#tw: baby's first trauma | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acid-ixx · 2 months ago

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ch.5 pt 1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, typical implications of trauma and emotional neglect, allusions to self-harm.

you had always been a good kid.

you didn't have a consistent a plus, and you most certainly don't always win awards, let alone shower in a streak of gold medals and thick paper announcing your spot as first place. you're not the picture-perfect kid aunties will brag about and compare their other children to. you're not always refined, as a child born into the streets of gotham, bound to be rough around the edges—

but you were good.

and your momma always told you every night, in her hushed whispers and cuddling arms, after her sweet lullabies harmonizing with the hums of your broken fan, that it's alright if you're not the greatest; as long as you're good.

she taught you manners, to always respect everyone around you, your elders, strangers, even children your age, because blessings always come in the form of good faith if you're kind.

you believe her, of course you do, she's the only person you had in your life, the only person you needed. you should've never desired for anything else; what else could you wish for if not her love and presence only?

she's enough for you, and you're enough because she tells you too, with her siren-like eyes softening when she gazes at you with only love encrypted in her eyes, her once seductive smile plastered all over wanted posters now beaming with joy at having you in her arms rather than inauthentic pursuits of attracting men around her.

you always followed through with her words, because you love her and it's no doubt that she loved you more than enough too, too much that she had to continue on with her prostitute lifestyle to provide for your little family, too much that it was the reason why she had to be killed off in the first place.

because of her, you chose to be kind, you chose to lower yourself, to never raise your voice higher than those around you, to be humble, and to never show when you're at your limit, even to others closest to you other than your mother.

you remember so little of her the more you age, you grasp on straws just reminiscing on every moment spent with her.

"a good kid," she says, her voice almost a tantalizing memory threatening to drift away, "won't finish first, but fate will always make sure that they never finish last. so choose to be good, alright, baby?"

"yes, momma," your reply came in curtly, tiny fingers playing with the ends of her hair, without moment's hesitation, or doubt in the meaning of her words.

because her words are god for someone like you, because she is your mother who always knew what's best—

because she is your mother, and you may not like her for who she is as a person, for all the wrongs she did in the past before throwing it all away to raise you; but you love her either way, and follow whichever path she leads you to like a little duckling...

a good kid doesn't finish first, but they'll eventually get what they always wanted, right?

even if they wait for weeks, months, years; fate will find a way...

so why can't you have you have what he have right now?

why, just why, are you always finishing last?

why can't you receive the same attention tim did when he was first introduced?

elegant, poised, a rich boy with millionaire parents who had so much to spend, standing proudly and confidently at the doorstep of the manor, as if he had already belonged the moment he stepped foot into the staircase. thirteen year old, older and taller than you, better than you.

the memory is still clear as day, because it was the same day you had bothered alfred to update you on your offer to hang outside in the gardens with your father, only for the butler to look down at you with the same sympathetic eyes and tired smile, retelling you in his familiar excuse that bruce is busy.

'papa is busy,' the words echo in your brain in a mocking tandem, you wish to bang your head on the kitchen's mahogany doors at another attempt rejected. you wish to rip at your hair like you always do. but you can't, you just can't because alfred is in the same room as you, aged hands patting the delicate strands atop your head. you feel disappointment, you always do, then it's shame; shame because it's always alfred who has to witness your bated breaths and spilling tears at another day wasted alone—!

shame because this always happens, it's like bruce never wanted you in the first place; he probably doesn't even think you exist.

but of course, your young brain reasons, your father's always busy when it comes to you, only you.

his timetable consists of mourning his dead son, handling wayne enterprises and juggling his philanthropist career. when will you ever be worth enough that he places you in the same pedestal as all his other obligations?

and back then, you thought every night he spends missing are nights spent with multiple women— back when you've not known of his identity.

yet the point stands still, his missions do not relate to whatever situation stands before you now.

why?

why is it him to who answers the door to tim, the young boy's piercing blue eyes looking up at your father in a challenging gaze? whilst you stand, restlessly in a corner at the scene that unfolds before you. why is it him, who at first makes bruce hesitate, yet still take in the boy holding the camera, hand on his back to guide him inside, as the boy speaks cryptic words you couldn't fathom as you watch behind arch of the living room?

your blood curdles, heart starts to pound out if its gilded cage, and you feel your body buzzing in pure, unadulterated envy, the sole emotion you feel clawing its way into your vision; you see green, you can't see anything else but the scene before you. shaky breaths, blurry vision, balance barely stable as alfred could only offer a pat on your back and his pitying gaze on you.

no words, not even comfort, the manor seems dark again, everything feels as if it's closing into your body and devouring you whole.

why, why, why?

the questions circulate, the memories resurface all the time at just how easy it was for tim, just how he didn't even need to beg to have your father, yes, your father to keep his eyes on a boy whom he have only spoken once in his lifetime.

tim doesn't need alfred to relay a message, he doesn't even need to hesitate being in the same room as the man who seems always a mile away from you, who could never look down even when your fingers come up to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves, just like how you did with your mother's hair, all in the name of getting him to see you.

but you're not tim, you're perfect, you never will be.

it hurts, everything hurts when a stranger, someone like tim had the opportunity to talk to bruce, you never had any—!

even if you're always good, even if you always tried to succeed in your academics, your extracurriculars, your everything, even if you always try...

... the moment timothy jackson drake stepped into the manor, the moment his shining blue eyes, almost twinkling like yours when you've been first introduced, stared analytically at the man you called father, was the moment it piqued his interest; was the moment you knew that being good doesn't equate getting what you always wanted:

the attention of a father who chose to cope with grief in another new robin partner instead.

to be bruce's child first, rather than an afterthought later.

ever since then, ever since tim came into the picture, it was harder to gain bruce's attention. even alfred was divided between you and your seemingly divine... brother who just decided to take your place, who will soon be bruce's third child, erasing your name off of his memory.

being good was not enough, being great didn't even compare— your mother's words seemed easily overshadowed by the gnawing jealousy at just how wonderful your new brother is, at just how similar he is in regards to bruce, but different and also infinitely better than you.

it was the first crack in your fragile, glass heart after it had been wrapped in thousands of bandages from the heartbreak of your mother, it was the first rip at the seams at the already lacerated wounds that emotional neglect has left you.

from the days, weeks, months, you couldn't recall, trying to form some sort of interaction with bruce, dick and now even tim, instead of having alfred be your medium of communication.

from the cold, rainy nights spent with just your thin blankets and fading memories of your mother to soothe you from the nightmares that relishes in your fear.

imagining what it's like having your father speak words of assurances in a dull, almost alien-like tremor (you've never even heard his voice up close before...) comforted you at first, but now it became thousands of hushed whispers wishing you were never born in the first place if it meant your trepidation would end.

and it would've been better, the dread that buzzes restlessly under your skin could've been satiated if tim had even the decency to acknowledge your presence. but just like bruce, god, just like dick who had easily accepted the smart, academically talented boy as his own sibling— you're still amounted to nothing to be even considered worthy.

good, but not enough, not worth the effort of being greeted every morning, not worth the time spending small talks with. even dick, the athlete who once promised to ditch some patrols in bludhaven in passing moment's as an excuse to swat you away, have now opted to bother the newest addition to the family, forgetting that it was you who idolized him the most—

even if it was tim who met him at the carnival first, before dick's parents had died, going as far to dedicate the entire act for the boy— it was you watching him through the broken down television too, legs swinging back and forth on your springy, dusty couch as you doodle him doing stunts, talking to you because he meant the world to you too after you realized he was considered a brother to you.

tim met him first, yet you did so too, but as his younger sibling instead...! so it's unfair, it's unfair, everything is so unfair. tim and his stupid fucking goals of helping your father cope, your father, not his, his parents are alive, your mother is gone, goddamnit—!

it's all unfair. your mother says the world treats good kids like you right, so why...?

... what else could he want? what else does he want to take away from you?

and how could you blame him...?

he was perfect in the sense that you aren't. he was what bruce needed: a reliable pillar of support, stubborn enough to deal with the stress piling up with the loss of his second child, qualities that couldn't be seeked in you even if anyone tries their hardest to squint past that once wide-eyed, vulnerable exterior of yours.

all they could see is a broken child, but not of their own. they could offer you sympathy, pity at just how terrible your past came to be, but that's what every child of gotham goes through. not even witnessing your mother's last gulps of breath would be unique enough to pique their attention. they couldn't possibly see you being part of their family, never.

you learn quickly, that the world has always been unfair, that sometimes, your mother's words aren't always right, not always the best. you need to be better than best, but you couldn't.

so you still chose to be good still, because what else could you do? who else could your identity be outside of the morals she had taught you?

that's who you always are—

that's who you always will be.

always the lesser one. always the forgotten muse and the unspoken poetry.

because that's what good people are, always belittling themselves for others, always allowing the bigger people to step on them like ants. to crush on their hopes and dreams like the crumbs of bread that spill onto the sides of a pavement.

tim is a good person, it was why he wanted to help bruce in the first place, but you couldn't also forget the fact that he's the perfect son for bruce too— that's the main difference between you both. you're worlds apart. he's naturally smart, almost flawless both physically and mentally, and helps slowly but surely fill the hole in bruce's heart unlike you who realizes that you'll only deepen it instead.

and you're a good kid, you're his good child, you wish you were his kid.

you're kind but never the greatest, talented but not good enough.

and that's who you'll always will be.

just a person defined by their worth, by the words of their mother. just a kid with nothing more than a smile to offer, no matter how strained the side of your lips are, no matter if the tears threaten to crawl out your eyes like spiders the longer your presence get ignored—

you're good, but you'll never be good enough.

... so what made you better now? what made you worthy now that all their eyes are now on you?

you wish it was easy to answer, but life's always unfair to a good kid like you.

has anyone ever noticed why the wayne manor has been so dull lately?

why don't the blooms stand so prideful in the gardens nowadays? surely, alfred's green thumb could fix the problem, but it's been months and the most eminent scent that fixes upon their nostrils could only be obtained if they sniff hard enough to smell fresh flowers amongst the scent of mud after rain or wet concrete.

why does titus seem so down these days? damian tried to play tricks with him; his beloved pet only replied with a loud, high-pitched whine in reply and lay languidly at velvet carpets with a bone on his slack jaw. his owner noticed how his tail seemed to wag less the more the days passed by. and damian isn't stupid, but he notices how titus, with the addition of alfred the cat, would often frequent sniffing and lay on a spot damian's familiar with; one he's sure a certain rival of his would only sit upon whenever they'd hide from him.

why have there been fewer homemade baked treats in the pantry? hell, they seem to lessen every single day someone opens the pantry. wasn't it alfred who baked them? was there a thief who had been stealing, or was the steady decline not mere coincidence? nobody else took a hobby to baking, since they've all been frequently absent, prioritizing their patrols and mostly taking the cookies and crinkles at the end of their shift, munching on the treats all for themself. alfred hasn't definitely been taking a break and refuses any offers to, yet the lack of goods was noticable, and whenever alfred bakes, it doesn't quite share the same sugary, or savory goodness the past deserts have been sporting.

why has there been silence, one that so ominous, for months? dick swore he'd often hear someone conversing through doors with alfred. at first he assumed it would be tim, or cass, but with how feeble and meek the voice was, yet talkative and light with an accent he's sure he heard from bruce. yet he dismissed the implication of another presence in the room. but as of current, he misses that strange voice that speaks of stories about highschool drama and friends for terrible influences.

has the rooms been lacking of music lately? tim frequents the soft, buzzing hums his hyperactive form hears from across the living room or near the fireplace's burning embers. sometimes he'd be lulled to sleeping whenever he hears specific melodies. he'd listen so often that he even managed to recognize his favorite tunes with just a single note, eyes slowly closing every time he's in close proximity with that unknown voice, conditioned to finally sleep like a pavlovian dog. tim has been losing sleep these days, eyebags frequent in his eyes. he misses the music, he misses his only saving grace during restless nights with even energy drinks and bitter coffee being ineffective.

why has the dust been collecting off the bookshelves of their library? whenever jason visits the library, there would always be fingerprints he'd find on certain books, one he'd pick up and come to enjoy reading. some were collections of series, others being short novels. the ghost that graces him these recommendations, who sometimes even brings new books, hasn't been in the library for months now, and he's skittish the more he visits the manor each time. the library was his sanctuary for all the moments he'd have fights with bruce, or felt too deep into his traumatic anguishes. the tastes he shares with this lone stranger who visits the library at different lapses than him was now gone, and he's noticed the anger that pangs deep in his chest every damn time dust has been collected off of books, with no fingerprint in sight.

just, why has it been so silent lately? both physically and figuratively. no music dawns their ears, no hinge of the fridge being heard throughout the night, or at least the faint mutters of an unknown whispering.

these were all unsaid questions buried deep in the minds of the people under the roof of the manor. now the only things they could feel were the heavy knocks of the rain on the window and the cold sensation of tiled floors on their already covered soles.

it wasn't noticable by chance, but it could be felt by everyone, both inhabitants and visitors.

and the answers lie simple: it's a secret.

they're the deals you make when you want someone to keep their mouth shut close, they're the things you swear your life to to never confess upon. they're the unsaid statements which helped torment a certain child under the roof of an already lonely and ghostly manor.

sometimes, secrets don't take in the form of someone making one up, but rather, it takes in the form of an unspoken agreement, a pact with your surroundings, an untold promise with nature or the things around you.

you were never particularly secretive with your talents, for arts, baking, or anything that takes in the field of creativity. you kept to yourself, and don't bother anymore to annoy your family to look upon a sketch only to be dismissed, or to taste the treats you hide by a pantry for later consumption; but you loved it still whenever alfred gave you the creative liberty to stroll around the manor to decorate the bleak place into a less melancholic version of a gothic abandoned house by the forest, left with only the legacy of a long-standing family.

it was just, you never find it necessary to tell anyone why there's a charcoal portrait of alfred hanged in one of the uncrowded hallways, or why the colors of the walls change momentarily, or why certain colors of flowers were more present by the garden than other colors— so maybe you could consider that a secret.

and it made you feel less lonely, if even by a fraction. yet you don't know it, but your acts of service to the manor was what made the family enjoy their stay a bit longer, was what made them appreciate the backdrop of a new wallpaper they had thought alfred had chosen, or find the designs of resin furniture adorable.

you don't know it, but you were what made mundane living enjoyable for those who seek to relish in the sheer feeling of adrenaline instead.

when you were first taken into the manor, you were the reason why all their senses were stimulated. tiny, malnourished you couldn't keep your toes in place once you've been exposed to a new, more bigger environment.

back then, the manor carried this atmosphere of darkness, a reflection of bruce wayne's grief after his beloved parents' passing away from his arms. yet you took that pain, and turned it from its bleak, grayish colors, to an intimate, fluorescent glow. a soft, bright light emits from one of the random rooms, with custom-made beads dangling about and glow in the dark stickers that litter the room. it was one not too blinding to the eyes, and felt warm like the touch of a mother to their crying child.

your cooking of sweet treats were the ones they often like to fight over. it was through alfred's secret recipes he bestowed upon you, and your own alterations for your baking, that the kitches would always smell of cinnamon, brown butter, and caramelized sugar. it was because of you that you made the manor smell sweeter, more homey, like what would've smelled of an apartment during christmas eve. you've made them associate the kitchen with both famous, foreign, and local recipes that they came to love. steph loved it whenever she'd stumble upon a cookie decorated with purple, cass finds the ribbons on some cupcakes cute, associating it with ballet.

every time bruce, tim, or dick needs a place to destress, they often visit rooms with sweet humming or the occasional singing. it was sometimes gibberish, others with lyrics, yet pleasing to their ears all the same. it reminds them of their mothers' singing, whenever they'd knit or praise their precious jewelry. it makes bruce's stiff posture slacken, finding that odd voice sometimes sharing his talking habits through the lyrics they sang. dick would always sing along, feeling as if he was back in time with his mother playing with his hair as she sings circus music, and tim would close his tired eyes, laying his head on his hand as he dreams pleasant scenarios for once in his life.

although you never once felt any of their embrace, they've certainly felt yours in their hearts, minds, and sometimes even their body; a spiritual connection they've felt with you without even knowing it. the last time damian touched you was when he pinned your wrists to your side. and even if he tried his hardest to ignore the raging beat of his heart, screaming at him to release you from the tight cage of his grip, he refuses to. out of sheer anger and petty spite, or the desire to feel the skin of his sibling who struggles to let go from his hold, he doesn't know. but he certainly does remember how your palms lack callouses unlike his does, and how warm your touch felt, even if blazing with cold sweat from his threats.

he had remembered the smell of your sweat and even the taste of your tears by accident and committed it to memory.

it was through your indirect care that everyone felt loved and cared for, and find themselves enjoying the sweet, small moments of living within what was once a stuffy manor holding painful memories.

and nobody knows why — with the exception of dick, bruce, and damian now — that despite the batcave being filled with the entire family, it felt empty all the same.

well, not entirely empty, but bleak with color. every hue remained gray in their eyes, the pipe leaks were eminent, heavy breathing was evident all throughout. no music catched on to their ears, and they all remain skittish and rigid.

it seems as if everyone has catched on, that they're all holding their breath together as the leader of the group, batman, looks around to do a silent head count.

after all, he told both dick and damian to update the family that this meeting is urgent, and no one shall even bother ditching, or else they wouldn't get to the bottom of your disappearance without all the help they could receive.

in a race to get you, they need to burn off all resources or god help bruce because he'd run himself crazy searching for you.

alfred doesn't want that happening, but he understands.

you're important, and no one could dispute that fact. after bruce had gone through your all your diaries, your sketchbooks that he had to pry away from damian's possessive hold, and the box of belongings that you left that he stashed away in his office— he knew he couldn't just leave his child out in the streets of gotham.

you're his child, and a damn child of his means his responsibility. either he likes the obligation or not, it's his duty to protect you from the harm of living in such a dangerous city. and you're certainly not a vigilante, he'd already ran through multiple recent investigations before everyone came rushing down to the batcave to confirm you're not connected with any bad guys; which was good, and bad news.

that means you chose not to undergo the same, dangerous path jason chose, or rebel like damian, yet at the same time you must've been incapable of self defense.

and he knows that even if you fight with normal moves; without his guidance against a gallery of brutal villains out to destroy batman or anyone related to bruce, you're dead meat. bruce doesn't want you dead. the only times he wants to hold you in his arms were the ones unconnected to you laying limp with your last breath, no. he wants you alive, and well, and safe from harm.

his precious baby, his treasure. he wants to see your face in one piece, and he wishes cradle you in his arms. just because you're over eighteen doesn't mean he's fully lost you. he's your father, first and foremost, and your hero second.

that's why it's imperative that everybody follows his orders now, with the primary order being that everyone, under the guise of currently not holding a mission, is required to be in the batcave within the first thirty or forty-five minutes of the announcement. no, there's no excuses that should be said, or buts. this meeting is a priority meeting, and as vigilantes who fight for the safety of their city's citizens, they know not to disobey.

and as family members related to bruce's precious second youngest, it's an obligation for them to care as much as bruce, dick, and even damian does for the search of your disappearance.

though apparently, jason couldn't get that message, and didn't bother to update through comms over where he's at the opposite side of gotham, his devices turned off after he had recently gone off in a rebellious tangent yet again about bruce's refusal to mercilessly slaughter the deserving ones.

he'll lecture his second child soon after he reports to bruce, mentioning your safety on the line while at it, but right now?

right now he needs to address the elephant in the room: the overbearing anxiousness and antsiness everyone collectively feels, bruce's stern eyes replicating the anger, the surge of energy he feels to exact vengeance on every crime that litters the street, the same urgency he felt compelled to drown upon right after his parents have died right in front of him.

whilst alfred's knowing ones stare at each and every one of the culprits of your disappearance, all a direct reason why you had left in the first place.

someone sighs, and it's not bruce who speaks up first amongst the crowd of vigilantes.

"so what now, father? are we all just going to stand here, or are we going to address the main issue? or do you want me to be the one who brings them back home? i wouldn't mind finding them before all of you do."

"this is not the time to be... you, damian, we're all....we all need time to think." it was dick who spoke next, with a sense of urgency, as his eyes that tried his damn best to stare at damian softly, with a smile to accompany it, immediately plasters itself back on his phone, spamming your phone with messages damian was sure were all about him begging for you to take them all back. without any fights, without any hesitation.

ever the pacifist, one would think. but everyone could see wide blue eyes, glinting at the screen. begging for mercy for such a lost case, tears nearly rimming his eyelids, lips bitten raw as blood drips down his quivering chin.

cass could read his movements, she knows he's mad. but not even a master of body language is in need to know just how much dick's rage emanates off his body.

fingers clenched on his phone, teeth gritted as he spoke, eyes frantically searching through messages, scrolling up, then down, as if he's waiting for something. for someone no doubt.

tim deduces that the person they're focused on for this urgent meeting was the same person dick was trying to text. 'must've been related or close to us if it means it's this important for everyone to be involved.'

he'll look through dick's phone later to solve the itching case, his fingers twitching to whip out his side in the batcave's screen and make a new case file.

but he chose to ignore it for now, they all do, each one focusing on their primary worries.

"who's them? wait— what even are we gonna talk about?" duke's voice rang loudly through the cave. it at least broke through the tension, bruce's tense shoulders sagging in relief then suddenly reverting back to its old, rigid pose.

everyone noticed the action. they're trained individuals after all.

barbara flinched through her seat at the sight of the man, with her hands readily available to type at the keyboard. though her eyes stay glued at batman, looking deeper and noticing his fervoured state.

it's as if he is lost in thought.

and with just how much thoughts were racing in his mind, it's easy to drown. to get lost in that mirage of memories trying to link an image of you to anything he tries to remember. even now, bruce wants to see your face first and foremost. he wants to see an image of you sleeping in your tiny, creaking bed, and to erase any of those memories to replace it with new luxuries he could provide you in life; a comfort you should've been blessed with the moment you entered the double doors of his manor.

his string of pearls, his little treasure.

"(name). they left, and i need all of you to listen to me, now. rebuttals later."

when bruce spoke up, gruff and domineering, with no room for anyone to speak back, all eyes were now on him.

dick throws his phone across the room, ignoring the shatter of the pure, aluminum branded back of it. his foot was jittering, and his voice was as ready to command orders with bruce.

blue eyes stare, vicious and hungry, impatient at its prime. with the addition of damian's green, squinted ones, and bruce's stern glare, thundering and clouded.

it was a spectacle to witness the same emotions coursing through their veins. as if they're one and the same; vultures feeding off the feeling of need and urgency to actuate what seems to be an already brewing plan on the trio's part.

the rest, unknowing of what had just occurred half an hour ago within your bedroom, listens.

they ignore the gnawing feeling of intuition, of something, right at this moment, going wrong, just to hear bruce's explanation, with dick and damian butting in.

they listen, fascinated about you being bought up, a name so foreign yet familiar, a mystery in their eyes despite having met or seen you occasionally; a glimpse of you running through hallways or painting in the garden.

they listen, and all the individuals let deep, feral emotions fester within them the longer they allow their ears and their mind to devour the words dick says, all syllables a symphony of praises towards you, each vowel accentuating his favor.

they listen, and learned.

whatever happened within the batcave, is also a secret.

you have your own secrets. they have theirs.

except, yours were discovered, and they choose to let emotions brewing deep in their hearts as obscured within public view.

tim wants to search for you, steph joins in on his sentiment too. barbara's already at it whilst she types and listens in on bruce's words, cass ponders about your invisible presence and just like bruce, tries to think of memories of you stumbling by her, and duke just as much attempts to picture your face and remembers something sentimental; one he'd ponder on later once he's alone.

now they all know your secrets, not everything, but a semblance of it. they discover their neglects, and acknowledge the consequences. why throughout their stirring arguments, they all couldn't find your handmade night-lights that they like to look at during the dark, or smell the baked crusts on your home-made pumpkin pie recipe, or the humming of random music through the halls.

because you've never once visited the batcave—

and it was the only room not graced with your courtesy, care, passions, and love.

they listen to bruce's plan, yet they ignore the growing dread.

they ignore why jason is radio-silent all throughout too.

instead, they focus on you, trying to reminisce on old, buried memories they at least spent with you. good ones, not the ones containing your meek begs, and heartbroken gazes. or the ones where you stood in the corner of a room watching them talk. or the times where you all had dinner together and you're left in the wake of silence despite the chatter filling the dining room.

... and once they couldn't muster anything up, they figured on creating new ones instead.

warm.

this place feels so unnaturally warm, that it seeks shelter under your skin. warm, yet welcoming at the same time.

...where are you?

your bleary eyes slowly open, blinking gradually, squinting out the streaks of white in your vision. it's always a hassle to wake yourself up. sleep has never been peaceful for you: always awoken by nightmares, or tormenting paralysis, sometimes mere insomnia causes you to lay awake and sweating in your tiny room. and your dreams always has to involve your family, one way or another; of course it's always about them, they've been your only source of life despite never being there for yours. but now? now you feel like you've had a complete 9 hour cycle of sleep, with no hint of fatigue in your body.

you've never had any proper sleep. ever since you saw... you saw her dying that it never registers within your mind just how deprived you are of rest, constantly haunted by memories you wish you just could... forget. but you couldn't, not when your beloved mother is the only precious reminder you have in life to stay alive.

your arms, arms that were always sore, in twisted positions, bruised and with faded scars from all the times you felt too impulsed to hurt, the only way to forget the mental torment you've gone through; now lay atop cozy sheets with no pain bared, no extra sheen of sheen on sweat. your fingers stretch, you caress the pillows your head lays on, cold to the touch against your warm, uncrying face.

it feels nice, feels crisp against your skin. your ears don't burn and you don't feel the need to flip your pillow to the colder side.

a yawn slowly escaped your lips. you lick them, they're not chapped, nor dry. they don't feel bitten, nor streaked with blood. you lick again, there's no familiar sting, nor the taste of blood that seeps against cracked skin.

'this is strange.'

you feel unusually relaxed, your breathing's oddly steady. there's no scent of smoke and pollution invading your nostrils, no shadow of doubt cloaking your mind.

you don't feel like dying today.

it feels so nice, the weather's so weird... pleasant. but this? it's not normal, gotham has never felt so quiet today. there has never been a time where you wake up feeling so... human. this is not routine. you're not used to this. god, everything's so strange and yet...

it's been so long since you last felt like you were... home. wispy streaks of particles dance under the soft light that beams outside of crooked, wooden windows. it casts an angelic glow on your surroundings, unlike the shrouded darkness you're accustomed to.

your eyes do a double take, churning mechanically at an angle where you can clearly see the glass panes.

"hm?" windows that always fog up with polluted specks of dust, now clear, and bright as day. it feels like the sun is kissing your skin through the light that enters the glass, you feel the at ease as your bones crack comfortably, and your muscles stretch without ache.

and you...

you're laying in a thick mattress that buries you in deep burgundy sheets. blankets wrapped around your body like a welcoming hug, you're reminded of your mother yet again.

your heart thumps rhythmically, not erratically this time, no— you've never felt so invigorated. it's been a while since you slept in a comfortable bed, in a comfortable setting, with a comfortable atmosphere. not the sound of blades hit your ears, nor the honking of cars, or ringing of phones. wherever you're laying didn't feel stiff like cardboard back in your apartment, the pillowcases are cool to the touch. your clothes don't encase you uncomfortably tight, there's no random thread that persists on irritating your skin.

it feel so oddly peculiar, so comforting, and you want to cry.

you feel light, airy even. there's nothing but the buzz of empty warmth that encapsulates your entire body. you're not used to this, this disgusting feeling of comfort, you don't think it's real.

only one response enters your mind, the only thing you're accustomed to.

'i don't deserve this.' your thoughts drown you into a deep sea of anguish, but the dichotomy of comfort and pain stirs you into satiating confusion. this is the first time you felt blessed, the first time you wish you were good enough to feel like you're worthy of deserving such goodness in your life.

suddenly, you feel like crying, but no tears escape your eyes, and your heart refuses to beat out of its cage. you're in a trance that refuses to release you from its comforting hold.

the hazy tune of birds chirping snaps you out of your deprecating reflection of your life.

when you squint and look out the windows once more, you make out a faint reflection of green, dominating the entire view second floor view of what is supposed your home.

for the first time, you don't feel fear reminiscing on that earthly shade of color.

you're in a... forest.

your nose picks up on the scent of the damp, green, grasslands. your eyes makes out the scenery outside, droplets of water slowly dripping on tall leaves, the rivulets travelling from blades of leaves to nourished, wet soil. it produces this stimulating smell, one you haven't been able to experience for months living in the polluted air outside the windows of your apartment.

petrichor.

you don't know what, or how, or why this is happening.

all you know is common knowledge, something perceived through senses and observations. you're in a cottage, yes, the interior layout is filled with personal trinkets you know you would've bought with money if you even had it, and furniture suited to both you tastes and your mother's... but otherwise, nothing else.

other than memories of a fantasy you shared with your mother, back when you were innocent to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and its merciless passions.

"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 23.

i remember one conversation i had with my mother.

it was about something related to where would we choose to live if we had the choice. she asked me that, out in the random, and that took me by surprise to say the least.

huh, during that time, i never knew her intentions for my answers.

i answered her sincerely, told her that, well, i wanted to live in a comfortable cottage, with two floors and a spacious bedroom for me, with hers right beside mine; so she can keep all the monsters away when i got too scared living by my own.

i wanted fairy lights strewn on the roof of my room, and matching glow in the dark stickers of stars and constellations with hers, just like the ones we have in our quaint apartment. i told her it wouldn't be complete without the mini figurines on top of raspberry colored cabinets, the ones that i loved to collect whenever we thrifted at stores, and most importantly the picture frames of us together.

she giggled at my reply, and told me it was such a 'me' thing to choose what i had said. but i retorted and told her she'd choose the same thing. and she said i said what exactly was on her mind.

thinking about that memory now, i feel warm despite the fact that bruce forgot to attend another parent-teacher conference again this week. every memory of my mother... tugs at my heart, both painful and nostalgic. i miss her.

if my momma was here, she wouldn't even hesitate to pull out of whatever side hussle she had for a job at the first second i'd mention something about my school. she always prioritizes me as her only child. it makes me feel special, and loved, and cared for— i haven't felt that in a long time. i won't lie that alfred's presence helps but a mother's love precedes all essence.

i love her so much. i wish i never took her for granted.

now that i think about it too...

if my momma was here, we could've been in that cottage right now, living our lives, carefree, without nothing to worry us. whether it'd be food in our plates or money to pay the bills. we'll always be happy with mushroom foraging and sitting by the warm fireplace i pictured, with her homemade hot chocolate by the table. she'd be nestled beside me, keeping me warm. that's enough to make me happy, enough to dismiss the heaviness in my heart as i write this.

i wish we were at that cottage right now, forever actually. i don't need a big family, all i need is my mom. and sure we'll have some arguments along the way but it wouldn't be as bad as, well, damian threatening to draw his sword on me and stab me at the heart every second i made him mad, which is always...

funny thing is... fuck, i never noticed how she was saving up money and starving herself whilst simultaneously keeping me well-fed so she could pursue my dreams of actually getting a cottage. i was so oblivious to everything that i just, i never noticed that she was earning all this, to build my dreams, so we can escape from gotham and live new lives with each other by our side.

she was doing all this, for the sake of my comfort, my happiness, my everything. she lives her life with no breaks, and retired from her previous job as a... sex worker just so i can live normally, so i wouldn't be ashamed of being her child, of seeing her as my mother. she was everything i needed in my life. she sacrificed, and i took it for granted.

and i wanted to scold her so badly; doing this for such a lost cause as me. it hurts to think about it now.

so what if i wanted a cottage? what about it if i'm now living with my father, huh? i don't care about living comfortably at all, if that meant i didn't have mother by my side, to support me, to actually love me, then what is a house all worth for??? all i wanted and needed was her, just her. and they took me away from my mother.

my mother.

your heart breaks at the seems whilst you write that faithful night, the grip on your pen near to leaving dents on your finger. if it draws out blood, then so be it. your handwriting turns unintelligible, strokes not knowing where to end. what once was clean, white sheets of paper now crumpled by your despair, by the tears that escaped your eyes, by your fists balling at the paper, all your emotions boiling down to mere grief.

if bruce mourns for jason, you do so too for your mother.

yet you continue to write, and write, and write. it's the only medium of comfort you have, the only means to treasure memories long gone, heartaches and comfort all a coagulation of your retreat to the real world.

if dreams can come true, then you wish the fantasies of your mother being with you comes alive, that she'd be by your side, taking your pen away from your hands, kissing your sweaty forehead and matted tresses, assuring you she's fine. she'll smile with crinkling eyes, and set your quivering hands to a stop, then wrap you in her arms, shielding you away from the burden of living without her.

if you were her flower, then she is your hearth. the only warmth you'd feel in such a cold manor, the only one capable of dipping her hands into your chest, taking your beating heart, and melting off the frigid locks that kept your love in place ever since her death.

only then can you say that dreams do come true, only then can you rest; close your eyes without praying for a dreamless slumber, without nightmares, without swords piercing your body, or the dismissive turn of your family's back on you.

but if dreams do come true, what does that say about nightmares?

only reality can tell.

or you can tell.

at you current state, seated restless on your tiny room with barely any illuminated moonlight guiding your tired body, tormented by both past and future, writing endlessly on journals soon to be forgotten— wouldn't that be considered a nightmare? to be subjected upon unwanted isolation, from the very same people who promised their lives to protect lives such as yours.

your family, your father, brothers and sisters. through empty promises alone; all enough to destroy you inside out.

talentless, worthless, out of place.

yet even if your diaries were all torn apart, pages seeping with both blood and tears, you still write.

you write, and you continue through your endeavors. what once were fond memories were the same monsters chasing you through barren halls and empty rooms.

after all, it's the only way to honor her passing, even if it kills you all the same.

you continue, wiping at your sullen cheeks, and brushing away ripped strands of hair; pen inseparable from stubborn, swollen fingers.

now i'm living here, in this big manor, with nothing going on for me. i have alfred, and he's like a father figure right after mom, but it doesn't change anything... it doesn't change the grief i feel, the sorrow, the unwaning depression. nothing. i couldn't even get myself to stand up from bed because i'm so fed up with everything.

if i didn't try so hard in the first place, i would've never been left this destroyed.

i want to give up, i want to die and just disappear off the face of earth. no one would notice, and at least after i die, i would be reunited with her— but I can't. why?

i have to remind myself everyday. i just can't give up and let all her efforts go to waste. she doesn't want me dying, earlier than her age, too. she told me i couldn't just let go so easily, that life is beautiful if you try to find its hidden beauty. i'm still trying to find meaning in all her wise words, i can't just take her honor for granted, especially since i know that despite everything, she has her own anguish and regrets.

does she regret having me?

right now, i feel a spark of motivation. she's been saving up, just for me, and i want to honor her memories at least. if i can't feel like home in this manor, then i'll make myself a home. to honor her, and to build upon both our dreams.

i don't know when, or how i could even engage in this impossible goal. but for momma? i'll do anything for her, even if it means working myself to death. because at least that means proof that i tried, and she'll be proud of me in the afterlife. god, i hope she would be.

we'll get that cottage soon, momma. i promise."

thinking about it now, that was ten entries right after your breakdown during your birthday. it was at a period of time where you fully accepted that you'd never be loved by your family, that you never belonged, and matured just as quickly after taking a break from writing self destructive diaries.

you sigh, looking down at your clenched palms and indenting fingers on skin. you really wish she was here. it could've made everything better, you would've been better if she was by your side.

a knock ensures before your door, and that alone snaps you out of your thoughts. you jump in shock yet feel no pang of panic in your heart, but before you could reach out to defend yourself, the door opens after the prior knock, and your...

your mother enters.

angelic, glowing, beautiful.

she's decorated in a white dress, with a pearl necklace decorating her neck, glinting like diamonds, soft in its assertion. like an angel, rather than the devil she's portrayed to be in the newspapers she hid from you.

she looks beautiful, as always, breath-taking to the point it makes you wonder how you share the same genes as her.

but her beauty now precedes her beauty from when you last saw her bleeding in the cold tiles of your apartment. now, she looks old, yet ethereal. wrinkles flecked her skin, her eyes drooped at the lids, her hairs displayed streaks of white in some areas.

you've never seen her like this.

she had you very young, and you've lost her young. yet she looks as she's rebirthed now, living yet aging like fine wine.

she is happy, and content with her smile, and looks at you with a radiant grin, smile marks on her sunken cheeks, like you mean the world, walking towards your seated form as she hugs you weakly, yet lovingly.

warm, like the spring's gentle blooms, like the feel of petals rubbed against your fingertips.

you're caught breathless.

"momma...?"

beauty that is true, that is honest, and speaks of history. beyond the barriers of photos you see in her at her prime, when she was known as a 'man-eater', a lustful creature that steals from rich to survive.

you've never lied when you said your mother is always going to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

at least, in your eyes. because if she objectively was, then your father could've, should've stayed with her, for the sake of his pride and reputation at the very least. he could've had her by his side, even through a loveless marriage, if it meant it ensured her safety.

you dismiss the bitterness the brews inside you, and opted to focus at the strange, yet welcome circumstances beforehand.

your hands find a way to wrap around her crouched figure, fingers lingering on the once sinewy bones of her spine, now healthy even through the sagging skin.

"my baby..." you look up at her, her hands holding your head so tenderly, cradling you side to side.

"momma..." she kisses your forehead, then both your cheeks, and takes a seat beside you. when she did, you felt a surge of energy and warmth burst throughout both your body and heart. for once, you felt giddy, solitary confinement all but a dream in this fantasy land.

you don't let her hands go for even a second, fearing this moment will be taken away from you. there's warmth emanating off the fingers intertwined with yours, you wish this moment never ends.

the questions that almost left your silken throat took hesitation. you just can't ask why she's alive, where you are and why you're here in the first place; for fear she'll be taken away from you, that you couldn't see her beyond the conjured and brief memories you had of her.

you wish to cry once again, this time, you let out a small hiccup and feel saliva bundling on the back of your mouth. she hums in resounding worry, her other hand swiping away at the hair covering your wide eyes. the softness in her eyes doesn't falter, and she hums a familiar lullaby: one that triggers nostalgia, that reminds you of the days spent without electricity in your tiny apartment with her lighting a candle just so she could read you another one of your favorite stories, huddled beside her.

the last you've heard of her voice, it was parched and inaudible. she always sacrificed for you, and drinkable water was a privilege in the shady parts of gotham.

"you're probably wondering where you are and why we're here, aren't you, sunshine?" she cuts her singing off abruptly, your eyes snap open to look up at her through your eyelashes.

"... y-yeah," your reply comes in, voice barely whisper. unsure and insecure of where this conversation will go, you chose to bury your head in her shoulder. she smells of ripe strawberry and cherries, unlike the mixture bold perfumes mixed with the stench of booze she comes home with after another night of restless endeavor. yet you don't acknowledge the memories of the past, you're here with her now and it's all that matters.

"where are we, mom? am i... dreaming? please, i- i miss you." this time, your tears come out in a steady stream, but your throat doesn't constrict in itself, and you don't feel the urge to rip at your hair at anymore.

now you're just terribly sentimental rather than bitter. no more was the jealousy that aches, or the panic rushing through your veins. it's just you and your mother, and the memories of her passing that buries you at the hilt of your sadness.

"well... you're in the realm between life and death, my little angel," she states with lidded eyes, as if it is a matter of fact. her hands move to scratch your scalp, she hums and swings your crying body side to side, akin to a mother cradling her newborn baby.

you felt particularly reborn, the sudden change affecting you more than you'd like to admit. the light outside your window casts her in a sheen of white, glimmering like rays of the sun, or like the twinkle of the moon.

even if she was old, and grey and wrinkly, she's always been ethereal.

and you're convinced that she's the angel instead.

"you've been through a lot, haven't you?" her questions brought you out of your tearful stupor, she brings her lips to kiss at your forehead and wraps her palms on the sides of your face, wiping away at the waterworks refusing to cease.

all you could do was nod, and feel the warmth reflecting off her body, transferring all to you. even in the plane of death has she always been generous.

"i-i... i don't want this to end, momma..." you utter, gazing at her ever-smiling face. there was a faint translucency in her body, as if her form is slowly disappear. and for a second, you feel fear that she'll disappear. fear that dissipates just as quickly when you hear her heavenly chuckles.

"...baby, i'm here with you right now in because i want to remind you to choose the path to live. it's too early to die right now, it's too early for my baby to join me in the afterlife." her words are too complicated to comprehend with how muddled your thoughts were, her saccharine actions feel like a forbidden touch, and you just couldn't comprehend why, just why does she want you to live...

when there's nothing else left for you in the realm where she's not around.

"but i... i don't understand...? why can't, why can't i be with you, mom—?"

"because unlike me, baby, you have so much to do. i've nothing left of me to offer when i died, baby... at least now, at least you'll find that you're still always loved, even when i'm not with you."

she cuts you off with a hush, pinching your cheeks before another wave of tears and quivering hiccups escape your befuddled body.

but you can't afford to let her go a second time, you can't go back—!

you don't want to be back in that damning structure you call a manor, you don't want to watch your father from a mere corner shrouding himself in the pits of darkness you know you couldn't carry, you don't want to return to begging for dick's attention as he turns a blind eye, you don't want the pitiful stares from tim when he's in the same room as you, or duke, cass, and steph's hushed whisper whenever you pass by, plans being made without your knowledge, without acknowledgement of your presence. you don't want to be blamed by damian for even being born in the first place. you don't want anymore uncelebrated and silent birthdays anymore, or milestones celebrated with just a fucking cupcake and a pat on your head...!

you want your mom, you don't want your other family, not anymore...

even if... even if your disappearance paved the way for a new shift in interests in your family's mind, even if you're now unknowingly the center of attention after months of the manor's solitude without you; just like you had always wanted— you're tired, and you've long since given up and grown from selfish and unrealistic desires of a completely healthy family.

if you could even call them that wretched title.

if you could even consider them as one like how they never did you.

the tears return just like the pain you were temporarily barred from, now it's a waterfall that threatens to throw you off of your escape from the reality of life, stinging your eyes and falling on crumpled sheets as your fingers grip uncontrollably for a sanction of control. from what? from the fear that now is the moment that you'll truly never see her again, not even in your memories.

"... momma, please, stay—!"

but right before you could reason out, desparate words crawling and jumping out your heaving chest and into the spiraling room, right before you could beg her to stay closer with you with her flickering warmth for just a second further as her body slowly dissipates from her hold on you, as your vision darkens and you hear that faint, familiar murmur of gotham's bustling motorcycles and alleyway screaming—

her last words, full of assurances, just like the day she tucked you in that little closet and made you promise that you'd stay silent for her, sacrificing her life just so she could protect you; it grounds you into your spot, restless, broken, and chasing unsaid words to tell her before you lose her once more, and destroys any and all hope for complete, and utter happiness you forced yourself to truly believe.

"... i love you, my sweet angel. be good for me, alright...?"

and just like that, your eyes blearily open to find itself into a completely foreign surrounding yet again.

and this time, it is real and unwanted.

'jason todd, a good soldier,' were the words marked and engraved on his tombstone. buried under the healthy soils of the manor, he felt as if his presence was forgotten all the same.

it was true, he was a good soldier. always obedient, always listening and mirroring bruce's orders, even though he grew up in the ratty streets with a drug-addicted mother and an abusive father, when he was picked up by bruce and lead into the vigilante life with the beaming potential to combat even dick; jason was always the good kid, who, even if he became a tad bit rebellious on the years garnering on teenage life, died honorably for the safety of his biological mother who betrayed him.

jason todd, always the boy portrayed as a warning sign for all the future robins, always the child remembered as just that: a soldier of batman, the kid of bruce who died unfairly; the truth of his death, the truth of joker's fucked up foil to destroy the bat's mentality even further all for a good laugh, hidden beneath restricted case files and bruce's suppressed emotions— all left unattended, just for him to be replaced by another new robin; a telltale signal that felt like bruce was trying so hard to repair the broken fixtures jason left behind.

the implication itself felt as if the world is laughing at his heroic acts, never acknowledged beyond the faults that lie on his stubbornness; a learnt trait all robins grew into once they've been taken in bruce's care.

he must've never been a good kid if life decided to take him away, when his youth was at an all time high, when all he wanted to do was meet his real mother, and to save her even when she had left him to die with explosives laid beside his beaten body.

was it his fault that all he ever wanted to do was to make his father proud? what was wrong with being a hero, being robin with his magical passions?

jason was never the spiteful man everyone assumed him to be. he was never rebellious, or thirsting for vengeance, or came to hate bruce as much as what everyone else thought of when they'd first hear his name.

even when he was revived in that sunken pit of hell, nineteen with a seventeen year old soul, feeling his once lanky body too tall, too big for him to flex his fingers, to kick with his now muscly legs, crying and screaming under all the madness of forcefully having his soul be reunited with his body after two years of peaceful rest.

and when he had returned to his senses, when he discovered that there were two new children running around the manor, one a product of a one-night stand, the other donning the identity of a new robin, did jason become the spiteful image everyone imagine the young boy came to be from when he was just an impulsive teenager.

becoming alive once more, reliving betrayal after betrayal, watching in the background: never the full story, but enough to feel like he's been replaced— it became his sole duty to torment, to do to criminals what has been done to him, just to teach the bat that his moral code was flawed, was what caused a thousand other souls to be lost under the hands of the puny joker.

all this, just to feel a sense of right in a life constantly wronging him.

yet under all the blood-soaked jackets, the aluminum amoury, under clenched teeth and resentful, dead blue eyes stood a boy who loved. who stole tires to provide for his small family who never truly loved him: a father who beats at his body nightly, a mother who dismisses him in favor of her favorite substances. who read books of all genre— classic his all time favorite, jane austen his beloved author, he loved school, loved learning, jason always came home with an A+ in all his subjects, eternally grateful despite the years of betrayal, of heartache, of shredded photos and shattered picture frames.

who advocated his young life fighting crime, kicking ass beside his vigilante partner and a man he came to call his dad, even though he had all the opportunities in the world to turn rotten like the crime infested streets of gotham. because he was a good kid, too, and a soldier the next.

he was never the violent kind. he was the kid who loved above all else. idolizing dick, bruce, all the good people in the world with shining ambitions that should've never been stained so early. he even told bruce he always wanted a little sibling to care for. he wanted to teach another young, unfortunate child what it's like to share kindess in this shithole of a city.

jason todd was a ball of pure joy, loved by bruce to the point his father could've never moved on from his death, never acknowledging the next traumatized child that came after him, and also tim, too, who he always mistakenly call by jason's name.

jason couldn't see beyond the surface of what he knew, masked by hatred for what had become after two years, questions spiraling hid head that accompanies a darkness he never knew could shroud him like a cloak. bruce used to hide him under his curtain of a cape back when he was a small, manourished kid, his vision overtaken by pure black; but now the older version of him knew what true darkness is like without needing his vision disrupted.

death feels like eternal darkness, a void that devours your vision of all colors, no physical form, no thoughts, but unmoving with the feelings grounding you in place, like hell. and with the shadow of doubt that he was never truly cherished by a man he loved to call his father, that no vengeance took place after his death, jason couldn't fathom the pain greater than what he experienced in that cold, dark warehouse; spending hours hoping that he'd be saved.

how long did it take for bruce to replace him? days, months, weeks?

how long did it take for bruce to move on? was he just an afterthought to the man? was he just a good soldier in bruce's eyes?

and why, just why, does he also blame himself for his own doom? for being stubborn enough to pursue chasing after a clown smarter than him, why does he

... if he had never died, things would've never escalated that far, it wouldn't have created a domino effect that ruined not only his life, but his angel's too.

if he had never died, you wouldn't be bleeding in his arms like he did too in bruce's.

... except unlike him back then, you want to simply die now.

jason's passing was not only his guilt or bruce's, it also marked the start of your treacherous journey of thirteen and a half years living in silence, in fear and in constant yearning after your mother's death, for a love so passionate from bruce like the one he gives to all his other children but you.

for a love he had given all up for jason that he never had any to spare to you.

bruce never gave you what you wanted, what you practically needed. all in favor of mourning the passing of his second child, his son who achieved more than the levels you knew you'd never reach. you were never the desirable child, because as good as you were like jason, as nice as you could be, or talented— nobody could replace the hole that jason left within bruce from when he left the world.

you both were good kids, but jason was infinitely better.

when you were first introduced to the manor, jason assumed you and tim replaced him, he watched secretly after his resurrection, with grim prayers for your downfall 'cause he couldn't attack you like he did tim in the tower because of your civilian status, your involvement towards batman was close to zero.

you were a young child, you knew nothing, and he hates you.

he regrets hating you.

all because he hates seeing himself in those young, glinting eyes. he never realized what he felt was fear, fear that someone like you could end up like him, when he had first obsessively did research on your buried past. your world could've been so easily destroyed by the tips of his finger and he had done so mercilessly until it was too late.

he really hated you at first, but he couldn't do anything to hurt you without trespassing the manor and triggering all the signals and alarms he's sure have been updated by the new, puny little robin. he hated you so much for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, blinded by sorrow, and grief, and every piling resentment built on years of animosity he should've only directed only towards bruce, and never someone as innocent, as uninvolved as you.

you, who he calls his angel after the years of torment you've unknowingly and obliviously suffered under him.

but he was so angered, the darkness in his mind clawed him deeper in a frenzy for revenge, that it overpowered the empathy he felt for when he first saw you, standing alone in the kitchen room with an apple in your hand and a blunt knife in the other. not ready to defend yourself at the sight of him, not even pointing it at him, but inviting the man to eat with you your favorite abomination of apple slices and peanut butter— as if you didn't care about the gun in his hands and the window cutter in the other.

you didn't understand why it was so easy to ignore you. it had been years since you have talked, let alone find yourself staring at a person, that you never cared for your safety as long as it meant that... well, you could have someone to finally talk to, with your parched throat from all the moments of unuse, excitedly addressing him as mr. ghost.

he couldn't do anything, couldn't even stare at you for longer, so he ran away at first glance, and failed to see the heartbroken sigh from you agter and the tears that welled up having your hopes raised up only to be shattered once more.

that sight of you standing under the moonlit night triggered conflicting feelings within him– but it was always the strive for vengeance that took over his life, didn't it? even though meeting you bore solid evidence that you were none the wiser, that you didn't deserve anything coming from you; it was through his sheer dedication to destroy all things cherished by bruce that he never once realized that you were merely nothing to bruce— that he ruined an innocent person's life over nothing.

he resorted to praying for your demise if it meant he couldn't physically hurt you. he focused on tormenting you indirectly before the fire in his raging heart was eventually extinguished.

he was the man you see by the hallways, the monster you thought raptured knocks on your window in the middle of the night, the reason for why some of your old childhood toys would be missing eyes, had loosened stitches, or had their stuffings removed and displaced somewhere hidden you couldn't reach.

a cryptic message that made you run and bury your head in alfred's suit, asking the old man to spend the night with you after another one of your toys was ripped apart. a reaction that made jason scoff at your immaturity; as if the inner child in him wouldn't react the same way.

you were only a few years younger than tim, despite arriving in the manor before him, and jason was stupid enough to assume you had been raised well by bruce that you'd be mature at your age, he was such an idiot to think that you wouldn't be as emotionally affected but rather paranoid of the sudden paranormal activity surrounding you. that the cookies you baked were all left to be crumbs, after just leaving them to cool off for a few minute, the pens you used for journalling wouldn't have gone missing— he thought surely, you'd be broken mentally...

but never this... emotionally.

what he didn't expect were breakdowns right after, hair pulling, the biting of skin and panic attacks after panic attacks.

wide eyes staring at the ceiling, perspiration on your skin clinging on to blazing bedsheets at the lack of ventilation, sporadic breathing, bleeding scratches on your skin like a wild animal.

you cry like one, unashamed of how loud your sobs were for such a parched throat, at how long you've been wailing alone whilst hugging your too-little body, eyes closed and misty, as if it would rid you the images of your wrecked bedroom and missing journals.

yet jason never stops to wonder why no one had came running in your room to save you from destroying yourself even further.

he never wondered nobody bothered to acknowledge your crying every night, continuing on his tangent to destroy everything you loved just to prove a point, that you couldn't be worth the effort for bruce to care enough about, despite the internal conflict he felt ruining an innocent kid's life.

and he didn't even need to prove anything, because you were never worth anything. the longer jason went on without bruce's acknowledgement, the more everything felt wrong, the more he felt like whatever he's doing is torture, not retribution.

he's terrible for what he'd done, and slowly resigned to watching over you instead to ensure you'll slowly calm down after months of his monstrous presence looming over you.

but the damage was already done, and you're left to even smaller, shattered pieces.

and here he is now, watching as you bleed out in his arms, crying and babbling at the pain, yet begging under your breath to "please, please don't call batman, don't call bruce... please leave, please, please, please don't do anything stupid, jay..."

whilst pushing him away, as if scared of him, as if you'd rather death than... than to see bruce dismiss another relayed message regarding you.

even if you're dying, you refuse to undergo the same pain of neglect. even if you're dying, you don't wish to ruin their movie night plans just because you were stupid enough to drink yourself to near death to distract yourself from dick's messages.

all because you've taught yourself that you're never worth the wait, and jason takes blame in partaking the destruction of your optimism.

under the flickering light of the lamppost, your swollen eyes and snot-ridden nose don't pose the same satisfaction he felt when he first ripped your plushie apart, not anymore. all he felt was dread now, that you're bleeding, his angel is bleeding and everything happening is very much real.

he feels a hidden awe, too, at just how ethereal and warm your body feels, despite the light leaving your eyes, the fight slowly being replace by another one of your panic attacks. he holds you still, and stabilizes your body with his strong arms to prevent anymore bleeding, despite the wobbly legs and your losing consciousness.

jason couldn't afford to let you die in his arms, he couldn't fathom just how much he misses your presence.

and now he realizes just how much he hates it when you fear him throughout the entire procedure of calming you down. how you shiver in his gaze, how he feels the pricks of your goosebumps against the thick fabric of his gloves.

you never once feared him when you first met him, it was through your lack of it that he bonded with you, keeping the torment he put you through a secret. even though he makes short and sometimes brash comments with his unfiltered mouth, you'll always find joy in his words because he was the only decent guy around the manor, despite his presence being scarce and sometimes nonexistent.

you cherished him, and god, he never knew how much he cherished you too.

but now you're sobbing and mumbling incoherently about how you wish it was never him who saved you, that it could've been someone else, or you prefer to be left rotting in the damn corner, dead and discarded, if it means it wouldn't be him saving you, for damn reasons he doesn't even know.

why do you hate him so much now...? why does his precious angel look at him in a tearful daze, all desparate to push him away despite the soreness of your body, despite the blood dripping from your lower stomach all the way down to the floor in a swirl of nauseating crimson mess?

why does he see himself in you?

why does he see the same broken child who chooses to care for others than themself?

as much as jason hated to admit it, as much as he said he never wanted to die for the sole reason that he cherished the moments with his father at most—

jason wished he could've turned time back right now, at this instant. he wished he could've been stronger, could've been far more resistant of that damn explosion, that he never was stupid enough to fall for one of joker's traps—

if it meant he wouldn't be suffering from the gripping ache on his chest, from the dreaded claws you call paranoia at the sight of your ice-blue lips and dimming eyes from all the blood loss, your arms still trying to push him to a considerable distance despite him wishing to hold you oh-so tightly, as his fingers, shivering from a familiar panic he felt, try to wipe away at the river of tears collecting at the edges of your dirt-stained chin and wobbly lips, his helmet pressed atop your forehead as if to reassure you, mostly himself that you'll all be alright—

that you wouldn't go through the same route as him, scarred and traumatized after this moment under the moonlit night that watches jason wrap his gloved palms on the back of your neck despite the remaining fight and adrenaline in your body, the other bulky mass of muscles under your feet.

the polluted air bares witness to his hasty breaths, the protective hold that refuses to let go, body automated to run to his motorcycle, stepping carelessly on the bloody carnage of the alleyway's floor (they deserve torture after what they put you through, hell, he'll make sure their burial will be damning to both the police that failed to search you even though they were in close proximity to where you screamed, and the other related lackeys involved in this wretched smuggling crime), to bring you to doctor leslie for an immediate surgery.

jason hopes that instead of hate, you'll still feel a semblance of any remaining love for him instead of aching nostalgia after all this time.

he hopes you could forgive him as it is only now that he realizes how vulnerable you truly are, that despite jokingly calling you his guardian angel, he should've been the guardian, the knight, the man who protects you from all evil as what he calls his morals to be.

why were you even out in the first place? just why were you absolutely wasted? why, why, why does the image of your resigned, and tired eyes the only thing flashing and looping in his mind, filtering out the speeding motorcycle cutting through wind and traffic lanes, ignoring red lights and the loud beeps of the other vehicles before him, the pump of engines similar to the wild beating of his heart, as he speeds through shortcuts after shortcuts to take you to immediate treatment before it was too late.

he takes short breaths, too aware of his surrounding, too deep in thought, he couldn't waste any moments thinking about anything but his angel.

he wishes he could've changed so many things. but you couldn't change the past anymore, you couldn't change the grueling form of torture you call silence for a child who wanted the same type of love bruce had for when jason was alive, who had to deal with the aftermath of jason's death.

and now, as the ripe age of eighteen, still too young, and still bleeding, at the mercy of death.

it never occured to him just how interconnected your lives were together. just how much it was through his passing that affected your life.

he was the first brother who saw you without the need for your cries of attention every lonesome passing of time in the ghostly manor.

and you were the first who stared at him through tear-stained cheeks and diluted irises. not out of fear, not out of haste to warn other members of his growing family of jason's (a stranger in your eyes, no less, with armoured chest plates and a crimson helmet glinting mercilessly in the dark, lightless room only illuminated by the wretched moon, with guns loaded with bullets in his holster) sudden trespass within the kitchen windows, not out of every negative emotions he expects of you; but out of sheer shell shock that someone had finally caught you through your nightly sneaking.

out of genuine whiplash of someone finally looking at you eye-to-eye, head faced to one another, your cold fingertips pressing against the swell of your eyebags from restless nightmares and anxious paranoia triggered from academics, as if to tell yourself that this was all mere hallucination.

you matter so much to him, even if he tries to overcorrect his sins, trying his damn best to notice your presence whenever he visits the manor, even if his brash words sting your heart sometimes, even if he couldn't properly show you affection he should've given you—

it's not enough.

it was never enough, that even his gentle words spoken to you whilst he speeds through his motorcycle felt entire foreign. that despite unconscious and limp on his body, you're still flinching and the tears couldn't have enough time to dry. jason could've done so much more for his precious little sibling, he could've been the best older brother in the world like he promised himself to be back when he was an oblivious little child, just like how he sees you right now.

everything he did was not enough, but the doubts that circulate his mind didn't fester in his mind much anymore; because he turned it into motivation, he looks at you through the mirror of his motorcycle, vulnerable, aching with the need for affection (that he could provide, he could give to you infinitely...!) and transforms the regret into motivation.

to be better, to be the one you look up to, not with thoughts of how or when you'll be able to spend time with him, but with confidence and preference for his time. that he'll be the first you choose to look for.

jason promises you his undying loyalty, to protect you from the danger of this world, to savor the light and the warmth that emanates off of your presence. despite the heartache you felt because of him, because of all your tormentors— you were still kind, like an angel who had fallen from grace, but chose to grace the world instead with their remaining salvation.

if you manage to survive throughout it all, through the surgery and the anaesthesia-filled stitchings, with jason's scarred hands wrapped around your fists, daintier compared to the muscles in his. if by the end of this night, jason would have you alive (he will, he'll refuse anything else, even if it takes you being resurrected in the lazarus pit, then so be it) in his arms and resting peacefully in his apartment and not under bruce's roof, out of respect from your sheer insistence that you'd rather anywhere but the manor.

jason swears on his life that he'll make it up to you.

he'll be better for you, for his angel, to atone himself for all the sins he committed upon you.

and even if it means ripping the world upside down at its seems, even if it takes decades for you to feel comfortable within the confines of his arms, unlike the dread that claws at your body earlier, pushing him away, pushing your older brother away— he's willing to undergo even the same torture from joker if it means making up to you.

as long as he has you in his sights.

all this, just to see the fear in your eyes replaced by genuine happiness at the sight of your big brother, ready to do anything for you the moment requests spill out from your benevolent lips and gleaming eyes.

you truly are his saving grace, his angel in disguise.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 14,200+ words. no beta, we just cry. "i am good, but not an angel. i do sin, but i am not the devil. i am just a small child in a big world trying to find someone to love." it's a quote that inspired this half of the chapter partly. apologies to anyone if jason seems a bit religious here??? he's not, but i'm trying to establish connections on why he even calls you that nickname in the first place (and totally not me relating it to the flashpoint comic where he becomes a priest 😭). again, bit of a boring chapter, but no hate please haha, instead leave comments if you enjoyed reading it!!! more interactions = more content.

there are many lyrics and song references scattered about the paragraphs, can you guys spot it all for me 🫦? i'm a musically inclined guy, and there's also lots of not implicitly stated songs too, i lost count honestly. tysm for all your patience, because writing through my hectic schedule is honestly a struggle.

as stated, there are a lot of jason todd and mc parallels, i love hearing you guys' thoughts about me expanding upon this. they're very different but also share so many similarities, and i like to explore deeper on every character just to make the yandere element more obvious and distinct.

and like my previous announcement too, please please please do not copy off the scenes i wrote. although my writing is mid, it doesn't mean it should be stolen word by word or the entire scenarios or scenes i've written should be taken in and written into your own fanfics too. my potrayals of each and every characters are a bit more unique takes too (i like to make myself believe), so as much as possible, please credit me. i appreciate you all 🩷

yet again, leave comments, interactions, what you think of this chapter (but not too critical comments, or pure hate please). idk what to feel about my writing, i hate it a lot sometimes but oh well! merry christmas, this is my early gift for all of you guys and for the second part, i'll try to post as soon as possible (i need to generate more spotlight to ensure they get equal attention ofc).

taglist: @neerathebrightstar, @ghostdoodlen, @prince-nikko, @daisy-spot, @strawberryglass, @h0neybun-was-here, @confused-they, @weirdcore-fantasy, @mystyque234, @marssthings, @notwhoy0uthink, @aliengutzstuff, @lilyalone, @luffyadolover, @punpunsonny, @lazyemmy, @questionthegrapevine, @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu, @winter-world, @zavavas-dungeon, @budijojo, @altruisticbeauty, @dopepursebasketballplaid, @the-holy-pigeon, @red-phantom-0, @em-draws14, @thypplover, @cens0r3d-blog, @yl90, @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo, @flyingpansaurus, @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog, @rogueofbullshit, @earlqurl, @dotomuses, @sheep-from-rad, @tsuniio, @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o, @radiantharu, @iwasveronica, @kdjhubby, @ashstwin, @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2, @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink

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caamboys · 1 month ago

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FUTURE SPOUSE PAC

the dynamic between you both

long time no see guys <333

love reading for 2025 ! 🦪 I pray the reading resonates for anyone who engages.

( unedited )

this is focused solely on your personalities / energy within your relationship, not outside or in general.

PILE ONE

core energy within the dynamic : first love, situationship turned relationship, love coming when you least expect it

Reader within the relationship dynamic

channeled song- “ pretty girls walk this “

“ foreign, private, designer, stylist “

“ I’ll throw a tantrum, now a b*tch’ll get childish “

You’re turning over a new leaf within this relationship, embracing change. You could’ve been single for a while or this is your first relationship, either way you’re inexperienced. You’ll be exploring this relationship and all the aspects of it, embracing the new physical and emotional connection. You move quickly within this dynamic, a very spontaneous energy. You might have a key to their house and pop up randomly on them. You might want to move in quickly.

I see despite you being inexperienced you’re navigating dating them freely and bravely. They make you feel confident enough to date them without being plagued by feelings of paranoia or caution. You’re going into everything headfirst within this dynamic.

Future spouse within the relationship dyanamic

channeled song - “ poison “

“ I’m not above love to cash in “

“ Anyway you want me baby, that’s the way you got me baby, I’ll be yours “

This will sound cliche but they’ll be the ideal romantic partner. This is a lover boy / lover girl, a simp if you will. I think prior to your guys' connection they struggled with cold and detached partners, people who never could truly handle their emotional depth and yearning. This will dampen their spirit towards love in general until they meet you. The nonchalant facade will fade, and you renew their passion for love. Your genuineness towards dating and even the naivety you have towards love is shocking to them. You’re a breath of fresh air because you have nothing but good intentions, no ulterior motives in dating. Their ability to give to you is like a bottomless pit. They feel useless if you don’t ask them for anything. Want your hair or nails done? They got it. Want to go somewhere? They’ll take you. Don’t have something you need? They’ll handle it. This is definitely Mr/Mrs. Make it Happen. Gift giving is their ultimate love language to you. It’s funny because they’ll surprise you with something you didn’t even know you wanted. This person will be in a constant internal battle on whether or not they’re doing too much. Some of them want to show you the true depths of their love and just how deeply they can love you but another part of them doesn’t want to scare you off with their intensity. Their solution to this internal struggle would be “ gift giving “, a token of their affection for you that isn’t necessarily showing it in verbal / emotional way and making them feel vulnerable.

Another thing I channeled is the way they gaze at you. Even their stare has another level of intensity and yearning.

PILE TWO

core energies: expansion, extending the lineage, exploration

Reader within the relationship dynamic

( tw : mention of childhood trauma & abuse )

( promise it’s not a sad read just a small section addressed it )

channeled song- “ I wanna be your girlfriend “

“ I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips “

“ I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath”

Pile two you’re never paying for anything in this relationship. It’s giving, show up and look cute and you’ve fulfilled your payment. You don’t pay attention to anything when you’re with this person in public, you’re in your own little world, content and protected. I see you in a very youthful and reckless energy within the dynamic. You may be in college/school right now and living with either roommates or parents during the initial stages of this relationship. This relationship will address and heal a lot of childhood trauma. The main thing I channeled was parental wounds. Perhaps one or both of your parents may have been emotionally absent or abusive, or something happened with a trusted guardian or teacher that formed some sort of trauma at a young age. The one thing I’m getting from this is you’ve carried a lot of burdens that forced you to think / act a lot older than you were. You may have developed a hyper independence from this. This person is going to help you release control to someone else and allow them the opportunity to help you take care of yourself.

One thing about you in this dynamic I’m fond of is your standards. You know what you want, how you wish to be treated and you won’t hesitate to leave. You have very strong boundaries and this comes from a strong self worth. You will advocate for yourself within this relationship, you will voice any opinions you have regardless if they’re positive or negative. If your needs aren’t being met you have no problem communicating it. You’re not aiming to be a people pleaser within this relationship but instead your most authentic self.

Future spouse within the relationship dynamic

channeled song - “ Alone tonight “

“ I don’t wanna be alone tonight, can you keep me company? “

“ My names known worldwide, still need someone in my life “

They’re older than you or they have more life experience or knowledge than you. They will play many roles within your relationship including your partner, protector and teacher. This is a very intellectually charged person. They’re already established within their long term career or pursuing it. They’re the more disciplined and structured individuals in the relationship. When it comes to making plans, scheduling trips or dates they’ll handle it. Look up airport couple on TikTok and you’ll get a glance into your relationship, you’ll turn off your brain in public and they’ll be the vigilant and focused ones. Another scenario I’m channeling for you is them taking you camping. I can imagine them guiding you to build the tent, teaching you how to start and maintain a fire, etc..

They will be the clean freak within the relationship. If you’re more disheveled or messy they’ll be stern about it lol. They will move quickly within the relationship. To you, they plan spontaneous dates but for them, it was already calculated and thought of days ahead of them communicating it. This person has a strong paternal/maternal instinct and it reflects itself in the relationship. They know exactly how to read you emotionally, soothe you, or show up for you way you need. It also shows in their protectiveness. They want to have your location and know your work schedule. This person's protectiveness to you is also because you represent a legacy to them, a new lineage, the chance to build their own family.

The overall energy of this dynamic that I’m channeling is

“ I can do it myself “

“ I know; but I want to do it for you “

PILE THREE

core energies: best-friends, lots of banter and bickering, US VS THE WORLD

Reader within the future relationship dynamic

( yall, I channeled these songs AFTER I did the reading and wrote everything down. CHANNELING THIS SONG WAS SO FUNNYYY TO ME 🤭🤭 the “playfighting “ I mentioned several times below was definitely confirmed lmaooo in no way am I condoning violence but im giggling )

channeled song - “ bust your kneecaps “

“ honey believe me, I have your heart on a platter”

“ they’ll bust your kneecaps, probably some other stuff too ��

You try to overpower them. You’re constantly challenging them mentally or physically. You enjoy invoking a reaction from them, getting them super hype during debates or red in the face from play fighting. Prior to the relationship you didn’t like this person, they may have come across as egotistical or arrogant and it irritated you. The kind of person everyone likes and you’re just like “ yeeah okay whatever “. Somehow you two enter a partnership but I think you still have the energy of wanting to take them down a peg, not in a toxic way, moreso the way bestfriends bicker and check each other. That aside, you're very grounded within the relationship. You seem very down to earth, perhaps a humanist or an animal lover. You might have a cat lol. Your energy alone within the dynamic is a constant source of growth for you both. You balance out the love and tension well, dishing it out at the perfect moments. You get cuteness aggression with this person a lot, I think it’s the source for a lot of the banter between you both.

Future spouse within the relationship dynamic

channeled song - “ super shy “

“ I wanna go out with you, where you wanna go? “

“ You don’t even know my name do you? “

They are similar to you, but can be even more immature. They are childish and allow themselves to be free and youthful around you. Within the relationship they might be the reckless one, never scared to cause commotion or be a daredevil. They may have a lot of scars or get hurt easily from this lol. They’re super active, whether in sports or working out but they’ll want to include you in it. You might go on hikes or walks or nature trails with this person, be careful though because they’ll be the type to get you lost lol. They get off on the tension / debating within your relationship. Physical touch is their love language with you, and play fighting with them will be like the ultimate foreplay. They have a big family, friend group, or a lot of external energy around them. I say this because people are naturally drawn and charmed easily by your significant other. I think prior to the relationship you’ll be the one to see past all sweet and nice exterior and into their underlying mischievous side. They may seem like an angel in front of others but you can sense the deception within it, and in turn you don’t treat them like everyone else. This will catch their interest first about you, your seemingly detachment or dislike of them. They will pursue you and seek you out first because of your obvious dislike or disinterest in them and then realize how well you connect mentally.

Communication will flow naturally and honestly I'm getting a sort of telepathic bond between you both. Not literally, moreso you can read each other’s expressions and know what the other is thinking. They can look into your eyes and have an entire conversation with you. They’ll definitely encourage this “telepathic bond”, wanting you both to be in a bubble apart from everyone else.

They’ll honestly recognize you as themselves in another body, you two may think so similarly that you both see each other as extensions of the other if that makes sense. An example I’m channeling is

“ you’re the boy version of me”

“ no, you’re the girl version of me”

PILE FOUR

core energy: breaking barriers and social norms, establishing wealth, breaking generational curses

Reader within the relationship dynamic

channeled song- “ take me to church “

“ knows everybody’s disapproval, I should’ve worshipped her sooner “

“ my lovers got humor, she’s the giggle of the funeral”

You’re in a very successful energy within this relationship. Career wise you are independent and very productive, I channeled booked and busy to be exact. You have very ambitious energy within the relationship towards finances and establishing wealth, part of this is through a stable and healthy partnership. In the past you’ve lowered yourself to meet others levels, within this relationship you stand securely within your power. You wish to combine finances and wealth and build a sustainable legacy for your future generations to come. That aside, you seem to be the more extroverted one in this Dynamic. Even if you’re introverted, people are very fond of you. This will irritate your future spouse because they feel like people are constantly “ orbiting“ around you. You may have a lot of friends or social connections, or just a well known person. You may have a large social media following. People might even think you’re out of your future spouse's league in terms of appearances or finances but you understand that shallow and superficial standards won’t secure a healthy and flourishing life. I’m not getting your future spouse is unattractive, but something about them compared to you is different. They could be nerdier than you, alternative, super spiritual, etc, goth. You may have to defend this person and explain to others you’re not dating this individual for social norms, instead you’re securing a healthy partnership. You will recognize just how well you collaborate and vibe together on an emotional, spiritual and intellectual level. You’re not dating them for them to be your trophy wife/husband, but moreso a soulmate connection that exceeds society's standards. This may also be a same sex connection you’re in.

Future spouse within the relationship dynamic

channeled song - “ money trees “

“ love one of you bucket headed h*es? no way “

“ money trees is the perfect place for shade “

They’re very fulfilled within your relationship. They daydream about starting a family with you. They feel like no one knows you better than them, and it’s something that makes them feel special especially compared to other people around you. In the beginning stages of your relationship I’m seeing your future spouse in a competitive energy with your friends or maybe even family about who is closer to you. This may cause strife within your dynamic, jealous of the attention you give to others and scared of the attention you receive, sometimes making them question whether or not they’re good enough for you. You will realize this very early on in the relationship, recognizing that they put you on a pedestal. Unlike with other people, it may particularly bother you when your future spouse does, you don’t want them to romanticize you like others. You will share with them all the repulsive sides, flaws and shortcomings you have and you will be reborn again in their eyes. This will only make this person love you that much more. “ seeing what no one else gets to see “ is what I’m channeling from them. Your vulnerability will soothe any feelings of abandonment. They will know how special they are to you after you’ve let them see past your surface level and into the depths of who you truly are. This will make them arrogant within your dynamic about their spot in your life, no longer insecure. A random example I channeled is someone offering you a certain snack / food and your future spouse answering for you and telling them “ no, they’re allergic to so and so”. They’re like a walking encyclopedia of you . They know everyone’s connection with you doesn’t nearly go as deep as theirs. They’re a bit obsessive over you, strong Scorpio energy here. You will have a very watchful and observant partner, even when you think they’re not watching, trust me they are. I think prior to this relationship they knew you and liked you, but you didn’t know this. They give me the energy of someone getting into a relationship with their crush. They have tunnel vision when it comes to you, I don’t think anyone could ever tempt your future spouse.

—

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lokigodofaces · 11 days ago

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May I suggest a third potential?

The formally brainwashed party specifically breaks rules/laws. Even things they don't really want to do. Could be wearing atrocious color combinations. Could be being needlessly rude to someone. Could be speeding. Running red lights. Stealing random crap. Breaking random crap. Getting into fights.

From this you get two options for the motive: are they refusing to follow rules again and trying to prove to themselves and others that they're free? Or are they desperate for order and for someone to control them that they start breaking rules and laws to try to get someone to tell them what to do/arrest them?

I think characters who have been brainwashed should have absolutely bat shit insane trauma responses about it. Because you can do so much with it, y'know? It's so versatile.

On one extreme end of the brainwashing trauma response spectrum, you have someone who has the worst impulse control you've ever seen, like this person is prone to spontaneous behavior like no one has ever been before. They would drive into oncoming traffic just to prove that they're in control of themselves.

On the complete opposite extreme end, you have someone who needs to micromanaged, down to the minute details. It doesn't matter that they're in control of themselves again, they need someone telling them what to do, borderline at all times. They can't function without it. You could think the word jump and this person would already be in the air.

Please is anyone picking up what I'm putting down. There's potential here I think. Like. In general.

#why do these scenarios fit so many of the characters i love lol?#bucky barnes #loki laufeyson #daisy johnson #leopold fitz #clint barton #okay so i think daisy canonically does 3a but i bet she also has lots of 1 #fitz at first is 2 but starts to edge away from that & go into the 3s #i headcanon that if bucky hadnt ran off after tws or was somehow found by steve earlier on he wouldve been very much 2 but when steve would #be controlling he'd go into 3b to try to get steve to control him. but then get to 1 at some point along the line when it becomes clear tha #steve isnt going to control him & he gets the courage to do what he wants. but as for canon he couldnt do 2 bc he was alone. but i imagine #at first he only is worried about survival & not being caught. after that he does 1.#clint i think is a mix of both 3a & 3b but he desperately wants you to think he's 3a only. like just the way he acted at the end of avenger #i felt like he was leaning towards this. i mean dude didnt even question going against orders to fight loki without telling a soul. bc 3a #doesnt mean going against literally everyone. the rebellion can be doing things with certain ppl. also he had certain lines that just fit t #vibe for me. but anyway i imagine that for the next several months at shield he was driving everyone insane. he just kept going against ord #& doing dumb stuff. & he never did anything that endangered anyone else only what endangered his own life. but everyone working w him knew #what happened so they knew this wasnt just a dumb guy but rather so trauma response & they dont really know how to help bc clint is insiste #on going out into the field. thing is sometimes it's 3a he just doesn't want to follow others. but other times it's 3b he desperately wants #someone to give him more order & structure in life. but it's only when someone he trusts gives him orders/or even suggestions. ie natasha #but he doesnt dare tell anyone that. it takes months for him to tell the shield provided therapist that. but when he's at home he tries to #hide it from the kids (luckily they're so young they prob dont notice) but he's 2 with laura. it's a very different relationship bc she's #his wife. he doesnt mind doing things for her bc they're married. & he isnt going to lash out the same way he does at shield he doesnt want #to do any of that in laura's presence. but shield isnt giving him the order he wants & it's so easy for him to do things for laura. yes he'#do the dishes & change the baby's diaper & whatever else she asks. & of course he'll ask her if there's anything he can do. he's being a #good husband is all. clint doesnt even realize what is happening. neither does laura for a long time. but soon when he's home he only does #things for laura. he doesnt even turn on the tv without asking first what laura thinks would be fun to watch. a few months later laura #realizes clint isnt being as proactive as normal. normally he doesnt ask if he can do anything to help. he just starts doing whatever he se #needs done. & he isnt spending hardly any time training anymore at home. & he hasnt even watched tv or read a book on his own. well #shield got her into therapy too bc they figured that while she didnt experience anything about loki directly it would be very hard for her

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pedgito · 4 months ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader — Series Masterlist (part ii)

summary | The temptation with Joel is unavoidable, one consequential choice leading to several, but with time, you find that healing is easier with someone just as broken as you.

author's note | I DID NOT FORGET THEM I SWEAR. i know the first part was posted in july and i abandoned my baby i'm horrible. BUT, the writing bug is back in full force and this chapter was already halfway done so PLEASE ENJOY. i missed these two dearly.

content warning | 18+ smut, DDDNE - this is very loosely stepcest, so if that's not your thing, ignore. that's the only warning i'm giving on that, additional warnings: no outbreak, step-uncle!joel, age gap (20/late 40s), religious trauma, parental trauma, no one's making good choices here, lowkey religion kink?? if you get it, you get. fingering, unprotected piv sex, semi-public sex, mentions of deconstruction, alcohol tw, this is packed with so much stuff i'm sorry

word count —11k

PART ONE, PART THREE (tbd)

The tweed sweater is more grating than the sound of your mother’s voice as you approach the doorstep of the Miller’s home. It’s fucking itchy, scratching at your neck in desperation to strip yourself of your more modest church clothes the moment you crosses the threshold. Your mother seems to notice your fidgeting, swatting at your hand with a look of unmistaken warning.

Cut it out.

Your hand drops to your side, fingers curling into your palm as they dig into the skin. The pain squeezes at your vocal cords, keeping you quiet. Tommy always looks slightly ridiculous when you step out for church on Sundays—starched jeans and perfectly ironed plaid button up to match, paired with an egregious belt buckle and cowboy boots.

The thing was though, he fit in perfectly. And you couldn’t hate Tommy, it was nearly impossible.

Once inside, you’re already beelining for the attic with your shoes slipped off by the door and ready to strip down the layers of clothes to quell the sticky heat that was lingering on your skin. But, there’s a creak to your left and a voice you hadn’t heard since the night before, under…more nefarious pretenses. But, he didn’t know that. You shouldn’t either.

Your eyes can’t meet his own as he rounds the corner, damp hair dripping droplets of water onto his clothed shoulders. He doesn’t speak to you, but he does look you over. There’s a smugness in his expression, amusement at your outfit like he knows. A perfect, modest length appropriate dress with that ugly fucking sweater your mom insisted on you wearing. You hate it, it was smeared all over your face, lips pulled into a tight line as your mother began barraging both of the brothers at once.

“She’ll come with,” You attention focuses back on the conversation halfway through, sneaking a small peak at Joel’s tired features, scratching at his beard with his other hand settled against his hips, so desperately wanting to escape the conversation, “I don’t need her being a nuisance while Joel’s trying to sleep.”

“She lives here,” Tommy points out, “I’m sure she can keep quiet. Do you wanna tag along?”

“No,” you respond with evident distaste, but there was also the creeping worry of being alone with Joel again, unsure how to approach your unfavorable behavior with him, “I’d really rather not, if that’s okay.”

Tommy offers a shrug to your mother, reminiscent of a told you so, before he’s cracking a joke at Joel’s expense, who still hadn’t spoken a word.

“Keep this loner some company anyways, he needs it,” Tommy jests.

“Well, we’ll be out until the evening,” your mother adds, almost like it was a bad thing which wasn’t nearly the case, in fact—it was a heavy weight off your chest, “so call if you need anything and sweetheart, mind your manners.”

“She’ll be alright,” Joel interjects suddenly, “ain’t never caused any problems with me.”

Your mother nods despite her inclination to make a comment or prove a point and after a tense goodbye and a hug that was far too tight, she’s dragging Tommy out the front door again and it shuts with a deafening click as Joel still remained in his previous position, eying the floor for a time before his eye meet your own as yank at the buttons of your sweater and shrug it off your shoulders.

The events over the past few weeks were clawing at your gut, that nervous and fluttering feeling driving you to silence—girl, always testin’ me—it was a constant echo in your head. That, flurried with his grunts and the sight of his hand gripping his cock. And your teasing words were no better, inviting him in and welcoming the temptation.

You had to cut the cord—this wasn’t you. It was wrong, sinful, the shame sitting on your tongue and bitter to swallow. It didn’t matter that it didn’t feel wrong, factually, it was. You would be shamed, frowned upon, rejected by your own mother if she even caught a whiff of your advances toward Joel. But, he’d lied for you when he didn’t have to and that was more confusing than it needed to be.

Joel clears his throat, “I’m gonna head to bed, worked a fifteen hour shift and I’m barely standin’ right now,” Your gaze flicks up as you kneel on the couch, settling into the cushion but leaning yourself slightly over the arm, “you gonna be alright?”

You nod silently and watch as he returns the motion and turns on his heels, the floorboards creaking under the weight and there was no chance like now—say it, just apologize.

“Joel,” you say louder than needed, but it does the trick, “I—you lied for me to my mother, you didn’t have to and I’m…sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I know that doesn’t change anything, but I—”

There’s a flickering of guilt across his own face that you’re familiar with, knowing he’s dreamt of you in the exact ways you’ve suggested and while he doesn’t audibly admit it, his thoughts almost project, eyes racking over your chest for a beat to long as they press together under your thin top and peek through the deep cut in your shirt.

“No harm done,” He lies, his eyes noticeable flicking back up toward your gaze and you don’t react, neither does he, “no sense in pissing her off more than she already is with you all the time, right?”

“Right,” you mumble dejectedly, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you settle into the cushion more permanently, “just…thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies assuredly, knowing he’d done you a favor with the expectation that it might absolve him of some of his own guilt about the entire situation—but just as Joel was being disingenuous, he suspected you were too.

Save your own ass and all that.

It didn’t matter and Joel knew it was better to move beyond it entirely.

Except his dreams are invaded with the sight of your tits, pert and perfect as he squeezed them under his grip and he swears he can feel the warmth of your skin, your smell, but the deep slumber quickly pulls him under.

There’s only so much to occupy your day, having made a few snacks for yourself and wandered aimlessly around Joel’s home, even managed a short nap amongst his soft snoring from his cracked bedroom door, occasionally looking around the corner or over your shoulder to find him sleeping deeply. By high noon, you’re restless. It was hot. Wicked summer heat. You decided to change into your swimsuit and head outside, grabbing a towel and a bottle of newly purchased sunscreen.

There’s a few reclining lawn chairs on Joel’s back deck luckily, snagging one as you drag it toward the lawn and into the sun, squinting at the blistering UV as you bring your sunglasses down your face and allow them to make home on the bridge of your nose. The neighbors have their sprinklers going, giving their gardens a much needed drink during the non-stop dry spell that Austin seemed to be under, the spray hits your skin gingerly as you settle into a good spot and take a seat, spreading the sunscreen out sparingly over your arms and legs, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t be able to reach your back appropriately, but that didn’t matter.

You untied the back of your top, both at your spine and neck and reclined the chair out completely before resting on your stomach, eyes closed to the quiet hum of afternoon summer and kids playing a few houses down, the soft buzz of dragonflies and bees amongst the foliage.

It was the simple luxuries you enjoyed that weren’t possible with your mother hovering around you, but that was why you had so much appreciation for Tommy, keeping her busy beyond her means and knowing that she was happier when occupied with other things—like him, or the possibilities and expectations that would come with their new life when they did find a place together.

You knew you weren’t going with them, but that was another mountain to climb trying to explain to your mother, knowing it wouldn’t bode well and would end in an all out brawl if you dropped it on her now—in due time, you think.

Your tendency to fastrack through missed opportunities and experiences were your own downfall, but the newfound freedom was exhilarating, breathing in deep as you closed your eyes and relaxed, several minutes passing before you heard a creak at the backdoor.

But even then, you don’t move.

You know it’s Joel when the grill lid whines in protest, utensils clinging behind you.

He doesn’t say a word and forces himself to keep his eyes on the dirtied grill as he scrubs it down ignoring your occasional fidgeting and the soft creaks of the reclined chair, his eyes catching the soft skin of your back, the curve of your breasts as press out at your side, squeezed against the towel you were laying on and the strings dangling toward the grass that Joel had neglected for the past couple weeks and he’s only realizing his wandering eyes when his hand slips through the slit in the grill and drops the sponge into the ash, cursing loudly to himself.

“Was I being too loud?”

Joel tosses the sponge to the side and opens the tray to dump out the remaining remnants of ash from their last cookout, walking toward the dumpster near the gate leading to the front yard, no further than a few yards from you as he mumbles a quiet, “No. Wasn’t you.”

Weird. Your brow furrows for a moment before you reaching for the bottle of sunscreen, taking advantage of the extra pair of hands as you offer the bottle to his empty ones, the plastic cap hitting his stomach as you press it against him, hands pressed tight over your swim top to keep your breasts covered, despite how much the material failed to hide.

“Just my back,” you explain, “I can’t reach it. Well—I can, but I’m definitely missing some spots.”

Joel’s fingers curl around the bottle but he doesn’t pull and your fingers haven’t left either, grazing against the denim at his waist and you sigh in subtle frustration.

“Joel, it isn’t a trick,” you promise, “besides, with your hands it’ll take like, two seconds.”

He makes a face at that, halfway between amused and mortified. You shove the bottle deeper against his stomach, insistent as you raise your eyebrows.

“Oh, come on,” You beg, “It’s sunscreen, get over it.”

There it was. The snark you couldn’t hide, like second nature with him. He snatches the bottle with his tongue slipping under his top lip as he snaked it over his teeth and popped the cap with his thumb, flashing a content smile in his direction as you settle back on your stomach, pushing down at the strings of your bottoms slightly to offer the full expanse of your back.

Joel, poor Joel, swallows around the lump in his throat and tries indefinitely to ignore the everlasting bulge that grew in your presence, a side effect of inappropriate thoughts and your sharp tongue. He’s pathetic and he knows it.

He kneels down between your split legs, one knee on the cheap plastic and his other foot planted firmly in the grass as he hovers. It was as close as he could allow himself, a few inches forward and he would have his thigh pressed against your center, the swell of your pussy grinding against his jeans and he wouldn’t be able to resist, pulling at the loose ties and diving into the sweet divine.

You clear your throat, turning your cheek to rest against the back of your palm as you wait with the cold tip of your cross necklace snug between your lips, a self-satisfied smile growing on your face as the warmth of his hand contrasts the cool sunscreen, a broad stripe up your back from tailbone to neck as his fingers fold over your shoulder and drag against the chain before he’s tossing the bottle into the grass to make use of his other hand, spreading the sunscreen out evenly on the full expanse of your back.

A pseudo massage masked in the way his thumbs rub along the center of your skin, fingers rubbing in the sunscreen along your side, just along the curve of your hips before they’re back up at your shoulders and the muscle is being squeezed gently under his grip.

“You’re tense, kid,” Joel notes, pulling away to wipe his cream covered hands on the towel, catching your gaze.

“With a mother like mine, wouldn’t you be?”

Joel pauses briefly, a silent acknowledgment as he stands, vehemently ignoring the way your legs slip together and your ass pushes up into the air slightly as you reposition yourself.

He grimaces at how sticky his hands feel still, reaching for the spout on the siding and gripping the hose in his hand as the water pours out, hot for a moment as it slips out before it rushes out ice cool, wetting his hands generously.

“Can’t stand getting a little messy, can you?” You tease when you hear the water run behind you, lifting up on your forearm to peer at the older man, his face still frozen in a tight grimace but his eyes briefly turning up toward you.

What a little shit.

His thumb slides over the opening on the hose and transforms the flow into a forceful spray as he lifts stream and at the chair you were lounging in, forcing you up in a matter of seconds while Joel rendered you drenched, top forgotten as you slip your arm over your breasts in attempt to retain some decency.

The cause of action only dawns on Joel in the aftermath, watching you sopping wet as you stomp toward him and attempt to yank the hose from his grip, the option for turning the spout off forgotten—it couldn’t be that simple.

Joel quickly extends the main end of the hose from your grip with a tug of a smirk and you huff, hard through your nose as you twist and press your back against his chest as you wrestle for his arm, in a wrestle for the hose his arm finds home against your chest and you gradually fall to your knees, tackled by Joel in a manner that is surprisingly gentle despite your frustration.

But, somehow you end up chest to chest and none of the effort is worth it, even as you turn the house on him and the water soaks his clothes and your chest, hose slapping into the grass as you toss it aside, breath catching as your heart raced from the exertion.

Joel makes the mistake of shifting to move, his knees hiking behind the curve of your ass and pushing his clothed cock against your core, only separated by a couple layers of clothes, his denim against your think bikini tied lazily at your waist and his eyes drag down by pure coincidence as he tries to find his grip against the grassy surface.

There it was—his eyes on your chest, your eyes on him, and his cock hard against your cunt in an unignorable way.

Joel quickly scrambles to his feet with a frustrated clear of his throat, ignoring you like a quick spreading plaque as he left his tasks behind to disappear as quickly as he had resurfaced and you reach blindly for your top, draping it over your chest hastily as you tried and failed to piece together what the hell had just transpired.

It was like a shot of adrenaline in your bloodstream as you sat up, the world spinning in a way that made you woozy—you turned toward the back door, slightly ajar from the force Joel used to shut it, slamming against the frame before it popped back open.

He could deny you all he wanted, but his body couldn’t lie—wondering if he was running off to finish himself like he had the night before, almost daring to chase after him.

But instead, you hide.

Decisive and calculated, you’d wait him out.

Like meek prey, he’d seek you out if the hunger struck.

—

After a swift shower you barricade yourself upstairs, the murmuring voices below lulling you to sleep as you skip dinner—you couldn’t speak to Joel, wouldn’t.

He lies for you, despite knowing that your avoidance of dinner was entirely his own fault.

Sort of.

It was a double-edged sword, both parties responsible.

But, Joel feels the guilt faster, easier, and he drowns it away in a six pack of beers Tommy brings home as he and his brother, and his soon-to-be sister in law enjoyed a quiet dinner, the occasional complaint slipping from your mother’s lips as she ate.

“She wasn’t feeling too good,” Joel fibs, wiping at his mouth with a napkin, crumbling the flimsy material in his fist, “I can bring her a plate up later, after I clean up—”

“Oh, please,” She holds her hand up to interrupt, politely refusing, “we’ll clean up, won’t we?”

Tommy squints, eyeing the table full of dirtied dishes but nods regardless.

Always the yes man. Joel smirks, a flippant chuckle under his breath.

Joel tips back the final bottle of beer and swallows it down, having learned to manage his alcohol well after years of casual drinking that had slowly morphed into a crutch. He gets the buzz, the warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest but otherwise it was undetectable, aside from the hasty decision making to find a reason to bother you after the wrestling match that afternoon.

He quietly piled the food onto a plate, working around the kitchen and squeezing past the other two bodies before he’s yanking at the cord to the attic stairs, your body lunging up at the sound, nearly jumping out of your own skin as the light peeks through and the hard, heavy footsteps follow.

Joel hears the both of them, Tommy and your mother, as they finish up in the kitchen and trail off into their own respective room in the house, pulling at the handle with his unoccupied hand to seal out the creeping light from downstairs. He slides the plate of food on the dresser shoved against the nearest wall before his head is turning toward you, watching as you rubbed at your eyes, faking the grogginess from a deep sleep you never managed to fall into, running both hands through the front of your hair before they’re flattening out against your duvet, wondering which one of you should speak first.

Both hands shoved into his front pockets, he turns to you fully. He’s changed from earlier, denim traded for a soft cloth; sweats, paired with his usual dark washed shirt.

Relaxed. He looks…relaxed. His eyes are undeniably softer, too. His lips rubbing together tight before his tongue slips out to wet them and he’s still standing, waiting—for what, you’re not sure.

“I’ll eat it later,” you appease his lingering presence, taken aback as the words seem to bring him back to life, socked feet soft against the wood floors but the intent is heavy and intimidating, “I will, I promise—“

You weren’t lying, you would.

But, then the bed creaks as he takes a seat and your legs widen to make room for him, the blanket slipping down your thighs and revealing bare legs under a long t-shirt, having changed out of your damp clothes too.

Closer, you can see the flush in his chest. Cheeks warm and hot, you’re sure if you touched him it would be confirmed. Drunk? It didn’t seem likely, but he had definitely been drinking, a deep but quiet sigh coming from his chest before he spoke.

“Don’t apologize,” you began before he could get the words out, “god—don’t, just…”

“I was gonna ask if you’re feelin’ alright,” Joel begins, turning toward you hesitantly, a fist curled and stamped into the mattress, watching the muscle of his bicep and forearm flex with the action, core clenching at the sight of it.

You nod lazily, “How was dinner?”

He knows you’re not asking about the food.

“Typical,” He responds lightly, “your mom loves carryin’ the conversation, doesn’t she?”

“She just enjoys the sound of her own voice.”

Joel chuckles quietly, hand unfurling and his fingers grazing against your knee. For a moment, you think it could be an accident, but as you find a surge of confidence and drag your fingers over his own, pulling his hand up to your face curiously, making a show to smell his hand with a light quip thrown his way.

“Got all the sunscreen off finally,” You joke and the stretched out glimpse of you flashes through Joel’s mind, his fingers pulling at tied strings, the nylon falling against thick blades of grass, “did you enjoy your shower?”

Joel quirks his brow, curious.

Right, he didn’t know. A momentary lapse of judgment letting the words slip.

“You know, was it…peaceful? Nice?”

No additional expletives groaned out under the steady stream, fist wrapped around his cock? Selfishly your eyes wandered toward the no longer tented material, having caught quite the eyeful earlier—and felt it just the same.

His hand slowly drops to the bedsheet, thumb grazing the cream material while the rest of his fingers curl over your knee, your own hand placed atop it, an unspoken but welcomed touch.

He was losing his mind, surely.

He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have sat down.

But, Joel lied for you and that was the first mistake.

“I lied for you, again,” He comes clean, emphasis on his final word as his eye flicks up despite his downturned gaze, watching your thumb rub into the spot between his own and pointer finger, “makin’ habit of it, it seems.”

A soft breath mingles between the space, tight and tense, too intimidated to confront him head on now, shaking your head at his words, “You were the one who said my secret was safe, remember?”

His large hand flexes around yours as he presses the back of your hand into the sheets, held prison under his grip, “You know I never meant it like that—“

“Didn’t you?” You counter, turning your eyes up toward him cautiously, daring him to confess.

Our secret, alright?

It was the gateway—one small lie unfolding into many and soon it would be like breathing, second nature.

“Why are you still here?” There’s a softness in your tone that beckons a confession, but Joel’s hard-headed.

So, he retaliates.

“Why haven’t you asked me to leave?” His eyebrows raise, a subtle smile pulling at his lips that was brought up by the inhibitions of alcohol, mostly Joel but there was something lingering.

The words float through your head, climb up your throat, but you can’t force them to leave your mouth, eyes softening under his gaze as a warm, careful hand caresses up your thigh, fingertips grazing your clothed cunt, the wet heat undeniable as it seeps through your underwear.

You can smell the beer on his breath but it doesn’t stop your hand from clawing up his chest and behind his neck, allowing him to pull your leg over his lap, spread wide on your bed as he fit between them, “You’ve been drinking,” it was obvious, but Joel shakes his head, tongue licking at his bottom lip as his left hand squeezes at your calf, “haven’t you?”

“That bother you?” He wonders—he’s mostly unaffected, you can tell. The creeping flush to his face a mix of the alcohol and you, he’s just as in his right mind as you, the inside of his palm reaching further to cup your cunt, rubbing gently with the heel of his palm.

A breathy sigh and a head shake in return as your legs spread wider, hips canting into his touch as your hand falls to your side, exposing your clothed chest to him, breasts peeking through the sheer fabric of your top while your other hand grips Joel’s neck harder, blunt fingernails digging into the skin.

“What are you doing?” You ask carefully, not wanting to startle him.

It doesn’t even seem to phase him, though. His hand moves forward slightly to push your shirt up your stomach before it slipped beyond the fabric of your underwear and against your bare skin, two fingers sliding between your folds to press into your sticky slick.

“Giving you what you want,” Like it was obvious; the constant taunting, ill-mannered behavior, his own resolve finally breaking and the guilt he was feeling disappearing in an instant now that he has you like this, a clandestine sight, “—s’what you wanted, right?”

You nod, a subtle jerk of your head.

At the notion, his hands are in two different directions—one hand is tracing the chain that wore like armor, a dainty necklace your mother had gifted you when you were young that was the only significance you had to show for with her, your undying faith. He slips the necklace around and between your shoulder blades, out of sight. His other hand slips between your thighs until they’re finding home against your cunt. Absent fingers drifting deeper between your shoulder blades, delicate touches tracing along your spine over soft skin until he’s back at the nape of your neck and squeezing, determined fingers rubbing slowly at your sensitive clit, a stuttered and quiet gasp falling from your lips.

He’s not the first man to touch you like this, but he was skilled. No fumbling hands and hesitant touches, there was surety in his movements and his gaze that didn’t shy from yours in embarrassment or lack of care.

Joel Miller was in the mood to watch you fall apart for his own entertainment.

“Shh,” He reminds you, a soft command, “don’t need them gettin’ curious.”

You shake your head in agreement, a plethora of sins being committed in the act of one greedy and selfish desire, “Mo—More,” You plead, feeling his fingers slide down the center of your cunt before they’re breaching your tight hole and pressing inside. Joel grunts as you pull at his short curls, his tongue resting wanting over his bottom teeth, yearning for a taste.

“Take it off,” He demands, “wanna see those pretty tits, darlin’.”

Your skin prickles with anticipation, separating from him briefly to pull your shirt over your head and Joel, in a moment of blind lust, takes the advantage of you on your back to yank your panties down your ankles and balling them up, thrown haphazardly near the top of your bed as he settles on his knees between your outstretched legs—

God, he’s going to hell.

And you want to kiss him, the feeling so strong it sends an ache down your core, releasing a shaky breath as he squeezes at your thighs before his fingers continue, dipping inside of you with ease. Luckily, with this position, he’s got a free hand to rub at your clit, thumb pressed firmly against the nub and drawing soft, mewling sounds from your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the subtle smell of barley and fresh soap. He’s speaking to you in some far off, distant place, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets an inescapable pace. They’re goading words, encouraging and bordering the line of patronizing but you can’t commit them to memory, only coming as another soft command falls from his lips.

Because he sees your fingers itching, needy, “Touch yourself,” He murmurs, his touch somehow more tender as his fingers pump inside of you, thumb working quick circles of your clit as you hands drag feather-light of your breasts, a tickle at the center of your chest before you’re squeezing the flesh under your grip and moaning louder as he changes the angle of his fingers inside of you, deep and undeniably precise. Thick fingers keep you full and satisfied.

He can hear your breath quickening, a silent warning when your brain wasn’t catching up with the rest of your body, words a complete loss. His fingers slip out of you, wet slick smearing over your mouth as he leans forward to muffle the unintentional cry that falls from your lips as he pulls you over the edge with a mere motion of his thumb, your eyes squeezing shut as you come.

The pleasure blooms inside, teeth digging gently into the skin of his palm as you selfishly savor the feeling, Joel only moving away when your eyes fall back on him—back to reality.

“How’s that for a mess?” Joel doesn’t miss a beat, turning your earlier jab back on you as you notice the gleam on his fingers, thin strings of slick hang between his fingers as he separates them and you pull at his wrist, knowing that Joel would follow through the rest of the way, pressing his fingers to your lips as you clean him, tongue dragging along the digits diligently.

You swear you hear Joel groan, but it was muffled by your own squeak as Joel grabbed at your chin, flesh pinched between his fingers, “Eat your damn dinner,” He demands, but you quickly muffle him with the fabric of your underwear, shoving it into his mouth before you move dangerously close to his face, still under the stern grip of his hand.

“No problem,” You appease him, “and a suggestion—”

Pulling the fabric from his mouth, you aren’t amiss as he pockets it, his eyebrows raising in question.

“Double check your doors next time you decide to jerk off to me.”

Because if anything, you wanted him to be more deliberate.

Joel’s flush deepens, shame flashing in his eyes for a brief moment before you break out into a playful smile as you sing softly, “Goodnight, Joel.”

Joel’s never had a harder time falling asleep, night creeping into dawn before the slumber finally takes him, riddled with a guilt that is indescribable.

–

Breakfast is quiet.

Too quiet.

You pick lazily at the fresh blueberry muffins your mother had baked that morning, watching as Tommy conversed with Joel across the living room, both of them nursing steaming cups of coffee. Your mother notices your trailing gaze, mistaking it for you spacing out as she perks up, speaking from beside you as she pours more orange juice into your empty glass.

“I was thinking we could do something in town today,” She begins, “all of us—Joel, too. Tommy mentioned they’ve got a fair going on downtown—food, music, plenty to keep you interested.”

You slip the blueberry beyond your lips and chomp down, “What’s the occasion? Big news? Don’t tell me your pregnant—”

Your name comes out as a stark warning, the plastic bottle of orange juice crunching under her grip, “That is not—no, I’m not. But, Tommy and I…may have put an offer down on a house, if you’re that curious. We were gonna drive by on the way there and show it to you.”

You shake your head nonchalantly, “Joel was actually going to take me to that cowboy museum a couple towns over—I forgot to ask, but you don’t care, right?”

Joel perks up at the mention of his name, his conversation with Tommy stalling.

“I mean, I’ll be with Joel,” You remind her, “I’ll be safe, won’t I?”

Your head turns over your shoulder, catching Joel’s surprised expression and watching as it slowly morphs into understanding, silently following the path you had so carefully constructed as he approaches the counter at your side, pressing his mug into the counter.

“I shoulda mentioned it,” He lies through his teeth, “slipped my mind, but it’s alright with you?”

She swallows. Tense.

Tommy interjects then and chuckles, clapping a hand over his brother’s shoulder.

“History of cowboys?” He asks, “Oh come on, sweetheart. Let ‘em go, they can always meet up with us after.”

She folds for Tommy, of course. Flashing an apprehensive smile that you knew too well, eyes flitting toward the pair of brother’s with a cynical regard, catching Joel’s tight expression for a brief moment. You had lied, big deal.

It wasn’t the worst thing you’ve done as of late, watching the leisurely swagger of Joel’s walk as he steps toward the coffee pot, offering a sturdy goodbye over his shoulder as the lovebirds make their escape, leaving you both under the thick cloud of unspoken tension.

With disregard, he walks past you and sips noisily at his coffee, taking a seat on the couch with the low hum of the morning news as your sock covered feet pat softly against the floor. Your thigh presses against the arm hanging over the couch as you squeeze by, but you’re stopped by Joel’s foot pressing into the coffee table, blocking your path.

“You make plans for somethin’ I’m unaware of?”

You huff out a soft laugh through your nose before you shove at his foot gently, knocking it to the ground before you’re climbing over his lap, mug screeching against the table as Joel scrambles to place it down, his hands falling against your hips instinctively as you settle over him, tight shorts crawling up your thighs and settling in the crease of your hips.

His touch is intimate—and warm, god his hands were always so warm. Your fingers scratch testingly at his patchy facial hair, a delicate touch that extends to his mused morning hair, untouched and still riddled with sleep. Then he’s inhaling hard as your lips press to his without preamble, his mouth opening in a quiet sigh and your tongue find the opportunity and slips beyond his lips, dragging over his teeth as it swipes against his own tongue and for a few minutes he melts into you, returning the kiss back feverishly.

But, like a fragile tower—the moment snaps and collapses in on itself as Joel shoves you away, a large hand pressed against your collarbone as you yelp at the sudden movement, slightly disappointed as you frown.

“Stop,” he breaths out harsh, his hand fisting in your shirt as he peers up you through a half-lidded gaze, “you—we can’t keep doin’ this, kid.”

“No one’s here,” you murmur, pushing at his hand but it doesn’t budge, so you settle for his thighs, cotton material smooth to the touch as you fingers climb until they can settle near his groin, rubbing your clothed cunt against his hardened cock, a noticeable tent in his pants, “if you worried about getting caught.”

“I know you’re doing this to get back at your mother,” Joel begins, but he never gets the chance to finish.

“And if I was doing this for me?” You counter, “Because I want to? What would you say then?”

There’s a long beat of silence, Joel’s hands pressing into your hips again to keep you still, frozen in place and unable to chase the pleasure you were so desperately after.

“Naive,” He offers, “childish—downright stupid, if you think about it. I’m twice your age and if the other reason wasn’t obvious, well—“

“We’re not blood related,” you argue, “it isn’t nearly the same thing and you know it.”

You lean forward, crowding into his space once more, the ghost of his breath across your lips as he eyes follow, his head leaning back as you move in, hesitant.

“Besides, I think you’ve ruined all other men for me,” You goad, a salacious grin spreading across your face, “your fingers—Joel, they’re—“

At a loss for words, you sigh, hips dropping against his groin pointedly, he grunts and you can see the hard line of his jaw as he clenches his teeth.

“I’m not the one, darlin’. You can’t compare me to them—I’m old, I’ve lived. Don’t think you gotta settle for me.”

Joel has sequestered himself to loneliness—after his separation from his wife, the loss of his daughter, he was content being alone. Living alone. Dying alone.

Drowned out by bad decisions and alcohol, he’s found himself regretting his choices once again, but not for the reasons he had hoped.

He didn’t regret you—his actions with you, but how the repercussions would affect you if your mother found out, his brother. There was no coming back, no explanation that could justify his actions.

But you’re sitting, pouting in his lap as your finger twirls around the string of his sleep pants and he knows that look—more, give me more.

Nothing would satiate that hunger.

“I’m not a virgin, you know,” you add as if it may magically heal things, but the next words out of your mouth have Joel squeezing at the flesh of your hips, words that make his cock pulse under his clothes, “I think you enjoy corrupting me, too. My mom put me on birth control the second she was able, afraid I’d turn out like her.”

Luckily, you hadn’t. She’d never let you live that down.

You press in further, a hand climbing up to press against the column of Joel’s throat, lips sliding against his as you whisper, “Do you wanna ruin me, Joel?”

All you get in response is a growl, deep and intense as he surges forward, kissing you soundly to shut you up.

It was a weight off your chest, a sharp breath as he slips his tongue into your mouth as you part your lips as his fingers pull at the base of your scalp, a sharp sting of pain drowned out by pleasure.

“Upstairs,” he ordered, mouth down your neck hungrily, “in your room, now.”

The heated, dark look in his eyes tells you that you weren’t going alone, his footsteps trailing behind you.

He splits you open with his thighs, already bare underneath him as he’s stripped himself of everything but his pants, sans his underwear he definitely wasn’t wearing, an unreadable expression on his face. Pinched, his brow furrowed as he lingered around you, hands pressing into the mattress but not you, careful that his hands didn’t stray too far again.

“Should I say my morning prayers?” You tease, your pointer finger trailing down the center of his chest, both of your eyes following the digit until it hooks into the waistband of his underwear, “Absolve you of some guilt?”

“It ain’t guilt,” Joel retorts, dark eyes flicking up toward you, “you really think all that prayin’ actually works?”

You shrug, “I dunno what I think anymore—what do you believe in, Joel?”

Joel chuckles lowly, ignoring your hand as it slips beyond the material to touch him, his cock heavy in your hands, feeling the surreality of the moment hit you all at once as his hips keen into the touch, a subtle gesture as his fists settle into the space beside your head.

“Ain’t never believe in nothing,” He responds quieter, “easier that way.”

You hum softly, nodding absently to his response as you force the final piece of clothing down his hips, his eyes never really leaving you—wandering, maybe, but you have his full attention.

“Come on, Joel,” You squander, giving his cock a light squeeze before your hand trails up his chest, fingers forming to the lines of his jaw as your fingers glide over his scruff, “Easier?”

“You’re brainwashed,” He admits, pausing to slip his hand between your bodies and drifting over your cunt before he slips two fingers inside of you without warning, a gasp ripping from your throat but quickly settling as his fingers work inside of you meticulously, dragging with gentle pressure against your walls, “can’t think for yourself without feelin’ guilt, can you?”

He’s making a mockery of the beliefs you’ve been under for years—you get it, you do. But, it seems to strike a nerve when you dig deeper, unsure why, amongst your building pleasure the taunting scripture slips from your lips in an attempt to rile him further.

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just—” Your voice wavers as Joel’s attention snaps to your soft words, eyes locked on his unreadable expression, “ and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousn—”

A tight squeeze at the cross around your neck does him in.

A familiar sound slips beyond his lips, a hungry and deep set growl as he breaks from you, manhandling you with force onto your stomach and in an attempt to muffle your antics and silence you, a hand pressed against the back of your neck, face pressed into the soft fluff of your pillow as his voice rumbles behind you.

“Ain’t gonna listen to that shit,” Joel gripes, his free hand binding to your waist as he lifts your hips up, back arched and ass up, breathing out a soft noise of protest as he squeezes at your skin, “—you done?”

You shake your head weakly, a small laugh bubbling from your chest as the full expanse of his hand slides over your cheek, pressing your face deeper into the pillow, his thumb tracing along the corner of your mouth.

“There’s no savin’ yourself from this, sweetheart,” Joel acknowledges, a vague but somehow crystal clear way of checking in, assuring there was consent to follow through—that you wanted this.

“I know,” You mumble around the finger that glides over your lip, a calloused thumb against soft, fleshy lips.

Joel presses inside of you with a low groan, mixed with a tight hiss as you clench around him instinctively, your eyes drifting shut as his cock fits inside your tight walls, both hands drifting to the pillow under your head and gripping tight as he begins a slow, steady snap of his hips in utter silence, forceful exhales coming from his nose as he fucks you from behind, noting the way your lips drift apart when he presses just a little too deep, the skin between your eyes scrunching up at the bridge of your nose.

His thumb presses inside of your mouth, against the inside of your cheek before pressing against your tongue, effectively silencing you, “Go on,” Joel taunts, “keep prayin’.”

Your eyes roll back as the hand gripping your waist travels over your stomach and toward your cunt, his middle finger drifting featherlight over your clit in slow circles, your grip in the weak cloth fabric growing tighter—you make an attempt, unintelligible mumbles around his thick finger, followed by a deep snicker of amusement from the man behind you, inside of you.

“Don’t try and convince me you believe that shit,” Joel tells you, “not when you’re beggin’ me to fuck you like this—’ve never been a saint, either.”

Eventually, your mind goes blank, a welcomed numbness as Joel fucks you into the mattress above a squeak boxspring in a home that didn’t belong to you, in a room that has only been yours for a short time, giving in to a forbidden temptation with a man who’s challenged every belief you’ve ever known.

He notices your attention drifting, removing his hand from your mouth, smearing the saliva over your breasts as he jostles you upright, your back pressed tight against his chest as you move against him lazily, feeling the deep, full snap of his hips as he breathes hot and heavy into your neck.

“Just this time,” He promises you, “no more teasin’, or lying—”

The preaching to you was rich, given his own actions. He must be speaking to himself, committing himself to it aloud. You nod regardless, knowing now that you’ve learned his weakness.

Because, like you, it was the unavoidable temptation.

“Another secret?” You tease, feeling the crest of your orgasm building in your gut as he squeezes at your breast, his soft groans evolving into throaty moans, a boisterous surprise to somehow who’s always so forlorn, an empty house with no reason to hide his deep and selfish need for pleasure, you giggle quietly through the force of your orgasm as you both collapse on the mattress, Joel’s hands barely catching himself to avoid the weight of his body pressing into you as he pulls out of you slowly, the bed creaking underneath the movement.

You feel candescent, shirt barely covering your body as you haphazardly drape it over yourself, watching as Joel pulled his sweatpants back up over his hips, his eyes catching on you in a way you’ve never witnessed, his come literally dripping down your thighs and he senses the shift in your expression, immediate guilt flushing your body and showing in the way your body curls in on itself, avoiding the eye contact he was offering.

He sees it, the way your brain is programmed to feel immediate guilt, shame, and as much as he’d like to think of a way to fix it, he knows that was something you had to work through on your own.

A shower would work for now, though.

Wash away the sin until the inevitable happens.

There is some normalcy that returns to your life as your classes resume, finding that time away from the Miller household was refreshing in a way. Tension with your mother was unavoidable, the wedding on the horizon and the impending truth threatening to come to light—your mother had done an excellent job as sheltering you, brainwashing you, and scaring you into behaving out of fear that you might be stuck down.

It all seemed small and finite now, that craving to break Joel down for your own pleasure, seeing the shell of a man he was now.

And he, of course, couldn’t even follow through with his own promise to himself.

Though, as you return for the short weekends, he doesn’t always seem like…Joel.

He drinks more, itching toward the end of September soon and a couple months back at school and when you aren’t buried in the sheets of your twin bed or locked away in the darkness of his room when you’re both home alone, he reeks of alcohol and silence.

He doesn’t seem angry or upset, but the sadness is like a wave.

It makes it easier to keep your distance, something Joel acts like he wants, but then he’s seeking you out in the dark again, bourbon on his tongue and you return the messy kiss he presses to your lips, trying to silence your own thoughts by occupying yourself with him.

But, he does sense your hesitancy.

“I’ll go,” He speaks into the darkness, a hand cradling your head as he squeezes at the base of your neck, a comforting gesture despite the cloud that shrouded him, “if you want me to.”

You’ve barely seen him all day, both of the brothers overwhelmingly forlorn, but you don’t pry.

“No, no,” You insist, hushed against his mouth as you seek out his eyes, glossed over and hooded, his shoulders twitching when your fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, “you just—you seem tired.”

It was a loaded word, one that Joel doesn’t touch or elaborate on. But, he was tired, physically. Taking on more shifts before the holidays approach, begging to keep himself occupied alongside his brother who was stressing for his own reasons. He’d come to you seeking a weird dichotomy of comfort and it made you feel warm inside, but a tinge of warning couldn’t be ignored.

“Just sleep here,” You suggest, “I’ll wake you early, before they’re up.”

Without protest, he nods.

You can’t explain how easily your bodies mold together on the too small mattress, like this was something you’ve done for years, staring up blankly at the ceiling as Joel snored quietly beside you.

–

“Hey, kiddo,” Tommy boasts from the kitchen counter as descend the stairs, making your pass through the fridge before you’re gone for another week, “school treatin’ you alright?”

“It’s fine,” You shrug noncommittally, ripping a banana from its bunch and reaching for the half empty jug of orange juice, pouring half a cup to sate your stomach, “how’s mom?”

Tommy feels the heaviness around the question, tensing as he sips at his coffee, “Stressed over the wedding, all the planning, ya know—“

“Yeah,” It’s lazy and short, but Tommy knows your relationship with her is less than favorable lately, sensing your desire for freedom and answers, truth rather than careful lies your mother has constructed around you for your safety, “uh, can I ask a question, actually?”

Tommy nods, hearing the faint creaking of the floorboard somewhere distant in the house.

“Is…Joel okay?”

Tommy seems surprised, but he masks it quickly.

“Oh, he…usually gets…worse around the anniversary of Sarah’s death,” Your eyes wander, clearly missing crucial information but your eyes drift toward the closed bedroom door that was vehemently off limits, always wondering but never questioning, “shit—we ain’t mentioned her to you?”

You shake your head.

“She died about five years ago, raisin’ her alone had always been tough on Joel but her dying…it’s been hard.”

“His daughter?”

He had a daughter.

I’m old, I’ve lived, the words echoing in your head.

“He…never mentioned her, you’ve never…”

“He won’t,” Tommy tells you, “can’t even bring her up to him most days—I thought I’d mentioned it to you but it must’ve slipped my mind, I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“No, don’t…don’t apologize.” You assure him, taking a sip of the tart juice and peeling slowly at the peel of your banana, “I guess that explains the bottles on the table when I come home every weekend.”

And the alcohol on his breath when he kisses you.

Tommy notes the way you so easily call the house home now, smiling slightly. But, he’s always been aware of his brother’s…problem, not sure how to help or fix the situation without an implosion happening.

In the distance, you can hear your mother calling out for Tommy, his eyes drifting toward the sound.

“Have a good week,” He pressed a gentle kiss at the crown of your head, squeezing at your shoulder before leaning over to speak under his breath, “—you should talk to your mom before you plan on taking that offer, by the way.”

Your attention perks up, his finger drifting toward the envelope hidden under a stack of placemats on the kitchen table before he’s interrupted by another shout from your mother, “I can handle the fallout for you, kiddo. Don’t worry.”

Tommy retreats and eventually, you do too. Snatching the letter up and stowing it away in your bag, you aren’t able read through it until later that night, Joel’s unsaved number lingering on the phone screen in your missed calls.

It was an internship at your dream job in Dallas, a flat rate pay out with six months of lodging covered while you got on your feet—but more importantly it was an escape.

You should be upset at Tommy for prying, opening the letter before you had a chance to peek at it yourself, but he’s sensed the tension for months. He loved your mother, but he cared for you, even in the tumultuous months he’s been around you both.

You were strong, independent, and far better off blossoming on your own without the hard grip of your mother and her undying but fickle faith.

The second call from Joel startles you back to reality, answering with a shaky finger.

“Didn’t say goodbye this morning,” Joel greets, only sounding slightly bitter.

You’re quiet for longer than Joel is comfortable with and he almost speaks again, apologizes, but you cut him off.

“Sorry…my mom, it seemed like she was already on her reign of terror and I didn’t…she’s hard to be around anymore.”

“I’m just messin’ with you, kid,” He replies, letting out a soft huff as he sat down in his worn-in recliner.

“Are they home?”

“Left about an hour ago, they’re movin’ stuff into the house, I guess? I don’t know,” Joel sounds disinterested and you share the sentiment, but then there’s a distinct snap of a bottle cap that you try to ignore.

Joel hears your lips part on the other end, “It’s been a long day,” It was the first time he’s outright acknowledged it, which was a step, but not what you needed.

“Tommy told me,” You blurt in frustration, “about her.”

“Listen, I don’t need you judgin’ me either. I get it enough from Tommy as is—“

“I’m not…I wasn’t,” You respond, confused, “I just, I wish you’d mentioned her, at least. Not that you owe that to me…but—”

Joel clears his throat and the bottle scuffs the table, undrank as he settles back into his seat.

“I got my own baggage, ain’t no sense dragging you into that,” Joel defends, “not with all you have going on.”

“If you can fuck me, you can talk to me too,”

It silences him effectively, “I’m not a child. I’m not your child. I’m an adult—“

“Where is this comin’ from? I’ve never said that—“

“I don’t know,” You sigh in exasperation, “It’s been a long day, Joel. I’m gonna head to bed, okay?”

You don’t wait for his response, hanging up on him with a frustrated finality, mad at yourself and him, reasons unclear—you haven’t prayed in months, but you find the urge as the guilt creeps in, wondering if Joel was the corruptor your mother had always warned you about.

They’ll come at your weakest and test your faith, and if you break, you’re just as feeble as the rest of the world without faith to guide them.

The week drags and you’d much rather be somewhere else, but you find yourself turning the doorknob to the Miller home and a Happy Birthday balloon floating into the open doorway, a contorted look of confusion on your face as your eyes land on the three adults in the living room.

“Are we celebrating early?” You look at your mother, who’s birthday is approaching in a couple weeks, but she’s quickly shaking her head.

“It’s Joel’s birthday, honey.”

“Oh,” Your eyes glide over the three of them until they land on Joel, “Happy Birthday?”

Joel hates the attention, clearly.

The next few hours are spent together at a fancy restaurant Tommy decides to treat everyone too, a nice gesture for his brother’s birthday, but it doesn’t dissipate the underlying frustration.

And Tommy, being a pushover for the sake of allowing his brother to enjoy his birthday, drinks alongside him—four beers down and a couple shots later, dinner finished and skipping dessert, everyone is heading back to the car in silence, though Joel does look considerably lighter in his expression, his normally furrowed brow now relaxed.

Your mother is quick to drag Tommy to their shared room when you’re home, giving you a gentle hug that you haven’t felt in months, strange and unsettling to your psyche. Joel relaxes onto the couch, kicking his boots off toward the edge of the rug before he’s searching around blindly for the remote, thumbing the button to turn on the television.

It illuminates the dim room and you find yourself standing there, unmoving, suddenly feeling completely out of place in a home you’ve grown comfortable in.

“You’re quiet,” Joel notes, not looking at you while he fumbles with his watch, twisting in on his wrist as he places a sock covered foot against the coffee table.

“And you’re drunk,” You retorted, the again unsaid but implied.

“Believe it ‘r not, I can handle myself. I know my limit,” Joel responds, “I’ve been cuttin’ back, I don’t need you tellin’ me what I can handle. You’re young, you wouldn’t understand anyways.”

“Guess so,” You reply lamely, stripping off your shirt down to the thin spaghetti top, the thick September heat seeping inside the Miller home, even as the sun set—and you can feel Joel’s eyes on you before you look at him, eyes lingering longer than they should.

There were often moments where he would fend off your advances, quiet moments at home alone when you would slip into his lap or behind him and he’d let you down easily, but he wasn’t always that strong—a weak man with temptation dangling in his face. He’s always been in the wrong from the beginning, allowing any of this to develop and further.

But, you’re feeling vindictive tonight—upset and angry at yourself, angry at Joel—no, frustrated.

And with Tommy and your mother turned in for the night, absolutely no sign of them resurfacing until morning, nothing was stopping you as Joel’s eyes bored into you and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

He’s always been cautious and safe, never while the house was occupied, only in quiet and enclosed spaces that he could lock the doors—that in the chance you might get caught he could lie or evade and not face the consequences, but even as you grow closer and climb into his lap, he doesn’t stop you.

Your hands grip his hair immediately, yanking his head back as you press your ass into his thighs and bring your lips to his jaw, mouthing against the line of his neck and around, pulling at the collar of his shirt to nip at his chest, nothing but his shallow breaths and the soft hum of the television to fill the air, the solid press of his hard cock against your inner thigh a warning sign.

You could end it here, leave him with the guilt that continued to grow within him.

You could drag him to his room, ride him over his sheets like he desired, a clandestine sight that would have any man on his knees—or so he’s told you.

Or, you seduce him here.

He was already nearly there, reaching for you as he leaned forward when you pulled back, pressing a hand into his chest, “I’m leaving, after the wedding,” Joel pauses, the furrow in his brow returning faintly, “I got an offer for an internship.”

“Well..that’s good, ain’t it?”

His hands squeeze at your sides as they travel and settle there, ignoring the obvious danger that the two could walk out at any moment, focused solely on you. It shouldn’t make you feel good, but it does. You shouldn’t want this, but you craved it.

“No, like—I’m leaving that night. To Dallas.” A long pause follows and Joel waits, watching as you glance down the hall, “I don’t know how to tell her.”

“Do you want to?” Joel asks.

You sigh softly, playing with the hem of his collar, “No, I don’t. Tommy told me he could deal with the fallout, but—”

“Tommy knows?”

You look at him with a tired roll of your eyes and a faint smile, “Yes, he does. He snooped and read the letter—he’s known I’ve wanted this opportunity for a while.”

“I didn’t think you two talked that much,” Joel replies honestly.

“We don’t, not always,” You admit, “not with my mom around—and he told me, about your drinking problem.”

Joel huffs quietly, scratching at his cheek as he looks away.

“I just—this isn’t…like, it isn’t also because of that, right?” You ask, “Does drinking make you feel less guilty about it?”

You know it isn’t the entire reason, but there is some suspicion. Given the constant lingering taste on his lip after the first instance together and the several that followed, a burgeoning problem of his own melding with the dangerous secrets you’ve been trying to keep.

“There’s no guilt,” It was the most confident you’ve heard Joel to be…ever. Not an ounce of hesitation in his tone, “We’re adults, we made a choice. But, I think there is a point where we have to realize this can’t work.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Joel awaits quietly, not giving you a nod but his eyes turn up in wait, his thumbs slipping under the fabric of your shirt to press into warm flesh.

“If they weren’t together—if your brother wasn’t going to be my stepdad, would you have thought twice? If we had met at a bar or something?”

“I don’t know,” Joel answers, unsure.

You sigh deeply, leaning into his eyeline to capture his lips, an unexpected kiss that grabs his attention, his hands climbing higher under your shirt in search of skin.

“I think you do,” You mumble against his mouth, “I also think you were vulnerable and you saw that I was too and you wanted to feel a little less lonely.”

Joel can’t find the words to respond, feeling like you’ve seen straight through him.

“So, let me help a little more,” You soothe his rapidly beating heart with your sultry tone, unbuttoning your jeans with slow movements, only removing yourself from him briefly to strip your jeans and underwear off before you return to his lap.

You wait until he finally got with the program and unbuttoned his own jeans, shifting them just far enough down his thighs that they’re out of the way, grabbing for the blanket draped over the couch to wrap around you and you almost protest, but the concentrated look on his face as returns your gaze short-circuits your thinking, fisting his cock as he slides it between your wet folds, pressing inside of you slowly, your slow breaths mingling together in each other’s mouth.

“Quiet,” He reminds you, “we have to be quiet.”

Easier said than done, you giggle against his lips.

“Says you,” You tease, lifting your hips slowly as he follows the movement, allowing you to lead, your hands pressing into the back of the couch, “I like hearing how bad you want it,”

Joel’s hand dwarfs your mouth as he covers it, eyes narrowing at your pointed choice of words and he snaps his hips into you harshly without warning, forcing out a yelp into his palm as your hands tighten into the cushion, canting your hips as you lift them in time with his thrusts.

He’s got his teeth digging into his bottom lip in an attempt to silence himself, eventually grabbing for your hand and covering his own mouth in desperation, wrapping his free hand around your back and pulling you to his chest, foreheads pressed against each other as you meld together, different emotions swirling as he commits this feeling, and your body, to memory.

Joel feels the familiar, cold touch of your dangle chain necklace, plain silver cross interlocked at the center of it, at this angle it nudges his nose with every thrust, a dainty piece of jewelry that he always took the time to tuck behind your neck—he’s never seen you without it.

He thinks for a moment, considering his action before he’s reaching to tuck it behind your head.

But, your hand stops him, placing it back center before you’re reaching behind to unclasp the necklace from your body, dangling it over the empty cushion beside you.

“It’s okay,” You can sense Joel’s confusion, worry— “I’m starting to figure things out for myself,” It’s intimate, the way you’re talking to him now, voice barely above a whisper as his hips rock gently to keep a slow place, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “besides…the things I want you to do to me, it’s blasphemy, really.”

Joel snorts at that, finding the sudden burst of energy to snake his hands under your thighs, lifting you up slightly as he scoots himself further down the couch, feet planted flat on the ground and allowing you proper leverage to use his body just the way you desire.

It takes very little time to work him up, a deep growl suppressed behind clenched teeth as your fingers dig into his cheek where your hand is still tight over his mouth, riding him with a clear determination, his eyes softening and pleading—he’s right there and you can see it.

His eyes flutter, hand squeezing and kneading at your thigh in silent prayer.

Rich, you think. Maybe you’ve been worshiping wrong your entire life.

Your climax comes slowly, alongside his. It’s quiet, a long moment of drawn out sighs poured into each other’s skin, his achy groan a light reprieve to the moment as you climb off of him.

“Staying or going?” He asks after you’ve stood, blanket wrapped around your body.

“Depends,” Your finger dangle in front of his face, watching as he works his jeans back up his thighs, belt sitting unbuckled in his lap, “your room or mine?”

Joel nods with a smile, nudging you toward the hall.

–

Joel’s dangling the silver necklace in his hand as you exit the bathroom, hair damp and dressed in only a shirt—his shirt, climbing onto his bed while he approaches with an extended hand.

You take it silently, passing it off to his bedside table without a word.

“So, when do we have the talk?” You ask curiously, ripping the bandaid off immediately.

“Not tonight, if you don’t want to.”

Your brow pinches together as he slips under the blanket beside you, throwing the cover back to beckon you underneath. You oblige, sliding onto your knees to lean against his chest, forearm covering his abdomen as you rest your chin on your arm.

“I was thinking about starting deconstruction therapy,” You admit, scratching a fingernail at the patchy and fading emblem on his shirt, “It’s…silly, I know. But, I think it might help. I’m doubting—well, everything. I just need someone to talk to. A professional, I mean.”

“That really what you want?” Joel asks curiously, his fingers wrapping around your wrist gently, rubbing his thumb into the skin, “It ain’t because of me, is it?”

“I think I’ve been questioning things long before you, or even Tommy. I’m telling you because—I don’t know, I guess I want to hold myself accountable. So I don’t chicken out. Besides, you seem pretty good at keeping secrets.”

Joel shakes his head slightly in amusement, heaving out a long sigh as his eyes turn toward the ceiling, still favoring your touch as he continues to rub slow circles into your skin.

“I…also think you should get some help,” You add gently, “talk to someone about Sarah—doesn’t have to be me. I mean, Tommy is terrified to mention her, and thinks you’ll blow up on him. You’re…you’re an alcoholic, you know that? My mom was too, before she met Tommy.”

Joel keeps quiet, chewing at his bottom lip. It wasn’t a horrible sign, so you continue.

“She hid it really well, you…not so much.”

“So, holdin’ each other accountable then, huh?” Joel inquires, eyebrow raised.

“I can forgive your lapse in judgement when it came to me—the sex is…good,” You pause, considering your words, “really…really fucking good, but I think we’re using it to avoid things.”

“Think you can fix me?” Joel asks, with a tone of honesty in his voice, “Sweetheart, I’ve been broken for a long time.”

“Mend,” You emphasize, “you can heal—so can I. I think we both owe it to ourselves”

His hand engulfed the side of your face, the hot press of his skin against your cheek as you smiled against the touch, watching as he slowly returned the gesture.

“I think we do, sweetheart.”

I’ll try, for you—he thinks silently but doesn’t say. It doesn’t matter that his fatal attraction had turned into something of lasting admiration, because that would never work.

But, for you, he’d try.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #my writing #absolution

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smileysuh · 7 months ago

Text

dark protector - TEASER

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “When I’m balls deep in your pussy, watching you writhe under me, listening to your pretty sounds- that will be the cherry on top of this birthday,” he explains. “Thank you for wanting to make me feel good, but- usually, baby, I like to be the giver.”

tw/cw. mentions of past relationship abuse/trauma/cheating, alcohol, bar fights, Cheol gets grazed with a knife, unprotected sex, dry humping, hand job, blow job, pussy eating, fingering, pleasure dom!Cheol, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, size kink/manhandling, multiple reader orgasms, groping, Cheol is a big muscled tattooed man, creampie, birthday sex, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 14.2k

🍭 aus. tattoo/motorcycle au, nurse!reader, soulmates, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. The tarot deck used in the prologue is ‘The Wild Unknown Animal Spirit Guide Deck’ by Kim Krans. I had so much fun exploring a more spiritual-themed plot, the idea of soulmates and spirit guides and such :)

Seungcheol gives you the space to unwind. He doesn’t pester you with questions about the altercation with your ex at the bar, and you’re grateful for it.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks finally.

You shake your head, your eyes dopping to his hands. “You’re hurt though.”

“Just bruised knuckles,” he assures you.

“There’s blood,” you insist. “I’ll-”

“Tell me where your first aid kit is and I’ll grab it.”

You direct him to the cupboard in your bathroom, and he returns with it, setting the case onto your coffee table.

“How’s your shoulder?” you ask as you take out the tools you’ll need.

“Almost better, I heal fast,” he says softly.

It feels good to focus on his wounds rather than your own, and you gently clean the scrapes on his hand. His right fist is pretty badly bruised, and you do your best to treat it. Then you begin to slowly wrap his knuckles, taking your time. Two wraps around his wrist, diagonal across the top to his pinky, under the hand, to the pointer, diagonal-

It’s a nice repetition of motions, and when you’re all done, you lift his hand to your lips, gently pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “All better.”

You look up at Seungcheol, and he stares back.

Then, he slowly moves in, carefully watching your expression. He stops just an inch from your lips, and you can feel his breath on your face. He’s waiting for you to make the final move, for you to be the one with control.

With one last look at your beautiful, dark protector, you close the distance.

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scented-morker · 1 month ago

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Leaked documents

Enha’s reaction when the HYBE leaked documents talk about kicking fem!8th member out… hurt/comfort, 1k words, mentions of iland (that deserves a tw) and haters… requested by 🩵 anon

Heeseung

His heart absolutely breaks 💔

Even in Iland he'd spent countless hours encouraging you, telling you just how talented you were and how much you deserved to debut

When you'd first debuted and gotten hate for being 'out of place' in the boy group, he was in protection mode at every single schedule

Always distracting you from antis and keeping you close on stage

He reminds you just how talented you are, and probably calls Bang Sihyuk himself

"If you ever remove Yn from this group you will need to find a replacement for me as well."

He does NOT play

If you're out, so is he

You're not allowed to go anywhere by yourself for the next few weeks

"Hee I'm just going to the convenience store."

"Yeah? And I'm coming too."

If you get recognized or heckled boy will he have something to say

He's scary

Jay

He's the only one that can get you out of your room

You locked yourself away as soon as you saw the article, but he sits outside your closed door talking into the wood for twenty minutes

When you finally open it up, he's caging you in his arms

"Remember what we promised as trainees?" He asks once the two of you are laid down in your bed

You mumble and he rolls his eyes.

"What was that?"

"You said you'd always take care of me."

"Exactly. And you said you'd let me."

You bury yourself further into his chest, and he strokes a hand through your hair

"We'd never let that happen."

He sticks to his word, taking care of you extra attentively for the next few weeks

He lets you cry and rant about it as many times as you need, insisting that you aren't annoying and you're allowed to be as upset as you want

Jake

Another hugger

Swears up and down he'd kick down every door in the building if they ever tried to take you from him

"Jakey, you couldn't even break a board during our karate episode."

"Because the board wasn't trying to take my baby from me! My love for you would make me strong!"

Okay Hulk 🙄

He makes a post on Weverse that night that includes an old picture of you two together with the caption 'What would I do without you?'

He's perfectly content to stay stowed away in your room doing nothing for the next few days

And when you do have a meeting at the building, he's stuck to your side the whole time

Gives nasty looks to the CEO himself

He acts like they're going to literally rip you away from him, he's holding on to you for dear life every time you have practice

Sunghoon

He's actually shocked because you keep complaining that they made comments about how he looked

No way you're more upset about them calling him ugly than you are about them discussing possibly removing you from the group

"You need to fix your priorities, love."

"My priorities are fine, thank you very much! Sales probably would be better if I was gone, I know that's true. But calling the prettiest boy ever ugly? That's a crime."

He shuts that down REAL FAST

"Sales would not be better, because we'd be miserable without you. Our careers would suffer the minute you left this building. Don't act like you don't matter in this."

You can't even respond

This might be the most fired up he's ever been, and he's staring straight into your soul eyes and you can't help but tear up

"C'mere," he pulls you tighter against him

"It's okay to be upset. They're crazy for thinking we'd survive without you. I wouldn't make it an hour."

Sunoo

He lets you process however you need, but he refuses to listen to you say lies about his favorite person

"I don't want to drag the group down."

He stares at you like you're crazy

"Drag us down?? Sweetheart, you embarrassed us every single week on Iland."

You roll your eyes, but he's insistent

"I know you probably trauma blocked most of it out, but I remember how hard they were on you for being a girl, and yet every week you made them eat their words. You couldn't drag us down if you tried."

He runs his fingers through your hair and starts a loose braid in it, adoring the way you melt into him as he does so

There's a scream from somewhere in the dorm, followed shortly after by a crashing sound that you pay zero attention to

"Besides, I'd probably have killed one of these idiots without you."

This gets a laugh out of you, a real one, and he smiles proudly

"We're always gonna need you."

Jungwon

He's by your side the SECOND the news comes out

He doesn't make a single comment about the ugly crying you're currently doing

He just kneels on the carpet next to your bed and holds your hands with so much softness

He dips his head until you can see him, wanting to have eye contact so you can see his sincerity

"We wouldn't be enhypen without you. You’re part of us.”

He uses his thumb to wipe the tears off of your cheeks and lets you tug him closer

"Besides, what kind of leader would I be if I let them take our girl? The boys can barely survive without you when you go to shower.”

He counts it as an accomplishment when you let out an airy laugh, and he places a kiss on your forehead

“I’m not gonna let you go, that’s a promise.”

Riki

When I tell you they had to hold this boy down

Oh he’s ANGRY

Literally glaring holes into his phone when he reads it the first time

Jay wrestles him down before he can go knocking on their CEO’s door

He makes better use of his time by trapping you with his entire body the moment he sees you

“You are never allowed out of my sight. I will keep you here forever.”

You sigh, that’s the dream

“No one else gets my girl if they aren’t gonna appreciate her like they should.”

There’s no humor in his voice, and it makes your heart stutter

“You deserve to be loved so much better.”

Praises you in every single show or content you film afterward

Will straight up tell people to shut up if they say anything negative about you, media training is for the weak

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ladystoneboobs · 4 months ago

Text

idt we talk enough about how a song of ice and fire is also the song of incest and cannibalism. i mean, sure, obviously both of those subjects are noted as present, but the saga feels much more known for its incest, which idt is fair or accurate to the later materiel. iirc, jaime fucking cersei next to their dead firstborn is the last instance of onpage incest happening in present tl, and after that it's all about the cannibals, baby.

(disclaimer: cw/tw sa, cw/tw rape, and i'm not counting cousincest as that's normal in-world even for non-targaryens and also still legal in many places in our world today, nor counting the faux-incestuous freudian mess that is littlefinger/alayne(sansa)/sweetrobin, nor any dark humor jokes and/or unfulfilled threats wrt forced cannibalism)

in fact pretty much all the active incest during the present tl happens in those first 3 books:

the twincest as a major plot point ofc, kicking action off when bran saw them fucking in a tower

and viserys creeping on dany and twisting her nipple

tyrion relating his backstory to bronn wherein he and tysha were both raped by proxy by his father, tywin (tho tyrion does not use that terminology)

craster still being alive to rape and impregnate his own daughters (resulting in dozens of forced incestuous relationships)

and theon unknowingly groping his own sister while she (knowingly) groped him in return

jaime's early pov recalled how he shut up cersei with kissing when they fought after bran refused to die

bella of stoney sept trying and failing to seduce gendry who is (unbeknownst to them both) her half-brother as both were sired by robert baratheon (only example in these 3 books where incest was averted before any sexual activity or incestuous contact occurred)

the aforementioned sept twincest next to joffrey's corpse

tyrion learning from oberyn about cersei twisting his penis when he was a baby

cersei's failed attempt to seduce jaime in wst, pulling out his dick for either a bj or hj until her talk of tyrion's death made him lose his boner

while incest is not exactly absent from the text after that, it seems to exist in the feastdance only in hypotheticals or past memories:

aeron's trauma flashbacks of his (implied only in published text) csa by euron

jaime still feeling lust when seeing cersei nude

and her fond reminiscing about them fucking behind robert's back/brief dream of them as a married couple before her walk of shame

and cersei remembering another time she twisted baby tyrion's penis

victarion misinterpreting asha's offer of partnership as a marriage proposal and suddenly looking at his niece in a new way with "his manhood beginning to stiffen"

jaime's recollection of fucking cersei at darry next to robert as he was passed out drunk before cersei sent him to hunt arya (which would have happened back in agot and the point of this scene is more his failed hunt for a child just to make cersei happy)

arianne's "uneasy" memory of a past fantasy about being seduced by a man whose description is suspiciously similar to her late uncle oberyn

the aborted marital match of aegon/young griff to his purported aunt dany

illyrio saying (the now dead) viserys tried to rape dany the night before her wedding to drogo (another event from agot concerning a guy we already knew was into incest)

and tyrion once saying he wanted to rape as well as murder cersei

conversely, the cannibalism in the earlier books is most often only unproven hypotheticals alluded to as possible cannibalism:

old nan saying the others fed their dead servants the flesh of human children (which we have not yet seen with any wights so far, whether or not one counts walking undead eating human flesh as straight-up cannibalism)

the mystery meat in flea bottom's bowls o' brown which may or may not contain symon silver tongue after tyrion had him killed

renly's recollection that cressen kept stannis from catapulting their old master-at-arms by saying they may need to eat him later (which did not come to pass thanks to davos)

joffrey telling his people to eat their own dead (with no way of knowing if any actually did)

lady hornwood eating her own fingers (though bran's pov only notes them being chewed on, not swallowed. it's only in adwd that people talk of her eating the fingers.)

the mentions of the ice river clans being the cannibals beyond the wall (who are def not among the free folk jon snow gets to know onpage, making it just background detail)

bran's (possibly mythical) story of the rat cook

and biter chewing on people he attacked and other corpses (which seems to be just a side hobby connected to his killing method moreso constituting a snack than a full meal from a person butchered for meat. this tendancy of his is just background detail in acok, with biter chewing a corpse in the background after the weasel soup operation, and the hindsight implication that it could well have been him rather than dogs or wolves who had "been at" the corpses after the skirmish where yoren was killed)

while the feastdance feels much more in your face with cannibalism, having not only more total mentions of the practice but also more confirmed, actual cannibalism (as opposed to the ambiguity of each and every bowl o' brown), for those who know how to look at the evidence:

jaime learned that his father's mad dog aka the mountain fed parts of vargo hoat to all his prisoners (including vargo himself) after recapturing harrenhal

and euron bragged about pulling a similar trick with the warlocks he captured (the only twist being that the warlocks knew what they were being forced to eat, which vargo hoat and wylis manderly etc at harrenhal likely didn't)

the elder brother of the quiet isle told of biter eating all of a woman's breasts at saltpans after she'd been raped and killed (prob the largest amount of flesh biter's confirmed to have eaten from one corpse)

bran and co. ate "pig" supplied by coldhands which had to be long pig aka human meat

brienne felt her face being eaten by biter in her own pov (which is so much worse than him chewing others in the background of the weasel soup scene)

theon was told that two ironmen at moat cailin were found eating their dead comrades

the astapori were said to eat their own dead while under siege by the yunkishmen

and then were said to do so again in refugee camps outside meereen

sam and davos sailed past skagos and each remembered stories of skagosi cannibalism

khrazz the pit fighter cut the hearts from his defeated foes to eat them

cotter pyke's last letter to jon snow said the wildlings were eating their own dead at hardhome

4 of stannis's men were executed by burning for butchering and eating other men (with asha wondering how many others had done so without being caught)

and ofc the frey pies with wyman manderly having his 3 former guests killed and serving their meat to their own kin and the other guests at ramsay's wedding while eating some himself too

two of these examples (involving gregor clegane and euron greyjoy) must have actually happened during the course of asos, but grrm chose to give us the gruesome details in affc, which was brand new information about men we already knew were villains but did not know were into that fucked-up shit specifically, unlike being reminded that agot-era jaime and viserys wanted to fuck their sisters. (and not unlike how adwd has the clarification of multiple characters saying lady hornwood ate her own fingers as opposed to bran's acok pov just saying she chewed on them.) it's as if after craster was killed and jc effectively broke up grrm decided cannibalism was the taboo subject matter he would fill the later books with, so we'd really feel the increasing danger of starvation-induced cannibalism with winter's arrival (and have no trouble believing rickon's new home of skagos really is a cannibal island). however, in-universe it feels like there's some sort of environmental balance connection so that the decrease in one formerly common behaviorial abomination just allows another such abomination to fill in the gap with a sharp increase in activity, like deer overpopulation resulting from lack of predators as if all the active incest somehow stopped more people from eating themselves or other people.

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trustmypoison · 1 month ago

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SVT when you get a new piercing

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘Hear me out, what if y/n pierced their nipples? How would seventeen react? And how would he notice? You told him or like he felt it or when he slid his hand or lifted it up. Please mention how the revelation happens and then reaction 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 ‘

TW/CW: Some of these are suggestive, bordering on a little bit of smut. MDNI.

A/N: I have some serious trauma when it comes to nipple piercings. More power to you if you like yours, but I did not like mine. 😂

You can’t hide anything from him - Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Minghao

You’re acting suspicious and it starts to worry him. He doesn’t want to pressure you into telling him what’s going on, but he’s really starting to think that something is wrong. Say you guys share locations for safety purposes, like you like to know when he gets settled in the hotel while traveling and he likes to know that you made it home from work when he’s going to be working late. He sneaks a peek at your location during a break one day and sees that you’re at… a piecing shop? His interest is piqued, but he plays it cool when you both get home, casually what you got into today. If you try to deflect or lie, he just calls it out. Like, “uh huh, and how was the piercing shop? 🤨’. You know you’re busted, so you tell him about your surprise. And he is pleasantly surprised! Just don’t try to pull one over on him like that, because it probably won’t work.

He feels them when he hugs you - Joshua, Woozi

When he comes home from a long week of just missing each other due to conflicting schedules, he pulls you into a hug immediately. It’s really all he’s thought about all week. You’re already in your pajamas without a bra, and it feels… different? But it’s only been a week, so why?? He pulls back and does a quick scan of you and asks if you’re okay. You say ‘of course,’ and he’s not really convinced, but he’s too tired to argue. It’s when he’s got you curled up into his side in bed later that it clicks. Imagine being shaken awake at 3am and opening your eyes to him staring at you and asking, “Do you have something to tell me?” You may or may not be going back to sleep, who’s to say.

He sees them through your bra/shirt - Jun, DK, Mingyu

Similar to the previous group, he’s just been missing you due to conflicting schedules. But finally, you guys have a free night to see each other! You both are so tired that you both decide to just stay in and order something. You’re wearing a form-fitting top and he’s really trying not to look, honest. He wants to be respectful and he cares to hear about how your week has been, but he also misses your body and being close to you. He glances at your chest, totally meaning for it to just be a glance, but he notices a difference. He reaches out in confusion. “Uh, baby, what is that?” He does not know how to handle this reveal when you show him, at least at first. But when he gets it together, the food will be put aside, conversation totally forgotten.

He feels them before or during sex - Seungcheol, Chan

It’s been a long week and there’s a lot of frustration pent up. So you aren’t totally surprised when he scoops you up to go to the bedroom as soon as he gets home. It’s as his hand creeps up your shirt or that your shirt comes off entirely, that he realizes something is different. It feels different, or a little sparkle catches his eye. I fully believe that this little revelation would totally change the pace. Whatever you guys were doing before is fast-paced and maybe a little aggressive. But it’ll turn into something sweet and soft, with a little (or a lot) of body worship. Later, he’ll tell you how much he likes them, but for now he’ll show you.

You have a reaction that gives it away - Hoshi, Seungkwan, Vernon

My experience with this type of piercing is that you don’t realize how many things you bump into until you have it. So, say you guys have just been busy and not really had a lot of time to be intimate lately. You’re in a rush and bump into something. What should have been a small wince that you can keep moving through makes you stop and cry out in pain. He’s borderline panicked, asking if you’re okay. He doesn’t really let you brush it off, wanting to check for bruises or cuts with genuine concern, so eventually, you just have to admit to your little surprise that you were saving for him. And he is surprised and he’ll appreciate it later tonight! But you might get scolded a little bit for now to be more careful.

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awakenedevildays · 5 months ago

Note

the urge to just hold stiles face and be so sweet to him because he dosent deserve literley any of the treatment he gets from anyone

「sleepless nights」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

tw: traumas, implied violence, nightmares, set right after the end of season 3.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

"Stiles, come to bed." you stir out of your sleep, the empty spot next to you is cold, signaling that he woke up already a while ago, if he ever actually slept. He's sat at his desk, head against his arms on the wooden table, his back is facing you as you get out of the warm sheets to reach him. "Baby," you rub his back delicately as to not scare him and he raises his head to look at you: his eyes are dull and accentuated by two, deep black circles. You give him a tight lipped smile, "you need sleep."

He just shakes his head.

"No." He answers curtly. He refuses to go back to bed, to sleep, to possibly let that thing take control of him again. "I'm fine." He answers and diverts his eyes from you.

"no you're not, you're tired and you need to sleep." You turn his chair around to make Stiles look at you.

He lets you turn the chair easily, his eyes look at you, the bags under them even prominent in the dim light coming from outside the window, "I can handle being tired." He replies stubbornly, but his eyes are telling you that he is already worn out and just when you're about to answer he keeps on going.

"-what I can't handle though, is dreaming over and over about what he- what I did." His voice trembles as he speaks and your heart breaks a little when his eyes become teary. It's the first time he talks about what happened and for the whole past week, after the Nogitsune was defeated, you've tried at least once a day to make him open up: enough to make him understand that you were ready to listen and be there for him but not so much as to make him feel under pressure.

"what he did, Stiles, that wasn't you, it was never you." You kneel in front of him.

"I know-" Stiles answers, his voice becoming thick, "I know that, but- but it was my body, wasn't it? I was there, inside of it, watching." He admits, his head hits the back of his chair repeatedly and his eyes closes shut, like he's trying to get something out of his head.

“I- I can't stop thinking about it." he whispers, opening his glassy eyes to look at you again, you grab his hands, they're cold against your skin and he grips them strongly to hold on something. "Allison is dead, she died because I wasn't strong enough to control him no... because he knew I was weak enough to control and the things my body did to Coach, to Kira and Scott... to you... How can you even look at me after all I did?" he lets out a sarcastic laugh and your own eyes become teary at the mention of Allison.

"No one thinks that what happened is your fault, Allison is not dead because of you, Scott and Kira didn't get hurt because of you and neither did I." You squeeze his hands and bring them closer to you, his bust falls forward until his elbows rest on his knees and his head his slumped in front of your face.

"When the Nogitsune did those things I didn't feel your hands, I didn't see your eyes, I didn't hear your voice." your fingers move to grab his face and caress it softly, he looks at you from between his eyelashes: vulnerable, guilty, and so, so tired.

"How can you say that?" He asks you, and his voice is shaky. "How can you be so sure? Maybe I am evil." he whispers, keeping his eyes close, and you can't help but shake your head as he nuzzles his face in your hands.

"Because everything was so different with him: he was colder, angrier... it was evil, everything that you're not, everything that I'm not seeing right now." your thumbs are placed under his eyes, ready to catch the tears that are threatening to escape.

He leans into your touch, his tired eyes closing and a shaky breath leaving his lips. His shoulders slump forward and his head falls against your shoulder, the wet sensation of his tears against your skin is followed by his breath, like he's trying to fight a sob, trying to control himself. "I don't want you to see me this way," he whispers.

"I don't mind and you shouldn't either, I want to know what's going on in your head all the time, from the dumbest thing to the most serious one, that's what I'm here for." you kiss his temple.

His hands move away from your grip to grab your hips instead, his fingers grip at your skin in an attempt to hold onto himself as he buries his face in your shoulder, trying to hide, embarrassed. He whispers hoarsely, "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not! You could never be a burden to me, Sti'... You're always there for everyone, always ready to help, let me do this for you, let me be the one to help you this time." You whisper against his temple and it seems to break the last bit of his wall as he finally lets his dam break, his body trembles against you as he finally lets out a broken sob, his chest heaving in a pathetic attempt to keep crying quietly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he says on repeat, his arms tighten around your hips, clinging to you like his life depends on it.

"shhh, you don't have to be sorry, it's okay," you rub his back to soothe him. His sorry's doesn't stop, his face still pressed against your skin and with each apology his grip on you tightens. "You're exhausted, after a night of sleep you'll feel better, come with me."

He shakes his head again, "No, no I can't-" He doesn't finish his sentence, another broken sob escaping his throat as he tightens his grip on you even further, you doubt he's even aware of what he's doing, lost in another wave of guilt.

"I promise that I'll wake you up if I'll feel you move or mumble."

Stiles stays in place, still shaking and sobbing against you, his entire body tense with the effort to keep himself together. "Promise?" his voice is a wreck, a barely understandable whisper.

You nod, "I swear." You stand back on your feet and he lets you maneuver him until he is lying on the bed.

"I don't want to fall asleep," he whispers but it's a weak protest, his eyes are already closing.

"I know... I'll be here." you sit on the pillows next to his head and he soon finds your lap to rest on, his arm lay around your thighs next to his face, a tense sighs escapes his lips when he feels your hands rest on him again: the left on his cheek to dry the tears and the other under the collar of his shirt, right between his shoulder blades.

His eyes flutter shut and his face relaxes at the soothing feeling of your fingers on his body... the guilt, the tiredness, the fear, he let all of that wash away from his body, focusing on your touch and your voice. He fights to stay awake for as much as he can, until the tiredness in his bones eventually drag him in a deep sleep, his breathing slows.

He looks so vulnerable, so at peace that you can see how tired he was in the way his face relaxes, the shadows under his eyes becoming more prominent against his tired face. He looks young, too young to have gone through all of those ordeals. The room door creaks as it gets opened and your eyes shot up towards the noise.

At the door a sleepy, yet worried looking Noah appears, he's dressed in his sheriff uniform, he probably just got home from his shift and you didn't hear the front door open. He looks surprised to see you here, you haven't slept in the Stilinski's house for a whole month and the past week Stiles forbade you to sleep with him so as not to scare you or make you lose sleep "unnecessarily", his words, not yours.

You smile to wordlessly greet him and cover Stiles ear with your palm to avoid waking him up. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him for tonight, go to sleep," you assure him with a low voice.

He looks at his son, his chest rising and sinking with each breath, then at you: tired, clearly worried but still determined, he takes in the image for a moment before sighing and nodding, his own tiredness makes him accept the proposal more easily than he would have done if he hadn't been so sleep deprived. "I trust you, just... call me if anything happens."

"I will, goodnight Noah."

He nods with a forced smile. "Goodnight, sweetheart." He closes the door behind him and you go back gazing at Stiles, your breathing coordinates with his, deep and slow, and involuntarily your eyes close a few minutes later in a light sleep... light enough to feel his breath become erratic an hour or so later.

You immediately open your eyes and look down at him: his eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed in the way you've sadly seen too many times these days and his mouth opened to let out small whimpers between his trembling breaths. You sigh and move your hand to shake his shoulder lightly, until his eyes shot open and he takes a a breath similar to what you would usually take after staying too much time under the water.

It would have been ridiculous to think that after everything that happened to him in the last month he would stop having nightmares after just one night, but it's okay, because you know that he can get through it, and that you won't leave him to deal with this alone.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Hope you enjoyed, recommendations, suggestions and requests are always welcome and open! <3

Do not copy or repost.

#madsstiles💌#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski drabble #stiles stilinski #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf

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urmum-lovesme · 29 days ago

Text

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P14

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: Soooooo.. this took me agessss and it's probably cause I just don't know how to write happy Y/n BAHAHAHA . Anyways, thanks for bearing with me ya'll but Rafe and Y/n will soon (hopefully) get a change for some peace cause god knows they deserve it. This chpt lowkey made me really emotional when I wrote it cause they just deserve each other so bad. (p.s: see if you can spot the Isle of Dogs reference... (it literally isn’t even but whatever I’ll just stfu)

warnings: mentions of trauma/ptsd, mentions of s/a, court proceedings, Cooper (he deserves a TW), mentions of first period, absent parents, passed mother, swimming in the night (with very little clothes), admittance to not being okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The steady stream of light filtered in through Y/n’s bedroom window, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear pulls her out from her sleepy haze, the weight of someone's arm draped across her causes her eyes to shoot open. Her breath catches, a faint tremor in her chest as the panic rises- uninvited.

Who is that…

Her body tenses slightly. Suddenly hyper aware of every muscle wanting to pull away, to escape the closeness, to shut it out before it becomes too much. The shadows of memories she’d rather not revisit tug at her mind, but then- the familiar scent, the mix of cologne and something undeniably comforting, presses closer to her. Fingers, even in sleep, curl against her skin. Not possessive, protective.

Rafe

Her heart slows, the frantic pace softening just a little. The panic doesn’t disappear entirely, but it fades, ever so slightly. She exhales shakily, letting her body relax a fraction, just for a moment, allowing herself to sink into the rare comfort of it. But even as her body relaxes, something stirs within her- his touch, his nearness, feels like both refuge and torture all at once. The intensity of it is too much and she’s not sure what she’s supposed to do with it, what she wants to do with it. She feels his breath shift, a faint murmur escaping his lips. His arm tightens instinctively around her, pulling her closer, and for a brief moment, she allows herself to linger in the warmth of it. Y/n looks down to his chest, rising and falling softly along with his breaths.

Just go back to sleep

But as her eyes closed she couldn't stop the image reappearing before her eyes, the dark, terrifying memory of the boy's frame leering over hers and- her eyes shot open.

Get off of me

She swallows harshly as she slowly begins to slip away, careful not to disturb him, not wanting to break the silence that envelops them. Her chest tightens as she slides out from under his arm, her back pressing against the headboard as she sits up on the bed, the sheets beneath her cool. The weight of his closeness still lingering in her bones, but the space between them, even if only temporary, feels like a breath she desperately needed.

Rafe stirs slightly, mumbling something incomprehensible in his sleep, but it’s enough to stop her in her tracks. For just a second, she sits still, caught between wanting to stay and wanting to run, unsure if he even notices her absence yet. Before she can completely slip away, she hears him shift in the bed, his body moving, his face pressed into the pillow as he groggily turns towards her. His voice, still thick with sleep, breaks the silence.

“You okay?”

The question catches her off guard. She wasn’t expecting him to notice, wasn’t expecting him to stir. She stops mid-motion, her breath catching in her throat, unsure if she should answer or if she even knows the answer herself. She remains still, caught in the delicate balance of wanting to stay and the overwhelming urge to run.

Why have you moved away…?

She glances at him, his face still soft with sleep, his features relaxed, hair tousled, unaware of the pull between them, but that question- the softness in his voice- makes her chest tighten. She quickly looks away, her fingers twisting the sheets in her lap, the silence stretching. She nods, almost too quickly.

“Yeah... I’m fine.”

Her voice is soft, fragile even, and she knows the words don’t carry the weight of what she’s truly feeling. Her gaze darts to the window, anywhere but at him, as if avoiding the connection that still lingers in the space between them. The silence between them hangs thick, but it’s a different kind of weight now- not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken thoughts. Y/n sits stiffly on the bed, her fingers twisting the fabric of the sheets, her gaze glued to her lap and the way the material crumples under her fingers. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even know what to say. The panic from earlier is still there, lingering at the edges of her mind, but she’s trying to breathe through it.

Rafe, still half-lying in bed, watches her closely, his brow furrowing slightly as he senses the change in her. After a beat, he sighs and shifts his position, leaning back slightly with a small smile.

“So…”

Say something man

He says, his voice light, a small chuckle following the words, desperately trying to ease the tension. Y/n finally glances up at him, but only briefly, before quickly looking away again. His playful tone feels like a lifeline, something to pull her out of her head.

“I’m actually plotting a dramatic exit right now”

She teases, but there’s a hint of something softer beneath her words. Rafe raises his eyebrows, the smile on his lips growing wider.

“Well you’ve got the ‘don’t talk to me’ energy right now if I’m being honest.”

She can’t help it- a small laugh escapes her, and the tension in her chest eases just a little. He might be making fun of her, but it’s a light, and she can’t help but return.

“No, I don’t”

She says, the words sarcastic, though there’s a trace of something deeper in her voice that she doesn’t want to admit.

Rafe shifts, leaning back against the headboard now, his arms resting loosely at his sides as he watches her. There’s something unreadable in his expression—not judging, not pressing, just waiting.

Yn exhales, staring at her hands for a moment before finally speaking up.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she murmurs, the words quiet, hesitant. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Rafe shakes his head almost immediately, about to respond, but she keeps going, voice faltering slightly.

“I’m not a violent person, I—I don’t know why I did that,”

I know you’re not

She says, the weight of it sitting heavy in her chest. It’s not just regret; it’s shame, the kind that knots up inside her and refuses to let go. All she could think of was the image of the plates, smashing harshly against the ground, the glasses cracking against the walls.

Does he think I’m some psycho bitch…?

Rafe’s expression shifts as he notices the distant look on the girls face, something softer settling in his eyes. He leans forward slightly, lips parting as he starts to speak, but before he can, the sharp vibration of her phone cuts through the air. They both glance over at the bedside table. Y/n swallows, looking at the screen.

Hale.

She feels Rafe’s eyes on her as she reaches for it, but she doesn’t look at him. Instead, she hesitates only a second before pressing the answer button, bringing the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car’s low hum was a fragile constant sound against the storm inside her mind. Y/N leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the street lights blur into streaks of gold. Her parents sat silently in the front seats, their subdued conversation earlier having faded into the quiet tension of the drive. Her chest tightened as she thought of the courtroom, the way Cooper’s words had struck her like a whip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miss Y/L/N,” his lawyer had said, rising slowly to his feet as if he had all the time in the world, “my client would like to make a statement.”

Hale had objected immediately, but the judge allowed it. Y/N had frozen in her seat, her pulse hammering as Cooper stood, his hands neatly folded in front of him, as if he wasn’t the villain in the room.

“I just want to say…” His voice had been cool, almost detached, yet there was a cruel glint in his eyes as he looked straight at her.

“I don’t hold anything against her. I know she’s struggling—probably got confused. I mean, let’s be real, she’s not the first girl to regret a bad decision she’s made the morning after.”

Y/N had felt the air drain from the room. Her body had gone rigid, her nails digging into her palms as a murmur rippled through the courtroom.

“Objection!” Hale had shot to her feet, her voice sharp as a blade, “Your Honour, this is blatant character assassination and irrelevant to the case!”

The judge’s gavel had struck down, silencing the room, but the damage was done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cooper’s words had left their mark, and even now, hours later, they replayed in her head like a broken record. The car slowed, pulling into her driveway. Y/N blinked, pulled from the memory as her father turned to her from the driver's seat.

“We need to head back and deal with the legal papers,” her mum said gently, her eyes soft with concern. “You’ll be okay, right?”

Y/N nodded quickly, though her heart felt heavier than ever. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Her father gave her hand a squeeze before she climbed out of the car, the night air biting against her skin. She stood at the foot of the driveway, watching as the taillights disappeared down the street, leaving her in silence. The house loomed before her, a familiar refuge now shadowed by the weight of everything she carried. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on the light. It wasn’t until she leaned back against the door, exhaling deeply, that she realised how tightly she’d been holding herself together.

Yn stood in the kitchen, the soft chill of the floor seeping through the fluffy socks she’d slipped on her feet. The evening had fallen quiet, save for the gentle hum of the fridge and the sound of water heating for her cup of tea. It had been a long day- too long, really- and now, in the soft glow of the kitchen light, she finally allowed herself a moment to breathe.

Raspberry or chamomile?

The heat of the mug in her hands would be a welcome comfort as she prepared to text the guys, filling them in on what had happened with the case. They needed to know, of course- especially Rafe- but it could wait just a few minutes. She dropped the tea bag into her cup and watched it sink, the scent of the tea beginning to rise.

Then, the sudden sound of the doorbell cut through the stillness of the house. Yn's eyes snapped up, startled. She looked at the clock on the wall, 21:35 PM.

Who could be coming over now?

Her heart skipped, the peaceful stillness suddenly shattered by the sound of the doorbell echoing through the quiet house again. She glanced over at the front door, feeling a moment of hesitation. There weren’t many people who came to visit her after dark, especially in the recent months. Slowly, she made her way towards the front door, her socks sliding gently over the floor. As she reached for the handle, her mind raced with possibilities.

Yn opened the door, still in a bit of a daze, and froze in place when she saw him. There, standing on her doorstep, was Rafe. His chest was rising and falling slightly, as if he’d been rushing, and there was a breathlessness to his words as he spoke rapidly.

What the-

“I’m so sorry, my community service ran over, and I tried to get out earlier so I could be there when you came out, but they wouldn’t let me go- and I know I missed it and—”

She just stared at him, completely speechless, and his rambling faltered, the words tripping over each other as he tried to apologise, to make sense of what had happened. He stopped himself, his eyes searching hers as his hand tightened around the hoodie he was holding. He let out a slow breath, a sense of dread creeping into his expression.

“How did it go...?”

For a long moment, she said nothing, just looking at him, and a heavy silence stretched between them. Rafe’s gaze darkened, his pulse quickening with worry. He let out a sigh, eyes flicking down to the floor as he wiped a hand over his face in frustration.

Shit she lost

“Angel, I’m so—”

And then he stopped mid-sentence as he noticed how the girl’s lips curled into a wide smile, her eyes lighting up with relief, and suddenly, everything clicked. Rafe stared at her, his expression shifting from panic to confusion.

“Y/N...?”

“I won the case”

She said simply, her voice a soft but undeniable true relief and pride laced in every syllable.

Holy Shit

His face broke into a grin so wide, it seemed to light up the whole doorway. Without thinking, he surged forward, pulling her into a hug suddenly, she gasped in surprise as her feet lifted slightly off the ground, spinning in a quick, joyful turn, the sheer thrill of the moment buzzing between them. He set her back down gently, arms still wrapped around her waist, his body tight with excitement and relief. Y/n placed her hands on his chest, steadying herself as she looked up at him, feeling the heat of his chest against her fingertips. He asked, his voice thick with disbelief, a laugh on the edge of his words.

“Really?”

“Yes”

She nodded, her voice brimming with relief, eyes glossed over a little with unexplainable happiness, a weight lifting from her shoulders now that the truth was out.

“I did.”

Rafe’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, as if to make sure this was real. His face buried in her hair, and his voice cracked slightly as he murmured,

“I’m so proud of you angel”

The words were full of raw emotion, Y/n just held him tighter, her heart racing, her breath mingling with his. They stayed locked in the embrace for a while, neither of them rushing to pull away. The air between them was thick with the unspoken understanding that this moment, this victory, was bigger than just a court case. It was the culmination of everything that had led them here- everything they’d gone through, together.

When Rafe finally pulled back, he still held her by the waist, his breath was steadying, but there was something in his eyes- an unsaid emotion.

“C’mon,” he murmured, nodding towards the living room. “Let’s get inside, yeah?”

Y/n nodded, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and relief wash over her as they walked inside, side by side. The boy kicked off his shoes by the door, following her as they moved towards the couch; the warm, soft cushions were a welcome comfort after the intensity of the evening. Rafe sat down first, leaning back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Y/n sat next to him, curling her feet beneath her, resting her cup of tea on the table in front of them Rafe watched Yn quietly for a moment, his brows furrowed with concern.

“So, how was it? How did it go?”

Y/n let out a soft, exasperated huff, shifting slightly on the couch. “It was... pretty bad, actually,” she said, her tone a little more solemn than she meant.

“They gave the verdict, and—” She paused, feeling the weight of it all again as she tried to collect her thoughts, “They said the original ruling was biased. And they... they overturned it. Hale was really strict with them this time. The whole thing just... it didn’t sit right with them. . . or something like that.”

Rafe nodded along, listening intently, his expression unreadable for a moment. “So they- what, they gave you the win, then?”

Y/n nodded, looking down at her tea, a small sigh escaping her lips as she took a sip. She kept her voice steady, though there was a quiet relief in her tone now. “Yeah, they did. But the process... it was so long.” She took another sip of tea, the warmth of it grounding her, and as she held the cup in her lap, she looked over at Rafe.

My poor girl

“You want some? It’s raspberry,”

She offered, her voice a little softer now. Rafe gave a small, appreciative smile as he took the cup from her, cradling it in his hands and taking a sip.

“Hm, that’s really good,”

He said, his gaze flickering back to her. “Thanks.”

Rafe took another sip of the tea, Y/n, still sitting with her legs curled underneath her, glanced over at him, her expression softening slightly as she studied him. “You know,” she said slowly, her voice a little distant as though nostalgic,

“. . .it was actually your mom who got me into drinking tea.”

Rafe paused, the cup halfway to his lips, and looked at her with a surprised expression. “My mom?” he asked, a playful grin creeping onto his face.

“I had no idea. How so?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a cold evening, the chill creeping into the house and making everything feel a little quieter. Y/n was ten, a little older, but still not quite comfortable without her parents around. They were away on a business trip, as usual, and though she knew she was safe in Tannyhill with Rafe and the other two boys, she missed the familiar warmth of her own home.

The day had been strange. She’d started her first period the day before and was feeling the discomfort that came with it. Her stomach was cramping slightly, and the homesickness weighed on her even more. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce had been upstairs, making noise, but Y/n couldn’t bring herself to join them. She felt a little off, and she couldn’t focus on their chatter. The warmth of the house was comforting, but not quite enough to shake the cold feeling she had inside. So, she made her way downstairs, her socks sliding slightly against the cold wooden floors. The kitchen was seemed empty when she walked in, and the soft glow of the light above the counter filled the room with a welcoming, warm light. But upon closer inspection, Rafe’s mom was standing by the stove, humming softly to herself as she prepared a pot of tea. She looked over when she heard Y/n’s footsteps, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of her. Y/n’s face was flushed from the cold, her eyes a little sad, and her posture slightly hunched in discomfort.

“Hey, sweetheart,” June said gently, her voice always soothing. “You don’t look so good, feeling alright?”

he stepped forward, setting the kettle aside as she noticed the way Y/n held herself. The young girl hesitated for a moment, not used to being open about how she was feeling, but then shook her head a little.

“I’m not feeling too good” Y/n mumbled, looking down at her socks. “And I’m... just missing my parents”

June’s expression softened further, her eyes full of understanding. “I know that feeling,” she said, her tone warm and kind. “Let me make you something to help you feel better.” She reached for the jar of raspberry leaf tea, her movements careful and comforting.

“Raspberry tea can do wonders when you're feeling a little under the weather. Would you like to try some?”

Y/n nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude rush over her as June filled another cup with the hot, soothing liquid. She handed it over with a soft smile, and the two of them sat at the kitchen table together, the quiet hum of the house filling the space around them. June glanced over at her occasionally, offering small words of comfort, her words weren’t just comforting- it was the kind of motherly advice that felt like it would stick with you forever. Although it wasn’t her own mom- her presence was more than enough, the warmth of the tea and her calm demeanor making Y/n feel a little more at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n smiled as she came back to the present, her gaze meeting Rafe’s. She couldn’t help but smile softly at the memory.

“She always knew how to make people feel special, didn’t she?”

She said quietly. Rafe looked at her, clearly surprised by the story he didn't even know happened, and leaned back against the sofa, a warm smile tugging at his lips.

“She did,”

He replied softly, his voice carrying a quiet reverence for his mother. Rafe’s expression faltered for a moment, his gaze turning soft, almost distant, as the memory of his mother settled in. He looked down at the tea cup in his hands, as if searching for something to say. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his expression. She didn’t push him to speak more, but her voice softened when she said,

“I- I see her in you every day, you know.”

Rafe’s head lifted at her words, his expression unreadable for a moment. The room seemed to hold its breath as Y/n watched him carefully, sensing the weight of the topic. He gave a small nod before speaking, his voice quieter than before.

“I think she’d be happy… we- well, that we’re still together, you know?”

Y/n’s gaze softened as she met his eyes, a gentle understanding between them. “I think so too,” she said, her voice full of quiet reassurance. A small smile tugged at Rafe’s lips as he leaned back, his shoulders relaxing a little.

“When we used to argue... when we were younger... and you’d go home ‘cause you’d had enough of me,”

He said with a slight chuckle. Y/n laughed softly at the memory, but Rafe continued, his tone playful now.

“She used to tell me I better apologise to you, because ‘ You’ll never find anyone else like Y/n’. ”

Guess you were right mom

He did a mock air-quote around the end of the sentence with a smirk. Y/n’s eyebrows lifted, surprise and amusement in her expression. “Did she really?”

Rafe nodded, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah she did.”

She loved you like a daughter she just never told you

For a moment, they both just laughed together, the tension between them fading into the warmth of shared memories. Y/n smiled, the sound of their laughter lingering in the air.

“I’m glad she did,” she said, her voice sincere, her gaze meeting his with soft affection.

Rafe’s smile softened, looking at her with gratitude. “So am I.”

Y/n settled back against the arm of the sofa, her legs curled beneath her as she looked at him. Her free hand rested on the back of the couch, and her head gently tilted to rest on her palm. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them comfortable but expectant. Rafe turned his head slightly, leaning back just a bit so he could meet her eyes, a quiet curiosity in his gaze. Y/n hesitated for just a moment, her thumb brushing the edge of her cup. The air between them shifted slightly,

“I need to tell you something”

Rafe’s brow furrowed again as he looked at her, the cup still in his hand. “Is it bad?” His voice was laced with concern, but there was a quiet tension in the way he spoke. Y/n shook her head gently, offering him a small smile.

“No, it’s actually... good news. You won’t have to do community service anymore, and the anger management class? It’s all been revoked.”

Rafe froze for a moment, staring at her with wide eyes, as if trying to process what she was saying. “What? How?” His voice cracked slightly, the disbelief clear in his tone.

Y/n let out a soft hum, her smile growing as she met his eyes. “It’s because the verdict was wrong. The court realised there was bias in the ruling. So they basically... reversed it. You don’t have to go through with it anymore cause it’s unjust for you to serve a punishment which wasn’t rightfully decided.”

For a long moment, Rafe simply stared at her, processing the news, before a slow grin began to spread across his face. His eyes softened, and he let out a breath, a rush of relief flooding through him.

“Are you serious?”

If she’s lying I swear

He asked, his voice still filled with disbelief. “I don’t... I don’t have to do any of that? Seriously?”

Y/n nodded, the relief and joy in her voice palpable now. “It’s all gone, you’re basically on a clean slate”

Rafe blinked, as though trying to steady himself. He was still a little surprised, the news sinking in. “Holy shit,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“I didn’t think...I thought I’d be stuck with that shit for ages.”

Y/n smiled, watching him carefully as she adjusted her position on the couch, her legs still tucked under her. “Well you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” she said, her voice a little softer now.

You shouldn’t have had to worry about it in the first place…

Rafe exhaled, leaning back against the couch hand covering his face momentarily, still absorbing the news. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

“So what you’re saying is…” he stretched out his legs, letting out a dramatic sigh,

“I’m finally off the leash?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Yes. Mr Rafe. Cameron, you’re off the leash.”

He grinned. “No more early mornings cleaning up beach trash? No more sitting in a circle with a bunch of guys talking about my feelings?”

“Nope.”

Thank fuck

Rafe let out a deep breath, shaking his head. “Damn. Kinda makes me wanna do somethin to celebrate.”

Y/n shot him a look over the rim of her cup. “Right. Because you need another reason to get into trouble.”

He turned to her with a slow, lazy smirk. “You wouldn’t like me if I wasn’t at least a little trouble.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “I think I’d survive.”

Rafe scoffed, nudging her knee with his. “Lies.”

Fair enough

Y/n set her tea down, giving him a teasingly serious look. “So what now? You gonna go wild? Rob a gas station? Steal a yacht?”

Rafe pretended to think about it, tapping a finger against his chin. “Mm… tempting. But nah.” He looked at her, eyes twinkling. “Apparently, I drink raspberry tea now.” He picked up her cup like it was proof, taking a sip and placing it down.

“Guess I’m reformed.”

The girl laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. Incredible character development.”

He grinned. “Right? Maybe I should send the court a thank-you note.”

He’s so stupid

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she shifted her legs beneath her, settling in more comfortably. The teasing between them was easy, familiar. But underneath it, there was something softer, something real. As Rafe glanced at her again, his smirk faded just slightly—just enough for Y/n to catch a glimpse of the warmth behind it. Rafe stretched his arms over his head, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“You know what we should do?”

Y/n raised a brow, already skeptical. “Oh boy. Here we go.”

He grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. “Go to the beach and celebrate properly.”

What on earth-

She huffed a laugh. “What, by standing around in the dark? So festive.”

He stretched his arms over his head before standing up, already acting like it was decided. “C’mon, it’s not even that late.”

Y/n eyed him, skeptical but intrigued. “Rafe, it’s basically nighttime.”

“And?” he shot back, tilting his head at her.

It’s not. . . safe

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater. She had barely been out since everything happened. It wasn’t that she was afraid exactly, but… she just hadn’t felt like it. The idea of stepping outside, of being in the open again- it made her hesitate, just for a second.

And Rafe noticed.

His teasing expression softened just a little as he looked at her. He could see it now—the way she hesitated, the way her lips pressed together like she was already convincing herself to say no.

“You’ll be fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

Y/n looked at him, expression unreadable. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Rafe just held her gaze, steady and sure, no teasing this time.

Please say yes

Just say yes

Then, finally, she rolled her eyes, letting out a dramatic groan as she pushed herself off the couch. “Fine.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“Let’s go.”

Rafe grinned, triumphant. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

She smacked his arm as she walked past him, but he just laughed, following her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They drive in quiet comfort, the roads mostly empty at this time of night. Rafe’s Range Rover rumbles beneath them, the salty night air slipping through the open windows. Y/n watches the familiar streets pass by, the neon lights of late-night diners and gas stations glowing in the dark, until they fade into the open road leading to the shore.

When they finally pull up, the beach is silent—just the rhythmic crash of waves and the distant hum of wind against the dunes. The moon hangs low, its silver light casting a soft glow over the sand. Rafe kills the engine, and for a second, neither of them move, Y/n glances over at him.

“Now what?”

“Now we get out.”

Jesus

He smiles, already pushing open his door. She huffs but follows, stepping onto the cool sand. The breeze is stronger out here, but the night is relatively warm, she tugs at her sleeves as she crosses her arms over herself, a habit she’d seemed to pick up on in the recent months. Rafe, on the other hand, seems completely at ease, stretching as he tilts his head back to look at the sky.

“Forgot how good it feels to be out at night.”

Y/n watches him for a second, noticing the boys t-shirt ride up slightly exposing the sliver of skin above his belt, she turns toward the ocean, the vast darkness stretching endlessly in front of them. The water glistens under the moon, waves rolling in and out, steady and hypnotic. Rafe nudges her with his elbow.

“So? Worth getting off the couch for?”

Definitely

She exhales, pretending to think about it. “Mmm… maybe.”

He snorts. “You’re so annoying.”

No you’re not

Y/n just smirks, nudging him back. And for the first time in a while, she feels it- that quiet, weightless feeling that comes with being somewhere free.

Somewhere with him

The waves crash gently against the shore, a steady rhythm in the quiet of the night. Y/n stands just a little away from the water, arms now wrapped loosely around herself as she gazes out at the endless dark horizon. The moonlight glows against the ocean’s surface, casting shimmering ripples that stretch far beyond where she can see. She’s lost in thought, the cool air pressing against her skin, grounding her.

Rafe is beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of his cargos, watching her more than he watches the water. He notices the way she hesitates, the way she looks like she wants to take a step forward but holds herself back. He realises, not for the first time, how much has changed.

How much she’s changed.

"You okay?"

His voice is steady, but softer than usual, like he already knows the answer. Y/n blinks, as if she forgot he was there for a second, then lets out a small breath. "Yeah," she says, though it’s not entirely convincing,

"Just... taking it in."

Rafe follows her gaze out to the water, the moonlight cutting silver through the waves. "Been a while since you’ve been out like this, hmm?"

She doesn't answer right away, just shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah,” she admits eventually, her voice quieter this time.

"I don’t know why it feels... different now."

Rafe does. He knows exactly why. But he doesn’t push her to say it. Instead, he bumps his shoulder lightly against hers, a casual touch, but one meant to remind her of his presence.

"You’ll be fine," he says simply, "I’m here."

Y/n’s fingers brush lightly against Rafe’s hand, just barely there, but enough to make his stomach tighten in that familiar way he’s been trying to ignore. The smallest touch, yet it sends something warm curling through his chest. He glances down at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips before he even realises it.

"You know what we should do?"

He says, breaking the quiet, his voice laced with something playful. Y/n turns her head slightly, eyeing him with suspicion.

"What?"

"Go in."

You’re crazy

He nods toward the water, his grin lazy and full of ease. Y/n lets out a short laugh, shaking her head.

"Yeah- no."

"Why not?" He nudges her with his elbow again. "Come on, it’s just water."

She gives him a flat look. "It’s cold, it’s dark, and we didn’t bring towels genius."

Rafe huffs, tilting his head at her. "You scared?"

Y/n scoffs, folding her arms raising her brow, "Of the ocean? No."

"Then prove it." His smile is all challenge now. "I’ll do it if you do it."

She exhales sharply, staring out at the waves, contemplating. He watches her carefully, seeing the way she bites the inside of her cheek, her weight shifting slightly from foot to foot. And then, finally-

What’s the worse that could happen…?

The girl toed off her shoes, the sand cool beneath her feet.

“So? Who’s chickening out first?”

Atta girl

Rafe smirked as he tugged off his hoodie. “Not me.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Uh-huh. We’ll see about that.”

With that, she turned, pulling her sweater over her head, leaving herself in just her bra and shorts. The whole time, she kept her chin lifted, her expression daring him to hesitate. Rafe’s eyes flickered over her body for a fraction of a second before he yanked off his shirt in one smooth motion.

“Last one in has to buy breakfast,”

He announced, shoving his jeans down and Y/n laughed, kicking off her shorts.

“You are gonna buy me breakfast.”

And before he could get another word in, she turned and bolted straight for the water.

Oh, shit-

Rafe took off after her, the sand shifting under his feet. Y/n shrieked as the first wave hit her legs, the cold shocking her system, but she didn’t slow down. Rafe caught up just as she dove under, disappearing beneath the surface. He followed without hesitation, the icy water stealing the breath from his lungs. When they both resurfaced, laughing and breathless, Y/n wiped the salty water from her face.

“Cold as hell,” she gasped.

Rafe ran a hand through his soaked hair, grinning. “Told you it was a good idea.”

She snorted. “You’re actually insane.”

He swam a little closer, his smirk softening into something genuine. “Yeah… but you followed me angel.”

Shut up

Under the moonlight, with the waves rocking them gently, the moment stretched- an unspoken tension lingering between them. As soon as they're both waist-deep in the water, the mischief began. Rafe sends a small splash her way, and before Y/n can retaliate, he’s already diving under the water. When he resurfaces behind her, she lets out a laugh, half-annoyed, half-delighted. She taunts, flicking water at his face.

"Oh, you think you're funny?"

"I know I’m funny”

He grins, dodging her next attack and sending a wave right back. The splashing war escalates, both of them laughing breathlessly as the moonlight shimmers on the water. Y/n tries to get the upper hand, lunging at him to push him under, but he’s quicker- effortlessly grabbing her wrists and spinning her around. She gasps as her back presses lightly against his chest, her arms caught in his grip.

And suddenly, the playfulness slows.

The sound of the waves becomes the only noise between them. Rafe doesn't let go immediately, his hands still around her wrists, his breath warm against her damp skin. She can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest behind her, the way his fingertips just barely skim her pulse before he finally loosens his hold, his warmth breath by her ear.

Y/n turns to face him, but they’re closer than she expected. The water laps at their shoulders, their faces only inches apart. His gaze drops to her lips for just a second- just long enough for her to notice, long enough for her breath to catch.

"You’re quiet all of a sudden," he murmurs, his voice softer now.

"You are too," she counters, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of them move.

Just do it

The tension hums between them, electric, the weight settling in the space where their laughter used to be. Rafe's fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for her, but—

A wave crashes into them, knocking Y/n slightly off balance. She lets out a startled yelp, gripping onto Rafe’s arm to steady herself, and just like that, the moment snaps. Rafe chuckles, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his wet hair.

"Guess the ocean wants to join in."

Fuck you ocean

Y/n hums, rolling her eyes even as her heart still races and her cheeks feel hot. He smirks, tilting his head slightly, Rafe watches her for a second longer before flashing her a teasing grin.

"C’mon, let’s go further out."

Oh my god

As he swims ahead, Y/n lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, her pulse still erratic. She swallows, then shakes her head.

Fucking Rafe Cameron

They drift further into the water, their movements slower now, the splashing forgotten. The moon hangs high above them, casting silver ribbons over the waves, the only sound the rhythmic lapping of the sea.

Y/n floats onto her back for a moment, letting the water cradle her, eyes slipping closed, but they shoot open again as she’s engulfed by the taunting darkness. The coolness against her skin, the weightlessness- it’s calming- but it’s not enough to keep the memories at bay. She almost forgets Rafe is there until she feels the gentle tug of fingers skimming over her wrist.

She blinks at him, as he treads water beside her. His expression is unreadable, his fingers barely linger before he pulls away, as if testing a boundary neither of them have put into words.

"D’you always do that?" he asks, tilting his head.

"Do what?"

"Slip away."

His voice is even, but there’s something underneath it she can’t quite place. Y/n lets out a small huff, pushing herself upright again arms moving to keep her afloat.

"I’m literally right here, Rafe."

Why do you always change the subject Y/n

He doesn’t respond right away, just watches her with that unreadable look again.

"You know that’s not what I meant."

I know

The words settle between them, dissolving into the sound of the waves. Y/n swallows, unsure how to answer. A part of her wants to deflect, to throw out some sarcastic remark and push past whatever this is; whatever interrogation he’s suddenly put her under. But the way Rafe is looking at her- steady, patient, like he’s seeing her in a way that makes her stomach twist- makes it harder. For once, she doesn’t have an easy comeback. She clears her throat, breaking eye contact.

"You dragged me out here to psychoanalyse me? Thought we were just having fun."

Rafe exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "We are." He pauses, then smirks. "But for the record, you do tend to change the subject before I can say anything."

What?

Y/n scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do not."

"Do too."

"Maybe I just don’t want to hear what you have to say."

There’s a flicker of something in Rafe’s eyes at that. "Maybe," he concedes. Then, before she can respond, he suddenly moves- disappearing beneath the water without warning.

Where did he-

Y/n barely has a second to react before she feels hands on her waist, and then- she’s going under.

She lets out a muffled shriek, the salty water rushing around her as Rafe pulls her down with him. The second she reorients herself, she shoves at his chest, kicking back to the surface with a gasp. When she breaks through the water, sputtering, Rafe is already grinning at her, running a hand through his soaked hair like he didn’t just try to drown her.

"You—!" she starts, wiping water from her face. "You are so irritating."

"That’s not very nice"

She glares, but he just keeps smiling, all cocky amusement. And even though she should be mad, even though she should dunk his head back under in retaliation, she can’t help the laugh that escapes her.

They float- shoulders brushing occasionally, water lapping softly at their skin.

It’s peaceful.

Y/n tilts her head back slightly, gazing at the stars, her mind momentarily blank. But the boys voice breaks through the silence.

"I was being genuine, you know"

Rafe says, voice quieter now. She hums in question, not looking at him just yet.

"Hmm?"

"When you drift off," he clarifies. "I notice."

. . .

Y/n finally glances at him, her expression softer now. The playfulness from earlier has melted away, leaving something more raw between them.

"I know you think people don’t notice," Rafe continues, eyes locked on hers. "And maybe they don’t. But I do."

I do

She doesn’t know what to say to that. Because the way he’s looking at her, like he means every word- it’s a little overwhelming. She exhales, eyes flickering away for a moment.

"I don’t mean to," she admits, voice barely above a whisper. "It just… happens. Out of nowhere. One second I’m fine, and the next—" She swallows.

"I just get pulled back."

Rafe doesn’t say anything, doesn’t press. He just listens. Y/n sighs, looking down at the water between them, small ripples passing through the water.

"Sometimes, I wish I could just forget it. That night. Everything that happened. But it doesn’t go away. I’ve tried so hard to just hide it in a corner of my mind but it doesn’t work. No matter how much time passes… it’s still there."

She’s still floating, still weightless, but in that moment, she feels like she’s sinking.

She's moving with more effort now, treading the waves. Rafe shifts slightly, his hand moving beneath the water. For a second, it seems like he’s about to reach for her—but he hesitates. Instead, he lets his fingers just barely brush against hers beneath the surface, his touch light, fleeting.

The water is shallow enough for Rafe to stand comfortably, his shoulders above the surface, while Y/n has to stretch a little to keep afloat. She feels the gentle pull of the tide beneath her feet, her balance wavering for a moment, neck straining slightly to keep her head above the water.

Noticing, Rafe reaches for her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist as he guides her closer. He doesn’t say anything- just pulls her in until her hands naturally find their way to his shoulders.

Y/n exhales softly somewhat in relief, her gaze flickering over his face. The water droplets clinging to his lashes catch the moonlight, and for a second, she just watches them, lost in the small details. Then, barely above a whisper she speaks out.

"I just wish I was normal again."

You are

At that, Rafe’s eyes find hers, searching, steady. He takes in every part of her expression- the flicker of doubt, the weight she’s carrying. He speaks out, quietly yet firmly,

"You are normal."

No I’m not

The space between them feels impossibly small. Y/n’s hands rest lightly on his shoulders, her fingers barely pressing into his skin, and Rafe can feel every shift, every movement. His gaze drops—just for a second. To her lips, slightly parted, soft under the glow of the moonlight, wet with saltwater.

God, I want to kiss you-

But he doesn’t.

Not after what she’s just told him. Not when he knows she’s still healing, still carrying wounds that haven’t fully closed. She needs space and he’s not going to be the one to push her. Instead, he lifts a hand, brushing the small smudge of mascara from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. His touch is gentle, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"You just need time."

He murmurs, his voice comforting but certain. Y/n’s eyes search his, and for a moment, he wonders if she’ll pull away. But then- a small smile, barely there, find its way to her lips. She gives him a small nod, her hand now fully pressed against his shoulder, grounding herself in the warmth of his skin. Slowly, her other hand trails down his arm, the touch light, deliberate, until her fingers find his under the cool water.

Without hesitation, she intertwines them together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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