoon chimes in and cuts your words off, standing up from Jungwon’s bed and walking over to stand next to him with arms crossed over his chest. This time, you had no choice but to look at him and you pray to God he doesn’t see the way your feet fidget.

“Yeah, they’re like going out now or something,” Jungwon responds instead of you, shrugging his shoulders with not a care in the world as he walks off to pick his phone up from the bedside table. Sunghoon stays put though, arms still crossed and now leaning his side against the door frame as he intensifies his look on you. It felt like you were being interrogated for a crime you had yet to commit with the way he was looking. “We’re not! Just-just keep it down okay?” you raise your voice a little higher to talk over Sunghoon’s towering figure, only earning an agreeing whine from your brother.

You roll your eyes in annoyance, taking a step back from the door to turn and walk off before Sunghoon grips your wrist momentarily and pulls you back to face him. “Are you coming to the party later?” The boy questions and this time Jungwon looks up from whatever got his attention on that phone of his awaiting your answer. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, you should. Invite Jake, though I’m sure he’s already going so he’ll probably ask you.” Sunghoon says in such a nonchalant manner, giving you a smile that seems so fake like he meant to let you know it was. Alarm bells ring in your little head every time he mentions Jake’s name but you try to ignore them, not wanting to delve deeper into why it bothers you. To stop overthinking was to stop thinking in the first place.

“Whatever. Maybe.” You decide to brush it off and walk away as quickly as possible back to your room, holding yourself from sparing a glance back at his watchful eyes as you close your door shut. “Have fun!” Spending another second a breath away from each other would shatter the wall you’ve built up completely.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Okay, let’s take a 5-minute break and we can wrap this up for tonight,” Jake says as he leans to rest his back on your bedside, both of you sitting cross-legged on the floor of your room with laptops and research papers cluttered around. The clock reads 10 pm now, not having realised time flew by so quickly and you felt it though that’s unusual given doing school work was boring and draggy. Guess having Jake around your company made time work differently. You smile and nod in agreement at his suggestion of taking a well-deserved break. It was taxing trying to read the words written in those papers with him being in your room; well at least for the first 20 minutes until the only thing that could annoy you more than feeling anxious was the boisterous peals of laughter echoing next door.

“Sorry about my brother and his friend.” you huff out having to apologise on behalf of such things you couldn’t control but to your surprise, Jake didn’t seem to mind it at all. “Nah, it’s all good.” He shakes his head and lets out a soft chuckle under his breath which somehow increases assurance that you had nothing to worry about. “Anyways uh- there’s a party at my friend Jay’s later. You should come with me.” There it was, the invitation you previously had rejected in your head but now- with the way his puppy-eyed smile slowly convinced you? It’d be cruel to say no. “Sure, but I need a little time to change.”

The physical space between the two of you seemingly grew closer without you noticing, only the bumping of his knees into yours takes you to recognise this. The shade of his eyes differs from a few seconds ago with the light on your ceiling reflecting on them it settled like tiny little stars. They gaze at your dark brown ones longingly and you don’t know why your hands are getting clammy.

“No matter what you wear, you’d still be the prettiest girl there.” Before you could respond with words instead of just widened eyes and tinted cheeks, Jake gradually leaned in closer to you with a hand reaching out to cup your cheeks. The moment felt still, the air held back down your throat from exhaling and all the thoughts in your head paused. You glance down at his lips and every single second your heartbeat increases he is getting closer and closer to touching yours. Sure, you were aware of the growing uncertainty between the two of you after hanging out endlessly but you never did decide on what to call it. Friendly banter? Flirting for the sake of humour? Jake seemed to have his mind made up with this forward move and all you could think about at that very last second was how Sunghoon used to call you pretty.

“My pretty girl.”

And then a loud laugh echoing through the house kills the moment. Speak of the devil. It was like he knew what was happening behind these walls that separated the two rooms and he had to remind you that he was still living in the back of your mind. Jake immediately pulls his hand away from your face and clears his throat, the switch from confident to fluster taking over him. The moment fleets away and snaps like a flash, the trance-filled air evaporates from your systems which quickly takes you back to reality.

“Sorry.“ Jake ruffles his hair in an attempt to hide his eyes but you notice the smile he bites back from showing. You do the same in averting your gaze with how hot your face was getting, shaking your head in dismissal at his apology. “It’s okay.”

“I think we can continue the project on Monday. I’ll wait for you downstairs and we can go?” The flustered boy says while packing his things and stands up after, expression clean like nothing ever happened. “O-okay. I won’t take long.” You get up on your feet and nod, watching him close your door as he leaves and now all alone you stand there, gathering everything in your head to figure out what just happened. And- why was your blood feeling warm again like relief had washed over you? Whatever. You shake those thoughts away and stumble to your wardrobe, picking out the first top and short skirt in sight and changing quickly while adding a few touch-ups to prim your appearance.

Walking down the stairs slowly you hear chatter in the living room and when you do land on the final step, the sight of Jake casually conversing with Sunghoon and your brother on the couch welcomes you. They didn’t seem aware of your presence at first, engrossed in their little discussion and you slowly make your way to them.

“Well, don’t you look pretty?” Sunghoon was the first to blurt that out when you came into view, earning questioning (a little weirded out and a “dude!” mostly from Jungwon’s) glances from the other two. He’s never openly complimented you, especially in front of your brother and what in the world does he think he’s doing that now? You blink in astonishment at the sudden forwardness he was showcasing, even more surprised the younger did not seem to think it was a misstep on his part at all. Jake decides to let it slide and smiles at you as he stands up. “You do look pretty.”

He might not have heard it but the scoff Sunghoon lets out under his breath rings right through your ears. “Are we done? Can we go now?” Jungwon stands up as well now, groaning along his steps towards the front door with Sunghoon following suit from behind. “Yeap, see you guys there.” He says without even a glance back, implying they are heading out in Sunghoon’s car and you were left to go in Jake’s. It had you hesitant to be alone with him once again, unsure whether the conversation would pick up where it got interrupted.

Much to ease your worries though, Jake appears to have moved past the recent events, effortlessly slipping back into his usual self as he drives you to Jay's place. Talking and laughing with you like he always would, devoid of any awkwardness you mentally prepared to face.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Arriving at the party, you were welcomed by a music-blasted house full of drunken students, the smell of booze thinning through the air and a ton of new faces you had to meet. Jake introduces you to his friends the moment they spot him arriving, learning that despite being third years just like you- they were all good friends with Jungwon and Sunghoon who were in their second and always attended Jay’s parties. It’s no surprise Jungwon never mentioned to them he had an older sister all this while and that it was you, given how dumbfounded their faces expressed when you were introduced.

“C’mon, let me get you a drink.” Jake holds his hand out to take yours, leading the both of you through the swarm of bodies to the kitchen counter where a variety of bottled alcohol were lined up for your choosing. He releases your hand to grab one, pouring its contents into a red cup mixed with what he explained was apple juice before passing it for you to try with anticipation in his eyes. “Good?” “Great.” You nod and smile in approval as the taste of liquor mixes in your throat but it doesn’t burn like it should thanks to the added condiment. Jake laughs softly in relief and makes one for himself, bumping his cup with yours for a little ‘cheers!’ before taking a sip and exhaling in delight at the taste.

You were not one in favour of much drinking even when you do attend parties with your friends but to relax with Sunghoon still roaming around nearby and at any given moment could catch you off guard, you decided why the heck not.

After a few more leisurely sips, Jake gently gestures with his chin towards a cosy, unoccupied couch nestled in a quieter corner of the living room. With a warm smile, he reaches for your hand once more, guiding you towards this inviting spot where you both settle in next to each other, finding comfort in the serene ambience of the less crowded area. “I’m really glad you decided to come with, you know,” he states when he catches you turning to smile at him, confidence from the early spur of the moment in your room seeming to have returned. “Oh, and why is that?”

“Cause I like hanging out with you. Plus, you tell the funniest jokes known to mankind.” You roll your eyes playfully at his bantering remark, nudging his side softly. “Not as funny as the ones you tell, Mr Sim.” Jake’s laughter infects you, drawing you into a lively exchange where conversation flows like it usually does with him.

You seemed to be really enjoying yourself and when Sunghoon sees you from across the room where he’s leaned up against the wall with his own condiment in hand; getting up to presumably head to the bathroom, he wipes the frown he wore while observing your interaction with Jake and quietly follows you.

Admittedly, he was very jealous of Jake. Of anyone and everyone who got to receive your warm reactions he used to be the reason of. With other eyes around the room glancing and looking at you in ways only he allowed himself to do so felt like fire charring through his skin and veins. The alcohol he kept chugging every time your voice grew clear to his ears that he could make out the words in detail, was certainly not helping his mind be kept sane at this point.

Turning the tap off and giving yourself a once over in the mirror of the bathroom you found empty in the back, a sigh falls from your lips. Looking straight into your reflection you no longer see yourself with expressions earlier directed to Jake. No, not when you were alone once again under the coarse fluorescent lighting with a swarm of thoughts coming back to haunt your mind. You don’t know why the fact Sunghoon was here at the same party as Jake bothered you so much, after the whole compliment he decided to throw out in the open you felt defeated.

For one, Jake was a decent guy and you weren’t so naive to throw out the option of venturing into your relationship with him more than just friends. Plus, he wasn’t your brother’s best friend- Jungwon already thinks you’ve got more going on. All positives, no cons to be detected. But one, he was not Sunghoon. You groan in frustration and curse yourself, why the fuck does this guy have such a hold on you that you couldn’t even do this one thing right? It’s over and done with, you’ve got to stick with your decision no matter how long it takes for you to convince yourself that.

A loud knock from the door startles you from overthinking (your personality at this point) and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Drunk people and their impatience with bathrooms, especially when occupied never cease to tick you off. “Yes, yes I’m done,” you grumble while straightening your skirt, stepping towards the door to unlock it and before you can even open it fully; Sunghoon forces himself in and bumps you to stumble backwards as he shuts the door and locks it.

The hair on your skin stands and shock waves wash over you, not fully comprehending what exactly is going on. He takes notice of your bewildered expression and smirks, back leaning against the door with eyes gazing at you with nothing but grey in them. It’s quiet for a few beats, save the faded-out music playing in the background from the party happening outside this small room you were seemingly trapped in.

“What are you doing?”

"What are you doing?" he questions back, a hint of attitude present in the tone. Bafflement spreads across your face, and he pushes himself off the door, walking forward slowly and stopping just right in front of you. Sunghoon had both hands tucked in the pocket of his jeans as he towered over you, prompting you to tilt your head up to meet his eye. With a gentle motion, he removes one hand from his pocket, brushing aside the bangs that have fallen on the side of your face. His finger then traces a slow, deliberate path up and down your arm, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Threw me away for that guy, huh?” a playful pout formed on his lips now, moving down his hand from your arm to wrap around your waist with a tight grasp pulling you to bump his chest. Red colours your features from the contact and there was no way to hide it at this point, being so dangerously close to him everything in you weakened by the minute. For a flicker, you don’t even recall Jake, or his name or him being the context of the conversation. Your mind grows more cluttered it is like everything was upside down, with Sunghoon’s mere touch of skin sending your brain into a wired mess.

“Thro- I didn’t throw you away, Sunghoon. I told you why-“

“You probably have no idea, but I’m quite a jealous man.”

Before you can respond, Sunghoon leans in, capturing your lips with a fervent kiss. You taste the yearning in his kiss and, almost instinctively, you return it with equal intensity. Any remnants of your defences crumble, and you know there's no point in trying to rebuild them, especially now as you fully succumb to him. Moments like this remind you why you typically don’t drink alcohol. Though there wouldn’t really be a different outcome even if you were fully sober; knowing and finally admitting to yourself that you do want this. You want all of him.

The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate as he pushes you up against the edge of the sink. One of his hands remains tightly gripped around your waist, anchoring you to him, while the other slowly travels down to the hem of your skirt. With a deliberate motion, he lifts it slightly, allowing his hand to slip underneath, where he firmly grasps your thigh, pulling you even closer to him. A moan escapes through your connected lips as you feel his hand firmly gripping every inch of your thigh and tracing along the curve of your ass, his touch sending electric sensations through your body.

Your hands roam eagerly over his broad chest, fingers threading through his locks and pulling him closer like your life depended on him. Sunghoon seizes the momentary parting of your lips, his tongue sweeping in to explore the wet warmth of your mouth. He skillfully intertwines his tongue with yours, drawing you deeper into the kiss, his movements becoming more eager and vigorous.

Breaking the kiss briefly, a thin strand of saliva glistens between your lips, hinting at the raw desire that lingers. "You think I don't see the way he looks at you?" he whispers huskily, his eyes now a darker shade. "Flirting with you, touching you—God, it's so fucking annoying.” Your mind too clouded to respond, you tug on his shirt, urging him back into the kiss, but he hesitates, teasingly resisting your pull. The fingers resting on your dampened cloth underneath start to circulate and that just sends you into a drive of lusting need for him, now.

"And you choose to wear this skimpy ass skirt around him—around me, all wet like this,” Sunghoon murmurs, frustration evident in his voice. "I swear, you'll be the death of me." With a sigh, he reconnects your lips with his, each moment growing hotter than the last. You moan in between kisses, your own hands now gripping onto his shirt to tug and pull him even closer, bodies pressing against each other. With that eagerness coming from you, Sunghoon holds your underwear to the side with his thumb, pushing two fingers into your folds without breaking the kiss. Your gasp disappears into his mouth as the intrusion takes you off guard.

“F-fuck.” Unable to hold it in, you let out a moan and pulled away from his lips with your eyes closed shut surrendering to the pleasure overtaking your senses. He doesn’t stop kissing you though, moving down to the side of your neck and you tilt your head giving him an easier excess in smothering your bare skin with kisses and marks you really hoped would be easy to cover up tomorrow.

“You’re mine. My pretty girl.” the way he exhales those words tickles your skin and makes the hair on your body stand up as if electrified, the fingers pumping in and out of you intruding harder than before. Your senses grow hazier by the second and a sting shoots through your veins at the feel of Sunghoon’s teeth sinking on your flesh and he sucks on it, lips not leaving your neck only to grow rougher when you give his locks a harsh pull.

“M-mhm.” you bite your lips hard from stuttering out any coherent words, gasping for a little bit of air to come soothe your quickened heart when Sunghoon pulls himself away from you. He grips both sides of your panties from underneath your skirt and pulls them down as he gets on his knees directly in front of you.

The rush of cold air breezes through and tickles your exposed core making you squeeze your thighs together which earns a playful smirk from the younger's lips. He then leans his face close and has his hands gripped onto your thighs for support before he dives under your skirt to give your wetness a clean lick. The warm feel of his wet tongue on your folds jolts you in a gasped surprise, making you pull onto his hair harder as you wobbly stood against the sink praying your knees didn’t decide to give up so easily. He didn't seem to mind the aggressiveness, more so enjoying it now as he gets on the same level with the flick of his tongue and saliva all combed up around your core.

“M-mhm, right there.” you bunch your skirt up now to get a good view of him under you like this, his eyelids closed as he hungrily swirls his tongue around and inside you with quenched thirst trying to taste every inch of your dripping wetness. It’s a sight you wish you could take a picture of and stare at forever.

Sunghoon opens his lids a little to gaze up at your face, both hands on your thighs now going up to grip the cheeks of your ass harshly as he accelerated his pace. Guiding you to ride his face with his hands, your vision starts to blur at the heightening sensation brewing in your stomach with every jab of his tongue. The sloshing sound of wet licking and the groans vibrating through your folds with such a face clamped up between your legs, you were reaching to release quicker than intended; wanting to devour the moment of pleasure a little bit longer but it wasn’t really a choice you could’ve made.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah- I’m cumming-” the words grow a pitch higher with your moans as you grip onto his hair fully, coming undone right into his mouth for his senses to devour all of you, and he doesn’t stop licking even when your insides were throbbing. After a few breaths, Sunghoon licks your bare flesh clean and finally pulls away from your core, standing back up to his feet to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. He doesn’t leave out the swift swiping of his tongue on your lips for you to have a taste of yourself.

“Tastes so fucking good, my pretty girl.” The room felt like it was spinning, nothing was making any sense but it felt too good to be probing for any. Getting a morsel of what you’ve been missing for the last month has made you long for more- an addiction that fed you a little too well.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Sunghoon says in the silent seconds of the moment and grabs to hold the sides of your waist again. He then turns you around to face the bathroom mirror, pushing himself up on you until your skirt rides up even more to feel the hardened bulge in his pants making you grip onto the sink tightly to balance yourself. The look on both of your faces stares back at you from the reflection, plumped-up lips and reddened skin paint the view of the state you are in.

What a turn of events- you really had faith in yourself to not end up in this exact situation again and maybe if you just avoided gaping at what was in front of you, you might feel a little better about yourself; not that any ounce of regret would stand in the way of any of this.

The boy snakes up one hand over your shoulder to hold a grip on your jaw, making you look straight into the mirror while using the other to unzip his pants down. He knew what was going on in your head and wanted to make sure you saw this; saw the truth of what you both really feel. “Say it, admit it, whose are you?” he growls and gives your earlobe a little suck until it turned red, pushing you down to bend over the sink with your bare ass fully pressed against him. That makes you lose your balance a little, hands once gripping the sink swiftly falls off to the side and he instead takes hold of your waist again seeing how you struggled to stand in place in such a position. “Y-yours, I’m yours.”

A smirk recreates on his lips while he pulls his boxers off and you see this through the mirror, eyes trying so hard to focus on him but immediately failing when his sprung-out cock presses against you. “M’ gonna fuck you so good, you don’t ever forget that.” Sunghoon inclines forward to plant a soft kiss on the back of your head before thrusting himself into your still throbbing wetness with a loud grunt. “Fuuuuck, I missed you.” As he starts to catch his pace, the lump forming on the back of your throat threatens to let the tears in the brim of your eyes fall. You missed him too.

The fill of his length pulls you into overdrive with how much ecstasy is streaming through your veins with each pump he pushes in you. The sound of skin slapping on skin gets faster and louder, only covered by the moans and groans falling out both of your lips. Sunghoon had his eyes closed momentarily as he pulled his head back, swimming in the sensation of your walls clenching on him, enveloping him with such a warm welcome it felt like home.

“A-ah, feel so full.” “Yeah, baby? You like feeling me all in you?” You nod along your moans that you don’t even try holding back anymore, despite being in the bathroom of someone else’s house which, who cares at this point? The people outside were probably all gone in their respective vices and nobody was bothering you, yet. Opening your eyes only to meet Sunghoon’s shaded ones reflected in the mirror, and seeing him fucking you in such a view with his hair all dishevelled and tongue constantly licking his lips; how could you not fall to your knees for this man?

“Fuck, fuck, keep squeezing me like that and I’m gone baby.” he breathily pants with furrowed brows, hand reaching out to bunch up your hair and giving it a pull to make your back arch while he uses another hand to trail up your chest, groping onto your boobs over your shirt so harshly you were sure his hands were printed on your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“F-feels s-so good, Sunghoon, mhm fuck.” You weren’t sure if saying that made him angry or more turned on but with the way his hand from your chest made it way up to encircle your neck and his pace growing quicker than before you could barely keep your legs upright; you figured it was the latter. “Yeah, baby say my name again. Say my name and I’m gonna cum all in you.”

“Mmnn! I’m a-almost there Sunghoon please-” The tears plunge from your eyes and the saltiness glistens your lips, gulping down the lump in your throat forming when he continuously slams his tip on your walls. “M’ gonna fill you up so good, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m cumming” He says this through his breath barely reaching your ears, too busy indulging in your own pleasure as you ride out your high clenching yourself around his warm spill filling you to the brim.

The vigour of pleasure you felt made you see nothing but white, the air rising so hot and clammy it made you feel like combusting. Sunghoon gives it a few more pumps to make sure his load doesn’t spill out in a mess and groans at the aftermath of it all, leaning forward again to kiss your head before pulling out of you slowly. Your waist throbbed in pain when you do stand up straight again and turned back around to face him, but you seemed still stuck in a daze to focus on that.

The room fills with nothing but the panting of your breaths hoping to slow down your heaving and the burning still buzzing in your brain. Sunghoon pulls his pants up and fixes himself in the mirror with a satisfied smile etched on his face, and you watch him reach out to take some tissue from next to the sink and bend down in front of you yet again. You look down at him with a quirked-up brow and he looks back up to you still wearing the same expression. “C’mon, let me clean you up.” he then proceeds to do so, wiping every inch of your core and thighs clean from any excess that could (hopefully not) spill down later on.

It takes you back to those times he used to take care of you after fucking you until you saw stars; this habit of his making your cheeks burn up like it was the first time. Sunghoon throws the used tissue away and gets up on his feet, eyes no longer grey but complete of longing, gazing into yours once again drawing you in. He leans in closer to brush his nose against yours before planting the softest most loving kiss on your lips and you wish it lasted a lifetime. “I missed you, Sunghoon.” you blurt out first this time after pulling away and it comes to both of your surprise that you didn’t stick to denying and hurting his feelings anymore. What did they say about growth?

“Y/n, I-“ Sunghoon begins with a desperate plea in his tone, hands clasped on yours but was immediately cut off by the knocking of the door from continuing. Ah right, you were still in Jay’s fucking bathroom. Realisation seemed to hit only seconds later, both trying to shush the other from erupting with laughter. “Let’s go outside first.” You say with an assuring hold on his hand, reaching for the doorknob to swing it open. “Sor-“Taking a step out, you gasp at the sight of widened eyes looking straight back at you and Sunghoon, most probably in horror.

“What the fu-“

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #enhypen hard hours #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon hard hours #enha smut #enha imagines #enha hard hours

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pomegranatelifethis · 1 month ago

Text

Brother

The rain came down in sheets, a relentless curtain of gray that blurred the Gotham skyline into a smear of neon and shadow. You stood on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, the cold seeping through your jacket, your hair plastered to your face. The city growled below—sirens, horns, the pulse of a place that never slept. But up here, it was just you and Jason, your twin brother, his broad frame silhouetted against the storm. His Red Hood helmet was off, tucked under his arm, and his dark hair was soaked, clinging to his forehead. His green eyes, usually sharp with wit or warmth, were hard now, cutting into you like broken glass.

“You screwed it up, Y/N,” he spat, his voice low but venomous, each word a deliberate strike. “Every damn thing. The intel was bad, the plan went to hell, and it’s *your fault*.”

You flinched, the accusation hitting harder than the rain. Your chest tightened, and you hugged your arms around yourself, trying to hold it together. “I didn’t—Jason, I checked the intel. I triple-checked it. It wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, stepping closer, his boots splashing in the shallow puddles pooling on the roof. “Don’t stand there and make excuses. You were supposed to have my back. You *always* have my back, and tonight you didn’t. You let me walk into a trap.”

Tears stung your eyes, hot and unwanted, mingling with the rain on your cheeks. You hated crying in front of him—hated showing that kind of weakness, especially when he was like this, all fire and rage. But the weight of his words crushed you. You were twins, two halves of the same soul, raised in the same gritty streets, trained under the same grueling mentorship of Bruce Wayne. You’d fought side by side, bled together, laughed together. But when Jason got like this, when the anger took over, it was like he forgot all of that. Like you were just another screw-up in his way.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’d never let you get hurt on purpose. You *know* that.”

“Do I?” He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that made your stomach twist. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re too busy playing hero to care about what happens to me. You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? The good twin, the one who never screws up, the one Bruce trusts. Meanwhile, I’m the one picking up the pieces when you fail.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. The rain was freezing now, but it was nothing compared to the cold spreading through your chest. “I’m not perfect. I’m just trying to do what’s right. Same as you.”

“Same as me?” He took another step, his face inches from yours now, his breath warm against the chill. “You’re nothing like me, Y/N. You don’t know what it’s like to crawl out of your own grave, to have the whole world turn its back on you. You’ve got no idea what I’ve been through, and you still act like you can fix me. Like you’re better than me.”

The words hit like a punch, stealing your breath. You stared at him, your twin, the boy who’d once shared your secrets, who’d patched your wounds and teased you until you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. Now he was a stranger, his face twisted with pain and blame, and it broke something inside you.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you said, your voice barely audible over the rain. “I just want my brother back.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that hard, unyielding wall he’d built around himself. He shook his head, stepping back, the distance between you growing wider than the rooftop could hold.

“You want me back?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “Maybe you never had me to begin with.”

He turned, his silhouette blurring in the rain as he walked toward the edge of the roof. You wanted to scream, to run after him, to grab his jacket and make him stay, make him listen. But your legs felt like lead, your throat raw from the sobs you were choking back. The tears came harder now, spilling over, and you didn’t care anymore if he saw.

“Jason,” you called, your voice cracking. “Please.”

He paused, just for a second, his shoulders tensing. But he didn’t turn around. “Go home, Y/N,” he said, his voice carried back by the wind. “This isn’t your fight.”

And then he was gone, vaulting over the edge, disappearing into the storm like he was part of it. You stood there, alone, the rain washing over you, your heart pounding in your ears. The city roared on, indifferent, and you sank to your knees, the cold concrete biting through your jeans. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to hold back the flood, but it was no use. You cried—for Jason, for the brother you’d lost, for the part of you that felt like it was drowning in the rain.

Somewhere in the distance, a bat-signal cut through the clouds, a fleeting beacon in the dark. But you didn’t move. Not yet. For now, it was just you and the storm, and the ache of a bond that might never heal.

------

The rain had stopped by morning, leaving Gotham slick and gleaming under a weak, gray dawn. Jason Todd sat on the edge of his safehouse cot, his head in his hands, the weight of last night’s words pressing down on him like a physical thing. The small apartment was a mess—empty takeout containers, a half-disassembled gun on the table, a cracked mirror reflecting his own tired eyes. He hadn’t slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, tear-streaked and broken, your voice trembling as you called his name.

“Damn it,” he muttered, dragging his hands through his hair. His knuckles were bruised from punching the wall after he’d gotten back, a futile attempt to drown out the guilt clawing at his chest. He could still hear himself, the venom in his voice as he’d torn into you, his twin, the one person who’d always been there, no matter how far he’d fallen. *Your fault. You screwed it up. You’re nothing like me.* Each word felt like a blade now, turned back on himself.

He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. No missed calls, no texts. Just silence. That was worse than anything—knowing you hadn’t reached out, that he’d pushed you so far you might not come back. His stomach twisted, a sick, hollow feeling he hadn’t felt since the days after he’d crawled out of his own grave. He’d been angry last night, blindsided by the botched mission, the trap that had nearly gotten him killed. But it wasn’t your fault. Not really. He knew that now, in the cold light of day, and the truth made him feel smaller than he ever had.

Jason stood, pacing the cramped room, his boots scuffing the worn floorboards. He could still see you on that rooftop, soaked to the bone, your eyes wide with hurt as he’d thrown your love back in your face. *I just want my brother back.* Those words haunted him, each syllable a reminder of how he’d failed you. You weren’t trying to fix him, like he’d accused. You were just trying to love him, and he’d made you pay for it.

He stopped by the window, staring out at the city. Gotham was waking up, delivery trucks rumbling, pigeons scattering from rooftops. Somewhere out there, you were probably at the manor, or maybe at your own place, nursing the wounds he’d left behind. He wondered if you’d told Dick or Tim, if they’d be knocking on his door later to chew him out. He almost wished they would. It’d be easier than facing you himself.

His phone buzzed, and his heart jumped, hoping it was you. But it was just a notification from one of his informants, something about a lead on a case. He tossed the phone onto the cot, cursing under his breath. He didn’t care about the case, not now. All he could think about was the way you’d looked at him, like he’d shattered something precious, something he might never get back.

Jason grabbed his jacket, the same one he’d worn last night, still damp from the rain. He needed to see you, to fix this, but the thought of facing you made his chest ache. What could he even say? *Sorry I blamed you for everything? Sorry I made you cry? Sorry I’m a screwed-up mess who doesn’t know how to let you in?* He wasn’t good with words, not like you were. You’d always been the one to smooth things over, to bridge the gap when he pushed people away. But this time, he’d gone too far, and he wasn’t sure you’d let him close enough to try.

He stepped out into the street, the cool air biting at his skin. The bat-signal was long gone from the sky, but he felt its weight anyway, a reminder of the family he was part of, whether he liked it or not. You were part of that family, too—his twin, his other half, the one who’d shared his nightmares and his dreams. He’d spent years pushing you away, telling himself it was to protect you, but last night had been different. Last night, he’d hurt you on purpose, and the regret was eating him alive.

As he walked toward your apartment, his steps heavy, he rehearsed what he’d say. He didn’t have the words yet, didn’t know if he ever would. But he knew one thing: he couldn’t lose you. Not you. Not ever. The rain might have washed away the evidence of last night, but it couldn’t erase the truth. He’d been wrong, and now he had to make it right, even if it meant facing the one person he’d hurt the most.

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baronessvonglitter · 5 months ago

Text

Holiday Heat

Joel Miller x f!Reader | WC: 2.3K

Summary: Sharing a hotel room with a grumpy (and handsome) stranger while a storm makes travel inaccessible. What could possibly go wrong?

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Only one bed/forced proximity trope (with a dash of sunshine x grumpy because we love a cantankerous Joel). Age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel's in his 50s). Strangers to lovers. Oral (f receiving). Sleeping together to stay warm. Unprotected p in v. Fingering. Reader has very little description apart from having hair long enough to get in her eyes. No use of y/n. Please lmk if I've forgotten anything!

Author's note: It was my pleasure to step in to gift this fic to @frannyzooey for the @pedrostories Secret Santa exchange! I hope you had a great holiday and have a wonderful new year, hon! ❤️Also, huge shoutout to @pedrorascal who so generously created the ✨gorgeous✨ banner for this story!

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

Wind and snow roar outside as the taxi pulls up to the last motel for the next hundred miles. The driver doesn't dare to drive any further in the snowstorm, and offers to bring you to a place where you and your fellow passenger, a gruff, unsmiling man named Joel, to stay warm and have a roof over your head.

"This place is a shithole," he grumbles as you're pulled to a stop.

"It's quaint," you say, refusing to let his sour attitude ruin what's left of your holidays.

You're both heading home for the holidays: you're returning from your senior year at college and he reluctantly admitted he's returning home as well from an extended trip north to visit his brother.

Despite the fact that you're both Austin citizens just trying to get back to your loved ones, Joel remains a total grinch. You've had to endure this man the entire drive from DFW airport. He sat in the aisle across from you on the flight down from Nashville, sighing and making exasperated grunts every time a baby cried or a young person took a selfie. His legs jittered with impatience. You took pity on him and offered him a CBD gummy, hoping to ease whatever stress he was under but he brushed you off with an annoyed groan.

When you found out there were no connecting flights to Austin, you and Joel were the last in line for a car rental. And of course, the last one was rented out to a couple in line ahead of you.

You saw this as an opportunity to help your fellow man, especially as it was the holidays. But all Joel did was shrug when you offered to split a taxi to whichever hotel was closest.

"It's not the Hilton, but it'll do for tonight," you tell him, persisting in your sunny outlook, hoping it will catch on.

The bored-looking eighty-year-old man in the motel office tells you that due to high demand and the inclement weather, there's only one room left, with a single bed.

"We'll take it," you bounce on the chance, much to Joel's chagrin, offering your credit card. Your surly traveling companion offers to split the room, but not without complaint.

"No way in hell am I sleeping on the floor," he says as soon as he steps into the room. There's a stale stench of cigarettes that the cinnamon air freshener on the small round table can't mask.

"Of course you're not. We'll just.. divide the bed. I'm good at staying on my side."

"You'd better be. I don't need you grabbin' onto me in the middle of the night 'cause you're havin' a nightmare or somethin'."

"You wish." It's the only thing you tell him that has some sting behind it.

"Just don't steal all the blankets, sweetheart. Gonna need 'em with this deep freeze comin' through."

"I'm gonna shower first if that's all right with you. I need to warm up." You grab your pajamas from your bag.

"Don't use up all the hot water," he calls out before you close the bathroom door.

"If there's no hot water to spare we could shower together." You glance behind your shoulder, eager to see his reaction.

The look on Joel's face is priceless as he nearly chokes on his next breath. "What? Are you out of your mind? There's no way I'm showerin' with you!"

You grin. "Gotcha."

You step out, hair still damp, towel wrapped around you, shyly going back into the room. "I forgot my panties," you say softly, going to your bag.

Joel tries not to stare too much, but it's a challenge.

"Turn around," you tell him so you can have privacy.

"Go change in the bathroom."

"I had a hot shower, it's still humid. I can't get dressed in there. Just close your eyes."

He grunts but accedes to your request, leaning back against the headboard as he puts his hands over his eyes. His heart is pumping madly, listening to the rustle of clothes as you get changed. He tries to distract himself with other thoughts instead of wondering what the shape of your body looks like.

Relief is a brief respite before he sees what you're wearing to sleep. He thought you'd wear something comfortable and decent, like those fuzzy plaid pajamas girls your age like to wear during the holidays, but instead you're in an oversized t-shirt, the hem down to the middle of your thighs, revealing your bare legs. He puts a pillow on his lap to hide his growing erection.

You get onto your side of the bed. "The shower's free if you want it."

Joel swallows hard before he forces himself to think about something other than you in the bed with him. "Yeah, uh, thanks," he says gruffly, his voice strained. He quickly gets up, trying to hide his aroused state, and gathers his pajamas before he goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. For good measure he locks it.

"Get it together, Miller," he tells himself, splashing some cold water on his face. He can't deny the effect you have on him, but he also knows it's impossible to act on it. He barely knows you. You could have a boyfriend or a husband for all he knows, though there's no ring on your finger.

He showers, hoping to stay in as long as he can to avoid you. But it's a shitty motel after all, and soon he runs out of hot water and has to rinse the shampoo from his hair under the icy cold spray.

Dried off and clothed he steps back into the room and finds you on the bed, rubbing lotion onto your arms and legs. The sight nearly takes his breath away. He tries to look away but his eyes are drawn to your glistening skin.

"Good shower?" you ask, catching a whiff of his body wash, something fresh and woodsy. From lowered lashes you check out how he looks in his sweatpants.

"Yeah," he replies. "Outta hot water though. Since you used it all up."

You roll your eyes and go back to applying your lotion.

"Smells nice," he says, sitting close to you.

"Thanks. It's coconut."

The sweet scent hangs in the air as he watches you spread the white lotion across your skin, giving rise to lewd thoughts about what other thick white substances would go well on you. The coconut aroma, the sight of you touching yourself, the forced proximity and having to share a bed.. it's all sensory overload.

"I like coconut," his voice is thick with restraint.

Your hands stop and you hand him the bottle, your eyes meeting his in a silent understanding. "Will you help me?"

He takes the lotion from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours a moment. "Where do you want me to start?"

"My legs," you tell him, spreading them slightly as you lean back.

Heat pools in Joel's groin and he bites his lip to stifle a groan. He squeezes out some lotion onto his palm and kneads it into your shin and calf, his touch gentle but firm, lightly massaging. He spreads it up to your knee, brushing against the tickly spot right beneath and smirking when you try to stifle a sound.

"Feels nice," you eke out.

"Your skin is so smooth," he murmurs, eyes drinking in the sight of you looking both relaxed and wanting. His hands move over your thighs as they part and he realizes you're not wearing panties after all. His brain goes haywire for a moment, unsure if he should call attention to your undressed state or not.

The scent of your arousal reaches him, and he dares a glance between your thighs. His dick pulses when he sees the telltale sheen at the apex of your inner thighs. His eyes meet yours and there's a charge, a current that passes between you.

"You have no idea how much I want you right now," he rasps, his voice thick with desire.

It's too much, too fast, but the part of you that doesn't care wins out, falling for his low, silky remark.

"Joel.. put your mouth on me," you whisper, legs parting further, an open invitation.

His eyes darken to nearly black, all semblance of restraint breaks as he leans forward, his lips hovering just above your skin, his breath warm on your inner thighs. "As you wish, sugar," he rumbles, placing a soft kiss on your soft flesh. His kisses move higher and higher up, and he gently moves your legs over his shoulders as his kisses get more persistent.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as his hands find their way under your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your belly and the mounds of your breasts, your nipples hard in anticipation. Willfully trapped beneath him, you're at his mercy when he finally buries his face in your cunt, gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

His tongue runs over your soft, saturated folds, tasting you and listening to the sounds of your moans and gasps. He laps at your softly, then adding more pressure, dipping his tongue inside and swiping at your clit, teasing you just enough to get you screaming for more. A strange sense of tenderness surfaces among the lust of the moment as he brings you to life. There's no denying there's something inherently sweet and affectionate about the lascivious act.

Joel can't get enough of your taste, your smell, the way you feel against his mouth as you desperately grind against him. He's lost in the moment, his every sense consumed by you. Hearing you panting his name he hums against you, the vibrations adding to your pleasure, and he gladly licks up the nectar you gush out.

"Oh! Joel! Keep doing that!" you gasp, tugging at his greying locks. His mouth is hot against your pussy, tongue stiff and pointed, soft and wet. The pleasure seems neverending. Just when you think you know the pattern, he switches it up, licking harder or softer, tracing shapes with the tip of his tongue. "Please.. don't stop.. I'm gonna.."

Pleasure blossoms from within, too big to keep in, and you come apart beneath him.

There's a feeling of ownership, something dominant and masculine and protective in Joel as he works you through another one, his hips rutting against the bed in need of his own release. At last he moves over you, bodies pressed close as he kisses you for the first time. It's sweet and soft, the taste of you still on his tongue, tangy and sweet.

"Thank you," you sigh, your foreheads touching, breath mingling.

"No need to thank me, sweetheart," he says quietly, brushing loose strands of hair from your forehead.

You're still feeling the lingering traces of pleasure, but even you can feel the cold seeping into the room. "Get under the covers with me," you tell him, and giggle at the speed with which he pulled both of you under the western-themed duvet.

Clothes fly off, thrown over the sides of the bed, landing in haphazard piles. Joel slots himself between your legs again. Desire grows bright in him, making him feel like he's burning from the inside out, starving for the taste and feel of you.

Your body is a perfect fit for him, the glorious slide of his flesh into yours causing you both to cry out. He's completely sheathed within you, surrounded by your perfect, tight, wet heat. Thrusting slow at first, he watches your expressions, planting little kisses on your cheeks and eyelids, drinking up your moans as his tongue slips between your lips.

"More," you whisper as his lips graze your neck, gently biting your ear lobe, and you're rewarded with a more forceful pace as he spreads you open, angling your hips up to get in deeper, finding that sacred spot within that makes you see God. He plants one hand on the headboard above you for leverage as his other hand kneads your breast, tweaking your nipple as your own hands grip his sides, digging your nails in as you blissfully curse with each push of his hips.

"That's the spot, ain't it?" he grunts above you. "Right.. here."

Stars collide behind your eyes as he gently glides over your G-spot. His lips curve into a smile when you clench around him, but he slips out before he can come, replacing himself with three fingers. "Come on them, sweetheart. Come on my fingers then you can have my cock again."

You're lost in bliss as he glides his fingers in, curving to get that spongy spot, eager to make you scream. You bring your own fingers to your clit, gently pinching and rubbing until you feel your climax begin in your extremities, gathering pressure within until it's released, your orgasm shattering you with Joel's name on your lips.

He gives you a moment to come back before he lays down, letting you straddle him. Though he was just inside you, it's still a stretch to fit around him, and you slide down slowly before you're comfortable enough to start riding.

"There you go, darlin'," he murmurs, large hands on your hips. "Do what you need to do to come on my cock, baby."

In a delicious haze of pleasure you ride him, switching up the pace, going slow and deep before slamming down on him, making him groan as he tries to hold back. Your slick is pooling on his groin, coating his balls. Holding your hips steady he rams up into you, eager for you to come all over him again.

You're positively feral at this point, shaking and crying out as you come harder than any other time before, and Joel follows soon after, spilling inside of you, his dick twitching.

Hours later you're curled up together under the thick blankets, sharing and savoring what warmth you've generated.

"Thank god for this storm," Joel murmurs, holding your back close to his chest as he spoons you.

"That's the first positive outlook you've had all day," you smirk, snuggling against him.

dividers by @cafekitsune 👑

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flwrkid14 · 5 months ago

Note

Sleeping beauty!Tim au but make it angsty

Red Robin gets hit with a spell that makes him sleep and no one is able to wake him up. The wizard villain of the week disappeared after hitting Tim with it and only by the grace of God and Red Hood's speed was he caught before he tumbled off the damn roof.

The batfam think it'll be an easy fix, Bruce gets Zatanna to show up... Except...

Bruce: Why did it not work?

Zatanna: it's one of those fickle sleep spells that can only be broken by true love's kiss. Luckily, it doesn't have to be a romantic kiss or one on the lips, as long as it's from someone who truly loves Red Robin.

Bruce: So why is he not awake?

Zatanna: The fickle thing about this particular spell is that for it to break, Red Robin has to believe that the person who kissed him truly loves him.

Cue all the angst and heartbreak and self reflection as the batfam realize, after each of them tries to wake Tim, that their brother genuinely thinks they don't love him.

Eventually it's Kon who manages to wake Tim up with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

In the aftermath, Tim doesn't know how to deal with the way the batfam are looking at him like he broke their hearts or the way Bruce looks uncomfortably on the verge of tears.

Thank you so much for the ask!!—this is such a deliciously angsty concept, and I can’t get over how much it says about the Batfamily and their emotional blind spots.

It’s so painfully them, isn’t it? The Batfamily, who love so fiercely but are absolutely terrible at showing it in ways that matter. They’re all so busy with their missions, their duty, their endless fight to keep Gotham and each other safe, that they don’t stop to think about how their love is perceived. They assume it’s obvious in the way they watch each other’s backs or show up when it counts. But Tim? Tim’s spent so long in the shadows, convincing himself he’s just a cog in the machine, that he doesn’t see any of that as love.

And now they’re standing there, one by one, trying and failing to wake him up. It’s not just frustrating—it’s devastating. Because the truth they’ve all been avoiding is staring them in the face: Tim doesn’t believe they love him. And maybe, deep down, they know why. Every harsh word, every time they brushed him off because there was a bigger crisis, every moment they assumed Tim was fine because he didn’t say otherwise—it’s all coming back to haunt them now.

Jason probably storms off first, pretending it doesn’t bother him, but the guilt is eating him alive. Dick, who prides himself on being the emotional glue of the family, is visibly shaken—because how could he miss this? How could he fail Tim like this? And Bruce, oh, Bruce—he’s silent, but you can see the way his hands tremble, the way his jaw tightens. He’s spent years thinking his actions spoke louder than words, and now he’s realizing he might’ve been wrong.

And when Kon finally wakes Tim up? It’s not just a relief—it’s a wake-up call. Kon, who loves Tim so plainly and without hesitation, didn’t have to fight through layers of doubt or miscommunication. His love was clear, and Tim believed it without question. The Batfamily can’t say the same, and it hurts.

But what really gets me is the aftermath. Tim, sitting there, bewildered and uncomfortable as the Batfamily stares at him with those shattered, guilty expressions. To him, it doesn’t make sense—he’s fine, the mission’s done, so why are they acting like he’s the one who needs fixing? And when Bruce finally asks, voice quiet and cracking, “Why didn’t you believe us?” Tim doesn’t know how to answer. Because in his mind, it wasn’t a question of love—it was a question of worth.

It’s such a raw, painful exploration of the Batfamily’s dynamic. They love each other deeply, but they’re so bad at saying it, at showing it in ways that the other person can feel. And Tim? Tim’s just been waiting, quietly, for proof he didn’t think would ever come.

This is such a beautifully tragic setup, and I love how it forces them all to face what they’ve been avoiding. If you—or anyone—writes this, I would absolutely love to read it!! The emotional fallout alone would be worth its weight in tears!

#anon ask #thanks anon!#batfamily angst #tim drake #kon el

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iamnotoriginalphil · 6 months ago

Text

Your Witch (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: It's your hand in marriage in return for ending the terror against your town, and your parents have decided. The Witch of the Westview Woods is to be your wife. No matter how much you might protest.

Words: 7k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, shades of self harm, toxic family relationships, virgin R, oral (R receiving), shades of a praise kink

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle @dontsblameme@grilledcheeseandguavajelly

“I will not.”

You glared at your parents, arms crossed over your chest, lips pursed. Anger was coursing through your veins, hot and acute, making you vibrate. You had to keep from growling at them, or lashing out. This was a level of disrespect you weren’t willing to live with. This was a step too far. This was the straw that was breaking the camel’s back.

“It’s already been arranged,” your father said, his arm around your mother’s shoulder, providing a united front.

“I won’t,” you said.

“It’s your duty,” your father said.

“Duty?” you scoffed, “and what of your duty as my parents?”

“What would you have us do?” your mother demanded.

“Not sell me off like some farm animal for your own comfort,” you spat.

“The Witch of the Westview Woods has made her request clear. If we give her you she will leave our town alone,” your father said.

“I doubt she even knows who I am,” you muttered.

“You are more than aware of your reputation in town. She made her choice. You are to be hers and in exchange our safety will be ensured. You should feel honoured to be serving our town,” your father said.

“I’d be more honoured if I wasn’t the sacrificial lamb,” you said, “you would never have agreed to this if it was James she asked for.”

Your younger brother was the favourite. You knew it. You parents knew it. Everyone knew it. If the Witch had demanded him, your father would have fought tooth and nail to keep him. But the moment it was you being asked for, he was shoving you out the door. James was the heir, you were just a measly daughter. No one needed you except to increase the social status of your family.

No wonder you were being sold off to the first witch that came along.

“And I don’t see why it has to be a marriage,” you said before they could give a half hearted excuse.

“We’re not risking you running off after you’ve been collected by her,” he said.

“I can run off when I’m married to her,” you muttered.

“You’ll do no such thing,” your mother snapped, “now, stop this silliness. This a show of good faith. An exchange. She receives something precious to us in return for our safety.”

“You don’t have to pretend as if you’re not excited about this,” you said.

“It’s a great honour to be chosen by her,” she said.

“Then you do it!.”

You stomped away, hiking your skirt up to speed up. Slamming your bedroom door behind you, you let the entire household know exactly how you felt. Falling back on the bed, you buried your face in your pillow and screamed.

The Witch of the Westview Woods had been terrorising your town for as long as anyone could remember. Children stolen in the night, fires set, storms tearing the roofs off homes. Floods and locusts and droughts. One thing after another that no one should be capable of. But she had magic and no matter who was sent to slay her, she triumphed.

And you were being handed right to her.

If you survived to the years end you would be surprised. It made no sense for you to be the exact thing that would save the town. If it all it took was marrying her, how hard could it be to vanquish her?

This whole thing reeked of something. You just wish you knew what it was.

And yet you found yourself being shoved into a white dress the next afternoon, your hair pinned tight enough to bring on a headache and makeup painted over your face. Poked and prodded, your mother’s servants got you ready for the moment your life was going to end.

Walking towards the church, your father was your guard, his hand around your arm keeping you from slipping away and living life as a vagrant. Anything would be better than the fate that awaited you at the end of that alter.

The organ music began and on heavy feet you were dragged down the aisle. Fuming, you refused to even look at your bride as you were forced to stand in front of her. You were slow to drag your gaze up her body, over her bare feet and deep purple skirts, over her laced up bodice and into bright blue eyes. Your mouth fell open, shocked by the woman staring back you with an assessing gaze and lips curling up into a smile.

This was not a wild hag living in the woods. This was a woman beautiful enough to steal your breath. This was a problem.

One way or another, the Witch of the Westview Woods was going to kill you.

Her voice was husky as she repeated the vows, blue eyes burning you as her gaze rested on your face. You stumbled through your own vows, the wind taken out of your sails. The anger had fizzled out in the face of this woman, so unexpected, so unlike anything you could have anticipated.

Her hand took yours, warm and steady where you felt unbalanced. She slipped the ring on your finger, the cool metal heavy and you found yourself having to swallow past a lump in your throat. You whispered your I do and then her hand was grasping yours and she was dragging you out of the chapel.

“Come on, hon,” she said, “we have a wedding night to get to.”

Your cheeks heated.

You didn’t even glance back at your family as she practically flew out of town. Her hand was steady in yours, gripping tight enough to hurt. She plunged into the forest, branches whipping at you. Any time you stumbled, her strong arm would curl around your waist and steady you before taking off again.

The house that emerged from the trees was small, a cottage covered in ivy, plants snarled together in the garden, a soft light glowing in the window. She shoved the door open, pulling you into the interior of the home. It was comfortable, a fire burning in the hearth. Books were in tumbling piles and there was an armchair draped in a soft looking blanket. She dropped your hand, stepping further into her home.

“Home sweet home,” she hummed.

She flopped down into her armchair, grinning up at you. You hesitated at the door, the lace of your dress scratching at your skin, buttons pinching, too tight to breathe properly. She was watching you from behind wild hair, assessing you.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” she asked.

“No,” you said, taking a step forward.

“C’mere, hon,” she said.

On unsure feet you drew closer to her. Long fingers reached out, snagging on the skirt of your dress, the lace dirty and ripped from your flight through the forest. Her fingers ran over the material, looking up at you from under lowered lashes.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to slip into something more comfortable?” she asked, voice a low rumble that had your knees turning to jelly.

“I didn’t bring anything with me,” you said.

“Even better.” She brightened, “do you need any help?”

You squeaked, cheeks aflame as your eyes widened and your mouth fell open. She chuckled, falling back to slouch in the chair.

“Feel free to wear anything you find upstairs,” she said, nodding towards the stairs.

You lingered a moment before making your way upstairs. It was only one room, a large bed dominating the room. You skirted around it, doing your best to ignore it. The wardrobe had clothes spilling out, a mishmash of materials, all in shades of purple.

You tore the buttons from the dress, doing your best to get out of it. You didn’t bother trying to be careful, never wanting to see the torture device again. Reaching in, you grabbed the first dress you could find. Lilac was not a colour you were often given over to wearing, but you supposed it was the best you had. You opened the window, throwing your heels outside into the garden, your feet thanking you for it.

Padding downstairs on bare feet, you found the Witch curled up in the chair, a book open in her lap. A bunny hopped past and you found yourself smiling.

“Señor Scratchy likes you,” she said without even glancing up from the page she was reading.

“You have a pet bunny?” you asked.

“Every witch has to have a familiar,” she replied.

“Is that a rule or a guideline?” you wondered.

Her gaze finally dragged up to you and something in it darkened, sweeping over you in her dress. You froze but her grin was pleased.

“Well, aren’t you a vision in purple,” she purred.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

Lingering by the stairs you let her look her fill. Your weight shifted from foot to foot, not quite sure what she’d be expecting from you. It was your wedding night. You knew how these things usually went.

“Do you cook?” she asked once she was done.

“Do I…? I can,” you answered.

“Good because I’ve been missing that skill for more years than is polite,” she said.

“I can do that,” you said, nodding to yourself.

The kitchen was small and pokey, washing up needing to be done before you could even begin cooking. Having something to do with your hands made it easier being in that cottage. You could focus on that rather than the woman in the other room.

She was nothing like you’d expected. She was hardly the horrifying figure of legend you’d spent your entire life hearing about. She wasn’t even particularly mean as far as you could tell. Disarming, flirty, overwhelming, sure. She was all those things. But not horrifying.

You passed her a plate of food once you were done, doing your best with the ingredients you could find. She didn’t look up, taking it from you, fingers picking at the food. You lowered yourself onto the rug in front of the fire, eating your own meal.

“Not bad,” she muttered, mouth half full of food.

You looked up from the flickering flames, watching her eat. She hardly had the manners that had been drilled into you by your mother. Eating with her hands, she tore through the meat with her teeth, looking half wild. Her eyes were roving over the pages of her book, not paying you any attention.

The sky had darkened outside the window, the only light coming from the lamp lit beside her and the fire you were sitting in front of. The light played over the planes of her face, cheeks sunk beneath sharp cheekbones, eyes shadowed, skin pale. She truly was beautiful.

Maybe you could make this marriage work.

“You’re staring,” Her voice was a low rumble.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Just say whatever is going through your pretty little head,” she said, finally looking up at you.

She pinned you under her gaze. Her tongue dragged along her lips, and you found yourself considering all the things that tongue could do. Your cheeks flamed and you had to remind yourself this was a woman who went out of her way to hurt people.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” you blurted out.

“Were you hoping for some wizened old crone?” she asked.

“The stories were hazy. No one’s seen you in a while,” you replied, “and you’ve been around a while so…”

“So you naturally assumed I would be ravaged by the hands of time,” she said, “aren’t you lucky I wasn’t.”

You pressed your lips together, fingers wringing at your skirts. You hadn’t anticipated flirting. You hadn’t prepared for it. You hadn’t figured out how to respond to it.

“Aren’t you just adorable,” she hummed, “I promise I’ll make you a very happy wife.”

The implication of her words sent a spark of heat through your veins, right between your legs. If she kept talking in that voice, it would be so easy to ignore all the evil acts she’d done and let her have her way with you. No one in your town had ever elicited this reaction in you.

“Yes, that’s the look,” she said, “I picked well.”

She settled back in her chair, smirking at you. You ducked your head, not able to handle her scrutiny. Although, if the way your heart was racing was any indication, the wedding night with your new bride wouldn’t be as bad as you’d thought it would be.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you stood, collecting her empty plate from the arm of her chair. Washing up, you ignored the sound of her in the other woman. This was hardly the life you were expecting to have for yourself. Even in the last 24 hours, you’d grown used to the idea of spending your life with a hag whose company you could never enjoy.

The Witch had turned out to be both beautiful and charming, if not incredibly disarming.

“Come here, hon,” she called through the door.

On unsure feet, you returned to her. She was standing by the fire, staring down into it. You paused behind her, waiting.

“It’s been a long day. You must be tired,” she said.

“I suppose,” you said.

“Come on. Bed time.”

Her hand slipped into yours, tugging you up the stairs. Anticipation curled in your stomach. It wouldn’t be so bad. You might even enjoy it. With the Witch. And not the hag you’d been expecting. There would be no need to close your eyes and think of something else as she got on with it.

“Here,” she said, shoving a gauzy piece of fabric at you.

“You want me to change?” you asked, staring down at it.

“Unless you want to sleep in that dress, but I promise you that will be more comfortable,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Sleep well, hon,” she said, one foot already on the top stair.

“You’re not staying?” you asked.

She paused, eyes sweeping over you.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you should get your rest,” she said.

She left you standing by the bed, clutching a negligee, wondering what you’d done wrong. Trying to ignore your disappointment, you changed into the nightdress, the lace and gauzy material sexier than anything you’d owned back home. You left those thoughts, slipping into the large bed. It was comfortable, more so than you’d been expecting, the blankets soft and warm, the sheets smooth. Laying your head on one of the pillows, you stared up at the ceiling.

Many hours passed, alone in the bed, ears straining for the sound of the Witch down below. The stairs creaked as she climbed them, padding on soft feet. You closed your eyes, not wanting to be caught disobeying orders. The soft thump of fabric hitting the floor, a shuffle, and then the mattress was dipping beside you.

“Does the bed not meet your standards?” she asked into the darkness.

You sighed, eyes blinking open.

“It’s very comfortable,” you said.

“Were you waiting for me?”

The bed shifted. Her warmth brushed against you and a hand slid over your waist. You stiffened, then forced yourself to relax. This was more what you were expecting. Touches and a bed and the cover of darkness.

“Relax, hon,” she whispered, the hand retreating.

You turned your head, staring at her in the darkness. She rolled over, presenting her back to you, leaving you nothing back dark hair to look at. You watched her breathe for a moment.

“What should I call you?” you whispered across the distance.

“What?” She rolled to look at you.

“I can’t keep calling you the Witch,” you said, “I don’t know your name.”

“Huh.” She rolled back to where she was before, not giving you an answer.

You watched her for a moment more before you sighed. Rolling over, keeping your back to her, you closed your eyes and did your best to relax.

“Agatha,” she whispered. You froze, “my name is Agatha.”

You settled down, holding her name close to your heart, like it was something precious. No one in town knew her name. This was just for you.

From that day you settled into some kind of routine with Agatha. You’d wake early while she luxuriated in bed long after the sun had risen. You’d clean and cook and tend to the garden, doing all you could to turn her cottage into a home. Agatha would swan in and out of the house, sometimes gone for hours, singing under her breath, or muttering curses.

In the evenings, she’d curl up in her chair and you’d sit on the rug, whiling away the hours in companionable silence. You’d embroider or begin the process of drying herbs, or stare at the flames as you thought with Señor Scratchy in your lap.

You hadn’t been back to town, nor had you heard from your family. They’d well and truly abandoned you the moment you’d said I do. Truth be told, you weren’t sure you wanted to see them. They’d given you up so easily and clearly weren’t missing you. In your cottage deep within the Westview Woods, you were comfortable and safe and calm. You knew your place and you were never forced to do anything you didn’t want to do.

Sometimes you’d catch Agatha watching you. Blue eyes peering out the window as you worked at taming the garden or glancing up from a book as you cuddled with Señor Scratchy. Each time it made you self conscious but you never asked her about it. The relationship was tenuous at best. You didn’t want to upset her.

She would still flirt with you and she still seemed to gain enjoyment from flustering you. But she wasn’t doing anything to treat you like a real wife. You had no clue what it was she was getting out of this arrangement other than a maid. If that was what she’d wanted, she could have just asked for it. The wedding wasn’t necessary.

And yet you were her wife and you would be until one of you died.

It took about a month before you cracked open one of her books one night. You had no idea what she could be reading and your curiosity got the better of you in a moment of boredom. Looking down at the page, the incomprehensible symbols made no sense to you. Flicking through more and more pages, you tried to understand.

“Interested in magic?” she asked.

Startled, you dropped the book. Apologising, you snatched it up, turning to look at her. She was standing in the doorway, night pressing in behind her, returned from wherever it was she disappeared to for those long hours. There was an errant leaf tangled in her hair. Standing, she froze as you reached out, tugging it free and throwing it behind her, out the door.

You hadn’t realised how close you’d gotten to her. Her face was so close to yours you could count the shades of blue in her eyes. Your breath froze in your chest and you stilled.

“It’s not safe to learn magic on your own,” she whispered, reaching for the book in your hand.

You let her take it without argument, a sense of shame from being caught reminding you how this conversation had started. You stepped away from her, putting distance between the two of you. After weeks together, you thought her ability to fluster you with just her presence were gone, but your heart was thundering and you felt breathless.

“If you’re looking for a mentor, I’m more than happy to teach you,” she said, voice softening.

“You’d teach me magic?” you asked.

“What are wives for?” she said, sweeping into the room, depositing the book on top of a tilting stack. If the way you were feeling was any indication, wives were for a lot more than teaching magic.

She settled you on the rug, taking her usual place in her chair. At her feet, you gazed up at her, trying to ignore the way there was a throbbing between your legs and fire in your veins. She reached out, taking your hand, delicate fingers manipulating it until it was in a position that met her approval.

“Alright, the first thing you should know is that your power comes from deep within you. Not everyone has enough to create even a spark of magic. Do not feel disappointed if you can’t. It takes a very special woman to do even the most simple of magic,” she said.

“You must be the most special woman in the world then,” you said, looking at the point where her hand met yours.

When she didn’t respond to you, you looked up. She was staring down at you, something unreadable in her eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“I suppose I am,” she replied, but it wasn’t with the cocky little tilt of her head you’d grown used to, “now, burrow down deep into yourself. Find that well of power, see what you have.”

You closed your eyes, feeling her finger stroke over the palm of your hand, trying to find what she was talking about. All you found was the fire she brought out in you, the anger still simmering at your family, the disappointment and hurt you’d been carrying for longer than you could count at your place in the world. It was why you kept your hands busy, refusing to look too deeply into the way your family had let you down.

It burnt. Lingering on it hurt. The scars left on your soul were sore to the touch. You pressed harder. The pain, at least, was a relief from the feeling of shame you carried with you at all hours of the day.

“Well, would you look at that.”

You blinked your eyes open, finding light reflected in Agatha’s eyes. Cradled in the palm of your hand was a pale blue energy, roiling and rolling in the air. Your mouth fell open, staring at it, trying to wrap your head around what you had done.

It flickered out.

“Apparently I’m not the only special woman in this house,” Agatha murmured.

You cheeks heated, eyes widened as you stared up into her face. She lent forward, fingertips brushing over the apple of your cheeks, soft and gentle, barely there, making you shiver.

“Yes, I chose very well,” she said, drawing back.

Under her assessing gaze, you did it again and again and again, until your head began to hurt. She put you to bed, tucking you in, fingers gently running through your hair until you fell asleep. Just a month ago, you could have never imagined being treated so comfortingly by her.

So began the next phase of your routine. Your days were your own but your nights were Agatha’s. In front of the fire, sitting at her feet, a desperate need to please her, she taught you to wield and control your own power. Her murmured praises and her soft touches made your head spin, addictive and heady, only spurring you on for more.

Watching from the window one afternoon, the sunlight streaming through the boughs of the trees above, you focused on Agatha wandering through the garden. You’d tidied it since arriving, giving it more order, planting things you found out in the forest to go with what you already found strangled under the weeds. Your hands had been in the dirt, coaxing life back into the garden.

She bowed her head over a flower, you thought maybe smelling it. A smile bloomed over your own face, watching her as she moved around the garden. She was so gentle with the plants, pausing occasionally to look at the work you’d done. You wished you knew what she was thinking but she was always so enigmatic. You never knew what was going on behind her eyes.

When she returned to the cottage, a flower was clutched in her hand, petals soft, a new bloom. You looked up from the book she’d asked you to read, legs curled beneath you, skirt pushed up around your knees to bring some cool air to your skin. Spring had well and truly arrived.

“Are you working for me?” she purred.

You nodded, watching her swaying hips as she approached. All those touches and all that praise had only made it harder to pretend as if she didn’t set you alight. She crouched in front of you. With careful fingers, she tucked the flower behind your ear. Your breath caught. She tilted your chin up, the touch of her fingers against your skin making you heat again. Her eyes roved over your face, drinking you in.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

It was like being pierced by an arrow. You would have fallen into her in that moment, the words begging for a kiss tingling on your lips. Before they could spill out, she stood, leaving you on the rug, breathless and wanting.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” she said, turning from you.

Her skirt fanned out around her calves and just the flash of skin had your mouth drying. It wasn’t as if you’d seen the sight before, but every time it only made you more desperate to see more. It took a moment for her words to make sense to you.

“You are?” you asked, scrabbling to your feet.

“I’m afraid so,” she said, fingers tracing over the spines of some of her books, “I have business in the next town over. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” you said, voice small.

“You might want to go visit your family while I’m gone. You must be missing them,” she said.

“Okay.”

“Aw, don’t pout, kitten,” she said, curling her arm around your waist as she turned back to you, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her hand burned through the thin fabric of your dress. It was these touches that drove you mad. You always wanted more, to feel that touch on every inch of your body. She pulled you closer, soft curves pressing against yours in a way that had your head reeling.

“Try not to miss me too much,” she said before releasing you.

You could only watch as she moved back to the door. She lingered in the doorway, snatching one last look at you before she swept out of the cottage. Despite the fire roaring and the sun streaming in through the window, you felt suddenly cold.

The days stretched without Agatha in the cottage. The bed was too big and although you could sit in the chair before the fire at night rather than the hard flagstones beneath the rug, it left you feeling unsettled. You lazed through the days, perking up at every little sound, hope climbing up your throat only to be crushed back down when it wasn’t her return.

When the storm swept in, you felt the first pangs of worry. Sequestered in the house, you were climbing the walls, not able to drown your worry in work in the garden. The cottage was clean and there was only so much folding and refolding of clothes you could do before you began to question your sanity.

Lying in bed, you did your best to keep your thoughts away from Agatha. With the storm raging outside, it was easy to conjure images of her getting hurt or stranded, flashes of lightning striking her down too far away for you to find her and bring her home. You tossed and turned, the bed feeling huge and empty and cold without Agatha in it with you.

A crash from downstairs had you jolting up. You froze, listening intently. Another bang. Crawling to the edge of the bed, your heart was thundering, fear seeping into your veins. Sneaking to the top of the stairs, you peeked down.

A shadowed figure was standing in front of the fire, burnt down to their embers. You grasped the closest heavy object, a candlestick fancier than anything else in the cottage that you’d never quite built up the courage to ask about, and crept down the stairs. The figure didn’t seem to hear you, bending to stoke the flames. Raising the candlestick above your head, you swung.

A pale hand whipped out in a flash of lightning, grasping your wrist. The candlestick clattered to the floor. You gasped.

“This wasn’t quite the warm welcome home I was hoping for,” Agatha said.

“You’re back,” you said, breathless, heart thumping for a whole new reason.

“You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?”

You threw yourself into her arms, not even bothering to answer her. The joy at her reappearance in your cozy cottage was overwhelming. She chuckled, catching you, pressing her face to the top of your head.

“Now this is more what I was hoping for,” she said.

She trembled in the cage of your arms. Pulling back, you realised she was completely soaked through, wet hair stuck to her skin in a tangle. Her clothes were plastered to her and she was shivering. You ran your hands down her arms, feeling the goosebumps, grasping her hands.

“You’re freezing,” you said, “come here and warm up.”

You sat her down in her chair, stoking the fire until the flames began to blaze again. You turned, finding her gaze locked on you. It was dark and dangerous, roving over you with a level of possession you weren’t used to. Your knees trembled, turning to jelly as she drank her fill.

Glancing down, you realised your negligee was clinging to your body, wet from the embrace you’d given her, see through in all the places you weren’t sure you wanted it to be. Your eyes met hers again, your shiver nothing to do with the rain water seeping into your skin. Her tongue ran along her lower lip, stealing your breath.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” you whispered.

��Is that an offer, hon?” she asked.

You’d missed her. You wanted her. And from the way she was looking at you, she wanted you too. So why not take what you wanted? She certainly had when she’d demanded a wedding.

“Yes.”

Her face brightened before it settled into something more predatory. Holding a hand out to you, she pulled you towards her. You fell into her lap, a small squeak on your lips. Her hand slid up your thigh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

You lent forward, capturing her lips in an all consuming kiss. She growled, hands grasping you, dragging you closer. You whimpered into her mouth, hands clutching at her shoulders. She burned beneath you, every point of contact making you quiver. Her lips were searing hot as they made their way down the column of your neck. Your head tipped back, giving her more access, fingers burying themselves in her hair. Her name was a breathy moan on your lips. When her teeth sunk in, you groaned, pressing her closer.

“We’ve been married for months,” you murmured, breathless, desperate for her.

“We have,” she said, whispered into her skin.

Her tongue ran over your skin. You forgot what you were saying, luxuriating in the feeling of her worshipping your neck. Her hand was pushing up past the hem of your negligee, seeking out warm skin.

“You were saying, hon?” she asked, lips brushing your skin.

“Oh uh…” Her fingers ghosted over the skin of your inner thigh, “just that you…”

“I?” she murmured, finding the vulnerable spot behind your jaw.

“You never asked me to fulfil my wifey duties,” you sighed.

“I’m not a monster who forces young women to got to bed with me when they don’t want to,” she said before her lips closed over your earlobe.

“But I did want to,” you sighed, “I do.”

“So I’m gathering, hon,” she said.

You kissed her again, already addicted to her taste. With arms stronger than you were expecting, she lifted you, laying you down on the rug you’d spent so many evenings on. The fire was warm from so close, the air heating the chill of the night. A clap of thunder boomed above the house. You jumped, before laughing, self conscious at your own reaction. Her smile was fond.

“You know, when I gave you this nightie, I was hoping you’d look as delicious as I’d imagined,” she said, one hand stroking down your side, “it looks even better when it’s wet.”

She drew back, looking down at you. The front was completely soaked through, practically baring you to her faze. You shivered, breath stuttering. The look in her eye suggested she wanted to eat you alive. Her hand stroked between your breasts, pressing against your stomach when you wriggled beneath her.

“Stay still, pet. I’m enjoying my new wife,” she said.

Both hands cupped your breasts through the lace and silk of the dress you were in. Each nipple was already peaked, pebbling from the chilled water you’d had pressed against your skin. Palming them, she watched your face. You whimpered, not used to someone else touching you like this.

“You make such pretty noises for me, pet,” she said right as she pinched your nipples.

Your back arched up into her touch, offering yourself to her. Your hands grasped her hips, breathing coming fast.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked, watching you writhe under her touch.

“No,” you sighed.

“Really?” She sat back to look at you, a look of pleasure passing over her face, “I’ll be your first?”

“No one ever made me want to before,” you replied, pushing your hands under her skirts, wanting to feel her skin. It was as soft as you’d imagined, the muscles of her thighs strong under your palms.

“You are a gift,” she said before swooping in to kiss you again.

You lost yourself in it, your entire body a live wire underneath her. She hummed when your hands delved further up her skirt, the fabric still heavy with rain. You pulled away, ignoring the displeased noise she made.

“I wasn’t kidding about getting you out of these wet clothes. You’ll catch your death,” you said.

“Well, if you insist.”

She stood, pulling the dress over her head. In the firelight, she was nothing but enticing shadows and soft curves. You stared, overwhelmed with how beautiful she was. You could spend the rest of your life looking at this view. Pushing up onto your elbows, you let your gaze travel over her, practically drooling. You pressed your thighs together.

“Do I pass muster?” she asked.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you breathed.

Something shifted in her face, almost as if you’d surprised her. In the shadows, you couldn’t be sure, but you thought her cheeks might be flushed. She lowered back onto her knees, straddling your waist. Your hands skimmed over her ribs, feeling her inhale beneath your fingertips. You cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them in your palms.

“I think it’s only fair that I return the favour,” she said, “after all, I got you all wet.”

Your cheeks heated and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, but you let her peel the negligee from your body, throwing it aside. Her hands were everywhere, barely touching you. Your whimper only had her grinning down at you.

“Use your words, pet,” she said.

“Touch me,” you begged, “please, Agatha.”

“All you had to do was ask,” she said before her hands were back on your body.

Her lips were soon to follow after, wrapping around one nipple. Your strangled moan only seemed to spur her on. The rumble of a groan vibrated through your body and you arched up into her mouth.

Her hands were sliding further down your body and you felt on fire. When she began to press kisses to your sternum, making her way down your body, you gasped. Her hands were gently as they parted your legs, settling between them. You had no idea how she was doing it, but your entire body was a live wire, sending you insane with how good it felt.

“I need you to tell me if you’re about to change your mind,” she said, her lips pressing the crease of your thigh, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop once I’ve tasted you.”

“If you stop you can go back out into that storm right now,” you said.

“I knew I chose right.”

Your head fell back as her tongue made contact with the hot throbbing between your legs. You cursed, loud enough to be heard over the thunder still crashing up above, and your hips jumped up into her mouth. Her talent didn’t just lie in magic, although it felt pretty magical whatever it was she was doing. You gave yourself over to it, uncaring that you were being too loud or too desperate. Nothing had ever felt as good as her mouth on you.

Your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her there, hips undulating. When her lips wrapped around the bundle of nerves you knew resided between your thighs, you made a choked noise, her name unintelligible. She was moaning, the vibrations driving you crazy, spinning higher and higher. Your legs were trembling where they rested over her shoulders.

When the dam broke, you screamed, clutching at her. Looking up your body, she caught your eye, the smouldering burning in her gaze only making you wonder what she would look like when you returned the favour. She drew back, her grin very satisfied despite you being the boneless body on the rug.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” you whispered.

“You’ve never…?” she asked.

“Never like that,” you said.

The fingers in her hair tugged her up your body. Your legs curled around her waist as you kissed her, tasting yourself on her tongue. She chuckled, drawing away, fingers running over your lower lip.

“You are a wonder,” she said, “I knew you would be that first time I saw you.”

“When did you see me?” you asked, sure you’d remember if you’d seen her before the wedding.

“I’d heard rumours of the town beauty, grown into a woman of marriageable age. The way the men were hoping to own you. I’ll admit I was curious. And then, there you were, wandering through my woods, a basket of flowers on your arm. I happened to be passing by as you stopped to speak to a lovely little bunny and I knew I had to have you,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m never wrong about these things.”

“So that’s why you asked for me specifically,” you mused.

“I wanted the prettiest girl in the village,” she said before she swooped down to kiss you again. For a while, you could get lost in it.

“Agatha,” you sighed when her lips began to trace a path down your neck again.

“Come, pet. I’ve had a long journey and I’m tired. I’d much rather sleep in our bed,” she said.

She rose, holding a hand out to you. You grasped it, letting her haul you to your feet. Stumbling you fell against her body, warm skin against warm skin, making your head spin. She slipped her arm around your waist, holding you close.

She swept you up into her arms, carrying you up the stairs. Depositing you on the bed, you stared up at her until she slipped between the sheets, taking the place that had been empty for too many days. She held her arms open to you, letting you curl against her her side.

“I’m glad you chose me to be your wife,” you whispered, face buried in the place her shoulder met her throat.

“As am I, hon,” she murmured, lips pressing to the top of your head.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax properly for the first time since she’d left. Her fingertips were trailing over your skin, stroking in a comforting rhythm. You were on the edge of sleep when you heard her soft whisper.

“I didn’t expect you to stay.”

Blinking your eyes open, you turned your head up towards her. She was already gazing down at you, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I gave you leave to return to your family. I was expecting to find our home empty upon my return,” she said.

“But we’re married,” you said.

“That’s never stopped a woman before,” she replied.

“Why would I choose my family when I have you? They’d never forgive me for leaving you. They gave me no choice in my future,” you said, “I don’t want to ever see them again.”

“They didn’t?” Her fingers tightened in your hair.

“They told me I’d be marrying you. There was no discussion, no understanding that perhaps I didn’t want this.” You shifted closer to her, legs tangling together, “stupid girl. How could I ever not want you?”

“I’m a centuries old witch that terrorises local towns?” she suggested.

“Maybe, but you’re my witch,” you said, “and more importantly, you’re my wife. And I choose you. I didn’t like when you were gone. I was counting down the minutes you’d return.”

“Next time, would you like to come with me?” she asked.

“Please,” you said.

“Then you will,” she replied.

Your lips brushed her skin as you settled against her again, closing your eyes, kissing the closest part of her. Her breath hitched and she tightened her arms around you. Holding her close, you sighed, letting yourself relax again. With her home you had nothing to worry about anymore.

“More fool your parents for handing over the only person who could bring me to my knees,” she murmured, so soft you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it.

Slipping closer to sleep, comforted by the sounds of her breath and the warmth of her skin, you thought maybe being forced to marry the Witch of the Westview Woods was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness #agatha all along #aaa week

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fancyfeathers · 6 months ago

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What if just to mess with the batfam Daughter!Reader starts flinching around them whenever they try touching her, or walk past her, ect. Now, she is smart, she knows they might try and pin the blame on the boy she kissed (related to the other post with the talon boyfriend.). But to really drive down the point she makes sure they see she doesn't flinch around anyone else other than them specifically. How would they react? - 🐈‍⬛Anon

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

Well her boyfriend would just be a member of the Court of Owls, not a Talon, cause like the Court are people of wealth and power that control Gotham and his family fits the bill. Some of the leaders of the organization who you see wear those white masks.

But saying this this is after the fact that she found out her boyfriend and his family are members of the Court of Owls, they would probably think it is the shock and fear of it all, having to ram up protections, no in person school, a brother or Bruce staying by here at all time in case a Talon gets sent after her. They all notice her behavior very quickly, jumpy and jittery, flinching whenever they get near or touch her.

Dick and Tim are sure that it is everything catching up to her, after all it is not easy to deal with most of someone’s family being vigilantes and putting themselves at risk every night, not knowing if they will return, it is probably very hard on a little girl, especially having lived in a different environment for years and then having it change suddenly and deal with that new environment for years with everything building up and then this whole boyfriend mess on top of it, oh such a poor thing-

Then they see her mother wrap her arms around her daughter while she is sitting at the dinning room table working on her homeschool work and she does not move a muscle.

The rest of the family have also noticed her behavior but honestly had no doubts that it was an act since she had never been afraid of any sort of threat, even when there were kidnapping threats. Bruce gets tired of it quickly, Jason does not really care cause consequences will catch up to her eventually, but it is Damian who is the one who confronts her about it. It’s when he is spending the night with her, staying back from patrol to keep her and mother safe, it’s time for bed and she is reading in the family room and when he goes to grab to book from her she flinches and he has had enough. Damian grabs her by the collar and pins her to the wall.

“Stop this act, you have no reason to be afraid. We take care of you, protect you, feed you, keep a roof over your head and this is how you repay us?! Ungrateful bra-“

“Damian, stop this at once!”

It is a harsh word from his step mother that gets him to drop her to the floor before he storms off out the door, leaving his step mother to comfort her daughter who is a frightened, crying, shaking mess after that. She gets put back to bed by her mother and when Bruce returns from patrol and is getting ready for bed with his wife she tries to address what happened and he just tells her that it was the consequences of her actions. Those words he told her certainly left a sour taste in her mouth when she was laying in bed that night with him.

But then the next day when Dick comes to sit by her at the breakfast table, she jumps when he pulls out his chair to sit down. Everyone rolls their eyes at first, thinking it’s just her overreacting but when Bruce sees Damian glare at her after that and she starts tearing up, Bruce realizes she is actually terrified of them now…

Being terrified in a time like this is not a good thing, her situation is far from normal and putting more stress on the situation may make her run like a terrified bunny to god knows where and then god knows who could get to her.

#yandere dc x reader #yandere dc #yandere justice league x reader #yandere justice league #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere batman #yandere batman x reader #yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam #platonic yandere #yandere batfamily #platonic yandere batfamily #platonic yandere dc #platonic yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake

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ashthesalamipiece · 18 days ago

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Hello, May I request a dad bakugo x reader where they have newborn twins and one of the twins is very quiet and calm and rarely cries while the other one is crying like nonstop-always screaming crying the entire day? the quiet one takes after reader and the other one is well obv katsuki? you can ignore this if you dont like this thank you :)

“Double Trouble, Double Love”

Pairing: Dad!Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Family, Humor

Summary: You and Bakugo are new parents to newborn twins — one calm and quiet like you, and the other a tiny rage machine like Katsuki. Sleep? Peace? Forget it.

---

The first time Katsuki holds both of his newborn twins at once, he stares down at them like he’s just been handed two live explosives.

“They’re so small,” he mutters, his voice rough with awe — and maybe a bit of terror. “How are they this small?”

You’re tired — so tired — but the way he’s looking at them like they’re stars and storms all at once makes you smile. You lean against the hospital pillows, eyes fluttering. “They’ll grow fast. Enjoy the quiet while it lasts.”

Famous last words.

Because within a week, you both learn the hard way that one twin — your son, Katsuki Jr., because of course Bakugo insisted on naming him after himself — doesn’t stop crying.

Ever.

Your daughter, though? Calm. Barely makes a sound. She’ll blink slowly from her bassinet while her brother shrieks like someone set him on fire.

“She’s like you,” Katsuki says one night, rocking her gently in his arms while Jr. howls in his. “Chill. Peaceful. Too good for this goddamn house.”

You snort, trying to latch a bottle to Jr.’s flailing little fists. “And he’s exactly like you.”

Katsuki scowls — not at you, but at the baby. “Oi. What the hell are you crying for now? You’ve eaten. You’re clean. What is your problem, brat?”

Jr. screams louder, red-faced and furious. Tiny fists punch the air like he’s ready to explode. You swear for a second there’s a spark.

You sigh. “Maybe he just doesn’t like the world.”

“Can’t blame him.”

You exchange exhausted looks. The quiet twin (your little girl, already your favorite) snoozes in Bakugo’s arms, oblivious.

Later that night, you wake up to find Katsuki standing in the nursery like a battlefield general. He’s got one baby carrier strapped to his chest — Jr., of course, still yelling — and is patting the back of the other with one big, gentle hand.

“Thought you were asleep,” you whisper.

“I was. And then your son tried to scream the damn roof off.”

You grin. “My son?”

He scowls but softens when your daughter coos in her sleep, barely a whisper. “Fine. Yours is the quiet one. Mine’s the nightmare.”

You step closer, kiss his cheek. “Still love him?”

He groans. “Unfortunately.”

But he leans his head against yours, exhausted and proud, heart full in the middle of the chaos. The house is a warzone of bottles and diapers. There’s screaming and snoring and baby socks on the floor. But somehow, with you — it’s perfect.

Two babies. One peaceful, one feral. And one Katsuki Bakugo, hopelessly in love with all three of you.

#my hero academia #reader #mha x reader #bhna #fluff #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #funny

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riddlebrothersroofing · 7 months ago

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 9 months ago

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Ẁ̴̧̼̟͕̱̜̞͈̩̱̤̺̖̗̌̌̓͒̓͂̇ͅò̸̟̯͂̍̀̈́̂̚ͅǘ̷̢̧͈̦͙̖̼̟̮̯̝͎̒̈́͜ͅļ̴̮̲͈̤̲̣̊̈́̎̃͆̈͆̔͆̑̇̅̋d̷̢̛͈̲̳͕̮̟͍̬͍̪͖̈̄̓̇n̵̳̫̹̥̼̄̊̽͜'̶̢̛̳̘̗͔̯̖̥̝̙̥̲͍̩̝̍̒̎̃̑̅͊̂͊͝t̷̨̧͉̫̠̻͚̣͉͖͐̊̊̀̈́ ̵̦̬̫͐͐͊͑̆̓͆̏̄͆̇́̚͘͠Y̷̨̢̡̱͚̼͚̰̠̱̤̖͍̑͊̉̽́ͅơ̶̡̦̫̬̪̯͎̹̈̍̊̇͛̅̚̚ü̷̜̞͇̳̯̯̺͎̦̠͈͕͕͎̑͒̍̌̅͛́͌̅̃̽̕͝ ̶̡̝͙̟͖̠̯̹̤͖̣̎̋̄͐̂̚͠L̸̠̞͕̳͖̥̩͙̬̰͈̱̩̳̍i̸̫͙̍́̏̎̓͊̌͑ͅk̶̩̞͈̖͔̓̏͘ẻ̶͈̱͇̪̺̬̑̈̂̑̾̐͐̿̌͜?̷̧̭̖̺̻͖̣̖̺̻͂͝

Original Post Storm

The water was slow to rise.

That didn't mean that it wasn't a threat, but it was a slow one. The rain was much worse. Burning upon contact with skin, the rain poured down on Gotham, and left Damian and Grayson isolated from the rest of the family. Civilians scattered like rats under the burning rain, hiding under awnings that were already starting to dissolve and in buildings if they were lucky.

Grayson had taken the initiative to steal a few umbrellas that they used to jump from roof overhang to overhang, the flimsy fabric barely protecting them in the moments under open sky.

Damian tried both his coms again, then his phone. Only static remained. "There's still no signal. Richard, we need to hurry back to the Manor; if Father is in danger--"

"We wouldn't be able to make it," Grayson said, eyeing the streets. Lazarus water bubbled from the storm drains, flooding the roads. They hurried on. "Our tires would melt before we could get halfway to Bristole. There's a safehouse nearby where we can regroup--"

"Richard!" It was hard to see through the glowing rain, but just beyond the building they were hiding under was- "There's a break in the rain in Robinson Park." While the flood was lapping at the grass, not a speck of water fell over the park.

Richard frowned. "That's suspicious."

Damian and Richard, speckled with burns, made their way through the eerie silence that had settled over Robinson Park. Not a sound could be heard inside the park, like the world had gone silent. No other people had made it here yet, and there were no animals around, Damian noticed with a pang of guilt.

Then... a laugh.

His hands quickly found the knives tucked away on his body. "Who's there!?" Damian demanded despite Richard's protests that it could be a civilian. It laughed again with that same distorted quality that Danyal's voice gained in the Pit. "Show yourself."

"I must say! I didn't think you'd make it this far." Behind them floated... a woman. A girl, younger than Damian, yet she looked just like the monster pretending to be Danyal. She smirked. "You're very stubborn."

"Who are you?" Why does she look like-

"Just a friend!" She quickly reassured. "You could say I'm... invested in the continued survival of Gotham."

"So, you know what's happening?"

"I know what's happening, why it's happening, and what you can do to stop it." She floated onto her back, the picture of faked relaxation. "Though, at the moment, I'm not particularly inclined to spill. Sorry."

Damian's grip tightened on his knives. "If you know how to stop this, then tell us," he demanded, his voice laced with frustration and urgency.

The girl—this eerie mimic of Danyal—rolled her eyes playfully, kicking her feet as she floated in the air. "Impatient, aren't we? But where’s the fun in just handing over all the answers? You’re on the right track, though. Keep going, and maybe you’ll figure it out."

"Enough games!" Richard snapped, stepping forward, his fists clenched. "This city is drowning—people are going to die! If you can help, then help us!"

The girl’s smile didn’t waver, but something in her eyes hardened. "Oh, I am helping. You just don’t realize it yet." She flipped upright, hovering just above the ground now, her gaze locking onto Damian's. "You see, big brother, this isn’t just about you or me. This is about Danyal—he’s lost, confused. And unless you do something, he’ll destroy everything."

Damian stiffened at the word "brother," his mind racing. "You’re lying. Danyal is—"

"More than the Danyal you knew," she finished for him, her voice softening with something like sympathy. "He’s changed. Did your mummy ever tell you that she put him in the Lazarus Pit your grandfather has?" Damian could feel Richard's questioning gaze. "No, she probably didn't. Not after he never resurfaced."

"Then... that's the real Danyal?" Damian asked quietly.

She shrugged. "As real as he can be. But he's not the one you knew. Older. Younger. The Pit did something to him, something that made him… different. More powerful, more dangerous."

Richard exchanged a wary glance with Damian. "If that’s true, then why are you here? What do you want from us?"

The girl chuckled, floating closer. "I’m here to make sure you survive this. After all, if you die too soon, the story ends, and we can’t have that, can we?" She circled around them, her movements languid, almost lazy. "The city will return to normal once Danyal gets what he wants. And what he wants, dear friend, is you." She reached out to poke his nose, but Damian slapped her hand away.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. "Why are you helping us? What do you gain?"

She paused, considering the question, before shrugging lightly. "Let’s just say I have a vested interest in keeping the balance. I’m not your enemy, Damian. I’m just… an observer. A guide, if you will."

The rain continued to pour just beyond the borders of the park, the glowing drops hissing as they hit the ground. Damian could feel the heat from the Lazarus Waters creeping closer, the edge of the park growing dim and distorted.

"You said you know how to stop this," Damian pressed. "What do we need to do?"

The girl smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye. "First, you’ll need to survive. The Lazarus Waters will burn you alive if you don’t take precautions. Deeper in the park, you’ll find Blood Blossoms. They are an extinct plant that has power over the undead... and will prevent the water from hurting you. Eat them—they’ll protect you from the worst of it."

Richard frowned. "Why should we trust you."

She shrugged again. "Trust me, mistrust me. It's up to you. But the longer you stand here arguing, the closer those waters get, and the sooner you’ll be dead." She pointed toward the heart of the park. "The Blood Blossoms grow there. Hurry, before it’s too late."

Damian hesitated; all of his training screamed at him not to trust her. But she was right. They really didn't have a choice. With a curt nod to Richard, they turned and sprinted deeper into the park, the eerie silence swallowing their footsteps.

As they disappeared into the shadows, the girl—Dani—hovered in place, watching them go. Her playful demeanor faded, replaced by something darker, more serious.

"Danny," she whispered to herself, a hint of sadness in her voice. "I hope you know what you're doing, Damian Al Ghul. I hope you know what you need to do to save him."

With a final glance at the retreating figures, she dissolved into the night, her form flickering out of existence as the rain continued to pour down on the drowning city.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #c: danny fenton #c: dick grayson #c: damian wayne #c: dani phantom #danyal al ghul #get in the water au #storm version #danny and damian are twins

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abbotjack · 7 days ago

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Hi babes!

For your series TLWG, do you think there is a moment or specific time where Jack realized Reader is ‘the one’? Like he knew he had to buy a ring, sort out a proposal, plan his life around her?? Sending you the best vibes today!!! 💕💕

⭐ Send me an ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines! ⭐

Jack Abbot doesn’t let things bloom.

He lets them function. Survive. Get triaged and stitched and tucked into corners where no one’s going to bleed on the paperwork. He’s a man who operates in utility—his emotions are rationed like hospital inventory, and everything that matters most to him lives in the margins: the off-hours, the aftershocks, the things no one else notices but him. In The Life We Grew, Jack doesn’t get swept up. He gets cornered by clarity.

He’s not afraid of pain. He’s afraid of what comes after it—what people expect when you survive. What they ask you to become. And love? Love has always felt like one more hand reaching for him, asking him to be more than he has left. Until her.

The Reader doesn’t demand his light. She doesn’t try to fix the dark. She walks into the wreckage of his life, clears a desk, and starts building. Her love is infrastructural. It’s the way she annotates his trauma reroute binder with timestamps and follow-up questions. The way she touches him without expectation, and leaves the silence intact when he’s not ready to talk. She is not a solution. She’s the first variable he doesn’t want to cancel out.

Weather is never just weather, every storm is a symbol. And in Jack’s world, love is a slow hurricane. It doesn’t rip off the roof. It loosens the foundation, quietly, over time. Until he looks up and realizes the whole house has shifted. That he's been living in a space where love has already happened, where it’s already holding.

But the moment Jack knows—really knows—isn’t in the trauma bay, or the night she patches his grief without blinking. It’s not in the spreadsheets or the audits.

It’s in a moment that isn’t loud. But is undeniably real.

Setting: Sunday afternoon. Summer heat. Their shared house in Pittsburgh—half-renovated, half-lived in. Quiet. Lived-in. Real.

He’s just come in—took the long way home through a storm that broke the heat like a promise—and now the kitchen smells like damp cotton, cracked pepper, and the faint floral trace of whatever lotion she used last. Not fresh flowers. Just her. Skin and comfort and lemon-something from a half-used bottle on her nightstand.

Upstairs, she’s talking to herself. Sorting receipts again. Muttering about misfiled statements and IRS deadlines while half-laughing at her own frustration. Her voice carries down the staircase like static through an old radio—tinny, soft, familiar in a way that guts him.

Jack stands there with one hand on the fridge handle, forehead pressed to the cool metal, not moving. Not even breathing.

Because here it is.

The realization.

Not the dramatic kind. Not the gut-punch, lightning-strike, sweat-soaked-in-the-trauma-bay kind. No. This one’s quieter. Slower. It arrives like a muscle unclenching after a decade-long cramp. It arrives in the hum of appliances and the sight of her receipts laid out across the table in color-coded order.

It arrives when he sees the junk drawer. The one near the sink.

She’d left it open again.

And there—jammed between a roll of Scotch tape, two capless pens, and a miniature stapler—is her spare car key. The ugly one. The one with the chipped unlock button and the Steelers keychain her brother gave her when she first moved to Pittsburgh. It lives here now. Not just in the house, but in their house. In their drawer. A drawer that, if it were only his place, would’ve held nothing but expired batteries, a few rogue screws, and a half-melted pack of mints he forgot to toss after Afghanistan. But now—now it holds her.

He stares at it for a long time.

That key doesn’t belong to a guest. It doesn’t belong to someone passing through. That key says: I plan on staying. And the drawer staying open? That says: I don’t need to apologize for that anymore.

And Jesus Christ, he loves her.

Not the kind of love that burns. Not the kind he used to chase like a fix, like pain with prettier branding. This is the kind that settles in his joints. The kind that smells like burnt toast and Target candles and the warm press of her knee against his under the covers when she’s already half-asleep and still somehow leans into him.

This is the kind of love he already lives inside.

She calls down to him—something about needing her W-2 from last year, the one she meant to scan and never did, the one she’s sure she tucked into the manila folder labeled “2022: DO NOT LOSE”—and he clears his throat, sharp and low, like the sound alone might be enough to shove the weight in his chest back into place.

“I got it,” he calls back, already moving.

She hums. Trusts him to find it. Doesn’t get up. That’s love, too.

He walks to the hallway where she keeps the fireproof box, alphabetized, of course—and kneels beside it. She’s highlighted the document in question. Just in case. He smiles like a man who’s halfway undone.

And when he stands, he sees it again.

That junk drawer.

That key.

That future.

And he doesn’t make a decision. Not right there. Not consciously. But something inside him stops resisting.

Not because it’s time. Not because it’s the next step. But because this is the house they chose together—every wall color, every drawer pull, every creaking floorboard under bare feet. Her laughter lives in the hallway by the linen closet, and her spare car key is tucked into their junk drawer like it’s always belonged. She built this life with him. And somewhere along the way, without either of them saying it out loud—so did his heart.

He won’t buy the ring tomorrow. He’ll wait. He’ll watch. He’ll make sure the feeling doesn’t fade, doesn’t calcify into gratitude or comfort mistaken for permanence. But he already knows it won’t. Because every time he opens that drawer, it’ll be there. The evidence. The symbol.

It’s a declaration.

It’s a door left open.

He won’t pull her into the living room. He won’t plan some big gesture or scripted thing with string lights and speeches. That’s never been how they work.

But he’ll remember this moment—the junk drawer. The rain. The way her receipts are still spread across the kitchen table like she owns the place. Because she does.

Because this was the night he looked around the house they built together and realized he’d stopped surviving beside her and started building with her. No ceremony. No timeline. Just… her. In every drawer. Every corner. Every part of him.

#jack abbot x reader #the life we grew #tlwg #ask #la-vie-est-une-fleur29

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sscieloz · 8 months ago

Text

Live your life

band!aespa x groupie!reader

Synopsis: It’s been less than a year since the band Aespa was created. Karina, Minjeong, Giselle and Ningning travel all over the country with nothing but a few gigs, little money and much love for the music. They’re far from superstars, and still don’t have a lot to offer. Besides, there’s something they can’t quite grasp: why you, the band’s most faithful fan, follows them without even questioning.

Warnings: lots of plot w a little bit of smut in the end, as alwayss.

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: I tried following the MV in chronological order and I’m kinda proud w the way it turned out ˆˆ I had lots of fun writing it so I hope you have fun reading it too!! Also I ❤️ you band!aespa let me be your fucktoy I can take the four of you. and not in a fight (probably in a fight too).

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4

—

“Is this legal?” Ningning asks, hugging the straps of her backpack. She tilts her head up to grasp at the place that would make their stay for this week of competition, its grand walls of concrete leaving her in awe.

You’ve been wiser this time: the cache of the band’s last performance made it possible for them to buy a roof rack for your brother’s— now basically theirs— van, which provided much more space for equipment and luggage.

“Not really.” The four of you say, in unison. With a deep sigh, you grab your belongings and walk towards the huge stairs that precede the nearly-abandoned place.

“It used to be a bathhouse,” Karina tells the maknae, holding her by the shoulders as they walk forward in hopes of making her less uneasy. “But now they use it as a vintage, low-cost hostel, or whatever. It’s always cramped during these times of the year, so we’re safe Ningnie. Don’t worry.”

The bathhouse is huge, although its dirty façade announces it’s been long since the place served its initial purpose. Grass grows around their feet, nearly disappearing into the wild, and there’s a great amount of dirt clinging to their shoes in the parking lot. Three floors are presented in front of them in all of their grandness, in a structure so massive the place could be misguided as a shopping mall.

Ningning gulps, although she doesn’t look relaxed in the slightest. Going up so many flights of stairs leaves you breathless, resting your hands on your knees as soon as you reach the entry lounge. The inside of the building is much different from what you expected: it’s filled with warm lights, and most importantly, it’s packed. Young people storm from side to side, hanging out in the corners or walking in rushed paces. The mixed voices bring a lively vibe to the open area, and you smile as you watch comforting chaos unravel. Such noise is enough proof that you're here: the girls are actually going to perform in the most important music competition in the country.

A hand on your shoulder grabs your attention as you reach for your camera, itching to record every second of the journey. Ningning’s voice makes you look up amidst getting lost searching for it in the middle of your stuff.

“Y/n.” She calls for you, staring at the ground to avoid making eye contact. Her shoulders are pressed downwards, announcing a hesitant posture much unlike herself. You hum in response, acknowledging her while still looking through your backpack. “Is it ok if we room together, this time?”

You watch as Ning brushes her hands repetitively, aware something’s wrong. Ningning might be the youngest of the band, but she’s usually mature, serious, and confident; It’s concerning to have her acting like that.

“Sure, unnie.” You smile at her, looking around as you squeeze her arm in hopes of offering her some reassurance. After making sure the other girls were busy with the check-in, and that there weren’t any eavesdroppers, you ask, “Are they back again? Have you been getting any sleep?”

Ningning’s nod, followed by a tired sigh, is enough of an answer. You know being so dependent on her friends bothers her deeply, even though you’ve told her countless times none of you mind.

It’s well-known among the girls that Ning struggles with night terrors. Being an independent and strong-willed child made her extremely talented, but also very lonely. Ningning’s parents invested in her and sent her away from her hometown, Harbin before the age of 10. From then on, the maknae found herself all alone in Korea, pushing through an excruciating routine at a shitty entertainment company where people barely knew her name. She never spoke, at first because she didn’t know Korean at all— but also because people rarely talked to her; only urging her through events and evaluations like a doll.

Or better, more like a ghost. The loneliness clung to her bones, making its way through her soul until she wasn’t even sure who she was without it.

Ever since then, her nightmares have kept her awake at night, trapped in a tangled mess of absurd dreams that deprive her of getting any rest. The hallucinations are so real she’s frequently urged out of sleep with a trembling body and heavy nausea, rushing to the nearest bathroom in complete panic.

Thankfully, not sleeping by herself is something Ningning found to be of much help, even if just a bit. So the girls take turns holding the youngest member close in their arms until her body gives up to exhaustion, still trembling.

That was before Ning had gotten it under control. With the help of a professional and her friends’ endless support, she eventually learned how to suppress her troubled thoughts. As months went by, her nightmares somehow did not scare her as much as they did when she was a little girl.

Or so she thought. Asking for help meant things were not looking good at all, which set up an alarm in the back of your mind.

You had to talk to Karina about it and let the leader know. Out of the three girls, she was the most protective of Ningning: the duo acted like sisters most of the time and had a tight bond.

“We’ll get rid of those nasty monsters, Ningie.” You tell her, resting your arm on her shoulders as you walk side by side to the elevator. “Fuck them. I’ll personally beat their asses for disturbing our little princess’s sleep.”

Ningning’s laugh fills up the small corridor, and as she clings to your body, you’re reminded of how small she is. The maknae trusts you; it’s something you feel in the way she reaches out for your embrace, allowing herself to be vulnerable even if not for long.

“So,” Karina says, staring at the four of you with a serious face. “I know we all want to enjoy the festival too, and we absolutely should. But it’s late, and it’s a week-long competition, so I say we take it easy and rest today.”

The leader's words reverberate through the elevator, her assertive tone leaving it clear that it was a rather strong-willed suggestion as you all nod.

“We’ve worked hard for this opportunity.” Minjeong agrees, leaning onto the big mirror that gave the impression that the elevator was much bigger than its actual size. “Let’s not fuck it up. We can have fun later anyway.”

“Our first performance is tomorrow, but we have a bunch of interviews scheduled before that. We must be well prepared and rested.” Giselle adds, while they get onto their floor and start walking toward their assigned rooms.

Somehow, the girls always manage to get caught up with something just minutes before getting in the car for their road trip, which meant you arrived later than expected. At nearly 4 AM, everyone was tired, even though the adrenaline of being part of something as big as The Box was enough for them to be a bit jumpy, eyes darting around to capture everything dimmed possible.

The rooms were better, this time: there wasn’t any dust and the place looked fairly comforting, compared to the last place you stayed at. You drop your backpack and your small suitcase onto the ground without much care.

“Goodnight, cuties. See you in the morning.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes as you throw yourself on the bed, extra tired from being the designated driver for the entire journey. Giselle, Winter, and Karina wave faintly, too, making their way to their room at a quick pace.

Ningning smiles and watches as you stretch yourself, exhausted. She’s quick to drop her stuff and pull her single bed, although it doesn’t move further than an inch. “Y/n… help me join the beds, please?”

“Right, right. Of course.” With some effort, the two of you manage to move the two beds together into the center of the room, and you relax for a bit while Ningning occupies the bathroom. The soft sheets that welcome your face are much different from the leather seats of your car, and the change is well welcomed— so much you let out a deep sigh, relieved now that you’re finally able to relax.

After changing into your pajamas, you stare at the ceiling and you wait for Ningning to hop out of the shower and join you in bed before falling asleep yourself. However, the last thing your mind registers are the soft sounds of Yizhuo’s shower before sleep takes over your body and you lose a short-lived battle to unconsciousness.

—

Life is anything but peaceful when you give up a normal, ordinary life to live off of music. Not that it’s a bad thing: if anything, the thrill of not having a routine grants to the girls a type of freedom that only comes with art.

That’s all Karina can think about as the five of you hang out at a big, open field. There’s a fence where you and Ningning sit, and the cool breeze messes up her long, pitch-black hair. More than freedom, the leader’s chest also burns with a deep sense of accomplishment.

Within a blink, she’s at the bathhouse’s rooftop and this time her bandmates chat lively by the place’s enormous sign. It’s late, and a different kind of unsettlement takes place inside her rebel heart this time, one Karina feels deep in her bones.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to dwell much: her senses prove to be right almost immediately when they’re struck by a sea of shooting stars. They fly by so fast Karina barely sees them, making their way through with such strength she’s pushed onto the ground. There’s only enough time for her to grab a single star, grasping the small light within her hands as strongly as she can.

But just as fast as it happened, the storm is gone. Karina looks up to talk to you and the girls about it, but you’re nowhere to be seen. She frowns, realizing she’s left all alone, under the darkness of a starless sky.

That’s when she wakes up: breathless, trembling badly as she grabs her neck in hopes of making more air run through her lungs. Despite the cool night, her body is drenched in sweat. Yet, the oldest member can’t help but sigh in relief once she looks up beside her and finds Minjeong peacefully asleep. The leader looks to the other bed, where Giselle’s faint snores can be heard, her mouth hanging slightly open as saliva drools onto the bassist’s pillow.

Karina’s safe. She’s with her girls, in the comfort of their room.

Yet the loneliness she felt still echoes through her body, hurting enough to draw small tears from her eyes before she acknowledges it. It had been such an empty moment… to look up and not see any of the people she loved and cherished deeply.

It’s something Karina decides she never wants to feel again.

“Mhm…” Minjeong stirs, her eyes half open as she stretches her arms out. Karina’s noises probably woke her up— the girl has never been a deep sleeper anyway. “What are you doing awake?”

A few seconds go by, and Karina stays silent. The answer comes when the blonde is almost falling asleep again, so low Minjeong thinks she’s imagining it. “You left me there, all alone. All of you.”

“We… who?” Minjeong’s voice is scrappy with confusion. She looks at the leader, scratching her head as she watches Karina get up. “Why would we do that? We’re literally right here, unnie.”

Minjeong’s attempts to understand her friend fail. If anything, she’s bluntly ignored by Karina, who shakes Giselle gently until she manages to get the Japanese girl up, although clearly in a zombie-like state, still barely conscious.

The weather was still a bit hot by the time they arrived, so the girls agreed to leave the old, arched windows open for the night. Now, the wind had messed up the leader’s wavy hair, and there were little eye-bags under her eyes from waking up so abruptly. As a result of such an intense dream, Karina’s lips trembled and her body lacked its usual strength, which was noticeable by her limp arms. She looks fragile, clearly disturbed by a train of thoughts echoing inside her mind.

And the way the leader stares at Minjeong so helplessly… It’s the reason why she doesn’t question when Karina offers her hand to help the blonde out of bed, in complete silence. One that remains until the leader unlocks your and Ningning’s room with her spare card, walking onto the bed with light steps— as if she was taken by the wind itself.

Your bedroom is not as big as theirs, and the improvised bed is still rather small, but Karina makes it fit. Her hand is keen on Giselle’s back, urging the girl back to bed as the leader lies her down once again. Like in a puzzle, Minjeong squeezes herself between your arched back and Ning’s body, careful to not wake up either of you.

“Feeling better?” She asks Karina, who watches the scene with a small smile. Minejong’s heart is filled with warmth at the girl’s pretty face, as she closes her eyes once again.

“Much better.” The vocalist murmurs, calm and collected. Being tangled with her girls at one of the country’s most successful music events is enough to dissipate her previous loneliness. There’s nothing else she needed but the four of you. “I’m no longer alone, now.”

She’s safe.

—

The Box is an event created for Companies from all over the country to show off their assets and make as much profit as possible—and they make sure to capitalize on every second of it, which is as much of a burden as it is an opportunity for its participants. The girls had interviews, outfit changes, and makeup booths provided by sponsors, guaranteed as long as they shot commercials and launched a few good words about their brands.

Held in a big, open area, the place brings goosebumps to Karina’s stomach, reminiscing too much of her dream as the same clouds wind on the sky, blocking the sun’s path. Just as she had done moments prior, you look up too, frowning. The lack of light makes the day seem gloomier than usual, and a single droplet of rain would result in an atrocious, muddy day.

And that would be a disaster, for sure.

“So,” After recording the stage they’d perform at in just a few hours, you turn around and nearly shove your camera on Giselle’s face. “Enlighten us, Gigi: why is the festival named The Box if the main stage is actually a big fucking losangle?”

Giselle’s tone is condescending as she adjusts her perfectly arranged bangs, giving you a dirty look before answering. “Y/n, my love.” She redirects the camera to capture both of your faces, smearing your cheek with her lip gloss. “You just have to accept some things: like the weather, time… and The Box’s setup. It’s how it’s always been, so let’s not dwell on that matter, okay? Thanks.”

“Very well, then. You heard her.” You nod back at the camera, capturing the massive stage for a few more seconds before pausing the recording.

Giselle’s passive-aggressiveness was one of her hottest traits, and you loved to watch her boss people around. Which she always made sure of doing, whenever she had the chance to.

The Japanese girl giggles at your words, nudging you gently. Not much further from you, Karina and Ningning stand in a big line to try some popular dish. You wave to them, and Giselle straightens her posture, following your stare with a grunt.

“So, you and Jimin, huh.” She asks, plucking at the grass with her shoes. It’s obvious she’s trying her best to sound nonchalant and not make a big deal out of it.

It was no secret that you were devoted to Karina, surrendering yourself with as much as a whisper from her. Still, it was amusing to you how shy Giselle seemed with her question. Her hesitation was sweet, so cute it draws a smile from your face.

“Oh… well, yeah.” You shrug, not at all ashamed. “She needs someone to warm up her bed.” You eye Giselle attentively, studying the older girl’s body language before adding, “I can help you with that too if you’d like. I know Jimin unnie wouldn’t mind.”

Your answer catches her off guard, her eyes wide from your straightforwardness. You’re nearly teasing her for being so shocked when she laughs, shaking her head. It’s Giselle, after all: the girl has such a flirty nature you’d be surprised if she didn’t give you a run for your money.

“We’ll see... You’re sure one of a kind, Y/n. That you are.” She answers, with a sultry tone before gently squeezing your arm and vanishing from your sight.

That is enough for you. The Japanese girl’s gorgeous looks and confident nature make her so desirable and hot— truly an it girl, often leading the group to try out new music styles and different types of choreographies. Giselle is always pushing herself outside her comfort zone.

It’s good that she knows you’re also willing to try anything she’d like, too.

Brushing that subject off your mind, you take some time to dive into the festival, just as curious as the girls were: the place is still beautiful, despite the weather. Its lively atmosphere is enchanting, and there is so much happening: from bands singing on minor stages to dance performances not much further from where you stand. Everyone seems eager to participate, and you’re just as excited to watch everything at once.

This event is also a great opportunity for you, considering you’re still attending university— hoping to major in Media Arts in two years or so. Even though you spend most of the time following the girls around, your passion for filmmaking and photography is also one of the reasons you’re so committed to recording everything your eyes meet. You plan on making this documentary into your final presentation of the year and submitting it to one of your main classes.

So you record everything: making a full turn to capture your entire experience. You’re so committed to your task that you don’t even notice Minjeong’s frame behind you, the blonde girl not making an effort to move such thing as an inch from out of your way.

The two of you collide with each other so roughly you have to hold onto the girl’s tiny frame with your free hand to prevent her from a having dirty fall. Minjeong gives you an ugly look, impatiently wiping the dirt from her plaid skirt. She’s judgy, as always— not a day goes by where the blonde doesn’t give you a hard time.

Although you weren’t exactly peaceful to her, either.

“Do you ever wear a bra?” She mumbles, annoyed. Minjeong’s fingers press the tip of her nose bridge and she closes her eyes as if dealing with you was enough to drain all of her energy.

“Why are you looking anyway?” You’re quick to snap back, crossing your arms over your chest.

Choosing comfort over fashion was something you’d always do, and today was no different. Your look for the day was rather basic, but perfect for someone who’d be walking around the entire time: a pair of jeans and a plain white tank top that made your Aespa badge visible to anyone who took a quick look at you. However, that little show of Winter has made the dirt that clung onto the fabric attract attention to your breasts, highlighting the way your pierced nipples peeked through. It had only been a few weeks since you and Giselle got them done, so you were still a bit hypersensitive.

Not that you minded, anyway. Minjeong would be a jerk regardless of that: the blonde made her life’s purpose to annoy the shit out of you, and she’s very committed on doing so.

Proving your point, Winter scoffs, all annoyed.

“You always make this shit on purpose, don’t you?” You stare at her, confused, and it seems like she’s had enough. Rolling her eyes, Minjeong brushes past you, nearly dragging you by the shoulders as she stomps away. “Whatever. Whore.”

Minjeong is so rude. Undeniably so, with an insanely stubborn temper. Her mood changes quickly, and it is hard to tell if she genuinely hates you or if it is just some kind of playful banter.

Not that you cared much, honestly. There were many important things for you to worry about, like the amazing festival happening at the moment. You’d deal with that nightmare of a girl some other time.

Instead of allowing the petite blonde to disturb your mind, you decide to walk around by yourself too— despite preferring to be surrounded by the girls at all times, it felt good to be on your own.

You were deeply committed to making a masterpiece out of your clips. If the work you handed in was good enough, then perhaps your professor would overlook the number of absences on your attendance sheet and give you a nice grade.

After walking around for a few minutes, a certain stage catches your attention: the structure is small and curiously held like a boxing ring, where nine girls sing and dance in beautiful harmony. The space is so far from the center of the festival its last rounds of chairs nearly drag onto the woods that surround the place.

The girls performing are all dressed in dark pants, white crop tops, and black ties, and they’re incredibly in synch while still making complicated moves. Their voices are sweet, and so is the music that flows to your ears: it’s a cover of one of your favorite songs, KARA’s Mr.

Your eyes go straight to the sign that hangs in front of the stage, looking for said group’s name. Thankfully, it’s easy to find, both in Hangul and Romanized.

Fromis9.

The nine girls’ bright stage presence fills up the area, and it amazes you how coordinated they are, not one outshining the other despite being so many. No lines are stolen in the song; instead, they add to each other beautifully, reminding you of your girls. The contrast is fascinating, from Aespa’s four-member band to those strangers, who sing cheerful songs like this will be the last happy summer of their lives.

You’re enchanted by them, truthfully. Not only talented, the girls seem genuinely sweet, as they spin and jump around to hype up the dead crowd. And oh, they’re stunning: each one with striking features, ones that surely seem like they’ve been taken straight out of a fairytale.

You make sure to record their entire performance, as well as the little playful moments reserved for interacting with their fans and supporters. Soon enough, the song ends, leaving the group breathless but happy. You watch as the girls bow and take turns passing small water bottles around, tired from giving their all on stage.

A few of them start a small discourse, although you don’t pay enough attention to grasp the meaning of their words. You’re too busy staring at one of them instead, hiding behind your camera so she doesn’t see how enamored you are.

The girl is small, but her slim waist and toned muscles announce she must spend most of her free time at the gym. An energetic pink-haired girl clings to one of her arms, providing a clear contrast to her long, pitch-black hair, but she doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest: if anything, she hugs the energetic girl back, laughing and she twirls her friend around.

Luckily for you, there’s a big paper clasped in front of her shirt, just like every artist who is currently performing and competing at The Box. You search for her name with expectation, just like you’ve done with her group’s name.

Hers say, Saerom.

A beautiful name for an enchanting girl.

However, it’s her face that surprises you the most. She’s beautiful, of course— stunningly so, but so is everyone at this festival: something expected for a place with such a high concentration of artists, models, and people in the entertainment industry in general. But as you look into her high cheekbones and sharp jawline, you’re surprised to find such kind eyes staring back at you. Saerom’s eyes provide her soft, almost ethereal look as she nods to you. It’s a faint action, one a distracted eye would barely notice once she moved back to the middle of the stage with her bandmates, yet you’d never miss it. There’s no way she wouldn’t stand out, despite her plain outfit.

You could stare at her for hours.

Although you’re incapable of doing so: in a blink, steady hands grab your camera, and your arms are urged down so fast you nearly let it fall on the ground. Nothing disastrous happens, thanks to your steady grip and good reflex, but your vision is blocked by a serious Karina, fuming as she stares angrily at you.

“What are you doing, Y/n?” The leader’s cocky, angry voice is something you only hear when she’s feeling intimidated or when she wants to be petty, which is unusual for the occasion. Why would she be so defensive towards you?

Karina usually yaps her heart out until your ears hurt from her complaints. It’s a normal thing for her to do, whenever she’s pissed. However, she doesn’t say anything this time, clearly waiting— demanding an explanation.

So you lift your camera, playfully poking her in a failed attempt of easing the tension hanging in the air. “I’m making The Box’s documentary as my final presentation.” You stay on your tiptoes, trying to get a hold of the view Karina is blocking so confidently, but it’s useless by now: the performance is over, and the Fromis9 members have already retreated backstage. “For that class I told you about, remember?”

Karina rolls her eyes, ignoring your explanation as she directs you in the opposite direction. With a resolute tone, she brushes off the matter. “Whatever. Listen, Y/n: you should only focus on us, your band. There’s no need for you to look at anyone else.”

Oh, Karina’s fuming. It’s easy to tell, from the way she refuses to meet your face to the red that paints her cheeks. You giggle, enjoying her subtle possessiveness.

Truth be told, you thrived on being reassured just as much as the girls did. The only difference was that you made an immense effort to hide how much it aroused you, well aware they’d use it as an advantage.

Besides, there was a bit of truth behind her words: the girls were the only ones you truly felt connected to; they were yours just as much as you were theirs, and you didn’t feel like you needed to meet new people.

“Of course, Jimin unnie.” You nod, walking next to her as you turn your camera off and place it back in your backpack. “Aespa is the only band worth looking at, anyway.”

Karina blossoms under your praise, smiling brightly as she kisses you gently, her irritation gone. “Good girl. Now let’s go to the main stage. There are only two hours until our performance, and the girls are starting to get ready.”

You’d like to tease her back a bit, but now wasn’t the time. Not when the band’s nerves were all over the place, nervous they’d fuck up the opportunity of their lives. No, you wouldn’t do such a thing. You’d be their anchor, peace, and most faithful supporter as you always were, ready to remind the girls of their true potential.

With that, you and Karina walk back to the main stage with synchronized steps, and the moment with Saerom is brushed off to the back of your mind.

You've probably imagined the entire thing, anyway. There was nothing to wonder.

—

“Hello, girls. Are you Aespa?” The staff asks, entering the room with his eyes glued to the list in his hands. After the five of you nod, he adds, with a comforting smile, “You’re on in 30. Come after you finish your makeup and clothes so we can start the soundcheck and set up your microphones.”

With another nod, you fall into a nervous silence once again. The girls have waited for this opportunity for so long; the crowd’s heated screams could be heard from where you stood, only adding to the girl’s expectations. It was the first time they performed in front of so many people, let alone at such a big and renowned festival.

“I think I’m going to throw up.” Giselle mumbles, softening her necklace as if it were suffocating her. Her breaths were uneven, and her eyes were fixated on the ground.

Karina smiles softly at the girl. As the leader, she knows it’s her duty to look composed and relaxed, to tranquilize her bandmates. “You’re not going to throw up, Gigi. You just need some air. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

The leader grabs Giselle by the arm, urging her up. As they go through the door, Ningning rushes to follow their steps.

“I need to breathe too.” She gulps, not even sparing you a glance as she runs to catch up with her friends.

The nerves were striking, and they needed to look composed so they’d give their all on stage, as always.

You and Minjeong were the only ones left backstage, which allows you to take some time to study her better. The blonde sits perfectly still on the couch, with a rigid posture and hands clasped tightly on her lap. She looks composed, almost bored, as she always does— but you know her better.

Minjeong’s muscles are visibly tense, and her left leg bounces so much you’re afraid it’s going to be chopped off from her body. She’s usually so composed, rarely giving a fuck about anything in her life. Whatever it was, the most Minjeong would do was roll her eyes at it or give it a nasty, rude response. Nothing else.

Seeing her bottle up her feelings like that is something that leaves you deeply uncomfortable. The way she deals with her emotions is none of your business of course, and it’s not like she ever talks about how she’s feeling with anyone anyway.

Minjeong rarely talks about herself; not to you or her bandmates. She’s simply someone very private when it comes to that matter. It’s something the blonde struggles with— understanding and acknowledging her emotions are not things that come to her naturally, so Minjeong would often carry her burdens alone until the feelings get so heavy she explodes, taking it off on someone who has nothing to do with whatever it is she’s going through.

Although it surprises you to see how deeply caring the girl can be. Minjeong, who knows Karina loves apple-flavored candy and sorts them out for her leader, even though they all think it’s gross. Minjeong, whose personal space is sacred, allows Ningning to be as clingy as she wants, aware the maknae longs for physical contact after being deprived of it so much as a child. Minjeong, who is the most competitive person you’ve ever met, but lets Giselle beat her at deck games whenever they notice the Japanese girl is feeling down.

Minjeong, who despises you thoroughly, but snuck a new SD card into your purse after seeing you struggle with your camera for a few days.

You didn’t want her to make her big debut feeling like a nervous wreck. She needs to relax, and not be so tense otherwise she won’t do good in her performance.

And you know just what to do.

With a sigh, you drop your hand from the doorknob and turn to her, leaning on the wall to take a better look at Winter.

“You’re nervous.” You state, smirking at the sight of her face growing red—the blonde girl, usually so collected… oh, how she hates to be caught.

Most importantly, Minjeong hates how you can always see right through her.

“Well no shit, Sherlock.”

Walking towards her with small, unhurried steps, you sit right next to her, crossing your legs as you lean onto her.

“I can help you with that.” You whisper to her, staring at her mouth. “Do you trust me?”

Minjeong scrunches her nose but doesn’t move away. Her answer, however, comes immediately— not an ounce of hesitation coming from her mouth. “Not at all.”

“Good.” You cup her face. “Wise girl.”

Leaning in, you capture Minjeong’s lips in a messy kiss. Despite her fiery personality, she tastes sweet, and you savor the strawberry essence of her lip gloss. Kissing Minjeong is addictive, yet you can’t seem to get enough of her. You lick her lips and devour her until your lungs scream for air, and the two of you get off each other when there’s no air and you’re both left desperate and breathless.

Minjeong’s blonde hair flows freely, her scrutinizing stare forgotten the moment the two of you got so close your breaths entwined. For a moment, you don’t do anything but stare at each other, as you look for any signs of what she’d like to do next. You’re nearly sure she’d tell you to get lost until she grabs your neck and pulls you close, kissing you for the second time.

“You’re completely insufferable, Y/n.” She murmurs in between the kiss as her thumb brushes down your neck. Even though there’s a faint pressure, her touch is almost soothing, urging you down to your knees. “Now, do more.”

You’re more than eager to follow her wishes, urging her pants and underwear down in a swift motion. Minjeong’s pussy is so pretty, all pink, swollen, and glistening, and you lick your lips with anticipation. The blonde girl lies comfortably on the couch as she spreads her folds with two of her fingers— showing herself to your hungry gaze.

“How do I look right now, Y/n?” Her tone is drenched with mockery as you squeeze her thighs, drawing a shiver from her. Your hands trace tiny circles on her milky skin, and you choose to ignore her; too focused on her beautiful body on display for you.

Minjeong’s free hand goes to grip your hair, annoyed by your lack of response. “Fine, then. Do you want to know how you look?”

Her malicious smile, much different from her delicate features, is what makes you shiver at her concentration. Giving her thighs faint bites, you ask, “Enlighten me, Minjeong.”

“Like a whore.” Her grip tightens and you can’t help but bite harder this time. “Hey! See, I’ve always said you’re just a cheap who—“

Minjeong is silenced by your warm tongue on her pussy, licking a big stripe of her sex, as you go all the way up to suck on her clit as well. Her high-pitched moans are like music to your ears, and you take turns sucking her sensitive bud and letting out some lewd, loud sounds as you nearly make out with her pussy.

“Do you want my fingers, pretty girl?” You mumble, staring at her through your lashes.

Minjeong looks like a painting, beautiful with her mouth half-opened and a thin cover of sweat covering her brows. She nods frantically, urging you even closer.

Greedy, that’s what she is.

“Yes, please.” It’s the first time you’ve ever seen use her manners, so you’re quick to comply. “Fuck, Y/n…”

Two of your fingers enter her cunt without any resistance as you thrust hard and fast. She bucks her hips to add to the stimulation, and you’re graced with the glorious view of her abs, thankful she chose a tiny crop top for the day. You want to see her tits, too, but it’s not like you’re in any position to demand anything— not while Minjeong uses you as a toy, rocking onto your mouth as her moans grow louder and louder.

You feel her walls tensing up, and her toes curl as she tells you, “Y/n, I’m going t—“

“Cum for me, Minjeongie.” You give her clit one last, harsh suck, as her breathing becomes even quicker. “That’s it, let go.”

Minjeong follows your commands, reaching her orgasm with a high-pitched moan as she squeezes your head in between her thighs. Her body trembles from the stimulation, and you keep your fingers inside her walls until she’s calmed down enough that her screams are reduced to heavy breaths. You lick her clean, then, careful to not touch her clit as you eat her out for a few other moments.

What’s most surprising to you, though, is the delicacy in her touch as she urges you up, tasting herself on your lips.

“Sweet.” She giggles, before grabbing your tank top and pushing you off her. Minjeong’s obsessed with oversized jeans, and her current ones look huge on her tiny waist as she takes her time with buttoning up. “I really needed that, Y/n. Thanks.”

You don’t bother to hide a cocky smile as you nod, shrugging.

“You’re going own that fucking stage today, Minjeong. All of you.” It’s what they were born to do. There isn’t a slight possibility of them not doing their absolute best on stage.

“I know.” Minjeong looks around, bouncing back and forth with her hands on her jeans’ back pocket. After a pause, she adds, with a quiet tone, “You’re going to be there, right? At the front row. Recording and all. It’s one of the only things you’re useful for anyway.”

You smile, understanding the hidden meaning behind her bored tone. “Of course, I will, dumbass. I’ll be there with you, as always.”

You’d always be there for your girls: cheering, supporting, or helping the band with anything they needed.

Karina, Ningning, Giselle, and Minjeong were not sure of when you became such an important figure in their lives, but there was something they all agreed on: they’ve grown too fond of you now. It was impossible to let you go.

Not that you had any intentions of leaving their side, anyway.

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the-passenger-if · 2 months ago

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Hey, gang. How is it going? It’s been a while since I last posted, and although at first it was because I was working on my new projects, as of late it had to do with a medical emergency regarding my partner. I don’t usually talk about him (I think I’ve mentioned him once or twice on my personal blog) but we’ve been together for a long time and last December I thought I was going to lose him.

It shook me hard, gang. And it’s only now that I feel more or less ready to open up about it, and take care of my socials while at it. The thing is, everything that went down has left us a bit uncertain about the future. So much so, I’ve been contemplating creating a Patreon.

It’s still too soon to tell, but I guess I wanted to let you all know in case someone is interested.

I’ve also written down a snapshot of December-January. Call it group therapy.

Hope everyone is doing fine, for my part I’m feeling better. Lots of hugs!

It’s 3 AM when I wake up. In the dark, something huge plummets from the sky like the blade of a guillotine falling in slow motion. A plane, I’m sure of it (I’m always sure of it) and it’s coming down to crash on my two-room home.

I stay motionless in bed, staring at the dark, my heart about to burst out of my chest, and I wait...

And I wait…

But the plane sails away, the baritone screaming of the blade following behind.

I don’t leave my bed until I can’t hear it anymore.

Later on, I tell my parents and grandma about it at lunch. “I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

“Something like what?”

“Dumbest answer? A plane is going to crash down on my house. Less dumb answer, el Flako is going to have a car accident.” A blade made out of a car roof or door, slashing the air, slicing through the tender flesh of his neck. His head flying out of the cabin of his truck, or falling on the passenger seat.

I laugh because at 1 PM it sounds stupid and I can almost wipe out the awful image of his headless body from my mind. My aphantasia is nowhere to be found whenever I picture the most horrific deaths of the people I love.

My mom gives me a blister pack of my grandma’s anxiolytics. “Take a quarter whenever those thoughts appear.”

When el Flako comes from work I tell him I can’t wait for December to end. When he asks me why that is, I tell him it’s a shit month and that everything bad always happens in December.

I take a quarter of a pill whenever I feel like bad news are around the corner. I’m jumpy. Car honks make my skin itch all over, a kid scream makes my heart race. It’s worse at dawn. Planes keep playing chicken with me.

It’s December 24 and el Flako and I spend christmas eve camping in front of the Río Talabera. We drink pear cider and beers while stargazing. No planes follow me here. I didn’t take my anxiolytics with me.

We travel back home. My dad is sitting out when we arrive. A single look at his face tells me something is very wrong. He looks old.

“What happened?” I ask.

“The water tank fell through your roof.”

It fell on grandma, I’m sure of it. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes.”

Then why do you look like it killed someone? I want to ask. Instead I push, “For real?”

“Yes.”

My muscles relax. Yeah, it sucks. It’s the third water tank that gets obliterated—the first one burned down before we could even install it, the second one flew off the roof in the storm of December 17, 2023. This one was full, and a faulty base couldn’t withstand one tonne of water. Death by fire, air, and water; this shit is really starting to look like the avatar of water tanks.

It’s fine I tell myself, nobody is hurt, it could’ve been so much worse. Sure, it broke a more or less small part of my very new roof, but I’m sure we can fix it.

Innerly, I let out a sigh of relief. This is it. This is why I’ve been fearing something falling down on me. Case closed.

December ends in a week from now.

My anxiety drops for exactly 5 days.

It’s 5 AM on December the 30th andI’ve just sat on the toilet when my phone starts ringing. It’s el Flako’s brother. “Don’t fret,” he begins, “[el Flako] passed out at work. Another trucker called an ambulance and is with him at the hospital. I’m about to go see him.”

“Could you pick me up first?” I ask. If he can’t, I’m taking an uber, but he can.

We spend the entire hour-long trip to the hospital assuring each other el Flako is fine; he never has breakfast before going to work, not even mate or mate cocido. It has to be that. We purposely avoid discussing what his coworker said about el Flako being unable to speak, or stand by himself. Or how he couldn’t follow the paramedic’s instructions while on the ambulance.

When we finally arrive, we zip through rows and rows of tired, scared looking people waiting for news of their own relatives in the Emergency wing.

“There he is,” says el Flako’s brother, and I spin my head around waiting to see my life partner. Instead I see a late thirties, early forties guy sitting on a metal chair. He is rubbing his eyes.

He is crying.

He is not crying.

He is crying because el Flako is dead.

He is a coworker, not even a close one.

He turns to see us approach, and my stomach drops. He looks like my dad before he told me the water tank had taken a piece of my roof with it.

He stands up.

I can’t feel my legs.

He is crying. His eyes are red.

I feel like I’m walking on stilts, or like all my joints have fused together.

“Hey,” he says. They give each other a dap, and when he tries the same with me, I go for a greeting kiss. I always accept daps, but there’s only one thing in my mind at the moment.

Is he dead? I want to ask. “Is he awake?” I ask instead.

“Yes,” he replies. I think I say something, I think I give thanks to something—the universe, god, the devil—I’m not sure. I’m not religious but I was born in a catholic country and that stuff is hard to shake off. “The doctor wants to talk to a relative.”

“I go,” I say, and el Flako’s brother gives me the go ahead. I’m not el Flako’s relative, I am his partner. Our anniversary is in 2 months: 17 years since I asked him to be my boyfriend. But we aren’t married. His brother doesn’t mind, though; he isn’t married to the mother of his children either and they’ve been together for almost 20 years.

The doctor tells me el Flako had a brain hemorrhage. He asks me if el Flako takes drugs. No, he doesn’t. Does he drink? We had some wine last night, I say. The doctor looks confused.

“How old is he?”

“34,” I reply, and, “What is the worst case scenario?” Because my anxiety is killing me, and I need to know there’s a roof to all of this, a limit, something. I’m drowning in the middle of the sea here.

“Worst case scenario, he slips into a coma,” the doctor tells me.

Not death, my mind takes a hold of that fact like it’s a rope ladder someone threw at me from a helicopter.

And maybe because the doctor realizes I haven’t understood the severity of the situation, he adds, “It’s a lot of blood pushing against his brain. It’s shifted his longitudinal fissure—the ‘crack’ of the brain between the two cerebral hemispheres.”

The doctor tell us “relatives” to go in and talk to him. El Flako is awake, and the moment I see him it feels like I can breath again after having my head underwater. He says he’s fine, but half of his body lacks strength, he’s speaking as if drunk, and so low I have to lean in really close to hear him. His brother tells him to stay calm and that everything is going to be OK before leaving.

“You were right,” my life partner mutters. “About your gut feeling. Something bad did happen.” We laugh. We kiss. Then he is crying.

El Flako is a sensitive guy, but I haven’t seen him cry since we were in our teens and would have dumb fights which culminated in both of us crying. He is doing it now in that silent, tears sliding-down-your-cheeks way. He is scared. I am too, but I hug him and kiss him over and over again. “You are here with me,” I tell him. “You are alive and being taken care off. They got you just in time, don’t fret.”

I have to go. I don’t want to go. I don’t feel like myself when we are apart. We were 17 when we met and started dating, the same span of time we’re about to celebrate in our next anniversary.

I sit in the waiting room feeling like a gutted fish, hollowed up inside, like a carcass, like half of my soul is locked away. It sounds so dramatic, and I’m never been particularly romantic, but I swear there isn’t another way to properly describe it. I’m half-empty.

That first night I return home at around midnight. My mom brings me food and checks on me. I haven’t cried the entire day. I don’t cry with her in the room, but I do cry in the shower, and I cry harder when I get into bed.

Why him? Why? He is one of the most good-natured people I know. He doesn’t deserve this.

But who does? Life doesn’t work that way.

I fall asleep, but I don’t dream.

On the next 3 days we learn El Flako has an arteriovenous malformation, and that it can be treated with a procedure called a brain embolization. It costs 20.000 dollars, and I’m already thinking about asking for donations on this blog, but I don’t need to; his obra social* takes care of it.

They transfer him to their sanatorium that same day. The ambulance trip is uneventful, and while they take him to the ICU, I stay down in the lobby to fill in forms.

He spends the next 10 days in that room before the medical supplies arrive, and he can’t be more done with the situation by this point: all of his roommates are comatose, two of them pass away of horrifying injuries while he’s placed in there, the urinary catheter hurts him, he can’t have his phone with him and obviously he can’t watch TV in there. They keep sedating him, so every day I visit someone that looks like my Flako but is maybe half of the person I know. He wants out. I want him out of there too.

His neurosurgeon asks to speak with a relative before the procedure and I’m half-way to the elevators when I look back at el Flako’s parents. “Go ahead,” his mom tells me. The surgeon is so young, and he says the procedure should go well, but there’s always the possibility of rupturing an artery and leaving el Flako in a worse state. He’s been getting better ever since; the strength in his muscles is coming back, and he doesn’t speak slurring his words anymore, although the slight stutter he’s always have has worsen. “Any more bleeding is bad news for him,” the neurosurgeon tells me, “But if we don’t do it, you can be sure his brain will bleed again.”

I sign the papers.

“You can talk to him before we bring him here.”

I do just that.

“It is what I want,” el Flako tells me. “I’m tired of being coop up here.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“No.” He thinks about it. “Can it go wrong?”

I wonder if I should lie, but only for a second. “Always. It’s a medical procedure. But if you don’t do it, then it will definitely bleed, and we will be back where we started.”

“Yeah.” He grabs my hand and I give it a tight squeeze.

They take him away. I’m incomplete again. I take half a pill.

I fall asleep in the waiting room. I don’t dream. I haven’t since December the 30th. I think the part that handles my dreaming sticks to him.

Four hours later, at half past 10 PM they call us up. I am waiting outside the operating room alongside el Flako’s dad. The neurosurgeon, steps out and offers both of us his hand to shake. “It was a success,” he says and I feel like I need a wider face just so I can smile a bigger smile. Then to me, he adds, “Everything I say could go wrong, didn’t. He’s just waking up from being under.”

He opens the door and I catch a glimpse of el Flako and the people in charge of keeping him alive and well. A group of five women and men get at the feet of his bed. “One, two, three,” they say before pushing it out of the room. I lost count of how many Thank yous I shoot their way, and they beam at me as they accept them.

El Flako is still dazed, but he holds up a hand when his dad and I wave enthusiastically at him. He doesn’t put it down even as the orderlies roll him into an elevator.

He is discharged from the sanatorium 2 days later. We get married a day after our 17th anniversary.

I’m dreaming again and I only take anxiolytics whenever it starts to feel too much like the last five minutes of a Nightmare on Elm Street movie. I guess that stuff won’t get magically fixed, but we’re taking it one day at a time.

*I can’t find the English translation for “the agency in your job that takes care of your hospital bills”. In Argentina it’s Obra Social, and every month they take a part of your payment so they can pay for your medical bills (and your partner’s and children’s) should you need it down the road.

#tw near death situation #tw hospital

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