#ive been in a slump for quite a while

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | pranking your husband with your kid

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, & charles leclerc (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐 anon) : your little one confidently drops an “stfu” in front of their unsuspecting father, chaos ensues...

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : tws : children cursing ୨ৎ : word count : 1699

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : quite literally one of the funniest things ive wrote LMFAO also cant believe i just stayed up till 4am to watch the sprint ... being a US fan is tough.

ʚ・max verstappen

mornings in the verstappen household were usually calm and routine.

max had his coffee, you had your tea, and your little one sat in their chair, happily munching on toast while the three of you chatted about the day ahead.

it was peaceful.

until it wasn’t.

because this morning, you had decided to spice things up a bit.

as max sipped his coffee, barely awake, your child, with the confidence of a seasoned pro, suddenly turned to you and said,

“mom, shut the fuck up.”

max froze mid-sip.

for a second, he didn’t move, his blue eyes going impossibly wide over the rim of his mug. you watched as he processed the words, his brain short-circuiting in real-time.

and then—

“hey! what did you just say to your mother?!”

max nearly knocked over his coffee, slamming the mug down so hard it rattled against the table. his full attention was now on your child, who sat there completely unfazed, swinging their legs innocently.

max’s jaw tightened, his usually relaxed morning demeanor shattered. “that is not how we talk to mom,” he scolded, his voice stern.

at this point, you couldn’t hold it in anymore, your shoulders started shaking with laughter.

max’s gaze snapped to you, bewildered.

“what—why are you laughing?” he demanded, looking between you and your unbothered child.

your kid, bless their little mischievous heart, grinned proudly and clapped their hands. “we got you, daddy!”

max blinked. “…what?”

you gasped for air between laughs. “it was a prank, max!”

his whole body deflated, his shoulders slumping as he sank back into his chair. he ran a hand down his face, shaking his head, still in shock.

“a prank?” he muttered, exhaling deeply.

“yep.” you grinned. “and you fell for it perfectly.”

your child nodded enthusiastically. “we got you good, daddy!”

max groaned, still looking visibly distressed. “jesus christ,” he muttered under his breath, before looking at you dead in the eyes.

“never scare me like that again. both of you.”

you and your kid shared a victorious high-five, while max sat there, sipping his coffee in defeated silence.

because, honestly? you would definitely be doing it again.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

it was the perfect start to the day.

until your child, with all the confidence in the world, casually dropped, “mom, shut the fuck up.”

lewis instantly froze.

his fork stopped mid-air, his jaw went tight, and his eyes flickered between you and your child with calculated precision, as if trying to assess whether he actually heard what he thought he did.

slowly, deliberately, he set his utensils down.

“where did you learn that language?” his voice was calm, firm—the kind of dad voice that reminded you of even your own father.

your child just blinked up at him innocently.

you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to crack. the silence stretched as lewis continued analyzing the situation, likely recalling every conversation, every movie, every song your child had ever been exposed to.

finally, he looked at you. “babe?”

and that’s when you burst out laughing.

your child giggled right along with you, clapping their hands. “we got you!”

lewis blinked, processing the betrayal in real-time.

“wait.” he leaned back, shaking his head. “this was a prank?”

you nodded, wiping tears from your eyes. “you should’ve seen your face.”

your little one beamed, still thrilled with their performance.

lewis sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before shaking his head. “you’re both unbelievable.”

you leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “but you love us.”

he huffed out a laugh, wrapping an arm around you before gently tapping your kid’s nose. “that’s right. but don’t think you’re getting dessert tonight, little troublemaker.”

your child gasped dramatically. “not even ice cream?”

lewis smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. “nope. actions have consequences.”

you and your little one shared a mischievous glance, already plotting the next prank.

ʚ・george russell

george russell prided himself on being a refined, well-mannered man.

which is why, when your sweet, angelic child, sitting perfectly at the breakfast table, suddenly deadpanned—

“oh my god, mom, just shut the fuck up.”

—george absolutely lost the plot.

he gasped so dramatically, it could’ve been a shakespearean performance.

then, in the middle of his gasp, he nearly choked on his tea, sputtering as he set his cup down with an urgency that sent a teaspoon flying across the table.

his eyes were wide with absolute horror as he looked at your child, then at you, then back at your child.

“excuse me, young one?!” his voice rose an octave, his posh british accent making it all the more ridiculous. “that is absolutely unacceptable!”

you bit your lip, trying to hold it together, but your child's stone-faced innocence was making it so much harder.

george blinked rapidly, clearly spiraling. “where—who—why—how do you even know that phrase?!”

you couldn’t do it anymore. the laugh ripped out of you, and your kid cracked immediately, bursting into giggles.

george’s expression did not change.

he just stared at the two of you, utterly betrayed.

“oh. oh, funny, is it?” he sat back, arms crossed. “you two almost gave me a heart attack!”

tears streamed down your face as you gasped between laughs. “your reaction was...perfect.”

george sighed, rubbing his temples. “i can’t believe this. i thought i was raising a russell, not a red bull garage menace.”

your kid, still giggling, leaned into him. “sorry, daddy.”

george huffed, shaking his head. “mm-hmm.”

you smirked. “come on love, be a good sport...i guess we won’t tell you about the prank we have planned for next week.”

george froze, eyes narrowing. “next week?!”

and just like that, his morning was ruined.

ʚ・carlos sainz

dinner at the sainz household was usually filled with laughter, playful teasing, and carlos passionately explaining why bread is the superior food group.

but tonight? tonight was different.

because in the middle of enjoying his meal, your sweet, sweet child suddenly looked up from their plate and casually threw out—

“mom, shut the hell up.”

carlos stopped chewing immediately.

slowly, he set his fork down, his usually warm brown eyes narrowing in silent disbelief as he turned his full attention to your child.

“what did you just say?” his voice was low, steady—that kind of calm that wasn’t really calm at all.

your kid fidgeted, but to their credit, they stayed in character, glancing at their food like nothing had happened.

carlos inhaled sharply, rubbing his jaw.

“apologize. right now, por favor,” he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

you had been doing an admirable job holding it together, but the sight of carlos going full dad mode while your kid desperately tried to avoid eye contact was too much.

a laugh bubbled out of you, breaking the tense silence.

carlos' sharp gaze snapped to you.

“why are you laughing?” he asked, clearly concerned that you weren’t treating this as a disciplinary moment.

your kid finally cracked, giggling uncontrollably. “it’s a prank, daddy!”

carlos' shoulders slumped in instant relief, his head dropping into his hands as he let out a deep sigh.

he shook his head, clearly trying to process his near-stroke, before pushing his chair back and pulling your child into his arms.

“dios mío,” he muttered, pressing a firm kiss to their head. “you scared me, mi corazón. never again.”

your child wrapped their arms around his neck, clearly pleased with their successful prank.

carlos pulled back just enough to look at them. “you know i love you, sí?”

they nodded, still giggling.

he nodded too, expression softening—but then, with a dramatic sigh, he glanced at you.

“you. you i do not love right now.”

you smirked, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “aw, but i love you, cariño.”

carlos groaned, dramatically rubbing his face.

“i should’ve known,” he muttered. “you are just as bad as lando.”

you laugh, "well who do you think i got the idea from, amor?"

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles leclerc was many things—a world-class driver, a monegasque heartthrob, a man with an occasional temper behind the wheel—but at home, he was a complete softie.

especially when it came to his little girl.

so when you suggested a prank, your daughter was all in—and naturally, charles never saw it coming.

it started innocently enough. dinner was almost ready, and charles was sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to what was about to unfold.

you stood by the stove, pretending to be annoyed, sighing as you turned to your daughter.

“you always take your papa���s side,” you huffed, crossing your arms dramatically.

your daughter, in full character, rolled her eyes. “because he is right most of the time!”

charles looked up, blinking in confusion.

“what are you two talking about?” he asked, already sensing tension but completely unsure why.

you shook your head. “forget it.”

“yeah, mama, seriously, just shut the fuck up!”

silence.

absolute, stunned, deafening silence.

charles' phone nearly slipped out of his hand.

his eyes widened to saucers, darting back and forth between you and your daughter like a tennis match, his mouth slightly opening and closing—but no words came out.

he finally managed to stammer, softly, “mon ange… where did you learn such a word?”

his voice was so soft, so betrayed, you nearly broke character.

your daughter held it together impressively—until she turned to you, and you both burst out laughing.

charles' entire body sagged in relief.

“oh, thank goodness,” he exhaled, rubbing his face. “i thought we had some serious parenting issues.”

you giggled, walking over to kiss his cheek. “did we get you?”

charles shot you the most unimpressed look. “i nearly had a heart attack.”

your daughter giggled, climbing onto his lap and wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. “sorry, papa. we were just playing!”

charles sighed dramatically, wrapping his arms around her. “i don’t know who is worse—you or your mother.”

you winked. “probably me.”

charles huffed out a laugh, shaking his head before kissing the top of his daughter’s head. “no more playing like that, okay, mon ange?”

she nodded, grinning mischievously.

but from the way charles still held her tight, he wasn’t taking any chances.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[freyito]

ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ'

✭ pairing(s): boothill, gallagher, mydei, phainon (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: they give you some extra tlc

✧ a/n: hiii :,) i accidentally became important at work withiun the first motnh sofics are suuuper slow. ive also just been struggling with motivation AND my grandpa died and then not even a day later i was watching a tornado do its thing right infront of my workplace. so!

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.6k

⎯ Boothill

Usually, BOOTHILL is the one in need of a little extra love. Running across the galaxy for months at a time can take a lot out of him. Even with his impressive will, he can find himself drained sometimes. Sure, he’s always found peace out in the wild, under a star-painted sky, but he still can’t help but crave some sort of human connection, a way to recharge and remind him of what little humanity he has left. He won’t say anything, and he barely shows just how tired he is when he comes home, always wearing that damn smile. No matter if he had killed anyone on the trip, if he had been chased, if he had been damn near blown apart; he is never without that smile when he returns to you.

While he makes it extra hard for you to read him, he can read you exceptionally well. No matter how well you think you hide it, he always finds something. Your shoulders may be slumped, there’s a furrow in your brow, your voice doesn’t sound too confident… he knows. 

“C’mon, darlin’, ain’t gotta hide from me,” Boothill coos, coming up from behind you and wrapping one arm around your waist. “If somethin’s wrong, just say so.”

All you can find yourself doing is huff, and lean back into his chest. He laughs out a soft ‘awh’, before hoisting you up into his arms. He carries you off to the bedroom, setting you down gently on the bed.

Now, when it comes to TLC, Boothill practically has a checklist. The first task is to make sure you're comfortable, and happy, of course. The second task is making sure your wants are attended to. This usually manifests in him giving you a quiet space while he goes off into the kitchen to cook for you, usually something warm or sweet (or both!). The goal of this is to give you some time to decompress (whether it be in your bed, or on the couch), but if you choose to follow him to the kitchen instead, he’s quite happy with that, too. 

The third task is the most important (to him, at least), and that’s showering you with all the love he can possibly give. Aside from feeding you (which he will do, all you need to ask), he makes it a point to cuddle up to you and pepper your face with kisses. He makes it known just how much he loves you, with all sorts of sweet little praises and whispers. If you prefer spending a quiet night with him instead, he absolutely insists that you come out with him for some stargazing. A nice little night with your beloved under the star-painted sky is a wonderful way to remind yourself to take it easy, live in the present, and just a reminder that there is someone there for you. Even when you don’t want to admit that you need a little extra love.

⎯ Gallagher

Being a bartender, GALLAGHER can easily pick up on any little mood shift. He is also quite good at sniffing out the problem behind your moods, too. It’s actually kind of scary how well he knows you. Stressed? He’s taking care of you. Sad? He’s taking care of you. Mad? He’s taking care of you. Tired– Yes, he’s taking care of you any time he can, and any time you allow him to. Even when you’re being stubborn and trying to tell him you are totally fine.

So, when you come home, a couple hours after your shift was supposed to end, he already had a drink waiting for you. When you completely ignore the little glass and instead choose to practically fall into his arms, his disappointment is immediately replaced with a sense of happiness– Not that you’ve had a bad day, but the fact that you are openly seeking his comfort after one.

“Alright, well, let’s get ya all cozied up, hm?” He hums, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing just a little, then rocking you back and forth softly, while on large hand splays over the small of your back. 

Once you’ve relaxed, he guides you back to the couch, before fetching you a bunch of pillows and some blankets. He quite likes to get nice and close with you, but if you want to move to the bed, he’s happy to do that, too. He’ll still stay just as close, though. He also orders any food you want, those outrageous delivery costs be damned. Even if you want several different things from several different restaurants, he will cater to your whims. This spoiling is only the start, really. 

It seems he physically cannot leave you. He always has to be touching you in some way, even if he just has his pinky linked to yours. There’s always a warm hand on your hip or thigh, and if he can, he’s pulling you up to his chest. He has to be close, not just for the day but practically for the whole week. He always finds some way to come back to you, even if he’s working. He could be stationed all the way across the city and still come home to see you on his break, all for five seconds to hold you.

⎯ Mydeimos

‘Stress’ doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language. Or so MYDEI says. That being said, his tolerance is much higher than yours. Something about being ‘forged in war’... But he never faults you if you’re feeling down. As much as he thinks a nice meal will make you feel much better, he understands that there is always more to it. While he chooses to neglect his own emotions, and ignore what eats at him, he is almost the exact opposite when it comes to you. 

Granted, he doesn’t like to let you know that he knows you are stressed. At least, not verbally. Something hidden deep within him, something cheeky, likes to keep things a surprise. As boyish as it is for a warrior like him, he truly can’t help it. There’s something about the way your eyes light up and the way you soften when he does anything for you, especially unprompted.

“Here you are, my love,” Mydei murmurs from behind you, placing a plate of soutzoukakia and rice on your desk. “You seemed hungry, so I made you something.”

It was true, you really were hungry. But, you found yourself so engrossed in your work, hunched over your desk as you stared at your laptop. You had long since lost the plot of the piece you were supposed to be editing, and in turn, that made you feel burnt out. The deadline was in a few days, but you were already on the last few pages, and really wanted to get it finished by the end of the day. In doing so, it seems you have worried your lover.

Before you get a chance to thank him, he places his hands on your shoulders, pressing into them. You can’t help but lean back into him, as he huffs out a soft chuckle. He doesn’t say anymore as his thumbs press into the back of your shoulders, but in the back of his mind, all he can think is ‘See? You overwork yourself’. 

He continues to massage your shoulders for another minute in silence, eyes heavy lidded as he watches you relax. He pulls away after a beat, leading you to look up at him. His smile is so gentle, so kind, something you know is only for you. Once he’s satisfied with how content you look, he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, smoothing his hands down your shoulders to your arms. He then leaves you to eat, choosing to go about his day in the background. It’s a calming sort of ambience, the shuffling behind you and the grunts and sighs as he begins his afternoon workout. Sure, the noises could be a little more… quiet. But, at this point, you’ve grown used to it. So used to it, that it’s comforting.

⎯ Phainon

Oh, PHAINON, dear Phainon, nothing gets past him. He practically grew up comforting people, and as such, he understood all your tells before you two even started dating. Therefore, you get pampered before you even realize the stress is setting in. As such, with him, you truly never feel… down. He loves and dotes on you too much to feel like you need anything extra.

Sometimes, however, it does slip past him. He doesn’t beat himself up over it, really, he takes it as a sign to do better. Besides, who would be mad at a little more love? Certainly not you, with the way he cuddles up to you the minute you come home. He’s so damn close to just throwing you over his shoulder and throwing you in bed, keeping you there for a week tops. Probably more.

“C’mon, you and me are gonna hide away from the world for a bit,” He laughs, fingers linking with yours as he pulls you along to the bedroom.

You two lay in the bed, just simply staring at each other for a long while. At most, it’s only five moments, but it feels like an eternity. He holds you so close, legs tangled up, warm hands splayed across your back. He rubs soothingly up and down your spine, blinking slowly like a content cat (despite being more like a puppy at this moment).

For a while, he looks like he could just fall asleep then and there, holding you even closer like you were some plush toy. Then, just as you feel yourself getting sleepy, he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then the crook of your neck, then your neck, and one, two, three more kisses to your face– a thousand more kisses to your face. He decides in that moment, when you finally look relaxed and calm, that he can’t let you end the day without laughing first.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS

[redr0sewrites]

💫A/n: just some general pv x reader hcs. sorry ive been in such a writing slump ://

💫Cw: fluff + smut, praise, use of pet names, minors dni w the nsfw portion

💫 dividers

sfw:

Pure Vanilla is one of the best partners you could ever ask for in my mind

he's very attentive and an incredible listener, while also being so smart and gentle

if you're dating him, you definitely feel cherished. no matter how busy he is, and he is often busy, Pure Vanilla always makes time for you and puts in effort

he dotes on you a LOT!! he is always offering to help you, even at his own expense, and never wants to see you upset. he's a great person to ask for advice, and is endlessly supportive because of these qualities as well

he's very forgiving, and big on commitment and communication. you don't argue much, and even when you do, he's never the type to make you feel as though he doesn't respect you- that doesn't mean you don't argue though, as communication is very veryyyy important to him

i also think that Pure Vanilla, if he's in a relationship with you or even if you're just one of his close friends has a very heavy bias towards you. like if you're arguing with someone else, he would never ever publicly disagree with you and would support you 100%. if he genuinely disagrees with you he'd tell you kindly in private, but he's not the type to cause unnecessary drama for others to see, and wants to make sure that you know he's always on your side.

as positive and kind as he is, i do think that Pure Vanilla cookie has a bit of a self negativity streak in the sense that he can be a huge people pleaser. as his partner, you're one of the few people (cookies?) who gets to witness his more insecure and negative side. he tends to blame himself a lot for simple mistakes or problems that were entirely out of his control, and this can definitely apply to a relationship as well

unsurprisingly, he's very touch starved, and while not unwilling to admit it, he struggles to come to terms with it per se. i think Pure Vanilla would subconsciously be aware that he craves affection, but just doesn't know how to verbalize it as he doesn't want to force his feelings onto you

in tandem with this, i think he lovesss when you play with his hair! he loves that unbridled, gentle sort of affection, and melts whenever your hands go to run through his hair or massage his scalp. this is also a very specific personal headcanon, but i think Pure Vanilla would give the best gentle massages. he's an amazing healer, so you already know that transfers into your relationship, and having the opportunity to relieve the tension from your body is sooo satisfying to him. obviously not in a sexual way, he just wants you to be comfortable and loves helping you in any way he can

enjoys peaceful dates where he just gets to spend time with you!! Pure Vanilla cookie doesn't need anything thrilling to keep him occupied, and is absolutely fine just staying home with you for the evening and reading side by side, cuddling, or just enjoying each other's presence. if you are interested in thrilling dates, like amusement parks or scary movies, he's happy to indulge you, but he absolutely prefers the quiet, simple moments with you that are just so much more affectionate to him

nsfw:

Pure Vanilla cookie is absolutely a switch in my mind. it truly depends on your preferences, as he's down to be sub or dom or whatever works for you. i think he slightly prefers to bottom in terms of position simply because its less pressure for him (especially due to his eyesight conditions and his worries about not pleasuring you,,,, ☹️) but also won't reject topping. again, it really depends on his and your moods

i do think there are times where if you push his buttons enough he does have the capacity to be a pretty hard dom, but most of the time he's quite gentle! he's heavy on praise and reassurance, both giving and receiving, as he wants to make sure that everything he's doing is pleasing to you.

Pure Vanilla's favorite position in my mind would be the lotus flower position, where he basically just gets to be as close to you as possible. he has a penchant for just melting into your embrace and burying his head into your neck with a wordless whine, especially when he's overstimulated, and this position more than allows for that. however, i do also think he'd enjoy a spooning position where you're both laying on your side and he or you can just hold the other back-to-chest and have sex like that, but this position is more reserved for sleepy mornings and quicker sessions before bed.

no matter your genitals, Pure Vanilla would Love. to go down on you. he's absolutely a munch, and loves pleasuring you in this way and watching you absolutely fall apart. theres nothing more satisfying to him than wringing orgasms after orgasm out of you until your whimpering and whining, and all the while he's squirming and humping the bed while waiting for his own release. something about the eroticism of oral to him just makes him go crazy

when it comes to kinks, at first he's pretty .... vanilla.... (haha.... get it. im sorry) but i think over time he'd reveal his more serious kinks and perversions. he's also down to experiment with anything you're into, as you're his first priority in bed. however, i do think Pure Vanilla would be against anything that could seriously hurt you. he would worry too much, and doesn't like seeing you in extreme pain. in contrast to this though, i do think he would enjoy seeing you become an absolute wreck from overstimulation or edging (especially if this is Truthless Recluse we're talking about,,,, but those are headcanons for another time i fear)

when it comes to general kinks, he has a lot, and you're gonna have to bare with me through some of these explanations. starting off pretty obvious, i'd say praise and just like pampering in general during sex is a pretty big one for him. he loves seeing you flustered, but also enjoys being praised or overwhelmed with pleasure in return. next up, i don't know if this really counts as a kink but like,,, hand holding is super important to him, he loves being close to you. hair pulling, specifically receiving, is HUGE for him. i'm just picturing Pure Vanilla being all soft and gentle during sex, but then the second you pull his hair he's a quivering mess !!

next up, parallel play and just. mutual masturbation in general. he often fantasizes about you walking in on him masturbating and vice verse, and it's just very attractive to him to learn what makes you tick. also kinda similar to this but i think he'd secretly be into being humiliated a bit. i don't think Pure Vanilla would ever admit it, but if you started teasing him about how loud he's moaning or how pathetic he is he'd cum on the spot. he's always trying his best to please others, and so you taking that a step further and getting him all embarrassed really turns him on.

while these are all pretty tame, i do think that Pure Vanilla has some more secretive and embarrassing sexual desires that he absolutely feels ashamed of- and also turn him on more than anything else. i might make some seperate headcanons for what i think his more perverse interests are, but overall i don't think he'd share his fantasies with his partner until you both are very close and very intimate. however, if you're freakier than him and give him the opportunity to share his desires ..... well. that's also quite attractive to him, yk?

overall, i think he's a very sweet lover when it comes to sex, and can accommodate anything you ask, whether it be as tame or as freaky as you prefer !!

thanks for reading !! i haven't written in a hot minute and i feel like it shows <\3 my life has been kinda weird and stressful rn but im trying my best to get back into writing !!! ALSO PLEASEEE SEND IN CRK OR PRESSURE (roblox) ASKS 😞🙏

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley Drabble

Hi lovelies! Lia here again, I've been quite busy with school so I hope you guys can be a little patient with content since I've been stuck on a slump and there's a lot of things I'm currently busy with at the moment because of school despite posting so much last week. Here's the weekly content and I hope you all enjoy :)

Also how do you all feel if I write works inspired by old gacha songs? And yes I used to be a gacha girly, it was some wild phase AHAHAHA

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

Brainrot, Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley who decided he wanted to get a divorce with you because things weren't working out between the both of you, so you had to share custody of your daughter.

You managed to get yourself together, having no time to grieve that part of you that he took with him because you had a little one depending on you. You loved that girl for all she was, however she brings you and Simon together.

Not that you resent her for it, god no, it wasn't her fault you and your husband couldn't see eye to eye.. that he refused to retire after everything, maybe it was just your paranoia getting to you. You couldn't stand the fear anymore, the fear of one day he's not the one you'll see when you open the front door but Price.

You forgot how difficult it was doing this on your own until now, you could barely get up, your head was actually killing you. You pushed through, making your daughter breakfast.

You felt like you were about to throw up, ears started to ring and everything else felt numb. The next thing you know was your eyes rolling back and everything going black, the last thing you heard was your toddler panicking, calling you over and over on the verge of crying.

All while you were unconscious, your little one runs to your room to look for your phone to call her dad.

"Listen I know we—" Simon said expecting you on the phone before getting cut off by his daughter..

"Dada! Momma's dead, dada. Momma's not breathing!" In a panic, she cried it out like a mantra. Simon was in a panic, he got up from where he was and was speeding towards what used to be your shared home.

The next thing you know, you were hearing the beeps of a heart monitor. All your senses were working, all except sight.. you didn't have enough energy to open them, in the coldness of your whole body from the well ventilated room, you felt warmth on your hand.

It was all too familiar, calloused but so gentle and warm. Simon.. it was Simon. All while processing this situation, all that's going through Simon's head are the what ifs.

"Fucking hell, help her.. My wife, she's been unconscious for thirty minutes. She's breathing but it's faint and she's burning" Simon almost yelled in a full panic, he was doing his best not to snap at the hospital staff but how couldn't he? Hadn't even realized that he called you something you weren't anymore, the title he took with him.

Your little one holding her dad's hand in the waiting room, she was observant, an emotionally intelligent little girl who holds her dad's hand. Simon keeps reminding himself to calm down, how much his bumblebee must be terrified, far more than he was so he takes her in his arms.

Sooner or later they were allowed to enter, doctor said you were stabilized and only collapsed from a horrid fever and so much fatigue. Thinking of losing you, just like that with no warning would be the second time Simon would lose you.

Now watching you unconscious, IV tube connected to you because of course you haven't been eating well either. It made him rethink everything, was it a mistake to give you those papers? Was it worth it losing the one person in his life who he would give his life for with no hesitation?

All he could do for now was sit next to you, no matter how long it takes for you to wake up because he doesn't have the strength to leave, maybe in a day or two but not now..

Part 2 anyone?

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (hopewards)

(~12,5 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

we start the next morning, so expect brief mention of their last night's debauchery and grian’s resulting bruising, some naked skin (their legs are bare) and some teasing. just for a tiny bit. nothing explicit here at all though! a lot of this is actually them being giddy and stupidly in love. enjoy! <3

—

Even though they should be used to it by now, waking up in a different place keeps being disorienting. And this time, it hits worse. Because for the first time in a long while, they were actually able to relax. Sleep curled into each other. 

Grian stirs first, waking up to barely-lit surroundings, the fire reduced to nothing but faintly glowing embers. The walls of their little shelter don’t let through any light that might betray the time of day. There’s a warm body underneath him, rising and falling in the rhythm of calm breaths.

He wants to stay here, pressed against Scar. He thinks of closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

But the wind is whistling outside something horrible, and the space around him is dark and dizzyingly unfamiliar, and— The moment he moves, his body shoots back with pain.

A confused, pained yelp escapes him, the memories of last night still not rearranged properly in his dazed mind. He slips off Scar, coming to sit up on his bare legs, looking at the darkness with wide, unseeing eyes as his earwings flutter, trying to catch any noise that might hint at a coming threat. One of his wings is still slumped over Scar, a fact that's not quite registering in his mind as it tries to reboot to full alertness.

Scar is snapped out of his pleasant lull of sleep the moment Grian moves, and he's sat up as well the instant he hears Grian yelp, eyes darting around looking for danger—a trained reaction at this point. His glowing tail shoots out on instinct to provide some sort of light when the fire isn't doing it for him. 

But when all he sees is Grian, he visibly untenses, his ears dropping back down from where they were rapidly flicking around to listen for unseen threats. "What in the world?" he says with a half-nervous, half-relieved sigh. "You scared me— you alright, G?"

Grian’s gaze anchors on Scar. "I—" He sits perfectly still, save from the rapid tempo of his chest as something akin to panic teases at his bloodstream. His wing stays draped over Scar's lap. His body hurts. His legs are cold. There's a— 

There's a feather behind Scar's ear? 

Grian stares. "I thought—" He can't get the words out. His fingers curl, arms coming to wrap around his abdomen only for a flare up of pain to burn under his careless touch, an injury on his side hidden by a sweater and forgotten about by his still jumbled mind. He takes a sharp breath, a pained whimper slicing through it. 

Scar shimmies out of the feathery blanket he's been given in order to get right to Grian's side, gently reaching out to touch his cheek and his waist, knowing exactly which side to avoid. "Oh, shoot, hey, heyyy—" Scar moves so his face it's in front of Grian, filling his vision with his only slightly illuminated smile, soft and gentle. "Take it easy. You okay?"

The instant response from Scar and his ceaseless attentiveness help put Grian slightly at ease, enough to reclaim his breath and hopefully maybe start slotting things together in his mind. His gaze jumps between Scar's eyes, hopelessly needing grounding that Scar so readily provides. 

Instead of wrapping his arms around himself, his hands reach out, coming to grab at the edges of Scar's still-open shirt. "I... thought we're home?" he manages to finally say, voice incredibly small and wobbly, sounding a little as if he was about to cry. 

They're not home. They'll never be home again. It sears through his chest, the sliver of comfort so viciously yanked from him for the second time. 

Scar is so ready to help, to set Grian's mind at ease, but oh. Oh, that hurts. He can't help with that at all. Home is so impossibly out of reach here.

"We're... safe," Scar tries anyway, vaguely nodding at the walls they constructed. 

He truthfully understands how Grian could confuse things. He doesn't remember the last time he woke up feeling warm and secure, in his boxers of all things, too. And to have that illusion torn away so instantly? 

Scar's heart aches and he mournfully presses a kiss to Grian's temple. " 'm sorry..."

Grian sniffles, inconsolable, but he tips forward into the offered affection, desperate for every sliver of comfort he can get. His heart tears itself apart behind his ribs, a hot-white, grief-stricken pain that feels like it might kill him.

"We're safe," Grian repeats, his voice raw and so miserably tear-filled, there's no salvaging it and pretending this isn't painful. "We're— I still have you." His fingers clutch at the fabric, desperately tugging at Scar, needing him right here.

It's painful to Scar to see Grian so clearly distressed, though the determination to remedy that and soothe his partner's nerves thankfully overwrites any of his own sorrow for the time being. He graciously wraps Grian up in his arms and pulls him close to his still bare chest, nuzzling his head in.

"Of course," he says. That much is obvious. That much is always true. "I'm here. You're here." That's all we need, right? goes unsaid, only heard through the rapid rythym of Scar's heart.

A choked sob gets pressed against the collar of Scar's shirt as Grian burrows into the hug. "You're here," he repeats, needing those words like a lifeline. "You're here you're here you're he–re." His voice cracks and fails, and he's shaking, but Scar is here, and that matters immensely, more than anything.

Grian swallows thickly, trying to push down the quivery emotions that make him fray at the seams, at least enough to be able to speak again.

His forehead nuzzles against Scar as he sniffles again. "Please don't ever leave. Don't leave me." Not again.

Scar's mouth goes dry as he tries to swallow, all stability rapidly crumbling away. "... Shit— Grian, no. Not leaving." He wants to say never because god does he mean it, but he really can't, can he? And that's what arguably hurts the most. Makes him feel like a failure. 

Scar has so much more he wants to say. He can imagine the words, he feels the sentiment, but nothing is forming. He feels so broken.

So he buries his head into Grian's shoulder, fully slumped over the avian and wrapping him in close. "I—I said... yours," he forces out, choked and forcing back tears. 

He needs to be strong right now. Needs to, needs to, needs to.

Then he pulls away, just enough, trying to offer his best attempt at a smile and a small tilt of his head in the direction of the feather, his mind leaping to awareness of it. Clinging to it. "Yours, remember?"

Not leaving. Yours.

The words echo through Grian, an endless ricochet looking for purchase, for somewhere to sink into. He wants to keep them bouncing. Alive and on constant replay. 

Scar is pulling him closer and then pulling away, leaving Grian with a bewildered whiplash. He just wants to burrow in. He wants Scar to be his nest. His home. He is— He's his everything and Grian is terrified to let go, he needs to hold on, he needs to cling—

But Scar puts distance between them, and it's not even really distance, it's just enough for them to be able to have eye contact. And yet Grian still can't help but feel destabilised. His eyes trace over Scar's features, desperately trying to reassure himself with the familiarity of them, mapping out the weak, barely-there smile as if he was trying to memorise it all for the inevitable loss.

(No, no, no, he can't think about that. He can't—) 

(He remembers how it felt. Deep in the woods, all alone, not knowing if Scar is alive.) (Not knowing if he will survive another hour.) (No hands to hold. No arms to burrow into. Nobody there to build a feeble safety net underneath his exhausted, wobbly legs.) 

Scar tips Grian's attention to the feather and, obediently, Grian's attention goes, catching on the bright spot of violet. It makes his heart trip, fear and affection crashing violently into each other. One of his hands unlatches from Scar's shirt and reaches up, going for the feather. "Mine," he mutters unsteadily under his choked breath.

Scar tilts his entire head into Grian's hand, offering not just that portion of him marked with Grian's feather, but all of himself, desperately hoping the sentiment is understood. "Yours, always yours," he confirms, something like a croak breaking into his voice. 

At least that statement can ring true. It's always been true from the moment they found each other in this world. 

He absently nuzzles into the touch like a touch-starved cat since he may as well commit to the animalistic instincts at this point, silly as they may be. 

Scar wants to apologize, even if he's not completely sure what for. He's already apologized a thousand times over for leaving Grian, and he doubts that's something Grian actually wants from him right now. No, apologies would only be for his own sake, wouldn't they? Craving forgiveness and comfort from his own dreadful shame. That's not going to help Grian right now at all.

"Safe, I promise," he says, somewhat weak. It's not home, but— "Nothing bad here."

Grian listens to the promise. To Scar’s reassuring voice. 

They're in a small dark box, surrounded by walls. It smells like smoke, but feels all too cold. 

It's not a place for an avian.

"Okay," Grian relents anyway, voice small. Because it doesn't matter where he is as long as Scar is there with him.

With careful gentleness, Scar coaxes Grian to lie down again and rest a bit more while he gets the fire going. Obligingly, Grian curls up in a loose ball, draping a wing over himself—something he wouldn’t usually do so freely, his feathers on full display, vulnerable and bared. Still, he dips underneath, warmed by some fuzzy instinct descending over him, and he falls silent while Scar works.

Scar dutifully moves to relight the fire, trained at maximizing the effectiveness of limited kindling at this point, then starts gathering a few things for an almost proper meal, because he feels like taking the extra time. 

It’s the gentleman-y thing to do, surely? To make a nice breakfast for his partner? 

Either way, he wants to, so he gets out the basic clay mixing bowl they have and starts throwing in all the decent-tasting stuff they’d been saving— mushrooms, a few of the more bitter berries that taste better fried, their little jar of foraged herbs, and even the suspicious looking potato they’ve been hesitant to eat. Now’s as good of a time as any to check that it’s good.

It’s the smell of food permeating the air that lures Grian to peek out from his dozing pile. The fire is crackling, warm and bright, and Scar is fixing them some food over it.

For a moment, Grian watches, barely peeking over his wing, just his messy hair and dark eyes visible. He seems curious and cautious alike, but mostly, he's just endeared. He takes in Scar's features as the warm glow of the fire dances over them, the way his hands move, the way he prepares the meal from the measly scraps they have, and— oh.

Oh, he's so horribly in love.

Every bite and scratch and bruise on his skin makes so much sense. Just looking at Scar fills him with good kind of tingling, something that tells him he'd give himself over to him willingly. He'd give him everything. 

He finds, all of a sudden, that he doesn't regret any of last night. Even if he feels exhausted still, his body fragile and in pain. He's glad it happened. He wants to protect it, that insane wildness they showed for each other, an unsatiable craving stitched through with madness and blood and an assembly of all-too-private sounds, fully knowing there's softness and care to follow.

He's silent for a moment longer, sneakily observing. And then he says, quiet and out of nowhere: "Would you do it again?"

Alarm rings through Scar at the sudden sound (even though reasonably he knows it’s just him and Grian here), making his tail go almost comically rigid as he catches the bowl that practically leapt from his hands. To his credit, however, he doesn’t yelp in surprise like he normally would.

A muffled laugh escapes Grian, eyes flitting to Scar’s rigid tail. It's a wonderful sight, only because Grian knows they're safe and there's nothing to be afraid of. It allows him to bask in it, innocently startling Scar out of focus and reminding him that he's here with him. 

The answer to Grian’s question comes so easily to Scar. He admits almost instantly: “Yes.” Then softer, more hesitant and cautiously optimistic, “That is, if you— … would you?”

Because that’s the real question, isn’t it? Grian is the one with bruises to show from their little escape from reality. It’s Grian who really put himself out there with his wings on display and body for ravaging— 

Scar feels his cheeks heat up slightly, causing him to fumble over his words some more before even waiting for an answer, flustered and a little apprehensive. “Y–y'know, with or without the whole, um, foreplay.”

His ears burn.

Grian's eyes brighten at Scar's answer, but he continues hiding in his wings. He can tell Scar shifts from an instant answer to hesitation, and then dips straight from that to a flustered mess, and god, Grian wants to kiss him. 

"Yeah." It's painfully audible that he's grinning, even as his expression continues to be shielded by feathers. And it surprises him how much he means it, too. How easy it is to admit.

He watches Scar's fluster, and it makes him want to tease him more. It's adorable. 

His wing shifts, dragging up in an arch, revealing all of Grian that was tucked underneath—especially the cheeky smile, and the still-bare legs, bruised and scratched. He slightly uncurls, a process that just makes him show more skin, all the vulnerable bits of it there for Scar to see. The held-up wing seems almost like an invitation. "Yes, Scar. All of it," he reinstates, his eyes never leaving Scar's, watching for reaction.

Up until this point, Scar was basically talking at the fire, a little too nervous to look Grian in the eye and still focused on his task. But when Grian also agrees? Scar can’t help but shift himself, to turn around and chase after the sight of that smile he can hear pierce Grian’s words. 

He gets much more than a smile when he looks Grian’s way. 

Oh if his ears weren’t burning already, they are now.

He’s tempted to look away, not wanting to stare and further embarrass himself but… another part of him very much wants to ogle his mate. Because he can. Because Grian is his as much as he is Grian’s. And because he knows Grian likes it when he gives him attention. 

So he allows himself to stare. His eyes wander from the beautiful, cleaned, outstretched wings to Grian’s legs, bare and bruised and occasionally bitten, and— yeah, Scar finds he doesn’t regret a damn thing either. 

He also finds that he overwhelmingly wants to pounce, something primal as well as impassioned. Entranced by that invitation, eager to accept. 

All of it.

His tail has begun a low swoop, like a predator watching its prey, and wow Scar needs to hide that thing so it stops giving away his already incredibly obvious motives. He swallows hard, then, without even realizing, breathes out a small wisp of blue. 

Finally, Scar clears his throat loudly, face flushed, and turns his attention painfully back to the food, which is luckily basically done. “Ahem, um. G-good. Yep. Good.” He laughs at himself freely, amused. “… Food’s almost ready.”

[a little extra scene here - suggestive, preyplay, no explicit sex]

Even when they’re ready to eat, Grian finds himself struggling, body too weak—after months of barely any rest, and last night’s activities, and the ever-curdling hunger—but Scar’s all too ready to offer to carry him, despite his own weariness. 

"What'd'you make?" Grian murmurs as he weakly holds onto Scar, suddenly curious about the food, now that he's secure that Scar isn't leaving his proximity. "It smelled nice."

"Why, my famous... potato berry mushroom scramble? ... Patent pending." Scar settles next to the fire, keeping his little bird snugly in his lap. "Believe me, I outdid myself on this one," he cheers, grinning with satisfaction.

Grian presses a giggle to the base of Scar's throat at the description of the food, complete with a pending patent. It sounds like Scar's used just about anything good they had and threw it all together, but Grian can't fault him for it. Not now. Now he wants domesticity, and a little bit of play-pretend. He wants to ease into something that might be more living than surviving. So he's happy to indulge this.

When they settle down, Grian’s eyes are drawn to Scar, and he's rewarded with a delightful grin, and goddammit he really can't control himself—

He kisses Scar. Again, just a quick steal. Just a short, soft thing. A quiet trill pressed against Scar's lips. "Sounds wonderful." Laughter rings in his voice, heavy with tiredness and contentment, the earlier distress easily forgotten.

Scar's grin grows even wider, and he attempts to reciprocate the trill, a happy little sound passing through his toothy smile. "You're wonderful," he replies, giggling at the corniness. 

"Wah!" Grian sputters in protest, face flushing instantly. "You— big goof. You silly— You—" He can't come up with anything good enough that'd sit right on his tongue, but he feels the need to let Scar know he's a ridiculous, cheesy idiot, and anyway. He tips forward and bites at Scar's jaw in revenge.

It's the softest thing. It's barely anything, so horribly harmless it's laughable as a threat.

Scar snickers, unashamed of his goofy response. "No, no, you eat the food, not me, Grian."

Grian giggles against Scar's skin, remaining pressed close to him. "But I want you." 

Just as thoughtlessly, Scar replies, "Well you can have me for dessert then." Then, without registering at all what he just said, he gently nudges Grian to turn around. "You should grab some food before it gets cold." 

"You're ridiculous," Grian lets him know, flustered and amused and fond. He edges saying something similarly corny in response, but for the sake of his dignity, he swallows it down, glancing instead towards the bowl of food. And he still manages to say something horribly embarrassing. "Aren't you going to feed me?"

 “Oh, is that what you want?” Scar chuckles, a teasing fire alight in his eyes as well. “Want me to feed it to you like a baby bird?” He presses his snickering lips right up to Grian’s in an annoyingly sloppy kiss.

A dissatisfied grumble leaves Grian, even as he allows the kiss. Only to bite at Scar's lip. "Not a baby bird," he protests, as if that was the important part. He entirely fails to dismiss the rest of it. But he makes a big show of huffing and turning his face away.

Scar laughs again, but he nods somberly, as if agreeing to his very grave error. "Of course, right," he says, but he reaches for the food anyway. "Then, you want me to feed you like a lovely, doting boyfriend?" 

And oh, it's very silly, the way his face flushes at the word boyfriend, because it's not really a word they get much use of in this environment. It seems to carry a bit too much innocence and domesticity for the intensity of the bond they've cemented here, but— Scar smiles shyly. He thinks he likes the way it tastes on his tongue in this moment.

Grian's about to protest again when he hears Scar going on about feeding him—it was just silly, Grian didn't really plan on it being a thing—but then Scar drops the word boyfriend and Grian's whole mind screeches to a halt.

His eyes widen, gaze snapping back to Scar. 

Painfully slowly, his mind restarts, but it comes out still wrong, haywire. His whole body tingles, electric and staticky. "You— What—" He stammers, eyes roaming Scar's entire face, searching for something. "Say it again."

"I—uhh—" Scar's face heats up further under the careful scrutiny of Grian's attention. He feels his ears flick anxiously and almost groans out loud because he's so undeniably caught being embarrassed. "Like... a doting boyfriend?" he practically squeaks, growing more nervous the longer Grian stares at him with those big, dark eyes.

A slightly manic, uncontrollable smile grows unbidden on Grian's lips. All of a sudden, he feels immensely giddy, restless.

A simple word shouldn't do that to him. Not here. Not in a world where it's meaningless, it changes nothing, it's just the two of them like it's always been.

And yet—

And yet.

Grian's eyes squint a little, in a happy grin. "A boyfriend, you say?" It comes out teasing, but the joy is undeniable in it. 

In an instant, that anxiety is gone and Scar's beaming right back at Grian, smile full and wobbly. "I mean—" he starts, letting laughter spill out as his nerves relax, but he shifts straight into being teasing as well. "I've never really been the type of guy for one-night stands, soooo..."

Grian's expression shifts into a toothy smirk. He raises an eyebrow, playfully questioning. That hovering implication that Grian could've been a one night stand prickles around Grian's spine, even though he knows it's impossible. "You wouldn't dare." 

Briefly, he thinks of waking up in the morning after all of that—after all of giving himself over, after all of marks Scar left on him—only for Scar to say it was a one-off thing. 

Teasing disappears from his expression, replaced by something almost troubled. He's playing with his own thoughts, dispelled what-ifs that didn't even occur to him until now. It's nothing to get upset about, certainly.

He can feel the aches echo through his body, fresh enough to easily remind him of everything he's given over to Scar without asking for any sort of commitment. And yet Scar is here, offering it anyway. (Or at least, Grian thinks that's what's happening?) 

Scar watches Grian's face, how it morphs into a playful smirk, but then fades into something slightly fragile. It's a subtle thing, almost missable, but Scar catches it easily. He hums thoughtfully as he leans further into their little wordplay, eyeing Grian's lips, the tilt of his head, every miniscule gesture he's grown so accustomed to. 

"I think I'd be a darn fool to let you pass me by," he says, very purposely flipping the narrative to one where Grian is holding that power, of Grian being the one that Scar is fumbling to tie down in their simplistic, more whimsical portrayal of events. And when Scar smiles, it's small, but incredibly authentic, because in reality, that is the version of events he's intimately familiar with— a story of a hermit pining hopelessly after his neighbour, and now that he actually has him, Scar has no intention of ever letting go.

Grian chuckles weakly. He wants to play along. He wants to, really. 

But the reality is pushing down on him, insistent and as present as the dark corners of their small shelter. His heart is so tired and yet it beats so fast in his chest, unerringly stumbling as it aches for more of Scar, more love, more of those ridiculous promises he so tenderly weaves around Grian like a bed of petals to sink into.

"I really don't think you'd be a fool for that," he says, and it comes out hoarse. Like speaking past a lump, throat dry.

Because Grian is still just a beacon in this world. And Scar would be better off passing him by and choosing someone else.

That's a slippery slope of thoughts.

Grian finds he can't quite meet Scar's eyes.

Scar stops glancing over Grian’s face, just staring for a moment as he blinks in utter confusion. He feels as if he needs to kickstart his brain with how unexpected that comment was to him. Honestly needs to kickstart his lungs as well.

“What?” he manages to say, still baffled. After a few more slow blinks, Scar looks Grian over, wondering if this is some kind of joke that he’s missing the punchline for, but now Grian won’t even look at him. 

Nervousness sets in at the pure bafflement Scar displays. Grian isn't sure what to make of it. He didn't say anything that strange, did he?

“Are you kidding?” Scar asks, though it’s rhetorical. “Grian, I’ve—“ Say it again echoes though his head and Scar swallows past the lump in his own throat as he continues, “—I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend for like an embarrassingly long time.”

Grian can't help but let out a small squeak. He's still not meeting his gaze, and his face is burning, even as everything in his chest continues to tangle and trip, a complicated mess.

Scar's words carry an implication of a lost past possibility. If they were braver—less idiots, really—they could've had it all. Beds and homecooked meals and domesticity. The full package.

Instead, Scar has him now, when Grian is nothing but an express ticket to Scar's permanent death. 

Even though Scar's words are nice, Grian can't stop the hitch in his breath and a fresh dose of tears. His wings finally slot tightly at his back, where they belong. Emotions come too easily to him now, everything in him frayed and fragile. He can't hold back a sniffle, staring down but not really seeing anything. No words form through the messy nonsense of his thoughts. 

It hurts Scar when Grian doesn’t respond. It hurts even worse to hear him begin to cry. 

Scar can’t help but wonder where exactly he fumbled. At what point did he say something that tipped the scales in favour of tears over laughter? 

He thinks he ought to cry as well, but unfortunately all he feels is a festering numbness settling under his skin, leading him to wonder why his words never seem to be enough.

(Why can’t he ever be enough?)

“I still do,” Scar whispers, perhaps a bit uselessly, but it feels so, so important to say. And the words keep tumbling out. “I— feel stronger when I’m with you? Maybe that’s silly, but… I… know you’re always there to catch me when I fall?” A mirthless chuckle, but he does break a smile. “Which is a lot. And… you’ve never doubted me either? You never treated me like a burden or like I can’t carry my own weight, which… I don’t know, that’s… that means a lot to me.” He sighs softly, trying to lower his face so Grian will look at him. 

Please, please look at me. Scar wants to say.

“Please say something before I keep talking myself into an embarrassing little hole?” he says instead.

Grian's mind stumbles to unlatch from the storm of its own thoughts, fumbling to shift focus to Scar's words. He tries to understand. All the things Scar lists for why he wants him. Why this is good. Why it matters, maybe now more than ever.

Grian isn't sure he can process it right here, right now, like this. Maybe he'll ask him sometime to say all that again. When his mind is slower and more ready to accept it.

When Scar begs him to speak, Grian closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. "I wanted—" No. No, it isn't working. His voice falters. Runs away from him like a startled rabbit. He has to go and find it again.

He takes another breath, deliberate. His fingers slide over Scar's shirt, trying to find the contact with the warmed, worn fabric grounding.

"I wanted to live with you," he finally says—chokes out—confesses. "Wanted to share a bed. Wake up next to you—" His voice gives out again.

In a way he has those things now. Sans the bed. But it is forced by horrible circumstances. It has nothing of the soft, warm domesticity of the fantasy.

He sobs and his hands leave Scar, in favour of pressing at his own, tear-streaked face.

"Wanted you to b— to be happy with me."

Another choked laugh escapes Scar at the small confession, something fragile and almost broken. “I wanted that, too,” he admits, voice hoarse.

He’s relieved Grian responded, not only that, but with something so sweet, because the fear of Grian entirely shutting down was there. And Scar isn’t sure he could handle the despondency right now.

It hurts horribly in Grian's heart, knowing that Scar wanted the same thing, and yet they never had it. They never allowed themselves to cross that imaginary line they thought was there. It tastes thick and raw like grief, to know it was never there at all and they could've had it all along. 

And they'll never have it now.

Grian chokes on heaved breaths, drowning on sobs, but Scar keeps talking.

“And… I am happy with you, Grian,” Scar continues, slow, carefully considering his every word now. “I think I would have gone mad by now if it weren’t for you. You’re— like… the only good thing in this stupid world. I feel like joy shouldn’t even be allowed here, yet I feel it with you.” 

The words feel slippery to Grian; he tries to hold onto them, but knows this is something he will need to be told again, once his mind stops being so rampant. Once his bruised heart tears at itself less. He wants them spoken to him in a quiet moment, serene maybe, if such a thing exists. He wants Scar's hands to gently trace his skin and he wants to hear him say it again; that Grian makes him happy, even in a place as wretched as this.

Scar’s face reddens again as he thinks of all kinds of cheesy things he could say here. You make me so happy. You are my joy. My darling. Light of my life.

Yet somehow, despite the embarrassment, he grows bold with his words in an another way entirely. 

“And maybe it’s not the same, but… we’ll have it all someday! A ridiculously over-the-top home, a full kitchen, a fluffy bed, way too many cats… I’ll even finish the backside for us.” 

It’s been so long since Scar last spoke of promises of going home. After so many months, that spark of hope had long since been extinguished, but Scar feels resolute in his statement this time. 

Because this time he means something else.

He reaches for his satchel, pulling out a compass he nabbed from the last hunter that crossed their paths. It’s scratched and the arrow points at a slightly off-angle, but it shines like an absolute treasure under the light of the fire.

He presses it to Grian’s chest, offering it to him.

“We’ll keep going north. North until we’re so far from civilization that no one can ever bother us. And…” Scar pauses, using his free hand to brush away some of Grian’s tears, his fingers lingering at his jaw as he tries to urge him to look up into his eyes. “… it can be just me and you, like it should have been a long time ago.”

Beffudedly bewildered, Grian blinks through tears, looking down, mind sparking at the offer of promise, a held out hope. Both of his hands come to meet that faint pressure, brushing against Scar's skin before they come into contact with the small object. His fingers shake as he takes it, tries so very hard not to instantly drop it as he shifts it and processes what it is. (He does it with one hand; his second one stays loosely around Scar's wrist, greedy for the warmth of that contact. His own skin is cold, fingertips wet from tears.)

The compass catches the glint of the fire. It feels precious and rare, a little bit like it could break at any second, as Grian keeps his shaky grip on it. 

He sniffles, unable to resist the tug of Scar's gentle touch on his jaw. He blinks through more tears, tips his head up, finally meeting Scar's gaze through the hot, blurry haze. 

North. Just me and you.

The idea trips through Grian.

Scar is extending a promise—a hope—a future, and Grian desperately grasps at it, wanting it to nest in his heart. It feels immensely brittle. It feels incredibly necessary.

He takes a less aborted breath, trying to let Scar's voice stich him back together.

"We— Can we—" His words fall apart, but he keeps trying. "We can have that?" His voice cracks, breaks completely, hitches into a sob as more tears flood his vision.

He brings the compass to his stomach, holds it against himself. His other hand lightly and harmlessly claws at Scar's forearm, looking for something to hold onto, something to ground all these loud, overwhelming emotions. 

"You'll—" A small, off-kilter chuckle breaks through the more miserable noises. It's tiny. It's wet and broken. And yet it's such a bright sound amidst it all. "You'll finish the back?"

Scar’s heart threatens to break at the broken little sob that escapes Grian’s throat, but instead he feels those stitches solidify and strengthen his resolve even further as Grian also grasps onto the promise, however weak his words may be. 

“Yes,” Scar confirms— to all of it. “We… we can bring home here.”

Because if they can’t go home, they’ll do this instead. They’ll make it work. It can be enough. As long as they’re together, maybe it can be enough.

The word home stings but simultaneously, it feels like velvet. Like something impossibly soft to sink into. Like warmth and protection and good things. 

Grian wants it.

He wants a home again.

He wants a home with Scar.

Wordlessly, Scar tilts Grian’s head up just a bit, kisses his forehead, wipes away a few tears. He’s so entirely serious about this, so very determined to make it true. He hopes that’s evident on his face, how his eyes flicker with purpose and truth.

The kiss feels like a seal of the promise; Grian whines weakly, leaning into it. He thinks his heart hurts less. He thinks— Maybe there's something at the end of all of this. Something they can have. Something they can share. Something theirs.

"Promise?" Even though it already feels like a promise, Grian still needs to hear it. His voice is wobbly and small and so achingly hopeful. He sniffles and in a rush, he tacks on: "I— I want that. Please, Scar."

“Yes,” Scar says again, nodding resolutely. “Absolutely. Promise.” He squeezes at the compass and the hand that Grian is holding onto. He presses another kiss to Grian’s brow. “It’ll be the most beautiful base this stupid world has ever seen. Or rather, never will see, preferably.” He smiles brightly, confident in everything he says. Truly confident.

It’s that confidence that really helps settle all the on-fire nerves under Grian's skin. It guides him to follow, to trust, to believe. 

They're stubborn. They're going to persevere. They'll do it. They will.

"I'll hold you to that," Grian warns with a small laugh, still skewed towards broken, rather than carrying any signs of cheer, but it's something. 

He finds himself leaning forward, tipping towards Scar, wanting to bury himself against his chest. One of Grian's hands remains trapped to his stomach, pressing the compass closely to himself, but his other hand wraps around Scar, needing to hold him, to tuck him close to himself. 

"I mean." He sniffles, but he's no longer crying. No longer choking on his breaths. "I'll help."

“Oh, I should hope so. I’m gonna need that special Grian touch,” Scar hums. He leans down to also burrow himself into Grian, right into his hair, his own special spot. “… I’d love to build a home with you,” he adds, spoken softly into the curls.

I'd love to build a home with you. 

Grian's  breath hitches, but not like he's going to cry. Not like he's in pain. There's something else entirely swirling within him, a deep, raw, fond emotion that knows no bounds when it comes to Scar.

"Can you—" This is the second time he's asking this in a short while, but he can't help himself. His words are muffled, slightly embarrassed and very needy, pleading. "Scar? Say that again?"

Scar’s briefly worried when Grian’s breath hitches, but he quickly exhales a soft laugh when he realizes why. “Mmm,” he hums against the top of Grian’s head, a cheeky grin spreading across his lips. “I’d love to build a home with you, my boyfrieeeend.”

Grian tenses and squawks, feeling his face get hot. This was unfair. This was an attack! An ambush! He wanted to hear it again, sure, but not like this. He huffs and groans and he doesn't know what other noise to make to show Scar just how unfair this was.

"I'll bite you," he warns gruffly.

But actually, he's very happy. He's pleased. His feathers give him away, puffing up a little to show off, wings unfolding slightly more, happily presenting themselves to his mate. He nuzzles against Scar's collarbone, a small, deliriously giddy giggle traitorously escaping his lips.

“That’d only be fair, really,” Scar continues to tease, making a little biting sound by clacking his teeth together, but he nuzzles back afterward, unable to help expressing his boundless adoration.

Grian lets out a string of completely incoherent, flustered noises. He keeps pressing himself close to Scar, hiding his flushed face. His wings bend forward and swoop, partially encapsuling them in a loose half-circle, feathers trusting and within reach. 

Scar chuckles, pleased with himself, and so, so grateful for the mood shift. It feels like he did something right, and the fact that it was just him speaking from his heart makes it so much better. “Hmmm, you won’t bite me if I call you precious, will you? Because you’re precious,” he purrs, keeping his face buried in Grian’s hair as a defense mechanism.

Grian's grip on Scar tightens in protest. He squirms a little and makes a growly noise, although he's not very good at making it sound threatening. Certainly not now, with how flustered he is. "I will." 

Instead of biting, it's one of his wings that swoops closer, lightly smacking Scar's shoulder. An action that'd be unthinkable under normal circumstances. And yet Grian isn't even thinking about it now—his instincts aren't even thinking about it—he just does it, playfully grumpy.

Scar makes a surprised gawking noise, completely caught off guard because frankly he forgot Grian could retaliate using his wings at all. He sputters a bit, shocked, before breaking into a fit of tiny giggles, something so incredibly familiar about the gesture, something he hasn’t had happen in ages.

The surprised noise delights Grian to no end. The giggles feel wonderful afterwards. But—

Scar says it: “… Precious.”

He says it and Grian is going to jump out of his skin from how his face burns. "Scar!" he chastises, then delves into some more incoherent noises as his wings lift and spread, filling up the space around them, trying to be a threat. They flap in indignation. "You're the worst," he accuses, but it's clear he doesn't mean it.

Scar peeks up from the safety of Grian’s hair, unable to help himself when he hears the wings expand, smiling up at the gorgeous display. Grian’s a fool if he thinks that’s intimidating to him. It arguably makes him even more precious. 

“Is that any way to speak to your lovely, doting boyfriend? I mean gosh, I even made breakfast!” He can’t help but keep pushing. It’s fun and fun is hard to come by in this world. (Although not so hard as long as Grian is here.)

The noises Grian makes shift into theatrically miserable. His wings droop a little, some fight draining out of them.

And then there's a pause. 

Scar's holding him, and Grian can hear the smile in his voice, and it is true he made breakfast, and actually, he's done so much for Grian. The little teasing notwithstanding. (And oh, the word boyfriend still sounds so wonderful on Scar's lips, even if it's used as a tease.) 

Eventually, Grian burrows into Scar’s shoulder, mumbling something, too quiet to catch when it's muffled into Scar's shirt.

“What’s that, darling?” Scar croons, lifting his head in preparation for being whacked again. Unfair, really, because all he’s doing is speaking freely.

Instead of delivering another whack, Grian pulls away when Scar lifts his head. Not fully, not properly. Just to look up. His face is flushed, eyes glowing dimly with unknown intensity. His eyes trail the curve of Scar's neck, wondering if maybe he should deliver on his threat and bite him. 

Scar is instantly so ridiculously enamored by Grian’s lovely reddened face, always pleased with how the colour trickles across his freckles and melds into the purples of his feathered ears. He watches, entranced in a daze, devoted to any fate Grian’d weave for him.

Grian opts for a different kind of retaliation—he lets go of Scar's back and instead shifts until he can reach and— His fingertips meet Scar's ear and brush over it. 

Scar squeaks at the touch, fighting his urge to duck away, because he’s happy to allow this form of retaliation. “Hey— you—“ 

But Grian speaks first—despite his bashful fluster, he takes a breath and repeats the unheard sentence: "You're wonderful." 

Scar instantly goes silent, lips perking up into a goofy smile. “… You’re sweet,” he finishes instead of whatever he was originally going to say, darting his head to one side to uselessly hide his blush. He knows his ears are giving him away anyway. 

Grian traces the ears again, featherlight touch, and he hums musingly. They flick underneath his fingertips, skin warm. A grin spreads on Grian’s face, completely endeared to the sight, feeling enamoured and triumphant. "You're blushing," he notes—a ridiculous thing to say when his own face is still flushed, too. 

“Noooo…!” Scar protests, snickering. “I’m a very serious man! Never done such a thing.” But he’s giggling to himself as Grian further torments his ears, letting them twitch either which way happily.

Grian's grin doesn't disappear; it's only his flush that slightly fades, as he's settling into this. Into laughter and touching Scar, into something easy and soul-warming, a balm to all the wounds and aches. "And your ears are twitchy," he continues his observations, just to prod, just to hear Scar try to defend himself some more.

“They’re ticklish!” Scar whimpers, making literally no effort to move away. “And sensitive, I’ll have you know.” 

(He knows Grian knows.)

(He knows Grian is a little shit and loves it.)

Grian just giggles, giddy and free. His hands don't move away. "I know." (He knows Scar knows he knows.)

“Peskyyyyy—“ Scar whines, finally ducking away and cackling into Grian’s shoulder. “I am sooo nice to you and this is how you repay me!” It’s clear from his voice that he adores this attention, however, his complaints all for show.

Grian laughs, not minding that label one bit. He lets go of Scar's ears and wraps his arms around him. The compass is left in Grian's lap; he can still feel its weight, the sense of it a comfort, but most of him is focused solely on Scar right now. He wants to hold him and tug him closer. 

"You know what you've gotten into." Fond amusement laces Grian’s voice as he nuzzles against Scar's hair. A purr-like coo makes it way out of him, an odd sound that's all too content. "You wanna be my boyfriend? You get peskiness. That's the deal." He puts nothing else on the table, nothing to entice Scar into wanting to stay his boyfriend.

He knows Scar will take the bait anyway.

Scar grins, flicking his ears a few more times to adjust, then moves both of his own arms to wrap around Grian’s waist. “Ahh, well…” He clicks his tongue a few times, like he’s considering it. “Yeah, I can deal with that.” And he tries to copy the sound, as he often does, and while he nails the purr, the coo comes out silly and broken.

Grian chuckles, low and soft and warm. It does feel a bit precarious, but he tucks that away. "Okay. If you're sure." He dips his own head, melting into their hug, bringing his wings in around them, feathers softly and carefully slotting against Scar's back. "...This okay?" Grian asks quietly, almost nervous.

It’s more than okay, if anything it should be Scar asking that. He swallows a tad nervously, adoring the feeling of feathers tickling against some of his bare skin. They’re soft and they feel so lovely— the significance of the gesture is not lost on Scar at all.

“Mhm, yes, very okay.” He gives Grian a gentle squeeze through the embrace. “I like this.” A happy little hum. “I like you.”

Scar likes this. Scar likes this.

Grian's head turns into staticky mush for a moment, his bird instincts immensely pleased. He perks up, in a way that Scar is bound to feel, and his wings press a bit more tightly against Scar. 

It's weird. It's— There's that part of him that wants to be loud with warnings. That wants to overload him with all the sensations firing away from his feathers. All the pressure, the brush against something solid; he can feel each of Scar's breaths like this. And yet. And yet there's a wholly different part of him that's winning, shutting it out. Pushing it away. (He needs to.) (He has to.) (He can't ruin this again.) 

A sliver of anxiety slips through, but it only results in his wings tugging at Scar, demanding closeness.

And yet it's so fragile. Grian doesn't know if his brain won't short circuit the moment Scar moves too sharply or unexpectedly. But he doesn't know how to tell him, especially since that warning thought is so slippery right now—he's content and happy and warm. Pleased. Sickly in love.

He coos, the softest little sound. And then: "I like you too." He nuzzles against Scar, kisses the side of his head. "Love you." It's a very deliberate wording, and he thought he'd struggle, but it comes past his lips easily, a silky truth wrapping around them like his feathers.

Scar melts into his new feathery cocoon and briefly wonders if this is similar to what Grian feels like when he carries him— light, warm, secure. He keeps himself so still, trying to respect the fragility of this situation, careful not to tip the scales again, but—

His ears flick up rapidly, twitching as he confirms what he just heard, processes it, slowly and stupefied. “Hah— you—“ He tries so hard not to tremble, to squeeze, to do something rash and excitable like he so, so wants to. “You do??” he says stupidly, lifting his head to reveal his bright, practically twinkling eyes. “Like, really?” 

He can hear his tail whip onto the floor like it’s legitimately wagging, and he’s tempted to groan, but he doesn’t care. He’s absolutely beaming.

Nervousness settles like fire in Grian's stomach as Scar stutters and asks for confirmation—even though he can tell he's beaming, he's so overjoyed, and yet. Now that he has the full intensity of Scar's attention, it feels harder to repeat. A soft thumping noise lets him know Scar's tail is doing things, and oh that's adorable, and Grian tries really hard to soak in the fact that he is the one who made Scar this happy. 

It didn't even take that much. Just a little bit of vulnerable honesty.

An incredulous, nervousness-laced chuckle falls out of him. "'Course I do." He says as if it was obvious. As if it was the most sure thing in the whole wide world. 

But he thinks maybe that's not good enough. And he— Gosh. This is hard. 

He moves his hands to Scar's face, cupping it, even as his wings stay slumped across Scar's back. He wants to look into his eyes and make sure Scar understands.

His fingers brush Scar's cheeks, and Grian's breath stutters for a second. Grasping, he tries to regain control. His stomach flutters. He knows there's no smidge of rejection on the other end of this, and yet it feels so scary to say with no hint of doubt, putting it all out there. Baring his heart.

Still, he does it. Anything for him.

"Scar. I love you insanely much."

And oh, Scar can’t escape when heat spreads across his face, not with Grian holding him steady. But Grian’s eyes are so big and wide, so genuine, and Scar finds he doesn’t want to escape at all. Grian can see him flush. Grian can see how his ears flutter as if he was the one with earwings. Grian can witness how he wags his spectral tail and lets out a joyous purr as he presses his forehead close to his, breathing in shakily as he threatens to cry from happiness. 

It's mesmerising to see Scar’s reaction—all the subtle ways Scar's expression shifts, softens, brightens. The way his face flushes and his ears flick, the eagerness with which he leans forwards.

Grian loves him. Hopelessly, utterly, irredeemably loves him.

His stomach still flutters as he thinks that if hearing this makes Scar so happy, maybe he ought to tell him more often. Maybe he should slot this little phrase into his daily dictionary. Make sure it gets said.

“I thought— you, you said something last night and I wasn’t sure if I heard you right, but I hoped I had, because it made me so unbelievably happy and—“ Scar stops, blinking a few times as he mentally resets, almost laughing out loud as he registers just how far ahead of himself he’s gotten. “Wait, oh my gosh, I love you, too. I— I love you so much, Grian.” 

Grian’s thoughts jump to blankness as he hears the confession. He has just enough time to process and reset before Scar is saying it again and— For a hot second, Grian doesn't know how to exist. His breath catches in his throat and he holds it in as the fluttering in his stomach gets worse in all the right ways. 

Scar's giggling, nuzzling at his cheek, and it finally pushes a breath out of Grian, lined with a delirious, giddy laugh. It sounds wondrous and bright, if a little unsteady. (He wonders if this'll make him cry again, in a completely different way.) 

He wraps his arms back around Scar's shoulders and squeezes at him, needing that extra hold, just to seal this moment. To entrap them in it. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, ready to burst, as he lets the words bounce around in his head. 

And then he tips the giggles into a chuckle, sliding from delirium to something more controlled, loving but playful, just a touch amused and a whole lot fond: "My doting boyfriend loves me." And he giggles again, stupidly and freely and oh-so-very brightly. 

“I do!!” Scar cheers, thrilled and unabashed. Grian’s laughter fills Scar with absolute joy and he feels his fingers twitch and twinkle as a fresh surge of ecstatic magic thrums through his veins. He giggles just as brightly and happily, and he catches the puff of blue that escapes him just as sheer excess— there’s simply too much giddiness for him to contain. “And you love me,” he sing-songs, meaning it as a goofy tease, but it comes out all too eager and genuine. He can’t help it. That fact is absolutely incredible to him, even if it’s something he ought to have known— he did know, but to have it said out loud? To admit it freely and without fear?

It only further cements his decision, eyes flicking down to where the compass lies in Grian’s lap.

A home. Safety. Something real. Something worth holding onto.

Love.

Love.

Grian's tone shifts at Scar’s half-tease as he replies: "I do." Although some of the laughter still rings in his voice, this is different. This is more tender than anything else. A cottony reassurance, undeniably genuine.

Scar resists the full-body shudder his excitable magic shoots through him, but it still results in a buzzing thrill dancing across his skin, undoubtedly felt by them both. 

A staticky warmth runs across Grian's skin, a confusing and electrifying sensation that, once it reaches his wings, makes his feathers puff up in thrill. It's a strange but not unwelcome feeling, and Grian's pretty certain it comes from Scar's magic. He purringly coos against it, appreciative and happy with it.

“Now I’m absolutely feeding you,” Scar says, pressing each word against Grian’s skin in the form of a kiss, entirely over the top with each. “Man, not fair, I wish I could make dessert. A massage maybe? I could wash your hair again?” He grins wide against Grian’s lips after a particularly accented kiss. “I love you.”

Quietly, Grian laughs against the kisses. "I thought I was meant to be the dessert," he remarks, because he can't help the little tease to slip in. But Scar keeps distracting him with kisses, forcing another small giggle out of Grian as he confesses again. And, honestly, Grian doesn't want him to stop. Ever.

He pulls away just a little bit, just to be able to grin at Scar, eyes twinkling with far more warmth and joy than mischief. "So what you're saying is... You're going to spoil me?"

“I’m going to spoil you rotten,” Scar corrects with a cheeky smirk before reaching over to grab their very neglected food. He practically has to drape himself over Grian to do so, but it’s silly and he loves it because it’s more contact, more, more. Scar swears he’s on fire and he’s gladly basking in the flames.

"I should've done this a long time ago then. You mean I could've gotten spoiled this whole time?" Grian jokes lightly, even though he knows Scar always gave him so much in this world. Attentive, gentle, protective Scar.

A pit in Grian's stomach tells him how despairing it was without Scar, and how much he needs him in more ways than one. His expression shifts into something more quiet and somber as the memories threaten to crowd him.

He swallows thickly, pushing those thoughts out as he's being jostled by Scar. Instead, he anchors his attention on this: on Scar leaning over him, happy and content and in love with him, reaching for the food. He's so close and so warm and— And Grian cranes his neck and kisses Scar's ear. 

Words line on his tongue, more feelings than anything coherent, and he's probably about to say something sappy again, but his stomach saves him. (By growling loudly, demanding that food.) Grian sputters, hangs his head to hide it in Scar's shoulder. "You didn't hear that," he lets him know, feeling the burn of embarrassment slink over his skin again. 

Scar giggles as he pulls himself back to a proper sitting position, even if he’s just as hungry as Grian. “A lesser Scar may have brought attention to that, but I’m your doting boyfriend, so I heard nothing,” he says with a big goofy smile, offering a bite to Grian and resisting about half a dozen baby bird jokes.

Grian's eyes are wide as the food is presented to him and before he can catch himself, he chirps.

His face burns. Stupid avian instincts. He has a troubling thought that they might be a little bit more present now that they've established this whole boyfriend thing. (Scar's his mate. His flock. And in many ways, he already was before, but Grian feels it so much more acutely now—) 

He clears his throat, squints at Scar almost as if he was chastising him from luring that sound out of him—and yet he can feel the twitch of his lips as they want to grin, happy fuzzy feelings gathering behind his ribcage. 

He thinks he could indulge Scar. Solely because of the way Scar's beaming at him. (Who could resist?) He tells himself this is playful. Scar's being so endearing and excited to play his newly confirmed role of a doting boyfriend, and who is Grian to deny him this joy? 

So he takes a breath and discards his pride. It's surprisingly easy, even if it leaves a nervous tingling in its wake, making him feel oddly vulnerable as he leans in and opens his mouth to eat the offered food.

(It isn't the first time Scar's fed him; he did it when Grian was too sick, feverish enough not to really remember it, but he knows it happened.) (This is different.) (This is so very different.)

Scar has to press his lips together so, so tightly in order to stop himself from laughing. That sound was positively adorable and Scar would smack himself eternally if he were to scare future instances away by giggling. It's not even that it's funny, it's just the obvious unintentional nature of the chirp and the way Grian's face flushes red stirs something warm in Scar that just can't help bubble to the surface in the form of unbridled laughter. 

But he will resist.

Instead he grins wide in response to Grian's muted smile, delighted and amused, and pops the food into Grian's mouth with only the tiniest chuckle. 

So many things he has to resist right now. Giggling. Ridiculous nicknames. Kissing Grian. Buzzing his lips together to imitate an airplane. Kissing Grian.

He deserves an award for his restraint, truly.

As soon as the food is in his mouth, Grian pulls away slightly and finally allows his earwings to slink partially in front of his face, to cover up the fluster that's so clearly reflected across his skin. 

It's so magnificently telling, that this meal was made using their best ingredients. Maybe it wouldn't pass on hermitcraft, but here? After months of surviving off scraps? This is actually a treat. 

Grian's eyes twinkle over the fireglow-warmed violet of his earwings as they roam across Scar's face, finding anchor in the green of his irises. He wants another bite. He's not asking for it. No way.

"You—" He starts, and finds his voice hoarse. (A bird noise wants to fall out of his throat instead, and he has to fight it back.) His eyes flit away for a second, a fragment of a moment to regather himself, before they're inevitably drawn back to Scar. "You should eat, too," he murmurs quietly.

"Oh, of course, right," Scar says, grabbing a piece for himself. "I probably should have taste tested this first! But I got a little...carried away." He grins and tilts his head in a sort of apology before trying his concoction himself. 

It's not bad. He's certainly made much better breakfasts in his lifetime, but it might be up there with his best meals on this particular server. And, well, if they're going to settle down somewhere eventually (hopefully), then he's going to have to get a lot better at scavenging for good ingredients. 

"What do you think?" Scar asks, already picking up another bite and tapping it to Grian's lips like a menace.

Grian huffs, making sure to look troubled, even as he doesn't really mean it. In fact, he very happily obliges the tapping, biting down on the provided food.

"—think it's amazing," he replies with his mouth still full, contently chewing. He waits until he swallows to regard Scar, his whole expression softening. "Good job." And then he leans in and oh so very softly kisses scar's cheek. "Thank you." 

Scar's face brightens up again, pleased and lovestruck even from the tiniest affection. "Anything for you," he croons, then takes another bite so he can distract himself from how entirely genuine that sentiment is. 

Grian’s mind catches on the words. Lets them echo through him, nestle and root deep behind his ribs, gently seeping into his bloodstream:

Anything for you.

A part of him wants to do something silly—demand him to show it, by some absolutely ridiculous means. It wants to twist it into joke, into a playful amusement, into theatrics. A different part of him wants to just sink in, as if the words were cotton; he craves to willingly drown in them.

A wholly another part wants to protest and beg him to take it back.

"Anything?" Grian asks, his voice suddenly fragile, so very small. 

He barely has the time to let that word out before Scar's touching him, fingers tracing a tender, aching spot on Grian's neck. There's nothing that could stop him from shuddering at that touch; nothing that could stop him from closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly—baring his abused neck to Scar's roaming fingertips. 

"Mhm." The sentiment weighs a little too heavy for Scar’s liking, even if it's true, so he adds, even with his mouth full: "I think we deserved a treat. Rough night for some reason." He brushes his fingers over the bruising bite on Grian's neck before offering him another chunk of food. "...Crazy."

A timid coo escapes Grian’s lips before it merges into a laugh. "Crazy," he echoes. Maybe it's strange that this interaction grounds him, but he feels more sure afterwards, brightness returning to his expression until it morphs into something positively cheeky, promising trouble. "Maybe I like it rough."

A choked, aborted laugh escapes Scar's throat. He did not expect those words from Grian, so openly suggestive with that pesky smile on his face. "No kidding," he manages to say, grinning back with all of his pointed teeth as he chuckles at their absurdity. But he still offers another spot of food to Grian, because as rough as they both seem to like things, gentleness and care feel equally as important right now.

Grian laughs, openly and wildly. It's such a delightful sound, filled to the brim with life and amusement. Briefly, he ignores the offered food in favour of pushing it gently aside so that he could kiss Scar's lips—a chaste little thing, laced with pure endearment and none of the roughness he just spoke of. "I love you." The words are pressed against Scar's lips for him to breathe them in, before Grian pulls away and with a satisfied smile tips to collect his food.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna get over that fact," Scar says, ducking his head down in soft embarrassment, cheeks almost hurting from smiling. "I love you, too," he murmurs, suddenly a little timid.

Grian's smile widens even as he chews food, giddiness ceaselessly strumming at his heartstrings. He chuckles quietly, mouth closed, tipping his head slightly to catch Scar's gaze. "You know—" he pauses, just enough to swallow, allowing his smile to grow. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that." And then, after a beat, smile morphing into a grin once again: "My doting boyfriend." He giggles, his tease filled with fondness. And he doesn't stop himself this time either—he leans in and kisses Scar's nose. Just because he can.

Scar has to power through the intense endearment he's feeling just to get words out at all, but he pulls away dramatically, tutting at Grian. "Hey now, dessert is for later." But he steals a kiss on Grian's nose as well, because it's only fair.

The affection feels wonderful, so good it lets Grian forget where they are in its entirely. He hums, playfully pensive, and his hands abandon their position on Scar's shoulders. They drape more over him, reaching back, one hand tracing a path up the back of Scar's neck, fingertips gently raking the skin and delving into hair. "Yeah?" He teases, pesky, just because he is insanely curious for Scar's reaction.

Scar keeps his composure for the most part, but that spur of energy that shoots through him from his magic makes him shudder regardless. “Mhmm…” he says slowly, restrained. He presses another bite of food to Grian’s mouth in an attempt to save himself. “L–later.”

A small laugh slips past Grian's throat. He pulls slightly away, but his hands remain; the touch softens, turning to soft caress through Scar’s loose stands. "Promise?" he asks, just as cheeky and bright as before, and seamlessly shifts his attention to eat the offered food. (It tastes so good on his tongue, prepared with careful, thoughtful love)

Scar can’t help it. With that adoring touch threading through his hair, tempting him to slip into those deep purrs he only lets out on rare occasion (more often lately), he breathes out slow and heavy, drawn forward just a tad. His eyes are focused on Grian’s lips, shamelessly, and he leans in further before he speaks. 

“Anything for you,” he repeats, letting that purr slip through as he draws out his words. And then promptly takes a bite of food instead of acting on his growing urges.

Grian basks in the attention, and every subtle way in which Scar moves or breathes. It's wonderful to see, eyes roaming across Scar's features unabashedly, freely, taking it all in.

"Anything," Grian repeats again, still musingly, but this time it isn't a question.

He swallows the food and a wholly mischievous grin spreads across his lips, toothy and threatening, as he plays with the idea of saying something dirty to make Scar absolutely flustered. (The thrilling curiosity tingles down his spine. His feathers shudder, brushing against Scar's back.) 

His eyes shift towards the food instead, and he tips his head, obediently awaiting delivery.

That smile spells trouble and Scar knows it, tickled by the feeling of feathers at his back. Oh, he is far too weak for anything Grian could pull, so he’s thankful when Grian leans in for more food and happily obliges.

“You heard me,” Scar still says, because he’s also made of trouble and loves to tempt fate.

As he's chewing the food, Grian chuckles quietly, nothing but a huff of air through his nose, but so very clearly amused. He didn't think it was possible to smile this much while eating, and yet here he is.

His wings move again, brushing, tightening their little space and making it smaller. As he swallows, he leans in, face lightly nuzzling over Scar's cheek and temple before his lips end up hovering over his ear. "Mkay," he purrs, a sound verging on a coo. It still has those mulling tones, but it also spells a plan made entirely of mischief and daring. 

He doesn't actually voice it; Scar didn't ask. He presses a small kiss to the edge of Scar's jaw as he pulls back away, wings shifting and loosening too (although still staying put on Scar's back, oddly and unexpectedly relishing that sensation), without giving anything away. His eyes twinkle, and he's still smiling like he's made of trouble, just waiting for Scar to crack. (He knows Scar's curious.) (He's tempting him as much as they're both also playing with fate in this very moment.) 

"I heard ya," Grian reassures, faux-nonchalantly, and tilts himself for more food.

Scar splits the rest of the food evenly between them, although the task is difficult when Grian is so clearly hinting at something and Scar is far too curious for his own good. It's going to doom him entirely. 

(And so will the feeling of Grian's breath on his ear)

He offers another bit of food, but his eyes are narrowed, suspicious of that falsely innocent tone. He knows better than anyone that innocence and Grian do not belong together. "Do I dare ask what I may have just agreed to?" he questions, too dazed by the miniscule affections and how much of an effect they have on him to reconsider asking.

Grian bites off the offered food and then he abruptly pulls back—only with his upper half—dragging his wings up along Scar's back until they ruffle his hair as Grian laughs around his food. The wings come away, only briefly, flapping at the air before they settle around Scar's shoulder like a feathery cloak, giving Grian a moment to chew and swallow the food.

He looks at Scar and it's so clear the innocence has nothing to do on his face, and yet it's so stubbornly woven into his expression. Brightness wars with mischief in his grin. "Oh, Scar." That's all he says, and it verges on playfully pitying, but mostly cheerful. 

He's laughing around his words, only for his hands to pull back and cup Scar's face, thumbs fondly brushing across Scar's cheek as Grian's gaze softens. (Damn. He wants to tell him again.) (He's drunk on the fondness that swells in his chest.)

Scar was going to eat the last bite of food, but the feathery cloak offered to him completely short-circuits his brain and he drops it right back into the bowl. He can't even process the teasingly condescending tone Grian speaks to him with (which he'd normally dramatically pout about), because there are beautiful wings curled around him and suddenly his cheeks rival the red hues of the deeper violets in the end feathers draped over his shoulders.

His attention gets pulled back when Grian strokes his face and, gosh, he had to have been staring. He can't help it. He's in awe right now, like he's somewhere else entirely, somewhere where Grian willingly slots his wings around him, pulls him close like he's something so very dear to him. 

"You," Grian breathes out, his tone shifting entirely, into something mesmerised and bewildered and impossibly smitten.

"Wha... uhh," Scar sputters uselessly, dazed in the happiest way. "You... you have me." He blinks, somewhat confused in his haze of adoration. His words are spoken like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Because it is, really. The words slide out all too easily.

Grian giggles at Scar's dazed expression and words, but it also warms him immensely, in the softest, safest way. He almost slots his cheeky words away, because Scar fragments something in him, stuffs the edges with cotton, makes all of him softer and more harmless and—

All of a sudden, Grian doesn't know how to be.

He whines softly, a questioning little sound.

Scar says he has him. He? Has Scar? 

His hands still, thumbs pressing the lightest pressure against Scar's cheeks as he tips his head, confused. 

This shouldn't be confusing. But— 

Something about it keeps tugging at Grian and pulling him in.

He takes a ragged breath, and he remains a touch bewildered as he looks down. "You didn't finish the meal." And then, still looking down, he adds: "You can't have desert without finishing first." It's not cheeky. His tone has shifted entirely. It's laced with the tiniest bit of confusion as he wrangles with something unspoken.

Scar closes his eyes for a moment, really taking in the feeling of Grian’s hands on his face and feathers on his skin and relishing in it. He can hear that shift in tone, how softness nestles in between Grian’s words as he speaks, matching the gentle affections. Scar feels light, each point of contact a tiny spark. 

“Right,” Scar says, but he sounds so distant, almost delirious. He smiles as he opens his eyes, then shifts himself so he can press a kiss to one of Grian’s palms, because surely he’s still allowed a taste of his treat.

The kiss against Grian’s palm tingles, something wonderful and stitched with promises. Warmth spreads from that point of contact through Grian, and he shudders lightly; Scar can surely tell, because it reaches all the way to his wings.

Scar quickly pops the last piece of food into his mouth and sets the bowl aside so he can reach out to take hold of Grian’s chin, tilting his head back up so he can view his partner’s face. “Better?” he asks, still smiling, eyes still glossed over with boundless adoration.

Grian traces the path of the bowl as it is set aside, and it sparks something uncertain but pleasant in his guts. His eyes find Scar's, needing grounding; then Scar's hands are on his chin, and he's as captivated as he's captured, gently, tenderly, lovingly. 

"Mm." Grian takes in Scar's question, and only then it slots in that, yeah, actually, eating did make him feel better. But he also feels oddly off balance now. And he isn't sure how to express it.

He was going to tease Scar, once he finished eating. He was going to be pesky and curious, and push. But now he's left staring into Scar's eyes, searching for something that even he can't name. His hands slide down to Scar's front, palms resting on his chest, feeling his breaths.

"Better," he echoes in reply, but it doesn't sound quite sure. It doesn't feel quite anchored.

Both of Scar’s hands make their way to Grian’s face as soon as he has the chance. His thumb brushes over Grian’s chin, gently caressing now that he’s looking Scar’s way. The other rests against his cheek, fingers flitting over his freckles and those tiny feathers leading toward his ear.

“So I’m pampering you, right?” Scar asks with a bright twinkle in his eye, easing into a fantasy where they have time for such frivolous things. Because, right now, maybe they do. Enclosed in their own little world, bellies and hearts full, they truly might. “Spoiling you rotten?”

The touch makes Grian positively melt against it, leaning in without any defenses. Especially when Scar's fingertips reach the tiny feathers that lead to Grian's earwings, he's doomed. He closes his eyes, tips his head into the touch, and coos. (It feels so good. So right.) 

Scar asks some questions, and it takes a moment for Grian to catch up. When he does, he hums an affirmative, still leaning blindly into the touch.

Scar watches with deep endearment as Grian leans into the touch, mouthing a silent ”precious” in response when Grian coos so sweetly. He very carefully navigates around the scar across Grian’s face, tracing over the skin softly before placing a kiss there as well. 

Then he perks up, humming happily as he lightly rocks their bodies to either side to suggest they move. “C’mon then, I have some ideas.” And he tilts his head toward the water again.

Scar coaxes Grian towards the hotspring pond, offering not only a bath, but also a massage—a boundless sense of care as he works through Grian’s aching muscles, avoiding all the bruises and injured spots with deft fingers, showing his boyfriend what his hands are actually good for (Scar’s words, not mine). Making Grian melt into a groaning puddle, spoiled with the little they have, allowed to rest and recover and, for once, not be afraid.

For once hopeful. 

Indulgently, they decide to stay one more night, before inevitability forces them to move on: they need to scavenge and hunt for more food and resources. But decisively, they know a direction to go in:

North.

Towards their future.

[r0wdy-rat]

Face Down 

pt i, pt ii, pt iii, pt iv, pt v

Masterlist

Summary: You and Levi come to an agreement. You meet Isabel. You're so blindingly happy. That makes what happens next so much worse.

In hindsight, you had pushed him too far. An emotional Levi was an overwhelmed one, a cornered one, and you knew that, but...

You were so hurt.

He had never hurt you like this before. You didn't know what to do. You felt like you'd missed your shot with your 3DMG's anchor and were in free fall. You felt out of control. Miss Kuchel would be ashamed of your lack of poise. Only the Walls knew what Kenny would've said, seeing his charges wrestle like this on a rooftop.

Probably something indecent.

As it was, Levi abruptly flipped the two of you again, and you got the distinct feeling that he had been tolerating you earlier, instead of being genuinely startled. You growled in frustration, fingers tightening in his hair until he retaliated, tangling his own hands in your locks and yanking savagely. You yelped as your head was wrenched back, squirming under him as you tried to mitigate the strain on your scalp.

"Motherfucker," you grit out through clenched teeth as you wrenched your own grip in his hair. You felt something give under your wrath, and you shoved at him with your free hand as you bucked and struggled. Despite this, he still pinned you easily, only infuriating you more. He huffed, emitting a sound that could have been a laugh but was too throaty. His breath puffed across the underside of your chin, your exposed throat, and you wriggled all the harder for it.

Fucker, you missed when he was smaller and weaker than you sometimes.

You hissed in frustration, air leaving your clenched teeth in a whine. You wriggled even harder now, until he abruptly gave you a rough shake with the hand in your hair. "Fucking quit it, you goddamn brat," he snarled, furious and close to your ear. It was such a foreign tone you startled and went boneless beneath him, enough for him to pin your other arm beneath his knee. You felt ready to catch fire, restrained like this. Levi, likewise, was getting tired of your struggling.

"Are you fucking done now?" he asked, annoyed, and then tightened his grip before you could start up again. You whined at the burn, a gasping, foreign sound, and Levi went still above you, finally taking stock of what he was doing.

He was above you, weighing you down with his larger mass, pinning your hips with his. One of his legs had tangled around your own, preventing you from getting leverage to buck him off. The other knee was bent to pin the hand that had been ripping his hair out. Your lower halves were flush together. His breath wheezed out of him at the realization. He was so close his shirt brushed against you with every inhale, and every exhale stirred the baby hairs framing your face that weren't slicked down with sweat. One of his hands was wrapped around your wrist, long fingers holding you hostage and pressing you into the rooftop. The other was tangled tightly in your hair. At the realization of how rough his hold was, his fingers loosened somewhat from their death grip, now cradling the back of your head instead. Your chest was heaving, your lips parted, and your face flushed. And your eyes...

He hadn't actually looked at you in a while. He could admit that. Something about the sight unsettled him now, took him back to that moment when he realized that the woman on the other end of his knife was you, the woman who had stared down the barrel of a gun was you. Beautiful, steadfast, irreplaceable you. His couldn't look into your eyes without seeing that scar that bisected your brow, coming so close to blinding you, without thinking of how you could have ended up like Jakobs, slumped into a wall with your insides spilling out. Now, looking at you felt like all the terror he should have felt in those moments, but didn't because he didn't realize what he was in danger of losing.

And now, looking into your wide eyes, staring up at him in frustration, he realized he had done something inexplicably cruel to you these past few days.

Livewire, Kenny had called you, wildcat. But here Levi was, trying to pin you down, trying to make you, someone who had always freely followed him, submit to his will by shaking you around. Walls...

You looked fucking furious.

More than that, you looked fragile like he hadn't seen since your mom died, when you were being shaken around by a pimp. Even when his mom had passed, you had remained carefully in control of all your emotions after you got back with the medicine. You looked like you may fall apart if he did the wrong thing. He was frozen with the knowledge, for once unsure of what path to take. His hold on you slackened further... just enough.

You grit your teeth and crashed your forehead into his chin.

In the aftermath of your sudden attack, you wriggled free from him, standing on your own two feet. That, you knew, had surprised him. Your legs were shaky, aching from the exertion with the 3DMG already. Yet still, you were determined to win whatever pissing contest was happening on this roof. He may be stronger than you now, but there was a time you had to save him from the assholes down here, and he was a fool to have forgotten that. The first time he had looked at you since that meeting and it was like he had never even seen you before. Like he was staring at a wild animal, a stranger. Not his best friend, not the girl who had bartered stolen medicine for a house instead of the life she had intended it for, not the woman who had stayed by his side for years. And yeah, you got it, you'd known him long enough to understand how his mind worked. Nearly stabbing you had freaked him out a little, but for fucks sake, you'd been cut by him, not fucking killed. Kenny had done worse to you in training when you were a child.

"Whatever overprotective, controlling, bullshit is going on with you," you finally murmured, voice low and burning, dark eyes pinning him to the rooftop as you glowered down at him, "it stops right now."

He glanced up at you from where he was kneeling, mouth twisted in aggravation from your cheap shot, and went still. You were shaking with rage, standing there and staring him down like you didn't know him. You felt all of 9 and begging him to look at Miss when she was sick, all of 13 with your hands covered in another boys blood and Vic's entrails cooling in the dirt behind you, all of 19 and in another fight he started with some pervert leering after you. Where was the damn henning then?

"I don't know when you decided you could make decisions for me, but you're dead wrong Levi.” You continued, running a shaking hand through your hair in frustration, “You don't get to decide if I go on raids, or if I’m allowed to use the gear that I stole. The fact you've even been trying to is... it's insulting. I don't want to be bottle fed bits of information you think I need to know, like Furlan’s content with. I need the full fucking story from here on out. I need us to be a team again. No more secrets, or I swear I'll..." you trailed off, suddenly losing steam. Or you'll what? You didn't know. You didn't think you could ever leave him, realistically. Even what you had now, this hollow shell of what you used to be, was better than the thought of walking away from him for good.

He looked at you from where he knelt on the rooftop, eyes wider than you'd ever seen them as he took you in. You were practically glowing with anger, shoulders right and chest heaving. You were plotting on continuing your tirade until you saw the fight go out of him with his next breath, like a puppet with its strings snipped. His hand came up to curl around the back of your knee, his other grasping your fingers as he gazed up at you.

"Okay." he finally said, a small smile on his pretty mouth, "Okay, you win, crybaby."

That damn nickname. You huffed, rigid form loosening as you stamped your foot, "I'm not a crybaby Levi! I haven't cried in years," you whined, even as you used your interlocked hands to tug him to his feet. He grinned, slinging an arm over your shoulders to tug you in and ruffle your hair.

"Yeah, yeah, all you do is cry, brat. It's every damn day with you."

Still, he sounded so fond as he said it, and you finally felt that chasm that was hollowing out your chest begin to close. Levi, you thought, as you tucked your face into his shoulder to bite him, I missed this.

Isabel Magnolia crashed into your life like a boulder, and you wondered if this is how Kenny felt trying to keep up with you and Levi when he first found you. She left you feeling winded.

Probably not, you conceded, you and Isabel hadn't tried to stab each other yet, after all. Then again, you'd like to think you'd never done anything deserving of being stabbed in your life, unlike Kenny, the rat bastard.

The girl was cheerful and determined, and her energy levels were through the fucking roof. You could barely keep up with her most days, tiring out early more often than not. Levi and Furlan adored her, almost as much as you did. Your little trio easily became a quartet, and you let her use your gear to learn how to fly, coaching her from below as she tested out her new wings.

She was quick to smile, quick to laugh. She called Levi bro, called you sis. Your heart felt full to bursting in a way that it hadn't since Kur and Ponye left to expand your little crime syndicate on the other end of the underground. Leave it to Isabels raucous personality to fill the hole left by two people.

"We're like a family," she said one evening, "Especially with how you and Levi bicker like you're married."

You had choked on a laugh, coughing harshly into your hand. "Walls, Iz," you chastised, coughing harder now, "warn a girl before you say something crazy like that."

Levi, from where he was sharpening your blade in the corner, watched you with dark eyes as you got your fit under control.

"What would that make Furlan then?" you mused, voice rougher now, and Isabel laughed, delighted.

"Well, he's probably the family pet!"

Never needing an excuse for a brawl, Furlan hollered in outrage from where he was counting money on the table. He threw himself at Isabel and jabbed her sides with agile fingers until she was crying from laughter. You smiled fondly at the familiar sight; your little house far fuller than it had ever felt. Levi nudged your shoulder, steaming cup in hand. "Here," he offered, "for your throat."

You smiled up at him, something warm and soft curling in your chest as you took the tea from him. Must've already had the kettle going. "Glad I robbed that fancy vendor for us now, aren'tcha?" you teased softly, and he huffed, ruffling your hair as he sat next to you on the sofa, knees spreading until your thighs were flush. His arm dropped around your neck once he was done messing up your hair, and he looked at you warmly.

"You make it easy to justify keeping you around, I'll give you that."

You laughed, sipping your tea and leaning into his chest as you watched Isabel and Furlan roll around on the rug like animals, swinging playful punches at each other. This is perfect, you thought, smiling at your friends while curled into Levi's body, his heat warming you through, "I want us to always be like this," you murmured, a secret wish for only him to hear, "I want to be together, forever. It's so... warm."

Levi hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your ribs, and any tension left in you dissipated. You were so tired... this would be as good a time as any to rest, you decided. So, you finished your tea swiftly, setting your cup down before curling deeper into Levi and closing your eyes. As you drifted off, you felt his arm wrap tighter around you. Something warm pressed briefly to your forehead, and you felt incredibly, unfathomably safe.

But for all your happiness in that moment, you still lived in the underground. It was not a place for wishing. You never should have let yourself forget that.

[jadeoru]

hey…. you guys probably saw this coming… but unfortunately i return with bad news..

after about a month of trying to figure something out, ive decided to go on an indefinite hiatus.

stupid sappy yap ahead

unfortunately, i made this account at a point in my life where i was really struggling with my mental health. at the time, i was really hyperfixated on haikyuu, and i found that reading and writing silly little fanfiction provided me with so much comfort. tumblr brought back the spark i had lost so long ago. it really played such a huge part in the beginning of the improvement of my mental health. you helped me get out of a bad slump, and i will forever be grateful for it.

after a while, things got normal again; better. i started being a person again, and involving myself in so many different things. im currently in three fucking plays and a musical right now!!! im in a fucking band and we’ve been killing it!! if early jadeoru saw this she would literally die!!! anyways, the point is im happy. im really fucking happy with the way my life is going. i have gotten so many incredible opportunities that i never thought id get. its been amazing!!! but unfortunately, during all of this, my love for everything that started this account slowly started to sizzle away. i no longer have a huge obsession with the things and characters i wrote for, and writing started to feel like a chore. it saddens me, but ive really just moved on. 2025 is going to be such an insanely busy year, i know i wont have as much time to write as i used to. so im making the responsible decision to put jadeoru on hold. trust me, i really miss the good old days ☹️ but i need to move on. i need to focus on my music and acting careers, which once sounded so out of reach - theyve finally actually begun. i want to make the most out of it, and just enjoy living!!!

IM NOT QUITTING!!!! AND I WILL DEFINITELY BE BACK - i just dont know when !

i love u all so so so much including my mooties MWAHHHH IM GONNA MISS U GUYS PLSSSS KEEP IN CONTACT WITH ME IF U DONT ALREADY SEND ME A DM AND ILL GIVE U MY DISCORD!!!!

jade out!

[winterchimez]

Insanity | Ji Changmin

SUMMARY: It has been several years since Gotham City mourned the passing of the previous Robin, Ji Changmin. However, as you continue with your career as Batgirl to protect the city while filling in for your mentor, Batman, you eventually discover that Changmin was alive all these years after all but has now turned into the city’s most wanted criminal. It is your job to eliminate him for good, but you just can’t bring yourself to do so. How could you? Especially when you still have feelings for him even after all these years. 

PAIRING: robin/joker Changmin x batgirl f!reader (feat. nightwing Sangyeon)

GENRE: batman au, angst, crime, thriller, some fluff, slight suggestive

WARNINGS: nc-17, slow-burn, violence, manipulation, mentions of drug trafficking, torture, traumatic(-ish) childhood, time skip, characters' death, kissing, mentions of weapons (guns, snipers, blades, etc.), blood, both Changmin & Sangyeon are just SO flirty here

WORD COUNT: 14,136 (wowza)

A/N: happiest birthday to my pookie, my beloved lil 妹妹 whom i love so so freaking much and would protect with the rest of my life, @sungbeam 🥳 you've been there since day 1 of my writing journey, and no words could ever describe how much you mean to me 🥹 i hope this fic would somehow be a worthy gift to you miss beam 😮‍💨

also this is my first time writing a superhero au, so pls bear with me it might not be the best i apologise 😭 (this is by far the longest oneshot ive ever written oops—)

Year 2X42

“There have been reports of cases of drug trafficking on the outskirts of Gotham City, and the league have decided to deploy you and your team for the job since it is your area of residence, after all.” 

Turning around from his chair, the male looks up at his huge monitor, seemingly replying to the person on screen as half-heartedly as possible. “Sure, Clark. Leave it up to me to deal with the dirty business of the city.” 

Clark—better known as Clark Kent or Superman, then quickly shifted his facial expression towards his good old friend, indicating that the situation was far more gruesome and serious than it used to be. 

“Bruce... just a fair warning. You do know who the mastermind of this particular crime spree is, especially when you have dealt with him for decades. You certainly don’t plan to bring your two kids with you, right?” 

That was when he immediately brought up his fingers to massage his temples. Bruce knew he would eventually bring them up on this particular topic. Why wouldn’t he? Especially when his two kids, whom he is especially proud of—you and Changmin, have assisted him in many of his work. 

You both have been registered in the league’s system for quite a few years now, Changmin starting a little ahead of you since he was a few years older than you were. Both you and Changmin have lived in poverty in the dark slumps of the outskirts of Gotham for many years, having been abandoned by your parents from a young age. It was tough to live in Gotham City, especially when the city was often tied with crime and corruption. If only you were born into the upper class, then you would’ve had a better chance of survival. 

Unfortunately, you and Changmin just had to end up in the city's lower class. All Changmin knew about his parents was that his mother was a prostitute, and he ended up becoming an aftermath of a one-night stand. Hence, he was immediately dumped on the streets right after birth. Some kind-hearted families took him in for a while, but eventually, he needed to venture out on his own to ease the family's expenses. 

On the other hand, you had a relatively good upbringing until your parent’s murder when you were 9. Having no other place or family to turn to, you eventually find your way into the slumps. 

And that was when you met Changmin. 

By then, Changmin had already created a reputation for him. He somehow became the so-called “leader” among the troupe and led the kids around to make a decent living even during the worst situation possible. He treated you like a little sister, and you both became inseparable as time passed. You both would always stick together, even going up to the main city to look for food to provide for the others back at your so-called home. 

It wasn’t until several years later, both of you aged 16 and 14 respectively, that you came across the infamous Bruce Wayne himself. He was out on a business around the slumps—seemingly tracking down one of the most wanted criminals then, which was also when he found you two and the rest of the kids. 

Thanks to Mr Wayne’s contribution, he placed all of the kids into a care facility sponsored by the Wayne Enterprises, where they would finally have a rooftop over their heads and a better future ahead of them. On the other hand, you and Changmin have seemingly intrigued the man himself, and he decided to take you in and raise you two as if you were his children. 

It turns out that his intuition about you both wasn’t wrong after all. Both of you possessed a higher intelligence level than usual and could pick up combat skills almost immediately. The first time he brought you both down to his training station to have a go, you adjusted quickly to all the provided gadgets. With the help of his trusted butler Alfred, both of them made sure that the two of you were trained to be skilled fighters and have a loving family of the four of you. 

It was obvious among the two of you that Changmin stood out a bit more and earned the title Robin at 18. All you knew was that Mr Wayne had raised an individual before you two and he was the original Robin, but certain things happened along the way and he hung his cape up, never to return. All you could assume was that he had enough of his life as the superhero himself and perhaps created a new alias to start anew. Discussing it was hard with Mr Wayne, so you’ve never pressed further. 

You were certainly a bit jealous at the beginning as Mr Wayne would only take Changmin with him out on missions, pressing that you needed more practice or it was too dangerous for a woman like you. But you proved him wrong and finally made a name for yourself about a year prior.

Batgirl. The first ever in the family. 

With that, Mr Wayne has trusted you enough to take you along on his missions and eventually assign minor ones for you both to deal with when Batman himself isn’t present to deal with them personally. 

You and Changmin made a great team, and it might even become the best combo Batman has ever seen. Even better than himself than the original Robin decades ago. 

So it all came down to making the decision. To take you both along with him during this special assigned mission from the league or not? It was a risk, especially when the mastermind behind this mission was someone who had been hunting Bruce Wayne himself for as long as he could remember. Dealing with him has always been a life-and-death situation. 

The Joker. 

But Mr Wayne trusted you both, and it was about time for him to prove to the league his proudest achievement just yet. 

“I’ve made my decision, Clark. And there will be no second thoughts about this.” He paused briefly before finally tilting his head up to the screen and looking at his friend seriously.

 “I’m taking both of them with me.”

“Come on, Y/N. You can do better than that.”

Changmin pinned you down to the ground and head-locked you, ensuring you had little to no escape from him. 

You both were sparring as usual in the training station in the Batcave, and it is always a competition between you two. Just as the male thought he had everything under control, you freed yourself from his grasp and turned him around. The next thing that happened was that you were hovering over him and pinning both of his arms above his head. 

“Says you, Robin. This is now my 35th win, and you owe me a bowl of Akamaru Ramen down the streets later tonight.” You smirked.

“Sheesh, Batgirl. Seems like you have improved from the last time we sparred.” He gives you a wink, and you roll your eyes up, trying your best to ignore his flirty remarks. 

It wasn’t long before the two of you broke off from your positions as the familiar grunt filled the entire training room. 

“You’ve gotten a new mission for us, Mr. Wayne?” Changmin asked enthusiastically, desperately wanting to be deployed almost immediately and showcase his newly perfected martial arts skills and new gadgets he had just gotten from Alfred a week ago. 

“Slow down, cowboy. I am going to need you two to listen to me very carefully. And I will not allow a single mistake to happen for this one.” 

With that, both of you followed your mentor right back into the control room where the batcomputers were stored. It was clear that Mr Wayne was here minutes ago and had just recently hung up a call from someone from the league. You guessed it would’ve been Superman since he would be the main person to contact Batman often, being the league's chief. 

Mr Wayne then leaned back onto the computer desk, crossing his arms as he pressed play on one of the remotes that were situated in his hand. Immediately, the video footage on-screen depicts a series of trucks entering a secluded area outside Gotham City. It was rare as the number of trucks slowly grew each second. 10, 20, and eventually up to 30 of them. 

Once the trucks were parked around the area, one of the drivers, whom you both assumed to be the squad leader, got down from the vehicle and opened up the trunk boot. And that was when you both saw it with your own eyes. 

Heroin. One of the most life-threatening ones to humankind. 

Just as you thought it would be over, another figure pops up on-screen, someone you have all been familiar with for decades. Too familiar with to be exact. 

“Joker.” Changmin clenched his fist, his eyes now narrowed and his facial expression seemingly changed almost immediately compared to when he was back at the training station. 

You know how much beef The Joker has with the Bat Family, including Changmin. As much as he was the ultimate archenemy of Batman—he was also, in fact, the same for Robin. Changmin had his fair share of encounters with the infamous enemy, and neither had been pleasant. Adding salt to the wound, he would often return with an injury whenever he faced the psychopath himself, never once coming back home in one piece. 

But usually, it was both Batman and Robin who dealt with The Joker, not Batgirl. So why even did Mr Wayne request for your presence this time? 

As you open your mouth to get an answer, Mr Wayne beats you to it by explaining the situation in detail.

“I know we have dealt with the madman himself countless times, and it’s nothing new that he would do such a thing. But judging by the amount of drugs he had smuggled in this time, I fear the worst could happen.” 

“Mr Wayne, you don’t think…” Changmin proposed. 

“It is exactly what’s on your mind, Robin.”

No way. The Joker plans to drug at least half the population of Gotham City. 

Knowing him, he could execute such a plan in countless ways or methods. Besides, he would definitely strike when law enforcement least expects it to happen. Hence, it is up to the Bat Family to put a stop to this massacre from happening. 

With that, Mr. Wayne turned towards you and began speaking up again. “And I thought we could definitely use a little more manpower for this job.” 

You were ecstatic, to say the least. Going on a mission with both Batman and Robin? Oh lord, that would be a dream come true. Most of the time, you were either often deployed on minor cases that you could’ve dealt with on your own or paired up with Changmin to deal with slightly more dangerous matters that were right up your alley and didn’t require the presence of Batman to clean up the dirty work. You have probably been deployed just once or twice with Mr Wayne himself, but not with both of them present. 

But you were hesitant. You have never encountered the madman himself before, while Batman and Robin have. So what in the world was Mr Wayne thinking to bring you along for this mission? 

Was it a test for you? Was it for you to prove to him how much you have grown? Were you finally going to make a name for yourself and be as famous as the duo already are in Gotham City? 

As much as you liked your last idea, you were still reluctant. 

“I… I don’t know about this, Mr Wayne. With all due respect, I deeply appreciate the opportunity given. But are you sure a common girl like me could do the job?” Your voice was shaking, unsure of this whole situation at hand. 

But Mr Wayne steps closer to you, placing one hand on your right shoulder. “You are not just a common girl. You’re Batgirl. You are my pride and joy, and it’s time for me to finally show the world how amazing you are and that you are finally ready to join the Justice League.” 

Your ears perked up at that. Even if he seemed cold outside, Mr Wayne always knew the right words and timing to comfort you. That was all you needed to know to be sure that you were needed for this mission, and there was no mistake. 

At the same time, Mr. Wayne pulls Changmin towards him so he is now hugging you two. “Batman could always use some good sidekicks by his side, and tonight is the night.” 

Finally, he breaks off the hug and puts on his stern face, which the public has grown familiar with. 

“We leave tonight in two hours. Gear up, kids.”

It took Alfred less than an hour to figure out the exact coordinates of the exact location where the drug trafficking was taking place. Thanks to that, the three of you immediately hopped into the batmobile and eventually reached your destination within 15 minutes. 

After parking the vehicle somewhere undetected, all three of you used your batclaw to get yourselves up to the higher ground, now examining the entire base area of operation with your own eyes. 

The area was an abandoned factory, where the men had begun unloading the bags filled with heroin. A few individuals stood out as they possessed a walkie-talkie around their hips, indicating that they were responsible for giving orders and communicating. 

Upon closer inspection, all of the trucks used were freezer trucks— all embedded with the Wayne Enterprises logo all over the exterior of all 30 trucks. There was no doubt they could bypass the security borders, and it was very bold and cunning for them to do so as well.

“There is no way I’ll let them tarnish your name, Mr Wayne. This is all a sick joke.” Changmin said furiously, already ready to hop into action. 

“Easy now, Robin. Let us establish our roles before going into action without a plan.” You stopped your friend by placing your hand on his chest. 

“Batgirl’s right. Now, listen to me, you two. As this operation is way too dangerous, there is no way I’m letting you both step close to The Joker himself, did I make myself clear?” 

Mr Wayne immediately turned his direction to Changmin, knowing fully how he would definitely be the type to act all mighty and head straight for The Joker’s head. But given the situation and the look in Mr Wayne’s eyes, Changmin had no choice but to obey his commands if he wished to return home in one piece. 

“I will be the one who’s going to go for the psychopath. I need you two to clear out all of the thugs and workers here. Once you’re done, contact Alfred and he will let you two know on what to do with the large amount of drugs. If you ever come across The Joker, don’t engage. Call me and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

With that, Batman gives a pat on both of your shoulders, extends out his cape, and flies all the way down—taking down several henchmen at once and quickly making his way down into the basement, where The Joker would most definitely be. 

“Alright, Robin. You’re the senior here. Tell me what to do.” You nudged Changmin’s shoulder, waiting for his reply. 

He smiled at you and crossed his arms before filling you in with his plan. “Okay, Junior. Listen and watch. You and I will clear off the thugs from the main entrance first, and then we’ll hack into the system and get in to deal with the rest. I’ll leave the hacking to you as the computer wizz of the team.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Within seconds, both of you extended your capes and flew all the way down, both taking down a thug at a time. Immediately, the enemy noticed your presence, and about 20 men seemingly emerged from the shadows—all armed with baseball bats, ready to knock you both out.

But 20 was just a number as you both were skilled in martial arts—it was only a matter of time before you two eventually defeated them all to clear the pathway to access the main door. You immediately took out your remote hacking device to open the main door, and within seconds you succeeded. It was Batgirl’s forte, after all. 

As the door pried open, there were more who had been expecting your arrival. Some of them were equipped with shotguns and snipers this time, but that didn’t bother you both that much. Working together with Changmin, each of you took one side of the hall, landing a punch or kick to knock these bad boys out. 

Huh. This wasn’t as difficult or dangerous as Batman had mentioned. Now why would—

Your thoughts were interrupted as you felt a bullet graze through your shoulders. It definitely stung and blood was now oozing out slowly as you clutch onto your open wound with your hands. You were turning around to see who was the culprit behind this. 

Suddenly, you felt your limbs start to go numb, and you immediately collapsed onto the cold solid ground. 

What’s happening? Why is my body aching all of a sudden? 

Still trying your best to look around your surroundings, you were starting to feel your eyelids drop, which was a very bad sign. 

No. No. Batgirl! Stay focused! 

Finally, your eyes fall on one individual who stands out from the rest of the crowd. As the individual slowly made their way towards you, you noticed how the other thugs had begun to back off, making out a pathway for the individual to come to you without having any obstructions in their way. 

That green hair. That pale white skin. And those horrendous blood-red lips.

Joker.

“My my, who do we have here for company tonight? Huh, seems like I’ve got a new visitor in town!” It was that sinister voice all of you have grown accustomed to. God, he was now right in front of you, squatting down while placing his pistol right onto your skull, which was the weapon you assumed he had just used to shoot that bullet that grazed you a minute ago.

“Good heavens, if it isn’t the infamous Batgirl that has been the talk of the town! It seems that Batman can no longer contain his little one and finally let her out of the cave!”

As taunting as his demeanour and voice were, you were still struggling and fighting with yourself to keep yourself awake and not fall into his trap while trying to figure out an escape plan or counterattack right back at the madman himself. The Joker constantly pressed the tip of the pistol into your skull, applying slightly more pressure each time he did it. 

Batgirl… please… do something— 

“Stay away from her!!” 

Both you and The Joker dart your eyes in the direction of the voice, and sure enough, you find Changmin just a few meters away from you now, holding a shuriken in both hands, aiming towards the madman himself. 

“If it isn’t my favourite superhero boy, Robin! How have you been, my dear, it has certainly been a while since we last met.” 

Changmin wasn’t interested in playing games with The Joker and he immediately cut to the chase. “What have you done to her.” 

“Oh no, nothing much. Just loaded my trustworthy pistol with some infused poison bullets. And your poor girlfriend seemed to have taken a close shot of it, so she is unable to move now.” This time, The Joker grabs a chunk of your hair and pulls them up aggressively, which was where you were also pulled up from the ground against your will. 

Both of you remembered Batman’s warnings to never engage with The Joker and to contact him immediately. But there was a problem—you were wounded, and you both were now surrounded by tons of thugs around you, with the madman himself threatening your life at this point. If only you weren’t poisoned, perhaps you both could have pulled something off quickly to distract him and contact Batman immediately. But you were stuck, and there was no way Changmin would take his eyes off you, especially when The Joker was right in front of you, having full control over you now.

Changmin’s tut was visible and loud enough for you to hear even meters away, and you knew you both were stuck big time. 

“Tic toc, tic toc. Robin. I might as well just fire the fatal blow into Batgirl’s skull if you keep standing there!” The Joker taunted, and immediately he was loading his pistol again, getting ready to fire this time. 

In a flash, Changmin aimed and threw one of his shurikens at The Joker, and he quickly made his way towards him, landing a punch right into his abdomen and then quickly picking you up and moving to higher ground. 

“You’ve gotten a little heavier, haven’t you?” Changmin teased; clearly, he was panting. 

“Please… not the time, Changmin. We’ve got to contact Mr Wayne now.” 

“Hah.. right.” 

Just as he was about to ring Mr Wayne, Changmin immediately felt an excruciating pain, and his entire body felt numb. Within seconds, his grip loosened around you and he fell back to the ground. You were now trying to understand what was happening when you realised that The Joker fired that shot right into Changmin’s back. And now, he was poisoned as well. 

“Well, what did I say, kiddos! You’ve got to make a decision quickly before I land that shot! Oh, don’t worry, Batgirl. The poison is not enough to kill Robin immediately—he will die a slow and painful death instead.” The Joker and his thugs were slowly approaching Changmin, and you were all alone on the higher grounds, having to witness this scene helplessly. 

That was when you finally received a transmission from Batman.

“You two, change of plans! I’m going to blow the entire place up. Both of you get out of there immediately!” 

Within seconds, bombs began to detonate one by one, and the abandoned factory was now slowly collapsing. It was chaos, and everyone was running around frantically while trying to escape as best as possible. 

You tried your best to push yourself back up, supporting yourself with the pillar right beside you. Equipping your batclaw, you have decided to swing back down to get Changmin out of there. 

But you were too late, for The Joker was now grabbing Changmin by the shoulder, seemingly backing off to enter back into the abandoned factory. 

“It seems that this operation has failed, and I am not having one of you escape alive, that is!” 

“NO!!!” 

You ran towards them, but the next thing that happened, the final explosion blew you away, and all you could hear was a siren. You tried to keep your eyes open, and all you could see was the entire factory up in flames, not a single human in sight. Before you passed out, you could vaguely make out a black figure approaching you, your mentor. 

And what happened after all of that was then a blur. 

It has been a week since that fateful incident. 

When you have jolted awake from your slumber, you find yourself on the operating table back down in the Wayne Manor. You’ve had an oxygen mask placed over your mouth, with some IV drips inserted into your arms. How long has it been since then? 

Just as you are about to stand up, Alfred makes his way into the room while passing you a tray of food to fill up your hunger. 

And that was when you remembered the events that happened. 

You begged to know the details but Alfred remained silent, not wanting to speak up just yet. But eventually, you’ve managed to get him to spill the tea, and you wish you could’ve taken it all back instead.

After the explosion, Batman was the one who scooped you up, took you back into his batmobile and brought you back to Alfred immediately. He tried his best to search for Changmin and The Joker amidst the blazing inferno, but all he could find was a piece of fabric from Changmin’s outfit and from The Joker, which could only mean the worst. 

You screamed. You placed your head down into both of your hands and began screaming frantically. In order to save you, he took on the bullet, knowing very well that The Joker was planning to aim it at you. That explained why he turned his back towards the madman back then to shield you from taking another shot of the poisoned bullet. 

Mr Wayne did not take it well either. He secluded himself in his room for days and wouldn’t step out from it, even when the league called multiple times to ask for updates regarding the case. It was all up to Alfred to take up the job in his presence. 

But the days then passed into a week, and now all three of you were standing in the pouring rain of Gotham Cementary, overlooking the newly carved headstone that read your partners-in-crime’s name and span of life. 

How badly you’ve wished that all this was a terrible nightmare, and you begged anyone to put some sense into you and wake you up from this bad dream. As much as you pinched yourself, it surely was a reality. You dropped down onto your knees, resting your head on the headstone, crying your heart out loud. 

Why did it have to be you? Why did it have to be this particular mission? Just. Why? 

Mr Wayne and Alfred said nothing as they stood in the rain with their eyes closed, not wanting to accept reality either. Countless thoughts were also going through their mind, along with the guilt and sadness—the same emotions that you were feeling. 

But what pains you the most wasn’t his passing; it was how you’ve never got to confess your love for him after all these years.

Year 2X47 — 5 years later

It was your usual routine as you were back down in the training station once again, both of your fists tied up with the usual white bandages as you landed one punch after another onto the punching bag. You have always loved to keep yourself busy—always finding the time to improve your skills whenever you had some time to spare in the Wayne Manor and Batcave. 

It surely hasn’t been easy since that fateful day five years ago. Since then, Batman has forbidden you from taking on any missions involving The Joker—quite frankly, you were thankful for in one way or another. There was no way you could’ve forgotten about what happened then so easily and faced the psychopathic killer himself. Instead, you were left with crimes that the GCPD occasionally required some assistance with. 

You had to thank the GCPD for even requesting your help. Otherwise, you would’ve rotted away in the comforts of your room and sulked for years. At least fighting crime and assisting them was also a way to keep your mind busy and away from all of the negative thoughts. 

Just as you were done with your training, you heard a sudden ping from your earpiece; it was from Alfred. 

“Batgirl, report to the control room immediately, please.” 

Once you have gotten the message, you quickly put all of the equipment away and shut down the room. You hoped that the mission for tonight was something worthwhile.  

You were baffled, to say the least, when you approached the computer screen. It wasn’t from the GCPD tonight but from the league. Since Batman was away at the moment, you had no choice but to step in for Mr Wayne. 

Accepting the call, the screen immediately opens with Superman on screen—even he was surprised that you would answer the call. But there was no time to waste and he eventually cut to the chase. 

“Joker is back in town and he is plotting another major catastrophe that could bring the entire Gotham City down. He is planning to eliminate the GCPD and take over the city.” 

What a jokester the madman himself sure is. 

“But I am aware from the last mission that you’ve had that Bruce forbids you to step close to The Joker himself. With Bruce being away to deal with some league missions, I’m afraid the only person I could turn to in Gotham City is you.” 

Well, that was true. It has always been the three of you in Gotham City. Now, only the two of you were in the picture since Robin’s passing. It was up to you to take on the job or not. 

You have definitely shown some hesitation there, and given your facial expressions, it was clear that you needed some time to think about it. Superman then decides to give you at least ten minutes to make the decision and he hangs up the call. 

One thing is for sure: Alfred was against you going alone alone on this mission. With the absence of Batman, there was nobody who was going to be your sidekick this time. 

If only Robin were still alive, that is.

Alfred’s feelings were valid and understandable, especially when he has been concerned about your well-being since that day. He has also been your father figure, just as Mr Wayne had done all these years. 

But if no superhero was available in Gotham City, you were practically left with no choice but to face your worst nightmare. You gave yourself a deep breath and mentally prepared yourself that it was about time to overcome your fear—it was time to face the madman himself while putting closure to all of this. 

You made a promise to Alfred that you would always keep in close contact with him by constantly sending him transmissions to let him know each and every single one of your movements. And this time, you will immediately retreat if you’ve sensed danger or threat to your life. 

You were definitely not taking risks anymore especially facing the psychopath himself all alone. 

Returning the call to Superman, you huffed and closed your eyes before opening them once again to stand firm on your decision.

“Send me the coordinates of the location.”

You arrived quickly at the designated location on one of the rooftops of the nearby buildings, which gave you a clear look at the GCPD. Just as Superman has stated, the police department was in an awful state—countless windows were broken through and there were plenty of hostages within the building. These hostages also included the policemen themselves. 

You knew you would definitely not act hastily, given the current situation. It was just you—you’re all alone in this madness. You had to think carefully about your next plan of action if you wished to keep all of the hostages and yourself alive, that is. 

With that, you took out your binoculars to scope out which floor would be the best for you to infiltrate—the fourth floor. Using your batclaw, you aimed at the balcony of the building and swung away into the floor itself—crashing into the glass windows while taking down the few thugs that were stationed there. It wasn’t too hard for you to find the lighting control panel which you used your remote hacking device to crack the code open and shut down the lights from the entire building. That way, you’re able to roam around without being detected easily. 

Quickly jumping and breaking down the glass tiles from the current floor onto the ground, you managed to take down the thugs one by one by doing so undetected. Once that was out of the way, you freed the hostages by cutting through the ropes they were bound with using your batarang. 

“The Joker is on the top floor with Commissioner Gordon. Please be careful, Batgirl.” One of the officers warned you.

Taking that down mentally, you slowly made your way up to the top floor, eliminating all enemies that were in your way. 

Eventually, you’ve come face-to-face with The Joker while the commissioner is tied onto a wooden chair. But something felt different. 

The Joker himself was wearing a clown mask over his face. Why did he decide to do so? Was it because he was wounded from a previous crime spree he was on? Or did Batman manage to land a blow on one of his missions? 

“Well, what do we have here? If it isn’t the infamous Batgirl! It has been a few years, sweetheart. It’s a pleasure to be able to see you again in person.” 

Even the voice sounded different somehow.

“What is your purpose, Joker. Why even consider taking over the GCPD.” 

He chuckled. “Oh, honey. I’ll be a dear and tell you why, hmm?” 

He walked closer to you and you couldn’t help but take a few steps back. Eventually, he stops about a few centimetres apart from you and bends down to be at eye-level with you. 

“I do very bad things honey, and I do them very well. And nobody is going to stop me because they fear me, and I fear nothing. So I will gladly take on any chances I can get in this beloved city of yours and turn the tables around, doesn’t it sound tempting?” 

Not wanting to hear his sick jokes anymore, you quickly balled up your fist and landed a punch directly onto his face, but his hands were quick enough to grab hold of your fist, stopping your tracks. 

Since when did The Joker have such great agility? 

“Seemed like someone’s been working on their reflexes since we last met, haven’t we.” The Joker taunted before trying to grab hold of this pistol behind his hips and aimed the bullet at you. He shot a few times, but each time you dodged them to the best of your ability as you were constantly running around the room. 

Once you were at a distance between you and he was, you took out your batclaw and aimed it at the pistol, which you managed to bring it over to your side—loaded it before pulling the trigger and aiming at the mask he was wearing. 

Sure enough, one of the bullets managed to penetrate through the mask and it was surprisingly way more sturdier than it was. It managed to form a small crack, but the blow was not enough. Perhaps your only choice was to have a close combat range, and you would either take it off or destroy it to find out who is really behind that mask. 

It took a while before you managed to come close to The Joker as he was shooting you from afar. Once you’ve done so, you managed to grab hold of his arm that was holding the pistol and punched right through the mask. You’ve succeeded in destroying it with your brute strength in one blow. 

But you wished that you could’ve taken it back.

Whatever that you’ve just seen was horrifying, and you were in absolute shock and denial.

There’s no way. It absolutely can’t be. 

He… but he’s…

“Cha-Changmin…?” You stuttered, and your eyes widened. You thought you were hallucinating. That can’t be. He died 5 years ago, and you and Mr Wayne were there to witness it all. 

Is this some sort of joke? A reincarnation? Another bad joke from the real Joker himself? 

You backed away, and so did he. You could tell that it was fine for now, and he wasn’t going to shoot because he seemed as baffled as you were. As much as you want to pinch yourself to wake you up from this bad dream, you notice his sincere eyes. One that you’ve always loved since you both met at the slumps. 

Unbeknownst to him, a single tear drop eventually fell onto his face, ruining the white makeup that he had got on him. He gently raised his hands and touched it, looking bewildered as if he had no idea what was happening. 

You did what you thought was best at the moment, taking a step closer and reassuring him that it was all alright and how much everyone had missed him.

How much you’ve missed him, to be exact. 

“Changmin…” 

“Don’t come any closer. Please… stay away from me!” He protested, taking several steps back to keep a distance from you. He then placed one of his hands on the side of his head as if he remembered something—or rather, it actually triggered something within him. His pupils were now shaking, and you desperately wanted to help and hold him close to you. 

Then, you both heard footsteps coming up the stairs, which meant your alone time was up. The officers were bound to capture The Joker and place him behind bars for good this time. 

Just then, Changmin regained his composure and aimed his pistol directly at you. Before loading the gun, he said one last sentence to you.

“The person you once knew me as has died.” 

With that, he pulled the trigger but he missed his shot. Instead, it landed on one of the window latches and it broke apart—giving him the immediate escape route as he ran and jumped out of the building. You stood there, baffled by the situation, while the officers had now filled the room scanning for signs of The Joker. 

Commissioner Gordon approached you, thanking you for saving his and his comrades' lives. He also reassured you that they will be keeping track of The Joker’s movements and keep you updated with anything.

But only one thing filled your mind and you needed answers desperately. 

Changmin was alive this whole time. But how?

You quickly made your return to the Batcave and immediately approached Alfred. You needed to know that whatever answers—even the tiniest detail, could help you solve the puzzle. 

Alfred was quiet at the beginning, debating on the right words to tell you the truth at this point. Apparently, Batman has found out about this a year prior, knowing very well that Changmin was alive and well, and has somehow taken the persona of The Joker. But according to Alfred, Mr Wayne was still looking for answers about how it had all ended up this way.

As much as you were furious about not knowing this earlier, there was no way you could’ve blamed it on Alfred. He was simply following Mr Wayne’s orders, and that was to keep you away from anything relating to the madman himself. 

“Fine. Then tell me where Mr Wayne is, and I’ll confront him myself.”

“That’s the thing, miss Y/N. Master Wayne has been on a league mission for the past few weeks, but I haven’t heard from him. I myself have been trying to track down his coordinates but to no avail.” 

Now that was strange. Disappearing for quite a while wasn’t deemed unusual in Mr Wayne’s books. But more than a week? That was definitely a red flag, and someone must look into this matter. 

Taking in a deep sigh as you were overwhelmed with everything happening, you calmed yourself down and spoke to Alfred in a low voice. 

“I’ll find the answers to all of them.”

You decided to head back to the rooftops of GCPD, where the Batsignal was located. Commissioner Gordon often used it to signal to summon the Bat Family whenever they needed help. But it seemed as if the searchlight was destroyed and torn apart—revealing that whoever had done this definitely held a grudge against you and your squad. 

You did contemplate using it to reach out to Batman, but with this option down, you were now back to square one. 

If Alfred cannot contact Mr Wayne through transmissions, then you wouldn’t stand a chance either. 

God. Think, Batgirl. There’s got to be a way to contact—

“It seemed as if the rumours were true after all.” 

You were startled by the sudden voice coming from behind you. As a common reflex, you immediately throw a punch towards the individual’s face—only to be stopped by their hand grabbing onto your fist. Once you got a glimpse of who it was, your eyes widened. 

“Nightwing.” 

“Ah, I see you have heard about me before. Then that saves up the trouble of having to introduce myself. Also, sorry about startling you. It’s my fault.”

As both of you backed down and composed yourselves, you finally got a good look at the individual standing before you. He was tall and definitely well-built (a little too well-built to your liking actually); he wore a black with some outlines of a blue suit and a domino mask. Even through the mask, he was a pretty darn good-looking individual. 

“Ogling at my beauty during our first meeting already?” He teased.

“Are all Robins meant to be this flirty?” You shot back. He chuckled and his voice somehow lightens up the mood for a bit. 

“Ah, so you knew about my backstory.” 

“Well, I learned about you through the files Mr Wayne kept in his office a decade ago. Consider that a time when I will snooping around his stuff because I was curious about many things.” 

“Bruce definitely has loads of secrets that he keeps from others, alright.” He shook his head, thinking that his former mentor was still the same old individual he had known for many decades. 

As far as you know, Nightwing was the first Robin and has worked alongside Batman for many years, even longer than you and Changmin ever did. He was a former circus acrobat when he was younger, so his skills and agility had to be one of the toughest Gotham City—or rather, the league has ever seen. At one point, you have once heard that the league has appointed him to look over the younger superheroes, the Teen Titans, from time to time. So he has got plenty of things on his hands to deal with. 

But there was one question that has pondered you for long enough. One that you knew you could never ask Mr Wayne and Alfred themselves because they definitely weren’t comfortable bringing up this topic. 

Nightwing somehow knew this topic would come up eventually, and he decided to indulge in your curiosity for the time being. Leaning back towards the headlight, he crossed his arms and told you about his backstory.

“To begin with, Bruce had taken me in ever since my parent’s murder when I was 8. He trained me to be a soldier, his sidekick and I’ve never left his side for 20 years. But you know what they say—when the time comes for the baby birds to leave the nest, then there is no explanation needed.” 

“So you left willingly?” You questioned.

“In a way, yeah. Now I mainly patrol crimes in Blüdhaven, occasionally returning to Gotham City to assist Bruce and the team if needed. Commissioner Gordon seems to really enjoy my company after all.” 

The way he spoke lit up the mood, and you could tell how he was definitely worth being the first Robin. Anyone would agree on how behind that jovial and friendly smile he possessed, he could be one of the most feared individuals on the battlefield. 

Given that he was trained by the one and only Bruce Wayne himself, he has then gained insane human strength, speed, agility, and even reflexes. He was definitely the type you would want to anger the least—otherwise, you would definitely find yourself being killed by the 50,000 volts of Escrima Sticks that he always carried on his back. 

If a superhero like him is back in Gotham City during such a right timing, you assume he’s probably back for the same reason as you did, more or less.

“Say, are you perhaps back for The Joker?”

“Yeah, but there’s more to that. The Justice League has contacted me to investigate Bruce’s disappearance as they couldn’t contact him for a week now.” 

Disappearance? Now that’s new for you. You knew that he was away for some league missions, but never would you have thought that he would actually disappear. 

Could he have done it himself for an unspecified reason? Or worse, has Mr Wayne fallen into the traps of the enemy? 

Now that is something you definitely have to look into as well—because finding him would be the key to knowing about Changmin’s faked death for the past several years. 

“Count me in, Nightwing.” 

“Woah, slow down Batgirl. What makes you think you would wanna come along with me?” 

“Well, for one, the current Joker is somehow the former Robin that we all thought he died. But I’ve just encountered him days prior, and he is very much alive and well. And I need answers.” You firmly stated, and you did not take no for an answer. Clearly, Nightwing had sensed that in you and knew there was no point in convincing you otherwise.

“Hmm, this seems more like a romantic couple reunion situation to me.” He teased.

He wasn’t wrong though. 

“He’s family and I deserve to know, Nightwing. Please.” You emphasised the last word while taking a few steps closer to him as you stared into his eyes. 

He looked at you for a few seconds before he eventually put on a smile. He gently laid his hands on your head and patted you. “Alright, girlie. Let’s figure out where would be the best place to look for them.” 

Just when he finished his statement, a radio transmission was sent in through his earpiece, and he shared one of them with you to hear the message.

“Reports have stated that there were sightings of The Joker near the ports, and he has gotten several hostages with him. All officers on duty, please report to the site at once!” 

“Then that’s where we’re headed, sweetheart.” 

Immediately, you got your batclaw out, ready to start swinging across the buildings to head to your destination. You looked at Nightwing in confusion as he stood there and stretched his muscles.

“Well, aren’t you leaving too?” 

“Oh no, you get to the location first. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up in no time. I was a former acrobat, after all. Don’t need no batclaw to swing around buildings.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes back slightly as you started to get used to his flirty remarks. 

Before you made your move, he spoke to you one last time before you two were to part ways for a bit. 

“Call me, Sangyeon. It’s much better than repeating my superhero name all the time.”

Just as you reached the port's entrance, Gotham City had to start a heavy downpour, making the situation much worse. 

But it wasn’t something you weren’t used to since you have been in such conditions before on several missions. However, since the motive tonight was to find both Changmin and Mr Wayne, you couldn’t help but feel nervous, something that you haven’t experienced in a while. 

At least not since that fateful day 5 years ago. 

Shaking your thoughts away, you calmed yourself down and reminded yourself that the hostages come first, then family. 

You ran to the gates but saw that they were already hacked open. Just then, Sangyeon jumps down from one of the higher buildings and places his hands on one of your shoulders. 

“They don’t call me a hacking wizard for nothing.” 

“Well, guess I have a rival in this field of work now.” You chuckled. 

“Alright, let’s go.” 

As you both entered the ports, a group of thugs were already on standby, as if they were expecting your arrival hours ago. Each of them was armed with a weapon, ready to put up a fight. 

Sangyeon then gets both of his Escrima Sticks out from his back and positions himself in his offensive state. 

“Wanna see the famous Nightwing himself in action?” 

“Just be careful out there.” You replied. 

“Always have been.” 

As soon as the thugs began charging towards your direction, the both of you did the same, beginning to take down the enemies one by one. 

It seemed that Sangyeon wasn’t all talk and thought highly about himself because you’ve now witnessed how skilled and quick he is at combat with your own eyes. He could take out at least 4 at once, leaving no room for them to retaliate. None of them stood a chance against the superhero himself—quite frankly, he could handle them all on his own if needed. 

You have definitely improved from 5 years ago too. You were now much quicker and your skills have upped a level—handling several enemies simultaneously. With the new gadgets that Alfred has equipped you with, you definitely found it a lot easier to deal with the enemies and not just entirely rely on pure brute strength. 

Within 10 minutes, both of you have successfully wiped out the entire thugs, and they were all lying lifelessly on the ground, allowing you to move on to find the hostages. 

“Well, aren’t you a rather good fighter yourself, Batgirl.” Sangyeon was surely impressed with the way you presented yourself tonight. 

“Now that’s flattering coming from the former Robin himself.” You counterbacked, and you earned a laugh from the man himself. 

“This isn’t over yet, Y/N. There are definitely more thugs lurking around the area. I suggest we split up and take on each side, and I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“Let me know if you need help, okay? You’re not in this alone.” 

Thanks, Sangyeon. It means a lot. “I’ll contact you soon.” 

Splitting up, you decided to take on the right side of the ports, defeating the thugs in your way as you slowly made your way through. Eventually, you found hostages along your way, and you freed them by using your batclaw to cut through the ropes they were tied up with, and they ran to their safety towards the GCPD at the front entrance. 

Finally, you have reached the last destination that you could’ve scooped out for any remaining hostages, the lighthouse. 

Fingers crossed, you were mentally praying before making the move that Changmin would be there. 

It seemed that you had deduced your theory correctly, and sure enough, he was there—holding up several hostages, ready to throw them down into the deep, freezing ocean. 

“CHANGMIN STOP!!” You screamed, and that got his attention.

He turned back to look at you, and his eyes widened upon the contact. It was you again; this time, he wasn’t wearing a mask anymore. 

It seemed as if he hadn't recovered from the encounter days prior because he was beginning to malfunction again, and how badly you just wanted to help him by taking him back for good now. 

“Please… Changmin. Let us talk. Please, talk to me about it.” You begged, and unknowingly tears began to form in your eyes. 

Immediately, he dropped the hostages down onto the concrete floor, and they quickly ran for it. His attention was now entirely on you, eyes widened while trying to make sense of everything.

“Y/N… I… All these years later… I can’t…” 

“No Changmin. You can, and you will come back to us.” 

Come back to me.

“What have I done? I’m… I’m a monster now, a terrifying criminal and psychopath. I’m beyond saving.” He now stares down at his bloodied, shaking hands, and his speech begins to stammer. 

“No, you just need to press reset. And we will help with that.” 

Let me help you. 

“Why? Why, Y/N? After all these years and everything?” Tears were now beginning to form in his as well, and he was trying his best to hold them back.

“Because I love you and have always been after all these years.” 

You were now slowly taking one step at a time closer to him, and he slowly did the same but backwards. 

“Y/N… No, you can’t.” 

“I can and I will. I have longed for you endlessly, and I always find myself coming back to you, even if you are no longer Robin.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“It is. And I will prove it to you.” 

Changmin was now pinned against the guardrails of the lighthouse and he was stuck with nowhere to run. You were now standing right in front of him—centimetres apart, when you gently laid your palms onto both sides of his face, slowly rubbing away the white makeup that sat on his face. 

He then looks down at you, standing motionless before muttering a quiet: “I warn you. I’ll break your heart.” 

You smiled back at him. “I know you more than you know yourself, cowboy. Fill me more with that dangerous love of yours—there’s nothing Batgirl can’t take on anyways.” 

With that, you quickly took Changmin into your embrace, and the tears that formed within his eyes began to drip down slowly. 

Yes, Changmin. I’m here now. I will protect you from all of this madness— 

That short-lived moment was then interrupted abruptly as that familiar chilling voice from years ago started to haunt you.

“My my, what do we have here? A little family reunion, isn’t it?” 

Both of you turned behind to see the real Joker standing in front of you, with a syringe containing a rather intriguing green liquid, while having a group of thugs behind him. 

You and Changmin were now cornered, and there was no way to escape. It seemed as if history was repeating itself. 

“Damn, I guess the dose wasn’t enough for that Robin boy to take on my persona fully. I guess the test was an ultimate failure.” He was now flicking the syringe bottle; his eyes were now entirely on you. 

“Hmm.. maybe another test subject would be worth trying out… someone whose name rhymes with Batgirl.” 

The Joker was taunting you and moving closer to you now. You had to think of something quickly because clearly, Changmin was in no state of fighting back. You could use one of your gadgets for close-range combat, but given the number of enemies you were up against, there was only a 50% success rate. 

Maybe I could use a smoke bomb to distract them while I think of something real quick—

“Batgirl!! Dodge and leave right now! Trust me!!” 

That voice. It was Sangyeon. You quickly redirected your attention to the opposite building across the lighthouse. He was now equipped with several explosive batarangs, and is now aiming towards your direction. Once he let go and threw them towards you, you quickly grabbed Changmin and jumped straight down into the cold, freezing ocean.

As soon as you both touched down into the waters, the explosion went off and the parts of the lighthouse came crumbling down along with the enemies that were on it. 

Before you knew it, both of you were slowly beginning to lose air before finally being fully engulfed by the ocean waves.

It has been a few days since that encounter with The Joker himself at the port. When you dived into the ocean, you tried your best to swim towards the shore while carrying Changmin with you—despite the constant moments where the ocean waves would engulf you both while trying to swim back up again. As soon as you reached dry land, you immediately passed out before seeing Sangyeon coming to both of your rescue.

When you finally came to, you were left with just a few minor scratches and nothing major. You demanded to know where Changmin was and eventually found it lying on the operation table—the same one you were lying on 5 years ago. An oxygen mask was attached around his face, along with an IV drip by the side. 

According to Alfred, it seemed that Changmin was systematically subjected to a wide range of shock therapy and torture over the few years that he was captured alive by the psychopath himself. Eventually, Joker decided to take things a step ahead and injected various serums into his body, eventually leading to his breakdown. Hence, he decided to let Changmin take over his identity for a period of time while he went into hiding.

It was definitely a lot and hard to take in for you. You couldn’t imagine how brutal it was for Changmin over the past few years, all wounded and injured from that fateful day, only to be taken back to The Joker’s lair and left to experience all of the barbaric tortures he had up his sleeve. 

You stood right at the windows of the operating room, placing your hand on it while trying your best to hold back your tears. This went on for a few days—it was best to let him rest after all.

Sangyeon was staying for a while as he was still on the mission to track down Mr Wayne’s location, and he would often check up on you as well, ensuring you that Changmin would be alright and he would wake up real soon. 

All you could do at this point was hope for the best and that Changmin would return to his usual self when he woke. 

The bright glaring lights blinded Changmin’s eyes as he finally struggled to open them up. Once he has finally adjusted his sight, he tries to make sense of his surroundings. 

He was back at the Batcave—all patched up and had an IV drip right into his arms. He tried turning his head around, trying to take in everything as he struggled to regain his memory. 

And that was when he remembered that the both of you were up at the lighthouse, desperately trying to escape The Joker. 

Almost immediately after that thought, a pair of arms wrapped around him tightly as he tried to sit up from his bed. 

It was you whom he had been longing to see. 

God, how much he had missed your embrace. Your scent, the warmth you gave, and your bright, bubbly persona that radiates whenever you are around him. 

And now he’s back to witness it all close-up. 

He returned the hug to you, squeezing a little tightly and clinging onto you for dear life. He wouldn’t let you go anytime soon, and he wants to savour the moment and make it up to you after being away for years. He slowly turned his head to take the sweet strawberry scent of your hair—ah, you were still using his favourite shampoo. He couldn’t help but to also rest his lips on your scalp as well. 

“Changmin… I don’t even know where to begin…” You muffled since you were squeezed into his big muscular chest.

“Let’s just stay like this for a while, hmm?” 

Silence. But it wasn’t awkward in the slightest bit. Instead, you both appreciated it—a lot was happening in both of your minds. 

He’s back. He was back in his comfort zone, former residence, and home. 

You were his home. 

There were just so many things he regretted back then too, how he wasn’t able to save you and ended up being held captive and tortured by The Joker himself. Most importantly, he regretted that he couldn’t tell you how he felt about you, especially when he had seen you more than just a friend and sidekick for years. 

But now that he was alive and back in the game, it was his chance. 

Gently grabbing your shoulders, he pushes you away so that you look at him deep into his eyes. He takes in a big breath before he decides to spill the beans. What he didn’t expect was that you spat out the same exact thing that has been lingering on his mind, word by word. 

“So uh, I thought you should know that I’ve had feelings for you for years now.” You both said at the same time. It took a few seconds for the both of you to process what the hell actually happened before bursting out in loud laughter. 

“Gee, Y/N. And I thought it has been one-sided for years, and all those flirty remarks I’ve made were just for show, and my efforts have gone down the drain.” 

“Well, I’m pleased to tell you those flirty remarks worked.” 

You both giggled before Changmin decided to press on. “So when did this lovey-dovey feeling start?” 

“Maybe around when I was 12?” 

“Hah! I win. I’ve liked you ever since you came into the slumps.” 

“That isn’t a victory, Changmin. It just shows how whipped you have always been and how easily you actually fall in love with someone.” 

“Hey, it's not my fault when my love interest is actually a rockstar who excels at everything she does. Mind you, she is the best computer wizz I’ve ever seen with that long luscious brown hair of hers.” 

“Yeah, you’re insufferable.” You huffed. 

“But admit it, you like it.” He winked back at you, causing you to slap him on the chest while rolling your eyes back. 

It was when he decided to lean in a bit closer while gently placing his fingers around your chin, lifting your face so that he could see you clearly. 

“Since my princess literally saved my life, it is time for her prince charming to return the favour, no?” 

You gave him a confused look. “Whatever are you planning, Mr. Ji Changmin.” 

“Something that starts with the letter K.” 

He then swipes his finger on your lips to feel those luscious, juicy lips once before crashing his onto yours. And he was right all these years, after all—on how good they tasted, and it was definitely a kiss that was worth the wait and savouring. 

You didn’t reject it at all and proceeded to adjust your position so that it was easier to ease into the kiss. Tilting both of your heads to grant more entrance while your fingers moved up into his hair, Changmin did the same while his other hand rested on your waist. 

How badly he wished to stay like this forever. To kiss you, hold you tight, and never let go nor fail you again. He made a promise to himself this time that he was definitely not going to repeat the same mistake, and he was no longer going to hurt anyone else.

Including you.

The intense moment was abruptly cut short by a low grunt coming from behind. It was Sangyeon.

“Well, it seems as if I have chosen the wrong timing, haven’t I?” 

Oh, how badly you knew he somehow did it on purpose. You were definitely going to make him pay real soon.

Changmin being innocent, brushes him off and asks if something was the matter (since, technically, he hasn’t encountered how flirty he could be). 

“I’m here to ask you about Bruce. I’m sure you have some information that is worth hearing about.” Sangyeon then crossed his arms, and immediately his facial expression shifted, and you both knew well that it was time to get back into business. 

Once Alfred came to ensure that Changmin could continue his daily routine as usual, Sangyeon immediately cut to the chase and began pressing on the topic of importance. 

“It was definitely a recent thing, I would say. The Joker tortured me for a few years before finally making me into his other half to take over his dirty job for him while he disappeared into thin air. And it was recently when I actually saw how he was dragging a body down into the basement of his lair. If it aligns with what you have in mind, then I’m sure it is worth checking it out.” 

All of you pondered what Changmin said. It could be Mr Wayne who was under the hands of The Joker at the moment. According to Sangyeon, there have been reports of sightings of the man on the most recent site where Mr Wayne was last seen. 

“So that would be the first place for us to look at, I suppose?” Changmin questioned.

“Supposedly, yes,” Sangyeon answered bluntly. 

Just as all of you would start gearing up to head out to the place of interest, the batcomputer began blaring—it was from Commissioner Gordon. Picking up the call, all of you were met with a very distraught commissioner. Something must’ve happened. 

“You guys have to see this right now.” 

Immediately, the commissioner forwards a link that redirects all of you to a live webcam. 

It was live. And there on screen sat a badly wounded individual, tied up on a wooden chair with only a single light bulb above his head as their only light source. 

It was Batman.

The Joker swiftly turned the camera towards him, and he placed this huge menacing grin on his face, knowing that he was up to no good once again. 

“Welcome, my fellow watchers to tonight’s grand show! Ah, it seems as if the entire GCPD & the Bat Family are here to witness the epic performance of the century!!” 

The Joker then turns the camera back to Batman as he begins circling him, continuing with his act. 

“Now, I’m pretty sure we all recognise this lovely individual right here. Isn’t it a bummer how he’s all wounded up badly? When he is supposed to be the strongest superhero in Gotham City?” He began laughing and then slowly stood behind Mr Wayne, bending down to rest his hands on Batman’s shoulders. 

“It seemed as if my very first experiment had failed terribly, given that Robin had escaped thanks to Batgirl & Nightwing. Perhaps the 10,000 volts of shock therapy & the dosage of my serum weren’t enough throughout the years Robin was held captive at my lair. But fear not, ladies and gentlemen! For I have a new subject now, the famous Batman himself, and I wonder what would happen if I turn him into a Joker?” 

The madman then walked over towards the right, and his hand gripped the latch of a switch, and all of you wished you did not have to witness what came next.

Pulling down the latch, it triggered the shock machine and Batman was screaming at the top of his lungs, clearly in a lot of pain while the high electricity flowed through his entire body. It went on for a good 10 seconds before The Joker finally decided to turn it off. Then, he walks towards the front of the camera, completely blocking Batman out of the picture. 

“Here’s my suggestion, fellow Bat Family and the officers at GCPD. I will be kind enough to tell you my location. Come to the abandoned Nightville Amusement Park in an hour. I’m pretty sure your “father” here would want his children to come save his ass, no?” 

The Joker then laughed menacingly again before ending the livestream. 

Oh my god. 

Batman is now in the hands of The Joker. And he has clearly shown all of you that he wasn’t kidding and meant serious business. If neither of you were careful, Mr Wayne would be next in line to get killed. 

All of you will definitely have to come up with an actual plan and strategy before heading to the site, and this time you will stop this whole fiasco the psychopath himself has planned. 

Thankfully, that was where Sangyeon came in and he began to take charge of everything and everyone as he gathered both sides to listen closely to his words. 

“Are you with me, lads?”

The clock struck strictly at 10 at night as the three of you arrived at the amusement park. Based on Sangyeon’s lead, he deemed it too dangerous for the officers to tag along at first. The plan was to let the three clear out the place until 80% of the thugs were wiped out, and then the GCPD would step in and scope the place out. Commissioner Gordon couldn’t agree more. 

On the other hand, Alfred remained at his position in the Batcave in front of the monitor screen, keeping you three updated with everything going on around your surroundings while being the middle person to communicate to the GCPD upon Sangyeon’s orders. 

As you three stood in front of the amusement park gates, Sangyeon decided to break the ice and loosen the atmosphere for a bit. He focused on Changmin, who was clearly doing a few stretches here and there.

“So how does it feel to be back in the Robin suit, young lad?” 

“Is it bad that the suit’s gotten a little tighter?” 

“Well, guess that’s some good news for you, Batgirl.” He then poked his head out to look at you, who were standing on the far right side. 

Dear heavens, Lee Sangyeon. I swear, for the love of God— 

“What about yours, mister? I’m sure all of the time that’s gone to leading the Teen Titans and patrolling Blüdhaven has taken a toll on your romantic relationship.” You fought back, but clearly, he doesn’t back down easily.

“Nah, I have my ways. She’ll come back to me when she’s bored and lonely. She always has been anyway.” 

Huh. So he does have a certain special someone. That is definitely going to be added to your books of “things to stalk more about Nightwing’s dirty secrets”. 

Clearing your throat to bring everyone back to reality, you turned your head back to the entrance, where all of you began to hear the footsteps growing louder each second. 

“Mr Lee, there’s about 60 thugs headed your way. Be prepared.” Alfred’s voice chimed into the intercom. 

“Well, 60 is just a number.” Sangyeon proclaimed. 

“So what do we do now?” You asked. 

Then, Changmin stepped forward and stood in front of you both. “We fight.” 

Immediately, he charged towards one of the thugs and wrapped his legs around his neck, pinning him down to the ground and punching him hard enough to knock the individual out cold. Not wasting any time, he began moving onto the thugs one after another. 

“Gee, your boyfriend’s one impatient little fella, isn’t he?” 

“And so are you, Nightwing.” 

You and Sangyeon did the same by charging towards the enemies. It was as if the tension and atmosphere were different tonight, and you felt the company that you had been longing for years. With both Robin and Nightwing with you, you knew that you were all in good hands and reaching The Joker himself wouldn’t be a problem this time round. 

The three of you worked amazingly as a team, performing a combo of attacks and matching one another’s fighting style almost instantly, even though it was the first time the three of you fought together. Sangyeon was definitely impressed, to say the least, that Bruce had gotten himself some good young sidekicks to fill in his spot after he had left. He was smiling like a proud older brother would as he looked at how you and Changmin battled. 

The enemy was successfully wiped out within 10 minutes thanks to the great teamwork. With that, the screen from one of the televisions that hung loosely at one of the lamp posts started broadcasting what seemed like a live message. 

The Joker. 

“Well well, I must say, an amazing job well done as a team!! Bravo bravo, you three have certainly exceeded my expectations! Now, moving deeper into the parks will not be that easy. So choose wisely and find out where Batman and I could be. Adios for now!!” 

“God, will he stop with all of these taunts?” You complained, getting sick and frustrated with all of his jokes by now. 

Changmin then walked close to you and placed one of his hands on your shoulder. “It’s okay, Y/N. We will definitely get Mr Wayne back home safely.” 

“Yeah… we will this time.” You tried your best to return a smile. 

Sangyeon then makes his way towards you both to inform you that it was best to split up to narrow down the possible location where The Joker and Batman could be. Before he could even suggest the plan, you gripped Changmin’s hands tightly, intertwining your fingers with his. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t mind Robin and Batgirl taking on one side of the park, right?” 

Sangyeon stared at you both for a moment, and you were clearly not budging, standing firm to prove that you were taking no as an answer. 

He immediately sighed and agreed to your request. “Okay okay, lovebirds. Just make sure to do your actual job.” 

You swear if it weren’t for him being your senior and part of the Bat Family, you would’ve whooped his ass and sent him back to his rightful place. 

“Alright, jokes aside. Both of you, please contact me as soon as you find out something. Don’t even try to act bravely and jump into your demise. I mean it.” 

It all sounded too familiar. It was precisely what Mr Wayne said to the both of you 5 years ago. The Sangyeon that stood before you now wasn’t the flirty yet annoying senior you have come to despise. Now this man is feared across the nation, and one you would look up to actually. He was the spitting image of Batman.

“Understood, Sangyeon. You should be careful out there too.” Changmin said firmly. 

“Kiddo, I always have been.” 

Within seconds he was out of sight, jumping down towards the other side of the park as he made his way quickly through the thugs. 

“So, what do you suggest we do then, miss Y/N? You clearly asked me to stay with you.” 

“Well, for starters, let’s look around and get rid of the thugs along our way to find Mr Wayne as soon as possible. Find The Joker, put him behind bars, and that’s a wrap.” 

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way, Batgirl.”

Both of you went to each section of the park and searched every crook and corner to see if there were any traces or clues to where both of them might be. 

If you were to deduce, according to the live footage—they were either at higher ground or beneath the amusement park. You tried searching for a latch which would lead you down but to no avail. 

It was when Changmin finally called out to you as he noticed one of the buildings furthest from you had a little light source coming out from it. It led up to one of the roller coaster rides, and the stairs were clearly destroyed so that the officers could not reach high ground alone. 

Only those of you equipped with the batclaw could swing your way up to the building itself. 

On both of your signals, you both immediately launched your batclaw and quickly made your way towards the source, hoping that it was finally where your mentor would be.

Please, Mr Wayne. Please hang in there. We’re coming.

“Hmm… it seems as if your kids are taking a little longer, don’t you think? The Joker was now swinging his pistol around his hands, growing impatient as there was no sign of either of you coming anytime soon.

That was when Batman slowly tilted his head up as he tried his best to mutter a few words back to counterattack his remarks.

“Don’t… underestimate my kids… they’re a lot… stronger than… you think they are…” 

The Joker immediately threw a punch right into Batman’s face once again. “You know clearly that’s not the right answer, no?” 

“Well, clearly you aren’t thinking straight, Joker.” 

His eyes widened as he turned towards the source of where the voice came from. When he finally did, he found Changmin already in position with a few shurikens within the palm of his hands, and you did the same while holding onto your batclaw.

“Why, if it isn’t my wonderful “son” back in town! How have you been? Papa has missed you loads.” 

“It’s over, Joker. Your spree of crimes ends tonight and you’re finally going to jail after all these years.” Changmin declared.

“Disrespecting your papa, I see. Well, then. I’m sorry but it seems like I will have to teach you and your little girlfriend a lesson then.” The Joker slowly walked towards you with a group of thugs emerging from the shadows behind. Just like 5 years ago, they were all equipped with their weapons, the right to strike whenever. 

“Y/N, let’s do our usual formation?” 

“Say no more, Robin.” 

Both sides struck simultaneously, and a heated battle soon erupted within the building. With the batclaw in hand, you use it to shoot to get the thugs close to you as you knock them out cold with your punches and kicks. Changmin, on the other hand, used his shurikens wisely and aimed at all of the thugs, not missing a target. 

The Joker managed to get this way close towards you both, but he always seemed to have missed his shot or he was often caught by either of you two, pulling him close and throwing punches while he backed off to regain himself. 

As all of the thugs were wiped out, The Joker was now the one being cornered by you two, and he clearly did not stand a chance.

“Hah! Don’t even think that you’re about to win!” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls up a vile of green liquid. However, judging from the container that was used this time, it wasn’t an ordinary serum now.

No. A poison gas bomb! 

“I guess you know what this means then. That saves a lot of trouble. Robin, this is for you!” The Joker was about to throw it at Changmin when he finally decided to change direction and threw it towards you instead.

“Y/N! No!!!” Changmin quickly jumps onto you to push you out of the way as the poison gas bomb detonates. 

But he was in no luck as Nightwing made his way here in time, destroying it before the gas spread around too much. At the same time, The Joker was pinned down by the one and only Batman, who was now free from being tied up thanks to Sangyeon. 

The GCPD officers then made their way here along with the commissioner as they handcuffed the psychopath and started taking him away.

“This isn’t over, Bat Family!! I will be back to haunt Gotham City again!!” Those were the sentences that The Joker kept repeating on a loop till he was out of the picture. 

Eventually, Mr. Wayne made his way toward you and brought you both into his embrace. 

“I knew you both could’ve done it. Welcome home, Robin.” 

Those words were enough to get you both all teary-eyed, primarily for Changmin though. He had longed to be reunited with his mentor, and how much he wanted to apologise for all of the trouble he had caused over the years. 

“Mr Wayne…I—” 

“It’s not your fault, and it was beyond your control. I’m sorry I failed you as your mentor. And father.”

He rests his chin upon Changmin’s head and closes his eyes before muttering something for you too. “You too, Batgirl. You have grown and I’m beyond proud of you.” 

You have yet to hear Mr. Wayne praise you like that. He doesn’t talk much, nor has he ever praised you in such a manner since he wasn’t really great with words. Hearing that from Mr Wayne himself, after all of what you’ve been through, was surely enough to get you bawl your eyes out in front of him. 

Sangyeon notices the little heartwarming family reunion and he can’t help but smile from afar. It was nice seeing how Bruce has gotten a new family on his own, and he is happy how you two were given a new life and beginning with him. A few seconds later, he decided not to interrupt, turned his heel in the opposite direction and started walking away. That is until Bruce’s voice stops him in his tracks. 

“Nightwing. Or rather, Sangyeon. Thank you.” 

He hasn’t heard those words from Bruce either in a very long time. Every time they met, Mr. Wayne often gave him a cold shoulder as he tended to focus more on the mission and rather cut to the chase. But Sangyeon knew that he had always been like that—it was just his way of worrying about his former sidekick. And how Sangyeon will always have a special place in Bruce’s heart. 

Without turning back, he raised one of his arms and began waving. “I’ll see you around, Bruce. Don’t get caught next time.” 

Mr Wayne chuckled for the first time in a while. “I won’t.”

A couple of days had passed since that day and it was time that the Bat Family took some time off to rest up and relax. 

Mr Wayne was stuck in his room most of the time, with Alfred constantly checking up on him—bringing him his meals and checking his vitals to ensure that he wasn’t pushing himself too hard during recovery. Knowing him, Mr Wayne is definitely the type to wander around and get himself busy even when he is in no shape to stand up or perform his daily routines as usual. 

On the other hand, you and Changmin have been spending as much time as you could with one another. It wasn’t easy when Alfred often dragged Changmin down to the sick room, claiming that he hadn’t fully recovered and had no time to play around. You had to muffle up a laugh whenever you see Alfred taking him away to his second home now. 

It was a relatively calm afternoon as you decided to curl up with a novel in your room. Every so often, you would be reminded of what Mr. Wayne had told you last night about everything that has happened until now.

First and foremost, he apologised for keeping you in the dark about Changmin’s condition as he was afraid of losing you as well, and he wanted to keep you safe from The Joker as much as he could. But when you encountered Changmin at the GCPD, he knew his secret wouldn’t last long. 

He has been keeping track of both of your movements even when he was away on league missions, having elicited the help of Alfred. When you helped Changmin escape from the lighthouse, he knew that The Joker was definitely going to target you next without a doubt. Hence, he decided to surrender himself as bait—knowing fully that you both would definitely come to the rescue. At the same time, it also saves time in finding out The Joker’s actual hideout. 

As much as you thought he could be insane at times, you knew his methods somehow always work, and he has definitely thought them through. Giving a little scolding to Mr Wayne was all that you could do before it was time for him to rest up. 

Returning to your novel, you slowly reached the story's climax until you felt someone gently hit your head with a book.

Changmin. 

“Hey, what was that for!” 

“Someone has been too invested or daydreaming to the point that she hasn’t heard me call out her name for over 10 times now.” He crossed his arms while giving you a pout. 

“Ugh, please don’t do that face, for goodness sake.” 

“Why? Because you like it?” He purposely widens his eyes ever so slightly. 

“You need to go see a therapist for real, Changmin.” 

Standing up from your couch, you decided to tuck your book away before walking towards him and wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“So, what brings you here today?” You asked while giving a little peck on his lips. 

“Well.” He pecks your lips back. “Alfred said that I’m fully recovered and I should be able to return to my usual routine with no problem.” 

“Should. Changmin.” You emphasised the word.

“Hey, I’ll prove to you that I am one healthy man. What do you say? Shall we go out on our first date?” 

“Hmm, tempting. Where are we going exactly?”

“Well, for starters, I still have to treat you to your favourite Akamaru Ramen that I promised 5 years ago.”

A/N: who knows i might cook up a nightwing Sangyeon fic in the near future 🤭

masterlist

taglist: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @k-films @flwoie @hokupi @zzoguri @kyusqult @tinkerbell460 @cheonsafics @sulkygyu @jaerisdiction @lngwayup

[ramblings-in-imagination]

Just Stress? (Part Six)

Chicago Med — Trauma 2

The tilt-table test had been a challenge from the start. As Avery was slowly moved from a lying to an upright position, her heart rate spiked dangerously high and then plummeted, leaving her dizzy, pale, and sweat-slicked. Will watched the monitor, eyes narrowing at the sharp fluctuations. Connor stayed at her side, calm but focused.

When the test concluded, Avery slumped back on the bed, her breathing labored. Her voice was faint but defiant as she looked at Connor and Will. “If I promise not to work so hard,” she murmured, “can I go home now?”

Connor arched an eyebrow, lips twitching in a rueful smile. “Nice try,” he said gently. “But you’re having a significant POTS episode. You’re stuck with me for a while.”

Will leaned forward, folding his arms. “He’s right, Aves. You’re not going anywhere until we know you’re stable.”

Jay nodded, standing beside her bed. “You can’t just sign yourself out of this one. You’ve got to let us help you.”

Avery’s eyes fluttered, a protest forming on her lips, but it never came. Instead, her eyes rolled back slightly, her breathing grew shallow, and the monitor let out a shrill alarm.

Connor’s face hardened. “She’s going down, BP’s dropping fast. Let’s get fluids, now!” He snapped at the nurses, his hands already moving to adjust her IV line. “Start a bolus, get her supine, and get me a vasopressor ready if needed.”

Will felt his gut clench. “Jay, let’s step out, let Connor work.”

Jay hesitated but nodded, following Will into the hallway, where they watched helplessly as Connor and the team fought to stabilize Avery.

Next Morning — Trauma Room 2

Avery woke to soft beeping and the faint murmur of voices. She blinked, disoriented, and then saw Will sitting beside her, reading her chart, and Jay perched on the windowsill, his eyes rimmed with worry.

“Will? Jay?” she rasped. “What time is it?”

Will set the chart down and gave her a relieved smile. “Morning, Aves. You gave us quite a scare last night.”

She struggled to sit up, but Will gently pushed her back. “Easy. Take it slow.”

She frowned. “I need to get to work. I’ve got assignments, and classes……”

Connor walked in, coffee in hand, his expression equal parts relief and caution. “No, Avery. You’re off the hook for at least a week.”

Her eyes widened. “A week? Connor…”

He held up a hand, his tone gentle but firm. “Listen, Avery, you had a severe POTS episode last night. Your body can’t handle the stress you’ve been putting it under.”

She bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears. “But—”

Connor pulled a chair closer and sat. “I know this is scary, but let me explain. POTS is a condition where your autonomic nervous system doesn’t regulate your heart rate properly, especially when you change positions. That’s why you felt so dizzy and weak. It can be triggered by dehydration, stress, even standing up too quickly.”

She sniffled. “So, what now?”

Connor glanced at Will and Jay, then back at Avery. “First, you’re staying here one more day, just so I can keep an eye on you and make sure things don’t get out of hand again. Last night went further south than I’d like.”

Avery nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I don’t want to do this alone…”

Will squeezed her hand. “You’re not. You’re moving in with me for now, no arguments.”

Jay grinned. “We’ll keep an eye on you, and tease you mercilessly if you try to overdo it.”

Connor smiled, his tone warm but professional. “We’ll work on a plan together. Medication to manage flares, lifestyle adjustments, hydration, diet, maybe even some PT to help you regain confidence. But you’ve got your brothers and me in your corner.”

Avery let out a shaky breath, her eyes darting between the three of them. “I guess I don’t have much choice, huh?”

Will chuckled. “Nope. You’re stuck with us, Aves.”

Jay added, “Forever. So get used to it.”

Connor nodded. “One more day here, then we’ll get you home and get you living with this new normal. But remember: you’re stronger than you think. We’ll get through this, together.”

Avery closed her eyes, relief flooding her features. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

[minimiance]

hey guys i think i might actually start writing on here more actively again :) ive been so swamped with schoolwork and i still am (the woes of a college student) but im mentally a lot better!

I know this doesnt matter much to anyone, just rambling abt my life, but its my blog so ill talk abt whatever i want to talk abt‼️ for a long time i was kinda letting myself stay friends with people i didnt like and letting people push my boundaries often. and i realized i was just miserable. normal lighthearted gossip was treated as if i was so genuinely upset or caught up on something when i just wasnt. every problem i had was so hyperfixated on and it had gotten to a point where the positive parts of my life were being ignored and then like i had just never brought it up. and it was killing me, i felt like so many people that were supposed to be my friend had the wrong perception of me just because they had met me during a point in my life were i was already in a bad mental space.

and at some point i realized that my mental illness wasnt making my life as miserable as i thought it was. everything bad that happened i had pinned or blamed on the fact that im schizoaffective, because it was the reason and excuse that people accepted the easiest. that i was miserable because i was mentally ill. and yes, it definitely played into. coming out of my almost year long depressive episode was difficult. i was grasping with suicidal ideation all the time, to the point where it impacted how i could function. to the point where it DID make being happy hard. but i wasnt just never happy.

this past year ive lived through so many new experiences, and while im so happy to see the friends that were hurting me out of my life i will still miss it, because there were happy memories attached to it. but i realized that the happy moments were becoming fewer and farther between. they only paid attention to the things i told them about that were negative. not that i had gotten a new job, or that i was finally taking my meds again, or that i had found someone that i could move in with and that i was saving for my own place: and never that i was just in a good mood. and i admit, im a gossip, i can understand that not everyone likes that. but to only be told that after i broke away the friendship when ive always only ever asked for honesty kinda sucked. i felt like i was only viewed as everything bad that had happened in my life.

and it kept me down, i felt like my boundaries were always pushed a step too far, that my questions were ignored for a bit too long, that i was dismissed far too easily. and it sucks, when someone who met you right down in the beginning of your slump, someone who helped you grieve, who got you food when you had none in your house, who genuinely did love you just also didnt like you. i dont doubt that i was very genuinely loved, but i wasnt liked, and i wasnt understood. when everything i did was called into critique even when unprompted or asked for, i began to wonder if maybe i just wasnt correct in… being me.

i felt like it was like they thought i had to handled. saved or fixed or something or another. that there was something so inherently wrong with me that they saw me and didnt think of me as me, but as someone who needed to be saved. and i didnt, ive never needed a handler, or a savior, or someone who wanted to fix me. my problems werent ones that could be fixed, but rather what i needed was support to make those problems more manageable.

but i knew it was time to call it quits when i realized that suicidal ideation was getting to a dangerous spot. when i couldnt spend a single night alone without inflicting myself with pain. when fiddling with the idea turned into fiddling with the trigger. it was suddenly so real, what i had become and where my life was at in that moment. and i realized i couldnt die, i didnt truly want to.

death has come into my life twice in very rapid succession in the past couple of years. its insane how close the events feel despite having a year between them. but grief kills, and when my slump had first gotten better it catapulted me straight back down.

but im not down anymore. and honestly, i havent been that far down in a long time. of course my mind still has that haze of grief, and of course the uncontrollable will still happen. but really, ive felt a lot of genuine joy this past few months. and im a lot more at peace now realizing that the people who couldnt see the joy that i had grown into are finally out of my life.

and on the note, im gonna start writing again :) whenever i have some time set aside, and whenever im ready to type something up, i will. and it wont be what i think other people are willing to see anymore, but instead just what i want to write. thank you to the people who follow me who have been with me through this journey, even though you didnt know it :)

[klarioncall]

Lucy Stillman has a weird relationship with the Animus subjects. I want to make it weirder.

Ghost in the machine Clay in the Animus taking over the systems when she’s the only one in the room. Making it play Say That We’re Sweethearts Again to haunt Lucy.

Just. It’s dark, late at night, the Animus is humming a little as Lucy reviews old sessions. There’s a crackle from the speakers. A woman’s voice, over upbeat orchestral instrumentation.

Life used to be a gay thing A filled with happiness night and day thing It was something to have and to hold But it seems that your love grew cold

Lucy thinking, at first, that someone left their MP3 player running or something, and almost calling Rebecca. She’s mostly ignoring it while she works as its volume wavers and cuts out a little.

I never knew that our romance had ended Until you poisoned my food And I thought it was a lark When you kicked me in the park But now I think it was rude

Lucy going still. Lucy remembering the clues they found in that day’s session in the Animus. Remembering how thin subjects get after so long in the Animus, even when Vidic put them on IVs. Remembering Subject 16. Remembering a room painted red with blood.

I never knew that you and I were finished Until that bottle hit my head Though I tried to be aloof When you pushed me off the roof I feel our romance is dead

Lucy getting up and searching for the “mp3 player”, her hands shaking. Lucy skirting around the empty Animus chair like it’s going to bite her, not even able to look at it directly.

It wouldn't have been so bad if you’d told me If you'd told me that someone had suddenly taken my place, huh? But no, you didn't even scold me You just tried to disfigure my face

Lucy collapsing against the nearest desk, messing up some of Shaun’s papers. Her hand gripping the tabletop so hard it hurts. She thinks of Clay asking to be extracted. She thinks of the night she wrote the Mentor advising against it. She tries not to think about Desmond. She fails.

You’ll never know how this heart of mine is breaking It looks so hopeless, but then Our life could still be sweet and placid If you'd just put down that acid And say we're sweethearts again!

Lucy’s hands being sweaty and clammy, and her brain thinking they’re covered in blood. The cheap particleboard under her fingers feeling like room temperature skin, pressed hard into the already stiffening neck of Subject 16.

The song switching to a spoken word section, the woman’s wistful sigh coming out as a crackle of static.

Remember that night in Bridgeport When the moon shone down on both of us And the breeze sang a love song And you looked at me, and I looked at you And you didn't know what to do So you broke my leg?

Lucy closing her eyes. Her head rolling in her neck to point at the ceiling before the monologue continues, the next two lines have another voice mixed in underneath, too soft and broken to be recognizable. Not that it stops Lucy from having her fears identify it for her.

I thought there was sort of a strange look in your eyes But then you smiled, and it made everything all right

The other voice drops back out as the song continues, onto its next verse and the relief makes Lucy realize she’s been holding her breath. She nearly convinces herself that she imagined it when the second voice doubles the last line of the next verse again, this time louder and more clear, clearly male.

Then there was that lovely time we went to New England And you set fire to my dress You said you pushed me overboard to put out the flames But I could never quite understand why you held my head under water so long

Lucy slumping to the cold floor and pressing her arms tight to her middle as she stares at the Animus. Her eyes lingering in the panel where she installed the Abstergo hard drives. The last lines are entirely in Clay’s voice. Though it glitches and stalls more than any of the previous portions had.

Of course, I've never met this person who's taken my place But I want you to know that I wish you all the luck in the world And if there's anything I can do, anything at all You can reach me in room 304 At the General Hospital Farewell, my sweet

A recording of a woman’s scream echos off the walls and drowns out Lucy’s sob.

[nyxyooni]

(3) Honey Ties

Prev/Next

hello! i'm back!!! i know its been a little over a year, trust me. out of all the fics that i have not updated this is the one that haunts my nightmares the most. BUT enough of that, im here! this is here!!!!! not only is this an update, but ive also just made up my mind, literally as im typing this out as to what this whole thing is gonna be. and im thinking of a slice-of-life-esque collection of loosely connected chapters with very little plot scattered about.

and! before you continue, this is also my informal invitation for you, my dear and wonderful readers, to make requests for any future updates! i'll make another update as to what im comfortable with writing for this particular story later! so, without further ado, lets go!

————

In retrospect, the man kept a decent amount of distance between himself and Bruce, one hand was steadily holding out a flute of champagne while the one next to Bruce clutched the opposite lapel of his suit jacket. Really, he was most likely leaning closer to their father simply to speak clearly to him. His eyes, although hard to see through the glare of the glasses covering them were looking at Bruce's face with respectful interest, an easy smile on his moving lips. There was nothing scummy about the man, nothing threatening—well except maybe for the sheer size of him but then again, his shoulders were slumped, rounded despite their broadness.

"Jason!" Hissing as he reached a hand to the bigger man in front of him, so close to being able to grab him, and lamenting when his hands failed short a mere inch. At least Jason wasn't bulldozing people out of the way, small victories he guessed. "Jason!" Near desperate Dick threw himself at the hulking figure of his younger brother stuttering to a stop just as Jason froze, suddenly becoming a brick wall. "Jason for the love of god, get your issues under control you absolute freak—"

And they were right in front of Bruce and the stranger, except that the stranger wasn't a stranger at all.

"Mr. Kent?" Straightening in order to stand next to his brother, Dick suddenly felt a little stupid for being even remotely suspicious of Clark Kent, granted he hadn't known it was him, but still, the man couldn't hurt a fly even if he tried.

"Hm? Oh!" Straightening up with a little jolt Clark Kent patted his free hand against his thigh, letting go of the suit to reveal the fact it didn't quite fit properly but he was smiling gently, dimples sinking into his tan cheeks, "hello, Mr. Grayson, Mr. Todd." Nodding at both of them, voice sure and body steady. "I don't mean to be rude or overstep my boundaries, but it is a wonder to see you at one of these events, Mr. Todd."

Huffing, relaxing at long last Jason popped out one of his hips as he crossed his arms, beside him Dick also deflated, taking a nice, slow deep breath and lifting his head to smile at the reporter. "Mr. Kent, you know how we feel about you addressing us like that," Dick would probably say out loud in his next interview, that Clark Kent was his favorite reporter of all time. Something about the man felt incredibly warm.

Laughing, somehow in a way that felt like walking out onto the porch of a country house on a warm summer morning, Clark Kent's smile grew. It dulled the intricate glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.  "And if I remember clearly, I said that the only way I would stop was if you would stop calling me as such," peeling away fully from Bruce and the baby, Damian following the movement with a small sway of his body, Clark stood a couple of steps away from their father, "in that regard, I can see the family resemblance..."

It was slow, it was gentle, and somehow, despite being in the middle of a gala, full of old, rich people with money stuffed all the way up their asses, they looked at each other as though they were alone. Dick took a step closer, his body moving on its own.

"I am here to pry. What is a man such as yourself doing here, Mr. Kent?" Jason's voice cut through Dick, it made little baby Damian snap his head over with his mouth open. Only Bruce remained serene, with a gentle smile as he looked at everyone gathered around him, gently bouncing Damian. "Out of all the stuck-up people who just love to talk about themselves, you're here, bothering our father and—"

"Jason..." Bruce's voice wasn't hard, it never was, and never had been, and if Dick were to bet money on it, couldn't be. "Let's not be rude, Mr. Kent and I were just having a nice conversation," in his arms the baby seemed to focus on Clark Kent, body leaning over, to stretch out towards the reporter, hands flailing and mouth moving in words that were not words and could not be heard over all the other noise. "What is it, baby, hm?"

Moving Damian, shifting him so that he held him up in front of his face from somewhere under his shoulders, hands wrapped securely around his body, cradling his ribs. However, Damian leaned over to the side, hands reaching and reaching. Toward Clark Kent.

All four of them stared at the baby, shock clear across their faces, Clark Kent stared blankly until a smile broke out on his face, so very unlike the previous one. Somehow it shined brighter, it made Dick take half a step back and made Jason go rigid. It was obvious, he was whole-heartedly and unabashedly endeared with the little bundle of joy currently trying to claw his way into his arms and out of his father.

Raising a hand, curled weakly, Clark Kent used two of his fingers to pinch the baby's cheeks, he did not take Damian into his arms the way the baby wanted, but he did give him attention. The man stepped closer, hunched down so that he could look into those priceless jewel-green eyes, and smiled. "I don't know, baby, maybe you should stay with your daddy?" It was near deafening, the soft tenor and sway of Clark Kent's voice amidst the maddening constant buzz of the crowd around them. "Who is he gonna hold if I'm the one holding you, hm?" Letting go of the soft supple skin to instead gently rub with the back of his index finger the man smiled again.

Damian whined, high and reedy and short, he wriggled one last time and sighed. As though a wave of sleepiness hit him all at once he settled against Bruce's chest. Blinking slowly and instinctively moving his hand up to his mouth so he could suck on his curled fist.

No one moved, no one made so much as a sound. Even when around them the buzz seemed to be near a delirious height the baby's body relaxed, chest rising and caving slowly and steadily like. Damian had fallen asleep.

Awestruck, Dick reached out to gently poke one of Damian's soft, chubby cheeks as though he couldn't possibly believe what the baby had done. It wasn't that Damian struggled to sleep, at least not when he was comfortable and in a quiet peaceful space, not silent, the baby seemed to love the sound of their father's voice, or the soft chirping of birds, the trickle of water from a stream, the pitter-patter of gentle rain. Never silent, simply calm. The beating of their father's heart as he slipped away into slumber atop his chest.

Damian disliked loud, chaos that held no rhyme not reason, crashes, bangs, or pops, just like any baby. Damian loved the sound of his family, just like any baby.

"Well, would you look at that," gently maneuvering the baby so he was being cradled in his arms, Bruce smiled up at Clark Kent, that utterly wonderful and disarming smile and made his eyes crinkle and his dimples show. "It seems that my baby was all tuckered out, it has been a very exciting day for him," halfway through his sentence, Bruce had instead focused on Damian, speaking down to him in a hushed tone. Leaning down to plant a dry kiss on the baby's forehead. "Does anyone have the time?"

All three of them snapped to attention at finally being addressed, neither Dick nor Jason had their phones on them, Alfred insisting that it was ruining their suits pointlessly so. Still standing beside their father, Clark Kent brought his wrist up in a quick, sharp movement and slid his sleeve down so he could peer down to his watch for about three seconds.

"It seems to be a quarter to eleven," came the man's smooth voice. His glasses had slid down his nose, resting at the very tip. Swiftly he pushed them up with his middle finger in a practiced motion from years that had transformed it to instinct.

"Dad." Jason called out, voice taking that tall-tale brattish tone that had irked Dick to insanity when they were still getting used to being around each other. The shock of having the young man call their father as such settled in right after the irritating bit of nostalgia. "If you still want to hang around and..." trailing off, pointedly looking Clark Kent up and down, he finished with a clear expression of distaste. "Mingle... I'll take Damian up to his room."

Bruce looked from his son to Clark Kent, he wasn't stupid, he knew his children. Knew how to read their moods, how to soothe them, and how to speak to them, Bruce knew when they lied to him and when they kept secrets from him. Like how he knew there was something all of his kids were keeping something from, something big, that no matter how much he wanted to know, no matter how it hurt to not be trusted, would wait for them to tell him. Bruce knew his children, and because he knew his children, he was keenly aware that Jason did not likeClark Kent.

"Oh Jason," stepping forward to his son, not for the first and definitely not for the last time, startled at how the young man was taller than him, "don't worry about that, I'll take him up, get him nice and settled." Cupping the side of his face, Bruce smiled when Jason's shoulder's relaxed, "stay here, make sure nobody tries to steal Dick away, or worse, Tim." Grinning, he dropped his hand, stepping away and towards the way out, "I'm worried that he'll try and bite someone again."

Dick's laughter leaves his chest before he even realized it. Someone had once made the mistake of trying to... cozy up with Tim while the boy was practically falling asleep on his feet, never mind the fact he was still very underage. The outcome had been hilarious. And very satisfying, Bruce had unleashed hell on the degenerate and was banished from any and all future galas that he hosted.

"Mm, I don't know..." Jason rested his chin on the webbing between his index finger and thumb, "it was pretty funny last time... something tells me it'll be pretty funny a second time..."

Huffing fondly, with a roll of his eyes, their father shook his head as he turned around. Maneuvering around people with an amount of tact and ease that made all three men jealous.

"Well... that went great!" Dick turned to Clark Kent with a clap of his hands and a smile on his face. Beside him Jason grumbled, refusing to look at the reporter and instead surveyed the hall, glad that in about an hour or so, everyone would be gone and their home would return to the peaceful atmosphere he had learned to appreciate. "We understand that you and Dad were talking and... we want to apologize for interrupting—"

"I don't."

"—since you two seemed to get along and, while I shouldn't be saying this, Dad doesn't have many friends, so I appreciate that he had you to talk to tonight." Finished Dick, as though he hadn't been interrupted at all. 

Clark Kent looked at them both with mirth dancing in his blue eyes, the shade was darker than their father's, it was almost like the blue that inked the ocean, low and mellow, or the rich blue spanning over a field of wheat, reminiscent of serenity. As they gazed at them, however, it matched the blue of kings, the reflection of the lights against his lenses made due for the golden accents. His smirk charming, the curls of his hair that fell just right over his forehead enough to distract from the ill-fitted suit. Flute of champagne half empty in his hands. 

"Please! None of that!" He was smiling, dimples deep, he looked younger this way, disarming, Dick narrowed his eyes, careful to safeguard his own smile. "It was entirely my pleasure, not many people can say that they've had the privilege of speaking with Bruce Wayne, to count myself as one of the lucky few, well... it's almost a dream come true." Clark Kent's voice was smooth, almost impossibly so. 

Jason felt a sneer pulling at the edges of his mouth, that wasn't what a friend would say. He knew something was up with Kent, if it wasn't to try to wheedle some bullshit to fill half a collum on the front page of The Daily Planet, then, of course, it was to get nice and cozy with their father. 

"If you two would excuse me," the man was speaking again, dimples and curls and big blues, "it's been a rather exciting day and an even more exciting night." He was bowing his head, in respect, "and well, I find myself a long way from home. Good night, Mr. Grayson," he held a hand out towards Dick, who took it and shook it, amiably. "Mr. Todd." Then out to Jason, who took the hand, and squeezed a little harder than he should've, in return, the dimples and the man deepened. 

Watching the man walking away, lacking the same grace of his father but still impressive in his own manner, a bad feeling began to stir in their stomachs. 

[vesperadreamer]

The Origin of Handler

Rip, tear. Those were your orders. Destroy as many enemy mechs as you could before you died. That was your objective. The only issue was, your mech had been disabled by something, or heavily damaged, it wouldn’t move and you were now helpless to watch the sky, waiting for your end. You can’t even fully remember how you got here. You remember anger, fear, and finally, resignation to your fate. You could hope that the enemy would give you a quick death, but knowing what you were told, that was unlikely. You’d probably be tortured for information first. You sighed, waiting for the end.

The gunfire slowly began to surround you, and you saw a woman holding a rifle, firing at something in the distance while giving orders. You got to watch as she eventually looked down at your mech, trying to get it to open. When she couldn’t, she called for another, a mech, and it began to slowly rip open your cockpit, allowing the woman to step inside. She looked at you in horror, as if something was wrong. She called for more mechs, something about taking you back to base with her. When the mechs arrived you could feel them dragging your metal shell with them. 

The woman stayed in the cockpit, speaking sweet nothings into your ear about how you were safe now, and that everything would be fine once she took you back. You closed your eyes, letting her words take hold. Her hands were gentle as she held your face, as she kept trying to soothe you. You figured she wasn’t half bad for an enemy, but you had no clue what reality might bring. She might decide to make you suffer after all this kindness, you had to prepare, you had to be strong. You decided to accept her comfort. Even if it might be fake, it felt nice to be comforted by a gentle hand before your last moments. And so, you drifted off.

You awoke to the woman and two others looking over you, likely in a hanger. The three seemed to be talking about how to get you out of your mech. You sighed, as if being removed from a mech was ever hard. Though… You never had to be the one removing a person. There was a bit of back and forth before the woman began to move around you, and then… Searing unbearable pain, it felt like your nerves were on fire, like you were dying. You could hear the woman screaming demands as she began to pull you free from your mech. There was a stretcher brought in, and you were placed on it before being rushed elsewhere

Sterile, that was how you’d describe the room. You were heavily bandaged, hooked up to an IV unit, and a blood bag. All you can remember is that the woman wanted you alive, and then a cold stab in your neck. You sighed, something must have gone wrong when you got incapacitated in your mech. Now you were in an enemy base, taking up their medical supplies, that woman trying to keep you alive, probably only long enough to gather information. You slowly sat up, looking around the room carefully, there was a door, and a wide mirror. No, not a mirror. It was likely a 1 way mirror, meant to watch you.

You slumped back and looked at the ceiling, hearing someone enter, walking over to you, and entering your sight. It was the woman again, smiling this time and embracing you in a hug. Who was she, and why was she kind? You were so confused. Had the rebellion been a farce? She told you that you had slept for 5 days. She spoke with such worry. Couldn’t she have grabbed a different pilot if she needed information? She placed a gentle hand on your cheek, and a part of you couldn’t help but lean into her touch. She felt warm, safe, and comforting. She felt like a pillar you could lean on if you needed support.

Some medical staff came in to unhook you, they were quite careful with you too, as if you were something delicate. Once unhooked, you were placed in a wheelchair, the woman wheeling you out and somewhere else. You watched people pass by, some actually ask the woman if she’ll be alright handling you. You’ve no clue what they mean, but you assume you’ll know eventually. She takes you into a room and you begin to see what they meant by handling you. She carefully lifted you into a mechanical alcove in the wall, hooking you up to different things. Once she finished she sat at the nearby desk, and you suspected something was going on.

You watched her type away at her computer, but at the same time, you felt… Like you knew what she was doing. You felt like she was inputting commands and looking for something. Every now and then, you spotted her glancing over at you, giving you a smile. Maybe she wasn’t the enemy, maybe she was a friend, an ally. You had some hope finally. You could tell she didn’t just want you alive, but she quite possibly cared about you. You slowly close your eyes, but they immediately shoot open when you hear her sigh. Was something wrong? What was she even looking at?

You watched as she got up, unhooking you from everything before she pulled you over to her computer and sat you down. What you saw was horrifying. It was your file, your purpose was death when she found you. Hell, being removed from your mech was supposed to be lethal. You were merely a pawn in the rebellion’s plan and it angered you. This woman saved you, and you had doubted her. However, there was a second file, mirroring yours. It seemed to be for their records, but there were little additions added to it.

You had some medical notes you didn’t know about, talking about how you were found, what work they did to save you. They even made observations while you were unconscious. However, when you saw your occupation as pilot, you also noticed something else. “Handler: None”. Handler? That was something new. Was a pilot supposed to have a Handler? You looked to her for clarification and she informed you that a Handler is often used for problem pilots, or pilots who need guidance or something to ground them.

You looked back at your file, smiling, before changing your file. “Handler: Yes”. The woman looked baffled, if not outright confused. You took her hand, pressing her palm against your cheek gently as you smiled. Handler, laughed slightly, but she gave you a gentle smile. You were safe now, the real enemy was the rebellion. Handler helped you realize the truth of your near death experience, she made certain you didn’t die. Handler saved you. You knew now, you owed your everything to Handler. You belonged to Handler now, and you would let her guide you against her enemies, even if it meant dying for her.

Handler wanted to show you something, and so, you followed her to the hangers. There, you saw your old mech, it seemed to have been mildly modified since you last remembered it. Handler slowly guided you towards it, but when you showed some resistance, she asked you to trust her. And so you did. You let her slowly hook you in, whispering sweet nothings once more to keep you calm. Once hooked in, Handler only made one singular request: for you to bark. It was simple, and so you obeyed. You barked and felt euphoric. You looked at Handler for input, and she told you to bark again.

Obeying Handler felt euphoric, her orders made you shiver in delight. You wanted Handler to give you more orders, but instead she decided to unhook you. There was no pain, no begging for death, or nerves on fire. There was only comfort and Handler’s warm embrace. Handler could be trusted. Handler cared for you. Handler would never betray you. These were all thoughts that slowly entered your mind. You finally felt at peace, like you were home. Like everything was finally right. You closed your eyes, and accepted her warm embrace, slowly drifting off, once final time. In the arms of Handler, you were safe.

[zimwy]

some body headcanons:

bucky has long legs. his torso isn't stubby by any means, but his legs make him look taller than he is; they're long, incredibly thick and muscular, and elegantly tapered at the knee, the lower shins, and ankles. he always wear boots, too, which aside from making him slightly taller (usually an inch, two at most), really highlight his legs. his thigh are dense and hard and pure muscle, very little fat on the inner walls, and his calves are tight and well rounded.

these are Snap Your Neck legs. bucky is the one who taught nat the head scissor move, because his are stronger. will squeeze your head and neck with his legs if he has the option to. (the winter soldier itself attempted to knock steve out via leg hold.)

small little waist no matter how muscular bucky is at any given time. tiny waist. sometimes he's small overall (e.g. 18-20 bucky, while a little more filled out, is still very fucking skinny), sometimes he's very muscular (e.g. the winter soldier at most active is very unhealthily muscular as this is not bucky's natural build, dense and thick like a jungle cat), sometimes he's at his natural build (between this, strong but not big, lithe but not tiny), but his waist is always small. very grabbable.

tends to have visible abs. he is an extremely lucky bastard who doesnt have to work for them, but its also because of his advanced practices of gymnastics and acrobatics. its just indicative of his prowess, sleek like a cheetah, all his muscle moving and rolling under his skin. when bucky collects fat, it sits over his abs and softens his chest and thighs. but he's rarely ever been in a place where he CAN accrue much fat. i think the only time bucky had a bit of a belly was when nat didnt remember him, for a little while he depressive-slumped and didnt work and got a tummy.

does not lift. jogs, runs, acrobatic training, ballet training, balance bars, uneven bars, pull ups, pole dances, yoga.

not particularly hairy, but has a dusting of hair from sternum to the top of his boobs--thin, barely there dark brown hairs, curly like the rest--and a little on his arms and legs. however, the skin tight catsuit he typically wears has actually pulled off and worn down most of his body hair: now its mostly maintained only on his groin and underarms. (and he trims both, keeps it all very clean and will use beauty products. hates having hair on his balls or hole. stops just short of brazilians; would never let someone else do this for him, not romantic partners, not professionals. sorry. he is not letting someone touch hair around his butthole)

arms are usually quite strong from years of handling a sniper rifle. sniper rifles are not light, theyre usually around 12-15 lbs.

average sized hands and feet, but long; long arches, long palm, long fingers. narrow fingers. cute toes. has no finger prints: the metal ones just dont have them, and the flesh ones have been burned off. (toe prints as well. the soviets were thorough.) hand is a little veiny, bones hard to skin.

stiff and defined adonis belt. inner edge of hips sticks out in a slightly feminine way.

defined back with strong venus dimples and spinal seam. nice ass. kind of thick tbh. not particularly girly or anything, but fat on muscle has made for some very round heavy cheeks (especially true of ballet dancers.) will jiggle a little if you smacked it. skin there is a bit paler than anywhere else as its obvious bucky earns slight tans from work--and he does not wear clothes that expose much of his body to the sun, but the butt especially not.

pretty, thick curls. somewhat obviously 'jewish hair'; not tight/coiled/frizzy enough to be a 'jewfro' (apologies for the word--i know some ppl dont like it or find it insensitive but theres nothing else ive ever heard it called or proposed to be called), but still thick and dense and curling. product wrangles the curls into manageable waves, which is what george always did to bucky as a kid in the morning before he brushed his hair for him. now, bucky tends not to use anything to coif it and lets it sit naturally.

flexible, can touch his knee to his head while standing with ease, can do splits, can easily perform contortionism acts, reverse table, a thousand different maneuvers. he was never tested in any formal sense but is assumed to be double jointed.

pretty heavy lashed hooded down turned baby cow eyes. brown, shade changes depending on sun and light presence.

soft, plushy lips. they're not wide, but they are full and thick, he has those ~dsl.

upturned nose with narrow bridge, but wide, somewhat prominent tip/nostrils.

soft flesh around the jowls but nothing hanging, just kind of frames the underide of his mouth. visible cheekbones even when weight is gained in face.

plane explosion took all of bucky's left arm, but not just that. the trapezius is partially severed as well as the edge of the pectoral muscle, where the prosthetic's base was forged and connected. every once in a while if the soldier noticeably gained or lost weight the arm was remeasured and adjusted to match the new arm build. now this happens whenever tony has the free time to do maintenance on the arm or introduce some 'new cool tricks'. (he doesnt like letting tony work on the anchor plating eitther, but he still lets him).

[taeiun]

TAEIUN UPDATE (05/07/24)

hello everyone!! im not sure how many of you still keep up with this blog and i am so sorry for being inactive for so long (a full month sheesh…) and for not posting anything for longer than that! i have a couple updates, some good some bad, and a few changes i want to make to this blog.

TL;DR: canceling the beomgyu smau + possible future redo, temporary archive of this blog, future works planned.

O1. from the lack of of updates and the low interactions ive gotten, i think you guys can already guess that the beomgyu smau i posted back in march was going to be terminated at some point. it’s not that ive lost full interest in the plot. im just unhappy woth the setup and also dont have things flushed out to where i think an smau would work as a format. i do hope to publish it again some time in the future but for now, that post will be taken down.

O2. again, based off my inactivity i dont think it’s much of a surprise for me to say im going to be temporarily archiving this blog. that doesnt mean im never coming back! its just that right now i dont know how long it’ll be before i get back into a consistent writing schedule again. think of it just as an extended hiatus; the main difference is that im calling it an archive in case i dont come back at all. ofc ill announce if im going for good but this is just in case.

O3. i dont think i’ll be gone for good (knock on wood) so while i stay kind of inactive, there a few things im changing up here.

declutterring: going to be deleting spam posts and tidying up my blog to make the viewing experience more pleasurable!! i have a second blog where i ramble and shit post so i dont need this one for it.

reposts of old works: i dont have the time as of now to be working on brand new shiny content, so i hope people dont mind me possibly reposting a couple of my fave older stuff from my previous blog.

O4. i am crafting new things! they just wont be out for a while. a few things on my mind are:

zb1 apocalypse au: i have standalone fics for all the members and i hope to get this done at least before calling it quits. taerae my boy…

a couple different possible supernatural!skz smau mini series: little bit on the fence with these ones bc im not fully into skz (despite saying i write for them lol) so im not sure how much passion i can put into this project. if not the mini series, then i’ll be working on a minho fic within that au instead!

i think that about sums up where this blog is going. in general ive been good. busy with school and idea of uni but good-ish. ive been enjoying life for itself and got closer with one of my irls which has been so nice :DD im also facing a bit of a writer’s slump bc of the mental switch from a heavy math and science academics semester to an only analytical and writing semester. honestly, i really do want to keep this blog around. its just hard when my interest in kpop as a whole has dwindled down so fast? like its crazy how quickly i kind of got over this phase ngl- but yeah! thats it for me <33

thanks for sticking to the end of this if you did! no hard feelings if you didnt. its funny i say that bc they wouldnt be able to see this if they didnt but oh well. that’s all from me for today!!

— ur fave, sol / jun.

[timosalonen]

i hope vale tells free use bez how good he's been for the boys 🫡 does vale join in the free use? how did the arrangement come about?

(tumblr fucking crashed while i was in the middle of answering this and didnt save it as a draft so give me a moment to Scream over the 3 paragraphs i now have to rewrite.)

glad you asked because ive thought about this extensively. NSFW under the cut:

vale doesn't actually Officially know about the arrangement. he's figured out whats going on himself, because the boys aren't exactly masters of subtlety and hes not an idiot. but they haven't told him so he doesn't say anything.

bez, however, wants vale to know so so so fucking bad, wants vale to fuck him so bad it makes him sick, but he wont bring it up. because hes not gonna walk up to Thee Valentino Rossi and say "hey everyone here fucks me at their leisure if you want some?" because jesus christ, What If He Says No? now he thinks bez is a slut (derogatory) instead of a slut (affectionate) and bez has to retire from racing and go live in a cave in the alps until he DIES.

but vale knows bez wants him. again, hes not an idiot, hes noticed the way bez looks at him when he thinks vale's not paying attention, and his bedroom at the ranch shares a wall with frankys- hes heard some stuff said way after dark that more than confirms his suspicions, lets just say.

vale, though, is a little shit. he wants bez to come and ask for it. say to his face what he wants. look him in the eyes while he asks. so he plays oblivious. puts on a worried look as he pulls bez's hair to the side and says ah, marco, what did you do to your neck? the morning after mig spent a few hours sucking hickeys all over his skin and fingering him into overstimulated delirium. tells the boys be good while im gone, make sure you behave as he leaves the ranch for a long weekend business trip, but keeps his gaze firmly locked onto bez as he tells them. lets his hand linger a few seconds too long on bez's lower back as he passes him in the kitchen.

and it drives bez fucking crazy. because theres no way vale is doing it on purpose, he doesnt know about it, and he knows no one would have told him without asking first, hes just reading into stuff too much, hes just so horny for vale that its making him hallucinate.

and maybe it all comes to a head one day when bez is at the ranch on his own. the rest of the boys are out until the evening and vale is in Rome on some business trip, so bez takes some time in the afternoon to prepare himself- cause vales gone, he knows theyre gonna pass him around like a ragdoll when they all get back from their various engagements, might as well get ahead of the game.

so he gets comfy in bed, starts preparing himself, really makes a meal of it cause what the hell, hes alone, might as well take the opportunity to get off while he can. lets his mind drift a little, thinks about vale doing it for him, slender fingers reaching places he just cant quite reach with his own, lets himself moan out vales name while he does it, makes a mess of himself and slumps into his pillows exhausted, limbs like jelly and fireworks behind his eyes.

maybe when he looks up vale is standing in his doorway watching him, shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, that almost signature little smirk on his lips- his business thing ended early, he was gonna come home and surprise his boys with their fancy gifts and such. maybe bez is bold enough to finally ask in that moment.