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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 6 months

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How You Turn My World; Chapter 4

You finally find your way into the labyrinth, coming across some new and old faces; both friendly and malicious.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, reader is getting tired of being stuck here and smelling like a bog

Content Warnings; Swearing, some talk of death, reader passes out

Word Count; 2.2 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

As per usual, don't put my work into AI.

You were finally making some decent progress, what, with not being stuck in some bog and knowing somewhat of where you were going. A vast improvement really! Well, it would be, but unfortunately, you still reeked of rotten eggs and skunk — apparently the bog stench only got worse the longer it stayed on.

“Why did it have to dump me into the swamp,” you huffed, rounding yet another corner. “Like, it could have dumped me beside the water, but, no, no, let’s dump the magicless human right into the putrid bog water! A good guffaw, don’t you think? Ha ha ha HA!”

At least your au de Bog of Eternal Stench kept any would-be assailants away since you hadn’t run into anything (besides a rose bush, ouch) since you started making your way through the labyrinth. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad… damn, maybe your sense of smell was just used to it… hey, if stink helps you not die, then you would gladly stay stinky! Well, bitterly stay stinky is more like it.

“Assholes,” you muttered, rounding another corner.

But it wasn’t a corner; it was a crossroad. Three paths merged off of the one you were on.

… aren’t labyrinths just one long line? THIS IS A FUCKING MAZE?! You groaned, looking at your possible options which all looked exactly the same.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. Of course nothing is easy here, no no no! Gotta make things difficult now.

The hedge behind you rustled, and you whipped around, getting into a stance where you could either land a pretty good sucker punch to the hedge-stalker or make a mad dash away. But out of the hedge crawled out a small, fuzzy, caterpillar. And back at home you would have thought it was cute, but you learned your lesson from the doors; don’t trust it, or anyone for that matter.

You looked down at the caterpillar, and the caterpillar looked up at you, blinking slowly.

What are the chances…

“Do you know a way out,” you asked the caterpillar, crouching down so that you didn’t tower over it.

The caterpillar blinked at you again (apparently caterpillars in the Underground have eyelids, which isn’t the weirdest thing considering everything). “No,” it chirped and continued crawling on its merry way, wherever that may be. “But you’ll find the way.” And it disappeared into the growth of the maze, humming a little tune to itself.

You sighed, and pushed yourself back up, straightening out your shoulders and looking up to the sky. “I’ll find a way,” you breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky which was starting to turn a brilliant amber with the setting sun. “I might want to find a way is more like it.”

You looked back down to the ground, looking at the three paths in front of you. They all look the same, save for the ground making up paths themselves, with the middle and right paths looking well worn with travel. And while they may be well worn, there was a voice at the back of your head that was whispering caution. The left-most path was not as well travelled, with dead vines covering parts of it.

“Hopefully you’re right, little buddy since I could use all the luck I can get.” And you made your way down the path, hoping that it was the correct one and didn’t lead you to your death or some other unpleasant thing.

…

Lilia was at the entrance of the labyrinth, in front of the two doors.

“Have you seen a human, about this tall, a bit of a temper, and smelling foul,” he asked the doors.

The doors looked at each other before looking at Lilia. “And what’s it to you,” they said in unison.

Lilia smiled, but it was one of mild annoyance, not joy or amusement. “Royal orders I fear. You wouldn’t want the mistress finding out about you both tampering with a royal matter, would you?” The smile turned cat-like since Lilia had backed them into a corner.

The doors paled, with the blue door speaking up. “No no, sir! We would never dream of such a thing!!! Yes, there was a human, a wretched one at that, horribly rude!”

Lilia hummed, cocking a brow at the door. “I do think wretched is a bit of an overstatement now,” he whispered to himself. “Well, tell me where about they are then. The sooner I can collect them, the better for you lot.”

The red door sighed, “Near the heart of it, they took the left path.”

Left path? Why the left path leads to… Shit. Lilia mentally groaned, knowing that regardless of the path you took, you would end up having to deal with them eventually. “Your cooperation has been noted,” is what he said though, giving the doors both a nod before turning into a bat and flying over the labyrinth, trying to find you before you ran into whoever them was.

“Please be clever enough not to die,” he whispered to no one, hoping that he didn’t have to deliver your body to the Queen.

…

The left path brought you to what looked like a forest; with old-growth trees, ferns and moss covering the ground, and a list mist hanging in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful, with the setting sun illuminating the mist without burning it away.

But that would not last, night was fast approaching and you had nothing to protect you this time; no rowan tree to haul your ass up, and no sort of weapon to protect yourself besides the oh-so-lovely smell of the bog to deter something from eating you. You were pretty sure it would also keep away anything that wanted to otherwise snatch you up.

“AH!” Something jumped out from a tree, and you couldn’t fully register what it was since you were also screeching, much like the creature was at you; you with fright, the creature with amusement and joy.

Two other creatures jumped out from behind the trees and startled cackling, jumping, and clapping. Together, they surrounded you, with no way to really escape them without fighting through.

… you really should have read about fae species, since you didn’t know what they exactly were, or how dangerous they were either.

One pulled you near a pit and lit a fire, cackling in glee and dancing, trying to get you to join them. “Ah come on, human, have some fun! DANCE BABEY!!!!”

But you stayed still as more creatures came out of the shadows, dancing around the fire, giggling, cackling, and pulling a bit at your clothes to prompt you to join them. You didn’t know, cementing your feet down, your eyes watching their movements with caution.

‘Should you dance with the fae, you shall not stop dancing until you exhaust yourself. And once you wake up, you will continue dancing. This cycle will repeat itself until you dance to death.’

At least that was what the book said, and so you stayed still, regardless of how much the creatures pulled at you. While it looked like a grand old time, you remained where you were.

“I don’t have time for dancing,” you answered coldly, flinching from pinching fingers. You were also a bit shocked that Eau de Bog of Eternal Stench wasn’t keeping them away. Either, they couldn’t smell, or, they didn’t care that you smelled downright awful. “So this ‘baby’ won’t dance.”

And should I be offended by you calling me ‘baby’ or am I reading too much into it?

The main creature just shrugged and spun its dancing partner around. “Your loss human! More fun for us then! YIPPEE!!!” And it threw something in the fire to where you could feel the heat on your face.

What now? You were just standing there awkwardly as the creatures danced about, singing something that you couldn’t really make out. All you knew was that the heat, noise, and the dizzying dance of them was making your head pound, and throat scream in thirst. You hadn’t drank anything for over a day(?) — no, bog water did not count — and the heat from the fire made the thirst only worse. Shit.

“Ah, you don’t look too… hot there human,” one of the creatures snickered at its own joke at your expense. “Maybe if you dance with us, loosen up and have a bit of fun, then you can have a drink? Hmm? Dancing won’t kill you!” But its failed attempts at covering up its own malicious giggles were more than enough to stand your ground… which was coming at you quite fast since you practically collapsed.

Was it the thirst? The pounding migraine that wanted nothing more than to crawl into some dark hole and hide? Or your exhaustion from making that tiring trek, crawling yourself out of the bog and making the trek again, or the hours you had spent wandering around the maze with no real idea of where you were going? All you really knew was that you were now on the ground with the creatures poking at you to see if you were still alive.

“Aw, man! Are they already dead? That’s no fun!” One of the creatures pouted, raising up your arm, and you let it plop back to the ground. “Come on human! Get up! You’re not a party pooper are you?”

Scre you buddy! Can’t you read the situation?!

You were trying your best to stay quiet, which wasn’t all that hard, since all of your energy was gone.

“They best not be,” a familiar voice called out.

From your position, you couldn’t see who it was, but you could make out the creatures jumping away from you like you were the hot fire instead of the fire pit. But someone else was approaching until you could make out a pair of shoes in front of your face.

They crouched down beside you, placing their fingers gently at the base of your throat; taking your pulse. “Hmph, playing dead, are we, Beastie?”

That irritating chuckle. The annoying nickname. Those mischievous magenta eyes that now looked at you with curiosity and amusement.

It was him — Mr. Sparkles.

And he had just blown your act of playing possum (well, not really, since you had actually collapsed).

But you didn’t say anything, instead favouring to give him a dirty look. Yet he just shook his head in jest, and proceeded to pick you up and wrap you around his shoulders and neck like some sort of bizarre ermine pelt; better than being carried like a sack of potatoes or the bridal carry you supposed.

“Her majesty sends her regards for not turning or killing her guest,” Lilia offered the creatures. It would be such a waste and pity to see such an entertaining Beastie leave us too soon now. “But do know she won’t take to their condition lightly.”

My condition? I’m not some Victorian child with some unknown illness wreaking havoc on their body you know?! But all that you did was groan and cough. You couldn’t even cough in Mr. Sparkles’ (Lilia’s) face, since you had a lovely view of the moss-covered ground and the fae’s shoes.

He patted the back of your calves, and you would have kicked him if you had more energy, but you didn’t. “Now, we really should be off, since Beastie has… an hour to get out of this maze before they turn into some sort of worm, or a hedge; never know what this old labyrinth will decide on really.” Lilia chuckled at the thought (was it merriment, or was he happy that you weren’t joining the caterpillar you met earlier?).

“No,” you wheezed. “WoRm!”

“See! They said it themself! No worm! How lovely that we are on a similar wavelength, Beastie! Marvellous even!” Lilia exclaimed, and the both of you started levitating off of the ground. “Now, do enjoy your party, Fireys!”

The creatures (Fireys apparently) groaned but got back to their party, dancing around the fire like they didn’t just try to lure you to your death mere minutes before.

“Tsk tsk, Beastie,” Lilia’s tutting brought your attention back to him and you grumbled. “You owe me two favours now, you know. Lucky that I found you… although that part wasn’t hard. I thought you learned your lesson the first time you decided to take a dip into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

You lightly kicked him, letting your irritation be known, but Lilia just hummed. “Now now, no need to be like that! Do you want to smell like a bog when you meet the mistress? She wouldn’t take kindly to your… unique aroma.”

You hissed out a breath since he decided to pinch at your ear rather harshly — prompting for you to answer. “No,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Also, do read up on that book, since you will want to know about the government and fae species etiquette!”

From a smelly bog and fumbling around a maze for hours on end, to finding yourself being taken to fae high society… was it too late to become some worm in the maze? I think being a worm actually has a better chance of me living.

But sadly, you were saved from an eternity of being a worm. Hopefully, Mr. Sparkles (Lilia) would cover for your blunders a little for when you found yourself in front of ‘the mistress’.

...

To be continued!

~~~~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

Link to Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #yup! we're moving away from the labyrinth but fret not! the shenanigans shall continue and relationships will be built!#i forgot how fucking terrifying the fireys are and i now remember way labyrinth gave me nightmares as a kid #twst labyrinth au #also i shit you not i went to go eat at a burger joint last week and 'magic dance' was playing and i lost my fricking mind #like HELLO?! WHAT THE HELL?!#apparently the radio was telling me to fricking work on this fic...#i should really start posting this on ao3 as well... but idk where this is going to go #also posting a standalone fic (oneshot?) tomorrow; you guys will be eating good for a bit. here some crumbs for you and for you and for you

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hailsatanacab · 2 months

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I'll ask after that secret number 8!

I only remembered secret number 8 because I saw your wip here! I'd started this one based on the same prompt, then lost said prompt and stopped working on it 😅

Instead of a snippet, I'm just dropping it all here - maybe that way I'll feel inspired to finish it?

———

It’s a full house for dinner tonight and, really, that should have tipped him off.

Bruce sits at the head of the table, smiling softly as he watches over everyone’s antics. Damian is regaling Dick with everything they saw at the zoo that day (Danny had been so happy to see Delilah the purpleback gorilla again, and her new little additions to the troupe, too!) and how well they are implementing the grant the Wayne Foundation had gifted them. Tim, Steph, Cass, and Duke are all engaged in a thumb-war tournament which Danny has no interest in participating in. It just wouldn’t be fair on them.

Danny loves that look. The one where Bruce’s eyes crinkle when he thinks none of the kids can see him. It oozes love and it makes Danny’s heart, his core, ache.

It’s been a little over a year since Alfred found him on the street and managed to wrangle him back to the manor to stay—even after the whole biting thing when he realised how rich they were.

A little over a year here and Danny’s starting to feel like family.

Starting to feel like he might, just maybe, like to make it official.

“Danny,” Bruce says, drawing everyone’s attention. Danny starts at his name, but Bruce’s voice is warm and calm, and his shoulders lose their tension almost immediately. “Danny, I have something I would like to tell you.”

“Uhhh…” is all Danny can croak out, eyes flicking back and forth between Bruce and the rest of them. Smooth. Looking good, Danny.

Except… they’re all happy. All smiles, all relaxed body language, all radiating calm and love and acceptance. Well, not Damian—his face is as thunderous as it always is—which at least means it’s nothing too out of the ordinary.

“Danny, first of all, I just want to impress upon you that this is in no way something you have to do. You are under no obligation to join us and, no matter what, you shall always be welcome with us in the manor.”

Wait, what? Danny squints at Bruce, trying to parse exactly what he’s saying… Is he—is this them asking to adopt him? Do they want to make it official, too?

It’s been a little over a year and of course Danny has imagined calling Bruce ‘Dad’. Of course he’s imagined being part of the family, of course he wants to make it official!

He can’t help the beaming grin or the bright and bubbling “Yes!” already waiting on his lips. All Bruce has to do is ask, all Danny needs to hear is—

“I’m Batman.”

The smile freezes on Danny’s face.

His lungs stop working, his heart stops working, he stops working, he just—

“And I’m Nightwing,” Dick smiles, breaking the awkward silence.

Danny’s eyes snap to him, and then down to Tim when he admits to being Red Robin. Duke is Signal, Steph is Spoiler. Damian begrudgingly tells him he’s Robin, but Danny can barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.

“I’m Black Bat.” Cass cocks her head, almost looking concerned. It always felt like she understood him the most. Whenever he was feeling low, too in his memories, or stewing after a nightmare, she was always there, ready to card her fingers through his hair and never mention his tears. It makes his heart ache to think of it now. “It’s okay, Danny.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but how—how can it be okay? How?

Danny’s spent a little over a year with them. A little over a year with Batman.

Batman, who works with the Justice League, who works with…

A little over a year.

Just under 16 months since he escaped.

“Danny? Are you alright?” Bruce asks

Finally, his lungs kickstart and suck in a shuddering breath, only for everyone to drop their smiles.

Didn’t take them long, did it? Now that their ruse is up, there’s no kindness in their eyes, they’re just… cold, calculating. Evaluating.

“Why?” Danny gasps, his fingers tingling, his heart in his throat.

Just under 16 months since he—has he escaped? Or was this just another one of their experiments?

"I... I trusted you, why—" Danny chokes back a sob, gritting his teeth as his shoulders shake. Why? Why would they do this? "I was happy here, with you. I thought... Weren't you happy?"

"Danny..." Bruce is looking at him, eyes narrow and eyebrows pinched, in some cruel facsimile of confused concern and all Danny can think is how much of an actor he is. How well he can play the part of a doting father. How much he made him want that.

"I don't understand, why..."

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, I can imagine that it comes as a shock. We shouldn't have lied to you, Danny, but—"

"Stop it!" Danny slams his hands down on the table and pushes himself up on wobbly legs. Even standing, he feels so small. Smaller than Bruce, than all of his adopted siblings. They crowd above him when they all stand, too. "Just stop it! Why are you doing this, why are you still pretending? Stop it!"

It was easier, with Danny's biological parents. The knowledge that they'd do anything to get him on a lab table, to open him up and see what makes him tick, to rip him apart molecule by molecule, had always been there. He knew they hated ghosts. He knew they hated Phantom. He knew they hated him. It was easier because it was something he'd known all his life. When he died, when he became a ghost, he knew what to expect from them. It hurt, of course it did.

But it was easier than this.

"Danny, I'm going to need you to take a deep breath. You're having a panic attack and you need to breathe."

"Breathe?" Danny laughs, the sound harsh and choking, too high pitched in his hysteria. "You're joking, right? Or is this just more of the—the experiment?"

"Danny, please, we don't know what you're talking about, you—"

"You don't know? You're Batman! You work with the Justice League, you work with—" His words choke off as his stomach churns, bile rising in his throat. His whole body itches, screaming at him to leave, he can't go back, he can't, he can't, he can't!

Bruce takes a hesitant step forward and Danny scrambles back, his feet catching on the chair behind him and sending him careening to the floor. Where are the agents? Why aren't they swarming in, ready to apprehend him, strap him back on the table, carve him from the inside out.

"Please, Danny, calm down. We don't—"

Danny stops listening. His back hits the wall and he pulls his knees into his chest, his shoulders dipping down as he begins to sob. His heart throbs inside his throat, too painful to swallow around. Tears fall hot and heavy on his face.

Sure, he could run. He could phase out through the wall and he could be out of Gotham in a couple of hours. He's escaped the GIW once, he can do it again.

But that was before Batman knew who he was. Before he had the World's Greatest Detective on his tail.

Before he...

He really thought this would be different, you know?

He wanted to make it official.

"Why did... Why were you so nice to me? Why did you make me like you? I really—I really liked you. I-I thought we could be a family."

"Danny, we are a—"

"Don't lie to me!" Danny snaps, but the force of his anger leeches all the fight from him, and suddenly all that's left is a bone-weary tiredness. There’s a lump in his throat that hurts. There’s a line down his chest that burns. "I don't care. I don't care anymore, I don't. Just... don't make me go back there. Please."

Is it futile? He thought he knew how the GIW operated by now, the depths that they would go to achieve their results, but this... this was a whole new level of pain that Danny thought he had left behind him in Amity.

"We're not going to make you go anywhere, Danny, you're safe here, I promise."

"Safe? Safe? You must have—" he takes a deep breath, tries to stop the quivering of his voice. It’s all starting to make sense, now. "The reason you're telling me who you are is because you must have told them everything already. I know the Justice League—I know you're working with them, which means the ex-experiment is over now, and they're coming to take me back. And I can't go back."

"Danny—"

"I can’t!” Danny glares at Bruce with all the rage he can, fingernails digging into his skin. “I’m not going back!"

"That's right, you're not going back, Danny. I won't let that happen." Bruce crouches down in front of Danny, his hands open and raised as if he's trying to say he's not a threat. "I don't know who you're talking about, and I'm sorry about that, but I can promise you that you’re not going back there. We will keep you safe."

Danny pulls himself closer, tucks himself further into the wall, eyes flickering all across the room waiting for that tell-tale flash of white as the agents start to swarm.

He should take his chances now and run, he should go, he needs to go!

The rest of them, his brothers and sisters of a little over a year, are spread out, giving him and Bruce some space. The same concern colours all of their faces. Why are they still pretending?

Steph is chewing on her thumb.

Danny liked Steph and her brash confidence, her jokes. She's been promising to paint his nails for months now, they've just never found the time. He was going to go for green and black, or maybe a galaxy theme, depending on what she felt comfortable doing.

He likes them all.

"You were supposed to be my family." His mouth turns down at the corners and his voice shakes like a child. "You were supposed to—why? Why would you—I don't understand why you would make me like you..."

"This isn't an experiment, Danny," Bruce's voice is steady, soothing. "I promise."

"But you work with them and—"

"Who do I work with?"

"The Justice League."

"Yes, I do, but we—"

"And the Justice League works with them. The GIW." Danny trembles with the name, clutching tightly onto his hoodie. "I'm not going back there, Bruce."

Danny doesn't miss Bruce's look over his shoulder, nor Tim's nod in return. Tim turns slightly to the side to hide his movements, but Danny bets he has his phone in his hand, probably letting them know they can take him now. Guess this is it, then. They'll be here soon, and he'll be gone.

"Kill me."

"Danny? What do—"

"If you ever had any kindness for me, if you ever cared, kill me. Please, Bruce. I can't do it again."

"Danny..."

"End me now. Take my core out and break it, please, before they get here."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc fanfic #wip game #thanks for the ask <3 and thanks for helping me remember this fic lol #also huge thanks for having the prompt linked because i have S O M A N Y prompt wips that i can't ever post because i've lost the post #didn't really know how to get danny to calm down #that's a lie #i have a few ideas of where this can go but no motivation for it - not against all the other wips #i'll keep at it and ig post to ao3 should it actually start looking alright #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#dudes did u kno u can pin shit to your clipboard on desktop because i fucking love that #also if you use the windows key + . there's like emojis and shit #(((φ(◎ロ◎;)φ)))#<- and kaomoji too!!!!!#anyway that's been fun facts and fanfic with me. ur welcome #oh shit my writing tag #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #at some point 'oh shit my writing tag' will just become my writing tag #anyway thank you again for the ask #good night everyone!!!!!

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howtokillavampire · 3 months

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I just lost all of the ao3 tabs open on my phone. I'm going to commit murder. Farwell.

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yonemurishiroku · 6 months

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My heart is broken over another devastating loss.

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ao3sbatfamily · 12 days

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Trying to find a lost Jason Todd fic on AO3. Premise is that Jason doesn't know he died and believed he was given to the LOA as punishment and one night breaks down and calls Bruce almost begging to come home. Cue Talia moving Jason around like crazy to stay ahead of the bat family. Eventually, bat family break into LOA and trick Jason and Damian into leaving with them. It's technically unfinished, but don't know if it's marked as unfinished. Do you have any idea of the fic im talking about?

I know I've seen this somewhere but I can't find it. I'll update if it's found.

#ao3 #fanfic #batfam #batfamily #dcu #batman #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #lost fic #lost media #fic finder #looking for a fic

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that-girl-glader · 10 months

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If you guys don't say it. I will. Like father like son. I'm looking at you Will. Specifically TOA Apollo.

Minor tsats spoilers and toa too, if you wanna read that.

Firstly, Flirting. You can just tell Will got he's rizz from his father. The difference is, it worked for Will. Reyna rejecting Apollo, chef's kiss.

Believe it or not. Their humor is very similar. Puns for goodness sake. Like Will power? Lol.

No hate on Will, and this is mostly satire, but they both complain a lot. Except only one of them, spoiler alert will, deserves too. (I DON'T MEAN IT THAT WAY, Anti-Will people, so don't even)

They both made jokes about fricking band names, lol. Nico and the cocopuffs. Nico, Rachel, Will, and the troglodytes

Both Bisexual icons

They are both stupid, Like bringing no weapons to tarturus is giving when Lester and his used to be a god self decided that swearing to never use the only weapons he can use properly and his singing gifts on the styx was a grand idea.

I feel like they both say the most socially inappropriate things. Like they just somehow say the wrong thing.

I'm almost certain they both act quieter when nervous/scared/sad.

They both think they are useless even though they did pretty impressive and quite helpful stuff.

Both had their previous view on things (darkness/being more human) changed. And bla bla development.

Yeah so that's pretty much all I could think up at the top of my head.

#trials of apollo #tsats #toa spoilers #tsats spoilers #will solace #lester papadopoulos #solangelo #recently lost sleep to a groundhog day fic on ao3 and you should check it out if you haven't already #Opportunity Knocks by nikkiRA #will x nico #nico x will #and like I don't mind fic recs

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svvtchbladez · 1 month

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im a watermelon slammed in your driveway

#i have been obsessed with this movie since it came out #thank you everyone for FINALLY FEEDING ME #im so happy #when i first watched this movie there were literally no fics on ao3 #i had lost hope #but i knew tumblr wouldnt fail me #anyway #fanart #myart #the passenger #the passenger 2023 #the passenger 2023 fanart #benson the passenger #randy bradley the passenger #randy bradley x benson #benson the passenger fanart #randy the passenger fanart #randy bradley the passenger fanart #base that i used by mellonsoup <3

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 7 months

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A Feeling that Never Came Part One: Forgetting Colombia

General Warnings: This fic is 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog that writes porn with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific Warnings: Grief, heartbreak, angst, drinking (too much), vomit, crying, lots of crying, abusive behaviour, emotional abuse, canon-typical violence, coersion, phsyical abuse, racial slurs.

Masterlist Next Part -> [Read on AO3]

It’s been eight years since you left Colombia with a gaping hole in your chest, where Javier Peña had ripped out your heart, laughing at how “fucking naïve” you really were.

You’d been told that the DEA had already been questioning if you were worth the money to keep on retainer, and for the record you certainly were, but Javier forced the issue. He got you sent home, calling in one of his many favours, he ruined your career before it even had the chance to begin.

You roll over in bed, stretching your limbs like a cat basking in the ray of sunshine that streams through the blinds. You ache pleasantly from a night of unwavering attention from your boyfriend Dan, who you remind yourself is no longer your boyfriend, but your fiancée. You hold your left hand up, marvelling at the small, but beautiful diamond ring that adorns your finger and a feeling of novel excitement bubbles up in your chest.

But it’s short lived, your stomach twists with something resembling guilt, maybe even regret. You try to push away the intrusive thoughts that have plagued you since his proposal in front of his parents and your uncle last night at dinner. Apparently, they had all been in on it, eager for you two to settle down and have babies. But you hesitated before you answered him. It was only a brief second, but it was enough to plant the seed of doubt, of remorse for a life long gone. An ache that never fully healed.

“Morning, baby.” Dan says sleepily as he rolls over, smiling at you as he notices the object of your gaze. His soft blonde curls fall into his face as he shifts on the bed, motioning for you to slot against his chest. You plaster the smile back across your face, hoping he hadn’t seen how your expression had soured.

“Morning.” You say softly as you bury your face in his chest, he smells like you, like sex. You should be ecstatic, but you feel empty.

“Still can’t believe you said yes,” He whispers into your hair as he pulls you tight against him, “Luckiest man in the world.”

“Of course I said yes Dan, I love you.” You mumble into his chest, burying your head in the smell of him to try and push the negativity from your mind.

“I love you too baby,” He pulls away to look down at you, “Happy Birthday.”

You kiss his lips softly, gently teasing his lower lip into yours as he melts under your touch. You want to keep going, to go another round and push the thoughts of him out of your mind, even if your pussy is sore and your legs ache, but the sound of Dan’s alarm breaks the spell.

“I’ve got to go,” You whine, looking up into his ice-blue eyes, your stomach lurches as you think of Steve Murphy, not for the first time, “I’ll see you at Moreno’s later, ok?” You place a quick peck against his cheek before quickly dressing in your clothes from last night.

“See you later, future Mrs. O’Connor!” He calls as you dash out of the apartment, your chest heaving as you try not to sob at his words. In the cold light of day, you realise it was a mistake, you should never have said yes.

But what else is there for you? No-one will ever measure up to your lofty, delusional expectations.

You hear the nagging, self-deprecating voice in your head reprimand you, reminding you that what you want, what you’ve never stopped wanting, is a fantasy. One that he could never have given you, even if he wanted to. But maybe Dan could. Even if it was a mere echo of the happiness you had once hoped for, it would have to do. Dan would have to do.

——

“Alright class, remember your portfolios are due at the end of the month, you will be graded on them and this is not, I repeat, not, a pass-fail class. Now go and enjoy your weekend,” you announce to the lecture hall, knowing it’s falling on deaf ears for at least three-quarters of the college juniors enrolled in your photography class. But the few who are passionate about the course made your efforts worth-while.

“Excuse me?” A soft-spoken student, Lewis, calls your name as the rest of the students leave in haste, eager to get ready for whatever frat party or bar crawl the weekend promised.

“Hey, Lew, what can I do for you?” You ask as you pack up your briefcase and camera bag. The same camera bag you had in Colombia; you can’t let it go. You’ve repaired it more times than you can count, patching holes whenever they formed, there’s barely a stitch left of the original material really.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” he says with a smile as he looks at your finger with his soft brown eyes.

“Oh, Lewis, thank you, I had completely forgotten. I only said yes last night.” You laugh, more from the nervous energy in your stomach than through humour. He bows his head with a smile and you force a smile from your lips.

“Well, I better get going, busy weekend of photography ahead!” He says with another bright smile before heading out of the room.

The moment he’s gone you shoulder your bags, fighting the tears that pool at the corners of your eyes as images of him flood your senses. Instead of heading straight home, you make a detour, one you haven’t made for over a year, not since you and Dan got together. But you still keep paying the storage fee.

——

You sit with your cassette player, foam padded headphones only just holding it together as you flick through the photographs and newspaper clippings spread across the floor in front of you. The one that you always find yourself going back to is front and centre. Alanis Morrisette playing through the dying Walkman, the tracks skip here and there but you don’t care. It’s purely ritual at this point.

December 3rd 1993.

Colombia Drug Lord Escobar Dies in Shootout

You had hoped that this would have been the end for him, that he would reach out once Escobar was finished, that somehow the curse of the Medellín cartel would wash the sins of the past clean. You waited, and waited, but he never came, he never called, even Connie stopped writing letters long before you did. It’s like you were never there.

Some wounds run too deep.

You think to yourself as you pick up one of the photographs, tears streaming from your eyes as you run your fingers over the contours of his face in profile. You brush your knuckles against his cheek, remembering the way his aquiline nose felt against your skin. You can still taste him, cigarettes, whisky, that unique smooth taste that you could only ever describe as him.

You let yourself weep for him, for the loss in your chest that you have kept locked down for eight years. The agony is as fresh as the day he ripped out your heart and laughed at you, how pathetic and naïve you were, falling for someone like him.

“I hate you.” You spit, holding your knees against your chest as you berate yourself. Your affair couldn’t have lasted more than a few months, yet you’ve never burned so brightly for anyone, not before, and definitely not since. It’s foolish, immature, wrong, but all the self-hatred is ineffective in quelling the sorrow and grief you never fully processed.

You sit in silence for a while, letting your sobs fade into morose silence as you repack the three cardboard storage boxes and put them back on their shelf next to an old Olympus OM-4T that gathers dust, untouched for almost a decade. The film inside full, too painful to develop, but you can never bring yourself to throw it away.

——

You sit in the parking lot of Moreno’s, dressed to kill in a little black dress, your stilettos on the passenger seat, ready to go once you take off the sneakers you drive in. You check your hair and make-up in the mirror once more before stepping out into the crisp night air. You lock your car and hold your head up as you stride into the bar, your heels clicking audibly with every step. You put on a smile and head in through the front door.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices shouts as you cross the threshold. Your smile becomes genuine as you realise that half the school faculty, all of your friends, and an equal amount of Dan’s friends had rented the whole bar out to surprise you for your birthday.

“Everyone, this is just–,” You’re about to break into a tearful babble about how grateful you are when you see the banner hanging in front of you.

Congratulations on your Engagement!

It’s as if ice is running through your veins as you realise Dan must have told everyone, and instead of hosting your birthday party he had turned it into an engagement party. You almost laugh at how utterly blind-sided you are.

“Happy Engagement party, babe!” Dan calls out as he strides over to meet you, picking you up in a bear hug before spinning you around in a circle. It’s dizzying, sickening, as you feel like you’re going to pass out.

“Yeah, you too!” You manage to stutter out as he puts you down, pulling you in for a deep kiss. The room roars with excitement as you part. Dan’s eyes are full of passion as you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” He calls out, and the jukebox roars to life as the buffet is revealed at the far end of the bar.

“I need a drink, I’ll be over in a minute,” you say to Dan as you press a soft his to his cheek. But there’s no feeling in it. You turn on your heel and you lock eyes with your best friend, Melissa, who casually makes her way to the bar, picking up on your discomfort in an instant.

“Hey girl,” She says as she nudges her hip against yours, settling against the bar next to you, “So, engagement party, eh?”

“Yeah, seems that way.” You sigh, knowing you never have to bullshit with Mel.

“Not y’know, your birthday party? Like we planned?” She presses and you turn to look at her, your eyes are sore, your throat like sandpaper as you try to hold back the tears.

“I didn’t want to say yes, Mel, there was so much pressure from Uncle John, Dan’s parents, they were all looking at me like it was already a done deal,” you blurt out, and Mel’s amber eyes go wide, before they narrow as anger settles over her features.

“Two beers, we’ll take them outside, put them on the O’Connor’s tab.” Melissa says bluntly to the bartender. He returns promptly and you take the cool beverage in your hand before following her outside.

The cool night air is a relief as you step out back, your knees weak as you lean back against the aging brickwork of the bar. Mel waits patiently for you to talk, setting her bottle down as she pulls out a pack of cigarettes. You look at them with a hunger you haven’t felt for a long time.

“Thought you quit,” she says dismissively as she lights one with her Zippo before handing it to you.

“I did.” You grunt as you press the end between your lips and inhale the acrid smoke into your lungs. The buzz of nicotine hits like the addictive substance it is. It soothes your nerves a little, steadies you as you exhale a long stream of smoke up into the night sky. It was the most relaxed you had felt all day.

“So, what the fuck is that all about?” Mel asks before she takes a drag, the fiery tip of her cigarette illuminating her face, making her dyed red hair glow ethereally.

“I don’t fucking know. How the fuck did he tell half the town before I even told you?” You ask, the question rhetorical but Mel already has an answer.

“Because that man’s a narcissist and a control freak.” She scoffs and you choke on the smoke in your lungs as you balk at her comment.

“Dan’s not a narcissist, nor a control freak.” You argue, but there’s a hint of doubt in your mind at the words being said out loud.

“So this isn’t like that time you got the Professorship, and he made it about him? What was it? His sales figures for the company his parents own?” She snorts and you feel compelled to defend him.

“Hey, he worked hard to get those sales, and his parents didn’t give him the job,” you say, taking another drag of your quickly diminishing cigarette. You already want another, chasing a taste of something long dead, something buried deep inside you.

“Sure, what about when you got enrolled into that post-grad scheme he made you quit because he didn’t want you working with ‘deplorables’,” Mel says, making air quotes, smoke wafting around her head as she gesticulates.

“Fuck, I’d forgotten about that. Really wanted that forensic photography internship too,” you say, and something inside you clicks. You contemplate asking for another cigarette but stop yourself, Dan would be furious if he found out.

Control Freak. Narcissist.

“Fuck,” you repeat, and you see Mel nodding knowingly. You feel less ashamed by how you reacted to the party, to the engagement, to the whole fucked up day.

“You sure you want to spend the rest of your life with this asshole?” She asks knowingly and you genuinely don’t know what to say. You smoke the cigarette down to the butt before dropping it and stomping on it with your toe.

“I guess I’m just going to have to wait and see.” You shrug, downing the rest of your beer before nodding to the door, indicating you’re heading back in.

“I’ll be right in,” Mel says as she pulls out her phone, furiously smashing the buttons as she begins to text, the screen illuminating her face green in contrast to the red glow of a cigarette now long snuffed out under her boot.

——

The rest of the night goes off without so much as a hiccup as you make small talk, drink too much wine, and try not to think about the words rattling around your brain. It’s like a rot set in last night, when you were backed into a corner by Dan and his family, by your uncle wanting the best for you. But all you feel is regret, remorse, and like you’re losing yourself to a riptide you can’t escape. Mel’s blunt words earlier only serve to twist the knife in your gut further.

Control Freak. Narcissist.

You glance over to see Dan laughing loudly with some of the guys he works with, they hang on his every word and you shake your head in disbelief. How had you not seen this side of him before? How were you so blind to his behaviour?

“Hey ,you’re not welcome here,” you hear your uncle’s voice carry over the din of the crowded room, “She doesn’t want you here. You’ve got some nerve showing up, today of all days.” You frown at the anger in your uncle’s voice, he never gets angry, let alone raise his voice like this. You make your way through the crowd, a hush descending over the room as they pick up on the argument at the door.

“You must be John, should be proud of how well she shoots, and drinks.” The sound of the other person’s voice roots you to the spot. You can’t see his face, his back is to you, but the broad expanse of his shoulders, the way his dark hair curls against the collar of pink button down, his sinfully tight jeans, and the deep baritone of his voice are unmistakable.

“Javi?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, but his head whips around to look for you. Your body trembles as those hard brown eyes soften the moment he sees you. His moustache twitches up as his cheek dimples. You can’t decide if you want to scream at him, kiss him, or if you want to run out the door and never stop running. For now, you’re rooted to the floor, glass of wine precariously dangling from your fingertips. Your mouth is dry as you try to form a coherent sentence, but nothing comes out.

“Hey John, this hombre causing you trouble?” Your mouth falls open in shock at the racist undertones of Dan’s words. You flinch away from his touch as he tries to pull you against him, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he wraps his arm around your waist possessively. You watch Javi’s eyes narrow at the sight of you being held by another man. He doesn’t seem to be phased by the border-line slur.

You try and twist away from Dan, repulsed by his touch as you fawn up at the only man you have ever truly loved. You don’t want Javi to see another man’s hands on you, you don’t want him to think you want this more than you want him. You’re desperate for his approval, his love, even after all he’s done. But Dan yanks you back against him now, your shoulder aching at the joint as you cry out in pain. You feel like he’s suffocating you, cutting you off from a life-line you’re mere millimetres away from taking. It all feels like a sick nightmare you can’t wake from.

“He’s nobody, just someone trying to start trouble, but he’s leaving, isn’t that right son?” Your uncle snaps and you watch as Javi’s face contorts into t, he sly, cocky grin you know all too well. Your insides twist at Javi being called nobody. He’s not nobody, he’s somebody, your somebody, your Javi. Here, in the flesh, for you.

“I just came along to say something to the birthday girl,” Javi says with a heavy sigh before looking at you once more, “Feliz cumpleaños, bonita.” And just like that he’s walking back through the door. Waltzing out of your life after turning it upside down yet again. Your chest heaves as eight years of unexpressed grief and repression rear their ugly heads. You physically ache, you almost think you’re having a heart attack as the stabbing pains in your chest build. Your breathing comes in broken wheezes as you try to pull away from Dan, but his grip is unrelenting.

Time slows as the party resumes as if nothing happened at all, your uncle gives you a sympathetic grimace before Dan yanks you around to face him. His grip on your arm so tight it hurts. Tears streak down your face as you try to pull away, unsuccessfully.

“Who the fuck was that?” He snarls under his breath, and you blink up at him, mortified with the tone he’s taking with you.

Control Freak. Narcissist.

“An old work colleague, from Colombia,” you explain, pain arcing through your arm as Dan grips you tighter.

“Seemed like more than a friend to me, fucking wetba–” He snaps, and you yank your arm out of his grip, looking down at the reddened skin in disgust. Never has he laid hands on you and yet this sheer display of racism and aggression puts you into a tailspin.

“Don’t you fucking finish that word,” you hiss as you take your heels off, disgust roiling in your stomach as you barely recognise the man in front of you. It’s like you saying yes to marrying him flicked a switch, baring the ugly growths and weeping sores of his personality to you. “I can’t deal with you right now. I’m leaving.”

You storm outside without looking back, vaguely aware of Mel trying to catch up with you. She calls your name but you’re not listening, you’re so preoccupied with getting to your car, and ignoring the various calls for you to come back inside, that you don’t see him until it’s too late.

You collide with the solid mass of a man with a grunt, stumbling as you realise how drunk you are, you probably shouldn’t be driving. You begin to apologise as you inhale the deadly cocktail of scents, vanilla accented cologne, peaty whisky, and the smell that is just Javier Peña. You raise your head slowly and look up through your lashes into dark pools of chocolate brown.

“Careful there, bonita, might fall into unsavoury hands if you’re not careful,” he says, his hands on your biceps to steady you, his calloused fingertips digging into your bare skin and memories of those fingers all over your body flood your mind.

“Javi, I need you to take me home.” You mumble and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Bonita, I don’t know where you live.” He argues, not trusting you to give directions in this state.

“No, not there, not back to him, want to go home with you.” You slur, tears soaking his shirt as you bury your face back into his chest. You hear Mel call your name once more and you’re about to say something, but Javi speaks first.

“I’ve got her Mel, thanks for calling, seems like a real shitshow.” He grunts and you furrow your brow, pulling out of his embrace to stumble and face Mel.

“You know Javi?” You snap, your tone accusatory. Mel shrugs at you and you stagger to the back of Javi’s truck, emptying the contents of your stomach as tears stream down your face. You feel like you’re going to die, your mind is a fucked-up jumble of incoherent noise as you lean against the tailgate.

“Let me take her home,” Mel suggests, but you shake your head violently.

“Not going home, not to him, not to fucking John’s house.” You spit bitterly, you feel so betrayed, duped into the engagement and this stupid fucking party.

“I want to go home with Javi.” You whimper and wrap your arms around his waist, clinging onto him for dear life. You’re vaguely aware that you’re likely smearing bile and vomit on his shirt.

“Fuck she’s wasted,” Javi says softly, remorse, or maybe even guilt evident in his tone.

“Yeah, that’s not on you though, blame the narcissist who turned her birthday party into their engagement party.” Mel scoffs and you freeze as you realise you’re still wearing the ring.

“Mel, give this to Dan, or John, I don’t care, I don’t want it,” you say, as you violently tug the ring off your finger, slapping it down aggressively in Mel’s hand.

“Hey, bonita, how about I look after it, and you can decide if you want it in the morning, ok?” Javi says softly as he pulls you off him with ease, your weak limbs ineffective against his gentle hands.

“Fine, but please. Take me home.” You beg, already feeling your mind slipping into unconsciousness.

“Ok, but just this once, bonita.”

——

Pain.

Pain is all you can think about as it feels like a nail has been punched through your skull, just above your right eyebrow. Your mouth is like sandpaper, and you don’t even know what a tongue is anymore, yours shrivelled and painful in your mouth. You crack your eyes open, waiting for the inevitable burn of your retinas. But it doesn’t come, the room is dark, unfamiliar blackout curtains drawn across a window to your right.

You groan as you sit up in unfamiliar white cotton sheets on a king-sized bed that definitely isn’t your own. The room is sparsely decorated, but on the nightstand you see a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol waiting for you. A note left in familiar, atrocious handwriting that makes your chest flutter.

Drink me, take me.

The words are barely legible but even time couldn’t erase the way you understand Javier Peña, be it the way his jaw ticks when he’s mad, the way he exhales through his nose when he’s pissed off. The way his moans twist into barely there whines when he comes. You know it all, and it hurts, more than the pain in your head, it hurts knowing he’s so close yet so completely out of reach.

“Javier?” You say aloud as you stumble out of bed, looking for your clothes as you realise you’re in a pair of DEA branded sweat pants and a white t-shirt that have to be his. You don’t remember getting undressed and your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you realise Javi must have put you in his clothes. You’re suddenly blindingly self-conscious.

Did he look? What does he think of you now that you’re older? Does he still think you’re attractive?

You dispel the thoughts as quickly as they arrive and pad out into the hall. You need to get away from him, you can’t let him get in your head. His apartment is nice, spacious, a far cry from the dingy two bedroom one he had in Bogotá. You smell bacon as you cross into what you assume is the living room.

Javi stands with his back to you, singing to himself in Spanish as he cooks. There’s a small part of you that wants to walk up behind him and wrap your arms around him, to melt into him like nothing changed. You want to distract him from cooking, take him in your mouth and let him fuck your throat, or bend you over the counter and eat your pussy like it’s all he needs in life.

But the illusion shatters as you remember how hard you had fallen for him, and how hard you fell into despair when he hurt you, not once, but twice. You notice your clothes in a plastic bag on the table, along with your purse and keys. You consider staying, seeing what he has to say for himself, but your heart aches too much, you can’t let yourself get hurt like that again.

“Goodbye, Javi,” you whisper to yourself as you slip out of the apartment, barefoot and raw as you try, not for the first time, to forget about Javier Peña. You’ve never felt so utterly defeated in your life as you recognize the part of Austin he’s living in, just a few blocks away from campus. So close. You don’t want to go home, if you even know where home is anymore. You decide to head to your office, the last safe haven you have left.

Big thank you to @wannabe-urs, @Patti7dc, and @johnwtsn for their work proofing/beta reading for me! Remember to follow and subscribe to notifications on @twwaktnotifs for updates on my work! All graphics are done by me.

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