#Purple Noon let out all three of them in less than a second

[the-toybox-general]

I forgot how hard lobotomy corporation is . But also maybe you shouldn't take Mountain of Smiling Bodies, Big Bird, and Army in Black all in one facility (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)

#sorry to the non LC players #General's Journal #Chess why would you do that ? #i took mountain and then went . well whats another 2 abnormalities that breach to death #NDKDNDKDND #Purple Noon let out all three of them in less than a second #death mention #lobotomy corporation #ask to tag

[xxxsweetdreamzxxx]

warnings/tags: dom!Jaehyun sub!reader, fanfic, smut; cursing, hook up, fingering, cunninilingus, unprotected sex, cream pie

summary: a chance meeting while shopping for bathing suits turns your summer vacation a little hotter

word count: 4.4k (help)

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this was interesting to write as the beginning and ending are based off of separate dreams this time, so hopefully I was able to link them in a way that made sense. please enjoy!!

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"How does this look?" You asked your friend Jamie, holding a skimpy neon bikini set to your body. 

It was the first full day of your annual summer beach trip with your bestie, and you'd arrived in the seaside town you always traveled to late last night. After eating a mediocre breakfast provided by your hotel, the two of you had headed to a nearby mall to buy new swimsuits. She'd had luck finding one relatively quickly. But the reason you were still there, on the second story of a large department store several hours later, was because you had yet to. 

She made a face. "No offence, but it's not really your style..."

Sighing, you put it back on the rack. "I know."

Rounding the stand that contained the bikini you'd just put back, you briefly glanced over at the neighboring section, which had swim trunks. Movement had caught your eye, caused by three guys walking through. You barely even paid attention to them at first glance, but the one in the back caught your eye, and you did a double take. 

At this second glance, you saw they were all young, probably close to your age, and very attractive. 'Are they models?' You wondered. But again, it was the one behind the first two that really made you look on in awe. He had muted fluffy purple hair that covered his forehead, and dark eyes that shone like diamonds even from this distance. His soft features and perfect skin made you wonder if he was an angel. His thin white shirt hugged what was probably toned muscle underneath. When the taller of his two friends said something funny, he smiled and oh my God, he had the cutest dimples. 

At that moment, he shifted his eyes up and saw you standing there, staring. Like a deer caught in headlights you froze, embarrassed as fuck you'd been caught. But his smile only widened, and he gave you a slight nod in greeting. 

Ripping your gaze away, you acted like nothing had happened and tried to return to shopping. 

"Oh wow y/n, you saw those guys right?" Jamie exclaimed, following you. "Now that's what I'd call eye can-"

You interrupted her, face flushed, by holding up a pale blue gingham bikini. "What about this?"

Before she could answer, her eyes focused on something behind you, mouth falling open slightly. A deep voice then responded to your question. "I think it looks cute."

You whipped around, only to come face to face with the man you couldn't keep from staring at. Your eyes widened and you gulped, startled. Up close, he was simply breathtaking. Literally; you felt your breathing become strained as your heart pounded in your chest. 

"Th- Thank you, um..?" You stuttered before taking a deep breath.

"Jaehyun." He answered. 

"Ah, Jaehyun." Damn, even his name was cute. You gave him a shaky smile. "So I should get it?"

"Definitely." He encouraged. He then looked to Jamie, who'd been speechlessly watching the exchange. "What do you think?"

Turning around, you waited to see her response. After looking between the two of you for a couple of seconds, she grinned and gave a thumbs up. You weren't sure if she was approving of the bathing suit or... 

"Hey, what are you guys doing the rest of today?" Jaehyun asked. 

"Oh, not much." You replied quickly, not planning to elaborate. 

"We'll just be at the beach!" Jamie said louder and at the same time, speaking over you. "Wanna come with?"

You gave her a look, trying to shut her up. She looked back at you as if to say 'what?'

He smiled. "Sure. Let me ask the boys if it's okay with them."

He beckoned the two of them over, who didn't hesitate to comply. Jamie introduced you and her to the group, as you were still majorly distracted by the million thoughts running through your head. The tallest of the three then introduced himself as Johnny, a friendly guy with a round face and sculpted arms that were on full display thanks to the tank he wore. The other was Mark, who shyly said hi to you and Jamie. He had a boyish and youthful aura about him that made you immediately assume he was the youngest. They both readily agreed to head to the beach. 

Still not fully registering what had just happened, you walked to the check out in a near trance and bought your swimsuits. Then you exited the mall, and made your way to the parking lot. Jaehyun went to get his car while the rest of you waited at Jamie's. When he pulled up, the guys got in. After quickly entering her car with her, Jamie pulled out of the parking lot and followed them as they lead the way to the beach.

"Y/n, you okay?" She asked, taking her eyes off the road for a split second to glance at your face. Your prolonged silence had prompted her to speak.

You removed yourself from your racing thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just surprised."

She grinned. "Well, today's not gonna be boring, that's for sure. It'll be a lot more eventful than if we'd hung out at the beach by ourselves."

You nodded in agreement. You knew there wasn't much harm in doing this - there would be plenty of people on the beach around you - they couldn't try anything. And besides, you didn't even get those vibes from them. That wasn't what made you uneasy. It was the thought of spending a day at the beach with such attractive guys that made the tips of your ears turn pink and your heart rate increase. You just prayed you wouldn't say or do something utterly embarrassing. 

Jamie drove into the public beach parking behind their car, parking a few spaces away from them. Exiting the car, you and her first made your way to the bathrooms to change. This beach was well maintained, a stone walkway lead to them and then continued on and up to a wide bridge that arched over the barrier dunes and then down onto the sand. Palm trees provided shade, which was made good use of as it seemed wherever a tree cast a shadow there was a cool bench to sit. 

Locking yourself into a stall in the women's bathroom, you undressed and then pulled on your brand new swimsuit. Thankfully, despite not being able to try it on in the store, it fit extremely well. The gingham pattern, pale blue color, and small ruffles on the waistband and straps made you conclude this was the cutest bikini you'd ever seen. Exiting the stall, you briefly peered into the mirror above the sinks to pull your hair into two low pigtails. 

Turning back around, you found Jamie standing there in her new suit, smiling at you. 

"Ready y/n?" She asked. 

You took a breath before replying. "Yep."

Arm in arm, you walked out to meet the boys, who'd already changed and were standing there waiting, beach bags in hand. Johnny got excited as he spotted you both and practically ran towards beach, Mark trying to keep up with him. Jaehyun looked unbothered as he stayed behind to walk at a normal pace with you. By the time you'd crossed over the sand dunes and strolled onto the beach, Mark and Johnny had already found a good place a little ways away to set up. They'd brought two large towels, big enough for multiple people to sit on, and had spread them out over the sand.

Jaehyun sat down on one, then patted the ground next to him, motioning for you to sit next to him. After a few seconds of contemplation you complied, folding your legs to the side as you still kept a couple feet of distance from him. Jamie sat down with Johnny and Mark on the other towel. 

For the next hour or so, the five of you talked about various topics in an effort to learn more about each other. Gradually, you loosened up as you got used to their company. Johnny and Mark were college friends of Jaehyun's, who'd came into town a few days before you to visit him where he now lived on the coast. Funnily enough, the two boys were staying in the same hotel as you and Jamie while they did so - it was the closest to Jaehyun's apartment.

Noon came and went, and the air continued to heat up around you until it was unbearable. You looked out at the ocean water longingly,  but didn't want to leave by yourself, and the others seemed to be having such a great time...

Glancing over at you, Jaehyun made a suggestion. "Who's up for the water?" 

Despite your assumptions, the agreement was unanimous. As one, you all rose and ran towards the rolling sea, chasing each other. Diving into the waves, you ran out until the water was up to your waist. Johnny swam out farther than any of you, while Jamie and Mark stayed in slightly shallower water. 

You heard the sound of someone sloshing around in the water directly behind you. Spinning around, you were met with his chest - his white shirt was now wet and you could see some of the muscles through it - as your eyes widened and you looked up into Jae's eyes. He smiled down at your face, less than a foot away, dimples on full display. 

"Hi." He said in a way that made your heart melt. Then: "Feel better?" 

"Y- yeah, it was really hot before." Your words betrayed your body - being in the water wasn't cooling you off at all anymore. 

You stood there for a few awkward moments in silence, not knowing what to say. 

"Um-" You began. 

"Woah y/n look out!" He cut you off, sudden panic on his face as he closed the small distance between the two of you.

Suddenly, a large wave crashed into your back. It pushed you straight into the only thing that would keep you standing - his body. Instinctively, you gripped onto his shirt tightly so you didn't fall, tugging it towards you. He didn't hesitate to wrap his strong arms around your waist to steady you. Only after the wave had passed did you realize what you'd done, quickly releasing the fabric from your hands. But he didn't let go. 

"Are you okay?" He asked, worry in his tone.

You nodded, heart pounding loudly in your ears. However, you were shaking slightly. 

He began leading you back towards the shore, not convinced. Stumbling onto the hot sand, he guided you back to the towels, sitting you down once you got there. Getting a smaller towel, he wrapped it around you so you could dry off, then he sat down next to you. 

You looked at him, embarrassed. "You can go back if you want, I'll be fine here."

"No, I'm good." He leaned back a bit. "I'm not much of a swimmer anyways."

He then lifted his arm and ran his fingers through his damp hair, brushing it back off his forehead. You gulped, incredibly bothered by the motion. 

He looked at you with a slight smirk. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah." You replied. 

Smirk widening, he handed you an unopened water bottle. You drank, trying desperately to calm down. 

Jamie ran up to you, Mark following close behind. "Y/n are you okay?" She asked, confused and concerned. "What happened?"

You explained without including the details that made you blush when you thought of them. She sat on the towel next to you, deciding not to go back out. Mark followed suit and shortly after Johnny joined you again when he realized everyone was out of the water.

After a bit, you began to get hungry and got up to try and find some food. Luckily, there was a food truck nearby with some cheap lunch. Returning to the towels, you ate in relative silence as the sun moved slowly west overhead. The rest of the afternoon was spent walking, playing with a frisbee, and sunbathing. You noticed Jaehyun seemed to be keeping you within a few feet of him the entire time, never leaving you alone or with the others. Even when you went back out with Jamie into the shallow water, he followed - even though he tried to appear like he wasn't. 

            .•°•. ♡ .•°•. ♡ .•°•. ♡ .•°•.

Once the sun went down, everything was packed up and taken back to the cars. You threw back on your shorts from earlier before heading to a nearby bar, open to the sea and cool night air. It was already crowded with many tourists, and once you entered you quickly lost sight of the others,  later catching a glimpse of Jamie talking to Johnny off to the side with a drink in hand. 

Seeing the bar, you made your way over to it by yourself and sat on one of the barstools. You beckoned the bartender over to order your drink. 

"What can I get for you?" She asked, polishing a glass. 

"A margarita please." you answered.

She then looked at the seat next to you. "And you sir?"

"A margarita for me too, thanks." A familiar voice answered. 

You turned around in your seat to face Jaehyun, blinking at him.

He smiled and nodded in greeting, those adorable dimples reappearing on the corners of his mouth. Feeling your face heat up, you quickly turned to look at the bartender as she made your identical drinks. 

You cleared your throat a little. "So... you like margaritas too?"

He chuckled softly at your attempt to break the awkwardness. "Truthfully, I've never tried one. Thought tonight was good first time."

You could feel his eyes on you, boring into your soul in an attempt to get your attention. When you couldn't take it any longer and tilted your head to look at him, his eyes immediately met yours. A slight smirk spread across his lips.

When your drinks were served, he was the first to take a sip, eyes not leaving you for a millisecond. You drank and shifted in your seat, fully aware of how he was checking you out as his eyes began to roam. You wondered if maybe you should've put on a shirt over your bikini top to cover yourself better. But that thought was quickly dismissed as a new one took its place. You liked it - the way his attention was focused on no one but you. There were plenty of other hot girls there that night,  but he paid them no mind. 

The hours drifted by as those around you melted away and it felt like you and Jae were the only two in the entire world. The music and voices of patrons were only a buzz in the distant background as you focused on his soft words. You found you enjoyed each others company - he made you comfortable with the idea of spending as much time in it as possible. 

When the clock struck ten, you could feel the beginnings of fatigue creeping into your mind. An incoming text made his phone buzz. He checked it, relaying the message to you after briefly lifting up his eyebrows in surprise.

"Your friend's heading back to the hotel with Johnny and Mark, she's driving them there."

"Oh!" You replied in surprise, glancing around the bar but finding them already gone. You knew what was probably going to happen to Jamie, but you didn't voice it. 

He looked at you for about a minute before speaking again, slowly. "Do you.. wanna come to my place?"

You met his eyes again, heart and mind racing at his invitation. The implications of his question didn't slip by you, they were fully realized. Still, it didn't take you long to make up your mind - in fact, you'd already made it before he'd asked. 

"Yes." You replied. 

He smiled wide and grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You quickly slid off your barstool and exited the bar, making for the car. You giggled as he pulled you along. The moon shone down on you from high overhead, lighting the way. Once reaching the car, he opened the passenger door for you and you hopped inside as he then closed it and rounded the car to his seat. Getting in, he started the car and drove out onto the road towards his apartment. 

Your mind raced as you made the silent drive to his apartment, listening to the low sounds of the radio coming through the speakers. It only took a few minutes before he was parking, getting out, and coming around to help you out of the car. Grasping your hand tightly again, he lead you into the building. The lobby of his apartment had only dim lights on at this time to illuminate the room. No one was around. Jaehyun took a left after guiding you through the main doors. 

"This way." He practically whispered, taking you into the elevator. 

He hit the three and the doors closed, leaving you alone in the small space with him for a few moments. He didn't waste any time in turning you around to face him, closing the gap between you. Locking his lips with yours in a heated first kiss, he backed you up into the elevator wall, driving you up it slightly with his strong arms. You instinctively wrapped your limbs around his body to steady yourself and kissed him back. You could taste both him and the drink he'd had at the bar - the mixture was heavenly. 

A ding signified your arrival at his floor, forcing you to part. Thankfully for the both of you, his door wasn't too far away. Pulling you down the hall quickly, Jae stopped at his door and took out his keys, fumbling with them for a few seconds as he tried to rush. When the door was unlocked, he pushed it open, letting you both walk through before harshly closing it again. 

For the few seconds it took for him to throw the keys on a small table next to the door you glanced around the dark apartment. Through a cracked door to your left you could make out a bathroom. A small kitchen stretched across most of the right wall from the door, a long bar separating it from the rest of the room. In this main room was both his living area and bedroom. His bed was pushed up against the farthest wall, which was taken up entirely by two giant windows. The moonlight shone through them, illuminating a balcony on the other side that looked out into the night and the street below, where palm trees waved back and forth in a light breeze. 

The sudden grip of his large hand on your waist from behind made you jump. He spun you around, and gave you that soul piercing stare that made all your self-control fade away. You leaned in this time, seeing a smirk spread across his face right before you closed your eyes. As soon as your lips brushed against his again, he picked up were you'd left off, kissing you relentlessly and leaving you breathless. Slowly, he backed you up further into the apartment until the backs of your legs bumped up against the edge of the bed as you struggled to bring air to your lungs. 

He lifted you just enough to clear the mattress and sit you down on top of it. Climbing onto it himself, he gently laid you down onto the sheets underneath him. He kept himself up with his knees, one on each side of you as he started to move his plush lips down to your neck. He proceeded to mark you, painting several dark spots onto your skin that would surely be there the next day. 

"Ah, Jae." You moaned out for the first time, when the tenseness that had been building between your legs became too much to stay silent.

He paused. "What is it princess?" 

"I need..." You began, heating up at the petname.

"Yes?" He asked patiently, waiting for your commanding words. He smiled down at you, raising a hand to your cheek to stroke it soothingly. 

"You." You finished, meeting his gaze. "I need you."

He smiled wider. "Sure thing."

Removing his hand from your face, he moved it down to the waistband of your shorts. Unbuttoning them with both hands, he slipped them off and down your ankles with ease. Placing his strong hand on your upper thigh, he spread it away from the other and began moving his fingers closer to your heat. Shivering at his touch, you sunk deeper into the bedsheets. He let his fingertips get to the edge of your bikini bottoms, but stopped there, teasing you. 

"Hey-" You breathed, scolding him when you realized what he was doing.

He looked down at you, hair messily splayed around your head as your chest rose and fell beneath him. Your skin was beginning to glisten with perspiration, your eyelashes fluttering slightly every time you blinked your half-closed eyes. "Hm?"

You took a moment to respond. "Touch me Jae."

He smiled a dark smile as he brushed your bikini bottoms to the side. The first touch of his fingertips against your slick clit had you lifting your hips up off the bed, curses falling from your lips. He forced them back down, pinning you to the bed with his body. He quickly resumed his actions, running his fingers back and forth over your folds as you moaned at the pleasure. He then suddenly inserted a finger into your dripping core. 

"Ah-" You gasped in surprise as he continued, using his thumb to trace circles across your clit. It was all too much for you to handle. He watched as you gradually lost control beneath him, writhing about in pleasure. The dangerous combination of things he was doing to you quickly brought your first high like a rising wave that crashed into the beach before it. 

You didn't have time to warn him before your walls clamped down on his finger and your juices spilled out onto his hand, sheets, and down your legs. He let you ride out your orgasm and calm all the way down before removing his finger and sitting up, licking every last bit of you from his fingers. You peered down the bed at him, watching in fascination as he lapped it up like a man starved.

"Shit, you taste good." He complimented, making your face feel flushed. 

When his hand was clean, he bent down and stuck his head between your legs. A second later, you felt the flick of his tongue on your inner thigh. He left a trail of wet kisses up it, making his way back up to your heat. Without warning, you felt his lips brush against your folds as he proceeded to use his tongue to clean you up as best he could. His hot breath against your pussy made you squirm and draw your legs up closer to your chest. Once satisfied he sat up again, licking the last of you from his lips. 

He then repositioned himself above you. Removing his swim trunks, his hard member sprung free and stood erect, precum trickling from its pink tip. Slipping a couple of fingers into the waistband of your bikini bottoms, he pulled then down your legs, leaving them with your shorts at your ankles. Lining up with your entrance, he held himself up with his strong arms, caging you in. You looked up at him, his faded purple hair messy across his face. He gave you a reassuring smile - dimples and all - before pushing into you with ease and rolling his hips down onto yours. Matching the pace he set, you pulled his face back down to yours to kiss him again, softer this time. He complied, kissing you deeper and slower as he pushed further into you with each thrust.

When he bottomed out, he speed up the movement of his hips, gripping yours to bring them closer to his. The lewd sounds of sex filled the apartment, combined with both of your increasingly loud moans.

"Jae." You moaned out, breaking your kisses. You felt the tenseness building in your abdomen again. 

He groaned as you felt him twitch inside you. "Fuck, you sound so hot saying my name like that."

He then hit your g-spot with the tip of his cock, pushing you over the edge. You came undone all at once, flexing your walls around him, gasping for air. Seconds later, hot strings of his cum shot through you, spilling out onto the bed along with your own. Riding out your orgasms simultaneously, your heavy breathing gradually quieted until he pulled out and sat up on the bed beside you. Watching him slide off the edge and stand up, your eyes followed him as he made his way to the bathroom entrance, ducking in for a second and returning with a towel.

Climbing back onto the bed, he leaned over you and gently cleaned you up with the towel, being extra careful around your sore clit. When most of it was wiped up, he discarded the towel onto the floor and laid down next to you. You rolled onto your side to look at him in the moonlight.

His skin had a visible sheen to it and his hair was a fucking mess - it stuck partially to his damp skin. But that only made his perfectly sculpted features more beautiful. You felt him wrap his arm around your naked waist, holding you to his body. Brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face, he spoke for the first time in minutes.

"Let's do this again tomorrow."

In your fucked out state, you couldn't respond with much else than an excited nod as you snuggled up to him. He gently kissed your swollen lips, happy. 

Brushing your nose with his, he whispered: "Night y/n." 

You replied by kissing him back, closing your eyes, and drifting off to sleep in his arms. 

#nct #nct smut #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct jaehyun #jaehyun nct #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct jaehyun smut #nct jaehyun imagines #nct jaehyun fanfic #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 jaehyun #jaehyun nct 127 #kpop #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #smut #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction

[youllallriseintheink]

An Obedient Son, chapter 6: Over Now

This is the story of Michael Afton, his father, and how their relationship affected him over the years.

This is the final chapter. Thanks to everyone who has read through this. I really appreciate it.

---

It was 27th of April, the day before Michael’s birthday. He’d opted to skip school for the first time in a year or so and spend the day in his old home. That’s what he’d taken to calling it, since he knew he wouldn’t see it again after tonight. It was a nice place, stylishly decorated and decently clean, and slow to change since William was a busy man and slow to throw things away. It still had a lot of Michael’s childhood toys and drawings on the fridge. And of course, his siblings’ rooms were untouched since William thought they’d be returning to them one day.

They’re going to be animatronics forever, Michael thought. But he couldn’t let William put God knew how many more kids though the same in hopes that he could figure out how to bring them back out.

Michael’s bags were packed, and included a series of cassette tapes on which he’d secretly recorded his father’s murderous ramblings. William’s three locked rooms had no security cameras, unfortunately, so it was the best he could do. That night, he acted like the adoring son he’d been mere weeks ago. And then, when he was sure William was asleep, he snuck out and he was gone.

---

The next morning, William woke up early. Today was the day. Gosh, for a while he’d been nervous that he’d ruined what he had with Michael by letting him in on the murder thing. But he’d come around, big time. Murder was all he wanted to talk about ever since they’d had their talk in the woods!

But, Michael was still a teenager, and teenagers liked to sleep in. William got himself ready for the day and sat in the living room, reading the paper and feeling like a child waiting for his parents to wake up on Christmas Day. Oh, why had he scheduled their murder for noon?

11 AM rolled around, and William got up to wake up his son, creaking the door open to find an empty room. William’s heart rate skyrocketed. Not knowing what else to do, he ran out to his car, ditching his purple coat to be less instantly recognizable. Rain pelted down hard enough to soak him in seconds, but it couldn’t drown out his furious racing thoughts.

Michael had wanted this, right? He’d said as much again and again. It was on the way to Freddy’s that William realized: Michael had started acting interested after he’d learned about Charlie’s murder, which had bothered him more than anything else William had told him. The questions he’d asked... “are there security cameras in the locked rooms,” “tell me all about your favourite murder in detail...” all seemed planned. No. No, no. It can’t be...

As William drew closer to Freddy’s, he saw three police cars outside of it. His heart sank. Michael had betrayed him.

William carefully turned away from Freddy’s, thankfully not attracting the attention of any cops. Where was he now? William didn’t know, but he had a guess.

---

“I sure hope we can pull this off,” Michael muttered. He was sitting at Henry’s table. Henry had cleaned the place up somewhat since he’d last been there and had unblocked the windows to let in some light, which was sweet on Henry’s part and made Michael feel less anxious about living with him. But this was still a massive risk, and he hoped it would be worth it.

“Well, we’ve done all we can. And at least we saved that little girl, right?”

“Yeah. But Fazbear Ent has an army of lawyers and a ton of money to throw at this, and Dad’s lied to courts before to get his way. And he has ways of getting rid of evidence. I hope the tapes are enough, because the police aren’t gonna find much else. And who knows what Dad’s gonna do when he realizes that I’m gone.”

The unlocked front door slammed open, hitting the back wall with a crash and revealing a rain-soaked and furious William Afton. “You fucking traitors!” William shouted, gripping his favourite knife like he intended to throttle it.

“Mike, call 911,” Henry said cautiously.

Michael made a move for the phone, but William ran for him and trapped him in a headlock with the knife against his throat. He faced Henry.

“Try to call the police, and I won’t hesitate. Now go get me what you have of mine.”

Henry shook his head. With his teeth bared, he looked like he might pounce as well, were he not so physically outmatched. “You’re too late, old friend. We gave the tape recorders in to the police. You’re going to prison for killing my little girl and all the others like her. You won’t change anything by putting more blood on our hands.”

“Thanks for letting me know that it was tape recorders. They’re designed to let me erase them at a distance, and now I will. But I wasn’t here for that. What I meant was the android. Now go get it.”

Henry looked into Michael’s eyes. “Michael... the android is for Elizabeth, right? Nothing unethical?”

“Nothing bad,” Michael replied. As he spoke, he felt the knife cut into his throat, releasing just a bit of blood.

“Okay. I’ll go get it. Follow along, Will. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

Henry led them down the hall to a room he was using as a workshop. Amongst the various half-formed robots was a frightful humanoid contraption of complicated muscle-like plating and bags of fake blood. Evan’s android had been cute, and this one would be as well once it was decorated to resemble Elizabeth, but skinless it was terrifying. Henry loaded it onto a magliner and brought it over.

“Thank you,” William said, dropping the knife. Then, he threw Michael to the floor and spat on him. “Elizabeth will be a better successor than you ever could have been. I wish I’d never wasted a second on you! All you ever did was tear this family apart.” William’s face contorted in uncontrolled rage. He yelled in frustration and lifted his foot in preparation to stomp down on Michael hard. Before he could, Henry grabbed a wrench and hit William him in the stomach with it, causing him to double over.

“Go away!” Henry shouted. It sounded more like begging than demanding. But William did, taking his robot with him.

Henry helped a still-shocked Michael back up. “You okay?” he asked.

Michael couldn’t do much other than stare ahead emptily. “I, uh... I’m gonna go to my room. I’m not injured,” he answered. And he did, and spent some time just catching up on homework. He felt nothing, honestly. It was like the whole thing had happened to someone else, or to a fictional character.

Michael and Henry set up defensive robots in the front and back yards to protect the house from William, should he choose to return. Michael figured that he wouldn’t try to kill them- it would put more suspicion on him if his accusers suddenly disappeared. Still, Michael was looking over his shoulder the next few days, and still carrying that feeling of numbness.

A court summons came less than a week later, and the crime being investigated was Charlie’s murder. Because William was something of a local celebrity, the court would take place in Idaho to ensure an unbiased jury. Henry found a place for them to stay a while, and they left.

The trial lasted two months, and it was brutal. The only evidence they had was half a transcription of one of the tape recorders. All the rest had been deleted before their transcription had even begun. It was a good one, though: it was William telling the story of how he murdered Charlie. Henry tried to encourage Michael about their odds, but Michael felt nothing.

William testified. “First, I would like to apologize on behalf of my son for wasting the court’s time. The transcript is of me telling my son a scary story from the perspective of Charlie’s murderer. You can call it sick if you want, but it’s just a horror story and doesn’t prove anything. It’s a tradition of ours to make fun of all the urban legends surrounding my franchise, and I assume that the other tapes contained similar stories that my son wanted all of you to take out of context. It’s the act of an arrogant boy: he’s of age now, so he wants me out of the way to inherit the franchise for himself. Apparently, he’s willing to manipulate all of you and emotionally abuse my grieving best friend to get it. I can’t tell you all how disappointed I am. The defence rests.”

William stepped down from the podium and went to Henry’s side. “You know, I don’t blame you for falling for his lies. I know how badly you want to find Charlie’s killer. But if you ever stop hating me, I’ll be here, alright?” His voice sounded so genuine, so gentle and sympathetic, that Michael almost worried he would fall for it. The court almost certainly would.

“Don’t worry,” Henry said, “I don’t trust him for a second.”

Michael testified, saying what he could of the truth. He didn’t mention immortality- there was no need to confuse the courts by bringing in the supernatural. He mentioned lying to the police twice under William’s orders, once while knowing his father was guilty. He recounted telling the little red-haired girl to meet them at Freddy’s.

William dismissed it all as lies, and it was his highly charismatic word against theirs. He slandered Henry, blaming him for the franchise’s numerous accidents because he had built or designed many of the franchise’s most dangerous robots.

“Products of an unstable mind. Perhaps a vengeful mind,” he said. “My gravest mistake is not letting him go from the company,” he said. Henry had tried to argue that he’d made the robots to William’s exact specifications, but again, there was no evidence, and even Henry couldn’t answer why he hadn’t asked more questions. He didn’t know himself.

As the court case dragged on, Michael missed his final exams and his high school graduation. He spoke on the phone with his friends and girlfriend, who would be attending Prom without him. Strangely enough, that was what actually got him to feel sad about the situation. The rest he just couldn’t believe was real.

Finally, the jury decided that William was innocent of Charlie’s murder. William didn’t even look at the two of them before heading out of the court building. It was then, as everyone began to leave, that it all sank in for Michael. This was real. His father was a murderer they couldn’t catch, and he was never going to speak to him again.

Michael turned to Henry. He was tearing up and he felt like a helpless child. “What do we do now?” he asked.

“We just made a serial killer very mad at us,” Henry answered steadily. He looked like he was going into a bit of shock himself. “What we do is we leave town. It’s gonna be okay.”

Did he actually believe that?

Henry drank himself halfway to unconsciousness that night. Michael joined in.

---

Life went on. Henry stayed with his brother until he found a permanent place for him and Michael to live, found a new job, and found a high school for Michael to attend.

“You could really use a normal year,” Henry had said. And yeah, Michael could have.

Michael made new friends. Got good grades. Started to feel normal again.

Henry was doing better, too. He was kind of forced to be, between having to get out and interact with people at his job, reconnecting with his brother, and having a youth around that he wanted to be relatively sober and well-adjusted for. Honestly, Michael figured it was mostly the latter- he could tell that Henry was doing his best. He was stronger than William had given him credit for.

And, he taught Michael to drive.

“This shouldn’t be too hard,” Michael said, getting into the driver’s seat. “I’ve been driving illegally for years. Dad always said he could just bail me out if I got in trouble.”

“Fair enough,” Henry replied. “It’s still a hoop we should jump through to get you your license.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michael replied as they began driving together. He wondered if William’s refusal to do this was about keeping him dependent or about normalizing criminality to him. Or maybe they’d just both been too busy with work. There were so many little things William had done to him that Michael was just beginning to decode them all. Michael stopped at a stop sign and immediately got going again.

“Hey, that’s called a rolling stop. Don’t do it on your driving test. You gotta stop for longer.”

“Got it. Y’know I just realized: my dad said some pretty bad stuff about my mom, but he was probably lying. Maybe I should see if I can find out anything about her.”

“That sounds like a good idea. This internet thing is really taking off- maybe there’s something about her on there.”

“Do you think she’d want to see me after all Dad put her through?”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you what, though- if you take the plunge and visit her, I’ll take the plunge and see if Maria and Sammy want to see me again. And if they both kick us out on our asses, well, at least we have each other.”

Michael smiled. “Thanks, Dad. Let’s do it.”

Henry was silent for a second, and Michael was too focused on the road to realize why.

“What? Oh... I, uh...”

“No, no. Call me whatever you want. ‘Dad’ is fine!”

It was over. William wasn’t a part of Michael’s life anymore.

But it wasn’t over. Michael kept using the internet to read the newspapers from Hurricane, Utah, and from that he knew that his father’s influence was only expanding.

After William’s father had died, he’d inherited millions and used them to found Afton Robotics. An infection of Fazbear-related restaurants had spread across Utah and was creeping over state lines, children of Hurricane were still disappearing, night guards were dying on a monthly basis, and the Bite had become the Bite of 83′ because apparently there were now multiple instances of animatronics biting people into brain damage.

It was impossible to forget. It was impossible to pull away.

Was it a coincidence that Michael moved to a town near Hurricane after he finished trade school? He wasn’t sure. He’d read a lot of news articles that had kept him up at night, and he wouldn’t doubt that it was affecting his decision-making. One day, he decided to drive by the oldest Fazbear restaurant still in operation and noticed a sign reading “help wanted: night guard position” in the window.

Come on. You don’t want this. You can do better than working the night shift at a minimum wage job. You can do better than dwelling in the past like this.

Michael parked his car and entered that horribly nostalgic building. The carpeting had been changed to red, but otherwise it was just as he remembered it.

They’ll recognize me. They’ll send me away. Or kill me...

“Table for one?” the greeter asked him.

“Actually, I wanted to apply for the night guard position. My name is Mike... uh...” At least use a fake name. “Mike Schmidt.”

“Alright. I’ll get the application forms.”

Michael’s heart rate picked up a bit. Was he actually going to do this? They won’t hire me. I won’t spend my nights trying not to get killed by my father’s creations and looking for a way to bring him down. I won’t make this my life. I’m going to be a normal repairman and visit my stepdad and stepbrother on the holidays and have a normal fucking existence...

That’s what he told himself, knowing that it was certainly all a lie.

#five nights at freddy's #michael afton #william afton #henry emily #my fanfiction #an obedient son

[pillage-and-lute]

How about-Hanahaki disease? Gerald/Jaskier? Happy ending please!

Nonny! Darling you read my mind, I’m an ‘angst with a happy ending’ kinda gal. Just so we’re clear, I know nothing of flower meanings and I didn’t research.

TW: Gore

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier first coughed up a flower at age three.

Poets loved Hanahaki, it was considered romantic, and those prone to it were tragic beauties, destined to languish, delicately spitting blood and rose petals into a silk handkerchief. No one really wrote about how it could be brought on by deeply unrequited platonic love.

Jaskier coughed a violet into his little fist and brought it to his mother, who turned him away.

Fifteen years down the line and having graduated Oxenfurt with honors, Jaskier was old hat at taking care of Hanahaki. His feelings, although often unrequited, were also often fleeting. A night spent coughing tulips into a bowl and a sore throat the next mroning, but rarely more than that.

If it persisted for a week or more there was tea. Any apothecary in even a mid sized city carried it. It was putrid and thick and slid down the throat like a cup of slugs, but in the morning there were no petals, and after two or three days of the stuff, the disease was gone. 

He was almost thankful for being so prone to Hanahaki, it was romantic and lended much to his chosen profession. People gave him sympathetic looks and free drinks if he sang a sad song and discreetly spat a rose petal into a handkerchief. Most of the time he simply didn’t mind it, and considered himself twice blessed with his mobile heart.

Sometimes he had nightmares of what would happen if he found true love.

The notions of true love itself was romantic, but everyone knew that your true love, the one you were fated to, if they didn’t love you in return no tea would save you.

He’d watched a friend, a grad student at Oxenfurt, die of it. It was no delicate coughing into handkerchiefs, no poetic languishing. He’d held her hair back as she threw up petals and blood, crying as she clutched the bucket with skeletal hands because she could no longer force food down a torn throat. 

It had been so slow, she’d said between pulling thorned stems from her mouth. More than a decade of loving the boy she’d had a crush on in her small town village. She’d lived through it all, only occassionally throwing up flowers. Always snow white roses, for him, apparently. It would have been wonderfully artistic if Jaskier didn’t know how they looked covered in blood.

Then she’d gone to his wedding to the baker’s daughter and two weeks later he watched her cough out roots wrapped around a chunk of lung and screamed for a doctor knowing it was too late. The blood stain never washed fully out of the floor.

And she’d said it was worth it. That she wouldn’t have stopped loving him for the world, even as she said it through a throat full of thorns. 

Jaskier never understood it, leaping from town to town, avoiding long term connections while knowing all the while that if fate wanted him to fall in love he would. Denying Destiny only made things nastier, he knew. And then, in a tevern in Posada, with bread in his pants and a hole in his boot, his eyes met pure gold. 

It took a split second, less probably, for him to realize that, although he didn’t love the man yet, for love at first sight truly is a poet’s myth, he could love this man. And if he died for this man, maybe the love would be worth it after all.

The man was a witcher, who punched him in the gut and stank of onion and talked to his horse. Jaskier followed him anyway.

He followed him and coughed up flowers, different blossoms for different people, and he began to fall deeper in love. He wondered sometimes what flowers he would cough, as the bouquets turned into only one kind. 

What flower would represent Geralt? Not buttercups or dandelions, certainly. Perhaps if someone else were to catch Hanahaki for Jaskier those would be for him. Geralt wasn’t a dandelion. He was grumpy and spiky and after ten years wouldn’t even call Jaskier a friend. 

In the dead of night Jaskier feared it would be white roses, like he’d seen once before.

And then Geralt died in a collapsing building only to be alive and fucking a purple-eyed sorceress after nearly killing Jaskier with a djinn. Jaskier vomited flowers not twelve hours after vomiting blood.

Snow drops, tiny and delicate. And from that point forth he never coughed up any other kind.

It didn’t progress so quickly though. Jaskier had expected to die within a month of Geralt meeting Yennefer. He didn’t. Love and sex weren’t the same thing, and his love didn’t go totally unrequited either. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but in the quiet moments just after dawn it was enough. 

Then Geralt made a choice.

He wouldn’t kill dragons, he didn’t hunt sapient creatures, he wanted nothing to do with the dragon hunt, until he caught sight of Yennefer.

And that left Geralt and Jaskier, on top of a mountain, as Geralt screamed into the wind that Jaskier meant nothing to him. Jaskier felt the roots set in.

He wasn’t going to get the story from the others. He could barely breathe, the pain was so sharp and intense and he could feel it growing, feel the flowers growing. Little snowdrops had no right to be so painful.

He wasn’t going to make it off the mountain.

Jaskier took a different trail down, and then wandered into the forest a little way, coughing blood and stems the whole way. He collapsed under a tree, blood staining his doublet. He wished he had a friend to clutch his hand, hold his hair back and rub his back like he’d done more than twenty years ago. 

There wouldn’t be a funeral though. No one would know what had happened to Jaskier the bard. Worse, no one would know what happened to Julian, the person, the man. As he threw up a clump of flowers and blood he felt very much like the scared little boy who threw up a flower for the first time. 

It hurt. It burned and shredded his throat and he wanted a friend and he didn’t have any. He’d thrown all his eggs in one basket twenty years ago and Geralt had kicked that basket off the mountain. 

Jaskier leaned his lute up against the tree. It’d be such a shame to get blood on the lovely girl. He curled up next to it, in a fetal position on his side as the coughs wracked his whole body. 

His friend had lasted two weeks, he thought. But her rejection was a wedding. Not her best friend and the love of her life telling her never to see him again. That he was a burden. That if life or Destiny could give him one blessing it would be to take Jaskier off his hands. And Destiny was going to deliver. She had made Jaskier love Geralt, and she would kill him by it. 

Still, Jaskier would have given anything for the comfort of his friend right now. He began to cry, snot and tears and blood and petals all mixing. He couldn’t even breathe, his lungs burned so bad. 

His vision was blurry.

He could hear noises, tromping through the forest and who knew what awful creatures lurked here. Just like Dame Destiny to have him disembowled while dying of Hanahaki.

It was dark, but it had been noon on the mountain. Black clouds swirled and closed in his vision.

A strangled noise.

No monster made that noise. That was a man-made noise. It sounded very much how Jaskier had felt on the mountaintop. He retched up a flower and tasted pollen and iron.

“Jaskier!”

He didn’t remember hallucinations being part of the final stages, but the brain played funny tricks.

“Jaskier!” There it was again, and he was being bundled up tight to a chest that was not at all comfortable and smelled of horse and leather and sweat and onion. A buckle of Geralt’s armor dug into his cheek. Jaskier’s mouth was full of stems and roots.

GLoved fingers dug in, pulling snowdrops from between his lips and then Geralt kissed him. It was entirely awful and unsatisfying. 

Dimly Jaskier came to the realization that it was not supposed to a kiss, but Geralt trying to blow air into his flowering lungs. A nice gesture but unhelpful.

He lolled his head to the side to throw up another clump of root, not wanting to throw up directly into Geralt’s mouth. 

A shudder ran through the chest he was pressed against, like a tremor before an earthquake. Then a sob.

It was quiet. The worst sobs are. 

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the floor, one hand cupped beneath his head, gently cradling. Then the witcher curled next to him, face pressed against a pale neck streaked with blood, and cried.

Jaskier wanted to comfort him, to stroke a hand through soft white hair one last time and thank him for not letting him die alone. He just didn’t have the strength.

Another wretched, tiny sob, then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry.” Oh that wasn’t fair. A tear leaked from Jaskier’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt continued, face pressed into Jaskier’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean it, I was angry and tired and I’ve hurt you but please,” the voice faded to barely a whisper. “Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it, I love you don’t leave me here alone.”

Don’t leave him here alone. Jaskier though. Destiny owed him, owed them both for all she’d put them through. Don’t make him lonely, he prayed. I don’t want to leave him alone.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter, pressing even closer like he was trying to meld them into one. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I love you.”

The world went white.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with blood in his mouth. It didn’t seem to deter Geralt, who kissed him so thoroughly his head felt light. Then Geralt pulled him upright. There was blood on the ground around them, some even streaked into Geralt’s hair. 

There were no stems though.

The forest floor had been carpeted for ten feet all around them with snowdrops, planted firmly in earth instead of lungs. They were so close together it looked like a sudden snowfall, trailing to fewer and farther between at the edges of their little pool of white. 

“I...” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say but it turns out he needn’t say anything. Geralt was clutching him like a lifeline and tucking a snowdrop into his hair.

“I smelled blood,” he said, lips brushing into Jaskier’s brown fringe. “I smelled blood and was so afraid. I haven’t been truly afraid in so long and then I found those wretched flowers.” Geralt took a shaky breath. 

“I truly thought it was too late.” He pulled back and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt’s own yellow ones were dry but the emotion was clear. “I thought I had lost you, my love.” A gloved hand, only slightly bloody stroked Jaskier’s cheek. “I thought I had lost you, my life’s greatest gift. And I wanted to lay down beside you and die as well.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “You overdramatic sod,” he said between watery sniffles. “What a ridiculous notion. And I can’t believe it takes me dying to turn you into a romantic.”

“Almost dying,” Geralt said firmly. There was panic written plain across his face, as if he was terrified that time would slam into reverse just to take Jaskier from him. Another embrace, just this side of bone crushing. “Almost dying, my love.”

“Not dead, my love,” Jaskier responded. 

As they made their way down the mountain snowdrops bloomed in their footsteps, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.

#geraskier #hanahaki au #hanahaki disease #tw: gore #angst with a happy ending #yo im actually so proud of this what the heck? #askbox answers

[kinglazrus]

Not Your Danny – Ch 1. Moving Day

Phic Phight | Next | FFN | AO3

Submitted by @ecto-american: After Danny’s untimely death, his family and friends turn to Dani for comfort. She was so much like him in every single way. And she never felt more like a clone. A replacement for the “real” thing.

Summary: Maddie and Jack learn a lot of things about their son after his death: his powers, his secret life as the local hero, the truth behind his accident three years ago. And his clone who is so much like their boy. When Dani gets the offer to join their home, she thinks it's too good to be true. And she just might be right.

Word count: 2761

Two weeks after Danny dies, Danielle moves into his bedroom. It's a lacklustre affair. Dani has no belongings to bring with her, except the few trinkets stuffed in the pockets of her shorts. She only owns one pair of clothes, two of you want to be technically and count her ghost form. But that's tenuous at best when you consider the circumstances of her creation, and that her clothes were created withher, not given to her. She doesn't like to think about that too much, though.

Neither of Danny's parents are home for the occasion. Dani doesn't blame them. Her face time with Maddie and Jack Fenton over the past three years equals an hour at most—hour and a half if she really pushes it. And most of that time was with an ectogun between them. If she counts the times where she hasn't been staring down a glowing green barrel, then it's probably only five minutes, maybe less. And that only happened a few days ago.

Suffice to say, Dani and the Fentons don't have a good relationship, or a relationship of any kind. So she doesn't blame them for being out of the house when their dead son's clone, who they only recently found out about, takes over his bedroom. Although take over might be too strong of a phrase.

Dani floats next to Jazz, hovering in front of Danny's open bedroom door.

"Is it... okay?" Jazz asks.

Dani drifts inside, turning her head from side to side as she looks around. She likes the blue walls, and the open brick on the outer wall is kind of cool. The bed, covered in a purple bead spread, topped with a fluffy pillow, looks softer than anything she's ever slept on. The room is nice, if a bit messy with Danny's stuff still inside. Posters decorate the wall, some about space, others from some band called Dumpty Humpy. The shelves are stuffed full of books and model spaceships. His dirty clothes lie next to an open hamper in the corner of the room.

The sight surprises Dani more than anything.

"What are you gonna do with his stuff?" she asks. "Do people usually just," she gestures toward the room, "leave it like this?"

"What? No." Jazz shakes her head and quickly wipe her hand across her eyes. "When someone dies, their family or friends eventually pack their stuff away. Not always right away, though."

"Two weeks isn't long enough?"

Jazz's breath hitches. "Don't– don't say that. It's inconsiderate."

Dani's cheeks go hot at Jazz's admonishing tone. "Oh. Sorry." She floats further into the room, if only to escape the awkward air settling between them.

If Dani didn't know any better, she would guess that Danny had just stepped outside for a second and would be back any moment. Lowering herself to the floor, Dani settles on the carpet and walks toward the desk. A controller of some kind sits on the desk chair, its cord tangled with a headset. Dani picks the controller up and turns it over in her hand. She only vaguely recognizes the X logo in the middle of it; her travels over the past couple of years haven't exactly involved a lot of gaming. Or any.

There was a small handheld system she picked up at a garage sale once. She carried it for a few months but lost it somewhere along the way.

Dani tosses the controller onto the chair and turns back to Jazz. "So, now what?"

"Well, if you're not comfortable with Danny's things still being in here, we can get some boxes and start packing. I think we have some in the basement. If you want." Jazz tacks on the last three words with a soft voice.

"No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, course." It's just stuff, after all. Dani doesn't quite get it, which also means she doesn't care. If the Fentons don't want to move Danny's stuff yet, then it can stay. He was their son before he was Dani's cousin/DNA source.

"Okay. I guess I'll just... let you get settled, then. I have to work on some plans for the memorial, but Mom and Dad should be home in a couple hours. They said they wouldn't be gone long," Jazz says.

Dani nods. A few seconds of silence pass, and once it's obvious that neither of them is going to say anything more, Jazz turns and walks down the hall. Finally alone, Dani lets her ghost form fall away. The transformation rings prickle as their bright light ghosts over her skin, and when it fades, she's left in her typical shorts and hoodie. Dani rubs her arms until the prickling fades, then flops onto the bed.

Damn. It really is the softest thing she's ever lain on. And the blankets are warm. They smell like Danny, too. That's something Dani never thought she would think. She didn't even realize Danny had a smell, but it's hard to ignore now. It's not the most tangible smell. The best word Dani can find to describe it is crisp, like a cold day. She would bet her beanie that it was because of his ice powers, an ability they had never shared.

Dani shakes her head. Everything is weird enough right now. The last thing she needs to be contemplating is how Danny used to smell. It's also, like, a super creepy line of thought, yeah? Yeah.

As she stares up at the ceiling, a blur of movement catches her eye. Her gaze jumps toward it, in the corner of the bedroom closest to the door. A small brown lump clings to the ceiling. A bug, no doubt. Dani can't tell what kind, and she doesn’t care enough to find out. It's not too surprising, considering how messy Danny's room is. There's probably some old pizza hiding under his bed or something.

Dani rolls onto her side and closes her eyes. A little bug doesn't bother her, not after the places she's slept. And if the Fentons won't be home for a while, and Jazz is busy, she might as well take advantage of her new bed and the next few hours to get some shuteye. God knows she needs it.

—

Maddie feels sorry for Vlad's receptionist. She bears a striking resemblance to Maddie herself, with short auburn hair just a touch redder than Maddie's own, a curvy frame, and a sharp, pointed chin. She's even wearing blue, bless her heart. The girl is pretty, and young, and kind. Can't be too far out of high school, and hoping a job at the mayor's office will look good on her resume. Maddie hopes it pays off. The girl deserves it for putting up with Vlad daily. Working for him seems to be taking a toll on her, judging by the distressed look in her eyes when she looks up from Vlad's appointment book.

"I'm sorry, there's no appointment for you. I don't know if I can let you in," she says.

Maddie sighs. "Mr. Masters left me a message"—or several—"asking me to come in."

"I'm really sorry, but he didn't mention expecting you... oh no." The receptionist's eyes widen and she starts digging through papers on her desk. "Did I forget to write it down again? He got so upset last time."

Maddie reaches out and touches her shoulder, stopping the frantic search. "It's all right, dear. It's not your fault."

She suspected, when Vlad left numerous messages on her cellphone rather than calling the house, that something more was up. How Vlad even got her cellphone number she doesn't want to know. She will also be changing it very soon thanks to this incident.

"He's particular about his meetings," the receptionist says. "I really can't let you in."

"Just let him know I'm here, and I'll take care of the rest."

The receptionist nods. While she goes for the phone, Maddie steps away from the desk and turns back to the waiting area. It's empty besides her and the receptionist—not surprising this early on a Monday, and all the better for Maddie. She pulls her cellphone from her purse and checks the time; It's just after eight. Dani is due at Fenton Works soon, but Maddie and Jack won't be back until noon, at least. The reminder makes her wince.

Missing half of Dani's first day at home isn't ideal, but Maddie wants to get this meeting over with as fast as possible. They had other plans in the city, anyway, made before they invited Dani into their home. Better to get everything done at once.

Maddie eyes plush waiting room armchairs, wondering if there's any point in sitting down, when the receptionist calls out, "Mrs. Fenton?"

Maddie opens her mouth to answer, but her phone—still in her hand—buzzes at that moment. Jack's name stretches across the screen. "Excuse me." She steps toward the elevators on the far side of the room and turns her back to the receptionist, the closest semblance of privacy she can get, before answering her phone. "Hey, Jack. Is your meeting done already?"

"Not even close! How goes the shopping?"

"Fine so far. I forgot we didn't ask...." She tenses, feeling the receptionist's stare at her back. "We didn't ask what she might need, so I'm just grabbing the basics. Do you want me to pick something up for you? Are you waiting on the park board?"

"About that... I'm with them now, and—what day did we settle on for the memorial, again?"

Maddie shakes her head, but not out of annoyance. Jack forgetting the day hardly surprises her. He tends to forget the little details. If anything, it makes her feel grounded. The past two weeks have been a lot, to put it lightly. A lot of changes. A lot of revelations. But she can always rely on Jack to be his usual self.

"A month from today," she says.

"Thanks, baby! You're the best! See you later." The phone beeps as Jack hangs up. Maddie sighs while the corner of her lip twitches upwards. It's the closest she's come to smiling since Danny died. She holds like that for a moment, caught between the ache choking her heart and the desire for things to get better. They won't, not for a long time. She won't fool herself into thinking otherwise. But it's nice, for a moment, to pretend things might be okay.

"Leaving Jack alone with the DPR? I feel sorry for them." Vlad's slimy voice ruins the moment after the first syllable.

Maddie tenses, clutching her phone tighter, and turns to face him. "Vlad. It's bad business to ask for a meeting, then make your guest wait."

When Vlad smiles, his whitened teeth cut a bright slash across his cheeks. It's too wide, too sharp. Never reaches his eyes. Maddie remembers, long ago, when Vlad had a soft smile. He used it sparingly, doling it out to only the most deserved. She can't imagine him smiling like that now.

"Well, I don't mean to be presumptive, but when I phone a friend hoping for a visit, I expect them to stop by my house, not my work."

"Your mistake, then."

The receptionist's typing falters. Her have yet to stray from her screen, but Maddie already knows she's listening in. Vlad probably does, too.

"Natalie!" he snaps.

The receptionist jerks upright. "Yes, sir?"

Vlad rests a hand on Maddie's back and pushes her forward. She moves, if only to step out of his reach, and heads toward his office. Vlad reaches into his suit jacket as he walks. He pulls out his wallet and pinches a few random bills, tugging them out without looking. "Take a break. I'm sure you could use a coffee to perk you up."

He leans in front of Maddie to drop the bills on Natalie's desk. The contact makes Maddie grimace, and she hurries ahead into his office. When she turns, Vlad is already closing the door. The last thing Maddie sees of the waiting room is Natalie's frown as she glances at a paper cup sitting in plain view on her desk.

"Now, Maddie." Vlad turns. Rather than heading to his desk, he steps toward Maddie and touches her arm. "How are you doing?"

"You left me seven messages just so you could ask that?" Maddie brushes Vlad's hand off. In three long strides, she cuts across his office and takes one of the visitor's chairs. While the waiting room had plush armchairs, these are made of dark wood, armless, with firm leather cushions and straight backs. A deliberate choice, no doubt.

Vlad comes up beside her, his hand on the second chair. Before he can sit, Maddie swings her purse off her shoulder and drops it on the empty cushion. Vlad pauses, glances between her and the bag, but relents and takes his seat at the desk instead.

His chair sits considerably higher than Maddie's.

"I can imagine the pain you're going through right now," he says.

Maddie's fists clench. "Can you really?"

"Believe it or not, yes, I can." He pauses, giving her a chance to respond. But whatever question he wants her to ask, whatever game he wants to play, Maddie refuses to give in. She might have put up with him once, but after what he's done, he will be lucky if she willingly suffers his presence ever again after today.

She waits for Vlad to elaborate.

"I'm sure you've wondered, all this time, where Danny went whenever he disappeared for hours. Being our city's young hero explains a lot of it, yes, but to be honest, that wasn't everything." Vlad stops to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. It's quite the performance. "To tell you the truth, he was often with me."

Bullshit! Maddie wants to shout, but she bites it back. Her jaw aches from how hard she clenches her teeth.

"I discovered his secret a long time ago and gave him a safe place away from home. You know, when conversation at the dinner table got to be too much." Vlad pauses again, letting his words sink in.

Maddie hates that she knows exactly what he means. All those times she and Jack discussed their inventions, their plans for when they finally captured the ghost boy. Most of what Vlad is saying might be a lie, but the truth within it cuts her deeply. "Really?"

Vlad might think himself a great actor, but he's apparently ignorant to Maddie's own deception. He nods at her questioning tone, eyes low and mouth pressed into a grim line. "I understand this is hard to hear. I did my best to make him feel safe, and we actually became close. Over the years, I came to think of him as something of a son. And his death has affected me deeply."

He stands, trailing his hand along his desk as he walks around toward Maddie. His shoulders droop, as if Danny's absence weighs on him. It really is a good performance. Peering closer, Maddie sees that he even looks pallid, and purple bags rest under his eyes. A look easily accomplished with some pale foundation and smudged eyeshadow.

"It's like a piece of me is missing without him. I'm sure you feel the same. We need each other, Maddie. To make us whole again."

Vlad reaches toward her, but she ducks away from him, slipping out of her chair. His hand falls through the empty air and he stumbles, nearly falling into the chair.

Now he's being ridiculous, Maddie thinks. She could have fallen for the makeup and the sob story if she didn't know better, but the off balance act? The distressed look in his eye when she pulls away? She's insulted that he thinks she would fall for it.

"You're right Vlad. I'm in pain. Danny is gone and it feels like he took a piece of me with him when he died. But I have my family to help me through it." She grabs her purse off the other chair and heads for the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

"Madeline, please—"

"Vladimir!" Her shout tears at her throat. She turns on him, blinking to fight back the burn in her eyes. He stands frozen where she left him, crumpled pathetically against her empty chair, one hand still outstretched. Maddie swallows the lump in her throat. "Enough."

She leaves without another word.

Next

#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #notyourdanny #nyd chapter one #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #dani phantom #danielle phantom #hurt/comfort #family #danny phantom fanfiction #trans danny #trans danny fenton

[fw00shy]

hello!! i see that you're taking prompts 👀❣️ i would love to see your take on hitman draco - whose next target is harry

hello shal!! I loved your prompt and wanted to write something super dangerous and sexy for it, but instead I wrote this. 😅 

Horrible Luck

Harry/Draco | M | 2.8k | Hit-Wizards, Humor, Catsuit, brief mention of dudley working out in front of the telly | ao3 link

When does a relationship stop moving forward and start looping back like a broken time-turner, intent on rewinding the same disagreements in perpetude? When did all the little quirks Draco used to love about Harry turn into a list of things he wouldn't need to deal with if he were alone? Draco's mind is on his kitchen table this morning — specifically, the half-eaten plate of eggs that Harry left behind; Harry knows the kneazle will sick up from it — so Draco doesn't notice the name on his latest assignment until he's already signed off the disclosure forms.

Harry James Potter.

"We don't need him dead for a few days," Pansy's saying. "Just get it done before the Rodney Snyder Bill comes to a vote in Parliament on Monday."

"Get it done..." Draco trails off, swallowing sickly.

"Yes, Draco? Sorry — oh-thirteen. Blast this numbering system. It isn't as though you're on my payroll as 013. I'm tempted to order a hit on you just so I won't need to write all five bloody titles of yours every two weeks. Only joking, of course — Draco? You alright there?" She taps the heel of her stiletto against the desk, where she has it propped up next to her coffee.

Draco blinks. "Right, yes. Before the Rodney Snyder Bill. Which bill is that again?"

"It's the usual hem-haw about how life is so unfair blahblahblah." Pansy waves the peacock-feathered quill in her left hand. "Don't worry yourself over it. Are you all worked up because it's Harry Potter? I know you had a bit of a tiff with him back in school, but hadn't we all? Potter's an absolute waste of breath if you ask me."

"It's not that..."

"What is it? If it's because of his involvement in the last war, you needn't worry about that. All our sources report that he's nothing more than a tax acrobat for Muggles now, on the days that he's not wreaking havoc with his voting powers in Parliament. I don't know what half those words mean, but I want a drink just for saying them out loud."

Draco decides that it is probably not in his best interest to tell Pansy that Harry was actually a tax accountant, and yes — it is indeed as dull as Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom if their dinnertime conversations concerning the subject matter are any indicator.

Draco's mind flits briefly back home. He hopes their kneazle didn't manage to eat any of the eggs before Draco cleaned up Harry's forgone plate. Who knows where she'll puke it up this time. If she ruins his pillow again... Potter is in for a slaying. Only verbally, of course.

"Don't worry about me," Draco says.

"I never do," Pansy says far too flippantly to be a lie. "As I said, you have a few days, so finesse it however you like. Toy with him a bit, for all I care. Get him in bed, then turn a wand on him — go wild. Now doesn't that sound exciting!"

Draco decidedly does not tell her about the last time he "turned a wand" on Harry in bed. Let's just say that it was both slippery and steamy and smelt faintly of strawberries.

"Alright, Pan — sorry, P. I'll get it done. You know I will."

"That's my boy," she smirks. "Now come give me a kiss before you go."

Pansy started demanding that sort of goodbye after she picked it up from a Muggle romcom. "Absolutely disgusting," she'd proclaimed, kissing Draco's cheeks. But the kisses stayed while the mocking subsided. Don't let it fool you, though — she still has plenty of unlearning to do. They get along fine as long as Pansy keeps her mouth shut.

Which is practically never. This is Pansy, after all. Her father liked to joke that she was born wailing for someone to wipe her arse. But Pansy is the only family Draco has left.

The next few days pass in the doldrums of a daily routine. Draco goes off to the local library and does his usual research (a combination of Muggle Internet and blood spells for tracking; Find My Friends is a godsend) despite knowing full well where Harry is at all times. He watches Harry's green dot make its way down the tube to the financial district by way of the Pret a Manger on 3rd Street. The blinking green dot doesn't move for several hours (it never does; Draco knows because he tracks Harry every few weeks out of paranoia). Draco is starving by noon, but he hangs on until three to see if Harry's dot will move the slightest; but alas, Harry is as much the meticulous Gryffindor hero at tax accounting as he was at Horcrux hunting; he doesn't do so much as grab a bite at the cafe in the lobby.

Harry heads home at precisely five-thirty. Draco waits a respectable fifteen minutes before doing the same, so Harry has time to put dinner on the table. The spread tonight smells delicious as it always is: roasted chicken and potatoes, broccolini, those purple carrots that Harry covets from the Muggle farmer's market; homemade treacle tart for dessert. Sometimes Draco wonders how Harry can manage all of this in the fifteen minutes he has before Draco gets home, but he never questions it for long. Who knows how cooking charms work. Not Draco. He's still a Malfoy, after all.

Harry kisses him good-evening before they sit for dinner. They share meaningless conversation about their day. Draco makes up some story about how Hannah in Marketing took the last premade salad he wanted from the deli down the block and is appalled over how, even in his made-up life, he's about as dull as Neville's — well, you know.

"If I hear another word about Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom, I'm going to start thinking you want to fuck it," Harry declares while savagely tearing into his chicken thigh. Draco shudders at the sight; whoever taught Harry how to cook clearly forgot to teach him how to eat.

Still, it's a clear opening for a fight. Draco welcomes it as one does a summer storm, and soon they're throwing plates at each other. The kneazle (Morticia; Granger's idea) scampers out of the kitchen — that Hufflepuff coward — and Draco manages to graze Harry's left cheek before they stall to catch their breath.

The calm is a fallacy, of course; the eerie stillness of a storm's eye, broken up in the next minute with a low growl, and they're clawing at each other again. Except now, Draco is inexplicably hard.

But still, so incredibly bored.

What is the standard deviation of the time from start to Scourgify? Draco wouldn't be surprised if it's less than five minutes.

Monday comes and goes. Draco's thinking about Harry's dirty socks, the ones he tucks between the sofa cushions, while Pansy dresses him down for his latest failure.

"I swear, oh-thirteen. If we weren't like family..." Pansy trails off, her crimson-lacquered nail pointed threateningly at Draco.

"Sorry, Pans," Draco says, trying his level best to look his most innocent. It's not his fault he's an awful hit-wizard, alright? They should've known from his resume. Ronald Weasley, Katie Bell, Rosmerta, Dumbledore... mainly, he kills his marks by accident. He's got horrible luck.

Pansy declares that this is Draco's final chance. And then a week passes, and Harry stays alive. Draco's dead bored staring at his boyfriend's unmoving green dot all day on Apple Maps. He's made friends with Stephanie-the-librarian, though; they go out for a pick-me-up around three pm, and then Draco makes up stories about how she sends him racy pictures of their fake manager and this and that over dinner with Harry. All's okay if not precisely thrilling until the bill passes with Harry still alive, and then Draco reports to Pansy's office with Theo also in the room.

Theo is wearing a full suit, which is par for the course. But Draco knows he's in trouble because Pansy has her heels off her desk.

"Oh-thirteen," Theo booms. "You let the James Buckles Bill pass."

"Which one is that?" Draco asks between nervous swallows.

"Ten-percent increase in taxes on long-term capital gains," Theo explains the same time Pansy snaps, "None of your business."

"Right." Draco has no idea what these words mean. "Umm... sorry?"

"And the week before," Theo says, pacing now, "you let the Rodney Synder Bill pass."

"Ten-percent increase on income tax for those who make more than seven figures a year," Pansy says before Draco can ask.

Figures? Income? None of this means anything to Draco. If he wanted to be a solicitor... well, he's a Malfoy. Malfoys solicit, never solicitator. Or whatever the word for it is.

"It's only two bills, sir," Pansy pipes up in Draco's defence. "Meaningless in the grand scheme of things compared to the Pepper Oakley Bill tomorrow."

"What is —"

"Thirty-percent increase on property tax on all parcels of land within major metropolitan districts, and a twenty-percent increase on all property over two acres, compounding," Pansy hisses to Draco before turning her full attention back to Theo. "Which will not pass. Draco's been building up a relationship with the mark, hasn't he?" She kicks Draco with the pointed tip of her heel.

"Yes!" Draco yelps out in pain. "Yes, absolutely. I've been building... a relationship with Ha — the mark. He's umm. He thinks we're in love."

Theo regards Draco with narrowed eyes. "In love."

"Turns out he's desperately lonely," Draco says with a mocking sneer, though the truth is that they were both rather pathetic in the beginning.

Draco's story passes Theo's muster. He straightens up and gives them one last menacing glower before he leaves. Draco and Pansy stare at the door for a long, vacant second.

Pansy turns to Draco with a sigh when Theo's footsteps retreat down the hall. "Are you really seeing Potter?"

"Oh. Umm... sort of."

"I'm happy for you," she says. "You worry me, you know. Can't be too healthy for the aura with you sulking about all the time."

"Right," Draco says.

"Right," Pansy agrees. She schools her features. "Sorry about the, um — having to kill your boyfriend."

"It's alright," Draco says.

"Right." She coughs. "Well, then. I suppose you ought to go prep. Remember to get it done before tomorrow morning. If I were you, I'd get it done tonight, so you can stop worrying about it and have a decent night's sleep. Now come and give me a kiss before you go."

Draco short-circuits his usual trip to the library and heads straight home. The midday sun comes in too bright from the printed kitchen curtains. He's never noticed how disproportionately large the clumsily illustrated lemons are in comparison to the cherries and ice cubes — but that's what he gets for letting Harry pick the print. When Harry's dead, he'll replace them with a pattern worthy of the Malfoy name. He's always liked snakes and daggers (just the image of them; they're ghastly in reality).

He gets hungry enough around three to rifle through their cabinets for a snack. All he finds are two expired Twinkies and a can of tuna that he realises only after his first bite that it's meant for Morticia. He briefly considers popping by the library to see what Stephanie's up to before deciding against it. He needs to focus on murdering his boyfriend.

Draco is in the middle of purging his wardrobe when he finds his hit-wizard uniform hanging in the back. It's all black and one-piece, like a Muggle wetsuit but much sleeker, like a seal. But not as adorably chubby. More like Catwoman. Lithe, but deadly. Unfortunately, it's not a very practical uniform for murder, so Draco hasn't worn it in years. He slips it on out of morbid curiosity and is pleasantly surprised to find that it still fits him — especially around his arse. Morgana and Mordred both, his arse.

He loses track of time admiring himself in the mirror. And that's when Harry opens the bedroom door.

"Fuck," Draco says. His wand is out and trained on Harry's chest. (Hit-wizard reflexes; Draco's terrible at murder but surprisingly adept at keeping himself alive.) "I — um. I can explain."

"Merlin, you look hot in that," Harry says. He sounds like he's come back from running. "I've always wanted to see you wear it."

"What?"

"Your hit-wizard catsuit." Harry holds both hands up and steps toward Draco. "So fucking hot. I'm going to fuck you into a wall if you let me get any closer. Promise."

Did someone start up the fireplace? "I knew you stared a bit too hard at Halle Berry's arse the last time we watched Catwoman."

"Can you blame me for imagining what you'd look in it?"

"You don't look so bad yourself," Draco purrs. He can't help himself; Harry hasn't looked so fit in years. What is it about him today? Did he do something different with his hair? No...

Harry disarms Draco's wand hand and pushes him up against the wall. He's always been good at following through on his promises.

Draco's washing up in the shower when he realises what's different about Harry today. Harry's wearing an Auror uniform.

Draco bursts out of the shower still wet and dripping. He finds Harry in the living room with the telly on.

"You're going to ruin the carpet with all that water," Harry says, his nose scrunched. He's still got his crimson Auror robes blatantly bunched over the sofa.

"You're a fucking liar," Draco says. "Muggle tax accountant? I can't believe I bought that lie."

Harry remains painfully nonchalant. "We both had our secrets."

"But you knew mine." Merlin, for how long? Was their whole relationship a sham to —

Harry sighs and spells Draco dry. A bathrobe — plushy and cottony, Draco's favourite — flies in from the bedroom to wrap around Draco's shoulders.

Draco begrudgingly shrugs it on.

"Sit down," Harry says, patting the space next to him. Draco almost does as asked, but stops when he spots the smelly old sock peeking between the seat cushions.

"You're an Auror," Draco says. His lips sneer involuntarily at the betrayal.

"And you're the hit-wizard out to kill me. Yet we're both still here," Harry says. "Come on, Draco. Sit down."

Draco eyes the sock.

Harry's face purples. "Is this about the bloody sock? For the thousandth time, it's not me leaving them about. It's Morticia!"

Harry vanishes the sock. Suitably appeased, Draco walks over to their sofa and sits primly at the edge of it.

"I wasn't actually going to kill you," Draco says by way of an apology.

"I know that," Harry says. "You're an idiot. Hit-wizard, really? It's a wonder how I ever thought you were my nemesis."

"That is absolutely rude and uncalled for," Draco says. "I was plenty good at Quidditch."

Harry grins. "I'll give you that. Most distracting arse on the pitch... some things never change."

"You don't look so bad yourself in those robes," Draco says. He coughs. "I mean. We should... talk."

"Yes."

They've never been good at talking.

"So..." Harry says slowly. "What are you going to tell them when I'm still alive tomorrow?"

"Oh, I dunno. Can't you pretend you're dead? Please? For me."

"I'll be helping a lot of people if we pass this bill," Harry says apologetically.

Right. Saviour complex. Draco's painfully familiar with compromising around that character flaw. "Pansy's going to kill me," Draco sighs. "Well, unless we kill her first. But I'd rather not. She's my favourite person in the world — besides, you, of course."

"She's actually. Um." Harry coughs. "I think she's going to be fine."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... err."

"No," Draco gasps. "No, don't tell me she's been a mole this whole time."

"Err. Well..." Harry scratches the back of his head. "Did you know she's getting married to my cousin Dudley?"

"The awful Muggle bully?"

"He's um. He turned alright in the end? He's been working out in front of the telly. Bought these free weights and all... says it's really changed his outlook on life."

"Sweating in front of the telly changed his life?"

"Something like that," Harry says.

"That sounds disgusting."

"Yeah... I try not to think about it much either. So, err… takeaway? Greek, maybe? You loved the rotisserie chicken we had a few weeks ago. Before um, you started throwing it at me."

Shouldn't they be discussing something serious? Draco already forgets what. "Takeaway? But don't you —"

"Right," Harry laughs. "Now that everything else is out in the open, I suppose there's no harm in you knowing that I order takeaway and vanish away the boxes before you come home."

"I..."

"Draco? You aren't mad, are you?"

Mad, no. Surprised — absolutely. But Draco should've known that dating Harry Potter would never be boring.

Read on AO3

#drarry #drarry squad #fwoosh writes

[monsterywriting]

Thenerius - pt 1

masterlist

word count: 4,555

male tiefling x female reader

AN: this is planned as a two-parter, like Adam, just super long because i want to make “shorter” (i.e. not a bunch of parts) stories so i can keep up better.

The Deep was a small inn with an attached tavern overlooking the ocean about an hour’s ride from the nearby port city of Alfore. The location was not entirely by accident, or so your boss claims, and it definitely was not a miscalculation of Alfore’s outward expansion when purchasing the land.

Nevertheless, against all odds, Mr. Thistle’s business managed to prevail despite the city’s outer limits remaining largely unchanged for the better part of a decade. His secret to paying his taxes on time was largely thanks to his clientele, taking in those not traditionally welcome within the city limits. To put it bluntly, pirates.

It was your second year working at The Deep but your entire life had been spent within it’s pine walls, your mother having worked here before you. Though you weren’t quite used to being a worker there, there was one thing of which you were certain: you have made more gold in these two years than you had with the salary of a scribe for the capital’s archives in five.

Whenever a pirate crew blew in with the with the sea breeze, the drunken tips of coin and jewelry of dubious origins were almost worth the whirlwind of destruction left in the wake of their days-long benders.

But at present, that period of prosperity was still months away and you were currently struggling to clean the tavern when all you wanted was to curl up in front of the fire on the far side of the room.

There weren’t many guests staying overnight this time of year, whatever handful of travelers entering Alfore by land were willing to stop so close to their destination, but the tavern was never truly empty.

You relaxed slightly as you approached the fireplace, taking your time dusting the mantel as the heat thawed your freezing body.

It was about two-thirds of the way into your third straight shift, the night before having started off promising. A rare merchant ship’s crew stopped by the tavern for the evening at the end of your first trip, but the tips hadn’t been impressive so you had agreed to stay and help the morning shift expecting the clean up to be worse than it actually was.

With over an hour left in your shift, everything was spotless and you had little else to do but pretend to dust as close to the fireplace as you could.

A tap on your shoulder nearly made you topple over the old trinkets on the mantel, Lenora giggling at your reaction behind you. She was a pretty young woman, clearly descending at least in part from the sea, though you never asked her any specifics.

“I hope winter ends early this year,” she sighed, setting down an armful of cleaned mugs on the bar counter, “I hardly got any tips last night, and those assholes ran me ragged filling their ales! Even the pirates would at least leave a gold coin a piece for that!”

“Tova willing,” You snort, slipping behind the bar and stowing the mugs away in their place underneath the counter, inclined to agree with Lenora before a yawn escaped you, your hand quickly covering your mouth as you were unable to contain it.

“You should go sleep in my room for a bit,” she suggested gently, wiping down the wet spots where the mugs had been with her rag, “We’re pretty much finished and you had a long night.”

“I’m fine,” you replied tersely, unwilling to admit how tempting the offer was, “my shift’s almost over.”

Before Lenora could argue with you, Thistle poked his head out of his office and called you into it.

By the time you entered the cramped room - once an extra supply closet - he was already behind his desk, writing something furiously that you couldn’t see over the towering stacks of papers surrounding him

Mr. Thistle was a halfling, the only one you’d ever seen even among all the people at the port. You didn’t know much about them, other than what you observed from your boss. Despite his youthful appearance, you knew for a fact he was much older than he appeared. And, in his case, his personality very much fit his namesake, his tongue and wit both sharper than perhaps was wise.

“What are you still doing here? Your shift ended an hour ago,” Mr. Thistle didn’t look up from his paperwork, his voice sounding almost bored, though you had known him long enough to recognize that it wasn’t a rhetorical question.

“You agreed to let me take on more shifts last month, Mr. Thistle,” you answered.

“You have been here for twenty-four straight hours,” Mr. Thistle frowned, “Rose will kill me for overworking you once she’s well enough to visit.”

You swallowed a growing lump in your throat, shaking your head emphatically, “Please, sir, at least let me finish this shift. You know I’ll work hard and I need the money…”

“Sir? When have you ever called me that?” He spat, but you knew him well enough to know he was cracking, “Fine, finish your shift. But you’re out of here by noon! And I don’t want to see you again until next weekend.”

“Thank you!” You said as you walked out the room, deciding to get one last word in over your shoulder before slamming the door shut behind you, “You’re the best god-dad, sir!”

Just as you returned to the bar with a new vigor, the bell hanging above the tavern entrance rang as it was struck by the opening door.

You and Lenora glanced at each other before turning to see who had arrived at such an odd time of day and season.

“Thenerius!” You cried out once you saw exactly who was ducking down to pass through the entryway without his horns knocking into the doorframe, exaggerated cheer masking your shock at seeing the pirate captain in the middle of winter.

He smirked as he strode up to the bar, his purple hand lifting to dig around his breast pocket for a bag of gold he dropped on the counter for you to take. You quickly hand it off to Lenora to put in the inn’s safe, ignoring her not-so-subtle wink at you and practically skip into the kitchen to help pass out the first round of ales.

You weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, all too happy to greet any customer you knew had gold and play the part of eye candy for them.

Any boredom or exhaustion you felt from your back to back shifts vanished as the solution to your stress magically appeared before you.

Thinking ahead, you save Thenerius’ table for last and no sooner do you set down the four pitchers of ales you’d been carrying is the tiefling pulling you down to sit on his lap. You quickly slide off to sit at his side, allowing him to keep an arm around you. You feel a bit self conscious, knowing you probably smell worse for wear after three straight shifts, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he downs his first mug of ale.

Glancing around, you note that the other crew members didn’t look nearly as jovial to be here in the snow as their captain did. It was definitely dangerous to be navigating the waters this far north this time of year, the winds less reliable and ice tending to form bergs out where there was no hope for rescue, not to mention that pirates tended to stick to the beaches in the south while they waited for winter to pass.

“What are you doing here so early?” You ask, unable to hide your curiosity at how two out-of-season crews managed to stop at the inn, this one more surprising than the merchants.

“The winds were favorable,” Thenerius beamed down at you, though that still didn’t answer the question of why they’d want to leave the south now of all times. Seemingly sensing your dissatisfaction with the answer, he flung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, his voice lowering to a hushed whisper that tickled the shell of your ear, “and I simply had to come see my treasure as soon as I could.”

You giggle and pretend to turn your head in a bashful display, inwardly cringing at the nickname. You’re all too happy, however, to accept Thenerius’ hand slipping into your skirts and feel gold pieces clinking together as he drops the coins into your pocket. You accept his flirting and flirt back yourself, tolerating his occasionally hand fondling as he laughed and drank all night. Well, that made it sound more lecherous than it actually was.

Thenerius was obsessed with your hands, feeling the pads of your fingers and rubbing circles on the back of them. You had asked him why when he first asked you if he could hold them, having stared at them constantly before then. He said because they were soft, and you understood. Your hands were no dainty things, the beginnings of some callouses here and there, especially where you held your pen, but they were like a newborn’s in comparison to his, roughened from working on boats his entire adult life.

He also demanded a lot of your attention, constantly keeping conversations with you going when you wished nothing more than to just sit there and fall asleep from his ministrations. Nevertheless, you’d complement Thenerius and look impressed as he recounts the harrowing adventures he’d experienced in the past year and dutifully feel his new scars on his already scar-riddled body in feigned awe.

The man had an ego the size of a small island, an easy enough thing to stroke in order to get a better haul of tips at the end of it all. Other’s also provide company as you are, you even catch Lenora’s eye with a smile as she leads a minotaur into the inn portion of the building. You resist the urge to shake your head, unable to believe she was turning in so early in the day. Mr. Thistle definitely wouldn’t approve, but you were no snitch.

Though, you never let Thenerius get that close to you, drawing the line whenever the tiefling attempted to push the envelope of acceptable public behavior, acting coy when you needed to and sometimes only narrowly managing to avoid his attacking lips by keeping his mouth busy downing more ale.

He was even more clingy than the ones who just wanted to fuck you, but dealing with Captain Thenerius of the Red Night was second nature to you now, well worth the flirting game you two have played for the past two years. Just keep him company until he was piss drunk, and then it was easy enough to extract yourself from his grasp and actually help the others run the tavern. He was by far the customer with the loosest purse strings, always throwing gold around like he were some purple holiday saint.

The constant boasting and drunken attempts at kissing were turn-offs even with his admittedly handsome features when sober. But, he was about as harmless as you were willing to think a pirate, never demanding more of you in the carnal sense, and he was constantly slipping you extra coins, so you remained pleasant.

Realistically, you knew the gold was more likely than not blood money, given his occupation. However, it made no difference to you where the money came from so long as it ended up in your pocket, and the tiefling only ever sought you out when he visited.

You coo at Thenerius’ virility as he flexed before you, your hands on his bicep and nodding along with whatever he told you, both of you ignoring how his crew was gagging and groaning at your cavity-inducing display.

You truly had one person to thank for your position as the pirate captain’s favorite in The Deep: Paloma, a former worker at the tavern herself before she fell pregnant and got married. Once she knew she would no longer be working at The Deep, she had introduced you.

Frankly, the tiefling had shown no interest in you at first, his eyes never straying from Paloma as she worked bringing out supper. It had been awkward - you had barely started working at the inn after emerging from the archives where your only contact with another soul had been through books written by long-dead authors. You had not yet perfected the art of flirting with customers, and you definitely weren’t one to fight for a man’s attention.

It was by pure luck you happened recognize the origin of one of Thenerius’ rings, and even more luck that his attention had actually been on the on the table shuffling a deck of cards when you commented on it, the ensuing conversation what finally got you on his radar.

However, even as you grew comfortable falling into the role of companion for the pirate whenever he blew into town, you were never so foolish as to fall for him or any of the other pirates from different crews that took a shining to you, as some of the other girls were prone to do.

You held no illusion that the Thenerius that would cuddle you like a child would their favorite toy after a few pitchers of ale was born out of anything more than loneliness from a pirate who was likely holding his first warm body after months at sea. And who knew whose body he held after months going back to the other side of the world.

Even if the visits were like clockwork, it was only a few weeks out of the year and their free spirits and lifestyles only spelled heartbreak for those whose lives were spent on land.

And even you could appreciate the fun of the pastime. It definitely wasn’t torture; Thenerius was on the handsomer end of the pirate spectrum, meticulously looking after his appearance and general health even on long stretches at sea. It was hard to tell how much older than you he was, his appearance both rugged from the sea and boyish from his mannerisms, and his choice in outfits were… colorful, to say the least, always wearing the most expensive fabrics he acquired during his travels - which somehow always tended to be the gaudiest.

Though you would never allow yourself to fall for him, maybe you would have at least bedded him had he not ended every night shitfaced, though that bit was partially your doing.

After an hour, and Thenerius is relying on the wall to stay upright more than himself, you try to slip out of the booth as quietly as you can. However, just as you’re about to stand, arms suddenly snake around your waist and pull you ungracefully back down. An undignified yelp escapes you, and it takes all your willpower to not let your instinct to fight against your captor win.

Once you turn, he is staring quite intensely at you, though he fortunately makes no attempt to kiss you. Involuntarily, you begin to turn red at his scrutiny, knowing pretty words won’t placate the tiefling on the rare occasions he goes completely silent like this.

“My shift is almost over,” you whisper, awkwardly pulled an arm out from Thenerius’ hold to pat his cheek gently, “I have to go.”

To your surprise, Thenerius actually lets go on the first try. However, he also rose to his feet and followed you out the tavern and to the stables. He was silent as he watched you ready your horse, so quiet you may have forgotten he was there had you not felt his stare upon your so sharply. Just as you passed him leading your horse out into the courtyard believing Thenerius to just be drunk, he calls out to you.

You stop in the courtyard, looking up at the tiefling in curiosity as his hand dove into his coat pocket to pull out a beautifully intricate golden ring with emeralds encrusted along the braided band.

Normally, your weren’t a fan of such gifts, preferring more liquid assets over something so valuable that you were expected to keep and wear in front of the giver. However, you found yourself making an exception as the ring was so breathtaking you needed to put on no act as you thanked Thenerius and took it carefully from his calloused fingers.

“I love it,” you smiled, trying the ring on each finger until it slid snugly down your right index. You presented the ring to the pirate captain, laughing as you watched his tail swishing behind him and the way his entire expression lit up seeing you wear his gift.

“Actually,” Thenerius cleared his throat, sounding almost nervous as he took your hands in his before you could climb onto your horse, and you cursed your heart for leaping into your throat as his thumb stroked lazy circles over your knuckles.

You manage not to wrench your hands out of Thenerius’ sudden grasp, watching as his thumb and forefinger slowly pull the ring off your right hand. The confusion must be apparent on your face as he chuckled and whispered reassurances as he transferred the ring to your left hand, the fourth finger before your pinky.

It took you a moment of staring to register what was happening, your body only kickstarting into action when Thenerius was in the process of kneeling before you, “I was hoping to do this tonight in front of my crew, but if you’re leaving now-”

Like an automaton finally kicking to life, you took in a gasping breath and closed your fists around the collar of Thenerius’ coat, not caring how you appeared as you pulled him back up before his knee could touch the dusty ground and there was evidence of what was about to transpire.

He fought against you at first, but when you growled out a stern “stop!” he allowed you to haul him back to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” Thenerius had the nerve to look hurt as you yanked the ring off your finger and shove it back into his hand.

“What’s wrong? You’re proposing to me, damn it!” You nearly shouted, managing to curb your temper despite doubting anyone inside would be able to hear you.

You were teetering a dangerous edge, yelling as you were at a pirate of all people, and who knows what he did to get the damned ring, but you were too caught up in your own anger to care that he could easily kill you where you stood. You were too busy feeling as though your world was crashing around you. Things were good. Why did he have to go and ruin it all by doing this? Why couldn’t he just… continue your game in perpetuity. It wasn’t the first proposal you’ve gotten at work, but it was definitely the one that hurt the most.

“I love you,” Thenerius croaked, “I thought-”

“Love? You must be out of your damned mind,” you scoff in disbelief, “You’ve only seen me three times in two years. less than four weeks total. And you’re proposing? You love anyone who bats their eyelashes at you for gold?”

“That’s not true,” Thenerius said, appearing so stricken by your episode you had to avert your eyes to the sheer pain in his own, “You didn’t do it for the gold. You care for me as deeply as I care for you.”

You turn to your saddle, pulling out a burlap sack from your bag and forcing it open. You pull out a tangle of jewelry, necklaces, earrings, even a ring or two.

“I needed the gold, that’s it.”

Thenerius stares blankly at you, and you take his distraction as an opportunity to jump on your horse and ride off.

You don’t slow until you knew The Deep was far behind you, finally allowing your mare to walk the rest of the way home once you’re confident you put enough space between you and the pirate. You didn’t relax until you saw the familiar barn roof above the treetops ahead.

“I’m home!” You called from the doorway, immediately struck by the stillness of the house as unease settled deep in the pit of your stomach.

Pushing back the unpleasant thoughts, certain it was rooted in what had transpired at work, you ventured deeper into the cottage, making your way to the bedroom.

“Mother?” Your call goes unanswered as you enter, smiling softly when you saw her still wrapped up in the bed.

The fire on the far side of the room was burning low, so you threw another log in it before going to sit on the chair at the side of the bed to remove your work clothes.

Just as you were about to crawl into bed, you notice the open book still by your mother and walked around to grab it. It was an old book you immediately recognized, the hand-drawn illustrations and worn pages all too familiar from your childhood. You carefully mark her place with the torn piece of paper she always used and set it on her bedside table.

Glancing at your mother, now closer, you couldn’t help the uneasiness that crept back to the forefront of you mind as you realized how peacefully she was sleeping.

No rattling breathing, no tossing or turning, none of what had plagued your mother’s nights since she first fell ill. A chill ran up your spine as you reached out a tentative hand to brush against her cheek, relief making your legs weak when she grunts at your disturbance and rolls over onto her back.

“What is it?” She yawned, starting to emerge from her blanket cocoon.

“Nothing, I just got back,” you whispered, smoothing back her hair from her eyes, “Have you taken your medicine today?”

She nodded, already drifting off again. You sighed, any thought of sleep gone from your mind from the scare.

You decide to spend the rest of the day outside, finishing all the chores that had piled up while you were gone. First, you had to clean your horse’s hooves, then feed the chickens and gather their eggs, milk your goats and finally take the cured meat our of your small smokehouse.

It was still strange being home, even after so much time had passed since leaving your life at the capital. You had once swore you’d never return to the tiny cottage, leaving to make your own way in this world.

But circumstance led you back home, despite making many offers to have your mother move in with you at the capital. She insisted, however, that she preferred the peace and quiet the country offered her, though you knew in truth she couldn’t leave the home your father had built, the memories and perhaps some buried hope that he may one day return for her keeping her firmly rooted.

By the time you were able to turn in for the day, you were completely drained of all energy. In truth, your exhaustion had begun to catch up to you once you went into the barn to bring your horse out, but you had persevered to finish everything that needed to be done.

Rather than immediately knock out as you wanted, you sat at the table and counted your coins from your past few shifts.

“That’s a lot more than I ever made in two days,” your mother hummed, glancing over your shoulder as she made her way from the kitchen to set two plates filled with steaming food in front of you.

“It was a busy couple days,” you smile. If she notices how strained it is, your mother makes no comment, “I’ll have enough to buy enough medicine for the next few months.”

“I hope that means you’ll finally take some time off,” she huffed, “I’m beginning to forget I don’t live alone anymore.”

“Mr. Thistle banned me from going back to The Deep until next weekend,” you chuckle, feeling a small bit of tension release from your shoulders at how your mother’s face lit up at the mention of her old friend.

“Oh, how is Aedan?” She asked excitedly. She was the only person brave enough to cll Thistle by his first name, or at least the only one he allowed to live afterwards.

“You know, we’d all feel better if you moved into the inn,” you said, not looking up as you deposited your final coin into your purse, knowing your mother’s response before she even spoke.

“For the last time, I’m not leaving my home and neither you or Aedan are going to convince me any different,” she said, her voice rising until a coughing fit overtaking her.

You grimaced as you watched her body curl in on itself, her entire frame shaking with the coughs. Still, you made no move to help, knowing she would only wave you off.

You bit back everything you wished to say, fighting the urge to shake her and tell her the man who abandoned both of you was never coming back, that it was dangerous for her to stay here by herself.

“I’m going to bed,” you say instead, taking your half-eaten plate to the sink and dropping the rest into the scrap pile for the chickens.

As you lay in bed, you turn your head to look at the book your mother had been reading. It was a collection of fairytales, the same book she used to read to you to sleep as a young child. You had loved it back then, the stories of a wily pirate crew’s adventures in far off lands.

Once you grew older and could read the dedication on the blank space of the cover page, you’d refused to listen to the stories any longer, though your mother would still stay up late to read its pages alone.

It had been a gift from your father to you as a baby, before he stopped showing back up. He couldn’t resist the call of the sea, a pirate at heart, your mother had said, but he would return to the two of you one day. You scoffed.

Reaching over, you pull the book onto your lap, flipping the cover open in the lamplight. You stared down at the elegant ink script, the looping cursive rivaling that of even the senior scribes in your prior occupation but remaining as secretive as ever.

You once wondered what your father thought as he wrote the small paragraph, if he knew he would leave your mother at the same time he professed his love and hope for you. Now, you had too many other things to worry about to remain bitter over someone who may well have long since forgotten you.

You mind wanders for a moment, a purple face with lovestruck eyes crossing your consciousness for a moment you quickly stifle, an underdeveloped question cut short before it could fully form and haunt you. You place the book back to where your mother kept it, finally able to keep your eyes closed once your head hits your pillow.

Would he leave, too? And then, nothing.

part 2

#exophilia #reader insert #tiefling boyfriend #tiefling

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever”

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Notes: Inspired by the Klaine advent drabble prompt "ache". So this is a story I started a while ago, but stopped after chapter 4 because it started to get a little too real. But I’ve started revising, and now I’m ready to finish it.

Chapter 1 (3197 words)

“God! That traffic was insane, wasn’t it?” Sebastian complains, pulling off the highway and onto the less congested road that leads to the heart of Manhasset.

Kurt mutters in agreement, but he barely noticed. His right temple has been glued to the passenger side window the entire trip. Eyes pointed skyward, he watched the clouds pass by as they drove, counted the trees, followed a flock of birds as they flew off to warmer climes far, far away.

Away from here, the way Kurt wishes he could.

“I called ahead to turn the gas on. And the electricity... ” Sebastian has been rambling about nothing for the whole hour and forty-five-minute drive, filling the tense air of the Navigator with verbal static. “We’re gonna want to air the place out for a few hours. The realtor told me it stinks like mold but that there isn’t any actual mold in the house. I hired two separate contractors to go through the place anyway and make sure. I wasn't going to take the guy's word for it. He struck me as a sandwich short of a picnic. I mean, you should have seen him, Kurt! He was wearing a purple paisley tie and brown loafers with a grey suit. And not like royal purple. That would have worked. But puce! Jesus Christ!” He chuckles. It bleeds into a nervous cough. “I didn’t say anything, but it would have been nice if you were there to give him some subtle pointers. Or not so subtle. You know how much I love seeing you in action. Oh, and we'll have to go over our insurance policy. I’m having a second independent appraiser… ”

“Are we there yet?” Kurt interrupts, preferring to focus on how the changing leaves mute the skyline than on a single word coming out of his husband’s mouth. Not that he could catch a one the way they’re sprinting off his tongue like lemmings off a cliff.

The trees soothe Kurt, smooth the rough edges of this bumpy ride. They grow differently out here than in the city: springing up in rows, displaying their fall colors, blending one into the other like an ever-changing river - red tree, yellow tree, brown tree, gold tree… 

Their daughter Grace would call out the colors on their long car rides Upstate, conjuring rhymes where there were none. They roll through his memory in her singsong voice.

Green tree… uh... lean tree!

Kurt smiles, clutching on to the sound of her voice.

He's terrified of the day he'll forget what her voice sounds like.

“Just… uh… just a few more blocks,” Sebastian replies, his attempt at chitchat cut short by his husband’s impatient tone. Despite his infinitely expressive voice, Kurt only uses three tones nowadays - angry, impatient, and indifferent. Sebastian hasn’t learned how to avoid any of them, but he hates Kurt’s indifferent tone the most. “Not too far.”

“Good. Because I’m tired of sitting in this stupid seat.” Kurt switches positions, massaging his hip for emphasis. 'Tired of sitting in this stupid seat.' That's what he said. But he meant, 'tired of being stuck in here with you.' 

And Sebastian knows it.

Sebastian turns down two streets that spiral together tighter and tighter until he and Kurt are locked in to their new neighborhood.

Locked in to their decision to move here.

“Here it is.” Sebastian pulls up to the curb at the point before the street turns into a cul-de-sac.

Kurt sits up slowly to accommodate his stiff spine and numb ass. Looking around, he sighs in frustration. “Here what is? There are five houses on this block. Which one is it?”

“Guess.” When Kurt sighs again, Sebastian says, “I’ll give you a hint – it’s one of these three,” and motions to the houses on Kurt’s right. Kurt rolls his eyes but turns to the houses closest. They all appear relatively identical – three floors with a pointed roof and a square porch, reminiscent of a gingerbread house. They probably have basements – a huge selling point in this vicinity. But they don’t call them basements Upstate. They call them cellars. Somehow, the word cellar is more refined, and therefore more acceptable than having a dull, run-of-the-mill, drafty basement.

Need that cellar so you can have the most expensive cabernet on the market on hand in case we need to drunkenly judge Sally Jones’s latest highlight fiasco.

“She should have gone with lowlights, Sharon. (sip) Haven’t I been saying that, Kayla? (sip) Haven’t I been saying that she should have stuck with lowlights? But only around her face. (sip) Ha-ha-ha-ha! Please, pass the brie.”

Kurt spent a good portion of his life living in a basement bedroom, so he’s not above the word. But he remembers a time back in high school when he thought that was the person he would grow up to be. He’d start out as one of the New York elite, then become an Upstate snob. When his kids (two of them – a boy and a girl) were grown and gone, he’d start an artists’ colony. He'd retire to a lighthouse, isolate himself in obscurity while being ironically jaded at the world.

Well, he's nearing forty, and he is jaded, but for entirely different reasons.

The house at the curve in the cul-de-sac is painted a sea green Kurt isn’t thrilled with. But that can be remedied with a bucket of paint and some elbow grease. From its position, it probably gets the bulk of the noon sun. 

There goes their electric bill. 

Kurt knows Sebastian doesn’t care about trivial things like finances, but just because they have the money to spend doesn’t mean they should shovel it out the window. Plus, there's their carbon footprint to think about. But more importantly, there goes his fair skin, which will freckle at every meal while he does nothing other than sit at the kitchen table.

No, thank you.

The house beside it is in a better position, slanted away from direct sunlight. But it’s painted a slate blue that comes across as too harsh considering the neighborhood’s neutral color scheme. Sebastian should know better than to see that house and say, “Yes. That’s it. That’s the one,” unless the inside looks like the Palace of Versailles.

The last house is also blue, but this blue borders on pale grey, a similar shade to his father’s house in Lima. A maple tree has grown through the pavement in front, shading the house and shedding its red-gold leaves all over the front yard. 

And this house has a porch swing. 

He and Sebastian used to talk about owning a home with a porch swing. It became a prerequisite for the home they wanted to retire in. Kurt pictured sitting on their swing side by side in the early mornings, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

Sebastian, on the other hand, talked about having sex on the thing and scaring the neighbors.

Same planet, different worlds.

“It’s this one,” Kurt guesses, gesturing to the blue-grey house. “The one with the swing. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Sebastian jokes but warily, afraid of what the fallout might be if Kurt doesn’t like it. Sebastian has been climbing a tenuous ladder to make his husband happy. One misstep and he'll plummet back to the bottom, with no certainty that Kurt will let him try to climb up again. It’s his own damn fault, Sebastian reminds himself as they get out of the vehicle. He did this to them, so he’ll let Kurt lash out, let him bare his teeth and his claws, let him dig in with both hands and rip.

Sebastian deserves it.

He leads Kurt up the walkway in silence, past the tree and the swing. He unlocks the front door and pushes it open, standing back so Kurt can be the first one over the threshold. Kurt takes his time, poking his head in first, then taking a hesitant step. This is an all-or-nothing moment for him. In his heart, once he walks inside, there's no turning back.

He sets his foot down, rests his weight on it, and a dozen memories come flooding back: the house he lived in with his mom and dad, the house he and his dad moved into when his dad remarried, the dorm rooms he suffered from high school to college.

The first night he spent in Sebastian's penthouse, the excitement of feeling like he'd found his true home.

The house he dreamed of raising Grace in. 

In the end, they stayed in the penthouse for convenience. He regrets not getting her an actual house with a yard and a swing.

Like this one.

The irony.

The room lists, Kurt's head swims, but he wraps his arms around himself and doesn't let it show. He focuses on the here and now. He's taken a step. He just needs to take another. And another. Keep going. Keep moving forward, or else he'll crumple to the ground.

And Sebastian will rush to catch him.

Kurt would rather bury himself under the porch.

Kurt breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, relies on a cold and detached demeanor to help him instead of the strong arms of his husband.

This house has a different feel from the open floor plan of the penthouse they've been living in since college. It's cramped around the corners, with a lot more shadows and a lot less noise. Sebastian likes that better. He’s an Ohio native, same as Kurt. But unlike Kurt, he considers himself a country boy. Even though Sebastian built his identity around becoming a state's attorney like his father, he loved the quiet life: wide-open spaces, blue skies, unhurried, and just plain normal. 

Kurt saw Ohio as a cage he couldn't wait to break free from.

Sebastian could have bought Kurt any house he wanted. In that vein, Sebastian feels like a heel for jumping on this one without consulting Kurt first. He reasoned that he'd been the one house hunting, not Kurt. So when a contact told him that the owner of this house, a house Sebastian had had his eye on for a while, was finally selling, it seemed too perfect, especially considering the timing.

Sebastian bent over backward to rescue it from escrow.

Kurt didn't want to leave the city, but it was full of too much pain for him to handle, too many memories, friends and acquaintances who had yet to hear the news, and those who constantly offered their condolences. Few people greeted him anymore without their smiles dropping and the words, “I��m so sorry,” coming out of their mouths, as if joy shouldn't exist around him anymore. 

It made his head, his heart, and his soul ache.

Kurt loved New York City, but there was nothing left for him there but the constant hollow thud he felt whenever he saw something that reminded him of their angel Grace. School would be starting soon. All of her friends will be moving on to the fifth grade. But his daughter...

Life ended for her too soon.

“Here.” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s hand, but Kurt reflexively pulls it away, slipping his hands into his pockets to cover for his flinching from Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. “Let me show you why I think you’re going to love this house.”

Sebastian jogs up the stairs to the next level. Kurt follows a few steps behind. When he reaches the top, he sees three doors. They pass the first two without mention. Sebastian opens the last.

“Here.” Sebastian crosses to the opposite side and throws open one of two windows, filling the musty space with the crisp bite of autumn. “I thought this room could be your new studio.”

Sebastian knows him too well. The room is perfect. Even at dusk, it’s flooded with natural light. It looks out over the rooftops of the other houses, giving him a view of the surrounding forests and orchards stretching way past the highway. With a little TLC, it could look just like his studio in their penthouse.

Or he can turn it into something new.

Start with a clean slate.

“What are the other two rooms?” Kurt asks offhandedly. He doesn't need to. 

He knows what the other rooms are. 

There are only two rooms they can be.

“A bathroom and the master bedroom,” Sebastian answers, watching his husband stroll across the floor.

“So this would have been… ?”

“A spare? A guest room?” Sebastian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to find an easy groove to stand in.

Kurt frowns. No. It would have been Grace’s bedroom if she were still with them. Kurt was trying to get his husband to acknowledge that. Cruelly. But if she were with them, Sebastian wouldn’t have cheated, their marriage wouldn’t be falling apart, and they wouldn’t be running away from their problems.

“I guess I could put a foldout bed in here,” Kurt throws out as he estimates the space.

“You can if that’s what you want,” Sebastian agrees. “Or you’re just saying that to hurt me, which, if you are, you’ll be happy to know, it’s working.”

“I’m not saying that to hurt you,” Kurt eloquently lies. “I’m being practical. I’m not going to have easy access to the Vogue workshop if I live two hours away. If I expect to get a new line started, I’m going to have to pull long hours.”

Sebastian scrutinizes his husband, who’s doing his best to avoid looking at him. “You’re… thinking of starting a new line? You didn’t mention that.”

Kurt shrugs. “Did I have to?”

“No. I mean, I wasn’t sure that you would go back to designing so soon after.” 

"After?" Kurt tilts his head inquisitively but still makes no eye contact.

"After... moving. There's going to be a lot to do here. I thought you'd give yourself a year. Maybe more." Sebastian answers so quickly, Kurt wonders if he'd practiced. They talk in code, this whole conversation a carefully choreographed tango through a labyrinth of knives.

Sebastian didn't mean after moving. He meant after the death of their daughter. Kurt practically spent every spare second he wasn’t designing for work designing with her. Kurt has been a designer since high school. Aside from music, it's his passion.

Sebastian feared Grace's death might sever those harp strings.

"I think you underestimate me. Besides, you’re considering going back to working in the city after… ” 

Pivot, walk walk, close.

The dance changes. They switch places, and Kurt leads.

Kurt isn't talking about them moving or Grace.

Kurt means after Sebastian cheated. 

Kurt only agreed to move out of the city and live in a house he's never seen to keep Sebastian away from the man he's convinced will become too big a temptation to resist the next time they get into any kind of argument. Granted, it took their daughter dying for Sebastian to cheat, but Kurt figures it’ll keep getting easier from now on to come up with an excuse. 

Can't agree on where to go for dinner? Have a huge blowout over which cards to send out for Christmas? That's it! I'm sticking my dick in someone else!

“Anyway, I wouldn’t want to wake you by crawling into bed at four in the morning, not when you have to be at work at six,” Kurt finishes when he’s let that dig soak in long enough.

“I’m not going back to work for a while, remember? That’s what a leave of absence is. And even if I was, why would I mind you waking me?” Sebastian risks a grin. “In fact, I was thinking that it might be nice to get back to what we used to do in the mornings before work. I miss that.”

Sebastian holds his breath while he sees how that remark lands. He waits for Kurt to look at him. Kurt hasn’t been able to look at him, really look at him, since hungover Sebastian came home in a taxi the morning after, clothes ruined, their marriage officially in the gutter. Grace passed away six months ago, which means he’s been waiting for a while. 

He’s still waiting. 

“This isn’t all about you,” Kurt reminds him, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

Kurt didn't yell. But that doesn't mean he's not furious.

“I know,” Sebastian says softly. He rubs his cold hands together, wishing he could stick them underneath his husband’s thick, button-down sweater, and press his palms against Kurt’s skin. A year ago, Kurt would have squealed, “Bas! Your hands are freezing!” But he would have wrapped his arms around himself and held on, would have let Sebastian lean in for a kiss, would have fallen for the line, “Now that my hands are warm, maybe you can help me warm up a few other things.”

Then they would have made love on the wood floor with the door open.

If only he could make Kurt laugh the way he used to.

Then maybe Kurt would love him again.

But going by his husband’s expression, dreary as the olive sweater he holds closed with one hand at the neck, Sebastian knows that now is not the time.

“Is this what you need to make you happy?” he asks. If only it were that simple. If only a house, or a car, or a vacation could turn back the clock and erase everything that happened.

Erase everything Sebastian did, and bring their daughter back.

Kurt doesn't answer right away. He's not purposefully keeping Sebastian in suspense. He couldn't care less what's going on in Sebastian's head. This is his future he's considering. 

He's going to take his time.

He circles the room, contemplating the echo of his footsteps on the roughly finished wood, debating whether or not it's a sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. If not, is it worth putting in the time to fix it? 

He traces the path of sunlight as it travels across the wall. That brings a new detail to his eye - a torn corner of wallpaper above the open window revealing a word underneath.

Darling.

Kurt eyes it from a distance, tries not to pay too much attention to it in case Sebastian is behind it. It doesn’t look like it was written recently. It's more than likely part of the pattern underneath. But leave it to Sebastian to try to woo his husband back with something syrupy like that. 

Something hopelessly romantic.

Something he thinks Kurt will fall for.

“No,” Kurt answers honestly, re-examining the fading wallpaper, the scuffed floors, the peeling ceiling. His gaze glances his husband’s face and settles on the dust-streaked window. He stares out at the sky, the clouds, the trees, the birds flying wild and free. He’s never going to be able to fly away like that, so he might as well accept this cage he's been given. It's what he's supposed to do, after all. “But it’s worth a try.”

He has little else left to lose.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #kurt hummel

[crownjimin]

✰ 099 | no takesies backsies

la vie en rose ━ in which lee aera, a girl who has been crushing on choi soobin for a long, long time, is starting her junior year and her friends decide that its time for her to make her move.

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A/N: whoop! one more update + the epilogue and we’re donezo!!

“I can’t believe it’s really red—,” He flipped and shuffled his hands through her hair as he said this.

“So bright, so pretty,” Soobin muttered to himself, going as far as to bend down and push his nose into her scalp, taking a long, dramatic sniff. “Oh, it doesn’t smell like strawberries.”

Aera laughed at this, shoving her not-boyfriend away from her softly. “Of course not. That’s like me saying your hair should smell like chocolates.”

Soobin had recently dyed his hair back to brown--well, dark brown, and as much as it made Aera sad to see the purple gone from his hair, it was well past due. His roots had grown out terribly, meaning that he was either going to have to redo his roots or retreat back to his natural brown. Also, the purple was less purple and more of a faded ash gray, from all the washing Soobin did to his hair.

For a while, he was set on just letting his hair grow out, then cutting it at the brown once the ash gray was to the tips of his hair but Aera told him he would look crazy. They debated about it for a few days, but one day Aera showed up at his house with a kit with brown hair dye and a few hours later his chocolate brown locks were back. 

“Well, if you used strawberry shampoo it would smell like strawberries.”

“I will when you use chocolate shampoo.”

Soobin pouted. “I bet Ariel’s hair smells like strawberries.”

“Go sniff her head then,” the red-head quipped. “And I actually highly doubt that is true. She lives in the ocean, you know. The place where fish pee--that ocean.”

“Is there another ocean that I should be thinking of?”

“Yeah,” There was a teasing lilt in Aera’s voice. “The one I’m going to toss you in if you keep sassing me.”

The two were currently sitting in Soobin’s living room on Saturday morning, Soobin having asked Aera on Friday night if she wanted to spend the next day with him. Of course, without hesitation, Aera agreed, telling him that she would be there by ten, and now they were there.

Soobin had suggested watching YouTube in his living room until his mom got home from the gym, and Aera found no issue with the idea. During the past hour and a half, they had watched way too many Girls’ Generation music videos, and even attempted to learn the choreography to Catch Me If You Can. After forty minutes of them attempting to get past the first verse, they called it quits. Soobin claimed that he was too talented in girl group choreography to continue and further embarrass Aera with her lackluster movements.

But if you asked Aera, Soobin just didn’t want to have a dance battle, because he knew he was going to lose.

At noon, Ruha walked through the front door, her arms loaded with three market bags, filled to the brim with groceries.

“Soobin-ah,” Ruha yelled, a little too loud since she hadn’t realized he was right there in the living room. “Come help me with my bags!”

Both Soobin and Aera rushed to help Ruha, the older woman being slightly startled by Aera being there but she quickly perked up and said, “Oh good, Ae Ae is here. More hands to help!”

Everything felt so natural with Soobin and his family. Aera had spent a lot of time at his house since the picnic, and his parents seemed to love her. Soobin’s dad was obsessed when he saw how small Aera was, often leaning his elbow on her head whenever he stood beside her as a way to ridicule and tease her about her height. Then when she turned up with red hair, he almost had a better reaction than Soobin, dubbing her Strawberry Shortcake and hasn’t stopped calling her that since.

Aera had also gotten Soobin’s parents’ phone numbers, Ruha often texting Aera at random times throughout the day whenever Soobin talked about her.

ruha-ssi

he said you brought him lunch to school today. says that he loves how much you care about him

i’m sure he cares about me way more than i do him

ruha-ssi 

does he show it well?

that he cares for you.

wouldnt ask for him to treat me any better than he already

does ruha-ssi.

Or the time Ruha told her that Soobin was sleep talking and had muttered her name.

ruha-ssi

he’s napping.

[picture attached]

ruha-ssi

he just grumbled your name and had the biggest smile

aw that’s so cute

ruha-ssi

i know :)))

Soobin was aware that Aera had his mother’s number, but he didn’t know that his mother was revealing just how lovestruck he was. Aera didn’t plan on mentioning it to him either, thinking that Ruha is godsent for giving her so much dirt and content to tease Soobin with whenever he decided to get too sassy with her.

Plus, Soobin has had Dongmin’s phone number much longer than Aera has had Ruha’s, and she is one-thousand percent positive that her mother lived to embarrass her, so Soobin for sure had some dirt on her.

 It’s a win-win situation, all is fair in love and war.

“So, Soobin-ah,” Ruha spoke as she walked into the kitchen. “What time do you want to head out?”

Aera was busy placing things where they belonged from the market bags (yes, she knows where their groceries belonged—she’s been over there that much), but she raised an eyebrow at Ruha’s question.

“Head out where?” she asked.

“Soobin wanted to take you to an early dinner today,” Ruha paused, with a nervous expression on her face. “I-I don’t know if it was supposed to be a surprise or not-”

“No, mom, it’s fine,” Soobin waved it off. “It wasn’t really a surprise, I was gonna mention it to you later, Pouts.”

Aera walked out of the pantry, an excited glint in her eyes. “Will there be steak at this dinner?”

“Do you want there to be steak?”

“Yes.”

“Then there will be steak.”

━━━━━━━

The restaurant Soobin had chosen was very dark, Aera noted. The only light that was supplied was from a single candle lit in the center of the table, which left everything as shadows and tinted orange.

It seemed super expensive, and once Aera picked up the menu, her suspicions were confirmed.

“Soobi,” her voice seemed hesitant. “How are you affording any of this?”

She should’ve realized that the meal was going to be an expensive one when Ruha had offered Aera one of her old dresses, seeing as Aera had came over to their house in a pair of ripped jeans and a tattered t-shirt. The dress Ruha lent her was a dark blue, high-necked dress, where the waist tapered in and then flowed out to mid-thigh. Luckily, Aera had worn black flats that day, those being the shoes closest to her front door when she left for Soobin’s house.

Soobin was dressed in a simple button up and black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the top button of his shirt was undone—if Aera hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought Soobin was a young adult that worked a nine-to-five office job and not a sixteen year old boy taking his not-girlfriend out for an early dinner.

Everything was fancy, and the two of them were tucked into a corner booth where once they sat down the hostess had wished ‘Mister and Missus Choi’ a nice evening. 

“Months of allowance that I’ve saved up,” Soobin lifted his gaze from the menu and once he saw how worried Aera was, he rushed to reassure her. “Plus, I work a summer job! Don’t worry, Pouts, I promise it’s not too much.”

“You don’t have to spend your allowance on me, Soobi,” she spoke softly. “You should spend it on something you really want-something to make you happy.”

“Seeing you happy makes me happy.”

Aera blushed. “Don’t try to flatter me into running your pockets dry.”

“Ae Ae, seriously,” Soobin put down his menu and reached his hands across the table to touch her hands, which laid on the table. He tugged her index fingers once, attempting to soothe her and get her to not worry. “It’s fine. If it makes you feel better we can just split something, so that way I won’t have to spend much.”

The crease in her eyebrows gradually faded and she nodded in agreement. “Are you okay with splitting a steak?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Just order whatever, I’ll eat anything.”

Aera looked over the menu, her eyes skipping over the more expensive items but honestly the cheapest things were the hor d'oeuvres and even those weren’t cheaper than 74,000 won. 

“How about I choose one, you choose one, then we pick something together?” she suggested. “That way we can both enjoy something.”

By the time the waiter came to the table, they had decided on their personal picks and their combined choice, and once the food came to the table, Aera knew it was more than enough. The steak she had chosen ended up being as big as her face and had the both of them gasping in surprise once it was set on the table. Soobin decided on a rose pasta, in a dish large enough that it could feed a family of five. And their combined choice was a large platter of American-style french fries, but the way the menu phrased it made it seem like they were ordering a fancy potato.

Soobin offered to have the kitchen take it back, but Aera refused to give back french fries--she’d be crazy to ever turn down french fries (plus it came with a gravy boat filled with a white sauce that Aera could literally guzzle down in one go, so she was more than happy to keep it).

The moment the waiter told them to enjoy, Aera was shoving her fork into the steak, which was thankfully pre-cut, and the second she bit into it, juice ran down her chin and she had to squeeze every muscle in her throat to not let out a moan.

Soobin noticed her expression, the way her eyes fell close and she paused mid-bite. “Is it good, Pouts?”

“Tho goof,” she attempted to speak around her bite but she just gave up and nodded enthusiastically. 

“It’s so juicy,” she said once she swallowed. 

When they were ordering, she wanted to get the steak cooked well-done, but Soobin had told her to get it medium preaching something about it being more tender and juicer as if he knew everything and anything about steak. Aera argued and said she didn’t want to cut into her steak and hear it mooing back at her, and Soobin chuckled but promised if it was too raw for her when it came out, they could just send it back and she obliged.

She most definitely was not sending back this beautiful piece of heaven, and shoved another piece into her mouth. The scene from Ratatouille when the rat fused together strawberry and cheese and had color swirling around his head played inside Aera’s head the second she took another bite of the steak. Her eyes were closed, her head lolled from side to side as she swayed euphorically to the warmth of the steak and the flavor on her tongue.

Once she noticed what she was doing, she sat up stark straight and opened her eyes, watching as Soobin recorded her and laughed silently at her actions.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself alot there,” Soobin ended the recording and set his phone on the table.

“Delete that.”

“I won’t. Here,” Soobin held out his fork where some of his pasta was twirled on the end. “Try it.”

Aera opened her mouth, letting him guide the fork inside and once she closed her mouth around the fork, the Ratatouille scene played again. She pulled away from the fork, her hand shooting over her mouth as she chewed and her eyes shot wide.

“Good?” Soobin asked, stabbing his fork in a piece of steak and eating it, much less dramatically than Aera had. 

“Is amayshin,” Aera muttered. “Why ish ev-wee-shing hwere sho amayshin?”

Soobin swallowed and laughed. “It better be with these ridiculous prices.”

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded and swallowed her bite. “It’s so worth it.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m glad I like you,” Aera giggled, shoving some fries into her mouth. “You buy me expensive steak.”

“Only because of the steak?”

She nonchalantly shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Soobin faked a scoff, halfway knowing she was joking, but once he watched her pick up another piece of steak, and then kiss it before she ate it, he wasn’t so sure if she was joking anymore.

━━━━━━━━━

Thirty-five minutes and an entire steak later, Aera and Soobin were slouched over, bellies full, with their plates cleared.

“I am going to sleep so well tonight,” Aera grumbled as she rubbed her stomach. “This was so amazing.”

The waiter came to give the receipt and return Soobin’s card, wishing ‘Mister and Missus Choi’ a good night, and left them to their vices. Aera chuckled at being called Missus Choi, because did she look old enough to be married?

Did married people dye their hair red? She didn’t know but did she look married? Did her and Soobin resemble a married couple? Oh god, that just fueled her fantasy of marrying Soobin and she knew that she would never let this go.

“Alright,” Soobin groaned, shoving the receipt and card into his pocket as he stood and rounded the table, reaching his hand out to help Aera up from her chair. “You okay?”

Aera blew out a breath. “I’m stuffed.”

They both stood in place, Aera swaying a bit from standing up too quickly and Soobin attempted to stabilize her by setting a hand on her waist. “Careful.”

“I’m fine,” she tapped his hand on her waist. “I’m okay, just stood up a little too fast. Let’s go.”

They walked out of the restaurant hand-in-hand, Soobin somewhat leading Aera as she momentarily closed her eyes as a way to wheeze out air around her full belly. This was the best meal she has had in entire life, one that she never imagined having unless she was filthy rich and drank gold for breakfast, lunch, and dinner but here Soobin was taking her on a date just because he wanted to see her happy.

When they made it outside, Aera tugged his hand, causing him to stop and turn to her. She eased her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder as she softly hugged him. He returned the gesture immediately, cuddling his head on top of hers and they just existed in the moment, in each other’s arms.

“Thank you for this, Soobin,” Aera squeezed him tightly, nuzzling her head further into his shoulder. “You made me really happy by doing this—you make me happy always.”

“I’m happy to make you happy,” Soobin chuckled, pulling away from the hug. “But the night isn’t over, we have one more stop!”

“Is  it far?”

Soobin nodded. “My mom is going to take us there. She’s on her way here now.”

“Where is it?”

“The beach.”

“The beach?”

Soobin nodded again. “The beach.”

“The beach,” Aera said flatly. “I like the beach.”

“That’s why we’re going.”

“Hm,” Aera sighed happily. “The beach.”

━━━━━━━━━━

Upon their arrival, Aera realized that when Soobin said the beach, he actually meant the boat dock by the beach. Well more like the yacht dock by the beach, because as they made their way to the end of the dock, they passed massive yachts, the type that only rich people could afford. Ones with balconies and two-stories that have some corny name etched onto the side that were either named after an important woman in their life or something like Old Betsy.

“What are we doing on a dock,” Aera giggled, swinging her and Soobin’s hands where they were connected. “I’m almost positive we aren’t supposed to be here.”

Soobin laughed as they came to stop in front of one of the smaller yachts, which wasn’t exactly small (but in comparison to the other yachts it was more compact), where a man was waiting for them.

“Choi Soobin?”

“Yes sir,” Soobin nodded, then gestured behind him. “And this is my mother, Ruha.”

The man extended his hand to Ruha, giving it a firm shake. “Yes, we spoke on the phone. Everything is set, if you guys want to climb on in, we’ll head out in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Ruha said as the man helped her onto the yacht by her hand. 

The man then lent his hand to Aera, but instead of grabbing it, she took a step back, a conflicted look on her face.

“Wait,” Soobin placed his free hand on Aera’s wasit, causing her to look up at him. “You aren’t afraid of water, right? Boats or anything? Because I was just trying to surprise you, that’s why I didn’t as-”

“No, no,” Aera shook her head. “That’s not it, but Soobin how much was this?”

Soobin raised an eyebrow at the question, confused as to why she was asking this. “What?”

“It’s just—” she sighed. “You’re spending a lot of money today, and I don’t want you to think you have to blow a bunch of money just to make me happy. You could’ve just given me a bottle of water and I’d be happy that it came from you, so I don’t get why you are taking me to all these expensive places and things.”

“I just want to spoil you,” he softly replied. “Even if it’s just for a day. I want you to have some of the best experiences with me, so I don’t mind spending a lot of money on you.”

“But, Soob-”

“And plus,” Soobin smiled wide. “My friends chipped in to help, they wanted to make us both happy so they offered to help. You don’t have to pay them back, I don’t have to pay them back, they were just doing it out of the goodness of their hearts. Me as well.”

Aera stood there frozen.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“But I’m already happy with you.”

Soobin leaned down to rest his forehead on Aera’s. “Yes, but you’d be even more happy on the boat, so let’s go!”

Aera laughed as she reached out for the man’s hand, him having stood there and watched that whole sappy ordeal, and he pulled her into the boat. Soobin followed and guided Aera to the very front of the yacht, where Ruha sat with a blanket over her legs.

“Choi Soobin, this will be the last time you spend a shit ton of money on me, do you understand?” Aera scolded, her finger pointed at Soobin but a smile was on her face.

“Yes, ma’am, never again,” Soobin spoke jokingly, totally not meaning a word of what he just said. 

“You’re not going to listen to me are you?”

“Nope.”

The yacht got moving a few moments later, things feeling a bit shaky for a few minutes, but Aera acclimated to it quite fast. She and Soobin had taken to roleplaying the scene from Titanic that nearly everyone does when they are at the frontmost point on a boat.

Soobin held her waist as Aera held her arms out to her side, feeling the wind whip on her face and the smell of salt infiltrate her nose.

“The ocean is kind of stinky,” her nose scrunched up as she said this. “Smells like raw fish and high cholesterol.”

Soobin cackled, tightly wrapping his arms around Aera’s waist as he pulled her into his chest, her back to her front. “You ruined such a good moment.”

She giggled, placing her hands over his arms and squeezed. “I was just telling the truth.”

“Kids!” Ruha called out. “Come sit down for a few minutes, you’re making me nervous by the ledge.”

They obliged, walking to sit across from Ruha and they talked amongst themselves for a few minutes, playing a few rounds of rock paper scissors to pass the time.

“So are we just going to cruise around the ocean for a few hours or what?” Aera asked, peering over the side of the boat to look down into the water. “Because no offense to the ocean or anything, but this is a bit boring.”

Soobin pulled out his phone, checking the time before he answered, “Actually, no. Just seven minutes until what we came here for happens.”

Aera looked intrigued now, “Oh, is it fireworks? Are we looking at fireworks?”

“I don’t think lighting explosives on a yacht would be smart.”

“A yacht,” Aera chuckled. “Never thought I’d see one of these in my entire lifetime.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’m glad my first time was with you,” she softly spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

“Me too,” Soobin smiled. “We’ll have many firsts together, hopefully.”

“Hopefully.”

At the moment, they were sitting side-by-side with their waist turned to face one another, but Soobin pointed behind Aera as he muttered, “Look.”

Aera turned her body around, to face the ocean, a gasp leaving her mouth as she absorbed the breathtaking scene in front of her. She watched as the sun burned a hypnotizing orange and pink hue, reflecting on the ocean’s surface. Slowly, the orb lowered to meet the horizon line, kissing it softly as the glares glittered across the rippling water.

She had seen nothing like this, ever. Mother nature and the Earth’s natural occurrences never appealed to Aera, they were never something she found interesting or attention-catching, but this—this was so worth it.

Her awestruck trance was broken when Soobin rested his chin on her shoulder, whispering, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s-I-” Aera searched for the right words but there were none that could accurately describe exactly what she was witnessing. It made her speechless, her jaw going slack as she once again watched the sun move lower and lower.

They sat in silence, taking in the scenic view before them. Ruha sat opposite of them, snapping pictures of the sunset as she oh’ed and aw’ed at the scene.

“Pouts,” Soobin muttered into her ear, keeping his voice low so as to not ruin the moment. “I, uh-”

“Hm, Soobi?”

“Please, be my girlfriend.”

All of Aera’s breath left her body, all of her blood seemed to run cold. Was she hallucinating? Was she hearing things?

“Huh-” Oh god, she sounded so stupid. Who responds to the boy of their dreams asking them to be their girlfriend with ‘huh’.

“I-” Soobin sat up straighter, Aera being able to feel so behind her. “I really like you-no, love you, and I want to be with you. Officially. For a very long time.”

Aera eased her way around, turning to face Soobin who looked like he was going to pass out any second if she didn’t give him an answer within the next millisecond. So she carefully raised her hands to his cheeks, cupping his face softly.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Choi Soobin,” she breathed. “I’d kind of be an asshole if I said no after all of this, am I right?”

Soobin held onto her wrists. “I hope that isn’t the sole reason you are saying yes.”

“Lucky for you, it is not. It’s probably one of the lower list reasons.”

“There’s a list?”

She giggled. “There has always been a list.”

The sound of her giggle seemed to have him smitten, his eyes zoning in on her lips which caused her heart to skip a beat. She wasn’t dumb, she knew what he was thinking of, what his eyes were asking for, and for some reason, she had no qualms about complying.

Her first kiss was always something Aera fretted about, thinking about how awful it was going to be, how she was going to mess everything up. But for some reason, right here, right now, with Soobin, she knew for a fact it was going to be amazing. This is maybe the first and only decision Aera didn’t hesitate to make, and so she leaned in.

The touch of their lips was soft. Simple. A measly, quick peck.

When they pulled back, both of their cheeks were colored rose, a look of fondness between the two of them and Aera leaned in to kiss the the corner of Soobin’s mouth before pulling away and dropping her hands from his face.

“No takesies backsies, Choi Soobin.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lee Aera.”

#choi beomgyu #choi soobin #choi yeonjun #hueningkai #kang taehyun #kpop #choi soobin x female oc #social media au #txt #txt social media au

[batarella]

I Don’t Hate You - Part 19 (Jason Todd x Reader)

FUCK WE’RE ONE CHAPTER AWAY FROM THE FINALE. AND I JUST WROTE 10K WORDS IN A NIGHT SOMEONE HELP. SORRY AGAIN FOR THE DELAY

WORDS: 10,619 FUUUUUUCK WARNINGS: FLUFF AND ANGST AND FLUFF AND ANGST AND a lil but of smut hihi

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

------

“Jason…”

“I knew you’d like it.”

That was an understatement. Your breath had been long gone. “This is Dame Bell’s.”

“I know. Biggest in the state.”

Dame Bell’s Carnival. It was renowned in the East Coast as one of the most visited, dating almost thirty years ago. It basically disappeared from the map after a horrific roller coaster incident that left eight dead. You’d have expected it to be covered almost completely in graffiti by now, but people would have broken in here ages ago. Not everyone knew where it was, since it was so far off town and only so many have heard of it at this age. It was barely even on the internet.

Not only was it extremely popular back in the day, but it was also said to be one of the most haunted abandoned carnivals there were.

You stared up at the clown’s head that served as the carnival’s entrance. There were turnstiles in front, but they were completely rotted off and barely held up at all. It was covered in weeds and vines, and it reeked like bitter iron. You loved it.

You saw Jason stare too long at the clown.

No. not today. You’ll make him forget about everything. You took his wrist.

“Come on.”

You walked into the entrance. Just from where you stood, you could see almost everything in store for you. For a park so well known, it held up so nicely and beautifully, like this part of the world ended by itself in its own little apocalypse. You had no idea where to start. There was a roller coaster, a Ferris wheel, a carousel, a wave swinger, carnival game booths, and even fucking bumper cars. Everything had that gorgeous antique look with brown rusted metal and faded pastel colors of red and white. A lot of the parts had fallen off, like the metal slabs that held up the carousel and the horses that littered the floor, but you’d take this any day than any working carnival there was.

“Jay, here.”

A small booth that stood near the entrance. Probably to sell merchandise. There were only so many of the gifts left on the stand, and they reeked. You picked up a dust-covered cap from one of the hooks. It had the name right on top. “Wear this.”

“You want me to have a head itch for the next fifty years?”

You felt something crawl up on your arm. Immediately you placed it back. “Shit.”

Jason picked a little travel mug made of tin sitting on the surface. “Man, these things are old.”

“You know when this was abandoned?”

“Maybe ten? Fifteen years ago? But this was built in the sixties. Can't imagine how people hadn’t completely destroyed it by now.”

And it wasn’t. It was magical. Better than Disneyland.

You walked down the main street and reveled at the sight all around you. You walked back, looking up at the taller rides that were so close to just suddenly collapsing. All you needed was a bag of popcorn and some cotton candy and you’d basically be in your own personal heaven. Your eyes landed on Jason, multiple times, and you never failed to miss his smiles and laughter.

“Carousel.”

You went over to the first ride and shimmied through the metal fence around it, making sure not to touch anything before you’ll have to come home with a tetanus infection. The horses were still intact, and they aged wonderfully with their color subsiding only so much. The metal parts of their décor had rusted, and above it was a roof painted in swirls and stripes, red and yellow before they had turned to a less appealing brown. There were also lights around that would’ve looked beautiful if lit up, scattered about the ceiling, the column in the middle, and the tent-shaped roof. You placed your hand on the metal bar that held up one of the horses.

“Ride one of them and I owe you dinner tonight,” you told him. Jason snickered and patted the horse’s saddle.

“I’d be surprised if these things don’t hallow out after three seconds.”

“It can't be that bad. I’ll do it.”

Jason narrowed his bushy eyebrows. “Are you fucking sure?”

“Yes.”

You tapped his arm as a bit of a ‘watch this’ sort of gesture. Good thing you were wearing jeans now, as well as a long sleeved top. You grabbed the metal rod and pulled yourself up, swinging your leg over a horse’s red saddle.  You settled yourself in and felt around for any type of breakage. “See? Nothing.”

Jason’s slight smirk he often fought off with a frown showed through, and you kept your eyes on him. He went closer to you, grabbing the horse by the snout as if it were real. “I’m leaving you here if this whole thing falls off.”

“It won't.”

He looked up at the ceiling, which held onto the metal plates barely keeping up. “Get down from there, Y/N.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“I don’t want to.”

You leaned into the horse’s solid mane and swung your legs around.

And Jason, smiling at you, leaned into its head as well to get closer to you.

“You’ll have to pull me out of this.”

Disapprovingly, he looked elsewhere, but still kept himself close. “No.”

“Then I’m not leaving.”

“There’s other rides to check out. Come on.”

You held firmly onto the bar, smiled menacingly at him even when he was sighing with his eyes rolled and his hands stuffed to his pockets. Then he looked at you, met your devilish looking eyes, and clenched his jaw.

His hands grabbed onto your waist so tightly when he pulled you off the horse. They were firm, yet still gentle. And you held onto his shoulders even after he settled you down.

You took in the sight of him before he’d eventually pull away. And for a short, far too short second, he didn’t, and he just looked at you with his hands on your hips.

You flicked his chest. “Come on, asshole.”

-----

“These won't turn on.”

“Yeah, but we can ride them still.”

“What’s so good about bumper cars that won't even turn on?”

You settled yourself into a small, purple bumper car that had a number five on it. An antenna was standing right behind you and the seat tightened around your ass. It was made for kids. And you had to brush off a few leaves off the seat before you even touched it. Jason had his foot on top of the pod, and just with the slightest bit of movement, the car started to move.

“Get your own car.”

“You know what, I’d rather do this.”

The ring wasn’t that big, and there were only four other cars around you left on the field, so you had plenty of room to drive. Jason went behind you, grabbed onto the back of your seat, and started to push.

“This is more like it.”

Your laughter could be heard from the top of the Ferris wheel, probably. You moved around so easily with his strength, turning the wheel so you could go in all directions. You looked up at Jason, and suddenly you saw the seventeen year old pushing you in an old library cart.

Jason quirked his eyebrow up at you and kept going.

“Hold on tight.”

“Todd, whatever the fuck you're thinking, I don’t-AHHH!”

Your high pitched screams were the next to be heard. He pushed the bumper car all the way from one end of the ring with such strength that it propelled you to a wall. You heard his laughter, then your head bounced on impact and you clutched your chest. “Fuck.”

You stood up, glaring at him like a growling cheetah. “You are gonna pay for that.”

Jason backed away to the gate. “Come on, you hothead.”

Snarling, you raced to catch up to him. “I wanna go on that wave swinger.”

“Lead the way.”

-----

Your eyes just lit up at the hundreds of wires suspended from a large, circular UFO like structure that was held up by a large thick column. Jason could practically hear the ghosts of children speaking into your ear, and you didn’t look any less than loving every second of it.  He went in through the gate with you, marveled at the magnificent sight. You went over to the swings and touched one of the wires.

“If you sit on any one of them, I’m not saving your ass from the ground anymore.”

“I won't. Because you will.”

“What makes you think I’ll get on that? I’d barely fit.”

You looked around. “There. That one sits two. And it’s wide enough to fit us both.”

“You're kidding me.”

“No. I’m not. Now get in.”

You went to the swing and sat at the farthest left to make room for him, even when he was clearly big enough to fill the whole seat by himself. You opened the latch and started pushing yourself back and forth. “Come on. Sit with me.”

Your smile. Your eyes when you did that. He wanted to rip that smile off of you before he’ll give into you so much that he’ll lost basically everything he promised to keep.

But he really, really wanted to sit with you on that swing, talk about everything for hours and let your head fall to his shoulder.

This was going to be the last thing you’ll remember out of him.

And he wanted you to remember him well.

Sighing, Jason went over to you, pinched your chin so lightly yet hard enough to make you flinch away. “Get your own seat.”

He saw your eyes glimmer. You stood up, opened the latch for him, then settled himself onto the seat made for two. His ass fit more than enough, but it was his body that almost fit the entirety of the swing. You took the one by his side and pushed your feet onto the ground so you’d rock back and forth. “Man, I wish this thing still worked.”

“We could go to an actual carnival, you know.” Jason kept his swing steady, but watched you the whole time.

“Nah. I like this one a whole lot better.”

He watched you with your hair flying to your back, and he saw you in that dark, secluded playground where he first kissed you. Jason looked away.

It was already past noon. And the sun, creeping out from just under the wave swinger’s top, looked down at the both of you like it was taking a peek of what went on.

“Y/N…”

“Hmm?”

He gulped.

“Did you really not have anyone else the whole three years I was gone?”

You lost your smile in an instant. He shouldn’t have asked. You looked down at your lap and stopped the swing from moving so much.

“No. I didn’t even talk to anyone. I didn’t want to.”

A part of him, the selfish part of him, that only ever wanted you for himself, reveled in the thought that he didn’t have to imagine you with another. That you were definitely, ultimately still his. But it was that part of him he wanted to bury deep along with all the other memories from before he died.

The other parts he didn’t like, and hated just as much, wanted to punch himself for ever subjecting you into that kind of pain and loneliness in the first place. “Did you?” you asked.

He looked up.

“What?”

“The last few months. Were you with anyone else?”

There wasn’t a doubt. As much as he didn’t want you to think about it too much, you deserved to know how much you still had his heart.

“No…”

You both looked down at your hands, keeping the silence. He wanted to hold you and keep you from thinking too much about it.

Thud.

A loud, painful crash of the rotting metal hitting the cement ground. Both your swings’ wires gave out, and he heard you shriek in pain while he hissed at the sudden impact right on his ass. “MOTHER FUCKER.”

“JESUS CHRIST, THAT HURT.”

“WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT IT BREAKING???”

“OH, DON’T GIVE ME THAT.”

You opened the latch and pulled yourself up, your hand soothing your butt and groaning in deep pain. “Fuck, my ass has a concussion.”

He broke the latch before it was even unlocked. Throwing the metal rod, he held onto your hand and you helped pull him up to stand. He rubbed his bitt. “Fuck, I must have broken my ass bone.”

“Your ass bone?”

Jason dusted off his pants. “I told you not to sit on anything suspended.”

“I told you not to sit on anything suspended.” You mocked his voice.

“Real mature.”

You playfully hit his shoulder. “Brush it off. Come on.”

He kept rubbing his ass the whole way out the ride.

-----

“If you lose on this, you wouldn’t be able to rise from the shame.”

“You're all talk, Y/LN. Why don’t you show me what you got?”

The first carnival booth game you went to was the one with all the bottles you had to shoot from a reasonable distance away. There was a pellet gun and some conveniently placed bullets right beside it. The bottles on display were broken, but you saw three others stashed underneath. You crawled over the booth, went over to pick up the bottles, then you started placing them on the shelves. It was covered in graffiti inside and the whole place was a wreck, but as long as you could have the bottles, standing, you were good to go.

Jason got the pellet gun loaded before you were done placing the bottles.

“I have an idea,” you said. “Since you're just so good at this, stand all the way over there.”

“You insult me.”

You snarled at him, and he gave you that cocky smirk when he walked all the way to the other side of the booths, yards away from the targets. You got out, raced to the side, and gave him a thumbs up.

Jason didn’t even have to look twice. He shot two bullets, and with each one, it was followed by breaking glass.

You rushed back to the booth. He only hit two of them. “Nice. How bout the other one?”

Jason walked back over to you, took your hand, then placed the gun on your hand. “You’re gonna shoot it.”

“Me?” you snorted.

“Yes. Time I teach you how to aim.”

“I know how to aim, you fucker.”

“Not with a gun.”

“How’s that any different from darts?”

He rolled his eyes and stood aside. You felt the gun in your hands, weighed it with your fingers, then you held it up and pointed it at the bottle.

“You’re holding it wrong.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’ve never held a gun before in my life.”

He started picking your fingers and placed them on the right spaces on the handle. “There. Then aim.”

You held it up, looked through the tiny scope on top.

“Fire.”

You pulled on the trigger, but you couldn’t hear the sound of glass breaking after it. The pellet went straight through the tent.

“Dammit.”

“Here.”

You instantly smiled when Jason went behind you, gently held where your hands were holding onto the gun and leaned in so close that you could feel his breath in your ear. You could feel his chest against your back. and even when you were definitely surprised, you kept your mouth shut and enjoyed every moment of it.

You turned your head slightly to the right, and your lips were so close to touching. “Like this?”

“Keep your eyes ahead,” he whispered to you.

You felt his eyelash tickle your cheek, his back press closer, then you slowly looked forward. Bang.

The bottle broke on impact.

“See?” Jason let go of you too soon, but his voice was still that low, sexy husk. You placed the gun on the table and turned to him.

“Wanna see if you can beat me at ring toss, asshole?”

“You wouldn’t be able to land a single one, I guarantee it.”

You went to the next booth, with the rings you threw to hit the bottle’s heads. You landed three, and Jason landed all five. It wasn’t with his help this time, and you constantly threw the rings at him when he gave you that annoying little laugh. Then you went to the next one, with darts on what used to be balloons and was just a plain wooden board against the wall, then another with the spinning wheel.

You haven’t had so much fun since… well, since him.

-----

“Okay. There’s no way we can even get anywhere near that thing.”

The roller coaster, for small time carnival, looked enormous. And its entire foundation and main support structures were all made of old, rickety pieces of wood nailed together just to keep up the roller coaster’s deep plunge right at the start of the ride, the high rise that came after it. And most of all, the loop. The wood had already broken in just below that high rise, forming a large hole big enough for three people to stand on top of another. And if they were to get anywhere near that place, they’ll be crushed.

Still, you went to the safest place you could. At the bottom most part of the ride where people got in and out of the car. Jason went with you and sat at the very front by your side.

“We used to love roller coasters.”

“I know.” Jason smirked at the memory. “Remember that one we rode three times?”

“I do. That was amazing.”

Your smile was so beautiful. He didn’t move away even with you being so close to him now. And he let his gaze linger on every detail on your face. It didn’t matter that you caught him. You were the first to look away, looking forward at the long walkway made of hard wood.

You leaned back, kept your silence. And he allowed himself to enjoy that silence when he settled in as well.

“I know you don’t want us to get too close and all…” you said.

He shifted in his seat. “I just-“

“I know. I know,” you let out a deep, long sigh. “But… I don’t…”

Jason leaned forward and let his arms rest on the handrail. You looked away, at the whole structure of the ride.

“We can be a bit closer... If you want.”

You looked at him. “Do you want to?”

Knowing you’ll need the comfort, and what you wanted deeply with you outrightly telling him, he licked his lips and smiled. “Yeah…”

And the way you looked into his eyes, when you felt that glimmer of hope he once never wanted to instill on you. Just when he thought he should never had gone soft for you the first time, he leaned closer.

He stared at your face when you leaned in and placed your head comfortably on his shoulder.

He breathed, closed his eyes.

You were just how he remembered.

And as much as it ached him, at how your face was looking, staring into nothing as you buried yourself deep into his neck, he turned his head and rest his nose on your hair.

Another step. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you even closer.

You didn’t say anything, even when he placed his lips so subtly at the top of your hair or even when he inhaled your scent like he so often does.

----

“Alright, stop sucking your own dick.”

“You’re just annoyed ‘cuz you know there’s no way you can beat me at this.”

“I unlock doors with just my foot, jackass.”

“Try kicking your way out of this one.”

The Hi Striker. The one where men overflowing with testosterone would challenge their testosterone filled friends to a test of strength. The hammer was just by the large bell you were supposed to hit. And it was heavy to just lug around.

“You sure you don’t wanna try it?” Jason said.

You cocked your hip and just stared at him. “I’m not getting my hands dirty with that thing.”

“Fine. I’ll do it. Don’t get too turned on.” He winked.

“Oh, shut up.”

Jason grabbed the sledge hammer with far too much ease and you rolled your eyes. The meter that shot up to the sky in front of you was filled to the brim with dirt and rot. But you could see the different measures written on it. The bottom most one called you ‘TOO WEAK!’ and the top most one screamed ‘WOWZA!’

Jason brought the hammer behind his shoulder, assessing the bell with his other hand.

“Just hit it already,” you groaned. Jason shot you a dirty look and held the hammer with both arms, holding it all the way over his back.

You could see his shirt rise from just before he swung it over him.

The man must have had a fucking eight pack.

Fuck.

The bell practically broke on impact and the hammer was smashed into two separate pieces. You saw the meter shoot up, all the way to the highest measure. The bells started to ring continuously until it eventually broke down and died.

“See?”

“Shut up.”

You hid your face from him before he could take notice of just how flustered you were at the sight of him. Jason ruffled your hair, then you pushed him away laughing.

----

A small, kiddie roller coaster that went around in a tiny little circle. There was barely anything other than a small hill that it went over. The small yellow car that could only fit one of you in it was sitting near the entry way. And it looked clean enough to sit on. You raced to it and took a seat before Jason could get to you.

“This is the least dangerous ride we’ve come across.”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t.”

Your knees were up so high from the compact space on it. It could only have seated one or two kids from the look of it. You then placed your legs on top, just to give you some air. “You know,” Jason said, walking over to the controls. “What if it still works?”

“It can't possibly have the electricity.”

“Well, there’s the generator.” He pointed to the far side where all the wires let to. “It could still work.”

“You sure it won't blow up?”

“We’ll see.”

He stood at the control panel and started fiddling with all the buttons and levers.

You just sat back, looked up at the sky. He loved watching you when you were in that trance, when you just grew silent and looked around you forgetting there was anyone around you at all. He watched you close your eyes, then he went back to the controls.

Jason almost leapt. “I think I found it.”

“Found wha-“

The generator. It started running. The lights around the small coaster also turned on, some you hadn’t noticed. Fairy lights being held up by four poles at each of the corners, crossing over the other to form some sort of web. You felt the little car start to vibrate. You were both marveling at just how magical it all looked. The engine was noisy as fuck, but the fact that it was running at all, even after so many years, it was nothing short of amazing.

“You ready?”

“Oh, I’m ready.”

Jason pulled on the lever, then the coaster started moving.

Barely. It was so slow it was laughable.

And you did laugh. So hard you had to keep balancing yourself up right as the car continued to move in a circle.

“You’re doing great!”

You flipped him off with both hands, then Jason clutched his stomach at the look on your face when the coaster went over the tiny hill. You held your hands up, feeling the air go through you. You closed your eyes, demanded another round, then you sat back and waved your arms around, pretending to scream when at the hill. Jason felt his cheeks hurt at just how much he was smiling.

Dear God, you were beautiful.

----

The fucking Tunnel of Love.

The murky water looked absolutely disgusting. And if you even touched it you’ll be sure to barf out your whole stomach. You and Jason never went to one when you were together. You both thought it was stupid.

But an abandoned tunnel of love? You were intrigued.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to go in?”

“I don’t want to go in, but I wanna know what’s inside.”

You tipped the boat over with your shoe. “There’s no other way than the boats. And we’ll have to paddle out way through.”

Jason looked around, found a broken pillar standing right by the waters. And with his bare hands, he tore apart a large wooden beam. Enough to hit the bottom of the water.

“Come on. Don’t wuss out.”

“I’m not fucking wussing out,” you scoffed.

“Then get in.”

You tapped your foot on the boat again. There was water on the seat, and you groaned at the though of it touching your ass. You stepped in, balanced yourself on top feeling the boat start to rock about.

Then when you settled in, moving your ass away from the wet spot as much as you could, Jason went inside with his makeshift paddle.

“Onward.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And the boat went forward. You held onto the sides, choking a laugh when his paddling actually managed to work. The tunnel had a heart shape painted onto the entrance, and you shifted uncomfortably when you noticed him looking away from you.

You should have thought this through. There was nothing. And absolutely nothing inside that you could see.

“Bright idea, Jason.”

“We’ve never been to one. How was I supposed to know it was dark?”

“It’s fucking called the Tunnel of Love, you ass.”

Jason purposely hit you with his elbow, and you nudged him back, almost tipping over the boat. You leaned forward, chin on your hand, as Jason continued to paddle through.

“You’re not gonna help?”

“I thought you were the strong one, Todd. And where am I supposed to get another paddle?”

You heard him grunt at you. You couldn’t see anything that went on around you at all. Not even a single light was on. There must have been a few attractions you would have seen inside, but they were all turned off.

Your back shot up when you thought you saw a figure of a person standing nearby.

“Jay-“

“Animatronics. That’s what I wanted to see.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you actually fucking scared?”

“I don’t get scared.”

“I can feel you shaking.”

“You get scared way more than I do.”

You heard him chuckle, so you felt around until you could feel his chin so you could pinch it. “Driving here!”

“Whatever.”

You leaned forward again, eyes focusing on anything you could make out. The tunnel was a long, narrow river, and you still couldn’t see any sort of light coming your way.

You sat back, groaning. You felt Jason’s arm brush against you when he leaned back as well. “My arm’s tired.”

“Great. How long are we stuck here for?”

“Calm down, we’re not stuck.”

“FUCK!”

A wet, soggy puddle, streaming right up your jeans, all over your ass.

“What?!”

You breathed, pursing your lips and feeling your arms shake. “I sat on the SHIT WATER!!”

You wanted to choke him that minute when the boat started to lightly rock. His laughter started to echo throughout the tunnel, slapping his knee and throwing his head back despite you not being able to see.

“You. Are so. Dead.”

“Why me?!”

“You wanted to come here and now my ass smells like SWAMP.”

He took a long minute to laugh at you again. And you maintained your breaths, tugging onto your hair as you leaned forward to catch your hair with your palms.

“Oh, man. I miss this.”

You slightly chuckled.

“Hey,” he said. You could feel he was smiling, but his voice was lower.

Then, you felt his hand land on your leg.

You slowly started to lean back. Your shoulder touched his chest. He was leaning towards you. And you couldn’t see it. Fuck, why can't you see it.

You breathed in and Jason thumbed your knee. “Calm down.”

You shrugged, but when you felt his breath against your ear, you got even more frantic than you were.

The darkness never felt so well when all your other senses had been heightened. You could feel his breathing, coursing through the skin of your cheek. You turned your head towards him so you could feel it against your mouth. Was he going to kiss you?

You felt his breath spike. His hand still on your leg, trailing up to your thigh. You were so close to him. You just knew it. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been so mesmerized by his scent, the feel of his hand sparking your body and your thoughts. Everything. You didn’t have to see him. And you could tell how beautiful he was so close to you.

Your hand touched his chest.

And at that, you felt him pull away.

You swallowed the rock in your throat, then Jason started paddling his way out.

Not long after, you were met with the sun.

“Finally,” Jason said.

And, as if everything was magically left behind with the darkness, you both went onto the next ride as if absolutely nothing happened.

----

“Where are you, motherfucker…”

Good thing he found the generator for this. Otherwise the whole place would have been as dark as the tunnel.

And a Hall of Mirrors wouldn’t be any good with it being so dark.

Neither of you were even shaken. This was one of the most haunted places within a 100-mile radius off of Gotham and you were going into a maze of mirrors like being lost it in wouldn’t traumatize you for the rest of your life.

But really. It was just a small tent with mirrors placed strategically enough to confuse the normal person who had no more than basic knowledge on how reflections work. There was nothing to be scared of.

He walked around, seeing the thousands of himself looking back at him, mirror after mirror like an endless abyss. “Y/N?”

“Good luck finding me, asshole.”

It was all just him. The tiniest one at the far back didn’t even have a face anymore. Jason walked around, letting his palm trace where he’d been through. He swore he passed by that specific mirror before. He was running in circles.

“Jay-“

“Hey!”

There you were, looking right at him from the mirror on the left. He knew it was a reflection immediately and turned the other way. He heard your footsteps, your laughter. And when he turned to a corner where he thought you’d gone to, you weren’t there.

“Where the fuck did you go?”

“Just admit you’re a noob,” you said. And he turned to follow your voice.

“Keep talking, babe. I’ll find you.”

“You won't.”

This time, he actually did find you. And you didn’t seem to notice.

He smirked thinking of what to do. “Where are you, Jay?”

A short whistle, and your back shot up and turned to his direction. He ran all the way to the other side before you’d catch him and hide behind one of the corners. Jason had to keep his laughter in. Fuck, he felt light hearted. Happy.

If he had a mop, he’ll even fucking chase you with it.

Jason went over to a narrow hall where his reflection looked back at him. And he saw his face. How his cheekbones were up, how his lips were curved up to a smile. And his back, standing straight and not crouched over like he usually does. His skin looked brighter. And he looked… well, happy.

He hadn’t looked like this in the whole six months of his second life.

He looked away from his reflection.

And saw you staring right at him.

“There you are-“

Just as he ran, his face bumped into the cold, hard glass.

The sound of your laughter had never been so animalistic and borderline evil. He rubbed his nose, felt the buzz on his face. He shook it off and made sure his jaw hadn’t been rearranged.

“I swear,” he heard you laugh even more. “It’s funnier the third time.”

Yeah. So what if it was the third time he ran to a mirror?

And when he looked around, really listened to where your voice was coming from, he caught you with your back turned to him, and he was ultimately sure you weren’t just a reflection. Slowly. Carefully. He crept up behind you.

You caught his eye on the reflection. You stood frozen. And he winked at you before grabbing you from behind, trapping you with his massive arms.

“I WIN!”

“STOP- AHH!”

He squeezed you tightly in his hold and tickled your neck with his nose. Your screams, mixed with your giggles and squeals, it only made him want to hold on tighter. You tried to wrestle him out of it but you’d be stupid to think you could possibly contest his strength. “JAY, I CAN'T BREATHE!”

You laughed again, and when he loosened his hold, you turned around. You both continued to laugh, until it eventually mellowed down.

His arms didn’t leave you. He didn’t want to. He wanted to keep holding you all day until his own arms would give out and you’ll have to worm your way off his grip. Then he looked into your eyes, eyebrows arching up, looking at him like he was the stars and the skies and the whole universe. You were his whole universe.

You were his happiness.

He gulped, pushing your hair behind your ear. Your hands were holding onto his arms, pulling him so close to you.

You.

You. You. You.

He wanted to run himself over with a bus. Or a truck. Or a fucking plane.

Now, because of him, who he is, he didn’t want to believe that he only had one more day left with you…

You.

He closed his eyes, and you were the first to pull away.

But then you took his hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Looking around. At your reflections, how you both looked to the eyes of someone else. With you holding his hand and him looking flustered and happy. He wasn’t going to see himself like this ever again.

-----

The afternoon had come to a close.

On the lowest car of the Ferris wheel, which stood right at the center of the whole park, you laid your head on Jason’s shoulder and had your eyes closed. You were going to wait it out until sundown. It didn’t matter how late you’ll get home. You only had so much time. You wanted the best out of it.

Jason was slightly moving the car back and forth with his weight. And it calmed you. Much like a swing. He leaned back against the seat and watched the sun fall to the earth along with the trees, the vines, the bushes that formed all around him.

You moved so slightly just so you’d rest on his chest. “Where are we getting dinner?”

“Probably just from one of the diners we’ll go through.”

“Okay,” you smiled, inhaling into his shirt. “I had fun today.”

“Me, too.”

You pulled your head up just so you could see his face. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t unhappy either. You hand went up to his chest, and he held it, tightly, and just before you thought he’d pull away again, he didn’t.

“Y/N…” he sighed. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

You backed away slightly. “What?”

“You…” he sighed and swallowed his throat. “Are you trying to change my mind?”

What?

“What do you mean?”

“All this. I didn’t want to get close and now…”

“You said this was okay.”

“I did, but… I didn’t at first,” he let go of you and leaned forward to rest on his knees. “You wanted this to happen, did you?”

You scoffed, looking at the grass around. “You’re mad that I somehow manipulated you?”

“I’m not mad-“ he tugged on his hair. “Y/N, this is only gonna hurt so much more at the end.”

“You think I’m doing this because I wanted to brainwash you into having me back?”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did.”

You placed your arm on the arm rest at the side, and Jason looked the other way as well. “I’m sorry.”

It hurt. This bastard has hurt you so many times over the course of your life. and you couldn’t believe it, but you outwardly offered yourself to let him hurt you again. Not once. Not ever. You never thought that at one point, you’ll ever let anyone step all over you like this and still want him more than anything else in the world. You're letting him hurt you at this point. And you hated it.

You knew bit the insides of your cheeks and breathed in.

“I knew I’ll never change your mind. Trust me. I’m not expecting anything good to come out of this when it’s all over.”

Jason looked at you, but you kept your eyes away from him.

“If you think I don’t love you enough to handle not being able to hold you or kiss you when you're around, that’s where you're wrong. I know this is going to hurt me. So much more than you think. But I asked for these three days with you so I could finally get to have you, all of you, even when it won't last. Trust me, I’d rather be hurt the rest of my life than to not spend a single day with you in it.”

Jason let go of a hard hit of breath through his mouth, biting his lip, staring out into the void the way he did when he wanted to hold himself back. You, on the other hand, were calm.

He thought you didn’t change. That you were still the sick, spoiled bitch from high school. He thought you’d do anything to get what you wanted no matter the consequences.

Well he was wrong in that.

The one thing you could point out as the biggest change you ever made for yourself was just that. When he died, it dawned on you that the world was never going to give you everything you want, and there would be nothing you could do to change that. You couldn’t talk to anyone, threaten anyone, or throw a tantrum until life gives you ultimately the thing you yearned for. Jason was that thing. You wanted him so bad and he was the one thing you couldn’t have.

And since then, you didn’t care any longer. You accepted things the way they were. You no longer worked your way up just to get what you wanted no matter how sneaky or foul-played. You just sat back, let things go through you. It had been that way since he died.

And he thought you were selfish enough to try to change his mind for your own gain.

“If you don’t want to be with me, I’m not about to change that.”

“I never said I didn’t want to be with you.”

“Want. Can't. Won't. Shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter,” you scoffed. “You made this decision. You wanted me to stay away.”

“It’s to protect you-“

“I know. I told you, I’m not arguing with you on that.”

Jason finally caught your eye, and when you looked away, he took your hand. You faced him but you shook him off.

“If you don’t want to get too close, then fine. Have it your way. I’ll handle it.”

You were staring emptily at the overgrown patches of grass. Jason was staring at you, at your face. You didn’t look at him. You crossed your arms. You felt your heart burn, the glass that housed your chest shatter like broken pieces of knives piercing your through your flesh. Your breaths were cut short. But you didn’t feel any tears coming. Not when it was about something you’ve already expected. You settled for feeling his shoulder touch yours and went with that. That was the most you’ll get out of his warmth.

Fuck this. Fuck everything. Fuck-

Jason’s hand grabbed your chin, turned your head swiftly to his direction and leaned in to meet your lips.

And no.

No. It wasn’t in your head.

His lips were real, soft, yet firm. Chapped yet luscious. He pressed himself so hard against you that you almost fell back.

You held his wrist, trying to pry him away, but he wouldn’t let you. And it was the only bit of effort you made to stay true to his word. You leaned forward, pushing him back as well. Oh fuck, his lips.

You shut your eyes closed and when you solely focused on him, his kiss, all you could see was the two of you in that playground, in that parking lot, in the Boner Aisle, in your bed, in his bed, in the gym, the cafeteria, on a date, or in the rooms of abandoned houses.

A year with him, it all came through.

This. This was what you missed more than anything else. Your arms circled his neck. You wanted him even closer. You didn’t care if the car started to creak and move about. You grabbed his shirt, pulled him tight, and when he pulled away to breathe you leaned in again.

You started tugging at his hair. You wanted his warmth. All of it. You wanted every inch of him. You couldn’t believe you were here with him again. Three years was a long time and you hadn’t been touched, let alone be kissed by another. You were pulling and pushing each other so slightly, with enough force for it to be so passionately wanting but enough to hold back before everything got too heavy.

But it was hot. Your hands on his skin, his chest so tightly against yours. Jason started holding onto the back of your knee and shifted you up so your legs were on his lap. It wasn’t enough. you needed to be closer. You moved so your ass was on his crotch, your legs swinging off his left side. He held onto your thigh and squeezed. Yes.

Then his other hand was on your neck, pulling at your hair. You let him squeeze just enough to make you gasp, and he felt your hand trail down his chest, just over his shirt. And you were right. He did have an eight pack. You could practically feel the hard ripples through the fabric. You breathed in again and he kissed your cheek, your ear, blew in just to make you shiver, then he bit onto your neck.

No. You want him back on your lips.

You pulled him back. Your noses were smushing against each other and your foreheads aching at the force, but you didn’t care. He didn’t either. You could feel his sadness, his months of being a cynical, cold-blooded sub-human. But you didn’t see that at all. He was the most human you could possibly think of. He was just as beautiful within as he was on the outside. And by god, was he beautiful on the outside. Your hands trailed down his face, his eyes, his cheek. Every part of him was perfect. And through your chest you could feel his own warmth, and it matched with all the warmth his emotions rubbed off on you. Everything was gold. He was gold.

Fuck, you could go on forever. You wouldn’t know when to end if you were asked to simply admired every bit of his body, mind, and soul.

“I love you…” you whispered, and he showed that kind of love back when he sunk his teeth into your neck. And you moaned, and you tugged on his hair so much that he hissed, before going back to your lips.

----

The sky was dark by now, and you were straddling his hips.

You probably couldn’t do it here. It was way too dangerous. For all he knew the wheel could break and you’d die before getting anywhere out of this.

But he really fucking wanted to. He wanted all his frustrations to let go through you, feeling you, making you feel good. He missed you so much, he swore he could never find this anywhere else. The things you do to him, and the things he desperately wanted to do with you. He squeezed on your thighs and trailed your hand up your ass. Fuck, did you get thicker?

Yeah. You did. You didn’t have the body of a teenager anymore. You were a fully grown woman and by all the gods he didn’t believe in but was probably up there, he wanted a taste of that. He wanted his hand to go down your pants and make you feel so good just by his fingers, make your back arch so much that you’ll cry out his name in this forgotten forest. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. He let your shirt go further down until he could see the top of your bra.

You were so beautiful.

Jason felt you grind against his pants, and he winced at the pain that went with his awfully hard cock. Three years dead, six months being borderline deranged, this was probably the hardest he’s been since then. He kissed down your chest and let you have at it with his neck.

Your hand was going down. Further down. And when it reached his cock, your teeth biting into his skin at the same time, he threw his head back.

Fuck, he really wanted this.

He hadn’t connected with someone the way he was connected to you, holding you so tight you were practically one with him. He never wanted to let go. He wanted to make love with you all night and never let you out of his sight. Of course, he wanted to be with you. More than he wanted anything else.

Jason opened his eyes, barely, still feeling the rush push through his skin and nerves.

No.

No.

It was all too much the moment you unzipped his pants.

“Y/N…”

And just like that, it blew away. He wanted you again. That one moment where the asshole in him took over, it pushed you off of him. You immediately stopped.

No.

Fuck no.

You looked at him dismayed; eyes wide. Your cheeks were red but from the way you were looking at him now, he wanted himself dead all over again.

You scoffed, eyes looking like you wanted to murder him, then you slid off his lap.

“You're a jackass, you know that?”

He never looked at himself with so much shame. Jason couldn’t even bring himself to look at you. but whatever it was he was thinking about himself right now, it couldn’t possibly half as much disgust as you had on right now.

You dusted off your clothes, fixed your hair.

Your face was blank, and you were holding back so many words he knew would hurt him all the more. He deserved those words being thrown at him.

“Y/N, I’m sorry…”

“Just stop. Let’s go home.”

Jason wanted to drown in his own blood. You left the Ferris wheel before he could even stand up. He walked behind you, barely catching up. And you went into the car without waiting for him to get in.

The whole ride home, you didn’t spare him a glance. You even managed to fall asleep.

On the way to the carnival, he didn’t want you to waste away what little time you had with him falling asleep in the car. He wanted you to sing with him, feel the wind through your hair.

But he just let you sleep. So you could go through this day as quick as you could.

----

You were already awake when he parked across the street from your house.

You got out first, and he followed behind. He thought you’d walk straight to your door like you often did, but you walked so slowly, as if you were counting your steps.

How many times is he going to hurt you before you’d actually grow tired of him and willingly leave?

But even then, despite everything, you swallowed and stood at the first step, looking at him with your arms crossed. He stood in front of you and looked up at your eyes.

You weren’t even mad. But you looked so broken and disappointed. It was infinitely worse.

He didn’t want to hurt you any longer. That was what he’d been doing for three years. And he didn’t even have a say in that. Now that he did, he’s doing it all over again. Hurt you wen you deserved the kind of happiness you brought him. For once, he didn’t care if the world was so shitty to him. It was, because it gave him you, and it was taking you away in the worst possible way.

You took a deep breath. “I’m not mad at you.”

He graciously nodded and swallowed. “Thank you.”

You looked down at your feet. The way you did when you were about to say something you really didn’t want to say.

“You don’t have to come see me tomorrow…”

He stood back. “What?”

“I know how you think. It’s true. This is only going to get worse.”

No. That wasn’t what he thought.

Not at all.

“But I-“

“I know. I only asked to spend some time with you, and I can't thank you enough for these two days. I’ll have them to remember them by. But if it hurts both of us too much, then I understand.”

No. This couldn’t possibly be the last time he sees you…

“Y/N, this is going to hurt us either way-“

“Maybe you were right. Maybe I was trying to change your mind. I was too selfish to notice.”

Jason bit on his tongue.

“I’ll keep your promise. You never have to worry about me again.”

You gave him the saddest, most heartbroken smile.

“I’m letting you go.”

Just one day ago, he would’ve taken it as a pass and moved on.

But all that time of telling himself he still had one more day. Even when it was just a single day, it was already too hard to forget.

It was like when you were dating, the first few months, and he’d desperately try to make sure every free minute he had, he spend with you, and every hour that he wasn’t was an hour wasted. When he’d do everything to change his schedule just to squeeze in even just a few minutes with you. it was like that. All over again.

And it should matter, especially when it was just a single day of not seeing you anymore when he’ll have to get used to that for the rest of his life, but he’d already conditioned his barely sane mind that he still had One. More. Day.

He was going to prepare himself tomorrow for that, and let you go as smoothly as you could to make it just a bit less painless than it’ll inevitably be. He didn’t prepare for that today. He was going to be conscious enough to note that your laughs will be the last. Your smiles will be the last. Your teases, your jokes, your hold on him. That it will all be the last time. And he was going to memorize every bit of it, keep it in the deepest parts of his mind, yet not so deep that he wouldn’t be able to recall them anymore, anytime he wanted. No, he wasn’t prepared. He’ll always remember today, but he didn’t think it would have been the last. He didn’t think it would be.

“Y/N…”

“Jay…” you whispered.

He breathed in through his nose, keeping his cool before he’ll ultimately break down.

“Can I kiss you? Just one last time?”

You smiled.

Oh, that hurt, broken smile that was painful to see, yet so beautiful to watch.

You leaned in.

Your lips were barely pressing closely to his. It was just a light, subtle touch. Not at all like a while ago at the wheel. But it was all the more powerful. It shook him, made him feel like he was trembling in his feet. He held your waist, and you gently held onto his face.

This couldn’t possibly be your last…

But it was. With all the promises he made to himself, with how much he was supposed to prepare for how hard he was going on himself when this was over. And now, it actually was.

You pulled away, letting your forehead linger for a brief minute. It might have been a long time, but it didn’t matter. It was too short. Far too short.

“Goodbye, my love…”

Your voice tore him apart. Your love. That, he will always be.

And then,

You left.

Jason was lost, standing at the side of the road with nothing much to hold onto anymore.

He was alone. Indefinitely.

-----

Oh, love.

How people love to hate on love.

It’s the cause for life. For human beings to litter the earth. It’s the cause for the most beautiful things in the world. Art. Poetry. Passion. It’s all by the work of love. The most precious, vital thing to work with that brings up the best out of your talents. You could only do so much with your work if there was love put into it.

And it’s also the cause for destruction. For wars and battles and bloodshed. Love can be as ugly as it was beautiful. Love was everything the world has ever seen. It is happiness, distraught, anger, disappointment, guilt, and trust. It was, quite literally, everything there was.

Love, as it embodies everything, isn’t the opposite of hate. In fact, it most often causes it.

You don’t hate something when you aren’t in love with another. And it can be on the same exact thing or person or whatever it was. It can be on the opposite, but they almost always coexist. You can't hate on darkness without loving light. You can't hate on how your hair looks that day without loving it on another day. It can be caused directly, or indirectly. The two things don’t have to be related. But the whole point of love existing was that hate was also around.

Jason knew that to the heart.

When he told himself that all this was to prepare you, to let you down as gently as possible, he never took into account how it’ll ultimately affect him. He thought, sure, let him enjoy it while it lasts. And knowing him, knowing the moment he opens his heart to something, it’ll never close back, Jason never thought that by the end of this, at the abrupt end that wasn’t supposed to be, it’ll tear him apart.

The Red Hood murdered a whole block of Falcone’s men, a whopping fifty bodies left cold on a single night.

Batman had been on his tail the past week, just when he left you, just when the killings got so much worse. But he was quicker, angrier. He no longer had the remorse that was bits and pieces left over his consciousness, not like before.

He hated the world so much, he’ll kill it if he had to.

The days he promised you, he knew it was for you, for your lasting happiness. He knew it’ll hurt him, ultimately.

And well, he got what was coming to him.

It was so much like that time you broke up, when he’d lay on his bed, do nothing but stare into nothing, at a wall or the floor, when he’d starve himself just because he didn’t have it in him to move, when he’d let the thoughts of you floor over his mind so much like a painfully aggressive dam breaking into the sea, that he let the tears seep through. And when he wasn’t sobbing, just merely letting the hurt walked through so slightly, it hurt all the more.

Except now, instead of letting the pain hurt himself, he lashed it out on all the sick people in Gotham.

Just a week passed, and he’s killed more than a hundred goons and henchmen.

THE MURDEROUS RED HOOD

NEW GOTHAM VIGILANTE? OR VILLAIN?

RED HOOD: FRIEND OR FOE?

News articles on almost every form of social media. It was everywhere. And there was no doubt you saw it. Saw how he really was.

Jason told you to move on. To let him go. To forget about him. You asked if he wanted you to let him go, and he said yes.

He never once said anything about him moving on from you.

And frankly, with his stubbornness almost identical to yours, he never wanted to.

He was going to deal with the pain, spend the days with you no matter how hard it was ultimately going to be, and he was going to let himself go through all that just for the sake of your happiness, to give you the life he owed you. He promised you the world and he had no plans in walking out from that promise.

This was why he never wanted all this to go through.

Except,

When he made all those promises, he let himself break just one, teensy bit.

At 6 pm, just when you finished all your classes, the Red Hood was on the rooftop of the building across from you. And you never noticed. And even if you did, he didn’t know.

He watched you get out of the gates and wrap yourself in a sweater despite the humidity. Your head was down, and it was quite a walk to your car. He continued to follow you all the way down the street.

When you cross the pedestrian lane, he grappled to the next roof.

When you went through an alley, he made sure to keep a close eye, hand on his gun.

When you almost got run over by a man in a bike, he wanted to shoot his brains out.

You looked so perfect, so delicate, so beautiful in the most obvious ways. He just couldn’t help it.

Jason was always going to be here for you. No matter the dirty promises he told to keep. No matter how much he’ll try to suppress it.

Jason was always, without a doubt, going to love you for the rest of his days.

When you got to the car, he thought you were going to drive off home immediately.

But standing on top, where he couldn’t see you through the window, you were stuck in your car and you didn’t drive off.

Jason went to the opposite building and adjusted his optics so he could see through your car window.

You were crouched over the wheel, face buried in your hands. You were crying. And even if he couldn’t hear your sobs or clearly see the look on your face, he could see the frustrations, how it must have been hard to wake up and go through your day like nothing happened and be forced to forget about the one you loved. It was hard for him to do that himself. Why the fuck did he expect that from you?

And just like that, another tear fell down his face, masked over by his helmet.

He never left, and you were there for a considerable amount of time. You should’ve gotten home by now. But you cried, and continued to do so.

You fucking lied. You didn’t let him go.

Fuck him. Fuck him for hurting you like this. Fuck him for ruining everything. Fuck this and fuck the world.

Fuck his promises.

-----

“Girl, get those to the new shelf. And be careful not to smudge these with your sweaty ass palms.”

“Jeez, Ms. P, okay,” you faked a smile. You got the cart from her desk and pushed it onto the new set of shelves they placed near the old ones.

You only worked on Saturdays, and you should have thought about how much more it was going to sting coming back to work, seeing the library after everything that had happened and pretend you couldn’t see Jason wherever you go. And, of course, it was different this time. Because you no longer saw him and grieved, knowing the most precious thing in the world was gone. It was different now because that boy you followed around through the aisles and shelves was still here, being one of the most wanted criminals in the city who kept his distance from you by choice.

And you don’t know if it should make you feel any better or infinitely worse.

This time, you definitely had to try to move on. Perhaps it would be easier? That’s what you’ve been trying to tell yourself all the time. All those days of going to school and work and forcing yourself to forget the last four years of your life, you kept the reminder that this was his choice this time. He was alive. He knew you wanted him and still kept yourselves apart.

So yeah, maybe it will get easier.

Just not now.

“Y/N, I’m going. You close up.”

“Okay. Drive safe.”

Ms. Peterson left the room, but left the door open. The room was empty, and all the students had left for home. It was still fairly bright, and you still had a whole cart you wanted to shelf before you head back to your apartment.

Keeping your hands busy. It was the best thing to do.

You let yourself get lost into your trance, let the emptiness of thought consume you, make you believe nothing was going on when in fact, so much was happening around you. You kept the silence and worked your way through it. You didn’t cry. You didn’t let anything do a number on your exhausted mind.

You focused on the books. Placed them on the spaces. One. Two. Three.

You were lost in yourself. So lost in fact, that you didn’t notice someone at the door until you heard a knock.

“We’re closing up,” you said, thinking it was the janitor asking why you still hadn’t placed the chain lock.

“Need help?”

His deep, husky voice, so low and chilling, it sent you into a frozen, plunging spiral.

Slowly, you turned around.

Jason leaned against the doorway with a light brown leather jacket hugging his shoulders. He smiled at the sight of you, subtly so that it grounded you even more.

“What are you doing here?”

He started walking up to you, up to your cart. Jason turned to you and sighed.

“I promised you one more day.”

Yeah. He fucking did. You choked in your own breath.

“What do you say? For old times sake?”

He took a book from the cart, and just like he did almost four years ago on the first day of your library detention sentence, he held out his hand for you to shake.

You smiled.

-----

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

ONE. MORE. PART. 

  everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive  @lucy-roo  roseangel013bf @ loxbbg  reclusive-chicken-nuggethttp-cherries shadowsndaisiesriver9noble zphilophobiazannoylinglyaries @knightfall05x @l-horizon11 flowersgirl02

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #reader insert #red hood x reader #red hood #batarella #batarella fluff #batarella angst #i don't hate you series #i don't hate you #jason todd x reader series #jason todd reader insert #batarella series

[silverwings22]

Let Me Go: Prologue

Trying my hand at Tumblr fanfiction! I absolutely ADORE The Mandalorian, and Din Djarin especially. I hope anyone who reads this enjoys, and I'll be updating as I edit the draft I have.

This is canon-compliant (for the most part) and following the show as we eagerly await season 3.

This fic will be mature, so please if you're under 18 click away.

It will also be featured on my AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/31770277/chapters/78641761

Series Warnings: SMUT, reference to character deaths, canon-typical violence, some dom/sub aspects if you squint, Force ghosts, adult language, Order 66, PTSD, reference to child abuse and childhood trauma, and possible misunderstandings on the writers part of how the Force works.

Chapter Warnings: Reference to severe injury, Force ghosts, childhood trauma, adult language, mentions of past sex (no description)

Next chapter: https://silverwings22.tumblr.com/post/653223455177818112/let-me-go-chapter-1

Title is based on the 3 Doors Down song "Let Me Go" and every chapter is titled with a lyric from the song.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Prologue: One More Kiss Could Be the Best Thing

Starting over was easy.

Clumpy black goop dripped on the gray durasteel sink inside a tiny closet sized ‘fresher, the young woman inside rubbing it onto her head with gloved hands and carefully dabbing it onto her eyebrows in neat lines. Her eyes were a cool gray blue, staring into the mirror to make sure she got every bit of her short hair with the dye she worked through. The pale platinum blonde at the roots vanished, and as she worked it to the tips the faded grayish undertone darked to jet.

Once she was satisfied with her hair she wrapped it in a sheet of thin duraplastoid to keep it from dripping. She was too practiced at this by now to let the tell-tale gray marks on her skin give her away. She wiped down her hairline and ears, then stepped out into her tiny little apartment to carry on with her day. The apartment was cheap, a single room with a fresher and kitchenette attached. She’d gotten lucky, it was above a little storefront she’d managed to buy to keep herself afloat by growing and selling medicinal plants and salves made from them. She was off work for the afternoon, there was no reason to rush or see anyone, and she needed to do laundry and clean up. The grocery list needed finishing too, and she could go to the market once her hair was done.

She had been in Nevarro since just after the fall of the Empire. It was the longest she’d ever stayed in one place since she was a child, she’d actually started to know people and be recognized around town. She wouldn’t exactly call anyone friends, but it was familiar and solid as the volcanic earth beneath her feet. Almost like putting down roots... It felt odd to have those again, even if the people she interacted with didn’t know the truth from the lie. That was the beauty of the aftermath of war, though. Everything was displaced, with lives so easily wrecked there was no one to say she wasn’t exactly who she claimed to be. More importantly, there was always a handy unspoken reason to not want to talk about the past.

Speaking of which….

“How long are you going to stay here? You have obligations.” A man was standing in the corner of her apartment, in a creme colored tabard and a brown robe. He had ginger hair and a neat beard, and was faintly transparent. And not so faintly grouchy, the irritation bleeding through his cultured Coruscanti accent.

“As long as I want. Forever sounds good.” She stretched lazily out on her battered couch, curling expertly to avoid the broken spring that always wanted to dig itself into her left hip. She still had a sizeable bruise there from falling asleep on the couch a few days before, instead of going to her equally battered but less uncomfortable bed after a long day drying jorgan fruits to sweeten her medicinal teas.

“Zenaria…” He huffed. “You should have long since returned to-”

“I will rot before I go back there.'' She cut him off. “And don’t you dare think you can pull him in here to guilt me. Do you know how long it took me to stop panicking last time? I lost three days of work.” She rolled up the edge of the shorts she was wearing around the house, eying the fading circle of purple and yellow on her hip and trying to ignore her spectral guest. Her pale skin marked up so easily with the least little pressure, scars lingered for years in bright pink before they finally faded to silvery white. Her arms were more scarred than her legs from years in heavy duraweave pants and boots, and the constant exposure to some kind of danger or another.

“I’m sorry, it was never my intention to frighten you my darling.” He murmured. “I thought you needed to... Talk.”

“I don’t mind the fact that you’re haunting me, if a little confused as to why you’re bothering to waste your afterlife on my banthashit. But I never want to see him again. Not even dead. Not redeemed or whatever happened.” she said sourly, looking away from him to disguise a panicked expression with petulance. “I don’t owe him my forgiveness. I don’t owe him shit.” Her teeth gritted. “And I can’t pay you what I owe you so I don’t understand why you don’t go somewhere you’re treated nicer.”

“Dear one, aren’t you tired of running from your destiny?” his voice was so kind, actually considered for a moment the enormity of what he was asking her. Sometimes she was tired of running… but she was more tired of failing every time she tried to be anything more than mediocre.

Zena sighed, tugging up her loose shirt a little more. A round, still pinkish scar sat between her navel and sternum, about as big around as her looped index and thumb could circle. “Would you look at that? It’s still here… so nope.”

The ghostly face looked sad, and walked over to her. Well, he made the motion of walking, but he sort of glided like a holo recording until he was in front of her. “I’m so sorry, my dear girl.” She closed her eyes, feeling a cool tingling on her forehead when the spirit pressed a kiss to it. “I’ll be back to check on you soon… there’s so much you’re capable of, when you’re ready. And I’ll be here until you are.” He faded away as she opened her eyes, leaving her deflating on the couch with her hand over the ugly scar on her middle.

She looked down and eyed it again. It was a horrible reminder, but she doubted anyone she decided to let see her body would really notice; her experience with most men told her they rarely looked anywhere but the chest and apex of her thighs. Not that her sex life hadn’t been one long dry spell for the last few years… noone got laid when being haunted by a father figure. The very air turned to parental disapproval and even those who weren’t Force sensitive still noted something was off.

Pity about it, too. She’d always thought she had a nice face. Not exactly vanity, but she could admit it was symmetrical and soft featured, with expressive eyes. She kept her hair short, never longer than her shoulders, so as not to bring too much attention to it, though she couldn’t help but play around with scraps of fabric until she’d made false flowers to decorate a headband, and wore that almost every day. The bright colors stood out on her midnight black hair that she religiously touched up with dye.

She sighed, stretching herself out again and pulling her shirt down again. She found a million reasons to complain when the ghost was there… but she missed him the second he was gone. Or maybe… she missed when he’d been alive. She missed the closeness they’d shared until she’d fucked everything up. She missed making him proud of her, instead of knowing he was spending his precious afterlife waiting for her to get her shit together. And she was refusing to.

She’d spent all her life running away from what she wished she could hold in her hands one more time.

Yes, starting over was easy. It was the constant fight to destroy who you used to be that was hard.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #mando smut #smut fic #ptsd #eventual smut #orginal character #star wars #fluff fic #explict

[bowieandqueen11]

Dating Jonas Kahnwald Headcanons

Request: Hi first of all i LOVE your dark (netflix) writing thank you so much for blessing this fandom with content ❤️ Second i would like to request if you haven’t done this some headcanons for dating jonas (2019) . Thank a lot 

No worries darling! I only know about three other people who write for Dark and it is a crying shame I love this show too much <3

Also that trailer??? I am not okay???

Okay, to begin with you, Jonas met you at the start of secondary school. Since no one usually leaves or moves into Widen, he knew that you were important - that you were exciting and fresh and new in this black hole of a town.

Therefore, when you came skipping into English on that dreary morning, eleven year old Jonas was nearly knocked head over heels right there right then. It was like a ray of sunshine had entered the drab classroom as you shook the droplets out of your hair and took your seat at the front of the class - he was so out of it for the rest of the lesson that Bartosz had to constantly elbow him whenever the teacher picked on him to answer a question.

When he picked up the nerves to go and sit down next to you that lunchtime, from then on, the two of you had been as thick as thieves.

It was only after Michael died that you properly started calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend - he was too nervous before, too afraid you weren’t actually feeling what he was with the same intensity. But after his dad was gone, he realised he had nothing left to lose except you.

Since you’ve known Jonas for so long, Hannah actually kind of likes you, in her own special way. She’s still blunt, and abrupt when she sees you, but the two of you don’t have to sneak out of the house when she’s with Ulrich anymore to go and play videogames round at Bartosz’s house.

Whilst he was still alive, you were also very close with Michael as well. Many mornings had been spent in the Kahnwald house, with noone surprised when you used to tiptoe down the stairs behind Jonas, or knock at seven thirty a.m. on the dot at their door to join them for breakfast.

You always took the seat to the left of Jonas, giving his dad a smile as he pushed your favourite cereal in front of you with a wink. Blushing, you’d use one hand to hold your spoon as Hannah went on pouring the orange juice, already having put four cups out, and you’d use your other hand to sneakily reach under the table and grab onto Jonas’.

The first time you did it, the poor boy started choking on his cereal, and Michael ended up having to try and give him the heimlich. 

Most nights were spent climbing up and through Jonas’ window. You always know you’re close when you feel your fingers prick over the bark, your fingerprints swirling over the ridged patterns. 

You move toward the light glowing familiar from Jonas’ window, the dim lamp on his desk, feeling the light reach your skin as you lean on the white gloss frame, knocking until Jonas is knocked out of his daydream and finally lets you in.

You’d always spend the night, as he finds he has less intense nightmares while you’re around. It would always end up with him lying flat over you - legs entangled together, his head resting just under your chin, and arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the duvet discarded in a heap at the foot of the bed.

For him, there’s no better feeling in the world than the feeling of his forehead coming to rest gingerly but tenderly against your own as he breathes out deeply, your familiar smell comforting as your fingers brush the blonde curls away from his forehead. 

Constantly grabbing your shoulder at school with that light little giggle of his when he sees you wearing one of his jumpers, and as time goes on, his bright yellow raincoat.

Most weekends, you’d often skip out on whatever scheme Bartosz, or Magnus, or Martha were planning, to cycle down instead and sit by the lake. 

He shifts uncomfortably against the stones and sand that prick like millions of little pins against his hands, the sun shining down on this ethereal summer’s day and bouncing on thin rays over his eyes, the warming breeze tingling against the goosebumps of his arms. He feels so uncomfortably close to you, on days like these, but not close enough.

Usually he looks forward to days like these, just to get away from Winden. Just to spend time sitting next to you, gazing at you, loving you without fear, but today even you surprised him.

‘Come on Jonas, the water looks so beautiful!’

Dragging him up, his ocean eyes widen in surprise as, without a warning, you make him yelp in surprise as you pull him down into the water, the giant splash sprinkling like dew drops onto the sandy shore.

That day, was the day he finally collected the courage to kiss you. When the two of you emerged from the depths, his purple hair soaked and droplets scattering of your eyelashes, the two of you just burst out laughing.

You stop laughing, however, when you stop and see the seriousness in his eyes, the heaviness behind the way he looked at you. There was no one around, just silence, and peace, and a million pine trees shaking their needles as if fighting against the wind, and yet there was such an intensity between the two of you.

Finally, his arm comes to grab onto your wrist, before he leans over to kiss you, and the world and all its troubles fall away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breaths mingled, pulling you closer until there was no space left between the two of you, and never would be again.

#dark #dark netflix #dark netflix imagine #dark imagine #Jonas Kahnwald #Jonas Kahnwald imagine #Jonas dark imagine #Jonas Kahnwald x reader #jonas dark #jonas kahnwald fluff #jonas kahnwald headcanons #jonas kahnwald angst #louis hofmann #louis hofmann imagine #louis hofmann headcanons #hannah kahnwald #michael kahnwald #martha nielsen #bartosz tiedemann

[subject-v]

A lesson in diplomacy (whumptober 5)

Five is punished for stealing.

TW: death, branding, blood, restraint, forced to watch, ableist language

“Wake up!”

I jerk upright, shoving hair out of my eyes, expecting to see it day outside because surely if Dex is here, in the servant quarters, I’ve slept until noon, but I can barely see by the flickering torchlight. He sets his torch in a sconce on the wall and drops something, no, someone, a body, with long hair and a ragged skirt. She grunts as she hits the ground, unable to catch herself. Ari rushes to her side to help her up but I remain frozen in place as she lifts her head: Amira. Why is Dex upset with Amira? She’s always done everything he’s asked of her.

“I have a simple question,” Dex says, leaning against the doorframe to block our only exit. “Who stole the cipher from my office?”

My stupid human brain still struggles to interpret sounds as a form of communication and I stumble over two words: cipher and office. Office is where he works and cipher is… oh. The paper I took off his desk, the one with the jumbled letters that were so fun to put back in order. I’d overheard him call it unbreakable with a group of senators, but it was a one-to-one substitution, easily broken with a little frequency analysis using books from his library. I’d solved it in about a decan and I couldn’t even read.

“Don’t look so terrified, Nike.” With no apparent effort, Dex leans forward and curls his fingers through Amira’s hair, pulling her back to her knees. “I know you’re too much of a simpleton for this. You three, however.” He flicks a finger at the other indentureds: Ari, Ermes, and Hesita, all of whom find reason to look elsewhere. “Only servants had access to the room since it went missing. Énas assures me it wasn’t one of the paid servants, so it was one of you.” A knife appears in his hands, a long, curved one with a terrible sharp point that he plants on Amira’s cheek, making her tremble, making her cry, and if I didn’t know from experience that nothing in my physical capacity could overpower Dex, I would jump at him then and there for scaring her. “Well?” A rivulet of blood rolls down her cheek.

“Sir,” Hesita begins. “I would never steal from you.”

“It’s not merely theft,” he says idly. “That cipher was a message from the rebels.” A small gasp goes up around the room, so whatever this rebel word is, I assume I want no association with it. “Whoever took it is a traitor and shall be treated as such.” He smiles, not the smile I’ve seen him use with other important people when he wants them to like him, the sort he flashed my way the first day we met, when being in a human body was still so new and unbearable and he’d seen the helplessness written all over my face. We were, I realized, helpless. None of us will leave this room alive but through his mercy. “Ari, perhaps?”

When he faces her, she ducks her head, just like Amira taught me to do. If you challenge him, he will try to break you, she’d said. Don’t give him reason to. “S-sir, I’m not a rebel.”

“They do love sending cute little things like you to my household. Did they give you that scar themselves, thinking it would make me less likely to abuse you? Ha!”

Ari’s chin is shaking. “I-I’m not-”

Dex waves her protestation aside. “They’ll elicit a proper confession at the Keep. Until then.” He plucks something off the wall behind him, a long metal stick like the one I use to tend his fires, and the one he once used to beat me when I let a fire burn too low, except this one has a shape on the end, an interlocking spiral made of wrought metal, and it makes Ari fall to her knees.

“Please don’t brand me, sir. I’m not a ciphramancer. I’ll do anything, please. It’s…” She takes  a deep breath. “Nike hides something in their shirt. Paper. Please, sir, it wasn’t me.”

I frown when she points at me but I’ve broken the cipher and I’m not a rebel or a ciphramancer, whatever those are, so Dex can’t be mad at me. Really, I’ve helped him, by solving it. Maybe he’ll see how good I am at this and stop making me do all his laundry. I remember to vibrate my neck as I exhale and say, “I. Have it.” Then, even though esses always get stuck under my tongue, I add, “S-sir,” because he looks like he’s in a bad mood.

Dex raises an eyebrow. “I’m not in a joking mood, Nike.”

I pull the paper—cipher on the one side, decrypted version on the other—out of my tunic and hand it to him.

He is, for the first time since I’ve arrived here, dumbfounded. Gobsmacked, even. “Are you-you’re a rebel?” He forgets to keep holding Amira up and she collapses to her shoulder, her bound hands wriggling behind her back. “Nike?”

Ari has a gleam in her eye as she ducks her head. Wait a minute, I know that one. Relieved? Why is she-

Dex slams me into the wall behind me, his arm flat across my neck. “I refuse to believe you’re a ciphramancer.” My eyes bug out of my head, I kick dangling feet, trying to speak, tell him I can’t breathe, but he drops me the next second anyway. “Hesita, Ermes, leave us. Ari, get my son and my riding crop.”

They all flee, except Amira, whose legs are tied together with thick rope, and even before she looks up at me with those big, sad, disappointed eyes, I realize I may have made a mistake here. I clear my throat. “I can.” What’s the word? “Help. You.”

Dex laughs. “You will, Nike. But first, Cassian?”

Cassian has only just arrived but he already looks miserable, which is his default state, as far as I can tell. He lets Ari hide behind him as he steps forward, all six feet of him. “Yes, sir?”

This always confuses me. My understanding of human social politics is that people fear pain and so power comes through the ability to inflict it. I have to wash and dry Dex’s clothes because he can hit me and I can’t hit him, but Cassian is wider and taller than Dex and he still always defers to him in these sorts of situations, even though he clearly doesn’t want to be here. What’s up with that?

“She will be going to the Keep. Get the necessary supplies and contact a guard.”

Cassian swallows heavily. “Yes, sir.”

“Ari, out of curiosity, how long did you know Nike had the cipher?”

Ari has nowhere to hide anymore and presses her lips together. “Sir, I assumed you told her to have it. I’m sorry.”

“You will be. Take off your shirt.”

Could I slip out, if I ran fast? No, Amira’s body is in the way. I opt to crouch in my corner instead. If I’m small enough, he might forget me, and he does seem excited as he beats Ari’s back purple with the riding crop, pausing after each blow so she can choke out a number.

Is he going to do that to me next? My hand goes to my back, worried. He whipped me, once. This will hurt less, right? But in my mind, it hurts more. A great anvil settles on my chest, pressing down until I can barely breathe, and then when Cassian returns, he’s holding rope and other things I don’t even recognize. If Ari deserves this punishment for the crime of hiding my crime, what the hells are they going to do me?

The knife? Dex’s sword? Something worse? Cassian shoves the brand into the brazier on the far wall, rustling the coals against one another, and my stomach drops. Do they-are they going to make me touch the fire?

Tears spill into my eyes, making Dex laugh as he shoos Ari out of the room. Instead of falling on me though—I want him to, even as I cannot stand the thought, because at least once the pain starts, I know how bad it will be—he drags Amira to the wall by the back of her shirt. “Put those on,” he orders, kicking at a set of manacles. He flicks Amira’s chin up with the riding crop. “Do it or I’ll hurt her.”

I snatch them closer and fit them over my wrists, but they’re so big, they fall to my elbows. Cassian moves forward to tighten them, then tugs at the chain, looking at Dex to make sure he approves. I wish I had the words to ask him to help me, instead of Dex. Neither of us like Dex and with his size, we could probably take him, even though he is holding that riding crop. He treated me so well last night, feeding me, telling me stories about Marius. Isn’t he supposed to like me?

Maybe he can see this urge in my eyes because he looks away quickly.

“Pull down the shirt.”

Cassian’s hands are hot against the skin of my back. “Kneel, please,” he whispers. I don’t understand. Why? Why must I? What was my crime?

“I helped,” I manage to say.

“Kneel,” he repeats. “Please, Nike.”

I kneel and he presses my cheek into the cold stone wall. Someone stirs the embers and a moan escapes my mouth—mistake. “Yes, Nike, perhaps you should’ve considered how much this would hurt before you crossed me.”

The strength comes from nowhere but suddenly, I’m struggling, pressing against Cassian’s hands on my shoulders, trying to stand, and his grip tightens. “I don’t want-”

I hear it before I feel it. A sizzle, like meat on the grill. A hiss.

Then-

Gods. Someone screams, not me, even though it’s my vocal cords vibrating, because this is not a sound I could ever make. It echoes in the small room, cracks, warbles, louder than I’ve ever made, and when I run out of breath the pain is still there, pressed hard against my back. I smell something burning, then realize it’s me. I’m burning.

Even when Dex steps back, the pain doesn’t diminish, and Cassian allowing my shirt to fall back into place makes it worse. I drop to hands and knees, the chains rattling, my back keening. Dex props the brand against the wall and I almost sob because that means we’re done, this is it. I can survive this. I can-I can do this.

“Look up.” I struggle to obey. “She begged for me to spare you, you know that?” Dex taps the riding crop against Amira’s cheek, which is stained wet. “My original idea was to skin you in front of Ari until she confessed, but Amira begged me to use her instead. Isn’t that touching?”

Amira’s shoulders shake.

“I assume you feel something for her as well.” He punches her, even though she is already lying on the ground and bound and helpless, he punches her so hard, her head slams into the wall with a horrid crack and blood pours from her mouth and splatters across her grey hair. I flinch, reach out to her, forget about the chains, half fall. “As I thought. Let this be a lesson then: your beloved rebels will always hurt people more than they help.”  He kneels, strokes her hair, and slides his knife between her ribs.

I’m too weak to cry out as she babbles, as he lets her go, as she falls. Too weak to pull away from her spreading blood as it stains my skirt and skin. Too weak to struggle as Cassian lifts me up, avoiding the raw wound on my back, and carries me outside, and between the searing pain on my back and the terror in my chest, all I can find myself thinking is that he promised. He said if I obeyed he wouldn’t hurt her, and he hurt her, he killed her, she taught me to speak and he killed her, she’s dead and I wish I were too because it hurts more than I can comprehend.

As Cassian hands me to someone outside dressed all in grey, I manage to lift my head, look Dex in the eye, and though I cannot remember how to speak, I think he understands the look in my eyes because he ruffles my hair with a rueful smile. “I know, I lied. Don’t worry, better dead than where you’re going.”

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #betrayal #oc #fic #death #branding #blood #restraint #forced to watch #five #dex #cassian #whump community #whump writing #lady whumpee #punishment

[dannyphannypack]

DP/PJO Crossover

Hello losers and welcome back to Taylor Writes A Teaser and Later Deletes the Entire Thing Because She Decides She Doesn’t Like it but She Wants to Put the Teaser Somewhere Else Where Her Grimy Little Hands Can’t Reach it so the Teaser Isn’t Lost Forever to Time! The Series. Today I’ve got a prologue for my upcoming fic, The Phantom Recollection. Enjoy!

“Woah.”

Daniel Fenton, newly fifteen, stood outside the Washington Square Park in lower Manhattan with a cardboard box overflowing with weaponry. He stood in front of the park’s Roman triumphal arch, where two statues of George Washington stared down at him. Behind the president on either side were two other people Danny didn’t recognize.

Jasmine, Danny’s older sister by two years, came up behind him toting another cardboard box labelled ‘Samples.’ She nodded toward the eastern pier. “That’s George Washington as Commander-in-Chief, Accompanied by Fame and Valor.” Jazz recited the words as if reading straight out of a textbook. “And the other one is George Washington as President, Accompanied by Wisdom and Justice.”

“Ah, yes,” Danny said as he adjusted his box. Guns were heavy. “My four favorite people: Fame, Valor, Wisdom, and Justice. Love those guys.”

Jazz nudged him with her shoulder and continued through the arch, where a crowd of people were gathered around a large fountain with jets that spewed water 45 feet into the air. A few adults sat around the fountain with their feet in the water and kids ran across the surface in swimsuits and trunks. Danny watched as one kid walked a little too close to the fountain and got pummeled by falling water.

The perimeter of Washington Square was decorated in booths. While one half of the square was shaded by the surrounding trees, the other half was enduring the hot July sun. Some people had been smart enough to bring canopy tents. Others were already baking.

“There,” Jazz said, pointing. A single empty fold-up table on the other side of the square sat in the sun with a sign that read, “RESERVED — Fentons.” Danny used a hand to shade his eyes in an attempt to get a better look at it.

“I told you that you should’ve brought sunglasses,” Jazz said. Danny figured she was rolling her eyes underneath her own pair of aviators.

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny huffed. “Let’s just go before I drop this Fenton-Tech all over the ground.”

A big guy in a bright orange neoprene HAZMAT suit ran into Danny from behind, almost making him fall over. Jack Fenton carried seven stacked cardboard boxes. “Whoops!” he shouted. “Didn’t see you there!”

Danny figured he couldn’t see anyone, anywhere, but a similarly-dressed woman in a bright blue suit came up behind him and urged him along. “Jack, I told you that we could just take a second trip.”

Beside Danny, Jazz hunched her shoulders like she thought she could hide in a turtle shell. “If anyone asks, I’m not related.”

Danny’s parents were … quirky, to say the least. Danny rarely saw them without their suits in public, and Danny even less so with his mom’s hood and red-tinted goggles. Underneath was a chin-length bob of red hair and deep blue eyes, almost purple in color. She was nothing compared to his dad, though, who was easily six feet seven and built like an MMA fighter (minus the rippling muscles). Huge. Stocky. Shaped vaguely like a box. He was difficult to miss. Even behind the boxes, people that walked past were giving him strange looks. Danny figured that was bad, since they were at a ghost convention.

“Not any ghost convention!” His dad had exclaimed, barely a week ago. “The Haunted America Conference in Alton, Illinois!”

“It’s not in Alton anymore, Jack,” His mom had sighed like they’d been over this three times already. “They had to move it due to popular demand.”

“Where is it, then?” Danny asked.

His mom had beamed. “Oh, Danny, you’re going to love this: New York City!”

And that’s how they’d ended up in America’s most populated city, carrying ghost weapons across a supposedly haunted park in the middle of July. Danny was pretty good at telling where ghosts were and where they weren’t, and there definitely wasn’t anybody here. The land had once been used as a mass burial ground during the yellow fever, but the spirits had all moved on since. If Danny had died during the yellow fever, he wouldn’t have stuck around either. Children running playfully over his unmarked corpse? No thanks.

Danny set his box at the foot of the table. His dad was trying to bend down without spilling the contents of his seven boxes everywhere, and his mom was fussing over him. “Don’t worry, Maddie, I got it!” his dad said, and he set the boxes on the pavement a little too roughly. The bottom box made a noise like breaking glass and crumpled underneath the weight. Ectoplasm began oozing out the sides.

“I’ve got the other samples,” Jazz drawled, setting down the box. “If you need me I’ll be by the fountain pretending that I don’t exist.” She shouldered her backpack and walked away.

“I’m just gonna go, uh, walk around,” Danny said.

His mom opened her mouth like she meant to tell him to stay there and help set up the booth, but she replaced the expression with a hesitant smile. “Go have fun. Be back by noon.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Danny knew how much his mother liked physical reassurance, so he stood on his tip-toes and pecked her cheek. “Love you.”

She smiled. “Love you, too.”

Danny turned and started heading around the square, glancing at people’s ghostly booths without actually getting close enough to warrant a conversation. He didn’t get a chance to walk very far, though. While passing a section of the square that branched off into a sidewalk, an old lady in a black hood grabbed him by the hand and pulled him aside. Despite the temperature (and the outfit choice), her skin felt cold. Danny forced himself to remain calm. Not a ghost, he told himself. Still, the woman set him on edge. When she opened her mouth, she sounded like she was hissing. Between gasping breaths, she said,

“Three shall find the child of death

Who loses his mind with one gasping breath

The son of the sea god must attend

To repay the kindness of a forgotten friend

See that his memories are safely returned

Or the reign of the King will be overturned.”

Danny blinked and she was gone, melting into the shadows of a big elm tree. “Wait!” he shouted, but the old woman had disappeared.

A wild animal growled nearby, but it came from all sides and echoed like Danny was in a cave.

He shivered. Get it together, Fenton. You’re losing it, man.

Thinking about how characters in movies splashed their faces with cold water when they were upset, he turned and walked down the sidewalk in search of a restroom.

Jazz sat on the steps of the fountain. With her laptop balanced in her lap, she reached into her backpack and removed a flash drive from her key ring of flash drives. This one was marked by a little cartoon ghost painted in neon green nail polish. She inserted it and opened up the folder. More folders stared back at her. Ghost Psychology, Ghost Physiology, Ghost Physics, Ghost Theories, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost. Jazz pursed her lips. Maybe she should take the ‘Ghost’ out of all her folder titles. The nail polish ghost on her flash drive already told her what it was.

“Hey,” someone said from behind her, and she jumped. Pulling her computer screen down, Jazz turned and looked up at the girl who had spoken.

She might have been a bit younger than Danny, though Jazz couldn’t tell exactly. She had long, curly red hair and dozens of freckles that decorated her nose like tiny paint splatters. Her eyes were so green they practically glowed in the light of the sun, swirling with mirth and curiosity. She was wearing red running shorts and a white t-shirt, so she looked like she had just finished a jog. Jazz supposed that she might have; this was a park, not a year-round ghost convention.

“Hi,” Jazz replied, pushing up her sunglasses so that they rested on her head. She visibly relaxed.

The girl chuckled and sat down beside her. She began taking off her sneakers and socks. “Surprised to see a fellow redhead at the Haunted America Conference.”

Jazz looked up and observed the crowd. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed before, but the people wandering about the square were a sea of black clothes and colorfully-dyed hair.

Jazz snorted and reopened her laptop. “That’s why you came over here?”

“No. I happened to see your computer screen.” She leaned in close for a better look. “Ghost Psychology, huh?”

Jazz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I know it seems weird—”

“No, I love it!” The girl said. “Everybody else here is all, ‘Palmistry, Chakra, Tarot Readings.’ You’re asking the real questions. What do ghosts think about? That’s what I’m interested in.”

If anybody else had said that, Jazz would have assumed they were being condescending. This girl, though … she could tell that she was just curious. “You believe in ghosts?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, putting her feet in the water and kicking them back and forth a bit. “Why not? Had this weird experience at the Hoover Dam last month. Not a ghost, I think, but—” she cut herself off and bit her lip, like she was trying to stop herself from retelling it. She raised her hand for Jazz to shake. “My name’s Rachel. Rachel Dare.”

Jazz shook it politely. “Jazz Fenton.”

“Fenton, huh?” Rachel looked like that name sounded familiar but she didn’t want to say anything about it.

“Yeah, I know,” Jazz said, preparing herself for the obligatory ‘I’m a Fenton’ speech. “Parents are Maddie and Jack Fenton, ghost hunters extraordinaire. Last year they saved Amity Park from being annihilated by the Ghost King, yadda yadda.

“They did what?” Rachel squeaked, but she sounded more amused than shocked. “Ghost King?”

Jazz mentally berated herself. Without thinking, she’d started spewing the information that everybody back in her home state wanted to know. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she was in New York, hundreds of miles away. Stupid.

Rachel must have saw Jazz wince, because she switched gears. “So, ghost hunters,” she said. “Your folks got a TV show?”

Jazz took a second to process the change in topic. She blinked once. Twice. Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

“What?” Rachel yelled over Jazz’s laughter. “What’s so funny?”

Jazz giggled but calmed down. “Sorry. My parents having a TV show … I can’t imagine.”

“What do they do then?” she asked. “Ghost Tours?”

“Ghost—?” Jazz cleared her throat to keep herself from laughing again. “No, no, no, Rachel, you’ve got my family all wrong. Think, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “They shoot ghosts? How does that work?”

Jazz jabbed a finger behind her, where her parents had started on the box of weaponry. Her mom set the Fenton Bazooka down. Like anybody was gonna buy that.

Rachel gulped. “So I’m hoping you’re the ‘ask questions, shoot later’ one.”

Jazz nodded mutely and opened her Ghost Psychology folder. At the top was a folder labelled ‘Danny Phantom,’ but she scrolled past it to the general information. “My parents think that ghosts are inherently evil and have no thoughts of their own. They’re just a bad copy of their old human consciousness, wanting to get revenge on humans because they’re jealous that we’re alive or something. But they’re so much more than that. They have these—these ghostly obsessions.” She opened a Word document and began scrolling. “But they’re not evil obsessions. Sure, when they die, they can be like, ‘I’m going to make them pay.’ But usually it’s more of a gray area. Like, ‘I’m going to watch after my family,’ or ‘I’m never going to stop writing.’ What my parents don’t understand is that they’re not unary; they can think about other things. They aren’t limited to one state of mind.”

Rachel looked surprised at the sudden lecture, but she adjusted quickly. “Who is Skulker?”

“Oh.” Jazz paused and bit her lip. “He’s—he’s not the best.”

“What’s his obsession?”

“Hunting,” Jazz said, though she didn’t sound as excited as she had before.

“I’m guessing he’s not hunting for deer,” Rachel said, watching Jazz’s reaction. “Okay. Then … who is Danny Phantom? Why’s he got a folder to himself?”

Jazz’s eyes widened.

“Right. Another touchy subject.”

“No,” Jazz said, shaking her head. “No, he’s … he’s good. Great, even. I think he’s obsessed with protecting people.”

“Well, that’d good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Jazz exclaimed. “I mean, yeah, it’s really good.”

Rachel stared at her. “But … something’s wrong?”

Jazz exhaled slowly through her nose, considering what she should and should not say. “He’s just a little … too protective, I guess. Never thinks about himself. Always rushes in when he could get hurt.”

“Ghosts can get hurt?” Rachel asked.

“This one can.”

Rachel could tell that Jazz didn’t want to talk about it, but she was curious. Choosing her words carefully, she asked, “What’s he like?”

Jazz smiled. “Oh, he’s great. Always saving the day. You know, everybody thanks my parents for the Ghost King thing, but it was really him. Our entire city was transported to a different dimension called the Ghost Zone. It’s where all ghosts live. The Ghost King had just woken up. People doubted his power. He was going to kill us all to set an example. Let everybody know that he was in charge.”

Jazz took a deep breath. “And then … well, Phantom couldn’t stand for that. He was already upset because … someone else got hurt. So he went up there by himself and beat him. He could’ve died.” Her eyes widened. “Well, not died, but he could’ve gotten hurt.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring out at the fountain and watching the water splash against the surface. Some little kids ran by them, laughing. Rachel said, “You like this guy a lot, huh?”

That seemed to break Jazz out of her stupor. Her cheeks turned red. “Not romantically!” she shouted. “I care about him like a little brother. Not—” She put her face in her hands.

Rachel laughed and stood, shaking the water off her bare feet. “I’ve got to get going before my dad comes home for his lunch break and finds out that I’ve left the house. It was nice meeting you, Jazz.” She pointed at the laptop. “You keep that ghost science thing up. You never know. You might end up publishing it and becoming famous.”

“Your shoes,” Jazz said, grabbing the sneakers and holding them up to her. Her socks had been stuffed into the toes.

“Oh! Right.” She took them but didn’t bother putting them on; instead, she started walking up the steps and back into the square, barefoot. “And you keep that Phantom kid from doing anything stupid!” She added.

Jazz laughed. “I’ll try!” she shouted back.

Just like that, Rachel Dare was gone.

In hindsight, Danny should’ve known that he’d never get a break. Weird stuff had been happening to him since last year like clockwork. August: get ghost powers. September: fight ghosts. November: find out that a creepy old man has ghost powers, too. December: fight ghosts. On and on and on until now, watching people stumble through the gates of a sandy dog park behind the restroom he’d found. An old lady shuffled past him, screaming bloody murder. “Rabid dog!”

Danny turned back towards the dog park. That thing was no dog. Snarling angrily at a park ranger was a full-grown lion, 500 pounds at least. It snorted a small plume of red-orange fire. Danny blanched. Yeah, so maybe it wasn’t a lion.

Danny was still trying to process its more … interesting parts. From its back sprouted a black ram’s head, with big, curly ebony horns and a sneer almost as nasty as the lion’s. It, too, huffed, but only smoke came from its mouth. Thank god. Danny didn’t know if he could handle two fire-breathing heads. 

Then there was the matter of the tail. The golden fur grew in patches before tapering off into tough yellow and orange snake-skin. At the tail’s end was a full, honest-to-god python. As he watched, the snake looked up at Danny and flicked its tongue.

This was a ghost. It had to be a ghost, right? Sure, it didn’t glow like a ghost … and it didn’t float like a ghost … and it didn’t set off his ghost-sense like a ghost … but what else could it be? An animal experiment escapee from the Central Park Zoo? Danny seriously doubted that.

The park ranger pressed his back against the fence, which was a little too high for him to jump, and made a high-pitched whimpering sound. Danny shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Whatever it was, he had to get rid of it.

Danny glanced nervously at the security cameras attached to the public restroom and nestled between the trees. Okay. He had to get rid of it, but without ghost powers. How?

Looking around for anything he could use, Danny settled on rock and tossed it twice into the air to test its weight. Deciding that it would work, he shouted, “Hey, Alex the Lion!” and threw it as hard as he could. It hit the creature in the back of the head.

That got its attention. Turning away from the ranger, the lion growled and set the floor around the gate on fire. Danny surveyed the fence. He wondered if he could jump it or if he’d seriously have to run through flames to get inside. Danny didn’t like heat. It wasn’t his thing. If he channeled a little flight into the jump, would it be too noticeable?

He didn’t have to think about it for very long, though. A boy and a girl, apparently unconcerned with the security cameras, catapulted over the fence on the other side and somersaulted into a standing position, one holding a dagger and the other holding an entire sword.

A sword. This day was just getting weirder and weirder.

The girl kicked the guy in the back of the knee, causing him to fall. She pushed him toward the lion. “Mmm, look, yummy demigod!”

“Annabeth!” The guy spluttered, standing. Just in the nick of time, too. Their entrance had caught the creature’s attention. It lunged forward. The kid jumped out of the way.

Danny raised his eyebrows. The girl, Annabeth, had her wavy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore jean shorts and a hazard orange t-shirt similar to Danny’s dad’s suit. The guy was wearing the same shirt, though he had a pair of black basketball shorts on instead. Together, they shared a matching gray streak of hair. He wondered if they’d dyed it together.

In the other corner, the park ranger fainted.

With nothing but sand and rocks to fuel it, the flames around the gate died, allowing Danny to walk in like a normal person. Unlike the other two, he’d rather not high-jump a fence with security cameras watching. Even in New York he needed to keep up appearances.

The creature rushed toward Annabeth and its snake head-of-a-tail wrapped around her arm, squeezing until she dropped her dagger with a pained yelp. She looked down at it and kicked it in the general direction of the other guy.

Okay, my turn, Danny thought. He grabbed another rock (this one sharper, yay!), stepped through the gate, and threw it. It cut a long gash through the ram’s cheek. The lion turned to face him.

Both of the strangers looked surprised to see him there, like they hadn’t noticed a fifteen-year-old kid standing by the front gates. Honestly, Danny was surprised that he was still there, too. He had seriously considered running away when he saw them jump the fence. He had thought, Great! Back to my vacation, but his feet stayed firmly planted on the ground.

Annabeth recovered quickly. With the lion-goat-snake-thing distracted, she ripped her arm free of the snake’s grip and tumbled away.

The lion head roared, shooting fire across the park at Danny. He rolled out of the way and stood, bouncing on his toes. What he would give to be able to fly right now.

The other guy stared at him.

“What?” Danny snapped.

“Your pants are on fire.”

Danny looked down. Sure enough, the hem of his jeans hadn’t been as lucky as the rest of him. Patting it out, he shouted, “Dude!”

And then the lion was on top of him.

Now, Danny had been in some pretty sticky situations. The lion had his arms pinned on either side of his head. Danny couldn’t help but flash back to another time, when a ghost panther had been on top of him in the same fashion. It wasn’t the same, but still. Two giant cats pinning him to the ground in a year? That was sad.

On one side of him was Annabeth, on the other, the guy. Annabeth pointed frantically to his right. His eyes flicked in the direction she was indicating. Ah, yes, the dagger! He’d never be able to grab it with the creature’s full attention on him, though.

“Percy,” Annabeth said in a harsh whisper. He didn’t seem to notice. With a stomp, Annabeth ground out, “Per-see!” and nodded her head toward the dagger. He opened his mouth like, Ah, hyped himself up by jumping up and down, and started running top speed with his sword held high above his head, screaming.

The lion gnashed its teeth like it was annoyed. The goat head bleated angrily. The snake hissed. In one swift motion, the creature lifted one of its massive paws and hit Percy across the stomach. He flew backward into the metal fence.

Fortunately for Danny, that was all the time he needed. With one arm free, he reached for the dagger, got a hold of it, and pushed it into the lion’s chest. He cringed, bracing himself for the five hundred pounds of lion-goat-snake-thing that was about to die on top of him. Instead, it began raining sand.

Danny opened his eyes, sat up, and immediately began gagging. “It got in my mouth!” he yelled, though it sounded more like, “It got in me mouf!”

Percy, who had been thrown into the fence and didn’t look much better than Danny, had the audacity to start laughing. Danny turned and glared at him, using his hands to brush lion-goat-snake dust off his tongue. He only succeeded in adding more sand from the ground to his mouth.

Annabeth held out her hand for Danny and helped him to stand. Percy cleared his throat, like, Hey, aren’t you gonna help me up, too? but Annabeth just looked Danny up and down with a puzzled expression. Her eyes were gray like a storm cloud. “Who are you?” she asked. It sounded like an accusation.

Danny was still spitting sand and monster dust all over the ground. “Danny,” he said between gagging. “Bleh.”

“First time?” Percy quipped, helping himself up by leaning heavily on the fence behind him. He winced and held his stomach.

“I’m Annabeth,” Annabeth said. She gestured flippantly at her friend. “That’s Percy. I’ve never seen you before. Where did you come from?”

Danny furrowed his eyebrows, thoroughly confused. “You ever meet a tourist?”

Annabeth continued to stare at him. Shaking her head, she asked, “Where’s your parent?”

“Uh, parents? And they’re at Washington Square.”

“You have a stepparent?” Percy blurted.

“What?”

Percy changed gears. “You’re adopted?”

“What? No!”

Percy’s eyes widened. He muttered, “You’re like Rachel?”

“Who?” Danny and Annabeth asked in unison. For once he wasn’t the only one out of the loop.

“Look,” Danny said, brushing himself off. “This has been super fun, but I’ve got a ghost convention to get back to.” He turned on his heel and started stalking out of the dog park. What was up with them assuming he didn’t have parents? And people thought he was nuts.

“Wait!” Percy shouted. Danny paused mid-step. “Thank you.”

Danny considered that. He wasn’t supposed to be a hero in human form. It was dangerous. Even now, he was running through scenes in his head of these two stealing the security footage and putting him on YouTube or something. Highly unlikely, but anxiety twisted that in his head and made him more and more uncomfortable. He turned back around. “Look … don’t tell anybody about this, yeah?” Then, to disguise his nervousness, he said, “My parents would flip if they found out lion-goat-snake hybrids existed.”

“Chimera,” Annabeth said.

“Bless you,” said Percy.

“What? No! Percy, you of all people should know this. The Chimera is a Greek monster. Bellerophon shot it with the help of Pegasus. Do you listen to anything we tell you in camp?”

Percy shrugged noncommittally.

Annabeth fumed. “I—”

“You could come with us, you know,” Percy said, cutting Annabeth off. “To camp, I mean.”

Danny pretended like he was considering the offer. “Hmm, a camp with a Greek mythology class? No thanks.”

“It’s not a myth,” Percy said, rushing to get what he wanted to say out before Danny lost interest and left. “The Greek gods, I mean. They’re real. We could really use someone like you.”

Danny considered this. Right, so … crazy. They were crazy. If the Greek gods existed, why would there be a Ghost Zone? Didn’t spirits go to the Underworld in Greek mythology or something? But then again … what else could that lion-goat-snake thing be? It definitely wasn’t a ghost.

Danny shook his head. He had enough things to worry about. This was crossing into the Too Weird category. Turning, he said, “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve gotta go throw rocks at some other monsters. See you around.”

He walked out the gates and down the sidewalk towards Washington Square, thinking, I could really go for a sandwich right now.

#danny phantom #percy jackson #rachel elizabeth dare #annabeth chase #jazz fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #fic #fanfic #crossover #percy jackson danny phantom crossover #pj/dp crossover #taywrites #i ... think i have a tag like that #maybe not #well anyway i do now #hope you like it! #actual chapters won't be published until summertime on ffn #my fanfiction.net account is also daddyphannypack #let me know if you hate this #or if you don't! i like positive reinforcement too SJJSS #tayscreams

[ajokeformur-ray]

You’re my disaster, I’m your ever after // Rosie x J // Anniversary celebrationnn ~ ✨💖🥰✨

Summary: HAPPY FIRST YEAR ANNIVERSARY, DARLING!!🥰💖

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, @loveletterstoledger​, angel!!! I love you so so much and I’m so proud of you. I hope you can find some time for yourself to celebrate this wonderful day with J; you both deserve the world!💕 I read through your self-shipping tag and also your J tags for inspiration and I hope that this is as accurate to the two of you as possible!💗

(I’m so sorry that this is a few days late omg angel🥺 I hope you still enjoy it, though, and that you’ve found time to celebrate your relationship with J!)

Word count: 2, 532.

A single year consists of three hundred and sixty days.

Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours.

Five hundred and twenty five thousand and six hundred minutes. 

The seconds were too small to really matter, but they could still cut you up and slice you to the bone, so powerful were they in larger quantities.

Previously in your life had you been unknowing and perhaps even unbothered by these figures; you just took everything one day at a time and you couldn’t - wouldn’t - look beyond what was right in front of you. Year after year passed you by and, though you tried to live within the moment, sometimes you could only see an endless nothingness which stretched before you. The future was one gigantic question mark and, oh, how it scared you, almost into inaction. But not acting at all was an action within itself, a decision, and so sometimes were you blissfully unaware of the continuing passage of time as you took everything one step at a time, the days all blurring into one until you were forced to take a step back to see just how far you had come. Days passed, weeks passed and seasons flew. Time advanced before you knew it and you had to keep up with it or risk drowning within your own self; slow and steady won the race but when the race’s finish line was not yet in sight, when your goals were not yet achieved, was it all too easy to get lost in all that you had yet to do. Older and wiser were you now, and you knew that looking back into the past was okay as long as you didn’t stare at it and so your life continued. 

You had known that your first anniversary with J was approaching. It was the twenty second of October and you had been waiting - no, yearning - for it ever since the two of you had first solidified whatever it was which existed between the two of you. As ever did the sands of time rapidly drain from the uppermost section in the small hourglass of life, but there was no time this day to stop and to breathe and to reflect on the celebration which was your first year of life together. Oh, how you loathed your current situation. Your soon to be ex-employers were taking more than you had given them and there was little chance to replenish that wasted energy before more was demanded of you. It seemed to be a never ending circle and you were sick of it. You wanted J, more than ever, you needed him, and you needed to be reminded of all of your reasons why, for you couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

Though you loved J for all that he was, all that he had ever been and all that he would ever be, there was one thing which you had always really heavily admired about him, and that was his apathy. J may have lived in the world, but he wasn’t touched by it. He was who he was and he did what he did and nothing anyone ever said or did negatively affected him. Insults rolled off of him like water on a duck’s back, though anything which pertained to his face could only be soothed away by the light of your love, and oh, an abundance of it did J have. You had always longed to have a taste of that apathy, to know what it was to be your entire self without fear of judgement or consequence, and with J did you feel like you could experience it. J gave you strength, he gave you courage and he gave you meaning, he gave you life and he gave you love and on this day was he most determined to show that to you. You deserved nothing less and at your word would he strike the match which would burn the entire fucking city to the ground. So devoted to you and so in love with you was he.

Yes, J loved you. He had found you when you were most ready to be able to handle him for all that he was, and the two of you had been together ever since. He had been keeping a careful eye on you recently. He saw your exhaustion, he saw the bags under your eyes which darkened with each morning that you heaved yourself out of bed, feeling the tiredness of tonight like it was the exhaustion of the current moment. J saw you and he didn’t like what he saw. Not. One. Bit. Oh, but you were so strong in your pain, and pretty, too. He wished that you didn’t have to be. He saw everything, even if he didn’t acknowledge it. Today could he see that you needed more of him, you needed the love which you shared, and as if the stars had aligned did that day fall on your anniversary. J wasn’t a man for making plans, no, he was a man of ideas and he didn’t care how those ideas came into fruition just so long as they did, but for today he could, he would, make an exception.

It was all for you. 

You were at work during your anniversary, something which upset and frustrated you to no end, but J’s ideas became increasingly solid as the clock ticked your lives away. He had postponed his day of chaos (not that he had a schedule to keep, of course not, he didn’t make plans) so that he could wait at home for you. J didn’t wait for anyone or anything, though patient could he be when the situation for such a virtue arose, but you were his only exception. You were his and this day was dedicated to such a sentiment. Just like he had been considering for the past few hours, J was waiting for you at the door. Your place of living was just a place but he was your home, and you were his. Though you had been dreaming of encasing yourself into royal purple for the entire day, longing were you to go home, you hadn’t expected or even thought for a second that you would literally walk into a solid and warm wall of dark purple as soon as you crossed the threshold of your home. 

“Wha - J!” You were swept up into J’s arms and you squealed as he cackled right in your ear. You felt a spark of irritation but it quickly melted away with a flash of an intense chocolate gaze and the sensation of full lips crashing down onto your own. J pressed you into him so that every plane of your bodies were aligned. He kissed you so hard, so fiercely, that you quite forgot even your own name as J became all you could touch, feel... taste. Oh, but he was the sweetest nectar you had ever known as he welcomed you home by using his own body to put yours to the test.

“Good, ah - good afternoon, sweets.”

Your eyes slid closed of their own volition at the sound of his voice. oh, how you loved him. “Hi, J,” You kissed him again, not wanting to ever let him go. You knew what day it was and you knew that J knew, too. You were waiting to see who was going to address it or even if it would be addressed at all. “I thought you would be... out.”

Both of you understood the significance behind the emphasis which you placed on that word, and J shrugged easily. Only the slight stiffness of the movement gave away his true intentions as he said, “Later.” He didn’t let you go as he walked with you back, back into your home, towards the bedroom. He relied on muscle memory and even though you needed to shower, you needed to get changed, and your mind filled with things that needed to be done and achieved today and tomorrow, and and and, you could only think about J and the implications of where he was leading you in a literal and in a metaphorical way. Unbeknown to you, all of J’s ideas (never plans) melted away as he reached the bedroom and closed the door behind the both of you with a quiet but firm click. All he wanted in this moment was for the world to melt away, for J to be stripped away into Jack, into the man he used to be and the man you sometimes made him crave to be, and for the two of you to spend lots of time together. All that he did, all that he was, had long since stopped being about terrorising the city of Gotham, if he was being wholly honest with himself. J had always been honest to a fault, it was something else which you loved about him, and he knew that you were his reason for everything.

You slipped away from J, your body cold with the ghost of his embrace and J’s own palms echoing that feeling; so deeply connected and emotionally intertwined were the two of you, and stripped out of your clothes, getting yourself comfortable. The shower could wait. Food could wait. You just wanted your J. That was all you ever wanted, truth be told. You got into bed and barely were you able to sort yourself out and to get comfortable before J obnoxiously threw himself onto the bed. The mattress bounced with the force of him and your body bounced too, once, twice - but not thrice. No, for J’s arm wound around your waist like a boa constrictor and indeed did he squeeze you as he shuffled across the bed to press his chest against yours. Your irritation at J throwing himself down on your bed when he knew how tired you were, how exhausted you had been for so long, melted away like ice in the sunlight. 

All you wanted was your J. Yours. Your eyes roamed over J’s painted visage. The greasepaint was hastily applied and parts had flaked away entirely, revealing only patches of the bare face you knew and loved so well. Who J was, who he really was, was only yours. No one else knew him like you did and no one else ever would. You were J’s only. Similarly, he was your only. Very few, if anyone, understood you like J did. A single look at you would reveal all; your mood, your emotions, the directions of your thoughts... everything was in just a look, an open book were you to the man who knew you even better than you knew yourself. You were strong, and brave, too, and you were extremely mature and so much more than you knew yourself to be. But J could see you. He saw your pains and your efforts, your trials and tribulations, your triumphs and wins. He saw you and he knew that he was your only. 

“Ya’ know I’m good with numbers, doll.” J’s voice was low and gravelly, as if the words he was speaking were grating against his vocal chords. You wondered what he was talking about but you knew he would only tell you what he wanted you to hear verbally. Anything else which he wanted you to listen to would be contained within those chocolate galaxies; it was up to you to pay attention. “But, ah - feelin’s I’m not so good at,” J’s hand came up to rest over your heart, his fingers splayed so that he could touch as much of you as he could all at once, a tactile couple were you. You would know his hands anywhere, no matter where they were or what they were doing. The power of knowing that he had killed many people with his bare hands in violent and brutal ways but that they were only ever so tender with you always gave you a giddy feeling which was unlike anything else you had ever felt or ever would again. “We’ve, ah... a whole year ago, I found ya’. Or... maybe you found me. Look, listen, it - it doesn’t matter.” J pressed down on that part of your chest where your heart was beating out a wild tattoo against the confines of your rib cage. “The point is - “ he kissed your forehead, his full lips slightly chapped but so warm against your skin, “That I’m here and I ain’t goin’ anywhere. We’ve had a whole... year.”

You heard everything that J was saying and you listened, as always did you to the man who guarded and protected his heart as fiercely as you did with his. “I love you, J.” Jack. You nearly said it. Nearly. But you were unsure of yourself in this moment, not knowing were you of how he would react to hearing his name spoken in such a domestic setting.

“Say it,” J was now gently encouraging, interchangeable was he. 

“I love you... Jack.” Happy anniversary. You felt your heart swelling with love in its rawest and purest form, and one of your hands came up to interlock your fingers with the hand which was still pressed over your heart. You kissed J, then, taking what was already yours. 

J didn’t say it back, he never did, but he didn’t need to. Actions spoke louder than words and in this moment, there with you, J was screaming at you. This day had been seemingly mundane, but when you were alone with J, your love and your life, every moment was special.

Yes, a single year consists of three hundred and sixty days.

Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours.

Five hundred and twenty five thousand and six hundred minutes.

The seconds were too small to really matter, but they could still cut you up and slice you to the bone, so powerful were they in larger quantities. 

But J would never allow that to happen to you. He carefully cradled you in the palms of his calloused, greasepaint stained and busy hands, and he kept you safe within the sands of time. There was nothing J wouldn’t do for you, there was nothing he wouldn’t be for you, and as your first anniversary ended did J know beyond all shadow of a doubt that he wanted many more years with you.

J’s thoughts echoed your own in that moment, and the universe listened. It listened, it heard the two of you and it saw your undying and death defying love for each other, which was so powerful that it ultimately transcended physicality. Not even in Death would you part, for the Grim Reaper wouldn’t dare to disrupt the power of love. The two of you were made for each other, and in every single timeline, in every universe, in everything, would the two of you find each other and fall together again and again and again.

You were J’s disaster, he was your happy ever after, and neither of you would ever have it any other way.

#ledger joker #ledger!joker

[starryviolentine]

Camp Paya (A Pre-Apocalypse Story): Chapter 5/?

Part three of the “Pre-Apocalypse Adventures” Series

Chapter 1 (here)     Chapter 2 (here)     Chapter 3 (here)     Chapter 4 (here)

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that when Minerva claims not one, but two additional seats at their lunch table, it means that someone other than Minerva’s sister will be joining them as well. Being around too many strangers makes Violet uneasy, so the extra spot does make her a teensy bit nervous, but she puts on a brave face and tries to convince herself that everything’s going to be fine. It’s only one more person. And, surely, a group of four can’t possibly be any worse than a group of three, right?

Wrong.

The entire universe must have something against Violet specifically because, out of all the hundred-plus kids at camp this summer that Minerva’s sister could have become friends with, it turns out to be Brody. The sight of the auburn-haired girl bouncing over to their table comes as such an unexpected shock that it renders Violet frozen in her seat, unable to do anything other than gawk like a complete idiot. Brody, who looks just as surprised to see Violet, comes to a clumsy halt next to Minerva, mouth falling open ever so slightly. For a few seconds that last an eternity, the quarreling friends stare at each other in silence.

But then—and it happens so quickly that if Violet blinked, she would’ve missed it—Brody gives her the tiniest smile and a hesitant wave. Letting out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, Violet starts to relax. Brody doesn’t seem to be mad anymore. Maybe something good will come from this lunch arrangement after all. Violet’s fingers subconsciously move to the blue lizard keychain near her pocket as the gears in her head start whirring. 

Hey, Brody, so I know you like arts and crafts and stuff, and, well, yesterday, Minerva showed me how me how to make these really cool little lizard things and I thought maybe you’d like them, too, so I made—

Another Minerva arrives at the table, dropping her heavy bag onto the bench and letting out a weary sigh. The loud thump breaks Violet from her thoughts and causes her to look up. “Thanks for saving us a spot. Joey knocked a whole stack of goopy paint palettes off the counter right as the bell rang and it took forever to clean up.” 

“Did you guys finish the banner?” Minerva asks.

“Almost! I think we’ll be done by tomorrow,” answers the other Minerva.

Wait, what? 

Violet does a double-take and looks back and forth between the red-headed doppelgangers, clearly having trouble processing all of this. Brody, picking up on her friend’s complete and utter confusion, covers her mouth with her hands to stifle her giggles. 

The Minerva to Violet’s right, who also seems to find her reaction highly amusing, gestures towards her clone with a shake of her thumb. “Violet, this is my sister, Sophie.”

Sophie. Not Minerva. Sister. Sophie... and Minerva… Sophie and Minerva. Sisters... Twin sisters. Feeling somewhat dazed, Violet blinks at Not Minerva across the table. “Sophie…?”

Giggling, Sophie nods and waves. But then, as though she’s just had some sort of huge revelation, she gasps and points. “Wait, Violet? You’re Violet? As in…” She turns to Brody, who fervently nods her head up and down. “Yeah, Brody’s told me about you!”

“Oh yeah! Here.” Unclipping one of the lizards from her shorts, Minerva slides it over to her sister. “That’ll be five bucks.”

Playfully rolling her eyes, Sophie takes the trinket and smiles. “Thanks.”

A window of opportunity has arrived and Violet knows that she needs to take it. If she presents her gift right now, after Minerva, it won’t seem so out of the blue... and it will be less embarrassing since she won’t be the only one. All she has to do is go for it. Violet’s heart starts to flutter in her chest, but she’s not chickening out or anything. She just... needs a minute to prepare. 

“Oh, Minnie, that’s so cute!” Brody gushes, as expected. But Violet hadn’t been expecting what happens next. Standing up right where she is, Brody proudly shows off a lanyard keychain—one made out of glittery magenta and indigo plastic lacing woven in a checkerboard pattern—attached to the zipper of her fanny pack. “Look what Sophie made me yesterday!”

The tiny sliver of confidence Violet had in her own keychain drops to the very pit of her stomach and shatters into a million jagged shards. She’s too late. There’s no way she can give hers to Brody now without it seeming like a stupid, copycat afterthought. 

“I really wanna learn how to make those beaded ones, though,” Brody says, once again looking at Sophie’s red lizard longingly. 

“I can teach you. It’s really easy,” offers Minerva, wearing a self-assured smile. “I taught Violet how to make one this morning. Show them the one you made, Violet!”

Even though the only thing Violet wants to do right now is disappear, everyone turns to look at her expectantly. Minerva and Sophie, and Brody, with her stupid blue eyes the same stupid shade of blue as the beads on her stupid lizard. It’s all so stupid. The fact that Violet thought that maybe Brody had been just as bored and miserable as she was yesterday, or that maybe Brody missed her is now, in retrospect, laughable and just sad. No. Apparently, Brody had been doing arts and crafts with her new friend, merry as can be.

Then it hits her. Violet realizes that her best friend is going to be just fine at camp, with or without her. Brody doesn’t need her to have fun. Not like Violet needs Brody. And that’s the stupidest part of all. A raw, volatile mixture of rage and self-loathing overcomes Violet. Breath growing ragged, she grips her lizard keychain in her fist, yanking so hard that the string snaps and all the hard work she put into making is wasted in an instant. Blue beads clatter to the floor as everything starts to come undone. 

Everything.

The pressure from the three pairs of eyes on her weighs so heavily on Violet that she feels as though she’s suffocating. And there’s only one way to escape. 

Violet runs. 

With blurry vision and a heaving chest, Violet eventually finds herself bursting through the doors of Cabin Four, pacing the floors for a moment before letting out a strangled scream. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the vanity mirror and she storms over, glaring icily at the girl staring back at her. Stupid. Ripping the offending purple cap from her head, Violet flings it across the room and takes a good look at herself. Messy hair. Strands in her face. Blotchy skin around her eyes. Nose so red she could give Rudolph a run for his money. Violet resists the urge to smash something hard into the glass. 

Windswept blonde locks partially obscure her vision and she angrily swats them away, but the unkempt strands keep falling back into her line of sight, sending Violet into an irrational fit of rage. As the girl huffs and claws at her hair, desperately trying to get it out of the way, as though to spite her, her fingers repeatedly get caught in the tangles and it pinches her scalp. The same sensation as when she’s in a rush to get ready in the morning and brushes her hair a bit too roughly, yanking the bristles through the knots in order to get out the door as quickly as possible.

Of course, somebody always chastises her and tells her that she has to be more gentle. That her hair is so pretty and long and perfect for a ballerina bun, and if she brushes it too hard, she might get split ends. The joke’s on Brody, though, because Violet already has split ends. And guess what? She doesn’t give a damn! 

Something shiny and metal inside the nearby pencil cup catches Violet’s eyes and, before she knows it, she grabs in her right hand, holding a fistful of hair in the other. This will show Brody! Maybe next time she’ll stop and think before giving any more unsolicited advice. The scissors are duller than Violet expected, so it takes a bit of effort for her to hack all the way through, but the sheer satisfaction she feels after that final snip! is like nothing she’s ever felt before. Violet can hardly believe how liberating this feels. It’s incredible! It’s—

Immediately dropping the scissors, Violet stumbles a few steps away from the mirror as the reality of what she’s done slowly sinks in. Carefully unclenching her fist to inspect the damage, Violet watches in horror as several blonde strands float to the floor. The sight of the sad, lifeless bundle of hair in her palm makes her feel queasy. Her heart lodges itself deep in her throat and she panics, eyes darting from her hand to the pathetic girl in the mirror. Nearly half a foot of hair is missing from one side of her head, and it’s nothing at all like the time she got a wad of bubblegum stuck in her hair and her grandmother had to cut it out for her. Violet was seven, and she was terrified that she was going to end up with an enormous bald spot and that everyone at school would make fun of her. But Grandma had been really careful with the scissors, and in the end it wasn’t noticeable at all.   

But this time, it’s extremely noticeable. 

She’s ugly. Ruined.

Breathing as jagged and uneven as her new haircut, Violet attempts to flee the cabin, hoping to disappear into the woods, perhaps to never return again. Just when she figures that she’s already hit rock bottom and things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Violet slams into somebody in the doorway. Ouch. She really needs to stop doing that. 

“What in the ever-living fuck, V?” 

Of course it would be Therissa. Of course. The one person besides Brody that Violet had been hoping wouldn’t see her like this. 

The teenager gives an annoyed grunt, about to go off into a rant about Violet not watching where she’s going, but she quickly picks up on the fact that something isn’t right. Her roomie looks like she’s gone on a round trip to hell and back and it’s only noon. And where did that hay come from? Violet doesn’t seem like the type to willingly hang out by the stables, but— 

“Wait, is that hair?” More confused than ever, Therissa tries to piece everything together. Yeah, it’s definitely hair. Human hair. Making the connection, the teen looks up and immediately notices Violet’s new haircut. Oh, shit. Not wanting the situation to escalate, Therissa suppresses her shock and the billion questions that follow and tries to be as calm as possible. “Huh, I didn’t know that ‘beauty salon’ was on the list of camp activities this year.” As she steps a bit closer to Violet, Therissa makes sure to keep herself right in the middle of the doorway, turning her body into a barricade to keep the younger girl from running away. This is a delicate situation, and Therissa knows that she needs to handle it with caution. Once completely inside the cabin, she quietly pulls the door closed behind them. “I do like the direction you were going. Very bold. But it doesn’t look finished, know what I mean?” 

Violet keeps quiet and won’t meet Therissa’s eyes, but at least she doesn’t look like she’s actively looking for an alternate escape route. Holding her breath, the older girl takes a chance and gently reaches out to touch her roommate’s hair on the freshly cut side. Thankfully, Violet lets her. Combing her fingers through it a couple of times, Therissa gives a low hum. “I think I might be able to help you straighten things out a bit, if that’s cool with you?”

Walking further inside the cabin, Therissa comes across the scene of the crime. On the floor near the vanity are an old pair of scissors and even more of Violet’s hair. The older girl sits Violet in the wooden chair in front of the mirror and momentarily leaves to grab her hairbrush, picking up the scissors on the way back. After spending a minute detangling Violet’s hair and brushing it out for her, Therissa looks in the mirror with her roommate. “You do understand I’m gonna have to cut it, like, here, right?” 

Violet looks at the hand that Therissa’s using to mark exactly how many inches of hair she’s about to chop off and nods in defeat. She lets out a shaky sigh and speaks for the first time since the mess hall. “Just… don’t make it shorter than you have to. Please.”

Therissa giving her a thumbs-up in the mirror reflection is the last thing Violet sees before she squeezes her eyes shut. There’s no way she’s watching this. She doesn’t want to see anything until it’s all over. 

Probably not even then.

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